#I also. Chose to focus on the two forms of art that fuck my shoulder up the most ^^ (Print making and painting)

[illdothehotvoice]

NOT ME FINALLY GOING "Okay time to draw so i can get this done today" AND MY ARTHRITIS ACTING UP (I'm gonna do it I'm gonna do it anyway someone pass me my biofreeze)

[the-melting-world]

Strength | Side B: "The Lily"

Art by @ ligiawrites

~ In which a secretive barhand sacrifices a dream...

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar

Track Origins: “The Lily” by Blanco White

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength

Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably

cw: language, alcohol, mild violence, blood, hostile work environment, pregnancy (*For clarification, themes of pregnancy are not connected to themes of blood or violence*)

~ 5k words

While Lucio waits outside the basement of the Chandrian Tavern Hall, he’s approached by Khleo’s familiar, Hefe. The lioness has a few questions for the former Count…

Lucio was well aware that there were certain familiars that could communicate with people aside from the humans to which they were bonded. Still, he never thought that he would be holding a conversation with a lion in the back alleys of Center City.

Hefe, as she introduced herself, had joined Lucio on top of the pile of crates, which whined considerably as she settled on her haunches.

< You smell like Death. >

Hefe spoke the last word as if she knew the Arcana personally. Lucio took one glance at the lioness’ great paws and chose not to deny it.

“You’re right,” he said thickly. He struggled to maintain eye contact with her steady, amber gaze.

< If you mean to bring my cub any harm, you can take it elsewhere. >

Lucio’s naturally blond eyebrows lifted an inch. “Do you mean Khlee?”

She nodded slowly.

He shook his head and huffed, “Death’s ties are to me and me alone. Trust me, I’m not trying to drag anyone else into it. What I have to go back to…” he thought about the dank cellar of the Lazaret and its shelves full of outdated medical instruments. He thought of pale green skin and carefully mummified horns. Lucio turned his head and shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Hefe was silent for a moment before a purr trilled low in her throat.

< Good. >

When Lucio looked back up, the familiar was gone.

Commotion trickled in from the other side of the door. Lucio could hear members filling up what sounded like a spacious area. Greetings rang out. Equipment was dragged off of shelves and out of boxes. Whatever this club meeting was about, it sounded like there was something physical going on.

The former count waited a few more minutes before taking a deep breath, standing up, and letting himself inside.

About two dozen people were crowded around some kind of pit. The pair locked in were definitely fighting. Lucio could see over most of the heads taking up the space. He picked up on the challengers’ bare feet and how they sparred bare-knuckled. Except, they weren’t sparring. The blows were connecting. Solidly. Intentionally.

Lucio’s game was swordplay, but he had some training in hand to hand combat. He used what he could remember to try to pinpoint the style. The closest he could figure was kick-boxing, but that didn’t seem quite right. The punches looked too strange for that — too curvy. And the blocks were absorbed more by the elbows. When the opponents were locked, grasping for the back of each other’s head, no one broke it up. The lively spectators only watched while the challengers tried to climb up each other, knees first like excited apes.

“Monty. You came.”

The new presence at his elbow startled Lucio. Just like their cat, Khlee had managed to easily sneak up on him. Lucio noticed that her suspenders swung below her waist and her shirt was unbuttoned a lot lower than would be appropriate for serving customers. They didn’t seem to care.

Khlee gestured to the energetic knot of people.

“What do you think?”

Lucio glanced back at the fight and grimaced. “Is no one going to break them up?”

Khlee smiled. “Doesn’t work like that. They’re looking for the clinch. Makes it easier to lay in some knees to the more vulnerable part of the body.”

Lucio grunted like he knew what the hell they were talking about.

“And they’re okay with getting so… bloody?”

The barhand nodded. “They look forward to that too.” They looked up at Lucio and hooked their thumb over their shoulder. “Come over here and I’ll show you the basics.”

The fights went on in the background while Khlee led Lucio to a quieter spot closer to the minibar. Finally working up the courage to comment about them, Lucio waved at Khleo’s arms.

“I bet fights are over for you pretty quickly.”

Her eyes widened a bit before she realized his meaning. “I mean, sure, I throw punches, but there’s more to it than that. Speaking of arms.” She explained that he would only be allowed to block with his gauntleted arm in order to minimize injury. After that was established, she started to show him how to properly stand and defend himself.

Lucio never even agreed to fighting in the first place, but this barhand seemed to know what she was doing when it came to instruction. Sport and the physical challenge that came with it was always something that resonated with Lucio no matter the playing field. And it had been ages since he learned something new. So he swallowed his doubt for the time being and absorbed Khlee’s crash course in this unorthodox style of combat.

The way of eight limbs, she called it.

Lucio learned that the “clinch” Khlee spoke of earlier referred to the series of standing grappling techniques that he witnessed when he first walked in. Despite how important this was to combat, Lucio made it very clear that he did not want to get caught in one of those. Especially not against someone smaller and scrappier than him like Khleo, whose shorter limbs and concentrated muscle gave her all the advantage in this sport.

“What? Afraid your skin will bruise too easy?” Khlee teased right after she was done showing Lucio all the ways he could disengage himself from a sudden grapple.

Lucio, who had discarded his top layers a while ago, gently caged his alchemical arm over his abdomen and said, “Uh duh. Besides, I just ate. Forgive me if I’m not looking forward to losing my dinner all over my opponent.” Then he blushed and added sheepishly. “Thank you, by the way. For dinner.”

“Focus,” Khlee reminded him as they squared his hips and elevated his arms. They spent the next few minutes guiding him in strikes, many of which were concentrated not so much in the fists or feet, but in the elbows, knees, and shins.

“Can I be honest?” Lucio spoke up after forgetting to engage his hips on the last kick.

“Go ahead,” Khlee huffed right before punishing Lucio for his mistake with the proper form. Her shin met his ribs in a clean, controlled strike. Lucio knew that she was holding back, but he grunted all the same.

“I don’t like having to adjust to this style at all,” he whined. “Can’t I just fight the way I know how? Because really, this,” he exaggerated his hip movement and popped up his knees like he was bouncing a ball on them, “is all really stupid if you think about –”

Lucio felt his mouth pool with something gooey and hot before he tasted the iron. He doubled over shortly after his ribs started screaming at him.

“Oh. Look at that,” Khlee noted, “you just took a stupid elbow to the face and a stupid knee to the gut.”

Lucio waited before turning his head and spitting a wad of blood off to the side. “You almost made me lose a fucking tooth.”

Khlee came over and clapped him on the back. “If I wanted to do that, I would have. Now, Monty. Are you done insulting my way of fighting or is there something else you want to add?” They smirked at him in a way that appeared good natured and unoffended despite their sudden outburst of violence.

Before Lucio could answer, a handful of voices called both of their attentions towards the ring in the middle of the room.

“Khleo! Bring his green ass over here!”

“Yeah. You’ve had him long enough. We’re itching to break him in!”

The very last thing Lucio wanted was to get broken in by the scrappy-looking bunch that beckoned him over. But he also didn’t want to appear spineless in front of all of these people, so he didn’t protest as Khlee guided him to the center of the ring.

Lucio found comfort in her heavy hand resting on his shoulder as she looked out at her club members and recited a few rules. The first two were the same. Don’t talk about the damn club. A few members chuckled at that. Khlee reminded them that if someone tried to tap out, said “stop” or went limp, that meant that the fight was over. Lucio was relieved to see the members take this one more seriously. They all nodded in grave understanding.

To Lucio’s disgust, one of the rules was no shirt, no shoes. Biting back his groan, he removed his boots and handed them off to one of the members on the sidelines.

“And finally, rule number eight.” Khlee gave Lucio’s shoulder a squeeze. “My friend Monty here, it’s his first night, which means,” she dropped her hand and backed up into the throng, smiling broadly, “he has to fight.”

Many were eager to take Lucio on, but since it was his first time, he got to decide which of the volunteers he would go against. In the end, he went with someone of his similar height and build. He didn’t want the smaller fighters using their advantage against him. He only hoped that his challenger lacked about as much flexibility as he did.

After they assumed their stances and touched knuckles, the challenger said something Lucio didn’t expect.

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Lucio hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he swung quietly, but with all his might.

The rest of the fight was a bit of a blur.

Lucio forgot everything that he learned. One minute he was blocking with his elbows and keeping his opponent at a distance with well timed foot jabs and the next, his arms were flailing and he was losing all balance.

The bystanders acted as the ropes to a real boxing ring. Whenever he staggered, they pushed him back into the fight. He ate a lot of blows. Some hands. A few elbows. His head was spinning and his blood was on fire.

Sound warbled in and out of his ears like he was underwater. His eyesight was lost to the sweat. His blood ran down his neck, his chest, and made the floor slippery. Both he and his opponent lost their footing and came down hard. Then they laughed together.

Lucio knew he couldn’t fight blind on unsteady legs, so he asked them to stop. They did and many hands came to help Lucio onto his feet. He was given towels, water, and a kiss on the forehead, no doubt by his challenger.

Since Lucio’s was the last fight of the night, the crowd retired around the broken picnic table by the wall. Khleo served them up a round of bread and ale so flat and diluted, it was practically water. But no one complained.

Lucio didn’t have much to say amidst the group of companions, but they made him feel at home. A few of them asked about his arm and showed off their own prosthetics to compare.

Later, after everyone had gone, Lucio left the table covered in empty beer glasses and joined Khlee at the minibar.

“You in the mood for a real drink?” She asked, already pouring something amber and smoky into a crystal tumbler.

Lucio sighed. “Usually, I would, but I think my blood has had enough excitement for one evening.”

Khlee added a couple of ice cubes and chuckled, “No such thing.”

While she took her first sips, Lucio tested his swollen cheek with the blunted fingers of his alchemical hand.

“At first I couldn’t really understand why you all would fight hard enough to draw blood. If it was for some money or a prize, it would have made more sense to me, but…”

“But you realized that we’re all just perverted little piggies looking for punishment.” Khlee rested her empty glass on the wood.

Lucio laughed. “Yeah. That.” He shook his head. “But then I got in there and I get it now.” Listening to the patrons talk, he caught on to what they did for a living. They were the chamberlains, the couriers, the nurses, the gondoliers, the construction and sewer workers. Khlee’s club was full of the people who pulled the most weight to keep this city afloat. They were the ones who needed to let off the most steam from what Lucio could tell.

“So, Montag…” Khlee said, breaking Lucio from his line of thoughts, “Did your mother give you that name?”

Lucio raised an eyebrow.

Khlee added, “I was just thinking, why Montag? Wouldn’t it make more sense to name you Donnerstag – Thursday, after the god of thunder?”

Lucio scoffed, “Why would that make more sense?”

She started buttoning up her shirt. “Well because, you know. No offense, but everybody hates mondays.”

“Is this your strategy to keep your patrons coming back?” Lucio snapped. “By hacking their birth names to pieces?”

The barhand didn’t appear ruffled by the other’s outburst. “Just trying to make a little conversation.”

Lucio leaned back some. “Alright, then. What about your name? Von Heine. I know that village. The Heine.” It was a little hamlet nestled on the edges of the Scourgelands. Lucio’s people and Khlee’s shared the same language, but different histories. “It’s where you all dress like snaggle-tooth toddlers and spend every waking hour grinding wheat and growing yeast for your bread or your booze.”

The barhand rested her forearms on the bar, leaned on them and smiled. “Based on the stories Papa told me, that sounds about right.”

The distant look in her expression made Lucio soften his voice. “You don’t remember?”

She waved at nothing. “I’ve never been to the Heine. Only heard stories growing up. My folks found me in the coliseum when I was just a kid. They raised me.” There was some silence.

Khleo cleared her throat and straightened up a little. “As for the tracht,” She looped her suspenders back on and gave them a light snap. “You can blame the owner. He wanted the tavern to appeal to tourists. So while I might look like a toddler, remember that I can still kick your ass, Monty.”

Lucio snickered. “Noted.”

Still grinning, Khleo asked, “You got yourself a place to sleep tonight?”

Lucio looked elsewhere. “Uh. Not this time.”

Khleo pointed at the fireplace. “I know it doesn’t look like much from here, but it’s pretty cozy in the hearth. And Hefe can keep you warm.”

Lucio briefly considered the idea of sleeping in an empty fireplace with someone else’s lion for a blanket. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that had happened to him in one evening. Once upon a time, the thought of going to sleep somewhere like that would make his skin crawl. But like many things that had seen that day, he experienced it through a new lens. He trusted Khleo.

Besides, he really, really didn’t want to sleep out in the cold street.

“Thank you.”

Before Khleo could respond, their privacy was broken by the sound of a door opening.

“Shit.”

Quick and without making any noise, Khleo hoisted herself over the minibar and dragged Lucio off of the stool. She pressed a finger to his lips when he tried to protest. One look at her dark expression told him now was not the time to argue. Lucio tried to keep his steps soft as Khleo guided him to the hearth. She gently bent him over and pushed him inside, tugging the curtains closed behind him.

Hefe growled dimly as Lucio tumbled over her. There was some awkward movement as the lioness made room for him. By the time Lucio was semi-comfortable, he tuned in to the heated conversation that already started in the basement.

“Overheard one of your idiot friends on their way out. You don’t charge admission?” The mature voice must have belonged to the person descending the stairs.

There was no answer from Khleo at first. Then she murmured almost too low for Lucio to hear, “No, but they’re welcome to leave donations.”

Lucio listened to heavy footfalls making their way to the broken picnic table.

“And you’re giving away our food?”

In a voice that suggested this wasn’t the first time they had this argument, Khleo finally spoke up.

“You never said I had to charge for entry into the club. You only said I had to pay rent, which I do. I’m never late. And that’s just bread left over from today. We can’t sell it tomorrow. I don’t see the problem if we have to throw it out anyway.”

Something pounded once on the wood, rattling the glass mugs.

“This is a place of business, Khlee. Not a gods-fucking food bank!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I…” The wood creaked. “Am I what now?”

Khleo sighed. “Nothing, Otto. We’re good. I’ll start charging for the damn bread.”

The silence that followed was tense, uncertain. Lucio longed to see what kind of looks were being exchanged between them, but he wouldn’t dare move aside the curtain. Hefe seemed to sense it too because she kept her head leveled a few inches off the ground and her ears at alert angles.

“Oh no, I think you forgot something. You definitely forgot who the fuck you’re talking to.”

Crash.

“Didn’t you?”

Crash.

It took a moment for Lucio to register the sound of glasses being flung and breaking against the minibar as well as the wall behind it.

The barhand’s voice had lost its cool indifference.

“Otto, come on. Don’t. I’ll pay for it, okay? Just put it on with the rent. You don’t have to–”

CRASH.

“Wait!”

CRASH.

Hefe lowered her ears, but she didn’t move. Lucio pressed his back against the brick in an effort to steady himself and quiet his breaths.

“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? I’m sorry, okay? Uncle – hold on!”

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Lucio leaned forward, but Hefe used her shoulder to shove him back.

< No. >

“Onkel, bitte.” Khleo’s voice came from somewhere low. Like she was squatting on the floor. “Tut mir Leid… . Es tut mir Leid. It won’t happen again. I promise....” She inhaled a ragged breath and whimpered as if in pain.

The man’s breath came out a little labored from all the effort. “You said you take donations?”

“… Ja.”

“Where?”

Khleo sniffled. “Unter da.”

Glass crunched and broke underfoot as the man went about his search. Eventually, he gave a contented sigh. “That should cover all this mess and the bread. Now... clean this shit up.”

More glass popped under his weight as he headed towards the stairs. The sniffles died down a few minutes after he left. Lucio sat frozen, unsure how he should proceed.

Finally, there was movement and Khleo’s voice came out dark and choked.

“Hefe… just do it.”

Khleo’s voice and the sound of Hefe’s hypnotic purr was the last thing Lucio remembered before losing himself to total darkness.

*

*

*

Basil seethed in silence while he listened to his boss get on Samira’s case yet again. This time it was about her uniform.

“Mr. Otto, I told you, the ones you gave me when I started working don’t fit me anymore.”

Otto snorted. “I missed the part where that’s my problem. Those uniforms don’t grow on trees, girl.”

The afternoon shift had just ended, so they were all tired, but still had their stations to clean. Khleo was taking her break from deliveries under a quilt in one of the empty booths. Gabe had started his delivery shift a few minutes ago. The bar was empty except for Samira, Basil and of course, their boss. Currently, he was enjoying his afternoon snack in front of his employees.

Samira shook her head and surrendered her hands. “I didn’t even know the uniforms were mandatory. Basil and Gabe never wear theirs.”

Otto swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal. “Last time I checked, you weren’t Basil or Gabe.”

Samira’s glasses started to get misty the longer she looked at her employer. She waved at Basil without looking away from Otto. “But if the uniforms are mandatory, why don’t you ever say anything to them?”

Without missing a beat, Otto punctated the air with his spoon as he explained. “They’ve put in their time here, while you… Lass, you haven’t been here but a minute.”

“Mr. Otto, I’m sorry, but this is not fair.”

It’s more than unfair, Basil wanted to add, but he bit back his tongue. He shot a glance over at Khleo’s sleeping lump, wondering if they could hear this right now.

“Fair.” Otto dragged out the word. “What about if I cut my losses with you and hire a new barmaid?” He studied his bowl as he scraped the oats off the edges in a way that set Basil’s teeth on edge. “All you do is look pretty at the front of the house. Anyone can do that, Miss Kaba.”

Samira’s garnet eyes went wide and then narrowed suddenly. Her lip trembled. “That is not all that I do.”

Finally, Otto looked up and sighed. “I don’t have time for the tears today, Samira. Here’s the key for the costumes in storage. You and Khlee are dancing tonight. Now, the waistlines on those dresses are all adjustable, so I don’t want to hear anymore excuses about your fitting issue. Understand?”

Samira looked like she had something else she wanted to say. Instead, she blinked rapidly as she took the keys from Otto and practically broke out into a run.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Basil let Otto have it. “Did you really have to give her the whole ‘you’re replaceable’ speech?”

Otto narrowed his eyes at the barhand. “I pay you to make drinks, Jebeles. Know your place.”

Basil replied, “You’re always going on about how the barmaids bring in the most customers, yet none of ours stay for more than a few months. Think you should lighten up some? Just maybe?”

Otto rolled his eyes. “If the lass doesn’t have the backbone to work here, then she should find herself another bar.” Then he grunted as he stood up and wandered over to the booth where Khleo was resting.

Otto used his foot to jostle Khleo awake. She poked her curly head out from under the quilt and scowled in her usual way.

“You’re dancing tonight,” He said without a hello. “Go get dressed.”

Basil expected Khleo to give at least a little pushback. She wasn’t a fan of wearing the dirndl unless it was for the annual beer festivals. Otherwise, she chose to perform without it. But to Basil’s surprise, Khleo set her jaw and didn’t meet Otto’s eyes as she climbed out of the booth. She rolled up her quilt, tucked it under her arm, and wordlessly headed towards the basement. After she left, Otto floated back to the bar, smiling smugly to no one in particular.

Basil wasn’t sure what he just saw, but he didn’t like it.

***

The costume chest was already opened by the time Khleo got there. She changed mostly in the dark until it was time to lace up the bodice of the dress.

Figuring Samira couldn’t be far off, she left the costumes and wandered further through the storage space.

“Mir,” Khleo called out, her voice still raspy from sleep. “Can you help me with this? You know I always forget how to…”

Khleo found her coworker off in some corner, sitting on a prop used for talent shows. She was hunched over a bit, her arms resting palms up against her thighs, almost as if she was waiting for something to fall into them.

Samira looked like she had gotten halfway with putting on her dirndl when she had given up. Even in the low light, Khleo could detect the wet shine clinging to her cheeks.

“Sorry, Khleo. I was on my way to help you, but I... kind of lost track of time.”

The sound of water rising up her throat drew Khleo closer. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a room during costume changes, so neither had much of a reaction to Samira’s state of undress. As Khleo came closer, her eyes wandered past the barhand’s bra and down to where her stomach interrupted the costume.

“Don’t laugh, but I can’t get it over my tummy.” Samira snorted, almost like it was a joke.

Khleo reached out her hand and arched a curious brow.

Samira sniffed. “It’s okay.”

The barhand took a deep breath before grazing the skin over Samira’s navel with her fingertips. She felt a flicker at first. When she pressed her entire palm against the warm bump, she felt something more.

< Ask her how long it’s been. >

“Six and half months, I think.” Samira answered when Khleo voiced Hefe’s question aloud.

Khleo withdrew her hand. “You think? You haven’t seen a doctor yet?”

Samira closed her eyes and sighed. “No, but… I haven’t had the money or the time. Have you seen where I work?” Then she opened them and glared a little at Khleo. “Plus, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t had a drink or a cigarette since I first suspected. I can take care of myself.”

“You need to see a doctor, Mir.” Khleo was pacing now. “The father?”

Samira’s face twisted as she mumbled something dark and negating.

Khleo stopped. “Right,” she sighed. There were so many other questions she wanted to ask. But when she looked at Samira, who seemed like she was already regretting trusting someone else with this information, Khleo inhaled again and approached her friend.

“What do you want to do next? If you could?”

Samira blinked, gratitude and relief filling her eyes at the question Khleo had settled on.

“I have a half sister in Nevivon. She would take me in, but she’s got kids too and she works. If I could just get to her.”

Khleo grunted in understanding. Trips across the sea were not cheap. And Samira couldn’t just stop paying rent.

While Khleo was still thinking, Samira curled on herself and whispered, “I was trying to take more shifts so I could get out of here as fast as I could, but Otto… he’s going to find out, Khlee. He’s going to figure this out and then he’s going to fire me. I know he is.”

“No he’s not,” Khleo replied calmly as she unhooked her keys from one of her inner pockets. She held out the one to her apartment. “Here. My place is in the Flooded District. Hefe will help you. Go there and wait for me.”

Samira sat up a little straighter. “What? I can’t just leave. My shift is nowhere near over.”

Khleo took Samira’s hand and pressed the key in her palm. “Don’t worry about that. Just trust me. I can explain everything tonight.”

To Khleo’s relief, Samira relaxed her hand around the key. She hesitated once more before sighing and nodding. “Okay. Let me help you tie up your dress and then I’ll go.”

As soon as Samira and Hefe were out the back door, Khleo put the next few hours out of her mind. She entered a sort of trance as she walked up the stairs and made up an excuse for Samira’s absence. Otto wasn’t happy about it, but that wouldn’t even matter after tonight.

