#i should take the next step which is to attempt to liberate myself from the drive to try and appease that voice

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

idk if im late but 129 and ladrien!

Don't worry, you are definitely not late, I am still taking prompts!

So funny story with this one, I went to figure out which song 129 was, and it ended up being Noah Kahan's Stick Season, which I really love, but also is potentially very angsty. And after already writing Ladrien angst, I really wanted to write something lighter

So I turned this option into a wildcard, and after using the random number generation to find a different playlist and song number, I got... Stick Season again kasfdskljgsdkljsd

I told myself that if I got it a third time than I should probably just bite the bullet and do it, but I did not get it a third time

So now... here is Ladrien with Leave a tender moment alone by Billy Joel!

This drabble is fluff with some light mutual pining, hope you enjoy!

ao3 link

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Even Though I'm in Love Sometimes, I Get So Afraid

With the gentle caress of moonlight dancing across the surface of the soft features of her lovely face, Adrien couldn’t help but feel his heart get stuck in his throat. 

He couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten here, sitting at night, on a park bench, next to the love of his life, the revered and perfect Ladybug.

He could only remember how his evening began. Sneaking out of his bedroom window in a desperate attempt to escape the oppressive isolation of his house. 

Regardless of how he had gotten there, regardless of how she had shown up, regardless of how he had convinced her to stay and sit with him, the entire moment still felt like a blur, and he was only grateful of the warmth of her presence beside him and of the opportunity to spend time with her.

The silence that stretched between them, felt wrong and unnatural. The space that surrounded them was inexplicably charged, and he felt as though something needed to be said, or else whatever fragile thing resided in this moment would break.

The only problem was, his mind was completely absent of any and all thought of what to say to her. 

If he were Chat Noir, dressed in the liberating masquerade of his costume, what to say would be easy. He would level her a carefully thought up pun or joke and watch as she received it with either a wrinkled nose or a tinkling laugh. 

Of course, the trouble with this was that he was not Chat Noir. He was Adrien Agreste. Model. Perfect son. Person who is definitely not Chat Noir and therefore should not be acting like him.

Still, the urge to make conversation and to make said conversation light, dogged him. And before he could think too much about it, he was clearing his throat and opening his mouth to speak. 

“Um.. so anything you were hoping to spot while in the park tonight?” He asked, poking lightly a spot on her shoulder.

For a long moment she said nothing, only blinked at him owlishly, with her mouth slightly open in surprise. 

Adrien’s stomach fluttered anxiously. He had ruined things. He was sitting here with her, actually getting to spend some time with his lady, and he just had to go and put his foot in his mouth and mess everything up. 

She was going to think he was weird. She was going to walk away in disgust. She was going to hate him. Worse yet, she was going to find out his identity, then reject him again, and then follow the aforementioned steps.

She would never speak to him again, all because of a stupid, mindless joke. 

The internal spiraling going on in Adrien’s mind, was disrupted by the calming sound of sweet giggling. 

A warm, balm-like sensation coursed through Adrien’s blood as he registered Ladybug’s laughter and the fact that she hadn’t been bothered by his joke. 

He let out a soft chuckle of relief that fell in tandem with her lingering laugh.

“Well you see, I actually came here because of you–” She started and then abruptly cut herself off, seeming to realize what she had said. Her eyes rounded comically and her face turned a shade not at all dissimilar from her mask.

“--not that I was stalking you or anything. I–I was just finishing off patrol, when I saw you sitting here, and you looked alone and I thought that maybe you could use some company. Of course, that was really presumptuous of me, and maybe I invaded your private time, and I-I-I I’m sorry, I can just leave you alone.”

She made a slight move to get up, but Adrien was not quite ready for her to go yet. He placed a hand on both her arms, with just enough pressure for her not to miss it, but light enough for her to easily walk away if she wanted to.

“I-I’m sorry Adrien.” She said, her eyes failing to meet his and her cheeks still remaining a heated red.

Adrien was confused at her reaction. Had he given some indication that he wanted her to go? Did something happen that he had missed?

No sooner did the confusion come, than did a clarifying thought.

Wait, was she nervous too?

The reassuring, bright smile that he gave her, was surely colored in his current giddiness and relief. 

“Ladybug, please stay. I am honored that you chose to join me, and I am really grateful that you noticed me sitting here. Honestly, I had a pretty rough day and I needed to get out of the house, but just you being here and sitting with me has made me feel better in more ways than you know. Thank you.” He gave her the last thank you with a squeeze of her hands.

Ladybug’s answering tender smile was worth the slithering anxiety he had faced when speaking openly to her. 

“I’m glad I was able to help. You know, I don’t really have anywhere to be right now. If you’d like, we can just sit here together until you’re feeling better. Does that sound like a good idea?”

“That sounds perfect.” 

Adrien leaned back onto the bench and soaked in the feeling of belonging and togetherness that only she ever really made him feel. 

For the first time that night, Adrien no longer felt the pressure to speak. He could just leave things alone and enjoy the moment together.

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Thank you so much for the ask! <3

Request a lovesquare side and a number from my playlist for a drabble!

[internerdionality]

There’s some language in my Haggadah (stolen and slightly paraphrased from The Common Road to Freedom, 1989), that’s been echoing in my head for the last couple of weeks: 

We sing Dayeinu to proclaim that every one of the miracles on the path to liberation “would have been enough” even if the road to freedom had not been completed by the miracles that followed.  What does this mean, however, that it would have been enough? Surely no single one of these would have been enough; halfway to freedom is still to be a slave.  Dayeinu means we must celebrate each step toward freedom as if it were enough, then to start out on the next step. It means that if we reject each step because it is not the whole liberation, we will never achieve it. It means to sing each verse as if it were the whole song—and then sing the next verse!

This isn’t the first year I’ve used this particular excerpt, and for that matter, it isn’t even the only place that the Haggadah, or Judaism as a whole, makes this same point. 

For example, there’s a midrash we retell on the night of the seder, about our rebellion during the exodus from Egypt, when we came to the Red Sea. Most modern depictions—for example, my beloved Prince of Egypt—shows Moses venturing into the water alone and raising his staff to part the waters so that the Israelites could pass through on dry land. According to this midrash however, Moses simply told us that the waters would part—once we’d gone in. For obvious reasons, most of us said “ahh, yeah, dude; no thanks. Not gonna drown ourselves to prove a point, yeah?” But a few particularly determined—or simply despairing—souls walked into the ocean on faith alone, and only when they were in up to their necks did the waters part and allow them through. 

As someone who has never been much of one for blind faith, this story both thrills and terrifies me. The Common Road to Freedom takes a different lesson from this Midrash, however; 

“Now as then” it reads, “redemption cannot come unless we take that first fearful step.” 

And, of course, we have the ubiquitous (if you follow the tumblr blogs I do, at least) language from Pirkei Avot: “it is not incumbent upon you to finish the task, but neither are you free to abandon it.” 

We start the holiest day of the year with the prayer (for lack of a better word) of Kol Nidre—“May all vows, and promises, and oaths that  I swear, between this year and the next, be null and void.” 

This legalistic disclaimer (which, you know, really tells you all you need to know about us Jews right there, doesn’t it) is meant to keep people from hesitating as, with the confessions of sins they have committed in the previous year ringing in their ears, they promise yet again not to sin in the year to come.  

To break a promise, for a Jew, is a devastating and grievous act. Therefore, before you make a promise, before you really commit yourself to doing something, you better be damn sure that it’s something you can complete! We recite kol nidrei to remind ourselves that we should not hesitate to set challenging goals for ourselves, despite the honest and realistic fear of attempting something we may not succeed at. We shouldn’t keep from trying something, from continuing to work at something, even if it might be really fucking hard. Even if it feels like we might never get good at it. 

But despite this core principle of my religion, that’s something I’ve always really struggled with. I don’t like doing things I suck at. I get crushed when I don’t succeed. For all my life, I’ve quit doing things—or never started them in the first place—if it seemed like I was never going to be great at them. I recognized this about myself some years ago, and it’s been something I’ve been working to change—but there are still times when I realize I’ve been doing it without knowing. 

I’ve always wanted to write fiction—and it was something I thought I was pretty decent at, so I got over that hump, at least. But I went for years thinking that if I didn’t have a completed manuscript that I could market to publishing companies, I couldn’t call myself a writer, and if I didn’t have a real brilliant, fully formed idea for that novel, there was no point in even trying to write it. Even once I started writing fanfic, I felt like I had to have a finished, polished story before I put anything out there. 

But if we reject a step because it is not the whole achievement, we will never find success. Nothing will come unless I take that first, fearful step. I shouldn’t hesitate to begin something just because I’m not sure I can ever finish it. 

I have thirty or more fics that I’ve outlined or started writing in the past year, only to abandon them “until I have time to finish them” — or rather, until I get the inspiration and/or hyperfocus to do so. But unless I’m really, really excited about and know exactly where a fic is going, I have a real hard time writing it… Especially without people cheering me along, because I’ll get to a point where I’ll write a chapter or a passage that I don’t like and can’t figure out right away how to fix, and then I’ll just stop writing it because I think it’s bad.

But you know what? The joy of fanfic is that it doesn’t have to be perfect. That no matter what you right, there’ll be probably be someone out there who likes it (and if there isn’t, hey, you can only get better at writing by doing it, right?!). Two of my most popular fics are ones that started out as pure crack and so I felt free to publish as I went along. I’ve really enjoyed the interactive process of publishing a fic even as I’m writing it, and how the comments affect what I’m writing as I go along. 

Anyway! All of this was an incredibly long-winded and introspective way of saying, I’m going to start digging through that WIPs folder and putting anything that has at least one finished chapter out there. I’m going to start publishing things as soon as I’ve got a good chunk of text written, even if the fic isn’t done. Even if I’m not sure where it’s going or if I’ll ever finish it! 

Screw it. I’m putting the fics out there. And if, after honest effort, I find myself unable to complete them, then may my readers absolve me of them.

[astoldbyjo]

Day 1 (again)

01/29/2024

Let this be another attempt at being consistent with journaling. Hence, the title "Day 1 (again)".

I really thought I was going to journal more frequently after my last entry here. I feel like it ended on a very strong note which would have been a good transition to my next entry. But then again, I did say that "I tend to never finish anything I start" and that includes journaling (among many other things).

This time, I won't be pressuring myself into doing this anymore. I've realized that being honest with yourself is one of the most liberating things you can do. It has allowed me to set realistic expectations and prevented me from disappointments.

To start, I'm going to commit to writing at least one entry every quarter. Now, THIS is a realistic expectation.

I spent the first month of 2024 planning and setting goals for the year. For the entire month, I was in deep self reflection -- looking back to see where I'm at in life, recognizing what I've been doing wrong from the previous years, and planning my next steps to improve my current state.

There was a lot of lessons I learned from 2023. Those learnings helped me put my priorities into perspective and narrow down my goals for 2024 into 5 things:

Enhancing my current skill set

Developing new skills

Finding what I'm passionate about

Finding role models and mentors

Finding opportunities for passive income

I do have "mini goals" on the side but these are the 5 things that should guide me with my decisions and help me stay focused and aligned.

I want to be more intentional with my time and energy this year. This is why I want to take things slow. When I look back, I don't think there was ever a point in my life where I took things slow. Upon graduating college, I immediately applied to several law schools while looking for a job. When I entered law school, I started working a month after. Before I resigned from my first job, I was already looking for a new one. When I landed a new job, I had to act fast, pack my stuff, move to another city, and settle down within 3 weeks. I never had a proper break.

I can't say that I'm not grateful for all these opportunities that came my way because I am (and always will be) eternally grateful for them. But you know the anxiety you feel when you wake up late in the morning and you only have 20 minutes left to get ready before you have to leave for work or school so you have to take a 5 minute shower and skip breakfast just to get there on time? That's exactly how I've felt over the years. And it's exhausting.

Before, taking things slow meant slacking off to me. After all, they say that hustling can get you anywhere in life. I do still believe that however, I now understand the importance of taking a step back to just... breathe.

Last year, I dropped out of law school to free up my capacity because I wanted to prove my value at work. I also wanted to spend more time with my family and friends. I also wanted to go to new places and meet new people. I also wanted to always show up for the people that needed me. I also wanted to explore the possibility of finding someone to love. Basically, I wanted to be Everything, Everywhere All at Once -- a movie title to describe my 2023. But I bit more than I could chew. By the end of the year, I just felt exhausted.

I am stepping into 2024 with a fire lit under my ass again (in reference to my very first journal entry, of course).

But this time, the fire is gentle and kind -- but still penetrating.

[anarchofairy]

…

[amazingmsme]

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

[himboarcher]

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

[pekoeboo]

Khalan's Journal (Entry #35)

Rating: T also on AO3 [prev]-[start]-[next]

-----

Day 164 – Past Midnight

I'm going to do it. I'm going to release the turtles.

The sad faces of those poor creatures have been haunting me all day and night. I tried to reason with Aya once again to convince her that they'll truly be happier if she frees them, but she still chose to stand her ground on the belief that they are content in that terrible boat.

So in the time that I have been unable to sleep, I have devised a plan in which I will release the creatures from captivity. But I must do it under the cover of night, so Aya doesn't catch me.

There are some areas outside that are not properly lit, which is a bit of a problem when it comes to monsters. While we're inside, they don't notice we're here, so we can sleep peacefully knowing that they'll keep their distance. But for me to be out and about at this time of night? Well... that's quite risky.

The boat in which the turtles are located is not too far away from the front of the house. However, it's the beach towards the east and the woods to the west that could be home to several dangerous monsters. I could easily be ambushed just by stepping foot past a certain point. And unfortunately, the boat is beyond that point.

I've been psyching myself up for this rescue for several hours now. Am I truly willing to put my life in danger to help some miserable animals? Just so they can be free once more?

Regrettably, the answer is yes. If I don't, my conscience will continue to eat away at me until I do something about this situation, regardless.

I pray for Nira's protection over me as I push through with this plan. I'm afraid of venturing outside in the dead of night.

But such a thing must be done, for the turtles' sake.

---

Later – Before Dawn

Oh, that was so incredibly stupid. I almost died trying to save those damn turtles.

