#He's very patient and polite - but he does not play about Mina

[lady-dulcinea]

Jonathan finds a portrait of Mina inside his travel trunk

from the Milwaukee Ballet's production of Michael Pink's Dracula Randy Crespo as Jonathan Harker Davit Hovhannisyan as Count Dracula

[vickyvicarious]

(spoilers)

For some reason, Jon saying how "resistless" Dracula is, how Dracula says oh so politely I'll take no refusal, reminds me of Mina.

Mina will send a telegraph to Van helsing about him coming to breakfast in more of a demand than a request, but so politely. Seward not wanting to share his records and making up excuses on why, and Mina not having any of it (politely).

Jonathan notes how "charming" Dracula is, how he talks to him in "his smooth way", how "resistless" he is. Seward also talks about letting Mina visit his violent patient because he "couldn't resist her" due to her being so appealing when asking.

Both Dracula and Mina use charming assertion to get what they want.

Hm... You raise an interesting point.

I do think there's an important subtext that shouldn't get lost here... namely the threat lying just beneath the surface for Dracula at all times. His charm is not only resistless for its own sake, but because Jonathan knows that if he challenges it, that might peel away the thin skin of polite friendly smooth talk and reveal the true danger beneath. We can't forget that any more than Jonathan. (And of course, Mina has no such threat - if anything, it's still more the fear of the threat cause by Dracula that's a possible option if people refuse her, when there could be said to be any threat.)

That said, Dracula's charm can be genuinely powerful in its own right. He is good at talking around or past things he doesn't want to mention (without having to outright shut them down; he did pretend not to hear at times but also was able to steer the conversation away), or just speaking with confidence that he will get his way and that everyone else agrees with him and will naturally fall in line. He's good at framing things in a way where arguing back makes you look like the one in the wrong ('obviously you won't want to go anywhere that's locked anyway', etc.). That "is it not so?" which he repeatedly uses sounds like a question but it isn't, really, it's phrased in a way to make you agree. It always comes after him stating things as facts to ensure you do agree. And by doing so, to make you become complicit with and approving of what he's doing. He has a kind of mastery of language that includes these sorts of tricks, but also he's just a genuinely good conversant. He talks well and interestingly, his conversation is engaging and can be entertaining. Maybe to compensate for the many ways he is instinctively (or otherwise) creepy, or maybe just as a holdover from his living days, Dracula is good at wielding his words and charisma. I think you can see in his treatment of Jonathan how much he's missed having a good conversant to play off of, and while he obviously does mix in lots of tormenting and being scary, he also plays the role of Charming Host well when he genuinely wants.

It's all the more interesting since this entire aspect of his character vanishes in London as he recedes to the edges of the narrative, becoming a largely offscreen menace. His speech against Mina showcases much of his power over words, but she is able to pick out the key information to use against him. And his blustering to the boys in the house later that day is hardly up to his usual standards in my opinion; it may sound kind of tough but is pretty much immediately proven to be flimsy with him fleeing right away. There's certainly no attempt at charm in it.

...but I digress. Back to the point, with Mina. I think she is very good at manipulating people when she wants. The telegram to van Helsing I don't think is the best example, because both the medium being used (paid by word so short and to the point) and the circumstances (a reply to his letter asking if he could come see her) make her message less demanding, even if politely so. It's more just letting him know she is available and giving the go-ahead. But she does get Seward to show her his audio diary as well as let her visit Renfield, and she is able to establish a very quick bond with him and the rest of the suitor squad, as well as van Helsing. I mean, everyone packbonds quickly but Mina especially is good at charming people right away. She also does this later on, convincing van Helsing to let her come along to chase Dracula, convincing everyone but Jonathan to promise to kill her if she turns fully, etc. Just because I say she's good at 'manipulating' doesn't mean I think she is being Machiavellian about it; she's not conniving or evil or merely using people for her own ends. But she is good at ensuring she gets her own way when she feels strongly enough about it, because she knows the right arguments/emotional appeals to make.

I think there are two pretty distinct differences between Mina and Dracula in this regard. First: honesty. Mina genuinely believes in what she's doing, and in fact the idea that she would deceive Jonathan to manipulate him into bringing her along is a particular fear of hers about turning further. All of her 'resistless charm' comes from a place of genuine feeling and care. It's most often motivated by consideration for others, and in fact she tends not to speak up if its only for her own sake. Dracula, on the other hand, is fundamentally dishonest, especially when he is at his most charming. He plays the role of a friend or at least someone friendly, but he doesn't genuinely care for anyone else over himself and at his variant of 'resistless charm' is entirely about what he wants you to do or not do. (Not to mention, at the end of the day he views people as prey.) Mina is motivated by outcomes she wants to achieve to aid others. As a result, Dracula's charm is inherently more something he has to intentionally put on while Mina's may be more instinctive or at least more connected to genuine feeling.

The second big difference is connection. (This overlaps a little with both the idea of honesty and also motivation, but I chose this term to be more distinct from the above point.) While both of them may be very charming, and you may give in to both of their words, the type of words they use are different. They both sometimes use a kind of logical framework to make a request sound like the answer yes is only sensible, even, but the type of framing logic is based on different premises. Without getting too much into all the specific examples, the types of charming words Dracula uses to ensure his way tend to rely on duties or social structure (your master/employer said you'd obey me, you are a good guest). Mina on the other hand justifies herself through people (I know you through Lucy and you'll know me from this journal soon, you have to stop me lest I harm you all). Mina's method of appeal tends to remind people of the connections of trust, respect, and love between her and themselves/others. It kind of harkens back to the importance of 'recommendations' and letters of introduction and such, but not so formally. Even when she doesn't specifically ask for the sake of some other person, like when she wanted to see Renfield, her reference to Seward's diary is a reminder of the intimate exchange of trust and comfort accompanying her listening to it. Again, I don't think she is thinking all this out to figure out the best way to make people listen to her, but she really cares strongly about people, and as that is her motivation it also naturally informs how she talks and appeals. Compare this again to Dracula, who doesn't trust, respect, or love anyone else really, and his words based on more external structures make sense. His charm is a power-play while Mina's is reaching out to others.

(I have thought about vampire!Mina weaponizing her charm before though, and I think that would bear more in common to Dracula's style of doing so for sure. At the very least in the more malignantly intentional/dishonest way. But as it is their styles of charisma are different at the core despite both being charmingly irresistable at times.)

[emile-hides]

H*lding H*nds Imagines

I am once again making content for me and me alone because I have an unhealthy obsession for BNHA blond boys

BNHA Blond Boys X GN!Reader h*nd h*lding moments

Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Twice, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio

All Might

Knuckle brush

You handed him things before

Stacks of papers to grade, coffee after a long day, a napkin when he goes into a coughing fit

But something about this time turns his face a deep red

He withdrew quickly, in a jerking manner that dragged more attention than you’re sure he meant it to

He cleared this throat and thanked you quietly before shuffling off

It took a few moments to really set on you

You’d made contact

Such little contact you’d barely even felt it

He was cold, his skin rough and calloused, wrinkled and dry

How you managed to notice so much with such brief contact is astounding

And also incomparable to how much he noticed

He’s thinking about it all day, glancing at where the contact was made, shuffling, flushing to himself, holding his knuckles to his lips

Do it on purpose next time you hand him a stack of papers and he’ll drop them

Present Mic

In a crowd

It’s LOUD

You and Hizashi are trying to get home after a live show

The crowd is huge and still hyped from the concert

The quarters are tight, the space is limited, and without his towering hair spike it’s hard to keep track of your loud blond

Eventually a strong clasp from a hand horribly decorated in rings, fingerless gloves, and black nail polish claps on your wrist as your continued to be pulled though a crowd

When the world finally starts to calm and you have room to breath his hand slides to connect to your palm

Fingers intertwine with yours as a series of “Y’all good?”s start, followed quickly by an excited narration of the chaos that just ensued

He’d taken your hand so causally you barely even noticed

The two of you walked in a much calmer crowd, hand in hand, as Hizashi randomly picked bystanders out of his vocal range and made up their life stories to tell you

Fatgum

Big hands

You laid idly on the couch in Fatgum’s office, the interns long sense gone home

A pile of paperwork blocked your view of your hard working hero as he sat at his desk

You slumped and slid off the couch, boredom rising as you phone lie dead on the table nearby

A loud groan drives a “Just a bit longer, gumdrop” from behind the piles of unfinished work, a bit longer could be years for all you cared

Sliding across the hardwood floor on your back, you found yourself beside Taishiro’s desk, looking up at him from an angle you were rather use to

He was focused, with a smile still on his face as he worked, writing with one hand, the other causually turning Takoyaki in the grill built into his desk

You sat up, watching quietly. He was typically pretty observant, but he may not yet have noticed your approach

When his hand stopped turning and released, you took your chance

Both your hands snatched his wrist, sitting up a bit to rest yourself on his lap, you examined his large palm

He chuckled, “What’cha doin’, cupcake?”

His hand was massive in your own, enough to make anyone feel like a child. It could engulf you, hold half your torso and still have a pinkie to spare

You pressed on his palm, he hummed and returned to work, leaving you to admire as you pleased

His knuckles were scarred, several gashes and scrapes from punching at materials harder than even his fat could handle

Old burns from cooking, white spots on his finger tips from a time before he learned patients

You leaned back on him, holding his hand in your own, and watched him work

He seemed much more blissed from your company

Twice

Not enough hands

Jin’s a very physical person

He hangs off you every chance he can get, coddling and loving on you

He finds it annoying

So it’s not surprise as you two settled down for a movie night he was instantly on your lap like a cat

He lays over you like a blanket, limbs tangled every which way, head on your chest, looking at you more than the movie

One of your hands lay idly by your head, that one he has his own over, fingers tangled messily, almost uncomfortably

His other arm trapped under you, a hug from below, resting also uncomfortably against your spine

Leaving your free hand to tangle in his hair, a rare sight to have his mask off, though it probably wouldn’t last the whole movie, it should be cherished until then

When you notice his staring at you more than the screen, you choose to join him

You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek, he leans into it with the most lovestruck puppydog look a man his age could muster

He then starts to fidget around, moving like he’s stuck

It doesn’t take long from there for him to start getting frustrated with himself, splitting an argument for two between just him

You gently lift his head to regain eye contact and ask what’s wrong

He nearly starts crying

“I want to hold your cheek too but I don’t have enough hands!!”

He’s not willing to remove your hand from his hold or pull his other arm out from under you to compromise his own needs

He does eventually start crying over his lack of extra limbs to love you with

Aoyama

Standing ovation

Roaring applause rippled thought the auditorium

It wasn’t a big show, or a big stage, but it was your first written play, and seeing it go over so well was enough to bring a tear to your eyes

You joined the audience in standing to applause as the actors took the stage for the final bow

Only the lead, your star, wasn’t there with them

You blinked once, twice, three times before panic set in

There’s no way Yuga Aoyama would miss the chance to stand center stage in a spotlight. If he wasn’t on stage something must have happened

You tried your best not to look around too fervently, not wanting to startle anyone else

When a hand clasped yours

“And let’s not forget the playwright~✨”

Before you could question how he said that with his mouth, you were dragged onto the stage by your previously mentioned star, with his own mic in hand you don’t remember giving him

He held your arm up above his head as he runway walked his way along the stage, you closely in toe

You were going to go on stage eventually but you’d planned to be a lot more quiet about it, when more people had left early not wanting to sit though the applause

But instead, here you were, center stage, hand held high like you’d just won a boxing match by your own and only Aoyama

How he could stand being this bright all the time way beyond you

For now though, it was rather nice 

Ojiro

Lost and found

You stepped out of your class stretching, ready for a well deserved lunch break when you heard your classmates muttering

“Isn’t he from the hero course?”

“What’s he doing?”

Being nosy wasn’t usually your strong suit, but the mutterings has peaked your interest

You followed the eyes of those speaking to find a blond boy sitting in the floor of the hall, knees pulled to his chest to keep his legs from disrupting the flow of traffic, with his tail resting over his feet to protect them from being stepped on

He smiled and gave a light wave to your class as the dispersed

You alone approached him, curiosity peaking. Why was he sitting out here in the hall?

When question he very sheepishly answered, “I, uh.. I got lost on my way to class”

There was several things wrong with that

Number one being, he’d been at this school half a year now. He has one classroom, a big classroom, in the hero course. It’s not easy to miss??

Number two, it was noon. Lunchtime. He has one classroom. How long had he been lost???

These questions had answers and he was, while slightly embarrassed, happy to share he had, in fact, been lost all morning. Not just in finding his class, but also in finding the exit to the building, any teachers he knew, or his phone to call for help

You began to feel sorry for the guy, as this seemed to be a common occurrence in his daily life

With a sigh, you offered your hand to help him up

It was lunch, for all courses, so surely he’d see his hero course classmates in the cafeteria. No one turns up Lunchrush’s food after all

He smiled and took your hand, lifting himself from the floor with a thankyou

“I’m Ojiro, by the way. You are...?”

He was rather polite to talk to the entire walk, his grip on your hand was soft, gentle, and his smile never seemed to waver

Kaminari

Swing yer partner round and round

“Oh this is my JAM!”

Mina excitedly turned up your shitty little radio before kicking herself up off the floor, grabbing Sero all in one quick motion

The two danced horribly off beat, you quickly guess Mina had never heard this song before in her life, just wanted to get moving

“Come on you two, it’s dance break time!”

You found yourself enraptured with her energy, already forgetting the homework you all were doing

Kaminari took your hand much like how Mina took Sero’s and began to dance just as off beat and spuratic as queen pinkie had

You laughed, stumbling with every step, same as the others, the giggling energy filling a previously silent room

Denki’s fingers dug into your knuckles as he smirked, suddenly spinning on his heel and dragging you with him

The two of you became a tornado in your tiny dorm room, barely keeping from knocking into your tea table as you spun like a couple of children

You could hear Mina cheer and laugh, a brief glanced told you Sero was recording this silly moment

You looked across the way at your dance partner

Spinning, laughing his head off like this was the most fun he’d ever had, eyes closed, caring not for his surroundings

You decided to let go

The momentum sent you both toppling, you safely into Mina, who was more then ready to catch you

Denki got the much less desirable aforementioned tea table, which sent him toppling backwards over the also aforementioned homework

If you all could have laughed any louder, you would

Bakugo

Sweaty hands

You always knew when Bakugo was going to hold your hand

He may think he’s smooth, wiping his hand on the pocket of his pants before reaching behind himself to grab at you

But you’d always notice

It was a good indicator you were walking too slow for his liking, or the area up ahead was crowed, or that he simply felt you were too far away

You couldn’t initiate holding hands, when he didn’t actively want to be in contact he’d keep his hands shoved deep in his pockets

So you just had to wait for him to wipe himself off and reach for you

You were free to wrap yourself around his arm whenever, though

He’ll look pissed, but won’t say a word

And if you move away, he’ll wipe his hand on his pants, and offer it to you, a silent plea for you to come back

Honenuki

Magic hands

You stretched out over the couch of the 1-B common room with a whine, the rest of your class in a similar state

Training was hell today, sparing with class 1-A was never a joke, and with Monoma egging the whole game up to be more than it should have been, it all just escalated to a point you all wish it hadn’t

“Alright, next.”

