#And they undersold that so thoroughly

[ask-cloverfield]

[c-e-d-dreamer]

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Three

A/N: And we're back for part three of Regency Cassian! And this time, we're switching up POVs because nothing says the theme of Illyrian for @cassianappreciationweek quite like... gestures vaguely... ya know? Also, we're getting angsty, but I hope everyone still enjoys :)

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Nesta hates Cassian MacLeod.

She hates him with every fiber of her being. Hates him until her blood boils and blazes, and she can grasp onto that feeling and hold tight to it.

She hates his idiocy and the entire mess that he’s caused over the last week. She hates the looks that were on her sisters’ faces when they finally got home after Cassian had burst in, the way that Elain had cried. She hates the damning, shunning words her mother had berated her with before the wedding, and that those words are his fault.

She hates the forlorn and pleading expression he’s been wearing for days now, staring at her from across the carriage. She hates the way his hand keeps reaching out between them, fingers curling in the skirts of her dress like he’s worried she’ll disappear on him if he doesn’t hold tight enough. She hates the relief that flooded through her when he came striding through those church doors.

She hates that she doesn’t think she could ever hate Cassian a day in her life.

After their argument at the first coaching inn, the rest of the journey to Glasgow is tense and awkward. Each day they ride in the carriage, barely speaking to one another, and each evening they stop at a coaching inn, Cassian opting to sleep on the floor and allowing her the bed.

Nesta never thought there would be a day where she missed his teasing. Missed his Scottish drawl calling her sweetheart. Missed the warm, deep rumble of his laughter. But each night she lies in the bed staring at the wall through the dark, her arms curled tightly around herself to fight off the chill. His name stays lodged firmly in the back of her throat, desperate to escape, but then she’ll think of her sisters back in London, think of how they must be struggling with the consequences of the Archeron name being thoroughly ruined, and she grasps back onto that anger all over again.

When they finally reach Glasgow, Nesta feels particularly exhausted, but as the carriage pulls around a bend, she finds herself perking up. She had known that Cassian had money, that despite what her mother and the other mothers of London whispered and gossiped, the MacLeods had made a name for themselves with their factories in the north. It was why Cassian had attended the boarding school with the other boys in the first place, but actually seeing the manor that he calls home almost has Nesta gaping.

The beige stonework of the exterior is gorgeous, lines of windows spaced amongst the patterned stone and bay windows protruding from both wings of the manor. Five wide steps lead up to a large, white front door, a crest seemingly carved into the stone just above it. With the line of trees and what promises to be a sprawling garden just behind, it paints a picture perfect backdrop.

The carriage pulls to a stop, and one of the footmen pulls open the door, Cassian climbing out first before he turns back and offers Nesta a hand. She’s still staring up at the manor as she settles her hand in his and steps down from the carriage.

“Do you like it?” Cassian asks, his eyes pinned on Nesta and her reaction, his tone almost nervous.

“I’m beginning to think you undersold your manor in your letters,” Nesta comments, her eyes still flitting around. “You always described it as being so miserable here.”

“It was.”

Something in Cassian’s tone, in the unspoken words hanging in the breeze between them, has Nesta turning her head. There’s a longing swimming amongst the golds and greens of his hazel eyes, enough that Nesta’s breath hitches in her lungs and she has to look away again. She swallows hard and continues forward toward the front steps of the manor, desperate for a distraction from everything left unsaid between them, from the electricity that sparks in that space, from the way her traitorous heart skipped over itself.

The front door is pulled open as soon as Nesta gets close to it, so she steps inside, taking a moment to admire the high ceilings of the hall. A large, central staircase takes up the majority of the space, but Nesta notes the fresh flowers that have been arranged on the tables lining the walls.

“Mrs Reynolds,” Cassian greets the woman standing just inside the hall, stepping inside behind Nesta and settling a gentle hand on the small of her back. “I trust all has been well while I was away.”

“Of course, sir,” Mrs Reynolds responds, dipping into a polite curtsy before her eyes glance toward Nesta quickly. “The staff has ensured that everything is prepared to welcome the new mistress of the house.”

“Perfect. Please inform Michael to begin preparing dinner while I give Nesta the tour.”

With another curtsy to them both, Mrs Reynolds vanishes deeper into the manor. Cassian clears his throat and steps away from Nesta, drifting over toward the left side of the hall. He pushes a hand up and through his hair, the gesture almost nervous.

“You can change anything you’d like,” Cassian explains. “I’ll admit I’ve just sort of left things how my father had them, but if anything isn’t to your taste or…” He clears his throat again, and swings open the doors in front of him. “But this is the drawing room, and through that door there is my study. And just through there leads to the conservatory that overlooks the gardens.”

Nesta nods in understanding and steps closer, her gaze sweeping over the different furnishings, the piano tucked in the corner by the windows, the sofas arranged around the large fireplace. She sidesteps around Cassian to peer into his study next, taking in the desk and books stacked neatly into the shelves just behind it. When she turns back toward Cassian, looking at him expectantly, he crosses to the other side of the hall, opening the other set of doors.

“And this is the dining room, which connects back to the breakfast room, and the conservatory too actually. Since the hall just wraps around.” When Nesta doesn’t say anything and merely nods her head again, Cassian makes his way up the stairs, pausing at the top and gesturing to his left. “The west wing has three bedrooms, mostly used for guests, but this way…”

A few steps down the hallway leading to the east wing and Cassian pauses, pushing open a set of double doors. There’s no stopping the gasp that tears free from Nesta’s chest, her feet moving of their own accord as she steps inside. A sofa and two comfortable looking armchairs are arranged around a tea table near the fireplace, and she realizes that one of the bay windows she had seen from outside is in fact a window seat. But every other spare inch of space along the walls is lined with dark colored oak shelves, climbing all the way up to the ceiling, and each one of them is filled with books.

“I had a feeling this would be your favorite room,” Cassian chuckles quietly behind her.

Nesta walks over to the closest shelf, running her fingers along the different spines. She can already hear the whispers of the stories and characters waiting just beneath, and she takes a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply, the scent of parchment and dried ink filling her senses in the most comforting way. When she opens her eyes again, she examines Cassian’s collection, tiling her head so she can read the different titles displayed.

“You have quite the Sellyn Drake collection.”

“You told me he was your favorite writer, so I made sure I had every book of his that’s been published.”

Nesta nearly jumps out of her skin at how close his voice is. She hadn’t heard him walk closer to her. She chances a glance to where he’s now leaning against the shelves beside her, where he’s watching her intently. Of course, her heart once again decides to betray her, thundering between her ribs at his closeness, at that damned look in his eyes, at his explanation. Her bottom lip finds home between her teeth, and she looks away again, focusing instead on tracing the letters of a title with her index finger.

“I don’t recall telling you that,” Nesta says, pulling one of the books out and flipping through the pages just to give her hands something to do.

“You were in the market square, and I followed you into the bookshop.”

“I suppose that does sound right. You always like to bother me.”

“I asked you who your favorite writer was, so I might purchase a book for you, and you told me that you didn’t need a gentleman to buy you your books.”

“Clearly you didn’t listen.”

“And when I insisted, you finally informed me that Sellyn Drake was your favorite.”

“How do you know I didn’t just say that to see the shop owner’s face when you purchased a Sellyn Drake novel? It was quite priceless as I recall.”

“Then who is your favorite writer? Tell me, and I’ll have the books in this library remedied immediately.”

He says the words with such ease, such conviction, that Nesta finds herself frowning in confusion. “Why?”

That look takes over his face again, that soft pleading look. “You already know the answer to that question, Nes.”

“Because I’m the lady of the house now?”

“If that’s the lie you want us to tell ourselves…”

Nesta closes the book in her hands with a clap that echoes in the otherwise quiet library, hugging the book tight to her chest. “Do you intend to finish your tour?”

Cassian sighs softly but he nods, leading Nesta out of the library and continuing down the hall of the east wing. He stops in front of another set of doors, pulling them open and gesturing for Nesta to step inside. The room is spacious, a large, canopy bed taking up the majority of the space and windows that overlook the gardens lining the far wall.

“The dressing room is through the door on the left, the bathing chamber the one on the right,” Cassian explains, still hovering by the door. “You’ll have this room, and I’ll have one of the guest rooms made up for me.”

Nesta whips around at that. “We won’t be sharing?”

“Have you forgiven me yet?”

“No,” Nesta snaps automatically, earning a look from Cassian that clearly says she answered her own question. “And what happens when word reaches London that we are already sleeping separately? Barely a week into the honeymoon?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. My staff are good people. They won’t talk or spread gossip.”

“All servants talk.”

That infuriating, teasing smirk of his tugs across his lips, the first time Nesta’s seen that look in days. “If you want me in your bed, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask.”

“I want nothing from you,” Nesta corrects, tossing her book onto the bed and crossing her arms across her chest, matching his stance. “But you have already ruined me and the Archeron name enough. I will not allow you to drive it further into the mud.”

Cassian’s smile drops away, a flicker of regret crossing his expression as he turns his face away from her. “You know that wasn’t my intention.”

“Yes,” Nesta drawls dryly, rolling her eyes. “We all know your intentions with your stupid, selfish act.”

“Selfish…” Cassian scoffs, shaking his head. “Because what more could I possibly want than you hating me.”

