#IF HE DIDNT HAVE ONE I DONT THINK HED BE AS SENTIMENTAL???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vigilentballofpassion · 4 years

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Hi! I saw that you do headcanons, and you did both Ban and Hendrickson as fathers! Do you think you might be able to do one like that for uhhhh Gowther? If not no worries! Have an amazing day!!!

Hey! I'm sorry this took so long! Thank for for requesting Gowther as part of as a parent series! (If I can even call it a series XD)

Personally I really ship Gowther with Slader. But I was it to make it generalized so it can be with anyone.

*I'm not sure whether or not Gowther can have biological children. But, with the amount of magic in the world and great power of adoption. I dont think that matters!

*I think if he has a little girl. I think his lover would want to give her the middle name Nadja after his first love. Gowther might not understand the sentiment but he would appreciate it none the less. Like with the charm King made him.

*Same thing with a boy. Perhaps middle name could be Escanor after his treasured comrade.

*Maybe he would name would Gowther jr. But after Daddy Gowther, not himself.

*Everynight he would read his kids a bed time story. This would continue until his children move out of the house of they let it.

*He would also give them a Shoulder Boot. I'm just kidding. Please watch the Seven Deadly Schmucks parody in YouTube if you haven't.

*Storytime with Gowther is the best! He does all the voices! He'd sometimes change his appearance and act out all the scenes!

*I think theater is something that he would eventually get into. As a result his children might as well.

*Since Gowther doesnt need food. I'm not sure how much of a cook he is. But, I'm sure he cant be worse than Meliodas so... I guess his kids are safe in that department.

*Gender specific clothes are not a thing with this man. His sons and daughters will probally get dressed up in make up, bows and dresses. And suits, armour, suspenders. The like.

*His kids will be very well read. I'm sure hed introduce them to all kinds of literature. But with a preference for fantasy. (Does fantasy even exist in this world? Would it just be fiction?)

*If he marries I can see him wearing both a wedding dress and a suit. I could not make up my mind which one.

*if his child marries. He will have the best mother of the bride dress, that will leave anyone jealous.

*I think if he ever gets concept of sentimanity he will have so many scrap books of his family and friends. If he doesnt he will appreciate it if his partner or friends do it for him.

*Will probally read every parenting book he can find.

*Given how upset he was at losing Daddy Gowther... Also losing Naja. (He may have a few abandonment issues) I think Gowther will be hesitent to leave his children for long periods of time.

*This may be annoying to his kids when their younger. But I think they'll appreciate it when their older. Always being able to rely on quality time with their dad.

*Gowther will be the best at tea parties. Going way out with dressing up.

*I can't see him having a lot of kids. Maybe just 1 or 2.

*He would be so factual when "giving the talk". This could either be more embarrassing for his children or a relief for them.

*I dont think ever actually learned how to "read the room" so he might accidentally embarrass his kids and partner from time to time without meaning too.

*Because of that, he might be really nonchalant about asking them personal questions that they may not want to discuss.

*Since he really started valuing his friends and teammates. I think Gowther would like it if his kids, grew up being friends with the others kids.

*I think Bartra, given Gowther's previous relationship with his sister would accept any children of Gowther's as more grandchildren and attempt to spoil them.

*Gowther would be very fair when deciding if his kids can have a pet or not. And would mainly base his decision on how responsible they and how likely they are to take care of it.

*When it comes to birthdays and things I think he would aim for more sensible things for gifts for his lover and kids. Like clothes, shoes, armour, equipment for any jobs or hobbies.

*sometime He may have to talked out of it. Because it could be considered offense. Off the top of my head. Maybe like giving his spouse a new broom for their anniversary because the old one broke

*Once in a while he'll surprise them with something truly sentimental. Like stitching old baby clothes into a quilt or something.

*Oh and books would be a common gift from him and a good one to give him.

*I think of he marries someone with a short lifespan or adopts kids with short lifespans. (I.E. Humans) it would cause him.a great deal of distress given how quickly they age and die.

*Although since he's a doll... it may not matter how long their lifespan is because he will still out last them.

*May actually seek something from.Merlin to allow him to age with his family.

*Given that he has friends from all races. Several of whom are in interspecies relationships. And presumably his partner isnt a doll he himself would be in one. So I don't think he would rarely care who his children decided to pursue romantically. All that would really matter if they treat them well.

*Growing up with a sin as your parent would probally be some serious street cred. Especially for them dad could beat your dad argument.

*People will probally assume the child of great knights, like that of the legendary order of the Seven Deadly Sins will be knights themselves.

*Gowther wouldnt push them to be a knight if they didn't want to.

*Sometimes he will be too blunt. Like if their outfit is ugly. He may come out and say it. He's not trying to be mean. Probally didnt consider it before saying it.

*Since he's a doll. I don't know if he actually needs to sleep or not. So Getting up with a baby would be no problem for him

*Wouldn't be phased by changing diapers. Would do it without ever being asked.

*if his kids are being bullied. I think he'd take care of it himself.

*Might try to entertain his children's friends by taking of his own head and scaring the crap out of them accidentally

*I think he would be great if his kids ever need help with homework.

*Since Daddy/Demon Gowther was Merlin's teacher/Mentor. I think it would be really cute and full circle if Merlin was at least one of Gowther's children's mentors.

*Diane will probally teach his children how to dance

*King will give him so many parenting tips assuming King becomes a dad first.

*Both King and Diane are really proud of the progress Gowther as made.

*Gowther's family will be invited to visit the Fairy King's forest any time.

*Meliodas will offer to arrange to have baby shower or any invents in Boar's Hat Tavern (If Gowther's partner wanted something nicer. I think Elizabeth would offer up the Castle)

*Elizabeth would probally offer to babysit so that Gowther and his partner could go out on dates.

*Ban would probally slap Gowther hard enough on the back to make him jerk and almost drop his glasses. Once Ban learned Gowther was going to be a dad.

*Ban would probally gift him very fine alchohal that Gowther would probally give to his partner.

*King and Elaine would probally work together and make the kids the cutest clothes ever.

*I can see Gowther taking his family to vacations where he went with the sins. Like to the beach or the mountain.

*Gowther will over all be a pretty good partner and parent to have. A few bumps in the road here and there. But, over all pretty great.

As always. Feel free to add on to these.

Also if you want to use these if a fanfiction or fanart go ahead. Credit would be nice. But it's not needed.

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duskholland · 3 years

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No i meant roller disco skater tom- lmao jk skateboarder!tommmm

So- first off all, he'd be fidgety and have a lot of those finger boards??? Those kinda toys and uhhh yeah, he'd have a collection. Its just a things that suits him i feel like.

And he'd have a custom design on his normal board and take it everywhere with him so he could pull off some tricks and impress the ladiesss

He'd always get injured but like a true skateboarder, if it aint broke dont fix it 😭🤣

Adding in a bit of spice of the 80s when skating got real big, maybe he makes his own trick videos??? (Famous skater!tom?? Eh)

But yes, a bunch of colorful bandaids, baggy jeans and oversized shirts (tshirt over a long sleeve i feel would be the vibe). And do not get me started on how messy his hair would get once hed take off that helmet AND how cute hed be teachjng you to skate 🥺🥺 he'd hold your hand as you try to stand on the board and walk along with you and all that stuff

And no i didnt draw skater!tom yet but i will try now (i did draw harry tho :3)

oooooh custom board custom board!!! i’m getting soft thinking about him sketching out the design himself, making it something really cool but also very sentimental :’) he’d be so cute tho.... double layered shirts and messy helmet hair... skater!tom loml 💭 idk why but i’m imagining him teaching y/n to skate along a pier/by the sea? like the idea of going penny boarding through some dusky, seaside town... sea on one side... sun setting... tom going slow and messing around ahead of you, flicking out all these cool tricks as he shows off for you... it’s very cute :’)

#ok in my defence you could’ve meant figure skating lmfaooooooo #also link me to skater harry pls :(#skater!tom :’) cute #uglypastels #au-z’s

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mercifuldeaths · 5 years

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The Heat that Drives the Light

Michael Langdon x Reader

Summary: Michael hasn’t been himself having to literally carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Because Michael hasn’t been okay, you haven’t been either.

Notes: Just a blurb that got out of hand. Was originally supposed to be really smutty and about distracting Michael while he worked...but this came out of that. I think it’s a little more interesting to take down the walls that Outpost!Michael puts up and get a little more into his psyche. Sorry it’s a bit sad and not smutty at all, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

Warnings: Sad cockwarming. Because apparently I’ve made that a thing.

Word Count: 3K

Credit to @yourkingcodyfern for the beautiful gif.

Being underground was suffocating. The walls closing in, high ceilings not doing enough to clear the air and you felt the dust settling in your lungs. Outpost Three had become something strange to you. Having spent happier times there with Michael when things were simpler placed fond memories in certain corners where he had hiked up your skirt or placed little nips on your neck. But now, it reeked of desolation.

Sure, there were the Sanctuary candidates, but did they really matter? Gone were the warlocks that Michael had called his friends, his teachers, your mentors. All that remained were the near-empty hallways. Modified victorian dress rather than the Hawthorne uniform you liked to remember Michael wearing, his hair still short, and eyes still bright.

He had hit something of a wall. After traveling to all the outposts, each of them overrun, each failing his father a little more, Michael started to turn inwards-even to you. You knew it wasn’t you nor him. It was the stress, because that’s all he could be described as of late. He hid it well, you admitted. Perfectly coiffed hair, tailored suits, and a cocky grin on his lips all made up for the man you knew was crumbling under the facade. The crushing guilt he felt for not carrying out his father’s plan to perfection.

It really wasn’t that bad...it was just one of those nights. A night where Michael was overwhelmed and working himself into the ground. He had been sat at the desk in what was his former dormitory when he was a student. He opted to take that one, refusing another Outpost guest to take ownership over it. Sentiment, you supposed.

Regardless, he sat there since dawn, or what you imagined was dawn as it was impossible to tell in the claustrophobic bunker. He had refused meals, even offering something from the stash you both had packed from the Sanctuary, and only accepted coffee. Just something to keep him going. You knew this wasn’t how he had intended to spend the day. He was dressed in his usual tailored shirts and jacket, ready to face the guests. But he hadn’t stepped outside the bedroom. And on days like that, he usually would stay in his sweatpants, hair tied in a bun, and shun the world from seeing him like that. Vulnerable. Out of his armor.

He was growing distant. Again, not at his fault and probably rooted in your natural insecurity of the relationship. It wasn’t easy being the partner of the Antichrist.

You continued to roam the halls, anything to do at this point ,having read all the interesting books in the Hawthorne library ages ago. The other guests of the Outpost were asleep, mandated by Venable’s strict schedule. She knew better than to say anything to you.

Your shoes clicked on the polished marble of the floor, almost comforting you. You felt less alone, in a sense. The sealed corridor that lead to the room Michael performed his rituals in was slightly pushed in, reminding you that maybe he had started one. That’s really all he did. Work from his computer, work with the other Cooperative higher-ups, and work for his father under the guise of asking for help. You knew better than that.

It was maybe the third time you had to pick Michael up off the floor, blood still painting his skin and the floor around him, you asked him to stop. He had passed out. Weak from blood loss, dehydration, probably malnutrition. You begged him to slow down, to take a break. He couldn’t. He literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You could tell it was getting to that point again, because it did ebb and flow depending on the state of the world, the outposts, the competency of the Cooperative that week. It was understandable. Outpost Three was a success in some ways. But others, a massive failure. Nobody was making it to the Sanctuary. He had closed the book on every person left in the world. Made his final cuts, and was now weighing the decisions heavily in his mind. It was extremely successful because it was still standing, almost everyone alive. And then there was that Mallory he was trying to figure out-sitting on his knees, blood pooling as he screamed for help, screamed for answers. You weren’t sure if he was actually asking his father for help or just needed to scream his frustrations. There was a feeling sometimes that Satan had given up on him, left him here to flounder until everyone on the earth, including Michael, was gone-given into the fire and disease around them.

With really nothing else to do, and nobody to talk to, you meandered back to Michael’s room. Even if you shared it during your stay at the Outpost, it would always stay as Michael’s dormitory in the back of your mind.

You took the long way. Passing by your secret corners, the library shelves you’d hide behind, the kitchens where midnight snacks were shared...anything to remind you of the Michael that stole your heart and soul.

You sighed before opening the door, not bothering to knock as he had probably already heard you. Preparing yourself for the image of your overworked Michael, a sight that saddened you just a little, you opened the heavy door.

As you expected, he was sat there, typing away on his laptop. The blue light of the screen cast ghoul like shadows on his features, reminding you of the demon’s face you had only borne witness to once. That with the warm light coming from the candles and fireplace set Michael in a strange light. Regardless, it accentuated the stress hiding in his shoulders, between his brows, his tightened lips.

He didn’t look up, but did spare a, “Hi, my dove,” as you headed over to the bed. Changing course, you decided to walk over to him, your Antichrist who seemed so small lately. Feeling a little selfish, you ran your fingers through his hair, something you knew would distract him but also something you needed.

It had taken a toll on you, the only person you really trusted, to abandon you, in a sense. You just wanted to feel him. Touch him. And judging by the way his typing slowed and he leaned into it, you suspected he needed the same. His eyes closed lazily, sleepily, as he rested his cheek against your palm. You rubbed soothing circles into his cheekbone, admiring the beautiful face that was hidden under the layers of stress, under the pressure put on him. When he was himself, his face was soft-no tension, pure radiance. Eyes not shooting daggers, no snarling lip, venom in his voice. Just a man who was forced to grow up too fast, thrown the world to carry, and nobody to help him hold it.

You’d said it a million times to him, but it didn’t stop you from muttering a small, “You work too hard, Michael,” while still stroking his soft hair.

“I know,” came the familiar reply, voice hoarse from lack of use.

“But you have to,” you said before he could. You knew the script by then.

“...But I have to,” he echoed, typing stopped for a moment, his hand coming to meet yours that had somehow settled over his chest. “I know I’ve been….absent lately. You know I don’t want to be doing this, right? I didn’t know it would be like this.” He looked to you, bloodshot eyes starting to tear. Before any could fall, she shook his head to refocus and let his eyes look over to the small collection of empty mugs that covered the desk, so very unlike Michael’s usually neat freakish tendencies. He picked one up, dark, cold coffee sat at the bottom, obviously abandoned quite a while ago. He knocked it back, grimacing at the too strong, bitter grinds that had made it into the cup. You saw his hand shake, just the slightest amount.

“Maybe no more of that.” You took the mug from him and replaced it on the desk, further from the others and his collection of files. “Come to bed, it’s late.”

He hesitated and you already knew the answer. “I just need to finish this. Then I can sleep.” He nodded, almost trying to convince himself that he’d be sleeping next to you soon enough. “In a few minutes… get in bed and I’ll meet you.”

He tried to smile. It wasn’t like he was unaware of what he was doing to you. He saw the way your heart seemed to break a little more each time he had to choose work over you. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t in his plan. His nor Satan’s. Michael knew deep down that he was never supposed to fall for anyone-he hadn’t the time.

But had happened. And you were his.

He wouldn’t change it for anything.

“I’m not sleeping without you tonight,” you mumbled, leaning over him from behind and gently kissing his neck. Just a small motivation to get him to relax, just a little. You untied the messy bun his hair had been pulled into, loving the way it fell to his shoulders and framed his face against the contrasting lights.

His eyes remained unfocused, looking away in guilt. He wanted you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. It was that there wasn’t enough time and for all his planning everything remained a failure. He supposed that maybe he deserved this as punishment. Working every day, nonstop, while his love was there and waiting for him. A sick mockery of Hell itself. Michael suspected that it was his father’s doing. Allowed to remain living as a reward for bringing the end times but punishment for not doing it well enough.

“I’m so-sorry,” he choked out, voice still rough and cracking.

Coming around to stand in front of him, you tilted his head up to look at you. No more words were needed as you leaned down to place a gentle kiss to his full lips. You felt a sigh come from him, a small amount of tension leaving. He couldn’t help but move against you, hands reaching to your waist, your cheek, anywhere. He needed to feel you. Feel how you moved, breathed, radiated energy. Just to feel something living and breathing in this cold, dead world he had created.

Before even thinking, processing that he was still busy, you slipped off the dressing gown you had on as coverage as you meandered Hawthorne earlier. Michael settled his hands on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles as you stood before him, in between his spread legs and his desk. He leaned in, lips and tongue tracing your stomach and sides. Unable to stop himself, he pulled you in, arms wrapping around tight, until you were settled straddling his lap.

