#but also i know myself and several others that have been hounded for weeks or months for just. idk. not thinking hes a good person

[butchladymaria]

feeling like the several year old post i made abt the specific type grhman enjoyers acting like they r being Oppressed TM bc not everyone agrees w their opinions abt him is topical again. like come on now. i feel like 99% of the reason he’s a “controversial” character is because like. you cant express even the mildest observation of nuance beyond “he was a good person with good intentions whose actions had no negative impact because everything bad that happened was somehow someone else’s fault” or god forbid misogyny w/o people acting like you shot their dog lol

[photogirl894]

🌹 Hunter

Red Rose 🌹

This is my contribution to the Clone Flowers Fic Event that myself and some other mutuals are doing this week! Naturally, I had to snag Hunter 😉 I got a little carried away with this one, but honestly, I'm super, super proud of it!!

*Takes place after the events of TBB s3*

Enjoy!! 🥰 (divider by @firefly-graphics)

Being a florist had always been your dream. 

You loved everything about flowers ever since you were young.You had the luxury of traveling to several different planets and systems because your parents were traveling merchants, so you got to see the local flora of different places all the time. You started asking for seeds you could buy or, if it were possible, you’d dig up some plants to take home with you. As you got older, you planted the seeds in a big garden, dreaming of one day selling all these exotic plants you’d collected over the years and sharing them with other people. 

Over your years as a florist, not only had you learned various facts and lore about the plants and flowers you collected, but you had also learned the language of flowers and the meanings or symbolism behind a lot of them. It was fascinating to you how many different meanings were behind each flower, especially when there were so many. You knew which ones represented friendship, courage, fidelity, hope, love…there were a plethora of meanings and you enjoyed each and every one.

When it came time for you to leave home as an adult and start your own life, you continued traveling the galaxy and eventually, you decided to settle on the island of Pabu, a peaceful paradise where you could settle down with a place of your own with your own garden and where you could finally live your dream as a florist. The mayor of the island, Shep, thought that having a florist on the island was a wonderful idea. You were able to open your stall and show and sell all the flowers you collected. You even had little pamphlets that you printed and had on display on your stall for people to read and learn about the different flowers you had as well as the flower language and meanings behind each one.

You thought your life was already perfect...until a certain someone came into your life.

A small family of Clones had been on the island off and on for some time and you’d caught sight of them before. They piqued your curiosity, having never seen Clones on the island before. It wasn’t until they decided to permanently stay on the island that you got to see them around and got to know them more…especially one in particular.

Hunter.

He was probably the dreamiest, most handsome man you’d ever beheld, which was saying a lot considering the many planets you had been to and the numerous men you had seen. You had heard about the sort of person he was, kind and helpful, and you'd seen proof of that in the way he had aided the people of the island multiple times. You found yourself watching him from a distance whenever you saw him either on the streets or in the colonnade. That was kind of a problem because there were a few times he caught you staring and you had to quickly look away, the heat rising in your cheeks at being spotted. Though, you could’ve sworn there were times where you caught him looking your way, too, which only made you even more curious. Though, it was probably just your imagination. There was no way someone like him would be interested in a simple florist woman like you.

The first time you’d gotten to see him up close in person and talk to him, he was out walking with his younger sister, Omega, and their lurca hound. They were passing by and Omega had spotted your stall. She was excited by all the different, exotic blooms you had and wanted to look at them. The way she ran over, her eyes wide with amazement, made you smile.

“I’ve never seen flowers like these before!” she exclaimed, her eyes scanning the many that you had.

“If there are any you want to know about, feel free to ask, young lady,” you said to her. “I’ve gotten several of these from different planets and I can tell you a few fun facts, too.”

That made Omega even more curious. She pointed to an orange, star-shaped flower with a red center. “What is this one?” she asked.

You peeked over to see which particular one she was referring to and then answered, “That’s the Damsel flower. They grow on Endor and here’s an interesting fact about them: they can spray pollen that makes their victims shrink into the size of an insect.”

The kid’s eyes went wide. “No way!” 

“It’s true,” you said with a nod.

Then she pointed to a set of black flowers you had in a vase. “What about these ones?”

“Those are black Fire Lilies,” you told her.

“And these flowers?” 

“Those are Sachi blossoms. I found them on Chandrila and it’s believed that their petals resemble the same shape as canary-moths.”

“Oh wow! Ooh, what about--”

“Omega,” her brother spoke up, stepping closer behind her. “Don’t overwhelm the lady.”

You turned your head to look at him and you chuckled. “I honestly don’t mind. I’m thrilled when I get to share my knowledge of flowers with people, especially children.”

“Well, Omega here definitely loves to learn,” he replied, ruffling her hair and making her snicker. 

It was then Omega spotted another flower and leaned in closer to see it: a set of red flowers in an ornamental vase. “Ooh, what are these?” she asked.

“That’s called Queen’s Heart. They grow around the royal palace on Naboo,” you enlightened her.

As she continued admiring them, she commented, “I love the bright red color.” 

The lurca hound came over, sniffed the flowers and then gave a loud bark with a small hop, seemingly smiling as it wagged its tail. 

“Batcher likes them, too,” Omega added, petting Batcher’s head. Then she looked over her shoulder and said, “Hunter, do you think we can get these for our new house? I think they’d look great!”

He chuckled, putting a hand on his hip. “If that’s what you want, kid. I’m leaving the decorating to you.”

“Yes!” she said with an enthusiastic nod.

You grinned down at the girl. “An excellent choice. How many would you like?”

“I might take just one for now and see if I’ll need more,” she answered.

“Understandable. If you find you want more, you can always find me here,” you told Omega.

After giving them the total for the price, Hunter fished out some credits from a pouch on his belt and handed them to his sister. She gave them to you and you picked up the vase of bright red flowers, placing it gently in her hands. As she took it, she asked you your name and then thanked you after you told her. Then she briskly walked off with Batcher at her heels. 

However, Hunter stayed behind and watched her walk away, a proud grin on his face. “She's been excited about finding things for our new house,” he told you, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You guys are new here, right? Or, at least, you’re now staying on Pabu for good?” you inquired. It was then you happened to notice he was wearing normal civilian clothing instead of his armor like before. Another sign that he was adjusting well to domestic life on the island. Though, he'd kept his signature red bandana, which you figured was a must for his everyday look. Not that you minded. It was a good look on him.

He nodded. “It’s been a long time coming, but yeah…we’re here to stay.” 

“That’s wonderful. Pabu is an amazing place. I think you all will be happy here,” you replied.

A sweet smile directed at you crossed his face and you could feel yourself starting to blush. You shyly brushed a lock of hair behind your ear and turned away, pretending to be examining one of the displays on your stall to hide your reddening face.

“What brought you here?” you heard him ask. 

As you pulled out from a box some clippers and some flowers that needed thorns removed, you answered him while you de-thorned the flowers, “I traveled a lot through the galaxy, searching for all sorts of different and exotic flowers to grow and sell on various planets. In my research of rare flowers, I learned of the blossoms of the weeping maya tree and later discovered that there was one on an island called Pabu. I came here at first to study it and collect the flowers, but found right away that the people here were so incredibly kind and welcoming. It felt like a place I could call home, which was something I hadn’t had in a long time. It didn’t take long for me to decide that I would just settle here and finally pursue being a florist like I always dreamed of.”

“I guess it’s safe to say you really like flowers,” he commented.

You finished getting the thorns off one flower and gave him a nod. “I do. I really do. I’ve been fascinated by them my whole life. Now, I have my own garden full of so many different kinds and I love getting to share them with others.”

“You sell them to people…but has anyone ever bought any for you?” was Hunter’s next question.

You scoffed playfully in response, turning your attention to the thorns on another bloom. “Of course not. Who would buy flowers for the florist?” To you, it was a silly notion, but you thought it was still sweet of him to ask.

There was a brief silence as you worked and you almost wondered if Hunter was still there, but then you heard him ask, “Which one would you recommend? Or rather…which do you like best?”

Hearing that, you put down your clippers and the flower in your hand and looked around for the flower you wanted to mention. Then you came around from inside the stall and motioned to a collection in the front. “I love roses,” you told him. “As much as I love exotic blooms that vary in looks and colors, I'm a bit of a sap for simplicity. I have a few different kinds: Ithorian roses, Jade roses, Tarisian roses….” You trailed off as you came to a group of roses that were so deep red in color that they were almost violet or black. “These are my favorite roses, though. The Malreaux rose,” you said with a wistful smile, your fingertips lightly touching the petals. 

Hunter stepped closer to you to get a better look at the roses. “What can you tell me about them?” 

The combination of him being closer to you than he was a second ago as well as him genuinely wanting to know more about the flowers made your heart skip a beat. “Well...they don't have the greatest history,” you said. “They were developed on the planet, Vjun, by the Malreaux family, who were the richest family on the planet. However…there was a lot of Sith activity there and some very dark things happened, especially involving the Malreaux's, but I won't go too much into that. I just love their color. The rich, deep red is gorgeous.”

“I agree. I think I'll take one of those,” Hunter stated. “How much?”

You told him the amount of credits needed and he pulled them out of his pouch again, placing them on the counter of your stall. After that, he bent over and withdrew one of the deep red roses from the bin, examining it for a moment as he turned it a couple times in his hand. 

A pleased grin crossed his face as he gave a one word remark: “Perfect.” Then Hunter's eyes found yours before he did something that took you by surprise:

He held out the rose to you. 

Dumbfounded, you stood there, looking back between him and the rose, stuttering as you tried to respond. What was he doing? You didn't know what to say. 

Then he smiled kindly and said to you, “You said no one buys flowers for the florist…so then I will.”

You gingerly took the rose from him. “Hunter…I'm speechless. You didn't have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he replied. 

Flashing you a coy smile, he turned away and left you alone at your flower stall. Your eyes drifted down to the bloom now in your hands. You had held many a flower before, but knowing this one belonged to you and was meant for you as a gesture of kindness felt different and special. Knowing this, you couldn't help but smile.

A couple days passed before you saw him again. He returned to your stall a second time with Omega again and also with his other brothers, Crosshair and Wrecker. He caught your gaze just as you were finishing up with another customer and you felt your breath catch at seeing him. Though, Omega calling your name brought you back to reality.

“Good morning!” she cried out, running over to you. 

“Morning, Omega,” you greeted her. “How are those Queen's Hearts looking at your new house?” 

Excitedly, she informed you, “They look great, just like I knew they would! Though, I think we're going to need more.”

“How many more do you need? I've got a few more available,” you said back.

“Could we maybe get three?” she inquired, holding up three fingers. 

You let out a small chuckle. “Is that why you brought all three of your brothers with you: so they'd all have something to do?”

“Very funny,” Crosshair sarcastically commented with a smirk while Wrecker laughed in amusement. That even got a snicker out of Hunter, too.

With that, Hunter offered you the credits needed for the three vases of Queen's Heart flowers and set them on the counter. You expected to see the three Clone boys grab them, but instead, it was Crosshair, Wrecker and Omega who picked them up. 

“We'll leave you to your other business, Hunter,” said Crosshair.

“Don't take too long,” Wrecker added. “I'm cooking tonight and you know I like to eat right away.”

Hunter rolled his eyes slightly. “Yeah, I know. I'll be on time.”

Both Wrecker and Crosshair and even Omega gave him knowing and what seemed like teasing glances before thanking you and leaving just you and Hunter there. 

“What other business do you have to do?” you asked curiously. 

He turned back to you. “I had my own things I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Me?” 

“I wanted to hear more about your travels through the galaxy and the different flowers you've collected. Whenever you're free to, that is.”

You blinked in surprise. Hunter was actually wanting to spend time with you? Surely, you had to be dreaming…yet you knew you weren’t. Even though you wouldn’t normally close your stall for a while, you knew you couldn’t pass up this opportunity. 

“I’m free now,” you said back. 

You could tell he wasn’t expecting you to make that reply. More than likely, he thought you would say you would be available later. “Are you sure? Don’t you need to run your stall for longer?”

With a snicker, you explained, “That’s one of the perks to running your own business: you can pick and choose your hours.” You pulled out from under the counter a wooden sign that said “Gone on break! Be back soon!” and put it up where people could see it. When you looked back at Hunter, you asked him, “Would you like to take a walk while we talk?” 

“I’d like that,” he said with a grin. As the two of you started walking, he asked his next question: “What is the wildest place you’ve traveled to collect a certain flower?”

You chuckled. “Oh, now that’s quite a story.”

“One, I’d be delighted to hear.”

During your walk, you both got lost in telling each other stories about both your adventures in the galaxy. You regaled him with some fun tales of learning about plant lore on other planets and he told you some of his times during the Clone Wars. You talked as though you had been friends for a long time. With him, you felt comfortable and almost free; like you could be yourself and share anything with him without fear of judgment. There were times you’d see him smiling at you as you talked and it only made you smile more. You felt as though you could’ve talked to him forever.

An hour and a half had passed before you both returned to your flower shop. However, you were just about to thank him for the walk when his commlink started to chirp. Then you heard Wrecker’s chiding voice come through, saying, “Hunter…you’re late.”

Hunter groaned in realization. “I’m on my way,” he responded before putting it away. 

“I guess I kept you too long, didn’t I?” you questioned guiltily.

“It wasn’t you,” he said. “I didn’t keep track of the time. I was enjoying my time with you.” Then he still smiled at you as if nothing was wrong. 

“I enjoyed it, too,” you replied, smiling back.

Then he perked up and declared, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He walked a couple steps over to the bins of Malreaux roses, pulled another one out and proceeded to hand it over to you just like he did the first time. 

“Hunter…,” you said, once again in disbelief at his gesture.

After you took it, he declared as he turned to walk away, “You’ll find the amount of credits needed for the rose included with my payment for the Queen’s Hearts. I hope to see you again soon, (Y/N).”

Once again, he left you alone at your stall with nothing but a red rose in your hands and a smile on your face.

A few days later, you arrived at your little shop early in the morning to get things ready for the day and were pleasantly surprised to see a third singular Malreaux rose on the counter with some credits next to it.

Hunter had come by before you to leave you your favorite flower once again. 

Two times before had been one thing, but now it had happened a third time…which made you begin to wonder. Your thoughts drifted to your knowledge of the flower language, specifically to the meanings behind roses.

Roses of the red variety like the Malreaux rose were usually given as symbols of love, affection and desire.

Did Hunter realize this?

You had said that the Malreaux rose was your favorite flower, after all. Maybe he was just simply continuing to get that one because of that, but there was still something in you that thought maybe it was best if he didn’t. There were other people on the island that knew of the language of flowers, either from you or they already had prior knowledge of it, and if they saw Hunter giving you these flowers that were meant as a sign of affection and that wasn’t his true intention, then rumors could potentially spark from that. You didn’t want to put him in an awkward situation, especially since it was clear sometimes that he wasn’t entirely familiar with how to be a part of a society like here on Pabu, having been a soldier most of his life. More than likely, he was unfamiliar with these kinds of things and was just trying to be friendly.

Though…it would be amazing if he was expressing interest in you…but that was a long shot in your eyes.

Even still…that didn’t stop you from keeping the three roses you’d received from him in their own special little vase at home, one you kept by the front door so you could place the roses inside as you walked in. 

The next time you saw Hunter or were able to get him alone, you would talk to him about it and set the record straight.

As luck would have it, you saw him the next day as you were closing up. It had been a busy day for you, having had to make a few flower crowns for a group of girls. The mayor’s daughter, Lyana, had wanted a party with her friends and you had offered to make all of them flower crowns, Omega included. For you, they were easy to make and took no time at all. Lyana and Omega came to your shop, both of them still wearing their colorful blooms in their hair. Hunter followed not far behind them.

“Thank you so much for the crowns!” Lyana exclaimed happily. “They turned out great!”

“We’ve all gotten a lot of compliments on them today,” added Omega.

You giggled at their excitement. “I’m glad you love them. They look perfect on both of you.”

With a devious smirk, Omega commented to you, “You should make one for Hunter.”

Lyana laughed and Hunter gave Omega a teasing grin as well as a look that said, “Don’t even think about it.”

After chuckling yourself, you responded, “As hilarious as that would be, I’m inclined to think Hunter doesn’t want one.”

“Well, Wrecker definitely does. Will you make one for him then?” asked Omega.

“I can bring one by tomorrow,” you replied, amused at the image of Wrecker wearing a flower crown and already planning out what would look great on him. “Right now, I’m heading home for the evening.”

“Okay. Have a good night,” said Omega as she and Lyana waved you goodbye and ran off in the opposite direction.

Yet again, there was now just you and Hunter.

You pulled your shawl up over your shoulders and you heard Hunter ask you, “May I walk you home?”

Him being so charming certainly wasn’t making things easier for you. You were so crazy about him and you had loved the time you’d already gotten to spend with him before, even if it hadn’t been much. You knew you had to talk to him about the roses, but you didn’t want to yet. 

“You may,” you accepted, thinking that you could have your conversation later.

He grinned at you before gesturing out with his hand and saying, “Lead the way.”

You started to walk away and noticed at first that Hunter wasn’t next to you, but then he suddenly appeared beside you like it took him a second to catch up. Waving that off as just nothing, you were content to just walk with him back to your house.

“The crowns you made were impressive. All the girls loved them,” he told you.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’ve gotten pretty good at making those and I thought it would make their party more fun. I’m happy they enjoyed them.”

“Are there other things you like to do or make with your flowers?” he asked.

You answered, “I like making bouquets or flower arrangements for things like festivals or parties. The usual things like that.”

“Are they hard to make?” 

“Mmm…they were at first, but the more I practiced, the easier they got.”

“I’m glad. I would love to see what you’ve made sometime, if you have any.”

You smiled and blushed at the attention he was giving you. Like always, you convinced yourself he was just being friendly, even though it meant a lot more to you than he knew. “Sure. I’d be happy to show you,” you said back. 

A few minutes passed and you saw your house coming into view. Even though it was a short walk, it still made you sad that your time with Hunter was about to end for the night. You had the thought of maybe inviting him inside for some tea just so you two could continue talking and spending time together, but you figured that might seem too forward. You just didn’t want to say good night yet.

The two of you reached the end of the pathway leading up to your house and you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you needed to talk to him now about the roses. Hopefully, this wouldn’t make things too awkward, especially after a nice walk home with him, but it needed to be done.

You turned to face him and you asked him, “Hunter…why have you been giving me all those roses?”

His head tilted, confused. “It’s like I said the first time: you said no one buys flowers for you and I thought you deserved to feel special, so I figured giving you your favorite flower would be nice.”

“Yes, but…do you know the symbolism behind giving someone a red rose?” Your hands fidgeted nervously as you prepared to explain it to him. “Red roses are usually symbols of romantic interest, attraction and affection.”

He looked at you plainly for a moment before he sighed quietly and a content smile crossed his face. “Finally caught on, have you?”

Your head reared back slightly, taken aback. “Wait…you did know?” you asked in disbelief.

His smile only widened as he reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a folded piece of paper that you recognized and held it up for you to see.

“You…you took one of my flower pamphlets?” 

Nodding in affirmation, he explained, “The first time, I simply wanted to give you your favorite flower. Then I took one of the pamphlets when you weren’t looking because I was genuinely curious. It was just a happy coincidence that the kind of flower I wanted to give you to…express my interest and affection happened to be that same flower you liked.” He put the pamphlet back in his pocket, stole a look at your still shocked face and then turned away shyly. “I’m still new to things like this and I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it, having been used to the language of war for so long…so I thought maybe saying it in a language you understood best would eventually get my point across.” His eyes returned to you, awaiting your response.

Your hand came up to your chest, feeling your rapidly increasing heartbeat beneath your palm. Surely, this couldn’t be happening. “You’ve been romantically interested in me…all this time?”

Hunter smiled ever so sweetly and bowed his head again.

A happy gasp escaped you and your hand pressed even harder over your heart. This was not at all how you thought this conversation was going to go, but you were not complaining at all. This was even better than what you expected. “Hunter, I…I feel the same,” you replied, your lips curving up into a joyful smile. 

That made his own smile widen even more, his expression softened and his eyes lit up in a way that you hadn’t seen before. He took a step closer to you and asked you, “There’s something else I wanted to give you each time I gave you a rose, but was afraid to. May I give it to you now?”

A bit puzzled but no less intrigued, you simply nodded your head.

You were slightly startled when you felt his warm hand take yours. He proceeded to lift it up and your breath hitched when he pressed the back of your hand to his lips, his gaze locked on you the whole time.

“For the first rose,” he said as he lowered your hand, but keeping it in his grasp.

After that, he leaned his head down and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, sending a small shock through your skin.

“For the second,” he said.

His free hand came up to cup your jaw and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, overwhelmed with joy at what was happening. He tilted his head up and pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger a little longer there than he had on your cheek.

“And the third,” he said as he looked back at you.

Then he reached around behind him and, to your great surprise, he pulled out yet another red Malreaux rose that you somehow never noticed he had tucked under his belt. He must’ve snagged it as you both were leaving your shop, which explained why it had taken him a few seconds to appear beside you. Your smile grew and your cheeks hurt a tiny bit from how much you were smiling, but you didn’t care. This was a kind of light pain that you would gladly grow accustomed to. Though, instead of handing it you, Hunter tenderly tucked it behind your ear, letting his hand caress your cheek as it came down. 

Then, looking intently into your eyes, he spoke in a soft voice, “Then this is for the fourth rose.” 

A second later, his lips descended down onto yours, capturing them in a gentle, sweet and affectionate kiss, one better than anything you ever dreamed of. His hand that still held yours let go and wrapped around your waist as you placed your hands on his firm chest and kissed him back. You felt as though it were just the two of you alone on Pabu, sharing this wonderful moment. The way his arms fit around you and your bodies seemed to fit together like matching puzzle pieces felt more than right; it felt like you were destined to be together.

