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call-me-copycat · 1 year

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Escaping The Night (Part 6)

Welcome! - Introduction and request rules ( important if you want me to write for you, or if you want to know who I am)

▶ Characters: Shinso x Fem Reader + Father/Mentor Aizawa (platonic)

▶ Genre: Angst to Fluff + Slow Burn

▶ Summary: Reader is finally inside U.A, and gets to meet many teachers along with the principal himself. After learning more about what's planned for her, she can't help but feel uneasy as their life begins to change more and more.

▶ Word Count: 5702

▶ Warnings:

- Some light dissociation from reader ( I based this off off personal experiences so I apologize if it's not the same for everyone)

- Thoughts of taking risky behaviors (it's not that bad, but I thought I'd add it anyways)

- Hints at reader having a bad childhood

- Reader gets defensive and panics when Aizawa enacts physical touch on them (he just touched her shoulder, but they still flinch)

- I write in Japanese terms! Of course I'll explain them at the end, but I just wanted to let everyone know in case they don't like that.

- And finally, one last warning for those that don't like to wait (I'm sorry! I've been trying my best to work on it little by little everyday, I've just been really busy and tired)

➜ [Part 1]

➜ [Part 2]

➜ [Part 3]

➜ [Part 4]

➜ [Part 5]

➤ {This is Part 6}

➜ [Part 7]

➜ [Part 8]

➜ [Part 9] Coming Soon!

Hanzō quietly picked up the pen that Aizawa had earlier and activated his quirk, copying the exact way Aizawa had spun it around in his hand earlier. Aizawa didn't know this, but he had greatly inspired a troubled soul that day with his words.

As you followed Eraserhead up the stairs and throughout the school, you made sure to take in everything around you. Which turns led where, how long it took you to get to certain areas, the views, and more. So, much more.

So this was the school that was so well known across all of Japan. It was odd for you to actually be on the inside of it yourself. Yes, you had seen pictures of the school from random students' socials (it was natural that a good chunk of students wanted to brag when they got in). But those were merely glimpses compared to actually walking the hallways that those above you had once, and looking out the windows that many others had at one point as well. You wondered just how many people stood in your spot at one point in time, once being a teen themselves. It made you feel peculiarly nostalgic.

The whole school was just as immense as the outside, to which was a pleasant surprise. The doors completely dwarfed your body as you followed Eraserhead throughout the halls, and the windows made you feel as though you were flying everytime you looked out, as they stretched from floor to ceiling and were crystal clear, almost transparent.

It was surreal, almost dream-like. You felt as though you were floating rather than walking, due to wake up any second and have your reality be revealed to have just have been a complex illusion. Sighing somberly, you wished that it was all that simple.

No matter how you hoped for this to end, some small part of you knew that this was your reality now, and that no matter what you did there was no escape. That you were powerless once again. Constantly pushing away that thought was a dangerous game to play, but you didn't think you could bear the weight of anymore dead thoughts weighing atop your shoulders.

Normally you weren't so risky, never being one to play stupid games that only ended in temporary joy from foolish ignorance, but your whole world had toppled over, taking down everything that you had built up with it while all you could do was watch. All you could do was watch. . . You didn't think that there was anything left to risk since it was all gone, so pushing away what hurt was all you had left of you sanity.

You were becoming increasingly disappointed as you followed Eraserhead up more and more sets of stairs, and down more and more hallways. You slightly enjoyed getting to see the school in person as you had always had the curious thought stuck in your head, but you wanted to see everything. There was nothing left to look forward to in life now, so you craved the tiniest crumbs of stimulation and excitement that were tossed in your direction, desperate to satiate the eternal hunger that consumed your mind.

Everytime you walked past a door you couldn't help but feel a piercing pain of curiosity seize you as you wondered what potential it held behind it. A training room? A storage where they held their supplies? Documents? Even a regular classroom? Worlds of discovery were left covered from your pleading eyes as you pushed yourself past what felt like dozens upon dozens of doors.

Eventually you followed Eraserhead up another flight of stairs, but instead of going up even further, he walked down the hallway away from the stairs, and you followed due to the fact that your curiosity was begging your impulse control to release the restraints of discipline in order to ease the self-built tension that was eating away at your mind.

You walked down a few more doors, but eventually made it to a large wooden door with large red letters that cleverly spelled out 'Class 1-A' with the window, and was a tad larger than the other regular doors that you passed as you had to crane your neck back in order to see how far it reached up.

Clinking and clicking into place, Eraserhead turned the keys once they were in place in the lock and with a light groan (whether it out of exhaustion or the weight of the door, you didn't know), he pushed open the door with such a swift yet casual movement it made you wonder just how many times he had done that exact thing. Possibly years, every single morning, and every single afternoon and night.

Once the door was open, you maintained your composure just enough so that it cleverly concealed the bizarre tension of curiosity that the unruly side of your mind has conjured up, to the unfortunate dismay of your disciplined opposite side.

Waiting until after Eraserhead had stepped in you followed and gained your first insight as to the classrooms of U.A. As you looked around, you felt that it looked rather average for a school as important as U.A, but then again it did have a small futuristic feel to the room. The desks were arranged in neat orderly rows, and a podium for speaking was closest to them in the front, to which a teacher's desk sat right behind (though it was closer to the edge of the classroom by the windows- possibly so it wouldn't be in the way). There were more windows on the edge of the classroom, not quite as large as the floor to ceiling ones in the hallway, but still open enough for anyone to get a satisfying view of the world outside.

This is the actual seating arrangement in the show, the only difference being you'll sit where Hagakure once sat (the empty spot). I don't know where she'll sit, but I won't dwell on that for too long...

*Also that small rectangle is the podium, and there's two entrances to the class, along with two large windows on the side, and two large cabinets at the end of the room.

The room smelled odd, like a light mix of burning plastic and heavily scented lotion or perfume, and although it wasn't bad (in comparison to other smells you knew of), it was a little nausea-inducing during the first few minutes. It was spotless like all others, and you could immediately feel a sense of kinship and connection. You gathered that the feeling came from the little bits of each personality that made a presence in the room, helping to build up the image of a close-knit group.

This worried you a bit, as most groups that you've seen that were extremely close weren't the most open to outsiders, and in worst case scenarios they were able to work together to ask turn against anyone that even a single group member saw as insufficient. Ability to work together strengthened a team's attack, and even if they did let someone new in, they would never have the same bond that the others did. They'd be subjected to loneliness of a different kind, one where they're surrounded by people, yet the group's empty affections would never be enough. . .

Upon further inspection, your started to notice smaller things about the classroom that you were led to. For example, how you noticed the surface of the desk that sat right behind the desk that was on the upper corner next to the windows had odd ashy-looking black marks that were accompanied with a few scratches as well on the chair.

Along with that you noticed that on one of the desks that was in the same row (second row from the front) all the way on the opposite side had odd marks on it as well, like chemical burns, along with random doodles and scribbles on it. Another had some glitter on it, and you saw a little rainy umbrella sticker on a desk as well. It made you wonder... Who sat behind these desks, what were they like?

Your thinking was cut off by a gruff voice suddenly speaking from behind you.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you around here. D'you know Shota?"

You quickly spun around, causing the man in turn to jump a bit at your sudden yet silent move, clearly not expecting that response. The man was a complete stranger to you, wearing what you believed was an odd mixture of clothes. He had on a cowboy hat with a large "S" and matching cowboy boots, additionally with it a long red cape that partially concealed his upper torso. What made you a bit wary was the gas-mask like covering that hid his face, only letting out his dread locks from the back.

Note: Here he is! :⁠-⁠)

"She's new Snipe. Listen, it's a long story that I still have to explain to everyone, but long story short; she's living under my care for now."

Eraserhead tiredly explained, and you were able to sense from his response that he wasn't in the mood for having to give that explanation a number of times more.

"New, huh? How long d'you hafta' watch her for?" The man -who you learned was called 'Snipe'- asked while casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. When he spoke you noticed that he also had an odd accent that you've heard from a few people that were from mainly rural parts of Japan.

Eraserhead sighed, trying to juggle getting some paperwork that he had left in his desk while answering Snipe, along with watching over you.

"I already said it's a long story, Snipe-"

The man cut him off politely while nodding.

"Yeah, I get it, no worries. I've gotta go now, have patrol. Just... Don't pile too much onto yourself, 'lright Shota?".

And after a nod from Aizawa, the cowboy stranger walked off before Aizawa could answer, and you could hear his boots clinking down the hallway as he walked, getting quieter with each step.

This school was full of surprises, and you haven't even been in it for no longer than an hour.

You heard Eraserhead huff out a breath, possibly too overwhelmed with what all he had to do and plan, before explaining to you.

"That was Snipe, he's one of the teachers here. He's a nice guy when you get to know him, just understand that he doesn't like to mess around." Eraserhead said, still reading through a few of his folders that he had. Most of the papers that he needed were already put into his work bag. He gave up and just put the whole folder in his bag, promising to look for the papers he needed when he got home.

Once all of his things were gathered he looked over to you and wondered what he was going to do next, not really having any sort of plan set in his mind. It wasn't really like him to act with such freewill like this, but once things started to spiral and spill out of their borders of predictability and control Aizawa lost his grip on his normal sense of rationality. Time and expectations flowed freely out of his hands as if he was trying to grasp sand, and no matter how much he struggled, it continued to fall.

However, he was used to this. Growing up, life beat him hard with various scenarios and events that marked him with an unrelenting pursuit of invasion of the senses and memories. Over time it hardened his soul and mind, and helped him to grow wise in many different aspects that those older than him still struggled to grasp. Nevertheless, wisdom often comes at a price, and Aizawa was still paying that price and would continue to until his end.

And so, that wisdom and intellect that was gathered over years of vigorous training and taught responses and discipline helped him to maintain some sort of normalcy. He was going through all this this with no plan and no frame of an idea of what to do, walking through life's tightrope without a harness. While it was risky and downright dangerous, he couldn't help but admit that doing something without putting in an overwhelming amount of effort and paranoia to create a plan was sort of freeing in a way. With no harness holding him down, he finally saw what it was like to walk life on his own.

