#I should have put 'birdcalls' too

[aamaranthiine]

A mermaid who hadnt been to Fishman Island? Well, that was uncommon. There were other mer and sea-dweller communities but none so central as their primary seat of power. Amalthea is tempted to make mention of having been beneath the ocean but that might be considerably farfetched considering her current shape. You did not see unicorns casually strolling the undersea bed, after all. Maybe she should have chosen not to speak period.

However it is far too late to have that regret, it would certainly be a lesson for later on down the road. Silence is best when traveling in her four-legged body. The silence that stretched out is filled only with birdcall and the lagoon gurgling, until Nyssa seems to put two and two together that she had spoken.

And truthfully the mermaid's face is rather entertaining, enough to make the unicorn nicker softly to express mirth. The sound tapers off into speech, "Yes. I did not mean to startle you." Her lion-like tail sways and curls at her hindquarters, the end crooked like a cat's in a good mood. "Seeing you made me feel like speaking, which I have not done in many years."

The mermaid hummed to herself very softly enjoying the sunlight on her skin as the birds were chipping happily as the unicorn entered the water. The gentle sloshing revealed that the creature had come closer, but the female made no motion to move a single muscle to even glance at the other. Her tail swayed slowly as she flopped over onto her belly so her back could get some sun rays. The bluenette was relaxing and was half asleep when she heard a voice speak.

Most people always assumed she was from Fishmen Island, but she had never been there before. In fact, she was born in captivity as her mother was pregnant when she was kidnapped and sold. Luckily it was only to a circus and not to the slave market so she was able to escape years later. "In all honestly, I've never been to Fishmen Island and I don't even know where it is." It took a couple more seconds for the realization to sink in that she was the only person so the other voice came from nowhere.

Blinking before Nyssa sat up and glanced to look around to see if someone else was there. However, all she saw was the unicorn and the other wildlife. The awkward silence filled the air for about an entire minute before the female spoke out once more as her eyes settled back on the unicorn. "Did you just speak?"

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 16

Just as Tim predicted, a week later, Bruce Wayne requested to meet him at work. While the request itself - sent through proper channels that is Tim's secretary - it specifically requested Tim by name. It had made a little stir with the other members of the company's Board of Directors, as they all thought that 'little Timmy' shouldn't be meeting the 'big and scary' Bruce Wayne by himself. "What if he manipulated Tim into a merger??" some had asked. It wasn't until Tim assured them that he would not make any corporate decisions without prior consulting - and stating that he 'doesn't like Bruce Wayne at all. He's a doof,' - that the rest of the BOD relented.

Bruce came in accompanied by Alfred Pennyworth, the family's butler. Bane, Tim knew, was accompanying Dr. Thomas and Mrs on a trip overseas. For some reason, the Waynes did not promptly send Bane away, even after he literally and physically got tossed out of the Wayne Manor's living room's bay windows - courtesy of Jason - when he tried to attack Damian.

"If this is a business meeting, Bruce, I would appreciate it if you wait for the rest of my BOD members to come up here," Tim hinted.

"No, no, no it's not..." Bruce seemed a little thinner than when Tim last saw him in person, a little disheveled and worse for wear, which would be odd given the fact that Alfred was right by his side. No self-respecting butler would have allowed their masters to leave the house looking like Bruce then - Tim knew, his dad had one since Tim was very young. Tim might not opt to keep the butler when his parents passed, but he knew the tenets fairly well.

Yet, Alfred just looked mildly disapproving but had walked into the office in the same eager speed as Bruce did.

Tim briefly wondered to whom Alfred's loyalty lies.

"I need... I need to know that there are no recording devices in here," Bruce stated.

Tim took a few blinks to choose an answer, "I'm not of the habit of having recording devices in my office. You, however, came with a tracking device," Tim pointed out.

"What?? I've left my cellphone in the car! Is it... can it listen? Record?" The shock on Bruce's face was more prevalent than when Damian came out of nowhere and called him 'father.'

Tim checked his monitoring system, courtesy of Harper Row, which can detect the type and model and broadcast type of any gadget and displayed it on Tim's cellphone. "No, it just tracks your location and is GPS-based. Why...?"

"Oh thank god..." Bruce slumped in his seat. "Alfred, can you make sure that no one would come here until I'm... until we're done?"

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred bowed lightly and walked out the door.

"Wow, okay... whatever this is has got to be... better be important. I mean, you sent your butler out the door..." Tim commented.

"It is. It's about..." Bruce still hesitated. "Look, I don't usually do this. I don't know why. But you, your work-- your company and its line of business would make you-- would get you in touch with your end-clients, right? The common people who used social security benefits to get their meds, Doc Leslie Thompkins' patients and all that..."

He paused, so Tim shrugged. "I do try to personally meet my end-client to figure out what kind of medications they would need more; and Dr. Thompkins is one of my clients, too, whose assessment I can quite trust. You're not planning to get into the generic meds business also, are you?"

"No, no, no... This has nothing to do with WE. I mean... it should be, in the long run. But in the short run... Look, this would sound odd. But when you talk to your clients, have you ever hear of the Birds of Prey?" Bruce asked. Tim studied the man before him for a good long while. Before he could answer, Bruce continued, "my cousin Kate... she has just gotten kicked out of the military academy. She said she thought of donning a costume and joined the Birds of Prey to fight crime, so she could feel useful again, you know? I told her they're criminals, vigilantes. She said I should go down to meet the common people of Gotham and ask them what they think of the Birds of Prey. And then I thought of you."

"Yeeea... I'm not following..." Tim feigned - but only partially. He could already tell where the direction of Bruce's conversation was trying to take.

"Do you think they're criminals or heroes? I mean, does anybody ever mention them doing like, extortion, murder, stuff like that...?" Bruce insisted.

"Are you like, worried for your cousin Kate or... is there anything of significance that I should know about?" Tim finally decided to just bite the bullet and ask right out. There is no recording device in his office, all right. But his tiepin doubles as a camera that would send to Barbara as soon as Tim turned it on. And he had turned it on the instant Bruce walked in.

"As far as I've heard, the Birds of Prey -- ooh, I hate the pun, but it's right there-- preyed on criminals. Those who take advantage of the weak and all that jazz. I've experienced their... service if you will; when my delivery trucks were hijacked by some supposedly-metahuman group. They stopped the hijacking and arrested the group. They even found out that the group had an inside man right here." he elaborated.

The case was widely publicized, after all, when three trucks in succession that contained generic medications to be delivered to Gotham General and several free clinics were hijacked. The short version was the Birds of Prey stopped the hijacking as it was happening, then the glorious GCPD arrested those men, and they also discovered the inside man within Drake Industries - one of the Directors who had planned to jump ship while sinking DI along with it.

In reality, it had been Tim's work. The Birds - Dinah and Helena - helped with physically stopping the hijacking; while Tim dug out the paperwork and discovered the traitor. Barbara had then sent the evidence to the police, along with video footage of the man talking to a competitor of the company.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of the case. So you don't think they're bad people?"

Tim slow-shrug, just for the sake of dramatization. "I won't say they're totally good people - I mean, them hijackers looked like they've gone 12 rounds with Ted Grant the boxer. And they supposedly have like, superpowers or something. But I'm not gonna say they're bad people - they knew exactly where those shipments were going and who'd be using them, and they worked hard to stop the hijacking, you know. Financially speaking, DI might be able to weather like, a dozen hijacking. But for those people who needed the meds..." he let the sentence trailed for Bruce to fill in the blanks. He knew that the man has the same metaphorical bleeding heart as Martha Wayne, his mother.

"Okay..." Bruce actually looked a little more alive after the explanation. "Do you know how to contact them? I need to ask them for help."

"Oh, wow... Heh. It's not like I have them on my speed-dial... I think they maybe have an inside man in GCPD? They showed up right after I made the report of the third hijacking." Tim hedged, internally cursing himself for not finishing his project of the Birdcall app. The cellphone app would have made it easier for anyone to call the Birds or to alert the Birds of crimes. Alas, the whole issue with Jason and Damian's appearance has delayed its development. Tim made a mental note to assign Harper on it.

Bruce looked disappointed. "I see... then I will need you to relay this to the GCPD for me, Tim, can I trust you? I mean, it's... crucial," he said.

"What is this about, the kid and his guards?" Tim tested, just for kicks.

"Oh, no. The kid... Damian and his guards were actually a kind of reprieve in the household. They made sure that everything would be... proper and in order." Bruce smiled thinly. "It's about Bane. I have evidence that he has murdered a lot of people."

"Oh my," Tim gasped earnestly, really. Jason and Dick, and even Damian, have reported that aside from Bane's obvious animosity against them, he had tried nothing - yet. They were also the ones who told Tim that Bane has placed nanotech trackers on all three Waynes' clothing. Unfortunately, they were not able to actually snoop around - as there would always be one of the Waynes in the house.

Bruce handed him a small USB drive. "It's all here. Please, Tim. I mean, before this, I couldn't care less if that brute would leech all of the family's fortune. But now I have a son to think of... Talia might have made sure he's physically well-guarded. But Bane is a long-con kind of person and is really patient. He came to Gotham specifically for us after so many years. He..." he paused. "I believed my father when he told me that he had not betrayed my mother. But without a shred of physical evidence, there is nothing either of us can do. And how are you going to ask for a DNA sample from someone like Bane?"

"Spoon? Toothbrush? Hairbrush?"

"He's bald," Bruce replied dryly. "I'm not even sure he'd showered. Alfred said his bathroom has always remained tidy."

"Ew. No. Okay. Uh... I can't promise you that any bird would come your way, but I'll figure out a way to let this fall to the right hands, yeah?" Tim replied, putting the USB drive into his suit jacket - where Barbara could remotely access it through the circuitry in said pocket.

"Okay," Bruce looked relieved. "And now, since Bane is tracking me and I'm sure he knows what this building is, how about we come up with a stupid cover story?"

A proposal landed in Tim's sight just as Bruce finished talking. He grinned mischievously. "How about we collaborate to expand Leslie Thompkins' Free Clinic? Everybody's happy, and neither of us won't lose sleep over it."

"You'd have made a great corporate spy, do you know that?" Bruce grinned back, looking a thousand times happier than when he walked in.

"Oh yeah, but I already have my own ways to get secrets," Tim winked as he handed the proposal over. "Have a look at this, and let me know what you think. I think we can spend the discussion over lunch. Would Alfred mind if we ask him to acquire our lunches?"

"I'm sure he would be delighted if he hasn't already..." Bruce replied, getting up and opened the door. Alfred stood there with several paper bags in his hands. "He has already, it seemed," Bruce reported.

"Indeed, sirs. It is most rude to visit an associate without bringing anything. I daresay a quick lunch is sufficient for you, Master Timothy?" Alfred replied as he entered and set up the contents of the bags - several types of sandwiches and salad mixes.

"Oooh, more than sufficient, thank you, Alfred!"

"Not a problem, Sir. Please indulge, gentlemen." Alfred smiled. "Might I remind you, Master Bruce, that the Doctor and Mrs. Wayne shall return in two hours? It would be prudent to conclude your discussion by then." he hinted.

"Definitely, Alfred. We're just talking about what needs to be done to expand a hospital." Bruce grinned triumphantly at him, showing him the proposal. "Mother would be delighted at this."

[shxwmaster]

— the blade of grass —

          ‘‘ on the fourth day, the skinny little troll in the           too-big armor slipped something under the door            with his gruel. a long, wide piece of grass, perfect           in every way, firm enough to take a slice.           like from a fingernail. [...]

          it was for his vacation. for the birdcalls. he clasped           his hands together over the piece of grass as if           he were praying, and maybe he was. if he did have           a friend in the world — a real friend, and not just an ally           or an acquaintance or a source — then he hoped that           friend had gone for help. flynn had it in him. they had           made a good team on the arva, good partners.           he hoped that partner hadn’t shipwrecked somewhere,           that he wasn’t drifting dead at the bottom of the sea.

               he had a lot of things to say to that man,                if and when he got out. ’’

HERE’S THE THING about grass as a gift ���

I’ll first look at the text of Shadows Rising only first, since that is also critical. Here, this passage specifically, highlights the power in the blade of grass it holds to Shaw. The grass symbolizes a longing, a yearning for freedom of sorts. He’s in prison, and all he’s thinking about is taking a vacation in his cabin and being in good company. It symbolizes an idea he never plays with, a life that’s not his (juxtaposed to just a few paragraphs earlier where he lamented what kind of life he could have had, had Stormwind not been chosen for him, who he would be), it represents freedom in every aspect.

He gifts it to Flynn, who likely doesn’t have nearly enough context to piece just how significant the blade of grass is, but it means everything to Shaw. It’s giving him a part of his daydream, his desire to have a companion, a partner, company in the idea of just getting away from everything.

In his daydream of talking in the highlands, he’s even fiddling with the grass there, fidgeting to give him focus while he unveils his own story, gives him insight on who he is, exposing himself. He rolls the grass to a circle to trap the sun into it, all of it is so, so critically important in this scene.

     Now let’s talk FLORIOGRAPHY.

Shaw is the master of spies and assassins. He knows so many intricate codes, he can relay messages without saying them directly, of course he would know what certain things symbolize and mean. The meaning behind gifting grass to another man beyond just the text in Shadows Rising is a little richer.

In my research, grass as a gift can mean a couple things:

1. Submission, Usefulness, The fleeting quality of life 2. Homosexual love between two men

ON TOP of the grass Shaw gives representing the desire for freedom and company, it also quite blatantly tells Flynn “i am INTO YOU” —— this sort of thing is far beyond Shaw’s way of life. He was born and raised to serve Stormwind, a fate chosen for him by Pathonia. He hasn’t quite known anything else it seems, only catching glimpses through observing nature and birds, whittling, birdcalling, having a cabin up in the Highlands for that one day he can have a vacation, but it’d be lonely —

He’s willing to risk it, to see what it’s like to just... dive into something normal. Something indulgent. Something freeing. A desire. A love. The whole time he’s in prison he’s just thinking, he’s got to talk about it. There’s this bit:

               ‘‘ “well. i should make a friend. a partner.”

          he thought he had one, or the start of one or something more,           but that remained to be seen. if—when—he got out of the           prison, he would just ask the man directly.           there were ways, of course, that he could gather information           and circumvent the discussion part, but mathias,           just then, wanted desperately to talk.

          [...] there was so much mathias now wanted to tell him—           about himself, about his family, about the life he led           for his country but not for himself. ’’

GOD I hope this is comprehensible because I am a tad drunk right now writing this whole thing BUT ------

that submission, that willingness to drop the whole act, the way he is and his lifestyle and work and just talk, to just be... just BE. An effort at normalcy bordering intimacy, to open up and show him everything he is, an honesty — this simple blade of grass given to Shaw as a means to give him that taste of vacation, of yearning he spoke about, then being given to Flynn in an effort to make those daydreams reality, it’s incredibly powerful.

I did a lot of digging to try and find the source of where and why grass came to symbolize gay love between men, and found that the source is very likely ‘Leaves of Grass’, a collection of poems by Walt Whitman, specifically, ‘Calamus’. The Calamus poems in Leaves of Grass were relatively controversial, in the fact that they were interpreted with a lot of homosexual subtext and undertones. Calamus speaks a lot on the importance and celebration of comradeship and adhesive love, but they are written so, so lovingly, so romantically, so blatantly romantically — Just read some of the passages I beg you ( ”whoever you are holding me in hand now” MOVED me, as did “when i heard at the close of day” )

and in skimming through and reading some of the poems you can already almost see a parallel between these poems of longing, of being in nature and in company, with Mathias’ view of Flynn and the cabin in the highlands. I have no idea if this was all intentional, if Roux put this much thought into it, but the fact herein lies that the parallel exists, and I CANNOT ignore it for a second.

At any rate, the blade of grass is such a significant item, bearing so much quiet symbolism that means so much to Shaw, but on the surface cannot possibly be conveyed. But that’s fitting for a Spymaster, isn’t it? One so quiet and elusive, so guarded and secretive, of course something this critical is hidden away in code, in symbols, of course he doesn’t wear his heart upon his sleeve —

But he made that effort to communicate it. And it screams everything in his mind. But you wouldn’t even realize it.

It’s just grass.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Feelings

I don’t really have much to say about this, other than I was feeling particularly indulgent with my emotionally stunted detective, Z. I feel like I love them more than anyone else does, but you know what!  That’s what writing is for. To be proud and self-indulgent with your darling OCs, even if it means making them uncomfortable.  :D With that in mind, Spoilers for Book 2 of The Wayhaven Chronicles! By which I mean location. Mostly. Also slight warning for mention of scarring and past ocular damage. No, I don’t go into detail. Z’s just missing some bits, that’s all.  *blows a kiss to the sky* This one’s for you, Felix. And Z, I guess. 

