#situation to now be in a seemingly better one but even there she'll be under the thrall/control of black philip or w/e so she isn't truly

[journey-to-the-attic]

i know you've spoken about it before but i was wondering if u had any like,,, extended thoughts on ik being nightbrought? sorry if it's too much to ask lol i'm just in such a brainrot over lesson 12 rn!!!

i do have some!! some things have changed since the game first came out... i'll jot some down under the cut ^^

after giving it some more consideration i've changed my mind about removing the future!solomon lifeline, since nb has since opened up a whole BUNCH of cool stuff you could do with his character that only really works if its the solomon from the og game

so he's there too now!

there are like two main directions you could take with ik in this situation; one where she's incredibly stressed out (and understandably upset) about the whole situation, and another where she takes a look at it and just goes 'fuck it we ball'

considering that she's still only just gotten out of the whole belphie arc in jtta, i'm gonna go with the latter because she deserves to be whimsical

also it kind of goes with nightbringer - despite seemingly being much darker on the surface, it's a lot goofier than the og in many aspects

so ik is obviously extremely disoriented upon first getting nightbrought, but i think she'd actually figure out what's happened really quickly - after having done it before, she recognises the ~feeling~ she gets in the aftermath of time travel

also she knows the brothers extremely well at this point, so she'd recognise that they're very different demons suddenly

future solomon shows up and confirms ik's suspicions, and he starts doing this whole reassuring speech thing about how it's all gonna be fine, i'll take care of you, we'll be home in no time

solomon ends up essentially acting as ik's guardian, and he takes the duty very seriously ( rather than ebing his apprentice he refers to ik as his ward)

meanwhile ik's having the time of her life (as long as she doesn't stop to think too hard about her situation)

she's barely even intimidated by any of the brothers anymore - maybe mammon would, because she's never had him get violent or genuinely angry with her and isn't expecting it, but that's the thing - he's never gonna do that with his kiddo, no matter the time

basically it's like that ask about how she'll respond to satan getting all snarly by growling back at him. her responses to being threatened are always so happy-go-lucky that it just makes the demon threatening her forget to be evil and stuff

in terms of the thinking she's a demon thing... i do still think diavolo would recognise that someone this small couldn't possibly be a demon, but it'd be funny if solomon was like 'nah she's just small for her age' and he's just like 'oh word'

belphie and ik make fast friends! i still like this idea, and while the lilith wound is still very fresh, ik's always been good at patching scars up

i think this fast friendship also works better for making belphie question his convictions about humans - since he starts liking ik of his own volition and not necessarily because she's already done stuff for his brothers

in my head i feel like belphie would see that as him being obligated to like her - like, you saved my twin brother, i have to be nice to you now... he'd still come around to just genuinely enjoying her company, but it'd take longer (and make it more difficult for him to confront the lilith thing)

but! i still think mammon would be ik's first friend among the brothers - in the beginning, belphie avoids her since she's human, and it's only after she's already close to mammon that he starts talking to her

ik befriends the other brothers in a similar order to in jtta, with the exception that lucifer doesn't truly warm up to her for a little while longer

in jtta, he starts getting fond of her pretty early on, it just takes a while for it to manifest as the same sort of bond she has with, say, mammon

whereas in this nightbringer situation, because ik's so unafraid of him and not willing to put up with his shit, while still fiercely fighting for him to be kinder to himself, lucifer's not sure how to handle that - and compensates by being extra cold

of course he's also probably the most affected by the recent celestial war, and while ik helps with that, it's only when she's in combination with the rest of his brothers (once she's befriended them) that lucifer would be able to start healing properly

in general, ik's sheer confidence in the devildom (despite being a very different place to the one she knows, there's just a feeling of familiarity and home that transcends time) helps the brothers get settled in too

like, if this human can be so at home down here, as demons, they should be able to as well

diavolo would especially like ik's attitude - she was already friendly in jtta, but here (having already known his goofy future self), she's extra affable with him, and he just likes having a friend

barbatos appreciates ik for this reason - but he's also cautious, because he can't shake the feeling that she knows more than she lets on... something is off about time, and he can't figure out what

aside from her relationships to the characters... let's bring this back to ik being unexpectedly flippant about the situation, and solomon acting as guardian

to take this in the direction of angst (which you were probably more expecting in the first place): ik would potentially get very reckless in nightbringer

more so than she already is in jtta - remember that stunt she pulls in asmo's arc, where she has a stupid idea and charges at henry 1.0 to try acting as bait? she's like that all the time now

while solomon's glad she's not taking this all too hard, it's extremely worrying how little ik seems to care about getting home in one piece

part of it is because ik's still holding that trust she has for the brothers in the future - unconsciously, she fully believes that they'd never hurt her, even if her logical mind tells her that nothing's off the table with these past versions

part of it is because ik is torn up that her family suddenly doesn't know her again, and some piece of her just... doesn't care anymore? if you're going to take away that from her, you might as well kill her

and maybe a part of ik just wants to see if they'd care if she did get hurt

solomon, while also pretty easy-going for someone in his situation (similar to in canon nb), is at least cautious about his and ik's safety. ik just straight up doesn't seem to care

... and that's about all i have for now! i'll ruminate on it some more ^^ maybe i'll have some more thoughts once i've finished lesson 12

[annesdiary]

1 Sept 2023

I just feel like shit. I miss my old school, I haven't been sleeping well in the last couple of days, I miss E and I struggle a bit about my friendship with K. It's been the same. I miss her, I cry about her, I feel like out friendship is ending, a few day later we talk and I feel some sort of relief that she still cares about me but it's not enough to actually calm my anxiety down and rid me of the bad thought and overthinking about this whole situation.

It's one of those nights, it's currently 4.00 in the morning and I still can't fall asleep so I decided writing down everything that crosses my mind would maybe probably help? POrbably not?

I talked to E a few days ago and she was sweet as always but it made me miss her even more. Sometimes I just get so frustrated with her that she is always busy and doesn't have time for me and I can't really handle my frustration and I am mean with her. And this time I definitely wasn't mean to her but gawd do I miss her. I just think about the fact that she'll wake up, go to work and I'm not there? Like does she miss me? Does she think of me? Does she miss me *as much as I miss her*?

The last couple of nights the only way I could fall asleep was if I imagine laying next to E and her little dog, imagining the noises that are there, imagining the breathing pattern and then maybe I can fall asleep in under a n hour. I know, that isn't the best either, one hour but it's good for me. Plus that fantasy brings me so much peace. We normally don't sleep beside each other but I want to so badly. In the past few years I haven't slept in the same bed as anybody, I miss that feeling so much.

E is generally a very lady-like lady, very classy and all that. Imagine the late queen but with ridiculous amounts of floral patterned dresses. Now, that's E. And her favorite flowers are freesias so I'm thinking about getting a freesia tattoo on the back of my arm. I know that E is completely aware of how much I love her/ how attached I am to her but I'm afraid that there's a veeeeery minuscule chance that she'd feel awkward because of I got a tattoo kind of for her? I mean it's just a flower and nobody apart from her would actually know that it's for her, so maybe she wouldn't mind? Once she mentioned how one of her colleagues has her (the colleague) daughter's name on her ankle (tattooed) and she kind of made fun of it. But also I know that she's quite

I miss my old school so much; the people in it. I miss my old life; with E, K and KK so much. My ex-formteacher said that I can always visit but I don't want to seem too attached or something. The last time I visited was in January I think. So that was pretty recent, I guess. And KK? It's just... I'd finally graduated, he's not my teacher anymore, we could have "adult" conversations and I still feel like he isn't intrested in what I have to say. And I have this HUGE admiration for him which doesn't seem to go away? Ever? So it may actually be better that we aren't having casual conversations so that he can remain on this pedestal for me. And I can forever think of him as this amazing guy.

A few years back we (me, my class, him and some other teachers) went to see a play. After the play we were waiting for the bus, it was cold and dark. He was standing there and I wanted to talk to him so badly, tell him my thoughts and I couldn’t. I would have done anything to tell him my opinion. But it didn’t happen and that picture stuck in my mind forever. My classmates, seemingly talking about some stupid shit, me looking at him, wanting to go up to you and talk  to him so badly and him catching my eyes, when lighting his cigarette.

I still haven't heard back from T's boss which makes me so anxious because I was so fucking excited when the opportunity popped up and then nothing happened? I'm thinking about resending that email in case that got lost? But T also said that his boss is just busy?

I feel like if I wrote down every single thought that is bothering me, I wouldn't sleep? Like at all?

I saw a post that was like "you know that thought that scares the living shit out of you? write about that".

I also just know found out about Benedict Cumberbatch studying autistic individuals before playing Frankenstein's monster? Which is something... Honestly, every time I grow to like a celebrity, they fuck up.

It's 4:29 now, still can't sleep. Even with the E fantasy, it doesn't help.

[thevividgreenmoss]

Like much folk horror, The Wicker Man first appears to be a rural exploitation story in which an urbanite stumbles across a backwater burg where society’s standardized pieties aren’t observed. But it twists into a story about how useful a naive scapegoat—the “fool,” as Howie is positioned by Summerisle—can be in keeping the pitchforks pointed down at the land and never up at the landowner. Whether Lee’s character buys into his folksy, back-to-the-land heresy is irrelevant. For all his rituals and ceremonies, he remains gentry. This is what governs his actions, and what seals Howie’s fiery fate.

In Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019), a group of curious American millennials decamp to a remote Swedish hamlet for a highly Instagrammable solstice festival (think Maypoles, peasant dresses, flower crowns, and all the other summery, Coachella-chic accoutrements). In Wicker Man fashion, their arrival is more auspicious than it initially appears, as they end up embroiled in a conspiratorial pagan plot, unfolding against the ceaseless daylight of the Scandinavian mid-summer. Even before Midsommar, the ideas and imagery of The Wicker Man have sprouted up across the landscape of contemporary horror cinema, tapping into fears about manipulation, xenophobia, urban-rural divides, crowds gone mad, post-truth epistemology, and a lurking sense that personal agency is illusory, with the actions of the individual governed by forces that are (or are presented as being) beyond our ken.

In Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange, Adam Scovell identifies isolation, landscape, skewed morality, and a happening/summoning (often in the form of ritual sacrifice) as the four links in the “folk horror chain.” In Robert Eggers’s The Witch (2015), a family of seventeenth century Puritans banished from their New England village must carve out their place in a hostile, unforgiving landscape. Crops fail, family members disappear, livestock is unsettled, and adolescent girls fall prey to the hysterical throes of puberty. In Eggers’s film, it’s as if nature—that immortal “devil’s playground”—is avenging itself on the colonizers who came to tame it.