And so this sense of rationality that Aizawa had gathered helped him to fill in the blanks where the plan was empty, and that's what led to you being shown around UA, the very school that you'd have to go to whether you wanted to or not.

Smaller footsteps matched the pace of the larger ones that they were following, both pairs of feet oddly silent when walking due to the vigorous training and discipline that was instilled in the both of them when learning how to behave stealthily in certain situations.

You didn't know what possessed yourself that day, but you unwillingly found yourself doing as you were told without as much complaint and more compliance than you originally had expected of yourself. You believed it to be the sensible thought that informed you to behave since you were at the heart of where heroes were made; i.e mess around and find out.

And you certainly didn't want to find out. It wasn't so much fear as it was more so the rational knowledge of where you stood when it came to power level. It didn't matter how well trained you were, - quirk or not- you understood that you just wouldn't last in a fight with dozens of well-trained professional heroes whose jobs were to take down villains that were similar to you.

You were brought all over the school, starting with the main classrooms of your age (first years), while Eraserhead did his best to explain all the details about the school and how it ran, along with anything else that he believed would help you out and ease the discomfort of jumping into a routine without any knowledge of what awaited you inside. Curiosity was good, but sometimes it was simply downright painful to endure.

You got to see first-hand the places where students were trained, and you were able to somehow spiritually feel the power that radiated from the potential that was already created or undergoing development. Hero schools always intrigued you, as it was an odd thought to think about students (not even adults yet) being trained in mass to fight and protect society and the people it held.

You wondered why it was this way, as for one to become a police officer they'd be required to be an adult and put in years of training to get certain qualifications, but here were young students being trained to do an even more dangerous job that lost many more lives than police officers did. You supposed it was the best course of choice since heroes were in constant demand, positions opening and closing repeatedly. The everlasting hunger for fame and justice was an impulse that was nearly impossible to resist for many, although you believed that those many seemed to have the idea of being a true hero faded out over time.

"... and over this floor we're on is Recovery Girls office, which I suggest you keep memory of as you're most likely going to need to go here at one point- though you better not be like one of my students and constantly get sent in for healing because of stupid decisions."

Suddenly aware that Eraserhead was talking once again you stepped out of your thoughts and decided that it'd be in your best interest if you at least knew some things about the school. It was better to be prepared than to feel the pain of a plan going down the drain due to lack of knowledge and understanding.

Following Eraserhead up the stairs once again, you realized that the nurse's office was indeed exactly above the area you once were, making it stand in the middle of the building, most likely for easy access up or down.

You were met with a kind old lady greeting you both once Eraserhead opened the door, and your tension dissipated a bit upon the warm feelings of tenderheartedness- which didn't go entirely unnoticed by Aizawa.

"Oh? Is this the lovely Y/N I've heard so much about, Shota?" The old lady asked immediately after you both entered. She slowly hopped down from the stool where she was sitting and previously doing some work on the computer, and your eyes widened a bit as you realized just how... tiny she was.

If you were being honest, you found the small elderly lady quite darling, and your thought on this grew further when you realized that she had a cane that looked like a giant syringe that she grabbed to walk over to you.

"Welcome to UA, dearie. Hope Shota wasn't too hard on you yet, goodness knows how strict of a teacher he can be sometimes.. hehe" she spoke, laughing a bit when Eraserhead cleared his throat to gain her attention that he was still there.

"No, I'm not that cruel. Besides, it's all for good measure, you can't make a hero without proper discipline- "

Aizawa was cut off by the little lady swatting his ankle with her cane (she was even more charming because of that personality), causing him to grunt a bit in surprise rather than pain as one would think it was.

"Tch. You act as though I haven't been working here longer than you've been alive. I know what makes a good hero by now. ", She 'scolded' him, Aizawa muttering a 'sorry'- though he wasn't one for her shenanigans.

"If you ever need something, then feel free to come on down, dear. My room's open anytime, and I'll never hesitate to help you the best I can.", Walking over to you, she grabbed your hand and patted it,

"I understand you're probably overwhelmed with everything right now. It's okay if you ever need to pop in my office for a breather every now and then, or if you'd just like to get something off your chest. Don't hesitate if you need anything, dearie."

She stated genuinely that time, and for the first time you believed that someone was looking out for you without any expectations back.

An odd warmth blossomed in your chest, but to you it hurt, and instead you felt like it was a harsh sense of pressure that you struggled to contain. You wanted to push it away, however the warmth spread up your torso and to your face, and you were worried that you'd cry out in the open. You didn't, and the warmth that risked tears simply turned into a pain that pressed on the back of your throat from you exerting energy to keep the tension from overflowing.

None of this was noticed by either of the adults in the room, as you had learned to do that a million times throughout your childhood until it eventually became a regular habit of yours. So you thought.

After greeting the nurse lady (Recovery Girl- there were way too many names that were thrown at you to remember), you followed Eraserhead through the halls since he said that he'd be showing you the teacher's lounge, office, and the principal's office next since you were close.

You got to see the teacher's file rooms where they kept their records (don't get too excited, it was just a room with a bunch of filling cabinets), and the teacher's lounge, which was also simple as well. With just a couch, TV, and other minimal things like the sort, it provided an open yet clean atmosphere.

As you walked you kept an idea of a map of the school as you were shown what was where, internally marking places that you saw on the map that you had nabbed before you departed.

Upon looking at the map, you inferred that you would most likely be brought to the working office next, seeing as it was only a few floors up compared to the principal's office which was farther away.

You were right, as Eraserhead stated what you had thought exactly without knowing the logical train of thought that led you to it.

However, before opening the door, Eraserhead turned to you and discussed what you might see or run into behind it.

"Look, there's most likely going to be a few extra teachers working on the weekends, it happens sometimes. Now, not all of them are clued in as to who you are or your situation. I'll explain the best I can, just don't be alarmed, ok?"

You remained silent, simply giving him a nod of your head in order to let him know that you heard. Aizawa sighed a bit at your silence before opening the door and having you follow him.

The room was large, with rows of desks with computers placed in neat rows. You decided that UA must really like large windows, as there were more floor-to-ceiling windows near the back.

Little bits of what the office looks like to help you know what I'm writing about ^⁠_⁠^

Before you could take in anything else, an unknown voice startled you.

"Now, who's this little cutie, Shota~?", A woman's smooth voice rang out from behind one of the desks. Alarmed, you swiveled your head a bit, but found where she was soon enough.

However as soon as you saw her she was already up and walking towards you and Aizawa- well, more like sauntering. You took in her appearance and noticed that she was fairly attractive looking, and she looked quite young. Her black hair covered her back, sticking out in random spikes, and her mask and lipstick matched in the same rich red color. What stuck out to you was how casual she was with wearing a skin-tight outfit that although revealed nothing didn't exactly help to hide the imagination of curious onlookers.

Aizawa sighed, realizing that it was going to be awhile before things settled. Steering himself to contribute to work towards that goal, he attempted to briefly explain the situation at hand the best he could to Midnight.

You ignored their conversation, still looking around. Looking at all the desks made you wonder if there was a person to fill each seat, or if those were just extras. There weren't many people, but it seemed that everyone that was originally working had gotten up to join Eraserhead's and the lady's conversation.

There was a man who looked like a block of concrete that you (somehow?) didn't originally notice, along with a skinny man with deep-set eyes and blond hair that had two main locks sticking out. You squinted your eyes at the second man, him looking too familiar than you were comfortable with.

However, once again your thinking got interrupted as Eraserhead abruptly put his hand on your shoulder to help lead you out so he could get on with his plans of helping show you around. He didn't initially notice you flinch and tense when he initiated physical contact for the first time, nor did he notice the way you sightly shook and glared with your eyes wide open. It took you a lot of self control to not have automatically grabbed his hand and flip him over your shoulder as you had many times before with many others.

The instinct was burned into your brain, and for a good reason as it had saved you from too many close calls. Though, you knew if you were to randomly attack one of the teachers or students here then you'd create a world of unsolvable problems.

He was facing the other heroes, trying to ease his way out of the conversation because he knew he could be stuck there for hours, and he wasn't in the mood for that.

"Uh, Shota?", The blond-haired man spoke up, pointing his skinny index finger towards something behind the tired pro.

"Look, I'll answer all your questions later, I promise. I just need to-"

"That's not it, your... kid... isn't looking too good"

Eraserhead, confused, turned around to check on you, only to be greeted with eyes that seemed as if they were trying to drag him into the fiery depths of the underworld. Your arms were stuck to your sides with your fists tightly clenched until they turned white, and you were as stiff and tense as a board. Looking directly into his eyes, it seemed as if you could clearly see his soul through them.

Upon thinking you were scared or sick he quickly retracted his hand, only becoming more confused when you settled down- though you were still seething.

Aizawa was a rational man, one who was able to put together whole stories with small bits of evidence or minimal observations. It took him only a second to realize that he had already made you unconformable, by none other than his touch. It was something that was so ingrained into his being, whether it was herding his class outside for training, or talking to Mic, or helping out civilians, touch was and had always been there.

It immediately hit him that you'd probably have bad memories or learned instincts that made physical touch a big issue for you. He didn't know much about you or your past, but he understood that kids living on the streets- ones that were vigilantes especially- most likely had stress related trauma from it.

He internally cursed at himself for not coming to that conclusion any sooner. With your background, it was pretty much thrown into his face, yet he didn't realize it until too late. Against better judgement, he settled that there was no use in crying over spilled milk, so he decided that he'd learn from that and try to make you comfortable in other ways.

After that incident, Aizawa noticed that your tension had returned, but more importantly you were keeping yourself on guard more consistently. He sighed, wanting nothing than to just open your head and take a look at what ran on the inside, as all of this clue piecing was making him feel as though he was getting nowhere. You certainly were a mystery to him, but he was willing to do whatever it was that he needed in order to truly understand you and your ways of thinking.

As you followed him through the halls to the principal's office you noticed that Eraserhead kept a steady pace a little further than he had earlier, along with the fact that you kept seeing him glance over at you from the sides of his eyes constantly. You met eyes with him a few times (to which you returned a glare off annoyance), but he didn't seem irritated or shaken the slightest as others had when you did the same in the past.