Why did I blindly assume that things would go smoothly? Why didn't I consider the fact that turtles... are slow?! They must have deliberately chosen to make things as difficult as possible for me, and I practically lost every ounce of my patience just trying to coax them out of that tiny boat.

As expected, a few monsters took notice of my presence the moment I stepped close to the water's edge. I could hear terrible groans and hissing from some nearby zombies and spiders, but the real threat ended up being the Drowned that lurked within the depths of the lake. Their terrifying, glowing eyes slowly approached me from deep below the water's surface, and their warped gurgling only served to remind me of the closing distance between us.

And yet – the turtles took their sweet time getting out of the boat! To try and speed up the process, I made an attempt to pick them up, but they only snapped at me as a result. So all I could do was stand there and watch in agony as they slowly clambered over one another and struggled to get free.

There was a point where the monsters got far too close, and... I panicked. I'm not entirely proud of how I handled the situation, but I couldn't stay outside much longer to hold the boat at an angle for the turtles to gradually slide their way into the water. So in a burst of adrenaline (and with a mix of frustration), I flipped the boat entirely. I believe the force of such a motion finally jostled the turtles free and allowed them to leave the confines of the wooden trap they were in.

Hopefully I did not hurt the poor creatures in my haste. But I had no other choice. They simply would not cooperate; being blissfully unaware of the dangers that surrounded us in that moment.

I did take an extra second or two just to be sure they escaped. Fortunately, they did, and to my knowledge they should be safe out in the ocean now. After all – monsters don't have a tendency to attack them directly, so I'm sure they're fine.

But I will never attempt such a foolish endeavor again, should I have the choice. If I must liberate some poor, defenseless animal, I will most certainly do so within broad daylight.

I'm exhausted. It won't be long until sunrise, so I'll only be able to get in a few winks of sleep after that whole ordeal. Better than nothing, I suppose.

I pray that Aya won't be too upset when she finds out the turtles are missing. I have no idea what I'll tell her once she notices, but I guess I'll simply cross that bridge when I get there. I'm too tired to think about that now.

-----

[samayla]

The Morning Pages

I'm a couple of weeks into writing "The Morning Pages" - which is a couple of weeks longer than any other journaling stint I've ever attempted - and I thought I'd share a few of the things that I've learned, about myself and the practice.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, "The Morning Pages" is a journaling practice from the book "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. It's supposed to be a creativity booster, a way to train your brain to get over roadblocks by committing to writing three pages of whatever is on your mind, every day, no matter what.

Now, a disclaimer - I have never read "The Artist's Way." There are, however, any number of excellent videos about it - and more specifically the Morning Pages themselves - on Youtube.

Onward!

★ No one will ever read my Morning Pages. Ever. I don't even reread my own writing. I flip through the pages sometimes, just to admire the pages and pages of handwritten text, but this style of journaling is not for reading, which brings me to my next point...

★ The Morning Pages are not for blow-by-blow, faithful accounts of my day. I approach my Morning Pages with one key question in mind:

Which thoughts are too heavy to carry around with me all day?

This is my brain, hauling around all kinds of junk and shoving it in my face all the time.

To be fair, I love my brain, and it's not all junk. A lot of it's pretty amazing stuff, but I don't need all of it all the time.

My life is hard enough without my brain dumping extra junk into the mix all the time. Also, I had nightmares about the Labyrinth Junk Lady as a kid. So I started writing the Morning Pages to give myself a place to put those things aside. There's a pretty little moth on the cover of my journal, and he can carry those thoughts instead. He's a tough little dude. He gets the ugly, messy, tangled thoughts I would never, ever share with anyone else. He gets those white-noise-tv-static kind of thoughts that try to eat my brain. He gets all the whining and crying and cussing and internal debates that stop me making decisions. He gets the meltdowns and the tantrums and the panic attacks, and he also gets those hyper-elated-bubblegum-in-my-hair kind of happy thoughts that are great, until they get in the way. He holds onto them for me, so I can let them go. They're not gone, just set aside in a safe place, in case I need them later, and that relieves so much anxiety for me.

★ Sometimes I don't have any thoughts like that to unload. I write my shopping list instead. I scribble down the song lyrics that are currently stuck on repeat. I ask dumb questions - like is the French Tuck named after Tan France, or does he just like it because it sounds like it could be? I draw stars or flowers or zigzag lines that mean nothing at all. I write in huge letters that take up three rows each. Flipping back through, those days make me smile.

★ Sometimes I just stop early, before hitting that magical three page mark. Despite all the videos saying it's basically three pages or die, I have not died yet. This shouldn't be a torture device, nor should it get in the way of real life. I didn't write at all the past two days, and guys? The world did not end. My migraines mean there are days when I have aphasia and can't make words happen, or my fine motor skills are trash and writing my own name feels like trying to dig out the Bread Basket in a high stakes game of Operation. I don't write much on those days because it frustrates me - but I could, because no one ever has to be able to read it, but I don't have to, and that makes me powerful. Sometimes my day launches before I'm even out of bed, and there's just no slowing down until my head hits the pillow that night. I don't write on those days either, because it would be just one more thing on a day that needs less things in it already.

★ I need a bit of a ritual to get my brain into Morning Pages mode because there are mornings when my brain just doesn't want to do it, for no very good reason at all. By having every session start with the same couple of steps, I don't have to think too hard to get started. Every entry starts with a little star at the top of the page. This started as a quick way to make sure my pen was working properly, but it makes me happy, so I've kept on, even though I have a really nice pen at the moment. Then I open the writing session with the date and "Good Morning!" - even if I've put off writing until later in the day. The greeting gets one whole line to itself, so I'm already making progress toward that three-page goal. Whenever I'm done, another little star goes at the bottom of the last page, just to close the session and help my brain switch gears again.

★★★So what has this done for me?★★★

I've caught myself thinking things like, "Oh, man. This would be a perfect topic for my Morning Pages. I should save it for that." But then, more often than not, just knowing I could write it in there is enough for me to let it go, right then and there, without any conscious effort. I get to my next set of Morning Pages, and I find myself writing about something completely different. My priorities are free to shift like that now. Instead of stewing over things, I can put them aside, and later on, with a little perspective, I discover that some of those things weren't all that important anyway.

I feel lighter and more in control. I think Intentional is the word. I feel like I'm here on purpose, doing things on purpose. I'm getting better at noticing which things are worth worrying about, and when I feel overwhelmed, I am better able to see my way clear of it.

I feel less pressure to be perfect in my other writings. "Just getting the words out" is easier in the Morning Pages, because I know no one will ever read them, and that's made me realize no one else will ever read the early drafts of my other writings either. I switch up my handwriting in my journal all the time. Some days it's chicken scratch. Others, it's perfect cursive. Or all caps. Whatever I feel like. And for someone who is embarrassingly concerned about the aesthetic of whatever I'm writing, that has been massively liberating. I started a writing journal for Magpie Grace recently as well, and a few pages in, I discovered that I preferred writing in it in all caps. In the past, I might have started over so the whole thing is in all caps, or given it up entirely as "ruined," but now, some is in caps, some is in cursive. No big deal.

[cafedanslanuit]

↪ commissioned work! for more info about my commissions, check my blog ♡

summary: as the paranormal liberation front was getting accustomed to the new members of the lov, hawks tries to get along with twice by teaching him about the teachings of the liberation army book. dabi was not having a good day when he caught them

pairing: dabi x hawks

warnings: orgasm denial, wall sex, light dom, lots of teasing and smutty content, heh

words: 2.7k

The Paranormal Liberation Front was not what Dabi expected.

Yes, the fact that they had way more money than before and could indulge themselves into pleasures they couldn’t before was definitely good, but he couldn’t stand being around as many people as he did now. Especially when they all wanted was to discuss the book that had started it all for them. There was no way in hell Dabi would spend time with any of those freaks.

As he made his way across one of the corridors, he heard a burst of loud laughter echoing coming from one of the rooms, making him stop in his tracks. He took a few steps back and peeked in the only room with an open door, finding Hawks and Twice inside, with a lot of annotations about the damned book scribbled in a chalkboard.

That was it. He was fucking done.

“Twice, get out,” Dabi growled. 

“But we were--”

“Get. Out.”

In a hurry, Twice picked up his notebook and scrambled to get away, not wanting to get on the other villain’s bad side.

“What the fuck are you doing, birdbrain?” Dabi asked, leaning on the door frame.

“We were going through the book that you’re supposed to believe in,” Hawks defended himself, raising his hands in a surrendering motion as he walked closer to Dabi. “Chill.”

“No, I’m not going to fucking ‘chill’,” he said, making air quotes.

“I’m one of yours, Dabi, when will--”

Hawks’ sentence was cut short as Dabi’s took him by the throat, turned him around and pushed him against the wall near the door. The hero tried to take Dabi’s hand away, but the pressure was too intense for him. He knew better than to use his wings; he didn’t want to attract any extra attention that could blow his cover.

“H-hey, let go,” Hawks muttered.

“Let’s make something clear, hero. I don’t trust you. I don’t know what you were trying to get out of Twice, but I know you’re full of shit.”

“I don’t-- I--”

“Oi, what was that? I couldn’t quite catch it,” Dabi mocked him, a teasing smile on his face. Hawks could no longer form words, only gagging sounds as he tried to remove Dabi’s hand from his throat.

Dabi relaxed his hand a couple of seconds just to forcefully push the hero against the wall one more time. “I don’t care who you killed or whose side you claim to be on.” Dabi pressed his body against Hawks and moved his face close to the hero’s ear. “I can see right through you,” he whispered. “I--”

His speech got interrupted by an unfamiliar pressure against his thigh. Looking down, Dabi couldn’t refrain from raising his eyebrows when he noticed the bulge in Hawks’ pants. His eyes darted back to the blonde man whose face was even redder than before. Dabi let go of Hawks’ throat with the honest chuckle he hadn’t let himself show in the past few years.

“You got turned on, birdbrain?” Hawks ignored his question and tried to push Dabi again, but the villain wasn’t having any of it. “You have a boner because I was choking you,” he said, laughter still escaping from his mouth as his shoulders shook a bit.

“No, move away,” Hawks muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“No?” Dabi asked, a playful smirk on his face. “Then why? Was it because I pressed myself against you like this?” he flushed himself against Hawks, this time making sure his thigh was between the hero’s legs. 

Dabi was more than ecstatic when a soft moan escaped from Hawks’ lips.

“Fun,” he whispered, licking his upper teeth as he watched in awe the hero covering up his mouth.

“Fuck,” Hawks cursed under his breath. He rolled his eyes. “It’s just one of those days, don’t get too cocky.”

“One of those days? Are you in a rut, birdbrain?” Dabi teased him. He lowered his hand and cupped Hawks’ crotch, earning yet another groan from the hero. Amused, he began palming him, feeling him getting harder with every movement of his hand. “How long has it been since you fucked someone? You’re practically humping my hand, hero. Or….” he paused, his hands still against Hawks’ hard on, “did you just want to fuck me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hawks looked into his light-blue eyes while panting, trying his best to compose himself. It had been a while since he had had the time to mess around with someone, but it was something he didn’t think he had to take care of. There were so many things at stake at that moment that it had been pushed to the last of his priority list. The thought about fucking Dabi right into that room intoxicated him the longer he was uner the villain’s stare.

Hawks let out a breathy moan when Dabi’s fingers traced his length, his thumb drawing a lazy circle around the tip. The black-haired man was looking at him in awe, amazed at all the reactions he was eliciting.

“Lock the door.”

“What?”

“Lock the door,” Dabi repeated, rolling his body against the hero’s body, making him shudder. Hawks nodded and stretched his arm, trying to reach the door handle. He pressed the button and before he could return to his previous position, he felt the villain crashing his lips against his.

He would lie if he said he hadn’t pictured kissing him before. Dabi was very pleasant to the eyes. No, he couldn’t care less about the burnt pieces of flesh securely stapled with healthy skin-- in fact, it was alluring in a way. He knew there was no chance Dabi would ever talk about them, so they had a tint of mystery that pulled Hawks’ interest from the very first day.

He returned the kiss, Dabi’s hand still working against his crotch. The kiss was messy, fierce, teeth clashing now and then while tongues fought against each other. Dabi bit Hawks’ bottom lip in rhythm with a hand movement, making the hero curse under his breath.

Without breaking the kiss, Hawks felt Dabi’s hands tugging down his pants along with his underwear.

Should he…? If having the occasional daydream about sucking Dabi off was already on dangerous territory regarding his double-agent status, this was definitely crossing the line. He should have given it more thought before locking the door, but the look the villain had given him was more than enough to stop any attempt of thinking his options through. The villain moved his lips to the Hawks’ neck, kissing and looking for that special spot that would make the hero roll his eyes. Dabi’s hand was warm against his erect cock, using the precum Hawks had let out as a lubricant to slide his hand with ease. Hawks grabbed the man’s shoulders to steady himself, his legs shaking a bit every time Dabi’s hand got to the tip of his cock and made a heavenly twisting motion.

“Fuck…” Hawks breathed out, bucking his hips against Dabi’s hand. As a response, he got pushed against the wall once more with the villain’s free hand.

“If we’re doing this, you just do what I tell you,” he ordered him. Hawks swallowed and nodded, trying to control his breath as Dabi continued his ministrations. His icy-blue eyes were fixed on the hero’s golden ones, taking in all the soft expressions he was making under his touch. “Take off your shirt.”

Immediately, Hawks did as told, letting his jacket and t-shirt fall to the floor next to him. Dabi had expected that task to be more difficult due to the hero’s wings, but it seemed it only took a practiced tug in front of his clothes to make them slide away with ease. He took the chance to take his jacket off as well.

“Good,” Dabi murmured, tracing the hero’s abs with his fingers. His free hand trailed to cup his face, his other hand never stopping its stroking motions. “Suck,” he instructed, pressing his index and middle fingers against Hawks’ mouth. A part of the hero’s mind felt ashamed at how easy he gave in to Dabi’s orders, his tongue swirling around the fingers in his mouth.