You continued the open but small kisses to his neck. Unbuttoning his shirt, you slid it down his shoulders, knowing full well that he wouldn’t fully undress but needing to feel his warmth against your cheek as you rested on his shoulder. He was hardening under your ministrations but that really wasn’t your intention as you just needed to feel him. Not even sexually. Just as another person. His warmth. The rise and fall of his chest, his breath.

Knowing you were causing just another distraction in his already busy life, you stopped your small movements but couldn’t find it in you to climb off, reveling in the sensation of him against you. He felt the same. Your weight on him a reassuring presence that maybe he wasn’t as alone as the thought.

Taking a moment from the small bites he was leaving on your shoulder, he looked past you, eyes settling on the open laptop. You felt him sign under you, already defeated. His hands hesitated over your hips, refraining from grabbing you like he wanted to.

“Michael. Look at me,” you whispered, the room only full of the sounds from the crackling fire. Your thumb traced over his cheekbone, eyes pleading for him to just relax for even a moment. “Please…”

He couldn’t, ashamed that he’s let it get this far. Let himself get so caught up in work that you were neglected...that he, himself, was feeling neglected. He sighed, eyes still downcast. “I have to. I know we’re both feeli-”

“You can keep working. I know how important this is. I just wish you would let me help you relax a little.”

“I miss you.” The confession dropped from his lips. Despite spending every day, almost all day, at his side you missed him, too. Even when you were sitting beside one another, laying in bed, even occasionally while intimate...he felt miles away.

“You don’t have to miss me anymore. I’m right here.” You resumed placing small kisses onto his temple, jawline, all the places that made his eyes flutter shut and heart full. His hardness still pressed into you and you reached to cup him through his tailored trousers.

“Y/N….not tonight,” he choked out, looking broken.

“No. I don’t want you to fuck me, I just need to be close to you. I need you.”

Michael nodded slowly, recognition setting in. He allowed you to remove him from his confines, breath already coming faster now that your hand was gripped around his length.

“I need you, too. Please. I need to be in you,” he murmured against your lips, sounding more desperate than he cared to admit. You nodded in response, noses brushing innocently, and placed another kiss behind his ear, over the mark of the Beast. The very thing that defined him, made him what he was, who he was. The reason he was this overworked shell of himself. You couldn't help but still love every part of him.

Not completely free of bad intentions, you pressed yourself against him so he could feel the slick heat of your core against himself. Michael let out a soft moan, his mouth occupied toying with your nipple. You felt him shiver under you and tingles resonate up your spine. As much as you wanted to, it wasn’t the time to play cruel to your Antichrist.

It didn’t take long for you to line yourself up to him and before you could do anything, Michael’s steady hands gripping your waist forced you slowly downward onto him. Once fully seated on him, the two of you let out contented sighs. His head rolled back and your hand instinctively went to catch it, supporting his neck. You took the opportunity to nip on his full bottom lip, but smiles bloomed over both of your faces. Finally home.

“You...still need to work.” The spell remained unbroken, however. He nodded reluctantly, head now resting on your front.

“I know,” he resigned and you felt his hands leave your body, cold rushing in where his touch left. It was mere seconds later you heard the quick taps of his nimble fingers over the keyboard, the shuffle of paper.

It was irrelevant. Everything was except the warmth you felt radiating from him, the stretch of your cunt around him, his body inside yours. Physically as close as two people can be. Emotionally...you were getting back there, you could feel it.

He showed it in small ways. A small kiss to your palm when you’d graze a hand over the velvet of his jacket, the softening of his eyes from across the room when dealing with Cooperative business or reprimanding Outpost inhabitants. It was there and always would be. You knew the shroud was lifting and it would be back to hiding in the corridors of Hawthorne, his laugh radiating and a perfect match for his boyish grin.

One of his hands removed itself from the keyboard to caress down your spine and settled at the base, warm and firm. You breaths matched, each sigh shifting him inside you, hitting a new angle, making you feel even closer than before.

The keyboard clicks continued, slower due to the fact the one of his hands was stroking the soft skin at your hip. Michael’s shoulders dropped a fraction when you placed your head on his shoulder, nose brushing the sensitive spot under his jaw. His eyes lowered, breath softened.

Over the course of the minutes, he would occasionally drop a kiss onto your shoulder, soft and awfully chaste considering the fact that he was buried in you. But it wasn’t about that, that evening. It was about Michael and who he was and his breath and movement and reminding him that maybe things weren’t so bad in the godforsaken hellscape he was responsible for. That there was still some good left, despite the original goal to strip humanity of that.

And he knew it. He felt it from you. The undying love that you held for him and he could only be reminded that there was good left. And that he loved you, the same.

The typing continued even after Michael dropped a cheek to your shoulder, head tilted, as he somehow continued working through his drooping eyelids.

“Mmmmmm,” he mumbled into your skin, exhausted.

“I know.” He didn’t need to speak, you already knew what he was trying to say.

His other hand settled on the back of your neck, the only sound being the crackling fire and candles. You shivered and he pulled you in, bodies still connected.

“Michael,” you whispered, going to suggest that maybe you two go to bed, but the small shake of his head told you that he’d rather stay put.

His breathing evened out, face still resting on your shoulder. All his muscles relaxed into your touch. Finally at ease.

Your fingers threaded through his hair and you considered waking him to move to bed...but you were comfortable too. Warm and finally feeling a little more complete with him inside you. Perhaps closing your eyes for just a few minutes couldn’t hurt.

Tags: @ccodyfern @langdonsinferno @langdonsrapture @starwlkers @michael-langdon-appreciation @babypinkstyles94 @i-will-die-for-jim-mason @langdonalien @katiekitty261 @duncvn @wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @aveiangdon @americanhorrorstudies @sojournmichael @1-800-bitchcraft @nana15774 @langdonsdemon @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #ahs apocalypse #ahs fanfiction #ahs coven #cody fern fanfiction #jim mason #duncan shepherd #langdon #outpost michael #sad michael langdon makes me sad too #why do i write sad things all the time idk

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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ask your destiny to dance [16] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“I can’t speak to her.” Roger’s got his head on a bar in a pub that’s not Ash’s.

“Can I go back to pretending I don’t know what was going on?” Brian asks, taking a long sip of his drink and gazing out at the crowd. It’s been over a week since Ash had stayed over, and they hadn’t seen her since. It’s not like she’d even asked about him, or made a move to contact him; sometimes they go a full fortnight before seeing one another, but Roger’s been fretting for almost eight days internally, and for the past twenty minutes externally, since he’d finished his first drink.

“She said she loves me.” Roger groaned, lifting his head to weakly order another pint.

“From what you’ve told me, she wasn’t even fully conscious; it’s not like it counts.” Brian had never seen Roger downright distressed like this, it would be funny if it wasn’t bordering on annoying.

“No, that means she was extra honest,” Roger groaned, downing half his beer in on go, to which Brian could only roll his eyes.

“Or she was still asleep and thought you were Jack Nicholson.” After a beat, Brian goes back to watching Roger brood over his glass. “Boo hoo, Rog,” he shoved the blonde lightly, to which Roger just leveled a glare at him, “a girl you’ve been seeing for months maybe has feelings for you. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“It’s only been since I broke up with Kristin,” he’s adamant about that and Brian lets him have it, for now. In retrospect, he feels like an idiot for not seeing it sooner; Brian’s not sure when it started, but it’s definitely a lot longer than Roger’s willing to admit. “And it doesn’t mean nothing, but it also... it’s never meant something. Like it’s something but it’s not something. It’s just fucking around and having fun.” And Roger swivels on the bar stool, joining Brian in looking out over the crowd, before they spot Freddie crashing through the door, making a beeline for them once he’d spotted them.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Freddie asked, though the other two were quiet as he ordered a beer. Before either could get a word in edgewise, Freddie props his chin on his hand on the bar, and announces; “Roger you look like shit, what’s wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s in love with Ash, and he thinks she’s in love with him.” Brian says blithely, and Freddie nods with understanding as Roger tells them to both sod off, and he stalks through to join the crowd on the dance floor. “She said she loved him in her sleep.” Brian explains, taking the chair Roger just freed, sliding into place beside Freddie.

“I’ve never seen him this worked up about someone before.” Freddie admitted, and Brian nodded in agreement, the two of them barely able to see his blonde hair for the crowd, and they lost sight of him soon enough.

“What do you think? Has Ash said anything?” Brian’s gaze slides to Freddie’s who just rolls his eyes.

“I think my dear Ash has never in her life loved a man who’s deserved it,” Freddie mused, though his lips twisted into a smirk, “that’s not to say she’s a saint, far from it, but compared to the others, Roger is a breath of fresh air.”

“Isn’t that a sad thought.” Brian said faintly, before heaving a sigh. “Well, I know we haven’t been here long,” he got to his feet, finishing off his drink and looking around for his housemate, “but if I don’t drag him home he’s going to do something stupid in his current state.”

“Like that pretty, brunette thing over there?” Freddie asks, pointing to where Roger’s already got his lips on a wavy-haired brunette at the side of the room. Freddie’s pretty sure he sees Brian’s soul leave his body for a moment, and watches everything play out like a terrible Shakespearean comedy for which he was the only audience member.

“He’s a danger to himself.” Brian takes Freddie’s drink from his hands and takes a long gulp before passing it back, though Freddie doesn’t seem likely to complain.

“He seems rather fine,” Freddie watches Roger go in for a hickey on the girl with a morbid, voyeuristic interest, taking another sip of his drink, “and you know he and Ash aren’t technically exclusive.”

“Yeah but there’s three options here; Ash finds out and gets pissed and I have to hear about it because apparently now that I know I’m all in on this disaster,” Brian lists on his fingers with a theatricality Freddie had rarely seen from him before, though he’d rarely seen Brian this exasperated before, so perhaps it was merely that, “two, Ash isn’t pissed, sleeps with someone else, and Roger gets pissed because he’s in love with her-”

“Which is unfair, what a tremendous double standard.”

“Yes, we all know Roger’s a hypocrite.” Brian sighed, casting a glance over his shoulder at Roger, before turning back to Freddie.

“And three?” The other man prompted, and Brian picked up his empty pint glass.

“I kill him with this glass because I’m sick of his sulking.” He says bluntly, and Freddie’s all for the third option, but he begrudgingly helps pull Roger away, to which the drummer complains the whole time.

“Where are we going?” Roger demands to know when they head in the opposite direction of his apartment, a sentiment that Brian mirrors, though he doesn’t seem inclined to question Freddie’s direction outright. Freddie always had a plan. The man in question wrapped an arm around Roger’s shoulders.

“You’re going to confront your problems, Rog.” He sounds so decisive, as if it wasn’t a plan he’d come up with as they were leaving the bar, and Roger tries to scramble his way out of it, but Brian’s fed up enough with Roger’s complete inability to do anything but run from his problems that he’s willing to take Roger’s arm in an almost iron grip.

“It’ll do both of us a world of good.” Brian tells him as Roger glowers at his housemate.

“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me; what’s good for me was that girl at the bar, she smelled nice and was about three minutes away from banging me in that bathroom.” Roger snarled, wrenching himself out of their grips, though he didn’t run this time, crossing his arms over his chest as he walked with them.

“Rog, we’re not gonna let you ruin a good-” But Brian’s gentle sigh was cut off by more of the blonde blustering.

“That’s so presumptuous!” He stopped in his tracks, scowling between both of his band-mates. “You’re both wankers, selfish fucking wankers. This is kidnapping.” He snaps.

“Fine; if you want to leave, we’re not stopping you.” Freddie offers, gesturing freely at the path behind them. “We’re just trying to help.”

Roger stomped the entire walk to Ash’s apartment.

“What the fuck, guys.” She opens the door with her hair in a messy bun, wearing a pair of sweat pants and a ratty, oversized Beatles shirt. “How did you get in?”

“Your RA let us in; sorry for the interruption, just had to deliver this idiot.” Brian gave Roger’s shoulder a nudge. Roger is looking at anything but Ash. His latest drink had hit him about the same time as he got to her block, and now that he can smell the vanilla candle she likes to burn in her room just beyond her, he just wants to curl up and go to sleep under her duvet. Or fuck her. He’s not quite sure.

“Can I return to sender?” She asks without hesitation, and Roger rolls his eyes. Freddie shoves him forward.

“No.”

Ash doesn’t move, just frowns as Roger stumbles into her space, and she’s automatically got a hand on his chest to steady him. Roger doesn’t seem like he’s there completely of his own free will, but he doesn’t move away from her, even as both Brian and Freddie leave, muttering something about him being ‘her problem now’.

“Care to explain?” She asked, gently walking him backwards and closing her door behind herself. The two of them make their way to the common area, and Roger sits up on the kitchen counter as Ash pours him a glass of water.

“Not really.” He said, sipping the water loudly and swinging his legs so his heels kick the cupboards below. Ash looks like the very sight of him exhausts her, but she rests her hands on her thighs, pressing herself against his legs to still them. “We can fuck whoever we want, Ash.” He says, seriously, and he sees the exact moment she realised the reason for his forced meeting, and he watched her expression fall.

“Yeah of course.” She agrees, crestfallen expression turning quickly to faux apathy. “Did you have fun?” But her heart wasn’t in it.

“They pulled me away, brought me here before anything really happened.” He huffed, taking another long sip. Ash stepped away, yawning loudly and sinking into a chair at the dining table. After a beat, Roger hums thoughtfully. “Ash, what do I mean to you?” And it’s so nonchalant it actually hurts Ash a little.

“I think that’s a really shitty thing to ask right now.” Her answer is automatic, she can’t look at him. “And I think you’re drunk.”

“Ash...” It does register in his mind that he’s said the wrong thing, and it breaks his heart to see her too tired to repress her emotions like she usually would in this situation. Perhaps she assumes he won’t even remember this tomorrow. “Ash, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” She says softly. “You’re always sorry, and I’m always sorry, and there’s always someone else that feels like a mistake, even though we don’t technically need to apologise.” Shaking her head, she sighs deeply. “This isn’t the time for this conversation.” She admits, and standing, she takes his hand. “Come to bed, Rog.”

When they’re back in her room, she pulls off her sweat pants and offers them to him without even thinking about it, and he’s quiet, forlorn when he takes them, changing into the borrowed pyjamas. Ash is already tucked into bed when he turns back, back to him, pressed as close to the wall as she can get with her head pillowed on her hand, not even attempting to co-opt some of the pillow for herself. There’s sewing equipment out, obviously still in use in the corner of her room, a blouse half sewn and still in the machine where it was left when it’s creation had been interrupted by a knock at the door.

When he slides into bed beside her, reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder - an apology? a reassurance? just a need for human contact? - she shrugs him off, murmurs a quiet ‘don’t’.

“I panicked.” They’re back to back, and the bedside lamp has been turned off. Roger isn’t even sure if Ash is still awake. He speaks into the silence, made honest by the hour and his inebriation. “You told me you loved me and I panicked.”

“Roger... I never said that.” Ash’s voice was confused in the darkness, and Roger feels like his whole world has fallen out from under him. He’s spent over a week considering whether or not she’d remember; if it had been real, whether she’d really meant it, but he’s never quite sure which answer would hurt more.

“You... were mostly asleep.” He admits, and he can feel the way Ash sighs heavily, the shift of her back against his as she tries not to hear it.

“Wow, imagine what kinky shit you and the girl from the bar would have gotten up to if I’d meant it.” She just sounds tired, as though she was trying to end the conversation, as though she hadn’t just shattered Roger’s heart. After a beat, she laughed humorlessly. “What are we doing, Roger?”

“I think Brian’s right.” And his words are enough to startle a weak laugh from Ash. “I want this to be about more than sex, I think.”

“You’re drunk and panicking; don’t worry, I’ll still work with the band if this goes south.” Ash says. Roger won’t take that, can’t let himself fall into the trap of panicking like he’d already fallen into that night. Turning, Roger presses his lips to the back of her neck, and Ash doesn’t like to think about how good it makes her feel.

“I’m sorry-” He tries, but she cuts him off.

“I heard you the first time.” Voice terse, she crosses her arms awkwardly over her chest. “Roger the idea of being with you fucking terrifies me.” She admits, raw and honest, glad he can’t see how conflicted she was. “You were so worried that I was in love with you that you almost slept with someone else, and for what? Were you worried you were losing control of your life? Didn’t want to be tied down?” Roger’s got an arm on her shoulder, rubbing comfortingly as she speaks, and he can feel her shaking.

“I know I’m not a saint, okay, love?” Roger admits, and Ash takes a long moment to consider his words, leaning back a little into his touch, before answering.