...In contrast to horror films that teach us to fear Satanists simply because they are Satanists (Rosemary’s Baby, The Mephisto Waltz, House of the Devil), The Wicker Man and its progeny force us to reckon with the deeper implications of the hooting-and-hollering heretic cabal. Folk horror may be best distinguished not by its mere depiction of Satanists, pagans, witches, buxom nudes wreathed in summer garlands, but by the manner in which they pose threats to our fundamental beliefs. Unlike most horror, in which an interloping monster is either destroyed (in order to purge a threat to an established order) or otherwise incorporated into that order, folk horror operates by implicating the viewer in the dissolution and destruction of that order.

...The first wave of folk horror crested during the waning of a vital counter-culture that had wholesale rejected long-held beliefs about social order, gender, sexuality, and imperialism. If 1968, the year Witchfinder General was released, marks the beginning of the folk horror cycle, it also marks the moment where utopian visions of social revolution were abandoning a politics of collective liberation and ceding to New Age philosophies of personal transformation. The genre’s development maps onto the what Scovell describes as “a backdrop of confident optimism disintegrating impossibly quickly into a nihilistic pessimism.” The films crack open the space between the promise of Paris 1968 and the repression of Kent State 1970, between the dream of Woodstock and the nightmare of Altamont, between The Beatles and Black Sabbath.

Folk horror’s original social context saw the energy animating the 1960s collectivist repudiation of traditional values fizzle and fade into the following decade’s interest in esotericism, astrology, and the occult. Some hippies who suspected that the existing social order could not be willed away with songs about peace and love reasoned that they could at least build their own Buckminster Fuller-style domes and settled into agricultural communes to experiment with pantheistic spiritualties.

...While The Wicker Man’s viewers are not exactly invited to cheer as Howie burns, the merry music and free love of the Summerislanders does seem more fun than the dour abstention of the film’s ostensible protagonist. Teenage daughter Tomasin’s entry into the forest at the end of The Witch is also treated with similar ambiguity. The witches’ coven is both a source of fear for the viewer and freedom for the character, who after accepting the enticing offer of a talking goat—“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”—gets to literally fly away from her overbearing, repressive family.

The overlapping intention here is not mere proselytizing, or preaching the ethical superiority of some alternative, some hippy-dippy, left-liberal, or openly Satanic worldview. Indeed, some read the end of The Wicker Man as a defense of Howie’s beliefs (a reading encouraged by the rictus grinning Summerislanders who gaze upon his burning body, joined together to sing some sinister folk shanty). But finding horror in the space between opposing belief systems, rather than in the content of belief systems themselves, allows these films to appeal both to the permaculture-curious anarchist sporting a “Cops for Crops” back patch and the Christian viewer scared of the Beltane-observing freaks who hate their un-freedom.

A 1998 reappraisal of The Wicker Man in a Scottish broadsheet identified the shifting appeal of a film that, since its release, was regarded as little more than a relatively obscure Brit-film cult classic:

Now, as demonstrated by the enthusiastic remarks of a group of New Age twenty-somethings with Celtic tattoos (that’s Celtic with a hard C, folks) and faces full of ironmongery, The Wicker Man has become keenly appreciated not only by mainstream film buffs and horror hounds but by people who find it a vindication of their own mystical beliefs. It is as though a movie of The Diary of Anne Frank were to become a hit with Nazis, who’d come along to cheer the feel-good ending when the storm troopers haul the Frank family out of the attic.

It’s a sarcastic quip that probably seemed absurd at the time, invoking a comparison so far outside the sphere of consensus that it’s easy to brush off as a harmless joke. But it seems, like so many historical absurdities, considerably less funny now, as white supremacist attacks on synagogues and racially motivated murders regularly dominate the fickle news cycle. The surge of blood-and-soil, volkish fascism in North America makes the counter-cultural embrace of folk horror antagonists seem more deeply uncomfortable, especially when groups like the Soldiers of Odin and the Wolves of Vinland incorporate runic symbols and pagan iconography that seems culled from some hard-bound Compendium of Folk Horror.

In Gods of the Blood: The Pagan Revival and White Separatism, Mattias Gardell argues that during the 1990s, Ariosophic occultism and Norse heathen religions like Asatru overtook Christian Identity as the spiritual dimension of the white supremacist movement. This might seem like a crude projection of the fears of the present onto the films of the past, demanding a revision of that old Mark Twain quote: “To a man with a Hammer film, every nail driven into the palms of a scapegoat looks like brigades of /pol/ cybernazis unleashing Pepes of pestilence to trigger the libs.” But the association between the appeals of paganism and fascism was not lost on The Wicker Man helmer Robin Hardy, who in a 1979 interview was quoted as saying: “It was no accident that Hitler brought back all those pagan feasts at the Nuremberg rallies. The ovens would be lit later.”

Such evaluations may be reasonably deemed a little suspect; like a variation of the internet-favorite Reductio ad Hitlerum fallacy, in which the themes of Hardy’s film gain consequence in their evocation of the world-historic cataclysm of the Holocaust. But they gain a renewed (and again, sinisterly absurd) significance in the present moment, where symbols of paganism and white nationalism are being revived not only in conspicuous tandem, but confused confluence. In place of a more conspicuous swastika, a more obscure runic symbol—a Celtic cross, Thor’s hammer, the German Wolfsangel—will suffice. Once again, the symbols and regalia of the past (be it the imagined distant past of pre-Christian heathenry or the more recent past of the Third Reich) are being revived. We live in an age where, ludicrous as it may seem, certain viewers may well cheer the Nazis hauling Anne Frank out of her annex.

...At its core, folk horror is speculative fiction about the failures of the Age of Enlightenment. In Tentacles Longer than the Night, Eugene Thacker explains how the universal maxims of Enlightenment thinkers are conditional. Kant’s categorical imperative requires one to act “as if” the values dictating their actions are universally valid. In supernatural horror, the conditions of this logic are violated by the appearance of some entity that threatens the anthropocentric view of the world, evoking terror from the knowledge that Enlightenment rationality is bumping up against its limit.

Folk horror, by contrast, inverts rather than negates Enlightenment philosophy: the mob sacrifices the individual, peasant superstitions supplant science and reason as the true source of knowledge, a holistic and animistic conception of the universe overtakes an atomistic and mechanistic one. The genre presents a return of these things that had to be repressed in the transition towards a rational, individualistic, and ultimately capitalist social order: witchcraft, female empowerment, sexuality, and an organismic, earth-based conception of the universe.

Here the idea is not so much that logic and reason have reached some natural limit, but rather that the promises of the Enlightenment are always provisional, subject to revocation following one too many bad harvests. Again, the ideological structure may seem warped and inverted, but it possesses an internal, contingent consistency. The death of Sergeant Howie turns the standard horror trope of sexuality and impropriety leading to death on its ear. Unlike the many slain corpses stacked elsewhere in the horror genre, Howie’s sin is precisely his dopey virginity and piousness.

For all its dabbling with the supernatural, the folk horror genre is ultimately one rooted in materialism. The landscape holds considerable power over its people, but not in a mystical way. Allan Brown argues that The Wicker Man specifically can be read as a sci-fi story about technological failure—without the barren fruit trees caused by the poor performance of Lord Summerisle’s experimental botany, no sacrifice would be needed. If the Enlightenment philosophy that provides the grounds for contemporary liberalism involves a faith in humanity’s ability to transcend material conditions, to behave as if laws were universal and human ingenuity had no natural limits, then The Wicker Man brings us back down to earth, and we are reminded of the material conditions that make modern society possible.

Chained up in the wooden structure, Howie attempts to reason with the Lord:

Your crops failed because your strains failed. Fruit is not meant to be grown on these islands. It’s against nature. Don’t you see that killing me is not going to bring back your apples? . . . Don’t you understand that if your crops fail this year, next year you’re going to have to have another blood sacrifice? And next year, no one less than the king of Summerisle himself will do.

In this moment, Adam Scovell argues, the film is “laying down the law/lore of folk horror; that fear supplanted into communities comes back to haunt those who sowed its first seeds.” Burning to death, Howie calls out to his Christian god; the villagers sing and dance as they offer him up to their pagan lords. The viewer may feel that Howie is right, the apples won’t come next year, but the horror comes from the realization that Summerisle is also right: the sacrifice will be accepted.

Like the detestable vogue in white nationalist movements, which cop their iconography and philosophy from the rubbish heap of some imagined pre-Christian, Aryanist past, the renewal of folk horror (particularly in the American context) speaks to an unsettling truth, festering in contemporary political and cultural life. The return to symbology of Neo-Paganism, or the back-to-the-land return to the supposed “realness” inherent in far-off solstice festivals (an attraction of authenticity alluring the lambs of Midsommar), suggests not so much an antidote to the cult of Enlightenment rationality as its uncanny complement. Think only of Julius Caesar himself, whose grisly imagery of human bodies crammed into a flaming wicker statue was utterly self-serving: casting Gauls and Celts as paranoid pagans in order to justify their slaughter and conquest at the tips of legionnaires’ spearheads.

The horror latent in folk horror, then as now, is not an abject fear of pagans or free-loving hippies or straight-up Satanists. It’s the unsettling knowledge that the people are often all too willing to trade one form of power and subjugation for an aesthetically different manifestation of those same conditions, if only to restore faith in power itself. Even if the crops continue to fail, and the heathens of Summerisle never again taste a locally sourced organic apple, it doesn’t matter: the sacrifice succeeds. Killing Howie need not bring back the damn apples themselves, so long as it restores faith in ritual, mysticism, heathen magick, and the other counter-Enlightenment energies that Lee’s Summerisle, in all his sinisterness and sartorial preposterousness, wields in a perverse seasonal pageant, all undertaken to consolidate his own power: as gentry and patriarch, one Lord substituted for another.

[beneathashadytree]

HI I SAW YOUR REQUESTS WERE OPEN but but basically i’ve has this in my head for a hot minute but basically y/n lives at an orphanage and her parents were villains (now caught ofc) she goes to ua and stuff and she has a powerful quirk ( like elemental or something and she can control weather as well) and when endeavor saw her at the sport festival and told shoto to start talking to her bcs he wants them to have a quirk marrige but then over time he actually starts liking her for her but doesn’t want a quirk marrige but then at kamino ward it gets revealed that her parents are 2 really powerful villains YOU CAN CCHOOSE HOW IT GOES AFTER THAT BUT IM IN LOV E WITH THIS IDEA

CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART (PART 1) - SHOTO TODOROKI X READER

Warnings : one or two cuss words, both Shoto and the reader are 15 until the last part where they are both 23, the last part is slightly suggestive (blink and you'll miss it), reader is female!

