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hushnow-hun · 4 years

Text

light up my world

For shinkamiweek2020. Day 1: soulmates.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240696

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In all the years he’s lived, Shinsou’s life stays pretty much the same. Same apartment, same appearance, same circle of friends (if he counts the people Midoriya has him tag along with when he drags Shinsou with him to night-outs).

It’s not a big deal. He’s made a routine and he’s sticking to it. There’s comfort, he finds, in going through the same motions, in knowing how the day ends when he gets out of bed first thing in the morning. It’s cool.

Alright, so maybe he wants a little more. Maybe he lies awake at night sometimes, with nothing but the dull, whitish light creeping in from his window for company, and thinks about just how empty his apartment really is. Thinks that it wouldn’t be so bad having someone with him, someone to come home to at the end of the day.

A soulmate. He’s talking about a soulmate. His soulmate.

God.

It’s not like he doesn’t believe in it. He totally does— he’s seen it happen a dozen times now. Two people touch (even if it’s just the barest graze of hand against skin), and then that pause of awe and shock, that caught breath, that quiet gasp. They say it’s like your whole world just lights up, the colors seeping into everything like paint onto canvas.

It sounds so wonderful, but Shinsou’s not sure if it’s for him.

It’s like— how can he explain it? He doesn’t think he’s ready for it. Doesn’t think he’ll ever be, if truth be told. Having a soulmate is one thing but being with them is another, and Shinsou doesn’t want to fuck it up. He doesn’t want to face disappointment, or worse, fear. He doesn’t want to be the reason why his supposed other half wouldn’t want to be with him.

So it’s fine. He keeps to himself, tries to keep the touching to a minimum. He throws himself into his routine and tries to make the best of things. Same old, same old.

For the most part, it’s still dark out, but that doesn’t bother him. Shinsou knows this trail like the back of his hands. Usually, the only people he’d encounter on his morning run are other joggers, plus that one old man a few blocks down who always waters his plants first thing.

This time though there’s a boy in the park. He’s out there in the field all by himself playing, of all things, baseball. Why someone would think it’s a good idea to play baseball by themselves before the sun’s even come up is beyond Shinsou, but he’s not here to judge.

He tries to keep his staring inconspicuous as he jogs steadily past the boy, and watches quietly as he sent the ball sailing into the net. There isn’t much force behind it, but it’s not like he’s playing a real game anyway.

Shaking his head, Shinsou focuses once more on the path before him, on the familiar rhythm of feet pounding against dirt. The air is cool against his skin, and Shinsou breathes it in deeply, the scent of trees and local flora soothing him down to the bone.

He had felt particularly restless when he woke up this morning for no reason at all. Eventually, he grew tired of turning and shifting in his sheets and decided to start the day a little earlier than usual. It was a good call. Just being out here by himself has already washed out the pent-up ener—

Something blunt hits him right in the back of his head and Shinsou, caught off guard, stumbles over a tree root and hits the ground with an emphatic, “Fuck!”

He stays sprawled there, feeling the dull, barely-there ache in his head and a stinging on his right palm. For a second, he tries to think whether or not he was being mugged, when a baseball rolls innocuously into view.

Sighing his heaviest sigh today (and it’s not even 6:00 yet) he turns to see Baseball Guy stumbling out of the shrubs, looking panicked. When he sees Shinsou on the ground, his face falls even more.

“I— shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He reaches out with a hand, but Shinsou waves him off, moving into a sitting position.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the ground. After checking that his earphones were fine, he pockets them and looks up at Baseball Guy, who had not calmed down in the slightest.

“Are you sure? I really am so sorry! I didn’t think I’d hit it that hard. And I don’t know how it just veered off course like that!”

Shinsou was about to say something biting about his clearly abysmal aiming when he actually got a good look at Baseball Guy. He’s hunched over Shinsou, his light-colored hair hanging over brows pulled into a worried frown, pulling at his lip with his teeth. His hand, still hanging hesitantly between them, twitches like he wants to help Shinsou up, or maybe to touch the spot where the ball hit his head.