“Neither of us are, Roger, and that’s why what we have is so good right now.” Her voice has softened, and Roger stays quiet. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” She says gently, before reaching to link her fingers with his where he’s got his hand on her shoulder. She pulls him closer, and Roger makes a low hum, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder.

When the morning comes, things are quiet and golden. Neither one knows what to say to the other, but Ash still gets him a cup of tea in the morning, and when he sees the cup with the little cat face on it, Roger feels something tighten in his chest.

“Let’s try this, please.” He asks, expression sincere when he looks at where Ash is tucking herself back into bed, pressing herself against his side. The look she gives him is confused, and then it blooms into something hopeful. “I’m not fucking around here, I mean it.”

When she kisses him, her hand is warm where it had been holding her teacup, and she’s smiling against her lips. There’s a tension in her shoulders, and he can’t stop playing her words back over again in his head, ‘the idea of being with you fucking terrifies me’ and it’s clear that feeling hasn’t vanished over night.

But she’s willing to try.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329@fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile @cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe @florencewelchmybiggod

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #ask your destiny to dance fic #bo rhap #queen #queen imagines #queen imagine #freddie mercury #brian may #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #the angry lizard writes

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sweetboybucky · 5 years

Text

Dreamers

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2600

Warnings: Infinity War compliant. Aka - a lot of sads.

Summary: In the time he is gone, one thing remains.

A/N: My piece for the Marvellous Writing Challenge, hosted by the angel @bucky-at-bedtime, who was so kind as to give me an extension. (Jess - I love you so much, I hope you know.) My prompt was “Saudade”, and what was originally going to be a sequel to my one other angst fic, Golden, turned into this. Please don’t kill me.

Taking a page out of @evanstarff‘s book for this one and going with a reader adopted into a Wakandan family. There are also a few notes at the end, if you want to read those.

My Masterlist

*** A war was waged.

The aftermath sits in front of you.

Rests there, in the ocean blue eyes of a soldier you have only just begun to know. The one you’d once only heard stories of.

The man with more burdens to carry than you could ever imagine. With the weight of an ungrateful and unforgiving world on his shoulders. The world he’s worked to save so many times.

A silent apology.

A wish for things to be different.

Tears.

You find them there, in that harrowing expression on a face that should never wear it.

You don’t ask.

You know.

***

There is a space between the world you know and all of the others you’ve come to discover in your time. Those realities that hold the souls of all that have been lost. The souls you still have yet to meet. A mirror image of the life you know.

You find him there, in the night.

His voice calls out to you, where you rest in that hazy middle ground. And it’s strong, like it always was. Strong even when it had no reason to be, even when he wasn’t. It pulls you into the inky night with its soft timbre, your name spreading tendrils of awareness through you.

It wakes something within you. Something raw and real and aching as you search for him. As you reach blindly into that darkness. Hoping and hoping and hoping.

But he’s just beyond your grasp. A breath away, whispering to you. Your name falls into the dark from lips you want to see more than anything. Lips you want to trace with your fingers, kiss until the world has finished turning.

You whisper back to him, voice desperate and pleading through the darkness.

***

Ochre light brings a new day.

It flecks across walls and floor and sheets. Sheets that should hold him beside you, the man who laid his soul out to bare for you on them in memories tinged with a certain fondness.

Memories that don’t flow like fire, the way they once had.

Memories that sting in the aftermath.

That careful ember, the one he’d lit within you, has left the hollow in your chest. Lit the sun, instead. Forced a new morning into your hands. A world he no longer breathes in.

And your heart aches with strangled sobs, body curling around his pillow and pressing into the sheets that still smell like him. Eyes close, shut out the view of the home he made in the quiet.

But reality exists without him, now.

That fact is carving itself into your bones.

***

Many hours later, once dawn has truly broken and everything has settled heavy into your heart once again, you find your self on a trail he showed to you.

Green folds around you. Leads you to the little hillside he found, sitting just to the side of his farm. Above the lake. Another corner of the world he could almost call his own.

The place he still wanted to share with you.

And it feels wrong, settling into the grass on your own. Tracing trembling fingers through dark dirt instead of threading them through chestnut hair. Resting in that quiet place he first showed to you. Before everything began.

Before the end.

Blue sky and soft clouds roam overhead. Sparkling waters lie still beneath you. Trees brush together in the breeze, echo against the emptiness of the space. In your heart.

It’s a view you’ve seen so many times. A place you’ve spent so many afternoons, with a man far more beautiful than any sunset could ever be. And even before he came to you, the sky was still there.

It feels different now. So unlike the other days you spent underneath it.

Sitting on the grassy hill with the absence of that warm arm around your back. Lips against your skin, a rumbly voice finding its own special place within your heart.

It feels final.

***

Every night is the same.

Dark and cold. Lined with wanting. Frenzied thoughts and soft confessions and an ache so real it nearly eats you alive.

His voice speaks back to you, quiet but strong as ever. Soft in that way it always was, affection bleeding through every word he murmurs to you.

And then morning falls onto you once again. Draws muted light to your eyes and a desperate plea from your lips as fingers search for the body that should lay beside you against cool, threadbare sheets

But morning is an ever present thing.

Light always washes him away.

***

For weeks, Bucky’s voice finds you at night. In the dark.

One day, in the hours the sun claims, a different voice is there.

It’s a soft whisper. A careful, “Hey,” as he settles in the grass next to you. Watches the way the lake shines with the light of midday.

You turn to him for a moment. Notice the dulled expression on his face. See the way his once golden hair falls against his face, unkempt and dark. The set of his jaw, the line of his mouth, not even a hint of a smile tugging at the edges.

He’s worn. More so than you.

He’s lost. Same as you.

Ocean eyes stay trained on the sky. But his lips part enough to murmur, “He talked about you.”

Bucky’s face comes into your mind, easy as anything. And surprise lights through you at Steve’s words, pained and heavy.

Lashes shield irises filled with regret. “He talked about you all the time.” Eyes flick to you, just for a moment. Burn through your mind and body and soul. “I don’t think we had one conversation where he didn’t bring you up.”

His face tips down, gaze falling to callused hands in his lap. There’s a ghost of a smile in his voice as he adds, “I always teased him about it. How crazy he was about you.”

Tears gather around your eyes, warm and wet and burning through the last bit of your resolve.

Steve glances at you, expression just a little softer once its aimed toward you. “I’d never seen him that way. Even before - before everything.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, a fond, cautious gesture. “There were girls, but none of them were you.”

And that hurts more than it should. More than you think he meant it to. Coming from the man your love trusted with anything, defended at every turn. Spoke of like a vision, a dream he was so lucky to live in.

Tears slip down your face in the silence. As Steve turns away, face twisted and creased and pained. You can see the slump of his shoulders. Feel the inhale he takes, steeling himself his next words. For what’s to come.

“It never hurts any less,” he tells you, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard. An echo of the heartache he keeps locked away. Fingers trace over a blade of grass. “But it gets easier to manage. Just takes time.”

A hand reaches for yours, firm and rough and trembling just a little, fingers squeezing against your own. And his voice is so sincere, so real as he breathes out one last sentiment. Something that is both the balm for your soul and everything you don’t want to hear.

“But, wherever he is, now, he loves you just the same.”

***

That hollow spaces fits against you, the same way it has every other night since the end.

For a long while, the stillness of it washes over you. Inky black and completely silent.

But you can feel him. You can always feel him.

Is it true?

It’s a question breathed into the quiet. One torn from your chest, filled with longing.

He doesn’t ask what you’re referring to. He doesn’t need to.

There’s only a soft sigh. The feeling of him as he answers.

Always, he tells you, reverent and final in the way you need. Always.

***

Time is such a cruel thing, now.

It moves against you. Presses into your skin, falls into your mind with a terrible kind of determination. It pushes the world on, pushes you on. Forces you to watch the new reality you live in try to rebuild itself.

It brings you to your apartment.

Months have passed since you’ve seen it, his hut serving as your home and your hell in that time. But you know that you can’t stay there forever. You can’t bear to sleep in a bed of ghosts any longer.

The lock clicks the same as it always did, the door creaking in that familiar way. It gives way to the living room, small kitchen just adjacent to it.

Everything is in its place. Nothing has changed.

And yet - it has.

There’s no soft greeting waiting for you, anymore. No feet to slide along the floor, no arm to curl around you and tuck you against his body. Lips to kiss away the crease in your brows, the ache in your bones.

But his book sits on the table. His favorite blanket is tucked into the corner of the couch. A worn pair of sneakers near the door. The dark green mug he always used in the sink.

The remnants of him are still here. Scattered around one of the only other places he’d been able to find refuge.

***

Phantom memories find you in the dust of your apartment.

Chestnut hair mussed in the morning. The smell of his favorite tea. Soft socks and all of the sweaters you stole from him. Pressing into this side, holding his hand at the market. Whispering to him when the ice crept back into his heart.

The stories he told you. Stories of the sky, the stars.

The same stars under your tired gaze now.

And even after everything, even in the absence of the man who loved them most, those stars remain the same. Unchanged by the rest of the world’s decisions.

They shine among inky blue. Glisten in the darkness, mapped out along an impossibly big sky. Absolute and so unknown. Arranged in their intricate patterns.

He spent more nights than you could count studying them. Resting near the large bay window of your apartment in a city still so unfamiliar to his weary heart. A city he grew so fond of. A city that grew so fond of him.

And he held you in the night. Brushed his lips against your skin and whispered about a constellation you couldn’t see. A woman given a beautiful crown, written into the stars once she’d passed. A reminder of who she was.

A reminder that, more than anything, she was loved, even after she was lost.

So much longing lies within you. Grief you never imagined you would feel. A fierce kind of sadness that takes over your mind and heart and soul and leaves you aching.

But more than anything, there is love.

You close your eyes against the sky those gray eyes loved to see and wish him into the stars.

***

Seasons pass. Come in with the cold and leave with the warm. Draw in new breezes and heady air and fleeting thoughts. Fleeting images of pale cheeks flushed with cool wind, with summer air.

And with every passing day, that face is a little harder to remember.

The line of his nose. The little wrinkles near his eye, those that only appeared in the face of his smile. Gray eyes sliding open in the morning, sparking with the possibility of a new day.

It grows fuzzy, the image of him, the sound of his laughter, as years that hardly feel like years drone on. As life moves on despite it all.

Anger festers within you. Rivals with the grief that still lives on, even after all this time. Even after the exact shade of his eyes isn’t as easy to conjure in your mind anymore.

But that soft affection you felt for him. That fierce kind of fondness, blinding and overwhelming and so strong.

That remains.

Even as years wane. As time spans on and life without him shifts into something close to normal.

The way he made you feel - the way he always makes you feel - never dies down. Never shrinks in the face of a new sunrise, as dawn falls onto the world and his voice slips away.

It only grows stronger.

***

The hollow still finds you in that strange place between your reality and his. Dark and cold and full of him. So close you can almost feel him. So real it hurts.

And his voice is still there, murmuring things you don’t really listen to. Echoing around the empty space he should be, that soft little place you made for him in your heart.

It’s a blessing, to know he’s there. To know he’s somewhere.

It’s a curse, to know he’s somewhere you can’t reach him. Not really.

So you hold onto his voice. Try to grasp the threads of it in your fingers. Close your eyes and let it fall over you, gentle and calm and beautiful as it is.

***

It’s a rising tension in the air. A shift in the world, so similar to the one you felt years ago. Before the end.

Another war has begun.

***

The night he doesn’t visit you, his favorite stars do.

They gather you up in their impossibly soft embrace. Hold you close, keep you warm. Shelter you from the darkness and the grief, even if only for a few moments.

In the space between the lines, the thin veil of reality you’ve been able to find, where he is close and still so far, they whisper to you.

A story forms through the haze of their voices. One of two lovers set in the sky, separated by a river of stars between them. Close enough to taste each other. Destined to be apart.

But for one night, the heavens open up. And the two are offered the gift of time. Allowed to be together, even if only for a moment.

Bucky’s voice permeates through it all. Parts the dark of the sky, the river of stars lying between you. He calls out your name, fierce and desperate and full of love. So much love.

He’s close. You know he is. You can feel him, drawing toward you with every passing second.

***

You wake to tense air and soft light. Something strong beating within you, like the tap of his pulse has settled into your skin.

He’s so close.

Rumpled sheets gather in your hands, those that have long since lost any trace of his smell. Eyes close against the fabric, breaths shudder through a weary chest.

For the first time since the end, you hope.

***

The world has crumbled once again.

Been marred by the jaws of fate. Splintered in ways no one can ever hope to repair. Developed cracks that you know can never be filled.

But as the dust settles, he is there.

His face is worn but soft in that way it always was. Warm and open and kind, fixed with the bright smile that had grown fuzzy around the edges in your hazy memory. Slate eyes find yours through the distance, across the grassy patch of his home.

An eternity has passed.

And yet, no time has drawn between the two of you at all.

Fondness rings through you, clear as anything. That sting of grief, the ache of longing fades into something achingly familiar. Gives way to the one feeling that never left, even on the darkest days. Even in the moments you were sure it would.

Love.

It sings in the air, fills your heart and mind and soul and pushes you forward a step. Then another. Until he’s right in front of you. Broken and ragged and different.

But still.

He’s beautiful.

Grin grows. Teeth flash. Lines spark up near his eyes, so small and so sweet.

Bucky holds out his hand.

You take it.

***

Notes:

Title taken from ‘Rainbow Connection’ by Sleeping At Last.

I took another page out of @evanstarff‘s book and made a playlist for this fic, which you can find here.

The constellations used in this piece are Corona Borealis, or The Northern Crown, and the story of Altair and Vega. (The interpretations I went by are not the only variations of this story, just those I thought fit best.)

A huge thank you to the incredible Star Queen, @fangirlfiction, for lending me her expertise in the space things for this fic.

One more thank you, to my beautiful love, @marvelous-avengers, who read and cried before posting, who is always there when I need her - I adore you more than you could ever know. Thank you for everything.

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strawberryspeachy · 4 years

Text

So when i watched death note in high school it made me curious about real japanese police work. I read about it alot and came to the conclusion that their justice system isnt too great.

Im currently upset that a coworker who i took as a friend - not only disliked me all along - but went as far as to lie about me to get me in trouble. That no one cared to hear my side. That i was fired on the spot. That people turned their back on me immediately. That no one cares.

Well. 17 year old me would have said. But of course. In Japan your guilty until proven innocent. That japanese put on a show but dont truely like most people. That they band together and will go out of their way to avoid any kind of conflict. That they care more about a pretty appearance than solving anything. 17 year old me that only heard and read about Japan knew these things. 17 year old me imagined this cool different country that works because theyre proud of this... performance way that they live. And i was amused by it. All i knew was america and european history. I was so hungry for something different. I was so interested in different people.

Then I went to Japan. I got here and it was too similar to manga. How silly, i thought, those a comics - i didnt actually expect the country to be like those comics. And ive never really been able to place what that made me feel but id grown past this bemusement of different “alien like” people. Theyre just people who live in another country i thought. I dont like america and our norms. I know nothing but america but i dont agree with any of our steriotypes. You cant describe me the way most would try to describe a typical american. So why would people from any other country be different. Im sure theres people like the sterotype - but certainly more not at all like that.

And i got here and i watched the smiles on service workers slowly fade when they thought no one was watching. I watched children put trash where it didnt belong thinking no one was watching. I was girls laugh loudly and run around and yell at their boyfriends. I watched drunk college kids hollar and reak havoc in the city. Not robot people, not obedient children, not, quiet and demure girls listening to the men, not studious students worried about their reputation. Just people. The same people i saw back home.

And so i thought. Its the same. Different history. Varrying values. Same old people - judgmental and watching everyone ready to scold them if they deem it necessary.

But that guilty until prooven innocent thing. The fact that the old way of caring about your reputation is still a solid work practice.

These things. Make me feel like... i guess.... to my dissapointment. Maybe america really is more free...

I dont want that to be true. The us is so full of itself. Just like healthcare. I want universal health care to be a good thing and at very least in japan its not really. Its better. Its more affordable. Maybe their problem is just how much they hate drugs and thats what stops real care.

But. Ive always been a cautious person - i just dont want to get in trouble. But ive never thought id be in a situation i couldnt talk my way out of - because i dont do anything super bad. Maybe sometimes ive pressed the limits - but never outside of... like i drank underage. I tried to get into bars i wasnt old enough for. Ive dodged paying for the train fare. Dumb things. Things that the worse that would happen is i gotta pay it somehow or id get scolded. Drinking under age is against us law but its almost never taken too seriously.

But its occurred to me. Yeah. In japan it is guilty until prooven innocent. I really could have gotten in legal trouble for baseless allegations.

