#its liberating. its genuinely very relieving.

[reallygroovyninja2]

Behind the Mask - 9388 words

The dim lights of the bar cast a subdued glow over its patrons, a mix of shadow and neon painting an almost ethereal atmosphere. Lexa, after a night of being the city's unseen guardian, had slipped into the bar for a moment of solitude, a brief escape from her double life. She shed her superhero persona like a second skin, now just another face in the crowd, seeking something in the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversations. 

Her gaze drifted across the room, landing on a solitary figure at the far end of the bar. A woman sat alone, her blonde hair catching the light in a way that made her seem both out of place and entirely at home in the dimly lit bar. There was something about her, a certain aura of quiet confidence mixed with an undertone of mystery, that drew Lexa in. 

Taking a deep breath, Lexa approached the bar, her steps measured, a part of her wondering why she felt compelled to meet this stranger. She slid onto the stool next to blonde, offering a small, tentative smile. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, her voice a gentle intrusion into the bubble of solitude around the other woman. 

The woman turned, her blue eyes meeting Lexa's green ones, a hint of surprise flickering across her features before a soft smile graced her lips. "It's all yours," she replied, her voice carrying a warmth that felt like an invitation. 

"I'm Lexa," she introduced herself, extending a hand. 

"Clarke," came the reply, her handshake firm yet welcoming. 

Lexa ordered a drink, her eyes not leaving Clarke. "You seem like you have a story," she ventured, her words threading the air between them with an unspoken curiosity. 

Clarke's smile deepened, a playful glint in her eyes. "Don't we all?" she quipped, her gaze holding Lexa's. "What brings you here tonight?" 

"Just escaping the chaos of the world for a bit," Lexa answered truthfully, though the full extent of that chaos was a secret she held close. "And you?" 

"I suppose I'm doing the same," Clarke said, her gaze drifting momentarily to the glass in front of her. "Sometimes, it's nice to just be another face in the crowd, you know?" 

Lexa nodded, feeling a strange sense of connection. Here they were, two strangers, each hiding their true selves from the world, yet in this moment, finding a semblance of understanding in each other's company. 

The hum of the bar faded into the background as Clarke and Lexa found comfort in the easy rhythm of their conversation. The clink of glasses and the occasional laughter from other patrons provided a soothing soundtrack to their small talk. 

"So, what do you do when you're not escaping to bars?" Lexa asked, swirling her drink casually, her eyes fixed on Clarke with genuine interest. 

Clarke chuckled lightly, the sound blending harmoniously with the ambient noise of the bar. "I dabble in art," she said, her expression brightening. "Painting, mostly. It's my own kind of chaos control. And you?" 

"I'm into fitness," Lexa replied, a hint of amusement in her tone. "It helps clear my mind. Keeps me... balanced, I guess." 

"Fitness, huh? That explains the toned arms," Clarke observed playfully, her eyes briefly flickering down to Lexa's arms before meeting her gaze again. 

Lexa laughed, a hint of pride in her smile. "What can I say? I like to stay active. It's a good stress reliever." 

"You know, for someone who's into fitness, you have a very calming presence," Clarke noted, her gaze lingering on Lexa's face. 

Lexa's smile deepened. "Thanks, Clarke. I find that keeping fit helps me maintain not just physical strength, but mental peace as well." 

Clarke nodded in understanding. "Art does the same for me. It's like stepping into a different world where I can shape everything to my liking. It's liberating." 

As they talked, Lexa couldn't help but notice the way Clarke's eyes lit up when she spoke about her passions, the way her laughter seemed to fill the space around them. There was an ease to their interaction, a natural ebb and flow that made the night feel less ordinary. 

Clarke, on her part, found herself drawn to Lexa's earnestness, the way she listened intently, her responses thoughtful and engaging. There was a warmth to Lexa that felt both intriguing and safe, a combination Clarke hadn't known she was looking for until now. 

The ambient light of the bar cast a soft glow over Clarke and Lexa as they sat side by side, their conversation meandering through the realms of the mundane and the subtly intriguing. Each was acutely aware of the delicate dance of words they were engaged in, trying to be genuine yet careful not to reveal too much. 

"So, Clarke, what's your idea of a perfect day?" Lexa asked casually, sipping her drink, her eyes curious. 

Clarke pondered for a moment, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I guess it would start with some quiet time, maybe a bit of sketching or painting. Then, something exciting in the afternoon, something that gets my adrenaline going. How about you?" 

Lexa's response was thoughtful. "I'd start with a morning run, clear my head. Then spend the day outdoors, maybe hiking or climbing. I like challenges." She paused, a hint of a smile. "And the evening? Probably something low-key, like this." 

Their conversation drifted to hobbies, each carefully selecting which truths to share. Clarke spoke of her love for art, omitting the darker inspirations behind her work. Lexa talked about her physical activities, leaving out the part where they served as training for her heroic endeavors. 

"Do you like your job?" Lexa ventured, her tone nonchalant. 

"It's... complicated," Clarke admitted, her gaze flickering. "I like the creativity it allows, the freedom. But sometimes it feels like I'm on the wrong side of things." Her words were laced with truth, yet they masked the full extent of her role as a villain. 

"I get that," Lexa nodded, understanding more than she could say. "My job can be demanding too. It's about helping people, making tough decisions. Sometimes it's rewarding, other times..." She trailed off, her expression thoughtful. 

As they spoke, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of the secrets they were not sharing. Yet, in their carefully chosen words, there was an underlying honesty that resonated with both of them. 

The conversation was a delicate balance of revealing and concealing, a dance of truths and omissions. They laughed, shared anecdotes, and enjoyed the moment, all while the unspoken question of who they really were hung in the air, adding an electrifying undercurrent to their interaction. 

As the night waned and the bar's ambiance dimmed to a quiet hush, Lexa found herself caught in a dilemma. The time spent with Clarke had created an unexpected bond, one that she wasn't ready to sever just yet. The thought of walking away now, leaving behind this connection they had forged, filled her with a reluctance she hadn't anticipated. 

She stole a glance at Clarke, who was finishing her drink, the soft lighting accentuating her thoughtful expression. Lexa's heart raced with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Taking a deep breath, she mustered the courage to extend the night. 

"Clarke," Lexa began, her voice slightly hesitant. "I've really enjoyed tonight. It's been... more than I expected." She paused, searching Clarke's face for any sign of mutual sentiment. 

Clarke turned to her, a soft smile playing on her lips, her eyes reflecting a warmth that gave Lexa hope. "I can honestly say the same, Lexa. Tonight has been a pleasant surprise." 

Encouraged by Clarke's response, Lexa took a leap of faith. "Would you... would you like to come home with me?" she asked, her voice a blend of hope and vulnerability. "We could continue our conversation, or just enjoy the quiet. No expectations." 

The invitation hung in the air between them, a pivotal moment that could shift the dynamic of their burgeoning relationship. Lexa held her breath, waiting for Clarke's answer, aware that she was offering more than just a continuation of their evening. She was opening a door to a more personal realm, one that she usually kept closely guarded. 

Clarke regarded Lexa for a long, thoughtful moment. Lexa could almost see the wheels turning in her head, weighing the decision. Finally, Clarke's smile broadened, and there was a spark in her eyes that hadn't been there before. 

"I think I'd like that," Clarke replied, her voice laced with a hint of excitement. "I'm not quite ready for this night to end either." 

Relief and happiness washed over Lexa in equal measure. She smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation for the continued time they would spend together, away from the public eye of the bar. They settled their tabs and stood up, moving towards the exit. 

As they stepped out into the cool night air, side by side, there was a sense of promise that enveloped them. The night had taken an unexpected turn, one that neither Clarke nor Lexa had anticipated when they first sat down at the bar. Now, as they walked together, the possibilities of what lay ahead seemed both exhilarating and daunting. 

The night air was crisp as Clarke and Lexa walked together, their steps in sync, the quiet city streets enveloping them in a serene bubble. The tension of anticipation was palpable between them, each acutely aware of the other's presence. 

Finally, they arrived at Lexa's apartment, a modest but tastefully decorated space that spoke of her practical yet comfortable lifestyle. As Lexa unlocked the door and ushered Clarke inside, there was a sense of crossing a threshold, both literal and metaphorical. 

The apartment was warmly lit, soft ambient lights casting gentle shadows across the room. Lexa took a moment to hang up her coat, her movements betraying a slight nervousness now that they were here, in her personal sanctuary. 

"Make yourself at home," Lexa said, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Can I get you something to drink?" 

Clarke looked around, taking in the surroundings. The space was neat, with a few personal touches here and there - a stack of books on a side table, a potted plant by the window, a few pieces of abstract art on the walls. "Water would be great, thanks," she replied, her voice soft, trying to convey her comfort and ease. 

As Lexa went to the kitchen, Clarke took a seat on the plush couch, her mind racing with a mixture of excitement and a hint of uncertainty. She was here, in Lexa's home, far from the anonymous backdrop of the bar. The intimacy of the setting was not lost on her. 

Lexa returned with two glasses of water, handing one to Clarke before sitting beside her, maintaining a respectful distance. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. 

"I'm really glad you came," Lexa broke the silence, her voice sincere. She looked at Clarke, her eyes searching for a sign, a confirmation that this was okay. 

Clarke met her gaze, her own eyes reflecting a depth of emotion. "Me too," she said quietly. "Tonight has been... unexpected. In a good way." 

They sipped their water, the silence between them no longer awkward, but comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Clarke set her glass down, turning slightly to face Lexa. "Lexa, can I ask you something?" 

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "Of course." 

"What made you decide to invite me here? We barely know each other," Clarke asked, her curiosity genuine. 

Lexa considered her words carefully, aware that the truth was a complex tapestry of reasons. "I guess I felt a connection," she began, her tone thoughtful. "Something about our conversation, the way we interacted, it felt... right. I don't usually do this, but with you, it seemed like something worth exploring." 

Clarke smiled, touched by Lexa's honesty. "I felt it too," she admitted. "There's something about you, Lexa. It's like you understand things that others don't. It's refreshing." 

In that moment, as their eyes locked, the world around them seemed to stand still. The unspoken emotions, the shared vulnerability of the night, all culminated in a single, defining pause. Clarke's heart raced with a mix of excitement and a hint of nervousness, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Clarke leaned closer to Lexa, her movements deliberate yet filled with an undeniable tenderness. Lexa's breath hitched slightly, her own emotions a whirlwind of hope and surprise. 

And then, in a moment as gentle as it was powerful, Clarke's lips met Lexa's in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent language of shared secrets and unvoiced promises. Lexa responded in kind, her hand finding its way to Clarke's cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that echoed her own burgeoning feelings. 

The kiss was a fusion of warmth and sincerity, a merging of two souls that had unexpectedly found a semblance of understanding and solace in each other. It was careful and exploratory, each of them savoring the sensation, the connection that the kiss deepened. 

As they slowly pulled apart, their eyes opened to meet once more, now shimmering with a mix of emotions - surprise, happiness, and a newfound intimacy. Clarke's smile was soft, her eyes shining with a mixture of joy and wonder. Lexa, equally moved, mirrored her smile, a sense of awe in her gaze. 

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the world around them fading into insignificance. The kiss had changed something, shifting the dynamic of their relationship into something more profound, something real and tangible. 

In the quiet of Lexa's living room, with the night enveloping them in its embrace, Clarke and Lexa found themselves at the beginning of a journey neither had anticipated, but both were now eager to explore. It was a moment of new beginnings, of possibilities, and of a shared path that lay ahead. 

After their initial kiss, a soft silence enveloped the room, filled with unspoken emotions and a newfound understanding. Clarke and Lexa gazed into each other's eyes, a gentle acknowledgment of the step they had just taken. The air between them was charged with a warmth and tenderness that neither had expected to find that night. 

Clarke, feeling a profound connection to Lexa, leaned in once more, her lips meeting Lexa's in a kiss that was now filled with a deeper assurance. Lexa responded with equal fervor, her hands gently cradling Clarke's face, conveying emotions too deep for words. The kisses were no longer tentative, but confident, an expression of the trust and affection they had quickly developed for each other. 

As they continued to kiss, their embrace became more intimate, a natural progression of their deepening bond. There was a grace and patience to their movements, a mutual respect and care underlying their actions. They were not just two individuals seeking physical closeness; they were two souls connecting on a much more profound level. 

The intensity of their connection deepened with each passing moment, their world narrowing down to the space they shared. The couch became their sanctuary, a place where they could explore their feelings and the chemistry that had drawn them together so unexpectedly. 

Their lovemaking was a reflection of their emotional journey, a tender and caring exploration of each other. It was an expression of the vulnerability and trust they had shown throughout the night, now manifesting in a physical form. The room was filled with the soft sounds, the quiet whispers, and the gentle sighs that spoke volumes about their feelings for each other. Each tender gesture conveyed the implicit message: “I see you. I understand you. I will safeguard this gift we’ve found in each other.” 

As they lay together afterwards, wrapped in each other's arms, there was a sense of peace and contentment. The emotional depth of their connection was palpable, a silent promise of more to come. They shared soft kisses and gentle caresses, each touch a reaffirmation of the bond they had formed. 

In those quiet hours of the night, Clarke and Lexa discovered a rare kind of intimacy, one that transcended the physical. It was an intimacy born of genuine affection, mutual respect, and a deep understanding of one another. They had started the evening as strangers, but now they lay together as something much more - two hearts intertwined, embarking on a journey that was only just beginning. 

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, its gentle warmth caressed the room, signaling the arrival of a new day. Clarke, still enveloped in the comfort of Lexa's embrace, stirred as the sun's rays touched her face. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the peaceful sight of Lexa sleeping beside her. For a moment, Clarke lay there, savoring the tranquility of the morning and the warmth of Lexa's arms around her. 

But reality, with its unavoidable demands, began to seep into Clarke's consciousness. With a reluctant sigh, she carefully extricated herself from Lexa's embrace, trying not to wake her. Clarke paused for a moment, watching Lexa sleep, a sense of longing tugging at her heart. 

Quietly, she began to dress, each movement deliberate, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Last night had been unexpected, beautiful, but now the complexities of her life - her other life - beckoned. 

The rustle of sheets drew her attention back to the bed as Lexa stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at Clarke, a mix of sleepiness and soft surprise in her gaze. 

"Morning already?" Lexa mumbled, her voice rough with sleep. 

"Yeah," Clarke replied, offering a small, wistful smile. She continued to dress, feeling Lexa's eyes on her. 

"Do you have to go to work?" Lexa asked, sitting up and watching Clarke with a hint of reluctance in her tone. 

Clarke hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, something like that," she said, her voice tinged with an unspoken regret. The duality of her life, the secrets she kept, weighed heavily on her in that moment. 

Lexa watched Clarke, a subtle understanding in her eyes. She knew there was more to Clarke than met the eye, just as there was more to herself. But for now, those unspoken truths remained just beneath the surface. 

Clarke finished dressing and turned to Lexa, her heart heavy with the thought of leaving. She walked over to the bed and leaned down, capturing Lexa's lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and goodbyes, of a connection that had only just begun to unfold. 

As they pulled apart, Clarke touched Lexa's cheek softly. "Thank you for last night," she whispered, her eyes conveying a depth of emotion. 

"Thank you," Lexa replied, her hand briefly covering Clarke's. "Be safe." 

With one last look, Clarke turned and walked to the door, her steps slow, each one taking her further away from the serenity of Lexa's bed. She glanced back once, meeting Lexa's gaze, before heading to meet the early morning light. 

As Clarke walked away, the weight of her other life settled back onto her shoulders, a stark contrast to the vulnerability and openness of the night before. She carried with her the memory of Lexa's touch, the warmth of their connection, and the hope that, despite the complexities of their lives, this wouldn't be their last encounter. 

In the dimly lit confines of her hideout, a stark contrast to the warmth of Lexa's apartment, Clarke shed the last remnants of the woman who had spent the night in tender intimacy. Here, she was Wanheda, a name that echoed with power and fear in the underbelly of the city. Her blonde hair, which had fallen softly around her shoulders in Lexa's presence, was now pulled back in a tight braid, a symbol of her transformation into the formidable figure she was in this world. 

Around her, the hideout was abuzz with activity, her loyal henchmen making final preparations. Screens flickered with maps and schematics, and the air was heavy with the anticipation of the impending heist. Clarke, standing in the center of the room, exuded an air of commanding presence, her eyes scanning over every detail of the plan laid out before her. 

One of her trusted lieutenants approached, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek. "Wanheda," he addressed her with a mix of reverence and fear. "The bombs are ready. We can set your plan in motion whenever you give the word." 

Clarke turned to him, her gaze sharp and calculating. "Good," she responded coolly. "Ensure that everything is in place. I want no mistakes. Tonight, the city will witness the might of Wanheda." 

Her voice was steady, infused with the confidence of a leader who had orchestrated numerous successful operations. She walked over to a table, where a layout of the jewelry store was spread out. Her eyes traced the lines and notes, mentally rehearsing every step of the plan. 

"This heist is more than just a robbery," Clarke spoke, more to herself than to anyone else. "It's a statement. We're not just taking jewels; we're taking control." 

Her henchmen moved about with efficiency, a well-oiled machine under her command. Clarke watched them, a sense of satisfaction filling her. This was her realm, where she wielded power and instilled fear, a far cry from the vulnerability she had shown Lexa. 

As she equipped herself with the necessary gear for the night's operation, her mind briefly flickered to Lexa. A part of her yearned for the simplicity and warmth of the night they had shared. But that was a luxury Wanheda could not afford. Here, in the shadows, she had a different role to play, one that demanded ruthlessness and strength. 

With a final check of her equipment, Clarke, as Wanheda, gave a curt nod to her team. "Let's begin," she declared, her voice resolute. 

The team sprang into action, each member knowing their role in the intricate dance of the heist. Clarke led them, her every step a testament to her infamous reputation. Tonight, Wanheda would strike, and the city would remember why she was both revered and feared. 

Across town, in the quiet of her own apartment, Lexa stood in stark contrast to the scene unfolding in Wanheda's hideout. Here, in her sanctuary, she transitioned from the woman who had shared a night of tenderness with Clarke, into the Commander, the city's silent guardian. 

She moved with a purposeful grace around her apartment, her mind already shifting into the mode of the vigilante hero she became under the cover of night. Tonight, like so many nights before, she would patrol the streets, a watchful protector hidden in the shadows. 

Lexa approached her gear, meticulously arranged in a concealed compartment of her wardrobe. Each piece was a symbol of her commitment to justice, a tangible reminder of the responsibility she shouldered. She dressed methodically, donning the sleek, armored suit that had become her second skin. The suit was a perfect blend of protection and mobility, designed to be as imposing as it was functional. 

As she attached each piece of her gear, Lexa's transformation was both physical and mental. The doubts and vulnerabilities of her civilian life were shed, replaced by the steely resolve of the Commander. Her mask, the final piece of her attire, concealed her identity and completed the metamorphosis. Looking into the mirror, Lexa no longer saw herself; she saw the embodiment of the vow she had taken to protect her city. 

Once fully geared, Lexa took a moment to center herself, her thoughts turning to the night ahead. The city was a labyrinth of light and shadows, of unseen dangers and silent cries for help. As the Commander, it was her duty to navigate this world, to be the unseen force that kept the darkness at bay. 

She checked her equipment one last time – the grappling hooks, the communication device, the non-lethal weapons designed to incapacitate rather than harm. Everything was in place, every tool a testament to her dedication. 

Stepping out of her apartment, Lexa blended into the night, moving with a fluidity that belied the weight of her gear. Her senses were heightened, attuned to the slightest sounds, the faintest movements. The city was a living entity, and she was its guardian. 

As she patrolled, moving across rooftops and through dark alleys, Lexa remained vigilant, her eyes scanning for signs of trouble. The night was often unpredictable, but she was prepared for whatever challenges it might bring. Each step she took was a step towards keeping her city safe, a silent vow to stand as its protector. 

In her role as the Commander, Lexa felt a sense of purpose, a clarity that eluded her in her day-to-day life. Here, amidst the dangers of the night, she found a sense of belonging, a role that defined her as much as it challenged her. 

Unknown to her, across the city, Wanheda was setting her own plans into motion, a parallel dance of light and shadow that would soon entwine their destinies in ways neither could foresee. For now, Lexa, the Commander, continued her solitary patrol, a sentinel in the darkness, ever watchful, ever ready. 

The night had deepened, casting the city into a tapestry of shadows and dimly lit streets. Clarke, now fully embodying her alter ego Wanheda, stood in the darkness of an alley adjacent to the targeted jewelry store. Her heart beat with a controlled rhythm, a mix of adrenaline and focus coursing through her veins. 

Her team was in position, each member a shadow in the night, ready to play their part in the meticulously planned operation. The air was thick with anticipation, every moment leading up to this point a culmination of careful planning and precise execution. 

Clarke surveyed the area with a critical eye, her senses sharp. The quiet hum of the city was a backdrop to her concentrated thoughts. She checked her communication device, ensuring she was in sync with her team. A series of quiet confirmations came through, each member ready and waiting for her command. 

The jewelry store, with its darkened windows and unassuming façade, sat unaware of the impending heist. Clarke knew the layout by heart, the location of every possible obstacle that stood between her and her objective. Tonight, she would prove why she was feared and respected in the criminal underworld. 

She glanced at the device on her wrist, the digital display ticking down the minutes. Timing was crucial; precision was the difference between success and failure. 

Finally, she reached for the last piece of her ensemble, the mask that completed her transformation into Wanheda. The mask was sleek, designed to conceal her identity while allowing her unobstructed vision and breathing. It was a symbol of her power, a barrier between Clarke and the world she dominated as Wanheda. 

With a deep breath, Clarke donned the mask, feeling the familiar rush of empowerment it brought. Her blonde hair, neatly braided to keep it out of the way, contrasted sharply with the dark hue of the mask. In this guise, she was no longer just Clarke; she was a force to be reckoned with, a mastermind of the criminal world. 

She signaled her team, her voice steady and commanding through the communicator. "Get ready. We move on my mark." 

Around her, the night seemed to hold its breath, the seconds stretching out in anticipation. Clarke's gaze was fixed on the store, her mind calculating, her body poised for action. 

In the distance, the city continued its nightly rhythm, oblivious to the drama unfolding in its midst. But here, in the shadow of the jewelry store, Wanheda was about to strike, setting in motion events that would ripple through the city's underworld. 

The countdown reached its final moments, and with a decisive nod, Clarke gave the signal. "Now." 

Like a well-oiled machine, her team sprang into action, each member executing their role with precision. Clarke moved forward, her every step a testament to her confidence and power. Tonight, Wanheda would claim her prize, and the city would remember why her name was spoken with a mixture of fear and awe. 

Moving with purpose, Lexa rounded a corner in a quieter part of the city, her eyes scanning the darkened alleyways and deserted streets. The night had been uneventful so far, but experience had taught her that calm often preceded the storm. 

Suddenly, without warning, the night erupted into chaos. An explosion thundered through the air, a violent shockwave that tore through the stillness of the evening. Lexa was caught off guard, the blast hitting her with an unexpected ferocity. She was thrown backward, her body propelled by the sheer force of the explosion. 

Time seemed to slow as she was flung through the air, her instincts kicking in even as she grappled with the disorientation of the moment. The world spun around her, a whirl of lights and shadows, the sounds of the night distorted by the ringing in her ears. 

Lexa hit the ground with a hard thud, the impact jarring her despite the protection of her suit. For a moment, she lay there, trying to regain her senses, the taste of dust and smoke in the air. The explosion had come from nearby, its origin a mystery that sent a surge of adrenaline through her veins. 

Pushing through the initial shock, Lexa forced herself to her feet, her training taking over. She assessed her surroundings, her eyes narrowing as she tried to pinpoint the source of the blast. The air was thick with smoke, the aftermath of the explosion casting a haze over the street. 

Her mind raced, piecing together the possibilities. An attack? An accident? Her duty as the Commander was to find out, to ensure the safety of the city and its inhabitants. 

Ignoring the ache in her body, Lexa moved towards the source of the explosion, her every sense heightened. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and she was ready to face whatever challenges it brought. Little did she know, her path was about to cross with that of Wanheda, setting the stage for a confrontation that would reveal more than either of them could anticipate. 

The interior of the jewelry store lay in disarray, the aftermath of Wanheda's meticulously planned heist. Glass cases were shattered, alarms silenced, the sophisticated security system rendered useless against her cunning and precision. The darkness of the store was broken only by the beam of her flashlight, sweeping across the glittering remnants of her conquest. 

Wanheda moved through the store with confident strides, her movements fluid and assured. She knew exactly where to go, which displays held the most valuable treasures. Years of planning and experience in the criminal underworld had honed her skills to near perfection. 

With deft hands, she collected the jewels, each piece carefully selected for its worth and rarity. Diamonds that held the light like frozen stars, emeralds green as the deepest forests, sapphires blue as twilight skies - all were swiftly and expertly gathered into her secure bag. The wealth of the store, the pride of Polis's high society, now lay in the hands of the city's most feared villain. 

As she placed the last of the jewels into her bag, Wanheda paused, allowing herself a moment to take in the scene before her. The chaos she had wrought was a testament to her power, a clear message to the city of Polis. She had walked into one of the most secure places in the city and claimed its treasures as her own. 

A smile slowly spread across Wanheda's masked face, a rare display of satisfaction. She stood in the heart of the store, surrounded by the evidence of her triumph. This heist was more than just a theft; it was a declaration. Polis would remember this night, the night Wanheda proved that not even the most guarded of treasures were safe from her reach. 

The smile on her face broadened as she considered the impact of her actions. Fear would ripple through the city's elite, through the corridors of power. They would whisper her name with a mix of dread and respect. Wanheda, the shadow that could breach any barrier, the ghost that haunted their securest vaults. 

With a final glance at her handiwork, Wanheda turned to leave, her bag heavy with jewels. She moved back through the shattered store, each step a symbol of her victory. Tonight, she had cemented her legend in the criminal underworld of Polis. She had shown them all the might of Wanheda, a force that no one could ignore or underestimate. 

With her bag of jewels in hand, Wanheda moved swiftly towards the shattered front window, poised to make her escape into the night. The heist had been a success, her path to victory seemingly clear. But in an instant, that all changed. 

Out of the shadows, a figure lunged towards her with a speed and precision that matched her own. It was the Commander, Polis's silent guardian, her presence both unexpected and formidable. They collided with a force that sent their bodies skidding across the floor. 

The two figures grappled fiercely, a whirlwind of movement and power. Wanheda fought with the desperation of one whose plan was on the verge of unravelling, while the Commander fought with the resolve of one protecting her city. They were a blur of punches and kicks, each equally skilled, equally determined. 

But the Commander, fueled by a sense of duty and justice, gained the upper hand. With a swift move, she pinned Wanheda to the ground, the weight of her body and training giving her an advantage. Wanheda struggled beneath her, but the Commander was relentless. 

Reaching out, the Commander grasped Wanheda's mask, intent on revealing the face of the villain who had terrorized Polis. As the mask came off, revealing Clarke's face, a shock of recognition jolted through Lexa. 

"Clarke," she gasped, her voice a mix of surprise and disbelief. 

The name hung in the air, heavy with implications. In that instant, Clarke seized the opportunity. Using Lexa's momentary lapse, she summoned her strength and pushed Lexa off her. The two separated with a suddenness that left them both reeling. 

Clarke scrambled to her feet, her mind racing. The revelation had changed everything, yet she couldn't afford to be caught. She darted for the window, her escape route just within reach. 

As she leapt through the shattered opening, Clarke cast a final look back. Their eyes met, a tumult of emotions passing between them – betrayal, understanding, a shared secret now laid bare. 

And then, with the agility and swiftness that had made her a legend, Wanheda disappeared into the night, leaving Lexa, the Commander, alone amidst the ruins of the heist. 

