#enr chapters

[apocalypticpsiboys]

Chapter 18 of Everlasting Night: Definitive is now up! You can read it here!

In which Lucas and Ness return to Tazmily Village and find some familiar faces awaiting their return.

There's also some content warnings: Blood and gore, Foul language, moderate angsty teenage hormones and some very mild jealousy

[unmeisenshi]

Time to be cring. This chapter has a...

SONG

The lyrics will be in big letters. Also, since some of the lyrics are in Spanish, I provided a (rough) translation. Regular lyrics will be open (while the translation is in parentheses right below the original lyrics).

This was also kinda rough for me to write, so I apologize if it's all over the place. It's my first time writing a big ass party happening.

The camp cheered as the fiesta commenced. Traditional Spanish music played as food and drink was passed all around. Many of the Pokemon went to give their thanks to Enrique for everything that he was able to do for them. Audie began dancing near a lantern, the bright confetti reflecting the light and making him look like a disco ball.

Björk kept herself busy, helping to pass the food out so everyone got their share. She spotted Solaris and Florence sitting further away from the group, and she flew over with two plates. “Here. There’s still a lot to go around.” She held out two plates of cake.

“Thank you,” both said at the same time, taking the plates and beginning to eat. After taking a few bites, Solaris looked up. “This party… It’s…”

“I know…” She sighed. “It’s odd to be celebrating someone’s death like this, but… It’s part of tradition. Part of Enrique’s tradition. We celebrate and honor our fallen every year. This is no different.”

Solaris nodded. “I see… I’d… Never think to do something like this for someone who is dying or has died…” He stopped to chuckle. “It’s a neat tradition… Makes death seem… Not all bad…”

“It’s because it isn’t. Thanks to Enrique… We’ve learned to not fear death. It’s a time to grieve, but also to celebrate the wonderful life of the one that passed.”

As the three continued to chat, Enrique stood up and clinked his glass. The talking, laughing, and music all stopped as all eyes were on the Quaquaval. “Everyone… I want to thank you all. For your hard work. For your dedication. For putting your trust in me to take care of you when you lost everything. We may not be related by blood… But you are all my brothers and my sisters. You are my family. And I appreciate every. Single. One of you.”

The entire camp applauded, with some Pokemon beginning to whistle. Some were concerned as Enrique’s voice was beginning to get raspy. After the applause died down, he continued. “Now… I know it’s cliché… But I want to give you all one final performance. To send you all off… And to send Team Destiny on their way.”

The camp murmured as Enrique was given a microphone. “Also I want to do this because I’m just a little bit buzzed.” He added, garnering some chuckles. After some time to set up, Enrique looked down at the band. “La Copa, por favor.” He said, turning to face the crowd. Everyone looked on in anticipation, and Enrique took a deep breath before shouting, “La Copa, amigos!”

The camp began to cheer, and clap to a beat as Enrique began to sing, and the horned instruments began to play.

Do you really want it? (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)

Enrique posed as the music began to build up, and the camp began to dance.

Go, go, go! (Go, go, go!)/¡Alé alé alé! (¡Alé alé alé!)/Go! (Go!)/Go! (Go!)/Go! (Go!) Go! (Go!)/Here we go! (Yeah!)

The band then erupted into a samba theme and tempo, and Enrique began to shake his chest and dancing as well. He spotted Björk in the crowd, and gave her a wink.

The cup of life, this is the one/Now is the time, don’t ever stop/Push it along, gotta be strong/Push it along, right to the top

He posed and flexed his arms as he sang, then began to dance once again:

Como Caín y Abel/Es un partido cruel/Tienes que pelear por una estrella/Consigue con honor/La copa del amor/Para sobrevivir y luchar por ella/¡Luchar por ella! (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)

(Like Cain and Abel/It’s a cruel match/You have to fight for one star/Go get it with honor/The cup of love/In order to survive and fight for it/To fight for it! (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!))

Enrique once again began to shake his chest and rear, and began to wave his hands in the air.

Here we go!/¡Alé alé alé!/Go, go, go!/¡Alé alé alé!/¡Arriba va, el mundo está de pie!/Go, go, go!/¡Alé alé alé!

(Here we go!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Up it goes, the world is on its feet!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!)

The horned instruments played the opening melody once again before Enrique continued

La vida es competición/Hay que soñar ser campeón/La copa es la bendición/La ganarás/Go, go, go!

(Life is a competition/You have to dream to be champion/The cup is the blessing/You will win it/Go, go, go!)

Enrique then began to back up slightly, as he motioned for the crowd to go with him

And when you feel the heat/The world is at your feet/No one can hold you down if you really want it!/Just steal your destiny/Right from the hands of fate/Reach for the cup of life ‘cause your name is on it!/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)

The Quaquaval then walked back forward while shaking his chest and rear once again.

¡Tú y yo!/¡Alé, alé, alé!/Go, go, go!/¡Alé, alé, alé!/Tonight’s the night we’re gonna celebrate/The cup of life/¡Alé, alé, alé!

(You and I!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Tonight’s the night we’re gonna celebrate/The cup of life/Go, go, go!)

The band then went into an instrumental breakdown as everyone continued to dance, sing along, and enjoy themselves. Solaris found himself entranced by the Quaquaval’s dancing and singing, surprised that he could still move and sing as well as he did. The music then grew quiet to allow a reprise

The cup of life, this is the one/Now is the time, don’t ever stop/Push it along, gotta be strong/Push it along, right to the top

Enrique paused for a moment, looking down to the crowd and smiling as he jumped into the crowd to begin dancing with them

Como Caín y Abel/Es un partido cruel/Tienes que pelear por una estrella/Consigue con honor/La copa del amor/Para sobrevivir y luchar por ella (¡Sí!)/¡Luchar por ella! (¡Sí!)/¡Luchar por ella! (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!)

(Like Cain and Abel/It’s a cruel match/You have to fight for one star/Go get it with honor/The cup of love/In order to survive and fight for it (Yes!)/To fight for it! (Yes!)/To fight for it! (Yeah!)/Do you really want it? (Yeah!))

The musician then built the best up slowly, getting the camp excited as Enrique began to shake his chest again.

Here we go!/¡Alé, alé, alé!/Go, go, go!/¡Alé, alé, alé!/Tonight’s the night we’re gonna celebrate/The cup of life/¡Alé, alé, alé!

(Here we go!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!/Tonight’s the night we’re gonna celebrate/The cup of life/Go, go, go!)

Enrique then held his hands up, throwing one, then two, then three fingers up

Un, dos, trés/¡Olé, olé, olé!/Un, deux, trois/Allez, allez, allez!/¡Arriba va, el mundo está de pie/Go, go, go!/¡Alé, alé, alé!

(One, two, three/Hey, hey, hey!/One, two, three/Go, go, go!/Up it goes, the world is on its feet!/Go, go, go!/Go, go, go!)

The music and dancing continued, with Enrique ending in a pose and cheering

Do you really want it? (Yeah!)

The camp cheered and made room for Enrique to exit the circle, turning to face the camp. “Amigos… Thank you. I wish I could be with you all to the end. But there is a threat… A threat that this team here is going to stop! Give them your full support!”

The camp then erupted into applause, beginning to gather food for the team. Enrique then took a deep breath. “Okay. Take me to Zappa… It’s time.”

[ujaglobaladvisory]

Subject: Clarification on E-Way Bill Requirement for Goods under Chapter 71

Rule 138(14) of the Central Goods and Services Tax (CGST) Rules, 2017, read with its Annexure Sr. Nos. 4 & 5, states that goods covered under Chapter 71 viz., Natural or cultured pearls and precious or semi-precious stones; precious metals and metals clad with precious metal, Jewellery, goldsmiths’, and silversmiths’ articles, except those classified under HSN 7117 (Imitation Jewellery), are exempt from the mandatory requirement of generating an E-Way Bill.

Pursuant to the introduction of the E-Way Bill (EWB) for goods classified under Chapter 71, excluding HSN 7117 (Imitation Jewellery), in the state of Kerala for intra-state movement, the National Informatics Centre (NIC) has provided an option to generate EWBs for goods covered under Chapter 71 except 7117 under the category “EWB for Gold” on the EWB portal.

User Guide for ENR-03 Enrollment

Accessing ENR-03:

a) As per the notification, an Unregistered Person (URP)can enrol using Form ENR-03.

b) The option is available under the “Registration”tab in the main menu of the EWB portal.

Filling Out the ENR-03 Form:

a) Upon selecting the option, the Enrollment screen will be displayed.

b) The applicant must select their Stateand enter their PAN details, which will be verified.

c)The type of Enrollment must be selected, and address details must be provided.

d)A mobile number must be entered, which will be verified via OTP.

Creating Login Credentials:

a) The user must create a username, check its availability, and set a passwordbefore submitting the details.

b) Upon successful submission, a 15-character Enrollment IDwill be generated, and an acknowledgement will be displayed.

c)This Enrollment ID can be used for generating e-Way Bills in place of a GSTIN.

[seoplassy]

Why Uttarakhand is The Best Place to Settle After Retirement

Retirement heralds a new chapter—a time to unwind, pursue passions, and embrace tranquility. Nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, Uttarakhand emerges as a haven for retirees, offering a harmonious blend of natural beauty, cultural richness, and modern amenities. Here's why this northern Indian state is the best place to settle in Uttarakhand post-retirement.

1. Embrace Peaceful Environment and Natural Beauty

Uttarakhand is renowned for its breathtaking landscapes—majestic mountains, serene lakes, and lush valleys. The pristine air, free from urban pollution, provides a rejuvenating environment. Waking up to panoramic views of the Himalayas and the melodious chirping of birds offers a daily dose of serenity that retirees cherish.

2. Relish the Pleasant Climate

The state's climate is a delightful mix, with temperate conditions in the plains and cooler temperatures in the hills. Mild summers and cozy winters ensure a comfortable living experience year-round, allowing retirees to escape the extreme weather conditions prevalent in many parts of India.

3. Benefit from Affordable Cost of Living: best place to settle in Uttarakhand

Compared to bustling metropolitan cities, Uttarakhand boasts a more affordable cost of living. From reasonable property prices to lower daily expenses on groceries and utilities, retirees can enjoy a comfortable lifestyle without straining their savings.

4. Dive into Spiritual and Cultural Richness

Home to sacred cities like Haridwar and Rishikesh, Uttarakhand offers a spiritual ambiance that's hard to match. Numerous temples, ashrams, and spiritual centers dot the landscape, providing ample opportunities for meditation and introspection. Additionally, the state's vibrant festivals, traditions, and delectable local cuisine enrich the cultural experience.

5. Access Quality Health and Wellness Facilities

Health is paramount during retirement. Uttarakhand doesn't disappoint, offering a blend of modern healthcare facilities in cities like Dehradun and alternative therapies like Ayurveda and yoga in places such as Rishikesh. Wellness centers and retreats further enhance the state's health offerings.

6. Enjoy Safety and Community Warmth

With a low crime rate, Uttarakhand promises a safe environment. The warmth and hospitality of local communities make integration seamless, fostering a sense of belonging among newcomers.

7. Leverage Excellent Connectivity

Despite its serene setting, Uttarakhand is well-connected. Proximity to major cities like Delhi via road, rail, and air ensures that retirees remain connected to urban hubs, making travel convenient.

8. Engage in an Active Lifestyle

The state's natural terrain encourages an active lifestyle. From leisurely nature walks to trekking adventures, retirees can choose their pace. Opportunities for community engagement, volunteering in local schools, or participating in environmental conservation initiatives abound, ensuring a fulfilling retirement.

9. Indulge in Healthy and Organic Living

Uttarakhand's emphasis on organic farming means fresh, chemical-free produce is readily available. This, combined with sustainable living practices prevalent in many communities, aligns perfectly with a health-conscious retirement lifestyle.

10. Discover Calm Retirement Communities

For those seeking specialized housing, Uttarakhand offers retirement homes and communities tailored to senior citizens. These spaces provide comfort, support, and a chance to connect with like-minded individuals.

When considering settling down in Uttarakhand, partnering with a trusted real estate company ensures a seamless transition. Hillscapes Infra, renowned for crafting luxury homes, stands out as a premier choice for retirees seeking opulent yet comfortable living spaces.

In conclusion, Uttarakhand's blend of natural splendor, cultural depth, and modern amenities make it an unparalleled choice for those looking to embark on a peaceful and enriching retirement journey.

[joontier]

The King’s Guard | Chapter 1

pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

series rating: R (18+) | genre: historical drama au!; king seokjin! au; established relationship! au; royalty! au!; 

warnings: non-graphic mentions of an abuse by Y/N’s stepmama; mentions of death; ANGST; horny ass jinnie and y/n; groping; unprotected sex bc condoms werent invented yet; fingering; edging if ya squint; impregnation kink; voyeurism; oral m and f receiving; slight degradation; good god i have never written this much filth in my life, brb gotta go to church;

word count:  6.3k

g/n: hEY HEY HEY BACK WITH THE SMUT YALL; anywho a few disclaimers before u read this sweetie, YES, its Jung Jungkook for a reason, you’ll see soon enough ;) also,,,, there might be a few korean words thrown in there but ya know context clues or u could search them up too if u want,,,, but i’ll also be placing them at the end of this post for ya <3 P.S. this is also going to turn into a series y’aLLLL GAHHHH

The King’s Guard - Masterlist  ||  navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 1

It’s with Seokjin’s relentless pounding from behind you that you figure that the council meeting probably didn’t go well today. You’ve discovered that times of intimacies like these were a way to relieve himself of the stresses of being a newly pronounced king. Not that you were complaining though.

His fingers find your clit with practiced ease, rubbing at sensitive nub with great fervor. Seokjin’s punishing thrusts become slower as you both reached your highs, his cock falling limp shortly after he pulls out of you. Reaching over to the nearby table, he grabs a towel and dips it on the bowl of water, wiping away traces of his climax between your thighs. He pulls up his pants previously bunched in his ankles and arranges the rest of his durumagi, removing any possible evidence of your quick fuck.

“Council meeting went bad?” you asked, rubbing at your numbing forearms due to your husband’s forceful movements against the table he’d fucked you against. Seokjin briefly throws a sheepish look your way, guessing  you have finally figured out his nasty antics of de-stressing, but his beautiful face turns serious as he once again reminded of his responsibilities as king.

“Well with Minseok’s recent death, the dried-up lands in the far east, and an uprising rebellion in the south, I can’t say the meeting went particularly…peaceful,” Seokjin heaves a sigh and rests his hands on his knees.

Minseok was a trusted royal guard, serving Seokjin’s family for nearly all his life and had perished due to an attack during a visit to the southern city. While Minseok’s death caused a great loss in the palace, his blood symbolized the initial step towards an uprising, spurring on the southern troops even further.

With your back facing him, you felt remorseful as your hand subconsciously reaches for the south’s emblem given by your father, hidden beneath the thick collar of your hanbok – a harsh reminder that you were once from the southern palace – and yet you couldn’t do anything to help your king.

It was one thing being only half royalty and another being the only heir to the throne. After multiple tries, prayer movements, and endless offerings, the real queen of the south proved to be infertile and could not bear a child for the king. In the past however, a childless monarch proved to be an advantage to those who attempted to overthrow the throne. Hence your biological father, the king, decided that he needed to have an heir at once. However, the only other lady your dad would trust with such great feat is the head court lady, your mom, who became the king’s only concubine – ergo, your coming into this world.

Your father acknowledged you as his daughter the moment he heard your first cry as a newborn, much to the queen’s repressed opposition. She knew she had no other choice but to give in to your father’s recognition, but her display of hatred for you never stopped at your birth. Your life was an endless tale of narrow escapes from her atrocities.

On the bright side, you maintained a healthy relationship with your father, he taught you how to read and write, he showed you the ins and outs of the city, gave you your first archery lesson, and even taught you a thing or two about politics and diplomacy. You were well-founded for a girl your age, considering that women in your society were only perceived to be bearers of children and raisers of the young instead of hitting sack targets on a moving horse and being deployed on diplomatic affairs.

Life was almost perfect if it weren’t for your very promising antagonist of stepmother. The rest of the palace, your father included, regarded her as your stepmother, but she never came close to being a motherly figure in your life. Quite frankly, you knew she wanted you dead even before you grew a heart – probably the only reason why she wasn’t blessed with a child. The two-headed snake deserved it.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only victim of her cruelty. As you grew up, you knew she was bound to get worse, it didn’t come as much of a shock when you heard of her plans to murder your father and your biological mother. What you didn’t expect though that the breakfast you’d shared with your father that morning was the last time you’ll ever see him.

You fled from the palace that night, bumping into Seokjin as you exited the gates of the palace. He recognizes your face from previous council meetings and have been acquainted with each other as members of royalty, but he’s never seen you in such a state of distress. Before he could ask you why you were running away from the palace at such hour, you mounted his horse and pleaded to him to take you anywhere else but your home – your previous home.

One look at your tear-stained face was all he needed and he turned his horse around, despite questioning looks he got from his guards. He had brought you back to the capital and took you in the palace. Soon friends turned to lovers and the rest is history.

Seokjin notices your silence and he’s come up from the edge of the bed to envelop you in his arms. “A frown isn’t fitting for a queen,” he takes your chin between his fingers and turns your face towards him. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks, confused by the frown drawn upon your face.

“I just…” you start off, but when your fingers find the cold metal of the necklace, you fall silent again. Seokjin sighs as he finally catches on your despondence and gives you a tighter hug and a fleeting kiss on the forehead.

For once in a long time, you felt like it was just the two of you again alone in the room, alone in the world. Just two lovers, no treacherous stepmothers, no responsibilities, no nation to take care of. Your mind races back to the memories of you sneaking out of the palace to your agreed rendezvous or walking to your secret garden to talk about your daily endeavors. Seokjin made this cruel world more bearable and you will always be eternally grateful for that. He would always shower you with the greatest support and understanding, fully aware of what you have been deprived of during your childhood.

Seokjin on one hand feels equally thankful to have you enter his life, to have you as his wife. He had always admired your knowledge in various things and he frequently shows fondness for your wit in a very remarkable way – like that one time he had brought you to a council meeting to share your ideas (a taboo in the culture – seeing as women weren’t cut in making political decisions) and called an advisor an imbecile for suggesting a huge increase in taxes when a fourth of the city was struggling with famine. Needless to say, Seokjin found the sight of you standing up to his advisors more than arousing so he had sent everyone home at once and two minutes after everyone had left, he already had you bent over his desk, fucking you into oblivion.

Your husband leaves shortly after taking a few scrolls from the shelves before inviting you to dinner, winking as he leaves your room, telling you that he has specially requested the kitchen to cook your favorite dish for dinner tonight. You take a bath during your husband’s absence, indulging yourself in a milk bath, while the servants scrub at your back and arms. As a child, the southern palace only afforded you cold baths with the heat in the south constantly unbearable but mainly because the queen was adamant on treating you badly. She’d made sure you regularly bathe in cold ones, even worse during the winter. You couldn’t keep count of the times you had to be rescued back to life by the court ladies after nearly shivering to death.

The servants take their leave as they’ve scrubbed most of the expanse of skin you’ve exposed for them to exfoliate and you sink further into the pool, a variety of petals floating around and about as you create ripples with your hands.

“My Queen,” a court lady bows her head as she enters your chambers. “The King requests your presence for the inauguration of the new king’s guards,” she informs, not meeting your eyes as you wear your undergarments. You give her a hum of approval and wait for the servants to finish braiding your hair so you could accompany your husband during the ceremony.

You can feel the pebbles under your shoes move with the steady beat of the drums. The inauguration was supposed to be held a few more months later but because of the death of Minseok, the ceremony had to be moved to an earlier date. You were about to turn the corner when the someone in torn, ragged clothes ran in front of you, your guards ushering you backwards to protection. With two watchmen already following the man, two from your group follow to see what the scurry is all about.

The remaining guards that are with you lead you towards the field quickly to evade any further commotion. When you reach where Seokjin is situated, he acknowledges you briefly, worry swimming in his eyes. You place a comforting hand on his to assure him that there is nothing to be worried about. Once you have settled in your seat, a guard comes up to Seokjin’s side and the drums stop. “Your Royal Highnesses, King Seokjin and the Queen.” Your husband raises a hand to acknowledge the crowd surrounding the field, all present to witness the ceremony.

“Let the inauguration of the new royal guards begin.”

The drums fall into a steady rhythm once again, men clad in red and white silk uniforms pile in groups of twenty. Applause falls within the crowd, hands busy clapping for the newly inducted protectors of the palace. You see a few girls displaying themselves by the corner where the guards enter the field. They mask their flirtatious looks under the guise of modesty, covering their powdered faces with fans while sending coquettish looks to the guards.

Seokjin lets out a chuckle when he follows your line of vision and you reply deftly “I don’t blame them. I’d definitely do the same when you’re in your uniform.” You try your best not to wink at your husband especially at a public gathering like this, but your witty effort to get him to stop judging you has proved to be effective. You know he is most likely going to punish you about this tonight and the idea already has you squirming in your seat.

“My King, may I present to you the new captain of the royal guards, Jung Jungkook of the east.” A man from the first row steps forward. “My King, my Queen.” He acknowledges your presence, bowing from the waist. Jung Jungkook drops to the ground, his weight resting on one leg. He draws his sword, plunges it to the ground – the sound of metal slicing through the soil ringing throughout the field. “I am Jung Jungkook from the Jung clan of the east. My father has served the royal family for many years and has perished terribly during the attack of the South. I am here to restore the honor to my family by serving your highness, to serve the capital, and to avenge my late father.” His head is hung low, yet he is breathing heavily, the weight of his emotions too heavy on his shoulders.

Seokjin leans forward, “Your father has fought well and there is no greater honor than to die for the safety of your countrymen. I am glad he has a son to continue the legacy of your family. Stand, Jung Jungkook, for I know your father’s soul is now at peace.” The man complies and speaks, “Long live King Seokjin, long live the capital!” The rest of the two hundred men follow suit. The citizens join in on the cheering but your eyes linger on the new captain and the faded scar on his left cheek.

The turmoil in the south has worsened during the past few weeks. You rarely see your husband nowadays, constantly trapped for hours on end inside the four walls of his office. You can feel the pressure of being the king taking its toll on him. The servants tell you that he barely touches his food and that your husband also always comes in late at night and leaves early at dawn to work. It’s bringing you great worry that Seokjin couldn’t properly take care of himself nowadays.  

Your attempts to aide him during these stressful times prove to be futile, especially with his damned advisors who keep on barring you from entering his office or attending the council meetings. It is believed anyways that the queen only tends to matters of the royal household and that women have no right to give counsel. Unfortunately for them, you are no ordinary queen nor are you just a queen. You are also the wife of your beloved husband and a handful of stubborn councilmen has never stopped you before.

While the royal advisors are busy wasting too much time on a singular issue, you went out on your own to witness the effects of the famine of the east. Most of the crops that were delivered throughout the country was produced in the east because of their healthy soil and the waters surrounding the city. When a month has passed and there were still no signs of rain in the east, you know this was going to cause a huge problem and eventually another predicament for Seokjin. You had lived long enough in the onerous south to witness problems like this turn into bigger ones.

You have made arrangements to visit the city and so far, your plan going smoothly as planned. You manage to sneak out of the royal seamstress’ room after paying her a decent amount of silver coins for a commoner’s dress. It’s getting late and your husband will be returning to your room soon so you trudge back a little faster just to make it in time. When you reach the back door to your room, you see two guards lounging stand up abruptly at your presence. “M-my q-queen,” he bows, not meeting your eyes. “It’s alright. Just don’t tell anybody.”

Seokjin enters the room just when you’re stood in front of the mirror, hands removing the pins from your head. He slides the wooden door gently and sends you a small smile through the reflection on your mirror. “Why don’t I help you with that?” You gently decline his offer, not wanting to bother your exhausted king with any more chores. It’s unfair how he is still impeccably handsome even with the weariness evident on his face. Seokjin still insists though, claiming that a king’s functions should not be an excuse to escape those of a husband’s. “And besides, I ought to know how to do this if we’ll have a daughter in the future.” The statement was supposed to be a genuine shot at what the future might hold but your body’s treacherous response is far from the innocence of Seokjin’s statement.

Just the thought of it has heat pooling in your abdomen. You haven’t had enough time in your hands to spend time to think about things like that, Seokjin being a newly-crowned king, more so as a newly-wedded couple.

Your husband notices the deep breath you take, his eyes slowly getting darker by the second. He takes the last golden pin from your braids, letting your hair fall into loose waves. You feel relieved when the strain on your scalp melts away in seconds – something that you should’ve been used to by now, considering that you have been royalty all your life, but nothing beats that fresh wave of relief when you free your hair from all the pins and ribbons. That’s why when Seokjin cards his fingers through your locks, you feel the rising of the small hairs at the back of your neck, such mundane action bordering on sensual.

