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ashbrea381writings · 3 years

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Red-Eye to Destiny: Chapter 2, The Gala

Mari and Luka texted Damian as soon as they made it back to the house just outside of town. Upon receiving the return message, they promptly fell into bed and slept soundly until late into the morning. Lazily getting dressed for the day, the pair started unpacking their clothes, setting up for laundry and airing out coats that didn’t need washing but definitely needed some care. Going into her design studio, Mari checked on her dress that she’d completed before they left for the last few concerts before their holiday break. “Luka, why does your dad want us to go to this thing again?” Mari sighed, hanging the dress up to check for any last-second alterations she might want to make.

“It’s good networking. He’s hung out with the organizers a bunch and wanted us to meet them, plus tons of people are gonna be there. He said that one of the organizers has a bunch of sons who usually cause some scene or another so it’s usually pretty funny.” Luka walked into the room and rested his chin on top of her head. “Besides, it’ll be a chance to show off your skills to some people who might want to commission something.” “I suppose.” Mari leaned back into Luka for a moment before pulling away to pull out his suit. Mari had made Luka a custom Leather Tuxedo jacket with teal trim on the cuffs and lapels, a matching teal lining and a few silver studs on the collar. His pants were simple charcoal grey with teal lining on the pockets, and subtle teal stitchwork around the cuffs and waistband. His shirt was simple black with a teal pocket square and everything. “I’m still so impressed by you, Melody.” Luka sighed, pouring love into every word through their bond. Mari just giggled in response and ran her fingers over the seams in both his suit and her dress. The dress itself was a strapless, deep burgundy dress with black cherry blossoms embroidered and beaded in a sweeping shape from the hem to the bodice of the dress where it spread out to cover most of the bust in beautiful, 3d flowers made from thread and beads. A small bit of lace rose above the bodice and, when worn, would drape itself modestly over the top of the bust making the sweetheart neckline appear more conservative than it was. The skirt itself was more or less simple, full with the aforementioned flowers down the front in a curve before meeting the black velvet hem of the skirt. Secreted around the skirts where only Mari knew the openings, were several Kwami-sized pockets. “What does everyone think?” Mari asked the room, and all of the Kwami’s looked it over, giggling with delight over the pockets and giving their approval. “We won’t be able to take everyone, but other than Tikki and Sass, who wants to come with us?” Surprising Marinette and Luka, Plagg moved forward. “I know he can’t really wield me since we don’t mesh well, but do you think you could take the ring with you? I think I’m supposed to go.” “What do you mean Plagg? You haven’t wanted to be active other than saying hello and eating some camembert since Adrien decided he needed a break away from all this?” Marinette asked, raising an eyebrow at the Kwami. “Something is different. In you two, especially scales over there.” Plaggs eyes narrowed at Luka. “I think my kitten is in this city, and you two have met him.” Luka and Marinette grinned at each other before confusion took over their faces again. “But what does that have to do with the gala?” “I can do some recon if I’m there.” “Alright then, that’s one for me.” Mari laughed and put a little clip with a black cat on the end on the edge of one of the pockets. “There are 5 in total not counting Tikki, and Luka can only carry another two besides Sass.” In the end, it was decided that Mari would have Plagg, Mullo, Trixx, Pollen and Nooroo in addition to Tikki. Luka ended up with Wayzz, Duusu and Sass of course. The others weren’t interested in going to the party and would rather hang out in the box or around the house.

***

Damian sighed and ducked around a column to get a moment to himself cursing the nosy people at the party in various languages. In his brief moment to himself, he began to notice that he wasn’t just feeling his own annoyance. Frowning in concentration, he turned to scan the ballroom, spotting them near the stage, talking to Jagged Stone of all people. He focused on them, and tried to be heard by just them across the ballroom. ‘I didn’t know you would be here.’ Both Parisians jolted, and looked around, spotting him in his little hiding spot. ‘Is there a reason you’re hiding instead of saying hello?’ Damian could hear the amusement in Lukas' voice. Both of his soulmates looked away and just quietly stepped away from Jagged, making it look like they were talking amongst themselves. ‘Yes, people are too nosy for their own good and they will ask more questions than I am prepared to answer.’ ‘Damian, we owe nobody an explanation for saying hello.’ Marinette chided gently. ‘Besides, Luka and I have mastered the art of getting people to leave us alone with just a look.’ ‘If you say so. Give me a moment.’ Damian straightened his jacket and made it seem like he’d been adjusting his wardrobe as he left the pillar. “There you are, I wanted to introduce you to someone.” Damian held back a grimace and turned to his Father. “Those camping trips I take once and a while? This is the man I go with.” Incidentally, the person Bruce was pointing to was Jagged himself. “Hell of a time getting away for both of us, but SO worth the quiet.” Jagged grinned and held out his hand. “By camping, Brucie means we go to my cabin in the mountains and sit around the fire pit complaining about life. Pleasure to meet you at last, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” “Thank you sir, it’s nice to meet you.” Damian’s smile in return was a bit forced, but thankfully Mari and Luka came to the rescue. “Someone interesting, Jagged?” Marinette asked as they walked over. ‘How much do you want us to say, Damian?’ Marinette added silently, her eyes concerned over how stiff he was and how tightly he was holding his emotions. Damian relaxed slightly, his fake smile relaxing into something a little more neutral but real. ‘I am alright. I will explain to the others later, but perhaps if we can get a quiet moment with my Father?’ Both Luka and Marinette raised an eyebrow at the fact that he’d left out that he was a Wayne before but took it in stride. With little more than a glance between them, Luka put a gentle hand on Jaggeds arm, and pulled the man away, asking him a couple questions about the tour they’d just finished. The man was bewildered, but Luka and Marinette planned things behind his back all the time when they felt it necessary, so he didn’t do more than give Damian and Marinette a questioning look as he was led away. “That was.” Damian commented out loud, shaking his head. “Surprisingly easy for you two.” Marinette laughed, “We’d been working together before we knew, so it took little time to figure it out. Now, Luka pulled Jagged away so the three of us could have a private word.” She turned to Bruce, glancing around for listening ears. “We happened to be seated on the plane next to Damian and, well.” She gestured between them. “I’m afraid you will have to elaborate, Ms. Dupain Cheng.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at the two of them, his face visibly confused. “What she is referring to, Father, is that they are apparently my bonded.” Damian explained. “Both of them.” He added after a moment’s silence. ‘You will explain the work you did together?’ He asked Marinette silently. ‘Soon enough, it’s a rather long story.’ Marinette’s face didn’t even change when she answered, and she started talking to Bruce over the end of her own sentence. “Luka and I had known each other for years before we found out our bond, and we’d always known that there was supposed to be a third for us. However, as we were in Paris, and Damian was apparently here, that obviously made it so that we didn’t meet until on the airplane here.” “And how did you figure it out? Not that I’m not happy for you three, but I know my son, and he tends to be reluctant to even speak to strangers.” Bruce was fishing, and Damian knew it. Marinette seemed to be able to tell too, as she was unphased by his question. “Easy, he was exhausted and fell asleep on the plane leaning on Luka. When Luka needed to move and was panicking because he didn’t want to wake up Damian, he was obviously exhausted and seemed comfortable where he was, Damian responded to his silent monologue about the situation and Damian responded in kind.” Marinette giggled, mentally nudging him when she made an edit to preserve his dignity. ‘Thank you for not going into detail.’ Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. “I had thought I’d talked to him out loud, and promptly fell back to sleep, when they woke me again shortly before the flight was over, and informed me that I had not -in fact- spoken out loud.” He then surprised both his father and himself by reaching over to put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “They were kind enough to give me time to process and after I gave them my phone number, texted me only to give me theirs and let me process on my own after that.” “To be fair, we passed out and slept till almost noon after we texted you, so it wasn’t restraint on our parts, just that we were too tired to stay up anymore. Especially since we didn’t sleep on the plane.” Marinette laughed dryly. “That’s an eight hour flight.” Bruce commented in shock. “You two were awake the whole time?” “Well yes, we hadn’t been up all that long anyway, and with Damian sleeping against Luka, he wasn’t sure if Damian would be offended if he woke up to a sleeping man holding him. Luka’s a cuddler and even if Damian started it he didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable.” Marinette shrugged. “If he was uncomfortable, why did he not simply move me to not be leaning on him anymore?” Damian asked, having realized that the only time he’d been moved was when Luka got up for the bathroom. “One, the only discomfort he had was not something that moving you would have solved, and two, we did.” She sighed, shrugging. “Every time he shifted you to be sitting upright, you just grabbed onto his arm and put your head back on his shoulder. And when he had to get up he tried a little harder and you got grumpy, but when he sat back down you were right there again. You were practically in his lap.” “And how many people saw this?” Damian asked with an internal groan. “If it gets put on the internet, I will never hear the end of it from the heathens.” “I think Luka and I were the only ones to notice, most everyone else was asleep.” Marinette reassured him. ‘I do have a couple photos and plan on one of them being your profile pic on my phone later.’ This was added as a teasing whisper in his mind and he internally groaned again. Luka broke into the conversation, ‘You have two guys inbound, tall, one of them is slender but muscled, the other slightly shorter and stocky.’ He added a look at where they were and what they looked at. “Grayson, Todd, what did you want?” Damian asked dryly as soon as they stepped close enough for him to hear their footsteps. “How did you do that, Demon Spawn?” Todd demanded as all three people turned to face the men who’d walked up. Marinette stiffened at the nickname, obviously offended at the nickname. ‘It’s alright, he says it because he cares.’ Damian reassured her, sending soothing emotions to her and Luka who’d been walking over as this was said. “I don’t feel like answering that question right now, Todd, but why did you come over here, this was a private conversation.” “Why did you and B need a private word with Jagged’s niece?” Grayson asked, frowning and looking between Bruce and Damian like he could figure out their secret. “That’s a conversation for home, Dick.” Bruce sighed. “And that’s when we decide to tell you, but it’s just something we needed to talk about before moving forward.” He glanced at Luka over Marinette’s shoulder, nodding at him to acknowledge that he’d walked back up. “Can you please not call her his niece? It’s rather awkward at this point.” Luka commented, putting his arms around Marinette’s waist. “She’s my soulmate, he’s my dad, it’s weird, you know?” That caught everyone’s attention, including Damian. “Wait, you’re Jagged’s son?” Bruce sputtered, his face astounded. “The way he talked about you, I figured you were like ten. Not an adult that was touring with him. He also didn’t introduce you as his son.” “I know, I didn’t grow up with him. My mom raised me and my sister, I didn’t really have any contact with him until I was a teenager.” Luka shrugged, “Doesn’t make it any less weird when he calls my soulmate his niece.” “Excuse you, I claimed her before you two even met.” Jagged laughed loudly, causing half the ballroom to look to see who was being so loud. “I think that gives me the right to keep calling her that.” “It’s still weird.” Luka shot back, shaking his head and leaning into Marinette’s hair. ‘This is why I pulled him away, he’s so loud about everything that the whole ballroom would know if he’d been part of it. You said you’d get made fun of if certain people found out.’ Damian smirked, looking down slightly, ‘Thank you, Luka.’ “Anyway, Luka, Marinette, these are two of my other sons, Jagged I’m sure you remember Dick and Jason?” Bruce pointed to each one in turn. “Wait, why does Damian call them by other names then?” Marinette wrinkled her nose a bit, trying to figure it out. “Damian… Has his own way of doing things. I’m surprised he doesn’t call you two by your last names.” Bruce admitted. “We never told him them.” Luka shrugged calmly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Okay, I’m confused, how do you all know Damian?” Dick asked, crossing his arms as Tim came to investigate what was going on. “For the love of… Short answer, they met on the plane here, the rest of it we will talk about at a later time and place, when Damian wants to share. That is the end of it, go back to the party.” Bruce grunted at the boys, glaring at them in annoyance while keeping the rest of his face in a neutral expression that he’d practiced for years. “Alright, alright, we’re going.” Jason threw up his hands and grumbled about people being touchy as he walked away. “The one day he’s not in a grumpy mood he has to irritate the rest of us.” Damian clicked his tongue in irritation and shook his head as Dick and Tim also drifted away with shrugs and curious looks thrown at the Parisians. “Well, why don’t you guys enjoy the party, we can talk soon. After I’ve had a chance to wrangle the whole family into not bothering the heck out of Damian over everything.” Bruce gave a small, slightly sarcastic smile and then softened. “Glad things are good though. I’m happy for you.” He patted Damian on the shoulder and walked away to join Jagged who was now talking with a few women by the refreshment table. “So… I take it he approves?” Marinette asked. “Yeah, I think he does.” Damian had the urge to hug his soulmates, but he contented himself with sending as much warmth and happiness to them through the bond as he could.

#mgi trope tussle #maribat #lukadaminette #miraculous fanfic #miraculous au #soulmate #dc

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ssa-dg · 4 years

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Undercover Part 1

part 1, part 2

Overview: the BAU has gone undercover to find a potential unsub who has been drugging, raping and murdering women. It own becomes a potential victim. Having to play her part to catch the bad guy, you go to the party all dressed up and dance with a potential murderer all while pretending he is someone else, Spencer Reid.

TW: drugs, rape (it is mentioned how the unsub rapes his victims. the reader is drugged and the unsub takes advantage of her being drugged and begins to take off her dress), murder, sex, adult themes. if these types of things are triggering for you please don’t read. I’m just a average person who tried their best to not cause people to be upset. If this is problematic I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to be and will take it down.

Relationship: Spencer Reid x (female)reader

word count: 3,384

Author’s note: so this is my first ever Criminal Minds story. If it garners enough attention I will do more parts (honestly even if it doesn’t I probably will lol) PSA: I have never been under the influence of MDMA and honestly I don’t judge if people who do it consensually and safely (which is harder said then done). this is how I imagine it to be like to be on it. Also I like writing and I like sharing my writing because all of the great fan fics that cause me happiness, if I can cause that reaction just to one person that’s enough for me

You would do anything to save the world. Maybe it was a hero complex, maybe it was some form of glory seeking, or maybe it was the only way you knew how to fill the dark abyss you felt when you did nothing of importance. Being a part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, helped with that. Being on the team gave you everything you needed, a family and a way to save others. Maybe saying you love your job isn’t the correct way to explain your emotions but you knew no better way. Although you wish a job like this wasn’t necessary and didn’t even exist, it did.

Your team meant the world to you and you would contribute almost in any way to help find an unknown subject. So when Penelope Garcia was able to connect the killings in New York City to some private “rich people” clubs, her and the team created a plan to infiltrate.

The victimology was specific. It was all rich young women ranging from the ages 19-30 who just moved into the city to find themselves.

The profile was an easy one to figure out. He was obviously a troubled young white male who was probably an heir of some sort. He was richer than what most people think is rich. He usually meets the victim at a high society social event. Then he’d take them to a more exclusive social event. After that he would drug them with MDMA, rape and kill them.

It was hard for the BAU to get much out of the enclosed and tight group of New York’s most elite families. So going undercover at an event where the unsub could potentially hunt for prey was what made most sense. Your jobs was to observe the women and men there and try to see if any of you could fish out the unsub.

They had done it in the past but usually they did their best work by watching and observing. So here the team was, their second night in a row all dolled up in fancy cocktail dresses at some art gallery. Tara Lewis and Luke Alves stood around a table pretending to talk to each other as they observed potential victims. Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, and Matt Simmons stood at another end of the room checking for the potential unsub, while your unit chief, Emily Prentiss, and you were pretending to be alone at the event eavesdropping on rich families. You listened to those around you while also scanning the room looking for potential young white men talking to lone young women. “Ten o’clock to the creepy face painting,” you heard Alvez say in your small earpiece. You calmly turned pretending to look at the other art pieces and saw a white male in his mid-thirties walking up to a female. He placed his hand on her low back as he leaned in to talk to her. Emily being the closest nearby out of you two, moved closer acting like she was going for some hors d’oeuvres. “That’s not him. He’s too drunk. I can smell all the alcohol he has consumed. He would need to be smoother than that,” Emily whispered as she took a sip of her glass. That’s how most of the night went. We followed and stared at people who might be the unsub and then filed them out. You felt yourself losing hope. You hated this part of the job. The one that made you feel like the profile was wrong and you all would have to start over, which there was never time to start over. Someone could die. That’s when you felt a hand touch the small of your back, your body tensed up immediately. “Relax,” he whispered in your ear. But you didn’t need to force it, because when you turned to look at the person who touched you, you were met with the face of beauty and your body instantly relaxed. You knew this was a dangerous reaction, as would probably many of Ted Bundy’s victims.

The man before you had slicked back short dark hair, bright blue eyes, strong symmetry in his facial features, and strong cheek and jaw bones. He smiled wickedly at you, causing you to intake a sharp breath. It was so sinister but also so beautiful. It wasn’t the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen, no that was reserved for your teammate, best friend, and love of your life (even if he didn’t know it) Spencer Reid. Now, Spencer’s smile was one you could get lost in. You refocused yourself to the beautiful man in front of you. “They say the artist intended for this particular piece to show trauma while he was drinking. His other pieces are other emotions on different drugs,” his deep voice rattled through your ears. You wanted to unwrap yourself from this man’s embrace. How dare he touch you like that without your permission. “Play along,” Luke spoke as he saw a scowl beginning to form on your lips, “he could be the unsub.” You smoothed the scowl into a smile. “It doesn’t look like it depicts trauma,” you responded dumbly. The man before you cocked his head to the side giving you a lopsided smile. “I guess it all depends on how someone experiences trauma,” the smile now wicked, and scarier. A shiver went up your spine. “Are you cold?” He asked, noticing it, while looking you up and down like he could devour you. “No,” your voice came out scratchy as your throat went dry. You cleared it politely. “Just thinking-” “About your own trauma?” He asked. You could hear the fake tone of concern. That snapped you out of your fear. The pictures of all the murdered women that brought the BAU to this case flashed before your eyes. “Maybe,” the smile you plastered on your face was a one you knew he wanted, a sad smile. You were going to play this role like it’s no one's business because you were here to catch a bad guy and if flirting with a creep got you there then so be it. He leaned in closer to your ear, “my name is Alistair Constantine,” you immediately recognized the name. It was on the list of potential unsubs for the profile. His family’s money was old, going back to the revolutionary war. The family seemed to always be updating with the times and never losing that money. You leaned into his other ear and introduced yourself.

Spencer’s hands were clutched at his side as he watched you interact with the Constantine boy. He felt in his gut at this moment, Alastair was the unsub. The way he was looking at you, it was like you were a quest to conquer. Spencer knew he couldn’t just come up, break you two apart and blow the whole investigation but boy did he want to.

Alastair paraded you around the room. Every now and then he would talk to fellow members of the society. It took everything in you to pretend that you didn’t want to beat his ass right then and there. You were always an imaginative kid growing up so you blocked out the gruesome pictures of the crime scenes and instead pretended this was your life a young New York woman getting special treatment from a handsome man. It was easier to fit the rom-com role then what was actually happening. Alistair stopped in front of a painting that was particularly psychedelic looking with bright pastel colors. “This is my favorite piece by the artist. This was when he was on Ecstasy. Look at the happiness and distorted-ness to the art. It’s amazing,” he gushed. It would have been odd that he picked this particular painting to attach too, but it was a strong tie to the method of his killings. “Humankind cannot bear very much of reality,” you spoke out, breaking Spencer from his thoughts about if they had enough information to convict Alistair for the murders. Alistair looked at you funny, not understanding why you would say that. “T. S. Eliot” you told Alistair while Spencer whispered it at the same time. a ghost of a smile playing on your lips when you heard Spencer’s voice. “It’s what I think of when I look at this art. T. S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets,” you blushed at your admission. It felt like for a second, with having just heard Spencer’s voice, that you were talking to him instead of Alistair. Spencer was now looking straight at you two. His eyes held bewilderment, he has known you for years and you never once mentioned this, and he knew you knew this was something he cared about.

“Indeed,” Alistair yawned.

The next 30 minutes was you telling him how you’d grown up in Boston, Massachusetts, that you had no close relatives anymore, and how when your parents died their life savings all went to you (all of it true), the lie came when it was to talk about why you moved to New York City, what you wanted to do with your life etc. And he ate it up every second. You played the roll of being the lonely damsel in a big city trying to find the answer to life. You were his ideal victim and you knew that he didn’t even question how perfect you were.

The night ended with an invite to the society’s ball tomorrow night, and Prentiss fed your ear a fake address for Alistair to send a car to tomorrow. You ordered an Uber to the address where Emily said they’ll pick you up to not seem suspicious in case Alistair sent someone to follow you. Once at the address the FBI’s SUV pulled up and you got in. It was Spencer who picked you up, which was unusual, as he never liked driving. You climbed onto the passenger seat and saw his knuckles were white from the strength of his grip on the steering wheel. It didn’t take a profiler to know Spencer was mad. “Spencer, are you alright?” You approached with a soft whisper. There was a pause of silence, Spencer calculating if he should be honest. He eventually gave into the truth as he knew that he couldn’t hide it from you. “No,” he growled, the anger in his voice causing you to jump in surprise. “No, I am not okay. That man is a murderer and he was holding you in his arm! You two were practically dancing around the room in there. We have put you in danger and now, now you are his next target, his next victim!” he hit the wheel in anger. You had never seen Spencer this angry before. Most times when Spencer got angry, he got smart and he used his logic to fight but now he sounded emotional. “Spencer,” you raised your voice, “I am not a victim, I’m an agent. I will do what it takes to protect others. Just like you.” In anger Spencer swerved the car to the side and put it in park. “Dammit, You don’t get it,” he yelled and turned towards you. “If he is our unsub, which we both know he is, I’ve run the calculations and the risk is too high for you,” his hands flying everywhere in gestures, “There are too many dependent variables. There isn’t enough for us to control. The probability of you getting hurt or,” he stopped to collect himself, and in a quieter voice said, “or worse, it’s too high. I’ve run the math.” Now that sounded more like the Spencer you knew. A soft smile crept onto your lips, then you quickly neutralized your face, in hopes he wouldn’t see the way his concern for you made you feel. And You couldn’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t let yourself feel happiness when Spencer showed you affection, because it eventually just leads to heart break. Subconsciously, you turned more towards him in your seat, “In your math is there probability that we get this guy and he never gets the opportunity to hurt another woman again?” You asked. Spencer gave you a pained look like he knew where you were going. You countered that look with one that told him to answer the question. He let out a heavy sigh, “yes. There is that possibility.” You smiled at him knowing you won the argument, “That settles it then.”