The conversation is teetering dangerously toward things they’ve yet to discuss, and though Nesta already knows, has already seen the truth that Cassian has worn so plainly on his sleeve since the House Party, since the wedding, it’s waters Nesta is not quite ready to dip her toe into. It’s secrets she’s not quite ready to share. So she drops her gaze away from Cassian, fiddling with the sleeve of her dress and a loose thread there instead.

“I’m tired. We’ve been traveling for days. Can you send some lady’s maids to tend to me?”

Cassian sighs, but he thankfully doesn’t comment on the change in subject. “You haven’t had any dinner yet.”

“I’m fine,” Nesta dismisses easily with a shrug.

“You’ve barely eaten the past few days.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“We’re married now, remember? Is that not what husbands do? Is that not my right now?”

Nesta storms across the room to him, her rage practically palpable the way it thrums through her veins, the way it thunders in her ears. She doesn’t stop until she’s right in front of him, scowling up at him with narrowed eyes as she seethes, “do it, then. I dare you.”

She expects Cassian to step away from her, perhaps even to match her anger, but she doesn’t expect him to smile down at her. “There she is. You want to play, Nes?”

“Gods, you are insufferable!”

“Better to have you yelling at me than the gods-damned silence you’ve been putting me through! Fight with me. Throw something at me. I don’t care. I can take it.”

They both stand there, toe to toe, their chests heaving and twin flames blazing in their gazes. Nesta swears she can hear both their hearts thundering to the same beat. Swears some thread goes taut between them as the air crackles and sparks. It squeezes and tightens around her heart, threatening to burst it, threatening to tug it clean out of her chest.

She tries to grapple for her anger again, for her hatred, before it slips through her fingers like wisps of smoke. Damn this man and the way he’s never backed down from her. The way he’s always relished in her fire rather than trying to douse it. The way he’s torn down her every wall, her every defense, from the moment she met him.

It has Nesta breaking first, turning away from him and hugging her arms around herself like that will hold in the ache that’s started to throb between her ribs. “Are you calling some lady’s maids or not?”

“Fine,” Cassian mutters, his voice almost defeated.

Nesta waits until his retreating footsteps finally fade before letting out a soft sigh. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before two lady’s maids step inside the room. They help her to bathe, to wash away all of the grime that comes from days of traveling before helping her prepare for bed. When they leave again with a polite curtsy, the bedroom doors closing behind them with a soft snick, Nesta slips beneath the cool, silk sheets and the soft blankets of the bed.

She lays there against the pillows, eyes glued on the windows and the gardens beyond. She watches the sky as it shifts from golden hues to deep purples, watches until the inky darkness of night swallows everything whole and plunges the bedroom around her into shadows too. Despite the exhaustion still weighing heavy in her limbs, sleep stays firmly out of Nesta’s reach. It doesn’t help that her mind can’t seem to stop racing, churning like the sea waves during a storm.

All she can think about is Cassian, practically seeing his face every time she tries to close her eyes. She can’t help but think back to her eighteenth birthday, one of the last times she saw him before he finished school and returned to Glasgow. Her mother had thrown her an extravagant party in the ballroom of their home to celebrate. Mama had claimed it was strictly to honor her, but Nesta had known better. It was a way to show off to the other society ladies. It was a way for Mama to begin her grand plan of securing Nesta a suitable match.

It had all been so much, the music, the people, all the conversations Mama had roped her into. And yet somehow Cassian had seen right through her plastered smiles, had known exactly what she needed. He’d grabbed her hand and whisked her away before anyone could see. Nesta doesn’t think she’ll ever forget those few blissful moments of peace they’d stolen away, hidden out of sight in the pantry, Nesta sitting on an overturned crate so as to not get dirt on her dress.

He had given her her birthday gift then, a first edition book she loved, the writer’s script penned on the first page. It was so thoughtful. The whole night had been so thoughtful that Nesta had realized it then. In that small space with Cassian smiling softly at her, with his hazel eyes still glinting even in the low light, Nesta had realized that she had feelings for him.

That she loved him.

Nesta can feel the hot sting of tears beginning to prickle the back of her eyes, so she turns and presses her face into her pillow, trying to stifle them. Her whole chest feels raw and exposed, as though dark claws have carved into the space until it’s hollow, until nothing remains but bloodied ribbons and her bruised heart. She presses a trembling hand to her mouth, the cool metal of her wedding band catching on her lips. It just makes the emotions raging through her worse, and Nesta pulls the blankets up higher over her shoulders, curls in tighter to herself.

She’s not sure how much time passes, how long she lays there, before she hears the soft sound of the door opening, the shuffle of feet around the room. She doesn’t move from her spot, stays perfectly still as she listens to Cassian unwind and prepare to sleep. She can feel the blankets shift as he tugs them down on the other end of the bed, but then he pauses. He hesitates. And Nesta has to squeeze her eyes shut, that ache in her chest giving a stuttering throb.

Finally, the mattress dips behind her, Cassian slipping into the bed and shifting until he’s comfortable. It takes everything within Nesta to keep breathing steady, not to release the sigh of relief clogging her throat.

“Nes,” Cassian whispers, his fingertips feather light as they skate along her spine. “Are you awake?”

The seconds of silence tick by, Nesta keeping her lips firmly pressed together. She expects Cassian to pull his hand back, but instead, his fingers curl into the fabric of her shift, the same way they’d curled into her skirts in the carriage. She wants to hate how much she finds the gesture grounding, comforting.

“I just wish you’d understand that I did it for you.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta wakes to an empty bed.

Gray, muddled light pours into the room through the windows, the heavy overcast clouds clinging to the sky outside promising a whole day of rain. Nesta takes a moment to just lay there, to watch the droplets of water that splatter onto the window pane before sliding against the glass in racing streaks.

When her stomach starts to twinge and groan, she finally heaves herself up and out of bed. She takes the time to braid and pin her hair back, opting for one of her more simple dresses. She heads down the stairs and to the breakfast room, Cassian already dressed and sitting inside at the table. He has a stack of papers he seems to be reviewing in his hands, but he looks up at the sound of Nesta’s footsteps, his gaze following her the whole way as she takes the seat at the opposite end of the table.

“Good morning,” Cassian offers quietly, setting down his papers. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yes, fine,” Nesta assures him, accepting the tea that’s placed in front of her with a quiet thanks.

Silence settles in the room and between them, so Nesta focuses on buttering a piece of toast. She can feel Cassian’s gaze on her, watching her, analyzing her in that way he always does, but she keeps her own eyes down, intent on tearing her toast into small pieces aimlessly. With each passing second, Nesta can feel her frustration beginning to grow, small fires beginning to spark and simmer. She can feel the cool, snapped words poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but before she can release them, Cassian clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him.

“I have to go check on the factories today,” Cassian begins, pushing a hand up and through his hair almost nervously. “Would you like to join me?”

“Hardly the place for a lady, don’t you think?” Nesta comments, picking up her tea and taking a sip.

“Maybe so, but they’re just as much yours as they are mine now.”

“It’s not proper.”

Cassian sighs, but thankfully he doesn’t push her. “Will you be alright then? On your own for the day?”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’ll always worry about you.”

He says the words so seriously, not a hint of that teasing tone of his. Says them so matter-of-factly. Says them with that soft pleading look burning amongst the greens and golds of his eyes. It has the vines twisting tighter around Nesta’s heart, has her swallowing hard around the lump threatening to press into her throat.

Nesta straightens her spine and raises her chin, meeting Cassian’s gaze head on. “I want to write to my sisters.”

The smallest hint of a frown starts to tug down the corner of his lips, but Cassian nods. “You’ll find everything you should need in my study. Just give the letter to Mrs Reynolds. She’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

As though speaking her name has brought her into existence, Mrs Reynolds steps into the room, dipping into a polite curtsy. “The carriage is ready, sir.”

With another nod, Cassian stands up from his seat. He takes a step closer to Nesta, his lips parting as though he wants to say more, hand reaching out like he wants to do more, but once again, he hesitates, his hand outstretched awkwardly between them. He purses his lips, giving the smallest shake of his head and drops his hand back to his side, turning and heading for the door.

Nesta tries not to let it sting when he doesn’t offer any sort of goodbye, tries to remind herself that she’s just as much to blame for this tension roaring between them, but it leaves her feeling cold all the same. She turns back to her breakfast, but suddenly, she doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

With a sigh, she pushes up from her seat, striding out of the breakfast room. She crosses the front hall and opens the door to Cassian’s study, stepping inside. It’s surprisingly neat. A large, oak desk takes up most of the space, two chairs set before it and another chair and small bookcase set behind it. The leather bound books and ledgers on the shelves are all arranged in ordered rows, papers and more books organized in stacks on the desk.

She settles into the chair behind the desk, finding a pen already waiting for her. She turns her attention to the drawers next, in search of paper, leaning over and trying the largest bottom drawer first. She’s surprised to find the drawer stuffed full with paper, but they’re not blank. It’s letters.

It’s her letters.

Three years worth of letters, all folded and gathered together in this drawer. She can’t believe he kept all of them. She still remembers writing all those letters, telling him about her family, about her days, all her thoughts and opinions that she knew Cassian would never balk from. She still remembers lying in her bed, the candle light burning low, reading over the words he wrote back to her over and over again.

