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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

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Moonlit Affection

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Malfoy!Reader

Warnings: age gap (age of reader is 18), some minor inaccuracies concerning timeline

Words: 3500

The harbingers of death. Their cloaked figures approach you yet you knew the faces behind the Death Eater masks.

Many were hailed from the most influential wizarding families; the most pure.

You lost count of how many were crammed into that long room. They immersed themselves with the shadows and confused you.

Some had their claws digging into your younger brother’s shoulders and arms, holding him down as he squirmed through discomfort and pain. Behind him was the triumphantly crooked grin of the Dark Lord himself as he praises Draco. The Dark Mark branded on his forearm, Draco’s gray eyes host tears of his unvoiced anguish. Devastation lined every inch of what once was such a youthful face.

You didn’t have to be a Legilimens to hear the thought that Draco was screaming at you as his eyes were round with horror, trained on you.

Run.

Save yourself.

There doesn’t need to be two sacrificial lambs.

Voldemort would not be satisfied with only one Malfoy sibling though.

He wanted both of you under his control.

You swat at what few hands grip into your clothes, attempting to pull you closer into the swarm.

If you had been smaller, you would have run into the safe arms of your mother. She’d always kept you safe.

When you turn, a plead heavy in your mouth, you lose all hope. She couldn’t help you nor could your father. But her eyes screamed the same thing Draco’s did:

Run

When the first safe place you could come up with popped into your head, you fled with your wand and a bag of Floo Powder. At the nearest, accessible fireplace, you dive in and let loose the powder as you say clearly where you desired to go.

A Few Months Later

You’re jostled awake by Molly screaming throughout the Burrow for everyone to get their butts up.

Taking a few moments to wake your brain up, you kick off your blankets off of you. You psych yourself up for the triathlon you had grown so accustomed to since leaving Malfoy Manor.

You booked it out of the attic and down the stairs, pushing pass Ron very easily but running into trouble when Ginny bumps into you and throws you off your balance with a wicked grin.

Didn’t matter who beat who to the breakfast table because Fleur and Bill were already seated. Bill was piling on his plate all that constituted a proper breakfast for a blossoming werewolf. Arthur Weasley has his newspaper propped open, making quiet comments to himself here and there. Fred and George who’d been visiting for a few weeks now make it a point to get their hands on as much food as possible so that there was none left for you or their actual siblings.

Outside the windows was a winter wonderland. Not even the garden gnomes dared to come out.

While Christmas morning would be spent at the Weasley’s, dinner was to be had at the former home of Sirius Black, Grimmauld Place. After his death, it had been passed down to Harry Potter, his godson.

Now how exactly had a Malfoy ended up so close to the Golden Trio? When Umbridge was ruling Hogwarts in the absence of Dumbledore, you’d become somewhat of a mentor and friend to not just the Trio, but all their friends as well. In a way, you protected them against your younger brother who’d become a tyrant helping the wretched witch in pink. While you weren’t always able to get them out of trouble, you did your best while also pretending to be the perfect pure blood everyone expected you to be.

When they learned of your self-exile from the Malfoy family, that made you even more amazing in their eyes.

You missed your family, despite how wretched their alliance to the Dark Lord was.

Harry and the others rallied around you. Their support and love reduced your homesickness though you knew it would never really go away. Not when you feared for all of them. Draco and Narcissa knew yet it was too late. If they didn’t abide Voldemort’s every whim, they would be killed but not before the Dark Lord tortured them until their minds were fractured.

Molly beams at you as she’s placing more food on the table for the three stragglers. “Merry Christmas (y/n)!”

Needless to say, your mornings started off great when Molly Weasley was there. “Marry Christmas Molly.” You pull up a chair and a clean plate is magically rolled over to you. Not wanting to get left behind, you start to place food onto it’s surface. The spread on the table was absolutely magnificent.

Even though room was tight and elbows nudged against your sides, it was already looking to be one of your favorite Christmases. At Malfoy Manor, your dining table was so long that sometimes you had to raise your voice a bit if you wanted to say something.

The conversations were filled with laughter opposed to the mutters of conspiracies and duties.

Presents were carefully packed away in Molly’s bag. She’d be the first to go through the Floo Powder. Everyone waited for their turn, Ron and Ginny especially excited to see Harry and Hermione. Christmas at 22 Grimmauld Place were always festive. This would be your first.

Once you pass through to the other end, you shake yourself off just before Hermione is throwing her arms around you in a warm welcome. You giggle and wrap your own arms around her. She gives you an extra hard squeeze before releasing you. Her eyes examine you in that meticulous way they always do, ascertaining how you were feeling about the holiday.

A congenial smile easily graces your lips, especially when you see everyone else greeting one another in a warm embrace.

Including someone else you hadn’t expected to see. Your former DADA professor: Remus Lupin.

You reel back for a split second, composing yourself and attempting to keep your wits with you. Your secret shame had always been the crush you’d developed on your professor when he taught at Hogwarts for such a brief time. Comparing him to the boys of your own age, none of them could even begin to shine as bright as Remus Lupin.

The way he always dealt with everything with a level head and a calmness that was infectious. He had such a kind heart too. Different from the arrogant pure bloods in your house. Him being a werewolf never deterred your affections for him. Now it made you admire Professor Lupin even more. You too were now an outcast. A pariah. You understood how disconnected one could feel from the rest of the world.

Were it not for Harry and his friends, you’d be lost.

When Remus gets to you, he offers you an extra wide smile. “It’s nice to see you again, (y/n). I’m sorry to have heard of you and the rest of your family but I’m happy that you were able to get out while you did.”

You think back to your mother and brother. Still stuck and still serving the Dark Lord.

Lacking a response, Remus notices your sudden quietness and the scars on his face seem to soften as his eyes glow with empathy. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears.

“You may not believe it now, but everything will be okay.” He whispers to you before the rest of the Weasley clan fills the living room of Grimmauld Place. Remus gives your shoulder one last squeeze that symbolizes his support and goes to greet the others.

Where his hand had been still radiated with his warmth. You focus on that to control your own cauldron of emotions.

Swallowing back the hard lump in your throat, you put on a smile as Harry goes up to you for a greeting.

Everyone emanated such joy around you. It made up for your own biological family.

The dining table was long and elegant, filled with silver saucers, beautiful china, and best of all succulent meat and potatoes. You’d sat between Harry and Hermione while Remus was right across from you. He seemed to take special care toward you, asking if you would like gravy or if you wanted a refill of your drink. Your eyes were constantly catching his when you were listening to someone else speak.

Maybe it was the wine that you were now able to consume thanks to your age, but every cell in you was buzzing and making your body warm up. Or maybe it was Hermione laughing and occasionally bumping against you.

Fred and George left early that night as they had to open up their shop the following morning to set up for their holiday sales.

The Golden Trio were sent to bed while the older crowed stayed up for more spirits in front of the fire.

In retrospect you should have been more conscience of your alcohol tolerance since you were much younger than the rest of your drinking partners.

By midnight, Molly and Arthur had passed out on the couch while Bill and Fleur had decided to retire half an hour ago. Fleur’s face, usually pale like porcelain, was flushed red from the drink and knew her limits. Bill helped her up the stairs. Possibly the first and last time you would ever see Fleur stumble and look anything but graceful.

Leaving just you and Remus lounging in front of the fireplace. He’d replaced your goblet of wine with a tall glass of water to save yourself from a gnarly hangover the following morning.

You’d drank some of it but set it aside, not wanting to loose this good buzz that had you relaxed next to your girlish crush. Drinking had at least made talking to him easier as both of you updated the other on your life since his time at Hogwarts.

The crackling of the grand fireplace was a soothing background noise as you and Remus relaxed in front of it, accompanied by the gentle snores that came from the slumbering Molly and Arthur.

From living with them, you experienced first hand ho warm love could be. You knew your parents loved each other, but their affections were given behind closed doors. The Weasley parents were never ashamed of embracing or kissing one another in front of you.

It did make you a bit envious but also gave you hope for your future; you wanted a love like their’s.

The thought of love has you overly aware of the man sitting next to you, how his scars are illuminated from the fire's flame. Soft brown eyes catch you admiring the bridge of his nose that a scar cuts through. His finely tapered jawline appeared to have just been shaved as there was a ghost of scruff on him.

Immediately you avert your gaze and awkwardly laugh out an apology.

"Something on my face?" Remus starts to pat down his features with his hand.

You giggle while shaking your head. "No. It's just. . . I don't think I've ever gotten to really look at your face before up close. You were always at the front of the room. Out of reach."

He smiles at your words and you notice him relax where he had frozen when he caught you staring at him. "Not much of a face to look at."

Puffing out a breath of air you disagree with his assessment. "I would beg to differ. It's a handsome face. Scars and all."

Definitely not a man your mother would choose for you. If was up to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, you would be married to the cream of the crop of the pureblood world. Someone others would immediately think was conveniently handsome.

Looks wasn't what had drawn you to Remus in the first place.

"Not that appearances matter." You mumble, now drunkenly voicing out your thoughts. "It was your heart, your humanity, that attracted me to you in the first place."

If you hadn't been preoccupied with your thoughts, you would have noticed Remus' eyes gawking at you, the drink slipping from his hand and almost spilling all of its contents onto his lap.

"Wh. . . What?"

"Hm? Oh don't be modest." Your head lolls on your shoulders, words flowed out of you with ease. "You must've known. . ."

"I had no idea."

"For a Slytherin who wasn't used to warmth, you were like sunshine." From the corner of your eye you observe him and the flush that had spread across his face that hadn't been there before. Not even when he was several drinks in. His side profile was visible to you as he stared intently into the fireplace, jaw clenching then unclenching as he struggled to come up with a proper reply.

"Sorry, is that weird?"

Remus shakes his head and finally tilts his face to look at you. "N-No. Not at all. It's normal I suppose. I just. . . Don't see the appeal. Why want an old man like me when you could have any young wizard of your age. . ."

That makes you snort. "Because wizards my age are twats." You feel success when he laughs at that. "And you're not an old man. Dumbledore was an old man. Not you."

There's a spell cast over the two of you as silence hangs over. You try and gauge what he's thinking from the depths of his eyes.

The kiss happened so fast that neither of you knew who initiated it. Naturally your lips fell upon the other's.

Sweet with the bitter hint of the wine you'd been sharing. Against your lips you felt the groove of a scar on his bottom lip as you move your head to deepen it.

His body trembles but he reciprocates, placing his hand on the side of your face in a cupping motion. Remus was tender with you, treating you like glass so that you wouldn't shatter from his touch. If he broke you though, you wouldn't mind in the least bit.

A loud snore from Arthur has both of you flinging away from one another with bruised lips and warm cheeks.

Remus is instantly on his feet, apologizing as he quickly leaves the room.

You stare at where he had once been. Alone and quickly filling with shame.

The following morning, you dread joining everyone in the dining room for breakfast.

Sleep had evaded you all through the night; haunted by the kiss you shared with Remus. In the moment, your heart had soared all the way to the heavens before crashing back down cruelly to earth.

It had been something you'd never thought would happen and when it did you were conflicted.

He had fled from you so fast.

By even muggle laws, you were of the age of consent so what the two of you had done wasn't necessarily wrong. But. . . you were starting to feel ashamed for it. Remus must have been creeped out since you were much younger than him. Matters weren't made better by the fact that you were a close friend of Harry's.

When your courage was finally gathered, you slip on your morning robe (courtesy of Molly) and head to the dining room. But just before you enter the dining room through it’s double doors, you hear voices coming from the sitting room where just last night you and Remus had shared a kiss.

You backpedal until you’re in front of the sitting room door which while not a double, was a rather large door. Twisting the knob in your hand you found everyone, including the two other couples that you had been drinking with last night looking rather harsh, attempting to produce what looked like a patronus charm. Wands were held out as thin, blue whisper stream out.

At the moment Remus was instructing Molly in how to produce the charm.

Already, the stag of Harry’s patronus was leaping around the room as Hermione’s otter swam through invisible water in a playful chase with Ron’s exuberant terrier.

Even Arthur was trying his hardest with his eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows scrunched together.

Harry spots you and grins with bright eyes. “(Y/n)!”

“Is Remus teaching Molly and Arthur the patronus charm?” At your voice, Remus jolts and turns. Hurt jabbed at you from the expression he shot you. You hate the way he looked at you now.

Almost clamming up from his reaction, Harry’s voice is something you anchor yourself to. “Yeah! You never know when it will be useful.”

“You know how to do the charm, don’t you?” Hermione puts her wand arm down.

That was a loaded question.

You used to able to perform a fully formed patronus. It used to be a black swan. Now though. . . you doubt you'd be able to conjure up a full bodied one. There were no happy memories for you to call upon.

Now you felt more uncomfortable than you had been as all eyes fell upon you.

Remus, never losing his kindness, walks around Molly and toward you. "Of course she does. All that is needed is the right memory."