In that moment, as Lexa processed the revelation of Clarke's dual identity, the city's landscape of heroes and villains had shifted irrevocably. The night's events would forever change the dynamic between them, a once simple line of duty and justice now clouded by personal connection and conflicting emotions. 

In the dim aftermath of the night, Clarke returned to her hideout, her mind a tumultuous storm of emotions. The heist, successful in its execution, had ended in a way she could never have anticipated. The walls of her hideout, once a sanctuary, now felt like they were closing in on her. 

As Wanheda, she had always been in control, a mastermind of the criminal world. But now, stripped of her mask and revealed to the Commander, she felt a vulnerability she hadn't experienced in years. Clarke sat down heavily, the bag of jewels lying forgotten at her feet. 

The image of Lexa's shocked face when she saw Clarke beneath the mask played over and over in her mind. The confusion, the hurt, the dawning realization – all etched into her memory. Clarke ran her hands through her hair, a gesture of frustration and disbelief. 

How could she have not seen it? The Commander, her adversary, was Lexa – the woman she had felt an undeniable connection with, shared a night of intimacy. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. They were enemies in the shadows of Polis, yet something more in the light of day. 

Clarke paced the room, her thoughts racing. What did this mean for them now? Could there be any reconciliation between Wanheda and the Commander, Clarke and Lexa? The complexity of their relationship had taken a turn she was not prepared for. 

She felt a pang of regret, a longing for the simplicity of the night they had shared, now overshadowed by the reality of their true identities. Clarke knew that nothing would be the same after tonight. A line had been crossed, a secret revealed that changed everything. 

With a heavy heart, she began to weigh her options, her mind working through the implications of tonight's events. The game had changed, and Clarke, as Wanheda, needed to decide her next move. 

Meanwhile, Lexa sat in her apartment, the Commander's gear discarded haphazardly around her. The adrenaline of the chase had long since faded, leaving her with a profound sense of shock and confusion. 

The revelation that Wanheda was Clarke, the woman she had let herself be vulnerable with, felt like a betrayal of the highest order. Yet, as she replayed the night's events, Lexa couldn't help but feel a gnawing conflict within her. 

She had seen Clarke, not just as Wanheda, but as someone she had connected with, shared a moment of genuine intimacy. The memory of their night together was now tinged with a complexity that Lexa couldn't easily reconcile. 

Lexa walked over to the window, looking out over the city she had sworn to protect. Her role as the Commander had always been clear-cut, but now the lines were obscured. How could she reconcile her duty with the feelings she had for Clarke? 

The weight of her dual life felt heavier than ever. Lexa knew the coming days would bring difficult decisions. The knowledge of Clarke's identity as Wanheda added layers to their relationship that she wasn't sure how to navigate. 

As she stood there, lost in thought, the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a soft glow into her apartment. The night was over, but the consequences of its revelations were just beginning to unfold. 

In their respective worlds, Clarke and Lexa faced the dawn with a shared uncertainty. The path forward was unclear, fraught with moral dilemmas and emotional complexities. But one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again. 

In the secluded confines of her hideout, Clarke sat at a worn-out table, the bag of stolen jewels lying unceremoniously before her. The sparkling stones, each a testament to her successful heist, now felt like a burden, heavy with implications she hadn't considered before. 

Her mind was a battleground of conflicting thoughts. The plan had always been clear – steal the jewels and sell them, a move that would solidify her reputation as Wanheda and provide the financial means to further her goals. But now, with the revelation of Lexa's identity as the Commander, everything felt complicated. 

Clarke picked up a diamond, its facets catching the dim light, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors. This was more than just a gemstone; it was a symbol of the tangled web she found herself in. On one hand, returning the jewels to Lexa, to the Commander, could be a gesture of goodwill, a bridge between their divided worlds. It could be a way to show Lexa that there was more to Wanheda than the villain she presented to the world. 

On the other hand, selling the jewels was part of her plan, a necessary step in her larger scheme. As Wanheda, she had a reputation to uphold, a role to play in the criminal underworld. Showing weakness or sentimentality could undermine her authority and jeopardize everything she had worked for. 

Clarke weighed her options, each choice pulling her in opposite directions. Giving the jewels back to Lexa could mean a chance for something more between them, a slim hope for understanding, maybe even redemption. But it also meant deviating from her path, questioning the identity she had forged for herself. 

Selling the jewels, however, would maintain the status quo. It would keep Wanheda's legend intact but would widen the chasm between Clarke and Lexa, possibly destroying any chance of reconciliation. 

She sighed, a deep, weary sound. This wasn't just about jewels or plans anymore; it was about her identity, her future, and the intricate dance between her life as Clarke and her role as Wanheda. The stakes were higher than they had ever been. 

As Clarke sat there, the jewels before her a glittering representation of her dilemma, she knew she had to make a choice. It was a decision that would define not just the fate of the jewels, but the path of her own destiny. The question remained, what was she willing to sacrifice, and what was she willing to fight for? 

Day after day, night after night, Lexa scoured the city for Clarke. As both herself and the Commander, she combed through the streets of Polis, her eyes always searching, her heart heavy with a turmoil of emotions. The city she knew like the back of her hand suddenly felt like a vast, impenetrable maze. 

By day, Lexa visited places she thought Clarke might frequent, based on the glimpses of her life she had shared. Art galleries, cafes, the quieter parts of the city where a painter might find inspiration. She asked subtle questions, her inquiries careful not to raise suspicions, but each attempt led to a dead end. 

As the Commander, her search took on a more vigilant approach. She patrolled the areas where Wanheda was known to operate, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure, or even better, of Clarke. Her nights were spent leaping across rooftops, eyes peeled for any sign, any clue that might lead her to the woman who had so thoroughly captivated and confused her. 

Lexa grappled with her emotions as she searched. The night they had spent together was etched in her memory, a time of vulnerability and connection that now felt like a distant dream. How could Clarke, the woman who had shared such tender moments with her, be the same person as Wanheda, the notorious criminal she had vowed to bring to justice? 

The question haunted Lexa. She needed answers, not just for her peace of mind but for her heart, which ached with a mixture of betrayal and longing. The line between duty and personal feelings was blurred, making her quest all the more urgent and complicated. 

Each fruitless day and night added to her frustration. The city remained silent, offering no answers, no solace to her restless spirit. But Lexa was determined. She needed to understand, to confront the dichotomy of Clarke and Wanheda. 

It wasn't just about the law or justice anymore. It was about understanding the complexities of the human heart, the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface. Lexa knew that finding Clarke was the key to unraveling the tangled emotions and unanswered questions that plagued her. 

So, she continued her search, driven by a need for closure and clarity. The best night of her life had turned into the most confusing period of her existence, and Lexa couldn't rest until she found the answers she sought, no matter where they might lead her. 

The evening had settled over the city like a soft shroud, the twilight hours signaling the time for Lexa to don her identity as the Commander. She was preparing for another night of patrolling, another night of searching for answers, when an unexpected knock at her door halted her in her tracks. 

With a sense of curiosity mingled with caution, Lexa approached the door. The knock was out of the ordinary, especially at this hour. Her hand hesitated for a moment on the doorknob, her instincts as the Commander momentarily clashing with the mundane act of answering her front door. 

As she opened the door, the sight that greeted her was one she had both longed for and dreaded. Clarke stood there, a solitary figure in the dim light of the hallway, a bag in her hand. Her presence was both a shock and a relief, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in Lexa's chest. 

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, a multitude of unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Clarke's eyes were a mix of determination and vulnerability, a reflection of the complex journey that had brought her here. 

"Clarke," Lexa finally uttered, her voice a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something akin to hope. 

"I needed to see you," Clarke said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the turmoil within. "Can I come in?" 

Without a word, Lexa stepped aside, allowing Clarke to enter. The bag in Clarke's hand seemed heavy with significance, its contents unknown but undoubtedly a key to the conversation that was about to unfold. 

As Clarke walked past her, Lexa closed the door, a sense of surrealism washing over her. Just moments ago, she had been preparing to scour the city for the very person who now stood in her living room. The turn of events felt like a twist in one of their complex narratives, yet here it was, playing out in reality. 

Lexa turned to face Clarke, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The air was thick with the weight of their shared history, the night they had spent together, and the subsequent revelation of their dual identities. The tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the crossroads they now faced. 

Clarke set the bag down with a quiet thud, her gaze meeting Lexa's. In that look, there was a depth of emotion, a silent plea for understanding and perhaps a chance to explain. The journey to this moment had been fraught with secrets and revelations, and now, standing in Lexa's apartment, the next chapter of their story was about to begin. 

Clarke stood there, a figure of resolve and complexity, as she gazed at Lexa. The bag on the table seemed almost insignificant compared to the weight of the moment. "I'm returning the jewelry," she finally said, her voice steady but laden with an unspoken gravity. "That's what's in the bag." 

Lexa's eyes flickered to the bag, then back to Clarke, a mixture of surprise and confusion evident on her face. "Are you turning yourself in?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hopeful yet cautious undertone. 

"No," Clarke replied, her gaze not wavering. "I thought about it, but if I'm in jail, I won't last long. I've made enemies, crossed lines with people who don't forgive or forget. Returning these jewels... it's going to make things dangerous for me." 

Her admission hung in the air, a stark reminder of the complex web of alliances and enmities in the criminal world she was entangled in. 

"I need to lay low for a while," Clarke continued, a hint of regret in her voice. "Disappear until things cool down." 

The idea of Clarke disappearing again, vanishing into the shadows of the city, filled Lexa with a tumult of emotions. The woman she had shared an intimate connection with, the woman who was also Wanheda, was slipping through her fingers once more. 

"And after?" Lexa found herself asking, a part of her clinging to the hope of seeing Clarke again. 

Clarke looked at Lexa, her blue eyes reflecting a depth of emotion. "I hope, when the time comes, I can see you again," she said, her words a blend of hope and uncertainty. "I don't know what the future holds, Lexa. But I do know that what happened between us... it was real." 

Lexa absorbed her words, the reality of the situation setting in. Clarke was not just returning the jewels; she was also setting a boundary, a necessary distance to keep them both safe. 

The room felt charged with a bittersweet tension, a mix of unfulfilled desires and the harsh realities of their lives. The bag of jewels, once a symbol of Wanheda's triumph, was now a token of her concession, a gesture towards something more profound and intangible. 

Lexa nodded slowly, a silent acceptance of Clarke's decision. "I understand," she said, her voice a low echo of her internal conflict. "Be careful, Clarke." 

Clarke offered a small, sad smile, an acknowledgment of the complexity of their situation. She moved towards the door, pausing for a moment to look back at Lexa. In that glance, there was a world of things unsaid, a story unfinished. 

Then, with a quiet resolve, Clarke left Lexa's apartment, disappearing into the embrace of the night. Lexa was left standing there, the bag of jewels on her table, and a profound sense of both loss and hope lingering in the air. The future was uncertain, but the connection they shared, complicated and fraught with danger, was something neither could easily forget. 

Almost a year had passed since the night Clarke, as Wanheda, had vanished into the shadows, leaving behind a city that continued to pulse with the rhythm of danger and vigilance. Lexa, as the Commander, had remained its steadfast guardian, her nights filled with the pursuit of justice, her days a constant balancing act of her dual identity. 

The whispers of Wanheda's betrayal in the criminal underworld had gradually faded, overtaken by the rise and fall of new villains, new threats. Lexa had followed the trails of these adversaries, her resolve unwavering, but a part of her always listened for any mention of Clarke, any hint of Wanheda's return. 

But as the months went by, Clarke remained a ghost, a memory etched in the back of Lexa's mind, a story left unfinished. 

One ordinary day, while collecting her mail, Lexa's attention was caught by a postcard. It was an advertisement for an art gallery in Arkadia, showcasing new artists. The image on the front was striking, a painting that seemed to capture both chaos and beauty in a single frame. 

Lexa turned the postcard over, her eyes scanning the brief details about the exhibition. There was nothing explicitly pointing to Clarke, but a feeling stirred within her, an intuition that this was more than just a simple invitation to an art show. It felt like a message, a subtle reaching out. 

The more Lexa looked at the postcard, the stronger her conviction grew. This was Clarke's doing, a silent communication through the medium she loved most – art. It was as if Clarke was extending a tentative hand across the distance that had grown between them, offering a chance to reconnect, to perhaps close the chapter that had been left open. 

The idea of seeing Clarke's work, of possibly seeing Clarke herself, set Lexa's heart racing with a mix of hope and apprehension. The gallery in Arkadia was not just a showcase of art; it was a bridge to a past that Lexa had never fully let go of. 

Making a decision, Lexa tucked the postcard into her pocket, a tangible reminder of the opportunity it presented. She would go to the gallery, see the art, and maybe, just maybe, find a way to reconnect with the woman who had slipped away that night. 

As Lexa walked back to her apartment, the postcard was a weight in her pocket, a symbol of possibilities and what-ifs. The future was uncertain, the path unclear, but the chance to see Clarke, to understand the journey she had been on, was a chance Lexa was willing to take. 

In the ever-changing landscape of her life as the Commander, this was a personal quest, a private hope. The gallery in Arkadia was not just an exhibition; it was a crossroads, one that could lead Lexa back to Clarke or finally give her the closure she needed to move forward. 

The evening of the art showcase in Arkadia brought with it a flurry of anticipation for Lexa. As she entered the gallery, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of Clarke. The space was filled with art enthusiasts, each absorbed in the myriad of artworks adorning the walls. But Clarke was nowhere to be seen. 

Feeling a mixture of disappointment and curiosity, Lexa began to navigate through the gallery, allowing herself to be drawn into the world of each piece. The art was diverse, each creation telling its own story, but Lexa found herself searching for something more, a hidden message or a sign from Clarke. 

Then, her attention was caught by a particular painting. It depicted a building, its structure captured in the midst of an explosion, a moment of chaos frozen in time. Lexa stood there, studying it, the painting evoking a strange sense of déjà vu. 

"Does that look familiar?" a voice suddenly asked from behind her. 

Lexa turned around and there was Clarke. Her hair was dyed brown, a change that momentarily threw Lexa off, but there was no mistaking those eyes, the contours of her face, the presence she carried. It was undeniably Clarke. 

A surge of emotions welled up inside Lexa, a tidal wave of relief, joy, and unanswered questions. Before she could think, before doubt or reason could take hold, Lexa found herself moving towards Clarke. In a few strides, she closed the distance between them and, driven by a year's worth of longing and uncertainty, she kissed Clarke. 

It was a bold move, impulsive and filled with all the sentiments that Lexa had held back for so long. The kiss was a question and an answer, a release of pent-up emotions, a bridge over the chasm of time that had separated them. 

Clarke responded, her initial shock giving way to the emotions that had never quite faded. Around them, the gallery dimmed, the noise and the people becoming mere background to the moment they were sharing. 

As they finally pulled apart, Lexa looked into Clarke's eyes, searching for a sign, an indication of where they stood. There was so much to say, so many questions to ask, but for now, this connection, this confirmation that they were both still drawn to each other, was enough. 

The painting, the gallery, the year apart – it all culminated in this moment. Lexa and Clarke, standing amidst a sea of art, had found their way back to each other in the most unexpected of ways. The future was still unwritten, their paths still uncertain, but for now, they were together again, and that was all that mattered. 

They stood now, slightly apart, the intensity of their reunion still hanging in the air. Lexa's hand reached for Clarke's, a silent plea for connection, for understanding. Clarke's fingers intertwined with hers, a silent answer, an acceptance. 

"Clarke, I..." Lexa began, her voice a whisper of emotions. "I've thought about you, about that night, about everything." 

Clarke nodded, her eyes conveying a depth of feeling. "I know. Me too. It's been a long year." 

"I don't know what happens next," Clarke admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. 

"Neither do I," Lexa confessed. "But maybe we don't need all the answers right now. Maybe it's enough to know that we're both still here, still... us." 

Clarke smiled, a small, hopeful gesture. "Us," she echoed. "I like the sound of that." 

The gallery around them continued its steady hum of activity, but for Lexa and Clarke, time seemed to stand still. They were at a crossroads, their future uncertain, but they faced it together. 

They both knew the complexities that lay ahead. The divide between their lives – Lexa as the Commander, Clarke as Wanheda, and the world that stood between them – was a reality that couldn't be ignored. But in this moment, those titles, those roles, they seemed distant, secondary to the connection they shared.   

Their story was not a simple one. It was a tapestry of light and dark, of heroism and transgression, of two souls finding each other against the odds. Lexa and Clarke stepped into the unknown, their hearts entwined, ready to face whatever the future held, together. 

[arunima123]

Normal Plaster Imperfections and their Fix

A house is a fantasy for the majority of us. We finish our home in numerous ways. One of the ways is painting our home with our imagination and decision. Painting is generally finished on the plastered surface by the accompanying steps1. In the event that the plaster quality isn't sufficient it can lead to many issues later.

Plaster is a typical material utilized in development from one side of the planet to the other. Simple to work with and furthermore more straightforward to fix. Be that as it may, there will be times when your plaster begins to give indications of mileage or different issues.

Understanding what kind of issues can happen and its causes, you can determine them before they become greater issues. Today we will walk you through a few normal plaster surrenders and their essential drivers and counteraction.

1. Rankling of Plastered Surface

Rankling is the arrangement of little fixes of plaster, expanding out past the plastered surface, emerging because of late slaking (expansion of water to lime) of lime particles in the plaster. This imperfection is generally caused because of the lopsided blending of plaster.

Step by step instructions to forestall it: This can be forestalled by guaranteeing proper blending among cement and it's parts used to frame plaster.

2. Plaster De-holding

De-holding happens when a plaster is isolated from the wall. It very well may be brought about by an unreasonably thick plaster layer, lacking substrate readiness or might be because of a dusty, slick or dry substrate.

Instructions to forestall it: To forestall de-holding of plaster, we really want to deal with the accompanying things during plastering.

Eliminate dust and oil from the substrate prior to plastering. Permit substrate to arrive at right dampness content. Assuming that fundamental you ought to utilize holding compound.

3. Breaks on Plastered Surface

Perhaps of the most well-known issue you would have seen in plastering is the break. Breaks on the plastered surface can be in various structures:

Enraging - It is an organization of fine breaks like cobweb. They are normally exceptionally fine and don't reach out through the entire profundity of the plaster. It happens because of presence of overabundance fine satisfied in the sand or because of dry base on which plaster is applied - when base assimilates the water and fines collect on a superficial level, it prompts enraging. Detachment break at joints - It generally happens at joints of two unique materials for instance at intersection of RCC and Block work. It happens because of differential warm development. Break with Emptiness - This break happens because of void in plaster. Different reasons could be additional water in the plaster blend or because of unfortunate workmanship. The most effective method to forestall it: Basically breaks happen because of awful workmanship or development and shrinkage in the plaster during drying. The following are not many tips to forestall breaks:

Guarantee the expansion of water in mortar done is by talented artisan and not by untalented work to guarantee wanted usefulness regarding taking care of and application. It tends to be stayed away from by appropriate relieving of the plaster to dial back any fast drying. Dealing with workmanship and material quality issues will help in forestalling breaks.

4. Blooming on Plastered Surface

At the point when a recently built wall dries out, the dissolvable salts are brought to the surface and they show up as a whitish glasslike substance. This is called blossoming. Blossoming is framed on plasters when dissolvable salts are available in plaster making materials as well as building materials, for example, blocks, sand, cement and so on. Indeed, even water utilized in the development work might contain solvent salts. It genuinely influences the grip of paint with the wall surface and creates additional issues.

Instructions to forestall it:

All Development materials utilized for wall ought to be liberated from salt. Guaranteeing that the surface is without dampness.

5. Dropping Out of Plaster

This deformity can occur in two structures - Chipping of plaster and stripping off plaster.

Chipping of plaster: The development of a little free mass on the plastered surface is known as chipping. Holding disappointment between progressive layers of plaster is for the most part due.

Stripping off plaster: The plaster from some piece of the surface falls off and a fix is shaped. This is named as stripping. Holding disappointment between progressive layers of plaster is likewise basically due.

The most effective method to forestall it: The two imperfections can be forestalled with legitimate material choice and surface readiness. Flawed grip can be limited by great workmanship.

6. Popping of Plaster

Popping is the arrangements of conelike like openings that break out of the plaster. It is caused because of the presence of foreign substance particles like consumed lime or other natural materials in the blend of mortar.

The most effective method to forestall it: To forestall popping in plastering, you want to guarantee that no pollutant particles are available in the mortar blend.

7. Free Plaster

At the point when the plaster gets dislodged on outer effects like utilization of material or tapping, and so on, it is named as free plaster. This is made fundamentally due inappropriate combination and deficient restoring.

Instructions to forestall it: It very well may be forestalled with the utilization of legitimate combination and sufficient relieving. Great workmanship will help in keeping away from this issue.

Aside from the above absconds, Lopsided or undulation additionally happens at plastered surface. The plastered surface ought to be in wonderful plumb and with no undulations. Unevenly plastered surface occurs because of poor workmanship2 of the plastering work.

Subsequent to knowing the deformities, read a few insurances to taken while plaster:

The regions that should be plastered ought to be washed and kept wet. All free material adhering to the stone work ought to eliminated before plaster. The joints ought to be cleaned by brushing or rejecting with wire brushes. The uniform level is tried with plumb-weave previously and subsequent to applying the plaster. Indicated cement, sand proportion ought to be utilized while making cement mortar. Guarantee legitimate holding between the outer layer of stone work and plaster. Aside from these precautionary measures, Gifted specialists and great quality material ought to be utilized to limit the defects3.

End

Plastering makes the surfaces smooth as well as gives a decent completing to the walls, roof and different pieces of building. It is a significant piece of development. To guarantee great nature of plaster, realizing about the imperfections in plastering is significant. Our target of this content was to make mindfulness about different deformities in plastering and its anticipation. We trust this data will be useful for you. What's more, in the event that you need an expert counsel, you can contact home review administrations who can examine your property. Picking this assistance will give you data about issues and long haul answers for a wide range of imperfections in your home/property.

For more -Cement Wall Plastering Machine, Plaster Spray Machine, Spraying Plaster On Walls, Keycoats

[hnours]

@ragelit​​​ cont. 

"I'll admit it, Yugiri, that I do find you very pretty."

It's a simple smile that adorns his face, his sole silver eye looking up at her from his sitting position.

          it was supposed to be a mere joke— some friendly bantering and back-and-forth teasing because she was relieved to see him very much alive again. she must admit that it was partly her fault the humour went unrecognised, given how she always regarded him with an absolute professionalism and a rather austere demeanour that was strictly duty-related, and how frequent each meeting with f’err resulted in never-ending troubles; the dire circumstances had left little room for playfulness. they had time now though, doma was liberated, yanxia was picking up the pieces and rebuilding to once again reclaim its former glory, its people were finally able to live like they were meant to— like free winds that danced across the rolling hills and carried only laughter and happiness, so she dared unshackle herself from the formality no matter how brief. 

          this... development was unexpected, honestly. she wasn’t anticipating such genuine reaction from f’err especially with how poor her attempt to crack a joke was... (forgive her, the number of times she did such a thing was pitiable). it rendered her speechless. pretty wasn’t something she heard often, and defintely was a foreign word when yugiri mistwalker was in the picture— ferocious, fast, precise, resilient and everything in between, yes, but pretty? when her body was flawed with myriad scars? when her hands roughened with rigorous training, and her heart steeled with each death stolen? when she was nothing but a grim shadow in the dark, living on the blood of the fallen? if such monstrosity was pretty... she was glad she was pretty to him.     

          ‘ i thank you for your kind words. ’     nevertheless, she shouldn’t— mustn’t dwell on it any further. there were other things of much more significance that called for their attention.     ‘ how fare your training with lord hien? ’     yugiri said, deliberately avoiding their discontinued conversation earlier. 

[kimwexlers-brownhair]

For the unpopular opinion meme - when Logan offers his kids the top job, particularly Shiv in s2, he did actually mean it. He just didn't mean it for very long.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

What went down with Shiv is directly linked to Logan's inability to predict his own nature and inability to clearly see his children outside of the narrative he's assigned to them. He gets excited when they show promise and refuses to see any potential downsides until they inevitably slip up; then there's no turning back. He will not forgive the slightest imperfection.

After the inital enthusiasm wears off, bitterness, resentment, and jealousy take over. When Shiv impressed him in 2x01, he was ecstatic and relieved that his young and bright daughter --his favorite --had given him the perfect reason not to sell the company.

He doesn't stop to think through the potential conflicts. Even though so much of their dynamic in the first season was them butting heads over Shiv's outspoken liberal politics, he either doesn't think or doesn't expect all that to impact her future position as CEO. Even though it was Shiv's eloquence that won her the role with him, he later convinces himself she's too mouthy.

And yes, Shiv does bring flaws to the table: she's pompous and impatient, such as when she refuses to get down to brass tacks with Frank. She would probably benefit from the management training program.

And yet, he does nothing to talk her through these issues seriously, or advise her in any meaningful way. He just expects her to know.

Or at least, that's what he pretends to expect, because by fixating on Shiv's flaws it's easier to dismiss her and frame it as her fault. He doesn't have to face the fact her power as a smart, liberal young woman taking over frankly intimidates him. He's furious she is who Nan Pierce wants, not him or his company really; and that she's who the world probably wants after cruises.

But he either can't or won't admit that a petty reason like jealousy is behind his motives for shutting her out. He has to wait for something like Shiv tentatively submitting herself as a candidate for PGN, so that, once again, he can tell her (and himself) it's her fault. He doesn't have to admit that the idea of his child, the child he believes he owns and will always have control over, could supplant him, and that's why he refuses to properly mentor and advise her.

Logan is wonderful in the honeymoon phase -- I'm sure that's when he was the most romantic with his wives, and why he charmed Rhea so quickly, and why he and Kendall became so close after Colin cleaned up the aftermath of Dodds dying. It's so much easier in the beginning when the future is just a rosy, abstract thing; but the second conflict rears its head or he feels threatened by the very traits he initially valued in those closest to him, the honeymoon is over and he starts drafting up the divorce papers. Shiv made mistakes, sure, but I genuinely don't think she or Logan knew that she was always going to be fighting a losing battle -- same with Ken, same with Rome. Logan thinks he wants them to succeed him more than anything, when really, he inevitably finds out it's the last thing he wants.

Send me unpopular opinions

[bubblyani]

The Letter

(Melvin Purvis x Reader)

A Melvin Purvis One Shot

Fandom: Public Enemies (2009) Michael Mann

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6.6k+

Summary: The day when the FBI plans to catch John Dillinger, you finally write a letter full of undisclosed affections to Melvin Purvis, the love of your life. 


Author’s Note: Please note, this is all based on the fictionalized version of the character played by Christian Bale. It was a challenging concept but very happy with the outcome. Maybe I’m just “Bumping Gums*” but, hope y’all enjoy!!

“What are you thinking about?”

That familiar, male voice inquired. Cool yet affectionate; lingering in the darkness long enough for a female voice to hum before responding:

“Me? just things…” she began, her voice comprised of a much greater familiarity above all others, “Things I wanna say to you. I…” a chuckle arose, “It’s silly but…” she inhaled deep, “I just want to, write them down…for you”  

“What?…like in a letter?”

“Uh huh!”

“Why? I’m right here” Her giggles seasoned his genuine curiousity,“It’s not the same. I…” she inevitably paused, “I’m just shy” as softness smeared over her tone. “Oh…” he decided to follow suite, “…somehow I don’t believe that” with his words exiting in the form of purrs, the two pairs of lips finally met. The kiss, it was chaste. Yet the sound remained crisp. And the shared chuckles that soon followed, were crispier. Audibly vivid at its finest.

Sheer pity, for it merely was a memory. Such a pity, for it vanished the very second your eyes dared to open.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(1934)

A heavy sigh left your lips in disappointment. Arms folded, your right index finger wandered over your silk robe, in detail. It had no other option, especially when your lips could not indulge his own, when your eyes could not indulge the only loving gaze that truly mattered. Thus, there you were, running your fingers over the silk of harsh reality. Nothing to imagine, nothing to relive.

