#i tried to keep the description spoiler less but just in case

[quilfish-swan]

anyone else a big fan of the gendou ringo quest in genshin impact.

[image id: colored digital sketch of two genshin impact npcs standing back to back. the first is lyudochka snezhevna with a wide-eyed expression, in her fatui uniform and holding a knife behind her back. the second is momoyo in her shrine maiden outfit with her hands in her sleeves, looking sideways at lyudochka. the coloring is mostly red, with grayish brown shadows. /end id.]

[shallowoak]

Little Words in the Small Hours

>> Or read on AO3 here! <<

Summary: Finding himself as Law’s guardian and father figure, Rosinante ponders the nature of parenthood through his own experiences. With thanks to @lunarforrest for proofreading! ❤️

Word Count: 6.9k Rating: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Sengoku The Buddha, Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), others mentioned - Character

Additional Tags: Rosi-centric, rating is for themes and explicit language, descriptions of physical abuse, descriptions of childhood trauma, Canon-Typical Misery, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Canon, One Shot, Character Study, Introspection, spoilers for dressrosa, both Rosinante and Law are autistic, it was just going that way, Autistic Trafalgar D. Water Law, negative views on the military, though this is OP so I don't suppose you were willing to accept authority anyway, but just in case, headcanons galore, what can you do when your fav is taken away 5 mins after being introduced, yes I'm fine thanks for asking, yet another excuse to write a blonde man having a crisis, use of Den Dens as assistance animals, we love worldbuilding, Medical Inaccuracies, (X Drake drowning in the pool) this ain't about him

Through the gap in his cabin curtains, Rosinante watched as snow fell. Aboard passenger ship “The Mixer”, the gentle sway of their overnight crossing should’ve rocked them to sleep hours ago.

Swaddled together under his feathery coat, Law’s breathing was barely visible. Sat upright, one arm supported the small of Law’s back, the other gently petted his hair. Head limply resting against the cabin wall, the scratchy boat-issued blanket was used instead as a foot warmer for Rosi’s too-long legs. Staring unseeing into the dark, unable to find rest, Law clutched Rosi’s unwashed nightshirt as though it were a lifeline.

Not many moons ago, he would’ve craved a journey like this. No knots to tie, no Marine business, no family matters. Just quiet days for reading and long nights for chain smoking with a stranger. Enjoying the easy sounds of a cheap musician as the crew changed over. The liminal space of getting to know a ship, people, the bottom of a glass he knew he’d never see again.

Now, he despised that quiet. The pair could only hold one another as the boy’s laboured breathing filled the room. Quiet gave intrusive thoughts leverage, the pain and lethargy seeming worse at night. Free from the day’s rush of route planning, hospital visits and running, all they had to think about was reality. The increasingly rapid deterioration was more apparent as Law’s skin became less and less his own. The kid scratched it compulsively, wanting to be free of his discomfort, to somehow peel away the poisoned flesh and see himself underneath. He’d tried to teach Law to ground himself, to hold something comforting when he felt the need to itch. His little body had no extra energy to keep stitching up his arms.

An early night had turned into all night.

Nearing thirteen, most kids Law’s age would recoil at the idea of cuddling as the awkwardness of puberty set in. Too proud, too independent to need his love. On the surface, Law was certainly no different. He left a strong impression on everyone he met, unafraid to challenge the world and every blind adult who inhabited it. He’d sooner carve a hole through Rosi’s coat than admit he wanted to be underneath it.

The dark, the relentless cold, the long, fruitless search and endless hours of travel… These things had an effect. One that even Law was not immune to. As extraordinary as this kid was, he was still just a child. A child who had seen and been through things that would leave an adult scarred. A child who needed a gentle hand and comics as a reward for visiting the Doctor.

Over time, his beautiful brown skin had become ashen and cold, all the warm tones cruelly drawn away as the poisoning progressed. White spots-turned patches became increasingly prominent. All but impossible to ignore in the low light.

So, they did the only thing they could do. Wordlessly try to comfort one another, afraid to speak the truth. It did precious little to stop the long note in the back of Rosi’s mind filling him with dread.

Public transport and cosy overnight cabins were a luxury the pair could ill afford. Too traceable, far cheaper and easier to steal a vessel. Between being a Marine and a pirate, manning a small one single-handedly should be a cinch. Equally, it would be easier and safer to leave Law to die. For him to carry on undercover, to not cause a fuss. To let fate take her course and let Law succumb- or live his remaining years believing dying for Doflamingo was ‘love’.

As the deadline loomed, Rosinante’s heart grew fonder. Softer. Determined. It wasn’t justice nor kindness to leave Law to the wolves. It was unbearable to leave Law alone overnight while he manned a stolen boat.

He wouldn’t go down without kicking and screaming, even if he failed. If they couldn’t secure a cure, Law would pass peacefully by Rosi’s side, knowing he was loved. Safe from having to commit atrocities to live. If his brother got hold of Law, he’d sooner shoot the boy himself. He’d choose Law over himself in any situation.

The easiest option was rarely the right one. Rosinante tried to tell himself he deserved to sleep in a bed.

Until a year ago, Rosi had never imagined children in his cards. He’d never enjoyed being a kid, let alone seen the appeal of raising one. He’d never even entertained the idea of a girl -or boy- friend. Before all their strife; Law had been one of two. Rosi was one of two. He did not doubt that Doffy had fathered many more kids than he adopted. People chose to do this all the time. But it never crossed his mind that it was something for him.

A small part of him wished he had a better childhood, a normal one. A small part of him yearned to understand what kind of life Law had led before the disease ravaged his homeland. Maybe then he’d feel more ready for this. Others his age had tried to kill him, just as their parents encouraged. The brothers had been hunted down and punished for their father's and their community's sins rather than their individual actions. He only had Doffy for guidance, a boy brutalised by their ordeal and forced to turn to violence to cope.

They were both changed for the worse. What part of that experience was supposed to help him here? There was so much to fuck up with child development. So many ways to permanently damage a young psyche. So many of Doffy’s learned, twisted ideals he didn’t want anywhere near Law at the most impressionable time in his life. Rosinante hardly felt better. He didn’t feel as though he’d ever truly recovered from his childhood traumas, and now he was tasked with guiding Law through his own. Poor kid had already been through so much. Rosi couldn’t afford to lead him astray.

He’d known a few families in his life, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of them. There was a memory of his birth parents trying to provide Doffy and him with a real life. With more than what they had. To try to give Law more than what he had wasn’t saying much- yet still felt like a mountain to climb. Sengoku had made it look easy, taking in someone so young and vulnerable with only the simple job of raising them on the line.

As a child, he thought Sengoku was awesome. The shit, invincible. He was like a Dragon, rich and powerful with the world at his feet- but he got to blast bad guys, too. He got to go wherever, command whoever, have whatever. For all their birth parents wanted Rosi and Doffy to lead a normal life, he had fallen on his feet with Sengoku. After months of abuse, mouldy food, loss and sleepless nights in drafty shacks, he’d been comforted to find a familiar home with hot water and soft sheets. In the end, what he knew was luxury.

As an adult…? He wasn’t so naive as to think a family had to be nuclear to work. A family could be a single father and his adopted son. That was his normal; lived it. If he had his way, he’d be reliving it for many years to come. But nothing about his life with Sengoku was normal, really. An admiral for a father figure, almost twice Rosi’s current age when he’d chosen to adopt. He was wise and sound, and he had access to the most powerful support network in the world for anything he needed.

Except… Many of Rosi’s first months were spent not in his care- but in that of a hospital or visiting specialist. After that, he was often away on duty for weeks or months at a time. Even at home, he worked long hours, hardly seeing Rosi as he chipped away at his desk. With Sengoku, he’d been shielded from so much of the world he’d known on the streets. That had been nice at first, but he came to miss someone to play with, regular schooling, and unlimited family time. There was good reason why any sensible Marine took leave or retired to raise their family.

But one of the things he’d never wanted for was medical care. Having found a random child on the street, Sengoku had been wise in getting him checked out. The fleet of Navy Doctors had returned him billed with a long receipt of new diagnoses.

A catalogue of the extensive wounds from his clear history of abuse. Horrific, ugly, burned into the memory of the physicians who saw them. But easy enough to identify and begin to treat. Physiotherapy for his torn shoulder muscles, from where he had been strung up for hours on end. Careful reintroduction to food after malnutrition, a specialised diet to build mass and strength. Extensive grafting and liberal use of creams for his burns. Bedrest for his angry bruises and burst eardrums. He was littered with so many cuts, holes and scrapes that just needed respite and time to repair themselves. For months, he’d looked like a moth-eaten quilt while he recovered. Sengoku amused him, studying the diagram on how to wrap bandages on awkward areas of skin like he would a battle plan- hunched over his desk with his brows furrowed.

Then, there was the acceptance of the permanent hearing loss brought on by prolonged -close-range- exposure to gunfire and explosions. His left ear now heard nothing, whilst the right teetered in the 40-50% range. Therapists helped him learn to live with the difference but there was no cure for clumsiness, only fuelled by the new lack of balance.

He’d been offered something special, a then-experimental surgery. A surgery Vegapunk’s team had been fine-tuning for public use by implementing it in Marine hospital trials. An implant into his left cochlear would allow him some hearing back. A specially shaped Den Den Mushi earpiece would sit on the shell of his ear and act as a receiver and interpreter for sounds. The telepathic snails were billed to provide an overall clearer, more stable sound to the internal components -adapted from the telephone originals- than using electronics alone.

At the time, he’d been sick of surgery. The seemingly endless cycle of groggy pain, tubes, and check-ups. Being stuck inside, summer days wasted with their melding together. Adults looked at him with concern as they kept turning up shrapnel in his scans, time and again. Phrases like ‘implant’ and ‘clinical trial’ had been too much for him then, and he’d been quick to turn down any added grief. The Snail solution was also not a perfect one, as it needed rest and to be fed. It would be closer to working with a service dog, and he’d need to learn how to look after it. He wasn’t sure how to look after himself. No, the old wounds were enough.

Perhaps he would’ve taken it now, having felt the impact of hearing loss in his day-to-day life. Perhaps he’d been a stupid, rash kid. He’d often looked back on himself that way. Though if he had taken it… He couldn’t have cheesed the Marine health check. The external components were much too obvious for even Sengoku to be able to hide on his record. He never would’ve gone through basic or field training, never deployed to spy on his brother. Never would’ve come to meet Law. If he’d made the choice he’d always scorned himself for? His dad could still probably swing him a desk job for the Marines: pencil-pushing anti-scurvy fruit deliveries. Safe. Sonless.

On the mental side, there were long-term conditions to contend with. The aspects of Rosi that were harder to pin and even slower to treat. Hordes of unprocessed grief, paranoia, generalised anxiety, insomnia. It culminated with a healthy topping of PTSD. Rosi’s schedule of pills and appointments rivalled Sengoku’s business calendar for a time. Finally, the one that stumped his father the most. Autism. He’d always remember the look on his father’s face as they sat in that office.

In time, it would be something he’d come to learn he shared with Law, although the two experienced it differently. Rosinante’s own was sensory-biased, his social symptoms negligible before the abuse exasperated them. Noise, light and touch. All things he struggled with. Some days, he’d shriek in the bath, find the hospital too bright, or try to bolt when Sengoku hugged him. It had taken a monumental amount of trust and gentle convincing for the hair to be removed from over Rosi’s eyes. He’d resented the sharp, unfamiliar equipment, the feeling of little prickly hairs against his skin, and the prospect of more light hitting his eyes. Audio processing issues combined with hearing loss made calming explanations difficult to understand. Things often needed to be repeated and for a time, the world only grew more terrifying. Sengoku didn’t recommend him for undercover work because he was good with the sounds of battle or because he could process new information quickly. In battle, there was a real chance he’d be stabbed long before he noticed the wielder’s approach.

From what he could gather, Law’s experience was more socially skewed. He struggled to both display and understand emotions. He took things literally and spoke bluntly, the heart on his sleeve sometimes seeming unforgiving to the uninitiated. Law tended to fixate, tunnel visioned for months on end. He could tell you in (literally) nauseating detail about his favourite medical processes. Or his favourite writing techniques used in the comics he liked.

They both found change hard, their new circumstances confusing. Their lack of routine or stability, the constant new faces and towns, made Law antsy. As their journey continued, Law had less to say. Less patience to spare. As a self-conscious teen, Doctors often assumed Law was brought in to be referred for counselling- that he needed help accepting his Autism or ‘Vitiligo’. He probably did, but it was never the main issue. After a while, Law stopped correcting them and stopped speaking up. He let his dad run him through the motions.

It was hard for Rosinante, too, to see and understand that pain. Not being able to do anything to alleviate it. Forced to carry on with the only option they had. He was starting to resent himself for the quiet his power created. For taking Law into a place which made him uncomfortable. For feeling like he wouldn’t be enough.

Sengoku was neither detached nor the most gentle of hands. His job was to be confident and turn the neurotypical into soldiers. He represented the World Government and expected others to fall into line. But even when he wasn’t sure what to make of Rosinante’s behaviour, he’d always been enough. A warm hand to hold, a secure home, a steady job.

Despite his choosing to tackle Rosinante’s trauma response with navy indoctrination. Despite his belief that regardless of Rosinante's disposition- discipline and structure were sure to yield results. That in Sengoku's mind, it was business as usual.

Despite his numerous faults, Sengoku had been a good father to him. He diligently and often single-handedly took care of Rosi when he was around. Rosi had been a quiet, sensitive child, and Sengoku had always been firm enough to slowly push him out of his shell.

Once he’d been deemed old and fit enough, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on safer voyages. Time on the sea had been presented to him as part of his recovery, that it would be good for him to get fresh air and see some sights after being inside for so long. Whilst not untrue, both father and son knew it was cover so they could spend more time together.

His days as a glorified ship’s mascot had been a blast. He had no official job, but he spent his days soaking up information, experiences, and affection from his crew. He got to see his dad daily and get tucked in every night. They played board games in their quarters and identified sea mammals together. When the cannons were tested, Sengoku comforted and taught him how to protect his ears. And why Marines needed those loud sounds he was so afraid of. How they could be used to protect. They bonded, truly, as father and son.

The books and globes in the map room showed him the world, the navigation crew was only too happy to show off what they knew. Having only known sunny, moderate climates, places like deserts and tundras seemed like that of myth. Watching the cadets work by day, he got a good feel for terminology, knots and drills. During mealtimes, they'd chat about daily life back home and regale him with fanciful tales of mermaids and adventure. Being with them was the closest he got to normality his parents dreamed of.

Hanging around with his Dad gave him exclusive access, too, to explore the private areas of a ship without being summoned there for punishment. Eventually, he even learnt what it was that his Dad actually did.

He'd never thought of it as conditioning, but at 16, with a gentle push from dad, he’d signed up for basic training to join the crew full-time on the other end. And sure, he did turn out to be a decent Marine. He never fought back on Sengoku’s ideas. Eventually, they even put him in charge of others, which had always seemed like a mad decision to him. Being a Marine gave him something to do and a way to make his father happy. Being with Law now was the first time he’d ever carved his own path.

Rosinante still felt young in the only way he had left. Even after years of therapy, he felt no closer to true normalcy. Too much to reflect on, much more to learn- and precious little time. His kid couldn’t afford for him to be lost in his head, reeling from the past- wondering if Sengoku was any parent worth replicating. Wondering even if he could. Law needed his guidance, his support, and his answers now. Could Rosinante be trusted to provide a good life for Law- where professionals had failed him?

Thinking back, he was starting to feel that Sengoku had been this way, too. He’d loved Rosi unconditionally but hadn’t really known what to do with him. Nor had he the time to learn. For all his good intentions, it had been easiest to put Rosi into a box of his ideals and call the job done.

Bringing his mind back into the present, he held Law closer, resting his chin on the crown of the boy’s head. As if he wasn’t already too late to shield Law from anything.

Maybe enlistment was the only way Sengoku could think of to keep an eye on his vulnerable son. Maybe he was actually insane, thinking the military was any autistic person’s first career choice. His head spun listlessly. What the hell did either of them know about raising kids?

Shifting at the pressure, Law looked up at Rosinante.

“Toilet.”

Right. They’d been lying here awake for four or five hours now. He should probably go himself. Smiling gently, Rosi shifts the arm supporting his back to scoop up Law, his rear now resting on his arm. Law clings to him like Koala joey as they leave the cabin.

He thinks it sweet that Law still wants his security. That a kid so willing to kill still doesn’t want to walk an unfamiliar hall alone at night. He has to have hope that there’s still time to fix this. Law might not have his sea legs yet, but Rosi isn’t much better. Thank goodness it’s a calm night; he’d rather not go ass-over-hat with his kid in hand. That clumsiness never failed to amuse his fellow seamen. He traces along the wall with his free hand until they reach a small communal washroom.

The pair leave each other to their business, taking a stall each. He takes a longing look at the showers, knowing he’ll have to take a bath stool to fit under the shower head. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. He’d been putting off washing and using the laundry service so their clothes would stay clean for longer once they were back on dry land.

Eventually, the two finish washing up, and Rosi scoops Law back up to pad back to their room. Even if Law wanted to walk, Rosi couldn’t reach down far enough to hold his hand. Somehow, he feels more tired after having gotten up. He’s thankful every night that Law came into his life not needing to be fed at 3 am.

He lifts the feather coat left on the bed, gently depositing Law underneath it. The small lump on the mattress doesn’t move. Rosi stares blankly at the dozing lump before tucking it in and arranging the sucky boat blanket as a pillow on the floor. For such an underdeveloped kid, be sure does take up a lot of space. He doesn’t mind, though. He’d known this was coming; he’d been too tall for the standardised mattress from the start. Besides, Law had the rule of cute and couldn’t be moved.

Only as Rosi shifts to curl up on the floor does Law stir, shuffling the coat to stare at his dad. Rosi stares back. A little hand appears from under the fluff, patting the bed and making a grabbing motion. His whole body then scoots closer to the inside of the bed, up against the windowed wall.

How can he say no to that? He’s so proud of Law for considering him!

Feeling sufficiently sleepier, Rosi opts to lie down facing towards Law, his knees bent and feet hanging out of the covers. The position isn’t optimal but it makes Law happy. His arm finds Law’s hat and passes it to him before loosely resting on the coat in a gentle hug.

Like them, that hat had been through a lot. It was the one thing Law still carried from his home island. He used it as a plush toy at night and thumbed it during the day when he was nervous or needed to itch. Frayed patches in the brim were already starting to appear. If it wasn’t being held, he wore it as though he’d crumble without its presence.

When Law joined the family, they’d tried to prise it from him. Tried to burn it with the rest of his old, corpse-stained clothes. There was no way they’d ever been clean, healthy enough to wear again. He wouldn’t say exactly how many days he had hidden in the corpse pile, let alone how long ago they had been fresh on. The rest of his wardrobe had been replaced, and Giolla and Baby 5 loved the opportunity to start fresh and dress Law in the same fun patterns as their Corazon. But taking the hat crossed a line. Even for the eccentric family, that hat was disgusting. It still had old, caked in blood on it. It reeked of sweat, bile and death. Turns out Law liked the stench of death. That was what home smelt like.

Law had bitten Diamante several times for trying to take it, threatening to eat his fingers so that Doffy couldn’t sew them back on. Ultimately, Doffy had to oversee an ‘intervention-negotiation’ to sort the matter out. Gladius tried to convince him a replica could be made, as his own clothes often needed replacing. Pica suggested some form of resin encasement. Baby called him a rat boy. No dice. Eventually, they’d reached the compromise that Law could keep the hat after a thorough washing. Sugar was picked as most suitable for the care of materials, and her soul was bored by gold eyes during the entire process.

After the washing, Law wasn’t happy for days. Not until the hat smelled right again- if a little less like death this time. But much to Rosi’s horror, Doffy’s intervention on Law’s behalf had only strengthened their bond.

There was real irony in how Law and a surprising number of other kids liked Doflamingo so much. A man equally damaged by his past as Rosinante and Law, only his trauma had manifested itself in a far more dangerous way. The way Doflamingo dealt with his issues made self-destruction look preferable. It was endlessly worrying to Rosi that these strays found care and support from an adult, he would argue; was the worst he knew. That Doffy would radicalise these kids like Trebol and the others had done to him all those years ago. He could see that cycle beginning to continue and it horrified him.

In trying to appear ruthless, to protect them, there hadn’t been any room for bonding. Even for their safety, he couldn’t allow himself to slip. But being so close to Doffy did allow him to learn the patterns.

He'd never anticipated this many when he’d agreed with Sengoku to ward off kids and stop the crew from growing. For all his brother did underground, he was far from subtle with his daily persona. Dressed loud, laughed loud, dreamed and dealt loud. Where he went, people took notice. People got ideas.

Kids whose parents had chosen the pull of the tide over them. Brave, stupid kids who egged each other on to test their mettle talking to a real captain. Desperate mouths who needed feeding, thinking they could learn his underhanded methods. Those were the ones who were easy to scare off, to knock sense into.

It was the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain that were dangerous. Doffy was drawn to the ones with strong ambitions and no inhibition. He had been that child. He knew how to exploit brave souls who ignored all the red flags for personal gain. Letting Rosi scare off the ones with sense was an effective screening method, cutting out a lot of legwork for Doffy. Anyone who stuck around after being beaten by the ‘half-giant brute’ was the most vulnerable. The easiest to manipulate.

Easy to manipulate… Diamante's harsh criticisms of Rosi being 'damaged' and 'unintelligent' rang through his mind.

Mariejois was a strange place. Eerie, dreamlike. Nightmarish. It stood perpetually in the witching hour of the Gods, within the veil of unreality. A confusing place. The inhabitants were supposedly the freest, most powerful, most important people in the world. But still, they had to conform. Rosinante and Doflamingo had been expected to dress the same way as their parents and attend the same functions from birth. They were expected to live outlandishly, frivolously, in the same manner as everybody else. Their personalities and futures had been decided from the start.

Their father had been cast out for his sensitivity, for thinking differently. For wanting differently. Ultimately, he had died for it. Doflamingo didn’t think differently. At first, he had wanted back in, more than anything, to ascend both figuratively and literally. Even for a choice the child didn’t make, Doffy’s bubble of conformity burst. Forever outcasted and angry, he was going to destroy them.

Even if Rosinante had never left, he would’ve never truly fit in. No matter how many years passed, there would be no closure as to whether his emotional sensitivity was natural or an effect of his abuse. Attuned over the years to look for imminent threats, the slightest changes. If his difficulty speaking -the ease with which he slipped into his role- was a product of being unsocialised as a child or through trauma. Could even his clumsiness be a mask? A learned behaviour to appear less threatening, less deserving of abuse? He was frequently described as aloof. Off-putting. People thought of him as abnormal, unhinged, and incomplete. Lacking in personal style. That was before he put on his undercover persona. He was still adjusting. He’d never stop adjusting.

It was neither here nor there. Being autistic was not the prescribed way to be a Dragon. There would be no understanding or adjustment. Not if the material of his clothes made his skin crawl. Not if the frequent parties burnt him out or tripped him into social faux pas. He’d be laughed out without ceremony, and for all the power his father didn’t hold, Rosi may have found himself as a servant or even a slave.

