#low-key should over throw the commission at this point

[stranger-things-bidisaster]

//class 1-a dorms//

Koda: out of the blue

Why haven’t we overthrown the government yet?

The rest of 1A : why haven’t we??

#my hero academia #class-1a #incorrect mha quotes #koda koji #low-key should over throw the commission at this point #they would too #These people sent children to WAR! #hero commission #bnha incorrect quotes #overthrow the government

[gaerli]

Overthinking and Worrying

[Hawks x GN!Reader]

--SPOILER WARNING--

[Hawks is concerned because Y/N isn't sleeping--]

It has been a while since Hawks stayed up late, as he always sleeps after 2-3 hours after arriving home, leaving you awake by yourself. You didn’t complain honestly, you loved seeing your fiancé sleeping peacefully curling up to you and you especially loved how he has this childish smile of comfort and safety while sleeping when you pet his head gently.

While the winged hero could sleep peacefully, you on the other hand had a hard time catching sleep, and this problem has been occurring for a while, however you did not want to worry him so you kept it to yourself. After all, this isn't the first time you go through this problem before. But how come you cannot sleep? Anxiety and the stress of everything weights on your shoulder during the nights. Overthinking and worrying very much for your fiancé takes its’ toll on you, leaving you with so much adrenaline of stress to be able to catch sleep. And how the media (and even villains) keeps an eye on you and Hawks isn’t helping your case either…however you were able to get a bit of sleep and the sleep deprivation wasn’t very visible on you…

This has been going on for a while, however after recent events and after Hawks told you about what the commission have been planning as he trusts you enough to tell you as he knows you would never utter a single word or be suspicious when someone asks about Hawks, though, let’s say this alone have kept you up at night. You can’t fantom the idea of how in the living heck does the hero commission throw your fiancé out in such a dangerous mission without a second thought. This lack of sleep problem of yours has gotten worse after the war incident and Hawks gotten badly hurt to the point of almost losing his wings and life in the process. 

Obviously the first weeks after Hawks was granted a long long hiatus from hero work to focus on his health was hard on both him and you. He kept waking up in cold sweat, tears and panic in his eyes and out of breath as he kept having nightmares of the fight with Dabi. When you asked him about what exactly went down, he couldn’t bring himself to say it which you respected and told him to tell you when he is ready. You kept being awake the first weeks for his sake, rarely caught sleep as not only your anxiety for his wellbeing is crash up the roof, but also you want to be ready whenever he was about to wake up in panic. This made your sleep deprivation even worse but you made sure to hide it as you wanted him and his wellbeing to be your priority #1.

After few weeks has passed, he has gotten better and he got the help he needed in order to deal with this borderline traumatizing event he went through and you were with him throughout the whole ordeal (he thanked whatever up there to have blessed him with someone like you in his life). However you on the other hand haven’t been able to get any sleep or any rest. And after a while it was nearly impossible to hide the sleep deprivation anymore as it was visible on you. Not to mention the fact that after Hawks managed to calm down from everything he did notice off stuff about you…

…he noticed that you barely have energy to continue with the day but keep pushing yourself as well as he is the first to sleep and last to wake up which proves his theory that you’re not sleeping.

He is concerned because you’re sleeping at all.

Hawks decided to confront you about this as now he is worried about your wellbeing. So while you two were cuddling in the couch, with him laying on your lap while you leaned against the couch cushion, he decided to ask you—

”Dove?”

”Mm?”

”When was the last time you’ve gotten a full 8 hour sleep?”

”…uh”

That question of his caught you off guard. How come he asks about your sleeping habit. This low-key made you nervous as you did not want to worry him with your problems-

”Ahah oh— w-w-well you see honey…I do get enough sle—”

”Don’t lie to me (Y/N), I know you well enough that when you begin to talk like this means you’re hiding something” he replied as he sat up and turned to around to face you, his face expression says it all. He is very concerned

”(Y/N)…dove…talk to me”

For some reason, the way he gently said that and the way he held your hands in his, looking into your eyes with love and care made you breakdown and cry which made the winged hero not hesitate to pull you into his embrace and hold you close. 

”I’m sorry dove…I can guess partly on the reason for the lack of sleep…” he said in a low voice, feeling guilty over the fact he made the love of his life this worry to the point of lack of sleep

”N-No honey, it i-isn’t only because of what happened to you” you managed to say, clutching to his shirt. After that you two didn’t say anything. Just you quietly sobbing onto Hawks chest while he held you close, not bothering hiding the pain he felt for seeing you in such state.

After a bit, you managed to calm down and Hawks handed you napkins to blow your nose while brushed away your tears.

”…during the night…I have a bad habit of overthinking and worrying to the point I can’t sleep” you said while looking down, feeling a bit embarrassed about talking about this as this is the first time in a long time that you actually talk about the sleeping problem.

”How come I did not know about this?” ”Because…I didn’t want to bother you Kei…”

His expression softened and he smiled gently, caressing your cheek affectionately.

”Dove…you would never bother me…I love you and I want to be by your side the same way you are by my side” Hawks said as he leaned to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, which you gladly returned.

”…Kei…I love you”

”I love you too (Y/N)…but we gotta find a way to help you get more sleep”

”B-But how?” You asked, genuinely not knowing how. Hawks thought for a bit until he thought of an idea

”I think I know how… you said you cannot sleep because of anxiety and worrying right?”

”And overthinking…s-sometimes” you said while looking aside a bit flustered

”Overthinking, right. So I wanna know, what exactly are you worrying and overthinking about to the point of not sleeping- is it nightmares?”

”N-no!! I barely get these nowadays b-but” you looked down, a bit too shy to say it out loud, but at this point, Hawks is your fiancé, you two should tell each other everything, including insecurities ’He gotta know…he needs to know…’ you took a deep breath, looking up at Hawks who was waiting for your answer attentively-

”I…feel like I am a huge burden to you…I see what the media is saying about our relationship and I know the villains are still after not only you but me- d-don’t get me wrong I don’t care most of the time!!—” You tried to explain yourself, but then looked down and continued ”—…but…I feel like I am an extra burden to you, I feel like I’m holding you back…I feel like the media and the villains are always keeping an extra eye on you because of me as they think I am your weakpo—” 

”You’re my weakpoint, as in I would do anything to keep you safe and alive!”

”R-Right. B-but yeah anyways” you continued ”I feel like I am holding you back and that I am an extra baggage that you need to deal with as the same time as you deal with your own shit” you sighed, taking a deep breath.

”Not to mention…how much I worry for your well being and how much the hero commission is pushing you beyond your limits and to the extreme…” you looked up at him with worry in your eyes ”Keigo I am worried about you and about your reputation”

Hawks was silent for a moment, taking in everything. He understands it all now.

”I see…(Y/N) I am so sorry I caus—” ”N-No Kei honey it is not your fault!!” You quickly reassured him to which he smiled gently to.

”I love you (Y/N) and I want you to know that you are never holding me back, you are never bothering me and I don’t give two shits about reputation or what the stupid hero commission wants from me. I am so sorry that I keep worry you tho, you don’t deserve to be sleep deprived over me but just you know—” he leaned close so that his forehead touches yours, smiling at you with love and affection in his eyes 

”—that I love you. So much dove, the fact that you worry for me means that you care about me and…just thank you, for everything”

You looked at him with a gentle smile yourself and chuckled a bit. 

”No need to thank me sweetheart. You are my everything”

He leaned to give you a kiss on the lips, filled with love and affection, a kiss worth thousands of words of love.

”Tonight (Y/N)…it is all about you” he said after you two pulled away from the kiss. ”Tonight…let me take care of you”

You smiled, a bit doozy after the kiss. You did not complain or protest against it. After all— when Hawks is being the big spoon and in charge, he knows how to make you feel comfortable and loved, safe and protected, tucked away from the cruel world in the bubble of love.

”Alright…” you said as Hawks stood up, carrying you bridal style up to your shared bedroom—

.

.

.

As you two are laying on the bed, with you laying on Hawks’ chest, his heart-beatings calms you down a lot, however before those thoughts even had the time to creep up into your head, Hawks began softly speak reassuring and loved filled words while gently running his fingers from your neck down to your back before caressing your head. 

”I’ve got you (Y/N)…I’ve got you” he managed to say which made you smile. Oh how lucky you are to have someone as loving as him in your life. However as soon as he began speak about how you two’s future will be after marrying and after creating the family you both want with each other and how much he is looking forward spending the rest of his life with you, you felt a feeling of happiness and joy within your heart. You’ve forgotten to even think of how you both will have your future with each other because of the negative overthinking. This felt so nice to hear and you even imagined how your and Hawks’ kids will look like and how the wedding will be.

Not gonna lie, this lulled you to sleep slowly and surely. You yawned a bit before snuggling closer into his chest with a dorky smile on your face. 

”Thank you Kei…I love you”

And soon, you found yourself drifting to sleep and not long after staring to snore a bit. When Hawks heard you snore a bit (which he adores by the way), a smile plastered on his face and leaned to kiss your head adjusting himself before cuddling you close and drifting to sleep himself.

”Good night dove…the love of my life”

To say you two had the best sleep that night is an understatement and for the first time in so long, you slept properly and long enough as well as—

—this was the best sleep you’ve ever had and it is all thanks to your birdman fiancé.

.

.

.

.

.

AUTHOR NOTE: Hello!! This is my part of the collab with my friends at BNHA Sanctuary (btw, I love you all so much over there, dope ass people 100/10 I would forever protect). 

I also wanna apologize if Hawks is a bit OOC and I wanna apologize for my English and grammar errors as well as the inability to properly express the fic properly, English is not my first or second language and I am still learning it ahaha. *Sweats in Swedish* 

Anyways! Reader is gender-neutral here and I’m gonna try to be as inclusive as I can be. I based the events in this fic loosely on the manga and on what I went through back when I had a very bad case of insomnia, ahaha enjoy!! 

P.S-- please don’t hesitate to tell me how to improve as I am still working on being a better writer. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS ACCEPTED AND ENCOURAGED IN ORDER FOR ME TO PROVIDE BETTER CONTENT AND FICS FOR YOU GUYS!!

#bnhasanctuarycollab #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #hawks #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #reader insert #takami keigo x reader #quenixy talks #scenarios #bnha keigo #mha keigo #bnha keigo takami #bnha hawks #mha keigo takami #reader scenario #mha x reader

[thewatermelloncat]

Blank Canvas

Summary: Five struggles to deal with life in a timeline that he doesn’t think he belongs in. Not wanting to confide in his siblings enjoying their newfound lives, he turns to self-destructive methods.

Warnings: Self harm

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Five was low. Last night he’d slept in his cupboard, the small space enveloping protectively around him. Anything just to make the world around him feel smaller. The wooden floor didn’t bother him, instead it felt familiar after spending nights upon nights on the ground in the apocalypse. The increased darkness didn’t bother him either, it made him feel like he was somewhere else. Somewhere far away, where for the moment nothing mattered, that nothing needed to matter.

The strange thing about it all was that he could spend nights like that then go down stairs to his siblings in the morning like nothing unusual happened. And he wanted to keep it that way. They were so happy having their old lives back in their rightful timeline. Who was he to disturb them with the fact that he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there?

He wasn’t there the first time the timeline rolled around this point. He was out of place, like a game piece put back in the wrong set. Matching some of the other pieces but not meant to be there all the same.

But he couldn’t tell them how he felt about any of it, that would involve a lot of explaining and sharing of things he didn’t want his siblings to know. Both things that he couldn’t be bothered with. And deep down he knew that in the end he was the only person who would understand what he was going through. So, he shut it all in on himself and threw away the key.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He’d been fundamentally invisible all day, going down in the morning for breakfast before retreating to his room where he stared at the walls for hours on end. Though it was doubtful that anyone else noticed, they all had their own stuff to do, and he was sure no one was keeping tabs on him.

Eventually he’d fallen asleep and woke up curled sideways on his bed, shaking. He didn’t have the powers of Klaus to see the dead, but he knew the spirits of the people he killed followed him everywhere. Plaguing him in his sleep even through to the moments when he is awake. Somehow, they never leave his mind.

He knows his job had never been personal and it was what he had to do to get beck to his family, but the memories of killing stayed with him. For the most part the people deserved to die, but the owners of the flower cart and the child minding their own business playing in the park were exceptions. They stuck with him.

The people who screamed and begged for mercy before the life in their eyes faded out stuck with him. After returning from an assignment he would often hear agents bragging about how long they tortured their targets before their bodies gave out, how loudly they screamed, how they pleaded with them. Five always left the room. He may have been the best in the business, but he was the one who hated it the most.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He can’t remember when the scars started appearing on his arms. He thinks one day he had gotten low in the apocalypse and it had happened on accident, moving past something that had split his skin. The pain had made him take his mind off of things but it hadn’t lasted.

Delores was always critical when he began to do it intentionally, pleading and trying to reason with him that they would become infected. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. It didn’t matter either way, the pain was good and there were many more ways he could die quicker than by infection.

It was in his later days in the Commission that he started to stop. He guessed it was the prospect of his final calculations finally settling into place, the fact that he would be able to see his family soon. Or what he refused to admit – that he was becoming acclimatised to the frequent killing of people.

When he’d travelled back through time to his siblings, the scars on his arms rewound leaving blank, smooth skin. A blank canvas. Though the deaths still haunted him, he hadn’t had the time to think about punishing himself with the threat of the apocalypse looming closer and closer. But now with two apocalypses having been averted, he had all the time in the world.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is a knife that he keeps in the draw of his desk. He doesn’t really know why but it sits there under a small stack of books. It had been there since he was a child and he’d never had a thought about using it. Though after waking up to the memories of the child in the park, he brings it out.

Sitting on his bed, both his hands resting on his knees, he hesitates. He knows this isn’t logical and he isn’t afraid to admit to himself that he knows it never has been. But part of him wants to indulge in the old pastime. Just to remember what it feels like.

He’s already punished himself for the child in the park and the owners of the flower cart, and looking down at his unmarked arm he debates whether he really wants to do it again. Then he remembers the conference. The blood dripping from his axe and splattering against the walls and his clothes, marking him as their murderer. He hadn’t punished himself for those.

The fading sunlight shining through his window glints off the knife like it’s trying to hypnotise him into doing something stupid, and he gives in bringing the blade against his forearm.

He inhales at the stinging of his skin. He’d forgotten how satisfying it could be to have some of the pain he inflicted on someone else reflected back at him – no doubt to a much smaller scale, but a reminder of it nonetheless.

Looking down he sees the reddening mark standing out in stark contrast to the fair skin on the rest of his arm. Alike to Öga for Öga written in blood on the pale-tiled floor.

He hadn’t punished himself for Elliot’s death. Unlike the others, he hadn’t caused it but he certainly could have prevented it. Bring the knife back to his arm he blames himself for not having been careful enough.

“Shit!” he whispers out a curse as the blade cuts deeper than he intended for it to. Dropping the knife to the floor a small amount of blood splatters off it onto the wood, camouflaging in with the drops from his arm. With is hand now free he clasps it over the cut.

It isn’t too bad, but it is certainly deeper than intended and he knows he will have to patch it up because the bleeding won’t stop on its own. Luckily, he has a few medical supplies around his room and he gets up to grab them from the box in the cupboard, saving him from wondering through the hallways with a reason he doesn’t want to explain.

Back on his bed he lifts up his hand, ignoring the stick of blood, assessing the damage done. He’s had his fair share of injuries and decides that this one doesn’t need stitches. So, he begins by cleaning up the smeared mess around the wound, wiping the blood off his other hand as well.

With a well-aimed throw, the used cloth lands in the rubbish bin next to the desk, as Luther’s voice rings out from behind his door. “Five, dinner!”

Five bites back a curse at the poor timing but is thankful that his brother doesn’t open the door. “Okay, coming” he calls back hoping that his voice sounds even.

Whether it did or not, he’s relieved when he hears the heavy footsteps fading away. Though he still can’t afford to take much time getting down stairs, or it will raise suspicion.

Quickly he pulls a bandage out of the box and hastily wraps it around his wrist in probably the worst job he’s ever done. Though in fairness, he’s never been this short on time and he can redo it later. After tying it off and tucking the end underneath, he stands from his bed and makes his way down to the kitchen.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s not long into dinner that he feels the bandage beginning to slip around his wrist. Maybe he should have spared another minute to wrap it more efficiently, but it’s too late now. So, he deals with it, resting his arm on the table and turning his wrist up against gravity. No need to hide it away just yet and raise suspicion.

So, dinner continues, seeming to be going fine until Five realises he can feel the bandage soaking through. Now taking the opportunity he shifts his arm under the table to rest it against his leg. Thankful that the dark fabric of his blazer should hide the worst of the staining if it were to bleed completely through.

No matter how careful he was being, he shouldn’t have gotten complacent as he reached up to put his knife and fork on his plate after he’d finished eating.

“Is that blood?” Vanya’s voice startles him.

Five freezes but doesn’t dare look down to asses the damage. Quickly suppressing any expression that he knows what she is referring to he stares at her blankly.

“Five, show me your hand.”

As a play of deception, he raises his unharmed left hand to her.

“The other one” Vanya demands.

Biting the bullet Five raises his right hand above the table. Quickly flicking it back to front and hiding it back under before she can get much of a look at it. By this time the rest of their siblings have abandoned all other conversation and are staring at them intently. He doesn’t dare look at any of them, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Give me your hand, Five. I know what I saw” Vanya lowers her gaze at him, her voice turning into a warning tone.

“I’m fine” he says through loosely gritted teeth, trying his best to suppress his anger. Knowing it would only raise more suspicion like an animal acting out when cornered.

“If it’s fine you should have no problem letting her have a look at it” Diego says.

Five rolls his eyes. Figures that Diego would say something as predictable as that to try and prove he is smarter than he actually is.

He was hoping that his siblings would drop the conversation at his lack of response, though after a painstaking silence he realises they are willing to keep waiting until he says something. “S’just a stupid mistake” he mumbles.

To be fair, he isn’t lying. He hadn’t meant to cut himself that deep, and it had also been outright and inexplicably stupid.

After glancing once at all of his siblings staring at him with varying looks of concern, none of which he wanted, he was hit by the realisation that not only did he not want to be there, but he couldn’t be there. So, he decided he wouldn’t be. There was no way he could deal with this now.

He hits his fist down on the table as he pushes his chair out, for no other reason than as a warning for them all to back off, before making for the door.

“Five, it’s okay. Accidents happen” Luther’s voice calls out to him and he wonders why he didn’t just blink out to avoid this situation.

Nonetheless, the words stop him in his tracks and he swallows convulsively.

“It wasn’t an accident” Klaus says weakly as he realises. Staring at Five with more understanding than sympathy.

“Oh my God!” Allison gasps as it all clicks for her. Clasping a hand to her mouth and pushing her chair away from the table in shock. She’d known Five had been through a lot but somehow it had never crossed her mind that he would use self-harm as an outlet.

“Five?” Luther’s voice sounds strained. “Talk to us.”

Something in Five shifts and he realises that no matter what he does or says now his siblings will look at him differently. His time for keeping secrets is over. They will no longer sit by not being able to understand him, to not know what he had gone through.

For once in his life he wishes he could act like the thirteen-year-old that he looks like, to be able to storm out of the room and hide away. But he isn’t thirteen and he knows he owes his family an explanation.

“I can’t have this conversation now” he begins, “and I’m going to be honest and say that it’s because I don’t know what to tell you because I never planned to have it.”

He swallows deeply as the cracks in his armour open.

“But I understand that there are things that you want to know which I have been keeping from you, and in time I will let you know them. I just can’t tell them all to you at once.”

For a long time Five stands in uncomfortable silence, feeling all eyes on him and a trail of blood running down his hand, curling between his fingers to drop on the floor.

None of his siblings know what to say. Never having heard him be so honest, they don’t know how far they can push him. Somehow, they know that there is really only one thing that they can bring up without Five changing his mind and disappearing.

“How long?” Allison asks smally once she finds her voice again. Her eyes not leaving the slow trail of blood tracing down Five’s hand.

“I don’t know” Five begins, his voice sounding tight with his whole mind telling him not to speak. “Sometime in the apocalypse, I guess. On accident.”

Clear that his brother won’t elaborate any further Luther shifts in his chair before asking the most obvious question in the book. “Why?”

Five sighs shakily, closing his eyes.

There are so many reasons why, but then again is there a reason at all? Does something justify marking your body in such a way if everything is temporary? There are so many answers.

Five can’t pick one and his body turns to leave before his loyalty to his family commands him to stay and he reluctantly turns back.

His siblings can see that the conversation is hard for him, and they shift uncomfortably in their seats wanting more than anything to bring him over to them. Though they know if they move toward him, they’ll spook him and he’ll disappear.

“I take it back, that was badly worded” Luther backtracks before rephrasing. “What makes you think about doing it?”

Five feels a shiver run down his body. Regardless of his family already knowing about his stint as an assassin, he doesn’t want to explain it in more detail just yet and he shakes his head.

“Okay” Luther nods to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain now.”

Five’s shoulders relax a little and he shifts further around to face his siblings directly.

“How often?” Vanya asks, her voice small like she doesn’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t remember… but I stopped nearing the end of my time at the Commission. This is the first time in a while” Five’s siblings seem to relax slightly as he is able to give them more of a detailed answer.

“What can we do?” Allison leans forward in her chair and for a second Five is scared that she’s going to move toward him.

“Nothing” he says. It should have been expected that they would all look at him with varying levels of disparity, but it still irritates him. “Look, I know it’s stupid and I know I shouldn’t do it! But it’s not as simple as that” Five lowers his voice in a sigh, his arms tensing then relaxing at his sides.

“No one said it was simple, buddy” Klaus murmurs quietly.

“I thought I was over it” Five’s voice cracks as a single tear rolls down his cheek and he immediately brushes it away. He sniffs frustratedly as he drops his hand, looking away from everyone. “And I never meant to go that deep… like I said, it was a stupid mistake.”

There is a long silence but this time it isn’t painful. It’s clear that Five isn’t able to handle more interrogation so they decide to shelve it for another day.

“Do you want one of us to have a look at it?” Allison asks.

Five shakes his head.

“But if you said it went deeper than” – Five cuts her off.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t need stitches.”

“Okay” she says quietly as she gives in.

Sensing the conversation drawing to a close Five shuffles impatiently on his feet.

“Just – Five” Vanya calls out to him before he can disappear, breathing out a sigh of relief when he stays. “If you ever get low like that, can you promise that you’ll come to one of us instead.”

Her words take on a tone of pleading and he knows the sentiment is reflected on behalf of everyone. He swallows thickly and looks away, unable to meet their eyes as he tells them, “I can’t.”

#tua #umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves #the boy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #whump

[wyofabdoms]

Ten Days - Day Eight

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, soft and sweet Javi, period appropriate sexism, brief mention of broken Javi

Word Count: 2484

Note: You have a bad day at work and seek out Javi to keep you company.

Read the full series on Ao3

The Friday work day ends early for you and finds you seething as you stomp up the stairs to your apartment carrying two loaded bags, one stuffed with your favorite take out food, the other clinking with multiple bottles of red wine (and one large bottle of whiskey).  

It had been that kind of day.

All you wanted to do was drink yourself into a fuzzy stupor so you could forget the bullshit from today. The second you’re in your apartment, you shuck off your work clothes in the main entryway and pop open a bottle of wine in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and underwear.  As you gulp down the first sharp taste of tart alcohol, you wander to your bedroom.  By the time you’ve washed your face, put your hair up out of your face and changed into comfy shorts and a ratty tshirt, your glass is empty.  It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Saturday because you can tell right now you’re probably going to have a major headache in the morning.  You click on your record player and turn up your favorite Bruce Springsteen album, then snuggle into your couch with your food, another full glass and a trashy romance novel.  A few bites into your meal, though, and your train of thought wanders back to your day and you lose your appetite.

