#like you are clearly not using your own site in comparison to another

[nataliescatorccio]

Also, apparently. The c/e/}o of this hellsite hates this site—and is an El/on mu{sk fanboy

honestly i don't know about all that, i don't know enough about the guy myself. i just think it's the age old issue of someone who is actually not part of the core demographic of this site sitting and making decisions of where it should go. which is incredibly frustrating because there seems to be no one who is in that position of making the calls and the changes who actually understands what makes tumblr a unique product and what the userbase wants

[chigirisprincess]

Good Luck Babe! - Chapter 2: Your Best Laid Plans.

— Aizawa Shōta

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, fem!reader (she/her pronouns used to refer to reader), sfw, reader has anxiety, mentions of past situationships ;), reader has lore, plot building, teacher talk. ⊹ Run time. 4.0k ⊹ Note. This is mostly plot progression, next chapter will be make exciting! Enjoy :3

❝Unpacking isn't always easy, at least the U.A dorms were nice.❞

previous part || masterlist || next part

The U.A dormitories were infinitely nicer than your university accommodations. The realisation strikes you before you’ve made your way across the green expanse of the newly built quad. It bristles your feathers and adds yet another reason why privately funded academies were far from your wheelhouse of experience. The Miyagi University of Education was a fine school, it had a small number of students which meant one on one time with their professors, and was built in the late 19th century making the campus as picturesque as a university could be. Sure, the accommodations were a bit dated especially in comparison to a brand new, state of the art building, but you couldn’t complain. Your university years were enjoyable, you wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.

And, Sendai was a lovely city. Costal, filled with enough greenery to never make you miss the quaint rural town you were raised in. There were a plethora of museums and cultural sites that kept you busy and when your close friend worked as an apprentice curator, affordable year round passes were suddenly far more accessible.

Friend, almost boyfriend. Situationship. You chuckle to yourself with a shake of your head. Almost something, almost, nothing. It was maddening when you were stuck within the pit, uncertainty wearing at you. Now, it just seemed silly. 

The lines were still blurred on where exactly your relationship stood. Not that the semantics mattered much when you moved nearly four hours away to a new city, with new people, and a new job. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since you moved into Musutafu for work and he refused to answer any text messages you’d sent. Not that you cared, that chapter of your life was firmly shut and left in the past– in Sendai– and he was still a close friend, at least that’s what you liked to believe, and would until he said otherwise. Not that he would say otherwise. Still, he was a good friend to have even if he didn’t see you as a friend, or was pissy that you never made a move to clearly define what you were. It’s not like he did either.

Almost, he was an almost. 

You had a lot of those in your history books. Paramours who weren’t quite lovers but you could hardly call them a friend. Always feeling too attached to simply name them as a friend. Women who’s friendship was so intense you couldn’t call it anything other than something akin to love. An almost something that you were scared to commit to. Your heart locked firmly behind the fortress of your rib cage when you wished it could be freely given.

You think that’s why you took this job.

Aside from the clear résumé booster this would be, the pay, and the perks, and the fact that you’d be stupid not to take the job, it was a far leap from your comfort zone. Sendai was the safe choice for university, it was only an hour train ride from your family’s home, a handful of upperclassmen had already been in attendance and offered to shepherd you into this new era. Most weekends were spent back at home until you made a few friends. Even those came with a caveat and a safety net. Mister situationship with the spiky blonde hair and glasses was your lab partner and subsequently became the gateway to the group of friends you'd made. You didn’t dare to branch out on your own, beyond them.

You took the easy way out. If asked you’d say that made you sensible. Your elementary school teachers would agree. They all thought you to be well beyond your years, an old soul trapped behind a pair of chubby cheeks. Never one to act out or step beyond your comfort zone. Your assignments were predictably perfect and drawn directly from your wheelhouse of interests. Your arguments were well polished and you possessed an arsenal of peer reviewed resources that you shuffled around based on your topic of choice.

As a child the adults in your life fussed over you, shirking their misplaced dreams on your frail shoulders. A little leader in your own right, keeping your stuffed animals and friends in line. They told you that you’d make a great teacher, your voice was gentle and your touch was always soft. That or a mother. As if it were the middle ages and that’s all you could amount to.

But, you were predictable. 

You stayed the course they mapped out for you. Too scared for anything bigger. The figs that branched out beyond you had long since rotted and died, taking with it, whatever other paths and aspirations you might’ve filled your life with. 

And, in some fruitless attempt to extend beyond their expectations, you left home and took this job. In most lights it still existed within the realm of your comfort zone but in some it pushed you.

You decided, your one saving grace of the day was that you packed lightly and still managed to scarcely fill out your apartment. Though it may not have been half as fancy as the U.A accommodations, you learned from your university dorm that you probably didn’t need as much as you thought you did. Clearing out your apartment took an hour and the commute back to U.A only about thirty minutes. Foot traffic was much lighter now that the morning rush had subsided. It helped that you’d spent the last two months living out of your suitcase. The apartment was temporary, a placeholder until you found something closer to the school. Though you stupidly never thought to consider that you’d be expected to reside on campus grounds.

Perhaps you were a child like Aizawa accused. Your brain gnawed on his words, playing them on loop until it accepted it as fact. Wearing boots too big for your feet, your naivety glaring. Obvious to everyone but you. 

It was an easy fix. Pessimism was your middle name, though, you preferred to call it realistic. You would wise up in no time. Gather your bearings, plant your roots, and never stumble over the shock of the unknown again. Prove to them, to you, to anyone else who thought to question you, that you were meant to be here. Then, maybe you wouldn’t feel so sick with insecurity even as you tossed your things into your new lodgings.

Shōta stands with his back pressed against the wall outside of class 1-A when Yamada pops out of the classroom. Kayama would be there soon for modern hero art history, Shōta decided then that he’d prefer to keep whatever schemes Nezu was cooking up to himself. He scoffs to himself as he replays the conversation he has with you.

Concerned.

The ministry of education was concerned? Now? Of course they were. Shōta wasn’t stupid, he saw the uptick of distrust growing between the general public and the ministry– it went hand in hand with the near constant criticism that floated across the gaggle of paparazzi that sat outside the school gates everyday. They questioned the ethics behind U.A as an institute, wrote think pieces and created conspiracy theories to work out every move they made as if to catch the school in some lie. It was as exhausting as it was hypocritical. Shōta laughed at the mere thought. The general public had no problem fawning over his class during the sports festival, marvelling at just how powerful they had to be to stand against the League of Villains all on their own.

But sure, now there was a problem. It was serious now that a student had been kidnapped.

Stuffing his hand into his pocket, Shōta grabs the small plastic bottle of eye drops he keeps handy. His eyes sting with irritation, if that was even possible. His unkempt bangs slide away from his forehead when he tilts his head back, widening his eyes for a few drops of temporary relief.

“Hey” Hizashi calls, popping his head out of the classroom door, “Who was that you were talking to? Your students sure had a lot of questions but I didn’t have many answers”

“Irrelevant,” Shōta snips.

“Hm?”

There’s a stack of workbooks tucked in the crook of his elbow, the covers worn and the colours faded. The class must have finished their latest grammar unit. He tilts his head down, his bright orange glasses slip down the slope of his nose to reveal his inquisitive yellow eyes. He peers at Shōta with interest.

“I said, she’s irrelevant,” he repeats, with a frown, “At least to you.”

Hizashi chortles, “Oh? So what, only you get a special little helper?” he quips, with a smile, “Iida said she introduced herself to the class and Nezu was with her, it seemed like she was supposed to be there.”

Shōta hums, pushing off from the wall and away from his classroom, “Seems to me you’re pretty well informed already, Mic.”

“Eh, not anymore than your students.”

His laughter bounces down the hall as he bounds after Shōta, only pausing to adjust the stack of workbooks under his arm.

“C’mon, Shōta, spill!” He says, throwing his free arm over his shoulder, “No one’s losing their job are they?”

The teasing lilt dies quickly, “Right?” Hizashi asks, concern drips from his tongue. Concern for Shōta. He’s getting sick of it.

“She’s from the ministry of ed,” Shōta huffs.

There’d been concern after Bakugō had been kidnapped. Selfish ones. Some worried their positions were up for debate, others wondered if alumni and sponsors would pull funding. Of course, there was always the concern for bad publicity. This entire school year was bad for publicity. Not that it mattered. Bored, nameless nobodies on internet forums always had something to criticise even when the academic year was perfect, when U.A graduates continually climbed the ranks, opened their own agencies, and continued to keep Japan safe. Whatever concern they had now was purely bureaucratic to save their own skin.

“Oh?” Hizashi raises an eyebrow.

They share a look, “Apparently they’ve begun to worry,” he explains, thinking back to what you said. How much did you believe in the lines you’d been fed? Did you create them?

No. You seemed earnest, young enough that your naïvity was genuine and you were likely just a piece for them to move about the board as they saw fit. You couldn’t be complicit in whatever cover up scheme Nezu had allowed into the building. Your flighty, nervous demeanour told him as much. He was worried he might burst into tears if his voice dared to sharpen any further. The way you wilted like a sad, delicate flower beneath the uncomfortable heat of the sun reminded him of a few past students. The ones he expelled for being too soft and too thoughtful. The ones who weren’t cut from the right cloth, they’d never be able to hack it as a hero without that reckless drive most had. 

You were like them but somehow even more fragile. Even with the tenacity and sheer stupidity you had.

“About?” Hizashi questions, his eyebrow quirking upward.

“Our teaching capabilities,” Shōta shrugs, jabbing his thumb into the up bottom once they reach the elevators.

Hizashi leans against the wall, hitching his leg upward, “What does that mean?” His scrunches up in annoyance, “It’s deceptively vague.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Hizashi keeps his lips pursed in a fine line while Shōta scowls in contemplative silence.

Concern?

If they were concerned they’d help implement mental health services for all students at U.A. He’s petitioned them relentlessly for years, they had the funding, Nezu was onboard but there was far too much red tape to navigate through and each thread led back to the ministry. Instead they wanted to throw you to the wolves. A peppy, fresh faced, anxiety riddled university graduate who had yet to experience much of the real world. You sparkled in the way most did before they got a taste of how monotonous their dream careers were. 

“I heard the minister of education is planning on campaigning for Prime Minister,” Hizashi comments, stepping toward the now open elevator doors.

Shōta clicks his tongue, “Hm, how convenient.”

“It could be worse.”

“How so?” He raises a brow to Hizashi.

“The hero commission and the ministry could be breathing down our necks,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’m sure she’s harmless and her presence is merely a formality, a box to check to appease antsy civilians and overzealous journalists.”

“Right.”

Shōta gives Hizashi a tight, strained smile as the elevator door shuts between them.

A formality. 

That’s what you were. He didn’t often feel uneasy, but none of this sat right with him. His stomach churned at the thought of you. The same looming feeling of dread sat like a pit in his stomach most days when he stared directly into the bright eyed, determined faces of his students. You held the same look, though it was shrouded with an obvious nervousness that you couldn’t shake. Still, your dreams had yet to be jaded by the cruelties of this world, much like his students. It made him uneasy. They at least understood the gravity of their reality, he wasn’t sure you did.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shōta sighed to himself.

He was growing soft in his age. That’s why he didn’t fight you. It had to be why.

Sauntering down the hall to his office, Shōta wonders if he made the right decision.

Aizawa finds an hour after the final bell has rung. The sun has dipped low in the afternoon sky, painting your lodgings a warm, comforting yellow. The walls are bare and the decor is sparse. Only a few polaroid pictures, a calendar and your two degrees occupy the space. It feels oddly big, too big for just you but there’s nothing else to cram in the nooks and crannies to make your new home a little less lonesome.

It’s a relief to see Aizawa’s tired face on the other side of your door. He’d offer you a reprieve from the anxious thoughts that relentlessly ping pong around your skull.

“Hi!” You chirp, opening up the door, offering him a nervous smile, “Did you want to come in?”

He hoarsely grumbles out something resembling a, “Yes”, pushing past you before you’ve fully moved out of the way. His eyes scan his surroundings, you suppose he’s taking in the little decorations you’ve set about the place but you struggle to follow his gaze from where it’s hidden beneath his fringe. You suppose it’s a learned trait. After a bit of googling, you found that his quirk was aptly named erasure and  manifested through his eyes. 

Aizawa settles on your sofa, his legs spread as he rests his elbows on his thighs.

“Did you uhm, want something to drink?”

All you had was a nearly empty tin of instant coffee and a box of tea that expired two years ago. You hoped he’d say no, so you didn’t have to go through the mortifying ordeal of scrounging something you. Your parents raised you to be hospitable when you opened your home to guests. So, you couldn’t help but ask.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, “Thank you but, I’m fine,” he says, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers.

“Okay!”

Scratching the back of your head, you flounder around the living space. The armchair was piled high with your winter coats and the only other space to sit was next to him. 

“I don’t bite,” he mutters, peering up at you.

You shift nervously from foot to foot, reminding yourself that he’s a pro hero– despite his tired disposition. He was likely trained to read body language. It wasn’t that you were easy to read but that he read others easily. There was no need to feel nervous, he wasn’t doing it purposely and you probably weren’t giving anything away. Shuffling closer to the sofa, you sit as close to the arm as you could without making your discomfort obvious.

“You’ve settled in?”

Nodding you nervously bite your lip, “I pack light so it wasn’t much work.”

Aizawa hums. His arm brushes against yours. You can feel how his chest rumbles as he speaks.

“Good,” he says, pausing for a moment, “Then, I trust you have the time to elaborate on why you’re here?”

A small sound of agreement passes your raw, bitten lips, “I sure can!” You smile, hoping the pep in your voice disguises the panic, “Uhm, well the ministry of education was worried that the repeated villain attacks and lack of consistent curriculum was negatively impacting their development.”

 You wrack your brain trying to remember what exactly their email outlined but all that comes up is the excitement you felt. The picture in your mind is hazy, the details sparse but you remember most of the key points they had. They’d stuck out to you and seemed reasonable enough once you started digging into the files they sent you.

“I think it’s fairly obvious that being the target of villain attacks would have adverse effects,” you state as if he didn’t see that for himself, “However in addition to the unique mode of learning employed by each teacher here, there has been concern that the lack of consistency is what’s causing their markedly low grades.”

Aizawa scoffs, staring at you in disbelief, “Their grades are fine, I would know.”

“Their grades are still above average; however, compared to their entrance exam marks and results from the previous year's standardised tests, the class's average has dropped by 5%,” you explain, pressing a finger to the tip of your chin, “I have the data sheets, I can show them to you if you want.”

Initially you hadn’t been concerned when looking over their most recent examination marks. They had done exceptionally well with material that far surpassed the curriculum expectations set in the prefecture, however the decline was clear. You presumed the several areas in which they hadn’t done as well in, had been lessons interrupted by villain attacks. It wasn’t their fault, and if anything they were still on track but still, you couldn’t help but worry.

“If they're above the country's average, I don’t see the issue.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you sigh “Well there’s a clear pattern that indicates an issue that needs to be addressed,” a frustrated puff of air passes your lips, “These kids are meant to be above average, sure that’s why they’re here, however their emotional well being and emotional needs should also be met instead of being ignored because they’re so special!”

Clearing your throat, you sink deeper into your sofa’s cushion, cheeks warmed to the touch. Your voice had raised several octaves, progressively getting louder as you prattled. You’d always been passionate about mental health, but you didn’t know you were this passionate. Aizawa watches you, there's something in his eyes, you can’t name it. Not yet. You don’t know him well enough. He gestures for you to continue on with his hand.

 “It’s evidentially contributing to a class-wide decline,” you conclude, fiddling with your fingers, “It’s not your fault! I tried asking Principal Nezu about U.A’s guidance counsellor and mental health resources and apparently neither exist.”

He nods, seemingly knowing it all too well,“How do you propose we fix that then?”

“This isn’t something that’s cut and dry, I need to spend some time with your students, get to know them, and hear from them where they’re needing support.”

Aizawa laughs. He laughs at you, throwing his head back and letting out a full bellied laugh. You’re stunned to silence, blinking, half in disbelief and half in shock. His laugh was nice, rich even. Oddly befitting for a man like him, but still unexpected. At first glance you wouldn’t have expected from him. Though, you’re unsure what you had expected of Aizawa. He was nothing like the glamorous, larger than life pro heroes you grew up watching on television. Aizawa was far more relaxed, his dress casual, and seemed to proudly wear the dark circles that lined his tired eyes. It made him approachable, the lack of lustre and branding around the elusive Eraserhead. 

You liked that about him.

“Is something funny?” You asked with a quirk of your brow.

“It’s just rather amusing that you think any of them will ask for help,” he states, leaning back into the sofa, “Have you ever heard of a hero's pride?”

“Well, it’s a good thing they’re not heroes, they’re teenagers,” you hum, clasping your hands together.

“Try telling them that and see how well that goes.”

A joke, you think he was making a joke,“I’m well aware they think they’re more grown up than they actually are,” you felt the same at that age, you’re sure the responsibility of herodom only intensified it,“They kinda are compared to their middle school peers at the very least.”

Aizawa snorts, “Something like that,” he agrees with a shake of his head.

His gaze catches yours for a moment, it’s held for a few short seconds before you anxiously look away. Letting out a forced cough, you train your eyes on the television that sits across the room. 

“So I was thinking it would be a good idea if I could have a copy of your students' syllabus for each course they're taking?” You blurt, eager to continue the conversation forward.

“What?”

“The syllabus?” You repeat, “You know, the document that outlines their course expectations, assignments, and schedule for the semester?”

He scratches his chin, rubbing the stubble, “We don’t have those,” Aizawa says with a frown, “Is that standard practice?”