The feeling that you were losing yourself and what had made up your being started to rise, small and unassuming at first. You knew it was coming, but you ignored it, hoping that without admitting knowledge of its existence it might fade back to where it came from. A brainless thought, you knew that. But you didn't know what else to do, and the idea of asking for help passed you by entirely.

As you walked the hallways, you couldn't help but feel that you were underestimating how serious your situation had gotten. The realization that this was happening and it wouldn't go away never fully cemented down, the thought simply floating around with a flimsy restraint that threatened to snap any second. It road the waves of your subconscious, in constant danger of being drowned by the thoughts and battles you held internally. It virtually didn't hold any importance in the universe of your mind, with there always being bigger stars, stronger explosions, and better ideas.

A snapping brought you back to the surface and you realized that you had zoned out rather heavily. Eraserhead had to snap his fingers in front of you a couple times because you didn't respond to anything he said, without even a shake or nod of your head like you normally did. He wondered what it was that you were thinking of that made you get that far-away look on your face sometimes. You looked like you weren't even in the same reality, but rather somewhere distant, a far away land of thought.

Reading the large sign that sat above the rich brown door, you realized that you had automatically followed Eraserhead all the way to the principal's office.

Once you both entered, you noticed that the room also looked as impossibly clean as all the others. It was wide and open, with a feeling of authority that filled it out, along with the fact that it also smelled sightly of some cleaners that only strengthened the clean feeling it gave.

You noticed that the chair for the large desk in front of you was empty, as you didn't see anyone sitting in it. Putting on a gallant mask of indifference, you mentally straightened yourself up in order to prepare for meeting whoever was in charge of UA. This person would most likely have a heavy amount of authority over you, seeing as they were Eraserhead's boss. What you were most wary of was flexibility of your actions depending on how this person thought and acted. Stern and demanding? Then you'd act in compliance to make yourself less of a threat. Suspicious or cautious by your presence? Then you'd act in order to gain sympathy so they'd believe that you were only a child and that. You had to be flexible on order to shift so you wouldn't fall deeper into this hole that you already found yourself in.

"Ah! Nice of you to pop in, Shota!"

You heard a friendly sounding voice but didn't see anyone, and the situation was made even more odd when you traced the source of the sound coming from the desk. Maybe it was a prerecorded message or something of the sort? Silly, but you were confused and needed something to blame answer the problem.

The chair to the large desk slid back, causing your face to sightly contort in confusion once more. However, that was nothing in comparison to the face you made when you made eye contact with what looked like a tiny polar bear animal in a fancy little suit wearing sneakers.

You struggled, but somehow kept most of your composure, however Eraserhead being the ever so observant one noticed your slight slip-up. He chuckled before going to introduce you.

"Sorry to be a bother, Nezu, but this was the student I messaged you about the other day. "

Ah, so this was the Nezu he was referring to.

The Nezu in question turned to Eraserhead first, "Oh, you know you're never a bother, Shota!"

Then to you, and when he went to look at you directly you noticed an unusually large scar covering the face that wore such a bright smile. It looked painful to have gotten, seeing how much of his eye it covered.

He noticed you staring, but didn't speak anything of it, greeting you kindly nonetheless.

"So you must be the Y/N I heard Shota took under his wing. Quite a rare event to take place, but I know Shota has a soft spot under that heart of iron."

He politely grabbed your hand to shake it, and for some reason you weren't put off by it. You didn't know whether it was due to his friendly demeanor, or how he clearly marked his actions so you knew what he was going to do. Either way, you were glad that you didn't have to deal with a stuck up business man who just sat yelling orders all day, much preferring this Nezu character instead.

"I'm very glad to have the pleasure of welcoming you as a new student of UA!"

Upon noticing a slight grimace making it's way on your face after he said that, Nezu quickly added onto it to reassure you.

"Rest assured, I promise that everyone is going to work diligently on making sure that your transition is smooth and without complication. You aren't required to start school for up to a month in order to get yourself situated with your new lifestyle, but that'll be entirely up to Shota there when he'd like you to start, since he's your caretaker and all."

Eraserhead turned his attention to you after Nezu finished, adding on to the information.

"I already have your schedule, but I'll let you have up to a week to yourself until you'll have to start going to class. A month is a bit unnecessary as I'd still have to watch over you here at U.A, so you might as well get some learning in while you're here."

Your eye twitched. For some reason it didn't take much for Eraserhead to get under your skin, although he wasn't really helping all that much. You didn't want to go to this school, and if you had up to a month of free time before having to go then you didn't see why he was only letting you have a measly week to yourself.

"And you don't have to worry too much about keeping up with the rest of the class, we understand that you didn't exactly have... proper schooling prior to the last three years, so you'll be given content that's more appropriate to your level- however we have to test you in order to find that level."

A nice way to call you stupid, you supposed. You knew you had a fair amount of knowledge, and when you were in school you were at the top of your JH2*1 class- although you never finished it, you knew the potential you could hold. What you were going to do with it, you hadn't a clue.

Nezu responded after Eraserhead, and you wondered if everyone at U.A just did that thing where one talks and then the other as they've been doing that a lot.

Nezu went up and shook your hand again.

"Welcome to U.A, Y/N! We look forward to having here."

A/N:

Since I thought I took too long to post part 5, I decided to make and post part 6 as well!

I'm going to be honest... This took me a lot longer than I originally thought it would, it took me all day to do both (I did it in increments).

I'm sorry I haven't posted a lot, I've just been very busy and when I do have free time I normally try to write a little before I rest or go to sleep.

If you see I reblogged something, then that means that's all I could manage to do. I've been trying to rest to get my energy back up so I can write more than before, but I still just ask for a little patience!

Reblogs and other feedback is very much appreciated! In fact it'll help motivate me a little, so if you'd like to do that I'd very much appreciate it! (⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

Requests of course, are still open, so feel free to pop in and place an ask whenever (I just ask for you to please stray from asking about the War Arc since I haven't had much time to pick up on it.

That's all I had to say, thank you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day! (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

*1 - This is around middle school America, and the reader is now the age of a first year (16 years old - 10th grade in America)

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年2023/月02/日12

#escaping the night #bnha aizawa #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shōta #dadzawa #aizawa x daughter reader #my hero academia fanfic #mha #bnha #my hero academia aizawa

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browneyedwright · 2 years

Note

I have a question.. do you maybe have some good fics to recommend? short or long, just what you think is good to read? looking for some recommendations

hi!! thank you for asking, i'll try and do my best bc i don't have an ao3 account (shocker i know) and i don't have a way to keep track of what i read and like, but i do save some things that i read/want to do on my read list tag

HOWEVER here's an incomplete list of some fics and authors i recommend

multiple chapters

pressure (pushing down on me) (129160 words) by ApprenticeofDoyle

i'm gonna recommend this one until the day i die (and i think many have read it already). retelling of the trilogy with a heavy helping of therapy for the main characters and some Excellent characterization.

one-shot

Blanket Friends (2461 words) by Enisy phoenix and miles sharing beds through different phases of their life

cheers (2144 words) by zombiekittiez absolute fluff. it's intimate, it's sweet, it paints a beautiful picture

Mitte (4693 words) by sunsmasher angsty with a ray of sunshine at the end. set during the 7yg.

Better than Medicine (5123 words) by rowanix phoenix has a cold. phoenix doesn't want to take cold medicine. trucy and miles intervene.

Hiding Behind A Bluff (4996 words) by SpinningMouse more 7yg angst. miles visits phoenix.

explicit *wink wink*

Edgeworth speaking. (3767 words) by squirtgunplay look, i don't know if you like langworth as a ship (i do) but this one is a must. so hot, love the back and forth.

The Art of Give and Take (5702 words) by runandgo narumitsu vampire au. hot as fuck. (mind the tags before reading)

i also recommend checking out other stuff by these authors!

side note: i usually put fics i find on tumblr on my read list tag

#asks #miles-edgyworth #read list #narumitsu #langworth

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scamnumberlistph · 1 month

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#spam text #spam #text #mobile #philippines #scam

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

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The Girl Next Door, Part 1

Characters: Benny “Borracho” Magalon and F!Reader

WC: 5702

Other Pieces: This is part one of a miniseries.

CW: Light angst; fluff; pining baby idiots in love; ‘90′s references. This is some self-indulgent bullsh*t, folks.

AN: Thanks to @thesandbeneathmytoes for answering the call when I asked, “hey, you got any young pictures from the Compte-verse?” and she said, “babe, I got you.”

If asked, Benny Magalon can’t remember a time when you weren’t in his life.

His mother could answer that question: your family moved into the house behind the Magalon home when you were five and he was nine. Benny’s sisters were your age—Mia was six and Emma was four—so you were fast friends with the younger Magalon girls.

If asked, Benny Magalon’s first solid memory of you is this:

Benny was eleven; you were seven. You, along with five other girls, spent the night for Mia’s birthday sleepover. It had been a raucous evening, a gaggle of little girls in the rec room, hopped up on sugar and greasy pizza and caffeine, shrieking at whatever sleepover games they played. Benny had hid out in his bedroom, and even listening to his stereo with his headphones on couldn’t drown out the sound of the party.

He woke up in the middle of the night. He went to the bathroom, and then he went into the kitchen to find something to eat. He was going through a growth spurt, according to his mom, and he was constantly hungry. It felt like he had a black hole in his stomach, and he hoped that there was some leftover pizza from the sleepover.

When he went into the kitchen, you were there too. His sisters’ friend, the one that lived in the house behind them. You were sniffling quietly, and when Benny flipped on the light over the sink, he could see that you were crying a little.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, but his tone wasn’t unkind. He remembered when he was younger and went to sleepovers—maybe you had watched a scary movie that you shouldn’t have, and maybe you had nightmares, or maybe you were homesick.

“I’m very thirsty,” you told him. You swiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

“So get something to drink.”

You shifted in your bare feet. “I’m supposed to ask for permission first, but everyone was asleep.” You paused and glanced up at him, your eyes wet with tears. “I have to mind my manners.”

