#which explains why his radiant fight feels almost twice as long

[foxstens]

turns out radiant watcher knights have the most health in the entire game

[animatedarchives]

Can I request an imagine where midoriya cheats on the reader and bakugo finds her crying in the halls and is there for her and they grow a romantic relationship? Lots of angst and fluff pls! Thank u!

author’s note: hi dear, yes you absolutely can!! i love soft katsuki and i’m so sorry if this is not what you wanted but i hope you like it!! <3

TRUST FALL

— 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

genre: angst at first, fluff at the end :>

warnings: mentions of cheating

word count: 1.2k words

“Izuku… Why?”

“I’m sorry Y/N… I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Am I not good enough? Is that it? Is that why you cheated on me? Is there someone better?”

“I… I’m sorry Y/N…”

“Wait, don’t leave! Izuku, wait! Please! Please…”

You’ve been replaying the conversation over and over in your head for the past hour, each time failing to find the answer to your question.

Why? Why did you leave me?

The poor condition of the abandoned hallway you were in mirrored your despair; paint peeling off the walls, windows coated with grime and the dusty ground on which you sat in melancholy.

You leaned your head back against the wall, desperately trying to pull yourself together. You felt and looked like an absolute wreck. Your hair that was perfectly styled this morning was now disheveled, acting as a curtain that attempted to shield you from the hurts of the world. The trails on your cheeks held traces of all the tears you had shed. Your throat was parched for water and your eyes burned from the overproduction of saline.

Well, at least no one is here to see you like thi-

“Oi.”

Crap.

“What the hell are you doing here, sitting on the floor like a damn idiot?”

You have got to be joking. The universe just had to give you someone you knew. You shifted your body so that your back was facing him and swiftly wiped your eyes in a pitiful attempt to hide your misery.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you, shitface!” he spat.

“Dammit, Bakugo! Can you just mind your own business and leave me the hell alone?” you yelled over your shoulder.

You’ve never been very close to Bakugo and usually just tried to avoid him. It wasn’t because you hated him - because you didn’t - but you weren’t exactly very fond of him either. You just never appreciated the way he treated your now ex-boyfriend. Being fiercely protective of him, you were always the first one to come to Izuku’s defence and never backed down from a fight - whether verbal or physical - even if it was against Bakugo, one of the strongest, most hot-headed people in class. After multiple scoldings from Iida and your teachers, you decided it would be best to just avoid him altogether.

Eventually, as time went on and your relationship with Izuku began to get more serious, Bakugo’s bullying began to cease and he also started to keep his distance from the two of you. You found it slightly unusual at first, given he had years to stop picking on Izuku but chose not to until now. You weren’t complaining though. Whenever you and Izuku were together, you would also catch him glaring daggers at the two of you, more so at Izuku, but he never approached. You knew it wasn’t because he was afraid of you - he was hardly afraid of anything. Could it be that he possibly respected you for standing up to him? Your curiosity reaped no answers. Not that you cared much, but it would be a lie to say you weren’t interested in knowing the reason for his change in behaviour.

After your outburst, Bakugo’s footsteps stopped about three metres away from your curled up body, letting a tense silence settle between you. Even with your back turned, you could feel his eyes locked on your frame, watching your every move.

“Look, I don’t know what your damn problem is but if you think you can tell me what to do, you’d better think again,” his voice dripping with annoyance.

Oh my god, why was he so persistent? Could he not just go away? Your blood started to boil and the heat rushed to your face.

“Stop acting so weak and pathetic-”

“YOU KNOW WHAT BAKUGO,” you snapped, standing up and finally facing him. Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, but he didn’t look away. “YOU’RE RIGHT. MAYBE THAT REALLY IS WHAT I AM. WEAK AND PATHETIC.”

Bakugo opened his mouth but you cut him off.

“I’m constantly there for others and I always try to give everyone my all but in the end, who’s there for me? No one! I’m always the one that’s suffering, but people don’t notice because no one actually stops to think about me!”

“But Deku-”

“IZUKU CHEATED ON ME!” your cries echoed down the empty hallway. Hearing yourself say it out loud finally cemented the reality you were denying for so long. A lump started to form in your throat and you could feel your eyes starting to well up with tears again.

Bakugo’s body became stiff, a million thoughts running through his mind. You could have sworn you saw his eyes flash with anger, but you couldn’t see clearly through the thin film impairing your vision.

You choked out a sob. “I thought that someone had finally accepted me, finally acknowledged that I was worthy of being loved. But in the end, even the person I gave my everything to thought I wasn’t good enough.” You inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You wouldn’t. A wave of exhaustion finally hit you and you slid back down against the wall, curling into a ball and resting your chin on your knees. You were just so tired of everything.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s not like you even care anyway.” You watched as an ant crawled across the space between you and Bakugo. Even ants had a colony, others they could depend on. And you? You had nobody.

“I do.”

Your train of thought came to a screeching halt as his words reached your ears. Your eyebrows furrowed and you raised your head to look up at him through your wet lashes. You had been here for so long that the sun was beginning to set, bathing Bakugo in a soft peachy glow.

“What?” you asked.

He looked at you straight in the eye, unflinching.

“I said I do,” he repeated. “I do care. About you.”

You blinked at him once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bakugo Katsuki, the last person in the world you thought you would be pouring your heart out to, just said he cared about you.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed.

“Tch, I’m not lying, you idiot. You just don’t want to accept it,” he replied flatly.

Well, how could you? Words were just words after all. Izuku consistently told you that he loved you and still he shattered your heart. Trusting people just wouldn’t be so easy anymore. Your disbelief became apparent when you broke his gaze and pulled your knees closer to your chest.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You never let me finish, by the way,” he said. You made no move to respond, but you were listening to every word he was saying, weighing the sincerity of each one.

“I said stop acting so weak and pathetic, not because you are, but because it is everything you are not.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad but you couldn’t find the heart to.

“You have never backed down when it came to protecting Deku against me. You weren’t afraid to stand up and challenge me. In fact, you are always at the frontlines, defending people you care so deeply about. That doesn’t make you weak. It shows that you’re strong. Putting others before yourself is a trait that every great hero has. And I admired you for that. A lot.”

Your mind was whirring. Not only were the things he was saying difficult to believe, but the words coming out of Bakugo's own mouth being anything but foul was so terrifyingly uncharacteristic of him that you couldn’t possibly believe it was true.

“Which is why…” he muttered, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it. You waited for him to finish his sentence but he never did.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and saw him looking at the floor. You had never seen Bakugo this vulnerable before. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Which is why…?” you urged him to continue. You weren’t sure if it was the radiant sun that gave a reddish tint to his cheeks or if you were actually witnessing the infamously brash Bakugo Katsuki blushing.

“Which is why I li…” he mumbled, the end of his sentence dissipating due to lack of articulation.

“Why what?” you asked again, mildly irritated that he wouldn’t just spit it out.

He groaned loudly.

“WHICH IS WHY I LIKE YOU, DAMMIT!” he finally admitted, raising his voice as he turned to look straight at you.

Your eyes widened so much you thought your eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t even bother hiding the shock on your face. This was simply incomprehensible.

But the more you mulled it over, the more it started to make sense. The explanation for Bakugo’s behaviour towards you and Izuku could finally be explained: he was jealous. Seeing you with anyone but himself infuriated him, especially if it was the boy who was effortlessly gaining everything he had ever wanted. That was why Bakugo continued tormenting Izuku, only he never expected it would be you that he would end up fighting as you stepped in to defend your boyfriend. As your relationship became more serious, Bakugo was forced to step back out of respect, but he never stopped glowering whenever he saw you two together. The reason he stopped tormenting Izuku was not because he was afraid of you, nor was it because he respected your determination to defend the boy you loved. It was because it would break his heart to be the cause of your distress. Everything he did… was because of you.

“WELL? Don’t just give me that stupid look! Say something!” he shouted in frustration, desperate for an answer.

Part of you felt relieved to see Bakugo return to his familiar aggressive self, but another part somehow knew that he was only doing it to cover up the fact that he was deeply embarrassed. The thought made a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. You valued the fact that he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

And you wanted to trust him too. But with everything that had happened, you just weren’t sure if you were ready to put your heart on the line again. Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you tried to form a coherent string of words that could accurately express everything you thought and felt.

He watched intently as you bit your lower lip and fiddled nervously with the hem of your skirt. Although the suspense was eating him alive, he respected the fact that you needed to collect your thoughts and waited patiently for your answer. Besides, it meant that you were seriously considering his confession, which was all he could have hoped for. Finally, you got to your feet and made your way over to him, his crimson eyes never leaving yours.

“Bakugo…” you started gently. He might have seemed collected on the outside, but his heart was beating impeccably fast and his anxiety levels were off the charts.

“I really appreciate your honesty but… I’m just really unsure. It’s not that I don’t want to trust you but…” you exhaled shakily. “I’m just scared. I can’t just keep giving my heart to people I’m not sure would treasure it… I just can’t. I need to protect myself too. I don’t want my heart to get broken again. I-”

He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours, cutting you off. Caught by surprise, you weren’t sure how to respond. But as he kissed you, you could feel how much he meant every single thing he said. Suddenly, they weren’t just words anymore.

The kiss was soft and gentle as if he were afraid to hurt you, especially when you were already in so much pain. Yet, he never lacked passion, because he wanted to prove how true his feelings were for you. But above all, the kiss… his love…

It was sincere.

Genuine.

Honest.

You melted into the kiss, hesitant at first but slowly willing to give love another try.

Bakugo broke the kiss and leaned back to admire the face he thought was so beautiful. His strong hands traced down your face to your shoulders and finally came to a rest at your arms, rubbing your skin soothingly.

“You’re right, you know. You can’t just give your heart to people. If you do, you’re bound to get heartbroken,” he said.

You frowned and stared forlornly at your feet, unsure of what to say. You knew he was right but you couldn’t help it. All you ever wanted was to be loved. To matter to someone.

“Which is why,” he took your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up to look at him. For the first time, you saw his eyes up close. They weren’t the blazing hot embers everyone associated with his rageful and dangerous behaviour. Right now, under the warmth of the setting sun, they were the soft comfort of red satin that whispered a love so pure, you couldn’t help but feel enraptured by them. His eyes burned, but it was far from malicious. They burned with desire for one thing alone.

You.

“I will do whatever it takes to earn it.”

© written and published by animatedarchives 2020. please do not steal or repost. thank you.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Long Way Home

Chapter Five: A Summer Place

AN: Claudia is back babyyyy!!!

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.8k

Taglist: @iloveeverything-09​, @eiferundruhe​, @greatscott--wrongdecade​

Chapter Six: Hell Hath No Fury

Claudia's POV

This was not what I was expecting today.

Today was supposed to be another ordinary day, I just returned from the airport an hour ago after dropping my parents off, it was a lovely week of fun spending time with my parents. And at that moment, nothing felt better than falling into a deep sleep, but the weather was too nice for me to nap the day away. The sun was warm enough, watery in the way it was just before the heat of the evening, but there was a slight chill on the breeze that would make you shiver for sure once you got out of the water wet, still it was perfect swimming weather.

Underneath my umbrella, I sat in my chair sipping from my glass of lemonade absently in one hand while my other hand held the latest copy of Jet magazine. This is how a summer day should always be. Refreshing. Cool. And with Andy Williams soothing voice as background noise, god, I almost wanted to dance and laugh and smile and sing all at the same time. For once, I was glad that none of the neighborhood children were begging to play in the pool.

Everything was perfect.

And then it happened.

I was enjoying the serene moment until a sudden rush of emotions gushed up to the forefront of my consciousness. Thrill, excitement, determination, annoyance, and curiosity they all flooded my senses. I could almost feel the tingling of my powers tickling me on my fingertips. But one stood out above all of them.

Guilt.

With the slightest of movement I flicked my fingers immobilizing four out of the five men in my backyard. "Now Hank," I called out, setting down my glass and magazine on a small table next to me. "When I invited you to stop by my house whenever you please, that invitation wasn't extended to a stranger, a wanted criminal, a drug abuser, and a..." I paused, loudly sniffing the air twice. "A dog," I finished, not bothering to turn around.

"I wouldn't have brought them along if this wasn't important," Hank explained. "We need your help Claudia," he added.

"You've go to be kidding me?" I breathed, as released my telekinetic hold. I swung my legs over the side of my lounge chair and slipped on the silk robe that was on back of it. "I let the maids take off one day and look what happens," I complained, rolling my eyes before lifting the needle of my recorder player.

I rose from my seat, sliding my shoes on and with a slow sauntering gait, I walked towards the group. I was thankful for the round, oversized sunglasses that I was wearing, for the dark brown frames hid how my eyes slightly widened at Charles' appearance. Charles looked...well he looked god awful, to be honest. He had always kept himself cleanly shaved, but now he had let his facial hair grow wildly on his face, even his shortly kept brown hair had grown out. And the dark bags under his eyes, it seemed like Charles hasn't a had good night's rest in years.

And Erik, for someone that's been imprisoned underneath The Pentagon he still managed to maintain his handsome, clean shaven, and chiseled face. You would think that the roles had been reversed, that Charles was the one who had been locked up and not Erik by their appearances. Numerous thoughts and feelings threatened to flood my mind, but I didn't allow it. Not yet. I just needed to focus on how to get them to leave.

"Wow, your lady friend is smokin' hot," the silver-haired boy stated, gawking at me in my v-cut one piece swimsuit which had the sides cutout.

I stopped in front of them with my hand on my hip, looking from the unknown man with sideburns to Charles and then Erik. Slowly, I used my free hand to remove my sunglasses from my face, my eyes narrowed.

"Charles," I greeted simply, as Hank shuffled slightly.

Charles stood in shock for a moment staring at me dumbly, probably just in as much shock from seeing me after all these years and how I changed. My long, black locks no longer fell down to my shoulders, but now floated above it in thick, tight curls of my afro. My chestnut brown skin was tanned from the warm summer sun, but still as radiant as ever.

"Y-You look well," Charles complimented smiling slightly, recovering from his lapse of silence, as he stared at me.

"You look like shit," I snorted, letting out a chuckle as I folded my sunglasses up and putting them into my pocket "The years haven't been kind to you have they?" I asked rhetorically, folding my arms together. "Tell me Charles, are you happier now that I'm gone?" I asked mockingly. "It sure doesn't seem like it," I added, really laying it on thick.

"Claudia, we are not here for this," 'Sideburns' grumbled.

I tuned my head slightly to the man, leveling him with a venomous look,"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" I questioned, arching a brow.

My eyes scanned over the man's appearance, he was a little more than six feet tall, and was probably in his early or mid thirties. He had to be military or ex-military because he was built like a soldier, his muscles seemed to be harder than a tree from the way his clothes clung to him. Dark brown sideburns came down his face which reached his cheeks along with a five o'clock shadow. Anger seemed to ooze out of this man's pores. I knew he could take care of his self in a fight if such an event were to ever occur.

"My name is Logan," he answered, his blue eyes burning like two hot coals as he stared into mine.

"Are you sure it's not Dog?" I asked, a wry grin appearing on my lips as I watched this man's jaw clench. "You know with the sideburns the similarities are...uncanny," I stated, shaking my head and focusing my attention to Hank who was next to me, and was about to open his mouth. "I could call the authorities you know?" I said, cutting Hank off. "Erik's bounty would fetch a substantial payout," I noted, tapping my index finger on my cheek, thinking.

"You seem to be getting on well enough as it is," Erik replied, flicking his chin out in regards to my home.

I raised my eyebrow, "So why settle for less?" I asked cheekily.

He scoffed in disbelief, "You would actually sell me out?" Erik asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm just doing my patriotic duty Erik," I answered, raising my hands up and shrugging.

"Claudia," Hank called softly, and I looked back over to him. "I know that you have every reason to be upset right now, but please hear us out," Hank pleaded.

"We need your help Claudia," Logan stated.

"Then go hire a maid," I retorted, waving him off.

Logan growled in frustration, "Do you know how much trouble we been through just to break Erik out of the Pentagon and now to get you?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

I slid my hands into my robe pockets, "Sounds like a personal problem," I replied, shrugging again. "I didn't force you to do any of this," I pointed out with a grin.

Logan's hand clenched itself in a tight fist, "Listen lady, I've had-" He gritted out.

"No, you listen!" I interrupted, stepping closer to him. "I don't know who the hell you think are to think that you can waltz into my backyard and start making demands of me," I sassed, looking Logan up and down. I stepped in front of Hank and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hank, under any other circumstance I would be happy to see you, or even help you. But due to the fact that there are some..." I trailed, looking back at Erik and Charles. "Undesirable individuals with you," I continued, focusing my attention back to Hank. "If I were to join this little party of yours it would never work. You see Hank, I live a very comfortable life now and I'm not giving it up for the likes of them," I finished, shaking my head.

"But it's not for them Claudia, it's for humanity itself. We're trying to save the world," Hank explained, giving me a pleading look.

"Hmmm," I hummed, a sardonic smile on my lips as I shook my head again. "Funny, they said the same thing in 1962," I remembered. "Truly Hank, it was nice to see you after all these years," I smiled, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before removing my hand and turning to face the men behind me. "But, it's time for you and your guests to leave. You have overstayed your welcome," I said, gesturing to the backyard gate. "Safe travels," I added, spinning on my heel and moving past Hank toward my backdoor.

"You're just going to let her go?" I heard Logan ask. "To hell with this," he grumbled.

"Logan don't-"

I went to take another step forward, but a calloused hand roughly grabbed my wrist, spinning me around and making our bodies bump into each other.

"We're not going anywhere until you fully hear us out!" Logan exclaimed, as I glared at him. "I'm not sure what it is about you that makes Charles and Erik so subdue, but I'm not them. I'm not afraid of you!" he announced, keeping his grip tight around my wrist.

Instinctively, my free hand bawled itself into a fist cloaked in a violet aura as a scowl made its way onto my face.

"Uhh...mister her hand is glowing," The silver-haired boy informed, as I swung a powerful blow to Logan's jaw, his body crumpling on the lawn.

"They're not scared, they just know better," I corrected, spreading my fingers out and the aura spread from my hand to encasing Logan's limbs. Forcefully, I planted my foot down onto Logan's chest, tilting my head as I looked down at him. "But you? Why in the world would you be? I'm nothing to be afraid of, as you can obviously tell. I'm far too small to be any threat to a big, strong man like you," I mocked, pressing my foot down even harder and Logan glared daggers at me.

"Claudia-" Charles began, but I just lifted one finger silencing him.

"Typically, I wouldn't be opposed to ripping your limbs off right now," I explained, stretching my fingers out slightly and Logan grunted at the modest tugs at his extremities. "But, I would hate to get this freshly mowed lawn all bloody. One of the neighborhood boys worked so hard on it," I commented. "Now, like I said before, it's time for you to go," I enunciated slowly, hoping that it would get through that thick skull of his.

I removed my foot from Logan's chest, shooting him one more glare before I walked to the backdoor. As I opened the backdoor to my home I released my hold on Logan's appendages.

"Wow Charles, you sure know how to pick them," Logan drawled sarcastically.

And with a wave of my hand I forcefully shut the door behind me.

Chapter Seven: A Woman Scorned

[mrsgiovanna]

Redemption (Don Giorno x Fem! reader)

For all intents and purposes this was meant to be sad and angsty, but my basic bish ass couldn't, so here we are ❤️💭🥺

I listened to this song while thinking this scenario up, it somehow just added gravity to my thoughts.

Word count: 2865

“Finally” you mused to yourself as you peeked outside from your apartment window. The sun was out in all its golden splendor after days and days of dreary, rainy grey skies. You could appreciate chilly, stormy weather but even you had a limit, and it was awfully cold and lonely when all you had hold on to was a spare pillow. No. No more wallowing, the sun was out and you’d be late for work if you didn’t get on the go. So you put on your prettiest little sundress and walked to your office, a day like this couldn’t be wasted.

Smiling into the sky, absorbing all the sunshine you could, you made a mental to-do list for your day. Life was slowly starting to look up for you, you landed a new job that you loved, you finally went back to studying towards your passion, and you finally started feeling like yourself again. The sparkle had returned to your eyes, and that gentle smile had found your face again. To everyone around you, you were positively radiant. Little did you know, that your glow was also being observed by someone you locked away carefully in the dark recesses of your past…

Giorno wasn’t intentionally watching you, he just happened to be sitting at the Café you both usually went to on your way back from your morning run. You always fussed that you wouldn’t lose any weight if you immediately ate the calories you exercised away, to which he always responded that you were perfect, earning a shy smile from you. A winsome expression occupied his handsome face as he recalled the memories of you… he had to remind himself that they were just memories though, and that chapter of his life had ended, rather softly, just over a year ago. However, the ripples of that awful conversation still remained with him, disturbing the still waters of his heart.

He looked at you until you disappeared around the corner, contemplating if it would be wise to go after you, ultimately deciding against it. If fate would afford him another opportunity to see you, then he would act on that, knowing full well that you were well within your rights to never want to see him again… but so much has changed since then, if you could just give him another chance, he would prove that he’s become the man you deserve.

“Giogio, sorry I’m late, oh I thought Mista would be here already… why are we here anyway?” asked Fugo as he rushed in in a huff.

“Oh good morning, Fugo, Mista is otherwise engaged, he won’t be joining us. There’s no particular reason, its just a beautiful day, I thought a change of scenery would be nice, the coffee is delicious here as well,”

“And you just might run into her again…” interrupted Fugo, “it’s been, what? A year now? Don’t you feel it’s time to move on? I’m sure she’s moved on by now as well,”

“She hasn’t, I know she hasn’t just yet I’m sure of it. Look, I’ve tried, it’s not going to be fair to anyone involved if I just go off with a random person again, I’ll always be looking for her, it’s not fair to them or myself,” replied Giorno, his tone being slightly harsher than he intended.

Fugo grimaced at the bite in Giorno’s voice, “I’m just looking out for you,”

“I know, I’m sorry, I saw her this morning, she looked well. I’ve decided I’m not going to pursue anyone else now, I want her back, so that’s what I’m going to do. Anyway, I just wanted to touch bases since I haven’t seen anyone since flying back. Everything is still under control I presume?” asked Giorno, wanting to change the subject.