“Ah, mostly in University but many secondary schools are beginning to use them,” you explain, “It helps give students an idea of their semester beforehand.”

“It’s the beginning of the semester,” Aizawa comments, his lips pursed.

“That it is.”

Shrugging his shoulders, his eyes slide over to you, “We could make up a syllabus,” he suggests, “If you think that it’d be a worthwhile endeavour.”

“I think it is,” you sit a little straighter, a grin overtaking your lips, “Students seem to respond well when they feel prepared rather than blindsided, I can send you one of the research articles I’ve read!”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Giving your knee a pat, Aizawa offers you a strained smile.

You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking if he was sure. Aizawa didn’t strike you as a man who did anything he wasn’t sure of. Your overly eager, zealous attitude could be a bit much. You didn’t want to come off any stronger than you already did. Whatever impression that you’d made to him likely wasn’t one you’d want to stick around for too long.

“Well, that sounds like a plan!”

“So, tomorrow you’ll observe my class,” he proposes, “We can regroup in the evening, if it should suit you?”

You find yourself nodding before he’s finished speaking, “Oh for sure!” You grin, clapping your hands on your thighs, “I can do that!”

Aizawa rises from your sofa with a small grunt, stretching out his spine before he turns to you, “I’ll see you then.”

Nodding in agreement, you watch as he walks out of your front door. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, flopping back onto the sofa as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. Tomorrow would be the big day then, the day you stepped into adulthood and kickstarted your career. Your stomach churned at the realisation. You’d spent the better part of two weeks preparing for this day, meticulously rehearsing what you’d say, how you’d say it, what you’d wear, and how you’d part your hair. 

You’d have to do it all again, tomorrow. This time, without any of your planning.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features. 

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…” 

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still… 

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it. 

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.” 

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.” 

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone… No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh. 

What a day. 

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets. 

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

 Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level. 

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to. 

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day. 

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them. 

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.” 

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out. 

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend. 

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.” 

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment. 

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I  really  appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance. 

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click. 

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

[codex-archives-exe]

Only A Heated Touch Truly Conveys The Sentiment | Yahari Ore No Seishun Love Come Wa Machigatteiru. Kan. [EP 11] | Yukinon x Hikigaya/Hikigaya x Yukinon [Yukigaya] 

Transcript:

(Yukinon and Hikigaya begin walking up the bridge)

Hikigaya: “Sorry to drag you into this.”

Yukinon: “It was inevitable. There’s no way I could have refused in this situation.”

Yukinon: “Seriously, what are you doing?” 

(Yukinon, in denial, that after everything, Hikigaya persistently tries to be with her)

Yukinon: ���I don’t get this at all.”

(Yukinon slightly ahead of Hikigaya, walking up the entrance of the bridge)

Yukinon: “It actually felt terrifying watching my own family get coaxed along like that.” 

Hikigaya: “I wasn’t really doing anything of the sort.”

Hikigaya: “To be honest, I’m terrified by the fact that they just backed down.”

Yukinon: “Good point.”

Yukinon: “My mom and sister definitely aren’t the type to give up that easily.”

(Hikigaya, awkwardly asking if he can move ahead because he has a bike, Yukinon shakes her head in disagreement) 

Yukinon: “That look my mother had... It was the same one she has when she looks at my sister.”

Hikigaya: “Do you mean she acknowledged you?”

Yukinon: “She might have given up on me instead.”

[...]

Yukinon: “Why did you say something so absurd?”

Hikigaya: “That was the only way I could stay associated with you.”

Yukinon: “...Huh?”

Hikigaya: “With the club ending, we’d lose our only real place of contact.”

Hikigaya: “I couldn’t think of another excuse to you to come to me.”

(Yukinon stops in her place, as Hikigaya moves up slightly ahead)

Yukinon: “Why would you do that?”

Yukinon: “What about your promise? I asked you to grant her wish.” 

Hikigaya: “We could say that this is a part of it.”

(Hikigaya puts the stop on his bike on the bridge)

Hikigaya: “Because she told me she wanted you to be a part of our afternoons filled with nothing.”

Yukinon: “Then there was no reason for you to do all of that...”

Hikigaya: “As if.”

Hikigaya: “Acquaintances, associates, friends, classmates. You can call it whatever you want. But I have no confidence I maintain that kind of relationship.” 

Yukinon: “That may be true for you, but I’m going to do this. I’m going to get better at doing this!”

(As Yukinon, walks out of Hikigaya’s way creating distance between them)

[...]

Hikigaya: “This may hurt to hear, but both of us have pretty much zero communication skills, and we make things too complicated.”

Hikigaya: “Not to mention that we’re absolutely terrible at socializing!”

Hikigaya: “I don’t think we can start doing it well now!”

Hikigaya: “Creating any distance between us won’t be the end of it, and I’m positive we’ll just drift apart even further apart!”

(Hikigaya starts to run after Yukinon as she walks further away) 

(Yukinon begins to walk faster and further away as Hikigaya reaches out his hand) 

(Hikigaya realizing that Yukinon is getting too far away)

(Determined - Hikigaya, begins to gain speed and run after Yukinon)

Hikigaya: “That’s why...!” (as he grabs Yukinon’s hand) 

Hikigaya: “If I let you go, I can’t grab hold of you again.” 

Hikigaya: “This is extremely embarrassing for me to say, and I’d like to drop dead right about now, but...saying all that stuff about  “taking responsibility” was totally insufficient...I don’t feel an obligation to do this...It’s more like I want that responsibility. Or rather ...I want you to let me have it...”

(Hikigaya, finally lets go of Yukinon’s hand, and they blush and look away from each other for a brief moment) 

(Yukinon rubbing her wrist and hand, where Hikigaya held tightly) 

Hikigaya: “It might not be something you’re wishing for, but I want to remain involved with you. This isn’t about obligation, but desire.”

Hikigaya: “So...allow me the privilege of distorting your life.” 

(Yukinon shocked, realizing what he really means) 

Yukinon: “What do you mean “distort”? What do you mean by that word?” 

Hikigaya: “Well, I don’t mean that I have enough influence to change your whole life or anything. I think both you and I go on to university like normal, reluctantly join the workforce, and then go on to live decent lives. But if we’re involved with each other, we’ll take detours, stay at a standstill, and things like that, right? That’s why I’ll distort your life a little.” 

(Yukinon sighs in relief, and then smiles, knowing what Hikigaya means) 

Yukinon: “If that’s what you mean, then my life’s been distorted for a while now.”

Hikigaya: “I agree.”

Hikigaya: “We met, talked, learned, and then separated...and at each my life got distorted.” 

Yukinon: “But you were already distorted from the very beginning.” 

Yukinon: “I was, too, though.”

Hikigaya: “And things are going to get even more distorted. But as long as I keep distorting your life, I intend to pay a price to make up for it. ”

Hikigaya: “Well, I have basically have no assets, so the only things I can give you are time, emotions, the future, a life and other vague stuff like that. I’m not living much of a life, and I don’t have a lot of prospects for the future. But as long as I’m involved in someone else’s life, I have to give something, otherwise it’s not fair.”  

Hikigaya: “I’ll give you anything and everything, so please let me be involved in your life.” 

[...]

(Yukinon blushing and somewhat upset)

Yukinon: “You’re wrong...There’s no balance to that at all!”

(Yukinon, upset, knowing very well, that is completely unfair for only her to rely on him) 

Yukinon: “There’s not that much value in the path that I walk to the future.” 

Yukinon: “In comparison, you have...”

Hikigaya: “That’s a relief, then.”

Hikigaya: “As it stands, there’s not much value in my life. It’s an unpopular brand that has so little value it can’t get any lower than it already is. It’s basically bottomed out. In a sense, you could consider it a principal-protected investment. Now’s the best time to buy in!” 

Yukinon: “You make it sound like a huge scam.” 

(Gently punching Hikigaya’s chest)

Yukinon: “Learn to present yourself better!”

(Yukinon, upset, knowing Hikigaya is worth much more than he always tends to describes himself to her) 

Yukinon: “Why are you standing there spouting all this stupid stuff that doesn’t matter? There’s something else you should be saying!” 

(Yukinon, knowing full-well he is talking about “love” but does not have the bravery or courage to be upfront about it) 

Hikigaya: “I can’t say it. No way. You really think I can put that into words?”

Yukinon: “I think I may be a very tiresome person to deal with.”

Hikigaya: “I know that.”

Yukinon: “In any case, I’ve done nothing but cause you problems.”

Hikigaya: “I’m used to that.”

Yukinon: “I’m stubborn, and I’m not very charming.” 

Hikigaya: “Yeah, that’s true.”

Yukinon: “I wanted you to deny that part, though...” 

(Hoping Hikigaya would at least deny one thing about her) 

Hikigaya: “That’s a tall order.” 

Yukinon: “I feel like I’ll only become more useless as I continue to rely on you.”

Hikigaya: “Which means I just to have to become more useless than that. If we’re all useless, then no one is.” 

Yukinon: “And also-!”

(Yukinon tries to deny every moment of Hikigaya doing everything for her)

Hikigaya: “It’s fine.” 

Hikigaya: “I don’t mind how tiresome you get. Or how burdensome. I could even say that’s a good thing about you.”

Yukinon: “What?” 

Yukinon: “That doesn’t make me happy at all!”

(As Yukinon, lightly jabs at Hikigaya’s chest)

Hikigaya: “Ouch...”

(Yukinon, then gently grabs and tugs a small part of Hikigaya’s scarf)

Yukinon: “There’s more than that, right?” 

(Yukinon puts her hand down, then Hikigaya grabs her hand, and puts her hand on his heart)

(Surprised, Yukinon looks back at Hikigaya as he does this)

Hikigaya: “It may not be enough compensation for distorting your life, but well...I’ll give you everything. If you do not want it, then throw it away. If it’s annoying, then just forget about it. I’m still going to do it regardless, so I don’t need you to reply.” 

Yukinon: “Well, I’m going to say it clearly.”

(Yukinon then grasps part of Hikigaya’s blazer then begins to lean on him) 

Yukinon: “Please allow me to have...your life.” 

Hikigaya: “That’s stiff.” 

Yukinon: “I don’t know any other way to say it, so deal with it.” 

(Yukinon completely leaning on him, almost crying)

(Hikigaya, then fully embraces Yukinon, and they hug each other) 

Preface

Hello everyone, so I used to have a Tumblr a long, long time ago; 5 years to be exact; but have chosen this time, because on this very site I used to endlessly blog and jot down so many theories and thoughts about the possibilities - the sheer possibilities, of this couple, this ship being a thing.

AND THEN IT FINALLY HAPPENED. 100% CONFIRMED. 

THERE ARE NO WORDS THAT CAN DESCRIBE HOW HAPPY I AM.

7 YEARS

3 SEASONS

38 EPS 

AFTER STORY CONFIRMED TO BE IN THE WORKS

Sadly, I do not have the receipts or any core theory pieces or fragments from my past blog because it was wiped. Attempting to reconstruct any form of it from past memory, from what I thought from this, solely came from the fact Yukinon and Hikigaya, despite having so many disagreements and dragging each other down almost in some instances - they always watched out for each other. They always did. No matter if it was Hikigaya for Yukinon’s sake, or Yukinon for Hikigaya’s sake even in the some of the most simple scenarios.  

I always thought the beginning of S3, was so daunting because the sheer separation of the Service Club caused so much anguish, because each one of them felt for a different desire for another. Although, the entire premise going out of his own way to be there for Yukinon. Is absolutely the cutest and most romantic proactive thing someone could do for someone they ‘genuinely’ loved. 

Yes, I did go out of my own way to write the entire transcript of that five minute sequence because it is so incredibly memorable, cute, and heartwarming. As many have claimed from the start, they were absolutely meant for each other, knowing how much they rely, trust, and lean on one another. The writing is just so beautiful and always gets my heart pounding, and I practically cry every time. I could watch this a million times, I could never ever grow tired of it. Protect these two AT ALL COSTS 😭💗💗💗💗 it being well worth the seven years of waiting, was such an understatement, I am so excited for whenever the After Story for these two gets animated. My heart will not be able to handle it. 

[kpopmakesmequestionmylifechoices]

Kingdom Round 3: "Plagiarism", rigged voting and fanwars.

[Disclaimer: It is possible that for fans of certain groups I'll come off as offensive. I like each of the groups, I possess albums of TBZ, SF9 & SKZ, and I watched HOURS of content/debut programs of ALL the participating groups. Nevertheless, I will ALWAYS say my honest opinion. If you want to fight me, you're ofc allowed to do so but I hope you're all mature enough to not feel offended by opinions.]

Act 1: Tbz, where do your ideas come from?

So what I've noticed is that there's a massive difference between tbz behind the scenes and other groups'. Not only in this episode. So far, tbz simply DID NOT show how they create ideas, stages, how they practice. They picked a song, fooled around, and then met up with RTK members. It was cute sure, but it had NOTHING to do with the stage. The other groups showed practice scenes, showed their ideation process, showed who taught them and how. The boyz didn't. No practice, no ideation. Only song choice. We didn't see them practicing the choreo, we didn't see how they even got the idea for this stage. Their behind the scenes footage sadly has NOTHING to do with their performance. I really wish we could see them practicing and coming up with ideas.

Another big problem I see with this, is that they literally don't explain where their ideas come from. Now for people who know Game of Thrones (GoT hereafter), it probably appears rather obvious that the previous and also this stage was inspired by GoT, right? The white walkers? Ice and fire? The throne? The freaking red wedding??? I can't be the only one who sees a connection between their stages and GoT. ATEEZ said they were inspired by Pirates of the Carribbean. SF9 said they were inspired by film noir and showed how they worked with an actor on their storyline. iKON explained how they associate inception with dreams and put together their ideas. But TBZ didn't freaking talk about any of this. Either it was never recorded, or it never was aired. In any way, it's extremely suspicious in my eyes. Moreover it's just pretty shit to not say where your idea comes from. Especially not when you even name your stage after the iconic red wedding... Now IF they were NOT inspired by GoT, then it would be some... extremely huge coincidences... especially the stage title is just a bit too much tbh. But more to that stage later.

Edit: It came to my knowledge that according to deobis, Cre.Ker will post the content after Kingdom on tbz social media. Whoever took that decision needs to be fired tbh. If the content will be released, I'll link to it and add some few words to it.

Act 2: The good, the bad, and ... All hail king Juyeon?

Let's talk about the performances now.

SF9: What I dislike is the fact that as I stated in my previous Kingdom post, they are forced to do such dramatic musical/movie stages to even be recognized as part of the show. Moreover, I found it weird and unfitting that they held guns during the group dance parts, to me it seemed a bit off. Also, at times, their energy level seemed a bit low.

What I liked is that even tho it was a MASSIVE set, the performance still was extremely easy to understand and follow. They all looked insanely good tho, SF9 simply is mature and manly. I liked the concept, it was fresh because it for once had no fantasy vibe but actual criminal mafia energy. My favourite parts were Jaeyoon's fighting scenes because they were very well choreographed. Altogether, I really enjoyed it and also found it interesting how they referred to the Boyz crown scenes on RTK.

The Boyz: In my eyes, this is already the second GoT inspired concept they did. Not a fan of this. Moreover, I'm a bit pissed that it looks as if they are selling all that as their own ideas. As I said before, I believe this is GoT inspired, the name at least definitely was - but it's never said that the inspiration comes from there, because we literally have no information about where their ideas come from and if it's even their own ideas. To me it has the bitter aftertaste of wanting to hide sth the viewers aren't supposed to see. But this is not tbz fault but the fault of whoever writes/directs/edits their footage.

With the title of the stage given, I actually thought I'd see a wedding. But what I've seen was a woman in a bird cage. And then many more women. I failed to see what this all had to do with a wedding, and I moreover failed to see the connection to "THE" red wedding. And I failed to understand the plot once again, and because they didn't explain it beforehand, I'll never understand it.

What I liked is that the performance was way less dramatic than it was ever before. It didn't seem like a stunt show anymore, it didn't seem overdramatic anymore. It was easier to focus on the performance. Sadly, I noticed that this "downgraded" (aka slow-paced and less dramatic) stage was unfortunately underwhelming in comparison with what they did before - which was sth I predicted from beginning on. At some point you can't go bigger anymore, and if you tone it down it'll automatically seem underwhelming.

Edit: It's sad that they have this pressure to outperform themselves because they've won RTK. But honestly, it was clear that the winner would have this pressure on them. I don't see why I would pity them for this, after all, each of the groups feel pressured anyways and I rather feel sorry for ALL groups together because this whole ranking/competition thing is just unnecessarily stressful. But once again, I don't understand why you all blame MNET for this. Don't forget that the companies have contracts with MNET and knew that shit would go down. If you blame any bigger instances, then please also the companies who put their idols on the show. It's not like they got forced to make their groups participate.

My biggest criticism this time however is the fact that they give the most screentime to Juyeon (and Sunwoo because of the rap parts), and the rest of the members barely appear, or basically aren't shown at all. I already felt before that there was a strong focus on Juyeon, but now it's srly showing very clearly. I really like Juyeon, but I don't find it fair. I think that doesn't do justice to the other members, which deserve screentime as well. In conclusion, tbz on kingdom is an extreme mess in my eyes, with lots of communication- and management flaws.

iKON: I belong to the group of people who heavily prefers THANXX over inception, so I was a bit sceptical about the song choice. They really made a YG version out of this tho, I was pretty impressed. The stage concept was pretty nice, iKON surely knows how to use light. Now the stage seemed very inspired by Inception (the movie) which makes a lot of sense - but wasn't communicated either. Just mentioning this because I critisized tbz earlier, so I think the same applies here to some degree. I didn't recognize the song anymore tho but I found it pretty refreshing. In my eyes they did the best so far in making another group's song their own. This could have been an iKON song for sure. As always, a fun stage.