Benny grinned at you. His parents always cooed over your impeccable manners. He’d overheard them talking once, though, about how your stepfather, the Major—retired military—was too hard on you. That it was gross, treating a little kid like they were in basic training, expecting perfection. That he was far easier on his own kids, your younger half-siblings.

“Did the Major tell you that?” he asked, and you nodded back at him.

“Okay, well…” He trailed off, opened the refrigerator. “I’ll get you a drink. What do you want?”

You refused to tell him, too polite to ask for what you wanted, so Benny poured you a glass of Sunny D. He grinned when you drank it down in one shot, gave a heaving breath when you were done.

“More?” he asked, and you shook your head. You handed your empty glass to him.

“Thank you very much for the drink,” you told him, and even though Benny was a kid too, yes—he was charmed by your little old church lady manners.

“You’re welcome very much,” he replied, and he watched you pad out of the kitchen and make your way back to the rec room.

-----

Many of Benny’s childhood memories include you.

You were a constant in the Magalon house, growing up: thick as thieves with his sisters, but you were also a friend to him, over time. You would come over to see his sisters, but as often as not, you’d drift over to whatever Benny was doing to spend time with him.

You are indelibly woven into his childhood: the video games you played together, bike rides around the neighborhood. You spent time reading in the Magalon treehouse, precariously perched in the oak that bordered your house and theirs. You and Benny and his sisters would spend hours in the driveway, shooting hoops, playing Horse, and you always made the Magalon kids laugh with the outlandish shots you tried to make.

He had an entire shoebox full of drawings you had done for him, especially when you were younger and would proudly gift your drawings to anyone and everyone you met.

Benny was the one who taught you how to throw a football, and you were the one who later broke his nose (accidentally) by throwing a perfect spiraling football right at his face.

So yes, if asked, Benny Magalon can’t remember a time when you weren’t in his life….and he also can hardly remember a time when he didn’t love you. Which embarrassed him for a long time, being a kid—the knowing smirk his father would get when he found you and Benny sitting on the couch shoulder-to-shoulder, playing video games together. Or the way his mother would call you an honorary Magalon with a barely perceptible nod in Benny’s direction, a wink at her son when no one else was watching. Or how his sisters would pair off in games, leaving you and Benny as a pair, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Though maybe sometimes love is just that: inevitable. Even if it takes time to come to light.

*****

Growing up was a study in opposites, you would come to realize when you were an adult.

Parents who divorced before you were even a year old. Both remarried before you were five, both restarting their lives with the inconvenience of you. Your father solved it by moving to the other side of the country and limiting his contact to once or twice a year. Your mother was less lucky and had to raise you, though once she married the Major, you were mostly forgotten.

A study in opposites: the strictness of living in the Major’s house paired with the benign neglect of being the eldest half-sibling in a growing brood of your mother’s second attempt at a family.

A study in opposites: living in a house full of people and feeling like you were invisible.

A study in opposites: finding a family of sorts with the people who lived in the house behind you rather than your blood family.

You loved every member of the Magalon family; you loved the way they adopted you as one of their own, as if you were a stray dog they found in their backyard one night.

You obviously loved Mia and Emma. The three of you were a fiercely loyal bunch, and they had been your first friends at your new school. Mia was bossier, and she had strong opinions on everything. Emma was gentler, always ready to go along to keep the peace. You fell directly between them, were able to bridge the difference when they went through one of their sisterly spats.

But your heart belonged to Benny, even if you’d never, ever admit it. Even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself, barely.

Who can say how it started? You didn’t like the boys in your school, but Benny was an older boy. Maybe that was the difference. He was four years ahead of you, so he wasn’t in your classes, reaching across the aisle to pass you notes with crude drawings in them. He wasn’t at your recess, refusing to pick you for his kickball team. Four years was a long time in kid-years, and when Benny talked about junior high stuff—then high school stuff—it was like listening to dispatches from another planet. Pre-algebra and SAT’s and prom-night lock-ins. What did any of it mean?

Maybe it was just Benny that was different. Even as he left behind childhood for the baffling world of adolescence, he was still kind. He still pretended to love your drawings, even pointing out when you figured out how to shade things so that they looked more real. He still played Sonic the Hedgehog with you, helped you get through the tricky parts, even though it was a little kid game.

He still let you watch horror movies with him, even if they were rated R, though he always reached out to cover your eyes with his hand if he judged the scene on screen as too racy or too gory.

“Too young,” he declared, and your vision went black as he covered your eyes.

“This one’s PG-13 though,” you whined back, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he answered you.

“And you’re only twelve. As your elder, I have to make sure you’re not being corrupted by violent media, kiddo.”

Kiddo. A nickname he had for you, which made you feel special, but also underscored that you were just a kid to him. You smacked his hand away with a grumble, and he laughed.

“You’re not my elder. You’re not even an adult,” you muttered, and you sank down deeper into the rec room’s comfortable couch. Crossed your arms. Glared at the screen.

“Got my learner’s permit.”

“Big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Once I get my license, I can get a job. Save up for college. I can finally go places without mom or dad taking me.”

That was another bewildering difference: he was talking about dating, you guessed. With a driver’s license, he wouldn’t be limited to the lame dates of kids who didn’t drive. He wouldn’t be stuck going to the mall, meeting a girl there, drifting around the food court and maybe buying her an Orange Julius. The driver’s license was a wider gulf between you and him; he’d finally be able to go places with girls that weren’t you.

Not that you wanted to date. Not that dating looked like any fun. It seemed pretty stupid, actually, putting all that effort into your hair and makeup, as if the boy you were dating didn’t see you sweaty and gross in gym class at school anyway.

You didn’t want to date. You just didn’t want things to change with Benny.

“Who will watch ‘the X-Files’ with me when you’re out on dates?” you asked glumly, and you could feel him turn to look at you. You refused to look back and only stared at the television.

“You’ll always be my date for ‘X-Files’ night,” he told you. He elbowed you lightly in your side, over and over until you couldn’t help but smile and then elbow him back.

-----

Things changed with Benny, because things almost always change.

He got his driver’s license, and he got a job at the mall. He got a girlfriend, a girl in his grade named Mia, which outraged his sister Mia, who spent at least a week laying exclusive claim to the name. When the relationship only lasted a month, you breathed a sigh of relief…until he got a second girlfriend. Her name was Antonia, and she was gorgeous and popular and mean. Her father owned a car dealership, so she was also wealthy and always in the latest floor model of car, usually in a flashy red or yellow.

Benny brought her home for dinner one night. You were seated in your usual spot at the Magalon dinner table. Your mother and stepfather were away for the weekend for one of your younger brother’s traveling baseball league, and they had foisted you off on the neighbors as they usually did.

“Oh, how cute,” Antonia said as Mrs. Magalon explained the situation of why you were there. “Benji, you never said your family took in strays.”

You dropped your head and stared at your plate. You had always thought of yourself as a stray, but it hurt to hear it stated out loud from Antonia’s shiny, glossed-up mouth. And Benny….well, maybe he was still the sweet boy you knew, but he was also seventeen and a little selfish and very much ruled by hormones, so he didn’t stick up for you the way he would have in the past. Not when Antonia was sitting across from him with her perfect figure and flawless skin, without a single hair out of place on her head.

After dinner, you pulled Mrs. Magalon aside. You made up a lie about not feeling well, about wanting to sleep in your own bed that night, about not wanting to sleep on the trundle bed in Emma’s room. You promised to call her before you went to sleep, and to call her in the morning, since you’d be home alone…

“Sweetie, you know you’re always welcome here, right?” she asked, and you nodded your head quickly against the tears rising in your eyes.

That night, in your own bed, in your own quiet, lonely house, you wondered what made people change as they approached adulthood. You wondered why people had to change at all, especially when they didn’t seem to change for the better. People only ever seemed to get worse and worse, until they were adults and either boring or mean. Or both.

*****

When Benny got his license and when he started dating, he found himself busy. School took up a lot of time—he wanted to get good enough grades to get into college. He ran track passably well, and he worked at the sporting goods store in the mall. Antonia took up most of his remaining time.

He felt bad to be missing time with you. His affection for you had faded to a vague, imprecise thing, especially once he started dating Antonia. You were too young, he thought. It was probably too much of an age difference, those four years. There had been a guy a grade ahead of him with a younger girlfriend, and everyone had called him Pedo as a result, called the girl Jailbait.

It was too complicated a thing, and besides, Benny didn’t think you liked him like that. If anything, you liked him as family, as a surrogate older brother.

He still loved you, though. You were still the funny, weird little kid that always made him laugh, that charmed his parents with your good manners, that fiercely defended his sisters against bullies in school. And he knew you were lonely—often let down by your own family. He knew how you got your hopes up about promises your bio dad made, and how just as often, you were disappointed.

Benny hated to let you down too.

That dinner with you and Antonia….Benny realized it a few days later, but he thought he probably let you down. He let the mean comment of Antonia’s slide, and he didn’t see you for a week. If he didn’t know any better, you were avoiding him.

Benny had known you forever. He knew exactly where to find you.

-----

The treehouse in the oak that stood between the two properties had been there for a generation, but you were the one who used it the most: a refuge for you from the chaos of your home. You had three younger half-brothers, all in a hundred different sports and activities, so if you weren’t at Benny’s house, it was a good guess that you were in the treehouse.

That’s where he found you. As he climbed the rickety ladder, he saw you come into view: your legs crossed underneath you, head bent over a book. You obviously knew he was there, but you ignored him.

“You stood me up on Friday,” he said. He settled beside you, gave you a nudge. “You missed ‘the X-Files.’”

You made a derisive scoffing noise in the back of your throat. “Figured you’d be busy.”

“Figured you’re mad at me.”

You straightened up, pushed your shoulders back. You turned a page with great dignity and said, “I’m not mad at you at all.”

Benny laughed, nudged you again. “Bullshit. You’re mad at me. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You shouldn’t swear. Swearing is the sign of a mediocre mind.”

The Major’s words in your mouth: Benny laughed again, but didn’t respond. He reached out and plucked the book out of your hand. It was thick, a tome, and he read the cover aloud.

“’The Executioner’s Song?’ Isn’t that a little adult for you?”

You turned and looked at him finally, narrowed your eyes into slits as you glared at him.