“Just think about this carefully Giorno, it’s your decision at the end of day. Well, everything is fine here, everyone is behaving as they should. Your hard work over the years is paying off now,”

“Good, if we can maintain this, then it would have all been worth it, we’ve sacrificed so much to get this far,” there was an edge to Giorno’s voice, a sliver of the resolve he displayed years ago when he was still a soldato, peeking through. There was very little, if anything at all, that Giorno couldn’t get if he set his mind to it.

Your work day was going well, you were busy from the time you set foot in the office, so you were thankful to step out of the office for an hour when your lunch break rolled around. Deciding you weren’t really hungry, you just ordered your favorite mocha frappe and decided to use the time to catch up on your reading for class.

It was still sunny and warm outside, so you decided to sit at a park bench and take advantage of the lovely atmosphere. You took in your surroundings for a few minutes before whipping out your tablet and finding the journal articles you wanted to go over.

Giorno had just ended off his last appointment and was being driven home when he saw you sitting on the bench, quietly drinking your frappe, absorbed by whatever it was you were reading. Asking the driver to pull over, he took a few moments to gaze at you, you were just so beautiful, even more so now. It was his moment, taking a deep breath and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in his clothes, he made his way towards you, summoning up his confidence with each step he took.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, would you….” You had to look twice to make sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

“Are you well, cara? It’s been so long,” Giorno cringed at his choice of words but there was no going back now.

“Giorno… hi… wait, what are you doing here?” There was so much more you wanted to ask him, but those were the only words you managed to string together.

“I was on my way home when I saw you here, I just wanted to say hello. It’s been an eternity since I’ve seen you. It’s entirely up to you if you want to talk, or if you want me to leave now, I can, I just couldn’t ignore you after seeing you,” Giorno explained, thinking about how awkward he sounded. He played this moment out in his mind a thousand times, never once imagining that he would come off sounding so inept.

The nervous giggle you spoke through as you answered him further eroded away at his makeshift confidence. Who was he trying to fool, he thought to himself. He still adored you, clearly you still held all the power in this situation, but you were too virtuous to realise it.

That was one of your best traits, but also your worst, you were an idealist, often becoming disenchanted when things didn’t work out the way you planned. Giorno on the other hand was a realist, yes, he had many dreams, but he held no illusions about how to reach them or the sacrifices that would ultimately need to be made. This difference in world views resulted in many an argument, until finally you decided that you couldn’t keep fighting with this man, who only seemed to drift further and further away from you despite how much you loved him. To him you came off as arrogant and ungrateful, unwilling to see how certain decisions, however impossible, had to be made and it filled him with misery to do so, and to you, he came off as cold and unforgiving, willing to cast away precious bits of his humanity, and for what? He never explained anything to you.

Feeling uncomfortable with the silence after you spoke, Giorno tried to keep the conversation going.

“Your hair, you’ve let it grow out, it’s beautiful…” he said gazing dreamily at you.

“Oh, yeah, it’s due mostly to laziness, but it worked, so I just went with it, but thank you, you look very good too, life’s been treating you well,” you said with a bright smile. In your heart of hearts you knew a part of you would always love Giorno and would want him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. You were trying not to stare at him too much, but it was incredibly difficult not to, with his long golden curls and chiseled, handsome face that smiled so softly, you really couldn’t look away for very long.

“I’d really like to continue this catch up, I can tell you have somewhere else to be though… would you like to meet me for dinner tonight? Nothing fancy, just a couple of friends catching up,” he asked earnestly, his eyes searching your face for any hint of what might be going on in your mind.

Your heart fluttered against your will, you wanted to decline his offer but against your better judgment you agreed. It was just one dinner, a catchup between friends, could you even call each other that though? No matter, numbers had been exchanged and you had to dash back to your office to carry on with your work. No sooner had you sat down at your desk, did Giorno text you the time and place to meet him.

The rest of your day flew by, although you wished it would have dragged, and before you knew it, it was time for you to go home and freshen up before meeting Giorno. Staring at your reflection in what must have been your fourth outfit change, you scolded yourself for over thinking everything. You hurriedly retouched your hair and makeup and left for the restaurant, knowing you were running a bit late. Walking up the stairs to reach the entrance brought back a rush of memories with each step you took. Recollections of fun dates, precious friends and balmy nights like this bombarded your senses, almost as if you were transported to that very time. You walked in and saw the place empty, except for a table near the balcony. Some things never changed you mused… although you couldn’t blame this on Giorno’s tendency to go over the top this time, booking out entire establishments was less about asserting his clout or showing off, but more about protecting himself from potential threats.

The clicking of your heels on the expensive tiles caught Giorno’s attention, and his senses feasted on the way you were illuminated by the muted lighting, the soft lilt of your voice as you greeted him with a smile and the pretty floral scent you wore- his favorite scent on you.

Giorno stood up to greet you, pulling out your chair for you with all the grace of a nobleman. You noticed he was a lot more relaxed, even abandoning his open chested suits for more casual attire, and wearing his hair completely unbound. He politely waited for you to adjust yourself in your seat before taking his own again. His manners were always impeccable, you thought, even when he fought with you, he was never disrespectful, choosing rather to rely on other means to get his point across.

“Thanks once again for joining me cara, I appreciate you sacrificing your time for me, I hope you don’t mind, I’ve already picked out the wine and appetizers for us. Forgive me but I’m starving,”

“It’s okay, I should be the one to apologize, I arrived late, I’m sorry,” you offer with a sheepish smile.

“It’s alright Bella, it’s a small price to pay for such lovely company,”

Giorno’s words caught you off guard, roping you in with the silken threads of his voice.

“Giorno, what’s going on? Out of nowhere we find ourselves here, in this romantic setting, behaving like a couple. Earlier on you said we’re meeting as friends, although I doubt you dole out such complements to Fugo and Mista,”

“I could, you don’t know that…”

You burst out laughing, perhaps a bit too loudly, at his remark, which earned a soft chuckle from him as well.

“I’m sorry, I guess the mafia has really changed you.”

“Well maybe, but also not that much. In quiet, private moments like these, I’ll always be Gio, your Gio. Well I’m lying there, I guess when I’m with you, I’m just Haruno. You’re the only one who knows me, the real me… I miss this, I miss us,” mumbled Giorno as he spoke in the middle of a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Something about how sad his voice sounded combined with that chaste kiss, picked open a wound you didn’t even know you had, sending to the surface everything you buried deep within your soul, for fear of hurting this man whom you loved so deeply.

“You have no right to look that way, to so unashamedly say these things without thinking about what those words and actions do to me. For years all I’ve ever been doing is running after you, staring at your back, wondering if you’ll ever turn around and truly see me for who I am. When we were in school you just disappeared one day and returned as… this mafia boss. Still, I accepted everything and wanted to build your dream alongside you but again, you never allowed me to stand beside you, and I overlooked that, and so many other things to try and make you happy. And now, after a year, you waltz back into my life as if you were just on vacation. Don’t think I don’t know about the numerous escapades you’ve had, I’m not upset though, you’re a free man, and I’m the one who ended things after all… its just… I don’t even know what I’m doing here, this was a mistake, please excuse me” You stood up to leave when Giorno blocked your way, gripping your wrist tightly enough to restrain you, but not enough to hurt you.

“Please… I’d like for us to talk, there’s so much I need to say. I know I’m being selfish, but please, humor me one last time. If by the end of this evening you want me to leave and never cross your path again, I’ll abide by those wishes” implored Giorno.

Reluctantly, you retake your seat, noticing that even the staff had become invisible.

You looked at the man sitting opposite you , encouraging him to speak.

“Cara, I… I’ve done some questionable things. Many of which I’m not proud of at all. I’ve hurt people, I’ve tried to manipulate you into coming back to me, all of which backfired ending up in me hurting myself and the people around me. But you just kept thriving, I couldn’t stand it. I still can’t stand it. The ugly truth is that you don’t need me, but I need you… you’re my one constant. Make no mistake, amore, you don’t have to do anything to make me happy, you just do, and for that reason I didn’t want to involve you in anything that posed a danger to you. I know it’s not ideal , but I don’t know how else to be,”

Silence cloaked the room after Giorno spoke, you searched his face for the slightest hint that he could be lying, but found none. Unable to hold your gaze any longer, he looked away dejectedly. It’s been years since you’ve seen him expose so much of himself, and it hurt you to know he was still silently fighting his personal battles.

“Thank you Gio, that couldn’t have been easy to say, so I appreciate your candor. You know a large part of me will always love you,”

“but” he interjected, sadness dripping from his voice.

“but getting over you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I can’t do that again,”

Taking a lock of your hair in his hand, enjoying the intimacy of the act, he replies “what if you didn’t have to do that again? I’m determined to make this work. If you give us another chance, I’ll do things differently. You’ll come to realize that I’ve changed,”

You were scared of going down that path again, but, there was something different in his demeanor this time, something you felt you could trust, so you went with your gut instinct and wordlessly decided you’d give this one last chance, gently grasping the hand that Giorno held your hair with.

“We’ll take things slow bella, from the beginning, I want you to get to know me as I am right now,”

“I’d like that Gio,” you say with a kind smile.

The rest of the long evening was spent wining and dining and engaging in silly conversations about a multitude of things. When it came time for you both to go home, Giorno insisted on taking you home and making sure you were safely inside your apartment before heading home himself. You were hopeful for what the future might hold. That night you fell asleep with a smile after reading the sweet goodnight message from Giorno, thinking that finally the sun came out to shine on you again.

[mainviper]

I’ve read your yoru x Phoenix headcanons and they’re great UwU can I get maybe a one shot of them? Of any situation thxxxxx

Sorry for being late anon, but here it is! I hope you like it!

Yoru x Phoenix - Midnight Pretenders

°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Yoru was cold. After years frozen, his body intensely sought the heat, the sun, the fire ... Maybe that's why being close to Phoenix was so good. Not that he thought of his colleague in any other way than Platonic, of course.

He repeated to himself that the presence of the other duelist warmed him only by his powers, his radiant incendiary part, his fire and nothing else.

But the longer the two got together, the desire arose in the samurai. He would never admit it in front of others, he didn’t intend to declare himself, he didn’t want these feelings to continue. He had a mission, that didn’t involve Phoenix's gaze, nor his comfortable arms, nor his scent that resembled a sunny morning. Distractions wouldn’t be allowed, finding his people was his focus and then, well, then he could THINK about what he would do.

But the colleague's room was next to his. And one night a scream echoed from the other duelist's room, taking his focus off, messing with his mind, worrying him. He didn't think twice, didn't want to use the door and just launched his teleport from the balcony and quickly reached the side of Phoenix's bed.

Another scream. But this time because he was surprised by his friend, not by the nightmare he just had. The Brit rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, waiting for the questions or a sarcastic comment from the Japanese.

That didn’t happen.

He just sat down, also calming down and waiting for the other to speak and tell the story behind his nightmare. Because Yoru knew, he also heard things from his past, understood that almost all radiant people suffered from this confusion and lack of control at certain times. The things that he saw, that he dreamed and felt, only God knows the panic that ran in his veins every time the memories of when he woke up came back.

- I-I was there, at school again.

The voice was quiet, Yoru came closer to him and tapped the colleague on the shoulder, encouraging him to continue.

- And it was horrible, my friends burned to death and I couldn't stop and everything was on fire and ... and ... I was blind.

It wasn’t possible to explain the lack of control they felt, only suffering to know. Yoru dreamed of his ancestors and had fits of fury, seeing them being knocked down one by one while he was trapped without being able to shout, unable to help or seek help. His battle brothers falling down beside him, his companions fighting bravely and dying.

- I know how it is, take a deep breath and try to calm down.

Going out was the best option. Before it got too personal, before he got any closer to Phoenix and did something he would deny until death the next morning, it was better to put aside any interaction with him and not give any kind of emotional openness to the other duelist.

Maybe he would have done that, if Phoenix hadn't held his hand.

- Please stay.

He stayed.

- You don't have to say anything.

He didn’t.

- I don't wanna be alone.

Perhaps just a little longer, he would sit on the bed and wait for time to pass until his colleague fell asleep again. And watched the Brit, waited for some sign of fear or resistance in his sleep, but nothing happened.

He was handsome when he slept. - Yoru thought.

This room was cozy, in warm tones that made everything look more comfortable than the blue of his room. There were things out of place, things written on a desk and the famous jacket was propped up on the chair. Pictures decorated the shelves, some with strangers, others with agents. One however caught his attention, was facing the bed and in it, him, in his first training session with Phoenix, the later smiling beside and congratulating him.

The day they met. The day that Yoru felt the sun in a long time, his face seemed distant but he knew that his self in the photo was very happy with the result. That would be a good memory when all  was over, the moments with new friends and especially the moments with him.

- You can have it.

A quick expression of astonishment followed by shame passed over the japanese face. He denied it, but the friend insisted.

- I have another one, in my drawer.

This time his expression was one of questioning.

- In case it ends up burning ... You never know ...

- W-Why?

Phoenix had no intention to answer . Maybe he didn't want to be that vulnerable, but as the other had appeared in the middle of the night in his room and the chances of a genuine moment between them happening again were low, he looked deeply into the confused eyes and said:

- I don't know why, but I care a lot about you.

For a moment he almost regretted saying it.

- Just "care"? Nothing else ?

Something rose up inside the samurai's chest, a genuine happiness that answered his questions. So he wasn't the only interested, so Phoenix wanted him too ... How curious.

And the Brit swallowed hard as he watched Yoru come slowly towards him. He felt like a prey about to be devoured, but in his mind he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. Phoenix was also anxiously waiting for any sign of interest from the other duelist, he could barely contain himself when he sat very close to his body and leaned over.

- I-I want you.

Yoru smiled, their faces only millimeters apart. Phoenix closed his eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but the other duelist disappeared into the air. Leaving the room more empty and the photo shelf too.

The first duelist got up and went to wash his face, completely frustrated. Thinking how much he would be ridiculed the next morning, how Yoru would never let it go and mock his feelings.

The water was cold, soothed him, but when he reached for the towel he felt a hand hold him and turn him over. He couldn't even open his eyes to protest before the longed-for lips touched his, he would know anywhere in the world who they belonged to. The water was running down his face but his calm had faded, his heat was rising, his body was on fire and Yoru continued, pressing him against the wall, searching for him, dropping kisses down to his neck and coming back.

And the samurai had a mission, which involved Phoenix, his comfortable arms, his smell that feel like a sunny morning. He would win, torturing the other slowly so that he would pay for distracting him.

When they finally stopped to breathe and the Brit finally opened his eyes, the other duelist was gone again. Leaving only the desire and the doubt that it had been real.

The next morning the photo was no longer on the shelf and Yoru wore gloves that hid the burns on his fingers.

[missfangirll]

Ad astra per aspera

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Fandom: Guardian Relationship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, Da Qing/Ye Zun Tags: Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-it, Getting Together Words: 3001 Summary: The revelations keep coming. 

Read on AO3

- - -

Da Qing heaved a long-suffering sigh as he bent to pick up his crumpled t-shirt from the floor, throwing a glance at Ye Zun from the corner of his eye. The other was busy sorting the laundry into three large piles and Da Qing couldn’t quite suppress an eye-roll at the sight. Ye Zun had, naturally, never used a washing machine before he moved in, but had spent hours reading the manuals online - because Da Qing didn’t have them anymore, who keeps stuff like this anyway, Ye Zun? - and was now very confident about the correct way to use it, which included the perfect amount of detergent and the fact that certain colours weren’t allowed in the same wash. Da Qing had barely managed to bite back a comment on how that was exactly how his brother dealt with things he didn’t understand, but secretly he was a tiny bit impressed how fast Ye Zun adapted. Still, his obsession with cleaning was… something. 

Sighing, he threw the t-shirt onto one of the piles, making Ye Zun startle, then furrow his brow. Indignantly, he grabbed the offending item with two fingers and placed it onto another pile, all the while staring at the cat. Grinning, Da Qing stuck out his tongue, sauntering off to the kitchen to make tea.

Living with Ye Zun had proven to be… interesting, to say the least. Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing were kindred spirits in many things, so naturally they agreed on their take on cleaning, too. Which meant that, before Shen Wei’s merciless cleaning sprees, they had been very happy in their own mess, but now he discovered Ye Zun had more in common with his brother than he admitted. He had Shen Wei’s penchant for a spotless environment, liked the apartment to be neat and tidy, but combined this with an obsessive streak his brother didn’t have (or didn’t show, at least). Ye Zun had a manic aura around him in almost everything he did, and Da Qing teased him relentlessly for it, even though he was secretly glad to have someone clean the fridge and throw out spoiled food when he forgot to do it again. 

Additionally, he was a surprisingly good cook, moving about the small apartment kitchen with a graceful ease that always reminded Da Qing of his deadly precision on a battlefield. He couldn’t for the life of him operate a microwave or an electric rice cooker, but showed astounding intuition when it came to actual cooking. (Da Qing had tried to wheedle out of him where he had learned it, but he had stayed stubbornly silent and ignored the cat until he gave up.)

Grinning to himself, Da Qing turned on the kettle, then portioned the tea into the pot, when he felt someone flick the back of his head hard. Startled, he whirled around to complain when he saw the other’s eyes. Sparkling with mischief, they looked even more radiant than usual, and suddenly he had to swallow. Ye Zun smirked, then forced his face into a stern frown, glaring at the cat. His eyes still sparkling, he raised the hand he had been holding behind his back, shoving the object in it into Da Qing’s face. Spluttering, he took a step back, only to see the dirty sock fall down between them. Ye Zun cackled. “That’s for leaving them everywhere,” he said with a wide grin, then turned around to leave for his laundry pile. Da Qing pounced. When he hit the other’s back and threw his arms around his shoulders, Ye Zun stumbled, his arms flailing. After two staggering steps, they both toppled headfirst into the laundry, their fall somewhat cushioned by the clothes. 

Laughing, Da Qing pressed his whole weight to the other’s back, trying to immobilise his arms as well, while Ye Zun sputtered indignantly and tried to shake him off. They rolled down from the pile, and even though Ye Zun had lost his dark energy, he still was agile and strong, and thus managed to pin the cat effectively under him, grinning down with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. 

Before he could say anything, however, they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Startled, they looked at each other, then at the door, then hastily scrambled away from each other to get to their feet and to the door. Upon opening it, a middle-aged woman glared at them, and before they could even manage a greeting, started yelling. “I don’t know what exactly you are doing,” she spat, the emphasis on the last word making it sound suggestive, “but you have to stop doing it on the floor.” She looked knowingly at their dishevelled state and huffed, but before she could continue, Ye Zun interrupted her. “We are not,” he had to clear his throat, “not what you… seem to think.” Sensing that he started to flounder, Da Qing chimed in. “We are roommates,” he clarified, “and we just moved in, so we apologise for disturbing you. It won’t happen again.” He bowed slightly, nudging Ye Zun to do the same. Straightening up again, Da Qing noticed that the woman’s gaze had changed somewhat. “Roommates,” she said slowly and gave Ye Zun a strange look, who nodded hastily, glancing at Da Qing. Before either of them could add anything, the woman nodded to herself, then bowed quickly and left. Da Qing turned to look at Ye Zun, who looked equally confused. Shrugging, he took a step back and closed the door.

Da Qing had almost forgotten the whole incident, until two days later he stepped out of the apartment and stumbled over something in front of the door, barely able to prevent a fall. Cursing loudly, he turned to look at what had caused his almost-accident, when he stilled. On the doormat, there was a huge pile of neatly wrapped gifts in different sizes, some flowers, stuffed teddy bears and chocolates, all of it in various shades of pink. On closer look, he noticed a name tag on one of the larger presents: To the pretty cat-owner with the silver hair. He snorted, first indignantly at the thought of Ye Zun as his owner, then with the mental image of his roommate’s middle-aged fanclub. Giggling, he scooped up the presents and stepped back into the apartment where he dumped them unceremoniously over an unsuspecting Ye Zun who sat on the couch. “What the…?”, he began, but Da Qing just snorted, “From your fanclub,” and turned around to leave for the SID.

After this, they kept finding little gifts and trinkets on their doorstep on a weekly basis, never signed, but always addressed to Ye Zun in various degrees of admiration. Ye Zun never acknowledged them, just took the chocolate to the SID and threw the rest away without a second glance, but after the third week Da Qing began to feel irked. He stubbornly avoided thinking about that fact (and what it meant) and kept teasing Ye Zun with his fanclub, but somehow he felt more uneasy the more gifts they found. 

He didn’t want to investigate these feelings further, he decided when he found yet another teddy bear on the threshold, but couldn’t bring himself to tease Ye Zun when he silently handed him the gift. However, Ye Zun didn’t even look at it, but kept his eyes on Da Qing, slightly raising one of his dark eyebrows. “What?” he asked, but the cat just shrugged. Then he added, “Why don’t you keep them?” Ye Zun’s eyebrow climbed even higher. “Why would I?” he asked, sounding incredulous, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I don’t know,” Da Qing tried to explain, “they are gifts from someone who obviously wants to meet you. And it’s probably the neighbor’s daughters who keep sending them, not their mother, so why….” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Why don’t I want to meet someone who apparently has no boundaries and likes me because of my looks?” He blinked at Da Qing, who just shrugged again. “Are you serious? I don’t even like them. I probably would keep the gifts if they came from someone I like, I don’t know, you or my brother, but not these creepy women.” He shook his head and got up to discard the teddy bear, not noticing Da Qing’s frozen face. The cat just stared after him open-mouthed. 

Someone I like.

Someone like you.

Oh. - - - - - - - -

Thinking back on his previous life in the Rebel camp, Ye Zun found that he’d had some vastly different ideas about living with other people. For once, he had never lived with someone he trusted, except from his brother of course, and found that it improved his life significantly. 

Da Qing was, objectively, a lousy roommate: He was undeniably messy, loud, and demanding, also left his dirty laundry everywhere and couldn’t be bothered to clean after himself, at least not without Ye Zun nagging him about it. 

Objectively, it should have been a nightmare. It was anything but. 