----------------------------------- "You should tell him, you know." Looking up from their paperwork, Z met Nate's eyes. Although it was true the relationship between the Detective and Unit Bravo had started off extremely tense, there was one thing they all agreed on- a mutual love of Felix. So here they were, Z sitting in the common room in the warehouse, finishing up written reports, a silence descending upon the room. Nate’s words hung in the air, quietly pressing for a response. The Detective sighed and put down their pen. "And pray tell, what, exactly, are you referring to?" "Felix, of course," the vampire said softly. "You two are joined at the hip most days. I've heard him shouting from the rooftops about how great and wonderful and fantastic you are, and yet I haven't heard a peep out of you." Z stared at him. Stared as if they could gaze directly into his mind, and wrest the secrets that lay hidden beneath into some semblance of understanding. Their eyes flicked to Mason and Adam, the other two present in the room. "And I suppose you two feel the same?" Z arched a brow. Silence again. Without Felix present to fill the room up with noise, they were all at a stalemate. Adam cleared his throat. "Well," he said, meeting Z's gaze as it snapped to him, "As much as I don't exactly approve of your relationship, I also understand that it's going to happen whether I want it to or not. So." He fidgeted. Was the fearless leader…feeling awkward? "I agree with Nate. You should. Speak. To him." The response itself was like drawing blood from a stone, his teeth gritted against it. Mason just scoffed. The two of them, Z and Mason, exchanged a silent conversation. It was something that still unnerved the others, considering how much the two seemed to be constantly in a standoff of some sort. Were they friends? Were they enemies? No one knew. No one dared asked. After a beat, Z nodded. It seemed whatever looks they had deciphered from the vampire had settled them, and they rose. "Fine. If all three of you are in agreement-" Nate and Adam exchanged an incredulous look. That's what Mason's look meant? The confusion of where exactly Z and Mason stood with each other continued. "-I'll go speak with him. He's still doing a patrol, right?" Nate nodded, watching as Z rose, stretched, and ambled out of the room. He glanced at Mason. "So...do you two like or hate each other?" The vampire snorted, lighting up now that Z was out of the room. He shrugged. "Isn't it obvious?" He took a drag of his cigarette, and just like that, the conversation was over. Both Adam and Nate had the same silent thought. That still doesn't answer anything! - They heard Felix before they saw him. The sound of a twig snapping, and footsteps heading straight for them warned Z to put their arms up as the vampire launched himself directly at his significant other. "Z!" The sheer force of Felix colliding into the detective sent them both sprawling, Felix landing on top with a cheerful laugh. "Hi babe! Fancy meeting you here!" He glanced down at the detective, their hair an ink-black spill across the ground, framing their quietly amused face. It appeared even this wasn't enough to startle them. "Hello, Felix," they said softly, smiling up at the grinning fool. "I don't think this is what the Agency meant when they said 'take down criminals'." Still, they reached up, caressing Felix's cheek, their smile widening as he sighed and leaned into their touch. "Well I'll take-" Felix paused, thinking. Z could practically watch his brain buffer. "I'll take you! Down. Wait." The buffering continued. Z snorted. "I'll let you workshop that, champ." They leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of their boyfriend's mouth. "In the meanwhile, you gonna let me up?" The vampire pondered. "Mm. Maybe. I think I might like having you underneath me. Not sure I wanna move." "Not that I'm complaining, but the ground is a little wet. If you wanna be on top of me elsewhere, say...my bed, be my guest." Z arched a brow, grinning as Felix's often scattered attention focused fully on him. And then they groaned. "No wait, scratch that. I actually had a purpose to coming out here and finding you, dammit." Their boyfriend tilted his head in confusion before hopping nimbly to his feet, reaching out and pulling them up. "Oh yeah? Did Adam need me to come back or something? Usually he just comes and fetches me himself. Did something happen? Did-" Z put a finger on his lips, silencing the vampire rather effectively. "No, something else." They sighed. "Felix, I…" Z hesitated. And then visibly colored. Felix watched as his partner struggled with words, mouth opening and closing with a strangled squeak. A deep blush spread across the normally stoic Detective's face, until finally they gave up and took his hands. "...Maybe we should walk for a bit? Together?" The vampire looked at them curiously. "....sure? Are you okay, babe?" They gave a tiny nod, meek and awkward. A complete juxtaposition to their usual air of confidence and sarcasm. "I just um. Well. The others brought something up." They huffed, pulling him forward, until the pair began to move at a slow and steady pace. "And I just. I just wanted to say, I-" Silence. Struggling with words once more. "I- I um. I love-" The scowl that spread across their face would have been amusing if they hadn't been struggling so hard to get the words out, and they groaned. Felix's expression grew concerned, and then surprised in turn. "What's brought this on? Not that I'm complaining." He laced his fingers with Z's, swinging them softly together as they walked. The Detective sighed, leaning down to rest their head on their boyfriend's shoulder. It was awkward with Z's height advantage, but they made it work. A soft wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves in a quiet whisper. On occasion, a birdcall could be heard, the serenity of the forest giving a sense of security. An emerald sanctuary. As their feet crunched sticks and moss underfoot, Z sighed. "The others. They brought it up. You're always so...vocal. About how you feel. And I'm not. I want…" they huffed, hair brushing against the back of Felix's shoulder. "I want to give that back to you. I want you to know how much I...I...you know." "Hey," Felix said quietly. "Stop for a moment." He turned, moving to cup Z's face, look them directly in the eye. "You don't have to do anything for me. The others don't have to understand. I see you. I see how you call me first thing when you wake up, because you know I like hearing you be sleepy and getting to say good morning. I see how you wait for me, if I'm not there already, after work to hold my hand and let me walk you home. I see how you listen to everything that I say, how you pay attention and remember it, how your focus is never something I have to fight for. I see how you let me touch you, how you're physically affectionate with me, when I know you don't let anyone else get near. I don't have to hear it, Z. I see how much you love me, every single day." The Detective's cheeks were bright pink, the tall person held in place simply with Felix's eyes. He watched the gears turn rapidly in Z's head, processing and over-processing his words, probably submitting them to memory for further examination later. He knew they didn't mean anything malicious by it, it was simply how they dealt with intense moments and emotions. Finally, they leaned down to press their forehead to his. ".... you're too good to me," they whispered. "I want...I want to say it." They took Felix's hands, interlacing their fingers. "I want to. You know how I grew up. Every word needed to be measured and carefully applied, otherwise it would be used as a weapon against me. Feelings were a lie, and a good way to manipulate someone." They moved to kiss him softly, lovingly, tenderly. Pouring what they couldn't say into the motion. It was a good few seconds before either one of them could come back to the conversation, or coherency. Z sighed softly, pulling their joined hands to their cheek, pressing against it softly. Smiling as Felix's thumb stroked softly across the mass of scars hidden beneath their hair, wishing desperately that they could take him in with both eyes. They wished futilely that there was a way to regain the eye they'd lost, just so they could see him even clearer. "When I find the words," they murmured. "I'll tell you. You'll be the first to hear it. How much I care." Felix smiled. "I can't wait to hear it. I see it every day. You know I love you, Z." The Detective smiled at him. "Right back at you." They resumed the patrol, their hands swinging intertwined, a quiet moment together.

[in-tua-deep]

First time anon wanted to say I love all of your tua au’s. They are absolutely fantastic and I am soft for all of them. However I did amuse myself with the barking mad au, noticed you never write about Pogo in your au’s (do you not like him btw? No pressure on it just curious), but I just like the thought of him meeting/talking to partially feral!Five and he can’t quite figure out which language (animal or english) is more appropriate to say ‘master five what the ever living F****?!’ in.

!! hello first time anon! thank u for messaging

asdfHJGFSDG you caught me,, i don’t like Pogo and don’t think he should have a place in the children’s lives so I never write him into any of my aus because I lowkey want him to disappear

mainly because Pogo was complicit in their abuse to the point where even after Reginald was dead he was still keeping secrets - like he was complicit in drugging a child almost her entire life and emotionally abusing her by backing up the “You’re ordinary” narrative Reginald built up

and even after his death, Pogo stood up and said their dad left behind a complicated memory but then proceeded to compliment the man because presumably Pogo owed so much to him etc. etc. 

Grace I can excuse, because she’s a robot. She functionally had no free will since Reginald was fully capable of tinkering with her programming and forcing her to obey and keep quiet, but Pogo was an adult sentient being capable of free will and he still looked the other way. 

Yeah okay you could say maybe he did it because he was afraid that if he turned against Reginald, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. You could say he didn’t know how to help beyond attempting to be there for the kids and turning a blind eye to some of their shenanigans (like going out to Griddy’s). BUT. After Reginald’s death he continued to keep the kids in the dark about their dad’s plan, withheld information, and made no move to correct anything. Like i’m pretty sure if he told Klaus “the box contained your father’s journal recording your sister’s power, no not allison, actually your dad drugged her all her life and I’d like to set the record straight on her being ‘ordinary’” klaus would have tried a hell of a lot harder to get it back

Grace, after Reginald’s death, was glitched out of her mind tbh but once fixed she made it clear that she did not support Reginald. After all, telling ur son that you’d like to go out when you were never permitted and then telling him that his dad isn’t around anymore to give orders is a pretty cool moment if I do say so myself

and in the day that wasn’t, Grace was going to tell all the secrets she’d been forced to keep over the years in the park as well. She tried to put it right pretty much as soon as she was capable

Pogo didn’t. He purposefully made efforts to continue Reginald’s plan, up to and including attempting to frame Grace for Reginald’s suicide, not telling Vanya about her powers, not telling anyone about that whole skeezy business, fixing Grace but then reminding her to keep secrets (which she rejects), and just generally. continued supporting a man we know to be an abusive piece of shit idk

so yEAH I don’t like Pogo and consider him to be an accomplice to Reginald’s abuse where I don’t hold Grace accountable because there’s free will involved and while he might have advocated for the children, I doubt he ever pressed if Reginald put his foot down which is why i never include him in anything lmao

as far as i’m concerned in all my aus he’s off chilling at one of Reggie’s other properties or something because Vanya doesn’t want him around (and for good reason) so he can live his days in retirement,,, anywhere else

as for the barking mad au, getting back to ur original ask, I think Pogo is?? Too human-ized? I doubt he’s been a proper chimpanzee for many years, a minimum of like. actually when was he introduced to the household? Was it before the kids were there? Average lifespan of a chimp is what, forty years? And he looked older with his cane and stuff so. Probably? 

But regardless I doubt he can understand anything Five is ‘saying’ with body language beyond what humans can read, mainly because dogs/cats and chimps are different (though Five also knows some sick birdcalls and can mimic alarm calls and ‘hello!’ and other cool thing) and feral!Five lived with only cats and dogs during the apocalypse. It’s a little like dumping a dog in with a colony of chimps - confusion on all sides rip so while Pogo probably would be like “Master Five what the Fuck” it’s more because Five is behaving like,, well,, an animal. Which all of the siblings are also thinking tbh

dog people or cat people would probably be able to pick up things here and there though. like that specific meow cats do when they Hunger, or the wiggling that says ‘happy and probably overstimulated’, and growls/hisses/showing teeth should be self explanatory tbh but like, there’s other things. Like quietly mirroring to hang out, slow blinks as affection, the way dogs will playfully run up and then run away in an almost crab scuttle to see if you’ll follow to play (with bonus jumping powers!), the either cowering down with metaphorical tail between legs or PUFFING UP to be the BIGGEST when threatened, whines that mean ‘hurry up!! come on!’ when someone is going too slow, the running ahead and running back to check and running ahead again

like look i have a pretty quiet dog all things considered, and i had an even quieter dog before they. She only really barks when people come up to the door tbh, but I Know People who own dogs like huskies who are the most vocal little shits in existence and who WILL scream when inconvenienced or nervous

(my sister, a vet student interning at a vets, has regaled me with tales of huskies brought to the clinic who just screamed like they were being murdered the entire time despite them not even being examined or anything. they were literally just chilling in the kennel.)

Feral!Five is actually more vocal than ur regularly scheduled Five but everyone wishes he Wasn’t (he’s also way less standoffish and very likely to just full body rub himself against his siblings or drape himself across them tbh bc like. if they wanted him to quit all they’d have to do is give a warning snap or growl or grumble and they don’t sO)

BUT HEY if u want to write something for the au then feel free to include Pogo and your idea because it is very cute!! I just don’t like Pogo and refuse to include him in things lmao

[shrewful]

Apex Tempest: Chapter One

The fruit of my NaNoWriMo labor thus far -- it's not much in the grand scheme of things, but oh boy, I sure did make the words go!

Though General Kaligon usually loved the oceans, she quietly admitted to herself that the Verult Sea wasn’t particularly her favorite -- namely because it wasn’t quite a sea at all. 

Many, many years ago, The Verult was once filled with water just as its siblings; but now, though lower in elevation than the mainland, it was higher than that of the sea level. The descendants of the coastal trees who’d spread their seeds to this new swath of land evolved to more & more efficiently transform the vast amounts of salt and minerals into energy, eventually forming what was once an ocean into a thick, towering jungle; if you were to stand at the edge of the mainland, looking out across it, you might mistake the wind blowing through the canopy’s leaves as the green waves of a sprawling ocean. What creatures survived the water’s leave developed to be as large and strange as the flora that hid them, able to see in the near pitch blackness that the thick branches and foliage cast on the forest floor. 

It was these creatures that both unnerved and comforted Kaligon as her caravan passed through one of the Verult’s only roads. Between the sound of wagon wheels and the apprehensive chatter of her compatriots, it was the coo and caw of the surrounding birds that prevented the journey from being an eerily quiet one. She could hear them just overhead, but the creatures remained out of sight, leaving their appearances to Kaligon’s imagination. 

Kaligon shuddered. It was as cold as it was dark, beneath the canopy. Lanterns hung from each corner of each carriage and wagon, with some small carts dedicated to caged flames illuminating the width of the path around them, but nothing more. The men and women in their uniforms huddled around them, pretending to be in rank as they were at the beginning of the journey, but unconsciously clumped together around the warmth. The light danced off the reflections of their silver buttons and illuminated the vibrant Corsiv cobalt and terracotta of their scout’s shawls and soldier’s jackets. It cast shadows across the undersides of their faces; highlighting the uncertainty in their countenance and the wariness in their eyes. As Kaligon approached, it illuminated her face as well. 

The soldiers lurched for their rifles, scouts’ hands drawn to their sabers -- Kaligon motioned for them to calm with a steady downwards wave of her hand, and as they came to their bearings and realized who she was, they sighed in relief and drew their hands away from their weapons. Unease still clung to the face of the new recruits. Kaligon understood -- she wasn’t easy on the eyes, to most. Her reflection in the metal of the caged hearth stood in stark contrast to her compatriots; their fair, grayish-blue Corsiv complexions against her battered skin, strewn with scars from burns. 

Kaligon let the fire warm her for a minute, then took a deep breath, eyes passing over the familiar faces, then a not so familiar face; her new recruit. 

“Wydoda, walk with me.” 

Kaligon stepped away from the fire and began walking alongside one of the larger carts, footsteps close behind as the figure took up a place to her left. Under the cart’s light, she glimpsed his features; where his eyes should’ve been white, they were green, and where they should be green, they were white. He held himself like he was about to fall apart; arms at his sides, at the ready to hold his legs in place should they part from him. 

“You needed something?” Wydoda broke the quiet seconds it took for Kaligon to look him over.

“Just checking in. I can only imagine it’s been a bit rough on you?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that.” He offered a hesitant smile, looking unconvinced of himself, passing a gaze from Kaligon to the treeline and back. “It can be, eh, new, but I can deal with new. New is the spice of life.” 

“New can be scary.” 

“New… can be scary. It has been.” Wydoda admitted. “Most Corsivans aren’t terribly fond of things they don’t recognize. I can only imagine you’ve had similar experiences?”

Kaligon’s face softened with sympathy, a sigh escaping her lips. It wasn’t too long ago she was in the same place; sent across the continent by the Alliance to a place she’d never been, put in the company of people who looked at her like they looked at some terrifying animal on a thin leash. She extended a hand -- then retracted it -- inched it forward, then, once past the fear of making things awkward, placed it on his shoulder, giving him a comforting pat and earning an array of confused, then ultimately appreciative looks.

“They’re just nervous -- I went through the same song and dance. Your home country just joined the Alliance, didn’t it?” She offered. “Mhm. You’d think the news never got to this place -- people look at me like I’m about to run up & attack them.” 

“Misale, right?” “Misale.” Wydoda sighed wistfully. “I’m sure Corsiva’ll have the same effect on me in time, but even saying the name makes me think of home. Rolling hills, violet waters, sweet air. Oh, you should hear the birds. Sweetest song out of any beak this side of the mountains.” “Think I’ve had enough of birds.” Kaligon huffed. “Damn things’ve made this trip a nightmare.” Kaligon paused; Wydoda in turn.

“Hault. Quiet!” Kaligon spun around and barked, eyes darting between each soldier as she counted heads.

The baubles and lanterns of the carts shook as they came to a stop, murmur amongst the soldiers rising and falling after the demand. Silence took the air.

Kaligon hadn’t heard silence in days; no birdcall. 

“We stop here for now,” The general called back, “keep on guard. Something is wrong.” 

She unsheathed two rather odd-looking swords, Wydoda thought; the blades were curved, each facing the opposite direction. Their hilts were far too long, looking to be made of some dark rock, and didn’t seem to have pommels -- as Kaligon put the ends of each together with a click, the weapon began to make more sense. It was a stone glaive, of sorts, with a blade on each end. 

“How do you carry --”

Wydoda’s question was cut short; Kaligon marched ahead of the ranks, the elegant yet absurd weapon clutched in hand, muscles straining. As she passed the last cart, she took one lantern from its side, hooking its handle with the curved tip of her glaive. She stood at the bank of the caravan’s light and the darkness beyond, extending the lantern and narrowing her eyes. 

An odd silhouette came into view. The soldiers -- now taking note of the scene -- gathered at her back as the shambling form began to gather more and more definition as it approached the light. 

Shoulders, a head, and a strange shape; a robed figure atop a steed. The nearer they drew, the more questions surfaced in Kaligon’s mind. The mount was of a species she didn’t recognize; it could stride over most her men without their heads even grazing the fur on its belly -- or were those quills? It had a short snout, with a jaw that split its maw into quarters rather than halves, and three pairs of ears -- each shorter than the last -- swiveling like anxious butterflies. It stepped forward with all three pairs of its long, stocky legs, covered in a mismatched array of emerald scales and tufts of blackish fur, dagger-like claws jutting out from its paws in unsightly angles and places. 

Crimson red cloth spilled over its back; the robe of its master, shrouding all but their face. That task went to a moth, sitting on the bridge of their nose, wings spread like a mask to hide their eyes. Only a thin, polite smile was visible. 

Before the pair could come within glaive’s reach, Kaligon held up a hand, gesturing them to stop; they obliged.

“Your business?” Kaligon threw the words into the air, unsure if they’d land -- unusual creatures lived across the mountains; perhaps this was a traveler, in which they’d likely not know Haelian.

“An errand.” 

Kaligon’s brow tensed. The voice was strange; melodic, but tinged with something she swore couldn’t come from human chords. Tentatively, she motioned behind her for the caravan to move aside, not sparing the risk of looking over her shoulder. As soon as the stir of moving carts and footsteps began, they silenced themselves, interrupted by the figure’s uncanny voice.

“Oh, no no. I’m not going back to the city -- you are.”

Kaligon’s lip curled in indignation. “I don’t know what authority you think you’re speaking from, but rest assured, we’re above it. Pass, turn back, or I will move this caravan through you.”

In the silence that hung in the air, she could’ve sworn she heard a sigh.

Shrieks filled the air behind her, a shadow passing overhead as the stranger’s beast leapt over Kaligon. She spun around, watching the soldiers lash at the thing with their blades only to be swatted aside like limp dolls. “Call that thing off --” Kaligon spun back, holding the glaive to the figure’s throat “--now, so help me!”