He’s, dare he say, kinda cute.

Slowly, Shinsou reaches behind him to feel his head. There’s still that dull ache, but that’s all it is. Nonetheless, Shinsou makes a big show of wincing.

“Well,” he says lowly, moving his hand down to rub the back of his neck. “That was a solid hit. Good to know you can play.” His lips quirk when the guy drops fully down to his level, looking even more frantic.

“Oh god, you— you don’t have a concussion, do you?”

Baseball Guy just looks so worried. Shinsou has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. If he works it up a little, he could get this guy to buy him coffee, he muses. And then froze, because his brain was suddenly bombarding him with, Date? Like a date? Coffee for a date?

(It’s really not. Nope nope nope nope. No.)

(No!)

Suddenly thrown off-balance by his own train of thought, Shinsou just nods absently at whatever Baseball Guy was saying. It wasn’t until the boy leaned closer and held his hands out towards Shinsou’s head expectantly that he realized what was being asked.

“Er,” he says, but when he saw the guy hesitate, Shinsou curses himself and tilts his head down obligingly, determined to get this over with. Baseball Guy was wearing a plain black t-shirt, not too fit nor too loose, and Shinsou tries not to think about how close he was to his chest. The guy sifts his fingers into Shinsou’s hair with surprising gentleness, prodding at the spot where the dull ache is. Damn my traitor brain, Shinsou thinks as he wills a blush to disappear. Forget the coffee not-date because he is gonna book it out of here once Baseball Guy is done.

But he’s been still and quiet for a while now.

“Shit,” Shinsou mumbles. ”Don’t tell me it’s bleeding.” He looks up and sucks in a sharp breath.

Because there are colors. Everywhere, the black and white and washed-out gray fading away slowly.

And his soulmate. He looks exactly how Shinsou feels, his jaw slack with awe and disbelief as he stares at the sun peeking out over the roofs, the day’s colors starting to spread across the sky.

His soulmate’s hair looks a lot like the sun, but… brighter somehow, even in the pale morning light. Bright and vibrant and alive, like his eyes, like the flush in his cheeks.

“Shit,” Shinsou breathes out, his chest tight. It feels too much even though it’s not. He can’t imagine ever getting enough of this.

The boy’s gaze snaps back to him, like he’s suddenly remembered he was there, and Shinsou just stares back with wide eyes, feeling caught. He can’t put a name to the emotions flitting so rapidly across his soulmate’s face, even if his life depends on it.

“I…” The guy trailed off. The smallest hum of electricity skids across his bare arm, crackling—his quirk, Shinsou realizes. His soulmate runs a hand over it almost absentmindedly and doesn’t stop looking at Shinsou, his lips parted a fraction. Shinsou swallows, and his bright eyes follow the movement.

His jolts suddenly, startling both of them. “Oh god, I just hit you. I just hit my soulmate with a baseball to the head.”

Before Shinsou could react, his soulmate takes his head in his hands and tilts it down, raising himself up on his knees to take a better look at it. He was already rambling. “I— no, I think you’re good? You’re not bleeding or anything. I don’t even feel any swelling. Gah, this is just so embarrassing,” he added the last bit under his breath.

He let go of his head only to grab Shinsou by the shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “Does it still hurt? Sorry, I’m not really good at this kind of stuff. Do you want to get it checked out or something?”

Shinsou stared wide-eyed at his soulmate, who was looking back at him with such an earnest and worried—and nervous—expression. He couldn’t help it. He laughed, something light settling into his chest and filling him with sudden exhiliration.

When the guy’s eyebrows shot up, Shinsou rushed to clarify, grabbing the hand still placed on his shoulder. He gave it a small squeeze. “I feel fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much,” he admitted.

But this only made his soulmate frown more. “But you looked in pain earlier.”

“That’s… I… was just teasing you?”