It felt perfect.

When he reluctantly pulled away, he said to you, his voice a gravelly whisper, “I know we still don’t know each other very well, but I would like for that to change. I want to know you, (Y/N). I want to know everything about you and the things that make you happy. I want to listen to you tell me about every flower you know of, the meaning behind each one and see how your eyes light up when you talk about your passion. I want to make you just as happy and smile just as much…if you’ll have me.”

“I would love nothing more,” you said back almost right away. “I want to know you, too, and I’ve wanted that so much since you first came to Pabu. I hope I can make you as happy as you’ve already made me with the roses alone.” Then you took the initiative this time by taking his face in your hands and bringing him down just a little to kiss him again, feeling him smiling against your lips. After a few seconds, you pulled back and inquired, “Would you like to come in? I don’t want to say good night yet. I can make us some tea and we can spend more of the evening together, just the two of us. I can even show you my flower garden out back, too, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much,” he replied. 

You tightly grasped his hand and led him along the path leading to your front door. You pushed it open and brought him inside your warm and inviting home, your other hand lightly tracing the petals of the other three roses Hunter had given you sitting in the vase by your door.

Being a florist had always been your dream and you had achieved that a long time ago. Since then, your new dream had been a relationship with Hunter and that was now coming true. 

You had thought your life was already perfect…but now, with Hunter in your life, it most certainly was.

[captain-hawks]

Dee, I have Thoughts and no one irl to brainrot @ so pls excuse the umpteenth time I am in your notifications this weekend.

Last week I word vomited in your spicy requests about how much TraditionalGarb!Hoshina plagues my thoughts. Well, I went out for dinner and had a few cocktails, and my slightly drunk, pliant mind was churning the entire ride home. [Sober Note: I started this ask right when I got home, and now, having sobered up a bit, holy hell I am sorry for getting lost in the sauce and turning what was supposed to be drunk imagines into something ludicrous. I can't quite bring myself to delete it bc I was clearly so into it, but seriously if this is too long/annoying please just ignore me!]

I'm thinking of a historical period-era AU Hoshina clan. Not too familiar with Japanese history but maybe Edo period, idk about historical accuracy. In my imagines, reader is from a less influential, albeit wealthier clan, has 2 older brothers, and grew up around the Hoshina family from birth. Both their families are preoccupied with the eldest children and their role in continuing the family legacy/business, so their families don't hound them too closely in their childhoods. They're in a rural, countryside part of Japan with plenty of wild grass and flower fields. Soichiro holds all the weight of family expectation so he is more aloof. But Soshiro is allowed more freedom, so when he isn't obsessively training, he is spending time with reader as her closest childhood friend. Meanwhile, reader is trained in all the traditional arts and duties expected of her, but she also has a love for calligraphy (or painting but idk how accurate that is) that she is allowed to cultivate because, again, her parents aren't hounding her too closely. She's fascinated by Soshiro's swordsmanship and makes him show her all the moves he is learning, and in turn, he is enthralled by her knowledge and love of calligraphy and likes to hear her talk about it for hours even if he doesn't quite get it. Because they're in a rural area, they also play outdoors together whenever they can, climbing trees and splashing in the streams, and Soshiro is rough-and-tumble and free around her in ways he can't be at home when he's ceaselessly trying to measure up to and surpass his brother. As they grow older they are naturally forced apart due to expectations of their genders and stations. They still hold onto what they believe is a fondness for their childhood friend, until one day, as the wild wisteria blooms and they see a glimpse of each other after an absence of several months, they both realize that the innocent fondness held in their hearts had taken root long ago and finally bloomed into love.

Unfortunately, in the Edo period, warrior families started to lose their place in this era of newfound peace, and the Hoshinas are forced to worry about their place in this world for the first time. At the same time, reader's clan is struck by tragedy and her 2 older brothers are killed in an accident, leaving a vacuum for the future of the clan. The Hoshina and Reader patriarchs decide on what they believe is a mutually beneficial arrangement: Soichiro and Reader shall join their clans in marriage. Reader's clan benefits from the prestige of the Hoshina name, and the Hoshina clan benefits from the prosperous wealth of her family. As the sole remaining offspring of her clan, she should be honored to be chosen to helm the Hoshina household and bear its heirs.

Ofc Reader is devastated, but she knows that her voice is unimportant and she will forever be doomed to suffer in a life so close to her dreams, but with a cruel twist. She sees Soshiro just once after the engagement announcement, and it is with a too-cheerful mask that he congratulates her on her match, and, in a moment when no one is looking, he slips into her hands a small gift that he had picked up in the capitol on his last trip and had been meaning to give to her: some fine new ink he thought she would love for her calligraphy. He supposes it is an engagement gift now, even if the gift is only really for her.

On the eve of her wedding, she manages to sneak out and find Soshiro. Together, they go to the grassy field of wildflowers by the creek they played in as children. Even though fate is not on their side, it seems the moon has sympathy for them, because it hides behind clouds and conceals their illicit meeting. They're finally able to declare their love for one another in the place where it all began. She tells Soshiro that even though destiny was determined to keep them apart, she wants to know what it is to wholly love and be loved, just once in her life. So under the glow of a thousand fireflies, she undresses Hoshina, gently pulling his kosode apart to reveal his chest. She laughs lightly as she traces his scars-the old and familiar ones from childhood, and the newer ones he has acquired in manhood. She traces the marks she remembers: the dented scar on his shoulder from when he fell out of the cypress tree trying to grab a beetle to impress her when they were five. The patch of slightly uneven skin along his arm from three years later, when he had run after his father's horse in the road and tripped down the hill. The thin, raised slash from when Soichiro had cut him in training at age 11, to teach him a lesson on inferiority. From there, she draws lines to the unfamiliar marks: a puffy patch of new skin from a recent battle wound that has only started to heal, two pigmented gashes where he was gouged in battle last year, a mottled expanse of bruises on his ribs from where he had challenged Soichiro last month, just after the engagement announcement, and had finally shown his brother that his attempted lesson in inferiority had never sunk in.

She says that all these marks tell her a story in the same way a calligrapher's soul is left indelibly in their brushstrokes. She sees a world in his body, and it tells her favorite story. Overwhelmed, Soshiro finally crashes into her and through the flurry of kissing he has her on her back in the grass, slipping her out of her garments. He's mapping his way across her significantly less blemished skin with his lips and tongue, and laments between pants that he will never be able to partake in the story of her body, because she belongs to his brother and he cannot leave his own brushstrokes on the expanse of her skin. Breathless, reader pulls a bottle tucked into her undergarment next to her heart-a vial of the precious ink Soshiro had gifted her. Her wedding is tomorrow-she knows there is no way he can leave any lasting marks on her. But for tonight, she is his and she wants some proof of that, however temporary. So Soshiro dips his finger in the ink and swirls and dips it all over the memories he has buried in his mind: a spot on her neck where a particularly vicious bee had stung her as they chased tadpoles as six-year-olds, a whorl on her shoulder where his ten-year-old head rested as she unrolled endless scrolls to extol the virtues of some long-dead calligrapher, an almost-violent slash just under the swell of her bosom where he had caught her when she had fallen in her attempt to swing his katana at 13.

And as he finally lines up his achingly hard cock and breaches her cunt, as he makes love to her for the first and last time, he grieves for the death of the two stories written here-hers, which will be washed off her body as soon as she returns to her home, and his, which will wither and end without her to trace the patterns and give them the meaning he can never find by himself. [sober note/holy run on sentence batman]

you better believe i'm posting this ask because IT NEEDS TO BE SEEN!!!

MY FRIEND!!!!! i'm on my knees. i'm begging. i'm clawing at the air. i'm frantically waving anything of value that i have in your direction. i implore you to write this because i'm wholly obsessed. a period piece, childhood friends, the arranged marriage, THE YEARNING, THE LOVELY POETRY OF IT ALL EVEN JUST AS A SUMMARIZED VERSION!?!?!?

She says that all these marks tell her a story in the same way a calligrapher's soul is left indelibly in their brushstrokes. She sees a world in his body, and it tells her favorite story.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(don't even get me started on him painting on her????? oh my god i'm so unwell. i need one of those fainting couches. i want to CONSUME THISSSSS)

you're a genius. a brilliant wonderful genius.

[idiotwithanipad]

Fated Meeting

The first time Amy (my OC) had a real moment alone with intact Humphrey before their father-daughter bonding occurred🖤⚔️

(Also a fic based on this drawing I did weeks back🥹)

(TW: Cursive language, Mention of choking to death, Fear, Slight Angst/Self Blame)

“She’s GOT to come out of that blasted room eventually. It’s been a week!” The Captain blurted, his patience wearing thin by the day. A week had in fact passed since the new ghost died. A young woman, dressed head to toe in strange attire and strange makeup, choked to death on a canned drink. The predicament frightened her, confused her and left her second guessing what any of this meant.

Their introduction to her had been abrupt, to say the least. The ecstatic caveman bounded towards the group hounding and barking about a new edition to the group. She was frightened by them, all of them apart from half of one; Humphrey's severed head had been the least intimidating, a huge surprise to the Tudor man given his appearance. 

Yet, despite regular, albeit, unconventional introductions, the new girl coward away every time they entered her room. She'd taken to seeking refuge in a polished wardrobe by the wall, passing through the panes and ducking underneath some complimentary rain jackets and dressing gowns. She sat there for days, never even poking her head out through the wood. 

The caveman had tried to surprise the girl one morning, rushing through the wall and shouting a jovial 'MORNIES!'. Though, given her scream and her tinted cheeks fading to a deathly white, he opted to stop; he often forgot how intimidating he could look to the modern person, especially at full volume and with just about three inches of space between them. 

Today, she risked a peek, swallowing back her courage and biting the bullet. Her head drifted through the wardrobe door and peered out into the empty room. Her lungs practically deflated with relief, the ever lingering taste of the drink that she choked on caught against her tastebuds. 

She rose from inside the wardrobe and got to her feet, she dusted of the back of her skirt, not yet aware that dirt and dust could no longer get stuck to her. The door still remained shut and locked, yet she wasn't sure how much stability that could offer anymore since the new strangers could barge in at any given second. 

The girl, Amy, peered out through the door and down the corridor. Nobody in sight. Maybe she could stretch her legs for a while without being spotted? If she stepped carefully enough, maybe those old floorboards wouldn't give under the weight of her thick soles of her boots? 

Amy found herself approaching a staircase, she went to grasp onto the banister but stumbled slightly when it failed to support her weight, her hand drifting down through the wood in an instant. She bit her lip, hoping that her shrill gasp hadn't alerted any of the strangers. She waited a complete ten seconds before descending the rest of the stairs. 

Half the way down she began to hear voices, a group of voices, which came from a room at the bottom right of the stairs. 

"Well, the poor little thing DID have a sudden death. Not a very nice way to go I imagine" A Yorkshire accent protested from the room. 

"Never took ME this long to come to terms with it and I saw myself being resuscitated with no TROUSERS on. That was traumatic enough; a bunch of blokes gathered around you in that state... " A sharp and well spoken voice combated. 

"Perhaps she's just shy? If I can show her my Canoe trick it might make her feel better" A spritley woman's voice beamed. 

"Look, let's all just wait it out. She'll come down when she's ready. Or perhaps she can't talk? Or she's deaf?" The man with the Yorkshire accent added, he ironically seemed to be itching to find a reason why the new girl didn't want to socialize. 

A strange, gruff voice cut the other man off. 

"Oh no. She talk, me know it. I go see her other day and she tell me to fu-"

"Yes, thank you, Robin!" The older and more assertive male voice barked. 

Amy froze on the last step, her figure hidden behind a wall, her eavesdropping prolonged by flooding questions. Why were they so desperate for her to show herself? They had plenty of company, why did they all care so much? As their conversation faded into murmurs and ringing in Amy's ears, she retreated back up a few steps and sat down, her eyes frozen on the door ahead of her, wishing she could just hurl it open and run away, get home as soon as possible and forget this whole nightmare. 

All sound that surrounded her seemed to have faded completely. Except from behind her. Footsteps. 

Amy whipped her head around faster than a Cobra strikes at a Mouse. The man, he used to be just a head, but now he stood at the top of the stairs behind her. He hadn't registered her there yet and began to descend. His eyes darted down and popped wide open, he paused from any movement and gawked in shock; he looked just as scared and out of his depth as she was. 

His hands slowly rose from beneath his fur lined cloak and his mouth cracked open. 

"No, no no please don't-" Amy whispered, already trying to rise to her feet and back away from the Tudor man. 

" .. 'S alright. You're alright" He whispered back to her, taking another step down towards her, only for her to shamble down a step and stare up at him in dread. 

"Go away, please just- leave me alone-"

"Shh, it's alright. Calm down, Poppet, I won't tell 'em you're 'ere" The Tudor soothed, keeping his hands risen and in plain sight, a supposed gesture that he meant her no harm. 

"E-Everything's fine. All fine, uhh- hunky dory- jolly jodhpurs... Umm, all-good?.." The Tudor mused, his knowledge of modern slang, albeit a little dated, needed to come in handy in order to soothe the frightened girl. 

Amy glanced back over her shoulder towards the doorway to the occupied room, it seemed to drift closer and threaten to expose her to a cacophony of chaos and hounding. The man had wandered down a few more steps and regarded her with a subtlety that the other ghosts hadn't quite mustered yet. 

He lowered himself down onto the stairs with a soft grunt and folded his arms. 

"Sorry to have scared you, I WAS detached earlier, saw you leave your room from where I was on a cabinet in the hall, thought it best not to call out to you since, well, nervous little thing, aren't you, Poppet?" The man trailed off with a soft chuckle. 

Amy stood, cemented to the spot, gawking up at the man, more in surprise rather than fear. 

"Then luckily enough, my body wandered by and picked me up. A shock, even to me, doesn't happen too often and I've been dead for 'underends of years" The Tudor broke off that sentence with a beaming grin and a shrug. 

Amy shuffled in her spot, the toes of her boots tapping together. 

"Well... If you're not here to drag me in there with that lot- what DO you want?" Amy spat. The man glanced around defensively and held up a hand again. 

"Nothing. Nothing at all, again, I had no idea you were 'ere. Just- happened upon you, I guess. Although, I wouldn't mind a good thick slice of smoked pork" He hummed, his lip smacking at the delicious memory of the taste. 

Amy's brow furrowed in confusion; when did this conversation switch to food? 

"Huh?" Amy stood puzzled. The man's eyes then darted back to her, the absentminded grin on his face vanishing in a second. 

"Ey? Oh, I thought that was a general question when you said- what I wanted. But umm, what umm- what would YOU like? If you could 'ave anything?" He asked as he leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together. 

Amy looked back towards the door, she practically itched to dive towards it and flee. 

"Honestly? I wanna go home. I just wanna forget about them. About all of this" Amy gabbled, giving a dismissive flourish of her hand towards the room the rest of the ghosts resided in, still unaware of her presence. 

"I never should've come back inside, I should've just- fucking stayed outside!" Amy blurted, her arm slapping back down at her side while her other hand came up to wipe at her eyes. 

The Tudor man's gaze dropped down, pity washing over him. 

"I know, Poppet. I can't say I know how you feel really; this place was my home before my death, so really, I never left my home. But I can only imagine how- painful it is to be away from your old home" He spoke gently, his eyes struggling to focus on her. 

Amy released a sharp sigh and itched at the back of her head in frustration. 

"Such a fucking idiot... " She muttered to herself. 

The man fiddled with his frilled cuff briefly, unable to find the words to console her, but he noticed she began drifting closer to him in her fit of annoyance towards herself. 

"Moron... Such an idiot-" Amy cut herself off as she dropped down into the same step at the Tudor, resting her face in her hands. The man froze and stared at her; he never would've expected her to approach him, let alone sit next to him. 

"Wasn't your fault, really. It was- just an accident-" He tried to reason. 

"Well, it was a LETHAL accident and now I'm stuck in this giant shithole for God knows how long, Harold!"

"Humphrey.. "

"Ye- whatever!" 

Humphrey retorted. 

"I know a thing or two about 'lethal accidents', believe you me..." He mused, pointing towards his neck with a raised eyebrow. Amy caught eye of his gesture and fell silent; she couldn't fight him on this, he DEFINITELY knew how it felt. 

She rested her elbow against her knee, then rested her chin into the palm of her hand, letting out a drawn out and defeated sigh. 

"Still- I'm surprised you never died of a broken ankle with those shoes of yours. How thick are those soles?" Humphrey added, peering down passed Amy's knee and towards the infamously thick soled boots, partially hidden beneath her woolen leg warmers. 

Without looking up at him, Amy returned. 

"... Four inches"

[davy-zeppeli]

So I don't own a diary so I'm writing my thoughts here because it's my blog, fuck you.

The past month has been absolutely hellish. I've changed teams at work, had immense pressure put on me following this due to other managers in my area feeling the need to hound and scrutinise my team's work, and then I broke up with my partner, essentially throwing away any and all financial and home security I had in my future.

I separated with my partner for my own independence and freedom, to put it bluntly. 4 years together showed me we were perfect for eachother - same music taste, sams interests, many great and fun adventures together - but after 4 years, little things built up. Not being able to take the bus without scrutiny. Not being able to buy things I want in the shop due to it 'wasting money'. Stopping drinking because he didn't like it. Not being able to stay over at a friend's house without giving him dates and times I'd be back, as well as who I'm staying with and where. One of our last discussions was him asking me if I still loved him, which I did and do - but he also asked me if I'd been seeing other people. I didn't know it at the time, but it was a level of insecurity and fear expressed by him that was the primary indicator that something wasn't right.

About a week or so later, I suggested I move out and we try being friends.

This was not easy. Jesus Christ, it was hard. He took it well, and I can say now after a few more weeks we've both made peace with it. We're still best friends. He always will be! But it feels good now knowing that we're classifying our relationship as what it always was - best friends who live together. I've been told on numerous occasions that we really did just seem like roommates who happen to be together, and it only took until now to see it. But, despite it all, I feel a lot happier following my decision.

I have a flat pretty much secured for May - he has a new flat mate lined up for after I leave. I have my freedom, and now it's a case of getting used to it.

Then comes my other crisis: Daniel.

So, I really hope he doesn't ever see this. He won't.

I've worked with Dan for over a year now - occasionally saying hello in the office after bonding at a work's party. Separate teams, never had much reason to interact past that. Until I moved teams - onto his team.

When I say this man has been a crucial anchor for me, I mean in wholeheartedly and with such sincerity that I can't put it into words in a way that would do it justice. He was the one who made me realise, yeah, my situation isn't great at the moment, is it? Yeah, I enjoy going out, don't I? Yeah, the anti-depressants aren't nuking my libido, are they? It's something else. He's one of the most chill, sarcastic, and real people I've met in a long time - and he's got his own trauma to show for it. We've made the joke we're similar - both in therapy, both play instruments, both love music, etc. But as such, we both know how to read eachother too well. And boy, he read me like a book.

After going to his open mic (with his family, might I add. I thought more people would be going, but no - it was me and his family) and one gig with him, I'd realised I like him. A lot. A painful amount, actually. Yes, getting over my failed relationship was definitely contributing to it, but I can say now as well, with the beauty of hindsight, I do still like him. If he asked, I would. If he does ask, I will. He's very important to me. I like him very much.

It then became evident he liked me back.

I won't sugar coat it - we've slept together. At this point in time, about 6 or 7 times. That's more than I did with my partner in 4 years. I should feel like dirt for my quick 'turnaround' but I just can't bring myself to care about it. I thought I was broken, man, and that the anti-depressants had fucked me. Evidently not. He's told me after several heart-to-hearts that he cares about me a lot and trusts me. And I've echoed the same sentiment to him in return. I've stayed at his flat, we commute to work, I've met his family for christ's sake. You'd expect this to lead to us being together.

It has not lead to us being together.

To put it bluntly - he's not looking for a relationship right now. He has his own baggage he's trying to handle from a freshly broken relationship and moving house, so I am understanding. Does it make it hurt any less? Nope. When he told me this, aware I felt different, he put a boundary in place to protect me. No intimacy, just friends. I knew it was for the best, I trusted him and respected his needs. We moved on.

Now, the week following that decision? Torture. I wanted to be near him all the time, but had to make sure I respected him and his limits. It was for the best, in the end, because he was right - I was infatuated with him given my circumstances. So I can say now I'm not as head over heels for him as I was. He said it best himself: "I treat you with a little bit of respect and decency and you think I'm Jesus. You're just not used to having more than one of your needs met at once". Does that mean I don't like him any more in that way?

Absolutely not - but I know that it's something he doesn't want, so I'll put it on the back burner indefinitely. I love him too much as a friend to risk losing him over something like this.

Then comes last night.

The boundary was in place. We went out following a particularly stressful work day. We drank, we listened to live music, we had fun! Near the end of the night, he asked me how I felt towards him. Unprompted, almost. So I answered honestly:

I like him. Can't deny I like him. But I'm able to see that it's not what he wants, and I'm fine with that. I respect his boundaries. It doesn't mean I'm not attracted to him. His reaponse?

He nods. He asks me how I'm getting home. I say I haven't planned it. He asks if I want to go back to his. I agree. Once most people have left the bar and we're two of the few people left, he kisses me. Good fucking god it was like being hit with a bat. I'd missed it. I missed him. Needless to say, we went home, played some Guitar Hero, and then slept together. Our situation is friends with benefits and I'm happy with that.

Now, why am I typing all of this out? Like I said, I have no diary. I haven't been able to articulate these thoughts for a month in a way that would cause significantly reduced collateral damage. My therapy has been cancelled the past two times. I needed somewhere to speak.