Nesta closes the drawer quickly, unable to look at those letters anymore. Blessedly, the next drawer she tries has the blank paper she’s looking for. She gets to work writing out a letter to Elain and Feyre, informing them that she’s settled in Glasgow, asking for updates from them. She keeps her requests simple and polite in case her mother decides to open and read the letter first, keeps everything optimistic so as to not worry Elain or Feyre. When she’s satisfied, she signs her name and reaches for the wax, pausing once she picks up the seal. Her fingers trace over the raised metal, the MacLeod crest.

She supposes it’s her crest now too.

Her gaze dances back down to the ink of her signature on the page. She’d simply signed Nesta and nothing more. She chews at her bottom lip for a moment before huffing in frustration at herself, at her swirling thoughts. With a shake of her head, she quickly folds her letter and pours the wax, pressing the seal down with a newfound determination.

—

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[landrysg]

There are two general ways that nonprofits fundraise forever while accomplishing nothing: first, by making their mission too vague to have any specific definition of success and thus to never fail; second, by making the mission too ambitious for anyone to ever believe that it can be accomplished. ... The sheer amount of graft and corruption that attended the vast orgy of donating associated with the George Floyd protest movement was perfectly predictable, but I think it’s still undersold as a reason for why that branch of politics has receded. ... It’s that quote in my headline that gets to me, though: the embarrassed foundation that gave the dodgy nonprofit a lot of its funding, saying that it wasn’t upset that nothing was produced because it expected nothing, in an effort to save face. ... It’s not just that this period has been so swiftly and thoroughly put in the rearview by our chattering class; it’s that so many of them act as though everyone should have the manners never to bring it up again, since it’s so awkward. There’s an open and direct sense in which the liberals who made the George Floyd moment possible now see all of that as cringe, which is something worse than simply being misguided or directionless. ... What the hell happened to liberals and to the media that they controlled? Why did the default media worker morph from being a center-left technocratic Ezra Klein wannabe into an intersectionality-worshipping radlib with vague economic politics? How did the various checks and balances within news media break down to the point where naked advocacy for a particular ideological project became the default? Why did so many journalists who did not take that turn themselves go along with it anyway, keeping their heads down? ... Why haven’t we had a real postmortem about all of this? I mean, the answer is obvious - because the people who would cover this story are embarrassed by how earnest they so recently were, would prefer to avoid bringing up what they so recently believed, and still feel intense fear over the possibility of appearing to have less than perfect racial politics. 

Now do government agencies and COVID policies ...

[guyawks]

Quiet Quitting

Quiet quitting is what they were calling it.

A millennial phenomenon circulated on the Internet where fed up employees decided to stop giving their all with jobs. Instead, they’d start only doing the barest of bare minimums. After all, it’s not a fireable offense to do only what your job entails, right?

I started at this company young and optimistic and, just two years later, it had thoroughly sucked the joy out of me. Shyster & Twist was your typical corporate law firm with oversold perks and undersold hours. They’d chewed me up and I was just waiting for the company to spit me out.

I’d long since thought about printing off my two weeks notice, marching into the office and shoving it under my jerk boss’ condescending face. But then I’d be jobless and broke.

So, I went for it and “quiet” quit. No coming in early or leaving the office late. No more going out of my way to make conversation with coworkers in the lift. No cleaning my workspace or restocking the office supplies for everyone. No more emoticons in emails to coworkers. And absolutely no after-work socializing.

I could already feel my peace and sanity flooding back as all the free time and emotional investment I’d sunk into this soulless job were returned to me.

Yet just as soon as I’d gained it, I started to lose it again.

I’d expected more pushback to quiet-quitting. But, for whatever reason, no one noticed. Then I started to notice people struggling to hear me, then outright missing that I was talking. They’d shut doors on me, brush past me in the hall, set their things down right where I was sitting. I went from thinking I had the rudest colleagues ever to being convinced something stranger was happening.

That’s about the time my body became translucent.

No matter how loud I screamed, no one could hear, see or touch me. I’d stopped trying so I could have a social life, yet ironically now I didn’t have a life at all. I’d dissolved into a wisp of a person, less than a phantom. Sitting in my empty cubicle for months, I went through all the stages of despair. Confusion, denial, despair, anger. And finally acceptance.

On this Monday, no one notices as I, the office poltergeist, lock the exits, disabled the elevator, unhooked the smoke alarms, gathered the scrap papers from around the office into a pile, and set it alight with a broken computer plugboard.

I hear them all start to scream in panic, scrambling over their cubicles and each other to get out, stampeding over their precious projects and reports discarded on the floor. Everybody here ought to be “fired”.

Quiet quitting was fun but it didn’t really work out for my career trajectory.

I think it’s time I try loud quitting instead.

[austarus]

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (1/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif belongs to me!

Yes, I’m alive.

*TW: mentions of suicide, drowning, and cutting. Along with Eobard being a dramatic bitch*

Word Count: 3184

Part 2   Part 3

Felicity deadpanned with Harry beside her on one of the Cortex monitors. She had glanced to all her friends. “The bottom line is that we have to catch these parallel-earth goose-steppers.” Everyone was well aware of her dislike towards Nazi’s. The things they had done on this earth to her ancestors and to people like her. Utterly Disgusting.  

“This might help,” Barry stepped in, holding up a blood-stained arrow.

“Is that a kryptonite arrow?” Kara’s sister, Alex, unfurled her arms as she gently took the lethal arrow away from him.

“Yup,” Barry responded with a sigh, hands at his hips while the others rounded together. He felt exhausted from chasing around Eobard while Kara and Oliver dealt with their doppelgangers. Years later and he still wasn’t fast enough to stop the yellow speedster.

“I know I shouldn't have to ask this question, but I have to ask this question.” Felicity interjected with quick words; worry seeded in her chest. “Oliver didn't shoot Kara, did he?”

“Sort of,” Barry replied, further clarifying with a face. The days just keep getting worse and worse with these parallel-dimension-hoppers. “The other Archer and flying woman are Oliver and Kara of Earth-X.”

“When you said that Earth-X was horrible,” Caitlin glanced back at Harry, who had raised a hand in mock defeat, “you might have undersold it.”

“Wait a minute. How- how could there be another Kara?” Alex was thoroughly confused; she was still new to the concept of parallel earths doppelgangers.

“Well, there are 53 Karas, just like there's 53 Kryptons and 53 Earths.” Harry explained simply.

“And the Thawne from our earth is working with them.” Barry gave a look, clearly annoyed at the fact that Thawne was back. Again. Thawne coming back due to time travel and the Speedforce were already giving him a headache just thinking about it all over again.

Caitlin just gave Barry an incredulous look. “He's an idiot.” Harry plainly stated.

Felicity already was thinking up of ways to track them down. “Ok, if that arrow has not-so-Supergirl's blood on it, we c—"

“We could track it using quantum analysis.” Harry cut her off, but she just nodded at his words.

“We could.”

***___***

“Harry, Cait, Iris,” Barry unfurled his arms and gestured to them with his head for a sidebar. The others were busy with Alex in isolating the city for Kara-X’s radioactive blood signatures. Felicity’s specialty. After all, she was able to track a deranged killer with just his face cream. “Whatever happens, (Y/N) can’t know Thawne’s here.” Both scientists gave odd looks to each other at the speedster’s words.

“Barry she’s going to find out one way or another, she’s part of this team too,” Iris voiced, side-glancing the door as if you’d step in at any moment.

“If he’s working with them, she has the right to know.” Caitlin added. “She should know what to expect.”

“Allen, unless you decide to lock her up in the pipeline until this is all over, she’ll find out.” Harry said. “You can’t possibly hide this from her forever.” The genius scientist hinted at the fact that when Barry had run back in time last year, Thawne had been the one to ‘fix’ things when really, he had altered the timeline. A timeline created to suits him and his plans. Even going as far to tell Barry that this was how the timeline was supposed to be before Thawne had caused the alteration when he had time-traveled back to kill Nora and escalated into what is now Team Flash. Three different timelines had been created, but this one, according to Thawne, is how the original one should have been. Just with a few… absences… Like Eddie and Ronnie. Barry had never mentioned any of this to you or the fact that Thawne had ended up escaping him that night. The scarlet speedster did not want you looking for the man in the yellow suit. But it seems that fate’s not on Barry’s side this time.

“Harry, I can’t have her chasing after him. Not with all this going on,” Barry protested. “One maniacal problem at a time.”

“Whether she does or doesn’t is up to her, Allen. You’re not a god.” Harry pursed his lips before heading to the side lab.

Barry ran his tongue over his lips tightly, frowning deeply at the echoed words. He didn’t need this right now. Those words stung the speedster, mainly with the aftermath of his time remnant – Savitar - claiming god-hood, wanting to alter everything and anything in his way to stay alive. Even to kill the love of his life. Jay Garrick told him that when he ran back to this timeline a year ago. ‘We’re not gods, Barry.’

How did Wells know about that? Maybe he didn’t. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that time-traveling powers shouldn’t be abused like that. Yet… Thawne always gets away with it. He gets away with barely a scratch. I can be one step ahead, but he’ll be 15 steps further.

Caitlin gave her friend a sympathetic look, exchanging one with Iris. Alex and Felicity were still present in the room, but too preocuppied with their blood sample. Barry’s intentions made sense, but it was your decision whether to chase after Thawne or not. It’s your choice on whether you’d even side with him for this battle.