For what it was worth, those loyal to Doffy were supported and accommodated. He’d never let anyone talk shit about Pica’s voice or show discomfort around Trebol’s mucus. He happily facilitated Diamante’s weird need for both approval and bloodlust. The kids he took in were provided for and protected by their elders. Despite popular belief and countless reports, he’d defended Law’s right to exist without hesitation. With his countless connections and eye for cutting through bullshit, he’d learnt the truth and dispelled fear from the family. Just once, he’d used his powers for good. But it was useless to imagine his ways ever changing as he welcomed Law’s nihilistic ideals with open arms.

For what it was worth, Doffy had always defended Rosi. From when they were small and Rosi could do nothing to defend himself. To now, riddled with afflictions, real and fake, even if Doffy saw through them- he still accommodated all of them. He never assumed Rosi could do or be less. Didn’t assume Rosi wasn’t listening just because he couldn’t speak. Always checked in after a briefing, explaining things slowly and giving Rosi time to write. He kept the other members off his back and ensured he was comfortable.

It was easy to see why troubled kids liked him, really. To come from nothing and find sanctuary, understanding- and power. To not be dissuaded but enabled. To be pushed to new heights was to serve his needs. Most troubled adults still couldn’t see past his platitudes. But that was how he got people. He lured children, Law, further and further into this underground world of terror, from which they would never be able to escape. Doffy’s latest scheme, to groom Law to die for him as another cog in the Donquixote machine, was perhaps his most heartless yet. How little another Human life meant to him.

Manipulation had always been one of Doffy’s strong suits; he knew what buttons to push. Try as he might to mask it, he had not returned unscathed from their ordeal. It was an open secret among the family that their head was legally blind. He saw in tunnel vision, the dark surround of which flashed with half-processed light. Though his fashion sense was widely regarded as worse than Rosi’s own, the bright colours were easier for his eyes to detect. For a time before his Haki was fully developed, he used the parasite puppet to see his new members. Not accommodating other’s needs would be hypocritical of him.

Physical health aside, that plague-drenched rat of a man had been more apparently damaged in his psyche. He could no longer truly care for anyone except himself and would never be able to put another before him. The last time he had done so, he had lost his entire family. Never again would he be controlled or outplayed. Understanding his people was only a means to an end; allowing them to work harder for him. Making them believe they couldn’t live without him. Trust Doffy to put sanctuary seekers under his thumb. Those with issues were just easier to manipulate. They both knew that from experience.

He knew from the first utterance of ‘family’ that there was more to the dynamic than met the eye. He and Doffy were thankfully dissimilar in all the ways that mattered, but in the end, they both still value family. Doffy had always yearned for what he had lost, forever unable to escape the past fully- and what that companionship and validation meant.

It was foolish to expect it to be innocent. True, you could take the reading that ‘family’ was perhaps more fitting for a crew who largely did not sail. And yet. Whitebeard rather famously referred to his men as sons. Germa was publicly a royal family but presented itself as an army and force first. What his brother had was not a family. It was a collection of people who ate his lies and believed the hype. It was a crime den more akin to a cult than a family. A ring of false promises and safety in numbers, impossible to leave once entered.

In becoming a family, he’d tapped into something more akin to the mindset of Big Mom. With family came loyalty and expectation. It was much harder to betray a family member than a disembodied leader. Not that he’d have any experience with that. He had no doubt he was doing the right thing by running off with Law but ‘family’ always left niggling doubt. No matter how far they ran, the Marines and Donquixotes would always be his family. It would always hurt more to think he was disappointing Sengoku by running. To disappoint mother by harming another. That was a sick power only madmen like Doflamingo would think to wield.

For all those doubts and feelings of self-hatred, Rosi was proud of how far they’d gotten. So far, Law was safe. In another life, he’d take Law further. Keep him safe forever. Truthfully, he knew there was no way they could both survive this. Not for any extended length of time. Even if he cured Law, there was no way Doffy would let Rosi live to see it. He wouldn’t take kindly to his scapegoat being influenced by outside forces or his plans being ruined. Doffy was the type to hold grudges, even if he had to hunt them down for years to come. If Doffy couldn’t live forever, he would at least take Rosi’s years down with him.

But seeing Law peacefully asleep, he allowed himself a small moment to imagine their future- how he’d establish them. A timeline in which this accursed boat wasn't taking them to some dark, Arctic recess of the North Blue.

Naturally, they’d hide in the East Blue. Skip seas to be far away from the family’s eyes. With any luck, the fabled ‘safest sea’ would have a lessened military presence. He’d pick some relatively safe, nowhere island where they wouldn’t be recognised. This meant nowhere too noteworthy or prosperous, lest it attract the attention of pirates and Marines. They’d be poor but happy; nothing wrong with that. He’d known rock bottom before and it wouldn’t be that way again. He wasn't a Dragon now. He was safe, could hold a job and had military training. He could protect them.

Somewhere completely average for a perfectly normal family.

Requirements aside, he wasn’t looking for much from the island itself. All he really wanted was other kids for Law to learn and play with. His mind’s eye chased the fantasy. A quaint schoolhouse of just two classes. Well-used blackboards and slightly rocky seats, old names and jokes scratched into the desks. A quiet, undemanding school where all the parents and kids knew each other. Surrounded by friends and well-meaning adults. Seas, he hoped Law would be able to make some nice friends. How lovely would it be for him to be influenced by normal kids? Kids who hadn’t grown up like Rosi and Law had? Kids who shared games, got messy outside and would copy Law’s homework…

A library or bookshop would be nice, if not a formally organised school. Law had already come so far with self-study; he’s sure they could make a form of homeschooling work. By the time Law was old enough for medical college, they should be safe enough to move island.

His boy graduating. All grown up and helping others. Successful in keeping a heart full of love and compassion. A prodigy who would continue to research new methods of recovery. This fruit could change everything. How nice it must be to be a parent with normal ambitions. He’d love to be there for as long as Law would have him.

As for himself? Well, he’d need a new identity to start. He’d seen enough witness protection procedures to know that much. Easy. Just become someone new. Someone far removed from the records, the bounty posters, the divine descension. Trafalgar Rosi had a cute ring to it. Rosey. Rosy. Rossi. Rosie? Rosie. Then it would look different on paper, enough to deter anyone who didn't already know the name Trafalgar Law.

Of course, it was only practical to change his name if he were to be inconspicuous as Law's father. Father... the thought made him giddy. Maybe he'd finally try growing that beard Sengoku had always warned him off.

As for his career… hm. He’d need something very ordinary for that, too. After burning down so many hospitals, he could definitely have a future in demolition. The medical circle probably wouldn’t want to see his face as a nurse. But then, what peaceful village would have steady work for him? Equally, they were unlikely to need his skills as a trained gunman except as a game hunter in Autumn. There was always childcare; after the kids of the Donquixote Pirates, nothing these ragamuffins had could phase him.

He could set up a Den Den switchboard and direct calls. Plenty of islanders didn’t keep them due to the care and set-up costs weighed against the usage. A small fee to use one when needed was preferable to most. Communication was at the crux of his role as a spy, so he may as well lean into his training. Plus, he’d get to take care of lots of cute Snails. He could see himself whiling away an afternoon painting one or making up the accessories.

Maybe there would be some kind of neighbourhood watch or council? Then he could do all these odd jobs. Get involved with all the news- a good source of information and an easy aid for his sense of security. Sounded peaceful enough.

A peaceful life was all he really wanted. Having tasted freedom from The Family and Marines put things into perspective. Travelling with his son and making his own choices, it becomes harder to want to return to work. Risking his life was a thankless task, one he likely wouldn’t see the benefit of whilst he still drew breath. He’d be excited to be a homemaker. Get to know some people his age and settle into a community. Share fruit and books and make-up tips whilst their kids hang out. Feel his presence in a space. To truly matter to people.

If only they lived in a world where all they had to worry about was where to settle down or which school to send Law to. The worries everybody else had-

Rosinante wiped the growing tear from his eye, holding Law ever so slightly tighter. Enough.

There is nothing material he can guarantee. As with his own parents, there is no home to return to. No money, no power, no community. For better or worse, there is no one to fall back on but themselves. Like Sengoku, he cannot magically fix what is broken. He succeeds or Law dies. Like Doffy, he cannot force Law’s hand. It must be guided.

But. Equally.

Like his own parents, he can hope for a better future for his child. Like Sengoku, he can offer all that he can within his power. Even, like Doffy, he can open Law’s heart to the concept of family once again.

There is no guarantee that he’ll be able to undo the damage done, but there’s hope. Maybe, like Rosi, Law will always be recovering. Maybe that constant growth isn’t a bad thing.

The only promise he can make is that his love will never waver, that he will always try his fucking hardest for his son. With an open mind and heart to go forward in their relationship, with whatever time he has left.

For that, he can't be as bad as he thinks. Surely.

Increasingly tonight, he was getting the impression no one knew what they were doing. That all anyone could do was try not to repeat the mistakes of those before them. To treat each other as equals. They were both different to the others around them. But in that way, they understood each other. And through each other, they found the other was every bit as deserving of love as they were. Rosi would be happy if Law came out the other side of this with even an ounce of love and humanity left in his heart. He would’ve succeeded.

Being around Law brought out the best in Rosinante. Law gave Rosi the courage to follow his idea of justice and choose a path for himself. For Law, he would betray everyone he’d ever known. Start a new family. Law gave his life meaning and purpose and made him smile again. Around Law, Rosi knew no bounds.

Rosinante brought out the best in Law. Rosi gave Law energy and brought out the kid in him again. For Rosi, Law would smile and talk about his fixations for hours. Would show compassion and trust. He would give people, and life, a second chance. He’d hope- and dream of a future. Around Rosi, Law was happy.

Together, they were free.

[plutorine]

An Analysis of Raskolnikov's Natal Chart Placements (Part 1)

this is in continuation of my post re: raskolnikov's birth chart, as i did say i would make another discussing his major placements. before we begin, here are some things i wanna mention:

under the replies of that post i linked above, i used rostov/rostov-on-don as rodya's birthplace, but as user vintageshits pointed out, there is also textual evidence that suggests rodya hails from zaraysk. i tried using that too, and it more or less gives the same placements that rodya might have if his hometown was rostov.

i am not a professional astrologer, and most of what i have deduced from rodya's chart is merely an accumulation of my own observations/learnings over the past seven years of studying astrology. there will always be different interpretations for each aspect/placement; you are more than welcome to add on to the discussion if you wish to do so in the replies! :^)

also, this is a LONG read. maybe have some snacks / drinks ready XD spoilers about the book too

ARIES RISING, PLUTO in 1H

Gives off commanding, individualistic vibes; Rodya often prefers to be left alone and has grown accustomed to being alone (although I’d say that this is also due to his personality/way of living); he likes to be given his space and he is not above demanding it.

RESTING BITCH FACE!!! Every Aries rising I know has a signature RBF and they can’t hide it even if they tried. Couple this with the fact that Rodya also has Pluto in the 1st house; it’s very easy for him to come off as intimidating and sullen, and may also be critical of how he looks. remember that scene when somebody pointed out his worn out hat in chapter 1 and he started grumbling about it? yep. exactly.

BUT ��� never forget that what is intimidating may also be weirdly charming in the eyes of others! makes absolute sense why Dostoevsky wrote Rodya to be “exceptionally handsome… with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown (translation is debatable but i’m a dark brown-haired rodya truther) hair”; i had a classmate who was an aries rising and they had the most defined, alluring eyes ever — it was like they could see right through my physical body lol

Another applicable description that matches these placements is the passage: “...there was a sort of haughty pride and reserve about him, as though he were keeping something to himself.”

This one, I think, comes off as more of a result of having an Aries ASC square Saturn and Jupiter: “He seemed to some of his comrades to look down upon them all as children, as though he were superior in development, knowledge, and convictions, as though their interests were beneath him.”

Saturn touching the Ascendant often makes one come off as standoffish, cold, and reserved; people with this (undeveloped) aspect may seem as though they’re “above you” and act like they “know better than you” when really they just have a stick up their ass (this is a self-drag, I have Saturn in my 1st house and I used to act like this). Jupiter contacting the ASC may also have a hand in the passage above, especially the “haughty” part. Rodya acts as if he’s more “enlightened” (Jupiter) than his peers when really… he’s having delusions of grandeur due to not having eaten/drunk anything for days 💀

On a more physical perspective, these two aspects may contribute to Rodya’s “above average” height! Jupiter is the planet of expansion, and Saturn “elongates” what it touches (though, some may also say that having these touch one’s ASC may make them short/stout bc Saturn is also about limitations and Jupiter also “expands”, but ig in Rodya’s case we can interpret them in the former way.)

May be quite restless too; they often come off as agitated or always “on the move”; this was probably one of the reasons why Rodya hated his small room so much — there wasn’t enough space for him to be able to literally move around and draw out all that pent up energy inside him. This can also be explained by his chart ruler (Mars) being in Virgo, which is commonly known for its very nervous Mercurial energy.

His ASC also squares his moon, which I think also adds to the whole jitteriness he has; and his overall moody demeanor. The Capricorn moon in him wants him to suppress his emotional reactions, but his Aries rising wants it to be on display! Not anymore surprised as to why it was so easy for him to threaten Luzhin that he was going to throw him down the stairs LMAO (and more fittingly, because he didn’t want another word about his mother [the Moon, in astrology] coming out of Luzhin’s mouth). He can also be quite sensitive about the topic of his family, though may also be distant when he’s actually with them. There’s a lot of struggle with accepting his needs, as well, and this is also in connection with his Virgo Mars, again.

It makes sense too, that Rodya has a disconnect with his innermost thoughts/emotions and the things he does. Remember, when Razumikhin described him to Pulcheria and Dunya, he said that Rodya “...does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely.”

Also irritable, due to that Martian influence. My previous roommate had this placement; it was really easy to excite her / rile her up, be it for a positive or a negative reason. Acting out of instinct is also a main characteristic of Aries Risings. They always do the first thing that comes to their mind — in Rodya’s case it’s to help people (financially), which he ends up regretting afterwards because he’s already so broke XD — which may or may not always work in their favor.

Maybe it's just an observation on my part, but I find that Aries Risings always have to be the first in everything…? Or at least, they always want to do something that makes them stand out or confirms their suspicion/thoughts about an unknown thing that no one else has dared to do before. Perhaps that explains why Rodya was so hellbent on testing that theory (which he ended up not actually believing LMAO)

Another note on Rodya’s propensity to help others; his chart ruler is also in the 6th house, which is the house of service, routines and health — part of what he frequently does is quite literally go around helping people.

SCORPIO SUN in 8H

Quite possibly the most fitting adjectives in the book that can sum up Rodya are “...morose, gloomy, proud and haughty”; “suspicious and fanciful”; and “...fearfully reserved” (thank you, Razumikhin). These words capture what Plutonic energy is, in some of its rawest forms.

Being a Scorpio Sun myself (though I have mine in the 5th house), Rodya mirrors a lot of who I was when I was younger: heavily secretive, paranoid(as in, always feeling like everyone is out to get them); prideful and conceited at times. Rodya knows he’s intelligent, that’s why he can’t help but feel as though he’s the smartest in the room, but his propensity to detach and isolate himself from others renders him unable to realize how he and his ideas relate to others, and this leaves his identity and worldviews/perspectives unchecked. He’s just stuck in his own little world; inside his echo chamber where he repeats his ideologies to himself over and over again, convincing himself that he’s “enlightened” above others. All that talk about wanting to prove whether he was a trembling creature or if he “had the right” ties in with this.

The catch is, this makes him so terribly lonely. Part of what I have learned from astrology is that the house opposite where one’s Sun is the area of our life which we have to learn to “exist in”. For me, this was the 11th house. My methods of self-expression were always just limited to the purpose of “putting on a show” (5th house) for others, but as I grew older, I learned how to use my talents for more humanitarian causes (11th house). Going back to Rodya, his manner of experiencing life (Sun) is stuck behind the private screens of the 8H, which hides it away from the grounding reality of the 2H, ruled by Taurus. Another way to look at this 2H-8H juxtaposition is that Rodya's ego is on some obscure, nonphysical place (8H) instead of being grounded in real life (2H). He lives only for his mind, and forgoes his physical state. Well, we all know how he wouldn't eat for days and that his sleeping habit is shit. Dude's probably rank too. Oh Rodya.

I guess the best and most redeeming quality of Rodya being a Scorpio Sun is his capacity for rebirth and transformation. We get a glimpse of the initial stages of this while he’s serving his sentence in Siberia. His old self slowly begins a path of renewal towards his transformation into this “new self” that will have shed all what used to be who he was when he was twenty-three.

Sun Sextile Saturn: This reinforces even more that super serious and uptight nature of his (to a degree that is almost comical, like bro would it kill you if you stopped taking yourself so seriously??) Sun aspecting Saturn also denotes heavy responsibility as a young child, or having thrust into the role of a parent at an early age. We aren’t exactly given an age for Rodya when Roman Raskolnikov died, but we can assume that it happened pretty early. This heavy responsibility to fill in his father’s shoes is one of the reasons why Rodya feels so, so burdened by the fact that he’s not going anywhere with his education in St. Petersburg, knowing that Pulcheria and Dunya are also counting on him to get a job so he could support them, being the remaining man in the family; this may also be another reason why his pride couldn’t take it when he learned Dunya was getting married to a rich asshole like Luzhin, so she could contribute significantly to the family — he should be doing that, not his younger sister.

Sun Square Neptune: Did somebody say LIGHTWEIGHT? One of the possible interpretations of this placement is a heightened sensitivity to alcohol and other substances. I fucking cackled when I saw this aspect (I, unfortunately, have this as well), and it brings me back to that scene in Part 1 Chapter 5 where Rodya was absolutely zonked out because he drank a “wineglassful” of vodka 😭 On a more serious note, this placement also points to an absent father figure, or at least having experienced the loss of a father. The person’s sense of self also tends to fluctuate. Ever wondered why Rodya is so prone to switching  between his god complex and crippling depression? This is one of the reasons why.

Little astro tidbit about having 8th house placements: these natives are often the types who’ll just randomly have people involve them or tell them about the wildest shit in their lives, like unprovoked. For example, they’d be just chilling then suddenly a random ass stranger or somebody they don’t really know well starts telling them about their personal business. This was the same thing that happened to Rodya when Marmeladov suddenly approached him in the tavern and started narrating his life story to him 😭 and the entire time Rodya just,,, took it all in XD

CAPRICORN MOON in 10H

Just when we thought Rodya could not be more service-oriented (that is, when he’s not busy being an asshole), he’s also given a Capricorn moon to top it all off! Most Cap moons I know go out of their way to make sure the ones they care for are alright; they spend much time and effort on that sort of thing. Will they let you take care of them though? No LOL they’d rather be caught dead in a ditch than admit that they want to be taken care of

All that pushback Razumikhin got when he helped Rodya out makes so much more sense. Rodya could not fathom why Razumikhin would himself go out of his way to learn about his trifles despite the fact that they don’t really talk much (like,, Rodya doesn’t even say ‘hi’ to him at all out in the street) and aren’t close; although, Rodya is aware that Razumikhin is kind, and he even tells him this when he dropped by his place

When a Cap moon does care, they will put others’ needs first and foremost, esp if they can see that the person really needs help and is in a more dire situation than they are. Not above setting themselves back just so they could help.

Another one of those moon signs who come off as really serious, cold, and calculating; but they’re really softies (and drama queens) deep down, especially when they have water placements. Might also like to keep themselves busy with other things so they won’t have to experience an Emotion™️. I always like to say that Capricorns are just Scorpios in suits lol

I also noticed that with Moon in 10H, it can indicate a tendency of your parents to baby you?? idk but i definitely feel those vibes from Rodya and Pulcheria, esp when she first sees him, his room ("this isn't a room, this is a coffin"), and when he visits her for the last time. or maybe this manifests even as becoming "softer" when you're with your parents?? there's something so sadly endearing abt how Rodya talks in this scene:

"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy. "Don't be angry with me, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears. [...] Sit down dear boy, you must be tired; I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are." "I was in the rain yesterday, mother..." Raskolnikov began.

They might also have a thing for needing something to hold onto when they’re feeling upset/unwell? Capricorn’s cardinal energy mixed with a fixed Scorpio sun further points to being “twitchy” bc they can’t sit still (all that Mars influence,,) — cue “where’s my sock!! give me my sock!!!”

Another placement that points to Rodya's want of gaining some sort of "power" or "control" — and he has the capacity to do so, too (how he goes about obtaining it though, is another conversation). He can be (could have been) really successful if he wills himself to. Moon in 10H natives have this air to them of being well-established in whatever field they choose to dedicate their efforts in.

Feels emotions really deeply when they do allow themselves to (or when faced with the inevitable fate of experiencing them lol). I find that Saturnians are also kind of like Plutonians when it comes to feelings. When they invest in an emotion, you best believe they will feel it to its fullest; which is why I believe that underneath Rodya’s prideful and cold exterior is a heart that is capable of feeling love in the deepest, most profound way. What he said in Part 6 Chapter 7: “But why are they so fond of me if I don’t deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one loved me, and I too had never loved anyone! Nothing of all this would have happened.” (Constance Garnett translation) — really broke my heart knowing Rodya fought against the desire to jump into the Neva because he knew he was loved despite his wrongdoings and all his rough edges; this consciousness was very strong that he felt regretful about being so loved by the people around him. He’s so,, :^(((( I just want to give him a hug :^(( he’ll probably cuss me out but whatever :<

Pig-headed, and will not stop until they get to do what they want to do. My partner is a Capricorn sun and it’s more or less the same — the moment Capricorns set their mind on something, they will see to it that they get it done, no matter what. Pair that with a really driven Aries rising and a Scorpio sun, and you have an unstoppable force.

Moon Conjunct Jupiter: drama queen placement wbk; i made a post about how i always associate Rodya draping himself over his couch like a D*sney princess would XD we just feel emotions deeply and we tend to get pretty extra about expressing it too, esp in front of people we trust,, or idk anyone who's willing to listen really. Though in Rodya's case, his Moon is also conjunct his Saturn, which means he limits his expression of emotions; or that he hides it from others — bro would rather choke than be direct with what he actually feels

Moon Square Pluto: another limiting aspect on his expression of emotions, though this aspect gives his capability to feel more depth and dimension. so when Rodya gets into his feelings, he really plunges into it. at the same time, the obscure yet volatile energy of Pluto also adds another layer to his Aries rising's impulsivity. Additionally, his Moon coming into contact with his Pluto in a square may also indicate pain that stems from the family / the mother. all that this placement reminds me of is that last conversation he had with Pulcheria. the most gut-wrenching shit i've ever read/watched.

WHEW. That's only like half of his big 6 placements. I'm currently working on the others (Mercury, Venus, Mars), but I might not be able to finish/get the post up any time soon because I'll be starting the last semester of my undergrad next week, and I'll no doubt be very busy again 😔

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

BFCD Reviews by Nesha: The School for Good and Evil

Per Wikipedia:  The School for Good and Evil is a 2013 fairytale fantasy novel written by Soman Chainani. The first novel in The School for Good and Evil series and Chainani's debut novel...

Per Nesha: I want to say, since I looked this up that I tried to think, “You know, perhaps some of the issues I have with this book are due to it being this person’s debut novel. Lord knows that I hate my book, and it isn’t reflective of my later or current work. Hell, it took so long to get it published, it isn’t even reflective of what my work was whenever it finally came out. So, I wanted to try to take that into consideration as I reviewed this book and to sort of... be gentle for that... 