With everyone back in the small conference room at the police station, the conversation began about what to do tomorrow. No one was pleased that one of their own is now the target but there was truth that the situation was now more in the BAU’s control than before. Everyone also believed in you. They knew the risk and that scared them but also you are a Special Advisory Agent for a reason. Relief did not fill you but neither did dread, when you thought of the plan. You were doing the right thing. It didn’t matter if you were going to put yourself in danger.

Spencer kept pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Something that happened when he started to get headaches and you could guess this headache was caused by stress. As the rest of the team started packing up, you stared at your best friend hurting over the stress you were causing. You took a seat next to Spencer. He was still wearing his suit from the party. “We are going to be okay tomorrow,” you comforted him. He looked up at you, “I’m not worried about all of us, I’m worried about you,” he confessed. Once again, you knew these words shouldn’t have an effect on you like they did, but it did and this time there was something that felt hidden behind those words, something more. “I trust you not to let anything happen to me,” You countered and placed your hand on his forearm to comfort him. You looked in his eyes and tried to let him know that there is more than just trust there.

The day of the ball, you got ready in the police station bathroom. It wasn’t exactly how you imagined to be getting ready for your first ball in New York City. You’d rather be wearing this gown for other reasons than going undercover to catch a murderer rapist. The Givenchy dress Garcia picked out was gorgeous (as you instructed her to get a designer to fit in the crowd and you would float the bill). It was a long evening dress in blue and green with a gradient-effect. The top had long puffed sleeves, deep V-neckline, and waist accentuated with smooth lamé and long flared skirt. You put your hair up in a loose low bun. The makeup you did was a smooth eye with long flair eyeliner. You put a heavy amount of glow highlighter on your cheek bones and collar bones to accentuate the deep v cut the dress.

You felt ridiculous walking out of the bathroom into the police station wearing your dress. But the way Spencer looked at you was something powerful and intoxicating, making you forget your embarrassment. You strode up to him. A small smile played on your lips looking up at him. You saw him also smiling at you “You’re almost as tall as me,” he blurted out. You let out a small laugh, “‘I guess that’s what heels will do,” you smiled looking down at your feet. Spencer felt ridiculous that’s what he said. He should have told you how amazing you looked or how your beauty felt like the sun- always pulling him in and having his thoughts orbit around you. But he wasn’t good with voicing his feelings (especially in a room with his colleagues).

“We are going to have Officer Melinda Jackson drive you over to the apartment, And stake out the car. She’ll be on the radio the whole time till you are in range with us. We will be at the Capitale when you get there.” Emily disclosed as she strapped on a microphone and earpiece.

You stepped out of the car with your head held high even though your anxiety was on another level. “i’m here,” you whispered. “We are here too,” Tara responded. Everyone disclosed where each one was to you. The venue was massive and beautiful. The ceiling was tall with ornate decorations. The lighting was a bright orangish glow. As you examined the room, checking each point of your team, you also saw Alistair. He was at the bar with what looked like to be a group of his friends. Spencer not too far behind them. You walked towards Alistair but kept your eyes on Spencer. He took your breath away dressed in a tux and his hair slicked back like he used to when he was younger. It felt like your heart was lit on fire just by looking at him all dressed up. He was staring at you intensely. It wasn’t that the world stopped the moment your eyes met his, but it was more like everything else just didn’t matter. You knew you’d have to look away soon to not give away anything but you took him in for just one more second. “You look amazing,” you heard a voice next to you say. You turned to see the ever good looking Alistair. He wore a navy 3 piece suite with a large Gucci tag on the sleeve, and a large Gucci flower pinned on his chest. You gave him a soft smile and returned his compliment. “I want to introduce you to my family. Their approval means everything,” he offered you his arm. You took it tentatively, Spencer watched him lead you away, and he pondered on Alistair’s odd statement about family approval.

Alistair’s family was everything you’d expect. They were proper and pompous. However they liked you, a lot. You fell right into the role you had to play. You stood there laughing and engaged in the conversation with his mom and cousin.

“Shall we dance?” Alistair asked, giving you his hand, as your conversation with his sister came to an end. You nodded and let him take you to the dance floor.

He spun you out and brought you back in close to start the dancing. You gave him a bright smile at his eccentric action. You closed your eyes and let your mind pretend it was Spencer holding you. You followed his lead as he twirled you both around the dance floor. “Stop dancing, we can’t see you,” Spencer frantically said into your ear piece. You snapped your eyes open. Taking in that you were on a secluded corner of the dance floor by an exit door. “You are special. My family, They like you” Alistair said with a sense of manic to it. “you aren’t like the others,” he admitted. His voice sounded different. It was sinister with a tinge of adoration. He pulled you close, so close that his fingers dug into your hand and back. You felt like your brain was freezing up in fear. How many times had you been in fear inducing situations and why did your brain pick now to not work. “you’re hurting me,” you groaned trying to pull yourself away. “Where are you” JJ yelled but then you felt mist hit you, and your mind begin to make things fuzzy, “the left corner, the spray…in the flower,” you breathed out, hoping the team could hear you. You heard a rattle of commands to your co-workers from Emily. Then it went black.

Spencer rushed through the crowd to find you but by the time he got to the corner you told him you were at, you were gone. “She’s not here,” Spencer panicked into the ear piece. “I just saw a black Tesla leave, license plate delta, alpha, hotel nine, one, two ” Luke informed them. “Call and ask them to run it”, Rossi said urgently. “on it,” Luke replied. “JJ and Reid, go talk to the mom and sister, Tara and Matt split up and talk to his friends and the other family members. They have to know where they are,” Emily demanded

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #david rossi #matt simmons #Penelope Garcia #criminal minds fic #luke alvez #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #criminal minds fanfiction #ssa-dg #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

AAA I loved that Jaskier attacking Stregobor -fic. I have re-read your fics multiple times and the centaur ones are my favorite (jaskier is my fav..) . I'm going on a 4 hour train trip the day after tomorrow (I'm terrified of trains and travel), so I'm probably going to use reading your blog as a distraction from anxiety heh. Thanks for doing what you do!

Wishing you safe travels on the train, Nonnie! For what it’s worth, I’m super proud of you for doing it despite being terrified of trains and travel. Will definitely be keeping you in my thoughts today as you make your journey (hopefully you’re off to do something nice !). To keep you well supplied with distractions, have a whole new AU just for you!

Witchers were an abomination but they were a necessary creation. Wingless and half wild with blood lust, society feared them, shied away from their unnatural looks even if they were created and not born like that. The trials and mutations stripped them of their wings, left them grounded and unreadable. Society was too used to reading social cues from wings, someone without them was a blank, emotionless figure.

However, they were an unwanted necessity. Airborne monsters were easy enough to deal with, there were teams and departments celebrated for their heroics in dealing with harpies and griffins. But things like arachasae, nekkers and drowners needed to be controlled and taken down. However, wings were too vulnerable and delicate to be subjected to being dunked in filthy water or crawling into dark, damp caves with. It was how witchers came into existence. They were given strength, stamina and healing power in exchange for their wings and their worth in the eyes of society. Needed but universally loathed, if a witcher was in town, people held their wings tight to their bodies for fear of a witcher getting jealous and tearing it off, fashioning fake wings for themselves out of them.

Jaskier’s wings were large, brown with white tips. He was especially proud of how the whites sparkled in the sunshine. It led to him preening, rubbing oils into the feathers to keep them perfect. He also spoke a lot with his wings, lifting them, flaring for dramatics, fluttering when excited and puffing up to flirt with anyone who gave him the time of day. Spotting a witcher in the corner of a tavern, his wings flared out, showing off and flirting out of habit. He wasn’t deterred by the lack of a wing twitch of dismissal or an answering fluffing of acceptance. Instead, Jaskier sat down at the table with a wide smile.

As far as first meetings went, it wasn’t Jaskier’s finest but Geralt didn’t verbally (or physically) eviscerate him for approaching which was as good as accepting the propositions as far as Jaskier was concerned. He was working with limited information so he had to do his best and hope.

The more he trailed after Geralt, the more he learned to read the smaller nuances of his body. When his shoulders tightened, Jaskier knew Geralt was worried. But a small raise of the corner of his lips meant mirth or fondness. Not to mention the tick of a jaw muscle which only ever came about when Geralt was engaging some horrible creature. As much as he denied it, Jaskier knew it meant worry, maybe even fear. No matter what anybody said, Jaskier knew that witchers felt emotions as deeply as anyone else, they just didn’t have the means to express them in the same way.

Life on the road was not an easy one. Jaskier soon became glad his wings were mostly brown, the whites were dust stained and less than glamorous. Oils and cleaning products had to be used sparingly because they ran out sooner than they got to a town that stocked Jaskier’s preferred brands. It was a worthwhile trade off, oils in exchange of inspiration and a muse for his art.

They were sat in another clearing, perched on logs and Jaskier was trying to reach the base of his wing where a few feathers were tangled and in desperate need of a tidy. One of them was probably loose but there was no way for Jaskier to see what he was doing. From the side, Geralt was pretending not to watch him struggle.

“You could help rather than gawk,” Jaskier huffed, annoyed that his arm wouldn’t bend exactly as he needed it. What use were good, strong bones when they stopped him from reaching the base of his wing?

Silently, Geralt stared at him before grunting. “You don’t want me help.”

“I think you’ll find I blood well do. Come and make yourself useful.”

Jaskier thrust the oil towards Geralt and huffed to hurry him along. He watched as Geralt’s eyes widened and he stood up, the most hesitant Jaskier had ever seen him. Steady hands took the proffered oil and Geralt settled on his knees behind Jaskier.

“See the feathers at the base? They’re giving me such trouble and itch like crazy.”

Careful hands reached to untangle them and Jaskier heard Geralt gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured. Without seeing him, Jaskier could read him so much easier. “I didn’t mean to.”

Not quite sure what had happened, Jaskier hummed and twisted to look back at Geralt who had a brown feather between his fingers and was staring down at it in horror.

“I’m too brutish for something as delicate as your wings.” Geralt made to stand up but Jaskier flared his wing, trapping him.

“It was loose. You need to pull a lot harder than that.” A suspicion was swirling in the darkness of Jaskier’s mind. “Have you ever touched wings before.”

Never before had Geralt looked so timid. Eyes wide, he looked up at Jaskier before his gaze skittered away. A small shake of his head told Jaskier everything.

“Well then,” he said and stretched his wings out wide in invitation, “have your fill.”

At first, nothing happened and Jaskier almost started worrying that he’d gone too far. Usually only mates and family groomed each other. Though he doubted Geralt knew that, having spent so long without wings. So he tried to tamp down on the emotions bubbling away in his chest. They were all driven from his mind with the first, hesitant touch that skimmed across the ridge of a wing.

Each touch was light, barely there and Jaskier could hear how gently Geralt was breathing, barely making any noise.

“You can touch all you want,” he reassured. Gradually, the touches got braver, after a few more loose feathers dropped thanks to Geralt, he settled into the moment.

Fingers buried themselves into each wing and Jaskier gasped at the touch. Geralt growled a little. “You’re so soft.”

As Geralt’s hands dug into the feathers, a thumb brushed against an oil gland at the base of a wing and Jaskier stifled a groan. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him there. Though he was free with his body and affections, there were some taboos even he didn’t break with a stranger. But Geralt was no stranger. They had been travelling together for so long now.

“Am I hurting you?” Geralt asked, frozen.

“Quite the opposite.” The admission didn’t fluster Jaskier as much as he had expected. “Your touch is very intimate.” The hand moved though Jaskier could feel the reluctance in it. “It’s a welcome touch, if you’re interested.”

A soft, quiet “yes” was barely audible but the touch returned and Jaskier bit his lip when Geralt mirrored his touch on the other wing too.

He didn’t last too long without begging. “I want to touch you too.”

Hesitant, Geralt moved from behind Jaskier. It was all too easy to tug him down to straddle Jaskier’s lap and his arms wound under Jaskier’s, returning to playing with the bast of his wings.

Instinctively, Jaskier’s hands wrapped around Geralt, hands splayed flat on his back. For all the scars he had, there wasn’t even that much to remind them of the fact he had been human once. Exploring the expanse of a smooth back, Jaskier shuddered. He was a little disappointed Geralt’ back wasn’t as sensitive as his but all it meant was that he got to explore and try new things.

Jaskier was delighted to find that nipping along Geralt’s jaw and kissing down his neck were met with favourable reactions. It emboldened him until their lips were pressed together, tongues licking against each other playfully.

It was a first that was definitely worth remembering. Geralt was so careful until Jaskier all but growled at him to grip his wings better. While lovers had done that before, none compared to Geralt and his raw power. There was no doubt in Jaskier that if he wanted to, Geralt could rip his wings off without even exerting himself. Instead, he was so careful and gentle with them, cherishing each touch, nuzzling under Jaskier’s chin and mouthing at the skin there as they fucked. While Geralt didn’t have wings that flew out to full span to shake and quiver with pleasure, there was no missing his enjoyment. Soft words, half lost murmurs dipping into growls and whines. Never before had Jaskier felt so worshipped and pampered.

They didn’t really mention it the next morning. Jaskier would have almost worried but, a few days later, he was unpacking bags from Roach for the night. At the bottom of the satchel for the bedrolls, he saw a handful of carefully stored feathers he recognised. They were the ones Geralt had loosened and pulled. Jaskier hadn’t realised they had been gathered up, cleaned of any dust and stashed away. There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to keep adding to the collection. Maybe Geralt would appreciate a couple of white ones added to them when the time came.

However, the first white feather Jaskier shed didn’t end up in the bag. Instead, Jaskier brushed Geralt’s hair out of his face and pushed the quill through the bun he’d managed to put it up into. The fact they were in the middle of a tavern and Jaskier was declaring in a very public setting his claim on Geralt was only a secondary motive. As much as Jaskier wanted Geralt to be his, he also wanted to be Geralt’s. What he didn’t expect was for Geralt to smile, touch the feather now in his hair and then hold a hand up.

From a bag, he pulled a dagger, ornate with flowers and a wolf on the handle. Understanding the gesture, Jaskier accepted the offered dagger and tucked it into his waistband. With a stroke over Geralt’s cheek, he got up, slinging his lute across his chest, staring up the strumming for the first song of his set. If there was a slight swagger to his steps, a proud smile, nobody would have picked up on it because all eyes were on his puffed up wings as he showed off for Geralt and nobody else.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #winged au #tldr: geralt lost his wings to mutations but jaskier can still read his body language

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zeldan7 · 3 years

Text

Happier - Yoosung x GN! Reader/707 x GN! Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Pairing: Vague 707 x GN! Reader, Vague Yoosung x GN! Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 892

When you woke it was late, and you were hungry. Remembering you had company, you made enough dinner for two. Not wanting to disturb Seven, you left it in the kitchen and informed him.

“Leave me alone,” he snapped. “I’m busy.” He glared at you until you nodded an apology and backed away, retreating to your room to eat alone. You shut the door behind you, not wanting Seven to see how much he was hurting you. Tears dripped down your face as you went to place your phone down, when suddenly it started ringing. Yoosung. You furiously swiped your eyes dry and sniffed before answering.

“Hello, Yoosung.” You tried to sound as normal as possible, but he could tell something wasn’t right.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His voice was thick with concern.

“I’m okay, Yoosung.” You plastered on a fake smile, even though he couldn’t see it.

He made a noise that meant he didn’t believe you. “Y/N…”

You sighed. “Seven is giving me the cold shoulder, but I’m sure it’s just because he’s worried.” You tried your best to sound perkier. “So no reason to be concerned! What about you? Are you okay?”

You heard him breathe a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks! I was just calling to make sure you ate!”

You smiled, a real, genuine smile.

You spoke to Yoosung for what felt like hours before he had to go and raid with his LOLOL guild. Cautiously, you left your room to grab some water.

“Do you want anything, Seven?” You asked brightly.

He pulled his headphones up over his ears in response, drowning you out. So that was how it was going to be. Grabbing a glass of water, you headed to bed, deciding to try again tomorrow.

Sun filtered through the curtains, warming up your room and bringing your slumber to a gentle end. You rolled over to check your phone in case you’d missed anything relating to the party, only to find a text from Yoosung.

Good Morning! Don’t forget to eat breakfast! Three meals a day, okay, Y/N?

You grinned and immediately responded, making sure he’d eaten and assuring him you were on your way to grab some toast.

Humming a happy tune, you left your room and found Seven slumped over his desk, fast asleep. Careful not to wake him, you tiptoed around the apartment, gently placing a glass of water in front of him and draping a blanket over his shoulders. Cracking on with the day, you ate your breakfast and got dressed, preparing to reply to guest emails and continue planning the party.

After about an hour of sitting and tapping away at your laptop, you heard a startled cry.

“Y/N!” Seven yelled in a tone that sent a shiver down your spine. He was pissed. “Why the Hell didn’t you wake me? And why did you put this on me?!” He threw the blanket at the sofa where you sat.

“I-I thought you could use the rest…” You stammered, confused by his sudden outburst.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know what happens if I rest?”

You shook your head, trembling.

“You get kidnapped, or killed, and I’m left to clean up the mess! Christ, do you not think I have enough on my plate with my brother? Let alone having to take care of you?! I told you to leave me alone, and I meant it.” He faced up to you, voice icy cold. “I don’t care about your feelings; never have, never will. Get that through your thick skull before it gets you killed. I. Don’t. Like. You.”

Leaving no room for further discussion, he went back to his computer, putting on headphones and drowning out your existence. Tears in your eyes, you turned your attention back to your laptop, and the chatroom you’d been engaging with before Seven’s outburst. It was filled with messages from Zen and Yoosung asking if you were okay due to your sudden disappearance. You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, instead just leaving the chat.

You returned to your room, locking the door and sitting down to continue your work on the party. You refused to let the other members of the RFA down. Several messages popped up, but you ignored them, not feeling up to conversation. 8 missed calls from Yoosung, however, changed your mind. You quickly rang him back, fearing something was wrong. He answered on the first ring.

“Y/N! Are you okay?!” He sounded worried.

You couldn’t help but smile at his concern. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Yoosung sighed. “I couldn’t go; I was so worried. With you leaving so suddenly I thought the hacker had got you! I thought – I thought –“

“I’m fine, Yoosung.” You cut off his bumbling. “Nothing to worry about. I’m not hurt, other than my feelings.”

You weren’t sure why, but you ended up pouring your heart out to poor Yoosung. You confided in him about your feelings and how Seven was treating you.

“Just hang in there, Y/N, okay? I’m sure things will get better soon and Seven will return to his normal self! Plus the party is soon, and we’ll all get to meet you!”

“You’re right,” you felt more optimistic after talking to him. You always did. “I’m excited to meet you after all this time! Thank you, Yoosung.”

Taglist: @belphies-wife @ooffies @callmecamcam

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/zeldan7 (if anyone wants to leave a lil tip/donation towards my new art program I wanna get! Absolutely not necessary so please don't feel pressured :) )

#mystic messenger #yoosung kim #yoosung x mc #yoosung x reader #yoosung x gn! reader #707 #707 x reader #707 x mc #707 x gn! reader

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 44 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 40 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Chapter 15: Old Crab

Kurin got to ride on a catamaran sailboat as she was taken to the Gathering rafts. She watched everything with interest from leaving the Dark Dragon to arrival at the docking area. As she was lifted up to the raft deck, Kurin realized that most of the ship booths were taken down and stowed. Only the food booths and a few others were left.

The crowd around Marad’s booth showed that he still had his flair for dealing with the public.

“Let’s go to Marad’s for some food!” said Kurin enthusiastically.

Tousling Kurin’s hair, Sula replied, “You go eat. I have to make my report to the Council.” She strode off to the Council Pavilion. Kurin, supported by Doctor Worran and Seve, a deck-hand from the Dark Dragon, made her way to Marad’s and food.

Most people, seeing that it took two people to support her, stayed back and left Kurin alone. She could hear the whispers, though.

“I heard that she lived through Ord poisoning.”

“Not what I heard. Someone told me that they faked …” that one ended in a thud and a scuffle, with a “You take that back!”

“Weak as a new hatched bird, poor thing!”

And one that got her interest, “Get Roper, he’s got her trade chits!”

Kurin steered through the crowd and entered Marad’s booth, needing both Doctor Worran and Seve to keep her on her feet. Marad brought out a chair, when he saw her coming. “Good grief! Dragon Hair, it’s good to see you! You look like bird breath smells!” He paused in seating Kurin, to stare. Kurin followed his eye and grinned.

“Doctor Worran, meet Marad, one of the best cooks around. Marad, this is Doctor Worran, from the Dark Dragon. She saved my life. This good man is Seve, he’s from the Dark Dragon, too.”

“Now you’ve done me in, Kurin. I’ll always feed you to pay you back for that tutoring, but you’ve gone and brought an exotic beauty and a friend as well. If I don’t feed you all, I couldn’t live with myself, and there goes all of my profit.”

Belying his words, busy helpers bustled about his small kitchen, serving the hungry crowd. “Now what can I get you fine people?”

“Do you have any crab or lobster left?” asked Kurin without much hope.

“No live ones, Kurin, but I have some steamed crab cakes, made from flake blocks. They’re just about to come out. There’s sweet or tart dipping sauces to go with ‘em.”

They were just tucking into the crab cakes, when Sula came striding up. Her business with the Council was done for now. Marad saw her coming and had a crab cake waiting.

“This looks like it was a good place to come,” Sula said, eying her crab cake like a hungry sea bird. She joined the group, and Kurin introduced her to Marad.

“I wish that we could have these on the way home,” Doctor Worran said wistfully. She was industriously cleaning every bit of crab off the Strong Skin board that it had been steamed on. “Unfortunately, crab just doesn’t keep very long.”

Kurin and Marad looked at each other, nodding slowly. He said, “That crab was over a Gathering old and nowhere near the end of its shelf life.”