All the while you stood, staring at the door ahead. The door from where he just left.

It was a lazy afternoon, and anxiousness had found its way deep into your bloodstream. Woken nerves, uneasy stomach, the pounding heart with great speed and clarity. Harsh reality had turned to the worse, grabbing you by the shoulders, only to force you to stare deep at it.

Face the facts, it uttered. But which part of you wanted to do so?

Though being the sole occupant in the room, your pounding heartbeat did not fail to drown your very own hearing. This feeling, you despised it, to the core. If only it would stop.

Until it finally did. But only when you spun back around in a split second. For you decided to take action on it instead.

Planting yourself firm on the wooden desk, hands were occupied in the hurried dance as drawers were pulled, and stashes of paper were grabbed and dropped out before you. But once the hands found their way to a beautiful pen inside, all actions reduced pace. Holding it with care, your eyes grew warm by the mere sight. For the pen, it was a symbol of things a many, and one in particular. The one which cost you a heavy sigh, before opening the cap and let the pen make take its course on the paper. And just like that, you finally wrote down two words. Two out of the many your heart ached to speak into existence:

Dear Mel…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sigh that followed soon after, was relieving. It was liberating. In truth, even a smile seemed possible. Hence, your intentions were clear.

“Dear Mel…” leaning forward, you read it out with warmth. For you were prepared to permit the ink to reunite with the paper once again, and linger on a little longer:

Looks like I finally found a reason to sit down and write this letter to you. Honestly, I feel like laughing, cause I never thought I’d end up doing this. 


Chuckling to oneself, you proceeded to write:

But I know if I don’t do this now, I would regret it. Cause now I finally know you deserve to read every last bit of my thoughts and feelings. All that I have hidden for too long. Before it’s too late.

Seeing you walk out that door wasn’t anything new. But when you did it this afternoon, it felt different. My heart, it felt something. It was heavy! That’s the word. Was I worried? afraid? I don’t know. All I know was that, it was too much. Enough for me to remember your effect on me.

Those words may have been generalized, yet you were astounded by the comfort you sensed when writing them. Inhaling deep, you kept on:

You were not a man I expected to ever meet in my life, Melvin Purvis. Never for one second. Out of all the folks here in Chicago, why would we ever meet? Whatever reason it was, I am very thankful. I am very thankful I opened my door to the hallway that night.

And I am thankful for Mr. Lloyd, and for that man in the navy blue coat.

Your words, they brimmed with sincerity. Looking up from the paper, you couldn’t help but stare into the wall. It was simply inevitable. Especially when every bit of detail began to flow into your consciousness, only to unfold the memory of that fateful night in your mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chick Webb’s “Blues in my Heart*” playing in the radio, certainly did not fail to mirror your heart to perfection. For the melancholia was mutual. And the dim lights illuminating the apartment in the late evening, seemed to have sealed the emotion shut.

Memorable was your deep sigh, along with warm cup of tea that rested on your hands:

“I figured he, of all people would vouch for me, but instead he just…hung up” You remembered uttering, tone enriched with sadness whilst imitating a telephone being disconnected.

“Well…” a gruff voice began, “…if I were your Old man, I would never pull that nonsense”

You looked up, to set your eyes over at your neighbor Wilmer Lloyd, sitting across from you in his pajamas. A spritely gentleman in his late seventies, Lloyd was the friend, who in time became the father figure you wished you had.

Amused by his temper filled response, You chuckled with disbelief:

“Mr. Lloyd, your daughter had to move to another city, cause you didn’t like the fella she wanted to marry” you replied, “No need for the unnecessary kindness” adding with a smile, you proceeded to take a sip of the hot beverage.

“What kindness? she is no good kid like you. She married a goon*! ” Lloyd responded in defense, leaning forward with conviction, “While your Pops is just mad cause you’re trying to be a Secretary”

“I bet you a Lincoln* that my folks rather have me marry a goon, than have me find my own way of living”  you said, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Don’t jinx it, kid” the old man grunted, his index finger pointed right at you, “I don’t wanna hate you too”

You laughed out loud. Truthfully, you were relieved to have finally did. The room felt too depressing for too long.

“Alright, kid. I’m beat” the old man sighed, pushing himself up to stand with a grunt. “Goodnight, Mr.Lloyd” You stood alongside him. The two parted ways, with you making your way over to the kitchen, and your neighbor making his way out. As if it was so habitual. For a daily chat with old Wilmer Lloyd, was indeed habitual.

Your first proper encounter with Lloyd was a special one. It was only a few months ago that you moved into Chicago. Stressful work shifts and lack of friends led to an eventual emotional breakdown one fine evening. A seemingly noticeable one, which caused the usually moody Lloyd to peep through his door, only to find you bawling your eyes out in the hallway. The sight of you kneeling before your apartment door in tears, was more than enough for his cold heart to melt, and to voice his concern. All while he helped you gather the groceries that had fallen out of your brown paper bag.

“We all gotta start somewhere, kid”

That phrase of comfort, was the invisible handkerchief that wiped your tears that day. And as you rinsed the tea cup, that phrase managed to return to your consciousness, being an invisible hand to pat you on the shoulder. Closing the tap, you sighed with relief. For you were once again thankful for the good in humanity.

Until the sound of a gunshot attacked your ears.

Clinging on to the sink with a jump, you felt your heart beat out loud, and there was no stopping. Before any was comprehended, a loud groan soon followed, originating from the Hallway. Your eyes widened. Could it be?

“Mr.Lloyd…” you breathed, as your legs finally made you dash towards the door to open. You gasped out loud, the moment you found Wilmer Lloyd sprawled on the floor, shot.

“Oh my god!…” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

But Lloyd lost your attention for a slight second, for you caught the sight of a man disappearing into the right-side stairwell. The sight was quick and blurry, yet it was evident he was armed. And one particular color was prominent as he left.

The groan repeated, forcing you to focus on Lloyd once again. Which was most important.

“A-are you alright?” A meek inquiry was all that you could do.

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, KID?” The old man answered in pain, shifting. Slight relief washed over you, when you noticed he was only shot in the arm. Perhaps it was your heartbeat, or a new set of pounding footsteps nearby. Either way, the sounds grew louder from the left.

“Freeze! Chicago Police-” A voice, a male voice cried out, only to pause, causing you to look over, only to freeze.

Lowering his pistol, a well dressed man stood, surrounded by two others. All in suits and fedoras, and all seemingly alarmed by the sight of you and Lloyd.

“Is he alright, Ma’am?” The first man inquired. “I’m fine. Jesus!” Lloyd responded with annoyance. The man nodded with acknowledgement. Although there was slight embarrassment in the his face, you were simply too distracted by the cool nature of his voice.

“I know this is the wrong time but…” the man uttered, “…but did you see-”

“The shooter? ” you began all the sudden, “…in a navy blue coat? He went that way” pointing towards the right, you added. The muscles of the man’s tensed face relieved.

“Thank you, ma’am…” he breathed, before making a dash, “Boys! Take this man to the hospital” his commanding voice trailed behind him, indicating Lloyd. All before he himself disappeared into the stairwell.

And to your luck, the two able bodied youngsters knelt over the old man to do the needful. “The bullet is still inside. He’s gonna be alright, ma’am”

“Thank god! You heard him, Mr.Lloyd” you said, “Let’s go”

“Eh…” Lloyd muttered, holding the wound whilst being carried, “Not that I’m overjoyed about getting shot, but I gotta say I’m more than happy to know I’m not gonna die tonight” he grunted. To which you finally smiled behind him:

“Not in a million years…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sound of loud sirens shattered your trail of reminiscence. Sirens, you gasped. For they suddenly brought you worry. Was he in trouble already?

Parting from the pen and paper, your hands pushed you to rise and scurry towards the window. Except you merely saw a youngster getting his ear pulled by an angry policeman, for fiddling with the police car siren.

You clutched your chest, sighing with relief to see. The fact that daylight yet reigned supreme was also sufficient evidence for you to rationalize your new-found relief. He was safe, wherever he was.

Returning to the desk, you picked up the pen. Glancing at it with affection, you proceeded to write once more:

Because of the accident that night, I found myself meeting a man who fascinated me instantly. So , you could understand how frustrated I was when I couldn’t even thank him.

You smirked upon those words. Not soon before you continued writing:

But then again, who knew I would have the actual luck to see him again two days later? At a place where I least expected. All thanks to a Bad Customer.

Akin to a Moving Picture, or a Talkie*, that very moment began to project into your memory. All the while your index finger managed to twirl a piece of your hair with nostalgia.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Apparently it was just some low level goon. Well, at least that’s what the Police told Mr.Lloyd…when they took his statement. But I don’t buy it, no. Why would those Federal Agents be there if it was?…”

You said, tying up the white, cotton waist apron over your baby blue waitress uniform.  

“Goodness! I really wouldn’t know what I would have done if I were you, Sweetpea” Cathy, your best friend replied while she followed suite.

Once the hair was fixed, the two of you headed to the kitchen, “Everyone! Look who’s changed her shift!” Cathy cried out, urging the other employees at the Diner to focus on you. There were cheers, bringing out the brightest smile in you. It was official.

Living with the Great Depression which has affected all, you were grateful even for the employment at a Diner in the city. A temp job, as you called it yourself. Until that very morning, you were assigned to the later shift and spent several weeks parted from Cathy. Fortunately, upon your boss’ satisfaction, you were finally offered the shift you always wished for: The morning shift.

You graciously used the first hour that morning for familiarization, which mainly included the customers. And that was indeed the part that fascinated you. For the customers were diverse with each shift. And the mornings were mostly welcomed by blue collar workers.

“Cathy! They’re waiting for the pancakes” 
“Oh! Shoot! I’m on it”

Listening to Cathy’s response in the background, you shook your head with amusement. You watched your friend waltz over to the eagerly waiting booth. But only before you made your way to the corner of the Diner counter.

“Can I help you, Sir?” A well rehearsed phrase exited your painted lips with politeness. A young man was the current owner to the corner seat. “A refill” the blonde haired drawled, indicating his empty, white mug on the counter. “Right away” “Thanks, Sweetheart” he replied, whilst the sound of the black coffee being poured, filled your ears. A group of eyes watched you from another corner. It was certain. And sure enough, your stealthy eyes caught the sight of some men sat across the diner. All sniggering. “Ya know…” the Blondie continued as he leaned forward, “my boys over there…” he indicated the suspicious group, “…they don’t believe me but, I think you’re one fine girl, sweeter than sugar” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Oh, really?” You inquired with a polite chuckle. “Cross my heart, I hope to die” He was handsome, yes. But he was the handsome you never wanted. The type of handsome that could also break your heart. Besides, his attempt of seduction was misdirected, “So…um…” leaning closer, he began to whisper, “Care to help me prove the boys wrong? Like with a date? Or even a kiss? ” He inquired, his suggestive eyebrows being quite evident.

Oh, that fool, you thought. If you were at liberty to throw your head back in laughter, you would without any hesitation. Yet, it would not be appropriate.

“Ah! I’m sorry Sir, but I’m working” you replied.

“Aww come on!” He groaned, to which you shook your head and took a step back.

“Sorry Sir-Ah!” Except he grabbed you tight by the wrist. And displeasure was the mask he wore.

“Hey now, is that the way you treat your regulars here?” He inquired, increasing volume. Confused and very violated, your heart rate began to speed up. You sensed a threat.

“Let go, Sir!” You muttered in desperate politeness. Yet he did not.

“Why?” He sniggered, amidst your struggle to break free, “Whatcha gonna do, sugar?”

“I believe the lady asked you to let go”

That voice. A voice you could identify. A voice that forced you and Blondie to turn heads. Your eyes widened. Dressed smart and completed with his Fedora, the FBI agent from two nights ago stood before you both. Authoritative yet graceful, he sighed:   “Pardon me for intruding, but I know a Regular won’t harass a waitress this way” he said in a casual tone, to which Blondie stood up: 
“Yeah?” He snarled, offended, “How would YOU know about being Regulars, smart ass?” “Cause I am one” The Agent answered, before missing Blondie’s surprise punch, only to twist his arm within seconds.

Cries of pain erupted from the young man’s lips, until he was pulled close by the agent. You watched him whisper some words to Blondie’s ear, all before he finally released him. Confidence was nowhere nearby when the blonde man stashed some cash onto the counter, and stumbled towards his group of boys with fear.

You suddenly heard Cathy’s sigh of relief nearby: 
“Oh, Thank god you’re here, Mr.Purvis” She said to the Agent, “You just saved my friend” she motioned towards you.

Finally you had the liberty to observe him. Tall and lean with sharp facial features, he possessed the handsome that comforted you. The handsome that formed potential in you. The handsome that attracted you. Sitting on the now empty seat, he flashed you a cool smile: “Melvin Purvis” he said, “I believe we haven’t had the pleasure…” It seemed he did remember you. You smiled back. “No, we haven’t…” you replied with softness, as you held up the pot, “Coffee?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And who knew the man that fascinated me, would be you?

I am not ashamed to say, I was over the moon to see you again, Mel. Seeing you for only a few seconds in the hallway, clearly wasn’t enough for me. I was greedy. So greedy I was afraid to admit. But the moment I realized that corner seat in the counter was your usual spot, I knew my greed was not in vain. I was greedy, to get to know someone so badly. So, when you saved me from Blondie, you also saved yourself a spot in my heart. I just didn’t know it at that moment.

But I do remember when I finally did.

When one serves a regular customer long enough, certain facts become known. Be it their usual breakfast order, their favorite beverage, or the guilty pleasure one indulges once in a while. But apart from that, conversation comes into play as well.

I don’t think you knew how happy you made me every time we talked, even while you had your Eggs and Toast. Whatever it was, I enjoyed them all. All topics, from about the mouthy janitor, to the famous FBI cases, which were solved or ongoing. But I was also happy when you also had the time for me, to know about my crazy stories about customers in the late shift, or even just about myself. Which surprised me the most.

You finally became aware of the smile you wore throughout writing. Though you managed to relax your facial muscles, the smile remained at default. Thus, you kept on with your words:

Mel, you made me look forward to work everyday. And that was one huge favor. Waitressing was never this girl’s dream. Another job was. And you know what.

“I know…” you remember saying, as you wiped the Diner counter, “Secretary, A Nice Office…Even my own folks think it’s a silly dream for a girl like me-”

“That doesn’t mean its your truth” Mel, your calm, unfazed reply, those words shook me. You were right. You made me feel braver. You made me want to work harder. You made me feel like anything was possible. And that was when, I finally saw that special spot you had in my heart. Oh Mel, it felt like an earthquake in here. I was affected. I couldn’t even sleep that night. Cause that spot of yours made me realize, I had fallen for you. Fallen in love with you.

Placing your left palm over your chest, it did not take you long to relive that magical feeling whilst you wrote:

Suddenly, I couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. And I’m sorry for that. I may have looked busy with customers for some days, but that was me struggling. I was at a war with myself. A constant battle with my eyes to not care for you more, a battle with my lips to not tell you, how much I pined for you.

But as you remember, I finally did.

And the morning when you did, felt to be a landmark of your bravery.

Upon serving his breakfast, you retreated to the kitchen with haste. The fact you did not even acknowledge Melvin’s usual “Thank you” proved strangeness. Generally, when employees were seen standing at the back entrance of the Diner, one would expect them to be occupied with a personal matter, or even have a smoke break. Except, you simply longed for a break from him.

Seeing Purvis was torture. And that morning felt more torturous than ever. Your desire for him multiplied with every single visit.

Rubbing your forearms to fight off the spring chill, You took a deep breath. What was that you feared? Confessing your feelings? Or the mere possibility of being refused?

“What are you doing? Out here in the cold?” You gasped, looking up to find Melvin standing before you.

“I-” you paused, as Melvin took off his long coat, and slung it over your shoulder with no hesitation. A warmth protected you all the sudden. Was it the coat? Or was it him?

“Are you unwell?” He inquired. You shook your head, not taking too long to finally settle your eyes on his. And there it was: the speeding pulse, the torture, the multiplication of desire. Eyes growing wider with concern upon your speechless look, Melvin shot glances at both directions with stealth: “Is anyone bothering y-”

Only to be intruded by your lips pressed against his.

Oh, Mel! What did you do to me?

With a deep shudder, you kept writing: Why did your lips taste like the sweetest pie in all the world? I’m sorry if my ink turns messy here. It’s just that thinking about it, I just hope my heart won’t burst and bleed. Tasting that sweetness, I was ready to risk it all. Ready to accept the worst fear to come true.

You had a fair point. Especially when his lips remained unmoved throughout your kiss. Which forced you to move back quick, and blush with embarrassment: “I-I’m sorry…” you blurted, struggling with one’s movements as you handed over his coat back and turned to leave. 
“No! please…” Melvin breathed, stopping you with his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” he stressed, “I suppose I was just caught by surprise” with a chuckle soon after. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned” you chuckled alongside him, relaxing a little. “Although I was hoping…” he began, “If I could take you to dinner one night…” Your eyes widened, but your heart bloomed.

But life was kind enough to gift me a date instead. A date with the best man I know.

“Yes! You can…” you answered immediately, “And please…no need to call me Ma’am anymore, Mr. Purvis” you smiled. To which he smiled back with a hint of mischief, which seemed surprising for the 30 year old Agent:

“Then, there’s no need to call me Mr. Purvis anymore either”

A date that I had always dreamt about. Not with a boy, but with a real gentleman. It had come true. Were you reading my thoughts this entire time?

Bashful giggles erupted from your lips upon writing. It was a date to remember :The fancy restaurant, the fine dining, the stimulating conversation basked in soft jazz and candlelight. Watching and taking in every fine line that adorned his beautiful, statuesque face brought you pride.

Sitting with you, getting lost in our own world, it was no doubt that I was the luckiest woman in the entire restaurant that night.

“I had a wonderful time, Mel. Thank you” Your words were enveloped with warmth and sincerity.

It was late, and Melvin had brought you back home like the gentleman he was. Opening the car door for you, he surprised you with just a smile, no other reply. Which forced you to raise your eyebrows, evidently confused. Could it be that he did not share the exact sentiments as you? Were you not the woman he hoped for by the end of the night? Insecurity began to bubble up within.

“What?” You inquired with a nervous chuckle, “All night you were yapping away, but now suddenly cat got your tongu-”

He gently pushed you against the car. Just so his gracious hands could cup your face, and just so he could plant his lips on yours.

And I was also the luckiest woman in the neighborhood, when you finally kissed me right back.

Sweetness infused with softness, you needed not permission to be fueled with greed at last. For greed finally permitted you to wrap one’s arms around his neck, only to pull him closer. Those lips of his, they had tempted you from the very first moment. And when they finally voluntarily expressed their affection, you were more than ecstatic.

Mel, your kisses were magic. They made me wish if I had all the power in the world to slow down time.

And I felt the very same, when we finally made love that night.

That night, that mere memory. You would be lying if it did not manage to send chills down your spine.

Invitation for a nightcap was your only shameless excuse. For not a single cell of your being, wanted him to leave your sight. Not when he had lit up a flame of desire in you, a few minutes prior. You silently cursed all the passerby’s who forced you both to pull away from the kisses. The kisses that he started by the car. But what could you do? You were surrendered to the laws of love.

Thus, the mere act of turning on the Crosley* Radio, became an involuntary act of seduction. Rudy Vallee’s “If I had a Girl like You*” filtering out from the speakers, gave life to the entire apartment. And it did ever the same to you, tempting you to sway your body from side to side. But your body felt so much vigor, when Melvin gave up on patience, only to hold you by the waist, spin you around just so his hungry lips could taste yours once again.

Melvin kissed you, and you kissed him. Slow, articulate, these lips were making up for every day they did not touch one another. All those days full of remorse.

Thus, began a dance between the two lovers. Heated, passionate. A dance consisting of choreography that had existed within all of mankind. Did not matter if it was carrying you bridal style to the bed, or placing you on to the bed without a sound much louder than a mattress squeak, either way, Melvin’s presence exuded safety.

Pleasure and excitement were in a fiery alliance when you savored shedding every piece of clothing off his torso. Never once did you think seeing many layers would bring you so much arousal. Especially when his eyes had nowhere else to look but at you during. His eyes, they burned with desire. And you would be unfaithful to your honesty if you denied the loins that burned within you as a result. For it was evident how much you longed for him. How the hunger led you to provide him the attention he truly deserved with your touch and kisses.

Dressed, he was smart, authoritative. Undressed, he was god-like. And to hear his soft moans amidst your attention was a gift. A gift that aroused you further. Yet before your eager hands could fondle his hardened shaft, he flipped you with impatience to focus on you instead. His kisses were other-worldly, making sweet contact on your soft, naked skin, creating waves of untold pleasure whenever he peeled off each piece of lingerie. Naked you may have been finally, yet you were more than ecstatic with the new outfit you wore: him. The infusion of soft music, sounds of lovers moans and kisses while the bedsheets rustled, were indeed sweeter than nectar. Tantalizing enough for him to finally enter you. Arousing enough for you to accept him. Resulting in unity, love making, deeming soft as the moonlight that shone into the bedroom. Soft, yet impactful that every second remained carved in your mind fresh, like it was yesterday.

Oh Mel, how did your touch made me weak, but gave me power at the same time? How did you make every second of it worthwhile?

You wrote with a sigh, blushes occupying your cheeks. Not before you cleaned up your ink stained fingers, caused by your thoughts of pure distraction.

Why did you get me addicted to your loving? But most importantly, why were you the perfection I dreamt of all along?

Breathless, you would be lying if it did not take you a while to regain your senses. Re-reading the previous sentence written, you proceeded to give the letter further life: 


After that night, I wanted shout out loud from the rooftops full of happiness, I wanted to tell the entire city, no! The entire world of my blessing: My blessing to have a wonderful man like you, Mel.

The simple truth: that was all that it was. And not long since you and Melvin had gotten together, life was suddenly drizzled with an extra dose of joy. An extra dose of encouragement and hope. Work went better for the both of you. Even Mr. Lloyd managed to re-meet him, but this time with more familiarity and respect. Given his interaction with the Agent, it was evident the the older man had offered his blessing and approval, which meant more to you than anything.

Since then my life was bliss, Mel. With you by my side, I knew I could take on anything.

Except, you drew in a sharp breath with a heavy heart.

All until J Edgar Hoover declared those fateful words to America: War on Crime. John Dillinger.

The heaviest sigh left your pursed lips. For a surge of concern was powerful enough to consume you.

Believe me, Mel. Seeing you get promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, it brought me nothing but joy. Seeing you in the papers, I was the most proud anywhere I went. But with that pride, and with that joy, I was also afraid. How could I not be, when you were assigned to catch Dillinger, Public Enemy No. 1?

How could I not think of the risk you had on your life? So afraid for you that it didn’t strike with me that we didn’t see each other for so long after. 

Though you were out of sighs, your heart remained heavy with the thought. It was true, soon after his men’s lives were affected by Dillinger and his gang, Melvin did not set foot in your apartment nor in your neighborhood. And surprisingly, you did not feel betrayed. Not one bit.

When you phoned me that one time, I could tell in your voice. I could tell the weight you had on your shoulders. The burden, the responsibility, the guilt.

And to me, it didn’t matter I couldn’t see you everyday anymore. It didn’t matter that I had a hard time missing you or thinking about you. Be it at the diner, the streets, the park, the living room and the bedroom. It didn’t matter to me that I had to pretend my life had nothing to do with yours. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end: to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocent lives. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I knew you could do it all. Without complicating things.

Thus, when someone knocked on your door a few hours ago today, your fear was justified. You remembered standing by the door, arms folded, only to feel your heart beat out of your chest. And when those loud, rapid knocks attacked the wooden door, you could not help but wonder: Could it possibly be one of Dillinger’s men? Another shooter perhaps? Were they aware of Melvin’s connection with you? Were you about to be leverage?

But to your surprise, you opened the door regardless. Clutching your chest, you could only gasp.

But I never thought you’d suddenly come crashing in this afternoon.

For there stood Melvin Purvis, Fedora at hand, heavy panting accompanied.

Never so soon.

“You were not at the Diner” he said in a hoarse tone, still panting. “I-I took a day off” you answered, with wide eyes,“Mel…” you gulped, taking a step forward “What’s wron-” To which he could only reply with rough kisses, slamming the door shut behind him.

And being in his arms again after possibly endless days and nights, you were certain you did not wish to be anywhere else.

It was as if fate urged me to stay home today, just so I wouldn’t miss your hungry kisses. Just so I wouldn’t miss your love. Something I craved for what felt like forever.

Longing translated into desperate kisses, where tongues wrestled in haste. And passionate lovemaking rushed in soon after. The type of passionate, that demanded every item of clothing make quick stops in different parts of the apartment, only to lead a trail to the bed. The type of passionate, that had his eager hands wander over your naked back, before palming your heaving breasts with impatience. All the while you straddled him, with your hips rolling against his. The type of passionate, that tempted you to gaze into his  shining eyes. For they spoke to you, even in silence. How he treasured you, how he savored you, his eyes said it all. And with your responding kiss brimming with moans and emotion, you acknowledged his silent confession, you satisfied his hunger, and accepted his peak of pleasure. All until a new climax was reached together, before collapsing on to the bed with exhaustion.

“Mel…” you panted, sweat further infusing with his, “You still didn’t tell me what’s going on…”

It was only a few minutes later, did Melvin began to speak. Only then were you able to find out about the mission that would happen tonight. The mission to finally catch Dillinger. And as if the floodgates just opened, he kept talking. And all you could do was nod, as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

Little did I know, you came to me in possibly the most fateful day ever.

“You think it will work? The plan?” You inquired, soft. His responsive hum vibrated in his chest. “The source is solid…” he replied, “So…we’re betting on it”

Lifting your head up, you looked at him. Truthfully you could not help but feel sorry. There was a hint of exhaustion in his tone. How far did this man go to make this mission a reality? How many men were sacrificed in the process? Death of many men including Carter Baum, his own partner. Feeling useless, you knew you could only offer him a reassuring soft smile:

“Then it will…” you murmured, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin seemed magnetic to your lips, causing you to proceed with more kisses. Over his eyebrows, bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, the best place of all. With another greedy peck, you pulled yourself away and sat up. With the afternoon breeze playfully caressing your exposed frame, you were tempted to reach out and grab your silk robe tossed on the edge of the bed, which you did.

“I hope you know I couldn’t risk seeing you, with Dillinger’s men on the loose”

Melvin began. Looking back, you nodded with nonchalance. “Of course…” Wrapping the robe around, your answer was as casual as taking a diner order, “I understand” you added meek, looking down at the knot.

“But…that doesn’t mean I was never here”

You froze. With wide eyes, you looked up at his sitting frame. “What do you mean?” You blurted. Only to gasp, “You-w-were you-?”

Melvin nodded,  “Every night around bedtime, from the street…looking at THAT window…”  he said, indicating the very window in your bedroom. If only you could just tell him how your heart just began to melt after possibly weeks. If only you were capable of an embrace that told every fiber of his being how moved you were by him. Melvin sighed, running his fingers through his hair:  

“I just had to make sure you were safe…” he said, “But today, I…” he paused, “I couldn’t stay away”

“And neither should you…” you replied in an instant, cupping his face, “….you’re only human”  you continued with a sigh, “It’s been too long, Mel” your voice grew softer, “ And I missed you” uttering weakly, you proceeded to press your forehead against his. And like that, you both stayed, indulging in the silence with the most innocent physical contact possible.

“This mission…” Melvin began, his warm breath falling on your face, “If I make it out alive-” “Mel, you WILL make it out aliv-” you breathed, before he placed his fingers over your lips.

“If I make it…I’m yours”

He whispered, forcing you to freeze once again. Overwhelming emotion seemed to have frozen you with disbelief, when his sharp features unveiled the softest smile, “As a man, I want to do what’s right for the people” he said, holding your chin, “ I want do what’s right for my heart. And I wanna do it all with you, by my side, always”

And in the blink of an eye, you left through that door, hours before our lives could possibly change forever.

