#Probably over thinking this a tad; but how else do you construct a new self w/o deconstructing the current one :p

[selvepnea]

Something something the fangs I got may represent some repressed feelings :(

[sd1970x]

Marinette, work in progress - Ch4 - BlueCollar

Read also on AO3: here first chapter | previous chapter | next chapter

Marinette took the short path home as she hopped, still transformed, towards her balcony. No sooner than reaching her room, she thrust herself into her bed and her face into her pillow.

“Spots off.”

The suit dissolved and Tikki emerged, hovering about. She was quick to pick up on Marinette’s distress.

“Marinette, is everything okay?”

Marinette turned her head towards Tikki, peeking just a tad out.

"No.” She tersely replied, then turned away again. “I’m not fit to be a superheroine.”

“What? Why would you say that?” Tikki shuddered.

“Why? because I’m not even a real girl and I nearly failed because of that!”

Tikki just stared back, wordlessly.Marinette slowly rose up and sat upright at her bed.

“If being a girl is so much better for me… why wasn’t I just born one? Maybe I should just accept my fate. I can’t win this one.”

Marinette tried to look away as Tikki hovered in front of her, denying her the option to end the conversation just yet.

“Maybe fate has crossed your path with the miraculous because of that? Because your burning desire to be a girl means something?”

Marinette looked back, contemplating Tikki’s words.

“All it means is that I’m a wannabe and that I’ll end up embarrassing everyone who believes in me. Like Alya and Mylene.”

Marinette recalled the conversation back at school lunch. Alya and Mylene sure seemed to think very highly of her.

“They sure don’t seem to think that way, and they should know a thing or two about girl power.”

That much was true, even Marinette had to admit it.

I don’t know Alya and Mylene that much and yet they’ve both already managed to impress me, Alya for standing up to Chloe and Mylene for standing up for what counts in this city. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to brush off their instincts, and take their trust as affirmation.

“What is it that makes you think you’re a boy, Marinette?”

Marinette’s mind screeched to a halt.

I might not be a true-born girl… but I’m not a boy either. What the hell am I, again?

“I… I don’t know anymore.” she whispered and Tikki smiled.

Marinette flared up her computer and started looking at some of her designs. She followed by reading some of her hidden computer diary entries.

The more she looked at her designs, the more she read into her diary entries, the muddier the answer in her mind became.

Maybe these tell the story of what I am better than everything else? What is it that makes a design “a girl’s design”? Or a story “a boy’s story”?

Before she noticed it, it was time for dinner, followed by shower and bedtime.

---

It was the last thing Marinette thought would happen to her. Chloe was the first to point at her and explode into mocking laughter, interrupting the morning’s lesson.

“Look at Marin! What’s Gay-boy doing with pink trousers in class?”

Instinctively she tried to cup her breasts, but they weren’t there anymore.

Oh no… the magic… it… dissipated? But… how? Why?

Soon enough, most of the class burst into laughter. She braved a look at herself and her heart sank.

She was back in her boy-suit, the one she thought she had discarded already. The sensation of body hair that she did not miss, back to haunt her.

Everyone laughed at her. Even her teacher! Caline bustier, otherwise a fair and decent teacher, joining up with class, pointing at her.

No. No no no. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!

She tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came about. She tried to run away, but she felt like her muscles betrayed her. The sounds of laughter echoed around her, piercing her soul.

“Gay-Boy! Gay-Boy in pink!”

She decided she must gather her energy and leave class, but felt herself jerked upwards instead.

Into a seating position, in her bed, covered in cold sweat and panting heavily.

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki flew by, worried.

“It was a nightmare.” she blurted out.

A most vivid one, that’s bound to come to life as soon as the magic dissipates.

Marinette woke up early that day, still exhausted from the night. The sight of herself in the mirror did quite a bit to cheer her up.

It’s not a dream after all. Maybe if I hold onto it, it won’t slip from my grip.

She combed and tied her hair neatly, brushed her teeth and went downstairs to have her breakfast.

“At least you won’t be late today, honey.” Her mom smiled at her.

Having a properly-paced, non-rushed breakfast also proved helpful for her mood. She walked towards school, hoping that the new day would bring relief from yesterday’s battle and that awful night.

---

Mylene was one of the first to enter class, picking up the aptitude test results from the teacher’s desk.

While she feared many things, math wasn’t one of them. The good grades were sure to make her parents happy and perhaps more lenient in letting her go out on more activities like she had wanted.

Then again, someone next to her was clearly unhappy about their test results.

Ivan seemed to be very happy to see her come over, but immediately switched his looks back to his test results and gloominess was quick to take hold.

“What’s the matter, Ivan?”

Ivan paused before spitting it out.

“I… barely passed it. I was this close to flunking it. I’m no good at maths.”

Chloe kept filing her nails as she overheard their conversation.

“Oh, don’t you worry about it, there would still be plenty of higher education options available for people like you.” she commented.

Ivan looked at her, dumbfounded, while Mylene eyed Chloe suspiciously.

What’s she planning? Is it a rare moment of kindness, or a ploy to make things worse?

“ Ecole-de-imbecile , of course. You’ll eke out a meager living hauling boxes for people like me who will run daddy’s hotel.”

And to think I believed it could be the first for even a split of a second.

Ivan grit his teeth and looked like he was about to respond, then looked at his test results again.

“... Up until you become totally useless, at which point you’ll probably find yourself homeless in the streets, your wife dumping you, if you ever had one in the first place. Guess that’s too bad.”

“Chloe, you’re the meanest! Ivan is-” Mylene tried to protest but Chloe was quick to shut her down.

“-a loser, and the world doesn’t need losers in it. Sorry, that’s just how it is.”

Ivan clenched his fist and ran off to the locker room. Mylene looked at Chloe accusingly for a brief moment, only to refocus her attention on following up on Ivan.

---

Light intruded upon Hawk Moth’s domain as his senses picked up on a victim of choice.

“Fear of the future. Fear of who you may become. Uncertainty. Go forth, my precious akuma, let his self-doubt seal the fate for Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

---

Marinette was walking through the corridor, looking at her aptitude test report card, when Ivan nearly bumped into her. She dodged it at the last moment and was quite surprised when Ivan said nothing.

He is usually very nice and polite, despite his brutish looks. That’s not like him not to apologize.

Something must have happened. This doesn’t look good.

Before she had much time to dwell on it, Mylene came about, looking around.

“Marinette, have you seen Ivan?”

“Yeah, he went that way.” She said as she pointed out the direction. “Has anything happened?”

“I’m tempted to just say ‘Chloe happened’”, Mylene replied, “but she’s outdone even herself.

She told Ivan his test results set him for a life of failure.”

“How mean!”

Mylene nodded.

“He deserves so much better than that.”

With that, she rushed forwards to search for Ivan, leaving Marinette behind with more than one thing to think about.

Does this one test really set up our fate for the future?

Of course not! I mean, I’m sure Ivan can change it!

Are we the masters of our own fate, or has it been written for us?

Then again…

She looked at her hands and imaginary boy hands were superimposed on them.

Is my fate in my own hands?

---

The butterfly easily homed on the sobbing student in the locker room, landing on a decorative pin he was wearing.

“ BlueCollar , I am Hawk Moth. Your fate has been rewritten, your destiny now changed. You shall lead a revolution.”

---

Marinette was just leaving class as a confrontation outside on the street drew her attention. It was Chloe and her dad, the mayor, arguing with a figure that seemed like a large and sturdy construction worker.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your job?” Chloe yelled at the figure. “Daddy, tell him!”

“How insolent. I don’t report to you. I’m BlueCollar and I report to Hawk Moth.”

Chloe and the mayor shuddered at these words and tried to back away slowly, but BlueCollar wouldn’t stop.

“Maybe you two will finally do something useful for the people of Paris!” BlueCollar went on and a blue streak of energy engulfed the two of them.

Chloe found herself donning a sanitation worker’s uniform and holding a broom. In a moment, magical compulsion forced her to start cleaning the street, much to BlueCollar’s satisfaction.

Marinette was quick to hide in a nearby alley.

“We’re needed. Time to transform! Tikki, spots on!”

Marinette emerged from the alley, with Chat Noir arriving at the scene at the exact same time.

“Please, Ladybug, Chat Noir, save us from this fate!” Chloe managed to say before BlueCollar’s magical compulsion forced her to tend to her work again.

Marinette barely managed to stifle her giggle.

Isn’t that some poetic justice out there. A taste of your own medicine, Chloe. Maybe a few hours of work would do you good.

Marinette and Chat Noir both hopped on to a higher ground to make plans. Then again, one of them had plans the other probably did not think of.

“So. BlueCollar’s power is making people work for him. We must avoid his strike at all costs.” Marinette remarked.

“We have more than enough work without his powers employing us. But would you like to go for coffee once our work is done?”

Marinette froze in place as she tried to digest his words.

“Huh? Are you… asking me out?”

He flashed a grin.

“Well, all work and no play is a major hassle. I’m a playful cat, try me”

He can’t be serious. My god, what’s wrong with him?

“A playful cat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And your game is... prowling about, hunting down a superheroine for a superhero.”

“Yep.”

“Swooping someone, from partner to lover. Oh, such brag rights! A game with a prize!”

“I don’t see why not. If you’re into it...” he smiled.

My god. He really knows no limit.

Marinette poked him in his chest.

“Do I look like I’m some prize to be won, partner?”

His smile faded in an instant.

“We save Paris together. Save your romantic aspirations for someone else.”

She then pointed his head towards BlueCollar as he went towards the city hall. “Does this look like a game to you? No? Then this should be your focus.”

Both Marinette and Chat Noir darted down to confront BlueCollar, avoiding his zaps successfully but making little headway.

Chat Noir managed to strike him with his baton, only to feel the recoil as he proved far too sturdy to be impacted. Marinette fared pretty much the same, as he simply flung her away with her own yo-yo.

Making things worse, they were quickly approached by a league of BlueCollar’s supporting workers, armed with whatever they were using for their jobs.

“Looks like we need some pest control.” One of them remarked as he eyed Marinette.

“And a feral cat problem to handle.” another added, looking at Chat Noir.

“Hate to disappoint. I’m fully domesticated. Cataclysm!” Chat Noir called it as he touched the ground, creating a chasm and allowing both Marinette and him to escape to safety.

“Well, we don’t have much time, do we?” Chat remarked and Marinette nodded in agreement.

“It’s time for my thing, then. Lucky charm!” she called it, cupping her hands to grab a falling...

״Miner’s helmet? What am I going to do with that?״

She briefly flicked its headlight on, then flicked it off.

“Okay, Chat, here’s the plan…”

---

BlueCollar kept roaming the streets, until something caught his eye. It was an open manhole in the middle of the road, with an electricity cable running into it.

Clearly, someone was doing maintenance work in a negligent and extremely unsafe manner. No markings whatsoever, no signs to ward off pedestrians and no one to call should help be required.

As BlueCollar approached the manhole, Chat Noir jumped downwards from a nearby building and landed forcefully on his back. BlueCollar fell forwards and upside down, finding himself jammed into the hole, unable to move.

The hole was dark as night, although in a moment he was blinded by what seemed to be a flashlight. A short while afterwards, he managed to see it for what it was - Ladybug wearing a miner’s helmet.

“This site does employ some workplace safety” she commented as she walked slowly towards him. He could only watch as she removed his collar and broke it in two, releasing the akuma.

“No more evildoing for you, little akuma. Time to de-evilize!” she called it, as she whipped her yo-yo and whisked it away.

“Miraculous… Ladybug!”

As she flung the helmet upwards, it burst into a stream of Ladybugs, releasing all those bound to work by BlueCollar’s powers, including Chloe and her father.

---

“Pound it!” Ladybug offered her hand for a fistbump, and Adrien’s was quick to respond in like.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he offered cautiously.

“It was a close call” she replied, her face showing little emotion, but she quickly softened. “But you do make a great partner. Respect my limits and it will stay that way.”

She followed by a short-lived smile, then hopped away and disappeared.

Adrien’s eyes followed her wake until she was gone from his sight. He breathed in relief, then sighed.

“I guess it’s just partners then. Even if I…”

Even if I want it to be more than that.

I’ve met the girl of my dreams… and I nearly ruined everything.

Is there any way I can get her to see me as more than that? Or are we fated to remain no more than partners?

---

A now de-akumatized Ivan made his way back to class, where Mylene was quick to warmly greet him.

“I’m sorry, Ivan. It’s just one test! And if you want, I’d love to help you with maths.”

“You would? That’s… that’s so wonderful!” Ivan beamed at her words, his joy clear to everyone around. Yet Mylene had more to say.

“But for your own good, you really shouldn’t let Chloe get to you! You’re the kindest person I know and that’s worth so much more.”

“I usually don’t… it’s just that… well…”

Ivan was blushing furiously now as he picked his words.

“I had plans to confess to a girl today and then Chloe just sapped all my confidence.”

“Oh? Who would that be? I-If you don’t mind me asking...”

There was a short pause before Ivan managed to say it.

“It’s you.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” She replied, a wide grin to her face. A moment later, she hugged him tight and his blush deepened by two shades.

“Aww, these two are meant to be together!” Rose said as she dug herself into Juleka’s arm.

---

Marinette smiled as Ivan and Mylene hugged each other, some of their elation sweeping her as well.

Maybe some of our fate lies in the hands of others who love us, that’s not so bad too now is it?

What does fate have in for me?

I seriously hope it’s more of an ‘Adrien’ direction than a ‘Chat Noir’ one!

Chat’s a good partner… and that’s where the line gets drawn.

But Adrien… He’s something special. I got to see a glimpse of a soul so pure.

It’s time for me to take fate into my own hands, and I will.

A girl’s fate.

[tortoisesshells]

Buying Time (2/6, probably, who knows, ~2,800 words, some salty language and more ways to not deal with grief)

Customs and Duties, but make it a modern!fake-dating AU with a severe lack of fake dating and more historical minutiae than any self-respecting modern AU should have; Part the Second, in which neither party has any luck with antique clocks, despite planned and unplanned meetings.

He never did see that coat again. Either someone had taken it, or maybe it had somehow found its way into the water that seemed omnipresent in that place – tidal creeks and ponds, the little river, the sea itself. One of life’s mysteries. There were others, from that day in January, but it was easier to think about the coat he’d lost.

Or why that particular shop: there was a bookstore nearby, and frankly that seemed a better place to finish sobering up before driving on to New York – where he would, in all likelihood, end up maudlin drunk on Andy Gillette’s couch, but at least get the thin satisfaction of someone worrying about him. At any road, he’d looked at the sign for S. J. Treat & E. C. Treat, Antiques – quaint, with a little hour-glass carved next to the names, and found himself inside – where he’d proceeded to make a complete ass of himself before the proprietor, who, contrary to what a sensible person would have done, sat him in a (modern) chair behind the counter and poured coffee from a thermos that might have actually have been an antique, listened to him ramble about Decatur and Barron because he’d been thinking that maybe his ancestors had been onto something, with their elaborate and ritualized pretenses for beating the shit out of each other over “honor” – and, after she was satisfied he was safe to drive, Mrs. Treat made sure he had  his keys, wallet, phone, and a water bottle before wishing him well. 

When he returned to Boston, he penned a note of thanks, knowing that it was wholly inadequate. Then, after his series of stilted emails with Elizabeth over the disposition of the apartment and everything in it, he’d had the idea.

*

Mrs. Treat politely insisted he pick the restaurant , since he was paying, and he insisted that she pick the restaurant, as she knew the area better than him. They probably would have stood there in the square batting courtesies back and forth like a deranged game of shuttlecock, before he made a tentative suggestion – which, contrary to her earlier assertions that she wasn’t picky – Mrs. Treat scoffed at as both too trendy and too loud, and steered them off in the direction of an unassuming shingle-sided tavern he hadn’t looked twice at on his initial and inebriated visit.

“It’ll be reasonably quiet,” she said, “And there’s a decent chance they’ve got the Franklin stove going.”

With that ringing endorsement, she ushered him into the bar, waved to the bartender, and pointed to a table that was, indeed, right next to an ancient woodstove – and sat in the chair closest to it.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Treat said, by way of an apology, “I get cold easily.”

“Not at all,” he replied, looking around the low-ceilinged room. “The decoration is …”

“A little idiosyncratic?”

He nodded.

“It’s what the tourists expect, I think.”

“They expect harpoons?”