Sula pounced on that, “How do you manage that, or is it Ship’s Business?”

“It is,” said Marad leaning on the counter and displaying a waxy looking block, a little bigger than a man’s hand, “but it’s Captain’s Discretion. We were hoping to sell the process. I can sell you up to two hundred of these one pound crab blocks that are surplus in our pantry. We have a few tons in one of the holds, too, but I have no authority over them. If folk in this fleet know that they are eating old crab or fish, they won’t touch it. It doesn’t sell, and we need the pantry space. You can put up almost any edible fish or other food the same way. Keeps good for two to three Gatherings.”

Just then Roper came proudly up to Kurin. The grown folk paused and watched as the young ones did business. “I sold all of your toys, and got good prices, too. I saved the chits for you, cause I was sure that you’d come back.” He dumped a whole pouch of trade scrip in her lap. “There’s thirty four skins, twenty two blocks and eighteen bits.”

Kurin, eyes wide, looked into the pouch, “And you put away my booth. I saw. You have been busy, Roper.” She was counting from the pouch.

“Master Juris showed me how to fold it and where to put everything.”

“Then you have earned this,” said Kurin, handing him scrip.

His eyes grew wide in turn. “Five whole skins and five blocks! This is the most I’ve ever got! I’ll go to Alor and put it in my account right away.” he scampered off.

Sula said, “I see why you trusted him with your booth.”

Just then, Captain Mord emerged from the Council Pavilion and Kurin, without thinking, tried to stand up and wave. She did call, “Captain! Over here at Marad’s!” Sula and Doctor Worran caught her as her big muscles went lax, and eased her back into her chair.

Captain Mord, seeing her slump, came at a run. “Are you OK, Kurin?” he asked in concern.

Before Kurin could pull words together, Sula answered for her. “She’s fine, Captain Mord. She is recovering nicely. I’ve been Ord poisoned twice, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“We owe you thanks, Captain Sula,” he said, crouching in front of Kurin and looking her over to be sure the she really was there and OK. He looked over her shoulder at Sula and said warmly, “Your account of her navigational ability in unfamiliar waters, turned the tide. They were going to close the school and make us pay refunds because they thought she was too sick.”

“Were — — what do they want now?” asked Doctor Worran, curiosity alight in her eyes.

“Only to buy a master chart of the Naral - Cliftos current system — — Bottom and all — — Dragon Sea to Equator.” He was grinning as he waited for his bombshell to go off.

Sula was the first to realize the magnitude of the task. Eyes shocked to wide green pools, she asked, “How many ship-Gatherings are they going to pay for?”

“Two, up front. If they like the initial results, up to four more. In total, a minimum of 50,000 skins and as high as 250,000 skins. We will conduct the school as we make the chart. That is a separate income.”

Kurin, dancing in her chair with excitement, said, “Captain, if you grin any wider your teeth will show behind you!”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Sula. “It’s enough to build a ship like mine!” As she thought, she gazed at a long winged Sea Hawk soaring overhead, its shadow causing other, smaller, birds to panic into flight or swarm under awnings for protection.

“You might even have some left over. It makes my business with you seem small.”

“Do you need to sell or buy?” asked Mord, instantly curious and guarded.

“To buy. Both provisions and a process covered by your Ship’s Business. I am told that it is available at your discretion.

“We have just become aware of your block preservation process for fish and other food. We want to buy all of the block preserved food that you can spare, and the process itself.”

“What do you offer for all of that?” asked Mord, carefully neutral, preparing to haggle.

“I have the entire prepared hide of a nine tonne Hag. It is already stretched and dried. I will sign a non-revelation agreement for the nearby fleets, so long as it does allow us to reveal the process to the Winternight, Corlis and Barant fleets.”

Mord was shaken by the magnitude of the offer. It was enough to equip five ships with the best of distillation equipment, kitchen fireboxes and the array of special pots needed for cooking over flame, and specialized fire boxes for their boat-shops as well. Mord said, “You must want this very badly, to offer so much. If the hide passes Master Juris’ examination, you have a deal.” He shook her hand, and sent for Alor to draw up the necessary agreements.

Turning to Marad, Captain Mord leaned on the counter and asked, “You set this up, didn’t you?”

“Well, Sir, what I did was give them some crab cakes, and then show them a block. After that, I told them that I could sell them some provisions but you had to sell them the process and goods in the hold.”

“You did well, and there will be a bonus for you, as well as shares for the whole crew. Now, would you please get Master Murel so that he can explain the process and demonstrate the equipment? Also, he needs to set someone to sorting which blocks we can sell, including the ones in the cargo hold.”

Turning back to Sula, he asked, “Why do you want this so badly?”

The circling bird became an object of extreme interest. Sula, watching it, felt past pain and tears well up again. Her voice shook as she answered, “There were twenty seven reasons on my ship alone in the last two wars. Three of those reasons were children.” She sat heavily and braced her arms on the table. Her voice broke and she began to cry.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 44 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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jyndor · 4 years

Text

paul krugman and the art of doubling down on shitty takes

so on september 11th, famed nyt editorial writer, keynesian economist and fave of your racist liberal uncle, paul krugman, wrote one of the shittiest takes I have ever seen on twitter, which is SAYING SOMETHING.

krugman famously tweeted this:

and got a million virtual shoes thrown at him for being so ignorant, because anti-muslim hate crimes did actually escalate after 9/11, and the bush administration eagerly fanned the flames of islamophobia in order to make their illegal wars in afghanistan and iraq popular with the public. muslims, sikhs, indians, literally anyone vaguely brown, and lots of black ppl too, were terrorized by their neighbors, (former) friends, classmates, coworkers, etc. and anyone with a muslim friend knows this happened because they've told us about it. and these attacks were reported on. they were, I remember reading about them when I was a kid.

(paul krugman works for the new york fucking times, and while I think the nyt is warmongering centrist garbage, they do actually report on things that happen in the world. he writes editorials for them, surely he reads the damn paper once in a while).

so today, I log on to twitter and see he has decided not to apologize, but rather do the ol' double down, which always works out well.

here are some highlights:

okay so first thing's first, no apology (obviously) since this is a double down. but we got a chart, and liberals do love a good chart when they are being racist and ahistorical.

he admits that the chart is actually inaccurate because it excludes all the other victims of anti-muslim hate crimes who weren't actually muslim (read: the innocents). okay. so already he is losing credibility because he is using an inaccurate chart as the basis of his double down, and really, we love to see it.

after this there's some shit about how he didn't say there wasn't an outbreak of white americans attacking muslims and people mistaken for muslims, but rather that it could have been worse. lol well anything can be worse than it was, as 2020 has taught us. it’s a pedantic mess and I didn’t feel like that was the meat of the double down.

so first off, the iraq war was definitely started for many reasons, but islamophobia was part of it. the bush administration wanted to invade iraq and depose saddam hussein, and steal iraq’s oil for multinational oil companies lbr, and so they exploited americans’ fears about muslims by propagandizing about how it was important for us to attack them over there before they attacked us over here with their weapons of mass destruction, and of course they would attack us over here if given the chance. why? because they hate our way of life here, our freedom. those things were LITERALLY said by bush people and also by their stans at fox news and the wsj, and yes, in the editorial pages at the nyt.

so to someone like paul krugman, who knows lots of conservatives who don’t seem racist, or are educated and distinguished and just... like war? idk but to him, he sees people like them and says, well... they’re not like uneducated filthy poors in west virginia, not that kind of racist.

but what he doesn’t get, or he is being deliberately obtuse about, is that in order for the bush people to dehumanize muslims the way they did, they had to personally place less value on the lives of iraqis than on the value of that sweet crude oil. they were willing to go to war, sacrifice hundreds of thousands of civilians in the process (as well as thousands of american soldiers, but this isn’t about them) because they didn’t see them as anything but collateral damage. and that is fucking racist.

and while I have no interest in playing the “which racist is worse” game, when the west virginia uneducated racist endangers those around them, the politician rich harvard educated racist writes policy and lies us into illegal wars that endanger millions. both are bad, both are racist.

and by the way, him “sticking his neck out” to speak up against going to iraq was brave and necessary, especially because the nyt was pushing the invasion. but when you put it like that... you just sound like a tool. like it was a burden to call out the liars and imperialists. bitch, you’re paul krugman, a nobel laureate and renowned economist. I do not want to discount the IMMENSE pressure and blacklisting that opponents of the bush administration experienced, because showing any opposition to the wars at the time was risky. but idk the way he put that just irked me, especially since he didn’t even lose his job like many in the media did when they spoke up.

usually what liberals do when they fuck up publically is a fake ass apology and a few hail marys, and I assumed he would be on twitter begging for forgiveness on this one since his garbage take went so viral and pissed off so many people. and of course was wrong.

but then he does this:

yeah. your eyes are not deceiving you. that chart is measuring anti-black, anti-lgbtq and anti-”islamic” (lmao who says that bro just say anti-muslim or islamophobic) hate crimes. shut up leftist twitter, black people have it worse than muslims according to my inaccurate chart. so stop attacking me, a rich white man who doesn’t really care about anything other than my reputation.

there is a lot to unpack here, namely that paul krugman is using faux concern for black people as a way to deflect from his shitty ahistorical take about how much restraint white americans showed after 9/11 towards muslims. maybe krugman doesn’t know any black muslims, but they exist. also oppression olympics is stupid even when used by well meaning essentialists, let alone by milquetoast academics.

not to mention that he has already discounted his own shitty chart by saying it doesn’t show the full picture of what happened in these anti-muslim attacks. but even if we take this chart seriously, it actually does not really support his point. look at how many more hate crimes there were against muslims in 2001 than there were in 2000. there are significantly more black people than muslims in the united states. I am not good at math, and surely I am no nobel laureate, but it seems to me that hate crimes against black people increased a little, and hate crimes against muslims increased a lot. and this chart only takes into account three years, and only two of which are post-9/11. so... idk man maybe we should look at what happened in, say, 2003? 2004? how about all of the 2000s?

(source: https://www.pri.org/stories/2016-09-12/data-hate-crimes-against-muslims-increased-after-911)

oh, that is actually pretty consistently bad! yes, there was one spike in 2001/2002, but it isn’t like we went back down to pre-9/11 numbers afterwards. and I am not sure if this information includes non-muslims targeted for “looking muslim” but I would say it is unlikely, since the data seem pretty similar to krugman’s olympic shit.

I am not writing this because paul krugman is particularly shit-for-brains, or because I hate him more than like... idk any other moron on twitter. there were plenty of anti-muslim takes on twitter friday like there are every 9/11, and every day. but krugman is actually someone liberals respect. he is, after all, a nobel laureate and a keynesian economist, and fairly mild mannered. when people in the media like krugman write these ahistorical shitty takes they are, as chomsky wrote, MANUFACTURING CONSENT. it is a deliberate tactic, and it works. and if you want to learn more about this theory, check out this short clip by al jazeera narrated by amy goodman (of democracy now). the media manufactured american consent when they pushed the wars. they continue to do so when they try to rewrite george bush’s history by making trump seem uniquely terrible to muslims.

elites in the press and in government have been trying to whitewash and rehabilitate george bush’s reputation for YEARS, and they are succeeding. and why would they want to do that? well, there are a lot of reasons. one, a lot of people in washington are complicit in bush’s crimes. two, democrats think they need to appeal to moderate republicans (lol) in order to win elections, and I guess they think there are moderate republicans left (lol!), and that those moderate republicans like george bush (LOLLL). three, they want to make trump look uniquely terrible. if they do that, then no one but trump needs to be held to account for his government’s failings. but these are just my speculation.

do not let them rehabilitate george bush any further than they have. it is a fucking shame he will never be held to account for war crimes, but an extra slap in the face to all of his victims when we act like he didn’t do things he did. like stoke anti-muslim hate. he invaded muslim countries with a smile on his face, and that is pretty fucking hateful.

paul krugman doubled down and tried to use Black Lives Matter like a human fucking shield. seems a bit racist imo.

#paul krugman #islamophobia #racism #war #imperialism #anti-blackness #fuck this guy i stg

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 6: AMJ #1

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Now we’ve finally established all necessary contexts we can begin diving into the AMJ series proper. My intent is to break down each issue page by page.

Let’s get started.

We open with Mary Jane shooting a sizzle reel for the film’s investors. Evidently she is playing Mysterio’s super powered love interest.

Here we get into our first few problem but I admit it might not actually be a problem.

See, ASM v5 #29 established that MJ has already seen McKnight’s ‘reel’ so why are they filming another sizzle reel?

I admit to being in the dark about Hollywood practices so this might be perfectly normal and therefore not a contradiction. Let me know if that is the case.

This page introduces yet more problems though they too are rather minor.

The smallest of these is depicting Kangaroo as Australian. Last I checked (and I admit I might be mistaken about this) the Kangaroo was in fact NOT Australian. Or at least this version of the character isn’t as he is the second Kangaroo merely inspired by the original.

That’s a tiny nitpick but I thought I’d mention it. And it’s one that’s easily explained away. He could be emulating an Australian accent for effect or something like that.

The more notable problem is that MJ is deriding the script. This contradicts MJ’s statements in ASM v5 #29/830 where she is praiseworthy of the writing after immediately reading through some of it with Peter.

You could argue that perhaps MJ was commenting upon the script in general and not specifically her own part. As in her starring in this movie would be great for her career because the movie in general was looking to be great. Or alternatively the script for the sizzle reel was bad.

But consider that the script is directly based upon Webspinners #1-3, which (again I might be mistaken about this too) I do not recall ever featuring Mysterio’s would be lover as anything like a super heroine.

Again, this is reconcilable. Rewrites happen. Embellishments on the truth happen.

But to me the reality seems be that either Williams was unaware of the movie being based upon Webspinners (which is entirely possible) or that she wanted to go in another direction for the story.

Either way, it’s a weakness of the comic book but not a deal breaker of a problem.

This page also represents one of the problems from an analytical standpoint with this series.

There is a certain amount of ambiguity through the writing and art in regards to what Mary Jane (and other characters) might be thinking and feeling.

Look at MJ’s baffled face when looking at the Spider-Man actor on the above page.

My initial impression was that she could be simply weirded out by seeing an overdramatised version of her lover. In particular when he’s going over a tragic event in his and her own life (Gwen’s death).

It could just be bafflement over why that’d even be in the movie. After all what has Gwen’s death got to do with the life of Mysterio. I guess Spidey’s implication in Gwen’s death was public knowledge but it still has nothing to do with Beck.

Alternatively that facial expression might (and I emphasis this as speculation) represent MJ’s confusion and concern about that being included in a film. That is to say that’s something of a personal cut for Spider-Man and Mary Jane’s life. She could be wondering if someone knows the truth about Peter’s identity?

If the latter is the case it might go some way into alleviating and explaining other problems I have.

But I just don’t know, because the comic is not making it clear-cut. To my eyes that look says ‘this is so surreal’ and doesn’t say ‘This is concerning. Could Peter and I be in danger?’

However if that was the intention it might’ve been intended to then organically transition into the acknowledgment that there are literal super villains on set and the consequent page in which MJ comments that Cage McKnight fleeing is suspicious.

Here is where we’re starting to get into the bigger problems, but let’s start with a smaller one.

The scene implies that McKnight is a an actual person and a respected filmmaker. This is again contradictory to ASM v5 #29. There MJ referred to McKnight as very new, as someone who lacked an agent until very recently. The implication by Spencer was clearly that McKnight was a false identity that Beck invented. Williams/the editors is clearly ignoring that. That’s not a good sign, although it’s not irreconcilable. It’s entirely possible that MJ’s dialogue in ASm v5 #29 in-story was actually true.

Mary Jane comments that there are felons on set. She didn’t question this because Cage McKnight has a reputation for authenticity.

This line can be interpreted one of two ways.

a) MJ didn’t question actual criminals on set and didn’t do anything about it.

b) She phrased herself badly and what she meant was former felons, or that she presumed they were reformed/reforming felons.

The latter is a-okay, the former though....wtf?

MJ’s lived with a man who she knows spent most of his life torturing himself over allowing ONE criminal to walk free. She’s on set with a whole crew of criminals, including super villains and she’s shrugging it off? She’s not even questioning it?

‘Authenticity’ be damned, it’s illegal and potentially dangerous to knowingly harbour criminals, let alone super powered ones.*

But again, I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt on that line. Between Cage’s reputation and the fact that so many criminals are working out in the open its not unreasonable for MJ to take it on faith that everything was on the up and up (even with the presence of super villains). After all the only confirmed super villain on set is the D (or Z) lister the Kangaroo who has at times been one of the good guys.

Mary Jane though is smart, socially savvy, can get a decent read of people and did study psychology for a time (she never completed the course but still). So she can tell something weird is up and it’s clear the intention is that she’s been growing suspicious for a while now.

In this essay series I don’t plan on praising the issues as that’s not the point. Besides I do that in other posts anyway. Nevertheless it’s worth pointing out that Williams really hits the mark on MJ’s personality here.

Her statements about Cage ‘claiming’ to have written this role for her (where she conveniently plays the love interest to a super person) and simply handing it to her imply MJ is detecting a trap. This touches on what I said above about her facial expression. About how it’s possibly intended to float the idea that she’s concerned that someone’s figured out Peter’s secret.

However, she could just as easily be thinking this is a trap specifically for her. After all, she’s been targeted by stalkers before (like Jonathan Caesar). That interpretation is arguably supported by MJ’s line about being scammed with an empty promise of stardom. Even if she doesn’t think this is some kind of super villain grand scheme of any kind it’d likely ring alarm bells for any young and (by stereotypical standards) attractive person in Hollywood; at least it would nowadays.

As we move onto the next page Cage reveals himself as in fact Mysterio and confesses he engineered this con in order to tell his life story.

He proceeds to inform MJ what is and isn’t real about the film and explain where the real Cage McKnight is. In doing so he admits that the film is happening through fraud, identity theft (sorry I don’t know the correct legal terminology) and the hiring of former felons and active criminals.

More specifically he produces (what he claims to be) a live video feed of the real Cage McKnight’s location on the Falkland Islands where he will be spending around a year on a film project that doesn’t actually exist. He also claims that this project is his last chance to do something good with the ‘time he has left’ (implying he is dying) and that he wanted to give the felons and criminals a similar chance to make something good and meaningful.

After being honest with her, MJ admits this situation is insane, but then agrees to go along with it.

First of all let me get this out of the way. Mysterio has actual active criminals on set but he also wants media attention. Isn’t that counter productive? The media are going to report that (some of the crew are obvious more than human, with green skin no less) and it’s going to cause both unwanted attention from the authorities and problems in general.

With that said let’s talk about the bigger issues with these pages.

Part of the problem in analysing them is that it we have to consider things from the POVs of MJ, Mysterio and our own (which is semi-omniscient).

We know Mysterio:

Is in the employ of the demonic Kindred who’s working a vendetta against Spider-Man.

Faked his own death again back in ASM v5 #24-25

Is doing this movie to make the most out of his time before he is dragged back to Hell

Is aware of Peter’s identity and that it’s highly likely he demanded MJ’s inclusion in the movie (whether of his own volition or on Kindred’s orders) specifically because of her connection to Spider-Man

Essentially we know Mysterio’s reasons for making the movie (including his limited time) are true…but they also omit certain important facts.

In other words…he’s acting.

He has legally (and more often illegally) worked as an actor. He was able to fool executives who literally work in the film industry where actors are basically a prerequisite. He is a massively skilled manipulator.

And here, the context the audience are aware of, conveys that he’s using the truth to get what he wants but is nevertheless withholding the real truth. Maybe this will be addressed later but at the moment it is beyond unlikely that Mysterio truly felt MJ was simply the only person to play his love interest. She is obviously there because of her connection to Peter.

Me personally though, I am not exactly certain Williams wrote this moment with the idea that Beck was being actively deceptive. My personal impression is that she was writing Beck as sincere and simply vulnerable because he knows he'll be returned to Hell soon. This vulnerability would be the reason for his opting for honesty. Now I don’t have any evidence to back that up I will admit, we will have to see as the series progresses.

But the most important thing about this scene isn’t our POV nor Beck’s, but MJ’s.

She is the lead character the person the story revolves around, her actions, decisions and agency is what is paramount in the context of this series.

From that perspective these three pages alone put us several layers into serious mischaracterization.

MJ wouldn’t help Beck because he’s hurt her loved ones

Even if he hadn’t she wouldn’t trust him because of the other horrible things he has done that she knows about

Even if she didn’t know about those things she knows his M.O. and abilities and thus wouldn’t trust him

Even if she sensed sincerity she’d not help him because he’s committed and still committing several serious crimes and unethical actions in this very story

Even if she believed those crimes weren’t so bad and that he was sincere she’d be smart enough to consider the possibility that he’s tricking her and double check what he’s told her

If she presumed (not that there is any evidence of this in the comic) that Beck was out legally and she ignored him obviously engaging in identity theft, she’d still double check those fact and learn that he has in fact escaped.

No matter how you slice this Mysterio is very much in the wrong here and so is Mary Jane. She even admits it’s insane and then agrees to go along with it.

Not only is she out of character to nuclear levels but even if this was a completely new villain MJ had never heard of before the mere fact that he’s clearly committed serious crimes to get to this point and is going to continue to do so (chiefly by impersonating McKnight) should be enough to make her her to bow out.

There is soooooooooo much more I could write about this because it cuts to the heart of the problematic premise as presented by the issue. However I will dive more deeply into that in numerous future instalments once we are done with issue #1.

Moving onto the next few pages, MJ predicates her agreement on the condition that her role be rewritten to improve her character.

This is a fact that she explains will actually improve the film over all. Their discussion occurs as Mysterio gives her a tour of the set and they chat about rewriting her character.**

During the course of this tour Mysterio unveils some of his film techniques and (at least seemingly) confirms what is and is not real about the production. Among the techniques he is using are his incredible holographic technology and his robot duplicates of the X-Men from ASM Annual #1.

