#like the INSTANT sense of safety is truly amazing

[the-lincyclopedia]

Sometimes getting back in touch with people you admire but have lost contact with falls in the category of "this is why you shouldn't meet your heroes," and other times it's more along the lines of "I remembered loving you but I'd forgotten how MUCH."

[colourstreakgryffin]

Yandere! Romantic! KNY Himejima Gyomei Headcanons

(Our mighty king of the stones! This Hashira was honestly the toughest to write for! But nevertheless, here is Gyomei!)

Gyomei as a romantic Yandere has the Yandere traits of; Overprotective, Possessive, Delusional, Controlling, Authoritarian, Vengeful, Manipulative and Patient

- Once again with Tengen, I personally believe Gyomei would most likely never be a Yandere… at all! But for this situation specifically, I’ve done all I can to alter his character so it better fits Gyomei with the concept of Yandere

- Gyomei seems like the type to be a difficult one to turn Yandere but personally believe that Gyomei would get corrupted a bit easier than expected. He may be one giant of a man but he has a truly emotional soul that can grow attached quicker

- He is a very gentle and friendly epitome, both pre and post-corruption. He helps all new Hashira fit in as the most superior of the group, which also applied to you. He sensed your aura when you called for his attention and could tell how gorgeous of a person you are in a instant, and it enamoured him

- Gyomei’s composure also starts withering away around you, the deeper in love he falls. He goes from the intimidating and level-headed leader figure to a extremely lovestruck and shy soul. It’s actually quite cute, however, his feelings don’t stay pure and light-hearted for long

- Gyomei is the most considerate Yandere of the Yandere Hashira. He doesn’t want to interfere on your privacy, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, he doesn’t want to take nor ruin anything you own. You don’t deserve a broken heart. He’ll be content with what you tell him or what you let him feel for “showing” and keep track of every detail to a extreme

- Though, his respectful nature can’t stop him from taking secret wafts of your favourite’s mixed-berry hair soap concoction. You smell amazing

- Gyomei is extremely overprotective. Your safety is now in his big hands and he’ll gladly perish so you can walk out freely. You’re his life source, his blood, he lives through you and your heart. He doesn’t care how many injuries he gets or injuries he inflicts on man or demon, he cares that you’re safe and you’ll forcefully come home to him. He also guards you whilst out with you like a hulking pitbull dog, nobody will approach you as you got a personal wall

- Gyomei is controlling in his Yandere ways. Does it seem like he is harmfully controlling? I assure you, he isn’t. His form of control is quite minor as he only takes over one very small but very important thing; your crow. He cuts off your ability to communicate with other people so you’ll rely solely on him for socialisation and attention

- Gyomei doesn’t need to see any inch of you with his own eyes to know that you’re otherworldly. He can tell it by your voice, by that sweet gentle voice that makes him melt all over

- “Isn’t such a peaceful time with me and you just riveting? I believe so. Having your attention like this is a true blessing from the Buddhas. You don’t need to be around the other Hashira, stick with me”

- Gyomei is possessive over his love interest in his sick and damaged mind. His name is written all over you now so it means you’re his. He puts his gigantic Happi on your shoulders as a warning sign, why won’t it work on those idiotic braindeads?! Gyomei clings onto you in public and loudly gloats on about that you’re his and he’ll gladly break the jaw of anybody who dare touches you as he won’t accept people contaminating what belongs to him

- He is quite delusional, his sanity blurring and cracking so he believes the one concept he desperately wants; you to love him back and he has convinced himself that it’s only the truth. So, his head comes up with random excuses when you try reject him. You love him! He is the most kind man Japan has, there is no reason you’d ever reject him!

- Does Gyomei kidnap you to keep you at his Stone Estate? No. He kinda just drags you to his Estate after you’re finally home from missions to spend some “personal hangout time” with him and afterwards, openly manipulate you to stay longer then you can muster. It is cruel at times but he doesn’t wish to hurt your precious heart, he’s here to heal all of the pain! Don’t worry

- Did you know Gyomei can cook! He can make any and every grand meal you could ever want. Wouldn’t something like that and love keep you happy enough to stay here? Well, if not, Gyomei will have you come crawling to his Estate for him and his affections, he has lots to offer and nobody has anything to offer

- The definition of a occasional Authoritarian, Gyomei feels the need to dish out specific oppression on you when you misbehave, when you try run away. He doesn’t find it fun but you won’t learn if you aren’t punished, and he won’t hear out anything you may try say to him. No, he won’t his extreme passion for you let you off the hook, you must be trained properly and he does that with mild physical punishment, mainly verbal

- Gyomei is vengeful solely towards his enemies, his enemies being love rivals that attempt in any fashion to steal away your heart. He has lost so many people he cared so much about and couldn’t do anything about it. Now, he can fight back very well and he will, out of his inner burning hatred. Unless you interfere, Gyomei will let loose all the anger he has stashed away

- In contrast to his overwhelming protective and possessive nature, it interferes way too much even in his Estate. He attacks his own cutlery over a knife accidentally cutting you and he gets a bit annoyed if you favour using something of his over him. Yes, it’s there for your pleasure but so is he. Stop looking at everything else when your true love is as close as one can get

- Like mentioned before, Gyomei is manipulative and open about it. He has a very flexible tongue and he can easily get his way around any statement you present. You need to go home to rest? Why do you need to take a long dangerous trip when his Estate has plenty of futons. He does use some tactic of “smart-ass-y, thinking logically” type of manipulation against you to contemplate your want twice and make you comply to his desires

- Gyomei is very patient with you and your long adjusting to your new life routine. He understands, you making that one step from friends to lovers is a gigantic leap. He’ll cuddle you through the struggle, he’ll hold and kiss your hand to make the discomfort fade away. All unaware that he is the reason you’re so distressed

- Though, his obsession with you contrasts all his past beliefs but has made him set everything of his original self on fire to burn. He has abanonded all his original hobbies to worship you, praise the body he can’t see, devote his mentally-unwell love for you. But is it love? You can’t tell with the Stone Hashira

- If you can get past his horribly manipulative, obsessive and twisted character, Gyomei is a very loving and doting partner, and he’ll do anything he possibly can with his two arms and legs to make you happy? Do you wish for him to push his Estate closer to yours? He will. Whatever you want, Gyomei will bring on a silver tray and topped with his overflowing love

- “Yes, I know that getting my hands dirty for you is wrong, my lady. But they were evading your personal space and that’s unacceptable. I had to beat some sense into them so they understand to leave you alone. You’re my spouse, no one can steal you from me… not even for a second”

[popcornoncemore]

I'm so sorry for cutting the deadline so close!

Here is my gift to the amazing @wilwywaylan for the Les Mis @drinkwithme-exchange 2024!

They requested Joly & Jehan, so here's a angst and fluff fix of them supporting each other through their struggles with mental health problems:

I just want to say that this exchange was amazing and that I was so honored to write for someone that I just love in this fandom. I hope that you like this!

Full work under cut: (tw raw chicken, panic attacks):

The morning started out as usual, a good day, a slow turn from night to day, Bossuet and Musichetta pressing a light kiss to Joly’s forehead, slightly interrupting the fog of his sleep. As their footsteps and hushed conversations retreated further into the apartment, Joly turned over once more in the bed and let himself drift off again.

The second time he awoke, Joly was much more alert. While he loved sleeping in, curled in the duvet that Courfeyrac had gifted them as a housewarming gift, cozy in the dappled light streaming through the curtains that had once belonged to Musichetta’s grandmother, it was hard for Joly to truly laze the day away. Spending too long in bed tended to summon a quiet yet incessant internal chatter about the merits of a rigid sleep schedule and the dangers of a lack of daily progress and simple movement, a nagging sense of conscious that refused to let Joly sleep past nine in the morning. Joly needed to start out on the right foot.

With the urging of the voice, Joly disembarked from the safety of his bed. Musichetta had left early to cover her coworker’s shift at the laundromat where they worked so that the other woman could visit her ailing mother. Bossuet, in a typical bout of his characteristic misfortune, had managed to do a great deal of damage to a neighbor’s fence the day prior in an incident involving Gavroche, a lawn mower, and approximately $15 worth of clear fishing line. Today, he had taken it upon himself to do the necessary repairs in hopes of smoothing things over with the disgruntled elderly couple.

This left Joly alone in the apartment with only his thoughts and the growing heat of the summer morning. Joly obeyed the near-instant urge to brush his teeth, making a beeline from the bed to the bathroom. When that was finished, he closely inspected his face, taking note of every new spot of acne and mentally listing off the names of the medicated creams that he needed to acquire. He tried not to pick at the spots, it would only make them worse, but it was so difficult when it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Joly then washed his hands, showered, washed his hands, put on moisturizer and sunscreen, washed his hands, dressed himself in a button-down and khakis, debated whether or not the day would be hot enough to give him heatstroke wearing a long-sleeved shirt, decided to change into a light-weight cotton t-shirt, and tried to style his hair which absolutely refused to lay correctly on his head.

Joly was overcome by a sense of dread as he tried to will his hair into place. He was not going to be able to get the results that he wanted, but he almost certainly was not going to be able to stop rearranging his hair until it was perfect. This devolved into hurried breaths and lightly pulling his hair. If Bossuet was here, he would have taken Joly’s hands in his own and told stories of his and Grantaire’s latest outing until Joly could get control of himself and move on to the next task. Today, Joly had to make do with imagining his boyfriend’s words and trying to manage his breathing. Joly squeezed his eyes shut and washed the remaining hair product off his hands, then quickly fled the bathroom before he could accidentally get a glimpse of his reflection.

Crisis averted.

Joly distracted himself with the daily cleaning, re-making their large bed and adjusting the incredibly large number of pillows that had been brought into bed by the culmination of Musichetta’s search for tasteful decor, Joly’s interest in the medical benefits of different shapes of pillows, and Bossuet’s near constant need to prop up one injured limb or another. Then it was a quick vacuum of the living room to limit the dust and potential allergens in the apartment, emptying the trash and recycling from every room, and reorganizing the perpetually undone shoe rack, lest Bossuet trip over a lose high heel coming in the door.

The next order of business was making sure to eat a hearty breakfast. As Joly checked the dates on all the food packaging in the refrigerator, he notices that the egg carton was empty. In general, there was hardly any protein in their apartment. Joly furrowed his brow. He was very tempted to resort to eating just a bowl of cereal and moving on with his day, but something inside him knew that that was a bad choice.

Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, he had to eat a balanced meal, or the rest of his day would be thrown off and who knew what could happen if Joly introduced that sort of chaos to his life. While he didn’t have class today, he was supposed to meet up with Combeferre to study. If he neglected a nutritious breakfast, his hands would shake while he took notes, and his attention span would be affected. It was only natural that the consequence of that may be failing the next test, putting him behind in the class, behind in his degree, and behind schedule. No, it was best to eat an appropriate meal.

Nothing in the refrigerator was suited to food that one would generally categorize as breakfast food, but Joly was willing to sacrifice that for nutrition. He opened the freezer, hoping to find some sort of meat that could serve as his protein.

To his disappointment, the only thing that he found was a bag of frozen chicken breasts. He cringed at the sight. It wasn’t that Joly wouldn’t eat chicken, on the contrary, Bossuet’s family recipe for lemon baked chicken was one of his absolute favorites; it was just that the idea of raw poultry was beyond revolting. In addition to its odd texture and appearance, Joly couldn’t help but imagine all the illnesses that could be caused by the raw or undercooked meat. In particular, the sight of the chicken brought up hurried thoughts about the dangers of salmonella and the image of a documentary he had once seen that tracked how the germs from poultry could be accidentally transferred about a cooking space.

There was an instant conflict between the voices in his head, debating the dangers of handling raw meat and not paying attention to nutrition. Joly desperately wished them to shut up but resolved himself to making a choice. He could cook chicken, people did that all the time and it was fine. He was being stupid, he couldn’t let his anxiety stop him from being a normal functioning person. Joly snatched the bag of chicken from the freezer, dropped it on the counter, and then immediately washed his hands.

Defrosting the meat was a nightmare. Joly removed the chicken from the bag with a pair of tongs, resting it on a plate, and then microwaving it until the it defrosted. When he took the plate out, Joly gagged at the sight of the raw poultry, sitting on the plate in a pool of melted frost and juices. He moved the chicken breast to the cutting board specifically designated for meat, leaving him with the disgusting plate of liquid.

He knew that he was supposed to dump it down the drain. It wouldn’t congeal like bacon grease and unfortunately, Joly lacked a way to incinerate it like food waste in some sci-fi film. But pouring it down the sink would contaminate the basin, the germs would spread when the water turned on, then there was no stopping the salmonella from moving to other surfaces. He put the plate down, it was a dilemma he would deal with later.

The next part was arguably the hardest. Joly had to cut the chicken into smaller pieces in order to properly seer it. How was he supposed to do that without directly handing the raw meat? With the tongs in one hand, he stabilized the breast, cutting it slowly with the knife in his other hand. It was going to be okay, it was going to be okay, he could do this, he had to do this. Normal people did this.

Joly’s trembling hand slipped on the tongs suddenly, the piece of chicken sliding across the cutting board and making contact with the hand that was still holding the knife.

Everything immediately went dark, then the color and sound and light and fear all rushed back into Joly’s perception at a lighting pace. God. God. It had touched him and… The knife slipped from his hand, narrowly missing his foot as it clattered to the floor. Joly whipped around in his panic as his breathing became more and more rapid. He made for the sink, but only managed knock the discarded plate of germs he had been avoiding to the floor, spilling its contents all over.

Joly was dying, there was nowhere to go. The situation was consuming him, he was going to pass out. His hands scrambled at his face, wiping through his tears to pick at the scabbing acne, scratching his cheeks with his fingers… His fingers that had just touched the chicken seconds before.

Oh god. His breathing got worse as he sank to the floor, to the puddle of yet more germs. He was going to throw up. He was going to die.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

There was a knock at the door.

Jehan had started their morning off noticeably poorly. Their melancholy was far past the point of being poetic, rather it was consuming and disheartening, destroying his creative thinking. While a passing phase of downcast and remorseful feelings was an important given in the life of a romantic, a rain spell that spoiled the weather but watered the crops, this was less of a rainfall and more of a tropical storm of sorts.

The morning sun was too bright as it cut into his bedroom, waking Jehan from their rest early. His body was sore for no good reason, as if his back had just taken a sudden disliking to the mattress, and the street outside was unusually loud for the time of day. The blankets had partially fallen off, leaving their legs cold.

Jehan did his best to right his mood, but to no avail.

From the bedside table, they pulled their current poetry journal, a beautifully bound thing that had been gift from Grantaire last Christmas. In an attempt to channel his feelings into something appropriate, they scribbled out lines of poetry onto the creamy pages of the book, scrambling to find a way to put a voice to the way he felt. Nothing took form from the words though, no matter what he wrote, the paper just became more and more marred by messy lines of bleeding ink. It was ugly, not in a way that inspired deep thought, but in a way that forced Jehan to angrily turn his eyes from the journal, to snap it shut and throwing it to the cluttered floor.

Getting dressed proved just as frustrating. Nothing fit right, Jehan’s body just looked incorrect in anything they put on. The limey cardigan that they picked to go over their floral-print sundress and stripped slacks itched in a way that made him want to just melt into a puddle on the bedroom floor. Jehan slumped and let himself lay down on the carpet, pulling the awful sweater off and throwing it as far away as they could. He moped on the ground, trying to reason with himself. It was silly to let this pessimism get them, but it seemed just as silly to blatantly ignore it. Why was this so complicated? Why did he feel so absolutely under the weather?

Rolling to get off the floor, they spotted the book they had discarded prior. He apologetically picked the journal up and set it back onto the nightstand, brushing off its cover with care. Jehan ran their hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at it and scratch at his scalp. They couldn’t just waste away on their bedroom floor, let themself drown in this floor of bitter sadness that was trying so desperately to sweep them away.

Using the last of his strength, Jehan dragged themself to their feet and promptly made straight for the door of the apartment. He couldn’t just sit here alone feeling bad for himself, letting himself drown.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered it. That was odd, Jehan could have sworn that Joly at least was home, it was part of the reason they had come here, apart from the fact that the apartment the trio shared was the closest to his own. Maybe he was wrong, of course, that would follow the pattern of the day. Maybe some of Bossuet’s bad luck had accidentally brushed off on them the last time that they went for drinks together.

Jehan shook off the thought. They were here to fight their pessimistic spiral, not feed it. He knocked on the door again, listening for the sound of movement in their friend’s apartment. Instead of someone approaching the door, Jehan heard what almost sounded like sobbing, muted, but definitely still present. Without a second thought, Jehan grabbed one of the spare keys hidden about the hallway in front of the apartment, placed there in the event that Bossuet left his keys on the counter, in a car, at work, or, on one particularly unfortunate occasion, at the post office inside of the package he had been mailing to Quebec.

Jehan entered the apartment warily. Someone was definitely crying, the sound clearer once inside, coming from the kitchen.

When he reached the kitchen, Jehan was met with a truly upsetting sight. Joly was alone, curled on the wet floor, hyperventilating and tearing at the skin on his face in a mindless fashion. It appeared that the other man had previously been cooking something, from the discarded cutting board, thawed chicken, and the shards of plate that were strewn across the ground.

Jehan approached him lightly, kneeling on the floor next to the man. “Joly, my friend, please listen to me. I am here to help. I heard your distress from outside and I simply had to come in. Let me help you. Here, breathe with me.”

They took Joly’s hands in theirs, pulling them away from his face. His friend did not quite register what was happening, but he didn’t fight the action. Jehan held Joly in his arms, slowly rocking him, speaking softly into his ear. Several minutes passed like this as Jehan helped his friend regain some control over his mind and body.

Any despairing thoughts that Jehan had awoken with took a back seat to helping Joly. “Joly, dear, tell me what is wrong? You do not have to deal with this alone. We’ll make this right, whatever it is. You are so very safe.”

Joly sniffled, then looked Jehan in the face for the first time since the other had entered his apartment. “The chicken… It slipped…” He paused, gagging a bit. “Oh god, the germs are everywhere, on the floor, on my hands, my face, on you! I was just trying…”

Ah, so that was what had triggered this fit of panic. Jehan surely wasn’t as familiar with the risks of raw poultry as Joly was, but he did know the basics of cooking and killing food-born germs. And knowing Joly as they did, the idea that Joly had panicked after accidentally coming into contact with the meat, and more importantly, his complicated thought process surrounding something he saw as a health hazard, was a fairly understandable one.

Jehan hugged their friend to them. “Oh Joly. I am so sorry, I know how much that sort of thing bothers you. It will be alright, I will help you.”

Joly frowned, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I shouldn’t need help. It’s just food, people cook all the time… I need to eat healthily, I should be able to eat healthily. I was trying to eat…” He breathed raggedly. “Everything is all wrong with me, I can’t cook, I can’t look right, I can’t relax or clean enough or even fucking feed myself correctly.”

He spoke desperately, like he was finally spilling a long-kept secret. Jehan’s heart hurt in their chest to see their friend lambast himself with such vigor, with such a belief in the cruel words he threw in his own direction.

“You, Joly, are perfectly acceptable as you are. I may not know all of the details of how you feel, but I do know that you aren’t a stupid man. You do not simply feel this way on a whim, or because you are lazy or incompetent, you always have reasoning behind it. You should not have to fight your own mind like this, but you so often successfully do so. There is no shame in asking for help or feeling despair, any man would become overwhelmed in your situation.”

“I just want my head to be quiet,” Joly pleaded softly. “The second I wake up it is like I am fighting with my own system of right and wrong, I debate danger and health and the thousands of ways to do something properly. I just can’t shake the feeling that I must follow these thoughts, but then they conflict and shout at each other and I slip up trying to do right by them all.”

Jehan nodded, listening to their friend while continuing to rock him gently. They ran a hand through his hair.

Joly paused in his rambling speech for a second. “I just want to feel something that isn’t this downwards spiral that ends in me crying on my floor like cooking chicken or brushing my hair is the end of the world.”

“I understand.” Jehan gave Joly a small smile. “I completely understand. It is hard when your mind works against you and it feels like you cannot escape this moment, the pattern of your thoughts that so quickly arranges itself into a maze. But you are not weak to feel this way, many people have to fight as you do against one foe or another. In fact, I came to your door today because I felt similarly trapped when I woke up this morning. It was like there was nothing I could do to chase away the dark feeling that the world was out to get me today, and I wasn’t up to the challenge. But I managed to come here, I found you and now we are together. And I know that while I am still simply melancholy and you are so understandably distraught, we will not fall victim to that vicious spiral. Let me help you, if the voices will not quiet, I will shush them most aggressively. And if that doesn’t work, I will sing over them so that at least you may hear something relaxing rather than demanding. Let me clean you up and help you back to your feet, I think it would do a world of good for us to fight our battles together today.”

Joly buried his face in his friend’s sundress, letting a few more tears fall. “Yes. Okay. Please help me to get out of this mess, it’s too much, and I feel faint even beginning to think about what may go wrong as a result.”

Jehan gave him a squeeze. “Of course, my dear friend. I will help you, for you have helped me so greatly already.”

Jehan had scrubbed down the kitchen, doing their best to meet Joly’s standards of cleanliness as they mopped, wiped, and bleached every inch of the room. The two friends then took as shower together, Jehan helping Joly to wash his face gently.

The clothes they had been wearing earlier all went straight into the old washing machine down the hall. One of the benefits of having all three occupants of the apartment share a room was that there was more space for some of the utilities that helped Joly to feel more sanitary and Bossuet to get the never-ending tie dye of stains out of his clothes.

They re-dressed in assorted clothing. Jehan pulled one of Bossuet’s zip-down hoodies for Joly, an easily removed layer in case of a sudden change of temperature. Joly brought Jehan one of Musichetta’s flowy blouses and a pair of his own plaid shorts. Jehan felt themself relax into the fabrics, their textures safe and comfortable.

Jehan combed Joly’s hair, and the two talked quietly about life; Bossuet and Gavroche’s recent run in with disaster, Grantaire’s (latest) blunder in front of Enjolras, Bahorel’s supposed mistress.