He does this a few more times in silence, just combing through your hair gently, deeming that seeing you fall into such comfort like this is enough for him. His chaste intentions though are all thrown aside when you lean against him, your undone hanbok falls from your shoulder, exposing the skin there in all its glory. Your husband takes all your hair and transfers it on your left shoulder and you tilt your head to the same side, giving him space where he could pepper all his kisses on.

He murmurs sweet nothings against your skin while sending fleeting kisses from your ear’s helix, to your cheek, you jawline then down to your shoulders. “Little you and me running around…” he murmurs while pushing the rest of your hanbok off your body. It doesn’t take much effort, the silken cloth sliding down easily and now you’re just left in your undergarments.

“Would you like that, my queen?” Seokjin asks, fingers thumbing the ribbon that’s keeping together the last layer of clothing you have on. It takes only one breathy ‘yes’ from you and the cloth covering your intimacies falls altogether, leaving no trace of modesty.

He cups both breasts in each palm, squeezing and kneading the flesh. Your nipples are firm, already hardened by the worshipping kisses he places all over. He trails a finger along your jaw, turning your face toward him. His lips meet yours, plump lips pressing gently against your own. When you figure he’s about to pull away, he grips your ass and you gasp, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You moan into the kiss, your heart thudding hard against your ribcage. It’s been too long since you had seen your husband so… sensual. Usually, you’re both in a rush with the sole intent of getting some release but tonight, it seems as if Seokjin is determined to take his time in claiming all of you in the most intimate of ways, slowly but surely like it’s the last night of his life.

Seokjin savors every moan, every whimper as his deft fingers roam your body. He loves every curve and dip; how soft and taut it is at the same time. The milk baths you’ve always indulged in and your younger days of archery and horse riding had definitely done you good. He tries to etch them all into his memory though he knows flashes of images of you in his brain could never give justice to the reality of having you in his arms.

His fingers reach your cunt and he cups it, making you lean further against him for support. You feel the fine sheen of sweat of his torso on his back and for a moment you wonder how he’s managed to take his to take his top off without taking a hand off you. He pulls you away from your thoughts when he tugs you closer to him, shamelessly grinding his erection against your ass. He finds your clit easily through memory, rubbing the sensitive nub, fingers moving slowly in circular motions.

“S-seokjin please,” you beg, knowing you’re nearly there but still so far away, far too greedy to orgasm on clitoral stimulation alone. You needed him inside you. Now. “Speak up, my love,” he orders, shallowly dipping a finger in your cunt and withdrawing it just as quick. “Please. Y-you. Need y- “You’re rendered breathless by his teasing, your hand traveling to tug at his hair. “You want me to put a baby in you, hmm?” He finally pushes a finger in. “You’d love that don’t you? Having to carry the next heir to the throne inside you?” Another finger breaches you, Seokjin chuckling when you let out a loud gasp.

He nips at the shell of your ear, reminding you of the presence of the guards outside in a low whisper. Your hand instantly moves to cover your mouth but Seokjin grabs you by the wrists. “Who told you to cover your mouth, hmm? We both know you want the whole palace to hear how filthy their queen is.” Seokjin must admit, the whole idea is just as pleasing to him as it is to you. You were practically squelching when his fingers quicken the pace, your orgasm coming to you at breakneck speed. The feeling of his fingers toying with your cunt too much for you to handle that you are unable to stop your lover’s name fall like a prayer on your lips. Your whole body trembles in his grip, legs threatening to give in. A whimper escapes you when he pulls his fingers out, sending him a glare through the mirror. You were so, so close.

“My love, as much as I enjoy seeing you wrecked under my touch through the mirror, we have to take this to the bed.” He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek and tugs at your arm, but you stand your ground. You wag a finger at him, ‘tsk’-ing at his impatience. Not until he’d have a taste of his own medicine.

You let your finger trail along his torso, tracing the outlines of his abdominals. Imitating your husband’s  earlier torturous ministrations, you take your time with him, reveling in how much you’ve affected him – how his breathing is getting more labored by the second. You run a finger along the length of his shaft still covered by his pants. He’s already hard, you reckon, feeling it slightly twitch under your touch.

Slowly, you lower down on your knees, tugging his pants down along with your descent. The sight of his cock makes you wet your lips, too eager to please. “My love, you don’t have to,” his hands hover yours that are resting on his hips. It’s not that he didn’t want your mouth on his cock but he just wanted to drawl out this evening for as long as he could. Frankly, he couldn’t afford to release in your mouth without having felt your velvety walls first.

“I want to.” Not wanting to wait any longer, you tentatively place a kiss on the bulbous head, making Seokjin gasp at the contact. You get bolder, gathering some of the precum that has gathered on the tip spreading it along his length your tongue. Using the armrests as leverage, you straighten your back and finally take him in your mouth. Seokjin deems he’ll never get used to this feeling. You vaguely hear him groan above you, but you’re far too busy pushing his shaft farther inside.

You briefly gaze at him through your eyelashes. It’s unfair, you reckon, that even when your lamps cast this golden glow to only one side of his face, he’s just as ethereal as under the light of day. You take him in your mouth as far as you can. When Seokjin throws his head back in pleasure with his wonderfully thick neck on display only for you to see, it ignites a carnal desire in you, so you push yourself further. When he finally hits the back of your throat, you swallow and your husband chokes on air, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto the armrests.

It’s an arduous task, having to try and take control of your breathing as you pleasure your husband. You move up then down slowly until you find a steady rhythm. You feel your eyes water with the pace until his chest starts heaving and you know he’s nearing his climax. “N-no. P-please,” your husband pleads, each word brokenly spoken. Tugging at your hair slightly, he pries you off his mouth, releasing a sigh of relief when you take your mouth off him.

“Bed now.” With your knees still sore from kneeling too long, it takes you some time to get up. Impatiently, the moment you get one of your knees off the ground he hooks his arm below them and lifts you off the ground, carrying you bridal style. “Stop trying to stall.” Seokjin huffs, his lips forming a pout. You giggle at his cuteness, of course even at a time like this, he manages to make you smile like a kid with candy.

He lays you gently on the bed, your hair fanning out on the pillows. He caresses your face with the pads of his fingers and you find yourself leaning against his touch. “My queen,” he sighs, “Your beauty is unrivaled. Truly.” Your lips meet when he closes the distance between the two of you. He stays like that for a moment, his swollen lips placed on top of yours until he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip. You fervently kiss each other, feeling yourself slowly getting lost in the kiss. When he pulls away, your eyes pry open again only to see your husband’s teary ones.

“Seokjin-ie, are you okay? What’s the matter?” He shakes his head, replying, “You’re just so beautiful. I’m the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife.” Your face crumples at his words and you give him another kiss. “How could you possibly think that when so many other women who vying for my position right now? Both literally and figuratively. You’re glad when you get a chuckle out of Seokjin. “As much as I want to argue about who’s the luckier one, I have a more pressing problem. And it’s getting really painful, so please…” His lips close in on one of your breasts, your hand flying up to pull at his hair.

Once again, you’re a moaning mess beneath Seokjin. You’re whining, begging for more than the assault he’s doing on your breasts. He doesn’t waste time in complying with your whims, your legs spreading apart when he shifts his position above you. He braces himself on one arm and you hiss as he swipes against your folds, taking some of the wetness on his palm and rubbing it onto his cock. When he pushes slowly against your entrance, you whimper as he gradually sinks into you. Gods, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, to him.

When he’s fully sank into you to the hilt, he pauses, knowing that you’ll need a moment for the pain to subside into pleasure. Seokjin places kisses your shoulders as he waits for you to adjust to the feeling. You push your hips up, encouraging him to move. Dragging his cock out slowly, he pushes back down just as languidly. “Jin, please,” you beseech, goading him to go faster. The moment the word escapes your lips, Seokjin begins pounding into you relentlessly. He hastily places a pillow under your hips to angle yours better. The next thrust he gets in has you mewling, each stroke easily rubbing up against your g-spot.

Your thighs begin quivering, every fiber of your body ablaze with each plunge of your husband’s hips. Seokjin feels your impending orgasm with your cunt beginning to pulsate against his cock, and he moves one of his hands between your thighs and starts to toy vigorously with your clit.

“Fuck!” you scream, fisting the sheets that now haphazardly dangling from the bed. Your high hits you so strong, your pussy tightening, clamping around Seokjin. His thrusts begin to stutter as you continue to milk his cock. With one final push, Seokjin cums, releasing ropes of cum inside you. He stays on top of you for a moment, too exhausted and worn out to move an inch. Also, because he wishes that this time it finally gets you pregnant, that your earlier inclination to the idea of having a baby inside you is as enthralling as it is to him.

Seokjin finally pulls out of you with a small grunt, elbows that have been holding up his weight finally give in, breathing heavily as he falls to your side.

He hadn’t meant to stay this long.

In fact, when he heard the first moan that fell from your lips, he had sent the rest of the guards to go on patrol to give you and your husband the much-needed privacy. He had intended to keep lookout from the front of the hanok. With one more corridor to clear out before leaving, he took his steps with caution, knowing that this passage was the one next to your room. The palace’s wooden walls will never be thick enough to hide the sounds of pleasure. His ears are already ringing with the faint sound of your moans but there was one section where the sweet sound was most audible. The door to your room was slightly open, the light from your lamps passing through the narrow slit.

He tries to push away the temptation, reminding himself that he has other duties to attend to… right?

Surely, the rebellious troops would have been subdued before they reach the palace…right?

Ultimately, he can’t leave with you sounding so desperate and broken…right?

He knew his resolve was breaking with every step he took nearer towards the thin beam of light.  He takes the final step with bated breath, wincing when the wood creaks under his weight. He lets out a shaky exhale when he finally peeks through the crevice. Your bed is situated right across from where he’s watching – the whole scene like a live show from a festival. He knows this is wrong, that what happens inside the four walls of your chambers is none of his business but when he sees the king flip you and take you from behind, his lips part, suddenly out of breath like he’s the one pounding into you.  

The voyeur continues to watch the whole spectacle with an unrelenting gaze. He watches the unsuspecting royals get lost in their own world while he lingers in perverse amusement. The strain in his silk pants is getting painful, uncomfortable too when the tip of his cock brushes against the wet patch on the cloth. He reproaches himself for his lack of manners tonight but if this mischief shall reward him with a release later on, then he shall remain here, unperturbed.

Moments later Seokjin’s hips stutter and he feels his own hands lose rhythm as well. Your loud moans fill the room as you reach your high, your husband following. His hand moves faster than before, white spurts of cum coating his hand not long after. He shivers when he pulls his pants back up, the silk proving to be too much for the sensitive tip of his cock. When his eyes revert back to the crevice, he sees Seokjin trace patterns on your back while the both of you murmur softly in each other’s arms. Your husband gives you a chaste kiss, lips closing in on the shell on your ear as he whispers something that makes you giggle. He takes this as his cue to leave, hoping that no other guard has lingered around long enough to see him leave the house.

Fortunately, no one sees the dazed captain walk out of the hanok in the middle of the night.

You are momentarily awakened from a fleeting kiss placed on your cheek, the back of your hands rubbing at your drooping eyelids. Body still sore from your activities last night, you blindly reach out for the blue cloak in front of you as you call out your husband’s name. “I hadn’t meant to wake you from your slumber, my love. Go back to sleep.” He strokes your hair gently while humming a soft melody to lull you back to your slumber.

There’s an ache on his chest when he watches sleep take over you once more, soft snores escaping your lips. Seokjin wonders if he would get to see you this peaceful one more time. You shift in your sleep, the blanket revealing purplish marks littered across your chest. Normally, this would’ve sent all his blood pumping south but with the emotion weighing on his shoulders, all he’s thinking about is engraving your beauty into his memory.

The present disposition in his hands had monopolized his time and because of this he knew he had been neglecting you these past few weeks. He wasn’t able to check up on you, ask how your day went, or even join supper, hence your intimacies last night.  Although your husband knew that after all these years together, you were never one to demand affection because you were well aware of his duties as ruler of a nation. Funnily enough, it was he who yearned for that most of time, while you would remind him of his obligations with a chortling intonation.

Usually, you would push him away when he tries to lavish you with kisses even with the guards and court ladies present, but he knew deep inside that you secretly enjoyed them, cheeks turning a rosy red every time he teases you about it. Albeit being born into royalty, you were treated like a slave by your own step-mother so Seokjin knew it would have taken some time before he had successfully lured you out of your shell. And he knew he had forever to show you the love that you were deprived of. Or did he now?

He recalls the time you had both met in your secret rendezvous. It was a garden exhibiting the most gorgeous fusion of pink and green, cultivated to perfection by Seokjin himself and of course with the help of a few chosen gardeners. Included in the garden was a narrow passage with water directly flowing from the Gaeun River. The secluded site was a testament to Seokjin’s love for the color pink. Flowers of all shades of blush are scattered among the lush green grass, from Azaleas to Carnations to Peonies. ‘Most are from foreign lands’ he informs, carefully plucking out a flower and handing one to you. A blush instantly colors your cheeks at this and Seokjin finds it most endearing, unable to resist teasing you. “You seem to blend in just fine with my flowers,” he observes, poking your cheeks, “but you stand out the most.”

Amongst the rosy hued shrubs and mossy rocks, on a small slope stood a singular cherry blossom tree - your most favorite feature of all. Cherry blossoms had always been known to symbolize the transience of life and rebirth. True to your ancestors’ beliefs, this special tree was tangible proof of the metaphor. The tree had witnessed quite a number of your most cherished moments in life. This was where Seokjin brought you when you broke down into tears after escaping the southern palace, this was where he first pecked you on the cheek, and this same tree witnessed Seokjin’s humble request for your hand in marriage.

Regret weighs heavily on him. You were the only constant reality he had in this capricious life. You had been nothing but perfect, always by his side no matter what. Having to bid his farewell like this broke his heart but if he properly did so, it would probably break his heart all the more. Your husband had already made up his mind – he is to leave for the South before the dawn breaks.

Seokjin was hanging onto that small sliver of hope that a discussion on the dilemma may change their minds. The situation in the southern city had inevitably worsened but he had to try. He could be very persuasive if he wanted to, sure, but you always knew it wouldn’t work. Not by a long shot. You made sure to remind him of that fact. That’s why you never supported the idea of visiting the city especially at a time of agitation like this. The southerners are men honed by war and they are not called the nation’s keepers for nothing. They are willing to sacrifice lives rather than heed diplomacy. It had proved beneficial in the past when foreigners wanted to colonize your country, but with a turmoil conceived by its own countrymen, these people are all the more fueled to fight for what they believe in.

Then again, this was his decision. He had to try. He was willing to risk everything for his nation, even if it meant that this might be the last time he’ll be seeing your face. He wanted to be selfish, just this once, to give in to the matters of the heart, but he knew he couldn’t. If he did, then all his parent’s teachings would have been for nothing. Being born into royalty couldn’t have meant anything. Being the king then would lose its meaning.

With tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, he retrieves a scroll, his brush, and an ink block. ‘This all seems unreal’, Seokjin reels. He only takes out the three when he’s making a new proclamation or with pronouncements usually related to the duties of a king. You two could only stay apart for so long and at the end of the day you’d always find yourselves each other’s arms. Not once did he imagine having to write you a letter, let alone one bidding you farewell.

Patches of tears soften different spots on the previously coarse scroll. With dawn fast approaching, Seokjin ends his letter with a lingering kiss on the paper. He retrieves a flower that he’s plucked from the garden and places it together with the scroll he’s left on the bedside table. Seokjin kisses you on the cheek one last time, “Goodbye, my queen.”

© joontier 2020. All rights reserved. 

[daydreamingsora-fics]

GAY FRIEND | CHAPTER 1

pairing/s: Oikawa x reader genre: fluff and angst word count: 2.4k synopsis: you assumed that your classmate, Oikawa , is gay and is dating his childhood friend, Iwaizumi. However, you heard a rumour about Iwaizumi having a girlfriend, so you approaches Oikawa to comfort him. Meanwhile, Oikawa took this situation as an oppurtunity to get close to you and offered you to be his “fake girlfriend”.

masterlists | next

Today is just an ordinary day where you get ready to go to school and walk in the hallway to your classroom. The only difference this time is you’re already in your last year of high school. As you enter your classroom, you greeted your other classmates as walk towards to your seats which beside the window. You took your seat there and took out your notes for the first subject then put it on your desk to prepare for your first subject. You leaned your left elbow on your desk then rest your chin on your left hand and your right warm is laying on the table as your fingers are lightly tapping along the beat you’re listening too. Later on, as you listen to your playlist, a brown headed guy greeted you as he took his seat besides you.

“Good morning, y/n~” he greeted you as soon as he sat beside you and shows you his famous broad smile.

“Good morning too, Oikawa” you greeted back and also gave him a soft smile. He is wearing a pale lilac shirt with a red tie and cream sweater vest partnered with a light brown slacks with a dark brown details that’s similar to your skirt. He is also wearing a white blazer that’s same as yours. 

You have been in the same class with Oikawa for 3 years, and for the past 3 years, you always see him with Iwaizumi.  At first, you thought they are just very close since you heard that they grew up together. But as the time went by, you can’t help but assume that they are actually dating. Even though, you see Oikawa flirts with your other girl classmates, and hear rumours that he has a girlfriend, you still assume that he is dating Iwaizumi. There are small rumours you heard about him flirting with other girls so he can hide his relationship with his best friend. Nevertheless, you didn’t give it much attention because you just lowkey ship the two. 

You notice that he is wearing his glasses today instead of contacts and for your own opinion, him wearing his prescription glasses is way more attractive. 

“it’s really quite strange seeing you wearing your prescription glasses.” you commented as you stare on his face. Oikawa paused for a moment from what he was doing and suddenly his face feels hot. It didn’t slipped from your gaze on how a hint of pink shows on his face. Oikawa released a gawky chuckled as he collected himself then flirtatiously looks at you.

“Is this your way of telling me that you find me attractive?” he said as he sent you off a flirtatious smirk. You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes then says “As if!” smirk plastered on your face.

You and Oikawa are not invisible to each other, the two of you talk and jokes around each other but you guys are not close. Mostly the two of you only talk inside the classroom and only greet each other when you see each other in the hallway. You actually want to ask him if he and Iwaizumi are actually dating, but you don’t want offend him and you are not the type of person who sticks their nose into someone’s business.

The day went on like any other day, new lectures were taught to the class, the teachers are adding more school works to the piled up home works and projects that were already given beforehand. Nothing extraordinary thing happened today in school, except for your calculus teacher that surprised the whole class with 5 items and worth 25 points quiz at the end of the session. You’re really not fond of your calculus teacher, you think he had a bitter childhood experience that’s why he is like acting so terror in your class.

You’re now walking on the way house, with an earphones plug in both of your years and your head was bobbing lightly, feeling the music that you are currently listening to. As you walk on the path towards your home, you notice two familiar tall figures that wears the your school’s uniform. You walked a little bit closely but not too close for you to get notice by those two people. The music that was playing in your earphones earlier were gone as you quietly stood on your spot and observe those two figures. You learned that those two familiar figures are the vice captain and the captain of  the boy’s volleyball club. 

You observed the two them talk to each other and it seems like the two were having an intense argument. With the way how Oikawa’s brows frown and how Iwaizumi looks at him with an intense glare. You see them talk to each other but you didn’t hear anything of what they’re actually talking about. It didn’t took a while, when Iwaizumi walked away and left Oikawa, who have his head down and fist clenching. From your perspective, he seems like he is holding himself from bursting out or do anything that would catch anyone’s attention. You wanted to walk towards him and tell him it’s gonna be okay but you think that you’re not in the place to say it to him. You don’t have that much experience in relationship and the two of you barely talk outside the classroom. 

Oikawa stayed on his position for a couple of minutes before he released a deep sigh to calm his self and looks up the sky with his eyes close. While he stays in that kind of position, he felt like someone was looking at him, so he opened his eyes looks at your direction. You shrieked when the two of you made an eye contact, so you immediately turn your back to his and started walking away. You thought of just going to another route instead of facing him. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you mumbled as you walk fast and hit your head with your knuckles.

“You should have walked away when as soon as you saw him and Iwaizumi having an intense talk. But you didn’t and he saw you looking at him.” you scold yourself while you hold your palm out which you do when you’re frustrated or irritated by something. 

“Now he thinks I’m his creepy classmates who stalks him on his way home” You rambled then exhaled disappointingly, thinking that Oikawa will stop talking to you and will distant himself from you. 

While you’re silently walking, your earphones are now inside the pocket of your blazer along with your phone, you suddenly here someone calls your name which made your eyes widen and make you walk faster again. You don’t need to look back to know who’s that person because you know that the owner of the voice is Oikawa. You can still hear him calling your name so you walk even faster, you turn your head only to see him getting closer to you. Your eyes grew even wider, so you started to run thinking that he might lose you in his sight. But with him having a longer limbs, he had easily catch up to you and reached out one of his hand to hold your shoulder. 

The two of you stopped running, his hand was still gripping your shoulders while you didn’t move to turn around and face him. You’re just there standing chasing for your breathe and thinking of what you would say when he ask about what you’re doing earlier. Oikawa looks at your back as he tries to chase his breathe from running after you, he then turns your around to face him and rest both of his hand on both sides of your shoulders. He looks down on your face trying to have an eye contact with you but you avoided it by looking down at your hands that was fidgeting on the hem of your blazer. 

“Hey y/n—” before he could even start talking, you bowed to him 90 degrees and and started rambling on how sorry you are from not minding your own business.

“I’m sorry for meddling around while you and Iwaizumi-san having a talk earlier. I promise to you that I didn’t hear anything and I’m not stalking you and Iwaizumi-san. Please forgive me! and It’s okay if you will stop talking to me during classes anymore as long as your forgive me, Oikawa-san” you jabbered still bowing to him. Oikawa looks at you in daze, trying to process the words you just rambled out to him. 

“It’s okay, Y/n-san no need to apologize. I know you were not there intentionally, in fact, I think we’re the one who’s at fault because we’re arguing in the middle of the side walk, we should have done it in a more private area” he said as he gaze down on his feet and clenches his fists when he remembered what they were arguing about earlier. You saw how his fist tightens which make his knuckles turns white, you stood up straight then look at Oikawa who’s gaze is still on his feet. 

You looked at him with empathy and suddenly felt conflicted as you thought of comforting and asking what he is feeling right now. You wanted to ask him if he is okay, or if he wanted to be accompany by you.

“I’m fine, y/n, no need to worry” his voice stopped your train of thoughts and you looked at him and see him smiling brightly to you. 

“eh?! did I say it out loud?” you stuttered as you lowkey starting to freak out and turn your gaze away from him. He nodded to you to answer your question and let out a chuckled. 

“It is also okay if we walk together to our home since we have the same route” he uttered which made you squeak. You wanted to be swallowed by the ground as your embarrassment built up inside your body and just suddenly vanished in front of him. But that feeling was set aside when you processed what he just said to you. 

“uhm, how did you know that it’s the path to my house” you quietly asks him as you play with the hem of the sleeves of your blazer. 

“oh, I sometimes see you walk alone on your way home and sometimes when you’re about to walk on the way to school.” He explained as he stares at you and hid his two hands inside the pocket of his slacks. You just nodded slowly as answer then silence surrounded the two of you. 

You look around your surroundings but not him. You still feel embarrass and starting to feel awkward around him. Oikawa looks at you and finds your shyness towards him adorable. The way your cheeks have faded pink and your lips are slightly pouting as you look around. He can help but feel a slight pang in his heart as he stares at your beautiful face. A soft grin was now plastered on his as turn his gaze away from you and looks up to the sky. 

The sun is slowly setting and the two of you needs to go home before it goes dark. 

“Let’s go y/n-san” he said as he looks at you with a soft smile. You just nodded at him and the two of you started walking side by side. 

The walk on the way to your house was quiet and it’s slightly awkward. The hasn’t fully set but the sky is now color purple. The only thing that can heard are the tapping of the shoes on the ground as the two of you walk. The two of you only give each other some side glances when one is not looking but didn’t conversed.

You took a glimpse on Oikawa, who’s walking beside you, and see that he is in dazed. You can see the uneasiness on his face and sadness even though he is looking ahead. You let out a sigh and felt bad for him, it’s not easy to have a quarrel with your boyfriend but it makes your relationship stronger right? You took a glance to him once again before you started talking to him.

“I know I’m not in the place to say this to you since we’re not even close and we only interact inside the classroom but I want you to say that everything’s gonna be okay.” You said and pursed your lips. Oikawa looks at you then turn his gaze down on his feet and nodded slightly. 