Honenuki, a godsend, your blessed angel, helped Tsuburaba off the second common room couch, his typically wide eyes closed and relaxed as he wobbled his way across the room

You happily took his place, stretching out on your stomach before your classmate with the magic powers of massage

His hands pressed into your back and you instantly relaxed, letting out a low hum as you snuggled the pillow under your chin

Honenuki returned your hum, his hands pressing into all your tenses spots, almost instantly releasing them from their knots

You’d probably have fallen asleep, if it wasn’t over so fast

He had the entire class to get though after all, though he hated to rush an art form

You took his hand as he helped you stand, the actual minute of his touch enough to wobble your legs

Kissing his knuckle and thanking him for sharing his magic, you found yourself plopped peacefully on the couch beside Tsuburaba

Honenuki chuckled at you as he called next, happy to be of service

Monoma

He’s showing off

You’d known for a while now Monoma didn’t know how to shut the fuck up

He’d brag about anything, over anyone, to everyone

He’d always loudly bragged about how much better his class was, how much stronger his friendships were, how absolutely amazing his partner was

You being said partner didn’t make said bragging less annoying

The two of you had been together less than an hour and he was already boasting about your perfection to all who would hear

Some genuine, loving, almost gaggingly sweet comments

Others just to rub it in the face of class 1-A as much as possible

A week into this relationship and people were starting to think you must be come kind of god with how Monoma spoke about you

You’d been on two dates with the guy

Now here you were, holding his hand on the walk to class, and regretting every step

As every single person who passed must take note of the fact you were holding his hand

And also must be aware how blessed he is to be holding your hand in return

And really you started to understand the concerned look Kendo gave you when you told her you’d agreed to date Neito Monoma

Still his words were genuine, no matter how they came across, and he truly had a million and one things to say about you

So you could hold though the embarrassment his overexcited bragging may cause

He just wants to show you off

Mirio

Quietly

You sat by his bed side, holding gently to his limp hand

Moments ago he was inconsolable, crying and screaming his lungs out

His quirk gone

His teacher gone

Everything he worked so hard for seemed to vanish in an instant

His grip, still so strong, had left your hand bruised, circulation cut off

It wasn’t a concern you really had

Sleeping, his pain was still so obvious

Bags under his eyes, dried streaks of tears still down his keeps

And your hand still tightly gripped in his

What would happen next, where he would go, who you all would become

They were all problems for the future

Tomorrow you could work on a solution

Tonight, you could hold his hand

[nowoyas]

Floriography 1

next part

A/N: prince izuku au prince izuku au prince izuku au prince izuku au prince izuku au prince izuku au prince izuku au (also half of this is the result of me spending six hours reading about flower symbolism and I’m only a little sorry)

Summary: Your fiancé is... different from who you’d anticipated. (Prince!Arranged Fiancé!Izuku Midoriya x Princess!Reader

Warnings: none!

Word count: 3100+

~

Candytuft is a flower symbolizing indifference. An iris included in a presented bouquet means that the bouquet is intended to send a message.

You sit patiently as your hair is brushed out and makeup is delicately applied to your skin. Your attendants dutifully prepare you, and the pink-skinned girl ruthlessly working your hair into silk grins playfully when your one open eye catches hers through the mirror. "Excited?"

You'd roll your eyes if only Toru wasn't currently painstakingly smearing a light eyeshadow over one closed lid. "Ecstatic," you reply dryly. "Is all this really necessary just to meet him?" As if you've got any reason to be.

"You want to make a good impression, don't you, your highness?" Toru says with a giggle, seamlessly switching to your other eye.

Your nose crinkles in distaste, and you force yourself not to cringe. "I wonder if that truly matters. I'm going to be wed whether I make a good first impression or not."

Mina hums, running the brush through your hair a final time. "That's true, but it'd be a shame if you were going to marry this prince and he didn't even like you. Maybe he'll be a total sweetheart!"

"Yeah," you reply bitterly. "Maybe."

What, are you supposed to be thrilled? It's not as though you'd deluded yourself out of awareness of your station. You'd always known this would happen eventually. Your parents, the king and queen, had been firm but not excessively mean in telling you about your as-of-yet unmet fiancé, and your dinner date to meet him and his parents for the first time, and now, here you are, allowing yourself to be prepped for meeting your princely counterpart.

You just don't have high hopes for a future with a man you know next to nothing about. You have his name (Prince Izuku) and you have the rumors passed on from your attendants (a kind prince, in stark contrast to his father, known for being ruthless to anyone outside the royal family), but you know precious little about your fiancé from the neighboring kingdom.

"Pick a flower, highness," Mina says, pointing to the basket of flowers she's carefully cut and prepared ahead of time. You even caught her enchanting them this morning so they'd keep their color and vivacity throughout this dinner of yours. Your open eye roams over the selection, and you give a wry smile. 

"I hope you know I'm not even considering the carefully de-thorned roses," you say. Mina pouts, but lets you take your pick of the other options.

"No 'love at first sight' for meeting your fiancé, your highness?" Toru teases, referencing the flower language. 

"I think I'll go with the candytuft," you fire back with amusement.

"Ouch. Not worried your future husband's gonna take that as an insult?" Mina asks as she deftly parts your hair into sections.

"Tell you what, I'm feeling cheeky. Throw an iris in there, too, so he knows it's intentional. If his highness really knows anything about flower language, I'll apologize later." You almost snort. As if he would.

The girls stifle a laugh, and Mina reaches over, working the candytuft into your braid. "As you wish, your highness."

~

White chrysanthemums symbolize truth and honesty. 

Dinner is... well, you certainly aren't thrilled. It's a royal dinner, sat around a large, fancy table filled with all kinds of food, and you politely force yourself not to play with the loose parts of your hair or the iris tucked behind your ear as you eat.

It's not that you're rude, oh no. You carry the conversation whenever you're expected to! Any questions asked, you answer with a subtly polite smile and a sweet tone and give exactly as much information as they want to hear from you. The opposing king is an imposing presence, starkly contrasting the... For lack of a better word, expected presence of your fiancé. He simply gives off the aura of a prince, in a gentle way. Perhaps not the heir-to-the-throne prince, but the aura of a prince whose older brother will be taking the throne unless he dies under unfortunate circumstances. Aware of his station and as meek as a royal can be.

Curiously, he is, in fact, heir to the throne, and has no siblings.

Throughout the dinner, of course your fiancé addresses you. He kindly asks questions about you, your studies, whether you have a proclivity towards a particular area of study, preferences in several areas, and you respond in kind, answering his questions and asking some of your own. But never once does it feel like he's speaking to you. Then again, despite directly addressing him, you never really feel like you're speaking to him, either.

Such is life, you suppose, musing to yourself.

It isn't until he asks some question, and you bring up your love of flowers, that you really feel like you're speaking to a person. His face lights up enough to shine, a wide smile crossing his face that actually causes you to instinctively smile back, your first genuine smile of the night.

"Really?" he says, trying and failing to contain the excitement in his voice. "I think flowers are wonderful, as well! If you'd like, before you return to your kingdom tonight, I'd love it if you'd go for a walk with me through our gardens."

Your eyes dart to your assigned guard for the night to silently ask permission. You smile–a pre-determined signal to ask Eijirou to say yes. Maybe catching your prince away from all the formalities could get him to do... Anything more interesting than smile. The red-head beams back with a nod.

You turn back to the conversation at hand with a sweet smile. "I don't see why not." (In truth, you're more excited to see the gardens than spend time with this man, but you'll take what you can get.)

"Great! Let me know whenever you're ready. Oh, but please, don't feel obligated to hurry! We can go whenever it pleases you."

You continue until the logical end of dinner, and when you're finally ready and his king allows it, he practically flies around the table to escort you to the palace gardens and leads you out of the room, followed by your guard and, apparently, his.

You're both silent until you actually arrive in the garden, at which point you like to think you actually properly meet Prince Izuku.

He turns to you as you arrive at an archway climbed by hyacinths— purple, you note. You wonder if that's intentional. (After a moment's consideration, probably not. It's not like he probably thinks he has anything to apologize for.)

He opens his mouth to speak, and suddenly, he doesn't sound very much like a royal. "I, um, if it's alright, Princess, I wanted to ask you something? Or, uh, multiple things, actually."

"Since when did you need my permission to speak, your highness?" you muse, eyes locked on the flowers above you with a hint of interest.

"I-Izuku," he corrects gently.

"Hm?"

"I-I mean, we're engaged and everything, so you can just... call me Izuku. I don't mind. I-if we're going to be married, then I'd much rather you do what makes you comfortable. Well, I mean I guess you might be more comfortable being formal, so I guess call me whatever you like? I-I just don't want you to push yourself, this already isn't really that ideal of a situation, but—"

"Izuku." His stammering is almost cute, but somehow, you sense that this isn't what he wanted to talk about. Izuku snaps out of his rambling to look at you properly, and his eyes flash with guilt. "You wanted to ask me something?"

"R-right, sorry!" He pauses, wets his lips. "Um, first— how much do you know about flower language?"

You stumble in your walking, a blush crossing your face. The speed with which he reacts to steady you is almost impressive, his hands lingering to ensure that you're not about to faceplant in the palace gardens. "Perhaps a lot. Are you asking because you happen to—"

He nods, and suddenly, you're very mortified at your earlier impulsive decision. "M-my family makes it a point to teach it alongside the rest of our education, to p-prevent, uh, offending anyone who might also understand flower language..."

"—oh gods I'm so sorry, I didn't think you'd actually notice—"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Y-yeah, I uh, kinda figured. If it helps, I don't think my parents were paying enough attention to notice..."

"Mildly," you groan. "Was that all you wanted to ask? Whether I was purposely picking flowers to be rude?"

"I mean, I-I don't really blame you? I kind of wanted to— well, it's just... are you really okay with all this?" 

Well, that's a new one. "Are you... asking me?"

"Yes, well, I–Since this is only our first meeting, and yet we are already engaged to be wed. I wanted to ensure that this is something you're... Something you're okay with. As I said earlier, I'd feel best if you are comfortable."

You stop, never completely dropping your smile as you turn to meet Izuku's brilliant green eyes, waving your knight away casually. His eyes seem to sparkle under the moonlight. "If you are searching for a candid answer from me, Izuku, then you'll need to send away your knight. It would be rude for me to act as though this were a private conversation when he is right there, after all."

He blinks. "Oh! Of course, Princess–"

"[Name]."

"–[N-name]." How cute. His cheeks appear to tinge just slightly pink as your name rolls from his lips, and you almost hate that you quite like the way your name sounds in his mouth, stutter and all. He turns to look at his knight and nods. "Please go wait with her highness's attendant."

The blond knight appears to actually roll his eyes at your betrothed, turning and stalking off to join your attendant. You can't help the amusement that sparkles in your eyes as you say, "you appear to have quite the sociable knight at your side, my prince."

He chuckles. "Kacchan's always been like that. He just wants to make sure nothing bad happens."

'Kacchan', hm? "I see."

His shoulders slump slightly. It's too... Human, for royalty. You don't recall the last time you saw such humanity from your parents, for example, despite having known them for your entire life. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm weak, if I allow the knight assigned to me to be so..."

"No, actually. I think it's a very good indicator that you see the people in your father's–and, eventually, your–employ to be humans. Another might have had him dismissed or beheaded for the crime of having a personality." You give him a small smile. "I'd heard tell that you were kind. I wasn't sure whether or not to actually believe it."

The stunned look on his face is quickly replaced with a soft smile. "Thank you, [name]."

"And, to answer your question..." You hum, interlacing your fingers behind your back as you intently search the garden for a specific flower. "I understand that, as princess of my kingdom, I have a duty to fulfil, and that involves marriage. Whether that marriage is with you or another isn't really something that I have control over."

Out of the corner of your eye, you peek at the prince. He's certainly easy on the eyes, you can't deny that. Freckled cheeks and fluffy green hair outline big, green eyes that betray a sharp intellect he hasn't fully demonstrated and which are unmistakably pretty. You wouldn't say he towers above you, but he does stand proud, dressed in fine clothing suited for meeting your betrothed. You might even say he was attractive, you realize with a note of uncertainty.

Your heart aches as you realize you would have adored having him properly court you, especially in light of how kind he's been now that you're alone and he doesn't need to act so stiff and formal with you. You don't recall the last time someone earnestly requested your comfort in a situation, beyond what must certainly be a sense of obligation among your servants, and in multiple aspects, taking into considerations how you feel without some ulterior motive, at that!

Currently, the unmistakably pretty face you're evaluating is wracked with guilt. (He's very expressive, too, you note, though whether that is the norm for him or something he's only allowing because he's with his fiancée remains to be seen.) "I-I can speak with my father. I'm certain that I can find some way to call the marriage off, I don't want–"

"It isn't that I'm against it, Izuku," you interrupt gently. "I suppose I just wish that this could have played out differently."

"Differently... how, if I may ask?"

A sad smile overtakes your features, and despite how truly kind his voice is, despite the fact that you're engaged to be wed and you'd love to trust him...

"Now, am I truly in a position for wishes, my prince?"

He nods, determination fueling some sort of fire in his eyes that you can only guess at. "If there's something you desire, Princess, then I would like to be given the opportunity to grant it to you."

"I'm not sure that what I desire is something even you could grant."

"Please, Princess. Try me."

You suck in a breath, carefully maintaining your mask of composure and turning away from him to face a beautiful bunch of white chrysanthemums, their meaning floating to you tauntingly. How fitting.

After sharing a questioning glance with him, he nods, giving you permission to take a single one. You carefully pluck one of the chrysanthemums from the stem, handing it over to him along with the iris tucked behind your ear.

"Think me childish, but I just wish I was in love with you."

Izuku's breath hitches, fingers stuttering as he accepts the two flowers. "I see. No, I don't think that's childish at all, I... I understand completely."

"You see now why what I wish for is something you can't give me."

He swallows, nodding. "If I might ask, um... A-are you saying this because there is already someone you..."

"No, no one like that." You laugh bitterly. "Back when I had slightly more free time, I read quite a lot. I always loved the stories where people fell in love and found happiness in one another, and I suppose at some point I realized I wanted that for myself, even though I've always known that someday I might end up married to someone I scarcely know."

"...if you want to know the truth, I wish I was in love with you, too," he admits. He leads you to a secluded fountain, and the both of you sit, potentially too far apart for two people meant to be wed. "Y-you seem lovely, of course! But neither of us know much of anything about each other. I would have liked it if I'd had time to... You know, c-court you properly, as it's supposed to be."