“Thank you for coming, Jehan.” Joly said the words as their conversation drifted into a pleasant silence. “I didn’t know that I needed someone today, but apparently I did.”

Jehan pressed a quick kiss to his friend’s forehead. “Of course. Absolutely any time. Thank you for being here. We’re going to be okay.”

When they finally set the brush down, Joly turned and crushed Jehan in a hug and the pair burst into laughter. When Joly finally released him, Jehan grinned at his friend in a way that seemed impossible only a few hours ago. “Would you like to go out to get some breakfast before you meet up with Combeferre? They say it’s the most important meal of the day!”

Joly smiled back, “Sure.”

It was looking to be a good day, it was only just getting started after all.

[wishing-stones]

In honour of the spicy fic i shall send a mildly spicy ask. Would you catagorise the boys as leaning more towards dom, sub or switch? and what would be their main turn ons and turn offs?

Yep, this one gets a read more LOL

This one's a doozy~

Killer is mainly a dom, but for the right person would switch. He's got a looonnnggg list of kinks but he finds a certain fire in total submission. Having his partner absolutely breathless beneath him, weakly begging for more? Who is he to deny them? (By that same stroke, he loves begging and driving someone to tears is a point of pride.) For turn offs, he's not too keen, shockingly, on someone coming on too strong too fast, especially a new partner. He likes to be the one slinging around heavy innuendo. Sly passes are one thing, but heavy dirty talk before you're somewhere where it's appropriate? Come on! Have some decency. (Dirty talk in the setting is amazing, though, and he will absolutely run the hell out of his mouth.)

Dust is a switch. He doesn't care either way and will roll with whatever works. He is the one who takes things roughest. Bloodplay, marking, biting, making his partner cry, but never to the point of ruining it. His partners should be able to put up with a lot, because he takes his time and he's not gentle... unless there's a lot of feelings involved, but that takes a certain level of intrapersonal intimacy beforehand. Turn ons are subtle flirting, obedience, and a certain callous disregard for life, or personal safety that means they're willing to roll with him. He's not a huge fan of dirty talk to him if he's the dominant one, but he takes it in stride if he isn't. He's also, shockingly, a neat freak. It's an instant turn off if someone who is covered in muck, blood, dirt, grime, sweat, or other nastiness tries to make a pass. He doesn't want to touch that stuff.

Axe is a switch, shockingly, but oftentimes falls into the dom role for his size. He likes to feel a bit of a connection to his partners first, and isn't like Killer or Dust in that he doesn't just... hop into bed with people. (Dust is more selective than Killer, but they both have been known to do it.) Axe likes there to be some tenderness and his biggest turn on is praise. He'll dole it out, too, but being appreciated, even though he is truly monstrous, makes him feel all warm and fuzzy and comfortable with whoever is in his bed. He actually hates bringing food into it (with a small clause for maybe whipped cream or chocolate sauce, or feeding one another grapes or some shit as a lead-up) because he doesn't want to form any unhealthy attachments with it. He's already working on having a healthy relationship with food again, and making new connotations with it is not something he's willing to do.

Cross likes to be dom, but depending on his partner and how much he trusts them (which... has to be a lot for him to let them into his bed) he might be willing to submit, too. He's your service top, though, so don't worry about feeling unattended-- he makes sure his partners are satisfied. He's a total sucker for fancy clothes-- from uniforms to dresses to suits to nice lingerie, he is all about the nice clothing and is very careful not to ruin it. He likes the feeling of someone dressing up nice for him. He's instantly turned off by doing anything in a public setting-- it embarrasses him. The appreciation is nice, but certain things should only be done behind closed doors, or at least when no one else is around.

Nightmare is a top, no exceptions. You cannot get him to relinquish control for love or money. He likes submission, but has a weak-spot for scene play and seduction. Watching the defiance leave his partner's eyes in place of other things gives him a sense of pride. He, too, is incredibly attentive, but bank on gentle degrading, teasing, and humiliation. He's a talker, but he's not overly mean about it. He does not like trying to be overpowered. It can be fun to play with if it's being played with, but done in seriousness, he gets angry. There are rules in place in his bed, and that's rule number one. He's the one in charge.

This one is hard for me to answer for Baggs, since all of his NSFW stuff is non-canon. If I recall right, he's a switch, but you'd have to wrestle control from him (good luck) to do it. Your safe bets for turn ons are submission, medical play, coercion, and the obvious one of hypnotic control. He's also pretty composed and neat, so he doesn't like a lack of cleanliness or heavy suggestions in public. If you want more on him, I think his creator has a space for his uh. Spicier content that might give you a better, more accurate answer.

All of these idiots, bar none, are leg men.

[nafeary]

Napoleon, Theo, Dazai, and Jean reacting to College Student!MC Stressed by Deadlines

Requested by @hqissodelicate:

hey toni boo, sara/delicateikemenmemes here ❤ i've been Going Through It with school 😔 so i was thinking of how my boos napoleon, theo, dazai & jean would react to MC who's a (stressed, exhausted) student who got yeeted to the mansion in the midst of a bunch of deadlines? thank you boo & i hope you're drinking your water 💙😤

✧✎ A/N: I’m sorry it took me this long to finish... but this was super fun to write and it helped me get back into writing after such a long break due to school bs. I’m not too satisfied with Dazai’a and the haphazard scenario/headcanons mush, but I still quite like this I think. Thank you for the request dear! Take care and drink water, everyone!

Warnings: Stress and mild mentions of anxiety, and like one mention of sexual intercourse

Napoleon Bonaparte

“You’re just a chore, after all.”

You whirled around. “Don’t act like your job is going to be that hard,” you could only scoff in annoyance, “I’m going to be inside my room all day, anyway.”

At first, Napoleon was slightly confused by your statement. Wouldn’t you want to explore this new world at all? But according to code, he’d just smirk and go (sleep) do smth

And true to your statement, you did stay inside your room for the most part

It’s not like your quadrillion essays would write themselves

It’s not like your college would just excuse your tardiness

It’s not like—

“Nunuche, you sure you don’t need a break from... whatever you’re doing?”

Napoleon was quite suddenly standing besides you, trying to read the mess that you’ve created.

“And who gave you permission to enter?”

“Me, obviously. I did have the impression that you were in danger, judging from the amount of curses I perceived.”

You could have died from embarrassment. Of course he had to hear your yells of frustration, stemming from the fact that your laptop was out of order, that you had no idea how to use ink properly, and—

“Have you realised that you regularly zone out?”

“I suppose? But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to finish...” you trailed off, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

However, at his inquisitive gaze, you decided to explain that these were essays that could very well decide how you’d pass university, and, upon further inquiry, elaborated how a modern student’s life looked like

He never interrupted you unnecessarily, only to ask questions when a concept was too modern for him to comprehend

Your cursed assignments certainly made your life in the past harder to enjoy, but it also brought you and the emperor closer than ever

Unable to access the internet—or visit the college library—you had no proper sources for you references (considering that Comte’s library had no modern content, naturally)

You also didn’t want to bother Sebastian, especially since him and Comte had shown so much understanding for your peril that they practically forbid you from helping him out around the mansion

Their reasoning didn’t make you feel less bad though

Hence, you only had one option left that could complete your last essay

Which oh-so conveniently encompasses the Napoleonic Wars, something you truly did not want to burden him with

“Napoleon? Remember those essays that I have to finish for my university courses?”

“Of course.”

You were twiddling your thumbs, contemplating whether your grades are worth revisiting unpleasant memories, aka the taboo of the mansion

Abruptly, he grabbed your cheeks with just enough force to turn you away from looking at your feet, but not enough to inflict pain. “If there is anything I can help you with, I’d never shy away from it.”

Begrudgingly, you inquired him about his reign with as little focus on the gruesome details as possible your professor be damned

And holy shit, he’s amazing at writing? And Not just cringey love letters? Panty Sniffer Napoleon brrrrr

As you grew closer, he’s spoil you with vitamin-rich snacks (going as far as asking Arthur and Sebastian for medical advice)

He enjoys carving cute shapes out of fruits and eggs because he knows that their and his adorable presence will prompt the perfect amount of distraction to allow a small moment of rest

Says that it’s his duty as your guard and boyfriend to take care of your overworking habits

Expect frequent complaints from your beau, ranging from “how could they assign so many essays? Aren’t students just humans, too?” to “‘Reasons Why Edison Is Better Than Newton’? Do they even know what they’re talking about? Tch!”

Theodorus Van Gogh

You gleefully indulged in his charades for the first few days. They were a welcome distraction from your college work, after all

But the procrastination was accompanied by guilt, your anxiety building up every second you spent helping Sebastian with the chores, and gallivanting around town with Theo

A week passed before your sense of responsibility finally kicked in. So when Sebas came to wake you up just as the sun peaked past the horizon, you were already scribbling away on some sheets you’d found in your drawers

“Ah, good morning, Sebastian-san.”

“Good morning... what are you writing, if I may ask?”

“Just some essays for my college courses...” you said, glancing dejectedly at your notes.

Now that you didn’t have access to the internet, and your laptop’s battery was all used up, it made your work all the more tedious, but you had to set your teeth and do this.

“Give me 10 minutes, and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

He had wanted to argue, but you didn’t let him. And when he saw you leaving the house with Theo later in the afternoon, he could only shake his head.

You felt like you owed the art dealer, especially since you blurted out his secret the literal next moment, so you committed to helping him while also keeping up with your work

Although, him calling you dog wasn’t nice either—even though, according to Sebas’ explanation, Hondje wasn’t exactly the equivalent to mutt

That cycle continued for days. Helping out around the mansion, getting pulled around by Theo, and writing your essays deep into the night

Not to mention all the worries that pressured your shoulders further and further into the ground

You were missing so many group project deadlines, disappointing people that relied on you... it was safe to say that sleep did not come easy, if barely

Just before you arrived at your room after a late night art exhibit did your body decide to fail you, tripping over nothing multiple times.

It prompted Theo to call you out before you could even think of rushing past the door, steadying you with a hand more gentle than you had ever experienced it to be.

“Sebas informed me that you’ve been working yourself to death.”

You silently cursed the butler. “I haven’t—“

“Give me your laptop.”

Perplexion ran across your mien, wondering how he could possibly have remembered such a modern detail from your countless rambles. “It’s batt— it doesn’t work right now, so it’s not like it would stop me from working.”

Arguing with the devil was a mistake.

He snaked his arms around you, holding the door handle in place with one hand while the other still kept you upright. “I don’t care whether you work or not, I’m not your mother. And regardless of its abilities, hand it over, knabbletje.”

What other choice did you have but to comply?

He ordered—yes, ordered—you to go to bed right that instant

If you hesistanly ask him to do the same (we all know what a hard worker he is), he’ll just press a guileless kiss to your forehand, telling you not to worry about him

The next morning, you were already worrying for your baby’s safety within the sadist’s hands when the devil invited himself into your room

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“Morning to you, too, Hondje.” He sent you an overly handsome smirk, handing you the laptop tucked underneath his arms. “You won’t be able to use that spider web Sebas told me about, but writing should work.”

You stared at Theo in disbelief, all the while internally laughing at him misinterpreting the World Wide Web. Deciding to trust in him, you clicked the power button. And sure enough, it sprang to life. “What... how in the world did you...”

Leo overheard you and Sebas talking about solar energy sometime… hush, just run with it

He fell into the seat next to you, propping his chin upon his fist. “I didn’t do anything. Just asked Sebas whether there was a way for you to use this. Leonardo took notice and tinkered around with it. Don’t ask—ah!”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for taking care of me, Theo.”

Would you have lifted your face, then you’d have caught a glimpse of the vermillion shading his cheeks. “I didn’t do it to help you. I simply can’t risk having you become a liability at work. That’s all.”

Anyway, tsundere tendencies aside, you know what another big factor of dating Theo is?

King if you’re not allergic, understandably, if so, he’ll change his clothes before even thinking of visiting you

On days that you decide to be especially stubborn, he pulls you outside, all the whilst whistling for the jolly golden retriever

And as soon as he comes running, your mind goes brrrrr cute dog

Although, he’ll try his best not to distract you from work. He knows from personal experience that it’s a much bigger annoyance than help

Thus, he’ll certainly use his connections and amiable rip Shakes relationships with the residents to help you out with the research process

Also, with his superior memory, he knows what generally makes you happy and relaxed, so he’ll be his usual observant self to decipher just what would help you perfectly relax/finish your work

Hardworking boi, please love him

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of person that doesn’t mind upsetting people and risking someone’s disdain if it supports that person in the long run

And he’s able to read people like books, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he knows you’re overwhelmed before you even realize it

You’ve been going to sleep too late and waking up too early? He’ll gently force you (if you’re 100% against it, he won’t do it ofc) to sleep beside him, making sure that you won’t rise with the sun for once

You’ve been exposing your wrist to heavy sprain? He’ll teach you some handy-dandy 5 Min Crafts techniques that are guaranteed to send your hands on a vacation

You've been suffering from writer’s block? Time to go on a lovely stroll through nature with your boo

Your shoulders and neck are hurting beyond sanity? He swears by hot springs, so the thermae is his go-to for when you need to relive some muscle kinks

He never fails to procure the perfect amount of bubbles and temperature. And depending on how comfortable you are with it, he’ll offer to wash your hair.

And since dude got Disney princess hands, you most probably fall asleep, but our man is there to hold you above the water

His bare thighs are an added bonus, sending your mind into spirals faaaar away from college work

After you’re done bathing, he’ll ask you whether you’d like him to braid your hair (if it’s long enough), and his Disney princess hands will not disappoint

In the beginning, it was incredibly vexing to have a security cam in the form of a handsome man always on the qui vive

But at some point, you started embracing Dazai’s overwhelmingly passive—you knew exactly what he was doing whenever he’d do something random—protectiveness

Especially since it didn’t only help you complete your work; on the contrary, you were always excited to spend time with the Japanese writer

But that didn’t curb your confusion at the whole debacle. Why was he this focused on your well-being?

So, you decided to confront him

“Dazai?” Once again, you were relaxing in his arms, his fingers threading through your hair lulling you into a dreamlike state.

He ticked his head to the side, pulling your entwined hands closer towards his heart. The sun streamed into the run at just the right angle, yet the golden light was not as bright as his vivid citrine orbs.

You sighed, unable to look at his stupid handsome face for too long. ”Why is it that you insist on taking care of me?”

“Someone has to, Toshiko-san.”

You’d have blurted out your feelings if it wasn’t for the sudden embrace you found yourself in. As guileless as it appeared, you knew he was trying to stop you from acting on your thoughts.

Deciding that you didn’t want to pressure him further (after all, you knew that he had a hellish first life), you accepted the unclarity of his feelings—even though his actions spoke loud enough for you to understand.

It was that day that you decided to repay him for all he’s done for you

And you wouldn’t let him yeet himself through a window in an attempt to evade the love sent his way this time

Even if it took decades, you wanted him to feel just as safe and loved as you did in his company

You were glad to have such a caring man by your side who helps you with managing you self care

You could only hope that he’d allow himself to be treated the same way

Please just take our love, boo. We love you

Jean d’Arc

Well fuck, how could he possibly help someone who’s stressed when he himself is a 24/7 McDonalds that only sells Chicken McStress?

Anywho, I feel like he’d be the complete opposite of Dazai when confronted with a stressed MC

He’d care just as much, of course, but he thinks that it would be better to give her space, since he himself understands the desire for solitude well

So yeah, I can see him not going out of his way to check up on you if you weren’t super duper close friends/lovers IF it wasn’t for his friend Napoleon

After all, it was him who gave your boyfriend a lil talk, convincing him that, perhaps even if someone needs space, they probably still need someone to look after them

Living with Jean is basically Ted Talks everyday

Anyway, he embarked on his journey to hopefully help you and and to relieve some stress that was wearing you down (according to the statement of several residents)

And, finding himself halting abruptly, our pessimistic little bean realised that he’s got zero idea what did help you attain bliss

So he opted for the next best option—things he knew that made his friends relax

Plan A

Hearing a few oddly reluctant raps on your door, you went to open it. As soon as you did, the beautiful man who’d captured your heart entered your vision, your eyes finding his amethyst ones immediately.

You two stayed like that for a moments, only breaking eye contact when he sighed and simultaneously thrusted a mug into your hand, already in the process striding back to his own room.

“Uhm… Jean? I’m a bit busy right now, but would you like to come in?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you find it inappropriate for a man to enter your room, mademoiselle?”

“Jean,” you giggled at his archaic mindset, gently rubbing your thumb between his brows to even out the crease. “We’ve had sex before, you know. Of course you ca—“

Wrong thing to say. He stormed past you, vermillion cheeks practically leaving a trail.

Chuckling to yourself, you turned to the mug’s contents. “Hm? Hot chocolate?”

Plan B:

“If this doesn’t harbor your discomfort…” Your boyfriend reluctantly stood in your room’s corner, standing straighter than a rod.

Frankly, your essays have kept you entirely too busy, and you longed for the warmth of the French man’s feather-like embrace.

“On the contrary, I enjoy your presence.” And you went right back to scribbling away.

Jean frowned. “Haven’t you been writing stories since this morning?”

“They’re not stories… and, yeah? I believe so.”

Stepping towards your seated form, he extended his hand; you grabbed it without thinking twice. “Is everything alrig—whoa!”

With the ease of a seasoned soldier, he picked you up before haphazardly tugging you into bed with bewilderment maring your features. “You should sleep.”

“—what?”

He stared at you blankly, as if expecting you to fall into the land of dreams right that instant.

“Did something prompt,” you slipped your arms out from underneath the duvets, gesturing wildly, “this?”

It was hard to be upset with Jean, his clueless but genuine persona the reason why you fell for him, yet you couldn’t disguise the irritation coursing through your veins—you had work to return to, after all.

“I think you need to rest, mademoiselle.”

Your blinking made him avert his eyes, explaining quietly, “I am uncertain what supports your release of tension, so I thought that perhaps sleeping could help since it certainly does show affect with Napoleon.”

“Ah, and you made me hot chocolate since that’s what calms Mozart.”

After internally simping for his soft and wholesome dumbass energy, you pulled him to bed beside you, claiming that it would help you relax (but only after telling him that it was okay for him to ask for your preferences)

And falling asleep to the heartbeat underneath his broad chest is definitely a 5-star-resort vacation

He’d eventually ask his relationship advisor Napoleon whether it is okay to have you help them out with his reading/writing lessons (you

You, alongside Napoleon, steadily agreed, despite knowing that it was a ploy to keep you away from overworking

Please also love this boy, thanks

Tag List of the most wonderful sweethearts (just message me if you’d like to be added <3): @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta @delicateikemenmemes

[theodora3022]

Headcanons of Yandere! Inasa Yoarashi

Request: Reader is a female UA student with a strong wind quirk, Inasa Yoarashi met her during the provisional license exam. She is not particularly charming or beautiful, but she peaked Inasa’s interests. Normally, she is a friendly person. However when he tried to talk to her, she would give a curt reply, clearly wants nothing to do with him. What angers him more is: She is close to Shoto Todoroki! Little did Inasa knows she is avoiding him because she is insecure about her control over the winds, she fears that the winds might favour Inasa and she would be left quirkless. Head canons please. Today is the wind boy’s birthday and there’s just so little content of him...He is underrated.

Notes: Interesting suggestion! Today is indeed his birthday, I shall tend to your request at once! I been wanting to write about him for a while ngl, but I just cannot find an exact idea. Thank you for this amazing idea, anon. There’s not much information about his personality so I don’t worry this being OOC hehe.  Sorry if this turns out to be a bit Yandere… Man this took way longer then expected, please enjoy!

Update: Sequal No.1, Sequal.2(Coming soon)

Some of this is inspired by @reinawritesbnha​‘s post. Go give it a read! It’s one of the best I ever seen.

Warning: Violence(non-graphic), yandere, kidnapping, dub con, implied breeding kink (? Idk this is the first time I wrote something like this)

You are a strong pro-hero in training. You can command airflows to your will, any gas is under your disposal. It is only a matter of time before you become the big three of your year. Even Bakugou does not want to anger you. You are a powerful tempest towards your enemies. Overall, you are quite confident about your abilities. 

That is, before you met Inasa Yoarashi during the provisional license exam.

When you first saw him, you feel this sense of…familiarity. Even though you never met him before, you cannot shake this feeling of connection with Inasa.

Then you felt his cold glance towards your direction. But when his eyes met yours, his lips curl up into a big grin and bowed slightly.

“I am Inasa Yoarashi, also known as Gale Force, from Shiketsu High. And what is your name, beautiful miss from UA?” Man, he is loud.

Ah, so he is Gale force. You learned about him when picking out your hero name, he also has a wind quirk. Then it strikes you: what if the winds like him better? What if they just abandon me while he is around? Those thoughts make you feel helpless, the scenario of being quirkless terrifies you to no end.

The blush of being called “beautiful” is gone, instead you replace it with a stoic face: “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Yoarashi. I am (F/N) (L/N), also known as (hero name). Come on Shoto, they are almost starting, we should get going. Please excuse us.”

You walk away, smiling at Shoto. Leaving Inasa there, angry and confused.

He immediately regrets withdrawing his application from UA. If he had been in your school, it is him you would smile and befriend now, instead of that wicked Todoroki! The way you are calling his first name, so intimate, just sends anger through his brain.

So, you have a wind quirk too, huh? No wonder he feels this instant connection with you.

Froze there for a couple of seconds, until Nagamasa Mora called him. “What has gotten into you, Inasa? The exam is going to start soon.” Ashamed to admit his true feelings, Inasa would brush off the older man’s concern, and pretend nothing had happened.

Words cannot describe how he felt when he saw you in your hero costume. Like Inasa, you had chosen to put a thick jacket on. The skies can get quite cold, after all. His looks practical, with multiple tubes to help regulate the air currents. But your grey coat looks like an expensive piece from a boutique, the edges even has fur for decorations. Inasa think your look fits for a scroll in the snow, instead of a battlefield. It’s probaly for disguise to fool villians. You have not fully button up the coat yet, he can still glimpse the (favorite colour) spandex bodysuit underneath. If this has not been an exam, Inasa swears he would ask you to go to dinner with him, here and now.