The guy blinks and huffs out a startled laugh, throwing his head back. Shinsou eased back on his sitting position and just gazed at him, at the way the early morning light played on his features, drawing Shinsou in even more. My soulmate, he thinks, half giddily and half still in disbelief. The feeling in his chest hasn’t gone away.

The guy releases a breath and stares back at him. “My name’s Denki. Kaminari Denki, but feel free to call me Denki,” he says, a crooked grin in place.

Shinsou could feel his own lips tug into a smile. “Shinsou Hitoshi, but feel free to call me Hitoshi.”

“Hitoshi,” Denki whispers, sounding out the name. He grins.

Denki stands up and brushes himself off, offering a hand and pulling Shinsou to his feet. He lets go after a second too long. “You know, this didn’t go how I thought it would,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No?” Shinsou says, amused.

Denki shakes his head softly. “Nah.” He spots something on top of Shinsou’s head and, as he makes to reach towards him again, he hesitates. “You have a…” He gestures to his own hair.

Shinsou tilts his head down just a bit (he’s taller by a few inches) and Denki plucks a leaf from it. “How’d that get there?” Shinsou mumbles, still looking at Denki.

As he tosses the leaf away with a flick of the wrist, Denki says, in his best casual tone, “I feel like I should make it up to you. You know, for the terrible first impression.”

“What about the almost head injury?” Shinsou raises a brow.

Denki scoffs. “Thought you said you were fine.” He punches him in the shoulder jokingly. When Shinsou raises the same brow again, he flushed and ducked his head away, mumbling something under his breath.

“So I was thinking,” he began, rubbing his neck. “My place is nearby. You could come over and I could patch that up.” He nods at Shinsou’s hand. He’d almost forgotten the scrape he’d gotten earlier when he fell. “Plus, I could cook us both breakfast. I’ll make the Kaminari Denki special! What do you say?”

Shinsou hums and pretends to think on it just to watch Denki squirm. “I don’t know,” he drawled. “Is there a chaperone?”

Denki’s eyes goes wide. “No! I mean, my roommate should be there, yeah, but that’s not what I meant! I just— I thought I could maybe make you breakfast as an apology, or something,” he stammers.

“Or something?” Shinsou repeats, his smile broadening.

Denki hides his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Shinsou laughs. “Relax, Denki. I’m kidding,” he says, enjoying the blush spreading to the tips of the bright-haired boy’s ears. “Yeah,” he adds softly. “Yes, I’ll go.”

Denki’s answering grin is bright and fills him head to toe with warmth. “Great!”

The sun has risen higher in the span of time they spent standing there in the middle of a dirt trail. Shinsou could see so much more colors now and it only feels a tad bit disorienting. Mostly he’s still drunk on happiness and exhilaration, and he laps up the way the light shines on all the new colors. But even more so, he can’t keep his eyes away from Denki too long, who was now pulling him along and asking what he wanted for breakfast and talking about his disaster-riddled, self-taught journey on learning to cook.

The sunlight looks better on him than on anything else.

#shinkamiweek2020 #shinkami #shindenki #kamishin #shinsou hitoshi #kaminari denki #soulmate au #colors appear au #is this late??#i am so sorry #take my trash #bnha #mha

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llawlietofficial · 5 years

Note

What type of characterisation do u like for fics? I do find that fic from back in the day is mostly 1 dimensional but I was curious what ur issues w it where?

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer this but I’m gonna be real my opinions on stuff like this have led to me being labeled toxic to the point where people have literally implied they want me and people who share similar opinions with me to leave the fandom, so I’ve been kind of hesitant to answer something like this bashing some recent characterization again. So if you’re one of those people I’m sorry and you should probably stop reading now.

opinions under the cut with some lawlight characterization stuff I don’t like + some stuff I do like:

Honestly? I try and read at least the first chapter or so of every new lawlight fic in the tag and recently it’s been impossible for me to enjoy a lot of it because when I read it it just doesn’t feel like L and Light to me at all? Like it feels like someone at some point wrote a big fic with strong characterization and interesting characters, except they weren’t much like L and Light and they acted in ways L and Light wouldn’t act. And a lot of fics now are based off that same characterization, which in turn inspires fics with that characterization, rinse and repeat. And that’s just not enjoyable to me when I’m looking to read lawlight fanfiction.