How dare they!  How dare they all.  YOU were the one responsible for that intel.  After the shit you’d had to do to track down that punk bartender and get him to talk...no one even bothered to acknowledge it. Not that you required them to stoke your ego and tell you how great you were, it wasn’t like that at all.  It was when you were passed over despite your hard work and someone else completely undeserving earned the praise that infuriated you. It was always that way (most of the time, anyway).  Every single male colleague you worked with always seemed to overlook the fact that, more often than not, you brought things to investigations that might not normally have happened; that you worked as hard as they did...oftentimes harder.  You had to to be successful in a man’s world. You were damn good at your job.  As cliche as it sounded, you often thought it as your woman’s intuition...an idea that many people scoffed at, but you knew was actually a legitimate and important trait.  But today had been more than just the usual workplace sexism.  Once again you had been overlooked as being an integral part of the team.  It happened so often by now that you were still surprised when it stung so much.  Today you had just felt like breaking.  So you had left work early...not even bothering to clock out or finish your paperwork.  

Fuck them!

You couldn’t stop yourself this time.  Tears began to fall again (Christ, when did you become such a crybaby?!?) and you shoved your face into a throw pillow as you sobbed for several minutes, getting the anger and frustration out of your system.  It was so unfair.  And you knew that if you had been born with a penis and were in the same situation, it would be a different story all together.  You also felt a pang of longing: if Javier hadn’t been sidelined and out of commission, you know he would have had your back today.  He was the one exception to the sexism you experience (most of the time).  It had taken some coaching on your part when you had first become partners; he had made his fair share of blunders that had hurt you and been unfair.  But he had always listened when you had called him on his bullshit, when you had explained how the things he had done or said made you feel, explained how they were not fair solely based on the fact that you were female.  Early on he had acknowledged when he was wrong.  He still occasionally did or said something thoughtless, but he usually was quick to recognize when he was wrong and he had inadvertently become your champion when things like today happened.  Though you hated to admit it, when he spoke up to others on your behalf, it made you feel good...although it also enraged you that a man’s voice pointing out your hard work was heard by the other men in a room rather than them all just recognizing it on their own.  Javi would have stood up for you today if he had been there.

Thinking about your partner reminds you that you should probably check in with him before you get too tanked...you definitely don’t want to interact with him after you’ve had as much wine as you were planning to have...and after you’ve been reading things you know you’ll encounter in your book.

You snatch up the bottle of whiskey, not bothering to hunt down his keys and patter down the hall to his apartment, tap, tap, tapping on his door, enjoying the soft buzz the wine was making you feel on the edges of your thoughts, eager to make sure he was set for the evening so that you could get back your own apartment.

As soon as Javi opened the door you realized immediately that you had made several critical errors despite only being one glass of wine in.  His eyes immediately traveled down your body, taking in your exposed neck; it was unusual for you to wear your hair up like this. They roamed further and assessed your t-shirt with hardly any elastic, the collar hanging low and dipping off one shoulder.  Despite the fact that you swam in the material, it was obvious to his keen eye that you were not wearing a bra beneath it.  You started to shuffle a little as his eyes traveled further and raked down your bare legs, his lips curling into a smirk when he saw your bright yellow, fuzzy socks.  You rolled your eyes at his roaming gaze.  My champion...you thought sarcastically.

“Hey!”  You said loudly, snapping your fingers in front of his face a few times then waving your hand in front of your own face, drawing his eyes away from your exposed legs.  “My eyes are up here, Peña. You don’t need to be lookin’ anywhere else.” He shot you a guilty grin, knowing he was caught and you felt some pressure leave your chest.  After his apology last night and the unspoken sweet moment that followed, you were afraid things might be weird between you.  Thankfully, though, things felt ok...until you see the smile drop from his face and his forehead crease in concern.

“What happened?”  He asks.  You pause, confused by what he means.  Then you realize: you had just been sobbing into a pillow in your apartment...no doubt your face looked as puffy and red as it felt.  You held up the bottle of whisky.

“I got passed over for another commendation today.” Your voice was full of false cheeriness, edged in steel and highlighted with fury.  Javi’s eyebrows came together  “Agent Dickhead got it instead.  Want to have a celebratory shot with me?”  

“Sure,” and he stepped back from the doorway to let you in.

***

Javi was appropriately outraged along with you at the injustice of the entire situation as you sat at his kitchen table.  After inviting you in, he had gotten glasses for you both as well as a bowl of chips and you had poured them each a drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen him glance at you to check that your back was turned and you had watched as he knocked back a pill from the bottle next to the sink, keeping his back to you, and making no mention of it.  One shot had turned to two and you both went back and forth between chuckling and spitting ire over for the incompetence of the man who had wrongfully received the recognition that you deserved.  After your partner poses a particularly explicit hypothetical question regarding “Agent Dickhead’s” relationship with his mother that leaves you clutching your sides in a fit of giggles, he sighs.

“Sorry I wasn’t there.  I know you don’t need me or anything like that, that’s not what I mean, but…” he trails off for a moment and fiddles with his glass on the table before finishing.  “...I just wish I could have said something.  You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.”  You sigh too and lean back in your chair.

“Thanks.  I appreciate you saying that.”  You sit in an amicable silence.  Then you shift in your seat, stretching your legs from where you had tucked them up under you  “I should go.  I don’t want to keep you, I just…” your frustration from the day hits you again like a ton of bricks and in the next instant, to your utter horror you are blubbering into your hands, your shoulders shaking, trying not to sob hysterically in front of what you are sure is your mortified partner.  

You hear his chair scrap across the kitchen tile and you feel more than see him kneeling next to you on the floor.  Before you can react to his closeness, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his solid frame.  You think for a moment that you should pull away...but you just can’t. You breath him in as you lay your head against his chest and cry into his shirt, the soft smell of soap and cigarettes giving you something else to focus on besides your hurt and rage and you feel your tears start to subside just a little.  He buries his face in your hair for just a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh, then he props his chin on top of your head, tightening his arms a little bit more around you.  

You stay like that for a while, his arms cocooned around you, you letting him hold you while you cry yourself out.  He’s told you before there is nothing more terrifying to a man than a woman in tears and you know how uncomfortable it makes him feel.  This isn’t the first time you’ve cried in front of him; it’s happened before on a few occasions, but it has never resulted in anything quite so intimate.  He usually slings an arm around your shoulders or simply sits next to you patiently, waiting until all of your tears are spent.  And then there had been that one terrible, dark time when you had found him curled up in the locker room at work at two in the morning, his head clutched in his hands, shoulders shaking, silently sobbing into the wall.  You had never been so frightened of anything as you had been then, seeing him so broken in front of you. You had held him and the two of you had never spoken of it again save for his grunted thanks the following day.  

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel safe, feel small, feel cared for, even if only for a few moments.  Your breath comes in shallow stutters as your breathing begins to regulate.  Reluctantly, you pull back, sniffling and wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  You touch the wet front of his shirt, chuckling your apologies, embarrassed.  He shakes his head and shrugs in response and you force yourself to look at him.

His eyes are full of something that makes your heart pound.  The longing from previous nights, a reflection of your own hurt, and something that can only be described as adoration.  He brings his hands from around you and frames your face along your jaw, his thumbs carefully tracing the trails your tears have made on your cheeks, wiping away the last of the wet streaks.  

“You ok?”  He gruffs softly, the question reflected in his soft, sweet brown eyes as they search yours.  You can only nod, hypnotized by the incredible tenderness you see in his face.  For all of the resolve you have always had that has kept you from crossing the line with this man, you have never felt so much weakness as you do in this moment.  Every part of your being screams at you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him; to beg him to touch you, to make love to you.  You know if you did he would oblige you.  He would make you forget how hurt you are by work, make you feel like the most special person in the whole wide world, make you splinter apart under his ministrations.  All you had to do was close your eyes and lean forward…

...Before you can convince yourself to act or not, Javi makes the decision for you.  Cradling your head in his hands, he leans forward, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips.  It lacks the heat of the last time your lips touched, but strikes a perfect balance between chaste and lustful, pressing just long enough to be more than a peck, but not so long that either of you get lost in your desires.  He pulls away after a few tender moments, pausing as he does just millimeters from your face, his eyes open and studying you carefully, taking a moment to breathe in the air from your exhalation, his lips hovering over yours.  Your eyes remain closed, though, unable to look at him for fear of wrapping yourself around him and shoving him to the floor to ravish him.  He lowers his head, his forehead brushing your mouth and he lets out a shaky sigh.  He whispers your name as though casting a spell and you open your eyes, staring at his lowered head until he raises it again.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then rocks back onto his heels and pulls himself up to standing, taking you along with him.  You stand a little too close to each other for just a moment, heat crackling across the small space that separates you, your palms flat on his chest, his hands resting on your elbows before they drop to his sides. He takes a small step back and the raw desire you see in him frightens you.

You mumble your thanks for the company and the drink along with an apology for losing your shit on him.  He waves you off, telling you not to worry about it, never breaking eye contact. You swallow hard and blink before saying goodnight and making your way back to your own apartment, your legs suddenly feeling like they’re made of jelly and your heart pounding so hard you’re amazed he doesn’t hear it all the way down the hall.

Day One 

Day Two 

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Nine

#javier peña x reader #javi #javier pena x female reader #narcos

[iam93percentstardust]

Thanks for Watching part 3

Hey everyone! Yesterday, I reached 1000 followers! I’m a little shocked and a little in awe and I certainly never thought I would have this many so thank you for following and listening to my ramblings. I have a couple things planned for this milestone but I don’t have the time to talk about all of them right now, so for now I thought it might be nice to update Thanks for Watching and let our boys finally get together :)

Also on ao3 here

~

Okay, so he’s known Tony for six months now. It’s not super weird that they’re still not dating right? He knows that Tony thinks he’s attractive—he says it in just about every video that Steve’s in now—and he’s pretty sure that Tony likes the him under the hotness too—or at least, Tony makes sure to reassure him of that after every video—and he definitely thinks Tony’s pretty great.

But they’re still not dating.

He knows it frustrates both Bucky and Rhodey, who ask them about it at least once a week. He’s pretty sure it frustrates Tony’s fans too who always squee about them in the comments. He thinks that’s the term Tony uses.

Squee? Squeezes? Squeegy? No, that can’t be right.

Whatever.

They’re always talking about how cute Steve and Tony are in the comments and wondering when they’re going to start dating. But, hey, Steve’s taking his time, okay? They say the best relationships are those built on a good, solid friendship and that’s what he’s building with Tony right now.

He’s not afraid, no matter what Bucky says.

He’s not.

He might be.

A little.

Maybe a little more than a little.

Okay, so maybe he’s terrified. It’s just that the more he gets to know Tony, the more he gets to see what an incredible, bright, vivacious man he is, the less he feels…worthy, maybe. He’s just Steve Rogers. He can barely keep up with whatever Tony’s chattering about and he wears grandpa pants to go out and he only has followers on any of his social media because of Tony’s shout out. What could he have to offer someone like Tony Stark?

He looks up from where he’s working on his latest commission—a portrait of someone’s wife for their twenty-sixth anniversary since that’s apparently the art one—to where Tony is at the other end of the workshop, doing a Q&A. He does them periodically, usually for subscriber milestones but sometimes for other reasons like an anniversary or a birthday or when he gets enough requests for another one.

“Stuckinmicanopy wants to know how Dum-E got his name,” Tony reads off the screen. In the corner, Dum-E perks up at the sound of his name. “You know, that’s a really good question and it’s one that I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about before. So back at MIT, when Rhodey-bear and I were first working on Dum-E’s programming, he was originally named Laundr because he was supposed to be a laundry bot since we didn’t like doing laundry. And who can blame us? Laundry was created by the devil. Anyway, so Dum-E was supposed to be a laundry bot but then he fell down the stairs like three times in a row and we couldn’t get the bug out of his programming so I called him a dummy and the name just stuck. The spelling thing happened because on Dum-E’s first birthday, we showed him Wall-E and he was infatuated.”

Steve, who has been watching Dum-E steadily trundle closer throughout Tony’s speech, warningly says, “Tony.”

Just in time, Tony turns to stop Dum-E from spraying him with the fire extinguisher. “Nothing’s even on fire, you useless bot,” he exclaims. “Go back to your corner. Go. Shoo. Off you go.”

He gives Steve an exaggeratedly confused look. Steve laughs and shrugs. “He must have heard his name,” he says.

“Must’ve,” Tony agrees. “Okay, next question. Ooh new one just popped up from bellesbagels: is Steve there with me? Yes, he is. Steve likes to come do his art stuff in the workshop because his roommate isn’t there and because I got him a really great easel for his birthday earlier this year. I would tilt the camera so you could all see him but he’s working on a surprise commission and he doesn’t want anyone to see it until it’s finished. Maybe if the next person asks really nicely, he’ll get up and come over here so you guys can say hi.”

“I’ll get up and go over there now,” Steve says, He leaves his brush in the mug and heads over to join Tony by the computer. “Hi Tony, hi viewers.” He drops a quick kiss on the top of Tony’s head—even if he’ll never admit it, Tony craves affection—waves to the camera and meanders back to his easel.

Tony leans back in his chair to give him a fond smile before returning to his questions. “So apparently a lot of you want to know if Steve often gives me kisses and the answer is yes. Steve and I are very affectionate with each other, me because I’m naturally an affectionate person and Steve because I think he feels sorry for me that Howard doesn’t like me.”

“Hey,” Steve protests.

“I’m kidding. Steve and I are affectionate with each other because we both like each other very much and toxic masculinity is ridiculous. And seriously, everyone should take a chance to feel up those biceps at least once. They’re ridiculously huge. So since not everyone gets to see Steve like I do everyday, I will take one for the team and give Steve as many hugs as I can to make up for it.”

See, it’s things like that that make him think Tony is interested in dating him. But then he always adds a “just kidding” or doesn’t follow it up with asking Steve out and he’s just hopelessly confused.

“Shaylabee wants to know when Steve’s birthday is so they can send him a present next year.” He shoots Steve a questioning look. Steve thinks about it and then nods. He’s gotten packages from followers before. They always get sent to Stark Tower where they can be vetted. “Because he is All-American Grade-A beef, Steve’s birthday is ironically on the 4th of July. Next question: lovelyjules asks if Steve and I are aware that we keep acting like we’re dating.”

He pauses and Steve looks up from his easel. Over by the computer, Tony is frowning at the question. Steve gets it. He knows how much Tony hates it when people act like they have to be dating because they give each other hugs and compliments.

“I’ll take this one,” he offers, standing up and joining Tony again.

“Steve—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He presses another kiss to the side of Tony’s head. “You get this question a lot. Let me handle it for once.” He looks at the camera and takes a deep breath. “Tony and I would like to remind you about what he just said regarding toxic masculinity. We’re very close friends who express our friendship in a physical way but that doesn’t mean that we have to be dating. Tony isn’t interested in anything like that and I respect his choices.” And then, belatedly so that Tony doesn’t suspect anything. “And I’m not either.”

It comes off as a little lame even to him and he thinks Tony might have gotten suspicious judging by the way he frowns oddly.

But when Steve doesn’t say anything else about it, Tony just goes back to the video and says, “That’s all we’ve got time for today. Thanks for listening to me jabber at you today, I’ll be back with a new Science Bros video next week, and as always, thanks for watching.”

Steve waves as Tony turns off the camera, smiling awkwardly.

“Tony—” he starts to say as soon as the blinking light stops flashing.

“Wait. What do you mean I’m not interested?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, you know, you’re always making jokes—”

“You mean flirting with you?”

“You always tell me that you’re just kidding afterwards!” he exclaims

“Because you always look so uncomfortable!” Tony says. “Are you telling me that you never once minded me hitting on you?”

“Why would I mind? I’ve had a crush on you for months.”

Tony gapes at him. “But you never said anything. You just—you looked at me so I just figured you didn’t feel the same. We could have been dating for months?”

“I—” Something is stirring in Steve’s heart, something that feels a little bit like hope. “Yes?”

Tony breaks out into a huge grin and he throws his arms around Steve, hugging him tight. “Wow, we’re just as idiotic as Rhodey’s been saying we are.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Steve argues.

“No, no, Honeybear is always right.”

“We got here, didn’t we?” he points out. “Last I heard, Rhodey was betting on us never getting our shit together.”

Tony laughs brightly, nuzzling deeper into Steve’s chest as he does. Slowly, Steve puts his own arms around Tony. They’ve hugged before, many times really, but this feels…different, momentous even.

“Hey, Tony?” he asks hesitantly, wondering if he’s allowed to do this now.

Tony hums happily.

“Can I—may I, I mean—kiss you?”

His answer is to slide his hands up Steve’s chest, hook around his neck, and pull him down for the softest, gentlest kiss Steve thinks he’s ever had. His own hands slide down to fit around Tony’s waist, bringing him up close as he opens his mouth on a content sigh.

Tony pulls away but doesn’t go far, instead resting his forehead against Steve’s. “That was nice,” he whispers.

“Mmhmm,” Steve agrees. “You want to go out with me tonight? Something low key, maybe?”

“Burgers and milkshakes?”

“Share the milkshake?”

“Would we do any less?” Tony asks, mock-indignantly.

Steve chuckles and kisses Tony again, letting his lips linger. He’s allowed to do this, he gets to have this, have Tony. They’re going to be the disgustingly cute couple driving Bucky and Rhodey crazy, he just knows it.

“No,” he says. “Probably not.”

#stevetony #1000 followers celebration #alle writes #if you like please consider reblogging #verse: thanks for watching

[backtothestart02]

If Only She Knew - 8/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: And so it continues...

Commissioned by @shalanda83

...

Chapter 8 -

Shivering from how low the temperatures had dipped during the night, Barry finally roused himself from half-successful sleep, only to find Joe staring at him through the window when he finally sat up all the way.

Barry’s eyes widened in panic.

“What are you doing sleeping in the car?”

Barry gulped.

“Iris and I had a fight,” he confessed, swearing to himself he wouldn’t specify on what.

“She made you sleep out here?” His voice rose slightly. “I told you guys it would get cold on the trip at night.”

Barry opened his mouth to defend her when a weak sounding, “Barry?” was heard from the tent closest to them. The bigger tent, where he and Iris were supposed to have spent their nights.

Both Joe and Barry looked over to the tent, and then back at each other.

“He’s over here, honey,” Joe called to his daughter.

Neither of them paid any attention when the zipper was pulled down and the flap to the tent opened. Iris’ head poked out, and her eyes widened in horror.

“He slept in the car? But, why?” She stumbled out of the tent and hurried over.

“Said you two had a fight,” Joe said suspiciously.

Iris’ jaw dropped. She looked to a downcast Barry and her judgy father back and forth a few times before sputtering out, “I didn’t kick him out, Dad. I swear I didn’t.”

“Is that true, Barry?” Joe asked.

Iris’ eyes narrowed and darted to Barry again, who sighed heavily.

“Look, can we just stop with the third degree? I did it on my own, alright?”

He scooted across the seat, then opened the door and miraculously pushed past both Wests who were standing there.

“I made her cry,” he blurted.

Iris gasped.

“What?” Joe demanded.

“Daddy, we don’t need to go into the details.” She urged, tugging on his sleeve. “Really, we don’t.”

But Joe didn’t listen.

“What did you make my daughter cry for?” His voice rose.

The panic on Iris’ face was clear, but Barry was too mad to bother paying attention to it.

“I’m going on a bike ride,” he announced, heading for the bikes leaning against a tree.

“The hell you are,” Joe growled.

“You can’t, Barry!” Iris cried.

“Oh, yes, I can,” Barry muttered.

“Your cuts are still healing,” she tried desperately. “You’ll just open them up again by bending your knees.”

“At least you won’t have to see my face.”

Joe softened, starting to understand that there was more going on here than he was obviously aware of. That and the fact that he couldn’t remember a single time Barry had deliberately tried to make his daughter cry by being mean to her.

He sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose when Barry couldn’t get his bike free because the chain surrounding the bikes had a lock, and only Joe had the key. Barry kept shaking the chain but to no avail.

“Bear, just…stop.”

Reluctantly, Barry stopped.

“Just…sit down. Eat some breakfast.” He ran his hand over his face. “I’ll warm up the sausage.”

Joe got a fire going, and Barry sat down in his chair that was as frigid as the outside air. The fire helped though, and in no time at least the front of him was warmed up.

Iris came and sat in her chair beside him, but not before throwing one of his extra-large sweatshirts at him to put on. It had been inside the tent, so it wasn’t cold like what was in the car.

“You’re an idiot, Barry Allen,” Iris muttered. “I never told you to leave the fucking tent.”

“Hey!” Joe pointed a spatula at his daughter. “Language.”

Iris looked down. Barry said nothing. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He didn’t care about his cuts. If they opened again, maybe he’d fall off the bike and a stranger would find him and take him to the hospital, and he’d be even farther away from Iris West and her feelings, and his inability to do nothing about them because she wouldn’t let him speak.

After a few more minutes, Joe presented them with some fruity cereal and hot sausages. He brought out some juice and utensils, and in silence the three began to eat. When they’d finished and thrown their paper plates and bowls away, Barry broached the subject again.

“Joe, can I please have the key to the bikes?”

Joe sighed. “Son, Iris is right. It’ll only open up your cuts. If we let them heal over the next day or two, you might be able to do some hiking and biking on our last day here.”

Barry’s jaw dropped.

“So what am I supposed to do all day? Lay in a hammock like you?”

Joe gave him a warning stare, and Barry shut his mouth.

“You could go down to the beach to lay down, get a tan, drink some soda…”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Why?”

“Too many…bad memories.”

He knew that one would hurt Iris, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to get away from these two and their interrogations so bad he could scream.

Still, when she turned to look at him, dangerously close to tearing up, he couldn’t help but feel he had to fix things.

“The cuts, Iris. It’s where I got the cuts.”

She swallowed and nodded, looking back into the fire.

Joe was exhausted just looking at them.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but you need to fix it. Talk it out, do whatever you need to do. This is supposed to be a fun, family vacation. We’re not going to spend it with the two of you moping around and avoiding each other because something happened you don’t want to talk about.”

He stood up.

“You don’t have to tell me, but you have to talk it through. You live together. This can’t go on forever.”

He turned and walked away towards his tent. When he came out he had a bundle of clothes in his arms and a small bag.

“I’m going to go take a shower. When I come back, I want a plan for the day and everything fixed. Got it?”

Iris and Barry nodded simultaneously.

“Got it,” they said.

Joe shook his head and took off down the road toward the restrooms.

…

Silence lingered for the longest time. Barry could feel Iris getting restless beside him. Any second now she would burst something. He had to do it first. He would be calmer than her.

“Do you think Joe has the bike key on him?”

About to explode, Iris was blindsided by the simple question.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Probably. Especially since he knows you want it.”

Barry slouched in his chair.

“Yeah, probably.”

A few more seconds passed.

“I didn’t mean for Joe to find me in the car, Iris. I should’ve gotten up and taken a walk before he even got up. Then this whole thing never would’ve happened.”

“Why did you even go?” Her voice cracked. “I never told you to. I didn’t want you to.”

He sighed. “I couldn’t sleep. And I couldn’t get your crying out of my head. It killed me that they were my fault.”

“They weren’t your fault,” she muttered. “You can’t choose who you fall for. So you didn’t fall for me, that’s not on you. I’m just…a girl.” She huffed. “I have hormones. Sometimes hormones make you cry. That’s all that happened.”

Yeah, I have hormones too. They’re telling me you’re all wrong about me, if you would just let me talk.

“Iris-”

“No, I don’t want to get into it again.”

Of course not.

He was annoyed, but one look into her dark, pleading eyes, and he knew he’d do exactly what she said, whatever she wanted, no matter what it was.