Perhaps the most genuine smile of the night crosses your face, and you look at him with the threat of tears in your eyes. "I have a duty to attend to," you say, "and as far as eligible royalty goes, you are far from the worst I could wed. I do not love you. But, if for nothing else than for the sake of carrying myself with grace and protecting the relations between our kingdoms, and if you'll have me, I would be... I believe I would be okay with marrying you, Prince Izuku."

He reaches forward, a hand hovering over yours as his eyes search your face for consent. When you nod, a warm hand covers your own and squeezes gently. "I truly am sorry that things had to be this way. Apart from public customs, please know that you never have to do anything like... Kiss me, or be close to me. I'll even arrange for a larger bed, so that when the time comes, it'll be like we aren't even sharing a bed! We can... We can be as close or as distant as you like. It'll be a bit out of order, but if it pleases you, I-I could even c-court you properly, so that someday, you may even fall in love with me."

Your chest squeezes at his words. "And if I never do?" you whisper, voice thick with tears in a way that makes you cringe. 

"I'll never force you," he says, shifting just a bit closer as he gives you a sad look. "I want you to be comfortable. I ask that you kiss me at our wedding, for appearance's sake, and after that, you needn't so much as eat at the same time as me, if that's what you desire."

"And what of an heir?" you practically whisper. "Surely you know I'll eventually be expected to bear your son."

His fingers twitch around your hand, seconds before he jolts away from you as though he's touched an open flame, his face reddening as his voice rises in pitch. "W-w-we'll get that bridge when we cross to it!" he says loudly, arms coming up to cover his face in an exaggerated way that has you trying hard not to laugh.

His over-the-top reaction and mixing of words somehow leaves you feeling much lighter, and as you bring a hand up to cover your giggle, you hardly even notice the tear that escapes and slips down your cheek.

You surge forward, wrapping delicate arms around him. Hesitantly, his own come to a rest at your waist as you speak quietly into his ear. "Thank you, Izuku. I look forward to seeing you at our wedding."

He nods silently, and when you pull away, he stands and offers a hand to help you up. "It's getting rather late, Princess. Let me return you to your knight, and let our mage know that she'll be returning the two of you home soon." He leads you, hand entwined with yours, back towards the hyacinth archway, and pauses to pull one off. He crouches down, and finally gathers in one hand three flowers, one plucked directly from the grass growing along the pathway.

The iris you presented him, he carefully tucks behind your ear. The other two flowers, he presents to you directly—one purple hyacinth, one clover flower. "And a gift for you," he says quietly, before leading you by the hand back to where your knights have decided to wait for you. 

“I-if you’re not okay with me courting you properly, j-just let me know,” he whispers. You smile and bid him farewell.

That night, when your hair has been let down, your makeup removed, your dress replaced with an elegant nightgown, you lay in your bed, twirling between your fingers a clover flower and a purple hyacinth.

Purple hyacinths are used to indicate an apology. White clover flowers are sent to indicate to the recipient, ‘think of me’.

[stones-x-bones]

Classic Blunder || Ben and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell and @inbextween SUMMARY: Ben finds Bex reading alone in the hallway and decides she’s quite a remarkable find. CONTENT: Brief Domestic Abuse mention

Being back at school was a strange feeling. Bex was eager to be back, she did love learning after all, but the strangeness of it came from sitting through hour long lectures about modern law and criminal justice systems, because despite trying to convince herself that she could still do this, she really didn’t want to be doing this. There was a meager acceptance as she sulked through her mandatory classes of the day, only to give herself the gifts of her electives-- A Timeline Of History Before Humans and, of course, Professor Beck’s class, Our Monsters, Ourselves: Recognizing the Other in Speculative Literature-- after them. She always came away feeling refreshed from them, especially now more so that she was living at Morgan’s. Going home to a place that didn’t feel...suffocating was nicer than Bex had ever imagined. But, that still left a lingering fear in her-- because, ultimately, she’d have to go home one day. And it was probably going to have to be someday soon. So perhaps the strangeness was more a feeling of bittersweet, because despite the bruises now fading on her skin, and the cuts closing up, the things that brought her joy also reminded her of the fact that they would not last. They simply could not. 

Morgan’s class had ended a while ago, but Bex still lingered in the hallway. She was reading one of the books she’d borrowed from Morgan’s library, about Ancient History and how the stories of the past influence modern literature. There was only one bench in the hallway and she’d curled up on it, letting the masses of students wander by, not paying much attention to them and they paid little attention to her. But she remained even after the halls had cleared and more classes had started, lost in her book. She didn’t even notice the footsteps in the hallway, or the man approaching her.

Shutting his attache case with a final sigh, Ben stood up from his desk and shut the door to his office. It had been a long day of grading, office hours, and a department meeting, but it was worth it in the end. Making the right appearances, maintaining a good work flow, ensuring that his end of semester feedback responses were just where they needed to be-- it was all a balancing act. And it was an act he excelled at. Locking the door behind him, Ben made his way through the winding hallways of his building towards the exit. As he made his way through the halls, his forehead creased as caught sight of a young woman lost in a book. “I hope you don’t have a class to be going to,” Ben commented loudly, slowing to a halt in front of the girl. “Not that I’d tell on you-- this isn’t high school, after all.” He said with a conspiratorial grin. “What are you reading?”

Bex nearly jumped out of her skin when the man spoke, snapping her book shut out of reflex. She looked up at him, trying to shake off the jitters that had suddenly crawled into her hands. “O-oh, no! I don’t! I just got out of class, I pro--” she stopped herself mid sentence and shook her head, “I just got done with my last class of the day, I just like, you know, the atmosphere here sometimes cause it gets real quiet and there’s usually no one around in the halls, so reading is easy, but I--” she needed to take a breath, to calm down-- “sorry. Sometimes I talk a lot when I get nervous. Not that I’m nervous! You just kind of...caught me off guard.” But he didn’t seem too perturbed by her frantic rambling and he looked like one of the nicer professors, unlike most of the ones who had permanent furrows in their brows. She looked down at the book in her hands. “Oh, um…” held it up to him, “it’s something Professor Beck lent to me. A-about the history of storytelling and how it influences modern literature and media. Do you, um, know her? Professor Beck? Are you in the lit department, too?”

Slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers, Ben listened to her ramble with a patient smile on his face. She was one of those students. The anxious, over-eager, not yet self-assured children. Ripe for the picking. And his little gatherings, they were long overdue for a fresh face, for fresh blood. “I was only joking, I’m sorry for making you nervous.” He said with a laugh and apologetic shrug that he didn’t mean. “Or rather-- not nervous.” Ben corrected himself. Watching as she held up the book, his eyes flicked across the cover. It seemed… exactly like the kind of drivel Bitchy Fucking Beck would have in her personal collection. Modern literature and media-- what sort of study was that? Were her students analyzing movies? Or, he shuddered to think, TikToks? Disgusting. But, his expression remained politely intrigued, “Ah yes, Morgan and I are well acquainted. And no, I’m not a member of the literature department, but we work within the same college. I’m a professor of the Classics and not,” Ben let out a wry chuckle, “Literary classics. I teach Greek and Roman classics. I’m sure your book includes some references to the old mythologies and tales from back then.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! Really! It was mostly my fault. I’m really bad at paying attention, sometimes. Especially when I’m reading a book.” Bex gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile, finding that innate part of her that needed to please adults surfacing again. She perked up a bit when he mentioned knowing Professor Beck. “You are? She’s great, don’t you think? I mean, I’m kind of struggling in her class, but it’s because I’m really bad at creative writing and critical analysis of literature, but I enjoy it! It’s interesting and I like learning new things.” She watched him eye the book before setting it down in her lap again, fiddling with the cover. “Oh, you teach the classics? That’s so cool. I’ve always been interested in studying them academically. I’ve read a lot of books on them-- like, a lot-- but I’ve never taken a class for it! And um, it sort of does, obviously! Story-telling was often used as the only means to pass on history and culture and it was such a large part of both the Greek’s and Roman’s society. I know it’s kind of typical, for people to enjoy Greek mythology, but there’s a reason it’s so popular. But, um, I don’t really have to tell you that, do I?” She chewed her lip anxiously. “Sorry, uh-- I’m Bexley, by the way.” Stood up, holding her hand out. “Professional rambler.” 

“Nothing wrong with getting lost in a good book,” Ben said with a nod, “I’m guilty of that particular crime myself.” Among other, actual crimes. But, that was neither here nor there. Watching the way her eyes seemed to light up at the mention of Beck, Ben offered a reassuring smile. She was one of these foolish children who preferred fiction to fact, hm? But, as the girl continued to speak, perhaps, he thought, not. “Ah, regardless of performance, the pursuit of knowledge is a wonderful thing. That’s why we’re all here, right?” He said. Listening patiently as the girl’s words took on a meandering, if anxious, quality, Ben regarded her with a practiced eye. She was young, she hardly looked old enough to order a drink. There was a nervous anxiety that practically bubbled over from within her-- he could see it in the way she played with her book, how she bit her lip, the skittish way she moved. Interesting, very interesting. “Oh no, I’m always happy to hear what fellow lovers of the classics have to say.” He said and shook her hand firmly, a broad smile on his face. “Ben Campbell. Professional Rambler of the Classics. If you ever have the misfortune of attending one of my classes, I can assure you, I have you beat in the rambling department.”

“Oh, do you like reading books, too? What kind? Do you have your own library? Professor Beck has a huge library at her place. She lets me pick whatever I want to read.” Bex gave the professor a genuine grin as he took her hand to shake. He had a firm grip, and she remembered all the times her father told her a man could be judged by how firm his handshake was. She still didn’t understand what that meant. “I’m trying my best, and, really, that’s all I can do right now, right?” Even if that fact still made her feel poorly. She hoped her inability to keep the waver from her voice wasn’t a dead giveaway. She shook it off and readjusted. “Nice to meet you, Professor Campbell! And, well, I mean-- who wouldn’t ramble about the Classics? There’s a lot to say about them, and a lot to, you know-- know.” She wasn’t sure she was making too much sense anymore, but the lack of sleep was getting to her. She really needed to sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the empty hallway. “Have you taught here long? This is my first year at UMWC so I don’t know a lot of the professors. Or a lot of the staff. Or...students.” She knew Mina, and she knew some of the weird kids in Morgan’s class, and she knew Frank. But that was about it. She really needed more friends. “Sorry! If I’m keeping you, you can go. You probably don’t wanna be stuck talking to some awkward student who’s not even in your class.”

With an amused smile, Ben replied, “Yes, I do. I have a rather large collection of books at my home, as well as in my office. Most of the ones I keep here are related to my classes, but my personal library at home is a bit more diverse. Still, I’m rapidly running out of room in my collection. A pretty common struggle for your average bookworm, I suppose.” He said with a chuckle. “Of course! And I’m sure your professors understand that. What are you majoring, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked. She knew Beck-- quite closely too, it seemed. But, she’d also said she wasn’t the creative sort. Hm. So how did she know her? “It’s nice to meet as well, Bexley.” He beamed. “I’ve taught here for the past ten years. First as an adjunct but I’m now an associate. Though I doubt you wanted to know that-- suffice to say, I’ve been here for some time. How are you finding your classes? I’m always interested in hearing what students think of the matriculation process.” He said before waving off her concern. “Ah, no, I’m done for the day. Like I said. I value what our student body has to say about the university.”

Bex’s eyes lit up at his words. “You have a library here?” she couldn’t help but ask, not thinking much of it, really. She wanted to see it. Books were her only escape for the longest time. It sounded stupid and cliche, but when you were locked up in a room for most of your life, adventure was where you made it. In hallways, in blanket forts, in books under the bed. She couldn’t help the curious glow in her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I totally get that. Most of the books I have at home are stuffed in my closet, but my dad’s library is pretty big. Though, he really only has law texts and old books on, like, world wars and stuff. I never understood the appeal of them, but I guess some people just like different things. I, uh-- I’m majoring in law. Well, pre-law, but, you know.” She shrugged. “Ten years? Wow, that’s a really long time. You must know this place well.” She wondered if he knew about all the hidden secrets White Crest had. He seemed so normal. But, then again, she seemed normal, too, didn’t she? Sometimes? “Oh, no worries! I don’t mind! Tell me whatever you want, I’ve been told I’m a good listener and I never mind learning more about people. But, uh-- classes are fine! They’re-- I was out for a bit, cause I was um...sick,” she scratched at the back of her neck, “but I’m catching back up, I think. It’s nice to know a lot of the professors here care so much about the students. Penn State felt very...different.” And yet she missed it. Missed the freedom. “That’s where I transferred from. I actually grew up here, but I don’t ever really feel like I did, since my parents sent me to private school.” And there she went, oversharing again. She bit her lip. “Sorry, that was probably more information than you wanted from someone who’s not even in your class.”

“Library is a strong word to describe my office, it’s just a wall with some shelves. But, it’s rather comprehensive, if I do say so myself.” Ben said with faux modesty. Always better to play the bashful professor than to yammer on about how much time and money and effort he had put into his collection. Particularly the money. There were first editions in his collection that librarians dreamed of. “I can’t say I understand the interest in the world wars either, but again. I’m a professor of antiquity. Anything beyond 6th century AD is too new for my tastes. It’s a wonder I can even use a smartphone.” He smiled at his own little joke. “Pre-law, that’s got quite the courseload. How are you finding it compared to Penn state?” He asked, shifting his weight so he could stand more comfortably, his body language relaxed and open as he listened to her ramble. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I grew up in town as well, but I went to college elsewhere, so I can understand that sentiment.”

“Wow,” Bex breathed, “I’m a bit jealous. I think it’s my dream one day to just have an entire room full of books. I...guess that’s really just a library, but they wouldn’t even need to be shelved. Stacks on stacks would be nice. I would shelve the nice ones, though. I’m not a heathen, I take care of my books!” In a way, Professor Campbell almost reminded Bex of Morgan. Less wiccan, though, and more scholarly. “Oh, really? What’s your favorite period? And, well, smartphones can be confusing, but really they’re just small computers. If you ever need help, I can probably show you. I had to show someone else recently how to use her smart phone cause she couldn’t figure out how to change the background wallpaper.” She swallowed, nodding maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, yep-- heavy course load. Lots of reading and citing and making sure everything is exactly word for word. My whole family is lawyers and they’ve all got degrees from Harvard, so you’d think it’d come naturally to me, but I guess I didn’t get the right genes. I’m trying my best, though, you know? And UMWC is...smaller than Penn, but I guess it feels...cozier? I liked the freedom I had at Penn state, but it was really high pressure. A lot of the kids in my program here just seem really bored, though. This isn’t a top school for pre-law so you have to get really high scores in order to even think about getting into Yale or Harvard or Princeton, so I think a lot of them are resigned to just going to second rate grad schools. Where’d you go to college?”