“It’s normal to have a misunderstanding with someone, especially in couples right?” you said as you look straight ahead. Meanwhile, Oikawa’s eyes widened then whipped his head to you. His jaw dropped and he could feel his body trembling. 

“w-what?! we are not–” Oikawa tries to deny it but you stopped him and look him with a soft smile on your face. 

“It’s fine, Oikawa-san! You don’t need to worry, I will be quiet about your relationship with Iwaizumi” You assured him so he won’t freaked out. 

“y/n-san, we are not a couple” he tries to deny it again but your ears are closed. You let out a sigh and gave Oikawa a reassuring smile. 

“I know, our world is full of judgments. There are people who are close minded and disgusts relationships like you have with Iwaizumi. And those kind of people are the one should be ashamed on. I know it’s very hard for the two of you and both of you want to keep it secret, so don’t worry my mouth are zipped” you told him then act like you’re zipping your mouth shut. 

Oikawa didn’t say anything because he was still dumbfounded from what you just say and his brain suddenly stopped working. He didn’t know how to explain it you, even though it’s easy to say that he is not dating Iwaizumi but you won’t even listen to him, for goodness sake. He just gazed at you, feeling his soul just left his body.

You again look straight ahead and finally saw your house, so you looked at Oikawa and told him that your house is there. 

“My house is there, Oikawa-san, thank you for walking with me!” you thanked him. You stopped walking then looks at him with a reassuring smile plastered on your face, meanwhile, he looks at you soullessly.

“I hope you and Iwaizumi would make up! I promise to keep your secret safe” you promised as you lift your pinky finger. Oikawa was still in dazed and just unconsciously nodded and raises his pinky finger too as he quietly said “Promise”

You gave him a last wave before you started walkiing towards your house and leave a dumbfounded Oikawa on the side streets.

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A/N: UNEDITED!!!!

[abri-chan]

A thing I've noticed in manga is that as the story progresses usually the characters are also drawn better--their appearance becomes more sharper--and that many times results in the character looking way older than they should look.

Not always, for example fma kept the look of Edwards pretty confident to teen/18 by the end of the story (minus the epilogue), but something like JJBA Vento Aureo make Giorno from early teen looking in the early chapters to a young man by the enr, even though like 2 weeks passed, so he's technically still 15. (Plus the anime artstyle made them all look at the very least young adults from episode one)

I just find it funny in a way.

[future-market-insights]

Paper Cores Market 2021: Increasing Demand for Efficient Management Practices Report

A recent market report published by FMI on the Paper Cores market provides global industry analysis for 2015-2019 & forecast for 2020-2030. The report offers a comprehensive assessment of the most important market dynamics. After conducting thorough research on the historical, as well as current growth parameters of the Paper Cores market, the growth prospects of the market are obtained with maximum precision.

Market Taxonomy

The global Paper Cores market is segmented in detail to cover every aspect of the market and present complete market intelligence to readers.

Material Type

·         Kraft Board

·         Virgin

·         Recycled

·         Paperboard

·         Virgin

·         Recycled

Diameter Type

·         23 mm-76 mm

·         77 mm-152 mm

·         153 mm-229 mm

·         230 mm & above

Application

·         Paper & Polyester

·         Winding & Rewinding

·         Decoration & Specialty Paper

·         Hygiene & Tissue Paper

·         Printing & Coating

End-Use

·         Paper & Polyester

·         Electronic

·         Textile

·         Constructing

·         Beverage Packaging

Region

·         North America (U.S & Canada)

·         Latin America (Brazil, Mexico, Argentina & Rest of Latin America)

·         Europe (Germany, Italy, France, U.K., Spain, BENELUX, Nordics, Russia, Poland & Rest of Europe)

·         South Asia (India, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia & Rest of South Asia)

·         East Asia (China, Japan & South Korea)

·         Oceania (Australia & New Zealand)

·         Middle East & Africa (GCC, Turkey, Northern Africa, South Africa & Rest of MEA)

 Report Chapters

Chapter 01 – Executive Summary

The report begins with the executive summary of the paper cores market, which includes a summary of the key findings and statistics of the market. It also includes dominant segments in the global paper cores market, along with key facts about paper cores market. Furthermore, this section includes analysis and recommendation.

Chapter 02 – Market Overview

Readers can find detailed taxonomy and definition of the paper cores market in this chapter, which will help them understand the basic information about paper cores market present in the market. This section also highlights the inclusions and exclusions, which help readers to understand the scope of the paper cores market report.

Chapter 03 – Global Paper Cores Market Demand Analysis 2015–2019 and Forecast, 2020–2030

This section explains the global market volume (Mn units) and value (US$ Mn) analysis and forecast for the paper cores market between the forecast period of 2020-2030. It includes the detailed analysis of the historical paper cores market, along with Y-o-Y growth opportunity for the forecast period (2020-2030) and opportunity analysis for the future.

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Chapter 04 – Global Paper Cores Market - Pricing Analysis

This section highlights the average pricing analysis on the basis of product type of paper cores market in different regions across the globe. The weighted average pricing at the manufacturer-level is analyzed in this section.

Chapter 05 – Market Background

This chapter includes detailed information about parent market and key forecast factors that are expected to influence the growth of paper cores market over the forecast period. This chapter also highlights the key market dynamics of the paper cores market, which include the drivers, restraints, opportunities, and trends. This section also includes value chain analysis which represents product flow from raw material or component supplier till the end users.

Chapter 06 – Impact of COVID-19

This section includes a comprehensive study of impact of COVID-19 on the global paper cores market.

Chapter 07 – Global Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030, By Region

This chapter explains how the paper cores market is expected to grow across various geographical regions such as North America, Latin America, Europe, Middle East & Africa (MEA), East Asia, South Asia, and Oceania.

Chapter 08 – Global Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015–2019 and Forecast 2020–2030, By Material Type

Based on material type, the paper cores market is segmented as kraft board and paperboard. In this chapter, readers can find information about key segments during the forecast period.

Chapter 09 – Global Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015–2019 and Forecast 2020–2030, By Diameter

Based on diameter, the paper cores market is segmented into 23 mm – 76 mm, 77 mm – 152 mm, 153 mm – 229 mm, 230 mm & above. In this chapter, readers can find information about key attractive segments during the forecast period.

Chapter 10 – Global Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015–2019 and Forecast 2020–2030, By Application

Based on application, the paper cores market is segmented paper & polyester, winding and re-winding, decoration & specialty paper, hygiene & tissue paper, and printing & coating. In this chapter, readers can find information about applications during the forecast period.

Chapter 11 – Global Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015–2019 and Forecast 2020–2030, By End Use

Based on end use, the paper cores market is segmented as paper & polyester, electronic, textile, construction, and beverages packaging. In this chapter, readers can find information about end use during the forecast period.

Chapter 12 – North America Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

This chapter includes a detailed analysis of growth of the North America paper cores market, along with a country-wise assessment that includes the U.S. and Canada. Readers will also find some of key points on the basis of estimated market size and consumption of paper cores market.

Chapter 13 – Latin America Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

Readers can find detailed information about regional trends, which are impacting the growth of the Latin America paper cores market. This chapter also includes the growth prospects of the paper cores market in leading countries in Latin America such as Brazil, Mexico, Argentina, and Rest of Latin America.

Chapter 14 –Europe Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

Important growth prospects of the paper cores market based on , material type, diameter, and end use in several countries such as Germany, the U.K., France, Spain, Italy, BENELUX and Nordic, Russia, Poland, and Rest of Europe are included in this chapter.

Chapter 15 –South Asia Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

This chapter highlights the key trends in the regional market along with value and volume analysis for historic and forecast period. . This chapter also includes the growth prospects of the paper cores market in leading countries such as India, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Rest of South Asia.

Chapter 16–East Asia Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

This chapter highlights the growth of the paper cores market in East Asia by focusing on China, Japan, and South Korea. The section also highlights data points regarding the growth of the paper cores market in East Asia.

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Chapter 17 –Oceania Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

In this section, readers can find detailed information about the growth parameters of the Oceania paper cores market during the forecast period of 2020-2030. This chapter also includes the growth prospects of the paper cores market in leading countries such as Australia and New Zealand.

Chapter 18 – Middle East and Africa Paper Cores Market Analysis 2015-2019 and Forecast 2020-2030

This chapter provides information about how the paper cores market will grow in major countries in the MEA region such as GCC Countries, Turkey, South Africa, North Africa, and Rest of MEA during the forecast period 2020 - 2030.

Chapter 19 – Paper Cores Market Country-wise Analysis and Forecast

This chapter provides information about how the paper cores market will grow in various countries such as United States, Canada, Germany, Brazil, Mexico, Germany, Italy, France, U.K., Spain, Russia, Poland, Turkey, South Africa, GCC Countries, Japan, South Korea, China, India, Australia, and New Zealand across the regions during the forecast period 2020 - 2030.

Chapter 20 – Market Structure Analysis

In this chapter, readers can find detailed information about the tier analysis and market concentration of key players in the paper cores market along with their market presence analysis by region and product portfolio.

Chapter 21– Competition Analysis

In this chapter, readers will find a comprehensive list of all leading manufacturers in the paper cores market, along with detailed information about each company, including company overview, revenue shares, strategic overview, and recent company developments. Some of the market players featured in the report are Sonoco Products Company, CPPC Public Co., Ltd., Advanced Paper Tube, Inc., YAZOO MILLS Inc., Eerste Nederlandse Rondkartonnagefabriek B.V. (ENR), Smurfit Kappa Group, Eco Canister, Kunert Group, ALBERT EGER GmbH & Co. KG, Hansen Packaging, Callenor Co Inc., Ace Paper Tube Corporation, ImPakt packaging, Valk Industries, Inc., Western Container Corporation, Chicago Mailing Tube Co. and Romiley Board Mill.

Chapter 22– Assumptions and Acronyms             

This chapter includes a list of acronyms and assumptions that provide a base to the information and statistics included in the paper cores market report.

Chapter 23 – Research Methodology

This chapter helps readers understand the research methodology followed to obtain various conclusions, as well as important qualitative and quantitative information, about the paper cores market.

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[gtseven7]

Seven Princes

Summary:

Seven handsome travelling entertainers capture hearts of the crowd by their amazing voices and artisic dancing as they slowly drain their audience's inner soul magic.

A/N:

THE COMEBACK WAS AMAZING ADSGHSJAJKL. OMG I CANT. GOT7 IS THE BEST THEY ARE KINGS. NOT BY THE MOON IS MY GODDESS AND POISON IS MY BITCH LOL

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to this person who have been commenting on al chapters. Thank you so much @edentaba It means a lot to me! 💚💚💚

prev/next

--

11

Staying in Enre became quite impossible for the three of them. Mark, who worked in the restaurant pleaded the owner to hire the two as well. So that the three of them can make a living, save enough money to get away and start a new life. But it proved to be difficult as the owner, a woman who has no compassion and belittles others, did not accept Jaebum and Jinyoung. She kicked out Mark too, for bringing more leeches in her place.

[[MORE]]

"We're sorry. Because of us you lost your job." Jaebum was solemn as they all sit on the cement floor of an alley near the eatery. The two travellers were shocked to see Mark's shoulders shaking, his head hung low. "Oh! He's crying hyung!" The two boys scrambled to comfort the older boy. It wasn't their intention for this to happen. He offered and it seems like a good idea at that time... "We'll help you find a new work!"

"Yes we will then we'll leave you alone and leave the town, sorry for the inconveniece!"

An unexpected bark of laughter startled the two. Mark's eyes were full of tears but they were not lonely. His eyes were bright with amusement. "Did...did you see her face? She was so mad I thought her head's gonna explode! Hahaha!" Auburn hair flopped around as he rolled on the floor laughing. The Dilfae boys froze in confusion. "Wh-what?" Jinyoung's frown deepened further, his mouth slightly agape, before schooling his face into an unreadable one. Jaebum stayed speechless. When Mark came to himself and dusted of himself, he was surprised by the smack on his head. "Ah!" Looking up to see who hit him, he saw Jinyoung's stoic cold expression. "Hey! I'm older than you!"

"I know. But you're stupid so, you deserved it."

If jaws can stretch further, Jaebum was sure his opened mouth will reach the floor. He couldn't believe his younger friend actually hit Mark, who's not only older than Jinyoung but also older than Jaebum himself. But the ridiculousness of the situation ticked him, snorting in amusement. He laughed out loud and so did Mark, leaving Jinyoung to pout by himself.

"Thank you guys. I'm happy, really really happy. That joint was the worst! I'm glad I'm out of there."

It was almost night time again. A day had passed so quick with just them sitting in an alleyway, joking around and exchanging silly stories. Theh shared their painful memories as well. How Dilfae was destroyed, hiw they became orphan in an instant. "Oh you wouldn't believe it! Jaebum hyung has this really awesome power! He glowed then all of the enemies were down after that!" Jinyoung was too excited, his eyes glimmering under the moonlight. Mark who was absorbed in the other's story was nodding, too focused on Jinyoung's words. Jaebum on the other hand, he was angry. He looked at his hand again. The one that held his father's blood. He wasn't able to save his Pa, he killed the villagers as well. He realized it now. That white light was him, obliterating everything. He killed the whole town. He doesn't knkw if he would be grateful about this immese magic being gone. Old Man Nich, the doctor who treated him apparently knows a bit of magic.

"I felt it in you when they layed you here. That strong magic emitting out of you. It was unlike I've ever felt before. A magic so powerful. I'm quite sure it was from the deepest corners of your soul."

The force of that magic he opened hastily, without knowing how he did or to even use it, damaged his body. Hence his sickness would worsen if his magic does not die down; killing him the process. In defense, Jaebum's body fought the potency of the soul magic was shut down to salvage his life.

Once again, the power his father had been longing to see in his some was gone.

"I really want to learn magic you know! Just like Jaebum hyung and his father."

Ah, Jinyoung's innocent smile when he looked at Jaebum made his heart ache.

"Sorcerers?! Woah! I want to learn too!"

[terresdebrumestories]

Clark Kent, of Krypton - 2/4: Shadow

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 20 640 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onzz, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [I. Kal-El] [III. Superman] [IV. Clark Kent] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you, still, to @stuvyx for the wonderful illustrations and to @susiecarter for the beta :D

“Can you see him?”

Shadow leans a little harder on his hands, peering over the curve of the Citadel dome to survey one of several guest quarters’ balconies. In the sky, Krypton’s moons shine crimson over the lands, their light like blood spread over the planes of the jagged mountains and the pale stone of the Citadel, the balconies below painted in a burgundy darker than even Shadow’s suit.

“Not yet,” he tells Support, his own voice too loud in the confines of his helmet. “Maybe he’s just not in the mood to come out tonight.”

“You would know better than me,” Kara replies, slipping out of her more professional tones. “I am not his friend.”

The truth is, neither is Shadow. He may have brought Batman out of his destroyed spacecraft and into the Els’ residence, but they have not talked to one another—nor, indeed had any contact at all—since that fateful winter day. It is easy for Shadow to remember it: the bitter cold biting at the tips of his fingers after the suit had to divert power away from temperature regulation for a while. The ache in his limbs even as he set dreams of his bed aside and decided to push himself through another rescue. The burning heat of flames licking at his face once he pulled Batman out of his destroyed spacecraft and willed his helmet off to examine the man’s wounds. Batman, on the other hand, was unconscious for the whole process, and kept under for over a day after his rescue. What little connection exists between him and Shadow is one-sided, at best.

Not that Shadow has not been paying attention to the shipwrecked man. He has kept a close ear to the gossip spread about him, just in case curiosity should have turned into resentment. In the end, though, the ever-faster advance of the Melokariel Proposition has kept most of El—and Shadow—far too busy to worry about a lone alien who does not even have the decency to look different from regular Kryptonians. This, of course, proved to be an oversight once Batman, smarter than most Kryptonians and in a far better position to notice the abnormalities in the Principality’s political proceedings, started noticing something was amiss and taking an interest in the situation.

As it is, though, there is nothing Shadow can do about it but be wary of Batman’s involvement. It is rumored that Pol Vea-Ry, the Wise Queen of Warriors, will call for another vote on the matter soon; and, like Kara, Shadow is inclined to agree with those who speculate that Tsiahm-Lo will vote with her...and with two Council members out of five in favor, it is likely that those in El who would rather not see the project come to fruition will continue on the same road they were already taking, only at a harder pace than before. There will be many families reaching for the colonies in the months to come, and more militia—Ellon or otherwise—doing everything they can to prevent that. There is blood on the walls of the Citadel. Some of it, Shadow helped put there. More often than not, though, he failed to save those who spilled it, and in the urgency of the situation, Batman, like many of the pettier offenders Shadow used to worry about in the beginning, had to fall low on the list of priorities.

Until, that is, it was discovered that the alien has had dealings with the Green Lanterns.

“There he comes,” Shadow says.

Not a moment too soon, either. The suit is strong enough to help with most physical tasks Shadow has to perform, but sticking to the wall like an overgrown spider requires a lot of muscle control, and the effort never fails to leave Shadow stiff and uncomfortable.

“Is he alone?”

Shadow waits until Batman crosses the balcony and braces his arms against the railing, gazing over the outer city and the mountains beyond, before he answers in the affirmative.

“Good,” Kara says. Then, in a grumble: “I wish the repairs on my handscreen weren't taking so long. I hate being unable to see what is going on on your end.”

“I’d offer to describe everything,” Shadow retorts as he braces himself for a jump, “but I’m afraid that would make me sound a tad more insane than I’d like to appear.”

He smirks when Kara snorts. Then he pushes against the Citadel wall and, in a small shower of everlasting concrete, drops a dozen feet downwards. He can almost hear Kara’s eyes roll when he puts the elasticity of his suit to good use and sticks the landing with very little impact to his joints. Vain, he realizes, but still much faster than crawling downward—and much more dignified too.

“I was wondering if you’d show yourself,” Batman says, quiet and unsurprised, as Shadow rises to his feet.

And here Kara thought Shadow enjoyed dramatics.

He takes a step closer to Batman, careful to remain in the part of the balcony that can’t be seen from the inside, and does not put much effort in disguising his amusement when he speaks.

“You could have said something,” he replies, adopting the grammatical forms of a middle-class man addressing an equal.

He rolls his eyes when Batman chooses stony silence over even a simple shrug. Part of Shadow wants to wait the man out, but he decides to be the bigger masked creature and ask:

“Do you know who I am?”

“I’ve heard of you.”

Batman falls into silence again. Under his helmet, Shadow's mouth opens in disbelief. Theatrics can be useful, he will admit to that much, especially where civilians are concerned. That Batman would use the same tactics on him, though? It rankles more than Shadow would have anticipated, and his shoulders stiffen in response. He manages to suppress a scoff at the last second, and then goes to stand at the railing, careful to stay out of view from the room, just in case.

Kal-El, of course, would shrink from such a chilly welcome and sink into himself. Shadow knows he cannot afford to let himself be defeated so easily, though, and so he ignores both Batman’s reservation and Kara’s comment—“How in Rao’s name did you of all people manage to draw this man into a conversation?”—before he reaches into his pocket and produces the Green Lanterns’ bracelet.

“I think this is yours,” he tells Batman.

He does not change his tone—casual, but polite. A simple conversation between strangers of equal ranking, though technically it is something of a demotion for Batman; but the other man still gives him a sharp look before he takes his bracelet back. His expression, mostly unchanged, seems grimmer than usual but not outright hostile, and Shadow waits the silence out, solid as a stone and patient as the sun. Shadow is not a petty creature—cannot afford to be—but he cannot be the only one to make a move here.

“The Els say you brought me here.”

This is not the reaction Shadow was hoping for, but it is not rejection, either, and so he shrugs as he says, “I thought this would be where you’d have the best chance of survival...if any. Would you rather I’d left you where I found you?”

“How did you know they would take me in?”

“Gods, he is starting to remind me of Queen Ra-Ul,” Kara sighs in Shadow’s ears.

It is not a compliment.

“The Prince and his wife are well known for their devotion to Rao,” Shadow says, ignoring Kara's comment. “Assuming they would help you didn’t seem like that big a leap of faith.”

It is difficult to say whether Batman means for his scoff to go unnoticed or not, but Shadow hears it either way. He knows better than to react to it, though, and says instead:

“I would have had more reservations, if I’d known you were working with one of Krypton’s oldest and most prominent enemies.”

The only entities Krypton—especially its upper classes—resents more than the Green Lanterns are Feyar, Paom, and Koahu: three planets who formed an alliance to fight their way free of Kryptonian dominion long before the Lanterns were ever a dream. Still, fourth on the list of mortal enemies of your host planet is nothing to scoff at, and Shadow knows for a fact that Batman is smart enough to realize that.

“I knew some people would be unhappy about the connection,” Batman says. “I did not expect you to be one of them.”

“Do you always evade questions, or are you just giving me special treatment?”

“I like to keep my options open.”

On the other end of the line, Kara groans. Shadow does not react in any way that will be obvious to Batman, but he is rather inclined to agree. He rolls his eyes again, but does not quite manage to prevent his shoulders from tightening a fraction. He had been expecting some evasion on Batman’s part. He would have attempted the same if their positions were reversed. But what Batman is doing now is starting to verge on sabotage, and neither Shadow nor Kara—nor, he suspects, Batman himself—have time to waste on this particular dance.

“I’m not here to antagonize you,” he tells Batman, pausing to give him the time to absorb the new word. “You’re right, I work with the Lanterns too. Or I work with people who work with them, to be precise. I do still need to know what you’re doing here.”

“I’m not a spy,” Batman says.

“’That’s what a spy’d say’,” Kara says in an exaggerated version of Shadow’s more casual grammar, her voice dropping a half-octave at least.

Under the helmet, Shadow rolls his eyes.

“That, I can believe,” he says, ignoring the slap of what he assumes is Kara’s hand hitting her forehead. “You have still been asking too many questions about the Melokariel Proposition, and you've been seen in places you shouldn’t have been visiting.”

Batman has also been seen leaving his rooms at night, via this very balcony. Sending Kryo to spy on him was not an easy decision to make, and a sliver of Kal’s shame pricks at Shadow’s conscience, but he pushes it aside. The literary association between him and The Shadow may not have been his choice, but he does take the role seriously, and one whose mission it is to protect an entire realm cannot afford to let even friendship stop them.

“Maybe you don’t care about the consequences that could have for the House of El—”

“No one would suspect them of colluding with me,” Batman cuts in with a slight snap to his voice. “Everyone at court knows the only one of them who will spend any time with me is a timid simpleton. They will assume he couldn’t have guessed anything, and they will be right.”

Batman has gone back to higher-class inflections for this last sentence, the sudden distance he puts between himself and Shadow a stark reminder of Kal’s experiences at court, and it takes more effort than it usually would to ignore the wound and remain Shadow.

“Be that as it may,” Shadow says, relieved to hear no tightness in his voice, “I need—”

“Kal!” Kara all but shouts at him, “say something, for Vohc’s sake! You are not a simpleton!”

“The Els have been helpful, in their way,” Shadow tells Batman without acknowledging his cousin, “and considering their potential replacements, it’s in the Principality’s best interest that they stay in power, at least for the moment.”

“If you say so,” Batman says.

His face has not changed, but Shadow has heard Batman’s voice enough to recognize the smirk in his tone. It gives the impression of something more behind the word, some sort of double meaning, almost suggestive. Shadow’s face heats up beneath his helmet, and he finds himself abruptly glad that Batman cannot see him. Not that it does him any good, as his blush is perfectly audible when he answers:

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not what’s happening here.”

“If you say so,” Batman repeats, mild and unconcerned.

“That,” Kara sighs into her communicator, “was pathetic.”

Shadow is not the type of creature whose shoulders hunch at the slightest provocation, but that does not mean he disagrees with his cousin’s words. It is hardly a surprise that he lost the upper hand several questions ago. He knew, after all, that this was Batman’s aim, and allowed the conversation to progress anyway because he felt cooperation would be a better way to proceed...and also, in large part, because he thought Batman would reciprocate. He did not, though, and now Shadow realizes he will need to pry if he wants to leave this conversation with any clear information.

The problem being, of course, that he has no idea how to do that.

Shadow was never meant to interrogate anyone, especially not someone who evidently knows his way around inconvenient questions. Militia men, for the most part, expect brute force, because this is what they were trained against, which makes it easy to trick them with more subtle tactics. And in any case, half of the time either Kara or Kal can glean more precise information through their superiors, anyway. Interrogating Batman, though, let alone in a meaningful way? Shadow never learned how to do that. At first, it was naivety. Shadow once thought the Militia members who hurt citizens during arrests, or were unnecessarily violent with them, were rogue elements, and that bringing them to justice with sufficiently obvious proof would be enough to shatter what he believed was inertia on their superiors’ parts. This happened often in the beginning, hope holding out against all else, even proof at times. But as time went on, it became apparent El’s police forces—and, later, the Council’s Militia—did not focus on criminals with nearly as much zeal as they did on reminding the whole of El that the Wise Council loved them, protected them, and deserved nothing less than their utter respect and total obedience. Eventually, Shadow saw enough of these visits—often reasonably scheduled, but just as often happening late at night, or other times when citizens would not have expected to be visited.