Once Dabi’s fingers were coated and dripping with saliva, he took them out and guided them to Hawks’ entrance. He slowly inserted one finger inside, stopping halfway. Even if the moan that Hawks had let out made his own cock twitch, he knew in any moment someone could pass by the corridor he was just at and could easily hear their activities. The hands that were in Hawks’ cock went up to cover the hero’s mouth.

“Listen, you little shit. This hand can either stroke your cock or silence your moans. Where do you want it to be?”

Dabi didn’t miss the way Hawks clenched around his finger. The hero nodded and Dabi took his hand back to stroking his length. Hawks’ arms were shaking, trying to hold himself on the wall as Dabi kept working his way inside of him, flexing his digit to make space for later.

“You’re so, so needy…” Dabi whispered with a soft chuckle. He captured Hawks’ lips in his, this time a lot more slowly. He took his time to savor every inch of his mouth and didn’t pull away as he inserted a second finger. Dabi drank the moans Hawks made and rolled his hips against him, trying to do something about his own hard on.

That was enough for Hawks’ hands to leave his shoulders and start working on the villain’s pants. He undid the button fairly quickly and took out his pulsating cock. Dabi took it as a compliment when the hero’s eyes widened as he wrapped his hand around him, starting an erratic but firm pace that made him growl against his mouth.

Dabi separated his fingers inside of Hawks, trying to rid himself from all thoughts as he did so. It wasn’t his first time with a man but it certainly was the first time he had taken this much time when prepping someone. Hawks let out a whine and tightened his hold on Dabi’s cock, making him groan in response. The hero muttered an apology to which the villain only laughed. It had certainly been quite a while since he had had this much fun.

“I think you’re more than ready, birdbrain,” he said in between kisses and removed his hands from Hawks’ body. Grabbing him from the shoulders, he turned him around and, slightly bending him forward so his wings didn’t get in the way. Hawks hissed at the coolness of the wall against his chest and then turned his head around to look at Dabi.

In a swift motion, the villain took down Hawks’ pants to his ankles and then pressed his whole body against his. Spitting into his own hand, he tried to lubricate his cock a bit more before lining himself with Hawks’ entrance. He felt Hawks’ trying to eagerly push back and felt himself twitching at the image of it. He parted the hero’s legs further with his foot and started pushing into him slowly, his eyes rolling back when he was fully inside. Dabi’s hands were grabbing Hawks’ hips so hard he was more than sure that he would leave marks.

He smirked at that thought. He definitely wanted to leave Hawks with a little souvenir.

Dabi started thrusting with a relatively quick pace, muffling his grunts on the space between Hawks’ neck and shoulder. He was trying his best to control himself, but the same couldn’t be said for the hero. Hawks’ moans were getting louder, and even if he was biting his bottom lip, it seemed he couldn’t control himself anymore. Dabi’s left hand went to cover his mouth while the right was still holding a tight grip on Hawks’ hips. He hated everything about it. He hated how insanely good the hero felt around him, he hated the sounds he was making, he hated that every time he faltered, Hawks’ hips were pushing against him, retaking the lost pace.

He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying it that much. He knew that it should be more about power and lust, not about--

“Please, keep-- please,” Hawks moaned against Dabi’s hand.

Well, not about that.

Dabi removed himself almost completely from Hawks to give a particular hard and deep thrust inside of him.

“Like this?” he teased him, feeling his left hand soaked with drool. He repeated the movement and saw the hero’s eyes going blank. After a low chuckle, he started a rapid pace, aligning himself to he was sure he was hitting his sweet spot.

Soon enough, he felt Hawks tightening around him, the hero’s hands scrambling down to touch himself. Dabi swatted his hands away and put them back on the wall.

“Oh no, you’re not coming yet, birdbrain,” he said. “You have to wait until I tell you to,” he smirked, slowing his pace to make sure he would last a little longer. He was not willing to let it end now. He heard Hawks mumbling something unintelligible against his hand, but didn’t make an attempt to touch himself again.

Dabi’s right hand travelled to the hero’s hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling his head back. Hawk’s wings stretched out, giving Dabi a spectacular look from behind. He gave a long lick to Hawks’ neck and then pressed his mouth against his pulse point, his grunts and heavy breathing more erratic than before. Hawks tried his best to move his hips and match the villain’s moves, his ass moving in small circles whilst having the other man inside.

“Fuck, Keigo,” Dabi moaned, his head falling on the hero’s shoulder and biting down on it. Hawks’ mind went all over the place. He was more than sure that he had never told him his real name. He must have looked it up somewhere, right? Magazines showed his real name sometimes. That was the only expl---

A hard thrust in a particular delicious angle erased all his thoughts, his back arching back in pleasure. Dabi’s thrusts were almost feral after that, his right hand back to the hero’s hip.

“Please, let me come,” Hawks begged once more. Icy-blue eyes met gold and he saw the villain smile.

“No.”

Dabi started to stroke Hawks’ cock matching the rhythm with his thrusts. The hero’s legs almost faltered, the hand on his mouth the only thing keeping him from loudly whining.

“Please, fuck-- Dabi please,” Hawks moaned. “I need to, I need--”

“You have been a good little bird, right?” Dabi grunted, his hips never stopping.

“Yes! Yes! I’m-- I have-- Yes,” the hero panted.

“Hmmm…” Dabi hummed. He stayed in silence for a moment, enjoying the pleading sounds coming from the hero’s mouth. “Then I guess you’ve earned to cum.”

Only a couple of seconds later, the number two hero, the double agent in which the Hero Safety Commission had put his faith in, had the best orgasm he had ever had, spilling himself all over the wall in front of him. The view of the muscles of Hawks’ back tensing while his wings shuddered plus the way he felt himself deliciously squeezed sent Dabi over the edge as well, filling the hero with his release.

Both of them stayed silent, basking in the post-orgasm glow, heavy breathing and just now noticing the smell of sex that was filling the room. Dabi felt his t-shirt sticking to his chest thanks to the sweat and regretted not taking it out earlier.

“Get out, hero,” he breathed out against Hawks’ ear. His lips lingered against the hero’s skin for a moment too long and then he slid himself off of the other man’s body. Dabi put himself back in his pants and watched Hawks scrambling to dress himself again. He didn’t look at him either as he tried to comb his hair with his hands to cover up what he had been doing, his wings fluttering a bit to hide the smell in his body.

Hawks left the room without saying a word, leaving Dabi alone with his thoughts. He found himself smirking at the recent memory, knowing that he’d find a way to be alone with the pro hero one more time.

He was definitely dying for another taste.

[thevirtualcanvas]

One Evening - Noctis x F!Reader

Noctis is a Prince and as such he is expected to perform for King and Country, that means nothing can be remiss. That’s where you come in – you’re a high class sex educator, ready to teach the young Prince just how to please himself and his bride to be.  Warnings: Hard smut. Mature. Slight subxdom relationship and deflowering 

Your heels clicked against the smooth marble in a metronome of confidence as you pulled the faux fur coat closer to your skin. A man carved of bronze and amber led you in silence across the foyer and to the penthouse floor’s elevator. He held the door and your gaze. You gave him a polite thank you and straightened yourself up as the doors glided to a close; this was probably going to be one of the most important jobs of your career. The door pings quickly as you reach the top and another man is stood at the other side, he’s pristine – clean cut, pressed and fresh. His eyes are sharp, almost hawkish and framed by svelte glasses that simply add to his regal look. He holds out a hand.

“Ignis Scientia, steward to his Highness.”

You take it firmly, disarming him with a smile. “Charmed,” you reply.

The steward hums with an air of conceit, and you notice your guide moving to the side of him, arms folded not sure what to make of you. Were all men in the royal court this dashing?

“I assume everything is in order?” The steward asked, though it was more of statement than a request. Of course it was, you were a professional, and they had sought you first of all. You reached into your clutch, and handed over a sealed envelope. He opened and examined it with scrutiny, taking peeks over the page to analyse you. “Very well,” he concedes after some time. “Just one more precaution before I take you to conduct your business with his Highness. Gladio, if you would.”

The carved Adonis named Gladio steps towards you and speaks for only the second time since your meeting. “Sorry, Miss. Gotta double check you’re not – up to something. Now, if you wouldn’t mind opening that coat.”

You nod in permission and unhook the clasps of the fur coat, revelling in the audible gasps from both men at your outfit. When you were younger your body was a source of contempt, of pain and anger. Yet, as you reached womanhood you realised it was an asset, a tool, a product of boundless beauty that could make great men, and women, bow to your every whim. Now it had proven it’s worth once more, snagging you a delightful Princeling – with long evening of debauchery and deflowering for the Lucian Son. At the Crown’s behest no less. Below the fur coat and draped across your curved form was the requested outfit of the Prince, you could appreciate his desire. Usually the clients tastes were not your own, and you simply complied; the Prince however had a particular taste you could get on board with. He had sent you a halter-neck black velvet romper suit, high waisted, low cut. Thigh high leather boots that were simple, yet devastating. And below all that? The main attraction, sheltered by your risqué outfit and the Prince’s eyes only. His own personal fantasy generously decorated across your curved form. Black lace and purple satin peep hole lingerie – which you couldn’t wait to show your client, it was certain to drive him wild.  

Gladio handled you with delicacy and care, ghosting over your skin as if wanting to take you for himself. He was satisfied with his search quickly and nodded to the Steward – Ignis.

“Well then, follow me.” Ignis strode ahead, you could tell he wasn’t happy about the arrangement, but it wasn’t his job to be happy about it – just to lead you to your client. He swiped a card in a pocket by the unsuspecting front door and it flashed green before clicking open. He led you into a modest bachelor pad, made of chrome, sharp edges and that classic Lucian décor in black. The Prince was attempting to lounge coolly against a steely grey L shaped sofa, but you could see the nerves on his face – they were always nervous before meeting you. “Highness,” he announced your arrival with a little bow. “Your guest for the evening has arrived.”

The Princeling rose to his feet, as straight as he could and offered you a hand. “Hey – glad you could come.”

He was cute, really. Just entering manhood; that awkward in-between stage where he wasn’t quite handsome and still very pretty. Alabaster skin, piercing blue eyes and unruly indigo hair that hadn’t quite learned how to behave. You took his hand in yours, noticing how much bigger it was, but just as soft, bar a few callouses on the inside of his palm. “Thank you for the invite, your Highness.”

You could see his face cringing slightly. “Noctis, please.”

Ignis tutted from beside you. “Alright,” you appeased. “Noctis. I look forward to getting to know you this evening.”

“R-right.”

Gods. He was fucking adorable.

Ignis cleared his throat. “Well, Sire if you’ll excuse myself and Gladio. Dinner is prepared, wine is in the cooler.” He walked towards his Prince and cast you a searing look. “Just remember, while tradition, if you change your mind at any point – myself and Gladio are a phone call away.”

His concern for his ward was touching, but it narked you a bit. “You have my word that he is in full control. Nothing will happen without his unwavering consent. If he needs to stop at any time, all he has to do is say the word, and that’s it – no questions asked.”

Noctis turned to his Steward/friend and clapped him against the arm. “I’m fine, Iggy, quit worrying. Go enjoy the rest of your night off.”

Resigned, Ignis bowed and took his leave. Leaving you alone with the Prince and his desires. Noctis readjusted his shirt and ran his fingers up his bare forearms. He cleared his throat and hummed to himself, he was clearly not used to the company of women.

“So – uh – would you like some dinner, before we start?” He gestured to the set table.

You shrug off the fur coat and throw it over the back of the sofa. “I appreciate the effort, but that’s not what I’m here for tonight. Though I’ve no doubt that your Steward’s cooking is fantastic. I can wait for you, if you like.” You take a seat, flicking one knee over the other, feeling the leather crunch around your thigh.

The Prince shook his head, and took a seat next to you. “No – it’s fine. I don’t want to make you wait.”

You bopped him on the nose with your finger and cast him a bright smile. “And that’s lesson one learnt. Your blushing bride to be will not be willing to wait for your affections. You need to learn to read her moods, and her wants. So pay close attention Noctis and you might just learn something.”

He sat up straight, like a rod was shoved down his spine, a warm blush danced across his pale cheeks. You twisted your body to face him, giving him a great view of your ample curves, watching as his eyes greedily pulled you in.

“Now then, what do you think I want first?”

He stuttered, pulling his lips tight into his mouth. “ I – uh – hmm –”

You lower your voice and reach for one of his tightly coiled hands. “I want to be touched, first. In every place you can think of. Start some where small. My knee, my shoulder, the back of my wrist. You think erogenous zones are just my tits and my clit? No – with the right touch you can get a woman turned on in any place. So go ahead, touch me.”

Noctis shuffled on the sofa, pulling himself as close as he dared, fingers trembling; his mind in over-drive and not sure where to start. He settled for your thigh, a swath of exposed flesh between the velvet and the leather, guiding soft fingers against softer flesh.

“Good,” you praised. “Keep going.”

They trickled across to your plump hand that rested on your knee, caressing in small circles up your arm and to the top of your shoulder; Noctis’ side pressing against you as he found himself more involved. He touched your neck, your collar, your soft, round cheeks, anything he could get his hands on or under.

“Is this the one I asked for?” Noctis asked, playing with the satin strap of your peep hole bra.

“Would you like to see it?”

He smirked.

“Soon… not yet.”

Without guidance he began to use his lips, in the comfort of his own home – drunk on the desire of you his lips grazed your flesh in accordance with his deft fingers. He had a remarkable smell, rich cologne, soft soap, a heady musk that would no doubt drive his bride to be to a lusty frenzy – but you were professional and while his cute face and naïvety would drive some mad, you would not be – Oh. Noctis nipped at your neck, fingers under your chin, giving him freer reign of your form. His tongue dragged the length of your neck up to your ear lobe, his soft moan vibrating down your ear canal. His lips smacked against your rounded jaw, warm tongue darting out to taste your flesh.

“Now, what do you think I want?” You asked, eyes focused on the evening thrum of Insomnia.

His soft chuckle reverberated through your throat, his fingers guided your chin to his face. Soft pink lips, glistening and puffy. “If I were you, I’d want to be kissed.”  He tilted his head, and found your cherry red stained lips. Connecting and pressing with expert ease.