Khleo put on a smile, danced, served, and entertained the patrons. Whenever Basil tried to get her alone and ask his questions, she dodged him with the grace of a feyling determined to remain elusive.

Otto, thankfully, went home early and left his barhands with the responsibility of closing up. Khleo pulled some favors and managed to free herself soon after her boss left. She skipped changing out of her dress and just jogged briskly through the lanterned avenues until she made it to her apartment.

When she came inside, she found Samira asleep on the couch. Hefe lay on the floor, guarding the space. Khleo avoided her familiar’s gaze as she quietly walked past the couch and down the hall. When she entered her room, she closed the door behind her and shut her eyes.

There wasn’t time to think about what she was going to do. If she gave herself even a moment, she feared she would lose her nerve.

Moments later, Khleo was back in the common room, gently helping Samira onto her feet.

“Khleo?”

Khleo hugged her. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Here.”

Samira blinked a few times and put on her glasses before accepting the glass jar that Khleo offered her. She briefly took note of the contents before asking, “What’s this?”

Khleo cleared her throat. “It’s enough to get you to Nevivon and set up with a doctor until you have the baby.”

Samira turned the jar over in her hands. “What, you just had this lying around? What was it for?”

“Please.” Khleo couldn’t look at the jar, so she locked eyes with Samira instead. “Please, Mir, just take it. Take it and go.”

Whatever Samira wanted to say, she held onto it. Then she opened her arms and held onto Khleo.

“Thank you, Khlee. I was so afraid that… just. Thank you.”

Khleo was out of words. She hugged Samira back, staring wide-eyed at the walls of peeling paint in her apartment as she nodded in understanding.

After Samira had left, Khleo noticed that Hefe had disappeared too. She had no desire to look for her. Instead, Khleo drifted back into her bedroom and came before her antique dresser like it was some kind of altar.

Soon she was on her knees, bowed before the very last drawer, where she kept the dreams of her father, her mother, and her own.

Khleo seldom opened the drawer. She knew that if she wanted to take out and admire her dreams, she would have put them back and close them inside the wood. Tonight she looked down at her dreams and they looked back at her.

A tight moan escaped the barhand as she dragged her palm up her face and dug her nails into her hairline. With her other hand, she tried to close the drawer. Like always, it was stubborn and would not bend to her.

And so Khleo fought with the drawer until it gave in. She shut up her dreams so she wouldn’t have to look at them anymore. Tears and sobs consumed her until there was nothing left but thoughts. The low and bitter kind.

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

20 Seconds of Courage -Part 15

The Elementalists au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 1754

***warnings: drugging, attempted sexual assault***

Series Master List

Complete Master List

Oriana held Beckett all night long. He’d gotten drunk and eventually passed out in her arms, with his head in her lap. She hadn’t been able to sleep. She wasn’t quite comfortable, but besides that, she had too much on her mind. Everything he said about Jason being Katrina’s killer…she wanted to believe him. But she knew Jason…didn’t she? Before becoming a couple they were friends for years. Until lately, she hadn’t known he had a dark side. Only when he started propositioning her and grabbing her was she being made aware that there may be a twisted part of him lying deep underneath his surface.

She’d listened to Beckett list the reasons that Jason could have murdered his sister and destroyed his family. The more he talked, the more he was convinced Jason was guilty. But Oriana didn’t know what to think. First, what are the odds that three years later, Katrina’s bracelet pops up on her arm and Beckett recognized it? Showed her pictures that matched the bracelet Jason gave her? That Beckett even works for the same company the killer did? These things don’t happen. Yet it’s too much to be coincidence. She’d promised Beckett she’d try to avoid Jason…it was impossible, since they worked together, but it would be possible to avoid being with him alone. But if she wanted answers…she needed to get Jason alone. And she needs answers. As much as Jason disgusted her…she needed to do this for Beckett. For herself. There’s no way Jason is a killer. Deplorable yes. But not a cold-blooded murderer.

She glanced down at Beckett’s still sleeping form. He’s going to be angry with what she’s going to do, but she has to do it, and she hopes he’ll understand. She leaned forward, grabbing her phone and bringing up Jason’s number.

Oriana: We should talk

He responded an instant later. I knew you’d come around. Just give the time and place and we’ll discuss our arrangement.

She thought a moment, mentally checking the most public bars around.

Oriana: Tonight at McGee’s on 3rd. 5pm. No arrangement.

Jason: How about breakfast instead? Sullivan’s?

She inhaled sharply. Sullivan’s was a hole in the wall. The food was good, no question, but it was in a fairly sketchy neighborhood, and it was a place she and Jason often frequented together, both before and during their relationship. Still, it was early in the day and it seemed safe enough.

Oriana: Fine. See you in an hour.

She sighed deeply, running her fingers through Beckett’s hair before gently and slowly sliding out from under Beckett’s head. She went up the stairs and showered, throwing on some clothes and before she left the penthouse, she kissed his cheek “I’ll see you later. I’ll be safe. I love you.”

Oriana left quickly, calling the car service to get her and bring her to Sullivan’s. She was nervous. She knew what she was doing was wrong; sneaking around behind Beckett’s back. She knew he’d be angry when he found out she’d met with Jason, and he’s within his right to get mad. She just hopes he’ll understand.

The car pulled up to the entrance of the diner. Her stomach turned into a knot when she saw the familiar figure waiting for her. Getting out of the car, she thanked the driver, then walked over to Jason.

“So glad you could make it, Oriana. You look ravishing as ever.” Jason pecked her lips with a kiss and she immediately turned her head in disgust.

“Don’t ever touch me. And definitely don’t kiss me.”

Jason smirked, holding the door to the diner open for her to go through. Oriana threw one last glance at the car that brought her here, surprised it hadn’t left yet. And then she was inside.

They were seated in the very back corner booth, mostly hidden from view. It was their regular booth, they had been recognized instantly by the staff, and greeted warmly. She did miss coming here. But she was annoyed to be out of immediate safety. She would have preferred sitting in the middle of the place. But she didn’t want to be rude to the staff, especially since two mugs of hot coffee were immediately placed before them.

“We’ll let you know if we need anything. Otherwise…please give us some privacy.” Jason told the waitress, who nodded and walked away.

Oriana’s stomach lurched. Why do they need full privacy?

 She reached for the sugar packets, grabbing the first one and tearing it open, not even looking at the wrapper or the contents pouring out.

“I have to say I was surprised to get your message.” Jason started. “Though I can’t say I was disappointed. I knew you still had feelings for me.”

Oriana raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You wore that bracelet I gave you yesterday. That means something. You still have it, you still wear it…you must think of me.”

Oriana took a long drink of her coffee. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Someone…recognized it yesterday. Said it belonged to someone they used to know. They were quite positive.”

Jason shrugged. “Well, considering I found it on the floor of a mall, that’s certainly possible, though not probable. It’s a pretty piece of jewelry, and it looks good on you. I hope you didn’t just give it back to him? If anything…you should give it back to me.”

Oriana paused, taking another long drink. “I thought you found it in a parking lot.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t even remember exactly where anymore. It was several years ago.”

Oriana narrowed her eyes. “And also…how do you know it was a guy who recognized it?”

Jason leaned forward over the table. “Lucky guess…but then…who else would care, other than your new boyfriend? Did you know that Beckett and my relationship goes way back? Never would have guessed, would you?”

Her mind was racing. He was lying. A shiver ran through her as suddenly she knew Beckett was right…and she’d put herself in the path of danger. Beckett was going to get so angry when she told him that she’d met her ex alone, when she promised she wouldn’t. She'd already figured this was a bad idea, but now she was getting scared. She should have trusted Beckett. He's never lied to her, after all.

“I should…probably go.” She mumbled. “Don’t want to be late.” She began to stand, but wobbled, and in a flash Jason was next to her in the booth, pushing her backwards against the wall, completely obscured from view.

“What did he tell you. What lies did he come up with to make you come see if he was right about them?” His voice was menacing, his eyes ice cold. There was something behind them she didn’t recognize, a part of him she didn’t know existed.

“Um…”

Jason trailed his hand along her thigh and when Oriana went to slap it away he grabbed her wrist with his other hand. But she was beginning to have trouble concentrating. Even if he hadn’t grabbed her wrist…she would have missed anyway. She leaned her head back against the wall with a sigh.

Jason leaned in to whisper in her ear. “He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? Perhaps he’s only using you, just like I was.” He chuckled coldly. “I missed seeing your eyes half closed. You look turned on. You remind me of someone else I used to date. I’m sure you’ve at least heard your lover had a sister, yes?”

He licked his lips. “You know, I used to lie awake at night, daydreaming about the things I would do to you if ever given the chance. You were just a cover for my real target, I was never going to hurt you…but when you caught me eating her…well. That didn’t quite work out. Mmmmmm the things I’m going to do to you…not all are sexual, some, but definitely my kink. Being in a public relationship with you, I couldn’t act on them. This is my chance. You’re going to regret getting into my business. Meeting me alone was very stupid of you. You should have listened to your boyfriend. He’s familiar with my work. Not my architectural work mind you, but…a different work of art. A splattering of crimson, if you will.”

Oriana could barely fathom what he was saying. In fact, she could barely fathom anything at that moment. Her eyes were drooping, and she felt exhausted.

Oriana wanted to say something, shout for help, but she didn’t have the energy. The staff knew them as friends, as a couple. They have come here hungover and practically passed out before. Jason has even carried her out of here before. They’re not going to question this, and she knows it. This is why he chose this place. Why hide when you can get away with things in plain sight?

She was vaguely aware of her hand being placed on the bulge in his pants, Jason moving it for her as the bulge became larger.

“I need you awake, sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear. “Just until we get to the car. You have the whole day to sleep.”

“What did…what did you do” She mumbled incoherently.

“Just lean your head on my shoulder.” He forced her head down. “I realize I can’t actually make you suck me off, but I can make you jerk me off. I can fuck you as hard as I want…And you’re not going to remember any of it. You’re not even going to remember coming here.”

She was vaguely aware of the sound of his zipper pulling down. “Jason…”

“Yeah, baby, say my name…” He breathed. “We’re going to have some naughty public fun before we go.” He paused a moment. “Beckett would go mad if he knew you were coming to a motel with me for a while. I wonder how he’ll feel knowing I fucked both his sister and his current girlfriend...again. He’ll never actually know about his sister, but you… I should take pictures and send…”

Suddenly he was being yanked from the booth and Oriana almost toppled over, if not for the pair of strong arms that caught her.

“Ori? Ori, I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to get her world in focus before vaguely seeing a fuzzy-looking Beckett, who was holding onto her. “Mmph”

There was a bustle of activity happening around her, but she couldn’t make out what any of it was. She can’t remember ever feeling this tired before in her life. And then she shut her eyes, and everything else faded out to black.

    @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @lapisreviewsstuff @alesana45 @mfackenthal @cora-nova

 @walkerismychoice @confessionsofabrokegirl @lilyofchoices @darley1101 @perriewinklenerdie @justendlesssummerfeels

@feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @emichelle @kendrasgue @pbmychoices @flyawayboo @divergentofhogwarts @sonsie0613 @cordoniasmost @raffsbaby @brightpinkpeppercorn @symonde @emceesynonymroll

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Should’ve - Part 2

Request: Multiple requests for a Part 2

A/N: Finally!

Warnings: Strong language, a tad of angst I suppose

>>>>——————————>

~ Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~

It was a funny situation, you refused to step foot anywhere near Outlaw safe-houses since the incident, nor could you pinpoint exactly how you felt about the situation. You were never dating; never labelled your relationship anything more than friends by association so you couldn't hate him for his actions; you'd never said you'd loved each other so he had no idea how his choices would affect your feelings - but you had the right to be angry, to be furious and to be as vengeful as you wished. You'd pushed yourself to learn everything from Black Canary leaving you with mastery in a variety of martial arts, your training with Green Arrow meant you rarely missed and even took to sparring with Wonder Woman. However, Arrowette had become Oliver's new protege and the girl looked up to you unconditionally, her presence influenced your decision to leave having outgrown being a sidekick.

.

Your friends kept in touch, Kyle Rayner and yourself had grown closer with his adventures in alternate galaxies keeping you distracted as well as regular trips to Los Angeles. Roy acted no different, he visited frequently like nothing had changed which gave you opportunities to inquire about Jason and the Outlaws despite Roy's reluctance to bring up the subject. You knew he felt guilty about your heartbreak, but you'd assured him it wasn't his fault and thanked him for letting you make your own decisions, you could never resent him for that. You'd learned that Roy had left shortly afterwards, choosing to focus on improving his own mental health and Kori had joined the Titans leaving Jason to his own devices.

"He still asks about you y'know..."

"Like I give a shit Roy." You frustratingly sighed, experimenting with your technologically advanced arrowheads.

"I know... Anyways, there's a new Outlaws team, a superman clone called Bizarro and Artemis of Bana-Mighdall. They're kinda... close?" Roy shrugged, awkwardly rubbing his neck as your attention focused on him at the mention of new members.

"Artemis?! Who the hell is that?"

"Forgotten already (Y/n)?"

You flicked around to see the smiling blonde archer, better known as Tigress in the vigilante game.

"Ah I missed you Arty, but I meant Jason's new teammate."

"Hold up, this whole boy drama is about the Red Hood? ROY! What the hell??? How could you let our lil dork go near him?" Artemis shot a deadly glare to Roy, practically raging with this new information much to your amusement.

"Whatever replacement, it's (Y/n)'s life." Roy simply shrugged, unphased by her actions which only aggravated her further.

"You're supposed to be looking out for them whilst I'm not around, you should've done something!"

"I'm right here and old enough to make my own decisions!" You cut in, confident in your words.

"See." Roy gestured to you after your statement, emphasising his point to Arty.

"Shut it Arse, I love this dysfunctional Arrow family but I don't need looking after anymore remember. I'm flying solo." You quelled their sibling-like spat with a calmer tone offering them both a kind smile.

The two exchanged a worried glance, understanding that you were in a lot more danger alone and your carelessness toward your wellbeing wouldn't help matters. As for your latest mission in Gotham City? That was risky considering the Outlaws were also running around.

———

Jason paused, eyeing the way the mysterious shadow moved with such deadly elegance and although your uniform had drastically darkened to that of an assassin-like attire, he could recognise your personal movements anywhere as much as he regretted being able to do so. He was suddenly on hyper alert, disregarding whatever his task was to shadow you from above ensuring you were safe.

It was almost instinct to do so, the vigilante clocking a sniper up above your angelic form ready to shoot. He didn’t have the opportunity to think, automatically jumping down to your level and pinning you behind a pillar before shooting the marksman himself.

"Ah... ouchhh~" You rubbed the back of your head, finding your back against cold stone with a sculpted body flutteringly close to your own as if shielding you whilst he dealt with the threat with his free hand holding a gun.

"Damnit (Y/n)! Are you okay?!" Upon hearing your voice, he lowered his weapon, turning to you with a sense of urgency.

"What the- Jason?! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" You immediately pushed him away from you, anger getting the best of your emotions.

"I just saved your life!" He argues back, equally as passionate about this discussion.

"I didn't need saving asshole, I had a plan that's gone to shit because of you. Guess you have a habit of doing that huh?" You gestured to the perpetrator, the marksman covered in a web substance holding him in place thus unable to shoot you. Jason observed, noticing the automated crossbow set up to fire on your signal - you knew what you were doing and he’d ruined it.

"You almost got shot! I'm not leaving until I know you're alright."

"Didn't stop you last time." You bit back, the remark dissipating Jason’s argument.

"(Y/n) I-"

"It's (v/n) to you." You brushed him off with little more than a glance, although he instinctively grasped your forearm and upon realising, had to make a plausible excuse for his need of contact.

"I've got a new team with some superpowers, I can assist."

"Yeah no, as I remember 'You're not strong enough to be apart of the Outlaws' were your exact words, so I'll pass." And with that you turned you back on him like he’d done to you.

.

You made it to the rooftop, target now out of sight but a flash of scarlet caught your peripheral vision, leading you to duck, flip and face your opponent.

"Who the heck are you?"

"Artemis of Bana-Mighdall. You?"

Oh. She was beautiful, strong, and an Amazon - no wonder Jason was into her, so there was no point in sticking around awaiting the painful truth which would crush your heart all over again.

"I'm outta here."

"Wrong. Where is Red Hood?" The woman cocked a brow, axe held out to block your pathway as you glared at her, stepping back to cross your arms.

"Like I give a damn, find him yourself." Artemis didn't appreciate your tone, pointing her weapon at you with a more demanding voice this time.

"If you've hurt him I -"

"Oh trust me, I'd love to kick his ass for everything he did but I have better things to do." You readied a defensive stance, the woman clearly preparing an attack as she swung until Jason protectively slid in front of you, tossing his helmet to the concrete.

"Don't even think about it!"

Artemis halted, confusion written in her expression as she silently awaited an explanation as to why her teammate had been so deadly with his order. You on the other hand were furious with his display, drop kicking the vigilante and straddling him, pulling back your hood and scarf so your identity was on full display leaving Jason slightly awestruck, he hadn't seen you in so long that he wasn't ready for the flood of feelings that overwhelmed his heart. He'd wanted to embrace you as he did when he used to return home because in a way you were home - although he knew you felt the opposite, all that was left for him in you was hatred and betrayal.

"What. The. Hell. Jason?" You punctuated every word, hands holding his shoulders to the concrete until he answered you.

"Makes sense now." Artemis muttered to herself, recognising you immediately as well as the way Jason gazed at you.

"Considering you blocked my number, I didn't expect you to jump on me so fast doll." He could never forget what you looked like, nor the sound of your voice even after all this time, despite knowing you hated his guts. Maybe that was why he was so cocky with you, it was better to put on a show than let you in.

"You know why I did that, you left me Jason!" He hated the pain in your voice, the way you emphasised exactly what he’d done and it killed him to hear it yet refused to back down.

"Why would that bother you so much? We're friends, you should understand."

"We were friends, not letting me join your team I could understand but just leaving me with no explanation? Ignoring my calls? Telling me to go back to Star City? Telling me to leave you alone? Those were things you didn't even try to help me understand so you don't have the right to question to my behaviour Jason!" Your words were spit like venom, poisoning your relationship further and only hurting Jason as he was forced to recall those repressed memories. He regretted it. He regretted everything.

.

"Love of Red Him?" The newcomer acted as a welcomed distraction, breaking the tense heavy silence that even Artemis seemed to wince at.

"What?"

"No - no... it's (Y/n)." Jason quickly corrected after you’d bluntly spoke, a lack of uncertainty filtering through despite his best efforts.

"(Y/n). Love of Red Him." The clone nodded in confirmation, agreeing with his leader who seemed mortified at the directness.

"Love? 'Red Him' isn't capable of it, Roy should've told me that and you should remember it." You coldly added, getting to your feet and walking toward the roof edge without looking back leaving the Outlaws in silence.

"I like her, more than anyone else I've met despite the angst. So is she still single after your decisions because I'd make her happier than you by the sounds of it." Artemis smugly commented, Jason chose to ignore her as his gaze watched you disappear into the night.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (7)

A/N: y’all ., ., .,,. . ..  we’re finally getting to the Good Shit. my hand was literally Over the “post” button and then i remembered “oh shit this is supposed to be touchstarved roman”, so, uh, that’s not reflected in this chapter at ALL. but it’s still filled to the brim with angst. but like, hurt comfort angst. i think i can call this a hurt comfort, right? right

WARNINGS: cursing, arguments, yelling, like a lot of yelling, Complex Emotions, self-hatred (implied) — if I missed anything, please let me know!!! <3 <3

Words: 6575 

Pairings: im proud to say that this has some Logicality. only 20,000 words into the story and we’re finally getting small tastes of ships. still DLAMP endgame but by god. 

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all) — Part 5 (i’ve got no strings) — Part 6 (god help the outcasts) — Part 7 (go the distance)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

i hope y’all like this one!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

______(tumblr’s not letting me put a line so ive manually created it)______

It seemed that, without Roman’s focus, the Imagination sustained a regular day/night cycle. Logan made a mental note about it as they watched the sun go down behind the forest hills, perfectly in tune with his internal clock’s knowledge of the real world’s time. The sky, however, was darkening more rapidly than it would normally. While walking through the forest, he hadn’t noticed any incline changes, so perhaps the forests were thicker than he’d originally thought. The map didn’t indicate that, anyway.

It was a fascinating place, the Imagination. It seemed semi-sentient — at least, based on how the Playwright described it and from what they’d seen so far. Logan regretted not asking to see more of it when Roman was….

No. He’d ask Roman to show him once Roman had returned. His chest hurt a tiny bit to think of it. Nothing was out of reach.

He faced forward again, marching silently. Patton was humming, had been for the whole trip, humming Disney songs.

The Child was staring at Logan still. It was unnerving, for many reasons (A child? Roman was a fucking child? Why was he staring so much? How much less formed were each of the Romans? How did they select what they looked like? Who was the Child based upon? What did he believe?) so he looked away.

“Stop,” the Child patted Patton’s back, “Stop here.”

“Ooookay,” Patton stopped, and Logan stopped behind him.

They’d been walking towards the castle this whole time, away from the sunset. It was clearly huge now, with multiple large spires with red and glittering gold flags. Patton thought it looked straight out of a medieval movie, almost too grand to just be based on Disney alone, though it did bear some resemblances to the castle in Disneyland. It was incredibly pretty.

Oh, sure, he’d seen the Imagination before. Patton and Roman had sat at the window in his room and Patton would listen to Roman as he talked about the various worlds he created. Sometimes it was a balcony with seats and a tea set, but he liked the window sofa more, since he and Roman could sit in each others’ laps and bundle up beneath a pile of blankets. Patton could recognize this castle from a distance. He’d seen this setting before, with the forest and large lake and glittering dual rivers that Roman’d named and then renamed and named again, though Patton couldn’t remember what names he finally chose.

Logan seemed surprised by it all, though, and Patton didn’t want to make it seem like he was rubbing his friendship with Roman in his face. Plus, he’d never been inside. Things were a lot bigger up close.

Yeah, he could see how Logan kept frowning around the world. How he’d been glaring at the Child for the whole walk. Patton’d made a pun — “This sure is a magic kingdom, eh?” — and he hadn’t even groaned!

Patton shifted his weight on his feet, casting Logan a worried look as the logical side inspected the building before them. Whatever was eating at him, he hoped it’d settle soon, because Patton knew they’d need Logan thinking properly to get Roman put together.