***___***

You had stood right outside the Cortex in the corridor, your feet stopped when you heard Barry announce that “Thawne is working with them”. Your heart got caught in your chest. Eobard was here. He was back. But why in the hell would he ever work with Nazis? Nazis? Seriously Eo??? What the absolute fuck? You knew Eobard never had a tolerance for people like that. People like Eiling or Stagg, who would “poke fun” at those with disabilities, even if he had feigned his inability to walk in the end. People who would intentionally use their status to torture others. It just goes to show how people with that kind of caliber would think. So why this sudden change? Not ‘why now’. No, why at all?? How could he have stooped so low? That idiot. Unacceptable.

But what ached the most was Barry’s words. He doesn’t trust me… Even after all these years. Your heart shook and eyes narrowed as your eyes peered at the light being cast from the Cortex. You took in a breath. Taking a quiet step back, your feet carried you to one of the higher levels of STAR Labs- one of the tower levels. Your quiet place of refuge when this had gotten too much, whether it was because the shadows kept you safe from judgment or not, you didn’t know. If he wants to act like that, then two can play this game, Bartholomew Henry Allen. You looked out onto the city, subconscious scanning every light – every street. Lights winked in and out, the night progressing as the city remained unaware of the new monsters it currently hid. But what am I going to do?

***___***

Iris rubbed her eyes before taking a step closer to her almost-husband. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I can’t have (Y/N) fighting with us. Not now. Not in this battle.” Not when he’s lurking around.

“Why?”

“You know why? Thawne’s out there. Running, scheming.”

“So, you don’t trust her.” It was more of a statement rather than a question.

“Iris, she knew what he did to my mom. Lied to us about it for months back then and still chose Thawne when we locked him up. What makes this time different?”

“Barry, while all those sound like good points, first and foremost she’s our friend.” The speedster just shook his head, Iris huffed, “Look, it’s been -what?- 3? 4 years? Since she’d last been with him? Things have changed. You think after everything we’ve been through; she’ll throw that all away?”

“Yes! Old feelings come back; they always do and she’s going to get her revenge.”

“How do you know that? How do you know that she wants revenge?”

“Thawne will coax it out of her. He’s good at manipulating a person’s feelings.”

“And what would she get in the end?”

Barry didn’t answer her, instead he wrung his hands together.

“Barr, if she had wanted revenge, she would have done so already after the incident. But she didn’t. (Y/N) was depressed after Thawne was erased. Vulnerable. The love of her life was gone, just like that. Don’t you remember? How she wanted to end it all, but we stopped her.” Barry’s eyes flickered to the ground, remember the sight he had seen. Drowning. You were purposefully drowning yourself in your tub. The way your looked back at him- lifeless- when he had gotten you back to your senses. The blood the dripped, your cold skin. The monitor beeping every so often in the Cortex. Iris’ own mind shifted to when she had seen the scars littered on your arms when Caitlin had fully examined you. Your dull hair and gaunt face, nothing like the brilliant fire that rang through you months prior to Eobard’s erasure. “We helped her work through it when we found out. Caitlin and I looked after (Y/N) every second of the day until she was ready to get back on her two feet. And then Zoom happened and he was breaking you. Breaking your bones and your spirit- when you broke your back, she was all-hands-on-deck to step in and help in your place while still dealing with her own issues.”

“I know, it’s just- something just tells me otherwise with Thawne here.”

“Barry-”

“-She’s going to choose him, Iris. Nothing will change that. To her, everything we’ve been through until this point won’t mean anything. Not when Thawne’s at the end of the tunnel waiting for her. She’s going to choose him and help him.”

“But what if she doesn’t? What then, Barr?”

Barry just shrugged. “I-I don’t know, but I can’t take any chances. Not this time.” I can’t hesitate with Thawne here. One misstep and that’ll be all he needs to make his move.

Iris reached out to her fiancé, gently caressing his cheek. She knew that he won’t change his mind, no matter the reasons she could come up with. Barry thought in absolutes when it comes to Thawne. And your past emotional ties with the evil speedster only further drove his current mistrust. “Come on, we have to help the others.”

***___***

You threw the ball against the concrete wall opposite to you, all your strength forced into it. The stress ball ricocheted back to where you sat. You caught it with ease, giving it a firm squeeze as your eyes shut.

“How could you betray us? We were your friends, your family!-”

“You are-”

“We stood by you!”

“I just-”

“-Just what!? He took everything from me!”

You cringed at the voice from years past. Breathe in, breathe out.

“You’re just as guilty as him. No wonder, like calls to like.”

“I-”

“I don’t want your excuses.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“I hope you rot with him.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Swallowing harshly, you did your breathing exercises to push Barry’s cold voice away. You had stolen the malleable ball from Harry- or rather, he had allowed you to take it from him. It was an unused gift from the others for Harry to deal with his anger issues. Instead of throwing beakers and graduated cylinders off desks, the Earth-2 scientist can simply channel his anger into this stress ball… Which had been a hard pass for him. Rather he preferred his method of anger outbursts, even if he did end up hurting himself in the process. So you put it to use instead; a tool for simple meditation, as well as the redirecting your certain senses. It’s made of rubber polymer so your electrokinesis didn’t harm your new toy in any way.

Your eyes lingered back onto the city, your arm hanging over your bent leg while your other remained outstretched. No good in hiding up here forever, it’ll make things more suspicious. Not like Barry isn’t suspecting anything anyway. But you had needed time to think, to collect your thoughts and assess what actions you would take. You touched the necklace Eobard had made for you in rich gold- a Columba. It’s a constellation signifying the dove in astrology as he always called you his little birdy. But also, because gave him a sense of peace which the dove has generally symbolized fore. A finger ran over the one of the six diamonds that twinkled for the constellation, connected to each by a trail of gold. Eobard. Licking your lips, you got up, you pocketed your ball and brushed any dust particle from your leggings.

Upon entering the Cortex, a group of heroes left: Oliver, Kara, Barry, Sara, and so on. Barry had shoved past you, your eyes meeting briefly as you raised an eyebrow. His expression was guarded, but you said nothing.

“I’m guessing they’re going on a little midnight excursion?” You turned to Felicity and Iris with a thumb pointing in their direction. Mick was nowhere to be found so you can assume he’s already raided the lounge fridge. Caitlin had already prepped the med bay for incoming injuries, which isn’t an uncommon expectation, but wasn’t in the Cortex.

“Ding ding ding, you’re correct,” Felicity piped up, typing away at her computer screen. She was already hacking into cameras around the warehouse as the inside had ones out of commission. “The remaining Legends are to be on standby, should something happen during the warehouse fight. Per Sara’s orders.” At least Felicity isn’t treating you any differently, especially with how close she is to Barry. He probably told her to.

“And we’re going to be…?” You raised an eyebrow, a bit offended no one decided to volunteer you for the fight. You wanted to kick some Nazi ass too. Fry those fuckers. Guess Barry told them all to not trust me. Great, thanks Barr. Bitterness welled up inside but didn’t show it. Felicity and Iris aren’t the ones to be at odds with. Maybe it’s a good thing if Eo’s there. Barry would have his eyes all over your interaction with him.

“Just doing some monitoring and staying on comms. The usual Overwatch stuff,” Felicity smiled up at you then quickly turned to her tech. You could tell that her mind was wondering. About what? You had no clue and decided it’d be best to not involve yourself should things go sour if you did and Barry would find a reason to blame you.

No, this reunion needed to be on the downlow. One away from prying eyes. Your eyes drifted to Iris’ back in a subtle manner before pulling out your phone to check the time.

“Where’s Harry?” You asked, if anything he was one of the people who hadn’t seen you for just your past. Didn’t care for it as Zoom terror and Jesse’s rescue were more pressing matters. And you had seen him for more than a doppelganger to Eobard, even if their tendencies and bristliness seemed similar. Harry was Harry and Eobard was Eobard. Both were their own men, it wasn’t that hard to see and understand. He had done his own share of horrors and dark deeds for Jesse that Harry was dealing with his own darkness, while your demons haunted you. In an odd way, you both understood one another. Begrudgingly at first, though. Plus, you needed to return the stress ball back to him, thinking he’d need it now with Thawne around. If anything, you found it funny how Harry got mad when people would call Thawne a Wells. The Wells doppelganger would spectacularly blow up, which was always a site to see. Though you were hoping the two would never meet. You chewed on the inside of your cheek on how that interaction could possibly go. Would you-

“He’s probably back in his lab,” Iris spoke up from the other side of the Cortex, padding up to you. You nodded at her, mind drifting once more as you strolling to the Cortex exit. Harry could hold his own, but up against Eo, with all his speed… You’d choose-

“Hey,” Iris stopped you, snapping you out of your thoughts and placing a hand on your arm. You blinked. A small smile was woven on her face, one of those comforting smiles that said that you can come to her for anything… But could you?

