#which is probably why I have the itch to hyper focus on something

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

For those that are reading Five Seconds, Two Breaths and One Silence, I am sorry that this week's chapter is late. I am almost done with it. In about a month I am moving across country over 2k miles away (yikes) and I am trying to juggle that and writing and fests that I need to get started on yesterday oof.

[5ivebyfive]

Once Trimberly have kids who has the hardest time leaving them for the first time and how does that whole first time away from their kids go?

Honestly, I think it would be hard for both of them, but it’d be harder for Trini. She wants to be the there, hands on, Latina Mami. But Kim would spend a couple weeks convincing her they need a night out. They haven’t had a break in six weeks and Kim is itching to have a night away from their lovely twins, who are 6-8. Somewhere in there. Finally Kim says who better to fill in for them than their own moms? And after a night’s sleep Trini agrees.

Trini talks to the twins all day about behaving for their grandmothers and not playing switching names because it’s rude. Kim is so excited she starts getting ready early. Then she watches Trini gaze around her closet uncertainly and comes over and picks out a little black dress and wraps her arms around her wife and says she’s anxious too, but the girls need happy, relaxed moms and Trini shouldn’t feel guilty about leaving them. She reminds Trini that the girls love their abuela’s cooking and probably won’t even notice they’re gone. Which makes Trini pout. Then Kim asks if it will help to make three calls home while they’re out to check in, and Trini nods. As they finish up their makeup, the twins run in having finished their movie and jump on their moms’ bed asking what time Grandma and Abuela will come over. Then Rowan frowns and asks if they’ll be back for bedtime, and when Kim says no, she sits down and crosses her arms and asks who will read them stories? Kim says Grandma and Abuela. Then seeing Rowan still pouting says they’ll call at bedtime to say goodnight. Penelope leans down and, loudly, whispers that they’ll probably get loads of ice cream, and Rowan perks up.

Then Trimberly’s moms are there and the twins are running around all hyper, and Trini starts telling them everything they need to know. Including that they’re only allowed ONE scoop of ice cream each. Kim is tugging Trini’s hand and says they’ll be fine and can’t they go? But Trini keeps adding more to tell them. Finally Madison takes Trini’s hand in both of hers and tells her everything will be fine and they should just have a nice night out together. Trini tries to get hugs from their daughters, but Penelope is running around all wired and doesn’t want a hug. Rowan lets Trini hug her then grips on when Trini tries to stand and asks what if she can’t fall asleep without her moms? And Trini is about to cave and cancel the night out, but Kim leans down and kisses Rowan’s cheek and tells her if she really can’t sleep then she can stay up til they get home, and that makes Rowan feel better.

It’s so hard for Trini to leave, and even Kim’s heart clenches when she looks back at her daughters, but she knows they need this. She pulls Trini out the door and promises again that it’ll be fine. She kisses the back of Trini’s hand and gets Trini to focus on her and Kim gives her a bright smile and tells her she loves her. Trini smiles back and says it back. They get in Kim’s car and as Kim backs out they both look at Rowan’s face in the window, who is waving at them bravely.

After their first drinks and appetizers, they’re both a little more relaxed and laughing, holding hands over the table. And Trini anxiously looks at her phone. Kim tells her she can use one of her calls now, so Trini does. They both talk to each girl and their moms, and when they are done Kim asks if Trini feels better. Trini nods and relaxes into their meal. Until it starts to nudge at her again. She tries to put it off so she doesn’t seem pathetic, but Kim smiles and takes out her phone and dials home, then immediately hands it to Trini. Once they’ve both spoken to the girls again, Trini breathes more easily. But she misses them and as she pouts Kim asks what’s wrong. Trini tells her. Kim squeezes her hand and says she misses them too but they’ll be home in a few more hours.

They get caught up in their meal and talking about something other than kids and Kim keeps making Trini laugh. As they’re having dessert Trini says they have to call for bedtime, and Kim says this is her last call of the night. Trini nods and grabs her phone. The call is a little longer than the others because Penelope is still wound up and Rowan is sniffling and asking if they can come home now. Trini’s in the middle of saying they’ll be right there when Kim frowns and takes the phone. Trini listens to Kim assuring Rowan that they’ll come in when they get home and that Rowan can sleep in their bed if they want to, then waits a beat and says, yes Penelope, too. Kim cooly handles the situation and hangs up and tells Trini it’s not time to go home yet.

They’re later sitting on the beach with Trini sitting inside Kim’s legs with Kim’s arms around her and Trini asks why it’s so easy for Kim. Kim laughs softly and says it was the hardest part about being a mom, other than seeing the twins hurt, but she knew one of them had to be cool about it so she pretended. Trini leans back into her wife and they talk about doing this more often, about their family, and about how happy they are. There’s some making out, too. Then Kim says should they go home, and Trini jumps to her feet and says yes.

They drive home relaxed but excited. They let themselves in and see their moms get up to get their things and go. They hug them and see them out then bound up to their bedroom. Penelope is passed out beside Rowan, who is sitting up and sleepily rubbing her eyes as she watches Finding Nemo for the millionth time. She lights up when she sees her moms and they come over to kiss her and hug her and Kim says, see, told you we’d be back. They change out of their dresses and take off their make up then push Rowan and Penelope into the center of the bed and get in on either side of them. Rowan immediately curls up into Trini and says she missed them, but it wasn’t too bad. Then in a small voice she asks Trini if they’ll always come back when they go away. Trini hugs her and says always. Then they all lay there to fall asleep and dimly Penelope’s voice comes up and says they had two scoops of ice cream, and hot fudge.

....sorry, this got long.

[kdelarenta]

a week

pairing: mason x f!detective (josie valentine)

rating: a - for angst, also this is my first time writing mason so don’t bully me <3

summary: the aftermath of the bakery incident 

! contains book 3 demo spoilers !

monday 

it hurts. the sleeves of his shirt feel constricting as he crosses his arms,the material scratching his skin like sandpaper.everything in the room feels too bright,too loud and the sun. the sun burns.

closing the blinds apparently isn't enough as a couple of beams break through and he moves to dodge them. the sharp curves of the fireplace stab him in the side and he almost looks down to search for blood. he was used to his senses acting up and he could take them quite well most days but this time somehow feels different. he doesn't remember it being this strong.

but why?

his brows furrow in confusion but even the motion seems to hurt, the pain a stabbing focus that points to a realization.

oh right.she's not here.

as a name pops up in his head like a neon sign he has to try his best and blink away the pain-streaked face that now comes with it. the picture only seems to worsen the pain as a sort of weight presses on his chest. the weight mixed with the pain almost has him ripping his own hair out but he decides against it when he notices nate staring. his face is all compassion and worry as he looks him over.

why is he worried? he's not the one who's in...

,,i'm going for a smoke"

he doesn't wait for a reply.

tuesday

he only sees her for a second as he walks to the common room. she's just shutting the door but the sight of her still makes a small blanket of ease wash over him. he wants to walk towards her,say something. as she turns around he half expects her to let out a small gasp and then berate him for scaring her but this time she seems to know he's there. she doesn't look him in the eye but the way she's clutching her bag says that her senses are just as hyper focused as his. as she begins to walk past her eyes meet his for a brief second ,as though she can't help it,but they move away so quickly that he doesn't manage to read them. she continues walking without saying goodbye - so unlike josie.

whatever.she'll get over it.

wednesday

,,nervous are we mason?"

felix's head goes back and forth as mason shifts his position from the sofa to the fireplace and then back again. the comment only earns him a growl as mason yet again tries to find the least painful position.

,,stop it,felix"

he somehow manages to tune out the rest of nate's berating as he focuses on something else. his ears are pulsing with the thousands of overbearing noises out and in the warehouse as he searches for a familiar sound. almost desperately straining his ears to catch the reves of the familiar silver hatchback,the soft clinking of heels and a familiar heartbeat. he saw her yesterday but it somehow felt like such a long time ( a long time since he heard her voice,saw her smile or listened to the familiar drum of her heartbeat). somewhere in his mind he knew he wanted to see her,he intented to -but when adam asked who wanted to wait for josie at the station,he stayed silent. his body yearned and ached for the sense of calm,the dampener that was her presence,but he couldn't. he was selfish, there was no denying it. he wanted josie but no matter how much his body screamed,just this once - he didn't want to be selfish. not with her. not again.

he sees the door open before he hears it and suddenly all his senses bleed out. the pain,the sounds,the unease it's all subdued just by the the familiar tone of her voice and her fit yellow sweather. josie and adam are quick to announce their arrival earning smiles from both nate and felix. he hasn't taken his eyes off her from his place at the fireplace but her eyes are almost tightly locked forward. she doesn't dare look at him as she sits down on the sofa,like she always does. he doesn't even think about it - he blinks and suddenly he's there,perched on the arm of the sofa. he can't help but sigh at the immediate peace he lets drown him whole but it doesn't last long. he feels her shift next to him and get up from the sofa to go sit next to felix. he's as suprised as mason is,his mouth already opening to say something but at the last minute decides against it.

fine,he'll let her sit in peace. (maybe it'll make him feel less guilty)

thursday

the more he thinks about it,the more confusing it gets. he shouldn't feel guilty, he should feel annoyed at least or better yet he shouldn't feel anything at all. it's all because that stupid fucking baker made a stupid fucking asumption which he corrected. although using some harsh wording but still,how is this his fault? how is it his fault that they kissed just a few seconds before? (it was the second time they've kissed, the first being while he was recovering from rescuing Sanja - both kisses almost too gentle but still deep, overwhelming)

sure,he knew what kissing meant to josie.he knew the implications that came with it, never kissing anybody just to kiss them,always making his intentions clear. it was the first time he wanted to - kissing just for the sake of it. kissing because he wanted. he marveled in the way her kissable lips felt almost untouched,in the way they almost shook with the fear of being exposed,vulnerable, trusting-

shit.

she trusted him.

she trusted him and he crushed that trust.

friday

he sees josie fidget in her chair as if to try and shake off his intent focus on her. she must realize there's no dodging him now with his goal clear and resolution made. he was going to right this - anything , just to get back to the way things were, so he could feel peace.

he keeps telling himself that that's the reason he was bothered by it all,because he lost her presence. but somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that's only partially true,this thing he feels (guilt,probably) is pointing to something else. he pushes it away - not now.

as the meeting ends josie is quick to spring to her feet and start haphazardly collecting her stuff. ignoring the pit in his stomach he decides to get it over with. the rest of the unit is there but he doesn't care - he just wants it over.

,,avoiding me,sweetheart?"

she tenses and forgos her stuff altogether,she still won't look at him though. the nickname usually makes her heart flutter , he listens and searches. nothing.

,, sorry mason, i don't have time to deal with you right now"

this feels wrong. all of it feels wrong - from the strict tone so unlike her kind one to the choice of wording.

josie doesn't deal with people. she cares for them in her gentle way and treats them like they're better than they are, she lets them drain her time, her energy and to mason's constant displeasure she does it constantly. the pit is now bigger and threatens to swallow him whole as he gives a frown. this feels wrong. he opens his mouth to say something but she beats him to it - cheeks flushed, but this time with anger.

,, i don't want to see you naked"

somewhere in the backroud felix giggles but his entire focus is on her. he sees is it all on her face,clear as day. the conflicting emotions dance like shadows in her eyes and she takes a deep breath to calm them.

,,you,bobby,rebecca..."

she's almost panting now. clutching the file in her hand she looks down again. he squashes the need to grab her by the waist and holster her up before she passes out and focuses on her words. the words that are begging to come out in waves.

,,...you know,you all just take,you take and you don't-"

his eyes widen. this is all wrong,it's a fever dream. he can't hide his suprise as she mentiones rebecca,he thought they were on great terms? and bobby,that reporter guy,she said they were the same...

,,relax sweetheart,i only said the truth. you're the one making a fuss"

the words are growled and irritated,they itch his mouth and he regrets them as soon as they come out. he sees her hands abruptly stop shaking and what ensues is nothing but silence. painful silence. he barely registers the team's focus on them, no one dares speak as the air freezes. he's suddenly freezing and then burning again. it still feels like a fever dream. he wants to wake up, he wants to take it back, he wants-

,, fuck you mason"

he hears nate gasp in the background but it doesn't matter. he finds that nothing matters anymore as her eyes stare directly into his and she's shaking again. all he can think of is the grimace on her face and her hand that's twitching to cover her mouth (like she's shocked with herself,like a child when they do something wrong). the words don't belong in her mouth,too sharp and too crass, they cut and contrast the gentle curves of her lips. the words are not hers,she's heared him say them, she had them said to her by some drunk she had to arrest but they're not hers. her hands stop twitching as she comes to a decision. he deserved that.

no one says anything as she picks up her bag and leaves,taking the peace with her.

saturday

/

sunday

/

[miasmacaron]

I’m in love with carmine and would die for him. Please answer every single question on the ask meme for him. Including the author questions.

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? Carmine doesn’t need constant stimulation, but he does prefer to keep busy and distracted, lest the Bad Thoughts hit him and ruin his good mood.

How easy is it for your character to laugh? It’s pretty easy to make Carmine smile, and even get one of those single huff laughs from him, but it’s actually a lot more tricky to get him to break out in a full fit of laughter.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?) As often as Carmine goes to bed via blacking out, sometimes he has to do it the hard way, which is no good. He prefers sleeping somewhere like a room above a noisy tavern so he can focus on the ambient sounds rather than his own thoughts as he drifts to sleep.

How easy is it to earn their trust? Back when he was a Pathfinder Carmine trusted people easily and freely. These days his trust is a lot harder to gain, not because he was wronged by others, but because he has become less trustworthy. It’s hard to believe you can rely on someone when you can’t imagine why someone would help you.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust? Fastest way to earn Carmine’s ire is to loot through his things. His personal effects are not to be touched by others.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable? Laws are inflexible to those not born in privilege. But the people enforcing them can always be bent if you know how.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?The smell of inauthentic Tian cuisine (especially sesame chicken), the scent of freshly squeezed orange juice, and the sound of wet feet on floors. The feeling ranges from bittersweet to heartbreaking, depending on where his mood already sat.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?Carmine was one of those kids who thought of the world as his canvas. He had to be told many times that no, you can’t draw on x surface. He was also told that it was okay to stop remembering.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word? He doesn’t remember his first swear word since cursing was just such a normal thing in his household. His household being the Tian-themed brothel his mother and all of his “aunts” worked in. He does know when swearing is and isn’t appropriate though, and doesn’t have a sailor’s tongue.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them? Historically, that he “doesn’t worry about the whole reincarnation thing” because it does, in fact, haunt him. Recently though he has been lying about a great many things, including why he retired from the Pathfinder Society.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? When he doesn’t know something he will often play up his confusion on the matter in such a way that it makes people thing he is lying about not knowing it. He takes the piss out of the idea that he could ever know anything about the matter.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?That’s what friends are for. Or random strangers he just made friendly with, if you catch my drift. If no one is around however, a wand of cure light wounds makes for a good scratching stick.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color? Carmine is firm on the fact that red is his signature colour, but no, it is not his best colour. Having pale blue skin results in him looking a lot better in blues, purples, and even some greens. He refuses to let his pigmentation rule over his self expression.

What animal do they fear most? Carmine doesn’t have a great fear of any animals, but the closest he gets to that is a weird factor when it comes to snakes. His last big expedition with the Pathfinder Society involved a lot of sneeple, snake gods, and snad times. It’s less of a fear and more of a festering wound.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? He tends to think on his feet with his words, always finding new innuendo to pepper in as he goes. His speech tends to be relaxed but playful, and has a habit of speaking with his hands, partially because it distracts people from his eyes, as people tend to get put off by his lack of pupils. He is chatty and can sound self aggrandizing while at the same time downplaying his actions and mind. The pleasure is all yours, but never make the mistake of thinking he could possibly have anything but hedonism on the mind.

What makes their stomach turn? Sexual violence. He likes a bit of light bdsm but Carmine has witnessed too much honest to god sexual violence in his life to find pleasure in anything too brutal.

Are they easily embarrassed? Shame? Never met her.

What embarrasses them? If Carmine is to be embarrassed it would be from something like forgetting someone’s name or face, or even the fact that they were once a lover of his. The drugs hinder his mind as much as they help it.