He tugged on your bottom lip, licked the top, trying to part them to tease at your tongue as his hands cupped your face and played with the tresses of your hair.

You pulled away and grinned. “You’ve practised that one, Highness.”

His bliss filled eyes creased with a smile. “I happen to have a very liberal best friend who uses kissing as a punishment. He’s a good teacher….”

You chuckled, scoring your fingers along his carved, pale neck. “Maybe I need to hire him… or maybe he needs to hire me.” Noctis huffed out of his nose, a little jealous perhaps? You reached for one of his lanky hands, pulling it from your hair, to your face, suckling on the tip of his finely manicured fingers to pull him from his jealous funk. “I apologise, that was unprofessional. Your bride would never talk about other men in the bedroom – which is where you should be leading me. Making love in the living room is great, but your first time should always be in the bedroom. Do you have everything I requested?”

Eyeing his slicked finger Noctis was dazed for a moment, probably imagining the other things your pert mouth could do. “Yeah,” he replied eventually, leading by the hand to the master bedroom, his palm a little bit clammy. He opened the door and gave you a sheepish look as he entered his domain. “Is this alright?”

“Perfect.”

He had done as requested, you noticed as you lured him to the silk sheets. Scented candles were dotted around the pitch black room like fading stars. On the night stand was a box of condoms, lube and baby wipes. On an out of place chesterfield armchair was a set of impeccably folded white towels and dressing gowns. The mood was serene and amorous, at least it was for him in his humble naivety. You guided Noctis to the edge of the bed, running your hands over him, pushing unruly hair away from his scalp to see the unfettered lust in his royal eyes. His hands came to your wide hips as you unbuttoned his shirt, fingers digging into the velvet and your luscious flesh. You stood back from the Prince in a moment of admiration and almost jealously for his soon to be bride, imaging watching that precious face come undone every night? Lucky girl.

“Watch me,” you commanded as he pined for your touch from his place on the bed. “It’s just as important to look as it is to touch. You’ll need to make your bride feel like she is the only woman in the world you’ll ever lust over. She needs to feel revered. Desired. You’ll need to worship her every move, every touch, every smell. When you fall into bed with her, consume and be consumed by her. Do you understand?”

His hands balled into the expensive sheets, his perfectly crafted body heaved as he watched you. The Prince gave the barest of acknowledgement, so you continued.

The halter-neck was held together by a clasp and a zip, you undid the zip first, the material hung snug against your skin. You kept Noctis in your focus and your fiddled with the clasp, watching as in one fell swoop the one piece fell away, revealing your bra and with a quick sweep of your hands fell into a puddle on the floor giving the Prince a peek of his prize. You loved the way the underwear made you feel. A graceful femininity in soft lace, and sleek satin. With a skein of slutty in it’s slits at the nipples and gaping hole of your thong. The thong itself was a work of beauty, your pubic bone mostly hidden behind the material, then it just gave away, framing your pussy with rows of pink pearls; with four strings that held it together by the meat of your hips, drawing the eye of your grateful liege to your greatest weapon.  

You could see his tented erection, painful against his slacks. One of his tightly coiled hands from the sheets to his hair, dragging it back against his scalp. Noctis was drowning in desire, the need for a sticky, sweet release, and he wanted to find it within you.

“Fuck. You look amazing,” he grunted, biting his bottom lip from pastel to white. “Can I touch you again?”

You took the steps towards him, one thigh each side of his knee. You ran your hands over the length of your own curves, gently teasing over the gash of the thong, a shiver down your spine as the Princeling licked his lips. “You’d better.”

His long arms reached for you, clawing into the meat of your arse; his eager fingers hooked in pulled to you to him. Noctis settled for you kneeling over him, your heavy chest in his face and exposed pussy over his aching, clothes erection. He played with the bountiful flesh of your arse cheeks, sharp fingers grabbing handfuls at at time as he opens his mouth wide and feasts on your expansive stomach.

“Gentle!” You hiss, yanking him back by his hair. “Take your time.”

Violet eyes dipped in hazy lust looked at you. “Right, sorry. I just –”

You planted a rewarding kiss on the Prince’s clammy brow. “It’s fine, keep going.”

It didn’t take long before curious fingers and an inquisitive tongue played with your nipples beneath the brocaded lace. He slurped greedily, humming in pleasure as his lips smacked against your sensitive nub. Noctis reached back, grabbing for the special lube on the night stand, before covering his hands and your nipples in chocolate flavoured lube. Lapping up every last bit with eager satisfaction.

Chest heaving, Noctis gave you a shy look. “I want more…” He whispered, hands resting on the inside of your warm thighs, looking at the glistening mess on his slacks. “Can I touch you there?”

His question was almost reserved, you’d say yes, it’s what you were getting paid for, but there was nothing as sexy as consent.

“Yes, Noctis.”

The Prince stored incredibly strength within his taut body; within seconds you went from domineering him to being domineered by him. He’d flipped you on to the sheets, and then rested between your thighs. He took off the once crisp shirt and threw it to the floor into the heap of clothes. Noctis almost looked embarrassed as you viewed your Prince in a state few saw him in.

“The slacks come off too,” you advised.

He agreed with a nervous hum. Noctis slid off the bed, and fumbled with buttons, eyes flitting between you and the tailored slacks. Like a teenaged girl on Prom Night he stood before you, a bundle of nerves at his almost naked body. He held his arms across his chest, as you viewed him. He really was beautiful. Toned legs and arms, taut chest, calves and a decent sized cock, peddled away in expensive, designer briefs. Throw it all in with that signature Lucian look and he was easiest one of the most stunning creatures you’d every seen.

“You want to keep going?” You asked, and he affirmed with a quick nod.

“Am I – okay?” The question came from an adolescent fear, one you supposed everyone went through, even Princes.

You smirked, prying your legs apart for the Princeling to see. “Come between my legs and find out.”  

He was an eager learner, you could give him that. Happily nestled into your cunt, an ear listening out for your direction or your delight. You weren’t getting paid to lie, he needed to be ready to please his bride after all. You were pleased with his ability to ‘get stuck in’, not all of your clients were wiling or capable of pleasing a woman with their hands and mouth alone. Most of these royal brats only wanted to pump you full of seed and parade you as their mistress, which didn’t happen and they either learnt how to pleasure their partner or you dropped them like a brick. Noctis was a star pupil in that respect, hair sticking to his brow, his nose pressed against you clit and his tongue trying bury itself into your walls. You came not long after that, Noctis supping up your spend like his life depended in it. He raised himself to his haunches, punch drunk on his own lust and rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Was that, enough?”

You laughed at the Prince and brought yourself to your knees to reward him with a kiss. After all if he was ready to go down on you, you had to be ready to taste yourself on his lips. “You have a real talent for it. With some practice your lovely bride will be quivering and squirting from your fingers alone.”

You could see the thought crossing his mind, his face between the lovely oracles creamy thighs, watching her angelic voice crying out in sinful delight, he liked the idea of it, so did you.  

“I’d like to be able to do that… for her. If she wants it.” Noctis thought out-loud confiding in you. You’d have no doubt even the oracle would like to get her rocks off every now and again. “Now what happens?”

How cute.

You rub his shoulders, down his shoulder blades, along some scar tissue near his spine, back up along his arm and cup his cheeks. “Well, any number of things. I suppose, she could tease you, give you a blowjob, a hand job, tease your ass, use toys, use food, ice play, tie you up, blindfold you, or even just stick to the part where you fuck her silly.” He shuddered, as you placed a light kiss against his bottom lip. “Or she might not want to go any further, and you’ll have to respect her decision, regardless of your own need for her. Understand?”

He nodded.

“However, I’m here for your practice. So, why don’t you be a dear, take off your underwear and fuck me?” With a tug of his lip you let him go and he raced from the bed, his nerves suddenly vanished and he dashed for the condom box and ripped into the packet. You rested against the bed on your side, elbow keeping your head up. “How confident are you, using one of those?”

It was a legitimate question, you’d had many clients who thought they would just ride you raw and then you would spend the first session teaching them how to have safe sex, which would ruin their mood but not yours. But you needn’t have worried, the Prince was perfectly capable it seemed.

“I – uh – practised,” he said with a deft 'ask no questions’ shrug before lubing himself up with another bottle on the night stand – this time a water based lube.

“Aren’t you bothered about your expensive sheets?” You asked with a cheeky smile and the Prince crawled onto the bed and back between your thighs.

“No?” His face scrunched, as if that was such a strange question.

“Next lesson, sex doesn’t have to be scary and serious, it can be fun and silly too. We’ll make strange sounds, get cramp and get tired. So just take it at your own pace, alright?” You grabbed him by the base of his cock and guided him to your waiting entrance. “Just remember to keep my pleasure in mind, you pounding into me isn’t going to finish me off.”

He swallowed hard, a wealth of information was trying to lay claim in his brain but all he could think of was his cock being clamped around your glistening, pink walls. The mood was set, the room smelled of 'Lucian Summer’ whatever that was; he was in the company of a beautiful, experienced and resourceful woman. Noctis was ready. With a strained gasp he inched himself into your warm body. You urged him to breath as he reached his zenith. Rocking your hip to reach his. He buried his hands under your hip and moved. Slowly. Carefully. Just feeling the new experience and the way his body felt.

The Prince filled you up, that was for certain. But that would mean nothing if he forgot about your own pleasure. Thankfully some of his brains remained in his skull and he readjusted. One hand honed in on your clit and the other gave him some leverage against your thigh. He gave a cautionary thrust, trembling as he went.

“Yes, Noctis! That’s it keep going!”

He moved a little faster. A little harder. Rotating his finger softly against your engorged clit.

“Aw, fuck you feel so good.”

He grunted, it was borderline feral. His fingers coiled around the thong, pulling it tighter as each thrust rippled through your body. One of the strings snapped under his tension. He looked at you in surprise, stilled for a second, before tearing the thing from your heated body, exposing your full pussy to him. Running his fingers through your pubic hair he began to pound you again, thong in the other hand.

That was unexpected from the little Prince.

He moved from your very stimulated pussy, to the heavy breasts that were taunting him with each jiggling thrust. He took both into his mouth at once, his thrusts becoming erratic as he did, but you could still feel it throughout your whole pelvis. He suckled, nibbled and bit, causing waves of painful pleasure to course through you.

“I’m so close, Noctis!” There was a fury in his eyes, born of new desire and a strange need to appease you.

He let go of your swollen tits and found your pussy once more, rubbing firm circles into your clit with tight, little thrusts to accompany each rotation. His face tightened, muscles rippled under taut skin and you knew he was right there with you. You moaned, and writhed, giving him as much visual fodder for his end as you could. Lightening shot up from your core and flashed through your whole body. With a scream, your orgasm came, the strongest it had been for a long time, and with the tightening of your walls Noctis followed suit. Letting out a hoarse, strangled moan as he bucked his hips into your heat, feeling as his seed filled the latex sleeve, wishing it was pouring straight into your womb.

As he rode the aftershocks, he pulled out slowly and fell to your side, full condom still latched onto his dick. He gasped for breath, marbled chest covered in a dewy sheen, strands of wiry hair stuck to his forehead. You moved it away from his brow and he thanked you with a small smile.

“How are you?” You asked, normally it would be bad form to ask about performance, but it was his first time.

“Is it always this tiring?” He gasped between heavy breathes as you caressed his arm.

“Not always,” it was true sometimes he won’t have to lift a finger, you can imagine him bound, gagged and begging for release.

“Will you stay for a little bit?”

You pondered it thoughtfully. “How about I give you a hand getting a shower? Then you can call your Steward and let him know you’re alright, so he can stop his motherly panic and I can tell him you’re thoroughly deflowered.”

Lethargy hit you both as you showered, showing the Prince the proper way to clean after your session, and to clean his bride to be. He wanted to take you again in the shower, cock poised after it’s brief engagement in adult pleasure.

“I don’t think so, Highness. Maybe next time.” You laughed as you ran a small towel through his wet hair.

He looked pleased, hopeful even. “So there’s a next time?”

“If you need my services before your departure, then yes.”

“Maybe you could show me other things.”

“Other things?” You enquired putting your romper back on and zipping your boots up.

He’d flung a pair of pyjama’s on at this point as he threw the top coverlet into the laundry basket, looking much more comfortable, but no less handsome. “Yeah, like toys and stuff… my best friend said there is a lot of other stuff you can do.”

You walked through to the main lounge and the Prince followed, finding your fur coat for you and sliding it over your shoulders. “It’s something we can discuss, I suppose, if you’re willing. But not tonight, I think I’ve taught you enough for one evening.”

Noctis ran his hand through still damp hair. “Thank you… I guess. I mean this has been weird but – you’re nice.”

You flashed the young Prince a smile, plastered a pink kiss on his cheek and parted with a hug. “You’re not too bad yourself, Noctis.” You hear the elevator ping and decide that’s your cue to leave. “Keep the underwear, think of it a memento of your first conquest.”

You left the apartment leaving the Prince in a dizzy embarrassment and rushing to hide his prize from his Steward and his Bodyguard. They both greeted you in the landing, Gladio happier to see you than Ignis. A car was waiting as you hit the foyer, heels clicking in triumph as you end your evening, your one evening of pleasure and education with the Crowned Prince of Lucis.

[oneweekoneband]

Lorde, “Hard Feelings / Loveless”

This...this is a lot to unpack

When someone talks about love, the mentality is fall or flail (generally speaking). That is, falling in love or flailing out of it, first glance or last dance, “Love Story” or “When I Was Your Man.” You see the entry and exit wound of Cupid’s arrow, not the spaces between or outside them; their contiguity is obfuscated by the insular, climax-dependent lens that is a (3:30-optimized)song.