“I’m in the honors track, Ben,” you spat out, emphasizing his shortened name when you only ever called him Benny. “I’m not stupid. I read hard books all the time.”

“No, you’re very smart. But you are also very mad at me.” He handed the book back to you.

“What do you care?”

“I care when my Friday night date stands me up.” A beat, and he jostled you again, this time more gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up at dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You stared down at the book in your hands, your face glum.

“If it doesn’t matter, then why haven’t I seen you all week?”

You shrugged, kept your head down. Your hair fell forward, hid you from his gaze. He wanted to reach out and brush it aside, but he kept his hands folded in his lap. He wondered if maybe you were sad that he was busier now, that he didn’t have time to play Horse or make you mixed tapes of music he thought you should know.

“Well, I’m sorry. And if you want to watch the episode you missed, I taped it for you.”

You turned towards him again, and he could see the blatant hopefulness on your face. You had the worst poker face he’d ever seen, never able to contain your glee when you played Uno or Hearts and held a winning hand.

“It probably was an alien episode,” you said. You tried to school your face and failed miserably.

Benny bit back his own smile—you preferred the spookier episodes, the ones about ghosts or monsters to the ones about aliens.

“You’ll have to watch it to find out.”

“I can’t borrow the tape. The Major doesn’t want me watching that junk.”

Benny looped an arm around your neck, pulled your head against his side. When you struggled against him, he held you tighter.

“Say you forgive me and we can watch it now.”

“Never!” Your voice was muffled, and you slapped at his arm. “I’m going to stay mad at you forever!”

“It’s not an alien episode at all. There’s a murderer and a detective who die at the same time, and they—”

“Fine!” You slapped at his arm again, and when he didn’t release you, you added, “fine, I forgive you this time!”

Benny let you go, and he caught the glare you gave him before you picked up your book and made your way towards the ladder.

“Would you really stay mad at me forever?” he asked. “Forever is a long time.”

You climbed onto the ladder, your book tucked under your arm, and you looked up at him. “Maybe not forever. But for a long time, Benji.”

That was Antonia’s name for him. The way you said it, with a lilt of sarcasm, pinged against his internal radar. You almost sounded jealous, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his head.

*****

It was okay that you loved Benny Magalon, and it was even okay that he didn’t love you back. There were plenty of girls in school who loved boys unrequitedly, and having a crush on your older neighbor made you feel normal. It gave you something to bond over, you guessed, even if you kept the details vague, never admitted that it was the boy who lived next door.

As time passed, Benny drifted away more. He picked up more hours at his job in the summer, and he did volunteer work to beef up his college applications. You only saw him sporadically, and every time was like a jolt to your heart.

He got accepted at UC Irvine, and you had spent his entire graduation party moping until he had pulled you aside, hooked his arm around your neck in that companionable way he had. Being tucked against him, close enough to hear his heartbeat, always made your stomach feel queasy and squirmy.

“I’m only an hour away,” he told you. “It’s not like I’m moving to the east coast.”

“An hour without traffic,” you replied. “And anyway, once you get all your new college friends, you’ll forget all about me here.”

“Never. No way.”

“I’ll probably never see you again.”

“Yeah, probably.” His soft voice had a teasing tone, and you twisted against his hold to look up at him. His sisters made fun of him, thought his ears stuck out too much and thought his nose was too big for his face. You never saw him that way—you thought he was cute. He glanced down at you, and you felt your face heat up to be caught studying him.

“Since I won’t ever see you again, I burned you a mixed CD,” he continued. “All of the songs that’ll remind you of me.”

He let you go, and he disappeared into the house for a long moment. He returned with the CD, and sure enough, there was the list of songs written out in his slanting handwriting.

“There might be a hidden track or two on there,” he said. “You’ll have to listen to find out.”

You couldn’t have stopped yourself from hugging him if you tried. You hugged him so hard that he grunted out a quiet oof, but he hugged you back.

-----

It was okay that Benny went away to college, because you drifted away too. You were still close friends with Emma and Mia, but you spent less time with them. You leaned into your own future plans.

The Major sat you down once, when you were sixteen, and he gave you a long speech about service to the country. About how the armed services took serious women seriously, and that you could make a good career of the military if you applied yourself. He started leaving brochures on the kitchen table, and once, a study guide for the ASVAB.

Your mother, usually too busy with her other children, would only nod when the Major went on one of his long monologues over dinner about your future.

No one seemed to care what you wanted, so you played along. You learned to hide your true goals, which was to get a full ride to a good college, move out, and never live on anyone else’s terms but your own.

So you navigated two paths: the Major put you on a training regimen. Morning runs, weight training after school. He gave you thick study guides, quizzed you on military history over dinner.

Then the second, hidden path: constant studying, late into the night. As many AP classes as you could take. SAT prep, and then the SAT’s themselves. Extracurriculars, volunteering. A part-time job at a steakhouse where you plastered on a fake-fake smile for extra tips.

You studied with your headphones on, Benny’s CD on constant repeat. The songs did remind you of him: ‘80’s hair bands and power ballads—the soundtrack of your childhood together.

Late at night, you allowed yourself innocent, involved fantasies about him: the two of you running into each other as adults, him realizing that you weren’t a kid anymore. Him falling in love with you. Marriage, kids, a house with a big backyard and a treehouse. Et cetera.

But those were just idle dreams, not reality. The reality was that you were constantly exhausted. You felt adulthood closing in on you. You felt like the military was a snare ready to catch your foot and drag you down.

When you felt like that, you went to where you always felt safe: the people who lived in the house behind you, your second family.

*****

When Benny returned home, he heard his mom in the kitchen, along with one…no, two other voices. Mia had only just started her freshmen year at Loyola Marymount, but she must have come home for the same reason he had: the desire for a home-cooked meal, in dire need of clean laundry.

When he went into the kitchen, it wasn’t his mother and his sisters. It was his mother and one sister…and you.

He hadn’t seen you in a year. You had been away over the summer, shipped off on a grueling schedule of summer camps. A military camp for high schoolers, an academic camp up north. He had missed you more than he thought he might; college and all its attendant diversions couldn’t quite extricate you from the deep place in his heart where you had been lodged all these years.

You didn’t see him in the doorway, so Benny regressed as he usually did: he took two quick, quiet steps towards you, then put you in his usual headlock. You gave your usual shriek of outrage, but you had grown since he saw you last. You were at least two inches taller, and there was a lean strength that you hadn’t had before. You twisted against his hold and broke free, turned and gave him your usual playful glare.

Emma and his mother turned at the scuffle, and Emma rolled her eyes. Benny reached out and ruffled her hair, rubbed his knuckles against her head until she shrieked too.

“Mom, make him stop,” Emma whined, and his mother stepped in to gently pry two of her children apart.

“Mijo, don’t roughhouse with the girls,” she said with a smile. “They’re young women now. You can’t wrestle with them anymore.”

“I don’t see any women,” Benny replied. “I see one little nugget who escaped from the Lollipop Guild.” He gestured at his youngest sister, still half a head shorter than him and unlikely to grow much more, and Emma flipped him off behind their mother’s back.

Then he turned and gestured at you. Really took in the sight of you. Jeans torn at the knee, scuffed up canvas sneakers. An oversized flannel shirt over a t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. You had apparently leaned hard into the grunge scene in his absence. A pity—he had tried all those years to cultivate you on good music. All those mixed tapes and CD’s wasted.

“And I see one reject from a Soundgarden video,” he said, and he smiled at the scoff of outrage you made. “So no women here.”

Another scoff from you, this one of disdain. You crossed your arms and studied him pointedly, your gaze sweeping from head to toe. “No men here either,” you declared. “It looks like you shaved a carnival teddy bear and glued it’s fur to your face.”

Benny laughed, a little shocked at the insult, a little jolt at the proximity to the mean flirting that some girls did. He reached up and stroked the goatee he was trying—and apparently failing—to cultivate.

“I think I look good,” he said, defensive.

“I think you look like one of those guys that hang out at the mall and ask girls if you can take their picture,” Emma chimed in.

“Bet he drove here in a beat-up van with no windows in the back,” you added, but now you smiled at him.

“When do you two get so mean? Mamí, why are they so mean?”

His mother smiled and shook her head. She turned back to the kitchen sink and said, “they tease you because they love you.”

-----

Benny stayed for dinner, and he pretended his decision wasn’t largely due to you staying for dinner.

You were much changed, but he could still see the core of who you were: funny, unfailingly polite. You asked him a lot of questions about college, and when he tried to ask questions back—he had heard from his sisters and mother about your military aspirations—you only shrugged and didn’t answer.

He studied you closer. Your face had lost some of its childish roundness, and he could see how your oversized clothes hid your form. You looked tired, though you tried to hide it behind smiles and good posture. When you thought no one was looking, you slumped a little, and your eyes took on a sad quality.

After dinner, as always, you tried to help his mother clear the table, do the dishes….but she, as always, waved you away and told you not to worry about it.

Benny nudged you with his elbow. “Come help me finish up my laundry. You can fill me in on all the terrible music you’re listening to.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled at him anyway. “My taste in music is impeccable.”

You followed him down into the basement, the cool, musty smell of it tickling against his nose. You leaned against the sink and watched as he pulled his clothes out of the dryer, then started folding them. The two of you stood in comfortable silence, which was one of the reasons Benny did—and always had—loved you. You could tease and chatter away and have serious conversations, but you could also just be with a person, no need to fill the silence with mindless talking. The older he got, the more rare he realized that was.

“You must be excited for senior year,” he said after a bit. “Less than a year to go now.”

You looked down at your feet, kicked the toe of your sneaker against the concrete. “I guess.”

“Then what….West Point, I guess? ROTC?” He shook his head and breathed out a low whistle. “Never thought of you as the military type.”

You glanced up at him. “Maybe I’m not.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

He paused in folding his few ratty towels, and he turned to face you. “Sure.”

You turned to face him too, and your face was serious. “I mean it, Benny. I haven’t told anyone. No one at all, not even your sisters.”

“I promise.”

You took a deep breath through your nose, exhaled long and slow through your mouth. “I got an early acceptance to Stanford.”