What is their favorite number? 69. Obviously.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so? It’s hard for Carmine to put a line between them. He basically divides his love in terms of would I want to have sex with them? Then it’s romantic/platonic. Do I love them and do not want to have sex with them? Then it’s familial. Romantic love he would say is generally more possessive than platonic love but he’s just not a possessive person.

Why do they get up in the morning? On the micro: Because he needs to go the bathroom, or to drink or ingest something to deal with his hangover. On the macro: Because he still has work to do.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? Carmine isn’t a possessive person but he is definitely an envious one. He tends to get out a quick mope to himself, then seeks to distract himself from it by having his own fun.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? If his envy towards something (never for a lover) is allowed to fester it turns into rage. Anger at the world that would deny him again and again.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? Sex is probably the topic Carmine is the most comfortable discussing to just about anyone, the limit being no I am not talking about sex to children.

What are their thoughts on marriage? Not for him. He is glad for those for whom it is a source of joy, but.. Not for him.

What is their preferred mode of transportation? One time on a Pathfinder mission he made a quick comment about carrying the conversation (he was essentially yammering to himself to fill the dead air that the mostly silent group left), and the hobgoblin barbarian then picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to the dungeon. It was quite clever really, now /he/ was carrying the conversation. Best mission ever.

What causes them to feel dread? The glyph of the open road, the sound of arrows knocking, knowing he is going to run out of intoxicants and will have to risk hunting them down in a new area on the road.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? Carmine may like distractions from the unpleasant truth, but he prefers that to a lie. He wants to know exactly what he is running from.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals? He tries to. He really tries.

Who do they most regret meeting? Rue. Another Samsaran who knew Carmine’s past life. Carmine wants nothing to do with them, and nothing to do with that life.

Who are they the most glad to have met? It’s hard to say, as there is such pain in having known them. Probably his greatest love.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? He tends to lean on innuendo and flirting in conversation, that or falling into his rambling on philosophy.

Could they be considered lazy? Carmine isn’t lazy, his character flaws keep him from getting the things done that he wants to do, but he definitely has the drive to do them.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? He doesn’t carry a sense of guilt so much as he brandishes it like a weapon. He refuses to shake it, he feels he deserves it.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? Carmine ADORES when people talk to him about their interests. As a hedonist he is all about people seeking out joy and he personally takes great pleasure in the joy of others. No one shines more than when they are embracing what brings them happiness.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?Carmine is a flirt and does consider most of his entanglements to be romantic, simply not particularly longstanding romances. Every one night stand is to be cherished and savoured in it’s own way. And as he is very fond of having ‘entanglements’, he definitely seeks them out.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? Carmine actively avoids learning memory tricks, he just has to trust his gut with things. Such is the life of a man with a lot he wishes to stay forgotten.

What memory do they revisit the most often? Soon after his hair went white as a child, due to extreme stress, his mother took work off with his “aunts” covering for her, to just hold him and tell him stories.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? Quite. He would like people to overlook his flaws so he affords others the same.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws? He is hyper aware of his flaws, at times this means he shrugs them off as being a part of his life, and other times it crushes him. All depends on the day.

How do they feel about children? Carmine wants kids far away from him because he likes kids. He is a bad man after all, and a worse influence.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? Carmine is willing to do almost anything to achieve his goal, and honestly? If he knew he had to do x horrible thing and that would guarantee the completion of his ambition? He would probably say yes, regardless of what x thing was.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? Yes please. (But also pan.)

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS A) Why are you excited about this character? I can’t wait to play him in our upcoming Carrion Crown campaign because he is just SO MUCH and I just love playing characters who are sassy, flirtatious, and complex. He’s my bad boy with a heart of gold and honestly it’s gonna be so fun switching between sex jokes and philosophy talks on the drop of a hat. B) What inspired you to create them? Carmine was originally a one-shot character whose race and class were randomized from a table I made. I then decided I wanted to make a fresh take on a Samsaran, one who had an interesting view on the whole reincarnation thing. I remember design wise being inspired by high fashion and Varric from Legend of Korra. I also joked at the time that he was based on Dorian from Dragon Age without knowing much of anything about Dorian, and now I am playing DAI and going “CARMINE IS THAT YOU??”  C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? Luckily as he is a  TTRPG character, I don’t have to do much of that. D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? Over time he has changed his look, going from a kempt shorter hairstyle with a fantastic pencil stache to a messy mop of hair, stubble, and a handlebar moustache. He also sports different clothes but that is only natural. He has also since his creation gotten a tattoo on his lower back of a butterfly with one wing ripped off. E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? We would get along excellently tbh. Both of us are social butterflies and would chat the night away. F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? Delicious heartache and just a wee bit of lust. I mean, come on, look at him. I’m demi and honestly part of my joy when it comes to him is the fact that he would be the perfect man for me to experiment with. He is experienced, but I also know he would be just as happy with me if I told him mid-go that I wanted to stop and just cuddle. THE PERFECT (EXTREMELY FLAWED) MAN. G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? I am concerned about how his addiction issues will go in the game itself, and hoo boy his anger issues are nothing to be sneezed at. H) What trait do you admire most? Carmine’s attentiveness to other people’s needs and boundaries, and his ability to be so open to new experiences. I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? It’s hard to translate him outside of his universe as he is a Pathfinder-specific race and his race largely paints his worldview but I honestly would love to role play him in other situations. J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character? Samsarans all have jet black hair naturally but I did the anime thing of his hair all going stark white due to stress. I know people’s entire mops of hair and eyebrows and eyelashes don’t turn white like that but shhhhhh it’s aesthetic.

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 8: Clamor

Just catching up still, apologies, doctors appointments and sickness have delayed me a bit @-@

Lucia feels stuck, sent back to Ishgard following an injury sustained on the battlefield in Ghimlyt. Communications were lost some fifteen minutes ago.

And then someone unexpected burst through the door.

Word count: 1,590

Even after she had been relieved from the frontlines on account of injury, Lucia was never truly at rest. Acting in the Lord Commander’s stead as he remained afield, her daily correspondence with him was a necessity, even as it made her itch down to her bones for how idle she felt, waiting back home while so many other proud Ishgardians were still fighting, dear friends she considered family among them.

As soon as she was properly recovered, she would be rejoining them, she reminded herself. It did little to truly soothe her anxiousness, but it was enough of a balm on her pride to keep her focus on the duties that she had the ability to carry out.

That anxiety had made the First Commander twitchy, however. Hyper aware of everything around her, even in the quiet of the Congregation in the dead of night. She had no real reason to be on such high alert— Ser Handeloup was on his way to change shifts with her, and Hilda had already come to drop off a late dinner from the Forgotten Knight and a kiss goodnight before heading home. She had no one she had to anticipate approaching for the next bell or so— which, she supposed, was exactly why her senses were straining to pick up a sound out of place or not expected, especially working at the war table in front of the entrance as she was.

In particular, when her line to the Lord Commander was cut short some ten minutes ago. She felt responsible for it, even knowing that she would be a detriment to his contingent in her current condition. The knowledge did little to ease her nerves, which in turn left her on high alert with nothing to focus all of this hyper awareness on.

Which was something of a blessing; Lucia heard someone running up toward the doors to the Congregation, their footsteps clacking loudly on the stone road outside, even muffled through the thick Mahogany doors. There was a clamor outside, momentarily— just beyond the doors. The voices of knights hailing the person running, shouts to wait tapering off into shocked noises that sharply grew in volume as the massive doors were shoved open. She had already begun to sit up straighter and ease herself up from her chair altogether as the door hinges groaned, alerting her and half of Foundation that someone had just walked in. A sharp twinge in her leg drew her attention away from the guest, and she took a moment to brace it with a hand and grit her teeth as she shuffled herself, armor and all, into the closest thing resembling parade rest that she could manage with her injuries.

A stance that went slack with shock when she saw who had entered the Congregation. Even as her leg still twinged with pain, muscles protesting sudden movement and stitches displeased with the stretch of skin over flexing muscles, it felt distant, looking at the woman who had just walked in the door.

Serella’s hands still hung on the massive door handles, body still leaned into the half opened doors, one leg stretched forward, though she had grown still as their eyes met. The olive green travel cloak draped over her armor did little to hide the wear and tear it had endured. That she had endured.

Time seemed to still in that moment. Two sisters hovering in a literal and proverbial threshold, hesitant to reach out and cross the distance that hasty actions and words born of hurt had made between them. That forgiveness and apologies had already been exchanged long before Serella had been made to travel to another realm entirely was beside the point; they had had so little time to truly heal together before war and impending cataclysm had demanded they walk different paths, however temporarily. That there was hesitation in both of them spoke to their need to continue healing, to continue talking and moving beyond that godforsaken investigation that had nearly undone their bond.

Time caught up with Serella first. With a shuddering breath, she stepped past the doors, into the Congregation proper, and let the heavy doors creak shut behind her. Even as the light readjusted again, the shadows wrapped around the Warrior of Light like a second skin, the low light of the lamps did nothing to hide how wide her eyes were as she stared at Lucia. They did even less to hide the way they welled up in tears.

They had so much to talk about. So much yet unsaid, so much healing to be done, and Lucia felt every onze of it acutely. But when Serella’s lips quivered and her shoulders shook— only once, before she choked on the sob that nearly escaped her— and she hiccuped a very quiet, “Cia,” none of that mattered anymore. Not at that moment.

The pain in Lucia’s leg barely registered in her mind, even as she stumbled around the table, nearly toppling over in her scramble to reach her sister. Serella seemed of like mind, for a blessing, and had been there to catch her in a clutching, desperate embrace. Lucia’s injured leg might have buckled, just a bit from her twinging nerves, but Serella squeezed her so tightly it hardly changed their posture. 

“When we heard naught from you for so long, we feared the worst.” Lucia admitted into the soft fabric of her cloak. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A hand came up— gentle, warm through the fingerless glove— and gently pet the shorn hair at the back of Lucia’s head. Her eyes burned. In an effort to swallow the impending tears, she squeezed them shut.

“The Alliance is probably getting correspondence from Tataru as we speak.” Serella sniffled, and drew away to swipe at her own eyes. Lucia yet held fast to her arm, anchoring her here before something robbed her of her sister again. “But the Scions are awake. They yet need more time before they can return to their duties, of course, but—”

The Paladin was stumbling over her words, desperately trying to get them out in her excitement, eyes still shimmering over much in the warm torchlight with each frenetic gesticulation of her arm.

“You bring the best news I have heard in months,” Lucia admitted. “Would that most of us were not yet dispatched. I lost contact with them not even a bell ago.”

To her horror, tears of overwhelming frustration welled in her eyes. Swallowing them down proved near impossible— all the more insurmountable when Serella drew her back into another embrace.

“I can do nothing like this.” Lucia hissed, fists clenching into her sister’s cloak. “My injuries are not healed, I would only endanger them, I can do nothing—”

“But I can.” Serella promised, and pulled away again, hands on Lucia’s shoulders as she held her gaze with frenetic determination. “I will find them— and I’ll bring them home. You’ve been fighting all this time. Least I can do is this.”

But letting her leave like this, with everything between them only half resolved but knowing that this warmth and closeness was still there and still theirs bade Lucia to squeeze at her arms as if to keep her there.

“It should not fall to you again. We ask too much of you as it is.”

“Good thing you aren’t asking, then.” Serella grinned. 

Her hands were gentle but insistent when she pried Lucia’s fingers off of her arms and held her hands in the space between them, her forehead pressed against Lucia’s third eye until her focus had closed in on only the two of them. The intimacy of the act— something they had not shared in so long, something that Lucia had feared they would never share again, left her nearly undone but for her ironclad professionalism.

“We have a lot we haven’t said— I know that. But I have a lot of words I need to say to a lot of people out there. So keep the faith: we will speak again.”

Lucia had forgotten how reassuring it was to have her sister there. That though they could all stand on their own without her, they were objectively better for her, even when she did naught but stand beside them. She made them better, and made them want to be better. She hadn’t realized how close to despair she had been, following the loss of comms between home and Ghimlyt. Now, she drew herself to her full height, shoulders back, her mask of grim determination unmoving once more. 

“We will.” Lucia confirmed with a singular, firm nod.

Serella gave a nod and pulled the hood of her cloak back up. The shadows were not so deep that her face was obscured entirely, but the way her eyes vanished into the dark made the flash of her teeth in a broad grin seem all the brighter, even before she had begun to spin teleportation magicks. Even as she rose, gently, some few ilms, elevated by her spell, she held fast to Lucia’s hands until the aether swept her away entirely.

Handeloup burst through the doors just as the Warrior of Light dissipated. With nothing to hold on to, Lucia let her hands clench into fists at her sides.

“Which Arcbane was that?” He asked, panting from exertion— he must have run here, too.

“Serella.”

“Unsurprising.” Ever gracious, Handeloup spoke not of the tear treks that yet stained her face and chilled her skin. “To work, then?”

“To work.”

[bananaink]

KeGo December Day 13 - Window

Izuku crossed his arms in front of his chest, a slight sting shooting through his ribs, and stared after a woman on her bike down the street. She had too many grocery bags on her stupidly colorful bike and swayed dangerously from side to side. Someone tried to help her but she just smiled and kept on. She made it out of Izukus field of view safely and left him bored again.

He sighed against the window and looked over his shoulder to check on Aizawa. He was still sitting with his back to Izuku at the kitchen counter, either reading or scribbling something down. His mug had stopped steaming so he would probably refill it soon but otherwise it was quiet in the apartment with almost no movement.

Boredom was something he wasn't really used to. Usually he would either hide from his brother, avoid his father or work with/for Kurogiri. If these didn’t apply, he would care for his wounds, scavenge for food or write in his journal. But all of the above were just... gone. Not an option. His fingers itched for a pen and his notebook but to get it he’d have to leave the apartment which – as the police, Aizawa and reluctantly Izuku had agreed on – would not be possible for a few more days. Maybe weeks. Just to be safe. Just until they were sure he was safe, his mom was safe, his wounds had healed and they had decided what to do with him.

Nervously, he eyed Aizawas back. The underground hero hadn’t exactly offered to take him in, just told the police to call him when questions would arise, herded him away from the station, into a car and then drove back here. Then he had proceeded to dump Izuku on the couch and empty the storage room of any and all storage. And now Izuku was trapped in a very weird limbo, unsure about anything. What would happen to him?

And to make matters worse, he had never felt so full of energy. His muscles didn’t ache, bones didn’t creak, his stomach wasn’t cramping with hunger and the few restless hours of sleep gave him so much more focus to work with. So much more he could observe, analyze. And no notebook to write it down. Great.

Well, he was supposed to be resting, lying down and letting all that energy work out his lingering injuries which were still stinging and burning and pulsing here and there - but that just wasn’t an option with Aizawa so close. And every time he closed his eyes, his brother loomed over him.

He paced in front of the window again - four steps, turn, four steps, repeat - and eyed the plant on the little table outside. It looked even sadder with only one green leaf remaining on its dried and frozen body. Izuku found himself guessing how long someone had to ignore a plant for it to reach this state of more-dead-than-alive. Maybe days? Weeks? But it would get water from rain and direct sunlight, wasn’t that supposed to be the only thing for plants to grow? How could it still die? Frowning, Izuku bit down on his lip to keep his bubbling words down and when he heard Aizawa standing up to refill his mug, he stopped and watched him over his shoulder.

But the adult just sat down again, sighing and popping his shoulders, stretching his arms over his head. Izuku grimaced in sympathy at the sound. Sitting hunched over a table did bad things to a back and Ereaserhead hadn’t moved for hours. Aizawa scratched his head, ruffling his already wild black hair and turned to look over his shoulder. Immediately Izuku swiveled his stare outside again, crossing his arms and pretending to be very engrossed in something down the street. His skin prickled a little bit and he started pacing again as soon as the hero's attention wasn’t on him anymore.

He managed ten minutes of mindlessly staring outside with glances at the clock in-between before he looked over his shoulder again. Aizawa was still sitting there. With his back turned. Working or something. Izuku took a deep breath and quietly let it out again, before scratching the side of his head and glaring at that back. This was dumb. He was bored out of his mind. And Aizawa just sat there. Being busy.

“You’re annoying.”, he said with sudden vigor and flexed his hands, waiting for a reaction.

“Okay.”, came the deep answer, obviously distracted.

“And stupid.”

“Mh-Hm.”

Izuku lifted his hands to phantom-strangle Aizawa from across the room, barely stopping himself from hissing in frustration. The adult had been nothing but quiet and nonconfrontational for the duration of Izukus stay and it started to get on is nerves. Especially if he had nothing better to do but stare outside a window and worry his head off.