Genre : fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Word count : 11.2K words (holy shit)

Synopsis : Sometimes, fate wills it that two similar souls entwine.

Additional notes : God, I wrote so much for this it's insane. Your request was my favorite of all time! Since Tumblr has a paragraph limit, I had to divide this into parts; this is the first part. Thank you so much for requesting, and I'd love to hear your review!

Click here to read part 2

Click here to read part 3

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

For someone who had no proper home to return to, it was nothing short of a let-down once school hours were over and no excuses could hold her off in the facility.

It wasn't an ideal life for someone who aspired to become a pro-hero---as a matter of fact, she thought it was rather laughable how ironic the entire situation of her existence was. Hero-to-be by day, come night she'd be trudging back to the orphanage. How could she save other people when she couldn't even find a better suited place to stay?

Curse the law for restricting her movements before turning 18. She was stuck at the orphanage for as long as it would have her; for as long as she was deemed a minor who couldn't do without a guardian. And in cases like hers, when the lack of parents to take care of her was made apparent, all she could do was patiently wait for the day she'll be able to seek a life other than the one between 4 walls.

But still; at the very least, the current situation was far better than the one she'd started out with---a pathetic child who'd had nothing to her name and not a single person to turn to, stuck in a drab building that barely kept her alive due to severe lack of funding and the fact that, frankly, no one gave a shit about the kids under their care.

It was only when her quirk had manifested (seemingly out of the blue) did she finally have eyes peering at her with curiosity. The little orphan who'd never had much to say was suddenly shocking the negligent adults with her ability to change the weather at will. Though potentially destructive, her quirk hadn't been a loose canon for long, seeing as she'd never lost control that many times, and the affected field wasn't too vast---at best, she could affect the surrounding three blocks.

All of a sudden, all the grown-ups who'd taken turns to ignore her existence for the most part were always pressing in on her, hushed mutterings filling up the room with the cracked ceiling and faded wallpaper. With nothing but a disinterested look on her face and the tapping of her fingers as the hail she'd summoned pelted against the cracked windows, she would sit and watch as they inspected her like a lab rat, unable to complain---and, in all honesty, not wanting to bother to either.

The loud whispers soon developed into almost-cries of shock and surprise, and yet she never questioned it. She never even batted an eye as the glances sent her way turned into glares of scrutiny, blinking up at them with the same tiredness and sloth that she'd always had in regards of other's peering into her life.

In fact, she didn't even pose a single question when she found herself being unceremoniously kicked out of the orphanage at the crack of dawn, having been told that this would become a regular occurence since she was to begin her studies at UA High.

At the mere age of 15 and practically estranged from the only place she could even remotely associate with the word 'home', she was thrust into a world full of heroes fighting villains using so called 'Quirks', when all she'd ever known was the fact that her abilities were what alienated her. And yet, she still didn't pose any questions; not even when she was directly told by the principal (who eerily resembled the mole she'd once befriended in her dorm at the orphanage) that the world's greatest hero, the Symbol of Peace, had been the one to personally recommend her.

All she did was nod and comply, preparing herself with nothing more than a schoolbag and a notebook that was paired with some stationery that looked far too old to even be usable anymore. It was actually quite alarming; the way she didn't seem to care about anything thrown her way, but given the circumstances she'd grown up in, it was no wonder to her caretakers that this was the attitude she'd adopted.

And then, fate willed it that she be in the infamous Class 1-A that housed the brilliant students who seemed to be dousing themselves in trouble on the daily. Wherever they went---even if under the great All Might's watchful eye and Aizawa sensei's stern glare---problems always seemed to follow, and the number of times they'd narrowly escaped the clutches of villains was frightening.

For someone with a Quirk like hers, it wasn't all too difficult to control---that was the case with most elemntal Quirks. Training diligently without a single complaint, her mere presence irked a few certain heros who were hell-bent on proving their superiority over all else. It might not have seemed like she was doing much to irritate them, but proud people like Todoroki and Bakugou were goal-oriented to the bone. Her silence contradicted her booming loud Quirk, the storms that followed the activation more than just mildly conspicuous.

And though Deku was just as (if not even more) determined to best his peers, he had a far more demure nature and found it rather easy to become friends with any person, no matter how stand-offish they seemed. The boy's warmth was infectious, and she wasn't immune to his friendly charm. Bit by bit, she found herself relaxing into easy smiles and casual conversation with him, and, by turn, she found herself integrated in his group after the other 3 (whom she discovered were called Tsui, Ochaco, and Tenya) welcomed her with open arms.

She could see from this position how desperate the freckled boy was to gain the affections of Todoroki and Bakugou, and she found herself particularly intrigued by the situation, wondering how it would end up playing out.

Her thoughts and concerns about that had taken a backseat after the repeated assaults on the school had distracted her from trivialities such as failed friendships. After the League of Villains' attack at the USJ, things had taken a far more sinister turn for her to concern herself with things like that. It became a battle of wits and powers, one that she was dead-set on seeing through. More taxing trainings ate away at her energy, but the fatigue always paid off when a particularly strong storm would bring about what would resemble Kaminari's Quirk being multiplied a hundred times.

***

Young girls didn't typically find themselves in the middle of stadium grounds, seemingly fighting for their lives with nothing but their natural-born abilities to fend off the incoming attacks while lashing at their opponent, but that was the case, seeing as the sports festival was an inevitable event that the school held in high regards. For the first time in quite a while, the fact that it was being held at such a glum time had garnered a reaction from her.

"What are you guys' thoughts on the Sports Festival being held right now?" Iida had asked them over lunch one day, earning thoughtful looks from the group of friends.

"I mean, isn't it only natural?" Tsui had shrugged, "It's practically UA tradition."

The brunette beside her had been frowning, "Well yeah, but these aren't normal circumstances, Tsu."

"But Ochaco, wouldn't that make it more logical for them to carry on with the event?" Izuku had thoughtfully asked through mouthfuls of chicken, "To keep everyone calm, you know?"

"That doesn't make it any less irresponsible of them to go on with it," they'd all turned to the girl who scarcely offered strongly opinionated words, listening intently with looks of understanding on their faces, "It's very likely we'll get infiltrated again, and with all these people gathered in one place it would ensure bloodshed."

With a grimace, the younger Iida had agreed, and they'd all pitched in with a chorus of dejected 'yeah's and 'I guess so's.

And despite her clear stance on the subject, she still found herself in that terrible position days later, suit half-ripped to shreds, hair all frizzy from the extensive electric charges she'd been forcing out, fiercely gritting her teeth as she focused on sending out lightning bolts that aimed only to stun and not to seriously harm. Controlling the charge while also trying to shape the hail descending from her storm cloud into makeshift icicles certainly was far from easy, and the gale she'd created was only just holding up and protecting her from her opponent, a kind red-haired boy from her class who could harden his body---there couldn't have been a worse match up, seeing as he specialized in close combat, while she excelled in long range attacks.

She couldn't find it in her heart to maim him seriously (though she easily could with nothing more than a flick of her finger), and her attempts to regain control of her Quirk every few seconds meant that she'd been far more vulnerable than she would've liked for several moments at a time, enabling Kirishima's jagged skin to slam into her repeatedly as she faltered. She was probably worse for wear than he was, really.

As his fist collided with her stomach when she'd paused her attacks yet again, she found herself teetering off the edge, eyes widening as the soles of her shoes caught on the concrete frame of the arena.

"I can't lose. Not yet," she gasped at the brute force of his punch, groaning out loud as she almost curled into a ball in pain, continuing the thought silently in her head, 'Not when All Might's been pushing to give my life meaning, for some unspoken reason.'

With steely resolve and a hardened gaze, she met Kirishima's stunned expression as he watched her tumble back into the middle arena.

"Sorry," he sheepishly said, before resetting his stance, "No hard feelings, yeah?"

Furrowing her eyebrows, she nodded after a beat of hesitation, "You said it."

Before he could even register the foreshadowing behind her words, she'd slammed him with a wall of sleet slamming into his back from behind, having distracted him enough to the ominous cloud that had formed above him.

His eyes grew comically wide for a second or two as the force of the hit shattered his hardening with a sickening crunch, crimson blood dripping onto the sand under his feet. Taking his vulnerability as a chance, the girl struck him with a small zap of lightning twice, earning an uproar from the crowd that had previously been lightly gasping. The voltage was enough to knock him out without causing any permanent damage, and he slumped backwards, falling onto his heavily bleeding back outside the arena.

Silently bowing in apology to her unconscious classmate, a frown that looked rather sad etched onto her face, she limped out of the arena, her own injuries hindering her. She was far too preoccupied with getting herself to Recovery Girl to hear Present Mic's announcement of her victory amidst the overzealous cheers of the crowd, and far too busy to notice that a certain flame hero had been watching her keenly the entire time, eyes trained on her calculatingly.

***

"Shoto, I have a question for you."

The booming voice had interrupted his walk to the break room, and the boy's irritation towards his father grew.

"What is it?"

Choosing to ignore his son's irate tone, he crossed his arms.

"Who was that girl?" it sounded more like a demand than a question, "The one who beat the boy with the hardening quirk."

"Why are you asking?" something akin to a sneer formed on Shoto's face, as though a putrid smell had reached his nose, "Weren't you the one who told me to never mind any others aside from myself?"

Todoroki Enji stilled, feeling his fury rise in him, and the flames around him flickered. That only fueled Shoto's disgust, and the man forced himself to calm down for the sake of his purpose.

He went on to give a half-assed explanation, "She's extremely powerful. Her quirk handles long distance combat very well, and her range of attacks vary with every move. She can apparently change minor details about her Quirk, like voltage or shape."

"What's it to you, then?" his son asked, his verbal aggression not letting up, even though his expression remained as stoic as ever, "If you want to take her on for the hero agency internships coming up, then I hope you know I couldn't care less."

Locking his jaw as his own temper began to rise, Endeavor's eyebrows furrowed, "I told you I'm taking you on. That's besides the point," he paused, before realizing that it was far too difficult to con his child into thinking it was an innocent question, "Shoto, do you know what Quirk marriages are?"

Without even realizing it, the young hero-in-training had begun to emit steam at the very mention of the term. His anger created stagnant heat waves, and his gritted teeth were anything but a trick of the light.

"Yeah, like the one you forced mother into," his voice dripped venom as he stared at his father with all the hatred his heterochromatic eyes could carry, the intensity of the raw emotion so startling it might've even flustered the redhead.

"Quirk marriages are important, to create better lineage. Look at yourself---"

"Do not," Shoto snapped, "Mention that vile tradition around me. I don't want to hear it."