“They’re not used,” Mrs. Treat said, with an expression that was very nearly a smile, “You’d be able to tell if they were. There’s a lot to be said about common misconceptions regarding 18th and 19th century maritime activity in this neck of the woods – or the coast, as the case may be – but that’s not what we came here to talk about.”

James privately wondered how you went about telling how a harpoon had been used, but missed his chance to ask: Mrs. Treat briskly arranged the tablet, folders, and notepads on the table, pausing only for the waitress to take their lunch order. Mrs. Treat recommended the scallops, and a local brewery with atrociously punned names, but he noted she only ordered a sandwich for herself. He thought of reminding her that he had asked her to find a clock that might very well cost more than a car and he wasn’t going to begrudge her a pint, but just as quickly scrapped the idea as horrifyingly bad-mannered.  She might not drink, after all. Or hate seafood.

“I’ll start with the bad news: the sum total of it is, I haven’t found your Williams shelf clock.”

“I assumed so.”

“I would get in touch right away if I had, absolutely. But I haven’t.”

Watching her twist her wedding band, he cleared his throat and asked: “Any good news?”

Mrs. Treat stopped her fidgeting and laughed. “The good news is that I can probably teach a specialist course on clock manufacture to 1850? I found more information on the Boston concern that Williams tended to purchase his clock-faces from, the history of brass rolling mills in New England – mostly Connecticut, by the way, none of your Hub nonsense here – though I don’t know for sure if Williams bought from Abel Porter and Co. or imported from England. You said your clock was early 18-teens, which makes trade with Britain a tad unlikely. There’s more information on the mahogany trade in there, as well. Book review for a monograph creatively titled Mahogany, by a Dr. Anderson – I suppose that’s part of the commodities trend where every other book was titled Cod or Pepper or whatever have you – in case you’re interested. Oh, and did you know that Williams once rented shop-room that had previously been occupied by a silversmith named Zenas Fearing?” She pushed a full manila folder across the table to him.

“If you want it,” she said, quickly, “I have all this in scans and pdfs as well, I can just email it to you. But I prefer hard copies.”

He took the folder and leafed through the pages, her annotations in red standing out against the page. “At this rate, Mrs. Treat, I’ll be able to construct it myself.”

“You might consider it. Shelf clocks are more common by the Federal period, but they’re still rare. If you could find a good source for Honduran mahogany you’d be able to make a pretty close replica to an original. Or just 3D print it, I guess.”

She sat back in her chair and swirled the ice around her glass with an apologetic smile. “I want to be clear, Mr. Norrington. I do believe that David Williams likely made multiple clocks of the type you’re describing, and I do believe that several have survived the last two centuries, and will come up for sale if they’re not already – these things can get misidentified. My failure isn’t an indication that it doesn’t exist, only – hmm. I say this as a professional: I appreciate your business and the trust you’ve put in me, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least tell you to consider going through a specialist. I don’t know clocks as well as I do desks and highboys.”

When he said he had consulted a specialist, Mrs. Treat cocked her head, and frowned. “Well. That’s good.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that – she didn’t seem upset or offended, more puzzled than anything. He hadn’t meant it as an insult to her professional abilities; the dealers he had consulted spoke highly of her, tempered by the recent loss of her husband, who had been the founder of the business. Still, she looked at him cautiously – like she suspected something was afoot. “You care a great deal about this clock, I see.”

“One needs goals in life.”

“A lawyer’s answer,” she shot back. “But I understand, I think. And that really is all I have for you – there’s copies of correspondences with a few auction houses about Williams’ clocks – mostly tall clocks that have come up in the last half-century, some research from Newport Historical Society I called in a favor for – mostly about Williams and his contemporaries. Shockingly, most everyone wants to hear about William Claggett, so this is a bit thin – but if you ever get to Newport – the antiques show really is something! – you really should see the Claggett clock in the Redwood Library; it makes the to-do about him and his workshop seem very, very justified. There’s some auction results for the last few times one of his has come up, too. Just for comparison. Close to the back, yellow tab.”

Well. That was a number of zeroes.

“I appreciate your diligence,” he replied, closing the folder and pushing it to the side, to make way for the two plates the waitress was sweeping up with, and was very grateful for it, because he wasn’t sure what else there was for her or him to say. At least Mrs. Treat seemed to think one shouldn’t talk during the first few bites of a meal, efficiently clearing away half of her turkey club before setting the rest aside, and pushing her chips around her plate, which seemed an oblique signal that she’d welcome conversation, or still had something to say.

He didn’t say anything – a lawyer’s habit, maybe, though God knew it’d never helped him outside of the courtroom; or maybe he was still feeling a little foolish for letting the blind grief and very old scotch go to his head that day, and wasn’t entirely sure who Mrs. Treat was, even after doing some due diligence of his own: she seemed personable, dedicated, and honest – too honest for her own good, if she was encouraging him to look elsewhere. The glasses she wore on a chain gave her the air of a librarian, or slightly eccentric aunt – appropriate enough for her occupation. Still, it was rude to be too quiet for too long, and Mrs. Treat really had done an admirable job given the conditions.

“Will you permit a question, Mrs. Treat?”

“Of course.”

“You needn’t have given me all this information – or anything else that you’ve sent along. I would have been satisfied with an email that was some variant on ‘Not yet.’ Why all this?”

“It’s the slow season for me. Almost no foot traffic between the holidays and Memorial Day weekend – a spike around Valentine’s Day and St. Pat’s, because of the road race – but all in all, winter into early spring’s my designated vacation time. I liked the challenge – and I spent a lot of summers in Newport, when I was a teenager.” She paused, before looking at him curiously. “Will you permit a question?”

He nodded.

“I’ve been assuming you’re looking for a Williams clock because there was one passed down in your family – how did your family come to acquire the original? I’ve had to get very good at family genealogies over the years, but I wouldn’t have to have done so to know you’re not from a Newport family.”

“An antecedent married a woman from Newport; it came with her to the marriage.” If there had been an implicit question in why he did not have that original clock, he ignored it – better leave it as some question or quibbling over inheritance. Old families were fairly notorious for that. His cousins still weren’t speaking, even after fifteen years had passed, over the disposition some porringers. God alone knew what Hell would break loose when Grandmother passed away, and left the Burt silver tea service to one her descendants.

“Good provenance,” was all the reply that Mrs. Treat made on that score – all the reply she could make, because her phone began to ring and, apologetically, she checked the ID before blanching. “It’s my daughter’s school – if you’ll – just a moment – I’ll be right back!”

And she was – dashing back to the table looking like she was either about to break something or cry. “I am sorry, Mr. Norrington – I have to cut this short – my daughter’s been in a fight at school – she bit someone, actually – no blood, thank Christ – and, well –”

“I understand,” he said, rising to his feet belatedly, because he felt he ought to.

“Bless you! Do you want the folder with all the copies? Yes? Great. I’ll be in touch in June. Enjoy the spring up in Boston!”

Mrs. Treat rushed out the door, and he sat back down with the folder. If nothing else, it’d be more interesting that his current caseload.

*

In his inbox, not a few hours later, was a painstakingly polite email containing more than one apology and several thanks for understanding as he had:  Just in case (she wrote) I’ve set up a DropBox with all the info in the folder, find it at this link, I am profoundly sorry for my unprofessional behavior, Best Regards, Elinor Treat.

He replied immediately that there really was no need for her apologies: though personally unable to relate to the experience of managing children alone, his sister’s children were enough of a handful, and – came the sobering thought – they hadn’t just lost their father the year before.

Biting, though. He wanted to ask, but that would be rude.

And as May rolled through into June, Theo reminded him that it had been six months, and there was no time like summer to at least try to start dating again. This struck him as profoundly collegiate, and he said so, which led to a completely fruitless argument over whether or not either of them had dated in college, and why or why not, and how that at all had any bearing on the subject at hand – the only thing worse than arguing with a lawyer, he supposed, was being one yourself and doing it anyway. Like being an electrician and still sticking a fork in a wall socket.

He won a one-month moratorium on the topic, but that seemed pretty pyrrhic, all told. Weatherby Swann still couldn’t look him full in the face – and he didn’t anticipate that starting to date again would at all endear him the senior partner turned Gubenatorial hopeful. Or maybe it would? Swann could breathe a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been so serious as it seemed at first – no broken hearts, no resentment. Just two people who weren’t quite meant to make it.

He was out of his office before he knew it, saying something vague about getting lunch to Ned Jarsdel and he’d be back shortly, etc. etc. – and didn’t even notice he had a shadow until Theo Groves jumped into the elevator behind him with an obviously innocent expression.

“Someone’s got to make sure you eat your greens,” Theo said, airily.

“I’m not six years old,” James replied. He said it petulantly enough that it sounded like he was, and his junior snorted. Decades of incredibly expensive education, and that was the best he could do.

“You eat like you are.”

“And you know many first-graders who survive on scotch and bagels?”

“More in the sense of, ‘You can’t be trusted to eat a nutritionally balanced meal on your own account,’” Theo corrected, following him into the noisy lobby, “Honestly, it’s a marvel you haven’t developed scurvy by now.”

James tried to think of concrete proof he’d eaten something with vitamin C in the last week, but came up short, and settled for sniping that Theo had a job and caseload of his own – which, somehow, turned into another bout of unproductive bickering that lasted  up State Street, and James pretended he didn’t notice he was being herded towards Sweetgreen (or however it was spelled). With the vaguest glimmer of self-knowledge, he knew he was bristling from the shame of being seen to be incompetent; it didn’t stop him bristling, but at least he let himself be chivvied along through the crowds and the late-spring sunshine.

This was, of course, the moment he encountered Elinor Treat again.

“Mrs. Treat?”

She was standing on the edge of a group of children, clustered around a tricornered guide at the Old State House – and whirled around at being hailed with a puzzled look, until she spotted him and waved. With a word to another woman, she broke away and jogged over. “Mr. Norrington, hello! Forgive me – I’m here with my daughter’s class – end of year field trip, you know. I hope you’re well?”

Very aware that Theo was suddenly Interested in the proceedings, James was as dry as possible in introducing the two: Theodore Groves, a junior associate; Elinor Treat, antique dealer.

“Allegedly,” she said, with a sort of chagrinned cheerfulness, “I’m afraid I haven’t been very helpful yet.”

“Yet?”

Mrs. Treat looked at him rather than answering Theo’s question outright; he supposed he appreciated her discretion. “She’s investigating a family heirloom for me,” he replied, which was at least partially true.

“An interesting line of work,” said Theo.

“It has its moments. It does put a target on my back for chaperoning these kinds of trips, though – and we’ve still got to make to Charlestown.” She glanced over her shoulder at the school group, anxiously, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get back. Responsibilities aside, my daughter’s a firecracker and even the Massacre won’t be enough to keep her occupied long. Goodbye! I’ll be in touch!”

Blessedly, Theo said nothing until after they’d gotten their lunches, and sat out in the sun. “So. She seems nice.”

“You have another two weeks before you’re allowed anything on the topic,” James replied, stabbing at his under-dressed spinach bad-temperedly.

[olliethealright]

Three Steps From Home: Update 4

Hey everyone! Long time, no see! Basically, I’ve been unmotivated for the past month or so, and as a result I’ve barely touched my socials. Good news, I’ve written the next eleven or so chapters of my WIP, and it’s almost doubled in word count lol. I don’t want to do a full sized update on every chapter because that would take a stupidly long amount of time, so I’m just gonna summarize and then give a little excerpt (this ended up being chapters 11-16) Not every quote has a picture because I am a tad lazy lol. Enjoy! 

Trigger Warnings: Emotional abuse, toxic relationships, homophobia, self harm, suicide, mental health, drug use, religious content

Disclaimer: Please don’t steal my words, ideas, characters, etc.

chapter eleven - problem child - 2118 words

theme song - if i get high - nothing but thieves

summary: Jude and Aaron have one last dinner with Jude’s mother before moving to Seattle. Shit goes down, Jude’s father is addressed, Jude’s mom has an anti-religious experience, everyone is upset. 

except - Jude thinking about his family before his dad left

I was two months from finishing my Junior year as a top student, six from applying to every out of state school I could think of, fourteen from leaving everything and never coming back. From the outside, the Alvarez-Carter family was a model of the American dream; we took family photos everywhere we went and cooked each other dinners on alternating days of the week. We  attended every house party, where my mother exchanged gossip like trading cards and my dad sipped Bud Light from a bottle and played cornhole. At those same parties, I flirted shamelessly with every girl in the vicinity, then cited my religion as the reason I wouldn’t do more than exchange pretty words.

The night dad left wasn’t the first time my parents fought in front of me, but it was the night they shattered the already paper thin barrier they had held between me and their issues. I never knew who started it, never knew who threw the first punch, but I knew who delivered the killing blow.

chapter twelve - golden days - 854 words

theme song - ribs - lorde,  also chelsea - phoebe bridgers 

summary: Aaron and Jude move into their new apartment, very light airy vibes, Jude idealizing everything, Aaron and Jude being adorable (yeah can you tell nothing actually happens in this one lmao). 

excerpt - Aaron and Jude leaving Montana

A taxi dropped us off at the Amtrak station the next morning. Our breath rose in front of us on the platform, I tiled my head back and tasted the sunlight; sweet and overflowing with new beginnings. Maybe, I’d be lucky enough to catch one for both of us. 

chapter thirteen - unholy creation - 900 words

theme song - reflections - the neighborhood

summary: Aaron’s mental health takes a turn, Jude is worried but has no idea what to do, Jude and Aaron fight for no good reason

excerpt - a description of Aaron falling off several wagons 

You were a shell of fragile bones and sharp edges when I wrapped an arm around you during a scary movie or curled against your chest late at night. You started wearing a flannel or a sweatshirt over every outfit, an extra layer to hide your ribs and hip bones and elbows, so sharp they could cut through glass. I stopped holding you so tight, afraid of the snap of calcium or cartilage or spirit.

okay one more because I like this chapter haha - Aaron getting mad when Jude asks about his parents

“It’s not about them, alright? I’m not going to talk about them because they’re not part of my life, they don’t control anything. Stop asking about them because they don’t matter, and I wouldn’t tell you if they did.”

You said the words like a chant, a litany, like you were the one who needed convincing. I pictured my mother in her dark dining room, palms up to God, praying for a miracle. You looked like her then, all the fear and anger coming out in one jumble of meaningless words. I flinched away when I should have stood my ground.

chapter fourteen - (has a title but I hate it) - 674 words

theme song - fear of falling asleep - TENDER  

summary - Jude has a mental breakdown, Aaron buys him sleeping pills and then takes them himself, they (kind of) fight, everything is toxic

excerpt - Jude watching Aaron sleep (it’s a weird chapter)

You took my meds that night, I cheeked them until you turned your back, then spit them into the dishwater and washed them down with green suds and scraps of tofu and rice. An hour later, you were passed out in our bed, skeletal limbs stretching out like the fragile branches of a birch tree. I watched as your chest rose and fell, dappled in moonlight and the neon buzz of constant electricity. For a few moments at a time, I convinced myself that your steady rhythm of in-and-out had stopped, I watched as you left this world and then came back. I couldn’t tell how much time was in between.

chapter fifteen - forest, electric (aka my favorite chapter in the book?) - 1279 words

theme song - are you bored yet - wallows 

summary - in an attempt to renew their relationship, Aaron takes Jude on a hike to a construction site in the middle of the night. The two sit on the roof and watch the sunrise. 

excerpt - starting the adventure

We walked four blocks south to meet our Uber, then set off down the winding streets of the city. It was one in the morning and if I looked close enough, I could convince myself I had woken up in a ghost town. Or maybe I was stuck in dreamland, where my boyfriend was perfect and everything I saw was real and I didn’t have to negotiate with myself when I needed an hour or two of rest.

excerpt - the end of the chapter that I just really like

We didn’t talk about our problems that night; we pretended I wasn’t sick and you weren’t hooked. That night, my mother didn’t hate you, we visited your parents once a year during glamorous Scottish vacations, we weren’t runaways. We dangled our feet over the edge of the roof, neither of us thought about jumping, about how our stomachs would drop faster than our bodies, about the inevitable crush of bones and life that awaited at the bottom.

That night, we leaned into each other and locked our hands and whispered ‘I love yous’ until a band of pink and orange lit the horizon and we realized we would get caught if we stayed much longer. We walked the two miles home and fell asleep curled in each other’s arms an hour before your 7:00AM alarm, two before you would leave the apartment again, eight before you would return home just before your high wore off.