He paced for two minutes more, grumbling under his breath and watching a cloud, looking like a muffin, move over the sky before he glared at the hero again. He seemed so aloof in these walls. As if he had nothing to fear, presenting his back to Izuku, napping defenselessly slumped on a chair or carelessly handling Izuku knives to chop vegetables.

He could have attacked Ereaserhead by now easily. Yeah, Izuku would probably spectacularly lose but not before inflicting enough harm to scar the hero. Not that he wanted to fight but this indecisive situation, this fear of the unknown, the question of would he be allowed to stay or send away...

Rubbing his scarred cheek, he made a decision. Probably a stupid one, reckless and born from spite but it would be better than smashing his face against the wall or staring at the vulnerable back or waiting and giving another person the power to decide.

Making sure that his pacing went on for a few more seconds, he slowly made his steps quieter, lighter until he was sure Aizawa couldn’t hear them anymore. Then, he chose a path that would avoid that one creaky floorboard beside the couch and keep himself out of Aizawas line of vision, if he decided to turn the same way he had done before. That should give him a few seconds if push came to shove. He tip-toed to the big bookshelf and its inhabitants, zeroing in on the well-used ones and buzzing with anticipation.

It only took him ten, maybe fifteen minutes of nerve-wrecking silence and hyper focused movements to not drop anything, but once he was done, he quietly went back to the balcony-window and made his pacing slowly audible again. Then he threw some huffs and sighs into the mix. Aizawa just sipped his cold coffee.

Izuku crossed his arms in front of his chest and eyed the bookshelf. Inconspicuous and not the biggest inconvenience he had made but still annoying enough. That should show the pro hero to leave him alone to his own devices. And maybe jog his decision...

An annoyed but slightly impressed Shouta stood in front of his bookshelf, holding “How to live like your cat” in one hand and “Well, you are Single - How to cook for one” in the other. Neither had been the one he needed.

Gazing up at his shelf he frowned at the turned picture-frames, his cat-figurines and books facing the walls and that dumb Present Mic action figure Hizashi kept sneaking into his home delicately balanced on its ridiculously accurate hairstyle.

He turned to look at the boy currently highly interested in the window, tapping the glass and fidgeting on the spot. After ten silent seconds of staring at the back of his head, Midoriya even squished one cheek against the window and hummed an innocent tune. Shouta turned back to the shelf, eyeing the turned books. Even the highest figurines he himself struggled to reach were turned - how in the hell had Midoriya managed to reach them without Shouta noticing?

And – more importantly – why?

“Midoriya.”, he said, voice unexpectedly loud in the silence surrounding them. The kid almost jumped out of his skin and up the ceiling, but he still turned around with the most clueless expression Shouta had ever seen.

“Why?”

The boy eyed Shouta intensely first before glancing at the bookshelf.

“I’ve asked myself the same thing. Seems impractical to store them like this, Ereaserhead. You can’t even read the labels or see the pictures.”

“No... Why would you do that?”

“Do what? Improve your mind with casual memory tasks? Save you from thousand dead cat-eyes staring into your soul?”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”, Shouta tried to say without exasperation and put the two books back were Midoriya had sorted them. Backs facing the walls.

“And I told you to call me Aizawa when I’m out of costume.”

“Sure beans. You’re welcome by the way.”

The pro hero rubbed his forehead, sighed and then put his hands on his hips, turning fully to look at Midoriya. The kid flinched hard again despite his confident voice and the impressive defiance in his eyes.

“Alright, undo all of this. And get me my books on the history of quirk manifestation back in order please, I need them.”

Midoriya stared at Shouta for a few seconds with an unreadable expression. Long enough for it to almost get uncomfortable. But then the kid shrugged and walked over. Stiff and tense but he made sure to sound as carefree as he tried to move.

“A shame, this is so much more exciting. Which book will you get? Cats, cooking, history or even more cats? You never know.”

With that he shuffled close and started picking specific books out and piling them at his feet. Shouta eyed the covers and quickly realized that he was sorting them by genre. The kid had memorized the books and their placement which wouldn’t be that impressive if it weren’t for the fact that Shouta had a whole wall of books. He himself never cared about a specific order or sorting system since he only used a handful of them regularly. One section for school-related books and one for his favorite cat-themed-ones. But other than that, he just stuffed them somewhere in hopes of forgetting them. Most of them weren’t even his since he usually had no time to read anyway.

Midoriya pulled out a ‘teaching for dummies – part 3’ book and Shouta sighed at the memory of that specific birthday party. Hizashi had been oh so funny...

Shouta sighed, watched the kid and wanted to cross his arms over his chest to get comfortable, but suddenly Midoriya ducked into a crouch and swirled around, eyes wide and face ashen. He knocked a small pile of books over and Shouta froze with his arms halfway in the air. The boy in turn froze with his shoulders curled, eyes jumping all over Shoutas body and lingering on his hands. He looked scared. Prepared. As if expecting a hit.

They blinked at each other – one surprised and one expectant.

Okay.

So, that happened.

The kid took a measured breath, awkwardly saying something about being startled by a spider and quickly tried to play his own reaction off by grabbing the knocked over books. As he stood up to sort them back into the shelf in alphabetical order, the pro hero carefully lowered his hands again, stuffing them into his pockets. Right. Traumatized kid. Not fond of hands. He carefully observed his forcefully relaxed body movements and how he always had Shouta at least halfway in his vision. His back never fully turned towards him.

He gripped the books a little bit too tight.

“Midoriya-”, he said and the kid startled bad enough to let the book go, frantically trying to catch it before it hit the ground and knocked three more to the floor in the process. He winced and tucked his flailing arms back in before presenting Shouta with another very innocent look over his shoulder. The underground hero sighed.

“Is there something you maybe want to let me know?”, he asked and Midoriya – for a very hot second - looked trapped. But he quickly caught himself, fiddling with the sleeves of Aizawas borrowed pullover that looked entirely too big on him and made his face as expressionless as possible. His cheek twitched and he tried to hide it by scratching his scar. Unnecessarily hard, digging into the skin. Aizawa suppressed a frown at that because the boy looked on edge and ready to bolt. His attempt at a casual shrug looked stiff and forced.

“Your plant is dying. Pretty negligently for a pro hero.”, he said, surprisingly sure of himself and Shouta couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy was deflecting. He hummed in thought, eyes roaming over Midoriya and his posture. He was obviously still in pain, holding himself a little lopsided and tense but at the same time he had managed to rearrange his whole bookshelf as quiet as a trained professional.

And it had taken him a lot of focus to pull that off.

Midoriya eyed him from under his long and unruly curls, still very expectant and tense. As if waiting for a sentence. A verdict. Shouta sighed and let his eyes wander to the balcony. The door was still open a small gap because Midoriya really didn’t like closed doors and tended to flee to the open when anxious. Shouta would have to keep that in mind, especially regarding the costs of keeping his home nice and cozy. Maybe more blankets? That’s when a thought entered his head and he would have face-palmed himself if not for the fact that the boy was still fidgeting right beside him.

“I must apologize. I haven’t been as openly with my communication as I promised I’d be.”, he started and Midoriyas face fell a little bit, devoid of color before he swallowed and ridigly turned to the bookshelf. He fidgled with a cat-figurine in stiff hands and had his shoulders up to his ears.

“Whatever.”, he hissed, tightly.

Shouta sighed again, feeling dumb and sheepish and not like someone ready to decide something so big for a boy with a history as complex as Midoriyas. He had talked with Inko Midoriya about this, with Hizashi, with Tsukauchi and with the principal, but not even once with the kid in question. Had wanted to wait until he’d have the paperwork read, until he’d have everything planned out, thought out. He had wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing and showing the anxious, traumatized and scared kid that he could take care of him and his needs, that he’d have a plan, that he’d make sure he’d get the help he and anyone in his position deserved. But that seemed to have backfired.

Midoriya had his eyes on his work, diligently putting the books back in order, but his eyes were dull and tired. His whole frame seemed to have sunken in.

“I am in the process of getting full custody over you.”, Shouta said and watched again how the kid let go of everything he had held in his hands. Surprised he twirled around, eyes wide but quickly tried to stifle his reaction and looked at the ground, gritting his teeth.

“There is a lot of paperwork tat needs to be filled out but I am confident that I’ll be able to take care of you.”, Shouta said and tried hard not o sound like he was selling himself too much. The kid jus scrunched up his nose and Shouta – for a short second – feared that he had made the wrong decision, but then the kid rubbed his arm and leaned to the side. Unconciously closer to Shouta.

“Why?”, he asked and Shouta found green eyes starin caustiosly up at him. Shouta knew he had to be honest with the kid right now, so he took a deep breath and met the gaze head on.

“Because...”, he started “... I won’t hand you off to some kind of orphanage or rehabilitation system provided by the hero-society. With your history, people will treat you differently, unfair and cruelly. I’ve seen it happen, have dealt with the outcome. It will happen and that’s horrible, but under my guard I can protect you, prepare you, help you. I won’t let people make you into a villain.”

Immediately Midoriya jerked up, eyes blazing with fury.

“I’m not a villain!”, he seethed and Shouta met his fury with calmness.

“I know that. Still doesn’t change the fact that people might think differently when they find out and act on that.”

Midoriya sagged and looked to the ground, frustration and sadness rolling off him in waves. He absentmindedly touched his scarred cheek, tracing the handprint-shape and then frowned miserably.

“What... what about my mom?”, he asked, voice small and finally sounding like the young, scared boy he really was. Shouta felt the urge to reach out and put a hand on the boys head, offering comfort like he used to do with kids. But he stopped himself and instead leaned a little bit down to catch a better look off his face.

“She is still your mother and nothing will change that. As soon as you decide that you want to live with her again, you’ll be able to-”

“No, I- I don’t-”, Midoriya interrupted him and then looked mortified by it. But Shouta just waited until he had gathered his words.

“She- is she going to be fine? People- if people find out about me and the-”, at this he scratched his cheek harshly again, ”-won't she suffer, too?”

Shouta felt his chest give a painful little twinge at the pure raw feelings in that freckled face, laid bare and obviously terrified by it.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”, he said with as much conviction he could give and held the green-eyed stare for as long as he could. Midoriya broke it off with a little doubtful frown. And Shouta supposed that he could do nothing about it for now. So he looked at the books again.

“Now that we clarified this... finish with this and then we can go over the paperwork together. I asked of you to be honest and open with me as much as you could. It’s only fair I offer you the same.”

Midoriya stifled a sniff and went silently to work.

___________

Who is behind almost four days in their own challenge? This Idiot! ᕕ(◉Д◉)ᕗ 

Well, the temperatures in germany suddenly spiked and so I got hit with a migraine ready to burn a whole in my skull so... I blame the new lost day on that :’D

However! I made it and that’s all that matters :D

As usual, check out @banashee, wo is so much more disciplined than me and I crossposted this chapter on AO3!

Also, check out the kego prompts! :D

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: That Cycle Thing (ao3 link)

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory Series: Flashwave Week 2018 (Destiny Series)

Summary: "It's kind of weird, though, isn't it," Barry says, sitting in the clinic for the first time. "You know, that being a superhero or a supervillain is correlated with - well, developing a weirdo reproductive system?"

"Not really," Mick says. "See, it's not correlation. It's the other one."

"Causation? Wait, like, being a superhero means you go alpha or omega? But how?"

A/N: @flashwaveweek - Flashwave Week: ABO

——————————————————————————————

"New one, huh?" the big guy asks, not without sympathy.

"Yeah," Barry says. "Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of is," the guy confirms. "Mostly in the freaked-out way your eyes keep darting around. Don't worry. This place is totally confidential and a, what do you call 'em, a safe space."

"I appreciate that," Barry says, very sincerely. "I mean, you hear stories..."

"Pornorgraphy, you mean," the guy says.

Barry laughs. "Yeah, I guess. It's kind of weird, though, isn't it, that being a superhero or a supervillain is correlated with - well, developing a weirdo reproductive system?"

"Not really," the guy says wryly. "See, it's not correlation, it's the other one."

"Causation? Wait, like, being a superhero means you go alpha or omega? But how?"

"You know how a while back, Superman was the only major superhero?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how he and his cousin are basically the last of their species?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like you to imagine a computer-robot-creature capable of reprogramming the human genetic code being real unhappy with that fact."

"Wait. Are you telling me -"

"The whole alpha-omega shit all of us powered folks get saddled with is designed to make us reproductively compatible with Kryptonians? You bet your ass. Literally, if you're an omega."

"That's - that absolute bullshit! Why not make them compatible with us?!"

"We've all asked that question," the guy says. "All of us. At length. Usually at volume. Everyone reacts differently to finding out about the cycles, but that reaction’s pretty consistent.”

“No wonder.”

“Either way, that’s one of the reasons why capes end up dating each other more often than not. My name's Mick, by the way."

"Barry," Barry automatically replies, then flushes. "I mean -"

"No, no, it's better this way," Mick says. "No hero identities in the clinic. Keeps fights and rivalries from the outside from coming inside."

"Right. That makes sense."

A companionable silence settles on them for a little.

After a few minutes, Barry clears his voice.

"No, it's nothing like the tabloids say it is," Mick says.

"Oh thank god," Barry says. "That stuff about, like, heats and ruts..."

"You get cramps and a mild fever and you're, like, a little more horny than usual," Mick says. "Pretty similar to a woman's menstrual cycle. Nothing at all like the mindless fuck-or-die no-standards do-anyone bullshit you hear about."

Barry sighs in relief.

"Don't get me wrong, sex helps with the cramps and stuff," Mick adds. "But it sure as hell isn't a total loss of your ability to make decisions. Unless you're, like, into that, but that's your own business, y'know?"

"Good," Barry says firmly. "That was - yeah. Not good. I don't know what I was more scared of, the omega heats where you can't say no or the alpha ruts where you don't care if someone else is saying no."

"Yeah, that is definitely not a thing! Anyone who tells you otherwise, they're being dicks. You tell the clinic what they're saying and they'll shut 'em down. Everyone respects the clinic, hero or villain."

"Good," Barry says again, then hesitates. "Uh, one more question, if that's okay..?"

"Sure, shoot."

"How do you, uh, know? Which one you are, I mean. Or which one someone else is."

"There's a bunch of signs," Mick says. "But you usually aren't one or the other, you know."

"What? You're not?"

"Nah. It's got something to do with stress, proximity to other capes, nutrition, hormones, emotional state, whatever, but most people end up swapping dynamics every few years. Pretty rare to be one or another all the time."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"Most people don't. It's private, you know? Especially with all the misinformation out there."

"Superhero porn," Barry agrees. "Super-heroes, super-popular - and that's even before the cycle thing got into the mix."

"Yep," Mick says. "Congrats, you’re a fetish now. But what can you do?"

“Not much,” Barry agrees.

"Barry!" the nurse calls.

Barry starts. "Oh," he says, starting to get up. "That's me - I've got to go -"

"I'm sure I'll see you around, the way these things go," Mick says, waving. "But, hey - Barry?"

"Yeah?" Barry says, turning back.

"If you ever have any more questions about all this, I'm happy to answer 'em," Mick says. "Cape or no cape." Then he grins wickedly. “And if you ever want some help getting through those cycles, hit me up.”

Barry blinks, taken slightly aback – is he being hit on? He is definitely being hit on, holy crap, he’s being hit on by a very attractive man who is considerate enough to wait until Barry has a built-in excuse to exit the conversation, this is the best day ever – and then, slowly, smiles back at him. "I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks."

"Anytime."

Barry does end up meeting Mick again, sooner than expected - he's a speedster from the Gem Cities, so he's inheriting the mantle of The Flash from Jay Garrick, the older generation, and along with the mantle of the Flash come the Flash's rogues gallery, including the Rogues.

The Rogues, which include Heatwave.

Mick Rory.

Oh, well. It was probably too much to hope for that he'd be a hero.

At least, if he has to be a villain, he's a villain in Barry's jurisdiction. Heroes, Barry had discovered, are extremely territorial about their villains, always insisting on taking lead against them and butting heads over them.

(After the first the time Rogues visit Gotham, Barry abruptly realized that that means they'll be facing Batman's unique brand of massive overkill vengeance only without the vague fondness he has for his own villains; as this was followed immediately by Barry growing a spine and confronting Batman for the first time to insist that he be part of the investigation and subsequent fight, Barry understands the impulse much more.)