One day, one such house call ended with the police dragging an entire family away from their home in the middle of the night, pushing them all into an aircraft, and spiriting them away over the mountains. Shadow stood and watched as it happened, a weight like stones in his guts telling him he ought to intervene. The younger, more hopeful part of him—the one that still believed the way the members of the court rejected the lower classes’ grammatical forms of Ellon so completely as to make them almost into a foreign language had to be a bug rather than a feature—told him to wait. Wait, make sure. Trust that things would turn out all right. But then a week passed. The family did not come back. One week became two, became three, and if would have taken many more to convince Shadow if Queen Oa Ni-Col—Kara’s mother, whose independence of thought and outspoken nature had always been noted at court—had not made the unexpected decision to overcome a debilitating fear of heights in order to fling herself off her bedroom balcony into the mountains, hundreds of feet below.

“Batman,” Shadow tries again, “I realize you don’t care about the Els. That’s your right. But your actions will have an impact on more than just them if you’re not careful, and I won’t be able to mitigate the consequences of you being caught if I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Shadow’s voice is pitched lower than Kal’s. It rings clearer, too. This time it rises on the last few words though, pleading bleeding in at the edges, and for a moment Shadow almost fears he is about to be unmasked. What happens instead is a long silence before Batman eventually nods. Shadow has practice hiding his relief by now, and so his body language does not change. But the rush is still there, and it takes him a moment to realize Batman is staring at his helmet with almost frightening intensity.

He has rarely been this glad for the two-way mirror effect of his visor.

“I am not here to hurt anyone,” Batman says, sounding as if it is costing him some effort to reveal even that much. “But there is something strange about the Melokariel Proposition.” He pauses and then, even more reluctantly than before, finishes: “Whatever it is about.”

“He’s been investigating all this time and he does not know what it would do?” Kara exclaims on her end of the line. “What a—Kal, you have to keep him off the field!”

Shadow tends to agree, but to tell her so would be to reveal her to Batman, and he would rather avoid that as long as possible. The fewer people who know Shadow does not work alone, the safer Kara will stay.

“There is,” Shadow tells Batman, “and I’ll explain as soon as I can. I don’t have the time for it tonight—there are other things I need to do—but I’ll explain. All I ask in exchange is that you stay inside tonight, and wait for my instructions.”

“Does he look like he intends to cooperate?”

Batman’s shoulders have tightened. His neck stiffens and, by his side, the fingers of his right hand clench together. Shadow can’t tell Kara as much, but he suspects she has a fairly good idea as to the answer anyway. It is not, after all, that surprising. Batman has been too invested in this research, is too strong-willed to give up when someone asks him to. And if these were not indications enough, there is the matter of his obvious disdain for and disappointment with Kal-El’s lack of interest in politics. None of that speaks of Batman being able to let go of the topic.

Besides, Shadow thinks in a surprisingly detached, distant way, if even Batman does not think twice about Kal-El’s lack of knowledge after spending such an extended amount of time with him, no one else will. It is reassuring information to have, even if it will do nothing but fan the flames of Kal’s shame.

None of that, of course, makes the matter of Batman’s involvement with Krypton’s political issues any less of a problem...or a mystery.

“I mean it,” Shadow insists, hoping despite an increasingly loud sense of resignation that Batman will decide to surprise everyone and actually cooperate. “You don’t know enough about Krypton or the Proposition for this to end with anything other than you dead in a ditch.”

That is, after all, where Shadow would have ended up more than once, if not for the suit and Kara’s support. Batman, however, does not seem all that disposed to see it, and Shadow restrains himself from sighing. He steps onto the balcony railing instead, orders the suit to shift into its gliding form and, as soon as the batons on his back have melted into wings, jumps down and to the right, as if aiming for the more populous areas of the outer city.

“It is a good thing we never made you into a politician,” Kara says. “That went terribly.”

“I noticed, thank you,” Shadow says, the part of him that still belongs to Kal even while in the suit shriveling with humiliation.

“You are welcome. There is no improvement without feedback.”

Kal does not reply to that, too focused on his second-least-favorite part of gliding in the suit: the landing. The maneuver is tricky enough when he aims for a horizontal surface and has enough room to use a proper parachute—to land on the Citadel’s outer wall, with its near verticality and smooth surface is another exercise altogether, and he is never as grateful for the suit’s gripping claws as when he has to perform this specific operation.

“Almost no roll this time,” Kara teases, more good-natured than dismayed now. “You are getting good with this thing.”

“And here I thought not dying in it on the first try was already a sign of competence,” Shadow retorts.

Kara snorts at the quip and, Shadow is pretty sure, mutters something about him needing to be like this more often. He ignores it, used to that sort of remark by now, and makes his way back toward Batman’s balcony.

“You are panicking again.”

“I’m not.”

“Kal, this suit monitors your heartbeat.”

“I know,” Shadow retorts, “and I know I’m scared, but this is still not me panicking.”

Shadow, unlike Kal, does not panic. It would be a lie to say he is unaffected, of course, especially when the smallest slip could easily mean a death as gruesome as his aunt’s—and as Shadow, he has a better understanding of what that would be like than most. Nevertheless, he is not only still moving, but also in full possession of his wits. This is nothing close to panic.

“All right, then,” Kara concedes. “Are you nearly there? Distances are harder to judge on two dimensional displays.”

“I am,” Shadow says.

Down below, to Shadow’s complete lack of surprise, Batman is still standing on his balcony...or, more precisely, on the balcony’s railing. The moons shine overhead, irregular shadows casting Batman in dramatic shades of crimson and black as his cape flares out in the wind, jagged ends like daggers slicing the air. Kal watches the man’s ramrod-straight posture, the set of his shoulders, the angle of his neck as he surveys the western half of the outer city, and sighs.

“Is something the matter?” Kara asks.

“Nothing,” Shadow says.

Part of him wants to tell her she is not allowed to call him overdramatic again, but the thought feels bizarrely like a betrayal, and so he keeps it to himself. Besides, to speak his mind here would do nothing but spark a discussion they have already had a thousand times between them. No, it is not his fault Zod’s engineers conceived the suit as a body-tight armor. No, it is not his fault crimson is the best camouflage in El’s particularly clear nights, and no, it is not his fault the shape of his helmet—the only one he has found that allows for a clear panel of display beads while still protecting him—makes Shadow look like a vengeful bug. He knows it, and he knows Kara knows it. It prevents neither Kara teasing him about it every chance she gets, nor Kal feeling irrationally insecure about it. Deciding that silence is the better part of honor, Shadow keeps his mouth shut and focuses on not losing his grip on the wall instead.

“Does it look like he is about to leave?” Kara asks after a short pause. “Did he bring some sort of rope?”

“Nothing I can see, but he does seem to be bracing for a jump.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kara exclaims, her breathing disrupting the connection for one uncomfortable moment. “There is at least six thousand feet between that balcony and the city! He can’t possibly make that jump!”

“I’ve made it before,” Shadow points out, and is not surprised when Kara hisses:

“Against my advice! And you are wearing the best armor Krypton has to offer—what does Batman even have? A fancy cape.”

“I don’t know how he plans to survive the drop either. I mean, the nearest rooftops are only about two thousand feet away but—”

“That does not make the situation any better!”

Kara is making a fair point, here, but before Shadow can concede it, Batman takes a deep breath and, with one powerful push of his thighs, throws himself off the balcony. Shadow, heart rising in his throat, forces air back into his lungs even as he jumps off the wall, letting the suit rearrange the material of his wing to absorb the worst of the impact. He rolls to his feet in the same movement and runs up to the railing just in time to see Batman, cape extended into a makeshift glider that slows his descent, shoot some kind of line at a decorative beam below and a few feet in front of him.

A moment later, the line tenses. Batman’s entire silhouette—clearly meant to evoke a particular image—glides into a curved trajectory like a bird turning in the sky. From Shadow's vantage point, there is no sign Batman even considered the possibility of failure. He must have, just as he must have carefully considered the precise trajectory needed for this specific jump. Yet not an ounce of fear, or even hesitation, shows through in him, as if the men of Batman’s planet were always meant to move this way. Batman’s line shortens as he goes, bringing him into a curve short enough that it is easy—or looks easy—for him to let go of his handle on his line, flip in the air and, catching the beam with his gloved hand, right himself upon it as if on any regular floor.

The technique in itself is actually similar to Shadow’s own mode of travel in the city, though with very different tools. The elegance of it, however, the complete confidence Batman has in his own body and proprioception—Shadow, mouth and throat abruptly dry, swallows hard.

“He took the jump,” Kara says with a sigh, “didn’t he?”

“He did,” Shadow says, not surprised in the least by the way awe tinges his tone. “He looks fine.”

Better than fine, even, but Shadow doesn’t quite know how to describe the feeling that seized his heart and squeezed at his chest at the sight, has no idea what contracted his stomach in such a way. He takes a silent, fortifying breath rather than attempt the exercise and announces:

“I’ll follow him tonight. Let the Dark Sun know I won’t be able to make the run.”

“That’ll push the next ship back three days, at least,” Kara says, the frown easy to hear in her voice.

“I know, and I’m not happy about it either, but we need to know what his intentions are. I don’t think we’ll get a much better opportunity than this.”

“Fine,” Kara replies with an explosive sigh. “I will let them know. Switching to one way audio, now.”

Shadow thanks her for the courtesy even as his audio input clicks off. It is a silly superstition—or an impractical hangup, depending on the nature of his mood at the moment of description—of his that he cannot take complicated jumps while he can hear Kara talk, or breathe, or indeed make any noise at all. It is not her fault and, though Shadow knows the habit displeases her, it is not a true choice on his part, either.

Eight years he has been Shadow now, six with this suit, and even before that—when he had to climb down the entire service elevator shaft and then climb back up the roofs of the outer city—the slightest diversion of his attention would halt his first jump. There comes a point during the night, when he is focused enough—when he is Shadow enough—that silence is not such an absolute prerequisite. A point where he loses himself in his suit and his self-imposed mission, so deeply that he can ignore the distraction. But never for the first jump. Not while he steps away from the balcony railing, not when he briefly asks Rao not to let him fall. Not when he takes off at a running start, jumps up to the railing, and, using his momentum to add to the force of his jumps, gives a great push against the balcony railing, throwing himself into empty air and the sickening lurch of freefall.

It is not possible to shut off natural audio feedback from the helmet—not with the way Shadow programmed the suit, in any case—and so despite the slowing mechanism, similar in effect to Batman’s glider cape, the wind screams past his ears as the glittering lights of the outer city hurl themselves at him. There is just enough time for him to wonder if Batman, too, has to fight the gut-clenching fear that this time will be the one he misses and does not come back.

Then the moment to catch himself comes, and Shadow sets all thoughts of Batman aside. The extra material of his suit shoots forward, nanobots so attuned to Shadow’s needs they almost feel like a living thing, and with a similar curve to the one that caught Batman, Shadow lands hard on the decorative beam.

Now, to find Batman. The man is at least as comfortable swinging from roof to roof as Shadow is. It is also quite possible—almost certain, really, judging from what Shadow has seen—that Batman is much more at ease than he is with this exercise...which means the technical difficulty of any given path won’t be any help in determining whether Batman went that way or not.

Shadow allows himself a small sigh, surprised when Kara does not immediately ask what is wrong, and forces himself to think. There are two obvious routes from where Shadow stands: straight forward, going away from the Citadel wall and into the wealthier areas of the outer city; or backward, closer to the more impoverished neighborhoods. Going forward would be easier, for decorative cornices and railings become more numerous as the city goes on, and the lodgings there are easier to climb. At the very least, the risk of having those crumble underfoot is much lower than in the inner circle of the city, especially this far away from the Citadel’s main gates. Batman, however, has been researching the Melokariel Proposition for far too long to forget it now, and since as far as Shadow knows the project is almost exclusively discussed in terms of what it will do for noble families and noble pockets….Shadow starts toward the wall.

“Shad—damn it—Shadow do you hear me?”

Shadow grunts as he pulls himself on a curved roof, scanning his surroundings with one practiced sweep of his gaze. No trace of Batman, and now this.

“That’s the third time we've lost contact this week.”

“I am aware,” Kara sighs. “The vote has yet to be called, but Zor-El has allowed three different soundings already. Your installation is functional enough, but it cannot compete against that.”

Behind her, there is the low, regular buzz of a mechanical fan, and Shadow sighs. He does not have the technical skills to compete with his uncle’s police, let alone the Council’s Militia. He is...not quite incompetent, but he does not have it in him to make technological miracles. What he did have however, especially back when he first prepared himself to become Shadow, was a lot of time and unlimited access to ancient tomes on primitive technologies such as radio waves and binary coding. It took him quite a while and even more trial and error, but he did manage to build himself a central database no one on El would ever think to scan for, its near-prehistoric workings the very source of its secrecy. Later on, when Kara joined him as Support, she positively laughed at the setup, though Shadow could never quite figure out why she did.

In any case, the installation has worked well for them so far. There is no way to secure it against official forces’ technology, of course, but that is almost a non-problem in the sense that Shadow’s entire existence hinges on absolute secrecy and everything turning out as well as possible each and every night. Were he someone else—an independent Lord, perhaps, or a more ordinary citizen—there might be ways to justify the scrapes and bruises that come with his nocturnal life...but how do you explain serious injuries on someone who, like Kal-El, barely ever sets foot outside of his parents’ extremely secure residence, and even then almost exclusively to visit the extremely secure Stateroom of Peace? You do not. If Shadow makes one wrong move, every scrap of what little help he can bring to the citizens of El will be lost.

“I’ll look into alternative solutions,” he tells Kara. “Radio waves, maybe.”

Kara mutters something about sticks and stones, but Shadow ignores her. There, barely a dozen feet away from him, is Batman.

“I found him.”

The man has perched at the crumbling edge of a crumbling house’s domed roof, precariously balanced with a foot against the wall while the other rests on the rusted remains of an escape ladder that must have been abandoned for quite a while now. Batman seems unused to the architectural configuration, positioned in a way that will leave him much sorer than necessary come morning, but he seems steady enough all the same. Which explains why Shadow, seeing no reason to hurry, is only about halfway to Batman when they both hear the scream.

Altering his course, Shadow reaches the source of it a fraction of second before Batman does. A woman on the ground, a soldier’s gloved hand in her hair. Behind, three men: two armored, one screaming but otherwise paralyzed. In the distance, a window closes.

“Please, don’t take her!” shouts the man.

There is a wet crunch. He falls to the ground, clutching his nose. One of the armored men raises his weapon in the direction of the fallen man's head, aims—Batman falls on him from above, like Vohc himself descending from the stars. He is practiced, that much is clear. No hesitation. Not a single wasted move. He would win the fight in seconds if Ellon soldiers didn’t operate in groups of five.

Shadow jumps from his perch a second before the first soldier releases the woman and raises her rifle at Batman’s back. He runs. Jumps, suit extending on either side of him. Throws Batman to the ground when the impact shoves him backward.

“What was that?” Kara asks on her end of the line.

The suit must have fully reconnected, then.

Shadow does not answer her, though. He rolls to his feet—ducks a hit to the head, punches a second armored woman in the gut. Swords come out, and part of the suit turns into a familiar pair of batons. The blades shine and sing—miss Batman by inches in one corner of Shadow’s vision, spark against his suit in another. Shadow parries, ducks, strikes back. Rao, please let him get out of this alive. He is not good enough for this. There is a reason he prefers stealth, and—another duck. Close call, this time. He holds his ground, but only by virtue of having an extremely smart suit and very flexible weapons he has been using for the past eight years. Duck, duck, parry—shout in pain when a quicker sword strike catches him before he can have the suit rearrange itself, and slices his arm underneath. Parry again. One last strike, a solid kick in the shins—four soldiers leave in a profusion of curses, the fifth one unconscious on a comrade’s back.

Shadow allows himself three heaving breaths before he turns back to the people they just rescued. They have fallen to the ground, Batman standing guard while the man clings to his wife and babbles about someone left inside—children, Shadow realizes. He means children. Batman, much quicker on the uptake, is about halfway to the door when Shadow catches his wrist.

“We don’t have time—”

“You’re the better fighter,” Shadow hastens to explain. “If they come back before we can leave, you’ll be more useful here. Besides, the kids will know who I am.”

A small part of Shadow wants to grin when Batman’s impatient snarl turns to surprise, but the man was right. They do not have time for frivolity. Ignoring some pleased surprise of his own—he was halfway expecting Batman to argue against a plan that wasn’t his own—Shadow rushes inside. It is a mess, of course. The house was clearly ransacked for evidence. Broken furniture, papers strewn about with almost methodical madness. Nothing out of the ordinary, here. The soldiers made no mention of children, though, which means they must have hidden somewhere the police did not think to look at first glance. Either somewhere creative and complicated, or...Shadow crouches in front of the cabinet under the sink, and gives a soft greeting to the two little girls he finds there.

They have the same green eyes, the same wide rings under those eyes. The oldest one slaps his wrist when he reaches for them, and Shadow praises her for her bravery. Said bravery becomes a little less practical when he reaches for her and she tries to bite him, but these are harsh times for El, and so Shadow does not reprimand her.

“I’m not an enemy,” he says instead. “I am the Shadow of El. Your parents are waiting outside, and we need to go now, quietly.”

Miraculously, the children stay quiet as Shadow carries them outside. They all but fall over themselves when their father comes within reach, one of the girls almost falling to the ground in her hurry to reach familiar arms.

“Thank you,” the man tells Shadow between kisses to his daughters’ heads, “thank you so much!”

“Please, don’t. You’re not out of trouble yet.”

A few feet to the side, the woman looks between Batman and Shadow with a stony gaze, no trace of tears or fear on her face. She gives Batman a short, stoic nod before she goes to gather her family and tells them to brace themselves.

“The Shadow is right. We are still in danger, here. We need to leave.”

“I can help you with that,” Shadow says. “I know a place where people will help you.”

There is no scheduled convoy tonight but the Dark Sun, Shadow has learned, keeps shelters ready for families in transit, and these people will be safer there than anywhere else in the city. They can stay there and wait for the next departure to the deserted borders with Ul, and from there, to the stars and the safety of the Green Lanterns’ space territory. It is a good plan, but Shadow is not surprised to find both the woman and her companion eyeing Batman with undisguised wariness. Shadow cannot blame them. The citizens of El have learned to be wary of outsiders in recent years and a family suspected of treason—rightfully so, judging from their expressions and the traditional printing material Shadow saw inside—would be even warier.

Shadow cannot make a pleading face through his helmet, but Batman must pick something up from his body language because he nods, walks to the nearest rain pipe, and starts climbing. Shadow sighs.

“At least he is being cooperative,” Kara says, almost making him jump.

She was so quiet throughout the fight, he somehow managed to forget she was there at all. Or perhaps he simply didn’t hear her. Either way, her voice is a comfort, and Shadow feels his shoulders unwind a little as he tells Batman, “I’ll see you where we first met.”

He waits for Batman to turn around and look at him before he jerks his head to the left, away from the Citadel dome. Batman’s answering nod is curt and small, but it is a sufficiently explicit agreement for Shadow to settle further. He listens to the click of Batman’s boots on the rain pipe for a while, giving the family some space to organize themselves. Then, once the man has gone back inside for what looks like a long-ready travel bag, Shadow leads them to one of the Dark Sun’s safe houses.

“Is there any sign that they intend to pursue you?” Kara asks a few hours later when Shadow comes back to the house.

The place is buzzing with activity, but there is no sense of victory in the air, no feeling of a pack on the hunt.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “It doesn’t seem like they found anything on the Dark Sun, either. We got lucky.”

“That you were,” Kara replies hotly. “I don’t know how we missed that raid—”

“I’ll go by our informant’s house before I come back,” Shadow promises.

They are supposed to have this neighborhood covered, after all. This did not feel like a scheduled raid—not enough coordination for the soldiers to be an official team-up—but if there are overzealous rogue elements in the city’s police, their contact will need to know about them. And if, for some unfathomable reason, the authorities decided to send a newly minted team on a scheduled raid—improbable, but still not to be discounted—it is vital for Shadow and the Dark Sun to figure out how that could have passed them by.

“I will contact whoever I can,” Kara says. “In the meantime, you should go and give your friend a good telling-off.”

Shadow, already on his way over the rooftops, does not answer...but he does not miss the frown in Kara’s voice when she speaks again.

“Kal—”

“I’m glad to know the line is uncompromised.”

Not that it would do them much good, should anyone start scanning for audio frequencies, but it is always reassuring to know they are not being listened to.

“Kal,” Kara insists, “you are going to tell him off, aren’t you?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Shadow hedges. Kara’s grunt is more than enough to let him know what she thinks of that. “I know what he did was risky—”

“Risky? If anyone recognizes him—”

“He was trying to save those people!” Shadow protests, feeling his voice rise into a more Kal-esque register despite himself. “You can’t blame him for that!”

“I recognize that he had noble intentions,” Kara says, “but that does not excuse his recklessness. You have got to talk to him, Kal.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Shadow repeats.

Kara does much more grumbling than usual when she signs out.

Once Shadow finds Batman again, he wastes neither time nor words and strides toward the mountains with Batman close on his heels. The alien is physically fit, impressively so by Ellon standards, but Shadow is surprised to hear his breathing grow heavier after the first half hour. Whatever Batman does on his planet must not include much trekking, then. He does not complain, however, and about half an hour later they are both standing at the darkened mouth of a narrow crevice of jagged rocks. To the left, the Citadel glows a pale red in the moonlight, the outer city swallowing its feet in a mass of inky darkness that not even the light of the moons, so bright in the mountains, can penetrate.

Shadows orders the suit to rearrange one of his gloves into a flashlight and, once Batman has caught his breath—a short process, despite his insistence on maintaining proper posture and sacrificing practicality for dignity—he steps inside the crevice. Inside, it gets narrower for a while, the stone above low enough to force him to duck. At one point, he hears Batman’s head hit the stone and smirks. When they reach the first chamber—quite small, compared to what comes after, but still just wide enough for two adults to camp in—Shadow stops.

“Where are we?” Batman asks, sitting down while Shadow detaches the flashlight from his suit and settles it on the ground. “Your base of operations?”

“I wish,” Kara mutters, the connection clicking back to life in Shadow’s ears.

“One day, it might be,” Shadow tells Batman, perhaps more of a smile in his voice than he meant to put there. “For now, it’s just a cave I found when I was a kid.”

It would be a lie to say that he was less timid back then, but his parents had insisted he see the outside world, and later on his martial arts instructors had declared it good for his health to run around the mountains. In between, Kal explored. And scared a few adults in the process, but that is hardly the point.

“It’s not very interesting, geologically speaking, but it does offer some privacy.”

Batman hums, and Kara clicks her tongue.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Right,” Shadow says, and winces internally when Batman cocks his head at him. “I almost forgot,” he covers, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank him?”

“Thank me?”

“For stepping in, earlier. You didn’t have to.”

“Kal, this is not what we said—”

“It was reckless,” Batman says before Shadow can debate whether he should ask Kara to let him speak. “But armed men dragging a woman by the hair in the middle of the night is not a good sign, back on Earth.”

“It isn’t a good sign here either,” Shadow sighs, “but this isn’t your planet. No one would have resented you for staying out of this.”

“I would have.”

The words carry a kind of life-defining finality that makes Kara hum and Shadow bow his head. They both know the feeling, after all. It would be hypocritical of them to contradict Batman on that point, even should they want to.

“Well,” Shadow says at last, “thank you anyway. If you hadn’t helped—”

“I am usually more on the punitive side of things,” Batman says.

It is not hurried, not urgent...and yet Shadow cannot help the feeling it is meant as a dismissal somehow. Specifically timed to make sure Shadow could not finish his sentence.

“In that case,” he says rather than force his way through the rest of his intended words, “you did well, for someone outside of their comfort zone.”

Shadow grins under his helmet, unable to help himself. His only responses are the warmth of his own breath on his face and Batman’s expression remaining so immobile as to make Shadow doubt the exchange even happened, but he is glad he said it all the same. Shadow’s belief in telling people when they've done well might be primarily a result of Kal’s needs, but that does not make it any less strong, nor is it dependent on Batman acknowledging the compliment. Not that Shadow would have complained if he had, but to each their own.

“Though to be honest, sometimes I wonder if a punitive figure wouldn’t be more useful around here.”