“Holy shit,” he blurted out. “Stanford University?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a smile. “No, the Stanford Technical School for TV and VCR Repair. Of course, Stanford University.”

“Holy shit,” he repeated. “Congratulations!” He reached out his arm, pulled you into a hug. Felt you hug him back after a beat.

“No one knows I applied,” you said against his chest, muffled. “The Major is going to hit the roof when he finds out.”

Benny released you, and he asked what you meant. And you spent the better part of an hour explaining your life since he went away to school: being pushed down one path, wanting another. How you played along with the Major’s plan for you to join the military, but how you worked in secret to secure an escape plan.

You leaned against the sink, him leaned against the washer, the two of you talking seriously. Talking about real-life adult stuff.

You told him how you had something akin to a breakdown in your guidance counselor’s office sophomore year—Benny remembered the guy from his own high school days, a pseudo-hippie peacenik who used to try and usher the military-bound kids towards trade schools instead. How the guidance counselor helped you apply to colleges without parental support.

“It was weird,” you told him. “For a long time, I was sort of invisible. Then, I went to high school, and something switched in the Major and my mom. They finally noticed me, and they had all these ideas of what I’d do once I graduated.”

“So you went from invisible to chameleon.”

“Exactly.” You grimaced, shook your head. “They are going to be so mad.”

Benny reached out and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe, but listen: this is happy news. It’s exciting. You should be proud.”

“I guess.”

It occurred to him that you were right, though. The Major was a control freak. He had never let you date, never let you attend school dances. He kept your television limited to PBS and news channels, so you had always consumed the brain-rotting stuff at his house.

Who knew how the Major would react when he found out?

“You know my parents will help you,” Benny said. “And you have my phone number too. You can always call me, and I’m only an hour away.”

That ghost of a smile again, like you were too tired to give him a real one. “An hour without traffic.”

He was earnest when he replied. He squeezed your shoulder until you really looked at him.

“You know I’ll come help you as soon as you call me,” he said. “Even with the worst traffic.”

“Thanks, Benny.” That ghostly smile again, but now you looked forlorn. He thought about how stupid it all was, how you deserved far more from your family than you’d ever gotten. That it was stupid, you needing to hide such great news. That any other parents would be over the moon to have a daughter like you.

“Come here, kiddo,” he said, and he pulled you into a hug. It was easy to hug you, he found. Easy to pull you into his arms, and easy to enjoy the feeling of your own arms around him.

Then he tilted his head a little, and he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. It was completely innocent, just borne out of a desire to comfort you, to make you feel like you weren’t alone.

Benny wouldn’t know it until years later, not until you told him so, but it was your first kiss. When you tell him, years later, Benny will feel a sting of shame—it was hardly a grand first kiss, nothing that any girl should dream about, just his lips against your forehead for the barest of seconds, in a musty-smelling basement, while his clean laundry sat nearby.

But when you tell him, years later, you’ll tell him with a dreamy little smile on your face, and it will occur to him that you loved him even then and had thought it a grand thing anyway.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala @stardust-galaxies @buckybarneshairpullingkink @harriedandharassed @thatpinkshirt @melaniecraig80 @thesandbeneathmytoes

#benny magalon #Benny Borracho Magalon Imagine #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #Borracho Magalon x Reader #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #den of thieves

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drrafaelcm · 1 year

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ADI questiona leis do RS sobre substituição tributária no atacado

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darkhymns-fic · 10 months

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Being an angel is pretty inconvenient, huh? (Ch. 5)

Lloyd meets with the Great Tree's caretaker, Yuan, in the hopes of understanding his new wings, and where next to go from here. Still, he's felt so uneasy about what he should do... [A Lloyd wingfic]

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Yuan Ka Fai, Kratos Aurion Rating: T Word Count: 5702 Mirror: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week 2023, Day 5: AU / Crossover. Yep, I’m determined to finish this, even if late!

---

Lloyd had been remembering Kratos much more lately.

There was a memory he always went back to now; it was just before sending Kratos off to Derris-Kharlan, before he set off on his own journey with Colette, but just after the burn of his wings first being used. Even back then, his back had ached and stung. He wouldn’t summon them again, not yet.

Many of the angels waited among the wreckage that was once the Tower of Salvation. Mithos’ defeat could be felt, even among lifeless beings. It was then that some experienced the first emotion they had in centuries—panic, fear, a loss of direction. Such angels had gone to find an escape, using the still-working transporters to land on solid earth. But once on the ground, many either hovered among the debris, or cowered near broken pillars. They had no more orders, no more higher goal to attain to now that the head of their once sought-after dream had been cut off.

Yet, what stayed in Lloyd’s mind the most as he arrived there, as he watched Kratos go to the angels to assess their health, were their wings. How some stretched far, beating in the air, but going nowhere at all. How others lost most of their feathers to gather at their feet, leaving bare things that could hardly lift a body off the ground. Some were of blinding white, others of black that matched the night skies. Some were even bent crooked, damaged in battle—maybe from his very own swords.

Kratos knelt in front of one angel who hugged her knees tightly. She leaned against a crumbling wall, unmindful to the sharp stones that circled around her. One of her wings drooped towards the ground, barely able to move, curved a little unnaturally, while the other was folded by her side. Swords laid on the ground, forgotten, their blades nicked. Black feathers gathered at her feet like charred leaves.

Lloyd looked again at her wings, wincing at what must have been terrible pain…except the angels felt none, didn’t they? Robbed of all their senses, including touch, maybe she didn’t even notice it.

“Should we get help? Like from the Professor?” Lloyd didn’t step much closer, watching as Kratos tried to converse with the angel. At the very least, none of them tried to attack anymore. But like the angel before them, no one else would speak, or move, or do anything at all. Some simply waited.

She didn’t respond to Kratos who also gazed at the broken wing. “We have methods for treating this type of injury.” He sighed, got back to his feet. “On Derris-Kharlan, I’ll get her to that specific station.”

And then, a voice uttered out, “No.”

Lloyd wouldn’t forget the way she said it. It was different from before. He knew now that he had in fact fought this particular angel—how she had lunged for him, with barely a flicker in her eyes. How her twin swords clashed with his, the metal ringing in his ears. He had pushed back, parried away a second strike from her, the edge of his blade ripping across feathers.

She now raised her head, looking at them both. Her wing lay like a scattered thing, the white of bone just barely jutting out from what was left of her feathers. The hands around her knees then clenched into fists.

“I want these wings gone.”

Never had Lloyd heard an angel have such disgust in their voice.

Even Kratos was surprised, momentarily taken aback before he spoke. “It would be a lengthy and difficult process. To do so, you can no longer wear your Hi-Exsphere, as it would disrupt the mana flow. You will be exposed to the pain.”

“I know.” The angel only continued to glare. The wind shifted her black dress, which had also been torn at the hem. “I want them gone. If we are to live without Lord Yggdrasill and his dream, then I do not want the wings that I had gained while in service to him.”

But it was more than that, Lloyd suspected. Perhaps, without Mithos’ hold on her, with the reality of the situation, she wanted something else.

She wanted to be normal.

Afterwards, Kratos had explained to him, as much as Kratos could ever explain anything. That is, with soft allusions, vague assertions, and with very little detail. But what Lloyd could grasp made his shoulder blades ache, made him remember the very sting of his own wings.

“In Welgaia, we have machines to help with this process, usually to repair wings. Most of these wings are damaged during flight. And even though they are still made of pure mana, they act as if they are made of flesh and blood.” Kratos shook his head. “It makes it much more complicated.”

And Lloyd had to ask then.

“Is that going to happen to you someday?” The worry couldn’t leave his voice, a worry for a father he had just begun to know. Then, a new fear grabbed hold. “And what about Colette? Could her wings…?”

Kratos shook his head. “I’m not saying it’s an impossibility, but Colette has only been using her wings for the better part of a year. These angels here have used them for centuries. It is simply not equivalent. I believe Colette will be fine, even if she uses her wings until old age. As for me…” He moved to gaze at the stone embedded over his right hand. “I no longer plan to use this. There will be no need, and no threat to myself. I shouldn’t experience any abnormality.”

“Wow, actually being careful for yourself for once?” Lloyd had joked, feeling the worries fall off his shoulders. He felt empathy for the angels, but for those he cared for, they would be okay…

At that, Kratos gave a smile—a rare one. “You’ve taught me that lesson, Lloyd.”

It was easy to forget it then. Lloyd had a habit of letting his worries slide away when it was no longer such an issue. He was still sad Kratos would go, but he would go safely.

But then, once he got his new wings, that was when the dreams started.

“Lloyd? Are you listening?”

Yuan’s voice pulled him away so suddenly.

Lloyd shook his head, blinked, then looked ahead. The sunlight diffused around them through the windows, making everything seem blurry for a moment. His wings shifted behind him as he sat on the wooden chair, almost like the slow creaking of trees, all while his hands gripped a lukewarm tin cup that sat on a table.

“Uh,” he blurted out. “What was the question?”

Lloyd couldn’t recall ever seeing Yuan smile, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. Once Lloyd could see clearly, he thought Yuan’s deep frown would be enough to make an indent right on his face. He kept that frown up even as he sipped at his coffee.

“I try to give you my expertise on your situation, and you don’t even bother to listen?”

“I mean, you were talking for a really long time… And you kept saying things like ‘chronic mana emittance’ and ‘transmogri-whatever’ and you wouldn’t just explain what those even meant! So, fine, I tuned out a bit.”

It almost felt like he was being lectured in class again. Except he wasn’t allowed to ask questions, which was somehow worse!

“Well, I apologize that we have a lot of ground to cover.” Yuan sighed. “Especially with my current schedule.”

Yuan’s home was small, composed of a single room where it held a kitchen on one side, and the bed on the other. Fashioned from oak, it was plain in its design, almost utilitarian. The necessities for food and rest were apparent, but not much else for luxury. The bed was simple, with a small nightstand to hold a book or two. The kitchen counter and wood stove were also exceedingly bare except for some kitchenware, a few teacups, and a bowl of fruit. However, there was also a metal rack above to hold iron pots and pans, which happened to be just near the kitchen/dining table and seemed a bit low to Lloyd who felt very close to hitting it with one of his wings.