No wonder you made love to me, as if it was your last.

Sniffing, you placed a loving kiss on the pen. For it was the pen Melvin once gifted you with. The pen he hoped you would use when you finally become a secretary. And it did not take long for you to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks in silence. What will happen tonight, at the Biograph Theater will end in either two ways. And all you could do was to pray for one in particular. Pray for the one you desperately needed. With another final sniff, you continued to write, until you found yourself finally finishing off the letter you never imagined yourself writing. You wrote your heart out, which left you no regrets:

Before I end this letter, I want to ask you a question.

Do you remember when I was helping you put your tie back on, minutes before you left?  

When I did, I felt something. Something warm, something nice. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. Cause in the end, it gave me the feeling you always gave me from the moment I met you: Hope. But today, that hope was also protected by a layer of love. A strong layer. To be able to put your tie on possibly every day, would be an honor I’d wear like a badge for life.

Mel, you WILL make it out alive. You and your men, you WILL get it done. Because this letter will be waiting for you. Because I will be waiting for you.

Ready to have more hope, ready to do more good, ready to live our truth, by your side, always.

With love,

Yours forever…

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Glossary of 1930′s Terms/Slang Bumping Gums* - 1930’s Slang for “Talk about nothing useful” Blues in my Heart* - Jazz song by Chick Webb and his Orchestra recorded in 1931 Goon*- 1930’s Slang for thug or bodyguard Lincoln*- 1930’s Slang for $5 bill Talkies*- 1930’s Slang for Movies Crosley*- A Radio Brand famous in the 1930’s If I had a girl like you*- Jazz song by Rudy Vallee, recorded in 1930

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Once again, lemme know if you wanna get tagged. And those who only want to be tagged for specific Bale characters, please do let me know. I didn’t take out those who didn’t tell me just in case. But feel free to let me know, i totally understand.

Check My MASTERLIST for More :)

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

[eight-house]

Turn-ons & Turn-offs of the Signs

Check MOON, VENUS and/or MARS

Aries

Nothing turns you on faster than a partner who takes you by surprise in the bed- room. Although ultraromantic when it suits your mood, you nevertheless enjoy a bawdy romp in the hay. Your idea of a turn-on is a passionate, exhilarating lover  who challenges you mentally as well as physically. While emotional games are a no-no in the ram’s world, you adore intellectual and physical ones. In a game of Truth or Dare, you’re not afraid to own up to the truth, yet you can’t resist a dare. True to Aries’ desire to be first in everything, you enjoy making love early in the morning. You have no compunctions when it comes to trying new things; the more outrageous and exciting the innovations, the more you like them. You’re fond of little presents, especially sex toys specifically designed to increase excitement and pleasure. The head is your most powerful erogenous zone, so stroking your hair and rubbing your scalp relaxes you and heightens your sensations. You thrive on impulse and surprise, and the advances of a bold, inventive lover who catches you unaware provides a guaranteed turn-on. You’re a doer, not a dreamer. Your fantasies, if you have any, all take place inside your head and don’t seem like fantasies to you. Your tendency to dramatize your life and envision yourself as a mythological hero is not playacting, it’s an integral part of who you are. Sexy role-playing games hold little appeal for you, because the only larger-than-life character you care to play is you. For an Aries, sex for its own sake, without any personal connection, is a definite turn-off. You like sex, and want it to be spicy, exciting, and fun. Yet, even in the absence of grand passion and long devotion, you expect genuine warmth and a feeling of camaraderie between you and your bedmate.  

Taurus

Taurus is arguably the most sensuous sign in the zodiac. You thoroughly enjoy the one-on-one aspect of a romantic relationship, and the affection and intimacy it provides. In private, you make an intense bedmate; one who is happy to have the sensual encounters continue all night long. Sexually, Taurus is the Energizer Bunny of the zodiac. You thrive on unhurried nights of love play, liberally punctuated with amorous conversation, erotic fantasy, and an occasional indulgence in food and drink. The bull craves a partner who is loving, yet strong and practical. The suitor who arrives bearing gifts and kind words easily wins your heart, since Taurus is responsive to both material goods and heartfelt compliments. Making you feel safe and secure is a smart strategy for any potential lover. What you want most is to live in a comfortable world and have a special someone to share it with. One-night stands are not your style. You regard lovemaking as an art; and when you go to bed with someone, it’s to make love, not to have sex. Elegant surroundings, sensuous perfumes, silky fabrics, soft music, and sex-play involving table delicacies such as whipped cream or chocolate are guaranteed turn-ons. You particularly enjoy being kissed around the neck and throat, and having your skin gently stroked sets your whole body on fire. For you, making love is a process that inevitably involves wooing and protracted foreplay. Luxury loving and pleasure- oriented, you take your time in bed. Your ideal lover moves in slowly, savoring every moment, and builds gradually to a powerful climax. 

Gemini

There is no doubt that your major erogenous zone is located inside your head. Nothing turns you on faster, or more completely, than wit and charm, and you are aroused by erotic words and clever, evocative quips. Phone sex must have been vented by a Gemini. The same goes for the hot and heavy sexual banter that takes place in online chat rooms and via e-mail. Although you respond amorously to tactile pleasures, it’s sharing your erotic thoughts and dreams with your lover that re- ally gets you going. Lusty words (yours or your partner’s) engage your vivid imagination and inflame your libido. The Gemini nature is so changeable, that it is difficult to say exactly what you will like from one sexual encounter to the next. The twins’ aversion to boredom is legendary. You consider variety the most important ingredient in lovemaking and thrive on innovation and versatility. You equate sex with fun, and enjoy engaging in fantasy and role-playing games. Moreover, Geminis are fantastic kissers, and enjoy doing it. Restless and perpetually on the go, the typical Gemini has a somewhat nervous temperament. Sex play relaxes you, and soaking in a tub or spa with your partner prior to lovemaking helps sooth your jangled nerves. Since you were born under the most unpredictable sign in the zodiac, the only thing your lover can truly count on is that anything is possible. An adventurous lover, you long to please and be pleased. If you don’t know what your partner likes, you ask.

Cancer

The crab’s favorite fantasy generally includes good food and great sex. Any artful combination of these two sensual activities is virtually guaranteed to turn you on. Preparing and eating a luscious feast together with your lover evokes an atmosphere of voluptuous indulgence. A private encounter that begins in the kitchen, and ends with you feeding each other delectable little snacks in bed, can turn into an erotic free-for-all. The breast and chest are erogenous zones for most people, but this is especially true for those born under the sign of the crab. You enjoy having your chest stroked, and respond passionately to oral and manual manipulation of the nipples. Cancer’s fascination for moonlight and water makes a seaside outing, where you can hear the pounding of the ocean as you make love, the perfect choice for an erotic get- away. If a trip to the ocean is not feasible, playing a nature sounds machine in your bedroom can evoke many of the same feelings. The right atmosphere, replete with scented candles and aromatic massage oils usually does the trick. Deep down you long to be seduced and swept away on a wave of passion. Once awakened, your lusty libido will carry you and your partner to the heights of ecstatic pleasure. Cancer is a deeply private sign, and you need to feel safe before you reveal your- self. Nothing turns you off faster than a prospective partner who comes on too strong, or tries to push you into intimacy before you’re ready. You’re too sensitive and romantic to respond to a blunt sexual appeal. Even in a long-term union, you prefer the indirect approach, and rarely come right out and say you want sex. For you, a sense of physical and emotional well-being is a must. Without a partner who understands this, you’re likely to log a great deal of time inside your pesky crab shell.

Leo

Leo is the most ardent and attentive of bedmates, but you would rather be alone than involved with the wrong person. The royal lion is status conscious, and some- thing of a snob. You must be able to respect and admire the person you love, and your ideal partner is intelligent, dignified, and classy. More than anything, your lover must always remember who is number one, and act on this knowledge at all times. You’re a star in the bedroom, you know it, and want to be certain that your partner knows it too. The lion loves seduction and foreplay. For you, making love is an art form, and fulfilling your erotic fantasies is a major turn-on. Sensual, unhurried lovemaking in lavish comfort appeals to you more than grabbing a quickie before rushing off to the office. The back is Leo’s most sensitive area, and sweeping caresses over your back and spine sexually stimulate and excite you. You enjoy building anticipation for an erotic encounter by setting up the scene in advance. Sexy attire turns you on, as does dressing or undressing your partner. Although you usually prefer wooing or being wooed luxuriously (as befits your regal status), the freewheeling, spontaneous part of your love-nature is rejuvenated by unplanned moments. An occasional bit of impromptu, devil-may-care love- making can inflame your desires and keep your sex life fresh and new.

Virgo

You appreciate a bed partner who occasionally takes the lead and comes up with ways of making your sex life more exciting. The stomach area is very sensitive for Virgo; circular motion and gentle massages with the fingertips or tongue on your stomach area and around your belly button are guaranteed turn-ons. A provocative striptease also intrigues you, and can add a mood of delightful decadence to your lovemaking. Although the idea of trying new things such as sex toys may shock you at first, under the right circumstances they add a playful, slightly naughty aspect to your bedroom activities. With encouragement, your own hidden desires morph into a tempestuous passion. Inwardly, you may be shy and reserved, but a patient, thoughtful lover who draws out your controlled desires will be well rewarded. While bedroom drama doesn’t appeal to you, sexy role-playing fantasy games can be a major turn-on. You like variety and enjoy experimenting with different positions and techniques. After a grueling workday, an erotic massage with warm, naturally scented oils relaxes you and soothes your jangled nerves. Although you may need a little coaxing, your dormant passions ignite as you unwind. A true romantic, you enjoy courtship. You’re turned on by poetry, music, and dreamy moments of intimacy with your beloved. During a weekend getaway with your lover, your appetite for sensual pleasure is likely to erupt with passionate abandon. Leaving behind your practical day-to-day routines and going off for a change of scene with your partner revitalizes your love life. Even an impromptu overnight stay in a romantic setting can relieve stress and make you feel reborn.

Libra

A wise partner knows how to whet your appetite for lovemaking with subtle flirt- ing and mildly provocative suggestions. You get off on the sensual accoutrements of romance, such as sultry nightwear, silky sheets, and soft music. A few whispered words of desire speak volumes to you. Your lifelong fantasy of romantic courtship and ideal love inclines toward elegant sex, with nothing crude or tacky to offend your good taste and delicate sensibilities. Because you’re seeking perfection, you can create a bliss-filled fantasy in your mind that often seems more real than anything in the world around you. Your ideal lover discovers the details of your dream scenario and acts them out with you. Together you devise new ways of sharing and increasing your sensual pleasure. Since balance is important to you, you yearn for an intimate union with just the right degree of give and take. Making love helps you to feel complete, and you’re capable of putting your own needs on hold in order to please or accommodate your lover. Although there is little truly wild or abandoned in Libra’s nature, erotic teasing acts as an enticing turn-on that adds spice and heightens your sexual ecstasy. A sexy striptease, deep enticing kisses, and languid stroking with a feather raise your temperature to a fever pitch. The thought of using sex toys may shock you, but artfully employed they intensify your lovemaking. Your brain is your most sensitive erogenous zone, and talking about sex and reading erotic literature with your lover turns you on, as does trying the sexy stuff you’ve been reading about and discussing.

Scorpio

The red-hot sex drive and physical prowess of Scorpios is legendary. You posess a lusty libido, and thoroughly enjoy giving and receiving sensual pleasure. Any lover stepping into your lair had better be well prepared, because keeping up with you between the sheets is an absolute must. You require a lot of drama and emotional excitement in your love life; an intimate relationship that is too peaceful bores you. The scorpion’s fascination with sex in- spires numerous exotic fantasies of sultry seduction. Acting out these sexy scenarios with your bedmate is a guaranteed turn-on. Since Scorpio’s fantasies are often darkly erotic, a bit of mystery or a hint of danger whets your appetite and gets your motor humming. Something of an extremist by nature, you tend to equate lovemaking with power and control. With your lover in the role of obliging love slave, you revel in the ecstatic gratification of all your secret wishes and desires— and if your partner just happens to bring along sex toys and gadgets, so much the better. Scorpio responds to an uninhibited bed partner who entices with provocative verbal suggestions and teasing sexual games. Your sensuous nature makes any kind of massage an erotic experience for you. It can serve as arousing foreplay for steamy lovemaking, taking you to the very edge of intense sensual pleasure. How- ever, a loving, aromatic massage may also kindle your physical desire so strongly that you feel as though you can’t delay sexual gratification a moment longer. Since Scorpio is the most sexually charged of all zodiac signs, your nether regions are extremely sensitive. Any stimulation down below gets you incredibly aroused. Consequently, many a Scorpio bedroom massage has to be abandoned halfway though. 

Sagittarius

Sagittarians relish the thrill of the chase. Once a relationship starts settling down, the archer strives to keep things exciting. Above all, you want to have a good time with your beloved. Although you express your sexual feelings easily and passionately, when the sex is over you want to move on to something else. You’re not into twenty-four–hour togetherness, but you thoroughly enjoy doing interesting things with your partner, particularly outside in the open air. Sharing physical activities such as dancing or working out together gets you pumped up for lovemaking. You also enjoy sex “alfresco.” Under the stars, the boardwalk, or the bleachers, you’re turned on by the carefree abandon of following your impulses, wherever they may lead. Although disinterested in emotional game playing, you do enjoy being seduced by sexy attire and other exotic enhancements to sensual pleasure. Spicy sexual banter liberates your quick wit and increases your anticipation of the sensual delights to follow. Fooling around with sex toys and naughty novelties stirs your imagination and energizes your libido. Erotic bedroom fun is your ultimate turn-on, and seductive teasing and touching wakens your desire and heightens the ensuing ecstasy. Since Sagittarius is associated with the hips and thighs, light stroking of your inner thigh inflames all your erogenous zones. 

Capricorn

   Capricorns are inherently cautious and less likely to engage in casual sex than other signs. The more secure you feel in a relationship, the more likely you are to cast aside your inhibitions and follow the impulses of your sensuality. Your dis- taste for public displays of affection helps you keep your powerful libido under strict control outside the bedroom. Even in private, it may take some encouragement from your partner before you loosen up enough to follow your wildest carnal impulses. However, once you get going, your approach to lovemaking is lusty and straightforward. Although basically conventional, the goat enjoys being courted and coaxed. Nothing turns you on as fast as a well-staged seduction scene with all the traditional trimmings: sexy attire, silky sheets, dim lighting, music, candles, and a properly chilled bottle of bubbly. The intensity of Capricorn’s sex drive goes through cycles depending on workload and various mood swings. Your ideal lover senses your moods and intuits your shifting needs. The legs and especially the knees are very sensitive in Capricorn natives. Light stroking on the backs of your knees is guaranteed to stir your slumbering passions. During low periods, your partner may reawaken physical desire by trailing a large feather or bit of fur over your skin, especially in these ultra sensitive areas. Although you don’t normally require a lot of foreplay to get in the mood, you enjoy being caressed and pampered when you’re feeling stressed. An erotic mas- sage helps you relax and sets the stage for lovemaking. Where love and sex are concerned, goats cannot be rushed. Quickies don’t really satisfy you. You prefer taking it slow–and getting it right. Endurance is Capricorn’s forte. Once aroused, you can keep going all night long. You’re proud of your sexual prowess, and satisfying your bedmate’s needs and desires is as important to you as satisfying your own. 

Aquarius

   As befits an Air sign, Aquarians approach sex mentally as well as physically. Your bedroom antics are greatly enhanced when you’re able to share your thoughts and ideas with your lover. Your natural curiosity inclines toward creative ways between the sheets. A delicious eroticism lurks beneath the surface of your outwardly controlled manner, and the partner who is able to tap into it can look forward to good times in your bed. Physically you are strongly sexed and passionate. However, your mind is easily distracted, which can cause you to ignore the needs and desires of your body. When this happens, a few verbal reminders of the delights you are missing are all it takes to inflame your lusty libido. Because your mind and imagination are your major erotic zones, you respond as readily to spoken intentions as to physical stimulation. Since you enjoy a bit of fun mixed in with your lovemaking, you like being with a bedmate who amuses you. Stylized role-playing fantasies and sex games can add a touch of spice and glamour to your love life. Aquarius can be wildly passionate one night, yet seemingly disinterested the next. The romantic fantasy that got your sexual juices flowing last night may have the opposite effect today. Aquarians are generally freewheeling, open-minded, and sexually liberated. Yet, despite that touch of kinkiness in your makeup, you truly dislike outright vulgarity. Whereas hashing over your lustful intentions with your lover is a genuine turn-on, you’re turned off by really crude or raunchy behavior.

Pisces

Sex for you is a beautiful fantasy in which you merge and blend with your partner to become one soul. The lover who inflames your imagination is the one mostly to set your libido on fire. Just gazing into his or her eyes doesn’t quite do it for you. You crave romance with a capital R. A romantic getaway for two is often the first step toward making your erotic dreams reality. You respond enthusiastically to lovemaking in a dreamy location, preferably one on or near a body of water. It doesn’t really matter if it’s a luxurious cruise or a single night at Budget Beach. Even at home, nothing turns you on like a sensuous bath or a spa soak with your beloved. Afterward, you like being toweled dry and dusted with powder like a baby. The feet are Pisces’ major erogenous zone. Most enjoy having their feet held, bathed, stroked, and massaged, and toe sucking drives them into a sensual frenzy. Pisces’ sexual cravings can be somewhat unpredictable, and often encompass a wide range of erotic fantasies. Driven by emotions as well as physical desire, you crave a bit of drama in the boudoir. When you get bored you may yearn for a dream lover to come and whisk you off to some wild and exotic love nest. Barring this, you get off on the fun and excitement of fantasy-inspired sex games. The lover who is able to surprise you with something new or different in the bedroom will continue to hold your interest. You are particularly fond of little presents, especially if the gifts are seductive garments or sex toys designed to increase pleasure and excitement.

[stillness-in-green]

The MLA(/PLF) Headcanon Post (1/2)

In response to this nice ask about whether I have any headcanon or thoughts about the current members of the MLA/PLF, I spent two weeks blithering 16.5K words of exactly that into a Word file, because when it comes to underappreciated characters I love, I do not understand restraint.  This post and its follow-up will cover all ranked ex-MLA members of the PLF, as well as Original Flavor Destro and Curious, since I wasn't going to leave them out of a project like this even if they aren't "current."

The ask only mentioned having previously read The Lore Post, the last exercise in ridiculousness that I wrote at the tail end of MLA Week, so I wrote this to summarize everything that doesn't appear there—which is to say that a lot of the material in these two posts will look familiar to anyone who's read my fanfic about the MLA cast.  There’s still plenty of new material to go around too, though!

So, I don't have much in the vein of askblog-style headcanons where I can randomly tell you stray trivia about a character’s favorite foods or their love languages or what have you; that stuff either comes up when I'm writing fanfic or it doesn't.  That said, below, please find a mix of thoughts I keep in mind when writing characters, facts that have only turned up in my fanfic/notes so far and not the Lore Post meta, and a selection of lightning round headcanon provided by cross-referencing a random number generator with some old questionnaires I keep around for OCs and tabletop characters.

In this post: Destro, Re-Destro and his advisors, and Geten.

Destro— 

General Thoughts The whole "revolutionary leader" thing came very naturally to him. He was committed, charismatic, very willing to risk his life and safety for the cause, and he cared about his people. All that said, he absolutely had a pompous, prideful streak, especially where it came to his justification for terrorism.  You only have to read his own words to see that.  Still, he was in large part reacting to the world he lived in, one of greater violence and danger than the current day. 

I like to think that—because he was genuine in wanting freedom for all—he would not approve of what became of his Army.  He'd be able to see how they got there, and he would probably have made much the same choices if he'd been there with them, but while he would have agreed that his role should be remembered—that's just Due Credit—he would never have wanted to become the nigh-on religious figure his followers turned him into. Continuing to fight the good fight for his ideals is one thing, but secret salutes and isolated villages and being raised from infancy to know your life has only as much worth as it can contribute to Liberation…  Well, it's just not what he would have wanted for his people, much less his descendants. 

Family Situation Chikara was only around 7 when his mother was killed, the event that would shape the rest of his life.  He wasn't hiding in the closet from the mob, either; he was kicking and punching and biting, his motivation to save her overflowing—but he was still only 7, and eventually overwhelmed.  His own life might well have ended there with hers, but for a group of neighborhood vigilante types (at least one of whom probably went on to a career as a hero, after legalization).

He went most of his adolescence without getting involved with anything more sinister than student newspapers, founding a secret meta-rights "club," and attending the odd larger protest, but when the government started talking about passing laws restricting the use of meta-abilities, he started getting very radical very quickly, and when some absolute snake started to use his martyred mother's words to bang the drum for banning quirk use outside the home outright, he went off the deep end.

Lightning Round (Randomly Selected Headcanons)

Favorite book genre?  Memoirs and biographies—he wouldn't have written his own if he didn't appreciate their value.  The intimacy of the personal juxtaposed against the broad scope of history appeals to both his regard for individuality and his revolutionary mindset.

Most prized possession?  Thoughts on material possessions in general?   He doesn’t generally prize material possessions—in fact, he’s something of a skinflint.  His most prized possession is an old pair of gloves that belonged to his mother, which he'd been wearing at the time of her murder.  He didn't come from money to begin with, but his mother’s story made enough of a splash that his financial situation was improved by well-meaning sorts sending along donations and contributions and the like, as well as government officials knowing they needed to be sure that he wound up somewhere at least semi-reasonable lest they court further outrage by mishandling the son of a martyred woman.  The money all went towards school and living expenses, though, leaving him quite experienced at balancing a budget, which would come in handy for that whole ‘leading a violent uprising against the state’ thing later on.

Academic Background: Got all the way through college!  Was involved in student groups as far back as middle school, and only got moreso the further in school he got.  Majored in Human Development; he was intending to go into the public health and policy sphere before the appropriation of his mother's language pissed him off so much he got into terrorism instead.

THE MODERN MLA

Re-Destro—

General Thoughts A huge amount of the way I write him is influenced by one single thing—his characterization as described in the second data book.  His personality is summed up there as "sokoshirenai yami"—bottomless darkness, or, as a friend translated it for me, "unfathomable gloominess."  That really, really stuck with me, because on the one hand, it's so opposed to virtually all of what we see of him on the page, where he's being cheerful or scornful or sycophantic; the closest he ever gets are his brief tears for Miyashita, Curious, and his other followers.

On the other hand, it makes so much sense that the man we see—the man who talks about the heavy burdens of his legacy, who was handed that legacy when he couldn't possibly have been any older than 6 or so, who willingly straps on a self-designed torture device to wring out more power, who all but worships the ground Shigaraki walks on even though Shigaraki is the reason Re-Destro no longer has legs to walk that same ground with—should be "unfathomably gloomy."  Of course he's gloomy!  He was never allowed to be his own person!  He has never in his life known true freedom, only existed as a vessel to bring that freedom to others!  And he can't really even talk to his closest friends about it, because his closest friends are still his followers, and he wouldn't want to weigh them down!

With that context, it makes all the sense in the world that he'd be so devoted to the man who relieved him of that burden.

Family Situation He loved his mother Yukie a great deal, despite knowing from early on that he was carrying the weight of the title because she believed she couldn’t.  (Perhaps growing up hearing about the martyrdom of Destro’s mother left him wanting to ensure the happiness of his own, for her happiness was very rare.)  He was 10 when she was killed in a Villain attack; she’d been on a daytrip over to a neighboring city to visit some of her erstwhile school friends.  The requisite mourning period was 49 days, and as the only surviving family member, quite a lot fell to him even before considerations of his role as Re-Destro.  it was perceived as better—for both the Army’s morale and for his own stability—for him to be involved with as much of the work of transition as possible, but obviously he couldn’t do it completely alone, nor should he.  Thus, for two months after Yukie’s death, the previous generation's Sanctum[i] stayed with him in his family home. Afterward, he moved in with Anchor (one of his grandfather's advisors), where he would spend the rest of his young adulthood until moving away for college.

Claustrophobia The name of that literal-iron-maiden deathtrap he brings to bear against Shigaraki is no coincidence: Rikiya developed claustrophobia over the course of a stint of abusive training when he was thirteen. He generally has a pretty good handle on disguising it, thanks to a combination of people being unwilling to ask him questions they don’t actually want the answers to and the fact that he had to learn how to operate through it in order to complete the training at all. He has never told anyone, largely because he’s never been able to recognize that it was abuse, and so his abuser remains a figure of some influence.

Education He was largely taught by private tutors, in his home and in theirs, rather than attending school, but I think he probably wasn't completely home-schooled.  Particularly once he'd decided that he did want to attend university—and not just some little local technical program, but a major school in a proper city—he probably attended classes a few times a week at his local high school just to get a feel for being around other people his own age. He'd been friends with Koku for several years by that point, otherwise he probably would have been pretty hopeless, but he was still a pretty odd duck by the time he got to university.

This, incidentally, is why he never pushed Geten too hard about school—his own experience of it was so weird and piecemeal that he mostly thinks of school as relevant only for the education it provides, and less so the crash course in social dynamics.  Since Geten doesn't care about getting an education (nor, indeed, about learning how not to be a rude little troll), and has a strong enough quirk that he'll never lack for a position in the Army even without a formal education, Rikiya is perfectly happy to let Geten have his way and just be minimally learnèd.

Stress His powers operate by infusing his body with the characteristic black matter of his manifested stress; he can increase his size with this (his so-called Liberated Form isn't just armored up; he becomes physically taller and bulkier), as well as throw handfuls of the materialized power.  A side effect of this is that his stress can also infuse itself into his bodily fluids. The stress matter is a highly dense particulate, so if Rikiya is not in proper control of himself, his proverbial blood, sweat and tears can be literally heavy with the weight of his power.

The Value of Life He cares very much about the lives of his followers, but those genuine feelings are filtered through both the mental compartmentalization required by an emotion-based quirk, and an upbringing that taught him to care about his underlings in the same way one would rare goods.  Valuable goods, certainly, goods worth being proud of, goods to be maintained with care, but still, ultimately, things that can be sold or traded or bartered off as necessary to further one's goals.  Even his own life, while "objectively" the most valuable of them all, isn't an exception to that policy—the Great Cause is more important than any individual life, up to and including his own.

On a Personal Note He’s something of an obvious weirdo to outsiders—his enthusiasm comes off as strident, his smiles overly polished—but despite that, he's bizarrely hard to dislike once they start spending real time with him.  He's not anywhere near as prideful about himself as he is the legacy of the MLA, for a start; he's actually pretty self-deprecating when he's not performing the whole Heir of Destro's Great Bloodline routine at people.  He's also happy to go along with other people sharing their hobbies (because he doesn't have any of his own).  The more you get to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's a total basket case, but “total basket case” is still an improvement over “self-absorbed 1%-er CEO” that people like Spinner come in expecting.

What Are Boundaries? He has very little understanding of how to enforce boundaries around his private life, or, indeed, of why such boundaries might ever be necessary.  Oh, he can do the double life thing, keep the CEO of Detnerat separate from the Grand Commander of the Metahuman Liberation Army, but when it comes to the MLA itself, he's so groomed to devote himself to the cause that he doesn't really distinguish between the responsibilities of Re-Destro and the needs of Yotsubashi Rikiya.  Rather than being the egomaniac you might expect of a man with the absolute power over others he has, he instead struggles to assert himself as his own person at all.

Issues with boundaries are not uncommon with the MLA—they're all raised to see themselves as warriors to advance the cause before they are, like, “human beings”—but Rikiya’s are particularly exacerbated because he was raised by adults who were getting pretty paranoid about his bloodline's tendency to die young, and thus were always checking in on how he was doing, dictating his schedule, weighing in on his plans, and so on.  He just wasn’t raised with reasonable expectations for privacy.  Even as an adult, he'll give his apartment door code to pretty much anyone in the MLA who has even a semi-plausible reason to want it—certainly quite a few of the elders know it!  And it isn’t only the elders, either; Rikiya's phone and several of his accessories carry tracking chips courtesy of Skeptic, which Rikiya knows about and doesn't think is at all untoward.