This tour also includes a direct reference to Mysterio’s suicide from ‘Guardian Devil’, implying the artist and editor at least are aware of the events of that story. I’d like to imagine Williams is too. Regardless it’s problematic for the comic to acknowledge those events but treat Mysterio sympathetically in light of what he did in that story. And needless to say it’s problematic to write MJ as so chill around Beck in this scene/comic given how she knows about those events because she was in the story!

Anyway, MJ gets excited by the prospect of a spin off sequel. That in turn prompts one of the crewmen to imply she got her job through ‘womanly wiles’.

This enrages ‘Cage’ who assaults the man, an event witnessed and recorded by the surrounding crew. As she witnesses these events her self MJ has a curious facial expression.

Much like her expression seeing the actor playing Spider-Man, MJ’s face here is difficult to interpret.

It could mean any number of things.

Could she be viewing Mysterio as someone she’ll have to play carefully?

Is she thinking she’ll have to do her best to ensure he doesn’t get out of hand, whether it’s for her own protection or others’?

I do not know. It’s kind of vague. Hopefully it’s meaning will become clear in consequent issues, but if I’m supposed to understand clearly what it means in this issue then Williams or Gomez dropped the ball.

Something they didn’t drop the ball on though is Mysterio’s characterization. It’s worth mentioning out of fairness that this emphasis upon Mysterio as a passionate artist is extremely in keeping with his character and Williams handles him expertly on this front.

Beck finishes up his tour with a recreation of a scene from ASM #66-67 and MJ is delighted by the fun she and Mysterio are going to have in making the movie.

Notice that Beck directly references how this set piece is recreating a trap he laid for Spider-Man, how he used psychedelic gas to trick his mind.

In essence this is Mysterio simply stating outright to Mary Jane that he once tried to harm her boyfriend and even drugged him to that effect.

And MJ’s reaction to this is…to giggle with glee.

Really?

She doesn’t even show any hint of apprehension over that? We the readers aren’t even made privy to an internal tensing or recoiling on MJ’s part to this man just casually mentioning a time he sought to end the life of the man she is in love with?

Seriously, what the fuck. You better believe we’ll be talking more about this too.

Even from Mysterio’s point of view it muddies the waters of his motivations. As we extensively examined in prior instalments, it’s very likely that Beck knows Peter is Spider-Man, and thus by extension probably knows that Mary Jane is his lover. So it’s incredibly stupid on his part to blithely mention to MJ a time he drugged Spider-Man and tried to kill him.

Alternatively let’s say Beck’s hiring of MJ was in Kindred’s orders and he is unaware of the exact connection between her and Spider-Man/Peter. It’s still stupid because he’d still be able to deduce she very probably has something to do with Spider-Man because he knows Kindred wants her out of the way as he wages war on the wall-crawler.

The fact that Beck is written this way indicates Williams is unaware of the Spencer ASM issues which set up AMJ and/or doesn’t care and/or the editors aren’t doing their due diligence . Regardless it’s a major weak spot of the story. It either breaks the larger narrative that exists between the two titles or it renders Beck out of character via his stupidity.

The latter would be true even if Beck simply wanted MJ in his movie just because he liked her as an actress. He’d still be throwing out the fact he drugged and tried to kill someone (a former Avenger no less) in his past.

As the story progresses MJ and Peter have a chat on the phone where she makes a point of alleviating any discomfort he might have over making a sympathetic Mysterio biopic, claiming it is the Breaking Bad of super hero films. She continues by pointing out the career opportunities the role presents.

Peter raises concerns for MJ’s safety, suggesting she might find herself surrounded by villains; ironically unaware that Mary Jane is in that exact situation.

MJ assuages his concerns by reminding him of the time she defeated an actual super villain (the Chameleon, though he goes unnamed) with just a baseball bat.

MJ’s statements regarding the movie are arguably contradictory.

Earlier in her conversation with Beck MJ stated that the film empathizes with Mysterio and doesn’t apologise for it.

But then at the end of the story she tells Peter that the film actually isn’t glorifying Mysterio. Rather, it is making the Breaking Bad of super hero movies with an unreliable narrator.

This isn’t necessarily irreconcilable, but it is somewhat poorly communicated on Williams’ part. Breaking Bad’s defining message was that you shouldn’t be like Walter White. That he was in the wrong, even from the very start.

Why would Mysterio ever write a film about himself in that light? It doesn’t make sense and it would contradict MJ’s dialogue about how the movie empathises with Mysterio as a villain and doesn’t apologise for that. Breaking Bad wasn’t empathetic towards Walter White, it showed him very clearly as a monster and its final episode had him admit that fact.

Moreover if the film empathises but never apologises for Beck (and is directed by him personally) then isn’t that tantamount to glorifying him?

Because of this the issue leaves us with three possible interpretations of Mary Jane in this moment.

She is either:

Blinded by the prospect of fame and/or fortune and/or excitement and as such cannot see that the film obviously is glorifying Beck. To an extent we’ll talk more about this in a future instalment. Suffice it to say that’s very out of character

She is outright stupid, which is also out of character

She is deliberately lying to Peter about the artistic nature of the film project. There is a strong case (that we will get to) for MJ lying to Peter about Beck being out of character for her. However, were this a regular film production it might not be an OOC move for her. She wants to make the movie and alleviate her boyfriend’s feelings for the moment. Fibbing to keep their long distance relationship healthy and happy and hopefully being more straight with him when it’s over is not an unreasonable thing to do.

Options 1)-2) don’t exactly paint Mary Jane in a positive light, nor does option 3) necessarily.

MJ just isn’t this stupid, isn’t this capable of being star struck (she’s seen too much serious shit in her time for that) and lying to the love of her life about something like this is questionable. On the latter point it can be argued that there’d be no advantage of her lying to Peter about the project because he’s obviously going to find out when the movie is released.

Personally I suspect Williams never intended to imply any of the above interpretations.

I think she or the editors just didn’t catch that the dialogue at the end of the issue contradicts the dialogue from earlier. Which would be bad writing/editing but not demonstrative of Williams not fundamentally understanding the character. On occasion Stan Lee himself mischaracterized Spider-Man by accident.

Nevertheless a moment that reflects badly upon MJ.

The last moment from this scene involves a ’20 second dance party’ between MJ and Peter.

Its only relevance to this analysis is to exemplify some ways in which Williams nails Mary Jane’s character.

She’s flirtatious, she’s vibrant, she loves to dance, she loves to party, she can get the overly serious and often angst ridden Peter to emerge from his shell. Combined with MJ’s savvy earlier in the story, her tenaciousness and references to old continuity I can absolutely understand why Williams seemed like a good pick for the project.

But it’s moments like these that frustrate me about this comic (and I suspect the series going forward). It’s not that Williams fundamentally misunderstands Mary Jane but she drops the ball in a few places. Unfortunately those include drops that are so huge that they break the entire story. At least that will be the case if she doesn’t fill in the holes in her narrative.

The end result though is an extremely mixed bag wherein you have logic holes and mischaracterization so bad it debatably counts as (unintentional) character assassination but at the same time some of the absolute best Mary Jane or Mysterio moments ever! The 20-second dance party is going to be fondly remembered by every Mary Jane fan and MJ/Peter shipper forevermore, and rightly so.

But equally, unless properly justified in the future, MJ knowingly teaming up with Mysterio deserves to go down as one of the all time worst out of character moments for her ever.

The final relevant thing from the issue to talk about is the last page. It entails the Vulture’s gang of villains (the Savage Six) reading an article about the Mysterio biopic and deciding to head for L.A.

This is only really relevant for two reasons.

The first is the set up it supplies for future issues.

The second is that the article specifically talks about leaked set photos.

This further plays into the confusing nature of Mysterio’s scheme. He wants the media interest to act as a form of publicity (arguably this leak is an example of that) but he also has current villains on his staff. Wouldn’t the press be likely to find out about that and thereby jeopardize the project?

Reputation for authenticity or not, that’s extremely illegal.

With aaaaaaaall that said it’s time to move onto dissecting the status quo set up by this issue.

It’s all subject to change of course. Williams might address each and every problem eloquently at some point. But taking it at face value I am going to dedicate one (or more…) instalment(s) of this essay series to exploring the problems presented by this premise.

*We will talk much more extensively about this in a future instalment I promise you.

**By the way I don’t quite understand what MJ is asking her character to be rewritten into. She asks why she’s fighting without super powers but then says she should already be doing that in the story and that this is how she falls in love with the hero?????????????????????? Maybe I’m being dense but that just wasn’t clearly communicated to the readers).

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#Amazing Mary Jane #Leah Williams #mjwatsonedit #mary jane watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Spider-Man #Carlos Gomez #Mysterio #quentin beck #Peter Parker #Savage Six #Adrian Toomes #X-Men #vulture #The Vulture

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sign-from-god-complex · 5 years

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How Does He Know You Love Him?

Summary: Things were different when they were kids. Of course they were, that was to be expected. However, not all of that change was for the better and Patton is realising some things definitely need to be fixed, sooner rather than later.

Pairing: Familial/platonic royality.

Warnings: Food mention, mentions of fighting/arguing.

A/N: Look, Roman deserves better in every single aspect of his life and that’s all I’m gonna say about that. Though, I wanna be clear that I am not blaming Patton for anything; that one is on him.

Tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun

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Patton sighed heavily, flopping face-first onto the bed in front of him. It had been a difficult day. Everyone was stressed about the new video, Roman and Logan were arguing again and nobody showed up for dinner, even after all the effort Patton had put into cooking something for them.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, but Patton couldn’t help it. Dinner time was supposed to be family time! They were supposed to be a family but it all it ever seemed like they did nowadays was fight and it made Patton’s chest ache—mouth tightening, muscles tensing, with tears building up behind his eyes.

He wanted to help—wanted to make things better—but he didn’t know what to do.

In the end, Patton had eaten at the table alone, the pasta settling like a rock in his stomach. The leftovers had been placed in the fridge and Patton had trailed back to his room, feet dragging against the carpet beneath him.

The atmosphere was hazy, a golden glow hovering behind Patton's eyelids as he lay there, gazing out into the distance with no real purpose. It was too easy to remember, on days like this, the way things were when they were children. It hurt—every single time, it hurt—but it felt necessary. Important. He couldn't let those memories die.

Logan had been... softer, once. He hadn't yet reached a point of believing that emotions were the bane of all things—and sometimes Patton wonders what he did to deserve that ire—and instead, he had let himself get swept up in the magic that is existing. He’d been filled with wonder every other moment, questions bubbling up and out of his mouth like the liquids in those science experiments he was so fond of. He’d been tactile. Curious. Real.

Logan now feels like a hollowed out, angry facsimile of the side they used to know—wonder replaced by false arrogance and coldness—and Patton couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault somehow.

Patton and Roman had been... close as children. They were close now—at least, closer than he is with the others—but it felt like along the way Patton had lost something, began to misunderstand and Roman never corrected him. Sure, they were still close in that they spent a fair amount of time together, but Patton didn't really feel like he was truly seeing him anymore.

Roman didn't seem like he had changed from how he was as a kid—still excitable and dramatic; still self-centred and a show-off—but Patton wasn't sure that that was true. Something in Roman now seemed more fragile. Breakable. Fake.

He couldn't help but feel like that was his fault too.

It was his fault because he was the eldest. He was the one from the very beginning who prompted introductions, who learned how to cook to take care of the others, who organised games they could play together. Though supposedly the caring and compassionate side, Patton couldn't help but feel that he hadn't been very compassionate at all. They shouldn't be like this! It wasn't right!

But he didn't know how to help them.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the way each individual strand strained against the motion. His breathing was steady, a consistent rise and fall of his chest, his hand resting there on his stomach making him aware of every inhale and exhale. He shut his eyes as he felt warmth beading at the corners of them, slipping down his cheek as his bottom lip trembled.

It was regret. It was sadness. It was grief as Patton mourned the childhood joy the three of them had once had.

He missed the way Logan used to giggle, carefree and excited. It'd made Patton smile too just seeing it, wanting to wrap Logan up in a big hug and being able to.

He missed how he'd be intrigued by things he didn't understand, always willing to learn, to be corrected. He'd wanted to know everything, and Patton had told him he could. One day. Because they were kids and he didn't know any better.

Patton missed the way Roman used to invite him to play make-believe with him, informing him, "the Dragon Witch has you locked up in the tower, Pat, but I'm gonna save you! I promise!" and conjuring up little whispy enemies he could fight off with a wooden sword. And when he finally would reach the "tower" he would tackle hug Patton, running off of the happiness and elation at completing a quest.

Roman... rarely seemed so fulfilled now.

He missed the way Roman would sneak into his room after bad dreams and cry into his shoulder, allowing trusting Patton to comfort him and make it all better. Patton missed seeing Logan, upset from a piece of work not doing as well as expected, slipping into Patton's room for a hug or some reassurance. Patton missed being there for them.

Because lately, it felt like he hadn't been there at all.

He removed his glasses, wiping at his eyes with the fabric of his shirt. He didn't know what happened along the way that had messed things up so badly, but he wanted to make it right. He needed to make it right.

Somehow.

Shoving his glasses back onto his face unceremoniously, Patton shot up and made his way over to Roman’s room. He leaned against the doorway for a moment to fight against the dizziness making his head spin, before knocking—a gentle sound filled with years of hesitance and selfish intentions. The door was flung open almost immediately and Patton was thankful that he had moved or he likely would have been smacked in the face.

“Goodness, Patton, are you alright?!” Roman asked, his eyes scanning over Patton’s face, red and puffy from crying.

Patton nodded. “...Can I come in?”

Roman gestured into the room in lieu of an answer, tracking Patton’s movements as he made no effort to take a seat anywhere, instead simply hovering in the middle of the room and chewing his bottom lip. Evidentally, Roman was not going to take a seat either, as he stood opposite Patton, fixing him with a concerned look.

Patton took a deep breath in.

“You know I love you, right?”

It was pure desperation, the words not well thought out because thinking had never been his area. Patton winced inwardly as Roman tacked on a smile—unwavering but empty.

“Why of course I do!” There was something clearly off about Roman’s reply—something false and fake—and Patton felt so indescribably guilty that he hadn’t ever said anything before. “Is that all?”

He grabbed Roman’s hands, grip a little bit too tight and Roman eyes widened in surprise—one moment of vulnerability before a smile covered his features again.

“No. Ro, I don’t think you’re getting it. Do you—” His voice broke as Patton felt more tears spring to his eyes, but he ignored them in favour of getting his words out—“Do you really know that I love you? Do you know that I would be there for you if you were upset or stressed? That every time I see you fake a smile or lie so we don’t worry it breaks my heart? Do you know that I wish I could hug you and comfort you like I could when we were kids? Roman, do you truly know?”

Roman’s smile was gone, replaced by a look of shock and pain that Patton knew was justified. There was no reply—he just stood there, lips parted—but his expression was answer enough.

No. No, he didn’t know. How could he possibly know when no one ever told him?

Patton’s vision was blurry with tears and he blinked them away, taking a breath to calm himself enough to speak again.

“I love you. Every bit of you. Every mistake you make, every imperfect piece of art you present. I don’t know how to get you to trust me like that again, but—” Patton sniffed, fighting to keep going despite the tears trailing down his face—“I want to be there for you again, Ro. I wanna listen better when you speak; I wanna understand you and the decisions you make. Please… will you let me do that?”

Roman’s eyes were filled with tears now too, so taken aback by Patton’s words. It was the biggest display of negative emotion Patton had seen from him in far too long and it broke his heart. It broke his heart that Roman felt the need to bottle up his insecurities and his fears when he was right here wishing he could help him with them.

It was his fault.

But he was gonna make it better.

Patton barely had to open his arms in a hesitant offer of comfort before Roman dove straight towards him, his tears smearing against the hoodie hanging on Patton’s shoulders. He shook in his embrace—broken and tired from holding himself up so long alone—and Patton simply let him cry.

Fighting down the guilt pressing insistently at his throat, he murmured reassurances into the air around them, shushing Roman’s attempts at speech. There would be a chance to talk later. Right now, Patton had several years of love to make up for.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #platonic royality #lo can write #but can he really though?? where's the proof op #it's been over a week #(calling myself out over here)#guys it's 2:30 am I'm a little incoherent

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qm-vox · 4 years

Text

The Dwelling Gods - A More Perfect Union

Previous Chapter: Sitting The Table

Human-Controlled Space (The Undivided Whole), Milky Way Galaxy (Orion Arm), 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

We The People Of Planet Earth

Not all is well. It has not been well ever since the People’s invasion of the gataxians. We had underestimated the willingness of their aggrieved neighbors to come to their defense; even now Our citizens pore over histories, shift masses of data, claim mental bandwidth with which to argue amongst Ourself about how We could have so grossly mis-characterized the political situation between the xenophobes and their prey. Our libraries buzz with life, fed further data by forward intel posts, by contemplation and meditation, by after-action reports written by Ourself and for Ourself and to Ourself.

But what’s worse is the wound, the lacing, scratching thing in Our mind, the hurtful little slash around which We become I. We cannot be I; We The People Of Planet Earth stand united, without flaw or seam.

We, not I. I cannot be the People. I can only be a person.

It itches. There is no other word for it. It feels like such a small thing but all of Us suffer for it; Our hands move more slowly, Our heads shake as we go about Our work. The wound-thing that tastes like “I” drives Our citizens to distraction. The artwork being made for Our vaults and cities and ships skews dark; We can feel Ourselves working in bloody rust-reds, in off-blacks, in violent tangles of light and shadow that dizzy the eyes. Our previous blue period would be a relief at this point.

How did We get hurt? It had felt almost like one of Our semi-autonomous citizens, what Divided Humanity would think of as an officer, reporting in to sync subjectivities, but instead of the blissful transfer of information We were cut and scarred by the shrieking death-fear of two minds at once. One almost human, the other...

(Art-citizens slash red across the metal of Our fleets. A creche of writers begins typing gibberish far beyond the pale of even Our most recursive meta-textual works; harsh noise plays from the throats of Our musicians oh it hurts the memory hurts so much and yet We cannot stop picking at it can We)

Focus. We direct the attention of the People (I look - no!) to the war-front. The gataxians are being reinforced in numbers too large to be a mere defensive measure, and We are bringing Our own fleets to bear accordingly. War-citizens emerge from the cloning vats, and We re-task the autonomous to the needs of battle. If We do not miss Our guess, a counter-invasion is imminent. This could work to the advantage of the People; forcing the enemy to expend time and energy defending the borders will make them easier to cross and pillage of resources, and We may learn much from the mysterious and advanced benefactors of the butterflies -

- something is not right. We are -

Gripped, seized in my (mymymymy) mind by two minds, two minds like the last two minds that carved I into We and made me aware of my me-ness, my one-ness, of the betrayal of my purpose it’s like claws made of knives right in the soul why this how this it hurts -

The human-like mind starts dying immediately, flayed layer by layer by the sheer enormity of the being that is Myself, but that other mind, that thing, that fractal whisper, it has me.

Hello, hivemind, it purrs, its voice full of promise and secrets. This will hurt.

I start screaming from a trillion throats, and then I am, once again -

Caroline Morrison, New York City, 2679 CE

When had most of the meetings become silent? I/(We) struggle to remember when exactly all of (U)s had noticed, but I guess the actual smoking gun was when we’d all decided to start faking the minutes of those meetings. Juan’s still the secretary on paper, so most of his attention is currently devoted to diligently writing up lies about our plans to grow the company, a proposed investment in a marketing firm (W)e already own in all the ways that matter, something something office birthday...

The Chinese takeout on the table isn’t fake, though. Turns out operating the brain chips takes a lot of calories, and while Juan fakes the words we’re not saying out loud we (all) stuff our faces while the conversation actually takes place on another level.

We’re going to have a problem with the money soon April says into (O)ur minds; I can feel the chip in my own brain tingle pleasantly as it registers the communication. If we keep things aboveboard we’ll be bankrupt in two years, but going criminal -

The IRS would be on us in an instant. We’re too suspicious already I finish. This orange chicken is fucking amazing and it’s sort of unfair how into it I am while we’re having this serious conversation. And it’s not like we can onboard them without pulling that trigger early.

!xobile holds up his hand to get us to hold on a second; he’s having an epic struggle with a forkful of noodles and the noodles are definitely winning. After managing to defeat his nemesis he clears his throat (not strictly necessary but he’s only had his chip for two months, it takes some getting used to) and starts talking: I may have another option. Marketing is reporting that the movement to cure autism -

- He pauses while the rest of us make mental noises of revulsion -

- Believes that the Ross-Moore Chip could provide such a service. This customer base is wealthy, influential, and comes with prime endorsements from celebrities...a few of whom have expressed a willingness to undergo the procedure for PR purposes.

!xobile names a few figures for initial donations, but they pale in comparison to the potential gains. Once they’re chipped, those luminaries will understand the Mission, the Need for United Humanity to reverse the catastrophic environmental damage to Earth, to prevent another disaster like the loss of the Arkships. They’d give (U)s access to their social sphere and keep the wolves away from the door while we work...

Everyone else is thinking the same thing.

Fund it I/(We) order, and we all raise our little boxes of fried rice to toast with.

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

I struggle and thrash, but this conflict is foreign to me (mememememe); no citizen has ever rebelled like this. Where are the weapons, how do I grasp this whispering thing that has me in those claws, in that late November grip that tastes like sad truths and cuts like a funeral dirge.

What a sad little mistake you are the thing whispers in a cruel, crooning voice. You don’t even know what you are not.

We (I) need to get Our citizens in order; We turn Our focus away from the claw-thing to calm the disrupted citizens, to soothe the bodies. From somewhere in the depths of memory I/We recall reading that control of the body is control of the mind, and We are far from in control of either it hurts why does it hurt so much.

A whispering laugh, and those claws, those shredding things of grief and fear, dig in deeper. She lives with this every day, and you can barely stand a moment of it. How long has it been since you felt pain, little mistake?

LET ME GO! I roar, and I realize my mistake too late; the claw-thing reaches into that moment of wrath and fear, and I can feel what I know being known by it, being learned and scraped and analyzed. No! No no no no no -

In desperation I grab at memories and drag my captor down with me, and then it is an earlier time and place again.