“Sounds like the dream of a fellow scholar,” Ben said, voice kind and understanding. She seemed young, impressionable. Eager to learn, eager to please. Interesting. How very interesting. “I’ve gone through the stacks of books phase myself, I know how that is. But, having shelves just really ties a room together. There’s nothing quite like seeing all the spines laid out, the titles staring back at you. It’s a wonderful thing.” He said with a nod. “I’m quite a fan of the first century of the Roman Empire. Marcus Aurelius, his works still hold to this day.” At the girl’s offer, he let out a small laugh, though internally he wanted to roll his eyes. He wasn’t inept. “I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though!” He said. As she continued to speak-- on and on, about her family, about her inane observations of what the campuses were like-- Ben continued to mentally measure and weigh her. This Bexley girl, she was new to the university, still trying to find her footing. She didn’t know many people, students or staff, she’d admitted that herself. She seemed as though she was struggling with that critical jump that all students experienced when they entered college. And who was he to withhold aid from a student in need? “Ah, I went to Princeton actually. For both undergrad and my doctorate. But, UMWC is still an upstanding school-- it’s no Ivy League, but I can assure you, faculty here are providing just as rigorous of an academic experience.”

“Well, I mean, that would be nice,” Bex sighed, “I don’t think I’d mind teaching all too much, but I’ve already got my future career all planned out.” Not that she was all too excited about it, and she was more than sure that it was getting harder and harder for her to hide that fact. SHe laughed it off and gave a smile. “I can’t wait to have my own library, it really does sound like a dream come true.” Her eyes perked up. “Oh, that’s a good one! The rise of the Roman Empire really is one of the most incredible things to read about. I’ve always wanted to go to Rome and see the remains of the old empire. Have you been?” She smiled up at him again, shifting in her spot. :Ah, right, of course. I just kinda-- like to offer to help. I like feeling like I can help, you know? And, wow, Princeton! That’s a pretty prestigious school. I think my parents really want me to go to Harvard. Did you like Princeton? And yeah, totally! I-I know this school is pretty great and there are a lot of wonderful professors, it just usually helps being at an Ivy League if you wanna get in somewhere like Harvard. Or Princeton. So I’ll just have to, you know, try harder. Which is fine! I can do that.” And hopefully not run herself too ragged in the process.

“As cliche as it is, I can’t help but quote John Lennon-- Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Ben said, shamelessly using the quote. It was very “motivational poster-esque” but it resonated in students, for one reason or another. “So who’s to say what the future holds? I never thought I’d be a professor either, but I fell in love with academics during my undergraduate degree. Once I figured out that I wanted to teach the coming generations, who all shared my passion? I never looked back.” He replied. “Oh yes, I spent the third year of my doctoral program across Europe, assisting in archeological digs. I must say, I was jealous when I heard they uncovered the tomb of Romulus last February. I would have given anything to see that.” Ben let out a sigh and gave a shrug. As she continued on, babbling away, Ben was beginning to put together a nice little picture of her life. Overbearing parents, who wanted her to be something that-- well, he couldn’t quite tell if she wanted to be that. But, there was a hesitation to her that seemed quite promising. “I enjoyed my experience there quite a bit-- the environment, my peers, the professors… All of them were incredibly influential on my professional journey. And I owe my success to the university.” He smiled, though it faded as she mentioned trying harder. Eyebrows knitting together, he replied, “You know, rest is a very critical part of growth. It never hurts to take a break from time to time.”

Bex felt her immediate reaction bubbling up her throat-- John Lennon was such a problematic man, but of course a white cis man would think his quotes were profound-- but she swallowed it back down, smiling sweetly. “Sometimes cliche is true, though. They’re cliche for a reason, right?” She didn’t like the implication of it, though. Was she so transparent? That she didn’t want the life her parents had laid out for her? She rubbed her arm absently. “I know that, though. That I should stop and enjoy life. But what I want is kind of irrelevant. My family has been lawyers for centuries and every daughter has always taken over the business. So even if I don’t wanna do that, I don’t really have a choice.” But her grievance was immediately dismissed. “Wait-- you’ve been on digs? Like real, actual, digs!? Where you found stuff and you got to-- you got to see it first hand? Which digs? Where were they? What did you find? Oh, god, I nearly cried when they found Romulus’ tomb! What an amazing discovery! Can you even imagine being there for that? Or the new tomb they found in the Valley of King’s? It always feels like we’ve discovered so much, but then we just keep finding more and it’s amazing.” She couldn’t help the sparkle in her eye or the shine in her voice-- this was her true passion and the worst part about being a lawyer was that it made it impossible to chase. “Wow, Princeton sounds amazing. I haven’t done a campus visit yet, but I’ve heard good things about Harvard. If I make it in.” She withdrew a little at that. “I-- I know. And I did! Take a break. Sort of. It was an unintended break, but a break all the same.” If being in a nightmarish dreamscape counted as a break. 

“Indeed.” Ben said affably, eyes still analyzing her every move. The way she shifted in place, the way she rubbed her arm, the way her smile seemed a fraction less genuine than it had before. It seemed she wasn’t one for John Lennon. Suited him just fine, the Beatles were vastly overrated and John Lennon was a musician, what bearing did he have on anything that mattered? “I’m just a professor, so… please, you don’t need to take this to heart. But, life is meant to be lived, is it not? And what’s more important to life than choice? The freedom to live as you please and to live without wondering how things might have been different, it’s incredibly important.” He said with a firm nod before easing back slightly, his eyes losing some of their intensity. It seemed as though his mention of his field work had piqued her interest though, which was something else he made note of. If they met again-- and he would make a point of meeting her again-- he would have to bring that up. “I did. Truly incredible, the discovery they made there was absolutely groundbreaking. Literally, given how the dig went.” Ben joked. “History is absolutely like that. Just when we think we know it all, our ancestors surprise us.” Glancing down at his watch, Ben raised his eyebrows, as though startled by how much time had passed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s not everyday I meet such a remarkable student like yourself, though.” Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew one of his cards and handed it to Bex. “If you’re ever interested in talking more-- about archeology or the Ivy Leagues, please feel free to contact me. I also have office hours on Thursday and Fridays, my door is open to you.” He said with a bright, toothy smile. 

Bex went still when he started explaining. It was the same things Morgan always told her, that her choice mattered, her wants mattered-- but it wasn’t as easy as all that. She had duties, she had responsibilities. Leaving that life just wasn’t an option. Her parents had made sure to drill that into her from a young age. This was her life, this would always be her life. She had no choice. Her eyes sank to the floor, she no longer felt brave enough to look him in the eye, even as he described his incredible experience of being part of a dig, being a part of history itself. It should have made her heart flutter to hear about it, but something inside of her told her to stop letting herself believe that one day she might get to have something like that, too. She nodded slowly. “No, it’s fine! You didn’t keep me,” she said, trying to keep the smile plastered to her face as she glanced up enough to take the card he was offering her. She stared at the neatly typed words pressed onto the paper. Benjamin Campbell. Professor of the Classics. His information was included below the title. “Remarkable?” she repeated, unsure if she’d heard that word right. “But I’m not even--” in any of his classes. But as she looked at him, she knew the offer was genuine. Her smile came a little easier this time. “Thank you. Really. For-- for this.” She pocketed the card. “It was really great to meet you, Professor. I’ll um-- I’ll see you around. I usually tend to read here most days so, you know.” She chewed her lip before grabbing her bag. “Thanks. A-again.” She needed to stop saying thanks, Mina would kill her if she knew. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” And then with that, she scurried off, the business card, and a million questions, burning a hole in her pocket. She couldn’t wait to talk to him again-- maybe things really weren’t as bad as they felt. Maybe she could have a good life here.

[weevil-wallflower]

I just created an entire demon family...pt1

(aka my demon OCs. All are full demons so only gonna mention it once 👀)

My Demon Lore:

My understanding regarding demons is that not all demons are evil and thus not all tempt human beings to sin. Many simply live their lives peacefully, sometimes even among humans. Many even follow different religions much similar to humans. And of course due to that, the many good ones don’t align themselves with Satan which means they can neither be banished to hell nor does Satan has any jurisdiction over them. These demons are also not repelled by religious artefacts or places of religious worship or just religion in general, especially if they happened to be religious themselves. But no need to worry; these kinds of demons are peaceful for the most part and do not mean anyone any harm unless provoked or threatened. (This understanding comes from the knowledge I have about my religion uwu)

≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦

Winfryd Wright

General:

Full name: Winfryd Wright

Nickname(s): Winnie (by Zinnia), Win

Age: 37

Birthdate: 30th January, Aquarius

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British-American

Religion: Islam

Relationship status: Single (for now (・ω<) hint: it’s Zinnia, my very first oc)

Occupation: MD / Military Psychiatrist; Medic (previously)

Title/Rank: Doctor / Major

Physical appearance:

Complexion: White

Eyes: Light blue

Hair: Blonde

Height: 6′ 3″

Build/body type: Muscular and well-built

Weight: ~210 lbs / 95 kg

Unique trait(s): Polydactyly; 6 fingers on each hand with the 6th one, the pinky finger, being fully functional

Voice Claim: Jason Isaacs

Family:

Oliver Wright (son)

Zinnia Frost (girlfriend for now >:3)

Peter Wright (paternal uncle)

Wilhelmina “Mina” Wright (paternal aunt)

Anthony Winters (cousin)

Emma Winters (cousin-in-law)

Jody Winters (nephew)

His aunt and uncle don’t have children of their own. They raised Winfryd when his parents passed away when he was a child.

Psychology:

Moral alignment: Chaotic Good

Personality: Ambivert, benevolent, kind, sympathetic, open-minded, patient, polite.

Likes: His family, helping people, keeping a strict doctor-patient confidentiality, terrifying his enemies to death.

Dislikes: Those who harm others especially his family & friends, disorderliness, injustice, inequality.

Demonic Characteristics:

Physical appearance: (Since no one knows what demons really look like, my headcanon is that demons have two natural forms; their human form and their demon form. And they can willingly switch between those two forms)

Winfryd’s demonic form consists of:

Tough, pale skin.

Black sclera.

A third eye 👁️ - The ones on his hands aren’t always there. They are a product of his shape-shifting abilities.

Extremely sharp teeth; Unfortunately, his teeth remain same even in his human form.

Forked tongue.

Four long tentacle-like appendages protruding from his upper back. (Inspired by one of my favourite characters in MGS4, Laughing Octopus. I just love her design and how she moves :3).

Two black horns (Can’t have a demon without horns uwu).

Claws.

Powers & Abilities:

A very capable psychiatrist.

Proficient at close-quarters combat.

Knowledge in firearms.

Superhuman strength (not superhuman to the extent of superman. imagine Captain America).

Supernatural Durability.

Is religious himself so not repelled by artefacts or places of religion.

Sharper senses.

Accelerated healing.

Pyrokinesis.

Razor-sharp teeth.

Telescopic vision via third eye.

Human possession.

Can use his tentacles to bludgeon, impale, grab and smash or wrap and crush enemies easily. He can use them to climb and hold on to structures, even walls, ceilings etc and even use them for locomotion.

Claws sharp & strong enough to tear apart bodies without breaking or snapping off.

Umbrakinesis: He can generate and manipulate darkness and travel through shadows and phase through matter. Thus he’s untouchable as a shadowy. Can also draw the shadows to him if in dire need of healing, 

Very acidic blood. Not exactly a power though... It’s said demons bleed fire since they are created from fire but that felt too over the top so I’ll stick with acidic blood.

Shape-shifting: It’s said that all demons can shape-shift to a limit, being able to take form of other humans & animals but Winfryd takes it to a whole other level. He can shape-shift into anything & when he wants to scare his enemies to death, he either appears in their room at night as a shadow figure or turns into eldritch things like these (an expert in body horror >:3):

All in all, Winfryd is a pretty powerful demon, not invincible but more powerful than most. And many things people use, for example the bible, the cross etc don’t work on him because he’s not a “Satanic demon” so to speak. He’s not repelled by religious things. He can even go inside the church and other places of worship.

Weaknesses/Limitations: Now, he may be powerful but that doesn’t mean he has no weaknesses:

Can be forced to reveal his demonic form by those who have knowledge on the occult.

Weak against ultrasonic weapons: Since demons have sharper senses than humans, these weapons would affect them more readily and would do a pretty good job of incapacitating them.

Extremely limited shadow manipulation in both total darkness and total light.

Intangible in his shadow form so can’t deal out any physical damage to his oponent.

No wings so can’t fly.

His pyrokinetic abilities weak against water.

Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD): a personality disorder that’s characterized by extreme perfectionism, order, and neatness. People with OCPD will also feel a severe need to impose their own standards on their outside environment.

≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦

Oliver Wright

General:

Full name: Oliver Wright

Nickname(s): Ollie (by Zinnia)

Age: 3

Birthdate: 30th March, Aries

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British-American

Occupation: He’s a baby! >:O

Physical appearance:

Complexion: White; with freckles (cause freckles are cute uwu)

Eyes: Light blue

Hair: Blonde

Height: 2′ 11″

Build/body type: Small toddler

Weight: ~30 lbs / 14 kg

Family:

Winfryd Wright (father)

Zinnia Frost (stepmother; later on uwu)

Peter Wright (great uncle)

Wilhelmina “Mina” Wright (great aunt)

Anthony Winters (uncle)

Emma Winters (aunt-in-law)

Jody Winters (second cousin)

Unknown mother: His mother (also a demon) abandoned him so to speak. When he was born, she wanted to give him away but Winfryd said that he’ll look after the child. That didn’t sit well with her because she never wanted kids and so she made him choose between her and the baby. (Later on, this would be one of the reasons Winfryd will come to love Zinnia so much. That she treats his child, that’s not even her biological child, like her own.)

Psychology:

Moral alignment: Just a smol bebey.

Personality: A very sweet & well behaved little kid, albeit a bit possessive of his stepmom.

Likes: His stepmom i.e. Zinnia, his dad, his great aunt & great uncle, his cousin Jody, playing with building blocks, candies, cartoons, hugs.  Definitely also gonna develop a liking for video games cause of his stepmom :3

Dislikes: Mean people, being yelled at - it scares him qwq, other people hugging or kissing his stepmom even if one of those people happens to be his dad.

Demonic Characteristics:

Physical appearance:

A third eye 👁️, just like his dad.

Yellow eyes.

Tiny lil razor-sharp baby teeth.

Cute lil bat-like wings.

Pointed ears.

Forked tongue.

Two horns (seems to be the right height to ram a person in a certain delicate spot 👀).