Feeling his gaze fixated on you, you tense up nervously. Is he finding ways to take the winds away from me? Horrified, you decide to stay far away from him during the exam as possible.

Shoto noticed your nervous state, he asks you what is wrong. You shrug, stating it is just pre-exam stress.

Every time Inasa sees you and Shoto’s friendly interactions, his heart bleeds. But he decides to wait until after the exam to take any action. He also decides to impress you with his outstanding performance in the exam.

When you choose the furthest area from him, it left him feeling disappointed. So he chooses a tall building as his battleground, to better utilize his quirk and to watch you from afar.

Unlike his approach with winds, which focus on intensity and strength, your winds concentrate their efforts on speed. Stealth and fast, most people only catch your afterimage in the corner of their eyes.

Your strategy is creating vacuums around their heads. When your opponents are choking due to lack of oxygen, you press them against a solid surface to knock them out. Then you score with the tennis balls, done. Simple yet effective. It has only been five minutes into the exam, and you are already finished, with minimal efforts of two people unconscious.

Inasa saw all of this from the top of the building, of course. Like an assassin of the night, you move with such grace, and that speed of yours! Truly amazing. He had never thought of creating vacuums before. He guesses this is one of your ultimate moves.

He might just be curious about you before, but after seeing you fly around with that incredible swiftness, Inasa find himself becoming more smitten with you.

It is settled in his mind: he has to have you. Just imagine how what a power couple you two would be! The wind duo will be invincible. And your children would have the strongest wind quirk ever.

In the break room, you sigh with relief; you reached your goals: stay furthest away from Inasa as possible and passing with negligible efforts. Taking out your (favorite snack) from your backpack, you decide to reward yourself a little.

But then you find Inasa grinning at you across the room. Your good mood vanishes instantly.

Talking to Shoto to distract yourself from his burning stare, you felt his gaze moved away.

“That Yoarashi guy, I saw him in the entrance exam for recommended students. I was surprised that he went to Shiketsu.”

Phew. You were delighted to hear him say that. You would not want to deal with this situation on a daily basis.

Before you can feel that delight, however. Inasa invites himself into your conversation.

“Your speed is incredible! The way you master your winds is truly impressive. We should train together sometime. We can share our experiences on the winds!”

Being the nice person you are, you did not ignore him, trying to bring yourself to like him. You do want to share experience with a fellow wind user.

You did not notice how he left Shoto out of the conversation, completely. Not that he wants to socialize with Inasa, but still.

To Inasa, you remind him of the warm spring breeze. A ray of sunshine, easygoing and friendly, the complete opposite of Todoroki.

Of course, you are unaware of his ridiculous plans involving a future together and children. You just see him as a enthusiastic, loud boy.

Shoto can feel his obsession thoughts for you, however. After Inasa left to prepare for the second part, Shoto warned you subtlety. But you did not take it seriously, saying that is just how Inasa make friends. “He’s like that with everyone. No need to worry.”

The second exam you devoted yourself into rescuing. Shoto said he would deal with the villain. So you just focused on dealing with injured “civilians”. After gaining knowledge of their “injuries”, you lift the debris with winds and deliver them to the first-aid station.

It was after the exam you find out the two had fight while dealing with the villain.

They did not pass. You comforted Shoto about it, leaving Inasa upset. He failed the exam too; he needs your comforting words just as much as Todoroki!

You exchanged numbers with Inasa upon depart, promise him to train together soon. You fear of inferiority is gone; being this close to him, you can sense his power is not as strong as yours. Evidently it is him who should worry about falling out of the wind’s favour.  

Your friends, especially Mina, tease you about your little encounter with the other wind user. Calling him your “Shiketsu boyfriend”. You yell for them to stop, saying you only seen him as a friend.

Inasa’s friends are pretty much the same. Although he is a year younger, his sociable nature made him approachable. He shows off now he got your number, and they all laughed. “She can create vacuums and suffocate people; I would hate to get on (y/n)’s bad side.”

After the exam, he wrote out his plan of attack, staying up until 2am to do so. Shiketsu forbid its students to have any romantic relationships, so Inasa wasn’t planning on having one with you. Your relationship with him will remain platonic until you both graduate.

It involves an arranged marriage and an immense sum of dowry to bribe your parents. His father always taught him to go after what he wants with all his might. Inasa cannot wait until you graduate and move in with him. It is such a shame a powerful hero like you have to become a homemaker so soon. But he cannot have you swinging around the city in spandex, they are for his eyes only. He wants to keep you in the safety of his house, to train his brood of offspring. Yes, that is what your prestigious UA diploma for-for his children’s head start in life.

Stalking you would be difficult since you can sense the movement of air around you. They report any abnormalities to you at once. So he watched you from afar, how you shoot across the sky like a bullet to go to school every morning, how you relaxed in mid air during lunch break, or how you laugh with your friends outdoors.

Sometimes you would feel like someone is watching you, but the winds say all clear. So you just mark it as you are being too self-conscious and do not care.

You two would occasionally text and train together/help each other with homework on weekends, getting lunch together afterwards. him acting like nothing less then a gentleman. You start viewing him as a friend, despite what Shoto said before.

Inasa is glad that you did not seem to take interest in any boys during your high school time. If you end up inTodoroki’s arms, he does not know what he will do to Shoto.

A week after you graduate UA your parents told you they have received a marriage proposal. They have already accepted it, so there is no room for negotiation.

You are shocked to surprised finding your intended to be Inasa Yoarshi. You thought of him only as a training buddy prior to this.You ask to postpone the marriage until you become a full pro-hero but was shut down rather brutally. He said he will provide for you. There is no need for you to work when he can just take care of everything.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m going to take such great care of you! You can teach the children at home, so they can get a head start in hero life!”

Avoiding him would be pretty easy considering your speed, you can carry on with hero work as if nothing has happened, even moving to another city. However if this goes on for too long, Inasa will kidnap you.

Most likely to steal you away from your apartment at night, as he is as good at being stealthy as you. You live alone, it was a breeze. Some Chloroform and ropes would get the job done. 

You would wake up in a nicely furnished room one morning, quirk-cancelling collar locked on your neck. With chains long just enough to reach the bathroom.

Inasa hates seeing you upset, but it is all going to be better once you get used to your new employment: his sweet wife, the mother of his children.

Will consider letting you go outside for grocery shopping if you been good, with his company of course.

He would never raise a hand on you, no matter how much you screams and reisists him. Being so understanding, Inasa knows you need some time to come around. 

He loves nothing more then watching you do domestic chores, this man got issues. He expects you stay at home, cook dinner for him and take care of him. Which is a nightmare for you, since you despise housewife life.

You are so helpless without your winds to protect you, so you tried to rip this goddamn collar off everyday. But it was futile: only Inasa has the key.

You went to bed with him just to get some time outdoors, since your claustrophobia is acting up. You didn’t expect him to be so gentle and soft. But you regret it soon after because he become insatiable afterwards.

Then two months later you found yourself in the bathroom, staring at a positive pregnacy test. 

Once Inasa knows about your condition, he will loosen the restrictions. You can now use your quirk under his supervisions: it’s excerise, and the two of you both need it.

He would take you to comittee events, to go visit his friends, even letting you see your friends from time to time. You also got your phone back, but with a tracking app installed on it. 

Now all he has to do is wait a couple more months to meet his child.

[themilky-way]

like water {din djarin}

gif credit: no-droids

pairing: the mandalorian/din djarin x fem!reader

summary: when the one person he cares about is threatened, he lets himself indulge in the aftermath of defending them. 

warnings: some violence in the beginning, choking (not in the fun way), depictions of scratches, punches, and minor abrasions; the reader is hurt basically. oh and mando’s gun bc yeah❤️umm that’s it i think? nothing too horrible tho but if this thing triggers you, please don’t read !!

author’s note: not to be conceited or anything (is that even the right word for it lol?) but im super proud of how this turned out! requests are open btw for anyone who wishes to submit anything (if unsure, just ask which fandoms)!

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cyar’ika-> darling, sweetheart

nothing in that exact moment had made much sense. one minute the most precious thing to ever exist to him was snatched away, and the next his hands were gripping the treasure beneath his holster. his knuckles were lily-white at this point, holding the gun as hard as his body would allow him to without crushing underneath him, and the urge to cock it made him visibly shake. he’d been given a command, and out of all the merciless men in the filthy galaxy, he needed to follow it, so his weapon of preference stayed where it needed to. 

the meager specks of emotion that still lived within him betrayed his prominent composure, the view in front of him blocked by the sudden glaze of his eyes. the small drops of saltwater puddled together in his now hazy orbs, holding on until it was nearly impossible to stay put and then rivered down his cheeks. the cause? well, you.

you were filling up the mandalorian’s line of vision, his eyes darting between you and the bounty that had gone wrong. an alienated hand was wrapped around your innocent throat, your feeble hands wrapped around its wrist in a dumb attempt to break free. the ground you were roaming on before appeared to be never ending, and in the same way, the darkened sky absorbed you whole. vertigo was now in full effect; any quick movement caused you to shut your eyes tightly and hope to the maker you’d get through it. it took a few seconds for you to regain your balance, a sharp pain pinging around your neck forcing you to find it. you half expected to be back on the mud again, to have the man you had spent the past year flying around with pulling you to safety. instead, you found din frozen in place, an instinctive action rooted in the steel handle of his pistol. he wasn’t moving, too scared to blink as if you’d disappear if he did. 

perhaps you were; someone like you seemed too good to be true. in all actuality, it may be that you were a fever dream, a celestial that had come down from the sanctity of your home to finally rescue him from his burdens. amidst his frantic glances, he reminisced every second he’d spent with you since your unforeseen arrival, and that somehow worked for him. the gears in his brain started to turn again, and with every ounce of his strength, he pounced on the quarry and did what he should’ve done the instant you were taken from him. anger took over his worry, the effects illustrating themselves in a collage of mitted fists and blood. the pistol residing on din’s waist was useless compared to his hits; the softened position of his jawbone was locked firmly as a result of his gritted teeth and he was going to need more than your delicate hand on his shoulders to ground his senses. 

the mandalorian never expected to succumb to anyone, nor to feel remotely joyful upon hearing someone’s laugh. the idea of kindling a relationship was ludicrous, utterly impossible if only he weren’t bound to the chains of his creed. oftentimes, he wondered if someone would one day traverse his path and make him question every moral he’d been taught. din had dismissed the thought, as any other member of his intricate society would have, but the wondrous insight depicting a different lifestyle always lingered faintly in his mind. 

today, the very same visions behind his recurrent insomnia framed themselves in a frail art piece. din’s focus laid directly ahead, the fingers navigating the center controls as tight as they’d been on his gun. his eyes deserved to rest, perhaps take in the splashes of color nature was offering him, but he landed them on the same lovely sculpture adorning his cockpit. 

you were seated in the chair adjacent from the pilot’s, with your knees closely tucked to your chest. one large scrape designed itself on your leg-a dull reminder of the ordeal you were involved in hours earlier-with flakes of arid blood protecting the wound. bouncing off the skin of your throat were shades of red and purple, now properly mixing into a deeper complexion that’d require you to hide it for some time. besides the scattered nicks living on your face, and the other couple dozen on your arms and legs, the outcome wasn’t as terrible as the one your attacker received. it was a rule of thumb to not mess with a mandalorian, much less with the pretty little lady clutching his arm as if it were second nature. the foolest of fools wouldn’t even have done such a foul thing, and this particular creature came to know the punishment for harming what wasn’t rightfully his. 

it truly amazed him; the way you seemed to be so unphased by a traumatic circumstance. the woman beside him-the same one who couldn’t sleep unless a window was open-had endured pain, and the marks on her skin proved themselves in jagged indications of it. through the darkened screen of his visor, din could make out your hands neatly intertwined around your folded knees, your chin simultaneously resting on top. you’d been as observant as you always were, hardly missing his actions as he navigated his newfound family to a safe stop. sure, you were unaware of the loving term he considered of you and the baby, but it didn’t hurt to keep it a secret, right?

“hey.” it came out more hoarse than he intended it to, but the emotion behind it flowed out nonetheless. “you okay?”

not really. i don’t feel good. it was easy to say exactly that, to speak the truth, but it was even easier to lie. for the sake of his own worry, at most. your eyes were still glued to his armor, taking in the rough outline of where you imagined his skin would be underneath, or moreso the abstract idea of feeling it with your hands. reflections of your yearning came and went like the mandalorian’s missions, almost impulsively at times, and the curious, teasing tilts his helmet would bid you only encouraged that craving. much like now; the black “T” of his expressionless face leaned to the side, asking you to earnestly respond. “mm, yeah. ‘m kinda tired, though,” you mumbled.

you threw him a lie and he caught it. “don’t lie to me.” din swiveled his chair to accordingly match the peripheral of yours, his elbows coming to rest on top of his beskar-clad legs. “can you look at me?” he inquired softly. then, his intent fell on the slow shift of your head and how it turned to face him, your cheek settling on your unscathed knee. a breath fell from his lips at the doting admiration swimming in your stare. “there she is,” he confirmed with an upward curl of his lips. “is there anything i can do?” it was sincere; a genuine concern to accompany his question. you hummed in response, fearful to accidentally voice the confessions you hid from him. you blinked once, twice, until his question became a plea. “please, cyar’ika.”

reasonably, you were too busy exploring the shape of his helmet, permitting your creative imagination to paint images of the man next to you; so when your ears perceived his sudden name of endearment, there was nothing amongst the stars that you could’ve possibly denied him from. “you’ve never called me that before,” you smiled, all big and brilliant. 

“i’ve wanted to,” the man replied. what resembled ages of pent up stress released with a few curated words. his muscles relaxed, something he never believed to be attainable given his vigorous profession. “god, i’ve wanted to.” 

he followed it with a humble laugh. a sound so familiar and warm, so genuine that it empowered your grin to spread higher. “by all means, keep saying it.” now it was your turn to nervously giggle, and him who embraced the noise with everything he could. a mutual infatuation, so wonderfully obvious, yet it was refused acknowledgment. “i think there is something you can do, though.” silence advised you to continue, “can i sleep with you tonight?” 

the misguided pieces of your minds’, maybe even your souls’, reattached themselves that very same night. as the both of you slept, hands, calloused and smooth, intimately merged against the cushions of the warrior’s bed. tender kisses planted to your forehead left electricity in their wake, and the dark ambiance of his dwelling favored the entanglement of your tired bodies. 

“i wish i could see you, din,” you sighed. the manner in which it was expressed, full of sleep and everything akin, urged him to lift your weightless wrist to his lips. 

“you’ll get to one day, cyar’ika. for now just let me hold you, yeah?”

[mourntheantagonist]

Billy Hargrove’s Exploration Of Beauty

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |

Part 7: When Blue Met Pink

chapter one: joyce

also on ao3

Billy pulled into the parking space outside of Melvald’s with a screech of the tires. The body of the car slightly jerked forward once he finally came to a complete stop just before he would hit the yellow parking block. The right tire sat just outside the white line, a rookie looking parking job to say the least.

With his wallet in one hand, and his keys twirled around the index finder of his other, as he heard the metal pieces clank, he walked through the glass doors into the store. He heard the chime of the opening door ring through the mostly empty space.There were only a few people. An old lady who was carefully inspecting the soup aisle, and a middle aged woman with her toddler son who were walking past the ice cream. The little kid with his hand up in the air, his finger pointed to the tub of rocky road that was barely visible through fogged over glass. He noticed the exhausted eyes of the woman masked by heavy mascara and shadow. “I already said no Daniel.” she sighed. Joyce Byers was at the counter, her elbows resting by the cash register, head propped up in her hands as she stared blankly in front of her with her head tilted in a way that indicated she was thinking about something that the rest of the world just couldn’t comprehend.

He ignored the total three figures that roamed the aisles of the small little corner store, offered a wave and a smile to Mrs. Byers that went completely unnoticed, and got to the task at hand. Not there to pick up some milk or butter like Neil always had him do whenever they ran out, as if he was the one sneaking spoonfuls of butter at two in the morning. No, that was all Max, the fucking weirdo. He also wasn’t there to pick up a pack of cigarettes, though he probably would once he got to the counter, considering the phrase “pack of reds” served as his default greeting to every cashier. He was there, at Melvald’s, at three in the afternoon, like a fucking sap, because he was buying little treats for the boyfriend he had waiting for him at the big house off of 3rd avenue, a movie and hopefully more as their evening plans.

He knew what Steve liked. He hated what Steve liked. But despite his utter disgust over strawberry fruit snacks tainting delicious cheddar cheese popcorn, the smile on Steve’s face whenever he tossed a new box of Sunkist Fun Fruits at him was worth the effort of sifting through the bowl. He located the snack aisle and picked out the familiar yellow and red box, along with some Orville Redenbacher. The time on the clock overhead read only a quarter after three, and Steve wouldn’t be home from dealing with the nerd herd until at least a quarter ‘til, so with his extra time, he continued to browse.

He picked up a couple of other things. A box of Twinkies so he could make some of his favorite jokes, some Ho Hos so Steve could make some of his. The basket was slowly filled to the brim with junk food, indicative of a truly wild night ahead of him.

On his way to the refrigerated section to scope out the drinks, the glimpse of a carefully assorted rainbow of colors stopped him in his tracks. It’s a small section, no more than two and a half feet in diameter, but at almost the instant he recognized the familiarly shaped bottles on display, he went on complete pause. There was nobody anywhere around him, no sound of nearing footsteps, so he let himself stand there and ponder. Let himself imagine just reaching out and touching something on display as he kept his eyes averted, locked straightforwardly toward the cases of beer behind translucent refrigerator doors. He just stared blankly, with an inner attempt to form some reasonable excuse to be a man who was looking at makeup.

“Oh, Max asked me to pick it up for her.”

He settled on that one.

And turned his head.

He was just going to look. That was all.

There held a whole magnitude of various beauty products, from polishes, to moisturizers, to lipsticks…

That rosy pink stared right back at him like it was screaming at him to pick it up. To look. To swatch. To taste. To feel that velvety cream cover his lips. A tint similar to that of his own lips but just more… pretty. Smooth and elegant and airbrushed. “Soft matte look,” it read.

He wanted it.

He wanted to add it into the basket of goodies he’s already collected as another treat for himself. Maybe a treat for Steve if he decides he likes it.

They discussed it in the past in a very, tip-toed around the subject kind of way. Steve gently held his hand in his as he applied a light pink varnish, similar to that of the lipstick shade, onto his nails. Steady hands perfectly coated the area without any sign of streaks or rough edges. They’d reached a point where that was routine, a little thing Billy could have of himself while they were alone together. Another thing they could add onto the list. It was something Billy felt just a little bit of safety around taking with him that one time. When the night had gone so perfectly with hot cocoa by the furnace, and the added bonus that Neil wouldn’t be home to inspect his appearance, he said no to the cotton balls and acetone and the clear coat replacement and instead let color coated nails remain under the cloak of his jacket pockets. He was on cloud nine as he walked through the door of his own house with concealed hands and no questions asked. He locked the door to his room and allowed himself to stare down at his hands. Fingers splayed against his bedding looking at how the pink contrasted with the blue of his sheets, and he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment and a little dash of pride.

That same night, while his nails were going from bland to bold, Steve popped the question like it held no weight at all. Like it was just a casual sort of thing used to fill the silent gaps.

“Have you thought about wearing makeup at all?”

He didn’t even look at him when he said it, completely enthralled in the way the bristles contacted the nail, so he didn’t see Billy's eyes widen like saucers. However, he did notice as the hand in his hold began trembling.

Steve ever so slightly tightened his grip to help reduce the shaking, his eyes angled up at Billy finally, the painting temporarily discontinued. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

No. Yes? The thing was, with Steve’s first question, the answer was yes. He had thought about it. All the damn time. Like a woodpecker pecking away at his skull, he thought about it. Every time he saw a woman with a shimmer on her eyes, black in her waterline, a shine to her lips, a rosy tint to her cheeks… he felt unbridled envy. He wanted to feel the way they felt. Billy wanted powder to clog his pores and give his face a uniform color. Become a blank slate. He envied that soft and smooth and gentle and pretty appearance.

He found himself on more than one occasion sneaking into the master bathroom where Susan had kept all of her make up. Too scared to touch it, he would just look at it. Try to psyche himself up to reach for that little tube of Mary Kay mascara and shove it into his pocket before the rumble of the truck outside would shake the house.

Instead he would slam the drawer shut and rush back to his room and forget it even happened as he bit away at his clear coated nails. He’d fall back onto his pillow and let his eyes fall shut. He would let the darkness consume him into a dream where he didn’t have to be afraid to add volume to his already long lashes or add a tinted gloss to his lips. He’d enjoy the free feeling for as long as it would last.

So yeah. He thought about wearing makeup.

He didn’t tell Steve that though. Instead he chose to only respond to the second question. Because some things were just a little too hard to say out loud. Some things were a little too foreign.

As much as Billy wanted to bridge that gap between femininity and masculinity, he also had every desire to keep them separate. To push away all of those urges to wear lacy lingerie and silk panties. Keep his hair short, face and nails bare and unkempt. Smell of sweat and hard work like a man. “I’m fine.” he said in lieu of the complete truth. It didn’t feel or sound like a lie when he said it. But later on he figures out that it definitely was.

They had that conversation already, but it didn’t keep those thoughts from lingering. His mind was boggled with confusion about who he was and what he liked and the additional bafflement over how simple it all was to Steve.

So simple in fact that he said the most perfect thing as if it was just another instinctual flick of the tongue.

“Well I can bet you’d look real pretty with lipstick.”

It was said like he wants it. Not just for Billy’s sake, but his own, and that right there felt amazing.

That was the first night he finally let his hands sift through that drawer of Susan’s and sneak away a couple of items. Susan and Neil had yet to arrive home from their trip into the city so Billy was safe. He had painted nails that felt like a shield. When he held the tube of mascara, the nude bullet lipstick, and the only bottle of polish he could find in his own hands, he felt completely untouchable.

