#absented themselves from celebrations for a couple of hours that year

[hephaestuscrew]

Heard a vague acquaintance joking yesterday that if a podcast creator didn't want anyone to listen to a particular episode, they could just release it on Christmas Day because no one listens to podcasts on Christmas. I could have absolutely blown his mind if I told him about the two-hour Wolf 359 finale released on December 25th.

[starrgaziinggg]

SMAU | UNDERCOVER JYP-U

chapter 24 -> 3RACHA slays (written 4k words)

directory | next chapter ->

JYP-Universities annual charity week finale was always an event of grandeur. All classes were called off for the day - not only to celebrate the end of charity week, but as a prelude to the upcoming mid semester exams. Craft and food stalls were always set up around the campus grounds, which led to almost every student being outside during the day; eating and drinking with their friends.

That's what last years charity week finale looked like for you. Your friend group had spent the whole day together, from shopping around the stalls to drinking together before attending the night events. The night was always the best part - the uni always hosted a small concert, which ended in a fireworks display and celebrations that usually lasted until the early hours of the next morning.

This year would be different, though. Since you were on the student body, you had to attend your weekly meeting, in which you counted up what you'd made for the week and made an announcement. This was bound to take a couple hours out of your afternoon, but since the days events were all pre planned and you could enjoy them without student body stress, you didn't mind.

Plus, the concert for this years finale event was none other than 3RACHA themselves, which meant you had to get front row spots. The boys had been preparing for it in advance and as nervous as they were to perform for a venue as big as your university's outdoor auditorium, you knew how excited they were.

"Are you ready?" You hear Chae call, knocking on your bedroom door a couple times before coming in. There was one other reason the finale was going to be different from last years, and that was because you were nervous as hell. As much time as you and Hyunjin had spent together over the week, he hadn't asked you out. Which meant you were being held to your promise of asking him out. Tonight.

"Almost," you reply, sleepily trying to perfect your makeup. The week had all but drained you; after helping Ryujin and Lia during their event, running your own event and attending classes in between, you were really starting to feel the effects of having so much on your plate.

You finally finish, placing down the brush you were holding and turning to Chae for approval, blinking at her. She grins, digging through your drawer and pulling out a pallet. She tells you to close you eyes and places a sparkly colour in your inner corners.

"Perfect. Now you don't like you've had an hour of sleep," she smiles, letting you check in the pallettes mirror. You roll your eyes with a smile. "You ready to go? The girls are waiting to leave."

"Yup," you reply, grabbing your jacket off your door handle and shrugging it over your shoulders. Ryujin, Lia and Yuna are waiting in the living area, the three of them the epitome of bundles of joy. You didn't blame them, since the charity week finale got everyone hyper.

"Ready?" Ryujin asks, jumping up off the couch to give you a side hug. You nod in response as the girls start heading outside. Your plan was to look round the stalls on campus and then grab lunch with guys before you, Yuna, Ryujin and Lia have to go to the meeting.

Campus is all hustle and bustle like you expected, the courtyard littered with adorable stalls selling all sorts with students (and non students who attend the event) all over the place. The five of you look round each stall, conversing with the people running them and picking up pieces here and there. Whilst Yuna has both arms full of bags by the time you're certain you've left no stall untouched, you opted for a couple cute nicknacks and home bakes.

The guys are sprawled out on the grassy area, having already picked up your food. Chan, Changbin and Jisung are absent, which you pin down to concert practice, but all the other guys are eating, sunbathing and chatting. You were more than thankful the sunshine was still out mid October, a cool breeze making the warm day bearable.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Minho drawls when you girls make your descent onto the picnic blankets they've laid out, Yuna dumping her many shopping bags and making a beeline for the burrito Jeongin had gotten her. You can't help but hug Minho when you see him, still feeling awful about missing the signs of his injury and having seen very little of him since he'd started taking his schoolwork more seriously.

"Yeah yeah, nice to see you too," he laughs, hugging you back before you flop onto the blanket next to him. You give him a sheepish grin and turn to Felix.

"A little birdie told me you made brownies," you tilt your head at him, grinning wider when he rolls his eyes whilst handing you a tub full of goodies. Picking one out, you hand the tub back and dig in.

It's peaceful, sitting round all your friends with the sun shining down on you, catching up with the dull noise of commotion in the background. It makes you forget, just for a while, about that stupid account and all the shit they were stirring. Tired from walking round the stalls, you girls all lie down lazily, making yourselves comfortable.

Lia sits with Seungmin as he reads a book absentmindedly, whilst Yuna and Chae force Jeongin to make room on his blanket. Ryujin dumps herself in front of you, placing her head in the basket you'd made with your legs.

"I can't wait for 3RACHA's performance later," Lia says after a while, picking a grape out of the tub and popping it into her mouth as she reads the page Seungmin's on. "I've never heard them before."

"They're pretty good," Hyunjin replies from where he sits playing cards with Minho. "Ji said they're playing a lot of new songs too."

"You guys are lucky you can enjoy them perform without having had put up with every one of their pre-release performances," Felix laughs, being the one that Changbin, Ji and Chan always made watch their practices since he was the easiest to persuade. "I swear I almost went deaf from how much I listened to them practice."

"Yeah, sure," Ryujin tilts her head at Felix from beside you. "Do you remember back in the day when Ji made us and Jeongin listen to every single one of his songs and decide if they were worthy of soundcloud or not?"

Felix laughs at the memory, as does Jeongin, the two of them reminiscing from their times back in their hometown with Jisung and Ryujin.

"God, some of them were awful," Jeongin joins in, throwing his head back with giggles. "Wasn't there one song where he just consistently swore for two minutes straight?"

"Yeah, 'Fucker' was the title," Ryujin cackles, starting to play with the hem of your top absentmindedly. "I'm glad we persuaded him not to post that one."

"Sometimes I wish we'd all grown up together," Yuna says with a pout, which Hyunjin nods at. He wins the round of snap he was playing with Minho and gives him a shit eating grin, flashing you a smile in the process. You can't help but break the eye contact sheepishly.

"I don't think I'd have been able to put up with you lot for this long," Minho huffs, abandoning his game with Hyunjin after his consecutive losses.

"I second that," Seungmin grins, pausing from reading his book to chime in. He sends you a smirk which you stick your tongue out at. Nothing had really come from the news of his dad, other than that his dads situation was now a hot topic of conversation. Rumours were spreading like wildfire as they always did at your university, and you'd heard some pretty crazy accusations.

Perhaps the one that startled you the most was that Seungmin's dad had gotten into debt after spending all his money on drugs and had to set up a company as a ruse for his money laundering and hide his addiction. Seungmin had informed you that was far off the truth, and that he'd made an insane amount of money from dirty gambling and passed it over as money that had derived from his company, which had landed him 5 years in custody.

Seungmin didn't seem overly affected by it all, but that was just how he was. He focused on his studies and blocked out anything that could come in between his aspirations. You admired him for that.

"Nah, it would have been nice to have you guys back in the day. Putting up with Lix, Ji and Ryujin would have been much easier," Jeongin sighs, rubbing his arm when Ryujin sends a light punch his way.

"We were the ones that put up with you and your scrawny ass," Ryujin laughs, rolling her eyes when Jeongin mimics her. You tap your phone screen to display the time, groaning out loud when it's almost time for your meeting.

"Crunch time?" Jeongin says when he notices your dismay, you nod, starting to pack up your things. The others stay sprawled out on the grass, waving a good bye to the student body members as you all make your way to the meeting room. When you get there, however, Chan and Jisung are not in their usual places and welcoming everyone.

"Wonders never cease," Ryujin laughs as the two of you take your seats, nudging her arm into yours. You roll your eyes when Jeongin grins.

"I'm holding this against Chan for the rest of his sorry life," he says manically, rubbing his hands together with an evil smile. "He's never allowed to complain about me being late again."

It's that moment when Chan and Changbin rush into the room, sweaty and disgruntled. They flop onto their seats, Changbin instantly resting his head on the table.

"Sorry guys," Chan says instantly, wiping his brow. "We've been rehearsing all day and we lost track of time."

"Despicable behaviour," Jeongin tuts instantly, his blonde hair swaying with his motions, which Yuna snorts at.

"You guys prepared for tonight?" You ask them, failing to hide your smile. Changbin lifts his head to nod at you with a grin.

"Oh yeah," He says, drawing out the end of his words. "It's gonna be epic, trust."

"Anyway," Chan interrupts, pushing his damp strands out of his face. "Lets get this over with quickly so we can all get prepared for tonight. The money is here, in this box, separated into each event's earnings. You'll each count for your own event, Yuna you can help Jeongin, and then we'll add up the total."

You all get to work quickly, wanting to be thorough but also finish up with this as as soon as you could. In the back of your mind, all you were thinking about was getting ready and the night you had ahead of you. It was hard to look Hyunjin in the eyes on a normal day, that handsome face and dark eyes oh so intimidating, but knowing you were going to confess to him - the thought alone sent chills down your spine.

It takes you all two hours to properly count the money and add it all together and as it turns out you've skyrocketed past last years total. Chan is over the moon, as are your University superiors when he tells them the news.

"This is insane," Lia grins when Chan heads out to get the camera to film the video youd be posting online to reveal the total. She looks up at you with a grin. "It's so cool that you guys do this every year."

"It's like a win win for everyone," Yuna shrugs, reciprocating Lia's infectious smile. "We get to have a week of fun before mid sem exams, and we raise a tonne for charity. Plus it just puts everyone in a good mood."

"Honestly, I'd totally forgotten about that dumb account and all that crap this week," Jeongin adds, joining your conversation and leaning against the back of your chair. "I feel like reality's gonna crash down on me next week though."

"Well," Ryujin tilts her head at the younger boy. "Don't worry about that yet. We've got the rest of the night to watch the guys perform, get drunk and have fun."

"Do you know how many people are coming to watch, Changbin?" Yuna asks, and he shrug his shoulders.

"No idea honestly, but I hope it's a good few. Would be shit to play for an empty crowd."

You scoff, raising your eyebrows. "Are you kidding? You guys have been blowing up recently, I'm certain the auditorium is gonna be packed."

He smiles at your words, and you're glad that the two of you could get past what happened a couple weeks ago. You hated anything coming in between your friendships.

When Chan returns, he makes Yuna and Jeongin be the faces of the video since he and Changbin looked like ass. They were more than happy to oblige, and after another half an hour of Jeongin messing up his words the video was filmed. It was Ryujin's job to edit it, which only took her ten minutes, and with that the video was posted to the Universities account.

It blew up almost instantaneously, and your student body group huddled around Chan's phone watching the replies fly through. It was a great feeling, watching something you'd worked so hard at be successful.

You all peeled off soon after in great moods, heading back to your dorms to get ready for the nights events. With how nervous you were, even after Yuna made you do shots with her, you were surprised you could get ready at all. Your hands were shaking so much you had to wipe mascara off of your eyelids three times.

After another hour and a half of getting ready, the guys came over to hurry you girls up and chill in your dorm. When you've finally decided you can't perfect your makeup, hair and outfit any more, you take a deep breath before leaving your bedroom.

Minho comes through from your kitchen armed with drinks, so you take one before flopping on the sofa beside Seungmin. Hyunjin sends you a smile, which instantly sends you butterflies and makes you look away bashfully. You had no idea how you'd manage to get through the night with him until you confessed your feelings.

"Okay, since you girls took six years to get ready we need to leave in, like, now," Seungmin says, checking the time on his phone as punctual as ever.

"Down those drinks," Felix winks, which you oblige to, scooping the vodka concoction Minho had assembled before grabbing your belongings and following your entourage of friends. The streets of your university's campus are still bustling, and you could assume that people were starting to head back to their dorms to do a quick outfit change before the night time activities as you had all done.

Luckily, there were only a few people around the outdoor stage area as the set didn't start for another while, so your friend group politely nudged their way right to the front. You stood by Jeongin and Chae, deep into a discussion about whether Jisung would forget his lyrics or not. Another couple of bottles down and the place was packed. There were people stood as far as your eye could see, almost all of them people you didn't recognise.

It didn't surprise you that so many people had showed up to watch your friends perform, since they hadn't stopped growing in popularity since they had started to release their music. You even overhead a group of girls behind you gush about how hot Chan was, which made Jeongin snort and gag beside you.

The lights on the stage lit up, and the crowd interrupted into cheers as soon as one of 3RACHA's most famous songs started playing and one by one the boys came on stage to sing their parts. Of course, you and your friends screamed the loudest, singing along to every word and making sure to record the whole set.

In a break between songs, you feel someone's presence behind you and turn to find Hyunjin grinning down at you.

"They're amazing, right?" He shouts in your ear over the noise, and you nod whilst smiling back at him. "There's gotta be a couple thousand people here at least."

"It's insane," you reply, pulling him closer so he'd be able to hear you. 3RACHA's flurry of fan girls had lungs of steel. "I'm so proud of them, I could cry."

He doesn't say anything in response except tilts his head with a half smile, his dimple making an appearance. When the boys announce it's their final song there's a collective groan of sadness from the audience, but they jump right into it. All the while, Hyunjin is behind you, singing along, a hand placed gently on your shoulder.

Of course, you all manage to coax then into an encore. They play a lesser known song, but one of your favourites, and you have to refrain from screaming the lyrics alongside them. When Chan announces their departure, your friends turn to each other as people start to disperse.

"That was fucking incredible," Felix sighs contentedly, a huge smile on his face. "They're gonna be so big one day."

"When they played their most famous song I swear everyone sang it word for word," Yuna gushes, fawning over her talented friends. Minho and Seungmin merge over, and you feel Hyunjin take his hand away from your shoulder to talk to them. You hadn't even noticed it was still there, so accustomed to the feeling.

"So what's the plan? Wait for the guys and then head to the courtyard?" Minho asks, dad mode on as usual to sort the plan of action. You nod, since the courtyard would be lively with people drinking until the firework display started. You could already hear the music blasting over the speaker system.

You all spent the next hour mingling with mutual friends and drinking the day away. Chan, Changbin and Ji joined you all after taking a shower and getting ready, and there was a collective holler throughout everyone in the vicinity. You hugged them all, congratulating them on their first big concert, and they were gleaming the whole time.

"Did u see them? There were two chicks who screamed every lyric to every song," Jisung awes at you, pretending to swoon. "I think I'm having a subtle aneurism."

"Fuck subtle," Changbin adds, taking a swig of his beer. "I'm having a full on attack of some kind. Is this real life? Jeong, pinch me."

The younger boy does just that with an evil grin plastered to his face. Changbin doesn't even bat an eyelid when he pinches him as hard as he can, just nods once.

"Nope, I really felt that. All real."

You shake your head with a laugh at them, smiling as Yuna comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your shoulders.

"Fireworks are starting in ten," she hums in your ear, placing a kiss on your cheek. "You nervy?"

"Major nerve," you reply truthfully, turning down your eyebrows at her with a queasy smile. "Are you sure about this?"

Yuna looks personally attacked from your words. "Bitch? Hyun hasn't stopped staring at you all night. Did you see you guys together at the concert? Ryujin took a picture."

Your eyes widen as Yuna pulls Ryujin over, muttering for her to show you the picture. When it's on the screen, you can't help your insides when they melt. Hyunjin has his arm wrapped around you, the two of you with smiles plastered on your faces as you watch the performance.

"If you don't think that boys obsessed with you, I think you need a psychoanalysis," Ryujin smirks, taking her phone back. "Cmon, time to face the music."

You allow the two girls to drag you away as they chat your ear off about how excited they are for you. To be honest, the photo Ryujin had showed you really put your mind at ease about Hyunjin’s feelings for you, and that paired with the alcohol in your system was making you certain you could get through this night.

The fireworks started almost as soon as your group had reached the perfect spot, and the sky lit up in flashes of pink, yellow and blue. As much as you didn’t really agree with the nature of fireworks, you had to admit they were beautiful.

A couple minutes of awing at the scene in front of you and you could see Ryujin’s anticipation. Finding some nerve, you look around to find the man of the hour, except you can’t see him.

“Hi,” he says, shocking you out of your system as you whip round and see Hyunjin’s mess of blonde hair standing beside you.

“Jesus, you scared me,” you chuckle nervously, turning when another firework goes off and the noise fills your ears.

“Sorry,” he laughs in response. “I just, if I don’t do this now I don’t know if I’ll ever find the courage again.”

You scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, tilting your head. “Huh?”

He takes a deep breath, looking from your eyes to the firework behind you. “I’ve liked you for a really long time. Longer than you’d probably think, and I’ve been too much of a pussy to say anything to you about it.” He says, looking back at you with a nervous half smile. He runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. “You’re so beautiful, and kind, and as much as I hate to admit it I’m so in awe of you and your talent. I don’t know if you still hate me or whatever, but -”

You can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief, chuckling at his words. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Of course I don’t hate you. I really, really like you. In fact, I was plucking up the courage to tell you that right now, but you beat me to it,” you smile at him, watching his frown flip upwards.

“Really?” He asks seriously, his dimple showing from his grin. “So, you’d liked to go out with me? I mean like, go on proper dates, we don’t need to be girlfriend boyfriend yet - just more than friends?”

You can help but smile at the normally cool, put together Hyunjin stumbling over his words. You nod, unable to help yourself from looking at his lips. He takes this as a sign, trying to hide his smile as he places a hand gently on your cheek and leans in.

He manages to place the most gentle kiss on your lips until he break away, evidently shocked by the chorus of hollers and cheers from your friend group, Ryujin holding her camera with an evil grin. You shake your head with a smile, feeling like your back in high school, as Hyunjin swings an arm over your shoulders to guide you back to the group.

The rest of the night passes by in a gleeful blur, the effects of all the alcohol you’d drank during the day finally catching up to you and sending you into sleep delirium. The girls are much in the same boat, which leads you to head back to your dorm together an hour or two after the fireworks finish. The events had started to die down anyway, and the guys were shattered too.

They all walked you girls home, of course, with Hyunjin sneaking a kiss (against Jeongin’s gags of protest), before promising to text you in the morning. Yuna, as usual, falls fast asleep in your bed as soon as her head hits the pillow, which leaves you grinning up at your ceiling, reminiscing over the days events until you’re finally overcome by sleep.

tag list

@cursed-mars-bars @https-skzology @imasimplol @hyunverse @aestaeticous @dorisnumber1fan @tasteskz-sword @amnmich @detectivedoodle @amara-mars @end0rchans @raresevng @thementallyunhinged @nhyunn @lixie-phoria @llavendarlilacc @beomgyusonlywife @seolarpower @celestial-shay @heavensheadbitch @thoughtsfromthebackofmybrain @cuddlethebear @gabrielle-tea @weird-bookworm @ceelestic @worcesheshestershiresauce @hyuneyeon @downbadreading @where-is-innie @its-hannjisung @uno7 @weird0o0 @sxhxnax @seungfleur @moretinyideas

Im back. This is the grand return. I deeply apologise for my ridiculous absence on this app but here I am. And I have a lot of story ideas!!! So pls bear with me heheh. Enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (1/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing 

Word Count: 2.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is a newly famous actress from a popular TV show and she’s willing to do everything in her power to maintain her perfect image as “America’s Sweetheart.” 

Masterlist

The limelight is a hard place to be under. It’s draining to constantly be on display. Day in and day out I feel as though I’m always looking into a mirror. However, a mirror is replaced by people’s eyes. I see myself through other’s eyes. Being sat on a slippery plastic stool while being watched by millions of Americans before they head off to work is an excellent way to start my day. Perhaps if I keep telling myself that I’ll eventually believe it. Savannah glances down at her cards then continues with the interview.

“Let’s go back to a year ago, if someone approached you and said “you’ll be the most sought after girl in America,” would you had believed them?”

I shake my head “not all.”

If only she knew how absent I am in the current moment. I’ve answered similar questions a million times these past few months. All the exact same questions within the same routine.

“Now, being as famous as you are, how do you cope with your newfound fame?”

There it is, famous. A better-sounding word than popular. After all, adult life is nothing like high school… right?

“I don’t particularly like the word “famous.” When people say “you’re famous!” What they really mean is “a lot of people know you!” At least people think they do.”

She studies me, intrigued by my honest answer, perhaps too honest. “You’re saying America doesn’t know the “real” you? Including your fans?”

I shrug, I can only imagine Nicole’s face right now. My usual bubbly and charmingly excited personality didn’t wake up with me at three this morning.

“I believe they know whatever version of me they’ve created. For some, I’m that girl from the cover of that one magazine they saw in line at the grocery store. For others, I may just a name without a face. That’s the thing about being so-called “famous.” I’ll never have the chance to meet every single person who has ever read an article about me or has seen paparazzi videos. They’ll only see those tainted versions of me. They’ll never have the opportunity to know me personally and make a valid judgment for themselves.”

Savannah hums, her eyebrows scrunched up. “How do you feel about that?”

I sigh, the words settling within me. “It’s disappointing.”

If only they all knew the truth, the reality of it all.

______________________________________________________

After the interview for the show, I fly straight back to Los Angeles from New York. My schedule has been worse, but I never miss the chance to complain to my manager. Thankfully, Nicole is a mother of tween girls and a ten-year-old boy so she knows how to take my childish whining. Once we’re landed in LAX I countdown the minutes until I can return to my bed.

“I don’t understand why you insist on wearing heels on the plane,” Nicole nags me.

“Because you never know who you’re gonna meet! Best to dress nicely just in case!”

It’s been a rule of mine since I first discovered my style and began to wear makeup, never go out in public without looking and feeling confident. I’ve learned that people can sense when others don’t feel confident and take advantage of that.

“I doubt your Mom would like it,” she nags.

“Well she’s not in California is she?” I fire back but snicker slightly.

My momma’s absence was bitter-sweet, in the beginning, now it’s all sweet. When we have our luggage, Nicole leads me through the airport to where the car is picking us up.

“You may want to put on your sunglasses now. We’re about to cross the line,” she warns.

I grab my glasses out of my purse like she instructed and slide them on. She was right, as soon as we cross over that taped line it’s a free-for-all for the paparazzi.

“Y/N!” “Y/N!”

“HEY! SHOW US A SMILE!”

The yelling doesn’t bother me as it used to in the past. Now, it’s the clicking. The clicking from their cameras. A constant *click* *click* *click*, from each of the thirty cameras. Nicole attempts to create a path for me by walking ahead.

“HOW WAS YOUR TRIP TO NEW YORK?”

“Good, thank you” I reply politely with a smile toward the tile floor.

I try to manage a balance when it comes to paparazzi. They have their job and so do I. Following me, taking pictures or videotaping me is their job. As long as they respect me, I will respect them. Nicole says it’s good for my image. My image wasn’t the first reason I was nice toward them, I was being myself. Nowadays, I’m hardly myself. I have my name, Y/N Voss, but it no longer feels like my name. The paparazzi are not used to getting easy responses out of people because there’s a long pause before the next question.

“WHEN DOES FILMING START BACK UP FOR THE SHOW?”

The question comes from a different voice but that doesn’t keep me from answering.

“In two days!” I gleam, looking forward to returning to set.

“CAN YOU GIVE ANY INFO ABOUT THE NEW SEASON?”

I chuckle a little but think it over. I agreed in my contract not to give out spoilers but there is a little info I was told I can let out. Plus, I’ve only seen the script for the first episode so I don’t know too much.

“I can say that Hollyn will have a bump start this season but no worries,” I answer vaguely but with interest.

Nicole and I manage to reach outside and she guides me down the sidewalk to where the car is supposed to pick us up.

“RUMOR HAS IT YOU’RE DATING SOMEONE! CARE TO COMMENT?”

“I’m very much single,” I laugh, finding the topic humorous. “Not enough hours in the day to share them!”

There are always rumors that I’m dating someone though none of it’s true.

“YOU LOOK GREAT TODAY Y/N!”

“YOU ALWAYS DO!”

“Thanks, boys!” I give my appreciation. 

The driver gets out of the front and pops the trunk. Nicole informs me to get in the car and let her worry about our things along with the driver.

“WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE SUMMER?”

I open my door but pause to answer the last question. “Work, of course, but I also want to have some fun.”

“HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!”

“SEE YA LATER Y/N!”

They all hurry to get some last shots and I grant them a couple of seconds.

“You too! See you guys later!” I wave goodbye then climb into the car.

Nicole gets in a minute later and gives the driver the address. “You did great back there,” she compliments.

“Eh, it was nothing. I was only answering their questions.” I remove my glasses and get settled in as best as I can for the hour drive home.

She pulls out her binder full of scheduling material for me.

“Yes, but you were willing and kind. The public and media appreciate that! You’re becoming America’s Sweetheart!”

I would never admit it to Nicole but that title she keeps pushing makes me anxious every time I hear it. None of this was planned, it was thrown at me. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for what I have but geez! When everyone is telling you a whole country adores you, how are you supposed to handle that? Especially at eighteen. It was no more than a year ago I was back in South Carolina and just another girl in high school. Now, I’m supposed to be “America’s Sweetheart.” I’ll play the part but it doesn’t make the job any less intimidating.

__________________________________________________________

My best friends/co-stars, Sam and Penelope, meet up with me for dinner to celebrate my first night back in town after the press tour. The three of us have been dividing our time around the country working on various projects between filming the show. Any time we can all get together is a gift.

Ever since I’ve known Sam Merka, girls flung themselves at him. Even I’ll say it, he’s a good-looking guy. If Grant Gustin had a younger brother, it would be Sam. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, we’re just friends. A sibling sort of bond. Since he’s eight years older than me, he likes a big brother.

Though Penelope is older too, one can’t tell since I tend to act more mature. I’m jealous of her sun-kissed long blonde hair and dark brown eyebrows. We all kinda got thrown into our friendship. Having to play life-long friends an hour after meeting for the first time was, to say the least interesting. Five years later, and we are like three peas in a pond. A mini family to have each other’s back in the big city.

For dinner, we agreed on The Nice Guy, an Italian place in West Hollywood. The most important aspect of the place is the amount of privacy it grants. The interior is a lounge, super lowkey, with booths, couches, and coffee tables but there are no photos allowed. Since no photos can be taken that means the three of us and others can enjoy ourselves in peace. Sam called dibs on being designated driver as per usual as the “bodyguard” for us girls. The paparazzi tend to hang out around the restaurant because it’s a well-known spot for celebrities.

“Maybe we can slip past them,” Sam says optimistically as we exit the car.

He meets me around the front and Penelope joins us after getting out of the backseat.

“HEY! HEY! HEY!”

From in front of the restaurant, a ripple of cameras begin to take notice of us.

“IT’S THE KIDS FROM THE SEASONS OF LIFE!”

“Yep, we really snuck past them!” I tease Sam playfully.

He huffs, annoyed with the situation. Sam loves his job but hates the lack of privacy aspect. He isn’t a fan of crowds either which I can understand. However, he’s great at masking it behind his charming smile. It’s what we were trained to do. Yet, Sam is better at managing a crowd mentally overall than I am. He understands how they affect me sometimes. The swarm of photographers rushes up to us. Sam leads the way toward the restaurant door. Penelope remains close, keeping a hand on my forearm to stay together. The cluster follows us down the sidewalk to the building.

“SAM! SAM! HEARD ABOUT THE GQ PHOTOSHOOT! CONGRATS ON GETTING THE COVER MAN!”