But then again, I am who I am and I keeps it real, so if I drag this muffugga, I drag this muffugga, because there definitely was things to drag this person for, amidst the things to enjoy about this book. So. Let me get to it, Guh. (Includes Spoilers, if you ain’t read).

One day, I’ma make a general post to link this disclaimer instead of always copying and pasting: 

Disclaimer for somebody who stumbled across this post because of the fandom tags - I am an independent partaker of this content, not “part of the fandom,” and my audience in particular is NOT for everybody. SO: If you may have been criticized in the past for casual racism, tone deafness to Black women’s concerns or accused of misogynoir or antiblackness, leave now. If you don’t like cussing, AAVE, general ratchetness and mean lesbian energy, you too might wanna go. A bitch can be eloquent, but I type like I talk, at times, so it is what it is and I don’t curate for kids, dudes, or nonblacks. That’s just what that is.

First and foremost, whenever I first started reading this, I definitely presumed this was a white author. I was like, “Chile, white women need to get it together with the way that they hype theyselves up in these thangs...” Niggas and friends, would you believe that this happened to not be a white woman writing this book at all but this man:

Who writes like a white woman. That’s all I know about this man. Idk where he from, what his family like, nothing. What I can tell you is that THIS book that I read, The School for Good and Evil, felt like some stuff a white woman wrote. And with this white woman reading and his white woman seeming writing, it just felt like whiteness in action, a big portion of the time.

I’m kind of glad that in the book itself, there weren’t actually any prominent Black characters. Unfortunately, this will not be the case for the movie and MY GOD, I hope this is one of those situations where they just change shit willynilly, because if they do not, the optics will be SHIT, Buddy.

First off, I don’t comprehend why so many of the prominent characters are white, and you KNOW that they’re white, because this mans HARPS on it. The most beautiful girls are white. The most beautiful women are white. The girls of color mentioned are barely described. Blink and you miss it. I don’t trust white writers who write POC, because they usually are bad at it, so from jump. But, I have found that even less, I trust POC who tell stories for white people.

I don't understand why we get these long descriptions of all the folk with blond hair and light colored eyes. I just do not. That's not even how you look, so why you so obsessed, dude? Anyway.

Aside from this fixation, I found the relationship dynamics unsatisfying. Like. I got that Sofie and Agatha were foils and that was fine, that they had a complicated relationship. But. I don't understand why 1. Teddy wanted Sophie so bad in the first place. 2. Why Agatha started wanting Teddy. 3. Why Agatha valued Sophie friendship so damn much when it was always obvious that she didn't care as much.

They didn't really give me chemistry or the proper energy for the feelings that they was feeling. None of them. Sophie feelings made the most sense, even though she's the most insufferable character. She's the worse, but she made the most sense, and she was at her best whenever she actually seemed to remember that she cared about Agatha... which was not a lot.

But, dammit if they didn’t draw me in at the end when Agatha’s true love’s kiss brought her back from the dead. All I wanted this entire book was for Sophie to love Agatha back. For Agatha to be enough for Sophie to AT LEAST give a genuine care about her. But, whenever we saw that she didn’t even cut for Tedros like that, her alleged “ever after...” then I was like, Okay... It’s a Sophie issue. She really ain’t shit. And she wasn’t. But, there is hope in the end. There is hope that perhaps she might try in the future, that maybe she really realized how good she had it having Agatha.

NOW. Here is how I came into contact with this story: The upcoming School for Good and Evil movie, which will have some color in it, including BFCD faves Sofia Wylie and Kerry Washington... Nah...

I cannot express to y’all the level of disservice it will do me as a whole ass nigga if this movie keeps the dynamics of the relationships in this book. The fucking optics will be terrible if we see this young girl of color wanting nothing more to be close to this blond white girl and love her and value their friendship while she’s used and unappreciated for the bulk of their relationship. Like. if you were going to stick to the book, the absolute worst thing you coulda did was cast a white Sophie and not a white Agatha. OR. you could make both of they asses Black/ish. As a general fucking rule, you oughtta never have foils of a different race unless that’s what the story is about, because most of creators just ain’t skilled enough to pull it off without it looking fucked up.

EVEN. WHEN. The moral is that Agatha was the princess all along. Idc idc idc. The imagery will be musty and I hope they decided to fix that whilst in the process of diversifying this white beauty worshipping landscape (it’s 30 chapters and they probably mention the diversity in that thang like 3 times, mention maybe 4 characters with dark skin of some sort, and a couple of those were monstrous characters), so... I mean. Maybe ol’ boy doing better currently. Do whatever background he came outta got a sunken place? Idk, but he was in it when he wrote this thing. Ass ain’t even made a prominent prince in his image.

Anyway. Book is AIGHT, but ended on a cliffhanger, so I kinda have to go to the next to see if somebody got they shit together. I don’t recommend it as a read, but I had and okay time here and there in the process. I am not the target audience, basically. And that’s fine. I will not be liveblogging or reviewing the next one. I just wanna know what happened after true love’s kiss to be honest. Idgaf about this series. Lol. We’ll see how I feel about the movie later.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Movie Night at the Summers Residence

Spike x Summers!Reader

Warnings: spoilers, some sexual content

Description: Fluff about the attempt to adjust to life after Buffy’s death at the end of Season 5. The Summers + Spike have a movie night to try to honor old family traditions in the wake of another tragedy.

“This movie is stupid,” Spike said for the fifth time. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What part about this doesn’t make sense?” Dawn asked, shoveling popcorn into her mouth. “Baby is at a resort for the summer, she meets a dance instructor, and they fall in love. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“It just wouldn’t happen, that’s all. He wouldn’t give up all those women for one little girl—”

“Baby is not—”

“Shut up! This is the best part!” you said, shoving them both.

The truth was, for you every part was the best part. You, Buffy, and your mom had watched this movie together over and over. When Buffy was on the cheer team, you had convinced her that practicing the lift from the movie would sharpen her skills. Really, you had just wanted to feel for a moment like you were flying. 

“She almost got hypothermia there,” you whispered, pointing to the screen. “They filmed in the autumn and it was freezing. They practiced until their lips were blue.”

“Shut up,” Spike whispered back. He sounded almost angry and you looked up at him in alarm, but he was smiling. Teasing. “This is the best part.”

Your heart beat a little faster as you looked away, not forgetting the last time you had found yourself tangled up in him all this weeks ago. But it was hard not to squirm when he was running his fingers up and down your arm, tracing swirling patterns onto your skin.

Dawn was sitting on the other side of Spike, unaware of the tension between the two of you, real or imagined.

Tension, you tried to convince yourself, was good. It gave you something to feed off without risking the balance you were trying to find or the rhythm you had recently gotten into.

“Fight harder, huh?” Johnny was saying on screen. “I don’t see you fightin’ so hard, Baby. I don’t see you runnin’ up to your daddy, tellin’ him I’m your guy.”

You watched Spike’s hand still on your arm. Was that what he saw in you? Someone who was never going to own up to the relationships they were in?

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Spike asked, his voice low in your ear. To make the most out of space on the couch you were sharing between the three of you, he had put his arm around each of “his girls” early on, but Dawn had shifted him off some time ago in favor of a blanket pulled up to her ears. Now it was only you drawn close to him, smelling the cologne he had on and the blood from the mug he kept on the coffee table. Somehow, you didn’t find the two scents sickening together.

“Jennifer Grey was so pretty,” you breathed, keeping your eyes trained studiously on the TV. “I used to want to be just like Baby. Go into the Peace Corps and everything. But that was before.”

“You still could.”

But you both knew that was a lie. He had been on you lately about going back to school next semester, but how could you? There was too much going on. You had to fill the space of not one person, but three.

“Maybe,” you said noncommittally, watching the dancers swirl across the screen.

When the movie was over, Dawn selected “When Harry Met Sally” as the next pick, to Spike’s open disgust. But she fell asleep less than halfway in.

“Help me take her upstairs?” you asked Spike, rising to move the popcorn bowl out of her lap. He obliged, lifting her with a superhuman strength you would never get used to.

You tucked her into bed like she was a child, smoothing her hair back and kissing her on the forehead. You left her lamp on in case of nightmares, made sure all the windows were locked, and closed her door with a soft click.

“Did you want to finish the movie?” Spike asked when you met him in the hallway, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I’m man enough to admit I’m warming up to it.”

He followed you down the steps and the two of you settled back in to where you had paused.

“This is the best part,” you said, not for the first time. So far, you had pointed out the diner, museum, and wedding gift shopping scenes as the best, but this time you grabbed onto Spike’s arm as you watched. It was a little firmer than you remembered. Had he been working out?

“It was Buffy’s favorite, too,” you said, recalling how in awe you both had been of Meg Ryan’s ability to mimic life as she sobbed about her former boyfriend getting married. This made your eyes prick with tears, but for the first time, you felt more grateful to have known her than devastated over her death.

“What are they doing?” Spike asked. He was less mocking than usual. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, absorbed in the drama.

“It’s meant to be funny, you know, true to life.” Sally’s tears melted into tender kisses amongst the used tissues and her runny makeup.

“Has that ever happened to you?”

“Well, not exactly, but—” Eyebrows furrowed, searching, rifling through memories, then victory. “It almost happened to us. So, see, it’s realistic. Just like real life.”

“Just like?”

You could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t want to face him, to go over this embarrassment again. Your face heated as you met his stare.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to do this.”

“I said I didn’t want to do it when you weren’t ready.” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, a warm look from a cold body. “Are you? Ready?”

You couldn’t answer that, only close the gap between the two of you and curl your fingers over the hem of his cotton t-shirt. He was slow with you, tender, toying with the elastic inside your skirt but going no further.

He tasted like cigarettes. You had imagined it before. Never thought you would like it. Always thought it was a stupid, unhealthy habit. But it couldn’t hurt him, could it? And he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Calm down, baby,” he said when you whimpered. Actually whimpered, like some kind of kicked puppy! God, you had never felt this needy before. You had never needed healing like this before. “We’ve got time. Sun won’t be up for hours.”

He massaged as he kissed, trying to get you to release the tension in your shoulders, your back, your thighs. He cupped the back of your neck and bit your lip, just a little, just enough to show off his hard-won self control.

In the end, you didn’t have sex. You couldn’t, not yet, not when you were still so delicate. But after, when he was holding you, you were able to say what you needed to without choking on the words.

“I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

“I would do anything to get her back.”

He squeezed you gently, kissed the place where your neck meets your jaw. “I know you would.”

[favoniuscodex]

you get kidnapped by the fatui headcanons (diluc & kaeya)

prompt: Diluc and Kaeya headcanons for reader getting kidnapped by the Fatui before they have a chance to confess that they’re in love with her, as requested by @lohai-of-favonius​ word count: 2.1k (lol “headcanons”) characters featured: diluc, kaeya reader: gender-neutral/female/male (can be read any way, it’s in second-person pov) style: headcanons w/ angst then fluff warnings: possible spoilers for diluc & kaeya related info, light descriptions of injuries, kidnapping, light descriptions of violence

a/n: i made these into headcanons, i hope that’s okay! i was getting a little longwinded on the both of them and i feel like the scenarios would’ve turned into full length fics otherwise haha. i definitely need to learn to write less. i hope i interpreted the prompt well! 

“I have a commission awaiting me,” You stated, refusing to make eye contact with the man in front of you as you absentmindedly fiddled with the sleeves of your shirt. “In Liyue. Looking for a missing person. Should be routine stuff, I’ll be back in a week, max.”

You glanced at the man in front of you. If you could notice the concern he wore on his expression, you failed to verbally acknowledge it and instead took one of their hands in yours, squeezing it lightly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. You don’t have to ring the alarm bells just yet!” You joked, plastering a small smile. As the man in front of you realized his expression was morphing into one of worry, he smoothed over his expression and composed himself.

He knew he couldn’t control your actions, nor had any room in stating which course of action you should take when it came to accepting your commissions. Missing person cases, while a valiant cause, often led to bad news. But, you were a hero at heart and here he stood, merely a friend of yours. Now wasn’t the time for a heartfelt confession of love that he desired to send your way. Doing so would only unfairly manipulate you into staying and he knew you were strong enough to make it back on your own.

But, a week later, as he awaited your arrival at the gates of Mondstadt, worry plagued the man who had fallen in love with your heroic, dutiful spirit over the last few months. As the hours ticked by, he realized he needed to have a new course of action...

KAEYA

Upon you going missing with little to no information, Kaeya would notify the Knights of Favonius, first and foremost. In fact, he speaks to Amber first, as he believes her to be trustworthy and her status as an Outrider makes her most likely to encounter you first.

However, despite his growing concern, he remains optimistic. You’re a strong fighter who has helped him clear countless hilichurl camps. He knows you can handle yourself well. You’re likely just taking longer than expected or picked up extra work in Liyue before returning.

A few days later, Fischl, one of the Adventurer’s Guild’s investigators, approaches him with information on your whereabouts. However, after lots of back and forth between the two, he finally understands (with the help of Oz’s translations) that you’ve been kidnapped by the Fatui.

Kaeya immediately panics, but manages to keep his cool, charming facade up until Fischl leaves his presence. Now left alone in his office in the Knights of Favonius headquarters, Kaeya paces around, trying to think of a plan.

Kaeya wants nothing more than to ride a horse straight into Liyue and search for you, taking down anyone that gets in his way. However, there’s one thing that limits him: Diplomacy.

Kaeya’s a part of the Mondstadtian government, meaning that any action he takes in Liyue directly reflects on the nation of Mondstadt as a whole. It wouldn’t look good to dirty his hands with Fatui blood in a land that isn’t his own. Not only would it be detrimental to his well-being, it would also put the freedom of Mondstadt at risk, which goes directly against the promise he made when being sworn in as a Knight.

Therefore, he has to use the next best thing: Connections. The Adventurer’s Guild has been extremely helpful on intel, he has friends in the Liyue Millileth, and he’s even willing to swallow his pride and reach out to Diluc if it means your safe return.

Diluc, despite his tense relationship with his brother, has always had a soft spot for your presence, so he’s more than willing to help by spreading word around the tavern.

As days go by, Kaeya gets antsy and right when he’s about to say fuck it and mess up the entirety of Sneznhayan-Liyuean-Mondstadtian geopolitical relations by murdering some Fatui to get you back, Amber bursts into his office and doubles over, trying to catch her breath after sprinting to the Knights of Favonius headquarters.

“We found her. With Barbara,” She manages to wheeze out. Without caring for the state of the Outrider’s lungs, Kaeya shoves past her and immediately sprints to the cathedral.

He rushes to the back where he’s met with your figure lying in a hospital bed. As he enters your room, your eyes flutter open to give him a bleary-eyed smile, despite all of your injuries.

He opts for sitting next to you and taking your uninjured hand in his, hesitant to move you a lot in fear that it would only hurt you. However, he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his embrace and never let you go. But instead, he simply brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles lightly, whispering a thank you to Barbatos for your safe return as his lips ghost along your skin.

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes as Kaeya plays with your fingers, trying to think of the words to say. You, on the other hand, are content with sitting in silence, far too tired to explain everything that had happened to you over the course of your adventure.

“Who rescued you?” The first words out of Kaeya’s mouth are not a love confession, but rather embittered words, laced with jealousy. He wants nothing more than have to been the knight to bust down the door of wherever you were held captive and whisk you away to safety, solidifying the image of him in your eyes as a protector.

“I rescued myself,” You speak softly, a smirk spreading across your lips. “I beat up those Fatui jerks and escaped myself.”

Kaeya looks up from gazing absentmindedly at your hand and makes eye contact with you. Before he can stop it, a proud laugh escapes from his lips and you begin to laugh with him too. Despite all his worries, you had come back alive and in one piece, just scraped up. You didn’t need him to play protector -- you had yourself. He was just designed to be your cheerleader. As this thought settled into his head, his laughter subsided and a content smile graced his lips.

“I’m in love with you,” He confesses in the comfortable silence between the two of you. Kaeya was normally the type for bald-faced lies, but tonight, he felt as if he wanted nothing more than to peel back his layers of mystery and be honest with you.

You beam at him, rotating your hand in his grip and squeezing back. “I know. Aren’t you lucky that I feel the same way?”

DILUC

When you go missing, Diluc immediately expects foul play. He’s definitely more worrisome than Kaeya, but Diluc is more fearful of losing the one he loves. He’s experienced loss before and has built up walls around himself to avoid losing that again and, while Kaeya does the same, Diluc is far less charming and suave with his words.

Diluc has let you in as both a friend and has fallen in love with you. He doesn’t want to lose you before he can tell you how you’ve broken down his walls.

He trusts you to be able to take care of yourself, but even the mightiest of warriors can be kept off guard. Therefore, Diluc begins using his wealth to find information out about your location and what happened to you. While it might not result in the most reliable information, Diluc knows money can get people to talk more than anything.

Diluc quickly learns that the Fatui are holding you hostage and finds out where. The location is in Liyue, so Diluc does what Diluc does best: He sets out to rescue you himself.

He doesn’t take much with him besides a horse, his claymore, some food and medical supplies, and your weapon of choice. He doesn’t know what shape you’ll be in, but he knows that if you’re even remotely conscious, you’ll want to help him fight.

When he infiltrates where the Fatui are holding you, he’s filled with rage upon seeing your bruised and beaten form in the corner, chained to the wall, as if the Fatui had tried to get information out of you but failed.

Determined to rescue you safely, Diluc realizes that he’d have to fight the multiple Fatui that were now alert to his presence as well. The four Fatui members in the vicinity look like they had already had a rough time capturing you and are less than thrilled at the prospect of fighting Mondstadt’s Darknight Hero.

However, Diluc will be damned if he lets them run. He makes quick work of the Fatui members, thanks to your assistance in fighting as hard as you could before being captured.

Once the Fatui are defeated, Diluc immediately crouches by your figure, breaking the shackles holding you with his claymore.

“My hero,” You sigh in a dreamy voice as a mischievous grin forms on your face, causing Diluc to both sigh in exasperation and flush red at the same time. However, your voice becomes sincere as you utter your next words. “Thank you.”

“You would do the same for me,” Diluc responds, his words filled with truth. Diluc trusts you more than anyone else in Teyvat. He scoops you up bridal-style and carries you over to his horse. The two of you ride back to Dawn Winery in silence, with you sitting in front of him as he holds the reins. His arms around your waist prevent you from falling and the rhythmic motions of the horse lull you into sleep.

You awake in one of Dawn Winery’s beds with fresh bandages. At your bedside, fresh water and fruit had been placed for your consumption upon waking, but you’re not too concerned with either at the moment. You decide to eat some before going to find Diluc, realizing that he’d probably chew you out for not taking care of yourself if he found out.

As soon as you’re finished, you hobble out of bed, determined to find Diluc. You spot him on the balcony and as you creak open the door, Diluc whips his head around and frowns at you.

“You should be in bed,” He chastises, immediately rushing over to you. He notices the fact that you have to lean against the doorframe for support and sighs. “Why would you ever get out of bed with your injuries?”

You let out a small giggle. “I wanted to see my charming hero, who is just as excited to see me too,” You croon, enjoying the way the tips of his ears flush red at your teasing. You reach out your arms to him. “Carry me back?”

Diluc sighs and picks you up once again. “You have me wrapped around your finger,” He murmurs into your hair as he carries you back. You’ve latched onto him like a koala, with his hands supporting your thighs and your arms around his shoulders. You bury your face into his neck and sigh with content, causing him to flush an even deeper shade of red.

Despite his embarrassment about the current situation coloring his face, Diluc realizes that he doesn’t mind if everyone else in the winery sees him carrying you like this. It would showcase that you were clearly his.

As the two of you return to your room, Diluc gently lays you down on the bed and turns to leave, but you grab his wrist before he can make his escape. His face is still flushed a deep scarlet when he turns around to face you, causing you to let out another laugh.

As the morning sun filters in through the window, your eyes twinkle with delight as you stare up at Diluc, happy to be in his presence. Diluc looks down at you, entranced by how carefree you look, despite the hell of what you had just gone through. Despite all the bandages that cover your face, arms, legs, and torso, Diluc views you as a sculpture crafted with the finest materials by the gods themselves.

As he brushes the hair out of your face, Diluc realizes that he would rescue you a thousand times over if he could relive this moment of you being happy, without any of life’s typical worries etched into your face. That’s when he fully realizes how he feels about you, embracing the feelings he had long sought to push away.

“I’m in love with you,” He states, gently cupping your face in his hand. You reach up and cover his hand with yours, smiling softly at him.

“I’m in love with you too, Diluc,” You murmur as he closes the distance between the two of you and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips.

[probably-haven]

Hello!

So I’m the anon who asked for more Archon War Venti headcanons and I just loved it! I really like reading your headcanons cuz some of them are similar to mine but mostly are headcanons that I didn’t think of so it really is nice to read and see your thoughts about Venti!

I feel like as if I’m asking too much but could you keep doing these types of headcanons? Like it doesn’t have to be Archon War headcanons but like some headcanons about Venti’s relationship with the Ragnvindrs and Gunnhildrs. Because the first Gunnhildr was the first one who prayed to Barbatos and the first Ragnvindr was his friend who left but came back and I really wanna hear your thoughts on that!

And I’ve decided to get off anon cuz you just replied to my texts and I wasn’t expecting that so I’ve got a short confidence boost that I am completely taking advantage of! And thanks for the advice! or uhh comment? observation? I’m not entirely sure but thank you for that! I’ve heard that be said to me a few times and I have been trying to be more, uhh, assertive so thanks for that!

rfouierjkhfkecs i actually came across information on Gunnhildr and the "Red-haired warrior" yesterday when i was doing more research into the rebellion against Decarabian and I was like "wow this would be really fucking fun to research and theorize on, but its too specific/niche to include unprompted no matter how much i want to" but bestie you prompted, and im literally so happy right now because I didn't think I'd ever really get the chance to post about them!

also lmao yeah, i tend to try and reply to as much as I can, since it's a good feeling when someone does and all. but yeah, no problem! I’m glad you felt confident enough to reveal XD. 

This may be structured a bit more like analysis/theory/just citing canon things at first before it gets into a more headcanony format.

ehe i have so much free reign on this it's lovely

More Archon War Era Venti: one two three

spoilers for Venti's backstory and Diluc's(kinda, i think, just in case)

first things first, laying down some canon background because before yesterday i hadn't heard of either of them outside of that one cutscene.

the very reason Decarabian had his storm wall up in the first place was because at the time Andrius had declared war on him- and his tower, and the city of Mondstadt by extent, were basically constantly under attack by Andrius's blizzards, which since he was still alive back then, were a lot bigger and covered basically what seems to be the whole of Mondstadt outside the barrier.

This meant that people had two options. Live in the city under Decarabian's oppression, or live outside the barrier, and brave the blizzards of a warring god... which was not a good idea

but the Gunnhildr clan(not yet called that) tried- and they almost died because of it. In the midst of a blizzard, the clan chief's daughter, named Gunnhildr(which the clan would be named after later) sent out a prayer that was heard by a wandering wind spirit. And the faith of that prayer gave the spirit enough power to create a small shelter to protect them.