If for some reason someone has read all of this - thanks? Feel free to ask questions. I don't mind. It might help me figure stuff out.

Until the next time, adios.

[bakerstreetbabble]

Granada TV Series Review: "The Red-Headed League" (S02, E05)

This week, I come to what is surely one of the most delightful episodes of the entire series of adaptations from Granada TV! "The Red-Headed League" has long been a favorite story of most Sherlockians, and was on a list of Arthur Conan Doyle's favorite Holmes stories as well. The Granada adaptation shows Jeremy Brett at the absolute top of his game, and is a real treat for any viewer. Fans of British comedy will certainly recognize the actors playing John Clay (Tim McInnerny from the popular Black Adder series), and Duncan Ross (Richard Wilson from One Foot in the Grave).

This episode really has it all: humor, adventure, and as always, the rapport between Holmes and Watson, played to such great effect by Jeremy Brett and David Burke. The episode give Sherlockians so much to enjoy, including Holmes's reference to the famous "three pipe problem" and the great shot of Jeremy Brett, knees up and smoking, a picture perfect reference to a Sidney Paget illustration from the original story.

There are so many entertaining moments from this episode, but a couple stood out for me, one of which was Jeremy Brett's leap over the settee as Watson enters towards the beginning of the episode, accompanied by a shout of "You couldn't have come at a better time!" (Fans of the I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere podcast will recognize the clip immediately from their intro sequence.) And then there's the reaction from Holmes and Watson as Mr. Jabez Wilson concludes his tale. Brett and Burke burst into laughter, which can hardly be helped, as Mr. Wilson tells them all the words he learned, transcribing the first volume of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica. Little moments of humor, some from the original story and others not, make the episode tremendously entertaining.

The episode also serves as a setup for the next week's conclusion to the first series, "The Final Problem." We get several scenes with Professor Moriarty, as well as fairly lengthy sequence in the bank vault, wherein Holmes and Inspector Jones discuss Moriarty's role in London crime. All this material, of course, is not from the source material, as "The Red-Headed League" was only the second Holmes adventure published in The Strand magazine, and "The Final Problem" came much later. But in the continuity of this first series from Granada, it works quite well to prepare the viewer for the big series finale.

As I prepare myself to watch "The Final Problem" next week, it's a bit of a bittersweet moment, as I know that episode also represents the final episode for David Burke as Dr. Watson. I enjoy Burke's Watson portrayal immensely. I don't know that Edward Hardwicke, who ended up playing the good doctor for much longer than Burke did, ever quite matched up to Burke's version. Harwicke was no slouch, of course, and he brought plenty of good moments to the role himself, but I suspect Burke will always occupy a special place in my heart.

As I continue this project of watching and reviewing all of the Granada Sherlock Holmes adaptations, I know that the quality of the series will have its ups and downs. As Jeremy Brett's health grew worse and worse over time, the overall quality tends to decline...or so I've always read. (And, having seen some of the later episodes, particularly the adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles, I'm inclined to agree with that appraisal.) Meanwhile, it's a marvelous experience to watch all of the episodes in order, and to be able to enjoy the performances when they were at the excellent level of "The Red-Headed League." It was truly a real gift to legions of Holmes fans. Please enjoy watching the episode below...

[uzumaki-rebellion]

You’re incredible at putting out content. Any suggestions for those trying to be more consistent?

A thing I do to keep myself consistent with output is to work on several fics at one time. I took a break from my Black Panther epic to refuel my tanks (and cry about a character relationship I have to let go of, lol) by working on a few shorter fics I posted recently, and I also started a Creed 3 fic series that I am totally pansting (writing without a beat sheet/plot outline or knowing what happens next until I write it!).

When I feel steam running out on one fic, I spend time on another until I'm ready to go back to my other work. I find that this helps me move the writing along. Sometimes I write a little on each project each day, or every other day until I have enough content to put out or update. I have a lot of things that are set aside that need finishing, so I keep busy on them sporadically until I'm ready to post. In fact, I have a whole Star Trek series I'm gearing up for next year. When it does come out, it may look like a lot of content flowing at once, but that's only because I've been working at it quietly for a few months. Usually, if I post an update, the next update is more than likely halfway done already.

That's all I do. It helps that I don't re-write or edit much because if I spent time doing that, I'd never post things. As soon as I'm done writing something, I post that first draft and move on. Mistakes,typos etc go up no matter what. If I re-wrote things carefully, like in my normal writing life, I'd never have anything out because I suffer from debilitating perfectionism. FanFic writing allows me to write fast and move on without a self-critical eye hounding me because I do it for fun. I literally write what I want to read and if I want to read, I gotta write it fast, lol!

Side note: I was also part of a well-known SF/F writing Fellowship years ago and you had to write fast, one complete story a week. So I developed the ability to write stuff quickly (with the intention of spending time on several re-writes later for publication submissions etc). One of my teachers said there to my face "Put ass in chair and write", and I do when I can as often as I can.

The more you write, the faster you can get at it. Finding your comfort level of output takes time, but everyone finds their niche! Happy writing to you!

[copperbora]

My Mom Officially Made it to February 2023! HUZZAH!

She just keeps beating the horrible doctor predictions regarding her survival.❤️ She's like the Secretariat of cancer patients.

Half a week into going on ADHD meds I don't really feel too much different - maybe slightly less helter-skelter mentally. (Honestly I can't believe that I only started them last Saturday because life just moves slower when you are a caretaker to a critically ill and beloved parent.) It's still early days with this medication but so far I have observed:

- Literally no more energy. These drugs are supposed to be a stimulant equal to four cups of coffee. Instead, I feel slightly sleepier, if anything. The first day I took them I passed out on the couch and slept until lunchtime. I don't even remember my visiting brother J leaving!

- The drugs make me slightly nauseous by the end of my work shift. I can deal with slightly nauseous.

- I'm still distracted as heck. Squirrel!

That being said I had a marvelous epiphany today that the reason why cleaning (at home*) is literal hell for me is because of the ADHD, which would much prefer literally any other activity. Thank goodness for distractions like Youtube, podcasts and audiobooks which make such tasks bearable for my crazy little miswired neurodivergent brain. Today I read in the textbook that I am studying, Taking Charge of Adult ADHD (by Russel A. Barkley PhD,) that we ADHDers are impulsive beings and that this is often what gets us into serious trouble (also our coon hound-like brains which want to identify EVERY SINGLE DISTRACTION.) Like speeding tickets, serious injury, and, well, you know - death. Looking around at the several questionably stupid purchases which I made last year (being a well paid courier would have been great for destroying my debt - had I not been afflicted with ADHD,) I can definitely see that, yeah, I really need to work on the impulse control. My itch to practice a bit of mild retail therapy definitely is not helped by:

- The fact that I grew up dirt poor. There was a couple of years where every supper featured plain rice. I'm only just recovering my liking for the stuff!

- The fact that up until recently all my jobs were retail and featured truly craptastic pay.

- The fact that I am stressed out of my mind from being a caretaker to a very sick loved adored parent.

Those are my excuses. I will master this so that I don't blurt them anymore; my future happiness needs it. (I'm thinking... letting myself have an allowance. A very small allowance. Like $20.)

I'm really damned grateful that I do live with my parents because if I didn't I'd probably be dead. Plus, I wouldn't get to look after my mom, and I wouldn't be able to work just part time.** Part time is at least paying my bills even if it isn't doing much to slay my college debt. Eventually, I tell myself, I will be able to move out and get a dog. And go on international adventures like finishing the Scottish National Trail. Eventually.

______________________________________

*I clean apartment buildings for a living. It's only doable with the magic of the previously mentioned interesting audio distractions.

**I'm glad it's only part time because I don't have enough energy for full time. Perhaps if it was less boring and I wasn't also a full time unpaid caretaker. (Except I am paid - in treats - which miraculously have not made me put on any holiday fat according to my weigh scale. Apparently trudging up and down apartment building stairwells is keeping that off.)

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

Family Ties

Recovery was a long and tiring process. Kyojuro always struggled with it, having to rest and take the time to heal properly instead of helping with anything and everything he could. Shinobu had scolded him endlessly on why he couldn’t be messing around and trying to sneak out with his injuries, they were too severe for him to be acting like a child. He couldn’t help it though, his family was at home waiting for him. His beautiful baby girl and her adorable face, those tiny fingers and hands, the small tufts of blonde hair that she had. He only got to hold her once before Shinobu had him taken to the butterfly estate. He felt restless, knowing he couldn’t see his wife in her motherly glow, a glow that he only got to hold onto for a few minutes. It had been a full week since he was brought to the butterfly estate, confined to one of the rooms designated for the hashira, away from the chaos and yelling the rest of the estate contained.

“Rengoku, time for painkillers!” Shinobu fluttered into the room, a small packet of pills in one hand and a letter in the other. “Another love letter, I may have to start charging delivery between you two!” she flashed a smile, setting down the pills and handing Rengoku the letter. He tore it open quickly, not trying to save the envelope as he read over the letter his wife had penned.

My flame,

Hinata and I both miss you very much, her big eyes are always looking for something, I think it’s you. Shinobu says tomorrow if you keep behaving we can start visiting you. For the first time ever my flame, please relax. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out not seeing you. It’s cold at night, I find myself missing your company, your warm hands that are always wandering, holding onto me. Your chest, so warm and firm, I miss laying on it, listening to your heart. I miss hearing your voice, always so loud but so quiet when you only want me to hear what you are saying. It makes me feel so special. Hinata is the only one keeping me sane. She looks so much like you it's almost scary, but I won't lie. Nothing compares to you. I miss you. It's harder knowing you are so close but I can't see you or hear you, I can't even hold you. Please relax so I can come to see you, my love.

I love you to the sun and back,

Your flower

“Let me check your bandages and then I will let you know if they can come tomorrow” Kyojuro jumped at the sudden closeness of the insect Hashira, not quite used to the lack of peripherals on his left side. Setting the letter on the nightstand he scooted towards the edge of the large four-poster bed he had been resting in. Sitting as straight as he could without feeling pain, he raised his arms slightly, letting Shinobu unravel the bandages around his stomach. The wound had hindered most of his movements for the first few days in the estate but he had been getting better, small walks and even sitting in a chair had helped him regain some of that feeling of normal, even through the haze of the painkillers. He had decided not to bother struggling with a shirt, knowing it was too painful to go through the hassle when Shinobu came in every few hours to check the bandages. She mumbled small apologies as she unraveled the tape and gauze directly on the wound, trying to drown out the hisses of pain from Kyojuro.

"The staples are holding well, no tearing, no bleeding or abnormal discharge. You are healing as well as you could Kyojuro. I think it's safe to say you can see Y/N and Hinata tomorrow. But I will warn you now and later, Kyojuro. Do. Not. Exert. Yourself. I know you are excited and restless to spend time with your family and your new baby but if you hold her for too long and strain yourself I don't know if I have the knowledge to save you. You are lucky to be here now" Kyojuro understood her warning. He was beyond grateful to work alongside such a skilled and intelligent woman. The people she had trained to deal with life-threatening and fatal wounds like the one on his stomach have led to many lives saved that should have been lost, including his. He owed his life to her. He made a noise of agreement, trying not to move much while she laid a fresh bandage on the fist-sized wound his stomach sported. She was careful as she wrapped the gauze on his stomach, holding his bandage in place and stabilizing his torso so the quilts he was rolling around in didn't scratch him or remove his bandage.

"Tanjiro, inosuke, and Zenitsu have been asking about you. Do you think you feel well enough to see them?" Kyojuro perked up at the mention of the young slayers, their intervention of his fight with the upper 3 was another reason he was alive. He went straight to his estate after the battle, asking the Kakushi to assist him home once they stabilized him, not taking no for an answer. They only agreed once he tried crawling away from them, not bothering to listen. He didn't even explain his eagerness to get home so they deserve answers.

"Yes, is that their names? I would very much like to speak with them. Could they visit?" Shinobu chuckled at the excitement Kyojuro radiated as she threw the dirty bandages into the waste bin before turning back to the flame hashira.

"I'll have aoi bring them. She'll be coming soon with your tea and sweet potatoes. I don't know how you talked her into making your favorite snacks all the time but I think you may be her new favorite." With a smile she bowed, fluttering back out of the room as quick as she arrived.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough, having spent the rest of the afternoon focusing on what he wanted to do while he had the time with his wife and daughter, Kyojuro was distracted. The anticipation had made it hard for him to sleep, thoughts hounded by the idea of finally being able to hold the two most important people in his life. He was feeling strong enough to hold his daughter for more than a few minutes, he had willed his muscles to get better, trying to lift more and hold them for longer amounts of time. Just enough so Shinobu wouldn't yell at him and he could hold his baby girl. He couldn't hold back from the fact he missed his wife as well though, He had been away for a whole month, missing the final month of her pregnancy. When he received the letter from Shinobu, urgently written to tell of his wife giving birth, his heart sank, knowing he wasn’t any closer to going home. Now home had been within reach, and he couldn’t wait to close his fist around it and never let it go.

Kyojuro had adjusted the collar of his shirt for what seemed like the hundredth time, even though the shirt laid almost fully open, tucked into his hakama pants. He felt anxious at the arrival of his wife and daughter, ready to see them and spend all the time he could with them, but also, what if he messed up? This was only the second time he got to see his daughter, what if she didn’t like him or didn’t want to be held by him. His lack of full strength and the pain in his abdomen may be a hindrance to his quality time with his family. His thoughts were everywhere as he fiddled with his shirt and his hair, constantly adjusting everything, it had to be perfect for them. The door opening behind him pulled him from his downward spiral. Looking towards the door Kyojuro met the eyes of the person he had been missing, her reflection staring back at him through the mirror. Her yellow Kimono had been covered with one of his spare Haori, wrapped tightly over the sling on her chest, a gurgling baby nestled into her.

“Hi Handsome” She walked up to him, moving to stand in front of him as he turned to her. She stopped, eyes running over his face, the eyepatch he had been gifted from Shinobu, to cover his injury while it finished healing. The bruises on his temple had almost healed fully, and he was moving. It felt like she could breathe again, finally seeing with her own eyes that he was doing better. She trusted Shinobu with her life, but she felt so anxious not knowing exactly how Kyojuro was doing. He smiled down at her, His hands immediately finding their way to her hips, pulling her into his embrace. Tucking his head into her neck he breathed in, eliciting a giggle from the woman as she wiggled in his grasp. “You're tickling me, Kyo.” He chuckled, the rumble in his chest shaking their daughter who had begun to fuss, the squeals of joy quickly turning to sorrow. Kyojuro jumped away from his wife, her attention turning to their daughter as he looked on. Pulling her from the sling she had she cooed at her baby, softly bouncing her as she sobbed into her shoulder.

“Kyo” She looked at him as she moved to the edge of the bed, sitting down as she patted Hinata’s back. Kyojuro followed her, slowly seating himself next to his wife. He moved as carefully as he could, looking at his crying daughter's face as she wailed into her mother’s shoulder.

“Can I?” He hesitantly reached for Hinata, eyes looking at his wife for permission. With a smile on her face, she lifted Hinata, Allowing Kyokjuro to wrap his hands around her small body, cradling her in his arms so she was on her back.

“Hinata, My beautiful sun child. I’m sorry I shook you like that, Your mommy is so ticklish around her neck, I'm surprised she lets you lay there” He cooed, leaning closer to her face. “Sweet girl, daddies sorry” He rocked her, swaying back and forth, moving Y/N in the process. As they swayed he hummed a tune his mother would often hum. It had no words, but it always reminded him of the early morning, before the sun was fully in the sky, just poking itself over the horizon. He would be in bed, just waking for the day when his mother walked by, humming to herself as she went to the kitchen, getting ready to start breakfast. Her loud humming followed her to the kitchen, where the notes were accented with her chopping the fruits and vegetables to the beat. The cries quickly turned to hiccups. Hinata's round yellow eyes were still glossy with tears as she stared at her father, his tender gaze as he looked down at her, singing softly. Y/N stared at the two of them in awe, the child's enamored look as she listened to her father's melody, the soft song she had heard him humming as he sat in the gardens early in the morning. Motherhood was such a blessing and being able to witness a moment like this was even better. Chubby hands reached up, grabbing at the air as the song came to an end. Her fingers wrapped around nothing before they dropped back onto the blanket she was swaddled in, gripping onto the fabric.

“She’s so beautiful. I could look at her all day” He looked up at his wife briefly before he looked back at his daughter, a smile gracing his lips as he held her closer to him, snuggling into her.

“She really is something special, huh? From her cute little toes all the way to that golden hair. Kyojuro, I think we made the perfect child. Hinata, my sunshine.” Her mother cooed, running her fingers over the small tufts of blonde hair, smoothing it against her head.

“You know” He started, looking back up to Y/N. “I was scared for you to come today. As much as I wanted to see the two of you, What if it didn’t work? What if I wasn't strong enough to get her to stop crying, I would have left you to do it when you’ve been doing it for so long without help. What if I had no-”

“I’m going to stop you there Kyojuro. Shinobu was telling me how you’ve been healing, how you’ve been working. I wouldn’t let you take Hinata from me if I didn’t think that you could handle it. Also, my flame; look at her, look at you. Take a deep breath before you completely lose it.” She stopped, watching as he inhaled and released it, slowly letting out the breath. “Now. Kyojuro, it's scary, I know. I’ve been trying to figure this out almost entirely on my own, but luckily I had some really good advice and a bit of help. my love, I’m right here, we are going to figure this out together and I promise you right now, we aren’t going to be perfect. But look at her, she’s happy, and that’s all I can ask for. She knows you and she loves you, I love you, so incredibly much. Kyo, I was scared you wouldn’t make it, that once Shinobu took you away from me I wouldn’t be seeing you after that. I need you to be patient with this. You are doing so well already, you quieted her faster than I've been able to since she was born. Hinata and I will spend so much time with you once you are home, none of us will leave that bed until you are healed, I mean it.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his as he let out another long breath. “Everything will be fine my flame, don’t worry one bit. You are doing just fine with her.” Pulling away from her husband to sit on her heels she reached for Hinata, scooping her out of Kyojuro's arms. A small whine left Hinata's lips, her drooping eyes shooting open as she laid against her mother's shoulder. “Lay back against the pillow, I want to show you something” Kyojuro gave Y/N a puzzled look but did as he was told, moving to the head of the bed and laying flat on his back, head propped up on a pillow. Moving around the bed she stood next to Kyojuros still figure she smiled, moving Hinata so she was laying on his chest, her head instantly cuddling into the warmth his chest always radiated, a spot Y/N also liked to lay on. The lack of a shirt or a kimono on most of his chest created room for direct heat, Hinata own personal heated pillow. Kyojuro burst into giggles as his daughter quickly fell asleep against his chest, her quiet breaths becoming less frequent as she drifted to dreamland.

“She just fell asleep like that!?” it was Y/N’s turn to laugh as she climbed over her husband, laying down next to him.

“You are so warm, and she loves the warmth. When I light a fire at night, she always falls asleep so fast when I sit close to it, or when I bundle her in blankets. You are always so warm my flame, she obviously loves it” He chuckled again, running his fingers over the blanket that covered Hinata.

“Two women that like the heat, huh”

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 10

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@pocketramblr :)

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One day - and not even a whole day, because of travel time and Inko wanted Izuku home for dinner- simply wasn't enough time to master a quirk. Although he could turn Float on and off, now. So, they made plans to come back next week, and the next, up until the sports festival. Which. Wow. Really was only two weeks away.

Izuku had never realized how close to the beginning of the school year it was.

He was going to die.

"You're not going to die," said Mr. Yagi. "I'm not going to say the sports festival isn't important, because it is, it's one of the best ways to make professional connections for students, but not doing well isn't the end of the world, especially not in your first year. No one expects you to be perfectly polished."

"But," said Izuku, "I'm supposed to be the next you! I've got to stand out, right?"

Mr. Yagi looked very guilty. "I... may have given you that impression when we were first training, yes. But, since then, with all my research into the past holders... few of them were popular, flashy heroes. If you want to walk the same path as me, that's great. But you don't have to. Even I didn't really start that chapter of my life until after college."

Izuku looked down at his hands, letting silence fill the space between them as he contemplated Mr. Yagi's words. "This isn't about me manifesting One for All differently, is it?"

"What? No, no of course not, my boy. I mean, it certainly helped me come to this conclusion, I wouldn't have done so much research without it! But I certainly hope I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, even so."

"Okay..." said Izuku, still dubious.

"I mean it," protested Mr. Yagi. "Most of my work is essentially underground, you know. There's a reason the battle trial was what it was."

"H-huh? You? Underground? But you're so recognizable!"

"Am I? I firmly believe in bringing all my resources to bear in the fight against evil! Ha ha!"

His laugh devolved into a cough, and he fumbled for a handkerchief. But he recovered quickly enough.

"I guess that makes sense," said Izuku, cautiously, once he thought Mr. Yagi wasn't going to start coughing again.

"You didn't think I stayed number one by popularity alone, did you?"

"I- the formulas the Hero Commission uses to determine rankings are secret, and it only includes spotlight heroes, so when I extrapolated the hero billboard rankings, yes, I assigned a high weight to popularity. There were always some discrepancies between my predictions and the end results, but I figured I missed some events, or the commission assigned them different values…"

"That's quite impressive, my boy. But, though popularity is a factor, the HPSC does take unpublicized fights and rescues into account. Assuming you report them…"

That was the second time Mr. Yagi had mentioned not telling the commission something.

"Do you, um, do you do that a lot? Not tell the commission things, I mean."

"Eh? No, no, I try to stay up on my paperwork. I get a lot of help from Naomasa, though. Some heroes, especially independent ones, without an agency, do have trouble keeping up, sometimes."