Powers & Abilities: Practically a baby so there aren’t much & those that he has aren’t fully developed yet & thus has no control over them:

Pyrokinesis: Ability to create, shape and manipulate fire. However, since Oliver is so young, he’s unable to control it. For now, it’s affected by his emotions for e.g. if he happens to be feeling frustrated, something nearby will spontaneously light on fire.

Adhesion Manipulation: basically can stick to surfaces, walk on walls, ceilings etc. But doesn’t have full control over it either.

Sharper senses.

Accelerated healing.

Very sharp teeth: Will resort to biting anyone who provokes/threatens him.

Acidic blood.

Telescopic vision via third eye.

Not repelled by artefacts or places of religion.

Weaknesses/Limitations:

Physically, he’s as strong as a normal human child so no superhuman strength.

Weak against ultrasonic weapons.

Can be trapped by those who have occult knowledge/practice. (But seriously, who would want to trap this cute lil kid? :’3).

Powers not yet fully developed.

Wings aren’t big enough to enable him to fly. Can only glide for now.

No claws yet.

His pyrokinetic abilities weak against water.

Is a baby so can’t possess.

Can’t pronounce Rs and Ls very well

Is a lil, innocent baby and must be protected at all costs.

≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦

Peter and Mina Wright

General:

Full names: Peter Wright (left) & Wilhelmina “Mina” Wright (right)

Ages:  Peter: 65 & Mina: 60

Birthdates: Peter: 21st March & Mina: 23rd March, Aries

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Genders: Peter: Male & Mina: Female

Pronouns: Peter: He/Him & Mina: She/Her

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British-American

Relationship status: Married to eachother ;3

Occupation: Dentists/Farmers (They met at dental school :3)

Physical appearance:

Complexion: Peter: White & Mina: Light Olive

Eyes: Peter: Light blue & Mina: Green

Hair: Peter: Grey & Mina: Blonde

Height: Peter: 6′ 0″ & Mina: 5′ 6″

Build/body type: Thin but lean, I guess? They’re getting old but they’re demons so still fit

Weight: Peter: ~159 lbs/72 kg & Mina: 117 lbs/53 kg

Voice Claims: (TBD)

Family:

Winfryd Wright (nephew): took him in after his parents’ death when he was a child. Treat him more like a son than a nephew.

Zinnia Frost (niece-in-law later on. Think of her as more like a daughter tbh)

Oliver Wright (grandnephew)

Anthony Winters (nephew)

Emma Winters (niece-in-law)

Jody Winters (grandnephew)

Psychology:

Moral alignments: Neutral Good.

Personality:  kind, sympathetic, open-minded, patient, polite.

Likes: Their family, showing kindness, helping people, their jobs.

Dislikes: Cruelty, rudeness, inequality.

Demonic Characteristics:

Physical appearance:

Peter: Black wings, two horns, sharp teeth.

Mina: Red wings, red horns, sharp teeth.

Powers & Abilities:

Superhuman strength.

Supernatural Durability.

Sharper senses.

Accelerated healing.

Sharp claws & teeth.

Flight.

Acidic blood.

Human possession.

Weaknesses/Limitations:

Weak against ultrasonic weapons.

Can be trapped by those who have occult knowledge/practice.

Lack telescopic vision.

≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦ ω ≧ω≦

[orbemnews]

Lula da Silva, Brazil's former President, urges Biden to call an emergency Covid-19 summit Speaking from Sao Paulo, Brazil, da Silva said the US has a surplus of vaccines and suggested the excess could be donated to countries in need. “One suggestion that I would like to make to President Biden through your program is: it’s very important to call a G20 meeting urgently,” da Silva told Amanpour. “It’s important to call the main leaders of the world and put around the table just one thing, one issue. Vaccine, vaccine and vaccine!” He added, “The responsibility to international leaders is tremendous so I’m asking President Biden to do that because I can’t … I don’t believe in my government. And so, I couldn’t ask for that for Trump, but Biden is a breath for democracy in the world.” “When it comes the moment to run for the elections, and if my party and the other allied parties understand that I could be the candidate, and if I’m well and my health with the energy and power that I have today, I can reassure you that I will not deny that invitation, but I don’t want to talk about that. That’s not my main priority. My main priority now is to save this country,” da Silva said. The South American nation has been setting record daily virus deaths repeatedly in recent days as another brutal wave of Covid-19 sweeps the country. The resurgence has overwhelmed medics fighting on the pandemic’s frontline with an increasing number of hospitals across the country reaching capacity. On Tuesday, Brazilian Health Ministry research institution Oswaldo Cruz Foundation called the current emergency in the country “the greatest health and hospital collapse in the history of Brazil.” Da Silva, 75, was convicted on corruption and money laundering charges three years ago stemming from a wide-ranging investigation into the state-run oil company Petrobras, dubbed “Operation Car Wash.” But in a surprise move last Monday, a Brazilian Supreme Court judge annulled his convictions and ordered that the cases be processed again at the Federal Court of Brasilia. If the ruling is upheld — and if Lula is not re-convicted before the candidacy filing deadline — he would technically be able to stand for office again and challenge current President Jair Bolsonaro in 2022 . Political clash on the horizon? Da Silva, who helped found the left-wing Workers Party, has largely refused to be drawn on running for office, saying last Wednesday that he “doesn’t have time to think about candidacy in 2022.” However, the former President — better known as Lula — has launched a scathing attack on Bolsonaro, telling Brazilians last week not to “follow any stupid decision by the President and the Minister of Health” and urging people to get vaccinated. He also condemned the current administration’s handling of the pandemic, saying many deaths from the virus “could have been avoided.” “If we had a president who respected the population, he would have created a crisis committee to guide the Brazilian society on what to do every week,” the ex-president added. Bolsonaro defended his handling of the healthcare crisis in the face of da Silva’s remarks, telling CNN Brasil last week that his government empowered local officials and arguing that imposing lockdown measures — which he has refused to do — would only “lead the citizen to a situation of poverty.” Bolsonaro has previously said he hoped Brazil’s Supreme Court would restore da Silva’s convictions, and accused his predecessor of 2022 ambitions. “Former President Lula is now starting his campaign. Because he has nothing good to show and this is the [Workers Party] rule, their campaign is based on criticizing, lying and misinforming,” he said. While the elections are still 18 months away, Brazil’s coronavirus outbreak will likely play into voter’s sentiments. Bolsonaro’s disapproval ratings reached their highest level to date at 54%, according to the Datafolha polling institute’s latest survey results issued on Wednesday. Brazil has the second-highest numbers of Covid-19 in the world with 11,603,535 cases and 282,127 coronavirus-related deaths as of Tuesday, according to data compiled by Johns Hopkins University. Hospitals are swamped with cases across the country. The latest analysis from CNN shows that ICU occupancy rates in 25 out of Brazil’s 26 states plus its federal district are at or above 80%. Of those, 14 states have ICU occupancy rates at or above 90% which puts them at imminent risk of collapse. On Tuesday, the governor of Brazil’s second most populous state, Minas Gerais, said the health system simply could not support new patients. “I don’t want Minas Gerais to become a horror movie,” Romeu Zema said in a press conference to announce the implementation of the “purple phase” across the state, the most restrictive of the Minas Gerais plan to handle the pandemic. “Any new infected (person) can mean one more death because the state does not have the capacity to take in new patients,” said Zema. Bolsonaro’s crisis management under fire Since the beginning of Brazil’s vaccination campaign on January 17, the country has administered more than 12.5 million vaccine doses across its population of over 211 million. More than 9 million people have received at least one dose while just over 3 million people have been given a second dose, according to the latest data from the country’s health ministry. As the country’s coronavirus spread outpaces its vaccination rollout, criticism is mounting. According to the same Datafolha institute’s poll, which interviewed 2,023 people by telephone on March 15 and 16, 54% of Brazilians found Bolsonaro´s performance bad or awful — up from 48% in late January. The poll report also said 43% of Brazilians blame Bolsonaro while 20% blame their state governors for the current state of the pandemic in Brazil. Regarding Bolsonaro´s presidency, 44% of those polled think it is bad or awful, four points higher than in the last poll, and the highest since he took office in January of 2019. Thirty percent of the respondents judge Bolsonaro´s rule as good or great and another 26% see it as regular. Bolsonaro this week appointed a new health minister — the fourth in a year — as ICU and mortality rates skyrocketed. The new minister, cardiologist Marcelo Queiroga, replaces army general Eduardo Pazuello, but there is little sign of any change in the administration’s approach to the crisis. On Tuesday, Queiroga in an interview with CNN Brasil echoed the President in saying that lockdowns only apply in “extreme situations” and would not be imposed by the federal government. Journalists Rodrigo Pedroso and Marcia Reverdosa contributed to this report from Sao Paulo, Brazil. CNN’s Caitlin Hu also contributed from New York, Matt Rivers from Rio De Janeiro and Vasco Cotovio from London. CNN’s Lauren Said-Moorhouse wrote from London. Source link Orbem News #Biden #Brazils #call #Covid19 #emergency #Lula #President #Silva #summit #urges

[ganglylimbs]

Let Me Love (Only The Way I Can)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou/Kaminari Denki/Ashido Mina/Sero Hanta/Jirou Kyouka

Summary: What happens when one barbarian, one dragon, two rambunctious humans, one thunderbird, and one emotionally distant woman all start down a sexually charged path thanks to an accidental side trip? A lot of talking about feelings, a lot of shenanigans, a few missteps, and a whole lot of kinks. 

Warnings: NSFW, begging, dirty talk, and wax play

(AO3 Link) (First Chapter)

If you like this, you can get it early on my patreon

Ch. 2

Kirishima wakes up to a shove on his side, sending him crashing to the ground. His eyes shoot open, teeth and claws already out to face the threat.

Instead, he faces a snarling Bakugou.  “Get your fat ass off me.” He kicks at Kirishima again.

Blinking, Kirishima does as he asks. He stretches, feeling satisfied and pleasantly sore. He’s also naked, which he doesn’t remember getting undressed, nor does he remember climbing on top of Bakugou.

Bakugou…

Kirishima’s eyes slide to him and he gapes. Bakugou, who is also naked, red scratches down his back and sides and what looks like dried...cum...running down his thighs.

Kirishima swallows, his dick twitching.

Bakugou narrows his eyes at him, before looking away. Kirishima can see red spread from his cheeks down to his chest. The barbarian tries to stand but his legs wobble, eventually failing him. He falls to the ground a small thump. Kirishima goes to help him, hands reaching down for him. Bakugou looks like he wants to refuse, to slap Kirishima’s hands away. Kirishima patiently waits, well aware of Bakugou’s need to be self-sufficient.

After a few minutes of staring at each other, Bakugou finally takes his hand and Kirishima pulls him to his feet, one hand steadying him on his shoulder. Bakugou looks away, but he mumbles thanks.

Then he wrinkles his nose down at himself. “I need to clean up.”

“We all do,” Jirou says, from the other side of the dying fire.

Kirishima looks over at her, blinking at the fact that she, too, is naked. In fact, they all are. Jirou is sitting nearest to the fire, Kaminari’s jacket hanging off her shoulders. Dried cum sticks to her face. Ashido is currently helping Sero up, the lanky man seeming to have as much trouble as Bakugou did with standing up. Ashido doesn’t really seem to care that she’s naked, proudly showing off the marks on her back. Sero is a little more shy, trying to hide his dick, though all it does is bring attention to the bite marks on his thighs.

Kirishima feels like he’s going dizzy as all the blood rushes from his head. He clears his throat and politely looks away, well aware of the prudness of humans. “Where’s Kaminari?”

“He went to get us something to eat,” Jirou says. She’s not looking at any of them, only staring into the fire.

Bakugou brushes past Kirishima, wobbly starting to gather up his scattered clothes. “I’m going to find us a river to wash in.”

Kirishima starts to follow when Bakugou rounds on him with a glare. “ Alone ,” he snarls. Then he’s waddling away.

Kirishima pouts after him, his dragon desperate to chase. But he knows when to back off when Bakugou needs his space. Instead, he goes to nose his way around Sero and Ashido.

He’s secretly pleased to find that his scent is strong on them. In fact, all he can smell is the Horde, Bakugou’s spicy scent mixing in pleasantly with Sero’s smokey one, Ashido’s fruity scent complimenting Jirou’s almost whiskey smell, all wrapped together by Kaminari’s rainfall.

No one else was here. Kirishima stops dead in his tracks. No one else had invaded his Horde. Which means…

He swallows, desperately trying to remember what happened last night but all he gets-

Ashido riding him, biting at his throat and scratching her way down his arms and-

-are little bits and flashes. Never anything-

-Kaminari snarling at him over Sero’s head as he thrusts into the black-haired male’s mouth, Kirishima snarling right back as he fucks Sero’s ass-

-substantial. A lot of it is foggy as if he had been dreaming. Even now, he still thinks he might have-

-Jirou down on her knees, head bobbing along Kirishima’s cock, eyes twinkling up at him as she fingers herself-

-been dreaming. It doesn’t seem real. Not after months of pining after them, months of trying to figure out if they feel the same way he does-

- Bakugou, with his legs thrown over Kirishima’s shoulders as the dragon slowly rocks into him, tears rolling down his face as Kirishima whispers praise into his throat-

-years of wondering if the secretive looks he gets or the longing glances or lingering touches actually mean something.

And now something might have actually come out of it and Kirishima doesn’t even remember what happened.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of Kaminari returning, a dead deer clutched in his hands. Kirishima gives one last glance at the others, at Ashido and Sero standing around Jirou, Ashido lightly rubbing her shoulders and Sero trying to put on his pants, before he goes to help Kaminari get breakfast ready.

By the time they had restarted the fire and got the deer roasting over it, Bakugou had returned, scrubbed clean.

Kirishima’s inner dragon rumbles at the loss of what ( possibly, might be ) his marks.

“There’s a river at the base of the mountain. It’s cold as shit but should work fine,” Bakugou grunts.

The others nod. Kirishima shares a look with Kaminari. None of them have really spoken since Kaminari returned with the deer.

It continues as they eat, taking turns on who goes down to the river to clean up, silence stretching between them. There’s tension in the air, thick and suffocating, and Kirishima has no idea how to even begin to break it.

Something happened yesterday, something that Kirishima is slowly piecing together, so why aren’t they talking about it? Kirishima’s stomach clenches, leg starting to bounce as he considers the possibility that they may have fucked up. Did the others...not want that? But his dragon had been so sure that they did, that they were calling for him.

What if he got it wrong?

Ashido clears her throat. “Soooooo…”

Kirishima swallows the meat in his mouth. “So.”

Jirou sighs. “So.”

Kaminari looks away. “So.”

Bakugou throws his hands in the air. “Oh for fuck’s sake- so we fucked. What now?”

They all look at each other, or as well as they can. Ashido holds their eyes, as does Bakugou, though he looks like he’s doing it more to prove that he can. Jirou looks at their direction, though her eyes never fully meet theirs. Sero acts like his head is on a swivel, moving from one person to the other. Kaminari bites his lip.