At that point, his patience had finally worn thin at his son's insolence, and his voice hardened, an almost-threatening aura to his words, "You will talk to that girl, and you will get into a Quirk marriage. That's an order I give, as your father---"

"Fantastic job you've done your entire life, father," his sarcasm as he began to turn away from him didn't slip by Enji, and his fists clenched as they burst into flames at the young boy's rebellion against him.

"How's your mother been, Shoto?"

The words halted him in his tracks, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

With a smirk, knowing that he now had his full attention, Endeavor crossed his arms, "You wouldn't want your rights to visit her revoked, now, would you?"

If looks could kill, then the fifteen year-old would've long buried his father six feet under. A flicker of heat danced across his fist as he glared up at the man with as much despise as he could muster.

"If you still want to see Rei this weekend, you should probably do as I say."

"You're despicable," his son spat out, trembling as he tried to rein in his emotions, whereas his father only began to take his leave.

The man shook his head as his footsteps echoed down the hallway, "It's for your own good, you know."

"I hope you rot in hell," he had growled, trying to snuff out the flames that had escaped his heated palm, but Enji had already left.

His uncharacteristic riling up had all been for naught. His father's word was law, because he always had some sort of insurance.

***

The hours had crept by, and the days the first years had spent at school merged into weeks. The breeze of youth kissed their faces, and much to Shoto's chagrin, he didn't even get to enjoy that in the slightest. How was he to relish in the daily happenings at school and the antics of his new friends when he was far too busy being pushed around and puppeteered like he was no older than a toddler clutched in his father's palm?

It was torturous, and he couldn't find a single positive aspect about the fact he'd been beguiled to accept due to his father's terms. If he'd loathed his father before, then he now wished above all that he'd drop dead before him. He wasn't a particularly malicious guy, but his father's antics, even if he had his best interest in consideration, were far too foul to allow him to harbor any goodwill towards him.

Subconsciously, his disdain began to slip into the conversations he tried to bear with and have with the girl. Once he'd gotten past the point of intrigue caused by her elemental Quirk, he found himself growing more and more hostile towards her internally, and the fact that he couldn't express his anger had him detesting himself even more---because, really; what had the girl ever done to him?

As a matter of fact, if his head had been any clearer, he would've gotten over the initial disgruntlement and realized that she was rather pleasant company. Rarely ever being loud, keeping to herself most of the time, pushing onwards to better herself, and somehow still maintaining a content smile and happy demeanor around her friend group---if he had pondered the idea for a couple more minutes, he would've come to realize that they had far more in common than he'd originally thought.

Perhaps his father had been insightful for once, or perhaps it was sheer dumb luck, but eitherways, she still made her presence sweet and grounding. If anything, she seemed like the perfect match for him, and she seemed to have a semblance of self-preservation, unlike most of his classmates (don't get him wrong; he'd gotten rather fond of them recently, but he'd never be able to handle their rambunctious selves for prolonged periods of time).

The girl herself had probably detected his dislike for her, even though he'd maintained the niceties between them, and often tried to begin small talk with her. Midoriya had integrated him into their odd little group, so it was impossible to evade her. Still, she'd probably picked up on his contempt, seeing as he'd never once seemed to care more than he should've superficially. It was---at best---a forced acquaintance, far off from being a camaraderie.

But then it was lunchtime sometime before their internships were to start, when the talk had shifted to families. Iida was rather unnaturally quiet, and though everyone had noticed, no one dared speak. He didn't seem like the type of guy who'd want to overshare, and Shoto knew, more than anyone, how sensitive that topic in particular was to broach.

"What about you, Tsu? You get along with your folks fine?" Ochaco was leaning her head on her hand, watching her friend nod from across the table.

"Yeah, and they're busy most of the time, so I'm the one in charge of my brother and sister since they're younger," the girl gave a rather sad-sounding ribbit, "I miss them a bunch. I barely get to see them now that we're so busy having study sessions."

"Aww, it's alright, Tsu, you'll see them soon," Deku tried to comfort her, a gentle smile on his face, "We're just a bit cramped now, with tests coming up."

The girl Shoto had been tasked with courting was called for, and she was snapped out of whatever daydream to look at her friends who smiled at her expectantly. He only watched with mild interest mixing in his otherwise-neutral expression.

"And you, what about your family?"

After a moment, she shrugged, "I don't know."

"Rocky relationship?" Iida's voice was tentative and small, to which she only shook her head.

"I don't know because they're not with me anymore."

Her friends blinked for a few seconds, before mass panic spread among them. Even Shoto found himself feeling rather taken aback, and shamefully noted to himself that perhaps they shouldn't have pressed such a touchy subject. He felt something he recognized as admiration piquing for the girl seated in front of him. Someone as privileged as he was couldn't hold a candle against the world who shouldered all her burdens entirely solitary. As he looked on in awe, the table became a jumbled mess of shouted apologies, flaming red cheeks, and flailing limbs, and she could only smile light-heartedly at them.

"It's alright. I've never met them, and I've always lived at the orphanage, so I don't exactly feel sad," she paused for a beat, poking at the peas in her plate, "Is that... is that wrong of me to say?"

"No one's forcing you to speak well on them. They're your family after all."

She seemed mildly shocked at Shoto's decision to speak up, and he'd even surprised himself by doing so. He wasn't exactly fond of her, so what on earth was he attempting to accomplish? Distracting himself from the slight embarrassment, he picked up his chopsticks to finish his cold soba.

Mulling his words over, she nodded, "I suppose you're right. No one can hold me accountable for speaking my mind," she gestured politely at him, "And you, Todoroki?"

With a blank face, Shoto slurped at the noodles, before simply saying.

"I don't like my father."

Izuku interjected at that point, "But isn't your father the flame hero Endeavor? He's so cool!"

Before he could go on a tangent, muttering to himself, Shoto interrupted the freckled boy, "Quirk-wise, yes. As a decent human being, he doesn't even make the cut for half-decent."

He'd heard a chortle at that, and he'd been pleasantly surprised to find her laughing, a hand covering her mouth while the others looked at her as though she'd grown three heads. That was the first time he'd ever heard her laugh, and certainly the first time he'd seen someone who wasn't treading on eggshells around him.

Tenya had cautiously called her name in a quiet voice, but Shoto shook his head, as though to indicate that it was alright. As a matter of fact, it was more than just alright, what with the warmth that had swelled inside his chest and spread throughout his body within the past few minutes.

"Sounds like he's a right piece of work," she said after she'd calmed down.

With the first ounce of genuineness towards her, the youngest Todoroki flashed a half-smile, completely blind to how charming he looked at that moment, and unaware that this moment was certainly about to become an important one he'd remember down the line.

"He's terrible, yeah."

***

The annoyance he'd thought he'd feel upon finding her standing beside him in front of his father's office was non-existent---and he would probably have to owe it to the light-hearted conversations they'd had over the course of the remaining days before the internships. It wasn't at all surprising that his father had pulled such a stunt to pull them together while profiting off her more-than-obvious talents, but he certainly was surprised to find himself rather happy with the arrangement.

His new-found respect for her had him even tolerating patrolling with his father, having her tagging behind the huge man as well.

"The city's so big," she mused, a fascinated expression on her face as she peered around at the glass skyscrapers (a stark contrast between them and the slums and alleyways that snaked throughout the city), a change from the usual nonchalance she displayed on her features, "It's a bit overwhelming actually."

He turned to her before asking earnestly, "You want to take a break? We can stop for a bit."

Her hesitance was apparent as she didn't meet his eyes, unlike how she usually maintained eye-contact without a second thought, "But Endeavor---"

"Trust me, I don't think he'd mind if we're alone," he muttered under his breath, a hint of bitterness in his words, but she couldn't pick up on his low voice, so before she could ask him to repeat himself, he went on, "It's alright. He's a busy man, he probably won't notice. We can take care of ourselves well enough."

After a split-second, she nodded in agreement, following him as he escorted her through brightly-lit park gates. Their feet kicked up some pebbles and gravel from the stone path, the sound of their footsteps oddly comforting in the fairly-secluded park. It was far quieter inside, seeing as it saw less visitors during the nighttime, and Shoto found an odd warmth creeping up his neck at the sudden realization that they were the only two people in the vicinity. He became hyperaware of her close proximity, but couldn't find it in himself to bacm off.

"Shoto," she called him in her soft voice, and he hummed to indicate that he was listening, "I wonder how much I missed out on."

"I told you it's fine, he won't mind us getting away---"

"I'm not talking about that," she interrupted, clasping her hands as she looked onwards, while his gaze still trained on her face basked in the moonlight, "I meant during my childhood. Till now even."

Shoto was quiet, not quite knowing what to say in fear of it being the wrong thing. Still, he knew she valued it when people were straightforward and spoke their mind without holding back.

"You weren't allowed to leave?" he asked with his furrowed brows.

Shaking her head, she explained, "Most places nowadays with the new laws and regulations implore having a guardian present for minors. They say it's for crime prevention."

"Then why didn't the workers at the orphanage take you guys out on day-trips?"

"No funds," she simply replied, "That, and they were too busy to care for trivial things like arcades and theme parks."

This didn't sit right with Shoto at all. He wasn't exactly the prime example of someone who'd had a wonderful childhood filled with happy memories, but at the very least, once he was old enough to wrench himself out of his father's grip, he was able to slowly discover parts of the city on his own. She, on the other hand, could not even do that for at least another 3 years.

He found an anger rising in his chest, the very thought of her enduring more neglection until she was to turn 18 bothering him more than he should've. He wanted nothing more than to promise that he'd show her more of the city with his dad's money (not that Enji would ever notice or care; the surplus of cash was rather boring actually) and teach her the things he himself didn't know until recently.

Opening his mouth so he could speak his mind, he was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket, and her did too at the exact same instant.

"Sorry," he murmured with cheeks that warmed up as he realized what he'd just been about to say, busying himself with reading the incoming text he'd received.

His reaction was instantaneous, and she could sense the shift in his demeanor as soon as he'd finished reading. The scowl on his face was darker than she'd ever seen on him, and her own expression mirrored his when he looked up.

Tucking his phone in his pocket again, he gave a quick bow in apology, before beginning to turn on his tracks, "I'm gonna have to go and check it out myself."

"You think they're in trouble too, huh?"

He nodded his head, the night-time shadows enveloping his face and making his expression seem even graver as he halted in his steps, "Midoriya wouldn't send us his location on the groupchat of all things if it wasn't serious."

Instantly, her posture stiffened, an determined look in her gleaming eyes, "Tell me what I can do to help."