Every memory with your family were dampened. There was nothing you could draw upon until you look to Remus' face for comfort. Nothing but encouragement beamed on his face as he nodded at you. The way his eyes glow remind you of last night.

You'd been happy in those split seconds where the two of you had been connected, even if it was brief and he had run off immediately after. It was the happiest you'd been in months.

Taking in a deep breath, you draw your wand from the sleeve of your robe and to the best of your abilities try to implant yourself once more in the memory of last night. The way Remus was so easy to talk to. You confessing your feelings. His lips pressed against your's. The taste of him. Your mind weaved it so beautifully in your head that you could even hear the cracking of logs in the fireplace.

The tip of your wand explodes with a pale blue, a creature with four legs leaps forth. Not at all your black swan.

A large wolf startles Ron's terrier as it comes into existence. Large and powerful.

Everyone stares in awe at the fine creature who turns it's head to look at you and Remus. It blinks slowly before padding over to your side. Even next to you it was ginormous and almost stood taller than you.

When the initial shock wore down, everyone decided to have their breakfast in the dining room. You and Remus were the last to leave and trailed behind.

Once everyone was out of earshot, Remus whispers "I thought your patronus was a black swan."

"It was." Without the burn of alcohol emboldening you, you blush feeling shy. "I. . . I don't know what happened. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. The memory. . . well it could have been the memory I used."

"From last night?" Remus attempts to hide his own blush with his hand. At least you knew it had been on his mind too.

You nod. "It was the first time I'd been happy for quite a while."

Instead of heading to the doors of the sitting room, Remus turns back to the sofas and sits. His cheeks were still pink when he murmurs "I've heard that it's not uncommon for a patronus to change. It can change when a witch or wizard is going through life changes." He tries his best not to look at you when he adds "Like falling in love."

The change of your patronus to a wolf made sense now. It reflected your feelings for Remus.

You hesitantly sit next to him. "I'm sorry if this whole thing has made you uncomfortable."

He chuckles softly. "Don't be. To have a witch as beautiful and smart as you be in love with me. . . I must have done something right with my life then."

"Just being yourself was enough." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile.

His features become serious for a moment. "I'm not the easiest person to love. Being a werewolf and all will ultimately make things difficult. Plus I'm quite older than you."

Nonchalantly you shrug. "I'm an expert at handling difficult things. Bill and Fleur make their relationship work. I believe you deserved to be loved whether it be by me or someone else, you should take the chance. As for your age, well, I've always been told that I act older than my age. It doesn't bother me one bit."

Remus' hand falls atop of your's. "You're fearless." His voice was filled with admiration that made your heart pick up speed.

Your smile grows. "I just know what I want. And I want you, Remus."

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader

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ilhuiquetzal · 3 months

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Arion Calderon Pt. 2

As they grew older and Arion had to focus on his preparations to one day take the crown in earnest, he tried his best to keep his sister in his life, but despite everything he could feel the distance between them growing year after year. Bella was receding into herself; something had changed, and the best friend who had once promised she would never keep a secret from him had become a puzzle box just to get a mundane conversation out of. Arabella had tried to explain herself to him over the years, but it felt increasingly pointless. No matter how much she knew he'd try, how much he genuinely wanted to understand, Arion would never fully understand that she was losing her connection to their family.

When Bella was thirteen, she and her family had been out traveling the lengths of their country, as her father liked to do every few months or so to, as he put it, keep perspective. and to keep the royal family from feeling like a far away, foreign entity. Most of Ilhuiquetzal's terrain was too narrow and overgrown to accommodate something the size of a royal carriage and entourage, so the family always made the bulk of the trip on horseback with a full convoy ahead and behind. They'd been traveling between villages late one evening when a group of men dropped from the trees around them like spiders. Agitators, her mother had later called them. Overzealous rebels against the monarchy. The royal guards quelled most of the agitators quickly, and anyone who made it past came face-to-face with the king himself, a man renown for his exceptional control of the goddess's magic. It was far from a traumatizing moment for most of the family, and they'd all but forgotten about the incident entirely within a few weeks. But even years later, Arabella still saw that day when she closed her eyes. One of the men had stayed behind in the branches of a tree, waiting for his chance to drop to the earth like a shadow when the guards were at their most preoccupied. In that split second when everyone's attention was scattered, the man clamped a hand over Bella's mouth and quickly pulled her off the path and deep into the cover of the underbrush. He held a dirty, rusted dagger to her throat that jostled against her skin as he forced her along, causing a small cut to open and trickle blood down to her collarbone. Every endless second was another moment farther and farther away from anyone who could save her. In a biting whisper, the man promised that they were going to kill her and hang her decomposing body in the plaza as a message to the royal family and every person who supported them. Arabella spent countless days in the years that followed obsessively running through what would have happened if the man had succeeded in taking her that day. Maybe his words were empty and they would have simply ransomed her back to the palace, or maybe his bite had the pressure behind it to kill her as soon as he reconvened with his group. She would have hung for everyone to see, Maybe they would have gone after Arion next. It could rally other fringe rebel groups in the country and their numbers would have doubled, tripled. Her family would have been unceremoniously slaughtered in their own beds while the world congratulated themselves for a good deed done. The people would have found symbolism in this. Her family would stop being the real people she loved and would become a part of a bigger story.

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doggytail-duck · 2 years

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No but imagine if Will gets Vecna’d and what gets him out is Jonathan desperately singing Should I Stay Or Should I Go

Bonus points if the whole party joins in and it’s this whole “look how loved you are, Will” thing

#idk idk after all of will's loneliness i just. really want him to have all the love he deserves #i know many people are rooting for mike to snap will out of it if any vecna stuff happens and that would be amazing too and i would cry #like 11/10 that would be awesome #and i do think that's a very likely scenario #i just really like sibling relationships and they're very important to me #and since i feel will has been sidelined a lot lately i'd love a scene which is a concrete reminder #that all of his friends and family will always rally themselves behind him to support him #personal #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #will byers #jonathan byers

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sameteeth · 2 years

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Ok. Mei meta time.

She totally gets delegated to the "support" friend role a LOT, which makes sense in-show for a lot of reasons - obviously a main theme of Lego Monkie Kid is valuing your friends and teamwork. Which is all fine and well, but it’s specifically shown that Mei, unlike Sandy, Tang, and Pigsy, NEEDS support but doesn’t always get it. In the episode Coming Home, Mei is visibly uncomfortable talking to and about her parents, and Sandy and MK basically invite themselves over. She gives in eventually because she ultimately wants them to be happy, but is clearly nervous and uncomfortable with them coming over. Unlike other interactions between MK and Mei where Mei picks up on MK being upset and tries to cheer him up, MK doesn’t really notice that Mei is upset (when she leaves to call her parents, he just beats on her character in monkey mechs and it’s Sandy who asks her if everything is alright, MK begs her to have a sleepover). HOWEVER. Mei also is very quick to shut down the idea that anything is wrong - she hesitates before telling Sandy what the phone call was about, and is quick to reassure him that house sitting for her parents isn’t a BAD thing, persay it’s just -

So Mei is very used to being self-sufficient, and is unable to reach out for help or even accept it, unlike MK. MK is very open about everything (until LBD, but we’ll talk about that in a different post) and very easily accepts his friends’ help. Meanwhile Mei is more reserved when she is genuinely upset about something, and doesn’t want to worry or bother her friends with her issues. This, in my opinion, probably is related to her strained relationship with her parents - she’s clearly felt out of place within her family, and as she says in Coming Home, growing up in what is essentially a museum is tough, especially as a little kid. I imagine she kind of had to figure a lot of things out herself, when her relationship with her parents is so strained - there’s a lot of pressure on her to live up to her name and be perfect, or flawless, or at the very least, incredibly tough. Dragons are very powerful creatures, and Mei is as well, but she has her own insecurities about her place in her family.

(s3 spoilers ahead)

All of this, of course, comes to a head in the season 3 finale, Samadhi Fire. Mei has not confided in MK about the vision (?) she had of the Samadhi Fire awakening in her, whereas it’s even implied that MK has told at the very least Mei about Lady Bone Demon - in Shadow Play, Mei makes a comment that MK has been training too hard and “It’s always ‘Mooooonkey King this, or some scary skeleton thing that with [MK] lately!”. So even if MK doesn’t tell Mei the FULL story about LBD, he at least tells her a little. (He could be referring to the skeleton he sees in Impossible Delivery, but that was in s1 so he’s probably talking about LBD.) But Mei doesn’t tell ANYONE about the Samadhi Fire stuff, even though it clearly bothers her - she is shown staring pensively at the first ring they collect once she has the vision when she touches Red Son, and seems scared when Pigsy mentions the fourth ring. When Tang finishes the ritual to reforge the Samadhi Fire, and Mei becomes (?) the Samadhi Fire, only MK is able to get through the fire to give her a hug. But as with any good fight, their interaction is both a plot point and a clash of ideology. MK is used to having an entire team of people backing him up, with minor hiccups of course, but he ultimately is able to put his faith in his friends because it’s something he has done over and over, throughout the series. But for Mei, this is the first time she has been on the receiving end of all this. She has never had an uncontrollable power within her that the fate of the world rests on, and she has never had her friends all rally behind her like this. And it’s not even all of her friends, it’s just MK. And while MK does support Mei and help her, they’ve never had a heart-to-heart where MK is supporting Mei - only the other way around. So she does what she is used to doing when something scary happens - she relies on herself. She choses what has worked for her thus far, and isolates herself to deal with this issue without potentially hurting her friends. It’s not out of pride - she just does what she knows. What she has done since she was a child and her parents were too busy to deal with bumps on her knees and emotions that were unseemly for a girl of her station.

DISCLAIMER: I am not saying MK is a bad friend I think he is a great friend !!! I just think Mei has some emotional trauma she needs to work thru and she needs to get better at accepting help and that kinda stuff bc ultimately I want the best for her !!!! Bc all the characters need to grow as people !!! bc they are all silly little bricks who have emotional trauma !!!!!!!!!

#mei lmk #mei lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid #canis writes meta #I JSUT HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT HER......... ALS:SDJ:SLDF #lmk s3 spoilers #lego monkie kid season 3 spoilers #MK IS A GOOD FRIEND HE JSUT IS A FUNDAMENTALLY DIFFERENT PERSON THAN MEI WHICH IS A GOOD THING AND THATS WHY THEY REACT DIFFERENTLY #IM NOT SAYING MK IS A BAD FREIND IF THATS UR TAKEAWAY FROM THIS POST I AM BITING YOU !!!!!!!!!!!

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yurissweettooth · 3 years

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On Trauma, Alienation, and Yuri Petrov

After the anon I recieved yesterday got me thinking about Yuri's lack of support system as well as had me coming back to this one scene in the Rising where Kotetsu tells Yuri that he could never understand what Barnaby went through. This will be a bit of a ramble so bear with me!

As he's meant to be a foil for Barnaby I feel like most of the attention goes to Barnaby and his trauma when making a comparison between the two (which is fair, he's a main character after all). Because of this some people don't really see the depth behind Yuri and the realism to his trauma. Some have written him off as part of the "abused people become abusers" stereotype or outright dismissed him as some egotistical man child of a villain. I think it's important to take a look at him and how his multiple traumas, and the alienation he faced thereafter, lead him down the path he's on by focusing on his side of the comparison.

To start with, one notable point is that Barnaby is able to reveal his trauma on live television and have the entire city rally around him. His support system and the people who have his back extends further than just the people he knows.

Yuri, on the other hand, can't reliably even talk to his own mother (the only person he's shown to have any type of connection to) about what he's been through as her responses seem unpredictable. We can make the reasonable assumption that he doesn't have any friends because it states in the translated hero schedules that nobody has his phone number.

As a judge he can't admit to murder, as the son of the most highly regarded and beloved hero he can't speak ill of him (he likely wouldn't be believed anyway), and as someone who is seemingly still full of guilt and questioning his own behavior (no doubt aided by the fact that even his mother, who he was trying to save, doesn't always support him) he can't easily admit to the aftermath either.

Continuing with the focus on his portrayal in the Rising, I'll point out again (as I did in my response yesterday) that there is a particularly interesting scenario where we get to see the aftermath of the effects of trauma relating to loss of a parent in three people at once. One desperate for revenge and one who has technically gotten his revenge yet didn't feel any better because of it.

"Now wait a moment." You may be saying "Yuri killed his own father so isn't that different than the other two?" and to that I would like to posit that Yuri did have his father taken from him before he ever killed him.

Aside from his hatred of "evil", Yuri also seems to view heroes as immoral, fame driven, and unable to help those in need. I think a lot of this can be tied back to the fact that Yuri lost his father as he knew him the moment the abuse started.

Child Yuri seemed amazed by his father, right down to the Legend themed outfit. It can be assumed he was a great dad and a great hero at this point. However, that image was shattered when Legend began to drink and abuse his family (as an aside, one of the artbooks confirmed that Yuri was beaten as well). The man he looked up to, the hero, the man who taught him to never let evil go unpunished, was hurting him. It's not difficult to image what that sort of effect dissonance could have on a child.