“Hey,” you returned it, feigning any indication that you had overheard what Barry had said earlier. Schooling your features, you calmed your nerves. I’ve done this before. Pretended not to know. I can do it again. I can’t trust no one, and it seems like no one can trust me. I’ll be the actress again in this drama, spun by Barry this time.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure”

Iris was perceptive, she didn’t miss the slight strain in your voice. The guarded look that the young journalist had become accustomed to receiving when approaching you. There were times where she’d realize you were walking on eggshells with her. Because of Barry. Because of the serrated words he had thrown at you like knives all those times ago. But there were times where all was well with the world, the past forgotten and the strength of your friendship with the team more prominent than ever.  Then again, having Nazi’s return and who are hell bent on ruling this Earth by eradicating its heroes then move on to the next Earth in the multiverse does tend to throw tension into the air. Iris bit her lip. Especially if she doesn’t know about Thawne.

“(Y/N), look there’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“…”

“Iris, is something wrong? Are you ok?”

She noted sincerity on your face. “Thawne’s here.”

You pursed your lips, internally confused. “Iris-”

“And he’s fighting with the Earth-Xers.”

“I… what?!” Your rage was not false. Sure you knew about it earlier, but now it was necessary to unleash it. It’d make your surprise all the more legit.

“I needed you to know,” Iris swallowed.

“How?”

“When Barry, Oliver, and Kara intercepted their heist.”

“…” It was your turn to be silent. You knew, but you had to play a little longer until you could leave.

“I trust you, ok?”

“But” You knew there was a ‘but’. There always is one. Iris blinked, opening her mouth a few times then looking away before meeting your gaze once more.

“But I need to know you’re with us on this.”

Your eyes never left hers, your hand was held in both of hers. Before you could even respond an alarm had gone off. Both your necks snapped to Felicity, who snapped up from her sitting position.

“That was the corridor alarm.” Fear crippled its way in the air. “This is a setup.”

[airquietworks]

How Izuku Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy Being in Love (IzuOcha Oneshot)

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is struggling in his newfound romance with Uraraka. He continues to stumble when he is with her as nerves get the best of him. He wonders how he can get better at love but the answers he's searching for are closer to his heart than he thinks.

Izuku Midoriya considered himself a man of many failings.

As he idly scrawled in a small pink notebook before class, he could not help but reflect on those inadequacies. He was not always as strong as he needed to be. He still struggled in a lot of social situations. He could lose control of himself when it came to his hero obsession.

But more than any of those, he hated that he had no idea how to be a good boyfriend.

It was not for a lack of trying. He had dedicated a lot of time studying the subject, dedicating the whole pink notebook to it. Every piece of advice that far too many people had bestowed upon him was carefully recorded, from strategic romantic lines to subtle romantic movements. It was all in the vain hope he could decipher the bizarre machinations - and palpitations - of his own heart.

And much more importantly, Uraraka's.

Izuku had few troubles facing down villains with lives on the line. But facing down the greatest woman he had ever met to woo her on a semi-regular basis was proving to be far more challenging than your average ne'er-do-well.

"Heya, Deku. Whatchya working on?"

"NOTHING, NOTHING DON'T LOOK!" the boy screeched as he leapt upward to stare into the person of his affections. Uraraka hovered over his desk, eyes left blinking at his sudden outburst.

His face burned; he would sooner face Todorki's flames than this kind of heat.

"Oh, okay then. That's fine," Uraraka replied with a tight-lipped smile, completely inscrutable.

"It's just...it's something particular and really rough and kind of private I'm sorry it's not you it's me and I really want to-"

"Good morning class. To your seats," Mr. Aizawa ordered loudly as he grumpily entered their homeroom. The students quickly acquiesced, Uraraka included, as she moved to take her desk near the back of Class 3-A.

"Talk after class," she whispered as she turned her back to him.

Izuku breathed a deep sigh, resisting the temptation to leap out of the room.

Boyfriend. Girlfriend. The words still felt strange bouncing around in his head. The past few weeks had been chaotic. Having Uraraka ask him out. Having an awkward but wondrous first date. Having a first, terrifying, glorious, first kiss. Carefully exchanging their first utterances of "I love you." Riding out the highs and lows of a hormone-driven storm, as young lovers did.

Neither of them had much experience but they worked it out, mostly.

But as fall gave way to the start of winter, the fires of their newfound romance were quickly extinguished under an avalanche of schoolwork and their own nerves. Their easygoing friendship of two years was now fraught with this new element hanging ominously over everything. It seemed their every interaction somehow ended up the same - him blurting out something stupid, or something else going terribly wrong before they both retreated to safer spaces.

He did not regret dating Uraraka - something he had not realized he really, really wanted. But it made everything between them a lot more difficult to manage.

They were burning, passionate people. They cared about one another. But so often, figuring out their relationship under the scope of romantic social conventions made their interactions more glacial than they had been in a long time.

A part of him longed for the more easygoing days. Surely, they could get back to that. Love should not be this hard - or frightening.

"Midoriya?"

Izuku snapped upwards to attention at his teacher's question. He stared straight ahead at Aizawa's unimpressed grimace. He must have zoned out harder than he thought.

He could hear a few giggles buzzing around his ears.

"Sorry, what was that?" Izuku asked quickly, hoping he could wing whatever response was necessary.

Aizawa gave him a tired sigh. "Keep your head out of the clouds and pay attention."

"Right, sorry sir!"

The giggles turned into full-blown laughter at his uncharacteristic spaciness. Izuku blushed deeply, thoroughly humiliated. He relished the chance to plunge his mind into class, something troubled heart.

He leaned on keeping his thoughts preoccupied the entire day, pointedly limiting his interactions with Uraraka until class let out. It was easy enough; their third-year schoolwork was no small task and necessitated the focus.

But the end of the day did arrive and with it came Uraraka marching over to his desk. Much as it was never an unpleasant sight - her lively gait was always a pleasure to watch - he had mixed feelings about the romantic maneuvering their talks now required.

"You seem really out of it today. Something the matter?" she asked, voice light but full of sincere concern. She was always looking out for him; he wished he could pay her back for that, somehow.

Despite bracing himself for conversation, he found himself wholly unprepared for the question. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired I guess?"

Uraraka gazed intently at him, her usual bright smile absent from her face. She did not appear too convinced by him but mercifully let it slide. "Well, I can understand that. But I was wondering…" she trailed off, her eyes suddenly falling to the ground. "Maybe...we could study together later?"

He could see the rosier complexion on her face, something his surely matched. Once, that question would have been simple. A casual night between two friends. Now, the idea carried a lot more baggage - but a lot more promise, too. The promise of the things teenagers in love did.

How could he refuse?

"Sure!" Izuku replied, a little too loudly. He took a breath to try and steady himself, even as his shirt suddenly felt like it was choking him. "You could stop by my room...maybe around seven?"

Uraraka nodded with more vibrancy than he might have expected. "Alright, sounds good! See you later!"

Izuku watched as she rushed out of the room, clearly as eager to end the awkward exchange as much as he was.

"You two make me sick," Bakugo grumbled as he walked by Izuku's desk.

Izuku scrambled on instinct, readying himself for any further barbs. Most of their class was all-too-happy to see him and Uraraka get together after years of pining, but Bakugo had made no secret of his disgust for it.

"You need to get your head out of your ass," Bakugo murmured before walking angrily out of class.

Izuku breathed a sigh of relief, glad nothing worse came of it. Their relationship had cooled over the years, but he could never be certain about what might set the explosive boy off.

"How uncouth," Iida said from behind him. Izuku jumped slightly, startled. How had he missed his friend approaching? "Well, forget him. The pair of you seem to be getting along alright. Though admittedly, I'm not the most knowledgeable about this kind of thing."

Izuku stood up, relieved to get back to his dorms in search of respite. "Neither am I, to be honest."

"Well, I suppose experience is the best teacher," Iida mused as the two ventured out of class together. "But you two have been practically inseparable since we first got to U.A. You've always been there for one another and I have no doubt you'll work through your current tension."

"That obvious, huh?" Izuku replied, sighing. He did not fault Iida, but he could very much do without the rest of their class tirelessly watching their relationship.

But there was something to Iida's perspective. They had been in lockstep since before they even entered the building. The many times they teamed up and drove one another - the jitters of the heart were there, but it still felt so natural. Simple. He would forever look back at those days of friendship fondly.

Surely, that was a foundation for a relationship to last. He had jotted that down in his notebook, anyway.

"Pardon me, I don't mean to pry or anything. You two just stand out. And I do care about your well-being, after all." Iida bowed his head slightly in apology, formal as always. It was good to have a constant pillar like Iida. Unlike some things, their friendship had remained a steady constant.

"Don't worry about it," Izuku replied, laughing for the first time all day.

Izuku eventually arrived back at his room, gleefully getting into a comfier T-shirt and shorts. He jumped into his bed and breathed, basking in its softness. It was good to find peace after a difficult day.

With the distraction of school gone, his thoughts turned back to Uraraka, his heart skipping as her adorable face sprang back to his mind. He idly began to tidy up his room to prepare for their study session.

He had seen his fair share of depictions of love in the media, which often made it seem like the greatest joy imaginable. Which he had felt, certainly. But now, he couldn't help but think media undersold the anxiety, the nerves and the work it all involved.

Even in the act of cleaning his room, he found himself second-guessing himself. Should he put away more of his All Might figurines? Have a scented candle to provide a better atmosphere? Was now even the right time to be thinking of romantic gestures, or would she just focus on studying, given her drive?

"Get a grip, Izuku," he mumbled to himself, pulling at his chin. He really was too tense.