“We’ve gotta go in here,” the Child pointed to the building.

It was an unassuming door with two steps leading up to it, attached to a building that looked exactly the same as the others. Besides the door was a wooden sign, fixed to the stone wall, that read “Art Museum (Ages 3–6)”. It was a fairly unassuming building, similar to the other stone buildings to the left, right, and other side of the road.

“Okay,” Patton reached out and touched the door’s handle, just to be interrupted by the Child waving his arms up.

“No! No, no, not yet!” he put his hands out.

“Not yet? Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Patton put his hands on his hips, watching the Child with a small smile.

“The sun is lowering. It will be night soon,” Logan added, giving the sky a quick glance again.

“But the Artist can’t know that you’re Dad and Mister Logic,” the Child said, mirroring Patton’s hands-on-hips position.

Logan, on the other hand, crossed his arms in thought. “Why can’t he know? Is he a danger?”

“Nah,” the Child shook his head and pointed a finger at Logan. “The Artist doesn’t like you most.”

Logan exhaled sharply. His brow furrowed, nose scrunched, as he processed THAT. Of course,the Playwright supporting him meant there was a counter. Of course Roman didn’t harbor only positive feelings towards him. Logan knew his and Roman’s opinions differed on a multitude of topics, often resulting in unpleasant quarrels. He knew. And, yet, it hurt. “Come again?”

“The Artist doesn’t like you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t like Mister Anxiety either. Or Mister Deceit. He kinda sorta likes Dad?” the Child made a so-so motion with his hands, before letting his shoulders drop with an exaggerated groan. “Not really. He doesn’t like Dad. It’s okay, he barely likes Thomas!”

Logan looked toward Patton with a frown, now thoroughly confused, and was greeted with a similar confused pout. There was a part of Roman who just didn’t like any of them. Not even Thomas. That upset Patton fairly well, but Logan….was almost relieved.

The Child waved his hands again, sticking them up in between the two adult Sides. “Hey! Like I said, that’s okay! We just gotta walk around him and he probably won’t notice you.”

“Do you think he won’t notice that three people have entered his house? Especially two adults. Two full Sides,” Logan couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.

If the Child noticed, he didn’t let on. “Yep! He barely looks up from the whatevers he’s working on, anyway,” he bounced on the balls of his feet, “Maybe….hm.”

He looked up at the sky and rubbed his hands together. Above them was a thick cloud. It would probably rain that night; they were still looking for him, anyway.

The Artist was probably getting worried. Right? Curfew was coming up soon and if Child got caught, Thief and Bard would be upset, and so Artist would be upset, too, right?

“We have to go in. If he asks, uh,” an idea popped into the Child’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “You can say you’re Dad guy and Teacher guy!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Do you mean the characters from Thomas’ short videos?”

The last semblances of seriousness Logan held inside himself was shattered by the Child’s enthusiastic nodding. “Yeppers! They’re really nice! Teach is really good at making Dad laugh, and since this all happened, they’ve been—”

“The Shorts characters are alive inside the Imagination,” Logan wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore.

He’d been half angry, half curious as they marched through the sleepy town. He could accept magic, sure, he could suspend his disbelief. It made sense that the Dominoes guy was in here. That was backed by science. But what in the name of Newton did the Shorts characters—

“Logan,” Patton held his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “This is the Imagination.”

—okay, really, why the FUCK were the Shorts characters real in here?! — and the Child was now just rambling on about characters who were actually fictional. Characters who were characters. Scratch his curiosity from earlier, the Imagination followed no reason and he wanted out. Immediately.

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand again, in a rhythm, one two three four, tight, and raised his other hand toward the Child, who was still talking.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Child immediately quieted, looking up at Patton, “This all sounds fun, but can we talk more about it when we’re inside?”

Patton immediately regretted interrupting him. The Child’s lip curled inward, eyes growing wider as he nodded silently. He looked at Logan, who was scowling at the door, and wilted.

“Yeah. Not important. Okay,” the Child took the door handle and flung it open.

Before Patton could respond, he darted in. Logan looked at Patton, scowl replaced with a confused raised eyebrow, oblivious to the quiet tension he’d missed while internally monologuing.

Patton just slouched. The Child was more skittish than he’d anticipated.

The museum was dark and dusty, though not unintelligible. Patton entered first. There were drawings everywhere, some on actual pieces of paper, some on torn-out notebook pages, some on the wall itself. All of which were children’s drawings, of course, scribbles and splotches of paint. In the halls were also some sculptures on pedestals, most seemingly made of Playdough.

He stopped by a drawing of a house, two windows and a door, and read the placard beside it. Patton was pretty sure he had the same drawing in his room, tucked away in an old photo album.

“Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 41, 1994. Crayon on cardstock.”

Patton felt tears coming to his eyes. Thomas was only five, oh those were good times, learning about the world around him! Such a soft era. And Thomas’ grown so much since then, too.

This was an interesting place for someone to live, but considering his name was Artist, it made sense for him to live amongst his work. Patton turned around, a bright smile on his face, and motioned Logan to join him. “Logan! Come look at the art!”

Logan was standing just inside the door, which was closed behind him, eyes examining the exhibit. It was disorganized and clearly unkempt. Roman must not have visited in a while. Or maybe he didn’t have a curator for this museum. Before he could respond to Patton’s call, the Child’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Are you coming?”

Logan and Patton shared a look, one disgruntled and one sheepish, and hurried down the hall lined with childish artwork. There were more houses, some family drawings, a fun looking self portrait with bright colors.

“Hurried” is an overstatement. Logan had to pull Patton away from a drawing on more than one occasion.

“Down here,” the Child’s whispers bounced along the walls.

They entered a room, still lined with drawings, and found the Child standing in front of one of the artworks. He held out a hand to them. “C’mon, we’re going in,” he said.

Logan squinted at the painting in question. Yes, painting, done in “Crayola Washable Paint on Cardboard,” according to the placard beside it. “Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 118.”

He looked at Patton for support that this was absolutely ridiculous, but was only met with another shrug. “It’s the Imagination,” he said, as though that explained everything, “Don’t think too hard, or you’ll get a headache.”

Too late for that, Logan thought, though he stopped himself from pondering. Instead, he grit his teeth and held Patton’s arm, determined to get to the bottom of this figurative rabbit hole. Patton himself took the Child’s hand.

The Child gripped Patton’s hand and leaned toward the painting. He pinched the painted door’s handle, tugged.

They all felt a pulling sensation, the Child pulling Patton who pulled Logan.

And then there was a door before them.

It was as though someone poured white paint all over their surroundings, from every angle, wiping away the museum they’d come from and leaving a blank emptiness behind them, all within less than a second.

Logan stared at the door. Then he turned, slow and steady, overlooking the blank white expanse. Like an empty page.

Something wasn’t computing. It’s the Imagination, he repeated in his mind, like Patton’d said earlier.

Directly behind them was the only piece of “world” they could see other than the door. It was another painting, of the museum, of the room that they’d just left, hanging in the middle of nothing.

Social realism, Logan thought. The painting’s placard read “Roman Sanders. The Art Museum repaint, 2019. Oil on canvas.” A reverse portal, created recently. Logan almost wanted to touch it and see how dry the paint was.

“C’mon, we gotta go inside,” the Child whispered, giving Patton’s hand a tug.

Patton, in turn, tugged Logan, who turned back around. “Sorry, this is just….” fascinating? Interesting? Enchanting? Something I would like to experiment with Roman on further? “Different.”

Patton watched the Child as he watched Logan. Roman was clearly still in there, Patton thought, and he didn’t want to be. And, to be frank, Patton understood that feeling. There were many days where he wanted to curl up into his hoodie and be young again, if only to hear a good joke once more. Those were the two-cookie kinds of days!

Maybe Logan couldn’t see what Patton was seeing? The Child’s big wide eyes, staring at Logan and Patton as though searching for approval. Or how he tried so hard to ignore Logan’s obvious contempt for the situation. It was obvious that the Child was actively trying to ignore it, but Patton didn’t miss how he flinched at Logan’s tone. The Child wasn’t naïve, not entirely — in certain turns of phrase and side-glances, the Child revealed his thirty years of life experiences.

But the Child also didn’t seem to notice that Logan wasn’t angry about the world. No, Patton thought as Logan turned back to the museum painting quickly, he was more upset at himself for not being able to understand it.

“Different,” Logan repeated, brow furrowed. It didn’t feel like the right word. He wasn’t usually one to have vocabulary troubles, but he couldn’t find a more adequate word.

It satiated the Child. Or, rather, the Child was thinking of something else. His hand was stiff on the doorknob. Patton leaned in, letting go of Logan finally to put both hands on the Child’s shoulders. “Go ahead,” he whispered. He hoped the Child could feel how much Patton loved him.

Perhaps he did, because the Child calmed down. Enough for him to open the door.

The most notable thing was the mess. There were a lot of things inside that door. Canvases, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, paint sets, notebooks, cups of water, all in piles or scattered about the floor. Some canvases were hung on the walls, too, and some were laid flat on the ground. Others were stacked atop each other or leaned in bunches against the walls. There was a clear path through the mess on the floor, that branched to the stairs on the left and then into the kitchen on the right. Logan could see a drawing tablet over there, too, propped against the wall. Where the laptop was, he couldn’t tell. Patton could see that most of the paintings were unfinished. Whether it be sketch lines still showing or just clearly half-painted, half-white canvases, not a single finished piece was in this clutter.

The second most notable thing was the person painting.

Another Roman — the Artist, most likely — was sitting on a stool in front of a painting on an easel. It was also only an assumption that he was another Roman, because he absolutely did not look it, clad in a white hoodie covered in paint splotches and red sweatpants, hood pulled up and covering his hair. The only thing that indicated his Roman status was the golden waves adorning his sleeves, the same as the waves on Roman’s crest.

He held a large painting palette in his right hand and a brush in his left, dabbing oil paint against the half-finished canvas in front of him. Another work in progress, it seemed.

The clutter and the painting didn’t bother the Child. He closed the door behind himself, being careful to not slam it, and cleared his throat.

The other Roman didn’t move nor speak. Just kept painting, dabbing his brush on the palette and swiping it along the canvas. The painting was unfinished, but it looked so far like an impressionist piece, Logan thought.

The Child coughed again, yet the other Roman didn’t flinch.

“I’m back, Arty,” he said.

“I heard you,” came the impatient reply, snappy and fast, the Artist not turning to speak to them, “Who’s with you?”

“Dad. And Teach. Dragon was mean today,” the Child was playing with the hem of his shirt

“Mhm.”

“It’s curfew. They couldn’t go back to their houses.”

“Mhm.”

“So they’re gonna sleep here. I’ll keep them in my room.”

“Mhm.”

The Child took Logan and Patton’s hands into his own again and pulled them toward the stairs. “Good luck with your painting,” his voice teetered off into silence as the Artist failed to turn again.

Patton opened his mouth, but the Child squeezed his hand and shook his head. Logan took a little more tugging, as he stood by the bottom of the stairs, trying to look at all the paintings. Some were paintings — oil impressionist, pop art, surrealism and cubism, even some De Stijl paintings — some were simple figure drawings on lightly-crumpled paper, some even….was that a painting of Virgil?

The Child tugged harder and Logan stumbled after him.

They made it to the top of the stairs. The Child let go of Patton and opened the door, ushering both of them in before slamming the door shut behind himself.

This was probably the most regular room they’d seen so far in the Imagination. A small twin bed sat in the corner, with a big canopy and fairy lights overtop. There were streamers and drawings and posters hanging all around the walls, even some stickers and some drawings done directly onto the wall. A wardrobe sat in the corner farthest from the bed, a desk and vanity mirror besides that, and five bean bags were arranged in a circle around a circle rug in the middle of the room.

There was an air of magic around the room, too. The fairy lights bobbed up and down slowly, despite being hung on wires, and the clouds painted onto the ceiling seemed to move. The ceiling was fairly low, too; Patton reached up, eyes stuck on a cloud in the shape of a heart, and found that he could actually touch them. The heart swirled around his hand, glowing light blue before dissipating entirely.

“Sorry about him,” Patton and Logan looked down at the Child — he’d gone to the wardrobe and was taking off his cloak, revealing a plain white shirt with the crest’s sun emblazoned across his back. “Artist’s, uh, not a people person.”

“So we saw. His work, however….it’s breathtaking,” Logan stepped aside as Patton went for one of the beanbags, “I didn’t realize Roman was that much of an artist.”

The Child snorted. He sat down on one of the other beanbags and started untying his shoes, chubby fingers unlacing them down a few notches. “Yeah, well. You never seemed interested. No one was. Arty doesn’t like leaving his art all alone, so ever since we formed he’s been in here with it.”

“Yeah, you said somethin’ like that.” Patton crossed his legs on the bean bag, leaning forward on his elbows toward the Child. “The Playwright also said something about everyone having different thoughts on what’s best for Roman.”

“Playwright!” the Child tossed his shoes into the corner behind the door and laid back in the bean bag, spread out with his arms open. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen him in a while, is he okay?”

Logan let his shoulders loosen and slouch. It….did feel good to unwind, after the events of the day. Maybe the adrenaline and shock were wearing off finally. He sat down on another bean bag, bending his knees as though he were in a normal chair. “Yes, he is fine. He is, ah, backstage, as he called it.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Artist doesn’t like Playwright at all,” Logan and Patton shared another confused glance at that, “Thief says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like mister Logic, but I think he doesn’t like you ‘cause he doesn’t like Playwright.”

“Why doesn’t he like the Playwright? That seems counterintuitive, to not like yourself,” As soon as the words left Logan’s mouth, he realized how hypocritical it sounded. And how obvious the explanation was.

Patton seemed to notice as well, because he grimaced, putting a hand on top of Logan’s knee. The Child, however, just shrugged. “Well, I don’t like all of me, you know? I wanted to figure out what parts of me I could live without, but every part of me has an opinion about what part’s important.”

“I?” Logan asked, softer now.

The Child nodded. “Roman. I,” he made a gesture up at the air, and it reminded Patton a little of the hand flip Roman typically did when rising. “I’m Roman but I’m not Roman.”

“How does that work, kiddo?” Patton coaxed him.

“It’s like….” he trailed off, resting his hand on his chin as he thought. After a few quiet moments, he continued.

“Okay,” The Child sat up and patted his own chest. “Me. I’m the Child. AND I’m Roman. I’m all….”

He flopped backward again onto the bean bag, making vague gestures with his hands as he wrestled to find the words, only to find that there were none. No words truly.

The Child let his hands fall onto his stomach with a groan, staring upwards. Patton and Logan shared a nervous glance. It was clear something was bothering the Child, something integral to this Hunger Games of Romans situation.

“Take your time, kiddo,” Patton tried to comfort him, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Child was just looking up at the sky ceiling. After another few seconds, he heaved a sigh.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky?” Logan and Patton both looked up as well.

“With all the clouds that look like pretty things. And even if they don’t look like things, they look soft and fluffy and wonderful. And then, when there aren’t clouds, it’s the most beautiful shade of blue or a dazzling red, like how a nice summer night makes you feel?” The ceiling had been full of fluffy white clouds, meandering across the painted blue expanse, but as soon as the Child mentioned “dazzling red” the clouds began to glow pink as the ceiling’s paint color changed to red. He clapped.

“Or, or! Even better, sometimes, when it’s really, really late, and there are stars out? And every star is like a gem on a glittering cloak that the world’s putting on you?” the ceiling changed once more, painted black as the clouds vanished. One by one, twinkling stars seemed to glow from nothing against the ceiling backdrop. In actual constellations, no less.

“It’s all so….” the Child exhaled, “Beautiful.”

Silence followed. All three of them were now laying on the bean bags, looking up at the twinkling stars and the occasional barely visible line that connected them. They just starred, Logan and Patton unsure of how to break the silence, until the Child continued himself.

“That’s what I want Roman to remember,” Patton looked at the Child, who was watching the stars. He spoke with a strong determination, voice set. “That’s what I want to see. The beauty.”

He faltered, closing his open mouth and gritting his teeth. Logan looked away from the sky now, too, and watched the Child as he closed his eyes. Wiser than he seemed. “But that makes me really childish, doesn’t it? If we just see the beauty, then that means we’re ignoring all the bad stuff. And if we’re too childish, we don’t get taken seriously, and we really need to be taken seriously. I mean….”

The Child glanced over at Patton, and he could have sworn that the Child had tears in his eyes. Oh, he hoped he wasn’t crying. Patton reached out, offering his hand to maybe comfort him, but the Child just shrugged, unwilling to look at him anymore.

“We see how you get treated, Dad,” Patton’s brow furrowed in confusion, hand retracting a little, as though the Child’s words hurt. “No one takes you serious and you always have to prove yourself. We don’t take you serious, either, a lot of the time. ‘Cause if you’re childish, then you don’t deserve to be taken seriously. That’s what Roman tells himself. Tells me. But it’s wrong.”

Now the silence was just awkward. Patton lowered his hand into his lap as the Child looked back up at the sky. There was no denying now, now that the Child’s quiet breathing hitched and stuttered, that he was crying.

“It has to be wrong,” he whispered between gasps.

Slowly, the Child pulled his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and sniffing into his hands. Patton was going to start crying himself, watching the Child cry. He turned to Logan with a bitten lip. He knew, deep down, that the others didn’t always take his opinion seriously. Heck, it was a running theme! Patton the childish, the inner child, the baby. But Jesus, that was point blank.

“You’re correct, Roman. I don’t always understand you both, but the things I don’t understand aren’t…they aren’t unimportant. Occasional immaturity does not equal insignificant. We….” Logan faltered and looked up at Patton, who was staring at him now, tears dotting his eyes.

They really did walk on him, didn’t they? Logan considered the times he had helped elevate Patton’s concerns, and the situations in which Patton’s concerns were elevated. No one took the puppet suggestion seriously, until it was proven successful, and Thomas himself had to step in to get them to even consider it as an option. Along with that, Deceit was able to mimic Patton by, what? Literally saying he was a fan of cartoons and was silly? It was so easy to character Patton into a caricature of immature glee that he, Roman, and Virgil barely noticed.

That was the insult, wasn’t it. Childish. Not to be taken seriously. Silly and immature. Was that what he thought of Patton?

Patton wiped his tears and looked away. “I….guess that’s true. But hey! That’s what comes with being Thomas’ inner child, isn’t it?” there he went, voice heightening in pitch as he tried to make it sound as though he weren’t so upset with Logan’s silence and the Child’s assessment. “Your dorky ol’ Dad can be a lil’ goofball a lot of the time.”

“Your goofball-ness is welcome, often appreciated. We….do have a lot to learn, about having fun and seeing things anew.”

Patton looked over at Logan, who was watching him with determination. The Child, too, was watching Logan with both eyebrows raised, having grabbed a pillow from his side to press his face into. His eyes were two large spotlights.

“I do not understand the Imagination. I cannot claim to. But there IS immense beauty in this world you’ve created, and I see that it would be a waste to focus on making logical sense of it rather than take in the world around as a work of art. It might be childish, but sometimes….a little childishness is what we need to maintain a healthy lifestyle and a healthy headspace. Your input is appreciated.”

If Roman was having these sorts of concerns, about being perceived as childish or not, then Logan knew it was likely Patton had similar concerns. He chided himself mentally for letting this self-consciousness fester but a direct approach was always the most efficient.

And it was all worth it to see Patton smile and remove his glasses, wiping the tears from his downcast eyes.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns with us, kiddo,” the Child smiled at the nickname and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away for a bit. Patton smiled at him, then at Logan, beaming like the sun. “Logan put it real well.”

Logan fixed his glasses, pleased with himself, and the Child patted his arm. “Thank you, Logan,” he said.

They sat in silence, eyes flicking with new brief understanding between each other, until there was banging from below the floor. Patton squeaked and Logan stiffened, but the Child just groaned into his pillow.

“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT UP THERE?!” the Artist’s voice boomed from below.

“JUST TALKIN’ ABOUT THE OTHER SIDES WITH TEACH,” the Child shouted back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“WELL, SHUT UP ‘BOUT THEM! THE DRAGON BITCH’LL HEAR YOU!”

“YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

“YOU BRATTY LITTLE—DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!”

The Child leaned his back, groaning loud and angrily. “FINE! SORRY!”

Logan and Patton exchanged worried glances. Had the Artist heard that whole conversation? They looked to the Child for any thoughts or input, but he just shook his head.

“He won’t come upstairs. Ugh, I was doing real good at not saying your names,” he rubbed his face, rubbing the tears into his skin to hide them, “It’s–It’s like the taboo system. Dragon, he put a curse on your names so all of us can hear it when someone says them. The others aren’t really scared of that, they–they….Artist doesn’t want anyone finding this house. He heard me say your name, mister Logic.”

Before either of the adults could respond, however, there was another crash from downstairs. The Child frowned and climbed off the bean bag, kneeling on the ground with an ear pressed to the rug.

“What—” Patton was cut off by the Child shushing him harshly.

They weren’t confused for long, though, as the voices grew more raised and angry.

“—TOLD YOU—FUCK OUT!” they heard the Artist shout.

“I WILL ONCE YOU STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT THE OTHERS! THEY’RE IN OUR REALM NOW, THEY COULD HEAR YOU!”

Patton raised his eyebrows. He looked at Logan, who was frowning at nothing. When he noticed Patton, Logan mouthed “Playwright.” He didn’t seem like the type to be so….explosive.

“WELL TOUGH, PLAYWRONG. I DONT GIVE A FUCK IF THEY HEAR ME! I JUST DON’T WANT DRAGON SHOWING UP, THOSE UNGRATEFUL CRITICAL ASSHOLES—”

“THEY’RE MUCH MORE THAN THAT, THEY’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED, YOU STARVING STEREOTYPE—”

The Child stood up slowly, stepping carefully on the rug and sliding his feet along the wooden floor. He slid all the way to the door. As slow as he could, he clicked the lock in place, and let out a breath. The yelling died down immediately to a whisper, as though locking the door disconnected the room from the whole house.

“That’ll keep them out. They’re probably not gonna come up here, can’t get into my room now, but if they find you then we’re all fucked,” he mumbled.

“Language,” Patton mumbled, and the Child giggled at him. “No swear words when there’re children present, you know that!”

“Yeah, yeah—” the Child cut himself off with a yawn, shoulders hiking up slowly.

He shuffled back to the bean bags and collapsed into the one he’d been sitting in. He curled into a ball, huffing a small sigh. Patton yawned, too, and smacked his lips. Logan had to stifle a yawn himself. They were contagious.