Shadow...tries to be one, sometimes. Well. He tried. Nothing short of a solid beating seems to deter militia members, though, and that is simply not something Shadow is truly capable of delivering. It is not a matter of training, although he is definitely lacking in that area. No; the truth is, for all that Shadow plays at being strong it is just that: a play. An illusion cast on the people who meet him to help things go the way he wants them to. But in his heart of hearts, Shadow, much like Kal, does not have it in himself to rise to the level of violence the militia is ready to use. He does become violent, sometimes, when no other options remain. He does. He also spends a significant amount of time retching, afterwards, and so he avoids physical confrontation as much as he can.

Batman’s gaze on him pulls Shadow off that particular train of thought. The blank whited-out lenses of the man’s cowl have fixed on his face—or his helmet, rather—as if they can somehow divine his secrets through the power of staring alone. Shadow is not sure what it says about him that he finds himself fearing they might succeed.

The silence stretches between them, darkness shivering with the faint echo of their voices. There is a sense of anticipation in the air. Not quite an antsy silence—although Shadow is definitely getting there—but somehow expectant, all the same. It is as though Batman, immobile as he is, manages to project the sense of waiting for more. Of waiting out someone’s nerve, to discover what they want, and Shadow….

“You are about to cave in, aren’t you?” Kara sighs in his ears.

He ignores her, out of necessity as much as personal preference.

“They want to mine the planet’s core,” he tells Batman. “That’s what the Melokariel Proposition is about. The expectation is that this will revive the entire planetary economy and bring some life back into what’s essentially—”

“A decaying former colonial power incapable of accepting its lack of relevance in the modern universe.”

Well. So much for thinking Batman would be delicate about this.

“It is,” Shadow admits nonetheless. “The Independence War’s been over for more than seven hundred years now, yet most of our nobility still acts like that was yesterday. The Wise Council is even worse. There are even people who hope the Melokariel Proposition will help Krypton reestablish its dominion over the galaxy.”

“Only because they have no more sense than tchkay plant,” Kara mutters.

“It may not sound like it,” Shadow tells Batman, trying not to let his helpless grin bleed into his tone, “but El is actually one of the more moderate Principalities.”

“And yet your king is accepting quite a lot of bribes, in the form of gifts.”

“On behalf of his father,” Shadow says. “Kor-El is the Wise King of Thinkers, and he tends to vote with Tsiahm-Lo because they are old friends. People think winning one of their votes means winning the other...but you can’t gift anything to the Wise Kings and Queens directly. It’s against the Council laws. So people work around it. There’s been an increase in the number of gifts Tsiahm-Lo’s family receives, too.”

It took quite a while, confirming that last information. Kor-El lives primarily in Kandor and is hard to meet, even for his closest relative. As for Tsiahm-Lo, he lives on the other side of the planet. Kara has contacts in many places, however, and Kal’s clumsiness is often more helpful than one might think, genuine though it is. The proof, when it came, was a hard blow for Shadow and Support both. Batman, however, takes the news quite well. He has, of course, proven his ability to remain stoic in most circumstances several times over, by now, but the demonstration is no less impressive for it, and Shadow holds in a sigh. What he would not give, for that kind of mastery of himself!

He wondered, once, whether Earthlings were simply much less emotional creatures than Kryptonians. Not every sentient species is created equal where sentiment is concerned, after all. Batman was too kind to Kal, though, and for too long, for it to be faked. Mastery it must be, then, and Shadow can only admire it, knowing he will never be able to grasp it for himself.

“That explains Zor’s remarks,” Batman mutters to himself. Then, a little louder: “What about the Green Lanterns? Why do they have that kind of reputation?”

“You said it yourself,” Shadow explains with a shrug. “Krypton is a decaying ex-colonizer that can’t accept times have changed, and the Lanterns were the ones who beat them. That would be bad enough by itself, but now they’re taking Kryptonian refugees under their protection….”

“And Krypton does not pursue?”

The way Batman asks the question makes it feel like he might already know—or strongly suspect—what the answer is, but Shadow answers anyway:

“The Peace Treaty we signed after the war doesn’t allow them to. Once the refugees are within the Lanterns’ space territory, they’re out of reach.”

“If I did not know you so well,” Kara remarks in Shadow’s ears, “I might believe this history lesson will finish with ‘and that is why you must remain uninvolved’. But you are going to let him keep going with his investigation, aren’t you?”

“I would say you are putting too much faith in that treaty,” Batman says, voice overlapping with Kara’s, “but if your government is already too proud to increase commerce with its ex-colonies when the planet is literally dying, assuming they will be too proud to ask for permission to go and catch their own traitors does not seem that far-fetched.”

Shadow nods. The words are not quite those he would have chosen to explain the situation, but they are accurate enough. It would be futile to dispute them.

“Our main difficulty here is to help those who need to flee to join the escape networks. After that, I’m told things become easier.”

“I take it you are not privy to that part of the operation.”

Shadow shakes his head. “It’s safer if we don’t know too much about the things we’re not directly involved in,” he says. “Besides, the Shadow of El is more useful in the city.”

Batman does not ask any questions, but Shadow knows what he said calls for an explanation all the same...and even if it did not, he is not hoping for Batman to remain uninvolved anymore. This means he will need information, and, well. The story of the Dark Sun and its Shadow is nothing the general public does not know. Even Kara does not protest the decision, though she does remind Shadow he only has about three hours left until the sun rises.

“So what I hear,” Batman says once Shadow is done with this retelling, “is that you are alone in ensuring those who need the Dark Sun can find them safely.”

“Yes,” Shadow says, and winces when Kara yelps in protest. “More or less.”

“Thank you,” Kara says. “’Alone’...what am I, chopped silten?”

Batman seems to ponder the answer for a moment, head bowed over Shadow’s makeshift flashlight. At the mouth of their hiding place, the sky is still dark, but it will not remain so for much longer. Shadow breaks the silence:

“To tell you the truth...I could use your help.”

Batman looks up, sharp and fast, and Shadow makes himself keep his shoulders straight. If nothing else, he will at least be able to tell Kara, truthfully, that he offered a partnership rather than begging for help.

“It seems pretty clear you won’t let go of your investigation, but you know nothing about Krypton—”

“Almost nothing,” Batman corrects. “Kal-El is a fool, but he is not entirely incompetent.”

“You really are not going to defend yourself at all, are you?” Kara sighs, but Shadow only swallows.

It is, he tells himself again, a good thing that Batman thinks so little of Kal. Less risk of discovery, this way. With that in mind, Shadow nods, conceding.

“My point is, you could work on your own, but that would take more time than you’d like. And besides, it would be a waste of energy when we could just as well pool our resources.”

“It sounds to me like I would be the one with the most to gain from that,” Batman says. “More information, more material, a better knowledge of the local culture...what do you get from it?”

“You’re a better fighter than me,” Shadow says, matter-of-fact. “And clearly you’re a skilled detective, or you wouldn’t have progressed as far as you have with a limited Ellon vocabulary. Clearly, there’s a lot you could teach me...and when this is done, the Dark Sun will help you leave.”

Batman and Kara hum at the same time, although not for the same reasons at all.

“I need time to think this over,” Batman says at last, and Shadow nods.

“Fine. But not tonight—dawn’s coming, and there’s something else I have to do before then. Let’s meet here tomorrow night. Two hours after sundown.”

“Very well.”

Together, they walk back to the entrance of the cave, where the crimson glow of the moons is paling, slowly bleeding out of the sky to give way to the orange copper of daylight. Shadow pauses to admire the sight of the mountains to the east, and when he turns back, Batman is gone.

With a grin at the alien’s flair for the dramatic, Shadow shakes his head and strides back toward the city. He does, after all, have a militia lieutenant to call on.

The next night, Shadow arrives at the crevice in the mountain only to find Batman already there, standing at the entrance with his head raised to the sky, the dim light of the moons turning his mouth and chin almost copper. He does not flinch, or indeed react in any way when Shadow steps up beside him, except to say:

“There is conflict between two of your neighboring planets. Leaark and Axor. They wanted an impartial judge, so they asked for our help. I was on my way back when I crashed on Krypton.”

“’Our’ help?” Shadow asks, puzzled. “Is your planet known for its good judgment?”

Kal knows that it is not. Shadow, however, has heard nothing of this place, and must therefore show interest in Batman’s past if he wishes to make use of that knowledge.

“No. Earth does not have political representatives in space. We do have….” Batman’s voice trails off for a moment, as if he were hesitating. The thought is incongruous, knowing what Shadow knows about him, but hesitation it must be, because Batman sounds rather reluctant when he says: “We have a group of superheroes whose reputation reaches beyond the borders of Earth. They are called the Justice League.”

Shadow blinks.

“Isn’t that a good thing? To have so many heroes dedicated to the protection of your people and the defense of justice among them?”

“There are only seven of us, actually. And the name sounds—ridiculous.”

‘Ridiculous’ is, most likely, not what Batman would have said in his mother tongue. Something worse, perhaps? Either way, the sentence leaves him frustrated, the slant of his shoulders familiar from many a language lesson. Shadow smiles at the sight, but takes care to push it out of his voice before he says, “A lot of people here would find it ridiculous, too. I think it sounds quite noble. I’d be glad if Krypton could have something like that.”

Batman looks at him again, lips pinched tightly together, but Shadow does not move. Shadow and Kal-El are very different—for all that they share a body and a mind—but their values are the same, and neither one would be ashamed to admit as much. Batman may find the concept, in its nakedness, to be ridiculous, but Shadow would argue perhaps the problem lies in him rather than in his League’s name itself.

“Mm,” Batman says, rather than answer Shadow’s question. As deflections go, it is far from his best; strangely, Shadow appreciates it all the more for that. “I have given some thought to your offer.”

Now Shadow’s heart picks up, anticipation tingling in the creases of his palms as he waits out Batman’s dramatic pause with bated breath. Eventually, just as Shadow is considering breaking the silence himself, Batman says:

“I find it acceptable. I will help you train and deal with the Melokariel Proposition. And when I ask you to, you will help me leave Krypton, whether this business is finished or not.”

“Of course,” Shadow says.

Kara, he suspects, will strongly disapprove. What good is it, to involve a man who might choose to leave next week? But Batman could have demanded to be let off Krypton right away, and he has not. He would have had every right to it, after more than three months so far from his home. Yet, despite that, he chose to stay on and help. It would be more than unfair for Shadow to ask more of him than that, and so what he does instead is bow his head and say:

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to our cooperation.”

“You might yet live to regret it,” Batman says. “Do you have somewhere we can use to train you?”

“Yes, actually,” Shadow says with a grin. “It’s the reason why I wanted us to meet here. Come with me.”

They make their way back inside the crevice and then further into the mountain, until they reach the first truly significant cave. Their footsteps echo there, every noise magnified until even the small drizzle of water at the back sounds like a river. The space is quite wide, almost large enough to contain Kal-El’s bedroom—far more than they will need to setup sparring mats and physical training equipment. The ceiling is not very high, but it is comfortable enough, and when Shadow’s flashlight touches it the crystals embedded there come alive with cold white flashes.

“This seems acceptable,” Batman says. “From what little I can see.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Shadow replies with a smile. “Just a moment, please.”

It was, perhaps, a tad overdramatic of him to hide the fire figs under a blanket. The effect when he uncovers their glass cases is so magnificent, though, that he feels no guilt about it. He brought only four bushes, but their light is enough to reflect and refract in the overhead crystals and fill the cave with multicolored beams of light, along with a softer and more natural orange glow. White lights will have to be brought in later on, as supplements, but for now this light is enough, and Shadow smiles when he realizes even Batman’s jaw has gone a little slack.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Batman swallows.

“It is...adequate,” he says.

Shadow chuckles.

“Well. Let’s get started, then.”

“If you feel ready.”

All jokes about Batman’s flair for the dramatic aside, he does display a level of intensity even Shadow was wholly unprepared for. For the three hours following his and Batman’s agreement, Shadow does nothing but jump, run, crouch, and crawl all over the floor. Sweat pours out of every pore he has, chafes at his skin under the suit, and by the time Batman is done with him, his limbs feel ready to drop him to the ground at any moment. When he requests a break, he barely even waits for Batman’s permission before he kneels next to the thin stream at the back of the cave and lets the bottom half of his helmet melt away into the rest of the suit, drinking his fill and then some without, somehow, managing to feel like his thirst is quenched.

“I thought you were ready,” Batman says when Shadow is done drinking and back to panting.

There is no apology in the man’s voice, not even an ounce of regret, but Shadow hears the disappointment loud and clear. His fists clench.

“Clearly,” he says, struggling to keep his voice even, “I miscalculated.”

He shouldn’t have. He has seen enough of Batman, by now, to know better. He should have anticipated the hard work, and more—and to tell the truth, he should have been better prepared regardless. The Shadow of El should not let itself be stopped by something so mundane as lack of endurance, and in the privacy of his own mind, Shadow resolves to do better next time. After all, if Batman can do it, why should Shadow not even attempt it?

“How have you even survived all this time?” Batman asks.

The disappointment is gone from his tone now, his voice back to perfect neutrality. Shadow, who has not been naive enough to imagine a neutral tone meant neutral feeling for a long time, asks himself the same question. The suit is many things, after all, but magic is not one of them, and if this training session has proven anything, it is that Shadow must have been much luckier than he had ever thought...that, and that he was right in deciding never to discard the suit for his patrols.

“I’m usually more of a spy than a vigilante,” he tells Batman, breathing still ragged.

He manages, just barely, to keep the apology out of his voice. It does not do much for the blooming sense of inadequacy at the pit of his stomach, but it does preserve the dignity of the Shadow of El. Besides, he is starting to suspect that to apologize for his shortcomings, at this point, would accomplish nothing but driving Batman to push him even harder. Not that it would not be useful! There is, after all, a reason Shadow suggested this partnership in the first place, and contrary to what Batman seems to think, Shadow is fully convinced he is the one who has the most to gain from this endeavor. Batman has full access to the royal library, after all, and Shadow is starting to suspect he could have found his own way back to Earth, given enough time.

Fighting is simply not something one can properly learn on their own.

“Focusing on information-gathering,” Batman is saying, as Shadow returns to his feet, nanobots reshaping into his helmet just in time to hide the last of his chin as he turns back around, “does not mean you can afford to be useless in a fight. Your suit may do a number of amazing things, but it is still nothing but a suit, and you cannot afford to rely on it. You must be able to defend yourself, even if you are caught without it.”

Shadow, feeling like a child scolded for failing to put enough effort into his homework, resists both the urge to protest that he is always wearing his suit—as it is both beside the point and a piece of information best kept between Kara and himself—and the urge to bow his head. There is no time to be self-pitying. He is here to learn, after all. That means taking whatever Batman has to throw at him, and using it to grow. If it also means Shadow must go through more physical drills in the upcoming weeks than he has in his entire life up until now, then so be it.

“Just be careful who you share this with,” Kara teases when Shadow recounts his first training session later in the night, on his way to pick a family up from their home and lead them to the nearest safehouse. “There would be no explanation for your sudden transformation into a high-level athlete.”

Not, of course, that she truly has to worry about that. The only person Kal-El could ever talk to about his progress in martial arts would be Batman, and Batman does not want anything to do with him. Shadow bites down on a peevish retort anyway.

Shadow...keeps up, somehow. He trains with Batman for three hours every evening and emerges from the cave, exhausted and drenched in his own sweat, only to go around the city, gathering intelligence on the militia’s movements, interrogating whoever he can with Batman’s help—and oh, how these conversations go faster with someone who is actually skilled at drawing answers out of reluctant participants!—and leading more and more prospective refugees to the Dark Sun’s safe houses. The Melokariel Proposition was voted into effect three weeks ago, precisely three and a half months after Batman’s arrival on Krypton, and Batman's failure to publicly involve himself one way or the other in that controversy has mostly silenced those at court who whispered that he might be an envoy of Vohc. He almost snorted, when Kal related this news, and chuckled when he shared that tidbit with Shadow later the same day.

Of all the things collaborating with Batman has changed in Shadow's life, receiving regular updates on his own life from an external perspective is, without contest, the strangest. He knows how to deal with being interrogated, both as Shadow and as Kal. Hearing himself described on a semi-regular basis is another thing entirely.

Mostly, though, Shadow struggles. He gains muscle, but loses weight. He fights better, stands straighter in the night. But when daylight comes and he turns the suit back into Kal-El’s lab coats and refined fabrics, his shoulders slouch further than they ever have in his life. It is...fine, at first. Exhausting, yes, but important, and Shadow—he keeps up. He manages. Not brilliantly, maybe, but efficiently, and who cares if Kal suffers for it? Certainly not Batman, and certainly not Shadow. For the first six weeks after Batman started to train him, Shadow manages.

After that, though, the training starts to take its toll. Shadow feels it in his bones, perceives it in the tightness around Batman’s mouth, a sense of defeat hovering around the alien in a way it never has before, in all four and a half months he has been on Krypton. For a while, Shadow tries to believe Kara and entertain the thought that Batman might, perhaps, simply be homesick...but if it were only that, then why not simply ask to go? Or, at the very least, go to Kal, whose eagerness to learn more about Batman’s home planet could not be more pathetically obvious if he tried? No, all the evidence points to Shadow himself being the source of Batman's displeasure.

Gradually, the giddiness he had felt over this arrangement—the beauty of all the things he would learn to do, and do better—fades. Shadow goes through the motions of his and Kal-El’s lives on autopilot, faced with the bitter realization that even he is not enough. There is nothing there—a sham, at the most; an illusion the people of El cling to well past the time it should have been cast aside, merely because there is nothing else to count on. Because they have put too much faith in it, by now, to turn back without consigning themselves to a life of shame. There is nothing there except the thin ghost of a wish, an ideal that could be put to better use by better hands.

Batman could do it. He does not say as much, and speaks little of his own work on Earth to Shadow—but Kal is a timid fool, and there is no danger in sharing secrets with him. Batman could do it; but Shadow cannot, and so he applies himself to helping Batman as best as he can...or, failing that, to making sure he does not hinder the man’s work, at least.

Together, they infiltrate houses and places Shadow would never have dared to take on alone. They scare Kara half to death—or rather, Shadow does. He has yet to reveal her existence to Batman; part of him is still wary of the consequences should someone else find out about her, and another part is disturbingly unwilling to let Batman know he is being observed, when Shadow knows the alien would retreat even more than he already does if he were aware of it. Shadow is unpracticed, at first, and then he is tired and stumbles where he needs to be sure-footed. He muddles through the thick fog of his brain, when he should be sharp and alert, and blinks himself from the brink during patrol.

They are few, these moments, and far between at first. It is like...like Shadow detaches from himself, somehow. Like his soul remains trapped in his head, while the rest of his body moves on with life, a puppet made of empty, mechanical parts, until these divided pieces of him finally reunite in the sweetness of oblivion. These moments, few and far between—until, somehow, they aren’t.

Time numbs Shadow to his own purpose. Caring becomes harder. It takes more effort than it used to, to fear for the people he helps, to mourn for those he loses. It is not so much that they are not important, but rather—rather that everything is important. Stopping the violent expulsion of citizens is important. Gathering evidence of the corruption that led to this predicament is important. Helping those willing to do the work to inform the rest of El of the dangers of mining Krypton’s core is important. Everything is important; everything claws at Shadow’s attention, pulling at his soul until it all blurs into a thick feeling of guilt for his inability to care more...and then Shadow shuts down.

He does not mean to do it. Does not plan to sit at his desk, and blink so slowly two hours have gone by before he opens his eyes again and picks up his pen. He does not mean for Kal to lie on his bed in the morning and think he should go and wash himself, feed himself, read—turn his head away from the ceiling, at the very least, but even that proves beyond his strength, and so Kal-and-Shadow both remain where they are and let time pass them by. Neither part of him means for that to happen, the space where they meet horrified and desperate to stop it, to move, to do anything but—anything at all. But that space where Shadow and Kal-El meet is a sad thing, shriveled and pitiful, and while the days it manages to take over do not, at least, feel like they are spent watching fresh paint dry, they are the kind of days that make both Kal and Shadow regret the numbness.

That part of Shadow—that small, terrified part of him that makes even Kal sound...functional, somehow—wonders with despair how far it will all go. What it will take to wake him up, even just a part of him. It watches as Shadow-and-Kal go through the motions, present but not. He-they go through the motions—must perform with some success, seeing as no one thinks to ask what is wrong with them. Him. Inside, though, it feels more and more like Shadow—like Kal, like both of him—is trying and failing to pry a locked door open with his bare hands. He sleeps. He does what he must at night and during the day, protecting those who count on him and attending what official occasions he is expected to. He does forget to eat, now and then, if nothing pressing requires him to make sure he has some sustenance. It is not a problem.

Or, to be precise: it is not a problem, until Kal faints in the royal family’s private library. He does not mean to faint, much like he has not meant to do many other things. One minute he is looking for a book, somewhat lightheaded, and telling himself he will go lie down as soon as he finds what he needs to prepare for Batman’s Ellon lessons, and the next something deep and dark opens behind his eyes, pulls him down—he blinks, and has to think hard for a minute or two before he realizes the reason that particular green velvet loveseat looks so strange is because it is not meant to be seen with one’s head lying on the ground.

There is a low sound in Shadow—no, Kal. There is no red at his wrist, no warm moisture on his face. He is meant to be Kal. It is just as well. He pushes himself up on his wrists nonetheless, surprised when something on his shoulder forces him back to the ground.

“Stop trying to get up, you imbecile,” a low, rough voice is saying, close to his head, when he manages to recognize words again. “Lie down.”

Kal blinks, head spinning again even as he tries to figure out whether anyone else was present when he—blinked? Fell? It is hard to tell. He remembers where he was before, but it is difficult to understand how he came to be where he is now...wherever that is, exactly. To make sense of what he hears, right now, is beyond his ability. Not that it truly matters, in the end, for before Kal can truly understand what he is being told, a strong pair of arms seizes him under the armpits, lifts him up off the ground—Kal is on a sofa. The green loveseat is nearby, cozy but too small to lie down on in full. Kal closes his eyes, opens them again and focuses on the ceiling when the abyss inside him turns out to be much closer than he thought it would be. He does not try to sit up.

“I called for honeyed tea,” Batman-in-his-Nightwing-suit says when Kal finally manages to find his face. “You need sugar.”

It is quite probable Kal actually does need that. From the feel of things, though, he also needs some ice for his head and a thousand years of sleep. Better yet: he needs to go to bed, and never wake up at all. It is a tempting thought. Burying himself under the covers, forgetting there is a world outside...but that would not be acceptable, of course, for a prince of El. Not even for the pathetic offspring of a lower branch. So what Kal does instead is apologize, squinting when it becomes clear Batman did not understand him.

“I am so sorry,” Kal repeats, to no better result. “Your lesson….”

It takes Kal tremendous effort, to seize control of his own mouth again and force the words into some semblance of shape, but he manages. This time, Batman understands. He does not...scoff. Not truly. He does not roll his eyes either, although a part of Kal is acutely aware that the cowl makes it terribly hard to be certain of that. Besides, the man’s stoic silence gives the strong impression that, though he considers himself too dignified to roll his eyes, a significant part of him wants to. That prompts Kal to apologize again, only for Batman’s mouth to pull downward.

“Do not apologize,” he says, laying a gloved hand on Kal’s clammy forehead. “These lessons are not life-or-death anymore.”

Kal, whose throat and chest feel like someone is trying to squeeze them into some terribly undersized container, manages to keep a hold of himself long enough to say:

“You are right. I suppose you do not need me anymore.”

He remains conscious just long enough to take his tea before sinking into a long-needed nap. In his dreams, Batman stays by his side—brings him water when he wakes up, and pushes the hair out of his eyes as he sinks back into sleep—but when he wakes up, this time in his bedroom, there is no sign that he has been anything but alone.

Shadow groans when Batman pulls him, none too gently, to his feet. He is not, thankfully, dizzy enough to have trouble standing, although it certainly did not help him during the fight. Part of it might be that Shadow has yet to grow used to how much fighting they have to do, these days. It has been six weeks, now, since the Melokariel Proposition was adopted. Five months, almost to the day, since Batman landed on Krypton. Why he remains, Kal has no idea, but he does carry the knowledge of how invaluable Batman’s help is on his shoulders and in his guts, every day.

Barely a night passes, now, without them having to put themselves between people who refused to sell their homes to the first mining companies and those who would intimidate them into leaving. Desperate men and women left everything they had in poorer Principalities to come and work in El, where, they were told, life would be easy and plentiful—and where they are instead welcomed with insults, closed doors, and employers who could not care less what happens to the lowest layers of Krypton’s social strata. Farmers on the outskirts of the city are losing cattle, the noise and dust of the first mining shafts stressing the animals too much for them to remain productive; not to mention the sudden influx of Ellon citizens who can no longer live around the Citadel but still can’t, or won’t, attempt to make their way in exile. All around the Principality, the consequences of the Melokariel Proposition are already proving disastrous, and the only people who seem to care are either unable to act directly, like Kara, or pathetically, impossibly outnumbered, like Shadow and Batman.