He settled on a more minimalist effort, clearing off his desk of memorabilia to give plenty of room for studying. They could leave it at that. Just another session, like the plenty they had before they were dating. No need to get stressed out.

The knocking on his door at 7 p.m. sharp seemed to pulse through his entire body. He sat still for a moment, a sudden onset of nerves freezing him in place.

Maybe a little reason to get stressed out.

With a breath to re-animate himself, he rushed over to the door, opening it widely to see his Uraraka standing there, beaming brightly with a stack of books. She wore a casual pink hoodie and a pair of jeans - nothing out of the ordinary and yet, still radiant.

"Heya Deku!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her cheeks looking exceptionally rosy. He blinked, finding it hard to look at her - not an infrequent occurrence. But there was something different about tonight. Her face looked...shinier, somehow.

"HiUraraka," he said quickly, gesturing for her to enter. "You look beautiful!"

The words stumbled out of his mouth without him thinking, and he immediately clamped it shut afterward.

Uraraka nearly stumbled into the room after the compliment, managing to save herself from falling by roughly sliding into the extra seat at his desk. "Thanks, Deku!" she said loudly with her hands balled in her lap. "You look hot!"

The statement hung in the space, quickly expanding to smother out any other sound they could have made. Deku could hear his own pulse ringing in his ears at the proclamation. His eyes bulged outward, but he dared not look directly at her.

She broke the suddenly frosty atmosphere first. "I mean, I mean because you're in a tight shirt! Wait, no, I mean, because you're wearing a shirt and I just noticed they started the heater in the building today and I just wondered if you were feeling - is it warm in here?" Uraraka suddenly pulled at the neck of her sweater, mouth moving more rapidly than he could ever recall.

Watching her murmur like he himself might, looking so flustered - by him, of all people - and feeling tension thick in the room, Izuku could not help it. He burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. He had a much better understanding of why all of this was so often a subject of comedy.

Mercifully, Uraraka joined, laughing with him, clearly relieved. The two dared a glance at one another, eyes full of mirth.

"We're hopeless at this, huh?" Izuku dared, smiling at her.

"Yeah, definitely," Uraraka replied, grinning back, rubbing at her brow. "Who would have thought dating would be so hard?"

"Both of us before we started, I think," Izuku said honestly, shifting to take a seat next to her. He opened his own workbooks, excited to get into the meat of their evening.

"True," Uraraka said with a sigh, shaking her head. "Still, I somehow didn't think it would be this difficult."

"Sorry that this hasn't been my strong suit." He did sincerely wish he could do this better. Be suave or whatever it was. She deserved it.

"Me too," Uraraka responded, giving him a smile that somehow made it all worthwhile. "Shall we get started?"

The two got into their homework in earnest - English, math and finally heroics law. Things fell into a more casual routine, each of them falling back to the patterns they would have as friends. It was nice. Cozy. Comfortable, like crawling under the covers on a cold day.

But Izuku found himself watching Uraraka more intently tonight than he might have before they started going out. He could not help but admire when her face got scrunched up at a difficult question. Or when it morphed into a glorious smile when she gained some new understanding. Or how intense she could get when she focused in on something, so determined and driven in a way he always admired.

He noticed other things, too. Like how soft her hair looked. Her cute, pink cheeks. Her skin, which looked strangely, especially vibrant today. It shined more than usual, which was saying something.

It clicked for him suddenly. He blushed and turned his eyes to his notebook, not bold enough to ask the question directly to her face.

"Are you...wearing makeup tonight?" Izuku inquired, breaking their silence.

He heard Uraraka shift but did not dare to look over.

"Err...yeah. You noticed?"

"Yeah…" Izuku responded, feet tensing beneath his chair. "...It looks good."

There was another awkward moment of noiselessness. Izuku stared intently at his textbook, eyes listlessly reading over some obscure law like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He prayed the compliment landed safely.

"...Thanks," she responded quietly, not saying anything more. Izuku dared not glance over to her.

The two worked for a little while longer, falling back into their routine. They eventually decided on a five-minute break, using it as a reprieve to dissipate the tension stored up in their bodies.

Despite everything, they had once again fallen into a comfortable companionship - until Uraraka broke the spell by reaching out for his hand.

It was far from the first time they had held hands, but it never failed to send a pleasant shock up his arm. Her hand was callused, worn as his was from many hours of training. Yet it still always felt pleasant to his touch and he was eager to grasp it.

He glanced up at her as she squeezed her hand in his, carefully keeping her pinky separated to stop her quirk from activating. She was beaming up at him from beneath her eyelashes, eyes warm as ever. He gulped, his free hand starting to quiver as he lost himself in the wonder of the moment.

She inclined her head ever so slightly, but he did not move. He was frozen still, enraptured, unable to think of anything beyond the feeling of her hand and the light upon her face.

He tried to snap himself back to reality. He should say something. Probably. This was a good time for a romantic line. He just had to wing it.

"You're-"

"Deku, I-"

The two were in-synch enough to speak in unison. But Izuku still felt it just added to the increasingly tense moment.

"You want to go first?" Izuku suggested, forcing himself to smile best he could despite his nerves.

Uraraka's face fell under the shadows of her locks. "No...well, sure, I guess. I just...I don't know. Maybe the moment's lost if that makes sense?"

It did but it did not make Izuku happy. How had he lost a moment so quickly, when he was barely cognizant of it even starting? It was frustrating.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Izuku responded, sighing mournfully. He let go of her hand, reaching out to rub at his temple. "It was a lot easier talking when we were just friends."

He did not think much of the question. They were open enough about some of the hiccups of romance. They trusted each other to talk through it.

But the statement carried more weight than he had imagined.

"Should we...should we just go back to that?"

Izuku let his hand fall to the side and sat up straighter, shocked into alertness by the sudden question. He looked at Uraraka, who was staring away from him, biting her lip.

A chill settled over him, the teasing embers of their teenage love suddenly seeming a distant memory.

"I...um…" he stammered, throat suddenly feeling clogged. His mind whirred, trying to find a suitable answer. "Why do you ask?"

He internally chided himself on the deflection. But he had no idea how to respond. Despite all the awkwardness, the moments of romance they had shared were blissful. He had never even thought about turning away from it all, so soon after starting to experiment with it.

Or had he? Why had he even suggested being friends was easier?

"It's just... you're right. It has gotten harder," Uraraka murmured, staring forlornly over her work. "I was worried before we started going out. I was worried about what it might do to our friendship or whether it would just distract us. And I can't help but feel like it has."

Izuku's mind flashed to that morning when his head got fogged up overthinking about her. She had a point.

He could feel it. A wall of ice, slowly coming between them, each of them burning up on either side of it. Maybe they could break their way through together but that appeared an increasingly monumental task. Especially when his own speech was so artless, with all the grace of an iceberg.

He could remember the days when such barriers seemed smaller. He had to admit that a part of him wanted to go back to that.

But other memories flooded into his mind too. Walking with her, hand-in-hand, after class. Laughing with her on their first date. The scorching heat of their first kiss. Even tonight, watching her, noticing things he realized he never properly appreciated.

"I...I didn't mean anything by it," he stated carefully. As soon as the words left his mouth, it sounded lame, even to him. Why could he not say the right thing? "I still like being with you like this."

"I do too," she responded quickly, looking up at him, a deep frown etched into her face. He hated seeing that on her. "I like it too. It hasn't been bad or anything. I just worry you know?"

"I get it," Izuku replied, reaching out to clasp both her hands, nerves dissipating in a bid to hang onto what they were starting together.

But the contact was fleeting. She gave a quick squeeze but withdrew quickly, eyes glancing to the side.

"Sorry. I was probably just being silly."

"You weren't," Izuku insisted. "I know it's been hard. And I know I've been getting distracted lately. But we can keep trying to get better at this, can't we?"

Uraraka nodded in response. "We always have, right? Still driving each other to improve."

The pair shared a strained laugh at that. It was strange, framing romance like heroics when the two things appeared worlds apart. But both took passion and work ethic. That was something they each had plenty of.

But the peace they returned to was poisonous. His mind wandered into more doubt as he mulled their frosty relations. He wanted to put his all into their romance but he wondered if they really had it in them, especially given the strains they were under as heroes-in-training.

The two exchanged only the lightest of pleasantries, any lingering trace of fleeting romance thoroughly doused by their talk.

"...I think maybe I should get going back. I've been missing out on sleep, so I want to turn it in early," Uraraka said suddenly, stretching out to depart.

It was a full hour sooner than she might normally go on a study night. But Izuku could not blame her for being eager to get away from him.

"Oh, alright. See you...around?" Izuku wished he could have set a date with more confidence, but work-studies and training would keep them busy. Nights like this were fleeting. He wished he had not wasted it.

"Yeah, sure. We'll figure something out," she replied sincerely, with a smile. Without any fanfare, she walked out of the room, waving before shutting the door. "Good night!"

"Good night," Izuku responded, the light slamming of the door rudely banging against his eardrums. He waited a few seconds before letting his head fall to his desk, burying it in his notebook. He gazed into the seemingly endless expanse of white emptiness.

Haywire emotions clashed within him, keeping him locked a strange stillness. Frustration at the icy state of his first love. Anger at his own ineptitude. Anxiety over the endless uncertainties love brought with it, something no amount of effort seemed to help him figure out.

He had messed up somehow. He knew that. He had spoken unthinkingly and he was paying the price.