Yes, they had regular fights about dishes and laundry, some of them ending with Ye Zun shouting and throwing things at Da Qing (which had made one neighbor so angry that she had to be bribed with some home-made cupcakes, which in turn just added to Ye Zun’s gift pile the next morning), but he secretly enjoyed their banter. Da Qing gave as good as he got, but he never aimed to hurt, keeping the teasing light and in turn, Ye Zun kept nagging about the state of the apartment and nothing else. 

They had reached a mutual understanding of things the other didn’t want to talk about, and kept to these boundaries. Da Qing never mentioned Ye Zun’s powers, while the other avoided the fact that Da Qing sometimes felt abandoned by his master, even though he only admitted to this while drunk. They trusted each other, entrusted each other with their weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and even though he wanted to strangle the cat twice a day, he felt himself get closer, open up to him. It was exciting and frightening at the same time, to let another so close, but he felt safe with Da Qing, safer than he had ever before in his life.      

Their truce held until one night of drinking.

It had started rather unremarkable, with Da Qing immersed in the game on the screen and Ye Zun playing on his phone, but then Ye Zun had made a snide comment on Da Qing‘s favored team, which had made the cat first bristle and then declare that when his team lost, he would never drink anything again, but in case of a win Ye Zun had to play a drinking game with him. Ye Zun had known this was a bad idea, but the score was 0:3 and so he had agreed to this proposal. They had won 4:3, of course, and Da Qing had been very smug about this as he handed Ye Zun a glass with a dubious mixed drink.

Some refills and embarrassing stories later Ye Zun felt pleasantly fuzzy and ready for bed, but Da Qing was really out of it. He had been a few glasses ahead when they started and now looked worse for wear. With a slight smile, he tucked the grumbling cat in on the couch and went for the bathroom. He couldn't be bothered to look for his pyjamas, and returned to the bed in just a t-shirt and briefs.

He staggered to a halt in front of the bed, his fuzzy brain too slow to process the sight.

Normally, Da Qing slept in cat form on whatever surface he deemed worthy of his furry butt, and they even had shared the bed before, but Da Qing had never been in human form for it. Now, however, the cat wasn't a cat, and lay sprawled on the bed, face down, arms and legs spread, still almost fully clothed.

Ye Zun‘s treacherous heart skipped a beat. Stomping down on the strange feeling that had begun spreading in his stomach, he contemplated his options. The couch was not that comfortable: Since Zhao Yunlan had moved his giant leather monster to the new house, he and Da Qing had bought a new one, which was great to spend a relaxing evening, but not wide enough to sleep comfortably on. So, the bed… He looked at the other, taking in the almost unnervingly still form. Da Qing had somehow lost his shoes, but still wore his pants and a t-shirt, his hair in a messy halo on the pillow. He had his head slightly turned, so Ye Zun could see his dark lashes fanning his cheek, his mouth slack with sleep. He swallowed hard, looking back to the sofa. If he slept on it, he’d most likely wake up with a sore neck, not to mention his back would kill him in the morning. Plus, they had shared the bed in the past, he tried to convince himself. No big deal.

Exhaling with a deep sigh, he bent down. “Move over,” he muttered, and as Da Qing didn't move, he shoved at his shoulders to get the covers from under him. Draping it over the cat, he crept in as well, facing the room.

He felt Da Qing’s warm breath on his neck, followed the soothing rhythm and was almost asleep himself, when the cat stirred. In a clumsy motion, he put an arm over Ye Zun’s waist and drew him closer, nestling his face in the other’s neck. Wide awake, Ye Zun didn't dare to breathe. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest, he felt the heat spread from his neck over his whole body, but at the same time his stomach tightened in… in what, panic, shock, distaste? He didn't know, but it made it hard to think straight. Frozen he lay there, unable to breathe or move, his whole body thrumming in sync with his heartbeat, every point of contact burning his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but at some point he had, because he woke to someone poking his shoulder. Blinking slowly, he took in the sight before him, his brain not fully operative. They had gravitated towards each other in the night, it seemed, because he now had Da Qing’s hand in his, clutching it to his chest, while their noses almost touched. As realisation sunk in, he recoiled with a start, letting go of the other’s hand as if he had burned himself, eyes wide in panic. Da Qing just grinned at him. “Good morning,” he said, showing his teeth in a wide yawn. Without a response, Ye Zun scrambled out of bed and fled to the bathroom, his heart pounding in his ears.

A knock on the door startled him. He had been staring unseeing at his image in the mirror, when he heard a soft question from outside. “Are you alright?” He inhaled shakily. Not trusting his voice, he just hummed, hoping the other would take it as confirmation and leave. But of course, his obnoxious roommate wouldn’t budge. 

“I made you coffee,” he heard, no trace of the teasing tone he had come to expect. Da Qing sounded soft, gentle, almost unsure, and somehow that made his stomach tighten even more.

Closing his eyes, he turned on the faucet to splash his face with cold water, hoping that would help clear his head and maybe also make the cat leave. Unfortunately, neither of these happened, and with a sigh, he turned to open the door.

Da Qing stood in front of it, two mugs in hand, wordlessly offering one to him. Careful not to touch the other’s fingers, he took it and made his way to the couch, not able to hold his gaze. Hesitating for a second, Da Qing turned and made his way over to the couch as well, sitting on the other end. Ye Zun felt his eyes on him when he asked again, “Are you alright?”, but couldn’t meet his gaze, stubbornly staring into his mug. “Hm,” he replied vaguely, trying to find something to say that would make the situation less awkward.

Da Qing sighed. “Are we going to talk about it?” Ye Zun blinked at him. “Talk?”, he managed to press out. The other sighed again. “Look,” he began, and Ye Zun’s heart stuttered and came to a stop. “I don’t know what you think this means,” Da Qing continued, motioning to the bed, “but as far as I’m concerned, it can mean anything, or nothing at all.” He fixed Ye Zun with a look the other couldn’t quite place. There was hope in it, but also defiance, stubbornness, and vulnerability. Ye Zun swallowed. “What.. What does what mean?”, he managed eventually, sounding hoarse. Da Qing closed his eyes in frustration, then bit out, “What do you want, Ye Zun?” Averting his eyes, he couldn’t find an answer to this. Sleeping next to the cat had been equal parts exhilarating and terrifying, he had felt held and confined at the same time, the other’s embrace suffocating, but also safe, his touch burning, but also soothing. It had been the best and worst experience of his life, and he still could feel the other’s touch, his warm breath, and he wanted. But at the same time, he was so afraid of it, of the burning closeness of another’s soul. He didn’t know how to voice any of this, if he even wanted to, and so stayed silent. Da Qing let out a low groan, then forcefully placed the mug on the coffee table. “Okay,” he said with finality, “then it means nothing.” With a look at Ye Zun, who had slumped into the couch, he stood up, changing into cat form, and leaped out of the open window. Ye Zun drew in a shaky breath, his eyes burning, his stomach in a tight knot.

Previous Chapter - - - - - -

Some notes: Maybe you noticed, but I changed the chapter titles. It was supposed to be six chapters, corresponding to the phases of grief: shock, anger, guilt, grief, and hope, chapter 6 being love.. I thought that made sense, since the title is "Through hardship to the stars", so he would have to overcome hardships. But Ye Zun decided he was done grieving in the second chapter and wanted to enjoy life 😁 (Or I discovered I write better fluff than angst, ehem 😁), so the whole thing changed its course a bit... I still keep the general plot idea (did someone mention the Regent?), but it's going to be lighter and happier, I suppose... (Can't promise anything tho, Ye Zun is a moody bitch 😁😁) Until I can come up with some good names, the chapters won't have individual titles. If you want to suggest some, feel free 😁😁

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For (11/?)

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8 / ch 9 / ch 10 [Chapter 11/?] 

As fast as her smile faded, Emma’s mask slips back on and she answers for him, “Mr. Jones was unaware of this development and will not be answering any further questions.

She turns away from the reporters, each of them arguing with her decision, but Killian knows better than to question her right now. He gives them all a wink to stay “in character” and turns to follow Emma– scratch that, chase after Emma. She’s practically at a dead sprint, and he’s trying to keep up with her while simultaneously calling them a car. It’s not until she’s out of the stadium that she finally stops, taking a deep breath of fresh air and pacing. He reaches out towards her, words of worry on his tongue when she turns towards him. He drops his hand to his side. “Not here. I will explain, but not here.” He nods, unsure of how else to help excluding pulling her into his arms which he’s not entirely sure would help the situation at all. Luckily the car arrives quickly and they’re on the road without further incident.

Emma doesn’t speak for the entire ride back to the hotel.  

Or for the next forty-five minutes as they nurse seperate tumblers of rum at the dimly lit hotel bar.

Killian is desperately curious as to just who this Neal fellow is, but resists the urge to privately google him. Emma deserves to tell him why she reacted that way— who Neal is to her— if that’s what she wishes. He absent-mindedly watches the recap of the fights on SportsCenter as Emma practically chews a hole through her bottom lip pausing only to take a sip from her glass. He can’t help but stare, even visibly perplexed in horrible lighting Emma is the most radiant woman he’s ever seen. She catches him looking and meets his eye before he can shy away. Emma sighs, finishing the rest of her rum and signaling for another, before turning to Killian, “I suppose I should start at the beginning…”

He can tell she’s nervous and attempts to lighten the mood, “Aye, lass, that’s usually where all tales begin.” He winks and she cracks a small smile disrupted only by a larger sigh than the first.

“I was 18, just started training at the UFC gym on a scholarship for athletics I received in high school. It was technically supposed to go towards college but that wasn’t really my thing. It didn’t take very long for me to realize I was good… really good. Gold wanted me on Contender Series almost immediately and my career jump started before I could say ‘Ultimate Fighting’. Well, the higher ups weren’t the only ones who noticed.” Emma pauses. Killian wants to ask so many questions, but is nervous to break the very thin thread of trust they’re walking right now. He nods slightly so she knows he’s listening and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“He was older and already established in the league. He– he took me under his wing and showed me the ropes– media, fight nights, training, all that. Neal was my best friend…” She hesitates again and Killian uses every ounce of willpower not to grab her hand. “...and then he was more than that. We were always so careful but he had just won a huge fight and even got the Fight of the Night bonus. A little drunk– and not just on adrenaline– shit happens.” Emma hangs her head in her hands and Killian starts to put two and two together.

“Henry…” It comes out in a whisper, and entirely by accident. Emma’s eyes meet his and he expects anger but he just sees relief– he understands.

“Nothing gets past you.” She says it half joking and through the sting of rum, but he knows this is further in her story than she would usually dare to  go. “Found out I was pregnant with his kid as his career was gaining momentum and that was that. I also found out he’d been betting on my fights based off what I told him in training and winning a shitload of money. So for whichever reason— maybe a combination of both— he left, blocked my number, and I was left with a positive pregnancy test and an empty apartment. It sucked, but it wasn’t long before I decided I was better without him. I left the sport and the minute I looked into Henry’s eyes, I knew I’d never be back in that ring.”

Killian has never wanted to knock someone out more. He can feel his fist clenching and tries to stop his jaw from tightening. Killian tries to tell himself that it’s not his place to be angry over something that happened to Emma– his heart doesn’t seem to care. “You didn’t deserve that, Swan.”

Emma nods. “I know that– now. I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Pardon my forwardness, love, but if your reaction back there is any indication I’d say that’s not true.” She goes to argue and he raises his hand to continue, “Not that I would blame you. I like a right crack at the bloke…”

Emma bursts out laughing, interrupting him. “Well, it appears you’re going to get your chance, Jones. And I am over it, just… wasn’t expecting the question– or you to be fighting him.”

Killian must give a questioning look because she sighs once more, “He’s been out of the league for awhile, working behind the scenes with his dad I’d imagine…”

“I’m sorry, love, his dad?”

“Gold.” The hair on the back of his neck stands up, realizing how deep Neal Cassidy’s blood runs in the league– clearly the reason he ran.

“Ah. Well, Swan, I promise to give him hell in that octagon.” Killian tries to make a joke but Emma is clearly still weighed down by something.

“Henry doesn’t know.”

There it is.

“He knows his dad is somehow connected to all this but he doesn’t know it’s Neal.”

“Why haven’t you told him?” Killian asks the question before he can second guess himself.

“I signed a NDA when Henry was born. Neal gave up his rights and I gave up child support and the right to tell Henry who his real father was. Once he turns 18, Henry can do whatever he wants, but I can’t— and don’t want to— tell him.”

“I would very much like to meet this Neal outside of the octagon.” She doesn’t need him to protect her, but he’ll gladly kick the arse of a man as despicable as that.

“You and me both.” She ends the conversation with that statement. Ordering one more round for the two of them and turning towards the TV. Killian doesn’t pry; grateful for her trust. They chat about nothing, but Killian doesn’t miss the slight touches of her hand or the way her smile finally reaches her eyes. He can’t be sure, but it’s almost as if sharing her story took some of the weight off her shoulders; her past easier to carry on four shoulders rather than two.

Killian is more than happy to share the burden.

. . .

Emma feels lighter, maybe even happier. She never intended on sharing her story with Killian but now that it’s out in the open she feels like the wall she was so certain would remain between the two of them has crumbled. She finds herself longing for small touches and even stealing small flirtatious glances. She’d have to be an idiot not to notice that Killian was sending them right back at her.

This is uncharted territory.

As they walk back to the hotel room, both slightly tipsy, the energy is reminiscent of the night they shared their first kiss– it scares her that she doesn’t seem to mind. When Killian unlocks the door, holding it open to follow her inside, the brush of his fingers on her back feel like lightning— a quick glance over her shoulder tells her he feels it too. Killian promptly excuses himself to the bathroom and Emma uses the brief moment to try and shake it out.

She’s not sure why she thought that would work.

Killian smiles as he leaves the bathroom, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and handing one to her. If her fingers linger longer than they should have, but so do Killian’s. They sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and Emma reaches for the remote to fill the silence that is becoming uncomfortable in its safety.

She catches her breath when Killian speaks up. “For what it’s worth, Emma, I would nev–”

“I know.” It comes out without hesitation or thought. She meets his eyes briefly before inadvertently– yet not regrettably– glancing towards his lips.

She’s shocked to find she misses them.

That’s probably why she leans in a bit… she hopes that’s why he leans in too. Emma feels his fingers entangle in her hair. Their eyes meet and he pauses– it’s up to her.

It’s always been up to her.

Their lips meet and she’s internally kicking herself for waiting so long– and for their forced proximity turning them into a trope in a shitty romance novel.

Man, is he a good kisser.  

They come up for air, Killian’s forehead never leaving hers and his thumb sending shockwaves through the nerves in her cheeks. She feels like she’s on fire in the best way imaginable– it's a new feeling, not one she even felt with Neal. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. As he softly kisses her collar bone, she’s positive they could light all of Boston with the energy between them.

She leans in more, suddenly craving as much contact with him as possible. The want is foreign, but in no way uncomfortable. With Neal intimacy was a chore– something she did with as much enthusiasm as washing the dishes, but she’s only kissed Killian twice and ever since her mind has flooded with emotions she’d only seen in movies.

She doesn’t want this feeling to end.

Before she can stop it, Killian’s backing up and she feels the loss. As he rubs his hands over his face, Emma’s heart drops.

She’s made a horrible mistake. Emma assumed she was picking up signals that she’s usually pretty blind to– apparently nothing has changed. “Killian, I–”

“Don’t get me wrong, love. I really–”

“I know, you don’t feel the same way. I shouldn’t have–”

Killian grabs her by either side of her face, leveling with her, “Swan, I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment we met… and even more so since– since last time.”

“But…” Emma knows there’s a but.

“But… I need to know that this is what you want. That you aren’t getting swept up in some moment… I can’t–”

Oh. “Killian, I don’t– I’m not– I just know I feel… something.”

“Aye, love. As do I.” His eyes turn from worry to kindness and she feels herself catch back up with the intensity of her want.

“Can that be enough for now?” It isn’t fair–to either of them– but Emma needs an out. She knows, without one, this will crash and burn before they’ve even started.

“I am quite a patient man.” She isn’t sure if that’s an agreement to the murky terms she so haphazardly laid between them and shoots him a puzzled look. He chuckles softly, “Aye, love. I’ll gladly take whatever you give.” She smiles, finding comfort in moving at her own pace (which is as unknown to her as it is him). Emma leans in again, stealing a chaste kiss from him and he smiles.

They silently agree to move towards the back of the bed, and she settles in tucked beneath Killian’s arm. He mostly comments about the show on TV, some procedural re-run he must’ve seen before. Emma listens intently, each word lighting a new spark inside of her. She’s been told love and intimacy were electric, but until recently she thought it was just an over exaggeration at best– now she’s positive it’s real. Between conversations they make-out like teenagers, but in small moments she feels Killian’s thumb brush across her hip bone or his lips gently kiss her temple and she’s never felt so alive.

When morning comes, Emma finds herself in a similar position to the one she fell asleep in, Killian’s strong arms wrapped around her in a hug like none she’s ever felt before. She feels his breath move steadily against the back of her head and finds peace in his rhythmic nature. It’s probably that which allows her to slip back into sleep for another hour only waking when she feels Killian do so beside her. With a kiss to her shoulder, he promises coffee and gets up to retrieve it.

The bed is cold without him in it.

She can’t possibly be used to that already, can she? Before she has time to contemplate what that really means, she gets up to shower. Killian is back with coffee and donuts by the time she emerges from the bathroom. They’ve not said two words about last night, but Emma kisses him all the same as he hands her the hot cup. He seems surprised at first, most likely expecting her to backtrack on all they’d discussed the previous night, and Emma doesn’t blame him. That kiss is all it took for Killian to brighten up. The entire morning happy and chipper, even as they drive home and get stuck in traffic.

Emma likes having that effect on him.

Emma likes him.

As Killian pulls up to her apartment, Emma is so engaged in heated debate over hard shell vs. soft shell tacos that she doesn’t realize the time. This car ride goes much quicker than the one to the hotel, their conversation flowing easily– so much so she even forgets about Neal. They exit the car, “Killian it is impossible to eat tacos in a hard shell. They practically become nach–”

“MOOOOOOM!”

Emma freezes, the reality of her situation hitting her like a train going full speed.

Emma snaps out of it at the feeling of his head hitting her smack in the stomach. “Hi kid! I missed you!” Emma kisses the top of his head before he pulls back.

She can tell the moment he sees Killian.

“Oh my god. Mom?! That’s Hook!” She hears Killian chuckle and she can’t help the ping of happiness she feels in her gut.

“Aye, lad. In the flesh.” Killian mock bows for Henry and she’s not sure she’s ever seen a smile so wide– on either of them. “You must be Henry?”

She was wrong; that is the widest smile she’s ever seen out of her son. The fear she felt has completely dissipated as she watches Killian interact with Henry. They hit it off immediately, Henry asking at least one hundred questions about the UFC and Killian answering each fully and genuinely. Her stomach flips.

Emma’s so enamored with the scene in front of her that she almost forgets Mary Margaret had to have dropped him off. Emma practically jumps when she appears at her side. “Wow, he’s good with him.”

“Stop.”

Mary Margaret smiles, Emma’s shut down most likely a clear indicator of what’s happening between her and Killian. “Just saying.”

“Thanks for watching him. I owe you a million.”

Ms smiles brightly. “Anytime.” The hidden meaning is not lost on Emma, but she’s not about to humor any of her friend’s shenanigans – at least not yet. “Bye Henry... Hook.” The boys wave and Emma swears her heart doesn’t do another belly flop.

She never meant for Killian to meet Henry this soon, but she also never meant for Killian to happen at all. It’s weird how her life has a tendency to chew her up and spit her out in exactly the spot she needs to be. When she looks at the way he is with her son, and catches Killian’s slight glance towards her– smile bright and full– she’s startled to find she can’t imagine a scenario where this isn’t exactly where he’s meant to be, too.

[benscursedkid]

synopsis: being a twin is hard, but maybe diego can help with that.

pairing: lyubomira andreeva x diego caplan

genre: just lots of fluff :))

a/n: the first finished product from my followers special! to my other winners, there really isn’t an order in which I’m doing these, just whichever I feel like in the moment until one of them is ready. also, I’m sorry for the delay, I was much busier this week than I planned. 💙

tag: 1/2 of @blubxtch request!! lyubka belongs to her!

It was rather cold.

With the fall beginning to bleed into winter, the air seems to be thinning and the world appears to be losing its color. Preparing for the chill the passing of the seasons will bring, Lyubka is starting to regret not bringing an extra layer to practice.

“Andreeva!” The Captain shouts, successfully gaining the Hufflepuff’s attention. “You remember the plunge play?”

Lyubka nods.

“Good,” He says and her grip on her broom tightens. “Then do it.”

Their newest recruit, a third year chaser, readies himself for the onslaught. He shivers involuntarily, pressing his lips firmly together to stop his teeth from chattering. She offers him a reassuring smile before launching off.

He holds himself well, executioning the dive almost flawlessly. Cadmus, she remembers his name was. After having watched them going through their entire playbook on multiple occasions, it seems as though he’s finally ready to prove himself.

Their captain gives him a curt nod of acknowledgement, the slight attention brings a smile to his face, dimples poking into his numb cheeks. As for herself, Lyubka offers him a stiff thumbs up. His smile widens.

They continue on, going over each of their plays for the next match, Lyubka’s focus sharp and concentrated. It’s only when a certain flash of gold meets her eyes that she takes pause.

Diego. He sits in his usual spot, in the middle of the temporarily empty stands, nose buried into his characteristic striped scarf. When she catches his eye, he waves, his fingers wiggling effortlessly in a flirty hello.

She tries to scoff, but the corners of her mouth betray her, unable to restrain from smirking back in kind. Well, she assumes he’s smirking, not that she can actually tell with that scarf.

It’s another half hour before the captain calls it a day and a chorus of relieved groans erupt from the players. Landing their brooms, they disappear into the lockers, more than ready to be out of their sweaty practice gear.

Lyubka steps out, feeling the sharp chill that permeates the air nip at her uncovered cheeks. Her hands begin to shake and she pulls them up to her mouth to blow hot air across them. Rubbing them together, she starts on her usual trek up to the stands to join Diego.