When her father past, she became the new leader and also a priestess. She would later lead the clan to fight Decarabian alongside four others. And basically the Gunnhildr Clan ended up as like sworn protectors of Mondstadt

-

as for the red-haired warrior, who is basically assumed to be the earliest known ancestor of the Ragnvindir clan(im gonna refer to as Ragnvindir for convenience sake, even though "Ragnvindir" is technically a different character from Vanessa's era)theres not much information on him, but heres what i have from the various wiki's

- he was a wanderer

- one of the first to use the sign of windblume to find other rebels(so he's intelligent)

- actively propped up the nameless bard so he could watch as the tower was destroyed

there's this little tidbit too from the Windblume Ode bow's description that im probably gonna talk about a considerable amount too: "Atop the ruins of the ancient tower, amidst the cheers, songs, and tears of those who had newly won their freedom. A red-haired warrior turned his back on the newborn god, hidden like a single raindrop in a tidal wave of humanity. He was first among those who passed the secret sign of Windblume, the one who wove threads of dawn throughout the long night. His name has since been lost to time, but his deeds are still remembered in song." followed later by "The fate of this clan will likely never change: they shall ever live in the darkness and bring forth the flame of dawn."

-

Now I'm going to start with the Ragnvindir(geez, why's it spelled like that tho)

My idea of his character is basically formed by a mix of Ragnvindir stereotypes and just generally analyzing text.

So what do we know about Ragnvindir's for sure? they are shady motherfuckers- or at least they rarely operate in the spotlight. also damn, these guys are more cursed than anemo vision wielders- like the only one who didn't canonically lose someone close to them was Crepus, but considering that Diluc doesn't exactly have a mom..... he probably did

so what do we know? - he was close with the nameless bard - he was intelligent - he likely operated primarily from the shadows "ever living in the darkness" - he was a wanderer - he abandoned Venti during the celebration - but his deeds were still remembered in song, so Venti and him were likely still close

now the question of the century: how will i choose to interpret "turned his back on the newborn god"? And honestly, I'm- not sure- at first i assumed he abandoned him completely- but Venti did still make sure to carry on his memory- which could just be Venti being Venti, but for the sake of sanity, this is how I'm interpreting it.

A lot of things happened to the Ragnvindir that day. He lost a friend, saw another become a god to replace the one they had conquered, and he saw his goal, his reason for being in Mondstadt, come to fruition. "see the world through my eyes" the bard had said, and the Ragnvindir had been a wanderer even before. Sure, the people had won freedom, and that was to be celebrated, but he's intelligent to recognize that people would likely see him as one of the key figures in leading the rebellion. And for him this was a solemn time, and ending to a chapter, and not being one to operate in the spotlight, the last thing he'd want is to be swept up in festivities and attention at a time like this.

It also likely didn't help that he's probably smart enough to understand the idea of "power corrupts," and seeing the wind sprite just readily accept the mantle of Archon was likely not the most comforting thing to happen in the given situation after all. But Decarabian was gone, and Andrius had ceased his blizzards, so without a word, he slipped into the crowd and left, a wanderer once more.

-

now back to Gunnhildr

she was the first to receive an anemo vision from Barbatos, no I do not take criticism on this "the power bestowed on her by Barbatos" like please, they basically said it.

It also mentions that she crowned Venti with laurels(symbol of vistory) after the battle- the book Biography of Gunnhildr additionally says "the Gunnhildr Clan will continue honoring the legacy of its ancestors and its duty to the Anemo Archon: to protect Mondstadt, the land and all who inhabit it, forever."

I really like this because it conveniently ties into my past headcanon about Venti granting visions to the people of Mondstadt and having them be the ones to erect wind barriers and defend the city in his absence.

So in the Archon War I like to imagine that the Gunnhildr clan had a lot of people who were actually granted visions and were basically in charge of protecting it from those who would attempt to ambush them.

Mondstadt essentially became known for this- the fact that the mortals within it were strong enough to fend off the force of a god without support from their own.

but regardless, Gunnhildr, as she had before, served as a priestess to Barbatos, the closest thing that Mondstadt had to a ruler, and yet she only took charge of prayer and protection.... i hate to just- equate them to their descendants- but to an extent- her role was kind of like a merge between Jean and Barbara- Except with a whole lot less structure.... i really dont want their characters to just be carbon copies of the descendants but- c'mon, the comparison was right there.

anyways besties- back to Venti so i can tie them in

The Archon War was one of the worst times for Venti in his entire life thus far. And the time immediately after Decarbian's fall, while Gunnhildr and the Ragnvindir were still alive, was the key period of time in which things could have gone very differently.

Venti is the god of freedom. That's a reoccurring theme and I think I've made that abundantly clear. But during this time, Venti was anything but free.

I've mentioned before how he would stay far from the city of Mondstadt so the shockwave of his death wouldn't reach him, should he fall.... well- Venti is new to a lot of things- godhood- humanity- war- freedom- and at this point he was trying hard to figure out how to be Mondstadt's god without becoming Decarabian, and while still being able to survive, and make sure they survived, and see the world for his friend, and carry on his friends legacy.

And this is a lot of stuff for what was once a carefree elemental being, and there were certain things that had to be done for this to happen. He couldn't just stay in Mondstadt, or he would grow weak and his people would be vulnerable to attack, but he couldn't abandon it, because despite being able to fend for themselves, there's always hat just in case. He couldn't stay in any one place outside of Mondstadt for very long or he'd be found and killed. He knew in order for Mondstadt to survive he would have to take an active role in the war, strengthen himself so he could defend Mondstadt, and thats exactly what he did.

He started by going after the less powerful gods, ones he had a chance at beating with the power he got from the Gunnhildr clan and the rest of Mond, and by wiping them out, he would grow stronger, so he kept it up- working his way up the metaphorical ladder.

but he couldn't let anyone near him either, because he knew just what would happen if he was attacked then. Were it not for Gunnhildr's prayer, the early years of the Archon War would have been without contest the loneliest time of his life, and there would be nothing he could do about it, bound by survival and his attachment to the legacy of his friend, constantly fearing for his life and going against his very nature as the god of freedom. Frankly thrust into that circumstance that early on, and having to face it alone, it's likely that Venti would have caved under the pressure and dropped his attachment to either his survival, or to his friends legacy... or just something entirely worse(isolation messes with brains) so I'm attributing the fact that he didn't do that to Gunnhildr's companionship, speaking to him and guiding him through it as he had guided her through the blizzard some time ago.

I also like to think that she's responsible for founding at least a number of the different celebrations that still happen in Mondstadt even now.

Ugh supportive warrior priestess- we stan

anyway meanwhile! we got the Ragnvindir

He hears about Venti taking part in the Archon war during his wanderings and returns to Mondstadt to check in, wary of what he might find.

Venti, who hadn't seen him since the rebellion, is elated to say the least and they do a bit of catching up because they need it

and then the conversation turns more serious, and the Ragnvindir brings up a third thing that Venti needs to hold onto- his humanity.

See, in the early years, just desperate to get a foothold on the world, Venti's first number of targets were just indiscriminately going after those he knew to be weaker than him, and the Ragnvindir points this out, saying that while it's not necessarily bad, if he keeps doing it, it won't be long until he causes his and, by extent, Mondstadt's legacy to be tainted by a reputation for slaughter, no better than any of the other bloodthirsty gods that frequented the war's fields. "Think of what the bard would do, we were both close enough to do that much"

And Venti becomes yet more caged, but recognizes that he's right, and this is another turning point, that in the coming years would keep Venti from losing himself.

also- Gunnhildr, Venti having told her about the Ragnvindir's concerns that he now shared, probably organized some kind of event (not unlike the right of part, but also, yes unlike it) that was deliberately intended and designs to serve as an excuse that Venti could chose to take to visit Mondstadt, something she know he desperately wanted to do, but wouldn't allow himself for fear of putting them in danger. But if she made it an official celebration, then it would give Venti the opportunity to visit his people again, under the guise of it being a responsibility, not having to deal with the moral implications of doing so at a time when he was already dealing with enough of those already.

Also on his travels, the Ragnvindir probably started and spread a number of rumors that could end up working in Venti's favor, not that anyone ever knew it was him of course.

basically Gunnhildr protected the people of Mondstadt and did all she could to keep everyone in as high spirits as possible, Venti included.

And as for the Ragnvindir, he took a more realistic approach, traveling and getting venti followers in far places, spreading false information about him, and just overall making sure that Venti didn't do things he'd regret.

And when they died, Venti would carry their legacy with him as well, not losing his humanity to the tide of war as he very nearly had(though he still often came close), and trying to spreading high spirits where ever he could without fail.

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 1: Night

Liu Kang x Reader

This story contains spoilers from the Mortal Kombat 2021 movie so description and story will be beneath the cut. It's an angsty good time. Thanks @justariellove for workshopping titles with me!! Edit:: Changing the title. Beauty Through Ash will be the name of the series that this will be a part of.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

You are a warrior with the dragon marking and ink arcana. You had visions as a child. Complicated sexual history with Liu Kang and a romantic relationship with Kung Lao that lasted a few years after that had ended. Story takes place post-movie! It will be angsty. There will be yelling. There will be tension and smut (eventually, that's just me). It will be ridiculous. But fun.

This is a 'I have zero self control post' Enjoy!

A soft ringing rattled through your head and you hated every second of it. It was a tinkling sound, like metal brushing softly against metal.

A wind chime.

The most annoying wind chime that you had ever heard in your life. Your stomach was sour, like you’d eaten something funny the night before and as you turned in search of the cold side of the pillow, your stomach rejected being awake. The world spun even with your eyes closed.

What had you done to deserve this?

You tried to recall what had brought you to this point of misery. You remembered going downstairs in search of a stiff drink after you’d packed for your trip the next day but after that, things had gotten blurry. It was easy to get lost in liquor these days. You remembered some of the other monks coming to join you but after that, there was nothing. That was why your stomach was sick. Too much liquor. Not an entirely unfamiliar feeling the past few weeks. You’d often needed its help to fall asleep.

You leaned up on your elbow and felt something soft slip over your bare skin. Puzzling. No usual nightshirt, but something else draped over you instead. Oh, no.

Oh no.

You were naked.

You were very, very naked. Crap. You grasped the soft cloth and held it over you to keep decent. Shit. You were sore too. So much for wishful thinking that you hadn’t done something incredibly stupid.

You bit the bullet and opened your eyes but silently panicked at the shirt that was just barely draped over you and knew whose it was before you saw the body of the man lying next to you. A soot-stained shirt. Biting your lip, you prayed that you would turn your head and find an insane explanation for your clothing being gone besides the obvious.

Instead, you found the truth that you had already damn well known the moment you’d moved. Liu Kang laid passed out on the bed next to you, face turned away and completely naked. He had scratch marks down his back, and you followed them down to his perfect little butt and then covered your face and mentally cursed yourself.

Fuck.

Don’t panic. Deep breaths.

It was still dark out. You had time to find your clothes and get out of there before he woke, with any luck. His room was dark and you were dizzy so the odds weren’t in your favor. Head in your hands, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and felt the cold stone beneath your feet. God, you were so sore. What stupid things had you done? At least you were familiar with his room and the way back from it. Not your first walk of shame out of there, you reflected in disgust with yourself. Not that Liu Kang wasn’t attractive or fun as hell, it was just terrible timing.

You rested his shirt on the bed next to you and searched the floor blindly for your clothing. His room hadn’t changed much over the years. It had been that long since you’d found yourself drunk and naked in his bed.

You had been drunk. Maybe he wouldn’t remember.

You had clawed the shit out of his back though, he’d probably remember something about that.

You had to get up and go about your day and forget all about it.

Seeing as you didn’t remember most of it, it would probably be fine. You were leaving that morning anyway to go and locate a man in America with the dragon mark. You’d be gone soon and able to delay the inevitable fallout that would come with sleeping with Liu Kang for the first time in years. You found your clothes strewn about the room, slipped them back on as quietly as your hungover self would allow and then snuck out of his room. You thought about covering him up but that risked waking him.

Once in the hall and a few doors away, you leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief.

Okay.

You’d made it out of there. Now to make it look less like you’d done exactly what you’d done. Your mouth tasted foul and your head split with every step. This was a complete disaster. You hadn’t been careful. You hadn’t been thinking. You’d just passed out. You stopped to get cleaned up and grab a cup of tea to try and kill the headache. Then you returned to your room to finish packing your morning things and find a change of clothing. The monotony of the task made your brain buzz with guilt and unpleasant thoughts and then flashes of Liu Kang in the heat of the moment. You smacked the side of your head to try and shake it out of there.

On your desk there was the last and most important thing that you had to bring with you. An ornamental jade circlet. Kung Lao’s jade circlet. You sat at the desk and brushed your fingers over the beautiful thing. It had become one of your most precious possessions. As it often did, the thought of Kung Lao shifted your mood. Then again, it was rare when you weren’t thinking about him. Lifting the circlet, you placed it to your lips and gave it a soft kiss. “I’m sorry, Lao.”

It had been two months since he died.

You hadn’t been there in his last moments. Instead, you’d been halfway around the world running an errand for Raiden and had come back to find him gone. There had been no goodbyes. No last ‘I love you’. Your last conversation hadn’t even been a good one. Then, while drinking away the pain of his memory and guilt of his death, you’d slept with his best friend and brother.

Liu Kang.

You had never felt more guilty in all your life.

There had always been fire between you, but it had long since been put aside when you’d started dating Kung Lao. You’d stomped it out. Now Kung Lao was gone, and you were broken.

If anyone had suffered more than you after Kung Lao’s death it had been Liu Kang. You hadn’t talked about his death other than vague niceties. He had avoided you and you had avoided him. When you’d been together, you’d snapped at each other. The grieving process had been difficult for you both. It had been like he’d taken on some of Kung Lao’s most frustrating traits to deal with the loss of him.

There was no time to dwell on what wasn’t. You had things to do.

You looped the circlet into the straps of your bag and then took it with you. It was what it was. You couldn’t change the past and that was something you were struggling to come to terms with. This was one more thing to add to the pile of stress on your back.

You were off to South Dakota in the United States, a relatively boring place from what you’d heard. You were to search for a man with the dragon marking known as Nightwolf, a legendary warrior of the Makota people. Lord Raiden had asked you to prepare for a journey and you were grateful to have something to do other than stew in the room you’d shared with Kung Lao before his death. There was no peace for you there, but you weren’t sure there was peace for you anywhere right now.

Peace would come with time, you were told again and again. You were tired of hearing it. The comfort of time in conversation was mostly just to shut down the fixation on grief in the company of others. You shook it off.

After you’d found Nightwolf you would be off to meet up with Sonya, Jax, and Cole in Hollywood to try and convince an arrogant movie star, Johnny Cage, to come to Raiden’s Temple to train. No one knew what Outworld would do after having lost the tournament and you had to be prepared. Besides that, you thought Raiden sending you on a mission was his way of trying to help you grieve. He was fatherly at times.

You threw the bag on your back and then walked through the temple to meet Raiden. Your conversation was minimal and you were grateful for that. Your head was still killing you, stomach beyond sick. You stepped through the lightning and arrived outside of a forest, near a reservation where some of the Makota people still lived. You had been told to check there to see if you could find information about the man with the dragon mark.

There were motels nearby, so you walked there and rented a room. It was a little hole in the wall place with a broken No Vacancy sign just off the side of the highway, the kind you associated with horror movies. It had seen better days, but you weren’t picky at the moment, and you weren’t afraid either. You were a woman who was not to be trifled with. You dropped off your bag in the room and then sat on the edge of the bed with the ugly green comforter for a time. The wallpaper was faded and busy, once white ceiling yellowed with age. The most modern thing in the room was the television and even that was a decade old at least. It was fine. You only needed a place to sleep and this room served that purpose. There was a couch against one wall and a table in front of it- more than most hotels offered these days.

Your head was still splitting, but you had gotten some aspirin from the small convenience store attached to the ancient lobby where you’d checked in. Hopefully, that would help. You would take a car to the reservation and then hopefully be allowed to respectfully ask some questions. From what you’d read, very few people still lived there but it had been the only place you’d been able to locate before you’d traveled.

You were hoping that some of the people there would at least point you in the right direction. Raiden had told you that the title of Nightwolf was given to a great warrior who could commune with the Gods. In this case, it was also a man who bore the dragon marking. You called a car from the phone in your room and waited outside for it to meet you. When it did, you opened the door and climbed in the back and made casual conversation with the driver.

You pulled the door closed, but then someone smacked on the door and opened it again. In crawled Liu Kang and any recovery your head and stomach had made were set so far back that you could have vomited your insides onto your boots. “What are you doing here?” That sounded far more accusatory than you had meant it too.

“Raiden sent me to accompany you.” He avoided eye contact and turned his attention to the driver. He looked just as tired as you felt and addressed the driver. “Sorry about that. Is the fare still the same for us both?”

“You going to the same place?”

“Yes, just together.”

“Then same fare, buddy.” The driver put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. You couldn’t have felt worse. Thanks Raiden. Your distraction was officially over. Maybe he hadn’t sent you to find comfort. Maybe he’d sent you to test your spirit. Great.

Next Chapter >>

[synnthamonsugar]

Savathun's Trip to the Last City

Now that we have a clearer picture of what’s going on with Savathun I decided to compile the last year’s worth of her POV lore pieces together.

This is super long, and has spoilers for Path of the Splicer VI / Beneath the Endless Night VII, so I’m putting it under a cut.

Credit to @xivuuarath for reading through this and adding some of their ideas! We talked about more beyond what’s posted here, but this is getting long, so maybe that would be better saved for a part two.

1. Traveler's Chosen (Season of Arrivals)

This piece is told from the POV of a narrator viewing the events through an "ossific den". Based on later lore pieces, I'm certain the narrator is Savathun. Given that ahamkara bones have been compromised by her, and that Shaxx has an ahamkara skull slung up in his station, it’s safe to assume this is Sav’s vantage point.

That said, I don't believe Savathun is observing Shaxx, but rather Zavala, struggling in the wake of the Darkness' encroachment on the system and his colleagues' refusals to evacuate to safety. She seems pleased to find Zavala in a desperate state, and watches as he has a silent conversation with the Traveler. Of note is that she's waiting for it to respond.

He waits for a response and I do as well, tense, curious. [ . . . ] It is no time at all for me, but for him, the hours creep by in silence.

I am ready to choke the voice of his Traveler if it answers him, but there is nothing.

2. Harbinger Mission (Season of the Hunt)

Thank you to @xivuuarath​ for pointing this out since I didn’t include it the first time around. During the Harbinger mission Savathun’s forces are attempting to secure a Shard of the Traveler in the EDZ. Of note is that they aren’t trying to destroy it, but rather siphon the Light from it.

Given that the Shard of the Traveler is what allowed our Guardian to jumpstart their Light when they lost it during the Red War, and is what allowed Uldren Sov to break into the Dreaming City during the events of Forsaken, we can assume it’s useful to lightbearers and mortals alike. Make note of this, because it becomes potentially relevant later on.

2.5. Hawkmoon (Season of the Hunt)

From an unknown vantage point, Savathun watches The Guardian and Crow celebrate their defeat of her Taken at the Shard of the Traveler. Unlike Zavala, she can find no weak points in Crow or the Guardian, only happiness. This awakens something in her.

What is this feeling? I did not ask for it. I do not understand it. I do not want it.

Which gets repeated throughout the lore piece. This is our first glimpse of Savathun having feelings that don't fall into the range of "malevolence" or "plotting". She yearns for her youth with her siblings and the warmth of her old life, and feels burgeoning regret for the people she betrayed.

There is a growing kinship here. Against better judgment.

This is ambiguous enough to be a comment on Crow’s and The Guardian’s relationship, or herself and The Guardian and/or Crow. She's called us her friend before but this might be the first time she's actually had friendly feelings for us.

3. Books of Sorrow: New Verse (Season of the Hunt)

This hasn't actually been posted on Ishtar Collective and I'm too lazy to track down a transcript online, so pardon the source. There's a lot to unpack here.

I walk in a city made of delicate hopes.

Savathun has moved beyond occupying ahamkara bones and is actually physically present.

I hear my name everywhere. [. . .] The sound is nourishment.

Imbaru machine on-line?

I am more than I ever was, and less than I will ever be.

Make note of this line.

I am many and none. I'm a man who sits alone in a cavernous office counting my failures. I'm a woman looking at a silent god. I'm a lost soul on a cold moon. I'm a broken mirror of a man who tries to steer the ship.

Comparing (?) herself to Zavala, Ikora, Eris, and back to Zavala again?

I'm a familiar stranger, flitting between them all, hiding my face.

Again, I think she's speaking literally here.

The people here are small krill dwarfed by the enormity of oblivion.

A neat little comparison of humanity with the krill, who we established in her last appearance she's beginning to feel regret for.

4. Retrofuturist (Season of the Chosen)

Savathun watches a Crucible match, and judges Guardians for being reckless with the gift of immortality. The tone of this piece reinforces the idea she is actually out and about in a corporeal form.

I'm mostly interested in her perspective on Ghosts here. She calls them "A perfect being", and describes their ability to revive the dead as miraculous. She isn't happy that the spectators don't appreciate the gravity of this. Weird sentiment for a hive but ok.

I look up into the blank white face. I feel its Light on my cheeks. It no longer burns me.

The Hive are repelled by the Light. Savathun has grown to tolerate it. Something has changed in her metaphysical composition.

@xivuuarath​ made the excellent observation that she might have been at least partially successful in the Harbinger mission - that she may have secured enough Light to build up an immunity, allowing her to be physically present in the City without being hurt by the Traveler.

Each revival is a choice. I know what to do.

Tuck this away for a moment.

5. Beneath the Endless Night: VII - Ripe (Season of the Splicer)

Okay this whole page is insane so excuse the massive infodump here.

I walk through the City on broken legs. I am conspicuous, but the people here grant me many affordances. I chose this form well.

Confirmation that our girl is actually bumping about in a human-form.

I open my eyes and search the faces of the people around me for familiarity. I did not mean to. I twist inwardly with disgust.

She's sympathizing with the humans of the City. She does not like this, but she is!

When they first reached for me, I reached back in acid mockery, and they opened themselves to me in stupid, naked innocence. I was giddy. My fingers raked their minds. I forced my will through them using only words and met no resistance.

Now I reach as often as they do, and when they reach back, I am thankful. I speak with them. I seek their company. Their companionship.

In case it wasn’t obvious already, Savathun has been running a psy-op on the residents of the Last City, which may explain some of the particularly erratic and troubling behavior from individuals / groups this season.

However the interesting thing is, while Sav used her powers of suggestion to manipulate, the humans unknowingly manipulated her in return. Not through any magic - simply through their kindness.

Savathun is doing more than observing the people of the Last City, she is living with them, getting to know them. Savathun is making friends and it’s literally changing her.

This is not pity, for I know pity. What is this—

A call back to the Hawkmoon lore with her trying to make sense of budding positive feelings.

I clench the gangling black mass that threatens to unspool recklessly from within this shell of flesh. My new arms are too thin, too weak. My new shell still bound with thick mucus. Not yet, I say.

I suspect that the “new shell” she talks about here is not her human-form, but rather something else growing inside it.

A man places his hands on me, on my shoulders, on my back. He asks if I am ill, and he sees my flat eyes, my teeth black with ripeness, and he prepares to scream. I let him keep his mind. I push breath up and through my ruined mouth and speak a simple lie. He stops, smiles, laughs. Shakes his head. He points a finger at me in mocking admonishment before walking away.

A few things to unpack here.

Savathun is physically deteriorating... badly. @xivuuarath pointed out that the body horror of this particular scene mirrors the Emissary’s description of a world with no darkness and creatures that are incapable of death even as they physically fall apart, and if you follow that line of thinking you may infer that she’s forcing herself to live through light alone.