He locked himself in his own room and stood in front of his makeshift vanity. Tossed the stolen objects into the mess of cologne, hairspray, and cigarette ash. He just studied himself for a moment. Hunched over taking deep and shaky breaths, in and out. Every logical thought in his mind was shouting at him to go put it back. To put it somewhere other than his room. That dreadful thought that just its temporary occupancy in his room would be easily detected by Neil, even if he chucked it out of his window right then, scared him. It was all too risky to be doing in his own house, yet he still twisted open the cap of the mascara and pulled out the wand.

It was in that moment that Billy had no fucking clue what he was doing. Didn’t even know where to begin.

He just closed it right back up, slipped it underneath a stack of records, and moved on. He twisted open the lipstick only to be met with a very light shade. Lighter than his own skin color. Applied to his lips it just looked absolutely ridiculous. It didn’t give him that pop of vibrancy he envied in the women he saw. It made his lips feel more sunken in and lifeless, rather than big and beautiful.

And he already knew he hated the nail polish. He didn’t even have to apply it. It was a rust color, like a dirty orange. Billy hated the color orange, and mixing it with brown didn’t fucking improve it.

It was all a total bust. A complete waste of his energy. With his sleeve he wiped the lipstick from his lips and stowed away the rest of the contraband. He went to bed feeling extra shitty, the despair of empty darkness was the only thing included in his night.

He stopped letting himself think about makeup since that night. All it achieved was making him feel disappointed and just... bad. No other way to describe it.

But it all came flooding back when he saw the display. Not the bad feelings, the good ones, the ones he had in his dreams. The feeling of completion that couldn’t be realized with the makeup Susan guilt purchased off of a friend’s “growing small business.” There was a little hope growing in the pit of his stomach as he let himself peruse the many options at his disposal. A little bit of hope that maybe he just didn’t have the right stuff.

He just held the pink lipstick in his hand. He debated between dropping it into the basket or hanging it back up on the hook. Twiddling it in between his fingers, he let his mind race to many different places. Emotions of fear and joy clashed in his mind, like he couldn’t have one without facing the other.

But fear wasn’t dependent on joy. Because a small woman cleared her throat next to him and, surely enough, the only thing he was feeling at that moment was complete terror. Not an ounce of happiness to be seen.

It was Joyce Byers.

Well shit.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, neck craned to the left to make out what he had tightly clasped between his fingers.

“It’s for Max.” he said, too assuredly. Like it was clearly a prepared statement, the lie obvious in the pitch of his voice.

“Really? Max doesn’t strike me as a makeup girl.” It’s not really accusatory, not necessarily. But he could hear it. That ever so slight undertone in her voice that had disbelief written all over it. Her head was cocked just like it was when he first walked into the store, and it felt like she was reading him like a goddamn open book.

Billy couldn’t seem to find the words, unsure how to defend himself in the situation he was completely unprepared for. Stood there in silence as he let the words filter through his brain, waiting for the right ones to pop up in front of him, but they never did. He never really knew how to talk to older women other than through excessive and overdone flirtation.

“What shade did you pick?”

With no other choice in his immediate thoughts, he handed the lipstick tube over. She slowly took it away from his slightly too tight of a grip. She had a slight smile when she pulled off the cap to see the rose colored tip slowly rise out as she twists the bottom of the silver tube.

“This is pretty, though I think a shade like this would complement a skin tone more like your own. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That was the invitation, right there in that subtle little nod. She made eye contact with him before she quickly turned her eyes downward at his hands. the same hands that were nervously chipping away at dried, hideous, rust colored nail polish that he painted just before he left as a little surprise for Steve. Even though he hated the color, even though his right hand looked much better than his left. Ambidexterity was not something in his wheelhouse. He immediately stuffed his one free hand into his pocket, and tossed the other one that was currently holding his basket of groceries behind his back. As if she hadn’t already seen. She’d figured him out like some elementary math problem. The lipstick and the nail polish was just a 2 + 2 = 4 kind of situation.

“I don’t - this isn’t…” He couldn’t get a full sentence out because he really had no clue as to how to deny it, and there’s also a weird feeling that he loathes where he’s not sure he even wants to. She was just Joyce Byers. His only connection to the woman had a pretty long chain. Steve’s ex’s boyfriend’s Mom. Or Max’s friend’s Mom. Nothing direct. Nothing so close that he had to truly fear. Additionally, she was being nice? She wasn’t doing the things he’d always expected people to do. She wasn’t spewing slurs or making fun. There was a genuine motherly interest in the way she asked for the color that wasn’t completely foreign, but it was something so far away in his past that it might as well have been.

His face got red from just his own natural blush. His heart was racing, beating out of his chest until he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He felt like he’s being submerged under water until there was a small, cold hand pulling at his own.

“Come with me.” she says, her voice soft and planned. Billy just let her guide him, giving up and giving in to the little temptation to let someone else inside of the little sanctuary he built for himself. Even if all it was was just a small little glimpse into Billy’s secret world he’d only just begun exploring. He had so many things left to discover, things he wouldn’t find if he let his fear and shame dictate everything.

Joyce led him into the compact supply closet in the back of the store. They’re surrounded by shelves filled with boxes and various miscellany. He felt slightly suffocated in the small enclosure, but simultaneously a weird feeling of warmth in the way Joyce smiled at him. A soft upturn of the corners of her mouth, lips still sealed but the sincerity clear in the brightness of her eyes and the slight rise of her brows.

“What were you looking to get?” she asks. Unspecific yet specific. She left a name unattached to the end of the question on purpose to give Billy the opportunity for an out, if he wanted to deny the thing they both knew to be true.

“Lipstick? Gloss maybe? I don’t - I’m not sure I…”

After taking the full basket from his hands and setting it onto the floor, Joyce took his hands into her own again.

“It’s okay, y’know, if it’s not for Max.”

She was so straightforward. She just got right to the point without it feeling like an attack. Just strode right in with unwavering acceptance and affirmation. Letting him know that it was okay.

He looked at Joyce and saw his mom. Not the mom who abandoned him with Neil, but the mom who did things like this. The one who would cradle him after a nightmare and who told him he was destined for greatness. The one who encouraged him to be himself even when his father had other ideas.

“You know who you are. Nobody else gets to say differently.” she’d tell him when his father forced him into baseball and threw out his stuffed animals. Neil would go on to replace the keepsakes that represented softness with model cars and legos. It was just an act of toughening him up and preparing him to become a man at the ripe old age of seven. He was reminded daily of his role as a man in society with little tests just to make sure he stayed in line.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red.” he’d say, when he wanted to say purple.

He’d get berated when he cried when he got hurt.

“If you want to cry I’ll give you something to cry about,” Neil would say, as he stuck a hydrogen peroxide saturated cotton ball into the open wound.

Billy’s Mom never did that. Always warned him about the sting and rubbed his arm the whole way through. Preaching the opposite of everything his Dad would say. “It’s okay to cry, honey. Just let it out.”

His Mom was beautiful. He loved to sit in the bathroom and watch her as she put on her makeup. He’d seen the way her mouth dropped open when she applied mascara to her eyes, the way she smacked her lips together after she swiped on her favorite red lipstick... he wanted to be just like her.

He’d stolen from her once, and it didn’t end well. It was just a red lipstick. He was caught, almost literally, red handed. When his father had barged into his bedroom without so much as a knock, the red on his lips turned into red elsewhere. It was a mistake he learned never to repeat.

After all that, there he was, in a store where he listened to a woman tell him that all of the things he was raised to believe were far from okay, were perfectly okay. With Steve’s voice in his head echoing that of his Mom’s and Joyce’s, he let himself actually believe it this time.

“Thanks.” Billy said. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to an admission. He can’t outright say it, but in the way her smile widened before she turned around, he knew she understood.

“So,” she said, “–I have some product we can’t sell because the seals were broken. They’re still perfectly fine if you would like them.” She pulled a couple of things from the box on the lower shelf. The same lipstick he’d held out in the store along with a clear gloss, a small eyeshadow palette, some face powder and mascara. A full face worth of makeup moved from the palms of her hands into his own, accepting them with a nod of his head and the sniffle of someone trying to hold back tears.

“Are you sure?” he asked. A question with multiple meanings. All of which Joyce seems to pick up on. She pulled him into a tight hug. A warmth encompassed him all around that made him feel so overcome and just… good. Joyful and free like a painful growth was painlessly removed along with the truth’s reveal.

“Yes. I’m sure Billy. It’s okay.” An answer with multiple meanings.

They both exit the small closet, it felt like a metaphor for something. He headed up to the counter to buy his items, and Joyce began scanning his things when she got another smile on her face.

“Special occasion tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah. I got a hot date.” Not a lie.

She laughed a little before she punched the keys on the register.

“Anything else I can get for you Billy?”

Billy smiled.

“A pack of Reds.”

- : -

When Billy pulled into the driveway of Steve’s house he barged right in through the front door. He held the paper bag close to his chest and he shouted an “I have arrived!” that echoed up the stairs and all the way up to Steve’s room. Billy could hear the springs of Steve’s bed before he got up and rushed down the stairs to greet him with a little peck on the lips, immediately taking the bag from Billy’s hands to begin the formal review of his selections.

Steve set the bag onto the coffee table and began to sift through all of the things Billy bought. He tossed the cigarette pack at Billy with aggressive force before going right back into the bag.

The real surprise laid close to the bottom of the bag, hidden beneath the Twinkies and the popcorn and all the other junk food that had Steve beaming. Food was truly the easiest way to Steve’s heart.

Billy stood there tapping his foot and grabbing at his hands behind his back as he waited for Steve to see all the other things he got, to give him that little reaction he always knew would be positive, no matter the voices in his head that told him otherwise.

He seemed to have reached the bottom of the bag when he stalled. He just stared into the bottom of the brown paper bag, the table already covered in scattered candy and snacks, the only things left in the bag were the gifts from Joyce.

“Please tell me you’re going to put this on tonight.” Steve finally turned to look at him with an absolute ridiculous smile on his face. His mouth and eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider than they were right then. He seemed so fucking excited and it all radiated straight into Billy, and all he could do was walk up to him and kiss him. Billy pulled Steve’s face with both hands and practically consumed him like he was one of those Hostess desserts. Two untameable smiles pressed up against each other.

Billy reached for the tube of lipstick out of the bag and held it in between the two of them, he asked, “Are you going to help me put it on?”

Billy was wrong. Steve’s smile could get wider. Steve took Billy by the hand and sat him down on the couch, taking the bag with him as he straddled Billy’s lap.

“You know what you’re doing pretty boy?” Billy asked. He pushed Steve’s hair behind his ears as he looked up at him in awe. He relished in Steve’s excitement that was perfectly matching his own. It was all he could ever ask for.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve seen Nancy do it enough times.” Billy rolls his eyes at the mention of her name. Steve poked him in the face, causing Billy's face to scrunch. “Oh get over it Billy, I am.”

Billy was already shaking with anticipation and just wanted to get on with it without the mention of Steve’s former girlfriend. “Just shut up. Make me the prettier one.”

“Oh you already are, gorgeous.”

Steve twisted open the lipstick and carefully held Billy’s chin up so he was looking directly at him. With a steady hand and a soft touch, the smooth cream brushed against his lips and coated them to perfection. No overdrawn lines or transferring to his teeth, the color suited him so well, just a soft pink just slightly darker and more vibrant than the color of his own. It made his lips look bolder and fuller than they already were.

“Now look straight forward for me,” Steve said before he reached into the bag for another piece of product. “–and raise your eyebrows.” Steve twisted and pulled the wand from the metallic gold tube, the black bristles looked like spider legs. “Okay, hold still.”

“I swear to God Steve, if you poke me in the fucking eye–”

“Have some faith in me, damn!”

Fortunately for both Billy and Steve, none of the black goopy liquid found its way into Billy’s eyes. There was only a minor sting that, with time, he could easily see himself get used to. The sensation was followed by the feeling of soft bristles going in circles around his cheeks. Steve had asked him to smile for the application, but that wasn’t the reason he was doing it. The look of focus in Steve’s eyes along with the slight exposure of the tip of his tongue through his mostly sealed lips had sent Billy reeling.

Steve leaned back to get a complete view of his work. “Wow, I’m good.”

“Okay, hot shot,” Billy said with a nudge to his shoulder, “show me then.”

In a moment of surprising strength, Steve hoisted Billy up and over his shoulder by the grab of his ass. Billy’s stomach had come to rest right on the point of Steve’s shoulder, which sent him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. His voice fluctuated and bounced with each step Steve took down the hall toward the bathroom. Billy clung to Steve’s shirt, hiking it up past the midpoint of his as he did so.

“Oh my god! Put me down!” he laughed.

Billy’s legs flailed, with the result of a knocked over a lamp and a bruised ankle from the abrupt contact with the doorframe.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

Steve sat Billy on the edge of the sink, his face still faced away from the mirror. They were still coming down from their laughter when Billy, seemingly having forgotten about the makeover that he had just been given not even a full minute ago, leant down in an attempt to lay one right onto Steve.

“Hey, don’t ruin it before you even see it!” Steve pushed him back away from him and then helped him down from the sink and with a comforting grip of Billy’s biceps, he turned him around. “See? it looks so good on you!” Steve stood behind Billy with his hands trailing down to his waist, head over his shoulder, looking at him like he was his brilliant creation. Steve Harrington’s masterpiece, his most prized possession. “Wait right here, I got you something.”

Left alone in the bathroom, Billy was able to just let himself stare. Let himself lean in close to the mirror, his nose nearly touched the glass as he studied the tint to his lips, the definition to his lashes, the slight pink to his cheeks... It was the first time he ever looked at himself, like really looked at himself, and saw someone pretty. He truly believed it this time.

Steve came back with a bag of his own. It was a small bag with a French name on the side of it Black, and elegant, and Billy already had an idea of what’s inside. The day just kept on getting better. Billy tore the tissue out of the bag, and pulled the pieces of fabric out. It was a dust rose garter belt with stockings, panties, and a bralette, a perfect match for his lips. The lace was so sheer and the baroque floral patterns were so elegant he wanted nothing more than to just put it on right there. Strip himself down to the bare essentials and allow the openwork to protect him.

“You think you wanna give me a fashion show?” Steve asked, pulling the sleeves of Billy’s jacket down over his shoulders. Billy smiled and pushed Steve gently out the bathroom door and shut it right in his face.

He wasted no time putting it on. The way the fabric sat on his hips and his chest felt almost like it was tailored specifically to him. Enough room in the crotch area while also perfectly hugging his hips. The stockings squeezing his thighs just the perfect amount. There was no uncomfortable overhang in the bralette. He had never felt more comfortable wearing anything before. The pink on tan skin, the emphasis on every curve of his. He felt so soft and pretty and almost totally complete. He was just missing one thing.

Billy strutted out of the bathroom with a genuine conviction he’d never had before. There was no fear this time, no tears. Just pure elation at the prospect of Steve seeing him like this. Loving the way he looks in lingerie and makeup. Loving him for who he is and thinking he’s still hot. Still sexy and attractive.

“Holy shit you look fucking amazing baby.” Steve slowly walked toward him. He took in the whole view, committing the entire sight to memory because it was absolutely glorious. “I hope you aren’t mad,” he began, his hands finding Billy’s hips. “but I had my Mom pick it up while she was in Paris. I found out they make men’s lingerie there and I wanted you to have something special. She doesn’t know who it was for, but she knows I’m dating a guy now.”

They had never really discussed the topic of coming out. It felt like something that didn’t need to be said. Telling people was something so far off the radar of possibility that Billy felt a creeping sensation of absolute dread before he was finally able to open up his mouth to speak.

“And she was okay with it?”

Steve smiled and bowed his head just slightly. “Surprisingly, yeah. She was the one who wanted to pick something up for you. So I jumped on the chance.”

“Does your Dad know?” Steve laughed and shook his head.

“God I hope not. His brain would probably explode.” Billy pulled Steve in by the hold of his cheeks, and let their foreheads touch while they stared deep into each other’s eyes. Steve’s hands traced up and down the curves of Billy’s body, fingers dragged against the lace and their smiles were uncontrollable. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you first.”

“Hey,” Billy’s voice was soft, “I’m happy for you.” Steve's sigh of relief was hot against Billy’s mouth. “And thank you, for this.” he said before the distance between them was finally closed and lips were pressed to lips, pink color smeared all over each other’s faces.

The only thing better than wearing that lipstick was having Steve ruin it.

next part

[hongism]

I think that you are a genuinely intelligent person. The way you phrase your sentences, basic or not, you always make it seem as if you’ve put hours of thought and care into it.

When i see the way you write, I immediately think, “Yeah, that’s def an educated person.”

Ofc i don’t know you personally, but i felt if i had told you my darkest secret, you wouldn’t tell anyone and you would take that secret to your grave.

You’re just a very safe person for a lot of us to talk to, and for me, i could almost say you’re like a big sister, except without the sister part because big sisters are mean. Anyways, you seem like a very caring person, and i don’t want to compare negatively with anyone else, but usually when i send asks to other creators, i expect a short or vague response, and i didn’t rlly have a problem with that. But you actually talk to us, and it doesn’t feel like we’re talking to a celebrity who is so far out of touch with us.

Even though you have a lot on your plate with school and writing, you manage to show us your strong side, even if it may be hard. That’s what i envy about you. But if you do ever feel it, you can show us that you’re struggling, and the reason you can do that is bcs you’ve created a close bond with us. Even with the people who don’t send asks, they probably feel care for you like the ones who send asks do.

This may just be me, but I really like to make sure that people feel important and feel their impact on other people. I want you to know that every morning when i wake up and go through tumblr, I always get excited for your posts and i like looking through all of them, especially your daily hongjoong posts.

You are genuinely so talented and I could probably write a whole essay as to why i think your talented. I could analyze your stories and still not really get to the nitty gritty because it would take time to actually try and see what exactly goes on in your mind and your characters minds when i read, and that’s, like, the best thing ever. Like, there wasn’t a lot of authors where i could read their stories and try to analyze their characters, or when i do so, it’s so quick and easy. I hope you get what i mean, because i’m honestly not good at explaining things because my mind is going a mile a second and once a thought it there then it just leaves immediately lmao.

But to finish this off, i will say it simply 😤 You are an amazing writer and your writing and persona has a positive impact on not only me but all of us. I love you ❤️

- 🗡

NAUR FOR REAL I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS KIND OF LOVE FROM ANYONE HELP?!?! cried the first time i saw this in my emails and cried again reading it just now okay yes AAAAA i feel like any response i try to come up with is gonna be an absolute mess and im gonna be a mess and this is just overall a mess BUT!!!! let me just pretend im put together enough to respond coherently :')

do forgive me if this isn't as detailed or coherent as usual im genuinely a bit !!! speechless because of how kind and beautiful and touching this whole ask is? in all my time on tumblr i don't think i've ever received something like this or something that really shook me the way this ask does and it's such a high honor and a true blessing for me <3

i think for me the thing that is most important in interacting with others around me is that sense of safety. as much as i want to feel safe here on this blog, i want and feel a burning need for others to also feel safe. i want people to know they are loved and cherished here no matter what, and in my time as an anon on various writing blogs, the thing that always bothered me was when people would respond to a detailed ask with 1-2 sentences that never felt genuine. i strive to maintain a certain level of respect for any ask i receive, no matter who is behind it, and i want to give my all in responding to those asks because i know what it feels like to give a lot and receive little in return. beyond that i just adore getting to talk with people, and in real life, talking to people is incredibly difficult and stressful for me. being able to talk so much and so freely here on this blog is such a rewarding experience for me as a person beyond just being a writer and a content creator.

but also im someone who doesn't like showing when things are difficult. i only really admit that it's hard and hurts when it's been bottled up for a while, but these days im trying my best to learn to be more forgiving with myself, and truly it's because of the love and affection and support that you all show me that i feel comfortable enough and safe enough to open myself to you guys.

as someone who also loves making sure people feel important and needed and special, it means so much to me that you find such value in my blog because it's such a special and precious place to me as well

and to hear those compliments about my writing is reall y really something i will cherish forever, i have a place where i keep screenshots and messages that mean a lot to me and i can assure you that this one is going there in an instant. to think that before coming to tumblr, i was so insecure about my writing that i couldn't bear to look at it or share it with even my closest friends and family, and now here i am blessed and lucky enough to share my works with thousands of people is truly one of the greatest blessings i've ever been given. it might seem odd or foolish to some people, but to have this blog and this community and this family of people is so incredibly special to me and has helped me grow as a person in ways i didn't think possible. i adore that i have each and every single one of you because i know i would have left forever ago if not for the community i have been able to build up over the years and it's still as special to me now as it was when i received my first followers.

this is sappy enough and emo enough but thank you from the bottom of my heart thank you and i love you sosoososos much 😭💞💗

send me a LONG (or short) anonymous message saying what you think of me

[olliepig]

Centre Stage - chapter 5

As always, massive thanks to the ever amazing @willow-salix for her general cheerleading and betaing.

And, as usual, the whole thing is available on AO3 here.

*************************

“It’s a green light! Just go, will you?” Scott fumed, waiting for the car in front to move at the obvious filter light that had come on what felt like eons ago.

London traffic frustrated him no end, but today his tolerance for it was at an all-time low. Everything about getting there had seemed to take forever, and the joy he had felt soaring above the clouds once again had been short lived. He'd found himself wishing more than once on the flight from the island that he had chosen to bring his beloved One instead of the private jet. Despite the ultra-sonic plane being one of the fastest in the world, it was nothing compared to his ‘Bird, with whom the seemingly interminable four hours would have been slashed to just one, but he had made his decision and he was now having to live with the consequences.

However, even with the reduced flight time he’d still have to cross the congested city, and there was unfortunately no way of making that go any quicker. Selene always told him to take the tube, but the thought of heading into the dark tunnels wasn’t something he thought he could face so soon after the blackness of the Oort Cloud. So, he was stuck with crawling his way through the busy streets, his sleek, high powered car no use against the gridlock.  