Lorde knows this. Her debut was built on these principles, and the standout (i.e. best) track there and here, on Melodrama, is the one that defenestrates them. Similar to “Ribs,” “Hard Feelings/Loveless” coalesces in a liminal space: navigating the ruins of love in an attempt to find acceptance (a fast-forward to the last stage of grief) and recuperating in the light of the skyline seen from Jungle City (“I’m at Jungle City, it’s late and this song is for you”). You don’t know when you’ll be “over it,” or if you even want to be. Right from the start, there’s reluctance in the parting, hesitation in letting hands — ones so familiar and warm to each other  — unclasp. She makes pleas (“Please, could you be tender?”) and promises (“And I will stay close to you”), tries to delay the inevitable (“Let’s give it a moment before we admit that we’re through”), all to no avail. Stars keep glimmering indifferently in the two-note flicker of a synth, and the car drowns out any whisper of hope as it revs up, leaving becoming even more imminent.

Still, we ask for what we cannot obtain, for clemency against the merciless tick of time. We want one more FaceTime call, one more boba run, one more midnight drive with them by our side (“Supercut” is for another day), but we can’t have it. Not after everything that’s happened.

‘Cause I remember the rush when forever was us Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust

The one-word link to “The Louvre” (“rush”) might be incidental, but what other words are there to describe the forces that bring a relationship to its demise than “the winds of regret and mistrust”: negligible at first, barely heard in the trivial quarrels and side-glances before becoming sharp, incessant, eroding the good away until it all becomes dust, “a ghost”? The dialogue seems even more poignant. You can almost see her taking one last gaze at the driver’s seat as she says it — “Well, I guess I should go” — only to be met with a look the other way and a car’s receding taillights as it cloaks itself in darkness.

As with the rest of Melodrama, the aftermath is torrential — the embittered snarl of “Green Light,” the whole-body mourning of “Liability,” the flirtatious flings of “Sober” — but once the waves crash and spill over, what remains is the “hard/ feel/ -ings” of “mo/ -ving/ on” (coincidence that the two phrases have the same amount of syllables? I think not), which is easier said than done. No matter how many times you’ve done it, the process always seems so foreign. How do you fill the void where someone once was? How do you swallow that feeling of emptiness during date-less movie binges and touch-deprived sleep sessions? Whatever your answer is, it always feels like one step forward, two steps back. By day, you think, “This is it!”. You’ve turned the corner, had the paradigm shift. “I care for myself the way I used to care about you,” Lorde sings, with a habitual caress on the last word, but in the isolation of 2AM stucco ceilings, you regress, go back to square one. “The waves come after midnight” once again, but you wake up and start the cycle one more time, however hopeless it may seem. Close your eyes, hold your breath, and wait for the day that the endless heartache stops.

It seems like it’ll never come. Beneath the reverb’d guitars and rising strings, the atmosphere churns, its footsteps muffled, conflicted until, somehow, someway, the days start to pass instead of rerun. The change is small; you almost don’t notice it: You start to go outside, begin to write again, lay off the “Liability” replays a bit. Fuck-ups keep veering in front of you nontheless — the grating noises of the bridge sound like an out-of-tune violin made of metal being played or the screeching friction of rubber-melting skid marks — but the stasis melts. And after the desperation and restlessness of trying to “get over” the heartbreak, the pulse doesn’t just return; it rings, in excited echoes down the highway and liberating crescendos of electronica. Sure, you might have to “fake it” now and again, act nonchalant at the sound of their name and keep “letting go” of the memories that float up to the surface. Time doesn’t make remembering any easier, but with it, there comes a moment when you can finally open your eyes, look at the same stars constellated across the firmament, listen to the same twinkling synths, and just….breathe. The exhale of a new chapter, of something better than now.

Which, sometimes, means embracing the grace of being. fucking. single. “New Rules” might have been The Stag Anthem a year later, but “Loveless” was a next-level blueprint of boy-BYE (Blow-off Your Ex) energy*. The couplet wordplay of “If you’re under him/ You ain’t getting over him”? Take it to the sadomasochistic extreme: “Bet you wanna rip my heart out/ Bet you wanna skip my calls now/ Well, guess what I like that” (I’ve always thought the second line was “Bet you wanna slit my collars now,” but I guess that works too?). Forget the playground sloganizing of “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” mockery; put a cynic twist on the ending. First comes love, then comes NOTHING; just the callous hearts of an “L-O-V-E-L-E-S-S gen-er-A-tion.” The warning (a giggling, whispered secret for our ears only more accurately styilized as “l o ok ou t”) repeats until “All fuckin’ with our lover’s head” becomes a new mantra to live by, the head-bobing vibe (as per video) fading out but never entirely erased. It’s what’s funny about moving on: once you have something new to hold onto, looking back, those feelings weren’t so hard after all.

*Qualifier: Not written by the original Beyoncé

[nahalism]

Im about to be 32 in the upcoming weeks. For the past three years i was in and out of psychosis. I lost everything my job, my girlfriend, my art and creativity, my very way of thinking and interfacing with the world at large. I have never been so unhappy and frustrated in my entire life. I dont want to attempt suicide again at the moment because my last attempt was unsuccessful and only complicated my life. I dont know what to do anymore, what should i do?

i can’t tell you what you should do, thats something you have to answer for yourself — but to be completely frank, the only thing thats ever helped me pull myself out of dark spaces was the knowledge that no one was coming to save me, and that whilst people may be fond of me and care for me, my suffering is only ever experienced by me, and so can only ever be my suffering. if i go, the world keeps spinning. and even if it was the world that caused my pain, it would be my negligence of myself, my dreams and the things that capture my truest attention, that caused my downfall, not the hand i was dealt or the circumstances that shaped me. now whilst im sure that sounds harsh, i find liberation in that. first in choosing to be accountable for all aspects of my life, and second in knowing that the world does keep spinning. and that everything that matters so deeply to humanity as individuals, is completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. the world is in process, it is in creation: and whilst the past may set a precedent, the present has no need for the past, and actually, in order to remain in a space of creation may do well to relinquish it completely. 

so, the same goes for you. if you were to start anew, unburdened from the weight of your memories, or from the expectation and comparison built up off of who you are, who you were, who you could have been, what you are yet to become: what would you do? who would you be? | and those questions and that thinking formed the basis for a mental role play id put myself through each day. ‘if i were to end it all in exactly an hour from now, what would i fill that hour with? what would thrill me? what would give me pleasure, even if only momentary? who could i be? what could i do?’. and at the end of each hour, i’d go again. at first, it was bucket list stuff. skydiving, rollercoasters, bungee jumping, maybe even just good food, a walk in the park, the smell of petrichor: but one day, that hour marker slipped and turned into, ‘what will i do today?’ then, ‘what will i do this week, this month, this year’. and before i knew it i was making whole plans for my life, finding myself in unrecognisable situations (cause even though rollercoasters arent hard to go on i had no verve to get up and put myself in the place for it to happen), and eventually you wind up imagining yourself in roles and positions that you had once lost all faith of yourself ever being in. thats how dreams begin. so whilst anhedonia may make that challenging, i highly recommend that exercise or exercises that provoke and challenge the imagination.

so yeaa, it is important to feel and process what once was, even how past events may have impacted your perception of yourself and the world: but once acknowledged, accept it for what it is, & begin the process of forgiving both yourself and the people who had a hand in how things panned out. break all cycles of animosity, doubt and regret by making space for inner harmony to emerge and for the child in you to play and be excited by real life and what the real world, not our constructed one, has to offer. get on one accord with yourself, show up for you, do the small work, and do it proudly. speak to yourself as both a parent, sibling, friend, lover, saviour and child. respect your vision and the unique intellect your life experience has gifted you with. know that that which can be lost or threatened has no place by your side. dare to take the first step in the direction of what feels true, even if you dont know what that is or where it leads to, and trust that as you tread your path, it doesnt matter if you can only see the next two steps, the rest will illumine itself in due time. have faith, have courage, and i sincerely hope you decide to stay here with us, because there is a magic that comes from people who have known suffering, and who have not only lived with it, but found redemption in it. and one day, there may be someone who feels as you once did, and who needs to see your example, hear your voice, your words, your story. remember that. 

sending you buckets of love, and rooting for you <3 

[antpernas]

1/23/21

This day was... whew boy. A trip.

So, we started off alright, we woke up at an OK time but didn’t end up getting ready to do stuff until after my parents had left for work. At that point, we decided to *get it on* which was SOOOO much fun. Douching together was hilarious, and a nice little throwback to when we first met. It was also nice to finally have sex with someone that I truly, deeply cared about again, and (MOST IMPORTANTLY) to have it be reciprocated. The fact that it was good sex was just a nice perk :) Definitely boosted my confidence with topping, since it had been so long!

After we finished up, we started getting ready to head north! Our first task was to test my kayak and see if it would hold up under our combined weights. The answer; barely! But barely would HAVE to do, since the beach I wanted to take him to was only accessible by boat or by kayak. We loaded my kayak, and this time I made sure that I actually grabbed the oars! Then, off we went!

Before we got to the park, we made a stop at Joseph’s market to get some lunch. Oh my GODDD how horrible a decision that was!! Scorpio was, yet again, overwhelmed with the many choices available to him. He ended up buying various quantities of different items, as opposed to doing the dinner combo like I had suggested, and spent just a bit too much money on food. But, GREAT food, so in my opinion it was worth it! Though, I’m sure his wallet didn’t feel the same.

Afterwards, we made a straight shot to the park, all the while making sure my kayak wasn’t slipping off my car to go tumbling into traffic like a large boulder the size of a small boulder. I think Scorpio ate a little bit while I was driving, and I, as always, took the opportunity to show him more music. This time, I showed him the soundtrack to the sequel of the game I tried to get us to play the night before, which we ended up dozing off while playing. Once we got there, I parked so I could eat my food, then we started getting ready to launch!

Getting into the kayak was the simple partl. The real challenge was getting across to the entrance. Poor Scorpio had to sit in the seat and row us across on this barely balanced kayak, otherwise the weight wasn’t properly distributed. I remember him asking me to hold him tighter while he rowed, which was just... UGH butterflies! It was in this moment that I started singing “Go the Distance,” sparking a new, very unique step in my intimacy with him. Singing seriously was something I had never done in front anyone, and especially not intentionally. I felt very vulnerable, but it was also kind of liberating. And he told me it helped, which made me feel even better. Soon enough, we made it across!

The walk to the beach was gorgeous, and we ended up sparking a discussion about Disney movies and Broadway musicals, which was a part of my memories I hadn’t brushed off in a LONG time. It was also interesting to hear about some of his experiences with them. As much as I love to talk, hearing him talk about his past or his life at any time he felt comfortable sharing it was so amazing. It was almost like it made him seem more real to me, like he wasn’t just this perfect, extraterrestrial angel that brought happiness everywhere he went, but in fact, a human! It was nice.

We ended up singing some more until we got to the beach, which was choppy as SHIT. I already knew from the clouds that it wouldn’t be a good day for snorkeling, but to say I had anticipated the water to be that bad would be a lie. We ended up making an attempt for a few minutes before we just decided to swim normally and then walk the beach and chat more. At some point, we turned around to start trying to get to the exit, but we couldn’t find it! We ended up passing it and hitting the north end of the beach/island, talking about musicals and stuff the entire way there. We found a pretty cool abandoned jetty/pier thing, though, which was SUPER cool. We decided to risk losing the daylight and walked along it while chatting some more.

We got a ways into the path before he stopped me for a second and said there was something he wanted to tell me.

Oh boy.

He didn’t even finish the sentence before I knew where this was going. And then he said it. “I just don’t think I like you that way... You’re like a bro to me.” Surprisingly, I took this pretty well at first! I didn’t cry, didn’t pout, and I think I handled it pretty well. But then we sort of finished the conversation that we were having and it went dead silent between us. And THAT’S when I started to feel it.

I don’t even think I can recount the absolute rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts I had while we started searching for the exit again. I tried my best to be as sweet and enthusiastic as I normally was with him, but I just wasn’t in the headspace to do it, I don’t think. And halfway through the walk back to the dock from the beach exit, I just started choking on my tears. I remember just being so very... conflicted? Angry? Sad? I just couldn’t even begin to piece it together. I was disgusted with myself for thinking I was mad at Scorpio simply because he didn’t feel the same way about me, and I felt stupid for even thinking to feel entitled to that from him in the first place, even though, up until that point, it had never occurred to me that I was! I still don’t even think I was; my mind was just trying to jump to an easy answer to the questions I had bouncing in my head, and blaming Scorpio seemed like the most simple solution, even though every part of me knew that’s not what I wanted to do.

I kept thinking about it, though, and once we were coming up on the entrance, I finally realized who I was REALLY angry at; myself. I was angry because I felt stupid for devoting so much of myself to someone who never felt the same way, for potentially making someone I cared about so much feel that they were obligated to show me that same affection back. Once I came upon this realization, the waterworks REALLY started coming down. But it was liberating to know that I wasn’t truly angry at Scorpio. Really, all I felt in my heart for him was, and is, love. And it was comforting to know that there was nothing more to this situation than that it just. Plain. Sucked. We can’t control who we get butterflies for, and it just so happened that Scorpio didn’t feel that way for me. And that’s okay!

(Sidebar, he chipped his toenail soon after he told me that, and joked that the universe was already putting him in his place. I have a thing to say about that later.)

And this is when I asked myself one very important question; what’s next? That’s what I got to mull on once we got to the kayak and I had to hold him while he rowed us across again, still in silence.

Loading the kayak was a bit of a chore, but we managed to do it and started heading on our way. As much as I tried to hold back my tears once we started going, it just wasn’t happening. This was especially true once I REALLY tried to choke them back to finish talking about the soundtrack to the game I was showing him. The floodgates were OPENED. But it was a relief.

We started chatting and I got what I wanted to say off my chest; that it was all okay. That I realized I’m just mad at myself, and that it’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same way for me (not that he needed my validation or anything). I thanked him for being honest and giving me the chance to see him again, as well as this closure, and I apologized for being distant while we were heading back to my car. He was reassuring through all of this, telling me that it was okay, and making sure I understood that he still wanted to be friends, as long as I wanted to be.

And this is when I sort of came upon an answer to that question. I realized a LOT in that hour~ long period after he told me what he needed to, but perhaps the most important takeaway for me is that I just want to be happy. All the other details about situations are semantics; if I love someone and it makes me happy to spend time with them, then I should do it! And if it doesn’t, then I won’t. It’s as simple as that. It doesn’t matter if we’re dating, if we’re friends, or whatever it may be; I didn’t even have concrete definitions for those anyway, so this thought process was the real answer to all my problems. Do what makes me happy. And Scorpio makes me happy. So even if he doesn’t love me the same way, if he wants to be friends, then I’m thankful he’s not just cutting me out of his life and I get to spend more time with him some day! I just need time to get over the heartbreak and adjust to our new relationship. A strong relationship at that.