"Get to the school facility as fast as you can and call for back up. Share the location with them," he breathed out, the adrenaline causing his muscles to ache, "I'll be back," he repeated once again.

Nodding at him with a sense of finality, they both ran out of the park entrance that had seemed so welcoming before, now looking quite formidable---and then they split ways, the unspoken words from before still lingering on the tips of their tongues as they pushed the thoughts aside for the moment.

Click here to read part 2

Taglist: @thispersoniscrazy @wifeofkyojuro @the-foreigner

[sabrina-central]

What’s your opinion on Chloe and her friendship with Sabrina?

Let me put the Tl;Dr before the hour long rant this time - my opinion has layers to it but "it's complicated" is a fitting tagline for it.

The way their relationship is right now is downright abusive and played for laughs and dragging Chloe's character through the mud. Thanks, I hate it!

The way it was during the Queen Bee arc was a little more nuanced and gave me some semblance of hope that perhaps as Chloe gets better, so does her relationship with Sabrina. There were hints of this but ultimately, they ended up going nowhere. Disappointed but not surprised.

Season 1 Chloe and Sabrina... Oh boi, this is gonna be a lot. So, let's talk about text vs subtext. Sometimes, when a show writes blatantly overt dialogues and character interactions trying to get audiences to see things a certain way, it will lead them to ignore the smaller details that paint a different picture. Now obviously, even the most toxic of relationships are complex and have their ups as much as they have downs. After all, the relationship had to start somehow. (And for the record, my definition for a relationship is a situation where the two or more people in question both agree that there is an existing relationship between them that they are willingly in. Since we have not been told otherwise so far, we can assume that at some point in the past, Chloe and Sabrina decided to become friends. that is entering a relationship freely and mutually). But still, the way the early episodes portray Chloe and Sabrina is somewhat vauge. Sabrina seems convinced that Chloe truly appreciates her despite both her actions and words in public seemingly not adding up with this idea, leading us to believe that she's just so devoted to her friend that she's practically delusional, right? But then, we get to Antibug, and we see how they act and play when no one is around for Chloe to impress or intimidate. We see a genuine, happy smile on Chloe's face for what is possibly the first time in the show. So, is she keeping up an act to convince Sabrina? Unlikely, that's hardly consistent with any of her characterization before or after this point in the show. So if we are to believe this is genuine, than Chloe must like Sabrina on some level. She probably enjoys her company and values her friendship more than she herself even realizes, and definitely more than she'll ever say out loud.

So the result is a toxicly codependent relationship where one side is overly affectionate and permissive, to the point of never asserting even the most basic boundaries of dignity and civility that are owed to them as a human, let alone a friend, and allowing the other's behaviour to go unchecked due to this, and the other side can't be honest about their emotions due to a fear of vulnerability, and in a misguided attempt to defend against said vulnerability, they bury their own friendship under the act of a master and servant relationship, until the act becomes the reality of the relationship and the genuine friendship that was once there is entirely lost to both sides.

The worst part about this whole thing, is that it had the potential to open a discussion about something really meaningful, and the show almost fully went there, but then they decided they weren't done with their Sabrina being a doormat jokes so they had to keep that dynamic in tact and as a result, it only got worse. As instead of treating it like a character arc and giving Chloe and Sabrina development, they treated it like comic relief and applied the rule of escalation instead. 😑

Now as for Chloe herself, God that's also complicated. Early Chloe was a one note stereotypical shallow rich blonde mean girl cliché... And there was nothing wrong with that! I don't have a problem with this Chloe, I think she serves her purpose well and adds fun slice of life conflict as well as directly moves the monster of the week plot along by being the cause of 80% of Akumas during the early episodes. (Note that I said 'in the early episodes' because in the show as a whole the numbers are different. Just saying before anybody comes for me).

When we started digging into Chloe's backstory my reaction wasn't "FINALLY!" But a much more reserved, casual "really? Okay, let's see where this goes..." And for a while, I really liked where it seemed we were headed. We were given a great backstory, the start of Chloe learning from her mistakes, finally, and eventually Queen Bee happened and she started caring for others, taking responsibility for her actions, showing understanding of others and self awareness, and acting truly heroic rather than using the miraculous to seek attention! ... and then she was condemned for being manipulated at her lowest point emotionally by a supervillain into joining him.

And they made her look the absolute worst for it, too. Once she gets the bee miraculous back, she immediately silences Pollen, doesn't even try to tell Hawkmoth to de evilize her parents, the reason she wanted so badly for Ladybug to let her help in the first place, before transforming and allowing herself to be akumatized, and her big plan is to reveal all the other heroes identities which, they make such a big deal of and you assume that the next season will deal with the consequences of this but, nope! Apparently even tho Hawkmoth knows all their identities, something Marinette insists is very bad and if it ever happens a different holder must be chosen, she just let's everyone but Queen Bee keep their miraculouses.

You know what else they don't explore at all? Chloe leaving Paris with her mom and moving to New York. Because remember, she literally said she was gonna do that at the end of Miracle Queen. And if what they really wanted was a damnation arc like Astruc keeps insisting, letting Chloe leave for New York would have been the best way to do that! It wouldn't have even had to be for forever, either. If I recall correctly, the NY special (which I don't wanna get into about my feelings on that so I'm saying in advance, please don't ask) happened after miracle queen and before season 4. (I'm not talking about the in universe timeline, we all know what a mess that whole thing is, I mean in our reality). So imagine the NY special where Sabrina is all on her own for the first time since she can even remember, and she's starting to find herself and finds this guy who's cute and treats her nice, and then the class run into Chloe, and she's so smug and vicious, she's truly worse than ever. And Sabrina has to contend with the fact that the Chloe she once knew and loved is gone for good. Maybe they'd have a small scene dedicated to Sabrina realizing this, maybe she confronts Chloe, maybe not.

And then after the NY special, since I know there's no convincing Astruc to not introduce Zoe, you can have her be the reason Chloe is back in Paris as well. "Your embarrassing half sister just made a fool of herself in her school, so we need to get her out of here before anybody realizes we're related. I'm trusting you to watch her in Paris, so she doesn't make us look utterly ridiculous again. Can you do that, Chloe?" "Of course! I'm exceptional, after all! I'm going to transform that loser into a true bourgeois!"

But instead, what we got was the beginnings of a lot of good ideas that either fell through, were reduced into running gags, or just entirely dropped altogether.

G R E A T .

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XXXII

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his fingers gliding through the strings of (Y/N)'s violin. He opened his eyes, putting the antique Guarneri ( that made Dante even more broke than ever before ) under his left jaw, and tuned it for a few minutes, carefully turning the fragile pegs and gliding the bow against the four strings.

And when he finally finished tuning the violin, he started playing Paganini's most popular Caprice.

However, four notes in and someone was already interrupting him. He heard someone knocking impatiently on the door.

V sighed, carefully placing the violin back to its case, and went towards the door to answer whoever it was. It really wasn't the right time for him to have any visitors, since Nico was away, and no one would be able to entertain them or tend to their needs other than him, and Griffon and Shadow were definitely not an option for that.

But, what if it is her,...?

With a slight ray of hope that the visitor might really be (Y/N), herself, he opened the door, expecting to see her lovely face, wanting to embrace her and welcome her back,...

"Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire, (Y/N)! Joyeux anniversa - !"

"Petya!" A tall and haughty woman whispered as she nudged the shorter man next to her who was singing that French song.

The man, who was startled to see V, scratched his head and turned to the people behind him. "Is this the right place?"

"I'm sure of it." A dark haired young woman, who was browsing through a manual of some sort, answered.

"Maybe she moved a long time ago?" A bearded man, who was as tall as the lady who nudged the other guy, next to her answered.

"Who are these people, V?" Griffon, who joined the poet on the doorway to see who the visitors were, asked.

"I,... have an idea,..." V admitted as he glanced one more time at the guests: the tall woman, the short man ( apparently his name was Petya ) who was singing, the dark haired young woman behind them, the bearded man next to her, and an old nun at the back.

There is no doubt about it. They were,...

"No, this is the right place." The nun told them, making them turn to her. "I'm sure of it." She said, then glanced at V. "I believe you know our friend, (Y/N)?"

"Yes." V answered. Not really wanting to keep them standing outside, anyway, he made way for them and invited them in, and a few minutes later, all of them were seated on the sofa, awkwardly waiting for anyone to speak as they fumbled on the things each of them were carrying.

Presents? And,... groceries?

"Umm, sir," 

"You can call me V."

"Mr. V," the young woman said. " ... where is (Y/N)?"

V felt his heart stop for a moment. Of course, they would go looking for her. He just didn't expect it to happen this soon. And how would he answer them? That she left because he hurt her?

"She's,... not here,... as of the moment." V struggled with his answer as he tried not to look directly into the young woman's eyes.

However, the nun sensed all of this despite the poet hiding his emotions and intentions too well. She knew him from her stories, after all.

And she knew, sensed, that something was definitely wrong.

"May we know when she'll be back?" The young woman prodded on.

Oh, no,... "I,... do not know." And it was the truth.

The tall lady, who was sitting next to Petya, gave the poet a strange look from head to foot, seemingly in appraisal of him, and raised an eyebrow.

White haired man,...

... who plays the violin,...

Then, like a landslide, everything went back to Natasha. Her eyes darting from the violin on the table then to V, she spoke.

"Ты тот мужчина из-за кого она так больно плакала!"

V didn't understand a single word she said but, it made Petya's eyes widen nervously.

"Natasha!" Petya whispered hysterically to his wife as the other guests glanced at them in both suspicion and concern.

Petya looking like that at the woman, she definitely said something not good about me. V thought as Petya looked back at him with a sheepish smile.

"Ah, w - what she said is that s - she knew you from (Y/N)'s stories." Petya stuttered, only making V more suspicious. Then, he looked back at the haughty woman. "Natasha, please,..."

"Это не шутки, Петя! Никакой мужчина не должен вызывать у никакой женщины плач!"

"What's going on?" The young woman asked, clearly confused as to what Natasha was saying.

"Natasha, dear, I think it's better if we treat our host with the utmost respect." The nun spoke, trying to break the tense atmosphere between the sharp - tongued woman and V. Petya translated for her, and upon hearing the nun's intention, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she calmed herself.

Exhaling and giving V one last look of disdain, she stood up and went towards the window. "Мне нужен свежий боздух."

The bearded man next to the young woman watched Natasha as she isolated herself from the group and wondered what set her off. There must be something that the couple knew that they didn't.

But, what was it? And why was Natasha so upset, if not mad, about it?

The man, then, turned to V, who was leaning against the wall next to a strange - looking bald and lanky boy, and spoke, "You said that you don't know when she'll be back. Where did she go, exactly?"