But, yeah. Barry goes through his first few cycles - omega cycles, currently - by lying on Iris' couch and making puppy eyes at her until she fetches him chocolate and hot water bottles, but then she gets together with Eddie and it seems a bit rude to impose.

At least Iris assures him she'll continue to pretend to be his love interest, since having one is apparently de rigueur for heroes, since everyone gets very judgy if you're feeling single for a while.

Even Batman has a love interest. Several, even.

But also, going through your cycle alone is...ugh. Mick was right, at least, in that sex isn't required (though superspeed makes taking a bit of time to scratch the itch an irresistible temptation), but Barry's starting to find that company really is.

And he's kind of short of that.

So when he heads out on reluctant patrol during the itching, annoying second night of his heat to find Captain Cold and Heatwave robbing a small jewelry store - no witnesses, no CCTV, barely anything worth taking to the point that Barry kinda suspects that the place is a Family front - he decides to tap Heatwave on the shoulder and say, "Uh, sorry, but at the clinic -"

Cold is in the middle of raising his gun but when he hears the word "clinic" he drops it with a sigh. "Of course he did," Cold says, rolling his eyes. "Mick, I'll see you when you get back."

"You do that," Heatwave agrees. "Barry, this is an anti-Family thing - wouldja mind if Len takes..?"

"Well, if it's an anti-Family thing -"

No one in Central likes the ever-warring Families.

Cold waves a hand at Mick and glares at Barry. "You be nice to him," he says, right before stalking out.

Barry flushes. "I mean - I didn't -"

He kind of did.

"It's all right if you just have more questions," Mick assures him. "Or even if you just want someone to hang around while you're being miserable. Doesn't have to be a hookup." He grins. "Unless you want one, of course."

Barry wars with himself and his own embarrassment for a minute, but Mick seems so calm and even Cold had been so casually accepting and damnit, Barry hasn't gotten laid in ages which is even longer for a speedster who occasionally time travels back in time to repeat a few days -

"The latter," Barry says, flushing red under his cowl. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," Mick says, eyes brightening. He steps forward and loops his arms around Barry in prime speedster-carry position. "Well?"

Barry runs them out of there.

Turns out Mick was right: it really does alleviate the symptoms.

After the whole mess with Eobard and things blowing up and Barry feeling horribly guilty and nearly running himself ragged, he notices that his cycles are – different.

Less cramping, more mood swings, for one thing. Mostly going manic, actually – super hyper, super bad focus, none of which is good for super activities.

The horniness is way up, as usual, but now Barry’s suddenly eyeing everyone around him because is it just him, or did he somehow miss the fact that he’s surrounded by extremely attractive people?

It takes a few days of being twitchy for Barry to realize that he’s in rut instead of heat this time.

And, well, Mick did say…

“Oh, sure,” Mick says, holding the door to the Rogues’ hideout open and gesturing for Barry to come in.

“There isn’t, you know, a compatibility problem?” Barry asks, coming in anyway.

“Gay people existed on Krypton too,” Mick says solemnly, then cracks up when Barry gives him a look. “I don’t know, Red. I’ve never noticed a difference, whether it’s alpha-omega, alpha-alpha, omega-omega, whatever. Besides, I live with a whole coop full of alphas now; someone’s going to be shifting dynamics sooner rather than later.”

“Oh?”

“Having a lot of one type tends to result in equalization, apparently? Something about syncing up hormones. Dunno.”

Captain Cold – Len, he’d told Barry to call him – waves from where he’s lounging on the couch. “Glad to see you two lovebirds are keeping it up,” he says.

That gets both Barry and Mick to splutter.

“They’re not lovebirds, they're just fucking,” Mark Mardon opines. He’s digging into a pint of ice cream with a fork. Barry wonders if that has to do with the heightened hunger of the alpha, or the cravings of the omega, or maybe the Weather Wizard’s just a frat boy at heart. Who knows?

“We’re just leaving, that's what we are,” Mick says, grabbing Barry’s hand and leading him upstairs. “So don’t bother us!”

As soon as they’re alone in Mick’s room, he grins at Barry. “Sorry about ‘em. Can’t live with them…you know the rest.”

“Why are you all living together?”

Mick shrugs. “Supervillain thing,” he says.

“What, a shared inability to make rent?”

Mick laughs. “Nah,” he says. “We did a job, it went pear-shaped, and now some people are out to get us, so we’re huddling together for safety. S’cool, don’t worry about it,” he adds, seeing Barry opening his mouth to volunteer help. “It’ll all blow over soon enough.”

“Well,” Barry says. “I’m glad you guys are doing okay.”

Mick’s smile broadens. “I’m glad to see you too, Red.”

Mick does end up going omega after another few months, and he calls Barry on the number Barry’s given him – they’ve been texting a little, back and forth, because Barry’s really bad at doing the whole friends-with-benefits thing without also doing the, you know, friends part of it –with a request that Barry show up at a certain warehouse with his supersuit and without plans for the evening.

It’s awesome.

And, well, after that…

It’s not that they’re dating or anything, that’s for sure. They’re hero and villain, and they are not pulling a Batman-Catwoman shtick.

But Barry has Mick on his speed dial, calling him whenever his ruts or heats hit – he ends up going back to omega pretty quickly, since apparently that’s where his body’s comfort zone is – and Mick does the same, wherever he is on his cycle.

And, you know, maybe they hang out outside of that, sometimes. Mick’s pretty cool – no pun intended – and he’s very laid back, which Barry really appreciates given the usual high-key frenzy that he has to deal with as part of Team Flash.

So, yes, sometimes they go see movies, or go to dinner, or Mick will swing by Barry’s apartment and cook him something, even if it’s not exactly on their cycles.

Sometimes Barry goes to hang out at Mick’s place – which usually involves at least some Rogues, or at minimum Len, because Len and Mick are codependent best friends and Barry respects that, especially once Mick explained that Len is ace and didn’t give a damn about cycles in any direction.

(Also, Len sometimes has glowing blue eyes, usually when he's reading this big large Book on the couch, but Barry has decided not to ask about that.)

Either way, though - it works.

It’s – nice.

Barry’s happy.

Of course, Barry's hardly the only hero with a regular hookup for heats and ruts, but most of them at least pretend that said regular hookups are not with one of their villains. Barry, on the other hand, isn't much for pretending, and that means he gets the occasional Talk from his fellow superheroes.

The annoyingness quality of said Talk varies based on the person involved.

"Bad guy, huh?" Aquaman grunts. "Sure that's a good idea?"

"Truce applies in relation to clinic matters," Barry reminds him.

He gets a shrug in return. "Doesn't make it not a bad idea."

"I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions, thanks."

"You sure you're okay?" Cyborg asks, looking sincerely concerned. "I mean, he's not, like, taking advantage or -"

Barry takes poor brand-new Cyborg to the clinic and corrects his misapprehensions much the same way Mick did for him, though without the proposition.

"A villain, Barry," Oliver says flatly. "Really?"

"Huntress," Barry reminds him. He's never going to let Oliver live that down.

"She's an anti-hero sometimes," Oliver says. "But Heatwave -"

"Are you trying to say the Rogues aren't anti-heroes sometimes?"

"Not the point."

"I don't think you actually have a point," Barry says. "You want to register your disapproval. Well, it's registered."

"You know it's not that," Oliver says. "We're friends. I worry."

"I appreciate that. But seriously, I'm fine. Trust me. Mick and I have a good set-up that works for us."

"You know, if it's just a lack of other options -" Hawkgirl starts.

"I'm flattered," Barry says hastily. "But seriously, Kendra, no, I'm very happy as is." He pauses and frowns. "Tell me Oliver didn't send you."

"No, no - well, he did express his concern -"

"Punch him in the face for me, will you?"

She laughs.

"You know, it's really good that you're -" Superman starts.

"Nope," Barry says. "If this is a lead up to say something about Mick, you should stop right there. I'm totally happy to talk work and even fun hanging out stuff with you, but I'm still pissed at you about the whole cycle thing."

"...fair point," Superman concedes. "Well, good luck. My cousin says hi, too; she's hoping to get back to Earth soon and wants to meet him. Assuming you're not still too pissed at her, too."

"...it's hard to be pissed at Kara."

"It really is," Superman agrees, quite solemn. He doesn’t take any of it personally, which Barry really appreciates.

Wonder Woman just gives Barry a thumbs up, but to be fair Barry is pretty sure she's casually dating Golden Glider, so he wasn't really expecting a lecture from her.

And then one day he turns around and the urban legend of Gotham is standing behind him with a brooding expression.

"Don't tell me you have an opinion, too," Barry sighs. He’d known this was coming – Batman had an opinion on everything.

Usually a negative one.

Usually a negative one backed with data collected via an unnecessary amounts of stalking.

“No,” Batman says. “No opinion.”

“…what, really?”

Batman’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker. “Central City is beyond my jurisdiction.”

Barry blinks. “I mean,” he says, “not that I don’t appreciate that, but – and please don’t take offense here – it’s not like you really seem to pay attention to that whole jurisdiction thing for other heroes, so –”

“Central City itself,” Batman clarifies. “I can’t enter. None of the heroes can, not without your authorization.”

“…what now?”

“Well, excluding Diana,” Batman corrects, as if that was the problem with what he’d just said.

“Go back to the part where there’s a forcefield around Central City,” Barry says.

“It’s not a forcefield,” Batman says. “I’ve checked.”

“Then what?”

“A zone of no-interference,” Batman says. “If it makes you feel better, it’s been there for a while; I don’t think it’s actively harmful.”

“…okay,” Barry says. “And you didn’t feel the need to mention this before, so you’re telling me this right now for a – reason? I assume?”

“The zone appears to have changed.”

Barry isn’t very good at glaring, and certainly not at Batman, but he’s doing his best.

“Your relationship with Mick Rory.”

“Wait,” Barry says, “I thought we were talking about the – no-interference zone, I guess? You said you didn’t have an opinion on me and Mick!”

“Mick and I,” Batman says. “And I don’t. But I prefer to keep an eye on things that change.”

“You haven’t even told me how the zone changed!”

“It doesn’t just apply to Central City anymore,” Batman says. “It also applies whenever you and Mr. Rory are – together.”

Barry gapes at him.

“Just thought you should know,” Batman says, and then he’s gone.

“Oh, that,” Mick says.

“Oh, that?!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?”

“It’s just a thing.”

“Mick!”

Mick cracks a smile. “Sorry,” he says. Barry smacks him with a pillow; there’s several within easy reach from where they’re snuggling on the couch in the Rogues’ living room. “Couldn’t resist. It is just a thing, though. It's Lenny.”

“Len? I mean, Captain Cold? What about him?”

“Well, way back when, we joined this hero group for a while,” Mick says. “Called the ‘Legends’ –”

“What, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You guys? As heroes?”

“When I said we all react to finding out about the cycles in different ways, I mean it,” Mick says dryly. “Len seemed to think we needed to try both sides of the villain-hero spectrum to see if it was different. It isn’t, by the way.”

“Okay,” Barry says, mildly disappointed. It would’ve been interesting to go villain for a little bit. Just a tiny little bit. A nice, not-always-on-call villain, who could probably sleep in on the weekends for once instead of having to deal with a brand new crisis of the week…maybe he could arrange a kidnapping instead? Mick would definitely oblige. “What does that have to do with a magical zone of non-interference?”

“Well,” Mick says. “Len ended up doing something stupid.”

“Wow,” Barry says dryly. “Look at me. I’m so surprised. Len? I assume it was extremely dramatic.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Shocker.”

Mick laughs. “Well, anyway, he ended up sort of kind of – getting blown up?”

“He what?”

“Long story. He got better, though –"

Of course he got better.

"- and anyway he ended up in this garden that exists out of space and time, and while he was there, he stole this book - you've seen it, the Book? - and now he has this weird part-time job, sort of, except the guy he stole the book from is sort of mentoring him for a quote, ‘more peaceful transition than my brother’ because apparently there was a whole thing or something, I don't know. So Len gets to spend some of his time here, instead of being stuck in the garden.”

“Okay. So he’s a part-time…bookkeeper?”

Mick cackles. “You hear that, Lenny?” he shouts. “You’re a bookkeeper!”

“You have no idea how literal that is,” Len says, wandering out of the kitchen. He’s got the glowing blue eyes again, and he’s holding the Book – a big, gigantic tome of a book, and there’s a chain going from the spine onto Len’s wrist. “See? I’m keeping the Book. I'm the Book keeper.”

Barry snorts a laugh, somewhat involuntarily. “What do you actually do?”

“Long story,” Len says. “Mick, the pasta –”

“There’s a bowl on the table.”

“You’re the best.”

Len wanders right back out again.

Barry wonders if now is a good time to ask about the glowing eyes.

“They go with the Book,” Mick says.

Barry blinks at him.

“The eyes. They happen whenever the Book’s around. Len thinks it’s cute that you never ask, by the way.”

Barry flushes. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

Mick shifts a little, pulling Barry in closer. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t mind if it’s you. You’re my plus-one.”

Barry pauses. “I am?” he asks hopefully. “Really?”

“I mean. If you wanna be.”

“Yes. I do. Definitely. For sure. I mean, assuming we’re talking about dating.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Then yes. Assuming you want me to…?”

“Yeah, Red. I do.”

“Okay,” Barry says, smiling. “So, that settled, how does Len and the book play into the zone of no-interference?”

“I think the book gives him certain powers?” Mick says. “I’m not entirely sure. But either way, when he tells people to buzz off, they buzz off. And, uh, when I say that I might want a bit of privacy in my, uh, relationships, then…”

Barry starts grinning wider. “Then it starts applying whenever we're together once I made the move to being relationship material?”

“Basically,” Mick says, looking relieved that he doesn’t have to spell it out. “Man, am I glad that we ironed that dating thing out before I had to admit that.”

Barry laughs.

“So,” Batman says. He’s still wearing the cowl, even though it’s an engagement party and supposed to be low-key and clinic-truce rather than heroes and villains, but he has at least condescended to accept a slice of Mick’s delicious homemade cake. “When you say ‘Destiny’, you mean – actual Destiny?”

Len grins and throws an arm over Batman’s shoulders. “Wanna see my Book?”

“…that’s not a proposition.”

“Nah, I’m ace.”

“In that case, yes. I would very much like to see your – ‘Book’.”

“Great,” Len says. “You can come to my garden and take a peep. One of my new siblings is really looking forward to meeting you…”

[getthebutters]

The worst arousal killer you're overlooking: 11 symptoms

Arousal is one of the most complicated things on earth. Literally anything can make it go wrong. And yet, somehow, almost all of us suffer from like one of 3  usually problems. The #1 issue I’ve observed and experienced is kinda surprising: anxiety. Since it comes in so many forms, here’s a quick list of symtoms to help you identify what you’re experiencing.

Now, one cool thing about this list is that it’s not exclusive to sex at all. All of these symtoms can show up whenever you’re experiencing anxiety. Gotta love that!

 Queasiness:

I really enjoy sex but often feel slightly queasy when someone initiates. When I feel this, I often say I don’t feel like having sex. In reality, though, I usually do want sex, but the non-specific uneasiness of my tummy makes me focus there instead of anywhere else, including my dick.

 Worrying:

One moment, I’ll be thinking about sex and really want it. Then my partner will suggest some particular activity and, suddenly, my mind switches to worrying I won’t be able to get it up, satisfy or something similar. Like everyone else, I sometimes have issues with arousal. The general advice is to relax and let it pass, but anxiety puts all those worries front and center, making me not want the sex I love.

 Bouncing thoughts:

A part of the worrying is my mind moving from topic to topic at a breakneck speed. What am I doing tomorrow? Did I lock the door? Is he having fun? I really need to see that new Janelle Monae video. In maybe 40 seconds, a series of thoughts like that will rattle through my head, completely disconnecting me from whatever focus I was building, which can be frustrating.

 Frustration:

Frustration happens when tiny bits of stress compound to make everything annoying as hell. If I’m anxious, every slight decrease in penile rigidity, momentary break in focus or failure to orgasm on cue starts to build up, and soon I’m soft, hyper clear and definitely not going to finish.

 Diversion:

Because I often feel this anxiety but also feel anxiety about turning down my partner, I’ll sometimes suggest we do something else instead of saying no. Like with my former phobia of spiders, I’m simply trying to avoid the thing that makes me feel bad. Unfortunately, when I don’t notice and do this, I’m just reinforcing my anxiety.