Obviously old lawlight fanfiction wasn’t all 100% perfect and there were a lot of doozies in that mix too but it felt like there were more really solid multichapter fics that might have been messy and toxic in ways but they made sense with the canon characters. And fics that did have a happy ending and some fluff thrown in were still written using circumstances that could be believable, even if it took a long time or a slow burn to get there.

To answer your question more specifically, here’s some common tropes that feel out of character to me (and I’m not calling out any specific author or saying fics that do any of these things are poorly written because they’re not and we have a lot of talented and dedicated people here):

Either one of them changing their principles and switching sides within the first 20k words and without a LOT of persuading. IMO “we’re two sides of the same coin and not that different despite both being hugely stubborn” is shit I love, “actually I’ve sided with you secretly the whole time/your magical dick has cured me of disagreeing with you/I’m willing to sacrifice the principles I literally died for in canon easily because I want to be with you” is shit I don’t love.

“We suddenly agree and work super well together as partners now that we’re in an AU and there’s no death note” doesn’t feel authentic to me because death note or no death note their entire outlook on the world is different. Light would think L’s methods are disgusting. L would think Light’s initial idealism is naive. Light believes mankind is inherently good and once you get rid of the bad that can shine, L…doesn’t seem to share that. That’s not to say they can never work together but the good shit is when it’s a long journey into understanding each other and where they’re coming from and slowly making compromises and falling in love.

L being a naive uwu tries his best baby who’s being taken advantage of by Light. Light being a misguided uwu baby who tries his best and is being taken advantage of the whole time by L. They’re more complex than that and they’re both bad people but they also both have good sides so any sort of simplification of the characters into one being a villain and one being a victim is uninteresting to me.

They shouldn’t work but somehow despite everything they do, because they’re alone and because despite disagreeing and being enemies by circumstance and by beliefs, they know without the other they’d never really be challenged or fulfilled. That’s neat. I like that. It’s messy. They’re drawn to each other even as they’re disgusted with each other.

It’s more interesting when they are their own conflict rather than the conflict solely coming from outside sources.

The 500000 fics where Light is a rebellious and progressive omega who actually secretly wants to be protected by L and feels grateful that they’ve found each other? don’t love that. I dislike omega fics in general even if there’s a couple I’ve thought were pretty alright so that doesn’t help either. It is kind of interesting that despite their differences this could be an in-universe reason to force them together. It just seems like omegafic is the lawlight default right now. Like even fics where the plot doesn’t revolve around omegaverse stuff is sometimes omegaverse and that’s ? hard for me to wrap my brain around? that’s not just a lawlight problem though that seems to be happening in a lot of fandoms

Similarly to point one, either of them being okay with losing like lol what.

yotsuba can be difficult to tackle because there’s so much going on there with the characters, but there’s so many interesting layers to explore and dive into that sometimes get ignored in favor of fluffy hijinks and that’s boring to me. from Light’s perspective L took everything from him and has made his life pretty miserable because of this whole Kira thing and catching the real Kira is the only real thing that could totally clear Light’s name and L just sort of….gives up, for a lot of it. mopes about and acts unmotivated and uninterested because Light isn’t Kira. that’s probably very frustrating for light! and fun wacky fluff or hijinks can happen, but I love when it happens in the “we got so distracted being the smartest people in the room we forgot we’re supposed to be enemies” way because that’s juicy to me

sometimes it’s the little things, too, that bother me. stuff that’ll happen and it’ll completely pull me out of the story. like L Lawliet made Naomi Misora destroy her whole damn computer after he slid into her DMs and you really think there’s any way in hell he’d have any sort of google home or siri or alexa? or casual social media, even under fake names? facebook knows everything. or light saying something or making a joke that i could never in a million years see him saying in canon because the author thought it would be funny or cute.

anytime Light is suddenly some kind of beacon of goodness champion of justice just because he didn’t find the death note. the death note didn’t make him a completely different person, he’s bitter and jaded and thinks some people would be better off dead even before getting the death note. self righteous yeah totally but actually righteous? nah man

or Light just being a fucking awful person who kidnaps and r*pes L because he lusts after him but it’s okay because somehow in the end they end up together ? i’ve seen that trope a few times and i know it existed in 2007 too i just avoided it like the plague then also.