I knew all these realities to be true at once, so I breathed in cologne and coffee grounds, took a picture in my head so that image of you, asleep and unaddicted and bathed in the sunrise, would stay with me forever.

chapter sixteen - gods and monsters - 1378 words

theme song - freakin out on the interstate - briston maroney 

summary - Aaron and Jude’s friends come over for the Fourth of July, Aaron comes home drunk and makes his friends leave, Jude’s friend tells Jude to break up with Aaron, Jude refuses 

excerpt - Jude convincing himself that everything is fine when it is clearly not fine (aka the theme of the book and also should probably be the title)

You were sallow and gaunt, your hair was greasy, your breath smelled of vomit and alcohol and whatever else you had taken. You were a monster in our bed, but I could feel that lazy half smile against my skin. I could close my eyes and see you sitting in that tea shop, long limbs sprawled over the pillows, the sun on your skin making you glow like a god.

That image of you couldn’t lie, not when I had lived that moment, not when it had been so beautiful. I wouldn’t leave you because you would be alright and this would pass. You convinced me everything would look better in the morning, all our problems would fade with the rising sun.

You were wrong. They didn’t.

Okay, this is getting way too long so I’m gonna end it here! Thank you so much if you actually read all that! If you want more information on any chapter, just message me and I will do that. The update on the last few chapters of the first draft should be out somewhat soon, and I may or may not have a new WIP coming up :)

ALSO, it has come to my attention that most people have these things called taglists? And I don’t have one? If you wanna be on mine for this project, or any future projects, message me or repost this and I will make one. Thank you for reading!

-Ollie

[volturialice]

Spork Haven chapter 23: salt fucking peter

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward got an outlandish fucking award and became Best Actor!Edward! hotel maid murder witness cello prodigy orphaned ““cajun”” heiress!Bella was his date to the awards show! Ed looked into Emmett’s dark burning eyes and had a Moment! Bella felt dizzy and then went missing! will the Volturi mafia succeed in murdering her? let’s hope so stick around and find out!

warning: this chapter is incredibly long. please check the tags for content warnings—there are a lot! it’s eventful, though, so we’ll give it a pass. but settle in and make yourself comfortable. maybe go get a drink or something. I know I needed a drink after I read this garbage.

chapter 23 opens with Edward attempting to process the fact that Bella has disappeared. he does this in what I have to admit is a pretty seamless fusion of el james’s and stephenie meyer’s trademark styles (negative space here preserved for authenticity):

wow. eat your heart out, New Moon.

once we’ve experienced that bit of totally original typesetting magic, Edward leaps into action! 

just kidding. he’s “totally fucking immobilized.” paralyzed with fear, he “stifles a sob” and toys with whether to “wail, scream, and tear his hair out with impotence”

luckily, he’s very good at giving himself pep talks:

this bracing self-administered kick in the pants unfreezes him, allowing him to summon the mental faculties to go get Emmett.

Emmett clears the ladies’ room and calls for backup. He and Edward search the restroom and are joined by a rando Local security guard as they discover—gasp!—a secret second exit to the bathroom (shoutout to the phoenix airport womens’ room, amirite?) leading into a service tunnel.

the Local security guard informs them that the tunnel leads to an alley, but the alley’s only exit is onto Hollywood Boulevard. you know, the street currently clogged with limos, paparazzi, cameras, and fans. idk about y’all but I’m starting to think this kidnap attempt may have been just a tad poorly conceived. why kidnap her at all? they had ample time to kill her, dump her body in the service tunnel, and make their escape unencumbered.

as Ed, Emmett, and Local race down the service tunnel, Emmett radios for Jasper to go around and cut the Bad Guys off in the alley. Edward is the slowest of the bunch

so he quickly falls behind the other two.

he’s trying to catch up when—wait! what’s that on the ground? something...sparkly?

that’s right: he pauses in chasing after Bella and her kidnapper in order to notice “six thousand dollars’ worth of earring” lying on the ground.

then he stops and picks it up.

now, I know what you’re thinking, guys—is he seriously stopping to pick up a lost earring when Bella’s life is in danger?—but keep in mind, these earrings were twelve thousand dollars. also, Edward loves earrings! they make him horny! what else is he supposed to suck on at Bella’s funeral?

I mean, yeah, if your worst fear was that Bella might lose an earring.

what indeed, Edward. what indeed. 

imagine for a second that you’re Emmett in this fic. you’re a law enforcement professional racing to protect your charge’s life, bellowing into your walkie for backup, preparing to apprehend an armed and dangerous suspect in an area full of innocent civilians...when suddenly, from somewhere far behind you in the dingy gloom of the service tunnel, you hear the sniveling, British-accented voice of the bitchass manchild celebrity who’s tagging along:

“I’vE fOuNd hEr eArRiNg!”

jesus.

still ahead of Eddie boy, Emmett and Local burst out into the alley, guns drawn. Edward hears gunfire and is terrified for Bella as he finally catches up and arrives at the scene.

this is about where erika’s writing gets...incredibly confusing. and not in a POV, “we’re in the character’s head experiencing the chaos with him in real time” way. more like in a “several dozen drunk blind amputees playing Twister” way. this is my cute way of saying “it’s bad” and “I had to read it four times before it began to make sense.”

in the alley, all is chaos. a gun has just gone off

I’m sorry. salt...peter? saltpeter? did someone shoot off a Ye Olde Civil War Musket? I know fuckall about firearms and even I know they phased that shit out in the fucking 1880s.

and while we’re here, fun trivia fact about saltpeter: in Olden Times, people would ingest saltpeter in order to nuke their sex drives. silly Olden Times! if it’s a bonerkiller you’re after, all you have to do is read this fic!

ok, back to the alley. security are cordoning it off, keeping the “fucking jackal” paparazzi at bay (already?)

the LAPD are arriving (already??) 

but perhaps most interestingly,

real quick before we get into whose body it is, why we’re sexually objectifying it, and what it’s oozing, I just wanna draw your attention to the construction of that sentence. the artistry, if you will. below, I have replaced some of the nouns so that we may all appreciate the sheer poetry of the syntax:

“there’s a fucking meatball lying prone on the floor, all covered with cheese, a dark cloud oozing under the meatball.”

sitting a few feet away from the Skirt & Heels Body™ is Jasper, cradling the unconscious Bella. you could be forgiven for thinking that first body (you know, the oozing one) was Bella’s, because that’s what the narration wants you to think. the effect is somehow both enhanced and ruined by the fact that Bella’s actual body is mentioned in the next sentence. erika really tried to have her suspense cake and eat it too, with the result that by the time I finished reading this paragraph, I had absolutely no idea how many bodies there were or who they belonged to, which ones had on a skirt and heels, which ones were oozing, and where.

another excerpt I should probably share is the paragraph where we describe Edward reacting to this tragic pietà.

here’s our text, raw and unedited:

I can’t even begin to list all the ways this paragraph makes me uncomfortable, so I won’t attempt to.

anyway. remember how in the last chapter, there was an incredibly gay bit where Edward looked into Emmett’s dark, burning eyes? fasten your seatbelts because we’re about to blow that bit out of the water.

ｌｕｍｉｎｏｕｓ ｈａｚｅｌ ｅｙｅｓ

filled with

𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒

the next sentence tries to take us back into heterosexual territory with

are we meant to understand that Jasper’s luminous hazel eyes are saying “don’t you just wish it was you getting to cradle Bella’s unconscious, injured body?” yes, that is exactly what we’re meant to understand. this attitude continues as Bella is loaded into an ambulance. at first, Jasper tries to stop Edward from coming, then the paramedic says they can both come but only if they sit on opposite sides of the ambulance like kindergarteners in Time Out.

l o n g i n g l y

the paramedics also checked the other body (you know, the oozing skirt and heels body) and Edward made a startling observation:

though oozing, the mystery person is still alive, and a second ambulance hauls off

and here I was thinking all this story needed to make it complete was some veiled transphobia! what a fun new direction for erika.

once at the hospital, Ed is banished to the waiting room with Emmett, Jasper, and Taylor. the doctors won’t let him see Bella, even when he tells them he’s her fiancé.

hmm. is it just me or is there a movie about this exact scenario?

yep, there are at least two movies about this exact scenario.

after the “fiancé” thing, Edward picks up on some bad vibes from Jasper

interesting. can you feel MY animosity hit you like a brick fucking wall? I guess it’s more of a brick fucking skyscraper at this point.

things we learn at the hospital:

Bella was roofied! so if you voted “poisoned” in the poll, I’m gonna give you this one. congrats on your victory.

Bella is fine now

Jasper shot the mysterious kidnapper in the chest. 

that’s right, Jasper is the cause of all the oozing. well done, Jasper. good luminous hazel eye.

finally, Bella wakes up and asks to see Edward. He goes back to see her 

and

she

dumps his ass.

not for any Sane People reasons, of course. having decided she’s “too dangerous to be around,” she breaks up with him in a scene straight out of New Moon, complete with “eyes full of tortured pain” and dialogue like

“You are too precious to me. Please. Go.”

Edward spends the whole scene in panicked denial, to the point where he’s practically gaslighting Bella, telling her she’s just been through a traumatic ordeal and she can’t possibly mean what she’s saying. 

then he interrupts her mid-breakup 

to fucking propose.

🤣🤣🤣 READ THE ROOM, BUDDY. Bella is resolute for the first time in her doormat life, turns down the proposal, and firmly breaks things off with Edward. he returns her earring (you remember, the six thousand dollar earring we paused in the middle of the climactic chase scene to pick up), “inhales her fragrant hair for the last time,” and leaves.

and with that, the chapter is FINALLY over.

possibility.mp3

best “fucks”

“level fucking head”

“a fucking microsecond”

“fucking sirens”

“loud fucking noises”

“enough fucking damage”

“a soothing fucking balm”

“fucking Hale”

“fucking purgatory” (the hospital waiting room)

“pale as fuck” (bella)

“fucking lifeless” (bella)

“non-believing fucking arse” (edward)

“like a fucking idiot” (edward)

best “shits”

next chapter: fucking blinds and curtains

[enbyleighlines]

For your modern au prompts, how about Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang best friends going on a shopping trip?

Oooh, sounds good to me!! I hope you don’t mind that I took liberties with what constitutes as a shopping trip! This idea popped into my head, and I wanted to explore it~

—

The bell on the front door gives a twinkling little jingle as they enter. Immediately, the familiar aroma of Wei Wuxian’s favorite arts and craft store rubs against his nostrils like an affectionate cat.

Beside him, Nie Huaisang walks with a spring in their step. In the crook of their elbow, they carry a small but finely crafted handbag, as though they’re a rich socialite on a shopping spree in the big city. “Here we are,” Nie Huaisang says, excitement giving their voice a fun lyrical quality, “Where shall we start, Wuxian-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the wide grin that breaks across his face. He scoops up one of the shopping baskets by the entrance. “We should start from the ground up,” he decides, logically, “Let’s go see how sturdy their poster board is.”

“We can always glue a layer or two of cardboard to the base,” Nie Huaisang points out.

“True, true.”

The two friends make their way towards the poster aisle. They’re on a mission, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have fun.

They’re making a diorama as their final project for freshman biology. Thankfully, they were allowed to pick their own partners, and since they’ve become quick friends over the course of the year, it was a no brainer.

Their plan is to create a miniature factory, with its walls, machines, and workers, but then label everything as though they’re the parts of a human cell. Wei Wuxian is certain that it will appeal to their teacher’s quirky sense of humor, and earn them a grade worth bragging about. Nie Huaisang is less convinced, but they’re just happy for the opportunity to show off their talent for arts and crafts.

They sift through their manyu options, poster boards of all different sizes, material, colors, and even textures.

Nie Huaisang pulls out out of the rack and gasps delicately, as though they’re holding a precious treasure. “Wuxian-xiong,” they say, “Feel this one. Isn’t it just like the gritty texture of cement?”

Wei Wuxian runs the tips of his fingers over the rough surface. “Oh wow, you’re right! But won’t that make it difficult to glue things to it?”

“Ah, I hadn’t considered that!” Nie Huaisang gives the poster board another longing-filled stroke. “Perhaps we can use little metal stands for the figurines, and stick the metal through the poster?”

Seeing that his friend’s heart is set on the poster board, Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah, that could work! We’ll definitely need to add some cardboard to the base, though. We get a bunch of cardboard boxes at the restaurant from shipments and stuff. I’m sure Jiang-shushu won’t mind if we take one.”

Nie Huaisang eagerly takes the paper board and rolls it up. It’s still too long to fit in the basket, but at least they could carry it one-handed. “What next, Wuxian-xiong?”

“Metal wire for the stands, probably,” Wei Wuxian answers, “And maybe some of those things they use in gardens, with the names of plants on them? We can use those to label stuff. Would they have those here? If not, we can probably make our own...”

“There’s a gardening store around the corner,” Nie Huaisang says helpfully.

Wei Wuxian nods sagely. “That’ll do. Oh, and we should probably be keeping track of how much everything costs. How much did Nie Mingjue give you to spend?”

Nie Huaisang gives Wei Wuxian an incredibly self-satisfied smirk. They dig into the handbag and fish out a stack of folded bills. “Oh, we don’t need to worry about money,” they assure Wei Wuxian smugly, “My Gege gave me more than enough.”

Wei Wuxian whistles.

Nie Mingjue, Huaisang’s half-brother, took over management of the family business recently. He’s also been the one looking after Huaisang ever since their parents retired to travel the world. Mingjue likes to pretend that he’s a strict disciplinarian, yet he spends money on Huaisang like it’s going out of style.

To hear Nie Huaisang tell it, they’ve always been a spoiled child. But it seems as though it’s gotten even worse ever since Nie Mingjue became Huaisang’s primary guardian.

Nie Huaisang giggles behind their wad of cash. “So, yeah,” they say, “Money is not an issue.”

Wei Wuxian might be jealous if he was the type of person to get jealous. Instead, he only laughs in delight. “That’s good to know! Let’s take proper advantage of your Da-gege’s generosity, then!”

—

They quickly fill up the basket and have to upgrade to a cart. They take their time choosing the plastic figurines. There aren’t any factory workers, but there are some crossing guards, and a man in an astronaut suit, and they figure they can just pain over them. Nie Huaisang already has a decent collection of paints, but they also grab some new brushes, along with a fine point pen.

Then it’s off to the gardening store for some plastic plant markers, with tips sharp enough to pierce through paper and cardboard. While they’re there, they also grab some short two-inch fences and some mesh to use in constructing the cell walls.

They bring their haul back to the Jiang residence, because it’s closer.

The Jiang house is unusually quiet. Jiang Cheng is at soccer practice, and Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are both at work at the restaurant. Jiang Yanli is home, though. She greets them at the door, and then immediately moves to prepare tea and snacks for them.

“Your supply run went well, I see,” she says, as she putters around the kitchen.

Wei Wuxian makes sure to plant a big, loud kiss to her cheek before he starts unloading things onto the dining room table. “It went great, actually,” he says, “Jiejie, you have to see all these awesome things we found!”

Nie Huaisang hovers a tad awkwardly in between the kitchen and dining room. It’s not the first time they’ve been to Wei Wuxian’s house, but it’s not a routine experience, either.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jiang Yanli examines the enormity of their haul with a worried expression. The cause of her concern becomes clear when she says, “I hope you didn’t have to use up all of your allowance on this school project, A-Xian.”

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian beams at her. “I didn’t spend a penny. Huaisang-xiong’s rich Gege footed the bill.”

“That... was probably not the best way to phrase that,” Nie Huaisang murmurs to Wei Wuxian, “Please let your Jiejie know you meant my actual Gege, and not an older guy who spends money on me like I’m his sugar baby.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. And then he starts snickering loudly. “She’s not going to assume that,” he assures them.

“What will I not assume?” Jiang Yanli places a plate of rice crackers on the kitchen’s island, and raises one of her brows at them.

Nie Huaisang grabs Wei Wuxian’s arm to stop him, but it’s too late.

“Huaisang-xiong doesn’t want you thinking they have a sugar daddy,” Wei Wuxian confesses, “So they want me to emphasize that, in this case, I used the term ‘their Gege’ to refer to Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang looks like they want to melt into the floor.

But Jiang Yanli only giggles, demurely, behind the cover of her hand. “Well, I’m glad you clarified that,” she teases both of them, “Both of you are too young to have sugar daddies, anyway. Come, and have some rice crackers while the tea steeps.”