Izuku set his face into a hard line. His mind conjured up the images that were plaguing him more and more - the two of them, easygoing, meeting up after school, working together at the sports festival, training together in their first year. The nostalgia tasted sweet, his heart eagerly basking in the rays from the suns long set.

But those days were gone now. He had to move on if he wanted to experience what lay within love's confounding mysteries. He might not know what would happen but he would have to trust himself.

More importantly, he needed to trust her. It was Uraraka, after all. She had never let him down.

With a groan, he got out his little pink notebook. He would need to think up an apology - the perfect one. Get a plan ready and act quickly. He would rehearse it, to ensure he avoided shoving his foot in his mouth again.

"This is going to go perfectly," he murmured to himself, before submerging himself in his studies.

Despite his oft-messy exterior, Izuku could operate as efficiently as a well-oiled machine when he put his mind to it.

Today, he went into overdrive. He woke up a half-hour early to put some extra effort into his appearance, combing the messier strands of his hair and ensuring his uniform was neat.

He practiced words to her, mumbling up a storm as he went about the rest of his morning ritual.

He adjusted his green winter coat in the mirror carefully, trying to ensure he did not look weird. Uraraka may not care that much about his appearance - he doubted she would be dating him if she did - but it couldn't hurt to be as proper as possible. More than a few people had given him that advice, anyway.

Satisfied enough, Izuku ran out the door, deftly avoiding a few of his classmates to make it out. A rare snowstorm had hit the area hard last night, leaving the ground coated in a garish mixture of snow, slush and ice. It was early enough that the walkways were still covered.

It was not exactly a picturesque scene, but it would do well enough. Speed was important here. He did not want their terrible conversation from the previous night to fester. Best to face it head-on, like he would a villain.

As he expected, Uraraka was the next person to come through the doors. He knew she had pushed herself to become one of the earlier risers in her class. He had timed his own exit from the dorms accordingly.

Once again, she took his breath away. Dressed in a brown coat and an adorable pink hat and mittens, it seems strange to him how effortlessly she shone. He blinked, as stricken as the first time he laid eyes on her.

"Oh, hey Deku!" she said with her carefree bubbliness, flashing him a smile, seemingly untroubled by the events of the previous night. "Didn't think I'd see you here!"

He gulped, struggling to think with how smitten he was with her. But he had practiced more for this - to avoid his heart tying his tongue. He just had to stick to the script. He could do this.

"Yeah, I thought we could walk to class together this morning and just talk a bit." He kept his voice even-keeled and smooth, displaying little of the nerves he felt. He had to steel himself for this. She deserved that.

Her eyebrows flew upwards on her face, her lips loosening slightly as she appraised him. The expression did not last long, morphing back into another delighted smile. "Sure!"

Thrilled at the early success, Izuku made his way down the front steps. This was good. He had already cleared the first hurdle and she seemed receptive. All he had to do was repeat a few key phrases and he was sure they could put that night behind them. That she could see his commitment. Everything would go exactly as he planned it.

He felt his feet suddenly give way. Before he realized it, he was slipping on a patch of ice. He flipped upward into the air and soon found himself falling rapidly, his eyes gazing upon the overcast skies above.

Izuku prepared to meet the ground and welcomed his own destruction.

Before everything broke apart with his fall, he found himself floating in mid-air. He blinked for a moment, his mind not immediately processing what exactly had happened. He got a strange sense of vertigo as his body adjusted to its sudden weightlessness.

"You okay? We better be careful with all this ice!" Izuku inclined his head to see Uraraka, eyes focused intently on him. She still wore her beautiful smile, her suddenly ungloved hand extended, connected to his upper arm. When had that happened? She had quick reflexes.

Uraraka had saved him. Again.

His mind suddenly flashed, his heart hammering as he found himself warping back two years. He occupied two spaces, two times, at once. The pair of them together before their entrance exam. Both of them here, together, now. A strange, cute girl going out of her way to stop him from face-planting. His wonderful girlfriend preventing him from falling, rescuing him once more. Uraraka grinning at him in both places, friendly as always. Him, completely flabbergasted.

Oh. Oh. Right. It had always been this way.

She had always sent his heart flying with the greatest of ease. She had always gotten him flustered. Since they came to U.A., she had always been there for him. Had always been a friend, a companion, a saviour. At the core, nothing between them had changed.

She was one of his heroes. What had he ever been so afraid of?

In his mind's eye, he could see the wall of ice that had formed between them. That he had formed between him with his own glacial thinking. With a thought, the ice broke apart, no longer separating him from his best friend.

"Err...Deku? You alright?"

Izuku flew back into the present, his head no longer feasting on the sweet mixture of nostalgia and love. He saw Uraraka waving her bare hand before him, trying to bring him back to reality.

Without thinking, he grabbed a hold of the hand, making it fall still. He lowered it, giving her a wide grin.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry about that!"

He noted a blush flooded her cheeks, but she did not react otherwise. However, her expression faltered after the moment lasted a few seconds too long.

"Hey, Deku?"

"Hmm, what is it?"

"I need my hand back if I'm going to release you."

"Oh, right!" he laughed as he let go. A voice inside nagged at him for the blunder, but in this instant, he no longer felt worried about such missteps. Suddenly, he felt surer about their bond than he could ever remember being.

She took off her other glove and carefully brought her fingers together. He oriented himself to land on his feet, taking care not to slip this time.

He had a script he could launch into right now. Prepared, rehearsed, proper. The words would not lead him astray.

But that speech would not do for him now. He let it scatter to the far reaches of his mind. His faith in his carefully prepared romantic notes went with them.

A true hero spoke directly from the heart. He could not be afraid of that anymore.

"I love you, Ochako Uraraka," he stated unabashedly, reaching out to grab one of her hands again. "And I want to stay with you."

The silence was palpable. Uraraka blinked rapidly at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "...What…?"

"Sorry, I just felt I needed to say that." Izuku kept his muscles lax and his voice even-keeled. He refused to get budged by nerves again. His feelings for Uraraka were an unshakeable pillar now; his actions would reflect that. "I messed up last night and I'm sorry about that. I couldn't wait to apologize. I don't want there to be any doubt about how I feel about you. About us."

"Oh. Oh." He felt a hard squeeze on his hand and watched as Uraraka suddenly inclined her head downward. "This is a lot to take in, Deku."

He reached his free hand out towards her, wanting to comfort her. "Sorry, Uraraka I didn't mean-"

"I wanted to say sorry, too. I felt awful about what I said last night," she said softly, her eyes flying upward to meet his. She stared forward, her irises displaying a powerful intensity. "But I guess you beat me to the punch this time."

He breathed, a pressure lifting off his chest. "Well, that's-"

Before he could react further, Uraraka pounced on him, throwing her full weight into it. He caught her easily enough, but he was left defenceless as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips into his.

His pulse raced as he pushed back into her, drinking all of her in. Their kisses before were chaste, delicate, his insecurities often freezing him in place. This was different. They were melting in a passionate inferno, the two heroes pushing, driving each other, harmonious as they ascended to the heavens.

Uraraka pulled away first, but did not separate, keeping her forehead connected to his. Her brown eyes shined brighter than ever, like stars lighting the way in the sky.

"Wow."

"Wow," he echoed.

"Love you, Deku," she stated simply, surely. "Sorry, I wanted to get you back for surprising me, somehow."

She gave him a cheeky grin and he laughed at that.

"Not how I expected we'd next say that to each other, but I'll take it," she continued.

"I guess it had been a while." He could not remember exactly when they had last exchanged simple affirmations of love. Had it been that first date? Was he so lost in his own head that he had forgotten to repeat it?

"...Too long, I think," she replied grinning back. "We both got a little lost."

"Well, I promise I'm going to say it more often," he murmured sweetly to her, inclining his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm done with worrying. I love you, Uraraka."

"...Were you planning this?" she questioned, her head hot under his lips.

"Not exactly. My idea kind of...went up in the air."

She giggled at that. "This is because I caught you?"

Perhaps that should be embarrassing but he nodded without hesitation. "I realized how much you've been there for me. And how things don't have to change so much between us. We're still friends."

"The best," she corrected.

"And we'll be there for each other, right?" He raised a fist towards her. "Every step of the way."

Uraraka completed the fist bump. "Same as ever."

"So should I really worry about if we're dating?" It was a rhetorical question, now. At that moment, he knew he would not be inhibited by those doubts again. Most of the time, anyway. But they would work through any hurdles together.

"Not at all," she answered anyway, for herself and for him.

She suddenly opened her hand, grabbing onto him and triggering her quirk. He went weightless once more, allowing her to more easily pull him in and share their love together once more.

Forevermore.

AN: Written for the IzuOcha Discord server writing contest. Prompt: Ice breaker.  Forgot to post this on Tumblr a couple of weeks back, so I decided to add it here. 

Thank you to the organizers. I hope you all enjoyed one of the fluffiest things I've written.

Let me know what you thought! Leave a like and a reblog if you can. They are important nourishment for us writers ^_^

[wolfliving]

Bezos, Duke of the Stacks

https://www.bloomberg.com/graphics/2018-amazon-industry-displacement/

How Amazon Became Corporate America’s NightmareBy

Shira Ovide

March 14, 2018

Amazon makes no sense. It’s the most befuddling, illogically sprawling, and—to a growing sea of competitors—flat-out terrifying company in the world.