I see a lot of AUs that are less “what would L and Light legitimately do if this was the situation or universe they were placed in” and more “i want to write this situation happening like this and i want to make it lawlight because that’s my main ship”

like, the characters that are being written are fine but if you want to write OCs right OCs. I know all of this seems really harsh which is why I put a warning about it at the beginning, and of course I know some of these problems were also prevalent between 2013-2017 and there’s tropes here that have been happening like this since the dawn of lawlight fanfiction, but since it’s happening now and now is when i’m frustrated by it now is what i’m complaining about, it could be the reason i go back to older fanfiction so much is because i had lower standards back then and it was easier for me to wade through the ones i hated to get to ones i liked and now it’s easy for me to find those again. who knows. Also I agree most fanfiction from 2007-2009 were pretty 1 dimensional.

And like, fuck me I guess but I actually like the canon characters and I joined the fandom to experience more of them and apparently that makes other people feel unsafe.

I’m not saying people aren’t allowed to express opinions that are different than me or that I Know Better Than Everyone Else or that I don’t like people posting their own headcanons or ideas or things they wish were different about the series, it’s just not my cup of tea and it’s a little frustrating that fanon is mostly all I get in fics now and that people are allowed to express opinions but only if those opinions are “people who stick too close to canon are elitist and should die and are sticks in the mud and need to leave the fandom to stop ruining things for everyone else” because like, we’re people too?

Anyway sorry this veered in a bit of a different direction and I hope I don’t lose followers over this because it’s sad to see people go but I’ve been blogging here for over 5 years and I’m not going to stop anytime soon. I also wrote most of this while having bad anxiety at like 3am last night so it’s all over the place and i’m probably going to think of like eight things in the shower later I forgot to mention because i’ve been thinking over this ask for like two weeks now.

#this is a LOT and i'm sorry #please don't all hate me for this #i promise i'm not trying to ruin anyone's fun i'm just bored of what's out there right now #and there ARE some good works too that i have enjoyed a #it's just.#hhhhh #death note #discourse

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curiosity-killed · 5 years

Text

meet ugly

Word count: 2750

A month into junior year, Jisel discovers Aeridians are maniacs. She’d known, before, that they had little conception of moderation in politics, but it’s not till she’s at Lilias’ apartment for a Saturday night house party that she discovers the full extent of it. She’s in the kitchen, commiserating with Baru over their econ professor, when there’s a shout from the living room. She turns over her shoulder to try to see what’s going on, but before she can, Baru tugs her along with an excited, “It’s started!” that explains nothing. Jisel follows, taking a swig from her beer. Whatever it is, she’ll find out soon enough. Everyone else is already crowded into the living room, it seems. A quick scan finds Penny, Elise, and Argo missing but no one else. On the TV is some kind of equestrian sport, though Jisel has no idea what it actually is. Every Aeridian in the room is leaning forward as if enraptured, and she’s surprised that most her fellow Capallans are, too. JJ and Oma lean back against the wall chatting, but their eyes still stay on the tiny figures across the screen. “What is it?” she asks Baru. “Oh my god,” Baru mutters as one word. “How have you missed this?” “Uh,” Jisel says, “bad luck?”