“Please.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Look, I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. We’ve been friends for years, and we live together. We can’t just suddenly not be friends. I’d die, Barry. I’m sure of it.”

He would too.

“So what do you suggest we do then? I don’t know how to get…unstuck.”

“Well, I won’t be crying anymore, that’s for sure.”

“Iris-”

“And you won’t be sleeping in the car.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Obviously, we won’t go hiking on Friday.”

He felt anger stir in him again.

“Yes, we will. I’ll be healed by then.”

“Barry-”

“Iris, I want to. It’s something you want, so I want it too. Please don’t…push me away because of what happened yesterday. Okay?”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay.”

She smiled tremulously, and Barry felt those cursed butterflies start to move inside of him again. That smile of hers always did that to him. Always.

“So…friends?” she asked, offering her hand to him to shake.

He imagined himself kissing her hand or intertwining their fingers, but that wouldn’t make sense now. It might not ever thanks to him.

He stretched out his hand and shook hers instead.

“Friends.” He smiled.

She giggled a little, and that really threw him for a loop.

God, he was so in love with her.

“So! Now that we’ve made up, what should we do today?” she asked, looking at him intently.

He shook his head.

“I have no idea. These dumb cuts prevent me from doing anything fun.”

“You could read a book,” she offered.

“Didn’t bring one.”

“You could journal.”

He gave her a look. “I don’t really journal, Iris.”

Which was a flat-out lie. But all his journals preached about his love for her, so he couldn’t let her know he had them to begin with. She might go snooping.

Iris blew some hair out of her face.

“All right, well… you think of something then.” He opened his mouth to speak. “Something besides biking.”

He buzzed his mouth and sank back into his chair.

“I could nap in the tent. Or in a hammock. Or on the beach.”

“I could bury you in the sand.”

He shook his head. “The sand could easily get under my band-aids. That would irritate the cuts for sure.”

“You could bury me in the sand?”

He shook his head again. “I’d have to get down on my hands and knees.”

She exhaled loudly. “Well then what?”

He shrugged.

“I’ve got an idea,” Joe said, walking back into the campsite.

“Dad!”

“You two make up?”

Barry and Iris looked at each other, and then at him. They nodded.

“Then I have an idea,” he said, grinning.

“Well, what is it?” Iris finally asked.

“Road trip.”

Barry groaned. “Joe, we just had a road trip. Getting here.”

“Relax, Bear, this won’t be a long one. Half an hour tops.”

“Okay, so where are we going?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Iris added.

“Hope Town Mountain.”

Iris’ eyes widened with delight.

“Oh, dad, that’s a great idea!” She lunged up to hug him, and he laughed. “They’ve got boating and swings and swimming pools and restaurants and places just to hang out! Plus, it overlooks some gorgeous high hills surrounding a lake. Oh, Barry, aren’t you excited? Isn’t it perfect?”

She was so happy he couldn’t bring himself to say no. So, of course he said, “Yes. It’s perfect.”

Joe and Barry shared a knowing look but quickly looked away before Iris could notice.

“Well, let’s clean up a bit here, you two get dressed, and we’ll get in the car. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Barry’s smile suddenly slipped. The car.

He made an enormous effort not to groan.

The car. The car!

Iris might have put the kiss behind her and thrown all possibilities of talking about it to the way side, but that didn’t mean she could control her involuntary behavior. She would likely still scoot very close to him, still wrap his arm around her, still hold his hand.

God, he would not survive this ride. He would not.

“It’s only half an hour, silly,” Iris said, when she noticed his smile wasn’t quite what it used to be.

“Right.” He smiled again, but it was strained.

Iris rolled her eyes.

“I know you too well, Barry Allen.”

He laughed, though more at himself, because in this case she didn’t.

She really didn’t.

...

*will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #if only she knew #chapter 8 #teen wa au

[loveislattes]

Patience Is Key (Darkiplier/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt:  Reader only knows that sex is pain, so Dark shows her otherwise...?

Caution! This story does contain mentions of past borderline-abusive relationship and there is one scene that slightly delves into the situation, but it never goes further than pushing and forced kissing.

This chapter is SFW other than some cursing. The next chapter will be the oh so lovely smutty bit. ^^ Chapter 2 will be out next week! 

“Ah, damn it!” 

The curse left my lips the second I finally registered that I had dropped the extremely large box of pots and pans on my toe, and not on the flat floor as intended. Jerking back, I fell into the rickety wooden chair behind me and pulled my injured foot up into my lap with a wince.

“Why am I such a fucking klutz?!” I wheezed through the pulses of pain. 

It took a few minutes of babying my poor toe but eventually, I managed to soothe away the pain and get back onto my feet. Why was it that toe injuries always felt so much worse than other injuries? As I debated that question, as well as the existential existence of pain at all, I got moving about the sparse kitchen once more. The boxes weren’t going to empty themselves after all and I only had the two days until I started my new job to get it all done. 

“Lord knows if I had to take one more extra day off, it’d be the end of the world,” I muttered under my breath.

Working retail had to be one of the worst career choices in the world. Sadly, it was all I could find for the time being and this new house mortgage, low as it was, wouldn’t pay itself; Not to mention that my savings were meager at best and wouldn’t last long if I had to rely on them, thanks to my problematic ex. 

This house was a blessing in disguise and I definitely couldn’t afford to lose it. A beautiful victorian-style two-story home at only four hundred fifty a month, with no real damage other than cosmetic updates needed? Yeah. It was practically impossible. My first thought was that it had a sordid past, whether drug crime or murder related, but that didn’t seem to be the case thankfully. The owners had inherited it and we’re willing to sell it for a steal just to get rid of it so they didn’t have to pay taxes and insurance. Their loss, my gain, apparently. 

I had gotten so lost in my thoughts about work and the house that I was done moving the last of the boxes before too long. Score one for daydreaming! 

I set about organizing my cabinets next, emptying the boxes one by one until they were all barren and tossed to the back of the room.

“That’s a problem for future-me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair with a huff, “I guess dinner is next on the list. Never a better time to find out what take out they have around here!”

I meandered into the living room and plopped down on the worn couch, pulling my laptop into my lap. While waiting for the screen to wake up, I grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and turned it on as well, needing the background noise with how silent the old home was. I’d definitely have to keep an eye on that or else I’d find myself creeped out even without anything happening. A random cartoon filled the large screen and jaunty music spilled from the speakers as the characters conversed. Shrugging, I tossed the remote back down on the table and returned to my laptop.

After logging in, a quick google search led me to a page full of restaurants both familiar and new to me. Moving to a big city definitely had its perks! 

“Now the question is which one,” I sighed. 

It took a few minutes of debating but I finally settled on ordering from a highly rated Chinese restaurant across town. I was promised my food in about twenty-five minutes and a delivery tracker popped up on the screen right after.

“That’s nifty!”

Setting the laptop back onto the table with the dimmed screen facing my direction, I let myself be pulled into the ridiculous antics of the cartoon characters on TV until a commercial came on. My eyes instinctively drifted over to the laptop to check on the tracker. The red line was about halfway across, indicating they would be leaving the store soon. Nice! Unfortunately, I also caught my reflection on the screen and couldn’t help but take a moment to fix my hair out of reflex. As I adjusted my top to look less wrinkled, I suddenly noticed a black shape in the background, near what would be the corner of the room behind the couch. I froze, heart pounding in my throat as my eyes widened.

“No way,” I whispered. 

Leaning in closer, I focused on the shadow. Too afraid to actually turn around and look, I hoped I could debunk it from this angle alone. I was just about convinced it was actually a part of the LCD going out in that one spot- when suddenly it moved!

“FUCK!”

An uncontrollable screech left my lips as I leaped up from the couch. Spinning to face the shadow, I reflexively snagged up the throw pillow on the couch and tossed it full force in that direction while trying to move away. Unfortunately, I forgot exactly where I was standing in the new layout and the fact that the table was behind me. I was reminded painfully of that fact as my calf muscle slammed hard into the solid wood and I went careening backward. I frantically tried to catch myself but only succeeded in slamming my elbow into the edge of the table and whacking my fingers against the floor in a way that made me see stars.  

Tears pricked behind my eyelids as I hissed through the urge to cry. I was about to lie in a puddle of agonizing defeat until I remembered the whole reason I fell. With a curse, I rolled over to my hands and knees, panting as I looked toward the offending part of the room. There was nothing there. No shadow and no reason I should have ever seen one there; no coat rack, no bookshelf, nothing. Just a bare wall. 

“What the hell was that?!” I groaned.

Now that there was no impending, visible, threat, I spent a good few minutes taking all my injuries into account. Sore calf, elbow, and fingers. Bruises were likely in each spot, unfortunately. Thankfully it didn’t get any worse than that. With my luck, I was surprised I didn’t crack my head open on the floor instead. It was with a heavy, defeated sigh, that I succumbed to the need to lay flat on the floor and catch my breath. 

“I’m losing it. That has to be it. All the stress of the move and being alone just got to me,” I assured myself quietly. 

I wasn’t sure how long I wallowed there in self-pity, but it couldn’t have been as long as it felt because I was soon roused by the sound of someone knocking at the door.

“Foooood!” 

Collecting my fallen pride and battle wounds, I scrambled up off the floor and rushed to the front door, snagging my wallet from my purse on the way. The delivery driver was nice enough and we made small talk as we exchanged food and money. I thanked him after he mentioned their loyalty program then shut the door before hesitantly making my way back into the living room. As I scanned the rather empty space, I was relieved to find it just as it was before; no shadows in sight. 

“I’m probably gonna have nightmares from that shit too,” I muttered, plopping onto the couch and popping open the box.

With a little shake of my head to clear my thoughts, I returned to the show and let the thoughts from the day slowly melt away with every mouth full of delicious food. 

…

It took two months of living in the new house to finally feel more at home. Most everything was put away and decorations filled the walls, warming up the once empty and creepy place. I no longer felt like an uncomfortably unwelcome stranger. The thought of that shadow did, unfortunately, still linger in the back of my mind every night though. I’d be fine all day until it was nighttime and dark in the house. Once the sun was down, it was like my gorgeous home was a totally different place. I didn’t see that moving shadow anymore, but I swore I saw things out of the corner of my eye and it constantly felt like I wasn’t alone. 

One particularly rough night left me searching the entire house for hidden cameras and trapped doors because I could have sworn I was being watched. Of course, I found nothing of the sort, but it didn’t lessen the fear by much. I even started making myself go to bed earlier than usual just to avoid being alone with my paranoid thoughts. Something had to give before I went crazy! 

I was even to the point of considering making new friends; Something to break up the monotony and constant feeling of being alone. Maybe inviting another person into the house would make the eerie feeling go away? One could hope! I wasn’t in the habit of bringing home people, due to my ex, but it was getting to the point where it might be necessary. A person could only take so much alone time!

A rapid knocking on my door tore me out of my lonely thoughts and back to reality with a jolt.

“Who could that be?” I muttered under my breath.

I hadn’t ordered any food and I was pretty sure I hadn’t ordered anything off Amazon recently. Uncurling from my nest of blankets, I hastened to the front door when the visitor knocked again. Impatient buggers weren’t they?

“I’m coming!”

Without thinking to check the peephole first, I pulled the door open and instantly recognized the horrible mistake I had made. I tried slamming the door shut before he could enter but already I was too weak with fear; simply seeing his menacing face leaving me powerless. He was easily able to catch the wood and shove his way in as if I weren’t even there. 

“Heeeey baby.”

I wasn’t even given a breath’s moment to respond. Instantly his hands were on my shoulders and I was slammed into the wall. Pain exploded through my skull and my knees weakened dangerously as I struggled through frustration and fear. 

“You thought ya could just move away and I wouldn’t find ya, baby? Ya outta know better’n that.”

The familiar sensation of bile rose in my throat when his lips smacked against mine. It took all of my resolves to hold it down. It would only add insult to my injury because he wouldn't give a damn and I’d be left worse for wear.

“Aw, come on. Play nice with me, won’t cha? It’s been far too long since I’ve seen ya.”

All I could manage was a timid shake of my head.

Fuck, it was like this any time he was around! Just being in his presence made the littlest of movements hard, like my body just instinctively gave up to avoid more trouble even though my heart told me to fight. If I could fight back, he’d probably back off after a while but I just couldn’t. Flashes of the times he tried to force himself on me, drunk and belligerent, held me back from it. Giving in was just easier, safer, in the long run.

I felt the numbing sensation of acceptance slide through my muscles when his mouth pressed on mine again. Disgust and hatred bubbled in my gut; not only for him but also for myself. So weak, pathetic.

Out of nowhere, the deafening sound of doors slamming rang through the air, causing us both to jump apart. With a Yelp, I clapped my hands over my ears to block out the painful noise as I looked around in shock for the source. To my utter disbelief, I found the cause to my cabinet doors, opening and shutting at breakneck speed. It only lasted for about half a minute before suddenly they stopped, just as abruptly as they had started. My astonishment was cut short by a cry from across the room. 

Having abandoned his pursuit, my ex now stood frozen near the door, ashen white and shaking. Upon closer inspection, I thought I could see a faint shadow around his throat but my line of vision was disrupted when he turned and rocketed out the door. Once the entryway was clear, the door shut calmly behind him. 

It was deadly quiet in the aftermath of whatever the hell happened. The sounds of my heavy breath were the only noises in the air. Scared, but thankful, I hesitantly surveyed the kitchen and the living room for any sign of what had caused the disruption. There was nothing, of course. Not even a hint of the shadow I had spotted months ago. 

Letting out a nervous sigh, I ran a hand through my hair and said, “Thank you… whoever you are."

I didn’t wait for a response before high tailing it to my room and diving under my fluffy comforter, torn between calling my mom or crying until I fell asleep. My body made the decision for me before I could contemplate it for long, shutting down and passing out quicker than anticipated. 

When I woke, it was dark in the room. The radio clock beside my bed read an irritating one thirty am. Despite having slept for six hours, I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink; nightmares resounding in my head like sirens the entire time. 

Rather than trying to force myself back to sleep, I slipped out of the bed, determined to get some hot tea or cocoa to help soothe my inner demons. Unfortunately, I spotted my reflection in my vanity mirror on the way by and I felt compelled to stop. My usually glowing skin looked pallor and lifeless and the bags under my eyes gave the same sentiment.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, pulling at my bedhead locks in frustration, “I’m not gonna recover from this.”

My outside reflection was only a sliver of the mess that was inside my mind though. And I knew I would get over it in the long run but it always felt so impossible at the start. I just had to turn the sadness into anger. My thoughts were derailed by the sudden feeling of eyes on my back; That familiar itching sensation of being watched sending shivers down my spine. I didn’t see anything in the room around me but when I finally turned back to the mirror I spotted it; an eerily familiar shadow. It was only moments before there was a man suddenly standing behind me in the reflection. 

Although my mouth moved, trying to scream or make any sort of sound, nothing would come out. Scads of questions bombarded my already frazzled sense of sanity as I tried to scream until eventually a worrying sense of calm washed over me in place of the stilted panic.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured me as if reading my mind.

The low timbre of his voice made the rational part of my brain melt but the way it reverberated around the room sent my hairs standing on end. My body instinctively went stiff and still as his arms reached around my sides. Cool fingers rested on my forearms and slowly rubbed the goosebumps away in a soothing manner while he stepped closer. I could hardly meet his eyes in the reflection without feeling as if I were staring a predator head-on.

“How did you get in here?” I finally managed to ask. 

An absolutely devastatingly handsome smirk curled up his lips before he flashed large, sharp, pearly whites down at me. 

Oooh fuck, those were some pointy fangs. 

“I’ve been here the entire time, darling. You’re the one who barged in rather abruptly when you decided to move in.”

I began to question my sanity once more as his form slowly lost color and brightness in the mirror, becoming a barely distinguishable shadow behind me. Though his touch on my skin never diminished, to the eye he was nearly invisible. Just as gradually, he filtered back into view. 

His reasoning was lost to me as I tried to figure out just what was going on until eventually, it clicked.

“You’re the mother fucking shadow that has been driving me insane, aren’t you?!” I shouted, jerking out of his reach and spinning to face him, “Just how in the hell did you do that? Why have you been scaring me? What-”

His hand came up swiftly and I froze immediately, only able to watch as he cupped my jaw. A whimper reflexively slipped out as his thumb pressed against my lips. 

“To answer your questions in order: Yes, I am. Shifting is just one of my many abilities. I have not meant to scare you, well, not these last few weeks anyhow. I’ve become- let’s call it- fascinated. Most would have left by now and yet here you stand, heels dug in like a stubborn mule. You’re intriguing.”

The moment he released his hold, I found myself asking, “What are you?”

“What do you think I am?” he retorted, stepping back and slipping his hands into his pockets.

I simply shrugged. How should I know? Before now, I didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but now I was questioning that stance.  

“A demon? A ghost?” I replied.

He hummed momentarily before cocking his head to the side, eyes narrowing as they burned into mine. 

“Does that scare you?”

So many freaking questions! I scrubbed a hand over my face wearily before slapping my palms against my thighs and mentally admitting defeat.

“Unless you’re going to kill me, no. You were terrifying in that shadow form but now that I’ve seen you face to face, I’m not so scared. Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for you but it’s also comforting to see that you’re not some decayed-looking ghost who is going to warp my face by looking me in the eyes,” I hesitated as another realization hit me hard then carefully added, “Not to mention, I’m pretty sure you’re what saved my ass earlier… right?”

There was a flurry of emotions across his face as his brows knitted together before he seemed to relax some and amusement showed at last. 

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

I shrugged in response before finally slipping past him to sit on the bed, the shakiness of my legs becoming too much to bear. I could put on a brave face but my body could give way any second. I had been through too much in the last twenty-four hours. Once seated and more comfortable, I met his gaze again. 

“Am I right? Were you the one that scared him away?”

He hummed and tilted his head once in a positive indication before adding, “Luckily for him, he’s as cowardly and self-concerned as most of you humans. Had that not have worked, I would have been forced to take further measures.”

The way his echo deepened and his fangs flashed in an animalistic snarl sent more goosebumps up my arms and neck. Fucking hell. My emotions were having a hard time keeping up through it all; enamored by his good looks, terrified by his powerful aura, curious about his existence. He was, simply put, overwhelming. 

If it wasn’t for his discoloration, echoing voice, and the fangs, he’d seem like any ordinary human. A very attractive human at that… I had to stop that train of thought right there! I’d be just like me and my horrible taste in men to get a crush on the ghost- demon- thing.

“So, um, you said you were here before me. Are you stuck here, like a ghost or something?” I managed to ask while rubbing my goosebumps away. 

“No. This is merely a residence of convenience. Your closet holds a portal to my realm and it’s the simplest way in and out for me. I choose to stay here when I must remain in the human world for any amount of time. You’re the first person to live here in decades.”

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest in bewilderment when he suddenly moved towards the bed at an inhuman speed. A reflexive flinch had me jerking away when he reached out for me but he was quicker, hand snagging my chin to keep my gaze solely on him.

“Your turn to answer a question for me,” he stated without giving any room for argument, “Who was that man from before, and what is his concern with you?”

Eyeing him warily, I chewed on my lip then answered honestly, “My ex. I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily concerned about me. More so he’s concerned about losing his control over me. He was borderline obsessive and abusive.”

“Do you foresee him being a problem in the future?”

That was a hell of a question. Would he be back? I didn’t even really consider that after how fast he’d run away before but it was always a possibility.

“I honestly don’t know. I guess I should invest in some ADT or something, huh?” I half-assed joked, forcing on a weak smile.

The flat line of his lips told me that he didn’t find my statement as funny as I did. However he did, at last, relinquish his hold on me. 

“I will not stand for a brain dead ape damaging my property. If he comes back, he will be taken care of once and for all.”

Some little devious part of my mind dared to question if he was actually talking about the house, or if he was subtly making a claim over me. The domineering air around him made it seem like a slight possibility. I felt the heat flare over my cheeks before I could stop it and quickly wrapped my arms around my chest defensively before sinking back further onto the bed.

As if a private moment were suddenly disrupted, he cleared his throat loudly and stepped back while adjusting his suit jacket.

“I need to be going. It was nice to officially meet you. If it sits well with you, I will be more prominent around the house since I no longer need to avoid you.”

I nodded and awkwardly replied, “Yeah, er, that’s fine. I mean, it’s more your home than mine anyway, right?”

He made a noise of agreement then turned toward the closet, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. There was an indescribable expression on his face when he turned back; the whites of his eyes darker than before. 

A smirk that could only be read as cruel crossed his lips and he said, “You may call me Dark. If he comes back when I’m not here, simply ask for me and I’ll be here.”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier fanfiction #two part post #angst #fluff #smut

[dememarquette]

True Crime

They parked outside a cottage. Portend Point was a gorgeous neighborhood. Occupying it, 1305 Parkview was an equally picturesque property. It had everything one could want from a gentrified postcard: a manicured lawn, a white picket fence, friendly neighborhood dogs excited to see you but not too excited. A sign advertised this slice of warm American pie could be yours. FOR SALE it said, smacked across an unfortunate realtor's forehead. Kevin Locklear had a new golf cart staked on this commission. In his desperation, which reeked as bad as the scene, he ducked below the police tape to plant an optimistic 'Open House Resumes Wednesday!' picket. Adria would take personal pleasure in throwing it in the garbage.