Sam chuckles next to me, “thanks, dude!”

“PENELOPE! RUMOR HAS IT YOU’LL BE SWITCHING OVER TO THE BIG SCREEN!”

“Exactly, it’s a rumor!” She replies a matter-of-factly.

The *click* *click* *click* and the flashing lights in the dead of night never fail to overwhelm me. Though, Nicole has told me I never appear overwhelmed when I interact with them. I force on the brave and confident face. I’m not me when I’m in front of cameras or important people, I’m Y/N Voss. I’m two very different people.

While I’m lost in thought, I get stuck when one photographer gets too close to my face with his camera and blinds me for a second. Sam and Penelope don’t notice my absence amongst the chaos until another photographer barks at the other to back off. Then, I feel Sam’s hand slip into mine and he protectively escorts me toward the door with determination.

“ANYTHING YOU TWO WANT TO SHARE ABOUT HOLLYN AND ELLIOT FOR NEXT SEASON?”

Hollyn and Elliot are Sam and my’s characters from The Seasons of Life, the show we star in together. Our characters have been on again off again for the past two seasons. According to the last season’s finale, the two are currently together, but of course, the season ended on a cliffhanger so their relationship isn’t very stable.

“Sorry guys, can’t share anything!” Sam answers, sounding a tad irritable.

“ANYTHING IN REAL LIFE? YOU TWO WERE BOTH IN NEW YORK THIS WEEKEND!”

“That’s true, but we never have the chance to meet up!” I reply nicely.

Press events for last season have come to an end and work officially begins in no time! Downtime for me is filming and it couldn’t come at a better time. I’ve missed being home in Los Angeles. Living out of a suitcase and sleeping each night on a plane isn’t the best way to live, at least for me. We finally reach the doors and I thank the heavens.

“Oh my gosh! There’s no way!” I hear what sounds like girls squealing and I slow down to see where it’s coming from. My hand slips from Sam’s as he goes on. When he’s determined to get away from the paparazzi, he can ignore the voices. Yet, when he notices that I do not follow he finally stops.

“Excuse me!” A girl calls amongst the clicking and shouting.

The paparazzi move aside a tad and create a path for me to see two young teens jumping up and down. They must be around fourteen I’m guessing, younger than me at least. I approach them to see what’s the matter. I can hardly see anything with all the bright lights.

“Hi! How are you?” I greet but once I get closer and cover my eyes with the flashing lights, I recognize them. “Sarah! Emma! How are you two?”

These two have been some of my biggest supports. They run a Youtube channel and create content about their reactions to episodes of the series. Somehow they manage to make appearances at any events relating to the show. I’ve met them numerous times at events, so have other members of the cast. Besides being two of the sweets girls in the world, they’ve created a fan page for me on Instagram and Twitter.

“Good, good!” Emma replies eagerly.

“It’s been so long since we last saw you!” Sarah adds.

“It really has! When was the last time we saw each other? During the press tour?”

They nod in unison as though they’ve rehearsed it.

“Well, group hug!” I hold out my arms and they gladly accept.

“Can we get a picture?” Emma practically begs, bouncing on her heels.

“Of course!” I take Emma’s phone and hold it out to the crowd of paparazzi. “Could one of you take our picture by chance?”

Many of the guys offer and I select a random one in front of me.

“Squeeze in tight!” I tell the girls as I stand between them and we wrap our arms around each other.

“One, two, three!” The man takes a couple of shots and hands, Emma, back her phone.

“Thank you!” The three of us say together.

We all hover over her phone to check out the pictures.

“So cute!” I awe at the photos.

“Y/N...” Sam places his hand on my back to usher me along.

“Oh, my-” Emma covers her mouth.

“Sam!” Sarah’s jaw is to the sidewalk.

“Hey girls!” he charmingly smiles.

He’s had the chance to meet them a few times while on the press tour and at other various events. I was there to introduce them which was one of the most entertaining moments of my life. I thought the girls were going to faint!

“Can we ask a quick question? It’s for our channel!” Sarah nervously bites her lower lip.

“Yeah, yeah, anything for you guys!” I answer without hesitation.

Sam wraps his arm around my waist while we’re talking to the girls and I don’t think much of it but the cameras begin to go nuts. The men behind them don’t say a word since we’re occupied but there they go *click* *click* click*.

“Is there any hope of you two getting together IRL?” Emma questions intently without hesitation.

I press my lips together with amusement and turn my head to Sam. He has the same look of pondering the question. He squints his eyes at me and then the two of us turn to the girls.

“Just friends,” we answer in unison.

“Best friends!” Sam adds playfully.

“Best friends forever ever!” I one-up him.

The two girls laugh with us, but it’s clear they’re a little disappointed.

“Well, I still bet on you two,” Sarah confidently points out.

Sam and I get a kick out of it. Our viewers want us together too.

“We better get going, our moms are waiting,” Emma informs us.

“Okay, quick hug!” I order and the four of us group hug.

We say our goodbyes and when the girls disappear the men behind the cameras start yelling.

“YOU’RE GREAT Y/N!”

“HOW DID YOU KNOW THEM?”

“Their names are Emma and Sarah. They run a popular Youtube channel, Twitter, and Instagram accounts for the show. Super sweet girls those two!”

“DO YOU KNOW ALL YOUR FANS?”

“I try to! I know a good amount!” I grin proudly.

Sam guides me into the restaurant and his hand never leaves my back. All of it is platonic of course, nothing more. As I told the paparazzi before, there isn’t enough time in my life for me to share any with someone.

 ________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast

[shiilohs]

shiloh griffin ( she/they ) is a nonbinary, twenty-six year old baker @ blackberry bakery who has been living in moorbrooke for twenty-two years. they were born on september 13th and right now, they are currently residing in maple court. it has been said that they look suspiciously like devery jacobs and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose i know the end by phoebe bridgers. ( salem, 25, est, they/them )

it meeeee, just dropping some info about my sweet lil cinnamon roll shiloh.

legal name: shiloh grace griffin known as: shiloh dob / age: september 13 / 26 zodiac: virgo gender / pronouns: nonbinary / she/they orientation: pansexual birthplace: buffalo, new york current location: moorbrooke, maine occupation: baker / cashier  

shiloh was born in upstate new york, where she spent the first couple months of her life. with an absent father and a young mother with a life still ahead of her, the decision was made to place shiloh up for adoption. from there, she lived in several different homes throughout the early part of her life until one day, when she was four, a family from maine started the process of adopting her officially.

at a young age, shiloh formed a close bond with the father at one of the homes she lived in. the two shared a love of cooking and baking. through him, shiloh learned her first introduction to kitchen skills. she was always eager to learn more, and this foster father even went to the trouble of looking up some traditional mohawk recipes for them to learn, helping shiloh stay connected to her culture. 

on any given day, between the hours of eleven a.m. to twenty thirty, shiloh can almost certainly be found at the local coffee shop, usually at a corner table sipping a matcha latte with headphones on, celebrating the end of her early bakery shift. despite her sometimes grumpy mood, she would actually definitely consider herself a morning person, and these few hours to unwind after getting done with her work are her favorite.

shiloh is known to lose herself in books for hours. this voracious appetite for reading started at a young age with curiosity to research about her indigenous heritage. from there, she branched out to just about any book she could get her hands on. she likes to go out of her way to select old books or books about things she's barely heard of. she's a lover of learning new things.

personality-wise,  an acquaintance would be likely to describe shiloh as: charming, amiable, and thoughtful. all of these and more are true, but despite her laidback and friendly nature, she can also be anxious, sensitive, and has a bad habit of being avoidant. over time, she's come to understand it as a leftover remnant of her childhood; she doesn't have too many bad memories of growing up the way she did, but even in adulthood, she can't quite shake the urge to resist becoming attached to things, that everything around her may be temporary.

 wanted connection ideas:

childhood friends / bakery customers / friendly acquaintances / sibling-like friendship / past romantic connections / anything! 

[saturngrqy]

So Close to Magic (OC) Prologue

Helloooooo everyoneee this is kinda an intro to my new series. I hope you like it hehehehehhehehehehehehe i love y’all

-

When June was younger, she would sit at the dinner table and listen to her mom and dad fight for hours on and on and on. She would pay attention to how her mom would fall into her seat every time her dad screamed in her face, and how she would pick at her food shamefully while he would throw glasses against the wall. 

Eventually, June just started to skip out on family dinners. She would come down to grab a plate then go upstairs and put on old episodes of victorious to drown out the volume from downstairs. 

In sixth grade, she became friends with Caylee, a girl she had met in her history class, they were made partners one day for a project on Mesopotamia. Whenever June was invited over, she noticed how her parents sat comfortably on the couch, watching reruns of ‘I Love Lucy’. She quickly realized how much she hated staying over there, and ever since then they only ever hung out at June’s when one of her parents were absent. By the time she was 11, June had given up on any future hope of having a happy family with a loving husband. 

Eighth grade, June’s parents finally filed for divorce, and she moved in with her mom who for some reason only decided to move about a mile away from her ex- husband. Caylee and June began to hang out more now that she only had one parent at home, and freshman year started and they were closer than ever.

June met Grayson at a football game freshman year, the game had ended and June watched him exit the field, pulling the bottom of his jersey to his face to wipe the sweat off his forehead, showcasing his somehow already developed six- pack. 

June pointed to Grayson and whispered in Caylee’s ear a quick ‘that dude is so hot’ before Caylee rolled her eyes and pushed her through the crowd of people exiting the stadium. 

One of Grayson’s teammates had thrown a party after school to celebrate their first win of the season, and June and Caylee had attended, sitting in the corner to themselves practically the entire time, afraid of talking to people other than themselves because the party was mainly sophomores and juniors. 

Caylee and June had been talking about a girl in their grade who had cheated on her boyfriend when Grayson was pushed into June’s back by Ethan accidentally. Grayson turned around quickly muttering a quiet ‘sorry’ softly touching her shoulder shrugging her off before running back to Ethan. 

June remembered how electric his touch was, and how it sent shockwaves through her arm. She smiled back to him in forgiveness, glancing back at Caylee. 

Second semester of freshman year, Grayson and June were put into the same geometry class. June was struggling trying to figure out the pythagorean theorem when her teacher assigned Grayson as her partner to sort of tutor her. 

By the end of the February, June and Grayson grew to be best friends. Caylee and Ethan ended up becoming friends too, and you were all exclusively your own friend group.

Grayson finally asked June out mid- april, giving her a bouqet of her favorite roses. June said yes, assuming that their relationship would be over within a month. However, by junior year, they were still going strong. 

Grayson, June, Caylee, and Ethan were the friend group everyone wanted to be apart of. They hung out every week, had sleepovers every weekend, and carpooled to school together. They threw huge parties, went to eachother’s sports games, etc etc. 

If you asked someone about June and Grayson, they’d say they were ‘endgame’. They were the couple everyone wanted to be. 

-

[thewayshedreamed]

This Time— Part 5

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

This chapter was a tough one for me to write. I got stuck a few times with the order of things (for this chapter and the following ones). Once I decided on that, the angst in this one was a little emotional for me to write, then edit. So, proceed with caution. That’s the official angst warning!

On a more positive note, this is a definitive turning point toward resolution, so it WILL get better! Thanks again for all of you who have offered your feedback and followed the story. Knowing y’all are enjoying this little au with me makes it all the more fun to write 😊

Trigger warning for short depiction of grief.

——————————————————————————

Birthday breakfast was really more of a birthday lunch the day after celebrating at Rita’s. Elain was sitting at the small island of Nesta’s kitchen, nursing a Gatorade and holding her head in her hands. Feyre was next to her scrolling through her phone. She was doing intel on their group’s collective social media updates, and so far, there were no embarrassing posts to deal with.

Nesta was mixing pancake batter, periodically folding in chocolate chips. Chocolate chip pancakes were reserved for Archeron birthdays or holidays, and they looked forward to sharing them when the occasions presented themselves. She poured some of the batter into her skillet, absently watching for bubbles as her indicator they were ready to flip. After making the initial flip, she walked to her refrigerator and produced a bottle of champagne with orange juice.

“Who wants to open the champagne for birthday mimosas?” She set both bottles on the island, with glasses, before turning her attention back to the pancakes. Elain’s only response was a long groan. Feyre giggled, pulled the champagne toward her, and started untwisting the cage over the cork.

“What’s the expression, El? Hair of the dog? It may make you feel better.” She stood away from the island to pop the cork. The last things they needed were physical injuries.

“I guess it can’t make me feel any worse, right?” She picked her head up from her hands. “I’m going to go grab my phone,” she said, with a cringe. She padded away to Nesta’s room, returning seconds later. She was scrolling through her phone as she walked and stopped short once she met the threshold of the kitchen, a horrified expression on her face.

”Why the fuck would I have deleted all of my texts last night?!” Her voice was more shrill than normal, and her sisters’ eyes grew at her use of “fuck” during pancake breakfast.

It was Feyre who dared answer her. “Umm... I have no idea. Maybe it was an accident?”

”That’s a pretty impressive accident.” Nesta realized her comment wasn’t helping as her sisters glared in her direction.

Elain continued. “I’ll tell you why. Because drunk me tried to hide something from sober me.” She paused for a second, blushing. “My evidence, in case you were wondering, is a text from Azriel that says: ‘*laugh emoji* Not cool. You had me worried there for a minute, Ellie. Goodnight. Hope you enjoyed your birthday.’” She glanced up at them in horror.

Nesta gave her a small smile. “Ellie, I’m sure it’s nothing. Even drunk you couldn’t have said anything too terrible. Maybe just talk to Az? It would be better than wondering.”

Elain sat down, her anxiety palpable in the small kitchen. She was quiet save for the nod she’d given her sister in acknowledgment of her advice. Nesta assumed maybe she could use a little more encouragement since she didn’t look wholly convinced.

“I really think it’ll be okay. Az is reasonable and has probably said his own fair share of drunken things he would care to take back.” She offered a short chuckle before sipping her mimosa. “You could call him, maybe, or—“

”Nes, are you really preaching to me about communication right now?”

Nesta blinked, taken aback by the irritation in Elain’s voice. “I wasn’t trying to preach, El. I just meant you didn’t have to worry and could trust Az to give you a chance to—“

”The same way you gave Cassian a chance to fix whatever the hell you’re holding against him? Why should Az be any more gracious than you’ve been?” Elain snapped. Her shoulders rounded a little at her own words, and Feyre’s eyes grew to the size of two steel blue saucers.

“Cauldron, Elain,” she said, looking from one sister to the other. Her back was straight, anticipating Nesta’s best weapons: her words.

Nesta took several seconds to reflect on their current situation. It was such an unexpected shift, where Elain was the one throwing insults, and Feyre, of all people, was defensive of Nesta. She wasn’t used to this type of interaction with Elain, and her words stung more than she was willing to admit. She finished her mimosa in one swift gulp and placed her dishes in the sink.

“Lucky for you, Azriel is nowhere near as disappointing, or shitty, as I am. I’m going to shower while you two finish breakfast. I’ll bring you home when you finish.” Her tone was neutral, dry even. By all measures, it was on the milder side for Nesta. She was halfway to the bathroom when she heard Elain’s wavering voice.

“Nes, wait. I’m sorry I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t ever apologize for saying what you mean, Elain,” she said, coldly, before walking the rest of her way. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough, wanting to leave the gaping wound that Elain had ripped open far behind her.

——————————————————————————

The following week went by fairly quickly. Elain and Nesta had made up within the day, Elain insisting that she had spoken from her own nerves rather than how she truly felt. She asked if Nesta wanted to talk about what happened with Cassian, but she declined, saying it wasn’t a big deal. She tasted the lie the second it left her mouth, but she shoved that down with everything else.

Her attention to the day of the week was higher than usual in anticipation of Wednesday. She was oddly preoccupied with a day that truly meant nothing to her, but it had haunted her since she overheard Cassian’s conversation with Alis. When the day finally arrived, she found herself ruminating over their conversation, letting her imagination run wild with the possibilities of how they were spending their time.

She told herself that she didn’t care beyond the fact that he would usually tell her all about these sorts of things. Gods, it bothered her to no end that she wasn’t his person anymore.

That Thursday, she found herself getting ready for dinner with Tomas. He had called her that Monday to see if she’d like to go out, and she didn’t have a reason not to. She may have even wanted to go. The downside, when the day arrived, was that it happened to be a particularly brutal work day. She was at home touching up and mentally preparing herself for a couple of hours of conversation. She would usually call Cassian for pep talks on days like this, but their non-friendship was a dealbreaker in that department. Not to mention, he likely wouldn’t have cared to give her a pep talk for this particular night. Gods, it bothered her to no end that he wasn’t her person anymore, either.

Dinner had been fine enough. Tomas looked handsome and seemed completely engaged with her the entire night. He was interested in her work, how her life had been since he’d last seen her, and her friends. He made brief mention of her mother and how he had been really sad to hear that she passed a few years ago. His condolences were sincere, but Nesta found herself oddly defensive at his mention of her. He hadn’t known her well, since their relationship hadn’t lasted long, and she felt like he couldn’t possibly imagine the void she left in their lives.

She resisted any response beyond a “thank you”, knowing that her reaction was likely due to her death anniversary coming up within the week. The rest of the night had gone well. The food was good, the conversation was fine, Tomas was fine. They had a fine time together. Everything was just fine.

Which is why, she assumed, that Tomas had tried to kiss her at the end of the night. He had driven her home, walked her to the door, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away, his cheek lingered next to hers, face turning toward her in slow motion. She cleared her throat abruptly and reached into her bag for her key.

“Well, thanks for tonight! I had a nice time.” She had the key in the lock, and she was already mentally selecting her sweatpants for the evening.

“Wait.” Thomas grabbed her elbow, turning her around. “Why are you being so weird? I thought we had a good time?”

”We did. I just said I had a nice time.”

”You seem to be rushing out pretty fast for a person having fun.” He paused for a few seconds to allow her to insist that she was having fun, or to invite him inside, she thought. She did neither.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Is it Cassian?”

She knew she was balking at him, but she didn’t have it in her to control it.

“Are you kidding me? Just because I’m ending the night without kissing you or asking you to come inside and fuck me, there has to be a man responsible? Could it be because this night has taken us as far as it was ever going to?” She rolled her eyes, turned the key, and walked inside. “Goodnight, Tomas,” she said, as she shut the door in his face.

She kicked her shoes off in her entryway and tossed her purse onto the small table next to her door. She removed her dress over her head as she walked purposefully to her bedroom and ripped her sweatpants out of the too-full drawer. She pulled on an extra large t-shirt and went to the kitchen to pour herself some red wine. She settled onto her couch, put on some mindless television, and tried to relax.

She reflected over the night’s events. She was honest when she told Tomas that they had a fine time. She had enjoyed herself tonight, and she started to feel a twinge of guilt for snapping at him in her doorway. He hadn’t done anything wrong before asking that question, and if she was honest with herself, she knew why it bothered her so much. It’s not that he wasn’t handsome, that he was unkind, or that he was disrespectful. It wasn’t even that he had misjudged and asked the wrong question. The truth hammered through her brain like an ambush, and she was utterly incapable of stopping it.

He’s not Cassian.

——————————————————————————

Nesta watched several episodes of a home renovation show as she worked through her bottle of wine. She decided that it was the perfect type of show to watch on nights like tonight, where she was knee-deep in her thoughts. Her earlier revelation had sunken its claws into her brain, and she was having trouble thinking of anything else. She wasn’t sure at what point she had stopped fighting it— either glass 2 or glass 3. She finally allowed herself to take a critical look at all these pent up emotions, and noteworthy memories of Cassian started to play through her mind like a montage.

She is sitting in the passenger seat of an older, black pick-up truck. Cassian is driving, and they have the windows down to feel the cool fall breeze. They’re going for a leisurely drive because he got his license just yesterday, and he loves the freedom it’s given him. He doesn’t have to be a slave to his home life or his abusive father anymore. He can just drive. She makes a joke, and he’s laughing now. His mid-length waves are dancing around his face, and he turns to look at her for mere seconds before looking back at the road.

She sipped her wine thoughtfully, noting the memory as the first time he ever took her breath with how beautiful his joy could be. She remembered how her chest had burst with pride at being able to make him laugh and smile like that, despite his pain. She noted now what she was too scared to admit then: there was little she wouldn’t do to protect his happiness.

It’s junior prom, and she’s posted against the wall with a bottle of water. Her date is a total jerk, and she’s hoping that maybe he’ll just leave. His departure would be better than pretending to enjoy herself anymore. She sees Cassian approaching her from her left. He looks so much more mature in his tux, half of his waves tied back in a knot at the back of his head.

“Hey, Archie. Where’s your date?”

She chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I think I like it that way. He’s kind of the worst.”

Cassian frowns. “Well, he’s an idiot, then. Dance with me?” He extends his hand to her, palm up, and offers her a half-smile. He looks almost nervous, and her heart swells with affection for him.

“Always. You’re my favorite person here.”

She wiped the tears from her face, not sure of when she started crying. The feeling now so vivid; her favorite person. The truth of that statement refused to be downplayed. She shook her head, realizing it to be as accurate as ever.

It’s her sophomore year of college, and her friends are at a local bar celebrating the end of finals. She hasn’t been able to see them nearly as often this semester, and she’s enjoying their time together. At a certain point, a guy she doesn’t know gets awfully too comfortable with her, and he’s touching her all over. She tries to walk away, and he grips her arm tightly as she fights against him. He’s so much stronger than she is, but her brain can only focus on getting away from him. Just before the panic sets in, she sees two familiar figures approaching from the side. Faster than she can note what is really happening, Azriel is separating the guy’s hand from Nesta’s arm and is shoving him too easily away from her. She’s immediately wrapped in a tight hug, her face tucked tightly into Cassian’s chest. She inhales his scent as she steadies her breath, and she clutches the back of his shirt like a lifeline. She isn’t truly crying, but tears are starting to pool in her eyes from the sheer relief of being safe with him. He pulls back only as much as he needs to cup her face with his hands. His brow is deeply furrowed as he scans her face in that knowing way of his, and his lips form a tight line. He is painfully concerned. He is furious. He is fighting all of those things to remain even for her.

“Are you okay? Nes, please. Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

”I’m okay.” Her response is quiet, robotic.

“He’s gone. Azriel took care of it.”

She was yearning for a sense of normalcy, the intensity of his care becoming too much. She resorts to humor as she usually does.

“I’m surprised. It’s usually you who runs straight to the front lines. Forever the hero.” She cracks a small smile, hoping it’ll comfort him.

He’s still holding her face in his large hands. He drops his gaze briefly as he shakes his head, and when he looks back at her face, he’s wearing an ironic sort of smile.

“All I could see was you.”

The memory knocked the breath out of her, having been so long since she had thought about it. She understood his meaning then, but it hit her with a renewed vigor now. She superseded his basic instincts to protect, eliminate the threat. When it came to her, he trusted no one else and had to personally ensure she was okay. He would throw himself between her and anyone or anything that threatened her, and he would do it happily. Her heart clenched as she thought about how no one else could have made her feel comfortable or calmed her under those circumstances. Another tear rolled down her cheek at how careless she had been with his heart and how much she had taken him for granted. At how much she had always lied to herself. Because she was feeling particularly masochistic, she entertained one last memory, her tears pouring.

Her mother is terminally ill, and the doctors believe she will leave them any day now. It’s 3 AM, and her phone rings. Her father tells her she’s gone, and she holds herself together until she hangs up the phone. She is panicking; can’t catch her breath. Her father is calling Elain and Feyre, and they are supposed to meet at his house when they can get themselves ready. She doesn’t know how she will face this. She can’t do it. She can’t do it. She Can’t. Do. It.

Her fingers work automatically, pressing Cassian’s contact and putting him on speaker phone. Holding it to her face seems too taxing, and her tears will smear all over the screen. He answers in two rings, his voice gravelly with sleep.

”Nes?”

Her only answer is a choked sob, followed by several attempts at catching her breath.

“Nesta. I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me.”

She complies, finally mastering herself enough to say, “Momma” through her sobs.

“Nesta. Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m in the truck now. Please stay with me.”

Everything else is a blur except for hearing him come through her door. He opens her bedroom door swiftly, obviously in a hurry to get to her. He leaves the bedroom light off, allowing the hallway lighting to be his guide to her. His weight is shifting the mattress next to her, and he’s leaning against the headboard. He easily pulls her into his lap, and she’s tucking her face into his neck as she cries. She curls her legs into herself, and he holds her for what feels like seconds and years. She feels something wet soaking into the shoulder of her t-shirt and realizes his tears are falling as well.

He drives her to her father’s once she’s ready, holding her hand the entire way. He never leaves her side the days following, through arrangements, the ceremony, and family visitations. He makes sure she eats on somewhat of a schedule because time is all an illusion to her. He sleeps on her couch every night for the couple of weeks following, knowing bedtime is the hardest time for her, and she won’t want to be alone. She is so touched by his dedication, and she isn’t sure she could do this life without him.

She cried for a long time, only recovering when she felt like she had nothing left to give. She was hardly surprised at the landslide of emotions tackling her considering she had been repressing them for the entirety of their friendship. It was now apparent to her what should have always been apparent: she was in love with Cassian.

She was in love with him, but she had been myopic for so long that she may have finally exhausted his love for her.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Well, here it is. We’re nearing the end of this one, and I’m excited to get the rest up for y’all. As always, your feedback/ comments are welcome! If you’d like to be tagged, feel free to message, comment, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you to the tag list.

Tags are below!

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy // @iammissstark // @keshavomit // @sjmships // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @dusty-lightbulb // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @julemmaes // @charincharge // @superspiritfestival // @awesomelena555 // @sleeping-and-books // @hizqueen4life // @maastrash // @bookstantrash // @rhyswhitethorn // @grace-k-sterling // @sayosdreams // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @ladywitchling // @b00kworm //

[kimannhart]

Here is part two to THIS ficlet I wrote a couple of days ago. Though, this can be read as a stand alone fic. 

Also, I’ll most likely be posting this fic in its entirety on ao3 once I figure out a title. So if you haven’t read the first part and wanna wait, keep ya eyes on my ao3 for it!

mentions of injury cw

~~

It’s been about four months since Tony’s last stunt in the hospital, and ever since then, neither Bucky nor Sam have left his side. And to be quite frank, it was driving Tony insane. He hasn’t had a single moment alone, anytime he had to use the restroom, one of the men would be hanging outside the door. If Tony had a business meeting at SI, Bucky would always be lurking nearby. In their most recent battle, both men disregarded Steve’s orders and decided to fight nearby Tony. The only reason Tony hasn’t snapped at the two to leave him alone yet is because he was hanging onto the hope that he would be traveling alone for SI business overseas. (He had ordered JARVIS to keep his AI mouth shut about it. And Tony didn’t even have to beg Steve to keep quiet about his future travels. Instead Steve just looked at him with pity and nodded that he wouldn’t say a word to Bucky or Sam.)

So, here Tony was now, quickly trying to pack the bare minimum before Bucky and Sam came back home from their forced date night. Sharon, bless her soul, acted as his savior for his getaway and told Bucky and Sam to go out on a date to give Tony some peace. To which the two refused to go on at first, but quickly agreed before Sharon threatened to call her soulmate, Pepper. Not wanting to face the scolding of Pepper, the two men easily backed down and said they’d be back within an hour. 