It sells soap and produces televised soap operas. It sells complex computing horsepower to the U.S. government and will dispatch a courier to deliver cold medicine on Christmas Eve. It’s the third-most-valuable company on Earth, with smaller annual profits than Southwest Airlines Co., which as of this writing ranks 426th. Chief Executive Officer Jeff Bezos is the world’s richest person, his fortune built on labor conditions that critics say resemble a Dickens novel with robots, yet he has enough mainstream appeal to play himself in a Super Bowl commercial. Amazon was born in cyberspace, but it occupies warehouses, grocery stores, and other physical real estate equivalent to 90 Empire State Buildings, with a little left over.

Investors have grown to love Amazon.com Inc. despite, or perhaps because of, its contradictions. Shareholders pushed its value above Microsoft Corp.’s for the first time on Valentine’s Day and to an all-time high of $774 billion on March 12. Only Apple Inc. and Google parent Alphabet Inc. remain more valuable, and unlike them, Amazon breaks all the rules of the modern corporation. It’s also wielding its power against an unprecedented range of other businesses.

Bezos’ brainchild has been fast-growing, influential, and anomalous for most of its 24 years, but it’s entered a new phase. Its dominance can’t be contained to a few areas such as books, electronics, or even computer networks. Remember my colleague Brad Stone’s book The Everything Store? That title may have undersold Bezos’ ambitions. He seems to want to establish his place in every industry. Parcel delivery, supermarkets and packaged foods, apparel, trucking, auto parts, pharmaceuticals, real estate brokerages, makeup, concert ticketing, swimming pool supplies, and banking are just a sampling of the fields battered at various points in the past year because of Amazon’s encroachment or even rumors of its interest in entering them. Amazon declined to comment for this story.

The company has grown so large and difficult to comprehend that it’s worth taking stock of why and how it’s left corporate America so thoroughly freaked out. Executives at the biggest U.S. companies mentioned Amazon thousands of times during investor calls last year, according to transcripts—more than President Trump and almost as often as taxes. Other companies become verbs because of their products: to Google or to Xerox. Amazon became a verb because of the damage it can inflict on other companies. To be Amazoned means to have your business crushed because the company got into your industry. And fear of being Amazoned has become such a defining feature of commerce, it’s easy to forget the phenomenon has arisen mostly in about three years....

[realgarykhan]

Writers Beware

A Kryptic Blog Post…

You are merrily writing on your way toward finishing off your beloved project. You have spent months, no years pouring your heart and soul in to the project and now comes the time to get the thing published, but you have nowhere to turn.

Emails, calls and rando’s creep out the woodwork and begin offering you self-publishing deals. On the flip side, traditional publishing houses ignore your desperate pleas to take up your novel. The crippling blow struck by this cold rejection increases your desperation and now you find yourself ready to go to the dark side. Any publisher will do. But you couldn’t be more wrong.

My story and so many others’ follows the above-mentioned chilling tale and if you have not yet sold your soul and project to the devil, I pray you hold off a moment to continue reading this blog post. It will be well worth it in the end.

I took up the publishing deal with a so-called reputable publisher before the inception of the project as a gift from my supportive family who only wanted to help me on my journey. They all chipped in and got me the deal and now all I had to do was the hard part which was write the damn thing, right? Wrong. The hard part is not as many would think writing the book, its getting is published and then marketing it.

Take your time finding the right publisher because this will be time well spent and it will help you avoid heartbreak and disappointment later on.

Here are a 5 tips for finding the right publisher.

1.) Research

You can’t avoid this step no matter how much you try. Don’t accept the first deal that lands in your lap even if someone else is paying for it. You want to make sure the publisher is reputable. So how do you do this. Go to their website and write down what they stand for. Give them a call and create a list of questions you can ask them about how their process works end-to-end. If you are not sure what to ask check out my post on questions to ask your publisher. waters.

2.) Reviews

Go read reviews from other authors telling the tales of their experiences with the publisher. Your community of fellow authors will be your saving grace here. Rely on us to help guide you out of the murky. Create a list of positives and negatives. Many forums are helpful for this. For more information, check out my website where I review various publishers and their processes to make sure you find the right one. The site should be up in the coming weeks.

3.) Compare

Drawing up a comparison on a single spreadsheet is so helpful for you to understand the various costs of doing business with different self-publishers. Do they expect you to buy books? Do they try to upsell you fundamental missing features in your undersold publishing deal? What is the time until you realize a return on investment? What sort of marketing is involved in the package? How well are they known in the industry? What is their reach? Where do they operate? How well have authors who have gone with this publisher done? Go check out the statistics of their top selling authors. Do the calculations in terms of how much you anticipate they have made and write it all down.

It is unfortunate that you have to fumble around in the dark blind and dumb to find the right publisher to represent your work but trust me not doing the hard work of research, review and comparison has bit me square in the ass and boy does it hurt.

One last thing to mention is don’t let the publishers pressure you into closing the deal too soon before you have had the time to thoroughly vet them. In sales, which I do a lot of, there is a tactic we use to create urgency, for example a limited time promotion where you get certain services at a discounted price. They always come up with these especially if they sense you are close to closing. They will discount and discount and still making a killer profit off of you. Don’t be fooled by time pressures. There is always time and always another deal.

Okay, really the last thing. Be careful of publishers selling packages at full price while there is a promotion running which they don’t tell you about. This just inflates the sales person’s pockets and deflates your bank account. This is precious money you could spent elsewhere and derive more value in doing so. Always negotiate. The sales people have a target and leeway to negotiate. Ask for a discount and tell them you can go with them if they come up with something better. They will. And if they don’t good riddance. Even so always check that what you get is worth it.

I hope this post helps you avoid the same falling unwittingly into the same traps that I have. Watch this space for my author platform coming out designed for authors by authors, there to help you navigate the treacherous waters of a project from idea to bookshelf. It is going to turn this nightmarish industry around. Until then…

Happy reading, Kryptic Fans!

Twitter | Facebook | Website | The Coward Novel

[loud-snoring-os]

Educational, entertaining, and an overall great read I ordered this book to read for one of my Ethics classes. I was worried about so much assigned reading to complete in one week, but it turned out to be a book that you just can't put down. Go to Amazon

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks an instant classic – this is one of those stories that genuinely needed to be told. From the very beginning there was something uncanny about the cancer cells on Henrietta Lacks’s cervix. Even before killing Lacks herself in 1951, they took on a life of their own. Removed during a biopsy and cultured without her permission, the HeLa cells (named from the first two letters of her first and last names) reproduced boisterously in a lab at Johns Hopkins — the first human cells ever to do so. HeLa became an instant biological celebrity, traveling to research labs all over the world. Meanwhile Lacks, a vivacious 31-year-old African-American who had once been a tobacco farmer, tended her five children and endured scarring radiation treatments in the hospital’s “colored” ward. Go to Amazon

Great book. I enjoyed this book thoroughly. The waves created from this one single cell line is fascinating - from the obvious research and drug development to the resultant health care policy improvements and divisiveness regarding privacy - this is a well told and undersold story. Go to Amazon

Good beginning, but slows down after halfway. This book has a great start and gets the reader hooked. After about halfway though, it is exclusively about the author's journey towards finding Henrietta's family and the relationship she develops with them which is great, just not at all what I expected. The book addresses some interesting ethical points about human cells and who maintains rights to them after they are removed from the body. Skloot also discusses laws governing medical practice and how they have changed over the course of 60 years. I also learned a lot about cell biology. On the contrary, the portrayal of Henrietta Lack's life reads like a novel and the author makes it very obvious how serious she has taken her research into Henrietta's life. However, towards the end, it mainly becomes a story of Skloot's relationship with the present day Lackses in almost too much detail (I don't need to know the size and color of the shirt of every newly introduced individual). Overall, just not my genre. Go to Amazon

Must read for all Rebecca Skloot did an excellent job. This book is riveting, historical, thought provoking, and a must read for all, especially those in health fields in general and research in particular. Bioethics, patient protection, patient autonomy, and research and pure science discovery are all at play in this book. It also underscores the impact of health disparities on access to care and access to the standard of care. The Lacks family deserve to be honored in large and significant ways. May Henrietta's contributions to science always be revered, applauded, and appreciated. Go to Amazon

Loved it. With over 3,000 reviews, there is little I could add that has not already been said. Great book, amazing story, well written. I love how Rebecca built relationships with the family, in spite of the barriers and obstacles. This was published in 2010 and I'm happy to know in 2017 that Henrietta has a beautiful grave marker, next to her mother and daughter. I can't wait to see the HBO movie with Oprah and Deborah, Henrietta's daughter. Go to Amazon

Brilliant This book is not easy to read for many reasons. But it should be( and probably is) required reading in College courses. Skloot's research is impeccable as is her empathy for the Lacks family. I wish one of the multiple institutions who benefited from Helo had offered compensation or at least medical care to Henrietta's family. It was the least they could have done in Henrietta's memory for all she has given to medical science. Go to Amazon

My goodness.. my sister saw the movie on ... Five Stars Five Stars Ever heatd of Hela? Personally Compelling and Scientific Five Stars Two Stories in One Five Stars I enjoyed this book initially but I lost some interest with ... Great reading!