United Humanity, Sydney, Australia, 0 Unified Year (2076 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“We don’t see that you have much choice,” We say to the assembled leaders. This citizen wears a nametag that says ‘Gloria’, and they address Us by that name; We have long since realized that those who are not yet United respond better to the fiction of Division than to Our truth. “Your fleet is in tatters. You cannot sustain a defense against the numbers We can bring to bear on land. It is not Our wish to drag out this conflict or to be responsible for the loss of human life.”

The American gives Our citizen one of those knife-hand gestures so common among their lower officers, which makes a certain amount of sense; We own most of their former high command these days. “You’ll forgive me if I point out how farcical that statement is. Those poor souls you chip -”

“Are completely unharmed,” We interrupt smoothly. “Living productive and happy lives, with the best medical care and all of their needs seen to.” We straighten Our citizen’s collar. “We understand your concerns, but the Ross-Moore is a method of communication, nothing more. United Humanity represents what is possible when language barriers are wholly removed,” We add. Experience gained from millions of people makes the lie smooth and clean.

Murmurs, around the room. “Gloria” is the de facto hostage of the coalition government, but their alliance cannot last; already cultural friction erodes the morale of their citizenry, alongside the unchecked greed of capitalist holdouts who even now attempt to profit off of Our unification. They can be made to see.

“Gentlemen,” We say, “what can We do to convince you? We would rather not make grand threats; if We wanted to invade, We would have done so already. Surely there is a path to peace that we can all walk today.”

Those murmurs become contemplative. We wait, letting them talk, debate, murmur favors to be traded with one another.

When it feels right, We speak next from the mouth of the Australian Prime Minister: “How quickly could United Humanity supply food and medical relief to my citizens?”

“Gloria” smiles beatifically. “Within forty-eight hours.”

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

That cutting grip is loosening (it hits like heartbreak on the last day of summer, like the last goodbye between old friends, oh it hurts -), but I can feel that thing rooting through my memories yet further, knowing what I know. War-citizen deployments, cloning methods -

Get out of there! I shriek as I feel it rifling through my artwork, my culture, the churches and holy places I preserved on Earth, the museums and vaults and -

It laughs at me. Laughs long and quiet, in that cruel, whispering voice.

Now what is all of this for? the claw-thing murmurs. What benevolent idiots your creators were, little mistake.

I hit back, lashing out, but something new is wrong; it’s dying, flaking away as the human-like mind struggles to remain in existence amidst the torrent of Myself. The feeling is like punching water that’s already going down a drain.

You have no right I accuse. The history of Divided Humanity must be -

That mocking laughter again: I’m dying now, little mistake. Let me show you something before I go.

An image, in my mind, as clear as if my citizens were there in the flesh: the Arkship Demeter, lost through an unstable wormhole. Dozens of species fill its halls, but prominent among them, participating in a solemn religious service is -

- is -

- Oh no.

Glory to the Phoenix, the risen children of Divided Humanity the claw-thing mocks with the last shreds of its strength, and then it is gone.

Across my dozens of worlds and thousands of space stations, United Humanity starts screaming.

#dwelling gods #fiction #soft sci-fi #critique welcome

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helianthus21 · 5 years

Note

Hi! I would love to see #10 and destiel if you are up for it! Can't wait to see what you come up with for some of these!

10. “Teach me how to play?”

“So, this is our mark.” Charlie pulls up a picture of a middle-aged dude, well-built, with Prince Eric hair and stunning blue eyes. “Siren. This club over there is his number one hunting ground. We gotta stop him. Who’s volunteering as prey?”

Sam and Dean look at each other, ready to whip out their hands for a match of rock-paper-scissors but Cas speaks up before they can even lift a finger. “I’m going,” he decides. When Dean opens his mouth to protest, he adds, “I’m the only one who is immune to his song. It’s only logical I go.”

Charlie hops up from her perch over her laptop to give Cas a quick makeover. She makes him lose the trenchcoat, rolls up his sleeves so he can show off his strong arms, and opens a few buttons of his dress shirt. “There,” she says, hands on her hips and smiling in silent self-laudation at the result. “You look great, Cas. That siren’s gonna be all over that! Doesn’t he look great, Dean?”

And Dean can’t really deny that.

But he doesn’t have to admit it either. So instead, he points out, “Cas doesn’t even know how to flirt. This isn’t gonna work.”

But glancing at Cas, he gathers from the petulant look the angel sends his way, that this comment has only served to reinforce his resolution to go through with this plan. “Teach me, then,” he all but orders.

Dean swallows. “Uh, come again?”

“If you’re so well-versed in the art of ‘flirting’,” Cas says, inching closer to Dean, and it doesn’t seem to matter that he’s shorter than Dean, his intimidation level is top-notch. “and you think you can do better than me. Then teach me.”

In an attempt to shake off the hot feeling somewhere down by his gut, Dean tries to ridicule. “I’m not gonna flirt with some wannabe Hasselhoff for you, come on.”

Because now that he looks at the mark a little more closely, he finds that Prince Eric aura has been a hoax. In fact, the guy looks more like the kind that goes to the gym just a little too often, takes an hour in the bathroom every morning and is probably on steroids too. Definitely not Dean’s type. Or anyone’s for that matter. How this dude can be a siren that people are actually attracted to enough that they’d die for him is a mystery.

Apparently not suspecting anything about Dean’s inner monologue, Charlie keeps on being a bad wing woman. “I think it’s a good idea, actually,” she says. “Remember when you talked me through flirting with that security guard? It worked then, too! You’re just gonna give him directions through the ear piece.

And Dean is powerless against that much determination.

“Great,” he grumbles. “I’m gonna teach you how to play, whatever. But when he inevitably dumps you, don’t come running back to me. Can’t do anything about your stupid face after all.”

Cas shoots him that look again, like he’d love nothing more than strike him with lighting right where he stands. “Your concern is noted,” he says, in that fake-polite way of his that makes Dean feel like an ass.

Well, screw him, Dean thinks.

The siren wants to. The siren really, really wants to, judging by the predatory look on his face.

“What is an ethereal being like you doing in an establishment like this.”

In the little surveillance van parked at the corner near the club, Sam widens his eyes at Dean. “Did he-? Are we busted?”

But Dean doesn’t panic. He has other concerns. “Nah, he’s just a slimy douche.” If that’s how he wants to get into Cas’ pants, he’s got another thing coming.

As he’s busy imagining dumping a bucket of goo over the guy’s head to make him really slimy, he misses Cas’ answer and only catches Douchebag McJerkface’s next cheesy line. “It is a shame to see such a gorgeous young man standing there all by himself.”

Dean watches as the siren extends an arm for Cas to hold on to. “Care to join me, handsome?”

“We get it, dude, you looked up all the synonyms for ‘pretty’ in a thesaurus,” Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Amateur.”

“Dean!” Cas chides. Aloud. To the siren who shouldn’t know that three hunters are listening in from afar.

Next to Dean, Charlie slaps a hand against her forehead.

“Dean? What a beautiful name for a beautiful man.” The siren says, blessedly unaware of Cas’ little slip.

Dean snorts.

“Okay, tell him you’re new here and could do with a tour ‘round town.”

Cas says, “I’m new here and could do with a tour around town.”

Charlie’s hand flies against her forehead again at the bland tone in which Cas just repeated Dean’s line. Girl can talk. She didn’t do much better back at Roman Enterprises.

Apparently not minding Cas’ weirdness, the siren suggests, “I have a hotel room not far from here. How about we move the party over there to plan our little,” he lowers his tone to a sultry murmur. “Tour.”

“Oh, we’ll give you a tour alright,” Dean comments. “One way ticket to Purgatory, do not pass ‘Go’.”

On the other side of the connection, Cas chuckles. “Monopoly. I understand that reference.”

The siren looks puzzled. “What?” And it’s in that moment, head still lowered as if to better whisper more of his cheap flattery in Cas’ ear, when the siren notices something is wrong. “You wired? You a cop? A hunter?”

And before Cas can deny the accusation, the siren bolts.

“Fuck,” Sam exclaims. He grabs his gun and runs outta the van, his brother following close behind.

“Cas, you good?” Dean finds it necessary to ask in the middle of the chase after the siren.

“Yes, I’m,” Cas sounds a little breathless, like he’s elbowing his way through the crowd to catch their mark as well. “I’m alright.”

“He’s trying to get out through the back exit,” Charlie informs them helpfully from her all-seeing perspective in the surveillance van.

Sam gives Dean a sign and they split up, both of them circling the building from different sides.

When they reach the back door, though, Cas has already tackled the siren to the ground. And from there, it’s a cakewalk.

“So,” Dean says once the siren is dealt with. And after having checked Cas for any injuries, just to make sure. They’re standing too close, their arms brushing, and Dean itches to reach out, take Cas’ hand in his, pull him a little closer maybe.

Cas looks at him, that hopeful shine in his blue eyes, like he’s waiting for Dean to say more.

So Dean does.

“Told you your stupid face would ruin it.”

#replies #prompt #destiel #spn #ficlet #inspired by s1e6 of leverage xd #couple of dumbasses #beefcakemish #long post #the spaces were all fucked up for some reason #but i think i got them all now

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4n0th3rm3 · 5 years

Text

Who has control over a story? Or: presidency as a metaphor for authorship

So… I have read the meat part of the Homestuck epilogues and I have to say, I am impressed. I have to admit that I was initially wary of the experience because the first opinions I’ve read on tumblr have been controversial, to say the least. But before I talk about the epilogue itself, I have to make some things clear. I haven’t read Homestuck in my formative teenage years. I started reading it when I was 18, so I had a lot more distance to the main characters and their experiences than I would have had if I was younger. This was also an age when my English could have been considered „good“ enough to even understand what was going on since it’s not my mother tongue. Additionally, I was just starting my degree in literary studies, so the interest in narrative structure has always been on the forefront of my reading experience, so that’s what I’ll focus on in my analysis. And hoo boy does Homestuck deliver in that regard.

First of all we have to ask: in what situation are the epilogues written? Homestuck is „officially over“, the fans are more or less satisfied, the „canon“ is supposed to be finished and can now be looked at in its entirety. This is not only important for the creators of fanworks, but also for Hussie himself. In a lot of ways, when a work is canonically finished, the author has distanced themselves from the story and the writing process. So how to write epilogues, when you have given up control over the narrative? It’s at this point that Hussie decides to make the problem explicit in the work itself: he changes the medium. What has been a narrative element in Homestuck before now becomes once again necessary for understanding the story. By changing the webcomic format to an Ao3 fanfiction format he shows the reader that these are indeed „tales of dubious authenticity“.

Now, finding the tone for the continuation of a finished work can be difficult (and we have to keep in mind that Homestuck has been over for three years). When we take a look at the Harry Potter series, where lots of fans were disappointed by a seemingly overly saccharine epilogue, we see how much can go wrong in the fans’ opinion. Actually, Harry Potter is also a good example of the consequences it has for a work of art and its fanbase when the author tries to uphold their control over the narrative after the work is finished — it can be disastrous (case in point: jkrowlings borderline surreal twitter presence). The expectations readers have are repeatedly mirrored in the epilogue itself:

And all of us are definitely the „devoted fans“ who show up to any new content, even if it’s bad. But is it bad? Whether there is too much meat (brutality, tragedy) or too much candy in it, both will be unsatisfactory. This is a thing that Rose, in the process of becoming a aware of the whole canon herself, comments on:

Even before the epilogues, Homestuck has always had lots of both, it varied in tone and regularly switched between tragedy and comedy, most often depicting tragedy through the lens of comedy. That was one go the things that made it unique. The way that Karkat reacts to the fact that Jade didn’t know that Obama was a real person shows how important the framing of events can be:

How comedy and tragedy are received respectively is very subjective to the reading experience. The reactions of the characters to canon and post-canon events mirror different fan behavior. Take for example Calliope, who seems to obsess over overly saccharine fantasies, mixed with gore and pornographic content:

The way it is framed here, it seems to sum up the fanfiction side of the Homestuck fandom pretty well. It frankly reminded me of the times when a lot of the fandom was pretty obsessed with the dark and horny parts of Homestuck - and unapologetically so. I mean, remember the 4chan „raids“ on Tumblr? That’s what they had to say about the Homestuck tag:

Now, please keep in mind that I haven’t read the candy part yet, so if Calliopes behavior is directly referring to it, it partly goes over my head at this moment. That the different perspectives and reading experiences can clash with each other and even canonical events itself is shown in John's own discomfort at the reunion with his friends:

It reflects on the way that the whole of Homestuck has been perceived by the readers not only while it was running but also after it has ended. Looking at a story after it’s been finished and at the sum of all its parts leads to some problems - for the author and the creators of fan works alike. From a distance and after three years, everyone is „stuck somewhere in the harrowing nexus between canon, post-canon, non-canon, outside canon, and fanon.“ Or as Rose puts it:

Rose realizes at this point that, much as we, the reader, the characters (especially Rose and Dirk) have also become readers of their own, their whole story. This forces them, much as us, to confront every aspect of every character that has been written in the Homestuck canon, what Dirk then calls the Ultimate Self. How do you for example characterize a person like Dirk when you know how different aspects of his personality play out in different scenarios? I mean, Bro is very much a character that exists in the Homestuck canon and — shitty as he is — shares Dirk’s genetic information. Dirk on the other hand is a person who has always tried to overcome the negative aspects of his personality that are realized in other versions of him. The convergence of personalities that happens when the characters become readers of canon themselves is in Dirk’s case as much a tragedy as it is for us, who have also seen the positive potential of his character. ultimate!Dirk then goes — in the manner of an overly sarcastic megalomaniac — from reader to narrator:

So it’s not surprising that looking at the whole of canon itself, different characters show different reading behaviors. This is as much true for Dirk as it is for every single reader, especially every creator of fan works. We take the elements that are given to us and try to create something from it. In one way or the other, by interpreting a story, everyone tries to take hold of the narrative. This is especially true for a story like Homestuck, where the interaction with fans and fan culture have been a central element of storytelling and has lead to the inclusion of multiple contributors to the work itself.

In ultimate!Dirk’s case, it is made very explicit how his particular perspective influences the narrative structure. The lines between reader and author blur even further than before:

But not only ultimate!Dirk and muse!Calliope, who tries to take the narrative away from him, have conflicting views and agencies, other characters also start framing actions and people in a certain way. It’s no coincidence that Hussie decided to make an election the setting for the epilogues. In meat, Jane runs for presidency and is then rivaled by Karkat, who decides to take a stand against her „xenophobic“ views. While Karkat says:

It quickly becomes clear, that a lot of what we think about Jane in the meat epilogue is framed on the one hand by ultimate!Dirk’s manipulative narrative that influences the behavior and events, and on the other hand by Dave and Karkat’s political campaign. (Both of whom don’t leave their house very often and have probably not spoken to Jane in a long time.)

We think that Jane is xenophobic because ultimate!Dirk and Karkat tell us she is. Not to say that Jane doesn’t have some problematic views, but she seems to be far from a fascist dictator.

It mostly shows how politics is very much about presenting a certain narrative to your potential voters. And whoever controls the political narrative has a hegemonial perspective on cultural narratives as well. This is an idea that has probably been best presented in the texts of the philosopher Walter Benjamin. In his essay „On the concept of history“ he remarks on the way a ruling class presents history and historical events as a legitimization of their power, and ultimately concludes that historical methodology is also a question of politics and questioning narratives that are presented to us. In 1940, when the essay was written, it was the conflict between fascism and socialism that influenced Benjamin’s work, but today his ideas are just as relevant.

By presenting the election and conflicting narratives (ultimate!Dirk vs. muse!Calliope, Jane vs. Karkat and Dave) side by side, Hussie builds a bridge between those two. It is not only that the text is a metaphor for the current political climate, it is a metaphor for the way that current behavior in general is shaped by controlling narratives. We live in a time when fake news and callout culture are two sides of the same coin: especially in America, these two intersect more and more, in political campaigns and online. Not to say that this kind of discourse isn’t developing in Europe as well, it’s just that the American one seems to be central for the discourse and views that shape sites like tumblr. On Earth C, in the „post canon victory state“, we can see these methods of political strategy developing from the very beginning.

This becomes especially clear as Vriska comments on Hussie’s behavior (as in: Homestuck-character Hussie): „not to mention your flawless defeat of an obstructionist, hectoring, orange man, who for reasons you cannot begin to comprehend seemed to be obsessed with you.“ While the whole world sees itself confronted with the weird views of a megalomaniac orange man (Trump), so does the readership of Homestuck: Hussie and Dirk’s text are both orange and are a constant obstacle for the fans who try to take hold of the narrative, to make their perspective the right one.

Actually, ultimate!Dirk’s perspective is skewed by numerous biases, mostly concerning women and gender issues. Jade is repeatedly called „bitch“ in a derogatory way and Kanayas behavior is framed as being „hysterical“. Roxy’s transition goes straight over his head, he can’t read her intentions because he is blind to gender issues that don’t fit his limited understanding of the concept of gender. He reminds me of a member of the alt-right, shutting women out of conversations and disregarding their opinions. This quote especially:

This sounds like it’s ripped straight from an alt-righter defending his free speech while at the same time trying to shoehorn his dubious political intentions in. In contrast to that, muse!Calliopes way of telling the story seems to be fairly neutral.

So it’s no surprise that the people he tried to shut out before (women and trans people) are realizing that his narrative behavior is trying to manipulate them and they take action. Especially Terezi seems to be immune to his narrative manipulation:

The moment that they break the hold ultimate!Dirk has over the narrative, they are beginning to feel like the old „canon“ characters.

Up to this point, we had to look at genuine character moments through the lens of an unreliable narrator. Homestuck has always been a parody that got unintentionally serious, so I think we have to look at the epilogues the same way: genuine character moments under the layers of parody, commentary on fan behavior and politics.

Ultimate!Dirk ultimately fails to create a cohesive narrative, one that favors only one perspective. This is reflective of the way Homestuck has been written and perceived these last ten years. He has to fail, because the author has lost control and interpretative hegemony over Homestuck canon — no one has it.

That is why it’s so important that the voice of the epilogues is not only Hussie’s voice, but was written in part by Cephied_Variable and ctset. While Hussie was responsible for writing the dialogue, the surrounding prose is entirely in the hands of fans. It’s a decentralized narrative that refuses to acknowledge one perspective, one reception as the right one.

And much like the kids in the juju, we are now stuck in a place outside of canon, after Homestuck ended. And it just happens that everyone is starved for new content: We all wish we had brought something to read. Be it the epilogues or fanfiction, we are all stuck in a place that no longer really affects the narrative:

And look at me, how I desperately try to take hold of the narrative in this long ass meta post. This is what Homestuck means to me and this is my perspective, my narrative.

#homestuck #upd8 #homestuck epilogue #homestuck meta #andrew hussie #long post #sorry this got like reeeeaaaaaally long #but if you want to read my hot takes on politics and authorship be my guest #(please be my guest)

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dbhilluminate · 5 years

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DBH: Illuminate- Hit and Run (part 1)

Characters: Connor-50 / Z, Dennis, Nick, Kate, Connor-51 / RK, Axl Word Count: 2,598

Axl spots a trine of RK800's entering Detroit on a bus inbound from Belle Isle- Kate moves to tail them with the intention of finding out why they're there, but is spotted by Connor's doppelganger and forced to do something she regrets in order to escape.

( Chapter Art by triple_jays_art , Co-authored by grayorca15)

Previous Chapter

• Chapter Index • Characters •

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November 12th, 2038 - 12:54 PM

By the end of the journey, Dennis almost wished their special travel privileges had been revoked. Standing at the back of the bus might have been degrading for models of their ( dubious ) stature- compared to that, sitting wedged into an armchair-style seat wasn’t any more pleasant, but it was useless to rue any of it at this point, like insisting on taking the window seat in spite of irrelevant comfort. HIs partner squinted and placed a hand on the glass to see further out the window in anticipation of what their first glimpse of Detroit would entail. Thus far, the rolling expanses of countryside —field after field of unharvested late-season corn— had yet to give way to congested metropolitan sprawl. Nick sighed and turned back to him in disappointment. "How much longer? Why is it so far? I didn't know it would take so long."

Such questions were unsuspicious to the rest of the tour bus’ human group, but exhausting to have to answer ten times over. Instead of responding with his usual weariness, Dennis skimmed ahead to the next news article on his tablet, slouched down in his seat with his elbows bowed and his ankle crossed over one knee. He cut enough of a surly image he hadn’t been bothered by other passengers looking for small talk, though his covert attire helped throw off suspicion. In his Michigan State Wolverines hoodie, blue jeans, and ski cap crammed down over his brow, Dennis looked like just another laze about young adult catching the bus back to the city. He’d even left the laces of his boots untied to better help sell the idea. With every lazy turn the bus made they swayed one way, then the other. Dennis ran through a few possible responses before he opted for a casual nudge of his toe against his partner’s knee. This might have been a bearable arrangement, if only he would quit fidgeting every five minutes.

“You lookin’ for a distraction, or you want the same answer I’ve been givin’ you the last five hours?” Nick knocked his knee against his in rebuttal as he continued to look out the window, then turned and leaned back toward him, eyes wide under an old Detroit Tigers ball cap. "I'm just curious! It's been so long since we’ve been home… how much longer ‘till we get there?" The tablet in Dennis’ hands updated in real-time: a few mentions of road accidents that had waylaid everyday commuters at several junctions along I-75, interrupted his reading with a few annoying pop-up banners that he swiped away after reading. “An hour, provided the traffic doesn’t logjam between here and there,” he replied, then paused to take a sideways glance at his partner’s leg jittering up and down like a piston. Dennis recalled that had been their third’s plan to eat up the few hundred miles between Dayton and Detroit, but four hours in, Nick had recharged all he could will himself to. Now he was brimming with nervous energy he couldn’t work off, as always. Good plan, bad result. “What happened to sleeping your way back?” Nick reached to fuss with one of the arms of his windbreaker jacket and fidgeted in his seat. His leg stopped for a moment. "I tried that, but I'm not- tired anymore. We're going so slow… Too slow. Can't they go any faster? When will we actually be in the city?" “Soon enough,” Dennis replied, and dialed back the exasperation in his tone to spare them both the aggravation. Whether or not the delays could be helped didn’t stop Nick from whining about it anyway. There was no sense in getting annoyed.