As soon as Tony was done, he hopped into the car with Happy and made his way to the airport. The moment that the plane was in the air, Tony finally was able to relax. He was finally free from the watchful eyes of Bucky and Sam.

Tony absently starts to rub against the right side of his chest, the spot where his soul mark—a snake wrapping itself amongst a small bouquet of gladiolus and proteas—laid against his skin. A part of him knew that he should admit to Bucky and Sam that he was their third soulmate, but those dark thoughts always prevent him from doing so. Tony sighs to himself and decides to focus on SI business instead.

Once Tony reaches his hotel, he finally checks his phone and is bombarded with a swarm of texts, with most of them coming from Bucky and Sam, which isn’t surprising at all, wondering where he went, why he didn’t say anything, when he’s coming back, and just more questions. Though, instead of answering the questions, Tony makes the decision of turning off his phone and shoves it into one of the drawers in his hotel room. 

~~

The days went by and Tony was genuinely surprised that neither Bucky or Sam decided to hop onto a plane to where he was. But he assumes the reason they hadn’t is because the rest of their friends had convinced them not to go. Well, whatever the reason, Tony was just grateful to roam around by himself.

Tony was currently walking towards some cafe to grab himself a pastry when all of a sudden he hears piercing screams. Quickly, he dashes towards the screams and is greeted to a man dressed to the nines that is terrorizing citizens.

“I couldn’t have one week of peace?” Tony mutters to himself. He jumps into the action. Though, it wasn’t long before he felt pain and succumbed to the darkness.

~~

Tony slowly awakes and silently internally to himself when he realizes he’s back in the hospital. He feels someone nudge a spoon at his mouth and obediently opens, instantly grateful for the cool ice chips that melt in his mouth. Tony opens his eyes and is met with Steve’s worried face. 

“Couldn’t keep yourself out of trouble, could you Shellhead?”

“Wouldn’t be me if I did, Winghead.” Tony looks around his room, a bit surprised that he wasn’t greeted to Bucky or Sam’s faces. 

“They’re in the waiting room,” Steve answers, knowing what Tony was about to ask. “They’re, uh, a bit angry at you at the moment.” 

Angry? What could the two be angry at him about? For landing himself in the hospital again?

“Do you remember how you ended up here Tony?”

“I was fighting some guy, right?”

Steve nods. “But what you didn’t know was that he has some powers. He managed to stab the left side of your chest pretty badly with one small motion of his fingers before getting away.” Steve stops for a moment, debating with himself if he should tell Tony what he and the rest of the world saw.

“Tell me, Steve,” Tony presses, “What else happened?”

Steve gives Tony an apologetic look before continuing. “Someone tried helping you, you know to try to get the bleeding to stop. But they had to rip up your shirt...”

Tony starts to panic, not liking where Steve is going with this.

“... they exposed your soul mark, Tony. Someone managed to take a photo of it and post it on social media. JARVIS managed to get it down quickly, but it was too late. Gossip sites had already took screenshots and started writing up stories, which Pepper and the rest of our PR team is completely furious about.” Steve stops talking, letting Tony come to terms with what happened. “I’m sorry, Tony,” he adds in while giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

Tony waits a few moments before finally asking, “So, they know?”

“They know.”

“Fuck.”

~~

The following day, Sam and Bucky walked into Tony’s room and sat themselves down in the chairs next to his bed and stared. 

“Hi, boys.” 

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Sam asks, getting straight to the point.

Tony looks down and shakes his head. 

“Why?” Bucky’s voice cracks. “Are we, are we not good enough for you? Is our mark that shameful to you?”

“No, no, no, no,” Tony quickly replies. “It’s me who’s not good enough for either of you!” Before either men could respond back, Tony starts to explain. “It’s just, you two are just so amazing, strong, and undoubtedly the most courageous people I’ve ever met. And I know I’m none of that!” He hesitantly points to his head, “I just, I have these thoughts...”

“What kind of thoughts?” Sam softly asks. “Are they bad ones?” he presses when Tony doesn’t answer.

Tony nods before finally breaking down the walls he put around his soul and lets the tears fall.

The three men spend the rest of the night talking and understanding one another. By the end of the conversation, Tony promises to finally see a therapist and to see a psychiatrist to see if he wants to put onto antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. While Bucky and Sam made promises to be there for Tony and when to back off to give him alone time. The three of them also decided to see a group therapist together in order to help them communicate and understand the changes in their relationship.

~~

THREE YEARS LATER

Tony groans when he hears Bucky open the curtains to let in the sunlight. He turns and hides his face in Sam’s side. “Clos’ the ‘urtains, babe.”

“Nope, you both promised me a morning hike to celebrate our new freedom from the job, and that’s what we’re doing today!” Bucky lightly smacks both his soulmates on their respective asses before pulling the blanket and sheets off of them. “Up! Up! Up!”

“Fuck off.” Sam lazily throws a pillow at Bucky’s face. “We’re retired now, we can hike tomorrow.” 

“What Sam said.”

Bucky raises a brow before getting an idea. “If the two of you get up now, we can have some kinky outdoor sex on the top of a mountain.”

At the mention of sex, Sam and Tony immediately get out of bed.  

“That always works,” Bucky chuckles. “I love you both!” he shouts out as he starts to make their bed, smiling when he hears Tony and Sam shout it back.

[yuzukult]

try again, || jaehyun & reader

title: try again, pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: idol!au, angst-y (i guess) words: 2.1k prompt: you should know that I’m always on your side, please remember my answer is you. note: inspired by the song try again by d.ear & jaehyun... i tried with this one, but it got hard to finish because i forgot where i was going with it.... i guess you can call this a drabble???????? also i have not revised this my 5th time yet. lol i will probably edit this as time goes on

Every long-term relationship goes through the “humps.” There’s three separate occasions: the three year hump, five year hump, then lastly the seven year hump. Many people tackle these hurdles, some fortunate enough to win and survive, but some wistfully slip. 

You and Jaehyun failed the three year hump.

The obstacle was inevitable and surviving these challenges with him as an idol, periodically on tour when part of these issues arise didn’t make it any easier. The three-year mark resulted in a mutually angry break-up, only lasting a few months before he came back to Seoul. Healed from the fall, you thought that you were strong enough to face him. It was a lie-- the moment that you saw his face, you fell in love all over again.

Getting back together was easy. The two of you even made a pact that this wouldn’t ever happen again, and preventing it would require more communication and effort. Jaehyun was your end-game, despite the struggles of dating a celebrity, and the feelings were reciprocated.

So when the fifth year was approaching, it was no surprise that you could even feel it in the air that something was different.

Coming home everyday wasn’t the same anymore. The house echoed with silence; his slippers by the door remained vacant incessantly, and his roar of laughter isn’t here to fill the rooms with warmth. Your phone doesn’t ring with a text from him asking if you had gotten home safely nowadays, and expectations for video calls have dropped to none.

Jaehyun doesn’t “come home” lately, or at least, your home, but when he does, it means arriving during the late hours of the night and leaving at the brink of dawn. The incandescent grin that stuck on his face that comes as a package with the dimples that indent his cheeks were absent from your life now. His scent hasn’t remained in the house for months, evidence to his missing presence.

Sleeping without him proved arduous. Your eyes begging for slumber but your mind wouldn’t rest with the negative thoughts that swarmed your head.

Then there was speculation amongst social media-- every possible platform, and your phone overflowed with text messages from those who were “close” to you were all of him with new arm candy, a new beau.

It’s two in the morning, and you’re fighting with your inner self on whether or not to call in sick to work tomorrow. Snatching the carton of milk in the fridge, you grab a mug settled in the cabinet before pouring yourself a drink. Placing it into the microwave and tapping a couple of the buttons on the screen, the humming of the appliance is the only sound that floods the room.

The doorknob of the front door rattles, and he comes in with newly dyed blue disheveled hair wearing his clothes from practice, dropping his duffle bag by the door and his keys thrown into the bowl on the entryway’s table. There was no greeting nor kiss as he immediately makes his way into the kitchen.

“She’s just a co-star. We’re filming a music video, and afterwards she said she was going to grab us all coffee, and I felt bad if she went alone. I mean, there’s ten of us.” His eyes hasn’t even looked directly at you, yet somehow he knew what was running through your head.

“I didn’t say anything.” You mutter, attention wavering to the beeping of the microwave.

“You didn’t have to.” He’s standing what feels like hundreds of meters away from you. The light in the room is dim, nearly as though it reads the tension in the atmosphere.

“She’s pretty,” You say before gripping onto the warm beverage before hissing at the impact of the hot ceramic against your fingertips.

“What are you insinuating?”

You’re silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s time we should talk about us.”

Jaehyun is the guy who doesn’t say much. He’s a level-headed person, soft spoken, and sensitive yet reserved, but capable of opening his heart. He’s the one you admire from afar with his breathtaking features, a radiant smile that can wipe an entire nation, with his popular group of friends, and friendly demeanor. Even when he’s trying his best not to shine in a sea of people, he’s under the spotlight. It’s impossible for Jung Jaehyun to be just a regular person.

But recently, his heart just doesn’t feel open to you. He didn’t seem to glisten in your gaze anymore.

“What’s wrong with us?” He precipitously makes his way behind you. You don’t recall hearing the creak of the hardwood floor underneath his feet; your heart skipping a beat when your back bumps into his chest abruptly.

“Talk to me.” You gulp. He’s so close-- and what it seems like have been forever since you’ve been even this intimate; the slightest touch from him sparks nostalgia. “What’s wrong with us?”

“You’re never here anymore.”

You can’t look at him, you just can’t. You shouldn’t, because just seeing his face might bring you to the brink of tears.

Your lives were so different. He was an idol with fans throwing themselves at his feet, and constantly inundated by a plethora of talent and beauty. His ambitions weren’t aligned to yours, and it’s a miracle that the relationship lasted this long. You had such an average life, working a 9-5 job, occasionally going out on weekends to meet up with friends, and spending the remaining free time by watching movies or shows. He was out in different countries, exploring continents you’ve never even been before, and meeting thousands of people almost weekly out on tour.

It didn’t help that the relationship was always a secret. There wasn’t initially any regret about it being hidden, but the insecurities eventually began to gnaw out your insides when swarms of beautiful women flirted so shamelessly with him in front of you when you’d previously gone out on discreet dates.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to be here more. There’s a comeback soon, so the hours at work are endless.” His baritone voice vibrates in his chest against your frame, something all too familiar but hasn’t appeared in a while.

Attempting to be empathetic was easier said than done when you’re angry with someone. Turning your body around, your stare sticking to his upper torso, refraining from looking into his eyes. From your peripheral vision, he’s indisputably exhausted, dark circles residing below his eyes after removing the day’s make-up from photoshoots and filming and visibly slimmer. It isn’t a competition but you were tired too.

“If... this is taking too much of your time,” The words get caught in your throat. “Maybe we should... let this go.”

His breath hitches, taking a moment to absorb the words you’re saying albeit his heart feels like it’s shattering. “It’s not taking much of my time.”

“That’s the problem, you’re not using any of your time with this to begin with.” Practicing in front of your mirror countless times before, you thought you'd recited every possible outcome of the conversation and what you’d argue to every response he had. You were confident until standing in front of Jaehyun. It lessens your assurance on the break-up because everything about him weakens your knees.

Jaehyun pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your waist before dropping his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a warm, gentle kiss against your skin. He couldn’t face you either. “Don’t do this.”

“There’s so many women out there that are better,” You sigh, swallowing the tears. He’s too great of a guy but you’d come to terms that maybe he wasn’t for you. “Someone else who can treat you better. You can’t give me what I want.”

Grabbing your shoulders, he obligates you to look into his eyes as he knits his brows. “Those women aren’t you. Tell me what you want, I’ll do it.”

“Jaehyun, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I don’t get what you mean. We’re talking about this and I’m trying to make it work.”

“That’s the other problem, I don’t want you to make it work anymore. You have to want this, do things willingly and not because I forced you to. It’s different now. I don’t think you love me the same way I do.”

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong,” his eyes are gradually brimming with tears, and you can almost hear the sound of your heart breaking, “I’ve always loved you, I never stopped.”

Jaehyun never cries. He’s all laughs and smiles but never manifestly melancholic. He was great at hiding it but never with you. Overtime, it felt as though the only mood he had was irritation and fatigue, and only his friends and fans were given the opportunity to see the beautiful side of Jaehyun. Seeing him unsteady with your decision made it difficult to leave. Even when the relationship fell apart the first time, he didn’t even seem like he cared. He wanted to portray himself as perfect-- and he was successful at it.

His hand reaches up to push a strand of your hair away from your face and moves it behind your ear. Cupping your cheeks, he leans in, his soft, plump lips capturing yours. He fit into you like the missing piece of a puzzle, and you craved for his touch. Your mind wanted to fight him, push him off and tell him that this was over with because you couldn’t take it anymore. With him pressed up on you against the kitchen counter, he’s the cause of your foggy head and you forget what your mind tells you to do.

Letting go, saliva strings between the two of you, but neither of you are bothered by it. His eyes held despair when they linked with yours, tugging you into his embrace. “These people that step into my life aren’t here for the mutual benefits. They’re all here for my name as a celebrity, they care about who I am only when it has to do with them. They expect me to be perfect all the time, and it’s tiring.” He takes a moment to take a deep breath, nuzzling his nose into your neck, inhaling in your scent.

“When I come home to you, you don’t expect me to be perfect. And I know you still don’t, you just wish I tried. You were never persistent about me being a certain way, and I took it for granted. I just thought you’d always be by my side.”

“You know that I’m always here for you.”

“And I took advantage of that,” He responds, and there’s a sudden wetness on your neck. “That’s my flaw and it’s my fault. I want to be better for you, please let me try again.”

The emotions from the past few months start flooding back, and anger fills your bloodstream, reality hitting you in the face. “What’s going to be different from before? It’ll all still be the same.”

“It won’t.” His voice is stern, and steady, removing you from his grasp. “Come to our showings, come to our concerts, our recordings. Let’s not hide this anymore.”

You choke on your spit. “What?”

Jaehyun’s expression doesn’t change; he’s serious about his idea. “I’m sorry it took me five years, but it’s long overdue. I don’t think I can lose you, you’re my rock. I need you here. Please, think about it.”

“What are you going to be doing on this lovely Friday night?” A co-worker of yours asks, reaching up to your desk an hour before you’d be released from your duties for the weekend. 

“Honestly, not sure yet.”

She raises a brow, crossing her arms against her chest as she leans on the wall of the cubicle. “Hot boyfriend hasn’t had anything planned? If not, you should definitely come by to this new club that opened--”

“Sorry, she has plans.” Startled, the both of you turn your heads to the direction of the voice. Jaehyun’s standing in the walkway between the aisles of desks and cubicles that line up throughout the office, and you’re surprised he even finds yours. “Also, I’m not her boyfriend anymore. Didn’t she tell you, I’m her fiance.” He smiles cheekily, giving your coworker a glimpse of his dimples and raising the bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

His hair is slicked back with gel, the blue dye washed out and a dirty blonde comes out from underneath. He has on a white button-up, a couple buttons undone, sleeves rolled up and shirt tucked in his black slacks. Jaehyun walks over to you, handing you the bouquet before bowing at your coworker. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s our anniversary today.”

“Anniversary?” She glances at you questioningly.

“Yes. Happy 7th Year Anniversary, love.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

I really really love that your one chapter fic became a two chapters fic and that maybe it could turn into a three chapters one. I also love you are taking prompts. So one, what about Benny and Beth being themselves while Benny prepares to face Borgov and he actually wins this time? Ofc just an idea...

Copenhagen Revisited

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 3165

Summary: Two years after Beth beat Borgov, it's Benny's turn to face him. They make Cleo's West Berlin apartment their headquarters as Beth prepares Benny for the match.

Benny travels like Van Helsing—staring out the window of the plane with an expression of feverish determination. The fact that he’s compared Borgov to Dracula more than once may be what’s leading Beth to her own character association. Mostly, she’s just watching him and wishing he’d taken the aisle seat. He’s blocking the view.

“I can practically feel him breathing down my neck,” he complains, shifting in his seat and drawing his jacket closed protectively across his chest.

Beth rolls her eyes and sips their Coke through her straw.

“He’s never even beaten you that badly,” she remarks, passing the drink to Benny, who sucks absently at his own straw.

“But he could.”

She scoffs.

“How? You’re better than you were the last time you played him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” she says firmly, “you’ve played me a couple hundred times since then. Borgov’s not as tough to beat as I am. I proved that in Moscow two years ago.”

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t heard.”

Narrowing her eyes at him for his snark, she takes the Coke back and sets it on her lowered tray.

“You weren’t this nervous in New York.”

“We weren’t flying towards him in New York.” Benny tugs his jacket again. “And I’m not nervous.”

“Right. Well,” Beth reminds him, “you’ll have time to acclimate. That’s why we’re going early. And it’s not like Borgov’s going to be nearby. I don’t think being a celebrated chess player is enough to balance out his nationality in the eyes of West Berlin. Not exactly warm feelings towards Russians.”

“Is this a good idea?”

She looks at him carefully. He doesn’t usually ask her questions unless they’re rhetorical, teasing, or both.

“Yes,” she says decisively. “It was a good idea for Cleo to offer her apartment and it’s a good idea to go early. When we fly to Copenhagen in three weeks, you’ll be ready to give Borgov the same treatment you gave Najdorf.”

“You know journalists still ask me about that game?” Benny says, finally swiveling his face away from the window to meet her eye. “I was eight. I don’t even remember it. All I ever say about it is something I remember saying before. It’s just me quoting me quoting me—” He makes a rolling gesturing with his hand. “—all the way back to something I can only assume is the truth.”

Beth makes a dismissive noise.

“They print what they want anyway.”

“It’s lousy.”

“What is?”

“Feeling like a pawn. Can never move backward,” he mumbles.

“I’ve never chaperoned you to a tournament before,” she observes. “I didn’t realize the anticipation would make you so dramatic.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Maybe you’re not irreversibly out of touch with your eight-year-old self.”

He stares sulkily out the window.

“I get airsick,” he finally admits in a low voice.

“That’s what’s wrong?” Beth laughs. “No wonder you drive to all the domestic opens.” Taking pity, she passes him the Coke again. “Here, the carbonation will help.”

Benny drinks, then rests his head back against the seat with a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Vampire bastard,” he groans.

Beth holds the bottle for a minute, then places her cold hand against his forehead.

“It’s his slicked-back hair, isn’t it?” she guesses.

“Could be.”

—

Cleo isn’t at her Berlin apartment. She’s not in Berlin. She was planning to be, when she volunteered her place as Benny’s training ground, so Beth and Benny are doubly stupefied to hear that she left three days earlier for a job in Milan. Cleo’s neighbour tells them this—another model, Beth would guess, based on her arty haircut and the smudge of hazy blue eyeshadow around glazed eyes. She’s higher than they were when they flew over the Atlantic, but thankfully functional enough to press Cleo’s key into Benny’s hand. Her stoned, accented English stomps the ear like a heavy tread, then grinds the words like a cigarette beneath a boot heel. She also invites them to a party at her apartment later. They don’t make it; jetlag strikes and they collapse on Cleo’s bed, dragging the scrappy, colourful assortment of decorative shawls serving as blankets over themselves and falling asleep.

Unlike when Benny trained Beth in his underground apartment in New York, they can’t count on ’round the clock silence here. It’s a loud building, boisterous and bohemian, and the parties of Cleo’s neighbour seem to occur nightly. Beth confronts a startlingly hungover teenage girl tottering up the stairs one morning as she’s going down. She jumps. The girl is a reflection. The girl is a ghost. The girl is possibly swearing at Beth for staring, judging by the scowl accompanying the words that come grating from her dry throat.

Fortunately, nightly parties also mean that the place is quiet most of the day as people sleep off whatever they drank, smoked, injected, or otherwise ingested the previous evening. Quiet is good. Quiet is perfect. She and Benny take slugs of strong German coffee (Benny is especially pleased, though he only hums softly to show it) and play match after match until noon at the small table under Cleo’s kitchen window. With the window propped open, they listen to the rush of traffic below. Beth breathes deeply and watches Benny chew his lip as he contemplates his moves. Their focus is the endgame—Borgov’s specialty.

When she promises they won’t get up to anything like the neighbours next door, Beth’s able to coax Benny out some evenings. They take in the culture; she does it for the memory of Alma and suspects that Benny does it for her.

She scrunches her eyebrows together in confusion as they prepare to depart on a Friday and he’s not wearing his hat.

“You’re not forgetting your head,” she says carefully, “but it’s almost as serious.”

“I don’t want it getting in the way.”

Beth stares at him, waiting for clarification.

“Come on, kid. I’m taking you dancing.”

An hour later, in his arms, she says, “As your trainer, it should’ve been me forcing you to take a break.”

“Ah, it might not be your tournament, but you’re just as intense. You love to study.”

“Maybe I would’ve studied less if I knew that you knew how to dance.”

“Yeah, I’m sensational. Just don’t look at my feet.”

They laugh their way through it and, though she can’t actually hear them laughing over the volume of the band at the hole in the wall Benny dragged her into, she’ll recall the way his eyes squinted and his teeth showed and fill in the laughter after the fact. Their hands clasp and release and their fingers misalign in a haphazard grip and she laughs. She sways against him, clutching his half-unbuttoned black shirt, and feels his shudder. They hurry back to Cleo’s apartment and have sweaty, desperate sex against the wall just inside the door. Beth rakes her fingers through Benny’s uncovered hair, gasping. When they’re done, they receive a muffled cheer from the neighbouring apartment. She drops her forehead to his shoulder with a smile.

The time flies and, at Benny’s behest, their play becomes more disciplined. They only replicate Russian matches to reenforce the coldblooded style he’ll meet when he sits down across from Borgov. They begin to use a clock; up to this point, their exchanges were untimed, to allow for contemplation and debate following each move, if necessary. They even—finally—get fed up with the neighbours. Benny walks out of the apartment for fresh air and comes back with a bloody nose and reddened knuckles that are beginning to swell because, apparently, some hazy partygoer staggered into him in the hallway and they got into it for no good reason. Thank god he didn’t pull his knife. Beth’s witnessed enough nasty little fistfights behind Mrs. Deardorff’s back at the orphanage to assess that Benny’s nose isn’t broken, though the skin under his left eye very quickly begins to purple. Great. He’ll face Borgov looking like a pugilist. She prepares him a nice bundle of ice and accidentally drops it onto his hand to communicate her contempt for his stupidity. Reckless asshole.

“You could’ve at least told me you were really going out to pick a fight.”

“What would you have done?” Benny wonders, shifting the ice from his knuckles to his face with a wince. “Taken a couple swings yourself?”

Beth puffs up, straightening her spine.

“Of course.”

“Nah, honey, your nose is too pretty to chance it.”

She can’t decide: it’s either the endearment she doesn’t know what to do with or the implication that she’d be witless enough to stand there and take a jab to the center of her face that makes Beth rise and kick the leg of the chair Benny’s sitting right on the edge of. He looks mad enough when his backside hits the floor, but he sighs and glances up at her.

“You want a game?”

She smiles.

“I’ll play black.”

The night before they fly to Copenhagen, she sees it’ll take more than fresh air, yet another chess match, or a bop on the nose to calm him. He’s pacing, pointing, and lecturing—each habit sufficiently annoying on its own, but in conjunction? He’ll drive them both crazy if she lets him carry on.

“Come on, kid,” she says, and makes him sit on the edge of the bed instead of the chair.

Beth’s efficient at undoing buttons, even from behind, and has her back-buttoning blouse stripped off before Benny’s redirected his thoughts from the game they left set up on the board in the other room to what’s happening in front of him. When she starts unzipping her skirt, he catches her hands and takes over. She sits on his lap and rubs him through his jeans until he rolls her onto her back. Breathless and fumbling at his belt, Beth tells herself Cleo had to know they wouldn’t just be using her apartment to play chess. If there’s one language Cleo speaks more fluently than the others, it’s sex. Feeling absolved, Beth hooks her legs up around Benny’s hips.

—

“Well, well, well, look who’s still famous,” he mutters to her after jerking open the door of the venue to the sudden flutter of flashbulbs.

“I’m sorry,” Beth offers with a smirk. “I wore sunglasses and everything. I was trying to be inconspicuous.”

Benny grins back because that was never going to happen. She hasn’t exactly kept her head down for the last two years, steadily working her way through American Masters, felling them. It’s kind of a hobby. Still, she’s chosen an active chess career in the States over the spectacle of European tournaments, so for the international press, Beth’s appearance today is quite an occasion. But it doesn’t trouble Benny. He’s never struggled with monopolizing the spotlight.

“I’ll answer five questions before my first match,” he announces, arm around Beth’s waist. “Who’s first?”

“Mr. Watts, what’s it like to be back in Copenhagen?”

“Great. It’s been a while. The flight was quick with no turbulence, exactly how I like it.”

“Your eye—have you been in a fight?”

“Chess is a rough sport.”

“How are you feeling going into your first match?”

“Prepared.”

“Do you plan to meet Borgov in the final on Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“What is your relationship with Miss Harmon?”

Benny glances sideways at her. Above her sunglasses, Beth raises an eyebrow. Some people might be thrown by the abrupt switch in subject matter, but the moment of hesitation as he parts his lips to answer is mischievous.

“Waiting for her to make an honest man outta me. That’s five, boys,” he points out, lifting a hand that does double duty as an acknowledgement and a brushing aside motion; it parts the small crowd and he guides Beth through.

“Well now they definitely won’t print anything about you.”

“Sure they will. My name right alongside yours: ‘Watts and Harmon.’ Maybe ‘Harmon and Watts’—sounds a little better. Anyway, they’ve got enough to suggest that we’ve been working together and that’s the edge that’ll get to Borgov.”

“If he picks up a paper between tomorrow and Saturday,” Beth clarifies.

“He will. Or somebody’ll do it for him. One of his KGB babysitters, probably. They seem like they’d be gossips. But Borgov’ll hear about it and the mention of your name will put the fear of god into him.”

“Oh, it will, will it?”

“No question.” He halts and looks at her seriously. “You mind if we find someplace quiet to sit down for a minute?”

She checks her watch, the cracked glass face long ago replaced.

“Yeah, you’ve got a few minutes, but wouldn’t you prefer to go in and, how did you put it? Breathe down the neck of your competitors?”

“Cute, but I’m a little worried I’d be sick down the neck of my competitors.” He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. “Ugh, that plane ride.”

“But there wasn’t any turbulence!”

“Beth, please. Don’t even say the word.”

He plays two games that day, with enough turnaround time in between that they go for a walk and she takes a few non-press photographs of him in front of attractive backdrops. Behaving like real tourists seems to distract him. Benny even allows Beth to charm him into surrendering the end of his sandwich so she can use the bread to feed the little birds in a park they walk through.