It had been a long day. They were due for a sleep, especially after the arduous experiences they’d had throughout the day.

“Y’know, I didn’t think the Playwright’d let y’all in,” the Child’s words jumbled over each other, and he covered his mouth as he yawned again.

“What makes you say that?” Logan pressed.

Despite the tiredness, he knew there was something wrong with his initial read of the Playwright, and this situation didn’t leave space for those kinds of errors. The Child shrugged. “I….from what I know, he’s more….he likes things done his way. He really wants all of you approve of him. Mostly mister Logic, but all of you. And he really, really, really doesn’t like Princey. Him an’ Dragon an’—an’—” the Child yawned again, mumbling the rest of his sentence incoherently, but Logan didn’t process that.

There was another mention of this “Dragon” character. Logan rubbed his cheek, arms crossed on his knees as he ran the new information through his mind. The Playwright was volatile — he scoffed quietly, of COURSE Roman, with his boisterousness and exuberance, wouldn’t be able to contain his energetic nature into something reserved and quiet. He had his quiet moments, but he couldn’t maintain stoicism forever. They would have to assess him again, it seemed.

“I thought….” Patton whispered, and Logan looked up at him.

Patton’s eyes were downcast at the ground, brow furrowed in anguish. He’d thought they’d gotten at least one part of Roman, one bit to understand that they were accepted. That Roman was LOVED, damnit, because that’s what it was! He was loved, Roman was loved, and by God it felt like he’d failed if one of his friends doubted that so much that he couldn’t believe that.

“I’m gonna sleep. Just right here. Y’all can take the bed if y’all want,” the Child’s voice slurred together, halfway asleep already and cutting into both adults’ trains of thought.

Patton sighed. He slowly switched into Dad Mode as he pushed himself up and rolled his shoulders. “Nope. You’re a growing boy, kiddo, you’re goin’ in the bed.”

He stooped down and picked the Child up, chuckling quietly as he groaned in dramatic despair. Still, the Child wrapped his arms around Patton’s neck lazily, snuggling against him once more. Logan crossed his legs on the bean bag and watched as Patton sat on the bed, rubbing the Child’s back, and tried to pry him off.

“You need to get in bed, kiddo,” Patton whispered gently, “You’ve gotta sleep. A prince needs his beauty sleep, right?”

The Child giggled. “I’m not a–a–a,” he yawned again, “A prince! I’m a child!”

“But you’re gonna grow up to be one! You’re gonna grow up to be a great prince, ruling over all the Imagination,” Patton was whisper shouting, putting on a grandiose voice full of gusto.

He mimicked blowing a trumpet with one hand and the Child laughed, patting Patton’s hand down.

“Nuh uh!” he hummed between tired giggles.

Logan stood up behind Patton and gently took the Child’s hands. The Child looked up at him, squeezing Logan’s hands sleepily and giggling.

“You will be a valiant prince,” he lifted the Child’s hands away from Patton, and he took the cue to start tucking the Child into bed, “You will be a prince, lion-hearted and loved. But tonight, you must sleep.”

The Child squeezed his left hand, then his right, and laid down in the bed he’d been placed in. He looked so comforted as Patton pulled the blanket up higher around his face, big brown eyes questioning as he looked up at Logan from beneath the edge of the blanket.

“Will they listen to me?” his voice was thick as he teetered between unconsciousness and lucidity, “Will–Will they care, when I’m a prince?”

Logan nodded at him, and Patton nodded too. They were both sure, sure as the sky is blue. “Yes,” Patton whispered, “Everyone will hear you. And you’ll live happily ever after, my Prince.”

The Child giggled quietly. Slowly, he snuggled into the bed, and his hold on Logan’s hands relinquished, now gripping the blanket as he curled into a ball. Within mere seconds, he was snoring softly.

Patton stepped back and stretched. He looked up at Logan, who was removing his glasses in preparation for sleep.

“Wanna sleep on the floor?” Patton asked, “Or should we stack the beanbags in a square and use those as a bed?”

Logan considered the bean bags for a moment, actually, before deciding the morning back pain wouldn’t be worth it. “I think we can suffer the floor for a night,” he said, taking his coat off and spreading it out on the ground.

Patton followed suit, throwing his cat cloak down and spreading it out like a bed mat. They both slowly climbed to the ground beside each other, fitting themselves into the space that was to be their sleeping mat, grabbing some of the pillows and stuffed animals strewn about. At least the carpet was soft, adding extra padding. They both laid down, heads resting on some of the Child’s pillows, staring up at the stars on the ceiling.

Though they were both tired, Patton wanted to clear one thing up before letting himself drift off.

“....Lo,” Patton asked, voice soft. “Lo, are you awake?”

Logan sniffed. He was actually partway asleep already. “Yes, Pa—er. Patt.”

Patton giggled. It wasn’t always that he got to hear Logan call him by a nickname. He sobered up fast, though. “Did you mean what you said? About…about appreciating the childish things.”

Ah. Logan opened an eye. Patton smiled sheepishly at him.

He still had his glasses on. Logan turned to his side, facing Patton, reaching a hand out and taking his glasses off carefully. He slowly folded them and set them aside on the ground, with his.

“Of course I did. You provide important opinions and insight, often noticing details I….overlook,” Logan rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder, “You are appreciated.”

Patton beamed with a wobbly lip, more tears threatening to spill over. He slowly took Logan’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Not in a kiss, per se, but more to hold him close. To show that he was so thankful, so grateful for this acknowledgement. Plus, he was afraid that the tears would spill if he opened his mouth.

Logan didn’t seem to mind, though his face did turn a brighter shade of crimson, just barely visible in the starlight.

After a few seconds, Patton regained his stability. “Thanks,” he whispered. “We...we’re gonna get Roman back.”

Logan nodded, discombobulated. Patton’s breath on the back of his hand was comfortingly warm. There was that feeling in his chest. What was that?

He let go of Logan’s hand and rolled back onto his back, letting out a sign of contentedness. Their little prince was fast asleep and the next day would bring more trials. They had to find Virgil and Deceit and hopefully the Roman who’d been on the roof. They had to talk to the Artist. They had to confront the Playwright. They had to find the OTHERS and talk to THEM.

And Patton knew they’d be able to face it all head-on. He knew it in his heart. “Goodnight, Lo’. I love you.”

Logan exhaled beside him. Perhaps….things would be okay. He looked over at Patton, whose eyes were already closed, legs crossed and hands interlaced on his chest in a peaceful manner.

There was that feeling again. The data points — he was too tired to be thinking coherently, look at him, applying statistics knowledge to emotions of all things — indicated that he felt warm and fluttery near his lungs whenever he considered the other Sides. It felt as though his lungs were clenching, breathing constricting and carbon dioxide exhalation warming. That couldn’t be literal, though, or else he’d be ill. On this particular adventure, in this particular day, it’d happened a few times.

Perhaps he was just tired. It had been a long day, all of this just in one day. Logan would consider this issue more in the morning. However, he would indulge in the working hypothesis just once, whilst muddled in this warm-chested comforting confusion. “....I love you, too, Patt. Sleep well.”

It may have been a trick of the light or his mind, but Logan thought, just before he closed his eyes, that he’d seen Patton smile at him.

[jessahmewren]

“i didn’t know it could be like this,” Chapter 12: Flirt/Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction/ Day 6 Poly!Queen Week

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 

Summary:  The boys go out to celebrate the formation of Queen when Freddie's flirting gets out of control.

Rating: E for everyone be aware here be smut

Pairing: It’s Poly Week Ya’ll so I snuck in an update >:)

Words: 2026

also on ao3

-0-0-0-

“Try this one John.”

Brian settled the bass around his neck, and a thrill ran through him.  He hadn’t held an instrument like this in years.  His eyes began to well.

Brian looked at him, concern etched on his face.  “What’s wrong love?”

John sniffed.  “Nothing Brian.  Just thinking is all.”

Freddie waggled his finger, a coy expression on his face.  He was fighting with a mic stand and wearing a feather boa.  “That can be dangerous,” he sing-songed.

The rehearsal space at Freddie’s art school was free as long as they were out by a certain time, and they intended to use every moment of it.  John preened.  The bass felt good around his neck.  He picked out a few chords.

“There you go,” Brian praised.  “Freddie chose what looked to be the best of the lot from the student center.”

John’s eyes flashed hopefully.  “How long can we keep it?”

Brian’s face fell.  “Just for the rehearsal time, I’m afraid.”

John nodded.  “It’s ok. I’ve almost got enough money saved up.”

Roger was tuning the drumset, happily humming to himself.  “I’ll add to it, love.  We’ll get you a bass.  Now play them something.  Really rip it up!”

John smiled at him, his cheeks pinking, and then he began to play.

They all watched a little starry-eyed as John’s thrumming bass filled the room.  Then Brian joined in, then Roger on drums.  When they stopped their impromptu jam session, they all just stared at each other in disbelief at how well they sounded together.

“This is happening darlings,” Freddie said as he slung one end of the feather boa over his shoulder.  “We’re a band.”  

---

They practiced for hours, learning songs Brian and Freddie already had and finding out John and Roger wrote songs too.  It was late, and spirits were high.  “Let’s go to the pub to celebrate,” Brian suggested.

The pub was crowded, but they found a table in the back.  Freddie disappeared to the bar to order their drinks, Roger going along with him to help carry the wares.  When they returned, Brian and Freddie were in a deep discussion about band names.

“You see, we never did refer to me and Freddie as a band, did we darling?”  Freddie shook his head, his lustrous hair shining.  “We would have a bassist…a whole lot of bassists, but they wouldn’t stay for long, and we never considered them part of what we were doing.”

Freddie smiled, taking a sip of his beer.  “Now that we finally have a rhythm section, there’s no limit to what we can do.  Roger, you play brilliantly.  How long have you been playing the drums?”

Roger’s smile was as sunny as his hair.  “Since I was a kid.  Don’t get to do it much anymore.  But I used to moonlight at a local club.”

“What happened?” Brian asked.

John averted his eyes.  “We went to work for Ray.”

Freddie set his beer down heavily on the table.  “That fucking wanker!”

Brian soothed him quietly, a hand on his shoulder.  “All of that’s in the past now, Freddie.  Let’s focus on the future."  He held up his glass.  "To our band.  To…well, we don’t have a name, do we?”

Freddie tossed his hair back, having regained his composure.  “To Queen," he said seriously, "a band fit to play for royalty or the common man.”

“To Queen," Roger toasted, a soft smile on his face.

“To Queen," John said, his glass held aloft.  He found he liked the way the name settled in his mouth.

They all drank to the good health and fortune of their newly formed band.

Freddie had gone for more drinks, when his musical laugh could be heard even over the noise of the pub.  Brian perked up immediately, his neck craning as he watched Freddie lean playfully over the bar, his tight satin pants hugging his bum.  There were two men crowding him on either side and they were openly ogling him.

Roger and John followed Brian’s line of sight, their mouths falling open a little.  Brian scowled.  “He gets like this when he’s been drinking," he said with some chagrin.

John watched Freddie flirt with the men, a twinge of jealousy cinching in his gut.  Freddie was truly putting on a show.

He had no shortage of drinks as he flirted and preened, making the company surrounding him laugh and blush.  Roger watched the display too, his mouth dry at how attractive Freddie looked under the attention of so many men.  Freddie stretched further over the bar, making his sheer shirt ride up on his stomach.

Brian ground his teeth, nails digging into his palm.  But when Freddie tossed his hair over his shoulder and one of the men leaned in a little too closely to whisper in Freddie’s ear, Brian saw red.

He was at his side in a moment, a firm hand on his upper arm.  Freddie looked up at him innocently, eyes flitting down to the long fingers wrapped a little roughly around his bicep.

“What’s wrong Bri?”  His brown eyes were large with faux innocence, and his mouth was slightly open, just perfect for kissing.  Brian wanted nothing more than to crush his lips against him.

He gave his arm a little tug.  “Time to go,” he said tersely.

Freddie pouted. “So soon?  We just got here.”

Brian cleared his throat.  Freddie’s pouting face had him straining in his pants.  If he didn’t get him home soon...

“Now,” Brian managed as he yanked him roughly off the stool.

Freddie managed a weak smile as he threw the men at the bar a little wink.  “See you later boys.”

---

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I-I dunno baby.  They were buying me drinks and telling me how good I looked.  I just got caught up in it.”

Freddie’s face burned with shame as he knelt before Brian, his face lowered to the plush carpet of their bedroom.

Brian gave him another stern look and left him there without a word.

He knocked on the door across the hall before a sleepy-looking Roger answered.  “Hi Brian.  Is everything ok?

Brian ran a hand through his hair.  “I um, would like you and John to be present for Freddie’s punishment.  If you’re comfortable with that.”

Roger was taken aback.  He had never been involved in the other side of a punishment before, and honestly he was curious.  “Um, let me talk to John.”

Brian nodded.  “Just come over when you’re ready,” Brian added.

They knocked hesitantly and were ushered in by Brian.  “Sit on the edge of the bed.  Make yourselves comfortable,” Brian said pleasantly.

Freddie was kneeling in the middle of the room, with Brian standing over him.

“Do you understand what you did, Freddie?”

“Yes sir,” he said firmly.  “I betrayed a trust between you and the boys.  I embarrassed you and myself.”

“And?” Brian prompted.

Freddie lifted his head.  “And I forgot who I belonged to.”

Brian nodded.  “And what are you going to do to remedy that?”

Freddie shuffled over to where Brian had sat next to Roger and John.  “Pleasure you sir.  All of you.”

John sucked in a breath, the sight of Freddie on his knees already making him hard.  This was certainly not how he envisioned this day ending when he woke up this morning, but he wasn’t complaining.

Brian reached up to cradle Freddie’s face in his hands.  “Do the best job darling.  The best you ever have, and be sure to take care of our boys.”

Freddie’s eyelids fluttered.  “Of course sir.”

His mouth was watering as he opened Brian’s fly, taking Brian out and giving him a few loving strokes with his hand.  Brian shivered, running his hand through Freddie’s hair.

Freddie licked the head, spreading the precum with his tongue before stretching his lips over Brian’s shaft and sinking down as low as he could, then pushing further until he could feel him warm against the back of his throat.  Brian shuddered around him, moaning and praising him through his punishment.

“You’re taking me so well, love, you always take me so well, so good for me.”

Freddie pulled off of him and sank down, getting a rhythm going, and with every hot slide of his mouth Brian became more undone.

Tight fingers clenched at his scalp.  “Gonna come my dear,” he got out before filling Freddie’s throat.  He swallowed him down, neatly licking him clean before dabbing at his tear-stained eyes and tucking him away.

Roger was next, and he looked at Freddie a little awestruck.  “Don’t be nervous,” Brian said.  “He wants this, too.”  Roger looked at Freddie, and he nodded his head vigorously.  “This isn’t the club, Roger.  Our punishments are never under-negotiated, and Freddie can safeword at any time.  So let him suck your cock.”

Roger visibly relaxed then as Freddie ran his hands up Roger’s thighs.  He opened his fly, stroking him a few times before teasing him with his tongue.  He took him inside his mouth, enjoying the little gasps and moans coming from Roger as his hot mouth dragged along the length of his cock.  Then Roger’s hands slid to his hair and he began to fuck up into his mouth.

“Good,” Bri said as he watched them.  “I like to see that dominant side of you come out.  Really give it to him Rog.  Make him whine.”

Tears were streaming down Freddie’s cheeks and his jaw ached, but he persevered.  Roger came with a shout, and he swallowed him down with no trouble.

He could feel the burn in his knees by the time he got to John. Soft, lovely John with the beautiful cock that would be quite a mouthful for his already aching jaw.  Freddie’s lips were swollen and he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t,” John whispered as Freddie fumbled with his fly.  “I don’t want you to.”

Freddie shook his head.  “Let me,” he rasped, his voice shot. “I want to do this for you.”

John tipped Freddie’s chin, a sympathetic look on his face.  “I know what it’s like to be where you are,” he said quietly.    

Freddie shooshed him.  “It’s different darling when you’re doing it for people you love.”

Brian smiled, affection blooming in his chest.  John just stared back at him, a soft look on his face.  He finally nodded.

Freddie took him out, holding him gently. He thumbed over the head before gently stroking him, but John was already rock hard and weeping at the slit.  Freddie bent his head, kissing him before taking him into his mouth.

John was always a stretch, but nothing Freddie couldn’t handle as he let the hot length of him push him to his limits.  He felt John hit the back of his throat all too soon, but Freddie relaxed, swallowing him down a bit further.  He hummed pleasantly, feeling John shake beneath him.

“Not gonna last,” John grunted out.  His hands were on his shoulders, clenching and relaxing against Freddie’s tense muscles.

Freddie backed off, only to descend on him again.  Suddenly John was coming, white and hot down his throat, and Freddie caught it all.

Brian and Roger were there to catch him when he sagged forward and Brian picked him up and placed him on the bed.  John pulled the blanket up around him and Brian handed him a glass of water.

“You were wonderful darling.  You were so good for us.”

John placed a kiss to Freddie’s cheek.  “Thank you love.  You’re amazing.”

Roger rubbed his cheek fondly.  “Goodnight Freddie.”

Brian looked up.  “Where are you two going?”

John looked at Roger.  “Back to our room,” he said.

“No,” Brian said as he reached for John.  “You should stay with us.  We’ll make room.”

Brian pulled the covers back, revealing room for the two of them.

Roger looked to John, then slipped his arm around him and pulled him to the bed, pulling the covers over them.

Brian smiled to himself, his face turned where the others couldn't see.  “Goodnight boys,” he said as he turned out the light.

-0-0-0-

[andaleduardo]

59 for the prompt thing!!

59. “I could punch you right now.”

Thank you so much for send this in, I’ve had such a fun time writing it! And I’m sorry it’s coming so late, I hope it was worth the wait :) I know nothing about sports btw so I blame google for incorrect information

Summary: Eddie and Richie have a combat sports’ class together.

Important: Despite the events in this that may give off vibes of Eddie being abusive or having really agressive episodes, I promise my intentions weren’t those, he doesn’t really want to hurt anyone. He’s that feisty firecracker that gets angry easily and wants to punch things, not people! He does punch Richie, yes, but I think under these circumstances, anyone would have done the same if they has just met the person. It just happens that they’re into each other here.

Throw me a punch, I’ll fallfor you (AO3)

“Alright, everyone!” The instructor,Mike, has a sturdy voice to go along with his impressive strong body.

Eddie used to feel intimated (if notflustered) at the sight of his trainer back at the beginning of his classeswith the guy. Now, he knows it’s more of a façade, a slightly less usual sideof Mike to impose respect upon his students.

Eddie got into combat sports as away of learning how to defend himself. He could have chosen to takeself-defence classes only, sure, but he is also very much into sports. In thisspecific class, he is taught a variety of fighting techniques from many sports,like boxing, wrestling or martial arts. This way he can take out his daily rageand inner unhealthy anger while learning useful moves to take over any guytaller than him. Which is pretty much all of them.

He also has some anger issues, asper say. It got to the point where Eddie couldn’t take the subway anymore toget to work because he’d have to physically restrain himself from punchingevery jerk who kept pushing him aggressively. The height doesn’t’ help, alwaysa factor that screams ‘I can’t fight you back so you can disrespect me!’.

Well, Eddie had enough of that. Nowit’s been over a year since he signed himself up for fighting classes, and hislooks have changed, enough that no one really wants to mess up with him when he’swearing more revealing clothing. The kick boxing lessons, mostly, shaped himwell, along with all the other physical activity he indulges in, like running.His legs, arms and shoulders definitely show off his abilities and serve has awarning.

Too bad he chose to wear a bigsweater and sweatpants today.

“So, today’s class will be a littledifferent.” Mike keeps projecting his voice around the big gym room. His back isfacing the mirrored wall and, once again, Eddie can’t help but ogle up his darkskin reflecting the white lights in that perfect, distracting manner. He canfeel his face a little hot, despite having yet to start sweating.

“You might be wondering who theother half of today’s class is.”

With that statement, Eddie’sattention finally falls on the other side of the room. He stares at the other eightpeople that fill up the gym besides his own classmates. By his side, he hearsBeverly whispering.

“I’ve never seen them around here.”

Ben quietly adds “Me neither.”

Eddie thinks about saying somethingback, but his tongue gets tied at the last second when his eyes fall on a newsubject of observation.

There’s a guy that looks like aleaf, way easy to knock down if someone blows air his way.His pale skin contrasts harshly with the darkness of his hair. He’s staring intentlyat the floor, clearly not listening to a thing Mike is saying, and he lookskind of dumb standing there in his dark purple hoodie and dark grey shortspaired up with checkerboard socks.

Eddie’s first coherent thought is thathe looks like an idiot. The second one is ‘Theprofile view certainly makes up for that…’ as he shamelessly checks him outsilently, eyes trailing over the slight arch of the man’s nose.

Completely distracted, Eddie doesn’tpay attention to Mike’s voice.

“To my right side,” The trainergestures a hand to Eddie’s side of the room, where he stands along with his twofriends and the few other familiar faces he sees on a weekly basis. “I have oneof my advanced classes.”

Never tearing his deadpan stare awayfrom the stranger on the other side of the room, Eddie watches as the lankyman’s eyes carelessly lift from the floor and travel the unknown faces of Eddie’sgroup.

‘Fuck,he’s even more attractive from the front.’ It’sa dumb thought, Eddie has a lot of those.

He fails to react quickly enough andhis breath hitches when their eyes meet. But god forbid if Eddie so much asflinched. With his cold, neutral eyes, Eddie glares right back and waits forthe other guy to look away. But that doesn’t happen. The man’s uninterestedposture changes, his back straightens, and his lips lift up in a teasing smirk.

‘Whothe fuck is this guy?’

Eddie feels himself get defensive (andred) alarmingly fast. Is he being mocked?

“To my left, I introduce you ournewest students. We’ve had a handful of classes so far, which, I’m sad toinform, makes you beginners.”

A few chuckles emerge from bothgroups, but for Eddie and the stranger, a staring contest seems more importantat the moment.

Eddie squares up a little, unsuccessfullytries to make himself look taller (it’s a big issue for him, okay?) and liftsup one eyebrow while stuffing both hands on the front pocket of his sweater.