Sighing in frustration as the traffic light turned to red once more, he slumped back in his seat, wishing he still had John with him for company. They had gone their separate ways once the plane had landed, but having his brother present on the flight over had been a blessing that Scott was very grateful for. They had spent the majority of the time in companionable silence, each lost in thought as they tried to process the amazing events of the previous days but similarly desperate to reach their destination and see their respective partners. Having someone there, even if it wasn’t the person he was desperate to see, had calmed and grounded him.

After all the extreme emotions stirred up by their Dad’s rescue, Scott found he was craving normality above all else. Being able to do what he did was incredible, but at that moment, perhaps more than ever, he just wanted to be able to collapse on the sofa with Cat in his arms. He needed her like he’d never needed anyone before, and his overwhelming desire for her was in danger of taking over all else, his whole body aching for the comfort and safety of her touch.

Finally throwing the car into gear and inching forward, he sighed again, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to be patient, almost sure that another half hour wouldn’t kill him.

*****

Unable to settle in one spot, Cat prowled around her flat, her impatience taking her on a well-worn route around the room, stopping briefly at two different windows before winding back to the sofa for a brief sit down until nerves got the better of her and she started up again. Despite knowing that the chances of Scott covering the distance from the airport so quickly on a rainy October evening were slim, she’d lost track of how many times she had started pacing since finding out that he had landed and her frustration was growing steadily, her body not allowing her to rest until she had seen for herself that he was safe and well.

The past 48 hours had been torturous. The overwhelming fear that she had felt while he was deep in the Oort Cloud had completely engulfed her, leaving her unable to focus on anything else, but at least that, she had expected. What had surprised her was the impatience that had plagued her since she knew that the rescue had been a success and he was home. Her desperation to see for herself that he was safe had taken her completely aback and that, combined with the sheer intensity of her feelings over the previous days, had forced her to confront the reality of just how much he now meant to her.

Pausing in her circuit to watch a car making its way up the street, her heartbeat quickened in the hope that it was the one she was waiting for, and she realised in a sudden moment of clarity that everything that had happened since he had kissed her at Penny’s was completely inevitable. She was hopelessly infatuated with him, even she had been able to see that, and there had never been even a shred of doubt in her mind about his feelings for her. But until now, she had been holding back, not allowing herself to truly experience the depth of her feelings for him, and she had no idea why.

No more, she promised herself, sagging in disappointment as the car continued up the street into the distance. He didn’t deserve it, and she had no desire to do anything that could hurt him. Now that she knew how she truly felt, she couldn’t deny it any longer, nor did she want to.

Checking the clock, she threw herself back onto the sofa with a groan, unsure as to how it was possible that only a few moments had passed since the last time she had looked. It had been over an hour since he had landed and she was at least certain that the time was drawing near for him to arrive.

The sound of the buzzer for her door jolted her out of her reverie, sending her hurtling across the room to answer it, her heart rate now in the region that would give cardiologists cause for concern. Scott’s smooth, deep voice over the intercom when she answered was like a balm to her senses and she almost wilted with relief as she heard him open the building door. Finally, he was only four flights of stairs away.

Scott took the steps two at a time, sure that someone must have added in extra flights since he last been there. The last two days had been some of the toughest of his life, going from the lowest low of thinking they had been too late, to the unbelievable high when his dad had grabbed his hand and stopped him sliding off the edge of the planetoid to an uncertain fate amongst the debris. None of that mattered to him at that moment however. All he could think about was getting to the top of the stairs and finding comfort in the arms of the woman who was waiting at the top for him,

Finally, he was at the top, and his heart leapt as he saw his beautiful Cat framed in the open doorway, the look of longing written on her face drawing him inexorably towards her. Their eyes locked together, he took a shaky breath as he crossed the distance between them in five easy steps and enveloped her in his embrace, relief flooding through him as he took a couple of steps forward, forcing her further into the hall and allowing the door to slam behind them.

Savouring the feeling of familiar strong arms wrapped around her, Cat buried her face in his neck, holding on as tightly as she could. Breathing in the scent of his skin, all her fears over the past five days were gone in an instant. She clung to him, pressing herself against his warm body as she felt his hand snake up and tangle itself in her hair.

Shivering in anticipation, she felt his hand tighten around the strands as he encouraged her head back, their eyes meeting briefly before her lips were crushed under his in a bruising kiss. His lips were hot and firm against hers and he parted them with a groan as they deepened their kiss, allowing her tongue access.

Desperate for more, he kissed her again and again, hard and insistent, lost to the intensity as his world ceased to exist beyond the woman in his arms. All his senses were focused completely on his burning need for her and he could feel his body responding. The blood pooling at his groin caused a delicious ache when she pressed herself against him again, making his knees buckle as he struggled to regain control.

His obvious desire stirred something in Cat and her body cried out to feel his skin against hers. Without breaking their kisses, she reached under his jacket, fumbling to pull the back of his shirt from his waistband. Sliding her hands up his back as the garment came loose, she moaned softly as she felt goosebumps prickling his soft skin.

Scott groaned and attacked her mouth with renewed vigour, totally lost to the sensations she was unleashing in him. The feeling of her hands on his back made him desperate for more. His hands found their way under her jumper, tracing up her back, feeling her shiver as she pulled away, her breathing heavy as she met his eyes.

“That’s quite a hello,” she smiled, trying to get her breathing under control but struggling under the intensity of his desire filled gaze that was holding her captive. She could feel his calloused hand still on her back, the hard skin in stark contrast to the softness she could feel as she gently traced her fingers up underneath his shirt.

“Well, you know me, I don’t like doing anything by half,” he grinned back, relishing her touch, loving the playfulness in her tone and the way her eyes were hungrily watching his lips as he spoke. “Do you remember that thought I told you to hold?”

Extracting her hand from under his shirt, Cat reached up to gently stroke his cheek, nodding as she was taken back to the intensity of their farewell in that same hall five long days before. Without warning Scott moved, lifting her up as he kissed her again. She could only cling on, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom.

******

Cat huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder again to get it out of her way while she focused on sewing ribbons onto the four pairs of new pointe shoes that would see her through the next couple of days of rehearsals but she really didn’t want to move to get something to hold it back. Not only did she have everything carefully laid out just where she needed it, but Scott was also sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in the movie they had put on earlier and she didn’t want to disturb him.

She wasn’t really paying much attention to it, but the act of doing something so normal after the week they had just experienced was a welcome relief.  Moments like this took her back ten years, and she could quite easily believe that they were still in her flat in Richmond, relaxing before she had another week of rehearsals and he was back on duty with the Air Force.

Movement beside her jolted her back to the present as Scott pushed himself upright with a grunt, untangling his long legs from hers. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek before he ambled out the room, his relaxed gait making Cat smile as she turned back to her sewing, glad that he was finally feeling at ease after the stresses of the previous weeks.

Out in the hall, Scott paused in indecision before heading into the bedroom. Contrary to Cat’s belief, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie either, instead spending his time watching her out of the corner of his eye. He found himself entranced by the way her hair kept cascading over her shoulder as she worked, the light catching it in a mixture of reds and golds as it moved before being flicked back to where it had come from. But no matter how much he enjoyed watching the colours dance across the strands as they fell, he could see how frustrating it must be for her and, once he heard her huff in annoyance, his mind was made up.

Moving with a conviction that he didn’t feel, he strode across to investigate the top of her chest of drawers, not completely sure of what she might need but sensing that he was likely to find something close to where he’d seen her put her hairbrush earlier. For the first time since he had known her, he found he was glad that she had not been blessed with the tidiness gene as he quickly grabbed her brush along with a selection of hair ties and pins that lay scattered across the top of the unit.

Crossing back across the living room, his precious bounty filling his hands, Scott was gratified to see that Cat hadn’t moved yet, still engrossed in her task and giving it her full attention.

“What’ve you got there?” Cat asked, her curiosity piqued by the way he was trying to sidle into the room without her noticing.

“Never you mind,” he replied with a grin, angling himself away from her as he walked behind the sofa so she couldn’t see what he was carrying.

Placing the ties and pins down on the top of the cushion, Scott gently ran the brush through the copper strands that he loved so much, suddenly nervous that this was a stupid idea as he watched carefully for Cat’s reaction. To his great delight, she put down the shoe she had been darning, which he took as enough of an invitation to carry on.

Sighing happily, Cat closed her eyes as a small smile played across her lips. She had no idea what had prompted him to lavish such attention on her, but she was definitely not going to complain. His gentle strokes with the brush made her scalp tingle, the sensation radiating out down her neck and into her shoulders. She leant back into the soft cushions, feeling Scott lift all her hair out of the way as she did so, letting it drape over the back of the sofa.

Her mother sitting behind her, talking about her day as she gently brushed her hair before bed one evening was one of the very few happy memories she had from her childhood. It was something she had clung to in the years afterwards, bringing it out and reliving it whenever the loneliness of being all but abandoned in favour of a new boyfriend got too much for her to bear. Now, some twenty years later, the feeling of Scott doing the same with such care took her right back to that heady feeling of being the centre of someone's world, making her heart soar as her smile grew larger.  

Once he was sure that he had all the tangles out of her hair, Scott surveyed the selection of things he had brought through with a small frown. He’d seen enough women put their hair into a ponytail to make an educated guess that it was probably the quickest and easiest thing he could do. Grabbing a hair tie, he started to gather her hair, brushing it up and away from her neck, smoothing it out as he went and making sure that he didn’t miss any stray bits. Happy that it seemed to look the way he’d seen it when she’d done it herself, he secured it with the band before leaning forward over the back of the sofa and wrapping his arms around her.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Cat asked, nuzzling into him and kissing his cheek, her heart so full it felt ready to explode.

“Must’ve been something very bad,” Scott replied with a smile, echoing her reply when he had asked the same thing a few days before. Kissing her forehead gently, he disentangled himself before vaulting back over the sofa and landing next to her, his smile turning into a grin as she rolled her eyes at him and shook her head fondly.  

“It looked like your hair was annoying you so I wanted to help,” he continued, surveying his off centre and rapidly sagging handiwork. “Sorry it’s not very good.”

“It’s perfect,” Cat countered, pulling him towards her for a lingering kiss before resting her forehead against his as she murmured quietly, “you’re perfect.”

The air seemed to settle around them as they sat motionless, neither willing to break the moment.

Cat’s heart hammered in her chest as the words crept into her head that she was powerless to deny any longer. She’d known for a long time, she realised, but had been too stubborn to accept it. To accept him.

Despite their history, she had somehow fallen into the trap of seeing him as Scott Tracy, the endlessly capable commander of International Rescue, but the last week had changed that. The way he had trusted enough to confide in her before the rescue, his desperate need for her reassurance when he had arrived that day and the simple act of care he had just shown in tying her hair back for her had combined to open her eyes to the fact that underneath all of that, he was still just Scott from Kansas, the same man she had lost her heart to a decade before.

“I love you,’ she breathed, so quietly it was barely audible even to herself.

Cat’s words sent a jolt like lightning through Scott’s heart and a small smile crept onto his lips as he leant into her, pressing their foreheads even closer together while he processed the implications of what she had just said. Finally, he was able to say those three words that had been in his head every time they were close without fear of scaring her away. He knew it was fast, but he put his all into everything he did and it wasn’t the first time that he’d fallen so completely for her.

“I love you,” he whispered, feeling like a weight had been lifted from him as he found her lips, brushing them tenderly with the lightest of touches.

Feeling Cat’s hand snaking around the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair as she pulled him closer. Scott deepened their kiss, his tongue gliding across the seam of her lips, groaning when she granted him entry. For the second time that weekend he was lost in her, but in contrast to his all-consuming need of before, now he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so at peace.  

Cat melted into his kiss, giving herself to him entirely as his warm lips caressed hers, showing her again and again just how much he meant the words he'd uttered that made her heart soar. As their kisses deepened, she tasted the residual sweetness of the popcorn they had shared, mingled with the wine that now sat abandoned on the table beside them but, buried underneath, was the taste of Scott himself, something she had grown to associate with peace and now love.

Unbidden, her lips began to curl up in a smile, causing her to break their kiss to let them split into the grin that had been threatening since he had spoken. A heady mix of euphoria and contentment overwhelmed her, leaving her breathless as she took in the man in front of her, his eyes glittering, dimples on full display, as a matching smile spread out across his face.

Scott could feel the happiness radiating out of her as they sat grinning at each other like loons. There were no more words that either of them needed to say. Having spent the last two months holding back from telling her the true depth of his feelings, his heart was fuller than he could ever remember it being.

“Your eyes are sparkling,” he observed, drinking her in as he tried to imprint this moment into his memory forever.

“You’re one to talk, have you seen yours?” Cat laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months.

“Touché,” Scott grinned, settling himself back on the sofa and opening his arms in invitation.

Cat didn’t even need to think about it. Abandoning her shoe preparation until later, she snuggled in beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as he held her, his fingers gently tracing up and down her bare arm, raising goosebumps on her flesh.

Smiling to himself, Scott placed a gentle kiss on her forehead as they lay quietly, not needing anything from each other but to be together.

[annaofthenorthernlights]

It´s your life

Chapter 5

High and low

A short drop of a sweet Kristanna surprising trip (Modern AU)

Rating: G

Word counting: 2057

Previous chapters (on AO3)

Summary: That day had been great – no, it had been splendid! It had been a dream and she was wondering if she would even wake up again! But then, life can sometimes be cruel and switch within seconds... from high to low...

Anna plopped down onto the bed, sighing contentedly and simply happy.

That day had been great – no, it had been splendid! It had been a dream and she was wondering if she would even wake up again! Kristoff had laid down next to her. So, here they were again, like the evening before when they had arrived. Anna turned to face him, beaming with sparkling eyes, her hand on his chest. Kristoff reached out and covered her fingers with his own hand, glancing at her with a grin. He was exhausted, but her radiant smile sent a warm satisfaction through his mind and body.

“Okay, tonight is yours and you´ll set the program, or maybe NO program anymore for us?!” Anna giggled and rested her head on Kristoff shoulders. “You were amazing, and this day was just soooo… wonderful! I won´t ask anything from you on my behalf, believe me!”

“Hey feisty pants,” Kristoff stroked her hand and reassured her quietly, “honestly it was pretty fun for me, too. I swear – I must admit I got more intrigued than I had expected.” He mused over all the shows, exhibits, and the rides they had attended. Not to mention their participation in the parade. He would even think to feel sort of excited about another go the next day.

Anna chuckled next to him and fumbled for her mobile out of her jeans pocket. She pushed herself up on her elbow and started flipping through the taken pics of the day. She laughed and shook her head, when she´d just found the one she was looking for especially.

“I think we should enlarge this one and hang it framed in your kitchen.” She held it up for him to see. Kristoff grimaced and then brushed his hand over his face. “Yeah right, thanks – now I can´t get the picture out of my head anymore.”

He stood grinning broadly, standing enclosed by a oversized Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

All the while, Anna had pranced and laughed, taking that photo…

There were many more lovely pictures, mostly involving some gigantic plushie figures for which Anna couldn´t pass without hugging.

Now, she was tired – but happily tired.

*****

Hey Anna – hope you´re having a good time. Things are quiet here. Please let me know when you´re back home, okay? Enjoy!

Anna sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Kristoff to emerge from the bathroom, when Elsa´s message popped up on her screen. She wasn´t sure how to respond at all. Yes, she did enjoy herself immensely. But would Elsa understand? Should she inquire about “the quiet things”? She felt like in a dream and would love to last it at least to the moment when she had to face her grandfather…

Hi sis, thanks I´m overwhelmed with all. Will text you when I get home. Love x

She turned the mobile off and threw it on the bed, when just at that moment Kristoff´s phone started vibrating and buzzing on his nightstand. Startled for the moment, Anna leaned over to notice Sven´s contact shown on the screen. She reached for it before it hopped of the little table.

“Hey Sven!” Anna chirped into the phone. It was always good to have Kristoff´s best friend to talk to. For some reason he seemed to take Anna as his “best friend” along with Kristoff. He was so nice.

“Hey Anna! Sorry, to come at you guys on your romantic weekend. I wouldn´t intrude on you if there weren´t great news. I thought of leaving a note, but this is to amazing. Is Kris around?”

“Don´t apologise Sven! You know, you never disturb – at least not at this hour!” Anna laughed. “Hang on, Kristoff will be right there, just a second.” She held the mobile to her chest to turn, just when Kristoff came out, with his trousers on and shirt half buttoned up.

He sat down next to Anna and took the phone with one hand, trying to finish his buttoning with the other. Anna gave a hand to this task.

“Hey buddy, what´s up?”

“Hey Kris, sorry for the interruption – but I had to tell you personally. You would not believe what happened!”

Then Sven would tell his partner that they got the application confirmed to involve in a building complex construction of ten new family homes. That project announced, approx. 20 miles from their place. The builder of this developing family site project had been specific on choosing local companies to construct the houses. The competition should be a fair one with no oversized companies that dumped their prizes to get the most job calls.

“So, I´ve signed the pre-contract in the name of us both. We´re good in time if you can sign it yourself on Monday. So, enjoy the rest of your trip with the princess of the year, will ye?”

Silence.

“Kris, you´re still on?”

“He is!” Anna giggled into the phone. Kristoff had turned on the speakers and Anna had overheard it all. She was so excited about that news, that she had practically crawled onto Kristoff´s back, kneeling behind him and having laid her arms around his neck. She felt like steading him, as Kristoff sat in a stare, glaring down on the phone.

“I…. I…. I don´t believe it! We got ourselves in ´North-valley side´? That´s not some bad joke, is it?” By now, Kristoff had clasped a hand around Anna´s wrist, to make sure, he was not alone on this.

“No. Buddy. It´s true. Okay? We´ll be fine. And hey, I´m proud to be your partner! Now, please promise me, to take Anna to Dinner and treat yourselves with a good bottle of the best wine and lavish in your time that you have! Love you two!”

Kristoff swallowed hard. Sven was a true friend, had always been. He wondered if Sven knew that… but yes, that pal knew more than he sometimes showed…

“We will! Thank you, Sven. We love you, too!” Anna replied softly.

“Thanks buddy!” Kristoff whispered huskily.

Later at dinner, Honeymaren would take a picture with Anna´s mobile of them sitting together, close cheek to cheek, happily smiling with a good glass of red wine in their hands.

Anna enjoyed so much sending this pic to Sven! So much more, than the text message she had to send to her sister before…

*****

2 days later…

Anna sat on the couch, staring at what was left that would belong to her.

One box full of books and stationary for her studies. Two suitcases with her clothes. A travel bag with little this and that which she had bought from her own money. The little money that she had rightfully earned during her summer jobs at her family´s company.

There was no more left.

Elsa had just left, after she had helped Anna to sort out her few belongings.

“Call me, if you need anything”, she had said. But both knew, there was little range for Elsa to help. Their grandfather had been clear. Anna knew, Elsa wanted to help, to be there, to talk… But Anna had catapulted herself out of that realm. And she had signed that dreadful document.

Reflecting on those last few hours, she wondered if she had the courage and the wits to stick to her decision she had made.

She had faced her grandfather, while Elsa had to attend as witness in the room. He had sharply reminded her of their family tradition, of the many hard worked years of several generations to get their name where they were today. He had asked her if she were aware of how lucky Anna could call herself being born into such a secure nest. And if she truly decided to step out into “her life”, if she had a sense of what would await her?

Anna hadn´t denied this all. She had been privileged. Yes, all good work deserved respect and to be honoured. All good work, especially those who started from zero. By this she thought so much of Kristoff and Sven and their less fortunate backgrounds.

Runeard Rendelle then got at her with his deal. It had all been arranged by the solicitor that took care of the Rendelle´s private affairs. Anna could choose, either to stay with them and go along with their business, or she could leave on her wish. If the latter were the case, she would be denied her monthly support nor any dowry. Of course, Runeard would not be the monster that he seemed and the college fees that had been paid already, he would not withdraw. Not that he would be told to be ungratifying to his own offspring. He wished Anna to complete her final term and go through her exams with merit or not. But at least she would have the title that was worth her name. After that, it was up to her what to do.

Before she would say anything, he was giving her a last speech. Anna should consider the fact that in this world she would land nowhere without money. Her so called friends would soon get rid of her if she couldn´t show off her financial safety. He had sat across the mahogany desk, with a blank face and stated, “of course, it´s up to you, since it´s your life!”. He had emphasised on the last phrase and raised an eyebrow.

Elsa had sat all quiet, but the agony raging within her could be sensed through the room. She was so loyal and dutiful. Anna knew that and she would not blame her sister. But it would not work for her. She thought for an instant, but her mind went numb, her abdomen crinched and all she could think of was to make a fast exit out of this room.

“Thank you, Sir, for letting me finish my finals. I´ll do best I can, I promise. About my decision to follow your advice and this business… I can´t. You might not like my friends, especially Kristoff. But this doesn´t matter to me anymore, your world is not my world.”

After that, she signed the prepared document.

Therefore, Anna Rendelle denied all rights of heritage and support from her family side.

Should she decide to return into the Rendelle business, that´s when she was to withdraw from her former contacts that had been of bad influence upon her person. Then, she would be welcomed back into contract.

It had been disgusting…

She had underestimated the impact this disconnecting step would bestow upon her. Not that she wanted to go back. But then, where would she belong to from now on. Kristoff was on his way to pick her up, to take her home with him. To his home. There was no other place she could rather think of to feel mor home that with him. But she didn´t want to burden him with her scattered self. She had nothing to bring, nothing to offer him for support on rent or making for living for the moment. It would still be a few weeks till her finals and up then…

She felt sort of lost in space, dangling between two worlds. One, she didn´t want to return to and the other, that she didn´t mean to intrude…

Anna had not heard the knock on the front door and looked up weary when Kristoff stood in front of her, his head tilted, concern in his eyes. She would stand up slowly and gesture to her packed stuff.

“This is all. There´s not much left… I´ve nothing to bring, Kristoff… Nothing to offer you that makes me great catch to be taken home with. Will you still have me?” She had clenched her hands in front of her belly, pressing them to her middle, unsure of how to move on from this point. What if her grandfather might had been right and she would lose her friends – and most of all, her boyfriend – because she was stripped of all that wealth and financial backup?