She's approachable enough that some rando would see her in trouble and want to help her, reinforcing the point that she's been wandering about the City and vibing with its residents.

She could have done worse to the good samaritan but chooses not to. She does her mind trick and lets him go about his business. She’s showing mercy... which is something we know the hive absolutely must not do at the risk of being consumed by their worm.

Even here, basted in deception both ample and rich, the Worm cries ravenously. It has grown grotesque, skin taut, overfed, and still it howls for more. It commands me to keep it alive.

I look up, beyond the flickering net of darkness, and see what rests just beyond. Waiting for me. The Worm roars.

NOT DISCONCERTINGLY AMBIGUOUS AT ALL that we don't know if the worm is roaring in terror, pleading or triumph.

TL;DR of what I think is going on.

Savathun came to the City to destabilize it through manipulation, but could not be physically present until she hardened herself to the Light. Camouflaging herself in a human form, she spent time with the residents of the City, and found herself manipulated in return by their kindness. She's resisting the positive emotions, but they're there, which is something we've never seen between hive and humans before. You can't have a crisis of conscience if you don't have a conscience, and Savathun does.

I think Savathun is trying to shed her current form and be reborn in some capacity. I think she's going to try to use the Light to rid herself of the Worm and bootstrap herself into something new. If you'd asked me before reading this lore, I would have insisted that she wanted to become a thought-entity, but the cocoon-like imagery makes me second-guess this assumption.

There are outstanding questions at this point.

Why did she want to prevent Eris and/or The Guardian from communicating with the Darkness in Season of Arrivals? Is there a purpose to the Endless Night beyond eroding willpower and sowing division? Is she trying to save only herself, or attempt to undo the millennia-old injustice she inflicted on her people?

[sashi-ya]

{+18} – Cherry Blossom & Tangerines – Trafalgar Law x Y/n – Part 2

Modern AU. Living in Seoul, Sk. Trip to Jeju Do (Island). Everybody is alive. No spoilers. Female reader. No physical descriptions. Everybody is +18, canon ages. Chopper is human.

Tw: anxiety, fear of flying. No further tw warnings. Mostly SFW. Nami x Vivi & and some ZoSan.

A/N: The AU is inspired on Jeju Island, SK. I've made some research on cute places from there, such as touristic attractions and coffee shops. Even though, it may not be 100% accurate, so keep in mind is mostly inspired♥

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31059467

Word Count: 4K

» List of parts: {P1} {P2} {P3} {P4} {P5} {P6}«

Chapter 2. “Law?!...” I said surprised. “Y/n-ya?...” he asked, also surprised, but before I could say anything else, Luffy came running through the aisle and hugged Law, and I came to the conclusion that he was, indeed, Zoro and Luffy’s friend.

I moved my stuff out of the way, and after he got rid of Luffy, Law helped me to put my backpack on the overhead locker and then sat next to me.

I remained silent for a little bit, waiting perhaps for him to talk, but he didn’t. The flight attendant announced the takeoff was about to happen, so we fasten our seatbelts as the plane started moving. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could see how he seemed a little bit nervous. I thought it was my imagination, but when the plane gathered a little more speed through the runway, he began to breathe faster.

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and I had to ask, “Law, are you ok? Are you feeling bad?”. He directed his gaze at me with blushing cheeks, and after a few seconds, he said “Y-Yes. I just tend to get a little nervous during the take off, but I’m… ok”. Poor thing, he was trying to cover his heavy breathing… “Don’t worry, it's completely normal, would you like me to hold your hand? You can squeeze it as much as you can”, I said kindly, keeping my cool just for him to see how it wasn’t a big deal, and nothing to get embarrassed of. I placed my hand, palm up, over the armrest that separated our seats and waited for him to hold it. He doubted a little bit, but he finally did it, first softly, still ashamed, but then firmly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon, try to focus on your breathing”, I guided him, with a calm speech, and looking directly into his deep grey eyes, smiling kindly. He slowly calmed his respiratory frequency, and a few minutes after the plane was already flying at cruise level, he sweetly let go of my hand. Our palms were a little sweaty, but I couldn’t care less.

“T-Th- Thanks…” He said, looking at the floor. “Don’t worry, you saved me three times the other day, now I owe you only two” I said, winking an eye at him. Law smiled a little, but kept looking at the floor. I was about to point out the fact that he was Zoro’s friend when Nami peaked through our seat backs saying “Oi Torao, you finally decided to come with us!! You normally don’t go anywhere, I’m glad you separated from your books for good!... Oh, and you two must know each other, right Y/n?” she said pointing at us, “Both of you study at the same U and are becoming doctors soon”. Vivi who was next to Nami began to giggle covering his mouth. Suddenly I realized that both of my friends already knew who Law was, and began to suspect that for some reason they wanted to perhaps pair us up.

“I know him from other circumstances”, I said smirking at them, but with an underhand expression of “I’m gonna kill both of you for not telling me”. Law smiled at them, but didn’t say much, and the girls returned to their seats.

“So, your surname must be Trafalgar, right? I thought you were a Donquixote…”, I asked him. “Yeah, is a long story…”, he said with no emotion at all, and I realized it wasn’t a good topic, so I changed the curse of the conversation. “Oh, you were the one who was complemented by Dr. Marco? You are amazing, doc!”.

“Uhum, but I’m not that good. Dr. Phoenix is just an amazing teacher”, he replied. “Indeed, he is”, I said. The small talk came to an end when the flight attendant offered us something to drink. I opted for a glass of plain water, and so did Law. He then grabbed a manga from his little bag, and began to read. “Maybe he doesn’t wanna talk to me…” I thought, put my air pods on and turned on the music. Some minutes after I regretted not having any sleep last night, as my eyes were trying to close...

The voice of the captain announced over the speakers that we will be arriving on Jeju Island in a few minutes. I was being lazy to open my eyes, as I felt extremely comfy sleeping in that position… until I realized I had my head - and almost the right side of my body - over Law’s shoulder. “Oh my… I’m sorry!” I said gaining composure and sitting properly on my spot. Law gave me a smile with kind eyes, and said “Don’t worry, I was asleep too, I used your head as a pillow, I didn’t want to wake you up, though”. Behind us a few laughs from the girls were heard, and I asked, confused, “You… what?. But the landing was already happening and the cabin crew asked us to prepare, so I decided to shut my mouth. I gazed at Law to see if he needed any help with the landing, but he didn’t seem as scared as he was with the taking off.

We all descended the plane, waited for our luggage and headed to the car rental picking point. I’ve booked three cars, so we distributed perfectly on each one. Franky picked the blue Hyundai Venue. Usopp, Chopper and Brook went with him. Law chose a yellow Hyundai Sonata, of course he would, he looks so cool… Zoro, Sanji, and of course Luffy followed him. I chose the white Tucson, for me and the girls.

We left the airport and drove through the streets of Jeju, admiring the beauty of the cherry blossom trees and the yellow flowers on the side of the road. Law’s car was behind us, and sometimes I spied through the rear mirror, just to see his face fully concentrated on the road.

I asked Nami to put the GPS for me, because our Airbnb was a little bit remote from the center and I was afraid of getting lost. The girls and I sang the whole drive to the songs the radio was playing.

We finally reached the house. It was just as the photos, a white two-story house, big enough for all of us. The beach was next to our patio, the typical style of grey rocks of Jeju Do garnished the entrance and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore with a few seagulls squawking made the whole atmosphere unique.

I gave the entrance code to Robin and she opened the door. Luffy entered first running excited and went directly to the garden to see the beach. We followed him, pretty excited too. Inside, the house had a minimalistic style, everything was white and the floor and furniture was made of light wood.

There were four rooms, so the guys distributed in two of them, Robin and I went to another and we let Nami and Vivi have a room for them. We took turns to use the shower and got ready to explore the island right away.

Sanji suggested that we should go first to Dongmun traditional market to buy fresh ingredients for him to cook for us. He became a professional chef a few years ago and works with his father Zeff, on his well-known restaurant, “The Baratie”. His cooking skills are heavenly, and he loves to cook for us, so we agreed immediately.

We arrived after a 10 minute drive, the market was extremely busy, the food stalls offered a variety of typical korean dishes, kimbap, tteokbokki, tteokgalbi and fresh and canned ingredients, such as typical fishes from the island and the famous kimchi.

Luffy, as always, drove by the smell of the delicious food, ran desperately inside and tasted every single sample the sellers offered to him. Nami, Vivi and I, decided to try the famed tangerines of the island. Nami, who is an expert on tangerines, would give us the final verdict on if they are good as people say. The juicy mandarin slices we tried were exquisite, the sweetness mixed with a little bit of tartness made us want to buy bags of them.

I saw Law approaching us, he had separated from Zoro’s group who were trying the variety of Sojus. I called him with a big smile and some tangerine slices on my hands, “Law!! Come here, you should try this!”. He came closer also with a little grin. I stood on tiptoes and said, “Open your mouth!” and without any shame I offered him a big juicy slice of mandarin. He opened his mouth surprised, but accepted the fruit and while taking it, his lips softly touched the point of my fingers. It felt almost as if he was kissing them, or for a moment I wished it was the case… A little drop of juice ran from his mouth through the commissure of his lips, so I immediately rubbed my thumb over it to clean it. He fixed his eyes on mine, and for a few seconds it seemed as if the rest of the world stopped existing around us. He swallowed up the fruit and thanked me still without taking his gaze off me. The moment broke when the old lady at the tangerine selling stall asked us if we wanted a box or a bag for the fruits. I turned to her, and saw Nami and Vivi looking at the lady wanting her to shut her mouth. My cheeks thanked the interruption, though, because they couldn’t get any more flushed.

“A box would be great, thanks!” I told the seller. Law carried the box himself, and we reunited with the rest of the group.

Sanji had already gathered everything he needed, Zoro had bought his alcohol provision for the next few days, Luffy had his face completely stuffed with some meat, Franky had a cola on his hands, Brook a milkshake, Robin a bag of tangerine tea, Chopper of course some candy cotton on both of his hands and Usopp was eating some type of ramyon. We left the market and headed to our temporary house to leave the provisions and decide the plans for the afternoon and night.

“I want to go to Bomnal Cafe, I heard they serve delicious pastries! Can we go there?” suggested Chopper. “We can go there for the afternoon, and then have a picnic with a bonfire at the beach for the night. What do you think, guys?”, I proposed. “BONFIRE! BONFIRE! Sanji, you could also make some barbecue!!” screamed Luffy, excited, and everyone agreed that it would be a great idea.

Some of us headed to the coffee shop, while Sanji, Zoro, Law, Usopp and Franky stayed at home to prepare everything for the night.

The little coffee shop had a minimalistic, all white and grey, and maybe a little vintage atmosphere. We ordered a few pastries, puddings and lattes that tasted exquisite. We sat by a big window that let us admire the beauty of a little garden with cherry trees and a little pond with some fishies swimming peacefully. We were making stories for Instagram, taking photos, having fun. “Oi, Y/n, pose for me!” said Nami and took a photo of me with her iPhone. I didn’t have time to pose properly, so it was a pretty casual photo of me drinking a matcha latte. Brook insisted on me posting it, because he said it was cute. Chopper and the girls agreed with him, so I uploaded it to my Instagram.

Suddenly, a new notification popped up on my screen, “@DrHeartSteeler liked and commented on your photo”. “Hey guys, do you know who is @DrHeart…” I was asking them while opening the notification and realized it was no other than Law. “@DrHeartSteeler > Beautiful… place. Can you bring me one of those when you come back home?”. I hadn’t had the chance to say anything else when my friends began to make a fuss about the comment. “WHEN YOU COME BACK HOME?, Torao what the fuck?” said Nami laughing out loud. Chopper who was a little innocent, started asking why everyone was laughing, and it only fanned up the flames that were blushing my cheeks. “Yohoho… I guess you have to bring him “home” a matcha latte, Y/n, he probably misses you already…” mocked me Brook. Robin, who is the most mature of all of us, simply laughed and looked at me with kind eyes.

“Stop it guys, he is just asking for a latte…” I said, fanning my face with my hand. “Oh, yes, of course. He wasn’t even following your account. Before we left home, he asked Vivi for your user, right babe?…” said Nami and Vivi nodded with her mouth full of chocolate cake. I didn’t want to show the excitement I was feeling on my insides, so I simply replied that he probably wanted to follow me because he was already following everybody in the group. We decided to come back before the sun set, so we could see it on the beach and after buying Law his tea, and some pastries for the guys we left the pretty tea room and drove home.

“Guys, we are home! we brought you some pastries!!” I said, while carrying the papers bags, and Law’s latte on the other hand. Everyone came running to me and grabbed the bags, while Law, who was sitting on the couch reading, looked at me above his manga, as if he was waiting for me to say something. I tried to act cool, so I said “And oh, uhm, Law your matcha Latte. I hope it’s the right size for you”. He smiled at me, left the book on the armchair and stood up. He walked towards me slowly, I didn’t know if he was trying to be sexy or it was just how he was… Because he certainly was, only using black with yellow spots, swim shorts and a yellow open shirt, that let me admire his tattooed chest and abs.

“Thanks, Y/n-ya. When I saw your picture, I craved for…” he made a little pause, and continued while grabbing the plastic cup, “some matcha latte”. Well, now I crave... you… I thought. I gave him a look from head to toe, and said smirking “It’s nothing, now I only owe you only one favor, so, you tell me if you need something more”. “Mh... I’ll keep it in mind”, he said with his low sexy voice and a little side smirk. I smiled at him and went upstairs.

I threw myself on the bed and sighed loudly. My heart was racing, my lower parts were feeling funny and the sexual tension I’ve just experienced was too much to handle for me. “How hot he is, damn it”, I expressed out loud covering my eyes. “Who is hot, Y/n?” asked Zoro, who apparently was entering my bedroom to ask me something. I almost had a heart attack, but calmed myself down and asked him what he needed. He told me that we were getting ready to go to the beach to prepare the picnic and watch the sunset and if I could bring some blankets. I told him ok and he left my room laughing.

“I came here to rest, and I’m getting more stressed than during finals”, I thought, annoyed, while gathering for a few blankets and pillows to bring to the beach. I headed downstairs. Everybody has already left the house and I could see them walking towards the beach from our patio. I was about to leave and closed the door trying not to throw the blankets I had in my hand, when someone scared the hell out of me. “Oi, you almost let me locked in..., let me help you with that”, said Law who was still inside. “God… Law, you scared me… what are you doing? I thought I was alone…”. “Sanji forgot the salt shaker, I returned to bring it to him”, he calmly answered. “Oh, I see… Well let’s go” I said, still breathing fast from getting scared, and handed him a few blankets to help me carry them.

The chilly sea breeze kissed our cheeks, and the sound of the beach began to fill my ears. I was wearing a long silky dress that danced with the wind, as well as my hair. The sun was going down, everything was golden. Oranges, violets, reds, were the colours that tinted the clouds above the sea. Law was walking right by my side, and both were admiring the beauty of the evening lights that bathed the cliffs. I decided to stop, and take a picture with my analog camera, and as I did, Law kept walking a few steps more until he realized I had stopped. He turned around and looked at me, just when I pressed the shutter. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t know…” Law excused himself for appearing in the photo, but I wasn’t mad at all. I gave him a smile and told him, “It’s ok, you are part of the trip, I’ll give you a copy when I develop the film if you want”. “Thanks…”, he said, and we kept on walking admiring the beauty of the sun setting.

We finally arrived at where everybody else was. Law gave the salt to Sanji and helped him with the barbecue. I started to set up the blankets with the girls and told Brook to play some music with his guitar. The boys had already put up the bonfire and some torchlights that lit up our night.

The night was lovely, it was a little cold, but a few beers after I was dancing with the girls barefoot on the sand to “A lovely night” from the movie Lalaland. Suddenly, Robin said to me “Hey, Y/n… it seems that Torao-kun can’t take his eyes off from you tonight”. “Huh?” I told Robin, confused. She pointed to where the boys were cooking and I turned my face to them. Law was indeed looking at me, with a beer in his hand. I smiled gazing at him over my shoulder, and he did too. I turned back at the girls and kept on dancing covering my mouth, giggling a little. Vivi, Nami and Robin also giggled and gave me a complicit smile.

“Dinner is ready, everybody! “announced Sanji and we gathered all around the grill to receive the plates that surprisingly Zoro helped Sanji to serve. I guess alcohol and food made them somehow get along, at least for a few hours. I wonder when they are going to stop the fighting and begin the kissing… fufufu…

The brochettes were heavenly, we ate them sitting around the bonfire while singing “Binks no Sake”, one of Brooks classics. He is the musician of the group, and even started his professional career a few years ago as “Soul King”. He is such a talented guy.

As the night passed Law and I sometimes interlocked eyes, or exchanged little smiles. I took some more photos during the picnic and we kept on dancing until 3 am, when we decided to raise camps and head to our beds.

I was exhausted, yet, the idea of stalking Law on Instagram was on my head and didn’t let me sleep. I covered myself completely with the sheets and searched for his user on my phone. He has no more than 5 photos posted. One of them was with Luffy and Zoro, after training, another one of him and Rosinante -he called him “Cora-san” on the image caption, how cute - when he was a little boy. The rest of the photos were with some friends dressed up as pirates for Halloween and in the comment section they called themselves the “Heart pirates”, ha-ha funny.

I suspired whenever I zoomed the photos over his eyes. I was starting to like this man, way too much... I tossed and turned in bed trying to fall asleep, but I simply couldn’t, so I thought drinking some tea would help me. I went downstairs, trying not to wake anybody up and got to the kitchen. From the big glass door that looked at the beach I saw how the moonlight lit up the waves crashing on the cliffs and the whole kitchen. The scenery and the chamomile tea were slowly fading away the image of Law’s eyes, until I felt someone placing a hand over my shoulder. I slightly gazed at it, and it only took me a few seconds to know it was the tattooed hand of the guy who was keeping me awake. He was wearing black shorts, and a loose white shirt. His hair was more disheveled than ever. What is it with this guy that looks so good no matter what he looks?...

“I see I’m not the only one who can’t sleep”, Law whispered. “Yeah, I’m exhausted but somehow I can’t fall asleep… I guess it must be the bed, I don’t know. Do you want some tea?”, I offered him. “Yes, that would be great”, he accepted.

I was turning on the electric kettle when we heard some noises coming from the living room. I looked at Law and both of us peaked through the kitchen entrance to see what was going on…

“Shitty cook… we shouldn’t….”, “What? are you afraid, idiot Marimo?”. Sanji and Zoro seemed a little drunk and were somehow hugging and walking at the same time. At first I thought they were trying to help each other to go upstairs, so I started walking towards them to help. I couldn’t walk any further because immediately Law grabbed me by my waist, and pulled me back into the kitchen covering my mouth. “Shh… just wait”, he whispered into my ear and let go of me. What I saw next was something we’ve all been waiting for. Finally, Zoro and Sanji accepted how much they loved each other, and went upstairs kissing as two teenagers in love.

I opened my mouth and looked at Law with a surprised expression, that soon turned into a happy face. I started making little jumps in my place. “I knew it!!” I said and Law giggled almost without making any sound. With the excitement I didn’t notice how near we were from each other, until Law softly caressed my face with one of his soft hands. He, of course had the hands of a surgeon, long fingers, soft skin, perfectly cut nails. “Why don’t we do the same as them?” he asked me, and I gasped and stood still in front of him. He slowly approached his face to mine until the point of our noses were almost touching. I got lost into his grey eyes, my mouth was ready to receive his lips. The sweet torture of the moments before a first kiss, I wished I could make it last as much as I could, but at the same time, I wanted him to kiss me, passionately, now, right now.

My eyes probably showed how desperately I was for him to kiss me, that he smirked and finally planted his luscious lips against mine. He explored my mouth with his tongue, with no modesty at all, and as we were passionately kissing he lifted me up and sited me over the kitchen counter.

Without stopping the kissing, I open my legs to allow him to come further and as he did, he slid a hand to my sex…

Part 3

PT1

[sproutsgcrden]

sentinel of naruhata | chapter three

koichi's very bad, no good day

warnings: descriptions of violence, manga spoilers for my hero academia: vigilantes

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“So… you’re Haimawari Koichi, age 19, freshman at Hitonami College… I’ll just call you Koichi, then. Unless you like the sound of Nice Guy better.”

Izuku laughed at Haimawari’s sputtering reaction, clutching his stomach as he leaned back against the cool floor of Koichi’s little one-room apartment. After the incident with the return of those thugs, Izuku and Knuckleduster followed Koichi back to his home. Knuckleduster was determined to recruit the both of them, and Izuku just… didn’t have anywhere else to be. He was sure that Eraserhead was already done with patrol by the time their skirmish ended.

Luckily, Koichi didn’t seem to mind too much when Izuku mentioned dying his hair. He felt the black suited him nicely, even if it was still a little damp. He didn’t need Tomura or Kurogiri making a surprise appearance and immediately picking out his green curls from the crowd.

“Don’t go through my stuff, crazy old man!” Koichi reached over to grab his student I.D. and his wallet from Knuckleduster’s grasp.

The veteran vigilante ignored him as he turned to face Izuku. “And what should we call you, kid?”

“Izuku.” The young boy had stopped laughing, but he was still laying on the floor.

“What, no last name? Running away from home?”

“What’s it to you?”

Koichi leaned over him, glancing down with concerned eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to live off of the streets… No wonder you bought a weird amount of junk at the store.”

Izuku grimaced, sitting up and pushing the older kid out of his space. “I’m fine. Can we change subjects?”

Knuckleduster nodded, sending a small smirk Izuku’s way. “Okay. Why are you looking for Eraserhead?”

Koichi blinked, ignoring Izuku’s frustrated groan. “Who’s Eraserhead?”

“He’s an underground hero. He can erase quirks, barring any mutations, and he practically fights quirkless. He’s a badass.” Izuku was talking animatedly, moving his hands around wildly.

“Oh. Wait. Is he your dad?”

“Why would he be my father?!”

“You have the exact same quirk don’t you?”

Izuku slumped, flitting his gaze towards the floor. “It’s similar. I want him to train me how to be a hero. Plus I need his help with something, not that I’m gonna tell you losers what that is.”

Koichi let out an offended grunt while Knuckleduster heartily chuckled.

“Anyways. The two of you will be calling me Master.” Knuckleduster moved from the table to the small mini fridge in the corner of the room, opening it up to find it full of beer.

“Didn’t we tell you that we weren’t going to be your apprentices?” Koichi glared as the man opened a can of beer and began to chug it. “And would you get out already? This is my house!”

The old man ignored Koichi’s protests in favor of grabbing another can of beer. “The drug is called Trigger. It’s a quirk-booster; it also weakens the user’s ability to reason. Basically, this drug turns regular folk into instant villains.”

Izuku glared at the table, clenching his hands into tight fists. He knew all too well what Trigger was capable of. He shuddered as he dared to think what could happen if his father forced Tomura to take the drug. Japan would be completely decimated.

“So, why not just let the heroes do something about it? Or call the police.” Koichi let his head drop to the table, bored and frustrated at the fact that Knuckleduster was refusing to leave him alone.

Knuckleduster barked out a short laugh. “Ain’t gonna happen, kid. These pop-up villains on trigger can emerge from any crowd, at any time. Cops and heroes are always forced to play catch-up.”

“Oh. So they blend in with everyone else?”

“Exactly. And that’s where we come in!” Shocking the two boys into backing up, Knuckleduster hopped to his feet, hand clenched into a fist.