“Turn back.”

Kaligon opened her mouth to voice a retort; energy coursed through her core, and instead of words, molten light burst through her teeth and from her lips with a shrill cry like blades on metal. Warm silvers and bright golds covered her eyes and poured over her fingers, gilding her skin like paint. It crackled off her in sparks, firing off in every direction, casting beams across the way and illuminating a wide, sharp-toothed grin across the face of the stranger. 

The stone glaive now rested effortlessly in her hands; she spun back, lurching to fend the beast away from her men, only to feel something snag her ankle -- she tumbled to the ground, righting herself only to be met with a long snout full of jagged fangs and gleaming, slitted eyes, the moth fluttering away behind them. Through the cloud of dust, a claw swept at her throat -- she batted it away with the glaive, using the other end to propel herself off the ground and back onto her feet.

As the dust cleared, Kaligon watched the shambling figure recoil back and circle. Methodically, bones unfurled from the red cloak, followed by sinew, blood, skin, then scales -- limbs and claws, more jaws and more teeth, the cloth disappearing in the horrific process. As it barreled towards her, Kaligon spun the glaive in a torrent of blades, a dance of clashing claws and metal ensuing. 

As soon as they opened, the beast’s wounds closed, pushing Kaligon back with every step. Its jaws snapped around the hilt of the weapon, tearing it from her grasp and throwing it into the trees. It seized the opening, teeth lurching, hot breath on her cheek -- with a shrill cry of fury, she clasped her hands around its maw, smoke rising into the air as golden handprints were marred onto its scales. A muffled scream filled her ears as it tried to pull away, with Kaligon only digging her heels into the ground further. With a shower of leaves and a croak of wood, she hurled it into the side of one of the towering trees, jaws still dripping with fizzing light as it crumpled onto the ground. 

Kaligon turned to face the other beast, but as her gaze passed over the forest’s edge, she saw the silhouettes of creatures passing through the branches, eyes piercing through the dark. A shadow loomed over her glowing form; the monster she thought she’d defeated dragged itself from beneath the tree, more towering than it had been before.

Frantically, her eyes darted over her shoulder; most of the carts were left in pieces, her men either cowering in their remains or making fruitless attempts at the assailant with their blades. Kaligon’s heart lurched -- she recognized Wydoda’s crumpled form beneath a wagon wheel. With gritted teeth, she called through the air.

“Fall back!” Tag List:

@hell-yeah-fantasy​

Ask to be added

[coeurspire]

A verse where rich and fay grow older and have kids PLEASE AND THANK YOU. Also Seth and Nor 💓

i now decree that all the calendar kids’ children exist in the same verse

name: merle montgomery

gender: female

general appearance: the first thing people realise when seeing her is that she is  tall,  even a little taller than her mother. the second thing they realise is that she is pale, though not as pale as her mother. in both cases, genes are to blame as merle has inherited her mother’s frail health. from her father, she got the sleek dark hair that she keeps in neat braids and buns since a young age, something that makes her look older and far more serious than she actually is.

personality: although her health is bad and life is stressful, merle is best described as an  optimist.  with sharp intellect, she dissects the situations as they unfold around her and finds the bright side, focusing on it.

special talents: no one climbs on trees faster than merle and no one is less afraid of gravity than she is.

who they like better: as a child, she adored her father and was bothered by her mother’s protectiveness, considering some of fay’s rules  unnecessary.  as a teenager, she understands her mother’s point of view better and they are much closer now.

who they take after more: neither, really. in terms of looks, she is  so obviously  richard’s daughter  ( though her eyes are  fay ),  but personality-wise she resembles neither parent.

personal headcanon: her parents lost count of how many times their daughter’s teachers have spoken with them about merle’s behaviour, but at the same time, they have never felt it to be necessary to scold their daughter for standing up for herself, even if this sometimes means she pushes back harder.

name: wren montgomery

gender: male

general appearance: his blond curls cannot be tamed and when he becomes a teenager, people stop trying. wren is currently trying to find out how long he can let it grow until his parents say something, but as they, in turn, are curious to see how long he  would  let it grow, nothing really happens. tall and lean and with an almost angelic face that most certainly belies his cunning nature, he is someone others like to paint or take pictures of. and he surely enjoys the attention.

personality: he has been accused of laziness, but he prefers working smart over working hard. he does not see a point on doing something in an unnecessarily complicated manner when he could solve it much easier. those who know him have long realised that beneath the ‘laziness’, there is a brilliant young man who simply prefers to pick his battles.

special talents: he is  ridiculously  flexible, something he uses during both the twister games with his friends and in moments when the remote is out of reach to his advantage.

who they like better: richard, unless he’s in trouble because fay is surprisingly forgiving when it comes to minor transgressions. as a child, he did not spend much time with his mother, but as he grew older and his interests became more --- refined, as he would put it, he starts to spend more time with his mother.

who they take after more: his mother. he tries to hide it, but too many of his mannerism are taken straight from his mother.

personal headcanon: younger than merle by two years, he is the youngest in the friend group. at the same time, he is also the tallest in the friend group --- and one who has almost every adult --- save for his own parents --- wrapped around his little finger since he looks just so innocent. and who has ever heard about an angel causing mischief?

name: amelia hopkins

gender: female

general appearance: she cannot deny who her parents are, not with her wild red curls and the expression in her eyes that appears to have been copy-pasted from her father’s face alongside his jaw. her personal fashion taste is a dizzying blend of floral patterns and plaid, always mixed with jeans. on most, it would have looked odd, but she makes it work.

personality: she has her father’s easy-going charm and her mother’s sincerity, a mixture that should not be allowed, as some might say. curious to a fault, she does not like to be tied to one place and has a habit of getting into trouble, either by going places where she is not supposed to go or by asking questions she should not have asked.

special talents: she can identify and imitate birdcalls, something she has --- in the past --- used for mischief.

who they like better: she loves both her parents equally, but her mother is the go-to when she has to ask for permission for something; it was eleanor who signed off the first tattoo, but amelia goes to seth when she needs help fixing something.

who they take after more: both parents would claim their daughter’s somewhat rebellious streak as something they have passed down to her, but there is no telling.

personal headcanon: within the circle of her friends, amelia is by far the most oblivious when it comes to someone being  sincerely  interested in her, something that both amuses and frustrates those who have to witness it. at the same time, she is a bit of a flirt, sometimes, and she is is a hopeless romantic --- which does not mean that somehow, she would know when  she  is interested in someone.

[charleymountbatten]

The Journal of Charlemagne Mountbatten

Thoughts on my friends, an updated list: [since the last one might have been was a dick move on my part]

Astraea: Astraea is a hard shell on the outside. Her unwillingness to open up and to trust is understandable. The fact that she let me in at all is probably the greatest gift I could ever receive from her. Because yeah, she’s cunning, and opportunistic, and manipulative in her own uncharismatic way. But gods, she is trustworthy, once you’ve earned her trust in return. She’s so smart, and brave. She thinks things through and doesn’t just charge in blindly. The party has so many hot-heads (myself included) that we need her to balance us out, and I am so grateful we have her. And she is good. Unflinchingly good. She says she doesn’t understand love, but with her (secret) warmth, her protection, her endless patience with me, her utter delight at making me smile when I need it, and how much she tries to help others (no matter how begrudgingly she does it sometimes) - she doesn’t have to. I know she cares about me. That’s more than enough. I care about her more than I can say.

Poltak: I fucking love this guy. Never in my life have I met anyone who pisses me off more and who makes me instantly forget that fact. He’s hilarious, and knows how to party, and has been responsible for some of the happiest and funniest nights of my life. He’s a natural leader who cares deeply about those under his charge and those who he counts as his friends. I trust him with my life, knowing that I am genuinely safe in his hands. I appreciate his methods, even if I don’t always agree with them. I don’t know why he chose me to be his God Father, seeing as I don’t share his faith, but from what I can tell it’s a gift given to someone who is trusted enough to watch over, defend, and guide the one being baptized. I won’t let him down. He’s my best friend. No matter how much we butt heads (as a fighter and a diplomat are apt to do) I don’t think anything could ever change that. I’m so lucky to have him in my life.

Corellon: Corellon can be haughty and prickly, but I’ve come to know them too well to be put off by it. It’s all an act. They have little self-confidence and can’t understand why anyone would like them in the first place. It becomes a bit of a vicious cycle- self loathing leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy, but before they left things were starting to get better. They are a key part of this party, and a dear friend. They genuinely do care. Any time they acted like a dick, they corrected the behavior as soon as it was brought to their attention. They’re not a brawler like Poltak, but they are necessary to the success of a fight. And when we get out in the world, there is no one more skilled at forestry and nature than them. They are beautiful, still without a doubt the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met, but far more importantly they are a genuinely wonderful person. I could kill their father for how much he belittled them and made them think that they are worthless. Corellon has more value than the lot of their family put together, and though they still act tough, I think we have all wormed our way into their heart. When they return to us, I fear things will be as bad as ever for them. But I won’t ever give up on them, and I think at this point everyone else feels the same way.

Theren: Theren might just be the more adorable person in the world. I genuinely mean that. And he’s grown so much since we first met! His spells are getting increasingly powerful, his confidence in himself is blossoming, and despite every knock he’s had he’s somehow kept his vibrant personality. I do sometimes wonder what exactly his thoughts on his relationship are, and at this point I’m too scared to ask. I have also realized that I never actually get to spend time with Theren outside our light shows. This really saddens me. I’m loud and obnoxious and he’s quiet and studious, but we really do hit it off together. When we escape this city, I should take him to a bookshop. I think he’d really enjoy that.

Nels: I wish I was closer to Nels. We had such a lovely chat when we were first reunited and spent the whole afternoon together. She’s a lot of fun and has such a happy and positive personality. I think we take that for granted sometimes. She’s quiet, and I wish she’d come out of her shell a bit more. I’m happy that she seems to be doing so with Poltak and Theren. Maybe I can invite her out for drinks and bread, or something. I like her sense of humor, and how pretty her birdcalls are. She’s clutch in a fight (except against cats), and with how many disasters there are in this party, it’s nice to have someone calming to balance it out. We really, really need that.

Igor: Igor is a lot more fun than his stoic persona lets on. He’s driven by logic, which I don’t always understand (being the messy emotional bitch that I am), but I think we balance out pretty nicely. He’s got a goofy side, and he lets me bring it out. He’s a lot of fun to play chess with, and the fact that he actually seems to like wearing my gaudy costume is either a sign of a wonderful sense of humor or a complete lack of one- and I fucking love it either way. I am glad we’ve become such good friends. I don’t spend nearly enough time with him, and I know a lot of the time he has to come up to me. He definitely has some anger issues he’s working very hard to keep in check, and I think he feels like he has to prove himself no matter what. I don’t think the party helps with that, sometimes. I know I don’t. But I hope he knows how much I care about him. And I hope he knows that I appreciate his obsession with trying to plan out everything, even though nothing ever actually ends up going according to plan (and we rarely do what he suggests anyway). May that optimism never leave him.

Robin: The whole party hates Robin right now, and I understand the logic. If she had escaped with the pipes, they might have been trapped in that Apollo hell-scape for all eternity. Honestly, I doubt that would be the case. I’m sure Ashley would have helped eventually. Or they would have found another way out. But nothing is a guarantee, and I’d probably be more angry too had I been a victim myself. I still wonder, though, how willing a player she was in that disaster. I don’t know much about her patron, but the fae are not to be messed with lightly. For as much hell as she could have caused us, I do wonder how much more hell she endured for failing in her own mission. I hope she’s alright. She doesn’t strike me as evil, no matter what everyone says. To be fair, I don’t think she’s good, either. I don’t trust her. If it came down to her patron or us, she’d kill us in half a heartbeat. Like any of us wouldn’t do the same, though, in her circumstances. 

Ashley: I don’t understand him, and it’s certainly not for lack of trying. Ashley has been through hell. I don’t know much about the war (I was so young when it ended) but I did hear stories from fellow bards and travelers about its atrocities. I don’t know where he served or what he did, but I know it was bad enough that he drinks just to get through the day. I wouldn’t mind any of it, except that he gets so upset when I don’t know what’s going on in his head. It’s hardly my fault! He’s never actually confided in me. Gods, he can be such a dick. Never admits when he’s wrong, never apologizes when he hurts you, treats you like an idiot if you don’t see things his way or understand his logic. I could hate him, if I didn’t fucking adore him so much. He cares. When it counts, he really cares. He goes out of his way to help people. He’d die for each and every one of us. He’s charming, frustratingly charming. And honestly, he probably feels more than all of us put together, if he didn’t try to drown it all in liquor. I know, in the end, he’s a great man. I hope someday he’ll be a good one too.

Kyr’zhan: I honestly think Kyr’zhan is the first person in my life to ever see me for who I want to be. He became my friend not for the music, or the persona, or the title, or anything else, but for me. He broke down all my walls, and he is earnest enough that I’m not even scared that he did. He doesn’t judge me for my past, or even get mad when I fuck up now. He offers advice, corrects what can be improved upon, and never once made me feel bad about myself. He’s endlessly compassionate, and in the short time I’ve known him he’s given me a sense of self-worth and confidence I’ve never had before. Considering how people treat drow and how he constantly must hide his face out of fear for his life, his faith in the good of the universe is endlessly inspiring. He has a quiet sarcasm that I find hilarious, and he sees the beauty in everything. Nothing seems to bring him down. Even his nerdiness is cute, damn him. And despite not knowing Corellon, he’s gone above and beyond to help save them. He’s like a comet, shining light on everything around him as he goes on his way across the stars. I’m going to be devastated when he leaves. Even if this is just a fling, and not true love, I could live a hundred lifetimes and not meet anyone quite like him again.

[firsthandfirecracker-blog]

Journal [7.25-8.4]

7.25.89

I had a dream last night that I was rock climbing up the side of a massive canyon. Heather was there, too, climbing just behind me. They say that you should never look down when you’re high up like that, but I couldn’t help myself. She said something—I can’t remember what—and I looked down at her. It sent the whole world spinning, but her smile was worth it.

It’s funny, I’ve been thinking about installing a rock climbing wall in the gym for a while. The ceiling is tall enough, and we’ve got the perfect spot between the showers and the treadmills. Somehow this dream feels like a sign. I’m gonna take a look through the catalogues and see if there’s anything I like.

 7.26.89

Class with Jill today. Girl socked me square in the nose—her first time. She’s getting better. She’s always got this big smile plastered all over her face, but I’ve seen the fire in her eyes when she fights. I hope she can find a way to get it out.

 7.27.89

I told myself I wouldn’t go to the store on Fridays after last time, but I needed toilet paper, so what can you do? Everybody’s gotta wipe their ass.

There’s this couple that goes on Friday evenings. The guy is tall and broad-shouldered, and he’s always wearing a suit. Coming straight from work I guess. The woman is tall, too, but she’s got this hollow look about her, like she eats half her dinner and says she’s full even though her stomach’s still gnawing.

I was checking out when I heard him. He has this particular voice he uses with her when she says something he doesn’t like. I can never quite hear the words, but I’ve seen the look on her face after. I know what it means.

The clerk asked me if I was okay and it sounded distorted, far-away, like I was hearing it through a tunnel. I’d squeezed my loaf of bread so hard that I broke the plastic, nails digging right through the crust. She looked at me like I was some kind of nutjob but I bought the bread anyway.

I keep going back and forth on it. Maybe I am a nutjob. Or maybe she is, sitting there listening to that without doing anything, week after week.

But I didn’t do anything either, did I? I see my choices unfolding like a kaleidoscope: for instance, I could march over and sock him in the face and tell him never to touch a woman again. God, thinking about his nose bones crunching under my knuckles gives me goosebumps. Alright… I’ll admit that it would feel great in the moment, but I’d probably just get arrested for my trouble. Alternatively, I could go to the police, but if they even chose to investigate, they’d probably say there wasn’t enough evidence to convict and then I’d really lose my shit.

It just makes me feel hopeless, like everything I do is just a shout into the void. Why do I even bother?

Maybe I’ll start going on Fridays again… if I can get her alone, I’ll offer her a class. It’s better than doing nothing.

 7.28.89

I had classes back to back all day and I’m sore as hell. Jonah was the highlight of my day: I introduced a new move today and they nailed it immediately. The look on their face… I wish I could have taken a picture. Oh, who am I kidding—Balthazar would take a far better one. Bet he’s got a dozen similar shots already.

I sometimes worry about pushing Jonah too hard. I know they’d hate to get special treatment, though, so I try and ignore that feeling as much as I can. They’re the kind of person who needs to be challenged continuously, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 7.29.89

Lazy day. Set up the new free weight area this morning and it looks awesome—got the mirrors sparkling clean and moved a few more benches in from the storeroom. One of the benches wouldn’t fit together quite right and I almost threw a metal pin across the room, so I stepped outside and meditated for a little bit. A few years ago I’d have had a mess on my hands after something like that. I’m trying to be proud, but it kind of feels like I’m just doing the bare minimum.

Well, the good news is that I have weights all the way up to 50 now, which should appease the college meatheads from the next town over. Not really thrilled to have em around, but hey, that’s business, right?

 7.30.89

Sparred with Larissa tonight. There was this weird air about her, a certain blankness to her eyes. We’ve been training long enough that I can always tell when she’s off. On her best days, she’s hard even for me to keep up with, filled with this furious energy, like with each punch she’s exorcising some demon. I try not to pry—I’ve got plenty demons of my own, after all—but tonight I couldn’t resist.

After class, I pretended I wasn’t watching her as she put on her shoes. It was totally dark outside: Leo’s headlights were missing, which was unusual. I couldn’t help but feel like something was going on.

“Larissa,” I said, unable to stop myself, “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

The look she gave me is one I’ll never forget. There was surprise there, and pain, and some kind of accusation, like I’d failed somehow. But beneath it all there was something else, something cold and shivering, palms pressed to a pane of thick glass. I wanted to reach out to that girl, to take her icy, damp hands in my own, but the glass was impenetrable.

“If I have anything to say, I’ll say it with my fists,” Larissa said, and then she was gone.

I can’t get that look out of my head. I tried to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see her walking out the door. I see myself punching through, shattering the glass into a million tiny pieces. I see my arms drawing her that shivering girl, holding her close, not letting go.