There was a fireplace though, which looked like it had never been used, but it was there. Still, it was different from Yuan’s once-fancy office, Lloyd noted. No grand, indecipherable painting decorated the walls this time.

This was definitely not a house meant for guests, which Lloyd supposed made sense. The place where the Great Tree was hidden would not have any normal passerby stumble upon it. As a caretaker of the tree, Yuan made sure of that.

Sighing tiredly, Yuan took another sip of the tea, then set the cup on a coaster. He no longer wore the cape and armor when he had been leader of the Renegades—only a simple black vest, its hem extending down to his knees, and white trousers. If anything, he looked more like a normal person living in a cabin instead of the head of a once-active faction.

Yuan folded his hands on the table with a hard look on his face. Lloyd had to restrain a groan. Was he actually about to be lectured at now?

“This is something you’ll need to take seriously, as the most extreme case has already happened to you.” Yuan didn’t need to specify. “Otherwise, I’d wonder why you even bothered to show up at my door in the first place.”

Lloyd felt irritated then, gritting his teeth and facing the man as if it were their first meeting all over again. “I am being serious! But it doesn’t help when you just breeze past through everything and talk at me like I’m just some wall. I’m not like one of the Renegades that will just listen to whatever you say and say yes, or just understand things no problem like Bo—”

He stopped himself before he said it. Still, it was too late. He saw Yuan freeze, even if it was the most miniscule thing.

Gah, I’m an idiot.

Maybe it was the constant weight on his back. Despite flying with them several times, they still felt strange—made him feel strange.

…And they didn’t fold very well over the back of the chair. It was awkward! He didn’t want to think back to when he struggled through the door either.

Yuan still said nothing for a while. Lloyd expected to be asked to leave, but instead, there followed another sigh, a tapping of fingers against the table before the man spoke. “I suppose I was a bit technical in my explanations. I’ll simplify it then. We can try again.”

Should Lloyd feel relieved? He had no idea, and just continued holding the coffee cup. He didn’t feel very thirsty.

“Now, about the word, transmogrify… What you’re going through is called wings transmogrification. When it first happened… I can’t even say when it did. It was so long ago, and all those incidents tend to blend together after a while.”

That was one of the least reassuring things Lloyd had ever heard, but he didn’t interrupt.

“So, the wings solidifying is actually very common,” Yuan continued to explain. “Nearly every angel in Welgaia had succumbed to it, usually long after they had already lost their will to their Exspheres. Although…the only one I can remember making a big complaint about it was Remiel. He was always a bit of an anomaly, keeping his sense of self longer than most. Could never truly figure out why.”

The mention of Remiel made Lloyd stiffen. “So…he really did have different wings before? Wait, don’t tell me you’re comparing me to Remiel?”

“I am just saying he was a bit of an anomaly. Considering you are one yourself, along with your Exsphere.”

Never mind. This was the least reassuring thing Lloyd had ever heard.

“Anyway, let’s continue. But first…” Yuan lifted his cup. “I will need more coffee. Come with me and I’ll fill your cup, too.”

Lloyd stayed seated in his chair, or as much as he could with his wings threatening to tip him over. “I didn’t even start drinking mine yet,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuan replied, already standing up and heading for the kitchen counter. “It’s probably cold. Now come on.”

He kept gesturing for Lloyd to follow, for some reason. Why did he have to? He could just stay seated, especially with how hard it was for him to move his wings in small spaces like this—

Oh, this was payback for what he said before, wasn’t it?

Lloyd felt like the most awkward thing on the planet right now as he stood up, his wings instantly hitting everything they came across, even if just slightly. It’s what happened back at Sheena’s place, knocking aside wall scrolls and other knick knacks everywhere. Yuan didn’t nearly have as many decorations, but he did have that pot rack above. So, when one of Lloyd’s wings sprung up at just the right angle to make the cooking ware bang against one another in loud succession, the boy winced.

Yuan didn’t even bat an eye, already pouring the coffee grounds in a grinding device. But, did he catch a smirk?

Next time, Lloyd needed to not let his big mouth run. He sheepishly walked over to Yuan, trying not to smack down even more pots or any chairs along the way. He mostly succeeded, though a few feathers fell off here and there.

“Now, where was I?” Yuan said as he prepared the coffee. “Ah, about how the wings transform… It’s a result of constantly using it, even when it was not necessary. Many were careful at first, but once someone becomes a lifeless being, it’s no longer a priority for them. The wings transforming doesn’t endanger their lives, so they never willed them away. The new wings are still of mana, but constantly emitting, otherwise known as chronic mana emittance.”

“So…I’m doing that now?” Lloyd asked with some clear confusion.

“Yes. You’ve basically lost the ability to desummon them. We all have mana, but yours is emitting outside of your body at all times in a physical shape.” The coffee scent was strong now as Yuan got both cups ready, ignoring that Lloyd’s was still full and simply just emptying it in a nearby sink.

“I would say having such a thing happen to you would have been impossible, considering how little you’ve used your wings in comparison. But then there’s the matter of your Exsphere… It hadn’t had any of those negative effects on you that our own has, and yet the wings occurred still. So, it must still be evolving.”

Lloyd got slightly frustrated, apparent in his wings which rustled from his clear agitation. “Why would it evolve or whatever to let me have these things? These don’t even help me at all!” As he shouted, his wings reacted even more, fluffing up slightly and looking bigger than they appeared.

This resulted in hitting another of the hanging pots, knocking it askew so that it fell to the floor with a clang. Lloyd flinched. “Sorry.”

Yuan still barely reacted to it—though maybe there was a twitch just above his left eyebrow, and no smirk. Instead, he handed a newly-steaming cup of coffee to Lloyd while taking a sip of his own. “It could even have to do with you being a human. Most who succumbed to this much later in their lives were half-elves. And humans, or most humans, notoriously cannot control their mana. I’m assuming you can’t suddenly control magic either. Perhaps having that ability might have given you an advantage, perhaps not.”

Lloyd went quiet, even as he quietly fumed. “Kratos can.” he said. “And Zelos.”

“Because of the aionis. Believe me when I say you would rather not go through with it. From what Kratos tells me, it’s like consuming fire.”

Lloyd didn’t know what else to say to that. He finally took a long sip of the coffee, its heat not nearly scalding enough.

“Tell me something,” Yuan continued. “When you first flew on that day for the Great Seed, something must have happened then.” A pause. “And I think you know what that would be.”

Lloyd turned the cup in his hands, rubbing a thumb against the handle. He didn’t answer. His wings behind him shifted, curling in a bit around him.

“I thought so. Hiding things doesn’t help the situation, you understand.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Lloyd said with a sigh. “I’m just not sure. I always felt that he finally helped me, in the end.”

Yuan took another sip, then placed the tin cup back on the counter. “Perhaps Mithos did finally have a change of heart—as much of a heart as he could have after being absorbed from an Exsphere. Is it through him that your wings changed? Or was this an inevitability of your special Exsphere, regardless of Mithos’ influence? We might never know then.”

Lloyd was going to have a headache. “So, I’m just back at square one with this,” he said, taking another sip. Not as hot now, but having it warm helped ease the pounding in his head slightly.

“On the reason for your sudden transformation, maybe. But there is still a solution. You want to remove your wings, correct?”

It should have been an easy answer. That was why he’d come here in the first place, and why he went to visit all his friends and gain their support. It was to finally…

He thought back to that one angel, who wanted her wings gone. No hesitation, no doubt. Just a yearning for her wings to disappear.

Lloyd couldn’t help for his wings curve inward, trying to not hit any more things. Not like Yuan seemed to care, looking at the dropped pot on the floor with barely a glance. But, why did Lloyd not leap at the chance now? Why couldn’t he just say yes?

“It’s normal to be frightened about the process.” Yuan’s voice floated to him, unusually gentle in its tone now. “Is that why?”

“Maybe,” Lloyd said, but that was all.

He wasn’t really helping in any of this, but he didn’t know. He still didn’t know. And after all Colette had done for him, too.

Footsteps echoed across the floorboards. “We’ll have to continue this conversation another time, I’m afraid. I still have a schedule to keep, remember?”

It took a moment before Lloyd realized what Yuan meant. “Oh, I almost forgot. Should I wait here, or…?”

Yuan looked over his shoulder at Lloyd with an expression as if he had grown an extra head along with his wings. “As the pactmaker, you’d have more right to see it than even me. Also, I’d prefer it if you’d come, as I’d feel much better to not have your wings threaten my home while I’m away. I worry you’re going to shatter what little furniture I have.”

“…So you were just messing with me! Not like I was trying to hit things on purpose! I was just fine with sitting down!”

Lloyd’s shout wasn’t very loud, but animated, nonetheless. And such a thing affected his wings, which his right one had fanned out to hit the very peculiar-looking coffee machine Yuan had been using. It fell to the floor in a heap, something within it clearly making a very loud cracking sound.

Lloyd froze. “Uh oh.”

Yuan placed a hand on his face. “Let’s go now. Please.”

The Great Tree was a very hopeful name.

In reality, said tree was still only a sapling, one that was dwarfed by other trees that had already sprouted and bloomed to full length.

“Watch your step,” Yuan said, perhaps more for the uneven ground than for the wings that still moved around Lloyd with some awkwardness. What had once been ruined ground, where fragments from the shattered tower had been scattered all around, was now covered in verdant green. Even the debris seemed to have been swallowed by the earth, covering what were now ancient relics for change.

Lloyd looked at the sapling and was instantly reminded of the small trees that Dirk had started cultivating in his backyard as a pastime. Thin branches sprouted full leaves, and it stood on top of a small ridge, where it was framed by a running stream and hanging ivy, perhaps guided by Martel to help nourish the tree.

He also noticed something else. Had the tree grown a few inches since the last time he visited? It seemed like it, especially when he saw its height compared to…

“Ah, Colette,” Yuan called out casually. “You didn’t have to watch it the entire time.”

She stood before the sapling, only turning at the call of her name. The running water caught the sunlight, making some of the tree’s leaves shine. The sunlight also reflected off Colette’s crystal, but not blinding. Lloyd found himself going to her quickly, drawn in towards the gentle light.