The two freshmen each hop up onto one of the stools obediently. Wei Wuxian stuffs his mouth without thought, while Nie Huaisang carefully nibbles at their cracker like a timid mouse.

There’s a bit of companionable silence. Jiang Yanli pours them each a cup of green tea, and then moves the sugar bowl within their reach.

Then she sits on one of the stools opposite them, and asks, “How are your other final projects coming along?”

Wei Wuxian heaves a dramatic sigh. “Bo-oring,” he singsongs, “It’s all essays and making flashcards for the exams. The same old generic stuff we did in middle school.”

“I get to make a poster for home ec.,” Nie Huaisang offers.

“Ooh, about what?”

“We have to try to design the food pyramid,” Nie Huaisang answers, “Other kids are just making collages out of newspaper clippings, but I want to try my hand at painting the food. I’ve never had a reason to paint food before, except for maybe an apple, back when we were learning how use shading.”

Jiang Yanli smiles. “That sounds fun,” she says, “Just don’t get so caught up in your fun projects that you don’t leave any time for the boring ones.”

“Right,” Nie Huaisang answers automatically.

Wei Wuxian is more lax. “I’ll be fine,” he assures his Jiejie, “Besides, I get my best work done at the last minute.”

Jiang Yanli gives her Didi a look. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is how it works! That spike of adrenaline really helps me get things done,” Wei Wuxian insists, and taps the edge of his nose with a cheeky little smirk.

“But it doesn’t leave you much time to go back and edit, does it?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I make less mistakes on my first drafts than everyone else does on their final copies! If I start turning in perfect papers, then people might think I’m just showing off.”

“You ARE showing off,” Nie Huaisang snips.

That makes Jiang Yanli giggle again. She shakes her head at Wei Wuxian, but in a fond sort of way. Neither try to continue the argument.

“What about you, Jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asks suddenly, “Any fun final projects?”

“Just exams,” Jiang Yanli answers. She’s a high school junior, two years ahead of them. “Though, my math teacher said that anyone who already has an A in the class doesn’t have to take the final exam.”

“Let me guess,” Wei Wuxian says with no little hint of pride, “You have an A.”

Jiang Yanli hides her mouth behind the rim of her teacup. “I do,” she confirms, and her smile is audible in her tone. “So that’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

“That’s my Jiejie! Smartest girl in the whole world!”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Think so? I know so!”

Nie Huaisang smiles at that. Though the dynamic between Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian is completely different from their relationship with Mingjue, there’s still something vaguely familiar about it.

Just like Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, really. They’ve got completely different temperaments. Wei Wuxian is a natural leader, charismatic, bold, and optimistic. Nie Huaisang tends to follow the herd, being as indiscisive and anxious as they are. Yet the two of them are often on the same wavelength.

That’s probably why, even though they only met for the first time that year, it already feels like they’ve been friends for a long time.

[dew-line]

Life, death, and rebirth – developing and redeveloping a personality on a progressing timeline

So. I had a little fun today. The last task on the psychology course was to write an essay on personality development based(ish) on Mischels theories about personality development. The guidelines were a tad loose, and I choose to run with it. The text below is what I submitted, hopefully I’ll get som feedback on it tomorrow or in a few days and I’ll keep you posted on that. :D //Jimmy How does one begin to describe, in any relatable fashion, the development of one’s personality, especially as it is a work of perpetual process? One must, I assume, begin at the beginning: I was born. Then there was nothing until I developed a basic sense of self awareness and the ability to define myself in relation to other people and objects. In that very moment I created the world; but you may rest easy, for I am a humble god. Especially so since I stopped demanding the immediate satisfaction of my basic needs and allowed myself to be shaped into this present form by the mold created by my parents and by society; by boundaries drawn by cultural and linguistic traits Thus, like the Christian God I was made flesh and blood – now writing before you as this maculate conception, ever learning as I progressed over the years, constantly striving to fill out this rudimentary sketch of “me” drawn by my parents with ever more content and subject matter. I learnt of poetry and philosophy – the power of word and thought, and thus, in my late teens, I entered a new phase. Let it begin with these words from the gospel [abridged] of St. Charles the Inebriated.

  ”Born like this

Into this

Into these carefully mad wars

Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness

Into bars where people no longer speak to each other

Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings

Born into this

Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die

Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty

Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed

Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes

Born into this

Walking and living through this

Dying because of this

Muted because of this

Castrated

Debauched

Disinherited

Because of this

Fooled by this

Used by this

Pissed on by this

Made crazy and sick by this

Made violent

Made inhuman

By this

[…]”

Charles Bukowski – ”Dinosauria, We”.

Now, I may not have turned out quite as bitter and fatalistic as the aged Bukowski, but I do confess to a certain faiblesse for the absurd, in Camus’s use of the term, that existence is without meaning and purpose, and that beauty lies in –the absurd– meeting between this knowledge and continuing to striving too, despite this knowledge, fill life with love, beauty and personal meaning.

I was born into a classical working class home at 09:28, December 25th 1974, the first child of  a young mother and an alcoholic and controlling father; two parents that had the unusually common sense for their time to realise that they should not be together, and thus early becoming a child of separation – my parents were not married. I was doomed to the life of bi-weekend migrations between families – as this was long before the enlightened era where parents manage to handle child care in an adult fashion and share the weeks equally – a conduct that, in my case, created a feeling or rootlessness and a sense of drifting rather than establishing solid connections within either family – my mother and my father’s new families respectively. This rootlessness in turn created the foundation of a lifelong fear of abandonment and also of a shyness that manifested itself in an extroverted way – acting like the class clown, hiding emotions behind first erratic behavior and later, as I grew older and developed an arsenal of wit and amassed at least a modicum of knowledge – in early attempts at humor. I also developed the foundation of a contrarian mindset that is still present to this day. I despise the consensus – mainly because a consensus promotes a lack of progress and a lack of progress is the base definition of death. However, when I was a child the main reason for causing disruption, even if I was not aware of it at the time, was that it is easier to hide where there is disorder. Being judged by one’s behavior was far more preferable to being judged on who I actually was.

 It was at this age, around the age of seven or eight, that I came to the conclusion that religion was not the answer. Being introduced to a light version of Christianity in an after-school setting, being taught the core concepts of the New Testament, I promptly told the teacher that it was nonsense and, if I recall correctly, was not invited back for the second semester. Much to my mother’s dismay, I presume. By this time, we had left Uppsala and moved out into the countryside, a move that lead to an increased isolation on my behalf – this suited me perfectly as my main interests, especially as I started fourth grade, turned into literature and music. My mother had always read out loud for us when we were little, and I have always had a strong imagination – making the immersion into literature both smooth and welcome. Music also became an important present at this early age – literature and music has followed me ever since. The main part of the eighties was spent in my room reading and listening to music.

What beautiful time it was. 

Reading has had a huge impact on the forming of the person that I am today. All adults that I was surrounded by, in a formative sense – part from teachers – lacked any higher education and we did not really discuss much at, particularly not on my mother’s side, where I spent most of my time. My father, on the other hand – and this is based on long term memories, I cannot vouch for the validity of these memories as I have not spoken to the man in over 20 years – had a creative side – he tried to keep up to date, enjoyed certain intellectual activities. And whisky. And to listen to music. And whisky. And occasionally to beat his kids. Personally, I can’t remember to have ever being beaten by him, that seem to have developed later. My two brothers on my father’s side got to take the brunt of it as I can remember, however – he also had a knack for the words and was happy to share his opinions on how useless we were. That one has stuck with me. As I grew up and became older, and also stronger, this abuse increasingly became a greater and greater problem for me – culminating in me eventually starting to step between my father and my younger siblings when he got ”into the mood”. Eventually, however, I came to the point where I could not keep doing this and as I neared adulthood the relationship with my father and also my father’s side of the family slowly ebbed out. Initially, and for some years I felt that I had let my siblings to fend for themselves, but that feeling is long since passed. I have processed this, and I have moved on. It had to be done. 

I once asked my mother why they did not put any pressure on us when we were younger. Why they never pushed us to do better in school or had any opinions on what we choose to study in high school. The answer was that they wanted to let us choose for ourselves, that we should study what we wanted. The guidance counselor, I remember, told me to look find a job in a warehouse. Packing vegetables at the COOP.  The direct result of that was that I ended up studying for two years to become a bricklayer. I had no ambitions. I choose what I knew, since my stepfather and my father both worked in construction. I should not have been there. My only proper skills after being through the Swedish school system in the 80’s and early 90’s was a decent grasp of English. There were no jobs for me in construction, nor would I have been interested if there were any. If change was to come it was not through family, the school system or anything else. It was through me.

Looking back, however, it is interesting to see how much my life has been formed from the experiences of these formative years. I have no friends or acquaintances from before I started studying at university for the first time in 1998. Non whatsoever. I was social, I had friends – but I have never been sentimental – and I would rather let friendships run out from time or distance. No strong ties, no risk for emotional trauma. One might say that I started to reconstruct my life in my early twenties, I got into a new profession, I applied and got accepted into Grythyttan, Sweden’s premier hospitality industry education, a higher education under the management of the university of Örebro. This pretty much meant everything. Getting away from Uppsala and then – by the slight detour of three years in Grythyttan – to Stockholm meant everything. There is a reason why the Stockholm tends to draw people to it: the chance to rebuild yourself, to turn you into the person you want to be, to let yourself take center stage, if you will. Those were the formative years. They were great years. Working in the restaurant business in Stockholm in the early 2000’s was a smorgasbord of hedonism; food, wine, spirits, drugs. The sky was the limit. What a time to be young. And had not an underlying feeling that there must be more to life kept on nagging me I’d probably still be there today, standing on the brink of being a burned out wreck – but instead I got out, I diversified and got into wine import, into copywriting, photography – always searching; and I think that I am finally starting to get an idea.

I woke up one morning in December 2018, taking stock of my life. What I had done, where I had been, where I was and what I wanted to do. The same day I applied for a late admission course at Södertörn and started studying the very next month. I am very curious to see where I will end up. 

[perceptionofpleasurefan-blog]

Step by step instructions to Present Sex Toys In The Room

Since Fifty Shades of Dark is so prevalent, the entirety of the media is discussing sex and sex toys. Is it accurate to say that you are interested about attempting them however are excessively humiliated? Is it true that you are uncertain whether they are directly for you and your relationship?

Coming up next are some basic misguided judgments about grown-up toys:

The vast majority don't utilize sex toys

Wrong! Numerous decent individuals utilize grown-up toys, including individuals most would think about impeccably ordinary. Utilizing a grown-up toy doesn't make you "odd" or doesn't utter a word negative about your relationship. It just causes you have a great time increasingly fun in the room! You don't need to impart to your companions, your chief or your mom that you utilize toys except if anybody except if you need to.

Sex toys are only for masturbation.

While grown-up toys are regularly utilized for masturbation, numerous couples appreciate utilizing toys together, regardless of whether they are female or male or heterosexual or homosexual. Generally these couples are happy with attempting new things together, are receptive, and trusting.

Your accomplice will feel lacking on the off chance that you start utilizing a sex toy.

Is it accurate to say that you are apprehensive that in the event that you carry a grown-up toy into the room, it will offend your partner? A grown-up toy can give you a climax, yet it can't disclose to you the amount they love you or rub your back. An article is anything but a substitute for a genuine individual. On the off chance that your sweetheart has this dread, be touchy and stroke their inner self a tad. Similarly as with most relationship issues, great openness is of the utmost importance.

Utilizing sex toys can be physically risky.

No chance!

Truth be told, grown-up toys can have extremely constructive outcomes on your sexual wellbeing.

For instance, numerous specialists and advisors prescribe grown-up toys to ladies who experience difficulty arriving at climax; on the off chance that you experience the ill effects of agonizing sex, vibrators can invigorate blood stream; all ladies can profit by kegel exercisers or kegel balls to condition the pelvic floor muscles; prostate massagers lessen the danger of prostate malignancy, erectile brokenness and incessant evening pee. In conclusion, climaxes assist you with living longer, square torment and, some state, look more youthful. Who wouldn't need that?

In the event that you use how to use sex toys number 2 will shock you excessively, you won't have a climax with your accomplice.

On the off chance that your accomplice is apprehensive you'll supplant the person in question with your preferred toy, guarantee the person in question that you'll generally keep things distinctive in the room: attempt various positions, new toys, light servitude and dream play.

In the event that your relationship is solid, there's no motivation behind why you should require a sex toy.

You are so fortunate to have a sound relationship. In any case, who wouldn't have any desire to make their relationship considerably more grounded and closer by sharing another experience? On the off chance that your darling is persistent about not having any desire to go through a grown-up toy to flavor your sex life, guarantee the person in question that you needn't bother with a grown-up toy it is possible that, you'd recently prefer to attempt one.

You or your accomplice fears feeling delight

Delight is an inheritance. Everybody merits it and ought to have it. Possess your sexuality and do what works for you. All things considered, climaxes make you more beneficial and more joyful.

Purchasing sex toys can be truly humiliating particularly on the grounds that they look gross and startling.

You are correct. Presently, because of the Web, you can shop in the solace of your own home without judgment. Most grown-up toys make you feel awkward in light of the fact that they are normally phallic or cheesey or are noisy to such an extent that you figure your kids or neighbor may hear what you are doing. Extravagance sex toys are the polar opposite. You probably won't understand that they are great grown-up toys on the grounds that they look like craftsmanship. They are currently so careful and calm that nobody will comprehend what you are doing.

These contentions may bode well and work for a great many people however probably won't work for you. On the off chance that that is the situation, here are 3 additional motivations to evaluate sex toys:

Joy = Sex Toys

Who isn't an aficionado of climaxes? You may be excessively worn out or too occupied to even consider having sex, however there's no denying that climaxes feel better. Grown-up toys can assist you with having more climaxes. What's going on with that?

Sex Toys are Enjoyable.

Regardless of whether you have been with your darling for a couple of months or numerous years, things may be somewhat stale and you need to take a stab at something new. That is alright - you are not the only one! Grown-up toys can add fervor to the room and shield things from getting unremarkable. Utilizing a grown-up toy together can bring you closer; sharing new encounters together can be extremely private.

Sex Toys Improve Sex.

Did you realize that about 30% of ladies really have a climax during sex? Most ladies need clitoral incitement to accomplish a climax. In the mean time, numerous men experience difficulty supporting their erections as long as they might want, regardless of whether it be a direct result of age, prescription or stress. That is the thing that grown-ups toys are for!

On the off chance that you are presently prepared to begin utilizing grown-up toys, here are a couple of proposals to begin:

Start delayed by beginning with something little. Start with a little toy and show your sweetheart that the toy is tied in with adding more joy and energy to the room. For instance, in the event that you need to attempt a vibrator, start with something that is little and careful, similar to a finger vibrator or vibrating egg. In the event that you need to attempt light subjugation, attempt a blindfold or holding your darling's hands over their head during foreplay.

At the point when you are prepared, stir your way planning some mischief greater and bolder.

To the exclusion of everything else, recall that correspondence is the way in to any sound relationship. In the event that you can't share your emotions or wants, something isn't right. Closeness and fun are the principle objective. It is altogether dependent upon you to choose whether that implies with or without sex toys, however experimentation never hurt anybody!

My Mystery Extravagance is the supplier of extravagance grown-up toys and top notch sentiment apparatuses. We offer a curated assortment of sex toys for men, ladies and couples that hold fast to the best expectations of configuration, style and innovation. The online shop gives a spot to circumspect investigation and disclosure through deliberately created Mystery Packs and gives unmatched client support through the Mystery Attendant, who is accessible to transform dreams into the real world.

[artificialqueens]

The Language of Flowers 5.5 (Multi) - Albatross

AN: Dear god it’s finally done after like 4 months! Hope you all enjoy it!

To the anon asking about whether or not there’ll be a chapter about the Shinkx date; the answer is ‘Yes, but…’

Yes, I do have a tentative plan to post mini chapters for both dates but…I’m probably not going to work on it right away. Almost definitely not actually. As much as I loved writing this story, I need a break from it for a little while.

As for other plans; Rajadore is almost certainly the next piece I’ll be working with probably Rajila following that. Phianca will be done at some point but I’m having issues with the plot atm so that’s on the back burner. And…I’m about 95% sure I’m revisiting Rajalaskam again. Still in the planning stages but I think I have an idea for a new, final final chapter for their series so keep an eye out for that.