The following day, the schedule tightens up. Lesser players are vanquished and Benny is presented with more people to beat, each one smug from their recent win until Benny shuffles things around on the board with exchanges so swiftly conceived and executed that it might be sleight of hand, one complex magic trick until—ta da!—he’s hemmed their king. He’s fucking brilliant, Beth thinks as she observes him, occasionally shaking her head in amazement. Her pulses races each time he sits down across from someone with a look on his face like, I hope you’ve made peace with your god. They screened too many movies of a biblical bent at Methuen. Prayer and faith certainly never lifted her high, but watching Benny does.

The next day is the second to last and Benny plays once, in the morning, with adjournments and the deciding of third and fourth place of the tournament in the afternoon. Winning his game isn’t anything special to him; he was always looking ahead, intending to square off against Borgov. In Benny’s style, Beth considers, it’d be a gunslinger draw at high noon. In Borgov’s (via Benny’s perception of him), Van Helsing advancing on a crypt with a garland of garlic bulbs and a raised crucifix.

She sits patiently with him in their hotel room. Unlike the night before they departed from Germany, he isn’t stressed. He’s calm. Beth asks if he’d rather stretch his legs, go find some of his friends that played at this tournament (and lost) and talk to them, work the room in a way that simultaneously captivates her and makes her roll her eyes. No. He prefers to stay with her. They sprawl on the bed and play out a couple of his slickest games, then the last twenty moves of the ‘68 Moscow final: Borgov v. Harmon.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he says softly, when she’s dozing with her head on her arm. He’s been staring at the board in silence for a long time.

“Are you sure?” Beth yawns before continuing, “I could order up some coffee?”

Benny’s already gathering the pieces and folding the board.

“You can’t do any more for me than you’ve done, and I can’t learn any more tonight than I have.”

“You’re prepared,” she agrees. That might not be quite what he meant, but she figures even Benny Watts needs a little reassurance.

“For most things he could do.”

Beth pulls her pajamas out from under the pillow on her side of the bed.

“You know how he plays. It’s clean. You just have to keep your eyes open. Borgov isn’t the sort of player to pull something creative out of nowhere.”

“You say that, but once, I had an opponent threaten to kick me in the crotch.”

“Mm, well, that’s not Borgov. Like I said, no creativity.” She watches for a minute as Benny strips his shirt off and flings it onto the chair. “By the way, it wasn’t a threat, it was posed as a question—rhetorical, even philosophical—and only because that opponent felt she wasn’t being taken seriously.”

Benny smiles and walks around the end of the bed. He cradles the back of her head and gives her a slow kiss.

“Will you kick Borgov in the crotch for me if I lose?”

“Now you want me to fight your battles for you? Where was this attitude in Berlin?” She grabs Benny’s butt as he walks back to trade his jeans for pajamas. He turns to look at her inquiringly. “I won’t have to.”

He spends all the next morning proving her right, not succumbing to how Borgov’s pieces shoulder their way across the board. They knock Benny’s aside some, but he hangs in and they adjourn in the afternoon for an after-dinner resumption. Though the reprieve is nearly three hours, they don’t go back to their room. There’s no international call to wait for—every bit of encouragement from their friends was given before they left New York. Benny has a drink with dinner and when that doesn’t loosen him up enough, Beth gets a little fresh under the table as she’s adjusting the napkin in his lap, just until she’s sure he’s in a new mindset.

At seven o’clock, the jacket, the hat, and the man are back in position opposite Borgov. Benny makes the move he sealed earlier, then leans forward by his shoulders. In that gesture, Beth knows Benny’s got him. He confirms it sixteen moves later and Borgov concedes the match in a gracious bow of his head. Benny dawdled a little, not dropping the guillotine blade the way she did with her swift Ohio victory over him, but he’s a different player. An admirer of historic matches, a showman with quick fingers and no better place to be than in front of a chessboard. That’s what she’s always guessed his mentality to be. Where she loves to win, he loves to play.

He rises from the table to a roomful of applause. His eyes find hers and she whistles with her fingers in her mouth, the way he taught her one night in his apartment. The sound is shrill enough over the rest of the noise that the photographer beside her turns to glare and tell her to shut the hell up. He begins to apologize when he recognizes her, but Beth shakes her head impatiently and points past him.

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “Look at him.”

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, September 29, 2021

FBI Data Show An Unprecedented Spike In Murders Nationwide In 2020 (NPR) The number of murders in the United States jumped by nearly 30% in 2020 compared to the previous year in the largest single-year increase ever recorded in the country, according to official FBI statistics released Monday. The data show 21,570 homicides in the U.S. in 2020, which is a staggering 4,901 more than in 2019. The tally makes clear—in concrete terms—just how violent last year was. The overall violent crime rate, which includes murder, assault, robbery and rape, inched up around 5%, while property crimes continued their long-running decline and dropped 8% from 2019. But the spike in murders jumps out in the FBI report because of the sheer scale of the change. Jeff Asher, a data consultant who studies crime rates, said the increase is the largest since national records began being kept in 1960s. The homicide rate thus far in 2021 is up 10% from last year.

Haitians returning to a homeland that’s far from welcoming (AP) Deported from the United States, Pierre Charles landed a week ago in Port-au-Prince, a capital more dangerous and dystopian than the one he’d left four years before. Unable to reach his family, he left the airport alone, on foot. At least 2,853 Haitians deported from Texas have landed here in the last week with $15-$100 in cash handouts and a “good luck out there” from migration officials—many setting foot in the country for the first time in years, even decades. More than a city, Port-au-Prince it is an archipelago of gang-controlled islands in a sea of despair. Some neighborhoods are abandoned. Others are barricaded behind fires, destroyed cars and piles of garbage, occupied by heavily armed men. On Saturday, a local newspaper reported 10 kidnappings in the previous 24 hours including a journalist, a singer’s mother and a couple driving with their toddler, who was left behind in the car. Even before the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse a in July, the government was weak—the Palace of Justice inactive, congress disbanded by Moïse and the legislative building pocked by bullets. Now, although there is a prime minister, it is absent. Most of the population of Port-au-Prince has no access to basic public services, no drinking water, electricity or garbage collection. The deportees join thousands of fellow Haitians who have been displaced from their homes, pushed out by violence to take up residence in crowded schools, churches, sports centers and makeshift camps among ruins. Many of these people are out of reach even for humanitarian organizations.

Some Bolsonaro supporters have called for a military takeover of Brazil. Why do they wave the American flag? (Washington Post) On the day when Brazilians celebrated the nation’s independence, when thousands of protesters this month called on President Jair Bolsonaro to lead a military takeover of the country, a middle-aged man set out onto the streets of Brazil’s largest city, cloaked in the flag. The American flag. Wilson Gomes, 56, strutted down streets thronged by thousands of Bolsonaro supporters, the Stars and Stripes draped across his right shoulder, demanding radical change in Latin America’s largest nation. The time had come to do away with the Brazilian supreme court, which he said had been corrupted by a kleptocratic left and was unfairly targeting Bolsonaro and his supporters. The only way to save the constitution, he said, was to suspend it. At far-right rallies all over the country, where many have called for supreme court judges and opposition lawmakers to be removed, the American flag is now a staple. Supporters wear cowboy hats and belt buckles emblazoned with Texas longhorns. In a country that has more traditionally viewed the United States and its intentions with suspicion, the sudden appropriation of American symbols has exposed a political paradox at the heart of the Bolsonarista movement. A group that many here believe wants to subvert, if not overthrow, Brazilian democracy has chosen as one of its banners the flag of the world’s oldest democracy. “The Brazilian right and American have an agenda in common,” said Sèrgio Sant’Ana, president of the right-wing Conservative Liberal Institute.

Macron says Europeans need to stop being naive and assert independence from the United States (Washington Post) French President Emmanuel Macron urged Europeans to "come out of their naivete" on the world stage and assert their independence from the United States, sending one of the strongest signals to date that the diplomatic crisis prompted by a disrupted submarine deal could have long-lasting repercussions on transatlantic relations. Speaking alongside the Greek prime minister Tuesday at a news conference to unveil a major Franco-Greek defense deal, Macron said the Europeans should make themselves “respected.” “For a bit over 10 years now, the United States has been very focused on itself and has strategic interests that are being reoriented towards China and the Pacific,” he said. “It’s in their right to do so,” he continued, but “we would be naive, or rather we would make a terrible mistake, to not want to draw the consequences.” Macron’s latest remarks come as he appears to position himself as the next leader of Europe, an unofficial role so far largely attributed to German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

China energy crunch triggers shutdowns, pleas for more coal (Reuters) China faces mounting pressure to ramp up coal imports and ensure supplies to keep lights on, factories open and water flowing as a severe power crunch roils the northeastern industrial heartland. With electricity shortages sparked by coal shortages crippling large sections of industry, the governor of Jilin province, one of the hardest hit in the world's no.2 economy, called for a surge in coal imports, while a power company association said supply was being expanded "at any cost". News organisations and social media carried reports and posts saying the lack of power in the northeast had shut down traffic lights, residential elevators and 3G mobile phone coverage as well as triggering factory shutdowns. A utility in Jilin even warned power shortages could disrupt water supplies at any time, before apologising for causing alarm. The power crunch has taken hold as a shortage of coal supplies, toughening greenhouse gas emissions standards and strong demand from industry have pushed coal prices to peaks. Goldman Sachs estimated that as much as 44% of China's industrial activity has been hit by power shortages.

American siblings trapped in China under three-year ‘exit ban’ finally return home (Washington Post) China allowed two U.S. citizens, siblings Victor and Cynthia Liu, who were prevented from leaving the country for more than three years, to return to the United States on Sunday. Cynthia and Victor Liu are the daughter and son of Liu Changming, a businessman wanted on fraud charges in China. The siblings went to China in June 2018 to visit relatives but were barred from leaving, while their mother, Sandra Han, who made the trip with them, was detained. Their lawyers and the U.S. authorities described the move as an attempt to pressure Liu Changming into returning to China to faces charges—despite the siblings saying they had not had contact with their father in years. Victor and Cynthia Liu’s lawyer Marc Ginsberg told the New York Times that he believed a Sept. 9 phone call between President Biden and Chinese President Xi Jinping had “helped to break a logjam” and contributed to the siblings’ release. He added that the siblings would have no comment for the news media.

Japan to lift all coronavirus emergency steps nationwide (AP) Japan’s government says the coronavirus state of emergency will end Thursday so the economy can be reactivated as infections slow. Prime Minister Yoshihide Suga announced Tuesday that virus restrictions will be eased gradually. With the lifting, Japan will be entirely free of emergency requirements for the first time in more than six months.

Taliban issue no-shave order to barbers in Afghan province (AP) The Taliban on Monday banned barbershops in a southern Afghanistan province from shaving or trimming beards, claiming their edict is in line with Shariah, or Islamic, law. The order in Helmand province was issued by the provincial Taliban government’s vice and virtue department to barbers in Lashkar Gah, the provincial capital. During their previous rule of Afghanistan, the Taliban adhered to a harsh interpretation of Islam. Since overrunning Kabul on Aug. 15 and again taking control of the country, the world has been watching to see whether they will re-create their strict governance of the late 1990s. During the Taliban’s previous rule, the conservative Islamists demanded that men grow beards. Since being ousted from power following the U.S.-led invasion in 2001, shaved or cleanly trimmed beards have become popular in the country.

Violence in Nigeria (Foreign Policy) At least 34 people were killed in northern Nigeria following an attack on the village of Madamai in northern Kaduna state, state security commissioner Samuel Aruwan said on Monday, blaming unidentified assailants for the attack. The assault, which Aruwan said took place on Sunday, came the same day that 22 Nigerian security personnel were killed in an attack on an army base in Sokota state, also in the country’s north. In recent weeks, Nigerian states have introduced restrictions on residents in an attempt to stem the violence, attributed to so-called bandits as well as the Islamic State’s West African offshoot.

A Crypto-Trading Hamster Performs Better Than Warren Buffett And The S&P 500 (NPR) What if we told you there was a hamster who has been trading cryptocurrencies since June—and recently was doing better than Warren Buffett and the S&P 500? Meet Mr. Goxx, a hamster who works out of what is possibly the most high-tech hamster cage in existence. It’s designed so that when Mr. Goxx runs on the hamster wheel, he can select among dozens of cryptocurrencies. Then, deciding between two tunnels, he chooses whether to buy or sell. According to the Twitch account for the hamster, his decision is sent over to a real trading platform—and yes, real money is involved. Look, we’re not telling you to follow in this hamster’s financial decisions or that this process is scientific in any way. But what we can tell you is his portfolio is up nearly 20% since he started trading in June, according to his Twitter account. And as of Sept. 12, Mr. Goxx was performing better than Bitcoin, the Nasdaq 100, Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway and the S&P 500.

[creativelyderangedme]

Last Night Chapter 3

Previous chapter

Read on AO3

Before they could go gallivanting around Paris, though, Nino made a request to stop in at the club to deal with a last minute tab mix-up from the night before - which since it was on the way to the location tagged in the earliest posts of him and Ladybug, he didn't have a problem with it. It was also kind of hard to argue with a request from a guy literally planning on following you on a glorified scavenger hunt.

But before then, of course, there was also the matter of the strange hotel room mix-up that needed to be sorted out. 

So after combing over the room for anything else he might have left and changing into something a little more comfortable, both he and Nino went down to the front desk in the hotel lobby. 

The Huxton truly was a fantastically posh sort of place - giving off the air of old money with a mixture of fashionable millennial hipster charm. Warm leather chairs littered the open lobby, accented by the navy and bright reds of carpets and plush cushions, and deep greens of floral arrangements around the connecting room leading to the open terrace and bar and lounge. It was the kind of place Adrien could see himself spending a lot of time in given the chance. Something between the extravagance of his old room back at the mansion and a home he’d like to create some day; filled with things that were like him - things that screamed Adrien. 

But that was a day dream for another time.

"Good morning, Mr. Agreste, I hope your stay has been pleasant so far!" A young attendant beamed at him the moment they approached the desk. 

He recognized the bubbly blonde immediately, having been helped by her when they checked in the day before. 

Estelle was her name. 

He wondered briefly if they’d been professionally trained, or if Estelle always looked this perfectly coiffed and outwardly radiant and approachable. It sometimes took multiple cups of coffee before even he could muster the amount of charisma she seemed to have in spades. 

Adrien grimaced, but tried to hide it under a smile, "Please, just Adrien. And actually I think something happened last night and I wanted to apologize."

The young woman gave him a confused look but allowed him to continue without interruption.

"You see, I woke up in a completely different hotel room than the one we checked into yesterday, and for the life of me, I don't know how, and I am so sorry for any trouble that might have caused. I'll pay for the room and any damage fee to make up for it."

The receptionist merely blinked for a moment at his word vomit, her bubbly radiance flickering for a moment as she seemed to mentally ask herself how this always seemed to happen to her before turning back into a megawatt bulb of sunshine, "Oh! I-I see. Would you happen to remember the room number?"

"Yes, it was 414." Nino answered in his place, recognizing the mortification crawling up Adrien's spine.

Estelle nodded and quickly began typing at her terminal, silence and persistent tapping filling the void while they waited for the impending news. Though, the longer they stood there, the more confusion seemed to fill her expression, "a-actually, sir, while I'm not completely certain of the circumstances, it - it looks like you booked that room."

"What? No, I only booked the room you checked us into yesterday."

She smiled once more, though, this time it seemed a bit strained - as she turned the monitor so that he could see what she did, "it says here that this room was booked early this morning. It looks like Collette was the one to book the room for you. She's not set to arrive until later this afternoon, but I could give you a call when she does?"

Early this morning? If the time stamp was to be believed it was nearly four am when the room was booked. 

Staring at the screen wasn't giving him any further clues, so he nodded at the attendant.

"Yeah, please do. Thanks."

They began to walk away but Adrien stopped, turning back to the woman, "By chance, do you happen to remember seeing me leave here yesterday?"

Even as she appeared put off by the question, she answered him quickly.

"Yes. Both times. First with your friend and then again about an hour and a half later. Though, the second time you'd changed clothes. I remember because you asked me if I thought it looked too flashy for a club." She giggled good naturedly.

Nino snickered at his side, coughing to cover it up when Adrien scowled at him. 

Finally, they waved and headed out the hotel's main entrance.

If ever Adrien hated the reminder that alcohol was not his friend, it was then as he and Nino stepped out into the late-morning sun of a gorgeous day in Paris - where the combination of splitting headache and overwhelming nausea nearly brought him to his knees while his friend pulled up the Uber app to confirm their ride.

"You good dude?"

The blonde could only grunt in response, swallowing back the abundance of saliva in his mouth in an effort to keep from heaving.

Something that didn't exactly convince his best friend that he was in the clear, "You know they charge extra if you puke in the cars, right?"

"I'll - I'll be fine. Just give me a moment."

Nino hummed, watching him with a curious tilt to his brow, "I haven't seen you this fucked up since the day after your old man's arrest. Just how much did you drink last night anyways?"

The unwanted memory of sitting hunched over someone's (he doesn't exactly remember who's) toilet bowl while puking his guts up until he had nothing left in his system (then dry heaving for at least an hour after that) flashed in his mind. It was a party his friends had thrown to just celebrate the end of Hawkmoth's reign of terror. For him though, it had been an opportunity to forget that twenty-four hours prior to that, he'd unmasked his own father after the man had tried to kill him and his partner in the hopes of stealing their miraculous to bring back his comatose mother.

There had been a lot of things he'd wanted to forget. 

Unfortunately for him, he didn't have the tolerance for the alcohol he drank. Landing him in a nice cozy embrace with the porcelain throne the next day.

Apparently he still didn't have the tolerance.

Through his musings of the past, Adrien failed to notice his friend fishing something from his bag to hand to him until it was waving in his face.

A pair of aviators. 

The blonde thanked him before putting the glasses on, reducing the ever present sting of light on his hungover brain. And just in time as a car pulled up to take them to their destination.

The ride to the bar was blessedly short and Adrien had managed to keep his stomach from rolling for the most part, but was very thankful when they climbed out of the silver economy compact with a half hearted wave and 5 stars.

Looking up at the ostentatious entrance to Chez Moune, the blonde had the strangest rush of dejavu. Something about the gold embellished entrance trim sparking familiarity that he couldnt place.

Nino walked right past him and through the doors, making his way up to the main club room and Adrien shook off his thoughts to follow after. 

The former cabaret turned dance club was lit brightly for the early staff, stocking and preparing for another night of fun for tourists and local party seekers alike. 

It was a club that Nino had managed to land more than a couple gigs, and had reserved a portion of for the going away party they’d all thrown him the night before. Celebrating the next leg of his life...

I’m leaving town soon. Tonight I’m supposed to be celebrating...

The voice wrapped around him like a fine silk, beckoning him towards the edge of a memory. Red - he was surrounded by red and moving shadows. And if he listened hard enough, he could hear the pounding of a bass beat that synced with the beating of his heart - steady and rhythmic and sultry. 

There was the twinkling of bells riding on the coat-tails of a sweet voice.

You’ll get over it, I’m sure...

"Hey man - did you hear me?”

Adrien blinked, and the red club lights and shifting bodies disappeared, leaving an entirely too quiet empty bar and bright fluorescents. It took another moment before he realized he’d been asked a question, turning to look at Nino and ground himself in the present once more.

"Dude, you sure you’re good?"

His adam’s apple bobbed with the force of his swallow, but he nodded slowly. He was dizzy, and for the first time, not because he was hungover.

The blonde turned back to the bar and snippets pieced themselves together in his mind, bringing clarity to what felt like a fever dream.

"I actually did make it back."

"What?"

Adrien ran his tongue over parched lips, “I made it back to the club,” he said quietly, almost absently, but with much more confidence as he stared unseeing at a pair of bar chairs on the far side of the room.

There. 

That's where he'd seen her.

When he'd managed to make it back to the club and no one was the wiser of his identity behind the black mask, he'd looked up to find his friends, only for his eyes to lock on her almost immediately in the crowd.

Understatement of the year, but, It had been a total shock to his system. Knocking the breath clean from his chest as he took her in.

It wasn't the red mask or the signature pig-tails hidden beneath a chic rimmed hat that had given her away.

Funny enough, it was her skirt.

Maybe not funny, because the presence of that one article of clothing had turned his world on its head. 

It was more than possible he was mistaken. It could have been anyone.

But not just anyone could pull off ladybug spots. Which she did. Oh god she did. It was a long,  high-waisted skirt with a bow in the same fabric on her hip. 

But he'd remember that skirt anywhere. She'd only ever worn it one other time, afterall, and it was the last time he'd seen her, so the memory of her outfit from that day was burned into his memory.

It had to be her.

Right? 

Adrien ignored the crowd as he made his way over to her, all the while his heart raced and mind fumbled over what he was going to say. The nerves were killing him. What if he was wrong? What if this was a complete stranger and he made an absolute fool of himself.

But what if it was her, a voice pushed in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Plagg. 

He fought himself the entire way over, his mind completely unaware of the body's natural magnetism to the woman until he was standing close enough he could reach out.

It was now or never.

“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?”

Mentally, he'd face-palmed at the absolutely horrid words spilling from his mouth. Seriously? That's what he went with?

The lady in question rolled her eyes at what was probably not the first pick-up line she’d heard that evening, turning to look at him, blue eyes flashing with something close to shock and recognition before a brow pulled up under her mask. 

She searched him for a moment. 

The longest moment of his life. 

Those eyes (if he was right, and he was positive that he was - oh god please let him be right) had always been so expressive - and he could see everything as it flashed in her expression; uncertainty, disbelief, reluctant recognition again before a smirk slowly graced her perfectly painted red lips, “Really? That’s the best you got?”

"For now, yes.” He nodded decisively, before finally taking the open seat next to her, “Though it did get you talking to me, so, I count that as a win."

She eyed him critically again before commenting, "Smooth."

"I try."

"Too hard."

He chuckled, because she always had been quite sharp-tongued and feisty. Good to see that hadn’t changed. “You never did answer my earlier question, though.”

"Why should I? You're a stranger in a bar."

Maybe, maybe not, he wanted to say, but thought better of trying to be too pushy.

"That's fair. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He could see her eyeing him critically out of his peripherals. 

“I’m leaving town soon. Tonight I’m supposed to be celebrating, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

He didn't let the grin spread over his lips at having gotten an answer, but did nod along, “I understand the feeling.”

“Oh?”

“As it turns out, I’ll be leaving town soon as well. And I too am supposed to be celebrating.” what were the chances they'd both be here celebrating? Slim to nil.

“So what’s your excuse?”

“Well, I saw this lovely lady sitting at the bar and felt it was my sworn duty to keep her company.”

The masked woman snorted a chuckle, trying desperately to hide the amused grin as she brought her drink to her lips, “Wow. That was worse than your intro.”

“Meowch. You wound me!”

He caught the way her eyes cut back over him at the pun before answering, “You’ll get over it, I’m sure.” Laughing lightly into the back of her hand, sweetly, like twinkling bells.

He could spend eternity getting lost in the sounds she made, but he had a mission. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

He waved over a bartender and ordered a rum and coke, throwing a few bills on the counter, exchanging currency for liquid courage before turning back to his companion.

“Why doesn’t it feel right to be celebrating?”

She hummed, considering her words as she peered over at him and the drink he made himself busy consuming, then turning back to stare at the glass she passed back and forth between her fingers on the bar top, "There was - something I had hoped to do before I left Paris, but I don't think that's possible anymore… I missed my chance."

Missed her chance? Adrien fought every instinct in his body urging him to envelope this woman in his arms and tell her it wasn't too late - but he had no idea what she was referring to.

And it hadn't been her that had missed their chance. No, the blame for that was solely on his shoulders. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." He murmured softly, not quite sure what else to say to her confession. 

Which left them sitting in an awkward silence that neither seemed to know how to dissipate. Both turning to finish their respective drinks.

That is, until the bartender came back around not five minutes after their glasses were empty with a fresh drink for the both of them.

Adrien’s masked companion immediately went to rectify the oversight, “Oh! But I-”

“On the house.” The bartender smiled, looking between the two of them - a kid in a candy store kind of giddiness to his stare, nodding his head like he was trying to find the right words to say before settling on, “And thanks. For everything.”

Both Adrien and his masked companion’s eyes widened at his words.

Neither confirming or denying his claims.

And the bartender didn’t stick around long enough for them to do so, either.

There was a moment where both of them just sat there staring at the drinks placed in front of them. Like taking the drinks would confirm every suspicion dancing between them. 

“I-it was almost like he recognized us or… something…” She said softly, and had it not been for his enhanced hearing, he probably would have missed it. She reached out and took the drink and Adrien watched as she stared at it, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. A soft yet sad far away look in her eyes.

A small chuckle escaped him as he too took his drink, “... or something.” He confirmed.

They were dancing around their identities again. It was so familiar and so frustrating, but he didn’t dare broach the subject in fear of breaking whatever spell kept her seated next to him instead of leaving. 

Because she had every right to.

She had every right to get up and leave and never say another word to him. Disappear into anonymity like a ghost of his past destined to haunt his every waking thought, but dancing just out of reach.

So he accepted the drink and accepted the company even if it meant hiding behind masks again, because - God he missed her.

He missed the easy conversion. He missed the quiet moments spent on rooftops under the stars. He missed her chiding him for his jokes. And he missed the way she demanded he take care of himself. Like her happiness depended entirely on his wellbeing.

And despite everything, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't still irrevocably in love with her.

It wasn't until they'd both nearly finished their free rounds that something caught the lady’s eye and made her groan to herself.

"Whats with the sound of distaste?"

She hummed, and shook her head, remembering her audience of one, "nothing. Just saw something gross." She threw back the rest of her drink then turned back to him, “You know… this place is seriously beat.” grumbling, and looking for sympathy.

But instead, she would be met with a flash of inspiration across his face. “Then what are we waiting for?” he stood, nearly knocking over his chair, but steadied himself, reaching out to offer her his hand, “Let’s blow this joint.”

She sputtered a laugh as she looked between his face and the hand he outstretched to her, “And go where? Do what?”

What couldn’t they do? He smiled, feeling an overwhelming excitement take hold of him. Like he’d just transformed and he could feel the power Plagg once offered wash over him. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

He nodded, not at all deterred by the ‘you’ve grown two heads’ expression on her face, “You said you’re leaving town soon, right?"

"Yes?"

“Then, what would one night of fun hurt?”

Because right now, he was Chat Noir. He could leap great distances, climb towers, defeat evil. They could do anything as long as they were together. 

"B-but I don't even know you. You don't even know me!"

He grinned still, "Perhaps we know each other better than we think we do? Either way, we're two people about to leave Paris. We can't just go without giving the city one last chance to give us an adventure, right? Something sweet to remember it by."

She chuckled again, looking dazed and stricken, and trying to convince herself that the man before her was nothing but a creep trying to lure her away. She glanced at something over his shoulder, but her eyes kept coming back to rest on him. The indecision was being overshadowed by a spark of temptation in her features - something giving away how badly she wanted to say yes.

All he needed to do was give her a reason. 

“Would I ever steer you wrong, M’Lady?”

The mystery woman's eyes widened as Adrien made the comment, confirmation of his suspicions in a single gaze as he offered her his hand in invitation. He could have said anything, and she could have denied it. She could have brushed off the comment as him being a terrible flirt and told him to take a hike.