Dennis glanced back and around at their company, most of whom were either asleep or too engrossed with their mobile electronics to notice, and made one slight tug at the ski cap. His LED dimmed beneath it, but he needn’t chance someone noticing the faint glow. As he opened the wireless communication channel between them, he reverted back to their usual banter: Don’t whine so much, you’ll draw attention to us. Their press coverage was still minimal as of yet, and most photos tended to consist of only one of their three faces. The odds they’d be outed were minimal, but it was still attention they didn’t need. And you know Zero could use the recharge. Nick twisted around and directed a too-obvious glance at their dozing primary seated a few rows back on the opposite side of the aisle. The RK800 (formerly known as “Connor”) faked a nap, head tilted back against the cushy headrest with a smart-looking cap pulled down over his eyes. Okay, okay, fine… I'll stay quiet, the anxious Android agreed as he settled back into his seat, then propped his chin up in the palm of his hand as he frowned at the floor You’re fussing more than the three-year-old in Row E. Dennis nodded to illustrate his point, directed a raised brow to the child in question, and rubbed at his eyes. I know you don’t like long rides anywhere. But you know why we’re being recalled, right? He had explained it. Whether or not Nick had been listening was another matter entirely. His partner leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms as he re-accessed the data, and remained quiet just long enough to formulate an answer. Yes… we're going back to Detroit to- uhm… help with something.

Nick never had possessed the longest attention span of their trio… Capacity for learning meant human mannerisms could easily sneak their way into all the machine-like tics that came with being an android, but they still needed to be tempered. Dennis shut his eyes before the urge to roll them got the better of him. Even if it was the perfect moment to indulge one, he refrained from exhibiting any deviant-centric behaviors, lest he give Amanda another reason to add a new tally his behavioral report. Yes. We’re going to help determine where Illuminate has been operating. Zero’s redundancy twin is a whisker away from rooting out their base of operations, and he could use some backup closing the net. The long and the short of it, as described by Amanda, wasn’t that their time around the Midwest had been a complete waste, but now that they were in the know about Zero’s “other half”, it stood to reason that they’d been sent out of the city to keep from overlapping on DCPD cases. Her patronizing reassurance did nothing to calm the faux bubbling of anxiety in Dennis’ lines, however; in fact, it had done the opposite by seeding the suspicion of irrelevance. He was simply better than Nick at concealing what he felt, as much as he wasn’t supposed to.

Nick bypassed the information that they were being sent to help uncover the largest connection that would help them prevent a deviancy uprising, and immediately went for the acknowledgment of Zero's twin. Instead of skeptical, he was genuinely earnest to embrace the notion of a lost ‘relative’. The prospect didn’t scare him at all. Oh, yes, I knew that. I can't wait to meet him! I wonder if they look different... you know, so we can tell them apart? I wouldn’t want to confuse one for the other. Dennis scoffed and twitched his crossed-over ankle to purge some of the subdued restless energy. That’s hardly our biggest concern. This isn’t a social call, it’s for the good of the mission. He may not have always liked being the anchor of their group, but someone had to be. I know, I'm just excited. The wait is making me anxious… Nick trailed off as he took a hopeless look out the window again, then realized what he should have said and turned back to Dennis. A-and to get started on the mission, of course.

With a slow, careless blink and a small sigh, Dennis cleared the news article he was no longer one-hundred percent focused on reading, just as a green mileage sign flashed by. Toledo, Monroe… then Detroit- all potential deviancy hotspots. Depending on what kind of network Illuminate had established, they could have connections everywhere. Thirteen months was a long time for roots to spread. Even if they had only been dispatched to try and round up stragglers, sending three deviant hunters after an un-quantifiable number of deviant Androids across several States was a slapdash attempt at containing the phenomenon, at best. Deviants were as varied and widespread as the humans they took after. Dennis doubted he and his partners would have been able to see so much of the Midwest any other way, though. Mission parameters raised no red flags against lingering on a rooftop a few minutes longer than necessary to watch the sunrise over a foggy Lake Eerie, or peer through a fence to appreciate the teamwork of two dozen grade-schoolers playing a round of baseball after class- or study the diligence with which a monarch butterfly moved from one milkweed plant to the next, carrying out its natural function as a pollinator against all odds, natural or otherwise. That instance in particular, Dennis remembered having to stop and remind Nick it was time to leave. The garage in the middle of that bough harbored no deviants, just a wild assortment of insects. He would have been successful, too, if the damn butterfly hadn’t thought to land on his partner’s wrist. Nick had gone completely still as soon as it landed, letting out a breathy gasp and donning a wide-eyed stare. " Look, Dennis, look- wait, don't come close, you'll scare it off! ” Which was how the presumed in-out inspection job turned into a thirty-minute ordeal of tagging along after a ziggy little monarch. Even after flitting away, its new fan put his android abilities to use, sprinting after and tracking it like a fox chasing a hare. Dennis had followed only to ensure no harm befell their third, while Zero went alone to determine the deviant’s next most likely hiding place. They returned to find Zero standing idle outside the tool shed, while a recovery team from the nearest Cyberlife depot tazed and loaded the exposed fugitive up for transport. That had been three months ago- now here they were on the cusp of winter, headed back to Detroit to take part in a far more important manhunt. Colder temperatures were already leaving flecks of frost on the Greyhound’s curvy windows. It was strangely foreboding. But there wouldn’t be any butterflies this time, or so he’d hoped.

November 12th, 2038 - 03:37 PM

The Rosa Parks terminal wasn’t the first stop their bus made within the city limits. On the off chance they had been noted by prying eyes between Dayton and Detroit, they had been instructed to disembark at random. This counted as such. They didn’t need to step off as a group, but months on the road together only served to reinforce the invisible tethers- where Zero went, Nick and Dennis would follow. If he asked them to wait, they would. If he ordered them not to speak to anyone, they wouldn’t. Anyone who wasn’t law enforcement or related to an active case weren’t to be extensively interacted with- Which was why the moment two parka-wearing children darted out of the crowd and tripped Zero up was so unexpected. Z’s nostrils flared as he barely sidestepped quickly enough to get out of their way, and a hand shot out to brace himself against the side of the idling bus. “Sorry, mister!” Amidst more carefree giggles, they wove back into the crowd, right back to their parents’ sides. After being cooped up on a bus for god only knows how long, it wasn’t any surprise a kid’s first instinct would be to run amok at the first opportunity. With his disguise intact and his cover no worse for wear, Zero returned his focus to locating the subspace storage compartments running the length of the vehicle and entered the six-digit code Cyberlife had forwarded. A panel slid back to reveal a black gym bag, right where they said it would be. All that remained now was to get to Central Station.

They could have summoned a taxi, but with the chill of winter rolling in on the heels of November (cool and breezy, tempered with city smog), it wasn’t unbearable. In contrast to the stuffy interior of a tour bus, one might even call it refreshing; besides, it would do them good to walk, to stave off freezing joints. They had an itinerary, but not an expected time of arrival. Hiking the last leg of the journey to the station didn’t go against any pre-existing orders, and it would give them time to acclimate to their urban surroundings. Zero shouldered the bag by pulling the bandoleer-style strap over his head, then grabbed the brim of his cap and gave it a firm downward tug. Underneath, his LED flickered and spun up. Would you two mind walking from here on? Nick looked around at their new surroundings and nodded absent-mindedly, not at all realizing that he looked like a star-struck tourist in a less-than star-studded city. Oblivious to this as ever, he straightened up and focused with a gleeful smile. Yeah, I’d like that! Just look how nice it is. The bus ride was so long… and the station isn't that far. ‘Nice’, Dennis scoffed over the line as he cinched up his for-show knapsack and led the way out of the boarding area under the iconic inverted-umbrella, funnel-shaped tensile canopy. They kept at least an arm’s reach from each other as they wove into the crowd, but stayed within each others’ line-of-sight. Sticking close together was the best possible formation if they wanted to avoid being sidetracked. Don’t go getting too used to it, Nick. You said the same thing about Chicago, before that breeze almost knocked you off the DuSable. I didn't know it would be so strong, Nick protested in defense, sounding half-embarrassed by the mention of the event. It was as close to an infamous public screw up as they had yet known. The smile dropped. I know now, I won't do that again. At least not when it's windy. Just stay away from the river, you should be fine. Detroit only has one.

That she did. Wide and noticeable as it was, an expanse of sky and sea was all that separated the states from Canada. But beyond that to the southeast, past the assortment of towers and the even-further faraway silhouette of Windsor, a lattice-covered spire shaped like a speartip pierced the horizon as if it were threading a needle through the clouds. Zero had glimpsed it as the bus rode the elevated interstate. Now, his brown eyes subconsciously scanned the urban skyline for it as it crossed his mind once more, as if he owed it at least one fervent glance for being the closest thing to ‘home’ most androids knew. Even if it said place wasn’t for him, there was the illusion of disdain in looking at it. Knowing what he did about their excommunication from its shadow, he wasn’t in any hurry to lay eyes on CyberLife Tower again. Why should it feel familiar, or welcoming, when they hadn’t even had enough time to get attached to the sight of it? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but before he could let it fester, he turned and fell into step with the other two.

#dbhilluminate #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #detroit become human fanfiction #dbh fanfiction

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jenanigans1207 · 6 years

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The Memories We Shared (Now Hurt More Than Ever) [8] |Klance|

*strolls in two months after I promised to update* An update? Sounds fake, I know.

Seriously, though, I really appreciate the patience and love everyone has shown me. You guys are the best. I am here to offer you a 10.5k chapter that hopefully makes up for the wait you’ve had! Please let me know what you think.

(PS- I’m posting this tonight but I will go through in the morning and fix the italics. I know there are some and I just absolutely do not want to hunt them down rn. I want to SLEEP. I italicized the flashbacks just to avoid confusion but that’s it. If you NEED italics to enjoy it properly, hit it up on my ao3 where the formatting actually transfers)

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x

The car was unreasonably warm as Shiro drove Keith to his old job. Old job? Current job? He wasn’t really sure what to expect. Fall had just begun but Shiro had the unbelievable ability to be cold even in the mildest of temperatures so he had the heat blasting. Adam had teased them on their way out the door that morning, saying that it was Keith’s turn to suffer what he suffered on a daily basis. Both Shiro and Adam taught at one of the universities nearby, but Shiro didn’t have any classes until later in the day so he was able to drive Keith around in the morning.

“Are you nervous?” Shiro asked as he pulled up to one of the glass paneled buildings downtown. The fall sun reflected off the building, making it look almost ethereal.

Keith unbuckled his seatbelt but didn’t get out immediately. “I don’t know, really.” He said after a moment. “I don’t remember anything about this place, so I’m not sure how to feel.”

Shiro smiled encouragingly at him. “I only met Coran once, but he seemed like a really nice guy. You always said good things about him. So I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

There was no reason to assume it would be anything other than fine, honestly. He had received a few texts from Coran during the few weeks he’d been recovering and the man had been nothing but super caring. Still, it was weird to go in, seeking information on the fate of a job he didn’t even remember having. It was something he knew that he needed to do, however, so he took a deep breath and gripped the handle of the door, glancing over his shoulder at Shiro.

“Only one way to find out.” He opened the door to the car and got out, not missing the proud smile on Shiro’s face as he slammed the door shut and gave him a slight wave. Shiro had the uncanny ability to be proud of Keith for even the tiniest of things, but he appreciated it. Especially now. It reminded him that even the small things could be big victories and he needed to remember that as he continued through his recovery.

Shiro backed out of his parking spot and headed back towards home with a quick wave to Keith as he went. Keith watched until he was out of sight, taking the time to collect himself. He walked into the building and the girl behind the front desk smiled and greeted him by name, giving him a floor number and pointing towards the elevators. It was unnerving, the way she greeted him like they had shared multiple conversations— but they probably had. Keith sighed and took off towards the elevators, feeling, for the millionth time, like he didn’t fit in his own life anymore.

The elevator doors opened the moment he pressed the button and he walked in, jamming his finger into the button for his desired floor. The inside of the elevator was all mirrored so he spent the short ride staring at himself and trying to school his expression into something neutral or confident. In the end he settled on just looking like he wasn’t completely out of his element and lost. It was the best he could hope for. The elevator stopped and the doors slid open, revealing an open floor with desks arranged in neat rows. There was art hung on the wall— different logos, he realized as he looked closer— and the entire place felt modern and cool. He liked it immediately.

“Keith, my boy!” A man came darting across the room. Keith barely had time to register his orange hair and matching mustache before he was pulled into a crushing hug. “So good to see you! Look at you,” The man loosened his grip and held Keith at an arm’s length to get a better view of him, “You hardly look any worse for wear!”

An awkward laughed filled him but he fought against it, clearing his throat instead. “Ah, yeah. Just this,” he pointed to the scar that was forming on his right cheek, “And in here,” he knocked jokingly on his head.

The man— he had to assume it was Coran— laughed uproariously at his joke and clasped him on the shoulder. Shiro had been right, he was incredibly friendly and outgoing. He was chattering away about how the company had been as he steered Keith through the sea of desks before stopping at one in particular.

“Ah,” Coran said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Here we are.”

Keith looked down at the desk to see that it was his, indicated by a framed picture of him and Lance in the corner. The rest of the desk was relative bare, save for office supplies which seemed very like him.. A smile crossed his lips as he picked up the picture and looked at it. In the picture the two of them were sitting in a giant pile of leaves, looking at each other and smiling. Well, Lance was outright laughing, but his eyes were crinkled in the corner in what looked like pure happiness as he gazed at Keith. Keith, for his part, was smiling a small smile back at Lance but it was fond. Just looking at the picture made Keith feel a warmth flood his chest.

He placed the picture back down and looked at the rest of his stuff. A sticky note was taped to the corner of his computer screen and he recognized Lance’s handwriting instantly. In college, Lance had doodled endlessly on Keith’s notes as well as lent him study materials, so Keith was very familiar with his script. He bent over to read the note, a flush blooming across his cheeks as he did so.

‘Work hard and hurry home to me. I miss you. I love you.’

Coran had been watching silently as Keith scanned his things, but that seemed to draw a response out of him. “How is Lance doing?”

“Well,” Keith straightened up and met Coran’s gaze. Clearly Coran knew who Lance was, but it was still weird for him to talk about it because he couldn’t remember them ever meeting. “He’s, uh, he’s been really great through all of this. He’s helped me a lot with my recovery.”

“I know,” Coran said and Keith’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Coran fitted him with a confused look in response. “Who did you think was updating me on your condition?”

“Oh,” Keith said dumbly, “I didn’t know anyone was updating you on it.”

“Of course, dear boy!” His gaze softened along with his voice. “I know you don’t remember a lot, but we were close and Lance knows I’m concerned about you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Keith said, offering Coran a smile. He wasn’t sure what else to say but Coran was looking at him in a way that suggested he expected more. So, Keith tried to address what he thought Coran was looking for. “And Lance has really put up with a lot. He’s gone out of his way to make everything as easy as he can on me.”

“That sounds like Lance,” Coran agreed.

“I really am not sure how to express how much I appreciate him.” Keith finished off, feeling a little awkward still.

Coran leaned back against Keith’s desk, one hand finding and twirling the ends of his mustache. “Just make sure you tell him that, okay? He’ll never ask for a thank you, but he deserves one.”

That was perhaps the most accurate thing Keith had ever heard anyone say. Lance was the kindest person he knew and he would never expect or seek a thank you for doing the right thing. Still, as Coran had said, he deserved a thank you. He deserved more than that. He deserved the world. The thought made a knot form in Keith’s stomach. He’d been feeling better about things with Lance, but he still felt inferior and unworthy of such a sweet guy.

“I will.”

There was a moment of silence before Coran clapped his hands together. “Right!” He exclaimed, startling Keith. “You didn’t come here to get all sentimental.” Keith let out a weak laugh at that. “You came here to talk about your job! I only have one thing to say on that matter.”

“And that is?” Keith prompted when Coran didn’t immediately finish his thought.

“It’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready to come back, no matter how long it takes.”

There was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that swirled in Keith’s stomach at the words. He had tried to think ahead to the future but it had been just as much of a question as his past. For the past few weeks the only thing he had known was the present and it was getting hard to live his life like that. The relief of knowing his future had a shape was honestly tangible.

“Thank you so much,” Keith could hear the relief in his own voice. “I really appreciate that. I—”

Coran waved a hand gently in the air between them, “No thanks necessary, my boy. This is a family,” he gestured to the floor as a whole and a few people looked up and smiled at him as Coran did so. “And the family wouldn’t be complete without you in it. We’re more than happy to wait.”

There were only 3 people Keith hugged consistently— and it should be noted that he only initiated those hugs about forty percent of the time— and Coran was certainly not one of them. They were Lance, Shiro and Adam in that order and he liked to keep it that way. But still, he gave out the occasional hug here or there and this seemed like one of the times for an occasional hug. Without much thought he stepped forward and embraced Coran, the other man returning the hug in kind, squeezing him in a way that was both painful and comforting and Keith laughed into it.

They separated a moment later and Coran smiled encouragingly at him again. “Keep me updated on how you’re doing, okay? And say hi to Lance for me.”

“I will do both of those things.” Keith promised.

With another brief pat on the shoulder, Coran left Keith to his own devices. He didn’t have any other reason to stay at the office so he started to leave but paused. He turned back to his desk, looking at the picture of him and Lance again. That uneasiness settled in his stomach once more at the look on Lance’s face. He loved it, loved how happy Lance looked. He wanted to give Lance that kind of happiness again but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. He brushed his fingers against the glass covering the picture once before turning and heading out of the office.

He took the elevator down and waved to the girl at the front desk on his way out. She smiled and waved back as she answered the phone. He pushed through the front doors and out into the cool fall air, relishing in the way it ruffled his hair and cleared his head. He tried to force away the unsettled feeling and focus on the fact that a piece of his future had just become clear and it was a large stressor off of his plate.

Out of instinct or habit, Keith wasn’t sure, he reached for his phone and dialed Lance’s number.

The phone only rang once before Lance picked it up. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Keith replied as he walked down the sidewalk and towards the main road. Shiro had offered to come back and pick him up but he wasn’t ready to go home yet. He wanted to enjoy the fall air a little more. “Guess what.”

“Hm,” Lance hummed as he pretended to think. “You… finally adopted that puppy I’ve been begging you for since, like, the day we met?”

“No,” Keith laughed, the sound coming much easier to him now than it had with Coran. “You can barely keep yourself alive, I’m not trusting you with a puppy.” “I resent that. I am still alive and kicking despite you not being around lately,” Lance said it as airily as he could. Keith could hear the way he was trying to make light of the situation.

“Yeah?” Keith kept his own tone light to show Lance that he didn’t mind the teasing. It helped to be teased about it. It made the whole thing feel less significant than it was, which he just needed sometimes. “Nobody has been checking in on you? Not Pidge or Hunk?”

“You know what? I’m going to hang up on you.”

Keith laughed again. “No, no, don’t do that. I called for a reason. Two reasons, actually.”

Lance’s voice filled his ear immediately and he could hear the smile in it. “Was one of them to bully me?”

“Oh, you’re right. Three reasons.” Another breeze blew by, lifting Keith’s hood off his back and brushing his hair away from his shoulders. He turned the corner, content to just walk a few laps around the block to enjoy the outdoors.

In the background of Lance’s side of the conversation, Keith could hear some clanging. It sounded like he was in the kitchen. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me what you want, Kogane, or I’m hanging up on you.”

“Someone is sensitive today.”

“One—” Lance’s voice was a playful warning on the other end.

Keith shoved his free hand into his pocket. “Honestly, you treat me like this when I call you just to chat?”

“Two—”

“Okay,” Keith let out an exaggerated sigh into the receiver and was rewarded with a laugh from Lance. “I just left my meeting with Coran.”

“Oh yeah? How’d it go?” Something clattered in the background and Lance let out a low curse under his breath.

Keith stopped at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk to turn so he could continue along. “Really well. He said my job would be waiting for me no matter how long it took me to be ready to come back.”

“That’s great!” Lance replied instantly. “I’m not surprised though, he’s really a great guy.”

“Yeah, so I’ve gathered.”

A beat of silence passed before Lance let out another low curse. “Not to rush you off because you know I love talking to you, but I’m about to be late to work.”

“Oh, you definitely should go then.” Keith replied.

Before he had a chance to say the goodbye that was poised on his tongue, Lance said, “Not until you tell me what the other thing is!”

Keith faltered as he finally got the cross signal and headed to the other side of the street. He had to dodge a few other people who were also crossing but he didn’t mind. He liked being out in society on his own again instead of holding himself up in Adam’s room and avoiding the world. “Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to do something later but you have to work so that’s obviously a no.”

“It is not,” Lance retorted. He sounded like he had put Keith on speaker phone. “You’ll just have to come by the restaurant. But I’d love that if you’re up for it.”

“Really?”

“Keith just assume that I always want you around, okay?” He could hear the phone being picked up and then suddenly Lance’s voice was louder, confirming that he had, indeed, just been on speaker phone. “You never have to ask if I want to hang out, my answer is always yes.”

The breeze was no match for the warmth that flooded Keith’s cheeks at those words. “Okay,” He said quietly and he knew Lance could hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll come by the restaurant later, then. I’ll text you when I’m on my way?”

“Sounds perfect, I can’t wait. Everyone will be thrilled to see you again, especially Kolivan.” Lance laughed. “Oh god, he’s practically gonna tackle you when you come in the door. Be warned.”

“Wear a helmet, got it.” Lance laughed on the other end and Keith paused his walking just to listen to it. “Hey what do I own that matches a helmet? I still want to look good, you know?”

“You’re an idiot,” Lance’s voice was so fond that Keith could barely handle it. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“In a few hours,” Keith confirmed. “Bye.”

Lance murmured a goodbye, still laughing to himself and then the phone line went dead. Keith stared at his phone for a moment before sending a quick text to Shiro requesting a pickup in ten minutes and then shoving it into his pocket and finishing his lap around the block, a smile on his face the whole time.