My personal ranking will follow after the other stages.

Act 3: About cheating and faking.

The Voting looks as follows:

Views: 1. SKZ 2. iKON 3. ATEEZ 4. BTOB 5. TBZ 6. SF9

Online Voting: 1. SKZ 2. SF9 3. iKON 4. BTOB 5. ATEEZ 6. TBZ

Btw if anyone knows the overall voting, please comment or send a message, because I somehow missed it?

I said it before, and I say it again, this entire voting is rigged and I totally don't care about it anymore at this point because it's absolutely not trustable. Experts didn't know about the budget differences, who even are the experts, why did SF9 get zero on-site votes, and then ofc the fans who created 50 accounts to vote...this voting is a joke. What I can totally not understand is how ATEEZ and TBZ can rank last for online voting. Sth seems off here to me, especially the fact that SF9 ranks last in views but ranks 2nd in votes? I'm sorry to say this but I think that's the result of the ZZZ fanwar. My assumption is that there must be a big mass of people who purposely voted NOT for TBZ & ATEEZ, and my guess is - no offence - that those were stays. In accordance with the fanwar, they didn't give their 2 other votes to the other ZZZ groups but to whatever other group. Or in general the ZZZ fandoms purposely not voting for each other. That would explain extremely well why SF9 could suddenly rank 2nd. I'm tired of this voting, of fanwars and all this drama and I decided to not care about the official voting anymore.

If you got to this point, I wanna let you know that I feel very blessed that you made it through this long post hahaha. Thanks! And for the next week, I expect BIG THINGS. I'm the most excited for BTOB. Them covering back door is the most absurd thing I've imagined for a long time hahahaha. But Eunkwang with tattoos really is a good sight, isn't it ;)?

[swtorpadawan]

The Only Ones Who Can

Author’s Notes: With thanks to the lovely and amazing @chaosandwonder​ , for sending me the prompt “fifty reasons to touch someone” 30. ... as comfort  (Sorry this took so long! I can’t draw like you, but I can offer you this for your kindness. Sorry that I’m a slow writer!) She’s graciously granted me permission to use her OC in this piece. This story take place during the Battle of Corellia during the Class stories.

Corellan Halcyon splashed cold water on his face from the basin of the refresher, allowing the cool sensation to refresh him.

He had seen combat on dozens of worlds, but never on this scale before. Tens of thousands of Republic and Imperial soldiers were fighting all over Coronet City, most often in brutal block-by-block fighting. He couldn’t begin to calculate the total casualties of it all, much less the long-term impact of leaving so many citizens homeless. He’d once heard from Rusk – who’d been fighting wars since before Corellan was born – that urban fighting was the bloodiest imaginable and he now saw the truth of it. Choosing to fight such a battle in a city was madness, and yet he was being forced to do exactly that.

Corellan knew all this bloodshed was only furthering the Emperor’s plans. Whatever massive loss of life was required for his ritual the Battle of Corellia was certainly feeding into that. Somewhere out there, Tol Braga was orchestrating all of this under the Emperor’s control. Corellan was determined to prevent the Emperor’s dark work from coming to pass. The schemes he’d already stopped on Belsavis and Voss had, at their core, been precision attacks hidden amidst the backdrop of larger military operations, designed with the intent of triggering a chain reaction of apocalyptic events. A metaphorical hypodermic needle of poison to the heart.  

By comparison, Corellia, with its brutal all-out warfare, was been like a mallet to the head.

Corellan’s forces, both his own crew and those Jedi who Master Satele had placed under his command, had served magnificently thus far, prevailing against vast numbers of Imperials and Sith. Most of the Jedi reinforcements he’d been sent had been inexperienced when they’d arrived on Corellia, ‘raw recruits’ as Rusk had called them. Now, however, they were fighting like hardened combat veterans. They had already helped liberate most of planet’s famed industrial base, turning that military production in the Republic’s favor. Now they were gradually closing in on the government district.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Corellan and his people were winning. The Republic was pushing the Empire back.    

Now standing in the refresher of a makeshift Republic command center in Axial Park, he had just a few minutes to collect himself before the next mission. He’d sent Lord Scourge – who had little interest in saving lives on Corellia except as a necessity to foil the Emperor’s plans – to conduct reconnaissance and attacks of opportunity behind enemy lines. (He was remarkably proficient at it, and no Imperial soldier or officer was likely to challenge the Sith Lord’s presence. Even if rumors of a Sith Lord going rogue did emerge, it would only sow dissent among the Empire’s forces.) Doc was treating wounded soldiers and civilians in a nearby med-center. Teeseven was helping to get the Republic’s local communications systems online so they could coordinate larger operations from here. Kira – at Corellan’s insistence and over her very verbal protests – was recuperating back on their ship, having not slept in two days of fighting. He knew he would need her fresh and ready when the final confrontation came.

So it was that Sergeant Rusk would be joining him for his push against the Emperor’s Imperial Guard at Axial Park. It was a task the Chagrian was well suited for, given his long history of combat.

As he dried his face with a disposable towel, Corellan looked up at himself in the mirror. He found he barely recognized the Jedi looking back at him. He was freshly shaved, but his eyes looked sunken, his face thin. This was what war did to people.

Tython feels like a lifetime ago. He thought to himself.

But he had learned by now that putting on a brave face for those under his command was part of whatever it was that he contributed to the Jedi Order and to the Galactic Republic. So he rolled his shoulders, straightened his armor and robes, ran a comb from a Republic field kit through his hair, and prepared to return to the action.

His crew needed him. The Jedi task force needed him. Corellia – the planet from which his parents apparently came from – needed him. The galaxy itself needed him. (Or so Master Satele had said. Corellan had his doubts, but this was unquestionably his mission.) He took reassurance in the fact that he was needed. That Corellan Halcyon had a place in the galaxy where he belonged.

Corellan couldn’t explain it; he wouldn’t have even admitted it out loud to anyone besides Kira, but somehow, he knew they were going to succeed. It felt arrogant to even think such a thing, given the immense loss of life and after everything that had happened up until now. But for the first time since escaping the Emperor’s Fortress, the Jedi Knight was starting to envision a final victory.  

He was clinging to that confidence right now. At this moment, after days of almost constant fighting and weeks of missions all over the galaxy, that belief was keeping him on his feet.

I can do this. Corellan told himself.

Now refreshed if not rested, he stepped out of the refresher, prepared to head back to the gathering site to meet Rusk and the Jedi strike teams. They would need to be given their assignments. They would need to hear a few words from their (somewhat reluctant) field commander. They would need to be led.

It was then that he felt a nearby tremor nearby through the Force, his consciousness reached out on reflex as he felt a knot of pain and fatigue, coming from the passageway behind the refreshers. Corellan ducked his head around the corner to see if he could find the source of the disturbance.  

Seated in a fetal position on a pair of crash seats was a human female with arms wrapped around her legs and her head – crowned by her intricately braided long dark brown hair – buried in her knees. Clearly, she appeared deeply troubled. Corellan was surprised to see that she wore the long robes of a Jedi master as his brow furrowed in concern.

“Forgive me.” He kept his voice low, but clear as he intruded on her privacy. “Can I assist you, Master?”

Startled, the Jedi looked up at him. He noted she seemed young to hold the rank of master, appearing to be no more than a year or two older than he was, if that. Her eyes – a lovely shade of amber – were bloodshot with exhaustion while her bronze skin looked almost ashen. He saw no tears in her eyes, but she’d clearly been holding in a wellspring of emotion. As her eyes focused on him, she blinked in recognition.

“I know you.” She brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “You’re the Hero of Tython, aren’t you? Master Satele put you in charge of Order’s main task force on Corellia.”

He waved a dismissive hand at her use of that honorarium. Other Jedi might call him that; he was simply who he was.

“Just call me Corellan.” He cautiously leaned closer. “Can I… forgive me Master, but you look like you’re in distress?”

Suddenly self-conscious, the Jedi Master remembered herself. She lowered her feet to the floor and stood up, straightening her robes.  

“I’m Master Hiraya Manawari.” She gave him a weak smile. “You can call me Hiraya.”

Corellan’s eyebrows raised in recognition.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Hiraya.” He bowed, his arm crossing across his chest. “I’ve heard of your exploits. You’ve achieved some remarkable things for the order and the Republic. I’m glad to finally meet you.” He paused, recalling the details he’d heard of her current assignment. “I was told you were also leading a mixed task force. An alliance you formed coming from several worlds.”

“I was.” She stammered. “I mean… I am. But I’ve just received some troubling news.” Hiraya sighed. “I don’t know if I’m fit to be commanding anyone, right now.”

By his own reckoning, Corellan had very little experience counseling others, particularly not those in a position of leadership in his own Order. He briefly considered sending for some other Jedi more suitable to this task.

There’s no one left to call on. He quickly realized. Bela Kiwiiks was busy on the other side of the city helping the displaced refugees. Jun Seros and Corin Tok had both been killed in the fighting days ago, before Corellan had even arrived. The masters of the Green Jedi were either dead or otherwise occupied, desperately trying to save their schismatic order. The other Jedi he’d encountered seemed to be even less experienced than Corellan himself.    

He wasn’t conceited enough to believe that the Force had drawn him to her. But he seemed to be the only one here, now.

I must try. He swallowed.

“Will you tell me what’s happened?”

Hiraya chewed her lip in consideration, before evidently deciding to confide in him.

“My mentor in the Order… has fallen to the dark side.” She finally answered, letting out an exhale that conveyed a wave of bottled-up emotions. “He’s commanding a contingent of Sith forces here on Corellia.”

Corellan absorbed that, finding himself unsuprised. Jedi falling to the dark side was certainly nothing new to him, but privately he’d hoped he would have been informed by the Council about this development given his overall mission on Corellia.

If I’m forced to divert my attention towards another target, it could take days…

He stopped, embarrassed at himself. He’d processed her words as a military commander and strategist, not as an active listener. Not as someone trying to help her.

I’m already failing at this.

She continued, apparently unaware of his discourtesy.

“The council has ordered me to… to neutralize him.” Hiraya emphasized the word, as she sniffed, clearly aware of the implications of such a command. She cast her eyes downward. “I don’t know if I can bring myself to stand against him.”

He understood that he needed to say something now, even if he wasn’t very good at this.

“Tell me about your mentor?” he inquired.

“Well, his name is Master…” she started to answer.

But Corellan had immediately realized he’d erred again, asking the wrong question. He was thinking like someone trying to solve her problem for her, not helping her to work through it. The name and deeds of Hiraya’s mentor weren’t the important part of this conversation, as they weren’t the root cause of her turmoil.

“Forgive me.” He interrupted, raising a forestalling hand. “I meant to ask who your mentor was to you?”

Hiraya seemed taken aback for a second, but quickly recovered. Corellan could almost feel her powerful intellect turn inward on her own thoughts and feelings.

It’s good to talk about our problems with someone. Master Orgus had said to him once. Only now was he finally applying that lesson.

“Well, to me, he was like the village elders in my tribe.” she began. He could see Hiraya’s features start to soften at the wistful memory. “He welcomed me to Tython and was both like a father and mentor. Despite the fact I joined the Order later than most padawans, he made sure I didn't feel differently. It was through his guidance that I overcame my struggles and to become a rightful Jedi."

As she finished, Hiraya let out a long breath, and he could feel her relief at just sharing her troubles with someone. Corellan simply listened quietly, letting her get it out of her system. He couldn’t help but think of his own mentors, the Jedi Masters who had taught him. Nowan Ko, who had taught him to respect all life. Sagottoh, who had put a training sabre in his hand and reminded him that it did not give life; it brought death, and so it should only be used responsibly in the service of life. Orgus, who had completed his training, recognizing that while he could guide Corellan, but that his choices would be his own.

Where would I be now if not for them?

“He sounds wonderful.” He offered, in reflection.  

Hiraya rewarded him with a flash of a bright smile as her eye glazed over at the wistful memory.

“He is. He really is.” she sighed. Her expression soon fell again. “But now it’s as if he’s died, and rather than becoming one with the Force as he should have, he’s left this dark and twisted shell of himself behind. And I need to stop him. Here, on Corellia. If I can’t find some way to redeem him, to save the person who he was, then I have to kill him.”

She looked away sadly.

“I don’t know if I can bring myself to do that.”

Corellan felt an upswell of sympathy at her plight. He couldn’t imagine being asked to face Orgus Din under such circumstances. Or – Force help him – Sagottoh Panaka or Nowan Ko.    

“That’s a terrible burden to carry.” He offered, feeling helpless as he chewed his lip. “I know there’s nothing that I can say that will make this any better. But for whatever its worth, they wouldn’t have entrusted this task to you if you couldn’t handle the responsibility. That you are the best Jedi for this mission.”  

Hiraya nodded silently in thanks. He hoped she didn’t mind hearing something she probably already knew.

“Do you think I can save him?” she whispered. “Bring him back to the light?”

Corellan chewed on that and perhaps inevitably considered his own predicament with Tol Braga. He’d not known the Jedi Master for long, but in just a few months he’d come to see the Kel Dor as another valued mentor, and one of the most dedicated Jedi Masters he’d ever met. But Corellan knew what the Emperor had twisted him into. And now, Braga was attempting to bring about the annihilation of Corellia, granting the Emperor enough power for his ritual to end the Galaxy. It was as evil and destructive a goal as Corellan could imagine.    

Tol Braga had to be stopped. No matter what the cost.

So, he now suspected, did Hiraya’s fallen mentor.

“I don’t know.” Corellan finally found his resolve. “But it’s good to have hope. Nothing else is possible without it.”

He pressed on, even knowing what a toll this campaign had been for her and what lay ahead.

“And… I think that when the time comes, you’ll do everything that could be done. That whatever happens, you’ll do the best you can and that’s the most anyone could ask for. You’ve accomplished great things for the galaxy, and you know your former mentor better than anyone else they could have sent. If you can’t help him, then no one else could have.”

“You have more worth and value to the order and the galaxy besides being a fighter or a military commander. You’re a diplomat, a healer, a scholar and already a teacher to others. Jedi like you are the future of our order.”

He gave Hiraya the most reassuring look he could muster.

“Your mentor clearly saw that in you, and whatever has happened since then, they’ve obviously helped cultivate those qualities. And that person will always be a part of you. Your actions and your choices are your own, but the person your mentor was lives on in everything you do. Whatever the future holds, you are his legacy. Your deeds and achievements honor him.”

Hiraya closed her eyes.

“I understand.” Her voice was fatigued, but a grim acceptance had taken hold.

“Good.” Corellan scratched the back of his head sheepishly. He felt acutely out of his depth, advising a Jedi Master on a personal crisis. “Well, that’s the most philosophical I’ve gotten for a while.”

“Wait.” Her eyes opened with a flash, full of concern. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he raised an eyebrow, not understanding the question.

“You’ve become the order’s champion. Our hero. But don’t you have value beyond being a warrior or a soldier?” Hiraya asked.

“Oh.” he was taken aback by that. His own future wasn’t a subject he normally considered.

It was Corellan’s turn to look down at the duracrete floor of the base. He considered the strange twists and turns his life had taken, from his time growing up as a youngling on Uphrades all the way up to the present. He thought of the things he’d seen, the places he’d travelled to and the people he’d met. He thought of Sagottoh and Nowan, and the various masters and mentors who had followed them. He thought of Orgus Din and his life-changing experiences on Tython. He thought of his crew and all their missions together leading up to now.

A strange life for a Jedi. He observed. Not at all what he’d expected.

“I think I was always meant to serve the order in a… martial capacity, I suppose.” He finally said. “If we weren’t at war, I’d probably be serving in some minor role, standing guard at the Temple of Tython, perhaps.” He recalled something Master Sagottoh had told him once. “Jedi weren’t intended to be soldiers or warriors. We were meant to be peacekeepers, counselors, and scholars and diplomats like you, for example.”

Just while speaking, he’d found his answer to her question, and how he saw himself within the Jedi.

“I fight for a galaxy where I’m redundant.” Corellan expanded. “Where Jedi like you are the norm, and ones like me are the exception. I expect if we ever defeated the Sith for good… when we defeat the Sith for good… I’ll just quietly withdraw from the wider galaxy and retire from the order. It would probably be better for everyone.”

He chuckled. The war had marked him, and it would continue to do so. He didn’t know what he’d be by the time it was over.

“Weapons should not be left out unattended.”  

Hiraya reached out, placing her hand on his. He was surprised by the simple gesture, drawing comfort from it.

“You have more to offer the Jedi and the galaxy than your prowess with a lightsaber, Corellan Halcyon.” She smiled warmly. “You are more than a weapon. Far more.”

Corellan found himself grinning boyishly, touched at the kindness in her words. He found himself feeling like a padawan again. He wasn’t sure her words, but he did appreciate that someone would say that of him.

“Thank you, Hiraya. That’s… very kind of you to say.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and sighed.

“Why did it have to be us?”

Corellan could tell that the question was intended to be rhetorical, but still felt it deserved an answer regardless. Indeed, he’d been asking himself that same question not long ago. The conclusion he’d come to was not easy to hear, but she deserved the truth.

He reached back and touched her hand as she had his, gently but firmly.

“Maybe because we’re the only ones who can.”

Hiraya’s eyes widened in surprise, and she looked past him for a moment. There was regret in her eyes, but he could feel her steely resolve as well.

“Perhaps we are.” She finally replied. Though her words were passive, he could feel the strength and resolve behind them. This was the Jedi Master who had saved so many lives and forged an alliance of disparate factions. Thus was the Jedi Master who had accomplished so much and who represented what the Jedi should strive to be.