“You know,” She calls upon reaching her destination, having pulled her practice gloves back on for some form of warmth. She sits down to his left. “I’m the one who expels all my energy in practice. The least you could do is meet me down there.”

Diego grins, all soft angles and bright eyes. “But the view up here is so much better.”

She arches a bemused eyebrow. “It’s just the Quidditch pitch.”

The boy sighs, dragging out an unopened water bottle from his bag, passing it to her instinctually. “Come on, I know you’re a Quidditch star,” He jests, and she pauses with the water halfway to her mouth, smiling. “But surely even you can see past the stands.”

Her head tilts in thought. Truthfully, she’s not sure she ever has. It’s not as though she physically can’t see beyond the pitch, she’s just never given herself reason too. A right shame, if she’s honest.

So, taking a quick gulp from her water, she closes it and finally casts a look around the place.

With the castle being off in the direction behind her, she finds the pitch surrounded on all sides by thick forest. Large trees and vast green grass spreads out for miles, brought even more to life by the setting sun, getting closer and closer to the horizon. The sky pales, a calm before the storm so to speak, before the vibrant colors tear through it.

“See?” Diego winks, pulling out a bag of snacks, offering her a cookie that no doubt came from Penny. “Told you it’s worth it.”

Lyubka returns the expression. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But you do have a point,” At her questioning look, he sighs and sets his food aside. “You work hard and I should be more considerate.”

The brunette shakes her head, her hand reaching out to lay across his arm of its own accord. “Diego, you come out here every practice to keep me company and hydrated,” She proves this by shaking the water bottle he’d given her. “No matter the weather, no matter the time, no matter whatever else is going on. You come and that’s more than enough.”

“But I could do more,” Before she can protest, he holds up a hand, silently asking for permission to continue. She gives it. “I just wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard, Lyubka. You’re already exceptional, you could stand a rest every now and again. Between Quidditch, the vaults, and everyone else’s problems, you’re wearing yourself thin.”

Lyubka shrinks, knowing he’s right. It’s always been a habit of hers, second nature, to take on everything that she can. Sometimes she forgets that she has a limit.

Diego hesitates beside her, but eventually unwraps his scarf from around his neck. Instead, he drapes it across her shoulders. Her instincts tell her to fight it, insist he should keep it, but with the soft way his eyes shine with the kind of satisfaction only selfless kindness can give, she decides against it.

It’s soft against her skin, warm, and smells starkly like mint and honey.

“I don’t know if it’s any of my business,” Diego murmurs, voice slightly more clear without the scarf. “But is there a reason behind that?”

“Behind what?”

He shrugs as if unable to find the words. “Your, uh.. competitive streak?” He asks slowly, testing the sentence on his tongue.

“Competitive streak?” She gasps dramatically, though it’s a half effort.

A low chuckle sounds from his throat. “What else can you call it?” She ponders this for a moment but, as expected, comes up short. “See?”

A lull drifts in the conversation, the two of them falling quiet. But thankfully, much to Lyubka’s relief, it is not uncomfortable. She feels like she doesn’t need words. It would be impossible for them to compare to the ache in the apples of her cheeks whenever she seeks his company. Or the constricting of her chest whenever he looks at her with those eyes, full of passion and mirth and genuine interest. It’s nice, she thinks, to feel this way.

After all she’s gone through at Hogwarts, all the chaos and adventure, it’s refreshing to have someone who puts her at peace whom she can come back to. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain she’d even have the opportunity for something as trivial and exciting as a crush. Makes her almost feel her own age. For once, she has the chance to be normal.

But she will never be normal.

“It’s a bad habit, my competitiveness,” She explains and Diego nods from beside her, passing her a pretzel. She smiles. “I think it’s a twin thing.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Why do you say that?” He asks, a sincere curiosity lacing his tone.

“Well, when people are always pitting you against someone, it becomes second nature to try and prove yourself.”

She turns to him now, and her breath catches in her throat.

It seems that she had not taken into account the bleeding sun. The rich hues and vibrant shades of yellow and orange and gold strung out across the skyline. Currently, the sun is barely peeking out behind distant hills, bidding the beautiful land a dutiful farewell.

Yet all her focus is on Diego. The halo of golden light surrounds him as if the strands couldn’t help but to touch him, bask gratefully in his presence. Whisks of amber cast a warm glow across his expectant expression, his face a radiant canvas for their natural works of art. For who could ever find a muse better than him?

The image before her is a stark contrast to the chill around her and she’s suddenly unsure exactly how it happened.

His brown eyes crinkle with a knowing smirk and she looks away to hide the flush in her cheeks that is in no way related to the cold.

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” He remarks and a small chuckle escapes her.

“It’s not,” she sighs, a frown tugging at her lips. “It’s hard to be my own person sometimes. I can never just be Lyubka, or even Lyubomira Andreeva. It’s always Lyubka and Bori or Bori and Lyubka. People are always comparing us. If Bori can do something, I’m expected to be able to do it too and at the same level of expertise.”

“And if not?”

“Then it makes me weak,” The very thought, and all her pent up frustration, almost pulls pinpricks to her eyes. She blinks them back. “Or thick and dull and just altogether… less. And my family does not settle for less.”

He doesn’t speak, sensing that she isn’t finished. He doesn’t have to wait long. “It’s not usually the kind of thing that would bother me,” She admits, voice wavering. “But when you spend all your time with someone, only to never measure up..?”

“It’s enough to drive anyone mad.” Diego finishes and her eyes snap to him.

Atanas.

Will he become the measure by which all Andreevi are judged? She worries about this on nights where her brain is tired yet sleep does not grace her. Will people look at her and see Bori? Or will they catch her eye and think of Atanas?

Will she ever be Lyubka?

Is she destined to be just another branch on her family tree?

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Diego whistles, giving her a sideways glance. “I know tons of things she can do that you can’t.”

She blinks. Once. Twice.

Come again?

“For example,” He starts, seemingly oblivious to her entire reaction. “Liz tells me that she can sleep for hours into the day if left undisturbed! And that she can never remember where she leaves her wand. Also, did you know she never laughs at my jokes?”

For a moment he appears so absolutely offended, Lyubka can’t help but laugh. It bubbles from her throat unbidden and soon Diego is joining her. The sound twinkles pleasantly in her ears like wind chimes.

“What was that about?” She questions after the laughter has died down, unable to help herself.

For a moment, he stutters, and Lyubka swears the red of his cheeks match hers.

He shrugs, trying his best to appear nonchalant. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted you to know that what you can and can’t do makes you you,” His shoulders raise as he takes a deep breath and laces their fingers together, an all too earnest look in his eyes. “And just so you know, there’s so much that you can do that she can’t.”

“Like what?” She hears herself ask before she even registers she’s speaking.

“She doesn’t practice dueling with me, or sneak down into the kitchens to swipe some midnight snacks,” The words leave his mouth in a flurry of jumbled thoughts, but really, when have genuine emotions ever made sense? “Bori can’t challenge me like you can, or see me the way you do. She can’t make me smile or make me lost in thought like you do…”

Diego reaches out a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair she hadn’t even realized was there behind her ear. He allows it to linger there. She doesn’t push him away. “She can never be you, Lyubka.”

Neither of them are quite sure who leaned in first, but suddenly his lips miss hers. They land centimeters away, on her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut as her heart skips uncontrollably. His lips, soft and chilled on her hot face, move slightly closer, catching just the corner of her mouth. Hers twitch as if they want to pull into a smile but are too preoccupied with other thoughts to do so.

Suddenly, he stops. His eyes wander up her face until they find hers and without any pretense, Lyubka leans forward.

He kisses her softly, gently, but in earnest and with the vigor of someone who has ached to do something for a very long time. The entire world around them falls away until Diego Caplan is the only thing in her mind. She smiles into his mouth.

They pull apart and Diego grins in disbelief. “Yeah,” He drawls, his cheeks a pretty pink. “I don’t think Bori could do that either.”

She laughs and pulls him in, her arms wrapping around his neck as the sun finally sets beyond them.

[gellavonhamster]

where the gin is cold but the piano's hot

TFOTA, the Roach/the Bomb, pre-canon & missing scene || ao3 links - eng, rus

The night he first sees her, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music he likes is playing, and he considers any decent human music to be jazz because the mortals haven’t invented any music better than jazz yet, and it’s unlikely they ever will. It’s hot and crowded at the club, and a smell of sweat and perfume is hanging in the air. The attention of those listening to music while seated at the tables is drawn to the band; the attention of those dancing is drawn to their partners, and no one notices a petite young woman stealthily pulling expensive cigarette-cases out of patrons’ pockets and taking ladies’ handbags off the backs of the chairs. No one but him. Van is in no hurry to approach her; there is no doubt she is the one he’s heard about, but first he has to make sure it pays to get involved with her. The only thing he can say about her so far is that she isn’t much of a thief. It is seen with the naked eye that she’s relying on glamour too much, and would hardly be able to snatch anything without it.      

It is later that she demonstrates her true talent, when one of the poor idiots notices his watch missing and makes a fuss. He and his buddies give chase to the thief, who makes a bolt for the back door, so Van leaves a couple of coins on the table quickly – because the music here is fine – and rushes after them. At the exit to the backyard, Van gets a chance to behold one of the stranger’s tricks that he’s been told about: a loud bang goes off, black smoke fills the doorway, and the mortals collapse, screaming and rubbing their eyes violently. All of them save for the owner of the watch, who’s already in the yard at that moment – and though he went down like a tree as well, he’s managed to seize the girl by the shoulders and drag her after him. Van would have watched her fight her chaser off – he’s almost sure she’d be able to do that – but there’s no time for that, so he decides to interfere, creeps up on the mortal, grabs the man’s shoulder, and digs into the pressure point with his claw. The mortal makes a gurgling sound and passes out.      

The first thing she attempts to do when Van offers her his hand to help her get up is to hit him.

“Hey, hey,” he says conciliatorily, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to help, you know.”

She staggers to her feet, and smoothens down her dress reflexively.

“Who sent you?” she asks him, looking at him closely. Obviously, she can see his real appearance through the veil of glamour, just like he can see hers. She’s a pixie, though not a pure-blood, apparently. The little wings on her back tremble in sync with her uneven breathing.    

“No one. But I have matters to discuss with you. Come, let’s have a chat,” Van glances back. One of the robbed man’s pals tumbles out of the building, still squinting in pain. “And hurry up, would you?”

The bar he leads her to has worse music and simpler clientele, but they can catch their breath there, and talk everything through in peace. While he is describing the upcoming job to her (a local moneybags with no idea there were faeries in his bloodline, his great-grandmother’s charmed necklace, the people willing to pay a good round sum for that necklace), as well as what would be required from her (sleeping potions and explosives) and what she could get out of it (not more than fifteen per cent from what they were to pay him – that would be just fair), she listens to him with a light frown and fiddles with the thin bracelets on her thin wrist. She looks tired, distrustful – makes one think her life isn’t easy. Then again, would anyone with an easy life go stealing watches from restaurant revellers? She’s also outrageously pretty: a voluminous cloud of white hair; blue wings that look delicate, never mind if not too strong; warm brown skin with white spots like that of a doe; huge eloquent eyes. Van stumbles over his words twice while explaining her the proposed plan of the heist, and both times it’s because he gets carried away by the sight of her – in other words, both times because he’s a damn fool.              

“Twenty-five per cent at least,” she says in the end, having found out all the details of interest to her.

“Fifteen. At most.”

“Twenty-five, and you can saddle me with more work.”

“Fifteen, and all I need from you is to have my back with your firecrackers. No offense, darling, but you’re not that good as a thief.”  

“Twenty,” she’s toying with a fork someone has left on the table. “And don’t call me darling,” with that, she suddenly drives the fork into the tabletop within an inch of Van’s hand, and he flinches.  

It is worth it, because she smiles at him – smiles at him for the first time; a radiant, mischievous smile. Now that’s what her face has been made for, Van thinks absentmindedly. Not for anxiety, not for weariness, but for smiling.    

“Which one of these is charmed?” he asks, gesturing at her bracelets with a nod. “Or is it your earrings?”

She frowns again, and he thinks: did he really have to say that?

“There’s nothing charmed on me,” she tells him. “Why?”

Oh, Van thinks, so no trinkets that increase attractiveness. So it’s just that he hasn’t been with anyone for a while now. The only rational explanation.  

“I just thought there might be,” he replies offhandedly, and holds out his hand for a handshake before she can ask again – he cannot lie, after all. “All right, twenty it is. And how shall I call you then, by the way?”

“My name is Liliver,” she says and shakes his hand, and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and thinks: come on, you idiot, what are you, a boy?  

“Liliver,” he repeats. Her name jingles on his tongue. “I’m Van.”

“Well, Van, it’s nice to meet you,” she lets go of his hand and raises her glass. “Shall we drink to the beginning of our alliance?”

They stay at the bar for a long time, paying for drinks with enchanted shards of bottles, and by the end of the evening he’s almost sure he is far gone.

 **

 The necklace theft goes without a hitch, they get their gold, and in a few days Van contacts her again: he needs a partner for robbing a mortal antiquarian whose collection, unbeknownst to him, includes some merfolk weapons.    

“Bear in mind, it’s a long journey,” Van tells her as he sits down on the edge of the table in her workshop. Liliver makes her bombs in the attic of an abandoned house on the outskirts of Brooklyn. This is also where she sleeps, and though she has smartened the attic up as much as possible with the bought and stolen knick-knacks and paintings, she still cannot help thinking that this is not a place meant for living. Sometimes she dreams about the family manor and the bedroom with rhododendron shrubs outside the window – unfortunately, those dreams are usually nightmares. “We’ll have to fly.”

“Where?”

“Louisiana. Ever been there?”

“Now I will,” she shrugs, ready to go anywhere just not to stick here all the time. Liliver knows: she can run to Louisiana or to Australia or to the end of the world, but her sorrow will tag along loyally and dutifully. Still, at least this way she’ll take her mind off that, and make some money at the same time. Van just chuckles approvingly in response.    

After New Orleans (a dagger with its hilt carved to look like a mermaid’s tale; a party on a terrace of a huge house; the high-heeled shoes she threw into the ditch; the flight back on ragwort ponies, making stops in the fields and forests and dying hick towns), they don’t see one another for almost half a year. Liliver doesn’t try to look for him: firstly, she’s got things to do as it is, and secondly, she is inexplicably sure that one day he’ll come to her himself. And so he does, with a bottle of bathtub gin and a new brilliant plan that he cannot put into action without her help.          

Some more time after that, they start working together on a regular basis, stealing from humans and faeries alike. Van teaches her to move more nimbly, makes her practice on him, having her pilfer at least one object from his pockets per day. For her part, Liliver gives up on trying to make an assistant out of him after he almost blows up both of them by accident – not that she really is in need of a helper anyway. Together they break into houses, pick locks, crack safes, together they appear in the restaurants, movie theatres, and at the races. Every so often their business brings them to Faerie, and Liviver is surprised to discover that she is able to be there again after all she’s gone through, able to breathe without hearing the cries that her loved ones died with each and every second – it appears that time is a good healer indeed.      

Usually she ensures the routes of escape or cleans out the victims’ pockets while Van distracts them with smooth talk. He has a way with words – in most cases he does not even need glamour to pitch a line to humans and even faeries. Though when it comes to mortals, a goblin and a pixie certainly cannot do without magic – after all, they cannot show their true faces to them. Especially Van, who is no oil painting even compared to some of his fellow goblins.      

In spite of that, eventually she must admit she’s head over heels for him.

Of course, part of the reason must be that before he came into her life, Liliver was lonely. Her entire family had been slaughtered; all of her friends either died or turned out to be traitors. Her new life in the mortal world was rather survival than life, a row of endeavours to make a living, not get into trouble, kill time, and not go insane from grief. She didn’t bond with any other faeries she has crossed paths with, first for fear of getting stabbed in the back again, and then for fear of having lost the ability to socialize, make friends, love. Then she met Van and was surprised to find out she was still able to trust somebody – and to laugh. Is it possible to fall for someone just because when you’re with them, you can laugh, listen to other’s stories and tell your own, tease and rib each other? Is it enough just to feel alive next to someone – and is there any need for anything else, really?        

With him, it’s easy – but it all becomes ineffably difficult as soon as it comes to giving him a clue about her feelings. Liliver knows she’s good-looking, knows that she has the ability to win others’ affection; still, she’s afraid of using these weapons of hers lest she ruin the friendship she still needs so much. He’s not much older than she is, yet something in this ridiculous awkward affair reminds her of her youth and her crush on the sprite her parents had hired to teach her and her sisters sword-fighting: it’s the same overwhelming affection, blushing and smiling stupidly at the memories of accidental touches, the same certainty that if she tries to make a step forward, nothing good will come out of it. The same fear of being laughed at.          

He does not laugh – he simply either does not understand or ignores all her careful attempts at flirting. There is no telling if it’s the former or the latter. She’s afraid to learn the truth, so she doesn’t ask.

At some point Liliver gives up and agrees to go on a date with the sylph who shops for potion ingredients at the same place as she does. A month later she dumps him, and the same evening she sleeps with a nixie that lives in the city canal. The succession of relationships in her life becomes almost continuous. The faces on the pillow next to her in the mornings keep replacing one another.

Her feelings for Van do not disappear, but as the years go by, she gets used to them, and cannot imagine herself without that bright sweet sadness, just like without the wings on her back.    

On a hot day in June 1968 by the human chronology, she and Van sit on a rock near Grand Canyon and drink mead.  

“Are you seriously planning to steal from the Court of Teeth?” Liliver asks him, holding up her face to the scorching sun.  

Van shrugs. “You think we can’t handle it? We?”

It ends up being the only time when they can’t handle it.

 **

 The Court of Teeth turns them into its marionettes, and it is his fault. Shouldn’t have tried to bite more than he could chew, some nuts are too tough to crack, and so on, and so forth. Van could have regarded it as a sort of justice – not that it would have stopped him from trying to escape captivity by any possible means – if Liliver hadn’t been caught too. They tortured her, subjected her to the same geases and curses as him, enslaved her – and it is his fault.    

Their lives are spared because they’re useful. His sleight of hand and talent for thievery, her profound knowledge of potion- and bomb-making. Their lives are spared – but now these lives are pitch-black and hopeless, with no room for rest, for respect, for freedom. The work they’re being assigned makes his skin crawl, and he’s seen quite a lot in his lifetime. He is a thief and a crook, but he has never been a murderer – before. He’s killed when there was no other way to get out alive, sure, but not deliberately, not frequently, and without excessive violence. He used to have at least some kind of moral compass. Now he can’t afford it anymore.  

He could have let that shit consume him completely, but he keeps holding on – for Liliver. Liliver, who could have grown to hate him, for it was his overconfidence that has doomed them for a life in the service of one of the most bloodthirsty Courts – but she hadn’t, she keeps talking to him, keeps sharing healing ointments with him and even applying them herself to the fresh scars on his face. He used to be quite a scarecrow by the standards of most Faerie folk even before, and now it’s way worse. But she does not look away, does not wince, she touches his wounds ever so carefully and they heal a little faster under the influence of the potions and under her fingers, and his pain is almost worth these touches.    

At times, Van lets himself imagine another life, a life in which she hasn’t become a slave through his fault, a life in which he doesn’t look like a freak next to her lovely self, a life in which he could let himself confess his feelings to Liliver and stand a chance of having them returned. At times, but not too often. Dreams are fine stuff, but one can’t live in them forever.  

And he has to go on living and looking for a way to win back freedom for himself and for the woman he loves – the more so for her.

“Tell me something,” Liliver asks him sometimes at night, crawling up closer to him on the stone floor, so he tells her whatever he can remember: tales of kings and heroes, seers and warriors, priests and knights. Tales with happy endings, because they get enough of the opposite of that on daily basis. Crooks are well-versed in pretty stories.  

At night, she presses her cheek to his shoulder and laces her fingers with his when he takes her hand – because she’s cold and miserable and wants to hold on with all her strength to whoever’s beside her, even to someone like him.

Sometimes in his sleep he feels a tender fleeting touch of her lips on his cheek or his brow and does not open his eyes, for he knows that it could be nothing but a dream.  

 **

 After the Court of Teeth, working for Prince Dain seems like a fairy tale. At first Liliver cannot shake off the thought that in a moment she’s going to wake up and find herself in a musty little room in the dungeons, her back aching after a night spent on cold stone, her fingers still gripping Van’s clawed hand so hard they’ve gotten numb. Every morning she wakes up with relief – and a little bit of regret, because she misses his warmth close to her body, his steady breath. Both of them have their own rooms now – a far cry from the royal chambers, most certainly, but good enough for her. Admittedly, she has long come to accept that even if she gave him a hint that she wouldn’t mind him spending a night in her room, he would say nothing and pretend he didn’t understand. She misses his stories and his songs and his attempts to reassure her with promises that one day they’ll get out of that nightmare, but why in the world would he continue to regale her with all that if the nightmare really is over? He must be just happy to take a break from her constant presence.      

They are still close, still exchange the jokes only the two of them understand, still get drinks together evenings, but Liliver feels like something has become history beyond recall. It might be because now that they’re spies, the unseen and faceless gears in the machinery of court intrigue, each day they become less of Van and Liliver and more of the Roach and the Bomb. What use do shadows have for names? What use for feelings and memories? It also might be because they’ve spent so many years working in pair but now they’ve found themselves a part of a trio. Their associate, a young half-blood faerie who goes by the Ghost, is friendly and reliable enough but secretive as well, and even though it doesn’t take too long for Liliver to stop feeling wary of him, it still isn’t quite the same as the life she and Van used to live in the lands of humans, back when it was two of them against the world.            

Now there are three of them: three spies of the Court of Shadows, three cards up Prince Dain’s sleeve. A king, a queen, and a knave. When Jude Duarte, their little Queen of Shadows, joins them, there is finally an ace in this deck.  