"Okay, Mr. Foreign Hippie, that's enough questions for today." Griffon interrupted, holding out a hand in front of V to keep the poet from making things worse. "Why did you come here, anyway?"

"We might have forgotten the actual date but, I think it's her birthday today." The young woman answered with a smile. "And we really wanted to surprise her."

She really has grown,...

"My name is Alicia. I'm a college student from Spain." She introduced herself. Then, turning to her companions, she graciously gestured and introduced them, as well. "This is Mr. Petya."

"Bonjour!" The jolly Frenchman greeted.

"He's the owner of Roses And Vodka in France. And that's Ms. Natasha - "

"Solagne." The stubborn woman, who was still staring out of the window, corrected, enunciating the syllables in a low and clear voice.

"Solagne. Ms. Solagne." Alicia repeated cautiously. "Singer from Roses And Vodka, and Mr. Petya's wife."

"You can call me Sister Christina." The nun introduced herself. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

"Likewise." The poet, who was still feeling tensed and uncomfortable, answered.

"And this is Cagliostro!" Alicia tapped the bearded man's shoulder as she introduced him with a proud smile. "He's a popular artist from Italy."

But, of course, none of them had to introduce themselves in the first place. He has seen them all through (Y/N)'s memories.

And he knew that they would hate him thoroughly when they find out,...

Alicia clapped her hands, getting the attention of everyone. "Okay! So, why don't we liven things up by preparing dinner for everyone? I hope you don't mind us using the kitchen, Mr. V."

"Wait a second here! We - " Griffon began but he was cut off as Alicia went on with her pep talk.

"Mr. Petya, you can do the drinks, right?"

"Naturally!" Petya proudly declared as he took out a bottle of Vodka from his huge shopping bag. "I didn't come all the way from France unprepared."

"And Sister Christina, you can help me with meals, right? I mean, if it's not too much for you."

"Of course,..." The nun answered, still a bit hesitant, as she glanced at V's direction.

"And Cagliostro, you do the - "

"I can do anything for dear (Y/N)." The Italian interjected. It seemed that he was just as nervous as V was. And who could really blame him? "I just wanted to know where she is and when she'll be back."

"She will be back, I know!" Alicia exclaimed, not letting anyone, or anything, suck out the optimism in her. "I mean, she always keeps her promises."

"But, didn't she stop seeing us a year ago? If she really wanted to see us, then - "

"I know. I only want us to meet again and - "

"I'm afraid to say that,"

All of the guests, even Natasha, turned towards V when he suddenly spoke, looking at them with a strange expression on his face as he leaned on his metal cane.

" ... your efforts,... would only be wasted."

There was a momentary silence between them after hearing those words that seemed to have fallen right before them like a bomb, and when V didn't make any move to take back what he said or simply wave it off as a crude and tasteless joke, Alicia stepped forward and tried to break through the tense atmosphere.

"I know I made a mistake back then when I pushed her away but," she began, feeling her eyes already beginning to burn. " ... I want to make up for it! I want to apologize for what I did. I want to fix everything between us!" She took a sharp breath as the tears finally poured out of her eyes. "Please, allow us to do this for her, Mr. V."

V stepped closer and regarded her coldly, hoping for her to just give up, drop everything, and leave. He felt really rude for doing so but, he really had no other choice. Their efforts,... would truly be wasted.

"You don't understand,... anything." V told her, his voice not faltering, his resolve as hard as stone. "Please, do not make this any harder for all of us."

"If we don't understand anything, then why won't you explain everything?!" Cagliostro, now losing his temper with the unknown, mysterious man, retorted.

"Okay, people! Let's not make this complicated, please?" Petya butted in just in time before Cagliostro could do anything. He turned to V and spoke, "Could you, please, just tell us when she'll be back? Then, we'll be on our way, I promise."

"Didn't ya understand what Shakespeare just said?!" Griffon, now truly annoyed with all the visitors, yelled. "She's gone! Bam! And we don't know when she'll be back!"

After hearing the familiar's words, Cagliostro looked like he was just hit by someone really hard, Petya and Alicia both looked shocked and worried, and Natasha, who honestly did not understand any word that has been exchanged but could understand the situation, anyway, only gave them a sideways glance.

"What do you mean by that?" Petya asked, still unable to believe those words. "I mean, she can't be - "

"She can't be dead, right?!" Alicia questioned as she went closer to V, wanting to grab the man by the collar and shake him.

The poet looked down at her and stood his ground. "She's not,... dead. I assure you."

"What did you do to her?" Everyone, including Natasha, herself, turned towards the painter as he dangerously went closer towards V, making Griffon and Petya come forward to grab each man should a fight start between them. "TELL ME! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

And V? He just didn't see any more reason to keep the truth from them any longer.

With a deep sigh and a tilt of the head as he tried to keep himself calm, he said, "I hurt her."

Sister Christina turned away, feeling hurt at what V just told them. She knew all of (Y/N)'s sacrifices for ten years just to find him. She witnessed her efforts, and saw her deep longing.

And to hear that painful truth from the man she loved,...

She really felt that this visit was a huge mistake.

Before anyone could stop him, Cagliostro tackled V and grabbed him by the collar. Despite Griffon, Petya, and Alicia's efforts to stop him and break them free, the painter just couldn't be stopped. V did not even do anything, nor lift a single finger, to stop the man from assaulting him.

He deserved it, anyway. And more.

"TU!" Cagliostro screamed at V's face. "Come ti permetti di mostrare la tua faccia qui dopo quello che le hai fatto?! Vuoi sapere che e successo?! E sparita?! Per causa tua, perché l'hai ferita, a tal punto che ha deciso di andarsene, e Dio solo sa dov'è ora! Ho voglia di tirarti un pugno, ho davvero tanta voglia di picchiarti, ma non meriti nemmeno un dito!" He let go of the poet's now ripped collar, pushing him as he did so. 

However, Cagliostro was far from done with him.

Trembling and pointing angrily at him as tears started pouring out, he said, "Perché mi comporto così? Perché lei ti ama, ma allo stesso tempo io amo lei e persino sapendo che questo mi fa male ho voluto che lei fosse felice con te, ma ora lei e sparita! Per colpa tua!"

Before the hurt and angry painter could utter any more words, a hand forcefully went down his shoulder and actually turned him around. It was the Russian singer, herself.

"Хватит, голубчик." Natasha told him. Seeing that Cagliostro was utterly confused of what she just said, she spoke once more in broken English, "That is enough!"

Cagliostro's eyes widened as he shook her hand off his shoulder, making Petya angrily scream something incomprehensible at him as he automatically went to his wife's side. "Zitto!" He screamed at the woman. "Tu non sei nemmeno in grado di capire come si sente lei adesso, perché te pensi solo a te stesso!"

Natasha, who only rolled her eyes at the painter's display of awful temper, muttered something under her breath and faced V. "Правду говоря," She began. "ты заслужил всё, что случилось. Теперь тебе надо столкнуться с последствиями того что ты наделал. Давай, Петя, пойдём." She turned to Petya and gestured at their belongings on the floor. "This is,... a waste of my time. Let's go, Petya."

And with a haughty toss of her regal head, Natasha finally left the unit, followed by her husband Petya, who only gave them an apologetic look. Cagliostro, who finally calmed down, but was still mad at V for what happened to (Y/N), followed a few moments later, dragging along the shopping bags but leaving behind his still wrapped present for her.

Which left only Alicia and Sister Christina behind.

"So," Griffon began a few awkward seconds later. " ... if ya wanna say somethin' else, then do it now."

"That is not our intention." The nun retorted as she regarded the familiar with pity. "We only came for our precious friend. And we apologize for what happened."

"Don't." V told her as he shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for. You didn't do,... anything wrong."

With a crestfallen heart, Alicia took her present from the table and gave it to V. The confused poet looked at it, then spoke, "You don't understand. I - "

"Open it, Mr. V." Alicia requested as she took a deep breath and braced herself. "Please."

Feeling wretched for hurting (Y/N)'s friends and for being callous and cold with their feelings, he obliged, unwrapping the gift and revealing what's inside the box.

And with a heavy and aching heart, he took out the embroidery and realized what it was.

It was what Alicia's mother was doing before her death.

And now, he could finally see the painstakingly embroidered words, etched with care and love.

"El amor es paciente, el amor es amable. No envidia, no alardea, no es orgulloso. No deshonra a otros, no es egoísta, no se enfurece con facilidad, no guarda registro de errores pasados. El amor no se deleita con el mal, al contrario, se alegra con la verdad."

"Love is patient, love is kind." Sister Christina translated for V. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self - seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Truly,... a magnificent verse."

"This," V stuttered, looking at the women as his eyes started to burn with the tears he has been holding for what seemed like weeks. " ... is the most beautiful poem,... I've ever heard."

"It is." Sister Christina replied. "It has brought the strongest of men down to their knees, and made the proudest of women weep. It is the most powerful poem in existence, and yet, its meaning is easily forgotten by many."

"I finished it, since my mother wasn't able to do it." Alicia confessed. "She died,... just before completing it. And I still have regrets of pushing (Y/N) away that day. I just,... couldn't accept the things that happened to my family, and I made the mistake of taking it out on her. I want to say sorry. I want to see her again! She's,... the sweetest friend I have, and I pushed her away." She looked up at V, then went on, "Mr. V, I know you feel the same way. And I know that you'll be able to atone for your own sins and find her. And when you do, will you, please, give this to her?"

V glanced at the work of art on his hand, then to the precious friend who made it. He nodded and clutched the thing close to his heart. "I will. I promise. I just don't know if,... she'll ever forgive me for what I have done."

"She will." The nun gently told him as she placed a hand on his in an effort to comfort him. "It's what true love means. Forgiving one another and making a fresh start, learning from the mistakes of the past and looking forward to a brand new future."

"I'm afraid." V admitted, confessing to the nun and letting out all his fears. "What if I hurt her again? I don't want,... to hurt her anymore."

"You won't, Mr. V." Alicia answered. "I believe in you."

"And you must learn to forgive yourself." The nun added. "It is never too late to try again after failing for the first time."

"But, I don't even know how to find her. It was like,... she's disappeared off the face of the planet,... and - "

The nun tightened her grip on V's hands as she looked at him more closely. "You're wrong about that, dear. Think as if you're her. Where would you go if you needed someone to talk to? If you needed a reliable shoulder to lean on?"

"But, she's not with Dante, or - "

The poet stopped talking as some idea formed in his mind.

Could it be,... ?

"Hey, ah, V, you okay?" Griffon asked as he waved a hand before the poet's face.