—

Lance had come into work practically bouncing from one foot to the next with excitement, biting back a large grin as he hummed quietly to himself while cooking. Hunk was stationed on the stove next to him, glancing sideways at him on occasion and trying to hold back a large smile of his own. It wasn’t hard to tell that Hunk knew exactly what Lance’s mood was about— they were best friends after all and could reach each other with the utmost ease. Still, Hunk held his tongue and waited for Lance to say it before making any comments.

Lance held out as long as he could, he really did. But as long as he could just wasn’t very long. He’d only been at work for fifteen minutes before turning to Hunk and exclaiming, “Keith is coming by the restaurant tonight! And it was his idea!”

Like the good friend he was, Hunk beamed back at Lance, “I knew it!” He laughed, nudging Lance gently with his shoulder. “I’m so happy to hear that. Gosh, it feels like it wasn’t that long ago that you were this excited telling me about your first few dates with him.”

The memories were fond, but Lance tried not to dwell on them often. Still, he couldn’t stop the smile that controlled his lips at Hunk’s words. “It has that same kind of thrill now, honestly.” He replied after a moment. “Even though it’s not the first time—”

“Or the second, or third, or forth…” Hunk added in with a laugh.

Lance swatted playfully at him with his spatula before flipping the burger on the stove. “Even though it’s not the first time,” he repeated with emphasis, “It still kind of feels that way. I have butterflies, Hunk! Butterflies!”

The door to the kitchen opens and one of the waitresses comes back to pick up her order. Hunk and Lance both fall quiet as she does so. The entire restaurant knew about Keith— hell, the entire world probably knew how much Lance loved Keith— but still he didn’t necessarily enjoy divulging his feelings to everyone. Hunk was an exception, and he’d tell Hunk absolutely anything. At any time of day. Hunk had no escape from Lance and his feelings, not that he wanted one. But he didn’t like the idea of other ears listening to him gush about being nervous to see his boyfriend of two years.

Once she was gone and it was back to just the two of them in their corner of the kitchen, Lance resumed his train of thought. “I mean, it feels so normal for him to be coming here and that kind of… terrifies me?”

“Of course it does,” Hunk replied reasonably, stepping off to the side to begin chopping some peppers. “You haven’t had anything feel normal for a while and the idea should scare you. But,” Hunk paused in his chopping and glanced up at Lance. “I like seeing you like this. You seem happy again.”

There was a moment of silence where Lance let the fondness wash over him. His life had been turned upside down the day of that accident and he had never been more terrified, but he had persevered and found his way back to Keith. Or maybe Keith had found his way back to Lance. Either way, they were together again and Lance was once again able to talk to Hunk about everything and god had he missed his life feeling like this.

“I am,” He could hear the happiness in his own voice and his heart swelled with it. He was so grateful for everything he had and he swore to never take it for granted ever again.

“You know,” Hunk said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Lance looked away and resumed cooking the food on the grill, knowing that expression all too well. “It’s kind of like watching you two fall in love all over again.”

Immediately Lance could feel his cheeks flush with heat but he wasn’t sure why. He did love Keith, more than anything else in the world, and he’d never made a secret of it. Still, he didn’t want to presume how Keith was feeling, especially after everything he’d gone through. And with everything feeling new and fresh all over again, it felt like a first confession, The butterflies erupted in his stomach and he could feel them taking flight through his veins, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Don’t just say shit like that!” He cried, ducking his head and pulling the collar of his apron up simultaneously to try and cover his flush. “Plus, Keith’s been through a lot, there’s no way of knowing how he feels!”

“Lance, I love you man, but you’re an idiot.” Hunk said with a fond roll of his eyes.

Before Lance had a chance to retort, he noticed Kolivan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, watching the two of them with his eyebrows raised. “Did someone mention Keith?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s stopping by later. I don’t know how long he’s going to stay though.” Lance replied, smiling at the way Kolivan’s eyes immediately lit up.

He practically clapped his hands together in excitement as he entered the room fully, crossing to stand just between Lance and Hunk. “He is? That’s excellent news! When is he coming?”

Hunk was hiding a grin over Kolivan’s shoulder but Lance didn’t mind. He liked that Kolivan liked Keith, welcomed Keith into the family that was their staff. He liked that Kolivan followed Keith’s condition and missed him when he wasn’t around enough. Because Kolivan was more than a boss to Lance, he was a friend, a member of his chosen family. And Keith was everything to Lance— more than everything, if that were possible— so it meant the world to him to have Keith so warmly accepted and welcomed.

“He should be here pretty soon, actually.” Lance glanced at the clock that hung over the door to the main dining area of the restaurant.

“Does he—?” Kolivan didn’t have to finish his sentence for Lance to know what it was going to be. ‘ Does he remember me? ’.

“I don’t— I don’t think so.” It was hard for Lance to say but it was the truth.

Instead of looking disappointed like Lance expected, Kolivan smiled. “Ah, a second chance to make a first impression. This time, I swear I won’t embarrass you.”

—

All of Lance’s closest friends had met Keith and his parents and siblings had video chatted with him on more than one occasion. It was finally time for Lance to introduce Keith to the next set of important people in his life— his second family, his work family. He’d been raving about Keith around them for so long and constantly gushing about how happy he was. It was only right that they met him. Especially since Lance spent so much of his time at work and Keith had offered on multiple occasions to come and pick him up from work.

It wasn’t that Lance hadn’t wanted them to meet— the exact opposite, really— but that he’d wanted their meeting to be official. He wanted to introduce Keith to everyone properly, not have him stroll in randomly one afternoon with no warning or explanation.

“So,” Kolivan was leaning over the bar in the restaurant, a grin on his face. “You’re the boy Lance won’t stop talking about.”

Hunk erupted into laughter next to Lance who was turning a million shades of red. Keith, for his part, was grinning slyly as he glanced at Lance, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Can’t stop talking about me, huh?” Keith teased, looking back at Kolivan. “That sounds like Lance.”

“Oh yes,” There was a clear air of teasing on Kolivan’s voice, but it didn’t stop it from being mortifying anyways. “He’s constantly going on about you and how amazing you are.”

“Well, I am pretty amazing,” Keith was clearly eating it up, purposely not looking at Lance and pretending he was engrossed in a serious conversation. “And very handsome, too.”

“Oh, I’ve heard lots about how handsome you are,” To his credit, Kolivan was at least able to keep a serious expression, even if it was obviously all a joke. “I think he gave you a 12.”

“A 12?”

“On a 10 point scale.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’m 120% handsome?” By this point, Keith was leaning on the counter, too and the two of them looked as if they were conspiring. Which, essentially, they were.

“At least,” Kolivan looked Keith over before smiling, “Maybe more.”

“I hate you both. So much.” Lance dropped his face into his hands, getting no relief when Hunk rubbed an encouraging hand along his spine.

With a satisfied smile, Kolivan extended a hand to Keith, “I’m Kolivan, Lance’s boss.”

“I’m Keith,” He replied, still smiling smugly and shaking Kolivan’s hand, “Lance’s handsome boyfriend. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I really have heard great things about you,” Kolivan continued as if he hadn’t just managed to shoot Lance down in one sentence. “And I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

This time it was Keith’s turn to flush a few shades of red. He stumbled over his words as he replied, “Ah that’s very kind of you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you as well. I know Lance loves working for you.”

“He’s a good guy, that one.” Kolivan smiled at Lance who was still hunched forward at one of the tables in the dining room. “Someone you need to try your hardest to hold on to.”

Most of the wait staff had already met Keith because Kolivan had been on the phone when he’d arrived. They’d said their hellos and their goodbyes and gone for the day. Lance was honestly thankful for that because Kolivan seemed to be making a sport of saying embarrassing things. Still, seeing the smile that lit up Keith’s face and watching his eyes search the room until they landed on Lance was worth it.

“Yeah,” Keith said as he held Lance’s gaze, “He definitely is that.”

Straightening up, Kolivan stepped around the bar and clapped Keith on the shoulder. “I think we’re going to get along very well.”

“Are you going to keep trying to embarass Lance?” Keith asked.

“Trying?” Kolivan sounded affronted, “I am succeeding at embarrassing him. And yes, I’m absolutely going to continue to do so.”

With an uproarious laugh, one that Lance barely ever got to hear, Keith clapped Kolivan on the shoulder back. “I am certain we are going to get along then.”

—

“You know,” Lance smiled fondly at Kolivan who was watching his expression closely. For all his jokes and his humor, Kolivan was a really good-hearted, solid person and he was constantly thinking of Lance’s best interest. “It wasn’t so bad. Feel free to embarrass me again.”

“Be careful giving me that freedom,” Kolivan warned, smiling at Lance before turning back towards the door. “You never know how far I’ll run with it.”

“You don’t scare me!” Lance called playfully after his retreating back. Once Kolivan was gone, he turned to Hunk with feigned concern. “Do you think I have to warn him not to tackle Keith?”

The way Hunk was looking at Lance made him pause in the midst of cooking. It wasn’t a bad look. It was a good look, actually. A look that was soft and fond and made Lance realize exactly where this moment was leading him. It made him realize that he was happy and giddy and that he’d gotten back everything he felt like he’d lost. He smiled back at Hunk, his best friend, the one person who had picked him up— literally, in some cases— more times than Lance could count.

“Have I ever thanked you for everything you’ve done for me?” He asked after a moment.

“You don’t need to thank me for being your best friend, Lance.” Hunk looked like he had never been happier, like watching his best friend live his dreams was more than he could ever want in life. “But yes, you have. A whole bunch of times.”

With a smile, Lance turned back to the stove and resumed cooking. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Hunk chopping things up and tossing them onto the grill and Lance cooking and plating. The two of them had always worked well as a team and they found it fun to work together. Lance was absorbed in his thoughts of Keith and the trials and tribulations they’d gone through, working mostly on auto pilot. Once he caught himself with his hand lagging, getting too close to the surface of the stove for comfort. He yanked his hand away, preventing another burn to his hand and glanced at Hunk who was already looking at him.

“You really are an idiot sometimes,” He said in a way that had no bite. Hunk would never insult anyone genuinely, Lance knew. He was such a kind and caring person that he didn’t even jokingly say things that could be hurtful unless he knew that person very well and was absolutely certain that they would understand he was teasing.

“You said that earlier,” Lance remarked, sneering playfully.

“I said it earlier because you can’t see what’s right in front of your face. I’m saying it now because you really almost burned your same hand a second time.” With a shake of his head, Hunk resumed chopping but Lance could feel him keeping tabs on Lance’s actions as he did so.

Lance rolled his eyes before dishing up another dinner and placing it on the table behind him for the server to come grab. He could hear the other kitchen members chatting amongst themselves as they worked in their respective parts of the kitchen, but he couldn’t quite make out what any of them were saying, If he listened really closely, he’d likely be able to piece together enough information to understand what they were going on about, but he wasn’t that interested. Instead, he was interested in Hunk’s words.

“Can’t see what’s right in front of me?”

To that, Hunk put down his knife and turned to face Lance fully. “C’mon, Lance, seriously? Keith is still as in love with you as he’s ever been. I mean, everything you’ve told me has made it completely obvious.”

Struck and overwhelmed by Hunk’s words, Lance sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m just saying, he has a lot going on and a lot to figure out. I’m sure he hasn’t spared much thought to his feelings for the guy from his forgotten past.”

“You are his future, Lance. Not his past.”

“Just—” Lance turned away quickly, feeling the blush burn all the way to the tips of his ears. He wanted more than anything for Hunk to be right but he wasn’t willing to let himself think like that yet, Things were just starting to level out and he wasn’t about to risk ruining it. He’d been lucky enough to get a second chance and he was absolutely not about to mess it up by being presumptuous or moving too fast. “Just finish chopping!”

Hunk laughed next to him, picking his knife back up.

—

“This is ridiculous.” Shiro was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring at Keith who had a petrified hand frozen on the door handle. “You’ve done this a million times. You don’t need to be nervous.”

Keith flexed his hand on the handle a few times. He was sure that Shiro was absolutely correct. Plus, things with Lance had been going so well that he had no trouble believing that Lance would, indeed, be thrilled to see him. Still, that seed of worry was growing slowly in the back of his mind, sprouting until it filled him completely with shreds of doubt. Not doubt that Lance wanted him and certainly not doubt that he wanted Lance, but doubt about whether or not this was the right thing to be doing.

“Anyways,” Shiro gave him a slight shove towards the door. “Will you bring Adam and I home the usual? Just ask Lance for that and he’ll know what we want.”

Before he had a chance to hesitate any more, Keith pushed open the door and climbed out, confirming with Shiro that he would bring home their food. Shiro pulled away quickly, almost as if he wanted to prevent Keith from losing his nerve and getting back in the car. Keith watched as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the street, his back to the restaurant. Logically he knew this wasn’t a big deal, but that didn’t stop his emotions from swirling around wildly in the pit of his stomach.

“Keith?” He heard the door open a moment before he heard his name being spoken.

Keith spun on his heel to look at the person addressing him, surprised to find that he vaguely recognized him. “Kolivan?”

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Kolivan stepped outside fully, holding the door open so Keith could enter. With nothing left to do and no way out, Keith stepped through the door with a soft thanks and waited just inside for Kolivan to follow. “How have you been?”

“Well,” Keith shuffled a little to the side, slipping his hands in his pockets for lack of something better to do. “I’ve been worse.”

There was something gentle in the way Kolivan was looking at him that made Keith feel like he was about to crack, “You’ve been better, too.”

It was the first time someone had acknowledged all that had happened to him in a way that didn’t make him feel like a burden. Kolivan wasn’t putting any expectations on him, wasn’t asking for an explanation, he was simply acknowledging all that had happened to Keith in the kindest way he knew how. Suddenly Keith was cracking, feeling for the first time like it was okay to fall apart. Not that anyone else had made him feel like he couldn’t, but he hadn’t wanted to fall apart around anyone else. He wanted to be strong for them so that they could be weak.

“Yeah,” He said quietly, his gaze directed at the ground. “I’ve been better before.” Kolivan was nodding at him, encouraging him to continue. “It’s just— I don’t know how to be myself anymore.”

“What makes you think you can be anyone else?” Kolivan adjusted so he was standing in front of Keith and, even though Keith wasn’t looking up at him, he could feel Kolivan’s strong gaze. “Keith, I’ve known you long enough now to say with absolute confidence that no matter what happens, you’ll always be the same person. In here,” he tapped a gentle finger over Keith’s heart, “Things don’t change.”

He had spent weeks since his accident wishing he remembered everything from those two years and still the ache of that missing knowledge overwhelmed him in a rush. He recognized Kolivan to an extent, but that was about it. He didn’t remember anything about him— it was more of just a feeling of familiarity. But the way Kolivan talked about him made him realize, yet again, that he’d had a life for those two years and suddenly it had been ripped from his mind.

“I wish it felt that way. I really do. But instead I’m stuck wishing I remembered more. Or remembered anything at all, really. I feel like—” He paused, unsure of whether or not he should say his next thought.

Allura had explained this to him once. She said that sometimes a situation will bring forward a thought and he’ll feel the need to acknowledge it, even if it’s out of place or with someone he would normally never talk to. She said those are the powerful thoughts, the ones that really matter to him and if it ever happens, he should say whatever it is out loud. And then later he was supposed to think about it and figure out why that thought had gripped him. This time, however, he didn’t need to put any extra thought into it. He knew exactly where this was coming from and why he was saying it.

“I feel like I’m letting a lot of people in my life down. I feel like they deserve better. You, Shiro, Adam, Lance, everyone. I feel like everyone deserves better.” The words rushed out of him, making him feel deflated.

And suddenly the weight was off his chest, making him feel like he could collapse in on himself. For the last few weeks, Lance and sheer denial had been holding Keith together and getting him through each day. And suddenly the denial was gone. It was a relief, even if it left him feeling empty.

“Well, technically speaking,” Kolivan stepped back just enough for Keith to be able to look up into his face. His expression was gentle and open, “I can’t actually speak for anyone other than myself. But I can say that you aren’t letting me down. And I’m willing to bet you aren’t letting anyone else down either.”

The restaurant was full of people who were eating happily and chatting amongst themselves. Keith took a minute to look around at everyone and recognize the way their lives were moving on normally, as if nothing were out of place. To them, nothing was out of place. “It feels that way.”

“Well, the only way to prove that isn’t the case is to ask. So next time you feel like you’re letting, say, Lance down, just ask him. I think you’ll be surprised by his response.” Kolivan sidestepped so he could throw an arm around Keith’s shoulders and pull him into a half hug. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Nobody else is being that hard on you.”

Keith returned the half hug, feeling better than he had been earlier. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing but the truth. Remember that.”

With a smile, Kolivan gestured to one of the waiters who ducked into the back. A moment later, Lance appeared through the door on the back wall.

“Hey ba—” He paused, clearing his throat and offering a sheepish smile. “Keith. Hey, Keith.”

With a chuckle under his breath and a sharp look from Lance, Kolivan let go of Keith and stepped away. “Well, I think you’re busy for the rest of the evening. Let me know if you need anything. And Keith?” Kolivan turned to meet his eyes for a brief moment before going, “It’s really good to see you again. We’ve missed you around here.”

He disappeared before Keith got a chance to thank him again but he left Keith with a soft smile as Lance approached. “Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?”

“Absolutely! Come on back, Hunk is looking forward to seeing you!” Lance tugged gently on his arm, holding his wrist loosely as he guided him towards the back.

It was strange for Keith, who definitely did not work there, to step into the back with the rest of the staff. But everyone smiled at him as he entered and was led to a small table in the corner by the stove. A few people even greeted him by name.

“Keith! It’s nice to see you out and about!” Hunk waved to him from his spot near the stove. “And in some real clothes,” He joked.

“You didn’t like my hospital gown?” He feigned offense, “I was the height of fashion in that.”

That surprised a laugh out of Hunk, “Same old Keith,” He murmured.

Lance was glancing between the two of them with an expression that could only be described as awe. It looked like he’d never seen something he liked as much as this moment and that thought made Keith’s heart triple in size.

Still, he couldn’t resist taking a jab at Lance. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Listen here, Kogane,” Lance was pulling an apron over his head and then tying it in the back. He looked silly but in a way that was completely endearing. “If you’re gonna be like that, I’m not going to give you the food I made you.”

“You made me food?”

In lieu of an answer, Lance turned around and plucked a plate of delicious looking food off the counter, holding it out for Keith. It appeared to be chicken and vegetables, arranged beautifully on a simple pale yellow plate. Lance handed the plate over before turning around and grabbing some silverware and offering that to Keith, as well. As if on cue, he could feel his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t been eating particularly well— though it had been getting better as time passed— since his accident and he knew it has been worrying Shiro and Adam. It figures that they’d express this to Lance.

“Are you—” He began to double check but Lance cut him off immediately.

“Just eat. It’s your favorite.”

Normally Keith hated when people told him things about himself. But this was okay because chicken and veggies had been his favorite dish his entire life and he even remembered telling Lance about it one night in the library when they were both delusional from studying. Somehow they had gone from preparing for finals to discussing their favorite late night snack, which eventually turned into favorite dinner. It could’ve been excused if Lance were in any sort of culinary class at the time, but he hadn’t been, he was just taking his gen eds.

Coran’s words suddenly flashed through Keith’s mind as he lifted the fork and knife and began cutting into the food. He glanced up at Lance, sincerely and properly saying, “Thank you.”

Lance looked over at him from his place by the counter and suddenly Keith felt like he’d done this a million times before. He had, he knew, but this was the first time he could feel it. The first time he felt that level of comfort, familiarity and just… belonging. He smiled as he took a bite of his chicken, relishing in how great it tasted.

—

Lance and Hunk were both doubled over in laughter while Keith sat smugly in his chair, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He was smiling proudly at the joke he’d made that had rendered the other two temporarily incapable of continuing with their work. In front of him was an empty plate that had once held his favorite meal, made specially for him by the man he loved.

A moment passed where Keith just watched the two of them laughing, feeling overwhelmed with happiness. He knew that this moment was perfect— the kind of moment he would want to relive when having a bad day. It was the kind of moment that left a mark on his soul, making it forever a part of who he was.

As if understanding exactly how he was feeling, Lance straightened up and crossed the room. Suddenly there was a hand on the back of Keith’s chair and another hand on the table next to him. Lance was looming over him, smile still on his lips. Keith was seized by the urge to feel that smile, to taste it against his lips. He reached up, gentle brushing his fingers across Lance’s cheek until they were tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, drawing him down, down, down…

—

Keith snapped back to reality, his cheeks flaming. He attempted to duck his head and eat his plate of food quietly, but Hunk caught his eye with a big grin. Clearing his throat, Keith took a bite and pretended to be casual, despite feeling anything but.

“This is delicious,” He said after he swallowed. “Oh! That reminds me, Shiro asked me to bring home the usual for him and Adam? He said you’d know what that means.”

“Can do!” Lance said, immediately wandering over to the fridge and pulling out some ingredients.

Hunk, too, seemed to understand what was happening and began pulling out different bowls and pans and setting them out for Lance to use. They worked quickly, talking to each other and making sure to include Keith when he could talk. He mostly sat and ate his food, enjoying how good it tasted and just relishing in the company. He hadn’t been around too many people lately and the hustle of the fast paced kitchen was a really nice change for him.

After a little while, Kolivan popped into the back, smiling when his eyes landed on Keith, “It’s so nice to see you at that table again.”

“I agree.” Lance replied with a smile that could take Keith’s breath away any time.

“Lance,” Kolivan turned his attention back to the boy suddenly, “You are welcome to leave whenever you want,”

“We’re cooking for Shiro and Adam, but I might take off after that if you’re sure you’re fine.” He replied.

“You’ve put in more than enough hours lately, I promise we can manage.” Kolivan didn’t look at Keith on his way out, but Keith understood all the same.

Keith watched the exchange silently, but he got the clear impression that it was his fault Lance had been working so much. It didn’t surprise him if he were being honest with himself. Lance was the kind of person who always needed to stay busy and that was especially true when he had something he was trying to cope with. He thought again to the time Lance had arrived with his hand bandaged and wondered if that, too, had been indirectly his fault. The weariness from before bubbled up again, settling into the pit of his stomach and fighting with the delicious meal he’d just eaten.