Kristoff had barely noticeable shook his head, replying with a silent crooked smile and opening his arms for her to step closer, directly into his hold. He whispered some loving words into her hair, soothing words. Of course, he would take her home!

So Runeard Rendelle was wrong after all…

[enkelimagnus]

Hardwood

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2393 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky decides to make his Brooklyn house a little more of a home for him, to his taste. A worried neighbor comes a-knocking.

TW: mention of murder of children (brief)

Read on AO3

Part 35 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Three days after he comes home from Delacroix, Bucky grabs a frayed edge of carpet from his bedroom floor and pulls. It comes off with a loud tearing sound, but he just keeps pulling, effortlessly baring the hardwood underneath.

He doesn’t really know why he does it. He just sees the edge and pulls and he’s halfway down the room when he realizes the furniture is definitely on the way, and if he wants to do this, he’s going to have to plan it out. You don’t just redecorate this easily.

At least as far as he knows.

He’s never done this before. His parents’ home had stayed the same through his entire life, as far as he knew. Furniture was moved once a year before Passover, when they cleaned the place from top to bottom. And after that, he’d been through many safehouses, but his handlers had never had sudden desires to redecorate.

He doesn’t really know where to start. He knows he can’t remove the entire carpeting without taking out the furniture of the bedroom. He knows the color of the walls is horrible and he wants to change that. He knows that, by himself, it’s going to be an ordeal. But he doesn’t really know who to ask for help.

Miriam is way too old, he doesn’t have that good of a relationship with Charlie, and there is no way in hell he’s letting any of his coworkers remotely close to his personal life. So he’s going to do it by himself. One room by one room, probably.

Still, he uses his left arm to pull the bed off of the ground and the other one to pull the carpeting off from under it.

He guesses being a supersoldier has some advantages in this sort of situation.

It doesn’t take long for the entire hardwood floor of the bedroom to be bare, for the loud ripping noises that came with his hard, powerful pulls. The carpet won’t be usable anymore but he doesn’t care. He’ll throw it in the trash anyway.

Nothing Hydra touched should be given to someone else. It all deserves to burn.

He’s tired of this house feeling so much like a safehouse. He wants to change things, he wants it to be his house, not Hydra’s, on more levels than just legal. He wants to truly live here. It’s his, and he can do whatever he wants with it. He could have it bulldozed if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. He wants a home.

He’s halfway through ripping off the first guest room’s carpet when the doorbell rings.

It startles him. No one ever rings his doorbell. No one comes to see him. He’s lived there for a couple months now, and not once has that bell rang. He forgets for a brief instant that he’s holding the entire bed up with one hand.

Somehow, he manages to catch the heavy bed frame before it crashes into the floor and damages it.

Despite the surprise someone is ringing, Bucky takes the time to pull on his gloves. He’s already wearing a long-sleeved tshirt, and with the gloves on, no one can see the arm. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be fully comfortable in the open, in the daylight, with the arm out, even if it isn’t Hydra’s anymore.

He should probably get used to people knowing who he is. Anonymity isn’t something he’s allowed. Not after Berlin, not after the war with Thanos, not after Riga. Before all of that, no one would have recognized him. Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s right hand, was supposed to be long dead. The only Howling Commando to lose his life in the service of his country.

Now, if no one sees the arm, he can still pass for just another white man with a vague resemblance to someone that was one tv a couple of times. That’s all he can really have.

There’s no use in raging against it. The past couple of decades of the rise of social media has made it impossible for him to be erased. Zemo knew what he was doing in Vienna.

The person behind the door is breathing steadily. They don’t seem to be filled with adrenaline, not with that relatively calm heartbeat. There is no telltale sign of aggression or preparation for violence. Bucky swallows, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Behind the wooden panel is his neighbor. They’re tall, relatively thin, with hair so short it’s more like a five o’clock shadow spreading over their skull. They smile at him. Bucky stares. He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen his neighbor in the daylight.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor,” they say, pointing towards their door, as if Bucky hasn’t recognized the one person that knows when he goes running from his nightmares. “I heard some strange noise, everything’s okay?”

Bucky keeps staring for a moment. He didn’t think the ripping of the carpeting would be loud enough to attract attention. But he was wrong. He didn’t imagine it would sound stranger than his occasional nightly shouts of terror or pain.

He quickly gets back to reality as the neighbor in front of him stares back with a smile.

“Hi,” he ends up saying. “Hm, I was… I was pulling the carpeting off of my bedroom floor. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s strange, having neighbors that seem to care whether you’re dying a strange horribly, ripping death. Or maybe they’re worried he’s killing someone, or doing some other horrible thing he would have done as the Winter Soldier.

Either way, this person’s presence in front of him right now is peculiar. It makes him think of Mrs Naumescu, his parents’ left neighbor, who would come knocking whenever she heard something that worried her.

There had been a couple of nights where Bucky had snuck back in, sometimes with Steve, sometimes after dropping Steve off at his own place, where she had heard him come in and come knocking to warn his parents of an intruder, or scare away said intruder. She’d had a baseball bat in her hand - her son’s.

Hopefully this neighbor won’t be as worried for his safety.

“Do you need help?” they ask, and Bucky stares at them again, bewildered. He wasn’t expecting to be asked such a thing. He wasn’t expecting anyone to want to help.

“I’m pretty strong…” He starts, and then stops.

He can do it alone. But he could also take the offered help, for once. There’s an outstretched hand. What horrible thing can they do to him that hasn’t already been done? He knows better than to dismiss them as just a neighbor - after all, he knows plenty of very common and innocent-looking spies. But what harm can actually be done to him?

“You know anything about hardwood floors?”

For the rest of the morning, Bucky keeps the gloves on. There are only a couple of instances of him displaying strength that is just on the edge of unusual, but they don’t comment on it. They do exchange names and - to Bucky’s surprise - pronouns.

The neighbor’s name is Olly and they use they/them pronouns. To his own shame, he has to be given an explanation on what that means. He’s so deeply out of touch with that part of the world. A part of the world that he supposedly belongs in, according to today’s definitions. Because Steve was a man, and even if he’s the only man Bucky ever willingly wanted, it still counts.

It should have been a fluke, a one-off. It shouldn’t have counted if it was only Steve. But it does, supposedly. Bucky doesn’t know much about that.

They work fast, get the carpeting out of the two other guest rooms as well as the corridor. Turns out, Olly knows how to take care of hardwood floors. They know a lot of stuff about remodeling and house work. They end up establishing together a list of items needed to properly finish the job, and do what Bucky actually wants for his home.

Bucky makes them sandwiches for lunch, with pastrami, mustard and pickles. It’s a cliché perhaps, but it’s delicious. There are a couple of beers in his fridge.

“You’re good at all of this,” Bucky says, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami. It’s a little too dry. He misses the butcher he went to as a kid. His pastrami was amazing. He hasn’t been able to find one that compares with his memories yet. “Is it what you do for a living? House renovation?"

They chuckle, shaking their head. "Oh wow, no, not at all. I’m a social worker,” they explain. Social worker. Bucky remembers those people growing up. They were trying to fix problems, especially with the crash. “When my partner, our friends and I renovated the house,” they continue, pointing towards the wall between their two houses. “We learned a few things. What do you do?"

It takes a moment for Bucky to figure out actually how to phrase it. "Military contractor."

That’s the closest he can think. He’s contracted by the military, somewhat. They did make him sign a contract, to regulate what had already been outlined by his pardon agreement.

"Like an engineer?"

Of course they’re polite and curious. Bucky would be as well. He could just come out and say it. I’m the Winter Soldier and one of the reasons I walk free is that I work to clean up Hydra’s messes. He doesn’t know how public the conditions of his pardon are.

Once again, he struggles to explain what it is he does without saying it out right.

“I guess I provide intelligence? And experience."

Phrased that way, it sounds nice. That’s what he does though, it’s not a lie. It feels… almost pleasant to be able to say it that way. He provides information on how Hydra works, experience on how the safehouses are set up… A fist too. When they break into a safehouse, he’s always first. He’s hard to kill, after all.

And maybe… just maybe, some of his higher-ups wouldn’t mind if he died on a mission. They’d tell the place he went out trying to fix what he’d done.

Sometimes, that phrasing ‘fixing what he’d done’ chokes him up. It’s the way Lieutenant General Henricksen talks about the work he makes him do. Henricksen believes it was his fault. Of course he does.

It makes sense. People have no idea what it is like to be brainwashed. They have seen movies and video games and read books about it. They have no idea what it is actually like. They have no idea how it feels.

He remembers all of it, and he remembers pulling the trigger. Sometimes because he was directly ordered to by a handler - something that was impossible for him to resist doing. Sometimes because it was what was required to complete the mission - like with the son and daughter of the Algerian FLN commander that were sleeping in their beds.

He could have disobeyed all the orders in the second category. He never did. Not until Steve.

He must have zoned out thinking about the horrible things he’s done, because Olly clears their throat.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get this house? It’s been empty for years, we always wondered what was going on with it.”

That’s, again, a really hard question to answer without saying the truth. Bucky’s not even supposed to tell the truth about his work. That’s not his job. He doesn’t work on communication.

“Inheritance?” It comes out more like a question than anything else.

So much about his life is… unexplainable. It’s like all he has to share with the world is a heavily redacted file.

Most of it is of his own doing, he realizes. He’s the one who doesn’t want people to know exactly who he is, what he’s done. The only things he is actually forbidden to talk about are the specifics of his high-profile, governmental kills, as well as his ongoing missions with the army. The rest…

He could just say that this is an ex-Hydra safehouse and he got it through work. He could just say he’s working with the army to break into Hydra properties and recover what they took from the government while they were hiding behind the SHIELD insignia.

There would be questions, of course. What of the non-governmental resources they took? That goes to various archive buildings all over the U.S., to be tagged, processed and gather dust until their rightful owners pipe up. There are a lot of items waiting for people who don’t know they’re missing something.

Olly seems to accept Bucky’s cryptic and hesitant answer. Thank G-d. Bucky doesn’t know what he would have said if they kept prying. He guesses it’s selfish. He knows he can’t finish the job by himself, and telling Olly the truth would surely make them run out of the house.

They finish lunch and Bucky makes a pot of coffee. It’s when he turns back to face Olly that his eyes catch the picture he framed on the wall when he got there.

The picture of Steve and him on the front lines, in Europe. The postcard from the Smithsonian. Both of their faces, smiling wide. As far as Bucky knows, there aren’t any images of Steve smiling that way, wide and open and carefree even in the middle of the war, from after he was unfrozen in 2012.

Perhaps because he just didn’t have time to smile like this anymore. Perhaps because this was his Bucky smile. The smile Bucky knew he only smiled for him, and because of him. The best, most beautiful smile in the world.

In any case, there is no way Olly didn’t see the picture. There is no way they don’t know who he is now, even without seeing the arm. They haven’t said anything.

Bucky reaches over and pulls his right glove off, revealing skin. It takes all the strength in his mind and body to take off the other one, revealing vibranium.

He usually never takes the gloves off in front of someone when he isn’t playing soldier. But he is in his home. He shouldn’t have to hide himself here.

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Sugimoto Saichi

You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Hood guy is next in line. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The more cruelty you encounter in life, the more efforts you put into bringing something to oppose it and establish the balance. Perhaps, this is why Sugimoto is so caring in relation to his partner. He treats them with warm affection as he does with Asirpa or Shiraishi. They are his friend and one of his second family, not by blood but by spirit.

At the very beginning, Sugimoto is terribly awkward: to hide the blush, he has to pull his favorite cap directly over his eyes and turn away. If he does something and the person he is interested in is watching, everything will surely fall apart. It does not matter how good Sugimoto is in his work, he is cursed to disgrace himself in front of them. But, on the other hand, he is so happy to see their broad smile and hear them burst into laughter. That’s why he loves to sneak up and mercilessly tickle them until their eyes fill up with tears.

Sugimoto rarely uses words to show his affection, at least not in a classical way. “I care about you”, “I like you”? No. First of all, if he ever tried to say that, Asirpa or Shiraishi or (worse) Ogata would pop out of nowhere and ruin the moment. Second of all, why be so trivial, when you can veil the same meanings behind the intimate conversations about life and death, war and peace, friends and enemies? Sometimes he inserts phrases with implications that make sense only to Sugimoto himself or someone close to him. You know, that would be nice to share dried persimmons after gold hunt ends…

Oh, the other special way of showing his love is being dumb together! It's always nice to mess around, prank someone (try not to get shot tho), simply grimace and stick tongue out to show cruel world that you don’t care.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Time spent with Sugimoto is divided in three equal parts: in first part you need to get him out of trouble, in second part he has to bail you out, and in third you both stuck in the weird situation in which role of savior is passed to someone else. Pleasant bonus: everything ends well with no people harmed. Usually.

A type of friend that will follow you through the thick and thin. Even in questionable situation, Sugimoto will stay by your side. It is important for him that person remained true to their promises as well and stuck by him no matter what happens.

With a wild and unpredictable life, Sugimoto needs friendships that do not require constant contact. One day he disappears to knock on your door months later but established ties have to stay there. Every reunion ends up in huge celebration with consequences of The Hangover.

How would the friendship start? There is a plenty of options but the most possible ones are: a) Sugimoto’s group stays in the new city and person happens to be one to host them; b) Sugimoto manages to lost all of his belongings including clothes and money and person happens to pass by. Second one is more likely

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

“I can't protect you without holding a sword. I can't embrace you while holding a sword.” This proverb works well with gun and riffle too. Sugimoto prefers to cuddle only in complete safety when there’s no chance for uninvited blood-thirsty guests to interrupt them. Prefers sitting positions in which he can rest his chin on the top of their head and, also, pet their back. He is such a sucker for good cuddle session that he can’t stop smiling all the way through.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes, sure! Small cozy house surrounded by fruit trees overlooking the river is his little secret dream. All Sugimoto wants is sitting on the sun-warmed porch with loved one, holding hands, fingers intertwined, no poisonous thoughts on the mind. He is mediocre cook, knows some recipes but like any soldier cooking they lack finesse. There are few favorite dishes he rotates like miso soups, udon, fried fish, and onigiri. He doesn’t care about cleaning so you can expect bare minimum in sweeping and washing dishes.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He doesn’t seem like a person who takes it easy so ending relationship is something he is afraid to do. Hell, running under the rain of bullets and blood wasn’t that hard. No matter what words he chooses result will be the same: they will be hurt, they will hate him, they won’t want to see him ever again, and conscience will gnaw Sugimoto for his harshness. He just takes one deep breath and spills everything in under the minute, ending monologue with a deep bow and “I am so extremely sorry” in a loud desperate voice.

After years, Sugimoto keeps their dimming photo as a reminder of all they had. If their passes cross again, he won’t be able say a word because of a lump in the throat. He may fall for them one more time.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

After six months of relationship, Sugimoto is ready to slip some questions about the marriage in the dialogue and ask them about the vision of future together. If they are positive, he would propose on the first anniversary. If not, that’s okay too, he can wait until they are ready for a next step. When the day comes, everybody knows about proposal. They whisper and giggle behind Sugimoto’s back because he looks like a mess, happy grinning mess, walking from side to side with the most expensive pawnshop ring clenched in his fist.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Hurting someone he loves is Sugimoto’s worst nightmare. His whole being was dragged through hell and back and sometimes hidden pain can splash out on loved ones. You can physically feel weird aggressive aura coming from him in those rare vulnerable moments. That’s when Sugimoto surpasses emotional baggage and presses them tightly against his chest. No soldier can be soft baby, not after what they’ve seen, but Sugimoto does his best to be gentle with them in every way.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Sugimoto uses hugs as greeting, as comforting, as apology. Wherever possible, he will pull his loved one in hug. They are very warm and tight, accompanied by stroking on the back and pressing his cheek to the other person’s cheek. Truly, in the beginning you can feel how he trembles with joyful excitement and holds himself off in order not to come off too needy. After a long time apart Sugimoto may just knock them down in bear hug, completely forgetting about hectic world around.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Around the same time he is ready to propose so half of the year. However, Sugimoto never says the coveted three words aloud, replacing them with simpler ones “Well, yes, I like them very much... I really like them. Well, you know” when talking with others. At some point Asirpa will surely begin to actively push him towards confession, as well as Shiraishi. It all turns into the game in which they both keep an eye on Sugimoto and his loved one: Asirpa keeps swearing in ainuic because Sugimoto is such stupid indecisive sisam, and Shiraishi gives him thumbs up like. Bro. Just do it already.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

You don’t want to make that man jealous.  If he notices anyone hitting on his loved one, he’ll by their side in an instant, frowning, with small dark wrinkle between the eyebrows that does not bode well. Sugimoto immediately strikes a confident pose between possible rival and significant other, jokes passively-aggressively, and if this poor soul insists, he will take them out to have Mano-a-Mano moment. On the other side if it’s loved one who acts flirtatious Sugimoto will act childishly. Almost petty. Oh you a want a kiss? Go ask that man you talked to type of petty. He doesn’t really mean it but he definitely expects both explanation and apology.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sugimoto’s kisses vary from slow and passionate to fast and shy depending on the situation. Through the day trying to avoid unwanted attention he may give them peck on the nose or cheek. In more intimate atmosphere Sugimoto doesn’t care where to kiss. He just does. From head to toes and all that jazz. Taking into account how many scars there are on Sugimoto’s body and how sensitive they can be (nerve damage is a bitch) he loves to be kissed along these darkened lines. Gently and with cautious.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Initially, when encountering child, Sugimoto is overwhelmed with enthusiasm. It slowly dies down when he realizes how capricious kids can be and how loud they can scream. He tries his best with babies (fails) but has more luck with older children, like Asirpa’s age because, thankfully to acquired experience, there is already a rough understanding of their psyche. Anyway, Sugimoto still needs someone to reminder him that not everybody is so independent, and smart, and self-sufficient. And, yes, it’s one of his dreams to become father, and not just father, but amazing, proud, cool dad. He will 100% cry when his kid makes first steps, says first dada, and smiles at him too.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Even after Sugimoto decided to settle down, his heart desires adventure. No matter how lazy the morning is, which, incidentally, is not often, he will find a moment to offer to go somewhere. Incredibly beautiful sandy coasts and crystal clear water beckon to the south, Kanazawa looms with magnificent castles and temples in the west, the capital of Tokyo beats with life in the east. North is always calling, north is much more than a direction. In the mornings, Sugimoto likes to talk about the future, about plans, while breakfast is getting cold in the pot. He never leaves home without a morning kiss goodbye.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually Sugimoto comes home tired so he needs time alone, but after this, he is ready to start household chores while talking about his day. He likes to embellish events to make his loved one have a good laugh. Otherwise, evenings with Sugimoto are spend on the fresh air: he is one of those people who jump into the yet cold river to open the swimming season, or go look for mushrooms in cool weather to enjoy the forest view.

When one of the acquaintances pops up on the horizon, he always goes with them and his loved one to a diner for a strong drink and latest news. Sometimes such nights last longer than expected. Tipsy merry Sugimoto stops right on the doorstep of the house, turns around, crushes on the ground, and invites them to do the same. Does he remember the names of the constellations? No. Will he show off and introduce them to a loved one? Absolutely.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Pretty open about his past from the beginning because he never had a dark mysterious background at the first place. Any questions you ask Sugimoto will answer with straight truth. Well, maybe, he’ll hold back some facts that may put person in danger or distress like extreme violent incidents from the army days. In addition, Sugimoto doesn’t need special moments of revelation to open up, he is just consistently outspoken.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

In everyday life, Sugimoto appears laid-back, you need to try hard to piss him off. Little troubles don't bother him much, he quickly cools down if unforeseen situation occurs. However, once someone starts to bully his loved ones, his hair spikes up and the formidable Sugimoto the Immortal shows up. Trust me, he is not averse to shouting and kicking some ass.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Either way he is inattentive or his memory is that bad but Sugimoto manages to forget almost everything about his loved one. It is not on purpose, you can see him listening very carefully to your words, but it happens. After conversation ends, his brain goes in “no thoughts, head empty” mode, and, no matter how long he stands in front of grandma’s flower stand, Sugimoto can’t remember your favorite flowers. Don’t start me on dates. Reminders the day before are essential if you don’t want to hear “Wait, what do you mean what day is it today?” on your anniversary.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First meeting. He giggles nervously when talking about it since not only Sugimoto got to show off in the buff but also brought menace in the form of 7th division on their place. Who knows what was more shameful? While apologizing for unfortunate inconveniences, Sugimoto felt a spark between them, subtle chemistry, that was growing stronger the longer he watched their lips moving. On the day of departure he pulled a cap lower and promised to see them again but this time he was going to bring something more pleasant than Tsurumi’s hellhounds.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Sugimoto is as protective as a personal guardian. He is sensitive to a change in general atmosphere and can easily sense evil intentions even if person hides behind a mask of geniality. In that case, Sugimoto warns his loved one about his misgivings and refuses to leave their side. For example, he’ll be extra wary around Ogata and you can tell he is almost waiting for a mistake to stab him between the ribs. Sugimoto doesn’t expect to be protected by anyone but if they do shield him, he’ll have one more reason to be proud and give thanks to heaven for such amazing partner.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

With his hectic lifestyle, Sugimoto has no other option than to make every meeting special. There is not much he can do to surprise them with expensive gifts, like jewelry or clothes, but he can pick a modest bouquet for them or save unique things from endless journeys. Even if it’s just outdoor recreation or evening spent in each other's arms Sugimoto tries to make it unforgettable. If he remembers about anniversary (see Quizzes), he will involve other people in order to do something exceptional. As an absolute sweetheart, Sugimoto puts a lot of effort to make his partner happy, happier tomorrow that today, every day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Do troubles follow Sugimoto wherever he goes or does he choose the path with the highest number of adventures? It doesn’t matter because either way his life is a mess consisting of dangerous ventures and questionable acquaintances. It may be fun in the beginning but if you are not ready for continuous strength tests and psychological thrillers, relationship with Sugimoto will become a pure torment.