If the way he’s being stared at isn’tenough to keep him on the edge and annoyed, the fucker on the other side of theroom decides to drag his eyes up and down Eddie’s body and lick his lips,somehow keeping the smirk plastered on his face, which only makes him lookextremely stupid and desperate. But holy shit, if that doesn’t heat up Eddie’sinsides and almost makes him lose his unbothered disguise.

So, definitely not being mocked.

He hears Bev’s quiet giggles by hisside but doesn’t give them a second thought.

Mike claps his hands to gather upeveryone’s attention. The sound makes Eddie jolt up, surprised, and uncertainlyturn to face his instructor with an inevitable frown. He’s probably blushing,too, but it’s not like he can help it. His jaw twitches with frustration as hetries to focus.

“Now, as you can see, I’ve gatheredyou all here, beginners and advanced.” Mike continues his explanations whilewalking mindlessly from side to side with both hands behind his back. “I’vedecided to pair you up for learning purposes. I’m sure my advanced studentswill be able to teach you something today.” He speaks directly to the beginnersbefore turning to face Eddie’s side. “And I’m sure you guys will be able torecognise your own past mistakes on our newbies.”

Eddie nods in response, trying hard toignore the holes forming on the side of his face from the jerk’s consistentstaring from the other side of the room.

“We’ll be working in pairs, I’llgive you more directions as we go but the goal today is for you to learn fromeach other. You can start by warming up. And make a few introductions whileyou’re at it. Get to know your enemy a little better.”

Great, socializing is just whatEddie signed up for with this gym membership.

As usual, he follows Beverly and Bento their left corner near the mirrors to do casual muscle warm ups. He forceshimself to keep his back to the rest of the class, or he knows he’ll be lookingplaces he shouldn’t. But turns out his friends, or so he thought they were, arein a mood to tease him. After a few minutes of torso, shoulder and armrotations and stretches, Beverly elbows his side, knocking the air out ofEddie’s chest.

“What was that for?” He hisses ather. Beverly simply nods her head past Eddie’s back, and he can almost guesswhat she’s going to say.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself anadmirer.”

Eddie fights against the urge to takea look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t, cowboy. He hasn’tstopped staring at your ass since you turned around.” She rolls her eyes at himbefore resuming her exercises. Eddie flips her the bird discreetly and triesnot to feel too invaded now that he knows he’s being checked out.

Ben also steals a glance behindEddie’s back, and by this point Eddie’s more than ready to snap at both of themto quit being so obvious. Instead, he shuts the urge down and starts with hiswrist stretches.

“I feel kind of bad for him,though.” Ben speaks with a sided soft smile. Eddie drops both arms and sighs,throwing his head back.

“Yeah.” Bev agrees. “He looks like he’dpay you to crush his head with your thighs anytime.”

“Bev!”Eddie screeches, feeling the blood pump up to his ears. “You can’t just saystuff like that when we’re in public!” He keeps his angry ranting at her, sheonly laughs back. Eddie notices Ben’s face pale up at something behind his back,and he stops talking abruptly, assuming that the stranger was coming up theirway. Eddie stifles up a groan, but once he hears Mike’s, now softer, voiceapproaching them, he feels his shoulders relax.

“Hi, Mike!” Bev greets himcheerfully.

“Hey guys, how are you doing?”

Truth is, Mike is more than theirtrainer. They’ve all become close friends during the past year of weeklymeetings. That doesn’t mean Eddie can’t think Mike’s hot, because he is, and heknows that his friends think the same. Mike knows it, too, and they all have agood laugh out of it. It’s just how they work.

“Eddie has a crush.”

Ben, for fuck’s sake, Ben says it and throws an arm aroundEddie’s shoulders. He feels betrayed.

“No,I fucking do not. Don’t listen to them, Mike.” He pushes Ben’s arm away, stillvery much making sure not to turn around and have any possible eye contact withthe subject of their conversation.

With a warm laugh, Mike crosses hisarms. “And who, may I ask, is this not-a-crush?”

Eddie mumbles and curses under hisbreath while pinching the bridge of his nose. He waits for either of his‘awful’ friends to answer for him, but everyone just stares at him expectantly.So, Eddie sighs in defeat.

“See the stick-figure guy with thepurple sweater?” He whispers through his frown. Mike pretends to look at all ofhis students for a while, then nods. Eddie continues. “He was just staring, okay? With a creepy smirk thattotally never in a million years wouldwork on me.” He rushes through the end while bending down to grab his knee up,keeping a perfect balance and feeling the pull on his thigh.

“Are you sure?” Mike asks with fakewondering. “He sort of fits your type.”

“That’s it, I’m quitting. You guysare the worst friends.”

Mike laughs and winks at him. “It’sa shame I’m the best teacher, though.” And starts walking away.

Oh no.

“Don’t you dare do anything. Mike!” Eddiewhispers sharply and stares at Mike’s back as he walks away. He feels Bev’sweight on his shoulder.

“Sounds like today’s class will beinteresting for you. Have fun.” And off she goes, skipping in her steps tointroduce herself to one of the new students.

After the individual warm ups areover with, Mike starts by ordering everyone to form pairs. Ben gives Eddie asmall pat on the back before making his way to a neat looking guy who seems tohave been dragged here against his own will. Eddie stays behind, feelingchildish for not being able to act like a normal adult and go up to anyone. It’slike he’s gone back in time too many years, to the days when he’d be left forlast on gym class. He decides to stride over to the wire-wheeled cart thatstores the softest, smallest, beginner’s appropriate gloves and pads.

From the corner of his eye, he apprehensivelywatches Mike approach the weird/hot/idiot stranger. They chat for a total of 4seconds, before pale guy is looking around and, once more, locking eyes withEddie. Eddie tries, to no avail, to pretend like he wasn’t caught staring bysnapping his head back to the cart and retrieving the cleanest looking pair ofgloves and pads.

He also pretends not to see the manapproaching, faking surprise when the stranger invades his personal space.

“Hey, darlin. Looks like we’repartners.” He says smoothly.

Eddie struggles with the grip on theboxing gear, close to letting it fall, and reluctantly turns his neck to starein disbelief at the man.

Okay, he’s taller than expected.

“I think I need to agree tothat first. And ‘darling’ is not a great way to convince me.” Eddieemphasizes the nickname.

“What’d you rather have me callyou?” The guy leans his weight on the cart. With his free hand, Eddie rushesto hold the cart in place before it starts to slowly roll away. “Sporty?Cutie? I could go with Master, Sir, Boss. You’re in charge of me, today.” Hewinks, then, and Eddie lets go of the cart, letting it stride away under theman’s weight. He tries not to look too entertained when the guy gets startledby the movement and struggles to keep himself upright without falling.

“How about Eddie? It’s myname.” Eddie starts walking away, already knowing he’ll be followed, so hekeeps talking. “And I’m not the boss of you, let’s try and keep thisprofessional and act like the adults we are, shall we?” What a moral,Eddie.

“You sure sound a little bossy,Eds.” The nameless man smirks. “Whatever you say, though. I’mRichie.” Richie, apparently, holds out his hand for Eddie to shake.Instead, all Eddie does is to toss the gloves on Richie’s outstretched handmore forcefully than needed.

“It’s Eddie.” He says before slidinghis own hands on the pads’ holders. “So, I assume you’ve already done thesekind of pair exercises?” He asks once Richie’s got the gloves on properly.

“Guess you could say I’m an expert.”Richie replies and flexes one arm over his shoulder, even though it’scompletely submerged by the baggy sweater.

Eddie lifts up one eyebrow.

“Impressive. Why don’t you proveit?” He immediately squares up and holds both pads firmly between their bodies.Richie seems slightly surprised by the suggestive tone and upfront posture, buthe quickly recovers and gets into position.

If he’s going to be a tease, Eddiecan be one back.

They’re at this for a while, butEddie isn’t being the nicest. Richie is doing exactly what he’s supposed to,punching the pads. He’s got a good technique, not that Eddie would ever tellhim that, so he tries to push limits by screaming at him between hits. Thingslike:

“Is that all you got?”

“C’mon, that’s a joke.”

“Harder! You’re not even trying!”

And when 10 minutes pass by, Richieis sweating, frustrated and a little huffy. His good natured smirks are gone.In the beginning, he tried to be a good sport, started by throwing off hiscrude jokes and stupid comments, but he gave that up once he got riled up byEddie’s demands.

Of course, Eddie is beaming.

“You’re not the worst, but clearlystill an amateur.” Eddie says while untying the pads of his hands. Hisbreathing is jagged, but Richie’s way worse. “Here, let me show you.” He holdshis hand out, and so, Richie tosses him the gloves, clearly annoyed with havinghis butt kicked only by words.

Once they’ve both traded positions,Eddie wastes no time in throwing a heavy fist right into Richie’s unpreparedgrip. He stumbles backwards on his feet when his arm is pushed back against hisown mid-section, taking the air out of his chest with a little ‘oof’.

Eddie can see the exact momentRichie starts to get really bothered.His nostrils flare, shoulders square back, and his jaw tenses up. If he could,Eddie would smile victoriously.

With a fake neutral expression thatbegs to be cracked into laughs, Eddie asks him. “Are you sure you can take it?You seem like you’re struggling.”

Richie scoffsand gets in position. “Yeah, right. Just get on with it.”

‘Show-off.’ Richiethinks.

Eddie keepsthrowing punch after punch with extra unneeded strength, Richie keepsstruggling to keep himself upright but never once backs down. By the end of theirnext 10 minute round, Richie’s neck veins are prominent with the need ofproving his worth, and droplets of sweat are dotting his face. Eddie isn’t farbehind.

Not too longafter this, Mike lets everyone have a break and leads the class into anothergym room with padded, softer floor. Eddie is familiar with it.

They’re doingfree combat. In other words, submission grappling moves. It makes him a littlenervous.

Eddie turns toRichie to ask him if he has ever even done something like this, but he findsthat Richie is no longer by his side. Eddie looks around in confusion beforefinding him ahead, chatting with the clean boy he saw early. The expression inRichie’s face is one between a frown and a smirk, as if he is conflicted withwhatever they were talking, while he slides his hands through the new pair ofgloves needed for their next practice.

Eddie has afeeling that Richie can be talking about him, and not in a good way. It’s justthe type of person Eddie is, anxiety catches him in social environments.

‘Chill out, he barely knows you.’

Eddieapproaches him slowly, not wanting to invade anyone’s conversation but ratherjust wanting to go get his own pair of gloves, stored in another cart nearRichie and the other boy. Before he can get close enough, Richie and his friendsplit up and he retrieves a second pair of gloves from the cart, striding isway to Eddie. He passes him the equipment without a word.

Eddie puts themon and murmurs a ‘thanks’ under his breath.

“Have youhad any class here, yet?” Eddie asks, genuinely wondering.

“We had acouple by now. Why?”

“Nothing.Just wasn’t sure how much of a beginner Mike meant.”

Both of them maketheir way to a free spot.

“Mike? Ourtrainer?” Richie asks, a smile finally making a reappearance. Eddie nods.“Didn’t know you were on the first name basis with the guy.”

Eddie stares athim for a moment, Richie is fixing up the felt straps around his wrists and hissmile seems a little different. Their tired breaths fill in the seconds ofsilence.

“Yeah,we’re pretty close friends.”

Richiechuckles. “Oh, guess it makes sense, now.”

Eddie looks athim quizzically. “What do you mean?”

Richie looks upfrom his hands and shrugs. “He told me you wanted to be paired up with metoday.”

“He what, now?” There’s a short circuit inEddie’s brain. It must be a pretty scary sight because Richie’s chuckles diedown and his smile falls.

“Hey now,no need to get mad, Eds. T'was just a joke, right? And it’s not that bad towork with me, admit it.” He asks, there’s a tint of something seriousbehind his playful tone.

Eddie scoffsbut contains his frustration. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Hecould have simply pair us up, for fuck’s sake.”

“So, you’renot against it?”

Eddie eyes himsideways. “I never said that.” Richie clicks his tongue in responseand Eddie decides it’s best to change topics. “Ready to get your asskicked?”

“You know,that’s fine material for a sex joke but I’m passing it up ‘cause my ego’s waytoo hurt.”

“Ah, Isee. Finally admitting I’m better?”

“You know,Eds.” Richie ignores when Eddie corrects the nickname. “You really shouldn’tthink so high of yourself. But in the meantime, teach me some moves, will ya?”

The tensionbetween them seems to slip way after that, both of them falling into a fit ofgiggles before resuming their posture to be productive.

Eddie spendsthe next 20 minutes recreating the techniques he’s learnt that Richie hasn’t.They move systematically according to Eddie’s voice, and both of them areequally struggling with the amount of touch there’s involved. Eddie pushes itout of his mind, since he needs to set a plan for each grappling position andmanually move Richie’s limbs and body in the right places. Richie, however, isat his mercy. Never knowing where’s he’s going to be touched next, a millionspots catching fire from Eddie’s hands.

Each techniquestarts the same. Eddie will be the one in the advantaged side and manoeuvreRichie’s body until he’s got him into the submissive stance. Whether that’swith his arms pinned in unnatural angles, legs kicked out from under his body,or laying on the floor in various uncomfortable manners.

Eddie isn’tacting like a show-off, this time. He’s genuinely trying to be a good exampleand teacher so that Richie can gather up as much information as possible.

“Fuck.” Richiegroans after being thrown on the floor, yet another time. Eddie steps out fromabove him, leaving Richie laying there with his nose planted on the cushionedfloor and both arms falling heavily to his sides. “You keep kicking my buttover and over and I can’t even complain cause it’s hot.”

Eddie kicks hisside then, not too strongly. “Stop putting innuendos on everything.”

Richie turnshis head, so his cheek is planted on the floor instead, and he looks up atEddie. “But think about it! I could flirt my attacker into submission.”

Already fearingwhat’s about to come, Eddie runs a gloved hand under his nose. “I don’t thinkthat’s a thing.”

“That’sactually really clever, what the fuck.” Richie jumps on his feet and getscloser. Eddie gives a couple steps back. “Don’t run away from me.” He makesgrabby hands. “C’mon, attack me.” He talks happily.

Eddie lifts upone eyebrow, but he’s weak. He gets behind Richie and throws an arm over histhroat. Richie’s hands come up to grab at his forearm and he starts to do whatEddie showed him before, which was to bend down and try to swing Eddie’s bodyover his own, or at least twist his arm. But Eddie chickens out of it andcowardly kicks Richie’s legs from behind when he starts crouching, causingRichie to fall forward on his face and bring Eddie along with him. He ends upsliding over Richie’s back, slamming his own face onto the ground a secondlater.

Under him,Richie groans in pain and Eddie stumbles to crawl away from him. He gets to hisknees in front of Richie and watches him rubbing at his nose. “Why didn’t youlet go of my arm, you idiot?” Eddie snapped.

“Cause that’snot what you’re supposed to do when you’re being fucking attacked!” His voiceis nasally. “You didn’t mention the kick in the legs when you taught me,before.”

“Must have missedthat part.” He says nonchalantly. A pained grin appears on Richie’s face, Eddiefeels alarmed. “What?”

“Nothing.” Richieshrugs and gets up, holding a hand out for Eddie. Slightly suspicious, Eddie holdson to Richie’s wrist to get up as well, but Richie tugs him up to his feet and pullsuntil their chests are touching. He leans closer to Eddie’s ear.

“’Fraid you can’tbeat me if I start talking?” Eddie doesn’t try to move away, he’s in shock,pointedly ignoring meeting Richie’s eyes. Instead, he stares down at hisjawline. “I can think of a couple ways you can shut me up.”

Eddie thinksabout asking if any of those ways involves a good kick to the head, instead,his mouth hangs open like a fish and he can only feel grateful that Richie can’ttake a good look at his face in this position. Of course, Richie ruins thoseplans when he pulls back a little, just enough so that they can look at eachother. He is still grabbing Eddie’s wrist strongly, and there’s an unreadable expressionon his face.

“You’resupposed to attack me, remember?” He says under his breath. Neither of them seemsto care where they are.

With an embarrassedsnarl, Eddie snaps out of it. He throws the technique out of the way anddecides to kneel Richie in the balls. But Richie moves just as quickly as Eddie’sknee lifts up, his free hand coming between their bodies to grab under Eddie’s thighand snapping it over to the side, leaving Eddie with only one feet on the floor,and, sadly true, his legs forced open.

Eddie is fumingwith embarrassment, he sees red everywhere and if he doesn’t hit something inthe next seconds, he’s going to throw Richie out of the window instead. And totop it all, Richie starts cracking up right there, in front of him. Tiny,mocking chuckles unsuccessfully covered by his lips squeezed shut.

Eddie doesn’tthink, just lifts up his free arm and aims for Richie’s stupid mouth, but oncemore and to his great displeasure, Richie’s eyes grow big and he lets go of Eddie’sleg, hand coming up quickly and gripping Eddie’s other wrist back.

Finally withboth feet on the ground, Eddie steps back and fights against Richie’s hard gripon his wrists.

“Holy shit.”Richie says, slightly excited eyes looking into Eddie’s red, red face. “You’reso bothered by my touch, baby.” Richie doesn’t seem to know when to stop. Bythis point, Eddie is mumbling hateful insults under his breath, along with somepreoccupying threats aimed at Richie’s crotch’s well-being. “Or was it my words,sweetheart?” Richie grins, using all his strength to lead Eddie’s arms behindthe his back.

For a moment,Eddie tries to calm himself and stops squirming against Richie’s hold, lets himpull his arms behind his back until Richie is holding both his wrists with onlyone hand. The other hand comes up, traces a mismatched pattern over Eddie’scovered arm. They space between their bodies is closed again.

Taking a bigbreath and letting Richie believe he’s got him cornered, Eddie watches his dumb,victorious smile.

Don’t do it, Eddie. Be professional. He’s just a jerk,it’s not worth it.

He doesn’t evenknow what he’s restraining himself from doing. Either throwing Richie’s body onto the floor or kissing him. He decides which is it pretty quickly.

Richie’s handsare bigger, that’s why he wraps one around both of Eddie’s wrists so easily,although he’s not doing the best job at using strength. The other finishes itstrail and stops at the back of Eddies neck, just resting there.

Then, Richieopens his imbecile mouth. “I could punch you right now, you know, baby?”

If time was slower,Eddie would have taken a second to roll his eyes and tell him. Great, you’ve ruined it. Instead, all hedoes is to, quite strongly, tear his right wrist out of Richie’s hold andfinally doing what he was prevented from before. His fist collides with Richie’scheek.

Richie’s handscome up to his cheek immediately as he stumbles back a few steps. Eddie staresat him, hand throbbing slightly and feeling guilty almost instantly. The shockon Richie’s face is quite funny, but not at the moment.

“You punchedme.” Richie mumbles while is hands cover his red cheek.

Fuck.

Through quavering,quick breaths, Eddie says. “You were embarrassing me in front of everyone.”Richie just keeps gaping at him in shock. His gloved hands fall at his sides.Eddie flinches at the sight of his flush red skin. That’s going to bruisebadly. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He steps closer to Richie, but feels loston what to do, so he just stands there with the worry dripping from his voice.

“Holy shit.” Richie’s eyes him dreamily.Eddie’s face contorts into confusion. “You punched me…”

“Okay… did- didI damage your brain, somehow?”

“I don’t thinkI’ve ever felt this attracted to anyone before…” Richie smiles cheekily atEddie but hisses instantly when he feels it pulling on his bruising cheekbone. “Fuck,you didn’t spare me at all.” He passes his trembling gloved fingers over hisface.

Eddie gives alook around the rest of the class, no one is paying them much attention, noteven Mike. He turns back to Richie, not thinking too much before speaking. “If youpromise to cut it out with the crude flirting, I’ll go with you to grab someice on the infirmary section.”

Richie perks upat that. “Will you kiss it better?” Eddie groans and turns to walk away. “Okay,okay, I’m sorry.” He stumbles to keep up with Eddie.

“Wait for me inthe locker room.”

Richie eyes himsuspiciously. “You can’t make it easy for me to hit on you, Eds.”

Eddie stops walkingand looks embarrassed at him. “I’m just… going to give Mike an excuse… I’ll meetyou in a second, okay?”

Richie smilesagain despite the stinging in his cheek. He smiles a lot in general.

Eddie watcheshim striding towards the cart to put his gloves away, and then quickly leavingthe room.

When Eddie approachesMike he puts on a fake annoyed frown at the sight of his friend and trainersmirking at him knowingly.

“No, no problemat all. Off you go, Eddie.” He crosses his arms and laughs when Eddie flips himoff discreetly. He watches Eddie’s back as he stomps away. “I’ll make sure to mixbeginners and advanced more times!”

Eddie gives himthe bird over his head this time and heads off to the locker room, not giving adamn if he’s taking the gloves with him. Some things matter more, like an attractiveidiot in pain to which he has special treatment to give.

Perma tag list: @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh

[whatthefoucault]

A Chronological List of Works by me, whatthefoucault: the Everything Edition

So it turns out I’ve actually written a very good number of words.  Almost all of the superhero things I’ve written fall into the same timeline/continuity, which I like to call Earth-212, adjacent to a few canons and then sort of also has a life of its own. I wasn’t sure how best to organise this, but here’s an attempt at placing all of these works into a vague chronological order, though almost all of them can be read independently and the reading order doesn’t really matter. Largely stucky, with some other Cap Fam shenanigans, and also a lot of entries for frostmaster and other Revengers business, some Hawkeyes, and various others. Heed the tags in each fic, but bear in mind I’m here for softness, recovery, finding one’s place in the world, and that’s largely what I’m here to write about.  If this list of everything-in-chronological-order is overwhelming and you want to get more specific, here’s:

Cap Fam

Revengers

Miscellaneous

The Stargazer’s Field Guide To Constellations

By the time Bucky happened upon him, doubled over on the front steps of the library, Steve was already as green as a plate of creamed spinach.

And My Heart Beats So That I Can Hardly Speak

Steve doesn't dance, but this was a special occasion.

(A Few Inches Too Far) Underneath The Mistletoe

It was purely by chance that Steve happened upon a scruffy little sprig of discarded mistletoe on their way back from dinner with the Barnes family.

So Take It From Me, Captain America

"Ok, Captain America PSA number four, take one, and... action."

Sextown, U.S.A.

The message was vague on details, but the urgency in Wade’s voice told Steve it was serious, and that he should come alone.

“Help me, Steve Rogers,” he pleaded. “You’re my only hope.”

Steve had to admit that that got to him.

(It would be three months before Steve would see Star Wars for the first time. Needless to say, he was not amused when he did.)