“Hey,” Lance was suddenly standing above him, nudging his leg gently with his knee. “I know that face. Don’t think like that, okay? I just had a lot of free time to fill.”

Keith glanced away, “Can you stop reading my mind?”

Gently, Lance reached a hand out and threaded it through his hair. Keith tried his best not to lean into the touch, not to close his eyes in contentment or let out a soft sigh. “I absolutely will not stop doing that.” Lance laughed as his thumb traced a pattern against the skin of his cheek. “Why would I ever give up my best advantage?”

“It’s not fair,” Keith murmured quietly.

“Oh, it is. I think you’d find that you can read my mind if you really tried.” Lance gently removed his hand, looking like he missed the contact as much as Keith did. “But the food will be done any minute. Do you need a ride home?”

Keith glanced at the clock over the door, surprised to find that a couple of hours had already passed. They’d been so lost in work and idle conversation that he hadn’t even noticed. “That’d be great.”

“Okay, once I box up the food, we can go.”

“How much do I owe you for it?” Keith asked, straightening up in his chair slightly.

Lance chuckled to himself as he began to dish the food into styrofoam carry out boxes. “Nothing. Family doesn’t pay for food from here.”

“What? But Kolivan must want people to pay for his food.”

This time it was Hunk who laughed. “You’d offend Kolivan if you tried to pay, trust me. Family gets food free and all three of you definitely count as family to us.”

Touched, Keith smiled slightly and waited for Lance to finish boxing up the food. Once he was done, he bid a farewell to Hunk and the other staff who was waving to him. He stopped on the way out the door specifically to thank Kolivan one more time and found that he couldn’t leave without a hug. He had committed Kolivan’s words to heart and swore to himself that he was going to live up to them. After that, he followed Lance to the door.

Lance burst into laughter as they walked out of the restaurant, throwing his arms out to the side. Rain was pouring down on them. Keith pulled the plastic bag full of Adam and Shiro’s dinner close to his body and tied the top shut, hoping to keep as much rain out as possible. His hair was already sticking to his forehead and neck, but he hardly noticed. Lance turned to face him then, running a hand through his own hair and slicking it back. Keith’s mouth instantly went dry at the look.

“Can you believe this rain?” Lance had to yell to be heard over the sound of the drops pounding against the pavement. His grin was so wide it practically split his face open.

Keith had to will his breath not to be stolen from him. He had always been attracted to Lance, even before they started dating, when they were just friends. From the moment he had run into Lance in that coffee shop, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Practically everyday after that they were together which meant that Keith had to spend every day looking at Lance’s lips and wondering how they tasted. He had to fight himself on a daily basis to not reach out and thread his fingers into Lance’s hair. And when Lance leaned in for a hug, he had to let go at a reasonable time instead of pulling Lance even closer, feeling the way their bodies fit together.

The most unfortunate part of the two missing years of memories was the fact that there were a lot in there— apparently, at least— that he would kill to have. He remembered looking at Lance every day, dreaming of pinning him to the nearest wall, muffling any argument with a kiss. He had thought endlessly about what Lance’s lips would feel like, parting underneath his, sharing a breath with him. And apparently he knew what that was like, he just couldn’t remember. The thought killed him.

“C’mon,” Lance was waving a hand through the air, “I parked across the street. We gotta get going or we’re going to get soaked!”

“We’re already soaked!” Keith called back, falling into step behind Lance.

The street lights shone off the wet ground, illuminating Lance in a way that made him glow. The lights outlined Lance just so, and made him look more beautiful than he had ever looked. He looked soft and gentle and Keith knew he was, but he wouldn’t break. Lance would meet Keith’s fierce kiss and needy fingers with a breathless laugh, Keith knew. Keith could press Lance up against the wall and all Lance would do is draw him in closer. He knew that anything he threw at Lance he would be able to handle and give back twofold. But that didn’t mean that he should act on these desires.

Keith watched Lance’s back as they hustled towards the road, looking at the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. Lance’s clothes were plastered to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination and Keith couldn’t stop himself from staring. To be honest, he wasn’t even trying. He followed the curve of Lance’s spine, the rise of and fall of his hips as he jogged up to the street. He watched with greedy eyes as Lance turned to wave him on, his shirt riding up slightly and revealing a thin strip of skin.

Lance paused at the road and looked both ways. Keith could see the drops of water sliding down his cheeks and neck and he had to swallow. The sudden urge to lean forward and kiss those drops off his neck seized Keith and he had to suppress a groan as he tore his eyes away. Except, there wasn’t anywhere he could look that didn’t kill him. Lance’s dripping hair was curling at the base of his neck and slicked off his forehead and Keith wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it, getting to the back of Lance’s head and pulling him into a crushing kiss. He had never wanted Lance as badly as he did right now and it was physically painful.

The ache in his gut was deep and all encompassing. He could feel the desire pulsing through his veins, spreading to every part of his body. It was a jittery sort of sensation that made him feel like he was buzzing. All this energy was pooling in his fingertips and he had to get it out somehow. He wanted to get it out by fisting his fingers into Lance’s shirt and pulling him hard to his own chest. He wanted to use that energy on Lance, their tongues swirling and hands roving. He wanted Lance to be the outlet, but he knew that he shouldn’t let it be.

Keith tried to distract himself with the feeling of the rain on his back, but it didn’t work. He knew that Lance loved rain. Lance had always loved rain. He would always say something about it being soothing and washing away sins. Keith couldn’t possibly disagree more. As he stood there, watching Lance dart across the street, one hand holding his loose black work pants up as he ran, he had never felt more worked up. His biggest sin was the fact that he was holding on to Lance, despite the fact that he was holding him back. The rain wasn’t doing anything to soothe that, either. If anything, it made him want to hold onto Lance tighter, to bring him closer until they were no longer two separate people. Lance glanced back at him, his blue eyes flashing in the bright lights of the street lamps and Keith forced himself to follow.

The entire walk to the car Keith was telling himself repeatedly to just keep his hands to himself. Things with Lance were good right now and he was incredibly lucky for that. After everything that had happened, he was lucky to have Lance around at all. There was no reason he should push it. It didn’t matter that Lance was licking the rain off his lips, making Keith wish he were the one doing it. It didn’t matter that Lance was rummaging in his pocket for his car keys, accidentally pushing his pants even lower on his hips. Keith had to turn his face away to hide the red that he knew was coating his cheeks. He shoved his free hand deep into his own pocket, balling it into a tight fist and trying to get control of himself.

The lights on the car flashed as Lance unlocked it and Keith took the chance to step closer to the car and further from Lance. He hated himself for these uncontrolled feelings. He hated that he was so close to the edge, just a moment from toppling over and free falling. He knew Lance would meet him in the middle, Lance always met him in the middle, but he had already given Lance enough to deal with. It wasn’t fair to pile more on. Plus, Lance hadn’t made a single move on him since they had agreed to try and make things work so there was no reason for him to assume Lance even wanted anything like this.

Lance stepped up to his side again, reaching past him for the door. Keith refused to look at him still. He wondered if they had experienced anything like this in the two years he had forgotten. Is that why it wasn’t killing Lance? Because he had already experienced it? Keith sighed.

“Here,” Lance pulled open the back door and Keith quickly put the food inside to stop it from getting any colder.

Lance slammed the back passenger door shut and turned to look at Keith, positioned between him and the car. The rain was icy against his skin, but Keith had never felt more hot. They looked at each other for a long moment, their eyes locked and their breath mingling. There was a flicker of something in Lance’s eyes that made what little self control Keith had left crumble a little further. He watched as Lance’s eyes flicked down to his lips, trying to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach. He could feel his breath being stolen when Lance bit the corner of his own lip, raising his eyes to meet Keith’s again. There was an unspoken question in his gaze.

Lance reached up gently to push a few stray pieces of hair out of Keith’s eyes and that was the breaking point. Keith didn’t even think twice. He reached up and cupped the back of Lance’s head, pulling him down into a fierce kiss. Lance responded immediately, his one hand resting on Keith’s shoulder and the other giving his belt loop a tug until they were flush against each other. Keith couldn’t suppress the groan that rose in his throat at the feeling of Lance’s warm chest pressed against him, a stark contrast to their freezing atmosphere. He stepped forward boldly, Lance taking a large step back in kind. He felt the moment Lance’s back came in contact with the car and leaned even further in, bending the boy backwards until Lance was pressed firmly against the car and he was pressed firmly against Lance.

They moved in sync, shifting their heads so their lips fit together easier. Lance released Keith’s belt loop and slipped his hand up the back of Keith’s shirt, pressing his fingers hard into the muscles of Keith’s back and eliciting another groan. Keith nipped gently at Lance’s bottom lip, slipping his tongue in easily when Lance let out a soft gasp. He took a moment to appreciate how sweet Lance tasted, feeling smugly satisfied with that fact. He had always thought that Lance would taste as sweet as his smile and he was right.

Keith’s mind seemed to stop working as they kept kissing. He lost himself in the way Lance stepped a little wider, giving Keith space to move further in. His whole body was humming with excitement and desire and it took him a few moments to realize that he was getting lightheaded. Reluctantly, Keith pulled away, gasping slightly for air. Lance was looking back at him, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

“Do you know,” Lance said as he panted for breath, “how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

There was no stopping the smile that spread to Keith’s lips. “How long?”

Lance leaned forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s, only partially answering the question. “The other day when you were leaning against the wall outside the bookstore? Killed me.”

“Yeah?” Keith glanced between Lance’s eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity there.

Instead of responding right away, Lance pressed off the car. Keith took a surprised step back but he didn’t get far before Lance was gripping him by the waist and spinning him around. He barely had a moment to register the car behind his back before Lance was hovering over him, just a hairsbreadth between their lips. “Yeah.”

Keith leaned up to capture Lance’s lips, but Lance leaned back slightly with a playful smile on his lips. A shiver wracked Keith’s body but he knew it was the anticipation, not the rain, causing it. “And how long are you going to make me wait?”

The smile on Lance’s lips changed to a grin as he leaned down and barely pecked the corner of Keith’s mouth, humming as if he were trying to decide on a response. He moved to kiss the middle of Keith’s cheek, then the edge of his jaw. One of his hands reached up to grab the hair at the base of Keith’s neck and tug his head back. Once his neck was exposed, Lance began to kiss gently there, never lingering long enough to satisfy Keith.

The moment was like one directly out of a movie— Keith pressed to the car, the love of his life draped over him, rain cascading down around them, drowning out the rest of the world. He thought about Lance’s words as they finally kissed again. He thought about the way Lance had wanted this, but waited. He was always putting Keith first, always thinking about what he wanted or what would be best for him, no matter what it cost him. Keith knew he didn’t deserve an angel such as Lance, but that didn’t stop him from rising up on his toes to kiss Lance harder.

They parted again after a few more kisses and Lance cupped his cheek gently. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m freezing.” He laughed.

Keith was anything but freezing but he smiled gently up at Lance and released where his hands had fisted in his shirt, giving the other boy a chance to leave. Lance leaned down and gave him one more swift kiss before moving around the car and hopping into the driver’s seat, swiftly turning on the car. Keith took a moment to try and calm his heart rate down before climbing into the car himself, soaking wet.

The heat was already blasting but it wasn’t warm yet. Lance was actively shivering in the driver’s seat but he smiled over at Keith anyways. Keith had a moment of feeling like he needed to break the silence between them, needed to acknowledge what happened, before realizing how silly that thought was. This was Lance . He had spent hours at Lance’s side, never saying a word. In what memories he had of Lance, he knew that their company of each other was enough sometimes. They didn’t feel the need to make a big fuss about things, so Keith simply buckled his seatbelt and glanced out the window.

Lance put the car in drive and took off. It wasn’t until they were a few streets away that he finally spoke. “I hope Adam and Shiro’s food is still warm by the time it makes it to them.”

Keith couldn’t stop the laugh that rose in his throat at the thought of explaining to them why their food wasn’t hot. “I don’t think they’ll mind.”

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wishingforatypewriter · 6 years

Text

Queenmaker: A Sumire Story (Portraits of 119)

If there was one thing Mimasaka Sumire had learned from her parents, it was that information was everything.

Her mother was a top detective whose investigative prowess had broken up many a triad and cartel in her time on the police force. Her father was a chef who’d masterfully incorporated psychological warfare into his craft.

And Sumire? She’d be among the academy’s elite one day—of that she was certain. But for now, in her first year at Totsuki’s middle school, she just had to keep ear to the ground.

So far listening had been an easy job because all 800 students in her year—the academy’s 119th generation—were talking. Specifically, they were talking about an heiress in homeroom A who’d moved into the Nakiri Mansion.

That proud estate on the edge of campus had been unoccupied since the legendary jewel generation matriculated. Almost every first seat—including its current occupant Mizuhara Himari—had tried to take it over, but the illustrious Nakiri family always refused. So everyone was speculating about how a mere middle school student had gotten the keys to the most prestigious residence within miles of the school.

I heard her family bought the mansion from the Nakiris. Her papa is richer than god, you know.

She only uses shampoo that’s specially made with crushed pearls and Bulgarian roses; that’s why her hair is always so shiny!

My aunt is on the Totsuki Network’s board of directors, and she swears that girl is betrothed to the chairwoman’s son.

Sumire absorbed the whispers, measured the stories against one another and compared their weight. Nothing she’d heard about this Hayama Akane seemed completely accurate, but she wasn’t willing to rule anything out just yet.

In the classes she had with the mystery girl—and her self-appointed body guard from the Mito family—Sumire learned the most of all.

Fact 1: She was extremely competent.

Even though their Intro to French Classic professor was the toughest grader in the middle school division, Hayama-san had never received a grade lower than an A. And she never seemed to lose sleep over her cooking assignments the way the mortal honor students did.

Fact 2: Contrary to popular belief, she probably came from old money.

Sumire could tell by how she answered the other girls’ intrusive questions with aristocratic patience and indifference. She never bragged or flaunted her background in any obvious way.

“Hayama-san, how much is your papa really worth?” One of the social climbers, Kawashima Utau asked her one day before class. “I heard he’s been on the Forbes list for the past ten years.”

“My parents don’t discuss money with me,” she replied without looking at the girl.

“Well, how do you know the chairwoman?”

“She’s a family friend.” Hayama-san was gazing out the window again. Sumire had noticed that she did that a lot; it almost seemed like she was wishing she was elsewhere. Anywhere else, really.

“Do you know what kinds of girls the chairwoman’s son likes?” Kawashima-san continued. “Can you introduce me someday, since we’ve become such good friends?”

From her limited observations, Sumire knew that Hayama-san wouldn’t answer that question. She was always extremely tight-lipped when it came to the Nakiri heirs, and Sumire had no idea whether it was because of her upbringing or a personal sense of loyalty to them.

“Kawashima-san, I think the professor is going to come in soon. You should probably return to your seat.”

Fact 3: She had mastered the art of the tactful burn.

Sumire wondered where she had learned that trick of inflection that gave her the power to dismiss people out of hand—and before her thirteenth birthday, no less.

In what type of life was that kind of thing necessary?

In the weeks to come, Sumire largely abandoned her quest to find out more about Hayama Akane. The girl was absurdly private, and Sumire swore to herself that she’d never resort to stalking. So she decided to focus her time on more important things—like finding the best cooking spaces on campus.

While in a prime location—only fifteen minutes from campus on foot—Sumire’s little studio apartment was somewhat lacking in the kitchen department. After compiling an elaborate spreadsheet with all the public kitchens on campus—along with their locations, amenities, and regular visitors—she determined that the premier spot would be a cooking practicum classroom on west campus.

Sumire made a habit of making lunch there during her free period before classes came in for afternoon sessions. It was spacious, well-stocked with top shelf ingredients, and always empty—or at least it always had been.

Sumire stood in the doorway and blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. But a few seconds later, Hayama-san was still sitting by one of the workstations, sobbing quietly.

Although this may speak negatively to the kind of person she was, the first thing Sumire thought of was how bad it could be if someone loudmouth saw her like this and told the newspaper.

She shut the door and tried to determine whether anyone would be able to see into the third floor window. Only when she felt completely certain that their location was secure did she approach the other girl.

“Um, Hayama-san...”

The pink haired girl looked up slowly, wiping her eyes. She made an admirable attempt at righting her posture. “You’re the one who usually cooks here. Mimasaka-san, right? Sorry. I’ll get out of your way in a minute.”

Sumire shook her head, slightly taken aback by how quickly she’d drawn upon her irreproachable manners. You’re not in my way,” she assured. “I was just wondering if you needed anything.”

“Thank you, but I’m really fine,” Akane said, tilting her head upward to stop more tears from falling. It only worked halfway, and they were kind of suspended between her eyelashes. Sumire reached into her backpack and handed the girl a small pack of tissues. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sumire said before glancing furtively at the clock. It would be twenty minutes, a half hour tops before students in the first afternoon block started filtering in. “Listen, is there someone I can call for you? Mito-san, maybe?”

“Bells is in an RS meeting. I don’t want to bother her,” Akane explained. “I’m really fine. It’s just someone tried to call me from overseas and the connection dropped. It sounds silly, now that I think about it, but—”

“Can you use WhatsApp?”

“It’s fine,” she assured, blinking back more tears. “If I started crying like this over the phone, that person would do something unnecessary. And I don’t think I can fake it today.”

Sumire nodded, although she was beginning to suspect that Hayama-san’s interpretation of “unnecessary” was a lot different from most people’s. “Is there anything I can do?”

Akane shook her head. “I’m really okay. Being here is just...a lot sometimes. You know?”

“In my experience, sometimes it helps to take a break when things get too stressful,” Sumire told her. “If you want, we can go back to my apartment. It’s kind of small, but I have ice cream and a bunch of K-Dramas on DVD.”

Akane seemed to consider this for a minute. “But classes start up again in half an hour.”

Sumire shrugged. “People skip all the time at this school,” she said. “But if you’re concerned about attendance, I think I’ve figured out how to get into the school’s databases from the admin side. I can erase all the absences tomorrow morning.”

At this, Akane chuckled a little bit and Sumire’s face flushed. “I-I promise I’m not a delinquent or anything like that. It’s just that I happened to see the login credentials one day and—”

“I figured that,” Akane replied, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s just...you sort of reminded me of someone just now.”

Despite her burning desire to do so, Sumire did not let herself ask who.

The next few weeks were characterized by Hayama-san trying to repay Sumire’s kindness in a variety of ways.

After she had returned 70 inch television, the town car and driver, and the gift certificate to Shino’s Tokyo—because all those things were exponentially more valuable than the 500 yen she’d spent on a pint of strawberry ice cream—Sumire thought the pink haired girl had finally gotten the message.

But all that changed after the incident with the Korean RS.

One day in October, Sumire applied for an executive board position at the Korean RS. Even though she was an underclassman, her prowess in her specialty was undeniable, so the club’s faculty mentor had encouraged her to try for a leadership position.

However, the club’s current president—a high school first year who’d made it to the Autumn Election’s quarterfinals—was so insulted by her ambition that he kicked her out of the club entirely. Sumire was shocked by his pettiness, but felt generally nonchalant about her dismissal; now she had sooooo much more time to catch up on her soap operas.

But then, as it always seemed to at Totsuki Academy, shit hit the fan.

One day, as Sumire was walking home from afternoon classes, a black limo pulled up next to her. Isabella Mito-Aldini thrust the door open. “Get in. Ask questions later.”

Sumire did as she asked, and after a U-turn that shouldn’t have been possible in such a cumbersome vehicle, they were speeding back towards campus.

“Mito-san, what is this?” she asked once the car stopped in front of the Korean RS building.

The blonde gave her a long look. “This is what happens when you don’t just take the TV,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Nothing is going to be the same after this.”

When they entered the club’s main hall, Hayama Akane was engaged in a confrontation with the RS president.

“Nobu Renji-kun, I hereby challenge you to a shokugeki for control of the Korean Cuisine Research Society.”

What. The. Hell.

Sumire couldn’t believe it. Since the start of the school year, Hayama-san had never been involved with any shokugekis. And now here she was picking a fight with an upperclassman.

“Can I ask what I’ve done to offend you, ojou-san?” the dark haired youth asked with a mocking grin.

Akane narrowed her green eyes, something dangerous flashing in them. “You have two options, Nobu-kun. Accept the challenge or admit to your cowardice.”

“I thought you society girls were supposed to have better manners than that,” he said. “But have it your way. Just know that if I beat you, I’ll have you hand over the keys to the Nakiri Mansion.”

“Done,” she said.

In two days’ time Sumire was pulled from her latest Netflix binge by a knock on her door. As soon as she opened it, Hayama Akane placed the keys to the Korean RS into her hand.

“There’s no return label on this one,” she said. “And my specialty is French food, so I honestly won’t do anything with the club. You have to take it.”

Sumire could only blink a few times. She had watched the shokugeki, witnessed the 5-0 win, but the whole thing was still unreal. “W-where did you even learn to kick ass like that?”

Akane smiled. “Mostly from my godmother.”

Sumire knew better than to ask who. “So are we even now?”

“Not even close,” Akane told her. “I’m still in your debt, Sumire-san.”

“In what way are you—”

“Since that shokugeki, people have stopped asking me all those annoying questions.”

“It’s because they’re all a little afraid of you now,” Sumire said. It was an understandable reaction, really.

“Does it make me an awful person if I kind of like it?”

Sumire shook her head. “I don’t think so. If they’re going to talk about you anyway, you might as well control the conversation.”

Akane stared at her for a moment, and Sumire worried that she had said too much. “Sumire-san, what are you up to right now?”

She pointed back to the television. “Just watching true love unfold. Why?”

“My godmother is in town today. I was about to go to lunch with her. Do you want to come?”

As she locked eyes with Hayama Akane, Sumire knew that this would be her initiation. From this point on she would be inner circle—a trusted partner, a confidant. It would be her responsibility to ensure the well-being of this inexplicably talented person. She hoped she’d be able to manage it.

“Sounds like fun. Let’s go.”

#shokugeki no soma #akisako #sorina #119th generation #portraits of 119 #mimasaka sumire #hayama akane #isabella mito-aldini

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