The “thing” I had to say earlier was that I didn’t by any means want Scorpio to feel as though he deserved some kind of punishment just for breaking my heart. I can already imagine it sucks to hurt someone you care about, and the last thing I would ever want is to rub salt in his wounds. I may poke fun about it in the future when we see each other again, but I would never want to make him feel as though he needs to truly be ashamed or guilty for being honest with me. It’s sort of for this same reason that I don’t like saying he “broke my heart.” Even though he did, just saying it like that paints him as an antagonist, when really, he was just honest with me, and he still means the world to me. He made me realize I need better friends, JAJA!

But, yeah! That was my internal journey, and after that all that was left was to heal, mostly. On the way home, I gushed more about the soundtrack and we chatted about my background with music. He said he was always impressed with me and how I’d taught myself so much about music, and it made me feel all sheepish, but good! We stopped at my old middle school and took a walk around the park/trail right outside of it, and chatted a little bit more about me and my childhood. Once we finished there, we hopped back in the car and went home.

For the most part, home was alright! The only weird part was figuring out our new boundaries, and since everything was so fresh, I wasn’t sure where I wanted to set them. Of course, the ball was in my court, but I didn’t want to suddenly turn on a dime and act as if I didn’t like Scorpio at all, because that would never be the case! My second greatest regret of that trip was not cuddling him when we went to sleep that night.

EDIT: I LIED we tried to play Monument Valley before we went to sleep but we ended up dozing off. Also we talked about our views on relationships when we parked at Red Reef park.

[justheretobreakthings]

Kings Over Aces - Chapter 2

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Word Count: 3,114 (Total Word Count: 6,290) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

The Voltron Coalition has an alliance in the works with the resource-rich planet of Yuipra, and it’s the paladins’ job to keep on the king’s good side while the deal is made. That shouldn’t shouldn’t be too great a challenge; after all, they’ve courted plenty of planets before for the sake of alliances.

Unfortunately, things are made much more complicated when the king takes a special interest in Keith.

Fic content warnings for attempted rape/non-con.

“I’m telling you, he wants me,” Lance said, for what was probably the dozenth time since breakfast.

Pidge rolled her eyes, stretching her leg out along the couch to kick Lance where he was seated on the opposite cushion without moving from where she’d comfortably settled with her tablet. The paladins were spending their downtime after training this morning in the lounge, all having claimed their usual spots to relax, but Lance harping on about last night’s dinner was making it even more difficult than usual - which was saying something, as the weirdly translated Altean books Keith tried to pass time with were hard enough to focus on anyway. “He does not ‘want’ you,” she said. “You think every person we ever meet at these coalition things ‘wants’ you, and how many times has that been the case?”

“Plenty of times,” Lance answered. “I’m not gonna be able to keep track exactly.”

“It’s sort of a numbers game by this point, isn’t it?” Hunk asked, tilting his head back from where he was seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the other two to join the conversation. “You flirt with basically every single person you find attractive - ”

“ - And your standards for that aren’t exactly sky-high,” said Pidge, “So you’ve probably hit on like five hundred people since we got shot out into space. Which would make your success rate - ”

“All right, I see where this math is going,” Lance groaned. “For your information, I do not flirt with nearly that many people.”

“Good point,” Pidge said. “Just winking and making finger guns probably doesn’t count. Or at least only counts as, like, half a flirt.”

“It’s not - you know what, whatever. We’re not talking about my overall track record, just last night. And that king was totally into me. Basically talked just to me the entire night. You saw, right, Keith?” He turned to Keith, who silently cursed his inability to turn invisible. “Back me up here.”

“Um,” Keith said. “Well, you certainly talked to him a lot.”

“I was replying to him, that’s how conversations work. But he was totally flirting with me, right?”

“Uh…”

Lance huffed and crossed his arms. “Okay, that doesn’t count for anything. Keith probably wouldn’t recognize flirting if his life depended on it.” Keith let out a little harrumph of indignation. Sure, that was true, but there was no need to just announce it like that.

“Nah, I’m gonna go ahead and take his testimony as gospel,” Pidge said. “Sorry, Lance. You bombed.”

“Need me to get Kaltenecker to make you some ice cream?” Hunk asked, reaching up to pat Lance on the leg.

“I’m like two seconds away from slapping all of you.”

“The bitter sting of rejection is such an ugly look on you,” Pidge said drily. A small beep sounded from her tablet, and a moment later, she sat up. “Allura just messaged. They’re getting an incoming signal from Yuipra, we’re probably gonna solidify alliance terms. Gotta go join ‘em in the bridge.”

Lance groaned. “Why do we all have to go? Shiro and Allura are in charge of all of that.”

“I dunno, to make a good impression?” Pidge stretched as she stood from the couch. “Besides, you should be excited. Get another chance to talk to the love of your life.”

“At no point did I ever say anything about him being the ‘love of my life’,” Lance said as he and Hunk reluctantly stood too. “All I said was that he wants me. Which I still maintain is one hundred percent true.”

“If you say so. You coming, Keith?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Keith said. He shut off his electric reader and dropped it onto the seat to come back to later before joining the others, shuffling in behind them for the short walk to the bridge.

When they arrived, joining Allura and Shiro on the deck, the holoscreen was already on and tuned to an image of King Olren, the arms of two of his ever-present guards just on the edges of the frame. The discussion was already in motion, but Olren paused mid-sentence as the door to the bridge slid open.

“Ah, the rest of your paladins have arrived, I see,” he said, smiling down at them as they took their places on the bridge. “It is a delight to see you all again.”

“You too, your majesty,” Hunk said.

Allura smiled as she looked back over her shoulder at the others. “King Olren was just telling us that he was quite impressed by our performance yesterday, as well as our engagement with his people at the banquet.”

“Quite so,” Olren said with a nod. “Your presence went over very well amongst my nobility. And, of course, I was just as enamored by Voltron as anyone in my court. Your knowledge and passion are obvious. Now, I’ve spent the morning reviewing the terms of our potential alliance with my advisors. Yuipra’s stance on interplanetary relations is perfectly in line with your current mission statement of resistance against the Galra empire and liberation of those under its control. However, I must confess slight apprehension over how the citizenry would respond to engaging in a conflict in which we are currently not directly involved. As your proposed terms are outlined right now, the use of our resources versus the coalition benefits that you would grant us in return seem rather unbalanced.”

“That’s only in the short term,” Shiro spoke up. “We may currently be thin on benefits, but that’s entirely due to past Galra occupation that we are working to wipe out. Already we’re seeing the signs of environmental improvements and economic growth from planets that have been liberated and are being helped by the Coalition now. The trade agreements and political relations we build now will yield positive growth over time, and in the long run it’ll more than offset the costs of your involvement.”

“And you have evidence to back your claims of long-term benefits?”

“I would be more than happy to send you any details about the Coalition’s fiscal plans and projections of resource growth that you need,” said Allura. “You will find that we have been nothing but meticulous.”

Olren nodded. “That would do nicely, Princess, if you would be so kind. I must admit, your confidence alone is quite the sales pitch.” Allura lifted her chin, a proud smile on her lips, and Olren grinned back. “The rapid creation and propagation of the Voltron coalition makes ever more sense. It’s certainly likely that Yuipra will have its part in it as you make history.”

“We thank you, your majesty,” Allura said.

“I am still not, however, quite ready yet to solidify an alliance with your coalition,” Olren continued, and Allura deflated. “Not due to problems with any stipulations we’ve laid out as yet, but because I like to know those with whom I ally on a more… personal level, you see. It is one thing to be able to ally with someone politically, but such bonds are far more meaningful, not to mention harder to break, when they are personalized to a nigh emotional level. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Allura paused a moment before answering, “Well - well, yes, of course. I completely understand where you are coming from.”

“Excellent. Now, I’ve gotten a bit of a chance to gain some familiarity during our banquet, but if Voltron would be so willing to indulge me, I really prefer to do so more privately. One-on-one, actually.”

“All right,” Allura said slowly. “So, erm, what, exactly, are you proposing?”

“Suppose I’ll get right down to it,” Olren said through a little breath of a laugh. “I wish to host an intimate dinner in my private dining room tomorrow evening. And I would like your red paladin to accompany me as my date.”

Lance cast the others a grin - a smirk that seemed to say, I told you so - before he stepped forward and bowed grandly. “Your majesty,” he said as he straightened up, “It would be an honor to - ”

“No, no, not him,” Olren said, waving a hand dismissively. “The red paladin.”

“I am the red - ” Lance started, before his face fell and his eyes widened. “Wait, do you mean - are you - are you talking about Keith?!” he spluttered, gesturing with his thumb toward Keith, who stood in stunned silence as all the eyes in the room spun toward him.

“Yes. Keith,” Olren said with a smile. “I do hope you will accept my invitation?”

“Uh - I - I - ” Keith stammered out.

“Is, ah, is that really necessary?” Shiro asked. “Voltron functions as a unit, you see, and there’s no need to have only one of us to dinner rather than the whole group.”

“If you function as a unit, then your red paladin’s character should reflect that of all of you,” Olren said. “You need not worry, really, over the effect on our potential alliance. I must admit, I’ve found myself quite taken with his disposition already. But you do understand why I may want to take the time to personally assure myself that we will be a good match, yes?”

“Understandable, yes,” Allura said. “I’m sure that we can arrange - ” She paused as she glanced back over her shoulder at Keith, whose knees were growing shaky and who had long since felt his face heating into a bright red.

Allura furrowed her brow and turned back toward Olren. “Could you please grant us a few doboshes to discuss our availability?” she asked. “We will be happy to resume this conversation shortly.”

“Of course,” Olren said. “I look forward to a call. And I must admit, I do expect to like what I hear. I’m not in the habit of taking ‘no’ for an answer.” He cast them all one last smile before his holoscreen went dark and then disappeared.

Allura let out a breath before turning around toward Keith. “Keith,” she said. “Are you ill?”

Keith blinked at her. “Am I… what?”

“You look ill.”

Slowly he shook his head. “No, I’m - I’m not sick.”

“Because if you have any sort of bug that the king might catch, that would certainly not reflect well, nor be ideal for you and your state of mind during a dinner. Or if something in their meal disagreed with you - ”

“It’s just, um - this is - he said.” Keith took a deep breath. “He said - he said he wanted me to be his date.”

“Yes?” Allura said. “And?”

“And, well, I, uh - I don’t - I don’t really have - ” Allura tilted her head, and Keith took a deep breath before finishing, “I don’t date.”

“Oh for the love of - ” Lance groaned. “Of course. Of course Mullet’s never been on a date before. We should’ve known.”

“Is that all?” Allura asked. “Keith, I’m sure it won’t be much of a problem. Everyone gets nervous the first time they go on a date. We could always go through some etiquette with you, some conversation starters. We’ll no doubt have to brief you on a number of courting customs anyway, seeing as nobility is rather more particular in how they go about it, but I’m certain that - ”

“No, look, that’s not it,” Keith interrupted. “It’s - it’s not that I haven’t dated. I mean, I, um, I haven’t, but it isn’t - it’s just that, I don’t date.”

“I’m… not sure I follow,” Allura said.

With a grunt of frustration, Keith brought a hand up to card his fingers through his hair as he searched for the words to explain it in a way she’d understand. “I just - I don’t do that, I - I don’t feel the things that people are supposed to feel when - when they’re on dates, like, the romance and all, they - they don’t - ”

“Hang on,” Pidge interrupted, lifting a hand and peering at him with narrowed eyes through her glasses. “Keith, are you aro?”

Keith felt his voice halt in his throat, and he crossed his arms and took a step back, ducking his head a little as he closed in on himself and avoided looking at his teammates’ faces. It wasn’t that he thought they’d react badly to it, or judge him for it - at least, he sure hoped they wouldn’t. It was just that this was personal, and he much would’ve preferred to come out when he was actually ready to, not just… like this.

But, of course, now that it was out there, it was out there. Not like there was any point in denying it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Um, aroace, to be specific, but, uh, yeah. Yeah.”

He dared a glance up beneath his lashes. Pidge was nodding slowly in understanding, and Shiro was more or less expressionless - he’d already known, after all. The others all just appeared to be confused.

“I’m sorry, arrow?” Allura said. “Pidge, what is that?”

“Aro. Short for aromantic,” Pidge answered. “Means he doesn’t feel romantic attraction.”

“Wait, for real?” Lance said, his brow wrinkling and his eyes scanning Keith up and down as if looking for some sort of clue on his clothes to verify it.

“Yes, for real,” Keith snapped. “Why the fuck would I lie about something like that?”

Lance lifted his hands innocently. “Shit, man, I wasn’t accusing you of lying. Just, you know, processing the new information. Guess that kinda clears up some of the rumors that were going around the Garrison…”

For a moment Keith was about to demand some follow-up about these rumors, but decided to let it go for now. He’d overheard plenty of gossip about himself as a student on every other subject - whether he cheated on the sims and how he did it, how he got into the Garrison, his juvie history, his relationship to Shiro, his family. A couple rumors about his sexuality were a mere drop in the bucket. It wasn’t important now.

What was important was the matter at hand: the dinner date with King Olren. “Look, the point is, I don’t do the whole ‘dating’ thing. It’s - it’s not my thing. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

Allura crossed her arms, tapping her finger pensively against her elbow. “Well, what if we trained you on it?”

Keith frowned at her. “What?”

“On dating. I’m sure we’d be able to give you sufficient instruction to handle a single dinner date. If we trained you, do you think you’d be able to manage?”

Keith took a step back. “Allura, I told you, I don’t feel - ”

“I know, I understand. I’m not asking you to be attracted to him. I know you can’t control that. But I also know that this could be a very advantageous alliance for Voltron, and a date with you seems to be the deciding factor. Would it be at all possible for you to, er… fake it?”