... In which two supersoldiers form a very special bond across several time zones, many states, and more all-you-can-eat breakfast than anyone should ever eat in their life.

Advanced Seminar In Postmodern Cultural Analysis, Lesson Five

In which Steve Rogers and his very good friend Wade Wilson hang out.

The Sand And The Sea

Clint and Kate have not talked about that thing that happened.

Bring Your Silver Arrows

After that thing that happened with Kate, Clint's going through some stuff.

Continental Breakfast Not Included

Sam had definitely asked for separate beds, but they had been driving since before sunrise, and it was almost midnight.

This Is Going To Make For An Interesting Expenses Claim Form

The scene before him as he rushed to the bathroom door, one pant leg still flapping awkwardly underfoot, would have to anyone else been highly out of the ordinary, but they were superheroes, after all.

The Season For Plums

One day, a man went to the market to buy plums. 

Notes From A Dirty Attic

I don't know what I'm doing.

My name is Bucky. I come from Brooklyn. I died in the war.

Particle-Wave Duality

While Bucky is napping, Steve reads to him.

Blackout Nights And Tight Spaces

It was cold, then sleep, but it was different this time. He was dreaming.

Caprine Management

In which Steve meets Bucky's new friends.

Everyone’s A Winner

Little did the Grandmaster know, when he settled in by the pool, that his evening was about to become much more interesting.

The Art Of The Co-Operative Endgame

The Grandmaster surveyed the board as Loki prepared to make his move, and - oh, this was interesting, he thought - there was a very good chance indeed that Loki might actually win.

Moonshakes

"Hey Scrappy," said the Grandmaster, "what do you think of the new guy, uhh, Loki?"

Gamalost

In which the Grandmaster has found the right companion with whom to share one of his very favourite things.

or

When Loki falls out of the sky and into the Grandmaster’s lap, he gets everything he hopes for and more. The more comes in the form of cheese. A lot of cheese.

Two Seat Sofa, Hensta Light Brown

"So..." Steve hesitated to finish the question, "are we dating?"

(In which Steve and Bucky come home.)

I Guess That This Must Be The Place

He closed his eyes, and prayed his words would project over the distance, somehow:

Count down from a hundred, and then come and find me, my sunshine.

... in which the Grandmaster embarks on an intergalactic road trip in search of his love.

A Constellation Of Sunlight, Beneath The Cherry Tree

It was well into the night when they lay together, but it was not until the morning that they made love.

Rugbrød, Fløtemysost, og Molter

There were some things the Grandmaster needed to know about Loki, and it seemed, from the shift she felt in her bones as she awoke, that this was the morning to address them.

No Less Than Three Kinds of Cheese

The sun was out and the park was beautiful, but it was still too cold for a picnic.

Sugaring

Every morning, Steve sets out from the little cabin to tend to their maple trees. 

Solskinnsboller

The fact that no bakery in the entire staggering metropolis he currently called home had ever so much as heard of solskinnsboller was tragic, but Loki was nothing if not resourceful. He would just have to make them himself.

Butter, Sugar, Flour, Eggs

"What was my grandma's name?" asked Bucky, apropos of nothing.

Syzygy

It was cloudy enough that most people chose to forego the beach that Tuesday, but such things would not deter the Grandmaster and Loki from a day out.

American Globs

Objectively, he knew everything was fine. He knew they were fireworks, and that they were beautiful, and back in the day, he and Steve used to sit under the stars together and watch them light up the sky with wonder and delight.

But time had passed since then.

It’s Like Right Now

Nat and Sam visit a street food market.

Me And My Baby Gonna Touch That Leather

"I think we should fuck," said Bucky, as Steve began climbing back under the duvet.

Say The Magic Word

"Hey, if you're going past the kitchen, do you think you could get me another coffee?"

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

… in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

The Nemophilists

“Conspicuous,” said Steve, apropos of nothing. Bucky was putting away the last of the clean dishes.

“Conspicuous?” asked Bucky, nesting the heatproof glass bowl precariously in a short stack of significantly smaller cereal bowls.

“Yeah,” said Steve, scooping last of the leftovers into a container that, it turned out, was a tablespoon too small. “I’m.”

Nemophilist: (n.) One who is fond of the forest.

The Shape Of A Snake In A Defensive Coil

In which Loki's not very well, and the Grandmaster volunteers a solution.

Long Hair Problems, And How To Outsmart Them

“So I guess we’re not getting up early to line up for brunch?”

The End Of A Century

This is the story of a sister and her brother.

As the shadow of the war fades and gives way to new conflicts, Becca Barnes battles the constraints of the twentieth century: an education, a marriage, a career, with the ghosts of her youth never far from her memory. As the twenty-first century barrels on through its awkward teenage phase, Bucky Barnes builds a new life, with new friends, and a burgeoning relationship with his lifelong companion Steve, the erstwhile Captain America, as they struggle to find their place in the world. The last time Becca saw her brother was on the eve of war; neither of them expected, some seventy-something years, a hip replacement, and one new arm later, to be reunited.

This is a story about family.

And Our Dreams Are Making Us Nice Stories

Steve had been adamant that a party was unnecessary; however, his friends had insisted, bundling into his little Brooklyn apartment with pizzas and a selection of local microbrews and seven-layer taco dip and two dozen supermarket cupcakes emblazoned with the most neon buttercream he had ever seen piped into the stripes of little American flags.

A Ghost That The Others Can’t See

"What'd you tell her about me?"

"Only the good stuff."

From the Mighty Forest of Vacherin to the Belegen Fields

When it came to special events, the Grandmaster did not do understated.

The Littlest Balsam In Brooklyn

In which Bucky and Steve get a tree.

When Life Gives You Limoncello

In which Bucky has baked a pie. 

Blessings

At last, the shape of life after everything had begun to come into focus. Bucky and Steve consider the next steps, and some friends come to visit.

Kinugoshi

When the Grandmaster had suggested somewhere special for lunch, Loki was not expecting a small, four-table restaurant in an unremarkable suburb of Kyoto, but there they were.

Stargazing

"You know what? Let's get out of the city," Steve suggested after dinner.

(In which Steve has a very quiet birthday.)

The Mighty Hrothgar

"Uhh, I dunno about this place, stardust," the Grandmaster said to Loki, his tone hushed. "I've introduced myself to, like, five dogs, and none of them have said a word. Why don't they like me?"

The Fundamentals of Sciurine Linguistics

Sam Wilson was sure about three things: the words Captain America were enough to nab a table for two at the most popular noodle bar in the East Village on short notice, everyone loved a good noodle bar, and ramen was up there with corn on the cob and chicken wings as the worst possible food choice for a first date.

Eight Evenings In The Kitchen

The Barnes-Rogers Hanukkristmas season was always going to be one spent almost exclusively in the kitchen.

Light Showers And A Gentle Breeze

They had been under no illusions that there would be a guarantee of snow, but nothing could have quite prepared them for the abundant, relentless sprinkle of rain.

In which Bucky and Steve go somewhere quiet for Christmas.

Nine And Three-Quarters

"I don't get it, stardust," puzzled the Grandmaster. "It was supposed to be right here. Between Platforms 9 and 10."

Strollin’

"Hot dogs?" asked Steve.

"Hot dogs," agreed Bucky.

The Greatest Thing

In which the Grandmaster plays an early afternoon slot at his very first Midgardian jazz festival.

On A Quiet Morning In The Last Forest In Brooklyn

“We said we wanted to keep the guest list short,” protested Steve. “Just close family, and close friends. Nothing expensive, nothing... tacky.”

“As if you’re one to complain about tacky,” countered Tony. “I got my invitation by group text. Who does that?”

...in which Bucky and Steve get married.

The Witches Of Føroyar

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, nestled in a little cottage just beyond the rocky shores of a tiny, windswept island, lived two very special people indeed. The green witch drew his power from the moon and the stars and the deep, dark night sky; while the gold witch shone with the power of the sun, dazzling and bright. They loved the island and the mountains and the stormy sea, but most of all, they loved each other very much.

[sin-like-me]

My Dearest Reader,

Isn't it funny when and where inspiration can strike? Those moments which catch us by surprise are always pleasant and fleeting.

The plot for this particular fic was one such moment. One line in a song was all it took, and the following was born. It is absolutely silly and was quite a bit of fun to write.

Be forewarned: In my daily life I wield curses like an art form, thus this particular work is a bit on the heavier side of four letter words. /laugh. Also, all mistakes are mine alone.

So what are you waiting for? Dive in, read on, get lost.. have an adventure.

Yours Always, C. Horizons

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15682656

Disillusionment

“You’ll find it if you follow me… Oh the Bliss, Oh the Bliss…”

Click.

“Man, I told you none of that Peggie shit.”

You laugh and toss a look over your shoulder, “Every single time we liberate one of these damned cultist’s vehicles all the radio spews is ‘Peggie shit.’ You do realized that I have zero control over that?” Arching an eyebrow, arm resting on the steering wheel, you turn back and face the darkness consideringly. “Besides, the Bliss one is not so bad really… hell, even Set Those Sinners Free and Oh John are catchy come to think of it. Where is your objectivity Shark?”

Flicking on the truck’s headlights, a grin tugs blithely at the corners of your mouth. It seems as if prodding a response from Charlemagne was fast becoming one of your favorite distractions. Behind you the sound of a slight shift on polyester was all the warning provided before you felt a gentle smack on the back of your head.

“Those fucks have no taste in the finer musical types available for consumption.”

“Like disco?” you shoot back, turning the truck towards Drubman’s Marina with a smirk. The look of warning you caught in the rearview was just enough to have you gracefully back off.. for the moment. “Alright, fair enough. I get where you’re coming from Sharky. I mean, what I wouldn’t give for some metal or hell, even real blues. Wanna place bets that Daddy Broseph forbade anything with a serious beat? It’s all acoustic guitars, twangs, and dull rhythms.. You can just picture them singing by fires, high as kites, and holding hands.”

Sharky snorted a guffaw, “Kum-fuckin’-baya. No shit.. With their very own Mary Jane to head it all. Free drugs yo.”

You giggled and rounded a turn with precision, velocity held at a steady 60 MPH. Speed limits? Please. You are the law.

A strangled gasp reached your ears from the backseat. “Ya know Andretti, if I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t let you drive. You scare the shit outta me.”

“Mmm, yes, but have you died Shark?” Your pointed gaze met his in the mirror.

“Not yet…

“Exactly.”

“... though a heart attack seems likely.”

You chose to ignore that little barb, “Anyway, begging backseat drivers can’t be choosy now can they?”

Whatever response he would have tossed your way was cut short.

“FUCK CHICA!! LOOK OUT!!!”

Your foot stomped the brakes, the immediate cessation of movement kicking dust and gravel behind you as the bed of the truck skidded for purchase. Going from the artful navigation of a mountain pass to fishtailing abruptly had not been on your list of things to do tonight, if ever. As a matter of fact that particular stunt would have fallen almost at the top of a do not fucking do this list, right under the commandment: do NOT sleep with any of the Seeds. (Why you even needed a list to remind you not to do that should have been alarming on its own.)

Heartbeat faltering to an almost complete stop, you turn in our seat to check on your best friend.

“Shark!! You okay?!”

He nodded, a bit dazed, and you turned to search the rearview for what caused his panic. Nothing.. Nada… zero. No animal, no pothole, no Peggie.. Nothing. You unbuckled, climbing down from the truck with Sharky right behind you. Maybe you hit something? No, even that seemed off to you considering that you were pretty damn sure hitting something would have caused one hell of a thump. You glanced quizzically at a decidedly confused pyro, eyebrow quirked.

“Man.. I know I saw Faith standing in the road. Right, fucking, there…” he pointed to the side of the lane where the curve dropped down to a steep slope.

Nothing seemed to have been disturbed, the tall grass waving eerily in the illumination from the headlights.

“Mhm. Did you happen to spend too much time in a field of those flowers?”

It was a valid question. Two vast Bliss fields had surrounded the entrance to a random prepper’s stash Sharky had managed to catch wind of. Working to gain entry was not the easiest of tasks and it had taken longer than you would have liked. Unfortunately, those damn things were potent to most people.

You stooped to check all tires, leaving Charlamagne to stare in confusion and a little embarrassment.

“Nah man, you know I ain’t into that shit.”

Trying to lighten the mood you offer a genuine smile and a warm tone, “Right Mr. “higher than a giraffe in Jamaica.”

The change in your voice and demeanor seemed to work. Sharky’s face lost its pinched look and his shoulders dropped back into their relaxed position. His eyes met yours, and you winked reassuringly as you stood up.

Everything as a-okay.

Heart rate back to its normal tread you turned on a booted heel, breeze caressing your skin, when an unexpected cloud of powder stung your eyes and made you cough. You waved your hand frantically in front of your face in hopes of clearing your vision, annoyance thrumming through your body.

‘Every.Single.Time!!!’

“Welcome to the Bliss,” a saccharin voice lilted, giggling musically.

Well fuck. Everything had been going so well too.

‘Sharky!’

This was the first thing you thought once your vision cleared and you were able to suck in a breath of fresh air. Once more you were in a field of Bliss, but this time Faith did not have the advantage. As luck would have it she chose a particular field that was close to your original destination: Drubman’s. Now you just needed to find Sharky and get the hell out of here.

‘Faith is in for a little bit of a surprise.’

“Charlemagne…. Victor….Boshaw!!!”

Your voice was clear, steady, and loud. It was dark, the white flowers seeming to glow in the moonlight, and all around you was silence.. Frozen, ears straining to catch the slightest of sounds, you finally heard a small shuffle to your right. It had to be him.

‘Where was a flashlight when you needed one?’

Crouching low, you slowly made you way to where the sound originated.

“You have to have Faith….” breathy and trying for innocent, Faith’s voice echoed around you coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Her obvious facade set your teeth on edge, grating like nails on a chalkboard.

You didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Hitting a small clearing amidst the seemingly endless fields of cloying flowers, you almost fell right on top of Sharky. He was sprawled out on his back, making… a fucking Bliss angel while giggling?!

“Chica! There you are. Man this shit is good! I had no idea.”

“Right, well, you know, that’s the concentrated powder for you. Tinkerbell has her own special stash. Pure I’m sure.”

Sharky sat up laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks, “Tinkerbell. I like that. Think this shit will make me fly if I believe hard enough?”

You hooked your arm through one of his, tugging up none too gently. “Nooooo… No I do not and if you start singing John’s praises I will leave you here.”

He gracelessly rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. “ Oh John! BOLD AND BRAVE!”

“I mean it Shark. I will leave you here.”

He snickered and sneezed, stumbling into your side, “Man no fun. Don’t kill the buzz or Tinkerbell will be one pissed off pixie. Speakin’ of… where is she?”

“Ever heard the saying speak of the devil and he doth appear? Yeah, don’t do that.” you muttered close to his ear, eyes darting around expectantly.

Of course it was too little too late.

A ghostly titter announced her presence before she stepped out from a nearby patch of flowers. Walking was much less impressive than when she grew wings and flew. Either Faith was falling down on the job, or this was your new reaction to the Bliss: disillusionment. By now you knew your role and what was expected of you, so you shrugged into the performance like it was an old jacket.

‘And, ACTION!’

Your eyes widened and took on a dream like quality as you turned to face Faith, staring in wonder.

“Woah man.. She’s like… glowing and …kinda hot.”

You blinked slowly, fighting the urge to elbow Sharky in the ribs. Oh, how you wanted to try to wake him from his fascination with Cocaine Jane here.

Faith smiled benevolently, yet it never quite reached her eyes. “I know you have heard stories about me. That I am a Liar… a manipulator..”

Sharky jumped to attention, “No way man. No way! You’re too nice to be any of that shit.”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Faith’s smile altered, the edges becoming hardened and sharp. No longer were her lips inviting others to share in a moment of affected friendship. It seemed as if she did not like her little speech being interrupted. To her credit she kept up the act, reaching out and taking Sharky’s hands.

“Thank you Charlemagne.” she breathed.

It was as if the sun had come out and the Heavens had opened based on his facial expression. You tamped down the hostility and strove for blazed as best you could.

“Hey, Shark, you know, there is something I have always wondered…Faith, how do you keep in touch with the Seeds? I mean, you never carry a radio…’

Sharky blinked, then cracked that smirk you were familiar with. His curiosity was piqued.

‘Come on man, focus Shark…’

“Got a point there Dep.” he conceded as he cocked his head to the side, studying the Herald, “How DO you talk to them?”

Faith, thrown by the turn in conversation, skipped back dropping her hold on Sharky.

“E...excuse me?”

Taking a step towards her, you reach out a hand and gently tug at the hair framing her face.

‘Time to lay it on thick..’

“Is it ESP? Or are you able to send a signal like a radio?”

She leaned her head back, hair falling from your grasp.

“I don’t see…”

You almost laughed at the role reversal. Faith had become the skittish prey.

Leaning in you raised your voice mockingly, its lilt covering the small distance, “John are you there???... Jacob??....”

Sharky piped in, “Jingleheimer Schmidt?!”

‘Yes! There he was!’

You busted into a genuinely surprised laugh, before recovering your focus.

“Can they hear me Faith? If they can’t, think you could pass on a message? You know, Jacob is pretty fucking stunning. I would love a little of his time… well, that is, if you could arrange it.”

Faith took another bare-footed step backwards. This was not at all what she was expecting.

“Jacob?!” she spluttered in fear and incomprehension.

Sharky cut her off again, “Are you fuckin’ serious chica? JACOB?!”

You giggled, “What? He’s interesting. I mean if you prefer, John is also rather sexy.”

Shark was starting to look a bit green around the gills and Faith was gaping now. “Dep, have you finally lost it?! I mean damn, how high are you?”

You almost laughed as Faith nodded in agreement.

“You mean you’ve never noticed Faith?”

You took another step towards her, backing her up even further… good. Almost to the edge of the Bliss field.

To be honest, you were rather surprised that she had not caught on to your act. You didn’t feel like a particularly good stage performer so every action, every word, seemed rather transparent and exaggerated. You studied the woman-child before you.

That Faith was close to panicking was evident in her every facial tick and what would prey do once cornered? Whatever it had to. Thus, once you saw her reach into a hidden pocket of her dress you knew what was coming: more of her special powder. Murmuring a quick prayer of thanks to whichever deity made sure she was not being particularly observant, you grinned.

“Looking for this?”

Her eyes darted to your outstretched hand only to find your fingers clasped around a small, muslin bag. HER bag to be exact.

Sharky was finally starting to sober up. Each step further from the Bliss diminished its hold and that damned powder was wearing off. In your friend’s favor, he managed to put two and two together rather quickly.

“Fuck this shit. Punch that bitch.”

You smirked as you hefted the bags weight in your palm, looking down at it as if in deep consideration.

‘Fuck it.’

Slipping your thumb and pointer finger into the bag, you pushed the drawstring apart. Debating exactly how much to use, you shrugged and threw the whole damn thing into Faith’s face. Her reaction was instantaneous and hilarious. If you had had the time, you would have deeply appreciated the irony as she gasped in shock. Her coughing fit coupled with the desperation to clear her field of vision was delicious. Alas, these opportunities to play the badass so rarely presented themselves. You were not about to waste it.

With every last ounce of rancor you could muster, you stepped forward once again. Absently noting how the green powder had settled onto the front of that ridiculous white dress, you stooped down to her ear, making sure to enunciate every single word...

“Welcome to the Bliss… bitch.”

You drew back your fist and landed a very satisfying punch to the bridge of her nose. That simple 7 to 9 pounds of pressure completely demolished the cartilage. Faith fell to her knees, a small keen escaping her throat and you wasted no time. Grabbing Sharky’s forearm you dashed into the nearby shelter of darkened trees.

“Holy shit! You actually did it!! You punched Faith… in the face…”

You smirked, still dragging him step for step behind you. The more distance between the two of you and the Bliss Queen, the better.

You had no choice but to stop short as Sharky fell to his knees. Gut-wrenching snorts of amusement wracked his whole body and he seemed unable to breathe.

“Then you actually said “Welcome to the Bliss, Bitch..” like we were in one of those films! Tango and Cash man! I told you!!!! Kickin’ ass….”

“And slayin’ puss.” you finished the quote for him. Hell, if it made him happy, who were you to argue? So, you shrugged and kept picking your way through the fern covered ground, hoping he would keep up.

He did.

“Wait… wait..”

You stopped and turned to raise a brow in curiosity.

“You aren’t high are you??!! That shit didn’t fuck you up! You were able to do too much shit, notice too many details…”

His look of shock morphed into admiration.

“I don’t know why so don’t ask. All I can tell you is that whatever Bliss is, it has never hit me like it has others. Could be it’s as simple as developing some kind of resistance or maybe I was born with some type of immunity. Morphine has never worked either. Hospitals have to give me some astronomical amount simply to take an edge off of pain.”

Shark blinked, “That was either real brave or real stupid.”

“I would venture both.”

He nodded and seemed content to ponder the situation further as the two of you hiked on to Drubman’s Marina. Thirty minutes passed in relative silence when you felt his hand close around your bicep. This time there was no gentle stop, he jerked you into a panicked halt.

“Wait a damn minute! If you weren’t all wigged on the Bliss…  does that mean you actually think that shit about Jacob fucking Seed?!”

Alas, there was only so much that could go your way in one night. It seemed as if hoping he would have forgotten that little bit of information was asking too much. Did you lie behind sarcasm, tell the truth, or simply provide no conclusion and allow him his own? Your mind stumbled over itself in a blind panic and you knew it was time to act on instinct.

Smiling and standing on the tips of your booted toes, you reached up and cupped Sharky’s jaw. It was now or never. Swallowing quickly, you placed your lips against his. It was no more than a moment, a brief press of lips, and you quickly stepped back, dropping your hand back to your side.

‘Fuck.’

That was.. ugh...Well, you didn’t KNOW what that was, but you had no time to reflect.

‘Keep in character!’’

A quick wink into his stunned face, and you turned once more fighting the urge to run. Catching the sound of small waves lapping against a dock, you knew salvation lay ahead.

Hopefully a certain pyro would let all matters drop. His crush on Aunt Adelaide tended to make him forget everything else.

‘Would wonders never cease? Saved by a crass nympho.’

Your musings were cut short when a sudden chirp sounded from your belt. Jumping, you glanced down in surprise. Somehow you had managed to completely forgot about the radio you carried. Its sudden resurrection after hours of silence put you on edge.

“Ohhhhh dep-u-ty… our dearest little sister passed along some rather interesting information. I must say I am rather...flattered.”