"It's just… the other day you said something about not telling the commission about All for One."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're quite right. How should I put this… The HPSC knows All for One exists, and I have made them generally aware of his modern exploits. I haven't told them about his ability to give quirks, though they may know through other avenues, there are certain battles I've had with him that I haven't told them about, and they do not know about One for All."

“Why not?”

“Villains aren’t the only ones who seek power,” said Mr. Yagi. “The HPSC provides a vital service, and I think what one does matters more than why one does it, but… it is my observation that many of the people there are more concerned with personal power than doing the right thing. And positions of power and authority tend to draw in those who would abuse those things."

"Even heroics?"

"Especially heroics. The HPSC Ethics Review Board is supposed to stop that, but no system is perfect." He shook himself. "But look at me! I was trying to give you a pep talk, not saddle you with doubts about the government!"

Izuku laughed, nervously. "I mean, you've definitely distracted me from the sports festival…"

“Yes. The sports festival. Don’t worry about making a big spotlight combat debut. If you want to focus on rescue, or investigation, or the underground, I’ll support you all the way.” He paused. “You do need combat, though, because, because of-”

“All for One?”

“Yes, exactly. All for One.”

.

“Way to kill the mood, guys,” said Banjo.

“I think the mood was thoroughly dead already,” said Yoichi.

“Unlike your brother,” said En. “Ninth’s father.”

“Come on, it was just a little omission of information. It wasn’t even a lie!”

“It was definitely a lie. You’re so lucky that my relief about you not being a pedophile eclipsed my righteous fury regarding your mendacity.”

“You know, the fact that you’re delivering that completely deadpan gives me doubts about the fury part.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” said Nana, making a ‘T’ shape with her hands. “Time out. Ninth’s father is All for One.”

“Yes,” said Yoichi, hanging his head, “I thought that had been established.”

“So, are we… What Toshinori is saying is completely valid, by the way… but, are we expecting this kid to fight his father? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“Uh,” said Yoichi, “in our defense, we did think he was dead.”

“Maybe Eighth will get ‘im before Ninth has to deal with it,” suggested Banjo. “He’s got to have a better chance of that, now what with Fa Jin and all.” He paused. “But, you know what would give Ninth an even better chance, if he does have to fight his deadbeat dad-”

“He’s not a deadbeat,” interrupted Hikage.

“What?”

“Calling him a deadbeat would imply that he is neither supporting the Midoriyas financially nor regularly in contact with them. He is on both counts.”

“What?” squealed Bango.

“Did you miss his phone call with his father immediately following his return home after the USJ attack?”

“Oh,” said Yoichi, “no, I was very aware of my brother’s evil, evil voice. It’s just that these guys were too focused on scolding me to listen to anything I had to say. I still can’t believe he sent someone like that to attack his own son’s class.”

“Didn’t he, like, kill you?” asked En.

“No, my death was largely unrelated. You’ve got to remember, I was a chronically ill fugitive from the law with no money. Who told you that he killed me?”

Everyone looked at their immediate predecessor. Yoichi tracked the path back to Third, who had gone very stiff.

“What the heck, Third? You were there when I died. Why would you tell Hikage that?”

Third did not answer.

“Actually, what did he tell you, Hikage?

“Oh, it was very moving and heroic. It happened while you were saving a busload of metahuman orphans. You sacrificed yourself to let them get away from All for One. I even cried a little.”

“Is it weird that I’m now disappointed in myself for not dying like that?”

“Very,” said Nana.

“What were we talking about before this?” asked En.

“I have no idea,” said Banjo.

.

Izuku delayed going to class, nervous about everyone's reactions to his quirk. It wasn't that he thought they'd reject him, but more that he had no answers for the inevitable questions.

But he also didn't want to be late.

"Todoroki was so cool!" Hagakure exclaimed as he opened the classroom door. "He was all like, blam, bam, swish! And- and he checked whether or not I was there first, before attacking, which was super cool of him."

Todoroki's expression was halfway between 'statue' and 'help, I've been hit by a truck.' "Cool?"

"Very cool."

"You've grown since the first day, kero."

"Ah! Midoriya!"

All heads turned towards him. In the next second, he was hugged by several people, which was more friendly skin contact than he'd had since… ever, probably.

"Eep," he said.

"We were so worried about you," said Uraraka. "We made a group chat, after, but since you were unconscious…"

"Hm," said Monoma, "your quirk still is definitely a stockpile…"

"Monoma!" shouted Iida. "Did you join this hug just to copy quirks?"

"And what of it?"

"But speaking of quirks," said Jiro, "you can fly now? We kind of went along with it at the time, but that's kind of different from a sensory quirk."

"I know," said Izuku, "and I have no explanation."

"Maybe your quirk stockpiles danger," said Monoma, contemplatively. He rubbed his chin with one finger. "That could be why you can sense danger- you're stockpiling it. Then, when the danger gets over a certain threshold, you can release it as flight… why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," drawled Kaminari. "Just that you're more thoughtful than you look, pretty boy."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

"Th-thank you, Monoma! I'll have to mention it when I go to quirk counseling next."

Which may or may not be this afternoon, depending on how Mr. Aizawa felt and- His head snapped to the door. "Mr. Aizawa's coming!"

They all rushed to their seats. The door creaked open.

"Oh my gosh, he's a mummy."

.

"Iida?"

"What is it, Midoriya?"

They were having a bit of a break during English while Present Mic cycled them through for short sessions with Hound Dog.

"I didn't have a chance to ask you earlier, but how's your brother?"

“He’s alright! It’s the first really major injury of his career, so he’s going to take it easy for the rest of the month, to make sure his engines heal properly. He’d prefer not to of course, but, ah, there is a silver lining.”

“That’s good,” said Izuku, encouragingly.

“I really shouldn’t be happy about it,” said Iida, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he’ll be able to come see me during the sports festival, and he probably would have been too busy if he were active.”

“I think it’s okay to be happy about good things, even if they happen because of bad things,” said Izuku. “It isn’t like we can go back and make the bad things not happen, after all…”

“That’s very true, Midoriya! What a mature way of thinking about things.”

Izuku didn’t know about that, but he was willing to take the compliment.

.

“Midoriya,” said Shouta, who was absolutely and unquestionably recovered enough to teach. Even if he had zoned out in the corner of the room in his sleeping bag all morning rather than trekking back to the teacher’s lounge… or teaching any of his other classes… shut up. “What are you doing at the window?”

“O-oh. Mr. Aizawa. I didn’t know you were awake?”

It was, maybe, a little unfair to single Midoriya out like that, since the entire class was standing by the window, and the way Uraraka, Sero, and Midoriya were closest to it, with Monoma a close fourth, was concerning, but Midoriya was the first one Shouta saw, and the one most likely to to cave and tell him what was going on.

“Midoriya.”

“R-right. Well, going out the door seems a little unpleasant today, so we thought we’d switch it up?”

What did that even mean?

“We were going to bring you with us, of course,” continued Midoriya.

What did that even mean?

“Out the window.”

“Um. Yes.”

“What kind of unpleasant are we talking about?”

“Battle trial unpleasant?”

Shouta groaned and hauled himself up, walking over to the door. He looked out the window and made note of all the students from other classes standing out there, circling like sharks. Great. Maybe they needed to have an assembly about respecting boundaries or whatever, especially if the people whose boundaries were being crossed were potentially traumatized.

Something to bring up at the next staff meeting he attended. Which… would probably not be soon.

Anyway.

He opened the door.

(“A mummy,” whispered someone.)

(First his kids, then these kids… he wasn’t that wrapped up.)

(Was he?)

“What are you all doing here?” he asked, voice rasping rather more than he wanted it to.

The students didn’t seem inclined to answer. Someone did mutter something about the sports festival, but it was far from the complete answer that Aizawa wanted.

“Right. Whatever. Scoping out the competition is one thing, but you are aware that class 1-A is recovering from a traumatic experience. And you’re blocking traffic. Clear off.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Shouta sighed. He knew this would only be the first of many such incidents. He made a note to talk to Nemuri about whether or not she’d be willing to donate some of her class time to talk about public relations.

.

“You know,” said Nemuri, “if you actually rested, Recovery Girl would be able to heal you.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Shouta, glaring at his desk in the staff room. “I’m forgetting something.”

All Might walked in. “Er, young Aizawa,” he said. He paused for a painfully long, awkward moment. “Are you still meeting with young Midoriya today?”

“Crap.”

.

Did Izuku expect Mr. Aizawa to come to their meeting? No. The man had casts on all of his limbs. But, he hadn’t cancelled it either. So, better safe than sorry, right?

But it had been a while, now. Izuku could probably safely assume he wasn't coming after a half hour. He got up, packed his bags, and reached out for the door handle-

Only to freeze as Mr. Aizawa yanked it open and pulled Mr. Yagi into the classroom after him.

Izuku scurried back to his seat.

"Nothing physical today," croaked Mr. Aizawa. "We're going to figure out your quirk."

“O-okay,” said Izuku.

Aizawa collapsed into the seat behind the teacher's desk. “To be short, this quirk, One for All or whatever, is complete nonsense.”

“Uh,” said Mr. Yagi. “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” whispered Izuku.

“You should be. Not you, Midoriya. You’re fine.”

“Okay?”

“Right. So. You’ve got two quirks right now. Danger Sense and Float. Unless something else showed up over the weekend?”

“No, it’s, um, it is just those two right now.”

“And you’ll most likely get Smokescreen, Blackwhip, and that strength enhancement eventually. Plus two mystery quirks.”

“That is what I’ve been able to find out,” said Mr. Yagi.

“So, we have to figure out some way to get all those under a coherent umbrella that can account for the mystery quirks, and before the sports festival, so the evil immortal supervillain doesn’t notice that you have quirks just like a bunch of people he had personal beef with.”

Mr. Yagi cursed in English. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Yeah, I wonder what else you haven’t thought about. Maybe this year I can get Nezu to take my suggestion about doing hero names before the sports festival seriously. You know we’ve had people stalk students before because for some godforsaken reason we use their real names? I need a drink.”

“Ah, water?”

“No.”

“Young Aizawa, you’re a teacher…”

“A career choice I question daily. Midoriya, do you have any thoughts about how to make your quirk make sense in a way that won’t get you killed or abducted by the HPSC?”

“I- Does that happen?” despite his conversation with Mr. Yagi over the weekend, he still had generally positive thoughts about the hero commission.

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well, um, I was talking to Monoma earlier, and he said something about stockpiling danger, and how it might let out the stockpile as the energy necessary to levitate- which, really, would be a fascinating quirk if it did work that way- but I thought it might also work for Smokescreen and the strength enhancement? I mean, general responses to danger are fight, flight, or hide, so the strength enhancement is fight, Float is flight, and Smokescreen would be hide…”

“That might work. What about Blackwhip.”

“Yeah, that one has kind of stumped me.”

“Blackwhip sure is a problem,” agreed Mr. Aizawa.

.

The ghosts started laughing. “You’re a problem, Banjo,” chortled Nana.

“Come on, guys, that isn’t funny!”

"It is! It's hilarious!"

"They were just talking about All for One tracking the kid down and killing him!"

The mood sobered quickly.

"Considering that he is Ninth's father," said Hikage, "I suspect it's far too late for that."

"Yeah," said Yoichi. "But, just to be safe, and in case there are other weirdos out there, new rule: no giving him new quirks in public. Not that we can do anything about when he eventually manifests the stockpile…"

"What if he's going to die?" asked Hikage, raising his hand.

"He already got your quirk, why do you care?"

"We'd like to hear it," said Banjo, somewhat forcefully.

"Well, if he looks like he's going to die, do whatever you can to stop that from happening, I guess. But chucking a quirk he doesn't know how to use isn't always going to be the beat answer."

"Wait," said Nana. "Hold up a second. A few days ago we were talking about the potential for multiple quirk brain damage, weren't we?"

"Oh, good catch," said Yoichi. "I guess I forgot to mention it, which means Nana is the only one I'd trust babysitting my nephew in the event a quirk rewound him to elementary school age-"

"That is a suspiciously specific scenario," said En.

"-and all the rest of you are fired. You didn't even question giving him more quirks? Really?"

Hikage raised his hand. "I assumed you had discovered that Ninth had a constitution capable of handling multiple quirks, similar to yourself and your brother."

"That is true. Okay, Hikage would be another exception, but he's disqualified from babysitting for other reasons."

"That's fair."

.

"So we need something that can do all that, and has tentacles," said Izuku, squeezing his bottom lip in thought.

"Yeah," said Mr. Aizawa. "Honestly, even really dumb ideas would be welcome right now."

"Why are you looking at me?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"You know why."

There was only one creature Izuku could think of that could do all the things Izuku one day might be able to while maintaining room for the two mystery quirks. "Cthulhu."

Mr. Yagi looked mildly scandalized at the suggestion.

"Nah, it'd have to be something like eldritch. Cthulhu's trademarked in Japan, and that can give you aboveground types trouble."

"What is it a trademark for?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Ask Midnight. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi.

"The problem with that is that you currently have no justification to call it that. Now if you already had Smokescreen…"

The adults looked at him.

"... I don't think it's going to just show up like that," said Izuku.

.

"Why not?" asked Banjo, staring at En. "They practically asked you for it."

"Well, first off, I live for drama, so jot that down."

"Huh? What about me?" asked Yoichi.

"Nothing, it was just an idiom. Second…"

.

"...Right," said Aizawa. “For now, then, we’ll have to give it a temporary name, because it’s starting to get to the point in time where it’ll actually be illegal for you to not register it.” He shuffled his casts. “Yagi, start filling out those forms with what he can do currently. Midoriya, make sure you check him when he’s done. For now, we’ve got to come up with a name.”

“Um,” said Izuku. “Float’s the only one that’s really visible, so I could just call it Float?”

“Vetoed. You aren’t picking a name that the immortal supervillain knows.”

“He did seem to only refer to people by quirks unless he really hated them,” said Mr. Yagi. “Except his brother, who he always called ‘my foolish brother.’”

“Focus on the paperwork.”

“And he called himself by his quirk name as well,” mused Izuku. “Do you think it was a side effect? Quirks have document impact on people’s personalities-”

“Focus.”

“R-right. Um. Feather Fall? No, that’s part of a game. Flight Reflex?”

“Good enough for now,” said Aizawa. “Flight Reflex it is.”

[shoichee]

Hi, congrats on 100!! Could I please request 27 for Kasamatsu? Thank you very much, and good luck on your finals! :D

Kasamatsu x Reader

27. “If we get caught I’m blaming you”

Word Count: 4416

prompt list here

Note: the Replace novel starring the Kaijō team was a HUGE inspiration for this, and dear anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around;; I’m sorry it took so long EEEEE But yes! I did okay on my finals anon! I hope you’re doing well too~

@knb-kreations

»»—————　☼　—————««

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Look it’ll be quick… n-no one’s here as far as I know.”

“B-But…”

“J-Just… be quiet for a s-second, okay?”

“H-H-Huh?! Ah…”

Huh? Kise stopped himself before leaning closer to the edge of the building, slightly doubting his ears. Wasn’t that Senpai’s voice? With someone else…? Alone?

“Oh come on, why are you even block the wa—oh, ohhhhhh, are there any cute girls nearby?—”

“Shh,” Kise hissed, harshly waving his hand over Moriyama’s face to give a signal to stay quiet. “Listen…”

“A-Are you done, Kasamatsu-san…?”

“I-I-I… uh, just…um…”

Kise and Moriyama shared a look of shock… then registration… and finally a look of that spelled nothing but trouble. Immediately, they both simultaneously crouched to squat and share their “realizations” together in hushed whispers.

“Quick—when was the last time Senpai talked to anyone outside of basketball?”

“Hmmmmmm, certainly none of the girls I’ve tried to approach.”

“No, that’s obviously not what I meant!” Kise said, facepalming. “Anyone in your year that he’s been talking to? Maybe anyone in class?” Moriyama continued to hum in deep concentration before he lifted his index finger in a “eureka” moment.

“He’s been talking to (y/n)-san in the hallways recently!” he quietly exclaims, pounding his fist against his open palm to emphasize. “Though their conversations have sounded nothing remotely romantic. No charm, I say.” He struck a pose after to imply that he himself was the charismatic individual.

“.... Right,” he deadpanned, expecting nothing less from his quite… eccentric upperclassman. “Welp, now that we narrowed it down who he might be talking to, I don’t wanna spy on them… but I’m really curious if it’s really this (y/n)-san you mentioned.”

“Well,” Moriyama pouted with a grumble. “One peek wouldn’t hurt.”

“I guess you’re right…”

Kise cautiously scans his surroundings and gauges the situation “clear” to slowly peer from behind the corner of the building, where both of them had been seeking shelter from for the past several minutes. Moriyama follows suit, poking his head out just underneath Kise to see.

Kasamatsu’s back mostly covered your figure, but the view of what was happening did not slip by either Kaijō players’ eyes. He had his arms partially around your head while you were pressed up against his chest. You were gripping onto his loose blazer on his sides to presumably stabilize yourself while Kasamatsu was… fiddling with something on top of your hair? Even so, there’s no denying that the both of you were currently very, very physically close.

“Look… d-does it really take that long to take out petals from hair strands?” you mumbled, looking up at Kasamatsu’s face while trying not to move your head to avoid disrupting his “handiwork.” “I can do this myself....”

“W-W-Well, you can’t risk yourself being unkempt when you go back to class.” Kasamatsu gave a poor attempt at trying to lecture you, judging from his stammers and the way he slightly turns his head to the side to avoid your curious scrutiny. “It’s more thorough this… way. It’s the w-week where these blossoms fall rampantly… you have to be careful where you’re walking under…” In turning his face slightly towards Kise’s and Moriyama’s direction, his exposed flushed face puts the cherry blossom trees around them to shame.

So that’s what he was doing. Kise narrowed his eyes in pity at his captain, and Moriyama expressed a similar expression at Kasamatsu’s struggles. The poor captain’s hands were shaking non-stop. Not only that, he’s been darting his eyes everywhere since you’ve been gazing up at him from below. No wonder he’s been standing there unable to quickly pluck off the petals.

“Should we leave our captain alone to let him lead his own destiny?”

“What are you even talking about, Moriyama-se—”

“W-Whoa!! What a(l)e you [guys doing] he(l)e? Why a(l)e you sneaking a(l)ound (r)ike that?”

Kise and Moriyama instantly whip their heads behind in a panic, seeing a curious Hayakawa jogging up to be with his teammates, and the both instantly pounce on the poor rebound player to slap desperate hands over his mouth.

“Sh-Shhhhhhhhh!”

“Mrmpgh—?!! Lef—What [is going] on?”

“Hayakawa-senpai, please—just be quiet for a sec!”

The ruckus causes Kasamatsu and you to break out of the oddly intimate moment to face towards the direction of the sudden noises. After looking at each other questionably, albeit briefly and with stiff eye contact, there was an unspoken consensus for you two to investigate behind the corner of the building. Imagine both of you guys’ surprise when you two see a tangle of limbs between the Kaijō starter players. Kobori somehow arrived prior, separating poor Hayakawa from his two assailants.

“What… What the hell are you guys doing?!”

“Kasamatsu-senpai!! Is it t(l)ue [that you] and (y/n)-san a(l)e da—mrmf—!”

“Ahaha… we didn’t expect to see you here, Senpai~” Kise smiles with a slight grimace, hand still firm on Hayakawa’s mouth.

“It must be fate, yes surely!” Moriyama confidently speaks, flipping his fringe. Both Kise and Moriyama drop Hayakawa and straighten themselves up. “How else would we encounter such a situation as unique as this?”

“Why are you all here?” Kasamatsu sputters indignantly, but everyone (except you) saw how horrendously red his face was. You peek out from behind his back curiously, noting how Kasamatsu did a 180 in his personality compared to whenever he spoke with you.

“Kasamatsu-san… are they your teammates? You seem very close with them.”

“That’s—”

“Now, now, Kasamatsu-san… we’re only here because we were concerned where you went is all,” Kobori reassures a flustered captain. Kise only stares at him incredulously, but it seems that Kasamatsu, as usual, buys into Kobori’s naivete.

“I see…”

“Wow… the fact that your entire group came to look for you is very sweet of them,” you chime. “They really care for you, Kasamatsu-san…” When you elbow him at his ribs playfully, he immediately straightened himself like a plank.

“N-Nn.”

“Well… it’s almost time for class, so I have to go, see you all!”

“W-Wait, your… uh, hair, um—”

“I can get out the rest of the petals in the restroom, but thank you for trying! I’ll see you later!”

“R-Right…” He puts up his hand in a shy wave as you dash away, but he immediately drops it once you are out of the vicinity to hound on his teammates. “Were you watching this entire time? And stop with the looks—that’s creepy as hell!”

“Sooooooo…”

“Senpai, could it be that you and…”

“Kasamatsu-senpai! I’m (l)ooting fo(l) you!”

“N-N-No!!” he denies, ready to hold an iron fist to stop their antics, but Kobori gently holds onto his raised arm.

“Alright, let’s calm down a bit,” Kobori reasons with a placid smile. “I’m sure we’re all a bit curious because you hardly talk to anyone outside of basketball, right?”

“Kobori…”

“Have you heard of the prerequisites of the key elements of the blooming spring, Kasamatsu?” Moriyama asks, immediately drawing confused looks towards the 3rd-year.

“Moriyama-senpai, we have no clue what you’re talking about,” Kise says, asking the question that’s occupying everyone's mind.

“The key elements…! In the season of new birth, to enrich the experience, they are ‘hanami,’ ‘plums,’ and ‘spring cleaning!’ Of course, the prerequisite to these would be…”

“Please stop—”

“... to have a cute date.”