Legend was staging his arrests and trying desperately to hold on to what he had, putting the anger he felt at losing his position over his duty as a husband and father to be there for his family (I could contrast this with how Kotetsu, in the same situation, uses this time to get closer to his family but that's for another time). He was loved and admired by all with no one any wiser to what happened behind closed doors.

I think it's because of this that Yuri seems to live his life in opposition to the hero lifestyle. In a way this could almost be seen as a form of revenge seeking against heroes themselves. He's seen what a "hero" can be like and he can no longer trust them to make the right choices or have a genuine desire to help anyone so he takes it into his own hands and has no qualms about airing his spiteful opinions while doing so.

As a side note, in a way I also believe that his decision to kill those that are evil is, in part, a form of reassurance to himself that he's not wrong for what he did to his own father. We kind of get a hint of that in the scene where he's hallucinating and yells at his father's apparition after having his actions questioned by him.

To return to the main point, Yuri isn't really given the opportunities the others had to change their ways and heal. There was no one there to stop him from going down the wrong path. Barnaby tells Virgil that he's not out to save Schneider, he's out to save Virgil himself. Barnaby also says how Kotetsu was able to be there for him and that, had it not been for him, he wouldn't even have been standing there today and would have gone down the wrong path himself.

I often see people discuss what Yuri might have been like had he never been abused or killed his father but I think a more interesting thing to consider is what he could have been like had he had someone on his side when he really needed it, if he didn't live in a world that would likely turn on him if he spoke against the most well-known celebrity hero (I would imagine that, much like in our real world, if an abuse victim spoke out against a celebrity they'd be shamed and called a liar), if there had been someone there to set him straight before his pain and twisted morals consumed him.

Even as we see him in the show I don't think he's a bad man. He does terrible things, yes, but he does them out of a desire to save people, to help others, to prevent more suffering. It annoys me to see him portrayed as some childish villain just stupidly killing for the sake of it. He's misguided, yes, but there's a method to his madness.

I guess the main point is that, regardless of how Kotetsu meant it, I feel sad thinking about Yuri stating his views on how to heal from the past only to be told that he "Doesn't know the first thing about what [Barnaby's] been through". Yuri does know pain, loss, and betrayal quite well which is how he came to those conclusions in the first place, he just hasn't been in a situation that's allowed him to admit and process that.

#tiger and bunny #tiger & bunny #yuri petrov #barnaby brooks jr #t&b

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whitleyschn33 · 3 years

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Whitley for the Ask game? (If someone's already asked for them, then Ruby?)

Someone else asked for Whitley, so Ruby it is!

What are my top four favorite non-romantic relationship dynamics for them?

Pre-V6 Qrow: I will never not love Ruby’s reaction to seeing her uncle in a fight with Winter being “Kick her butt, Uncle Qrow!” No questions, no concern, just “kick her ass!” Their relationship, especially in V3, is just incredibly adorable on every level. Her tackling him to say hi, eagerly asking for stories about being a huntsmen, bragging about what she and her team have been up to and being “almost huntresses themselves” - and one of my favorite jokes from RWBY is “they don’t give out medals for ‘almost’”/“They do and they’re called silver!” Like, objectively that’s not the most hilarious thing, but it had great timing and always makes me smile when I think of it. Ruby modelled her very fighting style after Qrow’s, and it’s clear to see that she adored him and really looked up to him as a mentor figure and family, despite not technically being related. I really wish we had gotten to keep that relationship going forward, with Qrow training with Ruby at Haven, the two of them having more fights together and showing off their student/teacher relationship, and Qrow acknowledging Ruby’s skills and how she’s grown, even recognizing when she’s reached his level in the very far-flung future, but that ultimately Ruby is always going to be his pipsqueak niece.

...We don’t talk about their relationship in V6 and beyond.

RNJR: I’m just going to cheat a little here and say the group dynamic of Team RNJR as a whole because damn it, I love found family. Ruby and Jaune already have a really strong relationship built on being two awkward kids that ran into each other on the first day, talking about their struggles as leaders, just generally being a really supportive and cute pair, but Ren and Nora only add to it - Ruby worrying about Ren during Kuroyuri, Nora being protective when Tyrian shows up, all three of them instantly going on their guard when Oscar shows up asking about Ruby. It really makes them feel like they’ve bonded a lot between the end of V3 and mid-V5, and I would really enjoy seeing their closeness again. We almost had it in V7 with the rally with Penny thrown in for added bonus... but then Renora drama happened. Damn.

Oscar: Look, it’s ship-baited all the time for a reason. It’s cute as fuck, two awkward kids that clearly like each other and both being in positions of leadership, though not voluntarily in Oscar’s case but still has others looking to him like he should know what to do. I don’t ship it romantically, not because I have any problem with it, I’m just more invested in Pre-V7 Nuts and Dolts and have lost all respect for Ruby as a character currently, but I do find Ruby’s supportiveness of Oscar in V6 endearing and their talk about Penny in V5 interesting. I would like to see more of that.

Yang: LET THEM ACT LIKE SISTERS, DAMN IT. Tbf, I’ve heard decent things about their talk on the stairs in the episode I just didn’t watch from Volume 8, but I really miss their earlier dynamic. Play fighting at Beacon initiation, Yang looking super proud of her sister as a leader and cooing at how pretty she looks at the dance, Ruby knowing exactly what’s going to set her sister off in the Vytal Tournament, that little “I love you” as Ruby walks away after the Fall, the way Ruby suddenly looks so scared and anxious about leaving Yang behind when they reunite only to be hugged - give me more of that, please.

What season were they at their best and why?

Oooh, that’s a hard question. I think I’m going to have to go with Volume 1, though, since it’s just the season where she has the most going on. She’s a girl that suddenly gets skipped ahead two years and doesn’t really know how to make friends, and wants to prove that she belongs there, making her a bit reckless. She’s also given a position of leadership over her own sister and a girl that won’t recognize her authority at first, and has doubts about if she’s suited to the role she’s been given. There’s a lot of things to work with going forward with Ruby developing from an awkward weapons geek that can rush into things to a confident leader that’s earned the respect of her older classmates. Honorable mentions would be V3 and the Apathy episodes of V6 - I really liked her characterizations there.

What season were they at their worst and why?

V8 - is this even up for debate? I could rant for ages, but this has already taken me too much time between classes. To squish it down - this girl refused to let thousands of people, two of the four objects needed to bring about the end of the universe, and one of the keys to said items get out of the way of the immortal space witch on the premise that they couldn’t just leave a few thousand people that Salem ignored anyway to die... and then didn’t do anything to help those few thousand people or the thousands of trapped people, instead sitting in a comfy mansion for hours letting hundreds of other people fight and die in her place trying to protect the people she wouldn’t let leave. And she’s supposed to be the hero. Fuck that.

How would I rank their outfits from worst to best?

Ruby’s outfits are probably the most consistently good across the field - like, I don’t think there’s an outfit of hers that I outright dislike. Remind me if I’m forgetting a major outfit, but from Worst to Best, I would probably say V4, V7, V2, and then V1 as my favorite~

Which Hogwarts House would I sort them into (optional; what would their wand be?)

Gryffindor is really the only option for her house; I could see her being a Quidditch star as either a Chaser or a Seeker, putting her speed on a broom to the maximum effect. As for a wand... my gut impulse is to say Red Oak with a phoenix feather core, though I could also see Larch and English Oak.

What do I think this character would be like if they were on the opposite side (good characters are bad, bad characters are good)

V8 already gave us that though

I’m creatively bankrupt and honestly can’t think of much, but I would love to see her lean in more on the Grim Reaper angle - maybe as an assassin or a Torchwick-like gang leader? It could be fun~

If I suddenly had control of RWBY, what would I want to do with this character after the events of V8?

Have it turn out that the last two volumes were some kind of horrible nightmare she had on the plane to Atlas and immediately start rewriting the Atlas arc.

Honestly, I’m not really sure if her character can be salvaged after just how much the past two volumes have beaten her down in terms of likability for me. I don’t really want anything to do with her anymore - if I watch V9, it won’t be for her, it will be for Vacuo. Maybe have her be confronted with an objective outside view of her actions, have someone lay it all out and hit her with just what she did and the chaos and death she’s arguably responsible for. Let Ruby realize that’s she’s made mistakes, that she was wrong. Let her realize that, and try to be better. Let. Ruby. Grow.

#rwby #rwde #ruby rose #ask game #ask reply

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai,

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason.

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise.

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames.

Back and forth.

Your body moves without a second thought.

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something.

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature.

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family.

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city.

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret.

All but you, anyway.

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public.

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it.

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city.

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city.

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri.

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think.

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now.

The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone.

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall.

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off.

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?”

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri.

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you.

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak.

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with.

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings.

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions.

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.”

Dammit.

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip.

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances.

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug.

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life.

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care.

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply.

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one.

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day.

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself.

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom.

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space.

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans.

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai.

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well.

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation.

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless.

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space.

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment.

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer. “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet.

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening.

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere.

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly.

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs.

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection.

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer.

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry.

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip.

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate.

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him.

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence.

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table.

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago.

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating.

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise.

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium.

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen.

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet.

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction.

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks.

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?”

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground.

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow.

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes.

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering.

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life.

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see.

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off.

“Thank you, Chisaki,”

You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books.

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?”

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen.

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke.

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind.

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine.

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm.

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts.

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct.

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder.

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother.

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled.

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered.

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you.

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak.

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out.

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look.

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly.

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities.

This was about population control.

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with.

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh.

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family.

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it.

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact.

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home.

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface.

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen.

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact.

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response.

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore.

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve.

Love.

Those were the words you associated with him now.

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved.

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him.

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain.

As if this was never going to happen ever again.

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink.

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones.

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear.

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all.

Maybe you didn’t.

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him.

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end.

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair.

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans.

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.”

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside.

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to.

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface.

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea.

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever.

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you.

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that.

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours.

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked.

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs.

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones.

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments.

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?”

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in.

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him.

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was.

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine.

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it.

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.”

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response.

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything.

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely.

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence.

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach.

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer.

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along.

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything.

“I found you.”

“Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back.

Enough was enough.

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you.

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain.

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one.

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band.

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

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tcm · 4 years

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Sammy Davis Jr.: Civil Rights Activist and Natural Born Entertainer By Susan King

Sammy Davis Jr. was an exceptional talent. He could sing (you’ll get chills up your spine listening to his recording of “I Gotta Be Me”), dance, act and lest we forget, he was a member of the Rat Pack. He and Harry Belafonte made history in 1956 when they became the first African Americans to earn Emmy nominations.

But most people forget Davis was also very involved in the fight for civil rights in the 1950s and ‘60s. In January 1961, he joined Rat Packers Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, as well as Harry Belafonte, Mahalia Jackson and Tony Bennett, for the Carnegie Hall benefit concert Tribute to Martin Luther King. He also performed at the Freedom Rally in Los Angeles that year and at the March on Montgomery in 1965.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. even wrote Davis a thank you note: “Not very long ago, it was customary for Negro artists to hold themselves aloof from the struggle for equality… Today, greats like Harry Belafonte, Sidney Poitier, Mahalia Jackson and yourself, of course, are not content to merely identify with the struggle. They actively participate in it, as artists and as citizens, adding the weight of their enormous prestige and thus helping to move the struggle forward.”

In 1968, Davis received the prestigious Spingarn Medal from the NAACP for his 1965 autobiography Yes, I Can. Nevertheless, considering his work for the late Dr. King, Davis shocked the world in 1972 when he supported Richard Nixon, who had a poor track record when it came to civil rights and would refer to African Americans in derogatory terms behind closed doors. But there was Davis, attending the opening night of the Republican convention in Miami Beach and then performing a concert for Republican youth. And it was during the concert that he hugged Nixon.

The backlash in the African American community was loud and strong. Wil Haywood stated in his biography In Black and White: The Life of Sammy Davis, Jr., “Sammy failed to understand Blacks’ distrust of Nixon’s ultraconservative views. The hug at the Republican National Convention, in the glare of the nation’s spotlight, seemed too to minstrelsy.“

Davis later said: “By their definition I had let them down. In their minds there were certain things I could do, certain rules I could break. I married a white woman and I hardly got any heat. But by going with a Republican president I had broken faith with my people.”

In a 1976 Ebony interview, Davis reflected that working with Nixon was not a betrayal to African Americans but a way to help Black citizens. “When my wife, Altovise, and I were invited to the White House after the November elections, I repeated [my recommendations],” he noted. “We started to rap, and he asks, ‘What can I do?’ Come on Sam, tell me what I can do.’ So, I laid it down again.”