Every morning, Shadow comes home with new bruises, new cramps. He sinks into exhaustion and numbness for the rest of the day, and struggles harder and harder to exit itwith every night that passes...he is, overall, not very surprised that the intimidating line of Batman’s mouth seems distinctly chilly tonight. He did not wait to see as much before beginning a familiar litany of self-recriminations, of course. He is, after all, perfectly aware of all that he is doing wrong—perfectly aware of what would have become of that woman, if he’d failed to keep the Kandori soldiers away from her. He is also perfectly aware of what would happen to him, should he fall into their hands, although that at least he could live with. Metaphorically speaking.

The overarching point of all of this is: Batman is unhappy. So is Shadow. How could he not be? He sees what he is doing wrong—how woefully short he falls of upholding the simple standard of making himself useful to the people around him. What is the point of there even being a Shadow, if all he does is add to the mess? What is the point of pretending, of forcing Kal into an ever deeper isolation, if Shadow cannot even accomplish the one thing he has ever truly tried do for his people?

“What in the — is wrong with you?” Batman hisses as he all but drags Shadow away from the safe house they left their rescue in, the foreign word strange and yet perfectly understandable to Shadow’s mind.

Shadow could give Batman a long list, a very long list, of the things that are wrong with him. Long enough to fill the whole trek to their cave in the mountains, and then the rest of the night after that, but they do not have that kind of time. To be honest, Shadow does not have that kind of strength, either. The honest, ugly truth of it is: he is barely even surprised. There had to come a time when he couldn’t fool himself anymore, let alone the people around him. The thought bows his head even as he follows Batman out of the city and into the jagged mountains around them, half his energy focused on putting one foot in front of the other and the other half spent on keeping his spine straight enough to avoid tipping his red suit over the line from majestic to clownlike.

“Shadow,” Batman says again, sterner this time.

Shadow draws a breath in.

“I think I was right, you know. That first night. You’re much better suited for this than I am.”

They have reached the outskirts of the city by now, sharp boulders surrounding them in ever closer ranks as they stride through the mountains. Batman has grown used to the trek in the past few weeks, and he does not trail behind like he did on that first night; but he does leave a step or two between Shadow and himself, and that is something for Shadow to be grateful for. The peace does nothing to soften the silence, though, and with silence comes an ever-lengthening list of things Shadow should have learned by now—should know how to do better, faster. It is a list Kal has been very familiar with for many years, but it is the first time Shadow has had to go through this painful a reading of it, and so he tries to keep it at bay by saying:

“Perhaps Kal-El was right in his description of you. You do seem like you could be Nightwing come again.”

Batman snorts, but there is no humor in it, and he does not wait for the palm of Shadow’s suit to turn into a flashlight before he steps into the crevice under the mountain.

“I know,” Shadow says as he hurries to keep up, “Kal-El is an imbecile, but—”

“Kal-El is looking for meaning where there is none,” Batman interrupts. “He thinks if I am Nightwing come again, I will lead him out of his miserable existence somehow. He is wrong, and you need to get a hold of yourself now, before you start believing the same things.”

He steps into the cave with an angry gesture, the curtain they installed to keep the light in rattling in protest at his abruptness.

“I didn’t mean—“ Shadow starts, but Batman cuts him off in a hiss.

“You nearly destroyed that operation. You cannot slip up like that again.”

It takes a few seconds before Shadow finds it in himself to nod, chastised. He has no excuse for it, he knows, no way to explain his actions except sheer incompetence. He knows—has known since he saw Batman leap off the Citadel—what a true hero should look like. What standards Shadow must be held to, before he can be said to fulfill his purpose. He has tried to meet those standards—he has. But he has fallen woefully short, and it is, perhaps, time he faced the facts and did the last helpful thing he can think of: retire.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

The words sound strange in Shadow’s lower, harsher register. Apologizing does not fit the image of him any more than it would fit Batman. Who would fear someone who apologizes, after all? And isn’t that what Shadow is meant to do? Strike fear into the hearts of those who would harm the people Shadow is meant to protect?

No. It never truly worked like that. No one ever flinched from him the way they flinch from Batman—or Nightwing, as some have called him, no matter how much he dislikes the connection. There was a time when Shadow—when Kal himself, hidden far inside his own heart—could pretend that it worked. Could tell himself he was doing what he was meant to...but perhaps it is best, now, that he finally let go of his illusions. That he start making his decisions with a clearer head. A sounder mind. It is what is best, for everyone.

“Don’t be sorry,” Batman tells him from where he went to crouch beside the little stream, tone far gentler than Shadow deserves. “Be better.”

“But how?”

That...was not meant to come out of Shadow’s mouth. Not where anyone could hear it, at the very least. It is one thing, after all, to know that he is a failure, but it is quite another to beg for Batman’s pity. As if the man did not have far better things to do than to indulge Shadow’s weaknesses in both aspects of his life! But the question did come out, and Shadow cannot take it back. He breathes in, deep and unsubtle, and does not allow his neck to bend, even though his gaze plunges low enough that the tip of his nose and the inside of his helmet are the only things he can see.

Batman, for his part, has frozen. Stunned, probably, that Shadow has the audacity to ask that sort of question. To be that pathetic. It would make sense. Probably.

“I do what has to be done,” Batman says at last. “And if something is a problem, I work at it until it is not one anymore.”

Shadow nods. That makes—a lot of sense, actually. And if he is honest, he knows it would be best for him to leave his whining behind and work on the things that are problems, but...well, the thing is, everything seems to be a problem these days, for Shadow and Kal both. Eating is a problem. Showering is a problem. It is not that he does not do these things anymore. He does. But where such tasks used to be perfunctory, so automatic as to go unnoticed, it sometimes takes him hours to brace himself for the journey from labs to shower, from shower to bed. In the morning, the journey back is just as hard. Neither Shadow nor Kal—to say nothing of the creature in between—has enjoyed a meal in weeks, let alone any kind of activity beside that.

If Shadow were a better man—a stronger man—he would get a hold of himself and pull himself back into working order, but he is not. He is not, and he cannot. He has disappointed Batman tonight, and he will disappoint him again, that much is easy to see. And...it would not be so bad if Sh—if he had known better than to allow his hopes to grow in the first place. It would not have hurt so much if he had remembered that the truth of him lies not in Kal, not in Shadow, but in that dark and shriveled space inside. If he had known better than to let himself think this part of him could possibly hope to rise from the mediocrity clinging to its bones, even to fulfill the only purpose he thought he had. If he had been smart enough not to expect anything more than passable performances, then failing would not have been so painful.

But he did not know better, and the bitterness of reality burns at the corners of his eyes, the edges of his cheeks. It slides down the bridge of his nose and onto his neck without his permission, even as he struggles to keep his breathing even, his voice controlled. There is a cold, grim pride in realizing there is no trace of tears in his voice when he says, “You’re right. I have to—I’ll do better.”

He has no idea how, yet, but he will figure it out. After all, he can hardly do worse.

It takes Shadow more time than usual to climb up the disused elevator shaft, but he does manage it eventually. He collapses at the foot of it with a relieved sigh, thankful for once that Kryo’s security protocols mean he is to survey the top of the stairs and is, therefore, nowhere to be seen. There is too much of a mess in Shadow’s head to bear the thought of a witness. He does not have the strength to deal with it and with his hunit at the same time. Showering, in itself, is an ordeal. He goes through it with mechanical gestures, wiping the snot from his upper lip and the blood from his knee, where the suit’s rearranging circuitry cut him during a false move. When he emerges, he is...slightly less of a walking piece of waste, perhaps. It is a good thing, and, clinging to that, Shadow mostly settles himself down into the hunch of Kal’s shoulders, his more timid intonations. Kal is still unable to stomach the thought of walking as far as his rooms, though, and so once Shadow’s suit has shifted into more princely garments, he alters his course and goes to collapse in the nearest library.

They have entered the small hours of the night, now. Everyone, even Batman will be asleep—or at the very least pretending to sleep. There is little risk of being disturbed, or even found before the household wakes. It leaves more than enough time for Kal to dismiss Kryo and let the suit’s sleeve rearrange into a communication screen to type a quick message saying he is home, safe and sound. The rest of the night hardly matters, and Kal is not planning to discuss it until Kara writes:

What’s wrong?

Kal blinks, display beads blurring in front of him as exhaustion takes over and makes him slouch even further, and raises his knees to his chest until only half of him is even taking any space at all.

Nothing, he types.

You have not been punctuating.

Kal’s nose itches. He sniffles a little, just enough to dislodge the dust stuffing his nostrils. Just enough to try and swallow around the knot in his throat.

I’m fine

Kal. What is it?

Just tired

There is no way to know whether Kara is even looking at her handscreen anymore. She might have gone to sleep, for all Kal knows. She would be right to, even. But much as Kal dreads the turn their conversation has taken, he can’t quite help himself from feeling like a drowning man clutching at a buoy when the material of his sleeve forms into a new line of text:

You have been tired for months, now. Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself some rest.

From what? There is little enough for me to do, here

From your projects. You have been doing nothing but that for weeks on end. Perhaps it is time you stopped following my advice and found something else to do. It would do you good to spend a little more time with Batman.

He has no interest in me

Gods, the self-pity, even in the written words, is unbearable. Kal grits his teeth just seeing it on the screen. Has he not had enough? Has he not shown how pitiful he is often enough already? He should stop here, and he knows it. But instead of bidding his cousin goodbye and going to bed, Kal watches with some horror as his fingers keep typing as if on their own:

He has no interest in shadow either

he is right

Where in the Sixth Heaven is that even coming from? Kara sends back, almost instantly.

Nowhere, Kal tells her. I suppose I am a little

tired

I almost caused our doom tonight

one day, I actually will

I suppose I am tired of wondering if today will be the day

You must be exhausted indeed to say that sort of nonsense, Kara sends after a long pause. You need to take time to rest, Kal. Everyone has their ups and downs, you simply need to pull yourself together.

Kal gapes as the screen, shocked as if by a slap. There are—he does not know that there are words to describe the hollowness gaping in his chest, the pressure around his throat. His eyes burn again, hotter than before. When he breathes in, it sounds ragged. Painful and laborious, like a wounded animal. He forces himself through it—then through another, and another, until he feels composed again, and can...until he is somewhat composed again. Held together as if with gossamer, but composed nonetheless. Adult. Mature. Rational.

He has every intention of being exactly that: of thanking Kara for the advice and going to heed it as soon as possible. But then his eyes catch the words again, and nothing in the world can stop the tears from spilling.

It takes Kal a while to realize he is not alone, caught up as he is in the aching burn of tears down his face. It is as if the world vanished in his sobs, somehow, swallowed whole by a thing Kal should have known better than to let grow so vast—should have known better than to succumb to. He cries, and cries, and cries, and does not notice there is anyone there until a hand settles on his shoulder, light and too tight at the same time as if its owner couldn’t quite tell what sort of pressure would provide the most comfort. Kal shrinks away, at first. He buries his face deeper in the hollow between his knees, arms coming up to cover his head and shield the burning heat of his neck from the rest of the world.

Eventually, though, the tears run out. They leave him empty, wrung out, as if after two days without sleep. In his chest, Kal’s lungs echo with cold wind, a wet and pale feeling where there should be warmth and sun. Despair left with the tears, though, and Kal may be cold but he is also settled, somewhat, mind cleared just enough to make him feel almost coherent as he runs a hand across his face and turns to whoever decided to stay with him. He is perhaps more surprised than he should be, caught somewhere between gratitude and mortification, as he discovers Batman’s cowled face looking down at him with a frown. It seems the Gods have decided today will not be his day.

“Do you feel better?” Batman asks before Kal can think of anything to say, proper grammar still firmly in place.

The shift from talking to Kal like an equal to talking to him with the respect due to a prince greatly improved Batman’s quality of life in the palace, but Kal’s stomach has yet to learn not to drop with disappointment every time it happens. It makes him ache for the night, and the way Batman at least sees Shadow as an equal, if one of little use.

Kal nods, unable to make himself speak. He wants to stay the way he is—to coil tighter and tighter until he disappears and people forget he ever existed at all. To vanish into the night and become...the wind, maybe, or something equally untouchable. His parents would disapprove, though, and the weight of their gazes is on his mind as he gathers what little dignity he has left and forces himself to uncurl. Bit by bit, Kal straightens up, bare feet resting on the plush carpeting, toes digging into the fibers as if he can find strength down there. He is acutely aware of the itch in his face, the splotchy heat in his cheeks. How ridiculous does he look? There is nothing here he can use to fix his appearance, but he cannot help but wonder. At least if he could see himself, he would be able to assess just how disappointed Batman must be in him. Assuming he can still be disappointed in Kal, that is—assuming there is a greater depth to which his opinion of Kal could possibly sink.

There is no point in dwelling on the topic, however, and Kal makes himself take a breath. Batman is going out of his way to give Kal some attention when he cannot possibly want to be doing that. The least Kal can do is to make this encounter as short as possible, and let Batman be on his way.

“Thank you,” he tells the man, relieved when the tremor of his voice does not grow to a full tremble. “I am fine now.”

He cannot possibly look fine. Even without the tears—and those, Batman cannot miss—the lack of sleep must be easy to read in the hollows of his face by now. Kara, he knows, would be marching him to bed at this point, pulling promises of sleep from him before they even reached his bedchambers. Kara has long been familiar with short nights herself, before she even discovered Kal and Shadow were one and the same, but she has always been adamant about sleeping for a six-hour stretch every night, and has never hesitated to bully Kal into following the same rules.

Batman is not Kara, however, and where she would be sending him to sleep, he stands by Kal’s side without a word, solid and surreal in the darkness of the library. The top of his head, silhouetted against the ocher light of the moons, looks like stone, and it seems like he could wait forever for Kal to speak. Perhaps it is the comfort—or threat—of it that makes Kal blurt out:

“Truly, I am fine. Sometimes things are—I am fine. I will take care of this.”

“If that is what you want,” Batman says, voice entirely neutral, hand immobile. “We could also talk, if you would prefer. It does not have to be about...this.”

The carefully nonspecific phrasing makes Kal snort, as he wipes the last of his tears on the heels of his hands and resists the urge to lean into Batman like a tired child. He should be better at this. Batman, he is sure, would never be caught in this sort of state. He is too professional—too controlled—for it.

He did offer, though, and it might be that he is only acting out of pity—a part of Kal thinks, perversely, that Batman might be hoping to have the library to himself, but he shuts it down. It feels somehow ungrateful to listen to that voice for too long. Out of pity or not, however, Batman did offer to listen, and where else is Kal going to find someone to confide in? The only one who would be willing to listen is Kara, but she is busy, and does not seem to realize her advice of pushing through the pain and being normal again will not work for Kal. And, in all honesty, what harm could possibly come of confessing to someone who considers him uninteresting already? If worst comes to worst and the conversation proves unhelpful, well. Kal has learned to deal with that.

“It is nothing,” he says with a small shrug. “It is—I suppose I am...frustrated, sometimes. That I am not—”

It does not feel right to say ‘good enough’. Too self-pitying, too overt a demand for attention. Too desperate a plea for an absolution Kal does not deserve. He changes tack:

“That I do not have a Guild.”

There is a pause, heavy and cold, and Kal bites his lip. Why did he have to say that, and why did he have to say it to Batman, of all people? Crying about his Guildlessness is not going to make Kal sound any less pathetic; quite the opposite. Besides, he chose it, did he not? He could have followed Kara and his parents’ advice and dedicated himself to the learning of a Guild of his choice, and then perhaps...oh, but who is he trying to fool? No amount of work would ever have compensated for an absence of genetic markers, and while Kal might have spared himself some suffering if he had chosen that path, he might as easily have made his life worse. There is no real way for him to know, and, from what he knows, no basis of comparison in Batman’s culture, so what is the point?

“I apologize,” he tells Batman. “I know you do not care for that system.”

The alien has been discreet about this in public, but there was a time when he did not shy away from sharing his opinions with Kal. Even now, as he smiles—or gives the impression of a smile—Batman does not seem overly invested in the topic.

“Evidently, you do,” he says anyway.

There is a short pause, as if Batman were chewing on his words before he adds:

“So does the rest of Krypton. A great deal, from what I understand.”

“They do,” Kal admits, head bowed almost without his consent. “I know I should heed Kara’s advice and ignore them. I know I am too sensitive, but—”

“With...all due respect to your cousin,” Batman says, slipping out of his more formal grammar and into the familiar forms he used to use to talk to Kal, “it seems to me like it is quite flippant of her to call this easy to ignore when she has a Guild to belong to.”

Kal blinks, raising his head to look at Batman again, jaw slack with surprise. Never, in his entire life, has he been told anything like this, and in less than a second his throat clenches again. He breathes through it, and swallows hard.

“I do not—I have no idea what it is like not to have a Guild on Krypton. But I do know how it feels when everyone you meet has been convinced you were an idiot long before they ever met you.”

This time, when Kal blinks, there is a distinctly deprecating grimace on Batman’s lips, as if he has just swallowed something incredibly bitter. Kal understands the sentiment, of course. Of course he does. But the thought of Batman—quite possibly the smartest, most competent person Kal has ever met—being regarded with anything but awe and respect? Let alone the same sort of disdain the rest of Krypton has for Kal? Impossible.

“Please,” Kal says, voice smaller than he likes, “do not feel like you must pretend on my behalf. You—”

“I’m not—” Batman breathes in, deep and long, and when he speaks again his tone is entirely stable: neutral to the point of blankness. “I am not pretending.”

He is controlled, the emotion gone from his voice, and a part of Kal admires that. The rest of him, though, focuses on the tightness of Batman’s jaw. On the way his fingers dug—briefly, but hard enough to bruise—into the meat of Kal’s shoulder. On the way his other hand has clenched into a tight fist. Kal sees all of this and realizes with a dismayed sort of awe, that Batman is, indeed, telling the truth.

“On Earth, I—most people do not...see me as a very smart person. You could say I am something of an idiot.”

“You are not!” Kal protests, more vigorous than he would have anticipated. “I may not have known you long, but—”

“I know,” Batman says, not an ounce of arrogance in the tone. “My point is—just because a group of people deems you useless does not mean you are. Sometimes people are wrong, even as a group.”

Kal’s mouth opens and closes before he can even figure out what he wants to say. It seems, however, that Batman sees something in his expression, because the next time he speaks—quiet, collected, but with what sounds a little like regret in his tone—he says:

“I can be wrong, too.”

Kal clamps his mouth shut at that, teeth clicking together as he lowers his head again. It takes longer to get himself under control this time, more effort to push the words aside and keep them for later examination. Some words—some gifts—cannot possibly be appraised at a glance.

“Thank you,” Kal manages anyway, the words all the fainter for having to squeeze their way through the tightness of his throat.

He gets to his feet, then, breathing fast, eyes burning. He may be able to set Batman’s words aside, but his heart cannot, and despite Batman’s noise of protest—or what Kal thinks, hopes, is a noise of protest—he bows in gratitude.

“It is late, and I do not wish to impose on you any further,” he says. “Thank you for your kind words. Good night, Batman.”

This time, the alien does not try to stop him. Kal makes his way back to his apartments on quiet feet, one hand pressed over his mouth, and cannot quite tell what sort of tears he spills as he cries himself to sleep.

Batman spends more time with Kal, after that night in the library. It is...awkward, in a way their language lessons never were. Part of it is that it is impossible to disentangle the sudden resurgence of interest from what felt like one of the most humiliating encounters of Kal’s life; but another, not insignificant part is also that Batman himself does not quite seem to know what he is trying to do. Or rather it feels like he is trying to help, but does not quite know how to go about it, as if his kindness were a long-unused muscle he has not yet figured out how to train. The thought is touching, and Kal knows to appreciate the sentiment—he does! But there is a sense of purpose in these encounters, a feeling of reaching for a definitive goal, that wasn’t there back when they simply exchanged ideas and asked questions about each other’s culture.

Kal is grateful for Batman’s help. He is. But quite aside from the fact that every one of their conversations makes it more obvious that Batman is better suited to leadership positions—much as the Nightwing associations continue to chafe at him—there is also a part of him that misses the days when Batman treated him not as a mission, not as someone to fix, but as a friend.

Still, they continue on, and it is soothing to have someone to talk to again. Not as much as it used to be—not nearly enough to compensate for all of Kal’s shortcomings, both in and out of Shadow’s costume—but enough at least to lull him into a sense of—of misplaced optimism. Just enough for Kal to think that maybe, if he gives himself enough time, he will manage to fix his flaws. To stop being sorry, and start being better.

Life, as it is wont to do, proves him wrong less than two weeks after the incident in the library, the night before his thirtieth birthday.

He knew—from the very start, he knew his poor sleeping habits would become a major problem, given time. He knew this, and still he refused to do what needed to be done, too worried about the dangers of sleeping medicines to accept that they were the only solution to his problem.

Now Shadow is running after a group of Kandori soldiers, the data sticks in their pockets containing enough information to bring down a significant portion—if not all—of the Dark Sun’s escape routes, and he is losing ground. His lungs burn with the effort of keeping up with Batman, or at the very least keeping the alien in his line of sight; his legs scream in protest with every movement. By his sides, his arms pull at his shoulder blades as if to split him in half. He is drenched with sweat under the suit, panting for breath even as he calls out Kara’s directions as to where to find the people they pursue, grateful that she is here to keep track of his suit’s readings when he is too exhausted to focus on anything but the chase.

Several feet ahead, Batman is all but flying. Every line of his body screams competence, confidence. Earlier, when the Kandori soldiers split up—two leaving, while the other three remained to take care of the so-called terrorists—Batman was the only reason Shadow got out of the fight at all, let alone unscathed. Even now, when the soldiers make a wrong turn and shove themselves into a dead end, it is Batman who catches up with them first, all but gliding into immobility. What his uniform is supposed to represent, Shadow does not know; but he cannot blame the two Kandori for recoiling from it, both the color and the shape far too reminiscent of Nightwing—and, by extension, the wrath of Vohc—to leave any Kryptonian indifferent. Even Shadow shivers as he takes his place by Batman’s side.

“Kal, you have to sit this one out,” Kara warns in his helmet. “Your readings—”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Shadow mutters between two heaving breaths.

To his left, Batman gives him a sharp look, but does not speak. Shadow allows himself two more lungfuls of air before he speaks in Kandori:

“Give us the data. We will let you go unharmed.”

Neither of the soldiers answer, but one of them spits on the ground. No need to translate that. On Shadow’s left, Batman stiffens.

“Kal, please,” Kara insists, just as Batman says:

“Fine.”

Batman jumps into the fight without hesitation. Behind him, Shadow scrambles—grapples with one of the soldiers to pull her off Batman’s back. Lands in a puddle with a hiss. Rolls back to his feet. When he raises his head, the soldier—a captain, her uniform says—is smirking at him. Why shouldn’t she? Batman is busy, and Shadow has already demonstrated he is not up for this fight. He braces himself when she comes for him. Dispatches the material of one baton to reinforce the suit. He ducks a punch. Catches another in the shoulder; the suit absorbs it. But not the third, or the fourth. He falls to his knees.

“Kal!” Kara calls out in his ears.

He shakes his head.

“Kal, get up!”

He tries to obey. Under him, his knees refuse to move. When the electrified knife comes for him, he does not know how he dodges it. A roll of his shoulder, a ripple of his suit. A lucky swing. The soldier falls to the ground with a cry. Shadow drags himself to his knees. Strikes her in the stomach with a baton while her partner passes overhead and crashes into the nearest wall. He is wearing a corporal’s uniform.

“Nightwing,” he tells Batman, gesturing to the woman even as he tries to hold her to the ground, “the data—”

“You have a bigger problem,” Kara warns.

Inside the helmet, the bead display morphs into an arrow and the words ‘danger, multiple unknowns’.

“Shadow!” Batman barks as he catches the soldier’s electrified knife seconds before it hits Shadow in the face. “Pay attention!”

“There’s more coming,” Shadow gasps in return, head turning to the right again. “We need to go.”

“I have the sticks.”

Batman pulls the woman’s handcuffs off her belt and forces her wrists into them. The man, still struggling to even sit up, they leave alone as they hurry out of the dead end, only for a loud, angry cry to echo through the streets.

“Shit,” Batman hisses.

From the corners of his eyes, Shadow counts six soldiers—three Ellons, three Kandori—and swears in turn before he catches Batman’s cape and they take off into a mad dash through the streets.