And japan is as racist and people say. Theyre friendly and try to talk to you in english and say nice things. And it doesnt seem like racism to a person from the states. Out racist look at you with digust. They wont touch you. They wont talk to you. They dont want to know about you

But here... it takes the form of a racist parent who grew up in the 50s and knows that theyre not supposed to be racist but still is.

Theyre welcoming and friendly to your face but talk shit behind your back. They ask a bunch of questions like (in america “where are you really from”) they refuse to accept you might actually belong. They constantly want to assert how different you are so instesd of telling you that your different - they ask questions or explain what theyre doing. And if you say ‘yes we also do this’ they react with disbeleif - what? No! You couldnt possibly get this - this is our thing and you are not us! And they constantly ask if you miss your home. Assume that you’re uncomfortable because they are. Also also. Instred of not wanting to touch you here - theyre much more willing to push you out of the way

Theres many mixed race kids here now though. I assume theyll have to do the same thing that happened in America. I havent met any mixed race adults but ive met plenty of white dads.... all trying super hard to assimilate to the point that they walk around talking like robots. Swearing that everything japan is great and they dont miss their home cointries at all. Pretty similar to the immigrants of america from when my mom was a kid.

So i still think at least for japan. Theyre way more similar to the west than they think they are. But these restricting regulations that they live by... really does make the country seem not as free as id ignorantly beleived it was.

It surprised me because their rules are so much like the way my great grandmother talked about stuff. And while were supposed to care... we just dont in the states. Respect your employer? Sure we say we do to their face but talk shit with coworkers. Worry about your reputation? Eh think im a bitch i dont give a fuck whatcha gonna do about it? Nothing thats right. Dont like another person? No one cares. Like that person or dont - it doesnt change anyone elses relationship with them. Make a mistake? Well if your boss fires you - everyone already probably thinks their an asshole cause generally mistakes are just met with some form of dickwaving belittlement. Pretty sure most of us get mad everytime we hear a story about someone getting fired because they posted a picture of them in a bikiki or having fun - most of this generation agrees thats dumb and has to change.

I feel more like an american now than ever. Americans are reluctant to change im told. Yes. I suppose we are. We might not know the rest of the worlds history but we kinda know our own. And as much as ive alwags agreed with the sentiment that cultures are different and thats just the way they want to be.... we used to be these ways but decided it was restrictive and controlling and mentally abusive and fought it...

Ive been reading more about the work culture in japan to figure out how he fuck this went so wrong. Apparently when young japanese people enter the work force, they cant even have friends as distractions outside of work because their boss will move them away from home.

Ive already read that japanese think suffering is good and seniority and witness first hand their preoccupation of appearing busy over actually being productive. Its just this constant performance.

Perhaps i did stress him out to the point of physical pain. I remember having a massive meltdown where i shook and it felt like my brain was melting after i tried so hard to be a good nice person. I did whag people apparently like. I changed myself to just agree with people and be positive and assume the best in everyone. Then my “friend” told me that i was a bad friend because i asked them if they would people drive their friends home so i could to sleep at 4am. And the two things just didnt click. I didnt go to sleep that night. I sat at my desk shaking for the next 5 hours and having flashbacks.

Im talkative. I talk as much as i do here in real life. And i have alot of questions. I talked to him a lot. Made him look not busy. I know he liked talking to me. I know he did. Thats why i got confortable talking more. He was always surprised when i asked him questions about himself but once he started answering he kept talking. Yeah. Its nice to have someone ask you what your thoughts are on topics. What your experiences have been. Did you like those things or not. I know japan it a group think culture - i guess they get there by really draining out ANY idea of individualality. He told me hed never been asked what he likes about himself. In the us were asked that constantly from elementary school “what do you like about yourself. What do you like about your friend. What makes you different?”

It kinda baffles me... questions and thoughts like these are so common in anime.... and obviously anime is popular in japan. Obviously obviously. Im confused how theyre watching these programs often with such deep meanings.... and not taking anything away from them. In the states our tv programs are always being restricted and stuff because they might give us “bad ideas” but they aren’t restricted here and yet... it seems no one takes anything from them

When i visited japan in 2013 i saw a teenage girl in huge heels lose her balance and stomp on a middle aged womans foot. That woman had already been standing like her feet were in pain and she made a face of being in so much pain. The girl rudely didn’t apologize and the older woman said nothing. She smiled through her pain...

And i also complained to my coworker. Not full on complaining. The small ones you make at work when youre not sure of the extent you can go to. At first he held off like the other teachers. But. Then. He started complaining back. It got to me not needing to be the one say an annoyance first. Like i asked how his meeting was. Other people i worked with might leave it ah it was a bit slow but necessary. And he started that way. But instead he started responding to me a succession of statements the slowly crept more toward his real feelings. ‘It was good... we didnt do much... or anything, i just sat and listened and took notes. we dont learn anything, it takes up a lot of time but we have to go. I dont like those meetings. I dont know their pupose... but were told to go so we must’

Whatever. Im just gonna keep rambling and complaining about this cause it sucks and is awful. Contracted woth my company i wasnt allowed to publically critisize japan. I imagine thats why you dont often find many things on the internet complaining. You will literally be unemployable if your name is attached to critisisms of this country.

Where as everyone can come to the states and tell us to our faces how much we suck and how much cooler their countries are. And generally the younger general is just kinda like - ‘you right’ people write articles all the time shit talking the states and we just go ‘ya we deserve that’ we do. Im not saying dont do that... but like... maybe just maybe. Were doing the good thing where were like

Haha call us fat! We are fat. We love us some mcdonalds. Hm.... why though. Actually we need to fix that. Why are people eating so unhealthy? What is the underlying cause of this problem? Lets try to work on that - and then we fight amoungst ourselves.

I like that... i like thay thing we do

In the states you might not want to become a ‘whistleblower’ and in some industrys you might get black listed for something dumb. But at least we talk about it and agree its a problem. In japan no one wants to even admit they have problems.

Know what else i told him. I talked about how were overworked in the states. That our work culture has gotten too similar to japans and we hate it. No one working 80 hour weeks thinks that they should have to do that. Of course i didnt go about it that way. I told him that my friends back home work 80 hour weeks and its unhealthy. That i cant work that much and refuse to. He i imagine counted how many hours he works and laughed and i said - oh haha yea i guess you also work that much. And he looked so much like he wanted to cry about it in the same way my friends back home. But said its natural in japan and that hes gotten used to it. But he definitely didnt mean it as he said it. I told him my friends say that as well. That i think theyre workaholics and i personally cant do it. That when work calls them they always pick up the phone even when they dont want to. But i dont do that. When my job called me as a server id ignore it and call them back later when it was too late for me to be asked to come in and ask them what they wanted.

Maybe to him my stories felt like when i read about students in europe being allowed to not go to school without reprucussions. It made HAVING to go to school evem more annoying. Why cant we choose to take breaks? I heard that place doesnt have homework - meanwhile im given at least 6 hours work a night! Not everyone has to do this? Other places learn things for fun?? They dont have to keep up with standardized exams that dont account for different teachers and school districts?? A 50% in that country isnt a failing grade???

Those were already shitty things but to read about them not bein universal did make having to endure it more upsetting.

Doesnt change that im stoll upset with him for not saying anything to me. Doesnt change that im mad that he made stuff up.

Really me rambling on about this doesnt change my presepective on any of it. Im just bitching

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nureyevapologist · 5 years

Note

Hiyaaa, if you want an aftg prom still, pls consider: Neil coming home to his and andrew's apartment with one of his newest recruits, and they boy is beaten and battered and neil's first instict was to take care of him because no one ever took care of neil, and andrew's reaction to this! ❤

thanks for this!! i might have veered from the specifics a little and this is like, 70% a character study of neil and 30% Andreil Content but i hope this is okay!!

Neil Josten felt that he owed a lot to the idea of coincidences.

Coincidence was Neil taking an uncalculated risk on the Millport Dingoes the very same year that Riko Moriyama finally snapped and took the bones in Kevin Day’s hand with him. Coincidence was falling into the same orbit as the man who had watched Neil’s father slice a man like lunchmeat and coincidence was him being so single-mindedly focused on Exy that he didn’t notice Neil’s terrible dye job or the white ring around his contact lenses. Coincidence was Andrew Minyard being the single-most observant person Neil has ever met, and coincidence was Neil being forced into his field of vision.

Coincidence was also Neil here and now, stopping off at a convenience store to grab a packet of cigarettes and accidentally witnessing his potential new recruit fall victim to a heavy, parental hand.

It had only taken one video on a grainy, digital camera to show Neil that this kid had the raw potential to be one of the greatest backliners Palmetto State would ever see. Not fifteen minutes into the footage had Neil shoved aside his other folders and said to Wymack, one thumb jutted at the screen, we have to have him. Wymack had shrugged, assented with a nonchalant you’re the captain, captain and the very next week saw the two of them riding out to Georgia in Neil’s shiny new Lexus.

(“Having a Pro Athlete for a boyfriend sure does have its perks, huh kiddo?” had almost gotten Wymack elbowed bodily out of a moving vehicle.

“Above your paygrade” in a smooth, Andrew-esque tone had Coach laughing for the next ten minutes of the drive, safe and unmoving in the passenger seat.)

So they had approached the boy, Josh, after hanging back in the shadows to watch his high school team completely demolish their opponents. Wymack had loitered, no doubt trying to catch the name of the opposition’s only saving grace, a furious offensive dealer, and Neil had attempted to look cool and friendly as opposed to cold and menacing.

Naturally, the kid told Neil to fuck off four times before Neil backed him into a corner and told him to stop squandering his future by being unnecessarily abrasive. There was something in the complicated ice of this boy’s eyes that Neil connected with, an innate fear that ducked for cover behind aggression and hunched shoulders. One minute he stood every inch his five feet and ten inches and the next, body folded in on itself like he was willing it to disappear, he looked to stand no taller than Neil himself.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” Neil had said, arms tucked across his chest with all of his patchwork scars on show, “but I come from Palmetto State. I’m not here to judge, or pry, or fix. I don’t give a shit about your tragic backstory, I give a shit about the way you single-handedly held up your team’s defense line and I give a shit about putting you on an NCAA Class I Exy team. If you can get over yourself for five minutes, I suggest you sign first and cry later”

Every fibre in this kid’s body twitched like he wanted to run and Neil was hit, not for the first time, with jarring memory of himself in this position, shadows of a dark locker room curling in around his ankles, Wymack promising a future he’d never stayed still long enough to know he wanted. Sentiment was lost on Neil, most of the time. Still, if his family of Foxes had taught him anything, it was that sometimes you had to save people despite them not wanting to be saved. At this point, that may as well be the Palmetto State Motto. Neil had given the kid a few hours to think on it. Go home, talk to whoever you need to talk to, think about it. Just remember that we did not drive out here for a no.

Wymack had, of course, grumbled about having to spend a few hours sweating my damn ass off in the pleasure of your company but had mellowed somewhat when Neil had taken him for a suitably greasy dinner and showed him how to use his new phone to FaceTime Dan. He had allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the scene; Wymack, his face far too close to the screen, cursing Dan out for not texting him all week because saying I miss you is too overrated. Dan, a pixelated blur of joy and exuberance, showing her father every single corner of her new apartment and zooming in on one Matt Boyd, tangled helplessly in the middle of an Ikea side table.

With Wymack occupied, Neil had called Andrew, who answered on the very last ring because he was a certified asshole at the best of times. “Am I to assume you will be elsewhere when I get to the dorms?”

Andrew always makes him feel so known. “I managed to pick another stubborn one”

“Yes,” Andrew says, his voice a slow rumble over the familiar, quiet growl of the Maserati, “because you were so quick to acquiesce”

“I might have been running to grab a pen,” Neil replies. Andrew doesn’t laugh, but there’s a puff of air that Neil recognises as amusement, and his own mouth curls. “I think I sold him, though. A few hours and I might finally have secured a backliner”

“You should hope so,” and then there’s a beat of silence and the tell-tale flick of a lighter, “because I refuse to listen to you whine about it all weekend”

“So you admit that you do listen, when I talk?”

“Absolutely not” and when the silence stretches for a beat too long, Neil lifts the phone from his ear and realises Andrew has disconnected the call. Typical Andrew, but now Neil’s fingers twitch to hold a cigarette and he distinctly remembers leaving them behind at the behest of Wymack’s disapproving frown. Beneath his thighs the sticky vinyl booth creaks in protest when he shifts his weight and he waves a round-about hand at Wymack before ducking out of the diner, knowing that Wymack will see him cross the road toward the convenience store and put two and two together.

It says a lot for how far he has allowed himself to sink into safety and familiarity and family that he doesn’t immediately notice the shouting. He’s caught up in realising his ID is somewhere in the glove compartment of his car and wondering if his sharp scars and sharper expression will dissuade the cashier from asking questions. Behind the front counter is a door, all peeling red paint and a half-hearted Staff Only sign, and the slight space between the door and the frame is the source of the noise. Neil has no interest in interfering. Neil has no interest in even listening to some inane disagreement between cashier and colleague, and is considering returning to the diner empty handed when he hears a sharp crack, followed by a sharper, you are never leaving me, Joshua, not ever and the unmistakeable sound of hands pummelling flesh. Something in Neil twitches to intervene but he isn’t stupid enough to walk into a small room with flying fists so, in a bid of panic, he thumps the bell by the cash drawer once, twice, three times.

A man appears from the back, face flushed the red of barely-swallowed anger, eyes a little wild and searching. Neil smiles something icy and the man is stupid enough to misread it. “Sorry ‘bout that, had’ta catch up on some paperwork in the back. What can I do ya for?”

There’s a moment where everything slows down and Neil files away details like his life depends on it. Blood, smeared across the knuckles of one large, meaty hand. A row of scratches, three raised and red, sit tucked against his chunky neck in an indication that someone had raised a hand to defend themselves. A gold ring, thick and faded, shaped to spell out DAD. Neil doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he opens his mouth to ask for a packet of Camel Blue and what comes out is “someone round the back is casing the place, you might want to check that out”

A self-righteous rage takes over the man’s expression, clouding his eyes and the twist of his mouth and he claps Neil on the shoulder as he passes on his way to the door. Men like him, Neil thinks, are far too predictable for their own good. Something like a memory tugs at his subconscious; Neil at age sixteen, dropping a similar line, waiting for the all clear to stuff his pockets full of food and hightail it out of there before anyone noticed. That, Neil thinks, was a far more sensible plan than whatever this was. He rounds the corner of the cashier desk, nudges the back door open with the flat of his hand and comes face to face with the cowering, crumpled body of his newest recruit.

The kid, Josh, is folded in on himself in the far corner of this office, schoolbag tossed a few paces away, face hidden in his hands. At Neil’s entrance he starts so hard Neil almost feels it like a physical thing and then his face does something complicated when he realises it isn’t his father; relief warring with shame warring with anger warring with hope. One of his eyes is beginning to blacken and there’s blood pouring from a cut in his eyebrow – the ring, the fucking ring – and from one side of a crooked nose. His wrist doesn’t look particularly healthy and the way he holds himself tells Neil that this is not a one off occurrence.

“What do you want?” asks Josh, and Neil has no fucking idea. There are scars on his skin from the hands of his father and the hands of his mother and there were long years of his life where he was so accustomed to being beaten within an inch of his life that he never stopped to think that maybe, he didn’t deserve it and maybe, it wasn’t normal and maybe, someone should have helped him. How many teachers saw his black eyes, his split lips, his bruised arms, and how many of them said nothing. How many strangers saw his mother grip his wrist so tightly that it popped, pulling him into a car or a hotel or an alley, how many men saw his father pummel him like a punch bag?

Without thinking about it too much, Neil holds out a hand. “I want to help you. I want you to come with me”

Josh scoffs, gesturing loosely to his face. “This is nothing compared to what he’ll do if he comes in here and I’m gone”

Neil frowns. “Look at me,” and he points to his own scarred face with equally scarred hands, “look at my face and tell me you don’t think I’ve survived worse than your piece of shit father. Come with me, now, and don’t ever come back. Let us help you”

And there it is again, the flurry of anger-fear-shame-hope. “Why?”

“You’re a damn good backliner,” Neil tells him simply, “and if you let that pathetic excuse of a man beat you any harder you won’t be, anymore”

Hesitation twists his features into something ugly. Neil knows that he has minutes, maybe seconds until the man outside realises he’s been set up. If Neil has to pick saving himself over saving this kid, he’ll probably save himself, but Josh drags himself to his feet and looks Neil squarely in the face. “If I do this…he will come looking for me”

“And he will find an entire team of angry, troubled Exy players who know their way around a racquet” Neil replies. “I can protect you, but we have to leave. Right now”

His jaw goes tight but he nods, once. Neil nods back and together they make their way toward the front of the store, Neil pushing ahead, body strung-tight with focus. Outside he nudges Josh ahead of him, watches him adjust his gait around a lopsided limp, reels in his anger for another day.