He told Nixon that the funds cut from anti-poverty programs needed to be reinstated and that Martin Luther King’s birthday should be made a national holiday. But he soon realized Nixon wasn’t listening to him. He regretted supporting Nixon.

Davis was born in Harlem on December 8, 1925 to vaudevillians Sammy Davis Sr. and Elvera Sanchez, who was of Afro-Cuban descent. The couple separated in 1928, and Sammy Jr. lived with his father and his grandmother, Mama. He was just three when he joined the Will Mastin Trio with his father and Mastin. Davis never went to school. In a 2014 Los Angeles Times interview, his daughter Tracey Davis recalled her father telling her, “What have I got? No looks, no money, no education. Just talent.”

As a youngster, he appeared in short films, including Rufus Jones for President (’33). He toured with the Mastin Trio until he was drafted into the Army during World War II, where he suffered so much abuse from white soldiers that his nose was broken three times. “How did he make it and so many others not make it?,” Tracey Davis reflected. “He had talent. But what he went through would have killed a lot of people or make them bitter or just messed with your life so bad you couldn’t get over it.”

In 1954, Davis survived a car crash on his way home to Los Angeles after performing in Vegas. He lost an eye. He wore an eye-patch for six months and then was fitted with a glass eye. Two years later, he opened on Broadway in the musical Mr. Wonderful.

It was announced in August 2020 that a film is in pre-production about the ill-fated relationship in 1957 between Davis and Kim Novak. The relationship was quashed, as it would have killed Novak’s career and supposedly, it quite literally would have killed Davis – a hit was allegedly put out on his life. To keep the heat off of him, Davis was briefly married in 1958 to dancer Loray White.

In 1960, Davis married striking Swedish actress Mai Britt. According to Tracey Davis, her mother, who had appeared THE YOUNG LIONS (‘58) and THE BLUE ANGEL (‘59), was dropped by 20th Century-Fox because of her marriage. Tracey said her parents “didn’t regret being together. My mom loved my dad like crazy and my dad loved my mother. My mother was so lucky because her parents didn’t care.” Though they divorced in 1968, she said they never fell out of love. Before his death of cancer in 1990 at the age of 64, Davis told his daughter why they broke up: “I just couldn’t be what she wanted me to be. A family man. My performance schedule was rigorous.”

Tracey said that her dad and Sinatra were great friends offstage. “He was like a good cushion for dad.” And, if Davis ran into trouble due to his race, Sinatra was there to fight the good fight for his friend. “He’d say, ‘Oh, Sammy can’t come in here? Then I’m not coming in.’ I think it gave my dad such comfort knowing he had this big brother out there that would go to the mat for him.” Davis, who was a chain smoker and was rarely seen without a glass of vermouth, had a falling out with Sinatra in the early 1970s, because the performer was using drugs. “Frank was mad he was squandering himself, doing stupid things. He let dad know about it and dad was kind of well, I don’t care.’’ Eventually, Davis did care and apologized to the Chairman of the Board.

Being a member of the Rat Pack gave Davis a certain visibility, especially in the films they made together, including OCEAN’S 11 (‘60) and ROBIN AND THE 7 HOODS (‘64), but all of the actors were just having a good time on screen. These vehicles didn’t show Davis’s strength as a dramatic actor. But occasionally, he got the opportunity, such as in ANNA LUCASTA (‘58) opposite Eartha Kitt, CONVICTS 4 (‘62) and A MAN CALLED ADAM (‘66). And in 1964, he returned to the Broadway stage in the Charles Strouse-Lee Adams musical Golden Boy, for which he earned a Tony nomination.

“He was very representative of a time and place,” said Strouse in a 2003 L.A. Times interview. “He was created from a lot of forces, like the Earth coming in and ‘whoop,’ here comes Sammy Davis. He was brilliant along with everything else. He was the biggest star of the day and in the theater, he had no peer. We sold out all the time.”

But Davis also missed a lot of performances of Golden Boy. “He got himself very tired or perhaps depressed or nervous,” reflected Stouse, adding that Davis stretched himself thin “the way lemmings go to the edge of the cliff and then they go off. He didn’t go off, but he was always on the end of the cliff. He was very driven and yet very mild-mannered and almost submissive to Sinatra. He had to be loved. He wouldn’t get off the stage.”

As he got older, Davis stopped wearing flashy clothes and jewelry and got back to basics as a singer and performer. And, he is the best thing about his last film, TAP (‘89), with Gregory Hines. Their tap dance will make your heart beat a bit faster. Tracey Davis said though her father was “incredibly driven,” he had a “huge heart, a zest for life. He had more energy than anyone I had known.”

#Sammy Davis Jr #old hollywood #Rat Pack #1950s #civil rights #Black performers #Black actors #Eartha Kitt #Martin Luther King #politics #TCM #Summer Under the Stars #Turner Classic Movies #Susan King

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ms-katonic-of-tamriel · 4 years

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DAI Playthrough idea

Inquisitor Lucien Flavius Trevelyan. Ex-Circle mage, mostly content with life in the Ostwick Circle, likes the learning and academic side, does miss his parents, but no inclination to rebel until it was actually happening, at which point he ran off with the rebels because all his friends were doing it. Not religious, no real belief in Andraste whatsoever but kept quiet about it in the Circle. Since leaving, he’s become a lot more open about his views, and found to his surprise more people than he thought shared them, and there’s enough anger at the Chantry for him to acquire a coterie of fans and fellow freethinkers. He’s at the Conclave hoping to try and talk some sense into the Templars but it doesn’t go well.

Decisions!

Broadly pro-mage, not very pro-Chantry. Not anti exactly, but very much not pro either and really doesn’t like the Herald of Andraste title. Not up to speed on elven issues but the more he learns the angrier he gets at the Chantry, and he does find the culture fascinating.

Goes to Redcliffe to talk to the mages, finds out about the bargain with Tevinter, goes ‘what the actual hell have you done’ and ends up sorting that mess out. Templars can very much sort themselves out in his mind. He wasn’t harmed at the Circle but he saw things happen to others. Gives the mages an alliance. They were his friends after all.

As Inquisitor he wants to stand for order and justice rather than the faith or revenge and does his best to pick merciful, rational choices where possible. After Adamant, he keeps the Wardens as Inquisition allies, and at Val Royeaux, there’s a good chance of him getting all three parties to work together. Failing that, he’ll keep Celene as Empress, with or without Briala at her side. At the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan is getting the power - Lucien hears the words binding geas and goes nope, not for me kthnx.

Romances:

Awkward demisexual who preferred books and studying to anything else, Lucien’s got no romance experience but might consider it for the right person.

Cassandra: too intimidating by far! Also twice his age. Even if he was into intimidating older women, Cassandra has expectations of a romantic hero who will sweep her off her feet. Lucien has no idea where to even start so... doesn’t. Also she will not shut up about the Maker, and Lucien has spent the past two years becoming a fervent atheist and loving not having priests around any more. He can’t pretend to be Andrastian for her sake.

Iron Bull: Bull’s stories about his sexploits make Lucien’s eyes pop out and his hair stand on end. As far as romance goes, Lucien is fleeing in the opposite direction from this one. They get on well enough, and Lucien’s curious about the Qun... but not curious about anything else, thank you very much. Still, he cares enough to save Bull from the Qun.

Dorian: a possibility, and Dorian would definitely be interested, but it’s more likely these two will end up as besties rather than boyfriends. Never say never though. Lucien's really not OK with the way Dorian's family treated him and completely sides with him over it. If Lucien was accidentally flirting with him previously, Dorian might well choose that moment to confess his feelings. Not known how Lucien would respond.

Josephine: most likely out of all of them. Pretty, cultured, goes out of her way to make Lucien feel at ease, Lucien would likely adore her. Also the duel scene would be way more poignant with Lucien the inexperienced mage going rapier to rapier with a master duellist for her affections. Plus they’re both probably demi.

The rest of them:

Cullen: hasn’t got a clue what to make of this somewhat unimpressive young man but he’s who the faithful are rallying around and the only one who can close rifts so he’ll keep him alive. Becomes steadily more impressed with Lucien over the course of things. Lucien talks him out of going back on lyrium, having no wish to see anyone shackled by the Circle if they don’t want to be there, even Templars.

Leliana: scares the hell out of him. “No, don’t murder people!” becomes a common refrain. However, over time, she softens, he starts to see her less scary side, and he’s able to talk her down from murdering Sister Natalie. On seeing the change in her after, he’s got no hesitation supporting her for Divine.

Blackwall: they get on rather well! Lucien respects Blackwall’s experience, always appreciates a big strong fighter to hide behind, and Blackwall’s avuncular nature appeals. Finding out the truth about him is heartbreaking but Lucien can’t help but rescue him and give him another chance to do better.

Solas: Lucien respects his skills, does rely on his advice, but there’s something a bit off there. He doesn’t know what though. He wants to like Solas, but something just rubs him up the wrong way. Still, he’s a useful companion, they do get on, Solas seems to approve of Lucien’s decision-making on the whole, and Lucien loves asking him about ancient elven culture. He's less keen on the whole 'what if the Veil wasn’t here’ angle though. Solas disappearing will feel like a betrayal and really hurt.

Vivienne: nothing in common at all. Excellent chance he never recruits her in the first place. If he does, he spends the entire adventure regretting it.

Varric: takes Lucien under his wing from the outset and looks after him. Lucien’s appalled by some of Varric’s wilder exploits but does laugh anyway, and the two become fast friends. Even if Lucien does keep wanting to know how Bianca works.

Sera: they drive each other up the wall but Lucien is somehow still fond of her. That Tempest stuff is terrifying though.

Cole: weirds Lucien out completely, but he senses the spirit’s heart is in the right place and a spirit who turned human?? Come on, that’s a paper in its own right! Cole’s fate could go either way, but I suspect Lucien will go for the human option.

Lucien's parents: never had any other kids. They still miss and mourn him. They've been worried sick since the rebellion started and Lucien disappeared. He never wrote because there'd been no contact allowed for over a decade and it never occurred to him. But word of their son surviving the Conclave and joining the Inquisition reaches them and they put all family business in their steward's hands and go to Haven. They get there in time to find the ashes, but returning scouts, maybe even the Chargers, can tell them Lucien is not only alive but Inquisitor and take them to Skyhold. Cue tearful reunion, Lyra as quartermaster, Davidicus joining the researchers, either available as a party member if Lucien needs them.

Training specialty: none of the mage ones appeal. Knight-Enchanter? “No I don’t want to be up close and personal with the enemy, I want to be far away from the stabby things!” Rift Mage: “so... the initial innovators of this field are all dead due to the magic destroying them, and the second wave of experts are all off their trolley due to magical weirdness and seeing their friends disintegrated. Er... think I’ll give this one a miss, thank you very much.” Necromancer: “NO!”

In the end, he ends up studying Artificer after persuading his advisors that just because he's a mage doesn’t mean he should only study magic. “There’s so much else to study and learn! It can’t just be learning about magical energies and the Fade! There’s a rest of the world to see and study! Why should being able to do one thing make me incapable of doing anything else?” Cue magically enhanced traps, grenades and possibly some sort of Dwemer laser-enhanced crossbow thing replacing his staff.

Trespasser Lucien is a bit more cynical and battle-hardened and the constant pain from the Mark is no joke either. He’s honestly not surprised at Solas’s identity by the time it comes out, not as much as he should be. Does his best to save the dragon, would like to try and save Solas from himself if possible, but isn’t that committed to the idea. Disbands the Inquisition entirely, thinking it has served its purpose, and then returns to his parental home. He’s reinstated as their son and heir and is soon using Trevelyan money to build himself a whole series of prosthetic arms with a variety of attachments. Just in time for the big society wedding involving the Trevelyan heir and the Montilyet heir whose families saw a couple in love and made the wedding decision for them. Mostly they end up living in Antiva but Lucien’s parents are regular visitors... as are the rest of their former Inquisition colleagues.

#dragon age #lucien flavius #dai #dragon age:inquisition

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carmichealroyals · 4 years

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“BE PROUD, ALWAYS”: PRINCE OLIVER OF SOBURG OFFICIALLY COMES OUT IN PRESS CONFERENCE

Today, Highwood Manor, home of the Duke and Duchess of Soburg, held a press conference -- their first instance of outreach to the media since photos of their youngest son, Prince Oliver, appeared online and effectively outed him to the public. While they hadn’t confirmed or denied anything up until this point, today Prince Oliver himself was front and center. A transcript of the Prince’s speech is below:

Keep reading below the cut! (And consider this your “Happy Valentines Day” from me; you are loved by so many!!)

Oliver: Good afternoon, everyone, and thank you for joining us here today. The past few months have been full of tumult, both in our public and private lives, so we thank you for our co-operation as we came to a decision about how best to go about this. It hasn’t been easy for any of us -- not myself, not my parents, nor for the Lopez family, who have graciously agreed to be present for this moment.