But it’s been a long time since I held someone like that. I think I might have forgotten how.

7.31.89

8.1.89

8.2.89

8.3.89

8.4.89

When it all gets to be too much, I like to go out and lay in the sunshine, listening to birdcalls and cricket songs. Sometimes I imagine myself lying there forever until my skin fuses with the dirt, ‘til vines start growing over my body, reclaiming me. The grass grows so tall there that it covers up my bones, long picked clean by the mice and birds and worms. From my skull I see my thoughts melting into the earth: the good ones become fertilizer, nourishing all the little plants that have yet to bloom. The bad ones are poison for the weeds and the roaches, driving them away, keeping my little meadow safe.

Today, though, I couldn’t help but imagine Larissa laying there. I saw her smiling wide with beetles crawling through her teeth, flowers decaying on her tongue. Her eyes were covered by butterflies, but I could still feel her looking.

The cricket sound was gone. All I could hear was the sharp shattering of glass, echoing for miles and miles around.

[omgsouthpark]

"Splatty Tomato" Quotes/Jokes/References

Check out what "Splatty Tomato" brought us:

Quotes/Jokes

“Well the Whites have been here since the beginning. Not that it matters, because no one cares about the whites.”

“... as his splatty tomato approval rating falls to 3%, this puts the President four points below The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature.”

“Stranger Things is the thing, I saw it too.” - “But wait isn’t Stranger Things just like that movie...” - “Just like that movie 'It'.” - “You saw 'It' too.” - “Yeah I saw 'It' in the theater.”

“He’s running around eating pets and terrorizing our kids.” - “You think Hillary would be any better?”

“Remember that this is the President so you can not shoot him. Alright, you can’t even talk about shooting him, don’t even do any coy, satirical takes on shooting him.”

“Remember they can do to you what they did to Kathy Griffin” - “Make her not funny for 30 years?”

“...and save the town from evil to kickass ‘80s music”

“Skinny bitch.”

“We’ve set up a fox trap.” - “It’s a Fox trap, Mr. President!”.

“You two work together...” *starts vomiting* - “They can’t be together, they’re coworkers!”

“He’s not saving Christmas, he’s running around scaring kids and shitting in the woods.”

References/Info

President Garrison’s approval rating is like a Rotten Tomatoes “splatty tomato” movie score. This week, Donald Trump’s current approval rating has reached a new low of 32%.

Jason White of the “White family” has been in South Park since the pilot, but this is the first time a story is focused around his family. 

The various references to Stranger Things and the film ‘It’: Garrison taking the place of the Demogorgon/Pennywise, a kid/brother going missing, kids on bikes, a town dealing with a monster on the loose, a red balloon, and 1980s music. Also, possibly that Token appearing in only one scene is a reference to how Mike Hanlon, the black kid in ‘It’, has a minimal storyline in the new film adaptation compared to the rest of the kids.

The episode pokes fun at Trump supporters who deflect any criticism of Trump with “you think Hillary would be better?” [Bob/the White family]

Bob White gets Garrison’s attention to warn him about the Fox trap by using the birdcall that real “Bobwhite Quails” make. Sean Hannity is the news guy in the “Fox trap”.

The kids listen to these 1980s songs: ‘The Super Bowl Shuffle’, ‘Gloria’, ‘Hold on to the Nights’, ‘Pac-Man Fever’, and ’Queen of Hearts’. This is poking fun that our current nostalgia of ‘80s music is just cherry picking the best stuff.

Sharon Marsh vomits on Randy like how Stan used to vomit on Wendy.

I Learned Something Today (interpretations of the episode's messages):

President Trump is a menace to society who just cares about his approval ratings. [President Garrison terrorizing everyone in town while only asking about his approval ratings.]

If you define yourself by how you are a “victim” of something, it makes you justify your own awful behavior and never take charge on improving yourself or situation. [Heidi deciding to stop being Cartman’s victim and improve herself. The White family justifying any faults in President Garrison by claiming that they’re victims of liberals. Ike deciding to not be a victim of the nuke in Canada and instead catch President Garrison.]

People should stop getting distracted by dumb sex scandals and focus on putting an end to Trump’s presidency. [PC Principal’s relationship with Strong Woman distracts and prevents the adults from catching President Garrison]

It’s up to white Americans (or maybe specifically hardcore Trump supporters) to put an end to Trump’s presidency. [Bob/the White family constantly preventing the town from catching President Garrison].

Did I miss anything? Comment/reblog/message me and I'll update the post!

[pendragonfics]

You Really Got Me

Paring: Kraglin Obfonteri/Reader

Tags: female reader, set after Guardians of The Galaxy Volume 2, minor Gamora/Peter Quill, eventual fluff, secret relationship, matchmaking, Groot is adorable. 

Summary: The thing about keeping a relationship on the down-low is that few to no people know about it. For the Guardians of The Galaxy, not having the both of you together is almost a crime against nature. Also, Rocket wants nothing of this. Leave him out of it.

Word Count: 2,668

Current Date: 2017-12-17

The Guardians of the Galaxy were no strangers to trouble, trouble on alien planets; trouble in general. But on the Outer Rim of known space, stranded on a semi-hostile planet while shady hired dealers were working on refuelling the Milano, you were saddled with the long watch-shift to keep everyone safe on the shift. While Mantis was grabbing sleep, Groot practicing his vocabulary, Gamora cleaning her guns and Drax working out, you and Kraglin were sitting with your weapons, keeping an eye and ear out.

“Do we really need to keep watch?” You had asked Peter, dubious. It wasn’t as hostile a planet where the people would shoot on sight, yet, the captain of the ship was set on it, and set with saddling the job on his adopted brother Kraglin, too. “I mean, one person, sure, but two? It’s overkill.”

Kraglin had agreed with you, but Peter was adamant. “Trust me on this, _________.”

So, you two were left out, sitting with your sword, and Kraglin with his blaster. It was a nice night, and you could see the constellations like what you’ve come to recognise living away from Earth. The twin moons in the horizon are rising over the mountain range, and bathing you and your broadsword in ample moonlight. The forest around the both of you is silent, empty except for its fauna, creatures darting to the places where they would rest their heads for the night, the odd birdcall made before they settled.

“So, Kraglin…” you start, moving your sword in the dirt, looking to your companion, and fellow Guardian of the Galaxy. The moonlight kissed his face sweetly, bathing his features with the silvery light, those green eyes ablaze with potential, “You never said how you became a Ravager.”

He’s silent for a second. The blaster in his hands is held tight, and with a deep breath expelled, the gun is lowered to his side. Kraglin looks you in the eyes, and released another sigh. Two sighs. No wonder he hadn’t told the story like you told your many little stories, this seemed to be a little heavier in its emotional baggage.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you…” he says, giving you a little smirk. But you saw straight through it – it was as much as a front as Peter’s need for music to cover the losses in his life. “I was just a kid from Xandar, ten. Xandar wasn’t as nice as it was back then, and there was a raid on my parent’s ship when we got back from a special trip on some planet.” He looks to the ground, where his boots scuff the dirt, digging it to cover the caps of his toes. “It was a Kree ship, and we were shot down. Nova Corps did all they could, but covered it. Said we was dead.”

You frown, not sure if you heard that right. “Wait, we’re talking about same Nova Corps, with Nova Prime, and –,” you stop yourself, raising your brows. “How did you survive?”

Kraglin smiles. “Ravager ship was just leaving the atmosphere. Yondu’s. Saved my life.”

You smile, remembering the late Ravager, and his odd acts of kindness he made over the years. “And you just stayed with him from then on?” you ask, “I mean, you know me, the galivanting rouge, never to stay too long in one place.” You add.

“Yeah, you’re nothing like that.” Kraglin laughs, and clicking his blaster to standby on his side, gives your shoulder a playful whack, and one of his bright smiles. “Had nowhere else to go, _________. Yondu was like a father to me, Peter too. Ravager’s became a family for me.”

It’s silent for a moment between you, and then, you blurt out, “I wasn’t a pilot before this all, not back on Earth.” You say, unable to face the look in Kraglin’s eyes at the admittance. “My dad was a part of the military, and my Mom an astronaut…” Sensing his confusion at the word, you add, “Um, it meant she went to space for a living. Nobody knew she was pregnant, and she had me in space.”

He frowns. “But Terrans don’t have good space stations.” He states.

You nod. “That’s the understatement of the year, right there,” you laugh it off, but it really cuts deep. “My birth father is a man named General Ross. But…I’m just the defect of an affair gone wrong, I’m sure I have half-sisters or something back on Earth.” You shake your head, unable to picture what family you could have.

Kraglin turns toward you. “You didn’t say what happened to your Ma.”

“She was an American astronaut. They’re prized back on Earth, endless media coverage, fame, science journals to boot. You should hear about how much they like Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin…” you remember the names, how your mother would tell you about them before tucking you in at night. “She gave birth to me in space, and when she came back to Earth, they faked her return. Said she was dead, obliterated her name, put the whole scandal to sleep before it was leaked.”

He's silent.

You add, “I was fifteen when I stole a government prototype space jet, and I ran away.” You chuckle. “It was more of a suicide attempt than anything, I was shocked as hell when I met actual aliens.”

The forest is still silent, not a peep from the outside world. Kraglin glances, and puts a hand on yours, his skin cold to touch, yet, the gesture was warm. “You never said…”

You sniffle, only then realising you’d been crying. It wasn’t a good story. It was a terrible, terrible story that only told of your origins, and how you came to be the woman you were today. “I was an alien to them…to my own father. A freak.”

Kraglin smiles, those crooked teeth overshadowed by the endearing gesture. “Looks like you’re in the right place to be with your own kind, then, _________.”

You laugh it off, whispering pssh to him, changing the topic to something else.

Inside the ship, Peter turns to Gamora with a goofy grin upon his face. But the Zen-Whoberis native has nothing of it, and ignoring his antics, leaves him for a stiff drink until it’s her time for the unnecessary watch shift.

---

You should have noticed it by now, but it was coming on the eighth time that Gamora had tripped you up, and had you land on Kraglin. All on different occasions, all in different contexts, apparently – she claimed to have not seen you, to not have noticed he was there, that your bones should have been strong enough from all the hits you’d taken already to get over it. But you stomached the acts. But it was the eighth time that Gamora did the deed that made you question if she wasn’t a master warrior herself, but clumsy.

It was after a deed for a Baluurian fleet when you were sitting in your hammock in the brig of the Milano, and tired after the hard day of work fending off bad guys and the works, you just wanted to read a shitty alien romance novel and ignore the world. But when you saw Gamora approaching, you put the paperback down, and extend your sword toward her.

She raises her eyebrows. “_________? Don’t say this is a mutiny.”

You huff. “I know what you’re up to! You’re trying to humiliate me for some kind of bet. Have me fall all over poor Kraglin, make us look stupid.” You hold your sword steady, and coming out from your hammock, you stand, facing your green-skinned teammate. “I’m having none of it.”

From where he sits to the side, playing in a heap of dirt he took from the last planet you all landed on, Groot agrees, “I am Groot.”

Rocket tosses a bolt near your head. “Keep it down, will you? I’m trying to make a bomb here.”

You roll your eyes, but do not back down. “Cut it out, or I’ll cut you.”

Gamora crosses her arms, her stance revealing her intentions; unyielding, firm. “Strong words from a strong woman, _________. You will not like what is to come.”

You can see over her shoulder, and entering the brig, Kraglin has something that looks like a mango in his mouth, the juices running down his arm as he bites into the auburn flesh of the fruit. But you also see – almost too late, and in comical slow-motion – Drax bounding up behind the ex-Ravager. In a matter of seconds, Gamora has moved the side, and thrust toward you with a mighty shove from Drax, Kraglin is atop you, his fruit over your shirt, your skin, your everything.

“Guys,” Rocket complains, “Bomb! I need my focus!”

Groot hums. “I am Groot.”

Rocket throws another bolt. “Nobody cares, buddy!”

But you care that Gamora has succeeded in making the eighth trip effective, and you’re fuming. “Holy hell, Gamora!” you groan, rolling Kraglin from on top of you, the juices of the fruit smeared all over you. “And Drax, why?”

Gamora passes him a handful of credits.

---

You were on your way to your bunks after a hard shift in the cockpit – hard not because of the flying, no, piloting vessels was kind of your thing (besides sarcastic one-liners and the way you made being awkwardly weird cool), just not putting up with the squabbles with the other Guardians. At least Mantis wasn’t in on the whole argument, as she sat beside you and with a hand on your bare arm, told you all the meanings of your dreams the night prior. But now, you  were desperate to get some shut-eye, and if you could sneak in some time at the communal shower to strip away the day before then, it would be an added bonus.

But there was a Drax-shaped wall between you and the bunks. No, scratch that. It was just Drax.

“Hey there,” you smile at the muscle of team. “What’s up?”

He frowns at the words you chose. “We are currently flying in space, _________. Nothing is up or down without gravity.”

You nod, remembering that Drax wasn’t the greatest at phrases. “No, I mean…ah, how are you?”

He smiles, it’s small, but nonetheless, there is no scowl, no war-like grimace, no deathly resting face, and you take the smile as a good sign he isn’t up to any funny business. “I am fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m tired,” you gesture to the bunks behind him, “I was going to sleep off the day.”

He frowns. “You cannot sleep off a day, time is not a contractible illness that fades after rest is acquired.” He pauses, and glancing down the hallway both ways, hands you a crumpled slip of paper. “I am needed elsewhere, you can sleep now.”

As he walks away toward the cockpit, you unfold the gift from Drax. It’s very poorly written, with many grammatical mistakes, but nonetheless, you discern the general meaning from what he has just handed you. You push into the bunk, where you see Kraglin sitting on his bed. He’s pulling a comb over his tuft of hair, toothbrush in mouth, and when you flop onto your bunk, he gives you a strange look.

Spitting into his glass of water, he asks, “Why the long face, _________?”

You scrunch the note in your hand, and toss it to him. “Read it.”

He undoes the paper, and narrowing his eyes, does his best. “Yuor – you got a need to put your face on –,” he raises his eyebrows at it, and scrunches it up, tosses it back to you, “Who gave that to you?”

“Drax.”

“Makes sense.” Kraglin nods, and placing the glass beside his bed, he adds, “I mean, it’s weird, and sounds like something that he’d say. Not that any of this makes sense.”

You nod, “First Peter has us doing menial tasks together.”

Kraglin agrees, “and Gamora makes us fall over on each other!”

“And this shitty note!” You toss it toward the waste paper basket beside your makeshift bookshelf, the paper missing, hitting the rim, falling onto the floor pitifully. “I think we should tell them.”

Kraglin shakes his head, unsure. “I don’t know, _________…last time I told Peter I had a girlfriend, he took her out, and slept with her. Turned out she was a traitor to the Ravagers, but still. He could take you!”

You pssh at those words, laughing, “Take me? Jeez, that sounds like I’m an object!” you stand, and go to where the paper rebounded the bin. “No. I’m in love with you, Krag, and have been for what, three years now? I’m sick of hiding it from the team. I’m sick of being a part of their pranks to make us do something about it.” you toss the paper in the bin, fixing the problem. “Are you with me, or not, Kraglin Obfonteri?”

He nods. “Always, darling.”

---

The next day, you approach the cockpit with Kraglin at your side. Everyone’s there – Drax is staring off into space, Gamora interested in the readings on the schematics on the screen before her. Rocket mans a control, as does Peter. Mantis is reading your shitty alien novel, and Groot sits beside her, playing with a toy yoyo you found a month ago, and has the string wrapped around his arms in a way that can’t be comfortable.

You cough, alerting them of your presence.

“_________! Hey!” Peter greets, waving. “What’s up, Kraglin?”

Drax mishears. We are currently flying in space, Peter, nothing is up or down without gravity.”

Peter ignores that, and says something to Gamora you quite can’t catch. Rocket wipes a hand over his face, groaning very loudly. “Will you guys just quit it! Who cares if you think they’re cute together, I think you all look alike, and I think we’re all going to die alone one day!” He growls. “Love is dead!”

Groot whacks him from where he’s seated with the yoyo. “I AM GROOT!”

Mantis speaks up. “Are you talking about _________ and Kraglin?” she asks politely.

Peter nods. “Yeah! Don’t you think –,”

She adds, “They’ve been in love for over one thousand and ninety-four days, and when you are not around, push the beds they sleep in together and kiss in secret.” She says, her antennae bouncing as she talked.

“What?” Gamora gapes.

Peter blinks.

Drax says nothing, playing with the holo-graphics on his seat.

Mantis realises something is off, and says, “You didn’t know?”

You and Kraglin glance between you, and deciding to see what happened after this revelation of the team, watch it out. “We were just coming to say all this,” you say, breaking the silence. “I mean, it’s just a relationship, it’s not like it affects anyone beyond us.”

“You’re with _________?” Peter asks, saying the same fact again as if to want to hear it confirmed from your own lips, even though it had already had been.

Kraglin nods. “Yeah, for nearly three years.” You link hands with one another. “And we’re here to ask everyone to stop punking us. We’re sick of doing bad shifts, and falling on one another.”

You look to Drax. “And if you want, I’ll gladly teach you basic writing skills, big guy.”

“Writing is speaking’s sorry, weak cousin,” Drax tells you, “I only resorted to it for desperate measures.”

Groot comes to you, and carefully, you unwind the yoyo from his arm. “I am Groot.” He thanks you, adds, “I am Groot!”

You look to the team, “Okay, that was enough social interaction for one day. I’m going to take my boyfriend with me, and we’re going to cuddle, and then I’m going to kiss him in a public space.” You lift your hand that’s holding his, and grin. “Permission to take the day off, Star-Lord?”

He gives you both a thumb up. “Do more than cuddle!”

[forgetspecifics]

Such Sights are Bright - Chapter 5: Maybe I’ll just Fall

Yang somehow has the most eventful New Year's experience of her life, drunk Blake makes her dramatic return, and shit gets a little too real.

Other links: Ao3 FF.net

Notes:  YOOO SORRY 9,600 words hopefully makes up for the wait?? (insert it's over 9000 joke)

January (Winter) /

On New Year’s Day – well, morning – Yang did not have a hangover. She’d made sure to avoid that; where Sun got alcohol for a bunch of teenagers was beyond her, but it had been difficult to bear witness to the wonder that was drunk Blake. One would expect that Yang would’ve easily gone back to her irresponsible persona, but, one would be wrong.