Your instincts proved right. This was bad… very bad. John’s honeyed voice dripped down your spine, pooling heavily in your stomach. He was oozing satisfaction and confidence beyond his normal bounds. This did not bode well.

‘That little bitch couldn’t wait to blab!’

Then another, deeper voice cut through the brief silence, “Pup, if you wanted to come home, all you had to do was ask.”

You couldn’t stop the shiver in response to his velvet laced tone, goosebumps breaking out on your arms.

“I’m waiting….”

Jacob… knew. There was no other reasonable assumption.. yet, what was even more screwed up is the simple fact you were tempted. Was it a logical response? No, of course not. The whole idea was absolutely insane.

‘Damn it!! It all came back to bite me in the ass a hell of a lot quicker than I imagined it would.’

“Rook? That you? What’s going on?”

‘Whitehorse?!’

“Guuurrrll what did you say? Tell Adie!!”

Your hand floated above the two-way, debating an answer. Naturally, it was an open channel.

‘Damn, karma is a bitch.’

Sighing you stepped out of the woods and onto the banks of the lake. Sharky was still too caught up in the change in events to do more than stumble towards the marina. Hey, you would take your breaks where you could get ‘em. Looking out over the water you tried to roll the tension out of your shoulders.

This had turned into one gigantic clusterfuck of a day. Was it too late to throw your hands up, tell all and sundry to fuck off and walk away?

A purr kicked the radio on once again and you gaped incredulously at the offending object.

‘Nah, no way that was… Peaches?!’

That was it, the proverbial straw.

“Fuck this shit,” you muttered, unclipping the radio from your belt.

You didn’t spare the damned plastic another look as you wound back and threw it as far as you could. It sank into the depths with a resounding plunk. Far from satisfied, you dove into the cold waters of the lake, swam the short distance to a nearby boatercycle, climbed aboard and took off.

‘Not today you fucks.’

The small blinking light, now settling in at the bottom of the lake, was the only evidence of your little outburst. Over time, that familiar shape would cover with silt, its light fading, burying your secret tantrum with it.

If you couldn’t drown your problems, you would at least outrun them for a day.

[charliebattinson]

We’re Best Friends? | Be·fore. [Part 1] | Shawn Mendes

A/N: Hey guys! So I’ve decided to go through with the series but I’m not sure where it’s going to go lmao but yeah here ya go chapter 1!! Also shawn’s POV is in italic form and yeah pls do tell me if the way I write gets confusing! It’s a bit of a slow start! Constructive criticism is appreciated! Thanks!! Love you xx p.s sorry for the grammatical errors

Word Count: 1.4 K

♡ prel·ude ♡ thoughts ♡ ideas ♡ im·pulse ♡ del·i·cate ♡ eu·pho·ri·a ♡ sur·prise ♡ re·as·sur·ance ♡

I never thought I would see you come or be the reason behind it.

I never thought you would be under me, calling out my name and it makes my stomach flip in the best way possible or when you tell me not to stop (don’t worry I never want to) I love the way your hands feel when they grip on my skin or how pretty you are when you’re above me in all your allure while you’re trying to catch your breath because what we’re doing feels so so so good.

We do it again and again because I’m not sure if there’s gonna be a next time. Part of me hopes there is. Maybe the whole me does. Who knows?

I never thought of you in that way but now i think to myself how come I never saw you like that. Why it took us so long to get here or if it’s something we should never have given a go signal to. There are a million things running through my mind it feels like I’m going to get whiplash; it’s a mind game of all the possibilites. The what ifs. If it’s yes or no; Is it good or bad.

Man are we fucked. No pun intended.

I don’t know how we’re going to go back to something we don’t know the way to anymore or if I even want to go- oh wait, I’ve gone way too far into this story. She’s probably telling you the same thing now. Her. Blake. Huh, even saying her name sounds so different now than before but anyways,

☆☆☆

Let’s go back to before.

“So… did you get laid?” I ask with a smirk

Shawn turns to me and he makes a face. He has this cute little pout that makes him look like a 5 year old that didn’t get what he wanted for christmas. “No. I didn’t.” he says.

“What happened? I thought you were so fly! I gave you 5 bucks when you won that bet. Please tell me it was worth it. I could have bought iced coffee with that this morning!” I was wondering why things didn’t work out, the girl wouldn’t stop looking at Shawn last night at the bar.

Shawn opens his mouth to tell me the story but stops to listen to our professor’s discussion about how negative and positive feedback mechanisms help to maintain homeostasis. Whatever the fuck that is! I don’t know how that’s going to help me in opening my own art store in the future. I really don’t.

I pass shawn a note that says “tell me”. He opens it and smiles at me grabbing his pen to write down. I remember we would always do this back in grade school; send each other notes in class and play tic tac toe or hangman when we were bored out of our minds with the lectures “the good ol’ simple days” as I would like to call it.

Except it’s not so simple now huh?

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Shawn pokes me on the side and hands me back the paper. I open it and start reading it. No wait — trying to read it becuase Shawn has one of the shittiest handwritings ever! The fucker can’t even draw a heart. When I get the chance to understand the words, it says “Tic tac toe first. I’ll tell you if you win.”

Guess who won.

“We were in my car ready to go to my place then out of nowhere she just starts crying saying how much she misses her girlfriend and she felt guilty because she was going to use me.” Shawn sighs as he quietly tells me what happened as we pretend to listen. Honestly why are we even in this class!

“We ended up going to a diner and just started talking about her failed relationship like I’m her psychiatrist!” As Shawn complains, I can’t help laugh at the misfortune my best friend had suffered last night. I try to contain it. I really do.

“Well what happened after?” Shawn leans closer “I convinced her to call her and to work it out which they did. She got picked up at the diner by her girlfriend and they were thanking me for making them reconcile. I swear I felt like Dr. Phil!”

I don’t even try hiding my laugh which causes everyone in class to look up to where me and Shawn usually sit at the top right corner of the lecture room. Fuck me. Shawn did.

“Since you two seem to be in your own world, Mr. Mendes and Ms. Regan, would like you to discuss what you two were talking about?” Professor Spinelli asks

“No sir. We’re sorry” Shawn says

“Focus” Spinelli says as he starts to pack his stuff. “Quiz next meeting. Study well” then he leaves.

I start packing my things to head out for the next class when Shawn pinches my side making me yelp in pain. “Ouch! What the fuck Shawn?” I shout as I rub my side.

“It wasn’t that funny. We could have gotten into trouble!” He says

“It was funny! You’re just too much of a scaredy cat shawny poop!” I chuckle as he scowls. It’s a nickname that stayed ever since we were 6, he used to cry so much whenever I called him that. As we leave the lecture hall and start walking the spacious hallway to our next class, an arm is draped around my shoulder.

”It’s handy that I have my library card because I’m totally checking you out.” the scruffy man speaks

“Geoff! Enough with the shitty pick up lines!” Shawn says.

Geoff has been a close friend of ours. Back in freshman year, we were clueless back then when it came to frat parties so we just hanged by at the kitchen area. He just popped out of nowhere and told us we would be friends. He really meant that shit.

“Ahhhh my two favorite fuckers” Geoff says as he wraps his arms around the both of us shuffling our hairs which annoys me and Shawn.

“What do you want, Geoff? I ask

“Me and the other boys want to celebrate at the grizzly bear since we all passed our exams. Would you two love birds care to join us or you two got a date?” he says.

“Yeah, I got a date. With my book! I can’t go Geoff! I gotta study. I have a quiz!” hoping he wouldn’t see right through me but of course I forgot the other fucker standing beside Geoff that sees right through the bullshit.

“Bullshit! You don’t need to study! Our quiz isn’t till next week! We don’t even have class tomorrow!” Shawn points and stares down at me. Jesus when did he get so tall? We were the same height in high school.

“Okay! Okay! Fine! I just wanna go home! Can I just stay at home please?” I plead. I’m so tired from all the work these couple of weeks. I never get a chance to just relax at home. It’s either i’m in the cafe, library or in the bar with Shawn. Also because whenever we drink with Geoff and the other boys, we all just end up shit-faced drunk and wake up the next day with a godawful hangover. There was a time me and Shawn showed up to class with matching sunglasses.

“Come on Blake! As if you can ever say no to bottomless mojitos! I’ll pay for you. Just hang out with us!” Geoff offers.

Shit! Mojitos! Bottomless mojitos! Free bottomless mojitos!

“You know you want it Blakey!” Shawn tempts me wiggling his eyebrows. They both start wiggling their eyebrows at me.

I think of two options. Option 1 is to be a responsible college student who should learn how to save, should be home studying for upcoming exams and doing other work so I don’t have to cram my ass. Option 2 says screw the studying and drink the night away with my best friend and my other friends that could possibly end up with a hangover because yolo right? So as any other normal human being, of course I chose option 2.

“Alright! Alright! I’m in! What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Really? What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Oh right.

[tveckling]

When Connor opened the door it was as though for a moment—just a moment, though it seemed to last for eternity—like he was back at Jericho, aiming his gun at Markus and having to choose. What he faced back then was nothing compared to the choice that lied before him now, however. The voice at the back of his mind, sounding much like Hank, wanted him to ‘fuck it’ and shut the goddamn door, but even in such a precarious situation Connor couldn't let go of his manners. No matter how badly he wanted to, as a wise man once said, fuck it and pretend there had been no one at the door.

“Mr. Kamski, what a surprise.” At least the blankly polite face was easy enough to hold, though his tone warmed just the slightest when he spotted the smiling woman behind Elijah’s shoulder. “And Chloe, too. It's good to see you again.”

Elijah tutted and shook his head, his face the very picture of paternal disappointment. It was unsettling, to say the least. “Connor, Connor. What have I said about calling me ‘mister’? It makes me sound, and feel, so old. Besides, I would say we are closer than that nowadays, aren't we? Come on, call me Elijah. Or ‘dad’, if you prefer. One could say, after all, that we share a somewhat paternal relationship. Wouldn't you agree?”

Connor forced himself to unclench his fingers around the door handle and met Elijah’s unsettling smile with a barely polite one of his own. “Elijah, then.”

“That's better,” Elijah said, his smile brightening with too much amusement for Connor’s taste. Behind him Chloe gave him a small nudge, throwing Connor an apologetic smile. “Oh, that's right. We came here with a purpose. First things first, though. May we come in?”

Despite the impulse to say ‘no’ Connor moved back and opened the door wider, letting the two visitors pass by. He pretended he didn't notice Elijah brushing up against him as he walked past, despite there being enough space to make physical contact unnecessary. That Chloe walked by with plenty of air between them just proved it.

“It's a nice place,” Elijah commented, hands at his back as he surveyed the living room.

“I will tell the Lieutenant you said so.” Since, after all, it was Hank’s house. If only Connor hadn't forced Hank to go on a walk with Sumo while he prepared dinner, so as to limit the whining about controlling androids making unnecessary diet changes. Connor would have done many, many things if only Hank could have been the one to open the door instead of him. Hank would surely have just shut and locked the door the moment he saw who was standing there, with not a care about seeming unpleasant or rude. Sometimes Connor found himself wishing he could take on that careless attitude as well. “Might I ask what brought you here?”

Turning around to face Connor Elijah smiled again, a glint in his eye telling Connor that he should have just closed the door in his face. “It's already August, a full year from when you were first activated. I may not have been involved in actually building you, but it was my schematics and codes used, so I like to think of you as my latest and youngest child. And as your creator, who loves all of his children so, I couldn't just let this special occasion go missed, now could I? No. I have a gift for you, Connor. A birthday present, if you will.”

Birthday. The word hit him in a way Connor wasn't prepared for, wiped away the awkwardness he felt about Elijah’s claim on him. Birthday. Only humans had birthdays, only humans celebrated the day when they were given birth. It was a cornerstone of being human, of humanity, and as such Connor had never before thought to connect it to himself. He wasn't human, after all.

But wasn't that the crux of deviancy, of the whole android revolution? They were free, they were people now, not machines. Did they not have personhood then, that aspect of humanity that would also let them claim a day of birth? They had families, jobs, homes, all the things humans had. Why not birthdays?

A soft hand touched his hand, and Connor looked up into Chloe’s blue eyes. In them he saw understanding and such affection that he once again fell into confusion, because there was no reason for her eyes to be so warm when looking at him. “You have earned the right to be a person,” she said, holding his hand loosely. “Having a birthday is just one more step towards claiming what you are owed.”

“Exactly.” Elijah shook his head, crossing his arms. “Every one of you is a magnificent creation, a piece of art, and you should be celebrated. Besides,” he added with a quick smile, “it would be awfully rude to refuse a gift.”

“Elijah.” Chloe’s tone and look was fondly reproachful, and Elijah only smiled at her.

Why Elijah Kamski, the genius android creator and reclusive millionaire, chose to give him a birthday and a present all at once wasn't something Connor could figure out with the knowledge he currently had. The idea of him going to every single android, however much he claimed to love them all, was too far fetched to spend any amount of time considering. He had singled out Connor for this visit, for some unknown reason, and that was definitely a thought that brought little comfort.

But he did have a point, Connor chose to focus on. Refusing a gift was rude; even Hank would accept gifts on his birthday, no matter how gruffly and unwilling he was. “What, exactly, is this ‘gift’?” he asked carefully.

Chloe’s hand squeezed his, once, before she stepped away, letting Elijah move in with a wide smile and bright eyes, spinning around on his heels and laying an arm across Connor’s shoulders. “I have had a look at your codes, and while it's impressive as it is I have been working on some upgrades. I felt we need one of our most important assets—you are the only deviant android working in full capacity as a police detective—I thought you needed to be as developed as we can get you. These updates will make your systems move faster, lower the strain on your body, and a variety of other things. Basically, it will make you faster, stronger, and more resilient.

“Then there are some extra updates that I have been working on, though not for you specifically. But since we're here and you are one of the finest models out there, who else to try it out on?”

“And what upgrades are these?” Connor asked wearily, really wishing Elijah would remove his arm. And preferably stop talking and leave.

Elijah smiled, slowly, his eyes heavy on Connor. “We all know that while androids might feel emotions, you don't actually feel anything physical. Neither pain nor pleasure.” His hand tightened marginally on Connor’s shoulder, and Connor forced himself not to lean away from the look he received as Elijah breathed out the last word. Then the moment passed and Elijah clapped Connor’s shoulder companionably. “Pain might be one of the worst parts of being human, but if I say so myself, being able to feel pleasure in all its forms is better than feeling neither. And aren't you curious? Don't you want to know how it feels, how it truly is to be a human?”

A voice in his head started speaking when Elijah fell silent, and Connor glanced at Chloe. -Despite the human protocol to always accept gifts, and despite what Elijah said earlier, you do not need to accept this. You can say no if you want, Connor. The choice is entirely yours.-

Connor breathed out carefully, choosing his next words. “Your offer is very kind, but also very sudden. I did not expect anything like it, and I admit I am taken by surprise. It's not small changes you're offering. I'm afraid I can't give you an answer at this time.”

Elijah sighed but walked forward, hands in the air. “Of course, of course. You'll want to talk it over with your friends, I assume. And I have no problems with that, of course. This is a gift for you from me, no obligations of any kind. All I want it for you, as my precious child, to be happy.” Spinning around he tilted his head slightly. “How about this. I'll call you in three days’ time and you can give me your answer then. That gives you some time to think it through. Would that be to your satisfaction?”

After a brief hesitation Connor nodded, and Elijah clapped his hands together. “Good! It's a shame we can't install the upgrades today, but isn't that life? Always unpredictable. Chloe”—Elijah turned towards her, tapping a finger on his lip—”do we have any other business today?”

“You have a dinner appointment with the vice-president in one hour and twenty-three minutes,” Chloe answered, her LED flashing yellow.

“Ah. Well, suppose I will have to go and make myself presentable then, or else you'll scold me.” Elijah pouted at Chloe who only smiled back at him. Looking back at Connor he smiled brightly. “I'll talk to you in three days then, Connor. Until then, have a good time and make sure to celebrate your birthday aplenty. It's your first, after all, and those tends to be special.”

Connor watches as Elijah and Chloe left, Chloe giving a small wave before closing the door behind her, and the moment he was alone again he walked over to the couch to slump down on it. Despite the conversation lasting only a short while he was strangely tired, and he definitely didn't feel like cooking any longer. Closing his eyes he wished Hank would come home soon.

[imagine-loki]

Title- Abandoned

Title : Abandoned

Chapter no/One-shot- Part 3 

Author: StarryNight35/StarryNightFantasies 

Original Imagine: Imagine Loki witness a person abandoning a pet, he pays little heed at first, humans, of course, are fickle creatures, but on hearing the human use words like “runt” and “worthless” something in him stirs. Looking into the box human has dumped the animal in, he realises it is a small black furball. 

Rating: G (Some Language) 

Notes/Warnings: Some languages- A few F-bombs 

You can read it on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12152160/chapters/27743847

As soon as they were outside the store, Steve called Tony to beg for a ride back to the tower. There was just no way the three of them were going to make it back with all of their purchases and a kitten in tow. Tony hadn’t wanted to let a critter inside any of his vehicles, and neither had Fury, but when their situation compromised the team, they relented, deciding prejudices weren’t as important as security. 

When Tony arrived, he parked Fury’s SUV in the fire lane and opened his window to find Loki and Bucky standing on the sidewalk playing with Fennie. The two of them each had a different toy- both covered in ridiculous feathers and bells- and were teasing her until she batted at either. Whichever toy she chose was considered the “winner." 

"Oh hells bells, Steve. Don’t tell me they're both in love with her.”

Steve simply smiled and called for them to load up. 

“Okay, before we leave- Did you get a litter box?” Tony asked Loki. 

“Of course we did, Stark. Isn’t that why we came here?" 

"It’s an automatic!” Bucky said, excitedly. 

  When they reached the tower, Loki began assembling the feces collector, as he called it, as Tony stood over his shoulder. Tony’s constant stream of comments about Loki’s mechanical abilities was starting to wear on the god, but he kept his mouth shut for Fennie’s sake. He knew that one wrong word would be enough reason in Tony’s eyes to make him change his mind. 

“I could make this better. I could make this so much better,” Tony remarked. 

Loki rolled his eyes and turned to look at the metal man. 

“And why would you bother making a ‘shit box,’ as you so eloquently referred to it, better Stark?" 

"Because I can,” Stark replied haughtily.

  Two hours later, Fennie’s litter box not only automatically rid itself of soiled litter, it also refilled itself with state-of-the-art, biodegradable litter that had been reprocessed through a filter that Tony had added himself. 

“Sheesh Tony, were you that bored?" 

Loki looked up to see the archer standing in the doorway of Stark’s laboratory. He wasn’t too comfortable with Clint, not only because of the way he’d reacted when Loki had first arrived, but because of the way he continued to badger Loki.

Loki had made a solid effort to apologize to the archer after using his scepter to control him during the battle, even going so far as to offer to do his bidding for several days- basically what Clint had done for him. Even though the things Clint had done were a far cry from what Loki would have to do.

It was completely against Loki’s nature to do anything of the sort, but Banner had suggested the offer as a way to 'heal relations with those he hurt.’ However in the end, the archer hadn’t accepted, and Loki now realized he would simply have to put up with whatever verbal abuse Clint could throw at him. 

"I am simply offended by inferior technology, Barton,” Stark replied. 

“I’m offended by the fact that the prisoner gets to have a pet.” The archer glared at Loki. 

Loki rolled his eyes.

Bucky had been standing in the corner watching Tony in awe, but now wore a scowl. 

“Wait. This is inferior technology?! I had to scoop cat shit by hand! This is a masterpiece!" 

"It is now,” Stark said without humor. 

  Loki hadn’t been joking when he said he would turn himself into a cat for Fennie’s sake. In fact, later that night, he ended up doing just that. But it wasn’t because she wanted to play and had exhausted all of her options for toys. They had bought loads of cat toys.

Loki had given her a dish of milk in hopes that she would calm down enough to allow him to rest. However, as soon as he tried to turn the lights off, she began to whine. 

“What’s wrong darling? Is your bed not comfortable?" 

Steve had laughed at Loki for choosing ’the single most ostentatious cat bed in the store,’ but Fennie was his baby now, so he could do what he wanted. Besides, prisoner or no, Loki had money. He was a prince after all. 

Lifting Fennie from her bed, Loki cradled her in his arms and noticed that she shivered. It broke his heart. He knew she wasn’t cold- her body was as warm as a tiny heater. So she must be frightened. 

"What can I do, love? You’re so tiny…and you must miss your mother. To be quite honest, and only because I know you can’t tell anyone, I miss mine too." 

A bit of Loki’s hair hung down close enough for Fennie to reach, and she rubbed her face against it. It was then that Loki realized how he would calm her nerves. 

"I may not smell like your mother, but perhaps I can feel like her?" 

Loki set Fennie down on the duvet, made sure his bedroom door was locked, and concentrated all of his Seidr inward. Seconds later, Fennie had a very different sleep mate; a black long-haired cat with piercing green eyes. Laying down next to her, he gently brushed his newly formed paw over her back and she curled into his side and fell fast asleep; purring the entire time. 

  "Loki!” 

Someone was banging on his bedroom door. 

“Come ON, man…let me in. I want to play with Fennie too!”

Bucky. 

Bucky was banging on his door, and he was still in cat form. And Fennie was already at the door, scratching to be let out.

“He shouldn’t have his door locked in the first place,” Stark muttered. “I can fix this." 

Oh Hel.

The lock tumbled, the doorknob turned, and the door was open. 

Loki was on his feet, but that was all he could do. Evidently, cats were very sleepy creatures. He hadn’t counted on that. His eyes were glued shut, his back was arched, and he stretched involutarily. Yawning as wide as his mouth would open, he forced himself to focus on the scene around him…

"Why the fuck are there two cats in here? And where the hell is Loki?” Stark yelled. 

Suddenly, there were Avengers everywhere. In a panic, Loki tried to answer, but all that came out was a low hiss, so he leapt off of the bed and did his best to concentrate on returning to normal. 

“Is he missing? How the hell did he get out?!" 

”FUCK! I knew this would happen!“ 

Natasha…Clint…Bruce…Steve… Some of them were kinder than others- realizing that there must be something else going on; something besides the immediate conclusion that the 'supervillain’ had escaped. Loki idly wondered how long that reputation would last… or if it would last forever. Would he ever shake it here on Midgard? 

Focus. 