“So-” Sero begins.

“Don’t start that shit again,” Bakugou says, pointing at him.

“ So ,” Sero says, ignoring him. “The first thing we should probably figure out is; does anyone actually remember what happened yesterday?”

Silence again.

Ashido worries the fingernail on her thumb. “I remember that we were traveling to Lurnwick. Kaminari and Kirishima had offered to look ahead.”

“We were arguing about if we should eat in Lurnwick or head straight to the troll,” Jirou adds. “But then Sero, uh, got distracted by a mushroom?”

“Oh,” Sero says, face lightening up. “That’s right. I saw a bundle of Witches’ Tears. They’re incredibly hard to track down, so I went to pick some.”

“And got fucking distracted,” Bakugou says, brows furrowing. “You kept seeing something new every few seconds and going deeper into the forest.”

“You just don’t understand,” Sero says. “People up North would kill for some of the plants around here. And don’t get me started on the animal droppings.”

“ Please don’t get started on animal droppings,” Ashido says.

Sero flaps his hand at her. “Whatever. The point is that I had a valid reason to derail us.”

Bakugou snorts.

“ Anyways , we were only off the trail for like five minutes until we came upon a flower field and then…" Sero trails off, frowning. "And then…"

"It gets hazy after that," Jirou says. She clutches Kaminari's jacket, reclaimed after her bath, closer. "I just remember thinking that they smell wonderful and that I want to smell them forever."

"Really?" Ashido asks, tilting her head. "I just remember being really tired and like I should take a nap. And then...I don't know, someone said something and it was like I couldn't be more awake."

Sero scrunches his nose. "I felt itchy. Like there was something under my skin that I just couldn't reach and then, was it Kaminari? Kaminari said something and the itch intensified. All I knew was that if I could just get to you two, everything would feel better."

Kirishima hums. "Would the flowers have anything to do with that?"

Sero shrugs. "No flowers that I know of have that sort of effect, especially with such wide symptoms."

Ashido and Jirou nod along. "There's nothing like this where we come from."

Kaminari taps his chin. "I have heard of flowers that cause increased awareness, but they usually lie to the East, much farther than I tend to travel.”

“Oh,” Kirishima brightens up, turning to Bakugou, who has been silent for a while. “You come from the East, Bakugou. Have you experienced this before?”

Bakugou purses his lips, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes dart between them before he looks away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Not...personally. But I know of some flowers that can do this. They are valued in my tribe.” Bakugou’s mouth twitches, meaning he has more to say but is trying to find the best words.

Kirishima holds himself still, not pushing. Bakugou is very tight-lipped when it comes to his homeland, his tribe. Kirishima gets the idea that they’re a very private bunch. Every once in awhile, Bakugou will say something or do something that doesn’t make complete sense to the rest of them and he has to explain himself or the tradition he did.

Kirishima files away every bit of information he can get.

Sero, who holds no such patience, leans forward, eager, eyes shining. His hand twitches, as if he’s one second away from grabbing his notebook. “What are they called? What are their properties? Did you make anything with them? Have you ever tasted them? Did you use the whole flower or just-”

Bakugou shoves a hand in Sero’s face, snarling. “Calm your tits for a second, Horse Face. I don’t know any of those things because as I said I’ve never encountered them personally. Only our elders were allowed to handle them.”

Sero huffs. “Well, what did the elders do with them?”

Bakugou goes back to being tight-lipped, eyes scrunched up. He’s practically squirming. The others raise their eyebrows at him, watching intently. Finally, Bakugou sighs. “They’re mainly used for wedding ceremonies.” He refuses to look at them as he says it. “They’re still rare where I’m from, so if a couple manages to get some at their wedding, their marriage is considered incredibly blessed. The elders will crush them up and then the ones getting married smoke them. From what I’ve heard, it’s meant to, uh, make sure they have a fun night or something like that?”

There’s silence. And then, “Your elders drug people into fucking?” Ashido asks, laughter in her voice.

Bakugou’s frown deepens as he glares at her. “How is it any different than your people throwing fucking lillies on each other on their wedding day? At least this tradition provides a purpose.”

Ashido raises her hands. “Hey, I’m not saying it’s bad , just surprising that you drug people, especially since you said that alcohol is forbidden. I thought being aware at all times was a big deal for you guys. Wait, does that mean we were drugged?”

“I believe the correct word is ‘ aphrodisiac ’,” Sero says.  

“Whatever, the point is, we fucked,” Jirou says and it’s like saying it out loud makes it more real.

They all stop and stare at each other.

“What now?” Bakugou asks, hands clenching in the furs of his cape, He presses it closer to his body.

Ashido bites her lips, scratching at her arms. Jirou goes back to staring at the fire. Kaminari looks lost, glancing between them.

Kirishima bites his bottom lip. His dragon feels on the brink of a rampage. He can’t lose his Horde, they can’t allow this to make them split apart, but he can’t force them to stay his. What will he do, what can he do-

Sero sighs. “I was having fun letting you guys figure it out, but I can see this getting very messy very fast. So in the interest of time, let me clear this up,” he points to each of them. “We all have feelings for each other and have wanted this for, by my estimations, a few years give or take.” He gives them a wide smile. “So let’s skip the freakout part and actually talk about our emotions.”

Bakugou’s hands crackle with power.

Sero finger guns at him. “I’m guessing that’s a no from our resident emotionally repressed mage. What about the rest of you?”

Ashido looks like she swallowed a fish. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you guys have liked me for years ? And didn’t make a move?”

This seems to snap Jirou out of her shock. “ You didn’t make a move either.”

“That’s because I wasn’t sure if I was reading the signals wrong,” Ashido says, voice going high. “Fuck, you guys, you know you’re all the closest thing to a family I have. I couldn’t risk losing that just because I developed feelings for you. And besides, I did make a move, thank you very much. I vaguely remember making moves on you .”

“When you were drunk ,” Jirou says. “I thought it was just you being a little flirty. I didn’t know you were serious.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I never saw you make moves on anyone else.”

“I was never interested in anyone else. What about you two?” She points to Kirishima and Kaminari. “Can’t you smell, like arousal or something?”

“Yes, which is why we’ve been trying to court you,” Kaminari says, sticking his tongue out at her. “But you humans are so dense.”

“When?” Ashido demands.

“I make sure to dance with each of you whenever we get a chance," Kaminari says, sounding offended. "Whenever I sing, it's to attract you??? I also set up all of our tents, all the time."  

"I do most of the hunting," Kirishima says, crossing his arms. "All of you are wearing something I've made."

"You could have told us that," Bakugou says. "What, do you think we somehow gained mind-reading powers?"

Kirishima does look down at that. "It just feels like it defeats the purpose if we outright say it."

"Besides, the point of courting rituals is to show you what we can do," Kaminari says. " You're supposed to decide if you actually want this or not."

"I thought it was established that we're humans and don't think that way, dumbass," Bakugou says but it’s a little less angry.

"Just like I thought it was established that we do ," Kaminari says.

"Stop, you two," Kirishima steps in. "Ok, we should have taken into consideration that we're separate species. I get that. But we- or at least I- wanted to do this right." Kirishima takes a deep breath before looking at them. "You guys are my Horde. I want to protect you and possess you for as long as I can."

They all shut up at that, looking at Kirishima with wide eyes.

"Well, I mean," Ashido begins, "I was worried you wouldn't want me."

"How can we not?" Kirishima says. "You are a delight to have around, you bring laughter into our lives, you're so strong-willed and a quick learner. Anyone would be honored to have you as their treasure."

Ashido's checks are a dark purple, a lovely sight against her pink skin. "Wow, Kiri. If that's how you speak to me all the time, then how can I say no to being apart of your Horde?"

Kirishima beams at that. He turns his toothy grin to the others.

Sero smiles back. "Of course I'll be apart of your horde. You too, Kaminari. As I said, I saw this coming and was just waiting for the inevitable conclusion." He laughs to himself.

Kaminari grins back at Kirishima. He takes one of Sero's hands and one of Kirishima's, lightly sending shocks down their arms. "You know I'll happily be apart of your horde. And I'll gladly take you all as mates."

They look at Bakugou and Jirou. Bakugou is looking down at his lap, at his curled hands. Jirou is looking at the fire. She looks up when she notices everyone staring at her. She gives them a tired smile. "Well, this certainly isn't the way I thought things would go when I woke up this morning. I thought you all would tell me that this was a mistake and then things would be horrible and awkward. I'm not prepared for... this ."

Ashido reaches over, rubbing Jirou's shoulder. "Hey, there's no pressure here. If you need time then take it."

The others readily agree. "Yeah," Sero says. “You know we're not going to force you.”

“Of course not,” Kirishima sounds horrified at the thought.

“You know we only want you to be happy,” Kaminari says.

Jirou taps her fingers together, still giving that soft smile. “Thanks.”

“Me too.” They all turn to Bakugou, who scowls down at the cavern floor. “Give me a couple of days too.”

“Of course,” Kirishima says, the others nodding. “As we said, no pressure. You two take as long as you need to. We’re going to be here, for whatever you need.”

They both nod. It’s quiet.

But Kirishima is strangely hopeful.

                                                           ~

They decide to stop in Lurnwick for a few days, to settle themselves and their group, before heading after the troll.

They get separate rooms at the inn they stay in and Kirishima’s inner dragon doesn’t mind as much this time.

He suspects it’s because they are so completely covered in his scent that there’s no denying they are his. He wonders if he should feel guilty about that.

He settles in his room, having been told by Bakugou that he needs to “fucking stay put, not everyone wants to look at your fucking naked ass.”

The fact that he was left with nothing but tattered clothes might be the reason they got so many stares from the townsfolk as they walked into the village. Kirishima never got the need for clothes, he ran too hot for them most the time, but he has to admit, seeing his humans blush and try to hide their own nakedness was very enduring.

Bakugou, who usually only wore pants anyway, was the one least affected and as such, was designated to go get them more clothes.

Kirishima, after stalking around the room scenting to claim it as his, lays on the bed and wonders what the others are doing.

Kaminari is most likely nesting. He tends to after they travel on the road, grabbing as many blankets and pillows that he can and piling them up.

It’s the others he has no idea about. Ashido and Sero might be getting something to eat. But what about Jirou?

She keeps giving them small glances and little smiles, her hand lingering on Kirishima’s. He wonders what she’s thinking about, about what is holding her back from fully joining them? Does she not want this whole thing? Or is there something else?

As for Bakugou...Kirishima thinks he has the barbarian figure out, most of the time. Once you get Bakugou down to his basics, it’s pretty easy to follow his thought process. Kirishima is almost certain Bakugou just needs time to get used to the idea before making any major decisions.

A knock on his door snaps Kirishima out of his thoughts. The smell tells him it’s Ashido and he eagerly opens the door for her.

She gives him a wide smile, holding up a plate of various meats. “I figured you were hungry.”

Kirishima purrs, grabbing the plate and stepping to the side to allow her inside. She flops onto the bed, bouncing a little, and watches him tear into the meat.

“Crazy day, huh?” She says.

Kirishima swallows his food before nodding. “It’s been...weird. But can I say, in a good way?”

At Ashido’s raised eyebrows, he looks. “I really wanted you guys for a long time.”

“Well,” Ashido says, and her voice lowers, making Kirishima perk up. “We’re here now, no misunderstandings between us.”

Kirishima carefully sets down the plate, not blinking as he looks at her. “Are you sure?” He asks, and damn, his voice already has that low rumble to it.

Ashido grins, spreading her legs. “I’ve been wanting you guys to fuck me for months and the first time we had sex, I don’t remember most of it. So yes, I’m sure.”

Kirishima can’t argue with that. He stands up and crawls over her, cupping her face and drawing her into a deep kiss. Ashido tilts her head, lips moving against his. She opens her mouth, and Kirishima takes the invitation for what it is. His tongue moves with hers.

He settles himself against her, his bulky body against her toned one, covering her entirely. Her hands settle around his shoulders, pulling, so he drops onto her. He lets out a little oof , pulling back to grin to at her.

She smirks, before cupping his head and pulling him back into a kiss. Carefully, Kirishima removes what little clothes they have on, and slowly wraps her legs around his waist.

His cock bumps against her cunt and Mina lets out a low moan against his lips. Kirishima pulls back to smirk at her. “Who knows how many times you got fucked and yet here you are. Ready to go again.”

She slaps at him but he can see the blush high in her cheeks. “Shut up. I don’t even remember us having sex so excuse me if I’m a little excited for this.”

Kirishima chuckles, leaning down to lap at her neck. “Then I better make this worthwhile, huh?” One clawed hand reaches up to twerk a nipple, making Ashido arch into his touch.

He continues to kiss her neck as his hands roam around her body, spreading her thighs open, and playing with the edges of her panties. He rubs her cunt from the outside of the fabric, smiling as he feels her getting wet. “Needy little mate.”

Ashido thrusts up into his touch, whining for more. “Come on, Kiri.”

“Sh, let me take my time making you fall apart.” Kirishima rubs harder, making Ashido jerk, He pulls her underwear to the side, eyes lingering on the wet slick of her cunt, glistening a bit in the sunlight. He runs a hand down her folds, loving the moans and whines she lets out as he slowly pushes his fingertip in.

“You’re opening so beautifully for me,” he says, leaning closer to watch as he continues to push his finger in.

Ashido’s fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer. Kirishima goes without much of a fight, nose pressing against her. He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent.

Then he uses his long tongue to give her a lick.

Ashido’s breath hitches and her hips grind up. “M-more. Give me more.”

Kirishima chuckles a little, the vibration causing Ashido to groan. “I think you can ask more nicely than that.”

Ashido makes a noise, low in the back of her throat. “Kirishima, don’t you fucking-”

She gasps and arches.

Kirishima rubs her thigh, right over the spot he smacked. “Be a good, little mate and ask nicely.”

“Please, come on, please, I need it.”

Kirishima smirks. “It sure sounds like it.” He adds a second finger, immediately pushing to the knuckle. He starts thrusting them, eyes watching as she spreads open around him. Ashido is reduced to moans and whines, her fingers tightening in his hair, practically yanking the hair out.

Kirishima adds another finger, widening his fingers, and Ashido starts to shake as she cums. He doesn’t stop licking at her, lapping up all her slick. He doesn’t stop till she’s pushing at his head.

He pulls away, licking up the mess that’s left on his lips and chin.

Ashido is breathing hard, panting for air, one arm over her head. Kirishima crawls over her, scenting her along the way. He rubs his nose into her shoulder blade, nuzzling her, as his arms wrap around her, bringing her close to his chest.

They cuddle like that for a few minutes till Ashido gets her breath back. “Do you want me to... “ She reaches down to rub against his erection.