Because getting drunk and losing your inhibitions was not conducive to keeping a secret.

She should have kept her friend under a more watchful eye, but to her own credit, she tried. She later suspected that Sun was working against her; refusing everything he shoved at her in those stupid red cups – he couldn’t get Yang to confess under the influence, so Blake was the next target. It wasn’t Blake’s fault that she was a lightweight, nor was it his, but he was going to be in trouble once Blake woke up.

The party was tame, in her opinion. Herself, Blake, Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren and Nora had been invited to Sun’s place while his parents were out of town. Neptune was also obviously present, and so were the boys’ friends Scarlet and Sage. Nobody too crazy, though Nora was accountable for about fifty percent of any craziness; Sun himself thirty-five percent, and the rest of them all contributed to the remaining allocation. It had gone well, until her friends forgot the concept of privacy.

Yang blamed Sun the most, purely because he used Nora as an outlet for announcing possibly the worst party game in existence – Nora couldn’t refuse a game – and so she watched helplessly as truth or dare finally came to claim her poor soul. That was, until Ren saved her by asking her if she’d like to sit it out with him. He had a knack for telling when people were uncomfortable, and it was an understatement to say Yang was not comfortable with being at the mercy of Sun.

There was not much she could do as Blake; already pretty tipsy, was roped into the game. Dares were passed around; Nora daring Pyrrha to kiss Jaune, Neptune daring Scarlet to eat wet bread – she’d never seen somebody gag that much – and as expected, Sun wasted no time in asking Blake truth or dare. Yang didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until Blake finally said truth. At least there would be no kissing dares, not that she approved of dragging non-participants into the game. Truth was hardly going to get him any good information, since Blake did not like her.

But alas, from the couch she and Ren sat upon, she heard the monkey Faunus ask the cat Faunus, “Blake, if you had to kiss someone in this room, who would it be?”

Yang was instantly fuming at the blatant attempt to embarrass her, and words had promptly slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Oh, fuck off!”

In turn, the outburst caused the circle of friends on the floor to swivel their heads to look at her. Even Ren looked a little surprised, and that was saying something. It took all her willpower to not go over to Sun and smack his arrogant smile off his face when he had said, “Something, wrong, Yang?”

She would have given him a piece of her mind, if not for the fact that Blake giggled and proceeded to whisper-yell, “I already kissed Yang!”

Everybody gasped – it was like a soap opera – save for Ren and Yang herself. Because she was livid.

Sun on the other hand, was living. “I was right! You two are gayer than a rainbow!”

“That’s not true!” Yang found herself standing, heart racing. “It was a kiss on the cheek,” she realised she’d admitted that it was kind-of true, but still. It didn’t mean he was right. If she was honest with herself, she had no idea why she was bothering to deny it anymore, but then again, Blake was right there watching her.

“You only kissed her cheek?” Nora asked, sceptical of both of their behaviour.

Blake shrugged. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“I see,” Nora replied. “Alright, people. Lock them in the closet!”

“I thought we wanted them to come out of the closet, not go in it?” Jaune said, misunderstanding her literal meaning.

“We are not locking them in a closet, Nora,” Pyrrha interrupted, sending a disapproving look to her orange-haired friend, “let me handle this.” The tall girl had wasted no time in whisking Yang away to talk in private.

Yang quickly broke down her situation to the only girl that she could trust to keep her secret. Pyrrha was at least understanding of what she was going through, but her advice was something Yang already knew would come.

You have to talk to her about this.

She just put on a brave face when they returned to everyone in the midst of dancing dumbly to some music, but it had been hard to keep it up when Sun had shimmied on over into her personal space.

He kept his voice discreet. “Dude, Blake wants you. Why are you making this so hard on yourself?”

Why was she? She looked over at Jaune who had taken Pyrrha’s hand, both of them looking quite content. Nora even had Ren doing ridiculous dance moves with her too; Neptune and Scarlet were surprisingly dancing in-sync, and Sage was spinning a laughing Blake in a casual waltz. There were cute couples and good friends, though she felt a pang of jealousy of seeing Blake with someone else. And it was ridiculous.

Her eyes watched Blake move. She was less graceful than usual, but all the more attractive; she was carefree. “I need to figure this out on my own.”

Sun placed his hand on her shoulder. “What more is there to figure out?”

It took a moment, but she looked him in the eye. “How the hell I’m going to tell her.”

“You’ll think of something. Go dance with her,” he smiled goofily.

Though she hadn’t quite forgiven him, he did have good intentions, and he was finally letting up. He followed her over to Blake and Sage, intervening one last time.

“May I borrow him, lady Blake?” Sun mocked Scarlet’s British accent, cutting in on the dancing pair.

“Why of course, mister Wukong, sir,” Blake did a much more accurate impersonation, as Scarlet exclaimed something nonsensical about Sun – boi was the affectionate term – in his signature birdcall. Blake then turned to her and offered a hand.

“Would this lady like to dance?”

Yang ignored the slight blush she felt adorn her face, but let a smile grow on her lips unbidden as she too spoke with a faux-accent too. “Why, it would be an honour!”

They took turns leading each other in a waltz to eighties classics – Scarlet had said something about hauling oats? – and Yang found it progressively harder to keep Blake from falling over her own feet. It reminded her of their outing to Ozpin’s. Alcohol dismantled Blake’s restraint then, and it had not let her get away this time, either. She had no doubt sober Blake would have never said that she’d kissed her. There was every possibility that unlike herself, Blake didn’t want to admit she was attracted to Yang, and if it was true, that presented…a problem. More of a problem than she already had, that was.

Being so focused on enjoying the moment with Blake, Yang almost forgot what day it was until someone remembered to switch the TV onto the local news station. The countdown to midnight was approaching fast as the group gathered around. She was getting ready to count along; at least she wouldn’t mess up like every other year she had been wasted.

She was about to chant ten, just like everyone else, until Blake completely stole her attention by whispering in her ear.

“I think it’s your turn to kiss me.”

It was funny how a few words could take her breath away. Not funny like ha-ha funny, but funny like she would never forget it for the rest of her miserable life.

Ten.

Yang barely choked out a response. “What?”

Nine.

“Come on, Yang,” she had only provoked Blake to practically cling to her.

Eight.

Maybe she could make it out alive of this. “You’re joking?”

Seven.

Blake was not joking. “Everyone else is gonna be doing it, it’s tradition.”

Six.

Goddamn kissing traditions were the bane of her existence.

Five.

“It’s just a kiss on the cheek,” Blake said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Four.

“Not everyone-” Yang began to turn her head, but was stopped by grabbing hands.

Three.

“Don’t look at them, look at me.”

Two.

She shouldn’t have listened to her, because now they’d made eye contact and even though Blake had said cheek, Yang was thinking of everything but. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, you know.”

But Blake wouldn’t know. She probably wouldn’t even remember this. And she seemed at least a little desperate, and it made Yang really wonder if Sun was totally right.

One.

“Happy New Year!”

It was well after noon by the time the black cat Faunus woke. Although, to her, she felt more like death reincarnated. “I feel awful,” she groused, still wrapped in a thick fleece blanket and struggling to sit upright in the chair Sun had pulled out for her when she’d stumbled into the kitchen.

For her sake, he kept his voice down, whether or not he knew she had extra ears to be mindful of. “You’re a lightweight, Blake. You were drunk, like, an hour after you got here.”

Too tired to refute that she was, in fact, a lightweight, she was more concerned at the length of time he’d mentioned. “But I don’t remember the whole night! Oh, God, please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t say anything stupid,” Sun’s smile was reassuring, but, his words weren’t.

“What does that mean?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“You were all over Yang like white on rice,” he leaned against the kitchen counter, still jovial.

Blake knew very well that Sun had been convinced that she and Yang were an item, but this was bad if he was telling the truth – what had she done? “I was what?”

“You,” he pointed at her, “were all over Yang.”

He took her silence as a sign to keep talking. He must have thought she didn’t understand what he was saying, but really, she was just trying to wrap her pounding head around it all.

“Take it from the Chinese guy, rice is white all over. Yang’d back me up. She’s Chinese too, we like rice,” Sun rambled, “but we like all kinds of rice, so maybe I should have used a different analogy,” he added, thinking he’d confused her.

A different voice chimed in, “You’re generalising your own culture, Sun.” It was then that Yang walked in on their conversation, oblivious as to why they were talking about rice. “You’re finally awakey, Blakey. How’s the old noggin’?”

In a knee-jerk reaction, Blake turned her frustration onto its source. “Don’t call me that.”

Yang recoiled at the hostility. She knew how hangovers could be bad for moods, but even for Blake, that was harsh. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. It’s Sun’s fault,” she said, happy to direct Blake’s ire onto their mischievous friend. He suddenly looked a lot less carefree now that he’d been blamed.

“Clarify,” Blake demanded over Sun’s spluttering.

“Everything you drank came from the monkey bar,” Yang resisted laughing at her own joke for once – even though it was a good one – and proceeded to boil a kettle to make some calming tea for her friend. Sun hadn’t even thought of that, since he was probably too busy being sneaky.

“Did you just make a pun outta me?”

Ignoring Sun, Yang sat down with Blake. “There wasn’t much I could do. Everything I took away from you, he replaced just as fast.”

“Throwing me right under the bus, here,” Sun said, cowering and meekly laughing when furious amber eyes locked onto his.

“That’s the plan,” Yang leaned back in her chair, tempted to let this play out. “Pour the lady some tea, would ya? It’s the least you could do.”

Stuttering in agreement, he promptly delivered a steaming mug to a very irritated Blake.

“Leave us,” like a queen would order a peasant, a disgruntled Blake shooed the apologetic boy away. More than happy to escape, Sun gave Yang a thanking-prayer motion behind Blake’s back.

“What happened last night?” Blake cut to the chase before Yang had a chance to say anything.

“Is that what you were talking about?” She was in no rush to discuss it, but she was curious about the whole rice thing.

“Sun said…something,” Blake wrapped her hands around her cup of tea, but did not drink. “I trust you’ll at least tell me the real story.”

“Nothing happened,” Yang didn’t even look at her. When she did, though, she seemed nervous. “Well, not nothing, but not not nothing?”

To that, Blake said nothing – nothing was an appropriate response to more nothing, but she did raise an eyebrow slightly.

Yang sighed. “What did he tell you?”

“Apparently, I was all over you like white on rice,” Blake recounted in her signature monotone, ever the face of nonchalance.

“So that’s why he was talking about Chinese people and rice,” Yang tried to lighten to mood to no avail. She’d have to tell Blake sooner or later, and it was going to be sooner.  “He got you drunk because I refused to get drunk. He wanted one of us smashed, and you were a much easier target to get a confession out of.”

Under Blake’s bow – which had managed to stay secure – cat ears stood attentive. “You don’t mean?”

“I do,” Yang nodded. They both knew, that with Sun, it was always about their relationship. “It sorta worked, too.”

“I’m never drinking again,” the Faunus muttered.

Yang contemplated what to say. This could end up being a very awkward conversation that she wasn’t sure she was ready to have. She tried for honest with a bit of humour. “Long story short, you announced you’ve kissed me before, and everyone went nuts.”

Blake’s cheeks became rosy as she went on the defence. “Why would I do that? It’s not even true.”

“I said the same thing,” the blonde shrugged. “Nothing came of it…until it was time for the midnight countdown.”

“We did not kiss at midnight,” Blake’s face had become hard to read, but to Yang, she sounded kind of disgusted. It was disconcerting.

“Do you think I’d take advantage of you like that?” Yang hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but honestly, that’s how she was feeling right then. Blake had never acted this way before, even during conversations with similar topics.

“You wouldn’t have the chance to,” the Faunus said hastily, “I wouldn’t…do that.”

Her emotions were beginning to bubble under the surface, and Yang couldn’t stop them showing for long, she knew that. “I hate to break it to you, but it was your idea.”

Blake moved her cup tea to the side so she could lean forward on the table. “Yang, tell me what happened.”

“You kept insisting when it was counting down,” Yang growled, making it abundantly clear that she hadn’t asked for it herself. Why should she be interrogated for something when she had been the one that was pestered? “It was just a kiss on the cheek, like you said.”

“That’s it?” Blake leaned back. Rubbing her temples, she sighed in relief. “Thank God it wasn’t anything worse.”

Worse?

It was happening again. This was it – this was what it felt like to have fallen for someone that you really shouldn’t have. She didn’t know that it would hurt this much to have her fears confirmed, and it made her so damn angry. “Oh yeah, wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea after throwing yourself at me.” She was mad at Blake, and she was mad at herself.

“Excuse me?”

Blake feigning innocence did nothing to quell her internal rage. Was she really that clueless about what she said and did?

“I’m sorry,” Yang said with fake politeness, “I didn’t realise that sober Blake and drunk Blake had different sexual orientations.”

There was still no reaction from her friend; no retaliation. Indifference was something Yang despised. It was just how she imagined Raven would act.

“Yang, you’re overreacting-”

“I’m overreacting? I’m not the one pretending it didn’t happen! You can’t even remember it, but I do!” Yang remembered everything; every betrayal in her life. She stood and the chair legs scraped on the floor, no doubt hurting Blake’s sensitive hearing – if her shouting hadn’t already.

“I waited around to see if you were okay, but I guess I didn’t need to. Enjoy your tea,” she ignored Blake’s face as it turned to shock and pulled her jacket on. She was leaving. “Happy new year.”

Heavy steps travelled to the front door, followed by a slam, and a motorcycle engine revving then peeling out.

Blake heard Sun curse in the other room, and he took tentative steps towards her. She felt like crying. He asked, “I guess it didn’t go well?”

A beat passed before her tears fell.

Fast forwarding to five days later, it had been the longest amount of time that they’d not seen or spoken to each other since they met.

And it was driving Yang crazy.

While she hadn’t outright admitted anything, she’d done a lot worse than that. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Blake’s face; every time it made her feel like an idiot. Emotions had gotten the better of her, and ruined everything.

She was lucky she hadn’t taken a spill the way she drove home that day – reckless and too pissed off to care much about consequences. That was where her luck had run out, though; as the days progressed she’d gotten more irritable and clumsy. Every night she’d lost more and more sleep, and tonight she felt it’d be completely sleepless, with her brain going over everything in her head again.

It was probably because Blake hadn’t contacted her – not in her own anger, and not even to apologise. So, Yang stayed silent too. It was childish, but for once in her life, she couldn’t help but act that way. Once again, Raven’s past actions were affecting her life. It was a shitty excuse to behave that way, but everyone was a product of something – it just so happened that she was a picture-perfect product of abandonment.

Why had her mother bothered to have a kid just to leave it behind?

And why had Blake bothered to be so reassuring about being accepting of homosexuality? She’d been open to flirting, comfortable with it, she flirted back. Was it really just the alcohol talking?

So what if it was? She already had conceded that could be just it – but it didn’t make sense to Yang. If she wanted answers, she’d have to talk to Blake. It could ruin their friendship, but at this point, it might be too late to save it, too.

Although…Blake had flirted with her at other times. Maybe there was hope.

The spark of optimism made Yang hastily pick up her phone, but as soon as she tried to call Blake, her nerves returned. She settled for re-reading the text messages she’d received from Sun. It was easy to tell that he’d overheard their argument – it was hard not to – so he hadn’t been grilling her for an explanation. No, he texted her a few hours after she’d taken off to chastise her for making Blake cry.

At least he was still on her side – well, he still was convinced they were perfect for each other. He’d been sending her different ideas on what to do, and she appreciated the effort, but it was easier said than done to fix her mess. A little teamwork sounded appealing at the moment, since her own courage was waning.

Yang started to type out a plea for his help just as the phone came to life. The contact photo she’d set of Blake stared at her – she had refused to smile for the photo – and Yang was just about ready to go into cardiac arrest. An opportunity had just presented itself to her. She could take the chance…no.

She had to.

Yang answered the call, but failed to speak.

“Yang?” Blake’s voice brought her back to Earth. She didn’t sound angry.

“Hey.”

“What- um, what’s up?”

Yang had never heard such a bad attempt at a conversation starter. But it also meant that she wasn’t the only nervous one; nor the only guilty one.

“Oh, y’know,” she said casually, “just…missing my best friend.” She heard a muffled laugh.

“I miss you too,” Blake said quietly. “I know it’s kind of late-”

“Eight-thirty isn’t late,” Yang interrupted.

She heard Blake sigh through the phone. “It is when I’m asking if I can come over.”

“Come over as in, tell me how much of a jerk I am…or impromptu sleepover where we paint our nails and stay up all night talking, come over?”

There was a little contemplative hmm. “How about both?”

Yang finally felt relieved for the first time in days. “I wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway. Come on over.”

“See you in a bit, then,” Blake said, hanging up.

That had been easy. There was no animosity. But had it been too easy?

She quickly updated her little sister of the situation via text, feeling like she could use a bit of Ruby’s everlasting encouragement.

Stepping out onto the curb, Blake took the box that Sun held out to her.

“Thanks for the ride, Sun,” she smiled at him as he gave her a thumbs up, “and the pizza.”

“You know I only did this on the condition that you guys fix this mess and stop avoiding each other! My boss would kill me if he found out, then he’d fire me.”

“You better get going, then.” Blake was grateful that her and Yang’s mutual friend cared enough for both of them to help her out. He delivered pizzas part-time; it was the perfect way to get to Yang’s in the evening and have an icebreaker. She waved goodbye to him and walked up to Qrow’s front door.

Hopefully it won’t be the last time I do, she thought. After knocking, it wasn’t long before she heard the lock click and found herself face to face with the latest person in her life she was afraid of losing.

Steeling her resolve, Blake presented the warm box to Yang, “I brought apology pizza.”

“Was I supposed to get you a bribe too?” Yang asked with a small laugh, taking the food and motioning her inside, out of the chilly air.

Blake felt that their back and forth joking from earlier was a good sign, so she kept it going. “You mean you didn’t?”

She must have sounded more serious than she intended, or Yang was just too nervous to realise it was sarcastic. “No, no! Wait right here,” Yang held up a finger with a big cheesy grin, “one second.”

“Yang-”

“Uh-bup-bup!” Yang disappeared down the hall, still holding the pizza.

Blake busied herself with removing her coat and beanie. “I was joking,” she said to herself.

Arms behind her back, Yang returned in a matter of seconds. It was impressive how easily she was able to think of anything, let alone something believable, to get for her.