Soon after, there is a coup, Dain’s death, his father and sisters’ deaths, and then young Cardan is on the throne, and Jude is his seneschal, standing beside his throne and only officially not on the throne herself. And then she and Jude are examining the chambers of the late King Eldred, checking if it will be safe for Cardan here, if he should still watch out for assassins hiding in secret passages. And then she, Liliver, the last survivor of her family, a thief, a spy, and a former servant of the Court of Teeth, is lounging on the huge bed of the deceased monarch just because she can.  

Anything comes true; anything but the dearest wishes.

Jude and she laugh like children, sprawled across the pillows, and Liliver, for once in a while, remembers her little sisters – the way they used to climb into each other’s beds just like that and share secrets, not the way blood flowed from their slit throats.    

The secret Jude elicits from her is both a long-held one and one that is too fresh, like a non-healing would.  

“You should tell him,” Jude suggests as if she has any right to give such advice, as if there is nothing unhealthy and incendiary going on between her and the young king, nothing that causes suffering to both of them.

“Perhaps,” Liliver agrees.

She cannot promise she’ll do that because, like any faerie, she cannot lie.

 **

 His hands are shaking a little while he wipes his neck and his face with a cool damp cloth, but he feels strength coming back to him, filling his veins anew. He is still not as vigorous as before the poison dart hit him, but with each breath he takes he’s a little stronger than a moment ago. While he is cleaning up, Liliver sits on his bed and tells him what has happened while he was unconscious – about Jude’s return and how she healed him, about Madoc’s alliance with the Court of Teeth – that blasted Court of Teeth again! About the Ghost, who apparently can be trusted again. About Cardan turned into a giant serpent, which feels even more disheartening than the fact that they’re on the brink of war: Van has really taken to this boy, so spoiled and unloved at the same time.        

“So it means there’s no way to save him?” he asks, and sits down on the bed next to Liliver.

“I had nearly started thinking there was no way to save you. I didn’t want to believe that,” she smiles sadly, “yet still I couldn’t help thinking about that. And then Jude rescued you. She still hasn’t succeeded in bringing Cardan back, but now I’d rather believe that she just has to figure out how to do it than that she doesn’t have enough power for that.”

He thinks of Jude, whom he hasn’t seen yet since he came round, and smiles, too. He’d have to thank her: mortals must consider that appropriate.

“A mortal High Queen,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “We guessed it right with her code name, didn’t we? Our girl is the real ruler of Faerie.”

Liliver grins. “I know, right?”

She still has the same smile as many years ago, and she still seems made for merriment, for joy, but now he can press his lips to that smile, and now he knows that, as it turns out, he could have well done that ages ago.

“You know that you owe me, right? For all those years,” she whispers gleefully and kisses him on the lips, on the forehead, on the neck. Maybe back then, in the dungeons of the Court of Teeth, it was not a dream.

“My dear,” he replies, holding her closer, “Just like you do owe me.”

Now all that remains to be done is to win a war.

 **

 The night she first sees him, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music she likes is playing, and the only genre of human music she knows is jazz, though she likes the twenty-first century songs from the player that Vivienne Duarte got her just as well.

“Sounds romantic,” the High Queen remarks when Liliver tells her about that.

“Not romantic enough if I hadn’t tried to kill him even once, right, Your Majesty?”

“Hey, you tried to stab me with a fork the very first time we met,” Van points out.

“And I’ll try again if I have to,” she waves him away, and kisses him.  

[zdbztumble]

But What About Kairi, Or: Today’s KH Ramble, Part II (KH III Spoilers)

Meanwhile...

My play-through of KH III has taken me through the last of the Disney worlds, Big Hero 6. Besides reminding me of why I’m not the biggest fan of that movie, its day/night options make for a fun mechanic, and the layout of San Fransokyo is great. Baymax has some cute battle dialogue, and Donald’s reaction to “Keyblade Hero 3” was a good laugh. Of all the non-Pixar worlds, it’s also probably the best-integrated into the main plot. The reappearance of the Replica Riku, and the revelation of yet another plot, this time a burgeoning rebellion inside the real Organization XIII, nearly made my head explode, but on balance, it’s a solid level. The unorthodox beginning to the last Gummi zone was a pleasant surprise too, though I’d say that the Gummi ship sequences were at their best in KH II.

But then we come to the Badlands of the Keyblade Graveyard, and...ooh boy.

The battle that opens this level is fun, and a worthy successor to the battle with a thousand Heartless in KH II. I may have been a bit over-leveled for it, but it was still a good time. The cutscenes that followed, on the other hand, had me sputtering in disbelief. To begin with, the fact that all of that was a cutscene is baffling. All seven Keyblade Wielders facing down Terranort doesn’t sound like a good boss battle to anyone? Or hell, just Terra and Aqua? They’ve got the real stake in that fight. And Donald’s surprise spell, which I gather was a big Final Fantasy Easter egg, made for a cool moment that would have been much cooler as something that appeared in the course of battle. But that cutscene was also baffling on a story level. The Demon Tower becoming a Demon Tornado certainly made it bigger, but all the characters reacting to it with such despair was hard to follow when the distinction between the two isn’t all that great. Sora’s total collapse was especially out-of-character. The staging of this cutscene, it’s choice of camera angles, action, and pacing, all failed to sell the supposed magnitude of this threat. Coming off of a single battle, massive though it was, didn’t help.

And then...there’s Kairi.

I’m struggling to think of another series where a character supposedly of the main cast has been so consistently mishandled the way Kairi has since the end of KH II. The writing for her has been absolutely abysmal. And it’s in abysmal in a way that, rather than souring me on the character (which has happened in other series), I’m increasingly sympathetic towards her in a critical sense looking at Kingdom Hearts as a story.

That sympathy doesn’t come from Kairi being a favorite of mine. I don’t see how Kairi could be considered a favorite character, because I don’t consider her a complete character. The best way to describe Kairi IMO is as a potential character. She has tremendous potential to do great things in this series. Her wholesome, “girl next door” personality gives her a charming if rather conventional starting point, and the fact that she’s a freakin’ princess - one of the Princesses of Light, no less - who can’t recall her past offers a wonderful hook into stories. I said before that I’d revisit the idea of a KH prequel game, and IMO, the best choice for a prequel story is to explore Kairi’s past. Imagine that; a BbS, or equivalent game, that explored her life as a princess in Radiant Garden, how she came to lose her memories and end up on Destiny Islands, and why she could wield a Keyblade at the end of KH II. Was her personality still the same before she lost her memories? Could the confederation of Disney villains been aware of her and the other Princesses even then? If the prequel must expand on the Xehanort saga, then could Kairi have had anything to do with Ansem the Wise’s research, and could that explain her amnesia?

KH III has, so far, suggested that’s going to deal with at least some of this. Eventually. Maybe. If it gets around to it. But the point still stands that fleshing out one of the main characters of the series instead of inventing three new ones and pulling a third twist with the villain seems like the much more sound storytelling choice to me. A prequel game that focused on Kairi could also contain a hook that, combined with Maleficent’s unresolved fate at the end of KH II, would’ve provided a much more organic segue into a KH III story than pulling all sorts of stunts to re-open the Xehanort saga.

But that didn’t happen, and we’re left with the reality that Kairi’s backstory has barely been touched upon since the first game. Kairi herself is barely present for Coded, BbS, or DDD. In the latter case, that being a game primarily focused on the Destiny Islands gang sans Disney battle partners, Kairi’s absence seems a terrible wasted opportunity. That could be made up for if the revelation that she was training as a Keyblade Wielder had a payoff, but so far, KH III has yet to provide. She’s had two cutscenes with Axel, neither of which actually show any training, and then what little you see of her in the Badlands (more on that later.)

Once again, this feels a wasted opportunity, because this series has a precedent that would allow for Kairi to have more of a role early on in the game. Remember the Roxas segment at the beginning of KH II that served as an extended tutorial? Why not have Kairi’s training be the tutorial of KH III? It would make sense story-wise for her to be the player character as you learn or review basic controls, there would have been opportunities for cutscenes to flesh out her character (and Axel’s, much as I hate to admit it), and a clever bit of writing could’ve passed the torch on to Sora right on time for the story to begin in earnest. And why not turn the swarm of enemies battle that opens the Badlands into a multi-party affair? Start off playing as Sora with Donald and Goofy, switch after a certain stage to playing as Riku with Mickey, then to Ven with Aqua, and then to Kairi with Axel. You could go back to Sora for the finale, but this way, everyone gets included, and the character in most need of material gets to shine for a moment.

Instead, Kairi is probably the least-featured member of the party in all those cutscenes. In the moment when Aqua directs her, Mickey, and Goofy to get the wounded to safety, Kairi isn’t even in the shot. Pretty much the only time she’s in frame in that cutscene is when she’s either being saved or reaching out to Sora.

And here’s where we come to a tricky part of the issue, because I’ve seen some rather strange commentary on Sora and Kairi’s relationship. One school of thought seems to hold that Kairi becoming Sora’s love interest is what costs her any opportunity to stand as a character unto herself. I can’t follow this line of thought, for several reasons. The first being that Kairi can’t exactly “become” a love interest when it’s clear from the start of the first game that Sora has a thing for her. Being a love interest and a solid character in your own right aren’t mutually exclusive either. But I also don’t understand this argument because Sora and Kairi’s relationship has been neglected just as Kairi herself has, and that’s a real problem given its importance to the series.

In KH I, Kairi serves as the stakes and as the prime motive for both Sora and Riku. While she herself doesn’t have much to do, she is pivotal to the story, and her bond with Sora being so strong that her heart takes refuge in his, that she can restore him from a Heartless, and that they somehow find a way to promise to see each other again even as they’re separated in the finale, is the reason why. Kairi indirectly serves as the prime motive in CoM too, with Sora’s memories reworked to replace Kairi with Namine. And while she shares the role of motivation with Riku in KH II, Sora is still mindful of her throughout the game, even slipping into romantic thoughts at least twice.

Now, lest you think I have nothing but praise for the early games in the series: in those games as in the later ones, Kairi is still underdeveloped as a character. She is basically there as the love interest and little more. Being a lifelong huge sucker for first love/young love subplots in fiction, I’ve been taken by Sora and Kairi’s relationship since my first playthrough, but it works as well as it does almost entirely because of Sora. Sora is developed as a character throughout the games, as well as being the protagonist and the player character. Because he is such a charming and likable character, and because he cares so much about Kairi, that carries over to the audience, or at least this member of it. It would be a stronger relationship if Kairi were more developed as a character, which is all the more reason to do so.

But even if you accept their relationship remaining on the level of “hero and love interest,” there’s been a terrible case of neglect since KH II. It wouldn’t be a factor in BbS, naturally, but by leaving Kairi out of nearly all of Coded and DDD, the relationship drops out of the story. Cut to KH III, which does want to present that relationship as being as important as it’s ever been, and the long dry spell is felt. It doesn’t help that KH III is so densely packed with other material, much of it devoted to Organization XIII either taunting Sora or sniping at each other. Several of the Disney films selected offer parallels to Sora and Kairi’s relationship that aren’t noted, even as previous games did so and this one draws parallels in other relationships.

Which brings us back to the cutscene in the Badlands. Sora’s desperation to save Kairi is evident, and an earlier cutscene where they finally share paopu fruits was adorable, but neither has the same impact as they would have had if Kairi had remained prominent as a character, and if her relationship with Sora had remained relevant in previous games. It speaks to how well that relationship was presented in the first three games that it can still exert some sway over the heartstrings despite that, but there has been real damage done to one of the central bonds of the series by the neglect, and nowhere is that damage more apparent than when the story stresses Kairi more than anyone else when the Demon Tornado swallows up the party.

Now, I left off just as Sora emerged in Olympus after literally putting himself together, so perhaps some of this will be addressed by the end of the game. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. And in the meantime...that whole Final World sequence was trippy as all hell and those Soras damn hard to catch, but I loved it. Absolutely no idea what that cat thing is supposed to be though.

[dis-easedfairy]

Impulsive Decision Pt.4

Male Path | Female Path

Chapter 4: Let’s Split It!

WARNINGS: SWEARING/STRONG LANGUAGE | KIDNAPPING | MENTIONS OF MURDER | VIOLENCE (just a lil bit) | MENTIONS OF RAPE

Genre: Poly!au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, yandere!au

Pairings: Bts x Male Reader / Kim Taehyung x Male Reader / Kim Seokjin x Male Reader / Jung Hoseok x Male Reader

Word Count: 3,525

Summary: M/n is the owner of a very wealthy and successful company, Barnanby Inc. M/n attends a BTS show, since they happen to be a fan. They make a very impulsive decision to show a loophole in BTS’s security and end up kidnapping BTS and 2 girls. In a fit of panic M/n stashes BTS and the girls in a very luxurious bunker for the time being, but M/n’s world slowly starts to crumble the longer the boys are out of the public’s eye,

A/N: Again, sorry that I didn’t update this, my internet went out!

“Listen, I know I’m pretty, but there is no need to stare.” I sighed as I picked at my breakfast. I was at the far end of the table, Jin was sitting in front of me, and Tae was beside me. The rest of them were on the other side of the table. The only ones even a little close was J-Hope and Seongmin. “You are very pretty.” Seongmin said in almost a whisper, earning looks from almost everyone on that side of the table. “Thank you so much! I think you’re beautiful as well.” I beamed, slight heat coming to my face. She gave me a shy smile and went back to her breakfast. There was a moment of silence. “What the fuck just happened?” Suga suddenly piped up. “Are you into girls too or…?” Tae asked me, making me choke on my once delicious bacon.   “How do you even assume I’m into boys or girls from a compliment?” I countered, taking a drink of my orange juice, trying to recover. “Are you not into boys?” Jin questioned quickly. “…I mean, yeah, I am but-” My face was only heating up more as this topic went on. “Yah! Why is this the topic, you’re making M/n uncomfortable.” J-Hope almost scolded. “Why should we care about his comfort? He obviously has no regard for ours.” Ducktape Girl snapped. “Listen, Ducktape Girl, the exile pillar misses you.” I shot back at her. “M/n~,” Tae warned. I huffed, folded my arms over my chest, leaned back in my chair and pouted, like a child. “Why are you so interested in my sexual orientation anyway?” I grumbled. “To know what you like and which one of us you’ll try to go for next!” I had no idea what she was talking about, but the way Tae and Jin seemed to tense and glare at her showed me they knew. “What are you implying!?” Jin defended me. “Do I have to spell it out? He kidnapped 7 male idols because he’s a psychotic fan. His friend suspects he’s into girls as well so thought he’d take two girls just in case!” Cold rushed through my body. Was she implying what I thought she was? “He’s not a ‘psychotic fan’ and he’s not like that!” Tae shouted, visibly angry. “You’ve known him for two days Taehyung! We don’t know what he's planning or thinking!” Jimin shouted back. “You would if you talked to him and not assume he is just a horrible person that should be treated this way!” Tae stood up now. I grabbed his arm, trying to get him to stop. “They should be treated this way! They kidnapped us, Taehyung! They duct taped Linza to a pillar and was going to leave her there for who knows how long! To top it off they call her ‘Ducktape Girl’ to rub it in!” “I wasn’t planning on leaving her there forever.” I managed, looking down at the table. “You and Jin are giving him too much credit! Making him seem like a long time friend! You both played right into this sick, disgusting game they are playing! ” Jungkook yelled. "He's not playing a game! He actually regrets this whole thing!" Tae yelled back. "Then why doesn't he let us go?" RM asked. I was hoping he'd stood out of it like J-Hope. Before Tae could answer I pulled on his arm, making him look at me. "Don't get in a fight with your friends because of me. You're like brothers." I would hate if I was the reason they grew apart. "But you are my friend! You're OUR friend! They'll love you if they ju_" "V, no. I understand. I'll be...I dunno, around." I quickly stood up and walked to my 'Drawing Studio'. I locked the door behind me and didn't come out.

Came out the 'Drawing Studio' to get something to drink. I froze when I saw J-Hope walking out a room, looking angry. "What's wrong?" I asked before I could stop myself. He turned to me with a look of shock. "I'm sorry, it's none of my b-" "I found you! Jin and Tae have been looking everywhere for you!" He seemed so radiant. I heard Jimin and RM talking, it got louder so I was assuming they were coming that way. I grabbed J-Hope's hand and dragged him to my studio. I lead him in and peeked out the door, making sure they didn't see us. I heard J-Hope's noises of surprise. I turned to face him. He was looking around the room with a twinkle in his eye. I looked around a realized why. It looked a lot like a dance studio and less like a drawing studio. I let out a small giggle, grabbing his attention. "You are free to use this room as you please. All of you are. It was going to be a Drawing Studio of sorts, but as you can tell it's not even close to that. It looks like a dance studio, it's far enough away from the other rooms, walls are thick, I have a large speaker with a large selection of music, good lighting. Go crazy." I smiled. He didn't have to be told twice and he pretty much ran to the stereo. I giggled, grabbing my sketchpad and sitting at the far right on the mirror and starting to draw. No more empty white room. No more pure silence. I loved it. If I got stuck on a design, I'd only have to look up at him. His dancing was full of passion and emotion, inspiring me to draw even more, despite how horrible the drawings seemed to me. I didn't even realize the music stopped or him sitting next to me. "He looks good." I heard, making me jump. He smiled. I swear I needed sunglasses. "All thanks to your dancing. You did amazing." "Did you even see it?" He chuckled. "Parts of it. I'd look up once I got stuck." "May I?" He asked, reaching out to take my sketchbook. I only nodded, feeling a small ping of sadness that my baby was taken. Then soon felt self-conscious of my work as I saw him flipping through the pages. Until he giggled. "These are good! " I smiled. "You think so?" "Yes! Are these for the game partnership you were talking about?" I nodded. "HOSEOK!?" J-Hope and I jumped hearing someone practically scream his name. It was followed by the other members, seeming to search for him. "You should go to them. They're probably thinking I raped and murdered you." I stated with a sad smile. "They just need time, F/n." He promised. "I also need to recover from you amazing dancing skills. It took my breath away." He started to laugh, a blush on his cheeks. The door slammed open making us jump to the side, screaming. J-Hope clung to me and lifted his leg, I don't know if his leg was to protect us or just to seem intimidating. It was Jimin and RM, they saw J-Hope and let out breaths of relief. "DON'T DO THAT!" J-Hope yelled at the boys, still holding onto me, but putting down his leg, dubbing them 'not a threat'. The boys looked at us for a few seconds in silence. "You're still holding onto me, J-Hope." I whispered to him since he looked confused by the staring. "Yah, what is it?" J-Hope asked, ignoring what I said. I looked around for my sketchpad. It somehow ended up in front of my feet. It used to be on J-Hope's lap. "THIS is where you disappeared to!? We thought..." Jimin trailed off, making me sigh. "I showed him the Dance/Drawing studio. He danced, I drew. No rape or murder here." I stated bitterly. "Temper, F/n." J-Hope reminded me. “Well, dinner’s done.” RM brushed me off. “Oh good.” J-Hope stood and grabbed my hand to make me stand. I didn’t get up. I shook my head. “I’m fine, we all know what happened last time I joined a meal.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’ll be fine! You need to eat too!” J-Hope was basically dragging me now. “J-Hope, I r-” “Hobi or Hope.” He corrected me. Oh great, now he was going to get scorned for being on a nickname basis. “Hobi…I don’t want to cause another argument or make anyone uncomfortable with my presence. I’m very aware that it’s hard to trust or talk to me. I don’t want to force myself on them… Literally or figuratively. ” “Will you drop the ‘forcing’? No one thinks you’re a rapist.” Hobi pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Linza does.” RM added. “Yeah, well he's not!” Hobi sneered. “See? I don’t want any tension between you all just because you, Jin and Tae wanted to be my friends. I have a bad feeling that if I go back into that dining room, things will go south.” I explained. Hobi frowned. “Just, have Jin save something small for me, okay? I’ll be fine. I swear.” I added, getting my sketchpad off the floor. Hobi walked to the door, moved Jimin aside and took a deep breath, “JIN! TAEHYUNG! M/N DOESN’T WANT TO EAT DINNER WITH US BECAUSE HE'S AFRAID OF TEARING US APART!” “Hobi, please st-!” I tried to plead. “LAST ROOM DOWN THE HALL! THEY’RE SAD IN HERE! HE NEEDS LOVE AND AFFECTION!” “You traitor.” I whispered.

I stared at him. Baffled and betrayed. As if on queue Jin and Tae came to the door. Tae pushed himself in, kneeled in front of me, he hugged me, making sure to not touch my bruise. “What did you two say to him now?” Jin growled at RM and Jimin. “Noth-”Hobi cut me off. “M/n hasn’t gotten over the fact that they accused him of being a rapist this morning and they aren’t helping.” “They’re only being honest!” I defended RM and Jimin, Tae held me tighter. “He doesn’t even want to eat in the dining room. He wants you to give him a small portion.” Hobi had his arms folded across his chest. “Excuse me? No, not today.” Jin stomped over, grabbed my arm and pulled me up to stand. He practically dragged me to the dining room and sat me down. Tae sat on my left and Hobi sat on my right.

“We found Hoseok.” RM called out, making everyone rush to the dining room.

They saw me and seemed to be confused.

“Hobi why are you beside him?” Linza asked.

Seongmi sat in front of Hobi.

“So, M/n are the rumors true about the ‘Strawberry Wonder’?” Seongmi asked, she seemed genuinely curious.

“My brother wants it to be, however, we are very busy expanding to games. We want to get the partnership, get enough employees and have it be at least a month with no problems before we expand to snacks and beverages.”I answered confidently like I was supposed to.

Jin set our bowls down and Tae got up to help him and Jungkook with silverware and drinks.

“Do you want it to be a thing?” She pressed with a smile.

“I do actually. However, it wouldn’t be ‘Strawberry Wonder’ it may be ‘Strawberry Super’ or ‘Strawberry Spectacular’ it has to be cheesy.”

“ Hrmm ‘ Strawberry Surprise’.”

I giggled.

“You got the hang of it.”

“M/n, do you have any chopsticks?” Jin called out.

“There should be some in the drawer by the dishwasher!” I stood up to go help.

“Do you have any ideas for snacks yet?” She asked.