 Hyper clarity:

For me, arousal is like a thick fog that takes my attention range from everything around me to complete tunnel vision, hyper focus on the sex. When I’m feeling anxious, that fog, and a desire for sex, is impossible to accomplish. I find myself hyper aware of everything around me and completely unable to tap into the feelings of my body. This prevents me from feeling pleasure and ramping up into full arousal.

 Automatically saying “no”:

This is a more subtle form of avoidance. I often won’t know why I don’t want sex but my mind will tell me that I absolutely don’t. Since I know there’s no solid reason behind that feeling, I’ll often find myself worrying about why I don’t want to have sex. That then sends me into a stronger, more noticeable anxiety spiral, which normally gives me an actual reason not to want sex.

 Signs of panic or fear:

Racing heart, sweating, itching and sudden heavy breathing often occur when I’m feeling anxious in general. They still do, just more subtly, when it’s about sex. This actually makes them harder to sense, as something light could be a reaction to recently ingested weed, alcohol, nicotine or caffeine. Even still, if you’ve consciously thought about sex happening and then you experience these feelings, it’s probably anxiety.

 Decreased physical pleasure:

Even if I’m thinking about something sexy, playing with my nipples, toked out and ready, if I’m anxious, I still won’t feel my body. Well, I’ll feel what’s happening on my skin but I won’t feel the electric sizzle spread through my body, I won’t relax and the touching, sucking, etc. will become really uncomfortable. This is normally what sex stuff feels like when my mind is super clear.

 Loud internal voice:

When I’m not anxious, I go from task to task and the voice in my head is like a quick whisper. When I’m anxious, though, the voice becomes really loud, like the sound I hear when I talk out of my mouth. No matter what I say in my head, it doesn’t connect to any feelings or physical sensations; it’s just noise.

 Now these are just the sensations, feelings and happenings that come with my sexual anxiety. I feel like there’s even a few more I missed but I’d have to experience them again to remember, and I don’t wanna. So, if I’ve missed any you have experienced, leave them in the comments below.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 31)

Things were quiet that morning. He hated the quiet, usually it indicated something sinister. Chan was do for another trip to the industrial park, they all were. But no one seemed to have the energy for it. Not after Wire. The boy’s family had come to get him. Chan supposed that they should be happy for him, he was getting out of the pit, but now they were down another member and he didn’t trust Wire’s parents in the slightest. Not after all of the things Wire had said of them. Chan picked his way through his loot; he’d managed to snatch a shirt for Yoona whose own was becoming to tattered to wear, he got some shoes for Yoko, and he had brought some food with the remains of his cash. A spat with the Roka had depleted his funds almost entirely. Their little rag-tag gang was no match for the real deal, the kind of men who had no qualms about killing and stealing things that people would miss. If Chan wanted to get his gang—who was he fooling anymore—if he wanted to get his friends out of that miserable place he was either going to have to go headfirst into the pricklesnake’s pit or he would need to up his selling game. Azula came to mind; he hoped with all of his soul that she would ask for another satchel soon so he could double the charge. And he felt like the lowest sort of miscreant for the desire. He needed to save them though, he had promised that he would change things for them. For all of them. At the rate things were going, Taeyul wouldn’t live to see it. Something like a week prior, the boy had taken a rusty blade to the ribs courtesy of the Kuroi-Hi. The infection was spreading steadily and Chan could do nothing for it but take the edge off with a concoction called Badger Honey. Its popularity was rising almost as quickly as Ruby Tears. But that stuff was expensive to produce so he was reserving it only to get Taeyul through some of the longest, maybe some of the last nights of his life.

 Needless to say, team morale was down. Bo-Rem hasn’t spoken to him since he ‘let’ Wire get taken away. These days it seemed like she was trying to push him out of his own gang and Khoza was in full support. Yoko was also putting his vote in for a tougher leader. He had Boryuk on his side though—Yuk, his first partner in crime—kept his loyalty. He couldn’t tell for the life of him where Yoona stood; though the shirt had earned him some favor, Chan had a sneaking suspicion that the girl was just waiting to see who came out on top to pick a side.

 They were falling apart.

 Chan whipped a rock at his shack, shattering the only intact window they had. He cursed endlessly. That, like everything else, was his own damn fault and he knew it. A gruff, “nice one, Chan” from Bo-Rem confirmed such.

 He sighed and faced away from the shack, his little battered home. He missed his real home, he missed Ruon-Jian. He seated himself in front of their fire pit, it has been cool for six days now. No more drinks around the fire, these days they just drank to themselves or in pairs. He watched people pass in the distance, some in pairs others alone. A few in groups—friends or families he couldn’t tell. They were just sad, sorry silhouettes. The same as he probably was to them. He heard Taeyul moan from within the shack and he gripped his hands over his ears. He tried with all of his might to suppress the dark urges. The idea that he should sneak into the tent and put his friend down. He didn’t have long anyways. He cried out again, only reiterating the appeal of the notion. He got to his feet, metal glinting in his grasp. In the distance he could see two figures; were they distant enough not to hear, not to see? Chan couldn’t be sure so he flung the knife down with an angry howl.

A good thing too, for the pair wasn’t so distant anymore.

 He didn’t have a name for the Water Tribesman and it took him a heartbeat too long to place the name of his companion. Her hair was longer and silkier, she had put on some weight, her skin tone had become even and almost radiant, and her outfit—though very simple—was as well groomed as her nails. But she assessed him with familiar golden eyes. Clear, sharp, unclouded golden eyes. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “It has been a while, Chan.”

 .oOo.

 The place looked broken…no, it looked broken before. Now it was in complete shambles. Azula wondered how long it has been in such a sorry state and just when it had started to get that way. Was it her absence or Minho’s, possibly it could have been both.

 She let him hug her, a strangely kind gesture. It was nothing like Sokka’s embrace, it didn’t hold the same level of care, almost as if it were done just for the sake of physical contact. He lingers long enough to make Sokka squirm and cringe. But not so long that Sokka could say anything.

 “Who’s that?” Chan eyeballed the man in question.

 “This is Sokka.” She replied, going off to stand next to him. She wasn’t surprised to feel his arm wrap tightly around her middle. In fact, he made a point of doing so. “I figured I would bring him along for some sightseeing.” More than that it was for the sake of shutting him up. Among other things he refused to accept that she could handle her own, it might have been that he knew she could but didn’t want her to have to. She speculated that he was curious more than anything else and possessive when it came to Chan.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “Sightseeing.” Azula smirked.

 “Are you here for more Ruby Tears?” Chan asked, she detected a sort of hopefulness intermixed with a twinge of desperation.  Sokka gripped her somewhat harder, the ghost of a snarl on his face. He really ought to calm down, and Azula hoped that she wouldn’t have to make him.

 “I haven used them in…”

“Ten weeks.” Sokka filled in.

 “I probably should have realized that.” Chan rubbed the back of his head. The same hand came to brush across her cheek. She grasped his wrist and lowered it as Sokka stirred next to her. “I was upset when you took off…”

 In the slam of wood on wood, Bo-Rem kicked the shack’s door open and came stumbling out. “Why’d you leave us anyways, princess?” She sneered with all of the hatred she had exuded the day she’d fought her. Slowly the others gathered behind her. For some reason she still expected Minho to prance over with that stupid lopsided grin and greet her with a, ‘hey pretty lady.’ It filled her with a hollow, raw sort of guilt.

 “Cause she got what she came for, Bo. She didn’t need us anymore so she went back.” Kohza replied simply.

 “Is what them hinger borns do.” Yoko added.

 “We were just a pass time until you got it together, weren’t we?” Boryuk questioned.

 Azula began to speak, Bo-Rem—as per usual—had been waiting for that moment to cut in. “Well it looks like you did, so why are you back here? You want us to rough you up again?”

 Again, Sokka snarled, he was a ticking timebomb. She gave him a quick and subtle shock, a tiny bolt that had him rubbing his elbow. In the meantime, she was being scrutinized. Every little bit of her and based upon their faces the judgments weren’t ones of praise.

 “How much did it cost to get that done?” Boryuk asked, pointing to her nails. “Bet we coulda helped Taeyul with that kinda cash. It ain’t even look that good.”

 Azula furrowed her brows, “what happened to Taeyul?”

 Instead of answering they continued to ridicule. Mostly petting things but with a few things that stung more. She kept her demeanor as passive as possible when Yoko scowled, “Ya left us for that?” He jabbed a finger at Sokka. “For a average piece of Water Tribe trash. One of them sea savages. Even we have standards here.”

 “I left for my own reasons.”

 “You missed getting pampered?” Boryuk filled in.

 “We can all tell.” Bo-Rem muttered. “Mind sharing some of that food with us?”

 Another low blow. Azula had to admire the venom in Bo-Rem’s voice and the nerve it took to speak to her like that. They were all itching for a reaction. Doing everything in their power to coax one out of her. For a second time with this lot, she found herself thankful for Ozai’s harsh treatment. The verbal and physical lashings that helped her build such a calm façade. Then, it might not have been a false nonchalance at all; she’d said such dreadful things about herself until she grew numb to it. But Sokka, he was growing incrementally testier on her behalf—and for the sea savage comment. He was fuming to a level that matched the best firebenders. He was ridged which was never a good sign. He was holding back.

 As Yoona ran dirty fingers through Azula’s hair she babbled something akin to, “she smells nice…it’s awful!” The girl always was awful with dishing out insults. Azula gave her props for the attempt.

 Bo-Rem picked up where she lacked, “why did it look better when it was chopped up?”

 At this point Chan spoke, it was something in her defense. But as it were, Bo-Rem seemed to have tossed any semblance of respect to the side and went off on him for being a spoiled high blood too. At least the focus was off of her, at least as far as Bo-Rem was concerned.

 Unsurprisingly, Kohza was the one hitting home. Where Bo-Rem, Boryuk, and Yoko were hyper-focused on the physical, Kohza had a terrible onslaught of truths. “You’re still selfish.” He drawled. “You came here, had some fun while you waited for things to clear up at home, got your fix, and left us when things got bad.”

 “I think you and your highly intelligent detective squad have already established that.” Azula hissed, finding it harder to curb her tongue. He was treading in deep waters and she had a decently powerful zigzag of lightning to send into that sea.

 “It’s your fault, you know? Minho died getting high enough to keep you entertained and then you just vanished. Back into the palace where you could pretend like it never happened. What was Minho to you? You didn’t care about him at all, did you?”

 That was a deeper slash, any charge she had sizzled out. He delivered a metal shock to match her own physical one. She wondered if it would be a bad time to take Chan up on his offer for the tears, they would keep her from her own. She shouldn’t have come back, closure wasn’t worth it. Sokka was mumbling something soft to her, but she could only hear Kohza.

 “And the worst part is, you came back here for you. Not for us. You came here to ease your guilt, didn’t you? You ran the minute Minho died, the minute things became real and you want us to tell you that it’s okay.”

 He was right, wasn’t he? That was mostly what was on her mind. She wasn’t quite so different after all; she was still a liar, still conceited (but still somehow lacking self-esteem), still hateful…

Azula felt herself going numb again, it was the only shield she had left.

 She had every desire to turn back the way she came. That would only prove him right wouldn’t it? They had her cornered. So instead she took a seat and listened to Kohza prattle on and on about her selfishness with more commentary from the others on her appearance sprinkled in. With a hint of cynical amusement, she noted that they kind of reminded her of the vase she’d had various spats with. Just like with the voices in the vase, she had nothing to say in her defense. She wished that they would just throw fire—or in the case of Boryuk, rocks—and punches instead. The urge to huddle over and cup her hands tightly against her ears was overwhelming. It would be a weak move though, so she let the berating continue.

 Sokka must have seen the lively glimmer in her eye, that had been there only moments before, fade. He snapped, throwing a pretty solid bone-crunching punch to Kohza’s nose. Azula had forgotten that Bo-Rem was his lover until she rose, a solid wall of bulky muscle. Sokka faced her head on, raw anger alone gave him the upper hand. Azula felt strongly inclined to praise him for his strength and to add her own—a swift delivery of her wrath now that she mostly had some physical fight in her. But something wasn’t right in Sokka. Every brutal blow, every furious look, something was horribly wrong. She recognized it, perhaps in the same way Zu-Zu had detected it on her so long ago. He was slamming his fist into the side of Bo-Rem’s head, Azula could see her dim even duller than before.

 “Sokka, you’re going to kill her if you keep that up.” Azula said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

 “Maybe I should! Maybe you should!”

 “I don’t want to.” Azula replied simply. “And you don’t want to either.”

 Sokka snarled at her.

 “Now look at this, you’ve worked yourself into a rage.” Azula rolled her eyes. It was the best she could do. She was afraid, maybe not of him.

But for him.

 Among other things she would have to ask what this outburst was about. It wasn’t about some slum-town trash talk. No, this was pent up rage that had found an outlet. “Let her go, Sokka.” It took a considerable effort but she pried his hand away. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inwardly groaned. His display hadn’t helped her case any, even Chan was staring at her like she was brining woe upon the all. “Sit down Sokka. Over there.” She pointed a distance away.

 “Don’t tell me what to do!” He hollered.

 “I will. And you will listen.” Azula replied cooly, trailing her fingers over his very tense biceps. “Sit down and let me handle myself.”

 “You brought me here to protect you.” It was almost a whine.

 “I brought you here because you wanted to come, Sokka. I came here to sort out my problems on my own.” Her own lax demeanor was a pleasant surprise. She watched Sokka sulk over to the makeshift chair where he began brooding silently—she would have to lift his spirits somehow later—before turning her attention back to Kohza and his bleeding nose.

 He was relentless, “any you brought your water dog here to trash the place too—”

 This time she cut him off. “And he wouldn’t have done that if you would have held your uncivilized tongue. You know how to say just the wrong things don’t you? How to push every button at the same time. I suppose I can’t blame you, that’s my favorite tactic.” She shrugged.

 Yoona snickered.

Yoona was her new favorite.

 Kohza opened his mouth to protest but she left him no room. It was her turn. “The truth is, you want to be a noble. You wish that this,” she motioned to herself, “could be you.” She paused, letting it seep in. “I’m right, yes? You have such a sharp tongue, you’re clever, you have potential. But you were born here, so it’s all wasted, isn’t it?” The way his eyes bugged and his mouth parted told him that she’d cut as deep as he had. “You want to be the one who can run back to the palace when things get tough. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t if you had the chance.”

 “Azula…” Chan tried in just the same way he’d tried to calm Bo-Rem. He had just as much success this time around.

 “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “I’m not finished.”

 Kohza sneered. “What else do you have to say?”

 “I’m glad you asked!” Azula spoke with a false cheeriness, she clapped her hands together. “I want to tell you another truth.” She wandered closer to him.

 “What’s that?” He asked.

 “Hmmm. That You’re right, I did come here for myself, I suppose. To, I believe you said, ‘ease my guilt.’ You’re right, I came here to do something like that. Because I did care about Minho.” Her voice dropped warningly low, “you have no idea.”

 “I leaves ya.” Yoona gave her input.

 That made one person who did.

 “What is she even saying!” Sokka threw his hands in the air.

 “That she believes me.”

 “Is that what she actually said or is that what you want to hear?” She heard Sokka grumble. He seemed to hate the place more than she had on her first visit.

 “Then why’d ya leave?” Boryuk asked.

 “I thought you liked us.” Bo-Rem added, “we a token for you.”

 Azula held up the trinket in question, she never had parted with it. Bo-Rem’s face softened, it seemed that she took rejection as well as the princess herself. “I left because Kohza was right the first time too, I don’t belong here. I came here and Minho ended up dead, so I left before anyone else could.” Azula answered quietly. It was one of those things she didn’t like to say out loud, one of those things she realized as she said it. “Of course, I also wanted to put some distance between myself and the situation…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish; before it tore me apart.

 “Well, someone did.” Yoko spat. “Least, he’s tryin’ to.”

 Azula inquired again, “what happened to Taeyul?” She gave the camp another once-over. “And where’s Wire?”

 “Wire’s parents took him home.” Chan answered.

 “Where’s home?”

 “Somewhere closer to your own.” Chan replied. “He was a runaway. They found him, robbing from a cabbage merchant of all things.”