In addition to this Sugimoto never makes plans for the future. He has assumptions about where he will be tomorrow and, possibly, the day after tomorrow but nothing more.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Sugimoto doesn’t give his looks a lot of thought. He tries to keep clothes in wearable condition and wash them from time to time, especially beloved scarf and cap, but if there are some spots on the outwear, Sugimoto won’t give that much attention. If we talk about overall appearance, uncountable scars do not bother him either. One more, one less, at some point you stop noticing their present, even on the face. Complement Sugimoto on how scars adorn a man and you’ll get a smug smirk in response.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

So heartbroken and dejected that Sugimoto can’t contain himself and seeks confrontation with everybody around. No matter if they had to leave him or they were deceased, he seems to be on the edge all the time. Irritated. Overthinking. He looks for a time alone, subjects himself to extreme challenges to get all negative emotions out. Sugimoto gets attached easily, no wonder he feels so torn. Takes about three months to cool down and year more to stop thinking about them. If anyone dared to take significant other from Sugimoto the Immortal, he will find this person and make them pay. Sugimoto is merciless in his revenge.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sugimoto has a clear understanding of his own mortality. Screaming lungs out doesn’t cancel it, layered wounds do not give him resistance as cumulative effect. So one of his wish is in case of his death during the skin-hunt, he doesn’t want anyone to bring this message to his loved one. It may seem cruel from one’s perspective, but he wants to support an established name of a warrior whom death itself could not defeat.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Unreasonable blind violence, both to people and animals, disgusts Sugimoto to the core. Protecting yourself from the attacking soldier, bandit, bear is one thing, justified and valid, but taking anger out on innocent stranger or scared animal that did nothing to deserve such suffering is too much. If person is also proud of it, they will receive unbelievable amount of backlash.

Egocentrism and mind-games. First one comes from the bitter experience. You can't expect the universe to revolve around you, there are millions of people, thousands of fates, and they all depend on each other, they work just because another one exist. Show him a person that acts like a center of the world and Sugimoto will run run run. Second one is tightly connected to egocentrism since to force world build around yourself, you have to force it. Often it’s done by manipulation. If person tries to have him wrapped around their finger, Sugimoto will confront them once. There won’t be a second time.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Military orders are so ingrained in Sugimoto’s brains that his organism automatically shuts down at the same time every day. He wakes up at dawn, fresh and full of strength, and there’s not a chance he will fall asleep again.

Never remembers dreams and is thankful for this. He has no dreams but gloomy nightmares, filled with people who are no longer alive, sounds of firing canons and harrowing screams, bombed-out trenches and blackened bunkers. They force Sugimoto to jump up in bed in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat, breathing like a cornered animal. At such moments, he checks for loved one by his side and watches their chest going up and down with each breath. It calms him down a little but not enough to put him back to sleep.

[seeking-sanity]

thoughts on the year

its been an incredibly long year. of isolation, social distance, essential work, feelings of helplessness and despair... the year has just been HEAVY. 

the new year began for me with psych hospitals, and trying to shield my children from their fathers mental health instability. it was daily trips 45-50 minutes each way, for the one hour visit, that they never allowed the full hour for... it was coordinating teenage life with a strict visit schedule, it was navigating work and home time... it was trying to help rehab someone that didn’t want help... it was a few months of putting everything in my life on hold, to try to “do the right thing”... it was the beginning of an indescribable anxiety, this deep seeded stirring constant feeling of fear building in my chest. it was weeks of trying, and hitting reset, as i let someone else’s situations dictate my life. 

the saga of my ex and his gaslight manifest blended nicely into a pandemic that caused unprecedented shutdowns. it merged right into a million questions about food supply, safety, government, the new mutated corona virus that had caused massive outbreaks across the world... 

as the world stopped hoarding toilet paper, and some parts of life returned to “normal”, the reality of healthcare changed daily. ever changing rules, unknown variables in exposure, risks for patients... everyday for months was something new. the impending doom of trying to stay Covid-free in a congregated at-risk population... 

the endless hours of overtime... the dual income style single paychecks... the mental and physical exhaustion, every day... with no end in sight... 

a beautiful 2 week vacation, full of awesome memories, amazing experiences, and a solid foundation for moving forward... i left that vacation with a sense of calm and confidence that i have never known before... 

i had a ton of anxiety about the holidays... i had anxiety about thanksgiving, and what it would look like with all the distance i could create... i had anxiety about christmas, and the perfect opportunity my ex had to re-enact last years stunt... i had such mixed feelings on the distance i created between him and i, despite the kids... this ideal world notion of actually moving forward, separately, and raising the kids was so cemented in my brain for so long... it was truly all i wanted.  it has become apparent that the only way that can actually happen, is if/when he decides that he wants that to happen... he has taken any and every opportunity to remind me of all of my imperfections, every flaw he has ever noticed... he has taken every chance he saw, and even some he created simply for the sake of doing so- to tell me how worthless i am to the world... but that he “loves me”... he has taken every opportunity this year to try to guilt me into going back, that i owed him something more than all the years i tried and tried alone... he has missed no opportunities to blame me for his actions, repeatedly. and he will stand there, after telling me how terrible i am, and ask me why i don’t love him...  the distance, the giving up on trying to do whats right... the idea of being okay with whatever life choices he makes, has become easier day by day... 

i spent the fall planning for the holidays, entertaining the idea that this will likely be my last holidays “home”, on the east coast... my feelings go back and forth on that every other day... i’m excited to start a new life, to try new things, to trust enough to take the leap... but i sometimes wonder if there wasn’t a reason i always found my way back home... from far more beautiful places, i always came back home... maybe i just never found the right reasons to stay, or maybe this was the exact convoluted trail i was supposed to travel... 

i focused on family and friends and what would matter most moving forward. i became comfortable with walking away from everything... a house full of “stuff”, a yard full of money spent to fulfill someone else’s dreams... i held hard on to the idea of recouping something, anything at all.... they weren’t my dreams, but they were always pushed off as my failures... 

i learned that they were not my failures, nor were they my responsibility... and somewhere in that letting go, it stopped mattering if there was anything to get back out of a failed business, the assets... none of it matters. 

for christmas i focused less on the items, and more on the joy... what would bring actual feelings of excitement and joy to the people i care most about... instead of the items they simply expected, i made a concerted effort to find items and opportunities to reach something more than that small moment of instant gratification. 

i found myself far more calm these last few weeks than i expected i would be. i had given myself anxiety about my anxiety... 

learning that i do actually have the power to control what i let determine the quality of my day was the most empowering moment... i can’t even begin to describe how simple the concept is, and how easy it really is... 

for me, i had to realize that i cared more about the entirety than those i was allowing to effect a single moment... recognizing that it wasn’t my job or responsibility to save someone was hard. actually realizing what was staring me in the face for a lifetime was harder. valuing myself enough to stop allowing myself to be his prey was the hardest. 

i was conditioned to believe that love doesn’t quit. that it meant you should keep trying. that the vows i took mattered, more than any single fight or disagreement ever could. i was conditioned to believe that if it wasn’t working, i needed to try harder, do better. i was living my entire life trying to please someone that will never be pleased, nothing will ever be good enough... there will always be a flaw, the one mistake will be the condemnation they will never live down... 

i used to fight for his “love”, and it was all i lived for. fought for, for years....

this year has shown me that you shouldn’t have to endlessly fight for the smallest bit of affection. that love is meant to be reciprocated and appreciated. this year has shown me that love isn’t this depressing existence that is an endless obstacle course of trying to fix the everything wrong in the world, while someone take a sledgehammer to every bit of progress you have made... 

this year has been a roller coaster of healing, finding healthy relationships , and learning to unlearn the trauma and behaviors associated with... 

i’m looking forward to the new year. with new adventures, new hope, and i’m sure new obstacles. i am excited about moving forward with my life, building a healthy, hopeful future. i’m excited about continuing to build a beautiful relationship, and exploring the world without the burden of trying to pave the entire way... 

so here’s to 2020, to the restocking of toilet paper, and the re-invention of my life... 

[lesbiansforboromir]

Suppose boromir did make it to the end of the saga of lord of the rings, how would he navigate his relationship with Aragorn? And what if Denethor also survived? Would he come to accept Aragorns kingship over the course of their journey? Part of me is inclined to say yes, but I don’t have as good of a grasp on his character as you do

So listen… this came 18 21 40 days 3 months ago but I’m a sleepy bastard so I couldn’t muster the passion it deserved but nOW I’m here so! 

I have to reinforce that Boromir doesn’t care whatsoever about Aragorn’s kingship one way or the other during the Quest. He’s only ever going to manufacture an opinion on it as an when he needs too. Gondor’s safety is his primary priority. So discussions upon Boromir’s denial or acceptance of Aragorn’s kingship are really only going to occur after Sauron’s defeat.

Lets take this in parts because Boromir managing his relationship with Aragorn alone vs Boromir doing it whilst his dad still around would be wildly different. Denethor takes up a great deal of emotional space.

So, for ease of understanding, lets say that in the Denethor dies verse Boromir stayed with Aragorn after the siege at Pelargir and sailed with him up the Anduin so he doesn’t arrive in time to stop his father from burning alive. Then, in the Denethor lives verse, Boromir actually rides directly to Minas Tirith, either from the paths of the dead, or the moment Pelargir is secured. Either way he’s speedier and arrives in time to sneak past the armies and enter Minas Tirith, saving his father from his despair and breaking him from Sauron’s grasp. 

Lets also say that Boromir and Aragorn maintain their kinda easy back-and-forth trusting friendship all the way through till here so we’re jumping off a knowable baseline. After Boromir returns to Helms Deep from his recuperation in some small Rohir hamlet, he arrives as a positive and trusted voice and a bolster to Aragorn’s confidence. Aragorn didn’t tell anyone what happened with Boromir and Frodo, which is a point in his favour and a very good reason for them to just put it behind them for now. Boromir’s back and Aragorn had been holding onto that guilt until now. It’s good for everyone. They’re all glad to see him. 

So with that decided! Beginning with Denethor dying and Boromir becoming Steward, the first thing we have to deal with is who the hell tells Boromir that #1 his dad is dead and #2 that Faramir is dying. I’m inclined to believe it’s pretty rough, I think Boromir’s return is something that’s almost feverishly grasped upon by the Soldiers of Gondor and they demand a lot from him, guidance, reassurance, a sense of purpose. It takes a while for him to manage to pass up through to the higher levels of the battered city. 

Now the only people who know about Denethor’s death are Pippin, Gandalf and a few Citadel Guard and I think Gandalf certainly passes Boromir by a few times without telling him squat. Perhaps there’s a brief ‘I am surprised you live!’ but little else. I’d say he finds out about Faramir first, through following Aragorn up to the houses of healing, already a shock to his system. He looks for his father but is still battered by demands and it’s quite a bit later that he’s told by a Citadel guard about his dad’s death. Which ALL is like… rough. Gandalf definitely told Aragorn what’d happened. He just didn’t think it was his job to tell Boromir. Because Gandalf’s like that! Sorry! He is! So it isn’t until like close to the songs of mourning that anyone lets Boromir know Denethor’s dead. Also that Denethor’s body is still under rubble too. 

Which is… woof, a rough image huh? Boromir probably hears of his death first, not any specifics, there’s so much to be done. But then his body isn’t present at the funeral and he turns to Aragorn and heartbreakingly asks ‘where is my father’ and Aragorn has to look him in the eye and tell him he forgot. He forgot to send anyone to dig through the rubble to find the body of Boromir’s father. And man that certainly crumbles a good few months of bonding between them huh? Boromir probably goes to do it himself, declining Aragorn’s help. There’s a seed of distrust planted for how much Aragorn truly cares for Gondor, her heritage and the people who’d been sacrificing themselves to defend her. 

Anyway essentially this starts Boromir off on a rocky footing. And it only goes downhill from there. There’s a GOOD bit admittedly. There’s a bit where Aragorn comes to heal Faramir, as Imrahil and Boromir fearfully stand over him. And even Boromir’s staunch manner cannot help but find some amazement and a hint of the instant fealty in Faramir’s eyes as he awakens like magic. 

And then Boromir sets aside all his feelings to focus on a battle and be the leader of men everyone needs him to be. And it’s good, it feels good to make plans with Aragorn, especially now that they are in HIS element where men know and believe in him, the seat of HIS power. It levels their interactions somewhat, they are equals here. So it feels good to do that, and it feels even better when they WIN. They probably find each other in the scrum, they probably embrace, they’re probably just so elated that it’s over, together. Even if this victory cannot mean the same thing for Aragorn as it does for Boromir, who’s picking at such things? It doesn’t matter, they WON. 

But then… He finds out what was said between Gandalf and Denethor from Pippin, the lack of care or respect, how lost Denethor’d been at Faramir’s side. Gandalf had rid Theoden of Saruman’s dreadful curse, why hadn’t he even tried with his father? The obvious answer to Boromir is Denethor did not want Aragorn on the throne but Gandalf did and that made Denethor’s survival less than important to the wizard. And with this realisation he’s put in a difficult position. 

He’s crowned Steward pretty quickly and sets at his task with the vigour of a man very much trying to avoid grief. It’s not the time. Now is the time to talk about reparations, peace treaties, rebuilding, medical funds, housing, refugee care, and OH MY GOD FINE I GUESS ALSO THE KINGSHIP. It’s uncomfortable, Boromir knows he likely shouldn’t be equating Gandalf’s actions with Aragorn’s. But… it’s right there! The even MORE EXTRA awkward part is Faramir’s now awake and he’s walking and talking and even more Royalist than ever. The fact that Boromir is dawdling over a coronation is, in his mind, clear evidence that Boromir wants that seat for himself. Is he not grateful that his King has returned and saved his brother? 

So Boromir gets a brief latency period where Faramir’s just happy he’s alive and then a more complex one where they’re not-grieving-really-but-sort-of grieving their father, but that’s all way harder and more emotionally problematic than arguing over the kingship and getting way too angry about it so they shift into that mode asap. 

Now I should say here, even Boromir isn’t stalwartly going to deny Aragorn the Kingship. The line of Kings has a nearly religious right to it, and Aragorn does have a claim sort of we all guess kinda, along with a lot of prophesised evidence on his side. He FEELS like the King Returned, and after all his heroics you’d be hard pressed to find anyone in Gondor who STRICTLY disagreed with him taking the Throne in general. Gondorian culture puts a lot of stock in doom and their past and prophesies and the like. But the devil, as always, is in the detail.

Three distinct camps are created in Gondor’s political sphere. The Cautious, a band who agree with Boromir’s careful approach of taking each step properly and making sure all parts of their new constitution under a King are thoroughly agreed upon. They want a new constitution. 

The Royalists, headed by Faramir, who believe the Cautious are trying to drag this out for as long as possible in order to weedle more power for themselves and their families out of these discussions and undermine the power of their rightful king. They want to dig the constitution that had been in place during Anarion’s reign out of the Archives and reinstate it wholesale without even an amendment. 

And the Annoyed, headed by the Master of Waters and other union leaders, who could not give a flying fuck about all this and really wish the council would get back to actually running the damn country, good GOD give us money before the whole plumbing system collapses in on itself and takes the city with it. They want whatever piece of parchment will let them get back to work, although their members are also divided on how much they revere a king returned.

It doesn’t help that Boromir is NOT good at this. He’s not a bad Steward, perhaps he could be called a good one. But after Denethor’s example? It’s not even a comparison, there is no way for Boromir to measure up to Denethor’s skill in this arena, nor Faramir’s for that matter. And in all honesty there probably ARE some players within the ‘cautious’ sphere of Boromir’s supporters that DO want to ensure their power isn’t diminished with the coronation of a new king, Boromir wouldn’t be so adept at knowing what to do with them, he needs supporters! He’s very much caught between a rock and a hard place.

This period is rough, it’s exhausting, it involves a lot of talking, just days and days and days of it. It involves motions being passed in one assembly only to be thrown down at the next. Boromir and Faramir’s relationship is the rockiest it has ever been and Imrahil’s just so upset with all his family’s internal fighting after losing their patriarch, he doesn’t know what to do! Denethor’s sisters both put their support behind Boromir after hearing of the treatment of their brother, which causes even more strife within the Stewards. Some of their children don’t agree with them. Utter madness. And Imrahil can’t take sides between his nephews! Even though his reputation and influence would definitely sway the discussion one way or another, he refuses to do it, it’s CHAOS. And all the while the Dunadain are in their seperate sphere, getting more and more angry because really they don’t know why there needs to be any discussion about this at all. In their mind, Aragorn’s the rightful King and should have been accepted with only unending gratitude, along with those who’ve been faithful to his line. 

Aragorn has a better grasp of this, he knows what’s expected of him and some of what the issues are, a lot of the talking surrounds Aragorn inviting Boromir into his tent (that he still keeps, flying his banner and everything, reminding everyone of how this still isn’t settled) and them talking and arguing and agreeing and then disagreeing. Aragorn will bend somewhat to Boromir’s demands, for the Steward’s position to be protected and maintained, defined as a close and powerful advisor with strict protections against being susceptible to bribery so that there’s some reliable oversight on a King’s dealings. But he refuses to give the Stewards any definable powers, he refuses to give up any of his executive power to debate or voting, he refuses to be bound by other’s decisions or take on any of the obstructions that the Stewards had during their rule. 

And the discussions around this range from generally good talks, perhaps even followed by a little of their old natural banter, a kind of humorous agree to disagree, to just… god just the most bitter and furious of fights. Aragorn is used to men bending under the weight of his displeasure, as is Boromir, and when that works on neither party they resort to louder and louder and more genuinely angry words. 

Aragorn calls Boromir a faithless friend and says Faramir must be right, he IS power grabbing. Boromir demands to know how Aragorn can be such a hypocrite to say such a thing, when he arrives here after a thousand years and demands a crown that was never Isildur’s to hold. Aragorn throws up his hands in frustration, declaring that Boromir and Gondor refuse to learn the lessons of their past and refuse the infinite wisdom of the Eldar whom have known what is right for a millenia now. Boromir’s near disgusted, barking a cruel laugh and saying he is not surprised Aragorn’s speaks so, he should have known that Aragorn is still nothing more than an elf in man’s clothing, who cares and knows nothing of the people he wishes to rule. Aragorn asks what more Boromir wants from him, has he not proven himself? Has he not succeeded in his tests, where Boromir had failed? What right does Boromir have to judge him?

This draws them both up short, the cruelty of everything said saturating the air. For Aragorn, there’s a taste of guilt to it that he refuses to admit now. For at the time, he had known Boromir’s loss to be his fault and the breaking of the fellowship had been one of his few great failures. Boromir’s voice isn’t loud but malice is apparent as he slowly replies that it is not him that Aragorn must measure himself against, but his Father, a man Aragorn had done nothing but abandon, malign and ignore, and yet if not for Denethor there would be no country left for Aragorn to rule over. Not to mention every Steward before him. Denethor lost his wife, his youth, his sons, his sanity and his life to the defence of Gondor, what does Aragorn know of that kind of sacrifice? Nothing. Nothing at all.

It’s a while until they speak again, but Boromir makes a decision in the mean time. He cannot be acceptably neutral in this decision and, at this point, the stalling of government has become far too dangerous. Using his executive powers, he insists that there will only be one vote to pass any and all motions from now on, no more repeals, and the Council must be decided within a fortnight. This declaration both wins him the support of The Annoyed, and loses him support from many Lords within his own faction. He decides he doesn’t care, which as a strategy works surprisingly well in his political sphere. He’s happy to weather the consequences of bad decisions and he is not his father. 

With the shock of this sudden rush to completion, no one has any time to continue their lobbying or machinations. Even Aragorn is barely able to keep up with the proceedings, especially since he still cannot enter the city. Councillors and Lords hurry from one chamber to the next, civil servants are run off their feet trying to assign and inform everyone upon the dates and times of particular votes, it’s messy. However, mess levels the playing field.

In the end, with the new support of The Annoyed, an amended version of the old constitution is drawn up. In particular, treason is redefined. Lords have more allowance to speak against a King’s word. The Stewardship’s two capacities are redefined to more befit the times and the position of Warden of the White Tower is also put into more solid writing. The majority of it is more an edit of language. More moral and honourable emphasis is put upon unity and agreement and less upon a King’s divine word. To go against his vassals wouldn’t be illegal for Aragorn to do, but it would be legally frowned upon, which is at least enough of a basis for further legal challenges and can give requests for freedom of information more power in the long run. Gondor is a nation built upon it’s honour and morality after all. 

Everyone’s left in kind of a state of shock afterwards, surprised they managed it, exhausting, confused. Except apparently for Boromir, who’s remained remarkably calm throughout. Even with this very watered down version of what he apparently had wanted, he’s obviously content with it. Faramir’s surprised by this too, he and Boromir are too different in this regard. Where Boromir’s passion is for the agreement and process, Faramir is focused on perfect results. 

So! With less pomp and ceremony than it should have, Boromir goes to present Aragorn with this proposed constitution. Aragorn reads it and has it read by a few of his people. Faramir is present and ensures Aragorn know he has the right to refuse it and propose his own. It’s a whole thing. But, in the end, Aragorn agrees to the terms and, in a far more lavish ceremony, both he and Boromir sign the new document and make a public agreement. Boromir offers Aragorn the Steward’s sceptre in service, Aragorn makes his speech, Boromir makes HIS speech and asks all the gathered people of Minas Tirith if they’ll accept Aragorn as their king and they give a resounding affirmative cheer and Aragorn FINALLY stops sleeping outside and comes into the city to make ready for the coronation. 

But then, what of Aragorn and Boromir’s relationship? I think there’s some mollification for them both with this move. Aragorn’s mollified that Boromir got this done. Boromir’s mollified that Aragorn accepted it. And then just time lets things simmer down. Bad blood is still there, most particularly on Boromir’s side, but they find a working relationship. I honestly don’t think it’s ever what it was when they were on the Quest. They just aren’t the same men anymore, they don’t quite have the same goal, nothing is simple any longer. I think they find a new kind of friendship which allows for more up and down relations, gives more allowance for them to just be annoyed with each other. I don’t think apologies are ever forthcoming from either of them but it needs to work so they make it work. 