When Jinkx explained their spontaneously decided plan, Courtney was a bit hesitant. Organizing a class to make the same kind of bouquets that got them into this mess and inviting Trixie and Katya to attend at the same time? It seemed rather like a bad idea but deep down Courtney secretly loved the romanticism of the proposal. She kept her concerns to herself and offered Jinkx and Ivy help in any way that she could think of. Still she couldn’t help but feel that it was incredibly unlikely for this plan to actually work. It was quite cliche but maybe with just a pinch of luck they could pull this off anyhow.

Since Jinkx and Ivy were busy constructing the lesson plan and tracking down all of the supplies needed for the class, Courtney took to advertising it. Of course her first thought was to spread the word around Katya’s campus. That seemed to be the mostly likely place to find interested participants. A small part of her toyed with the idea of handing out fliers, perhaps even near the library but she wasn’t ready to see Trixie yet. She knew if she saw her before Saturday she’d end up making things worse by trying to talk to her…and of course she might catch onto the plan if she knew one of Katya’s friends works at the shop.

Instead Courtney reached out to the campus Facebook page and received permission to make a quick post inviting students to attend the fast-approaching course. If nothing else, it would make it seem more legitimate to Trixie and surely at least a few people would decide to attend from that post alone. Courtney also spread news of the class by word of mouth and received a few promises from some of her own friends that they would either stop by or encourage others to do so. Hopefully, there’ll be enough people to make this look like less like a spur of the moment decision and Trixie won’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

With the advertising taken care of, now came the difficult part; ensuring Katya would be attending as well. Though Courtney made herself sound confident when she told Jinkx she could get the younger blonde to the shop without an issue; it turned out to be much easier said than done.

Ever since the scene at the library, Katya had been pretty down on herself. She was hardly leaving the apartment aside from classes or a show and she had stopped frequenting at the library entirely. Though she hadn’t mentioned it, Courtney suspected she was actively avoiding anywhere she might see Trixie and even for their shared classes, it’d be a short guess to say she was probably sitting well on the opposite side of the room from the young woman.

As for her studying, if you can call staring blankly at a page for ten minutes at time 'studying’, Katya just didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it as she had been before. Literature had always been her passion and even studying from textbooks was still fascinating to her yet now it seemed all of that previous spark had disappeared. She was listless and far from her normal energetic self, clearly still thinking about Trixie and not her projects. It hurt to see someone previously so happy and optimistic as broken as this. Even a slight hint of anything related to Trixie caused her eyes to cloud with longing and regret. Silently, Courtney made a wish almost every night that on Saturday everything would be fixed.

On the day of the class, Courtney had been assigned to work the opening shift as this would give her time to head back to her apartment to pick up Katya and make sure she found her way to the shop. At first everything seemed fine; the store was busy so there was hardly time to think about anything other than the customers and fulfilling the day’s orders. That all changed once Jinkx had arrived to start her own shift. They were only together for about an hour due to the sheer number of customers in the shop that she, Ivy and Violet couldn’t handle alone, but just seeing the redhead, never mind not even discussing the class that night, caused Courtney’s stomach to drop and a heavy worry rested on her shoulders even after she was finally able to leave following her shift.

Up until that day, Courtney had been careful not to mention any of the plan to Katya. It was unlikely that she would agree if she knew about it beforehand and would probably arrange to be elsewhere for the duration of the class. At least the one thing Courtney could rely on was that Katya would be at the apartment when she arrived. Her classes were already finished for the day and Courtney doubted she’d want to be anywhere else right now.

The moment Courtney walked into the apartment she heard soft music seeping through Katya’s closed door. Unsurprisingly it was yet another sad song about heartbreak that she loved to torture herself to as of late. Very gently, Courtney knocked on the door and waited until she received a word of acknowledgment before entering. Like she had so many other days this week, Courtney immediately made her way to Katya’s bed and pulled the dejected young woman into her arms. As part of their new routine, Katya rested her head in the crook of Courtney’s neck and let out a sad little sigh.

Running her hand up and down Katya’s back, Courtney asked how her day had gone and made their typical small talk until Katya finally ran out of things to say. Even though there was still a few hours before the class would be starting, Courtney knew she’d have to begin introducing the idea of going out tonight as soon as possible. With enough pleading and puppy eyes, Courtney felt mostly assured of herself to be able to get Katya to agree to go to the shop with her. Under normal circumstances, it’d probably take only a few minutes before the blonde would give in but Courtney had a feeling that right now, she’d probably need every hour she has at her disposal.

“Katy…” she drew out with a slight whine in her tone, “I was thinking we should go out tonight, have a little fun, you know?”

Buried her face into Courtney’s neck, she tightened her grip around the older blonde’s waist and replied, “I wanna just stay here and mope.”

“Come on,” Courtney insisted, “We need to get you out of this head-space-”

“-I like this head-space!” Katya interrupted.

“It’s not healthy though,” the older blonde argued. “We don’t have to do anything big…could go to a movie, eat dinner…Jinkx has her first arrangement course tonight.”

Katya gave a muffled groan of acknowledgment but no other noise indicating that she’d agree to go. Knowing it’d probably be most effective to try and guilt the younger woman into attending, Courtney mentioned, “I’m sure it’d mean a lot if we both were there; she worked so hard on it.”

But Katya would not budge on the issue. For the next hour and a half, Courtney continued to make comments specifically designed to play at the blonde’s heartstrings. A few of her favorites included variations of “We don’t even know how many people are going to show up…”, “I hope there’s at least a few who attend”, and of course; “It’d be a shame for everything to go to waste.”

Slowly progress was being being made; Katya couldn’t stand to look at her or the soft, pleading eyes Courtney threw her way every five minutes. Still though, she had yet to yield to Courtney’s request. If only Courtney had a little more time she was sure she could break Katya’s resistance…But the class started in an hour! Was all this effort really going to be for nothing?

A knock was heard on the apartment door and though Courtney was tempted to ignore it in favor of continuing to persuade Katya, proper etiquette compelled her to see who it was and what they needed. It was quite a surprise to find Willam on the other side looking just a tad amused with a lazy smirk on her face. Feeling herself flush a little bit, Courtney let out a surprised gasp and said, “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, princess,” Willam called out to Courtney’s annoyance. Once she earned an eye roll from the older woman, she stated, “Vi mentioned you might have some trouble trying to get Katya out of the apartment.”

“And she sent you to help?” Courtney asked doubtfully.

With a secretive and far from reassuring smile, Willam declared, “I volunteered.”

“Uh-huh…should I ask why?” the blonde said with a heavy layer of suspicion in her voice.

Patting the shorter woman’s head, Willam invited herself into the apartment and rebuffed her friend, “Don’t worry your pretty little head with the details.”

As Willam made her way to Katya’s bedroom, Courtney couldn’t help but feel a heavy dose of apprehension as to what Willam’s intentions were. Although if it gets Katya to the shop, how much should she really complain? It was getting down to the wire after all.

Perhaps too closely, Courtney followed behind the dirty blonde as she entered Katya’s room without even an attempt to announce her presence beforehand. The look on Katya’s face was truly a study and a little yelp could be heard right before she pulled the sheets up over her wide eyes. Curling into a tight ball, the blonde huddled beneath the covers as Willam marched right up to the side of the bed with a disturbingly devilish grin on her face.

“Uh-uh,” she taunted as she pulled away the covers with little effort. “None of that.”

“Willam-” Courtney worriedly began to interject until the dirty blonde shot her a quick look.

“Outside,” she commanded in a no-nonsense tone. “I’m gonna have a little chat with her for a minute.”

Immediately Courtney found herself obeying and was sprinting past the door as she pointedly ignored Katya’s call of 'Traitor!’ on the way out.

Reluctantly closing the door, Courtney all but pressed her ear to the faux wood in an attempt to hear what Willam was saying to her roommate. It was a short guess to imagine that she was probably scolding the young blonde for her pitiful behavior and demanding for her to get her act together. There were a few muffled sounds from Katya as though she were trying to defend herself but Willam refused to listen to any such excuses. In what seemed to be no time at all, the pair were exiting Katya’s room with Willam ushering the very harassed looking young woman towards the bathroom with a change of clothes in hand.

“Okay, okay,” the blonde insisted as she entered the communal washroom, “I can do this part myself!”

“And if you don’t come out looking half-decent, I’m fixing it for you!” Willam threatened as the door closed in front of her. Courtney had little doubt that she meant it. More than once Willam had forcefully fixed her own makeup before entering a club so that Courtney 'wouldn’t embarrass her with more lipstick on her teeth than her face.’

There was very little chit-chat as the pair waited for Katya to reemerge from the bathroom. Courtney had taken to nervously braiding her hair to keep from constantly checking the time on her phone. More than once Willam had pounded on the door and shouted a few encouraging phrases to the young woman including 'Hurry the fuck up!’ and 'We haven’t got all night!’ and a rather harsh, 'It’s Spackle on sandpaper; it doesn’t have to be perfect!’

To her credit Katya was finished in just over 20 minutes. Her makeup had been touched up greatly and her hair looked less like a tangled mess of flyaways and curls. Even the outfit Willam had undoubtedly selected for her looked much better than what Katya was likely going to wear. Somehow the dirty blonde managed to find the least gaudy clothes that Katya had owned and created a cute, casual little outfit that she could both show off and work in. Sadly, Courtney got very little chance to compliment her roommate before Willam was rushing them all out the door in order to make it to the shop on time.

As Courtney pulled Katya from the car, she made a quick note that Willam was actually putting money into the meter again. She flashed a quick smile to the dirty blonde as they made their way to the shop front. Understandably they had been the last people to arrive. If you had asked Courtney how many people she would have expected to show up, she probably would have said perhaps 15 or so at the most…that guesstimate was nowhere close to the actual number!

Ivy and Jinkx had somehow managed to fit and divide up 15 tables into three rows on the shop’s floor and provide chairs for all of the attendees. Most of the tables had between three and four people sitting or standing nearby and needless to say; the building was utterly packed. Luckily there still seemed to be a few empty spaces towards the back but aside from that it was safe to say the class was pretty much at full capacity. Courtney was starting to push Katya towards the open chairs but a sudden resistance caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Katya had stood frozen just a few steps past the door and an immensely unhappy groan passed through her lips. Without even having to ask, Courtney could guess that Katya had spotted Trixie at the other end of the room. Her hair was a bit hard to miss after all…

It was no surprise that Katya had almost immediately turned around to leave but a quick glare from Willam sent her meekly shuffling towards the empty table near the back of the first aisle. As they sat down, Courtney ran her hand over Katya’s arm and muttered a few comforting words to console the younger woman who was less than subtly stealing a glance Trixie’s way. She was looking so utterly miserable that they both were here at the same time and undoubtedly was regretting having shown up at all. While Willam hopped on the table behind them and typed away on her touch screen, Courtney snuck a quick look of her own over towards Trixie. She seemed to feel as out of place and unhappy as Katya yet unlike everyone else; she had no one with her to make sure she stayed for the duration of the class. She was clutching at her knee as though she were debating getting up and leaving but to Courtney’s relief Sharon emerged from the break room and her mere presence caused the mindless chatter to lighten significantly.

“About time she showed up,” Willam grumbled as she put away her phone.

Vaguely Courtney thought the two might have been in communication with each other but she didn’t have the attention span to question it. She was too focused on keeping Katya calm until Jinkx could move forward with their plan. To any of the other attendees who didn’t know her, it would have looked like Jinkx was the picture of poise and relaxation but Courtney wasn’t fooled. She knew Jinkx was a nervous wreck on the inside but Sharon’s little nod of encouragement as she began her opening speech seemed to calm some of that inner turmoil.

While Jinkx ran through her lecture, beginning with vague introductions to floriography then onto more specific examples, Courtney couldn’t help but to inwardly cringe at how overt she was being…at least towards the two people this really mattered for. She never would have had the courage that Jinkx had to actually look Trixie and Katya dead in the eye as she all but told them exactly what had gone wrong with the bouquet. She used examples directly taken from that fated arrangement for the class but at least it served its purpose.

As Jinkx’s sight traveled elsewhere, Courtney saw a look of realization that passed over Trixie’s face as she finally got the message. Her cheeks flushed with guilt and embarrassment as she slunk into her seat. As for Katya, she sat in a meditative state for quite some time. Courtney had yet to fully explain the details of what was incorrect with the bouquet but it seemed Katya was well on her way to figuring it out anyhow. While Jinkx was finishing her speech, Katya turned to Courtney for confirmation as she asked softly, “It was because I asked Ivy to use yellow and white flowers, wasn’t it?”

Nodding her head, Courtney replied defensively, “She was following a cheat sheet…some of the meanings on the insert weren’t listed there and-”

“Like what yellow roses can mean?” Katya interrupted with an unusually pensive tone.

“Yeah…”

With that Katya fell back into a state of deep thought, letting her line of sight drift back to Trixie. The younger woman seemed to sense that she was being watched and shifted her head to find an apologetic Katya staring at her. To Courtney’s relief, Trixie appearing to be feeling quite a heavy dose of guilt for automatically assuming the worst with the bouquet Katya had given her. Jinkx’s less than subtle lecture had definitely struck a chord with her. Though Courtney would have loved to see them talking it out then and there, each tore away their gaze and focused their attention on the sheets of paper sitting on each of the tables.

Jinkx had taken the liberty of producing and distributing a more in-depth cheat sheet of various flowers and their meanings, including the negative connotations this time. It was in Courtney’s nature to want to offer Katya help with her bouquet but after the last time she forced her assistance…well, it landed them here. Instead she asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”

Very determined, Katya looked up from the paper and replied, “I’m gonna remake that bouquet…the last one I gave her…I’m gonna do it right this time.”

Smiling brightly, Courtney encouraged her, “I think that’s a very good plan.”

*******

Katya had studied the cheat sheet far longer than Courtney had expected her to, undoubtedly trying to make sure that this one would truly explain how she felt. When she finally felt ready to select her flowers, Willam joined her in the walk to the alcove. Courtney had taken this opportunity to study Trixie just a little bit further. She had already made her trip to pick up the flowers and was now staring intensely at the pile in front of her. Of course the first flowers that caught her eye were the vibrant and plentiful chrysanthemums. They certainly would take up a lot of the attention but aside from them there was a healthy amount of a smaller yellow flower; rue as Courtney soon identified. If nothing else, at least Trixie seemed to be truly apologetic about how she had reacted to the last bouquet.

What gave Courtney the most hope that this would in fact turn out for the best was a bundle of white flowers tucked away with the sparse amount of filler plants Trixie had picked up; rain lilies. Courtney didn’t need to look at the paper to recall what those had symbolized. Her only prayer was that Trixie meant it in the same romantic way that Katya feels, not as a purely friendship based sentiment.

About this time, the other girls had returned from the front of the shop with their own handfuls of flowers. Surprisingly though it wasn’t all for Katya to use. Willam had kept a small amount for herself as she hopped right back up on the near empty table behind Courtney.

Once everyone was in their seats once more, Willam excluded, Jinkx restarted her lecture on the basics of building a bouquet. She stressed that there was no wrong way essentially with how each person went about it; what she was teaching was only some of the techniques she had used frequently in the shop. She advised that it be decided first which of the flowers would be used as the focal point of the arrangement and flesh out the design from there. The main flowers should stand at the forefront and be the first thing the receiver’s eye is drawn to. Other flowers used should compliment that decision, be it with their colors, their shape or their height difference. Everything should come together as a cohesive piece of art, something that will tell the receiver a message even if the flowers selected won’t do that. It should show that time and effort went into the making of the bouquet and that the choice to give this as a gift wasn’t made lightly.

Again Courtney was amazed at how natural Jinkx sounded as she offered little tips and hints to her students. It almost seemed as though her nerves had disappeared by the time she excused everyone to their work. She made it a point to walk around and offer one-on-one assistance with those who needed it but she was very careful to avoid the areas near Trixie and Katya as much as she able to. Both of them were working in earnest anyway and didn’t seem to notice.

Another pair that was being surprisingly diligent in their work was Sharon and Violet. Courtney hadn’t expected them to participate as well yet they appeared to be taking Jinkx’s lesson to heart. Unfortunately, Sharon seemed to be getting frustrated with her bouquet and after disassembling it for the fourth time, she finally gave up to join Jinkx at the top of the alcove. Violet on the other hand was making a rather stunning bouquet focusing heavily on purple, white, and blue flowers. She threw in a touch of yellow among the filler flowers but it was clear she didn’t intend for the bouquet to serve any purpose other than looking good. Ivy hung by her side chatting with her and offering little pieces of encouragement whenever a flower would fall or a stem would break from exceedingly rough handling.