"Jean and Sidney Morin," She briefed, as Ian punched in the door code. "They're from New Gisen, reported missing 72 hours ago. Gas station footage has the suspect grabbing Jean at the Circle K. Sidney was seen by traffic cams in hot pursuit, but we have nothing after the first intersection. Men are checking doorbell cameras along the street. So far, nothing." The stolen car in the driveway was similarly combed through. Every stray hair inside was documented. There wasn't much left that wasn't bagged, tagged and sent off to the lab, but Ian liked one last intimate walk-through before tossing the keys to clean-up. If he was absorbing one word of what Adria was saying, it didn't show. Her partner worked like a TNT detective. Adria pictured the world bottoming out around him. He'd suffer 50 consecutive epiphanies after looking at something stupid like a tipped ketchup bottle, and construct a convoluted MO from there, but that's not how she worked. If reading the block text helped, murder's hooked on phonics, by God she'd do it. "Neighbors didn't hear anything. We have no idea where the struggle took place, if there was one. Judging from the looks of this place-" "It wasn't here." He said, tuning in only for silent confirmation. She nodded, and he killed the lights. His UV swept over the walls. The inside had the aesthetically-pleasing insipidity of a gourmet cracker. It had been sanitized for a showing, but according to the carpet, the perp wasn't admiring the crown modeling. A modest drip-trail led straight from the front door to the basement, and there wasn't a petal out of place before it. After a quick scan of the rooms composing the ground floor, Ian got his fill of Ashley HomeStore's heritage collection. To the basement they went. Each wood plank creaked under their feet. The floor consisted of a flat slab of water-stained cement. The space was fashioned into a man-cave. Shelves were bolted to the walls. All the sofas were leather. Posters on the wall were swapped for something more palatable, flanking an entertainment system that was to be marveled. In a move that didn't appear to serve any purpose toward the room's breathability, all the furniture was shoved to the side to clear the center. A single bulb hung by chain overhead. Energy funneled through a copper wire made it hum. Evidence photos never did it justice. The victims were strung together by a lawn hose. A single cloth gag- maybe a sheet- knocked their heads together, pulled taut at the pocket of their jaws. Their height difference forced Jean's face heavenward. The whites of her eyes were visible from the top, but you had to be at the bottom to see the shadow she sat in was actually a pattern. Their blood leaked into a paste-like outline, seeping color into the circle etched into it. Where the natural tug of gravity didn't fill the trenches, the killer dropped to their knees and started fingerprinting, casting away any macabre elegance it formerly had. Their hands scraped to fill the pattern all until it got to the bottom of the arc. Ian read her mind. "They were interrupted." "By what?" She asked. His mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn't have an answer. Instead he completed his circuit before dropping closer to the gag. Adria knelt beside him, her boots toeing the edge where the brushwork tapered. Fingerprints- fragmented and smeared- were shipped off to IAFIS. Problem was, when the suspect hadn't indulged in some casual DUI, she needed something to match it to. She sized her hand up against theirs, while the deceased husband stared on. Adria avoided eye contact. Violent crime wasn't anything new. She's seen her fair share since moving to the city, but never a throat cut this deeply. Sidney had been nearly decapitated. Skin folded off his Adam's apple like a bow-tie. Stringy matter underneath was on full display. "What about the design? Does that mean anything to you?" "The team is working on tracking it. So far they're thinking it’s some type of online cult." "And that?" She tipped her head to the bowls skirting the outline. Ian grabbed one, sifting through it with a finger. Its contents stuck to the latex, white. "Cinnamon, and salt. The last one's pyrite. Offerings." "Then what were they?" "Bait." The moment he said it the lights died. Ian shot up. Adria pulsed to follow, but her balance teetered. Neither were near a switch. "Who else is here?" "No one." The bowl Ian was holding warbled a low note, spinning where he’d been. He shouted from the foot of the stairs. "Has to be the breaker. Don't move." "What?" "Don't move." "Wh- I'm not going to touch anything!" Adria lurched on steel-toes. Offense had her fumbling with her flashlight. Sure. Okay. Fine. So in the past she hasn't been the most careful. Maybe she's stomped through one or two crime scenes. But never when it mattered! So it's not like she'd- Something blew past her ear.  With a graceless shriek, she made it a third. "God DAMN it!" Coagulated blood gunked to her jeans. She fell onto her back, swearing and curling to assess the damage. Ian would take one look at her and scowl. He'll do that smoldering, glower thing of his that she only liked when it was directed to other people. And then she'll have to go home, change her jeans, and hope he lets her back onto the property before they break out the body bags. He's going to see right away that- There's smoke? She dropped her knee. Sniffing, she swiveled. Air was escaping somewhere, hissing like a busted soda can. Whatever it was suffused the room. Her eyes burned just to move, but she couldn’t shut them. It could be more than the breaker- But that wouldn't explain why it was in the middle of the scene. With a yelp, she witnessed a spark fly between the corpses. Her heels planted into the floor. She kicked, hastily wedging distance between her and smog lifting off the concrete. She could've pretended she missed the class where she found out cinnamon was flammable. She could've maybe let it slide that denim wasn't an accelerant, but this was straight up sulfur. A ribbon of light unwound between them. A silhouette stretched out from behind it, towering. "Ian?" She asked, already knowing it wasn't. It had too many feelings to be. "What is this?" It croned. Miserably, it picked up a leg. "Ugh." Fingers acting faster than her brain, Adria whipped her gun from its holster "HANDS. Hands up, now!" "Sticky-" It groused. She heard a wet, staggered ppmf-ff. That suspiciously sounded like bodies toppling. In a maneuver she couldn't repeat, she blindly vaulted over the sofa, jamming herself between its backing and the wall. Her vision developed slow. First outlines, then shapes. Colors a little after when the smokescreen fanned out, blurring the glow around his face. She propped up her gun. Old leather gave away her position. The red light of eyes widened, vaguely cartoon-ish. "WHOA, hey now. Don't shoot." "Get on the ground." She ordered. "I said I wanna see your hands! Both of them, now!" "Aye-aye!" He complied. There was something sarcastic about the way his shadow wiggled to the floor. "Happy?" "Who are you?!" "Demetri Marquette, at your service." He tried to bow, until the violent rattle of her pistol suggested that was strictly prohibited. "What are you doing here?!" "Same as you, I imagine." "What?! What does that mean?" "You know. Working. The hustle." He shimmied. One by one, the candles surrounding them lit. The man in the center appeared nothing as he did in the shadows. His stature halved. The reddish glow vanished from his face, but most perplexing yet was that he somehow found a cover to throw over the bodies. With the blanket over them, they looked like fucking sock puppets. Adria sucked in a breath, sputtering nothing but inarticulated syllables for solid five seconds before, "Hey- stop fucking with my scene!!" "Oh- this?" He patted the victim's heads. The disrespect alone should’ve been grounds to fire. "I was meaning to talk to you about that. I'm sorry but two? Overkill. We’re not in the business of extra credit but I do appreciate the enthusiasm. So, uh. What's it going to be?" She swore nothing about this conversation was tracking. "Huh? "Money, fame, power, et cetera?" Nonsense! Complete nonsense. What was he implying? That this was an offer? A transaction for the bodies? It didn't matter. He overstayed his welcome before he popped in. And the fact he got in here at all may mean he knew something they didn't. This ridiculous, unexplainable suspension of belief kept her from feeling imperiled but this fuck was going to ruin the whole case if he didn't already. She pinched the button on the side of her walkie. "Ian, I need back-up downstairs now." The stranger sucked his teeth. "Ah. I wouldn't do that.” ’Oh my God, shut up. “Come on, talk to me.” He cooed. “What would make you more comfortable? Fresh air? The lights- is it the lights?" She glared, trigger finger satisfied with rapid-fire button clicking. Ian's hip would be going off like the fire alarm should be. "You know, I was going for ambiance, but." He snapped. Suddenly the power was back. She twisted from her fort. Corner to corner, stomping cleared across ceiling. The basement door creaked. Ian came swinging down the stairs, perfectly on cue. "The breaker fixed itself." He announced, sounding leery of it. "Imagine that," Said Blondie. Adria’s aim stayed fixed, prepared for sudden moves. There weren’t any, even from her partner. Ian’s velocity slowed to a stop. His grip on the handrail turned rigid before the bottom, tightening like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes roved over the ruined scene, the magnitude of it driving a huge crease into his brow. He did not notice the stranger directly beside him. Adria desperately looked between the both of them. "He can't see me," Demetri elaborated. "Adria?" Said Ian. The gravelly rumble of his voice asked fifty questions- none of which she had an answer to. She had a gun aimed at nothing. Two bodies were down, bizarrely set up for a picnic. "I-..." She stuttered. "Word of advice," Demetri picked a piece of lint of Ian’s shoulder. The detective reacted with only the slight drift of his eye-line, before his attention snapped back to Adria. "Don't say anything or you'll buy yourself a ticket to a psych eval." "Ian, you can't-?" "Nevermind. From this angle, you already look insane." Ian waited for her to continue but she lowered her gun. If he was right, there was no coming back from this. "...I thought I saw someone in the smoke." "Smoke?" There was no smoke. No fire, no light. Demetri's trapeze around the basement hadn't even left footprints. To Ian, she used the two minutes he was away to go nuts. Just lose her mind. Sanity to the wind. Who needs to critically think when you can barricade yourself behind a sofa, wildly waving a gun around? Defending yourself from scary shadow people that a paid electricity bill keeps at bay? Ian stared, impatience surging from a quiet simmer to a boil. She realized it’s been too long since she even tried answering a question. "Are you alright?" He rephrased. What she heard was ’Are you an idiot?’ Her face burned hot. "I think-" She slung her bag over his shoulder. "I think I need a minute. I'll be back." The tight set of his jaw meant he agreed. She ran past him, bolting for the cruiser. Now she was going to have to type up an incident report. Scrub her pants. Contemplate the onset of her paranoia induced insanity, and hope they wouldn't take her badge for this. She threw herself into the front seat of her cruiser. The door slammed behind her. Before she’d let frustrated tears get the better of her, she pulled up a Chrome browser. Occult. Satanism. She typed. Demon summoning. Symbol. All the results looked close. Matching the exact twisted pattern would be a nightmare. "Mind if we hit Starbucks?" Demetri necked her seat. She jolted, narrowly stopping herself from throwing her elbow through his eye socket. Knowing he was fictional made her wish she hadn't hesitated. "Why are you in my car?!" She swiped at her face. "For a frap. Hopefully. Is butterscotch still in season?" "No! Get out." His cheek squished against her headrest. "Aw, c'mon." She adjusted the rear-view, only for him pop up passenger side. "I get it." He said, proving he did Not actually. Devoid of any understanding of what 'Get out' meant, "More of a Dunkin' girl. That's fine I guess. Oh! Hope you don't mind. I dug through your glove department. I was trying to get to know you." He waggled a scrap of stationary. "Does the department know you're dating? Seems naughty. Is that against HIPA or something?" She flustered, red-faced. That note had been in Ian’s lunch. "OUT!" "I mean, I'm not judging. I like it. You'd think detective romances would get cliché but ugh." He pressed it to his heart. "There's something so enticing about seeing the ugliness of humankind hand-in-hand with the one you love. A real testament to love's resilience. Do you listen to Rihanna?" We Found Love belted from her speakers. Forget the psych eval, now she had to worry about the HOA. "What do you want, huh?!” Adria punched her stereo. “What do you want? Why are you here? Turn this OFF-" "I want to know what you want." He shrugged. "I want you to leave?! I’ve said a million times!" "No can do. Gonna need something more substantial. Unless, gasp." He made a show of patting down his slacks before producing a pen. The document it came with looked real and official. Spooky, until it came to 'Officer Hardass' at the top of a memo. It read "I forfeit my eternal soul to get Demetrius Marquette to GTFO" in gold. She looked down at the paper, head reeling. This was a fever dream. A nightmare. A joke, but she could feel the weight surrounding the document. Metaphysical. And as tempting as it would be to physically take his pen and jam it through his palm, five finger fillet- "NO." She shouted, chucking it back at him. "I'm not selling anything." Rihanna's chorus guttered and died. Its volume fell with his face. Hopeless indeed. "I don't get it." He huffed, impossibly exasperated. Like she was the one being objectively difficult here. "Why did you even summon me, then? What's the point?" "I didn't summon you, asshole! Some psychopath did!" "Huh." He pondered, deciding that did make more sense after-all. "...SO GO AWAY." "EeeeeEEEH. I don't think I will." He kicked back in the seat. A pair of sunglasses slid down his nose, gilded logo hitting the sun just right. How did a Dolce and Gabbana sales associate see him but not Ian? "You see. The problem is that I'm here now. I can't go home without something to show for it." "That's not my problem," Adria said, incredulously. "YOU are my problem! I don’t know who you think you are, but I don't owe you anything. You came onto my scene, jeopardized my career, made me look like an idiot, and now you're making my car smell like eggs!" Demetri recoiled. For a moment she thought she got through to him. Then it became abundantly clear it was just the egg part, actually. "Wow." He said. Hurt gave his voice a raspy edge. "Wow..." “So GO AWAY.” She tried for two. Three would be a taser. “You- you know what?” Demetri splayed his hands. “Fine. We’re done here. I’ll go-” “THANK YOU.” He scowled. “-I’ll go, but I will be back. And when I return, we're continuing this discussion in earnest. I hope, I sincerely hope Detective Kyro, that you think about it." She wouldn’t. But he vanished before she could say so. - - - By the time she got home, the scene was cleared. Since it had been cataloged ad nauseam, there was no need to report his partner’s lapse in sanity. Ian let it go. He covered her ass by risking his to shuffle in clean-up before anyone with a badge audited the damage. She got off easy. Despite earning every letter of a psych referral, confrontation fell away into 'unspoken' territory. He said nothing, but it was strongly encouraged by his cancellation of their Friday after-work happy hour that she take an extended weekend to 'rest.' That part he phoned in without her approval. Defeated, she threw off her jacket. She hooked her gun belt on a peg by the door. Her jeans were just going to burn- they were as good as cursed as far as she was concerned. There was nothing left to do but take a long, hot shower. Maybe she’d feel better if her skin ran hotter than the shame. The rest could be dealt with Monday. What choice did she have, really? She jammed a thumb through her braid. The plaits fell loose as she kicked off her boots, Adria went through the motions of attaining tentative comfort. And the moment she thought she could let it go (until she’d inevitably replay it at all again tonight) she smacked into the chest of someone in the bathroom. Her bathroom. This motherfucker made himself at home. “So,” His finger wound in the cord of her hairdryer. Freshly washed, and expertly coiffed, Demetri smelled exactly like her body wash. "Did you think about it?"

#a JUST FOR FUNSIES au #adria #true crime #story

[kiliinstinct]

Closure - Nalu One-Shot for Cutest-Celestial-Princess

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Prompt: Nalu - Set After the Alvarez War, but before Lucy finishes her book- she and Natsu have an unspoken issue still simmering beneath the surface. Series: Fairy Tail Rated: General/Teen Commissioner: @cutest-celestial-princess Word Count: 5239

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It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

It opened the path to dreams and fears Natsu thought he had shoved deep inside to rot and be forgotten. 

“There’s this really good job, and it’s out farther than I’ve traveled before; I think it’s a good chance to find Aquarius!”

How could something sound so positive and be so horrible all at once?

“Awesome! Let’s get Happy and go already!”

“Uhmm… about that…”

The fire in his belly was drenched to soaking embers with the fewest of words. 

“You’re not coming with me.”

Just a few months after the war. A few months of tepid peace, rebuilding and settling down into a pattern many hadn’t enjoyed in what felt like years. The Alvarez War was not a long one. It would not go down in the history books as a 100 years war, but the survivors certainly felt aged. Time slowly crawled away, eroding the burdens and worries with tiny chips from a well-worn chisel. Many Guild Members fell back to their routine as if nothing had changed. 

Others… looked upon the rest of their life with a newfound goal. Lucy had been hiding away in her apartment, diligently writing every chance she could. When she wasn’t, Lucy was at the guild, staring at the newly added Job postings with an intensified interest. Many times Natsu offered for them to head out, leave Magnolia for a few jobs- revert back to a pattern they could be comfortable with. 

She denied them each time. At one point, Happy even claimed she was ‘avoiding’ them, and while that thought forced a frown from Natsu, Lucy had denied it fervently.  However, seeing her eyes gleam, excitement pulling just beneath the surface, threatening to explode while fingers all but pinched and crinkled the request in her hands, Natsu realized the truth. 

Lucy wasn’t avoiding- she was planning. 

“Hah- good one Lucy,” He forced out, laughing at what he hoped to be a joke, “But we’re always a team, and teams go together!”

Her silence screamed volumes. Shoulders tensed under the weight of his own arm as Natsu leaned on her, desperately trying to find the lie in her words. There was none.  Sheepishly, she pulled away from his proximity, guilt suffusing her features now that he could look at her better. Folding the request, Lucy stuffed it in her purse, bottom lip pulling beneath her teeth as she nibbled worriedly against it. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were a team, now more than ever! Even if Erza, Gray or Wendy didn’t come along (but of course they should if available-), they were supposed to do all their jobs together! Isn’t that what things were culminating to for all these years? Didn’t Lucy used to wait for him to be ready for jobs so they could go together? Didn’t he and Happy always find the ones with rewards that would best help her with her rent? That was how things went, and how he had always expected them to go. 

“I’m not kidding.” Her tercid tone froze him better than Gray’s ice ever could, smile dropping as he stared.  Natsu could hear the tapping of her foot against the hardwood, echoing above the den of chatter in the hall. If he hadn’t been distracted by the strange words falling from her mouth, he would have noticed all present were creening their heads over, desperately trying to listen in. 

“I want to do this for me.” Lucy pressed on, sighing as if all her earlier willpower had drained. “I’ve already talked to my landlady about it and she’s willing to put a stop to my rent payments. Just as long as I do a downpayment before leaving. I can do that. And then I won’t have to worry for months!”

Months? She was talking as if- Natsu’s mouth felt dry and a low whine escaped him, “You’re talkin’ like this job is gonna take ya’ forever, Lucy-”

“It is!” Lucy snapped, pointing a finger at him, “No offense, Natsu, but my world does NOT revolve around you. I have goals, plans! And I intend to see them through. This job isn’t supposed to take a long time, but it’s in a good place to search for Aquarius and that’s exactly what I intend to do! Alone.”

The icy tone in her voice was throwing him off. Why did she sound so bitter, so angry? There were many reasons Natsu could come up with (all revolving around the separation she suffered from breaking her key), but not a single one explained the treatment he was currently getting. Had he… done something to upset her?

Eyes glanced to the telltale marks of an old corruption spidering up her arm and Natsu’s stomach churned. Though Gray had protected her from the Book of E.N.D. the slight hints of damage were still there. While he didn’t want to consider how his own weakness could have caused those damages, Natsu was realizing that maybe he had more to own up to. 

“Look, Lucy, I-” how could he even explain this uncomfortable feeling in his chest? She was strong enough to take care of herself, that he knew, but leaving for months? Where he couldn’t be there in case she needed him? Where they couldn’t laugh and tease or just enjoy the life they had now that the biggest threat in their lives was over?

“I don’t get why ya think ya can just leave me alone like that.”

Those were not the right words to say and Natsu was unprepared for the bitter dam he’d broke loose.

Lucy had gone silent, jaw open- looking as if she’d been slapped. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she struggled to form words, Natsu’s own had fallen from his lips without truly thinking about it and he crossed his arms stubbornly. Since they helped bring the Guild back together, after all they fought and struggled for, she was wanting to just… run off on her own? He didn’t like it. He didn’t have a way to explain why it left a bad taste in his mouth, but it did- and he saw no reason why he shouldn’t say so. 

“.... You,” She seethed, voice gutterral, rising in volume as she took a step forward, right into his space, poking a digit into his chest with so much force, he almost stepped back. Pink brows rose under the fringe of his hair as Natsu stared in shock,  not expecting the absolute rage in Lucy’s eyes, “-Inconsiderate. JERK!”

He stepped back then- forced to by her hand shoving him, advancing against him as he realized, too late, what he had done. Tears were glistening in the corner of her eyes. From sadness? Anger?  Natsu couldn’t get a read on the fluctuating emotions as her pointed nail dug briefly into his skin through the fabric of his jacket.  “Oi- Lucy! Hold up there- “

She interrupted, “Don’t you TRY and calm me down!” She finally backed off, dark gaze turning towards the rest of the guild, many of the eavesdroppers glanced away sheepishly- whistling to themselves. Others (Like Mirajane and Erza) goggled from their locations with wide, disappointed eyes. Lucy didn’t seem to notice. Not then. And she wouldn’t for awhile. “Don’t you remember what I told you back in Amefurashi Village? How I felt during the entire YEAR you had left?!” Her voice was shaky and it lost its loud tempo with every word, cracking when she released the explosion bubbling at the tip of her tongue. “You don’t get to tell me if I can leave you alone or not. I don’t care what’s happened since then. You don’t get to say that. Not now. Not. ever.”

Natsu felt his mouth run dry, his blood cold. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, but the wind had been knocked from him by Lucy’s words as his eyes darted back and forth between her and the guild around them, unsure of what he could say. Yes, he remembered Amefurashi Village. The bitterness in her tone when she had snapped at him for his unthinking words against Gray. Juvia had interrupted their moment of tension, but that didn’t overlap his memory. The look on Lucy’s face was all he needed to cement it into his mind. 

Not only that, but the memory of her forlorn expression as she slept, finally relieved to see him and Happy again, with only a wall of all her attempts for contact to keep her company. Those memories came hand in hand and Lucy’s reminder stole all words from him. In that moment he realized just how far he had overstepped. “- Lucy, I didn’t mean that-”

She cut him off with a finger pointing to his nose, practically hissing in her rage. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it!” 

The click-clack of her heels echoed through the hall. Lucy turned from him in one fluid motion, her words stabbing him like tiny knives with each stomp against the wood floor. The silence in the Guild was palpable, interrupted only by the slam of the doors, as she made her exit. The walls shook and every interloper took in a breath, their gazes falling on Natsu in bafflement.

“You really stuck your foot in a pile of it now.” Macao mumbled, scratching his neck awkwardly. 

“Ehh, you shouldn’t worry too much about it,” Wakaba joined in, “Girl’s like to blow up, but they get over it quickly enough. Even my wife- “ He was silenced by a sharp elbow to his ribs from Macao. 

Natsu barely heard either of them. His head was buzzing from Lucy’s words. It wasn’t her anger that floored him. Oh no, he could handle that- he could accept her frustration.  This wasn’t just anger or a bomb exploding to calm down later. He had seen what no one else had, the glitter of pain in her narrowed eyes. The hint of water shining in the irises before she forcefully blinked them back as she turned away. She hadn’t stomped off from her anger. Lucy had left to hide her tears. 

He had hurt her. Natsu had hurt Lucy. He felt like vomiting. 

At first, Natsu considered chasing after her, already stepping forward to start his pursuit- but a quick snap of his name from Erza, froze him in place, jaw clenching tight as his teeth ground together. It was hard not to continue, his clenched fists were testament to the inner struggle to rush after his best team mate and make everything right again, but how?

“While I absolutely believe she deserves an apology,” Erza said, moving to his side , her voice was harsh, angry and Natsu didn’t blame her, “I don’t agree with you charging after her like this. Give her the space she obviously wants and think for a change, won’t you?”

Natsu didn’t have it in him to argue the jab. His energy deflated, eyes meeting Happy’s from the nearest counter. The blue Exceed had barely begun eating the fish he’d been given, worry and hurt distracting him. With a noncommittal shrug, he moved to sit by his flying partner, shoulders sagging as a puff of steam blew from his lips. It would have been so easy to turn around and challenge Erza just then, but the idea was an old one, something he’d done often in the past to release emotions he dared not speak out loud. 

Often he would release his anger, sadness, inner fears and loss of hope, into the brawls he instigated and joined. It was a quick release that refreshed him and reminded Natsu that his heart was still beating, that he and those around him were still alive. He could shovel his concerns and what had bothered him and others under a thick rug in his mind after a good fight- finding other ways to bring smiles to his and everyone's faces. 

How often had he been kicked from Lucy’s apartment, suffered a loss or grew angry at some random enemy mistreating her, only to turn around and fight Gray and Gajeel to calm down- ? How often did he return to Lucy with a goofy grin, jokes and crazy antics to distract her and reassure her that everything would be okay? Too often. He couldn’t count the times on his fingers. (Not even his toes for that matter.)

“Way to go, Flame Brain,” Gray said from behind, voice cold and taunting. “I’d have punched you if I were Lucy. How stupid can you get?”

Natsu knew what Gray was doing. The insult was well-deserved, but also done with purpose. It was the very invitation Natsu often took and needed, but rather than stride through the wide open door of Gray’s challenge, he merely tilted his head to glance at his fellow mage and frowned. He didn’t have the energy. Not now. It had seeped through his bones the very moment Lucy had slammed the door. 

“Gray,” Erza snapped, causing the other mage to freeze in place, “Not.now.”

“Uh- yeah, right. Sorry!” 

Natsu’s answer was to slam his head against the counter and groan. 

-

The day had looked to be a good one. With a bright sun, hardly any clouds and perfect wind to keep a person cool. With the sun just below the horizon and stars starting to blink out in the sky, the mood was a complete one-eighty.  Erza hadn’t allowed Natsu to leave until she was certain Natsu knew what he wanted to. (“There will be NO bothering Lucy if you’re going to speak thoughtlessly again!”)  It was hard to be patient, and while he craved the distraction of a good brawl, Natsu had listlessly sulked at the bar instead. 

Now, he wondered if he needed a few more hours to sulk before he ventured into Lucy’s apartment. Coming up to the building he could recognize blindfolded, he readjusted his scarf and grimaced. 

“You know you can just try in the morning, Natsu.” Happy said. He stood at Natsu’s feet, his own frown on his face while he glanced towards Lucy’s window. “I’m sure she’ll be willing to forgive you then! Oh, we can even bring her a gift!”

That could possibly work, but Natsu had a feeling he knew exactly what sort of gift Happy had in mind.

“A big fish!”

Yup.