“Not yet, I’m sure my brother does, he’s been waiting to move to snacks and beverages for years.” I chuckled, opening the drawer with chopsticks and gathering enough.

“If the snacks are anything like the ‘Cucumber Mustard’ rumor then I’m afraid you’re out of business.” I made a face.

“Cucumber Mustard?? Why the fuck would anyone want that??” I said before I could stop myself, earning a laugh from her.

“Language, M/n.” Jin scolded.

“It’s Korean?” I thought I had messed up my Korean since I wasn’t a native.

Hobi, Seongmi and even Jimin burst into laughter. I swore I saw Suga smile. Jungkook turned his face from everyone’s view. RM put his hand over his mouth and Tae chuckled.

“Did I say something wrong?” I smiled apologetically.

Jin sighed.

“No, you said everything perfectly, M/n.”

“Then what’s so funny?” I began to walk to the table, setting down everyone’s chopsticks.

“When I said ‘language’ I meant to not swear, M/n.” Jin explained with a big smile.

“Oh. Oh! Haha, sorry Jin.” I sat back down once I set everyone’s chopsticks.

“You’re adorable without trying!” Hobi cooed, pinching my cheeks.

“Yah! Stay away from my N/n.” Tae called over to Hobi.

“But N/n is so cute.” Jin teased, making my face heat up.

Jin set a pot down in the middle of the table as Tae and Jungkook put down small sides.

“So do you have a family?” Seongmi asked.

“Uh, yeah, I have a brother and two sisters. I have my mom. My dad died some years ago.” I was a little put off by her sudden interest in my life.

Jin sat in front of me and Tae took his previous spot beside me. Jungkook sat between Tae and Jimin. I reached over to take a drink of my water.

“No girlfriend?” I choked.

“I was wondering when you’d catch on.” Jimin stated, voice emotionless.

I coughed and cleared my throat. Was she flirting?

“N-no. I never…I mean I’m not-”

“He had a boyfriend when he was 16 and that was it.” Jin cut in, almost coldly.

I shot him a look.

“Seriously? I figured a guy like you would have girls just lining up. Boys as well.” Seongmi frowned.

“I was just…too busy for relationships. I got confessions, yes, but I just didn’t have the time…”

“He didn’t let anyone touch him after his father died.” Jin butt in.

“Jin, seriously, bro if you do-” Hobi cut me off.

“Jin, he’s getting ready to banish you to the ducktape pillar.”

“Why didn’t you let anyone touch you after your dad died? Was he your lover or something?” Linza smirked.

“What?? No, I ju-”

“Or did this rapist kidnapper stem from there? Did you learn from experience?” Linza pushed.

“Linza stop.” Jin snapped.

Tae moved closer to me and Hobi threw his arm over my shoulder and pushed down a little, like he was trying to anchor me there.

“Linza, that’s not okay, that’s his fa-” She cut Jungkook off.

“I heard how he died. I guess God saw and just cut his breaks.” She’s dead now.

I went to stand but Tae immediately wrapped his arms around me, keeping me there.

“I guess God sees this because he’s giving me some fucking ideas right now.” I growled.

“What ideas would those be?” Jimin challenged, standing.

Tae stood to Jimin, holding his hands out.

“Jimin, no! He’s just mad and hurt. How would you feel if someone said that about your father!?”

I stood up, making Hobi let go of me. I was going to go to the entrance room. I was going to leave. I guess Jimin saw it as me going for Linza. Jimin quickly rushed me, tackling me to the floor.

“What the fuck, Jimin!? Get off!” I sneered, trying to push him off as he tried to balance on top of me.

I assumed to start swinging.

“Jimin get off of him!” Tae shouted.

It was only making me angrier being held down. It brought up memories I didn’t want. I felt my chest tighten and anger rise.

“Get off!” I shoved Jimin back and pulled myself up.

I pushed myself back against the end table by the couch. Hobi quickly got between Jimin and me as Tae tried to move beside me. I stood up before Tae got to me. I should’ve gone to the studio. That was my window to leave. I didn’t.

“I’m not sure why it’s so easy to get mad at me when she was the one who started all this! I wasn’t going to hurt her I was leaving!” I snapped.

“Yeah, sure you were.” Jimin growled.

“I was! The only violent act I’ve ever done to either of you was ducktape her ass to a pillar because she was trying to run! You held a knife to my back and I did nothing! I’m not a threat! ” I raised my voice.

“You are a threat! You’re some psycho who kidnapped us and are keeping us here against our will!”

“I never hurt anyone! I’m not psychotic either! If I was you’d all be tied to the bed still!”

“M/n, I think we sh-” Jimin cut Jin off.

“And do what!?”

“I’m not a fucking rapist! Why would I ever do that to someone!?”

“We don’t know how you think and what you think about!”

“I’ve thought about rape but never about committing it!”

“Why would you think about rape you sicko!? Do you get off on it or something!?”

“I only think about it because it happened to- …I’m not some sick demented person who thinks it’s okay or fantasizes about it! I think about it when  I have my advertisers and company pair up and sponsor businesses who are trying to prevent it and help victims!  You would know this is you asked! You would know I’m not a rapist if you just talked to me for less than 10 minutes!”

“Some sob story to cover his tracks.” Linza smirked.

“Now I’m a threat.” I snapped, stepping towards her.

Tae quickly grabbed my arm.

“M/n, come on, we can go play games or something.” Tae tried to sway me.

“Now answer me honestly, Jimin. If she said something like that about your father would you be calm? If she smirked at you talking about rape, would you still defend her?” I didn’t wait for the answer.

I walked into the entrance room and slammed the door shut behind me. I ran up the stairs and punched in the dial code, I closed the door behind me and just left

.

Around 2AM I pulled back up to the bunker. 8 hours. I was gone for 8 hours. I got off the car, grabbing the convenience store bag, a backpack full of books, a few new sketchpads with pens, and notebooks. I opened the vault door and before I closed it behind me I heard the dial pad beeping. I froze.

“Taehyung, you’re never going to figure it out, just wait until he gets back.” Jin said, his tone sounding tired.

“There’s a puppy on here. He likes puppies right? Maybe that’s part of the code!” I smiled at his adorable assumption.

“Everyone likes puppies, Tae. I doubt his likes and dislikes contribute to the code though.” Hobi spoke up.

“What if he’s not coming back?” Tae asked quietly, like he was sad.

There was silence.

“What if something happened to him while he was gone? ”

I frowned. They were worried about me. Now I felt like an asshole.

“…He should be fine. Right, Jin?” Hobi added.

“I hope so. He’s been gone for awhile now.” Jin sighed.

I closed the vault door behind me, loud enough for them to hear. I walked down to the dial code and punched it in.

Dog. Cloud. Moon. Stars. Rain. Cat. My favorite things. The things that made me smile.

I opened the door to be smashed into by Tae. It knocked the wind out of me.

“The ice cream is going to melt!” I complained.

Jin and Hobi were behind Tae, smiling.

“What took you so long!? We were worried! You could’ve dropped a note or gave us a warning!” Jin ‘yelled’ at me, meaning he said it fast and full of passion that his face turned red and it was hard not to smile.

“Sorry. I went into the city, walked around, got a few things for my mom, got a few things for the office, visited my sister for a bit, wanted to see my nephew, grabbed some dinner with my brother, had a few drinks with Jason, picked up some ice cream for all of you as an apology and came back.” I explained like it was no big deal as I escaped Tae’s grasp to put the ice cream in the second fridge’s freezer.

Tae hugged me from behind, clearly not letting go any time soon. Tae was wearing a hoodie and his boxers. Hobi had on a sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts and Jin had on a pajama top and bottom that looked really soft.

“Who cares about ice cream, let’s just sleep.” Hobi yawned, crawling on the large bed.

Jin climbed on as I kicked off my shoes. I flicked off the light as I managed to get Tae off of me long enough to get onto the bed, he attached himself to my back after he got on the bed.

“Thanks for waiting up guys.” I smiled.

“Don’t stay out for 8 hours next time you d-” Jin cut Hobi off with a ‘You’re welcome!’.

( Previous Chapter ) - ( Next Chapter )

[animatedarchives]

trust • trust fall (part i) || bakugo x reader

a/n: hi dear, yes you absolutely can!! this turned out a LOT longer than i anticipated it to be because i couldn’t stop writing LOL anyway i really hope you enjoy it :) i’m so sorry if this is not what you wanted ;-; also please prepare yourself for bakugo absolutely cHuGgiNg his respect woman juice skkjmcknscsk

► genre: ANGSTTT, fLuFfy aT thE EnD i love soft katsuki ;-;

► warnings: mentions of cheating

► word count: 1.2k words

“Izuku… Why?”

“I’m sorry Y/N… I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Am I not good enough? Is that it? Is that why you cheated on me? Is there someone better?”

“I… I’m sorry Y/N…”

“Wait, don’t leave! Izuku, wait! Please! Please…”

You’ve been replaying the conversation over and over in your head for the past hour, each time failing to find the answer to your question.

Why? Why did you leave me?

The poor condition of the abandoned hallway you were in mirrored your despair; paint peeling off the walls, windows coated with grime and the dusty ground on which you sat in melancholy.

You leaned your head back against the wall, desperately trying to pull yourself together. You felt and looked like an absolute wreck. Your hair that was perfectly styled this morning was now disheveled, acting as a curtain that attempted to shield you from the hurts of the world. The trails on your cheeks held traces of all the tears you had shed. Your throat was parched for water and your eyes burned from the overproduction of saline.

Well, at least no one is here to see you like thi-

“Oi.”

Crap.

“What the hell are you doing here, sitting on the floor like a damn idiot?”

You have got to be joking. The universe just had to give you someone you knew. You shifted your body so that your back was facing him and swiftly wiped your eyes in a pitiful attempt to hide your misery.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you, shitface!” he spat.

“Dammit, Bakugo! Can you just mind your own business and leave me the hell alone?” you yelled over your shoulder.

You’ve never been very close to Bakugo and usually just tried to avoid him. It wasn’t because you hated him - because you didn’t - but you weren’t exactly very fond of him either. You just never appreciated the way he treated your now ex-boyfriend. Being fiercely protective of him, you were always the first one to come to Izuku’s defence and never backed down from a fight - whether verbal or physical - even if it was against Bakugo, one of the strongest, most hot-headed people in class. After multiple scoldings from Iida and your teachers, you decided it would be best to just avoid him altogether.

Eventually, as time went on and your relationship with Izuku began to get more serious, Bakugo’s bullying began to cease and he also started to keep his distance from the two of you. You found it slightly unusual at first, given he had years to stop picking on Izuku but chose not to until now. You weren’t complaining though. Whenever you and Izuku were together, you would also catch him glaring daggers at the two of you, more so at Izuku, but he never approached. You knew it wasn’t because he was afraid of you - he was hardly afraid of anything. Could it be that he possibly respected you for standing up to him? Your curiosity reaped no answers. Not that you cared much, but it would be a lie to say you weren’t interested in knowing the reason for his change in behaviour.

After your outburst, Bakugo’s footsteps stopped about three metres away from your curled up body, letting a tense silence settle between you. Even with your back turned, you could feel his eyes locked on your frame, watching your every move.

“Look, I don’t know what your damn problem is but if you think you can tell me what to do, you’d better think again,” his voice dripping with annoyance.

Oh my god, why was he so persistent? Could he not just go away? Your blood started to boil and the heat rushed to your face.

“Stop acting so weak and pathetic-”

“YOU KNOW WHAT BAKUGO,” you snapped, standing up and finally facing him. Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, but he didn’t look away. “YOU’RE RIGHT. MAYBE THAT REALLY IS WHAT I AM. WEAK AND PATHETIC.”

Bakugo opened his mouth but you cut him off.

“I’m constantly there for others and I always try to give everyone my all but in the end, who’s there for me? No one! I’m always the one that’s suffering, but people don’t notice because no one actually stops to think about me!”

“But Deku-”

“IZUKU CHEATED ON ME!” your cries echoed down the empty hallway. Hearing yourself say it out loud finally cemented the reality you were denying for so long. A lump started to form in your throat and you could feel your eyes starting to well up with tears again.

Bakugo’s body became stiff, a million thoughts running through his mind. You could have sworn you saw his eyes flash with anger, but you couldn’t see clearly through the thin film impairing your vision.

You choked out a sob. “I thought that someone had finally accepted me, finally acknowledged that I was worthy of being loved. But in the end, even the person I gave my everything to thought I wasn’t good enough.” You inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You wouldn’t. A wave of exhaustion finally hit you and you slid back down against the wall, curling into a ball and resting your chin on your knees. You were just so tired of everything.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s not like you even care anyway.” You watched as an ant crawled across the space between you and Bakugo. Even ants had a colony, others they could depend on. And you? You had nobody.

“I do.”

Your train of thought came to a screeching halt as his words reached your ears. Your eyebrows furrowed and you raised your head to look up at him through your wet lashes. You had been here for so long that the sun was beginning to set, bathing Bakugo in a soft peachy glow.

“What?” you asked.

He looked at you straight in the eye, unflinching.

“I said I do,” he repeated. “I do care. About you.”

You blinked at him once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bakugo Katsuki, the last person in the world you thought you would be pouring your heart out to, just said he cared about you.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed.

“Tch, I’m not lying, you idiot. You just don’t want to accept it,” he replied flatly.

Well, how could you? Words were just words after all. Izuku consistently told you that he loved you and still he shattered your heart. Trusting people just wouldn’t be so easy anymore. Your disbelief became apparent when you broke his gaze and pulled your knees closer to your chest.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You never let me finish, by the way,” he said. You made no move to respond, but you were listening to every word he was saying, weighing the sincerity of each one.

“I said stop acting so weak and pathetic, not because you are, but because it is everything you are not.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad but you couldn’t find the heart to.

“You have never backed down when it came to protecting Deku against me. You weren’t afraid to stand up and challenge me. In fact, you are always at the frontlines, defending people you care so deeply about. That doesn’t make you weak. It shows that you’re strong. Putting others before yourself is a trait that every great hero has. And I admired you for that. A lot.”

Your mind was whirring. Not only were the things he was saying difficult to believe, but the words coming out of Bakugo's own mouth being anything but foul was so terrifyingly uncharacteristic of him that you couldn’t possibly believe it was true.

“Which is why…” he muttered, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it. You waited for him to finish his sentence but he never did.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and saw him looking at the floor. You had never seen Bakugo this vulnerable before. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Which is why…?” you urged him to continue. You weren’t sure if it was the radiant sun that gave a reddish tint to his cheeks or if you were actually witnessing the infamously brash Bakugo Katsuki blushing.

“Which is why I li…” he mumbled, the end of his sentence dissipating due to lack of articulation.

“Why what?” you asked again, mildly irritated that he wouldn’t just spit it out.

He groaned loudly.

“WHICH IS WHY I LIKE YOU, DAMMIT!” he finally admitted, raising his voice as he turned to look straight at you.

Your eyes widened so much you thought your eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t even bother hiding the shock on your face. This was simply incomprehensible.

But the more you mulled it over, the more it started to make sense. The explanation for Bakugo’s behaviour towards you and Izuku could finally be explained: he was jealous. Seeing you with anyone but himself infuriated him, especially if it was the boy who was effortlessly gaining everything he had ever wanted. That was why Bakugo continued tormenting Izuku, only he never expected it would be you that he would end up fighting as you stepped in to defend your boyfriend. As your relationship became more serious, Bakugo was forced to step back out of respect, but he never stopped glowering whenever he saw you two together. The reason he stopped tormenting Izuku was not because he was afraid of you, nor was it because he respected your determination to defend the boy you loved. It was because it would break his heart to be the cause of your distress. Everything he did… was because of you.

“WELL? Don’t just give me that stupid look! Say something!” he shouted in frustration, desperate for an answer.

Part of you felt relieved to see Bakugo return to his familiar aggressive self, but another part somehow knew that he was only doing it to cover up the fact that he was deeply embarrassed. The thought made a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. You valued the fact that he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

And you wanted to trust him too. But with everything that had happened, you just weren’t sure if you were ready to put your heart on the line again. Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you tried to form a coherent string of words that could accurately express everything you thought and felt.

He watched intently as you bit your lower lip and fiddled nervously with the hem of your skirt. Although the suspense was eating him alive, he respected the fact that you needed to collect your thoughts and waited patiently for your answer. Besides, it meant that you were seriously considering his confession, which was all he could have hoped for. Finally, you got to your feet and made your way over to him, his crimson eyes never leaving yours.

“Bakugo…” you started gently. He might have seemed collected on the outside, but his heart was beating impeccably fast and his anxiety levels were off the charts.

“I really appreciate your honesty but… I’m just really unsure. It’s not that I don’t want to trust you but…” you exhaled shakily. “I’m just scared. I can’t just keep giving my heart to people I’m not sure would treasure it… I just can’t. I need to protect myself too. I don’t want my heart to get broken again. I-”

He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours, cutting you off. Caught by surprise, you weren’t sure how to respond. But as he kissed you, you could feel how much he meant every single thing he said. Suddenly, they weren’t just words anymore.

The kiss was soft and gentle as if he were afraid to hurt you, especially when you were already in so much pain. Yet, he never lacked passion, because he wanted to prove how true his feelings were for you. But above all, the kiss… his love…

It was sincere.

Genuine.

Honest.

You melted into the kiss, hesitant at first but eventually willing to give love another try.

Bakugo broke the kiss and leaned back to admire the face he thought was so beautiful. His strong hands traced down your face to your shoulders and finally came to a rest at your arms, rubbing your skin soothingly.

“You’re right, you know. You can’t just give your heart to people. If you do, you’re bound to get heartbroken,” he said.

You frowned and stared forlornly at your feet, unsure of what to say. You knew he was right but you couldn’t help it. All you ever wanted was to be loved. To matter to someone.

“Which is why,” he took your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up to look at him. For the first time, you saw his eyes up close. They weren’t the blazing hot embers everyone associated with his rageful and dangerous behaviour. Right now, under the warmth of the setting sun, they were the soft comfort of red satin that whispered a love so pure, you couldn’t help but feel enraptured by them. His eyes burned, but it was far from malicious. They burned with desire for one thing alone. 

You.

“I will do whatever it takes to earn it.”

[jsteneil]

Dan is the closest of the Foxes to Palmetto, working in DC where the others have migrated North or East, with Kevin down in Texas as one sweaty exception. She visits more than the others, hopping in and out of her car on occasions, and always comes in the Foxhole court holding a large to-go cup from the campus’ coffee, looking radiant and focused.

Neil smiles more easily, these days, and he never fights the natural inclination of his mouth when he sees Dan and lets himself be hugged, maybe a bit tighter than someone who doesn’t answer to the name of Dan Wilds would.

“Rookie,” she calls, lobbing her paper cup in the garbage one day. Half of the freshmen turn their tired faces to her, dragging their feet after today’s hard practice.

Neil smiles. “Dan,” he greets, and waves his team away. Robin steals his car keys on her way out, clearly not eager to repeat the time she had to wait half an hour in the cold for Neil and Dan to finish talking.

Dan lifts an eyebrow. She knows Robin from last year, when Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky were still there to share a bedroom that now feels to big for two people, but she’s emboldened over the summer. Neil is quietly proud of her, like warming his hands to the residual heat of a slow-burning fire.

“I’ll run,” Neil says with a shrug. “I haven’t been jogging as I should lately.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, “maybe because there’s actual frost on the ground. Don’t be crazy, I’ll drive you back.”

“Okay,” Neil accepts, because he’s gotten better at acknowledging the casualness of the Foxes’ kindness. “Wanna get out of here?”

Dan’s hand flies to her chest.

“Who are you and what have you done with Neil Josten, local exy court vermin?”

“I don’t actually live here.”

“Then you can explain to me why I’ve found you sleeping on those damn couches more times than I can count,” a gruff voice says from behind them. “Get out of here.”

Wymack emerges from his office with his usual stack of papers and grumpy expression. Neil knows how much Dan means to him and how long they talked on the outer ring during the last half of practice, so he understands the way Dan laughs with her teeth and turns around to hold the door open.

“We’re having dinner at Abby’s tonight,” Dan says as they make their way to Dan’s rental car. “Wanna come?”

Tonight is the Foxes’ movie night. Neil quickly calculates pros and cons: Indian take-out in a room crowded with people he already spends too much time with everyday, or in Abby’s kitchen with some of the people who count the most in his life.

“Sure.”

He sends a message to Robin to tell her not to wait for him to start the movie, then closes the door of the car on the uncharacteristically cold winter.

“So how’s the team?” Neil asks at the same time Dan does, backing out of her parking space. They share a grin: Dan’s enthusiasm for the sport will never be on the same level as Kevin’s or Neil’s, but he likes more detached outlook she brings to the conversation nonetheless. Probably because exy means less to her than to him—although Neil’s had some difficulties wrapping his mind around this truth in the beginning—Dan is particularly soothing to talk to. Andrew suggested once that it may be because she refuses to make herself insane for something as inconsequential as exy, but Neil would rather bet that it was a thinly-veiled insult thrown to Kevin’s obsession.

“We’re getting into the season on a strong foot,” Dan says finally after Neil gestures for her to speak first. “The changes we’ve brought to the starting line are already showing results.”

“Drafting Perez was a risky move,” Neil says, because his interest in pro teams has considerably grown now that it’s a certainty of his future and not a dream sitting just out of his reach.

Dan’s smile grows sharper. To Neil, she’s still the young woman who led them all the way to finals in his freshman year.

“It was,” she agrees, “but it’s going to pay big time—we have a game with the Hawks next week, and I know where the odds are leaning.”

“I don’t bet,” Neil reminds her as they park in front of the Fox’s Paw, the campus coffee.

“Still? Neil, you have no respect for traditions.”

It’s true; mostly because he didn’t get to experience them before he met the Foxes. Dan keeps talking about the Eagles in the line to the counter, prompting questions in Neil’s mind that he never took into consideration before—it’s been three years, but it still feels weird that his captain ended on the other side of the plexiglass wall. Not wrong: Dan was made to mentor, but still.