They reach the Lexus across the street and a voice from behind calls “Joshua, get back here this goddamn instant.”

Three things happen.

Josh, in a bout of incredible bravery, flips his father the middle finger and falls over himself to clamber into the back seat of Neil’s car. The father, in a bout of incredible anger, starts for Neil like he means to snap his head from his body. Wymack, in a bout of incredible exhaustion at the familiarity of a situation such as this, appears at Neil’s right shoulder and swings a right hook up and under the man’s jaw.

It sends the man on his ass and in a split-second shared glance, Neil and Wymack make the mutual decision to get the fuck out of there.

Over the course of their drive back to Palmetto, Neil explains the situation with their new backliner, Wymack assures Josh that he will be resolutely protected, and Josh leaks blood all in the fancy seats of Neil’s car. When it doesn’t seem like it will stop, Neil shucks off his hoodie and throws it at the kid, telling him to hold it fast to the wound – after a brief, whispered argument, Neil pulls over and hands Wymack the keys and throws himself into the backseat to try and assess the damage. The ring hadn’t cut his eyebrow so much as it had gouged out a chunk of skin and his nose and lip are bust but mostly dried up. There’s a patch of blood at his side, seeping through his white t-shirt, and he waves that away as split stitches. From what, Neil doesn’t ask. He tries to staunch the bleeding but succeeds only in covering his own fingers in the blood, and in the end Wymack has to drive them straight to Abby’s house.

“Abby is our team nurse,” Neil explains, while Wymack tries to parallel park a Lexus under a blanket of colourful curses, “she patches up sprained ankles but she also patched up every wound visible on my skin, so you can trust her. I can stay, if you want, or I can leave you in her capable hands while I go back to campus and make preparations for you. There’s a spare bed in one of the freshman dorm rooms, or you can stay with Abby, or you can sleep on my sofa. Whatever you need”

Josh tucks his arms around himself, bravado stripped for the day. Neil assumes it will come back, that things will be difficult, that the kid’s attitude will fling itself all over the place, but for now he’s looking at Neil like Neil just saved his life and Neil thinks he just might have.

“You can go,” Josh says, “I have more shit under here I don’t wanna flash to anyone but a nurse, right now. Uh, I don’t…maybe I can stay on your sofa? For a bit. I don’t…”

“Hey,” Neil interrupts, “you don’t have to explain. Sofa it is. Though, I should tell you, my…my boyfriend is visiting right now, and he isn’t the friendliest person you’ll ever meet-”

“Understatement,” Wymack interrupts, “fucking understatement”

“-but,” and Neil flips off Wymack, “as long as you don’t give him any reason to distrust you, you’ll be safe”

He watches the kid for a minute, waiting for something. Protest, anger, homophobia, acceptance. Instead he shrugs, tired, overwhelmed, and climbs out of the car. Wymack follows him out, with a parting jab about Neil’s use of the term boyfriend, and then Neil is left to drive back to campus alone.

Maybe it should be embarrassing that the sight of the Maserati fills Neil with a fuzzy sort of warmth but this past half-a-year has begrudgingly taught him that distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever, and that he should allow himself to recognise that he misses Andrew and likes it when he comes home.

Or maybe Bee had taught him that, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Andrew.

The man in question is leaning up against the hood of his car, sleek and sharp in his black jeans and leather jacket, one booted-foot propped against the license plate, a cigarette between his lips. He’s gotten broader, since Neil last saw him, bulkier in the arms and shoulders and if Andrew is feeling up to it, Neil wants to relearn the shape of him with his fingers, maybe even his mouth.

Andrew doesn’t look up when the Lexus pulls in, feigning a nonchalance the set of his jaw doesn’t quite convey, but he does look up when Neil steps out of the car and his face transitions from smooth to thunder so fast it gives Neil whiplash.

“What happened?”

Neil blinks and Andrew’s hands are on him, fingers tilting his jaw this way and that, skimming down the sides of his body, eyes roaming for injury. Neil belatedly realises that he has Josh’s blood on his hands, a little on his shirt and he curves his own fingers around Andrew’s wrists, meets his eye with a calm stare. “It isn’t mine”

“That,” Andrew says, shoulders settling away from tension, “is not as reassuring as you seem to think it is”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Had some trouble with the new recruit. He’ll be staying with us”

Andrew arches a pale eyebrow, studying the blood on Neil’s fingers with a calculated disinterest. Neil huffs. “His father was beating the shit out of him”

“Where is he now?”

“Abby’s”

Andrew studies him for a long moment. Then, “I thought taking in strays was my thing”

“Well,” and Neil smooths his thumbs down over the fine bones of Andrew’s wrists, “someone had to pick up the slack. I couldn’t leave him there. So many people must have seen my mother backhand me and no one ever stepped in. How could I-”

“Stop it,” Andrew says, and Neil stops. “You cannot take responsibility for every single person in the world. It will never make your mother un-hit you”

Neil flinches, but he knows Andrew is right. Still, “I can help him. I can help this one. I want to”

“Alright”

“Yeah?”

Andrew gives him a look. “What, were you asking my permission? Are we adopting this child together?”

Neil laughs, a new thing, tipping his head back, teeth slipping past his lips. “You don’t think we’d make good parents?”

Andrew steps close enough that one of his boots rests between Neil’s two sneakers, their hands still clasped between them becoming squashed between their chests. “I would be a textbook parent. You would be a nightmare”

“I resent that,” Neil tells him “We’re never having kids”

“Obviously”

“Cats, maybe”

Andrew blinks. “Cats? You’ve thought about cats?”

Neil shrugs, once, but can’t fight the smile spilling back onto his face. “We’re getting cats. You said yourself that you like taking in strays”

“No,” Andrew says, firm. “I do not like it. The last one I took in continues to test my patience, so I will not have another”

“I’ve been testing your patience for four years and you��ve yet to get rid of me” Neil reminds him, “I think you’re getting soft”

“I think I am getting back in my car and leaving you here” Andrew replies, allowing it when Neil’s hands wiggle up between their bodies to frame his face.

“I think you’re going to help me make use of my empty dorm room before a freshman backliner moves in onto my sofa”

Andrew doesn’t respond to this either way but he allows it when Neil stretches to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and he allows it when Neil takes him by the fingers and leads him into Fox Tower, and he certainly allows it when Neil peels him out of his leather jacket before the door is even closed behind them.

(Later, when Josh announces his presence with a tentative knock at the door, Andrew answers it. Neil watches them size one another up and then Andrew reaches up into his armband for a knife. “Use this on anyone other than your father,” he says, “and I will use it to remove your hands”

If the expression on his face is anything to go by, Josh has no idea what he’s agreeing to in taking that knife, but he does it anyway. Neil has to hide his smile in the collar of his newly-acquired leather jacket.)

#answered #prompt fills #andreil #fic

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one-night-story · 5 years

Text

Echoes of You (Spike Spiegel)

A/N: The formatting on this is h e l l. But when nostalgia slaps you and says “Fall in love with Spike Spiegel again.” You do as it’s says. Thus this

Roman Holiday had changed who she was so many times she didn’t remember who she was when she started. She’d been a drug lord, a spy, an informant, a bounty, a runaway. But these days, with blue and purple hair and a coat large enough to hide a pistol, she settled on being a ghost among the streets, listening and picking up information as she went. She found herself on Mars, mourning friends and paying dues. She was going to have to disappear again soon. But first, she needed food, scissors, and some hair dye; though she was uncertain what color. She tried walking into a convenience store when she ran into someone.

“Sorry about that.” The guy said. From that one comment Roman almost got whiplash. That voice shouldn’t be talking to her. That voice should’ve been dead. If not from the first time, then definitely the second time. She looked up at him and sure enough it was him. Spike Spiegel in all his blue suited, disheveled glory. And he looked just as shocked to see her. “Ro-?” He didn’t get to finish her name because she took off, sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as she could. He of course went after her, he always would, and she scaled a building to get to the roof. She pulled her pistol and waited for him to catch up.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“Ro don’t do this.”

“Tell me! Stop playing cruel tricks and just tell me!” She yelled. It couldn’t be him, it shouldn’t be him.

“Roman, it’s really me.”

“Bullshit, you died.”

“I didn’t,”

“Then you died again.”

“I’ve had worse.” He said with his trademark lazy smile. Roman almost let up at that. He still knew her weak points.

“Gimme the word.” She said, lowering her gun but not putting it away. He furrowed his brows and then figured it out.

“Lily.” He said. Roman lowered her pistol entirely and put it away. Her flower of choice. Julia had roses, she had lilies. Her whole form softened, though she was far from the Roman he used to know. Spike took a step forward to see if she’d let him and sure enough, she didn’t move. “It’s good to see you Roman. Glad to know you’re still picking up information.” He said. Roman shrugged and sat down, still keeping her distance.

“Nothing better to do on this dirt rock. You know you threw the whole operation into chaos, right? There’s a power vacuum with at least seven people trying to fill it.” She said. Spike sat across from her, a little closer than she would’ve liked, but she allowed it. She chalked it up to some primal part of her brain still wanting to keep him as close as she could. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

“What’s next for you then? Figure you’re not gonna stick around for that mess to sort itself out.” He said as he fished out a lighter and lit the cigarette. He took a drag and offered it to Roman. She took it and copied the movement. She never smoked unless she was with Spike. Again, she chalked it up to that primal part of her brain that was still 13 years old and hoped that she still stood a chance against a far prettier half-sister.

“I cut my hair, redye it and catch a flight out of here. I’m thinking Ganymede. Or the asteroids. Hell, I could go be a small fry in Tijuana.” She said.

“And what color will it be this time?” He asked. Roman’s mood was usually determined by her hair. She changed it with regimes, mood, the music she was listening to that month, and sometimes when she felt she had no control of anything. He watched as she thought over her answer.

“Red. Probably. Or pink. Julia always thought I’d look good with pink.” She said muttering the last part.

“You would.” He said. Roman tried to not flush to the color in question, but she never did take compliments well. “I remember she was constantly trying to push you out of the shadows.”

“I like the shadows. No one judges me there. I’m useful there.” Roman argued. Spike chuckled and took a drag from his cigarette. The motion was repeated when he passed it to her to take a drag.

“Maybe, but you have no reason to stay there. Unless you wanna start working for the police.” He said.

“I could be a bounty hunter.” She said with a shrug.

“Oh no, I don’t think I could have you competing for my dinner money too.” He said with his trademark smile. Roman laughed at his comment, a real laugh. Something she hadn’t done in a while. As she laughed, Spike watched her. Her face was lit up by the beginnings of sunset and neon. Her and Julia had no personality similarities, but sometimes they did have physical ones.

“I haven’t done that in forever.” She said when she finally calmed down. Spike smiled at her. She seemed lighter now, more at ease. It was like the laughter fit had locked her into a time machine and she had shed so many years of cynicism with ease. “What about you? What becomes of the great Spike Spiegel? Now newly undeceased again.” She asked. Spike thought it over. He wasn’t certain. He didn’t know if he could go back to the Bebop. But he didn’t know any other way of life. Maybe just him and Jet could strike out again. Maybe he needed to go forward. Maybe he needed to disappear.

“No idea. Maybe dye my hair and change planets.” He said. Roman rolled her eyes.

“Hey, don’t steal my one thing.” She said. Spike chuckled and actually gave her a genuine smile. They were silent for a minute, casually passing the cigarette between themselves. For a moment they felt like teenagers again, sharing cigarettes and sharing a moment of uncertainty. At least that’s how Roman always felt in moments like these. Until finally she broke the tension.

“Annie told me you came to see her.” She said as she looked down.

“Yeah. Thought I might finally kill him.”

“Ignored my bounty then.”

“Always did. Whenever it came up, no matter what the price, no matter what name you were under. I wouldn’t do that to you Roman.” He said. It felt like a whisper on the wind. Like if he said it any louder, he’d lose her like he lost Julia. Roman leaned into this, allowing one of her knees to knock into his. She needed this. She needed him. Outside of just that primal part that told her she was once 13 and crushing on the one person in the whole galaxy she couldn’t have.

“I look at you and I think… god what have we done with our lives? And what did it get us?” She said with what Spike could only describe as the truest form of sadness he’s ever seen from her. Roman Holiday kept all her cards close to her chest until one day, she’d die. But now? He felt like he was peering through a brick in her wall. “I loved my sister more than anything in this life. And I chose her happiness over mine, time and time again.” She scoffed and leaned back on her hands. “God I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“What?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what was coming next, but curiosity killed him to know.

“A million years ago, she said to me “this one’s mine.” So, I stood by.” She said. “And I knew I shouldn’t do anything, I should just leave and pretend I never met you. But Julia,”

“She was too kind for that.” He said as his brain was slowly putting the pieces together. He had always wondered when they were kids, even before Roman became a shadow figure, why she always seemed to fall into that point, even when Julia brought her out, or when he tried to talk to her. But now he got it. She’d been hiding pain this whole time.

“I should go.” She said. She stood up and dusted herself off. Spike stood up as well and grabbed her wrist before she could go anywhere.

“Don’t disappear again.” He said. Roman looked down at her beat up shoes, trying to hide what had just come to pass.

“You can’t ask that of me.” She said.

“Ro, you’re all I’ve got left.”

“And who’s fault is that?” She snapped. Spike wanted to get offended. But he remembered an incident when they were younger, where he’d gotten too close and she’d snapped, and he retaliated. They didn’t speak for a month. Not until Julia forced them to, and not until after he’d brought her lilies. He sighed and plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette from his teeth and passed it to her. She took a drag and then stomped it out. She was still looking down at it when Spike brought her face to look up at him. Roman unintentionally leaned her cheek into his hand, blinking at him a couple of times.

“I won’t let this be the last time I see you Roman.” He said. Spike, at his core, was a deeply sentimental person. He couldn’t lose Roman. She reached up and brought his face to hers, giving him a small, soft and what Spike could only describe as a ghost of a kiss. Like she was afraid of what fully kissing him would mean. He kissed her cheek in turn, letting it sit there a little longer than either of them expected. When they separated, they put the distance back between them. Once again, afraid of what the closeness would do to them. She tossed him a comm unit she had pocketed off some guy and he caught it with ease.

“Call that ship of yours.”

“Wouldn’t that be going backward?” He asked.

“One step backward to go miles forward? I think it’s worth it. Call them Spiegel.” She said. Spike nodded.

“Remember, pink.” He said. Roman gave him a small, soft smile and nodded.

“See you Space Cowboy.” She said as she ran off the edge of the roof, scaling down the building to go buy some scissors, some food, and some pink hair dye.

#spike spiegel #cowboy bebop #spike spiegel imagines #if that’s even a thing #cowboy bebop imagines #in which em writes

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sollea · 5 years

Text

Kingdom Hearts Mermaids AU Characters: Lea, Isa, Sora, Riku Relationship: LeaIsa, (non-mentioned) SoRiKai Word Count: 1583

Note: I’m gonna be doing more of this AU, keep an eye out. I have a lot planned. Lea + Isa picture here. Other mermaid information here. I’m reposting to try to get this into the search because for some reason the first try wasn’t.

“Hey, Isa, you remember that time I almost killed you?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Lea. You do that regularly.”

Lea rolled his eyes and swam up and above Isa, reaching down and dangling his arms in front of his best friend as they swam together. He silently recalled when he had to be more careful around Isa, glad for that time being over. “Nah, you know what I mean. I’ve never actually almost killed you.”

“Didn’t you just ask about the time you did?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“I need you to think for a second, just a second. Why would I forget one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had?” Isa paused his swimming and let Lea circle back so he could still be talking to Isa while looking down from above.

“I was kinda hoping you’d still be unwilling to say it like that, but you’re right. I was just thinking about how glad I am that I can touch you now.”

Isa reached up to prick his finger against one of Lea’s spines, it barely felt like anything after years of getting used to it.“It’s been ages, aren’t you used to being able to touch me without being incredibly careful by now?”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me happy.”

Isa laughed and looked up at Lea, reaching up and cupping his face to make sure they locked eyes. He couldn’t deny Lea being so outwardly sentimental was something he loved about him. “What was your point, Lea? Did you have one or did you just want to be a dork?”