As for Katya, she was very much focused on her own bouquet trying get everything to lay in the vase just right. Every so often Courtney would provide a bit of advice like placing a sturdier flower beneath a smaller one to help hold it up higher but for the most part she was content to just watch. Gradually she was slipping off into her own head-space until the brush of something against her neck jolted her back to reality.

An embarrassingly loud startled noise escaped her, thinking at first that it had been a bug crawling on her until she heard the soft 'Whoops’ that slipped out from the woman behind her. Turning around in her seat, she found Willam looking far too innocent to be sincere. Her eyes raked up and down the young woman’s body as Willam practically dared her to try accusing her of something. It almost worked until Courtney’s eye caught sight of the flower still in Willam’s possession.

At once her own hand flew to the back of her head and to her irritation it almost immediately made contact with something that ought not to be there. Rolling her eyes, she clutched at the flower that had been stuck in her braid and yanked it out for confirmation. Glaring at Willam, she huffed out far louder than she meant to, “Willam! Are you kidding me? Have you seriously been sticking flowers in my hair this whole time?”

Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, Willam partially bit back a smirk as she argued, “What? I didn’t have a vase.”

Narrowing her eyes at the pathetic excuse, Courtney shot back, “There’s one right next to you!”

Dragging her braid over her shoulder to begin removing all of the plant life, she muttered in annoyance, “Honestly, I can’t believe you sometimes-”

“Hey, Court,” Katya interrupted as she placed her hand over Courtney’s to stop the disassembly, “Hold on for a minute…”

Running her eyes down the length of hair, Katya stated, “It doesn’t look that bad really…It’s actually kind of cute…”

Feeling her cheeks flush ever so slightly, Courtney asked timidly, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Katya confirmed as she pulled Courtney’s hand away. Picking up the blonde’s phone, she opened the camera app and murmured, “Here, hold on…”

Snapping a quick picture of Willam’s work, she extended the phone back to Courtney with an ardent, “See?”

Carefully studying the image, Courtney had to agree that the arrangement, what she hadn’t disturbed of it at least, did in fact look good. However, that wasn’t the only detail that caught her attention. Her face began to burn as she mumbled, “Oh…um, thanks, Bill…”

She could hardly bring herself to make eye contact with Willam who thankfully seemed almost as embarrassed as she was. The dirty blonde’s cheeks had also become tinted with a light pink as she shrugged her shoulders again and turned her attention to her own phone. Glancing down at the partially crushed bit of toadflax in her hand, Courtney felt her heart practically skipping beats as it hammered away in her chest. Forcing herself to fight against her nerves, she drew her line of sight up towards the dirty blonde and asked softly, “Bill…Would you mind finishing it?”

Willam’s eyes darted back to her in shock but almost immediately she gave a silent nod of her head. Swiftly turning around to allow Willam to continue her work, Courtney’s gaze drifted back to the image on her screen. She bit her lip as she carefully identified each of the flowers Willam had snuck into her braid without her noticing…there was toadflax of course, heliotrope, honeysuckle, and a few violets…All of them had similar meanings, surely that couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

Is this what Sharon meant about the signs?

Courtney found she didn’t have the courage to ask that question just yet, at least not out loud.

For the remainder of the class, she and Willam stayed largely silent towards each other. The most Courtney had said to her following the outburst was another quick 'Thanks’ after she had completely finished her design. As soon as it was done, Willam took a picture of her own and sent it to Courtney for review. She swiftly turned herself away from the blonde as soon as she had received the image and refused to look at her directly for very long.

Around the same time Willam had finished, Katya had also wrapped up her own work. The bouquet looked quite good for her first attempt, perhaps a little lopsided or uneven in certain areas but still an excellent effort for someone with no experience. Once there wasn’t anything further that could be added, Katya’s hands found their way to the leftover stems and leaves and soon began picking them apart.

Courtney recognized the behavior immediately and returned to gently praising the younger woman for a job well done. Almost all of the other attendees had stopped working by this time as well so it was hardly out of place to hear Jinkx calling out, “It looks like pretty much everyone has finished their bouquets so let’s call it a night…Please feel free to take your arrangements home with you…you can keep them for yourselves, give them to someone else-”

Something Sharon had muttered while Jinkx was speaking earned her a quick elbow in the ribs but as soon as Courtney stood up to help clean off the table, a slender hand wrapped around hers and began leading her to the door.

“Bill!” she called out in indignation as she tried to dig in her heels, “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my bouquet home with me,” she replied back firmly.

At once Courtney felt her cheeks growing hot again, particularly as she saw the determination and nervousness in Willam’s eyes. She was being dead serious in her statement but still she left an opening for Courtney to decline. For a brief moment it felt like the world had stopped as Courtney gazed into her eyes and saw both the hope and fear lurking behind her hard exterior. She hardly recognized the meek, 'Okay’ that had fallen past her lips until Willam was once again guiding her out of the shop. She called out a quick 'Good luck’ to Katya and followed Willam back to her car.

There was little doubt Katya would inform of her of what would happen with Trixie so for now she allowed herself to push that thought out of her mind. As the pair drove through the city, Courtney took notice of the way Willam’s hands were shaking as she gripped the steering wheel. It was all very reminiscent of that night Courtney had caught her in the midst of a make-out session with a woman for the first time.

The blonde absently chewed on the interior of her lip as she tried not to over-analyze the situation just yet. Just because Willam had used certain flowers over others in her hair doesn’t mean that attracted to Courtney…Why would she be? They were polar opposites in most respects. They bickered like crazy at times and even fought worse than a number of couples she knew. Sure, they might kiss each other at night before they go to sleep and again when they wake up and maybe they’ve spent more nights than not wrapped up in each others arms…And just maybe Willam as of late has rebuked any form of sexual contact with other people but that didn’t mean that she was actually attracted to Courtney…right?

By the time they pulled up to Willam’s building complex, Courtney’s head felt close to exploding as she ran through all of the scenarios for how this night could end. She had hardly realized the car had stopped until she heard Willam’s quiet voice, “Court…I-”

Daring to take a chance, she mustered up her courage and interrupted in a hurried tone, “Can we go inside?”

“Um, sure,” the stunned dirty blonde replied as she turned off the car.

The walk was silent but each could hear their heartbeat echoing in their ears as they slowly made their way into Willam’s apartment. Courtney prayed that she wasn’t reading the situation wrong as she followed Willam past the door frame. Almost as soon as the door was shut, Willam began again with an unusual hesitance, “Listen, Court…”

“The flowers,” Courtney asked softly, barely able to look at her friend even as she stood only a foot in front of her, “You chose them for a reason…didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Willam replied vaguely as her fingers trembled by her side.

“Just maybe?” Courtney challenged as she forced herself to look Willam in the eye and wrap her hands around one of Willam’s.

The dirty blonde’s gaze flickered down to the clinging grip then back up to meet Courtney’s inquiring expression. Very slowly, she found herself leaning in leaving more than enough opportunity for the blonde to pull away or reject her. Stopping within an inch of their lips touching, she gave a hesitant admittance of, “Maybe more than maybe.”

“Yeah?” Courtney asked hopefully as a smile grew across her face.

Returning the smile for a single second, Willam closed the gap with an almost feather-light brush of her lips against Courtney’s. She held herself there for a moment debating if she should press her luck further until Courtney made the decision for her. Their lips danced together in a way that was so practiced yet still so unique from any other kiss they had shared. It was as though every concealed emotion had bubbled to the surface and forced itself to be played out as they worked their mouths in synchrony. Willam’s free hand wound itself in what it could of Courtney’s hair, unwilling to let her draw back until there wasn’t a single bit of air left between them.

Once they were forced to break apart, Willam finally confirmed in a breathy voice, “Definitely more than maybe.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent declaration of attraction but god, it’ll work for now.

Courtney could hardly contain the joyful smile that stretched across her face. Almost at once she reconnected their lips and let every ounce of passion she felt be poured into the new kiss. Willam was stunned by the sudden forwardness but quickly gave Courtney the access she was so desperately seeking. For a few moments they stayed in that spot, simply just letting everything be expressed by that one action, but soon enough Courtney decided that she wanted show Willam so much more tonight.

Carefully taking a step back, Courtney pulled Willam along in the direction of the bedroom until the dirty blonde finally understood what she was implying. The kiss was broken only for a moment to catch their breath then like magnets they were drawn back into each other’s hold. Willam took the lead in navigating their way to her bedroom, doing her best to avoid any miscellaneous furniture or dirty laundry left lying about.

Before they even made it to the edge of the mattress, most of their own clothing joined the various piles on the floor until very little fabric remained to separate their bare skin from one another. While Courtney scooted her way onto the bed, Willam hovered closely over top of her to reaffirm through their broken kisses, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” Courtney asserted. “As long as you want to, too.”

There wasn’t even a pause before Willam’s hurried response came back, “Fuck yeah…”

With that understanding, Courtney allowed Willam to crowd her down to the mattress as light fingers dragged themselves across her skin. Willam’s mouth soon left hers to travel up and down the side of her neck, never settling in one place for too long before continuing further down her chest. Upon meeting the cherry blossom pink bra Courtney still had on, a small noise of annoyance fell from Willam’s lips. She toyed with one of the straps for just a moment before setting her hands to work at removing the offending article.

Once it was gone, Willam’s mouth quickly returned to leaving a dusting of kisses down Courtney’s chest. She felt her head falling back as Willam swirled her tongue around one of her nipples, sucking gently before lapping at the growing bud. The dirty blonde’s hand found its way to Courtney’s other breast, massaging it expertly as she continued to work her mouth until Courtney was squirming in place. Before long she had switched sides and left Courtney all but whimpering for more contact.

Reluctantly, Willam forced herself to resume her journey down Courtney’s stomach but it was at this point the Aussie decided she had enough. With little warning, she flipped them over so that Willam was the one beneath her and Courtney could take back some of the control for herself. A smirk made its way to Willam’s face as she easily pushed herself into a seated position and pulled Courtney firmly into her lap. Almost at once Willam’s arms were wrapped around the older woman’s waist as Courtney’s own rested loosely across Willam’s shoulders in order tug gently at the dirty blonde hair as needed. They shared a brief kiss but after a few seconds Courtney broke the contact in order to leave her own trail of kisses across Willam’s skin. Setting herself on the pulse point, Courtney marked Willam just enough for her to find what she hoped would be a decent sized love bite tomorrow. It would be highly visible the following day; just dark enough that she would need make up to cover it if she chose to do so but Courtney loved the fact that she was finally able to claim Willam as her own after waiting for so long.

Satisfied with her work, Courtney resumed tracing her lips across the overheated skin. She was grinding herself into Willam’s lap hoping the dirty blonde would take the hint and give her what she needed. A hand left her waist to graze deceivingly soft fingertips across her inner thigh but they always stopped short of the one place she wanted to feel them. The most Willam would give her was a light brush against the hem of her panties but even then she would draw back after only a second.

The blonde let out a noise of impatience as she nipped Willam’s neck just enough to make her jump. Undeterred, Willam made no further action and Courtney was left to rut her hips again, silently begging Willam for more. Even before Courtney had pulled away to look, she could hear the smirk in Willam’s voice as she feigned innocence in asking, “What?”

A lone finger was finally running along the thin fabric of her panties but it was nowhere near enough pressure for Courtney. Trying her best not to sound like a desperate and needy mess, Courtney urged her on with an demanding, “More.”

To her exasperation only one more digit was added but still Willam made no motion to remove the remaining underwear. She seemed content just to taunt Courtney through the fabric as she slowly came apart in her lap. Glaring at the dirty blonde, Courtney whined, “That’s not what I meant.”

Unashamedly smug, Willam captured her lips again, flicking her tongue across the seam as she pulled away to order in a hushed tone, “Then tell me what you want me to do…Come on, princess. Use your words like a good girl.”

Despite every effort not to react, Courtney found her breath hitching at the phrasing and she stopped all movement as a light flush rose to her cheeks. The response didn’t go unnoticed by Willam, not in the least. Skimming her lips across Courtney’s collarbone, she teased, “Oh? You like it when I call you that now, huh?”

The blonde was shaking just slightly in her hold as she admitted softly, “Yes…”

She expected Willam to reply back with some sort of taunting remark but to her surprise all she received was a simple, “Good.”

Almost at once her panties were pushed off to the side just enough to allow Willam’s fingers to run along her inner folds. It was still a far cry what she really needed but at this point any change was welcomed from before. She could already feel the heat beginning to pool in her core as she ground down against the two digits. Willam allowed this only for a few minute or two as she laid claim to Courtney’s lips once more. Small noises of restlessness escaped from the blonde’s mouth to Willam’s but she still seemed perfectly fine with just teasing her partner.

Every now and then Courtney felt a soft circling against her clit causing a small jolt to resonate through her body but all too quickly it would be gone and she’d be left to whine at the loss. By the time the pair tore their lips from one another, Courtney was left breathless and embarrassingly wet from what very little Willam had done to her. She could feel herself coming undone while Willam stayed perfect put together and in control of everything that was happening.

Giving in to the ache for more, Courtney tugged just slightly at Willam’s hair and pleaded, “More…please, Bill.”

She could see Willam dying to comply to the request but to her annoyance, the younger woman restrained herself from providing anything right away. Instead she just breathed out, “Tell me, princess…Tell me what you want me to do.”

Her lips were so close to Courtney’s again, she could practically feel them as they ghosted against hers with each passing word. Willam’s free hand traveled up her back until it made contact with the loose and probably very messy braid. Willam deftly pulled the tie out and tossed it aside it order to run her fingers through Courtney’s hair. Flowers fell onto the bed behind her but she hardly had the capacity to care about that. Her focus was on Willam’s nonchalant statement of, “I can wait all night if I have to, angel.”

The newest nickname finally broke what remained of Courtney’s silence. Resting her forehead to Willam’s, she pressed their lips together for one sweet moment before swallowing what was left of her nerves in order to beg, “Please, I want you inside me…I want it so bad. I-”

Here Willam cut her off with another kiss as her fingers withdrew from between Courtney’s legs. She groaned at the loss until Willam silenced her objection with a commanding, “Take these off. Now.”

Courtney wasted little time in complying, hardly leaving Willam’s lap for more than a few seconds to shimmy out of her last piece of clothing before swiftly settling herself back into place. She felt so small and submissive as Willam still remained somewhat dressed but the appearance of two fingers in front of her lips soon changed that. Holding onto Willam’s wrist, she drew the fingers into her mouth and began to give them a thorough coating with her tongue. She hardly felt like she needed it at this point but the way Willam watched with hazy eyes as she worked more than made up for the further delay.

By the end she might have made the display a little more obscene than she ought to as she sucked on the digits and dragged her tongue anywhere it could reach but Willam certainly wasn’t complaining. She let the show go on much longer than necessary before drawing her fingers back from one heat to another.

As the first digit slipped inside, Courtney let out a sigh of much needed relief. It was finally happening and the anticipation and previous denial only made the moment so much sweeter for her. Already this situation was turning into everything she had wanted it to be.

A second finger was soon added and both crooked inside her as they avoided that one particular spot for now. Willam busied herself with placing fresh kisses across Courtney’s shoulders, chest, and neck as the digits dragged their way in and out at a slow and steady pace. Courtney was pushing her hips insistently against Willam’s hand as her panting began to pick up. A light sheen was breaking out across her forehead as little mewls clawed their way from her throat to Willam’s awaiting ears.

Just as Courtney had opened her mouth to lick at her overly dry lips, she felt the first brush against her g-spot and a small whimper filled the room. She found herself begging for Willam to repeat that motion and to her relief the compliance was almost immediate. As Courtney’s moans starting to pick up, so did Willam’s fingers. It was like a nonverbal reward system; the louder Courtney became, the more insistent the pressure and speed of Willam’s digits became.

Every now and then Courtney found Willam whispering a few words of encouragement in the few seconds she was able to pull her mouth away from Courtney’s skin.

“You sound so beautiful, angel.”

“Let the neighbors hear you, let them know who’s making you scream.”

“Tell me anything you want, princess.”