“We have to get to the roofs,” Batman yells.

Shadow does not answer. There is not enough breath left in him for it. He runs, lungs burning, legs aching, arms screaming, and prays to Rao to send something, anything to help them—prays to Vohc to spare Batman, at least, to leave El and Krypton a fighting chance in the near future. What he gets instead is a long series of bright blue riffle lights, and a piece of stone crashing into his helmet as he drags Batman into the nearest side street, relief coursing through him when he spots an emergency ladder, eight feet up in the air.

“Support,” he gasps as he steps into Batman’s hands to reach the bottom of the ladder, “we’re going to need extraction!”

“You had reinforcement this whole time?” Batman exclaims under him.

“I have your position,” Kara retorts, a rustling sound echoing behind her, “but you need to get to the mountains!”

“On the way,” Shadow manages.

Every inch of him protests when he jumps from the roof he and Batman emerged on to the next, muscles straining past what he ever thought was possible; but they have no other choice. He has no other choice. Every gap between houses is too wide, every roof too slick—but still he jumps, and catches himself, and scrambles up because if he does not, he will die. Roofs explode around them, the militia’s rifles blasting ancient walls into rubble, and with every one of them Shadow’s panic rises, his heart beats faster, his jumps grow messier.

“Nearly there,” Batman shouts.

He must have guessed where they are going. Shadow nods under his helmet. Pants, gasps, scrambles to the very last roof, and, without hesitation, dives into the air. The suit rearranges around him, carries him farther than he could ever have hoped to go on his own. Shadow shouts in joy when a bug lands less than a yard away from them, the bright blue of its engines shining like a small sun in the night.

“Shadow, get down!”

There is the dull sound of a body throwing itself to the ground. A bright blue flash, from behind. Shadow falls, the breath stolen from his lungs. Behind him, a cry of triumph, and then the shrill scream of sound cannons echoing over the mountains. Shadow gasps, tries to breathe, to shield his ears, to move, but he can’t, he can’t, it hurts too much, he can’t—

He cries out again when Batman seizes him. The world falls away, the loud, harsh sound of his ragged breathing filling his helmet until he can’t hear anything else. His vision goes gray, then black, then gray again. By the time he manages to focus on anything else, he is lying on the ground at the back of the bug, wind screaming past him through the open doors. Overhead, Batman is pawing at his shoulders, his neck.

“Come on,” he growls, something odd in his tone, “there has to be a way—”

“Excuse me,” Kal says, forgetting to adopt Shadow’s lower timbre, “may I help you?”

Batman freezes. Stares at Kal’s helmet through the cowl, hands and mouth gone slack. Kal coughs, and orders the suit to initiate its wound management protocol. He yelps when the first nanobots gather on the burnt flesh itself, hissing and biting his lip as the pilot tells them they are only five minutes away from their departure point.

“Departure point?” Batman asks.

Kal barely hears him through the rush of his blood in his ears. Half his skin crawls with the rippling movement of the suit, nanobots pulling away from unnecessary areas—his batons, first, then his helmet—to put pressure on the wound and reinforce the armature around Kal’s legs, his lower back. His head falls back and hits the ground when he loses support to his neck.

“No—ow—no material in—”

“But the Palace!” Batman shouts—Kal think he hears their pilot gasp. “There must be a doctor, a—anyone! You cannot have been working without some kind of safety—”

“Support—on the way,” Kal manages, struggling to keep his eyes open now that the blood loss is making itself known. “Not a doctor.”

“Then someone else!” Batman hisses.

Again, that tension in his words. Something in his voice...if Kal did not know better, he would be tempted to call it anguish. On Kal’s behalf. How unexpected.

“It’s okay,” Kal says, distantly relieved when his voice remains steady.

He knew this could happen. From the very first day, he knew. There is no surprise, here, except the absence of tears in his voice, the utter dryness at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps it is the pain that swallows them. Perhaps his body, trying so hard to pull him into oblivion, does not have the strength for them. Regardless, his voice is steady, and it remains steady when he says:

“I’ve been curious about Earth for a long while now.”

A short silence, while Batman absorbs Kal’s words and then, in English:

“You utter reckless idiot!”

“Batman—”

“Do not ‘Batman’ me!” Batman almost shouts, back to Ellon now. “What kind of stupid idea—”

The bug lands, lurching to a stop with a hiss as its grips anchor it to the mountainside. Inside the suit, Kal’s entire left side throbs, and he loses himself in the pain.

He opens his eyes to a higher ceiling and no wind, no smell of grass, no red moonlight around him. There is the soft feeling of a mattress under him and, to the right, someone tall and blonde working the controls of a healing pod. The suit still presses down on the wound, but even with it Kal’s vision remains frightfully gray. With a terrible effort, he gasps, and Kara turns—she pushes one last lever and, in a hiss of machinery, strides toward Kal and stands by his bedside. Her cheeks glisten.

“I was afraid you would leave without saying goodbye,” she says with a shiver in her voice. “Not that they should be very long—you have lost rather a lot of blood.”

There is a loud click, and the cot under Kal buzzes to life, the vibration strong enough to make him wince—to make him gasp, grasping for a breath that isn’t there, that won’t come, and his eyes widen with fear. Kara’s hand on his brow feels warm, almost too warm, and Kal leans into the touch with a sigh. He wants to stroke Kara’s hand—to hold her fingers one last time, but when he tries it feels like his arm has turned into a mix of lead and rubber, and all he succeeds in doing is making his hand flop out of the bed. He heaves a breath in.

“Kara….”

Kara’s face, haloed in golden blond in a sea of dark greens and near-black grays, squeezes tight, her eyes shining. Her hand leaves a burning trail from Kal’s forehead to his cheek.

“Oh, Kal,” she says, and breathes in hard.

Under him, the cot vibrates harder, and someone moans. It takes Kal a moment to realize that it is him.

“Batman is starting the ship, now,” Kara says the effort she makes to keep her voice steady pitching it much higher than normal. “Kryo will help him pilot. You will only have to say in the pod and heal.”

There will be no last look at Krypton, then. No sight of the mountains from above; no image of the Citadel, red against the darkness of El’s mountains, to treasure in Kal’s exile. Kal tries to take a breath—it feels like swallowing seawater and makes his throat tight, makes his eyes hurt. For the first time tonight, tears come to him, unbidden.

“You will be fine,” Kara says above him. “You will survive, and you will heal. And you will write to me.”

“Kara,” Kal manages.

It is more whine than word and it hurts—it hurts so much, tearing at the back of his throat, squeezing his lungs. Tears burn at his temples, tracing a searing path from his eyes to his hairline, and when Batman and the anonymous pilot come to move Kal’s bed toward the pod, panic seizes every last inch of him.

“Kara,” he repeats, “please, I don’t—”

His throat closes before he can finish his sentence, but she understands, Kal is sure of it. For years, Kal has told himself leaving Krypton would be a boon, his one chance at building a better life for himself. The only way for him to find a place he could fit and belong in. Now that moment is here and his heart recoils—clings to the steep slopes and the sharp edges of El’s mountains, the red light of the two moons. The northern winds, cold and deadly, and the smell of elderfir on the warm air of summer nights. Countless days spent sitting on a balcony, looking at El from above and pretending he could see Ul, far in the South. There will be no more of that for Kal, no more of anything; and here, at last, at the edge of leaving, he finds himself sobbing for a loss he never truly believed would pain him.

“Be safe now,” Kara tells him as the two men transfer Kal onto the pod’s bed. “Be happy, if you can.”

She presses a bruising kiss to Kal’s forehead, and he wants to answer—wants to look at her one last time and keep this, at least, in his heart. There are too many tears in his eyes now, fear gripping his heart too tight to leave room for anything else, and he squeezes his eyelids shut against the bright white light of the pod.

The last he sees of Kara is barely more than a small blonde dot in his peripheral vision.

[apocalypticpsiboys]

Chapter 12 of ENR is now up! You can read it here!

In which Ness and Lucas find a safe place to crash for the night. They get a generator working and find a stash of old music cassette tapes inside! Ness introduces Lucas to the wonderful world of grunge music~

[trevardes]

Takaperin kunnes pysähdytään (1/2)

Genre: domestic fluff

Sanamäärä: noin 1900

Disclaimer: En omista hahmoja enkä saa tästä rahaa.

Varoitukset: huonon itsetunnon kuvausta

Paritus: Mielonen/Sinkkonen

Summary: Mielonen huhuilee taukotilasta että tulkeehan kahville, ja Sinkkonen menee, vaikka juuri parikymmentä minuuttia sitten kävi keittämässä itselleen kupillisen. Tietenkin hän menee.

Notes: Tämä on spinoffi joulukalenterificilleni ja spoilaa sitä aika rankasti.  Kiitos erityisesti @mieoleahvena lle, jonka ansiota/syytä on se, että alunperin rakastuin Sinkkoseen. <3

AO3 linkki: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567192/chapters/41401271

*

1.

Sinkkonen käyttää työajastaan ehdottomasti liian suuren prosenttiosuuden epäolennaisten asioiden pohtimiseen. Hänen tulisi omistaa koko aivokapasiteettinsa käsillä olevan murhatapauksen selvittämiselle, mutta viimeaikoina ajatukset ovat harhailleet aivan hallitsematomasti. Sinkkonen tietää siihen syyn, ja on täysin perillä ajatusprosessiensa ärsyttävästä epäloogisuudesta. Hän on kehittänyt ikävän tavan maalailla ruusuisia haavekuvia, eikä minkään sortin järkeily tunnu käyvän kasvimyrkystä, jolla niitä tappaisi.

Mielonen huhuilee taukotilasta että tulkeehan kahville, ja Sinkkonen menee, vaikka juuri parikymmentä minuuttia sitten kävi keittämässä itselleen kupillisen. Tietenkin hän menee.

Muut ovat niin työn touhussa, että kahville ilmestyy Sinkkosen ja Mielosen lisäksi vain Hietanen. Tämäkin porhaltaa täyttä vauhtia sisään, kaataa itselleen kupillisen, moikkaa, ja lähtee samantien takaisin hoitamaan hommiaan. Sinkkonen ja Mielonen jäävät huoneeseen kaksin.

Mielonen nojaa rennosti sivupöytään kahvinkeittimen lähellä. Hän ojentaa Sinkkoselle kupin. Kahvissa on jo valmiiksi tilkka maitoa sekä yksi sokeripala, ja jälleen kerran Sinkkonen ihmettelee, miksi joku Mielosen kaltainen ihminen vaivautuu muistamaan minkälaisena Sinkkonen kahvinsa juo.

Hän ottaa kupin. Kiittää.

Hörppää ja antaa pienen, jäykän hymyn kallistaa suupieltä ylöspäin. Mielonen huomaa sen ja säteilee, niin kuin aina kun tietää tehneensä jotakin oikein.

Sinkkonen painaa häkeltyneenä katseensa lattiaan. Ei sitä hymyä kestä. Vilkaisukin häikäisee, kuin katsoisi suoraan aurinkoon. Liian suurina annoksina se pistää pään pyörälle ja uhkaa aiheuttaa näkövaurioita.

2.

Pikkujouluyönä Mielonen juo liikaa, ja seuraa Sinkkosta poliisitalon katolle. Sinkkonen on alunperin mennyt sinne rauhoittumaan, keräämään voimia, jotta jaksaa mennä takaisin juhlijoiden sekaan. Paennut hetkeksi hengittämään raikasta ilmaa.

Hengityksestä ei tule enää mitään, kun Mielonen tulee aivan lähelle ja vetää hänet kiihkeään, viininmakuiseen suudelmaan.

Se tulee niin yllättäen, ettei Sinkkonen osaa torjua sitä. Käsi päätyy Mielosen rinnalle, aikomuksena työntää tätä kauemmas, mutta se jääkin vain lepäämään siihen, nopean sykkeen päälle. Mielosen huulet ovat pehmeät ja vaativat ja tämän kieli sujahtaa Sinkkosen suuhun vähän liian nopeasti ja liian innokkaasti. Se ei kuitenkaan ole ongelma. Ongelma on se, kuinka luonnolliselta se tuntuu. Tutulta ja turvalliselta ja täydelliseltä, siltä kuin olisi tapahtunut tuhat kertaa.

Mielonen hautaa sormensa Sinkkosen hiuksiin, räpeltää toisella kädellä solmion ja paidan nappeja auki. Painaa märän suudelman poskelle ja toisen kaulalle, ja vasta siinä kohtaa Sinkkonen onnistuu ravistelemaan itsensä takaisin todellisuuteen. Hän työntää Mielosen kauemmas ja kohtaa tämän hämmentyneen ja pettyneen katseen; pyytää kylmänvirallisella äänellä anteeksi ja pakenee takaisin sisälle.

Kun Mielonen myöhemmin löytää hänet taas, he ovat kumpikin ehtineet tahoillaan juoda lisää. Sinkkonen on ottanut vähän liikaa, niin että maailma keinuu ja arvostelukyky putoaa huolestuttavan lähelle olematonta. Mielonen näyttää olevan vielä pahemmassa kunnossa.

Sinkkosen ei pitäisi, mutta hän lähtee saattamaan Mielosen kotiin. Hänen ei pitäisi, mutta kun Mielonen taksissa niin kauniisti pyytää, Sinkkonen maksaa matkan ja taluttaa Mielosen ovelle.

Ei pitäisi, mutta hän seuraa lopulta Mielosta sisälle asti, seuraa tämän sädehtivää hymyä ja eteisen himmeässä valossa pehmoisen näköisiä hiuksia. Humalaisen hypnotisoivasti keinuvaa lantiota.

Sinkkonen auttaa Mielosen päältä kengät ja puvuntakin ja kaiken, kunnes Mielonen nojaa häneen pelkässä aluspaidassa ja lyhyissä boxereissa. Mielonen on niin pehmeä ja niin uskomattoman kaunis, että Sinkkonen ei mahda mitään, kun Mielonen vetää hänet sängylle istumaan. Hän ehtii potkia vain kengät jaloistaan ja karistaa takin päältään, ennen kuin Mielonen vetää hänet puolittain päälleen ja takertuu häneen kaikilla raajoilla kuin mustekala.

Hän sentään yritä mitään, vaan nukahtaa saman tien. Sinkkosen ei pitäisi jäädä, mutta Mielonen on niin suloinen hänen sylissään, ettei hän pysty pakottamaan itseään lähtemään.

Hänen ei missään tapauksessa pitäisi, mutta Sinkkonen sulkee vastoin parempaa tietoaan silmänsä ja antaa Mielosen rauhallisen hengityksen tuudittaa itsensäkin uneen.

3.

Sinkkonen herää kauan ennen Mielosta, joten hänellä on paljon aikaa tajuta, kuinka surkeassa tilanteessa on. Krapula kolkuttelee ohimoilla ikävänä särkynä, ja suussa maistuu kamalalta. Ne ovat kuitenkin pientä verrattuna kaikkein suurimpaan ongelmaan, joka tuhisee rauhallisesti hänen vieressään.

Mielonen on painanut kasvonsa vasten Sinkkosen kaulansyrjää, ja toinen jalka on löytänyt tiensä Sinkkosen nilkkojen väliin. Mielonen on nukkuessaan niin kovin suojaton ja lämmin ja kaunis. Sinkkonen haluaisi vetää hänet vielä lähemmäs ja sulkea vain silmänsä uudelleen.

Hän ei kuitenkaan nyt herättyään enää pysty sellaiseen. Häntä alkaa pikkuhiljaa ahdistaa Mielosen läheisyys, sillä se viittaa kaikenlaisiin asioihin, joita Sinkkonen ei lopulta voi saada.

Mielonen äännähtää jotakin unissaan, liikuttaa kättään Sinkkosen kyljellä, ja Sinkkosen aivot menevät ylikierroksille. Hän pyörittelee pakonomaisesti päässään kaikkia niitä syitä, miksi hän ei voi jäädä tähän.

1.Tämä ei ole lainkaan sopivaa, monestakin syystä, mutta painavimmat kolme ovat heidän työsuhteensa, kahdentoista vuoden ikäero, sekä täysin yhteensopimattomat luonteet.

2. Minkäänlainen suhde olisi huono idea kaikin puolin. Sinkkonen on niin ongelmainen: neuroottinen, sosiaalisesti kyvytön, yleisesti vaikea ihminen. Mielonen taas on hyvä ja ansaitsee jonkun paremman, jonkun joka osaa paremmin olla hänen kanssaan.

3. Vaikka Mielonen jostakin syystä haluaisi yrittää, eivät he eivät sopisi yhteen. Mielonen on sellainen ihminen, joka iloisesti suutelee työkavereita humalassa ja takertuu estoitta kiinni jos niin haluaa. Sinkkonen puolestaan makaa tässä kauhusta jäykkänä ja listaa päässään negatiivisuutta. Lista ei edes lopu kolmeen, vaan mieleen tulee vielä yksi kohta.

4. Mielosen täytyy olla jollakin tavalla havaintokyvytön, hänen arvostelukyvyssään on oltava jotakin vakavasti vialla, jos hän kaikista maailman ihmisistä päättää lähestyä juuri Sinkkosta.

Kaikessa tässä on enemmänkin kuin tarpeeksi syytä lähteä. Sinkkonen nousee sängystä, liikkuu hitaasti, varoo herättämästä edelleen rauhallisesti nukkuvaa Mielosta. Lähtemisen sijaan hän suuntaa kuitenkin keittiöön. Tuo Mielosen yöpöydälle lasin vettä pöydällä jo valmiiksi odottavien särkylääkkeiden seuraksi.

Hän asettelee peitettä paremmin Mielosen päälle, eikä voi olla sipaisematta hiuksia syrjään otsalta. Mielonen on liian syvässä unessa reagoidakseen mitenkään, ja Sinkkonen sallii itselleen hetken, aivan lyhyen vain, jonka hän käyttää tämän kasvonpiirteiden painamiseen mieleensä.

Tässä kohtaa hän karkaisi, jos hänessä olisi kylliksi miestä siihen.

Hänessä ei kuitenkaan ole. Hän hiipii keittiöön etsimään jotakin, mistä laittaa aamupalaa. Mielosella on kuitenkin herätessään varmasti nälkä.

4.

Mielonen löytää Sinkkosen keittiöstään paistamasta lettuja.

Näky on niin hämmentävä, että Mielosen on seisottava hetken aikaa ovensuussa ja vain ihmeteltävä. Sinkkosella on päällään eilinen rypistynyt kauluspaita, jonka hihat kääritty siististi kyynärpäihin. Hänen ilmeensä on keskittynyt kun hän kääntää letun lastalla. Hän näyttää siltä, että kuuluu tänne.

Letut tuoksuvat vahvasti, paistorasvan käryn pitäisi ehkä krapulassa ällöttää, mutta se tuoksuu vain herkulliselta. Sinkkonen on avannut tuuletusikkunan, ja huoneessa on viileää. Mielonen värisee aluspaidassa ja ohuissa kangashousuissa, jotka on vetäissyt päälleen.

Krapula ei oikeastaan tunnu muuten kuin lievänä heikotuksena ja päänsärkynä, ja sitäkin helpottivat yöpöydältä löytyneet vesi ja särkylääke. Mielosen sydän tuntui kolme kokoa liian isolta, kun hän herättyään huomasi Sinkkosen tuoneen ne siihen.

Hänellä on hyvin vähän muistikuvia illasta ja siitä, kuinka Sinkkonen ylipäätään päätyi tänne, mutta sen suudelman hän kyllä muistaa. Hän muistaa, kuinka hetken Sinkkonen antoi hänen olla niin lähellä ja koskettaa, kuinka hän ensin kuvitteli, että voisi saada niin helposti kaiken mitä halusi.

Sitten Sinkkonen tietenkin toipui järkytyksestä ja lähti. Myöhemmin hän kuitekin toi Mielosen kotiin ja huolehti hänestä, joten ehkäpä peliä ei sittenkään ole vielä menetetty.

Mielonen menee Sinkkosen luo ja halaa tätä takaapäin. Sinkkonen jähmettyy ja päästää pienen hämmästyneen äänen. Hän ei tainnut edes huomata Mielosta ennen kuin Mielonen kosketti häntä.

Mielonen laskee leukansa Sinkkosen olkapäälle ja nauttii miehen selän lämmöstä, joka auttaa pitämään huoneen kylmyyden loitolla.

“Huomenta”, Mielonen kuiskaa.

“Huomenta.” Sinkkosen äänensävy on lattea, mutta poskelle näyttää nousevan kevyt puna. Hän on niin pirun suloinen tällä tavalla häkeltyneenä. Miten Mielosen muka olisi tarkoitus pitää näppinsä erossa?

5.

Sinkkonen paistaa lisää lettuja, ja Mielonen keskittyy nojaamaan häneen. Uneliaisuus hiipii takaisin mielen reunoille, ja silmäluomet uhkaavat painua kiinni.

“Kiitos kun piät musta täl taval huolta”, hän mutisee.

Sinkkonen ei vastaa, hymähtää vain välttelevästi ja kippaa valmiin letun pinoon. Hän kaataa pannulle lisää taikinaa eikä estele, kun Mielonen kurkottaa hänen ohitseen repimään letun reunasta maistiaisen. Sen kuumuus polttaa sormia, ja hän kiroaa vaimeasti. Puhaltaa siihen pitkään, ennen kuin pistää palan suuhunsa.

“Huomautan, että kärsimättömyytesi on epäloogista”, Sinkkonen sanoo kuivasti, ja Mielonen naurahtaa.

“Eikö oo vuan hyvä, että minä tiiän mitä halluun, ja oon valmis toimiin nopeesti?”

“Ei, jos sinuun sattuu kun hölmöilet.”

Sinkkonenkin tajuaa, ettei tässä nyt ole enää kyse pelkästään palaneista sormista. Mielonen rutistaa Sinkkosta vähän tiukemmin; ei häntä tässä mikään satu. Jos vain jotenkin saisi Sinkkosenkin tajuamaan sen.

“Minun pitäisi lähteä”, Sinkkonen sanoo ja pitää katseensa tiukasti pannussa.

“Eikä piä”, Mielonen huokaa. Sinkkonen ei osaa sanoa siihen mitään, joten Mielonen jatkaa.

“Halluutko sinä lähtee?”

“Minun täytyy.”

“Siitä minä en kysyny mittään. Halluutko sinä?”

Sinkkonen ei sano mitään. Mielosta hymyilyttää.

Viimeinen lettu valmistuu, ja Sinkkonen siirtää sen pinoon. Mielonen kurottaa napsauttamaan levyn pois päältä, ja kiertää sitten Sinkkosen ja hellan väliin. Hän kohtaa miehen vaaleiden silmien epävarman katseen.

“Minun puolesta saisit jäähä”, hän sanoo pehmeästi ja antaa nenänpäänsä hipaista Sinkkosen omaa. On sunnuntaiaamu, eikä heillä ole kiirettä mihinkään.

Sinkkosen kädet hakevat paikkaansa ja asettuvat lopulta aivan kevyesti Mielosen lanteille, kuin tukea etsien. Sinkkosta on vähän vaikea lukea, ja etenkin eilisen jälkeen ajatus uudelleen torjutuksi tulemisesta ahdistaa. Sinkkonen on kuitenkin vielä tässä, joten kai hänen on tätä haluttava.

Mielonen ei itsekään oikein tiedä, mitä on tekemässä. Siitä on aikaa, kun hän on viimeksi seurustellut tai edes säätänyt mitään, eikä Sinkkonen ole hänen normaalia tyyppiään. Tämä on vanhempi, vakavampi, vaikeammin lähestyttävä. Joku hänessä kuitenkin on pohjimmiltaan sellaisella tavalla ihanaa, ettei Mielonen osaa pitää katsettaan tai käsiään hänestä erossa. Joku hänessä saa Mielosen yrittämään yhä uudelleen päästä hänen kovan suojakuorensa sisään.

Sinkkonen ei nojaudu häntä kohti, muttei myöskään käänny pois. Ei edes silloin, kun Mielonen ottaa riskin, sulkee silmänsä ja nojaa aavistuksen verran lähemmäs, antaa huultensa painua aivan kevyesti Sinkkosen omia vasten.

6.

Sinkkonen viettää Mielosen luona koko sunnuntain. He eivät oikeastaan tee mitään: Mielonen vain istuttaa hänet sohvalle ja käpertyy lupia kyselemättä hänen kylkeensä katselemaan televisiota. Sinkkonen uskaltaa nojata poskensa Mielosen sileisiin hiuksiin vasta toisella mainoskatkolla.