“Fake it?” Keith repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah, that could work,” Lance said, nodding. “I mean, that’s not exactly hard to pull off, right? I’ve faked my way through dates before. You know, I meet someone online, but when I show up to the restaurant for a date it turns out they’re a total weirdo, so I smile through the dinner and make small talk and just sorta, like, humor them. Let them have a nice evening then get the fuck outta there.”

“What, you can’t just be up front about not liking them?”

“It’s called manners, Mullet.”

“Look, I’m not going to - ”

“They do kind of have a point, Keith,” Shiro interrupted.

Keith turned to him, taken aback. If anyone knew how uncomfortable Keith was over the concept of dating, it would be Shiro. Keith had only even learned about aromanticism and asexuality because Shiro had explained them to him, back in their Galaxy Garrison days, and his surrogate brother had held his hand tightly through the process of coming out for the first time. So him saying that Allura and Lance ‘had a point’ about sending him on a date… it was unexpected, to say the very least. “Shiro?” he said. “You - you think I should…”

“Keith, I’m not saying you need to, uh, take it very far,” Shiro said slowly. “I know you’ve got your boundaries, and I respect them. It’s just, well, it isn’t as though Olren is asking for your hand in marriage or anything. All he’s requested is a dinner date. I realize that it wouldn’t be a comfortable experience, but one awkward evening in exchange for all the resources Yuipra can offer… It would be a shame to have to pass it up.”

“Exactly,” said Allura, giving Shiro a grateful nod. “There’s no need to make it a bigger deal than it is. One dinner date. That’s all.”

“I mean, Olren’s certainly not my type either,” Shiro said with a shrug. “But if it was me he’d asked after, well, I wouldn’t love it, but I’d take one for the team, you know?”

Something rolled in Keith’s stomach and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. That was true. Shiro would do this without hesitation. Hell, even if it had been a woman asking, which would definitely leave Shiro uncomfortable to all get out, he would take the fall. Because that’s what he does - he makes sacrifices for his team. That’s what a leader does. And Keith was the leader now.

One date, he repeated mentally. He could handle just one date, surely. For Voltron’s sake.

“All right,” he said, his voice coming out sounding quieter and dryer than he would have liked. “All right, I’ll, uh, I’ll do it. You can let him know.”

Allura let out a breath of relief and smiled at him. “Thank you, Keith. I’ll get a missive off to him at once, and we can start training.”

“You know what I still don’t understand?” Lance said as Allura turned away toward her podium.

“What?” asked Keith.

“This guy had a dinner with our whole team,” Lance said. “He was sitting at the same table as Shiro and Allura and, well, me… and he goes for Keith. I just don’t get it.”

“Lance,” Shiro said with a frown.

“Look, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. It’s not like he didn’t have options. He actually chose to thirst after the mullet. Out of everyone there. This was a conscious decision on his part.”

“Everyone has their own tastes.”

“It’s like if he’d gone to an art museum and decided that his favorite exhibit was the bathroom door.”

“That’s enough, Lance,” Shiro scolded.

Lance shook his head. “I dunno, man. Just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Keith could only shrug in reply. It didn’t make any sense to him either.

[stillness-in-green]

The Way You Survive Is... (2/4)

Trauma manifests in all sorts of ways—even trauma that you convince yourself was noble.

All unknowing, Curious plants a seed.

Chapter Warnings: As well as the tagged warnings, be aware of on-the-job injuries, power imbalance, messy break-ups, self-triggering, and discussions of human trafficking.

The advisors try to be helpful, but you know what they say about dismantling the master's house with the master's tools.

———      ———      ———      ———

Chapter Two: Not a Narrative, But a Symptom

Rikiya got the text from Koku towards the end of the evening.  I’ll have some time after the rally tonight.  Take you to dinner?

They ate at a French restaurant on the lake, chatting about work—Detnerat had hit its first major burst of good publicity, buoyed by some personal recommendations from the governor, and was expanding its production capacities.  Koku, meanwhile, was expecting his first department position following the election next week, assuming the numbers held steady.

Talking about work was, of course, a coded way of talking about The Work.  So much of Rikiya and Koku’s daily lives was groundwork for plans to be effected in a decade, two decades, three decades.  The governor of the prefecture was the highest-ranking official in the Hearts & Minds Party, one of Old Man Hanabata’s protégés, and serving under him got Koku the experience to make him a more viable candidate for when the HMP got serious about the national general election.  Compliments from him to the right ears gave Detnerat a running start for when Rikiya needed to push the company into competition against national-level brands.  In both cases, their startling youth brought them attention from sources outside the Army, and so it went.  All to move the ideals of Liberation—freedom, deregulation, a true recognition of individuality—onto the broader stage.

It could be exhausting to think about, but Koku—Koku always made it seem invigorating instead.  That was only natural—it was his meta-ability at work—but all the same, the degree to which work was keeping them busy made it all the more electric to spend time with him.

From the way Koku’s lips quirked when Rikiya hooked an ankle around his beneath the table, it seemed he agreed, and the two of them returned to Rikiya’s apartment with an eminently respectable distance between them that dissolved as soon as the door fell shut behind them.

“I’ve missed you,” Rikiya said fervently against Koku’s hair, fingertips splaying over the column of his neck.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Koku replied, a warmth in his voice he reserved only for their private moments, which had been far too few since graduation.  He tipped his head to the side as Rikiya continued to press a line of kisses towards the shell of his ear, his hands stealing out to peel Rikiya’s jacket off his shoulders.

Both their jackets went over the back of the chair as they made their way into the living room, fingers fumbling with shoes and abandoning them in an erratic trail leading across the floor towards the couch.  Koku sat down first, hands trailing slowly down Rikiya’s arms, and smiled up at him, that sly, alluring smile of his that turned Rikiya’s stomach into a molten knot of want.  He let his knees take his weight on either side of Koku’s legs, arms catching the back of the couch as he leaned down into a deeper kiss.  Koku hummed husky satisfaction into his mouth as he kissed back, one hand working on his tie, the other cupping Rikiya’s elbow.

The edge of his cologne, peppery cedar with lingering, deep notes of lily and plum, caught Rikiya’s nose and he chased the scent of it down Koku’s neck, arms winding around his chest.  Koku’s breath hitched, a sound that went through Rikiya in a bolt of heat.  With a shuddering sigh, he squeezed the man tighter, tugging him upright—

—and the heat vanished as quickly as it had come when Koku suddenly gasped, high and pained.

Rikiya let go as if scalded and leaned back, getting his weight off Koku’s lap.  “What? What is it?”

“It’s—”  Koku pressed a hand to his side, fluttering to a rest and then away again with a hiss, the motion familiar from everyone Rikiya had ever seen—himself included—nursing a wound.

“You’re hurt,” Rikiya realized, and climbed off the couch entirely, dropping to a crouch on the floor.  “What happened?”

“It’s nothing serious.”  Koku waved his other hand in an attempt at placation.  “I was helping out with that training seminar Luminary runs and we had a bolt go astray.”

“That would have been hours ago.  How bad is it?”  Rikiya rested a hand on Koku’s knee and looked up at him.

“It’s nothing serious,” Koku repeated, but now Rikiya was noticing the faint pallor in his cheeks.  “A hairline crack in one rib, that’s all.”

Rikiya rocked back in dismay.  “A cracked rib.  And you thought we should—why didn’t you say something?”

“First of all, we aren’t so adventurous that I’m worried about straining myself.”  Rikiya felt his cheeks go hot, and he stared up in mute distress.  Koku carded a hand through his hair, a mischievous smile dampened by tension at the corners of his lips.  “And second of all, it’s my job to worry about you, not yours to worry about me.”

“What is that supposed to—”  Consternation closed his throat.  

A shadow crossed over Koku’s face and Rikiya’s heart sank even further.  He recognized the look—it was the expression Koku got when he’d made a verbal misstep, miscalculated the effect of a sentence—and it was always about a miscalculation, not an error of emotion.  He got that look when the elders reacted to his arguments in ways he hadn’t planned for; Rikiya had last seen it when the two of them were pitching Detnerat to the elders and Koku had made an appeal to Sanctum that hadn’t gone over the way he expected it to.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Koku said swiftly, soothingly, but Rikiya was barely listening, all at once trying to remember a time when Koku had ever denied him anything, large or small, had ever given more than a cursory, characterful complaint to any request Rikiya had made of him.

He couldn’t come up with anything.  Koku was his best friend, his lover, but he was a follower of Liberation, exactly like everyone else.  It was obvious what his words had meant.

I let myself forget…  The guilt drove him to his feet.  Koku looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“Rikiya,” he started, going to push himself up.

“Stop,” Rikiya cut him off, staggering backward around the coffee table.  “You—you should have said something.  I could have hurt you.”  Anger sparked in his chest, a wretchedly defensive feeling; he shoved it back down, but the enormity of it all just kept coming.  “Would you ever have told me no? To anything?”

“I didn’t want to tell you no,” Koku stressed.  “It’s the first time we’ve had any privacy since—”

“Trumpet,” Rikiya snapped, and watched Koku stiffen, eyes going wide.  The words burned, caustic, on his tongue.  “Tell me the truth.  Would you ever have told me ‘No?’”

“I—”  Koku’s jaw moved for a long moment, but no words escaped as his expression went stricken.

The silence felt like the world collapsing.

“Go home,” Rikiya whispered, shaking his head and moving to keep the coffee table between them when Koku surged to his feet in protest.  “Go home. Just—just rest, please. Trumpet.”  His voice clipped higher, and he tried to swallow through the thundering of his pulse in his ears.  His next words emerged in a stutter that turned into a taut recitation, impersonal and all the uglier for it.  “I’m—I need…  I’m sorry. I need to be alone.  Please excuse me.”

“Rikiya!”

He turned on his heel and strode away towards his bedroom, ignoring the note of pleading in Koku’s voice, and closed the door behind him with a mindfulness dedicated to not slamming it that left his arm trembling with the exaggerated care.

This can’t go on, he thought, pacing around the room, clutching at his arms.  I never should have let it go this far to begin with.  What was I thinking?  Did he ever even want it from the start?  How long has it been since I asked?  Was he just—just supervising me?  I have to—if he can’t—then I can’t—I can’t be with him if—I—

I can’t be with him.

The awful fullness of the realization choked his movement to a halt.  As the refrain resounded in his head, a messy splat sound drew his eyes downward.  At his feet, a scattering of liquid shone with a dusky gleam on the clean wood panels of the floor.  Rikiya stared at it, for a moment struck to numbness as he raised a hand to his face.  His fingers came back smudged with tears and unconsciously corporealized stress.  His breath caught in his throat.  Oh, no…

He could feel his body swelling against the confines of his shirt even as he looked around the room, anguish rolling back in over him, a waterline drawn away from the shore only to return in crashing tumult. Control.  He needed to get this under—

The closet.  He was there in three strides, pulling the door open and pushing aside a row of shirts and jackets with enough force to snap several coat hangers. A small, contained space—he stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him, swallowing heavily as the walls closed in.

In the dark, he let his weight sag against the wall, sliding down to the floor and curling in on himself.  His breath burned in his throat, growing shallower and more ragged by the second, and nausea twisted his stomach.  The smell of sweat prickled in his nose.  Familiar, the panic was, and so much kinder than shame.  Wracked with chills, he buried his head against his knees and let the conditioned training take over, timing his pulse and pursuing the sense of severed reality that was the only way he knew to draw himself towards calm.

If Koku knocked, he didn’t hear it, and in the morning, when Rikiya ventured back out into the rest of the apartment, he was long gone.  Rikiya found the note on the table just as his phone started to ring.

I’m sorry I didn’t mention it.  I’ll call you in the morning. 

Guilt chewing a fresh hole in his stomach, Rikiya let the call go to voice mail.

———— ———— ———— 

 Kesseru City was not a liberated district, nor would it likely ever be until all of Japan could say the same, but the creed of Liberation still had its warriors there, high-ranked and low.  More low than ever, really—since Rikiya had moved there five years back, the place was becoming something of a hub.  That had all sorts of implications for the great cause, but one of the less immediately obvious benefits was Miwako.

Owned by a loyal Liberation warrior, Miwako was a restaurant, no more or less, an old yakisoba house near one of the train stations. It was, however, a place where Rikiya could count on a private room for dinner and discreet service (and discreet clean-up, if necessary).

The proprietor also made excellent low-sodium substitutions on request.

“So how’s the situation with your stray cat?”  At Rikiya’s forbearing expression, Curious grinned, swirling her drink.  “Has he been back for another visit?”

“I don’t seem to be able to keep him away,” Rikiya admitted with a sigh.  Geten was terribly clever for a child of merely eight years old.  The stubbornness was possibly more age-typical.  “I’m working out visitation arrangements with the family.  Long weekends and holidays, that sort of thing.”

A regular reporter might have asked why Rikiya didn’t just adopt the boy—it certainly would have made things simpler—but Curious had, as they said, “all the facts,” and so could apply her wonderfully insightful mind to considerations like succession and media attention.  Favoritism, too, though probably they were well past that point.

“I can just imagine the two of you on a beach vacation,” she said instead.  “Make sure you send pictures.”

Rikiya chuckled at the unbelievability of it.  “He’d probably prefer skiing, all things considered.”

“We’re still in summer!” she exclaimed.  “It has to be beaches!”

He shook his head fondly, then looked up with a wider smile at the approach of the server.  A young mouse-meta, quite small compared to the large tray she was bracing with her tail, she unloaded their meal with quick professionalism.  He watched her more closely than the food, admiring the steady fluidity with which the extra limb handled small dishes for garnishes and even the bowls of miso soup.

“You’re good with your tail,” he complimented when she stood back, and she beamed at the compliment, russet-furred cheeks flushing with the glow of pride.  “How long have you been with us?”

“Since my parents’ time, sir.”  She straightened at the question, flashing a quick salute.  Her black eyes shone as she regarded him, folding her hands in front of her again, bony fingers knitting together around the rim of the tray. “Beacon helped my parents when their construction business got closed for unlicensed quirk use. Oh—meta-ability use, I mean,” she corrected herself, cheeks coloring harder.