Instead, recognition lit her eyes like summer fireworks and painful tenderness filled her stare.

And despite everything, She took his hand.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Would you, Chaton?"

[lassieposting]

Vile and Mevolent, for the romantic headcanons?

Who goes to bed late and who wakes up first?

Both Vile, because he very rarely sleeps through the night. He'll go to bed whenever Mevolent does, but he has nightmares and a hard time switching off the hypervigilance, so someone coughing three rooms away or walking by at the far end of the hall or laughing in the gardens will startle him awake and he'll struggle to resettle. A lot of the time he gets up multiple times during the night, then comes back to bed once he's confident there's no threat. The sunrise, the dawn chorus, the fire in the grate burning down to embers (less crackly noise, more cold), and increased footfall in the hallways will also wake him up, so he doesn't normally sleep past when the servants start their work.

Mev, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead, and only gets up at a reasonable hour because he's got shit to do - if he's got the time to lounge in bed till noon, he'll do it. He sleeps through most of Vile's nighttime activity, but when it does wake him, he can usually calm Vile down enough to coax him back to sleep.

Who sings during daily activities (shower, cooking, etc)?

Mevolent. Some of the Faceless hymns are catchy. He's got an okay voice, so Vile doesn't mind. It amuses him how upbeat some of the tunes are for songs that are mostly about the faceless ones laying waste to the planet, though.

Who takes care of the other on sick days?

Mevolent. Not that he has to do it often - they're both incredibly tough, and sorcerers are immune to most mortal illnesses, so the only thing likely to bench either of them for more than a few hours is a Serious Injury. And? Mevolent is a sensible, rational man. When he has a Serious Injury, he goes to Nye, because Nye is by far the most competent surgeon on Mevolent's staff, and Nye fixes him up.

Vile is not a sensible, rational man. Vile is a torture survivor. He won't let Nye get within thirty feet of him, because Nye was the one advising Serpine on how much more he could take before it killed him. He's wildly unpredictable when he's hurt, because he goes into self-preservation mode, and everyone around him becomes a threat. And to make everyone's lives even harder, he has a tendency to mask an injury and try to fix it himself, because he's surrounded by the same people who tortured him and he cannot afford to show weakness. So once Mev wins his trust, he's pretty much the only person Vile will let take care of him when he's hurt.

Who gives unprompted massages?

Vile. Mevolent spends a lot of time sat at a desk, and gets the stiff neck/shoulders/back accordingly. Vile will come up behind him to look over his shoulder at what he's doing, and absent-mindedly do Mev's shoulders while he's at it.

Mev will give massages too, usually to make Vile go all drowsy and relaxed after a few rough nights of little sleep, but he asks first.

What activity do they do together in sync?

Compensate for each other's weaknesses in battle. For Mevolent, this means keeping an eye on Vile's blind side: usually, his magic does this for him and gets him around just fine, but a battlefield is so chaotic that it's difficult for him to tell his fighters' life energy and the enemy's apart. For Vile, this means being fast enough to hit anything Mevolent can't. For all that he's "slender", Mev is a big, strong guy; he's the tank, and his equipment shows it: heavy armour, massive greatsword. But the tradeoff for that sword's powerful swing is slower speed. Vile is smaller, faster and his armour moves with him, so he'll take out anything that gets too close to Mev before he has time to swing. They're a highkey unstoppable team in battle.

Who gives nose/forehead/hand kisses?

Mevolent. Vile is more neck/shoulderblade/wrist kisses.

Who gets jealous?

Both of them, but Vile is the one you really don't want to cross; he's lost everything he cared about before and it completely broke him, so he absolutely will not tolerate competition. There's a rumour that the real reason Serpine tried to pull off a sloppy assassination - when he's always been so meticulous about his schemes - and then fled the city is because he found out that when Mevolent asked what gift would prove his love, Vile asked for Serpine's head. It's also a popular theory that Serafina's death, officially a "tragic accident", was in fact the deliberate removal of a rival (although, the court is divided on whether Nef or Vile arranged it).

Mev is a lot more chilled about his jealousy. It comes with having the power to grind your rival's entire bloodline to dust whenever you feel like it.

Soft kisses or passionate kisses?

Both.

Who brings the other food at work?

Vile will load up a plate of leftovers if Mevolent is balls deep in A Project and misses a meal, and take it up to his office so he'll still eat something. He actually has a better handle on When Mevolent Last Ate than Mev does.

Who made the first move?

Lowkey both of them. It was a blazing row during a post-battle debrief-slash-dressing-down that unexpectedly became an adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. Neither is really sure who pounced first.

Who won’t dress in costume unless it’s a couple costume?

Mevolent won't dress up unless it's like, a super fancy, elegant masquerade ball costume. Vile is an introverted antisocial buzzkill and won't dress up at all.

How was their first date like?

They went riding. Vile was at the point of recovery where he was climbing the walls with cabin fever, and short walks in the palace gardens weren't cutting it anymore, so Mevolent took him outside the city to let off some steam.

Who writes love letters/notes to the other?

Both of them! The early years of their relationship were during the war, when they'd often find themselves leading the offensive on completely different continents. This being the 1800s, they'd communicate primarily by letter; incorporeal visitations were a thing, but still in the very experimental stage, and Teleporters were precious.

Originally, Vile would send field reports, and Mevolent would respond with written orders. Professional. Brief. Succinct. Then Vile has his injury. They get closer while he's recuperating, and when he goes back to the front, his orders arrive with a postscript, more or less saying, "How are you holding up?" He adds a postscript of his own to his next report - essentially, "I'm fine" - and then, after a bit of consideration, decides that sounds too brusque and adds a little funny story about something that happened with one of his soldiers recently.

The postscripts get longer. They share little anecdotes, celebrate each other's victories, comfort each other after defeats. Vile sends Mev three scrawly pages of absolute filth, which is delightedly received halfway across the world. Mevolent spells Vile's name differently on every single letter, and somehow never manages to spell it the same way twice (Veighle? Vyle? Veele? Véle? Vile is ready to end him and his medieval approach to spelling.) They even send each other little trophies or souvenirs, squeezed in at the very end of a crowded parchment.

"V - Saw this and thought of you. M"

"M - You'll probably laugh at this as much as I did. V"

Who firmly believed the other was their soulmate from early on?

They're too bitter and jaded and scarred to believe in soulmates. Vile was the one who immediately thought Mevolent Got Him, though - "finally, here is someone who shares my appetite for destruction."

How much do they touch each other (PDA)?

Rarely, in public. Once Mevolent is fully established as ruler of the world and he can be open about his relationship without risking his crusade, they might dance together occasionally, or touch one another's arm to get their attention, or murmur in one another's ear. But they were a secret for over a century, and they very rarely interact publicly in a way that would be out of character for a lord and his general. Vile still usually enters rooms behind/"guarding" Mevolent rather than on his arm (with a few exceptions, usually when Mev wants to make a point). The main "PDA" for them is that they use each other's names, rather than "my lord"/"general", and Vile will look Mevolent in the eye, which isn't really permitted for anyone else.

Do they have cute nicknames for each other?

Vile is "V" a lot of the time.

How do they feel about Valentine’s Day? Do they go on a date?

Valentine was a Christian saint, and Mevolent only endorses the Faceless religion, so while V-day might still exist in Leibniz, it would only be in the homes of those brave enough to flaunt the laws around false gods and banned faiths, and would probably not be openly celebrated.

Public marriage proposal or something private?

Private. The first anyone else hears about it is when someone notices that Mevolent's changed his family crest. It's normal for sorcerers to either impale their crest (split the shield down the middle, with half your crest on one side and your partner's on the other) with their new spouse's, or include a nod to their spouse's crest in their own, by adopting one of their tinctures or bearers or something. The gossip circuit goes wild trying to figure out what prompted the change - nobody recognises the impaled crest, and Mevolent's shown no interest in any young ladies of good family since Lady Serafina's tragic passing. Rumours abound. Changing your crest is something that happens after you get married, not before - so at some point, their lord and master got secretly married and didn't tell anyone.

Eventually, someone points out that Mevolent took Lord Vile off to one of his summer palaces for a few weeks several months ago, ostensibly to renovate. That summer palace is small as palaces go, and quiet, and that trip could...feasibly have been a honeymoon, a newly married couple wanting some privacy. But if that's true...they've been married almost a year, and nobody knew a damn thing.

After changing the crest, Mev announces a month of feasting and festivities to celebrate. He manages his public image carefully, and he knows that the commonfolk won't give a damn that he's gone and married his heathen lover, if it gives them an excuse to get drunk and stuff themselves on his dime.

Vile, being an intensely private person, took forever to okay the crest change, but since most of the court is terrified of him, he only really gets questioned by a few people.

How long into the relationship before they had sex?

Their relationship literally began with a post-battle adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. They hooked up long before ever developing Feelings.

Who drops innuendos at random?

Neither of them are hugely inclined towards innuendoes, but it happens for both of them occasionally.

Who makes romantic surprises without a reason to?

They both will, but the definition of romantic varies wildly. "I've arranged a showing of an opera you like" and "I've kept this prisoner until you got back so we can interrogate him together" are both under the umbrella of "romantic surprise" for these two.

How likely are they to have sex in a non-bedroom location?

Very. Mevolent's throne is a popular pick. The carriage, the bathtub and every flat surface in Mev's rooms are also A-OK.

Who said “I love you” first and when?

Vile really struggles with the big three. Everyone he's ever said that to, he's lost, usually in horrible ways. He's lowkey convinced himself that if he doesn't say it, he won't ever lose Mevolent.

So it's Mev that says it first, and it's kind of in the middle of a religious crisis. He's fairly convinced the gods would overlook him fucking a heathen, given all the good he's done in their name, but then one night they're in bed together, Vile is dozing off on his chest, and he's got this warm fuzzy feeling like this is How Things Should Be, and he's not really been in love before but he's pretty sure that's a much more serious sin. Vile mumbles at him to ask what he's all fidgety about, and "I think I might be falling in love with you and that terrifies me" comes out during the resultant conversation.

Who will sing cheesy romantic songs when drunk?

Mevolent. The cheesy romantic songs are from like, the middle ages. It's a bit like your older boyfriend trying to seduce you with dad-rock - cringey, but in a funny, I-love-you-but-god-you-suck kinda way.

[allicekitty13]

Blinding Lights

@gatsby-holmes Happy holiday’s!! Tis I your secret Santa!! Hope the season is treating you well, please enjoy this holiday themed meet cute I have written for you <3

Read On Ao3

Read On FFN

When the moving truck pulled into the driveway of the house next door Jasper's stomach tensed. He'd been living in the dilapidated neighborhood for several years now. Save for Peter and his wife, who lived just down the street, there were no other residents. It was peaceful, quiet- just the way the man liked it. A family living right next door, though? Who knows what that would mean. Kids, pets, parties, all sorts of disruptions. No, Jasper liked things the way they were with just him and his dog Major. 

Fortunately, the first two months after the neighbors had moved in had been relatively quiet. He occasionally saw a man out in the backyard, and a small woman hopping into her car. Jasper never introduced himself or looked too closely into their daily comings and goings. The most interaction he'd had with any of them was an occasional polite wave when he was out walking Major.

Of course, nothing good ever lasted, and the problems began the day after Thanksgiving. What started small, as a brightly lit Christmas tree that shone in Jasper's eyes as he pulled into his driveway, quickly evolved into a bigger problem. By the first of December, the couple, or at least he assumed they were a couple, had decked the home in quite an impressive light show. Inflatables were scattered strategically throughout the front yard as well as the roof. Multicolored lights and garland were strung across the gutters, wrapped around the windows, and wrapped around the porch columns. Nutcracker statues nearly rivaling Jasper's impressive height stood at either side of the staircase leading up to the house, and finally, a gigantic wreath hung on the front door.

The holiday display was impressive; even Jasper, who adamantly hated Christmas, found the setup endearing, at least at first. At a certain point, it had gotten out of hand; the extensive collection of lights were too much for his curtains shining into his bedroom at night, rendering sleep extremely difficult. Not wanting to be one of those annoying neighbors who complained, he'd made an honest attempt to deal with it, even going so far as to borrow a sleeping mask from Charlotte up the street. 

But it only got worse; such an over the top display was bound to attract attention. By the fourth of December, the townsfolk had begun driving through the neighborhood at all hours of the night, stopping on Jasper's street stare in awe at what new elements had recently been added to his neighbor's lights display. By the seventh, it had caught the news's attention, and consequently, viewers from all over the area began to make the journey to his once quiet neighborhood. 

After a week of tossing and turning, he'd decided enough was enough and made his way over to the house with the intentions of politely but clearly asking these people to at least unplug the decorations after a reasonable hour. So on the next Saturday afternoon, he pulled on a jacket and crossed the grass divide between the two homes. He knocked on the door, careful to avoid the delicate wreath hanging from the door, and waited, mentally running through the carefully thought out speech he'd constructed that morning. 

When the door opened, he was momentarily confused as there didn't appear to be anyone standing there until he chanced a look down. The woman he'd seen on occasion in passing stood in the doorway looking up at him with wide, curious eyes that gave him pause. It was unexpected, to say the least, the way the words got caught in his throat or how his heart stalled in his chest. He'd planned this encounter out perfectly, yet here he stood blindsided, unable to get a word out. Meanwhile, the woman just stood there, patiently, with her head cocked to the side in question. 

"Can I help you, sir?" She finally broke the silence bringing Jasper crashing back to the reality of the situation. 

"Oh... I uh..." The words came stumbling out as he tried to concoct some explanation for his presence on the woman's porch, having decided he no longer felt like complaining. "I'm Jasper," The words came out more smoothly as he finally settled on an excuse. "I live next door and wanted to come by and introduce myself."

"Oh!" The woman seemed to relax, a bright, captivating smile spreading across her face that caused her eyes to light up more beautifully than any of the numerous lights adorning her home. "I'm Alice. Would you like to come inside? I was just taking a cocoa break; I'd love someone to chat with." 

He wanted to say no, to retreat home and devise a new plan for dealing with the lights but found himself nodding dumbly as he followed the woman into her home. The interior, he noted as she led him to the kitchen, was just as thoroughly decorated as the exterior. Lights anywhere they could feasibly be strung, an enormous tree covered in so many ornaments Jasper thought it may topple over if even one more was added. Holiday-themed knick-knacks were sat upon every surface and a collection of elaborately decorated gifts overflowed from beneath the tree. 

"You must really enjoy the holiday's," Jasper commented as he took the seat Alice indicated to at a round table only large enough to fit two chairs tucked away in the corner of the room. The corner of the woman's mouth raised in a slight smile as she pulled a Santa mug from the cupboard and placed it on the counter next to the snowman counterpart she'd already laid out for herself.

"Yes," She responded after a moment of contemplation, speaking with her back turned as she poured the dark chocolaty drink into the mugs. She placed the coffee pot she'd used to prepare the cocoa back into its place before continuing. "I love any reason to celebrate, but Christmas is my favorite." Finally turning around with two cups of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, sprinkles of nutmeg, and a cinnamon stick. "But Christmas is my absolute favorite."

Jasper gave the woman a moment to take her seat and slide one of the mugs over to him before responding. "Why is that if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well, despite being a self-proclaimed summer girl," She opened with a half-smile, chuckling lightly. "There's something almost magical about December. All of the different holidays coinciding in one month, people going out of their way to find the perfect gifts and grand gestures for the people they care about most. I like all the lights glittering against the snow, all of it, you know. It makes me feel like a little kid again, full of wonder like I can forget about all my grownup problems even if it's only for a month."

"I guess I've never looked at it that way," Jasper responded, taking a sip of his cocoa contemplating her words.

"I did notice your own decorations are a bit lacking; I assume you're not a big holiday person?"

"Not really my thing."

"Well, tell me about yourself then. What is your thing, Jasper?"

The conversation flowed freely from there, both parties chatting comfortably, getting to know the other over multiple cups of hot chocolate and an eventual plate of Christmas cookies. It wasn't until the door opened and the man Jasper had seen on occasion walked in the front door home from a day out that they realized just how much time had passed. Alice quickly introduced him as her brother Emmett, a relief he didn't quite understand washing over him at the information. The sky was now dark, and Jasper decided he had probably imposed on the woman quite long enough and bid Alice and her brother goodbye.

Realizing he hadn't brought up the lights' issue, he hopped into his truck still parked in the driveway and headed to Target for some blackout curtains. In a last-second spur of the moment decision, he also tossed a couple boxes of Christmas lights into the cart to hang up the next day. 

---

It wasn't an unusual occurrence for Jasper to get mail belonging to someone else. Occasionally Peter and Charlotte's Amazon orders would find themselves in his mailbox, just as often the absent-minded postal worker who tended to the neighborhood's delivery needs would end up gracing Jasper's sole neighbors with his packages. So he shouldn't have frozen in place upon discovering two letters addressed to Alice and Emmett Cullen when he opened the mailbox perched at the front of his yard. 

Usually, when this happened with Peter or Charlotte's mail, he would sigh and inform Major that their morning walk had been extended slightly as he crossed the street to make the short single block trek to correct the error. This time, however, he stood staring at the two thin red envelopes with neatly handwritten cursive addressing them to his new neighbors. 

However, it wasn't long before Major began to whine at the man's feet to indicate to his owner that the basset hound was ready for breakfast, promoting Jasper to finally look away from the mail, bundle it up with his own and bring his dog inside.

As Jasper measured out Major's morning meal, a thought crossed his mind. Those red envelopes currently sitting on the table next to the door in his entryway were more than likely holiday cards. That thought lead to yet another impulsive idea on Jasper's part. 

After feeding his beloved dog and making sure the canine had plenty of water, Jasper made his way back outside, this time hopping into his truck and made his way, so a small local gift shop that he knew from talking to his sister had an excellent selection of cards. 

A short drive, Jasper had arrived on the main street only a few blocks from his home. He parked in front of the small store and took a breath before entering the building before he could question what had gotten into him. Inside, the building was decorated for the holidays, and quite a few of the folks he knew from town were presently perusing the cramped aisles filled with knick-knacks of all themes and sizes. 

Keeping his eyes down, Jasper made his way to the back of the shop where an entire wall was dedicated to cards, over half of which at this time of year were holiday-themed. The number of options was overwhelming, causing the man to stand in contemplation, looking over the various designs as he tried to decipher just what was appropriate to purchase for the situation. There wasn't exactly a tab that read 'for your cute but strange new neighbor you've only talked to once but would very much like to get to know.' 

He was so caught up in the seemingly endless supply of Christmas cards that he didn't notice when a brunette of medium height snuck up on him with a "Hey Jasper." 

The man jumped slightly before turning his head to see Bella Swan smirking up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Need help?" She asked with an amused tone.

"What do you know about holiday cards?"

"Since when do you do anything for the holidays?" Bella's expression quickly morphed from amusement to utter shock. It was no secret that Jasper wasn't a holiday guy; he didn't decorate, didn't exchange gifts, and definitely didn't send out cards.

"I mean," The woman continued without skipping a beat, seemingly unphased by the blush slowly creeping up Jasper's cheeks or his deer in the headlights' expression. "Edythe told me you had lights up, but I guess I just assumed she was messing with me."

"I don't do the holidays, I just... put up some lights and want to send one card. That's it."

"Oookaay." The skeptical Bella drug the word out, still in disbelief. "So, who's the girl?"

"Who said there was a..."

"Don't even try Whitlock." She cut him off with a glare.

"Fine," The man sighed in defeat, allowing his shoulders to sag slightly; having learned long ago just how stubborn Isabella Swan could be, he didn't particularly want to enter into a losing argument. "It's my new neighbor."

"The one on the news with the lights display?"

"That would be the one."

"Huh, I figured you'd be ready to kill her not standing here fretting about overpriced gift cards." 

"What can I say, I'm full of surprises today. Got any thoughts on this? I'm kind of out of my element here."

Bella didn't hesitate, going directly for a card on one of the higher racks that she handed to him confidently. It was a dark parchment shade of brown with layers of colored cardboard forming a holiday tree. Flipping it open to the inside, the only text read 'Happy Holidays." 

"It's perfect," Jasper commented, looking up at Bella with a half-smile.

"I know; want me to ring you up?"

"Lead the way, Miss Swan." Jasper gestured to the counter near the middle of the shop with his free hand and a little bow.

If he also picked up a hand knitted snowman plush that would fit in nicely with the collection he'd seen on the back of Alice's couch on their way to the checkout area well, that was between himself and Bella, who rang up his selections with a knowing smirk. 

Jasper took the small paper sack that his friend had placed the items into and exited the store ignoring her comment of "Go get em' tiger," complemented by finger guns. The drive back home may have been short, but it was plenty of time for the man to begin questioning his decisions. 

Bella may have been encouraging, but what if this was weird? The card was one thing; he was relatively confident that giving a card to your neighbor was normal. At least, in the countless Hallmark movies, he'd endured with his sister, that seemed to be something people did. But the gift? Was that too much? In the end, the plush remained in the bag on his table when he gathered up the cards mistakenly left in his mailbox, now paired with the new envelope with Alice's name messily scrawled across the front. 

---

After the holiday cards incident, Jasper had only had a handful of encounters with his new neighbor, and yet he frequently struggled to stop himself from thinking about the odd yet charming woman. It didn't help that his home was beginning to fill up with reminders of Alice. From the now wrapped snowman plushie he'd still yet to give the woman, to the undecorated Christmas tree she'd somehow talked him into buying, to the plate of home-baked cookies sitting on his counter pushed back against the wall where Major wouldn't be able to reach. 

Today was the day he'd intended to decorate his tree with ornaments and lights purchased the previous day. Alice had shown up on his doorstep, an increasingly frequent occurrence, with the claim that her car wouldn't start and she needed to pick up some things from the gift shop on main street. Having long since come to terms with his strange inability to say no to the woman, Jasper had acquiesced and given her a ride. That trip had ended with his buying plenty of supplies to decorate the tree. After all, helping him shop had put a smile on Alice's face, and he might as well do something with that tree if it was going to take up space in his living room. 

He was carrying the box of new decorations from his kitchen where they'd been stored over the past few days while he was busy at work to his living room when he happened to glance out his window. Alice was standing in the middle of the street, hands on her hips biting her bottom lip with a look of determination on her face that Jasper, even in the short amount of time he'd known the woman had come to know, meant chaos as she stared intently at her front yard. 

He could have continued about his day and ignored whatever scheme she was up to this time. He honestly tried repeating to himself to stay out of it as he dropped the box on his couch. Yet, with a deep sigh, as he threw his hands in the air, he exited the house to join Alice in the street. 

"There's no snow." She spoke clearly and matter of factly without his prompting as soon as Jasper took his place beside her.

"Come again?"

"There. Is. No. Snow." She looked up at him with her eyebrows knitted together. "There is a week until Christmas, and there's no snow."

"Don't get much of the white stuff down here, ma'am."

"It's got to be perfect," She gestured to her elaborate lights display. "And it won't be perfect without snow."

Jasper didn't like the slight pang he felt in his chest at the dejected look that was beginning to settle across the woman's face. In the short time he'd known Alice, he'd come to realize she was a fixer. In her world, there were no problems, only solutions. Unfortunately, even Alice couldn't control the weather. He knew in that moment that he had to do the impossible. He had to somehow procure snow in Texas all because seeing Alice look so sad was quite possibly the worst sight he could fathom. 

He stood with her until she gave and returned inside before following suit to his own home. The tree could wait, he decided as he sat down at his laptop and got to researching. A few hours and one costly Amazon order of instant snow later, he had a plan.

His plan came into action three days later with the help of Peter and Emmett. The instant snow had been converted from a fine sandlike powder into a snowy substance that now covered not only the entirety of the front yard but was spread carefully over the house and abundant decorations creating a picture-perfect holiday scene. 

It had taken hours, the vast majority of Alice's eight-hour workday. But Jasper decided it was well worth it to see the delighted look of disbelief and wonder on Alice's face when she returned home. He definitely couldn't complain about the bone-crushing hug she gave him in thanks.

---

Christmas Eve found Jasper alone at home, settled into his favorite chair, having finally gotten off the phone with an apologetic Rosalie. His sister, the only family he had, called to wish him a Merry Christmas and to inform her brother that she would be unable to make it home for the holiday. 

"Well, buddy," Jasper looked down at Major, who lay dozing curled up at the man's feet. "Looks like it's just going to be the two of us this year." He'd only just turned on the T.V. and begun browsing Netflix for something to watch when a knock sounded at his front door.

Jasper exchanged a confused look with Major before rising from his chair to see who could possibly be visiting at such a late hour on Christmas Eve. To his delight, when he swung open the door, Alice was standing on his porch with a soft smile. 

"Hi, Jasper!" She exclaimed. "I saw your light on and thought you might be home."

"What can I do for you, Miss Alice?"

"Well, I'm sort of having a little party over at my place. Knowing you, I figured you probably didn't have any plans, and frankly, that's just not acceptable. So. You should come join the festivities."

"I appreciate that, Alice, but I planned on having a quiet evening at home."

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Of course you aren't, and I supposed you're not leaving that spot without me, are you."

"You catch on quick, Whitlock. Now hurry up." 

Shaking his head at just how ridiculous his life had become in only one short month, Jasper shot a quick glance toward his living room to ensure Major was okay. He followed Alice out of the house, grabbing the wrapped gift he'd purchased the woman from the table by the door as an afterthought. 

The house was filled with people having a wonderful time drinking cider, enjoying the numerous wonderful cookies Alice had prepared, and exchanging gifts with friends. He hadn't thought it possible, but the woman had somehow managed to cram even more decorations into her home since the last time he'd visited. Thanks to Alice's impeccable eye for design, what would have looked cluttered and tacky was majestic and beautiful. 

"So," Alice asked him, stopping under an archway that parted the living room from a hallway. "What do you have there?"

"Oh, I uh... I picked up a gift... for you." Jasper blushed awkwardly, stuttering over his words once faced with the reality of actually giving the plushie to the woman. "Is that weird? I'm sorry if that's weird."

"Jasper?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot."

"I... what?" That had been the last thing he'd expected, but as he followed her gaze up to the ceiling above their heads, suddenly many things clicked into place upon seeing a small bunch of mistletoe tied together with a red ribbon hanging from the ceiling.

"I physically can not be any more obvious at this point. Now, are you going to kiss me and finally ask me out or not?"

When, after a month of dancing around his crush, Jasper's lips finally met Alice's, he decided that maybe, just maybe, Christmas wasn't all that bad.

[halfwayinlight]

Title: Whale Watching Fandom: Star Trek TNG Rating: PGish Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi @jessrva requested  imzadi, post thad-pre kestra...i just love the potential of life with a kid that we never got to see, or he can be totally background..just solid hot married parents riker/troi

“See! See dat!” Thad squealed in delight, legs bending, and he would have been trying to clamber up the rails if his father didn’t have such a secure hold on him.

“Yeah, that’s a huge whale!” Will laughed as the enormous humpback breached and sent up a spray that misted them, even from meters away. He shook his head to get the droplets out of his eyes and was about to check Thad’s face when his son shouted in delight and strained closer toward the railing.

Deanna’s arm was there in a breath, banding across Thad’s chest. She gave a light pat. “We have to stand here, sweetheart.”