 Despite the low mood, Natsu grinned. Count on Happy to help even just a little. Kneeling down to pat the Exceed on his blue head, he shook his head and tilted his gaze towards the window he often climbed through. “I don’t think that’s gonna work this time, buddy.  And I think I’ve avoided this long enough.”

“What do you mean?” Happy blinked owlishly, but Natsu didn’t give an explanation. The two had been through so much and stayed by each other the year he had traveled. Above everyone, Happy knew and understood his fears and intentions, but that understanding could only go so far. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Stretching, he rolled his shoulders and pointed towards his goal. “Think you can get me up there? Probably best you don’t stay for this just in case, but I’ll send ya’ a signal when the coast is clear!” “Aye, sir!” The rustling of magic to unfurl his wings was swift, and with well-timed practice, the two were in the air and elevated to the window of Lucy’s bedroom. So many times she had told him to use the door and there had been a few times he had actually listened - when he got there first. 

Most of his window attempts were done just to tease her after her initial complaints, at some point, his blonde partner had stopped complaining and often expected his entrances. Today, he hoped for similar. Natsu had never feared she would lock the windows on him before, but the worry niggled into the back of his brain. It would be far too easy to bust it open if he’d been out for more reasons to anger his partner, but this was a mission to clear the air, not exacerbate their issues. 

Natsu felt relief surge through him as the window clicked open. She hadn’t locked it after all! Exhaling, he lifted his thumb to happy and waved him off. With a whispered ‘good luck!’, his partner flew  off in the direction of the guild and Natsu steeled himself for the true challenge of the night. He slid the frame upward and quickly moved in, careful not to rustle the mattress or knock items over. 

He was surprised not to find her at her desk. Even more so stunned at the amount of papers littering the floor, some crumpled and others torn. Lucy had never been one to be messy. (That was his job!)  Natsu’s stomach churned at the realization that his actions caused such a change in her own routine and he quickly examined the rest of the room, trying to pinpoint his teammate’s location.  The lights had yet to be lit, casting dark shadows over the furniture and he clicked his tongue.  “ - Lucy? Are, are ya’ here?”

He could smell her, but figured he’d ask. The sudden sniffle from the front of her couch caught his attention and slowly, a disheveled blonde peered up from the cushions, eyeing him with narrowed eyes.  “Go away, Natsu.”

He almost stepped back through the window, but closed it behind him as he began his trek across the room. She told him to go away, and many times in the past he had ignored such orders until she’d thrown him out. Age had told him to take her words into account more often, but the fact that she hadn’t barred his entrance was all the communication he needed.  Lucy would be willing to talk.. If he only had the right words.

“I wanted to-” He began, fumbling over his words, “I just wanted to say that…. Uh- I didn’t mean to, that is-” Where had this rambling come from? Snorting, he took another step towards her and muttered, “I wanted t’say sorry.”

A heavy silence filled the air. Lucy’s eyes stayed focus on him as she kept her face pressed against the back of her seat. The low-light had made features hard to distinguish at first, but now Natsu could see the puffiness and redness in her gaze. She wasn’t at present, but he knew tears had stained those cheeks some time ago. It doubled the tumultuous sickness in his stomach and he struggled to swallow.  

Finally, Lucy moved, turning her back to him to settle herself into the cushion. She didn’t repeat her earlier order and her fingers drummed along her arms impatiently. With a huff, Lucy said, `` - do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Oh he knew, but it made his throat thicken all over again- as if a ball had been lodged into his throat, suffocating the five inside, smothering him. Why were emotions and words so difficult to say? 

“You don’t do you?” Lucy’s voice cracked, he couldn’t see her face, but Natsu could picture it as if she were standing before him. Her words came out in waves, full of emotion- anger, sadness, just at the cusp of spilling out. “You just think, you can waltz right in here, apologizing and things are going to go back to normal so you can tease me again and have a grand ole time, but you’re wrong! Not this time. We can’t ALWAYS pretend things aren’t upsetting us, you know!”

She was rambling, giving Natsu the answer to his earlier thoughts. Lucy had always rambled when upset, embarrassed even, but Natsu could hear the rise of tone and knew everything he intended would be kicked out the window if he didn’t act fast, but what could he do? What would he do?  What… what would Lucy do?

Natsu had always been better with actions than words and he crossed the floor in a few steps, hearing Lucy’s words, but not processing them as he moved. In a flurry of movement that sent the tassels of his scarf swooping over her blonde head. His arms encircling her shoulders from behind, cut off all complaints as she choked on her words. Her scent was overpowering, with his nose pressed against the back of her ear, feeling the softness of her hair. 

“I- .. Natsu-” Lucy swallowed, tried to find more words as her face slowly began to turn a few shades red, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” He said. His tone absolute. It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t, but the firmness, the fact he wasn’t crawling on the floor in an attempt to make it funny, deviate with humor,  this was him: serious. 

“Y-you can’t just h-hug me and make it all go away,” She hiccupped and Natsu realized the emotions were spilling over again, but he chose not to notice. Lucy was embarrassed and confused enough, without his teasing. His grip only tightened, a gentle squeeze as he lowered his voice. 

“I know.” He said. “It ain’t like I think this is enough, I just… I really suck at this, Lucy, and I’m not sure if there’s anything I can say t’make it better.” He was sure going to try despite his doubts. “I remember everything ya’ said back then. Ya’ looked so,” Bitter, hurt, annoyed, “I HAD to leave then. At least I thought I did.”

There were many nights he wondered if he had made a mistake. It wasn’t often that Natsu questioned his decisions, usually trusting his gut decisions to lead him down the right track, but after his return? Guilt ate at him like a virus, but he had shoved it away the same as he had done for every negative feeling he had felt for years. How could he be strong if he let things get to him? How could he be dependable? The one Lucy and everyone else could always count on? Back then, he felt there was no other way and even now, breaking through his own inadequacies made his words jumble over themselves. 

“No.” Lucy answered, she sniffled and wiped her eyes. “You didn’t. You could have stayed. You could have been honest or- or… did more than leave me a note! You have no idea how long I looked for you that day! How much I WANTED to go too and you- !!!” 

She fell silent, biting back her words as she untangled herself from his arms. It left a strange sensation of emptiness within him, but he didn’t try to pull her back. Lucy was turning to face him, the extent of her emotions plain on her face. Red cheeks from tears and embarrassment he first noticed, but her bottom lip was quivering, constantly being gnawed between her teeth. It took everything in his body not to lean further to pull her lip down, saving it from the assault. Now wasn’t the time. 

“You already know I lost Aquarius,” She stated, arms crossing while her shoulders quivered. “You know how important she is to me, Natsu. What ALL my spirits mean to me. And I.. I- … “ Her tears dribbled down, dripping off her chin and an almost frantic, tragic whine issued with her next words, “I broke her to save you! To save Everyone!” 

That was it, the dam of strength, the final resolve. It bashed against the hammer of her words and she sobbed, covering her face from the force of her tears. “I wasn’t strong enough and had to-to… do that to her, and you just.. You .. left and I was so.. So…”

Natsu knew without her having to finish: Alone. 

He licked his lips, attempting to dislodge the words on the tip of his tongue. Her words were like blows striking against him, but with a fierce glare, he jumped over the couch, grasping her shoulders to regain her focus as he hissed, “Lucy! You’re not weak. You took on Tartaros by yourself and saved all our asses! I wasn’t there for it, but I knew it when I came to. I just knew it. Don’t blame yourself for that!”

Accuse me. I’m the one to blame. I’m the one who left. I’m the one who ran. “I’m the one who wasn’t strong, I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect anyone- I couldn’t save my Dad!” When did his own tears start to fall? They stung his eyes, burned like his fire, but he forced his gaze on her, refused to blink. 

He couldn’t save Igneel. That was the truth. He had to stand there and watch as Acnologia ripped his father in half. Even after the death of the Dragon King, the pain and the memory stung like a thousand knives, it took his breath away. Inhaling sharply, his fingers lost their grip, falling loosely to his side. Natsu could hardly see the look on Lucy’s face through his blurred eyes. “What… what good was I t’anyone like that Lucy? I keep.. I keep goin’ through it over and over again, but there was nothing I could do. And if I took ya’ with me? Then I’d want to go home so much more, want to goof off, not take things seriously, I couldn’t.. I… I didn’t think I was good enough to be anyone’s partner then Lucy. I-”

I made a mistake. I know I did.  “I didn’t realize how stupid I was until I came back- I still don’t know if I’d do anything different, but I know I messed up, I know I did- but…”

A softness of slim digits interrupted him, reaching out to straight his scarf before Lucy’s face crashed against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric like a lifeline. She was in his arms again and he wasted no time in holding her close. This was a comfort. This was something they both needed, and he sucked in more air, matching Lucy sniffle for sniffle. He hated crying. Hated showing emotion. He hated seeing her cry even more. 

“We’re both stupid.” She mumbled, but no explanation came. Not then. Emotions spilled between them then. No words, only the comfort of each other as their bodies slid to the couch- grips tight around the other as they released the pent of feelings they had buried inside their hearts for over a year.  It was a new experience for Natsu- having only unloaded his full emotions to Happy during their times away from the Guild, but with Lucy? Somehow, the release felt somehow… cathartic. Like a rubber band snapping back into place after being strung tight for too long. 

When their tears dried, sobs settled and breaths grew even, Natsu and Lucy were tangled together on her couch. Partially laying atop him, Lucy breathed into his neck, and his legs felt stiff from the awkward angle, but he kept his hold against her. The room had grown darker, bringing the silence of night down upon the room, but he could light the room later. 

Absentmindedly, his fingers ran through her golden locks. It was a soothing sensation, one that calmed him. Lucy’s body relaxed at the movements and she sucked in air she couldn’t claim through her earlier sobs. With the well of their emotions now emptied, the explosion changed to a weariness that threatened to put the two to sleep. 

“Lucy?” Natsu broke the silence, fingers pausing in their movement as he stared at the ceiling so his eyes could adjust to the light. 

It took her a moment before she answered, as if the edges of sleep were fighting to keep her quiet. She didn’t bother moving her head, certain he’d hear regardless. “Mmm, what is it?”

“Please take me and Happy with you.”

She stiffened and the room grew tense again. Natsu bit his tongue, suddenly anxious. Instead of snapping as he expected, she pushed up to look him in the eye, tired eyes waiting. “Why?”

More words, but he’d already emptied himself out. What more could he say? He wet his lips, eyes flicked to the wall and back again as he wiped his palms on the cushion beneath him. “It hurt being away from you.” He admitted, cheeks heating up against his will, “and you were upset too. I just… think-” words she had spoken years ago sprang to his mind and he jumped on them, “I think it’s better when we’re together.”

Was it unfair? Perhaps, but he meant it. Meant it as much as she on the day she had spoke those words. He didn’t doubt she felt the same. He was positive she did, and the way her lips finally curved into a small smile assured him of that. 

“You know, I wanted to go alone so I could try and get stronger and finish my book,” She said, blowing a strand of hair from her face. It fell back a moment later and she frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll find Aquarius when I go, but I want to believe I will. I didn’t just decide to go on my own to spite you or anything.”

“I know.”  Natsu said. He reached up to tuck the strand behind her ear, gaze faltering. “If you’re sure you don’t want me and Happy with you, fine. I’ll accept it. I just…”

Like her, he didn’t want to feel alone. With the guild, the rest of their team, he was never truly alone, he knew that. Just as Lucy had her spirits, but somehow things felt duller, less bright, when the three of them were apart. He felt it, but did she?

She flopped against him, the tips of her ears bright red, but the sudden movement took the breath out of him. Natsu tilted his head and waited, wondering if this lack of response was her way of denying him again. He would relent, if that was the case, but he wasn’t the greatest at reading her, especially in moments like these. Just when he was about to accept the silence as an ‘I’ll answer in the morning’ and close his eyes, Lucy gave her answer. 

“Okay.”

“What?” Even with great hearing, that didn’t mean he could always trust what he heard. 

Lucy huffed, a soft giggle breathing against his ear. “You both can come. - but I lead, got it?”

Exhilaration filled him and he laughed- relief echoing into the room like a heated balm. His chest heaved from his boisterous cackle and his arms settled around her once again. Later, she might struggle away from him in embarrassment. Morning would come and they’d be just as they were before- best friends, with maybe a hint of more, maybe not. 

For now, they just were- and Natsu couldn’t be happier. 

“You’re the boss.”

Both dozing off, emotions and energy spent- Natsu took one last glance towards Lucy as her breathing grew even, face tilted to reveal the flushed, puffy cheeks. He readjusted them both for his legs to fit over the armrest and yawned. Unfortunately, just as sleep was about to take him, he peeked one eye open towards the window and realized he hadn’t signaled Happy as he said he would. Natsu was sure his partner would chew him out for the transgression come morning. 

He spared another, tired glance at Lucy and figured it was worth it.

#Mira's Fanfiction #Ft Fanfiction #Fairy Tail Fanfiction #Nalu Fanfiction #Nalu #NatsuxLucy #Cutest-Celestial-Princess #My Commissions #Erza #Happy #Gray #Macao #Wakaba #closure #mentions of death

[techfacereview]

Surfshark vs NordVPN vs Private Internet Access: what is the best VPN for multiple devices

Reader supported This blog is supported by awesome readers like you. If you like a product or service that I review and you buy it through one of the links on this blog, then I might get a small commission. It means the world to me, and it means I can keep on producing free, detailed reviews like this one!

It’s with great pleasure that I can officially announce to the entire internet that the bad old days of having to pay per device for your VPN are long behind us. As the average number of devices that people owned proliferated, it became a massive disincentive to VPN services to try and force customers to pay for every single device they wanted to use on that VPN. And then IOT came along and the number of internet connected devices that are single person and increase by an order of magnitude.

Think about it: your phone, your tablet, your laptop, your smart watch… Most people are slowly becoming a walking cloud of Wi-Fi and 5G connectivity. And the number of connected devices that we all own is only gonna go up as we say hello to things like smart trainers and other wearables. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else there wasn’t working on smart dentures that can tell you exactly how many times you chewed before you swallow…

In any case, with all this sensitive information flying around privacy is no longer an option in my opinion: it’s a necessity. And we’ve all seen that no government is above actively spying on its citizens, and even many tech giants aren’t beyond wholesale selling your data to the highest bidder – regardless of whether you’ve opted into that or not. So for me, and for you, the first line of defence in ensuring that your business online remains your business is a good VPN.

With all that said, let’s jump into the main comparison between the three best VPNs for multiple devices.

Surfshark VPN Is The Best All-Round VPN For Multiple Devices

With support for unlimited devices on a single account connection, military-grade encryption, low price and all the features you’d expect to find on a VPN that costs twice as much, Surfshark VPN gets my vote for the best VPN for multiple devices. It’s crazy that there’s no slow-down when you add more and more devices and I find it pretty impressive that the experience on different platforms is pretty much the same.

You are probably going to get a few more random disconnect/reconnects on this than on some of the other VPNs but the Surfshark reliability has gone through the roof in recent years so its not so much an issue as it used to be.

The pricing is pretty nuts too; you can get 81% off Surfshark VPN if you sign up to the 2 year deal. That works out at a hair under $2.50 a month.

Go to Surfshark.com and get 81% off

NordVPN Is The Best VPN For Multiple Devices If You Run A Business

If stability is the most important thing for you then NordVPN is the IBM of the VPN world. Yeah, you will pay a (tiny) bit more for it and you’re limited to 6 devices per-account, but their connection stability is legendary and you won’t even notice that you’re running through a VPN. In fact, because of NordVPN’s crazy infrastructure, you might find that some services run faster than your regular internet because of lower resource-contention once you’re connected to their network.

Plus, if you’re a business, you might enjoy their 24/7, worldwide support which is, by all reports, better than the Surfshark support.

Go to NordVPN and get 68% off

Private Internet Access Is The Best VPN For Multiple Devices If You Are On A Budget

Having been around since 2010 means that Private Internet Access has seen some steady growth over the years, and their focus on reinvesting in their platform has helped them bring prices down, and the fact that you can connect up to 10 devices also goes a little further on the per-device-per-month calculation.

Like-for-like the Private Internet Access 12 month plan is significantly cheaper than the NordVPN 12 month plan. Meanwhile Surfshark doesn’t even have a 12 month plan so if budget is important to you then PIA is the way to go.

Go to Private Internet Access and sign up

What Is A VPN?

VPN stand for ‘virtual private network’, And that risk of sounding dumb they do exactly what they say on the tin.

Virtual: The virtual partner VPN means that It exists in the software layer – Whenever a VPN is established there aren’t any new physical cables or wires that connect the devices on the network. But it’s done in such a way that when you’re connected to a VPN your computer literally cannot distinguish between the VPN that you’re connected to and a real physical network.

Private: Privacy is one of, if not the big selling point for VPNs. Information sent across AVPN is encrypted which means that even though it’s travelling across the open internet, All anyone would see you if they decided to try and read the information would be a bunch of garbled mess. This doesn’t mean that anyone who uses the same VPN as you can see what you’re sending across the internet in the clear: Every devices connected to a VPN sets up its own encryption keys and as that connection is uniquely encrypted that, information is only readable between that device and the VPN service provider.

Network: You know, network. Like a bunch of computers that can talk to each other.

VPNs are pretty old technology that gained popularity in the late 90s and early noughties where large multi-office businesses want it to be able to share information and resources across the internet without having to go to the trouble and expense of laying physical cable between their offices.

VPNs have gained huge popularity recently. This is due in part to the proliferation of online services that we now use as a part of our day to day lives. Services such as Netflix Amazon prime com cast on a whole host of other activities search is torrenting and online gaming Have created the demand and the incentive for people to want to use the internet privately but also to use it from different locations.

And if you throw in things like remote working and international business travel you can quite easily see situations where being able to browse the internet as though you’re in a different country might be advantageous. This is about more than just getting around the Netflix content geofencing.

Best VPNs For Multiple Devices: Why Is It Important

Let’s take a step back and think about the VPN business model: VPN service provides encrypted geo-agnostic connections to the internet for your device and you give them money in return. Well, work has to be done in order to encrypt a single device therefore it stands to reason that more work has to be done to encrypt multiple devices.

And that’s not taking into account the other costs going into supporting multiple users – The more devices are user has the more chance that something doesn’t quite work with that device more chance that will be on the phone to support where you’re paying support engineer of princely sum to try and figure out exactly what went wrong and where.

So if you’re a VPN business then charging per-device, (or at least limiting the number of devices you allow people to use per account) isn’t just a way of making extra money – it’s a legit way to keep your business afloat and stop you incurring losses.

What To Look Out For If You Want The Best VPN For Multiple Devices

There are a few things that you need to look out for when you’re looking for the best VPN for multiple devices. As you’re connecting to another network, albeit a virtual one, you’re going to be bound by the rules of networking in general. Think of traffic across a network like water in a pipe (stay with me here). When you connect to a VPN its like there’s a pipe inside that pipe and it’s only carrying your water. No matter what goes on in that inner pipe, you’re never going to be able to get more water down it than you could down the main pipe itself. So don’t go expecting a VPN to magically boost your internet speed.

Also, the more taps you run in your house is the slower the water is going to flow. That’s your bandwidth being used up there.

Now some VPN providers have clever ways of managing the demands and raising the pressure in the pipe if you start turning on taps and flushing toilets and stuff. That’s one thing that’s key to look out for – does your connection slow down more than usual the more devices you connect to the VPN? And remember that encryption that I was talking about earlier? Think of that like the thickness of the pipe. That plus all the ultra-secure things that modern-day VPN providers have to do to make sure your connection stays safe and secure have an effect on the speed and quality of your internet connection.

And another word on quality: a good VPN should have the same quality connection whether you’re using one device or multiple ones. If you start experiencing more frequent disconnects or other types of internet problems it might be a sign of your VPN service being unable to handle that many connections.

#best VPN for multiple devices #vpn

[alexsrousseau]

COMMISSION:  The Sound of a Voice

After confronting Kurogiri/Oboro at Tartarus, Hizashi has a falling-out with his friends and partner.

for: @scattered-imagination ♡ by Sam WC: 3802

                                 Thank you so much! this was lovely to write.                                                                      commission info + AO3 + ko-fi

Shouta Aizawa likes the quiet of the faculty room at the end of the day. In the fall, the midday sun pours gentle light in through the window and casts a warm glow over Shouta’s spot by the window, allowing him time to think and grade papers before returning home. 

It’s not often that someone him this late in the day. But when Yagi Toshinori’s hesitant face peers through the door of the lounge, Aizawa greets him with a low hum.

“I figured I’d see you here,” Toshinori says with a small smile. Aizawa nods, looking up from the stack of papers to be graded at the table. 

“You don’t usually stay this late,” Aizawa murmurs.

Toshinori rubs the back of his head. “I know. I, erm...I wanted to talk about — about Yamada.”

Aizawa sighs. The very way in which Aizawa’s posture shifts at the mention of the other man is enough to make Toshinori flinch. 

“He’s burning himself out, Aizawa.”

Aizawa blinks and remains silent.

Toshinori takes a careful step inside the. With a glance at the floor, he moves to stand across the table where Aizawa sits. 

“And you can’t...can’t reach him at all, can you?” 

Aizawa glares at him under hooded eyelids. Behind the thick strands of his hair, the former number-one hero almost feels intimidated.

“I’m not delving into the details of my relationship with — with him, right now. We don’t speak as much as we used to. That’s it. I can’t reach him any better than you, Nemuri, or Tensei can. Admittedly, I...I haven’t noticed the change in his behavior until you and Nemuri brought it up to me today. This...this thing he does isn’t entirely abnormal. He goes on these crazy energy-splurges and then sleeps for a week.”

Aizawa sigh as a pang of guilt creeps through his stomach. Estranged or not (and God, Aizawa hates that word), he should have seen this for what it is. This behavior isn’t Hizashi — this is far, far worse. And he’d been ignoring it; he’d been ignoring a lot of things, save for work, since their visit to Tartarus.

“But this isn’t normal, no.”

Toshinori sighs. Aizawa watches him with measured eyes.

“What do you propose we do?” 

Aizawa’s voice is strained around the question, and Toshinori notices a desperation in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. When he speaks again, it’s hardly above a whisper.

“I...I don’t want to see him get hurt.” Toshinori manages a small smile. 

“None of us do, Aizawa. Nemuri proposed we go to his apartment tomorrow night. It would technically be breaking and entering, but erm — we figured you’d have a spare key. Just know I’m not supporting this, and that it’s highly illegal and — “

Aizawa gives him a flat stare. Toshinori shrugs sheepishly.

“I’ll be there, then,” he says quickly. “With the key.”

That seems to please Toshinori well enough.

_____________________________

The racing in Hizashis head shows no sign of slowing. Even as he pushes open the door to his apartment, no one train of thought seems to settle enough for him to follow it long enough to make any sense. His eyelids dance like hummingbird wings and unfocused eyes dart every which way as his hand trembles to unlock the door. 

He needs to sleep. Or to sit down. But something deep in his chest looms within him like a vast, inky trench that he dare not let anywhere near the surface of his own psyche. He scratches his head idly, almost throwing off his directional speaker before he notices the four people sitting on his couch with a sudden jolt.

Across from him, Shouta is slumped across the couch cushion, a sigh that makes his chest ache. He sputters, feeling like he needs to say something. They had hardly spoken in weeks. Since speaking with Oboro — Kurogiri — at Tartarus, meeting Shouta’s eyes has been a near-impossible feat. That looming, dark expanse of water threatens its way up Hizashi’s throat, and he quickly shoves it down with a weak smile.

Nemuri is leaning on the back of a chair beside the couch, and to Shota’s right, Toshinori stands awkwardly near the corner, his hand on the back of his head. Tensei has his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly together until he looks up when Hizashi enters the room.

“Oh hey!” he chirps. He curses inwardly as his voice cracks. He’s mentally exhausted, and he’s suddenly vividly aware that it’s painted all over his face.