The camera keeps zooming in for close-ups on each of the participants, though she’s not sure the point of them; each player wears a full-head helmet with an opaque visor, and they all seem virtually interchangeable except for the different colors of their uniforms. Each of them wears a different crest, and when their name comes up onscreen, Jisel recognizes most of them. It is, apparently, a nobles’ game. “It’s ronhosseo,” Baru says. “Like a combination of steeplechase and paintball but with spears.” Jisel pauses to let that filter through. “So, they ride through an obstacle course and try to tag each other out with painted spears?” “Exactly,” Baru says, looping an arm around her shoulders. “You’re brilliant.” Oma turns to squint at her, and Jisel shrugs, mouthing ‘don’t ask.’ Being able to decipher Baru’s descriptions is a skill she’s learned over the past few months, though she’s not sure it doesn’t qualify as a type of insanity. That’s all the explanation she’s offered, and she turns to the TV in hopes of better understanding. The participants have all mounted by now, a line of twenty-four. Her friends are apparently familiar with most of them and offer grim judgment on how they’ll fare. The one in red seems to be the favorite, though JJ argues for a rider in pink. “You just have to root for the underdog,” Argo complains when he’s returned from the bathroom. “What about the one in black?” Jisel asks. Beside her, Oma snorts. “Good job picking out the dark horse,” they joke. “Nah, see how they aren’t wearing a crest? or any sponsor logos? They don’t even use a family name – aka, they’re one of the pity riders.” At Jisel’s questioning expression, Baru intervenes. “Sometimes the race will open up spaces for local riders as a kind of thank-you to the host city,” they explain. “Everyone knows they’ll lose, but it gives them a chance to brush shoulders with some pretty important people and it’s cool for the younger riders.” Jisel hums in understanding. Onscreen, a gun fires and the horses leap forward en masse. Down the hall, a door clicks open, and Elise shuffles over to lean against the corner of the wall at the end of the hall. A quick glance confirms Jisel’s suspicions about what was delaying her; Elise’s hair is nearly falling out of her ponytail, her shirt collar’s popped up on one side, and there’s a purple lipstick print smudged on the corner of her jaw. Jisel raises an eyebrow, and Elise grins back. “What’d I miss?” she asks. Penny appears over her shoulder, wrapping her arms around Elise’s waist and dropping her chin to her shoulder. Unlike her girlfriend, she’s somehow managed to remain immaculate. “Apparently, we’re watching rich people throw spears at each other from horseback,” Jisel answers. Baru punches her lightly in the arm, and Penny snorts. “Who’re we voting for?” Elise asks, tilting her head back to look at Penny. “Anyone in purple?” Penny asks. When a quick scan of the field turns up no results, she shrugs. “Alright, the one in black then.” Oma laughs and Argo shakes his head as he flops down on the floor before the couch. Lilias kicks at his leg and there’s a brief shuffle as they situate themselves comfortably. So far, all the riders on the TV are doing is running downhill. Jisel settles her weight more fully into the wall, ready to wait it out. She doesn’t know enough about this sport or horseback riding in general to pass any judgment on the race. They seem...fast? Meanwhile, half the room is muttering about early positions and race strategy. Baru, her faithful guide in all