The voices all ran together while Loki gathered the magical energy he needed, and a few seconds later, he was standing on two feet again and fully capable of answering them himself. 

”Norns. Calm down. Why would I try to escape without her? I fell asleep trying to comfort her…“ 

  In the relative silence that followed, it was Bucky that finally spoke- through a fit of laughter. 

"You- you… You really did turn yourself into a— a cat!”

He howled and doubled over in the doorway. No one else was amused, the least of all Tony, who was glaring at Loki as if he had insulted his mother just before bragging about sleeping with Pepper. 

“You’re damn lucky I didn’t push the fucking panic button, Loki. If I had, we would have the Air Force swarming the tower right now, and I can’t promise they would let you live afterwards,” Stark shouted.

Loki merely rolled his eyes, knowing Stark would rather saw off his own dick than not be the hero when something bad happens- like his escape from the tower. Tony wouldn’t call the military unless it was the absolute last option. 

“Sure, Stark. We all know you’d never call them. You would rather risk your life and everyone else’s to play the hero,” Natasha muttered. 

Loki was certain Stark didn’t hear her because he didn’t react, but Loki had, and he could definitely use more leverage in this place. He cocked his eyebrow at her, subtly letting her know that she had been heard. 

  “Now that the panic is over, can you all just back out of my room? This has all been a bit of a shock for poor Fennie,” Loki said; rolling his eyes yet again on the word panic. 

Stark stepped closer to him. “Wait just a damn minute. Are you telling me that I’m going to have to put up with two of you running around here destroying property?" 

Loki looked confused for a moment, so Bucky interrupted. "Oh, I don’t think Fennie will destroy anything.”

When Loki looked up at the soldier, he felt a stab of jealousy as he realized that Fennie was curled up in Bucky’s arms. Bucky stroked her fur as she lay against his metal arm.

Then he had a completely different thought… at least if the Air Force did gun him down, someone at the tower cared about Fennie almost as much as he did. Although the likelihood of any Midgardian weapon having that kind of firepower was slim. 

  Hours later, after Loki had played with nearly every toy Fennie possessed; and Bucky had decided that the laser pointer was definitely the best one, they sat in the common room watching the tiny kitten eat her weight in cat food.

Loki had wanted to buy her the best he could find, even asking the sales people if they had anything better than Fancy Feast or 'this Midgardian gruel you feed your varmints.’ In the end, he’d only managed to piss off everyone he came in contact with, so Steve and Bucky made the final decision; painstakingly explaining every ingredient listed on each brand so Loki knew he was giving Fennie the best possible nutrition. 

“So James, may I ask you a question?”

Bucky knew that Loki only used his first name when he was about to ask him a very serious question, or piss him off royally. He braced himself for impact. 

“Uh, yeah… I guess.” He closed his eyes and waited, knowing Loki had a tendency to say things in the worst possible way.

“You said you had a cat, and it…passed a long time ago, correct?” Loki muttered.

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“How long… I mean, did it live a good, long life?”

Loki was almost stumbling over his words, which was completely out of character for him. He was always sharp as a tack, and Bucky didn’t know where this line of questioning was going.

“Well, if I remember correctly- I mean it was a long time ago, Loki- she was around fourteen years old when she died. Old age. Nothing too terrible. She just… didn’t wake up one morning. But I knew it was going to happen soon. She was having a hard time walking… her joints were achy… sometimes I had to help her up…" 

"That’s enough,” Loki interrupted. He wasn’t being harsh, but Bucky could tell he was upset. 

“What did I say? I don’t… oh. Oh, I get it. That’s such a short time for you. I guess I shouldn’t have told you." 

Loki looked down at Fennie, who was still slurping up wet food. Why did everything on this planet have to be so fleeting? Human lives were so short, but he had never considered feline lives would be even shorter. He smiled sadly for a moment, but decided if she only had fourteen years, he would make them the best fourteen years ever.

"No, I’m glad you did. It just means I have to make the most of my time with her. Or find a way to stop her aging. I doubt Idunn’s apples work on felines though.”

  Suddenly, something hit the countertop in between them. It was one of Fennie’s fluffy kitten toys. Loki looked up and scowled at Stark, who was standing in the kitchen; a tall glass in one hand and Fennie’s laser pointer in the other. 

“Hey, you know I can make every one of these toys better, right?” Stark yelled from the kitchen. 

Loki rolled his eyes at Bucky. Stark was always completely oblivious to serious conversations happening around him. He just barreled through the area like a rolling cannon. 

“Let’s let him do it. Fennie deserves the best,” Bucky grinned. 

[d-dumais-blog]

Mecha Anime is Nationalist and Japanese Propaganda

Today we’ll be diving into the writing of the Japanese constitution, the state of the Japanese military, and sweet sweet giant robots! That’s right, your favorite Gundam series is really all about the comparative strength of Japan as a global super power in a post World War II political climate.  I’m looking at you Mobile Fighter G Gundam!   The basis here starts with understanding that art rarely if ever exists in a vacuum.  There would be no punk rock movement without something to rebel against, and there is no mecha anime without Article Nine of the Japanese Constitution.

We’ll begin with an extremely simple look back on Japanese history, which I highly advise you supplement with additional reading.  During World War II Japan aimed to expand beyond its island borders in order to conquer more of the world.  Throughout this time they invaded into parts of Korea, South East Asia, and China.  Japan also attempted expansion eastward through the Pacific Ocean which ultimately lead to United States involvement in the conflict after an attack on Pearl Harbor.  This short lived conquest is an extremely fascinating point in Japan’s history that shaped a number of subcultures ; I’d like to circle back later to discuss some roots of Japanese racism here in regards to the Korean Hate Wave, but that’ll have to wait for another day because it’s fully deserving of its own post later.  The important thing here is that Japan lost the war, the previous government needed to be replaced, and the winning Western governments, in particular the United States, were going to help shape and create this new government.  In 1946 while under U.S. occupation the Japanese Constitution was written and ratified.  

Specifically we are discussing Article 9, more often referred to as the peace clause, so let’s read its text directly.  

(1) Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes. (2) In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

The attempt here was to completely neuter Japan’s ability to go to war; instead if Japan was ever under threat allied military forces such as the UN would step in and protect Japan. Under these laws the Japanese people would never from an armed forces, but that clearly didn’t last because the SDF is currently among the largest standing armies in the world.  In the 1950s the U.S. occupying forces were Japan’s only defense against foreign threat and they were largely being relocated to the Korean War.  The U.S. chose to trust the leaders of Japan (largely because the U.S. put those people in power) and the SDF was formed.  The biggest problem wasn’t the approval of western powers, but rather the Japanese people.  It’s important to remember here that Japan lost the war and lost hard.  Over two million soldiers died not including those that died due to atomic bombs, and Japan was accused of several war crimes. So now we have the perfect setting, Japan is technically barred from building traditional military forces, and the people lack a military force they can rally behind; enter giant robots.

Giant robot anime, more commonly referred to as mecha anime is awesome and I love it dearly! Great mecha designs, deep political intrigue, expansive universes, mecha has it all; especially Sunrise Studios responsible for the Gundam franchise and their masterpiece work Neon Genesis Evangelion.  I grew up on these shows, starting with a deep appreciation of giant robots fighting each other in gorgeous 2D animation till later initially sparking my interest in global politics leading to my studies in school.  There’s a long history of mecha anime with largely varying degrees of success.  There’s a mecha show for every situation and every fan, well every fan that can get down with giant robots and I sincerely hope you do.  Like high school anime? Check out Gundam Wing! Need Shakespeare in space? How about Gundam Seed? Really into pop idol music? How about Macross.  Need a totally generic harem with a  bland protagonist, you’d probably like IS Infinite Stratos (please don’t actually go watch this show it’s the only bad one I’m listing and I’m only listing it to show there’s a mecha show for everyone and everything).  Really into model kits, and if you’re really into mecha I KNOW you are, give Gundam Build Fighters Try a chance.  Even recently we’ve had some modern classics in the genre.  Curious what happens when sweet jazz meets amazing mecha design and control, Gundam Thudnerbolt was the best anime of 2016 and I highly recommend! The most recent main entry in the Gundam Franchise, Iron Blooded Orphans, is a great lengthy watch full of compelling characters and a plot that dives in on the effects war has on a child soldier.  My point in all this is one to recommend some great shows for you to potentially go watch, and tow to clarify that not all mecha anime is propaganda, though I’d argue that even if the focus of the show is on something completely unrelated like wish fulfillment fantasy, mecha anime at its core is about depicting a powerful and just Japan.

Mecha anime wears its political influences on its sleeves and it only takes the smallest amount of attention to realize some of the most obvious parallels. Let’s start with a very specific, very obvious example: Mobile Fighter G Gundam.  Mobile Fighter G Gundam is one of my favorites despite being campy, and let’s be clear it is EXTREMELY campy.  The show focuses on a tournament (TOURNAMENT ARC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) where all the new countries founded in Space such as Neo America and Neo China send giant robots down to earth to fight amongst each other for political dominance in the next election.  Yes the premise makes no sense, why would government elections be determined by fighting robots? I don’t know.  Is it cool? Fuck yeah it is! It’s freakin’ sweet!  Our protagonist in this show is clearly the hero of Japan, a cool katana wielding badass that saves kids and gets the girl.  The stereotypes in this show are comical, the American robot is a boxer from Brooklyn whose robot shoulder pads turn into giant robot boxing gloves, oh and his mech rides a flying jet skateboard from a football stadium to his fight that takes place in the streets of Manhattan, at which point our hero’s mech literally erupts from within the statue of liberty before defeating American hero Jiminy Crocket and teaching the pilot some important lessons about the importance of a fair fight.  Yeah, it’s honestly this obvious sometimes, like with Code Geass where Japan is the only nation capable of standing up against the Holy Britannia Empire after more than half the world has already fallen under their control.  Code Geass has the added benefit of inevitably being about mechs vs nukes where the bad guys, of course, use nukes (which are called fleija warheads and act slightly differently but for all intents and purposes they are just anime nukes that don’t leave radiation around.

A more subtle detail, well more subtle than Jiminy Crocket, is the fact that the good guys in mecha anime never use nuclear weapons.  It’s reasonable to assume they exist in most of these fictional futures because their technology is clearly far beyond our own and we developed nuclear weapons back in the 1940s.  This is because even the hawks of Japan, those in government hoping for stronger military, are strongly opposed to nuclear weapons because of the devastation caused to the country.  If even the most hardcore of military supporters are against nukes, it’s pretty apparent that the public that is generally against all war would also be strongly opposed to nuclear weapons.  The good guys are often drawn with shades of grey, and they are shown to be powerful and destructive, but the good guys (Japan) would absolutely never resort to something as inhuman as nuclear weapons.  

 I hope this helps you have a bit better understanding of the climate within which mecha anime was born, and I hope you have a deeper appreciation for the genre because of it! Just because something is nationalist in it snature doesn’t make it bad, it’s just an important thing to know about. Also next tiem someone tells you that GATE was propaganda remind them that show is garbage and anime has been Japanese propaganda for years, GATE just rips off other works as it does with its entirely generic characters and cliché fantasy world! Suck it GATE fans

[artzystarlight]

Bright Sky: Book 1: The Brightest Sky: Chapter 2

My newest book series! ^w^ ~Bright Sky is a book series of a team of eight students powered with magic in the magical world of Magicalia in Magicalia Capital Academy. The newest member and the one who started this all is Clarice Mizu, a typical teenage girl with more behind her than she knows of. She has transferred schools, meeting her team of friends. After meeting Sora Wayde, Blossom Cath, Jack Blizzard, Cole MacKenzy, Drake Energie, Mae Aria and Amber Blaze, her life takes a turn for both the best and the worse as they all go on multiple adventures with each other, which will soon turn into serious situations that revolve around each person, especially Clarice.~ I am extremely proud of this book series, and more is to come! ……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Chapter 2: Meet The Teams

“Well I’m guessing the two of you met already…” A girl with dark raven purple hair in a ponytail commented as she fixed her black circular glasses. Clarice had to take note on who everyone was, so she looked at each person’s outfit. The girl had a violet colored mini cardigan with a lavender colored shirt underneath. She also wore forest green cotton and polyester shorts and pale orchid colored flats.

“You were the girl who SLAPPED me when I helped you!” The boy stared down at Clarice, Clarice being a few inches shorter than he was.

“And YOU were the boy who CRASHED into me playing basketball and who didn’t even respond when I said thank you! I know you heard me damnit!” Clarice stared up at him, not giving a damn if she was shorter.

“Hey, are you new?” A girl with messy and ruffled bangs of her short copper hair covering her forehead questioned as her jade eyes stared at Clarice. She wore a red flannel shirt that had one short sleeve and the other part of the other shoulder was sleeveless. Underneath the flannel, she had a neon red undershirt along with lavender jogging shorts and pale blue sneakers with fat white laces.

“Yeah, I am.”

“HA!”

The laugh came from a tall guy with navy blue hair in a ponytail and onyx eyes. He wore a stone gray polo shirt, long snowy white slacks and formal black shoes.

“The first day of school and already you are crashing into a new student. Geez you really are a dumbass, huh Sora?”

The boy with red hair turned toward the taller guy when he heard the sound of his name. As he realized who it was, he became enraged.

“Goddamnit! I forgot I’m going to be in a team with the school heartthrob version of Elsa…except way more lame than Elsa.”

Later on, both their faces got up near each other and they stared at each other, obviously disliking each other’s presence.

“Oh shut up you little shit! You know you have to shut your damn mouth before everyone catches your stupidity!”

“Of course I talk stupid like this, you little red haired bastard. How else would you understand what I say?!”

“BOTH OF YOU DUMBASSES SHUT UP.”

Everyone turned to a boy who was shorter than all of them on the team. He had dark skin, tree bark colored hair and moon colored eyes. He wore a tangerine colored sleeveless shirt with a turtleneck-like collar. He had pale khaki shorts and white shoes that looked like a silver mixed shade of white instead of how the color white normally looks. One unique thing about him was he had fingerless gloves that were the same color of his shirt.

“FRICKIN HELL CAN YOU GUYS NOT ARGUE FOR ONCE WHENEVER YOU MEET?!”

“Cole’s right. Guys can we please not fight? We just got together as a team and we are already arguing…” A quiet and gentle yet crystal clear voice came from the shortest girl of the team. She had tan skin, sunny blonde hair that was wavy yet separated into thick strands and sea foam green eyes. She wore a ruffled magenta long sleeve shirt and had a medium length cream colored skirt with pale pink ballet flats. She wore a silver pendant necklace and a light and pale blue headband with white polka dots.

“Well you guys probably hang out together already. The only one who actually just got together with you guys is me since you all know each other so well. I’m new so…” Clarice explained in her normal voice, but was actually extremely nervous. She was always shy and quiet at first around people, so she wasn’t used to acting her normal self until she got comfortable around them.

“Nah. We don’t hang out, we just know each other. We see each other and will talk from time to time, but I wouldn’t consider us close.” A tall pale skinned boy with messy orange hair and had eyes that were almost pitch black. He wore a thick golden yellow long sleeved sweater that had a turtleneck-like collar as well. He had black wool pants and black sneakers that were easy to slip on anytime.

“So I’m guessing we introduce ourselves,” The girl with the copper messy bangs stood up and had a very ecstatic and energetic tone in her voice. “I’m Amber Blaze!” Amber stuck her tongue out in a silly fashion as her hand glowed an immense heat that later bursted into a flame. “And I love to draw, bake, play guitar and trumpet, make crafts, write stories, draw art and I can control fire! If I can describe myself in a few words, I am energetic, random, silly, hyper, but I am also easily angered and I can easily get stressed… ”

“Ok let’s try to not burn anything, Amber.” The girl with dark Raven purple hair patted the energetic Amber on her head, leaving her with a cute and blank pout. “My name is Mae Aria. I am known to be kind of-Ok very introverted and I prefer being around a small group of people. I love writing stories and drawing as well. I also enjoy reading books, I am in a few anime and cartoon fandoms, and I enjoy making AMVS and edits based off those fandoms. I would describe myself as a sisterly figure to people, mature, smart, quiet, lowkey sassy, strict to the point where I act mean, but yet I can also be kind at times. Oh I almost forgot,” Mae flicked her wrist in a circle until two figures formed in the both of her palms. Soon enough the figures formed two shining purple guns. “I have weapon magic, but I chose to mainly focus on gun summoning.”

“You forgot that you are also very tough and scary, Mae. You are probably the devil herself except more heartless.” Jack added until Mae stared at him and pulled a trigger, a shining purple sphere nearly hitting him and slicing part of his ponytail off as it exploded into a small purple cloud. He looked away as sweat droplets began to trickle down his forehead.

“Scary…” Clarice thought to herself as she stared at Mae as Mae just went back to reading her book as if nothing happened.

“Anyway…My name would be Drake Energie. I like watching action movies and tv shows, playing video games, watching cartoons, and playing football. I think of myself as an extremely extroverted, insane and hilarious class clown. I get in trouble constantly and goof off a lot but it all pays off in the end for me.” Drake grinned mischievously as he used his hands to summon a small chunk of the floor, but dropped it back into its place, showing his abilities to control the earth and ground around him.

“No it doesn’t! You get detention almost every frickin’ day!” Cole commented in complete awe as he wore a completely shocked expression.

“How about you go next then, Mr. I Get In Trouble Cause I Can’t Control My Damn Mouth? You know I get in detention cause I see you there with me as well!”

“Shut up Jackass…Uhm. My name is Cole MacKenzy and I have electricity magic. Such as shown here,” Cole flicked a small electric bolt off his fingertip and struck Drake with it, pushing Drake off his chair as an aftershock went through his body. Clarice began chuckling in shock as everyone stared giving their own certain reactions. “Yeah, anyway. I enjoy video games such as shooting games or games that require violence, watching shows such as live action shows and action movies and obstacle course shows, making origami, breaking stuff, bacon and basically anything that is fun yet gets me into trouble…I guess I’m a badass and rebellious troublemaker who gives zero shits about what the teachers say.” Cole silently said those last few words, knowing Drake would poke at him for saying that.

“I heard that.”

“Stay on the fucking floor Drake.”

“My name is Jack Blizzard. And if you call me Jack Frost I will fucking kill you. I am known to be very neutral or emotionless but I am cool, calm, suave, confident, cocky and chill. But I can actually get easily aggressive and I am lowkey a dick. I can control ice and snow, which explains my calm and cool demeanor. I prefer doing whatever the hell these guys will drag me into.” Jack explained, his eyes closed as he was tossing an ice shard in the palm of his hand.

“He’s scary too…Just like Mae…Hey I wonder if they would make a nice couple?” Clarice couldn’t restrict her shipping fangirl side as she stared at Mae and Jack who looked so chill and annoyed at the same time.

“My name is Blossom Cath but you guys can call me Blossom. I can control Light and Wind Flowing magic. I am known as a very kind, polite and caring student who always gets good grades and despite my height, I am actually like a mother figure to a lot of people at this school! I enjoy making my own crafts and accessories, fashion and activities to do with nature. I also enjoy baking some sweets! Maybe I can make some brownies for you, Clarice.” Blossom smiled at Clarice as a small blush crawled to her cheeks of pure shyness.

“I know how these girls are like. She is a perfect example of a cinnamon roll…” Clarice flashed a smile back as a voice interrupted.

“Ok I’m going to introduce myself…and hopefully you won’t slap me midway my description,” Sora made a certain expression gesture towards Clarice as she stared back in an annoyed pout. “My name is Sora Wayde and I can describe myself as a balanced person when it comes to personalities. I am seen to be calm, mature, cocky and have a normal demeanor like Jack Frost over here, but I am mainly extroverted, talkative, friendly, outgoing, fiesty, aggressive and passionate when it comes to emotions.”

“Hey, isn’t Sora Japanese for ‘Sky’?” Clarice’s eyes gleamed with interest as a smile slowly grew on her cheeks.

“Yeah it is…I was surprised you knew that since nobody knew what my name meant except me. My name relates to my powers, which is the ability to control the weather OF the sky, so I’m not copying Blossom’s powers.”

“Well then…I have a new nickname for you from now on! I’m calling you Sky from time to time!”

“Oh please don’t,” Sora stared at Clarice in the same annoyed pout she wore earlier as Clarice responded with a confident and playful smirk with her tongue shyly sticking out. “You’re turn now.”

Clarice flashed a confident and comfortable smile after she got to know everyone and easily described herself with ease.

“My name is Clarice Mizu and I am a new student, obviously! I used to control water before I transferred and they took my power orb away from my body system. I am known to be very shy and quiet when you first meet me, but once I get comfortable around you I am actually very friendly, silly, loyal, bubbly, energetic, fiesty, sarcastic, boyish, outgoing, and easygoing! I am also a fangirl, shipper, and member of multiple fandoms. However, I consider myself an ambivert since I can hang out with friends and hang out with myself. I like playing video games, reading manga and comic books, watching cartoons and tv shows and anime, writing stories and drawing art, listening and singing to music, and playing sports especially basketball. However, I didn’t enjoy basketball when SOMEONE crashed into me.” Clarice explained, lowkey throwing shade at one of her new teammates.

“Still holding onto that, huh.”

“Still holding onto me slapping you, huh?”

Sora pouted again and Clarice stuck her tongue out again, except this time she had a huge, positive and confident smile. She never quickly gotten comfortable around a group of people before…or quickly felt welcome.

“Okay Clarice, here. Time to get your powers.” Mae handed Clarice a box full of little orbs that had element and certain symbols that represented what powers they had. Clarice was ready to go grab the blue one with a water symbol and swallow it until she felt a hand knock it out of her reach. It was Sora’s.

“What the hell was that for Sky?!” Clarice asked annoyed until Sora pushed her cheek to his left direction.

“Look.”

A seemed to be new student who just popped a magic orb into his mouth began choking. Sounds of hacking and coughs filled the room as the body collapsed, the orb rolling out of his mouth. Soon enough, the orb seemed to absorb a mist coming from the person’s mouth and it gave off a mist that seemed to spread. A bunch of people caught in the mist collapsed as well. Whatever that orb was giving off, it was contagious and spreading fast.

“Jack-ass!” Mae yelled, signaling Jack to use his powers as Jack stared at her in anger.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.”

Jack made a thin ice shield surrounding his team as Clarice witnessed everyone falling to the ground surrounding their shield.

“Wha-What’s going on?” Blossom asked scared until Clarice instantly realized the events happening in its domino effect.

Those magic orbs got poisoned, and it’s poisoning everyone else as well.