Nemuri offers a small smile. Toshinori just sighs, looking around with a weak wave. Shouta and Tensei look away.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Hizashi continues. He takes off his speaker, placing it on the table in the middle of the four. “Let me put some dinner on, yeah? You four have gotta be starving.”

“That won’t be necessary, Yamada,” Toshinori says with a raise of his hand. Nemuri nods in agreement. 

“Hizashi…” she begins carefully. “We actually wanted to talk to you. About that. We don’t want you to take care of us. We want you to talk to us.”

He swallows thickly. He feels their eyes burning into the front of his skull, no matter how much he tries to look away.

“Oh. Well, we could’ve all gotten a drink or something. Not that I don’t love when you guys come over and all, I’d just like to clean up a little first!”

“You wouldn’t have agreed to come,” Shouta says lowly. He takes an uneven breath, forcing himself to meet his eyes. “Because this isn’t a friendly call. Hizashi…”

He sighs softly. Shouta feels suffocated — why were Tensei, Toshinori, and Kayama here when they weren’t the ones in Tartarus? Nemuri had been Oboro’s friend, but they didn’t have to watch as Oboro all but clawed his way out of Kurogiri —

He shoves the thought aside.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Tensei points out when Shouta is clearly lost for words. “Not since you and Shouta visited Tartarus.”

Hizashi freezes where he stands. “Look, man, I don’t wanna talk about what happened at Tartarus, okay? That was me and Shouta’s business.”

“He was our friend, too,” Nemuri says softly. The hurt in her eyes is enough to make Hizashi want to cry.

“And I may not have known him,” Toshinori says quietly, “But I consider Oboro Shirakumo’s...situation...to be a failure of hero society itself. And as a representative of what is meant to be the best of the best of Pro Heroes here in Japan, I consider this to be a personal matter in regards to your well-being. I also consider you to be my friend, Yamada, and I worry about your well-being.”

Hizashi presses his lips together as Toshinori looks at the ground with a hard expression.

“Guys, I appreciate this,” Hizashi says softly. “But I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re not,” Shouta snaps. He clamps his mouth shut when Tensei gives him a warning glance. His tone had been far too harsh.

“You’re not fine,” he says again, slowly this time. He stands up, if a bit awkwardly, to approach Hizashi. His hands twitch to take the other man’s hands in his own — to hug him and cling to him as he had before. But he can’t. Their relationship had deteriorated in the past few weeks, and they both know it.

“We want you to talk to us, Hizashi.”

Hizashi raises his hands defensively. “I told you! I’m fine.”

“Hizashi...you’ve lost weight,” Toshinori says gently. “Your smile used to be the brightest smile across U.A. and...I can tell when someone is forcing a smile, Hizashi. I’ve had to do it many times myself. You aren’t smiling — you’re acting.”

Hizashi looks at them in disbelief. He shakes his head, his eyes wide and unfocused as he harshly grabs a chair and drags it into the makeshift circle. He sits down, worrying his chapped bottom lip between his teeth before staring at the four of them in silence.

“I’m tired,” he admits. “I’m really, really tired. I want to help you all. I love it — it makes me happy. But sometimes, I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. You know?”

The four of them look at one another in silent confusion, unsure of what to say. He stares at Shouta, first.

“You’ve been complaining that I’m too loud,” he whispers. “You almost never do that. You forgot about all of our dates last week.”

Shouta’s lower lip trembles, but before he can respond, Hizashi turns to Tensei.

“Tensei — you locked me out of your classroom when I was shaking. You couldn’t handle it. I — I don’t blame you. I haven’t had a panic attack since I was a kid, and — and I know I — I hurt someone the last time that happened. My voice got out of control. But I needed you, Tensei.”

His gaze darts to Nemuri when Tensei, too, is at a loss for words.

“You’re drinking more,” he points out. Her face flushes.

“Hizashi, I — “

“No,” he snaps. He bares his teeth. “Nemuri — let me continue. Please.”

Never one for being told what to do, she bows her head in meek obedience.

“You were drinking,” he says again. “And wouldn’t let me stop you. You blacked out. Thank God you were at home, or else you would’ve been destroyed by the press and God knows what else.”

Speechless, she blinks and says nothing more.

“So,” he continues, addressing the group. “You see? This is why I’m tired. I love you — all of you. But...I can’t do this anymore. We lost Oboro as children, and it was devastating. I’m done lying to myself — I changed, that day. We all did. Seeing him like that again at Tartarus made me feel like a scared, lost little kid who suddenly got smacked in the face with the reality of Pro Hero work at the age of fifteen all over again. And now, I’m stuck wishing he had just stayed dead. You know how screwed up it is to wish your old best friend was dead instead of — instead of a monster?”

His voice cracks in the silent room.

“I can’t pretend to know what you have seen,” Toshinori says softly. “But I know that it’s a burden that not even a Pro Hero should have to bear.”

Hizashi manages a weak, tearful smile. “Then at least you, Toshinori, understand why trying to be there for all of you all of the time has not been working for me. I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

He sighs. He hadn’t expected to feel better after letting everything air out — but Hizashi feels lighter, somehow, even amidst the struck and devastated faces of his friends. He winces, unable to meet their eyes. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them — but he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I think Hizashi is right,” Tensei murmurs. Shouta looks up and meets Hizashi’s eyes, but the two say nothing at all. Nemuri nods.

“We’re sorry, Hizashi,” Nemuri says quietly. “We...we’ve hurt you. I think...I think it would be good if we spent some time alone. None of us have been processing this well. I’m glad you told us.”

Hizashi bites his lip. He wants to cry; he doesn’t want them to go, but he knows there is nothing else to be done. Nothing else to be said.

“I’d like to stay,” Toshinori murmurs. “If that’s okay with you, Yamada.” He looks around the room, stricken by the others’ response. Maybe this was for the best, but is leaving Yamada really what’s best right now? He doesn’t know.

Hizashi offers him a weak smile and, much to Toshinori’s relief, nods in weary agreement. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. The rest murmur pained goodbyes, and Hizashi wishes them well. Shouta opens his mouth as though to say something more, but Hizashi only shakes his head.

“Shouta. Not now.”

Shouta looks down and nods. Shuffling out the door, he follows his friends out of the apartment door, leaving Hizashi alone with Toshinori. The silence that follows feels stifling, and when Hizashi hides his face in his hands in a barely-concealed sob. Maybe it’s the way Toshinori approaches him and places a hand comfortingly on his shoulder; maybe it’s the way he says nothing at all, merely lets Hizashi cry and cry until there’s nothing left in him to weep for any longer.

His silence and his simple, gentle touch are enough for Hizashi to let go.

“You can’t be there for everybody all the time,” Toshinori murmurs. “You have to separate that roll from yourself. Without learning to do that from a young age, I would have destroyed myself much more quickly than I already did. You can’t do that to yourself, too. You have a bright and promising career that is still years ahead of you, Yamada. Embrace it for you, and don’t let yourself be dragged down by impossible expectations.”

Hizashi nods in agreement. Toshinori smiles and offers him a hug, which Hizashi gladly accepts.

Over the weekend, Toshinori comes to visit Hizashi frequently, offering to cook for him and bring him takeout on Sunday night. They laugh and talk about television shows and work. Toshinori even helps Hizashi clean the apartment, which Hizashi had, admittedly, let get to an unacceptable level of disaster over the past couple of weeks. All at once, Hizashi vividly understands just why Yagi Toshinori is Japan’s Number One Hero. He’s kind — terribly, terribly kind and patient beyond even Hizashi’s own understanding.

Maybe, having someone simply let Hizashi let go had been exactly what he had needed.

_____________________________

On Monday night at the bar, Nemuri, Shouta, and Tensei drink in uneasy silence. Shouta nearly didn’t come. His silence weighs on them all like a heavy blanket.

“We need to do better,” Nemuri murmurs. “All of us.”

The other two nod in agreement.

“We’re all struggling. But it was no excuse to treat Hizashi the way we did,” Tensei points out. “We’re all at fault. We need to get over our own crap and get through this together. We did before — we can do it again.”

As doubtful as Shouta is, he agrees for the sake of agreeing.

The following week, Hizashi’s behavior is strange, to say the least. He says nothing of their conversation at his apartment and seems to almost back to his usual self — but without Hizashi’s typical and endearing over-the-top cheer. He calls Shouta ‘Aizawa’ even when they’re alone, which isn’t often. And while he gives pointers on grading and offers to help open a door when Tensei is carrying an armful of books and other supplies, it’s as far as the extent of his help goes. Hizashi keeps a measured, practical distance, and it’s enough to leave Shouta dumbstruck and quietly scrambling for any sign of his old partner and friend.

“Distance,” Toshinori had told Hizashi gently before leaving on Sunday night, “might be the kindest way of taking care of yourself. I am not suggesting you abandon your friends. But you have to place yourself at a distance away from them that they relearn to take care of themselves while you heal, too.”

Hizashi had agreed. And once he’d committed to the practice, it had been easier than he had expected. But he’s angry — angry at himself, angry at them, and angry at the world, most of all. He doesn’t like the invisible emotional barrier he’s committed to placing between him and his friends. But, at the end of the day, he can’t deny that it just might be helping him. Even his distance from Shouta seems to be taking some of the weight off his shoulders when he returns home after teaching class. 

At the end of the day, Shouta checks his phone. Hizashi would have texted him at least twice by now — be it about a date, or even just a stupid picture of a cat that he found online. But there’s nothing. He had grown used to that ridiculous point of contact from the other so much that he hadn’t realized just how much he’d relied on it until now.

One, single text from Nemuri sent to him and Tensei vibrates across his phone.

We’re losing him.

Shouta doesn’t respond; but he knows that the simple statement is nothing but the raw, unyielding truth.

A week of Hizashi’s emotional and psychological distance comes and goes, and Shouta isn’t so sure he can handle it anymore. He misses Hizashi more than he ever thought he could miss a person he sees almost every single day. He wants him back, not as a caretaker or a bearer of Shouta’s own tight-knit emotional burden, but as a partner; as someone to spend the weekends with, someone who can make him laugh ‘till he’s snorting and red in the face, and someone he can simply spend time with without the weight of the world across their backs. He never thought he’d find himself craving the physical touch that Hizashi so willingly doles out — even when Shouta isn’t exactly in the mood for it — or the way they used to embrace late at night, quiet and unrelenting in the dark of Hizashi’s quiet bedroom.

He’d treated Hizashi like something disposable. He, Tensei, and Nemuri all had. Not willingly, no — but in their own, self-centered grief, Hizashi had been the last ray of sunshine they’d clung to in hopes that the world might treat them kinder once they’d dragged their feet to the end of whatever long, relentless tunnel that seeing Kurogiri at Tartarus had thrust them into. 

They just hadn’t realized Hizashi had been left behind, unable to reach the light they had to believe existed, even if they couldn’t see it just yet.

Shouta lays in his bed early that Friday night and stares at the dull, unchanging ceiling of his bedroom. Hizashi had always brought so much color into the dullest of places. His bedroom never felt so barren as it did when Hizashi wasn’t here. Sighing, Shouta grabs his phone off the nightstand and all but jams his fingers into the buttons to dial Hizashi’s phone number he’d memorized long ago.

Hizashi picks up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

It takes Shouta a moment to answer. He feels his pulse race in his throat like he’s a teenager talking to Hizashi for the very first time all over again.

“Hey, Hizashi.”

“Hey, man.”

They remain silent on the line, and Shouta sighs.

“How are you?” Shouta asks quietly. He drapes an arm over his eyes, gritting his teeth. His voice sounds fake, and he hates it.

“I’m alright!” Hizashi chirps. “Hands Up Radio just got another sponsor last night, and I’ve been freaking out about it. It’s great news, y’know?”

Shouta breathes a quiet laugh. “That’s good to hear,” he murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks!”

The line goes silent again. Shouta closes his eyes and takes a steady breath, choosing his words carefully.

“Would you want to get coffee this Friday night? Maybe to celebrate?” Shouta asks. “I’ll buy.”

Hizashi is hesitant to respond.

“You want to get coffee?”

“Yeah. Honestly, Hizashi, I miss you and I feel like shit for the way I’ve been treating you.”

Shouta hears Hizashi sigh quietly. “Shouta, it’s — “

“Don’t say it’s okay, because it’s not,” Shouta snaps. He bites his lip as he tries not to sound harsher than he intends to. Emotional vulnerability is completely and utterly not Shouta’s thing. And maybe, just maybe, his precise lack of emotional vulnerability is partly what got him into this very particular mess in the first place. Swallowing his pride, Shouta grits his teeth and lets the words come out as honestly as he can muster.

“It’s not okay to treat you like a disposable therapist just because you cope with shit by throwing yourself into the midst like an eager cocker spaniel while the rest of us sit on our asses and mope. We all lost someone, and yeah, it’s especially fucked up to lose someone this way. They didn’t teach us this stuff in school. But we didn’t become heroes for the ease of it all, Hizashi.”

Shouta clenches his teeth, gripping the phone harshly in his hand as he forces himself to keep his voice steady over the line. Doing this is hard; but so is everything else about this situation. He’s never given up before when something was hard, and he doesn’t intend to start now.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says slowly. “But my last, lingering shred of narcissism makes me think that maybe I’m worth it enough for a second chance.”

After a moment, Hizashi sighs again.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot, you know that?” he says finally.

Shouta lets out a sound between a harsh laugh and a sob.

“I know I am,” he croaks, laughing quietly into the receiver. “Trust me.”

Hizashi lets out a soft giggle.

“Thank you, Shouta,” Hizashi says seriously. “Thank you for...thank you for apologizing. Look, in your defense, I should have said something sooner. I shouldn’t have kept how I felt bottled up for so long. I didn’t communicate what I felt because I was afraid it would only push you all further away. This past week...I just needed space. And...maybe a small part of me needed to know whether or not you would reach out when I pulled away. I guess at heart, I’m still a kid desperate to be the center of attention.”

They both laugh bitterly.

“We’re all emotionally stunted,” Shouta mumbles. “I don’t know how Toshinori does what he does without losing his goddamn mind. Number one hero and that man still has it in him to smile. I know some of the shit he’s seen, but there’s gotta be stuff that he just doesn’t talk about.”

“I don’t know,” Hizashi admits.

Shouta hums. “Have Tensei and Nemuri reached out to you?”

“No, they haven’t.”

“They will. Just — give them time.”

That seems to please Hizashi well enough, and he agrees that he would.

“So, coffee this Friday?” Shouta asks again.

“Yes!” Hizashi chirps. “Maybe we can...head back to my place afterward..?”

“That sounds good to me.”

“And have sex?”

Hizashi’s small, hopeful voice makes Shouta laugh harder than he has in weeks.

“And have sex,” he confirms. Shouta’s smile never leaves his face. “And maybe,” he continues, “We can even cuddle and watch a movie after.”

Hizashi’s pleased yelp hurts Shouta’s ears, but the sound is quite possibly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

#erasermic #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #present mic #eraserhead #shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada

[fandom-meanderer]

Okay, so I absolutely love your writing! I was wondering if you'd be willing to do a FE3H request? It can be any route, but probably alluding to post time skip. The reader is interested in Sylvain, but she catches him being blushy and stumbling over himself when he's talking to Ingrid/another female student. Felix, who likes(loves) reader, as she can actually hold her own in training, wonders why she likes him anyway, low-key jealous. How it's ended is up to you. Keep up the fantastic work! 💝ty

Oooh.

Oooh boy.

This. This is good.

Let’s get cracking.

~

The clash of metal filled the air, blades crossing at every possible second. You knew you had to focus, you’re in war for pete’s sake, but your mind just kept drifting for fractions of a second and you would create an opening that Felix worked himself into. Finally, Felix deals the final blow and knocks your sword out of your hand.

“You’re distracted,” he grunts.

“Am I?” You smirk, you immediately roundhouse him. “If this was an actual battle, you’d be out of commission, Felix,” you tease. Felix clicks his tongue and pushes himself off of the floor.

“You’ve got a point, I can’t be careless,” he says. You glance outside of the door and Felix follows your gaze. “Thinking about that idiot again?”

“No!” You shout. “Yes…” you mumble.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in him,” Felix grumbles. “We’re in war. You should be focusing on your training.”

“What do you mean? I just bested you, did I not?”

“That’s hardly relevant!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I think I’m going to tell him tomorrow.”

“Nothing good will come out of that, I promise you.”

“Like you’d know,” you shoot him a disapproving glare.

To say you’ve fallen head over heels for Sylvain is a bit of an understatement. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for his charming good looks? Especially after these five years, you could tell that he has matured since his school days. It doesn’t help that you two have grown quite close as well, what with Professor Byleth always insisting that the two of you work together on the battlefield. You’ve come to love his charming personality. And some will deep down inside is telling you he felt the same.

“I’m gonna call it a night. I take it that you’ll stay here for another hour or so?”

“Yes. Unlike you, I care about surviving.”

“Of course,” you sigh. Felix picks up his sword again and begins to practice his combat arts, signaling an end to the conversation. Taking another huff, you walk out into the crisp night air. 

“Sylvain this, Sylvain that,” Felix buries his sword into the training dummy. “Gods above. Why must you be so dense?!” He completely decapitates the dummy and throws his sword to the ground.

Now, on Felix’s end, he found himself to be completely smitten by you. Who knew he was into women who could totally beat his ass if they wanted to? Imagine the rage that boiled in him when you first mentioned his childhood friend. And after what you said to him just a few moments ago? He’s about to lose you forever, and he never even had the chance.

“Why do I even feel this way?” He scolded himself. Still, his eyes lingered on the door for another moment longer.

Right as you are about to make your way into the dormitories, you notice the candle light coming from your old classroom. Your first thought was of Professor Byleth, he had been working late nights for a while now, it wouldn’t hurt to check on him, right? As you neared the classroom, thats when you heard familiar voices.

“Hey, Ingrid. How are you- I mean, what are you- Are you… you know… off to train again?” Sylvain stumbles over his words. You stop yourself right as you’re about to reach the door, standing behind the wall. You felt yourself about to have a slight breakdown, what a silly thought.

“No, not right now, I was on my way to the dorms,” Ingrid says. “You’re being weird. Have you always been this weird, and I have never noticed?” Ingrid asks with a light tone.

‘Of course it would be Ingrid,’ races through your mind.

“No. I’m pretty sure. I don’t think so. By the by, have you, ya know, fallen for anybody recently?”

‘Oh gods, here is comes.’

“Don’t be ridiculous. What are you even bumbling on about?”

“Well, everyone’s talking about how you got really, uh, pretty. Just, you know, all of a sudden.”

Yup, there it was. Heart, are you okay in there?

You couldn’t even listen to their conversation anymore. You held onto your heart and ran off, careful to not be heard in the night. You found yourself in the training grounds again, this time empty. Felix must have left.

Good for him. He won’t see you having your mental breakdown.

You pick up your sword and dash at the training dummy, delivering blow upon blow.

“Stupid Sylvain! You and your dirty tricks! Making me fall for you! And then tossing me away! Why did I allow myself to be led on by you, you idiot!” You shout. Finally your sword slices one of the dummy’s arms off, and you feel your arms fall.

“So, you finally agree with me,” Felix says behind you. You freeze. Without moving, you speak up.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since I saw you walk in, I figured you left something so I came to see what it was.”

“Gods above…” you curse. You pick up your sword and walk towards the exit, keeping your gaze on the floor because Goddess be damned if you let Felix see you cry. He’d never let you live it down, and for some reason, that coming from him just hit differently. Just as you were about to cross him, he holds his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. “What, Felix? Going to tell me ‘I told you so’?”

“Not exactly,” he spins you around and pushes you against the pillar, one arm keeping you from the exit. His eyes stared into yours. 

“What?” You look to the ground, making another feeble attempt to hide your red eyes. He cups your cheek and pushes you to look at him.

“I guess that idiot was good for one thing,” he musters out. He leans in and you know exactly what’s coming next.

“Which is?”

“Ugh, you’re too dense.” He stops just inches away from your face and lifts his arm, making a move to leave, but you grab his shirt and stop him.

“Wait just a second,” you growl. You stand on the tips of his toes and press a quick kiss. You pull back and quickly walk around him. It was like an instant connection was formed and, something that had to be held back in your subconscious had surfaced itself. Just as you were just a foot away from the door, Felix steps in front of you.

“If you’re going to start something, own up to it and finish it,” he says before capturing your lips once more, but with a different feel than when you were testing the waters. This time, it felt right.

So this is what the first kiss alluded to, it was never Sylvain, it had to have been him.

~

After a not so short session, you were one hundred percent shocked when you and Felix walked out of the training grounds and you saw the damned sun in the sky. The two of you ran into Sylvain on your way to the dorms.

“Wow! You two looked tired,” Sylvain points out. “Were you training all night?”

“Something like that,” Felix glances to the side and scoffs.

“You two are absolute monsters,” Sylvain grimaces. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he says, walking off toward the other direction. Felix looks at you, a bit of small anxiety welling up in him.

“Fuck Sylvain.”

“That’s right,” Felix gives you a wild smirk as the two of you share a quick fist bump. “Wait. No.”

“Shit, you’re right,” realization quickly dawned on your face, but you replaced it with your iconic confidence and corrected yourself, “fuck you.”

“That’s better.”

—

Kinda wanna write an alternative version to this with Felix’s POV, should I?

Edit (9/13/2019) Felix’s POV is up! [Read it Here]!

#Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #ingrid brandl galatea #feth #fe3h #fe3h sylvain #fe3h felix #fe3h ingrid #felix x reader #request

[xanyoules]

"You Should Never Tell a Psychopath They Are a Psychopath. It Upsets Them": Villanelle, Joe Goldberg and Feeling Sorry for Psychopaths

What do you envision when you hear the word? I’d hazard a guess it’s your prototypical psychopath with a dead-eye stare and blood-stained knife in hand. Perhaps it’s your conspiracy theorist neighbour, or that — yes, that one — ex. We’ve seen Villanelle’s theatrical murders on ‘Killing Eve’ and we’ve rooted for Joe in ‘You’ despite his murder habit. We’ve read articles with clickbait titles on how to “spot” a psychopath and immediately diagnosed our sibling, colleague or ex-best friend. It’s a term we throw around carelessly, yet it also inspires fear. A real psychopath isn’t like us and they certainly aren’t worth any kind of sympathy. We’re good people and they’re crazy, violent, controlling, unemotional and self-obsessed. Right?

Sweet but a psycho

Popular culture has given us infamous psychopaths throughout the decades and a couple of our contemporary favourites must be Oskana Astankova — the Russian assassin “Villanelle” -from hit TV show ‘Killing Eve’ and Joe Goldberg from Netflix’s ‘You’. Despite their psychopathic tendencies, fans champion their victories.

Psychologist Robert Hare devised the ‘Psychopath Checklist’ back in 1980 and it is now routinely referred to as the PCL-R. Villanelle and Joe would score highly: both characters believe they are of great importance, routinely lie, act impulsively, struggle with control, take zero to little accountability for their actions, lack empathy, and have a history of criminality and behavioural problems.

Hare’s checklist is still doing the rounds in institutions worldwide, usually prisons, but it has come under plenty of criticism for what Willem Martens (2008) deems as being an unethical psychological practice. It’s difficult to diagnose the term “psychopath” but several diagnoses may suggest a fit, from Antisocial Behaviour Disorder to psychopathy and various other personality disorders.

Already, we see how complex a diagnosis it and encounter very different views from psychologists when it comes to the question of the psychopath. Yet, as we progress as a society, so does science. Science isn’t rigid, stuck in a time of Freud and every other straight, white, wealthy, old, neurotypical male philosopher and psychologist from the 20th century. It moves with society and it adapts as our knowledge deepens. Nowadays, some psychologists and mental health practitioners are rejecting the label “psychopath” completely due to the severely negative connotations and even calling psychopathy a mental health issue or disability.