Lea moved his hand over Isa’s and smiled. “I’m just thinking about it. I was really scared you weren’t going to be my friend anymore because of that and here we are, you’re in love with me and-”

“Don’t know who said that.”

“And I love you.”

“As you should.”

“You refused to let me know you were hurting that bad, you were really strong. You’re always so strong. I just love you.”

“Sappy. Is something going on?”

“No. I really was just thinking about how nice it is to not have that happen anymore. No poisoning my friend with hugs. Now I just bother my boyfriend by being clingy.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a couple changes, then. Why are we just talking about the almost killing me part of the story?”

“Because I’m trying to get to a point.”

“You said you didn’t have one.”

“Ugh! Just stop making fun of me for two seconds. You’re obnoxious.”

“Oh? Am I really the obnoxious one?”

“Yes! Why do I even like you?”

“I’m told you’re in love.”

“Wish I wasn’t in love with someone so mean to me.”

“I’m not mean to you. I could be. Do you want me to be mean to you?”

“No. Isa.”

“Then you know I’m being as nice as I can be?”

“Isa, can you just shut up and let me talk?”

“Hah, you think I’m able to keep you from talking? You?”

“Alright, shut up.”

“Really rude to keep saying that.” Moving up in the water to press his lips to Lea’s for a moment, Isa laughed. “You like hearing me talk. You enjoy my voice.”

“If you’d let me get to my point, Isa.” He left emphasis on the second syllable as he waited to be interrupted. When there was no interruption, he sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that because of how many things we still do come from not being able to touch you. When you kiss me outside of saying hey, it makes me remember watching Aeleus help you into the castle when I hugged you. Y’know, that should’ve had you paralyzed?”

“Yes, I’m aware. Are we really going over some backstory? Can’t we just continue this swim, head up to the beach, and relax there while it’s empty?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to my best friend anymore?”

“You are, but your boyfriend is getting impatient.”

“Then tell him to stop being an asshole.”

“He’s not about to listen, he’s just as stubborn as you are. Now, seriously, come on. There’s nothing we can’t talk about while relaxing somewhere even just a little safer than open ocean between islands.”

“Fine.”

“And I bet you don’t remember what your point was anyways.”

“I just told you what it was.”

“Oh? Was that it?”

“I hate you.”

Isa laughed and rolled his eyes, deciding to let that empty statement stand, returning to the other part of what he’d been saying. “We wouldn’t be between islands if you just remembered where we were going.”

“You could’ve told me I was swimming the wrong way.”

“You’re almost always ahead of me. It’s your fault for going so far so fast.”

“You could’ve noticed.”

“Excuse me for trusting the one who decided to take the lead.”

“You weren’t even trusting me, I know you better than that.”

“Fine, I was laughing at you for going the wrong way, but we didn’t run into any humans with nets, so it’s fine.”

“If that’s your metric, then, yeah, I guess. You sure you’re going to be fine doing your job when we get back?”

“If I’m too tired for the day, the world won’t fall apart if I don’t go in.”

“But you will.”

“Yes, I will. Of course I will. You will too.”

“Nah, I’m gonna skip out. Be irresponsible and sleep all day. Place won’t fall apart without me.”

Isa rolled his eyes and wrapped his hands around Lea’s wrists carefully, webbing between his fingers getting in the way of a full and comfortable grasp. He wasn’t going to say it aloud, but he really did want to just sit on the beach with Lea and look up at the moon until they were too dry to stay on land. “Lea, start moving, I want to get home eventually, but the moon is full tonight.”

“You’re the one who stopped?”

Isa didn’t respond to Lea and instead opted to swimming forward with a small tug of Lea’s arms before letting go to continue swimming. He could be much faster when he wanted to be, a tuna tail was much better suited to going quickly than anyone who had only met Isa alone would be led to believe. Lea had to fight to keep up with Isa.

“Hey, Isa, slow down.”

“You can keep up, I believe in you.”

“Why am I dating you?”

“Why am I dating someone so slow?”

“Ugh! Fine. I don’t want to race, though, so slow down a little bit?”

Isa fell back, swimming at Lea’s pace and bumping their hips together. Lea still had the tendency to be careful around other people, despite Isa being all but completely immune to his sting because of the constant exposure. Isa had no such care. Lea responded to the bump by wrapping his tail around Isa’s, taking a position most used for comfortable relaxing while not moving.

“You really don’t want to let me see the moon above the water tonight, do you?”

“We’re still moving. You know how to pull me around, I know you do.”

“You’re lucky your tail isn’t as short as your dad’s is.”

“And you’re not. Pull me along.”

“Don’t be lazy.”

“Too late. I’m comfortable. And I know you can do this for a significantly longer time.”

Isa just sighed, shaking his head at Lea’s dorky actions. He loved Lea a great deal, but sometimes it was difficult… this was not one of those times, Isa found, as he glanced back to look at Lea’s smirk.

They didn’t have that far to go, so the rest of their swim was in silence. They pulled themselves onto the deserted beach carefully and hacked the water up out of their lungs.

As soon as they were comfortably on the beach and breathing air, Lea flopped backwards into the sand and groaned. “I will never be used to that.”

“What?”

“Having to cough up that much water.”

“You’ll never get used to anything different than your first two years alive, will you?”

“Oh, shut up. You wanted to lay here and talk and look at the moon, so lay down with me.”

Isa rolled his eyes and laid down next to Lea, holding his arm out so he could be leaned against if Lea decided he wanted to. And of course Lea wanted to.

Just as Lea got comfortable, there was a sound of footsteps that was just too close for comfort. Lea moved away and began to slide back into the water and Isa followed behind him.

They got into the water just as a pair of human children locked eyes with them.

“Wait, no, don’t go!” One of the children called out to the mermaids, reaching his hand out only to have the other grab him and hold him back.

“Sora, leave them alone. Kairi didn’t want to be seen either.”

“Yeah, but… We’re friendly.”

The mermaids stared at the gently arguing children in confusion, slowly backing up in the water so they could have a good distance between them. Where had they picked up this human language?

Suddenly, Lea realized the humans had said a name.

“...Did you say Kairi?” Lea was too curious to continue the act of self preservation Isa was still anxious to do, but not without Lea. He knew that and he could see Isa ready to bolt, but he needed to know.

#kingdom hearts #lea #isa #leaisa #akusai #kh #sora #riku #at the end #they'll be there more later #kh mermaids au

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chockfullofsecrets · 6 years

Text

Class 1-A vs. Tickle Might: Part 2

Rating: Gen

Summary: ...title is really the best explanation I can offer

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who’s reading these and leaving me feedback, and to @gigglingknight for proofreading :) This brings us to nine students down and... quite a few still to go. Let me know what you think!

<<Part 1 :: Part 2.5>>

While it was difficult to track a villain through a crowded city, there was usually some kind of trail to follow: explosions, destruction, screaming. Things became even easier when the villain was running to something –an exit, perhaps.

However, this exercise required All Might to track down twenty teenagers that were trying their absolute hardest to hide and wait him out. He was going to need a little more than just his observational skills.

A little more, it turned out, was an app on his phone attached to the training ground’s security cameras – a simple map that showed a red dot in every location where detection algorithms noticed a humanoid form. Cheating, perhaps, but he and Aizawa had agreed that it might be necessary.

He fished the device out of a pocket on his skintight suit, squinting at the tiny screen. Several dots in his vicinity, and – ah, five or six of them clustered together in the same building. Definitely a good place to start the next phase of his attack.

The mockup of an office building was windowless, pale concrete glittering in the daylight. Starting on the first floor and working his way up was the obvious plan; anyone on the higher floors would be trapped unless they could sneak past him.

He momentarily considered entering through the front door, then remembered that he was playing a villain and knocked his way through a wall instead. “I AM HERE, READY TO CONQUER MY OPPONENTS!”

The room was empty save young Ojiro, who backpedaled frantically as one of All Might’s hands came perilously close to grabbing him. The boy skidded to a stop in the opposite corner, feet planting firmly as his arms came up in a defensive stance.

All Might crossed his arms and stared him down. “Young Ojiro! I’m glad I found you!” he boomed cheerily, then winced as the look in his student’s eyes teetered on the edge of outright panic. “That’s an excellent stance!” he complimented, a little softer.

Ojiro blinked at him. “Ah, thanks?”

The boy’s tail twitched as All Might drew closer. He held up a conciliatory hand. “Just taking a closer look. Feet turned to avoid any buffeting from the front, yet positioned to spring easily to either side, tail used as a counterweight… it appears very sturdy!”

He grinned as Ojiro flushed a little under his praise, still watching warily for a potential attack. “Uh… are we going to…”

“Fight? Only if you don’t wish to surrender first, young hero.”

Ojiro shifted his feet, smiling a little. “I’ll take my chances!”

All Might feinted forwards, expecting a sideways dodge. Instead, Ojiro dropped straight to the ground. Rolling forwards, he wrapped his tail around All Might’s leg and tugged. The hero tumbled backwards, but with his quick reflexes he clapped his legs together and trapped Ojiro’s tail between them.

Now they were both on the floor. Ojiro made a swift move towards the pressure point on All Might’s left knee, but his wrist was quickly caught in his opponent’s massive grip.

“Young hero, it’s very unwise to get tangled up with someone who has a longer reach,” he tutted. For example, I could do this!” He reached out, barely stretching his free arm, and scampered his fingers up Ojiro’s vulnerable ribcage.

The boy snickered, eyes widening. “W-wait… this is…”

“You see,” he continued, drilling his finger into the soft side within his reach and watching triumphantly as Ojiro was overtaken by giggles, “I have some knowledge of pressure points too.”

Ojiro squirmed like an eel as he tried frantically to separate himself from All Might, his free hand slapping at the ground. The room was filled with his laughter, rebounding off the concrete walls, but – there. Another giggle, much higher pitched.

All Might raised his head and looked around. Nobody. “I take it we have a certain invisible student with us?”

The higher-pitched giggling stopped. Ojiro, whose side was still being mercilessly tickled, choked out, “Tooru! Yohohou were s-supposed to attack stehehealthily!”

“Sorry, sorry, the two of you just look funny! I’m helping!”

A pair of invisible hands started to pry All Might’s right hand off Ojiro’s wrist finger by finger. “The other hand, Tooru!” Ojiro pleaded, still trying to worm away from the invading digits of his left.

“I need both hands for this,” she chirped. “C’mon, you can hold out for a bit longer. A little laughing never hurt anyone!”

“It tihihickles!”

“Okay, okay!” Something smacked against All Might’s other hand – Hagakure’s foot, most likely. “Don’t be mean, sensei! Shoo!”

He laughed, pausing his attack to wrap his hand around her ankle. “A noble sentiment, young hero, but you’ve put yourself in danger now!”

“No!” It was chaos for a few seconds – Hagakure trying to pry her leg free, Ojiro giving a mighty tug with his captured tail. He wouldn’t be able to contain both of them this way.

Hagakure was the more valuable target; she didn’t show up on any of the cameras and would be much harder to find if he let her go now. He released Ojiro and rolled to his knees, casting a hand in front of him to find the girl’s waist and pull her down. Ojiro, gasping, pulled his tail free and climbed to his feet, stumbling for the exit. “Tooru, let’s run!”

“Ojiro, help!” Hagakure yelped, facedown on the floor. “He got me!”

The boy wavered for a moment, still in range for an attack, then turned back to the door. “I’ll get help from the others upstairs; just hold on!”

His indecision would cost him. All Might managed to pin Hagakure with a knee pressed gently into the small of her back, and, both hands free, grabbed Ojiro’s tail and sent him sprawling with a decisive pull. “Hah! Two heroes captured!”

“And no hands to tickle them with, villain,” Ojiro growled, bending double and latching onto All Might’s free arm. “Gotcha!”

“I’m willing to work with what I have!” proclaimed All Might, turning to Hagakure and dragging Ojiro with him.

“Wait, wait! Not that!” Hagakure squeaked. Evidently she had her head turned to watch the both of them, and as the tuft of Ojiro’s tail drew closer to her she knew what was coming.

Squealing, loud and unrestrained, filled the room as All Might lightly dusted the end of Ojiro’s tail over Hagakure’s unprotected back and sides. “Nohoho! Go away, go away!”

“Sorry,” Ojiro called, laughing despite himself. “Didn’t you say a little laughing was okay?”

“Shut uhuhup! Why is your tahail so soft!”

At that affront, Ojiro reached out to tweak her side. “Don’t be mean!”

“Ahahaha! Not both of you! I surrender!” she squawked. All Might lifted his knee to let her get away, but they could both still hear her heaving for breath. “Ha… man, this exercise is different than I thought.”

“A valiant effort nonetheless, young Hagakure!” he praised. “Your stealth makes it nearly impossible to attack when you’re not forced to engage with your opponent.”

Footsteps crossed the room, and Hagakure’s shoes and gloves appeared from behind a corner. “Thank you, sensei!” She started to put them on. “That was kind of fun! I didn’t know Ojiro’s tail could tickle that bad!”

“Neither did I, my girl! A lucky occurrence on my part.” He turned suddenly to the owner of said tail, still clinging to his arm. “Now, what shall I do with you?”

Ojiro was already grinning nervously as his friend skipped over. “Try his tail, All Might-sensei! Kaminari messes with it in class sometimes, and he always freaks out!”

“Tooru, come on!” Ojiro protested.

“You didn’t save me!” she retorted, gloves on hips. “Actually, you were helping him!”

“Hah, a rivalry!” All Might grinned. “My girl, would you care to demonstrate?”

Hagakure took hold of a struggling Ojiro’s tail, gloved fingers scratching lightly into the tuft of hair at the end. “You’d expect that it would feel good, like when you get your head scratched, but I think it just tickles him a lot!”

“And what do you think, young Ojiro?”

Ojiro didn’t answer, but his collapse into helpless cackling proved her theory correct. She let her teacher take over, helpfully rubbing her friend’s shivering back as he laughed himself silly. By the time he called for mercy, there were tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

They helped him sit up. “You’re both… so mean…” he panted.

“Don’t you feel less stressed now that you don’t have to worry about All Might-sensei destroying you in combat, though?” Hagakure asked.

“Heh, I guess so.” Ojiro ran his sleeve across his face. “Thanks for not killing us!”

All Might chuckled. “You’re welcome, my boy. Go to the exit, you two, and enjoy your summer break!”

They left through the hole in the wall; he headed for the stairwell, sure that some of his students were still in the building.

He wasn’t expecting to find four of them right there in the hallway.

Sero, Aoyama, Shoji, and Tokoyami were all rooted to the ground in the dimly lit corridor, apparently halfway though a rushed evacuation. They stared up at him like he’d just melted from the shadows, and in return he graced them with a brightly villainous smile. “Ah, more young heroes. And you’ve even lined yourselves up for me!”

“Merde,” Aoyama hissed, an octave above his already high voice, and that broke the spell.

“Run!” Sero shouted, shoving them all to the door, and the five of them spilled out into the daylight on each other’s heels.

The four boys were still huddled together, backing away from his imposing figure. Sero, in front, looked wildly around. “Aoyama, get out of here! You and Dark Shadow can’t fight in the same space!” When the shiny-surfaced boy failed to move, he slung some tape around his waist and, with a grunt of effort, sent him sailing up to the nearest rooftop.

“Not so fast!” All Might sprang forward to grab the tape-slinging boy – one arm around his waist, the other moving to grab the tape before it could disconnect. Aoyama wailed in surprise as a sharp tug sent him tumbling back down into the fray.

He grinned at them both. “You’re right, young Sero! It’s a definite advantage for me to have Aoyama here. And you really should stop slinging your teammates into the air without any regard for your own safety.” He deftly bound Sero up with the still-dangling length of tape –“don’t get yourself tied in knots, my boy, I’ll be right back for you” – and carried Aoyama with him as he turned to face his two remaining opponents.

Shoji and Tokoyami were running, Dark Shadow unfurled behind them. Even with a wriggling Aoyama hoisted over his shoulder, it took him about five seconds to catch up to them. Dark Shadow squawked an alarm, and the two students spun around. Shoji leaned down, whispering something into his friend’s ear, and Tokoyami nodded sharply in response as he held a hand up. “Dark Shadow, shield us!”

The shadow folded in and around, encasing the two in a bubble of swirling black with two flashing red eyes. “A defensive move, huh?” All Might stopped a few feet in front of the enclosure, lowering Aoyama to the ground. “Young Aoyama, I think we both know what’s going to happen next.”

The boy was hugging himself over his armor, a desperate attempt at protection. “I won’t let you use my amazingly bright twinkling to get to Tokoyami!”

All Might rocked back on his heels, considering. “Well… you could surrender, if you don’t want to take that chance.”