Many of you are aware of the history of this family. I consider myself a bit of a scholar of history as well, and recently, I found something that shook me to my core. Princess Josephine, the eldest daughter of King Albert and Queen Catherine of the Winden Territories during the first Great War and mygreat-great aunt was, as many of you know, what we could call a “spinster”. She never married and dedicated herself to nursing during the first Great War that changed the lives of so many. Many believed that she never married out of personal choice, as an act of rebellion against the system she was born into as the eldest daughter of a King who would never have been able to inherit.

This is not the case. I recently came across letters that Princess Josephine wrote in the attic of Highwood Manor, as this was where she lived for twenty-five years before her death. These letters were written by her and were addressed to a “E.R.”. After some more searching, we found a letter written in return that Princess Josephine kept. Princess Josephine wrote love letter after love letter to Lady Eleanor Rosewood, who returned her affection despite being married to a man. They were apart for decades, and only after Lady Eleanor’s husband died did she come here to spend time with her “dear friend”, as it would have been called then, to take comfort in her company.

Princess Josephine was forced to hide who she was because of the world around her, as was Lady Eleanor. They loved each other fiercely, but were never able to make their affection known to anyone for risk of being stripped of their titles and cast aside. Princess Josephine is honored today for her services to nursing, and is remembered for her fierce loyalty and kind heart. But today, I get to enjoy a pleasure she never got to have: of truly being herself, and making that self known to the public. She was gay. And so am I.

I have struggled with this part of me for a long time. Not just because of the position I find myself in, but because of the outward expectations placed upon me and my family. We marry well, we live in opulent houses through Crown funds, we attend overseas engagement and are the model of what people think “high society” is. Princes are to marry Princesses, or Duchesses, or any other well-born woman. But I never wanted that for myself.

Because of these expectations, I was forced to hide who I truly was from everyone I loved, even though I know now that they all would have loved me no matter what. Hindsight is a beautiful thing like that. I had to play along, play the part that everyone expected me to play, and pretend to be someone I was not.

And then I met Gabriel. I saw someone who was open about who he was and adored for it. It was not his whole personality, but rather an aspect of him, plain and simple, and nobody paid it any mind. They accepted it, point blank. He was the first person I came out to, officially, and we have been dating in secret for six months.

Neither of us wanted these pictures to be released -- we didn’t even know about them until they were released. This invasion of privacy, which will be followed up on through the authorities, provided us with an opportunity to stand in the sun together instead of hiding in the shadows. I will admit, I was terrified about making this speech today. You can’t quite see it, but my hands are still shaking. I know that there are people out there who do not accept this as a facet of life for millions of people. They will say it is just a phase, that I’m only young and that I’m “experimenting”, that I will eventually settle down with a nice girl and this will all blow over. To those people, I say: this is not a phase. I know that I am young, but I have known who I am since I was five years old. I am in love with Gabriel Lopez, and he loves me, and nothing you do or say will change that.

While there will be hundreds of thousands of voices telling us we are wrong, there are so many more voices that outweigh the negativity, showing us support and rallying behind us when the pictures broke. To those people, we say thank you. Without your support, and without the support of my parents, I would not have had the courage to stand here today and say this to all of you.

I know that there will be questions about what this will mean for me going forward. I will be honest, I do not have the answers. Trust that when the time is right, those answers will make their way to you. In honor of this occasion, I am delighted to announce that I will take on my first official patronage: Heart Home, a group of shelters for various LGBTQ+ youth who need a place to go across this country. Our family will also be donating one million Simoleons to Heart Home and The Tracy Project, a 24/7 crisis hotline for LGBTQ+ youth. Both of these organizations do incredible work, and this is just the start of my work with them both.

Finally, I’d like to send a message to others out there who are like myself -- who have always known themselves to be different in some way that the world will see as “wrong”: you are not wrong. Your sexuality and/or gender identity is yours, and therefore is incredibly valid. You do not have to come out today, or tomorrow, or any time before you are ready to. But there is a place for you in this world. There are people who will accept you for who you are and will always be ready to stand by your side, no matter what. The important thing to remember is to be proud, always. You are you, and there is nothing more important or as wonderful as that. You are worth fighting for, and nobody else in this world gets to define how you live your life as your truest self except for you. Love is love. It’s as simple as that.

Thank you.

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girlsbtrs · 3 years

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An Interview with PLEXXAGLASS

Written by Olivia Khiel. Graphic by James N Grey.

Non-binary dark pop artist PLEXXAGLASS has found their identity and carved out their own space in the music world. With the pandemic putting things on hold, they took to TikTok, reaching a new community of queer fans to connect with through songs like “Liar” and “Lilith” (the latter produced by Linkin Park’s Mike Shinoda). GBTRS spoke with Plexxaglass about collaborating with Shinoda, their gender identity journey and what they hope listeners will connect with in their music.

Girls Behind the Rock Show: Now that you have more music out, how would you describe the evolution of your sound from when you started to where you are now?

Plexxaglass: I love that question. Because it's kind of funny- I feel like I made a little bit of a circle. I say that because the first two songs that I put out- "Lament en Route" and "Liar"- they're pretty similar sonically to the songs that I'm putting out. So much so that I'm actually going to include those songs on the LP that I'll be releasing, tentatively in October. There's an interesting little gap between those first two songs, and then I put out three other songs that was like my experimental phase. I'm always having fun, but I was trying some different things. I'm happy that I did that and there were two music videos that came out of that cycle or phase. Those songs are "Dead-Eyed Monsters" and "Ana Thema". But I feel like I found my way back to what I found initially, which is really interesting and fun to realize now.

GBTRS: What's the story behind your latest singles? What was it like collaborating with Mike Shinoda on "Lilith"?

Plexxaglass: "Lilith" was a half-finished song honestly- maybe even a quarter-finished song when I even got in touch with Mike. That happened so serendipitously-I had a listener who was also a regular viewer of my Twitch channel and a huge Linkin Park and Shinoda fan in general who hit me up on Instagram and was like, 'Mike Shinoda is producing independent artists' tracks, you should totally submit'.

I submitted what I had of "Lilith" at the time, which was only a verse and the hook. It was a song that I loved and I knew that I wanted to be finished. I'm not one of those musicians that can just be like, 'alright, I'm gonna write a song today'. I really have to be called by the Muses or some shit. I have to be very inspired. But when Mike reached out to me, that was incentive and inspiration enough. I think when I was sitting down to finish it, I finished in maybe 20 minutes. That's just how it happens sometimes. When it's there, it's there and I finish songs really quickly. The process of working with Mike was amazing, and him and his team told me in the beginning that it was going to be pretty hands off on my part. I knew going in that I was gonna have to take it or leave it, which was sort of scary. I was like, oh shit, what if I don't like it? Am I gonna have to tell Mike Shinoda that I don't want to release the work that he did on my track? Oh my god, that's so scary. But no, of course, he's just so versatile. He really is a musician's musician, and he just gets music in general- doesn't matter what genre it is. I believe my song is the one that he finished the fastest, which is very flattering. It made me feel like it was just very ready. He didn't really have to do too much to it. It was a really, really cool experience that I just will cherish forever and ever and ever.

GBTRS: The song came out beautifully so it's great that things worked out so well.

Plexxaglass: Yeah! And the inspiration behind that one- I wrote it out of a fascination with the second season of The Handmaid's Tale. I found that dynamic so fascinating. I find women or femme-presenting people who [are] in a marginalized group who buys into very oppressive religious practices horrifying and fascinating at the same time. That was the inspiration behind writing that and really sitting with wondering if there's ever an awakening with those people. That was really the basis for that whole song.

GBTRS: You've gotten to collab with Mike Shinoda, but is there anyone else on your list that you'd love to be in the studio with in the future?

Plexxaglass: Oh god, yeah. So many. Right off the top of my head...I love Bishop Briggs, I love Dermot Kennedy, Bon Iver, Annie from St. Vincent, Florence Welch. Those are the big ones. I would die happy if I ever got to collaborate with any of them. That would be amazing.

GBTRS: What else do you find yourself drawing inspiration from these days?

Plexxaglass: Up until this point, it's been very autobiographical. It's been very much things that have happened in my life. I am trying to get away from that because I'm somebody who writes more somber music. I have some anthemic stuff that's more uplifting, but it is dark pop. I am at a point in my life where I'm generally- I'm mentally ill- but I'm generally a happy person. There's not a lot of dramatic tragedy going on in my life at 30 anymore. I'm trying to write a little more abstractly these days, but the themes that seem to always reoccur are very social justice motivated. Writing about mental illness and mental health are all themes that I tend to write about over and over again in different ways.

GBTRS: You've been very vocal and open about your gender identity and that's very important to so many people who are looking to find themselves in the people that they listen to. Do you have any advice for people who are struggling with that, or even advice for creatives who are in the industry who are working through that as well?

Plexxaglass: So my coming out as non-binary is still honestly pretty new. I came out publicly about it a little over a year ago. It's something that I always knew, but growing up we just didn't have the language for it. I didn't really know why I felt so out of place and that it felt like such a struggle to present as feminine as possible so as not to feel like I was an outsider. I spent many years trying very hard to conform.

I think a lot of it was literature that talked about neo-pronouns [that] was something that happened for me that was really an eye-opener. I knew at that point that there were people who used they/them pronouns [and] identified as non-binary, but for some reason, it didn't really click until a book called Black Sun. They have a character that uses neo-pronouns. It just really slapped me in the face.

I'm really lucky. My friends and family have been almost apathetic about it- like 'that totally makes sense'. The other thing that really helped me was honestly TikTok as well. There is a large trans and non-binary community on TikTok. That was where I really found community, because it was scary to me, because I have conformed for so long. Being a woman was something that I made a very clear part of my identity for so long, that I was scared to lose that community.

I would just say to anyone who is afraid of that: anyone who doesn't still want to welcome you in their space isn't a person you want in your life anyway. I've been lucky that I haven't really had a lot of that. It was a struggle to let go of that. After I came out publicly, I was looking through my closet and I have all of these shirts that say Girl Club and Badass Woman [and] all of these because I was trying so hard. It was difficult to let go of that and come to terms with the fact that it really never was me- it was a mask that I was putting on to feel included and normal.

GBTRS: Do you have a song in your catalog that particularly resonates with you?

Plexxaglass: There's a song that's coming out in August. It's the last single off of this record [and] it's called "Tall". It is about being a trauma survivor- my trauma- and just a rallying cry for trauma survivors in general. I have put out little teasers of it on TikTok and it does seem like it's really resonating with people, which is very exciting. But out of the catalog of songs that I have out currently, the song "Liar"...it's kind of similar in tone. I wrote it after I was diagnosed Bipolar II. It's a song that's very clearly about mental health struggles and I think anyone who does struggle with depression really does relate to that song. That song was the one that really gifted me listeners from TikTok. So that's a song I'll always cherish for many, many reasons, but it has definitely brought me my little music family.

GBTRS: Now that you're starting to connect even more with your listeners, is there anything specific that you hope people take away from your music when they hear you for the first time?

Plexxaglass: I think, like most people, I wanted to create a little community, and I do feel like I'm finally getting to a point where I'm doing that with my music and connecting people and their experiences.

GBTRS: Now that things are starting to move forward, what's coming up for you?

Plexxaglass: I want to get back to playing shows. I definitely want to pair a show with the release of the record, so I'm hoping I'm going to book some shows for the fall. Get back into rehearsals with a band and get that going and just keep writing and coming up with new material for the next wave of music.

GBTRS: Is there anything else that you want people to know about you or your music, or is there anything that you wish you got to talk about more that you might not get asked?

Plexxaglass: Wow, good question. I think a lot of people don't realize that musicians- especially independent artists- this is this is our small business. It takes a lot of work, obviously, it takes talent and patience, but it takes money. That's why they're there are gaps in time of when I put music out, because sometimes I just legitimately can't afford to- which is sad, I wish that the US had more support for artists like I know other countries do- I know that the UK is really good about grant opportunities for their artists out there.

I know that people are happy to consume music, but I think people don't realize- especially in the independent side of things- how hard it is to be a musician who's trying to make it in this country. I appreciate everyone who has ever just randomly sent me like $2 on PayPal. It means so much to me because it means that they get that and I think that is something really special and cool about the family that I'm building with my music because they think that they really see me and they appreciate the work. It's people who genuinely want to be involved in my work, and that is something I've never experienced before until the past year or two. That's awesome because myself and my producer, Kevin...we love this project to death. It's awesome to see response from people who love it just as much as we do.

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

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Fight or Flight - Chapter 11: Weighing

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3300

Rating: PG-13 (language only)

Summary: Six days since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Rashad sighed heavily as he sat in a chair that was much too big behind a desk that was much too formal in an office that was much too stuffy. He’d agreed to be king-regent because he knew Liam was backed into a corner, and that his previous turns as legal counsel to both the palace and the Beaumonts made him the only obviously neutral party in the nobility. But not even one week in, and he found himself wishing he’d refused the appointment. He missed his job, his duties, his office, and that didn’t even touch on the mess he’d been handed.