Psychology says what?

Identity is an important factor when it comes to being human. Our identities are important to us, especially as we engage and present these identities online. Psychopaths are said to be so unlike the majority they are unable to make genuine connections with others but as with anyone deemed ‘different’, it is the group that collectively rejects the ‘different’ individual, perpetuating a cycle of low interpersonal integration and marginalisation.

If given an official diagnosis with a working label of “psychopath”, combined with society’s current view of what it means to be a psychopath, a psychopath is quickly forced to the outskirts of society thus lowering their commitment to fulfilling social roles. A self-fulfilling prophecy becomes imminent: when someone is thought of and treated as if they are somehow broken, they often become it.

Noel Smith is the commissioning editor of magazine InsideTime and a former prisoner who has experienced his fair share of mental health difficulties. Writing for InsideTime, Smith says: “If people think you’re MAD, then everything you do, everything you think, will have MAD stamped across it.”

Psychologists Peterson & Seligman (2004), tired of psychology’s tendency to focus on the deviant side of humanity, proposed we all have the ability to express ‘the six common virtues’: wisdom and knowledge, courage, humanity, justice, temperance and spirituality or transcendence.

Here, Peterson & Seligman neatly demonstrated how language can create a narrative. The psychopath according to Hare’s checklist could be grandiose and controlling, but with a slightly different view, they’re confident and courageous leaders. We associate the term so often with negative traits that we ignore the possibility for positives.

Mental health matters — but not for you

“They [psychopaths] are the social snakes in the grass that slither and smile their way into your life and emotions. They feel no empathy, and only care about themselves” says Dr Xanthe Mallett, a forensic anthropologist and criminologist at Newcastle University.

Dr. Mallett’s words reinforce an age-old belief: the psychopath’s only identity is psychopath and they are incapable of being anything other than one-dimensional.

Author Nathan Filer expressed his initial dismay that once his diagnosis was televised by ‘Meet the Psychopaths’ programme on Channel 5, strangers expressed their fear and revulsion immediately. Filer states he “quickly got over” people’s negative opinions but received abuse on the streets with words such as “psycho” and “nutter” shouted at him on a regular basis, reinforcing the rejection by the collective.

Lucy Nichol, writer and mental health support activist, expressed her fears when joining a discussion panel at the Centre for Life Science’s speakeasy programme for adults in 2019. Nichol, rightfully, is anxious about the welfare of those living with psychosis and how they can be discriminated against due to fear. She worries that psychopaths can be “violent and frightening”, and any potential link between psychopaths and people living with psychosis can lead to danger for people with psychosis. Resistant to the movement of psychopathy being welcomed into the family of mental health, Nichol argues it should not be treated as a mental health concern. Her argument is that a classified psychopath lacks empathy and is unable to judge other people’s emotions and this makes the people around the psychopath vulnerable, not the psychopath.

Yet, other mental health conditions and disorders can lead to an individual not necessarily being able to empathise in the way a neurotypical person may empathise. Similarly, an individual with autism, a panic disorder or psychosis may have limited capacity to judge other people’s emotions on occasion. As a society, we tend to understand this and accommodate it.

In contrast to Nichol’s view, there are more and more calls for understanding psychopathy in broader, more compassionate terms.

Dr Luna Centifanti, Lecturer in Psychological Sciences at University of Liverpool classes psychopathy as a mental illness that means the individual experiences “disordered thinking, emotions and behaviour.” She added that psychopathy can lead to struggles with understanding emotions of others and therefore their responses to distress can be “inappropriate”.

Do better, be better

Joseph Newman is a psychologist at Wisconsin University who classifies psychopathy as a disability. Newman explains it as an ‘informational processing deficit’ where individuals have less ability to process cues immediately such as someone else’s fear or upset, inviting us to see the psychopath through a more sympathetic lens.

Campaigners, researchers, activists and those with lived experiences of mental health conditions and illnesses have made huge strides for inclusivity and understanding. As professionals such as Newman and Dr. Centifanti begin to deconstruct the pathological idea of psychopathy, it is being tentatively considered as a mental health issue.

Let’s go back to Villanelle. Her history is relatively secret, but the viewer knows she’s spent time in Russian prison and has no family, therefore little connection to others. Her violent, ‘psychopathic’ actions are a result of her occupation as an assassin as opposed to something she does simply for the joy of enacting violence.

A recent soundbite suggests the show’s writers are no longer calling Villanelle a “psychopath” after astute fans have criticised the way it reduces her to a label.

Be more psychopath

A merge of popular culture, sociology and psychology has begun to turn the connotations of ‘psychopath’ on its head somewhat. The Wisdom of Psychopaths by Kevin Dutton (2012) looks to diagnosed psychopaths to teach us how to care less about other people’s emotions and our own, be fearless in our jobs and have an unwavering belief in ourselves. Western culture is a key culprit in promoting the idea that an impressive salary equals success or showing emotion at work is unprofessional, so, maybe it’s true — we could learn a lot about success from a psychopath.

On the flip side, while these traits have the potential to lead to fantastical financial and business success in aggressively capitalist societies, that doesn’t make them inherently good. Now more than ever seems to be a time where we need to cultivate harmony, compassion and vulnerability for all people regardless of individual status, label or identity.

“It isn’t hard to convince someone you love them if you know what they want to hear”

An eyebrow raising sentence from everyone’s favourite cute psychopath, You’s Joe Goldberg. It is wonderfully inclusive to change the narrative on psychopathy but surely there’s a reason for its fierce reputation. Maybe Dr. Mallet was right in that the psychopath is always a sneaky snake, ready to pounce and sink their psychopathic poison into our blood.

Manipulation is one of the terms we regularly hear associated with psychopathy. If psychopaths are prone to manipulating others, it can be argued that simple survival instincts mean non psychopathic individuals want to protect themselves and society from such behaviour. However, by perpetuating the hype of how dangerous psychopaths are, we just come back to an earlier point made in this article that the collective ostracises the psychopath and therefore impacts their ability to comply with social norms.

Hug your local psychopath

It seems that one of the prevailing mainstream perspectives on psychopathy is that a psychopath is someone evil: they were born evil; they are evil, and they’ll die evil. Hopefully you’ll now join me in disagreeing with that sentiment and see psychopathy as a complex mental health issue where everyone experiencing it is different and deserves to have the chance to be defined beyond a label.

No one is innately criminal or violent. While yes, there are links between criminality, violence and psychopathy, it’s worth remembering that we live in a time of mass media consumption that loves to sensationalise. The need to sell and to exaggerate often win over the need to be patient, analyse and truly understand complex parts of the human experience.

Psychology’s flirtations with neuroscience have revealed fascinating results: the brain, what a non-scientist would likely assume is a fixed and unchangeable organ, does and can change. Our brains are individual and through theories of neuroplasticity we can understand the vitality of our social environment on our brain and therefore behaviour. Psychopaths cannot be excluded from this.

Psychology and sociology are working to explore links between criminality and disadvantage or oppression. If criminality is linked to psychopathy, we must ask why, and be prepared to look at an individual’s history and their social environment.

Frankly, many of the accusations thrown at psychopaths do not work for neurodiverse people. Whether it’s an anxious person unable to understand why their habits, born from their anxiety, frustrate their travel buddy or a psychopath who — as Dr. Newman believes — can’t recognise their words or behaviour has upset someone until much later, the world can be a confusing puzzle for those of us who do not fit neatly into the expected norm.

In expanding compassion and understanding to others regardless of what condition or disorder they may have, we can be instruments of change. Once we look to others and try to understand them, we deconstruct labels that lead to marginalisation and instead, we can bring people together by saying: you are not alone.

**

#xan youles #psychology #personality disorder #psychopathy #psychopath #mental health #mental health activism #anti stigma #psychologist #neuroscience #academia #academic #essay #original essay #original writing #writer #don't use terms you don't understand sweetheart #inclusive language #inclusion #inclusivity #professional #villanelle #killing eve #joe goldberg #you netflix

[lnc2]

Shutterbug (1/?)

Chapter 1: something happens when everybody finds out

Summary: The word is out and the gossip is in: Ladybug’s got a man on her arm and it isn’t Chat Noir.  The hottest new couple to hit the Parisian spotlight? Ladybug and Adrien Agreste.

A/N: A commission from the wonderful @alienducky that grew out of control. Shout out to @overworkedunderwhelmed for helping me with the title.   It’s just what I was looking for.

AO3

This is a dream.  This has to be a dream.

Adrien watched in fascinated horror as his father and Nathalie outlined their plan of attack to the shell-shocked love of his life.  Ladybug’s arms were crossed around her stomach and her mouth hung open, just the slightest, frozen as Gabriel oh-so-casually requested– no, demanded – the superheroine’s cooperation.

“Are you okay with this?” He asked, voice low so as not to catch his clearly insane guardian’s attention.

Ladybug turned away from Gabriel and his runaway PR campaign.  She gave him a somewhat wobbly smile.

“Sure,” She squeaked. “Yup.  Tip-top. Totally fine!”

The too-perky words hung between them for a moment, suspended in horribly awkward time.  Adrien knew his partner too well to know she was anything but panicking.

“It’s okay,” He said, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “I’ll get you out of this.”

“No!” She said, too loud.  Red peeked out beneath her mask, dusting her nose and cheeks. She shook her head, tried again. “I mean– no.  Th-that’s okay. I’m kind of the reason you’re in this mess in the first place, right?”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Adrien wasn’t going to point out the embarrassingly obvious.  If she wanted to pretend he hadn’t made a total ass of himself to the press, well, who was he to stop her?

“Besides,” She said, shy smile peeking through her nerves. “There are worse ways to spend my time.”

“Heh,” Now it was his turn to blush. “Really? I mean, yeah. Ah.  Yeah.”

Gods strike him dead. 

He was barely in this and already making a fool of himself.

“Adrien,” His father snapped, drawing their attention back to the front of the room.  “Do pay attention. This is your scandal we’re dealing with.”

“Yes, father.” He murmured.

Scandal.

The word hung in the air like an accusation.  Unfair, really, and an exaggeration. There wasn’t anything particularly scandalous about what was happening.  It was more… sensational.

And it started, as these things usually do, with a rumor.

Some one anonymous person on the Internet or another asking the question: who should be dating Adrien Agreste?

Since the he’d ‘gone public’ on social media and started sharing more details about his personal life, speculation was rife over which if any of the girls featured on his instagram were worthy of his attention.

A ridiculous question really when, as he told his commenters, they were all just friends.  On the record, he wasn’t interested in anyone.

Off the record? Well, he was working on that.

Nevertheless, the rumors spiraled, as they usually do, from there.

Clara Nightingale was written off as too old, Chloe Bourgeois as too mean, and his school friends as too low-key.  It wasn’t until one inspiration-struck individual suggested Ladybug that the message boards lost their collective minds.

Video mashups of Ladybug’s press conferences, fan footage, and Agreste ads started making the rounds.  Doctored images of Ladybug and Adrien embracing, staring longingly into each other’s eyes, or even just standing near each other were rampant on sites like tumblr.  All and any of the little real interactions the two shared were shared and dissected and shared again.  One manic evening, after Audrey Bourgeois was akumatized and Ladybug was seen carrying the supermodel across the city, #ladrien started trending on Parisian twitter finally meriting the attention of major news outlets.

How all of this rumbling underbelly of Ladybug lore managed to miss him was a mystery.  But whether through school or modeling or whatever it was his father scheduled to max out his free time, Adrien didn’t hear about #buggreste or #ladrien or whatever the kids were calling it these days.

That is, he hadn’t, until his disastrous post-photoshoot run-in with Nadja Chamack.

“Adrien, a moment.” She said, accosting him just as he was about to enter his limo.  “Is it true that you and Ladybug are dating?”

The question, one right out of his deepest, most desperate dreams, stopped him cold.

The camera focused in on him, a journalist’s dream: eyes wide and bright, cheeks so, so red.

“I–” He nearly tripped over his feet as he turned to face the reporter and her camera. “Where did you hear that?”

“So it’s true?” She asked, forcing the microphone closer.

“She– I… Me?” He stammered, more flustered and starry-eyed by the minute.  Unfortunately for the viewers at home, Gabriel’s assistant Nathalie stepped in front of the camera blocking him from view.

“That will be all.”

But the damage was done.

What once was a dizzy-eyed fangirl’s daydream turned into the hottest gossip to hit Paris since the superheroes first stepped onto the scene.

By the time it officially hit the Ladyblog it was regarded by everyone not in the know as fact. Alya did her best, really, she did, to stem the tides. For the sake of #ladynoir (and her best friend) she had to try.  But when Monday rolled around and the contrite blogger finally managed to catch up with Marinette there really wasn’t much left to say.

“I’m so sorry, girl,” She said, throwing her arms around her friend. “No one will listen to reason.”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s okay, Alya.  It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”

“It’s ridiculous is what it is,” She said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are already together.”

“I don’t know about that,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes. “But it is rather reckless.  If it is true, I mean.  Imagine the akumas.”

“I’m sure Adrien will be fine, M.  It’s just gossip. Everything will blow over in a few days.”

Things did not blow over. 

They blew up.

And Marinette could only blame herself.

It was unfair, really, for the reporters to corner her like they did.  Ladybug and Chat were mid bien joue when they descended, rabid dogs wild for the latest scoop.

“Ladybug, can you comment on the Adrien situation?”

“Um,” She said, leaning further into Chat’s side as they encircled her. “No?”

Another microphone was shoved in her face. “So you’re saying you’re not interested in him?”

“No. I– wait yes.  I mean no.  I mean–” She laughed, nervous.  “What was the question?”

It was a rambling mistake on her part, a Marinette-ism sneaking through the mask.  But it was so hard for her to think with the flashing bulbs and shouted questions and rolling cameras.  Her miraculous was beeping and Chat’s arm gripped her waist as he pulled her close.

“I believe that’s all the time Lady has for today.” Chat said, extending his baton and vaulting them up, up, upward until they reached the nearby rooftops.  “Catch you later!”

Her partner was good for things like that.  Unfortunately he couldn’t save her from her runaway mouth and the resulting headline carnage.

Bug Outted! Secret Romance with Adrien Agreste CONFIRMED!

Buggreste or Ladrien?  YOU Decide.

The Claws are OUT: Chat Noir and His Plan to Win Ladybug Back

The last one featured a picture of Chat Noir sneering at the camera as he pulled a flustered Ladybug out of the paparazzi’s line of fire.  For days afterwards the Internet was abuzz with the news that she was cheating on Adrien with her partner which resulted in at least one akumatization.

The whole thing was more than a little ridiculous.

For obvious reasons, Ladybug thought it best to avoid being seen anywhere near the Agreste estate, but after a swarm of reporters chased Adrien down at the school things seemed a little… desperate.

Gabriel Agreste was the one who called for the meeting.

A stern direction for Adrien to make the request on his friend’s “little blog” was enough to send the forums into a tizzy.  But it was the news footage of Ladybug swinging over the vaulted gates of the Agreste manor that really set them going.

All of which culminated in this moment:

Adrien and Ladybug, red-faced and more than a little mortified, staring down the ultimate PR campaign.

“So we’re agreed then,” Gabriel said, looking down his nose at the blushing teens. “The two of you will carry on this… relationship for a time before breaking it off.  The public fervor will die down and we can move on from this disaster.  Are we clear?”

Adrien cast a searching look towards Ladybug, everything he’d ever wanted since he was fifteen.  She met his gaze and gave him a tentative but nonetheless heartstopping smile. A small thrill shot down his spine as the reality of what they were agreeing to sunk in.

The opportunity to date Ladybug with his father’s blessing?

Hell fucking yes.

Adrien met Gabriel’s steely gaze with his own.

“Absolutely.”

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #ladrien #commission #alienducky #commission gone rogue #fake dating au #buckle up kids #the pining is about to get really fucking real

[bigskydreaming]

russianspacegeckosexparty said: @bigskydreaming One of the settlements is a huge tower reaching up into the clouds, and very caste system hierarchy with the ones at or nearest the top of this spire are the royalty and nobility, and others are low rank.

Looooooool get out of my brain. Like, this can’t be a Faetown but only because this is basically the logline for a novel from my Citadel ‘verse, literally the one I was working on and getting ready to self-publish like....back when my jaw broke on me three years ago and derailed all my plans. I even had a cover commissioned for it and everything. Well okay not quite. I had an illustration I commissioned for it that I was going to use to design the cover from, and like, I really loved the tone and atmosphere and background the guy came up with and some things about how he illustrated the magic, but the character he featured front and center did uh....not mesh up with the breakdown I gave for what she and her armor should look like and also she’s doing one of those “This Is Anatomically Impossible And Also Ow I Hurt Just Looking At It” poses so.....I was like, ugggh, I like a lot of it (and the fact that I spent money on it) too much to just toss it out but like no way does it work as is so I still haven’t gotten around to figuring out if I could layer in the title in such a way as to obscure or hide part of her....contorting. I’ve added the illustration below the cut so you can see what I mean. LMAO. I think I might have posted it once before actually, but without the context of the story.

But seriously, this is The Elevation of Contempt in a nutshell. My prompt for myself for this one was literally “Class warfare, but make it magic.” LOL. And the towers thing is like....directly tied into the magic of this world.

So the world this novel is set on is one created by the goddesses of the sun and the moon. Back during the Holy Wars before the Citadel was split in pieces, they were lovers who found and shared dominion of the Solarium and its power, which when exiled by Seshan with the rest of the pantheon, they used to create this world and its inhabitants and its magic.

The basis for the magic system of this world is that magic, like matter, has different phases. Only while matter’s phase is dependent on temperature, the state of magic varies depending on altitude - basically, how close it is to the sun/moon, the source of magic in this world.

So each goddess created their own parallel form of magic, sun magic and moon magic, and it all operates by the same principles. At its furthest distance from the sun and moon, basically the surface level of the planet, magic condenses in its solid form, with specific properties while in that state. Once you reach a certain elevation however, magic exists in its liquid form, while at the higher elevations, it exists in a gaseous form, as clouds and vapor.

Which means the people of this world, upon discovering this, built their cities not outwards but UPWARDS. Using the magic of the Lower Realms to stabilize enormous towers and enable them to be built soaring to impossible heights....and ultimately a caste system formed, with the ruling class of the Heights lording their power over the Middle and Lower Realms....because magic in its gaseous/cloud phase is the most potent concentration.

But also, there’s the fact that the key to tapping the magic is art, basically. Due to the fact that the goddesses who designed the magic had been artists in their mortal lives, before ascending to godhood.

So the magic of the Lower Realms, the Depths, where its crystallized in the form of a kind of magical gemstone......magic in this phase just enhances what’s already there. Moon magic focuses on the physical realm while sun magic is about the essence of things, the spiritual realm. So crystallized moon magic, these silver/blue/purple gemstones which glow at night, when their magic can tapped and accessed....it basically can be used in various ways that all revolve around enhancing the already existing physical nature or properties of things. How it does this and in what ways, what properties, what degrees of enhancement....these depend on the artisans who take these gemstones and use them to craft jewelry and decorative elements, ornamentation, the patterns and imagery of which are what channel the moon magic into performing specific functions. 

Thus the ornate layering of gemstones throughout the foundation of the cities of this world are what keep the towers of the city capable of being built higher and higher without toppling. (But they’re layered so deeply into the foundations of the cities that its not like the people who live in the Depths could use this to hold the cities hostage so to speak, like threatening to destroy the foundations if their lives aren’t improved upon....they couldn’t really GET to the core foundations of the city to destroy the moon magic keeping it stabilized and refreshing that stability night after night, like....without the forces commanded by the people of the Heights stopping them long before they got to that point).

Then sun magic in its crystallized sunstone form, which can be tapped or accessed during the daylight hours....this enhances the existing spiritual properties or essences of things. Basically, solid-form sun magic makes things more of what they are on a kind of primal, existential level. Moon magic can make fires burn hotter, stone stand sturdier, weapons with moonstone-laden hilts more durable, sharper, less likely to break. Sun magic makes things with medicinal properties or tools of healing more effective, make weapons more deadly, in like an esoteric kind of way.

But both sunstones and moonstones, the crystallized forms of the magic, once brought to a certain elevation...they automatically melt into their liquid forms upon crossing that invisible threshold at which point solid magic becomes liquid. It doesn’t matter how expertly the crystallized sun and moon magic was wielded, crafted...it just simply doesn’t exist any longer in that solid form the second it reaches a certain height.

And this is the primary obstacle to people climbing the ranks of the city, socially as well as physically. Because thanks to the stranglehold the upper classes of most cities hold over the arts and education......the lower class living in the Depths simply lack the knowledge and skill to make use of the magic once its liquified and exists in those forms....because they’ve been denied those things. Sure, there are prodigies, people it comes naturally to without needing much education or training in tapping the magic via a ‘higher’ form of art in order to do so, but the ruling class works hard to ensure the number of people this includes - or who are aware that they possess such skill or the potential for it - is finite, or when a prodigy’s talent is undeniable, they ‘elevate’ them through the social ranks of the city and relocate them to one of the higher levels to keep most of them unmotivated to use these skills on behalf of the lower class they were once part of but no longer. Ones who rise through the ranks while still holding their old loyalties are either ‘disappeared’ or they learn to keep such loyalties well hidden.

In the Mids, the Middle Realm of the cities, where magic is concentrated in its liquid stages, sun and moon magic are tapped and channeled via painting and illustrations....their liquid forms being used as paint that artists then paint directly onto buildings, artifacts and even peoples’ skin as a form of magical tattoos.

Thus painters and tattoo artists are the real power brokers of the Mids. There’s bound to be one with a shop, selling their services, at every city level of the Mids, in every tower throughout the city. Aqueducts beginning at the very top levels of the Middle Realms collect the sun and moon magic the second the cloud and mist versions of the magic descend to the elevation at which they condense into a liquid, and then pipe that magic all throughout the middle levels of the city into reservoirs tapped by the various artists of the Mids in varying amounts, depending on their personal wealth and social standing. These aqueducts flow all the way to the Depths, where they leave off at the point where the liquid magic crystallizes in the ‘quarries’ at the upper reaches of the Depths. Thus in this fashion, the ruling class of the Heights also controls how MUCH magic reaches both the Mids and the Depths to begin with.

As with both the Depths and the Heights, the moon magic of the Mids is related to the physicality of things, while sun magic is related to their spiritual essences. Liquid moon magic, when channeled at night when its power can be tapped.....basically gives form and substance to whatever imagery its painted in.

So an artist can paint wings onto a person’s back with the silver, blue and violet hues of liquid moon magic, and upon nightfall, that person can activate that ‘tattoo’ at which point the wings lift off their skin and spring into being as physical things they can actually fly with. Someone could have a fireball painted onto their palm that will burst forth into real flames the second they command it to. People can commission artists for painted tattoos of weapons they can ‘peel’ off their skin into a state of physical being, or lightning bolts they can throw or even snakes that unwind from their forearms and attack or some kind of large cat like a panther that leaps free of the canvas of their back to attack an enemy. 

The only real limitations are that for an image to be ‘cast into being,’ ie pulled free of its canvas of skin or stone or whatever its painted upon and called forth as a real, three dimensional physical thing....it must be on the surface of whatever its painted upon, exposed to the night. So if you’re wealthy enough, you can commission an artist to paint several layers of ‘tattoos’ upon your skin, atop each other....but only the upper most image can be called forth at any given time. So if the tattoo that a person really needs at the moment is buried under two others, they have to ‘shed’ and waste the two tattoos atop it, burn them off so to speak, in order to reveal the one they’re trying to utilize as they can only then call it forth.