"Why, yes." V answered. "I'm perfectly well. In fact,..."

Sister Christina smiled as she saw how the realization finally hit V. She let go of his hands and took her own present from her shoulder bag. And unlike Alicia's, or Cagliostro's, or the couple's, Sister Christina's was unwrapped.

It was a pink hoodie that she made, herself.

She carefully handed it to V and let the poet's hands feel the warmth and softness of the material.

"And I trust you will give my present, as well."

V looked up from the gifts and faced the women who gave him hope. Who made him realize how wrong he was of everything.

Who gave him an idea where (Y/N) could be.

"I don't know how to thank you." He told them with much unbridled emotion in his hoarse voice.

The women smiled at him.

"You don't have to." Alicia told him. "Just find her and let us know when you do."

"By then," Sister Christina added. "We could finally have a proper birthday celebration for her. And we'd invite everyone!"

And with final words of encouragement, the women finally left, leaving behind a ray of hope that enlightened V's heart and gave him enough motivation to give it one last shot of finding (Y/N).

***

🖤 A special thanks to @vergils-daughter for the Russian translations, to @beyond-the-mirror for Spanish, and to Daarxen for Italian. 🖤

Let's do this again, shall we? 🖤🖤🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @lessy86 , @gothghoulfrend , @ceruleanworld , @ehrzeth , @diabeticsugarush , @heaven-on-a-landslide , @shadowrosess , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

"She's in France right now! She hasn't left that place since the citywide evacuation."

"Where exactly in France,... if this fool may ask?"

"Uhh,... hold yer panties,... Ah! Corsair Island, I think?"

" ... Corsair?"

"Wait, that's not the one. Oh! I know! Corsica! Corsica Island!"

"I see."

"Why did ya ask?"

"No particular reason."

"O,... kay? Well, gotta go! Kyrie's callin' me for dinner."

"Thank you,... for everything, Nico."

"Nah, don't mention it."

"And one more thing."

"What?"

"Could you,... take care of this unit while I'm gone?"

"Gotcha! Wait,... WHAT?! Hey, man - !"

V hung the phone and glanced at his familiars.

What Cassandra has shown him, it was real! Him going to Fortuna and giving the Yamato back to Nero,....

Because of it, he received the plane ticket to Corsica Island from Kyrie! And that's where they were! And nobody even guessed it! (Y/N)'s there, all along!

"Are ya sure of this, V?" Griffon asked him. "Are ya sure ya wanna do this alone? I mean, you could be there in the blink of an eye with Andromeda's help,..."

"I know." V answered. "But, I don't want to use any kind if power to reach her. I want to do it,... with my own effort."

"Okay! Whatever ya say, Shakespeare."

Shadow, who was still clutching at her Elmo plushie, went forward and threw herself at V like a child who doesn't want her father to leave.

V hugged her and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I'll bring her back, I promise."

I,... promise,...

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Makeover fic. This is for my love @amethyst1993

---

Part 3

“If your name is Kenneth, then why do these bills on your table say Trent?” Ken lifted the long white envelope from his glass tabletop and he came closer to look at the name from over her shoulder before falling back.

“Sometimes I go by Trent. Sometimes I go by Kenneth. Depends how I’m feeling.”

“That's weird.” Ken dropped the envelope calling bullshit in her mind. Why he'd lie about his name was beyond her. She watched him remove his jacket draping it over the couch. He loosened his tie before sliding it off his neck and laying it over his jacket. He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and her hand rose when his shirt hung completely open. He'd already begun taking it off.

“Pause. I'm not having sex with you in the open out here like this.. and what about atmosphere? No candles? Flowers? Music? You're not gonna set the mood?”

“If you ain't in the mood by now baby.. all with all that wine you drank?” He pulled his shirt off and laid it over his tie. “Okay what's up. You were just with it in the restaurant. Did something happen? You must be thinking about your friend. He got in your head.”

“It's what I said it was. Learn to listen. You need to woo me or something, don't just take your clothes off like that's it..” Ken dropped on the couch confused and going back and forth in her mind. On the one hand she wanted to have sex and she was ready to do it asap. On the other hand, this was not what she imagined when she fantasized about the magical moment. There was nothing romantic about this setup. This was ghetto quickie sex and he hadn't even laid down a towel. The red stain on the carpet was all she could think about. As horny as she was, she knew she couldn't go through with it. She'd regret it.  

“You want atmosphere?” Kenneth left the living room heading to a back room. He came back with incense and a burner along with some tea candles and lit them on a table. “Lil mama wants atmosphere, she'll get atmosphere.” When the candles were all lit, he swooped onto the floor to stare into her eyes and remove her heels, sliding his hands up her calves and under her dress to her thighs. Maybe, it might be okay, she told herself appreciating his new approach. This was something closer to what she'd imagined. He slid his hands over her thighs, gripping her panties and a small movement caused her to look up, catching one of the doors as it closed.

“Who's here,” she asked pushing his hands off of her and sitting up. Her eyes were still focused on the door and Kenneth rubbed his face in annoyance, his elbow rested on his knee as though she'd ruined the mood but she ain't care. She wanted to know what was going on. Standing, she walked back and tried the knob. It wouldn't open which made her more suspicious.

“Nope. I'm out,” she said grabbing her bag. Kenneth pulled it gently, holding a hand up to stop her. She waited, watching his back as he walked casually to the locked bedroom door and knocked.

“It's me. Open the door,” Kenneth called. It opened and Ken's jaw nearly dropped.

“Damn. You done already,” the man joked. When Ken saw both of them side by side she could hardly tell them apart. Twins.

“Nigga I thought you had it,” the twin said looking over at you. “You asked me not to come in yet.” Kenneth sighed, irritated, and Ken’s eyes widened. For a long moment she was lost for words, blinking rapidly in attempt to process what might’ve been happening. They were identical TWINS. “Just chill.. Let me talk to her.”

Turning back to a confused Ken, the twin licked his lips, slipping his hands into his pockets. The name on the bill suddenly made sense. Trent. “Here’s the situation.. I'm the one who asked you on a date, but you went out with him.” He pointed to Kenneth who poses with his hand on his chin rubbing his bit of facial hair. Finding her voice, Ken looked closely between the two of them.

“I’m confused. You asked me out,” she pointed to Trent and he nodded patiently waiting for it to sink in while her finger moved to Kenneth. “But you went out with me, why?”

“You asked me out first at the mall but.. I kinda fumbled that so this was my time to redeem myself.” Kenneth stared at Ken and she blinked back silently, still confused by the trickery and tactics. It was a lot to process. She asked Kenneth out. He thought she ugly and turned her down. Trent got at her on campus.. “So when you approached me,” she pointed at Trent, did you already know who I was?”

“I just thought you looked good but then you said I turned you down and,” he chuckled “I knew for a fact I ain't turn down shit. That's what told me who you were because my brother told me that story.”

Kenneth smirked and it irritated Ken though she didn't show it. It felt like they'd talked mad shit about her and then turned around and hit on her like they hadn't. Then they'd traded her off back and forth like she was an object and she didn't like that either. Regardless of how interesting Kenneth had been on the date, there was still a strong superficiality and sheistiness in him that she felt had no room for accepting her in her rawest form.. or at all. She was conflicted because despite all of that logic, they were both fine and she was still horny with years of pent up sexual frustration to loose and a whole night to do it. She looked to Trent. He looked to Kenneth and they exchanged a conversational glance that spoke volumes that Ken couldn’t interpret.

“Have a seat on the couch,” Trent waved kissing his teeth when she chose to stand. “C'mon. Just sit down and I’ll finish explaining.” He and Kenneth waited until Ken rolled her eyes and sighed, sitting on the middle cushion of their black couch, then Trent drew closer. “I need to tell you something about me and my brother over there.” Squatting so that he was eye-level, he stared into Ken’s eyes like a predator and she could feel her inner muscles twitch. He looked her over, up and down with a blink before continuing. “My brother and I are very.. competitive. If I see something I want, he wants it too. When I see him get something, I can’t help myself. I’ve gotta get my hands on it. He get it? I need to taste it. You feel where I’m going with this? This competition we got together isn’t about you, but you’re the pretty little toy we wanna play with… together.”

“I think I can eat it better. My tongue more flexible,” Kenneth shifted, crossing his arms. Trent scoffed, keeping his eyes on Ken. Her hormones were in overdrive but so was her confusion. She had to be honest with herself. Although she was pressed for a sexual release and she craved the experience, this was not it.. at all. She felt uncomfortable and ready to leave. When she pictured her first time, she imagined herself in love, safe, and happy. This wasn’t it at all, plus they were liars. It definitely wasn’t the move. When her phone rang, she rushed to answer it without looking at the name, standing from the couch and walking to stand in a corner a few feet away to get some space.

“Hello,” she said a little too eagerly. She was still nervous and wired from her predicament.

“Where you at? Where y'all go?” It was Erik and he sounded like a concerned older brother. She could hear the annoyance of his date in the background as the woman told him to ‘just leave the girl alone and let her enjoy her date.’ Ken respected her for that. Erik obviously wasn’t listening. “Just tell me where you at for safety reasons. You a young lady now, you can’t just disappear with a nigga without letting someone know your location.”

“I was a young lady before, bro, and y'all did not care, not one iota where I went and with who. Nope, you sure didn’t.” She found it humorous how suddenly everyone was worried about her sex life. Suddenly it was a thing to be policed and it mattered. Where were they when she couldn’t get a man to look in her direction on her best day? She’d talk about sex before and they’d laugh like it was cool since she was the homie, an honorary nigga. “I’m with Kenneth and his brother Trent over in Cambridge,” she finally said. “Pacific Street. They’re twins and we’re thinking of having a lit threesome right now. My first time and I get to be the connector for two chords, don’t ruin this for me!” Honestly, she just wanted to get under his skin since he was suddenly so concerned.

“Kendra, I’m trying to be patient but you’re trying the hell outta me right now moving so fast.”

“Erik, with all due respect, you my nigga and I fuck with you.. but you’re not my dad.”

“Oh, I’m your dad! I created this beast I’m on the phone with right now. I created a damn monster.” His date told him to chill.

“Erik! I want to have sex, okay? I want to!” That was true. It wouldn’t be with the twins, but she still wanted the experience.. on her own terms. “As a matter of fact, speaking of dads? I might make Trent and Kenneth my daddies for the night if everything goes well.” She felt a slap on her behind and flinched. It was the first time for that happening.. and also the last ‘first’ she planned to have in that house at the hands of the twins. She didn’t want to hang up and face them, but she had to. She hung up the phone in Erik’s ear before turning to the twins.