As the two started to turn for the exit, he stopped her.  

“Hey - when this is over? When you finally get a chance to catch your breath?” he gave her a hopeful look. “Take some time for yourself. Do whatever it is that brings you peace. You deserve it.”  

Hiraya blinked as her cheeks blushed prettily, the corners of her lips turning upward into an unexpected grin as she looked past him again. Corellan couldn’t say what thought had drawn that reaction from her, but he suspected that his words had led the Jedi Master to consider something very specific. He found his own thoughts turning to Kira and everything she meant to him. He drew comfort in the sensation, and strength for the battle to come.

“Thank you.” She finally said. “For that and everything. I hope in time you can follow the same advice.”

Corellan didn’t miss her meaning, simply nodding firmly in thanks. He hoped the same, though he did not trust himself to say as much.

“Don’t mention it.” Now girded, the soldier – the Jedi hero and the reluctant military commander – mentally snapped back into place. Rusk would no doubt approve. So would have Orgus Din.  

“You ready?”

“I am.” She answered, her lips turning upwards until her expression matched his.

And with that, the two Jedi departed the base. Corellia – and their destinies – awaited them.

Author’s Notes: A little cliched, I know. But I wanted to write something soft.

@chaosandwonder​ is an amazing person, by the way. I am so grateful that she is part of this community. In Corellan’s story, Ulannium Kaarz is the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, and his tale follows that of the Jedi Counselor. Hence, I intentionally leave Syo Bakarn’s name out of it, so as not to compromise @chaosandwonder​ ‘s own story. Nevertheless, Hiraya seems a delightful character.

(In case it wasn’t obvious, when Hiraya grins near the end she is supposed to be thinking about Felix.)

Corellan’s point of view of himself and the galaxy would change by the end of Knights of the Eternal Throne. But I wanted to discuss his perspectives at this particular point. He is humble, but more than that, he doesn’t consider himself exceptional, except as a warrior.

The Jedi Knight on Corellia storyline can be a little frustrating. Satele claims to be putting you in charge of all Jedi forces on-planet, but this is clearly an exaggeration, as you find Jedi all over the planet who aren’t under your command, not counting the ones from the Consular story. So I’m simply calling Corellan’s group the ‘main Jedi taskforce’ here.

Quick notes

- I’ve always liked the character of Rusk, underdeveloped though he is. I’d like to explore Corellan’s relationship with him further in the future.

- Corellan doesn’t know Jun Seros was a corrupt fanatic at this point. More on that later.

- I have more planned involving Sagottoh and Nowan.

Thank you for reading.

(Tagging people who expressed interest - @lordviridis , @a-muirehen , @darthsinister66 , @tishinada , @walk-ng-d-saster , @agricorpsaurek , @chaoticspacelesbians , @reena-kk , @the-raven-of-highever and @swtor-writers-guild​ )

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 2

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she’d been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Chapter 2 - Consciousness

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and broken bones, medical procedures

Read on AO3

~

It was the light of morning that caused my eyes to flutter open, the hardness of the tiled floor beneath slowly recognised in an increasing ache pulsing through my body.

I was slow to move, measured actions helping to bring myself into a seated position, arms shakily holding me up at the sides. Memories of the previous evening flooded back in swift succession, along with the pain of immense fatigue that always followed the act of letting the Force do my healing for me.

Did it even work?

My hand gripped the hospital bed that his body remained slumped on and I pulled myself upwards, feet gliding along the ground under my legs until I could stand. The scene before me was still shocking, even in remembering all that happened. Eventually, I noted the even breaths seeping in and out of the pilot’s chest.

He survived the night. Well done.

The numbers on the monitor confirmed what the voice had said. Heart rate steady. Oxygen levels optimum. Blood pressure higher than it had ever reached the night before. Looking over the battered and broken man, covered in dried blood that had spilled to the bed and floor, I felt a rush of emotion break free from its cage in my chest, unleashing an irrepressible urge to cry.

I sobbed quietly, knowing it was both relief and exhaustion that the tears crawled down my face. I wasn’t really sure why it hit me so hard. I didn’t even know this man, and somehow his survival at my hands was overwhelming, bursting at the seams with a happiness I’d never experienced for a patient before.

But then I recalled what I’d done to make it possible.

Fear struck like a spark in the centre of my chest, rippling its way through my veins.

There’s no way I could explain this as a simple act of medical miracle. He’d know. Then they’d know. And everything I’d built would come crumbling down. I’d have to find a new planet, a new home, build a new clinic, leaving everything behind.

I just wanted to heal people. I didn’t want to be a part of either of their worlds, and I didn’t want to d-

A croaky moan escaped from the pilot’s lips, his eyes moving underneath the lids, struggling to open. He groaned louder, and it became clear all too quickly he was starting to feel his extensive injuries. Panic set in, realising I hadn’t had time to give him any anaesthetic or pain relief.

This was going to be a rough wake up.

A piercing whimper bellowed from his chest, startling me into focus. With the trolley at hand I wrenched open the draws in search of anything with a pain-relieving quality and prepared the med-injector with heavy fluid. He’d already started to move his limbs, presumably in a way to understand what was happening, and another strained yell echoed in the room, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine. I jammed the needle into the IV cannula port, pushing in the medicine without much of a thought to appropriate dosage.

I just needed to stop him moving.

He began hollering even harder, tears welling in his eyes as he started to thrash against the mattress. Snatching at his wrists, I slammed them back down on the bed.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! I know it hurts but you’ve got to give the painkiller time to work. I promise it’s going to be alright!” 

His eyes flew open, an obvious distress burning from behind brown irises. They flickered over my blood-stained clothes, then locked into mine, pleading, begging for me to do something to take away the agony.

“I know,” I said softly, a more tender edge to my voice. “I know it hurts. I’m doing all that I can. Please just stay still. It will get better. Please.”

The pilot drew in a deep, haggard breath, his bottom lip trembling. Eventually his jaw clenched as our eyes remained fixed, a silent pact of trust hanging in the air. It took me by surprise, how easy it was to calm him, and I seized the chance to soothe him even further.

“My name is Alex, I’m a doctor,” I explained. “Your ship crashed just outside my clinic. You were hurt, badly. You fell unconscious and I brought you in here to treat your injuries.”

Such a simple explanation for the truly gargantuan effort I had performed.

I wonder if he’ll ever know how close to death he was.

It wasn’t the time to tell him now, not when he seemed so scared. There was some semblance of understanding in his features, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, only for his eyes to shut again as he withheld a pained cry. I released my grip from his right wrist, placing my hand in his to squeeze gently. An act of sympathy, something I had done many times for people in distress. Even the small movement was enough to make him yelp.

Kriff. I forgot his arm was broken.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. He was still wincing. “Let me try and fix that.”

It was obvious how wrong the angle appeared in his forearm, beginning to prepare more local anaesthetic into the injector handle. I shot the needle a few centimetres above the fracture, the pilot barely flinching. Compared to the rest of his injuries it would likely have felt like nothing at all.

“I need to set this okay? Your arm is going to feel numb in a minute or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His nod was measured, careful not to move anymore than he had to. I left him for a moment to find my universal cast and a sling, giving the injection a few moments to filter through his tissue and into the nerves. When I returned I could see some of the pain medication had already started to take hold, the sting of discomfort in his eyes beginning to waver, his muscles losing their tension and relaxing ever so slightly into the mattress. I prepared the cast, cutting the shapes out for his fingers and thumb, getting it ready for quick application.

“Poe,” he said slowly, his voice croaky and filled with restraint. “My name is Poe.”

I met his gaze again, trying my hardest to put forward an aura of confidence, even in my exhaustion. “Nice to meet you, Poe,” I smiled. With a lightened touch, a finger trailed softly down his right forearm. “Can you feel this?”

“A little,” he whispered. It was clearly hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s kind of… fuzzy.”

“Do you think I could try and set your arm now? I can wait if you prefer.”

“I can handle it.”

Underneath his lips I could imagine gritted teeth, clenching hard, bracing for the pain. It occurred to me then maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone.

Without another word I pulled the X-ray unit’s arm up towards his fracture site, hoping he didn’t notice the splashes of his blood smattering the machine. Pressing down on the image button revealed a better picture in comparison to the absolute mess his femur had been. Only his radius was broken, in an even line, no splintering to be seen.

Finally something easy.

With two hands around his arm on either side of the fracture, I poised myself for a quick pull and twist. Poe’s muscles tensed underneath my grip.

“Just try to relax, it will make it much easier,” I insisted.

He drew in a deep breath, and the tension released from underneath my fingertips. I’d learned in my experience not to tell patients exactly when I was going to perform something painful. Something about the surprise of it somehow made it hurt less. So with one fluid movement I pulled and rotated the bone back into place, knowing even before I shot the X-ray it would be aligned. Poe was crushing his eyelids closed, waiting for me to move again.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

His eyes opened, meeting me with a look of surprise. I’d already begun to position the cast, bending the malleable plastic to the contours of his limb.

“First try?” he marvelled. I nodded, while trying to rein in my ego. “Never had someone get it on the first try.”

I swallowed hard. “I, uh... I wasn’t so lucky with your femur.” I flicked through the previous X-rays, pointing to the multiple shots of my attempts to fix the break. His eyes widened, mouth in a small ‘o’.

“That was my leg?” he gasped, “And you put it back?”

Both of our eyes glanced to the wound on his thigh. It was closed.

But I didn’t put any bacta on it.

Poe’s disbelief distracted him from my own. What I’d done last night with my crude attempt at Force healing had managed to not only mend the life-threatening severing of his artery, but also somehow pulsed enough energy to knit his wound back together, leaving a sealed laceration where the deep hole had been. Dread filled me again, weighing down so forcefully I didn’t want to move.

How am I going to explain this?

“T-thank you. For getting the bacta into it so quickly. Must have some good quality stuff.”

Thank every particle in the universe. He suspected nothing.

I moved slightly to position myself in front of the trolley that stored evidence of the low quality bacta solution and salve I had used for his chest wound and burns, and feigned a smile of appreciation.

“Just doing my job.”

All of a sudden it seemed to hit him, the situation he was in. His questions came out in rapid fire, desperate for clarification.

“Wait, where am I? What happened to my ship? Where’s BB-8?”

He began to rise from the mattress, wincing at the many injury points as he pulled himself into an upright position on the bed. The quick movement evidently made him dizzy, as he pulled his newly casted arm onto the bed railing to stabilise a wobble.

“Woah, just hold on a minute there,” I snipped, doctor mode engaged. “You’ve still got some serious injuries that need time to heal. Nasty burns, a collection of broken bones and the remnants of a punctured lung. Now bacta can be a miracle cure but it still needs more time before you start moving around again, or you’re going to ruin all the progress I made.”

Poe looked as if he was going to argue, but as my eyes bore into his, he recoiled back into the bed, sighing from both the pain of movement and the lack of answers.

“I was in the middle of an important mission okay?” he stressed. “There are people who are waiting on me. I need to get a message back to the Resistance. To tell them I’m out of commission.”

I tensed. The thought of the Resistance coming here to pick up their injured pilot was enough to make my heart beat faster. Sure, maybe Poe didn’t suspect anything, but the likelihood of convincing force sensitive people like Leia Organa, or the scavenger girl….

Attempting to fool them into thinking I’d healed this man with a bit of brute force and bacta would be near on impossible. But I couldn’t prevent Poe from contacting anybody without arousing even more suspicion. I’d just have to go along with whatever he wanted until I could formulate some kind of plan.

“Alright, how about I get you my transmitter and you promise not to try and move until I say so?” I offered, the tone in my voice not really implying that no could be an appropriate answer.

“Sure thing doc,” he agreed.

Maker, I hate when people call me that.

I made my way over to my tech station, using the moment to give him a couple of the answers he’d been so desperate for. “You’re on a remote clinic on Raxus, about 3000 kilometres- uh… klicks, from Raxulon. Your ship… Well, I haven’t been outside since it exploded at my front door. And your droid unit… I haven’t seen.” I realised quickly how insensitive this information came out when I looked up from my rummaging to Poe’s horrified expression. He began to sit upwards again, giving even less care to his wounds, forcing me to rush back to stop him. “I haven’t checked outside yet!”

“Why haven’t you been out there?” he demanded, eyes flaming.

“Maybe because I was stuck in here saving your life? And how was I supposed to know you had an astromech droid with you?”

He huffed, seeing the logic in my question. “Can you please check if BB is okay?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious at how much emotion he was committing to this piece of equipment. All of the medical droids I’d come into contact with over the years were extremely flat personality wise. Intelligent and useful, but I’d never grown any type of attachment to them. Nothing like Poe seemed to have with this BB-8 droid.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go look for the BB unit. Just please stay in bed. And… prepare for the worst.”

Underpromise, overdeliver. One of the many phrases I’d recited during my medical training. I just really hoped the latter would be the case in this situation.

The latch of the clinic door closed softly behind me, the crisp morning atmosphere somewhat refreshing for a moment or two, until I shook myself into focus to assess the completely destroyed X-wing ship consuming my vision. With sunshine finally illuminating the environment, rolling green hills of the countryside extending beyond the horizon, I scanned the blackened metal skeleton of the ship, ashes smattered all over the ground, glass and electrical wires splayed everywhere.

Well, this doesn’t exactly ignite hope.

Walking around what was left of the X-wing, I examined the surrounding area for any trace of a droid - not just the shine of metal, but the possible tracks left by a robot who was looking for its master. I walked slowly into the field behind the crash site, my eyes surveying every bit of ground, hoping to see any metallic glint that might indicate an intact droid.

Since the clinic was the only building for a few kilometres, there was hardly another structure it could be hiding behind, or lodged in. I almost wanted to keep walking, washing my hands of all of this, so I didn’t have to go back and tell Poe his obviously beloved droid hadn’t survived like he did. But another ruined machine caught my attention.

My comm-tower was flattened into nothing - steel, wiring and black plastic flattened into an artificial pancake.

Kriff, more bad news for Poe.

With my only means of communication squished there was no way any of my tech could send a signal far enough to reach the Resistance, let alone the next village over. And now I would have to make the weeklong trek back to Raxulon to get another one.

This day is kicking my ass.

With a long sigh, I ventured towards the ruined X-wing, assuming if I hadn’t found BB-8 by now, it must have been pulverised by the explosion I narrowly avoided last night. I searched the hollow structure of the ship, hoping for any scrap of metal that could be related to the droid, but it was all so black, covered in soot and melted, everything beginning to mutate into some other portion of the machine. When I skimmed over what was left of one of the wings, there was still a rounded hole I assumed BB-8 would have been housed during flights. An empty hole. There was always a possibility the BB droid could have gone searching for help beyond my clinic, but again, there wasn't a trace of movement in the dirt track leading away to the nearest village.

I think it’s time to be the bearer of bad news.

I extricated myself from the mangled ship, looking back towards the front walls of my clinic, noticing now the remnants of the explosion that had left countless dark stains over the light blue paint, along with a few cracks and impact points where metal had hit the cement. The bushes I’d planted a few months ago in time for this planet’s version of spring had been scorched, most of the green overtaken by grey and black soot. On closer inspection, it became obvious one had been split in half, the edges of leaves opening up to a large gap.

I quickened my pace and kneeled in front of the jumbled shrub, my hands diving in to push burnt leaves out of way, finally discovering a large metal ball of orange and white leaning on the blue concrete wall. A little cracked and dirty, but seemingly intact.

Oh wait, where’s the head?

Scurrying around on my hands and knees, I felt around the bushes once more, moving along the line of the wall. The twigs were scraping against the skin of my arms, but I was too excited for the possibility of some good news that I ignored the sting they caused.

Unexpectedly my hand struck something hard, pushing the stiff lower branches out of my view to find a domed head dug into the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away some of the dirt, surveying for any obvious damage. Its antennae was crooked, a few deep scratches slicing the metal, but it all seemed fairly superficial. With the head in hand, I strode back to the body unit, beaming with the thought I could ease even a little bit of Poe’s worry.

My delight was swiftly dissolved when setting the pieces together. I’d assumed the magnet would hold and the droid would spring back to life. Instead, the head slipped straight off, sinking into the ground once more with a muffled thud.

Yeah, that seems about right.

*

“I have good news and bad news,” I declared sheepishly as I walked into view of Poe, lugging in a separated BB-8. His face burst into an illustration of relief, then confusion as his brain finally registered the image of his dear friend separated into two pieces, and lifeless.

As I placed the metal components onto the hospital bed at the side of Poe’s leg, he looked up at me. “This is the bad news right?” His hands tentatively checked over the BB unit, attempting what I had done not minutes ago, and watched the head piece slide back over the metal ball and dive into the mattress.

“Um… Actually… This was meant to be the good news,” I grimaced. “The bad news is that my comm-tower was completely flattened by your ship. None of my transmitter tech is going to be able to send out any messages until I can get another one built.”

Poe’s jaw clenched, and I only noticed now the dark stubble that glittered the lower half of his face.

“And when would that be exactly?” he queried sharply. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“At least another week if I left now. But I can’t leave you like this, you’re still in critical condition.”

It was obvious he was hiding his frustration, hands scrunched into balls. “They can’t wait that long.”

I scrambled at any answer that might settle him. “I mean, maybe some of the villagers could help, but there’s no guarantee-”

“Then get them to help!” he exploded, making me step back. At seeing the startled look on my face he softened, realising the severity of his demand. “I’m sorry, but this is just… so important. I know you’ve already done more than I could have ever asked of someone, but I still need more of your help. The fate of the galaxy depends on it.” His eyes glistened with hope, a silent plea, sending a cold wave of unease down my spine. He held a bandaged arm out, hand open, reaching toward me.