“... This is ridiculous,” Kasamatsu says irritatedly. “I’m going to class.” He immediately speed-walks to the adjacent building, leaving a scheming group behind.

“You know, if it’s true that he does like (y/n)-san, shouldn’t we help him? It’s the least we can do for our captain,” Kobori suggested.

“That sounds too troublesome,” Kise frowns, averting his gaze to also start to walk away, but Hayakawa immediately latches to his arm to pull him back.

“Don’t be (r)ike that! We have to do this as a team effo(l)t!”

“How did it become like this?!”

“Well…” Moriyama audibly ponders, stroking his chin. “If we make this successful for Kasamatsu, perhaps this can be a template for our own love lives! A sign that we will meet our fated ones this spring!”

“Yes, yes! Mo(l)iyama-senpai is abso(r)ute(r)y (l)ight!”

Oh god, Kise mentally sighs. What has he gotten himself into?

———

“Why are you guys surrounding me like that? Did you not hear me say that we have to change quickly? We can’t have the lockers for long today, considering that the janitor will come to do their routine clean-ups.”

“According to my online research,” Moriyama states, “this mint-scented deodorant will guarantee mutual attraction from the person you like.”

“Wha—?”

“Ignoring what Moriyama-senpai said,” Kise elaborates, scratching his head. “Is it really true that you like (y/n)-san? Otherwise, they’ll keep getting the wrong idea, senpai.”

Kasamatsu gapes like a fish, pulling his shirt collar as he starts to sweat and flush.

“Kise! Be a bit tactfu(r)! You do not unde(l)stand how to app(l)oach this!”

“What’s there to understand, Hayakawa-senpai!? It’s better to be direct about this, or otherwise we’ll be doing this for nothing!”

“Kise may be right,” Moriyama muses. “To be honest gives a feeling of a fresh start in the spring. Kasamatsu, you should follow this example and leave all the baggage behind to obtain a new start.” Kasamatsu could only stand there glued to his spot as his teammates continued to corner him, blocking any possible route to the locker exit.

“I… I…” he gulps. “Th—... that’s… I… like…” His voice dwindles to the softest whisper, but it easily resonates throughout the locker room, where the team had fallen silent in straining to hear and hang onto his every syllable.

“So you do like (y/n)-san,” Moriyama exclaimed, the first one to break the silence. “I see, I didn’t think they were your type.”

“H-Hey…?! Can you not say it like that!?”

“You can’t distort the truth, though. Anyways, you should chat with (y/n)-san nicely.”

“I already do!!” Kasamatsu half-shouts, but he immediately bows his head down shyly. “Wh-What’s a… good topic, you think… to talk to (y/n)-san…?”

“Huh? Just normal topics,” Kise replies, not sure what Kasamatsu meant by the question.

“What’s… normal?”

“Just talk to them like you’ve always done, senpai.”

“Y-Yes, but… h-how can I talk to hint that I l-l-l-like… never mind this is hopeless—”

“Ask them to come watch ou(l) next match [and have] (y/n)-san chee(l) fo(l) you!!”

“N-No! Anyone would run away from that!”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted when the locker doors opened with a bang, with a very weary janitor standing with his equipment on standby. With a flurry of apologies to the janitor, Kasamatsu recovers himself and ushers everyone out before bidding him a good evening. Walking out of campus several minutes later in silence, Kobori breaks the silence.

“Why don’t we help you, Kasamatsu? Maybe through different methods you will find the best way to ask for a date. Perhaps asking for a cup of tea would be sufficient…?”

“I’m not gonna involve myself with this! No way in hell!”

“Senpai, so you’re just gonna wait and let it fester—u-uwah?!” Moriyama immediately sprays the mint-scented deodorant down Kise’s back to silence him before turning back to Kasamatsu with a straight face.

“What if someone else steals (y/n)-san away for their own elements of spring? After all, it is the perfect atmosphere for them to communicate with the person you like with pickup techniques, with high chances of success.”

“N-No way (y/n)-san would just go along with a random stranger!”

“Who knows? Maybe they’re more suave and have that particular charisma that they’re secretly weak to.”

“Moriyama-senpai, you might be going too far…”

“Kasamatsu, he’s right though, if you hang around (y/n)-san more, not only would you learn more about them, but you’ll protect them from potential unwanted people.” Kobori’s calm voice rang louder above the clamors of the starter players, and everyone immediately looked to Kasamatsu for his response. Kise mentally sighs at how Kobori always manages to misinterpret Moriyama’s words.

“Fine—but only to make sure (y/n)-san will be safe! Don’t get any funny ideas!”

———

Praise. Make them laugh. Praise. Make them laugh. Say something interesting. Say something interesting. Praise. Use a normal topic.

Kasamatsu stands at his usual spot, waiting for you to leave class and meet up with him after school. Only this time, his hands grow clammy, his thick brows deeply furrowed as he wills himself to stop shaking. His teammates spying on him from behind the hallway corner certainly wasn’t helping him either.

“I told you, there’s no way I’m gonna involve myself with this!”

“Come on, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama sighed, shaking the mint-scented deodorant on hand. “We talked about this yesterday. You agreed to this, remember?”

“It was to make sure no one weird bothers (y/n)-san! Why do I have to go along with this?!”

“So you’re fine if I hold (y/n)-san’s hand in the name of destiny…”

“To hell with that!—argh—you!”

Moriyama immediately sprayed the can on the captain’s neck, watching his spine jolt and jump before he was met with an intense glare.

“You’re the captain, right? Come on, you have to show us how it’s done. We all want to see the ways to push the boundaries of romance. Who would lead us if you don’t?”

“What kinda—”

“I ag(l)ee with Mo(l)iyama-senpai! Take the (r)ead, Kasamatsu-senpai!”

“Wouldn’t Kise be someone better to learn from if you wanted to learn how to hit on people?!”

“Senpai, I’ve never done such a thing in my entire life.”

“Kasamatsu, I’m sure Moriyama is just telling you how much we all admire and look up to you. Naturally, we want to see how our captain fares in these situations. Besides, as a team, if something happens, we’ll be there to cover up for you.”

“Well… if you put it like that Kobori… all I have to do is talk to (y/n)-san… right?”

“That’s the spi(l)it!”

“... Kasamatsu-san? Helloooooo…?”

You wave a hand repeatedly over his face, and he immediately blinks and flinches back when you pull him back to the present. He’d been standing still for the past five minutes.

“I-I-I-I…”

“Are you okay? You’re all tensed up… if something’s bothering you, wanna talk about it?”

“W-W-Well… wh-what’s… up.” Normal topic, normal topic.

“Well, nothing much really,” you say, smoothing out your blazer. “I got out the petals but barely made it to class in the nick of time!” You laugh at your own recollection, and he immediately flames a radiant flush.

“N-nn.”

“Is it me… or is our captain…. really, really stiff right now…”

“Shhh.”

You perk up at the noise and slightly tilt to the left of Kasamatsu to discern the source of the hushed whispers… only to spy a conspicuous group of basketball players. You merely raise a brow at your discovery, but you return your attention back to Kasamatsu before he notices your change in gaze. The Kaijō teammates were too busy shushing each other to notice your attention on them.

“Ah, yes! Kasamatsu-san, you just had your trigonometry test right? Those identities and proofs are always so difficult to remember… how do you think you did?”

“G-Good.”

“Wow, that was too quick of a response! I didn’t know you were that confident about it—obviously not a bad thing if you studied for it.”

“N-nn.” Come on, say something interesting. Interesting topic. Something you like. “U-U-Uh… w-weather…?”

“The weather…?” You look outside the window in confusion before you make a face of realization. “Oh! Like how’s the weather?”

“N-nn.”

“Well, it has been a bit windy with all those branches and leaves flying around, but I think it accompanies the refreshing atmosphere of spring very nicely, don’t you think?” You turn back to face Kasamatsu, who’s been slowly bowing his head down gradually more and more the entire time to avoid scrutiny.

“N-nn.”

“You’ve been… really quiet since lunch. I’m serious, if something happened… is there anything I can do to help?”

“Kasamatsu, take advantage of the elements of spring! The elements of spr—”

“Moriyama-senpai, shut… up…!”

“Hey—what are you—?”

“Wait!! Kise! Don’t push, [or else] we a(l)e gonna fa(r)(r)—!”

“Shit—”

Right on cue, the gradual leaning weight from the three players on Hayakawa at the bottom gave way, and everyone tumbled out smack dab into plain sight. Kobori was the only one who managed to break his fall and stayed behind the corner, holding onto Kise in a failed attempt to stop him from exposing his presence. Kasamatsu breaks out of his shy stupor and turns around to see awkward smiles and chuckles.

“Y-Y-You guys—?!”

“Ahaha… sorry Senpai… the floor was a bit… slippery?”

As Kasamatsu forgets about you in dropkicking Kise, you note how the other upperclassmen had their own little quirks in interacting with the captain. Seeing how assertive and gutsy he was compared to talking with you makes you feel unbelievably warm. Little did anyone know, you held a hand to your face as you turned away to let out a chortle before you collected yourself again.

“Ah, I guess I’ll be going now! Your practice will start soon right? I’m sure your friends were only waiting for you… Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Kasamatsu-san!”

“W-Wait—” Kasamatsu drops Kise from his collar before he turns to you, but in making eye contact he immediately loses courage again. “I-I-I… s-see… you.”

“Of course!” You give a close-eyed smile before you leave.

“You missed the opportunity to set up the atmosphere,” Moriyama sighs, staring wistfully at the mint-scented deodorant. “Was the mint scent not enough?”

“It was going fine until you crashed in!”

“Now, now, there’s always a next time…”

As the upperclassmen continue to bicker and banter (mostly one-sided from Kasamatsu’s end), Kise, who was dropped on the floor by Kasamatsu moments prior, silently stares at the direction you left. Did you leave because you knew how embarrassed Kasamatsu was from that incident?

———

For the next few days, Kasamatsu has been quite clipped with you, reduced to mere “nn’s” and “no’s” during your conversations, and Kise doesn’t know whether you’re just as oblivious as Kobori or whether you’re ignoring it to spare his remaining shreds of dignity. He mentally sighs at how oddly persistent Moriyama is about this even though the captain refused all of his ridiculous “suggestions” every time.

“I believe Moriyama is trying to help out Kasamatsu as a close friend,” Kobori had said, when Kise grumbled about his tenacity. “He just wants the best for him.”

Even so, Kise still heaves a sigh when he sees Moriyama and Hayakawa with an agitated Kasamatsu, knowing that whatever is going on won’t be smooth-sailing. He had no choice but to join them when Kobori sneaked up on him to sling an arm around his shoulders and called over the trio.

“Huh… what’s up with Kasamatsu-senpai?”

“Ou(l) captain is af(l)aid [because someone] da(l)ed to app(l)oach (y/n)-san (l)ight now!”

“Huh? Is that really a problem?” Kise shoots a tired look at the rebound player, but Moriyama solemnly sends a gaze to where he assumed was where you were at right now.

“I knew my online research would come in handy…! Someone also has the knowledge of taking advantage of the perfect atmosphere! Look at the intimacy shared between the two…! The undeniable auras exhibited by them, and elements of spring they embody together!”

“What the hell! No way!” Even through the denials, Kasamatsu looks visibly distressed about the possible “new revelations” between you and what looks to be a close companion of yours.

“I’m gonna have to agree with Senpai on this one, Moriyama-senpai.”

“(R)ook! They finished ta(r)king and (y/n)-san waved them [off with] a smi(r)e!” Kasamatsu whips his head at the speed of light to see you sending them off with the smile Hayakawa spoke of as your friend exits the campus gate. At his dilemma, Moriyama gently nudges his arm to encourage him to go talk to you.

“... According to my online research, talking under sunny weather with a fresh scent is the formula to having the desirable spring experience.”

“Oh shut up, will ya?” Kasamatsu mumbles half-heartedly, but he slowly walks in your direction before he stops to turn back. “You better not interrupt.”

“We [will be all] the way back he(l)e to suppo(l)t you!”

With a final sigh to expel his nerves, he gives a nervous smile to his teammates before coolly walking until you turn to face him once you hear his footsteps. Almost immediately though, his calmness easily dissipates into thin air once again, and his teammates only look on in dismay and worry from afar.

“Er…” Come on, just be direct. Talk normal.

“Kasamatsu-san?”

“Y-You were… d-datin—I mean t-talking, with… someone…”

“Oh, you saw? Yeah, I asked them to meet up with me here actually.”

“Is… that so?”

“Mmhm, I asked for their notes to compare to mine because I feel like I can’t get a hand on the subject sometimes.” Kasamatsu finally finds his voice for the first time in a while when the conversation finally re-enters familiar platonic territory.

“Was it… trigonometry? I did, um, do well on it last time, so…” Normal topics. Normal topics.

“I know,” you laugh. “You told me that a few days ago, remember?”

“W-W-Well…” He coughs to clear his throat and find his voice. “Y-You could’ve… a-a-asked—er…” You patiently wait for him to try to finish his sentence, and out of the corner of your eye you accidentally made eye contact with Kise from the distance.

Kise didn’t expect for you to notice the group even from a sizable distance away. He stayed still for a few seconds to make sure the shared eye contact wasn’t a fluke. Seeing how Kasamatsu was standing there like a statue again, he puts a flat hand next to his lips to discreetly mouth out:

He’s jealous.

To his surprise, you caught onto his cues, giving a subtle yet playful smile of your own before you carefully mouth out:

I know.

The others don’t seem to notice the secret exchange, all too focused on the poor captain bowing his head down out of extreme shyness. Kise doesn’t even know why he’s doing this, but perhaps Kobori was right that it’s only right for the team to help out their hardworking captain.

“Ah, Kasamatsu-san?”

“N-Nn?” He lifts his head up abruptly at the call of his name, and he turns red from mortification at the realization that he stood there like a dunce for the past several minutes. He doesn’t even have time to react to you stepping closer to him with an outstretched hand, and he stands motionless as you slightly fiddle with his cropped hair before you pull out a vivid cherry blossom petal.

“Remember what you told me?” you muse. “That ‘you can’t risk yourself being unkempt?’ After all, you’re right… it is the week where these blossoms fall rampantly… Must I also remind you to be careful where you’re walking under?”

At this point, Kasamatsu is sputtering like a broken engine, his mind barely functioning enough for him to think about putting a hand over his face in a desperate attempt to cover his frenzy.

“I, um, I…”

“Ah… can I ask you something first instead, Kasamatsu-san?” you gently interrupt him, and he flits his gaze back to you before staring at the ground again, and you took that as silent confirmation. “A-Are… are you free to go cherry blossom watching this weekend…?”

He snaps his head up in shock, only to see you slightly pink after that slight stutter in your question. It was your turn to avoid looking at his face.

“N-nn, I’m-I’m free.”

“Ah, that’s great…!” You muster your own courage to hold his clammy hands at his sides. “Can I ask to confirm if this is a romantic date between us?”

“Y-Yes,” he says in a hurry and you only laugh at his shyness. But his piercing eyes focus on your figure before he frees his hands from your loose clasp and reaches out to you, albeit with a slight shake in his hand still, before he clumsily takes out a petal from your hair. “It was… stuck.”

“See?” you shyly tease. “I knew it shouldn’t take you long to take out petals from hair.”

He completely lost his cool in front of you again.

You didn’t really care though… not when he looked absolutely endearing with the onslaught of petals settling on top of his head and shoulders to complement his flushed face.

———

Bonus:

“So are you two dating now?” Kise asks you. You both coincidentally met up at a hallway intersection the next week.

“Well, I think that’s a bit too fast,” you inwardly laugh. “You know how he is more than anyone.” Kise gives a light chuckle of his own before he asks you the question that’s been on his mind for a while.

“Hey (y/n)-senpai, how did you know Kasamatsu-senpai liked you?”

“Eh?”

“It was pretty clear from that time last week that you knew how he felt.”

“Ah… well, remember when he was… trying… to tidy up my hair? When you all spied on us?” you say, continuing when Kise gives a slightly sheepish nod. “It felt… different from how we normally talked. I’m sure he felt it harder than I did. I’ve always been nervous talking to him, but… seeing him so flustered and shy like that made me connect the dots, and then, I became more at ease and knew to be patient, realizing that he does hold a degree of feelings for me. I just didn’t know when was the right time for us to take it a step further.”

“I see. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I must say, please send my thanks for the rest of the team. I think without you guys, this wouldn’t have happened as smoothly… or quickly.” At your words, Kise only sweatdrops as he remembers Moriyama’s antics, Hayakawa’s over-enthusiasm, and Kobori’s good-natured naivete.

“I’ll… send your regards to them.”

“... Why do you look so hesitant?”

———

End note: the cherry blossom falling season only occurs in the first to second week of April, which would conflict with the timeline of this scenario IRL. The Japanese new school year also coincides with this week, and as 3rd-years, Kasamatsu, Moriyama, Kobori, and the reader would be college freshmen instead. If I wrote it in terms of “last year” with the 3rd-years as 2nd-years, then Kise would still be in Teiko. So for convenience sake… ignore the “realism” in the setting for this :^)

[onceuponaprettyhedawolf]

My ex had some relationship trauma that was never dealt with. When we initially started dating last year I had no idea the scope of it. All I knew was that they had just gotten out of a long term relationship. We dated for a week or two & then they broke up with me a week after we had sex for the first time. My first time, their first time with a girl. Little did I know their ex had pretty severely traumatized them in regards to sex & after we had sex, they began to spiral. They started comparing me & my actions to their ex & they couldn't handle it anymore.

A few months down the road, we started talking again. I was still head over heals for them & they thought they were ready to try again. Without much thought for the fact that during the time we didn't speak, they never sought actual help, I said fuck it & we dated again. I fell even harder & faster for them this time. We dated for a little over a month. We had sex about a week into the relationship again & they started freaking out again just like last time. However, this time they talked to me about it & we agreed to slow things down & take it one step at a time & figure it out together. This made little to no difference & they still ended up seeing my actions as things that would lead to them being abused again. So they treated me as an abuser & broke up with me & blocked me.

As someone with PTSD & has had every type of abuse under the sun done to them; this hurt. Don't get me wrong, they were hurting & didn't know any better. I definitely could've handled myself better in some of the conversations we had. I'm far from perfect. But now months later I am still feeling the affects of the break up & their trauma response. Unknowingly, they have caused me to feel guilty for wanting sex in the first place & for having any sexual feelings at all. I've never felt this way before & was always okay with how sexual I was in nature, but now I feel guilty & almost ashamed.

Additionally, as someone whose been gaslighted into thinking they were the abuser in multiple situations, I am also second guessing everything. Am I abusive? Am I extremely toxic? Am I horrible person? To add the proverbial cherry on top of the sundae, my best friend also cut me off in the same fashion I would only reserve for abusive & toxic people.

I'm not a perfect person & I have never claimed to be. But if there's now two people, one of which was my best friend, who cut me off like that & treated me as an abuser/toxic person, am I? Or did they just go above & beyond?

Don't get me wrong, these situations have made me to realize that I do have a lot of growth yet to do. I need to work on not over reacting when people come to me with any sort of criticism & not immediately go on the defensive. Instead, I need to sit & hear them out & have a peaceful & calm conversation with them. I also need to work on not allowing myself to take up too much of the emotional space in a relationship. I need to make sure that even though someone doesn't want to talk to me about their issues, it doesn't always mean I get to freely talk about mine all the time. It may be an issue within themselves to not want to divulge all of their issues, but that doesn't mean I should ignore that & wait for them to figure that out & come to me. Saying I'm here for you & telling someone you'll do whatever they need for help, doesn't constitute as being there. Some people don't know how to express what they need as well as others & so doing things to make them feel loved & supported regardless of them asking for it is the way to go. Lastly, some people need to have time to process their emotions & even though that sucks ass for me because of my anxiety, it doesn't mean I get to hound someone about it until they talk to me. I need to learn patience. I'm sure there are more things I have yet to figure out but that's all I know as of right now.

I'm not sure what this post is tbh, but if anyone has any perspective they'd like to share go for it. I'm not sure what to do or think on a couple of these things.

[bedlamsbard]

Part two of the reluctant roommates AU concept!  A reminder that my concept writing is deliberately not titled, chaptered, or betaed and is generally low pressure writing.  (I think to some extent I burned myself out on the titled stuff, but that’s for another post.)

Previous: Part 1

About 8.2K below the break.

Please note that while I don’t generally do content advisories, this contains discussion of fairly severe (unnamed) depression and anxiety, as well as physical abuse (about the same as other Inquisitor!Kanan concepts).

*

Agent Syndulla’s fear made Kanan’s back teeth ache, leeching into his dreams and giving him a flurry of nightmares that he knew had to come from her, not from within himself.  He woke with a start and lay in the unfamiliar bunk with one arm thrown up over his eyes, feeling like a voyeur despite the fact that he hadn’t done it on purpose.  Dreams weren’t a reflection of reality by any means, but they often had more to do with it than most people wanted to believe.  From what he had seen in Agent Syndulla’s dreams, most of them had been drawn from her memory.  He wished he didn’t know that.

At least it made a change of pace from his usual nightmares.

Eventually he made himself get up, wincing as his recently broken ribs twinged with the movement. They were mostly healed now, but were still fragile and painful, liable to get broken again if he wasn’t careful for the next week or so.  With any luck, this particular assignment wouldn’t involve getting shot or stabbed or thrown off in any cliffs, though given the way the past decade had gone Kanan wasn’t sure he really believed in luck anymore.  He still felt as though he had used up whatever he had remaining to him getting away from the Hunter for however long that lasted.