The other limitations are that any moon magic in a state of physical being when dawn comes vanishes with the sunrise. “Dormant” images, ones that are still painted on skin or stone or canvas but haven’t been tapped or called into being yet....they remain. Still useless during the daylight hours, but they haven’t been wasted, you don’t HAVE to use them up all in one night. But anything that’s been conjured with moon magic already, be it a weapon or a creature or wings...those will all vanish the second sunlight filters through to the Mids. 

Similarly, the creations of liquid moon magic only exist at the elevations moon magic exists in its liquid form. So if someone were to call forth a moon-crafted weapon from a painting in the Mids, and then carry that weapon with them down into the Depths....the second they crossed that invisible threshold into the altitudes of the Depths, their moon-conjured weapon would crystallize into a formless lump of solid moon magic. At the other end of things, if say, someone were to call forth wings of moonlight and use them to fly.....even though their wings could carry them all the way up to the elevations of the Heights....the second they crossed THAT threshold, their moon-conjured wings would effervesce into the formless mists of moon magic in its gaseous state. The weapons and creatures and creations of liquid moon magic exist ONLY in the Mids. They can’t rise or sink into either the Heights or the Depths; they cease to exist and either evaporate or crystallize into unshaped solid or gaseous magic.

Liquid sun magic has all the same restrictions and works by the same principles....but while liquid moon magic calls the imagery its painted in into being as a physical conjuration, liquid sun magic conjures the spiritual, the essence of things.

So a painted tattoo of a lightning bolt, if painted with moonlight and tapped during the night hours...will be called into being as an actual physical lightning bolt someone can cast forth as a force of destruction. A painted tattoo of a lightning bolt, if painted with sunlight and tapped during the day, however....that will conjure the essence of lightning, of electricity....channel its spiritual nature into a form the magic-user can wield. Such as by surging through them in the form of temporarily enhanced strength and speed, as though their nervous systems have been briefly supercharged, allowing for impossible feats. Sunlight painted images of creatures will allow someone to channel the spiritual properties or essences of such creatures. 

A called forth image of a serpent, for instance, could allow someone to poison an enemy with a temporarily venomous touch or a now poisoned blade. Tapping a sunlight-painted image of fire could cause a weapon or a door or even a person to glow with heat and burn to the touch, even though no physical fire is actually called into being. The painted tattoo of a hawk could temporarily give someone the keen vision of a bird of prey. And so on and so forth.

But again, as with the Depths, no matter how skilled or imaginative a painter, no matter how educated or practiced they are in the liquid arts of magic.....none of this does them any good if they were to try to climb to the city’s Heights uninvited.....because the magic simply doesn’t exist in that form to be used in that way once a certain elevation is reached.....and the music the ruling class uses to manipulate and channel magic in its most potent, gaseous forms...that’s the most carefully maintained, overseen and doled out form of artistic training of all.

Because the magic of the Heights, the magic of the sun and moon when flowing shapelessly and without limit or boundary through the vast reaches of the Upper Realms in the form of plentiful, wastefully abundant clouds and mists both at day and at night....

That’s the magic of transformation.

Mist moon magic when tapped and channeled at night, via the playing of flute-like wind instruments that breathe in and breathe out the ambient mist-magic and direct and shape it in the form of songs...mist moon magic allows a musician to transform the physical shape and structure of anything the mists touch, anyone who breathes them in. All via the direction of their music and the messages their songs are meant to convey, the images they conjure in the musician’s mind and from there are imparted upon others as the magic reshapes everything or everyone it touches to match the musician’s imaginings.

Thus the buildings of the Heights, the upper most levels of a city’s towers, are wrought by magic into strange, wondrous, impossible shapes. And often reshaped night after night. Musicians change their own shapes and the shapes of others at whim or upon request, transfiguring them into otherworldly visages and transforming animals into creatures born of imagination. A musician can’t change their own shape into that of some kind of animal, as they’d have no way to change themselves back if now lacking the ability to play their instruments and sing their songs....but they can change others into predators and prey, dragons and birds and tigers and anything else they fancy....with the other being entirely dependent on them to transform them back. The Heights are full of unearthly gardens filled with flowers and trees that could not exist if not for the moon magic and imaginations of the musicians who wield it. And unlike magic in its other forms, those of the lower elevations....the effects of moon magic don’t vanish with the sun. A transformation, once rendered, remains as is until and unless its transformed again.

And of course sun magic in its mist and cloud state works much the same way, though it renders transformations of the spirit....which is in many ways even more dangerous and potent. The music of sun magic changes the essence of things without changing its shape. Makes something other than what it is - impossibly so. It can make water burn like fire. It can make darkness illuminate brighter than the day. It can make a medicine intended to heal into a poison that kills, give a man the mind of a beast and a beast the mind of a man, make a solid door as see through as glass and someone submerged deep in a pool able to breathe it in as easily as if it were air.

The songs sung with sunlight, its said, can even make an honest man into a liar, a thief into a paragon of virtue, or the most loyal of allies into a traitor intent upon your death.

And as with songs woven of moonlight, the transformations rendered in the sun last even after night falls...unless and until another transformation is wrought.

And by keeping a tight leash on who they allow to become musicians at all....the ruling class maintains a stranglehold on the power they’ve amassed in the Heights. Even if the citizens of the lower levels were to climb to their elevation, they’d be unable to make use of the plentiful magic all around them, with no experience and instruction in using music to weave the magic into specific shapes....since those things have been deliberately withheld from them. By contrast, those of the Heights have no such restrictions in learning to utilize the illustrative skills and magic of the Mids or the jewelry-crafting of the Depths, even if they tend to view this as dabbling for the sake of idle entertainment....still, it means that when they venture forth into other elevations of the city....they are in no way hampered or impaired in making use of the magic there, even without aid of the music magic they’re most used to.

I think the gist of the plot (Class warfare, but with magic) is pretty clear from there, lol.

But the main characters of The Elevation Of Contempt include one of the most acclaimed painters of the Mids of one city: a ‘tattoo’ artist of great renown who teaches children of both the Mids and the Depths the art of music in secret lessons aided by her lover, a rebellious noblewoman who despises the rule of the Heights.....a young prodigy from the Depths and his best friend who in turn rises to become the pupil and protégé of an eccentric professor obsessed with legends of a time before their world, who maintains that none of this was as their creator goddesses intended and they would have intervened long before now, if they were not preoccupied with their own war against the god of another world, Alyon the god of Darkness and Despair, who holds dominion over something the oldest legends refer to as The Well.....and lastly, a thief from the Mids who was punished with a cruel transformation by the laughing nobility of the Heights, and who has since found a way to turn their punishment into his power and with it has sworn to make them all pay....

And all of them becoming entwined with the conflict between three mysterious strangers, who unbeknowst to the mortals of this world are gods of other worlds themselves: Azai-Dhak the God of Gamblers, who abandoned his own world in order to flee from Korim the Goddess of Vengeance, who has a ten thousand year old score to settle and eternity to stalk her prey......and Ramzi the God of Revels, lord of the Great Hall. Though what the latter could possibly want with the world of Sura is anyone’s guess. Only the goddesses of the sun and the moon have ever had much luck shining light on his motivations, and well. They’ve been a bit busy these past two thousand years.

Anyway, this is the illustration I’m still trying to figure out how to make work as the cover......you can uh...pretty easily see what I mean about the anatomy, I’m fairly sure. LMFAO.

[cela-astral-projection]

One day, someday My prince may come But it doesn't seem likely And even if he came and he liked me It's likely he'd be Not quite my type

It was the night of the Masquerade. Celeste's first. She had been shocked that she was even permitted to go. But, as she had learned, her cousin liked being the center of the universe. He was not particular about who he invited to watch the spectacle. And, if you were in his employ, you were either working or in attendance. And he did not need a nurse at his party...fingers crossed.

She had been given a dress for the evening. It was a hazy, dark celadon color. Simple, and unoffensive. Ankle length, with three quarter length sleeves. Her only qualm with the thing was the ridiculous neckline. It had wide lapels that were delicately embroidered with silver flowers, but the damn thing nearly fell open to her navel. She felt exposed and was not at all confident that everything was going to remain in its place. But, she didn't have much of an option. She wasn’t exactly flush with finery and flouncy gowns.

She had pinned her hair up halfway, letting the bulk of it fall down her back. It was perfectly adequate, in her opinion. She had never been to a fancy-dress ball. And, for all the discussion and excitement surrounding it, it seemed like rather more trouble than it was worth.

Standing on the side of the ballroom, she had her arms firmly crossed over her chest, watching the whirling, giddy partygoers. She watched Julian as he changed partners with each new dance. She saw him every time his eyes fell on her, and then quickly averting his gaze.

Her time of being confined to the palace was nearly done. She would be free to go, soon. She would still be in the employ of the palace, but she could come and go as she pleased, more or less. As the year mark approached, Julian had become withdrawn from her. And her surveillance by the guards and courtiers had increased dramatically, as had her workload.

Celeste felt a hand on her shoulder as someone approached her from behind. Aedan leaned down and whispered in her ear. "You know, standing over here looking miserable is just drawing more attention to yourself."

She stared straight ahead but made a noise of annoyance. "I doubt it. Most of the key players have been half-drunk since noon."

Her brother straightened and stepped to her side. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "What in the hell are you wearing?" she hissed.

He was wearing a red dress shirt with a black brocade vest with satin lapels, fastened with gold buttons, and similar black brocade trousers. His blonde hair was slicked back, with wispy curls at the nape of his neck fighting against the product in his hair. He wore a leather mask, fashioned after a duck hawk. Golden knotwork playing across it.

"You're one to talk," he whispered back, amused. "Dad would have a heart attack if he saw you like that."

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, he won't. So, I suppose it really doesn't matter, does it?"

Aedan sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're making this harder on yourself than it has to be. It's a party, Sissy. Go have fun. Please." He reached into his pocket and fished out a few coins. "Give me your hand," he demanded.

She stuck her hand out, the other arm still crossed over her chest. He dropped the money in her palm and folded her fingers around them. "It's a masquerade. Go buy a mask. The countess has some vendors out back."

She went to protest, but he was gone, back into the fray.

Julian whisked by her again and spun away, a glittering sapphire-color clad man in his arms. But, he saw her, and she saw his expression shift from delight to...melancholy? Pity? For himself, or her?

She was so frustrated, and so, so very tired. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted. She hadn't wanted to get attached to him. But, she had. And now, he kept her at arm's length. Claiming it would be easier for both of them. That he couldn't compromise both of their positions in the palace. That he was her superior, and that it was improper for them to carry on.

She couldn't bear to look at him anymore, and she turned and strode out of the ballroom.

She made her way down the corridors. Revelers pouring out of every room. Intoxicated, laughing. The sheer numbers of people that blocked her way were incredible. It was stiflingly hot. People in their formal wear, sweating, mixing with heavy perfumes and colognes. How was anyone meant to enjoy this? She dodged bodies, pushing past, sneaking between.

When she finally found the veranda, there was only a smattering of guests. Some browsing, others just enjoying the cool night air. She could see others down in the garden, playing, dancing, kissing.

She moved through the booths. There were a great many pretty things. Gems and crystals. Precious metals. Refined. Lovely. Sterile. Beautiful, but lacking personality. Unless wealth qualified as a personality. Then, they were spot on.

She reached the end of the aisle and was nearly resigned to it being a waste of time. Her eyes fell on the last booth. Seemingly unoccupied. She approached and looked over the masks. Only a few remaining. They were hand-carved and painted. They were gorgeous. True art pieces. Various animals. Birds. Foxes. Wolves. Snakes.

A bear. Just one bear mask pinned up, just out of her reach.

"I'm sorry, I had to step away for a moment. Can I help you?"

Celeste turned towards the airy voice. The person in front of her was elegantly adorned in violet and white, accents of gold, a thick golden collar, and a fox mask.  A similar one to the ones on display. Fluffy, white curls on their head. Beautiful hair. She didn't think she'd seen anything like it. Her father had been blonde, and so was her brother, but this was something else altogether. And his eyes were lavender. That couldn't be entirely natural. Could it?

"I...yes. I wanted to see that bear mask, please," she stammered, following him with her eyes as he stepped back into the stall, pointing at it.

"You're welcome to look, but I'm afraid that one is already claimed." the person said, contrite. "I might have a similar one, somewhere." They lifted the mask off the wall presenting it to her in white-gloved hands. She carefully lifted it, examining it. Tracing her fingers over the carvings.

She felt a pang in her chest. She thought of her father. The man who had bested the bear, come back from the grave. It was always a fun story to hear. The way that the villagers would tell it, and the way her mama would laugh and chide them, assuring them that papa was nothing special. Just a lucky son-of-a-bitch, and that she was the real heroine of the story.

Asra watched her face as she admired Muriel's handiwork. He rarely saw someone so enthralled with their pieces. Perhaps the Countess, who invited him back year after year. Other people went for the more elaborate, expensive pieces. It was simply a matter of clientele. They would make a few sales. But, he liked the ambiance of the Masquerade. The colors, and the excitement. A little extra money never went amiss, either. He could watch the spectacle, see the outfits. 

Muriel had agreed to come with him, under duress. But was quite quickly over the whole affair and had wandered off to find someplace quieter.

"This is wonderful," she said, handing the mask back over. "They all are. Are you the artist?"

Asra nodded. "I do the paint and some of the finer details, but my partner does the carvings and the leatherwork."

"Oh, like the peregrine falcon mask I saw earlier? The leather one?" she asked.

Asra's eyes went wide. "Yes, that's one of ours. I did the paint on it and he did the tooling. That was a commission piece for one of the guards. The countess had it made for him."

She nodded, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, another gift for Aric. If she had to guess, it was really Lucio pulling the strings and making dictates for how he wanted his guard to present himself. She forced a smile. "It was very beautiful. I know the man it was given to. I can't think of anything more appropriate for him."

Asra bent down and placed the mask in a box below the table, and rummaged through the remaining supplies, looking for another bear mask. He knew there was one here, somewhere. "Ah!" He exclaimed, pulling the leather mask out. "This might do. It's lighter than the other one. I think it might suit you better, too." He straightened, extending the mask to her.

It was smaller and lighter than the wooden mask. It was more intricate, with delicate patterns. Dainty gold accents brushed through the fur. It was so lovely. Exactly what she wanted. "Yes. I'll take it."

She reached out with her coin, and he put his hand up, refusing her. "No, keep it. It's nice to see someone appreciate them."

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "No. I insist. There's too much effort and love poured into these to let it go for nothing." When he still refused, she tilted her head. "If it makes you feel better, it's not my money. I don't have any use for it. I don't have a pocket in this frock to hide it in. You're doing me a favor."

He sighed and relented, taking the coins and throwing them in a small box. She watched him magic it back shut, light shimmering from his fingertips. A magic lock.

"You practice magic?" she asked, quiet, looking back and forth, nervous.

"You saw that?" he replied, taken aback. Generally, people didn't see his magic, unless he was performing. Nothing that subtle caught people’s attention normally. He was caught off guard.

She made a low noise of acknowledgment. She snapped her fingers and the lock unlatched itself. Asra stared down at the box, blinking, then up at her. The tips of her fingers glittering for just a moment longer before it faded away. She had him fixed with a hard look.

"You should be more careful. There are a lot of prying eyes here. That would gladly exploit...that." she said, taking a step back.

"I'm a magician. It's kind of common knowledge," he said, the corner of his mouth turned up. "You don't practice?"

She shook her head. "Not safe."

He eyed her, confused. "I'm not sure what you mean? Sure, some people don't understand it, but..."

She stepped further away, putting her hand up. "Thank you, for the mask."

She turned to go, and she heard him calling after her. She forged forward, and then she caught the shock of red hair descending the stairs.

She stopped, looking back towards the man in the fox mask, then back at Julian, in his feathered raven get up. There really was no good option.

So she gripped the mask tight in one hand, and balled her skirt in the other and bolted, past Julian, and down into the garden.

"Celeste!" Julian yelled after her. He threw his hands up in frustration, then took off after her. He tripped over his own feet and caught some poor woman as he stumbled. Righting himself, and calling a stream of apologies over his shoulder as he ran after her.

"Celeste," Asra said, quietly to himself. Committing it to memory.

--

She ran, but she knew that Julian's legs were longer than hers by a fair sight. She just had to keep moving until she could find somewhere to take refuge. But, she didn't know the gardens particularly well. She wasn't permitted out of the castle often.

She saw a path at the tree line and made a break for it.

Once she had gotten beyond the trees, she looked back. She didn't see Julian but could hear him calling. She quickly pulled the mask on, fanning her hair out over the strap. She looked around for other signs of life. None to speak of. She took a chance and smoothed her hand over her dress, glamouring the color. Something distinctly not her. Red. The silver accents going gold. She was out of practice and knew it wouldn't last long, but it would service so she could sneak away. A temporary camouflage.

She moved along the path. The foliage became denser. Heavy vines thick with flowers cascading down from the treetops. Moonlight casting tendrils of light that danced and glittered as the breeze moved through.

She came upon a clearing and saw a figure, half in shadow, sitting on the edge of a long-neglected fountain. He startled when she entered into his presence, straightening a bit.

She looked around. There really was no place left to go. Every other path was so massively overgrown that it wouldn't be wise to go further. But, she couldn't hear Julian anymore. It was a brief respite.

"Sorry," she said to the big man that sat in front of her, watching her, looking somewhat irritated. "I'll be out of your hair in just a moment."

Muriel's eyes were wide. He had really tried to find somewhere quiet. No small feat in the middle of this nightmare of a party. And now, this woman...

...wearing one of his masks. His bear mask. 

"Ah...sorry. I really am." She stated again. He had his eyes trained on her, staring her down, making her nervous. She couldn't really get a good read on him. Somewhere between annoyance and panic. And, this man was imposing, to say the least. Even sitting, she could tell a lot was going on, there. He was very impressive. And attractive. Very, very beautiful. Not at all dressed for a formal gathering. But, here, where nature had reclaimed the garden...that made sense. 

She bowed her head to him and started to back away, then she turned, and walked back down the path. She hesitated for a moment and looked over her shoulder, locking eyes with the man once more.

Muriel wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes. Was this really happening? He blushed, but couldn't look away. As he stared, he watched the red of her dress melt away, fading back into a dark jade green. His favorite color.

And then she was gone.

---

She came back upon the main gardens, and Julian was nowhere to be seen. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Things were clearing out. She knew the party would go on until dawn, but not everyone had the stamina for this sort of thing. She certainly didn't. It was getting late enough that she could, perhaps, steal away back to her room.

She made her way across the manicured lawn. There were bodies strewn across the damp grass, lovers locked at the mouth, rolling around. Wanton. Drunk on each other. And, the copious amounts of alcohol probably didn't help.

Then, winded, from behind her. "Celeste, please!"

She dropped her chin to her chest, defeated. She drew a deep breath and whirled on him, jaw set. "What, Julian? Tired of ignoring me?"

He looked stricken, but he continued moving towards her. "Please, I want to make you understand..."

She rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "Understand what? I think I get the message. You're the one that seems confused." she spat at him. "Why don't you just go back to your dancing?"

He dipped his head, looking ashamed. "You were the loveliest girl at the party tonight..."

She scoffed. "Please."

"...that's just the problem. If I'd paid you even the slightest amount of attention tonight it would've been all over the palace in record time. I know how close you are to having your restrictions lifted. I just don't want you...want us...under any undue scrutiny."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Undue scrutiny?" she repeated back at him, her voice dripping venom.

"You don't know how many eyes are on us. On you." he countered, keeping his voice even. "I don't understand it, but I know that things are different with you here. They never imposed half of the rules on me that they do for you. And Valdemar hates me, so I don't know what they would do to you if they thought they could get away with it. And they would get away with it."

There was something about her presence that put all the courtiers on edge. This wasn't normal. None of the other staff was treated with quite as much judgment as she had been. And Lucio was easily swayed by the courtiers. He could, and would, dispatch her if they asked him to. They didn't have to be honest with Lucio, either. He had seen them force his hand for minor infractions. With dire consequences. 

They had shared many nights together. And it had been happy. The happiest she had been since she had come to Vesuvia. And then, he'd dropped her like a stone. She didn't know if she loved the fool or not, but he had been so caring. He was her friend. And he was her lover. She had let him in, and he had left her in the lurch.

She took a sharp breath. "I...appreciate that you're looking out for me. But, I can take care of myself. I will be okay. I just...I thought we had something."

He flushed a bit, the corner of his mouth turning up. "We do. Of course, we do, Celeste," he said, gently. "I don't want to draw more attention to us. And...I'm not good at being quiet."

She cast her eyes down, thinking. "What if...what if you didn't have to be quiet? What if we just went away? We just walked away from this?" She looked back to him, gesturing vaguely. "I don't want any of it. We can go off, start over. Together. What's holding us here?" She closed the gap between them, reaching out to grab his arms. "We aren't safe here. We aren't happy here."

His eyes went wide, darting around. He stepped back and grabbed her hand in his. Trying to find somewhere less exposed.

Every dark corner, every secluded alcove, was occupied. Things were devolving into a damn orgy. A couple stumbled out in front of them, disheveled. Blushing. He pushed past them into the space they had occupied, pulling Celeste behind him.

He released her and pulled his mask off, and she did the same.

"Are you serious?" he asked, dubious. "You want to go? With me?"

"Come on, Julian. You know nothing good comes from staying here." she insisted. "Are we slaves here, or are we employees? Employees can walk away. We are good at what we do. We can go and start over. Together."

Julian was unsure of what to say. His head weaved back and forth, and he made breathy noises, trying to find words. "We...we made commitments. It's part of the palace structure. We can't just walk away."

"Please, don't lecture me about commitments. I am up to my ears in commitments that I didn’t want to make.” she retorted. “What is lifting the sequester going to do? Allow me to go into town every once in a while? I'm still trapped here. And if I'm going to be trapped here, I deserve to have at least one friend." she pleaded. "We have to take care of each other."

"That's what I'm trying to do. I promise you...I just don't know how to do it." exasperated and sad. This was uncharted territory for him. Even if it had been better circumstances, the wouldn't know how to navigate these emotions. He wanted her. But he knew it was a terrible idea. 

"There has to be some sort of compromise here, Julian. Please, help me." She begged. 

He averted his gaze. "Please, lovely..." He sighed. "It's...we can just ride this out. We'll see what happens. How long is it? A few months more. We just have to buckle down. We can get through this. We just have to be careful." he concluded. There was nothing else to do.

She drew a shaky breath and steeled herself, glaring at him. "Then I guess this conversation was entirely useless. Thank you for chasing me. Very helpful." She snarled. "I'd rather be alone if the only other option is this." she threw her hand up, gesturing at him. "Some condescending clown that treats me like his subordinate when I can run circles around him. I will figure this out on my own. I do not need you getting drunk and existential at me every time you have a bad day that you have imposed on yourself. I have enough problems of my own."

He reeled back, shocked. So much for being quiet, he thought. 

She continued berating him, her finger in his chest. "I won't hold my breath for you, Doctor Devorak. I enjoyed the fucking, but I assure you, I am quite over being screwed by this whole situation. One day I'll wake in the arms someone who will love me with all that they are. But you're too afraid to even pretend that you like me. So, good for you. You got under my skirt. You win. See you Monday.”

She whirled out of the alcove, and she did not look back, brushing past the smattering of people who had gathered to listen in. She was wholly unashamed. Even when she saw her brother, standing there, looking scandalized, but amused.

"Shut it," she said, putting her hand up as she strode past him.

"You want me to kick his ass?" he called after her.

She made a rude gesture in reply, not breaking her stride.

From across the garden, Asra and Muriel watched her from under the willow tree near the fountain. They had been just about ready to go when they'd heard the commotion and saw the gathering crowd.

"Who the hell is that?" Muriel asked, bewildered, shifting the box of masks on his shoulder.

Asra gave a breathy sigh, smiling broadly. "That is Celeste." 

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