He leaned toward her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “He’s not going anywhere,” Will assured. Even if the very worst happened and their son somehow slipped, it was the holodeck and there were safety measures.

I know, but you know that I worry, she thought toward him. Her other arm slid around his back, and she shivered a little before snuggling in closer to his side.

“Compu--”

“It’s fine,” she assured, “you don’t need to turn up the temperature for me. It… it takes away from the ambiance.” Despite her insistence, he could see she was cold, even in the parka and thick boots and gloves and hat.

“At least whale watching season in Alaska is in the summer,” he teased, his hip bumping hers playfully.

“It’s warmer than the last time we visited,” she agreed.

“Mama! Yook!” their baby was demanding their attention now, his nearly year old self squirming in sheer delight as another whale surfaced and kept pace with the boat.

“I see it, sweetheart,” Deanna chuckled, clearly savoring the view before them, even if it wasn’t real and the temperature was lower than she usually preferred.

While most of their family holodeck adventures were more for the grownup’s amusement, they were expanding their options to try to give Thad at least virtual experiences he missed seeing by living on a spaceship. Most of the time Deanna chose something with the ocean or swimming. They had programs for Lake Elnar, the Opal Sea, Pacifica, and the Black Sea.  This was, to be fair, ocean-oriented, too. But she’d asked Will to choose today.

“A few more days, and he’ll be toddling through the gardens in Medara,” Will murmured. “And splashing around the lake…” When she was quiet beside him, both of his arm wrapped around their son and he glanced down at her. “You’re not having second thoughts about… the lake, are you? If it’s too hard, we can go somewhere else or stay at Fifth House.”

Her head shook, and she pushed up on her toes, pulling him close to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Tisses!” Thad begged.

Deanna smiled as her lips pressed to Will’s. An insistent chubby hand caught her coat and added to their son’s demand. “I have kisses for you, too, be patient,” she chided, though she did so with a laugh and a kiss to their baby’s round cheeks.

Imzadi?

Her hand patted Will’s back in assurance. “No, I just can’t believe he’ll be one in another week. It's going so quickly! I know Beverly told me it would, but... it's still going faster than I expected. It seems like mere weeks ago that I had him. And then he wasn't a newborn any more. And he's almost a toddler and looks less like a baby all of a sudden. That last hair cut, it's... different.  He's starting to look like a toddler, and then he'll be a child....But I’m glad we get to celebrate on a planet that’s so important to me.”

He knew what she hadn't said. That it reminded her of Ian. How fast it had happened. And this was normal growth, but it was moving quickly. These precious moments and milestones were coming faster than ever. I'm sorry, Imzadi, he tried to offer comfort, not knowing the words to make it easier for either of them. "And I'm glad, too. That we're celebrating in a place so important to both of us,” he added aloud. In his arms, Thad squirmed and exclaimed again as a pair of whales surfaced and one breached. “And I’m sure your mother’s spared no celebrations.”

“I’m sure she hasn’t,” Deanna agreed, resting her head against his shoulder. She relaxed against him as though she could absorb comfort from him like a sponge taking water. It was nearly true.

There was something else she wanted to add to that, Will was sure of this. But he had full faith that his wife would share soon if it was something he really needed to know. Something told him it was a conversation to have when their son wasn’t enamored with giant mammals and open water.

He pulled his attention back to Thad and the moment. If anything, being a parent had helped him learn to appreciate being in the moment. Everything was new and exciting to their son, and sometimes Will knew this was overwhelming. But today it was utter delight. Beside him, Deanna was absorbing the emotion, too, and she was letting him share in the euphoria of joy. The happiness of their boy slowly easing the harder memories of her first child leaving.

The lights shifted in the simulated sky, turning into dusk and the northern lights glimmering overhead and bring up fresh chatter and giggles from Thad. They settled onto deck seating in a cozy pile. It took only a few moments to conjure up a few blankets for them and some hot chocolate that Deanna shared with Thad.

Eventually Thad was cuddled between them and staring up at the shifting colors in the sky, enchanted.

“I’m looking forward to celebrating our anniversary, too, while we're away,” Will murmured against the sensitive skin of his wife’s ear.

“Mmmm, me too,” she agreed, turning and finding themselves a mere inch apart. He leaned in the remaining distance and took a long kiss. “Mother has something planned for that… not sure what, yet…”

His eyebrows lifted. “Should I take that as a warning.”

“No,” his wife chuckled. “She adores you. You make me happy. You take such good care of us.”

“I gave her a grandchild,” he continued the list wryly.

“Mhmm,” she agreed. “And she would be very happy to fill up every room in Fifth House with a grandchild.”

Will relaxed back in the seat and found her hand to give it a soft squeeze. He took several long moments to try to come up with the answer before finally asking. “Exactly, ah… how many bedrooms does Fifth House have?”

She sighed, her thumb stroking his hand affectionately. “Well, now that depends on how you count.”

“One… free,” Thad mused beside them.

“Yes, one, two, three,” Deanna agreed absently. “There’s something like a dozen bedroom suites in the north wing. South wing was largely ceremonial, but had a few rooms. I really don’t know how many are in the east and west, but I suppose mother would be glad to tell me…”

“Yes, would you please?” he dared her, eyes narrowing to match her mischief. Is that something we’re even ready to think about?

She shrugged silently, releasing his hand to fuss over the blankets around them and adjusting Thad’s small toque. I’m not saying no, but we haven’t really discussed it...Do you… want more kids?

I like the idea of him having a brother or sister. Growing up with a sibling. We both missed out on that. He’d sometimes wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up with a sibling. And more than once she’d talked to him about Kestra and shared her wonderings with him. What it would’ve, or rather could’ve, been like to grow up with a sister.

Personally, he thought it might have been harder if he’d had a sibling. At least if he’d had a younger sibling. It would’ve been harder, if not impossible, to leave for Starfleet at such a young age. He shivered at the idea of leaving a brother or sister behind.

Deanna somehow managed to move closer yet, pulling a drowsier and drowsier Thad into her lap and resting her head against his chest. I’m sorry he hurt you so much. Gloved fingers brushed his cheek, and it was only then that he realized there were tears.  “Will?” she asked softly.

“This is the best medicine,” he replied, wrapping his arms around his family and holding both of them close. “I love you both, very much.”

“We love you, too,” Deanna answered thickly, taking several long kisses, fingers playing with his beard.

This time it was his turn to brush away the tears, and he finally pulled back slightly from the kiss, dropping a small one to her forehead and cherishing this connection they shared. “The rest of this can wait until tonight… is Wes taking him?”

“Nursery,” she clarified. “They’re going to keep him overnight for us.” It took a lot of doing, including specific scheduling, to make sure Vale was on call and they were both off schedule the next day. But after a challenging first year or so of marriage, they’d learned to make time together as a couple. Since Thad had joined the family, they’d only managed five nights over the past eleven months to themselves.

That was an oversight Will hoped to correct, starting tonight. But they had planned a little family time first. And from the drowsy expression on their baby’s face, their plan to wear Thad out first was working. Currently Thad was shifting to rest his head against his mother’s shoulder, and he was sucking on his middle two fingers in the way he did each night as they read bedtime stories to him.

“What should I know about our trip to Betazed?” he finally asked quietly. They still had the holodeck for at least half an hour, but it seemed like Thad might be asleep before their time was up. Often if they started their own conversation in low voices, Thad would nod off. He certainly wasn't in a hurry to give up time with his two favorite people.

She gave him a gentle smile and rubbed their son’s back lightly. “You know that for Betazoids, children are a special blessing. So I think she’s likely planning a big party. Or even several parties and celebrations. I’m… actually a little concerned it might overwhelm Thaddy. There’s also a small ceremony. A blessing. But, Will, we live on a starship with the same few hundred beings, and his circle is small. It’s one thing to go to a planet or starbase and make a visit. But I’m worried it might be too many people and too much...”

Will absorbed this quietly before ordering another fresh hot chocolate for Deanna and taking a nearly asleep child so she could enjoy her drink. “The blessing sounds really nice. You’ve always been supportive of rituals and ceremonies to mark important events. But more than one party and a big party ...is that… typical?”

“A party and the blessing, yes. Knowing my mother, it will be much more elaborate. Because he’s her first grandchild. And, thus far, only grandchild. And because she’s… my mother.” That’s really all that needed to be said about Lwaxana Troi. “I’ll call her in the next day or so and try to make sure it’s… within reason.”

He nodded, pulling the blanket closer around Thad. “She really is one of his biggest fans.”

“It’s one of her more endearing qualities,” Deanna agreed. She pushed herself up, giving the view of the northern lights one last gaze before turning to her husband. “I think he’s asleep.”

“He is. He’s drooling on me,” Will answered with a grin. One hand cupped the back of his son’s head as he leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, warm kiss. He let it linger and deepen, tongue teasing hers for a long moment before pulling back. “I think it’s time for the two of us.”

“Mhmm,” she agreed, fingers teasing the nape of his neck and dropping several kisses along his cheek. “I’m thinking some nice synthenol… some of those oysters you like…” Another soft kiss to his lips, and she smoothed back a lock of his dark hair.

Will grinned widely. “And that new dress of yours?” he asked hopefully.

Her head tipped, and her eyebrows lifted as she gave him a long appraising look. “Actually,” she confided, “I had a different idea for my wardrobe tonight. But I’ll let that be a surprise… and I’ll even let you choose the jazz music.”

With a wolfish grin, he stole a quick kiss before rolling smoothly to his feet and shifting their sleeping son. His fingers entangled with hers, and he urged her up. “Computer, end simulation.” Nodding toward the door, he added, “Lady, you’ve got a date.”

[warsofasoiaf]

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 5: The Red Hand and the White Dove

A good general never let his successes linger too long. The key to winning a war was never stopping until the final objective was secured, which meant that no soldier could afford to celebrate his success.

2 October 1939 - Home of Michael Collins, County Cork, Ireland

The Irish had successfully repulsed multiple combined invasions from two great powers, and had successfully maintained the territorial integrity of their island. Britain had shifted their attention to the Low Countries and France had placed most of their forces along the German border or along the south of France in Marseilles. It had been days since a single Union plane or ship had come anywhere close to Irish territory. The unity that such a feat had engendered had been nothing short of exceptional. Some foreign workers had evacuated, but plenty had stayed behind to continue to help provide much needed manpower for Ireland in the face of invasion. Wealthy Irishmen bought war bonds by the armful, older men volunteered to help man civil defense spotting towers to supplement the radar stations, and workers had seamlessly integrated a full three-shift rotation to speed production along. Yet this unity had not been total, and one faction began to cause more problems.

It had been no secret that the Orangeists in Ulster had been agitating for a return to the British in Canada. To hear the rhetoric, Ulsterites needed to do everything they could to allow the exiled Windsors to return to their throne. Ireland was an ideal staging ground for the Entente, an unsinkable aircraft carrier capable of sending the entirety of the Entente’s aerial forces against the Union and the Communards. G2 had done wonders in infiltrating the Union, and the Irish Republican Army was one of the most experienced forces in the world, certainly when it came to fighting Mosley. All of that value, they argued, must have been put to use in the service King Edward. Once the United Kingdom had been restored, Ulster could be returned to the Crown, and all would be well, if you asked the Orangeists. The Unionists were seeing attendance at their rallies steadily grow and grow, before long the entirety of the Six Counties would be UUP.

The notion of joining both the Entente and the Reichspakt had been floated in the Dail. It made practical sense to join one of them, and gain the support of large and powerful armies and economies at the Irish back. Collins had exhausted plenty of political capital to shoot down those proposals, reading the refusals of the Kaiserreich and the exiled British government when the Mosley first declared war. Collins didn’t like it, it gave too much red meat to the na hAiséirghe crowd and could embolden their efforts against his immigration reforms, but it gained him a reprieve from those demanding that Ireland join one of the two European factions. Joining one would invite the Union to continue bombing and invading to prevent exactly the scenario that the Ulsterites hoped to come to pass. 

With the war on, it was the perfect time to move. If it wasn’t such a threat, Collins would appreciate the irony, since the Weltkrieg was what had enabled Irish independence in the first place. He now sat in the same position as the British Empire did twenty years ago. The moment had made his mouth taste like metal, almost an involuntary moment of revulsion. The promises of 1921 seemed to be coming true at the worst possible time. The confirmation of Ulster would have to take place, one way or the other. 

Now that the bombings were over, and life was attempting to return to normal, agitation against the Irish government had returned. James Craig had viciously denounced the Collins government, declaring that Collins had hoped to hobble Belfast, and that the Northern Irish would be kept out of the riches of Collins’s economic policies. The Saorstat Brewery, the Open for Business Initiative, the agricultural reforms in Connacht, the zinc mines in the center of the country, it was economic prosperity for Catholics only, Craig had made a grand show to a roaring crowd of Unionists and Ulster Volunteers. Collins’s ultimate goal, so Craig spelled out, was the economic subservience of the Northern Irish, to let them wither until they surrender who they are.

“Everything I’ve done for Belfast and it’s still not enough. The steelworks, the Short Brothers, none of it will ever be enough for James Craig.” Collins grumbled to an empty room. 

---

16 November 1939 - Belfast, Ireland

The latest news wasn’t good. The Unionists, citing unequal treatment by Catholic employers, had planned to stage a large-scale sympathetic strike, which threatened everything from small restaurants all the way to Harland and Wolff. The Ulster Shipwright and Marine Workers Association, by far the largest labor union in Belfast and de facto head of any large-scale labor activity, had misgivings about striking in the middle of a war, and had strongly pushed a compromise plan. Smaller businesses unrelated to the war effort like restaurants and other service industries would institute a general strike, while shipyards, airfields, and other critical war industries would stress work-to-rule behavior and malicious compliance. As a token of good faith in their statement of grievances, the workers promised that they would maintain all repair facilities for the An tSeirbhís Chabhlaigh and the An tAerchór at full functionality; they would do nothing that would critically endanger Ireland’s defense in the wake of Union aggression. Despite this, the plan ultimately was for naught. A fight broke out between the Unionists and a large group of unknown men shouting that they were betraying the war effort. No one had been seriously injured, merely cuts, broken bones, and a bunch of filled beds at Belfast Medical. 

Rumors had abounded at what exactly happened and who was involved. Collins received his share of the blame, plenty believed that he had ordered the strikebreaking action to intimidate the Ulster Volunteers under the veneer of plausible deniability. Even more outlandish conspiracy theorists suggested that Collins had organized the labor action itself, to give his strikebreakers the reason they needed to kick a couple of teeth in without actually causing significant damage to the war effort and delegitimize the Ulster Volunteers and the labor unions in one fell swoop to prevent reaching out to the Dominion or the Union. The Catholics loudly protested that it must have been the Ulster Unionists who struck the first blow, hypocritically demanding the right to protest but denying it to the Irish nationalists in a rehash of the old Irish Penal Law system. Most however, thought it was just strikebreaking, squads hired by business owners to break up the labor action. Either way, it wasn’t good for the Collins government.

This had come not long after the bank of Ireland had been robbed in Belfast, gaining plenty of money to continue to fund dissident activity within the Six Counties. The Gardai had been unable to find where the money had gone, it had almost certainly been laundered through businesses in the North. No one could prove that it was the Unionists who had robbed it, but everyone was convinced that it was the case. With the Irish budgets already stretched thin, the loss of the cash reserves in Belfast had stung deeply. Angry Irish citizens had demanded that the government guarantee their account holdings and punish those responsible. Collins sympathized, but inflation was a dangerous beast to wrestle with already, he couldn’t imagine the headache he would have to deal with if he started securing private holdings during the war.

No matter the truth of everything that had happened in Ulster, it was bad for Collins. This sort of thing could only hurt the war effort. The last thing he needed was James Craig hoping to secure himself by latching on to the Union, or declaring war on Ireland and inviting in the British crown. “Tighten restrictions, offer the usual sympathies, promise an investigation. Let’s make nice before this gets any worse.” Collins ordered, hoping to stave off catastrophe.

---

20 December 1939 - County Antrim, Ireland

It was starting to look as if it would be an armed conflict after all. 

Derry had seen the first problems. A prominent Unionist activist had been stabbed in the night and left to bleed in a gutter, dying in the pre-dawn hours of a cold December morning and undiscovered until a morning street-cleaning crew found him during their shift. The Gardai had no leads, which had only mobilized the Unionists further. There had been no leads because there had been no investigation. The Gardai fully supported the murder of prominent Unionists; it allowed them to subjugate the population without fear of uprising or uproar. No doubt, had a Irish Republican loyalist been murdered, the perpetrator would have been found, arrested, and sentenced to death under wartime emergency measures. 

Orangeists had been seeing a steady increase in support from Protestants in the North. Intelligence reports from police units had noted steady increases in recruiting and donations. Hardliners were urging the police to crack down on the movement, but absent evidence of a specific crime, Northern Irish advocacy groups had been a right guaranteed in the 1925 Constitution. The Gardai had to contend themselves with attempting to trace the money from the Bank of Ireland robbery and seeing if they could identify the specific groups that were causing trouble. If the perpetrators could be discovered, the Ulster Volunteers would have to disavow them and perhaps cause distress within their own movement. 

The Irish nationalists despised Collins’s plans. It was war and the Ulster Volunteers were committing treason against the state. If the Ulster unions took the strikebreaking as a means to invite Mosley in, he’d have a secure beachhead, or James Craig might reach out to King Edward and slowly invite a peacekeeping force in. Neither idea seemed particularly feasible to Collins, but the fear of such possibilities was creating a lot of doomsaying, and that was enough. His success against Mosley had taught a valuable lesson: impression could mean far more than reality.

A concert hall in County Antrim saw the next bloody episode. Masked men shouting pro-Ulster slogans opened fire, killing members of a Dublin band and concert-goers alike who had been playing a Christmas benefit. No one from that crime was caught, as sympathetic Ulsterites had been able to smuggle the men underground. Investigators hadn’t yet been able to discover who the gunmen actually were. The pictures reminded Collins uncomfortably of what he saw in Galway and Sligo, how long would be before Irish would be doing the same to Irish? Rounding up and executing them in a field like they were sheep or cattle, it sickened Collins to his core. Craig had remained silent on the matter, but the Irish Catholics in the North were incredibly frightened. Even the foreigners were frightened of being caught in the crossfire, and that led Collins to one inescapable conclusion: he was losing control.

“Institute a stronger curfew, devote more money to investigations. Also let’s see if we can’t do something to undercut the Volunteer’s support among the Northerners, make them focus their efforts on fighting the Union. Take out loans if you have to; this needs to end now.”

---

17 January 1940 - Belfast Ireland

It was a grim day, and the dark clouds had seemed to be a herald for bad omens. 

After the concert hall massacre, the Ulster Unionist Party had quieted down, but only for a short time. No progress had been made, and rumors had circulated that the UUP weren’t going to send any sacrificial lamb even if they disagreed with the action. The Unionists had sought to organize a large-scale march in Belfast. Plenty within Collins’s government urged him to quash it entirely under emergency war powers, a large assembly could be considered too great a risk from aerial bombardment. Yet with the threat of British bombardment being reduced, Collins had opted not to give the Ulsterites more reason to call him an unconstitutional tyrant.

When the news of it reached the Catholic minority in Belfast, they predictably demanded an extra defensive precaution. The sporadic outbreaks of violence meant that the Catholics feared that the march would become a riot, and the Ulster Unionists, while not proven to be connected to the murders in Antrim, were almost certainly guilty of abetting it. The Gardai hadn’t been able to stop the violence, and with the march they would be woefully outnumbered and unable to protect anyone if anything got out of hand. Collins had ordered the 3rd Limerick Rifles to strategic points, with Eoin O’Duffy at the command center. The 3rd Limerick was a mix of O’Duffy’s old guard, men that had served him since 1917 which now comfortably resided in senior leadership and NCO positions, and young recruits that had signed on near the beginning of the Internationale War, out of training and dispersed to different combat units so that they might benefit from the veterans that had been fighting in the war from the outset and absorbed the new techniques and methods of waging war.

The latter category was populated by Dean MacCabe, a fresh recruit among many. He was greener than his uniform, and had been nervous about fighting the war. Rather than wait to be drafted, Dean had signed up for the infantry to serve his homeland. In truth, he’d rather have been in a coastal fort on Clew Bay, but his country needed him here, making sure that nothing happened during the protest march. Fortunately so far, the worst that seemed to happen was a bit of name-calling. Dean himself would have been happy to have given as good as he got, but he needed to keep his cool. Level heads were needed, and he needed to prove himself worthy of the uniform. 

The rain had already hampered visibility greatly, and with everyone wearing long coats it was almost maddening to tell who, if anyone, was concealing a weapon under their raincoat. With so many people on the street, it was next-to-impossible to pick out faces of known Ulster Volunteers or militant UUP’ers in the crowd. Sometimes people spoke to each other and pointed at the 3rd Limerick. Were they pointing them out in signal for an attack, or just commenting on the fact that they were there? A woman walking by with a baby carriage stopped to play with the infant inside. Was that genuine, or was it a signal pointing out the best angle of attack? Dean started to sweat out of fear, mixing with the rainwater that was snaking its way inside his own raincoat. Everything could be a signal for a waiting attack, everyone could be an enemy. He had orders to fire if fired upon, but felt so exposed that he wouldn’t get a chance to fire second.

Periodic glances to his pocketwatch gave him grounding but seconds ticked on agonizingly slowly as he kept watch. His fellows were just as worried as he was, he could see in their faces. The old NCO’s seemed to be surer, but that could just be the experience in their eyes. This was not so much war as it was psychological torture, young men signing up to placed in the rain to fear when the next sudden outbreak of death could come, and it could come from anywhere. It had only been six minutes since he last looked at his watch.

Bottles and rocks started to be thrown at the 3rd Limerick’s position now, but was it testing their readiness, or merely rowdy Unionists too deep in their cups? And how quickly could the latter turn into a full-blown attack. All it took was one man to draw, and Dean MacCabe could be dead on the ground. Every time he saw something suspicious, he debated looking to his comrades for guidance, but if he had, would that mean that he would leave himself exposed, and he, or one of his brothers in the unit, could be killed? Even a moment’s lapse of concentration could be lethal, and so Dean MacCabe needed to maintain focus. Finally, the drunks had either run out of bottles or found something else interesting to do, the bottles gradually tapered off from two in the air, to one, to none. MacCabe looked at his watch. Nine minutes.

“Eyes front, we’ve got something,” came the gruff voice of the sergeant, and Dean snapped out of his reverie. There was movement in the crowd, a group of toughs approaching square to the Limerick Rifles position. Dean’s nerves were fraying, and Dean did not plead for what was before him to be something genuine or a false alarm. All he wanted was this wretched duty to be over, to go back to the barracks, drink himself into a stupor, and forget that this day had ever happened. The toughs began to chant, and MacCabe stole a second to look at his watch.

Two minutes. 

---

18 January 1940 -  Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

Bloody Wednesday. That’s what the papers were calling what had happened at Belfast. Only a handful dead, more wounded, but it didn’t matter if no one was hurt: the Irish Republican Army had fired on Ulstermen. Weapons were found on the bodies, but eyewitnesses swore they saw mutually contradicting versions of events as they unfolded. 

Collins made a public speech expressing sorrow for the loss of life, and vowed to discover what had happened. Only one man, above all else, could be trusted to treat the matter with the integrity that such a matter required. Richard Mulcahy, Ceann Foirne na bhFórsaí Cosanta, temporarily ceded his command position as Marshal of the Defense of Ireland to Liam Lynch, to take up a commission to investigate the matter. James Craig had wanted nothing to do with it and refused to offer any official support. Luckily for Collins, the Lord Mayor of Belfast had offered his full support for the commission provided Belfast police could participate, almost certainly committing political suicide in the process. One mayor seemed to stand between the country and civil war, and that mayor was a damn welcome sight to Collins eyes. The UUP depended on local support in Belfast, a mayor supporting the Commission would mean that until he was inevitably ousted in a no-confidence vote, Collins could act to head off any potential war.

It wouldn’t be long coming if he didn’t act quickly. G2 had intercepted comminiques to the Dominion of Canada that were almost certainly conducted on Craig’s behalf. Nothing sinister on its own, mere expressions of concern for Irish Unionists in the wake of the events of Bloody Wednesday. More concerning were the trade unions reaching out to the Union across the Irish Sea. Only the fringe socialists campaigned for syndicalism after Mosley’s invasion, but that crowd started to gain more support among the trade unions after the strikebreaking action, and it would only get worse if the common man in the North figured that Mosley was the lesser evil.

“Go on, and come back with what you can. Spend whatever money you need, do whatever you can to make peace. We aren’t going to survive any more invasions if we’re fighting in the Six Counties.”

---

1 Feburary, 1940 - Special Session of the Dail, Dublin, Ireland

The Mulcahy Commission had returned surprising, and utterly damning results.

O’Duffy had asserted in his after-action reports that the Unionists had initiated violence, taking advantage of a minor street altercation to ambush a stationed unit. After receiving fire, O’Duffy had reinforced his men. Once the Ulsterites had started to take fire, they fled into the crowds, which quickly had become chaotic. The entire mess had taken less than 30 seconds, but they were 30 seconds of absolute madness.

Mulcahy’s findings concluded the opposite. He had stated that it had appeared that one of O’Duffy’s men fired the first shots, the Ulsterites had responded, and had placed weapons among the dead to minimize the risk that any could have been identified as an unarmed civilian. No one in the IRA detachment that had been fired upon would come forward to support Mulcahy’s findings, and most credible witnesses were unable to determine whether one or the other was true; most were paying attention to the parade and saw the firefight only after the first shots were fired. 

The implications for the Irish Republican Army was huge. If O’Duffy was guilty, it would mean that a high-ranking member of the IRA had conspired to attack Protestant Irishmen. Before now, the government had not been involved in violence against citizens in the North in ten years, since the Northern Campaign. Now, it could have confirmed that there would be no regularization of their status, that they would always be second-class citizens in the Republic, and their only choices were rebellion or slow destruction.

“We respect the Commission and its findings. The Republic of Ireland owes a debt of gratitude to Richard Mulcahy, the Right Honorable Lord Mayor of Belfast Crawford McCullagh, and the investigators who have worked many hours to discover the truth.” Collins announced on the steps of the Dail. “There is nothing that can bring back those poor men and women who died that fateful day. All we can do is labor on in their stead. The Republic of Ireland will compensate the families of those lost, hold trials of the perpetrators, and hold them in our prayers. We cannot undo this, but we can endeavor to build something from this.”

The Bloody Wednesday trials, as they came to be known, were largely simple affairs. Testimony was mercifully brief; there was no need to be lurid or voyeuristic in  The young men in the division, who had followed the orders of their superiors, were convicted of manslaughter. The officers and NCO’s on scene, who were of higher rank and ordered the shooting, had higher sentences. That only left Eoin O’Duffy himself, who adamantly maintained his innocence and dismissed the evidence against him arranging any sort of conspiracy as spurious. The prosecution had attempted to cite him for command responsibility, but the Hague Conventions had been rather vague on the notion, and the Peace With Honor had looked to avoid punishing soldiers for their actions near the end of the Weltkrieg. No one could argue that opening fire on civilians and placing weapons on them to cover up the crime wasn’t beyond the scope of normal command duties. If there wasn’t ironclad proof, the IRA would see it as Collins betraying his own for the sake of making nice with Ulster, the corruption of Collins the soldier to Collins the politician who threw his soldiers under the bus.