Mielonen kommentoi ohjelmia kärkkäästi, kritisoi pilke silmäkulmassa kaikkea näyttelijöiden taidoista mainosten idioottimaisuuteen. Sinkkonen ei osaa sanoa juuri mitään, sillä hän on edelleen aivan hämmentynyt koko tästä tilanteesta. Hänen ei olisi yleensäkään pitänyt jäädä tänne yhtään pidemmäksi aikaa kuin oli pakko, mutta lähteminen muuttuu koko ajan vaikeammaksi. Jostain kumman syystä Mielonen ilmeisesti viettää mielellään aikaa hänen kanssaan. Sinkkonen ei ole tottunut sellaiseen, ja sen aiheuttama hyvä olo hämmentää ja toimii kuin huume.

Mielonen taitaa ymmärtää, ettei Sinkkonen ole ainakaan vielä valmis tekemään mitään eikä puhumaan tästä. Mielonen vain on Sinkkosen lähellä ja näyttää tyytyväiseltä, paistattelee siinä kuin tyytyväinen kissa.

Tämä kaikki tuntuu liiankin hyvältä. On liian helppoa olla tässä ja nauttia hiljaa toisen läheisyydestä. Vaihtaa silloin tällöin muutama laiska suudelma, koska ne saavat Mielosen hymyilemään niin kauniisti.

Sinkkosta hävettää oma heikkoutensa, sillä hän tiedostaa edelleen kaikki syyt joiden vuoksi tämä on huono idea. Häntä hävettää, koska kaikesta huolimatta hän jää tähän.

Päivän mittaan he myös puhuvat. Turhanpäiväisyyksistä ja työasioista. Mielonen aloittaa keskustelun huomisesta pidätyksestä. Sinkkonen on hiukan huolissaan, ja myöntääkin sen. Hän luottaa Lammioon, mutta silti hänestä tuntuu, että hänen pitäisi olla paikalla huolehtimassa työparinsa selustasta.

“Kyllä se pärjää.” Mielosen ilmeestä päätellen Lammio saa kuulla kunniansa, jos ei pärjää.

“Mutta sinä oot ihana kun huolehit noin”, Mielonen jatkaa ja hymyilee hänelle. Sinkkosen rinnassa kuohuu omituinen lämmin kipu.

7.

Yöksi Sinkkonen ei sentään jää, vaikka Mielonen sitäkin pyytää. Itselleen hän rohkenee myöntää, että haluaisi kyllä jäädä, mutta hän ei kehtaisi maanantaina mennä töihin toissapäiväisissä vaatteissa. Muutenkin tuntuu siltä, että olisi hyvä olla hetki yksin ja ajatella kaikkea tätä, mitä pikkujoulujen jälkeen on tapahtunut.

Sinkkonen ei koskaan olisi osannut odottaa tällaista. On hän ollut Mielosesta kiinnostunut jo jonkin aikaa, mutta hän ei osannut arvata, että siitä voisi koskaan tulla mitään. Jos aloitteen tekeminen olisi jätetty hänelle, ei siitä olisi tullutkaan.

Sinkkonen menee kotiin. Asunto tuntuu tyhjältä ja ankealta, vaikka aiemmin hän on ollut aivan tyytyväinen sen minimaaliseen sisustukseen ja hiljaisuuteen. Hän huokaisee syvään ja ottaa tehokkaan viiden minuutin suihkun. Sitten hän syö kaksi palaa ruisleipää, harjaa hampaansa ja kömpii sänkyyn. Jokailtainen rutiini tuo toisaalta kaivattua normaaliuden tunnetta, mutta toisaalta ensimmäistä kertaa aikoihin se melkein tylsistyttää.

Sinkkonen silmäilee kirjahyllyään, mutta yksikään kirja ei herätä tarpeeksi kiinnostusta. Niinpä hän sammuttaa valot ja käpertyy peiton alle puhelimensa kanssa. Hän lukee uutisia ja katsoo sen jälkeen Yle Areenasta luontodokumentin eläinten soidintansseista. Sekin saa hänet ajattelemaan Mielosta, tämän kömpelöitä mutta sitkeitä lähestymisyrityksiä, ja sitä kuinka hyvin ne lopulta toimivat.

Sänky tuntuu liian suurelta ja tyhjältä, ja kun Sinkkonen viimein nukahtaa, hän näkee hämmentävän sekavia unia.

[chu-chulainn]

the amount of i//h stans that my renji & ichika meme attracted...................

this is a space that’s safe for r//enr//uki because renji is objectively THE best boy in the entirety of bleach so i’m happ(ier)y as long as he’s happy. that doesn’t apply to anything else in the last chapter. this is not for YOU!!!!!

[masterofd1saster]

CJ current events 18 jan 21

NOT playing “what about?”

https://www.dailywire.com/news/ted-wheeler-outraged-when-reporter-asks-if-portland-riots-set-the-stage-for-capitol-breach

reports that

KATU2 News reporter Genevieve Reaume on Tuesday highlighted such violent rioting during a one-on-one interview with [Portland Mayor Ted] Wheeler, before asking the mayor if protesters’ claims that permitting the violence “set the stage” for violence elsewhere, including “on a national level.” “Last week, we watched as pro-Trump supporters broke into the U.S. Capitol; the insurrection was unlike anything this country has ever seen,” Reaume said to Wheeler. “But just three weeks ago, protesters broke into the Oregon State Capitol. I have heard people at these protests elsewhere saying, ‘Well, they let it happen in Portland, so why not do it here?'”***

Wheeler was highly irritated by the question, but the question is wrong.  200 mouth breathers vandalizing the Capitol is wrong and bad, and DoJ is quite right to prosecute them.

200 mouth breathers breaking windows pales in comparison to Shay's Rebellion or the Whiskey Rebellion.  Did I forget to mention the Civil War?

Moreover, what Ms Reaume is talking about is Defining Deviancy Down.  As written in Sen Daniel P. Moynihan, Defining deviancy down: How we've become accustomed to alarming levels of crime and destructive behavior, The American Scholar, (Winter, 1993).:

By defining what is deviant, we are enabled to know what is not, and hence to live by shared standards. *** over the past generation, *** the amount of deviant behavior in American society has increased beyond the levels the community can "afford to recognize" and that, accordingly, we have been re-defining deviancy so as to exempt much conduct previously stigmatized, and also quietly raising the "normal" level in categories where behavior is now abnormal by any earlier standard.***

***

Some people are too silly to post

Somebody posted an article with the title How Far Does the First Amendment Go to Protect Violent Speech? on findlaw.  1st of all speech is not violent.  Violence is not speech. 2d of all, everyone knows that fighting words and inciting a riot/sedition have long been considered far different from speech.

***

In response to complaints from protesters this year that some federal law enforcement personnel were not properly identified, Congress added to the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2021, PL 116-283:

SEC. 1064. REQUIREMENTS FOR USE OF FEDERAL LAW ENFORCEMENT PERSONNEL, ACTIVE DUTY MEMBERS OF THE ARMED FORCES, AND NATIONAL GUARD PERSONNEL IN SUPPORT OF FEDERAL AUTHORITIES TO RESPOND TO CIVIL DISTURBANCES.    (a) In General.--Chapter 41 of title 10, United States Code, is amended by adding at the end the following new section: ``Sec. 723. Support of Federal authorities in response to civil   disturbances: requirement for use of members of the Armed Forces and   Federal law enforcement personnel    ``(a) Requirement.--Whenever a member of the armed forces (including the National Guard) or Federal law enforcement personnel provide support to Federal authorities to respond to a civil disturbance, each individual employed in the capacity of providing such support shall visibly display--        ``(1) the individual's name or other individual identifier that    is unique to that individual; and        ``(2) the name of the armed force, Federal entity, or other    organization by which such individual is employed.    ``(b) Exception.--The requirement under subsection (a) shall not apply to individuals referred to in such subsection who--        ``(1) do not wear a uniform or other distinguishing clothing or    equipment in the regular performance of their official duties; or        ``(2) are engaged in undercover operations in the regular    performance of their official duties.''.  *** https://www.congress.gov/bill/116th-congress/house-bill/6395/text/enr

***

***John Winslett, 66, of Bristol, Rhode Island, was sentenced to 70 months in prison followed by three years of supervised release before Chief Judge J. Michael Seabright in the District of Hawaii.

According to court documents and information presented in court, Winslett admitted that from 2011 to 2018, he paid over $100,000 worth of bribes to two U.S. Army contracting officials who worked at the Range at Schofield Barracks, in order to steer federal contracts worth at least $19 million to his employer, a government contractor. The bribes included cash, automobiles, and firearms. In return, the contracting officials used their positions to benefit Winslett’s employer in securing U.S. Army contracts.

Winslett further admitted that he accepted $723,333.33 in kickbacks from a local subcontractor in exchange for Winslett assigning those contracts to that local subcontractor.*** https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/former-government-contractor-sentenced-role-bribery-and-kickback-scheme

***

***A federal grand jury in Honolulu, Hawaii, returned an indictment charging Kaulana Alo Kaonohi and Levi Aki, Jr. with a hate crime for their racially motivated attack on a Caucasian man who was attempting to move into the defendants’ Native Hawaiian neighborhood of Kahakuloa on Maui.***

The indictment alleges that, on Feb. 13, 2014, Kaonohi and Aki willfully caused bodily injury to C.K., and attempted to cause bodily injury to C.K. through the use of a dangerous weapon (a shovel), because of C.K.’s actual and perceived race and color.***  https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/two-maui-men-charged-hate-crimes-racially-motivated-attack

***

Corey Johnson was executed on Thurs, 14 Jan 21 in Terre Haute, Indiana.  https://apnews.com/article/corey-johnson-execution-5cb06a1a1d73040513ec268fe9113c24 reports that the execution drugs included pentobarbital and that he died within about 20 minutes of the initial infusion.  Mr Johnson apologized to his victims before he died.

The jury convicted Cory Johnson of all seven of the capital murders with which he was charged under § 848(e) (Louis Johnson, Long, Carter, Armstrong, Thorne, Chiles, and Peyton Johnson). He was also convicted of conspiracy to possess cocaine base with the intent to distribute (21 U.S.C. § 846), engaging in a CCE (21 U.S.C. § 848(a)), eleven counts of committing acts of violence (including the seven killings charged under *870 § 848(e)) in aid of racketeering activity (18 U.S.C. § 1959), five counts of using a firearm in relation to a crime of violence or drug-trafficking offense (18 U.S.C. § 924(c)), and two counts of possession of cocaine base with the intent to distribute (21 U.S.C. § 841(a)(1)).

United States v. Tipton, 90 F.3d 861, 869–70 (4th Cir. 1996).

+++

Dustin Higgs was executed on Sat, 16 Jan, also in Terre Haute. “I’d like to say I am an innocent man,” he said before lethal injections were administered, mentioning the three women by name. “I did not order the murders.”  The procedure of his execution was apparently unremarkable.  https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/1/16/trump-administration-carries-out-13th-final-federal-execution

***[Tanji Jackson] angered Higgs, who commented to Haynes and Gloria that Jackson was “writing down [his] sh—.” J.A. 474. Gloria interpreted Higgs's comments as concern that Jackson intended to retaliate against Higgs.

At that point, “Higgs said f–––– that, and grabbed his coat and said come on.” J.A. 474. He also retrieved a silver .38 caliber firearm from the end table drawer and put it in his pocket. The three men got into Higgs's van, with Higgs driving, Haynes in the front passenger seat, and Gloria sitting behind Higgs. Higgs drove the van to where the three women were walking on the side of the road and told Haynes to get them in the vehicle. After Haynes spoke to them, the three women got into the back seat of the vehicle and Higgs started driving***

Higgs and Haynes leaned towards each other and engaged in a quiet conversation that Gloria could not hear. *** After the women got out of the van, Higgs pulled out the pistol and handed it to Haynes, who put it behind his back and also exited the van. Within moments, Gloria heard a gunshot and wiped the mist off the back window in time to see Haynes shoot one of the women in the chest. Gloria turned to ask Higgs what he was doing, but saw Higgs holding the steering wheel and watching the shootings from the rearview mirror.***

The investigation into Higgs's possible involvement in the murders also uncovered his participation in two prior shooting incidents involving a .38 caliber weapon. The incidents were significant because the same caliber weapon had been used to murder the three women.***

[Higgs also participated in a shootout on  December 10, 1995 in Laurel, Maryland.  He apparently used a 38, and was sentenced to 18 months in prison.]

Contrary to Higgs's contention, his handing the murder weapon to Haynes was not the only evidence of his participation in the premeditated murder of the three women. The jury could easily have concluded that the murders were motivated by Higgs's fight with Jackson and her copying down Higgs's license plate number. Higgs retrieved the gun used to commit the murders from a drawer in his apartment in the first instance, and instructed Haynes to lure the women into the van. After engaging in a whispered conversation with Haynes, Higgs also drove the van to the location of the murders, passing the most direct route back to the victims' homes. After Higgs pulled the van over to the side of the road on an isolated stretch of highway, Jackson asked him if they were being put out, and Higgs replied “something like that.” J.A. 482. At that point, he supplied the gun used to commit the murders to Haynes, mere moments before Haynes shot and killed the women. Clearly, there was sufficient evidence for the jury to convict Higgs of the charged offenses.***

United States v. Higgs, 353 F.3d 281,  290, 292, 314  (4th Cir. 2003).

[jadehqknb]

A Takeda scenario please~~! With s/o who is was angry at him for forgetting their anniversary due to much work and that he is also planning to propose to her. can the whole team help him in doing the proposal?

This came out really long but I hope you enjoy it! LOTS of fluff!

Takeda inhales a sharp breath. The moment he sees you hismemory finally kicks in to realize he’s committed one of the worst dating sins;he forgot your anniversary. You don’t say a word, you don’t have to. The weightof your stare from across the polished floors breeds tension in the room thateven the most oblivious of the volleyball idiots can sense.

“______,” begins Takeda.

“Don’t,” you say putting up your hand.“Just…don’t.” Turning on your heel, you exit before the first of manytears to be cried tonight falls. Takeda moves forward but stops in his trackswhen you shout over your shoulder, “And don’t follow me!”

There’s silence in your wake, none of those left behind surewhat to say to their dear sensei. They don’t know what happened but it’s clearhe made a mistake and a grave one at that. But he’s amazing; shouldn’t all hisgood outweigh one bad move?

“My apologies,” Takeda says turning back around,“um, let’s get back to work I suppose.” The team tries to regroup butare distracted with concern for their advisor.

“Sensei, are you ok?” Hinata can’t help asking.

“Tch, it’s obvious he’s not,” sneers Tsukishima.

“Alright guys, take a lap to warm back up. Daichi, gettheir heads back on straight,” Ukai orders.

“Hai!” responds the captain, ushering the teamoutside.

Now alone with his friend, Ukai scratches the back of hishead and shifts his feet. “You, uh, wanna talk about it?”

Takeda smile is dull, a deep sigh pushing out the words ofhis mistake.

“Welp, not surprised she’s upset but I mean, everyone’sallowed one royal screw up, right?”

“I think this is heavier than that, Ukai-kun.”

The coach shrugs, thrusting his hands in his pockets. A beatof silence passes then Takeda is speaking again. “I don’t mean to put heron the back burner, I just get so focused with work and the team! She’s reallythe most important person in my life. I… I want to ask her to marry me.”

Ukai’s jaw drops slightly; he’d no idea things had gottenthis serious between the two of you.

“You should sensei!” shouts Noya startling themboth. As the group surrounds them he adds, “We’ll help you!”

“Noya, you really shouldn’t-” begins Asahi.

“No, I think it’s a great idea. She really loves allof you,” Takeda says smiling a bit wider. “And I’ll take all the help Ican get.” 

The next morning you’re at home, eyes red rimmed and puffy.You know Ittsetu would never do anything to hurt you intentionally, but it’shard not to feel a bit heartbroken to have been forgotten so easily. No, notforgotten, more like overlooked but it stings all the same. A knock at yourdoor brings you out of your haze, hand rubbing your eyes in attempts to gainclear vision again. When you open it, you’re surprised to see Yachi and Shimizuon your porch.

“Good morning, _____-san,” Shimizu says politely while Yachijust waves, her body quivering a bit but you can’t tell if it’s trepidation orexcitement; with this girl, it could be anything.

You offer a watery smile. “Good morning girls, is theresomething I can help you with?” Then, your face bears concern as you askhurriedly, “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Takeda-sensei?”

“No, no,” Shimizu assures quickly shaking her head, “That’skind of why we’re here. We just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“Oh, you two are very sweet,” you reply with a sigh. “I…I’msure he and I will work it out. You didn’t have to come all this way just forthat!”

“We…we were hoping maybe…maybe we could do that girls’ daything you mentioned!” Yachi says. “You know? To help cheer you up?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you begin trailing off when you see herexpression drop. Perking yourself back up, you force a smile. These girls tooktime out of their day off to try to help you feel better and you’re not goingto let their efforts be wasted. “You know what? You’re right! It’s the perfectday for girl time!” Yachi lets out a yelp of encouragement while Shimizu smilessoftly. “Come in,” you continue drawing back from the threshold to allow thementrance, “I just need to take a quick shower and get dressed, then we can go.Did you have anything in mind?”

“We have a few ideas,” Shimizu says kindly as she takes aseat on your couch.

“Ok then, you girls figure out the details and I’ll be backin a jiffy.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re dressed in one of your favoritedresses, hair up and light makeup in anticipation of the heat of the day.

“Ohhhh, you look so pretty!” exclaims Yachi covering hermouth.

“Thank you, Yachi-san,” you reply picking up your purse. Thenext minute the three of you are outside headed to the train station. “So,where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” the girls say together making you laugh.

The train ride is pleasant, filled with gossip about theboys and you and Shimizu gently prodding Yachi to make a confession to Hinata.It’s plainly obvious the two of them like each other and even though they’re soyoung, you can’t help but be swept up in the memory of high school love. Thethought brings your own man to yourmind and you consider what to do about your current situation. You love Ittsetuwith all your heart and were of the mindset that he felt the same way, but nowyou’re not so sure.

The train arrives to your stop and the three of you exit.You get a few feet ahead of the girls before you realize they’re no longerright behind you. Turning around, they’re standing next to one of the platformpillars, smiles on their faces. Walking up to them, you ask, “What’s the holdup?”

“We owe you an apology,” Shimizu says handing you anenvelope. “This was never about spending time with us, but we hope you’llforgive us the small deception.”

Confused, you open the envelope and find a note inside:

My dearest, ______, bynow you should be standing if not exactly at least near to the place you werethe first time I ever laid eyes on you. Your beauty took away my breath butwhen you looked at me I couldn’t meet your eyes. It would take me months to finallywork up the nerve to even speak to you. But I’m so glad that I did. You are somuch more than just a pretty face, but yours is the only one I want to look at.

-         Ever yourcaptive, Ittsetu

When you look up, there are already tears brimming in youreyes as you search for your beloved. “He’s not here, but this is your nextstop,” Yachi says handing you another ticket. The girls wave as you get back onthe train.

The next stop is one you know well since it leads to thefirst place Ittsetu took you on a date. As you round the corner of the littleside street, you’re surprised to find Narita and Kinoshita seated at one of theoutside tables of the bistro.

“Good morning boys,” you say kindly, “you’re out early.”

“Good morning, _____-san,” they say together, both of theirvoices a little shaky.

There’s a beat of silence before Narita is reaching underthe table and pulling out a bouquet of the same flowers Ittsetu gave you onyour first date while Kinoshita hands you another envelope and offers you hisseat to read it. You sit down, setting the flowers upon the table so you canproperly hold the paper.

Darling ______, thestop was probably enough to give away where you’d end up next. This place willalways be ours, much as I hope you’ll always be mine. Whenever I catch wind ofthese flowers, I’m reminded of you but their scent pales in comparison to thenatural sweetness that is your essence. When I breathe you in, you give melife.

-         Intoxicatedby you, Ittsetu

Your smile is bigger now, letter clutched to your chest.Silently, Narita hands you another ticket for which you thank him beforeheading back to the station.

Again, the train whisks you away and again you smile widelyas it pulls to a stop. Exiting, you know right where to go, the park a quick five minute walk away. Looking at the top of the hill, you see four figures inthe distance but you don’t have to get close to know who they are.

Hinata is bouncing on the balls of his feet while Kageyamaand Tsukishima argue about you don’t know what. Yamaguchi has a sweet blush onhis cheeks as he hands you a box. Opening it, you find a tube of lipstick whichsurprises you until you read the accompanying letter.

My star, you’re now atthe spot we shared our first kiss. I think the only other time I have been thatnervous was when I got my first kiss ever in junior high. But kissing you wasone of the most significant things to happen in my life, even if I did getteased relentlessly by my fellow coaches and advisors for having a smear ofyour lipstick on me. This will forever be my favorite color because it alwaysreminds me of that first kiss.

-         Willinglymarked, Ittsetu

“Here you go, ______-san!” Hinata exclaims loudly, shoving aticket into your hand.

You giggle, patting his head in thanks, before giving a waveto the rest of the boys and taking your leave. Upon the train, you sigh softly;Ittsetu may have made one of the biggest errors ever, but he’s definitely makingup for it now.

Another stop, another memory, this time in the form of theplace where you first told each other “I love you.” Now expecting to seefamiliar faces, you grin widely at the sight of your two favorite misfits; Nishinoyaand Tanaka. The left winger spiker and libero rush over to you, eager to gettheir gift and letter into your hands.

“Open it!” Tanaka says excitedly while Noya nodsenthusiastically.

Chuckling, you do as bidden, revealing a beautiful sterlingsilver locket but instead of heart shaped, it’s fashioned to look like a book.Opening it reveals a picture of you and Ittsetu at a faculty Christmas party,both you dressed to the nines.

Every day a newchapter of our lives is written and I cannot express the joy I have in myheart that our stories are now intermingled. You enrich my life with color andsubstance but ground me to the things that are most important. I never want topart from you.

“This is your last stop,” Noya says giving you anotherticket. You kiss both their heads bringing furious blushes to their cheeks.

Exiting the train at your final destination brings you faceto face with the third years, each of them smiling warmly as you approach.

“Good evening, ______-san,” Sawamura says.

“Hello boys,” you reply. “I have to admit, I’m stumped onthis one, must be a new thing Takeda-sensei has in mind.”

“Always so perceptive,” Sugawara comments with a grin.

“Co…could you come with us, please?” Azumane asks quietly.

You nod, beginning to walk forward but Suga puts up hishand. “Ah, ah, you have to put this on first,” he says handing you a blindfold.You frown and pout playfully but tie it around your head obediently. The threeboys usher you slowly and carefully to wherever it is Ittsetu wants them totake you.

“Ok, _____-san, here’s a seat for you,” Sawamura sayshelping you to sit down. “Just wait here,” he adds then steps away.

It isn’t long before you feel movement near you and you justknow it’s Ittsetu.

“Ittsetu, can I remove this now?” you ask fingering theblindfold.

“Yes,” he answers, voice a little rough with emotion.

Pulling away the fabric, you blink to gain your vision backthen gasp as you take in the sight of a huge oak tree lit from base to almostits top with fairy lights. You’re seated at a table for two but Ittsetsu iskneeling on one knee…oh god…

“______,” he begins taking your hand, “today you went on ajourney of our firsts. And now, I hope to make one more first,” he opens asmall box, ring gleaming inside, “and a last. I want you and only you by myside until I leave this world. Will you…will you marry me?”

“Oh Ittsetsu, of course I will!” you cry, flinging yourselfinto his arms. He holds you tightly, face buried in the crook of your neckwhich he peppers with kisses.

“I’m so sorry for hurting you. I promise, I won’t ever doanything so stupid again,” he breathes against your ear.

“It’s ok, I forgive you,” you reply hastily, pulling backbefore moving forward again to plant a long kiss on his lips.

“I’ll take that as a sign she said yes.” Ukai’s voice snapsyour attention to the base of the tree where all the team begin to emerge withtables, chairs and food; all the makings of an engagement celebration.

“Wait, where’s Ennoshita? He’s the only one I didn’t seetoday,” you ask looking around.

“I’m here,” he says stepping out from his hiding spot. “I’vebeen following you the whole day documenting your trip. I’ll have the video puttogether by the end of next week. Only,” he looks at Takeda, “Sensei, could Ihave your permission to use it for my art school submission when I graduatehigh school? I have a feeling it will be my best work yet.”

“Of course,” he answers quickly then looks at you, “Only,that is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind as long as we’re the first to see it,” youreply and the second-year nods.

“Alright, then, let’s get on with the celebrating!” Ukaicalls.

“Whoohoo! I’ve got the sake!” Saeko cries making herselfknown as she sets up drinks and food.

The rest of the evening is spent surrounded by the teamwho’ve in the past year become like a makeshift family to you and Ittetsu andas you watch them all interact with one another, you just know these bonds,like the one you will make with your fiancé, will go on forever.