Each call of either 'princess’ or 'angel’ produced a new wave of whimpering from Courtney. She could feel the pleasure building up until her hands were gripping onto Willam’s shoulders so tightly her knuckles had begun to turn white. Her nails were digging into the dirty blonde’s skin but she didn’t seem to care about anything other than Courtney’s pleas for more.

At her request a third finger was added to the slick heat. With another, a hand was pulling on her hair just so as her neck arched back. Then finally Willam’s mouth was working against hers until she barely able to breath between everything that was happening to her.

It was the casual, almost careless circling of Willam’s thumb against her clit that drove home the fact that Courtney wouldn’t last much longer. Her ruts against Willam’s fingers were no longer in sync and soon she felt the pressure in her core reaching its capacity. She gave Willam a quick warning before burying herself into the crook of her neck and closing her eyes as the sensation washed over her. It was so overpowering that Courtney couldn’t stop herself from shaking as her senses became so overwhelmed and a voice she hardly recognized as her own was calling Willam’s name. It took even longer still to realize the dirty blonde was once again praising how pretty she looked as she came and of course peppering in a nickname or two as a shiver passed through the blonde.

The moment she was able to organize her thoughts Courtney crashed her lips back to Willam’s. The dirty blonde was eagerly responding, barely even noticing Courtney’s frantic hands working on removing her bra until it was all but hanging from a single strap. The second it was gone, Courtney lips were replacing it. If anything she was more erratic than Willam had been as her lips traced across every inch of exposed skin she could find. She wanted to touch and taste Willam, to repay her for everything she had just experienced and of course, to finally indulge in those secret fantasies that lurked in the back of her mind during those nights they had spent together.

Her hands were massaging and kneading Willam’s breasts, hardly able to decide where she wanted to be before her mouth was switching from side to another with little to no warning. Willam’s eyes had gone hooded as Courtney covered her skin so thoroughly with her lips it felt like no part of her had been left untouched.

Moving from Willam’s lap, Courtney repositioned herself as best she could on the bed to continue her path down to Willam’s lean and toned stomach. The position was slightly awkward for the time being, at least until Courtney convinced her scoot closer to the edge.

Immediately Willam realized what Courtney was intending to do as she slid to the floor and reaffirmed that she was alright with going this far. Her mind was flashing back to Courtney’s previous admittance of not having done very much with women before and the absolute last thing she wanted to do, especially right now, was have Courtney feel like this was something she had to reciprocate with.

But Courtney was determined either way. It might not be her area of expertise but she wanted to do this. She wanted to repay Willam and she wanted to gain that experience. After all Willam had done for her, the very least she wished for was for Willam to feel just as good.

“It’s not going to be mind-blowing,” she warned, “but I’ll give it my best shot.”

All Willam could do was nod weakly as Courtney guided her hand to her hair and spread Willam’s legs apart. It was here that Courtney finally slowed down and began to take her time with the dirty blonde. Not to tease her, just to explore her body as she became familiar with this new adventure.

She pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs and across the sensitive skin of her hips. Willam was struggling not twitch or otherwise alarm Courtney with any sudden movements. Stroking the wavy blonde hair, occasionally pulling out the flowers as she found them, helped to keep herself in check. The wide eyes staring up at her sent a bubbling warmth to her stomach that left her feeling both anxious yet still craving for more.

Courtney’s fingers hooked around her panties and with a little maneuvering she was able to slid them off and onto the floor. There was a tense pause as Courtney’s eyes flickered up to meet Willam’s and she slowly began leaning in. Willam’s breath caught in her throat as she felt those delicate hands running against her thighs and spreading her just a little bit wider. All at once it was like a sudden wave came crashing down on her as a tentative lick ran against her slit.

She bit her lip to force back any noise that might try to escape but nothing could be done to stop the rising blood to her cheeks. Her fingers twitched in Courtney’s hair as another more confident swipe of the blonde’s tongue passed along her folds. Their eyes remained connected as Courtney slowly grew more deliberate in her actions, trying new techniques to see what kind of reaction they would evoke from Willam. It was far from experienced but damn if the enthusiasm didn’t make up for it.

With her mind beginning to cloud, Willam wasn’t sure if her voice was actually wavering or not as she murmured, “Good girl…Just like that.”

Courtney hummed something in response and the resulting vibrations had Willam biting her lip once more. If she were standing, her legs would have been shaking at the sight alone of Courtney in front of her doing this.

“K-Keep going, princess, you’re doing so good,” she cooed encouragingly.

Though there was no verbal response, Willam could tell from the crinkling around Courtney’s eyes that praise was really working on her. All of her energy was focused on eating Willam out like it was her job and clearly she was taking pleasure in reducing the dirty blonde to as much of a hot mess as she had been just minutes before.

Willam was being drawn closer and closer to edge yet it still remained just far enough out of her reach that it was starting to become frustrating. She wanted her release more than anything and was desperately chasing it anyway she could manage as she continued to whisper sweet compliments to Courtney.

“Use your thumb,” she suggested softly as she teetered just on the brink of completely losing it.

The words were barely past her lips before she felt the circular rubbing against her clit. She had been so close before that moment that it only took a few complete cycles before she was coming apart under Courtney’s touch. As the climax racked through her body, Courtney kept at her pace until she felt the hand in her hair carefully pushing her away. Taking the hint she withdrew from between Willam’s legs and crawled back onto the bed beside her. She was just getting settled amongst the sheets when she felt Willam pulling her close and crashing their lips back to another.

While Willam took charge once again, making sure to lick her way thoroughly into Courtney’s mouth, she had to admit that still being able to taste herself on Courtney’s tongue was more of a turn on than she thought was fair. One of the Aussie’s hands found its way to her cheek, cradling her gently as though she were the most fragile object in the world. It just felt so right to have Courtney’s body melded into hers, she almost never wanted to leave the bed again in favor of making this moment last forever. But eventually the desire for cleanliness won out and the pair made their into the bathroom to share a quick shower. Admittedly there had been more stolen kisses than actual washing but neither had a negative word to say regarding that.

Following their bare minimum cleaning, the pair changed into some of Willam’s clothes and slipped back into bed with their phones in hand. Seems that while they were busy, most of the other girls had been as well.

Courtney found her inbox blown up with messages from both Katya, Violet, and surprisingly Sharon as well. It was almost expected that Katya felt the need to inform Courtney of everything that had happened after she left the shop. The sheer amount of texts was almost daunting until Courtney realized the majority were very simple phrases, including but not limited to; 'Oh my god!’

'We’re actually talking! Like normal people!’

'I think this counts as a date.’

'This is definitely a date!’

'OMG, what do I do?’

'Fuck! Why did I say that?’

'She’s laughing!’

'Damn she has an awful laugh….I love it.’

'She invited me back to her place!’

'I’m going to be late coming home.’

And then finally the last text had come through not even a full eight minutes prior; 'I’m not coming home tonight.’

Courtney couldn’t help but to chuckle as she read through the messages and probably very accurately pictured all the expressions Katya must have worn as she typed out each quick update. With some of the more colorfully phrased texts, Courtney read them aloud as Willam scrolled through her own inbox. Though she didn’t say anything, Courtney noticed a small relieved smile on Willam’s face as Courtney summarized how Katya’s date seemed to have gone.

Coming upon the end of her own inbox review, Willam asked, “Did you see Violet’s picture?”

Courtney shook her head stating she hasn’t made it that far through her messages yet but would look for it next. Unable to wait for Courtney to find it on her own, Willam extended her phone out to the blonde. The picture had already been blown up to cover the screen and immediately Courtney recognized the interior of the shop.

Taken from only a few feet away, it seems Violet saw an opportunity to sneak a picture of Sharon and Jinkx and had not let the moment go to waste. Sharon was working on her bouquet as Jinkx hung close by on the opposite side of the table. They must have been talking because both were gazing at each other with nothing but pure affection on their faces; the kind you never really notice yourself until someone points it out. Both of them just looked so focused on one another that they were oblivious to everything else around them, particularly Ivy who appearing to be in the midst of dropping some broken stems in the background behind them.

Courtney felt a joyful grin stretching across her lips as she returned to her own phone in order to take a look at the messages from the blonde in question.

“Do you think anything’ll actually happen with them?” Willam asked as she continued to smile warmly at the image on the screen.

Courtney thought to herself for a moment as she opened an attachment in Sharon’s most recent message and found her answer already supplied for her. The grin she wore was alarmingly bright as she all but pushed her phone into Willam’s hand and replied, “Yeah, I think so.”

The dirty blonde’s gaze dropped to the new image and immediately a matching smile appeared on her face. Though the picture was very simple, it gave both of the women hope that everything had in fact worked out for their friends. At the very foreground of the image were two To-Go cups of coffee and scribbled on the sides were Jinkx and Sharon’s names. That alone would not have raised any eyebrows but what caught Courtney and Willam’s attention lurked just at the border of the image; half cut off by the angle of the camera, the two could just make out a pair of hands locked together with intertwining fingers. It was a small guess as to who they belonged to and what that gesture was implying.

“Can’t wait to see what Sharon’ll have to say about that tomorrow,” Willam mentioned in amusement.

Placing her phone off on the nightstand, Courtney nestled into Willam’s side and admitted, “I’m just glad one of them finally made a move…It was getting frustrating just watching them dance around each other like that.”

“Yeah,” Willam agreed absently as she drifted off into her own thoughts. She stayed disturbingly silent for a full minute as Courtney traced mindless patterns over her outer thigh. Deciding she ought to do the right thing, Willam spoke up hesitantly, “Hey, um…I need to tell you something before we…go any further with this.”

Turning her head up to look Willam in the eye, Courtney did her best to hide a growing sense of concern as she replied mildly, “Okay…”

Swallowing heavily, Willam began again with nerves tinging her voice, “When…back when we had our…fight…I kind of…”

“Yeah?” Courtney asked as her brows began to bunch up in worry.

“I did something that I think…I think you should know about,” Willam admitted tensely.

Trying her best to remain calm and not jump to any conclusion, Courtney inquired, “What is it?”

“I…I was pissed at you and I tried to-I kissed Sharon! And if she hadn’t said 'no’, I would have gone much further than that. I’m sorry!” Willam confessed in sudden outburst of emotion. “I’m really sorry for what I said that day and for kissing her and trying to get back at you and-”

“Willam,” Courtney interrupted as she placed a hand over Willam’s forearm in order draw her attention back from her own shame. “It’s okay.”

Willam seem unconvinced, chewing her lip as she continued to stare guiltily down at Courtney. Vaguely the blonde wondered just how much this had been eating away at her but that question wasn’t the one she needed answered. Pressing a quick kiss to Willam’s cheek for reassurance, she asked seriously, “Can you forgive me for sleeping with Katya?”

Immediately the dirty blonde was nodding her head as her fingers toyed with a damp curl hanging across her shoulder. Pulling that same hand into hers, Courtney informed her quite sincerely, “Then of course I can forgive you for kissing Sharon…”

A relieved smile broke out across Willam’s face and though there still seemed to be some disbelief that Courtney was okay with everything she had been told, Willam let the subject drop. They pulled each other in for a final heartfelt kiss as fatigue began to catch up with them. Pulling away, Willam stated quietly, “We were both so stupid.”

“We were…” Courtney agreed with a smile. “But I’m still glad this-that we happened.”

Returning the smile, Willam placed a soft kiss to the corner of Courtney mouth and murmured, “Yeah, me too.”

[keytextsfromkh]

Dream Drop Distance: Traverse Town

- I like how at this point, they're not even trying to pretend to be a fun and happy game. This is third act-Disney movie shit and two people are already dead.

- ...My name is...Bongo.

- No, I prefer Bongo. Sounds more fun and fancy free.

- And that's when you realized that everything up to this point was nothing more than a simulation on the "What if?" Machine. A man can dream...a man can dream.

- Yeah, when we're out in the middle of the ocean, we'll just call Aquaman and he'll save us...he's owned by Disney right?

- (Ursula’s Arrival) Sora, it has begun...it cannot be stopped.

- Wow, Riku's kind of a weakling, when /Sora's/ able to keep his footing and you're tossed overboard, that's pretty bad.

- It's ok Riku, that's just Hades releasing the Titans from...well, Hades. (Where were the Titans held prisoner in the movie?)

- That's got to be a low point in Ursula's career, when she's nothing more than a tutorial boss and doesn't really have story relavance.

- Now /this/ is the time when you should be asking if any of this is for real or not.

- And that question is: How do they get the little m's on the m&m's.

- I suppose that's an interesting question too...show off.

- If that were the case then the challenges of my past have just gave my darkness a huge advantage in /that/ battle.

- (Regarding Xehanort) He's basically Ganon, he'll always come back to fuck us over even if the plot doesn't call for it.

- Well I'm here to tell you that you're not to be cocky little shits and you'll be considered Keyblade Masters when /I/ tell you, you got that you little whippersnappers? God, I'm tired, Mickey, get my walking stick and Donald, get the liniment oil, you're going to be rubbing it into my creases all night.

- Well it is a mix between Disney and Final Fantasy, I'm sure flying colours won't be the strangest thing to appear.

- So Sora opens a keyhole and now he's what, flying through the subspace highway?

- I've had my clothes changed once before and yet I'm still freaked out that it's happened again.

- (Neku’s Arrival) Oh thank god, some much required emo cynicism.

- Maybe it's under his glove, have you thought of that.

- I'm so toally a player, I've been with all the bitches and I can do like 5 Fortnite dances flawlessly.

- This must be Neku's own personal hell, although considering his partner is (probably) Shiki, this is like double hell.

- I'm loving the music although I'm hating the controls, why isn't X jump, it seems kind of backwards.

- Wow, someone with an actual last name, you really aren't from this world are you?

- I mean if I can handle Pokemon, I think I can handle their Disney counterparts.

- And there's my dirty mind at work again. You're telling me that I have to "unlock" seven sleeping holes to gain a great power. It's a good thing I'm not easily offended/paranoid or I'd think that this game was secretly promoting date rape.

- A great wall keeping all the worlds seperate? Again, it's probably a good thing this game originally came out in 2012 or it would be quite suspect.

- (Young Xehanort pulls some sick parkour moves) You said specifically, no over the top acrobatics to prove how cool you are.

- Obstacles: Breakable except when they're not.

- Joshua: King of innuendos.

- Oh god, Joshua's about to spend an hour talking about the multiple worlds theory.

- He wants to find Rhyme but Riku wants to hear reason.

- (What Joshua spends his time dreaming of) And they all centre around one adorable little crankypants

- If Riku is a dreamer, would that make Joshua a dreamweaver and can he get Riku through the night, maybe even reach the morning light?

- At least they don't give you another tutorial.

- Who knew Beat required a self-esteem team and who knew they would be so cute and colourful.

- Ok, I'm calling it now, the Sleeping Worlds don't have oxygen, they have a constant atmosphere of xanax.

- In hindsight, considering the powers of the X-Blade and the requirements of it's construction, this could be seen as a very bad idea and those who came up with it should have been fired.

- So the moral of the story is: Piracy causes giant universe-shattering wars.

- So Riku was just using the keyblade for it's intended purpose, he really wasn't a villain, he was just doing what felt natural.

- Wait, so the letterbox is alive? What other things in this place are alive?

- So, this is the mail room from Monster's Inc.?

- Anyone else think "Ice Dream cone" sounds like an edible? Like it's laced with LSD?

- So it looks like we've entered the residential district of Traverse Town and considering the graffiti, the fact that part of it is obviously based on The World Ends With You and the idea of how Sleeping Worlds operate, I think this is a part of Disney that they want to ignore, it's a part of them that fell into Darkness and they want it to linger there, it's early 90s Disney. In this twisted town, we won't meet Goofy, we'll meet Max from Goof Troop, we won't see Huey,Dewey and Louie from DuckTales, it'll be their iterations from Quack Pack and I think I know who the final boss of this world will be. Someone who represents the 90s and all things EXTREME! Someone who's connected to Disney but is nothing more than a twisted, vulgar imiation of the real form. This final boss will be Dippy Fresh.

- I will say the new parts of Traverse Town look amazing, it's like they really get that mix of SE's anime stylings and Disney's wonder and magic.

- Again, as I've said before, Sora's just one huge OCD bubble.

- Where the fuck was Rhyme during Chain of Memories, she loses her memories and acts like it's no big deal and then starts talking in fortune cookie sayings.

- So Sora has teleporting powers now? Is that another little extra when in the sleeping worlds?