“I don’t want to do that either!”

“In that case…” He wormed a finger into one of the gaps in Aoyama’s ostentatious torso armor, jerking back in surprise as even that slight brush against his belly produced a reluctant squeal and a bolt of blue energy from the boy’s navel laser. “My boy, I don’t think you’re in much of a position to bargain.” Seeing his student’s expression sour in disappointment, he leaned in and patted him gently on the head. “Besides, helping me out wouldn’t be something to regret. Don’t you think that those two could use some more, ah, enthusiasm?”

Aoyama beamed at that. He really was very bright; All Might almost felt the need to squint when confronted with his blinding white teeth. “Of course! Even a failure on my part will bring sparkles to the eyes of my classmates!”

“Exactly! Well, my boy, let’s see just how brightly you can twinkle!” Aoyama’s armor was loose enough to wriggle his fingers underneath, and the mere action of doing so was enough to send him into cascading squeals of laughter while creating his own little light show. “Hm… perhaps a little calibration…” He rolled his student over a little, aiming the random flashes of his laser roughly at Dark Shadow, who began to writhe under the sparkling assault.

The poor shadow disappeared into Tokoyami’s chest with an empty fizzle, and almost immediately Aoyama giggled out his surrender. “Mission… accomplished…” he wheezed into the ground. “Prepare for the sparkle of life to overtake you, Shoji and Tokoyami!”

With one last congratulatory pat to the boy’s head and a reminder to leave the training ground, All Might stood and turned to face his next victims, both of whom were backing slowly away from him. “Ah, you two have come back to the light! Who should I take on first!”

“You protected us admirably, Tokoyami,” Shoji said, stepping forward. All six of his arms were wrapped around himself. “If you run now, maybe Dark Shadow can still recover.”

“A noble effort indeed,” All Might agreed, wrapping a friendly arm around Shoji’s wide shoulders and pulling him aside. “Not even trying to mount a defense, huh? You seem very nervous.”

Even with his ever-present mask, it was easy to see Shoji’s jaw work as he decided what to say. “All Might-sensei, I – well, I have six arms.”

“And six armpits,” All Might said, nodding companionably. Shoji’s face was slowly reddening. “If I had six hands, I would definitely take advantage of that.”

“No one has six hands. Except me.”

“Exactly. Even I just have the two, so really there’s nothing to worry about! Just relax! You can surrender whenever it becomes too much.”

Shoji’s arms loosened a little from their death grip around his torso, and he took advantage of the opportunity to pull the uppermost pair above the boy’s head and pin them in one of his hands. A menacing wiggle of his fingers caused Shoji to freeze in place, strangled giggles already making their way out through his mask. “I – Ihih’m – pretty, uh, pretty ticklish, so I don’t think I’ll last very long.”

“That’s fine, my boy! Now, I know the mask will hide it, but I hope you’ll give me your brightest smile anyways!” He softly stroked the membrane between Shoji’s first and second pair of arms, inwardly cheering as the boy squeezed his eyes closed and dissolved into laughter.

“Ehehehe! I’m smiling, I’m smihihiling!”

“Excellent! But can you smile… bigger?”

A foray directly into the hollows separating Shoji’s arms proved that he could, as evidenced by a ticklish scream and several flailing pairs of arms. “AhahHASTOPSTOPPLEHEHEASE!”

Shoji used the sudden freedom of his hands to bury his face in four of them. All Might, trying not to laugh at his embarrassment, drew him into an engulfing hug. “It’s all right! Aizawa-sensei and I weren’t expecting anyone to be immune to my battle techniques, and you were very brave in defending your friend!” The boy nodded sheepishly into his chest, and he sent him on his way with one last squeeze.

Perhaps he’d handle young Sero next. He peered down the street, looking for the restrained boy, and noticed with some chagrin that only a pile of sticky material remained. Really, he should have expected him to be able to break free of his own tape. Regrettable, but surely he’d be able to find him later.

He turned just in time to be barraged by Dark Shadow, back to nearly full strength. “Ah, young Tokoyami! You’ve recovered!”

“I have,” the boy conceded, bowing his head. “Not in time to rescue Shoji, but that doesn’t mean Dark Shadow and I won’t try our best.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, my boy,” All Might declared, and was immediately forced into a wrestling match with Dark Shadow as the feathered entity tried to swallow his head whole.

The shadow was corporeal, to an extent, and after a brief struggle he managed to get a grip on the thing’s neck and force it back a bit. On a hunch, he buried his hands in what would have been neck fingers and wriggled them around a little.

Dark Shadow snapped at him unhelpfully. More telling was Tokoyami’s reaction – under the assault on his shadow, he flinched and let out a sound that was nearly a chirp, his hand twitching towards his neck.

“You two really are connected, I see. Tell me, can your Dark Shadow feel this?” He dug in a little more enthusiastically, and this time the disembodied head seemed to show a bit more of a reaction, shivering furiously in his grip.

“He can,” Tokoyami conceded through gritted teeth. “Although it – heh – it seems he’s passing most of it on to me.”

“Good bird,” he commented, and tickled it under its chin until, squawking in silent hilarity, it melted from his grasp and tucked itself neatly back into Tokoyami. Said student was shaking slightly on his feet, the occasional snicker trickling from his beak, but he managed to raise his head and look All Might firmly in the eye as he approached.

All Might poked him in the stomach, curious to see the reaction. When that produced another flinch, he moved onto carelessly scribbling over the boy’s belly and ribs, feeling the muscles strain as Tokoyami fought to maintain his composure while staying completely still. “H-how – the embodiment of darkness does not normally – giggle.”

“Your Dark Shadow? It does seem to have a mind of its own sometimes. Maybe it likes the tickling.” A particularly good squeeze to Tokoyami’s side had him folding in on himself, beaked head dipping sharply as if to hide the laugh that slipped out. “At any rate, you have more ticklish spots than it does, but maybe the two of you share one in particular.”

He gently tilted Tokoyami’s head back up and scratched under his chin, cooing to himself as the boy’s eyes fluttered closed and he made that chirping sound again. “Ah, is that what your laugh sounds like?” He tried the tickling again – his ribs, his belly, the silky feathers at the back of his neck. Tokoyami fared much worse this time, arms flying up to push at the attacking hands as he continued to chirp, the occasional recognizable laugh coming out as well. “There it is! Tickle tickle tickle – don’t be embarrassed, my boy, it sounds quite nice!”

Tokoyami was in a pile on the ground before he admitted defeat, leaning weakly into his teacher’s side as he giggled breathlessly. All Might rubbed his back, mentally calculating how much time had passed and wondering if he had time to walk his student to the exit.

It was then that the sensation came over him. The scuff of a foot against gravel, some sixth sense from decades of hero work, all of it assembled unconsciously in his brain to alert him.

Someone was watching them.

He looked up, wary, and there it was – a pair of mismatched eyes looking coolly back.

#bnha #my fic #class 1a vs tickle might #tickling #chocfic

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stillthewordgirl · 5 years

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LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight (ch. 14)

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

Second "Destiny" chapter. Pieces are coming together. Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Since Rip, Raymond and Mick seem like they might have the better chance at anything having to do with the ship and getting away from the Time Masters, Leonard takes the responsibility of getting Stein to the medbay. The older man is trying to move as best he can, but he’s clearly suffering, and Leonard can’t help a prickle of sympathy.

Once the professor is settled into one of the chair-bed things, with an IV of medication Gideon has prescribed to at least keep him more comfortable, Leonard hesitates, uncertain. He wants to go find Sara, but leaving Stein alone to contemplate his plight seems…well, cold, even to him.

“Anything help you other than getting the kid back?” he drawls uncomfortably, sidling toward the chair. The ship shakes a little as he does so.

Stein opens an eye and regards him with an expression that’s understanding and almost kind. It occurs to Leonard that while he may have been the one on this ship who’s changed the most, the professor has changed too. He’s a far cry from the arrogant man who’d scorned Leonard and Mick back on that rooftop in Central City.

“No, sadly, Mr. Snart,” he says with a sigh. “It’s just a matter of time, I fear. And now, with Captain Hunter’s revelations about the nature of our quest itself…it seems that it’s all been for nothing.” He shakes his head. “At least Jefferson is well out of it.”

Leonard wants, no, needs, to find out more about that himself, but while they’re still in the process of getting the hell outta Dodge, it seems best not to storm onto the bridge demanding answers. As the ship jolts again, he decides to sit down next to the other man. Stein watches him do so.

“Mr. Snart,” he asks after another moment, “may I ask you a question?”

The ship shakes, lurching. Leonard decides he’d rather be distracted. “Shoot.”

“Back in the beginning. When Captain Hunter invited us on this whole…adventure.” He stops, then continues again as Leonard continues to regard him. “Why did you decide to go?”

It is, truthfully, a good question. Leonard can remember how scornful he’d been of the whole thing, at least on the surface he’d presented to the others. And it seems like the least he can do is to offer the truth to the man before him, who, it seems, is all too likely to be giving his life on this mission.

After a moment’s thought, he starts to speak, carefully. “I’ll deny it if you tell the others,” he warns Stein, who rolls his eyes but also inclines his head. “But I do care about my city.”

“At least, insomuch as no one could hurt it but you, eh?” But the professor waves a hand when Leonard gives him a weary look. “I’m sorry. Carry on.”

After a minute, he does. “I did wonder if I could…” He thinks of Sara’s words back then. “…change my fate. Either by changing the past or, as it turns out, becoming…a rather different person.” He shrugs. “And I got even more of a chance for that than I’d expected.”

Stein tilts his head and offers up some of his occasional uncanny understanding. “Your time in 1958?”

“Yeah.” Leonard hesitates again. “Amazing what a clean slate can do.”

Stein’s closed his eyes again. “Hmm,” he muses. “I daresay Ms. Lance’s presence in your life didn’t hurt either. The love of a good woman…or rather, a good person…has saved many a lost soul. Clarissa…in some ways, I think she effectively saved me.” He sighs. “I hope I get to see her again. At this point, however, I rather doubt it.”

Leonard’s not sure what to do with that. “C’mon, professor. I thought cynicism was my hallmark.”

“As you’ve said, Mr. Snart, people change.” But Stein shakes his head. “Still. I suppose that there is always hope.” He smiles a little. “In a world with time travel, is not anything truly possible?”

“And in a world with burning, nuclear-powered heroes,” Leonard tells him seriously. “And speedsters. And…”

“…and where Captain Cold is a hero.”

Leonard frowns at the older man, but Stein just chuckles. “Don’t deny it,” he tells Leonard mock-seriously. “Your actions prove otherwise.”

“Eehhhh.” He decides not to argue. “You get back to 2016, professor, don’t tell Barry Allen and his ilk that.”

Stein chuckles, closing his eyes. “I do believe I shall have to try to survive this, Mr. Snart, just to collect on all these favors you’re going to be owing me.” He reopens one eye and regards Leonard. “Please tell the others that I will endeavor not to blow up while I’m here.”

Leonard feels his own lips twitch at the words. “Appreciate that, professor.”

“As well you should.”

Despite the others’ reassurances, Sara’s still relieved when Leonard finally ambles onto the bridge. He catches her eye and she catches his, and that’s enough for now.

“Professor's in the medbay,” he drawls, approaching the others. “Promises not to blow up while he's on board, which I thought was considerate.”

Rip sighs, moving toward the holotable. “Yeah, the professor's condition is the least of our worries, I'm afraid.”

That seems a bit callous, but as Sara frowns, Ray chimes in.

“Yeah, much to my chagrin, it turns out everything we've done, maybe even our whole lives,” he says woefully, “has been determined by the Time Masters.”

“What?” Sara asks incredulously, leaning forward. She glances at Leonard, who leans on a jump seat, eyes sweeping the room. He doesn’t look surprised. Instead, he wears an expression of intense concentration.

Granted, he’s been insisting for a while that the Time Masters are pulling their strings, but this…this is more than that. Those words--which no one is arguing with--suggest that it goes back farther and deeper, that…

No. No, Sara doesn’t want to think about that right now. As it is, her stomach is twisting, thinking about the choices she’s made and the places she’s been…the people she’s hurt…

She doesn’t look at Leonard now. She can’t.

“The Time Masters have this thing called the Oculus, which allows them not only to gaze into the future, but to engineer it,” Rip tells them resignedly. “Yes, Mr. Snart. As I said before, you were right.”

But Ray speaks again before Leonard can respond. “A future where I'm dead.” Sara’s heart goes out to him as he closes his eyes, swallowing. “Guy, you gotta get Kendra back. I mean, for her sake too, but Alex…”

“We won’t leave your kid without a family, Haircut,” Mick cuts in roughly. “No matter what.” He shrugs uncomfortably as everyone looks at him. “Don’t know that we’re what you and Bird Girl would want for uncles and aunt, but I s’pose we’re better than nothing. And, hey, Snart and I know what not to do, anyway.”

Ray looks like he’s going to cry, or hug somebody, but the captain speaks up again, shaking his head.

“This is a lovely moment,” he says, just a touch acerbically, “truly. But in my opinion, Dr. Palmer's death is not part of their plan.”

“Not reassuring,” Ray mutters, then “Ow!”

Mick, apparently deciding that enough sentiment was enough, had leaned over and whacked him in the arm. Then he turns challengingly to Rip.

“You sayin’ the Time Masters wanted me to do that?” he growls.

Rip gives him a long-suffering look. “What I'm saying is that they've been engineering our lives to move in very specific directions,” he says. “And we are playing out that script even now.”

The Gambit? The Pit? All the people she’s killed? Sara closes her eyes, then opens them, rising from the captain’s chair and moving toward them. Her eyes catch Leonard’s very briefly, and she can see similar thoughts there. Did the Time Masters make sure he’d be a criminal no matter what, with the perfect skills to do what they wanted on this mission? Did he ever have a choice? Did they create Lewis? Or Barry Allen to prod him down another road?

And what about them…

Before she speaks, though, he does.

“But they’re not controlling everything,” he says, staring at Rip. “And we can still surprise them.” They’re statements, not questions. “They didn’t know that I’d left the ship in Harmony Falls.” He glances at Mick. “We know the Time Masters didn’t know I’d been left behind too.”

Rip blinks, considering that, and Mick grunts thoughtfully in agreement.

“Yeah,” he says. “They told me just what to do. And things were all different from what they said.

Ray, looking a bit encouraged, nods. “So they didn’t have anything to do with what happened to any of us in 1958.”

Sara looks at Leonard, who’s looking steadily back at her. This is still disconcerting and awful, but at least…at least they have that.

“No. They can’t control thoughts, and they can’t control feelings,” Rip tells him, almost gently. “And…they’re not in there all the time, fiddling with every little detail.” He shakes his head. “It’s a rather jarring experience, the Oculus. It’d be like performing delicate surgery with a hacksaw.”

“So, it seems they sort of…set the program and let it run, with occasional course corrections.” Ray looks thoughtful.

Sara takes a deep breath. “Well, this is interesting…and encouraging in a few ways, anyway, for what that’s worth. But we still need to figure out what to do.” She puts her hands on the holotable, scanning the others. “So, we can go to 2016, but that might be what the Time Masters want. Or we can go get Kendra...”

“Which could also be what they want,” Leonard mutters.

“Then we need to do what they don't want,” Ray says, determination brightening his voice. “If the Oculus is what they're using to control us, then we need to destroy it.”

Sara nods, but…

“No,” Leonard cuts in, getting to his feet and approaching. “Or not just that, anyway.” He takes a deep breath as the others look at him. “Look. They’re expecting us to act according to our natures. Right? That’s the whole point. They did their best to create those natures.”

“Yes?” Ray looks inquiringly at Rip, then back at Leonard. “But…”

“And the Time Bastards just made sure to give their biggest rebel, a bunch of heroes—and me and Mick—the information that they control time.” Leonard tilts his head. “What do you think they think is going to happen?”

For some reason, as soon as he’s delivered those words, something in Leonard relaxes. Not entirely, but a little. Like he’s passed a test. Delivered a message.

It’s an odd sensation, but he decides not to examine it for the moment.

“I acted against my nature—what had been my nature—when I left the ship in Harmony Falls,” he says, looking at Sara. “And they didn’t expect it or plan for it. What, now, would they not expect us to do?”

Sara hums thoughtfully. Raymond shrugs. “Give up and go back home,” he points out. “But we can’t do that.”

“Well.” Rips frowns. “I do think that going back to the place we just escaped from would seem rather unexpected.”

Leonard snorts. “Not with this group,” he says. “Seriously, Rip?”

The captain gives him the ghost of a smile. “True, indeed, Mr. Snart. But we still need to get rid of this Oculus, if we’re to have any hope of truly changing things.”