“I didn’t mind,” she said, smiling more once she saw Lloyd. “Martel’s gone ahead if you’d like to see her.”

At that, Yuan only gave a small nod before turning his gaze back to Lloyd. “I shouldn’t be too long if you’d still like to discuss things afterwards.”

Lloyd had no concrete answer to that, but still, he could only agree. What else could he say? “Um, yeah. That’s fine.”

Maybe Yuan saw that hesitance, but also saw there was no point in acknowledging it. He walked away, giving one last gaze for the tree that now came up to his shoulder.

And once again, Lloyd also looked to the tree that he named. Its leaves were brighter than before, its branches just a bit more numerous. The makeshift stream around it was a clear blue, reflecting the sky. It was quiet here, and the wind gentle as it shifted those same leaves, as it created ripples across the water’s surface.

He felt Colette reach for his hand, her fingers slipping around his so naturally, fitting them together like a puzzle piece. “It’s really beautiful.”

Was she seeing the tree as what it could be, too? A great thing that had filtered the sun through its boughs, that towered over them so well, not to make them feel small, but as if they were being protected?

Another thought had to nag at him, pulling him away from that image. “Hey… where’s Blippy?”

“Oh, he’s with Martel,” Colette answered casually, as if it was every day the spirit of the Great Tree liked to do some pet sitting. “She really likes him.”

“Huh…” The idea made him grin a bit, squeezing Colette’s hand. “I feel like everyone we met up with wants to keep Blippy to themselves.”

“Maybe that’s why Yuan left, too.” Colette helpfully added. “After all, he didn’t get to pet him yet.”

“Oh, no wonder he wanted to leave so fast then! He could have just said so.”

“Well, we can make sure to visit often so he can see Blippy then!” Colette laughed happily, squeezing his hand back. “And everyone else too.”

As she laughed, so did Lloyd, the warmth of her hand making him feel elated. When it came to animals, no one was happier than Colette, to the point that it was so infectious. It even made his wings feel lighter, his left wing circling around her so that his feathers pressed against her shoulder.

And when that happened, he saw Colette’s eyes direct towards it. He was too quick to understand her expression then, for he pulled his wing back, feathers rustling as he did so. “Sorry, these things act on their own sometimes…”

His wings shook, just slightly, before he tried to make them stop. He wasn’t sure why the embarrassment was so strong.

“Let’s sit for a bit,” Colette said to him, before her hands gently pulled him down to the grass. The tone of her voice remained the same, as if they were still talking about the kitten. Yet, why were his wings still shaking? Why was he nervous all the time? Or so worried about what will be seen?

Why didn’t he just feel like himself anymore?

Even so, her hands guided him. He sat with her, knees touching, feeling her fingers lie within his palm. “I’m okay,” he said, half-believing it.

Her thumb rubbed against his skin. “What did Yuan say?” she asked him.

Lloyd gave a short laugh. “Too much…”

“Hey, I have time to listen.”

Even with that permission, it was hard for Lloyd to navigate through it all. His wings drooped down, their span spreading across the grass, his feathers skewing or growing crooked from the position. But how else was he supposed to use them? It was easier to let them rest right on the forest floor, feeling his feathers warm up from the sun.

And it was easier to lay things out for her, of the angels who felt their transformation without any complaints, except for Remiel. He felt her stiffen at the mentioned name but said nothing. He tried not to dwell on how he was causing her pain by speaking, but she had asked him to talk, and she never told him to stop. She was always strong like that.

All while the sapling that was the Great Tree was in the corner of his vision, catching the sunlight against its leaves.

“It’s probably because of my Exsphere why this happened to me so fast, and maybe because I’m human too,” he finally said, feeling worn out by the end. “And there’s no easy way to get rid of them.”

His wings stayed low, even as the wind picked up, rustling a few loose feathers to be picked up by the wind. There was an instinctive urge in him to reach out and grab them, to hide them away. He only stopped because his hands were already holding Colette’s.

She was idly tracing patterns into his palm—not words this time. Maybe pictures, maybe following along lifelines hidden underneath his gloves. “But there is a way,” she said quietly.

Yes, he tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t leave. It stuck inside his throat like a stone.

Why did he shake at the very thought?

All he could think of was that angel huddled against a broken pillar, her wings twisted, demanding for them to be gone.

Lloyd heard Colette shift around him. He raised his head, watched as her hands left his own. But she only did so to gently touch his left wing that had been lying mostly flat against the ground. She did so carefully, raising it just a bit to have part of the wingspan settle against her lap. The sunlight, filtering through other trees that surrounded the glade, seemed to wash over her in a light, green shade.

“Is…something up?” Lloyd asked. He still felt self-conscious about these things, even after flying with them briefly. Because, after flying, what could he exactly do with them?

“Hm, a few feathers are loose again,” Colette commented, her eyes now transfixed on his wing.

“Maybe because I kinda hit them against some stuff,” he grumbled. “Yuan has these pots that hang from the ceiling and they’re too low! It even hurt a little.”

Colette was still examining, running one hand down the underside of his wing. It made him shiver, but not because of fear this time. It felt, well, somewhat nice.

“I think you’re molting again,” she then said.

And the embarrassment came back in full force.

“Seriously?! Again?! These were just molting a week ago!” Lloyd pressed an open palm against his face, wishing he could dig underground. “Ugh, no wonder they kept feeling gross…”

But Colette didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. Still, she stroked her feathers, a smile forming on her face. “It just needs a little grooming. Oh! I have an idea.”

Lloyd watched as Colette reached into a hidden pocket in her dress. Out came what looked like a hairbrush, one that Lloyd remembered she had bought from a shop back in Flanoir, which was for…

“Isn’t that Blippy’s hairbrush?”

Colette nodded. “Yeah. But just like his fur can get a little much, your feathers do too. I know it’s not the same, but since you can’t really groom yourself—”

Lloyd pressed two palms against his face now. “Colette… I don’t want to be a pet…”

“Aw, you’re not a pet, Lloyd!” But he couldn’t help his suspicions when Colette easily took his wing in her arms, brushing with a downward stroke. “I don’t mind doing this.”

“Yeah, but…” He had to protest this, right? Colette had already tended to his wings enough already when they had first appeared. It felt shameful and so embarrassing, to need this, to always have something happening with his wings that he couldn’t just control.

But when he felt her fingers once more, how she cradled the wing with ease, he had to admit he liked it. And she did so without any hesitance, brushing against the tips with even strokes.

He still had his face in his hands, but his breathing came out easier. His pulse within his ears no longer paced as frantically. He felt some of his feathers come off, but not in pain. He snuck a small glance to his side, finding those same feathers floating down, mingling with the fallen leaves.

“Lloyd, it’s okay to want to keep your wings.”

He remained still, watching the feathers continue to drift down.

“I don’t think you were trying to find a way to get rid of them,” she continued. The brush against his wings felt so light and soothing. “You were trying to find a way to live with them somehow. Is that it?”

Suddenly, Lloyd remembered their first kiss from before. He wanted it again.

But he couldn’t really move. His body remained still, hands leaving his face to drop into his lap, feeling Colette brush his wings more and more. The feathers fell off like leaves, but only a few, and only to grow once again.

“It’s inconvenient though,” Lloyd said, watching the feathers and Colette’s shadow falling over them. “Isn’t it?”

Colette halted her brushing, but just so she could gather some of the feathers in her hand that wouldn’t leave by bristle alone. Some were messy, especially for the down, while the tips would either be crooked, half-bent. But she gathered them in a pile near her, the wind already beginning to shift them.

“They don’t have to be,” she answered easily. “Are you worried about that?”

Lloyd still felt some shame, so he couldn’t look at her yet. He turned his head towards the tree, wondering when Martel would come back, and if she would be holding the little kitten in her arms.

“I had a lot of weird dreams ever since I got these,” he confessed, feeling the path of her fingers against the hard little barbs that were left for some parts of his wings. “Like…I always had them? Or something like that.”

Colette kept her pace, but he felt her move a bit closer. His wing extended just slightly into her hands.

“The angels we fought on Derris-Kharlan, it felt like… I was like them in my dreams. That my wings were physical with all these feathers, and they would break sometimes. And that I would fight with them, and they would get injured. I would act like I didn’t feel it, or care about it except…in the dreams, they did hurt.” He furrowed his brows, an unease coursing through his chest at the memory. “They would hurt, but I had to pretend they didn’t. I don’t really know why.”

He took another breath, the hazy memories revealing more as the feathers fell. “I had different clothes, and even just trying to put them on hurt. I had to always keep them out, and fly with them, even when I got tired. Sometimes they didn’t even look right, or just broken.” Another pause, as more and more details came to light. “And Kratos was there, and his wings were—”

Or was he confusing something else instead?

“Sorry. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”

When Colette moved, he knew it wasn’t to turn away, or walk away from him. But still, he felt a small fear. All he had done, ever since his new wings came into being, was complain. Yet her hands cradled his right wing now, seated on the other side so she could continue her brushing once more.

“Getting your wings was very hard,” she said softly. “It makes sense that your dreams would have them go through such painful things. But, they don’t have to always just be pain.”

Lloyd still doubted, keeping his eyes on the sapling, but feeling so sleepy now with Colette’s constant brushing. “I don’t know. You saw them when they were…” The pain of them solidifying, the tendons around his muscles adjusting, the blood that he remembered dripping down his back…

“I did. But after that, they always looked beautiful in the light, don’t you think?”

He turned to her then. Something in her voice just now, so earnest, not blind to the pain but embracing that along with something else. She had her own wings out, their light falling over his wings and the feathers that gathered on the ground like piles of snow.

I love you, he thought, but didn’t say. Everything kept catching in his throat. All the important things, all the time.

“Maybe now would be a good time to go home.” Colette gathered the feathers in her hand, letting the wind take it, toward the direction of the sapling that had grown only so much—but still, it had grown. “If you want.”

Just like before, she was asking him what he wanted to do. With guidance, and with love.

For the first time in a while, Lloyd didn’t feel afraid.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloyd #yuan ka fai #kratos aurion #fanfiction #multi chapter #colloydweek2023

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