Yang flourished, presenting a single purple flower. “Voilà!” She used the French term energetically, holding it out for Blake.

It was a little odd to think that someone like Qrow, or even Yang, had a vase of flowers in the house. Nonetheless, it was a lovely shade of purple; Blake focusing on the petals before realising it was the same colour as Yang’s eyes. Even though she knew Yang hadn’t prepared it, it somehow felt more thoughtful than sauce and cheese on bread.

Blake accepted the flower, fighting the warm flush that was threatening to creep up her neck. She wished she had known that a mere flower could produce butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Merci beaucoup, je l'aime,�� she thanked Yang in French, hopeful that it would distract the blonde from noticing her reddening cheeks.

“Whoa,” Yang gawked, clearly not expecting it. “Pardon your French!”

Blake deliberately rolled her eyes. “Pardon is French, Yang.”

“Sooo, you speak French? That’s kinda hot,” Yang said despite the implications – Blake was glad Yang wasn’t going to be afraid to speak her mind around her, but she definitely had lost the battle with her blush when Yang wiggled her eyebrows.

She allowed herself the satisfaction of talking again in French, just to see Yang’s confusion, as payback.

Yang responded the best way she could to a foreign language. “It’s hot, but I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Blake repeated herself, in English. “Yes, but the pizza is getting cold, and that is a waste of a free pizza.”

“Ah,” Yang replied.

Blake shouldn’t have been surprised, but Yang then spouted a sentence that was assumedly Chinese. Raising her brow, she silently asked for a translation.

“I said, I don’t wanna waste free food,” Yang winked, and led her to the pizza that was sitting in the kitchen next to a vase of the purple flowers her gift had originated from. Perhaps her friend did like floral decoration. As lovely as the flower was, Blake didn’t really have anywhere to hold it, nor did she particularly like the idea of letting it wilt.

Blake carefully slotted its stem back into the vase with its kin. “I’ll retrieve this when I leave.”

Yang looked a little disappointed that Blake’s flower was now just another set of petals in the arrangement again, insignificant.

“I promise.”

Yang nodded after hearing that, and opened up the pizza box, grateful for the edible distraction. She was also pretty hungry; having been fretting too much to bother eating. Consciously, she avoided jumping right into the awkward conversation they were going to have to have. “Where’d you pick up French?”

“I was allowed to choose a secondary language to learn in my home-schooling. Little Blake thought it was the language of romance,” she held back a laugh at the speed Yang took and devoured a slice of pizza.

“Aw,” Yang said still chewing, “what does Blake think about it now she’s all grown up?”

Blake took her own helping of pizza, smiling wistfully. “I think I was young and naïve.”

“Well, that’s just depressing.”

Yang wasn’t wrong. It was sad, how hopeful she’d been as a child; it was a far cry from her present self. “It’s wasn’t meant to be uplifting, Yang.”

The blonde just stared at her. The scrutiny of her gaze was intense. “You are such an enigma, Blake Belladonna.”

“Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved.” Knowing Yang, she was going to take that as a challenge. Yet she seemed to ignore it, picking up the pizza box once again and audibly sighing.

“Let’s go sit down on the couch and get the hard part over with. The suspense is killing me,” Yang walked away, her mood having switched from laid-back to serious.

As they got comfortable, they both fidgeted. Blake wasn’t expecting an apology. People never seemed to say sorry to her – for anything.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I was out of line, about everything.”

Yang was constantly surprising her, and now was no exception. She was different to other people in her life. She isn’t him; Blake felt terrible that she even had to remind herself of that when Yang had never done anything to harm her. She had intended to be the one apologising, and wasn’t going to withhold it just because Yang had also felt guilty.

“And I’m sorry too,” nonetheless, Blake was still clueless about certain details. “I don’t know what I said, but I made you upset, and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

Yang gave her the tiniest hint of a smile. It was enough to calm her frayed nerves, and it was certainly much better than the shouting she’d gotten last time they spoke.

“It’s not what you can’t remember you said,” Yang let out an airy laugh as she took another helping of pizza. “None of that was bad, even if it made me really confused.”

Blake followed her lead, taking her second helping as well. “I didn’t start speaking in French, did I?” She thought it was funny, but on second thought, it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise that she could speak French just now, if she had already done it before.

“No, I meant it made me confused,” Yang said, not bothered by talking with her mouth full of food. She did however, finish chewing before adding quietly, “about my feelings.”

“Oh,” Blake was not quite prepared for such honesty, and giving such a lame response almost made her cringe.

“Yeah,” Yang had a face of discomfort, doing the cringing for them both. “Blake, I’m not mad at you anymore. I was, but only because you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. Still, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

In her mind’s eye, Blake could see that angry version of Yang towering over her in Sun’s kitchen. The blonde had been intimidating, and that brought unpleasant feelings to the surface. It also made her realise that just because she had never experienced it, Yang had always had the ability to act that way. She’d knocked over Cardin Winchester, after all. But, sometimes, words could hurt more than physical violence, and she’d hurt Yang with her own, and vice versa.

She deserved to be scolded; reprimanded with scathing words that would teach her a lesson. Instead, the only thing Yang was doing was seeking her forgiveness. This was what she wanted, but nearly all her life, she’d been taught that humans only wanted to hurt her.

“How can you not be angry with me anymore?”

“My anger was misplaced, Blake,” Yang glanced her way before lilac irises became focused on something distant. “I let it get to me because I have this stupid idea in my head that everyone that tries to disregard me is doing the same thing my mother did when she up and left me. She wasn’t fair to me…but I wasn’t fair to you. You’re not her.”

For once, the strong passion that Yang usually spoke with was gone. Replaced with a gentle sadness that broke Blake’s heart. Yang knew exactly what it was like to have somebody that was supposed to take care of you break that promise; both of them had unintentionally let their past experiences affect them in the present.

“Yang, it’s not stupid, and it’s not your fault.” Blake, against her better judgement, moved closer when Yang became downcast. The need to reassure Yang when she was vulnerable won out over possibly making the same mess all over again.

With the utmost care, Blake placed the palm of her hand on Yang’s cheek, guiding the blonde to look at her in the eye. She tried not to think about how soft her skin was, or that it was warmer than hers, or that if you stared long enough, you would see a ring of deep, rich burgundy surrounding purple irises.

“None of it is your fault,” she repeated, and she’d say it a thousand times over if that was what it took for Yang to believe her. If she could be convinced that her past did not define her, then she owed it to Yang to reiterate that she didn’t do anything do to deserve abandonment.

Blake felt Yang lean ever so slightly into her hand.

It felt like they were frozen in time, along with Blake’s breathing. She didn’t dare move, lest everything shatter before her eyes. She would not let up until Yang knew she meant her words; she would not hurt Yang again.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, Yang was smiling and Blake could breathe again. It wasn’t exuberant, nor was it done gleefully. It was small, but appreciative.

It was beautiful.

Blake embraced Yang; not just because she wanted to, but because she was scared she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from doing something more. She just couldn’t do that to her.

“Thanks, Blake.”

She sensed that Yang was still not quite ready to let go, and she was happy to wait.

“Can I just ask you one thing?”

At Yang’s tentative question, Blake felt her heart beat a little faster. They’d done well so far; come to an understanding, and everything was forgiven. What else was on Yang’s mind?

Upon separation, Blake tried to keep her expression as measured as her words. “That depends on what it is.”

Again, Yang was hesitant. Blake had never seen her this way before. “Why were you so worried about us…about what might’ve happened?”

Upon contemplation, Blake found that it was an easy enough question to answer – but the easy answer was going to make things complicated, so she chose to be truthful without a specifying a reason. “Because, despite what I said or implied, it would have been a very big deal. There is nothing that would change the fact that I trapped you in an uncomfortable situation.”

She hoped Yang understood. At least one of them would understand what was going on in her head. If there was one thing Blake was sure of, it was that she had never been more unsure of herself in her life. She’d laugh at the irony if it wasn’t so frustrating.

“Hey, we all make mistakes sometimes,” Yang reassured her, smiling again like her normal self.

Blake huffed. “What is it about alcohol? It’s like it wants me to embarrass myself.” She hadn’t made any mistakes. Drunk Blake had made all the mistakes! If she didn’t drink at the party, she wouldn’t have acted the way she did.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Blakey!” Yang relaxed into the couch after taking another helping of the dwindling pizza. “I’ve done way worse things with half the amount of booze,” she commented casually.

“Such as?” Blake inquired, grateful that Yang was always trying to cheer her up. She would have been in trouble if Yang had tried to press her for more answers.

“You don’t wanna know, and I don’t wanna remember.”

Yang cried in indignation as Blake swatted her arms for such an incriminating response. “That is hardly reassuring, you party animal.”

“It’s not like I did anything that wild,” Yang added hastily, fending off the Faunus’ hands, “there’s no raunchy stories!”

Golden eyes rolled, a heavy sigh following the halting of Blake’s hands. Then, Yang grinned, looking much too happy for her own good.

“That I can remember!”

“Yang!” Blake cried, resorting to outright shoving the blonde’s shoulder. She knew Yang did these things on purpose, and Yang knew that she would always react this way. The cackling of laughter that always followed was quite telling of that.

“Okay, okay!” Yang said, letting up and rubbing her arm, as if Blake had the capacity to even remotely hurt it. “At least you didn’t call me a jerk like you were supposed to.”

Blake stared at her friend with stern eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. “Oh, there’s still plenty of time for that.”

After the girls’ stomachs were sufficiently stuffed, and they’d embarrassedly recounted how both of their lives were uneventful and lacklustre the past few days – totally unrelated to one another’s absence – there was finally a lull in the conversation.

Yang was caught off guard when Blake decided to save them from an extended silence.

“You know, I was pleasantly surprised to see that bouquet of flowers in the kitchen. I just didn’t take Qrow as the type.”

“Those are mine, actually. I couldn’t resist Carnations ready to bloom, and I bought them for…” Trailing off, Yang never elaborated. Blake didn’t know if she had been about to say they were bought for a specific reason or a specific someone.

“I mean, they’re, uh, a nice colour?”

What Yang wasn’t telling Blake was that on New Year’s Day, hours after she’d regretted how she treated her, she’d gone out to try and find the nicest flowers to apologise to her with. Only after she purchased them had she realised she had no clue where Blake lived, and by then she had deflated and lost all her resolve, so she gave up and brought them home instead – if only to remind her of her immense failure.

“You know what type of flower they are?” Blake was giggling now.

Yang pouted in response. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not,” Blake said, even though she most definitely was. “It’s just cute.”

Yang’s pout was replaced with her arms crossing. It’s cute. “In that case, I’ll only talk about flowers from now on.”

Blake did not laugh at her again, but she was still at least mildly amused. “I had no idea your knowledge of flowers was that extensive.”

“Dad likes to garden,” Yang explained, “me and Ruby had our own sunflowers and roses to take care of too.”

Before she could get made fun of anymore, Yang tried to bring the conversation around to something more useful – useful meaning trying to come up with some sort of way to break it to Blake that she was totally gay for her. It sounded much easier than she knew it was going to be, but at least she had a good segue.

“Speaking of, it’s almost Spring! Do you know what that means?”

Not willing to play a guessing game, Blake’s answer was technically accurate, but lacking in effort. “It means…it’ll be March soon.”

Yang rolled her eyes, fond of the Faunus’ talent for never-ending indifference. “It means you won’t have to suffer in the cold anymore.”

She wanted to remind Blake that the weather would soon be much more suitable to doing activities – outdoor activities (which Yang was also fond of). She had begun to think that it’d be best to bring up the conversation on how she felt while walking around town in the sunshine with Blake; maybe going out for lunch, yada yada yada.

She’d asked Qrow; as he was a long-time resident of the city, if there were any places to visit in the springtime. He’d shrugged, claiming he knew none. That hadn’t necessarily meant there was none, he just didn’t care for parks and the like. All Yang had gotten was the excuse that they always say in Canton you Canton-joy yourself. It was a good pun, but not very helpful. He’d not bothered to ask why, in particular, Yang wanted to go to nice places – but the questioning looks he’d given her said it all.

It was then apparent she had nobody to turn to – well, except her friends. As far as she was aware, Pyrrha, Jaune, and Ren and Nora had grown up in Canton, or in the surrounding area at least. Scarlet and Sage were also an option, and Sun was likely to gather his own friends to help her out (she hoped). That meant she had six knowledgeable people, plus Sun and Neptune, as possible wingmen/women.

Yang was broken from her fantasy thoughts of the perfect date-but-not-a-date by the subject of them.

“I have you, so I don’t have to suffer in the cold at all,” proving herself right, Blake made herself quite at home snuggled up to Yang’s warmth. “Spring is useless to me.”

Yang wasn’t really willing to reject that statement, if she was being chosen over warmer weather. Still, she had to find a convincing truth to get Blake to go out with her. “But haven’t you heard? This Spring will be the best!”

“And where did you hear that?”

“Oh, everyone’s been saying that.” Nobody had been saying that. “It’ll be our first Spring as friends! We can go on walks in pretty parks, and have picnics. Oh, I have this great sandwich with cottage cheese I think you’d like. And there’ll be flowers, butterflies, birds, and bees!”

Yang’s enthusiasm for the flora and fauna was not shared by Blake.

“What is it with you and bees?” The ravenette asked incredulously. It was something she’d been wondering about for a while now – she hadn’t ever met anybody with such an affinity for insects.

The blonde was shocked and appalled, dramatically insisting, “Have you seen bumblebees? They’re so cute!” That was not enough on its own though. “Plus, black and yellow,” Yang gestured between them both, referring to their hair (and general favouritism) of the colours, “is a good combo.”

A small cough came from Blake, though she quickly retorted, “Maybe you don’t need me, then, if you have bees,” rejecting the idea of humouring Yang’s obvious hint about the two of them.

“I do love bees,” Yang cooed. “But, let me tell ya, I always wanted a cat. As a kid, I used to see the Maine coon cats around town and think, ooooh they’re so big and cuddly! I might just get one, if you leave me.”

Blake abruptly snorted, finding that slightly ridiculous. “And it will be black with yellow eyes, and you’ll name it Blake!” She faked excitement and went along with Yang’s plan, if only for a second, just to shoot it down with her trademark sarcasm. “Oh, wait. You already did that.”

Yang harrumphed. “You got me, there.” So she hadn’t realised how dumb that had sounded. At this rate, she’d put her big foot in her big mouth and let something even stupider slip, like the only cat I ever want to cuddle is you, Blake. There was a part of her that thought she’d get in trouble for that, but Blake had made jokes about her feline features before – funny ones, that had made Yang laugh. She’d missed laughing with her.

“Can I just say, I feel a lot better now that we’re friends again,” Yang said aloud, not having considered how it might have sounded. “Not that stopped thinking you were my friend! Just, you know?”

Blake hummed in agreeance. “I know. I never thought we would be friends in the first place, but now I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”

It served as a reminder that Blake held no animosity towards Yang for their differences or the reason for their slight falling out. It also made Yang wonder what the hell was going on. Surely she wasn’t that good of a person to be trusted this much, and certainly not by someone that grew up being told humans like her didn’t even exist.

The only explanations Yang could think of was that she was a better person than she realised, or Blake was holding herself back for some reason. And she’d be damned if she didn’t figure out which one it was.

“Well, if it’s anything like the last couple of days, it’d probably suck.” Yang took her assumptions from how miserable she’d been – and considered herself lucky if Blake felt the same way.

“Is that an indirect way of saying my life would suck without you?”

“Totally,” Yang laughed, “and, since you’ve been gone, I can breathe for the first time!”

“Are we just making obscure references to Kelly Clarkson now?”

“No, Blake, I’m totally serious.” Her constant snickering said otherwise. Abruptly, as she was well capable of, Yang abandoned an amused Blake on the couch to jump onto the coffee table. Taking care to not step in the pizza box as she brought her feet down like she was performing to an arena of people, Yang brought her fist to her mouth, dramatically miming the greatest singing Idol of American history. “How can I put it, you put me on, I even fell for that stupid love song. Yeah, yeah, since you been gone.”

Blake smiled at the blonde that was shimmying on the table; her hair bouncing, legs working in those stupid short shorts of hers. If she wasn’t enjoying watching Yang having fun and her nonsensical antics, she’d have gotten up there too – okay, maybe not. It wasn’t her house, or her table, to dance on.

Yang continued on. After all, they were having fun, and they needed it after everything. “How come I’d never hear you say, I just wanna be with you,” she sung to Blake, knowing it wouldn’t come off as a real question. Even though, deep down, she could relate to it. Yang tried not to think about that, though, pushing it out of her mind.

Blake held up a finger, catching Yang’s attention. “That song was about breaking up.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Yang seemed to deflate, her happy energy fading.

“I enjoyed the show nonetheless. Very entertaining, great stage presence. I’d vote Yang Xiao Long to be the next American Idol.”

“If only they still produced it, and not trashy shows about trashy people’s lives,” Yang sighed, stepping down to the floor, “oh, except for the Bachelor. I’ll binge watch that any day of the week.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Blake replied, not one for reality shows that pitted numerous people against each other for the heart of a single person.

Yang’s phone buzzed with a text in the confines of her bra, the girl almost forgetting she’d put it there (her shorts lacked the luxury of pockets). Earlier, she’d hurriedly messaged Ruby; who’d known about her sulking the whole time, that Blake was trying to make up with her. Her sister had sent a well-wishing back, but not before asking, you mean kiss and make up? And then make-out? with a kissy face as well. Yang appreciated the girl’s positive attitude, but she hated how good Ruby was at poking fun at her.

When she opened the text, it was a simple question:

Have you told her yet?

She was about to reply, until she did a double take at who had sent it, Abs Wukong; complete with a banana emoji next to his contact name (he’d taken the liberty of making his own nickname). She wasn’t even annoyed that Sun was trying to help this time, she was more worried about how he knew that she was with Blake. Another buzz brought another message from the monkey Faunus.

Your welcome for the pizza, btw!

Slowly, her brain made the connection in her head, but before Yang could once again scold Sun for his constant nagging, Blake interrupted her train of thought.

“Are you trying to set your phone on fire by glaring at it?”

Yang realised she had been practically glowering at the screen. At this point, she was not willing to admit that she and Sun had been arguing for almost a month about something that involved Blake without her knowing.