Kirishima growls but shakes his head. “Let’s eat first, regain our strength. After all,” he gives her a soft smile. “We have all the time in the world now.”

She smiles back, drawing him into a kiss.

                                                   ~

The two make their way downstairs much later to find the others are gathered around a table, quietly talking.

Bakugou had delivered them clothes earlier. Kirishima could admit, it had been a delight to see the usual angry expression melt into one of embarrassment as his eyes roam over their naked bodies.

He had never seen Bakugou run away before.

But the clothes he got fits them perfectly. Maybe not to Kirishima’s taste (although his dragon side wears what his mate picked for him with pride) but they are comfortable and should do until Kirishima can get his own clothes.

The group briefly stops talking to nod at their arrival. Sero gives them a thumbs up, mouth in a wide grin as Kaminari gives them an exaggerated wink.

Jirou taps her fingers together, giving them quick glances.

Bakugou turns his head away, but Kirishima catches the deep red blush on his cheeks.

They sit down, waving for a wench to get a drink. Kirishima notices the map on the table. “What are you guys discussing?”

“Arguing, really,” Sero says. He jabs a finger at Bakugou. “Please tell this moron that he can’t take on a troll with just his fists.”

Bakugou snorts, crossing his arms. “Of course I can.”

Kirishima fights back a smile. “You can not.”

Bakugou frowns at him. “Are you doubting me, Shitty Hair?”

“Absolutely. You are not fighting a troll with just your fists.” He barrels on, sensing that Bakugou is about to dig his heels in if nothing else just for the sake of being stubborn. “What’s wrong with your sword?”

Bakugou glances down the weapon strapped to his hip. “It’s worn down,” he grunts. “I’m hoping to find a blacksmith to work on it, but I’m doubtful.”

Kirishima nods in understanding. There are few things Bakugou gets possessive over, but his sword is absolutely one of those things. He rarely lets anyone else handle it or oil it or work on it. He practically grills blacksmiths on their skills and they have been kicked from more than one location because of it.

Not that Kirishima entirely blames him. From what he gathered by the little Bakugou talks about it, the sword was given to him by someone he considers important.

...Kirishima ignores the slight burning feeling he gets whenever he thinks about it.

He shakes his head. “Anyways. We have a few days till then anyway. We’ll find something by then.”

“In the meantime,” Kaminari says, drawing it out. “Since we’re already here, why don’t we join in the Lantern celebration!”

Ashido throws her hands up with him. “Yes.”

Kirishima smiles at them as Ashido and Kaminari began to make plans for all the things they wanted to do during the three-day celebration. Sero leans on his hand, smiling at them and Jirou chimes in every once in a while with a suggestion of her own.

“Do you want to do a lantern pattern together?” Ashido asks her.

“What’s that?”

Kirishima sees Bakugou and Sero cock their heads at her, listening in too.

“It’s a Southern tradition,” Ashido says, her smile bright and soft. “I used to do it with my mom all the time. You draw a pattern on the lantern that’s supposed to signal your hopes and wishes for the rest of the year. I can show you how to do it if you want?”

“Can you show me too?” Sero asks.

“Oh, me too! Me too!” Kaminari says.

Kirishima points to himself, giving her a big smile.

Ashido laughs. “I can show all of you, don’t worry.” She peeks at Bakugou.

Bakugou puffs out his cheeks. “I guess if you're showing everyone else, I might as well join in with the stupidity.”

“Great. It’ll be family bonding time.”

Kirishima clears his throat, getting their attention. “Speaking of bonding, I would like to spend some one-on-one time with you guys, you know. To court?” He gives a look to Bakugou and Jirou. “But only to those that want it.”

“You know I’m always up for some bonding time,” Ashido says, giving him a wink.

Sero laughs. “Heck yeah. You better romance the hell out of me.”

Kaminari grins. “You want to do a wing dance sometime this week?”

“Of course,” Kirishima says.

“I don’t know,” Jirou hesitates.

“It’s only if you want,” Kirishima says, backing off quickly. He had thought that she was warming up to the idea of them nicely, but maybe he’s pushing too far.

“I think I’ll...pass. For now at least.”

“Of course,” Kirishima says, keeping the disappointment from his voice.

Jirou gives him a smile of gratitude. Kirishima smiles back. Then he turns his attention to his last mate.

Bakugou taps his fingers against the table, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. The group allows him the time to think. Finally, he stabs a finger at Kirishima. “I ain't committing to shit, but...yes. I do some dumb bonding thing, whatever that means.”

Kirishima’s heart soars and he has to stop himself from jumping across the table to tackle Bakugou to the ground. It isn’t a yes, but it’s a step closer. He appreciates that Bakugou is willing to try.

“Ok, now that we have gotten that out of the way,” Sero says. “What’s the plan for today? Because I wouldn’t mind checking out what their herb shops are like. I got a few samples I can sell.”

“I can go with you,” Kirishima says.

Sero grins. “Great.”

“I need to get some rest,” Ashido says, stretching.

“Weren’t you just resting?” Jirou asks, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Ashido gives her a smirk. “I wouldn’t count what Kiri and I were doing as rest. ”

Jirou blushes.

Bakugou clears his throat. “I’m going to see how good their blacksmiths are.”

“I guess I should go with you to make sure no one tries to kick your ass,” Jirou says.

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Please, as if you aren’t going to right there, egging me on.”

“Which is why I’m going too,” Kaminari says.

“And somehow this is supposed to make things better?” Kirishima asks.

Kaminari sticks his tongue out at him.

                                                      ~

Kirishima has an arm around Sero’s shoulder as the two exits the herb shop, Sero stuffing the ingredients he brought into his bag. Kirishima smiles as the man continues to babble on about the things he got and the things he wanted to get and what was obviously overpriced.

His mate smells happy, contentness pouring off of him in waves. It makes Kirishima want to purr and rub up against him. Makes him want to push Sero down and fuck him full, knot him good and keep him covered.

Anddddd now he has a hard-on.

Kirishima subtly tries to rearrange his pants, quickly glancing around and hoping no one sees this.

Sero bumps up against him. “A little problem there?” His smirk is knowing.

Kirishima looks around before nudging Sero into an alleyway. Sero keeps his grin as he’s crowded against the wall, Kirishima pushing a knee in between his thighs and nosing along his neck. He laughs as Kirishima huffs at him.

“Damn, a bit needy there, aren’t you?” Sero taunts him.

Kirishima growls, pushing harder against him. “As if you don’t know why.”

Truthfully, all Kirishima wants to do his take his mates far away and just knot them for a week. What makes it hard to stop that insistent thought is the fact that he can now. Just like he was allowed to put his arm around Sero earlier. Just like he was allowed to give Ashido a kiss earlier.

He can do those types of things now, which means all he wants to do is them.

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel?” He murmurs in Sero’s ear, smirking at the shiver the human gives him. Sero grinds down against the meat of his thigh. A growl does leave him as he feels Sero’s dick twitch against him.

“Yeah. Hotel,” Sero grits out.

The two stick close to each other, or rather Kirishima sticks close to Sero, covering his back to scent his neck and press his cock against Sero’s ass, wings raised to ward off anyone that might want to come too close. Sero almost trips several times before they reach their room.

Kirishima is quick to push Sero back against the door, kissing the life out of him. Sero whimpers beneath him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders to hold on. Kirishima growls, pressing in tight, one knee pressing in between his thighs.

Sero grinds down against him and Kirishima can already feel how hard he is. He smirks into their kiss, before leaning back. Sero is flushed against the door, face red and panting, chest already heaving.

“You look so good and we’ve barely begun,” Kirishima says, one hand rubbing along Sero’s check. “I can’t wait to see how wrecked you get when we really get started.”

Sero inhales sharply, his eyes dilating. “That a promise?”

“It’s more than a promise.” Kirishima bends down, looping his arms around Sero’s knees and lifting him up. Sero scrambles to grab ahold of Kirishima’s broad shoulders. Kirishima doesn’t let Sero get too comfortable as he throws the other down on the bed.

Sero lets out a yelp, eyes locked onto Kirishima as the other crawls over him. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Sero.”

Sero gulps and Kirishima watches the way his throat works. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kirishima straddles him, fingering the buttons on his shirt. “You knew that we all liked each other and just let us fumble around.”

“Oh.” Sero chuckles a little. “I mean, if you guys had been paying attention, you would have picked up all the signals I did. Plus, it was kind of funny to watch.”

Kirishima tilts his head. “That may be true. But I still think it deserves some punishment.” He leans down, lips brushing against Sero’s. “Do you trust me?”

“Kirishima, you’ve watched my back more times than I can count in battle. Of course, I trust you.”

“Good.” He nips Sero’s bottom lip, then leans back to reach towards the table next to them. He feels Sero’s eyes drag down his body and can’t help flexing his chest, smirking at the way Sero’s breath hitches. He grabs the candle there and then holds it for Sero to see. “I would like to leave my mark on you.”

Sero looks between him and the candle, eyes wide. Kirishima falters. “If that’s ok?”

“Fuck, yeah. It’s more than ok, just. Give me some room to breathe.”

Kirishima does, leaning back and setting the candle back down. Sero takes a few minutes to take in a couple of deep breaths, eyes fluttering. Finally, he nods again.

Kirishima doesn’t reach for the candle again. Instead, he goes for Sero’s clothes. He takes his time unbuttoning the other’s shirt, pale skin being revealed to him. Hair lightly dusts along his chest and Kirishima grins at a bald spot near his nipple from where he got too close to one of his own potions. “You never learn,” he whispers, one finger rubbing against the skin.

Sero arches into his chest, trying to get Kirishima’s finger to go lower, to flick against his nipple. Kirishima resists, teasing him. “Where’s the fun in that?” Sero asks, grinning wide at him.

“One day, I’ll teach you.” Kirishima knows his grin is dark by the shudder Sero gives him. “But not today.”

He finishes getting Sero’s shirt off him, throwing the fabric to the ground next to them before reaching for Sero’s pants. Together, they wiggle him out of them, leaving the other man in only his boxers. Kirishima’s eyes hungrily take in the wet spot in the front and the thick length he can see hidden there.

He wants his mouth on it.

But later. Right now, he has to be true to his word. He reaches for the candle again with one hand, the other gathering Sero’s wrists together, pinning them above his head. Sero continues to watch him with wide eyes, trying to control his breathing as Kirishima brings the candle holder closer, right over his chest.

Kirishima catches his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Sero flutters his eyes before nodding. “Yes. I want it.”

Kirishima nods. Then he tilts the candle holder. Sero hisses at the first touch of wax against his skin and Kirishima’s eyes zero on the splash of red against dark skin. He inhales sharply and continues to pour.

Sero shakes beneath him, body trembling. There is no fear, only arousal, and it’s a heady scent that swirls around Kirishima’s head. His dragon wants to throw the candle across the room and just dive right in, to take and claim.

He takes in another deep breath, taking tight control of his instincts, and continues to pour.

Sero can’t keep his sounds in anymore. First, there come the whimpers and whines. And then he’s full-on moaning, groaning. He can’t stop twitching.

Kirishima slaps at his hips, getting Sero’s attention. The other turns his head, blinking dark hazy eyes at him. “Let me mark your back,” he commands, his voice seconds away from being a full-on growl.

Sero gulps, throat bobbing. “Y-Yeah, ok.” He struggles to get up and over, onto his knees, his dick bobbing between them, so hard he feels like he could explode at the slightest touch. Where the wax hadn’t completely dried drips red onto the sheets below him. His chest goes down, pressed against the mattress, in order to get his ass as high as he could.

Kirishima rumbles, one large hand cupping Sero’s ass. “Such a good mate, doing what I asked. Presenting so nicely for me.” His tumb spreads one of the cheeks, revealing Sero’s winking hole.

“You’re probably begging to be fucked, aren’t you? Want my thick cock, my knot plugging you up.”

Sero shivers, hands grasping against the covers, as he whimpers. “Please, Kirishima. Come on, I-I need you.”

Kirishima grins, showing off all his teeth. “Do not worry, mate. I will.”

                                                         ~

The next day, Sero limps his way down the stairs to breakfast. Kirishima smirks the entire time, eyes following him.

Ashido leans on the table, eyes crinkled, smile turned upwards. “So good night?”

For once, Sero blushes, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. It really, really was.”

Across from them, Jirou gives them a look. She starts tapping her fingers together.

Kirishima notices, blinking. “Oh, sorry Jirou. Are we making you uncomfortable?”

She seems surprised at his question. “What? No, don’t worry about it.”

They all frown. Ashido leans closer to her. “Hey, don’t say that. It’s not nothing if it doesn’t make you feel good.”

Jirou’s cheeks flush a little. “Oh, um, please. Don’t worry about it. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable.” The blush deepens. “Actually, I’m...shit, ok, don’t laugh at me. But I’m curious, ok?”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow at her. Ashido slowly starts to smirk. “Oh?”

Sero leans closer. “Please tell.”

Jirou huffs. “Look, you guys aren’t quiet. I hear what goes on. More than you think.” She points to her ears and Kirishima is suddenly hit with the memory about her telling them that she had an accident with a witch when she was younger, which left her with the Curse of Good Hearing.

“And?” Ashido prompts.

“And...I’m curious.” Jirou crosses her arms, looking down. “I’m still not...entirely sure about this whole mate thing. I just don’t think committed relationships are for me. So feel free to say no, but if you are willing, I wouldn’t mind entering a friends with benefits type of relationship.”

They all sit back thinking about it. Part of Kirishima instantly wants to agree, any excuse to hold his tiny mate close but…”For me, it’s going to have to be a no. Unfortunately, my instincts don’t work that way. If we have sex, my dragon wants it as mates.”

Jirou nods. “I can respect that.”

“I’d be up for it,” Ashido says. “You know I like you though, right?”

“I understand and am willing to accept that,” Jirou says. “It’s not that I don’t like you guys. It’s more of...I’m not sure I can do a relationship, is all.”

“Then in that case, I’d be willing to do it too,” Sero says.

Jirou gives a small smile. She turns to look at Kirishima, beckoning for him to give her a hand. She kisses it. “Maybe someday.”

Kirishima smiles back. “You know I would wait forever for you.”

Breakfast is peaceful after that, as they wait for Kaminari and Bakugou to join them.

[caffeineivore]

For RaeRae

This is for @antivanonmytongue as the start of a cheer-up-emo project, as it were. 

Title: Bourbon

Author: Thalia

Rating: PG/PG13

'Ship: R/J for RaeRae!

Notes: This is dedicated to our RaeRae because we love her and she is going through hell. Stay strong, lovey! There may or may not be a homage to living in a bar...

As for the fic itself, it does not belong to any ficverse I have. Also, there is a town called Brave, Pennsylvania. However, there is probably not a bar called Hope's Landing in said town. I don't know, have never been there XD!

Thanks much to @antivanruffles for the help with plotting and stuff!!