While his experience dating Koku definitely taught him some hard lessons about how much he could allow himself to ask of people who would obey him without question (they broke up over Rikiya’s realization that Koku would never deny him anything, thanks to a cracked rib Koku didn’t see fit to tell Rikiya about until Rikiya hugged him a little too hard), he never learned how to value his own autonomy in turn.  Oh, he's the Grand Commander, and everyone around him has been raised to venerate his bloodline, so most of them would never even think about trying to take advantage of him as such, but it's absolutely the case that people who are bold or familiar enough to try can basically run right over him with minimal efforts made at obscuring the fact.  His life is full of people who do and have done exactly that, some to a net positive effect, and some—well.  See again the entry about his claustrophobia.

The abjectly terrible state of his sense of self-worth is also the reason the Claustro exists.  While he was relatively capable of trying to work around his phobia when he was younger, the older he got, the more it started to feel like leaving doors cracked behind him or only working in offices with big spacious floor plans and oversized windows was, in some way, Letting Down The Cause by allowing his fear to control him, rather than embracing it so he could properly stockpile it for later use.  A dinnertime chat with Curious about turning one’s trauma into a weapon for the good of others catalyzed this, leading to the development of the “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism,” Claustro. 

(It also means the clone of him made by Twice to handle Detnerat after Deika is bizarrely okay with its circumstances, which I will almost certainly write more about one of these days, but I’m still kind of reeling from that reveal, so more on that another time.)

Lightning Round

Religion?   He doesn't identify as being of a religious faith, but he was brought up in the same peaceful marriage of Shinto and Buddhism that the majority of Japanese people are, and like many, he adheres to a number of traditional practices more out of habit than devout faith.  There are two celebrations that demand significant emotional investment from him.  First comes the New Year's celebrations, important because the MLA prides itself on looking to a brighter, freer future, and it's a period when he can let himself think that maybe he'll be just that little bit closer to Liberation by the end of the year than he was at the start.  Second is Obon, a summer festival for honoring one's departed ancestors. Since his authority and his life's work derive entirely from his bloodline, he's obligated to care about this one, though in practice, he tends to shy away from thinking much about Destro (who he has very twisted-up feelings about indeed) in favor of less emotionally fraught waters.

What did he dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?   He never really had a significant period where he thought about being e.g. an astronaut or a doctor or a hero; in fact, it came as something of a surprise to him the first time Koku asked him what he was planning to do when he grew up.  He always just had the nebulous expectation of, "Be the Grand Commander," and the elders were happy to leave it at that until he brought it up on his own.[ii]  

How does he behave around children? He likes kids!  He’s wistful about the freedom enjoyed by happy children while also being sympathetic to ones that seem overly burdened.  He’s not the most natural person in the world with them, but most of them can tell that the awkwardness comes from a well-intentioned place, and will treat him as a funny-looking man who’ll let them bother him at length without getting mean.  It turns out he’s actually pretty good with them, then, if only by virtue of being easily bullied.  (This, notably, goes for non-MLA-affiliated children.  Everything’s much more formal within the cult, though it didn’t Geten long to suss out the “easily-bullied” part, either.)

Trumpet—

General Thoughts The largest factor in how I write Koku is, of course, the headcanon that he and Rikiya are ex-lovers, and neither of them is 100% over it even all these years later.  Beyond that, though, Koku is the most temperate of the group, the one with the most easy charisma (MLA members are more swayed by Re-Destro, but Koku does better with outsiders who aren't predisposed to hanging on Rikiya's every word).  He strives to come off as The Sensible One, and given the extremes the rest of the inner circle are capable of, it's not hard for him to maintain that title.  He's as messed up as any of them, though, second only to Rikiya in levels of childhood grooming.  He thinks of himself as a practical man, but he is deeply indoctrinated, the boundaries of his expectations very much defined by his upbringing, so he never really sees it coming when he gets clobbered by something from out of left field.

Family Situation: Koku has the largest family of the identified members.  Aside from his grandfather (called Old Man Hanabata, the founder of the Hearts & Minds Party, and passed away by the canon era), Koku has cousins, nieces, nephews and more, courtesy of his uncle, his older sister and her husband, and other extended family.

He’s also the member most accustomed to wealth, power and influence.  He's from a rural area, certainly, but being in a family of hereditary politicians (and with that family not suffering a string of untimely deaths and disappearances like Rikiya's did), he was raised from the start with ready access to money and nice things.  Still, for all his family's sway in a major branch of the MLA's operations, they're not First Families, and thus don't have any elders in their ranks, making them still somewhat subordinate to said elders when it comes to orders about the Great Cause.  (He’s working on it.)

Meeting Re-Destro Koku and Rikiya met at 12 and 10 respectively, when Koku tagged along with Old Man Hanabata for a meeting RD was likewise accompanying Anchor for.  It had been the better part of a year since Rikiya's mother passed away, but he was still strikingly melancholy for a boy that age, which—along with all the weight given to the importance of the meeting—left quite an impression on Koku.  Koku thus became Rikiya's first real friend in his own age group, a friendship heartily encouraged by everyone around them.  Koku was well-behaved, intelligent, a little older but not too much so, and set to become influential without a danger of becoming too influential; he was seen as a good choice for a friend.[iii]

The Break-Up Painful as it was at the time, there was a silver lining to his and RD's post-college break-up: it got Koku out of the elders' pocket.  He’s been groomed for one thing or another all his life, but after he became friends with Rikiya, he was always getting leaned on to report back to the First Families about how Re-Destro was doing, and to try to influence him towards actions the First Families approved of.  In a very real sense, Koku was part of the apparatus keeping Rikiya from any real freedom.  Their break-up and subsequent estrangement meant that the elders had far less to breathe down Koku's neck about, and by the time they reconciled, Trumpet had gotten his feet under him, as had Re-Destro, and they were both better able to fend off such background meddling.

This doesn't mean Trumpet's not still carrying a torch, however.  He thought he was handling his long-banked feelings pretty well—being Professional, being the advisor Re-Destro needed and as much a friend as Rikiya would allow—right up until Rikiya scared the life out of him by nearly dying in Deika.  He's all but glued himself to Rikiya since, as much as he can get away with given their respective responsibilities.

As an Advisor Other than leading the HMP, he does some work with internal politics and reputation. It's not, strictly speaking, his actual job as advisor—Re-Destro or the elders would probably be sought for more formal or critical mediations—but he and the people who report directly to him do enough travelling around to see constituents that they're often in a position to field those tensions before they get big enough to require attention from higher up.  Koku's happy to do so, in fact—not because he just loves handling petty arguments about resources, but because the HMP is a faction of the MLA in and of itself, and mediating is a boost to that faction's standing and autonomy.  (Also, it's that much less on Rikiya's ever-overburdened plate.)

Lightning Round

What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Ahahahahaha, “make dinner but the kitchen was busy,” please.  Any time there could feasibly be someone else occupying a kitchen he has any business being in himself, it would be a housekeeper, and s/he would be making food for him/his family.  It’s not as though Trumpet has never cooked—he did live alone for some years after school—but outside of a scant few years in university, there’s never really been a time that kitchen use overlap would have been a problem for him. 

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging. Probably gourmet cuisine, especially imported stuff. He’s had tailored clothes all his life; they’re just part of the job.  Expensive alcohol also doesn’t wow him; it wouldn’t be strange to find some sake maker whose family has been doing it for sixteen generations in the village he grew up in.  It’s a lot harder to cultivate a true gourmand’s palate out in the sticks, though, no matter how rich your family is.  Living in actual civilization affords a great deal more variety—and anyway, nice dinners are one of the few things he can reliably tempt Rikiya into accepting.  As to his feelings about indulging in general, he’s broadly For It.  He works very hard, he seldom gets real time off, and it doesn’t help the Great Cause for him to deny himself nice things, unlike some people.  (He’s maybe a bit bitter.)

Does he like to be the center of attention all of the time? Not especially.  Oh, he’s very good at it, certainly, and he doesn’t dislike it, but being the center of attention is practically always going to be tied up in The Great Work, so he desperately needs to get out of the spotlight from time to time, if only to be able to turn off the persona.

Curious—

General Thoughts There are two main factors in how I write Chitose: her practicality and her rapaciousness.  I write her as having an appreciation for good moral character in other people, especially when it makes a good story, but not considering herself particularly bound by conventional morality: her moral compass is Liberation, and she follows it unswervingly.  I also write her as predatory, lusty about a lot of things, often to the point of overstepping.  It doesn't hurt anyone that she likes hearty foods and strong alcohol, but she also doesn't have much regard for peoples' boundaries, and even less so when she thinks they have something to offer the Great Cause.

While that trait isn't without its benefits, it can get pretty ugly, too, as we see in how she treats, and talks to, Toga.  Even with Rikiya, the only person she thinks of as 'above' her in any meaningful sense, she's not at all above manipulation.  She's respectful of him, but knows him too well to always take him at his word.  He plainly can't always see what's best for him, but what's best for him is best for Liberation, and therefore, as a Liberation warrior, it's her responsibility to sometimes make decisions for him.  He'll appreciate it in the long run—he always does.  (Skeptic and Geten have similar views—Rikiya makes it easy.)

Family Situation She probably has the best actual relationship with her family of the group—her mothers are removed enough from the heart of MLA politics that her relationship with Rikiya doesn't color her family life the way Koku's does his, and she's much more sociable than Skeptic or Geten.  She doesn't get home much—just the major holidays, work permitting—but she's in frequent enough communication for a grown woman, and chats with her younger sister more often than that.

Meeting Re-Destro She met Rikiya properly when they were 21 and 27 respectively.  They were living in the same city at the time (him running Detnerat, her in university), so of course she'd seen him at the odd MLA event he turned up at, but when she landed an internship in her junior year, she cheekily turned up one day in her reporter capacity to interview him as “a local rising star of industry.”  It was the first chance they'd had to talk one-on-one, and would not be the last, as she frankly elbowed her way into his life and gradually sussed out that here was a man with Problems.  He and Koku were still in a distant patch at the time; she is largely responsible for getting them back on friendly terms as a way of showing her Pure Intentions.

The fact that her Pure Intentions both land her a square position as one of RD's advisors herself and get Rikiya to a better place emotionally is calculated, but not, therefore, untrue.  Ironically, while she was concerned about looking like a gold-digger, the MLA elders were probably thrilled and relieved to hear rumors that Rikiya was getting romantically involved again.  And with a lovely young MLA woman!  They wouldn't even need to worry about surrogacy arrangements!  (Not having grown up around the Yotsubashis, Chitose is unaware of exactly how pointed an interest the elders take in the matter of securing that bloodline.)

Feelings Today She loves Rikiya dearly, and prizes his regard more highly than anything in her life, but has not devoted much thought to the idea of being in love with him. She's married to her work, as they say, but she's also keenly aware that Rikiya would, for a great many reasons, be a lot of work to be in love with.  She's decided it's generally better for his mental well-being, and therefore also better for the Great Cause (she’s much more capable of reading that relationship reciprocally than Rikiya is), to make sure he's eating at least one good meal a week and getting some proper socialization in outside of MLA meet-and-greets.

As an Advisor She handles external politics and reputation--it's her job to prime Japan culturally for the Liberation agenda in ways more wide-reaching than Trumpet (he's head of a political party, and that's not nothing, but that party is still a small minority on the floor of the Diet).  She pulls attention to stories that benefit the MLA, and diverts attention from stories that don't.  This is far broader than just publishing Destro's memoir; it also means poking holes in the broader Hero Society narrative.  She does this by providing as broad a platform possible for stories about the tragedies of excessive regulation, the evils of quirk-related bias, the abuses of power heroes are capable of, and so on.

Lightning Round

Does she remember names or faces easier? She’s quite good with both, actually, but I’d give names the advantage because she works primarily with written rather than visual mediums.  (Also, BNHA names being the ridiculous puns that they are, you can probably tell more about a person in HeroAca Land by analyzing their name than their face anyway.) 

Is she more concerned with defending her honor, or protecting her status? Her status, absolutely.  Impugning her honor hurts no one but her; she can laugh that off because honor is a silly social construct anyway.  Threatening her status is a much more dangerous prospect—her status is long-cultivated to enable the advancement of Liberation ideology; it lets her keep an eye on Re-Destro, who needs as many people looking out for him as he can get; it’s what she’s worked for all her life. Curious will fuck you up if you threaten her status.

In what situation was she the most afraid she’d ever been? The time she got in trouble for nearly exploding some dude’s face off for stealing her purse.  She was 17, had spent very little time in non-Liberated territory before, and was not raised to wait on heroes to solve her problems.  She wasn’t afraid of the thief or the hero, really, but she was completely terrified that she might have just blown over half a century of secrecy by not performing Helpless Civilian well enough. The terror was pretty convincing to the police interviewing her about it, anyway.  On the whole, it was a very valuable learning experience!  

Skeptic—

General Thoughts Tomoyasu is a character I haven't written extensively yet, but what I think is most interesting about him so far is the contrast of his hyper-modern methods with the bone-deep zealotry for the cause.  See, Rikiya, Koku and Chitose all grew up in the sticks; Rikiya and Koku had money from a young age, but it was old money, tied up in trusts.  (Geten didn't have any of those, but Geten's a different story for other reasons.)  Tomoyasu grew up in a major city from the start; he was a technological prodigy from practically as soon as he could hold a tablet.  He has very little respect for the old ways of doing things when he knows there are newer, better ways of advancing the Cause. However, none of that makes him more likely to break from the MLA's ranks—if anything, his idiosyncratic approach just causes him to approach Liberation in really weird ways, ways no one else would ever come up with.

Pressganging Bubaigawara Jin based on a plan to clone Re-Destro?  Who else would that ever even occur to, much less such that it became the basis for an elaborate psychological assault?  But that's Skeptic in a nutshell—respect the old for what it did at the time, but don't think that means you have to use the same methods they did forever as you pick up the torch to carry it forward.

Family Situation He has an amicable but not intimate relationship with his family.  His parents are very proud of what he's done for the cause and how he won the confidence of Re-Destro, but they don't make much claim to understand how his mind works.  In turn, he recognizes the value of their support over the years—he certainly made a lot of waves with his unabashed venom for the MLA leadership's hidebound traditionalism, and his parents' staunch backing meant a lot for him being able to take the stands he did—but is not very emotionally close with them.  Might find himself with an older brother, if I ever occasion to write about his family situation in more depth.

Education He graduated a four-year university program for getting his computer science degree in two very intense years, during which he did virtually nothing for the Great Cause, his intention being to better position himself for maximum ability to advance Liberation afterward.  See above re: battles his parents fought for him while he was busy modernizing.

Meeting Re-Destro He met Re-Destro via Curious.  He was 22, just a year out of university and already climbing the chain of command at a young telecommunications company.  Rikiya was 33, working on the Claustro, and needed proprietary comms built to a higher standard of security than Detnerat was focused on.  Curious, who was always better positioned to be keeping up with the local personalities, introduced them.

Tomoyasu attempted to keep a civil tongue in his head the first few times he and RD met, but he'd been running on bile and energy drinks for years by that point and was hard-pressed to stop just because he was meeting his Grand Commander.  If anything, finding out that Rikiya was okay with his direction and his mouth eventually helped him chill the fuck out, marginally.

On that note, Skeptic is absolutely the advisor most willing to backtalk Rikiya right to his face.  (Rikiya loves him for it.)  Oh, he'll still accede to Rikiya's wishes, and Re-Destro's orders are his highest priority, but that doesn't mean he feels obligated to be diffident about it.  Like Curious, he has a highly developed sense of, "It's fine if it's for the greater good," which will and has led to him taking things into his own hands when he thinks he knows best (which is always).  He's not going to explicitly disobey orders, but he will creatively interpret them if he feels strongly about them, and he will try to "anticipate" orders before anyone has time to give him specific ones, the better to tailor his efforts towards proving his methods and goals correct rather than being stuck with orders he hates.

On Names I’ve definitely evolved some in my approach on this since I started writing the MLA cast, but at current, Skeptic and Geten are the only ones I consistently write as using and thinking mainly in terms of code names rather than given names.  Trumpet is too familiar with the public/private divide, and has too much intimate history with Rikya-the-person, to default to Re-Destro; Curious is too trained to look for The Human Heart of the Story.  Re-Destro himself, ever since breaking up with Koku, has always tried to use code names for people (himself excluded, because he has enormous self-confidence issues about measuring himself up to the original Destro), but can slip into given names when he’s vulnerable.  To Skeptic and Geten, though, the code name is the real name, for all intents and purposes.  The cover identity is a fake; the whole point of the code name is that you’re proving yourself worthy of taking up your proper place in the Army.  Of course the name you win for yourself is the name that counts.

Lightning Round

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? You’d pretty much have to lock him in a room with nothing but paper and pencil in it for that to be his first resort rather than whatever item of personal electronics he’d otherwise have on his person.  But assuming some actual plausible scenario—couldn’t bring his electronics into a government building, let’s say—he would find trying to do something productive on paper and pencil rather beneath him, and he’s an inveterate fidgeter.  I mostly see him folding that ludicrously tall frame of his into a chair and setting to using the pencil to poke about three hundred holes in the sheet of paper, meticulous and orderly, while muttering complaints to himself the whole time until something annoys him a bit too much and he jabs the whole pencil through the page. 

Who does he see as his best friend?  His worst enemy? I headcanon him having a very reasonable, functional, productive relationship with his No. 1 advisor, Red, and being reasonable, functional, and productive probably goes a lot farther on making you Skeptic’s “friend” than any amount of emotional intimacy.  But “best friend” is not really the kind of language Skeptic uses for his relationships; if you were to ask him who his best friend is, he’d probably tell you, “Iced coffee.”  As to his worst enemy, that’s just whoever is annoying him most on any given day, from difficult clients, to people annoying Re-Destro, stodgy elders, that hero grinning like a tool, that couple walking too slow in front of him on the sidewalk, etc. And Skeptic is pretty proactive about dealing with enemies, as much as he can be.

Has he ever been bitten by an animal? How was he affected (or unaffected)? lol he is a city boy and always has been.  He probably tried to pet a stray cat once out of curiosity, and because it seemed like the sort of thing people did, and then has never forgiven Animals In General when it bit him and then ran off. 

Geten—

General Thoughts Another one I haven’t written a great deal about yet, particularly in the present day, though I’m looking for that to change soonish.  One thing I’d like to explore is Geten when he’s not seething with rage and shame because he failed to bring Re-Destro a victory in Deika. The fandom tends to write Geten as an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer, and that’s fair—ever since we got the face reveal, ever since the MLA’s defeat at Shigaraki’s hands, Geten has been an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer.

But if you look at Geten from before we knew what was under the hood, you find a different story.  “Chilly and angry all the time” is not at all how he acted when he was fighting Dabi!  At that point, he was talkative, even chatty.  He engaged in a lot of snide smack-talk; he was obviously confident in himself and he spoke very proudly of the MLA as a collective.

He was still quiet at the dinner he attended with Rikiya and his advisors, yes, so I don’t think Geten’s done some kind of full 180 on characterization.  I do, however, think that Geten has a sense of humor in there, has a sense of camaraderie with the MLA rooted in more than just his relationship with Re-Destro, even if Re-Destro is obviously his most important person.  I don’t know if we’ll ever see that in the manga proper, given everything that’s happened, but it’s worth remembering in terms of what Geten is like when he’s solely among allies.

Family Situation Orphaned at a young age, and a problem child from then on.  He passed through a series of foster parents and state facilities before eventually crossing paths with the leader of the local MLA branch in Kesseru, Beacon (more on him next time).  This encounter would lead to him being sent to a group home with a reputation for being good with such difficult cases, giving them Structure and Companionship and Meaningful Work.  (Spoilers: It’s Liberation.)

Despite evening out considerably after a significant meeting with Re-Destro when he was 7[iv], Geten never got particularly close to his adopted family/the other kids at the group home.  He's very favored by the Grand Commander, for one thing, and he has the strongest quirk in the home for another—and since he learned the quirk supremacist stuff from them, that’s a pretty significant part of the dynamic!  Both of these factors mean there's some distance between him and the rest. Still, he's not on bad terms with them—indeed, his foster parents are quite proud of him—and he would probably tear out someone's throat with his teeth for threatening them, if only as a matter of pride.  

There are 4-6 other kids there at any given time; for the bulk of his young adulthood, there were two older than him, the others younger.  He doesn't have much time for Big Brother Pastimes, but is not completely immune to them, either, particularly where the youngest kids are concerned.  His tolerance for Little Brother Antics, however, is nonexistent—if the older kids think they can ruffle his hair and treat him like a kid, they can square the fuck up; he is Number One around here and don’t forget it.

Education Geten never went to school, but he's not completely uneducated.  He had some tutoring in the group home, some more from Re-Destro personally, and has a pile of books he keeps at his bedside, mostly strategic in nature.  He finds them vexing at times, but is slowly reading through them anyway because Re-Destro asked him to.  He’s been a bit more diligent about it since he was made a regiment leader, because lord knows Dabi isn't contributing much.

On Re-Destro Re-Destro became fond of Geten for the same reason he became fond of Skeptic and Curious—Geten was willing to push back.  He really did make some attempts early on to keep Geten at a proper distance, mindful of anything that would look too much like favoritism.  And Geten knew, in the hard-headed way of a child, that Re-Destro was being a grown-up about things, trying to be mature, trying to be impartial.  Geten just didn’t care about any of those things.  Every time, he would listen very seriously to the things Rikiya told him, nod attentively, repeat back what he’d been told, and then go on about doing his own thing anyway.  And his own thing was, typically, to keep coming back.

Of course, if there’s anything we can tell about Re-Destro from the way he treats Shigaraki, it’s that Re-Destro loves people who take the choice away from him.

Eventually, of course, Geten grew up (mostly; I peg him at 19 now), joined the MLA officially, and had to settle into the structure of the Army.  It began to lead to trouble for Re-Destro, when Geten blatantly disobeyed him; it stopped being cute.  Still, the sense that he Knows What’s Best lingers, so Geten works himself very, very hard to be everything Re-Destro needs him to be and more, so that maybe Re-Destro’s burden will be just that little bit lighter.

On Quirk Supremacy (and Re-Destro, still) Here’s the thing about Geten and the whole, “A life without a strong meta-ability has no value,” line, and this continues to drive me mad because of how people getting it wrong influences the bad takes on the MLA in this fandom: Geten is not a reliable witness.  He is not one of the leaders of the MLA, nor does he speak for its rank and file. Even if you assume the absolute worst about his implications there, far worse than is justified by the text, Geten’s very name, Apocrypha, means that he cannot be presumed to be aligned with MLA orthodoxy.

The only one of the people close to Re-Destro who wasn't born and raised MLA, he still manages to come off, in some ways, as the most zealous of the lot of them.  But really, it’s very noticeable that Geten—unlike Re-Destro himself, and unlike even Re-Destro’s close cohort—never talks about the original Destro, never even mentions him.  When he thinks about his leader, he only ever thinks about Rikiya.  Geten doesn’t follow Re-Destro because of his bloodline, because of the tenets; he follows Re-Destro because of personal loyalty.[v]

So how best to do that?  Well, think about it: Geten is not terribly intelligent, nor wealthy, nor well-connected. He and Trumpet are the ones most influenced by the quirk supremacist line of thought, Trumpet because his relatively weak quirk comes off as exponentially stronger the more he can surround himself in people it works on, and Geten because his strong quirk lets him mentally justify Re-Destro's investment in him despite his other insufficiencies.

Compare this with Re-Destro, who only ever talks about quirks in terms of freedom. Even more prominently, look at Skeptic and Curious, who are not at all defined by their quirks and how strong or weak said quirks may be.  Indeed, those two devote scarcely a thought to the matter because they contribute to the cause in much more important ways and seem to be perfectly comfortable with where that leaves them.

Geten may not be very smart or influential, but he’s very capable of looking at what strengths he does have and focusing hard on those.  That, I think, is what really lead to his embracing quirk supremacy, even in the face of evidence that he doesn’t have the whole picture: the search for a way to measure himself up to the movers and shakers Rikiya is otherwise surrounded with, and not come up drastically wanting.  

“Apocrypha” Geten has been Geten for a long time, since long before the MLA types usually take up their code names. He’s also an outlier in the MLA for having a name in Japanese instead of in English—the only one who does!  My headcanon, unless and until we get some other members with Japanese code names, is that he got the name directly from Re-Destro—possibly even in the conversation that lead to him imprinting so hard on the man when he was 7—and insisted on keeping it before any other code name that was suggested to him in later years.

But yes, he does have a normal Japanese name on file at the group home, which he’s obligated to answer to on the rare occasions that someone from Child Services is checking in or he and Re-Destro are out in public.  I don’t plan to bother coming up with it unless I need to, as I expect we’ll get it in a character profile one of these days.

His Quirk While a lot of people like the vibe of Geten and Dabi being somewhat equivalently vulnerable to their own quirks, and I agree it makes for good fanart, in truth, Geten is only as vulnerable to his ice as Endeavor is his flames.  Which is to say, he isn't immune, but he's certainly more resistant to it than the average person would be!  There’s already plenty of good material to contrast Dabi and Geten without pretending their quirks are more mirrored than is actually the case.

Lightning Round

How does he treat people in service jobs? He doesn’t, because he’s never in a position to interact with people in service jobs.  There have been times he’s gone out with Re-Destro, but in those cases he’s mostly let Re-Destro handle the human interaction.

What does he dislike in other people? Laziness; the lack of a higher purpose of some kind.  (It’s possible he’d thaw out on his disdain for Dabi considerably if he knew more about Dabi’s plans to undermine the whole of the Hero System than Dabi is inclined to tell him.)

Is he always there for a friend in need? Sure, as long as by “friend” you mean “fellow Liberation warrior” and by “need” you mean “in need of an icicle punched through one of someone else’s desperately fleshy body parts.”

Footnotes

[i]  Sanctum II's tastes being what they are, this probably means Rikiya is the MLA member most likely to be able to perform traditional Japanese tea ceremony.

[ii]  And there were elders who would have been happy to leave it at that permanently, I'm sure.  There are always going to be those regents who have trouble relinquishing power back to the boy prince when he grows up and becomes king, you know?

[iii]  And, when it eventually got out that they were dating, a relatively solid match, give or take the surrogacy arrangements that would eventually need to be made.

[iv]  I’m hoping canon gives us some details on this eventually, so I’m not planning to iron out more headcanon on the matter unless I absolutely have to.

[v]  This, incidentally, is a large part of why Rikiya does keep him around—it’s soothing to have someone around who never brings up his ancestor.  Anyway, after Geten evolved his quirk, people stopped complaining so much, even though RD never did get around to, like, giving Geten any formal responsibilities.  Geten, who knows very well that Re-Destro’s real advisors have real jobs, mostly took this as reason to be all the stronger, in hopes that he’d eventually be given one.

[hitsuackerman]

The Last Nugget (Hawks x Reader)

Prompt: Hawks and you have a silent war during a heroes meeting.

link: part 2

Warnings: fluff and flirting

The sudden message for heroes to gather was indeed unexpected. Fresh from your shift, you barely got any shut eye. With such a weird schedule of patrol, you were more than disgruntled when your phone beeped and insisted it was all but urgent.

Upon waiting for the doors to open, the cup of XL coffee barely gave you the needed boost. Heck, with each blink you made it felt as if your body might give in and enter the state of hibernation. Stifling a yawn, you stretched your limbs which gave you satisfying pops.

The heroes were now arriving one by one. You were all too relieved when you saw just how deep their eye bags were. Small talks and catching up was evident for those. Updates on whether or not they want to team up in future missions.