I didn’t want to be a part of this. It was exactly what I had run from for so long. Even now the immediate urge was to bolt out the front door, leaving behind this stranger who could unravel everything I’d built.

But there was something about the expression on his face, the desperation in his eyes, calling out to me. I was all he had right now. I was his only lifeline to put him back on whatever journey he had been travelling before fate made him, quite literally, crash into me.

“I mean, if the fate of the galaxy depends on it…” I mumbled, placing my hand tentatively in his. “Okay. I’ll help you get back home.”

~

Next Chapter

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Unbidden - Act 3, chapter 9

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: minor burn, brief and non-specific self harm mention

Telash was a challenge. He had insisted on speaking with Morgan directly, despite Phaedra issuing him an invitation to the demonstration she was giving. He was also impatient. Eager, Morgan corrected himself. Eager to learn and improve. It just put him in a difficult situation, trying to teach something he knew so very little about to a student who wanted to have already mastered it.

"This isn't going anywhere."

"I told you, I didn't actually teach her anything. We just talked."

"She told me you taught her something new while I was trying to help your frigid friend relax a little. How did you ever get on her good side anyway? Does she just have a soft spot for freaks?" Telash was making a face like he'd smelled something unpleasant. Morgan ignored it.

"I really don't know. Aside from the element, do you have any idea how your magic works in comparison to Phaedra's?"

Telash looked displeased. "No. Well, sort of. I mean, obviously fire and lightning are different. She can be flashier because lightning takes a lot less to sustain. It doesn't need fuel to keep going. But I can do a lot more damage in a single shot."

"How do you fuel it?"

"What kind of question is that? Magic fire uses magic as fuel. Don't you know anything?"

"Not very much," Morgan replied. That was interesting, though. It was starting to sound like this magic was closer to his own. "How does that work? Does it still need air?"

"It can't be smothered, but it won't work underwater or anything stupid like that."

"Can you manipulate the fuel separately before lighting it, or is it all one action?"

"Haven't you noticed the gestures I use?"

Those were in the list of things to ask about. "What is their purpose?"

"They focus the energy before I activate it," Telash sneered. Again, closer to Morgan's experience. His were more of a mnemonic than anything, helping to visualize the flow of magic when it couldn't be seen, rather than actually shaping it. He hadn't relied on the gestures in some time, having been using it often enough to develop a feel for it instead.

"And you can't focus it in - oh, it's a problem of strength," Morgan realized aloud. Telash's sneer turned into more of a snarl. "You're too strong," Morgan clarified quickly. "The glass can't withstand the power you're trying to put into it. You need to use a more suitable container."

"I want to use glass."

"Then you'll need to find some very thick glass and be very delicate. Why does it have to be glass?"

Telash was frowning, apparently not pleased with the assessment he'd received. "Phaedra uses glass. Can't compare the results otherwise. How is everyone going to know I beat her at this?"

"You are capable of very different things," Morgan said. "Phaedra originally wanted to try to move the earth as I do. I don't think that goal is compatible with her magic."

Telash perked up. "What about mine?"

"Maybe. It sounds like it's closer to what I have."

"Well, show me how to do that," Telash said, grinning. "Bet I can do it, easy. It can't be that hard."

It seemed to be harder than Telash anticipated. He was persistent, throwing himself into the work and trying until his skin shone with sweat. His magic was... not faster, exactly, Morgan could raise a golem in just a few seconds by now. But it didn't seem to want to stay put. Several little furrows in the ground marked failed attempts where Telash had managed to channel his energy into the earth, but not to concentrate it there.

"You have to hold it," Morgan advised.

"I'm trying to hold it," Telash growled, flinging one hand out to point in Morgan's direction. He ducked under the weak jet of flame that spurted toward him. This was just how the other man communicated, evidently.

"It might be easier for you to... hold on, let me demonstrate something." Telash dropped his hands and sat down, breathing hard, but the glare he aimed at Morgan wasn't that deep. He waved one hand in a 'get on with it' sort of motion.

Morgan raised a simple sphere of earth, about the size of a person's head. "This is one way to make a shape. All at once. It's what I find easiest." Next to it, he set about constructing another sphere, this time using a different approach. A strip of earth rose up and curled around itself until the shape was achieved. Telash watched with interest. "This is another way," Morgan explained. "You get the same shape, but you put it together differently. It's harder for me, but it might be easier for you because of the way everything keeps moving."

"It makes more sense that way anyway," Telash said. "You build by starting with a foundation. Should have started with that instead of wasting my time."

Morgan refrained from commenting. People like Telash didn't tend to appreciate being reminded that their difficulties were their own doing. Instead of defending himself, he decided to offer some additional advice.

"When you've caught your breath, you might want to try again from down there. It's-"

"Down there," Telash snorted. "Because you're all the way up there now, aren't you, small fry? Enjoy that while you can."

"It's easier if you're touching the earth directly," Morgan continued. "You don't have to push the energy through the air first that way. It's one less obstacle."

"Air isn't much of an obstacle," Telash grumbled, but leaned forward anyway, placing his open palms on the ground in front of him.

"Try to imagine it like water. Pour it out into the earth, give it a moment to soak in, then move them together once they've joined."

Telash muttered something about water under his breath as he turned his attention to the earth in front of him. Despite his complaining, he seemed to be taking the advice well enough. The ground twitched a little between his hands. He breathed out slowly, and a small hill formed. With another few controlled breaths, a hollow sphere gained shape at the tip of the hill.

"That's very good," Morgan said. Personal attitude notwithstanding, it was impressive that he'd managed to make so much progress so quickly. It certainly hadn't come this easily to Morgan, though with consistent practice it had been getting considerably easier. "You can think of that shape as a container to hold some of your energy. It takes some power to maintain the shape, but it's proportional to the size. It takes more energy to move or change a shape once you've established it."

"Shut up for a minute. I'm figuring it out."

Morgan watched instead. Telash was intensely focused. The orb wobbled, then rolled unevenly down its little hill. Based on the way it moved, it looked like he'd added some extra weight in one spot to achieve the movement. Difficult to control with precision, but it was something. It rolled in a loose, jerky circle. Morgan stepped back out of its path. Telash made an annoyed grunt and the sphere slowly reversed its course to tap against the toe of Morgan's boot. He looked at the other mage for a cue and found him smirking.

"Go ahead, pick it up."

He couldn't imagine the purpose, but Morgan knelt to pick up the orb anyway. It was another opportunity to practice with the golem arm, at least. He manipulated it carefully, mindful that the sphere was likely fairly delicate. If he concentrated, he could feel the slight imbalance in its weight that had allowed it to move. The arm suddenly came alive with a warning, just as it had done with the bottled lightning. Morgan frowned. He'd already been handling the orb for several seconds. There hadn't been a delay previously. What was different?

His answer came in the form of the sphere bursting into flame. Morgan yelped in surprise, the shock again slowing his reaction. Telash had already started laughing before he managed to drop the orb. It wasn't painful, exactly, not like the burn he'd gotten on the wrist of his good hand that first evening, but the way the golem conveyed we are damaged was thoroughly disconcerting.

"Figured out how to hold it," Telash said, looking very satisfied with himself.

"Very impressive," Morgan said. He brought the damaged hand up to take a better look, running the pad of his other thumb along the scorched part. There was no bleeding or swelling, and luckily no sickening smell of burning flesh, but the texture of the construct was interrupted and the continuous warning that it/he/they were damaged was making it difficult to think about anything else.

Repair, Morgan suggested. It was generally much more straightforward to create a new golem than to fix an existing one. He'd tried with moderate success recently, though, managing to extend the utility of a construct that he'd combined with a cold-enchanted mace. It had been pleasant to stand near the gentle waves of cold that had rolled off of it.

This was something almost entirely different. He grimaced as the golem drew a substantial amount of power from him all at once, making his breath catch in his throat. The shadows grew deep, leaping up momentarily at the edges of his vision. But although it set his heart to pounding, the golem carried out the repair quickly and the sense of alarm faded away as he ran his thumb over the newly smoothed skin. A strange aching sensation lingered at the site of the damage. Clearly it wasn't an ideal solution, but it could have been much worse.

"Don't be such a baby about it," Telash said. "Here, take this if you can't even handle a little burn." He produced a vial of reddish liquid from somewhere within the folds of his robes. Morgan was reminded of the last time Telash had offered him a potion. That hadn't gone particularly well.

"I appreciate the offer," he said carefully, "but no thank you. I don't-"

"What the hell is wrong with you? I'm trying to be considerate here. You don't trust me?"

"You did just light my hand on fire," Morgan pointed out.

"And now I'm giving you a potion to fix it, so what's the problem? You think I'm trying to poison you or something?"

"Trust is not the issue. I just don't... respond well to potions." Upon consideration, he actually didn't trust Telash not to poison him. But that hadn't been the basis for his refusal, so it wasn't really a lie.

"I knew it," Telash said, withdrawing the proffered vial with a calculating look. "All those weird scars, like Khaleel used to have. Got yourself hooked on the good stuff, did you? Find it doesn't work the same as it used to?"

"Something like that." Morgan hadn't met anyone by that name, but he had no desire to elaborate on his own situation. Hopefully Telash would accept the vague answer and move on.

"Should have said something sooner. I do know how to play nice; I'm not a monster."

"Phaedra thought you would learn quickly, but I didn't expect this kind of speed. It takes most acolytes at least a full day to reach a complete form like that." To be fair, most acolytes weren't active mages before they started training in geomancy. But that detail wasn't conducive to changing the subject, so Morgan didn't mention it.

Telash perked up. "Phaedra said that?"

Morgan wanted to wrap up the impromptu lesson. There was little chance that Phaedra's demonstration was still taking place, but he did want to more thoroughly examine the repair his arm had achieved. He had intended to flatter Telash enough to satisfy his ego, but he'd seized on the other part of the statement instead. This could still be workable, though.

"Yes. Reluctantly," he added, hoping to play on the man's apparent propensity for conflict. An expression he was beginning to recognize as determination settled on Telash's features.

"I'm going to rub it in her face," he declared. "One night, and I've already come this far. She's going to be furious." He sounded delighted at the prospect. "How far away can you be, before you can't control it any more?"

"That's a personal limit. Your answer will differ from mine." It would also depend on a number of other factors, but explaining those would both delay his departure and likely leave him annoyed.

"Fine, I'll figure it out on my own. Basically what I've been doing all night anyway." He stifled a yawn. "I might as well keep going in private, if you aren't going to be any help."

"I have been as much help as I can."

"Sure," Telash said, getting to his feet. He stared at Morgan for a couple of seconds, apparently coming to some sort of decision. "Thanks," he said finally, turning away. "I'll try to remember about your delicate condition," he added over his shoulder. "No promises, though."

"Thank you," Morgan said, watching him go. He still wouldn't be able to let his guard down, but it was a larger concession than he'd expected. Once the other mage was well out of sight, Morgan took stock of himself. It seemed the repair had been fairly costly. His energy was recovering nicely, but there were physical symptoms indicating that he would need to eat something sooner rather than later. That was unfortunate.

A lot had happened in the space of a single day, much of it interpersonal. Although it might be easier to beg a helping from whatever the communal meal had been, Morgan was nearing the limits of his tolerance for interaction. He set out into the jungle instead. There had been a small grove of fruit-bearing trees not too far to the northeast, nutrient-dense and easy enough to harvest. Then he could probably fit in another hour or two concentrating on his arm before having to rest for another day's work.

He crossed paths briefly with Ormus on his way out of the protected zone. They nodded a greeting to one another as they passed. Ormus took a few more steps, then stopped and turned slowly, an expression that looked like disbelief coming over his face as he lifted his torch for more light. His eyes were fixed on the golem arm as he stepped back towards him. Morgan lifted the arm, carefully bending the elbow to position the forearm for closer inspection. Ormus stared for a long moment, but made no motion to touch or otherwise examine it more closely. Finally, he shook his head with a chuckle.

"And they call me crazy." He showed all his teeth as he laughed, turning back to continue his journey. A reasonably positive reaction overall, Morgan decided, especially with the misgivings he had communicated earlier. He allowed himself a brief smile before he extinguished the growing spark of pride. That was a deceptively dangerous emotion, one he couldn't allow to cloud his judgment. It wouldn't do to lose focus now. They were getting close to their goal, and he was going to need to concentrate on the task at hand. Destroying Mephisto, or otherwise preventing the Prime Evils from uniting, was going to be a challenge. One he would be better equipped to face, now, but still far from easy.

[shipmistress9]

Sex Toy Advent Calendar: Day 5: Clearly Weird Lube

Fandom: HTTYD

Rating: M

Pairing: Hiccup/Astrid

Words: 2325

Read on AO3

Summary: Day 5 of the Sex Toy Advent Calendar. Today's gift leaves a lot to be desired. Just good that Hiccup is good at improvising.

AN: This one... I don't even know. *scratches head* They did most of it on their own?

. o O o .

With curiosity and anticipation tingling in her belly, Astrid waited for Hiccup to pull out the box of the day from their calendar. It was yet again a black box with the golden number ‘5’ printed on the side. What made this one exciting, though, was the fact that it was the biggest box they’d had so far. And even though she knew that size didn’t matter… much… she was still burning with excitement. Initially, she’d thought little of this calendar, had only seen it as an expensive joke. But after the last few days, her expectations were rather high. She only had to work a few hours in the morning today, and then they were both free to enjoy today’s gift for hours.

“Come on, Hiccup, don’t keep me in suspense here,” she demanded, bouncing impatiently. “What is it?”

“Oh, now I’m not supposed to do that?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes, and Astrid groaned.

“You know exactly what I mean! You can suspend me like that whenever you want. As long as you finally open this box and show me what's inside!”

Chuckling, he complied. “All right, all right, let’s have a look. It’s pretty heavy in comparison. I wonder… Oh.” A slight frown appeared on his forehead.

“Hiccup!”

“Yeah, I know, I know. No suspense.” He let the box’s content roll into his large hand, a plastic bottle with some clear gel inside. “It’s… it looks like… lube?”

“Lube?” Puzzled, Astrid took the bottle and inspected it. “You’re right. It’s really lube. Heh… I wouldn’t have thought lube counts as a sex toy, though. More like… essential equipment for comfortable sex?”

Thoughtfully, Hiccup nodded. “Agreed. Although, this seems to be some special lube. What does it say on the label?”

Astrid took another look at the bottle, and couldn’t hold back a snort. “Oh, yeah. Special lube, all right…” She held the bottle out for him to read the label, too. “Special fragrance, fitting for the season. Backed Apple.”

Hiccup’s nose twitched. “For real? Okay… erm. Weird! But, hey. It’s free lube. What are we going to do with it?”

Throwing him a bemused glance, Astrid opened the bottle and raised it to her nose. “Well, I can always peg you if you feel up to—Ew!” Grimacing, she held the bottle away from her. “Yeah, no, not when you smell like that though. Esh, that’s some penetrative stench.”

With a slight frown, Hiccup took the bottle and sniffed it, too, but only to grimace and firmly close the lid a moment later. “Oh, that’s horrible,” he agreed, shuddering. “Have these people ever smelled baked apples? How… how…” He looked baffled, and honestly, Astrid felt the same.

“Can lube turn bad?”

Hiccup shrugged. “Possible? That would at least be an explanation.” He placed the bottle onto a sideboard and threw it a disdainful look.

“Yeah… Disappointing, though.” Astrid’s shoulders slumped. “Not that we can’t entertain ourselves without these toys, but…”

“I know what you mean. It’s not quite the same.”

After throwing the bottle of awfully smelling lube into the waste bin, they ate breakfast. Sulking, Astrid shovelled porridge into her mouth, and the fact that it was poorly flavoured as apple and cinnamon didn’t exactly help to improve her mood. “It’s ridiculous,” she exclaimed a few minutes later. “Even this porridge is out to annoy me now.”

Cocking his head, Hiccup’s eyes brightened. ”I might have an idea.”

. o O o .

By the time Astrid had finished her work for that day, her mood had calmed down—but not yet improved. It was ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter. She and Hiccup were together for so long now, not knowing what to do with a free afternoon definitely was not a disaster. They could make a video game contest, or maybe there even was some interesting film in the cinema. Or, if it truly was the sex she’d expected, then they had enough toys and options to choose from. They could simply use their usual lube instead and see where it led them.

But that just wasn’t the same… Damn anticipation!

Sighing in annoyance at herself, she let herself into their flat—and paused right there in the doorway. That scent… was that…?

“Ah, perfect timing.” Hiccup greeted her with a warm smile and a peck to the corner of her mouth. “It should be done in a matter of minutes now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but didn’t really need an answer. The scent that wafted to her nose the moment she left the entrance room was telling enough and made her mouth water. “Did you seriously make baked apples?”

With a small smile, Hiccup shook his head. “Not quite. I was thinking about it, but since I had enough time today…” He trailed off as they entered the kitchen, just as the oven made a demanding beep.

Astrid’s eyes went wide, her lips splitting into a huge grin. “You made apple pie?”

“My Grandma’s recipe,” he confirmed. “I thought it would be a good way to make up for the disappointment this morning.”

“Mmm, perfect!” She stretched to give him a quick kiss. “And you are, too.”

The cake was indeed perfect, but Astrid had no genuine doubts about that, anyway. Hiccup’s cooking skills were amazing, and he was passionate about his baking as well; which was something Astrid happily and regularly indulged in.

After eating a couple of slices each, they were both too full to even think about eating dinner anytime soon. Or doing anything else, really.