He dressed slowly, careful of the ribs as well as the rest of his assortment of healing bruises, cuts, and other miscellaneous injuries.  Some were from the assignment where he had gotten his broken; some were the Hunter’s parting gift, since his master had been extremely displeased by the order that split them up for the foreseeable future and Kanan had taken the brunt of his ire.  He touched his tongue to what he thought was a loose tooth and winced at the confirmation, feeding the Force through it to reseat it in the gum.

He could sense the Agent Syndulla was awake now, her attention focused on something other than her fear.  Kanan delayed leaving his cabin again as long as he could, not wanting to disturb her, but eventually had to answer the call of the refresher.  He was washing his hands when he sensed her sudden realization that he was awake and the spike of terror that followed, and winced.  He was used to people being afraid of Inquisitors, but usually his master got the bulk of that kind of attention; when it was aimed at Kanan it tended to be mixed with an odd kind of pity and relief.  People in the Imperial service expected nonhuman Inquisitors; they didn’t expect human Inquisitors, especially one with the right accent and one who was so obviously subordinate – as well as other things – to a Pau’an. Service members looked at the Hunter and felt fear; they looked at Kanan and thought, thank the gods that isn’t me.  It shouldn’t have surprised him that a nonhuman officer would feel differently.

He splashed water on his face, running a finger along the line of his jaw and the new growth of beard there; he eyed it in the mirror and decided to leave it for now.  It was something he hadn’t had at the Crucible, anyway, and at the moment he felt rather desperate for anything to remind him he wasn’t just the Hunter’s Hound.

He ran his damp fingers through his hair, finger-combing it, then drew it back into a short tail at the back of his skull.  When he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to delay, he went back out into the corridor, and then up to the cockpit where he could sense her presence.

She jumped as the door slid open, having obviously not heard his approach, and Kanan flinched back, startled by her reaction.  They stared at each other for a few moments as her astromech grumbled threateningly at him, then Agent Syndulla dropped her gaze back to the datapad she was holding.

She was a beautiful woman, the kind of woman he would have tried to seduce back before the Hunter had dragged him to the Crucible and beaten the spirit out of him, and he thought he probably could have succeeded, too.  He was hardly about to try now; for one thing, she was clearly terrified of him, and for another, the idea of letting anyone else touch him after the past few years was agonizing.  Even a pretty girl.

He said, “Can I get you some caf, while I’m up?”

She gave him a wary look, then said hesitantly, “All right.”

“How do you take it?”

“Milk and sugar,” she said after a moment. “A lot of both.”

Kanan nodded to her in what he hoped was a friendly fashion – he wasn’t sure he knew how to do that anymore – and let the door slide shut between them as he stepped back.  He took his time making the caf, pouring equal amounts of milk and sugar into her cup, and enough sugar into his that the spoon nearly stood up.  He had started drinking caf while he was in the field with the Grand Army of the Republic a decade ago, and after the first time he had spat out his mouthful – to the uproarious laughter of Styles and Gray and Depa Billaba’s barely concealed amusement – any clone who had made it for him had sweetened it enough to be tolerable for his palate.  He’d never lost the taste for it that way.

He took both mugs back to the cockpit.  Agent Syndulla didn’t jump when he came in this time, but she had clearly been braced for his return.  She took the mug from him with polite murmured thanks but didn’t sit back in her chair, sitting with the balls of her feet pressed against the deck, as if bracing herself against the need to suddenly flee.  Kanan prudently took the seat furthest from her and only belatedly realized it was the one nearest both exits.  He could tell from her fast, sideways glance towards the door to the living quarters and the hatch to the hold that she knew it too.  The droid grumbled again, rolling so that he was placed defiantly between the two of them, then swiveled his dome to glare at Kanan.

 Agent Syndulla took a sip of her caf, looking a little wary at first, then surprised.  “I didn’t know it could taste like this,” she blurted out.

“I worked in a tapcaf once,” Kanan offered. “Some of it stuck.”

She looked badly startled by that response.

He could have told her that he hadn’t always been an Inquisitor, but he wasn’t in the mood for the kinds of questions that might inspire.  He sat back and drank his own caf instead; neither the caffeine nor the sugar would do much for him, since Force-users processed most kinds of stimulants too fast for them to have any meaningful effect, but the taste helped wake him up.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their caf, until Agent Syndulla finally settled herself, as if bracing for a fight, and said, “I’ve been looking at the files you sent me.”

Kanan raised his gaze to her.  She was, if nothing else, lovely to look at, but she wouldn’t have made it to the ISB or lasted this long if she was just a pretty face.  She clearly didn’t enjoy being under his scrutiny, though – most people weren’t when it came to Inquisitors – so after a moment he flicked his gaze slightly away from her.

“There’s an auction the day after we’re scheduled to arrive,” she went on, after a moment’s brief hesitation. “We could call in the local Imperial garrison for backup, but if the regulars could deal with this, then they would have done so by now.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing they’re really equipped to handle,” Kanan said.  If it had been, no one would have bothered to send an Inquisitor and an ISB agent to deal with it.  Though he had his suspicions about why the Whip had assigned it to him as his first solo assignment.  He was less certain about what it had to do with Agent Syndulla and didn’t have enough of an idea about the ISB’s internal politics to even begin to guess.

She nodded in response to his comment. “Depending what the situation is like, we might want them later, but Barzhun doesn’t have a large Imperial presence.  As far off the beaten path as it is, it’s not impossible that the local garrison has some sort of relationship with the black market there. It isn’t unheard of.”

And was usually the job of the ISB to deal with, though on occasion the Inquisition dealt with corrupt officials instead.  Kanan nodded. “What do you want to do?”

She looked a little surprised that he hadn’t just tried to give her an order.  Kanan said in explanation, “Most of my assignments have either interfaced directly with the local garrisons or been – ah, more direct. And my ma – I wasn’t the one who did any of the planning.”

He saw her lekku twitch slightly at the slip, but she didn’t ask about it.  Instead she braced her shoulders again and said, “Can you pass as a civilian?”

Kanan glanced down, giving the question due consideration because it had been a long time since he had been in a position where that was even an option and he wasn’t immediately certain of the answer.  “Yes,” he said eventually, “but I don’t have any civilian clothes.”

When she looked a little worried, he added, “I’ve got clothes that don’t have the Imperial seal on them.”  And there were plenty of civilians who only wore black or gray.  “You’ll have to lend me a blaster, though.”

She met his gaze for an instant. “Can you use one?”

“I wasn’t always an Inquisitor.”  He looked her over, this time with a more a critical eye than he had done before; past her prettiness she was muscled under her gray ISB field uniform, her holstered blaster a natural extension of both uniform and self.  He had also noticed earlier that her lekku signals were erratic, not quite explicable to anyone familiar with Twi’leks   “Can you pass as a civilian?”

“I’ve done it before.” She glanced down, clearly uncomfortable under his inspection. “Chopper too.”

“That I can believe,” Kanan said.

That startled something that was nearly a smile out of her, a quick flash of amusement that warmed the Force for no more than an instant as the astromech grumbled at them both. Then she dropped her gaze again. “The HoloNet posting on the darknet said that there would be a reception the night before the auction for potential bidders to review the items up for auction.  I assume that you’ll recognize what we’re looking for?”

 Kanan nodded. “I’ll know.” And a Twi’lek and a human together wouldn’t make anyone look twice at them, no matter how they played it.  Both were common species and common in company with each other.

Agent Syndulla looked at the chrono, then said, “We should be making planetfall in two hours and the reception is in six.”

“All right.”  He started to stand up, putting his hand out for her empty caf cup.

She handed it to him once she realized what the gesture meant, then hesitated, looking up at him. Kanan stopped rather than leave the way he had intended to.  “What is it?”

“I can’t call you ‘Inquisitor’ in the field,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “Do you – do you have a name? That I can use, I mean?”

Kanan bit his lip. She didn’t know how loaded that question was, and he wasn’t about to answer her with “the Hound.”  Still, it took him a surprising amount of effort to say, “It’s Kanan.”

No one had called him that in almost four years.  Sometimes he was surprised that he could remember it at all.

Something about either his face or his voice must have made her realize the gravity of the confession. She said, her voice suddenly very shy, “Thank you.”  She hesitated, then said, “My name is Hera.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and the surprise must have showed on his face.  She shifted uneasily in her seat, then looked away, embarrassed. “I’ve sent you the ISB files on the local garrison and government,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you had them.”

“I don’t.  Thank you.”  He looked back at her for a moment, putting personal name and surname together, and blurted out, “Syndulla is a clan name.”

Her eyes went wide. He felt her low-grade anxiety snap into sudden fear, jolted from its previous course onto a new path. “Yes,” she said eventually, small-voiced, and then, with a defensive edge, “There are thousands of Syndullas.”

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said; he could tell he had said something that he should have avoided.

She dropped her gaze, but it didn’t do anything to hide the unease juddering along the Force.

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said again, then fled before he said anything else stupid.

*

Hera knew from personal experience that she mostly just looked uncomfortable in civilian clothes, which wasn’t exactly something she could do anything about.  She suspected that if she had been human she could have attended the black market auction in an Imperial uniform, if not an ISB one, and not had anyone look twice at her, but a Twi’lek in uniform always got attention. At the moment she felt even more obvious in her plain dark spacer’s trousers and jacket, as if she was wearing a beacon or a sign that said “I’m an Imperial agent, ask me how.”

She snuck a sideways look at the Inquisitor, who was slouching in the co-pilot’s chair next to her. Hera didn’t like having him that close, but since they were working together she couldn’t exactly justify not letting him be there as long as he didn’t touch anything.  She supposed that he had to be able to fly, though she doubted he had ever flown a freighter like the Ghost before.  Basic piloting was required for officer candidates at the Imperial academy, but unless you were tapped for pilot training, the Naval Academy, or the ISB Academy, most officers never actually had to fly anything larger than a landspeeder or anything faster than a speeder bike.  She had no idea what Inquisitors learned or how they were trained.

Without his armor or his lightsaber he looked less like an Inquisitor than she had been worried about – less so than she still felt she looked like an Imperial agent, even dressed in all black.  He wore the DL-18 blaster pistol she had found for him – its grip was too big to be comfortable in her own hand, so she had thought it might work for him – and somehow managed to look as if he had been carrying a blaster for most of his life, not a lightsaber.

He straightened up as they entered atmosphere and entered one of the flight lanes on approach to the planet’s capital city.  If any of the other ships in the flight lane happened to glance into the Ghost’s cockpit, they would see a pilot and a copilot both apparently doing their jobs, though Hera hoped the Inquisitor didn’t actually touch anything.

“You can fly, can’t you?” she asked him reluctantly.

He flicked a glance at her. “Yes.”

“Freighters or just starfighters?”

“I’ve flown freighters,” he said after a moment. “Not recently, but I’ve done it.  Cargo freighters, mostly, short-haul – longer haul sometimes, but not as a regular thing.”

Hera turned to look at him in surprise, trusting Chopper not to let the Ghost veer off course.  The Inquisitor was stubbornly not looking at her, his gaze fixed on the viewport in front of him.  I wasn’t always an Inquisitor, he had said a few hours ago.  She had assumed that that meant he had been elsewhere in the Imperial service before he had been recruited by the Inquisition, though he wasn’t that much older than she was.  Well, people came to the Academy from all walks of life, especially those recruited by the flight academies, who could sometimes skip normal Academy training. Presumably the Inquisition operated similarly.

She didn’t have anything to say in response to him and he didn’t seem to expect one, so she turned her attention back to their flight path.  She set down in one of the spaceports in Kethun City, the planet’s capital, and had the Inquisitor transmit the docking fee while she and Chopper shut down the ship’s engines.

Hera eyed him again once they were outside the ship, standing in the small docking bay and trying not to frown at the drift of wind-blown dirt and yellowish pollen that coated the floor.  She sneezed involuntarily, her eyes watering, and dug into her pocket for the allergy tablets she had grabbed when she realized what season it was here.  She dry-swallowed them and hoped that on this occasion they wouldn’t make her sleepy, which they seemed to do at entirely random intervals rather than consistently.

In the thin light of the overcast sky that filtered down through the open hatch doors above them, the Inquisitor’s dark garments looked pale, nearly washed out.  Black didn’t suit him, especially in daylight.  Hera looked at him, sneezed again, then wiped at her streaming eyes and said, “We should probably get you more clothes.”

He flicked a wary glance at her, then relaxed slightly at whatever he saw on her face. “Is it that bad?”

“If we’re going to several days of receptions and auctions,” Hera said.  On some of her ops he would be unremarkable, but he would stand out amongst the kind of people who attended black market auctions, and not in a good way.

“All right,” he said, sounding more weary than anything else. “Let’s go find the market.”

*

Hera was startled at how much the addition of colors to his garments changed the Inquisitor’s appearance. He looked deeply uncomfortable, as though he knew he wasn’t supposed to be wearing anything other than black and gray, but his green shirt brought out color in his face and pale eyes and eased some of the hollows in his scarred cheeks.  Hera thought that he wouldn’t raise eyebrows or twitch tentacles in company now, or at least not for the reasons he would have done before.  He also looked younger, more vulnerable, less dangerous; she wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Hera hated paying any attention to her appearance other than making sure that her uniform was neat and that none of her caste markings were showing, but for this particular occasion she made sure that she was wearing something that at least suggested she had more money than the average spacer.  She didn’t even own any clothes that could pass muster as something a high-caste Twi’lek would wear, not that that was a distinction that would make much sense off Ryloth or outside the enclaves.  Maybe not even the enclaves, but Hera avoided them whenever possible and had no idea what went on there.  Being among other Twi’leks made her so nervous that it was often debilitating; she had almost failed her ISB Academy field trials for just that reason.

She left Chopper with the Ghost; even though this wasn’t her usual kind of op, she knew that in this setting an astromech droid might stand out – Chopper certainly had no talent for being unobtrusive.  She and the Inquisitor got their cloaks and the speeder bikes from the Ghost’s hold – while the city was small enough they could have walked, there was always the chance that they would need to make a quick getaway.  Hera felt a little better with the handles under her hands, anyway.

She watched the Inquisitor out of the corner of her eye as they sped down the road towards the site of the reception.  He handled his speeder with a light, delicate touch, less heavy-handed than a scout trooper – more like a starfighter pilot than anything else, but not a TIE pilot, she decided after a few minutes of silent observation.  That puzzled her, since privately owned starfighters were illegal except under very rare circumstances – not that you couldn’t make those circumstances come about with enough credits – and the vast majority of those available were TIE-variants.  He must have learned on one of the others, since she knew Inquisitors flew TIEs.  If he was aware of her attention, he didn’t show it.

They pulled up in front of a neon-lit nightclub, where they handed their speeder bikes over to a parking droid and received a claim token in exchange.  Hera tucked it away, bemused, and fell into step with the Inquisitor as they made their way to join the queue at the door.  The sound of pounding music from inside made her wince; she hated clubs and crowds alike.

The bouncer let both of them in after relieving them of their blasters, for which they both received claim tokens.  If the Inquisitor had his lightsaber on him, the scanner didn’t turn it up; Hera wasn’t certain whether he had brought it or not, and hadn’t been about to ask. Hopefully he wasn’t so trigger-happy as to pull it out without absolute necessity, but having never seen him in action Hera had absolutely no idea.

Once they were inside and past the initial crush of people at the door, Hera surveyed the wide dark room beyond with distaste; it was full of beings of various species dancing, drinking, and eating, with a stage set up at the far end and a band playing something that she supposed technically counted as music, assuming you had no taste.

She glanced at the Inquisitor to make sure he followed her, then edged around the dance floor, past several shadowed – and definitely occupied – nooks.  Hera fixed the instructions from the darknet posting in the front of her mind and hoped that the Inquisitor remembered them too.

After several minutes and a handful of propositions – to both of them, not just her, which was a refreshing change – they made it to the back of the club.  A back hallway led to the kitchens and some refreshers that Hera suspected were intended for the staff rather than the patrons, as well as a door with a keypad on the control next to it.  Hera punched in the code from the darknet, holding her breath until the door slid open, revealing descending stairs.  It slid shut again as the Inquisitor stepped in after her and the pounding music from the club vanished as cleanly as if it had been cut by a knife.  Hera let out her breath in relief.

She went down the stairs with the Inquisitor at her back and emerged into another room.  It was a little smaller than the dancefloor above them, but more brightly lit and with far fewer people.  There were still a good number of beings, but they were older than the club-goers and mostly more finely dressed.  A pair of Togruta lounge singers draped themselves over the top of some kind of big instrument being played by a Nautolan who struck keys with a number of small hammers held expertly between his fingers.

A serving droid came up to Hera and offered a tray with a selection of stemmed and un-stemmed glasses holding a variety of colored liquid.  “Drinks, madam, sir?  I have alcoholic or non-alcoholic as you prefer –”

“Non-alcoholic,” Hera said; she could tell she was in the mood where alcohol would make her paranoid and angry, even if she drank on the job, which she didn’t unless there was no choice.

“The same.”  The Inquisitor’s voice was soft.

The droid obligingly rotated the tray for Hera. “I have fruit juices, carbonated beverages, flavored waters from a variety of worlds –”

Hera accepted a glass of what she hoped was meiloorun juice – it was about the right color – and was gratified to find she was right when she tasted it.  The Inquisitor chose a glass apparently at random and took a perfunctory sip; she suspected he had taken it mostly to have something to do with his hands.

Once the droid had gone, she sipped her drink and looked around the room.  Another look revealed that there were a number of tall display cases placed at regular intervals; the beings gathered around them had obscured them from Hera’s initial observation.  She flicked a look at the Inquisitor to make sure that he had seen them too, then moved towards the nearest one.

The beings already there – a trio of Rodian males, an Ithorian couple, and a human of indeterminate gender – all glanced up at their approach, briefly registered their appearance, then went back to their conversation.  The male Ithorian moved aside so that Hera and the Inquisitor had a better look at the contents of the display case.

She heard the Inquisitor hiss softly through clenched teeth.  The sound made the Rodians twitch, looking over at him before apparently deciding it was an expression of interest rather than – whatever it was.  Hera glanced up at him worriedly, decided it was unlikely that he was going to snap and go on a murder spree – at least not in the next thirty seconds – and looked back at the case.

The contents were unremarkable, at least to her eyes – a set of four small sculptures of various near-human beings in long robes holding upraised lightsabers in different poses. They were made of some pale gray stone she didn’t recognize.

Hera was trying to figure out a discreet way to ask if this was what they were looking for when she realized that under the current circumstances, there was no real point in being discreet.  She looked at the Inquisitor and said, “Is that it?”

He nodded without saying anything, his expression grim.

They moved onto the next display case, which held more statues and a stained glass window propped up with a light behind it.  Hera glanced at the Inquisitor again and saw the tightness in his jaw; she didn’t bother asking this time, since his face was answer enough.

They rotated through several more display cases, all of which got the Inquisitor’s nod.  Now and then someone new would come down the stairs, but by and large the occupants ignored each other, except for a handful who all obviously knew and liked each other well enough to speak to one another. Hera supposed that there weren’t too many people in the galaxy who traded in Jedi relics and most of them were probably in this room with her; she wished she had dared come down with a recording device so that the ISB could match known names to faces.

The serving droid came up to them again to take their empty glasses – well, to take Hera’s empty glass; the Inquisitor had barely touched his, but handed it over anyway.  Hera accepted another glass of fruit juice and drifted over to the nearest case that they hadn’t inspected yet.

She felt the air change as the Inquisitor went absolutely still beside her.

Because she knew what he was, she looked at him first, not the contents of the case; some of the other occupants of the room had felt the shift as well and were looking around warily at each other or at the cases.

He was shaking so badly that she could hear his teeth chattering together, his stillness transmuted into fury that she could feel like a weight in the air.  Hera shot a look at the case to see what it was that had upset him so badly and saw a collection of innocuous-looking thin braids and strings of mismatched beads; they struck something in her memory, but she couldn’t remember what at the moment.  She set that aside to worry about later, hesitated for an instant, and grabbed the Inquisitor’s arm.

He flinched violently at her touch, his eyes gone suddenly wild with shock.  She could feel muscle beneath her palm, stiff as steel cording; as much as she wanted to she didn’t release him. “Calm down,” she said to him, pitching her voice low but not whispering. “Do you need some air?”

He didn’t look around, but she saw awareness bleed into his panicked eyes.  He shook his head slightly and Hera felt the pressure in the air lifting as he forced himself to something resembling calm, pulling his furious response back inside his own skin.  She could still feel him trembling beneath her hand.

She pushed her half-full glass of fruit juice into his other hand. “Drink that,” she said.

He hesitated, and she snapped, furious and embarrassed, “It’s not tainted just because a tailhead drank from it.”

He shot her a startled look and said, sounding genuinely baffled, “Why would you think I thought that?”

Hera stared back at him, so surprised by that reaction that she briefly forgot why she had handed him her drink. “Humans –” she started to say, then shook her head. “Just drink it.”

He drank it.

She kept her hand on his arm until he had stopped shaking, then released him, tucking her hands awkwardly into her pockets to have something to do with them.  When he had finished the glass, he stared at the display case again, then dragged his gaze away and went off to the next one, handing the empty glass off to the serving droid as he did.  Hera followed, hoping her fury wasn’t plain on her face.  The other guests veered away from him, though something about the way they did so made Hera think they didn’t know or understand why they were doing it.

The next case only held more art, to Hera’s relief.  The Inquisitor stared blankly at the delicately figured tiles as if he didn’t really see them, though Hera suspected he knew exactly what was on them and – going by his reactions so far – what they meant.

“I suppose some of these still have some juice in them,” a passing Quarren woman said in her watery voice, and laughed.  Hera saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tense in response.

She stepped tentatively up beside him. “We’ve seen most of it,” she said. “We’ll be back for the auction tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I need to see all of it.”  He shut his eyes tightly, clearly trying to calm himself down even though he was still badly upset.