Soon enough, cart wheels could be heard through the halls. Upon closer inspection, you realized that all you had in your system was caffeine and air. The McGonalds logo was more than enough to make you excited for the meeting to start.

When the meeting did start, you were wedged in between Fatgum and Wash. Your mind barely gave attention to the discussion knowing a summary would be sent via email. Instead, your thoughts were focused on how a washing machine became a hero. 

Finally, the food was served and your eyes landed straight to the pile of glorious chicken nuggets. Hallelujah. You had been craving some for quite some time. Each attempt to enter the food chain only resulted in hero work and fatigue.

One nugget after the other, you stuffed your face. The tangy barbecue sauce sends delightful tingles on your taste buds. Yes, these nuggets are the definition of unhealthy but you burned calories on the daily basis so it was all good.

Until there was one nugget left.

Eyes darting from one hero to another, you felt no shame in taking the last piece. That was until you caught the person sitting in front of you eyeing the nugget as well.

Lifting your eyes together, you raised an eyebrow only to be responded with one as well. Hot damn your brain was too slow to function to realize it was Hawks. This man really was your definition of cocky perfection. With the added bonus of such sinful good looks, you were not denying you had fantasized about him from time to time.

Recalling each message you two had exchanged, you were well aware that he too was a little more flirtatious with you. All this became evident when a much more appealing and sexy hero accompanied you both 5 missions ago, he made no efforts to flirt with her. Instead, he got all touchy with you. Of course you did not mind.

None of you were blind, though. The mutual pinning had been going on for months now.

Meeting his golden eyes, mischief was written all over it. The way his eyes darted to the nugget and back to yours, he was marking it as his. A small hidden smirk, one that only you could see, emerged on his face.

In turn, you looked at the nugget and back at him. If looks could kill, you may (or may not) have already injured this winged hero. The look on your face saying this was yours and no one else.

Because of how small the table was, you felt him kick your leg. Seeing your eyes widen at the sudden contact made him see his victory over the piece of chicken. Squinting his eyes, he mouthed the words ‘mine’.

Kicking him back, rather harshly, he jumped a bit on his seat. All eyes turned to him. Now was the perfect chance to grab the nugget and brag to his face, but his eyes never faltered from yours. He simply looked at you as he gave out his explanation.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks. Sometimes these feathers make me extra sensitive.” Lifting his index finger, he began to twirl a single feather. Almost in a teasing fashion.

The discussion proceeded and the silent war resumed.

Wash poked your leg to ask a question. Still, you were not about to lose sight of the hawk in front of you. Listening to Wash’s question, your gaze was simply locked on his. Damn those eyes.

With only a vague idea as to what the odd hero was asking about, you tore your concentration from Hawks. The man noticed and sat straight up. Wings ruffling a bit at the thought of the trophy being his. He winced when he felt your foot stepping hard on him.

‘Not today, birdman.’ You mouthed to him. Seeing him pout like a small child caused your heart to flutter. What you’d give feel those lips on yours. Imitating his actions, Hawks’ eyebrows twitched and damn did he want to pin you to the wall and kiss you. Screw the nugget he thought, but his pride said no.

At this point, he didn’t care about the nugget.

Grabbing his pen, he scribbled something on to the notepad given to him and crumpled it into a ball. Dropping it on the floor, he let a small feather roll it towards you. Signalling you to look down, you sneakily took the paper and read its contents. Careful not to let anyone see it.

‘Fighting over a nugget? How low can we get?’

Not able to hold it in, you covered your mouth to hide a smile. Grabbing your pen, you wrote down your reply and gave it to the feather.

‘You know I love my nuggets.’

Looking back at you, Hawks was met with teasing eyes. He knew too well that you had just finished your shift. He could clearly see how much you were hanging on to the thin thread of staying awake while still managing to play his little games. It was all too evident that he was your beacon in staying awake in this god forsaken meeting.

Writing a reply back, he gave you a wink as you received the message.

‘Have it. I like you more than nuggets ;) ‘

Giving him a questioning look, you bit your lip trying to suppress a smile. This was a heroes meeting not a random convention. You still had to act your part. A soft nod was all Hawks had to do for your heart to flutter.

Both your eyes widened when a rather huge hand took hold of the last nugget. Following the arm, Fatgum was all smiles as he was about to devour the snack. When he saw that you were staring at the nugget, he let out a small giggle and bended to get closer to you. Nugget outstretched.

“Ya wanna half it? I don’t mind~” Fatgum whispered.

He is too precious for this world. That’s what you always thought when it came to Fatgum. He was one of your closest hero friends and always a very good hugger when needed.

“You two have been ogling each other for the past minutes… You and Hawks aren’t very subtle.” Fatgum continued to whisper. Nudging your elbow as well. Seeing that you made no comment about the nugget, he popped it into his mouth and gave a cheeky grin. You could feel the heat traveling to your cheeks.

Your eyes landed on Hawks who, in turn, was trying to hold in laughter. Lowering his head, you could see him taking his phone from his pocket and typing a message. Not a moment too soon, your phone vibrated.

‘He was on to us. Damn it.’

‘Guess espionnage isn't our forte.’

Hawks snickered at your message. At one point in time, you had figured out he was a spy in the Paranormal Liberation Front. All sense of reason told him to stay away from you, just to make sure no harm would come your way. Three beers later, he had heard the comforting words of you not wanting him to leave and that you could keep his secret safe.

‘Cheeky. I like it.’ He replied.

‘Only with you.’

‘Round 2 for nuggets. My treat. Go?’

Putting his phone back into his pocket, he knew you were good to go. The genuine smile you weren’t bothering on hiding could almost blind him right there. That was a sure fire ‘yes’ from you and boy was he excited to get the hell out of this meeting.

By the time the meeting ended, the two of you didn’t bother saying farewell to the others. Instead, you felt his gloved hand gently hold on to your shoulder before hoisting you up. That scene caused the other heroes to gasp.

“Nuggets then my place?” Hawks asked as he held you closer. Not minding the eyes of others.

“Nuggets then your place.”

The last thing the other heroes saw was a red blur and an empty spot where the two of you once stood.

[grandhotelabyss]

Make no mistake, the demands made by the bourgeois right of the 1990s to censor any art that negated Judeo-Christian values is of the exact same character as the bourgeois left’s contemporary demands to hold art to the new standards of “intersectionality.” All that has changed is the faction of the bourgeois that now wages more power, but the left bourgeoisie's moral standards are equally arbitrary as those made by its right counterparts were; every bit as unpopular, suffocating, and reviled. And arguably, the bourgeois moralism of the intersectional variety is even more restrictive and repressive than the Christian right’s was. Why? Because at least most artists had the good sense to reject the bourgeois right’s cultural leanings. Most artists weren’t inculcated with religious orthodoxy, but artists ARE indoctrinated with the reductive beliefs of the left bourgeoise at the elite academies that most of them attend. So with the bourgeois left writing the narrative and enforcing the rules with the values largely created in liberal arts colleges around the country by artists and “radicals” no less, everyone is confused, and even worse, everyone is afraid. Afraid of being tarnished as a racist or a reactionary. And when has discourse policing ever truly been in service of “the marginalized?” Never, in fact, it is a tool of the power structure as it exists to silence and destroy its critics and dissidents. As a result, we have the most flaccid culture in history. We have one belief system that seemingly everyone, from feminist performance artists to neoconservative CNN anchors, tacitly agrees with and accepts as the only moral truth. Where are the rules breakers? Where are the Genet’s? Where are the Acconci’s? If they’re out there at all, they’re afraid to unleash the full power of their subjectivities and creativities. They are censoring themselves, no doubt, because an impotent platform is better than no platform at all (or is it?).

Adam Lehrer, “Amanda Gorman And The Rise Of The Poet Propagandist”

(I don’t quote this passage to agree with it in particular or with the essay’s thesis in general or even with the life of the author, who I gather has been cancelled for some reason I can’t quite discern, so in sum there’s no need to write to my employers to relieve me of the privilege of my semester-to-semester adjunct gig or the shelter of my small low-rent apartment. Now that I have, I hope, convinced you of my innocence, why did I quote this passage? Mostly just for the as I was saying... file, in which I gather evidence for my prediction of an imminent pendular swing among the intelligentsia and artistic avant-garde toward a confrontational illiberalism that will revel in what is currently tabooed by the left-liberal or neoliberal consensus. But I also quote it to quarrel with it on an important point. If one is persuaded that we live under a stultifying consensus, the last thing we need are “rules breakers,” because the breakers only reaffirm the rules. To cross the line is to establish the line more firmly, and in that way to do the bidding of authority, which loves nothing so much as a full-frontal challenge—or a faux-frontal challenge, as we’ve seen here before in our ruminations on midcentury intelligence services and their cultivation of a controlled opposition that brought us so many of our “rules breakers” of yore. What power actually dislikes is the evasive or elusive, that which does not trip the scanning mechanism, and not because it conceals forbidden beliefs but because it alters or reframes the human subject entirely. It thinks not otherwise but elsewise. I don’t mean that we should write something merely hard to read, either, though this is one way to do it, but rather write something that barely registers as addressing a topic of concern. The advantage and disadvantage of this strategy is that if we do it right, it will draw a crowd, since any given moment’s topics of concern exclude so much of what concerns so many, and that is where the Hegelian dialectic enters, to turn a Hamlet into a Robespierre or a Dedalus into a Jobs. The evasive or elusive, if it is strong, will be captured by a later consensus; we may not believe in the dialectic, but it believes in us. Nevertheless, as Kierkegaard said in his critique of Hegel, we must live our lives forward: so the goal for the artist in the moment—if the artist seeks to evade some stultifying consensus, and I’m not saying I do—is to create what is unintelligible or irrelevant to the moment. Along these lines, I was trying to think of a modern poem that might be genuinely offensive in the present, and what I came up with is not some blast from the counterculture, not Ginsberg or Baraka, nor some overt expression of reactionary political commitment à la Eliot or Pound, but rather this gentle thing by a poet I don’t know very well, which I believe I first read here on Tumblr many years ago, and with which I’ll end:

Children of the Age by Wisława Szymborska (trans. Stanisław Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh )

We are children of our age, it’s a political age.

All day long, all through the night, all affairs—yours, ours, theirs— are political affairs.

Whether you like it or not, your genes have a political past, your skin, a political cast, your eyes, a political slant.

Whatever you say reverberates, whatever you don’t say speaks for itself. So either way you’re talking politics.

Even when you take to the woods, you’re taking political steps on political grounds.

Apolitical poems are also political, and above us shines a moon no longer purely lunar. To be or not to be, that is the question. and though it troubles the digestion it’s a question, as always, of politics.

To acquire a political meaning you don’t even have to be human. Raw material will do, or protein feed, or crude oil,

or a conference table whose shape was quarreled over for months: Should we arbitrate life and death at a round table or a square one.

Meanwhile, people perished, animals died, houses burned, and the fields ran wild just as in times immemorial and less political.

By the way, if this poem is truly offensive, please bear in mind that you can’t get Wisława Szymborska fired—because she’s dead! It doesn’t get any more fired than that.)

[more-miserables]

Here We Go: Yates and Ginger on the Run

Hi this is actually @cubeswhump editing on April’s blog. That’s why there’s a title, and why it’s so bad. 

So this is a collab with moi, Cube. We’ve had this planned since even before April’s first whump fic.

Warning for abuse, death, institutionalized slavery, vomiting, trauma response.

The life of a runaway was far from glamorous. Ginger remembered daydreaming while he scrubbed endless floors and windows, picturing himself living with Yates in a calm, peaceful woodland, cradled every night by the soft ferns and leaf litter. 

The city wasn’t calm or safe. Ginger didn’t stop running for a long time, hauling Yates along, until they were both gasping and red in the face. They dipped into a dark alleyway and Ginger ripped off his collar right away, grinning. It felt liberating. He tossed it away gleefully. 

“Get rid of yours too,” he told Yates. 

Yates didn’t react. His eyes were blank, though a steady stream of tears were pouring down his flushed cheeks. Ginger went to remove Yates’s collar himself, sighing. Yates didn’t fight him off, but he whimpered. 

“Look, you can keep it if you really want to. You just can’t wear it, or it’ll be obvious we’re runaways.” He balled up the collar and stuffed it into Yates’s pocket. 

They camped out in the alley that night, curled together under a nest of old newspapers - and that’s where they stayed for the next few days. Yates stayed in his weird catatonic funk, so it was Ginger who had to find them food and clothes and some sort of housing. It was harder than he’d thought. He knew so little about the outside world now. He learned to hang around market stalls, snatching at their displays and then running off with whatever loot he’d managed to grab. 

He couldn’t properly treat his burned palm now. He couldn’t even wash it properly. It soon grew more painful than ever, weeping through the grubby bandages. Then Ginger woke with a fever, and he couldn’t drag himself up to go find food. Yates snapped out of himself enough to cradle Ginger’s burning head in his lap, stroking his hair. 

Ginger peered up at Yates’s pale, grubby face through the fever haze. How would Yates manage if he died now? Maybe Stanley really was dead. Maybe they’d lock Yates up. He didn’t know if pets who committed crimes were refurbished or incarcerated. He pictured Yates stuck in prison all alone, crying for him. He couldn’t die. He could fight off anything. He had to. 

The first time Ginger heard it, he was emerging from a dream where he was being chased by something bulky, heavy. Clomp, clomp. It continued when he woke up but softer. They huddled together frightfully, but the sound became smaller and smaller.

When it came again the next night, Ginger dared to look, and blanched when the figure looked back. It was gone the next night, but the night after that the clomps paused much too close to their hideout. And then they resumed, coming right toward them.

“What is that?” Ginger gasped. 

“Maybe it’s the police,” Yates said shakily. “Because I’m a murderer.” He gave a little sob. 

“You’re not. Stanley just fell,” Ginger declared. 

“Shh!”

The footsteps stopped right in front of them, and a bright light shone in their faces. When Ginger dared give his fiercest glare through his fever-flushed face and squinting, he met big, blue eyes and shimmering glitter.

"Aha! Thought so," said this odd girl, long, black hair nearly touching their faces as she bent right over them. 

“Go away! I… I’ve got a weapon,” Ginger lied as savagely as possible. 

“Do you?” Yates gasped. “Where’d you get that?”

Ginger sighed heavily. 

The snort was too loud for the girl. She set her phone down on the dirty ground, its flashlight shining toward the sky, and sat right in the alleyway with them in her clean jeans.

"Hiya there, Tweedledee and Dum." Her accent was on the brink of familiarity but impossible to place, and nothing like those of Stanley or Ivy or anyone at the facility. "Don't make those faces. We're comrades."

“Those aren’t our names. You must be mistaking us for someone else,” Ginger said. 

Her face changed to something between a laugh and a grimace. "Righto. Mister and Mister fifty-sixty-ten?"

“That’s… not quite our number,” Yates whispered. 

“Shh!” Ginger hissed. “Don’t tell her.”

She paused, tilting her head, then rolled back the sleeve of her big coat.

"See this?" she asked, tapping on one of the big, green serpentine creature wrapping all around her forearm. The sparkly nail touched upon a segment covering her inner wrist. Ginger rubbed his eyes, trying to see clearly. His vision had been wobbly for a while now. She pointed the flashlight at it. 

He frowned. “There’s nothing there..?”

"'Xactly. Numbers aren't forever, love," she said, the bright light dancing around as she pulled her sleeve back down over the tattoo.

“You mean you were one of us?” Yates asked. 

"Bingo," she said, pointing at him. "C'mon, up up. You can get warmed up at my place while I make a few calls, yeah?"

She paused, head tilting to one side. She added, "You're probably not too keen on trusting a stranger, one of your own or not, but Little Red here ain't lookin' so hot, and I don't think you've many options." 

“He isn’t,” Yates said desperately. “I can’t get his temperature to go down. Can you really help us?”

"Yep, sure. You able to walk, Little Red?" She stood up, shining her phone at him. The light also illuminated the height of the platforms of her weather-inappropriate shoes, and it was clear what the clomping was.

“I dunno. Haven’t tried in a couple of days.” Ginger shakily got to his knees, and Yates helped him up the rest of the way. 

"You got it?" she asked.

“I think so.” He paused. “Why’d you wear shoes like that? They look uncomfortable.” Neither Yates nor Ginger had shoes at all, their bare feet cut and filthy. 

"Uniform, of sorts. I don't feel like carrying an extra pair of shoes to put on when I'm done with work."

“What job makes you wear shoes like that?”

"Tell ya later," she said, unzipping her jacket and tossing it to them. Despite the chill, she seemed fine in the tank top underneath. "Anyway, I'm Jamie. You guys got any name preferences for yourself?"

Yates opened his mouth, but Ginger shook his head quickly. Maybe Stanley’s “accident” had been on the news. They didn’t want to be tied to his surname. “Not anymore,” Ginger said. 

She seemed more cautious when they entered a neighborhood, looking at the windows of all the houses. It was nothing like Stanley's neighborhood, junker cars in tiny driveways and people shouting with open doors.

"Well, that's something to think about. You've got plenty of time though."

“We shouldn’t be out in the open,” Ginger hissed. He was still trying to look threatening, though that was difficult to pull off when he was leaning heavily on Yates just to stay standing. 

"No duh, but we don't have much of a choice," she muttered, pulling out a smartphone and typing away on it. "My house isn't far from here."

“Who are you texting? You’re not turning us in, are you? Is this a trick?”

"Can you read? Genuine question, I know lots of us can't. I'll show you the conversation, I'm just telling my mate we're havin' company." 

“I… a little bit. He can’t.” He pointed at Yates. “I’m not good at… being us.”

She held the phone out to Ginger, showing a text conversation with someone called Vivi:

Get bread read a green bubble, and then, And strawberries.

The following white bubble said: I'm already on our street. Needy cunt.

There was another white bubble with a later timestamp, seemingly unrelated to the previous exchange: Bringing some blokes over.

Green: Wtf - followed by a crying face emoji.

White: Chill, they're cool.

“What’s this word?” Ginger asked, pointing to the Wtf message. “There’s no vowels. Why doesn’t it have vowels?”

"Acronym or anagram or something. Each letter stands for a different word, in this case it means 'what the fuck'." 

“Oh. She doesn’t seem too pleased that we’re coming.”

"She's shy, not angry. She'll just hide in her room," Jamie said, pocketing her phone. And she walked down an empty driveway, not allowing them much time to process this response. 

“This is your house?” Ginger asked. He sounded relieved but breathless, his face waxy pale and sweaty. 

"Yep. Mi caso- casa, su casa," she said, trying the doorknob before patting her pockets for the key. She swung it open and kicked off her shoes very loudly, both thumping against a stained wall. She was about the same height as Yates now, possibly smaller if she washed out her hairspray. 

"Hey Vivs!" she yelled to no one in sight. Ginger winced at the noise, closing his eyes against the bright light. Everything hurt. 

"You guys wanna shower?" she asked, and gestured toward the bathroom. "You should prob'ly get cleaned up and then we'll see what we can do about that fever. We prob'ly have some pyjamas that won't fit too terribly." 

“I wanna sleep,” Ginger muttered. It was getting harder for Yates to keep him upright. 

"Uh, sure." She gestured for him to follow as she walked into the tiny living room. The furniture was surprisingly nice, and the TV looked gigantic against the wall. 

"So, do we know what's causin' the fever and general… drowsiness? I haven't heard you coughing or sniffing." Her voice never seemed to lose volume, just as loud as she disappeared through a doorway. 

“I think he has an infection,” Yates said. “He’s got a terrible burn and we couldn’t get it properly treated.”

She appeared again with two glasses of water, setting both on the silver coffee table that was squished in between the sofa and the stand the TV sat on. "Can I take a look?"

“No,” Ginger muttered, looking uncomfortable. “It’s gross.”

"Don't you want me to put somethin' on it until we can have it properly looked at?" 

“Well… The bandages could use a change.”

She paused. "Would you be more comfortable if I gave your buddy the supplies so he can do it?"

“Yes,” Ginger said quickly. “I need him to do it.”

She disappeared in a different direction this time. Cabinets opened and closed with thumps.

"Viv, what shit do I use for an infected burn? Hey, where are bandages?"

Footsteps, this small girl impossibly loud in her bare feet. "What do I use for an infected burn and where do I find it?"

The response, if there was one, was inaudible but after some more thumping, Jamie emerged with a tube of antiseptic and bandages. "One sec, I'll get you soap and water. Oh, a towel too. Vivien says to wash first and pat it dry, then…"

She went on as she disappeared into the kitchen. Yates tried to follow her and Ginger stumbled, not expecting the movement. They ended up in a heap on the carpet. 

"No, I'll get a bowl! Wait!" She reached toward them as if to just yank up two grown men, but she stopped herself. She straightened out and offered a hand instead. 

Yates went to take it, but then Ginger bent over and puked on the carpet. Yates’s face crumpled and he quickly positioned himself in front of Ginger, hunching over him protectively. “I’m sorry! It’s not his fault. He’s been vomiting for the past few days.”

"Uh, yeah, that happens." She was suddenly a bit quieter, smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Yeah, I'm gonna… can I help you get him on the sofa?" 

“Please. I can’t… I don’t think he can stand anymore.” Yates was near tears. “He’s been like this for a while and I hate that I can’t do anything. He tries to push himself for me but then this happens.”

The corner of her lip twitched. "I get that."

She knelt down and gripped Ginger under his arms, dragging him up. Her brows knitted together, teeth grit, but she managed to frog march him to the sofa and forced him into a sitting position. Yates sat beside him and held his shoulders when he started slumping forwards. Ginger was barely conscious now, his eyes glazed and half-closed. 

The hours were a blur, soap and antiseptic and coaxing painkillers and water down Ginger's throat while he was still pliable. Jamie was all over the place but the faceless Vivien never made an appearance. By the time they’d finished, Ginger was asleep - or unconscious. 

And then Yates was stirring, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. When did he fall asleep, and how long? It was almost pitch black save for a light from the hall.

After a quick check that Ginger was still breathing, he heard it: mumbled voices from down that hall. He carefully moved off the sofa, silent in his bare feet, and crept towards the noise and the light. He peered through the crack in the door. 

"Just- okay," Jamie said, trying to control her volume as it started to rise. "If you're goin' to be fookin' useless, just give me David's number."

"What's she saying?" This voice was unfamiliar, and effortlessly quieter than Jamie's. "Jamie, what's she saying?"

"She thinks a phone call will put her safehouse in danger. She's worked with countless o' us and she's too chickenshit to take on a pair that's got in a bitta trouble. What? Murderer? Marianne, that's blimey unfair to call him that! Just give us David's number!"

Yates started shaking at the word. Murderer murderer murderer. Was Stanley dead then? Did people know about it already? He hadn’t really meant to push Stanley - or he hadn’t planned it, at least. When Stanley had been ranting and raving about how he was going to split him and Ginger up, something in Yates just snapped. Stanley was hovering right there, tantalisingly close to the perilous staircase. He pushed without thinking. But he’d still pushed. He was a murderer. 

"Jamie, they'll hear you! You're so loud!"

"Mar, just… Vivi, can you go check on them?"

"No fear!"

Yates was trying to stay quiet, but murderer was still spinning in his head. A little whimper slipped out before he could stop it. 

There was a beat of silence that seemed to last for hours. 

"Hold on, gimme a sec. And you better not fookin' hang up."

The door opened slowly. A girl with a puff of frizzy brown hair and gigantic eyes stared from the bed, but she faded to the background. The girl standing before him was almost unrecognizable with her black hair lying limply and makeup washed off; no contouring giving the impression of high cheekbones, eyebrows and eyelashes almost nonexistent at a glance for they were so pale. But the voice was unmistakably Jamie.

"Hey, so you heard that. That's fair, it is your business, but… this prob'ly wasn't the best way to start the discussion."

“You promised you wouldn’t turn us in,” Yates gasped. He felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out, and he gasped frantically. “You said you were on our side! But now they’ll come for us and split us up.”

"No one's turnin' anyone in. Come sit down, you look ready to faint."

“I h-heard you say it. You called me murderer,” Yates whispered. 

"No, I was sayin' that you're not, I know the kinda circumstances…"

“We’ve got nowhere to go,” Yates said, starting to sob frantically. “I don’t know what to do!”

"Listen, listen. There's people who help us when we escape. There are places for us to stay. And I'm tryin' to get you to one of these safehouses so you'll be safe."

“You promise?” Yates wept. “You won’t split us up either?”

"No way. Vivien and I met in a safehouse, didn't we?" Jamie asked, and the frizzy-haired girl gave a jerky nod. "They're fine, way better than what we left. No owners, none o' that shit."

“Will they help Ginger’s hand?” He gasped. “Oh, I said his name!”

"Ginger?" She raised her invisible eyebrows, snorting humorlessly. "I was interchangeably Blondie and Bimbo. Yeah, they'll help him. They'll have all the right medications." 

“I don’t think he likes his name much. He says we can choose our own now,” Yates said. “But I don’t think that’s allowed.”

"Come in, sit," she said, practically forcing him to sit on the bed, as Vivien retreated from the room. "Who says it's not allowed?" 

“Everyone…” he mumbled. “Everyone in training and Stanley and Ivy.” Yates wasn’t too good at this lying low business. 

"So? You're not pets anymore. I named me Jamie."

“Why Jamie?”

"Dunno. Felt right. Not too girly, not too boy-ee, short and simple, straight to the point." 

“Did your owners name you first?”

"One, not owners. Slave drivers. Two, kind of, as I said earlier. Not a proper name, just…" She pulled a face, and put on a deeper, plummy voice. "''Come here, Blondie!' 'Don't drop that, Bimbo!'"

“Stanley called me by his surname. He could be so kind to me,” Yates mumbled, fingering the collar still in his pocket. 

The phone on the bed vibrated. Jamie picked it up and looked at it as she talked. "Tell me, Curls. Should a human have possession of another human?"

“I…” He winced as his head throbbed and he reverted back to the phrases drilled into him in training. “That’s none of my concern. I just have to work diligently and follow orders.”

"Why? Why do you have to do that and not, say, Stanley? Think about it, I got this schmuck's number." 

“Schmuck?” He didn’t recognise that word. Was it bad?

"I don't know the origins but yeah, it's derogatory. I like to think of it as a mix o' shit and fuck but there's an m, so I dunno."

“You have his number?” Yates started shaking again, biting his lip. What did she mean? He’d had a number before, him and Ginger. Was this David one of them too?

"Yeah? His mobile? He's this big money agent of sorts, he's not so bad actually but ya know, rich people." 

“Sorry, yes, of course. It just… started to feel real,” Yates mumbled dazedly. “And you’re sure he’s good? He won’t turn us in?”

"Nah, he has a huge network for pet lib. Uh, pet liberation. He helps us get free. He doesn't run a safehouse, he's too much in the public eye so he'd get caught, but he, like, funds a bunch and I think his son runs one. If I ring him he'll know where to place you." 

“Can’t we just stay here with you?” Jamie was the first person to treat them kindly since… well, as long as Yates could remember. 

"You can come and visit, I'd love that. We're mates now, right? But you guys need medical care, therapy, shit you won't get here. Plus I work nights six days a week and Vivien, much as I love her, won't be a great hostess to you two." 

“But we can visit? Definitely?”

"Yeah, and if David tells me where you are I'll visit too." 

Yates smiled; it was very weak, but it was his first real smile in days. 

It was almost peaceful - almost - with the orange-pink light of the rising sun filling the room, a steaming cup of watery hot chocolate in his hands, a cartoon playing on the TV, him and Ginger getting a good night of sleep for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The anxiety was still there as Jamie murmured to an unseen stranger on the phone, occasionally peeking out of the kitchen to check on him, and the uncertainty surrounding Ginger's fever and bandaged hand. 

Jamie came out at last, the rectangular outline of her phone in her baggy pyjama pants. She grinned and gave him a thumbs up, perching on the arm of the couch. 