Aragorn needs Boromir to help him through this knotted thicket of a country, to be guided in this culture he’s not been a part of for forty years. And Boromir gradually is aware and accepts that Aragorn’s heart is in the right place, he does want to be good for Gondor, and his greater and more decisive powers certainly help push through change that they’d never been able too before. 

But does Boromir ever truly accept Aragorn’s kingship as the best and right thing to do? I think he still has his doubts. Aragorn might be a good King, but what of his son? And his son’s son? They did not just give all this power to Aragorn, they gave it up to a thousand unknown royals of the future and Boromir often asks himself if he made the right choice. He doesn’t have the same sense of faith as most Gondorians, the same reverence for the past. I think he’ll always wonder if Denethor would have approved, if Denethor might have done better than he did.

… Lets answer that question!!!

Yes he would.

 I- god I’m not going to go into the detail of before because this is already at 3000+ words, but Denethor’s mere presence chills everything out a great deal. This man has a near legendary track record in both wisdom, cunning and dedication to his responsibilities. As much as the Lords of Gondor remember Thorongil the great Captain, Denethor was their Captain-General long before he arrived. Denethor went to war for decades, Denethor held the country together through thick and thin and Denethor is universally trusted in at least his motives and purposes. No one who has dealt with Denethor truly believes he’s coveting power. 

With Denethor there’s no mess, there’s no distress or confusion. Denethor lets everyone know what’s happening. He knows which Lords are playing for their own power, he knows which of them to trust, he and the Master of Waters have been good friends for years, and he’s well trusted amongst the unions. With that all in play, the number of the Faithful is smaller than it might have been, and Faramir, whilst being definitely a thorn, is not so powerful when pitted against Denethor’s weight of experience. He also has Boromir on his side still.

I do think Denethor would conceed to Aragorn’s coronation, after all there’s just so much prophecy and timing and divinity to it all, and Gondor is a nation that puts a great deal of stock in gestures and how right something feels. Denethor knows that intimately, and a new age with a King might be actually very profitable. But Denethor has a new constitution draw up, voted on, and agreed to by nearly the entire council, before it’s presented to Aragorn. And this is his arena, they might be mental and physical equals, but Aragorn can’t win against Denethor’s time spent. 

This constitution has checks, it’s got balances, it’s got a defined and clear path to dethroning an unliked King and the kinds of abuses of power that could be it’s catalyst. Aragorn’s power is significantly reduced and tied to a more Steward-like system of government. And Aragorn has to bloody well accept it, because that’s what he’s going to get. He isn’t all that put out, in the end, it’s just another challenge to overcome. And you know what? He and Denethor do reconcile. Just simply by virtue of being so damned clever, and knowing that their hearts are both in the right place. That age old respect comes back to the fore and they remember how enjoyable it was to just talk to each other. Honestly I’d say Aragorn and Denethor’s relationship ends up being better than his and Boromir’s in the end. They’re just so damn alike and with the both of them at Gondor’s helm the country is really speed boosted into a bright and blinding golden age. 

… holy FUCK we did it lads, I’m gonna pass tf out now adIEU 

[thatonekawaiigirl13]

Who Said Death Was Easy? [Death Note] Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty-four: Objective 

Light’s POV:

“Ryuzaki-san said you wanted to speak to me in private,” Light stated, closing the door behind him. He spared a glance over at the shinigami, who was hovering in the corner of the interrogation room. Her look, though stoic, was also serious. “He said you felt it was important that we speak alone.”

I have to admit, somehow I feel like I know what this might be about…

“Yes,” Rem responded. Light noted how her eyes never left his. “That’s correct. That detective said it would be safe for us to use this room to talk. He assured me that what is said will not leave the two of us in here. As far as he knows, we’re talking about the investigation. I told him you had questions I was willing to answer.”

She’s gone this far, huh?

“This...this sounds rather serious,” Light commented. Although he was rather annoyed by the shinigami’s sudden antics, he kept his tone light. 

“It is rather serious, Light Yagami.”

Light let out a sigh. “Let me guess…this is about Misa Amane, yes?” Though it was phrased as a question, he could already sense Rem’s response. 

“Why bother to ask when I’m sure you already know the answer to that?” The shinigami quipped. “You know me well enough by now.”

Of course…after all, she’s the only person Rem cares about… I suppose I should have seen this meeting coming… no matter what I say or do, it appears she’s never quite satisfied with me… 

He crossed his arms over his chest, propping himself on the wall behind him. “I can assure you, Rem, I’ve been extra careful as far as Misa is concerned.”

“I’m sure you have. I know how you are, Light Yagami, you’re thorough.”

Is that so? If that’s the case, then...

“Then why did you want to speak to me so badly?” He prompted the shinigami.

It has to be the exchange, yes?

Rem’s response was almost instant. “Listen, I know Misa’s gotten in contact with Teru Mikami, I can tell from your behavior. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I’m sure you’ve noticed that as well. I also know that you are planning things so that the exchange will take place soon. Therefore, what I want to know is…have you decided on when and where the exchange is taking place?”

I had a feeling this was where this was going. Well, well, Rem, I can’t say I’m surprised. However, is this really necessary? I assure you, Rem, everything will be taken care of. Misa will be okay. I’ve made damned sure of that, thanks to you. You know very well that I need your cooperation in order to get rid of L. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up, so you can trust me on that. 

Before Light could interrupt, Rem continued on, “as I’m sure you know, I want to ensure that Misa will not be put into any danger with this situation. I will not be able to leave headquarters, which you also know…that’s why I at least want to know exactly what it is you have planned. That way, I can rest assured.”

Looks like I’ll just have to humor her…that’s alright I suppose. It’s a hassle, but if I tell her, she’ll get off my tail. I won’t have to deal with her or Misa Amane for that much longer anyway…soon enough, she’ll be getting rid of L for me.  

Light let out a sigh. “Fine. You should know that I’ve thought a lot about it. There are benefits and risks to every possible situation. A public exchange would be risky because, while it can easily be masked by others, it can also easily be recorded. I wouldn’t put it past Ryuzaki to have someone still privately keeping tabs on Misa, so even if she wore a disguise, it would be useless. However, a private exchange would also be risky in this situation. Privacy can be assured, yes, but there will still be a record of the exchange in a hotel booking and whatnot. And once again, I’m sure Ryuzaki might still be tailing Misa.”

I’m positive he’s still tailing her, in fact…knowing him, he’s probably sore about those fake rules. He’d be willing to do anything to prove I’m Kira. That makes this all the more hard, but that’s okay. I’ll meet his challenge head on. There’s not much he can do to me right now anyway, not when everyone else, Keiko included, believes in my innocence. I know they’re willing to vouch for me, and if L accuses me again, they won’t listen… 

“Get to the point, Light Yagami.”

“Listen,” Light raised an eyebrow at Rem, “what I’m saying is, no matter what is done, there is still a risk. However, I’ve thought a lot about it and I’ve decided that the best plan would be to go for a private exchange. It’s still a risk, but I’ve taken some measures of precaution in order to not arouse any suspicion.”

I’ve spent the last few days thinking it over, in fact…I have to carefully instruct Misa to follow my instructions…  

“I”m intrigued. What will this private exchange entail?”

“I’m glad you asked, Rem,” the corners of Light’s lips curved upwards. “I know Ryuzaki still believes me to be Kira, and Misa Amane the second Kira. Despite the fake rules that I had set in place, he still won’t change his mind. And there’s no way I could change his mind, I know that. However, without any concrete evidence, he can’t do anything. Even if he thinks he’s right. Therefore we can’t let him get any more evidence. Or rather, even if he gets ‘evidence’, he won’t be able to use it. As long as there’s nothing incriminating, and there won’t be, he can’t do a damn thing.”

Right now, he’s a sitting duck…he’s exactly where I want him. I have the upper hand right now, and I cannot allow him to catch up. I won’t play into his hand. 

Rem thought this over a moment. “That makes sense, he has nothing to convict you or Misa, especially because of those fake rules in the death note… so, what is it you have planned? Tell me.”

“I was just getting to that, Rem.” Light cast a look at her, “I’m sure you’re well aware of Misa’s career as a model…”

The shinigami let out a breath. Her confusion was plain as day to Light, “what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Light responded. “Just think about it a moment. Modeling shoots are generally private, right? After all, Misa’s safety needs to be ensured, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to do the shoot.”

Rem raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting…Misa make the exchange while working on a modeling shoot…?”

“That’s correct. It’ll be a private modeling shoot. Misa’s having a photoshoot in Aoyama on Friday, so four days from now. Even if L has someone tailing Misa, I doubt they’d have an easy time getting into her shoot. Misa’s told me they have a strict employee only policy. Even if they did manage to make it inside, it would be hard to get Misa alone. Why bother going that far to tail her when L knows that even Misa wouldn’t do something as stupid as killing criminals at work? He wouldn’t do that, therefore there is little incentive for him to go through the trouble of having someone sneaking into her work shoot. So it’ll be the safest place for the exchange. L also has no idea that I will be swapping out Misa as Kira…it’s the perfect plan.”

“As you said, you’ve really thought this through. It makes sense and I’m happy that Misa’s safety will be ensured…” Rem trailed off, “however, where does Mikami come into play? He’s a criminal prosecutor. What would he be doing at a modeling shoot?”

“You’re right. He wouldn’t.” Light said. He was smug as he added, “but it just so happens that he has business in Aoyama that day. The building Misa is modeling in has many different smaller company headquarters inside of it, and it happens that Mikami will be there to work on a case involving a company within the building. They will both be there on business, but doing two separate things. Even if L later on connects the dots, he won’t be able to prove anything. He won’t have any evidence.”

He won’t be able to do anything…and besides, everyone else believes in those fake rules… L will be powerless…exactly where I want him to be…and if it all goes well, it’ll be all according to my plan. 

Rem’s POV:

The shinigami narrowed her eyes at Light. She still did not trust him, but she also knew that he wouldn’t dare cross her. Not when Rem still had Misa looming over him. It appeared Light was willing to do anything in order to protect Misa to ensure that Rem would still be on his side in order to get rid of L for him. 

So, that’s it, Light Yagami? You’re using this modeling shoot as a cover up? It’s perfect. I have to admit that it truly is well thought out. I have to hand it to you, you truly are rather calculative. However, you’re also rather heartless. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Light Yagami.”

“I’m sure,” Light retorted. “That being said, I believe this is the best course of action. Misa will be completely fine, L won’t be able to gain any new evidence against me, and a new Kira will take over. It’s a win-win-win.”

Rem almost snorted, a win-win-win? Well…you’re right ...partially right, that is. You don’t know that Keiko is well aware of your plan, and that she has plans to stop you. Oh well. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. It’s your arrogant attitude that I dislike. You dug your own grave when you refused to take Misa’s feelings seriously. I may not like Keiko, but I do believe I can trust her more than I trust you. At least, once Keiko’s plan is in action, Misa will no longer be a pawn. And soon enough, I won’t even have to deal with you any longer. 

“I’m satisfied with your plan,” the shinigami finally spoke after a moment. “Everything should run smoothly and soon Misa will be free. That’s all I want.”

“Perfect.” Light responded. He smirked, “that’s all you wanted to talk about, correct?”

“Yes.”

Now it’s time for me to inform Keiko… 

/slight timeskip/

Keiko’s POV:

“Kagami-san,” the detective called out to her as he entered the main investigation room. At the sound of his voice, Keiko turned around to face him. He moved to take a seat near the monitors, as usual. The two were now the only ones left at headquarters. Everyone else had either gone to sleep or gone home.

Seeing he had Keiko’s attention, L continued on, “Rem said she wishes to speak to you. She’s expecting you to come meet her in the interrogation room in a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Keiko gave a nod in L’s direction. “Thank you for letting me know.”

That’s right…Light’s gone to bed now…that means it’s safe for Rem and I to meet without arousing any suspicion.   

“Of course,” L replied. The room was silent for a moment, save for the whirring coming from the detective’s laptop. Something that Keiko was sure the detective was very aware of. She knew she was quite aware. Whenever she and the detective spoke one-on-one, something in her stirred and she was always hyper aware of him and her surroundings. Keiko suspected it had something to do with her ever-growing feelings for him.

Wait a moment, Keiko bit her lip in thought. Think. If Rem wants to talk with me, that means it’s probably about-

“It’s about the exchange, yes?” L questioned, breaking through Keiko’s thoughts. 

Keiko gave a small nod, “yes. She’s agreed to tell us the details of the exchange If she wants to meet with me now then I’m assuming she’s found out those details.”

“Sounds about right,” the detective commented. “She met up with Light earlier. If anything, I’m sure she used her power as a shinigami to get the information out of him.”

“I’m sure she did,” Keiko agreed. “Light’s pretty stubborn, after all. I can’t imagine what he’s capable of, but even his powers aren’t any match to Rem’s...I’m sure he didn’t need that much convincing.”

“Light’s capable of quite a bit, I’m sure,” L replied. “Then again, so are we, especially with Rem on our side.”

Keiko gave a soft chuckle. “Of course. And don’t worry, Ryuzaki-san, you’ll be the first to know about the details Rem gives me.”

“Who said I was worried, Kagami-san?” 

A ghost of a smile played on the detective’s lips as the two stared at each other for a moment. His dark eyes bore into hers and she could feel her insides turning into mush and her stomach doing somersaults. Any retort she would have come up with died on her lips without so much as a fighting chance. 

It’s rare that he smiles, but when he does…he has to know the effect he has on me. It’s too obvious. 

“I-I should probably get going,” Keiko managed to stutter out. “Rem’s probably expecting me.”

“Right. Shouldn’t keep a shinigami waiting,” the detective responded, though he kept his gaze on her. Keiko could feel her cheeks turning pink but she attempted to keep her composure as she walked by L to get out into the hallway.

/short timeskip/

“...so that is all of what Light told me about his plans for the death note exchange. He feels, because the location of the shoot is secure, L won’t be able to gather any evidence against himself or Misa. He’s been extra cautious,” the shinigami finished. Her expression was serious and she kept her gaze on Keiko, gauging her reaction. 

A modeling shoot…I certainly wouldn’t have ever expected that. However, Light’s logic is pretty solid, I’ll give him that. He knows what he’s doing in order to keep people off his trail. It’ll make things harder for sure. And, because there are many offices within the building, it’ll be hard to narrow down which company or firm this new Kira works for. L and I will have a lot of work to do, but with Aiber and Wedy’s help, we should be able to narrow it down rather soon. Or so I hope. I can only keep hoping for the best.

“That certainly sounds like him,” Keiko replied. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. He really thought this all through.”

Which will make it all the harder to go after him….

“I was thinking the same thing,” the shinigami responded, shifting her position. “He also made it so he won’t have to be present during the exchange. I noticed that right away. I don’t think he did that by accident.”

I’m sure he did…he’s ensuring that no harm will come to him. Even though it’s risky, the risk only involves Misa and whoever this new Kira is… somehow, this isn’t a surprise to me, he really does only care about himself after all.  

“Of course, there’s no way he would risk that. Not with Ryuzaki still suspecting him. This seems to be the best plan with the least amount of risk for both him and Misa.”

“Exactly,” Rem agreed. The shinigami continued on, a frown visible on her face, “Misa, however, still faces some risk…”

I suspect I know why she’s still worried… 

“Don’t worry,” Keiko gave the shinigami a knowing look, “as agreed, no one will go after Misa. Any evidence collected during this exchange will solely be used to find out the identity of the new Kira. Ryuzaki and I plan to use this new Kira to give us the evidence to convict Light. Besides, as soon as Misa exchanges her death note, she loses her memories, correct? If she doesn’t remember her crime, how can L convict her?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Rem gave a nod. “As soon as Misa gives up ownership of her death note, all her memories of said death note will vanish.”

In a way, that’s scary…Misa will be losing a part of her own memories…all because of this supernatural notebook that gives you the power to kill. I wonder how she got a hold of such a thing in the first place, but I suppose we’ll never know… what matters most is that we capture this new Kira and get him to reveal Light’s true identity… that way, both Kira and the Second Kira are brought to justice… 

“As long as you keep your end of the bargain, then all will be well. I am placing my trust in you, Keiko Kagami. I trust that you will not do anything to destroy that trust,” Rem added. Her gaze still had not left Keiko.

At this, a chill ran down Keiko’s spine, making her feel uneasy. She swallowed hard, meeting the shinigami’s hardened look. 

I know we’re technically on the same side, but she’s still rather terrifying…it’s hard to forget that she’s still a powerful shinigami.  

“Of course, Rem,” Keiko did her best to meet her gaze, “I understand. No matter what happens, know that Misa Amane will not be in any danger. She will be fine…Light and this new Kira, on the other hand, not so much. Rest assured that L and I will do whatever it takes in order to bring them to justice.”

“Good,” Rem exhaled. “I feel like now is a good time to remind you, Keiko Kagami, that so far I’ve upheld my end of the deal. It is now up to you and that detective of yours to bring an end to this.”

“I understand,” Keiko repeated. “As I said, we’ll do whatever is in our power in order to find enough evidence to convict Light…”

He deserves to be brought to justice…he’s a mass murderer…and I’ll stop at nothing until I know this case is closed.  

Keiko continued on, “to be honest, when I first heard that there was a chance that he could be Kira, I didn’t want to believe it. I was blinded by my own bias, my feelings for him. I was a fool and I fell for him. But, now that I know the truth, all I feel towards him is disgust…he’s done some terrible things. Unforgivable things.” 

To think that he fooled me for so long…and now I’m the one fooling him… I don’t like to fool people, but, in his case I almost think he deserves it…he’s not even human in my eyes, he’s a monster…   

“You humans are rather complex with all your emotions,” the shinigami murmured. 

Keiko let out a terse chuckle, “I’m sure it seems like that to you. From your perspective, you only kill to extend your own lifespan, right? We’re living in rather different worlds…”

“That we are,” Rem agreed. “Most shinigami just gamble their life away to kill time…killing isn’t high on our list of priorities. You humans can get rather crafty when a death note falls into your hands.”

“It would appear that nothing good comes from a death note falling into a human’s hands,” Keiko sighed. “I can say that it does more harm than good.”

“You may be right about that, Keiko Kagami,” the shinigami commented. “From what I’ve seen this notebook brings out people’s hatred and greed. Based on your stance in this investigation, I would take it that you agree with me.”

Keiko nodded. “Anyway, I should report back to Ryuzaki. Thank you for giving me this information, Rem. As agreed, we will do our part from here on out. I will probably meet up with you again to keep you updated on our progress...”

“‘Til next time then,” the shinigami responded.

With that, Keiko exited the interrogation room. She headed back toward the main investigation room, back toward L, to deliver the newest information. 

/short timeskip/

“...and that’s all Rem told me,” Keiko took in a breath, relaxing a moment. It was a lot of information she had to remember, but she was certain she had thought of everything. The case and L’s life was resting on this information, of course. 

There’s no way I’d forget, not with his life on the line...

“It’s certainly not what I was expecting, but it’s evident that Light really thought this through,” she added. 

“I see,” L responded, “a modeling shoot. How creative of him…”

Wait a moment… 

“Aiber and Wedy will have enough time to prepare, right?”

L gave a nod. “Yes. They’re the best in their fields, rest assured. They’ll have plenty of time to prepare. Aiber’s exceptional people skills will come in handy, and I have no doubt in Wedy’s abilities to make it past security. I’ll inform them tonight and they’ll take it from here,” the detective replied. “I’m sure everything will run smoothly.”

“Good,” Keiko breathed out in relief. 

One less thing to worry about...

“Thank you, Keiko-chan,” the detective murmured after a moment. 

“Hmm?” Keiko looked over at him, surprise written on her face.

Did he say what I think he just said…?

“Thank you, for going this far. For doing all this,” L repeated. “I know it’s also for the sake of the investigation, but I thought you should know how appreciative I am.”

“I-er, it’s nothing, really,” Keiko could feel her cheeks turning red. She was becoming quite aware of their proximity to each other on the couch. The two were half a cushion apart, somehow rather close but still too far away. Keiko was careful not to scoot too far in, or else the two would be uncomfortably close. Even where she was, she was still very aware of the detective.

“It’s not nothing, you worked so hard,” L’s voice was soft. “You’ve done amazing so far.”

“Ryuzaki-san, I-”

The words died on Keiko’s lips when the detective leaned in, gently brushing aside a stray strand of hair that was blocking her face. She found she forgot how to speak, or even breathe, at his touch. He didn’t move away, as Keiko expected, and the two were face to face, merely inches apart. 

I want to kiss him, so so so badly, Keiko realized, and I don’t know if I can stop myself if he keeps looking at me like that…it’s far too dangerous a situation.  

Keiko was about to turn away when she felt L’s fingertips graze her chin, causing her to stop. She glanced at him, a question in her eyes, only to notice the softness in his gaze. It was a look she hadn’t quite seen before, but she could feel her heart starting to beat ever so loudly in her chest. 

His voice was quiet, barely audible, “Keiko.”

Keiko was unsure of what to do, or what L’s motive was. She wasn’t sure if the detective himself knew what he was going to do. From the look in his eyes, he was almost as startled by his actions as she was. He scooted himself over, closing the gap between them even more. Keiko’s breathing heightened in anticipation.

Is he going to…? She couldn’t bring herself to finish that sentence. Keiko closed her eyes, waiting for the detective to make a decision. Disappointment rose in her chest when the detective lowered his fingers from her chin. 

I suppose I was wrong...

Keiko was about to open her eyes once more when she felt the detective’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, his heart was beating just as fast as her own. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and she felt as though she could burst. 

He’s…holding…me. 

Somehow the act felt way more intimate than a kiss. The last time she had been this close to him, as far as she could remember, was after she had woken up from her nightmare months ago. That time, it had been her that had pulled him close, and she was still half asleep when she did it. 

As the two parted, a single thought was on her mind, he held me…he trusts me…could this mean that he...? She couldn’t finish her thought, but the question lingered on. Deep down, she knew that, even if she had hope of his feelings for her, even if she had some proof, it wouldn’t be wise to act on impulse. Not when Light still had control. Not when L’s life was still in danger.