things Aeridian, leans in. “So, the first part is to knock out the worst riders,” they explain. “Thus the dash and all the twists and obstacles. See how the pack’s already separating? Now, they’ll be coming up on the first lances soon.” The pack in question is a tight bunch of the first ten or so riders with the red favorite in the lead. JJ’s pink rider has earned a position in the middle of the pack that prompts JJ to give Argo a haughty look and take a triumphant swig of orange juice. The black rider hangs at the left of the back. Just as Baru said, the riders take a turn and arrive at a stack of lances. Each is a different color that matches one of the riders, all arrayed together in a cone-like shape. The moment they arrive, each rider drops down and runs. It takes effort for Jisel to keep from laughing. It’s patently absurd-looking, but everyone else in the room is serious and intent. Getting the lances isn’t as simple as it seems. Some riders throw the others’ lances far from the pile, and others fight each other to reach the stack first. The rider in black receives a painful-looking strike across their upper arm, and the pink rider sprints off towards where their lance sticks out of some bushes. When, at last, the race continues, the groups have stretched out. There are clusters of two or four now, but the pack has dissolved. The red rider still maintains their lead, but the pink one has lost their place in the group. For a few moments, Jisel can’t spot the black rider. “Damn it,” JJ mutters, and she gets a grin from Argo. She flashes a rude gesture in reply. The race continues. At each obstacle and pickup point, there are fewer riders. Those that remain are covered in paint, like rainbow polka-dots. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Jisel asks. “Oh yeah,” Argo says. “They’re all gonna have bruises tomorrow.” Despite this, the riders don’t slow down. Now, three lead: red, blue - and black. Penny hums, pleased. They only have one set of lances left, and they are all fighting to be first. At the final pickup, no one dismounts. They lean down and snag their lance straight from the stack - or, at least, that seems to be the goal. Red moves to stop them. They juke in front of the other two, veering close enough to Blue to have Jisel preemptively wincing. Blue's horse startles, rears, and careens toward the barrier along the course's side. With the black rider, it isn't just a close call but a collision. Horse hits horse with a force that has even Baru inhaling sharply, and Jisel is prepared in that instant to see the race cut short and emergency medics called. It doesn't happen. Somehow, the black rider still clings to their saddle though both legs are on the left side, scrabbling for the stirrups. Jisel's hands tighten against her arms, unexpected anticipation gripping her as she leans forward to watch this new struggle. Black and Red continue on toward the lances, Red snatching theirs only seconds before Black reaches the pile. Still laid out over the saddle, it seems impossible that Black should have a hope of reaching the lance; just finishing at this point would be impressive. They let go. In one motion, fluid and reckless, they lunge across the saddle for the lance. Hand connects with wood, their foot finds the stirrup. Once more they are upright, churning the earth to catch up to Red. "Come on," Penny hisses. "Come on come on." Even the others seem to have abandoned their earlier rivalries and debates. If nothing else, that show of horsemanship and daring has won them over.