Raymond’s looking off into the distance. “I’ve spent my whole life wanting to be a hero,” he says quietly. “A hero…a hero is brave. Helps others. Makes a difference. If I can do that, to make a better life for my son…”

“So, basically, the Time Bastards would expect you to do some shit like dying while trying to blow up the Oculus.” Leonard nods when the scientist gives him a startled glance. “So, you can’t do that. You’ve gotta be selfish, Raymond.” He glances at Rip. “Can you take him back to the Refuge?”

“No!” Raymond says, even as Rip considers and nods.

“And the rest of us, Mr. Snart?” he says with resignation, but also with a small smile on his face. “As you just might be onto something here?”

Leonard can appreciate what it’s cost the captain to say that…and maybe Rip’s arrogance was something the Time Masters were counting on too. He gives the other man an understanding smirk in return.

“The rest of us…” he says slowly. “What if we split up? Rip, they’ll figure you’ll go back to the Vanishing Point. It’s personal. You and…and Sara and maybe the professor, if he’s up for it…go after Kendra.”

“Wait a minute…” Sara starts as Rip lifts an eyebrow.

“And what are we going to use to do that?” he asks drily, spreading his hands out before him. “One ship.”

“The Pilgrim’s ship is still at that old outpost, right? Leonard looks around at Mick. “You hid it.”

His friend grunts thoughtfully. “Yeah. I could fly that. Good ship.”

“Great. Then, Mick and I will blow up the Oculus.” Leonard ignores the immediate arguments. “They won’t expect the criminals to be playing heroes.”

Mick nods. “And I like blowing stuff up.”

“You’re not…”

“Mr. Snart…”

“He’s got a point.” Raymond shrugs as everyone looks at him. “We can make it work. We’re Legends, right? But one change.” He holds up a hand. “I get your meaning, Snart, about going against what they expect. But…I won’t do any good to the mission if I’m back at the Refuge. I want to go with you.”

Leonard regards him a moment, then glances at the captain. “Rip,” he drawls. “What was the Boy Scout here doing? When…What did you see in this Oculus thing?”

Rip hesitates, thinking. “He was…” His eyes widen. “It was an explosion. How did I forget that?” He looks at Raymond. “You were working on something. And there was light…you started to come apart…”

“I think that’s enough,” Sara breaks in as Raymond winces. “Rip, even if we—or some of us—return to the Vanishing Point, can they mess with us there?”

The captain shakes his head. “No, Druce told me that the Oculus' ability to control our actions doesn't work in the Vanishing Point, most likely because the Vanishing Point itself exists outside of time.”

“And we need to move,” Leonard says firmly. “If you want to have any chance to save Kendra. And your family.”

Rip looks a bit wild-eyed, but Gideon cuts neatly in, her voice calm.

“I apologize, Captain,” she says, “but I’ve already diverted us toward the outpost. Mr. Snart’s plan is a good one, and I chose to…anticipate your orders.” She pauses as Rip collapses into a jump seat and Mick barks out a laugh. “May I also point out that you have always encouraged such independence, but…a time ship AI knows what it is to be controlled by the Time Masters. I wish to help, although they are not all like me.”

Rip rubs a hand over his face. “Ah, Gideon. No one is quite like you.”

“Thank you, Captain. I shall take that as a compliment.”

“OK, then,” Ray says firmly, turning for the corridors. “I’m going to go talk to Stein, figure out how we’ll need to destroy this Oculus wellspring. Rip, we’ll need what you know.”

The captain shakes his head but gets to his feet. “This is not how I envisioned this going at all,” he comments with a sigh, then smiles. “Which just may be precisely why it works.” He glances at Mick. “Mr. Rory. You have experience as a time ship captain—and a reputation as a sneaky and very effective one. Would you work with Gideon to plot a good intercept course for Savage?”

Mick shrugs, but Leonard thinks he almost looks pleased at the words and the request. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Leonard stands with Sara and Mick, watching as Rip and Raymond leave, then looks over at his friend. “You want help?” he drawls, folding his arms. “Might not know how to fly a time ship, but I know how to plan.”

Mick’s already deftly pulled some schematics up on the holotable. He glances over and snorts. “No,” he says, “I want you two to go get your shit together before we all trot off to hunt psychopaths or blow stuff up.” He looks back to the display. “So, get. I got this.”

“We got this,” Gideon announces. “Mr. Rory, please take a look at the path skirting Jurgens Ridge. I believe…”

She continues, and Leonard blinks at his old friend, then looks at Sara.

She gives him a slight smile and shrugs.

“OK, then,” he mutters, turning aside and heading for their room. “I know when I’m not needed.”

“Don’t whine, Mr. Snart,” Gideon tells him snippily, stopping her comments to Mick for a moment. “It’s not a becoming trait.”

Well, he thinks with resignation as he saunters for the door, at least the comment makes Sara laugh.

“I can’t believe we were just…dismissed…like that,” Sara says with faint amusement as they enter their quarters. She looks from side to side restlessly, then turns to face Leonard. “I mean, I know my skills lie mainly in hitting things until they stop moving, but…I would have liked to do something.”

Her words get a slight smile, although it’s a distracted one. “Got the feeling maybe we already did,” he drawls, leaning against the bed and watching her. “But…you OK?”

Sara laughs a little, knowing that the sound isn’t very sincere. “Well. I’m trying not to think about it too much,” she says, boosting herself up onto the bed and looking down at her hands. “I don’t know how profound the directions the Time Masters steered us in are, and I don’t think I want to know. I know I still feel responsible for everything I’ve done. And it still keeps me up at night.”

After a moment, she hears a sigh and glances over at Leonard. Her lover is staring off into the distance, a complicated expression on his face. It’s melancholy and uncertain, very unlike anything he shows the world, and something turns over in Sara’s heart as she watches him.

“Len,” she says quietly, putting a hand out and resting it on his shoulder, “what are you thinking?”

Leonard shrugs, after a moment, then looks at her.

“It wasn’t just a script,” he asks, a still, opaque expression on his face. “Was it?”

Oh.

Sara tightens her grip on his shoulder, pulling him toward her, and after a moment’s resistance, Leonard allows her to guide him. After a moment, he’s facing her, although his eyes are still darting around and not meeting hers. He exudes uneasiness and apprehension, and she can see and feel how stiff his shoulders are.

“I thought we agreed that the Time Masters didn’t even know we were there, in 1958,” she says. “When our relationship…changed. Or evolved. They weren’t pulling our strings.” She reaches up and rests a hand against his jawline, feeling the tension there. “And…Rip said, they can’t change feelings.” She takes a deep breath. “Everything we feel…it’s real.”

Finally, Leonard’s eyes meet hers, heartbreakingly wary.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly. “And what…” He pauses. “I’m not a good person, Sara. Not the sort you should…care for. I…”

Sara huffs out a breath. “Stop…listening…to Lewis,” she tells him sharply, shaking his shoulder a little, then feels guilty as he flinches. “He’s been dead for months, or longer depending on how you look at it. Stop giving his voice space in your head.”

Leonard actually looks thoughtful at that, and Sara presses her advantage, reaching up and putting her other hand on his jaw, holding his face in her hands and making sure he looks at her.

“I think we went through all this back in 1958,” she tells him. “About you being a good person. Leonard, no one’s a good person all the time, and you’ve been actively trying to be better.” She hesitates. “What would Rebecca say? Or Ginny. David?”

He mutters something, but Sara doesn’t let him off the hook. “You know perfectly well what they’d say, because they’ve said it,” she tells him fiercely. “Now, stop insulting the man I love. Or I’m going to be pissed.”

That actually gets a smile, and he studies her, eyes a saturated deep blue. It’s impossible, as the tension fades—replaced by a different sort of tension--not to realize how close they are or how very charged the atmosphere is. Leonard reaches out deliberately and puts one hand on either side of her on the bed, looking through his lashes at her, and smiles.

“Well,” he drawls, sounding a little more like himself, leaning toward her. “Can’t have that. The woman I love is quite the badass, you know.”

“Yeah?” Sara smirks in return, moving her hands down to rest on his hips, where she threads her fingers through the belt loops on his jeans, pulling him even closer. “She sounds awesome.”

“Oh, yeah.” Leonard studies her, then glances away, expression going serious again. He looks like he’s trying to make a decision, and Sara waits, wondering.

Finally, he nods, as if to himself, and meets her eyes.

“Being on this ship,” he says, quietly, bringing one hand up to touch her cheek gently, “traveling through time…” A pause. “…I’ve been wondering what the future might hold for me... and you…and me and you.”

He stops again. Sara feels like she can’t quite breathe. Is this…a proposal, Leonard Snart-style?

“You want to steal a kiss from me, Leonard?” she says lightly, giving him the chance to defuse the moment even as her pounding heart wants desperately to know what he’s going to say. “You better be one hell of a thief.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. A light in his eyes, Leonard starts to speak again…

But Gideon beats him to it.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Snart, Ms. Lance, truly, but we have arrived here, at the outpost,” she says carefully. “And time is of the essence…ah, in more ways than one. Can you meet the others at the bridge, or…”

A sigh explodes out of both of them at once, and Leonard shakes his head roughly as Sara closes her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. She wonders, briefly, if Leonard will tell Gideon that they need another moment…but then Leonard’s kissing her, his hand moving to curve behind her head, his lips warm and intent on hers, and Sara kisses him back, pulling him close, trying to memorize the feel and the taste of him before they part. It’s dangerous, what they’re going out to do, and they both know it—but if they ever want the future Leonard had spoken of, it’s something they both have to do.

They part slowly at first, staring at each other like they’re trying to memorize the sight, too. Well, Sara knows that she, for one, is. She tucks a strand of hair behind an ear and takes a deep breath, knowing that they have to move.

“I love you,” she tells him breathlessly. “Leonard, be careful. I know you’re playing the hero now, but…I’d rather have a live crook. Got it?”

That gets her a wry, if somehow melancholy, smile. “Got it,” he shoots back. “Sara…I love you, too.” A glance away, then back. “Give Savage hell, and don’t let Rip do anything too stupid.”

He steps back, and Sara slides off the bed with a sigh, grabbing her good White Canary leathers. “I could say the same to you,” she tells him. “Don’t let Mick and Ray do anything dumb. I want you all back.”

“Promise.”

She’ll remember that, later. He’d promised.

#somewhere on your road tonight #captain canary #legends of tomorrow

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yn6k · 5 years

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moonriase replied to your post “just throwing this out there because im curious about how others have...”

The way that I interpret the whole trilogy is that it all happens in high school seeing as how I believe that the timeline goes from WCID to WYLS (besides a couple of scenes) to I Loved You. Basic storyline is that Sungjin falls in love with Jae's friend, but she has feelings for someone else (that being Young K). Wonpil wants to be supportive but he can't help but let his feelings get in the way of things. Seeing that the girl wants to be with Young K and seeing them hang out with each other, Sungjin decides to confess to her. (Surprisingly enough, Sungjin doesn't tell her that she should be with him, instead telling her that it's okay that she likes another person and that he just wanted to get it out.) Wonpil gets upset and sees the bunny keychain that he dropped, indicating that he thinks that Sungjin has dropped their whole friendship for one girl. On Young K's side, he's basically the loner of the school, and not in the good way. While the girl does like and wants to help him (which she does during the whole convenience store scene), he doesn't really want to get involved with her for unknown reasons. (relationship problems/bad past?) This leads to the girl getting bad feelings for Young K, leading to an ambiguous situation between the two of them. However! There is an upside in the form of Dowoon, the lonely (probably) rich popular dude. With Young K deciding to help him out by punching out a bully of sorts, this leads to a friendship of sorts seeing as how Dowoon gives Young K an egg for his wounds. (Very adorable if I say so myself.) Meanwhile in Jae's world, he gets himself all caught up with this waitress from a local cafe, crushing on her hard and fast, leading to his disinvolvment with the whole love triangle (gah this has gotten long) To wrap it all up, I think the ending scene of the WYLS M/V takes place a few days after the whole confession things with Sungjin and the girl. Deciding that his friendship with Sungjin is more important than anything (even with his own feelings of regret and crush), he gives back the bunny keychain that Sungjin dropped. I think that you can look at the bunny keychain as a symbol of the friendship of Sungjin and Wonpil. For whatever reason Wonpil may have decided to give Sungjin the keychain as a joke gift of sorts long ago. Despite the whole joke gift thing, he views as something sentimental as the years go by as he slowly realizes that he's gaining more romantic feelings for Sungjin. Thus his longing and confused expressions towards the keychain during the ILY and WYLS MVs. There's no way that someone would get so wrapped up in a keychain unless it was just that important to them. This was really confusing and pretty much spit out from my head, but this was the best thing that I could think of for the whole trilogy. Part of me wants it to become a whole movie now since we have so many interpretations and questions towards the whole thing that need to be answered lol

oh thank you for your really thought out answer! i’ll put my response under the cut :)

i do agree about the chronology of the mvs being WCID WYLS and then I Loved You, especially since its basically confirmed in the mv itself in the beginning of WYLS. but idk, i can see how could all be high school but part of me feels like the non high school scenes are like after high school scenes? maybe its just the fact that the boys dont really resemble high schoolers imo? like whenever theyre not in the school uniform its just weird to see them as smol high schoolers hahah but also certain things like how in i loved you, that closeup of youngks hand?? when i first saw that i thought it was a marriage or promise or engagement ring or smth of the sorts on his hand and thats why we got a closeup of it? which is one of the reasons i thought that it took place way after but alksdj maybe that detail meant absolutely nothing lmaoo haha esp since the other girl doesnt have a ring (but does youngk even like the girl hmmm). it also doesnt help that they have diff hair alksdjf but im probably overthinking that i honestly dont think sungjin confessing the way he did is too much of a strange thought! it kinda also goes along with the whole vibe of the lyrics for ‘when you love someone’. like this whole feeling of wanting the one you love to be happy and sungjin assumes that her happiness lies with her feelings for youngk or something like that. and hmm i dont think i ever saw necessarily the girl getting bad feelings for youngk unless its that one mopping scene? to me that felt more like frustration or smth along those lines instead of like bad feelings also when youngk bumped into her it felt more like intrigue than anger haha but they do have an ambiguous relationship. nvr felt that same pull from youngk towards the girl as we get from sungjin to the girl. if anything youngk seems to be fascinated at her helping her out? someone he barely knows and someone who hes maybe not treated as fairly in the past (ie that mopping scene)? he seems to take her chivalry as inspiration and its probably the reason he stands up for dowoon in the arcade? how a selfless action can affect a relationship i think is also a common theme throughout ALL of them (aklsdjf maybe sans jae lkajlsk i feel like his story was almost an afterthought hes rather disconnected its almost weird). wonpil hiding his love, sungjin confessing but with no expectations, the girl helping youngk and youngk helping dowoon, all acts of selflessness. the keychain tho! i think its all very interesting that basically everyone has interpreted it to be wonpils gift to sungjin or maybe something that belongs to the girl that was dropped on their way out but not something that wonpil could have dropped on the way in! but i also think that its more of a correct conclusion given where that shot of the keychain was placed in the mv and that coupled with the fact of how sungjin reacts to wonpil giving the key chain to him its like hes giving something to him that he is familiar with there is comfort and familiarity in the way he holds it. honestly i initially thought the keychain belonged to the girl, wonpil found it, contemplated what he should do with it on the monkey bars, and then finally gave it sungjin (but maybe im watching too many dramas haha) in terms of symbolism tho, sungjin folding his hand onto the keychain always to me represented him getting over the girl almost as if he doesnt need the keychain anymore? it was such a strange action to me for him to do that if it was a gift from wonpil that wonpils returning back to him. on the bus, wonpil looks absolutely torn when sungjin leaves but he looks really surprised at the fact that the keychain is on the ground like i dont think hes necessarily sad the keychain was dropped just a little ?? about it. also the whole theme of the song ‘when you love someone’ like hed rather be hurting himself so long as sungjin is happy with the girl (bc wonpil at that point might not have known how the confession had ended!! so it could have gone well or maybe he didnt confess wonpil might not have known anything! so) although i can definitely get behind the theory that the keychain belongs to wonpil and is precious to him as a symbol of a) his love for sungjin and b) sungjins friendship for him. im not sure if it would be a ‘joke present’ haha but. if you consider that meeting at the end of wyls to be the very first time that wonpil gave sungjin the keychain, i think that interaction takes on a diff meaning too.

#moonriase #replies #this got very long #sorry alskdjf #and idt i said half of what iw anted to but thank you again so much for interacting!!#long post

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