“Is it all fixed?” he whispered, hardly daring to hope. 

"Yep. Says he'll be sendin' someone promptly, his words. Hopefully you get someone fun, my Marianne was such a fussy grandma." 

“I don’t think Ginger would like fussy people.”

"Let's cross our fingers, bud." She crossed her fingers for him to see. "But you won't be placed with anyone bad, I promise."

“Okay…” Yates still didn’t look too sure. He stuck close to Jamie, following her around like a puppy. He jumped violently when there was a soft knock on the door sometime later.

Jamie glanced toward the door, and over at Yates. 

"Think that's your ride."

[bestcandles]

The 10 Best Aromatherapy Candles of 2021

Fragrance based treatment candles have a unique method of changing the space where we reside—and it's not all in our mind. Albeit more examination is required, a few investigations recommend that fragrance based treatment—or the utilization of regular plant concentrates to advance wellbeing and prosperity—can be a viable method to ease wretchedness manifestations, further develop rest quality, and decrease by and large pressure levels.1

Each plant impacts the human body and its faculties in an unexpected way, however the right mixes of fixings can give genuine help to those needing unwinding and self-care.

As we as a whole explore altogether distressing and uneasiness initiating times, the least we can accomplish for ourselves is bring clean fragrant healing candles into our homes. Go on—light that wick, subside into a comfortable seat, and let the force of fundamental oils float through the air.

Here are the best fragrant healing candles available.

Our Top Picks

Best Overall: Craft and Kin Fresh Linen Candle at Amazon

Made with soy wax and fundamental oils, it consumes neatly for quite a long time and fills your home with the perfect measure of aroma.

Best Budget: MRS. MEYER'S CLEAN DAY Scented Soy Aromatherapy Candle at Amazon

Made with brutality free, inexhaustible fixings like soy wax, vegetable wax, and cotton wicks, they're presented in signature aromas.

Best Natural: Lulu Candles Natura Belgium Lavender Candle at Amazon

Really spotless, biodegradable, and loaded up with the fragrance of valid lavender.

Best Splurge: L'or de Seraphine Premium Scented Jar Candle at Lordeseraphine.com

The fired compartment makes for a scaled down piece of craftsmanship while the actual candle emits relieving and inspiring energies.

Best Scent: Anecdote Candles Comfort Zone at Anecdotecandles.com

The embodiment of tranquility, with notes of cedarwood, espresso, orange bloom, vanilla, and patchouli.

Best for Smaller Rooms: Wild Beautiful Free Peace Gorilla Luxury Candle at Amazon

Restricted area requires a somewhat subtler flame, like this lavender and vanilla mix.

Best for Larger Rooms: Klayre Essence Sandalwood Rose Scented Soy Candle at Amazon

Premium aromas are slyly mixed to make its impeccably adjusted sandalwood rose fragrance.

Best With Botanicals: New Moon Beginnings Peaceful Home Candle at Amazon

This light genuinely brings a feeling of sorcery and good energy into your consecrated individual space.

Best Small Batch: Way Out West Aromatherapy Scented Candles at Amazon

Fills your home with perfect and relieving aromas that wait well after you've blown the flame out.

Best Gift Set: Wax and Oils Soy Wax Aromatherapy Scented Candles at Amazon

This adjustable set permits you to give three impeccably matched fragrances in one recyclable box.

Best Overall: Craft and Kin Fresh Linen Candle

Specialty and Kin makes 100% regular, hand-poured fragrant healing candles solely in the United States. Made with soy wax, a cotton wick, and fundamental oils, the candles consume neatly for quite a long time upon hours, filling your home with the perfect measure of fragrance. They come in lovely golden gold glasses that add a pleasant touch to any home stylistic layout. We are inclined toward the new cloth fragrance, which emits a perfect clothing smell, yet you really can't turn out badly with any of them.

Best Budget: MRS. MEYER'S CLEAN DAY Scented Soy Aromatherapy Candle

This well known cleaning item producer offers candles in its unique fragrances. The candles are made with sustainable fixings—like soy wax, vegetable wax, and cotton wicks. Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day doesn't utilize fundamental oils because of their flimsiness when delivered in enormous groups, yet it utilizes engineered scents that are consistent with rules from the International Fragrance Association and the Research Institute for Fragrance Materials.

With a 35-hour consume time, these brutality free candles make for a decent expansion to your home and leave you with a charming reusable glass container.

Best Natural: Lulu Candles Natura Organic Soy Vegan Wax Belgium Lavender Candle

Nothing brings you into nature very like the smell of true lavender—and the information that you're consuming a truly perfect and biodegradable light. This pick from Lulu Candles Natura line is made altogether of veggie lover soy wax, unadulterated natural fundamental oils, and unbleached, sans lead cotton wicks.

Liberated from poisons, phthalates, paraffin, parabens, and colors, this candle can assist you with focusing less with regards to the wellbeing of your home and Zen out with the fragrance of calming lavender.

Best Splurge: L'or de Seraphine Premium Scented Candle in Designer Ceramic Jar

Assuming you need to go all out with your fragrant healing flame assortment, look at these superior scented container candles from L'or de Seraphine. The earthenware holder makes for a little piece of craftsmanship in your home while the actual light occupies your space with the perfect measure of fragrance.

The candle is made with a mix of reasonably sourced palm waxes, unadulterated fundamental oils, and 100% natural cotton wicks. They are liberated from parabens and phthalates, and the biggest candles make some consume memories of 80 hours. Every one scents astounding, yet we are inclined toward Fragrance No. 07, a relieving and inspiring mix of ocean salt, violet, and vetiver.

Best Scent: Anecdote Candles Comfort Zone

Add an additional a portion of unwinding to your home with a candle from Anecdote. Their Comfort Zone Candle is the encapsulation of quietness with notes of cedarwood, espresso, orange bloom, vanilla, and patchouli. Depicted on the container as "smells like the delight of passing up a major opportunity," this flame is the ideal aroma for those comfortable evenings inside.

The entirety of Anecdote's candles are made with a mix of coconut and soy waxes, and they are liberated from added substances and additives. Accessible in a 7.8-ounce standard container or 3.4-ounce travel tin size, you can pick the right size for you. Furthermore, since they offer a wide assortment of special fragrances, they make the ideal presents for your friends and family.

Best for Smaller Rooms: Wild Beautiful Free Peace Gorilla Luxury Candle

Restricted area requires a marginally subtler flame, like this lavender and vanilla mix from Wild Beautiful Free. Ideal for your bedside table or Zen office space, the candle is made with natural coconut wax, a natural cotton wick, and unadulterated fragrant healing grade lavender and vanilla fundamental oils.

Furthermore, it's hand-filled a wonderful 24-karat-gold, elephant-stepped glass that can be reused once the flame is no more. Made in the United States, this 7.5-ounce candle makes some consume memories of 60 hours.

Best for Larger Rooms: Klayre Essence Sandalwood Rose Scented Soy Candle

Hold nothing back, correct? This 8-ounce Klayre Essence flame isn't the biggest on our rundown, however it effectively fills your home with the most loosening up fragrance. Its normal soy wax base is produced using American-developed soybeans, and it utilizes eco-accommodating cotton for the wick to consume for 40 hours.

Even better, premium aromas are shrewdly mixed to make its impeccably adjusted sandalwood rose fragrance. High quality in the United States, the candle is vegetarian and pitilessness free, and it's made without parabens or phthalates.

Best With Botanicals: New Moon Beginnings Peaceful Home Candle

In case you are delicate to the energy of your home, this New Moon Beginnings candle is the best pick for you. Made with regular eco-soy wax, helpful grade fundamental oils, sans lead cotton wicks, local natural spices, and a cautious curation of true precious stones, this candle honestly brings a feeling of enchantment and good energy into your hallowed individual space.

The rosemary, eucalyptus, and mint aroma blend immediately makes a quieting and stress-mitigating air.

Best Small Batch: Way Out West Aromatherapy Scented Candles

Love the mother and-pop shop feel of specific candlemakers? Then, at that point you need to look at these great finds from Way Out West Candles. Little bunch created for over 30 years, these fragrance based treatment candles are produced using a characteristic soy wax mix, unadulterated fundamental oils, and without lead cotton wicks. Every 17-ounce container gives 60 hours of consume time, filling your home with spotless and relieving scents that wait well after you've blown the light out.

While there is a wide collection of aromas to look over, you can't turn out badly with the exemplary Fields of Lavender smell. Each container makes for a kitschy piece of home stylistic theme that can be repurposed after the existence of the first flame.

Best Gift Set: Wax and Oils Soy Wax Aromatherapy Scented Candles

Candles make amazing presents for fragrant healing sweethearts, and this adjustable set from Wax and Oils permits you to give three impeccably matched aromas in a single box. Every 8-ounce flame arrives in a protected metal tin, and the actual candles are produced using non-GMO soy wax and unadulterated cotton wicks.

The dissolving point of the wax guarantees a spotless, residue free consume that keeps going over 20 hours for every tin. We track down the lavender, vanilla, and peppermint eucalyptus mix to be especially mitigating and an ideal present for anybody in your life.

[hollands-poppet]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied // Epilogue // Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom Holland is your best friend and your roommate, but you both have undisclosed feelings for each other.

Word count: 3.5K💛

A/N: Hello again!! I honestly thought I would never finish this story but I did....I can’t believe it. I want to thank @ladybirduris​ for really pushing me to finish this story, y’all deserve a proper ending and here it is..even though the wait was long! Alright, enjoy..see you at the end!!! 

Warnings: Italics is flashback, cussing, I kind of proofread but not really, maybe some tissues? 

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

“I feel like I can actually be in a room alone, you know? No fear, no anxiety.” Y/N remarks as she updates her therapist on the last couple of weeks. She had been seeing her shrink for about a year now.

“It’s been a tough road but I feel so much better. I feel like I can actually take over the world now.” Her hand grips her right knee, she holds it tightly almost as a pinch to remind herself she’s not floating from her excitement.

Y/N had been sort of high on life lately, she’s gotten really good press for collabing with Haus Labs and she’s being recognized by a lot of celebrities for her makeup work. She didn’t know that life could be this good, considering the fact that her life was a mess a year ago. She knew life was unpredictable but didn’t know that she could live life comfortably so soon.

Her therapist responds with a nod, “Have you found a place to live yet?” They scribble some notes while keeping their contact with her client.

Y/N giggles, “What can I say? I’m a gypsy. My belongings are at my mom’s home but I bounce everywhere.” It was true, she was busier than ever and she just never got around to getting her own place. And she honestly felt like she didn’t need one at this current point of her life, she didn’t want to anchor herself to a permanent place just yet.

She felt so liberated the day she moved out of her old apartment. It felt like whatever negative energy had been latched onto her and wasn’t letting her live a normal life had stayed behind in that place. Her anxiety and depression, her neediness stayed at the place where her intruder had robbed her of her peace of mind. It took time but her peace eventually made its way back to her.

“So… what’s next for you, Y/N?”

Y/N takes a deep breath while tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “ I don’t know..something different. I feel like I can take on the world, you know?”

Her therapist nodded with genuine happiness for her and began to look through her notes, “It’s been a good year Y/N, but I have to ask...anything in the past you feel like you want to go back to?”

Y/N purses her lips in thought, she’s taken herself to the day she decided she wanted help. So many memories, an overwhelming moment floods her thoughts.

-

“We can’t, Tom.” She doesn’t move, not even an inch because the warmth feels nice and familiar. She’s weary of even giving into a hug or a kiss, she doesn’t want to regret her decision.

He notices her not wanting to give into him but he also knows that this is what she has wanted for a long time..actually what they both have wanted for the longest time.

“Come on, love…aren’t you tired of dancing with our hands tied?” He asks as his hands rest on her neck, and her hands slowly come up his.

Her head comes closer to his, their noses touching at this point, “I am tired..but I need to work on myself first.”

Their lips touched and it felt like nothing had ever gone wrong between the two. They were just two young kids who wanted only this and this moment to last forever.

She pulls away and her sighs, she needs to express a bit more before any of this goes further, “Tom..I just want you to know that I can’t move to Kingston…”

He nods in agreement as their noses are still intact, “That’s okay, love. You don’t-”

“But, I do. I really do want to move there and be with you.” She bites her bottom lip as her hands hold onto arms tightly, “I just need to make sure I’m okay..And I don’t know if that’ll be tomorrow, a week, a month, a year.” There is a pause between the two, she’s nervous. All she wanted was this to work and whether that meant they had to work on themselves separately or together.

All y/n wanted to make sure was that he made her heart feel safe, and that if this wasn’t okay that he needed to tell her that. All she wanted to hear was that it was going to be okay, and his response was only a few moments away. She hoped he didn’t run away this time.

“Hey, if the universe wants us to be together...then we’re going to be together.” Toms says defeated, he wanted nothing but the best for the girl he loves. He watched the tears roll down her cheeks, he brings his hand to her cheeks and wipes her tears away. He gives out a sad smile, “I’m gonna let you go.”

Y/N’s tears flow even faster now, it was a bittersweet moment. He was respecting her wishes but she didn’t want to leave him. He continues, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m always going to be here for you, I will always want you.”

She feels comforted by his words, and she was relieved by his willingness to wait for her but she couldn’t do that to him. “You don’t have to wait for him, Tom.”

He looks into her Y/E/C eyes, he’s grasping in what he knows is going to be one of the last moments he is going to have with her for a while. He clears his throat, the ball in his throat causing him to choke up a bit.

A tear finally escapes his eye, “We’re endgame, darling.” They both let out a laugh, he relieves the tension by making a cheesy, yet serious statement.

Y/N nods, her sobs making the most noise in the room. “Okay..endgame it is.” She gives a crooked smile and he gives her one back.

Without hesitation, both of their lips meet. Tom and Y/N take each other in for a few minutes, they didn’t know what the future held for them but now it was goodbye.

-

She sighs through reliving all of the past with just a few seconds, “I don’t know, a year ago I would’ve said yes in heart beat but now… I’m not so sure.”

Her therapist gives her a reassuring smile, “And that’s okay. As long as your progress and your happiness isn’t going to be jeopardized then that’s okay to take time to figure that out.”

Y/N takes in their comment, she didn’t know what she wanted to do now. She is in such a different place than she was a year ago.

“I don’t want to keep you here all day, so we’ll finish here but let’s get together for an update in six months, okay?” Her therapist remarks as she writes down the future date on an appointment card.

“For sure.” Y/N says, six months was far from this moment but she knew it would fly by just like this year did.

-

-

It had been about a month or so since her final therapy session and Y/N’s progress was kept, she was very happy. She felt normal finally, whatever that meant.

She had just finished doing Priyanka Chopra’s makeup for an event, a sweet client that Y/N had just started to work with. Y/N had left the hotel that she had just done her appointment in, throwing her kit of makeup into the lyft that had been waiting outside.

Just as she closes the trunk, she feels her phone begin to vibrate in her pocket. She decides to let it ring and gets into the car, a tired sigh escaping her mouth.

She felt like her phone had been vibrating forever, so she decided to just answer it. Without even giving her screen much of a look and seeing the contact, she answers the call, “Hello, this is Y/N.”

“Hey, Y/N! It’s Z!”

Y/N’s heart dropped, she hadn't seen or spoken to Zendaya that day she had dipped from the shooting Far From Home. She and Zendaya didn’t end off on good or a bad note, she just left. She needed help and she went to get it, and it’s not like she avoided Z because she was resentful. She just felt like her toxic behavior at the time had pushed her best friend away.

“Z- oh my god. I- how are you?”

“I’m good, Y/N. I miss you.” Z remarks, she’s lying in her bed with Noon while her laptop rests on the edge of her bed.

Y/N is trying to process her thoughts at the same speed of their conversation, “I- I miss you too. I wasn’t expecting this phone call today, sorry if I’m a little speechless.” There was a long pause, they hadn’t spoken for a year and it had hit both of them hard.  

This was a lot to process, Y/N couldn’t believe this was happening.

“I understand. How are you, Y/N?”  Z breaks the silence, she couldn’t pick up her friend’s vibe through the phone yet. She never held anything against her friend for leaving, Z really believed in mental health and it was important that she got help for her mind, body and soul.

Y/N sighs, “I’m okay… okay as in great. I just finished treatment not too long ago so I'm excited  to just move on with my life. Life is good right now.”

Zendaya smiles, she sits up in her bed adjusting herself to go a little deeper in the conversation. “That’s really amazing news, Y/N. I’m glad you took care of yourself and you did what you had to do.”

Y/N nods but forgets that Z can’t see her reaction, “Yeah, it was- I’m sorry for everything. Just know that my trauma was taking over me. I never meant to hurt you in anyway.”

“I understand, I was scared to call but I’m happy I did. I never blamed you for anything.”  Z exhales nervously before continuing, “I would love to see you, Y/N.”

Y/N smiles, “I-I’m ready to see you... I would love to see you.”

Zendaya giggles, “You know, it still might be too soon but I’m working on a show and I feel like you would kill the makeup looks!”

Y/N laughs at her friend's quick insert for trying to get her a job, “Ah, two birds, one stone. I see, Miss Zendaya.”

They both let out a laugh, Y/N knew Z’s intentions were all good and she probably just wanted to spend time with her again.

“No - but seriously. It’s called Euphoria and the makeup ideas floating around are so dope! You would honestly kill it.

Y/N sits in thought, it’s been a whole year since she and Z had done anything together. “It sounds fun but-”

“Please, please Y/N! You can’t say no!”

Y/N laughs, “How about we talk about it when we see each other?”

Fine.” Z says quickly with a pout. “Oh, my god! Please tell me you’re free this weekend!”

Y/N closes her eyes and thinks about her schedule, “Um, I might be free I think. Why, whats up?”

Z gets excited, she starts speaking so fast Y/N can barely catch up with what she is saying. “We’re doing press this Saturday for Far From Home at Disneyland! You should totally come!”

Y/N forgot she had even worked on that movie. A lot of wild stuff happened during that shoot that she completely blocked that movie from her mind.

There was another bit of a pause and Z took it as maybe Y/N wasn’t vibing, “Look, I understand if you’re not ready-”

“No, I am. I am so over it. I’ll come, I miss Disneyland as much as I miss you.”

Z squeals, “Oh my gosh, yes! Yay! I can’t wait to see you, Y/N.”

Y/N honestly can’t wait to see her best friend either, “Hey, I’m going to let you go here, I’m pulling up to my mom’s house. Send me more info for this weekend when you can.”

“Alright, Y/N, I will. I love you. Bye,bye.”

“I love you, too.” Y/N says right before she hangs up the phone. She lets out a breathy laugh because she can’t believe she had just spoken to Zendaya. She couldn’t believe that they hadn’t spoken in a year. It felt almost the same, she would see how everything would go when she sees her for the press junket.

As Y/N sat in her thoughts, it hit her hard that Tom would be at this press junket too. Oh, shit.

-

-

The days leading up to the day Y/N was going to Disneyland was nerve wracking. There has been so much progress and she was scared her nerves would wreck it all.

Maybe she felt scared that Tom would have moved on already. They were at first just roommates turned lovers turned….friends?

Could that be a thing? She didn’t know what to expect, how do you be friends with someone you were once in love with… or still in love with?

Y/N didn’t even go back to their apartment that they had once shared together to get her things, he shipped everything to her mom’s house. At the end of the day, she knew whatever was going to happen was out of her control. But Tom did say that if they were meant to be together, it would happen.

The nerves running through her body were making her palms sweat as she sat on the tram on the way to the park. So many scenarios of how this could go down but she truly had no idea. She got off the tram with the rest of the crowd, and had given Darnell, Zendaya’s assistant, a call because she had her backstage pass. Y/N’s nerves were still really high because this moment was a year in the making.

Darnell met up Y/N at the front gates of California Adventure, they caught a bit and he explained that the cast was going to surprise fans and film some promos. Her anxiety was shooting through the roof as she makes her way through the backstage section of the park but she never felt like more in the right place than she did right now.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Y/N turns around and sees her friend standing right behind her, “Z!!”

With no hesitation, the girls are in each other’s arms. It was one of those moments that fels so right, and it didn’t even feel like the two hadn’t seen each other in a year.

Z pulls back bringing her hands to Y/N’s cheeks, “You look so good! Oh my god, you look amazing!” She pulls Y/N in for another hug which Y/N doesn’t mind, she missed moments like this with Z.

Y/N pulls away, “Thanks, babes! You look so good, too!”

Z does a little pose showing off her look, “Law killed it as per usual!”

They both laugh, “Agreed!” Y/N lets out while tucking her hair hand behind her ear. “So, what are you guys doing now?”

“We actually just finished filming with some fans and took photos. They’re pretty much going to film us going on rides because they need B-roll.”

Y/N nods, “Sounds fun. What were you planning on getting on?”

Z grabs a churro from Darnell, “Well Jacob headed back to the hotel because he doesn’t do rides but Tom wanted to ride Guardians first.”

Fuck, Y/N had already completely forgotten that he was here too. “Z, I-I’m so nervous to see him.” Y/N rubs her palm sweat on her jeans and bites her lip to help calm her jitters.

Zendaya licks the sugar off of her lips, “He hasn’t stopped talking about you..” There is a slight pause only because Y/N was lost in her thought process.

“If you’re not comfortable we can go, the fans only care about Tom anway.”

“You’re not chickening out are you now, Zendaya?” A familiar voice asks and immediately causes Y/N’s heart to beat 10x faster than it already was.

Zendaya turns around and that’s when Y/N she comes into Tom’s full view. This is the first time he had since Y/N that day she left. Sure, he had seen and lightly stalked her instagram here and there but this was the real thing. Time literally stopped, everyone and everything had become frozen in time.

The only noise that can be heard is the theme park music, their eyes locked onto one another.

Y/N makes the first step towards him, and doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him. His arms wrap around her just as quickly as hers did. As much as Y/N’s leaving was growth, it was a learning experience for him too.

He was able to focus on himself and his work but it would be a lie to say time apart from Y/N was difficult. He pulls away, “I missed you so much.” Y/N didn’t even speak, she didn’t have to and just

as the two are about to kiss-

“Alright, lets go. You guys can catch up on the way to Guardians.” Zendaya interrupts.

The two looked at each other and they noticed they were drawing a bit of too much attention from the crew around them.

It was a little bittersweet but catching up sounded nice too. Zendaya and Darnell led the group while the camera crew followed them to every ride. It was a bit hectic but security was able to keep the guests and fans at a good distance.

While the cameras weren’t rolling, Y/N and Tom updated each other on their lives. They both mentioned how they were doing, what they were working on. It was all good vibes, it felt like nothing had changed except that Y/N was leading what calls a “normal” life now.

It had been a really fun day, a draining one as well. Y/N wanted to hang around the park a little bit longer to watch the sunset at Paradise pier. Zendaya and the crew left the park, they were drained but Tom stayed behind with Y/N.

Y/N and Tom stand at the bridge of pier overlooking the view, the ferris wheel and the rides behind adding a very romantic vibe.

“I’m truly happy for you, Y/N. I really am.” Tom says as he looks at the girl next to him.

She smiles while keeping her eyes on the sunset, “You know..I really didn’t want to leave you that day.”

He looks back over at the direction of the ferris wheel, “I know.”

Y/N sighs, “I honestly was scared to lose you.” The sun begins to disappear, the lights of the ferris wheel and park lights shoot up around them.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to come because I was scared that- I was scared that this was going to be different but just being here and seeing you…”

They both look at each other and she continues, “It just feels like home, you know?”

He nods in agreement, “My feelings haven’t changed Y/N.”

She blushes, “So what now?” She asks as she presses her lips.

He shrugs his shoulders, “Well, what is it that you want?”

Y/N turns to Tom, “This year has been soo good to me. I’ve been able to grow, feel like I’m in control of my own life but some things…”

The two turn their heads from the view and to each other’s eyes, “Some people were missing.”

A quick silence between them, nothing changed except for Y/N and this was a better version of herself, “I’m so much better than I was and all I want is to keep growing with you, Tom. I never stopped loving you. I love you, Tom.”

“I know what I want...I want what I wanted a year ago and that’s still you. I love you, Y/N.”

He brings his hand to her cheek and begins to pull her in for a kiss until she stops him, “What did you say that night before I left? Let’s stop Dancing with Our Hands Tied, Tom.”  

Tom laughs and brings her head in closer, their noses are touching. “Shut up, Y/N.”

They both laugh and without reluctance, both of their lips meet for the first time in forever and it felt like home to both of them. He pulls away and keeps her close in his arms, “I’m glad you came back to me, YN.” 

-

-

A/N: THE END. OMFG. ANOTHER STORY COME TO AN END. I just want to thank y’all for sticking with those story for as long as you guys did. I wanted to give Y/N and Tom a proper ending... I can’t believe it’s over. Please send me your thoughts, I love you guys!!! -Amy 💛

[ahlis-xiv]

journal entries: no. 50.2

The sound of the bathroom door opening caught his attention first as Ahlis emerged from the bath. Her hands were bunched up within a towel as she continued to dry her hair, the rest of her dressed in the offerings of clothes he had set aside earlier. There wasn’t much to give, truth be told, and he hoped she did not mind it. Ahlis had little in the ways of effects left behind within the manor, but he made due with personal items of his own. The nightshirt, while obviously too large for her more slender frame, did the job of granting her modesty as he watched her quietly approach; it could almost pose as a gown were she a few ilms shorter.

A quick smile came to his face as he noted the way she looked at him; Ahlis must have seen him staring so he stood from his chair at the lounging table where a set of freshly made tea was placed.

“The bath was to your liking, I hope?” He asked, returning back to his seat and taking the teapot carefully into his hands as he began to pour.

“Aye,” she replied and released her hair from the towel. Moving towards the other side of the small table she relaxed into the opposite chair, sighing only until her body met the soft cushion with said towel draped in a lump within her lap. “I needed that.”

Aymeric’s smile grew, softening at the way she began to ease more and more while in his company.  Rare was to have a moment to witness her in anything less than her armor; even more rare was to have her stay within his home and partake of his hospitality.

Yet was that not to be expected? He wished to believe it so, despite how much it felt like a dream-come-to-life in the time following the fighting at Ghimlyt. To think that the reality that she would come to him—unannounced, free, and willing—and utterly outside of any obligation or expectation as the Warrior of Light, but out of affection. And, perhaps even...

“Aymeric?”

“Ah,” he said softly with a blink. The tea had been forgotten for a moment and he realized that his own cup had yet to be filled, which he began to rectify now that his train of thought had been broken.

“Are you all right? You...seem preoccupied.”

His smile deepened, if anything to reassure her. With tea now in hand, liberally adding syrup to his own, he could feel his mind recenter itself with the warmth of his cup. 

“Indeed I am, yet pleasantly so. Forgive me if I appeared inattentive.”

Ahlis made a noise in her amusement as she brought the tea to her lips, eyes remaining on him as she did so.

“And what has you so pleasantly distracted?”

“The woman before me, having tea and lounging in my garments.”

“Oh, you.” Ahlis’s eyes turned to the heavens, yet her exasperation wasn’t entirely genuine; her smile remained intact after all. “I haven’t been away so long, have I?”

Aymeric took a moment to regard his own cup of tea in his hands and the sudden swell of his heart. To be truthful of the matter, he had missed her dreadfully. It was a kind of toil made in solitude—a sort of hurt that he was both unused to and had no one to confess to—that he bore in silence where the perseverance towards his duties were the only solace he had. In the mountains of paperwork and the hours passed within meetings Aymeric dared to think he could lessen the ache she left in her wake, and it did; he could distract himself somewhat only for it to rush back to him the moment he could spare a brief glance outside his office window or in the night as he fought to find sleep in a bed that now felt far too empty.