“Sorry, I’ll be one sec,” she began furiously typing while trying to think of a legitimate enough excuse. “Just tryna help Rubes with…” Yang trailed off, as her priority was to reply to Sun.

You’re* as in, you’re going to explain what you know RIGHT NOW!

In a time of improvisation, Yang learned her mental capacity was severely lacking when she finished her sentence with, “…uh, a homework problem.”

Oh, yeah. Real smooth.

“Right,” came Blake’s disbelieving drawl.

Yang chose to ignore her. She didn’t have a better lie than that anyway, even if it was terrible.

Sun replied, I was just the bribery guy I swear! Blake asked me to help win you back ;)

Honestly surprised at that revelation, Yang decided to grant mercy – everything had turned out fine, anyway. Blake had reached out to Sun, of all people, to help her. After the things he’d said about them, and done to them, it didn’t make sense to ask him – unless Blake was hiding something. That was always the answer to things these days, and, it failed to make Yang feel any better. Regardless, if she were to have Sun as support, criticising him wasn’t exactly the way to keep him on her side

I guess I owe you one, banana boy. TTYL. She sent off her last text before tucking her phone away again.

“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just blatantly lie to me, since you look a little conflicted,” Blake had the sincerity to sound concerned; an invitation in her voice that she was open to talking about it, but Yang was in no state to discuss anything just yet.

She needed to plan.

“I’m not lying,” Yang said entirely unconvincingly; voice much too snappy to be credible.

“So, Ruby needs help with homework on Winter break?” Blake questioned in turn, not really caring about what excuse she was getting. Yang was suddenly behaving oddly, and she didn’t like being kept in the dark after recent events. What were the contents of those text messages that’d so drastically changed her mood in a few minutes?

Noting that Yang couldn’t make eye contact with her, she patiently waited for an answer. She wouldn’t demand anything, no. That wasn’t how friendship worked. Especially when Yang allowed her to keep as many secrets as she did. She’d wade through whatever obstacles Yang threw her way slowly, surely, not pushing too hard – because Yang usually caved, anyway.

“She…has extracurricular activities?”

“Yang,” Blake called softly. It failed to garner Yang’s attention, the blonde just standing awkwardly with her hands by her sides. The Faunus, not wanting to risk an argument, dropped the subject. “Are you alright?”

“Actually, I think I need some fresh air,” long legs started inching towards the hallway. “Is- is that okay?”

Truly baffled, Blake wanted nothing more than to pursue the issue and Yang – but she had been in the same position before. Sometimes, people just needed space.

“Sure, Yang. Take your time,” Blake wore what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Fair warning though, if you’re gone too long, I’ll find a book to read and you’ll have that to deal with.”

What she said was in jest, as Yang knew all too well how difficult it was to get Blake Belladonna to put down a book when she was enthralled with a story.

She knew she had said something right when Yang smiled just slightly, replying, “I’ll take my chances.”

And Yang had meant it, because time ticked away slowly; agonisingly, her absence approaching half an hour with Blake having held out on picking up a book. Concluding that she’d given Yang plenty of space and time, she only had two choices – wait even longer, or join her outside. The fact that it was positively freezing outside at night didn’t make her decision any easier, but one of Yang’s discarded hoodies was sitting in the living room.

That about sealed the deal for Blake; she’d be better prepared to sit out there with her friend if need be. Picking up the dark navy hoodie, she realised it was much too large for herself, let alone Yang. On the front, worn letters read Maine State Police; the garment tag had the name T. XIAO LONG scrawled over the care instructions tag in waterproof marker.

It was Taiyang’s, then. Blake wondered if Yang had taken it specifically because she would miss her father, or she had already claimed it before moving – not that it mattered. It was rather unimportant, really. Practically wrapped in the hoodie, Blake ventured to the back of the house in the dark, easily spotting Yang sitting out on the paved patio. It wasn’t hard to see such a blonde mane, even in low light.

Blake opened the door; hinges announcing her presence with a slight creak, and from shadows she slipped into the moonlight. Yang didn’t move, but when Blake entered her peripheral vision and sat next to her on the cold stone she finally addressed her.

“I thought you said I would have to deal with you stuck in a book, not you stealing my clothes.”

She spoke with a fondness that Blake could appreciate. If there was one thing about Yang, it was her uncanny ability to exude a comforting aura.

As usual, Blake danced their familiar conversational waltz, with a witty comeback that was almost instinctual. “Your clothes? Since when does your name start with a T?”

“You can’t steal the hoodie that I already stole,” Yang protested, as if it was obvious.

“Consider it a loan, then.”

Yang simply hummed noncommittally, barely taking the time to look at Blake. Her eyes were trained on the clear sky; stars visible – but not to the extent that it was anything to write home about. Cities tended to have lacklustre star displays. Blake wondered if Yang was used to better views in Maine; she had mentioned she grew up in a small and mountainous town.

While she had the chance, Blake let herself observe Yang uninhibited – it was often hard to catch her distracted like this. Being able to see more than the average human at night had its advantages, but she had to remind her brain that she shouldn’t stare for too long, no matter how much she would have liked to. Blake could have sworn she caught Yang’s eyes reflect a trail of stardust that flickered by in the dark sky.

Proving she wasn’t insane, Yang quietly asked her if she had seen the shooting star.

“Yeah, I did.” Convinced that the universe was intent on teasing her temptations, Blake tore her eyes away before she dug an even deeper hole and fell right in; pining after someone she couldn’t have – that was a very bad idea, and she needed to stop and move on.

“Not that I mind,” Blake tugged on borrowed long sleeves to keep her fingertips warm, “but you’ve been out here a while.”

“I was just thinking about some things, lost track of time, I guess.”

Blake found Yang’s answer too vague to be of any help. “And…are these things bothering you?” She asked an equally vague question, hoping that Yang would bite and play ball with her.

The blonde did bite, but immediately threw the ball back in to Blake’s corner. “Do you want the long answer, or the short answer?”

“Either one is fine.”

“Short answer, yes. Long answer…” Yang paused to think briefly. “Uh, hell yes.”

Despite being struck with the desire to be able to try and fix Yang’s problems, Blake was well aware she was terrible with problem solving; even if she knew what the issue was. There was not much she could do but be empathetic.

“I’m not going to tell you to confide in me, since that’d make me quite the hypocrite. I also don’t have words of encouragement, because I know that some things are just frustratingly difficult to deal with. Talking about it might not solve anything, but it might help you feel better.” Blake had learned that over the past few months. Having someone new to trust was something she’d appreciated after losing many people dear to her heart. “I always feel a little lighter after opening up to you.”

She also had begun to feel a lot more than just lighter; more than what was strictly platonic, when Yang had responded so well to all her history. Her brain, trained by many years of White Fang gospel, rejected those feelings so vehemently. She battled with the confliction that she continued to grow more attached to Yang every time they were alone, especially as of late – her drunkenness on New Year’s Eve had shown cards that she had tried so hard to keep to her chest.

Convinced enough by Blake’s answer, Yang spoke again. “Do you ever have a problem that should be easy to deal with, like, the answer is right in front of you…”

Blake felt a shiver that she would blame on the cold, not on how Yang seemed to be reading her mind.

“…but something is just making it so much more complicated than it needs to be?”

If only you knew, Blake thought. Instead of saying that, though, she tried to be more helpful. “I think that if the answer is easy enough, you should say to hell with whatever is making it so complicated.”

“I think my attitude is rubbing off on you, Blakey,” Yang’s shoulder bumped slightly into Blake’s, their bodies in much closer proximity than before.

A simple thank you would have sufficed, but Yang loved to use that infernal nickname. Blake rolled her eyes. “Oh, drat. I don’t think they’ve found a cure for sunny-little-dragon-itis.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s no cure for your sass. I love it when-”

“I’m feisty. I know,” Blake cut in, as if finishing Yang’s sentence for her would alleviate the constrictions in her chest she knew she would get from the often-stated compliment.

Yang stretched her legs and slowly stood from the ground, briefly swiping any dirt from her behind before reaching a hand down for Blake to help herself up with. “Taking my clothes, giving me advice, and finishing my sentences. What did I do to deserve you?”

Blake, feeling much too embarrassed to worsen her erratic heartbeat and warm cheeks with a real answer, parroted Yang’s response from earlier once she was upright. “Do you want the long answer, or the short answer?”

The laughter that it elicited from Yang, along with the fact that she hadn’t released Blake’s hand from her own, served as the final push over the edge.

Oh, yes, Blake was falling for this wonderful human, and she had no way of stopping it.

Notes: Song: 'Sleepin'' All the delay for this was about 80% in my control, my bad. Most of what I had written for a long time seemed filler-ey (maybe it still reads that way, idk) and felt like I was taking two steps back with their relationship with only one step forward to make up for it. I hope it turned out alright! P.S. see how many references to voice actors of characters you can spot, I put a few in! *wink* Also, I figured people would be watching RWBY though, and wouldn't miss me that much lmao. Hope y'all have been enjoying Volume 5! I certainly have. I post all my thoughts and episode 'reviews' on my personal tumblr. Any updates on my writing progress can be found on my writing tumblr. here's hoping they fuckin mention Blake in the episode that's about to come out!!also I know the real months are almost catching up with my story timeline and I hope real time doesn't get ahead of me! comments will help encourage me <3 thank you for reading!

[kkintle]

The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (a.k.a. Carol)

Or to live against one’s grain, that is degeneration by definition.

Bu the most important point I did not mention and was not thought of by anyone - that is rapport between two men and two women can be absolute and perfect, as it can never be between man and woman, and perhaps some people want just this, as others want that more shifting and uncertain things that happens between men and women. 

The music lived, but the world was dead. And the song would die one day, she thought, but how would the world come back to life? How would its salt come back?

Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now, because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.

“I wonder if I’ll ever want to create anything again,” she said. “What brought this on?” “I mean - what was I ever trying to do but this? I’m happy.”

“What’s going to happen when we get back to New York? It can’t be the same, can it?” “Yes,” Carol said. “Till you get tired of me.”

“Is it? You can just start and stop?” “When you haven’t got a chance,” Carol answered.

What was it to love someone, what was love exactly, and why did it end or not end? Those were real questions, and who could answer them?

“Lines,” Carol said. “I can’t compete. People talk of classics. These lines are classic. A hundred different people will say the same words. There are lines for the mother, lines for the daughter, for the husband and the lover. I’d rather see you dead at my feet. It’s the same play repeated with different casts. What do they say makes a play a classic, Therese?”

“A classic is something with a basic human situation.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. (...) Her answer sounded rather flat, but what other answer was there?

She never saw here, but it was pleasant to have someone to look for in the store. It made all the difference in the world.

Therese struggled against the chair, knowing she was going to succumb to it, and even aware that she was attracted to it for that reason.

Therese dressed herself and went silently out the door. It was easy, after all, simply to open the door and escape. It was easy, she thought, because she was not really escaping at all.

She started to ask him (...), but he didn’t, because what would matter if he did or didn’t?

The name, the address, the town appeared beneath the pencil point like a secret Therese would never forget, like something stamping itself in her memory forever.

She took with the pen poised over the card, thinking of what she might have written - “You are magnificent” or even “I love you” - finally writing quickly the excruciating dull and impersonal: “Special salutations from Frankenberg’s.”

“(...) Do you think you have time?”  “Yes, certainly.” It was twelve-fifteen already. Therese knew she would be terribly late, and it didn’t matter at all.

“I think you are magnificent,” Therese said with the courage of the second drink, not caring how it might sound, because she knew the woman knew anyway. She laughed, putting her head back. It was a sound more beautiful than music.

Therese glanced at her face that was somewhat turned away, and again she knew that instant of half-recognition. And knew, too, that it was not to be believed. She had never seen the woman before. If she had, could she have forgotten?

In the silence, Therese felt they both waited for the other to speak, yet the silence was not an awkward one.

“How is it you live alone?” the woman asked, and before Therese knew it, she had told the woman her life story.  But not in tedious detail. In six sentences, as if it all mattered less to her than a story she had read somewhere. And what did the facts matter after all, whether her mother was French or English or Hungarian, or if her father had been an Irish painter, or a Czechoslovakian lawyer, whether he had been successful or not, or whether her mother had presented her to the Order of St. Margaret as a troublesome, bawling infant, or as a troublesome, melancholy eight-year-old? Or whether she had been happy there. Because she was happy now, starting today. She had no need of parents or background.

“What could be duller than past history!” Therese said, smiling. “Maybe futures that won’t have any history.”

She was still smiling, as if she had just learned how to smile and did not know how to stop. The woman smiled with her, amusedly, and perhaps she was laughing at her, Therese thought.

“What a strange girl you are.” “Why?” “Flung out of space,” Carol said.

As if they were lovers, Therese thought. It would be almost like love, what she felt for Carol, except that Carol was a woman. It was not quite insanity, but it was certainly blissful. A silly word, but how could she possibly be happier than she was now, and had been since Thursday?

The wind was like ice against her teeth. Carol was a quarter of an hour late. If she didn’t come, she would probably keep on waiting, all day and into the night.

Therese looked up at her, unable to bear her eyes now but bearing them nevertheless, not caring if she died that instant, if Carol strangled her, prostrate and vulnerable in her bed, the intruder.

A world was born around her, like a bright forest with a million shimmering leaves.

She remembered reading - even Richard once saying - that love usually dies after two years of marriage. That was a cruel thing, a trick. She tried to imagine Carol’s face, the smell of her perfume, becoming meaningless. But in the first place could she say she was in love with Carol? She had come to a question she could not answer. 

“ (...) The first adventures are usually nothing but a satisfying of curiosity, and after the one keeps repeating the same actions, trying to find - what?  (...) Is there a word? A friend, a companion, or maybe just a sharer. What good are words? I mean, I think people often try to find through sex things that are much easier to find in other ways.”

At any rate, Therese thought, she was happier than she had ever been before. And why worry about defining everything?

“Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?” “Always,” Carol said, smiling too.

“Are you a painter, too?” “No,” Carol said with another smile. “I’m nothing.” “The hardest thing to be.” “Is it?” 

The wine in her head promised music or poetry or truth, but she was stranded on the brink. Therese could not think of a single question that would be proper to ask, because all her questions were so enormous.

“Everything’s not as simple as a lot of combinations,” Therese added.  “Some things don’t react. But everything’s alive.”

“I remember being sure that nothing would happen to me then, but some other time, yes, eventually. And it made me very happy. I thought of all the people who are afraid and hoard things, and themselves, and I thought, when everybody in the world comes to realise what I felt going up the hill, then there’ll be a kind of right economy of living and of using and using up. Do you know what I mean? (...) Did you ever wear out a sweater you particularly liked, and throw it away finally?”

I feel I am in love with you, she had written, and it should be spring. I want the sun throbbing on my head like chords of music. I think of a sun like Beethoven, a wind like Debussy and birdcalls like Stravinsky. But the tempo is all mine. 

An inarticulate anxiety, a desire to know, know anything, for certain, had jammed itself in her throat so for a moment she felt she could hardly breathe. Do you think, do you think, it began. Do you think both of us will die violently someday, be suddenly shut of? But even that question wasn’t definite enough. Perhaps it was a statement after all: I don’t want to die yet without knowing you. 

“It just seems vague,” Therese said. “What does?” “The whole lunch.” Carol gave her a glass. “Some things are always vague, darling.” It was the first time Carol has called her darling. “What things?” Therese asked. She wanted an answer, a definite answer. Carol signed. “A lot of things. The most important things. Taste your drink.”

I feel I stand in a desert with my hands outstretched, and you are raining down upon me. 

“It’s an acquired taste. Acquired tastes are always more pleasant - and hard to get rid if.”

Therese waited by the table while Carol was gone, while time passed indefinitely or maybe not at all, until the door opened and Carol came in again.

She saw Carol’s pale hair across her eyes, and now Carol’s head was close against hers. And she did not have to ask if this was right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect. 

“Are you just a habit?” she asked, smiling, but she heard the resentment in her voice. “You mean it’s nothing but that?”

“I mean responsibilities in the world that other people live in and that might not be yours. Just that now it isn’t, and that’s why in New York I was exactly the wrong person for you to know - because I indulge you and keep you from growing up.” “Why don’t you stop? “I’ll try. The trouble is, I like to indulge you.” “You’re exactly the right person for me to know,” Therese said.” “Am I?”

Nothing about Richard mattered so much to her as the way Carol blotted her face with a towel.

Carol wanted her with her, and whatever happened they would meet it without running. How was it possible to be afraid and in love, Therese thought. The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when he two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle. 

[kek-eek]

Lost| Series Pt.3 | P.P

    Masterlist

AN: Third installment of the Lost series. 

Requested?: No.  Word Count: 1,369 Pairing: Peter Pan / Reader

READ NOW Part 1, Part 2

Summery: (Y/N) has peculiar memories of a place she’s never been to before, nor seen. Or has she? (Y/N) must struggle to remember what happened in the beginnings of her childhood and who exactly this Peter Pan character is.

Water lapped at your feet as you slowly awoke. Your head was fuzzy and your tongue was thick in your mouth. Bright, warm sunshine blazed down on you, contrasting the drizzly cold weather of Storybrooke. Your thoughts moved sluggishly. Sand had seeped into every nook and crevice of your body and it was quite unpleasant. You sat up, propping yourself on your hands and tried to remember where you were. 

    You looked around, feeling a tug of familiarity. A few yards off the beach sat a snarled tangle of greenery. Towering palm trees cast skinny shadows across the white beach while thickly trunked oaks and birches provided a cooler type of shade. Lush vegetation carpeted the jungle-type areas floor, with snakes of brambles, creepers and vibrant flowers that perfumed the air. The water was pristine, something you might find right off of a vacation advertisement. It was a cool shade of teal with foamy white waves that lapped at the shoreline. 

    While the beauty was enchanting, it was also off-putting. There were no other land formations or boats in sight, save for one large masted ship so far off it was just a speck on the horizon. There was an aura to this place that gave it a feeling of awareness, watchfulness. You weren’t quite sure if you liked it or not.      “Hello?” You called out, pushing yourself to your feet.      You dusted off the bottoms of your pajama shorts, reaching one hand up to shade your eyes. There was no movement among the jungle green save for the gentle rustle of leafy trees in the breeze. You released a small sigh, treading away from the beach and towards the undergrowth. 