“It’s all right,” he said, waving off the mistake.  “I know it can be tricky to balance the language.  It’s more important to keep our secrets than to use the right word every time you’re among friends of the cause.  Thank you for your efforts—your parents, also.”

Now quite red, she stammered out a thanks and retreated, looking about ready to burst. Curious huffed a laugh, pouring him another cup of sake.

“You’re very good at that,” she observed as he returned the favor, then clinked her cup against his and raised it to her lips.

“I would hope so; I’ve been learning it since I was six years old.”  He sipped at the chilled drink, and, not particularly keen to dwell on the topic, redirected to, “So how are things at your magazine these days? Anything interesting in the works?”

“Is there,” she answered fervently.  “Well, keep this under wraps, it isn’t going to be out for another few issues yet, but me and Tsugata are working on a major exposé.”

“Really? What’s the topic?”  He draped a few shreds of ginger over his ikisoba before setting in.

“Human trafficking—specifically the underground market for certain meta-abilities in the sex trade and for forced labor.”  She gestured with her chopsticks, a dismissive flick.  “Not a very pleasant dinner conversation, I know, but get this: did you know that human trafficking isn’t actually illegal?”

He raised his brows incredulously and she nodded, sharp and emphatic.  “Right?  That’s everyone’s response at first!  But it isn’t—when heroes and the police do raids, they’re based on immigration or labor statutes being violated, not because it’s a crime to engage in the slave trade of sentient human beings.”

“And Hajimete Era is hoping to address that?” he asked, focusing on Chitose’s animated expressions rather than letting his mind dwell on the mental images of locked rooms and the backs of box trucks.

“Better, actually.  We’re giving a platform to a politician who’s going to bring it up at the autumn Diet session.  Kurokou Yui.”

“Kurokou… The New Passage party’s deputy leader, isn’t she?”

Curious scooped noodles heaped with green onions into her mouth, nodding as she chewed before elaborating, “She specialized in trafficking cases back in her lawyer days, and here’s the big bombshell.”  She leaned closer over the table.  “She went into that field because she was in AV videos back when she was just a teenager.  They got her in through an idol scam.”

Rikiya sat back on the tatami.  Politics wasn’t his area of expertise, even for all the time he’d known Trumpet, but even he knew how sex scandals affected the careers of major public figures.  

“That’s…”

“Brave, right?  Taking her own trauma and turning it into a weapon for everyone else like that.  She’s really incredible.”  Approval shaded into Curious’s voice; she shook her head with a pure admiration Rikiya rarely saw on her face.  “Tsugata and I are doing our best to give her an article worthy of her.”

“It’s very noble.”  He paused to chew through another bite of his meal and mull over his thoughts.  “We must have some people who could speak to a cause like that?”

“I’m already looking into it, yes.  I’ll have them get in touch with her if I find some good candidates.”

Rikiya nodded approval at her foresight.  “A shame she’s already politically affiliated.  But having outside allies is helpful too, I suppose.”

“Here’s to that.”  She tilted her cup upward, and he clicked his together with it once more before returning to the meal.  

“Though,” Curious added in an off-handed tone that absolutely never foretold an off-handed remark, “speaking of allies, have you heard from Koku-san lately?”

An intentional bit of word choice in the name there, he didn’t doubt.  Curious was not usually the first-name-with-honorifics type.  It was truly kind of her, but where he and Trumpet were concerned, she had already done more than enough—as, indeed, he’d realized was her aim after the second time she’d manipulated them into being the last two people in a room together.  Patching things up after several years of strain had been a weight lifted that he’d been all too aware of carrying.  That was true, and would remain true, but he was not about to let it get any further than that.

He swallowed down his current bite before answering.

“Not since Obon, no.  Is there some news from Sereno City I haven’t heard about?”

She gave him a Look over the rim of her cup, but, thankfully, let it drop with grace, “Nothing much, unless you count the secretary general resigning.  He says he’s pretty sure the spot’ll be going to him once they can get all the party leaders in a room together.”

Rikiya had not heard that, though he didn’t doubt that he would before too long.  The Hearts & Minds Party was not, strictly speaking, under his supervision, but opinions he registered about its ruling members tended to be adhered to.  Koku’s presence on his council was enough that Rikiya didn’t need to pay much mind to it.

Or possibly Koku—Trumpet, Rikiya reminded himself—kept the more stressful politicking from reaching his ears.  That would certainly be like him.

“Trumpet usually prefers to bring me accomplishments rather than projections,” he said, “but I’m glad he’s able to talk to you about these things.”

Curious hummed, mouth full, and when she spoke next, it was, thankfully, to move the conversation along.

————

The next morning, Rikiya sat eating breakfast and skimming through the newspaper, when, all unsuspecting, he turned to a page two story about a hero hospitalized by malfunctioning support gear.  The man’s size-changing armor had failed to activate when he used his size-changing meta-ability, leading to both of his arms being crushed and several broken ribs.  Sympathetic stress spiked a migraine into Rikiya’s temples with the precision of a professional volleyball player and he folded the paper closed, setting it down on the table with slightly trembling hands.

He rubbed at his forehead, breathing through his nose in modulated intervals and reminding himself that the tingling in his limbs was entirely in his mind.  They’ll want to talk about this at work, he thought.  It has obvious ramifications for support goods in general.  Maybe I can put it off for a day—twenty-four hours of respect for a public servant’s misfortune?

No. That’s silly.  It’s an obvious conversation for the company to have.  A teachable moment, even.

A sense of shame bubbled through him as his mind, groping for solidity, landed on the conversation about Kurokou Yui the night before.  How admirable, to be able to turn one’s own terrors into strength. And yet, he went to such lengths to avoid this particular trigger of his: offices and living spaces with spacious open-floor plans and enormous energy-inefficient windows, leaving doors open behind him, bargaining with himself and trying to buy time instead of facing such upsetting incidents face-on.

You have to do better than this.  Your fear could make you stronger if you embraced it instead of these pitiful avoidance tactics.

He sighed, grateful no one was around to hear the helpless tremolo of his voice in the sound.

Then he picked the paper back up, opened the page back up to the story, and read through it, fingers stiff so as not to crumple the thin newsprint.

A teachable moment indeed.

[silverlysilence]

The Thief that Stole a Death

Inspired by @fabllama02 and @spyritevesta

For some reason, my brain took their Pirate!AU and thought, hey, pirates steal, thieves also steal, let’s roll.  This is what came out.

Hiccup stared down at the photograph.  There was nothing interesting about the composition or the lighting of it that should have held a person’s attention so fiercely.  Nothing like the beautiful winter landscape photographs blown up and proudly displayed in various frames around his office.  No, this was a plain picture of a white pedestal against a white background. The only splash of color was the black vase with gold inlay sitting on the pedestal.  It looked awful, just like a police photograph.

But that was what it was after all.  A police photograph of what could very well be the next target in a string of robberies. If his hunch turned out to be correct.  It was hard-pressed to be certain with the string of robberies spanning over five years at the least since they still weren’t certain if some of the thefts could be attributed to the thief or not.  Whoever they were, they left no calling cards or an identifiable pattern to follow.  They were a ghost for all intents and purposes.

Save for one blurry picture.

Glancing up, vivid green eyes stared at the 5x8 that hung dead center in the pegboard surrounded by far too many newspaper clippings and photographs. It was far more gruesome than the photo he held in his hand despite the grainy image.  Two bodies sprawled across the ground, blood pooling around each in what would be a death sentence if not for the hooded figure kneeling in front of the first body.  Even if the camera only caught the back of the figure, it was easy to see the person was applying pressure to the victim’s chest.

Subconsciously, Hiccup reached up and ran his hand over where the scars of the bullet wounds marred flesh beneath his shirt.  A phantom pain pulling a grimace across chapped lips.  He didn’t remember much about that night.  There were fragments. The sound of gunfire, followed by a canine yelp and the pain of armor-piercing rounds ripping through his flat jacket.  There was the heavy metallic smell of blood lingering as tires squealed and a sickening crunch as pure agony radiated from his left leg, causing him to blackout.

Then, there was the cussing and irate voice hissing at him to hold on as a weight settled on his chest. If he really thought about it, he swore he’d opened his eyes a sliver and saw a halo of white.  However, he couldn’t be sure if the pain hadn’t distorted his recollection, which was what he told his captain when he came to in the hospital, and only after the man assured him his K-9 partner made it through his own surgery as well.

At the time, he thought Captain Grimmel wanted a description of his savior to commend the good Samaritan. It was only months later he came to find out that the good Samaritan who had worked to save both his and Toothless’s lives just happened to have robbed a jeweler a street over at the same time the drug bust had gone down.  In their hast to flee when the ambulance finally showed up, the stolen Fabergé egg was found clenched in Hiccup’s bloody hands.

Hiccup could have just left it at that.  However, something was just a little off.  Why would a thief who’d just stolen a Fabergé egg worth a couple of million easily stop and help him?  A cop of all things.  A little digging into the stolen Fabergé egg turned up that it had been stolen three years prior. Moreover, the name on file as the owner of the Fabergé egg in jeweler’s ledger was fake and the information led to a dead end.

Hiccup had been given a commendation for the retrieval of the Fabergé egg when all of it had come out into the open.  He didn’t feel like he’d earn the commendation.  If things had ended there, he might have let it go.  However, on his first day back on the job—simple desk duty due to the loss of his foot—there was a box waiting in his new office with a clipping of the newspaper article showing him personally handing the Fabergé egg back to the rightful owner.

He hadn’t known what to think of it at the time.  Maybe a gift from his fellow cops as a welcome back present but once he opened it that was the last thing on his mind.  For there, inside the velvet-lined case, was a delicate crystal figurine with the famous missing cat-eye emeralds for eyes.  The first of many valuable lost treasures to appear in his mail, on his desk, and one memorable time, in his freezer.

“Hic, are you in here again?” a silvery voice had the lead detective of the white-collar department looking up to see concerned amber eyes staring at him.  Walking into the small office, the brunet paused to trail his fingers against the 5x8 photo, lingering for just a moment.  “Searching for your Guardian Ghost Thief again?”

“Jackson, I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Hiccup sighed as he set the photo down and began replacing the various documents back into the open file with the only picture they had of the Black Jade vase.

Feeling warm arms wrapped around his neck from behind, he relaxed back into the chair as Jackson propped his chin on top of auburn hair.  “What else am I supposed to call him? You’ve already nixed Guardian Angel, Swiper No Swiping, and my favorite, Cupid.”

“This is the reason you’re naming privileges have been revoked.”

“I still stand behind my reasoning. If this mysterious thief hadn’t saved you that night, you would have never accidentally photo-bombed by picture and we would have never met,” Jackson hummed, causing vivid green eyes to slid over towards said framed photo of him and Toothless walking through perfectly pristine snow.  It was breathtaking in its simplicity but that was probably more the sentimental value speaking.

“While true, we are still not calling him Cupid.  We don’t even know if he is a him anyways,” the detective sighed.

“Oh, all right, have it your way,” the brunet laughed, kissing him on the temple before pulling again. “I just came to tell you I’m heading out for my run and I should be back in an hour or so.  Depends where my legs take me or if I find some inspiration.  Don’t stay in here too much longer, Toothless will want his nightly walk soon.”

“Can’t you just take him on your run?  He likes you and I’d feel safer if you weren’t running around alone in the dark.”

“Ah, don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself,” Jackson grinned as he headed for the door. “Besides, I wasn’t going to stick to running, there’s this new parkour move I saw online I wanted to try for myself.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Hiccup relented.  “Fine, just be careful and take your phone with you.”

“Don’t I always?”

“No.”

“Lies!  I do too.”

“You just forget to charge it. That’s the same thing.”

“Why did I marry you again?”

“Because of my charming good looks?”

Jackson stopped at the door and looked at him with a critical eye.  “No, I’m pretty sure I married you out of love.  For Toothless. You two just came as a package deal.”

“Ouch, I know where I stand in this relationship,” Hiccup attempted to pout, but his lips kept twitching upwards in amusement.

“Well, I’m sure we can reevaluate your current standing after I’ve had my run. Maybe move it up a few notches.  Say, in bed?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I can’t wait,” Jackson came back to leave a taste of what was to come later in the night, leaving Hiccup breathless as soft lips pulled away.  “Love ya, Hiccup.”

“Love you too; be safe.”

Jackson just laughed as he slipped through the door and headed for the front door, grabbing his phone and keys on the way out.  Humming, the brunet started at a slow pace, steadily increasing his speed so by the time he veered off into a dark alley, he had enough speed to make it a good five steps up the wall to grab the fire escape ladder.   Swinging himself up, he vaulted off the rail and grab hold of the drainpipe which he took to the roof.  

Heading for the HVAC system, he pulled a panel off the side and collected the duffel bag from within. From there, he quickly changed into the clothes waiting for him and made sure to place all his personal belongings, especially his phone, into the bag.  The blue-tinted contacts were a bit harder to put on without a mirror, but once they were in place, the darkness of the night vanished with the night-vision lenses.

Removing his Airpods, he replaced them with two odd-looking electronic pieces that wrapped around the shell of his ears and were virtually unnoticeable. Tapping the right one twice, he felt more than heard the pieces humming to life and knew his hair had lost all color as a few strands of white hair fell in his eyes.  It was a weird glitch in the system that had presented in the prototype when the prototype was nothing more than a bulky laurel crown. He hadn’t minded and, in fact, insisted the upgraded version did the same as a disguise.

“Hello, Guardians. I’ve got our new mission,” Jack Frost, elusive thief, head up the police photo of the Black Jade vase he’d slipped from Hiccup’s file while he was preoccupied with their goodbye kiss. Even though he couldn’t feel it, he knew the contacts were active and transmitting the video feed. “It’ll be the perfect anniversary present for my hubby.”

“I am pretty sure your anniversary isn’t for another three months,” the delicate, feminine tones of the Tooth Fairy, the notorious White Hat Hacker, chirped over the comms.

“That’s my wedding anniversary. I’m talking about the night we liberated one of the Easter Bunny’s lost eggs.”

I have a weakness for the Good Thief.  So yeah, this is what I did yet again instead of writing on HoaDS.  Opps.