Izuku shook out of the state first, glaring at the older man. “Did you just say ‘we’?”

“That’s right, kid! The three of us are gonna go out, stop suspicious looking characters, and check their tongues!”

“Okay, even if we wanted to go with you, why are you allowing a nine-year old to accompany you? That seems pretty crazy to me.”

“Oh please. He’s more advanced in quirk usage and hand to hand than you, just based on last night. Plus, if he’s hiding from his parents, he’s got nothing else to do. He’s already a deviant in the law’s eyes.”

Izuku could do nothing but reluctantly nod his head at that.

“Trigger turns the user’s tongue black, so we’re gonna give those losers a beat down and make them spill the details on their dealer. That’s the only way to put an end to this whole drug trade.”

Koichi sweat dropped, shaking his head. “So you just want us to go around punching people?”

“Exactly!”

“I thought you were just joking! What the hell, man!” Koichi screamed as he hung off of Knuckleduster’s left arm. Izuku laughed maniacally as he hung off of the vigilante’s neck. He was punching people with his right hand and checking their tongues.

Koichi could admit he was a great multitasker. But holy shit, this man was insane.

The three of them were causing quite the commotion; people were screaming and running away from a man carrying a college student and a little kid who was also throttling everyone he was in range of. It wouldn’t be too long before a hero showed up to stop whatever was happening.

In a desperate attempt to stop Knuckleduster’s shenanigans, Koichi called out to the group closest to them. “Please! Give us a peek at your tongues! Stick ‘em out a little and this will all be over!” The guy closest to them stuck out his, thankfully, normal looking tongue. Koichi tried not to be too offended when the man also flipped him off.

It was hard to hear over Izuku’s laughter, which only increased in volume after getting the finger, but Koichi’s ear perked up at the sound of boots hitting the metal above them. With a glance upwards, the hoodie-clad vigilante felt his eyes soften in relief. “Pop Step!”

“What the hell are you losers doing?” The pink haired idol-in-the-making jumped down to the ground as soon as Kunckleduster threw both Koichi and Izuku on a nearby bench. They landed harshly, Izuku’s laughter tapering off within an instant. Koichi immediately shook it off, and stalked over to a nearby vending machine, selecting a coffee for himself and a juice for Izuku.

“Why don’t you ask the old man? He was the one chasing after innocent bystanders like a lunatic.” Koichi mosied back over to the bench, tossing Izuku the juice as he plopped down beside him.

“I’m nine, not a toddler. What if I wanted a coffee?”

“If they cooperated, I wouldn’t have to look like a lunatic now would I?”

Koichi ignored the both of them as he opened his coffee, taking a well-deserved sip after lowering his mask. He leaned his head back in a rare moment of reprieve, trying to block out the weirdness he somehow chose to surround himself with. He only blinked back into the present when Pop Step aggressively leaned on his arm.

“So you’re looking for junkies and dealers, huh?” Her thoughtful expression drooped into a grimace as she looked away from Knuckleduster. “Thanks for showing up last night, pops. Provided me with a distraction so I could slip away from that idiot.”

“Whatever.”

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?!”

Pop Step shrugged, stepping back and throwing her hands on her hips. “Why’s the runt still following you around?”

Izuku, who was absentmindedly sipping on the juice that Koichi had gotten him, slowly looked up at Pop Step with narrowed eyes. “I’m not following them. I’ve just got nowhere else to be at the moment and it’s entertaining to see these two create chaos.”

“Right… and that Eraserdude you were looking for?”

“I won’t even be able to start searching for him until night falls. I’m just passing the time.”

Pop blinked a few times before turning back to Koichi. “So, Nice Guy!”

“You can just call me Koichi.”

“Koichi? Is that your real name?” Pop Step hopped in place, her large grin very apparent. “Why are you going along with this, Koichi?

The college student paused, the can of coffee held up to his lips as if he was ready to take another sip. He slowly moved it down, allowing it to rest against his thigh instead. “I just… if I don’t keep an eye on the guy, he’ll beat up every last person on the streets.”

“Nah. I start with the most suspicious ones… like youngsters who can’t stop messing around.”

Koichi ignored the statement, along with Izuku’s snort, as he continued. “And who knows what kind of trouble the kid’ll get up to without a responsible adult nearby!”

“Responsible? Says the dude who’s only item in his fridge is a case of beer!”

“You all are morons!” Pop stomped her foot against the ground. “Going at it so randomly is never going to work. Why don’t you use your heads!!”

Koichi looked up at the girl from his spot on the bench, eyes blank in confusion. “Our heads?”

Pop Step rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the bench and pulling out her phone. “Whenever a villain shows up, someone’s bound to snap a pic!”

“That’s right!” Izuku shot up, bringing his phone out as well. “The hero forums are always swimming with pictures of recent attacks.”

“All you need to do is refine the search to ‘unknown’ or ‘sudden’ villains. That’ll mean less legwork for you clowns!”

Koichi blinked, “That’s clever.”

“The photo search or calling you clowns?”

Izuku’s cackle rang out, echoing in Koichi’s ears as he glared at the girl sitting next to him. The three of them nearly missed it when Knuckleduster shot up from his seat in pursuit of a new target.

“Hey! Stick your tongue!”

“Oh, not this again!!” Koichi ran out in front of Knuckleduster, coming to the newcomer’s defense. “C’mon man, this guy is clearly just your average salaryman! He’s not even bothering anyone!”

In his rush to save the seemingly innocent man from getting punched in the face, Koichi barely came to a stop before nearly running into the newcomer. In shock, the man dropped his briefcase, crying out when hero themed action figures came tumbling out.

“See! I told you the guy was fishy! What kind of adult carries around dolls in a briefcase!”

Izuku and Pop Step had just caught up, exchanging concerned and bewildered looks. The young boy pulled his mask over his face and bent down to help the man pick up the toys.

“I- I’m sorry! I work at a toy company, these are just prototypes.”

“See! Nothing suspicious about that! He’s just a hardworking guy!” Koichi’s voice rang out as he tried to push Knuckleduster back.

The elder vigilante wasn’t having it, however, and pushed forward to grab onto the man’s lapel. “That’s what I’m trying to prove! So cooperate, or else.” His free hand cocked back, gloved fingers positioned into a tight fist.

Before Knuckleduster’s fist could land a hit on the poor businessman, a white cloth wrapped itself around his arm, effectively preventing his attack. Knuckleduster grunted as his arm was pulled back, and his eyes narrowed at the figure behind him. Izuku gasped, eyes widened as he took in the hero before them.

“Violent acts in full view of the public… you’re hardly a model citizen.” A gruff voice, harsh from sleep deprivation, sounded out from behind the group. Pop Step and Koichi backed up behind Izuku and Knuckleduster, shocked looks on their faces. “You must be one of those instant villains of late.”

Knuckleduster guffawed, “Hey kid! Looks like it’s your lucky day, huh?”

The newcomer’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, locking on to the young boy who seemed to be hyperventilating out of excitement.

Izuku’s green eyes sparkled in delight, holding his hands up in hopes of proving he wasn’t a threat. “You’re the Erasure Hero: Eraserhead! You lead the underground in both villain captures and civilian rescues, but you never stay long enough to actually gain any credit! Your fighting style is incredible! I always wondered if your capture weapon worked in tandem with your quirk- your hair floats when you use it, yeah? Does it negate small amounts of gravity near you? That would explain why your scarf seems to deny the laws of physics!” His voice carried on, causing those around him to stop and stare.

“Did you know the kid was so…”

“I’ve never heard him speak more than necessary. This is definitely new.”

Eraserhead was the first to snap out of the trance, tightening his grip on his capture weapon as he lowered himself into a battle stance. “I’m not sure how you got such vital information- I work very hard to make sure there isn’t much coverage on my exploits.”

Izuku nodded, standing in place. “There are only two clips I was able to find- but I’ve been looking for you for some time now! We’re not here to cause trouble, promise!”

“Either way, I’m off duty today. Just being a good samaritan.”

Knuckleduster grinned, turning to face the hero fully. “So we got that in common.”

Koichi backed away further, hands high in the air. “No way does he think we’re villains, right?”

“Hey, hey! Don’t lump me in with these guys!” Pop Step jumped, using her quirk to land a few yards backwards.

There was a tense moment of silence before disaster struck. Izuku, sensing trouble out of the corner of his eye, cursed as Knuckleduster rushed towards Eraserhead. The hero, now fully prepared for battle, dropped the sack he was holding. Cat food and jelly pouches flew out of the bag, bursting open against the hard pavement. Knuckleduster chose to go high, fist ready and aimed for Eraserhead’s face.

Izuku sighed, ignoring the shouts from Koichi and Pop Step as he jumped into the fray.

Yeah… this is the most idiotic thing he’s ever done.

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Constellation | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 2547

A/N: A cheeky little Galaxy post :)

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR 13x01, hospitals, general CM stuff, descriptions of panic attacks and PTSD (fictional so possibly not accurate and DEFINITELY not how everyone might experience it)

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

You had only just been allowed to resume field work after an extended medical leave when Cat Adams resurfaced, leading Emily to sideline you once again.

“I’m not having this fight with you, (y/n).”

“I’m cleared for field work.”

“I know, but you’ve been cleared for less than a week and I don’t want your first case back to be this one.”

“Why, because it’s Cat Adams? I’m not afraid of her.”

“Because you’re not afraid of her, that’s why.”

“Emily-“

“I told you, I’m not having this fight. You’re going to stay here and work the case with us. JJ will go with Reid.”

As much as you resented Emily for not letting you go to the prison with Spencer, you were glad she was at least sending JJ. At least he wouldn’t be alone. It was enough to keep your head on straight, and Emily even let you go with the team to collect Diana. It made you feel more useful, especially when Spencer’s mom recognized you among the team.

When you got back to the BAU, you planned to make sure Spencer and his mom had everything they needed to resume normal life. Instead, you were greeted by Morgan, who had a lead on Scratch.

You expected Emily to tell you to stay, Scratch was just as big of a threat as Cat Adams, but she handed you a kevlar vest and didn’t say anything about it when you joined the team in the SUV’s.

It was thrilling, being back in the field. You understood why you hadn’t been allowed to be there in so long, your mind kept flickering to Spencer and his wellbeing. For the past three months, the thought was loaded and often lead to panic attacks. Now that he was released, you had to keep reminding yourself that he was safe before your worries got that far.

The speed of the drive was enough to fuel your adrenaline, but it was amped up quickly when the spikes took out your small caravan.

The truck came out of nowhere, smashing into your vehicle and immediately disorienting you more than you already were. When you finally came to, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your left arm. There was a woman next to you, she didn’t look physically injured but her behavior told you otherwise. She clearly had something internal going on.

You tried to exit the vehicle, but the side was smashed into your leg. While you didn’t think your leg was broken, you surely wouldn't be able to get it out on your own. Your hands found your gun instead, and on autopilot you double checked that it was loaded. You couldn't figure out where the rest of your gear was, or your platoon. You started whispering their names, trying to locate them.

“Smith… sound off. Marcos… sound off… Taylor… sound off. Taylor… sound off.”

“(y/n)?” a strangely familiar voice called. You tried to melt into the seat as much as you could, keeping your gun drawn towards the door on the other side of the woman. It opened, revealing a man you felt like you knew in another life.

“(y/n), it’s Matt Simmons. Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know who you are,” you kept your gun trained on his forehead. He paused for a moment, noticing the state that the woman next to you was in.

“Ok, ok. I’m going to take Tara, you stay where you are and I’ll help you next.”

“Where’s my platoon?” you asked. The flicker of realization that briefly crossed his face confused you, but instead of acting on it he took the woman he called Tara out of the SUV and started calling for someone named Luke.

“Sergeant (y/l/n), I’m Luke Alvez with the 75th Rangers. I’m going to help you get out, ok?” A new voice, also familiar, said to you calmly, “can you put the gun down?”

“Where's my platoon, Alvez?” you asked again.

“You were in an accident,” he slid onto the seat next to you when you lowered your weapon, though you kept your finger on the trigger.

“They ambushed us,” you whispered quietly when he got to working on freeing your leg.

“I know. Do you know where you are?”

“Afghanistan,” you answered incredulously, “where are the helicopters? How are you going to extract us without helicopters?” You were starting to panic more than you already had been, breathing increasing rapidly. You held your arm at a funny angle, trying to keep it where it would hurt the least. Your best guess was at least one broken bone in your arm and also a broken collarbone on that side.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You’re having a flashback. I can’t get your leg out from here. The first responders are going to have to help, but I can’t have you shooting them.”

“No,” you pushed back on him with your good arm, “If I can’t move you need to find Taylor first.”

“Who is Taylor?”

“You’re no help to me,” your hand flew to your left wrist, fiddling with the bracelet you wore.

“Ok, I’ll be right back,” he stepped out of the SUV and back to Simmons. Despite the clamor of first responders around you, you could still hear what the two men were saying.

“They’re deep in a flashback. We can’t get power tools in here until they’ve calmed down or they will start fighting and hurt a lot of people including themselves,” Luke said.

“So how do we do that?”

“They keep asking about their platoon, about someone named Taylor. I know (y/n) got into a humvee accident while they were overseas, I think they’re reliving it. I don’t know all the details though.”

“Who does? Does (y/n) have a therapist we can call?”

“Yeah, but it’s three in the morning,” Luke fell silent for a minute before speaking again, “I’ll call Reid. He might know something.

You had an inkling that those words were supposed to mean something to you, and it only frustrated you more when they didn’t. Alvez announced that he was rejoining you in the SUV, then pulled out his cell phone, a move that confused you because phones like that didn’t work in the desert.

It confused you even more when the call seemingly connected, Alvez giving the person on the other line information about being ambushed by Scratch, Steven being dead, and Emily missing. Though familiar, none of those names made sense to you, or your situation.

“No,” you hissed, “Taylor. I can’t find Taylor.”

“(y/n) is ok. Their arm is broken, and they're deep in a flashback. They keep asking about someone named Taylor. They never talked about a Taylor in group, what can I do to help them?” Alvez listened for a minute, then handed you the phone, “it’s for you.”

“Where did you take Taylor,” you asked harshly as soon as you had the phone in your hand.

“Listen to me, (y/n). It’s Spencer. Your mind is playing tricks on you, you’re not in Afghanistan anymore. Look around,” you finally took a minute to observe your surroundings. There were too many trees for you to be in the desert, he was right. Of all the things that weren’t making sense to you right now, he was the most familiar. He had the answers you were looking for.

“Where am I? What is happening to me?"

“You’re with the FBI in Virginia. You can trust Luke, he’s going to make sure they take you to the hospital and I’ll meet you there.”

“Is Taylor ok?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you where Taylor is when I see you at the hospital, ok? I know you’re scared and hurt, (y/n), but listen to me. It’s only rain. Can you picture the rain for me?”

A single memory jumped to the forefront of your mind, standing in the rain with a curly-headed man you were certain was Spencer. You could feel the way the droplets hit your skin, you could feel the comfort you had with the man you knew was your best friend. You could feel your lungs opening up and your breathing get easier.

“Spencer,” you exhaled, finally finding footing in your brain, “it’s only rain.”

“Keep breathing, Luke is going to get you out and I’ll meet you at the hospital, ok?”

“Yeah,” you fought to keep your breathing steady, “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

You hung up and handed the phone back to Luke, counting your breaths.

“Give me another minute, Luke,” you could still feel your heart racing, though your mind was fighting to come back to reality. Once you felt like you had a better grip on it, you gave Luke the go-ahead and braced yourself while the crushed door of the SUV was cut off of the vehicle. It took every grounding technique you had to keep your head in the right place, and more than once you felt yourself start to panic about where Taylor was.

Luke rode in the ambulance with you, reassuring you multiple times that it was ok when you apologized for pointing a gun at him and Matt. You could feel your body crashing from the loss of adrenaline, the usual post-episode exhaustion coupled with the almost excruciating pain coming from your left side.

When Spencer arrived at the hospital, your brain was still cloudy from the exhaustion and various pain meds you had been given when the orthopedist had set your arm.

“How are you feeling?” he took a quick glance at your medical chart before actually making eye contact.

“Just tired, and still not… still not all the way here. Taylor… I still can’t figure out what happened to Taylor…”

Spencer sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, eyes soft, “Taylor was killed in the accident ten years ago. Your humvee was ambushed, do you remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I remember. Ten years ago when I was in the military. Now I’m a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We were chasing a lead when we were ambushed by Mr. Scratch, Peter Lewis,” Spencer nodded, “is the rest of the team ok? I haven’t seen them.”

“I haven’t seen anyone yet either,” he hesitated, and your knowledge of the man clued you in to the fact that he was calculating the probability of declining your condition if he told you everything he knew. The odds were in your favor, because after a moment he spoke again, “but Steven is dead and Emily is missing.”

“Emily’s missing?”

“I don’t know much about it, I have to talk to everyone else.”

“Then go talk to them, I promise I won’t go anywhere until you come back,” you reassured him. He made his rounds to JJ and Rossi in their rooms, then returned to yours with Luke on his heels. The other man stopped at the doorway when Spencer re-entered your room.

“I have to go take care of something for Rossi. You’re going to be ok here,” he said quickly before you could protest.

“I’m coming with you,” you started to get up. Spencer caught you gingerly when you practically fell into his grasp, still fatigued from your earlier episode.

“You can’t, not like this,” he whispered, lowering you back down onto the bed, “stay here a little longer. Will is in the next room with JJ, he said he’d take you home when they discharge you.”

“I don’t want to go home, Spence. I want to help find Emily.”

“I know, you can’t go into the field like this though. Tell me you’ll be good for the doctors so I can leave here without worrying more about you.”

You couldn't say no to this man you cared so much about, not when he was looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you had ever seen from him.

"I'll try my best," you sighed, leaning back onto the pillow.

"Thank you," he gave your good hand a squeeze before heading back towards the door where Luke was waiting.

"Luke," you called before they could leave. He stopped in his tracks, inquisitively making eye contact with you to show you he was listening, "don't let him get lost in that big brain of his, ok?"

"I won't. Rest up, we need you back at full strength as soon as possible."

"Thank you," you whispered after him as he followed Spencer out of the hospital. You tried to get some sleep, but it didn't come easy as your brain tried to make sense of the events that had transpired the past few days. First Spencer's mom was taken, Spencer was released from prison, then Cat Adams showed up claiming to be pregnant with his baby, and now Scratch had literally ran a truck into your team- your family. It was a lot for one person to process, especially since your brain had taken an unwanted break from reality earlier in the evening.

You managed to doze off for a little bit, flitting in and out of sleep until exhaustion finally took over and pulled you deeper into its throws.

You were woken by a nurse who cheerfully informed you that you could go home. Will came to collect you and held your bag of belongings for you when he walked you out to his car.

He answered all of your questions to the best of his ability and even offered to bring you back to his home when you expressed how much you didn’t want to go back to your apartment.

Henry and Michael were enough to distract you from your reeling worries and keep you grounded while you waited to hear from the rest of the team. You let the boys draw on your cast, leaving the hard plaster full of colorful artwork.

As you were eating breakfast that Will had made, your phone finally rang.

“Emily is safe, Scratch is dead,” Spencer said when you answered.

“Thank goodness,” you sighed.

“Are you at home?” He asked next.

“No, I’m at JJ and Will’s. I wasn’t ready to be alone just yet,” you told him honestly.

“How’s your head?”

“Clearer now that I’ve gotten some sleep and some food. How’s yours?”

“Still getting back up to speed. Why don’t I pick you up and we can have a quiet day with my mom? We could all use the rest.”

“Sure, Spence. I’d love to spend some time with your mom.”

When Spencer came to pick you up, you noticed a soft smile playing on his lips when he saw the way you were curled up on the couch watching tv with the boys tucked into your side.

You let them greet him first, they hadn’t seen him since before he had gone to prison. Once they released him he finally wrapped his arms around you tightly.

Your relationship had never been very physical. In fact, you could count the number of times you had hugged Spencer Reid on one hand. Standing in Will and JJ’s entryway, though, embracing him for the first time since he had been arrested, you didn’t want to let go.

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection  @thatsonezesty13  @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch

[allen-desu]

Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

-

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

[wheat-privilege]

Daily running—for everyone? For most people? For anyone?

I looked it up, I tried it, I kept a log. Now I'm posting it, so I can call it "a case study" instead of "confirming my existing suspicions".

I've been wondering about daily exercise. Most of us make a point to walk every day, and if we do more intense exercise every single day, then we usually switch off what we're working so we don't end up putting one part of our body under continuous strain.

Yet, running seems to be an exception to this rule. Despite it being a full-body, high-impact, weight-bearing exercise, there are a great many people of the internet who certainly claim that they run every single day.

And, in fact, if you take a quick dip into the wilds of Google you can see sites like Healthline (who keep a Medical Affairs team to "help ensure that the information we publish is accurate, evidence-based, current, person-centric, and trustworthy") advise you in pretty strong terms to run three miles a day.

The results on Google haven't been updated like the article itself, so I've included both for completeness.

(Image descriptions in alt text. I have linked the article here but consider this a heads up that if you follow the link they dedicate much of it to burning calories.)

Of course the title is misleading—deeper in the article we find tucked away the idea that "you may find that a rest day [...] is necessary". (Like... yes, obviously.) And then they suggest that you might need to swap some days out for low impact cross training. And then they recommend you mix in walking intervals because it is in fact hard to just get up and run 3 miles.

So ...not running three miles a day at all, then, is in fact their recommendation. Nice. Glad to see that that was made crystal clear in the title!

At any rate, this is just one example of the way daily running gets treated online: You should do it. In theory.

I was curious as to how it would feel, and what impact it would have, if you—me, as an amateur runner at whom such advice is usually aimed—really did try to run every single day. But I physically cannot run for 3 miles (which is almost 5km). Even if I could make it that far, I doubt I'd be able to repeat it the next day.

So I settled for one (1) mile, every day, for a week. I started on the 19th of March, and I wanted to see if I could make it the whole 7 days, and if so, how I would feel after.

Well, spoiler (or tldr if you don't want to read that far): I made it 6 days and then tapped out.

I'm not much of a "runner". For the most part, gurus claim you're "running" once you hit about 9.6km an hour—so, around 6 miles an hour. I gotta admit, I'm, at best, about a 7km (4.35 miles) an hour jogger. I'm slow.

So that's all my disclaimers about the actual parameters of my efforts here: I can't "run", and I can't make 3 miles. But I've been jogging between 3 and 4 times a week for 14 months now. So... I imagine, if you've read this far (congratulations, you) you're probably already seeing why the advice that any average person should, or indeed could, run 3 miles every day maybe has some flaws.

Here's my break down of how this went for me.

On day one, I jogged a mile and clocked in at around 13:28. This is great, for me.

Day two, 15:05. Okay, well. Oof. Not every day is a banger! But I was already feeling less rested and less useful.

For day three I regret to admit that my log just says, "Warmed up, jogged a mile, cooled down, ✔️," so... thanks, past me. Very informative.

Day four was a jog that took just over 15 minutes. By day four, small muscles in my feet and ankles weren't very happy with me.

On day five, I bucked this trend by getting down to 13:15—my chat records (bitching about it privately, as is traditional) show that someone had come into the gym, taken the very nearest possible machine to me, and commenced glancing sideways at me over and over. So I guess it's always good to know I can run faster if I feel like I'm actively fleeing danger.