“They were your soldiers too, Eoin! You trained them! You’re the one betraying them. The Ulsterites are Irish too.”

Ultimately, O’Duffy was sentenced to life imprisonment, after being cashiered from the Irish Republican Army. Collins didn’t see it as a victory. If he had sent Mulcahy instead of O’Duffy, how many more lives would have been saved? What could he do, to build a united Ireland in the wake of such bloodshed.

“Call Mr. McCullagh. This is my last shot to avoid losing Ireland.”

---

14 September 1940 - Belfast, Ireland

“With the establishment of the Parliament of Ulster and the transformation of the Republic into the Federal Republic of Ireland, all Irish people can truly be thought of as being weavers of the grand Irish tapestry. We thank the government of Michael Collins for establishing this institution to ensure that the Northern Irish and Protestant peoples of this great country can show and share their ways of life, and the distinct traditions that have become part of our life can become part of Ireland’s. The Cultural Unity Commission represents a tangible step on the path to the vision of our great flag. One nation, Catholic and Protestant, with the eternal flag of peace between them.” -Gerald McCullagh, First Minister of the Ulster Parliament

It was a pretty speech, but McCullagh had quieted down the UUP protests. There had almost been a complete schism between McCullagh and Craig, and Craig’s advanced age had not helped him maintain control of the party. A younger generation had been able to portray McCullagh as out of touch, wanting to reunite with a land that had fled to Canada to escape the syndicalists. Worse, they hadn’t come to support Ireland when she called for support, but Michael Collins had fought, and fought well. 

Collins had established the Ulster-Scots as its own language along with English and Irish Gaelic. It had been a nightmare to organize during wartime, at one point he had joked that he spent more time trying to figure out how to translate official government manuals than he had in pursuing the fight against the Union of Britain in the past month. The gesture had surprised the moderates in the UUP, and got them to the negotiating table when the timetable for phasing in the new language was given to them. Economic gestures hadn’t worked, but Collins saw more success with political measures meant to promote Ulsterites in Ireland, first with the establishment of their own language and then with the establishment of the Cultural Unity Commission. The resolution of their status, the question that had been on the table since 1925, was being sorted. Ireland would not simply tolerate her Protestant citizens, but celebrate them. This had enraged the Irish Catholic League and other populist Catholic movements, but Collins hadn’t been worried; they had been fringe groups to begin with and banned from the Irish Republican Army.

The last step had been to federalize Ireland into four regional areas with four Parliaments, Connacht, Leinster, Munster, and Ulster. Dublin would still be the centralized seat of the national government, responsible for matters of national interest such as the military, foreign policy, and inter-province commerce, but more domestic matters would be ceded to the local Parliaments. The full resumption of federal duties would be brought into effect when the war was over, but as a gesture of support, Collins had reshuffled the War Cabinet to include ministers from each of the four provinces. Oddly, this development had been celebrated with greater fanfare within Connacht and Munster than in Ulster itself, the two provinces had seen themselves receive less in terms of investment than Dublin or Belfast, and they welcomed the added jobs and local autonomy. The success of the IEAA and the war industries had made the country bloom, and if a little autonomy was lost for maximum unity, so much the better. For the first time since this war had begun, Collins began to feel optimism. 

The same couldn’t be said for the world situation. The Russian Vozhd had begun to push deep into White Ruthenia and the Kingdom of the Ukraine. Japan and Germany had turned the Southeastern Asian peninsula into a massive stretch of small battles and the Pacific into a warzone, and Japan had offered its support to the Princely Federation to attack the British Dominion of India, putting the Co-Prosperity Sphere at war with the Entente. The Zhii Clique and the Fengtian government had also gone to war in support of their respective Great Power patrons to turn northern China into a proxy war between Germany and Japan, and Cheng Jiongming had taken the opportunity to take over Hunan and Siuchan mostly peacefully, espousing Chinese democratic federalism. The war in China had prevented Japanese land reinforcements, forcing them to rely heavily on their Siamese allies. Savinkov, sensing weakness, had declared war to seize Transamur, and had invaded Japanese Siberia to take back the tiny province. Entente naval invasions hadn’t made much progress in mainland France, and the Low Countries were struggling with a British seaborne invasion and French attacks along the border.

“This is the final struggle.” Collins addressed the nation in a radio speech. “Ireland cannot know peace until the menace that has been the Union of Britain is defeated. We have maintained our borders, but it is not enough to simply seek détente with those who sought to enslave us. The Union of Britain is a threat to the entire world, and there will not be peace until we have taken it in our hands and shown it to the world. The Irish Republican Army will go across the sea, and we will rid ourselves of those who seek to deny us our own country.” 

It was a pretty speech, and it brought the country together, but that’s all that it was. Collins needed to find a way to provide a unified front against the Internationale. For all that Deat and Mosley loathed each other, they had coordinated exceptionally well and presented a unified front against the Reichspakt. The Entente and the Reichspakt had offered non-aggression pacts between each other, but coordination had gone no further. If Collins wanted to win the war, he would have to solve that problem. If he couldn’t, then he would face annihilation.

An impossible problem? The risk of death? Every problem seemed to have such unimaginable stakes, and each time one was solved another rose in it’s place. But that was necessary. These were the times that they were in.

---

Images

Unionists Hold Massive Rally

Unionists Mobilize

Unionists Planning an Uprising?

Clash at Unionist Worker Strike

Bank of Ireland Robbery

Murder in Derry

Antrim Concert Hall Attacked

Ulster March Begins

The Mulcahy Commission

Eoin O’Duffy’s Trial

Ulster at Peace

The New Ireland

The Final Struggle

Alright everyone, this is the latest chapter. I’m not in love with this one as much as I am with some of the others, but I was happy to be able to present some of the deployed grunt experience with Dean MacCabe; there’s a little bit of my friends who went to Iraq in it, and I wanted to relay the intensity and paranoia that they felt, even if it was just for a few paragraphs. 

Did what I could to ensure that these antagonists (in terms of a character that provides an obstacle to our protagonist, not a ‘villain’) came across as reasonable; one of my many faults when I write is that I have a tendency to focus more upon protagonists, so I wanted to ensure that the Ulster Unionists came across as mostly reasonable with extreme elements. I think I pulled it off well enough, but let me know what you think of it.

I’m not a fan that peace was so easy to achieve, because I think that cheapens the very real long-term efforts that these sorts of efforts entail. That’s a function of the game mechanics in HOI4, the same thing is present in the base game in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. Even the ideas in those foci would take a long time to implement, but it’s an AAR, so I have to reflect the mechanics of the game in the writing and make some vague allusions that it’s going to be a long process. Such as it is, I’m afraid.

The Second Weltkrieg continues on, the next chapter will be much different, as rather than taking place in one year over a series of events, it will take place over a few days at the Halifax Conference, and it will be a dialogue-driven chapter. We will have several bigwigs making their appearance, like Kaiser Wilhelm II and King Albert I (our King George VI), and some callbacks to earlier chapters. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

-SLAL

[numbjaw]

Suspicious Minds

Prompt: Erasermic. I see you specialize in angst. Hizashi saves a woman and she ends up kissing Hizashi (who is with Shouta and he didn't kiss back) and it gets photographed. It circulates around UA before Hizashi finds out. Shouta finds out and breaks it off with Hizashi thinking he's cheating but doesn't say way to him. Class A is protective of Shouta and refuse to let Hizashi near him. Todoroki is the one who figured it out and they decide to help Hizashi win back Shouta. And it works. - phoenixtodoroki

Shoto Todoroki was too buried in his studies to get involved in the gossip huddle taking place towards the front of the classroom; it wasn’t that he didn’t notice, he just didn’t care. Through hushed tones and electrified whispers, he put together some clues: something about a photo and someone of notoriety ‘cheating’. Based on Tenya’s quietness, it probably wasn’t cheating of the academic kind.

With the League of Villains currently in retreat again, things in Musutafu had been pretty mundane and quiet lately - a so-called “purse-snatcher” week. It was really no wonder some celebrity scandal was fueling the interests of his classmates this morning; there simply wasn’t anything else to talk about.

Shoto continued to look through his notes, even as Aizawa came in and sent the rest of 1-A into a clumsy scramble back to their seats. Aizawa, of course, punished them for not being seated with one of his newest challenges: an entire hour of complete silence. And by silent, he meant silent. Anyone who made so much as an involuntary sneeze would have a lap added to gym class the following week, and more laps added for anything remotely resembling noise after that - absent-minded pencil-tapping and skipped-breakfast-stomach-growling included.

Personally, Shoto enjoyed Aizawa’s silence tests, priding himself a little on being the only student who hadn’t been given an extra lap so far. Even straight and narrow Tenya, Class Rep, had fallen victim to Aizawa’s strict practice when one of his pencils had accidentally rolled off of his desk and clattered to the floor. It must’ve haunted him quite a lot, because Shoto noticed that Tenya had now attached grips to his pencils - something they hadn’t seen since elementary school - to prevent them from rolling around.

This hour was different, though. Not a single student made a sound, but Shoto had a strange feeling that it wasn’t because they were seriously trying their best to avoid running laps. There was particular tension within the classroom, and only himself and Aizawa seemed to be outside of it. Had whatever gossip his classmates been on about that morning been that captivating? Man, it really was a boring week...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nemuri Kayama watched as Hizashi yawned into the corner of the teacher’s lounge, one of his gloved hands clutching what had become his third cup of coffee that morning. It was a little more than his usual two, but nothing too out-of-the ordinary she supposed. Still, something about her fellow instructor seemed off lately.

Literally the loudest person in the entire school, maybe even the world, Hizashi had been a little less obnoxious lately. Tired, even. She wondered if this was the effect of dating Shouta Aizawa, a man who literally kept a sleeping bag folded under his desk.

“Long patrol last night?” She asked, to which Hizashi glanced wearily over his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, something like that,” He answered with a little grin, despite his visible exhaustion that his sunglasses did little to conceal, “Nothin' too exciting though. How about you?”

“Oh, you know my nights are always exciting…” Nemuri winked, almost causing Hizashi to choke on his coffee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the hour, Shoto was fairly sure he had every word in his notebook memorized. As long as Aizawa didn’t pull any “logical ruses” about what would be on the exam next week, Shoto was fairly confident that he had nothing to worry about.

Upon being excused, the silent treatment ignited 1-A into simultaneous, unintelligible blabbering, which made Shoto sincerely miss the quiet. But a few words overheard from Izuku and Ochaco caught his attention.

“Mr. Aizawa doesn’t know yet,” Izuku said.

“Deku! Are you sure?” Ochaco exclaimed, “What makes you think that?”

“Well, several things,” Izuku began, clutching his chin thoughtfully, “He acted completely normal, for starters. I know he’s really professional and calm no matter what’s happening, but this is something really personal to him. I really don’t think he would have punished us into a silent hour if he knew - that would have been the last thing he would have wanted. Instead, he would have wanted to be engaging with us, talking to us, keeping his mind off it…”

“That makes sense…” Ochaco said, “What do you think he’ll do when he does find out?”

Izuku sighed and looked down sadly. “That I don’t know…”

“Hey,” Shoto greeted, finally took an opportunity to step into their conversation, “Not trying to be rude, but what are you two talking about?”

Izuku looked up and Ochaco tilted her head.

“You don’t know?” She asked, to which Shoto shrugged.

“I wasn’t part of the class huddle this morning," He said matter-of-factly.

“That’s right…” Izuku remembered, before looking around carefully, “It’s about Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada.”

“What about them?” Shoto asked, though he felt he already had enough clues to guess. He just needed to confirm it.

“We think Mr. Yamada might be cheating on Mr. Aizawa,” Ochaco whispered, her tone as serious as it was concerned.

Shoto had to lean back slightly. So, his hunch had been right, the cheating scandal involved… their teachers? Oh man. Boring week aside, it was no wonder everyone had been so invested.

“Seriously?” was all Shoto could say as Ochaco handed him her phone.

On the screen was an image of Present Mic in his street clothes, lip-to-lip with a slender brunette in a pencil skirt, the blurred lights of the city outlining their features in what would have honestly been a beautiful photograph of a couple locked in an romantic, late-night embrace if it weren’t for the simple fact Yamada was supposed to be with Aizawa.

“No way,” Shoto breathed as he took in the photo, “Who took this?”

“Not sure. Mineta said he got it from a friend of his who was working downtown last Friday.”

Shoto’s brows lowered in suspicion. “How do we know it isn’t a lie? What if this was taken years ago?”

“Yeah, I thought that, too,” Izuku said quietly, “But look right here…”

Izuku pointed to the edge of a billboard in the photo, that, though a little out-of-focus, had an advertisement for a movie. Shoto squinted, unable to make out a date, only two characters, pointing up at a shooting star. It seemed familiar enough...

“That movie is in theaters right now,” Izuku said.

“Meaning this picture is definitely recent,” finished Ochaco.

Shoto felt a sudden pang of remorse for his homeroom teacher. Suddenly, it all made sense… but at the same time, it didn’t. At all.

Only students and staff at UA knew, but Aizawa and Yamada had been together for close to a year, having only gone public about it a few months ago. Obviously, no one within UA was surprised about it, but the tale of two opposite Pro-Heroes finding love sparked a tabloid firestorm for the first few weeks after they came out about it. Reception was positive, but mostly in that purposely-supportive-therefore-grossly-insincere kind of way, where more conservative sources questioned both the hook-up itself and the school; they were both UA teachers, after all. Though sparse, it was still enough for Principal Nezu to make a statement, quickly shutting down any claims of unprofessionalism in regards to staff relations at the school. After that, most of Japan generally didn’t care, other than Yamada’s radio fangirls and maybe Ms. Joke, who had finally figured out why Aizawa had always been so quick to shut down her not-always-joking advances. Still, she seemed to be their most genuine supporter of all, not shying away from teasing Yamada for ‘beating her to the punch’. Well, apparently Yamada had beaten her to the punch from the time they had both been students themselves at UA: half of their lifetimes together.

That’s why Yamada suddenly cheating on Aizawa didn’t make sense.

Shoto worriedly looked up to Izuku and Ochaco. “How many people did Mineta send this to?”

“Well, first he sent it to Ashido, who sent it to Aoyama, who then sent it to…” ブツブツブツブツブツブツブツブツ

Shoto spaced off as Izuku recited the entire order of recipients, who thankfully only seemed to be from Class 1-A. So far, anyway...

“We can’t let this get outside of our class,” Shoto said, “Not until we know the truth about it. I need you guys to help me contact everyone and find out where else this picture was sent.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shouta Aizawa could tell something strange was going on with his students. Not only did they, for the first time ever, all succeed in not making a sound, they had seemed to be mutually preoccupied with some kind of knowledge that he was unaware of. He threw out the idea of it being a possible seven-month early surprise birthday party right away. Thoughts of any anniversaries as a teacher or a Pro-Hero were also scrapped. There was literally nothing significant in April other than his upcoming anniversary with Hizashi, which he was certain his students had no knowledge of… unless Hizashi had said something.

Shouta felt himself smile as he sifted through the paperwork on his desk, a daydream of Hizashi sneakily getting their students in on some kind of surprise anniversary gift. It wasn’t completely irrational, Shouta figured.

But then again, when was love ever truly rational? If at all? He certainly had it bad for the Voice Hero...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hizashi was trying his absolute best to avoid his fourth cup of coffee that day as he walked to his classroom, where 1-A would be gathering shortly. Shouta had already texted him a heads-up about how unusually they were behaving by actually… behaving. Hizashi joked about being a little grateful, considering the absolute lack of sleep he’d had the night before. Shouta had replied with something along the lines of knowing a good remedy for sleep, combined with a winking emoji, which made Hizashi forget all about his need for more coffee.

Yamada, Hizashi:

Don’t tease me at work like this

Read at 11:36 AM

Sho 🐱❤️:

Or what?

Yamada, Hizashi:

I might just need to have a private meeting with you

Read at 11:36 AM

Sho 🐱❤️:

I really enjoy meetings. ;-)

‘Again with the winky face?!’

Yamada, Hizashi:

Class is starting soon. 

I’ll deal with you later.

Read at 11:38 AM

Sho 🐱❤️:

You better.

Tenya Iida was one of the first students in, as usual. But as Hizashi greeted him, he was met with a not-so-usual response: a very reserved “Morning” in lieu of his usually pitch-perfect “Good morning, Mr. Yamada!”

It only continued as more students almost seemed to cautiously shuffle into the room. Some of them neglected to even greet him at all, and probably most striking was how every single one of them sat at their desk and said absolutely nothing to each other.

“Sheesh, Shouta wasn’t kidding…” Hizashi thought. He hadn’t seen them like this since their first day at UA.

Hizashi cleared his throat and looked over the students thoughtfully. He was never one to break under a tough crowd. Whatever prank, scheme, or demonstration Class 1-A was on about today wouldn’t phase him. Clearly, they were all dead-set on silence today,maybe out of protest for Shouta’s continued push for it, so Hizashi would have to assure the next fifty minutes went exactly the opposite of quiet. His specialty.

Thinking quickly, he targeted Tenya first. No matter what was going on, he was certain the Class Rep would always have an opinion to declare - especially when it regarded ethics. Seeing as all of the instructors were collaborating on the exam, his lessons were crossing into Shouta’s, and vice-versa.

“Iida,” Hizashi started, “Can you tell the class the definition of a ‘vigilante’?”

Tenya stood up, though some hesitation was clear. “Vigilantes... are groups or individuals who act independently, usually attempting to perform the duties of Pro-Heroes, but outside of the law and without licenses. Despite acting in good faith… vigilantism is considered illegal.”

“That it is! Don’t let the Good Samaritan act fool ya,” Hizashi praised, as Tenya sat back down. He then noticed Tenya bowed his head, as if ashamed - but why? He’d answered perfectly. Was it because he answered anything at all? Was 1-A really attempting a silent protest? Not in Present Mic’s class. “Righty-o. So! Can any of you tell me what you should do if you encounter a vigilante out in the field?”

Silence and stillness. It was a hard-ball question, Hizashi supposed. Shouta’s so-called “problem child” Izuku Midoriya would probably be a good student to call on, Hizashi figured. The kid wasn’t so much as a goodie-two-shoes as he just genuinely wanted to excel whenever he could, even if it meant going against the grain from time to time. The perfect student, as far as Hizashi was concerned.

“Nothin’, huh? How about… Midoriya. Tell the crowd what you think you should do if you encounter a vigilante.”

Izuku mirrored Tenya’s hesitation, but eventually stood none-the-less. “They’re considered criminals… so maybe apprehend them, but...” Izuku said, before his eyes swept up at Hizashi, “It depends on the situation…”

Hizashi tilted his head. Why had Izuku said that so… directly? “Go on...?”

“Right,” Izuku murmured, then looked back down, “If a vigilante is encountered during an incident with a villain, you’d have to prioritize the villain over the vigilante. But, if a vigilante is assisting a citizen, it’s best to help, or at least take over if possible. And, I suppose if a vigilante is encountered alone, you should attempt to apprehend them, but no matter what the circumstance, you must contact the police as soon as possible.”

“Nailed it! That was a mouthful, though - y’all catch all that? I hope you did!” Hizashi sang, shifting through Aizawa’s notes. He really did hope the rest of 1-A had paid close attention, as Izuku had just supplied the exact correct answer to one of their upcoming exam questions. It was hard to tell, though. No one was asking questions about it. No one was asking for it to be repeated. No one was speaking unless called on. No one was even taking notes. Hizashi’s smile faded slightly.

“Can anyone name which statute that affected vigilantism?” He asked.

The weird tension in the room only seemed to thicken like humidity when Hizashi called on Momo Yaoyorozu, who wasn’t so much distressed, but rather… angry. Towards who or what, Hizashi had no idea, but it certainly wasn’t him… right?

“The Rhode Island New State Statute,” She said effortlessly, without even looking at Hizashi.

“How many vigilantes were affected?” Hizashi challenged, to which Momo met him with a glare.

“Over a hundred.”

Hizashi waved a finger at her. “Ah-ah. How many exactly?”

“You know, maybe you should answer that… how many others?” Momo said, “Or was it just the one?”

Hizashi tilted his head as the rest of 1-A looked to Momo in shock.

“Do you… not know?” Hizashi asked, looking over his sunglasses at Yaoyorozu.

“Oh, I know. We all know,” Momo muttered, before sitting down, looking as though she was close to crying. The rest of the class seemed to have absorbed her words, which seemed to affect Mineta the most as he down-right sunk into his seat.

On second thought, maybe 1-A was better off staying silent after all. Honestly, Hizashi hadn’t been so relieved for a class dismissal since he’d been a student himself. As soon as 1-A had finished filing outside, he texted Shouta immediately.

Yamada, Hizashi:

Yooooooooooooooooooooooooo 

you were right! 1-A was OFF AF

Hizashi, mostly confused, tried not to think about why Shouta didn’t respond to him right away. What had Momo meant when she said ‘how many others’?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto managed to catch Momo out in the hallway while Izuku and Ochaco got stuck behind a wall of students departing for lunch. She was still flustered, he noticed.

“That was a little harsh back there, don’t you think?”

“How was it harsh?” She shot back, “The guy’s a total sleazebag, cheating on Mr. Aizawa like that!”

“Keep your voice down,” Shoto warned, “This’ll only get worse if it spreads.”

“Well, maybe it should,” Momo argued, “He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.”

Shoto looked over his classmate sympathetically. He understood her pain well, as they had both developed a special bond with Aizawa after the final exams; just the idea of someone trying to hurt their teacher made his left side want to ignite.

“Look, I’m not disagreeing, but whether it’s true or not, we owe Mr. Aizawa his privacy. Can you imagine the media circus if that picture gets outside of our school?”

Finally, Momo’s dark eyes softened with the realization of the matter; she couldn’t imagine how downright embarrassed, ashamed, and angry Shouta would feel if that image of his boyfriend got plastered over every tabloid imaginable, along with pictures of him, and maybe even UA...

“You’re absolutely right, Todoroki… I’m so sorry,” She sighed, and calmed herself, a familiar confidence returning to her eyes. “What do we do?”

“First, we need to convince everyone else to delete the picture off their phones. Deku and Uraraka are already working on that part. I was thinking about tracking down Mineta’s friend, the one who took it in the first place, and find out if they sent it to anyone else other than Mineta. Maybe even get a little more context behind it, too.”

“Todoroki…” Momo realized, “You... really don’t think Mr. Yamada cheated, do you?”

“I just don’t want to believe that he actually did,” Shoto sighed, “So, will you help us out?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yamada, Hizashi:

Yooooooooooooooooooooooooo 

you were right! 1-A was OFF AF

Read at 12:08 PM

It was late in the evening. Hizashi’s once-mild concern over being left on read had graduated to a storming panic. It was absolutely unlike Shouta not to text him back unless something bad had happened; their status as both Pro Heroes and teachers at UA doubled this chance, and, of the two of them, it was usually Shouta who wound up hurt. Hizashi personally wasn’t sure if his heart could handle another hospital visit. Stomach continuing to knot, Hizashi attempted another text.

Yamada, Hizashi:

Getting kinda worried. You ok?

Shouta didn’t make him wait any longer, which normally would have been a relief if it weren’t for the single word that he replied with.

Sho 🐱❤️:

No.

Yamada, Hizashi:

What’s wrong?

Sho 🐱❤️:

You should know.

Hizashi swallowed a growing lump in his throat as his exchange with Momo Yaoyorozu that morning rang out in his head.

“Do you… not know?”

“Oh, I know. We all know.”

Yamada, Hizashi:

???

I have no idea

Did I forget something again?

Sho 🐱❤️:

It would seem.

Yamada, Hizashi:

Can’t be our anniversary, that’s next week... :)

Can I have a hint?

Read at 8:40 PM

Yamada, Hizashi:

Sho?

Read at 8:47 PM

Yamada, Hizashi:

talk to me!

Read at 8:52 PM

Yamada, Hizashi:

I honestly have no idea what’s wrong. But I’ll make it right, whatever it is. Don’t leave me in the dark, Sho. Please?

Hizashi’s thumb hesitantly hovered over the call option on the phone screen, but he refrained, chalking it up to a really weird day. Maybe Shouta just needed to sleep off whatever it was, Hizashi thought, as he went on to wonder what exactly he had forgotten about that had made Shouta react as he did.

What had he forgotten? Shouta’s birthday was November 8th… right?

Suddenly, Hizashi wasn’t really sure about anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Touma Okamura was the childhood friend of Mineta and also the spark of what was becoming a wildly-growing forest fire for UA. Despite the best efforts of Shoto, Izuku, Ochaco, and Momo, it had seemed news of Present Mic’s after-school activities had already leaked outside of their class, and possibly UA. It was only a matter of time before Aizawa found out, if he hadn’t found out already. For Shoto, it was more important than ever to get the context behind the damn picture, which would hopefully stomp out the flames before the smoke was noticed by the press.

Shoto was pleased that Momo had decided to join himself, Izuku, and Ochaco on the trip into the city. The location of the photo was right outside of a gaudy souvenir store in Downtown Musutafu. It was a constantly-busy, loud area of town that never seemed to sleep or be without traffic. Shoto felt his stomach turn a little when he saw the movie billboard from the photo, “Lost Stars”, prominently displayed on a nearby rooftop. And just below, Touma, wearing a work apron.

Touma was similar to Mineta in nature: immature, rather small and squirrely, but with a Quirk that was similar to Ojiro’s - a large tail, but more lizard-like, striped with green and brown scales.

“Thanks for meeting with us,” Izuku said, as Touma just nodded, looking more bored if anything.

“No biggie,” Touma said, “Mineta gave me a heads-up about you. But just so you know, I only have five minutes before I have to get back, so I gotta make this quick. What’d you wanna know?”

“For starters… just what was going on before and after you took that picture of Present Mic,” Shoto said, crossing his arms.

Touma looked up at the sky as he recalled back. “I had a late shift that night. Got out around 9PM. I was on my way out and when I saw Present Mic and that lady. Actually took me a second to recognize it was him, and once I did I wanted to get a picture… and that’s pretty much when they kissed.”

“When you say they kissed… did it seem… mutual?” Momo asked carefully.

Touma shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, he didn’t exactly stop her.”

“How long did it last?” Ochaco asked, and Shoto took notice of Izuku beginning to blush slightly.

“Eh, not long. Maybe only a second and she went on her way. He kinda stood there a minute watching her before walking the other way. It was pretty weird now that I think about it.”

“Did Mic seem… okay?” Shoto pressed, knowing they were running low on time.

“I don’t know. He seemed fine to me. Maybe a little confused, but fine.”

“Okamura. Why did you send the picture to Mineta?” asked Izuku.

“Because it was funny,” Touma explained, grinning in a way that definitely explained his friendship with Mineta, “I knew Present Mic was one of his teachers, and come on, that lady was super hot. I knew Mineta would get a kick out of it!”

“He’s going to get a kick out of it, alright,” Shoto muttered, as Momo glanced at him worriedly.