He took a drink as if to douse away the last of such feeling thoughts as if they did not matter. These thoughts didn’t matter, not here, now with Ahlis returned to the city, and to him. After all, they had much to catch up on, a task Aymeric was quite eager to begin. That is until he saw Ahlis rise up from her seat, tea placed down and forgotten on the tabletop. Her movement silenced him as he watched her approach to his side, her hand wordlessly reaching for his face; he felt Ahlis briefly touch his cheek with a finger, curled with the knuckle pressed against his skin.

“Perhaps we should retire early,” she chanced to say, voice tentative.

It was a temptation; as much as he wished for her caress to continue soothing him much remained unsaid between them and almost as many reasons not to speak of them. Yet he worried, for her sake, even when she refused him.

“I have missed you,” Aymeric said quietly as his own hand reached for hers against his face. “Yet much has transpired since we last seen one another. I have seen how some of it has taken its toll as well.” A pause, his fingers tightening for a moment as they held her. “Will you not speak more of it to me?”

Aymeric watched as her eyes shifted away from him, her expression shifting and pensive. He couldn’t fault her reticence. Understanding had to be nurtured somehow: to feel such vulnerability was a risk he hoped Ahlis would take.

“Where to begin...” She sighed as a short laugh escaped her. “Just thinking about how everything started. It’s like some sort of dream, and it is everything but...a dream.”

Ahlis pulled herself away from his side and he let her, the hand that only a moment ago he held within his own brushing against the pale, faded hair that now adorned her crown. She didn’t move far, just to a nearby window shrouded by heavily woven curtains which she pushed back from the glass. The panes were partially clouded with crystalline ice and misty with condensation; her eyes attempted to gaze out into the beyond. The sky was obscured by flurries and a low, heavy cloud cover: the very picture of a dreary and typical evening in Ishgard. The chill that radiated from the window bit through what little protection her garment provided, but Ahlis couldn’t find the urge to turn away. It was familiar to her, this frigid cold; she dared to consider it comforting.

How ironic, the one place that had given her such suffering before now brought her a touch of peace, much of which belonged to the one that quietly approached to her back. He said nothing, instead letting the warmth of his arm to drape carefully around her shoulder. She no longer wished to be reluctant—not with him—over the thoughts and feelings she was so accustomed to shouldering on her own. But this? It felt nearly insurmountable.

“We might need something more than tea if I’m to tackle this tonight.”

“And what, pray tell, were you considering?” Aymeric wondered aloud as he pondered their options. There was the brandy he always kept in the cabinet…

“Coffee,” Ahlis said as she turned to him again, expectant. “A bit unusual of a request, but this may very well take all evening.”

For once Aymeric found himself thankful that he did not, in fact, offer the stronger choice of drink; it made him chuckle to see her be so frank.

“To the pantry then. We may have to do some searching as I am unsure how much stock we truly have.”

“I’ll laugh at you if we can’t find any. Some of the best food I’ve ever had has come out of this place and yet there’s no coffee? I suppose most of the food stuff allowance went towards your lovely wine cellar. Which I still have yet to see, you know.”

“All in due time, I assure you.”

With their hands clasped together, Aymeric pulled her away from the cold of the window towards the manor’s kitchens.

-------

This entry begins directly after a sketch stretched out length-wise down the opposite page. The lines are cleaner than usual with a light addition of color; pastels of pale orange-peach and blue fill in what look to be columns, or block-like structures in-laid with elongated crystals. A tiny written note is written to the side: colors are approx. but scale is inaccurate...impossible to illust. in such a small book...it will do

It is late, early morning. Fourth bell to be exact. I can barely get sentences out but I feel the need to write something down.

I am not at the Stones, instead I decided to return to Ishgard. The time was right and necessary. I couldn’t deny it any longer. We spoke for hours. I am exhausted! But relieved! Details, details. I cannot muster the need to reiterate it all right now but later I might. I need to sleep. This heightened but weary state is very familiar, like those nights back when I would have to pull all-nighters to study. I kind of missed it?

Go to bed you silly woman

There is a gap here, the entry is continued in another sort of ink of a different color: a deep indigo blue.

I told myself I would return to my writing once we’ve gotten more clear on the methods to our next course of action and some rest. Yet while I am truly doing my best on the latter everything has, predictably, turned on its godsdamned head.

Should know better, shouldn’t I? I was not that naive to think that our trials on the First were over once we left the depths but to try and put words to my anger is excruciating. I nearly see red at the very thought of it!

I don’t even want to write at the moment but I know I must, having been soothed by current company and the leisure I find here. This was a needed respite that I nearly deprived myself of due to sense of pride and duty that I take too much pleasure in indulging, hm? I am a fool but what else is new

It feels like a sort of calm has settled in before truly seeing the repercussions of what that bastard has wrought.

Elidibus He has dared to cross me so severely, so damnable is his offense I will run him through just like he makes me so angry    but that is fine, good even I can keep this to myself, give me the fire I need to end this 

I have to be ready to face this. I need to focus and return to the others as well. Somehow we will persevere as we’ve always had even when all seemed empty and helpless, aye? Though his ruse be painful and clear to us and us alone, the danger and trickery involving all the others...it cannot be allowed. Typical ascian bullshite, no matter what star or realm we find ourselves in.

I fear what revelations have yet to come. I fear I will not be able to bear them. I seek the answers...but what will I find?

It makes me dread, and threatens to make me numb to everything again

I have made myself impatient now as I await Y’shtola’s results from the vault in Noesis. I foresee more secrets and less answers...but I have been wrong before.

I don’t want to leave here

[bubblyani]

More Than Enough

(Rick x Reader)

A Rick (Knight of Cups) Songfic One Shot

Song Used: “More Than Enough” - Alina Baraz

Author’s Note: The more I listened to this song the more I was thinking of this character. So really wanted to write something for him. It was interesting trying to get that same artistic feeling Terence Malik made us feel in the movie with this. Enjoy!

Your fingers slowly grazed over the phone screen as if they were in contact with the skin of a newborn. Swiping, tapping, you did it all silently. Finally giving the screen one last tap, you waited for the Bluetooth speakers to come alive. Except it did not. 

A wave of concern washed over you. Perhaps the connection was still pending, you thought. But you remained patient, with your eyes glued to the small screen that lay on the table. You gasped in the form of a soft inhalation the moment you felt Rick appear behind you, his head popping over your shoulder to glance.

“What is it?” He asked, with his gentle voice. Wearing a soft smile, you slowly turned to face him.

“You’ll see…” you said, with confidence. Yet, the music did not play. The only sounds your ears could grasp onto were the soothing sounds of the ocean nearby while the warm LA breeze caressed your body.

“It’s this song…” You began, looking down, “that I really like…” you continued, watching your right draw circles in the space between your feet and his. Though you did not show it, you wondered whether there was an error on your device. But that embarrassment quickly washed away, like a crashing wave over the sand the moment the melodic bass began to fill the atmosphere. It was slow but rhythmic, played to the time of a waltz.

“Truthfully it makes more sense now than it ever did before” you added, feeling his eyes watch you with the greatest fascination. There he goes, you thought. Doing that again. Playing the observer. But truthfully, you did not want him to be just that.

You noticed it even on the very first meeting. His eyes were what you could not get over. Never did you imagine to find a pair of eyes like his, in a place so superficial like an After party of your Dance Company’s seasonal recital. In the midst of eyes that had little to none souls left, you were refreshed to see a pair that brimmed in it.

A wealthy sponsor of your Dance Company surprisingly was your mutual acquaintance, introducing Rick as a “fellow brethren in the arts” to you and others that gathered around over chilled glasses of champagne.

“And Y/N? Our star dancer? Oh.. she’s simply the…” Compliments. You heard compliments pouring all over, you felt like you were in need of a raincoat. Even after all these years, You did not have the skin to take it all. Indeed, they were all good. A figurative pat on the back, but an overdose of anything could make anyone uncomfortable. And when your eyes met Rick’s through all the chatter. He truly did see you. So much so you swore you heard his eyes say, “I know…”

Nodding, smiling you were accustomed in sailing through the shallow waters of socialite conversation that was unavoidable. That was how it always went. But the need to escape it always lingered within you. Thankfully, with him around, it did not seem  insufferable. His eyes, they kept company throughout. To the point your eyes had a silent conversation with his. You both laughed, you both cringed, inconspicuously with just your eyes. And by the end of the party you knew in your bones you wanted to see him again. And when he came over to ask you for your number, you were relieved to know he wanted the same.

Only alone were the two of you finally felt liberated to let the conversations flow. Finally, you were not the star of a dance production, or someone’s poster girl. You were just yourself. Rick spoke less than you hoped he would. Or maybe you felt this way because of the secret admiration you possessed for his voice. It moved you. It affected you. It sent tingles down your spine that energized you to talk more than usual. You filled in those silent gaps. With Rick you were at the height of your freedom. Why? You did not know. It could be due to a mutual respect stemming between the two, along with an undeniable attraction. With that attraction also came patience. He had it in abundance, so did you. Yet, that did not hold you back when he politely invited you to stop by his place after your morning date.

Bringing you to where you were, leaning against the table in his living room. The melodic chill wave music brimmed in your ears, as it ushered the vocals to finally begin:

**You got a way with words** **It takes away the hurt** **And it's a blessing and a curse to feel it all**

Looking out to the distance, you took in every word. Every line was a clear reflection of your feelings for him. So coincidental, but true. You merely hoped he would listen intently and comprehend. Slowly, your eyes began to focus on him.

**You got a way with me** **You put me in my place when I'm petty** **Give me what I want when I'm ready** **Always hold it down…**

Sensing his eyes still remained warm, a rush of boldness came over you. With just a few inches between the two, your hand rose up, slithering its way over to his neck, making a turn to end in the back of his head, hoping your fingers would hold on to his hair. Those beautiful brunette locks begged to be played with. And your fingers complied with ease. Pushing your fingers in between, you lightly attempted to scratch his head. Confidence became you when he lowered his head, his eyes closed as if to indulge in the pleasure you provided him. Just the sight of him so peaceful, you suddenly lost track of the song altogether. The words seemed unclear about of the blue, fading into the background while your heart melted by the sight of Rick. You were pleased with your influence over him. With other hand joining in, ten fingers were in a trance of their own as they traveled from his head, running softly over his collarbone down to his chest through the thin, blue cotton shirt. The music may have faded into the background, but that did not stop the both of you from swaying from side to side. You heard him chuckle deeply, reacting to your feathery touch. Bowing your head in apology, you felt embarrassed, decided to rectify the situation by moving your hands away.

Except he stopped you from doing so, by taking your hands in his, only to place them back over his chest whilst finally gazing back at you with earnest. Only then the words of the came ringing back in your delicate ears once more:

**I get lost inside all the stars in your eyes** **It's a galaxy** It was true, you really could. His eyes told a thousand stories that you wanted to be part of. Whilst pondering on that, your own eyes widened slightly as face grew closer, surprising you as he lowered his head once again, brushing his lips against your extended neck.

**You control the tide like the moon in the sky** **Or the gravity**

His lips, they teased you, placing soft kisses on the crook of your neck, that deemed most sensitive. You were tickled by his facial hair, you were even aroused, especially when you sensed a throbbing in between your thighs. He was surely a magician, or at least he was for you. Tilting your head to his side, you brushed your nose against his right temple in sheer desperation, balancing yourself by the effect of his lips, finally listening to the pre-chorus with much clarity:

**Anybody else would be gone by now** **Does it really matter?** **All that really matters**

Desperation came up another level, when you lowered your hands, tempting his to follow. Guiding them over to your waist, you made sure they stayed there. But it seemed there was no need for convincing.

**Second I'm with you, all my love pour out** **Serve it on a platter, all that really matters**

For he pulled you close, standing straight so his eyes could capture yours again. He was like a magnet, you finally allowed yourself to admit. He always was, from the moment you laid eyes on him. Feeling intoxicated without a single drop of alcohol, you felt yourself give in. Your lips cried out in silent desperation, only growing silent the moment his mouth welcomed yours, in a long awaited kiss.

**All that really matters is you keep showing up** **Promise that I'll remind you** **that you are more than enough**

Your bodies kept swaying as the kiss continued, and the music progressed into a melodic vocalise. With his grip on you growing tighter, you felt body press against yours to the most satisfying degree.

“…this was definitely not a ruse to kiss you…i swear” You muttered softly against his lips, with genuine concern. Hands leaving your waist, Rick cupped your face with an expression that was akin to the ray of the morning sun.

“I don’t care” He breathed, assuring you with another kiss, that was longer and hungrier. Patience, had clearly worn thin between the two of you.

**More than enough, More than enough, More than enough**

As the last few repeated lines appeared and faded into the soft music, you paid no attention to what song played next, nor the sky accidentally falling. For being loved by him,  at that very moment, was simply more than enough.

______________________________________

@erika92pu​ @tealaquinn​​

Check my MASTERLIST for More :)

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends

Chapter Six ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

this chapter contains some Armin x Mikasa platonic fluff 

Words count: 3123

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

They got to the island, and as sneaky as possible, they found a cottage somewhere in a remote area in the mountains. They decided that they would remain there until Eren wakes up and explains everything to them.

It wasn’t a big cottage, nor was it claustrophobic-small, it had two bedrooms, one of them was basically the attic -with a squeaky, barely-holding-itself staircase leading up to it- one living room, and a kitchen. They all had to share one cramped bathroom.

The construction wasn’t pathetically old, but it had been abandoned for some time, the lonely couch in the living room would dip deeper than a normal one when someone sat on it, the kitchen’s rusty cabinets doors were better detached, their squeaking would wake up the whole forest in an instant.

Mikasa would sit by the bed where Eren was resting, still unconscious, while everyone was somewhere in the cottage, trying to make the place as hospitable as they could with minimal supplies and zero mental power.

Well, since captain Levi was staying with them; everyone had to work hard to get this place to his cleaning standards.

However, Armin would forget all his troubles when he saw Annie around her father, well, she was always around him, but when he’d kiss her forehead or when she’d hug him, Armin would feel lighter, and a smile would pull at his lips.

Armin never saw Annie this carefree ever before, in fact, nor did anyone else, not even Reiner, for he himself wouldn’t bother to hide his astonished face when he’d catch Annie’s affection towards her father.

It was a tiny liberal vent to have at least someone genuinely happy and relieved, it absorbed some of the negativity in the air that was straining their minds into a choppy, dry sponge.

It was their third day at the cottage, while they were having dinner, that Annie addressed them for the first time in a while when she said: “I just realized that I’ve never introduced any of you to my father properly.”

The clattering of the utensils stopped, and no one said anything, and it’s not like they had any idea how to begin.

Hanji let out a light laugh, put down the crooked spoon they had in their hands, and said: “Well, my name is Hanji Zoe and I’m the 14th commander of the scouts, I mean, if the system is still running that is,” they cleared their throat, “nice to meet you, Mr. Leonhart.”

Mr. Leonhart nodded his head, and a small smile grazed his lips.

“We’re not very much fun to be around, so I hope we could get you as comfortable as we could, so, uh, welcome to the island.” Hanji continued, before holding their spoon again and resuming eating their meal.

Hanji’s introduction encouraged everyone to start talking, each of them introducing themselves, and the atmosphere morphed into one of a friendly dinner, it was the first time they spoke like they used to since they got to the island.

Scanning the room with her eyes, Annie realized that Armin was nowhere to be seen, she wondered where he was, and why would he miss dinner, well, it’s not like it was a fancy meal, but Hanji’s stew with some bread is extravagant juxtaposed to an empty stomach.

“Where’s Armin?” Annie asked Gabi, who was sitting beside her.

“I think he went outside, saying he needed fresh air.” She answered, her voice overthrown by the heated yet friendly discussion that erupted between Hanji and Pieck, before munching on a piece of bread.

“Is that so…” Annie fiddled with her fingers before she got up, wrapped some bread with a cloth, her father looked at her questionably, so she whispered in his ear: “I’ll be right back.” He nodded, and she left.

Annie searched around the cottage for Armin, but he was nowhere to be seen, so, she sat off through the forest, looking for him.

Annie didn’t take long to spot him; they had found a stream nearby, so she decided to search there first, also, the screams Armin was shouting didn’t make him quite hard to find.

Annie lurked around the trees, peaking through branches and taking wavering and inaudible steps, then she hid behind a bush, observing and not moving a muscle, she couldn’t see Armin’s face; his back was to her.

Armin screamed on and on, stretching his arms upwards, his lungs felt like they ignited and were on fire, but he still screamed, his vocal cords could tear, but he didn’t care about it. His cries the only other voice beside the stream and the crickets of night insects.

Armin needed to let out some of the stress that was weighing him down, and it’s not like he’s composed like others and could handle everything with a stoic face, he had to let it out somehow.

His mind railed over the people he left dinning in that cottage, he could no longer look at Mikasa and smile knowing that their childhood friend had almost destroyed the world and now was shut-eye in a bedroom unconscious for the past three days.

Armin could no longer look at any of them, nevertheless, think with a straight mind, he was clueless as to what happened and to what was to come.

He had to let it out.

When his voice faded, and it was painful to swallow, he collapsed on the dirt, dipping his toes in the cold, running water, closed his eyes, took deep breaths, and waited for his cords to heal to go for another round.

“Are you done yet?” A voice he knew too well said from behind.

The corners of Armin’s lips twitched, he splashed water; shivering from the cold: “I was planning on screaming some more, wanna join me, Mikasa?” his voice hoarse, cracking as steam erupted from his mouth.

“My throat would bleed, and I can’t heal it as fast as you could.”

Mikasa walked to Armin, and squatted next to him, they sat in silence, none of them speaking for a while.

Then Mikasa wrapped her arm around Armin’s shoulder, and he leaned into her embrace, Mikasa rubbed circles on his back and sighed, they both were lost, and nothing could ever fix what they’ve been through…

“This brings back memories,” Armin said, his eyes following a tiny golden fish swimming against the flow, he felt Mikasa nodding next to him.

“Maybe we could get those old days back.” Mikasa pondered.

“Yeah,” Armin absent mindedly agreed with her, then he flipped what she said in his head, over and over, and then blurted out: “yeah, yeah,” his voice gained confidence with every passing second, “Mikasa, why not?” He pulled away to look into her eyes; they held bewilderment, and that made the tip of Armin’s lips lift upwards.

“Why not?” Armin continued, “we can do whatever we want when all of this is over, we sure as hell deserve it, don’t we?”

“Y-yeah.” Mikasa stuttered, not sure from where this sudden enthusiasm came from.

Armin shifted his position, and was on his knees in front of Mikasa, he clamped her hands in his. Without breaking eye contact, he went on: “There are many places, that we could explore, or we could stay warm in some cozy, lovely house,” Armin shifted closer to her, “we deserve our own happy ending, don’t we?”

Mikasa’s lips parted in astonishment, she couldn’t pinpoint the line between desperation and resolve in Armin’s voice; however, she squeezed his hands and pulled on half a smile, a smile that meant this happy ending would only happen in another life, but certainly not this.

Armin’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pouted, he was resolute to make Mikasa feel better. So, he stood up, held out his hand to her, Mikasa took it, and without any introductions, Armin put his right hand on her waist, while the other hand held hers up toward the skies.

Mikasa promptly landed a hand on his shoulder, while the other gently laid upon his, “Armin, what exactly are you doing?” she asked him.

Armin didn’t answer; instead, he hummed some tune under his breath and started moving his hips.

Mikasa, having no idea what was going on, followed Armin with hesitant movements, then, his crooning turned into a silly jazzy combination of ‘dun dun’ and ‘tara tara,’ his voice getting louder and louder and his movements more imbecile and funnier.

Mikasa held in her laughter, biting her lower lip; Armin being silly isn’t a sight anyone would see occasionally, and when he did an exaggeratedly dramatic twirl, she couldn’t hold it in any longer; she let out a loud, chirping laugh.

Armin chuckled in return, and he felt a weight left off his chest, I didn’t get a chance to apologize to her after all, and he twirled Mikasa around, her skirt flowing around her, and uh God she’s so beautiful, she didn’t deserve any of the horrific stuff that she went through.

Mikasa twirled once again, and when she faced Armin, she noticed that his smile wasn’t as wide as it was a moment before, she looked at him in confusion before he stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her.

Mikasa didn’t expect that, but she hugged him back, resting her head on his shoulder. Armin swayed with Mikasa, resuming his humming, though the tune is supposed to be cheerful, his voice cracked, and the song sounded ominous and dreary.

Armin tangled his fingers in Mikasa’s short hair, ruffling it a bit, and he sensed Mikasa wrapping her arms tighter around him.

Mikasa heard Armin humming actual words, they were incoherent, and she had to focus on decoding them, but once she did, she couldn’t overlook them: “I’m sorry, oh I’m so sorry…”

Armin’s apologies stabbed into Mikasa’s heart, swift and unnoticeable, leaving her with tight lungs and trembling limbs. Her breath hitched in her throat, and soon, tears were spilling uncontrollably from her eyes, Armin shuddered, and she heard his own labored breathing.

Soon, the tunes drifted with the wind, and the pair fell to the ground, their grip only tighter around each other, as they cried their grief out, their own sobs cutting through the air, and the ambient nature only seemed to quiet down and listen to their mourning.

Annie watched from behind the bush, not making a sound, and when she saw both of them crumble to the ground, she decided it was her cue to get back to the cottage.

However, Annie couldn’t step inside; instead, she walked to a mountain of log beside the cottage and leaned against it, looking at her feet, moving the dirt beneath her shoes, then she looked up to the sky, the full moon peaked at her between the clouds…

The blue light immersed Annie’s surroundings, how the stars shone so bright but yet dull with the moon taking the spotlight, no one would look for the stars when the moon is out, she thought, right?

Annie heard footsteps approaching her, she tilted her head down and saw Armin, hand in hand with Mikasa, were approaching the cottage.

How long have I been out here?

Annie wanted to run into the cottage, but something screwed her legs in her spot, and she couldn’t move a muscle; instead, she waited until they noticed her presence.

Armin and Mikasa stood in front of Annie, Mikasa nodded, acknowledging Annie’s presence, and Annie nodded in return. At the same time, Armin was more verbal and said: “Oh, hey Annie, what are you doing outside?”

“Could ask you the same question,” Annie answered, crossing her arms.

Armin smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Mikasa glanced between the two, then she let go of Armin’s hand and told them that she’s heading inside.

Armin and Annie stood there, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say, then he noticed a cloth tied in a knot by Annie’s foot, something wrapped in it, he asked: “Were you planning to go somewhere?”

“No,” Annie answered, not realizing that Armin was referring to the bread she packed for him.

“Well then, may I ask what you have in that?” Armin inquired, pointing to the sack.

Annie looked down to it, and she immediately said: “There is some bread in there, thought I’d eat some out here, but I’m not hungry anymore,” she kneeled down and picked it up, producing a piece of freshly baked bread, though it turned cold, “you wanna have some?” Annie offered it to Armin.

Armin couldn’t hide his hunger, as his stomach growled. He took the bread gladly from Annie’s hand, taking a bite; it wasn’t the best bread he ever had, but considering that they were in a remote cottage in the mountains, this was the best they could ask for.

At least the airplane was packed with portions, and they were glad for that.

Annie made space for Armin to lean against the log beside her, she admired her surroundings while he munched on the bread.

“Armin, I think you deserve happiness,” Annie said out of the blue, her eyes scanning the sky.

Armin stopped chewing and turned his head towards Annie, not sure if he heard her or was just imagining it, but there was no one outside but them…

Armin swallowed, then said: “Uh, well thanks,” he looked up to where Annie was looking, “I think you deserve happiness too.”

Annie blinked; she didn’t say anything.

“You’re finally reunited with your father, now you can live the rest of your life by his side, right? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Annie?” Armin said, imitating Annie and crossing his arms.

“I guess you’re right…” Annie agreed with him, eyes still aimed at the sky. She caressed the ring around her finger, turning it…

Silence draped over them, both watching the dark blanket upon them with jewelry scattered on it, but that one big diamond stealing all the glory to itself.

A ting of guilt nagged at her, she was so lost in the happiness bubble that she forgot about the bigger picture, where everyone was conflicted, barely slept, and had a ticking bomb in their hands with nothing they could do about it.

She glanced at Armin, he was watching the sky, just like her, and she wondered what kind of matters were swarming inside his head, an urge itched at her hand to reach out into his skull and pull out all the tangled thoughts fizzing inside it, and blow them away into the night, to get them lost forever.

Annie looked down at her hand, she unconsciously took off her ring, its shining rim between her thumb and finger, glistening, hiding the catastrophes it’s capable of.

Armin felt a hand close around his own, he looked down, and saw Annie securing his fingers around something small and warm, before she retreated and looked into his eyes. He shot her a confused look, he brought his fist closer to his face, and when he opened it, his lips parted in shock.

A circle of metal rested on his palm, still warm from Annie’s fingers.

“Isn’t this… your ring?” He asked her the obvious as he inspected it.

“It is, and…” Annie swallowed, “it got me to where I am, I guess, you… might need it,” no he wouldn’t, he got his own ring, you dumbass-

Annie imagined her jaw dropping to the ground when Armin silently slid her ring on his finger, he stretched his hand and observed it for a second, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out something.

He stretched his hand towards her right hand, his eyes locking with her, and when she didn’t’ back away, he held her hand, and slid something cold around her finger.

Annie looked down and-

A ring, almost identical to hers, wrapped around her finger, where her ring used to be.

“Then, I want you to take mine,” Armin said, his voice low.

a cold waft ruffled Annie’s hair, golden leaves swirling around them, and Annie heard her heart’s beats in her ears.

She wanted to reject the ring, it wasn’t about him, he shouldn’t give her something in return, something to keep her hanging on false hope and fantasies that only happened in fairy tales-

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat.

Armin and Annie startled and whipped their heads toward the source.

It was Mr. Leonhart.

Armin immediately stood erect, his fingers crushing the bread in his hold, his thoughts rampaged into his skull, and sudden nervousness rushed down his spine. For a moment, he thought he should probably salute him or something, luckily, Annie broke his perplexing thoughts:

“Oh, father, are you done eating?” Annie asked, not budging.

“Oh, yes, Hanji’s cooking is… unique, indeed.” Mr. Leonhart answered, then his eyes landed on Armin, “oh, Annie, you never introduced me to this young man, am I wrong?” Mr. Leonhart inquired, stepping closer to the pair.

“You’re not, his name is Armin Arlert, the Brainiac.” Annie casually acknowledged Armin.

“U-uh, yes! That’s my name! I mean my name is Arlert, Armin Arlert,” Armin stuttered, suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with his arms, so he stretched one out and said, his words overlapping: “it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Leonhart!”

Mr. Leonhart took Armin’s hand in his, shook it twice, then, instead of letting it go, he placed his other hand over it, clasping Armin’s fingers in a warm, calloused grip, “oh, I must’ve heard about you from Reiner, the guy with wits no one compared to.” He probably was informed about how the survey corps exposed the Female Titan, but he didn’t elaborate on the topic.

Armin’s cheeks heated up, but Mr. Leonhart clamping hands grounded him, and he looked into the man’s eyes, and, even though he’s not Annie’s biological father, Armin still got the same aura from them.

“Well, Arlert, it’s a pleasure meeting you,” Mr. Leonhart let go of Armin’s hand, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your surname, but your first name sounds like a name your grandfather would choose.”

Armin chuckled, a smile remained on his face, “You’re exactly right.” Armin looked at Annie, his eyebrows rose a little when he saw her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to hide a blush dusting her cheeks.

The door of the cottage slammed open, and a disturbed figure came rushing out, looking towards the darkness of the forest.

“Armin! Are you here?!” Shrieked a panicked Connie, making all of them jump.

“Connie!” Armin shouted, waving his arm to get Connie’s attention, “what happen-”

“Eren’s awake.”

~~~

I either have a very short chapter or a very long ass one, no in-between I hope you're enjoying this story!! Armin and Mikasa's scene made me cry while writing it... yeah I get emotional over my babies...

I want to thank @madninive​ for being soooo supportive and just an amazing human being, she helped me out so much with this chapter, so thank you for existing and putting up with me