The same surge seems to carry victory as well. Black catches up to Red and sends their last lance soaring as they pass. They don't look back to see it hit home but lean low over the neck of their horse, stretched out to cross the line alone. There’s silence in the apartment. “Wow,” Argo finally says. “Told you,” Penny says, singsong. “What – oh.” Onscreen, the crowd erupts as the black rider removes their helmet to reveal a famous face. The prince lifts the helmet in response to the crowd’s cheers, his other hand still holding his horse’s reins. He wears a little smile, as if abashed by the applause. “Ugh,” groans Oma. “The prince?” Jisel asks, incredulous. “It happens sometimes,” says Baru. “I think it’s a joke for him, cheating at the race to put everyone in their place.” “No,” says Penny. “Cheating how? He competed the same as everyone else.” “Not the same as everyone else,” protests Argo. “Were we watching the same race? He rode like nobody can.” Oma rolls her eyes, and Baru frowns. “Just because you have a crush on the prince doesn’t make him perfect,” she says. Jisel laughs. Argo’s crush on the imperator princep is nearly established fact. She can’t count the times he’s sighed over his royal crush. “Shut up,” he groans. He’s collapsed down so that his words have to pass through his folded arms. “What happened, Argo? Has your flame faded at last?” Jisel teases. On the screen, the commentators continue to chat while the riders speak in silent conversations. Now that the race is over, the competition seems to have turned from vicious to friendly. No one’s paying much attention to the screen, but when Jisel glances up, she catches sight of the prince with his arm looped around another rider, grinning. Two days later, the race returns in a new form. Her sociology professor loves impromptu discussions, and today the topic is the ronhosseo, of course. He arrives in a jersey from the past world cup, all scarlet and gold. Jisel groans and tries to come up with any opinion on this ridiculous sport. The rest of the class has no shortage of them. Some argue that the sport is an archaic waste of resources that would be better spent mending societal ills. Others, the political science students, claim that it still serves an important role in allowing the political powers to negotiate their authority and influence in the country. Still more say it perpetuates national inequality by only being accessible to the wealthy. Finally, the professor chimes in. He lifts his gaze to the back of the lecture hall, and speaks directly to one of the students there. “Well, we have the reigning world champion here with us. Anything you’d like to say in defense?” “Uh,” says a familiar voice, “I’m not sure I’m qualified to speak on the socio-economic barriers to participation.” The room turns as a whole to face the back row. The prince is long and leggy, with his hair pulled up in a messy bun and legs stretched out in university-logo sweatpants. He looks as startled and embarrassed as if he’d been caught using a calculator for two plus two. The student beside him looks amused, far too familiar to just be another student in the class. They watch the prince as if anticipating some entertainment. “Then, perhaps you can explain why the leader of our country still participates in the sport with the highest casualty rate in the world?” the professor prompts. The prince winces and reaches back to rub the back of his neck, revealing a deep bruise wrapping around his arm. The white of his t-shirt makes the purple that much starker. “Right.” There’s a pause, as he visibly gathers his thoughts. The room, for once, is still with attention. “Well,” he starts, dropping his hand, “the way I was taught, growing up, was that the sport itself didn’t really matter. It could be wrestling or archery or table tennis instead. But Arradine’s history comes from horseback. The Soko family came to power, established Arradine as a country, because their cavalry gave them advantage over the other houses. So participating in the sport is a way of keeping our history and our culture alive, acknowledging the roots of our nation.” He falls quiet as if he hadn’t quite intended to say that much or intended to end right there. A cynical part of Jisel wonders how often he’s actually asked for his input rather than just handed a prewritten speech. The crowd shuffles back around to look at the professor in anticipation. Jisel wonders, a little inanely, how many of them are thinking back over all the times they’ve railed against the government in this class. She can’t think of a single time she’s heard the prince speak up in class. She can’t decide if it would change anything. “Well?” the professor asks the rest of the class. “You all had plenty of opinions a moment ago.” Jisel eyes the clock. There are five minutes left in the class, and there’s no way he’ll let them go early without anyone saying something. Reluctantly, she lifts her hand up from the desk surface. Maybe he won’t no– The professor gestures for her to go ahead. “I guess, it’s a little inane to talk theory when you actually have the authority to do something about it,” she says. “Like there was a conference in Liviasta this weekend over the effects of imperialism - and you were playing a sport that celebrates that imperial history. Just, I guess, seems a little hypocritical.” Silence meets the end of her sentence, and Jisel feels her cheeks heat up. Down the row somewhere, she hears a soft “holy shit.” She hadn’t meant to be too harsh - but, well, it’s out there now. The prince doesn’t get a chance to reply before the rustle of people packing up signals the end of the class. “Alright, good discussion,” the professor says, raising his voice to be heard above the laptops closing and zippers opening. “We’ll pick back up Wednesday. Don’t forget your essay two is due on Friday - and I won’t be lenient on citations this time!” Jisel’s carried out of the room on the tide of the other students and wanders down the sidewalk a few steps before stepping to the side and stopping. She pauses, staring down at her phone for a moment, before she opens the group chat. So...the prince is in my soc class There’s a beat before a typing bubble appears from Argo. Hook me up??? She snorts, unsurprised. There’s a moment where she’s not sure what to reply. It seems a little melodramatic to relate the whole event to them immediately, but she feels like she needs to say something. It was notable, in its own way, in her day. Not sure how that’ll go since I kinda called him a bad prince in front of the whole class Argo isn’t the only one intrigued by that apparently, and Jisel finally has to start walking again as she waits for the typing bubbles to burst into words. A moment later, they do, and with them, some of her anxiety. Queen! How did you not notice he was there all this time?? Honestly, I expect nothing less Sometimes I worry abt you, Jisel She laughs and taps out a reply, shoulders easing. She didn’t really say anything too out of line. The prince probably won’t even remember her by the end of the day. Twenty minutes later, JJ sends a meme with Jisel’s face pasted on some action hero walking away from an explosion. The day goes on, unbothered.

#my writing #ch: jisel #story: tcp #THE MODERN AU STRIKES AGAIN

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