It’s not like he wasn’t used to complicated and stressful work. But at Sloan Enterprises, it was work he was passionate about, work that he found stimulating and enthralling. Now, he was engulfed in so many decisions ranging from the banal to the insane. It was work he honestly wanted no part of, but that hadn’t exactly been an option.

His goal had simply been to get through the social season and reach the Conclave without rocking the boat, so to speak. Keep Cordonia on a steady course until someone who wanted the title of monarch could assume it, then return to his life as quickly as possible. But that had rapidly proved to be an impossibility. He’d already had to initiate a treason and kidnapping investigation, strip a duke and duchess of their titles, and postpone the social season. He’d done more in a few days than he’d hoped to do during his entire “reign.”

Now, he was facing numerous protests across the country that he had no idea how to handle. He wasn’t some verbose, eloquent speaker. Any speech from him was unlikely to quell citizen unrest. But in the past 36 hours, he’d watched news coverage of five different protests from five different groups. There was the group that called themselves the True Cordonians, a collection of traditionalists who had always opposed Drake and Riley and their connections to the United States, who were upset that the “traitorous” Walkers hadn’t been found yet. Counter-protesters to them had popped up in front of the Valtoria estate, denouncing the kidnapping and treason charges. That group hadn’t named themselves, but “She’s their kid” had become their rallying cry. Then there were the protests in Lythikos that called for Olivia’s installation as the “rightful regent” as well as a pro-Beaumont group that had come out in support of Barthelemy in Ramsford following his exclusive interview with Ana de Luca. And of course, the Liberation Core was using all the turmoil to spread their anti-monarchy message. Even if Rashad had been confident in his abilities to give a national address, he was completely unsure how to find a message that would even partially unify all those opposing groups.

All he wanted to do was to leave as little of a mark as possible as a ruler and to hand off the crown with Cordonia in a stable position. But it was rapidly seeming like those goals were mutually exclusive. And as loathe as he was to make big decisions, hiding away in the palace and letting the country fall to pieces was not something he could do. He needed to steady the ship, so to speak. And that’s why he was meeting with Lady Hana today.

Almost on cue, he heard a sharp tap on the main office door. After a second, Stefan entered, bowing his head slightly. Liam had offered to let his personal assistant stay on and help him with day to day tasks and the basics and essentials of the role. Rashad wasn’t naive enough to think that Stafan wasn’t essentially spying on him and reporting back to Liam, but he’d needed all the help he could get, and Stefan had proved invaluable, preparing daily briefings and news summaries, so he’d kept the man on his staff.

“Your Regency, Lady Hana is here for her appointment.”

“Thank you, Stefan. Send her in, please.”

A few moments later, Lady Hana entered, bowing her head slightly.

“Good afternoon, Your Regency.”

“Same to you, Lady Hana. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. He was well aware this was probably awkward for her as well. She had probably been in this same office not that long ago with Liam behind the desk.

“Thank you,” she said with a little nod, smoothing her skirt before she sat down.

“So, I figure we better get right down to business.”

“I’ve told Bastien and the investigators everything I know, but I can-”

“No! Not that; I know you’ve already given your statement. I wanted to talk to you about Valtoria.”

Hana was still and silent for just a moment before nodding crisply. “Very well. I would appreciate if I could have a day or two to move my belongings out of the estate.”

Rashad grimaced. This was so uncomfortable. “No, you misunderstand me, Lady Hana. I wanted to discuss whether you were open to accepting the title of Duchess of Valtoria.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Me? As a duchess?”

“Yes. You’ve been living there for about a year and a half at this point, and I am guessing you have served as an advisor to Lady Ri- er, the previous duchess at various points.”

“Well, yes. But it was really nothing.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

She gave him a little smile at that. “Why are you looking to appoint me?”

Rashad figured he had better level with her. She wasn’t going to respond well to flattery she found insincere. “There is too much instability across the kingdom at the moment. Too much is unfolding, and the citizens are rightly unsettled. You are a known presence at that duchy, and you are more than qualified to hold the title. You stepping into that role would help reduce the sense that everything is changing. I might not be able to keep Lythikos and Ramsford calm and peaceful, but if I can give Valtoria some sense of stability, that would be a start at least.”

“I don’t know. This seems like a gigantic call for you to make while you’re…”

“A placeholder?”

“I didn’t know how to phrase it politely,” she said with a little smile.

“That’s quite alright. To answer your question, I’m not sure if this is the right call, but it seems like a natural place to start. You know the people of Valtoria. You’ve lived there and you’ve served them and the country as a whole well. You have the skills and talents required for the position, and professional recruitment is one area I actually do have some experience, so I am confident you would do well in that role. But the choice is yours, of course.”

He watched her swallow, trying to read her expression, but her face wasn’t giving much away. He had no idea what she was thinking, but after a few seconds of tense silence, she nodded. “Alright then. If it’s what the citizens of Valtoria need, I’d be honored to accept.

With that, she stretched her left hand across the desk, so Rashad grasped it firmly. As he pulled out some of the paperwork he’d prepared in hopes that she agreed and started going over some of the logistics, he hoped that his first major decision as regent would be one of his only major decisions. The fear of public scrutiny already loomed large in his mind, and this was a decision he was actually fairly confident in. Sadly, he was a realist, and he knew things were likely to get worse before they got better. All he could do, though, was keep trotting along, trying to get the country through the next couple of months relatively unscathed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley let out a groan, dropping her head into her hands. “Drake, this fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

She glanced out the window, almost feeling like she would see a drone with a little camera courtesy of Amalas just peering into their room. Was she using drones? Did she have spies tailing them? Was she just scanning publicly accessible photos tagged in Greek cities with facial ID software? Did it even matter? The end result was the same. Someone she wasn’t sure she could trust knew where her family was, and that was mad nerve-wracking.

Riley glanced back down at Drake, who was sitting on the floor with Bridget, keeping her from using the dresser to pull up to standing. She’d discovered how to do so this morning, and she kept wanting to repeat it, but the last thing they needed was for her to pull the dresser down on top of herself. It made Riley think about all the furniture around their private quarters that Drake had bolted to the wall in preparation for this milestone. None of that would matter anymore.

For the moment, Bridget was distracted with a pile of blocks she was putting into a pillowcase over and over. Riley knew she would return to trying to escape Drake’s reach to try out her new skill soon enough, but for now, at least, she was safely and happily playing.

Riley and Drake had been discussing what to do next for hours and hours at this point. They had called Olivia earlier, and after some back and forth, Drake and Olivia had both seemed confident that Amalas wasn’t actively following them and didn’t know their location beyond the city. After all, she had been eager to contact Olivia with her intel, and it seemed like too much of a coincidence for that call to come just a few hours after they had spent any real time out in public since their fleeing was common knowledge.

The best guess Drake had was that they had been in the background of someone’s Pictagram post or some shit like that, and that Amalas was just constantly running some sort of facial recognition program constantly on posts tagged with various cities in Greece. After all, she had to know they were trapped in Greece at this point. If they attempted to cross the borders, they would have to show their ID cards and they would likely be arrested on the spot.

Even if Amalas was just aware of their general location, it still was concerning that she was devoting that much effort to keeping tabs on them. But what actions they needed to take next were unclear to both of them. Hence them talking around in circles for hours and hours, just waiting for some idea that felt better than all the crappy ones they’d both thrown out there.

“I just don’t like sitting around with her knowing where we are, Drake. Even if she doesn’t know the exact details.”

Drake glanced up at her and gave a little shrug. This wasn’t the first time she’d expressed that sentiment. “I don’t like it either. But there’s no guarantee things will be better if we move on to a new city.”

“Olivia said that she’s trying to use us as leverage. How does that sit right with you?”

He shot her a clearly annoyed glare before looking back at Bridget, emptying the pillowcase for her to start filling with blocks again before he said, “It doesn’t fucking sit right with me. But we need to think long term here. We will need to find places to stay for at least a couple of months. That’s the earliest the Conclave can happen, and the charges won’t be dropped before then. We’re also going to need food and warmer clothing when it’s not the middle of summer, and that beater of a car is not going to hold up forever. We need to be frugal and cautious now.”

Riley knew he was right. Her instinct was always to scramble and react, often impulsively. If they kept following her lead every step of the way, they were probably going to make things harder than they needed to be. And she did appreciate that Drake was trying to put more thought into concrete plans. Both of them drifting along without a clear plan, complacent beyond belief was how Bridget was named heir and they found themselves in this situation in the first place.

“Are we even going to have enough money to get us through the next couple of months?”

Drake let out a sigh and shook his head.

“How long?” Riley asked, scrunching her eyes closed as she braced for the answer.

“Three weeks, more or less, if we keep our expenses like they have been.” She opened her eyes and locked them on his. His shoulders sagged and his eyes were sad and heavy, like he was somehow letting her down by telling her the honest facts.

“Drake… How are we going…” she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

“I’m gonna need to pick up some odd jobs or something, find a way to make some money.”

“How are we going to do that without any ID we can show or anything. I mean, Amalas is out as a source of forgeries at this point, so unless-”

“Olivia told us she was going to poke around, see what she could do. Hana has our passports, so that’s a start at least.”

“I don’t know. I just… I hate this. Everything we have to do feels like it’s gonna get us caught.”

Drake ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and in all the time she had known him, Riley could count the number of times he hadn’t shaved on one hand. She wondered if he was trying to grow a beard to make himself less recognizable or if he had just been too stressed and sleep deprived to bother today. She knew he wasn’t sleeping well.

“I don’t know how to fix this perfectly, Riley. I just don’t.” He looked so dejected, placing his chin on his bent knee, so Riley slid off the end of the bed and joined him and Bridget on the floor, threading her legs under his raised leg in hopes of conveying some degree of comfort.

“Well, we’re just going to have to make a decision and not look back here. And it looks like the two least bad options are to either stay hiding out here for as long as possible and hope that Amalas doesn’t go blabbing, or move on to a new city and hope she doesn’t find us there and that it isn’t too much of an expense to do so.”

He nodded, reaching for her hand. She grabbed on tightly, threading their fingers together. Maybe it was for the best they were both mad conflicted here. It allowed them to really decide on their next move as a team.

“I know I’ve been kind of reluctant to head to a new city, but one thing that is worth considering is that if we went to a bigger city, I might be able to find some under the table work. Day labor, that sort of thing. Plus…” he trailed off and shook his head a little at that, so Riley pushed on.

“What?”

“Well, we have a better chance of finding someone to do a forgery for us in a bigger city, too.”

“You think we should just find a random stranger to forge us passports with new identities?”

“We might have to. I hope Olivia can come through for us, but I’m not counting on that. She’s not going to risk her reputation and good standing to really put her neck out there for us. It’s one thing to keep our location a secret, it’s another to draw attention to herself by asking a lot of questions about how to fake a convincing Greek passport. So if she isn’t able to help us, we’re probably going to have to find someone to do it for us at some point.”

“I thought you said the bigger cities would be the first place they would try to track us.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a few days. They are probably broadening their search at this point. I feel like that risk isn’t as bad as it used to be.”

“So are you saying you think we should head out?”

He paused for a moment and swallowed roughly, running his free hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I think we could stay here for a little while longer and wait to see what Olivia can do for us about fabricated identification, or we could cut our losses and start trying to plan for that on our own. I don’t exactly like either option, Walker, but I think those two I could live with. Where are you at?”

She bit her lip, trying to figure out what was best. She wished there was a clear sign that one option was better than another, but there just wasn’t. They were going to be gambling here no matter what, and while she normally loved a good game of poker, the fact that the stakes here included the safety of her daughter and her family left her feeling sick to her stomach.

“I guess I don’t trust Amalas knowing even our general location.”

“Even though…,” Drake started, taking a deep breath and giving her hand a squeeze before he continued, “even though you thought she might be a good resource for us yesterday?”

Riley opened her mouth to snap back at him, frustrated that he seemed to be trying to trap her or accuse her or something, but she stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. He was afraid of her. She’d never seen that look directed at her before, not quite like that. Sure, she’d seen him upset and terrified, but she had never been the source of it before. So she swallowed down her instinct to lash out and defend herself and let out a little sigh. She’d put him through enough with this whole fugitive status already, and she didn’t want him to feel like he couldn’t be honest with her, couldn’t challenge her. They had always pushed each other, even before they were together. She couldn’t risk losing that now.

“The situation has changed,” she said, trying to keep any defensiveness out of her voice. “If she’s putting the effort into keeping tabs on our whereabouts, she has something up her sleeve, and I don’t trust her. It was one thing when I hoped we might be able to leverage some juicy info and future political favors, but now… I just don’t think we’re going to be willing to pay the price she wants.”

Drake nodded a couple of times before he said, “Okay, so we’re moving on then?”

“If you’re okay with that.”