    “Hello?” You called again, peering into the jungle.     Inside the canopy, it was far darker and you could just make out the sound of eerie birdcall. A shiver ran down your spine and you took a step back, unsure if you wanted to go in there or not. You had no shoes on your feet and there was most definitely a threat more dangerous than a simple thorn in your foot. 

    However, inside there was probably food, shelter. And maybe people. You cast one remorseful look over your shoulder at the salty water that spanned for miles around you before pushing aside a low hanging branch and crossing the threshold of the jungle. 

    Immediately, there was a change. The air grew colder and the father in you journeyed, the darker everything became. Twisted roots threatened to trip you, and gnarled trees hung twisted above your head, devoid of leaves. Evil looking flowers that gave off rotten smells reached out for you, and thorns seemed to move to stab you. You wished you had stayed on the beach. You grew paranoid as you walked, your feet growing sore and your head snapping to every sound that echoed throughout the forest. Had the sun set yet? The canopy of trees was too overgrown to tell. 

    You walked a while longer. It was definitely becoming nightfall, as somehow it became darker in the place with no light. Sometimes you could catch glimpses of the stars between the leaves. It was impossible to navigate here without a map. Sometimes it felt like you were walking in circles. You had begun to talk to yourself, finding that it calmed your mind some.      “I should probably make a fire soon.” You sighed. “Who knows how cold it’ll get at night. Maybe someone’ll see it. And they’ll save me and take me to their little village and give me food.” You brushed your hands along the rough trunks of trees, feeling a little bit hopeless. 

    All of the sudden, chattering cries erupted from behind you. Something flew by your face, then another one, then another one. You could feel the rush of wind and heard a soft thunk just to your right. A clay tipped arrow was lodged in a tree mere inches from your head, its tip salivating with inky black liquid. You whirled around to come face to face with a posse of boys. Some wore coonskins, like in some type of old movie. They all wore ragged clothes of deerskin or roughly hewn fabric, like it had been torn and resowed multiple times. 

    “H-hi.” You greeted timidly, putting your hands up in a peaceful gesture. “My name’s Y/n. I’m looking for shelter. Maybe some food?”      The boys watched Y/n with wide saucer eyes, their bows still poised. Some also sported swords on their belts, others clubs. It was clear that this was not a hospitable group.      “What are your names?” Y/n asked carefully. None of them looked to be above the age of 13 and Y/n took note that there were no girls.      “Where am I?” Y/n continued to fire questions at them and quickly grew disheartened with the lack of answers. 

    “Can you at least tell me who you all are?” She asked.      A boy with curly red hair and freckles lowered his boy completely. The others rustled, obviously displeased with the action.      “We’re the lost boys.” He said. “And this is Neverland.” 

    Your eyebrows furrowed. What were lost boys?      “Where’s Neverland?” You asked.      The lost boys seemed confused by your question, and you tried to rephrase it for their understanding.      “You know...is it part of Hawaii? The caribbean islands? Where is it on a map?”      “What is a Hawaii?” Asked one of the boys.      This muddled you further and you shook your head, choosing to not further push the conversation.      “Never mind.” You sighed. “Who’s in charge here?”      The boys turned and conversed among themselves, some of them pointing at you. Their conversation seemed to grow fierce, crescendoing into yells, before descending once more into whispers. 

    Finally, they broke apart.      “We’ll take you to Pan.” Announced the curly redhead boy. “But don’t try anything funny or we’ll have to kill you.”      You didn’t take the words seriously. Besides, there wasn’t anything to try. You just wanted to find a place to sleep and some food. So, agreeing to their terms, you followed them. You half expected to be climbing over fallen longs and over dense jungle area. But a trail you hadn’t seen cut through the shrubbery. 

    You all seemed to walk forever. Finally, just over the crest of a hill, you spotted a little encampment hidden by a grove of trees. A large bonfire crackled, its flaming tongues reaching to the sky, sending sparks shooting up into the night. Tents were scattered among the trees with one large treehouse perched upon the thick branches of an oak. It looked nice. 

    As all of you descended the hill, one boy with long dark hair that brushed his shoulders split from the group and ran forward on short legs to the camp.      “Pan! Pan!” He called, sending a flutter of birds from a nearby tree.      “She’s here!” The boy disappeared into the camp and you waited for someone to emerge from the camp, but no one came. You entered the canopied area and looked around. The lost boys had made themselves at home, sprawling across logs or around the fire. 

    A tall boy with feathery blond hair and a furious scar across his cheek emerged from the shadows, the hood of what seemed to be a cloak made of burlap donned. He held a club in one slender hand and the other was empty. He was older than the rest, maybe fifteen. Was he Pan?     “Hello...” You greeted cautiously. “Pan? Are you the leader?”      The boys around you burst out laughing and the boy shook his head.      “Silence!” He snapped at the boys, who fell quiet. “I’m Felix. Pan’s on his way.”      Felix looked at you strangely, almost compassionately. It made you uncomfortable and you looked away, rubbing your arm. 

    The boys grew loud and rowdy again, wrestling with each other and talking boisterously.  Felix continued to stare at you. You wanted to ask where this goddamn Pan was and if it was really worth all this trouble to wait for him, when the sharp crunch of footsteps echoed behind you. Turning, you met eyes with a boy about your age. His jaw unhinged at you and his eyebrows dipped. 

    “Y/n?” 

[khiphop-discussions]

SMTM6 ep.4 highlights and comments

(by the way, these posts and many others I do are all live. Not done after I’ve watched the show. Just in case people weren’t sure. Also, there’s spoilers in these let me know if you’d rather me pull them back a bit on future ones or keep this as sort of a recap type thing. I alternate each season depending on what you guys want.)

Hash Swan vs Jin Doggae. Damn, swan basically said he picked someone easy. He came in second place on S1, I think it’s possible that Swan has never even seen Jin cause a lot of the guys are picking people they don’t even know just to get embarrassed when they lose lol. I think Swan can beat him though.

Jin should win this bu I think it’s gonna come to personal preference. This is ALWAYS how Swan’s 1v1′s go. 

I don’t think the mistakes were all that noticeable but I’m sure stuff was edited. These things always look difference on the show vs when they release the full one on Youtube. Round goes to Swan.

Jin’s smirk wasn’t even that bad.

One’s boyfriend that don’t claim him is up. LOL hanhae.

He picked Los? Whoa....I’m sure he just wants to put on a legendary battle.

Hanhae doesn’t make trap? Nor does Los?....anyway...

All the dramatic editing to make it look like Hanhae and Los hate each other lol

Damn, Hanhae REALLY improved and he was already good. He EASILY beats Los imo. FUCK. Talk about unexpected...

Hanhae takes the W.

Sleepy vs Zesty. Sleepy’s trying to buy them coffee but his card got declined. They got the drinks though lol. Zesty is good. Don’t know why he picked him other than having his hand raised.

Sleepy screwed up but recovered. I think they might still go Zesty though...

I’d go Sleepy. They went Sleepy too.

For some weird reason I thought it was gonna be Nucksal vs Heesun lol

Nucksal vs A-to though. Honestly, I’d have probably chosen him too just to share the stage with my favorite k-rapper lol

A-To is dope and Nucksal likes her too. Nucksal picked her.

FUCK. She messed up so she’ll go home. She messed up twice but everybody REALLY is supporting her wanting her to do well.

Myundo vs Punchnello (and his eyebrows). They were the only 2 left so they battled by default.

Why did they say “ohhhh” for that first bar Punch rapped? That shit was lame and weird on the beat. The rest was alright but definitely not that one lol

I’ll go Punch but Myundo did improve quite a bit. He can do more than just trap music thank god.

Does it really matter how many bars it was? lol

What is this birdcalling ass niggas name? 

Woodie Gochild is his name lol. Woodie Gochild vs So hyunsung

LOL this is lowkey One and Hanhae again but less attractive and more headass.

Let Woodie dance he tryna turn up damn lol. He’s probably nervous.

Neither of them are that good at rapping but at least they are entertaining as fuck. But Woodie passed.

JJK vs Poy? He looks like a poor version of Ja Mezz and I didn’t think that was possible since Ja Mezz is the poor version of...nevermind. 

I actually like Ja Mezz btw so that’s just a friendly joke lol

Come on JJK, he’s not that good. You’re much better than him. I think that lyrical mistake might cost him but even with it he was better.

On to part 2. This episode is long as hell it seems like! Almost an hour in and we still have producer performances and team choices left I think.

Olltii vs Day. Olltii is where I’m going. I think the judges will go the same. They did.

I knew it was gonna be a tie lol. Every time it’s a tie they never show us until later lol (Punch vs Myundo)

Punch keeps making it “easier” for Myundo. It looks nice but it still feels like he’s doing it because he thinks he so much better that he can’t be disadvantaged no matter what lol.

This ALWAYS happens with Myundo. He gets a tie when he should have lost and thus passes further with the rematch...let’s see how this works out.

It’s a shame they didn’t just vote Punch because he was better on that 1st round.

His mother’s condition is critical and that’s why he was shook.

Woochan my BOY passed. Young B too obviously. Daeil as well.

Bruh, they really should give the contestants fail buttons during the producer rounds lol

The later you go the more of an advantage you have because people are gonna remember you more. I wonder why they decided to put the older groups first and the newer more trendy groups last. Maybe it was random but I feel like the more popular ones should have went first to balance shit out. I’m guessing the planned it out as a regular concert though (the more popular, trendy one go last as “headliners” or whatever).

[kinkykinard]

We’re in Love, Aren’t We?

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Reader X Leonard McCoy. Prompt:  For @trekken81’s Ed Sheeran Divide song challenge – Hearts Don’t Break Around Here. Word Count: 1838 Warnings: very minor injury. Rating: All ages. Genre: Fluff. Summary: Leonard and reader go on a hike and figure out their feelings for one another. Author’s Note: Beta’d by the lovely @starshiphufflebadger.  This was originally conceived of as a McKirk fic, but as the challenge was for a reader insert, that’s what it became.  I may still write this as McKirk one day, with a different premise.  Enjoy!

We’re in Love, Aren’t We?

Every night I'll kiss you you'll say in my ear Oh we're in love aren't we? Hands in your hair, fingers and thumbs baby I feel safe when you're holding me near Love the way that you conquer your fear You know hearts don't break around here You groan at the ache in your thighs and buttocks as you plant one foot in front of the other on what Leonard promises is the last stretch of the hike on the way to the picnic site.  The hiking boots he had insisted you wear for the trip are rubbing you in exactly the wrong way and you can’t wait to just lie down somewhere.  You don’t even care whether it’s on the blanket you’ve brought along or on the bare earth beneath your feet, just as long as you’re horizontal, you’ll be happy. “Almost there, sugar,” Leonard assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder as he falls into step with you from where he’d been bringing up the rear just in case you lost your balance on the sheer slope. The way your muscles are screaming at you from the exertion makes you wonder why you had ever agreed to go hiking during your shore leave in the first place.  You’ve never been one for nature, and the whole idea lacked romance in your opinion, but Leonard had seemed so excited to bring you to one of his favorite places in the world that you just hadn’t been able to resist.  Instead, you’re now filing your current predicament away for use in the future, for any time he suggests anything crazy again and you find yourself being won over by those earnest eyes.

You spy the land flattening out another ten feet ahead of you and you’re eternally grateful as the burn in your lungs becomes almost overwhelming.  You force yourself up the last few feet of your hike, barely even noticing the hand that has wrapped itself around one of yours as you crest the hill and stop moving, sucking in a colossal lungful of air.

“Here we are,” Leonard says brightly, his voice a little breathless.

He sweeps an arm out in front of him, gesturing to the panorama before you.  A sparkling, blue-green lake sits in the middle of a large meadow full of grasses and wildflowers, all gently blowing and dancing in the breeze.  In the lake’s waters, the mountain peak beyond its shores is reflected, distorted and crowned by a few fine, wispy clouds hanging overhead.  The air smells clean and cold, like winter is coming, but the sun that beats down on your skin is warm, flushing your cheeks and causing perspiration to bead on your forehead.  It’s far more romantic than anything you thought you’d see on the trip and you look over at Leonard in wonderment.

“This is amazing,” you murmur, your words nearly lost among your still-labored breaths.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Leonard chuckles softly and puts a hand on your backpack, pushing you forward toward a worn patch of dirt near the lakeshore - evidence of past occupation by other hikers.

“You’ll like it even better once we get all set up,” he says warmly, moving to kneel in the grass, slipping his pack off of his shoulders.

He begins to unpack the blanket and, once you’ve recovered some of your faculties, you join him to lend a hand. Between the two of you, it doesn’t take long to lay out the lunch you’ve packed, uncork the bottle of wine, and lay out a couple of cushions to make the picnic blanket a little more homey.

Once everything is in place, you finally get the chance to relax.  Sitting on the edge of the blanket, you untie your hiking boots and slip them off, wiggling your toes and groaning in mingled ecstasy and displeasure: ecstasy because your poor, blistered feet are finally getting a chance to breathe, and displeasure because you know putting your boots back on later, once your feet have had a chance to swell a bit in the wake of all the hiking, will be pure, unadulterated agony. Setting your boots aside, you shift over to sit closer to the middle of the blanket, stretching your legs out and tipping your head back so that the sun can hit you just right.  As you breathe in the fresh, clean mountain air you can hear Leonard tinkering with the wine bottle beside you, uncorking it easily before pouring two stemless globes full, holding one out to you. “A toast,” he says brightly.  “To making it all the way out here, and to us.” You smile briefly, accepting the proffered glass and clinking it against his before taking a long draught from the globe. The wine is sweeter than most reds you’ve had in past and you savor it for a moment, enjoying the buzz that almost immediately ripples through your nerve endings in the wake of the alcohol. “To us,” you echo, your voice soft and a little sad. If Leonard notices, he shows no sign as he reaches for your backpack, unpacking the lunch you’ve brought along.  You muse as you watch him, your heart beating heavily in your suddenly-hollow chest.  You feel so much for him, and it’s so intense it’s like the heat of a thousand suns prickling beneath your skin.  Turning your head away from him to clear your thinking, doing your best to forget how badly you’ve had your heart broken in the past, you stare out across the water instead.  Several minutes pass in silence before Leonard’s voice draws you out of your reverie, his hand landing on your thigh. “What’s on your mind, sugar?”  He asks softly, having clued into the fact that something’s not quite right. You wiggle your toes and stare distractedly at your feet “I should have broken those boots in before we came out here,” you murmur. You can feel the sympathy in Leonard’s expression. “Blisters?”  He asks. You nod. “Well it’s lucky for you that I thought of everything, then,” he says with a chuckle.  “Here, put your feet in my lap.” You raise a querying eyebrow at him but do as he asks, keeping your gaze averted and sitting back, propped up on your palms.  You hiss as he peels your socks off, exposing your raw skin to the breeze, and relax again as he gently turns each of your feet this way and that, examining the injuries from your boots.  He works in silence once he’s satisfied that he’s made not of all of the raw spots, applying a numbing salve and covering each blister with a thin layer of moleskin to prevent reaggravation on the hike back.  Once he’s done, he shifts your feet off of his lap, moving to your side instead, rubbing a gentle hand along your spine, soothing you. “Something tells me those blisters aren’t all that’s got your goat,” Leonard murmurs, leaning in close. Silence stretches between the two of you again as you consider your situation.  Tears sting at your eyes as you’re torn between thoughts of forever with the man next to you and others of heartbreak and sorrow.  You’ve been hurt so badly in the past, and so many times, that trust doesn’t come easily and you keep your heart closely guarded.  Sure, you’ve shared one another’s beds and many a romantic dinner, but you’d avoided getting too close, too intimate, too involved. “We’re in love, aren’t we?”  You blurt suddenly, unable to hold the words in any longer. To your relief, Leonard doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t seem taken aback. “Well, I know how I feel about you,” Leonard says softly.  “But I’d like to know whether you return my sentiments.” Turning to face him at long last, you search his deep, soulful, hazel eyes.  There’s a sincerity there, a genuineness of feeling that softens your resolve a little bit and you sag under the weight of your guarding.  Your shoulders slump a little and you feel Leonard’s arm encircle your shoulders, pulling you in closer to him.  He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and you sigh lightly, swallowing thickly around the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat at the thought that Leonard McCoy actually loves you. “Hell,” you breathe, gathering the courage you need for your next words.  “Yeah, I do. I love you.” “I love you, too, Y/N,” Leonard assures you, pulling you into an embrace, splaying his palms on your back.  “I can tell you’ve been hurt before, and if it takes me a decade to earn your trust then I’ll make every moment count. You’re safe with me, sweetheart.” You lean into his embrace, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent, and for the first time since the beginning of your relationship you allow yourself to feel protected.  Taking in a deep, slow breath, you eventually pull away - albeit reluctantly - and take another draught from your wineglass. “I’m holding you to that, Doctor,” you say, your tone and expression equally grave, but quickly lost in a smile. You shiver as you suddenly feel Leonard’s hand land on your back and slip up your neck before running through your hair. Goosebumps erupt on your shoulders and you gasp softly at the sensation.  His fingers feel heavenly combing through your loose locks and you’re relieved as the tension leaves your body, your muscles slackening and your posture sagging a little bit. A birdcall echoes around you and you blink the sun out of your eyes as you look up overhead, watching a small group of songbirds dance, dart, and twirl through the air, fluttering off into the distance. A chill ripples through you as a breeze stirs up around you and a cloud drifts over the sun, casting you and Leonard in a sudden shade.  You’re not chilled for long, though, as Leonard shifts so he’s sitting behind you, his legs stretched out on either side of yours, his chest pressed to your back. His broad palms sweep up and down your arms, warming you quickly, and you relax back into him.  He rests his chin atop your head as you look out over the lake and his touch on your arms softens as the sun peeks back out once more, his fingertips grazing your skin. “I’m not sure I’m ready for forever,” you say suddenly, hurriedly, thoughts of anxiety and hesitation evidently still active in the back of your mind. “I’m not asking for it right now,” Leonard murmurs softly in response.  “Let’s just take it one day at a time for now, see where this takes us.” Now that you’re on the same page, your mind goes quiet at last.  You rest a palm gently on one of the thighs enveloping your legs and stroke in a rhythm not unlike the one Leonard is using on your arms.  As you look out over the water again, you feel a hope unlike any that you’ve felt since the start of your last relationship.  It’s a hope for a long, secure, loving future, and a safe space free from heartache.  You know you’re in good hands with Leonard, and that your heart won’t break around here.

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