 “That guy is here too!?” Sokka sputtered incredulously. “I hate this place so much. I just—wow.”

 He left Azula wondering what he had against cabbage merchants. She shook her head, she had more important questions to press. “And Taeyul.”

 “Why don’ ya take a look, princess.” Yoko offered.

 The inside of the shack was gloomy and smelled putrid, almost rotten. It smelled sickly. It was the unmistakable odor of death approaching. Taeyul was the source of the rot. Her infection had been pretty wicked, oozing a sort of nasty fluid. But his, his was weeping the stuff. She truly didn’t mean to but she visibly had to hold back a retch. He was definitely in a state of passing, lingering all too closely to the spirit realm. He was dying an Ash Pit style death. His entire face had a sheen of sweat, his cheeks blotchy and tearstained. They already lost Minho and Wire. They truly were in such a sorry state, one more loss and they would go down. “Let me take him home with me.”

 “What!?” It wasn’t just Chan and Yoko. The reply had come from Sokka too. And Bo-Rem. And Boryuk…and Khoza. Yoona was off in her own little Yoona world, wrapping her long untamed locks around her pointer. But Azula imagined that she’d have uttered it to had she been paying attention.

 “Let me take him back to the palace, I know someone who can heal him.”

 “You want to bring him into the upper ring?” Chan asked.

 “That’s correct.” Azula folded her arms over her chest.  “Believe it or not, you idiots helped me. Now let me help you. This place is falling apart even Toph would be able to see that.”

 “You can’t bring a person like Taeyul to a place like…like where we come from.”

 “Is that a challenge, Chan?” Azula quirked an eyebrow. “Alright fine, I like challenges. I’ll bring all of you!” She didn’t know whose jaw hit the floor first.

 Sokka ambled up behind her and spoke in a tone filled with anger and amazement. “Did I ever tell you that I hate your surprises?”

[mechanicalinertia]

Content-Free Erpdert 2020-Oh-One: The Roles We Must Play in the Great Game

Okay. Let’s talk about my Bubblegum Crisis 2069 RPG. This isn’t a postmortem, though it feels like one. Think of it as laying out the prospects for the project’s necromantic revival. Think of me as Frankenstein, looking for a good ol’ bolt of lightning to give his hacked-together corpse-man life.

So:

1. The original reason I stalled out on the RPG was Megatokyo. Basically I liked The Sprawl’s citybookish supplement November Metric, specifically Benjamin Kouppi’s mini-citybooks for Brussels, Lagos, and Miami, so much that I figured the least I could do was highlight different parts of Megatokyo - how GENOM’s vision of the model megacity clashes with the reality of daily life, the street finding its own uses for things, the usual cyberpunk stuff - in a similar manner. Only then I realized I really, really wanted to avoid Orientalist stereotypes, and then I realized that really, really restricted what I could actually do in the various districts - or would a district-based approach really work? Why not just layer down the fundamental concepts, the aesthetics of Megatokyo? Probably because I didn’t know what the specifics of a cyberpunk megacity would be, realistically, and I didn’t want to just imitate CP2020′s Night City book - I wanted to create anchors for the players to tie their campaigns to. Something freeform, yet concrete, and yet I just couldn’t gin up the creative juices to write it in a satisfactory way. Well, alright, I thought, I’ll just move on. I’d written plenty of lore already, right, so there was nothing wrong with moving on.

But I’m not very good at moving on. See, it was at that point that, in light of all of BGC2069′s inspirations, I started to rethink the first half of the game - namely, its mechanics.

2. I made it very clear from the start that what I was doing was a hack of the RTAL rules for CP2020 and the BGC RPG. Kick out all the unnecessary stats from Fuzion - just scrub Fuzion from the record entirely. Use the pared-down gameplay from Hunter-Seeker, but ignore the godawful setting from that same hack - it reeked too much of Neuropolitan, which in turn reeked too much of Snow Crash, and that wasn’t the sense of the lore I was going for. And for the most part, I think the basics succeed in imitating CP2020 gameplay and combat without too many extra moving parts.

Oh, but when I started bolting moving parts on, that was when things got complicated. There’s no doubt I cast my net too goddamn wide, trying to alter the flawed systems of the original 2020 in the style of various fan-supplements from the internet of days long past. One of the few people who looked my abomination over said that he didn’t like the way lore and mechanics were blended together in those sections - too confusing, he said. And yeah, I was trying to twist CP2020′s looser ends and make them my own. But I overdid it. Gun-printing? Cybernetics and humanity loss? Hacking? All these things are Cyberpunk staples, yes, but I a) made them too damn complex (and in the case of the hacking’s vision of the ‘Noosphere’, potentially inaccurate), and b) they’re not Bubblegum Crisis staples.

By this I mean that original BGC eschews cybernetic augmentations (except for the bizarre and hyper-pulpy AD Police Files OVA, whose canonicity is dubious at best), elaborate hacking, and unhardsuited combat in its action scenes, or really a lot of excessive gun-porn, and it does just fine. So if I had to do it all over again - and something tells me I ought to - I would minimize these elements. Streamline the whole project. Focus on BGC’s strengths.

3. Well, what are those strengths? Anime-Superheroic-Cyberpunk is a great genre cocktail, but where do those mental Venn diagrams align? Well, in the Knight Sabers. Normal(ish) people in a cyberpunk future (not professional black-trenchcoat operatives in the least) with melodramatic problems solved by the application of high-flying, high-tech mecha-violence. That’s the bottled lightning that is Bubblegum Crisis, and as much as I hate to admit it, that’s what people want to play in this particular universe. If people want to play a different kind of cyberpunk campaign - one where hardsuited combat against Boomers with a pinch of anime-esque melodrama isn’t the norm - they’re gonna play Shadowrun or CPRed or The Sprawl or The Veil or Interface Zero (ech) or even Eclipse Phase if they’re desperate. So if we take ‘play as the Knight Sabers or a similar team’ as our modus operandi - well, what does that tell us?

4. Well, again, that ‘bareskin’ combat should be minimalized, cybernetics largely ignored, and hacking simplified for heat-of-the-moment electronic warfare (hacking a Boomer on the fly, not cracking a massively complex corporate mainframe). It doesn’t preclude using Interlock-ish rules (Stat-Skill-D10 vs. Target Number) per se - it doesn’t mandate a simpler system like BESM or OVA or something similarly rules-light. I’d argue that, because mecha-porn is so fundamental to BGC as its own thing, that if anything the game needs a slightly crunchier rules system just to build those mecha.

5. Or does it? Don’t get me wrong, I’m very proud of the mutation I cobbled together of Mekton Zeta Plus. However, I’m not as proud of the hardsuit-construction system I made based off of that system. It more feels like something the GM would use to make hardsuits for the players, not letting the players build their own suits.

Furthermore, I was sort of kicking the can down the road by giving GM’s such an extensive toolkit. It would be more desirable on the players’ end, I think, to just give them a monster-manual full of pre-built Boomers and maybe a few larger mecha, so the only mecha-building the GM or players are doing is their hardsuits / Motoslaves at the beginning of the campaign, then maybe a monster-of-the-week supermech like the DD once or twice. Likewise, I hadn’t bothered to actually make the rebooted versions of the Sabers and other characters to interact with PC’s, or for the players to inhabit, or hell, just to serve as inspiration for their own superheroes. So. Gotta do that.

6. I keep itching for some sort of roleplaying ‘training wheels’, some sort of system to encourage, if not directly reward, players to play around with inhabiting their characters. Like, if you had people who were interested in ‘hard’ roleplaying in their TTRPG, but didn’t really know how to do it. I keep thinking about the ‘clocks’ in The Sprawl, how they determine a sense of danger and urgency and generally are designed to keep the players moving forward through the beats of the story. I think that’s really cool, but at the same time it’s a very PBTA-tastic system - would it work for the ‘bareskin’ side of the game where the characters don’t have much more than a pistol and their wits to uncover what they must do once they get into hardsuits? One could make two very different games, here. The ‘Bareskin’ game, which is all about feelings and plots and story beats, and the ‘Hardsuit’ game, which is much more classic bang-bang-punch-punch stuff.

It’s not as intuitive, though, to design those sorts of things. And then I wonder if I’m taking the game too far away from it’s CP2020 roots, trying to make the game be something it isn’t. I’ve got this great grab bag of inspirations, but to make a BGC game truly itself - that’s hard. Because I’m not sure what trends I should be chasing, here.

7. But I’m getting myself muddled, here. I need a plan of action.

So:

A. Modularize the game. Core Rulebook largely ignores gun-printing, complex (deep) hacking, cybernetics, etc, and eschews them in favor of getting the players in their character’s shoes and hardsuits at a reasonable clip. I can put the complex stuff in its own pseudo-expansion and play around with it as necessary. Likewise, Mekton Infinity is great for complexity and granularity, but players are more gonna be coming from something more like Lancer than Mekton Zeta. So they’re gonna want some pre-built inspiration even if the endgame is to have players build their own suits.

B. Build the ‘sourcebook’. Focus a little less on the lore, focus more on where lore and mechanics intersect, namely in things. NPC’s to hang out with, mecha to battle.

C. While I’m at it it probably couldn’t hurt to make the general rules of heavier mecha combat more granular. Car chases and dogfights and things like that, alongside the more infantry-scale of hardsuit combat. Help people play the game with just some crude printed miniatures and nothing else.

D. Write the GM’s advice thing, see if that helps nail down what kind of game BGC is supposed to be. You know, what makes a BGC game unique, what should draw the players in, contrast it with other mecha-cyberpunk-anime-superhero games.

E. Then, I think, whether or not the game needs to segregate ‘bareskin’ and ‘hardsuit’ gameplay - and subsequently whether or not I need to add more rules like that - will become much clearer.

Whoo. That was a lot of text. We’ll see if anything comes of it, I guess.

[colliermelissa1994]

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[goffilolo]

Demise of Midoriya Izuku (part 1)

Hi. I have managed to write a bit of demise!au. I’m not sure whethe ri will write anymore beyond this extract, but i will try my best to conitune with this au. Its my first time writing a fanfic, but i hope you like it. TW for suicide attempt.

The first thing Izuku notices upon regaining consciousness is the pounding in his head. The second is the dull, stinging sensation in his right arm. Opening his eyes comes with a great difficulty, feeling rather sluggish, yet having a feeling; a strong itch in his head that refuses to go away, that there’s something he should remember.

Slowly, but surely, all his senses come back to him. The sterile smell that always makes you anxious and want to crawl out of your own skin, ‘Oh, I’m in a hospital’ Izuku thinks, but doesn’t say, not feeling quite in control of his body just yet. Next came the dryness and metallic taste in his mouth, while uncomfortable, it wasn’t overwhelming. When opening his eyes, Izuku was met with the strong fluorescent lights being the only thing to focus on, the rest of his surroundings a blur, almost like his his eyes were a camera lens that stubbornly remains out of focus. The overall feeling was that of his senses being turned down in a way that it felt both not enough and too much at the same time, from not receiving enough input and being hyper-focused on whatever little the boy could get his hands on. It’s the frustrating feeling of being aware of the itch, but not being to scratch it and make it go away.

While trying to focus on anything other than the obnoxious light, Izuku listens intensively to the sound of dripping liquid, the sound itself quiet enough, but within the eerie silence of the hospital room it might as well be played from the speakers at full volume. He looks in the direction of the sound; an IV drip, and upon closer inspection Izuku notices that it’s attached to his arm. As the dripping continues, he becomes more irritated, feeling like every single droplet mocks him for getting into this predicament. Trying to voice his discomfort was another matter however, “Uugh..” was all he could say, because less is more and the dryness in his throat did not allow Izuku to form full sentences.

“Izuku!” called a tired, but full of concern voice from his left, which upon thinking for a second, Izuku recognised to be his mother’s. Turning his head in her direction only made him more aware of the pounding in his head, making Izuku hiss at the sensation.

“Oh honey try not to move, the doctor said you got quite a concussion and a broken leg but it’s actually not that bad considering what happened” - That’s Midoriya Inko for you, always there when you need her, always fretting over her only son; understandably so, whenever there’s space for her to do so and sometimes even when there isn’t. The circles under her eyes, making her look like she hasn’t slept in the past three days  and the messy bun on her head being enough of a proof.

The silence on Izuku’s part only made Inko’s worry even greater. She looked her son in the eyes, their green dullness contrasting the brightness of the room they were in “Izuku, do you remembered what happened?” She fidgeted in the plastic chair she was currently sitting at, not knowing how to breach the subject of why her son was currently in  a hospital.

Izuku’s mind was whirling. Of course he remembered, how could he not?! It was at this point in his life, stuck in a hospital bed with a concussion and a broken leg when Izuku truly appreciated the wisdom of the words ‘Ignorance is a bliss’. Unfortunately life did not have any bliss in plans for him,  as Izuku was now forced to face the consequences of his actions; he was supposed to feel remorse for making his mother worry needlessly, feel anxious about being unconscious for god knows how long and missing school, feel grief about going as far as jumping off the roof of his school partly out of desperation, and partly to spite his childhood friend-turned bully.

Except, Izuku didn’t feel any of those things. Truth be told he felt...nothing.

While he was aware on some level of the adrenaline pulsing through his veins while falling, of a hundred and one thoughts running through his head, of the burned notebook that is probably still in that pond; soaked beyond a point of saving, he just couldn’t force himself to care about any of those things.

Izuku wanted nothing more that drift back into the warm and welcoming arms of the unconsciousness, where he didn’t have to worry about any of those things. His contemplation regarding the catatonic state  of his emotions had to be stopped as Izuku remembered that his mother asked him a question and was patiently awaiting some sort on an answer, so he figured he must’ve started mumbling. When faced with his mother’s face; tired, but full of concern, just like her voice, Izuku found himself with words stuck in his throat and settled for simply nodding to get the message across.

She wanted to ask more, he could tell from the way she hunched closer to his bed, her eyes now more alert, attentive, looking ready to take in as much as possible, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not now, not ever. Not when he’s been told by every single person in his life that his dream to become a hero is just unrealistic, not when blindly holding onto that dream lead to nothing but bruises, burns, ripped notebooks and his ever so anxious mother gaining even more reasons to worry. Not when the only way to wake up from that dream and accept the truth was by trying to take his own life. It only confirmed how weak and foolish he is, and no amount of analysis on heros will ever make up for that.

However, Izuku felt that his mother deserved a much better answer, maybe not a full answer, since Izuku himself was unable to fully articulate his thoughts and feelings, but some sort of an answer was due.

“I...I’m sorry” - Not exactly what he was going for, but it was a start.

“Honey, don’t apologise-” Inko couldn’t hold it in anymore as she burst into tears “I just want to know why! Is it...is it some trouble at school? So-some bullies?..or is it my fault?!”

“Not, it’s not your fault! Don’t ever think like that. I-I was just tired, so so tired and hopeless. But it’s alright-”

“Oh Izuku”

“-it’s alright, because you were all right. I can’t become a hero! Never could and never will, it’s cancelled!”

“But it’s always been your dream-”

“Well it was stupid! I was stupid!”

“Don’t. Don’t say that about yourself.”

“YOU CAN’T BECOME A HERO WITHOUT A QUIRK AND LOOK AT ME!!! NOT ONLY DO I NOT HAVE A QUIRK, I’M ALSO WEAK, SO FRICKIN’ WEAK, NO WONDER ALL THE KIDS MADE FUN OF ME! BUT YOU KNOW WHAT’S THE WORST PART?! THAT IT COST ME A SUICIDE ATTEMPT TO FINALLY REALISE WHAT EVERYONE HAS BEEN SAYING FOR YEARS!-” Izuku was now panting, not used to shouting so much, his emotions getting better of him. “- THAT’S HOW STUPID I AM! BUT IT’S ALRIGHT NOW, BECAUSE I’M ALIVE! I’M FUCKIN ALIVE BUT THIS DREAM IS NOT, THIS DREAM IS DEAD!!!”

Finally when his rant was over, did Izuku become more aware of his surroundings. First he noticed his mother crying, now feeling even worse for lashing out on her, when she hasn’t wronged him in any way. There was  a nurse standing by the door, who quickly said something about getting the doctor, before scattering away, probably to give Izuku and his mom some privacy and resolve their family drama.