Dan almost gets another coffee, then reconsiders and orders some kind of chocolate concoction that Andrew likes, provided they add cream and sugar in large quantity, because that’s Andrew’s favorite way to eat anything. A small stitch drills into his chest like he’s gulped too much air while running, like always when the realization comes that Andrew is miles away in a large city, and not smoking, up on the rooftop of their small world.

“So how’re you doing?” Dan asks, twirling the cream in her cup.

Neil hums in response. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. And without the bullshit?” She’s not fooled by his confused look. “Neil, I know how it is—”

He knows she does. In hindsight, he’s grateful for the reprieve she accorded him by talking so extensively about her team first.

“The first weeks are the worst,” Dan says, which Neil doesn’t believe because it’s already mid-November and Neil’s been feeling down since August, when Andrew moved to Boston for good.

Andrew flew down to Columbia two weekends ago, which means that Neil will fly north in ten days for Thanksgiving and spend the beginning of the week holed up in Andrew’s apartment with only each other, ice cream, alcohol, and cigarettes for company. The perspective brightens Neil’s immediate future, but it doesn’t relieve the constant ache of not having Andrew right next to him to exchange truths and stories with.

“Andrew came to our game against the Ravens two weeks ago,” Neil says instead of dwelling on the feeling.

“I saw on TV. The journalists had a field day.”

Neil nods slowly. He feels miserable, and he’s sure that Dan read it on every inch of his face. He longs briefly for the days when lying to the Foxes was as easy as breathing, when the reality of his feelings concerned him only.

“I find it easier to bear long distance if you talk about it,” Dan says finally, done with being subtle. “Nicky would agree.”

“You just want the gossip. How many bets?”

“There’s a consequential one on where you’ll spend Thanksgiving break. Renee says you’ll have a quiet week in Columbia, visit Bee. Nicky has quite a few bucks on you meeting in Boston and boning the entire time.” She winces. “Sorry, his words.”

Neil waves if it off. “I gathered.”

Dan huffs a laugh and drumrolls on the table, phone in hand. “Do I get to settle anything, or are you just going to send us a pic from Vietnam or something?”

“We wouldn’t fly anywhere this far,” Neil says, then relents: “Robin invited us to her parents’ for the day. I’m not sure Andrew will take her up on that offer, but we’ll see. We’ll spend the rest of the week in Boston, so I guess Nicky wins, for one.”

“Nicky only wins if you spend the whole time in bed,” Dan says delightfully as her fingers fly over her screen. “I don’t think I have to ask you how likely it is to happen.”

Neil snorts. “You’d think he’d have learned by now.”

“Renee’s happy you won’t be alone for the holidays,” Dan reads after her phone beeps a few times. “Allison is mad—she would’ve made three hundred bucks. Don’t look so pleased.”

“Don’t bet on my life.”

“Never gonna happen.”

They sip their drinks in silence for a while, basking in the warmth of the crowded coffee shop. Having Dan by his side in Palmetto is familiar, like the feeling of watching his shots land true. If Robin is his best friend, the quiet extension of himself, then Dan is his sister, warm, teasing, and proud.

“I miss him,” he admits, because he suddenly wants to. Andrew has always been a point of friction between them, but he can acknowledge the olive branch Dan has been offering him. He doesn’t mind taking it; the riverbanks are slippery enough as it is. “We talk a lot, but it’s not the same.”

They’re good at communication, because they can’t afford not to be, but most of their conversations are silent, exchanged through looks and actions. Neil knows Andrew enough by now to read his tone, what he leaves unsaid, but he misses the touches, the certainty of Andrew, there besides him.

Dan’s hand curls around her cup like she wants to grab for him but is restraining herself.

“Have you discussed the situation?”

“Of course. I thought long-distance was all about communication?”

“And Skype sex,” Dan adds with a grin curling her mouth.

Neil frowns. In a rare bout of sharing, he says: “Not likely.”

“Really.”

“I’m not discussing sex with you.” That’s a conversation for another day, possibly imaginary, definitely involving alcohol. Neil has managed to escape it so far by sticking close to Nicky, who, despite his own interest in the situation, is always prompt to deroute on his own sexual adventures and attract Aaron’s ire.

“Fine. Keep your gossip to yourself, ungrateful child.”

“I will.” He waits a beat then says: “He’s not happy there. He never says anything but I don’t think the team is right for him.”

“Problems with his teammates?”

Dan’s frown his sympathetic. Twice captain of her exy teams and now assistant coach, she knows exactly how much inside tensions can affect a player’s game—and their lives beyond.

“Whitney is outwardly homophobic and an asshole,” Neil says. Five years ago, he would never have thought he’d ever get so worked up about something not directly linked to his survival; five years ago, he also didn’t have Andrew Minyard in his life, to love and protect fiercely where Andrew himself doesn’t necessarily. “Andrew won’t stand for it forever.”

“You’re worried it’ll fall back on Andrew?”

Neil raises his hands in front of him, palms up. “Exy golden boy from an Ivy league college and three years of seniority. Andrew.” He tips his hands like scales. “You know what people are going to see, and you know that it won’t be the truth.”

“It might if someone can attest of Whitney’s slurs,” Dan says. “He doesn’t have a good reputation in the division. People talk. And I think Andrew knows better than pulling a knife under another coach than Wymack.”

“He doesn’t carry knives anymore. And that’s not the problem, is it?”

“No it’s not,” Dan sighs. “I’m sorry.”

She asks about the team to distract him after that, and it works—Neil will never miss a chance to talk exy, especially not when it’s his team, a responsibility he never thought he’d have. He remembers the sick feeling of fear and want when Wymack first told him about his future captaincy; some days, Neil can still feel it, curled tight in his stomach to make room for pride and affection, and all those other feelings that he’s learned along the way. He doesn’t need to ask Dan if it ever goes away. He’s not sure he wants it to.

They clear out their table a while later, when night has already fallen around the bright yellow streetlights, and head back to Dan’s car, jogging slightly to fight the cold. Neil leans his head on the window and staring outside past the fog of his breath on the glass, and only straightens when he sees the shape of Abby’s house, shadow pierced by large rectangles of light. Dan winds her arm over his shoulders when they get out the car and drags him to the door.

“We’re here!” she announces, opening the door left unlocked, as usual.

Neil sheds his coat and removes his shoes, padding in the kitchen to find Wymack and Abby prepping chicken around the table. A small pot is already simmering on the stove and filling the entire room with the smell of tomato and thyme. Abby gives them each a knife and different vegetables to peel; the celeri makes a cheerful crunching sound every time Neil lowers the blade.

“You’re a terrible cook,” Dan observes good-naturedly after Abby corrects him three times on how to best mince garlic. Neil doesn’t mind: he’s usually the first to admit that he doesn’t care all that much about cooking.

“I know,” he says, and thinks, Andrew prefers to do it anyway.

[caraidean]

Trueblade Duel || Mia & Edward

Participant(s): Mia, @daein-liberation: Edward

Words: 3,100

Type: Epilogue / C-Support

Summary: Shortly after the end of Radiant Dawn (before Ike leaves the continent), Mia reunites with Edward as the Greil Mercenaries tour Tellius to check up on old comrades. The two decide to test how far the other has come. More accurately, Mia resumes bullying her pseudo-little brother.

“Mia! Good to see you in Nevassa. Did you miss having a good sparring partner enough to visit me?”

“Edward! I didn’t know you were here.” The mercenary raised an eyebrow, hand already trailing towards Alondite’s hilt.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Ike’s still a better sparring partner than you, but I have to take a break from him sometimes. Hey, how’s the leg? You know, the one I almost took off at the river in Begnion?”

He reached across his chest to grasp Caladbolg’s hilt. He preferred Freedom’s Edge, of course… but that just wouldn’t be sportsmanlike.

“I’m a knight, you know - I’d be remiss not to hang out in the capital,” he replied. “My leg’s fine, and I already know you’ve recovered from Aran almost skewering you in the fortress. Really, you shouldn’t fight someone with such a long reach. Not a sword’s finest quality.”

“Oh, please. I got cocky, it happens. Like it is to you right now!” She chirped, pulling Alondite out of its sheath. Sure, the damn thing was much longer and heavier than she was used to, but…it had advantages.

“So, you want to do this here? Or is Micaiah going to get kinda pissy if we ruin one of her hallways?”

“I don’t know whether Micaiah would mind, but I’m guessing the rest of the royal guard wouldn’t take well to a crazy purple-haired lady with a sword attacking their commander,” he said with a grin. “I could take you to the sparring grounds, but I’ve got a better idea. A more challenging one.”

He removed his hand from the sword and turned to begin walking through the palace. He figured she would follow him. After all, she obviously enjoyed a challenge.

“Oh, really? This I’ve got to see.” Mia let the ‘crazy’ comment slide, deciding it wasn’t really worth escalating it over.

“Although if they really can’t recognize me, well, that’s on them.” She laughed as she followed him, interested as she twirled the legendary blade in her off-hand. “It’s also a pretty stupid mistake to make.”

“I doubt the veterans could forget you,” he said over his shoulder. “A lot of them were there in the war against Gallia. You killed some of their comrades. Might be another reason not to make yourself threatening.”

He led her up a spiraling set of stairs, passing by multiple floors. It wouldn’t take long to realize they were in one of the palace’s towers, with the ever-higher stairs taking them right to the top. With the final step up, he opened the door, a rush of cool wind hitting them both.

Outside, they found themselves on the roof of the high tower, a round space with low walls. The wind roared at the height, and Edward briefly looked down over the wall to see the dizzying distance from the ground.

“This tower is only manned a few hours a day, or during a crisis,” he explained. “Nobody will interrupt us up here. You might want to get any excess gear off, though.”

As for himself, he began taking off his longcoat, realizing the adverse effect it would have when combined with the intensity of the wind. He then unfastened the sheath for Freedom’s Edge, carefully laying it atop the clothing.

“It was war, and I was getting paid. They’ll get over it.”

Mia’s words were blunt, but those were her feelings on the matter. Did it suck? Sure, but she hadn’t done anything she was morally opposed to. The worst thing was that those men had been on the wrong side thanks to the machinations of the senate, but she refused to let it get to her.

“If they’re honestly stupid enough to try and do anything to me or the Boss while we’re here, well, they deserve what they get.” She finished as they arrived on the roof, her initial energy ruined by the more serious moment.

Besides, Edward wasn’t an opponent she could take lightly - anymore. Begnion had been different, but he’d improved drastically, even in as short a time as they reached the Tower of Guidance.

“I’m game when you are.” She shrugged, taking off her Trueblade trenchcoat and hooking it over a wind vane, leaving it billowing in the wind. “Sorry about the tiles in advance - I’m still not great with the ranged thing Alondite can do. There tends to be collateral.”

He drew Caladbolg in one motion, twirling it in his hand for a moment before adopting a defensive stance, blade in front of his chest. It wasn’t exactly a pretty blade like Alondite - forged of bronze and with a weighty handle, it had taken getting used to. The magical enchantments placed upon it still left it one of the strongest swords he had.

“What, you want to use magic instead of proper swordfighting?” he asked with a smirk. “But then, I suppose a sword is only as good as the one who wields it - even a legendary one like yours.”

“Hey, I almost died to this stupid thing twice. Let me use it a few times.” Mia pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Fine, if he didn’t want to talk about any of the tension the Greil mercenaries being her brought, she wouldn’t bring it up either.

“There’s a reason that the Boss gave this to me, Edward - and if you say it’s because I’m sleeping with him I’m going to come over there and choke you to death with your own tongue.” She was only half-joking. “Look, if you’re that worried about it, I won’t use the beam thing…on purpose, anyway.”

“You said it, not me.”

With that, he had decided they’d delayed enough. He lunged into close quarters, attempting to fake her out with the lunge before pulling it up into a defensive position to block her likely counter-attack. He kept both hands on the sword for now, because it would be too easy to disarm him if he wasn’t cautious - he was all too aware that she had years of experience over him.

“Trust me, I’ve heard it from enough people-”

She should have expected him to lunge early, really. She’d let her guard get brought down - Ike would never let her hear the end of it if this got out. Still, she recovered fast enough, Alondite flickering with surprising speed to bat Caladbolg away.

“-clever.” She admitted, before shutting up once more and diving forward into the fray. The silver blade flickered, trying to come at Edward from almost five places at once as Mia tested the younger swordsman’s guard.

He hadn’t expected just how heavy that swing actually was. Evidently, Alondite was a pretty hefty sword, and even having been ready to block it, he almost lost his grip on Caladbolg. When she rushed in for a flurry of counterattacks, though, he was ready. His grip tightened as he easily parried the first strike, and slipped out of the way of the second. He jumped backward to narrowly avoid another strike, feeling the tip slice a narrow hole into his shirt. The last two blows were easier to block, now that he had some distance, but he still felt the sheer force of every attack.

“Yune, that thing has a swing to it!” he cried.

With an opening finally available, he led his own attack. He changed his grip, trying to take advantage of her wild swings to grab hold of her sword arm while his own blade went low, going to a leg blow to slow down his quick opponent.

“Um, duh? The Black Knight used it?”

It still felt weird to call him Zelgius - especially when the man had actually helped her during one of her sessions learning to use an Armorslayer. And then he’d tried to kill her.

Well, tried to kill Ike, but she got in the way…for a while, at least.

She was starting to enjoy herself, now - even as she jumped over the leg blow. She landed awkwardly, not used to the slight slope of the roof, wincing as she lost her footing - and being forced on the defensive immediately, pushed back by Edward’s more confident footing.

Even though the weapon was the same, Mia’s style was not at all the same wide, powerful style the Black Knight had used, which might be why Edward hadn’t considered just how heavy Alondite actually was. At the same time, the style wasn’t the same one Mia used with lighter swords, which was infuriating. Edward could properly prepare for a duel with her if he actually fully understood her attack pattern.

When he noticed she lost her footing, he saw an opportunity. He grabbed her sword arm’s wrist and raised Caladbolg, trying to bring the blade to her neck and end the fight.

“Oh, like hell-”

Mia grabbed Edward’s wrist, leaving the two locked in a test of strength that she would reluctantly concede wouldn’t end in her favor. Still, it gave her time to gauge his stance, and eventually she managed to break out of the lock - Alondite freed, crashing down and forcing him to retreat.

“Neat trick, I guess.”

He grimaced and backed off when she blocked the attack. He adopted a new defensive stance, not wanting to be caught off-guard by her next attack. He took deep breaths, trying to figure out a way around Alondite. The sword’s sheer size made it a more effective weapon than Caladbolg ever could be, even discounting its more powerful enchantment.

He kept the stance up as he slowly stepped away from Mia. He had an idea, but he’d need his other sword for it.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Mia lashed out with Alondite to the side, its beam tearing across the tiles and sending his other sword clattering down the stairs of the tower, far away from his hand. She’d promised not to use the beam on him, after all, not on the sword he hadn’t even drawn for this duel.

“Let’s do this properly, Edward. You got yourself into this mess with only one sword, try and get yourself out of it!”

He had expected the beam to strike him, so he quickly sidestepped away from the beam. He gritted his teeth when he heard the actual target of the attack clattering down the stairs. So much for that plan.

He took stock of his surroundings. He might do better if he could get above her, but the only option for that was the walls, and obviously, it was a long way down if he fell. He slowly circled around her, searching for any weakness in her footwork or defenses. Now that she had wrecked up the stone, maybe he could goad her into an error, tripping herself up on some of the broken rock…

“I can see why you needed to remove that one from the fight,” he said. “Two swords too much to handle? I just assumed you were up to the challenge.”

“Oh, please.” Mia snorted, tapping Alondite against the tiles again. “You were the one who chose what sword to use. You were gonna grab another one and try to surprise me, cheater.”

She started carefully stalking around him, keeping an eye on the broken roof. She hoped she wouldn’t have to pay for that…well, it was his idea to fight up here.

Well, evidently she wouldn’t be caught up like that. Now he had to find a way to just slip past the huge sword instead. Probably his best bet was a feinting lunge to try and get behind her and tap her on the back.

He raised his sword up out of its defensive position and placed a foot back behind himself. He counted in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then, he charged. He fully expected her to sidestep the predictable charge, which was what he wanted her to do.

His foot caught. In his effort to charge her, he had himself forgotten about the loose stone. He let out a cry as he stumbled, losing his pose completely.

“Aaaand that’s that.” Mai said confidently. She’d read the feint already, and had been prepared to twist instead of sidestep and slap him on the back to end the duel - but he’d ruined his footwork, and this was easier.

She sneaked inside his guard, knocking him to his knees before tapping Alondite against his two shoulders in rapid time, laughing a little. “I dub thee Sir ‘Not Quite Good Enough’. Still…good fight, Edward.”

He knew he’d lost as soon as he stumbled. He regained his footing while she was tapping his shoulders with the enormous sword.He turned and grumbled, dropping Caladbolg to the ground. He held out a hand for a shake despite his own frustration.

“Yeah,” he agreed shortly, not quite meeting her eyes. “How do you even wield that thing? It’s almost as big as you are.”

“It’s not as hard as you’d think, really.” Mia shrugged, lifting the blade and looking at her reflection in it. “Sure, the thing’s heavy, but it’s not that much worse than an armorslayer. The bulk gets in the way, but that’s why you practice.”

She let out a small chuckle, shaking his hand and helping pull him back to his feet properly. “Honestly? Half the time I’d prefer a killing edge or my old brave sword. But the brave sword broke, and…well, you don’t get given this thing and not use it.”

He stood up on his feet, looking across Mia’s sword, then up her arms. As much as she downplayed it, even he was doubtful that it was as easy a swing as an armorslayer.

“Freedom’s Edge is definitely more my style. I’ve used Caladbolg for a while, but I also like the thinner blades.” He held out a hand. “Mind if I hold Alondite, give it a few swings? I’ve never used a sword like it before.”

“You break it, you can explain it to Commander Tanith.” Mia laughed, passing it to him as she leaned against the wall. She frowned, running a hand along her chin as she considered it.

“Actually, I’m not sure why they haven’t asked me to give it back yet. It’s not like they’re scared of me. I could totally take any of them in a fight, don’t get me wrong, but…Tanith scares me.”

He took the sword and gripped it with both hands. He stepped away to avoid accidentally striking her as he gave it several sharp swings. It was by far the heaviest blade he’d ever swung, but the weight was extraordinarily well-distributed. He remembered almost locking blades with Ike at the river crossing, and was very glad he had not - that duel, with Ike wielding Alondite’s sister, would most certainly have been his death.

“Well, Ragnell and Alondite may be Begnion’s treasures, but they seem happy to let those who are worthy hold onto them,” he replied. “Otherwise Ike would be swinging a silver blade or something. Besides, who the hell is going to be able to take these things from you guys?”

“I dunno…if Sanaki got any older, she might stand a half decent chance. She’s scary enough for a little kid already. Besides, after everything that went down, I don’t think they really want anything ‘blessed by the Goddess’ lying around anymore.” Mia laughed, waving him off. She could make a decent guess at what he was thinking and she sobered a little, a dark look crossing her face.

“The river crossing, right? Yeah. I almost died there too. And that thing -” She pointed at the sword in Edward’s hands, scowling. “was what did it. The Black Knight, or Zelgius, or bastard or whatever you want to call him had Ike down on his back. I tried to stop him, but all I really did was distract him and break my Brave Sword on his armor. He was about two inches from just killing me before Ike shoved me out the way of the beam - and he ended up in the medical tent for his troubles.”

She sighed again, shaking her head. “That was a stupid fight. I still can’t believe we were all set up that easily.”

He kept swinging the sword while she spoke. When he finally was ready to talk again, having let a pause linger for a bit, he had a frown on his face.

“It was all stupid,” he replied. “After we freed Daein, I thought we would be done with war. We were rebels, not professional soldiers or…” He gestured to her with his free hand. “Mercenaries. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fight for Daein as many times as I need to, but I don’t exactly relish it, and besides, Daein’s only stake in the war was some stupid pact only Micaiah and Tauroneo knew about. For the rest of us, we were just senselessly allying with our oppressors.”

“Entire damn thing. I still can’t believe Micaiah actually saved Sephiran’s life.” Mia sighed, running a hand through her hair. “A lot of people died for a really stupid reason. At least the senators who set most of it up were dealt with.”

She reached out to get Alondite back, a warning look on her face that suggested he wouldn’t like what happened if he didn’t return it. “You’re getting better, Edward. Compared to how you were at the crossing, at least - looks like your leg healed up nicely, too!”

“…I’d say sorry about that, but hey. Teaches you a lesson about biting off more than you can chew, huh?”

He flipped the sword over so the blade faced downward, before holding it out for her to take.

“You make a better sparring partner than an enemy,” he said. “I’m going to beat you someday. Time’s all you’ve got over me. Well, that, and a huge freaking sword.”

“You’ll beat me when I start getting old and slow.” Mia said firmly, taking the blade back and sliding it into the oversized sheath on her hip. “You’re getting better all the time - but so am I, remember. I don’t think either of us has quite peaked yet.”

Which was something of a terrifying thought, she’d admit. She prodded at some of the ruined tiles of the roof, frowning. “So, uh…am I gonna have to pay for that?”

He looked across the rocks while he picked up and sheathed Caladbolg. He shook his head.

“I’ll get it taken care of, the duel was my idea,” he answered. “Do you need to get back to your company? I don’t think they expected either of us to run off and get into a fight.”

“Honestly, I think boss would be more surprised if I didn’t vanish to fight someone at this point. Did you know I’m technically banned from Sienne unless Ike’s there too? Something about scaring the trainees if he won’t keep me in line.”

Mia waved a hand, dismissing Edward’s concerns. “Hope Micaiah doesn’t yell at you too much.”

[schicksalserbe]

Written for @duskwhisper. Contains their first meeting as children; which is really important for this ship and also explains a lot of development.  Words: ~3200.