“As long as we go to a bigger city, I’m okay with it.”

She gave him a little smile and reached up to cup his cheek with her free hand. “Got a place in mind?”

“If we’re gonna do this, we might as well commit. I say Athens, unless you-”

But she cut him off, shaking her head before leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Drake.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m-” he started, but threw himself to the side and grabbed Bridget who was crawling over to the dresser, tugging her into his lap. “Oh no you don’t, Peanut.”

Riley felt her lips widening into a genuine smile, a feeling that almost felt foreign after the past several days. But her family was here, and they were all just doing the best they could. Even if it all fell apart, at least she could take comfort in that fact. So for now, she just took in her husband and her daughter sharing a normal moment, happy simply to be together.

Permatag: @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trh au #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #trr au fanfic #trh au fanfic #choices fanfiction

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

Y’know, I’ve posted before about how important it can be to survivors to be in charge of determining when they disclose what happened to them and to whom in what ways.....and thus how the trend of Dick’s ‘secret’ (what happened with Tarantula or Mirage or both) being found out by his family or friends despite his wishes or even his active efforts to keep it secret, and he’s forced to confront it and deal with all of them knowing before he’s ready and made any kind of peace with it himself, and this is often framed as being what’s best for him and its better now that everything’s out in the open and its like....no, that’s not how it works, you can’t FORCE people to recover on YOUR time table, and it happening in a way that gives them no agency or control over it is often a SETBACK instead of like....to their benefit, because while at its heart, disclosure is a relatively simple action, it can be hugely empowering to survivors because its the first time they’re able to definitively take what happened to them and DECIDE what happens next, to take back some of the CONTROL that was ripped away from them by the event and sent their life into a tailspin ever since.....

Ahem. Anyway. Like I said, y’know how I’ve posted before about....all of...well, that?

LOL.

Yeah, so anyway, I’ve been thinking lately about an ideal ‘counter-trend’ that I think could add so much to the view of these parts of Dick’s narrative and character and to discussions about them....and it also IMO is one of the most likely and in character ways that Dick WOULD be likely to disclose what happened to him and make it known to family or friends.....WHILE letting him retain full personal agency over making that choice HIMSELF, for his OWN reasons....

And that’s like.....letting them all find out because Dick makes the personal decision to open up about that to a survivor or recent victim he sees struggling in the aftermath of their own assault.

Exposing his own vulnerabiltiies and hurt in order to HELP someone, to make something from his own pain, which is one of the key ways IMO that Dick tends to his own trauma and recovery.....using what happened to him as an opportunity to better help others, be there for them, connect with them and give them an easier time of it or more tools to help in their own recovery than he’d had himself. When he’s able to say and do the things a victim really needs to here right then and there, because he’s been there himself and he’s just saying or doing what he wishes someone had said or done for him but hadn’t known at the time he needed or wanted or even had someone available to ask even if he were able to.

I’d love to see a Dick Grayson who finds the strength and will to open up about his own secrets and traumas even if it means people close to him finding out and maybe pitying him (which he hates and I think is one of the primary reasons he doesn’t tell people when something bad happens to him oif he can help it) - and who does so because its the strength someone needs from him in that moment, and Dick’s personal call to heroism is the need, the drive, to be what someone needs in order to save them if its at all within his capabilities. That’s why he’s a hero: he doesn’t know how to NOT intervene in a situation where he knows his unique talents and skills could help protect or defend someone, save them from pain or loss or dying. He doesn’t WANT to know how.

Gimme a Dick Grayson who swallows down his fears, straightens his shoulders and defiantly tells his primal reptile brain “Fuck his secrets” - he couldn’t save this person from having this thing happen to them, but he can still be a kind of hero to them, for them, by CONNECTING with them, revealing that even he, a bonafide SUPERHERO, can and has been hurt that way, and it sucks and its painful and it wakes him up sometimes in the middle of the night, but he’s still here, he’s still the person HE chooses to be, someone who still laughs and cries and has friends and goals and dreams and bad days but good days as well....show me him being their own personal superhero by cutting straight through the shit their own demons try to convince them of - that this is their fault or they deserved this or it wouldn’t have happened if they were stronger, smarter, BETTER - because when freaking Nightwing, son of the Batman and leader of the Titans and someone superheroes the world over speak of in glowing terms....

When THAT guy looks you straight in the eye and tells you none of that is true, that he knows this because it happened to him too, and it had nothing to do with strength or weakness or deserving it or wanting it......its a HELL of a lot easier to believe coming from him. To internalize. To take in and make a mantra in your head that you can summon forth to remind yourself of whenever doubts start to sneak up on you again. That you can call to mind whenever you have a PTSD flashback or a panic attack - that memory of him standing tall and strong even as he relayed his own story of being struck low, and offering you a hand to help you up when he saw you trapped in a place he recognized, a labyrinth he’d found his own way out of.

That image of him smiling at you with no trace of the pain you’re feeling now, or so much as a hint of judgment or pity as he’d said:

“I get it. I was there once too, lying right where you are now and unable to even imagine a day when I’d be able to stand up again. But in time I did, so I could be here when you needed me to be, when you needed a hand extended from just the right height and not an inch higher. Something for you to grab onto and just use to steady yourself as you regain your feet and stand on your own, rather than a puppeteer dragging you upright by unwilling strings, legs extended but still completely incapable of supporting you on their own, ensuring dependency on that puppetmaster to prop you up from behind and move your limbs the way they think they should be moving as tell themselves they helped.”

“Maybe so I could be here keeping you company when you’re afraid to be alone, or just be here to be a mirror until you’re ready to face someone and look them in the eye.....a mirror in whose reflection you see your past behind you, and a glimpse of a possible future, one with hope. One with joy. With good days as well as any bad ones, and confidence and security in yourself and your ability to stand on your own.”

“Maybe so I could be here when you need someone to stand beside you when you’re ready to face society again, so you don’t have to depend on the kindness of strangers whose faces only reflect a pity for your past, their eyes always straying to where they expect to see it anchored around your ankle like an albatross that will only ever let you rise so high, never able to venture further from it than that anchor’s chain will allow.'”

“Or so I could be here when you need a guide who’s familiar with this road and has walked it before, can help you navigate the hidden dangers a little more safely, head in the right direction a little more confidently. Or maybe you could use a comrade in arms to back you up when you’re in the thick of that struggle, that personal war that countless others have fought their own versions of before. Each of them knowing just how hard it is and how fiercely you have to fight just when it feels most hopeless. And many of whom are ready and willing to return to the fight and battle alongside you if that’s what you need instead. Like people say, there’s strength in numbers....and there’s also strength in others’ stories of their own past victories, in knowing that people before you have won that war or found some measure of peace somewhere away from the battlefield, that its happened before and it can happen again, maybe even to you. Or hearing in their tales inspiration for your own tale of triumph, and even just a single flickering thought, there and gone in a single moment but still there, still counting....of an After where you could someday be one of the storytellers giving someone strength with your own.”

No matter how simple or eloquent the words he uses, even the prettiest words only have as much substance as the actions behind them. Anyone can say those things, anyone can coach you to say those things to yourself, but believing them is another story entirely. And if that belief isn’t there yet, won’t come when you call.....when you’re not quite ready to believe in yourself again - well, that’s when having a hero to believe in can come in quite handy.

And if you need a hero to believe in? To believe when he says he’s been where you are and where he is now is where you could be someday too....its hard to do better than Nightwing.

(This is where things kinda got away from me and turned into a very experimental thing I didn’t intend to write or realize I was writing until I finished it and I’m still not entirely sure what exactly it is. Oh, me.)

Because Nightwing flies, he soars. No matter how low a depth he launches himself from, there’s very few who can claim to ever rise to his highest heights.

They say he’s the first Boy Wonder, the laughing sprite in brilliant red and green and yellow that stood out in stark contrast to the violent backdrop of Gotham’s darkest nights. A human light source, a mortal star that shone so brightly he powered a whole city’s hope for the future by himself - a singular focus for an entire population’s belief in the strength and power and spirit of youth. Standing at the very forefront of the heroes of tomorrow, first out of even their initial vanguard, the frontrunners who unrepentantly choose a headstart to saving the world and race into the future’s unknown dangers and uncertainties well ahead of the starting gun. Even among his own peers, he was the one to launch the opening sally, to rally the others to arms, all by pitching his flag in Gotham of all places.

The first shots of the war for the future were fired in a city famous for its dead. And its’ Dark Knight’s famous antipathy to guns aside, it was his brightly laughing Robin who pulled that particular trigger. Oddly fitting, despite any initial bemusement that might raise - its those trapped in the darkest of places who need the brightest lights if they’re going to see which way they should go.

(There’s a kind of tragedy in how few will ever truly know what a fitting champion for Gotham he’d turn out to be. The worst of its villains tried to claim the hallmarks of childhood, of joy - of circuses and spectacles for his calling card. And in turn, it was a joyous child straight out of the circus who would return those to their rightful owners. Who made a hero’s covenant with an unsuspecting city the first time he stood in some forgotten alley helping up an almost victim who will never know the significance of it being the first time that boy refused to let their brush with violence be the last and most vivid memory they carried on from that night, and so who instead provided something unexpected, something memorable, something powerful - the strange miracle of a child laughing in the same shadows that only minutes earlier had hidden terrible dangers, proof positive that no matter what horrors the dark corners of Gotham hide.....there can be joy and happiness and laughter found in those same places too.

The Joker may have laughed first, taking something good and warping and twisting it into a celebration of sadism....but its the children of Gotham who will laugh last.)

But this is about the credentials of Nightwing, when offering comfort to survivors. About proof of the power backing up his words when he extends a hand and says this too shall pass.

Because Nightwing is who that boy became, grew into, the shape that promise of the future poured itself into on the day that future finally arrived. Who made himself a hero even among heroes, the Pygmalion of his own inspiration, that he in turn passed on down the line. A brand-new mythology born into a world that thinks mythologies only belong to the dead; a creation story that just so happens to double as Gotham’s ultimate success story:

Once upon a time, a monster murdered a child’s parents and innocence with a single vicious blow. That alone would definitively see to this being shelved among the Tragedies - but its not in Gotham’s nature to resist an opportunity to double down. Thus rather than help him find a new happy ending, the champions of justice who claimed to have ridden to his rescue instead just dropped him into the worst of Gotham’s filth; no way out in sight, even upon the most distant horizon.

And even when Gotham’s own darkest of angels (the only kind she’d allow past her gates) even when the Batman himself reached a hand down to help lift him out, the boy chose to stay down there at his side each night instead. Because there were others stuck in the swamp still, see. Others not so different from him. Why should he hide behind clean, austere walls when he had two hands that could help lift others out just as well? And he waded through the endless swamp for years without ever letting it drag him down. Slogging determinedly through it no matter how hard it made it to keep lifting his feet.

They say back then he was so small, even the smallest wave in that sea of corruption should have crashed far above his head rather than breaking upon him like a shore. Should have drowned him in Acheronian waters of wailing and woe with even just the sheer weight of their vastness. But he just kept forging his way forward, as if it were the Styx and the river’s violence only made him stronger instead. He was so tiny, they said, he should have succumbed to being dragged down to its depths by a Gotham that tried to sing him into eternal sleep like it was a siren with a repertoire of lullabies.

By all accounts, the boy Robin who seemed to have sprung forth fully formed from Batman’s shadow, already a warrior ready to wage war from the moment of his birth - he was a paradox, a contradiction to himself. The figure they told stories of, the height they lowered their hands to when describing him with tales twice as tall as the hero in them....well. Gotham is a graveyard for bright lights, not the wellspring that births them. It should never have produced even a grimly avenging hero like Batman, let alone the cheerful champion at his side. By all rights, the Boy Wonder’s only destiny should have been to be another statistic lost in a war of attrition against Gotham’s signature entropy. One more casualty to its chaos as it inches ever closer to its own demise: an inevitable implosion of its own making, the serpent that eats its own tail.

But the wonder of the Boy Wonder is that despite all expectations, despite all logic, despite all the reasons his only fate should have been to fall....he grew up. Rose up. Flew to heights most lack the context to even dream of. He was another Icarus, one who’d learned nothing from the fate of the first; determined to fly even higher while everyone else cried warnings of already being high enough. But he was an Icarus the sun welcomed as a kindred spirit instead of a trespasser, rejuvenating him at the apex of each flight he made rather than burning the wax from his wings.

He lasted...and that alone already made him a legend. From his first flight as Robin, everyone had expected his story to end as a mere cautionary tale. And slowly but surely Robin taught them to expect the unexpected.