He was also very much out of breath and felt even more exhausted than before. However he felt somewhat light, by admitting all of this out loud he made it real. It wasn’t delivered the way Izuku hoped for, but he got the point across, especially the last part, and while he felt the familiar tightness of disappointment and self-loathing, almost suffocating him, he also felt content. Sort of. Admitting to himself the unlikeliness of his dream coming true and his own limitations was something that had to be done a long time ago. Izuku by no means felt better, but rather came to accept the truth. Now it was time to try and make things better, though he wasn’t sure he had the energy or will to fix everything that’s been broken, including himself.

“I’m sorry mom”

His point still stands.

Midoriya Izuku’s dream is dead.

[sachiro]

Victor/Yuuri and the Media

Alternately titled “Sachiro can find Victor character development pretty much anywhere he looks”.

As an attempt to get over the writer’s block that has been plaguing me for a month and a half, I decided to try and tackle something new. Something that’s a more outside-of-the-box idea in terms of analysis (at least I think) so let’s take a look at an aspect of the series that I haven’t seen talked about too much in terms of character development: the media!

I started thinking a while back about how we can actually see a clear change when it comes to Victor and his interactions with Yuuri in regards to the media, especially when we compare the earlier episodes to the later ones, and it got me thinking. Why does Victor act so protective of Yuuri in front of the media in earlier episodes and what changed by the later ones to the point that he’s so noticeably not there (and at what point did this shift take place)?

Victor himself actually enjoys the media attention and we have that shown to us repeatedly over the course of the show. Yuuri, on the other hand, tolerates the media but while he doesn’t enjoy the attention he isn’t actually a terrible speaker in front of the cameras.

Before we get into the meat of the discussion, let’s take a quick look at how each of them interact with the media when left on their own (at the start of the show anyway).

Victor

The very first time we see Victor, he’s in front of the cameras. His heart may not have been into it but he was still able to pull out a big smile. Even more in our faces later, we see him winking at the crowd at Worlds and sending everyone into a tizzy. He’s very much an extrovert and gets his energy from others around him.

Even after he moves to Japan, and especially once Yuuri and Victor get back into the competitive circuit, we see him thriving off any media attention he can get; whether it’s interviews, at the kiss & cry, or from the attention given to him by his fans.

Yuuri

On the other hand, Yuuri is very docile in front of the cameras. He’ll respond with phrases that you can tell he prepared ahead of time. You can see that he doesn’t really enjoy the attention but he’s been at this long enough to know how to deal with and tolerate it. In contrast to Victor, you don’t see Yuuri waving at the cameras and actively seeking out attention from his fans.

We can see examples of Yuuri on the far side of this spectrum in episode 1 where he actively tries to avoid interacting with his fans. We can also make the assumption that he avoided all media and social media in the space between the GPF and the Stammi Vicino video due to no one having an inkling as to what his career plans were (even though him skipping out on Worlds as the only Men’s Singles skater for Japan would have already been suspect – I wonder what excuse he gave because it definitely would have hit the press either way).

Edit: he didn’t qualify for Worlds at all due to his poor performance at Japanese Nationals, my bad!

As you can probably guess, putting both of them in the same frame would certainly cause some interesting interactions, and that’s exactly what happens! So let’s take a look from the start and see how they managed to somehow get to a point where Victor is leaving Yuuri to deal with the media alone/actually been tame in front of the cameras as seen in the last episodes!

(More under the read more due to length/images so please enjoy the rest of the analysis!)

Victor and Yuuri interactions

The way that Yuuri handles the media is something that we can see Victor clearly doesn’t understand. He saw Yuuri being nervous and decided that the best way to help would be jumping in to support him, many times literally. We see the first case of this in episode 3 at the Onsen on Ice.

It begins with us seeing both of them interacting with the cameras separately. Yuuri stutters a bit and is nervous, falling back on a practiced speech about his hometown (or more notably, not about himself). Victor, on the other hand, goes all out with a costume and is overjoyed to talk on camera -- even going so far as to forget about why he was out there in the first place.

But once you get them both on the same camera, we get to see them interact with each other in front of the media for the first time. In this case, it’s after Yuuri wins the Onsen on Ice and is standing up on the podium with Victor. This moment also begins a pattern for the two of them. Yuuri gets slightly nervous and Victor jumps in to “save” him.

This first moment might have set the precedent but it’s actually really tame compared to the following examples. In episode 3 Victor provides a silent support. He doesn’t actually say anything and lets Yuuri handle himself.

In contrast, the next time we see them dealing with the media together is in episode 5. Victor doesn’t even let Yuuri answer the question about his own skating plans, deciding just to answer for him. And you can tell this wasn’t pre-planned because Yuuri immediately shuts him down for what he chooses to say.

We see Victor do this multiple times in just this episode. Although he lets Yuuri deal with his fans on his own (Minami for example), he gets into the habit of trying to “protect” Yuuri from the rest of the media and will physically jump in front of Yuuri when he’s getting interviewed or answer questions for him. He even goes so far as to give Yuuri a back hug and gives him his advice directly in his ear before his short program knowing that all the cameras are trained on them. Even the times he doesn’t jump in he’s still close at hand such as during Yuuri’s post-SP interview.

And then up comes the press conference in which he physically can’t do any of that. I’m positive that Victor was itching in his seat back in Hasetsu to jump in and give his “aid”, as unwanted as it would have been, and that he ultimately came away with the conclusion that “see what happens when you try and talk in front of the cameras without me?” (for various reasons).

Skipping forward a month, we see them next at the Cup of China. The first time we see the two together here, we actually get something interesting in regards to how they individually handle the media even though they’re both in the same shot. Yuuri gets thrown by a question he didn’t expect (“how strong is my power of love?”) and Victor is hyper and distractible, asking Yuuri about going for food in the middle of the interview.

The only real thing to note here is just how Yuuri reacts to questions he doesn’t expect—that is, he doesn’t. So in a way you could even see Victor excited off-topic question as another attempted “save” although I doubt it was intentional this time.

Victor, however, returns to enjoying the camera attention at the kiss & cry as well as continuing to either jump in front of Yuuri (ep 7 post-skate interview) or comment from the background (ep 6 post-event interview). And of course we can’t leave out his tackle kiss on international TV.

But then something changes at the Rostelecom Cup, and I’m not talking about Victor leaving to go back to Japan before the free skate. 

We see him in an interview at the beginning of the event attempting to actually move the attention away from himself and towards Yuuri. While the words make sense for how far he is in his character development, we then get to see how he follows that up. Victor is then seen basking in the attention of his fans at the stadium before Yuuri yanks him “down to his level” and tells him the performance has already begun.

This is the moment that marks a definite shift in how Victor interacts with the media in regards to when he is on camera with Yuuri whether that be during interviews or at the kiss & cry. The next time we see the two of them, Victor is kissing Yuuri’s skate in a gesture that seems to say “I am stepping down off my pedestal and passing the reigns of media attention off to Yuuri, just as I said I would, so please focus on him. He’s the real star here”.

Going into the final 2 episodes, their interactions with the media have noticeably changed. Victor no longer jumps in front of the camera. He no longer waves and makes heart shapes at the kiss & cry. He becomes a silent supporter for Yuuri or is just straight up absent such as during the post-skate interviews.

I actually feel that this speaks a lot to his character development in multiple regards.

Victor’s focus has changed. Whether he realizes it or not, he stopped thinking about any kind of attention being targeted towards himself and instead has started redirecting that attention to Yuuri. It’s no longer about him on either a conscious or subconscious level. And I think this moment illustrates this point perfectly:

Before we end this analysis, however, we need to take a look at the post-skate interviews for the GPF. Victor is absent in both and we as viewers know that it’s because he has other things going on (concerning, respectively, his grief and then his return to skating). I would like take a second to revisit these moments, however, to look at these disappearances from a slightly different angle.

I mentioned back at the start that Victor jumping in front of the cameras or answering questions for Yuuri was done in a misplaced desire to “protect” Yuuri from them or as a way to support him. At the end of the day that desire came down to one simple fact: he didn’t trust Yuuri to handle himself in front of the media without his support. Whether that be because of the knowledge that Yuuri gets nervous confronting situations where he doesn’t have complete control or because Victor himself is more comfortable taking the reigns in regards to media interaction as a whole, it still boiled down to the same thing.

But comparing where we started in episode 1 to the GPF, as well as the drastic shift in episode 8, I feel like we can truly get a sense of the scope of the journey Victor went through in those 9 months since he flew to Hasetsu. The ultimate reason, not the “why” he left Yuuri to deal with the media alone but the fact that that happened in the first place, is because he trusts Yuuri. He trusts Yuuri to be able to handle himself. He now has the confidence that Yuuri will be okay even if he’s not standing at the ready to jump in front of him if a question gets thrown that Yuuri isn’t completely prepared to answer.

And I feel that more than anything, it ties back into a line we hear Victor say to Yuuri within his first month in Hasetsu because while it may have been Victor’s goal to make Yuuri feel confident about himself, he definitely picked some of it up along the way.

[lvlsrvryhigh]

LVLSRVRYHI-050: The Dance Pit | The Levels Are Very High

Hi Anuradha, how's it going? I usually start these things with a bit of an intro, so for anyone who doesn't know: who are you? Where are you from? Hi! It’s 3am and I think I’m finally done answering all these questions!

My grandfather named me Anuradha, though I’m still not 100% sure on how to “correctly” pronounce my name. I was born in Bangladesh, a year before Maluma. My star sign is a Capricorn and I’ve been living in the South Bronx for the past 21 years.

What are some of your early musical memories? I remember hearing Usher's Confessions album everywhere in 2004; Burn, Confessions Part II, and Yeah on rotation. That and Gasolina. That’s when I remember paying attention to music more (I think I’ve blocked most memories of MTV’s TRL out of my head), and then came the emo phase of ’07.

I also remember, though this isn't particularly musical, enjoying the Spice Girls lollipops that came with the stickers which is earlier in memory.

Whilst you run parties and a mix series as The Dance Pit, my first introduction to you was through (I think) the second issue of your zine Club Etiquette and then I kind of worked backwards from there. What first pushed you towards organising a zine? How did the specific idea for Club Etiquette come about? Mungo asked me if there were any parties he could play when he came over in 2015. I told him if I couldn’t find any, I’d put one on, which I decided to anyway.

At the same time, I was going to the club pretty regularly and would see the same people and we would always talk about what annoyed us, both on large and small scales, so thought a guideline would be handy, to be more conscientious of one’s surroundings and others. My school radio station (shouts to WBAR!) used to create zines, so thought that would be the most direct (least-bureaucratic) method. Since it was a guideline on “club etiquette,” that’s just what I decided to call it, although I still think the name sounds a bit bougie and will probably change it at some point.

My background is in activist theatre, so I was taught that anything I take on has to have a greater social purpose, cause what’s the point otherwise? (Don’t @ me with “art for art’s sake” – it may be for some people, but I have no time for it when so many other narratives don’t get heard).

Whitney Wei's illustrations that adorn the covers and grow throughout the pages of Club Etiquette provide the zine with this homemade warmth that carries over even into its digital copies, something that usually gets lost in the move to screens and online spaces of discussion. Did you find that it was important for you to produce the zine with that physicality in tact? Yes, shouts to Whitney! And Carmela Tzigana (who drew the Vol.6 cover). All cover aesthetic skills and most illustrations are credited to Whitney, who, regardless of the landscapes or deadlines I throw at her, manages to create something grounded and finely-detailed.

It makes me happy that you say that the physicality carries over (cause there is def some blood, sweat, and tears in some of those physical copies). I also really don’t like reading on computer screens, so if other people don’t mind and get past that, that’s great!

Tangibility, in a larger sense, is super important to me. Being able to cross over what’s written in the zine and enacting it in physical club spaces (or everyday life) is the reason why it was made in the first place. Theory is cool and all and part of the process, but actually putting ideas in practice is how I grow, and know what works.

A lot of Club Etiquette's material is necessarily born out of very personal and difficult experiences, but you also focus on some of the more lighthearted or even mundane aspects of club-going - 4am foodspots, hangovers, health tips, tv picks etc. I tend to find that these are the parts of the zine that fill me with the most nostalgia (for faceless nights I've mostly forgotten). What was the idea behind including them? How do you find the balance between them and the more serious aspects of each issue? I love the mundane. I also think there’s often a glamorization of going out needing to be the “best, most peak, night” of one’s life, like having a couple of nights where things get hella turnt is chill, but for me to constantly be at that level, I couldn’t do that. My club schedule is pretty routine and focusing on how to make up for lost sleep, or what to eat after I’ve danced for five hours straight, or what I watch when I don’t go out is really necessary for my survival.

Finding a balance between having both serious topics and lighthearted ones can be a bit tricky; I definitely don’t want to trivialize bigger issues by talking about/placing something silly right after. However, I do think that joy is also an integral part of our lives, and humor can be a place of learning as well. It’s the whole “I am not bound to one narrative” idea (that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie talks about in her TED Talk), that I am not defined by only my traumatic experiences, but my day-to-day comforts too.

I also just watch a whole bunch of children’s television, so I’m trying to learn from that how writers can discuss heavy topics but not bombard people with negativity. Also, a very much large shout-out is needed for everyone who contributes; their perspectives make up so much of the humor and joy in the zine, and I really am grateful for the club community here that practices what they preach <3.

New York sits at this juncture between North, South, and Central American dance cultures which, at least this is in the impression I got when I was there, in turn, maintain musical interactions with and influences from the UK. You yourself have relationships that spread throughout this geographical club axis (from the stuff you've done with Hiedrah Club de Baile to your Dance Pit NY parties and UK tour dates). How much has the influence of this environment bled into the zine, your sets and/or the parties you put on? Is there anywhere else you could see yourself living? I want to preface my answer by acknowledging the “first-world” privilege of made-up “border” (by this I mean borders are arbitrary in conception but have very-tangible effects) mobility that I have. I have been immensely lucky to have been able to experience Club Viral, HiedraH Club de Baile, and the Salviatek nights in Monterrey, Buenos Aires, and Montevideo respectively as well nights in the UK before that (with HDD and the Hub-before-it-was-the-Hub <3) and each journey has definitely bled into every aspect of my life, as seen through my sets (which are all over the place), with the different translations of the zine, and through the djs I book.

I grew up and still live in a predominantly Afro-Latinx and Afro-Caribbean community so bachata, reggaeton, and dancehall are what I’m surrounded by most and I think that influence is clear in what I play. I will say though that it is irresponsible to just play the sounds and not give anything back to the communities who create this music both locally and internationally, so I’m still figuring out ways in which to support producers, djs, and club nights that have taught me so much that goes beyond just promotions or social capital. I think it can be easy to fall into the trap of appropriating sounds, so it becomes really important to *listen* when people say it makes them uncomfortable when you’re playing certain music. I want to believe there can be collaborative exchanges in music, but ultimately, under capitalism, someone will always reap the benefits off of the exploitation of other cultures, so I have to just be hyper-vigilant about what I play, who I play it for, how it affects them, and how I can give back.

For me, people rather than place define what home is, so with the hope that in the future all visa requirements and borders will be abolished, I would very much like to go back to South America (back to Argentina & Uruguay, and to the western coast this time around, but also with a much overdue visit to Brazil) and the UK (further north this time!) for an extended period of time to hang with people I very much consider family and give back what I can.

There's a growing tendency at the moment towards abstraction and experimentalism in tracks and sets, attempts to push (or destroy) the boundaries of what a dance track can be or how two (or three or four) tracks should be mixed together. Feeling and hearing an artist's intent in a way that I've barely even considered before is exhilarating but there's also been times when I've missed a certain concreteness. Come New Years - when I caught up with you in London - I was really just itching to dance. Is it important for you to get that sort of physical reaction to a set or a blend? What does dancing mean to you? I started djing, or rather selecting music, for friends who loved to dance when no one else would. So every time I dj or make a mix, I always have someone I know in mind who I want to dedicate the set to, they all just happen to be people who dance a lot. Getting a physical reaction to a set isn’t necessary, people react to music in their own way, but dancing may just be inevitable :)

Dancing is how I show my gratitude to djs and other musicians (in addition to showering them with compliments :3). It’s only a small token of appreciation for the continuous experience of listening to their music.

Talk me through the mixes - how were they recorded? What led to the two parts? It’s been three months since you have asked me to do this(these) mix(es). About a month ago, maybe, I chose to split them because my temperament was changing so often (I blame the weather, the 2+ retrogrades, etc.) and also my attention span was/is decreasing daily.