“You’re a virgin,” Kenneth pointed catching Ken off guard. “Makes sense,” he replied to her nod. Trent rolled his eyes and turned on the television, dropping onto the couch.

“You not trying to fuck.. are you,” Trent asks, seemingly irritated. “Not even getting this tongue?” She shook her head no.

“Not gonna to happen,” she shrugged, “Sorrynotsorry but uh, it’s been an interesting night.” She picked up her bag ready to leave again. Looking at each other with confused glances, the twins blinked slowly before Trent shrugged, seemingly relenting.

“Alright then, virgin,” Kenneth smirked, ”But you don’t have to leave, you could just hang around. It’s still a date afterall. Plus, that same nigga calling to check on you is making my night right now. I’m flattered to be the competition. Although I ain’t getting no ass and I want some.”

“I'm gone,” Trent blurted getting up to return to whatever back room he’d come from. Ken heard keys jingling and then he left through the front door. It was just her and Kenneth. For a while they just watched TV.

“So y'all really lied to me,” she said suddenly, causing him to look at her. “And you weren’t interested in me until my glow up. That’s fake.”

“Would you have gone out with you though? Be honest.. You wouldn’t right? I turned you down but I was still nice because I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings. Because you’re still a person. You gotta give me that. I was respectful.”

“But still-”

“I got a right to have preferences and to like what I like.”

“You do, but-” A heavy drumming on the front door distracted them both and for the first time, they exchanged the signature telepathic stare. They both had an idea of who was at the door and his voice removed any doubt.

“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, KENDRA.” Rolling her eyes, Kendra lifted from the couch, but Kenneth pulled her back down, whispering in her ear a plan. She looked at him wide-eyed, Erik still banging on the door. Kenneth nodded, mischief in his eyes.

“Uuuuh, oh my gosh, yes daddy, right there daddy,” Kendra gasped and moaned loud enough to make Erik stop knocking. He was too busy listening, his ear pressed against the door. “The fuck,” he whispered dumbfounded right before kicking the door so it nearly gave out. “OPEN THIS DOOR.” The door quickly opened to a fully clothed Ken. Kenneth was still in the same spot on the couch.

“You know, there are better ways to express that you like a girl. For example, you could start by telling her,” Kenneth deadpanned, unbothered. Ken faced Erik with a questioning expression.

“You know, everyone’s been acting extremely weird around me since I started dressing and looking differently. I didn’t think it necessary before, but now I need to ask you. Do you like me or something?”

“Or something,” Erik says just as flatly as Kenneth. “Ain’t no trains being run tonight on my watch. I’m drawing the line. Get your bag and come on.”

“And if I happen to like trains,” Ken asked crossing her arms in defiance.

“Ken?.. As your friend?.. I'm telling you. I'm not letting that happen.”

“Whatever.” Ken started to cap but she was ready to leave anyway so she said goodbye to Kenneth and walked out toward the parking lot. Erik's date was in his car, her head leaning against her hand in irritation and he’d parked in a disability-reserved space without a tag or permit.  “So you abandoned Ms. Lady to run interference on my sex life? Why do you get to be Casanova? I haven’t even seen that young lady before. I bet you just met her a week or so ago. Probably less than that, am I right?”

“Get in your car I’m a follow you to make sure you get home.”

“I bet you don't know her from Eve. Am I right?!”

“GET IN THE DAMN CAR.”

“YOU DON’T INTIMIDATE ME. DID YOU FORGET I KNOW YOU? STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE YOU CRAZY.” Her ladylike facade had melted away in a matter of seconds as she yelled, her fists balling and shoulders moving like a nigga ready to pop off, returning heavy eye contact. She waited, not backing down. After a long pause and an exhale, Erik nodded in relent breaking the stare.

“Touche’. Look, Ken, I just feel responsible for you. I don’t want you getting into trouble or doing something you’ll regret because it’ll be partially my fault.”

“Is it though? Is it really? I’m an adult and I make my own decisions. Just like when I came to you for help originally, that was my decision. You need to trust and respect my judgment. This is my life afterall.”

“Erik, leave her alone and let’s go! I can think of more fun things for us to do and she is 100% of GROWN,” the date shouted from the car.

“This don’t concern you, Kayla,” he sang loudly in irritation.

“MY NAME IS LAUREN,” she yelled hitting the dashboard.

“KAYLA, LAUREN, SHIT.. WHATEVER!” Sighing, he rested his forehead against his fingers rubbing the tension out. “I’m bout done with her ass,” he mumbles. “Look, Ken, I’m a be a hundred with you. It makes me uncomfortable when I see you with these guys trying to run and you just started crawling. I don’t wanna make you feel like I’m trying to run your life, I want you to be happy. They just ain’t right for you and I’m a be tough on any nigga because I don’t feel like they deserve you.”

“Then help me find someone who deserves me,” Ken pleaded. He shook his head, looking off into the distance at nothing, hesitating before stepping forward. He was directly in front of her now, looking her in the eye and she suddenly understood his overprotectiveness. He had feelings for her. “Why now? Why after the makeover? You had ample time to step up,” she fussed, angry now. She’d secretly harbored a crush on him for the longest, but it’d seemed like an impossible dream she could never voice. “WHY NOW,” she repeated. In her eyes, he was no better than Kenneth or Trent at this point.

“I slept on you, it’s true and I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But I’ve always been there for you.” He was actually serious.

“So has Travis and you looked at him weird! Woooow,” she stepped back. “You know, it’s true that I’m a piece of work. That much is known, but you? You are a.. whew, wow.”

He nodded, masking his hurt feelings and she knew the look well. She’d had the same look many times and no one had noticed. She paused, not wanting to go too far. She did still see him as a friend, however, she had to speak her mind.

“In all fairness, Erik? You’re no better than any other guy who’s only interested because of what he sees now. You didn’t want me before I changed. It’s your own fault for sleeping and I can’t be penalized for that. I liked you for the longest and you never looked my way. How is that what I deserve?”

He opened his mouth and shut it immediately. He was speechless. Nodding, he had no further comments, just a sore looking expression like he'd fucked up and he had! He couldn't excuse or defend himself. There was nothing he could say and he knew it. He was wrong! Eventually he turned and got back into his car sitting and resting his head on the wheel before driving away with his date leaving Ken to sit in her car and think... about everything. Things were falling apart and she needed clarity. It was becoming impossible to know who really cared now and who was perpetrating because they wanted something from her. Who could she trust?

—

For the next few weeks, she felt herself deteriorating. She didn't want to get up, but she forced herself. She slept all the way up to the last minute, rolling out of bed to throw on sweatpants with a dingy t-shirt. She didn't care anymore about an image. It seemed that no matter what she did, things wouldn't go her way. Why try? One day while she was sitting in class, she smelled something funky and looked around before subtly sniffing the armpit of her t-shirt. She was musty but she still couldn't get herself to really care. If it repelled people, good riddance.

Days more passed and she'd gotten so much work done after throwing herself into completing assignments. She didn't dare skip a class but she hardly spoke to anyone or looked up. Her spare time was spent keeping to herself. She was lonely and sad, but who could she trust? Everyone she trusted to have her back had switched up. Everyone was treating her differently. Everything was dependent on how she looked and she was sick of it all. "I wish I were invisible," she muttered rubbing her sleepy eyes in class. She hadn't been sleeping well.

The weather reflected her mood. It was a miserable day.. raining cats and dogs, big muddy puddles covering the sidewalks. In her car, she threw her umbrella on the floor of the passenger side laying everything down and sighing with her head on the steering wheel. With the heavy rain masking her and sliding down the windows, she let her silent tears fall. Tears of stress from being overwhelmed. The rain poured on loudly as she sat in wait for her next class, laying on the wheel and trying to keep herself calm and steady. A knock on the window snapped her out of it and when she looked Erik was standing there with his umbrella signaling for her to roll the window down.

"Come over to my house this weekend, I'm making curry goat. You missed two Sundays and the boys miss you. I fucked up, but Shawn ain't do shit to you. Stop being stubborn."

Wiping her face, Ken shook her head looking to the opposite window.

"Look you coming over or we poppin up on you and you gonna have to clean your place up." Ken thought to the empty pizza boxes in beer kitchen and the clothes, shoes, books, water bottles, and papers everywhere. Sobering, she looked back to Erik and nodded.

"Mhm," he hummed knowingly. "We still friends and shit. Me and Travis over it. Just come by, chill like we usually do."

"I'll be there," she promised genuinely feeling better.

"And wipe your face," Erik grimaced. She rolled her eyes with a smile, wiping her eyes again.

"Fuck off nigga," she grinned with a playful side eye. He turned to leave and Ken opened her car door stepping out into the rain to hug him. He didn't push her away this time, letting her hug him as the umbrella covered them. His body was firm and she could feel his muscles through his clothes. She fought the temptation to feel on him, her mind flashing back to the times she'd seen him shirtless back when she really wasn't on his radar. He was cut. Her crush was in full effect in those times. She couldn't help it, she had to feel his back. She did it as slick as she could manage.

"You good," he asked, a knowing smirk in his eyes gone unspoken. She let go abruptly having hugged him for an inexplicable amount of time.

"I'm great. You?" She climbed back into her car and closed the door. The rain had fell in through her window and wet up the inside of her door.

"Yep. See you Sunday." He walked off and she rolled up her window, a burden lifted.

---

When Sunday rolled around, Ken rolled out of bed, but she showered and put on a clean t-shirt and jeans. Shawn's was the first face she saw. He opened the door and grabbed her hand, wrapping her up in a bro hug welcoming her back.

"You missed the lil enchiladas my nigga did. Them shits was hard," he boasted leading her into the living room where Travis sat leaning back on the couch legs wide. He was on his phone.

"Them clearweathers," she said noticing his shoes. He looked down to see what shoes he had on an his excitement kicked up.

"Yeah nigga, this shit fit like a sock. I just got em Thursday I think.. yeah, Thursday."

"They look comfortable. I've been thinking of getting some. I still got my white VC's that I ain't showed y'all," Ken pointed.

"Maaan, I got the all black I'm a break them bitches out," Travis grinned. It was good tho know things were back to normal and that she hadn't completely lost her friends.

"I'm hungry as fuck. When the food coming out," she asked rubbing her stomach.

"E, when the food finna be ready," Shawn asked as Ken followed him into the kitchen. Erik was cheffing it up as the only one in the circle who could really cook. He looked back at Ken and smiled turning his attention back to the stove. There was rice and snowpeas and something that looked like a stew. She was salivating. She attempted to sneak a taste dipping her finger in the hot stew, but he popped her hand with a wooden spoon before she could.

"Get out my kitchen it'll be ready when it's ready."

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