“Did you send the picture to anyone else?” Ochacho asked, to which Touma shook his head.

“Nope,” Touma started, “I mean, I posted it on my feed, but I didn’t tag Present Mic in it or anything.”

“Wait. You… posted it… online?” Shoto asked slowly.

“Yeah. Like, I only have maybe a hundred followers? That’s not many at all. Practically nobody else saw it. I’m kinda underground, you know?”

Shoto had to step away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hizashi awoke to a loud knocking at the door. He blinked wearily in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, unsure as to when he had managed to fall asleep or, more so, how. Before Hizashi could check his phone, he answered the door, somewhat surprised to see Shouta standing there.

“Hey,” He smiled at first, until realizing Shouta didn’t look too pleased and was cradling a cardboard box.

“You said you wanted a hint,” Shouta said coldly, shoving the box into Hizashi’s arms, “Hopefully this will suffice.”

With great alarm, Hizashi realized all the contents inside the box were things of his that he had either gifted to Shouta or things of his that he had left at Shouta’s apartment, and Shouta was now walking away.

“Shouta, wait, I don’t understand what I did!” Hizashi called after him, setting the box down at the doorstep and running after the fellow instructor, who was making a beeline for the nearest stairwell, “Shouta!”

“Stop,” Shouta said, pausing halfway down the stairs, “Stop treating me like a fool. It won’t work.”

“I’m… not…” Hizashi trailed off, “Shouta -”

“Stop calling me that,” said Shouta, “We’re done.”

“I…” Hizashi said quietly, “Hold up a second, would ya…? I seriously don’t understand what I did…”

“If that’s really true,” Shouta said, “Then we really have nothing else to talk about.”

“Sh - Aizawa…” Hizashi tried, but it was as if he had suddenly swallowed a razor blade. Was Shouta using his Quirk on him? No, his eyes weren’t red. They were hurt.

“Going forward, I’ll maintain a professional relationship with you - but only for the sake of our students. I’ll expect you to do the same. Goodnight, Yamada.”

“Aiz…”

Shouta was already gone, leaving only the echoes of his quickened footsteps behind. Hizashi lost track of time again, standing at the top of the stairwell until the sun left the sky. Was this a nightmare? It certainly felt like one. Actually, no. Nightmares felt real. This didn’t feel real. Only the ache of his legs and the cold breeze felt real.

Hizashi walked very slowly back to his apartment, unable to stop thinking about the way Shouta had looked at him. The box was still on his porch, and within it was everything that apparently reminded Shouta of him. Hizashi heavily debated whether or not to take it inside or just throw it off the balcony, eventually deciding to take it in, hoping it was all a nightmare, or that it was some kind of cruel prank, or some strange spell Shouta and their students had fallen under… 

Strange spell...

Hizashi found his phone, not surprised to find a text from Shouta telling him he was on his way to drop off his stuff. He swiped past it, then opened a search engine instead.

“Quirks that make someone break up with you for no reason”

A definition of Quirks popped up, followed by several Cosmopolitan articles.

“Break up quirks”

Several ‘breakdown’ lists of quirks, missing the phrase ‘up’.

“Quirks that erase love”

Hizashi should have known better, as the keywords ‘quirk’ and ‘erase’ brought up a slew of Eraserhead results, including his favorite picture of Shouta - a press shot of him in his Hero gear, demonstrating his capture weapon. Shouta hated the picture, just as he hated every picture of himself, but Hizashi loved it.

He loved Shouta.

Just what the hell had he done?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Present Mic’s Newest Gig - Has Eraserhead Been Erased?” 

The headline and accompanying picture was inescapable. It was on every social media feed, television, jumbo-tron, and grocery store newsstand in Japan.

Despite this, Aizawa still showed up to school, on time and on schedule, looking as he often did - disheveled and tired. It was a little comforting, Shoto thought at first, though the toll of the breakup going viral made itself known in other ways, such as Aizawa acting far more apathetic than usual. He called on literally anyone who raised their hand, even if it was the same students over and over. When provided a wrong answer, he didn’t probe too hard for the correct one like he usually did, simply stating the correct answer himself before moving on, voice monotone and passionless. Well, more monotone and passionless. He allowed Katsuki to doodle something that remotely resembled Deku with his hair on fire, while Denki and Eijiro passed notes (as if they didn’t have cell phones) and, probably most profoundly, allowed Rikido to sleep in class.

Shoto exchanged worried looks with Momo, who also seemed to have noticed their teacher’s unusual lack of spirit as well. Shouta Aizawa was running on auto-pilot, pushing himself to teach while his personal life was being put on blast by every seedy media corporation in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Class 1-A, with the exception of Shoto, Izuku, Ochaco, and Momo, seemed pleasantly surprised to find Midnight standing at the podium in English class. Unlike Aizawa, news of the picture had apparently sent Yamada into hiding.

“Mr. Yamada is home sick today, so I’ll be taking over for him,” Kayama explained, careful not to give away too much, “After lunch, you’re all to return back here for Art History. I’d rather not have to shuffle my things between two classrooms if I don’t have to, so I’ll shuffle all of you instead. Work smarter, not harder… depending on what you’re doing, anyways.”

Minoru Mineta made a semblance of a wheeze, one of his first signs of life since the scandal had begun. He’d been unusually quiet otherwise, probably sensing he’d made a mistake by carelessly circulating the photo throughout the school and not having the foresight to stop Touma from posting it to social media before it was too late.

Kayama did her best to get through Yamada’s “ineligible” notes, mostly sticking to having them read from a book written entirely in English. But just like Aizawa, they could sense she was somewhat unfocused and troubled, checking her phone far more than usual.

Once 1-A was dismissed for lunch, however, all Hell broke loose.

Shoto wasn’t sure who had spotted Mr. Yamada first, but a majority of the students had already cornered him in a hallway near the entrance. For being a Pro, Yamada looked positively startled and broken, his usual spike of hair hanging in uneven locks around his face.

“You know, if you’re sick, you shouldn’t be here,” said Katsuki, arms crossed as he stared at his teacher defiantly.

Shoto knew that tone of voice and his heart leapt; sometimes Katsuki was an even bigger hothead than his damn father was, but he wasn’t dumb enough to go head-to-head with a teacher on school grounds, was he? It seemed as though Izuku picked up on this as well, as Shoto spotted him trying to rush up to the front of the stand-off where Katsuki was.

“Yeah. Go home, Mr. Yamada,” agreed Eijiro, stirring up the other students, some of whom were outside of 1-A.

Before Shoto and Izuku could attempt to break up the line and share what they had learned from Touma, a very loud and very obvious voice, second only to Mic himself, broke out over the crowd.

All Might, dressed in his sunflower-yellow pinstripe suit, rushed beside Yamada in a cloud of smoke that generated solely from how fast he’d appeared, and looked out over the student body, smiling like usual, like there wasn’t a single thing wrong in the entire world.

“Mr. Yamada, a quick word?” All Might said, knowingly stepping between Yamada and the students, before a rush of wind shot out over their heads.

Just like that, All Might had swept Yamada out of the scene. In his wake, a small form appeared - Principle Nezu.

The atmosphere changed immediately as he looked over them, usual tea cup in hand.

“Students, shouldn’t you all be in the cafeteria?”

No arguing with that.

As they re-routed to the cafeteria, Shoto couldn’t help but think of how calculated the teacher’s rescue operation had been. Geez, what had Yamada been thinking, coming on property at a time like that? There was no way he’d get anywhere near Mr. Aizawa, not if Class 1-A had anything to do about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The teacher’s lounge was thankfully empty as Toshinori escorted a very distraught Hizashi inside.

“Would you like a coffee, or tea?” Toshinori asked, to which the other blonde simply shook his head ‘no’.

Toshinori took to the couch across from Hizashi, whom he hadn’t seen look this bad since an incident during his Bronze Age days. But at least those had been the kind of wounds that could be healed by Recovery Girl.

“I thought it was all bad enough,” Hizashi said after a while, “but now the entire school seems to hate me, too…”

“They don’t hate you,” Toshinori said, though he knew his words weren’t exactly convincing, “They’re simply suffering from the same amount of ignorance as Mr. Aizawa is.”

Hizashi forced a small laugh, but returned to leaning on his knees and staring at the floor. “I just can’t believe they’d believe it so easily. Well, no. That’s not true. I get the kids. But Shouta…? Smartest guy I know… how could he doubt me so much, y’know?”

“Haven’t you talked to him?”

“I’ve tried to. Several times. But he’s blocked me on just about everything you can be blocked on. Even our work email, somehow. That’s why I was going to try to catch him today, during lunch. Didn’t expect the entire student body to tell me otherwise, but yeah, here we are... I just want him to hear me out, for five minutes. That’s all it would take to explain to him that I have no idea who that girl even was and that she kissed me because I’d got her purse back from some crook! It all happened so fast that I wasn’t even sure it happened at all. I seriously didn’t even remember it until the tabloids came out… ughh, I can’t believe this…”

Toshinori watched as Hizashi ran his hands through his hair, yanking the strands up in frustration.

“Well, maybe I can have a word with Mr. Aizawa?” Toshinori offered.

“Ha,” laughed Hizashi, “Good luck. He won’t hear anyone out. Not me, not Ken, not even Midnight… they’ve all tried but he just gives them this generic ‘please don’t talk to me about personal matters at work’ crap!”

The door opened, signaling the arrival of Principal Nezu, who seemed a little less-than-enthused, to say the least. Hizashi and Yagi greeted him, but he strode past them to look out the window quietly.

“It seems that even our students are buying into what the press is selling…” Nezu pondered aloud, “And if our students believe it, then that’s the only truth that will matter.”

Hizashi watched as Principal Nezu turned to look at him. “Mr. Yamada, I understand this is a personal matter for yourself and Mr. Aizawa, but if it’s going to affect UA in this way then I must ask you both to come to a clear resolution immediately.”

“Tell Aizawa that.” Hizashi remarked, folding his arms.

“I already have, and he says he’s already requested professionalism from you. I’m sorry for how things are, truly, but you’re going to have to abide by this request or I’ll be forced to… restructure.”

“You mean you’ll fire me?”

“That’s not what he said, Yamada.” Toshinori cut in.

“All Might - please…” Principal Nezu took the last sip of his tea, then cleared his throat, “Mr. Yamada, there are many other schools who could… appreciate what you have to offer.”

“Tch…” Hizashi just nodded his head, mostly in disbelief.

“Have a good rest of your day, both of you,” Nezu said.

No sooner than the door closed, Hizashi stood up slowly. “I think… I’m gonna head home. Think about things. Say, Yagi. If you do happen to chat with Aizawa… ask him if there’s anything of his he wants back. Catch ya later, I guess...”

Toshinori could only watch on as Hizashi sauntered towards the door. He grit his teeth.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Yamada, but I’m not going to ask him that.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Izuku felt as though he was underwater, too lost in thought over the situation with his teachers to really hear any of the talking going on around him. Eventually, a concerned voice caught his attention - Ochaco’s.

“Deku, aren’t you going to eat?”

Izuku looked down at his plate, finally realizing that he hadn’t touched it yet.

“I… don’t really feel hungry…” Izuku answered slowly, before looking up suddenly. “I need to go. I’m sorry. I’ll catch you in class, alright?”

“Deku, wait!”

Izuku left behind his tray, Ochaco, and the cafeteria. Maybe it wasn’t too late to catch Present Mic and ask him for his truth himself, like Shoto had suggested. Without thinking, Izuku burst into the teacher’s lounge, only finding a startled Toshinori Yagi.

“Young Midoriya!” He exclaimed, smoke puffing around him as he took his Hero form, “Students are not allowed in the faculty lounge, you know!”

“All Might - where is Mr. Yamada?” Izuku asked, though even he had to admit it sounded more like a demand, “I need to talk to him about something.”

“And what would that be?”

“The picture!” Izuku said, “Todoroki, me, and few others… we don’t think it’s what everyone is hyping it up to be. We just want to hear Mr. Yamada out.”

All Might paused, reverting back to his true form, then turned to Izuku.

“I think I may be able to help...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, Toshinori watched uneasily as Shouta poured himself shot after shot of whiskey; what had once been a brand new bottle was steadily falling under the halfway-mark, and Toshinori had yet to pour any for himself. He knew Shouta needed this, though. Not the alcohol, but what it provided: an escape from the situation. If it weren’t for his duty to Class 1-A, Toshinori was pretty sure that Shouta would have left the country by now. So Toshinori merely allowed his friend to imbibe, but only within reason... reason that was quickly reaching a limit.

Shouta was dead-set on gaining the Don’t-Give-A-Fuck Quirk that alcohol so easily provided. He’d repay Toshinori for the bottle later and do penance for his sins with what would surely be the worst hangover on record the next day. Just so long as he could forget how to feel for a while. Forget the picture. Forget Hizashi. Forget the world.

Shouta reached for the bottle again, but found a large hand suddenly placed over his own. He stared at it, struggling to focus, then realized it was Toshinori’s. He glanced up at the other man, confused.

“You might want to slow down between shots,” Toshinori advised, with a polite smile that Shouta suddenly felt drawn to.

Wouldn’t that be something, Shouta thought drunkenly as he took in the rest of Toshinori, sitting so closely beside him. Wouldn’t that be just the thing to end the tale of him and Present Mic - for him to instead be with All Might. Toshinori wouldn’t cheat on him. He was too valiant, too kind, too...

Toshinori recognized the shift in Shouta’s eyes way too late; it was only a second, but Shouta had already moved in for a kiss. It took a lot for Toshinori to turn away from him. Aside from looking like an absolute hermit, Shouta had always been really beautiful to him, with a heart too big than he let on. But that heart was shattered right now and Shouta was drunk on half a bottle of whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” Toshinori breathed as he clenched his fists.

Shouta didn’t ask why. He just turned away and fell quiet again, his long dark hair falling over his face like a curtain. After a moment, Toshinori heard the sound of the bottle scraping off the coffee table and the sound of liquid being poured into a glass again.

“I think you should stop, now…” Toshinori said hesitantly.

“You won’t let me kiss you and now you won’t let me drink,” said Shouta, and Toshinori wasn’t sure if he had meant to say it out loud.

“Because I think you’ve had enough, Aizawa.”

“Aizawa…” Shouta repeated mockingly, chuckling to himself. He’d had enough, alright.

“Shouta,” Toshinori corrected, his voice settling back down to it’s more natural state, “I know things are stressful for you right now. As someone who was in the media spotlight nearly their whole career, I know how... intrusive it can be. But I promise it’s temporary. It’ll blow over as soon as the next thing happens. You just need to ride out the storm.”

“I’ve been riding it out,” Shouta argued, “And when it blows over - what then? I’ve still lost my best friend. Hm. Figures. It’s all I ever seem to do...”

Toshinori swallowed hard, understanding that Shouta was referencing Oboro Shirakumo, whom he had lost in an accident back in their high school days. Before Toshinori could even articulate how to respond to that, Shouta rose up from the couch suddenly.

“We never should have done it,” Shouta began, “I knew it would ruin our friendship. I told him it would. But he said he loved me, Toshinori. And I believed him, and we…”

Toshinori watched as Shouta cringed from a memory that he would never know of. He wanted to hug his friend, badly, but he knew Shouta would probably react in a way that wouldn’t be easy to reject. Toshinori wasn’t sure if he’d be able to deny Shouta another kiss. But for the sake of Hizashi, Shouta, and their students, Toshinori kept his distance, allowing Shouta to pace back and forth across his living room instead.

“I was an idiot, you know,” Shouta continued, “I had suspicions about him for months…”

“O-Oh?”

“Lying about where he’d been, constantly tired, smelling like women’s perfume…” Shouta said of Hizashi, “And I never questioned him. Not once. Do you know why? Because love turns you into a completely irrational fucking idiot.”

Toshinori didn’t know how to react to Shouta’s sudden outpouring of information; he knew Shouta wasn’t lying, he had no reason to, but he also knew that Hizashi wasn’t that type of guy. He was eccentric, funny, and loud - God, was he loud - but he wasn’t some heartless playboy. He openly gushed over Shouta every chance he got. He played songs for Shouta over the radio every single night. He was Shouta’s best friend for over a decade before they finally realized there was something a little more than friendship going on, a friendship that Toshinori knew neither of them would throw down the drain for something that hadn’t been substantial.

“I think that may be your problem, my friend,” said Toshinori finally.

Shouta stopped pacing and smirked. “And what’s that, Yagi? That I’m an idiot? You can say it. No need to keep playing shy. Tell me the truth. Tell me I’m an idiot.”

“No, though you are acting like one right now,” Toshinori said, “Your problem is that you never questioned Yamada, one way or the other. You never asked him yourself what was going on. You only assumed as much.”

Shouta suddenly glared, eyes flashing red, his hair rising from off of his shoulders, “Are you suggesting that I should have? He only would’ve denied it. He acted like he had no idea what I was talking about, and now that it’s on every single news site and he hasn’t bothered to say a single word to me in person.”

“That’s because the students haven’t let him get near you,” Toshinori finally revealed.

Shouta’s gaze changed back to normal and his hair fell back into place. “...what?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto felt exhausted by the scandal that never seemed to end. His fellow classmates seemed to feel the same. Everyone missed how things had been before - before their teachers were estranged and unfocused. The rumor floating around about Present Mic possibly being transferred to another school was met with a strange reception, too: some were happy about it, but despite everything, a good few were upset. It seemed as more time had gone on, more of their classmates had started to feel as he did, that Yamada actually hadn’t done anything wrong and that it was a total misunderstanding.

But how could they prove it, other than the word of Mineta’s idiot friend who had started the entire thing to begin with? Aizawa wasn’t having any of it, plain and simple. Shoto had tried to talk to him and he’d been shut down quicker than the time Aizawa had stopped Izuku from throwing a baseball.

It wasn’t until Izuku pulled him aside and informed him of the first promising news he’d heard since everything had begun: Izuku had gained some information from All Might, who had apparently had a little heart-to-heart with Aizawa after school hours, which revealed much more to the situation.

Aizawa wasn’t reacting based solely on a picture or the ensuing tabloids, as everyone had originally thought. He was reacting to several months-worth of suspicions over Yamada, who apparently had been very secretive over his whereabouts and even smelled like perfume at times. The revelation made Shoto’s stomach tense up. Had he been wrong, then? Had Mr. Yamada really cheated after all?

The only way to truly know was to ask Mr. Yamada himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We came because we wanted to get your side of the story.” Shoto said to Present Mic after the rest of the class had filed out. Only himself and Izuku had stayed behind.

“Why? Gossip well getting empty on you?” Yamada sneered, pretending like the paperwork on his desk was more important; most of the pages were blank, Shoto noticed.

“No, Mr. Yamada. We… sincerely just want to hear you out. We don’t believe all the tabloids or what everyone else is saying. We don’t think you cheated on Mr. Aizawa,” said Izuku.

“Then that makes two people on the entirety of planet Earth,” Yamada huffed, “Honestly, after being drowned in this for a week, I’m starting to think I really did.”

“Well, did you?” Shoto said, voice firm.

“‘Course I didn’t! That picture - that lady - I have no idea who she even was.”

“But… she’s kissing you…”

“Yes, yes, yes, because I was able to stop some jerk from stealing her purse. She was so grateful about it that she decided to jump up and smooch me - pfft, it was so quick that I forgot it even happened.”

“No wonder you were so confused when Mr. Aizawa dumped you…”

“Ya think?! And of course when I saw the picture on the news it finally clicked. But thanks to good ol’ 1-A, I couldn’t get two seconds to explain myself to him. And he’d already blocked me on everything. My only outlet was my radio show, but my producers put me on a leave of absence so I couldn’t get the word out that way either. I was really tempted to just start screaming about it from a rooftop, loud enough for him and all of Japan to hear me, buuuut that’d probably lose me my license… then again, I’ve pretty much lost everything anyways, so what would it matter? I’m kidding! Sort of.”

Shoto and Izuku glanced towards the door, where they saw Toshinori give them a thumbs-up.

Shoto cleared his throat. Stay focused. “What were you doing downtown that night, anyways? You weren’t in costume, so it definitely wasn’t Patrol, and it was too early for your radio show… and far.”

Yamada removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “You won’t believe me… ah, but what’s new? That was because of a side-gig I picked up about two months ago.”

“Side-gig?”

“I was washing dishes, alright?!”

“Is that code for -”

“Midoriya. No, it’s not code for anything. I was li-ter-ally washing dishes at Tonkatsu.”

“Tonkatsu? The ramen shop? Why?” Izuku asked the obvious.

“Because it’s my favorite hobby, on top of teaching you little annoyances, screaming at would-be villains, and running a radio show every night until 5am,” Hizashi said sarcastically, “To earn extra cash, duh.”

“Extra cash? For what?” asked Izuku.

“Sheesh. You kids really ought to stick to Hero work instead of detective work...” Yamada said as he fished out a small box from his jacket pocket.

“Mic -”

“This,” Yamada said, flipping open the ring box to reveal a sleek, tungsten engagement ring.

“You were going to propose to Mr. Aizawa…!” Izuku marveled, before clasping a hand over his mouth. Crap. Aizawa was right outside the door with Toshinori. Had he overheard that?

“Glad I didn’t have to explain that part, too,” Yamada teased, before sighing and tucking the box away.

“I don’t understand, why didn’t you just tell Mr. Aizawa that you picked up another job instead?” Shoto asked.

“Because he would’ve figured it out! Just like he figured out every single other thing I tried to surprise him with! When I got the idea to propose, I knew I had to be sneaky about it or he’d catch on! I just thought he might be a little smarter and know it wasn’t because I was freaking cheating on him! I guess I gave Eraser too much credit…”

Izuku jabbed Shoto with his elbow suddenly.

“U-Um. What about the perfume?” Shoto asked.

“Perfume?” Yamada repeated.

“Mr. Aizawa said you came home a few times, smelling like women’s perfume…” Shoto asked, feeling awkward as he did so.

“Did he honestly tell you guys that? As a class? Wow, he really does hate me now, doesn’t he?”

“So it’s true?” questioned Izuku, doing well to hide the fact they were the only two students from 1-A who knew, and only due to All Might letting Aizawa drink himself into a practical coma.

“Ugh. Yes, okay? But it wasn’t because I was cuddling up to some no-name lady during my dishwashing gig. It was a… personal thing…”

Shoto looked to Izuku unsurely, then back to Yamada. No way Izuku was going to ask the weird questions. Shoto cleared his throat, biting the bullet. “Do you... like smelling like a woman?”

“NO!” Hizashi boomed, his Quirk slightly blowing both Izuku and Shoto’s hair back.

“I’m gonna spit this out as quick as I can and then I’m done playing Sherlock with you two, ya dig? One time Aizawa and I planned a sort’ve - I don’t know - picnic-y thing…”

“That’s ah... cute…” tried Izuku, voice cracking. Shoto wanted to smack his own head.

“Shuddap! It was very impromptu,” Yamada said, crossing his legs, “So much so, that we didn’t realize a freak storm was rolling in and wheeeew - before we knew it, we were being doused in rain. It was so heavy that we had to stay underneath a tree for almost two whole hours until it finally let up enough for us to bounce. By the time we got home, we both had this… I dunno, earthy, rainy smell going on? Then Shouta made fun of my hair, which was totally ruined. He said I looked like a ‘sad daffodil’, so I told him he looked like a komondor. You know - that dog that looks like a literal mop? And then… he just started laughing.”

‘Mr. Aizawa laughing…? Why is that such an unsettling thought?’ Both Izuku and Shoto thought.

“I mean, I could’ve sworn I swapped Quirks with Ms. Joke for a second because I’d never made him laugh that much in my life… and ever since, I started checkin’ this perfume store next door to Tonkatsu for something resembling the rainy smell from that day.”

“The day you made him laugh,” Izuku echoed.

“Yeah. Never did find that smell again, not that it really matters that much anymore…” Hizashi sighed, before standing, “So, are we done here or -”

He trailed off, as he noticed Shouta standing at the door, mouth parted slightly in shock.

“Hizashi… is all of that true?” Shouta asked.

After a moment of shock, Hizashi fought back a sad smile. “‘Course it is, dummy. You really think I’d throw us away for anyone else?”

Shouta looked down, and Shoto noticed a slight trembling on his teacher’s shoulders that didn’t seem to be from his capture weapon.

“I’m… sorry,” Shouta murmured, “I acted completely irrationally. I should have spoken with you about it, instead of...”

Izuku watched a shift in Hizashi’s face and he glanced at Shoto worriedly. Shoto looked back, equally unsure if they were being rude by staying. Just when they got the thought to sprint to All Might and leave the two instructors in peace, Hizashi suddenly got down on his knee before Shouta and withdrew the box from his jacket once again.

“You said it yourself once,” Hizashi said as he gently opened the box, “Love isn’t rational. Makes even the smartest people stupid. Surprise, by the way.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gym class was brutal.

Well, at least for everyone except for Izuku, Ochaco, Shoto, and Momo.

It was especially brutal for Mineta, who had… somehow… earned an extra 20 laps around the track that he was expected to finish within the period.

As most of 1-A jogged along the track, Shoto glanced down from the bleachers at Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada, who stood side-by-side, observing, smiling, and sometimes even laughing - about what was anyone’s guess - but it was nice to see them somehow closer than they were before, and that UA was back to normal.

Shoto looked to Izuku, who was looking worriedly at the track.

“Hey, what’s your deal?” Shoto asked him, “Do you feel guilty or something?”

“Yes,” Izuku admitted, “It feels weird just sitting here while everyone else has to run.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Midoriya,” Momo said, sunglasses on and feet propped up on the bench beside them. Ochaco mirrored her.

Shoto smirked at the girls and looked back at the track, where Mineta was visibly wearing down and practically sobbing as he struggled to keep running.

“Only 14 more to go, Mineta!” Cheered Present Mic, which was replied to with an audible groan.

“Thanks for everything, guys,” Shoto said suddenly.

“Hey, no problem. We should really be thanking you, you know,” Izuku said.

“Yeah, if it hadn’t been for you, we probably would have believed it like everybody else,” Ochaco stated, causing Shoto’s chest to stir.

“Seriously,” Momo chuckled, tilting her sunglasses up, “I was about to take Mr. Yamada out before you talked to me… thank you, Shoto.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Ochaco added.

“No problem,” Shoto sighed, mostly from relief, then looked up at the sky as a few clouds drifted over the sun.

He wondered if it might rain. He thought about the story Mr. Yamada had told them about the picnic, and Mr. Yamada and Mr. Aizawa themselves, dressed in gym clothes, running the same track when they were his age. Would he go on to know someone from 1-A for that long? Would he develop some kind of relationship like that, with someone he already knew from here?

Shoto had never really thought about it before that moment, but as the clouds moved and the sun returned, he found that he liked the idea of it.

The End

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Thank you so much for this prompt, phoenixtodoroki! I really enjoyed writing it. First attempt at erasermic. Still feeling out all the characters and things. If you liked this, please drop me an ask for anything you’d like me to fill relating to this ship - I’d like to keep my spark going. Thank you for reading. I’ll put this on my ao3 soon.

Also, I was thinking of writing a bonus companion fic to this one regarding the disaster picnic - let me know if you’d like that sort of thing! ^^ - numby