The first mix is definitely for when I’m in one of my angsty moods, and am placing expectations on others, when I should just let them be. I also wanted to try constraining some parts in the mix to just highlighting certain instruments.

The second mix I made so I that when I play it on my monitors, my neighbors can listen to even more Bad Bunny than they have already been blasting onto the block on a Sunday. 

Both mixes are heavily influenced by my travels at the end of last year.

I live-recorded these (way too many times) and added any extra effects on audacity.

What do you have planned for the rest of 2017? I’d really like to continue the translations series of the zines, and there are def a couple more zine release parties in store for this year. My annual tarot card reading said I’ll find a new skill which will be my life’s work in October, so hopefully that’ll happen. As I mentioned above, I’d like to visit all my friends if possible, maybe finally make that mixtape hehe.

But most importantly, curating netflix for my mom and volunteering locally to facilitate and preserve music, arts, and community spaces in my neighborhood when displacement is already happening.

Finally, if you had to pick something for people to listen to immediately after these mixes what would it be? Trick Answer: Go watch Steven Universe, give your eyes, ears, mind, and heart a treat. (That and Silver Spoon too please! - oh but also listen to Common Sense).

"Night" Tracklist

Sand Pact - Fervor w/ Nato - Cerita interlude Bad Bunny - Soy Peor (Axel Caram remix) DJ Nervoso - Djj Kala - Boriken Brazilian Percussion - Samba-Reggae 2 Cardi B interlude MC Lustosa_Shaded Pistola (MM edit) Gigi - Cah PayTay (Reply) Lechuga Zafiro - Suave Pero Rugoso (Diosa Tayhana remix) w/ TT The Artist - Worst Bday interlude Badgyal (Prod. Plata) - SMTHIN LIKE THIS x Dholi Taro Dhol Baaje Karaoke Version Aggromance - 1noche x Leokarlo - Intro ‘New Era’ x Dj Fofuxo - Raizes “Nu Guetto Qui Ta Bater” BAD$ISTA - Last night* Raman Saran - Dhak (Drum) Lechuga Zafiro - Orquídea T-Ney Kid Cala - Blue Magic (Loris Remix) Soda Plains - Espalho Meu Passo w/ Toshiro Masuda - Orochimaru’s** Theme interlude MC Linn da Quebrada - Mulher Totó La Momposina y sus tambores - Rosa FUNERAL - Cumbia futura Shivam Gupta - Durga Theme DJ Nervoso - Areia x Rebecca Sugar - Here Come’s a Thought Steven Universe - Rose’s Room dialogue***

*my phone# is on my last mix, call me up (thru facetime/whatsapp, bless) **i dont support/sympathize with orochimaru, they are a creep ***I hope Steven will be ok

"Day" Tracklist

Dj Valet - O começo Dj Nk - Caipirinha Vany-Fox - Me vs World Bk(blackinhO) - Funana [Batucada] Badgyal - Dinero (Prod. FAKEGUIDO) Bad Bunny ft. De La Ghetto, Zion, Bryant Myers - Caile (Dj Arturex & Dj Kris Club Version) MC Katia - Arrocha Das Fiéis (DJ Xaropinho) Conejx - Parvada w/ Bryant Myers ft. Bad Bunny - Un Ratito Mas interlude* Yxng Bane ft. Kojo Funds & Wizkid - Fine Wine Gage - Throat (Street Mongrel Riddim Version X Talkdunsk Remake) DJ Spinall ft. Wizkid - Opoju Yandel - Encantadora (El Kechu DJ Cumbia base Remix) Anuel AA - Ayer (Elián Acapella Remix) Epic B - Wicked Riddim Javed Akthar - Azeem O Shaan Shahenshah Instrumental Vybz Kartel - Fever (Dj YaMtZa Remix) Florentino - Bloodline x Florin Salam ft. Denisa - Cineva Ma Suna Cu Numar Privat deejay jeff love c pikachu 2pekes (Pininga Edit) Sikuri - Aamado Murlo - Hunter Tina Savage ft. Don Jazzy - Eminado (DJ Yoko Champeta Remix) Superficie - Febre Do Vale Joha - Me Llama Glolaluz - Me Controlas FUNERAL - Reverberacion Antenas ———————————————— J Hus - Did You See x Sikuri - 0

*use condoms! + Special thanks to Callosum, Mungo, Becky, and Michelle <3

[spartanguard]

begrudging birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENNA!!!! aka @the-jolly-tad-cooper aka @fairytalesandtimetravel aka TOTAL SWEETHEART. I had no idea it was your bday until today but there was no way I could let it go by unnoticed/celebrated, so here’s a quick(ish) fic that may or may not be based on one of your posts today. Hope you had an absolutely wonderful day because you are amazing and deserve it! Love you!

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s tradition, Emma.”

“I don’t care!”

“I’ll buy you a bearclaw.”

“And…?”

Elsa sighed. “And a hot chocolate.”

“With?”

“Cinnamon, duh.”

“Fine.” Angrily, Emma took the pin Elsa was holding and affixed to the pocket on her work-specified button up. “Happy?”

“Yes!” her friend gloated, while Emma pouted in return. “Come on, Emma; it’s the one day a year dedicated to celebrating you. And we love you. Let us.”

In all honesty, Emma kind of hated her birthday. Growing up, it was just another reminder of the anniversary of the day her parents abandoned her, and most foster parents were hard-pressed to do much more than give her a card (if they acknowledged it at all). As she got older, she’d learned it was best to try to avoid the spotlight, so ignoring birthdays became part of that.

Then she had Henry, and while she cherished his handmade cards each year, that was as far as she ever wanted it to go. But leave it to her manager, Elsa, to glean her birthdate from her employment paperwork and post it on the calendar in the grocery store’s backroom.

And now she had to wear the damn birthday pin. And it was Saturday, so there’d be a bunch of people in...including him. (Him being a subject of avoidance and obsession ever since she started working there.) Oh well, at least it wasn’t a hat; no one would notice it, right?

Wrong.

“Emma, why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Granny admonished as Emma rang up her groceries. “You’ll have to come by the diner tonight with Henry for a slice of cake. On the house.”

“Okay, Granny,” she answered, somewhat amusedly and non-committally as she handed the sassy old lady her bags. She had been planning a night of lounging on the couch with pizza and her Roku (Galavant rewatch until Henry went to bed, then catching up on Lucifer) but they could probably squeeze a diner trip in.

The next customer purchased a sole bouquet of flowers; she glanced up to see David, one of her best friends. “Uh-oh, how did you piss off Mary Margaret?” Emma teased as she processed the transaction.

“They’re actually for you. Happy Birthday, Emma.”

“David…”

“Hush. You’re still coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“I’m pretty sure your wife would drag me out of my place and into yours if I didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Too right. See you.”

Emma sniffed the sweet-smelling bouquet before slipping it under her register. They were awfully gorgeous, but no way was she leaving them out for more people to catch on to what today was.

But, of course, small town that Storybrooke was, she knew nearly every customer and each was quick to wish her a happy day, either from seeing the pin or hearing it through the grapevine. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their well wishes; she just hated being put on the spot.

(That, and she really wasn’t sure what she’d do when he finally showed up.)

Thankfully, she got a break a few hours in, and—as promised—a bear claw and fresh cocoa were waiting for her in the breakroom. She flopped down as best she could in one of the hard plastic chairs and dug in, relishing the hyper-sweetness of both and fielding a couple more “Happy Birthdays” from people coming in to start their shifts. Just a few more hours of dealing with this nonsense and she’d be home to her son.

“Hey, Emma?” Elsa meekly asked, poking her head into the room. It was her “I’m about to ask you to do something you might not want to do but I’m your manager so you kind of have to” voice; Emma braced herself. “So...Ashley just called in; apparently, Alexandra has a fever. Can I put you on demo for the afternoon?”

Emma sighed. She had a love-hate relationship with demo. She wasn’t the most experienced cook so the odds of her ruining whatever they were promoting were 50/50. But it also meant hiding out in the corner for the rest of her shift, even if it involved increased foot traffic (including him). “What is it today?”

“Soup. Tomato and roasted red pepper—your favorite!” Elsa added, as if that spiced up the deal. (Which it did; she’d definitely need to hit Granny’s for a grilled cheese now.)

“Okay. But only because I love you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Elsa exclaimed, nearly tackling Emma with a hug. “I love you, too.”

“You know you’re the boss and I have to do whatever you say, right?”

“I know, but it’s your birthday.”

“Ugh.”

Emma finished her treat-slash-lunch, checked her phone real quick (four birthday text messages that she’d reply to later), and then headed to the demo station. There were worse ways to spend a shift than preparing and portioning soup.

Of course, each sample that was claimed was paired with birthday wishes, but she got pretty good at faking a smile, even if her cheeks were starting to hurt.

She’d been at it an hour and was waiting on more soup to heat when she saw a man at the end of the aisle: it was him.

He had his cart, like always, pushing it with the hook he hand in place of a left hand. His dark, disheveled hair hung a bit in his eyes and her fingers itched to push it back. A leather jacket hung on his frame like a second skin and those black jeans left little to the imagination. Even from several yards away, she could see the bright blue of his eyes as they studied the shelf—of course, it helped that he was wearing eyeliner, making them pop.

She wasn’t typically one to go for the bad boys, but something about this guy drew her in, even though the extent of their relationship was her ringing up his purchase every Saturday and he taking his receipt with an accented “thanks, love” that sent a jolt down her spine.

The beeping of the mini stove made Emma jump, pulling her from her trance-slash-ogling of the guy she’d been eying for weeks now. But she’d never work up the nerve to actually make a conversation, or even find out his name—given her history in the relationship department, she knew it was better if she kept her distance.

She distracted herself by spooning soup into sample cups as he made his way down the aisle, and actually managed to immerse herself in it for a moment before his voice interrupted her focus.

“Fancy seeing you over here, love.” Immediately, her eyes darted up to meet his across the counter; she was always amazed at how easy it would be to drown in their depths. Usually, there was a bit of an edge in them, but he always seemed to have a smile for her. Today, though, there was almost—was that relief hiding in his smirk?

She was so caught up in figuring him out that she forgot what she was doing and ended up pouring soup on her hand. Hot soup.

“Ahhh!” she exclaimed, dropping the cup and ladle and shaking her hand.

“Oh, bloody hell—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” she assured, though her voice was strained. “Just need some cool water.” She hopped over to the sink, pulled off her thin food-prep gloves, and turned on the faucet; it wasn’t a bad burn but it was a little red. Her face, she could feel, was even redder in embarrassment.

But a glance over at him showed that his was, too, and he was adorably scratching behind his ear. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She dried her hand and stepped closer to him.

“I apologize; surprising you like that was bad form, love.”

“Emma,” she felt herself blurt out. “My name isn’t ‘love’; it’s Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated, and damn if the reverent way it fell off his tongue didn’t make her tingle all the way down to her toes. “I’m Killian,” he introduced, offering his hand. She thought he was just going to shake hers when she placed her palm in his, but he gently brought it to his mouth and placed a kiss on her knuckles. Her food safety training was going off in the back of her head, but she was going to have to wash her hands anyway. His eyes didn’t leave hers the whole time, until he released her hand and glanced down at her chest—more specifically, at her pin. That damn pin.

“It’s your birthday?”

“Apparently,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Emma.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling genuinely for the first time today.

A silence fell over them for a moment, despite the grocery store din all around them. She knew she should get back to work, but she’d been looking forward to seeing him all shift, and now that they were actually talking, she kind of didn’t want to stop. And neither did he, apparently.

“Was there any—” “I was wor—”

They both stopped and laughed in the middle of speaking over each other, and she gestured for him to continue.

“I have to admit, I was a little worried when I didn’t see you at your normal post when I entered.”

“You were?”

“Aye,” he verified with a nod. “I, uh...I apologize if this seems forward, but...you’re definitely a highlight of my weekend.”

She swallowed. No one had ever admitted anything like that to her, aside from her son. It was a little hard to take in, but she was good at telling lies and he wasn’t lying.

But he did seem to misinterpret her silence. “I’m sorry; that was presumptive and—”

“You’re a highlight of my weekend, too.” Her rushed admission was initially met with shock, but quickly it morphed into a dimpled smile she’d never seen before but was sure she wanted to see more.

“I’m...I’m glad to hear that.”

She could tell he was waiting for her to make the next move, and she desperately wanted to, but she was still processing the whole conversation and that might take a bit of time.

“I should probably let you get back to work,” he said quietly, and she didn’t miss the slight tint of hurt in his voice.

“Uh, yeah,” she agreed, hesitantly. “But, uh...I get off at 4.” That was still a couple hours away; plenty of time for her to get her reeling thoughts and emotions in check.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know.” The playful smirk was back and she was sure there were butterflies in her stomach (or it was grumbling because she definitely needed a grilled cheese).

“Um, was there anything you were looking for today?” she asked, slipping into clerk mode and immediately cringing at her terrible transition.

His smile turned soft; it looked like he picked up on her awkwardness and didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I think I’m good, but...I have a thing later and I need to bring dessert. What do you recommend?”

She got a little jealous at his mention of “a thing” but pushed it down. “Well, our chocolate ganache cake is popular, but…” She leaned in, beckoning him with a finger. “Don’t tell anyone, but the bakery down the street is actually better, and they have amazing cupcakes. Chocolate with vanilla frosting is the best.” That was going to be her first stop on the way home tonight.

“Noted. Thanks, love.”

That jolt ran through her again at his use of the endearment, even though he now knew her name.

“Anytime,” she replied, her voice cracking.

He winked at her. “Have a Happy Birthday.” Before she could say another word, he pushed the cart away and continued shopping.

Oddly, the first thought to enter he head was “I didn’t offer him a sample.” But then she remembered how the whole thing started and got back to work, thinking over the whole encounter.

Killian. Her little crush finally had a name. Honestly, the only reason she’d agreed to even work on her birthday was so she’d see him, and lo and behold, she actually had a conversation with him. Maybe, just maybe, she was coming to see a birthday as a good thing.

She was on a high for the rest of her shift, genuinely thanking people for their birthday wishes while dishing out samples of the heavenly smelling soup. Before she knew it, Elsa was on the other side of the counter. “You ready to go?”

“It’s 4?” Emma glanced at her watch; it was.

“Yeah; I’m surprised you didn’t have a countdown going.”

“Uh, guess I was just having a good time.”

Elsa eyed her skeptically. “But you hate demo.”

“Well...today wasn’t so bad.”

Her friend hummed, musing. “Maybe I should put you here more often.

“Maybe.” Emma would probably regret that, but not today.

“Okay...well, enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Hurriedly, Emma ran to the back, took off the pin, threw on her coat, and made a mad dash for the door. She pulled out her phone to let Henry know she was on her way, only to then realize: she didn’t get Killian’s number. Not that there had been a good way to do so at the time, but still—idiot. She physically facepalmed.

“You said chocolate with vanilla frosting, right?”

She turned, and there he was, leaning by the door as if he owned the place, bakery bag in hand.

“Ye...yeah.”

He pushed off the wall hip first and sauntered over to her, placing the handle of the bag over her frozen right arm, which had still been gearing up to call Henry.

“Enjoy, love. And Happy Birthday.” He hesitated a moment, but then leaned forward, placing a gentle peck on the apple of her cheek, before turning and walking toward his car (a black Mustang, how typical).

“Wait!” She shook herself from her stupor quickly enough to follow after him. “Let me give you my number.”

A dimple cut into his cheek as he smirked. “Check the bag.”

Confused, she glanced down into the bag. On top of two carefully packaged cupcakes was a sticky note with a phone number on it and his name in impossibly perfect cursive.

By the time she’d read it, he had already started his car and was backing out. “Thank you!” she shouted; whether he heard it or not, he waved, and then drove off.

She stared at the bag for another moment, and the number within, before dazedly heading to her car.

Okay, so maybe birthdays were good.

(Henry nearly grabbed the bag from her when she got home, and promptly demanded to know who Killian was.

He met the man in question when they got to Granny’s and noticed Killian sitting at the counter by himself. Henry insisted he join them.

It also turned out that Killian, too, enjoyed Galavant and Lucifer, so they stopped for a few more cupcakes before heading back to her apartment.

And on her next birthday, they both went in to shop together, on her day off, to take advantage of the family discount—because the rings on their fingers definitely made him family—and then to get cupcakes on the way to their shared home.)

[abgailgibbs]

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