Hera eyed him doubtfully. Looking at him now, it was hard to remember that he was in all likelihood one of the most dangerous beings Hera had ever met; all of that coiled threat that had been there only a few moments before was gone, replaced by real distress.

She recognized the expression abruptly.  She had seen it in the mirror, on one of the occasions when she had been back at the Academy and invited to some event or another at the home of a local potentate on Naboo.  He had been a collector – “of everything,” he had said while showing cadets around his estate.  He had looked at Hera as if he was considering collecting her too, but she had managed to avoid being in any proximity to him for most of the evening, and once the other cadets began drinking heavily she had made her excuses and left early, for which rudeness she had been roundly rebuked the next day. She had been looking at his displays – arranged in order of what he thought was most attractive, not in anything that made sense – when she had turned a corner and found herself looking at a kalikori.

It wasn’t a Syndulla one, not her family’s and not from any of the patrician Syndulla families; she had known that immediately.  She hadn’t recognized the clan, but kalikori were intimately personal to each family; no one would ever let it pass out of a family line except through marriage or adoption.  But there had been a lot of looting done during the Clone Wars, and more during the Imperial occupation.

Searching further through the collection and trying not to make it look as though she was doing so, Hera had found a lararium, the household shrine each family kept, and the little figures that represented the protective spirits of a Twi’lek family, the ancestral genius and the patron lares, both separated from the lararium and the kalikori alike and jumbled together on a shelf of other small statues that Hera hadn’t recognized.  She hadn’t thought, at that point, that she had much Twi’lek feeling left after four years in the Academy.  Apparently she had been wrong about that.

It was the same expression on the Inquisitor’s face now.

She raised her gaze to the Inquisitor again, keeping her voice low as she said, “Those braids in that case – they aren’t from the High Republic, are they?”

He shook his head a little, his face a mask of grief and fury fighting for calm.  Then he looked at her sharply, some of that starting to bleed into alarm.  Hera could guess why; she didn’t know much about Jedi, but she had known enough to ask. She met his pale gaze, resisting the urge to look away; she hated making eye contact with other people and there was something disorienting about him.

It was the Inquisitor who looked away.  He swallowed, his throat working, and looked back at the tiles in the case in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, then swallowed again.  “I need to see the rest of the items up for auction.”

Hera bit her lip. “I want to get a feel for the crowd,” she said to him. “Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?  I don’t think we need to stay long.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said a little distantly. “I was surprised.  It won’t happen again.”

“All right,” Hera said. She stepped away from him, hoping that he actually could behave himself if left to his own devices.  It was balanced against her own nervousness about interacting with other people; she wasn’t particularly worried about being recognized as an Imperial agent, since in her experience no one ever looked at a young Twi’lek woman and came to the conclusion she was an ISB officer, usually including other members of the service, often including times when she was in uniform.  Hera was a decent field agent, but she knew that she hadn’t exactly lived up to Agent Beneke’s desires for her, which was how she had gotten this assignment with the Inquisitor in the first place.

She got another drink from the serving droid, this one a fermented fruit juice with some bubbles in it that looked alcoholic at a glance but wasn’t, and settled her shoulders before she went back to the case with the figurines in it, which had a small group of people gathered around it.  She lingered on the edge of the group, drinking her juice and listening in on the conversation – a trio of scholars debating the authenticity of the figurines, apparently.  After a few minutes of that she drifted away to another case, which held what looked like ornaments.  She glanced up to track the Inquisitor’s location in the room and saw him steadily working his way through the remaining cases, his mood like a thundercloud keeping people away from him.

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

Hera turned, pasting a polite smile on her lips, and saw a thin, white-bearded Pantoran male standing beside her.  “It’s very intricate work,” she said.

He smiled with as much appreciation as if he had been the creator rather than some long-dead Jedi. “Mirialan,” he said, indicating a pair of round belt buckles propped up on display. “Do you see the floral work around the rims and the eclipsed suns at the centers? Variations on those themes have recurred amongst Mirialan Jedi for centuries – millennia, perhaps, though the older examples are disputed.  They stem from an old Force cult on Mirial, one that hasn’t been active since before Mirial joined the Republic.  We know nothing about that cult, not even its name; it no longer has any worshipers on Mirial, but until a decade ago there were still elements of it amongst the Jedi.”

He gestured to a collection of small coppery rings, each about the length of a knuckle and inscribed with knot-like decorations.  “Weequay hair ornaments – for their braids, yes?  You still see some Weequay wearing them today, but if you ever have the occasion to examine them closely, you’ll see that the finework is all different. That’s because Weequay Jedi had their own patterns that were used back on Sriluur before the Hutts conquered the world more than eight thousand years ago.  Another Force cult, perhaps.  When Weequay were first recruited into the Jedi Order, they took the symbols with them; you won’t see them on Sriluur or the other Weequay worlds today.”

“Eight thousand years is a long time,” Hera said, since she couldn’t think of anything else to say and it seemed like the point in which he expected a response.

“Perhaps longer.  The Hutts – especially in the days of the old Hutt Empire – prefer to destroy the records of their conquered worlds, so that those worlds might seem to begin with their coming.  It’s hard on historians.”  He sighed wistfully, then looked at her more closely.

Hera resisted the urge to double-check that her markings were covered, since he seemed like the sort of person who might know that caste markings were more than just decorative tattoos the way most non-Twi’leks thought.

When she didn’t say anything one way or another, he seemed to decide that she was interested and pointed at a quartet of ivory bangles inside the case.  Each one was a double-curve, small enough to fit around a near-human’s wrist, and incised with intricate patterns, some of which had been filled in with black, red, or gold, others of which were bare.  The ivory was yellowing with age.  Something about them was familiar and Hera frowned, trying to place them.

The Pantoran saw her expression and smiled, open and pleased rather than malicious. “Ryloth river hog tusks,” he said. “I can’t pronounce the name in Twi’leki –”

“Ruti’ara,” Hera said after a moment of thought. “From a region in the equatorial jungle.  They’re extinct now.”  She didn’t say that there was a set of similar bangles in her mother’s jewelry case back on Ryloth, a gift from Cham’s grandmother – then the clan head – when they had married; they had been passed down among the women of the family for a thousand years.

She looked back at the bangles in the case, now seeing the pattern of half-familiar clan markings amongst the carvings.  “Fenn,” she said slowly.  When the Pantoran blinked, she said, “The geometric patterns, there – in black. Those are Fenn clan markings. They’re a curial clan on Ryloth –” And had been in vendettas with the Syndullas no less than three dozen times over the past thousand years, including after the Curia’s ban two centuries earlier (which everyone on Ryloth had just taken as a strong recommendation for the first few decades), but who was counting.

“The clan is still extant?” the Pantoran asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Hera fought back family feeling she didn’t know she still had and resisted the urge to reply unfortunately.  Instead she said, “Last I heard, yes.  There was some scandal a few years ago, but they’re still around.”

“There is a clan that has died out, though, yes?”

Hera bit her lip. “There are a few, mostly smaller patrician clans.  You’re probably thinking about the Indahs.  They were a curial clan like the Fenns and the Sy – the Securas.  They were in a –”  She had to search for the word in Basic before going on. “– a vendetta, a blood feud, with the Fortunas.  That’s another curial clan.  The Fortunas tricked the curial family – the Indah Hid Indah – into agreeing to peace talks.  When the Indah Hid Indah and the heads of the patrician families in the clan were all at table for the banquet, the Fortunas slaughtered them.  Then they hunted down all of the other Indah patricians and killed them too, not to mention most of the plebeians.  When news got out, the Republic Senate wanted the Jedi to come in and arbitrate it, but the Curia – that’s the governing body on Ryloth – wouldn’t let their ships land.  They sent the Fortuna – the clan head, I mean – into the Bright Lands and ostracized most of the patrician family heads, and banned the Fortunas from being able to vote in the Curia for twenty years.  They also banned the vendetta, so there aren’t supposed to be blood feuds anymore. The only Indah patricians who survived were the ones who had married into other clans cum manu, and when you do that you give up your clan rights – they weren’t legally Indahs anymore, I mean, they were legally members of their spouse’s clans.  I know at least one petitioned to revoke her marriage, but there weren’t enough Indahs left for there to still be a clan.  And the Fortunas had destroyed their lararia and kalikori, burned the shrines. That’s supposed to destroy the clan’s connection to their ancestors and the genii – the – the earth-gods, I suppose is the closest thing you can say in Basic.  Since the Indah Hid Indah were a curial clan, they traced their line in direct descent from one of the gods – I think it might have been the –”  She fumbled for the Basic again, aware that her Ryloth accent was starting to come out very strongly, and if anyone knew enough to recognize it, that it was the purest high-caste Twi’leki.  “The Son of Sands.  There are other curial clans descended from the Son of Sands too but the Indah Hid Indah were very, very old, as old as – the Fenns.”

She had almost said “as old as the Syndulla Tann Syndulla.”  One of the surviving Indahs had actually been married to the Syndulla prime heir at the time, and had almost succeeded in convincing her and her twin brother to declare vendetta against the Fortunas themselves before the Syndulla clan head had gotten wind of it and stopped them.

“This was a long time ago?” asked the Pantoran.

“Not really,” Hera admitted. “About two hundred years.”  She tensed in expectation of a comment about how barbaric Twi’leks were, never mind that there were humans on plenty of worlds who still practiced various forms of blood feud, but none came.

“An old custom?” the Pantoran said instead.

“Um, yes,” Hera said. She was too embarrassed about having given a speech about the Hid Indah Massacre to offer up that the vendetta went back to the days of the gods, when the children of the Mother of Mountains had torn Ryloth apart in war with each other after the Son of Sands had murdered his sister’s lover.  It was why so much of the planet was desert, except for the equatorial jungle; their oldest records showed that millennia earlier much more of the planet had been jungle and there had still been enough ocean to separate the continents.  “What does that have to do with the ruti’ara tusks?”

“Ah.  Nothing.”  The Pantoran beamed at the case again.

Hera let out her breath through her teeth, annoyed.  She could feel heat in her cheeks, traveling up to her ear-cones and the base of her lekku.

“The marvelous thing about the Jedi is that they were so very, very old and had members from all over the galaxy, all kinds of species, so customs, traditions, peoples – animals, even – were preserved within them like insects in amber, passed down from master to apprentice over so many generations few sentient minds can really comprehend them.  They provide a window into a past where there are no other windows – no holograms, no texts, no oral memories.  And yet that past was preserved amongst the Jedi – it was still a living thing.  The Empire might have you believe that the Jedi stole children from thousands of worlds, stripped them of their identities, their cultures, their species, and made them all Jedi and nothing else, but if that was true, then how would there be any of this?”  He swept an arm around at the room and its display cases.  “When I was a very young, there were pirates preying on my family’s station, and a Jedi came to deal with them – a Togruta woman, very beautiful.  She wore the akul teeth headdress of a Togruta warrior, an animal which those among the Togruta who wish to prove their strength hunt and kill.  Why would she do that if she was not Togruta as much as Jedi?”

He looked back at the case and sighed. “Many of those here are here for the money, or are enthusiasts for the forbidden – some for the Jedi.  Others enjoy beautiful things, the rarer the better.”  He flicked a glance at the Quarren who had passed Hera earlier, his expression disapproving.  “When they were destroyed, it was not merely the Jedi who were lost, but a thousand others who were preserved only amongst the Jedi.”

“Most of the people on those worlds pay attention to their own history,” Hera said hesitantly.

“Ah.  Yes.  Some do. Others would, but their histories were stripped from them – the Hutts, as I said.  The Empire, more recently.  Even the Republic, in its way, as you said yourself.”

Hera blinked. “Did I?”

“When you said that your people would not allow the Republic to take over the punishment of its wrongdoers,” the Pantoran explained patiently. “Others were not so stubborn; at other points, the Republic would not have cared about their wishes.”

“They’re not –”  my people, she wanted to finish, but she couldn’t get the words out.

“But sometimes history is just lost,” he went on sadly. “Not maliciously or in war or natural disaster, it just…falls out of use, and then out of memory, and if there are traces at all, then they are traces we cannot recognize.  By the time one realizes it is gone, it is just not there to find.”

Hera bit her lip.

“You make it sound as if the Jedi are only the composite of others, with nothing of o – of their own,” the Inquisitor said quietly from behind Hera.

She almost jumped out of her skin.  She hadn’t heard him approach, and from the way the Pantoran flinched he hadn’t noted the Inquisitor’s arrival either.

“No – no, of course not,” he said, when he had gotten control of himself. “But my – my interests have always lain elsewhere.  There are so many who are interested in the Jedi and only the Jedi for what they themselves are, and not all that they represent.”

“I see,” the Inquisitor said gravely.  He sounded more amused than anything else, which Hera decided to cautiously take as a good sign.

Hera half turned so that she could watch him and the Pantoran at the same time.  He was looking at the case, not at the Pantoran, his gaze moving over the beautiful objects inside.  She realized abruptly that he had used the present tense, not the past.  And that he had started to say “our,” not “their.”

“You are an enthusiast of the Jedi, perhaps?” the Pantoran said, recovering.

Hera tensed again, but the Inquisitor just raised an eyebrow. “I have an interest.”

The Pantoran turned to Hera again.  “And you, you are a student of history, I see?”

The Imperial Academy’s version of history was “things were terrible until the Emperor took control” but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just a few things,” she said instead. “But I enjoyed our conversation,” she added, because she did know how to be polite; not something she had learned from the Empire.  She took a chance and laid her hand on the Inquisitor’s arm, suspecting that he was probably aware of her brief hesitation before she made contact. “I think we’ve seen what we came here to see,” she told him.

He was tense under her palm, giving her the impression that he didn’t like to be touched any more than she did.  None of it showed in his face as he glanced down towards her and nodded.

“I will see you tomorrow evening, perhaps,” the Pantoran said.

“Perhaps,” Hera agreed, and hoped a little vaguely that she wouldn’t have to arrest him.

She released the Inquisitor as soon as they turned to walk away.  They were silent all the way up the stairs into the noisy, crowded club, as they retrieved their speeder bikes, and on the ride back to the Ghost, the wind from their passage whipping Hera’s lekku back behind her.

Hera was stowing her bike and trying to decide whether the appropriate thing to do in this situation would be to debrief the evening when the Inquisitor said, very tiredly, “I’ll see you in the morning,” and vanished up the ladder.  A few moments later she heard his cabin door slide open and shut again.

“Well,” she said to Chopper, who had come down to make sure she was all right. “That was interesting.”

[charlieweasleyxmc]

Trouble in January

“Pssst.”

(Y/N) whipped her head around to see Penny, jumping back away from the corner they had been peaking around.

Dora, who had also been surprised by her fellow hufflepuff, was a couple steps away from the corner now as well.

“Fiddlesticks, Penny,” she said, shaking herself out, “you could scare a witch into a heart attack like that.”

“Chiara and Diego told me you were sneaking around outside the teacher’s lounge. I wanted to know what you guys were up to?”

A door clicked open and shut in the corridor adjacent to them and they all stayed quiet for a long moment before the steps clicked away down the hall.

Penny raised an eyebrow when they didn’t immediately answer her question.

“Alright, if you must know, we’re waiting for Professor McGonagall.”

“Why?”

“None of your business,” Dora replied matter-of-factly to her.

Penny raised another eyebrow, but Dora folded her arms, giving the hufflepuff prefect a stubborn look. Penny proceeded to fold her arms in reply.

“Okay,” she said, her voice stern, “but don’t lose hufflepuff any points, Dora.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dora waved her hand, turning back to peek down the corridor to the teacher’s lounge as the door clicked open again. “I’m the biggest ‘loser’ of hufflepuff.” She didn’t seem at all concerned with the idea.

Penny sighed, but didn’t walk away, apparently concerned with the idea of leaving them to their shenanigans more than being afraid of losing hufflepuff more points by being there herself.

That’s what (Y/N) thought at least until she saw the spark in Penny’s eye as she crouched down beside them.

“Okay,” she said, her voice alive, “I’m in.”

Dora grinned, “Here’s the plan—”

Passing notes in hallways and classrooms had already been something of a staple activity at Hogwarts, but became even more common as the next week waxed on. (Y/N) exchanged more than a few knowing looks with some of her classmates, including Jae Kim, Tulip Karasu, Fred and George Weasley. She was talking with Charlie late into one evening, a sofa in the Hufflepuff common room claimed by her and Charlie when she woke up suddenly, aware that almost the entire common room had emptied, including their various cohorts from other houses.

The Hufflepuff students, who had seen a range of students from all houses enter their common room after supper, hadn’t said a word or cast an unwelcoming look, some of them even joining them in their collaboration with giddy expressions.

(Y/N) blinked weary eyes, the few students in the common room who were still there working on homework in the corners of the lobby.

(Y/N) blinked awake, sitting up just enough so that she rustled Charlie who had fallen asleep on the couch beside her. He blinked his eyes open, his thunderbird eyes wide.

“What time is it?”

“Past time to be going to bed.”

He shook his head as if to shake the sleep off of him.

“Our plan…” she said, hesitating, “do you think it’s going to work?”

“How can it not?” He brushed his hair out of his eyes, including the strands that had come out of his ponytail in his sleep. “You got me to get Fred and George involved. It’s gotta work.”

(Y/N) smiled slightly, nodding.

“Alright,” she said, shoving him onto his feet, “we gotta get to bed.”

Her last class of the day had ended early, Professor Sprout preferring to let them go early as the last class before the weekend.

(Y/N) breathed a breath of fresh air exiting the greenhouses before she walked back into the castle, making her way up flights of stairs before landing on one of the landings right before Gryffindor tower.

She needed to talk to the Weasley twins.

But in her surprise, as she turned a corner into a corridor, she almost ran straight into Professor Dumbledore.

Though maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised as it was the corridor that led to the massive golden griffin, behind which was the office she had visited on many occasions, usually for reprimand.

She made an effort not to look suspicious so that fact wouldn’t repeat itself.

Someone else was with Professor Dumbledore, and (Y/N) made a double effort not to look suspicious as she spied Professor McGonagall beside him.

“(Y/N) (Y/LN),” the headmaster said, bowing his head ever so slightly, his white beard shiny from the light of the afternoon sun coming through the windows.

“Headmaster. Professor,” (Y/N) nodded her head to each of them, endeavoring to look the prime of innocence.

That was probably what tipped Professor McGonagall off.

“What are you doing in the West towers this Friday afternoon, Miss (Y/LN)?” her transfiguration professor asked, a raised sharp eyebrow.

“Just off to the library for some studying,” (Y/N) said, trying to move past them nonchalantly.

Professor McGonagall crossed her arms as she turned to face (Y/N), following her with her piercing eyes, a light of realization entered beneath her hat, “didn’t you just come from the greenhouses?” she peered closer at (Y/N), “you would have passed right near the library on your way up here.”

“I—”

“Oh, let her go, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore patted the woman’s arm, “I myself enjoy taking many circuitous routes around the castle when I’m on a venture. In fact, the other day, I discovered a balcony from which you could look at the black lake from this side of the castle. I would never have found it had I not taken the scenic route, as it were.” He turned to (Y/N), “good day, Miss (Y/LN).”

She could have sworn he winked.

“Good day, Professor,” she said, taking her leave before Professor McGonagall could object.

Professor McGonagall was on her way out of the teacher’s lounge Friday evening, the last of the professors to leave for the night, she left at her normal time. The Gryffindor quidditch team were practicing tomorrow and she liked to be there for one of the practices before each of their games.

It was always good to know what bet she wanted to make with Professor Snape on the outcomes before it came around to the day for a match.

That’s when she heard the explosion.

Professor McGonagall had been teaching long enough at Hogwarts to know the banned sound of students using magic when they weren’t supposed to.

Her ears followed the sound like a blood hound on a scent. It lead her down several sets of staircases and to the very edge of the castle.

Light exploded in front of her when she opened the doors to the Great Hall with a flick of her wand.

And then came the cacophony, a dinge of the loudest sounds Minerva had ever heard raged up before her, along with the brightest lights, and array of colors blazing in the rafters. And then there was the people, what appeared to be the whole of Hogwarts grinning at her and…clapping.

Albus, standing on the dais at the end of the room, spread his arms wide as Minerva entered the hall. The students around her began to gesture her forward, making a slope of an aisle from the front to the end of the hall. She reached the end with all the composure she could muster.

When she reached the dais, Albus motioned for her to stand beside him.

His hands padded down and the hall quieted enough for everyone to hear him.

“As many of you may know, Professor Kettleburn is retiring this year.” The Care of Magical Creatures Professor in question nodded from where he sat at the head table. “I’m sure we will all miss the professor very much…But, as many of you might have noticed, that means that there is a position open in the school.” Dumbledore passed his twinkling eyes around the full Great Hall. “The position of Deputy Head.” Dumbledore winked down into a collection of students below the dais. “A position which I offered to Professor McGonagall and which she has accepted!”

Minerva felt her eyes misting and batted away the thought with an inward flick of her wrist.

“I’m sure you can all join me in wishing the Professor good luck!”

The crowd roared.

And, almost as a side note, Dumbledore said, “and we would like to all thank Hufflepuff House for planning this surprise. Thank you Hufflepuff.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes passed down to the collection of yellow and black bedecked students, their faces bright and smiling, and the group standing at their head, a mix of houses represented in and of themselves. “Happy New Year Everyone!”

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham x Ultimate Pickpocket

·       The Super High School Level Pickpocket, Gundham had heard such a person had joined the school, but in a different class. He didn’t pay them much mind. True, he probably should have at least tried to figure out what such a person looked like, but he was the Supreme Overlord of Ice, he could take care of himself!