With a satisfied groan, Astrid leaned back in her chair. “That truly was a fantastic compensation for the Baked Apple disaster this morning. Kudos to you for coming up with an equally pleasant alternative.”

Hiccup snorted. “What? Are you trying to say that my cake is just as bad as that lube? Wow… and here I thought, you’d enjoyed the cake.”

“Noooo!” She threw a small piece of leftover cake at him; barely more than a crumb, really, and it didn’t even reach him. “Muttonhead. I meant that I’m too full for sex now. And I don’t even regret it. Much.”

“So, you’re saying that my cake was as good as sex?” He took a moment to exaggeratedly think about her words, bis long finger tipping against his chin almost comically. “Okay, that’s something I can live with.”

Laughing at her dorky, wonderful boyfriend, she stood up to carry their dishes to the kitchen, stealing a kiss from him on her way.

“How about we get comfortable on the couch and watch a movie or two?” she called back to him. “I think that would be a great way to wrap this day up.”

Hiccup agreed, and they moved to settle comfortably on the couch.

“Do you want to take your prosthetic off?” Astrid asked before she sat down.

Hiccup looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I think that would be better. Could you get my crutches from the bedroom?”

She did as asked and placed the crutches in their usual spot next to the couch, within easy reach. There was no need for her to offer that she would help him, too, if he needed to get up. Hiccup knew and appreciated that, and regularly relied on her help already if his amputation site acted up on a bad day. But he preferred to be independent if possible, and Astrid respected that.

A little while later, they both sat on their couch, comfortable side by side and wrapped in a soft blanket. They'd put glasses, a bottle of water, and even a bag of chocolate-covered nuts on the low table in front of them—in case they got hungry later. But for the moment, they were both happy to just let the cake settle.

Even though the film, Pirates of the Caribbean, was one of her favourites, it didn’t take long until her full stomach made Astrid sleepy. At first, she only leaned against Hiccup's shoulder and enjoyed the cosy comfort of his arm around her shoulders. Too often, life got so hectic lately, so moments like these were precious to her. However, even sitting became too demanding after a while, and she shifted until her head rested in his lap, humming as he absentmindedly caressed her hair.

She must have fallen asleep like this. The next thing she remembered, the film had jumped to a point much later in the story, and outside, the sky had turned from dull grey to black. Groaning, she shifted into another position, intent on making herself comfortable again, when a familiar hand on her shoulder shook her awake again.

“Astrid? I’m sorry, but I need to get up.”

Accepting the inevitable, she let him move. She cracked one eye open to make sure he could reach his crutches, but then quickly drifted off again, the low noises coming from the TV lulling her in quickly. She barely noticed how Hiccup came back, only heard his quiet chuckling before he crawled onto the couch behind her.

The next time she awoke, it was to Captain Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill talking to each other. Had Hiccup put on the second movie? Had she slept through the first one entirely?

With a sleepy moan, she shifted around until she could look up at Hiccup. He lay behind her, propped up on one arm and the other loosely around her waist. He was watching her now, eyes soft with fatigue.

“Hey, there. Had a good nap?”

She nodded, humming. “Looks like I needed that.”

He accepted her words without comment. In fact, he didn’t react at all and simply watched her, his gaze so intense as if he was looking deep inside her, not just at her eyes but at her soul as well. It made her feel warm, cradled, cherished, as if there was nothing in the entire world that mattered except being here at this moment, together. She acted without thinking, turned her head and stretched a little, breached the small distance between them until their lips met.

It was a slow kiss. Just lips moving together, melting, searching. It was simple but so good, sensual and meaningful. When she reached for him to pull him closer, the stubble on his jaw were rough against her palm, making her shiver. He wa so… so real. Everything about him, his warmth seeping into her body, his hand on her waist drawing her toward him, his breath ghosting across her skin, it was so intense. Irresistible. She wanted for this moment to never end, to keep kissing Hiccup and feeling him so close for the rest of eternity.

And for a while, her wish was granted. Time lost all meaning as they kissed, their bodies moving as one. Shifting, turning, grinding; even sleepy as they were, they always knew what the other wanted and followed their motions. Hiccup's fingers combed through her long golden tresses, his fingernails dragging across her scalp and making her tremble. Her own hands wandered over his back beneath his shirt, exploring his shoulders, the scars from his accident, and every single ridge of his spine down to his rear.

She loved how he ground against her, the motions so strong and natural and reaching so deep despite the clothes that still separated them. It was wonderful, knowing bodies nearly working on their own to bring each other to completion.

Her orgasm was building slowly, and when she came, it surprised even herself. Her muscles seizing deep inside her belly made her spasm beneath him. She mewled, and her fingers dug deep into his flesh as her grip on his backside grew firmer, holding him close. Her still sleepy mind went blissfully empty as pleasure surged through her in one powerful wave, and she barely registered how Hiccup’s arms shook at her side or how he muffled his groan against her neck.

When he rolled off her to lie next to her again, Astrid shifted too until she faced him. “Mmm, I liked that,” she murmured, then chuckled. “But so much for a day without sex.”

Hiccup snorted. He sounded as tired as she felt, his eyes closed and a lazy smile on his face. “Is that a complaint I’m hearing there? About too much sex? From you?”

Now, she laughed for real, low but true. “No, definitely no complaints here.” She burrowed against his chest and deeply inhaled his scent, leather, fire, and sandalwood. Home.

“Aye. I didn’t think so.”

His arms closed around her, holding her, and they both basked in this moment of sleepy closeness, vulnerable but safe. Astrid was close to drifting off into sleep again when Hiccup stirred once more.

“Mh? What’s up, babe?” she asked sleepily.

“I need the bathroom.”

“Again?” She lifted her head, again reflexively looking for his walking aids.

He chuckled. “Yeah, well… I made a bit of a mess of my boxers, and I need to clean that up before I fall asleep.”

Astrid blinked, then giggled. “Ah, right.” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Do you need my help?”

He paused, considering her offer, but then shook his head. “No, I’m good. But we should move over to the bed, it’s more comfortable than spending the entire night here on the couch.”

Grudgingly, she had to admit that Hiccup was right. She waited until she heard him leave the bathroom, then went there herself to use the loo and brush her teeth. After retrieving Hiccup’s prosthetic from the living room for the next morning, she happily crawled into bed next to him. And as she was about to fall asleep for real, she thought that maybe today’s gift from their advent calendar hadn’t been that much of a failure after all. If nothing else, it at least had served as a reminder that they didn’t need extravagant toys or accessories to be happy.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

[tessandscottforever18]

Sept 12

Fresh off the UK release of Amazon Studios’ reimagined 'Cinderella', pop icon Camila Cabello talks to Nick Levine about her starring role in the film and her next chapter.

Camila Cabello is in a very good place right now. The utterly joyous video for “Don’t Go Yet”, the lead single from her forthcoming album Familia, shows her dancing around a dinner table surrounded by family, friends and RuPaul’s Drag Race star Valentina. An eyepopping colour palette definitely complements the song: a bright and buoyant Latin bop banger that hits like musical serotonin. In the comments beneath the YouTube video, the singer has added a sweet message: “Hope you guys love this and that it inspires many wine drunk kitchen dance parties for you and your familia.”

The video may be a visual feast, but it’s no fantasy. Cabello says it reflects a recent healing period during which she focused on “collective joy and community and really growing the seeds of my relationships”. The casual dinner parties she threw with partner Shawn Mendes became a nourishing ritual as she stepped off the pop star treadmill for the first time in nearly a decade. This breather was long overdue given that Cabello’s career has maintained an upward trajectory ever since she entered the US version of The X Factor in 2012. Though she auditioned as a solo artist, she ended up landing a record deal as a member of Fifth Harmony, a girl group formed One Direction-style on the show. Four years later, she went solo and cemented her A-list status with “Havana”, one of the bestselling digital songs of all time. She now has more than a dozen platinum singles to her name, including 2016’s collaboration with Machine Gun Kelly, “Bad Things”, and 2019’s “South of the Border” with Ed Sheeran and Cardi B.

Still, Cabello’s pace of life slowed down last year for one reason only: the pandemic. “It’s been an absolutely traumatic thing that’s happened to the world,” she says today, speaking on the phone shortly before she records Spanish overdubs for her movie debut in a feminist reimagining of Cinderella. “But in terms of my mental health, before that particular moment, I was really approaching… ” The 24-year-old pauses, then corrects herself. “I mean, I don’t think I was even approaching, I think I was burned out. And I feel like that necessary forced pause [caused by the pandemic] just allowed me to look at my life differently. It allowed me to recalibrate what makes me happy and what is important to me. I feel like it saved me in a lot of ways.”

Cabello has spoken candidly in the past about her struggles with anxiety, which in turn led to obsessive-compulsive disorder. Today, she likens managing this anxiety to a “constant ebb and flow”, which is made easier by her new therapist, but says the pandemic let her rethink her attitude towards work. “I’m fortunate enough to choose what I say yes and no to,” she explains. “That’s what’s really important to me this time around. If it’s affecting my mental health in a negative way, I’ll say no and do it another way.”

“I feel like the public and the media could almost have become a third person in our relationship.”

A project she’s clearly fully invested in is Cinderella, a new film version of the familiar fairy tale, directed by Pitch Perfect’s Kay Cannon. Cabello stars as the title character opposite Broadway legend Idina Menzel as her non-wicked stepmother and Pose actor Billy Porter as her fairy godparent. According to Cabello, these reimagined characters are just two of the film’s progressive elements. “Those classic fairy tales were all written by men. That’s why the story [of Cinderella] is that of a woman who’s saved by a prince,” Cabello says. “But in our version, which is written and directed by a woman, she’s saved herself and is trying to build her own life. It’s a much more empowering version of the story.”

In fact, Cabello’s Cinderella story has “no evil people in it at all”, because it places the focus firmly on the heroine’s self-actualisation. “Cinderella’s dream is to live an independent life at a time when women aren’t allowed to have careers,” she explains. “So she’s seeing something that’s wrong in the world and not waiting for someone else to correct it for her – she’s doing it herself. I think that’s a really necessary, positive update.”

Cabello has also been using her formidable social media presence – 54.5 million followers on Instagram, 11.9 million on TikTok – to spread some very necessary positivity. After being papped on a run in mid-July wearing “a top that shows my belly”, Cabello told her TikTok followers she thought “Damn!” before remembering that “being at war with your body is so last season”. Today, she says she experiences much less body insecurity since sharing this post. “I felt like I was not alone in feeling that or alone in my frustration,” she says. “And so next time there are pictures of me where my belly is out, there’s gonna be a community of women who have heard me talk about the way that makes me feel and who support me. And that is honestly so liberating.”

She has even used TikTok to break down a human rights issue that is close to her heart. In July, Cabello shared a well-received video explaining that recent protests in Cuba aren’t “about lack of Covid resources and medicine”, but are really “the latest layer in a 62-year-old story of a communist regime and a dictatorship”. She says speaking out in this way was a matter of moral obligation for her. “You know, I’m Cuban and I still have family on the island,” she says – Cabello was born in Havana, then moved to Miami with her parents when she was six. “And so much of what I do is Cuban culture. I mean, ‘Havana’ is one of my most successful songs so far,” she adds. “So when I’m in the United States, showing the beautiful part of Cuban culture, I feel like I also have to be there for the hard part, for the people there who are struggling.”

“If it’s affecting my mental health in a negative way, I’ll say no and do it another way.”

“Havana”, a sultry and infectious celebration of the Cuban capital, was so huge that it could easily have overshadowed her debut album. But thankfully, 2018’s Camila was a cool and cohesive affair that also spawned the brilliant angsty banger “Never Be the Same”. Then in 2019 Cabello launched her second album, Romance, with “Señorita”, a massively successful duet with Mendes that has now racked up 1.9 billion Spotify streams. When Cabello and Mendes confirmed they were dating shortly after its release, they became gossip-site staples – something they remain today – and were accused of faking the relationship for publicity. The impact of this negative coverage on their mental health was barely even mentioned.

Still, more than two years later, Cabello says she and Mendes have managed to maintain their privacy. “I feel like the public and the media could almost have become a third person in our relationship,” she says. “But that’s not been a thing for us because Shawn and I don’t even look at social media like that. Even though we know it’s there, it’s almost like it doesn’t exist for us. And that’s why we don’t live in LA. We live in Miami or Toronto, where there’s less paparazzi and that kind of attention is less of a thing.”

Looking ahead, Cabello says she’s excited for fans to hear Familia, which she feels has greater “intimacy” than her previous albums because she worked so closely with core collaborators Scott Harris, Ricky Reed and Mike Sabath. Because she trusted them implicitly, Cabello says she was able to “freestyle” during recording sessions and really pour her heart out. “You know, there’s one song [I’ve recorded for the album] where I’m talking about my mental health and anxiety without [specifically] saying it’s about anxiety,” she says. “But it’s about what anxiety looks and feels like for me in my body and in my mind. And that wasn’t something I came into the room intending to write about. Ricky just showed me a piece of music he had and it all came out of me.”

Cabello says this “stream of consciousness” songwriting style “never would have happened” when she was recording Camila and Romance because, for her, there was still too much “tension” in the room. But this time around, she felt comfortable enough to be truly vulnerable. In this respect, Cabello draws a comparison between her own creative evolution and that of Billie Eilish, who recently released her acclaimed second album, Happier Than Ever. “I saw this quote from Billie where she said, ‘I wasn’t scared, it wasn’t forced, there was no pressure, it was just really nice.’ And I feel the same way about this album’s process for me,” she says. The message is clear: in both her personal and professional lives, Camila Cabello is in a very good place.

[shelovescontrol91]

Camila Cabello is in a very good place right now. The utterly joyous video for “Don’t Go Yet”, the lead single from her forthcoming album Familia, shows her dancing around a dinner table surrounded by family, friends and RuPaul’s Drag Race star Valentina. An eyepopping colour palette definitely complements the song: a bright and buoyant Latin bop banger that hits like musical serotonin. In the comments beneath the YouTube video, the singer has added a sweet message: “Hope you guys love this and that it inspires many wine drunk kitchen dance parties for you and your familia.”

The video may be a visual feast, but it’s no fantasy. Cabello says it reflects a recent healing period during which she focused on “collective joy and community and really growing the seeds of my relationships”. The casual dinner parties she threw with partner Shawn Mendes became a nourishing ritual as she stepped off the pop star treadmill for the first time in nearly a decade. This breather was long overdue given that Cabello’s career has maintained an upward trajectory ever since she entered the US version of The X Factor in 2012. Though she auditioned as a solo artist, she ended up landing a record deal as a member of Fifth Harmony, a girl group formed One Direction-style on the show. Four years later, she went solo and cemented her A-list status with “Havana”, one of the bestselling digital songs of all time. She now has more than a dozen platinum singles to her name, including 2016’s collaboration with Machine Gun Kelly, “Bad Things”, and 2019’s “South of the Border” with Ed Sheeran and Cardi B.

Still, Cabello’s pace of life slowed down last year for one reason only: the pandemic. “It’s been an absolutely traumatic thing that’s happened to the world,” she says today, speaking on the phone shortly before she records Spanish overdubs for her movie debut in a feminist reimagining of Cinderella. “But in terms of my mental health, before that particular moment, I was really approaching… ” The 24-year-old pauses, then corrects herself. “I mean, I don’t think I was even approaching, I think I was burned out. And I feel like that necessary forced pause [caused by the pandemic] just allowed me to look at my life differently. It allowed me to recalibrate what makes me happy and what is important to me. I feel like it saved me in a lot of ways.”

Cabello has spoken candidly in the past about her struggles with anxiety, which in turn led to obsessive-compulsive disorder. Today, she likens managing this anxiety to a “constant ebb and flow”, which is made easier by her new therapist, but says the pandemic let her rethink her attitude towards work. “I’m fortunate enough to choose what I say yes and no to,” she explains. “That’s what’s really important to me this time around. If it’s affecting my mental health in a negative way, I’ll say no and do it another way.”

A project she’s clearly fully invested in is Cinderella, a new film version of the familiar fairy tale, directed by Pitch Perfect’s Kay Cannon. Cabello stars as the title character opposite Broadway legend Idina Menzel as her non-wicked stepmother and Pose actor Billy Porter as her fairy godparent. According to Cabello, these reimagined characters are just two of the film’s progressive elements. “Those classic fairy tales were all written by men. That’s why the story [of Cinderella] is that of a woman who’s saved by a prince,” Cabello says. “But in our version, which is written and directed by a woman, she’s saved herself and is trying to build her own life. It’s a much more empowering version of the story.”

In fact, Cabello’s Cinderella story has “no evil people in it at all”, because it places the focus firmly on the heroine’s self-actualisation. “Cinderella’s dream is to live an independent life at a time when women aren’t allowed to have careers,” she explains. “So she’s seeing something that’s wrong in the world and not waiting for someone else to correct it for her – she’s doing it herself. I think that’s a really necessary, positive update.”

Cabello has also been using her formidable social media presence – 54.5 million followers on Instagram, 11.9 million on TikTok – to spread some very necessary positivity. After being papped on a run in mid-July wearing “a top that shows my belly”, Cabello told her TikTok followers she thought “Damn!” before remembering that “being at war with your body is so last season”. Today, she says she experiences much less body insecurity since sharing this post. “I felt like I was not alone in feeling that or alone in my frustration,” she says. “And so next time there are pictures of me where my belly is out, there’s gonna be a community of women who have heard me talk about the way that makes me feel and who support me. And that is honestly so liberating.”