The radiant sunlight above greeted his scaled skin with the most pleasant warmth after the boy finally left the shadows of their domain, speaking a silent prayer to his watching Father, the Sun, to show his gratitude. Truly, it was indeed a blessing to have successfully avoided his furious sisters thus far who would only grab both of his arms to drag him back to do chores suited for someone of his age. Yet not for one of his temper. Even now, at the brink to become a man with his almost fifteen summers, he was still a child in the eyes of his tribe, and naturally also to his sisters. His height was by now superior to all of them, even to his brothers around his age, a tall silhouette clouding the sun if he wished for it – but his bulky appearance fitting for a proud son of Azim meant nothing when he had no right yet to prove his worth in front of their Father and the entire tribe.

The little contests held to appeal and motivate those younger among them meant only very little to the honor he could receive when he was old enough to fight the strongest warriors and accept the trials of Azim. Deadly tasks, only mastered by the most courageous and strongest. Even the smallest among them learned to wield a weapon at a young age; they learned how to survive in the vast Steppe and how to slay beasts and outsmart them – but children were not allowed to officially hunt until a certain age, nor could they participate in any trials which were held several times a year to determine the strength of each individual and to praise Azim.

And as much as Magnai enjoyed to watch his older brothers and sisters fighting whilst the sun was standing at the zenith, anticipating the outcome of each battle, he wished to participate himself. It was pitiful to watch the different weapons clash and hear the loud shouts of encouragement without being able to fight himself – and let his axe speak more than thousand words. Frustrating as it was, Magnai often tried to suppress his thirst to fight, reminding himself that soon his time would come. Unfortunately his sisters did not understand all of this, merely blaming him for skipping the elder’s lessons and their own and hiding in the shadows of different houses to avoid their mercilessness. Often enough they would find him, no matter how much he tried, giving him work he despised.

Nothing made him smile more than holding a weapon in his growing hands – a weapon he was used to wield so well ever since he turned seven, much to the surprise of some of his brothers who had seen him in the past, chasing the creatures near their homes with such burning and frantic passion untypical for a young boy. There was only little which could compare to such feeling of strength and power; even if he had also always enjoyed the calmness of the night and the soft breeze brushing his scaled skin while listening to the elder’s tales. Another summer and he would earn the right to participate in the trials of strength and to accompany their warriors on patrols and hunts. And another few until he was old enough to step into Bardam’s Mettle and become a warrior.  

The boy followed the play of the light upon the green, fresh grass growing near the Dawn Throne, simply letting his feet led the way. His belief had taught him that his Father, the Sun, would always watch over his steps wherever he went; and to be here, free from all tasks and just with his outworn weapon on his back, he indeed felt so very free. Most children, even some of their adults, refrained from walking too far away from the protective shadow of Azim’s face descending from the Dawn Throne in the middle of the Steppe – but Magnai feared naught. He was stronger than most, and also more courageous. There was hardly any beast he could not slay yet, despite still not being a man – and seeing the sacred land with his very own eyes was more satisfying than keeping his head low near the waters below while watching their sheep. And after some while, when he was thinking about resting for merely a bit before he could swing his axe against some scattered rocks, he heard distant growls. Certainly, it was not unusual to meet one of the many beasts living in the Steppe – but being experienced in hunting already, despite of his age, he immediately knew that these growls were far from usual. They were on the hunt – aggressive and unstoppable.

As he stood on top of the rock after following the loud growing sounds, his eyes immediately found the helpless prey of the pack of Steppe Gedans in the green grass below. Yet it was no lost lamb who now easily became victim to the mercilessness of the nature after one fool had missed its disappearance during its daily grazing but a young child, seemingly not older than maybe seven or eight summers. The pack of beasts circled around her tiny silhouette, smelling the scent of blood dripping from a fleshy wound on her legs, knowing that she could not escape them. There was no weapon to use to defend herself from the sharp fangs and claws, even if her stature would have allowed her to even use one. He doubted she ever learned to begin with. Magnai did not know to which tribe the girl belonged to, but he quickly understood that he had only little time to save her if such was Azim’s will. Questions could be asked later – and truly, his beating heart longed for fresh blood. His fury had been restrained for too long; his frustration towards his sisters had grown to be too overwhelming. And to see a defenseless child die in front of his eyes was neither the will of Azim nor Nhaama.

The beasts had not yet noticed his sudden appearance, hungry eyes resting on what they believed to be their next meal and not the last sight they would ever see. Their claws grated the dirt beneath their paws, an obvious sign for their imminent attack as pack – which also was his perfect opportunity. In almost complete silence Magnai had managed to draw the axe on his back, heavy and almost twice his height, making only little sound for them to even notice his presence. But even then it would already be too late. In an instant Magnai jumped from atop of the gigantic rock, right into the pack of Gedans who had not expected such surprise, swinging his axe with such speed and strength that the skull of the nearest creature not only made an dreadful sound after its powerful impact but also flew a few feet through the air, landing on another who had prepared for a jump. But his weapon came to no rest, not even after tasting the approaching victory already. The Gedans immediately drew back, fearing for their lives after the strong hunter had appeared – but the young Oronir was faster than them all. Unbelievably skilled and powerful for someone of his age, he turned his body with a sidestep, using the gravity to his advantage. He leaped forward, tossing his axe this way to deal a deadly blow in a cone to most beasts still in his range, finishing them off with only one blow. Crimson blood colored the former green grass, but it was far from being over.

No matter how strong he was, stronger than any other boy of his age and even stronger than some of their warriors, he was still a child who had not yet reached his full potential – or even strength inside his limbs. Wielding a weapon twice his height was exhausting even for him, feeling the tension inside his muscles only from the few fatal swings he had dealt – and the time he needed to recover from such attack was also crucial. He knew of this; preparing himself to turn his body to offer little spots without proper defense – but claws sharper than any weapon he knew already cut his skin and scratched over his protective scales. The feeling of pain – Magnai was not exactly used to it yet, only injuring himself only very rarely during his lonely training; but he grit his teeth as if he felt nothing at all on his bleeding arm. He could not show weakness as proud Oronir. He was no longer a child, even with his almost fifteen summers. It did not matter to him that he had already killed more than ten of them – he needed to kill them all. Ignoring his own fresh blood, his clenched fist found the throat of the slightly smaller creature, burying itself deep into its fur and taking its breath. This quick attack gave him some time to reposition himself on the field – and more importantly to throw his body between their fangs and the girl whimpering nearby. She was scared to death, he did not have to watch her closely to know that; and this was another reason why he had to finish them more efficiently and more quickly.

He rolled himself on the ground, avoiding that two of their long legs managed to touch his body, breaking the neck of one of the remaining Gedans which was close to reach the tiny girl. Atrocious as these creatures were, beasts driven by the blood they smelled and the flesh they saw in front of their dead eyes, they would not retreat – and having such knowledge, it was quite easy to predict what they next move would be. It was not the first time Magnai had defeated them; but certainly it was his first time to deal with a whole pack by himself. And still…the victory was close. A confident smirk appeared on his lips knowing that; and the grip around his axe became stronger for a mere moment as he prepared his final attack. Their instincts misled them and right into his trap. There were no survivors on their sides, only slain beasts who would soon turn to dust and grass once their bodies withered. The adrenaline flowing through his veins had greatly suppressed the pain he felt – and now with the battle being over he felt the marks on his body so very well. But now was not the right time. His breath was uneven as he approached the still sniveling girl who still sat on a perfectly green spot surrounded by bloody corpses surrounding her, carefully and silently placing his bloody axe on this ground to not scare her more than she already was.

The amber eyes of the boy fell on the fleshy wound which covered almost her entire right leg, assuming that there was only little chance for her to even be able to stand or walk on her own. He did not have to ask her to know that she probably ran away from the pack in desperate panic; and most certainly not quick enough. He still saw the fear of death lingering inside her teary eye and the pain hiding inside it. That she did not yell for help was indeed a mystery to him. ‘You are safe now’, were the first words he spoke to her in a seemingly calm voice, even if he probably terribly failed in it. The blood inside his heart was still throbbing very loudly after the battle and his tone, neither the one of a boy nor of a man, was proof of his fatigue and own pain. There was no answer, but he had not expected one to begin with. She was most certainly in shock after her near death experience. Kneeling down in front of her, once again slowly and carefully, Magnai reached to a bag hanging on his belt, taking out some herbs he had stolen from his sisters not so long ago. He only knew very little about how to treat wounds, often skipping the many lessons the other children received around his age, but he knew enough to know that it would prevent for her blood to become poisoned – but the bleeding would not so easily stop. No, he had to take her with him.

Once again Magnai grit his teeth, enduring the deep cuts on his arm – knowing that his honor as child of the sun demanded to make certain that this girl was safe first. He was quick to remove a part of his intact sleeve in the color of the bright sun above, not caring much for the mockery he would have to endure later if he returned to his tribe this way. The cotton would be enough to stop the bleeding for a little until they could part ways once again. ‘It will hurt a little. Don’t be scared. It’ll stop the bleeding.’ He was just informing her to ease her fear if only for a little; not expecting an answer or even awaiting one. And indeed – he did not need her approval to save her life. His strong fingers hold her legs still whilst his other hand quickly and tightly covered every part of her wounded leg with what once had been his sleeve – and yet his gaze often lifted from the wound to meet her own from time to time, just to hopefully calm her. He knew he was rough in what he did in order to stop her bleeding; but she did not complain. He had no word, not even one of pain. Oddly strange for a child who had never learned how to fight. ‘What is your name?’, he demanded to know, but the girl remained silent.

The reflection of his eyes was filled with worry after not hearing a single answer, but it did not stop him to do what his pride and honor told him to. He silently prayed to Father Azim, asking for his strength to not collapse before returning home. The fight had made him be more exhausted than he dared to admit; and truthfully, he could not waste too many thoughts on that now. One of his hands grabbed the bloody axe near him on the ground, placing it back on his back. Carefully he lifted her tiny body with both of his arms – and like he had expected she weighted only very little – as he stood up with a fluent movement, not wasting any time. Her small face was close to his heart as he took a big step away from the many dead corpses, holding her close to his body for her to know that she was not alone. There was still no answer or hint to who she was – but he assumed that someone in the nearest settlement would be able to help her. She was a child and therefore no found victim to the hostility most tribes had among each other; even less in Reunion. One moan of pain escaped his lips as he climbed over a rock with her on his arms, feeling her weight on the deep cuts which already colored his remaining sleeve in crimson red. But he did not stop to walk with her on his arms and the heavy weight on his back, knowing that Azim would guide him to the settlement.

And indeed, every of his steps were accompanied by the Sun’s warm light, sending him some strength until he reached Reunion after some time. It was already afternoon when he saw the wooden gates guarded by the Qestir’s warriors. As soon as their gazes fell on the two of them, one warrior wanted to rush to his side but he immediately stopped his intention by silently glaring at him. Even if his garment was torn apart and full of blood he was still a son of Azim, a child of the Oronir tribe. He had his pride and he needed no help of any other but his Father. Apparently they respected his silent wish since they let him pass without coming to close to him, not even tending the girl he held in his arms. The Qestir warriors were no use for him anyway. He carefully placed her on one of the many chairs in the middle of the market, leaving a small trail of blood behind him. But it did not matter. Kneeling in front of her again, his gaze flew over the wound he had tended earlier, noticing that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. As he looked up again, a soft smile had appeared on his lips. ‘The bleeding has stopped. I am certain it still hurts a little but fear not. It will heal in no time. It was truly a blessing of Azim that I found you. No tears now, child. I shall return to my tribe at once. Someone will help you here.’

He wanted to leave – face being more grim than the face anyone else would have at this age, disappointed by his own weakness. Yet before he could take only one step away from the petite silhouette near his side, he felt her little fingers digging in his garment, as if she could keep him from leaving. His lips parted to say something, noticing that her teary gaze had become determined. She was clearly still in pain, and he could read her attempt to ignore the sting inside her own leg, but instead her free hand now grabbed for his wounded arm, painted in crimson. For the first time he noticed an hidden radiance inside her eyes, a beauty he had not seen before – but the young Magnai was more irritated to see worry inside them, after all that had happened.

It hurt his pride; and truthfully – he could scarcely even contain his rising anger. He knew he could not be mad at this child, who probably did not even know about the Oronir’s greatness as young as she had to be – but to see someone being worried about him, not his Nhaama but a girl so much weaker and younger than him just because he had been too weak to defeat the pack without a single scratch, bothered him. This was not fitting for a proud son of the Sun. Her fingertips faintly touched his arm, coloring her skin in the red of his blood ere he withdrew his arm in reflex, not wanting that she touched him. Or the shame he now wore on his arm. There was nothing she could do to begin with; and he did not need her comfort after he carried her the entire way while she cried her eyes out. ‘I am a proud son of the Oronir tribe. We do not die because of a little wound like that.’ He loudly exhaled some air. ‘Do not worry about me. I will become stronger than this’, said the boy with adamant voice. ‘

Slowly his own hand removed hers which still held onto his clothes, watching the glow of her eyes while he did so. That girl…was quite odd. But he didn’t need her pity. Instead, he pitied her. ‘May the great Azim watch over you.’ And with that he turned around, leaving her before she could stop him again, clinging to him like she had done when he had held her inside his arms.

[bazaarwords]

The tips of Asami’s fingers were always cold. Korra loved the cold.

Korra could feel them resting against her knuckles as they made their way down the street. Asami gestured with her free hand as she explained the thermodynamic-something-or-other of the engine-thingy—Korra had given up trying to understand the moment Asami had mentioned physics, but still listened with rapt attention. When Asami got going about her work, the way her eyes lit up and the small smiles that punctuated every sentence made Korra’s heart swell in her chest.

“Earth to Korra,” Asami sang. It took a moment to register that she was waiting for an answer, eyes sparkling and a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m listening!”

Asami chuckled. “I asked you what you wanted for lunch twice.”

“We—uh, you did?” Korra stuttered, but her confusion earned her a fond look from Asami—the kind that coupled a squeeze of her hand with an easy, genuine smile that crinkled the edges of her eyes. “I was distracted.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” Korra returned the squeeze, stroking the back of Asami’s hand with her thumb. “Your eyes light up when you’re talking about work. I guess I got lost in them—ultra cheesy, huh?”

Before she could prepare herself, Asami was pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, smiling that same soft smile when she pulled away. “Ultra sweet,” she corrected. As she opened her mouth again—Korra could only hope to say something even cheesier—something hard whacked her shoulder, almost catching her off-balance.

“Hey, what the—“

“Keep that filth to yourself!” When they turned, there was a man behind them holding a basket of apples against his hip that he might have been selling before he’d decided to throw them. He held a green apple aloft, a look of disgust over withered features. He looked like the kind of person who’d never been happy a day in his life. And Korra wanted to beat him to a pulp, especially at his next words, “You two are disgusting!”

Korra edged forward, gritting her teeth. “You want to come over here and say that to my face?”

She felt a firm grip on both of her arms, and Asami’s voice beside her. “He’s not worth it, Korra.”

“He hit me with an apple!” Korra complained, but Asami’s grip was already loosening the knot of anger in the pit of her stomach.

The man glared at them for a moment longer, placing the apple back in his basket like it was a bomb. It wasn’t the admission of defeat or fear that Korra would have wanted, but he’d probably realized that fighting the Avatar would not end well for him. He adjusted his basket pointedly and hobbled across the street, grumbling. Asami turned Korra away from the scene, keeping a firm but gentle grip on her arms until they rounded a corner.

“Are you okay?” she asked once they’d made it to the next street.

Korra gave a derisive huff. “I’m fine. Angry, but fine. Spirits—what nerve, you know?”

“I know,” Asami sighed, and it was one of the weary ones Korra often heard when she’d talk about problems at work. “You’ve got to wade through a sea of jerks to find good people. Hey—” Korra stopped, looking up at what had Asami distracted. She gestured towards a brightly painted sign for a tea shop ahead. “How about we step in for some tea?”

“Yeah…” Korra agreed, a touch of weariness creeping into her voice, “I think I need it.”

As Korra pulled the door open, gesturing for Asami to enter before her, a soft bell chimed above her head. Asami tossed her a smile, and Korra felt the anger that had welled up in her chest dissipate further. She reached out for Asami’s hand again, which was gladly accepted as they walked up to the display case. The shop was tiny, only two tables inside and another one out front. Light wood panelling and big windows kept the space light and open, and Korra found the natural light to be relaxing. The place smelled like fresh-baked breads and pastries and the soft aroma of delicate teas—it smelled like a cozy home should.

“I’ll be there in just a moment!” a woman’s frail voice came from behind the back wall, and before long there was an elderly woman shuffling out of the far doorway. She was small and feeble with a stooped back and snow-white hair. Her eyes were turned to the floor as she wiped powdery hands clean against her apron. “Did you come to pick up—oh!” she exclaimed, finally looking up, covering her mouth with her hands as she noticed them. “Miss Sato! Avatar Korra—what a wonderful surprise! Please, sit wherever you’d like. What can I get for you two? Tea? Pastries?”

“Just a pot of jasmine, please,” Asami asked politely, giving the woman a gentle smile.

“Of course, of course, I’ll be just a moment. Please, sit, sit!”

They obliged, and the moment Korra had sat down, Asami took both her hands, brushing her thumbs over her knuckles. Korra gave her a grateful smile, and the look she was awarded in return almost made her forget about the bigot from the street. Asami had always had that effect on her—one glance and she was completely relaxed, one touch and she was at peace. Their location was helping, too, and Korra found that she couldn’t be bothered to care about what had happened on the street. Not with Asami looking at her like that.

“Feeling better?” Asami asked, eyes searching.

“A lot better. Thank you,” she admitted, giving calloused hands a squeeze. She chuckled then, “How do you do it? How are you always so calm? I was ready to snap that guy’s neck.”

Asami laughed. “Don’t mistake control for calm. I handle my emotions differently,” she said, looking down at their hands. “It comes across as boring, more often than not.”

Korra huffed, incredulous. “Like you could ever be boring,” At that, Asami glanced back up, and Korra offered her a grin. “I guess I’ve never picked your brain after a fight. You’ve only yelled at me like, twice.”

“You don’t make me angry. Often,” Asami added, laughing. “Maybe irritated, but I wouldn’t lose my temper for that.”

A sudden pang echoed in Korra’s chest. It must have shown on her face, because Asami’s expression grew serious, and she gave her hands another, concerned squeeze. Korra sighed, knowing Asami would ask if she didn’t explain first. “I just… I’ve been trying to work on my temper for so long, and I’d like to think I’ve gotten better, but sometimes…” She sighed again, searching for the words in the woodgrain of their table. “Sometimes I feel like you have to put up with so much nonsense.”

Asami tugged on her hands, and when Korra looked up, she’d leaned across the table to press a soft kiss to her lips. It was short, gentle, but the way Asami kissed her always made her feel so loved. When she pulled away, she kept close, leant over the table. “Korra, you and I handle things very differently. But we have the same motivations and the same values. That’s why we work so well together,” She smiled and Korra felt a wonderful, tingling warmth at the tips of her fingers. “We wouldn’t put up with each other’s nonsense if we didn’t want to.”

She watched the woman before her carefully, but instead of anything longer, her mind could only settle on one, unquestionable truth, “I love you.”

Asami’s smile grew, green eyes a little glassy. “I love you, too.”

Korra was so lost in her eyes that she almost missed the old woman shuffling back around the display case with their tea. They parted so she could set the teapot and cups down between them. “I had some special leaves from the Yang Province in stock. I hope you both enjoy. It is an honor to have you in my shop,” she said, meticulously arranging their teacups. When she’d finished, she rose slowly, but looked as if she wanted to speak again. “I don’t want to impose, but could I perhaps introduce you both to my wife? I know she’d love to meet you.”

Wife? Korra thought, catching Asami’s eye. “Of course! We’d love to meet her,” Asami answered after a beat, giving both Korra and the woman a reassuring smile.

The woman looked so thrilled at their acceptance, Korra couldn’t help but feel a little excited along with her.

“I guess we finished wading through that sea of jerks you mentioned,” Korra said, feeling light and giddy. “Didn’t take long.”

Asami just shrugged like she’d known that this would happen, taking Korra’s hands again with a fond look. “It never does.”

There was a clamor from the back, but Korra’s eyes were locked on to Asami’s when the woman pattered back over to their table.

“Ren, I’d like to introduce you to two wonderful ladies! This is Miss Sato and Avatar Korra.”

They released each other’s hands again to look up, and Korra was confused for a moment to see the old woman alone. In her hands was what looked like… a picture frame. She turned it out to them, a beautiful woman framed in gold and silver leaf at its center. She had soft features and light eyes, and a radiant smile.

In an instant, Korra’s heart both broke and lifted.

At Korra and Asami’s joint silence, the woman just sighed fondly, giving the picture a gentle once-over before turning back to them. She offered them a watery little smile. “I like to keep her close, even after all these years,” she explained, clutching the photo to her chest with shaky hands. “It would have been so wonderful to have public figures like you two when we were young. I’m sure you know this, but you two give people hope. I expect you understand how important that is these days.”

“Yes ma’am,” Asami said instantly, her voice small, wavering, and Korra turned to see her blinking hard, clearing her throat before responding again. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.”

Korra was at a loss, looking between Asami, the old woman, and the picture of her wife. Only one thought came to her mind at the scene, so, true to form, she just blurted it: “Can I give you a hug?”

The woman looked taken aback for all of a second before her face broke into a toothy grin. “Why of course you can!” She carefully set the photo down on the display case and Korra went to hug her. Once she had, Asami joined in, and Korra couldn’t stem the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes.

Her entire life, Korra had learned from her elemental masters, and she found that she wasn’t surprised at the fact that listening to the elderly woman in the tea shop felt the same. They spoke for hours, soaking up the memories she laid out for them, admiring how her generation had stood strong in the face of hate. Korra felt responsible, then. Like she had a duty to the world not only as a force of good, but a beacon of hope and understanding. Maybe her and Asami’s lifetime wouldn’t give way to the future that shone so brightly in her mind’s eye, but she wanted to do her part to pave the way. She was motivated to make this little old lady proud.

When they’d said their goodbyes, she grabbed Asami’s hand on the sidewalk, lacing their fingers together, and Asami gave her a smile filled with the determination she’d gained over a pot of jasmine tea.

So later, when she kissed Asami in the middle of the city, soft and sweet, it felt a little like a stop along the road and a little like a beginning.

For a friend. 

AO3