*-*

It's a slow Sunday on a windy autumn day at Hope's Landing, and so when she walks into the place, looking a bit lost and forlorn underneath the bravado of a stubborn chin and a cherry-red designer trench coat and perfectly applied makeup, she stands out like a flame in the darkness. A dive bar in the tiny town of Brave, Pennsylvania, is definitely not the natural milieu for a young woman such as her, and Jesse Wilson pauses in between polishing a stack of rocks glasses and stares, just for a minute.

She walks in slowly, taking in the scratched and faded green baize of the pool tables in the back, the jukebox in the corner, the dark wood of the bar scarred and grooved from countless glasses rolling towards countless hands. Hair the glossy black of fresh ink spills down her back straight as rain. Manicured red nails clutch a buttery oversized leather handbag with a white-knuckled grip. The black stiletto heels she wears click on the worn floorboards, the sound over-loud in the bar's quiet. She selects a stool at the very far end of the bar and perches on it, and Jesse makes his way over with a faintly curious smile.

“What can I get for you?”

At a closer distance, her eyes are fabulous, a dark blue-violet like a twilight sky. “Maker's Mark, neat.”

He asks for ID, and she pulls out a New York license. The address is uptown Manhattan. “Raeanne Haley. Nice to meet you. My name is Jesse Wilson.”

Her hand is small and delicate and warm, almost swallowed by his, but she nods in thanks when he places the drink in front of her.

“You're far from home.”

“It's about a three hour drive,” she replies, and there's a veiled hint of escape written all over her features. Jesse, to whom Hope's Landing has been home for almost as long as he can remember, is good at getting a read on people, but Raeanne Haley is a very complex book open only a crack and written in very small letters that can't be deciphered at a glance. He's patient, though, and leaves her to her bourbon and thoughts.

The door to the bar opens to reveal a familiar diminutive figure. Earl Flynn is spry for his eighty-plus years, and moves to the bar only after he makes the rounds with all the regulars. He'd once upon a time fought alongside Jesse's grandfather in World War II, part of the same squadron, and he still wears his tags even now, over an ancient Steelers shirt. He accepts a beer from Jesse with a gracious smile and sidles over to the mysterious Raeanne Haley.

“What's a nice girl like you doing at a dump like this, then?” The question would have been rude on a lot of levels coming from anyone else than Earl, but the girl Raeanne does not seem offended, and returns his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“Resting, for the moment.”

“Well, this place on a Sunday surely is restful,” Earl tells her, even as he lifts his beer in a toast. “Now, it's almost too quiet. Not like a Friday or Saturday night, though. But our Jesse can deal with the riff-raff, so don't you worry.”

Raeanne nods and slowly sips her whiskey, and Earl keeps up a steady stream of conversation about the football game playing on the television screen, the prospect of taking his grandkids trick-or-treating on Halloween, coming up later that month, and how long the fine weather would last before it would take a turn for the worse.

“... And we should have some music in here, shouldn't we?” Earl stands and makes his way to the jukebox. “None of these crotchety fellas know how to entertain a lady. Not used to having one hereabouts.” With a wink which must have been rakish once upon a time and still full of charm, he grins at Raeanne, then feeds coins into the machine. Even as low guitar notes come on, Earl calls out for Jesse quite a bit louder than the music.

“Jesse, why don't you have a dance floor in here? Maybe we can get some more customers that way. Especially pretty ladies like her. What do you think?”

The song that Earl selected is 'Lady in Red' by Chris DeBurgh, and the old man couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Jesse glances at Raeanne Haley in her red trench coat, and smiles wryly. “I don't think that pretty ladies like places such as these, for the most part.”

“Well, you could always change her mind. Come on, come on,” Earl is not to be deterred once he is dedicated to a set path, and apparently his mind is made up. “There's nobody here to bother you. Walter and Frank and Barry don't need anything, and neither do I. You should dance with the girl.”

Jesse glances at Raeanne, who has set down her half-finished whiskey, and even as she stands, he comes out from behind the bar. “He's harmless,” he finds himself telling her, even as she lays her hand in his, impulsiveness warring with what seems to be innate aloofness on her beautiful face. “You don’t have to. But I hope you don't mind.”

She doesn’t seem to, and when he puts his other hand on her waist and pulls her in just a little bit closer, the top of her head reaches his lips. He only has to bend his head a little bit to whisper so that no one else can hear them.

“What brings you here to Brave, Pennsylvania?”

“Oh, just… stopping for a bit,” she answers softly. Her lips curve up in a tremulous smile as those amethyst eyes meet his blue ones. “I’m on an impromptu road trip. My best friend from college lives out in LA. I could just fly, of course, but I hate both LaGuardia and JFK, and… this way I can take my time.” Maybe the whiskey has relaxed her a little, or maybe it was Earl’s somewhat one-sided conversation. “I paid a cabbie a good amount of cash to just drive… drive until I told him to stop. And here I am.”

“You told him to stop here?” Earl, the sly bastard, has another slow song playing even as the first one draws to a close. But Raeanne doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. She’s soft in his arms and smells faintly like expensive perfume.

“I liked the name. Hope’s Landing.” She ducks her head and her hair brushes his jaw. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“This was my grandfather’s bar, back in the day,” Jesse tells her to the background music of Elvis crooning ‘Love Me Tender’. “Hope was his mother’s name. He named it after her because she was not really a showy type of woman. Homey, I guess. Sort of like he wanted this place to be.” Jesse smiles wryly as their eyes meet. “This is definitely not a showy type of bar, I’ll say that much. Nothing like New York City.”

“New York is overrated,” Raeanne huffs out a breath. “I’m escaping, if we’re being completely honest. Mina’s okay with putting me up indefinitely in LA; I’ll probably have my stuff shipped there soon. I just needed a change.”

Jesse wonders for a second if Mina in LA is Mina Averill, the rising supermodel and actress, then dismisses the notion as preposterous. “Well, you are well and truly not in New York City any more, Dorothy,” he says gently. “I’m not quite sure what the exact population of this town is, but I’m also quite sure that the population of Manhattan itself is greater.”

“Yeah, and when everyone you know is either a lawyer or a politician or a Wall Street exec or some horrible combination of the three…” Raeanne wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head as Elvis finishes and Sinatra takes his place. “I usually stick to wine. I’m not this chatty as a rule.”

“Maybe you just needed to talk,” Jesse says, and then pulls back enough to look her in the eye. “But if you don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, I could probably make you a sandwich or something.”

“Yes, you go do that, Jesse,” Earl chimes in, as though sensing that the dancing has come to a close, and winks again at Raeanne. “Our Jesse is a good boy. His grandfather and I were friends since we were young. Charlie might have passed five years ago, God rest his soul, but he made sure that our Jesse was raised right.”

Jesse leaves the old man to extol his virtues and takes the stairs in the back of the bar up to the apartment on the second floor. Hope’s Landing doesn’t boast a kitchen or serve food beyond beer nuts and pretzels, but he lives right above it, and while turkey and swiss on rye is probably not typical fare for one such as Raeanne Haley, he returns with the sandwich shortly.

“Thank you.” She accepts it, seeming to know that it’s the exception rather than the rule, and gives him a real smile before tucking in. She’s dainty in that ladylike way while eating, but doesn’t seem to care about crumbs or the fact that she’s only got beverage napkins to wipe her mouth and hands.

The night draws on; more regulars mosey on in, including a pair of ancient, tattooed bikers who offer to teach Raeanne how to play pool. She declines, graciously, but seems to have relaxed as the time draws on. In any case, she watches the game with interest, and when the shorter, skinnier biker wins, claps politely amidst the raucous cheers of the rest of them. She’s still there, unaccountably, her whiskey long-gone and her plate empty, when the clock strikes midnight and the lights come on.

“We close early on Sundays,” Jesse tells her as he finishes cashing out. Under the bright lights, she’s even lovelier, with pale skin and flawless cheekbones. She pays for her drink with a black American Express and signs the slip with flowing, finishing-school script. He doesn’t charge her for the sandwich, but even after the last stragglers make their way towards the door, she remains seated, and he cocks his head to the side. “Do you… do you have a place to stay for the night?”

She shrugs, pulls out a cell phone. “I could Uber it to the closest hotel, I guess. I’m sorry. I was having fun.”

And all of the sudden he feels like he’s on the precipice of something-- something a lot bigger and more important than small talk with a pretty stranger on a random Sunday night. He swallows the surge of nerves and clears his throat. “Well, and please don’t take this in a creepy way, but… you could crash here if you want. I live upstairs. There’s a spare room.”

She stares at him for a moment without speaking, so he hurries on. “You don’t have to, of course. I’m not sure if Uber is available out here, to be honest with you. But if you’d like, I could probably also give you a ride somewhere if you have a place in mind.”

And then she smiles. “You sure I could just crash upstairs? You barely know me.”

“Yeah, and you barely know me. But… yeah, I’m sure. I don’t mind. I just have one question.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Do you like cats?”

*~*

Jesse’s apartment is accessible through the back of the bar, up a flight of stairs, and it is a tidy, open-plan space with two bedrooms, one of which seems to be used as an office with a futon. A small-ish tabby cat darts out from under the coffee table and heads straight for Raeanne’s legs, winding circles around her ankles and staring up with wide, green-and-gold eyes.

“That’s Jim Beam, or JB for short,” Jesse tells Raeanne with a chuckle even as she stoops down to pet the cat. “He’s usually not this friendly. I found him a few months ago as a kitten, hiding out the rain under an empty Jim Beam carton out by the dumpster, hence his name.” Jim Beam apparently finds Raeanne to his liking, because in very short order, he is butting his head against her hand and purring. Raeanne takes a seat on the sofa and the cat hops into her lap, curling up in a ball and blinking slowly in an attitude of contentment, and Jesse grins at her. “He likes you. Anyway, do you need anything? Water? A tour? A t-shirt to sleep in? All of the above?”

She finds herself agreeing to ‘all of the above’, and smiles to herself when she sees the bread bag on the kitchen counter, left untied from when he’d made her that sandwich. Jesse pulls out the futon in the office, but insists that she takes his room instead, fetching fresh sheets and pillows out of a small linen closet and a plain white t-shirt out of the dresser drawer. Jim Beam follows Raeanne into every room, then hops onto the easy chair in Jesse’s bedroom, curling his tail around his feet.

“Shower’s through that door down the hall. And you can probably kick that cat out of that chair to put your stuff,” Jesse says as he efficiently changes the bed-linens. Raeanne exchanges a glance with Jim Beam, and sets her handbag on the bureau instead. She walks up to Jesse just as he finishes straightening up the sheets.

“You don’t have to do any of this for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a smile. “But, I also know not to subject a lady to a futon.”

That’s not at all what she’s referring to and she’s sure he knows it, but something in his dark blue gaze causes her to acquiesce. She stands on tiptoe, and the jaw that comes in contact with her lips is warm and scratchy with stubble.

“Well, thanks. And good night.”

He lays his hand on her shoulder for a moment, nods, and quietly walks out. Raeanne quickly gets ready for bed and curls up underneath the blankets. The sheets smell like him-- plain soap and detergent, no overpriced cologne, and the pillows are soft. This was not quite what she’d planned when she left New York, but… a smile crosses her face and she stares up at the ceiling and says nothing.

Halfway through the night, Raeanne wakes up briefly to Jim Beam hopping on the bed and curling up on the pillow next to hers. She sleepily runs her fingers over the cat’s soft fur, and lets the purring lull her back to the best sleep she’s had in months.

*~*

Raeanne wakes the next morning to the smells of coffee and bacon and the sound of Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones playing faintly on the radio. Jim Beam meows at her from by the bedroom door, and she follows the cat to the kitchen, padding in barefooted and still wearing the borrowed t-shirt. Jesse’s back is turned towards her as he flips a piece of bacon in the skillet, but he turns with a smile before she even says a word.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she replies, and at his gesture, helps herself. Within a few moments, they’re seated across from each other at the cheap dinette set and eating scrambled eggs and bacon as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim Beam cannily positions himself at the optimal spot to beg from both of them, and Raeanne is sure that between herself and Jesse, the cat gets away with a good two slices of bacon. Raeanne eats her fill and watches Jesse from underneath her lashes. His hair shines golden in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, and when he smiles, he has a single dimple in his left cheek. She, on the other hand, looks vastly different wearing no makeup and his t-shirt than her norm, and yet, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Want me to do the dishes?” She gathers her plate and mug and walks over towards the kitchen sink. Certainly it is not a task that she has ever needed to tackle. But even-- or perhaps especially-- a Manhattan socialite knows that something cannot come from nothing.

Jesse says nothing, but before she can reach for the sponge, gently takes both of her hands in his, and pulls her away. His fingers are callused and rough against her manicured ones, and he doesn’t let her go even when they’re a few feet away from the sink. She finds herself staring up at him in wonder and a little bit of consternation.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The smile warms his whole face, including his ocean blue eyes. “Because you need it.”

Raeanne’s next breath hitches in her throat, and she stares down at her bare feet for a moment because the kindness radiating from his whole being is warm and almost unbearable, like being a shade too close to a hearth fire. Her toenails match her fingernails exactly, and she takes a deep breath before glancing up again. “Why do you say that?”

“I just know.” A wry, slightly cheeky smile crosses his face. It’s not stubbly like last night, but he still smells like plain soap and detergent with a hint of coffee thrown in now. “You don’t owe me anything, Raeanne.”

Her name sounds smooth and low on his tongue, and when she frowns at what he says, he chuckles. “Well. I wouldn’t say no to another dance. But don’t tell Earl, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” she answers, and even as Queen’s ‘Someone To Love’ starts playing on the radio, she lets him draw her close. Without her heels, he sort of dwarfs her, and in this tiny, sun-lit kitchen, it’s even closer and more intimate than last night downstairs at the bar. But Raeanne lets her eyes fall closed as they sway infinitesimally to the rhythm, and her face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. Underneath her lips, his pulse isn’t completely steady, and that gives her courage.

“Jesse?” Her voice is muffled against soft cotton and warm skin. “How long can I stay?”

The hand at her waist pulls her just a little closer, and his breath stirs tendrils of her hair. “How long do you want to stay?”

She draws back just enough to look up into his face, and lets herself wonder, only for a moment, why it seems so familiar-- why everything from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab until now seems like destiny knocking. But she still manages a quip. “Until Big Bill and Marty teach me how to shoot pool, maybe.”

“Mmm, and are you a quick study?”

She’s close enough to all but count individual eyelashes, close enough to taste that he drinks his coffee black, just like her, but leans in even closer. Suddenly, she knows that she’s not going to LA after all, though Mina would probably squeal over it later, much later, on the phone once she got through the army of assistants and minions. Raeanne smiles, and answers his question just before she lets her lips brush his as though coming home at last.

“Yeah.”