She has even used TikTok to break down a human rights issue that is close to her heart. In July, Cabello shared a well-received video explaining that recent protests in Cuba aren’t “about lack of Covid resources and medicine”, but are really “the latest layer in a 62-year-old story of a communist regime and a dictatorship”. She says speaking out in this way was a matter of moral obligation for her. “You know, I’m Cuban and I still have family on the island,” she says – Cabello was born in Havana, then moved to Miami with her parents when she was six. “And so much of what I do is Cuban culture. I mean, ‘Havana’ is one of my most successful songs so far,” she adds. “So when I’m in the United States, showing the beautiful part of Cuban culture, I feel like I also have to be there for the hard part, for the people there who are struggling.”

“If it’s affecting my mental health in a negative way, I’ll say no and do it another way.”

“Havana”, a sultry and infectious celebration of the Cuban capital, was so huge that it could easily have overshadowed her debut album. But thankfully, 2018’s Camila was a cool and cohesive affair that also spawned the brilliant angsty banger “Never Be the Same”. Then in 2019 Cabello launched her second album, Romance, with “Señorita”, a massively successful duet with Mendes that has now racked up 1.9 billion Spotify streams. When Cabello and Mendes confirmed they were dating shortly after its release, they became gossip-site staples – something they remain today – and were accused of faking the relationship for publicity. The impact of this negative coverage on their mental health was barely even mentioned.

Still, more than two years later, Cabello says she and Mendes have managed to maintain their privacy. “I feel like the public and the media could almost have become a third person in our relationship,” she says. “But that’s not been a thing for us because Shawn and I don’t even look at social media like that. Even though we know it’s there, it’s almost like it doesn’t exist for us. And that’s why we don’t live in LA. We live in Miami or Toronto, where there’s less paparazzi and that kind of attention is less of a thing.”

Looking ahead, Cabello says she’s excited for fans to hear Familia, which she feels has greater “intimacy” than her previous albums because she worked so closely with core collaborators Scott Harris, Ricky Reed and Mike Sabath. Because she trusted them implicitly, Cabello says she was able to “freestyle” during recording sessions and really pour her heart out. “You know, there’s one song [I’ve recorded for the album] where I’m talking about my mental health and anxiety without [specifically] saying it’s about anxiety,” she says. “But it’s about what anxiety looks and feels like for me in my body and in my mind. And that wasn’t something I came into the room intending to write about. Ricky just showed me a piece of music he had and it all came out of me.”

Cabello says this “stream of consciousness” songwriting style “never would have happened” when she was recording Camila and Romance because, for her, there was still too much “tension” in the room. But this time around, she felt comfortable enough to be truly vulnerable. In this respect, Cabello draws a comparison between her own creative evolution and that of Billie Eilish, who recently released her acclaimed second album, Happier Than Ever. “I saw this quote from Billie where she said, ‘I wasn’t scared, it wasn’t forced, there was no pressure, it was just really nice.’ And I feel the same way about this album’s process for me,” she says. The message is clear: in both her personal and professional lives, Camila Cabello is in a very good place.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 99

Here we have the aftermath of the Warlord Bowl. 

Here, we finally... FINALLY get to see Jokul as a person and not a far-off mysterious bad guy. Consciously, there was never any intent to compare Jokul to people who don’t understand how politics work: @zommbiebro​ isn’t even American, for one thing, and therefore neither is Jokul. However, reading it on the last pass before posting, I realized how it could be taken.

The part that isn’t relevant to the chapter: While I didn’t mean that comparison, please make sure you vote in any local elections available to you, if it doesn’t risk your life. No matter how much you feel your vote doesn’t matter, it does. If everyone who didn’t vote decided to do so, it would change the world.

In my own country, I’ll be taking time off work - because I have that ability - and taking local people to polls that ordinarily would be inaccessible to them within their district.

Back to the chapter relevant stuff: Thank you to @zommbiebro​ for giving me such a good character to play with, @charlylimph-blog​ for reading to ensure entertainment, and @baelpenrose​ for beta reading in every way that entails.

After a quick dinner at the first mess we came across - and true to my promise, I didn’t cook anything - Arthur, Antoine and I reconvened with Jokul in my office. As agreed, he brought only two of his own people, who sat on either side of him in a mirror to how I was bracketed by my own friends.

Unfortunately, they entered as I was mulling out loud the possibility of making hot pot for family dinner one night.  Even less fortunately, the ginger who I had thrown in the gym was one of the people who walked through my door while I was debating the logistics of meat versus vegetarian options.

“She doesn’t even take us seriously!” the nasal voice complained, interrupting me.

Simultaneously, several things happened. I opened my mouth to retort, Arthur put a hand over my mouth, Antoine pushed my shoulder back into the chair.

And Jokul spoke up.

“We agreed to meet with them if Farro beat me in combat.  He did, we are here, and there will be no further argument on the matter.” If anything, he sounded weary rather than angry. “She did not even request that we cease acting against her, only that we meet as equals. It is the least we can do.”

I didn’t even know forehead cramps were a thing until I gave myself one with the speed of my eyes widening. Slowly, Arthur lowered his hand so I could speak. “Right,” I coughed. “So, there are a few things I want to know.”

“Such as?” 

“Why am I your target?” I blurted out. Of everything, this was the one that was weighing heaviest on me. I felt if I could understand that, I would know how to tackle the rest. 

To my frustration, he fucking shrugged. “You are emblematic of everything that will destroy our chance at a new start,” he stated calmly, like he was telling me his name.

I sputtered before regaining my composure. “How? How am I doing something badly?”

“You only want to consolidate power, rule over the masses!” the red-haired toady honked at me.

The overblown statement and Jokul’s subsequent glare at his own man was a level of ridiculous I couldn’t handle at that moment.  Laughing ruefully, I wiped away a tear that warned me I was close to hysterical. “I don’t want to rule over anyone, dude.  If I had my preference, I would only decide what I want to eat once or twice  a week for the rest of my life.”

“But you rule over the Council,” Jokul pointed out in a confused tone.

“I don’t rule anyone, buddy. I am on the Council largely against my will, and mostly because no one else who is qualified even wants my job. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Gods had I tried.

His next statement was significantly less confident. “But you took the reins of power…”

“I am a glorified event coordinator and human resources officer. I have a staff of exactly two. One is my sister, who has been in her role longer than I’ve been in mine and only listens to me when it’s convenient. The other is my assistant, who is British as hell and listens to me on about equal level with my cat.”

“The Baconists! Your assistant was part of that rebellion! You must have known and hidden it from our hosts!” I had to give him some begrudging credit. Even he didn’t sound like he believed his own words, and if the smug look from Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber on either side of him was anything to go by, that wasn’t his own theory.

Time to set the record straight, it seemed. “Okay, quick reminder: that bitch tried to kill me,” I enunciated carefully, leaning forward as I spoke.  “She nearly succeeded. That wasn’t a cover up, it was her realizing that I talk to myself in the shower and listening long enough to hear me think through what was going on. As far as hiding her intent from our hosts… You’re only half right. Miys doesn’t read minds, contrary to what people think, they only read intent. That nutjob really did think she was doing the best thing for the universe by wiping humanity off the proverbial map. Nothing for Miys to pick up, she actually had what she thought were good intentions.”

“You have built yourself to be this legendary hero -”

“I didn’t build myself to be jack. Effing. Shit. If I had my preference, I would give you my position, and open a restaurant that does cooking classes.” When he opened his mouth to interject, I held up a hand to stop him. “Miys likes me because I talk to myself, even in my head, and so badly that they can still hear what I am saying when I don’t move my lips. I only survived being attacked by a crazy person because I treat the person who saved me like, you know, a person? Make sure he’s okay, give him his space when he wants it, sass him back when he wants to be sassy. It was just sheer, dumb luck, and I’m not even sure it was good luck, because voila!” I flung my hands wide at the current situation, forcing both Arthur and Antoine to duck. A quick glance at Antoine only rendered one of his eloquent shrugs. Must be handling the situation okay if he doesn’t think I need help.

I was less concerned with Arthur’s opinion, not because I didn’t care, but because I knew he would jump in when he felt it was needed, without prompting or permission.

“So you do not want to rule over us all?” Jokul asked carefully.

“I don’t even want to top one of my boyfriends consistently.”

“Sophia!” Antoine hissed with a miserable expression, while Arthur burst into a coughing fit. I wasn’t sure if the latter was trying to cover a laugh of choking. 

Jokul, on the other hand, seemed to take that at face value  “Then why are you in power? Explain that.”

With a heavy sigh, I tried again. “I’m not in power. Decisions are voted on by the Council. If someone brings me an idea for a class, or an architectural project, or a medical possibility, I pass it off to the Councilor who handles that and let it go from there.” Emphatically, I pointed at my own face. “Again, glorified events coordinator and HR.”

“And yet, you have your pet warlord sitting beside you. Explain that away,”Tweedledumb - the brunette on Jokul’s other side - accused.

I whipped my head to look at the subject of that statement before looking back across the table. “Arthur?” I asked, jerking a thumb in his general direction. “You do realize he’s a teacher first, right? Warlord out of need, but that ‘need’ was protecting the students in his history class when everything went to shit? Don’t get me wrong, we butted heads like you would not believe when we first met in person. But we realized halfway through what looked to be one hell of an argument that we knew each other for - fuck, like, a decade? Maybe less? - before the End. I didn’t ‘win him over.’ We just realized we’ve always been friends.” With a shrug I glanced back at Arthur, who also shrugged before nodding.

“Too convenient, Councilor.” Tweedledumb gloated. “You just happened to be friends with someone who - “

“Oh for FUCK’s sake!” Annnnd there it was.  Someone had reached his limit for diplomacy and stupidity. “We met on a fanfiction site writing a crossover of two of the worst pieces of science fiction ever written and mutually infected each other! FUCK!” Crossing his arms, he started muttering to himself. “Not like finding someone to kick your asses is hard…”

After a glare at the darker-haired idiot, and with an expression that looked like he was entirely regretting his choice of people for this meeting, Jokul schooled his features before addressing me directly. “Fanfiction?” he asked in a skeptical tone.

And the dirty truth comes out, I thought with another sigh. “StarDoc and Warhammer 40K, okay? It was fun, no fandom to cheese off, nothing smutty. Just… fun.” When the nostalgia threatened to overtake me, I shook my head vigorously. “The point is, we knew each other for years Before the world went to shit, and only realized when one of my friends landed in his class and there was a data error.  I don’t even like violence.” Antoine gave me a skeptical look so I clarified. “Usually.”

“And yet you are a combatant!” Jokul stated with certainty, clearly on more familiar ground.

Angrily, I scowled at Tweedle-the-ginger before leaning forward to look into Jokul’s eyes. “Look. I don’t know how it was in Canada, with your mooses and shit, but I really, really want to know: Do you honestly believe that anyone who got through the After did it without learning how to defend themselves? Even more, that any woman who made it, didn’t learn to fight dirty?”

“Not if you know how to have people defend you - “ Jokul tried before I cut him off.

“They don’t defend me because I’m helpless, let’s be clear. They defend me because I will only fight back if I know my life is on the line. But, on the same page, I will protect my friends and family from anything, without reserve, and die for them. No hesitation.” With a deep breath, I sat back rather than jumping over the table.  “I have my flaws, and my sister will tell you the biggest among those is that I trust too easily.  I assume the best in, literally, everyone.”

“Except smartass teacher, apparently,” Arthur said in a fake cough that fooled exactly nobody.

After making a face at my friend, I turned back to the moose in the room. “What that means is, I don’t try to defend myself until it is literally your life or mine. Or both. I don’t really care at that point, because I assume I’m not going to make it. I just want the person I’m fighting to go down with me.” Trying to imitate Charly’s most savage grin, I put on a forced-cheerful tone. “Now, tell me, Jokul. Who would rather have faced in that fight, knowing that?”

His eyes darted between Arthur and myself as he swallowed hard, mulling the implications of that. “You would kill and die for your friends’ safety and health, even if you would only protect yourself at the last moment?” Here, he scoffed. “There is nothing exceptional or even special about that. Many who were in power in the After felt the same.”

“Except I don’t want power,” I repeated in a tone that I previously reserved only for small children. “I just told you that.” In the corners of my eyes, I saw both of my friends nodding so hard I was concerned for their spines.

Before I could try to reason with Jokul any more, Arthur jumped in. “If you’re both done arguing righteousness, let me explain a few things. Jokull. First off, Soph actually doesn’t want to rule, or be on the Council. She told you this. She’s also bitched about it to me, her sister, and anyone else who will listen, at length. On top of being too trusting, her biggest flaw is actually an impulsivity problem, in general. But she’s not an autocrat.” As he gestured, I saw his eyes glaze over, his voice taking on a serene tone that was entirely too familiar. “If Soph was a real autocrat, she’d have let us have our little duel armed, with my sword and - I presume you’d have had an ax? Maybe a broadsword? You look like a broadsword guy... any rate.”

“However,” he continued, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression, like he was puzzling something out. “she made me promise not to kill you. Think about that. After you’ve been nothing but a headache and a threat to her and her family for months, she makes me promise not to kill you. I wanted to, you know.” The wistful sigh that accompanied that statement was entirely unnecessary and I was certain he only did it to irritate me.  “I wanted to kill you and have your lifeless corpse thrown out of the airlock like trash, not because of the Council, not because your Viking gimmick wears out in a hurry, but because you made the mistake of threatening a friend, then slapping a student. I had no idea if you were actually going to seriously harm any of them, and I didn’t care. The threat alone was enough to make me decide I wanted you dead.” Tapping his chin briefly, he pointed at Jokul without actually looking at him. “Because you were an unknown quantity, but no matter whether or not you were actually the threat you claimed to be, your corpse would be harmless.”

Arthur shrugged before looking Jokul in the face. “That’s how warlords handled things in the After, isn’t it? When someone threatened your people, or when someone threatened mine? I didn’t negotiate. I didn’t warn. I doubt you did, either. I took them at their word, and I did unto them first. And I’d bet you did the same. ‘Peace’ was what you called it when everyone who wanted to make war on you or your people was dead. That’s what the After taught me, that’s what it taught you.” After emphasizing his point by gesturing between the two of them, he shook his head.  “And that impulse, that set of lessons? That's not what humanity needs right now. Our skill set as leaders is not what humanity needs right now. If you want humanity to have a fresh start as you claim, drop the hostility, drop the self-righteousness, and actually try listening. Do you want a genuine peace with the Council?” Thoughtfully, he stroked the hilt of his sword where it laid across his lap. 

I knew it was the fondness of being reunited with a long lost limb, but Jokul didn’t know that. 

“Or a warlord’s peace with me?” In a creepy way, Arthur’s tone was downright perky. “I prefer a genuine one. A warlord’s idea of peace is one of the things I want to leave in the ashes of the After. That’s why it’s the Council who make the rules here - not warlords.”

With an alarmed expression, Jokul very slowly glanced at me. “Did he just threaten to kill me and shove me out an airlock?”

“No, he’s pouting because I wouldn’t let him do that,” I answered honestly.  The topic had come up, for a solid fifteen seconds.  I was even reasonably sure Arthur had been joking.

“I don’t - “ Arthur started  indignantly before being cut off by Jokul.

“He makes a good point. Our skills as warlords are not what is needed in this new world. I let myself believe people who told me that the Council in general and you specifically wanted to hoard power and privilege over us, just like the people who led Earth to where it ended up.” He glanced nervously at Arthur, who was still stroking his sword, before forging ahead in a somewhat squeakier tone. “If someone who has had real power agrees that you and the Council are the best option, then I will at least try to see how that would work.”

Here, Antoine joined the conversation. “Militant strength and ruling by force aren’t the only forms of power. We do not want that sort of power over us anymore. The Council leads because the people on this ship largely want to follow them.  That is the kind of power no one can force.  It has to be earned.”

“But the Council still makes decisions without our will - “

Shaking my head, I angrily flicked open my datapad and shot a file to him like I was thumping off an insect. “No, Bjornson, we don’t.  I was elected to my position - without my knowledge, might I add - by the people I represent to the Council. Every decision we make, the people on this ship get a vote with the exception of an emergency like what happened on Level One.  There wasn’t time to have a vote on how to handle that.”

“Although, we have had a lot of emergencies lately, so I understand the confusion,” Arthur interjected.

Is this what hallucinations feel like? I wondered. There was no way in frozen hell Arthur just made a point in Jokul’s favor, but the calm, resigned look on his face told me that, at some point, he seemed to have made peace with having to treat Jokul Bjornson as a sentient being. I was going to pass out if I kept sighing, though. “Okay, true. But everything else - Insert Winter Holiday, the swimming area, the diving docks, food festivals, permanent low stimulation areas throughout the ship, Galactic Core education - those were voted on by the people on this ship, with an overwhelming majority in favor.”

“What about the alarms?” Jokul pointed to his own head for emphasis.

“Also voted on, believe it or not,” I confirmed. “ And most of the ship agreed that there was more benefit in not running into people who would react badly to unexpected touch than there was discomfort at the alarms going off.”

“I tested them myself, monsieur.” Antoine offered. “So I am well acquainted with the volume they are calibrated for, and I do not appreciate you disabling them.  My staff have had to work around the clock to treat the damage your people have caused to others on this ship, who are terrified to leave their quarters now.”

Jokul looked a bit guilty at that, as well as his entourage.  Looked like he hadn’t considered that. “Would you believe me if I told you that was originally an accident?” he admitted sheepishly.  “One of the engineers thought it would be funny to shock another one in the neck with a low level electrical current, right behind the ear.” He turned his head and pointed to a small burn scar in the same place. “It took days for them to notice that the proximity alarm didn’t work anymore.”

To my shock, Antoine started swearing angrily in French, so fast even the translator couldn’t keep up. “Sophia, if I find out Charly Harper is the cause of this…”

Jokul shook his head vigorously. “I can assure you it was not Miss Harper.” His focus slid over to me, eyes wide.