·       …Or so he thought. He didn’t know how, or where but he was missing several items! He knew he must have been pickpocketed; he had searched everywhere but no sign of his items anywhere. Thankfully nothing of great importance was taken like his wallet, but one was his Hell Hound earring, gosh damn it, he was rather miffed by the whole situation. He ran around, trying to find any clue as to the Pickpocket’s identity, but it seemed no one knew, not even anyone in the class they supposedly were in. “Let me guess, they stole something from you? Why else would anyone look for them?” “Hmm?” There you were, sitting in the corner of the room, tinkering with some tools, metals wire, and gems. “Certainly, that is the case.” You laughed before returning t your work. “What might you find so entertaining in another’s misery!?” You placed a hand over your mouth, trying and failing to stifle your laughter, only making red flush across the Overlord’s face. It seemed he was about to yell something when you swiftly cut him off. “Sorry, sorry, but you have some really funny expres- expressi-” You howled with laughter, falling out of your seat in the process a loud thud echoing through the room. “I need not take this!” Gundham stomped out of the room before you could say more.

·       It was a bothersome day, and having ran around for most of it, not gaining any leads Gundham thought it may be best to get some rest and return to his search tomorrow. He immediately trotted over to the bathroom, getting a makeup remover wipe to clean himself off. Then in bafflement he couldn’t help but just stare at the mirror. There on his ear was the Hell Hound earring! As well as some paper? It was sticking out of his school uniform. “Hello sir. Too bad, seems you didn’t catch me, but I had fun nonetheless! I would like to apologize though for I had underestimated you. I didn’t not believe you’d notice so soon. I find the best way to learn about people is through their items, what they carry on them, and how well cared for such things are. You seem like a very interesting person. I hope to get to know you better soon! ~Ultimate Pickpocket”

·       Gundham’s mind sputtered, having no clue as to how to react. Annoyed they thought this a mere game? Intrigued that a person operated in such a way to get to know others? He just… placed the note away, too exhausted to think much more of it and the final line’s implications.

·       It was about a week or so later when they had struck again. At first Gundham panicked, but then recalled that note. Again, it wasn’t much of importance, so he decided to pretend he didn’t care at all. By the time he had returned to his dorm, once again his items had been returned, along with another note. “I can understand the charm of scratches and dents in jewelry, but if you want them to last you could take care of them. Your silver rings, have you thought about wearing them more often? Silver deteriorate in oxygen, but bodily oils can act as a layer of protection for them, so wearing them often is enough to care for them. For most of your other pieces, occasionally wiping them with jewelry polish should be enough. Now I can’t help but wonder how you can afford real silver on an animal breeder’s salary, even if you are the best at what you do. I look forward to seeing if you take my advice or not! ~Ultimate Pickpocket”

·       It hadn’t been long, but Gundham had already noticed the difference in his silver rings being able to last longer. “I’m sure you’ll perceive it from even a distance, but your words held true. For an imp you seem to be well intentioned. Is knowing my personage truly all you wish to inquire though? And what of I? I only get sparse messages, what may I attain in return?” He kept his own note in his pocket, hoping the thief would take it, and that they did. Upon returning to his dorm he found a note was once again left with his items, but there was something else as well, a small magnifying glass. Opening the note, something fell out, a folded-up picture of a guinea pig. It had snow white fur but a large dark brown and black spot cover both it’s eyes. “I speak the language of items; you speak the language of animals other than man. In return for getting to know you, I’ll allow you to get to know me. And so, I introduce you to my partner in crime, Bandit, named after the mask imprinted over her eyes to protect her TRUE identity! She is but one of my many animal companions. I realize taking care of life is something to not lightly partake in so, I ask, would you be interested in meeting Bandit when next I feel like getting to know you, and return your items? ~Ultimate Pickpocket”

·       And that was how Gundham had begun to chat with the Ultimate Pickpocket, and also take care of their companions for a few days on occasion. First it was the guinea pig, next a husky, another time it was a cat, another a few hermit crabs or a lizard. They were all so lovingly cared for, even spoiled, some refusing to eat unless it was a specific brand or demanding treats at certain times.

·       Some time later was when Gundham had finally met his friendly imp. As he was returning to his dorm, he was confused to see the Husky was not lazing by his door, eating something. However, there was a knocked over dish, food spilling out. “Heel, stop! Come pack! Please!” And he heard yelling. Following it, he found a figure he found almost familiar, desperately trying to drag the pup out of a fountain by the leash. “Nooooooo, get out! I need to dry you off so you don’t soak his dorm you silly butt!” By the time Gundham had gotten near, the dog tackled the figure to the ground before shaking the water off. Then he heard it, that unmistakable laughter. “So it’s you!?” You looked to him, and just stared as he pointed at you before you burst out laughing again. “Y-your face- You have the best reactions!” After what seemed to be half an hour at least, you shakily got up, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Uh, gu-guess I should intr-introduce myself.” You stood up, clearing your throat, trying to repress your giggles. “I’m Y/N, the Super High School Level Appraiser, but you already know I like calling myself the Ultimate Pickpocket.”

·       The pair of you had a rather unconventional relationship. You were not close often, but you were still able to build a bond, and over time cam near one another more and more. You were both rather indirect which alleviated the pressure of being in a romantic relationship. Gundham always found his heart skipping a beat when he’d accidentally come across some note or gift in his clothing throughout the day. You adored how he could give your beloved companions the love they deserved when you were too busy with work.

·       Sometimes through your work you’d run into some strange items and would offer a few to Gundham, wondering if they’d be good for animal care. With how stealthy you were being able to seemingly turn invisible or blend into your environment like a chameleon, you’d occasionally assist Gundham in his work like when approaching an injured animal in order to help it. With your vastly differing skill sets you both did whatever you could to assist the other.

·       The pair of you were a rather odd pair, but you compliment one another, and couldn’t want for anyone else.

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 14

Trigger warning: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut

Word count: 3407

Chapter 14 - Sharp Edges

Sharp edges have consequences

I guess that I had to find out for myself

Sharp edges have consequences

Now every scar is a story I can tell

His mother was staring at him in disbelief.

"What the fuck was that, Rowan?"

He blinked at his mother, she had never cursed at him before.

"What do you mean?" He got defensive. "I think I'm allowed to be upset if my boyfriend doesn't tell me what he's been up to for the last, however long."

His mother's eyebrows shot into her hair. "Wow, Rowan. Wow."

She grabbed her box from the bag and left Rowan to stew in the living room.

---

Lorcan was laying on his floor, bleeding on an old towel. He was finally numb after a couple hours. All he could feel was the sting in his arms. His head was a little fuzzy.

There was a knock on the door.

"Lor, can we talk? Please?"

Lorcan closed his eyes and ignored the man he had been wanting to see for months. Things weren't going the way they were supposed to. So much for being proud of himself.

++++

It was the next day and Rowan still didn't understand what the big deal had been yesterday. He hadn't seen Lorcan all day and he was getting frustrated. Rowan was only here for a week and they were wasting time over this.

So, Rowan called Aelin. He needed to vent. He didn't feel like he was being unreasonable. But apparently, he was being an asshole. Aelin cussed him out and told him he was a stupid shit. Aelin had gotten Elide on the line, and she also ripped Rowan a new one.

"If I were there, I would slap you. You are ridiculous. Lorcan found a hobby using your dad's old tools and made you something. He wanted to surprise you and your mom. Why on earth do you think you have any right to be mad at him?! Lorcan probably thought he was being sweet! And for the record, he was!" With Aelin defending him, Rowan knew he was in the wrong, but he still wasn’t grasping why. He was pacing in his room.

"Yeah, Ro. I did that with Manon, I learned how to crochet without her knowing and made her a scarf. She was so excited when I gave it to her." Elide sighed. "Rowan, what made you so upset anyway?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It made me feel like I don't know him.” He ran his hand through his hair as he continued his pacing. “That he could just do so much without me knowing."

"Are you saying you don't trust him?"

"What? No!"

Silence.

"Really, guys?"

"Well.." Elide was holding something back.

Aelin chimed in, "He's been through hell, he's only ever felt safe around you. He went to you when he got out of the hospital after he almost died!" The last word was overly emphasized. "Can't you understand that he probably just wanted to feel confident in something before he told you about it. He probably didn't want to be hounded about his progress. This is the first thing he's done for himself, Rowan! Let him have this thing!" She was basically yelling at him at the end.

He didn't know what to say. Especially since Aelin was on Lorcan’s side. She hadn't ever really liked the boy.

"You are being selfish."

He was. Fucking Hel.

"You're right. You're right. Gods damn it. I need to go."

They both said bye and hung up.

He walked over to Lorcan's door again.

"Love?" He knocked. Nothing. "I was an asshole. A selfish asshole. Can we please talk?"

He heard the bathroom door behind him open and turned to see Lorcan behind him. He was wearing one of his ratty old hoodies that had been too big for him before and a pair of sweats. His face was blank, not a hint of emotion.

"You're a prick." He pushed past Rowan and shut his door in his face.

He stared at the door. "I guess I deserved that."

His mother walked by him to the stairwell carrying a basket of laundry. "Give him some time and maybe cool off a bit more yourself. Come help me with lunch."

He looked back at Lorcan's door with a sigh as he followed his mother to the kitchen.

---

Lorcan laid curled up in bed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. After rebandaging himself, he had found Rowan at his door. The desire to filet his arm flooded his mind. He just called Rowan a prick and shut himself away again. He couldn't handle it right now.

It felt like all the progress he made was just reversed. Here he was floating yet again in his own ocean of despair.

There was a soft knock on his door that interrupted his thoughts. "Lorcan, dear?" It was Barb. "I brought you some food."

He got up and opened the door. She gave him a sad smile.

"Can I have a hug?" His voice was no more than a whisper.

"Of course, love." She hugged him and he cried on her shoulder. Her hand made soothing circles on his back.

They stayed like that for a while. Lorcan finally pulled away, wiping his face with his sleeve, he said, "I'm sorry I got your shirt wet."

"Nonsense. Come here." She shut Lorcan's door and went to sit on the edge of his bed. Patting the spot beside her. Lorcan obeyed, looking at his hands on his lap.

"Rowan has had trust issues for most of his life. The few boyfriend's he's had have cheated on him or ghosted him. So, I assume he thinks that since you didn't tell him about this, that you won't tell him other things." Lorcan's brow furrowed. "You had every right to keep your new hobby a surprise. Rowan overreacted. Sometimes, he's a little selfish." She gave his knee a squeeze.

Lorcan thought back to Solstice break when Rowan tried moving too fast for him. He sighed. Selfish indeed.

"I know you're upset, love. But I do think you two should talk. He's only here for a week."

Barb got up and left. The door clicked shut.

++++

Rowan didn't know what to do. Lorcan wasn't talking to him, he had already done some chores and worked out for an hour. So now, he was standing in the kitchen stealing cookie dough out of the bowl.

His mother hit his hand as he went for more dough. "Out! I'm tired of your moping! I don't want to see you again until you two make up! Go!" She shooed him and his semi-permanent frown away.

He decided to go outside. The fresh air should do him good. He wandered around the backyard. The trees were blossoming, the flowers were blooming. It was a beautiful sunny spring day, but he felt hollow.

After several minutes, he found himself in front of his dad's shop. The light was on and the door was cracked. Pushing open the door, he found Lorcan hunched over a piece of wood with a carving chisel and mallet in his hands. He had headphones on, completely oblivious to the world around him.

Lorcan blew on the work in front of him and wood chips flew. The chisel met the wood again. Rowan just watched him work for a while. It was relaxing. His boyfriend looked like he belonged here. Honestly, it reminded him of his father. Gods he had been so fucking stupid yesterday.

Waiting until Lorcan was brushing away wood chips, he knocked on the door frame. Lorcan looked up. His lips pressed into a thin line. Any emotion he had had while carving, left his face the moment their eyes met. It made Rowan’s heart drop to his stomach.

"Hey," Rowan said tentatively.

Lorcan just set the chisel and mallet down then took his headphones off after tapping the pause button on his phone, and set them next to his work. He lowered his eyes. It hurt that Lorcan didn't even want to look at him. Rowan took a deep breath as he took a couple steps into the shop.

"I'm a huge fucking selfish asshole. I was stupid and immature and wasn't thinking of you. Aelin, Elide, and Mom told me I was an idiot. And they're right. You were right to call me a prick. I let my insecurities get to me. I had a gut reaction to assume that maybe I wouldn't be able to trust you in the future if you were going to keep things from me. But I realize that I'm being stupid. Aelin ripped me a new one for thinking that as did Elide. And I totally deserve it.” He took another deep breath.

"Honestly, I don't feel like I deserve your forgiveness. But I hope-" He swallowed, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I love you and I'm so fucking sorry." Tears were falling down his cheeks now, Lorcan always made him more emotional than he felt he should be. Lorcan still sat frozen, staring at the workbench. Rowan roughly wiped his tears away before continuing. "I really am proud of you for finding something you enjoy and those boxes you made.. they're fucking gorgeous." He wiped his tears again and sighed.

It felt like ages before it looked like Lorcan would acknowledge him. But then, he shifted and Rowan saw the white knuckles of his fists. He was obviously digging his nails into his palms. Rowan wondered how often he did that.

"I'm-" Lorcan took a deep shaky breath. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel right now." He finally looked up at Rowan, his eyes were shiny with tears. "Do you trust me or not? Because if you don't.." His face started to crumple.

"I trust you. I trust you with my life." Rowan's feet finally moved forward, his heart breaking at the hurt on Lorcan's face. "I just let my past relationships control my feelings yesterday. And I'm so sorry. You are nothing like any of my past boyfriends. Nothing. You are the best thing that has happened to me, Lor. I promise." Rowan hoped to the gods that Lorcan believed him. He really wanted to touch Lorcan, but wasn't sure if it would be welcomed.

There was a long pause. The silence was deafening.

Lorcan just nodded. "Do you want to see what I'm working on?"

Rowan sighed in relief and nodded. He knew that was Lorcan's way of forgiving him. Lorcan had never been good with verbalizing words.

The rest of the afternoon he watched Lorcan work. It was really nice hanging out in the shop again, though it made him a little sad that he wasn't watching his father work. He was amazed at the talent that his lover had after only a few months. Lorcan was working on an intricate Celtic knot carving. The way he held the chisel and the small mallet, the way his muscles moved on his forearms, the way his… scars. So many scars. Rowan’s eyes roved over the dozens upon dozens of scars across both of his forearms.

Rowan felt like Lorcan forgot he was here. He had pushed up his sleeves. He never pushes up his sleeves. And now he knew why. How had he not noticed them when they were intimate? The insides of his arms were covered in scars and there were matching bandages on both. Fuck.

Tears instantly welled in Rowan's eyes. His throat tightened, so his voice was higher than it usually was. "Lor?"

Lorcan jumped. He had definitely lost himself in his work. He slowly set the chisel and mallet down. Looking at his arms, he realized what was happening. He pulled his sleeves down and over his hands. He started trembling, he wouldn't look at him. Rowan set his hand on the table in front of Lorcan, palm up, inviting him to stay, to trust him.

---

He wasn't ready for this.

Lorcan had lost himself in his work. It was so easy for him to do. He liked working with his sleeves pushed up, the fabric got in the way otherwise. But he forgot Rowan was there. And now, Rowan knew. He knew. Lorcan wanted to disappear.

Now what? Rowan wasn't running away from him, if anything he was asking him not to run away. Rowan had set his hand on the table, palm up, waiting. Patient.

He was shaking. He released a shaky breath as he grasped the hand waiting on the table. Rowan finally breathed. They just stayed there for several minutes.

Rowan finally broke the silence, "When?" He must have been talking about the bandages. Lorcan dropped his head in shame and embarrassment. He had let his emotions run high and take over last night. He hadn't thought, he just did.

"Did I-" he sucked in a breath. Rowan's voice shook, "I caused those… Oh, gods, Lorcan. I'm so fucking sorry." Rowan's hand tightened and his other hand covered his face as he did his best to hold in his sobs.

Lorcan turned to him, shocked that Rowan blamed himself. He stood and wrapped his arms around Rowan's shoulders, pulling them tight together.

His voice was quiet, "Hey." Lorcan reached up a hand to gently pull Rowan's away so he could see his face. "Hey. Rowan, please don't blame yourself. I let my emotions take over last night. I'm sorry." He placed a kiss on his forehead. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is." His eyes were so sad. It made his heart ache. "It is. It is." They rested their foreheads against each other. "Can you forgive me? I.. I feel like complete and utter shit. Gods, you shouldn't forgive me. I- fuck.." Rowan's eyes shuttered and tears fell.

Lorcan just wanted him to stop talking. He knew Rowan was sorry, he knew it wasn't Rowan's fault. All he wanted was for Rowan to be happy, that's why he made the damn box in the first place. But right now, he wasn't sure how to fix it. He was terrible at talking. So, he just did what he would want.

He kissed him. Softly. He tried to put his emotions into it, to let Rowan know that everything would be okay. Everything would work out. They would work out because there was no one else for Lorcan.

A moment passed when Rowan didn't return the kiss and Lorcan felt his heart sink, but then he was being pushed up against the wall, open mouthed kisses pressed to his lips. The passion emanating off of Rowan felt like he could reach out and touch it.

They were just a tangle of tongue and lips, hands everywhere, anywhere. Moans and whimpers, their names said as prayers.

Rowan moved to Lorcan's neck and he leaned his head to the side to give the man more access. He needed Rowan. The last two days had been Hel. Lorcan had missed him so much. Having felt so far away from his lover even though they were in the same house was killing him.

Lorcan rolled his hips against Rowan's and the glorious sound that rumbled against his neck, oh, he wanted to bottle it and save it for later.

"Rowan, please." He didn't know what he was asking for. He just wanted more.

Rowan stopped, he whined. His lover's hands cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "Lorcan Salvaterre, I love you more than anything in this world. And I am so incredibly sorry that I caused you pain. And I am so amazingly grateful that you still want to be with me and have me in your life."

Lorcan pressed a soft kiss to Rowan's swollen lips. And another. "You are mine." And with that Lorcan claimed his mouth. His fingers curled into silver hair.

++++

"You are mine."

Rowan's toes curled at the authority in Lorcan's voice. He was at Lorcan's mercy. Somehow, he was against the wall now. Strong fingers were tangled in his hair, their tongues clashed as Lorcan fought for dominance. Rowan let him have it.

As he exposed his neck, it was covered in kisses and licks, grazed by teeth. He shivered, it felt like he couldn't breathe. Lorcan's hands were slow as they caressed his body. They wandered under his shirt, brushed against his nipples, he gasped. Then, they slowly moved down. Down. Farther.

There was the softest caress at the hardness in his shorts. He moaned loudly as Lorcan pressed his hand against him. He sucked in a breath and held it as he rocked his hips against his lover's hand.

He felt Lorcan smile against his neck before an open mouthed kiss was pressed to his burning flesh. "Lor.. love, please."

Lorcan's hand moved up, causing a whine to escape his lips at the lack of contact. But then, strong, calloused fingers slid under his waistband. He paused, a question. "Please."

His hand touched bare skin no one had ever touched before. And it felt so right for it to be Lorcan. He didn't go straight to his cock and that frustrated him, until he realized Lorcan was relishing in the feeling of his skin.

Dextrous fingers fluttered over his hip. Was he breathing? After those beautiful fingers had taken their time memorizing his hip, they then skated slowly down his Adonis belt to where he needed him.

"I love you, Lor."

---

Lorcan's nose brushed up his neck and then he breathed on his ear. "I love you, Rowan." He gripped the hardened, velvety flesh of his lover and watched as his head fell back against the wall as he groaned. His thumb caressed the head of Rowan's cock and hips thrust forward on their own.

"You're so soft." A smile in his voice. Rowan whimpered and melted into Lorcan at his words. "You feel good in my hand." Lorcan claimed Rowan's lips and he stroked the man at his mercy, slow at first, taking his time, enjoying how the taut skin felt against his fingers. Enjoying the noises coming from the glorious silver haired man pressed to the wall in front of him. His green eyes were blown wide with lust. He was sure his looked the same.

He quickened his pace. But only enough to push him just to the edge. Lorcan had been rocking his own hips against Rowan's thigh. He wanted them to come together. And he wanted Rowan's touch to bring him to climax.

He whispered against Rowan's lips, "Touch me." Shock flitted over his face, Lorcan just nodded.

Warm hands gently found his waistband and brushed his skin, he closed his eyes and dropped his head to Rowan's shoulder. He stopped all other movements to focus on Rowan's first touches. Fingers wrapped around him and he let out a guttural moan, it was almost primal. This feeling was nothing like what he thought it would be. It was so much better. He felt Rowan's cock twitch in his hand and he almost was undone right there.

Rowan placed a kiss on his temple and slowly started stroking him.

"Ro. Rowan." His name was just a breath of air as it left his lips.

He started his ministrations back up and brought his lips to Rowan's. After several heated moments, they broke the kiss, foreheads together. They were both close.

"Lor, come for me. I love you so much, I want you to come in my hand."

They were breathing heavily.

Lorcan managed a chuckle as he said, "Only if you come in my hand, love." He pumped his hand faster. "Come for me." Rowan's eyes rolled back and he started spasming as he crashed over that edge. Watching and feeling his love in front of him coming in his grip had him finding his own release shortly after. They milked each other until they were both spent and trembling.

Lorcan collapsed against Rowan. It felt like he just ran a marathon. His legs shook and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. But fucking Hellas was that worth it. Rowan’s hand on him felt so much better than his own.

He pressed several, slow chaste kisses to his lover's mouth.

"That was.."

"Yeah." Lorcan was on cloud nine. "Yeah." He buried his face in his lover's neck and inhaled the scent of home.

____

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