Day six had me heaving myself through a jog that was frankly at a walking pace—it took me just under 16 minutes. That's nearly a minute for every hundred metres, so I'm not joking when I say it's basically a walking pace. My day six quote from chat says: "it was not looking good for our hero." Yeah. Okay.

By day seven, I was picking up weird twinges and aches, I felt slow as heck (deeply demotivating), and the muscles in my legs were very unenthusiastic. Aaaand I walked it.

So there ended my experiment: not only can I not run three miles a day without rest, I also cannot jog even one mile a day without rest.

Interestingly, although I've gone jogging 5 times since I decided I was done with it on the 24th, I haven't made it through a continuous mile since. I keep dragging myself through slow jogs that break down like, "500m, walk, 1km, walk, 500m, cool down, lie down." I don't know if this is a matter of mental discipline (i.e., i simply do not want to) or how I feel physically, but I suspect it's a bit of both.

What's my take away from all this?

Well... mostly that I think this idea that you can run every day is pretty well relegated to people who have a high existing level of running fitness. I think it isn't going to work for people who are yet developing their running fitness—and at whom, ironically, such advice is typically aimed.

I suspect the vast majority of us who jog for exercise are more likely to be better off doing a 3 or 4 times a week jogging schedule. I also suspect that increases in frequency should be done carefully and by degrees—and always with at least one day to rest. It probably doesn't matter if a rest day comes only once every 10 days if that's what suits you and your legs and feet and little niggles best, but I think it has to come at some point and you must fit it into your schedule somewhere—but since most of us have weekday jobs, it'd be pretty convenient to put it in a 7 day schedule.

That's it.

TLDR?

Don't run every single day unless you're very fit for running. You'll feel bad and hurt yourself.

Reserve at least one day in your schedule for rest.

And sometimes health advice given on the internet is foolish at best or intentionally misleading at worst.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[detectivesplotslies]

Too many memories, two many occupants

Description: The game is over, and someone has to answer for how it played out. Tsumugi's the obvious answer, as perfectly so as her cosplay. Features VR AU and postgame spoilers. Word Count:  3591 Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Beyond Notice

During the trial it had been a lot easier. Having an opposition, having a role, having a part to stick to. There was the audience, there were the fans. There were her brilliant cosplays! There was the vote. She had known what she’d press. She knew where it would get her.

Waving her last, she knew what it really meant. But something within her still grew quiet. Something mourned. The triumphant grin of despair wouldn’t surface, no matter how hard she tried. Her contestants. Her classmates. Her victims. Her cast. They had sentenced her… themselves… to this.

Even though she knew better, she felt numb. Her feet were heavy, rooted to the spot. The others were out of sight. Her executioner flew around above, raining his destruction down on them while she retreated inwards, her vision narrowing. Waving, as her cosplay fell away, as the school crumbled, she should feel the heat of the explosions, but none of that reached her.

She saw the rock. She made no move. Part of her was ready. Part of her was resigned.

It went dark.

Even though Tsumugi knew better she was almost relieved.

Until it was time to wake up.

---

Coming to feels hazy, disorienting. Her limbs jerk awkwardly, as if starting awake from a nightmare, eyes still seeing darkness but hands brushing against cords, glass and consoles. A pair of hands brush her cheek as they remove her headset, and she flinches involuntarily. One of her own hands goes to her face, tugging at its electrical tethers, still taped to her in various nerve points.

She’s not wearing her glasses. Panic washes over her just as the blinding light of the room that refuses to adjust for her does, and her other hand frantically reaches around the pod for where they must have fallen. She’d never leave her glasses. Without her glasses she’s not… she’s…

The light becomes less intense as she blinks, and she can make out the blurry silhouettes of three people in front of her, standing at attention, waiting patiently. One holds a hand outstretched with something silver clasped in it.

Shakily she takes it, unfolding the arms and sliding them carefully onto her face. The unfocused world comes back into sharp clarity. She half recognizes the faces of those who are in front of her. The silence remains. Is she supposed to say something? Eventually the one who returned her glasses clears her throat, and gestures to the others. They begin to remove the wires quickly and efficiently. Tsumugi crosses her arms and rubs at them idly as the rest are secured, feeling like this should be a more private process. As the last wire is removed the one who’s clearly in charge clears her throat again and nods to her.

“The Board would like to see you.”

Slowly, Tsumugi pushes herself out of the seat, wobbling on her feet as she does so, gripping the side of the chair shaped pod, carefully avoiding the lit LCD consoles lining the edges. The trio before her make no moves to help, nor does she request it. The legs beneath her quiver a few times, threatening to fold before her knees lock with some promise of support. Her hand gripping the side betrays the truth though, trembling with effort.

“Alright, take me to them.”

---

They aren’t happy.

There’s some general gratitude that an ending was guaranteed through her actions, but thanks for it are brisk and short lived. There are bigger problems now.

Lost footage was bad enough, but a protest live on air? Sure, there were tons of supportive fans out there with a continued commitment to the brand, but the vocal few were making themselves heard. Sponsors were pulling their funding. Team DanganRonpa needed to make a statement. They refused to take fault, they had the consent waivers, despite the impassioned display on screen. They needed a scapegoat to take the fall, and who better than the face of the disaster? It was for the good of their franchise, and their only chance to hang onto enough profit to keep the company running.

They are firing her.

The show must go on, but they would make a good faith decision to change their methods for the next season. With a brand new production team.They were advancing their technologies still and R&D was indispensable right now, so the focus went towards the writing talent. It was her failure, anyways, they posited. The simulation hadn’t flickered once, even when the jig was up.

Tsumugi is silent and numb as she is told this. Turmoil brews as a debate begins around her about when to release the announcement.

How dare they do this to me? I worked so hard for them! Without me this season would have never got off the ground! Who else had the brilliant idea to move into a space epic? To introduce new worlds for the future of the story? Who risked their life to bring down every last obstacle? Who gave up their classmates? Was chased down for this mad show and they care more about sponsors? How dare they place the blame on a highschooler, when I-

Wait, no, she’s not…

She runs her fingers over her temples gingerly, swaying slightly on her feet. The discussion in front of her ebbs, attention back on her, and some expressions exchanged before they agree to resume once she’s more aware. Perhaps they were too prompt in calling her here, but they had assumed she wouldn’t need long to adjust, since she knew the truth.

They didn’t realize knowing the truth was the crux of her dilemma.

---

Deleting memories when a consciousness was plugged directly into a simulation was very simple. The centers of the brain known to store them were easily targeted without physical intervention, leaving common sense and learned skills. Untethered knowledge, learned without recalling how. The amnesia effect here was valuable. Recalling this knowledge caused a disconnect, and when memories were implanted the brain would do something extraordinary. It would map a route from the presented memory to the knowledge, all on it’s own. Connecting the neural dots and repairing the damage as though it were never there, without guidance or supervision. The human mind was a brilliantly sophisticated device.

Every cast member had been selected with some semblance of knowledge or aptitude for their assigned talent, even if it was utterly average. The knowledge was filled out for each, with painstaking researchers drafting long memories of ancient tomes, infidelity cases, star charts, blueprints, masked faces, island maps and coastal vistas. They filled in as much as possible, but even if they missed something, the mind was resilient, and would work out the holes on its own.

It wasn’t the same for her however.

There was a perk to being the ringleader for the whole affair. The person in charge had to know some of the infrastructure that was keeping them there, some of the motivations. Lest the show fall apart, or even worse be boring. So the game master went into the simulation without memory deletion.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t memories implanted. That would be too simple. They had to provide some true evidence of their talent to back up the enhancement of their skills and knowledge. Without a sturdy foundation built on confidence any additions would crumble and refuse to attach. Having worked in the costume department for a few seasons before her promotion, her suggestion of cosplayer had been approved almost instantly. Soon the research team was looking up Cosplay Masquerade winners from years past and the details of every prized piece of workmanship, photography and character acting they could find, and drafting it into a light for her as well. Tsumugi had been excited, and had even helped pick her absolute favourites to be remembered as costumes she made.

Ideally, this booster pack of memories for her talent would supplement her own enough to use to her fullest if the time came in game. Her script outline didn’t even call for her reveal, but having been behind the scenes a few seasons, she knew a lot more was up to chance than Team Danganronpa liked to let the media know. She wanted a strong backup at her disposal, should the need arise.

However, when the game began, something hadn’t been quite right. Backstory memories were implanted as planned, but the talents were yet to be placed. Already in the simulation, she couldn’t ask The Board if this was deliberate. It could be a marketing scheme to boost audition rates for the next round. But already her concern grew.

The human mind is a fascinating thing.

The others spoke of being grabbed and taken here. The dots were already connecting, firing on all cylinders, looking for solutions to lost memories that didn’t need answering. It wasn’t as though they erased everything of course, it was impossible to work with a blank slate, so the bits remaining were playing havoc with their reactions. She alone had none missing, and merely nodded along. With the arrival of the talent light, she had an inward sigh of relief. Soon it wouldn’t matter, this would overwrite any unintended connections left by this stunt.

They received the memories.

Tsumugi had never expected them to feel so real. Every costume she had lovingly picked out, from footage and articles, she could feel in her hands, as though she touched the fabric and threaded the seams. Every pose she had seen a cosplayer photographed in, she was viewing outwardly, seeing the cameramen she never even imagined existing prior, while holding her position with careful grace. Every character, be they dramatic, loud, shy, soft or brash, came to her in vivid detail. Their tales, their backstories, their struggles, their gestures and voices.

And it clashed against her memories of Danganronpa.

All these characters, all these series, they were not the ones she grew up on. They were new and relevant, often references classics, selected for memorability, for the audience. And yet now they were intimately hers. They crowded for attention, buzzing and vying for a place as her favourite.

Her true favourites, the reason for her years of work and devotion, were shoved to the very back, not forgotten, but duller. Flatter. The Ultimate Cosplayer was vibrant! Though plain outwardly her skills were undeniable! She wasn’t some drop-out made-seamstress made-scenario writer. Why would she ever want to be?

Therefore, it couldn’t be that surprising how lost in thought she was at her introductions, she spent far too long trying to remember the lines she had written to poke a reference to the show. There were a lot more than 52 killing games to think back on now. She regretted not stocking the A/V Room with more of these shows...

----

With an escort, she goes to her office to clear it out. Memorabilia lines the desk and walls, from seasons past. She looks them over passively as she is handed a box, and begins to take each thing down one by one. Every character, name, and mascot was familiar. Security waits at the door, and she wonders why. What could she possibly do here to harm them anymore than she supposedly already had? She had not been allowed online yet to confirm anything told to her, but she had resolved that when they spoke to her again she’d make it a condition before her termination. They couldn’t plainly believe she’d take their word on it when they put her… no that wasn’t right…

They didn’t put her anywhere, she put herself somewhere.

She shakes her head slowly a moment, the numbness in her hands having returned. Before she can react the snowglobe in her grasp slips out of her clumsy unfeeling fingers and shatters on the floor. Water and glitter splash the floor as tiny Monokumas skitter outwards past her feet across the room, freed from their little round prison. Security whirls around to face her at the sharp sound she doesn’t hear. She stands there staring at the base of the glass bauble, dumbfounded.

She vaguely recollects that that had been special. A collector’s item, given to her by someone perhaps? Limited edition? But she felt nothing staring down at the wet shards remaining, her arm hanging limp at her side. Whatever it was before, it was trash now.

Tsumugi is ushered out with her box half packed, with no mention of if she could come back for the rest. Part of her wants to scream to get the rest and cling to it all! It took so long to amass! Without it, what is there to prove her efforts? A larger part of her was happy for it to be out of sight.

She unceremoniously leaves the box in the corner of her recovery room. Not one of her own things is taken out to put anywhere. She likes the room bare and plain. Like her. Just like the girl she thinks she is.

---

Unlike before the game, when the research team and writers had meetings, strategy plans and long discussions, the classroom where Tsumugi stood with the Game Master interface was lonely and cold. There were no intricacies to any of the selections, they were mere branching paths. Sure, she recalled some of the writing details for each from before the season launch, especially the ones she had chosen as her outlined route, but how simply the screen stated them to her was troubling.

The talent had been supposed to be this simple too, but it had depth she hadn’t expected. The selection hovered over the Ultimate Hunt and the mass funeral choices, the ones her writing team had OK’d. She wondered what depth she’d feel seeing fake people mourn her. Would they seem fake?

She pressed the button and waited for the light to pop out of the locker, adjusting her glasses idly and looking out the dark wire barred windows. She thought about her ‘classmates’, who had nothing in their heads remaining to help them deny these. It really was a perfect system. For them.

There was a thud in the locker. Tsumugi returned to her task, like so many all nights she’d pulled before, both real and fictional. She walked over to retrieve it, carefully tucking it into the interior pocket on her coat. Once it was placed that was their plot, no rewrites, no erasing anything. Living the story was a lot more nerve wracking than writing it.

---

Tsumugi knows her way around the building without help, but that doesn’t stop security from falling into step and walking with her whenever she leaves her room. She supposes it’s not to help her, anyways, so it’s not an issue. There’s no regimented schedule for her during recovery, though doctors have visited her room a few times and there was one impromptu check-up with an actual CT scan.

She tells them all she feels fine. Everything is fine. She’s readjusting just fine, thank you for asking. No, no abnormalities. No numbness. No confusion. She does admit to being very tired. That one is a safe answer, it usually makes them leave faster so she can rest. They aren’t very good doctors, she thinks. She wonders if they are just as poorly attentive to the other patients’ issues and lies.

Without a schedule, Tsumugi avoids the cafeteria at what she guesses would be the busier times, but even doing so she has caught glimpses of her cast.

A girl sitting with an untouched meal laid out before her. Her hands clasped in front of her in her lap, eyes hidden behind loose grey hair.

A tall silent boy gazing out one of the few windows into the courtyard. He traces his no longer ringed fingers along the surface.

A coughing bout in the hallway followed by the rush of feet and a familiar loud voice shouting them off.

Echoes of their more vibrant selves, haunting the halls.

She walks into the cafeteria and stops. There are voices but she’s already through the door before she realizes it, eyes darting to the table to the right of the door. Sitting there in what sounded like a disagreement were Shuichi and Maki, with Himiko sitting idly beside the latter cheek resting on the heel of her hand while gazing at the door. The other two don’t notice her but the small redhead locks eyes with her instantly. Her posture stiffens as her eyes widen. The two girls stare at each other for a moment, the conversation a buzz in the background as the air thickens. Shuichi, who’s back is to the door must have noticed because he stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder. He freezes.

It’s Maki who stands, nudging Himiko behind her, taking on that intimidating stance. She’s glaring daggers across the room at her, and Tsumugi backs up involuntarily, right into the security guard who was following her into the room. Clumsily, she stumbles forwards to step out of his way and adjusts her glasses, the other three’s eyes still locked on her. Not wanting to leave, but unsure of what to do with herself, Tsumugi steps forwards to the adjacent table and quietly takes a seat.

The eyes on her and the silence are wrong. She’s not someone who gets stared at, at least not when she’s not trying to… this isn’t what she should… what should she…

A placid smile spreads on her face and she nods her head to them. “Good morning, Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san, Saihara-kun.” Her eyes squint almost closed in the forced smile, her cheeks pushing upwards under her glasses that help mask the dark bags. Practiced. Placating. A face both of her make. Painful.

“What do you want?”

Himiko isn’t who anyone expects to talk clearly, Shuichi turning to look at her. Maki squares her shoulders, trying to seem bigger. But the smallest of them narrows her eyes and waits.

“Nothing in particular, really,” Tsumugi drawls, folding her hands in her lap. Out of sight as they clench and fidget.

“Oh sure, your goons won’t give us a moment alone, but you don’t want anything. Like we’d believe that,” Maki says before Himiko can continue, venom in every word. Himiko’s mouth hangs open in the interruption, closing again with a pout.

“My goons,” Tsumugi repeats, noting the pointed look at the security detail that followed her in. “Fortunately, they should have provided you all with your contracts by now, and you can see your rights there. Please do use them to your benefit.”

“Oh right. The contracts we don’t even remember signing,” Himiko mutters.

“That is outlined in them as well.”

“This lack of contact with the outside was not, though,” Shuichi cuts in. The sureness there is from someone who clearly read the contract over more than once. Someone looking for loopholes. The memories he received must still be working overtime. She wonders if he’s as glad to have them as he was when he was when the process was explained? Probably not.

“That’s not my area, I’m afraid the simulation and preparations were my purview, Saihara-kun. Feel free to exert your rights in your contract, though. The company has to uphold it.” The strained smile slides into a more natural one as she continues to speak. It’s easier when it’s not about her.

Shuichi raises a brow. Perhaps he had expected resistance? “So they’re breaking their agreement then, holding us here?” he continues, as if to clarify.

“If that’s what the contract promises, then I suppose that’s the case,” Tsumugi answers. They should feel fortunate they got the opportunity to sign those at all, she thinks. Her hands clench tighter. They are fortunate they don’t remember.

“Like we trust you to keep promises,” Maki spat.

“You don’t have to,” she tuts, “Just use the contract, it’s your tool.”

Maki moves so quickly that thankfully Tsumugi doesn’t have the time to flinch. Himiko grabs her by the crook of the elbow before she’s rounded the table towards her.

“Stop it, let’s just talk somewhere else.”

Himiko stands, and moments later Shuichi follows suit. Maki’s expression doesn’t show any agreement, but she leaves with them nonetheless, glaring back over her shoulder on the way out. The security officers never stray from their posts. As soon as she’s sure they’re gone, Tsumugi lets out a held breath. A few moments pass, and she finally goes to get her meal.

She hopes that they really heard her. Their contracts are so much more flexible than her own. They hadn’t bequeath their identities, their citizenships, they weren’t intellectual property of the company no matter how some of the creative team liked to spin it.Their participation was a limited matter, and she was sure her classmates could argue their way through with that fine print at their disposal. She knew that much. She’d seen them face harder things than legal jargon together of course!

...Her classmates? No. Her cast. Her co-stars. A grimace grows on her face as she returns to sit. They never once had a class together, and the game could hardly be called one… not now. Not with her. Together they could bond in their ignorance. Her contract wasn’t flexible. Her consent was different than theirs. She wasn’t new, or at least not all new.

And she couldn’t leave until they decided the best way for them to kick her out. She takes a bite of her food thoughtfully.

If they can kick me out.

[bevioletskies]

please don’t say you love me

summary: Sometimes, Kazuma thinks about removing his gloves so he can finally touch Ryunosuke’s hand like he so desperately wants to. Other times, he thinks Ryunosuke would never let him, even if he did.

word count: 5.3k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week​, day one of seven (prompt: “pining”). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Haori, Sherlock, and Iris.

Fic title is from the song Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Aplin.

“Well done, Kazuma. You were incredible as always, though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Kazuma turned at the sound of Ryunosuke’s voice, startling slightly when he realized how close Ryunosuke had gotten, having crossed the now-empty courtroom to approach the prosecutor’s bench with an outstretched hand and a friendly grin. Behind him, Kazuma could see Susato at the defense bench, diligently organizing the last of her case notes, though she seemed to be sneaking wary glances in his direction, the kind of glances she’d been giving him ever since she and Ryunosuke had returned to London. Kazuma supposed, somewhat bitterly, that he deserved it.

“And the same to you, of course,” Kazuma replied, chuckling softly. He took Ryunosuke’s proffered hand in his gloved one, shaking it firmly. For a moment, he wondered if Ryunosuke’s hands were as calloused as they used to be, thanks to his old dedication to kyudo; he couldn’t tell with his gloves on. “Only you would notice such trivial details in someone’s description of their meal and turn it into conclusive evidence.”

Ryunosuke let out a sheepish laugh of his own. “Yes, well...I’ve had more than my fair share of English breakfasts by now, thanks to Iris, so...it’s only natural.” He let go of Kazuma’s hand, turning briefly to check on Susato before looking back with another broad smile. Kazuma felt a pang in his chest that was becoming more and more frequent with every encounter they had. “Are you returning to your office, then?”

“Business as usual, yes,” Kazuma said, nodding. His lips parted slightly - if you want me to stay, you need only ask, he wanted to say - before deciding against it. “Why?”

“Ah - it’s nothing, really,” Ryunosuke said, shaking his head. “Susato-san was hoping you’d be able to join us for tea back at our office, but, uh...I’m sure you have paperwork and such to attend to. Perhaps this weekend, if you’re not too busy? Iris has been testing out new blends - as she does - and she could always use new testers.”

Is that the only reason you’re asking? “Sounds like fun,” Kazuma said, smiling in return. “When should I stop by?”

“I’d have to confirm with the others to be sure, but Saturday morning around ten-thirty sounds about right,” Ryunosuke replied. “You could even stay for lunch if you’d like. Mr Holmes has been asking after you, wanting to know how you’ve been.”

Kazuma slipped both hands behind his back so he could clench his fists, his fingernails leaving welts in his palms despite the thickness of his gloves. “And yourself? What do you want?”

Ryunosuke frowned. “Pardon?”

Kazuma exhaled slowly. “...never mind. If I don’t have any prior engagements, then I’ll be there.” He turned away, though not quickly enough, still catching the way Ryunosuke’s face fell. He would’ve thought Ryunosuke would try to better conceal his emotions by now, just so his face wouldn’t be a constant giveaway in court, but he was still the same endearingly expressive person that Kazuma had...no. No, now wasn’t the time to think about it, about the feelings he tried not to associate with his best friend. Even the word “partner” seemed to catch in his throat every now and then, what with how desperately he wanted it to carry more than one meaning.

“He’s not coming, then?” Kazuma heard Susato ask, hushed. “That’s too bad. Another time, perhaps?”

“I...wouldn’t get your hopes up, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke said quietly, though not quietly enough. “Though I did invite him round for tea, Saturday morning. We’ll see if he gets caught up in any ‘prior engagements’, I suppose.”

“Yes, I...I suppose,” Susato agreed, albeit uncertainly. Kazuma swallowed, then turned fully on his heel so he could quickly gather up the rest of his things. The air in the courtroom suddenly felt thicker than it did during the entirety of the trial, threatening to choke him and rob him of his last breath, and he wasn’t about to let it wrap its hands around his throat.

_____

“It’s a shame you weren’t able to join us this past Saturday, Kazuma-sama,” Susato said, her tone as perfectly polite as always. Her expression, on the other hand, was solemn, almost as if she’d come to his office to deliver some bad news. “Iris and Mr Holmes were hoping to spend more time with you, get to know you a little bit better. Naruhodo-san and I speak so highly of you, after all.”

Kazuma looked up from his work, offering her a bland smile. “My apologies, Susato-san, I’d been sent away on assignment. Did you get my telegram?”

“Oh, yes, but that doesn’t keep me from feeling...disappointed,” Susato said delicately, though it was a bit more candid of her than he’d expected. Her eyes drifted away from his for a moment so she could look around, taking in the sparseness of Kazuma’s office. It was nowhere near as magnanimous as Lord van ZIeks’s, no enormous portrait or endless supply of wine to be found. Most of his decorations were some of his old things he’d requested Professor Mikotoba bring over from Japan; otherwise, there was little else but a few tables, chairs, and cushions.

“Are you wanting to criticize my design sense, Susato-san?” Kazuma teased, setting down his pen. “I spend most of my hours either in the field or in the courtroom, so this office is hardly a priority for me.”