Either this motherfucker just lied to keep Charly out of trouble, or she really was innocent.

“That explains why Derek and Zach couldn’t figure out how they did it,” Arthur pointed out. “You can’t hack into something that’s shorted out.”

Jokul spoke up again. “It also… may? Have caused some translation inconsistencies?”

“So the shock corrupted more files than just the alarms,” I stated in clarification.

“Several, in fact, yes…. Specifically signed languages and tonal languages.”

“That’s… that’s at least a third of the ship…” I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to sob in horror or laugh hysterically.

Jokul groaned before cradling his head in his hands. “I am aware, yes.”

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[streets-in-paradise]

I want to talk about some of the main family relationships in Troy

As I already told once in one of my posts, I adore to overanalyze family relationships in the media I consume. I’m still in the process of writing another one as a second part to my sibling relationships post talking of more family relationships from various of my fandoms but, since that one is taking me too much time to finish, I'm writing now this shorter one for my Troy appreciation series. 

I already started this ramble in the same post I referenced. There I talked about my favourite family bond in the entire film, the sibling relationship of Hector and Paris. Still, there is a lot to discuss about family dynamics in the story this movie tells. Even since I was writing that post I kept thinking on how many family related story arcs this movie has and how, if you pay close attention to those, you can capture the essence of the characters. Because of this, I decided to dedicate a separate post to the main family relationships portrayed there and the important role they play in the development of the story. I will try to skip the ones i already talked about before. This are, for most part, the relationships inside the trojan royal family. Since i already discussed those, most of this will be about family bonds of the greek characters. 

As i stated in previous posts, this is a talk about the characters and actions in the movie. I’m not talking from an adaptation” movie vs book” point of view. I can occasionally mention some of the differences but there would be more references than comparisons. 

As always, i apologise for any possible mistakes in my writing. I’m still in the process of getting used to writing long texts in english. Also, I give proper credits for the images to the original sites hosting them. 

Agamemnon and Menelaus 

The movie establishes them clearly as the main antagonists. Precisely, one of the many scenes I love in this movie is the one in which they show up to the gates of Troy commanding the greek army and they argue with the trojan princes over the terms of the combat between Paris and Menelaus. The first thing I always notice in that one is how alike Hector and Paris look when they get down from their horses, it reminds me of the actual part of the Iliad in which it is said that Paris gets confused for a brave man because of his looks. Going back to my point, in that scene I get the vibe of opponents these characters have just by the display of the dynamics between siblings. 

Agamemnon is using his brother’s problem as an excuse for a war highly profitable for him. Menelaus is aware of this and he doesn’t care because he is too consumed by his wish for revenge and, it seems that this mutualistic beneficial goal is what sticks them together. Their first scene together, when Menelaus goes to Mycenae asking his brother for help, summarizes their relationship in a great way. Menelaus seems to have a rather servile attitude towards his brother and Agamemnon clearly takes advantage of that, having in that particular time a perfect excuse to attack an enemy he had wished to conquer for a long time. If you think about it, this is the exact opposite relationship of Hector and Paris. I love how well this scene fits as a contrast to the argument in the ship scene of Hector and Paris . In both, Menelaus and Paris are basically asking for the help of their older bros, one doing it on purpose and the other one half aware. Their family relationships are established so well by those two scenes. 

Going back to the one scene I mentioned first, the exchanges between characters are awesome. Not only because you can appreciate directly how this differences play a role in the conflict, but also because you can totally appreciate how every character involved is the exact opposite of the one who challenges. The exchange between Hector and Agamemnon is fantastic. I love how Hector cuts the crap on Agamemnon’s cocky bullshit, their short interaction is priceless.Also, i almost feel bad for Paris because “ the sun was shining when your wife left you” is his best line in the entire movie and he gets his ass kicked by Menelaus immediately afterwards. I like how, despite being a coward, Paris is a sassy little shit. 

Something i need to add about these brothers is that the Director’s Cut adds a better perspective on Agamemnon’s care for Menelaus. There are many short hints, especially after Menelaus’s death, that show how he actually cared for him. I think that this small glimpse should have stayed in the final version. Even when Agamemnon is a piece of shit of the worst kind and his brother was not very different, it is nice to see him caring for something else than his own imperialist desires from time to time and to get a real family vibe from those two.

Achilles and Patroclus 

Before starting with this two i want to clarify that i am fully aware of the very different interpretation their relationship got in this movie. I heard that the romantic approach was explored in Troy: fall of a city. I haven’t watched it yet, it is on my to watch list and at some point i will do it. Now, speaking of what we have seen in the context of the movie, i have to say that i love the adorable family bond they have since the first scene they share. This is by far my second favourite family bond in the film. 

As i said before i have a weakness for family relationships and tragedies regarding them are the biggest pain i can imagine. I don’t have anything against romantic Achilles x Patroclus, i just enjoy a lot the family approach it took here. First, i think it happens because i saw the movie far before reading any piece of trojan war related fiction and second because I happen to enjoy seeing family bonds more than romantical ones. My basic example for explaining this is the complaint I had over Kili x Tauriel and how it kinda shifted the focus of the previously established family story of the Line of Durin. If i have to choose between  a family or a romance story of any kind, I will always end up more interested in the first option because i relate to and enjoy those better. 

In this version, they are cousins with a very brother like relationship. I feel like here Patroclus acts like a little bro that hero worships Achilles. We know that his parents died and Achilles took care of him but we don’t know when that happened. What we do know is that his protection is the only aspect Achilles feels responsible for in his life. His bond with him reflects the best and the worst of him. It displays his softer and his most terrible side. Without paying close attention it looks like the romantic subplot with Briseis is the part of the plot that is supposed to show his soft side and, partially, it does but i think that job is already done earlier with the introduction of Patroclus. The story with Briseis serves mainly as support of what was already established there. The kindest, more human side of Achilles is clearly there when you look at his interactions with Patroclus. 

One of the main reasons why i enjoy this relationship so much is because, plotwise, it serves as a perfect point of encounter for the two main heros’ characterizations. Despite all the effort the storytelling makes in pointing out the many differences between Hector and Achilles, these two apparently opposite men share the same limitation. Hector’s goal is to protect his country, Achilles’s goal is immortality through fame, but both find themselves lost when their reckless younger relatives endanger themselves and both react the same way. When Paris was at instants of dying by the hands of Menelaus Hector had to choose between saving him or letting him get killed for the good of Troy. The man who serves as paradigm of honesty and sacrifice, the most noble hero of the story, broke the agreement and killed Menelaus. He broke a pact and gave his enemies an even better excuse for war that will doom Troy because his brother’s life was at risk. Achilles’s madness over grief for Patroclus fits so well family related in this particular narrative because it originated in the same feelings. Paris and Patroclus may be opposites, one being a coward and the other the embodiment of reckless courage, but both become the limit of tolerance for Hector and Achilles. At the end, both heros are driven by love for their families. In this version where Hector and Paris have this strong bond that works perfectly as a mirror for Achilles and Patroclus, it fits so well for them to be family. The chain of deaths unleashed with Patroclus’s death becomes a natural response to the bonds previously mentioned between the four characters involved. Everything becomes a big family tragedy and that is devastating. 

One more comment i will make about them is that i also love how some of Achilles’s friends add some more sweet or happy hints to some scenes. Eudorus, despite the formal servant-like way in which he speaks to Achilles, gives me a long time friend who is almost family vibe. Of course, i have to mention Odysseus here as well. Patroclus and Achilles sparring scene has an amazing chill domestic fun tone and he adds even more fun to the moment once he arrives. They are the most likeable greeks of the movie and you get such a friendly feeling of them. I live for these guys. The main scene they shared is the happiest of the film. 

Bonus mentions 

The Director’s Cut has a lot of scenes that help you understand some of the characters' motivations and lots of them are family related. One small scene I wish really hard the should had kept is the one in which Priam explains the reasons for his deep religious devotion. He listens to the high priest’s terrible advice and ignores his son’s wiser words not because he is a nice but dumb and inept king. He believes Apollo saved Hector from a disease when he was a baby boy. There is a reason for his blind, sometimes naive, faith in Apollo’s protection.Other cut out moment with a similar meaning is the one in which Andromache tells Hector she lost seven brothers in a previous war. She is tired of losing people, her husband is all she has. Having this in consideration her story turns even more tragic. 

I could mention a few more characters and moments but this is getting too long so i will end it here. I think it is enough for the topic i wanted to write about and the only main character i feel i skipped a bit here is Priam but i had talked enough about the trojans and how much i love them so i think it is enough. 

I enjoyed writing this, as fast as i can i will upload the general post for family relationships i’m working on and i’m thinking of making a special one like this for lotr. ��@hrisity12​  I tag you as i always do in all my Troy content. 

Thanks for reading this ramble i intended to keep short but, as always, ended up longer than i expected. 

[dsfsposts]

HOW TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT LED SHOEBOX LIGHTS FOR YOUR PARKING LOT

If you are considering upgrading your lights to LED, the parking lot lights should always be the first one to take into consideration, because of the large service area of parking lot and the high energy consumption of traditional metal halide parking lot light.

It’s not easy to research dozens of websites to put all the pieces of the puzzle together and answer all of your questions about what is the right LED shoe box light Fixture for your needs. For this reason, we prepared some tips about shoebox light, Parking Lot and Area Lighting in this article.

Here are several things you need to know before converting your facility:

1. Type of facility: Is the site retail, warehouse or other commercial use?

2. Type of fixture or lamp: Wall Packs, Shoeboxes, Flood Lamp

3. Wattage of existing lamps: This gives your LED manufacture insight to the LED equivalent needed.

4. Line voltage: LED products are voltage specific, and the LED installer will need to know this detail.

5. Needs from the changes: To increase/decrease the lighting output, address a specific problem or area, meet a specific specification or code

6. The best color of light: The sun is 5778k, and in the LED industry, 5000k is considered to be the closest to natural sunlight. Outdoor lighting is often oriented to a 5000k color.

7. Quality of LED products: Quality means you trust you will not have any warranty issues, service means if you do have any issues, the integrity of service will be tasked to work its magic.

What is high bay lighting, and what applications benefit from it?

Whenever a large indoor space needs to be illuminated, high bay lighting is usually appropriate. Consider spaces like manufacturing facilities, gymnasiums, warehouses, large department stores, factories, and more; these facilities are typically vast and cover a lot of vertical as well as horizontal space. This requires powerful lighting to provide the appropriate foot-candle levels to adequately illuminate. High bay lighting fixtures typically hang from the ceiling via hooks, chains, or pendants, or they may be fixed to the ceiling directly (similar to troffer lights). The image above features high bay lighting in action.

Various industries and facilities require high bay lighting. Some of the most common are:

Warehouses

Industrial facilities (read more about Industrial LED lighting here)

Manufacturing facilities

School and university gymnasiums

Municipal facilities like community centers or recreation centers

Commercial applications like department stores

Why choose LED high bay lights instead of metal halide, fluorescent, or other conventional high bay lights?

Historically, various lighting technologies were (and still are) used in warehouse and industrial settings when high bay lights were required. Some of the most common include metal halide (MH), high pressure sodium (HPS), and fluorescent. While each of these bulbs have their merits, industrial LED lighting outperforms its conventional counterparts in important ways. Let’s take a look at some of the various considerations when deciding whether an LED retrofit is appropriate for your warehouse or industrial space.

Industrial LED lighting vs metal halide high bay light: If you’ve ever been to a ballgame, you've likely seen metal halide illuminating the field. MH lamps are common in sporting and warehouse/industrial uses (as well as any setting where large, high spaces need to be illuminated). Benefits of MH lights include decent color rendering and comparatively adequate foot-candle levels (as opposed to other types of conventional bulbs). Some of their major drawbacks are a long time to warm up (sometimes 15-30 minutes) and a high cost to maintain, and their failure characteristics include flickering on and off. This is in addition to the fact that much of the energy they produce is wasted as heat. Read more about LED versus Metal Halide Lights.

Linear LED high bay light vs high pressure sodium (HPS) lights: HPS lights are often used in warehouse, industrial, business, and recreational facilities where high bay lighting is appropriate. Their benefits include cheap selling price, high energy efficiency (low operating costs), and a relatively long lifespan. HPS lighting technology retains these advantages over most conventional bulbs, but they lose on all three counts to LED high bay lighting. The downsides of HPS bulbs include the worst color rendering on the market and a warm up period. Read more about LED versus High Pressure and Low Pressure Sodium Lights.

Industrial LED lighting vs fluorescent lighting: Though somewhat less common, fluorescent lighting is sometimes utilized in warehouse or industrial applications (primarily T12, T8, and T5 lights). The benefits of fluorescent lights include cheaper initial costs and relatively high efficiency (especially when compared to other conventional bulbs). Downsides include the presence of toxic mercury (which requires certain waste disposal procedures), decreased lifetime if switched on and off, and requiring a ballast to stabilize the light. Read more about LED versus Fluorescent Lighting.

It’s no secret that LED lighting technology has surpassed the capabilities of conventional lighting in important ways. In addition to the considerations discussed above, there are three general benefits of LED lighting that apply to all lighting applications.

Decreased maintenance requirements. As discussed above, LED lights have a lifespan that is four to forty times longer than many conventional bulbs. This means fewer replacements for bulbs that wear out. LED lighting technology also generates light differently than typical fuel and filament lighting by using a diode (learn more in this blog). This means that there are fewer moving pieces to break, and consequently, fewer repairs or replacements. Maintenance is an especially important consideration when it comes to industrial lighting or warehouse lighting. By definition, high bay lights have higher mounting heights, which means that changing a bulb requires some specialized equipment or creativity. Scaffolding, catwalks, and hydraulic lifts are generally used to swap or replace bulbs, and each of these can result in additional maintenance or equipment costs. Again, the lifespan of industrial LED lighting means that fixtures need to be changed much less often, which means savings for your bottom line.

Improved lighting quality. Industrial LED lighting and high bay lights will typically score better in a head-to-head comparisons against most other bulbs when it comes to color rendering index (CRI), correlated color temperature (CCT), and foot candles. CRI is a measurement of a light’s ability to reveal the actual color of objects as compared to an ideal light source (natural light). In non-technical terms, CCT generally describes the “glow” given off by a bulb - is it warm (reddish), or cold (bluish white)? Foot candles compare the amount of light coming from a source and the amount of light hitting the desired surface; they’re basically a measure of efficiency. On all three fronts, LED lights perform very well. (Read more about CRI, CCT, and foot candles here.)

Increased energy efficiency. Not only do LED lights generate light differently, they also distribute light differently than conventional lighting solutions, which results in less energy required to provide the same output. How does that work? First, many conventional lights waste a lot of the energy they produce by emitting it as heat (this is especially the case with metal halide lighting). Second, most conventional lights are omnidirectional, which means that they output light in 360 degrees. So, a lot of light is wasted pointing at a ceiling, or being diluted because it has to be redirected through the use of fixtures. Industrial LED lighting for applications that require high bay lights eliminates these two problems of wasted energy (through heat loss and omnidirectional emission).

Indoor Plant Lighting

Indoor plant lighting gives plants most of the energy they need to grow, thrive, even to stay alive.

The proper type of indoor plant light is more than just a matter of giving a plant the brightness it needs. There are three lighting factors that control growth of a plant:

Amount of light: number of hours of daylight on your plants

Intensity of light: levels of light from full sun to full shade

Spectrum: warm and cool colors

Gas Station Lights

Every location has its own unique lighting needs. When it comes to gas station lights, there are a few fixtures that are exceptionally well suited to this location. Let's take a look at a few of the most common solutions for gas station lighting.

LED

When looking at fixture options, you should first determine the right lamping solution to narrow down the choices. LED is the best choice for this unique location. LED offers a higher lumen output for a brighter fixture while operating on a lower wattage which saves on energy for utility costs. LED is also a no heat solution which means the life of the fixture will be protected from heat damage. Another benefit of LED is that the lamps last a long time to save on replacement costs and maintenance spent on maintaining fixtures. Best of all, LED is available in the most commonly used gas station lighting solutions.

Canopy Lights

When looking at gas station lighting, the most obvious area is the canopy. This is where the majority of the business happens since customers pump gas under the canopy. It is also important to make sure this area is well-lit, so customers can see it clearly from the road at night. A well-lit canopy also gives a feeling of safety and security when pumping gas at night that most customers expect. In fact, most customer will pass up a poorly lit gas canopy in favor of a brighter one, so this area directly impacts your business. This is where canopy lights come in and save the day! Canopy lights are made specifically for this type of environment, so they offer such features as vandal proof options, wet rated listings, durable polycarbonate lenses, and bright, powerful illumination where you need it most. Canopy lights come in choices of thin profile to save on space and low profile for lower canopies in terms of height.

Parking Lot Lights

While the canopy lights are the main draw on the exterior, you will still need additional parking lot lighting. Parking lot lighting is necessary for any surrounding parking spaces not covered by the canopy. They can also be used to add visibility to roads leading to the parking lot or behind the building for added safety and security. When choosing parking lot lights, you can go with either cobra head or floodlights. Floodlights are ideal if you have a larger lot whereas cobra head is ideal for smaller lots.

Interior Lights

While the outside lighting is important, the inside is just as crucial to a successful lighting plan. For interior gas station lighting, there are several great options to consider. A few of the most common are recessed troffer-style and surface mounted fixtures. Both options offer an easy to install and maintain solution to meet the needs of this location. In this type of location, you want to avoid suspended or chain fixtures since they can create more shadows and detract from the clean, bright atmosphere your customers appreciate.