(Not quite as fast as they could’ve, however. You’d think the citizens of Gotham would have taken a note from seeing their Robin live past even the longest odds that’d been laid against his longevity, bets made and never paid because he just wouldn’t die. But the stubbornness that keeps Gothammites rooted in Gotham is a double-edged sword. They made fresh bets when a new Robin took to the sky.....and again, most people defined “Robin” as an inevitable word of warning spoken to anyone who might follow But if bookies called it a nightmare when the first Robin stayed alive and a success story from the city who hated seeing an underdog succeed, they ran out of ways to curse the second Robin when he proved that Robins can double down too, and screwed their bets all to hell. But after all, what did people expect? There’s no better sequel to the boy who refused to die, than the boy who died and refused to stay dead. But that too is another story entirely.)

But in this story, the story of Robin the first - that story turned out to be just the first chapter. The Robin that sings Gotham into a new spring with nothing but his refusal to stop singing becomes the Nightwing who hunts with all the grace and strength of any bird of prey, both by day and all through the night. He’s the man that grew out of the seeds a Robin planted in the memory of his home, and then nurtured with his own light. Who blossomed thanks to roots that may have been transplanted from a far distant garden, but still took to new soil so vigorously, so firmly, it didn’t matter how much the city tried to wash away the ground beneath his feet......his footing stayed level and steady as he kept moving ever forward.

Year after year, head always held high - and only rising higher and higher as he grew taller with the passage of time. Making him all the more visible even to those further and further away, until finally he reached the end of the path he’d stuck to even through the roughest neighborhoods of a childhood done Gotham’s way. But the end of that road was no more an ending than the last page of Chapter One.

Because where others might have seen a wall, Robin saw a springboard and the possibility of any number of new roads on the other side of that wall, just hidden from sight. And so he just stepped right up to it, on it, and he bent his knees and leaped into the air and flew. High enough and bright enough he could be seen no matter where you stood below. Free as a bird, with feathers who refused to be stained by the oil and garbage that Gotham tried to paint him with, every day of the childhood it had tried its hardest to knock him off his chosen course and force him down another path. With wings that had refused to be clipped, refused to get caught and trapped by deception, by corruption, by defeat. By whatever the city could find to throw at him in its attempts to stop him in his tracks, to keep him from going any further, or better yet, to turn him around and sent in the opposite direction. Because Gotham is a city who likes its stagnancy, likes its despair. Likes having a strong brand with a clear message for the rest of the world: that Gotham is the city where even hope goes to die. That you’d best abandon hope all ye who enter here, because the city will find some way to destroy any that gets smuggled across its borders anyway.

And Nightwing. Well. Nightwing is the the proof that Gotham is a liar.

Nightwing is their child hero Robin, the embodiment of youth’s hope and potential and self-determination, now reborn in a new image and with a new name. Gone to spread his light to a new city desperately in need of illumination, but never forgetting where he came from. Never flying so far away that he couldn’t swiftly make the return journey any time Gotham’s citizens needed him once more. Needed that bright and carefree grin to again shine defiantly through the shadows like a lighthouse that stands strong and sturdy and impervious through even the worst of storms. That stays on task as it tunnels through the darkness and makes its point of origin the light at the end of the tunnel for all in desperate need of one. Confident in its walls’ ability to remain unmoved by even the most vicious and violent winds throwing themselves bodily against them. Certain the ground beneath it will remain unshaken by any attempt to erode its foundation. Trusting the worksmanship that crafted the roof to keep the pounding rain shut out and nothing but an offbeat melody overhead. Powerless to douse the life-saving, hope-birthing, reliable, consistent light.

Nightwing is a lance of light and the one hurling it like a javelin into the night, both at the same time, two parts in one. A brilliant spear that cleaves through any and all darkness, no matter how thick a blanket of it Gotham hurls over rooftops in its need to stamp out any and all light before anyone can see it and take hope. But in that it is its own undoing, because its been trying that trick since Nightwing was just a tiny little Robin, and every attempt to dial down that brilliance and reset it to dim - they’ve only ever prompted and spurred the Gotham-forged hero to shine all the brighter, refusing to be beaten down or snuffed out.

(And his flight to a new city, a second city - well, that was probably always inevitable, in hindsight. After all, in the fullness of his realized potential, the mature wings of the Robin that was once just tiny little spark - now they spread too wide to be contained by a single city. Gleam with a brightness too blinding to be focused on just one city, especially one more accustomed to living in shadow.)

And whether he called Bludhaven or Gotham home, whenever Gotham was most lost, he was always right there and ready to light that lighthouse lamp the moment the sun goes down. Its guiding, inspiring, hopeful light leaping forth with that same youthful exuberance that had stayed the signature of their Robin through all the years he grew. A brilliant arrow fired from the bow of a champion taught by the best archer in the world how to always hit his mark....unfailingly burning through any fog and confusion that tried to get in the way of that fearless beacon shining on despite the vastness and inevitability of night. As it guided people through tempest-tossed waves, no matter how distant the shore. Remaining lit for as long as it took them to reach a safe port they could take shelter in and ride out the chaos. Weather it until it was safe to come out again.

If Gotham was a crucible, Nightwing was both the weapon it forged and the flame it fueled, the inferno it unleashed. If Gotham was the city where even hope dies, Nightwing was the hope so enduring, so willful, it simply....refused to die. If Gotham was a city of men and nightmares, Nightwing was the boy who learned to fly in defiance of all physics, all the reasons mere mortals were meant to stay earth-bound. All so that all his fellow mortals could point to him in the sky and say this. This is the reason we still dream of the impossible anyway. And yet he’s also the man who still held on to his dreams despite all the times and ways life tried to convince him that dreams are meant to fade in time, to grow distant and indistinct with age. That the death of dreams was a strength, that it was freedom...rather than the very things that once convinced a boy he could fly.

Because the impossible is simply possibilities that haven’t happened just yet. Something that is only unreal until the day someone or something does it first.

And then suddenly, it turns out it was possible all along.

That’s the truth behind any words he speaks, the reason they can’t help but ring as true in your ears when you’re face to face with an ordinary man who somehow kept pace with gods when he was still waiting on growth spurts.

That’s the bedrock he’s standing on, when he’s standing beneath someone about to fall saying don’t be scared, that he’ll catch them. That’s the iron hidden beneath his frame that makes him into an Atlas prepared to hold up the sky, if that’s what needed to be sure he can keep his word, that his footing is sure and his stance won’t waver an inch.

That’s the superpower of the man with no superpowers, the paradox of being the impossible made possible and for whom no possibility is too high to reach.

Plus, you’re pretty sure he’s like, literally saved the world.

So when Nightwing stands before you and somehow feels at your level rather than like he’s looming over you right when you’re at your worst....when its Nightwing who looks you straight in the eye and you can actually see the sincerity in his eyes even though the whited-out lenses that are technically hiding his eyes from sight.

When Nightwing offers you his hand and says its just for support, for you to use to pull yourself to your own feet. When he says its not going away, that it’ll be there until you’re ready to use it, that its up to the task and so are you.

When its Nightwing who tells you that once it was him in your place and that someday it could be you in his place instead. When he says everything you’re feeling right now is real and valid and earned, but to remember that whatever those feelings are they coexist with facts and the facts are you once stood on your own using nothing but your own strength before you were knocked down, and being knocked down isn’t proof you can’t do it again when you’re ready.

When its Nightwing who spreads his arms wide and says here he is, proof of concept that there’s life after this just like there was life before this. That there were your good days and your bad days then and its no different now. That here he is existing, here he is living, here he stands as a survivor and living proof that this can and will be survived......

Well.

Its a lot easier to believe any and all of that, when its Nightwing that’s saying it to you. Its a little bit easier to imagine taking that hand and actually climbing to your feet, a little less of an impossible to picture feat when a living legend tells you that his offer of a hand only means he knows he could have used it once and so its there whether you need it or not. That everything you do here and now is entirely up to you.

When a man who has ordered around actual gods stands there and says this is entirely up to you, you call the shots here, he’s just here to play back up....you think......maybe I can do this. Maybe I can move on from this.

Clearly, stranger things have happened.

No matter how impossible it feels right now to imagine a day when everything doesn’t hurt, everything isn’t terrible, when you don’t see monsters lurking in every shadow and a knife for your back in every stranger’s hand, no matter how certain you are that if it were just you right here you’d probably just lie here forever, that you don’t even have the strength right now to sit up on your own. No matter how fake and trite and Kitten Posters on the Walls of the Guidance Counselor it feels when people tell you that you’re strong enough to do this, beat this, get past this, whatever the hell this actually is...

Sometimes the thing that can make all the difference is a hand that’s just there in case it becomes necessary or welcome. Someone saying its okay if you can’t believe in yourself right now, I’m going to do the believing in you until you’re ready to take over again.

Sometimes the who of the hero is irrelevant, and the only hero you need is someone there to tell you that you are hurting, its real. That someone hurt you and that’s why you’re hurting, that the effect of how you feel has a cause and its not in your head. That everything has a cause and effect, even if its not a step by step road map, and the road to the end effect of saying here I am living, I’m standing here now as proof I survived - all it needs to get started on that road is a cause. Even if that cause is just you saying I want to see what happens next. Maybe its better. Maybe its good.

Sometimes a hero is just the person who says I’m here solely to be a somebody who’s in your corner, and I’m going to be there while you see what happens next whether it does turn out good or not. Someone who is ready and willing to say it as often as it takes for you to believe it.

Sometimes the pain is too great and the thoughts-that-lie are too loud in your ears. You can look at a bonafide superhero standing strong and heroic in front of you, offering a hand and telling you you’re strong enough to take it, and still not buy it, still not believe a single word out of their mouth and its not because you’re broken its because the world is often good at lying and its burned you often enough that being cautious around what might turn out to be fire is not only warranted, its the very thing you need. Before you’re ready to take that next step, whether that’s taking an actual step yet or not. Maybe you think you were wrong about someone being trustworthy and that’s why this happened, and maybe now what you need is to be wrong about someone not being trustworthy and for the sky not to fall, for being wrong to come with no consequences, before you feel safe trusting someone again and hoping this time you’re right.

A hero will stand there regardless, or maybe take a seat if you prefer. Showing up when promised just so they can keep their promise and be proof that promises can be kept. The person who doesn’t dream of saving you, because they’re busy dreaming dreams where you save yourself. Who is there to be there even if all you end up needing them for is their hand and just for five seconds....and who’s still glad to have been there, to have been nothing more than a five-second hand for you to pull yourself up by. Because if its what you needed them to be, their performance as the five-second helping hand is the only starring role they needed or wanted for themselves.

They can be family or they can be a friend, they can be someone you never thought twice about before or someone you hated in third grade. They can be a professional or a total stranger to whom you’re a blank slate.

They can even be you.

Maybe the real hero all along turns out to be one of those stupid fucking Kittens Who Care calendars on the wall. A dumb cliché whose only superpower is being the exact thing you need to hear at the exact moment you need to hear it. The reminder that in the here and now, even at rock bottom, even if you’re all by yourself, that just means that your past isn’t there in that moment with you, and your future is still up to you. An awareness that the thing about rock bottom is no matter how far down you fell before hitting the floor....it is, in fact, a floor. And a floor is a thing you can stand on. A floor is what new things can be built upon.

The great thing about heroes is even the strange magic of hearing a child laughing when you can’t imagine laughing yourself, that might all you need to save you. A recipe for a brighter tomorrow, that reminds you that here you are, still alive, and with an undetermined future: the only ingredients needed to make a possibility, a chance that somewhere ahead of you there’s a day when you’ll laugh again.

The cool thing about a hero with the superpower of achieving the impossible is its the one power that doesn’t need to be a superpower to exist.

Because all the impossible is is a possibility that hasn’t happened yet, a performance still waiting backstage before making its debut. All a possibility is is anything and everything that has yet to be proven impossible.

There’s another word for that superpower. For holding onto a dream no matter how unlikely it is. For aiming for heights that are still possibly in reach until the day its proven for sure that they’re not. For believing that the memory of a time you couldn’t imagine ever being in this much pain....even that can be your tool, even that you can somehow make yours. Presenting as evidence that the flip side of that coin is none of the pain you’re feeling is proof there’s not maybe a day still to come, that’s full of more happiness and joy than you can possibly conceive of here and now, in this time and place..

Another word for that is hope.

Hope is the only power that can always claim to be the thing that saved the world again.

Because as long as it exists, you exist, life goes on....a better future, a future where the day is saved, its still a possibility. And no matter what ultimately claims credit for saving the day, it didn’t do it alone. Hope played a part too.....its the machinery of potential, the forward momentum and the reason it exists. Its the origin story of every wizard and scientist to ever try something with the sole cause of thinking they might get an effect that is new, is unexpected, that surprises.

And when you’re at your absolute lowest, one hundred percent convinced this is as good as it gets. When you can’t imagine or picture any future where things could possibly improve...

You don’t need Superman. You don’t need Wonder Woman.

You need whomever and whatever it is that you can look to, and in them, from them, because of them.....somewhere in all of that is something you can find, can see, can make into a reason to hope.

After that?

The sky’s the limit, and the only really limit is on the other side of the sky.

Its all up to you, and whatever it is that you decide to do next.

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