“Ah,” Susato said. She then said nothing else. A deeply uncomfortable silence settled over them, the kind neither of them were used to sharing with one another. “Naruhodo-san is - ”

“How is - ” They both let out awkward chuckles; Kazuma motioned for her to continue, but she shook her head, insistent that he go first. “I was about to ask after Ryunosuke, actually. I haven’t seen him since last week.”

“He’s got a bit of a cold, actually,” Susato confessed. “It seems that chasing a petty thief on foot in the dead of night - during a rainstorm, no less - wasn’t one of Naruhodo-san’s brightest ideas - ”

“What?!” Kazuma’s voice echoed throughout the nearly empty room. “Is - is he alright? Will he be alright?”

“Nothing a bit of rest and medicine can’t fix,” Susato replied, her eyebrows knitting together. “I must ask, Kazuma-sama - where has all this concern for Naruhodo-san’s well-being come from?”

Kazuma stared at her for a beat, flabbergasted. “...am I not allowed to ask after my best friend’s health?”

“Your best friend who you barely care to see?” Susato asked sharply. It was only because of their familiarity that Kazuma was able to tell that she was simmering with anger now, not yet boiling, a different kind of anger than the one that usually ended with someone being flipped onto their back. “When my father asked Naruhodo-san and I if we would be interested in accompanying him back to London for work, do you know the first thing Naruhodo-san said to me after we accepted?”

“...no,” Kazuma said slowly.

“He said to me, ‘we should write to Kazuma and let him know we’re coming’,” Susato continued. “So, we did. And you never wrote back. Nor did you come to see us when we arrived.” Her eyes narrowed even further. “Forgive me, Kazuma-sama, for speaking so straightforwardly, but this...detachedness, it seems to have become a habit of yours, and neither of us understand why.”

Kazuma took a moment to inhale, then exhale slowly as he gathered his thoughts. Then, he managed another false smile. “You’ve become bolder with age, Susato-san. I still remember the days when you were nervous about simply knocking on my door and interrupting my studies.” His expression then grew serious, mirroring hers. “Now, if I may be straightforward, I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there. I’ve just been busy, that’s all. Work has increased tenfold for me since I became an official prosecutor, which neither of you were around to see.”

The bitterness in his voice wasn’t lost on Susato. “Kazuma-sama,” she murmured, bowing her head so he wouldn’t see her tear up. “I...I can only imagine how lonely you’ve been, being in a foreign country all on your own. But if you were wanting company, you know you only need to ask.” She then lifted her head to look at him sternly. “...or accept one of Naruhodo-san’s many invitations.”

“I…” Kazuma was at a loss for words. “...yes, I know. I know perfectly well.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Susato asked. “It would make Naruhodo-san so happy if you were to join us for tea or lunch or even dinner!”

“Susato-san,” Kazuma warned, knowing exactly what she was beginning to hint at. Even with her penchant for politeness, he could tell she was dying to say what was really on her mind now. “Don’t - ”

“And he wants you to be happy, too,” Susato continued fiercely. “We all do. So please, don’t distance yourself from us. We would love to have you at Baker Street, we really would.” She then stood, bowing deeply once more. When she straightened up, her eyes were bright with determination. “...if you intend to tell him your true feelings someday, Kazuma-sama, this is not the path you should be taking.”

Kazuma let out a small, exasperated huff of breath. “It seems I made a mistake when I told you about them instead.”

“I’d never seen you look so thrilled before,” Susato said with a bittersweet smile. “Tripping over your own feet, words spilling from your mouth like water...Father and I could barely get a word in edgewise. It took us far too long to realize you were talking about a classmate who’d just bested you in the speech competition you’d been preparing for weeks - ”

“Susato-san, I really don’t have the time to reminisce with you,” Kazuma said curtly, also getting to his feet. “I apologize for my rudeness, but I do need to return to my paperwork before Lord van Zieks comes looking for it.”

“My apologies for inconveniencing you, Kazuma-sama,” Susato replied, though she really didn’t sound all that sorry. “Until we meet again, then.”

Later, Kazuma found himself unable to concentrate on his work, still thinking of Susato’s parting remarks long after she’d left. He’d felt so full of hope back then, equal parts infuriated and inspired by Ryunosuke’s inferior (in Kazuma’s opinion, anyway) speech. His words, his message, had lacked the impact that Kazuma’s speech would’ve had, had he managed to finish it the way he intended, but the power in which he spoke them still resonated with Kazuma even now.

“The path I should be taking,” Kazuma murmured to himself, drumming his fingers against his desk. “...right.”

_____

Not even one week later, Kazuma was attending to a crime scene - a bakery, whose sweet scents were making his mouth water - when he heard a surprised cry from behind. “Ah - Kazuma!”

Kazuma took a deep breath, then, turned slowly on his heel. “Good morning, Ryunosuke,” he said, pointedly ignoring the raised eyebrow Gina offered him that he only just noticed out of the corner of his eye. “Judicial Assistant Mikotoba told me about your cold a few days ago; are you better now?” He cleared his throat. “I, ah - I see your nose is still pink.” It took all of Kazuma’s willpower not to comment on the obvious rosiness of Ryunosuke’s cheeks as well.

Ryunosuke ducked his head, embarrassed. “Yes, I - I’m on the mend, thankfully. Susato-san has been taking good care of me - forcing me to take my medicine and all that.” Even though he knew Ryunosuke’s words were perfectly platonic, Kazuma still felt a flicker of jealousy surge in his chest. “She’ll be joining us shortly; she was with her father and Haori-san at Bart’s when I took the case.”

Kazuma hummed noncommittally, turning back to address Gina and the officers that were surveilling the scene. It was only when he finished that he realized Ryunosuke was still standing in the doorway, as if he were waiting for permission to enter the building. “I have no issue with you looking around, Ryunosuke, you know that,” Kazuma reassured him. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, I know,” Ryunoske said, finally taking his first few steps across the threshold. “Actually, I...I was hoping to speak with you in private before Susato-san gets here.”

For a moment, Kazuma’s heart seemed to stop. “What about?” he asked, as neutrally as he could manage. Gina’s eyebrows remained sky-high, though mercifully, she seemed more interested in eavesdropping than interrupting. In lieu of responding, Ryunosuke stepped back outside again, motioning for Kazuma to follow. He did, albeit somewhat irritably. “What’s going - ”

“Have we wronged you somehow?” Ryunosuke interrupted; Kazuma didn’t like how desperate he sounded. “Have we done something to make you push us away?”

“Why would you - ”

“I spent the last few days in bed, and I had a lot of time to think. Perhaps too much time to think,” Ryunosuke admitted.

Kazuma folded his arms across his chest, defensive. “Your point being…”

Ryunosuke took in a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut as if he were in pain. “You’ve always been...blunt, Kazuma. I’ve always admired your ability to get right to the heart of the matter. But it seems that ever since Susato-san and I returned to London, you’ve been so...so cold.” When he opened his eyes, they were suspiciously glossy. “When we left over a year ago, you were smiling and laughing like you used to. We exchanged dozens of letters, talking about our lives, our respective paths in our respective legal systems, and I...I thought you’d be happy to see us again. Instead, you treated us like complete strangers.”

Once again, Kazuma found himself stunned into silence. Though nothing Ryunosuke was saying surprised him, it still felt as if he’d driven a sword through Kazuma’s heart. “Ryunosuke, I - ”

“I know Susato-san came to see you in your office the other day,” Ryunosuke continued, his voice stronger now. “She told me about your conversation; I told her she was too selfless. That she shouldn’t have spoken of my happiness, but of hers. You know how much she admires you. How much she wishes that you would just - just talk to us again.”

Kazuma lowered his head, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, his heart pounding in his throat. He carefully unclasped his shaking hands so he could hold them behind his back, then straightened up, chin lifted a fraction higher than it should have been. Ryunosuke’s hands were trembling, too. “...did she tell you everything about our conversation?”

Ryunosuke frowned. “Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I just mean that she has a different...understanding of the situation than you do,” Kazuma replied, internally wincing at his phrasing; the last thing he intended to do was offer nothing but vague statements and anger Ryunosuke even further. These days, however, it seemed like he could do nothing but incense the people he cared about most.

“Then help me understand,” Ryunosuke pleaded. His eyes then widened. “Wait, you’re not...Kazuma, you’re not in trouble again, are you? Is someone - has there been - ”

“Nothing like that, I promise,” Kazuma said quickly, feeling guiltier by the second. “I don’t mean to condescend to you, Ryunosuke, but this really isn’t the time or place to be having this conversation. Can we...another time, perhaps?”

“I’m sorry for my lateness, Naruhodo-san, there was a bit of a - oh.” They both turned to see Susato standing on the sidewalk, staring at them dumbfoundedly. Then, she bowed, having managed to rearrange her stunned expression back into a neutral one. “Forgive me for interrupting, Naruhodo-san...Kazuma-sama. Please, carry on.”

“You weren’t interrupting anything, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke replied, smiling faintly. He glanced in Kazuma’s direction, his eyes heartbreakingly resigned. “Another time, yes. I like nothing more than standing around and waiting for you to finally decide whether you care about us at all.”

“N-Naruhodo-san!” Susato gasped, stunned. “What on earth are you - what are you saying?” Ryunosuke merely shook his head, gesturing for her to follow him into the bakery. Susato shot Kazuma one last bewildered look before heading inside, leaving him completely alone. Kazuma, on the other hand, took a moment to stifle the frustrated cry that threatened to escape him before trailing after them, his head still held a little too high.

_____

On the evening following the trial’s conclusion, Kazuma found himself on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street, trembling. It wasn’t particularly cold, but he seemed unable to stop shaking, his fists clenched and shoved tightly into his coat pockets. Reluctantly, he lifted one hand to the door, then, after hesitating for some time, knocked. What felt like seconds later, he was promptly pulled inside by the iron grip of an eleven-year-old girl.

“Oh - ”

“Good evening, Kazzy!” Iris said cheerily as she closed the front door, oblivious to how much emotional whiplash - and maybe literal whiplash - she’d just given him. They’d only met a handful of times, but her sweet nature was usually a welcome distraction, a balm for his unsettled mind. “I didn’t know you’d be stopping by. If I did, I would’ve had a fresh pot of tea waiting for you! Though it’s not too late for me to start if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, Iris, I’m fine without, but thank you,” Kazuma said politely. “I was hoping to talk to Ryunosuke and Miss Susato, are they in?”

“Yes, you can go right on up,” Iris nodded. Then, she frowned. “But if I hear shouting, you’re going to have to leave. Understood?”

“I - yes, of course,” Kazuma promised, taken aback. “I’ll, er...I’ll be heading up now, then.”

When he entered the attic, Susato was drawing the curtains for the night, humming idly to herself. Ryunosuke, on the other hand, was half-leaning against his desk, one hand propped up behind him on its surface, the other holding a document up to his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Karuma was sitting diligently on his hip, as always. For a moment, Kazuma simply stood there, lingering at the top of the stairs while he admired Ryunosuke’s side profile; he’d always loved the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight upturn of his nose. It reminded him of the first time he really saw Ryunosuke, standing on that stage, speaking with an unwavering passion that Kazuma had been holding on to ever since.

It was Susato who noticed him first. Unlike last time, she didn’t look surprised at all. If anything, she looked tired. “Good evening, Kazuma-sama,” she said with a wan smile. Ryunosuke, oddly enough, was staring at him with a completely neutral expression; it scared Kazuma more than he thought it would. “I didn’t know you were coming to see us. If I had, I would have prepared some - ”

“Yes, tea,” Kazuma said impatiently, flinching when Susato leveled him with a cold stare. “Ah - sorry, Susato-san, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I, er…” He cleared his throat, straightening up. “If now isn’t a bad time, I’d like to talk to both of you about...well, we all know why I’m here.”

Susato pursed her lips, thinking. “I think it would be best if you and Naruhodo-san spoke alone first, Kazuma-sama. Perhaps you could clear the air about...more than a few things. Only then do I want you to explain yourself to me, with no detail spared.”

Now Ryunosuke looked startled, an expression Kazuma was much more familiar with. “What? What do you mean?” But Susato merely patted him reassuringly on the arm before disappearing into her bedroom, pointedly shutting the door behind her. “Er...Kazuma?”

“Do you mind if we…” Kazuma gestured towards Susato’s tea set. Nodding, Ryunosuke knelt on the floor, where Kazuma knelt opposite. Even now, his legs shook like they were going to give out beneath him. “I know...I know that you’re both very angry with me. I’ve been distant, I won’t deny it. Deliberately so.”

“Did you not want us to come back?” Just like that, another dagger through the heart. “Is that what it was? You, you wanted us to keep our distance, to stay in Japan?”

“Ryunosuke, I…” Kazuma was speechless. “That’s not…”

“That’s the only plausible reason, if I really think about it,” Ryunosuke continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully like he always did. “Susato-san, she...she theorized that you were feeling lonely. Perhaps our presence has only made you feel lonelier, since it only serves as a reminder that we’ll be leaving again someday. Is - is that it?”

Kazuma opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. It was cliché, he supposed, to think that Ryunosuke was capable of twisting his tongue in a metaphorical sense, too. “You really are more perceptive than people give you credit for, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma finally managed to say with a harsh laugh. “But...you’re also a bit wide of the mark this time.”

“Oh,” Ryunosuke said, disappointed. “Then...help me understand. I...I understood why you were acting so strangely back when...well. And why you felt like you couldn’t talk to us. But this time, short of you harboring another big secret, I can’t really think of anything else. Aside from you no longer caring about us anymore, I mean, and if that’s true, then…” He trailed off, shivering.

“Ryunosuke,” Kazuma repeated, stunned. “No, that’s - that’s not it, either, it’s...it’s...”

“Then what?!” Ryunosuke whisper-shouted, eyes blazing with frustration. Kazuma suspected he wasn’t even aware of how close he’d gotten, how much he’d leaned forward so their noses were practically brushing, his hands braced on either side of Kazuma’s knees. “Why are you being so - ”

“ - I’minlovewithyou.”

Ryunosuke stared at him, dumbfounded. “I...I don’t think I heard you correctly. You’re - you - you what?” Kazuma suddenly felt the urge to throw up. He sat there, frozen, silently cursing his own impulsiveness. Then, he shook himself out of his stupor, clumsily scrabbling backward, away from Ryunosuke, hands and knees dragging across the hardwood floor, just stopping short of hitting his head on the underside of Susato’s desk. His breath was coming in short pants; he lifted a freshly scraped hand to clutch at his thundering chest, willing himself not to vomit right then and there. “Kazuma - ”

“Wait, don’t - ”

“You love me?” Ryunosuke said hoarsely, like he was afraid he’d heard him wrong. “That’s - that’s what you said, isn’t it? That you love me?” Kazuma swallowed, knowing he was well and truly cornered now. He nodded wordlessly, face burning hot with shame, unable to remember the last time he’d embarrassed himself this badly.

“You...you were right, in a way,” Kazuma murmured, his voice unusually small. “Exchanging letters and reminiscing about old times was one thing...getting to see your smiling face again was another. It...reminded me of how far you’ve come, how much both of you have grown, while I feel...stuck, in a way.”

“Stuck?” Ryunsouke echoed confusedly.

“I wasn’t...envious, exactly. Just bitter, resentful, angry, but...only at myself. Still, in your presence, I felt nothing but contradictory feelings. Feelings that I...that I didn’t want to come to light.” Then, Kazuma shook his head. “But that’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting, I know that. I truly am sorry.” He managed to pull himself back in a kneeling position, then bowed completely forward, his nose pressed into the floor. “Naruhodo-san - ”

“You don’t have to go that far,” Ryunosuke protested.

“ - I should have put an end to my behavior long before I hurt you and Susato-san,” Kazuma finished. “I’m sorry.”

To Kazuma’s surprise, Ryunosuke huffed out a noise that sounded halfway between a sob and a laugh. “There’s no need to be this dramatic, Kazuma, though I suppose it is you. Sit up for me, will you? I think you’ve managed to injure yourself in three different ways since you arrived.” Cowed, Kazuma obeyed his orders, belatedly realizing that he had hit his head on the back of Susato’s desk - that explained the stinging sensation - and he’d bruised the end of his nose, too. Clicking his tongue, Ryunosuke stood so he could grab a few things from the shelf behind his desk, then knelt directly in front of Kazuma. “Your palms look terrible. Are your knees scraped as well?”

“Never mind that,” Kazuma said, clearing his throat. He still felt uneasy despite the huge weight that had been lifted off his shoulders; everything felt off-balance, like something was about to come crashing down. “Do you forgive me, Naruhodo-san?”

“I don’t know, Asogi-san, do I?” Ryunosuke retorted mockingly, quick as he pleased, though all his frustration from earlier seemed to have dissipated now, replaced with what almost seemed like mild amusement. He then rolled up the hems of Kazuma’s pants, wincing at the redness of his knees. Kazuma silently watched while Ryunosuke tended to his scrapes and bruises, still waiting with bated breath. His heart fluttered pathetically when he caught sight of Ryunosuke’s expression, the way his nose scrunched up and his tongue poked out in concentration. “...this conversation has taken a strange turn, hasn’t it?”

“It would feel less strange if you answered me,” Kazuma replied with a faint smirk. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Ryunosuke. This isn’t the courtroom, after all.”

“Now that sounds more like the Kazuma I know,” Ryunosuke teased. “You’ve been so formal these past few minutes, I was starting to worry you’d been replaced with an overly polite look-alike.” He moved closer, his half-lidded eyes lifting to lock with Kazuma’s. “Ah - it seems you’ve somehow bruised your lip as well.”

Kazuma frowned. “...I did?”

“No, actually. You didn’t.” And then, Ryunosuke kissed him.

It took Kazuma an embarrassingly long time to process what was happening - the warm, clumsy, eager press of Ryunosuke’s lips against his, Ryunosuke’s hands on either side of his hips, Ryunosuke’s chest braced against his shoulder - before he finally had the sense to kiss him back, his fingers curling desperately into the front of Ryunosuke’s shirt and tugging him closer. Hours seemed to pass before they finally broke apart, breathless.

Laughing softly, Kazuma lowered his forehead to rest against Ryunosuke’s. “Was that your answer, then?”

“You love me,” Ryunosuke said, his eyes shining. It wasn’t a question this time. “And I - ”

“Wait,” Kazuma interrupted; his heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage. “Don’t say it if you - ”

“I thought you wanted me to answer you,” Ryunosuke said, grinning cheekily. He leaned in again, kissing the crook of Kazuma’s jaw this time. “I...I love you too, Kazuma. And I forgive you. Though...we’re not done talking about this yet. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I know,” Kazuma said, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt like if he spoke any louder, he would break the spell they were both under. “I know. And...thank you, Ryunosuke.”

Beaming, Ryunosuke kissed him again, then lifted one of Kazuma’s hands to gently kiss his palm. Kazuma ducked his head, flustered and charmed in one fell swoop, narrowly missing the sight of Ryunosuke reluctantly getting to his feet. “Shall I get Susato-san? We’ve kept her waiting for a while now, though I suspect she’s had her ear pressed against her door this whole time.”

“So do I,” Kazuma said dryly, chuckling. It was only when Ryunosuke turned and went to knock on Susato’s bedroom door that Kazuma let himself sprawl out across the floor with a relieved sigh. He continued to laugh almost deliriously, one hand clasped over his heart, still reeling in shock from what had happened. To think he’d nearly turned and walked away without knocking on the door - and now Kazuma didn’t want to even entertain the thought of what would’ve happened if he had.

_____

“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Kazuma-sama?”

Kazuma looked up from the autopsy report he’d been poring over, shooting Susato an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“You really should pay more attention when you have guests in your office,” Ryunosuke teased. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, admiring the decorative shelf Kazuma had installed not too long ago; he recognized some of the small trinkets as things Kazuma had collected from various school festivals from what felt like a lifetime ago. “Especially when those guests are us.”

“You certainly have an inflated sense of self today,” Kazuma said wryly, setting his paperwork aside so he could rest his elbows on his desk and look Ryunosuke in the eye. “Honestly, I get on my knees for you just once - ”

“To ask f-for my f-forgiveness!” Ryunosuke stammered, his short-lived bravado now gone. Susato didn’t even try to hide her laughter behind her sleeve, her musical giggle filling the room. “Kazuma, please - ”

“ - and now you seem to think you can order me around,” Kazuma finished, smirking. “What do you make of all this, Susato-san?”

“Seeing as you had to plead for my forgiveness, Kazuma-sama, I think Naruhodo-san’s request that you listen to us is more than reasonable,” Susato replied with a near-smug smile of her own. “And I was asking if you would be coming to dinner. Mr Holmes has been working on a new piece, and he’d love to have you be a part of tonight’s audience.”

“Yes, I should be available,” Kazuma nodded. “Seven-thirty, correct? I was thinking of purchasing some desserts from that confectionery Iris likes on my way to Baker Street.”

“That would be wonderful,” Susato said gratefully, smiling. “Thank you.”

“However, what I won’t be bringing tonight is any hints for tomorrow’s trial,” Kazuma continued, turning his narrowed gaze on his partner’s back. “So please stop looking through my things, Ryunosuke. You’re as subtle as ever, it seems.”

“You’ve caught me,” Ryunosuke said, turning on his heel with a weak chuckle. He then finally dropped back into the seat beside Susato’s, opposite Kazuma. “Really, though, thank you for providing us with a copy of the autopsy report. It seems like we only ever get it when we’re already in the courtroom.”

“The forensics team has been especially efficient these days,” Kazuma commented. “And I see no point in keeping it from you if it helps us reach an understanding faster, so...”

“Ah, that reminds me - we should return to the prison before visiting hours are over, Naruhodo-san,” Susato reminded him. “If we don’t leave soon, we might miss our chance.”

“Go on, then,” Kazuma said, motioning towards his door. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am that you’ll be joining us tonight, Kazuma-sama,” Susato said as she got to her feet, beaming. Ryunosuke, on the other hand, stood so he could walk around Kazuma’s desk. Then, he cupped Kazuma’s jaw with one hand and kissed him; Kazuma, naturally, kissed him back, threading his fingers through Ryunosuke’s hair. Susato let out a good-natured scoff, though she mostly seemed amused. “Naruhodo-san, please, our client is waiting for us! You can kiss Kazuma-sama all you like later, when we’re home.”

“I do like the sound of that,” Kazuma murmured against Ryunosuke’s lips, grinning even when Ryunosuke pulled away. “See you tonight, partner.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ryunosuke replied with a fond smile, squeezing Kazuma’s hand before reluctantly letting go. He then followed Susato out the door, leaving Kazuma to lean back in his chair with a feeling of contentment warming in his chest and an irrevocably fond sigh. After another minute or so of simply taking in the moment, his mind blissfully calm, Kazuma turned to open his top desk drawer so he could pull out his gloves and slip them back on. He couldn't be sure if it was simply his mind playing tricks on him or if it was the honest truth, but they didn't feel quite as tight as they did before.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my first entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure if I'm going to have a fic for every day of the week as I've fallen terribly behind, but I'm going to try my best. I blame Kazuma for being strangely difficult to write; I feel like I've got Ryunosuke and Susato, and to a lesser extent, everyone else mostly figured out, but as much as I love Kazuma, I'm still trying to sort out my characterization of him. And, as with any short(ish) fic, I'm always tempted to write longer versions of them, and I'm sure I'll write some long, angsty Asoryuu fic someday (I want to write a Masked!Kazuma/Ryunosuke fic so badly), but for the time being, these short fics have been a great way for me to practice writing these lovely characters!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️