- Seriously, the music is really damn good in this, the boss music may be a lot more upbeat than in previous games but it has this carnival-like heroic vibe going for it.

- Well it still is Disney so I guess "friend" is the best we can do for now.

- We're pulling an Inception here Sora, please try to keep up.

- (Joshua’s a very humble person) I'm God, it's no biggie really.

- It's Xehanort: The Wonder Years

- (Regarding Shiki being saved by Riku) You could at least let me give you a blowjob as payment.

- I guess after Selphie pulled a #metoo on Tidus, Riku isn't taking any chances.

- Unless this is a Proud Mode thing, one major issue I'm already having with this game is that there are too many enemies. Like I know you can run into a pack of monsters every 5 steps but this is overdoing it just a tad. It doesn't help that we're already fighting some of the heavy hitters in the first world rather than waiting a world or two before bringing in the fat fuckers.

- Oh fuck, he turned her into a cat doll.

- (Beat knows when things are half-baked) If anyone would know anything about being baked, it's you.

- Speaking of which, where are the reapers? They could bring some much needed fun right about now.

- Now that's a smart idea, let's take a huge boss with huge arms and put the fight in a small room where it can grab shit and whack you with them.

- Now there's a missed opportunity, why do Sora and Riku get the same Keyblades, it would have been interesting if each one got their own unique keyblade based on how their story in that world plays out.

- So Joshua is Sin from Final Fantasy X?

- Ok, that spinning thing is kind of distracting and kind of dumb

- Joshua died on his way to his home planet.

- (Yen Sid can be really dick-ish sometimes) I'm kind of a dick that way.  

[p-artsypants]

Arcadia or Bust (3)

FF.net | AO3 

At 8 pm, Jim rose from the bed. He had got his full 40 minutes of sleep, and then spent the rest of the night holding Claire as she slept. At one point, she had begun to shake and whimper in a nightmare. He simply snuggled her closer, nuzzling her neck and kissed her cheek. Eventually she fell back to sleep and remained that way.

When he rose, she groaned and he tucked her in snuggly.

“It’s dark out now, so I’m going to go see about that truck. I’m taking your phone. Just keep sleeping, okay?”

“Hmmm....” She hummed.

Though he had told her this, he still wrote a note, figuring she would remember little of what was said.

He dressed, poking holes in his hood for his horns, and made sure the maximum amount of skin was covered as possible. Then he took one key for the room and left.

Using the pictures Claire had taken, Jim was able to clumsily navigate his way back to the house. It was evening, of course, but people still milled around. Some people gave him sideways looks, but most didn’t even notice.

An old man sat on the porch, smoking a cig.

Jim stood at the wire fence, nervous. “Uh, hello sir?”

“Evenin’,” replied the old man.

“Is this your truck for sale?”

“Sure is,” he said, dragging on his cig. “Who’s askin’?”

“My name is Jim Lake Jr., sir. I’m interested.”

“Why you look like a demon, boy?”

Jim swallowed, “sorry, I just came from the Horror Convention down at the Showboat Hotel.”

The man switched his cig over to the other side of his mouth. “You got a license? How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m 16, sir. And yeah, I have my license right here.” He took it from his wallet.

The man flicked his cig on the driveway and then made his way over to the fence. He took the license and studied it.

“From California, huh? What’re you doing all the way here?”

Jim had been practicing his story, and came up with a pretty convincing half-truth. “My friends and I really like to hike, and we decided to hike our way over here for the horror convention. On the way, we found this really cool, big quartz, and we want to take it home. It’s just too heavy for a wagon or wheelbarrow.”

The man was quiet, thinking. “How heavy are we talkin’?”

“Like, a thousand pounds? It took four of us to lift it.” He glanced at the vehicle. “Can that truck lift that?”

The old man chortled, “can she lift that?! Of course she can! Used to lift V16 engine blocks.”

Jim smiled, assuming that was a good thing. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking…why is it for sale? And only 2,000?”

The man walked over to the truck, patting it fondly. It looked a bit like Señor Uhl’s Susanna. “Oh, she runs okay. She doesn’t have a muffler, the air doesn’t work, and neither does the radio. She shakes sometimes. Leaks oil sometimes, but she’ll get you where you need to go.” He frowned in Jim’s general direction. “I slipped a disc a few months back and they fused my spine. I have a hard time gettin’ in ‘er these days. So my son convinced me to just use my wife’s car…I’m too old to need this old thing anyways.”

Jim looked at the man with pity.

“Do your parents know about this?”

“Well, they know what I’m up to, but they don’t know I’m trying to purchase a truck.”

“Call ‘em. I ain’t selling you anything until I know that I ain’t gonna have to deal with this later.”

“Oh, sure, right. Of course.” Jim cleared his throat and took out Claire’s phone, calling his mom.

“Hi Honey! How’s the trip? Are you on your way back yet?”

“Not just yet, mom. By the way, you’re on speaker. So you remember that costume contest we entered?”

“Costume contest?”

“Yeah, you know, the one I made the Troll costume for.”

“Oh! Yes! Right, duh! How did it go?”

“I won first prize! 5,000 bucks!”

“Oh Jim! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy to hear that!”

“So, second part...you know that quartz we found?”

“Yes?”

“Well, we were trying to figure out a way to carry it, and we found a truck that’s 2,000 bucks. I’m talking to the owner right now, and he just wants to make sure it’s approved by you.”

“So you’re driving back?”

“At least Claire and I. Not sure who else.”

“Well, it’s fine by me. It might be beneficial for your new job here, after all.”

“My new job?”

“Construction, the market is going to need all the hands they can get.”

“Oh, yeah! Good point.”

The old man spoke, “excuse me, Mrs…?”

“Dr. Lake.”

“Dr. Lake, so I have you expressed permission to sell my car over to your son?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I give Jim permission to sign my name for me.”

“He’s got insurance?”

“Yes sir, he’s covered.”

“Alright,” the man nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Thank you,” said Barbara, “for making sure he was safe.”

“Well, my son did something like this back in the day, and I almost had a heart attack when he came home.”

“Well, I’m sure I would have been more confused than anything. Thanks again!”

“Bye mom, love you.”

“Bye kiddo!”

The man took out his own phone, a track phone, and dialed a number. “I’m calling my son, he said he’d help me with the paper work and all that.”

“Oh I see.” Jim nodded.

As the man chatted with his son, Jim sent a text over to Toby.

Dude I forgot to tell you, but we found the heartstone! It’s kind of small, so we’re bringing it back. We’re going to see if it can revive the old heartstone.

The response was almost instant.

Claire?

No, it’s Jim.

JIIIIIMMMMBBBBOOOOOOO!!!! DDDUUUUDDDDEEEEE!!!!!

That’s too many extra letters and exclamation points, Tobes.

I’M LITERALLY SCREAMING RIGHT NOW. ARRRGH IS CONCERNED. BUT I DONT CARE BECAUSE YOU’RE COMING HOME SOON!!!

Yep, and I’m working on getting a truck for the stone, so it might only be a week or so.

THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVERRR!!!! At the end there was a string of emojis, featuring ‘100’, fire, okay hand sign, crying face, and a trumpet.

I’m glad I texted. You probably would have screamed my ear off.

I can’t help it! I’m just so excited! Then the phone vibrated as a long series of texts came from Toby.

Dude.

I totally forgot.

No.

I’m going to keep it a surprise.

Oh but it’s so good.

You have no idea.

The greatest thing ever happened.

Did Darcy say yes when you proposed to her?

There was a pause.

The second greatest thing happened.

Jim sent a laughing emoji.

But I’m not telling you, because it’s way to good to be true.

Alright, if you say so. I won’t bug you about it, because I know how you crack under pressure.

Thanks man. Cause it is reaalllyyy great. And we’ll start cleaning up Troll market. I mean, more than what we have.

At this point, the old man had finished his conversation with his son. “So,” he began. “Troy is going to be a little bit. I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with something in the meantime?”

“Oh, sure?”

—

“You got it? You sure?”

“Yeah, I got it. Where do you want it?” Jim had his arms full with a huge tube TV. The man said it hadn’t worked in years and the Mrs. asked him to get rid of it. Problem was, it was a tad heavy.

The elder climbed the basement stairs at a snails pace, Jim standing behind him. He led him out the the road, and had him sit it out at the curb.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

With his troll strength, it was nothing. But had Jim been his old noodle self, he wouldn’t have been able to lift it on his own. “Oh no, it was fine.”

“I got something else, if you’re up for it.”

“Whatever you need.” Jim replied with a smile.

Two bikes, a stereo system, and an hefty particle board cabinet. All without breaking a sweat.

“Alright, I think I’ve taken advantage of you enough for one day.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all.”

The man grinned. Then he took out another cig and made his way over to sit on his porch. “So, that’s not actually makeup, is it?”

Jim looked at him, wide eyed. “Um, I don’t know���“

“Boy, you dead lifted a 250 pound television and carried it up a flight of stairs like it was nothing. Not to mention that cabinet! And at 16?”

“I…just workout a lot?”

The man wasn’t buying it. He huffed smoke out. “Son, you should know not to lie to your elders.”

It was New Jersey. What were the chances he was going to see this man again? “Alright, you got me. I’m not exactly human.”

“Are ya a demon?”

“What? No, no, no.” Jim waved his hands in front of him. “I’m a troll—er, half troll.”

The man nodded, not saying much until finally. “Just as long as I ain’t doin’ business with the devil.”

—

Despite the comfort of the bed, Claire was wracked with nightmares. It was so realistic and horrific, she didn’t even know it was a nightmare at first.

Morgana played a significant role. The she-witch had Jim by the horns, and lifted him from the ground.

“You want him back, don’t you? The boy you once knew. The human.”

Claire shook her head. “No! No! Leave him alone!”

“Silly girl, I know your deepest thoughts. I will tear this gruesome, ugly shell away, and return what once was…”

It was inhumane. Morgana pulled at his horns, ripping him apart from the scalp. He screamed violently as blood trickled down his face and chest. His fingers curled into hooks as his skull came into view.

He continued to look at her with his bloodshot blue eyes. “Why Claire?! Why can’t you just love me?!”

“I do! I do love you, Jim!! I’m sorry!”

And just like that, she was in her living room, gasping for breath.

Everything was gray and dingy. Dust hung, suspended in the air. A strange woman with black hair and hunting green eyes sat on the couch, sipping tea.

“Ah, there you are darling. I wondered when we’d connect.”

Claire swore she had never seen her before, but her voice…

“Who...are you?”

“Do you not recognize me? Oh, but I suppose you wouldn’t, being that my armor is packed away. Little use for it here in the shadow realm.”

“Wait, if we’re in—then that means you’re—“

“Morgan La Fey. It’s nice to see you again, child.”

“But—! How are you—?”

“You seemed surprised. After all, you only trapped me in here.”

Claire paced. “This can’t be happening! I pushed you out of my mind! You can’t—this isn’t real!”

“Of course it isn’t.” She answered simply. “This is happening inside your head. I’m not going to hurt you or any of your friends.”

“Then why—?”

“Can’t a poor, lonely, old witch have a decent conversation with someone?”

“The last time we talked, you possessed my body. I almost got killed!”

“All in the past! All in the past.”

Not really, but Claire just glared at her.

“I’d actually like to thank you, Claire.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes. You see, when Merlin trapped me, he put me in a stasis so that I could stew in my anger. I built so much up that once I was free, it consumed me. Now that I’m here in my own vast and beautiful world, where Merlin can’t hurt me, I find peace in my soul.”

That was befuddling. “But...you’re evil?”

The woman smiled. “Is that what Merlin told you?”

“I mean, yeah. But you also possessed my body and tried to kill my boyfriend...as well as plunge the world into darkness, and you nearly destroyed my home.”

“Well, when you say it like that.” Morgan set her tea on the coffee table and leaned back in her seat, “may I tell my side of the story?”

Claire relaxed a tad, and fell into the seat opposite of Morgana.

“Have you heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table?”

“Of course, who hasn’t?”

“Arthur was my brother.”

“And…Merlin trained him, right?”

“More like, Merlin thrust him into a role he was not prepared for. Much like your beloved Trollhunter. Arthur was just a child when he was chosen to be king, likewise, I was a young woman when I apprenticed under Merlin.”

Claire leaned forward a bit, now ridiculously curious.

“My brother did a great many things in his life, as the legends all tell. But he met an early end, and I buried him. Merlin was nowhere to be found. When I returned, my brother’s sword had been taken and melted down and Merlin declared that I was the last ingredient in a concoction that would help the world. I was still grieving the loss of my brother at the time, and paid little attention to his inane ideas. While I slept, he cut off my hand.” She held up her emerald prosthetic. “Never given a choice. I didn’t even know what that potion was. My master betrayed me.”

Clear sadness held Morgan’s face as she stared at her hand. Claire witnessed this, and felt the sadness in herself. Then she shook her head, and told herself that this was Morgana, the mistress of Shadows.

Morgan clenched her fist. “I was beyond angry. And I turned to the Gum-Gums as a means to my retribution. I promised Gunmar the Black, an appalling and dense creature, a way to create night eternal. And then I blessed him with the Decimaar blade, a sword that could strip the freewill of any living being. For a great many years, we waged war against the humans and Merlin’s Trollhunters. Until Deya the Deliverer cast Gunmar into the Killahead bridge, and Merlin froze me within the Heartstone.”

Claire looked down at her feet, feeling guilty, since she felt pity for this evil witch.

“I tell you this, because I want you to know…I was once good. I was like you, pure in heart, full of love for my little brother and a dashing boy. But Merlin corrupted me. It was innocent enough at first…teaching me spells…helping me in my rose garden…then he turned my focus to him and his honeyed words. I fell in love with him.”

That was unexpected. “But he’s so…”

“Old? He wasn’t always. I aged better than he did.” Morgan picked up her tea and sipped again. “He taught me everything he knew, pushing past the limitations of morality, and into dark magic. I wanted to impress him. But the more I studied, the more he rebuked me. Love turned into jealousy, then bitterness, and then burning hatred. I stewed in my hatred for years, centuries, until nothing but cruelness and malice remained. That is what you saw when you fought me and banished me here.”

Claire sat up, clenching her fists in her lap. “It’s only been a month since then, for all I know—“

“Time works differently in here.” Morgan clarified. “You should know. What may have been a month out on the surface world, may have been years in here.”

“But you spent centuries in stasis…”

Morgan smiled. “Now you’re catching on. This realm…is my own creation.” In a grand gesture with her hands, the room stretched and transformed, turning into windows with stone walls. A temple remained when all was said and done.

“Wow…”

“And as such, I can make of it as I wish. I am queen here, and all powerful. Once you destroyed my Skathe-Hrün, it was like a bucket of water crashed upon my heart. My rage, my hatred…it vanished. I was left with this…emptiness. But as time went on, the realization that I would never see Merlin again sunk in, and I felt lighter. I started to feel like my old self. My soul has been stained, that is undeniable. I have done evil things, but I think I can still do good.”

“Like what?”

“I would like to mentor you, in the cosmic arts.”

It was almost sudden. Jim, true, human Jim leaned in the front door, and met her eyes. He spoke softly. “It’s dark out now, so I’m going to go see about that truck. I’m taking your phone. Just keep sleeping, okay?”

At his voice, the world went hazy for a moment as she responded with a hum that echoed in the room.

“You see,” said Morgan. “You’re still sleeping in your hotel room. I promise not to hold you too long. Though you can wake up, when you want to.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief. “Why…why me?”

“Because you wielded my Skathe-Hrün. You and I were connected, briefly. And even now, in your darkest nightmares, I can find you. Because you appear here, in the shadow realm.” The room began to shrink back down to the living room it was before. “And, as I said before, you remind me of myself, before I fell.”

Claire stared at the woman, studying her. She seemed calm and collected, no ounce of violence in her stature.

“Merlin is a jerk…” she finally said.

“That he is.” Morgan replied. “Which is the other reason I am reaching out to you. Even if you turn down my offer, I beg you…don’t follow in Merlin’s footsteps. He’s selfish and pig-headed. He thinks he can do no wrong, and cares little for his actions.”

Claire remembered his attitude toward Jim’s transformation. He never once apologized for it, and expected everyone to thank him for turning him into, what is essentially, a monster.

“I see within you, the need to do good. So I can teach you healing spells, illusion spells, say nothing of necromancy and soul trapping. I will teach you what you need to know to help you’re Trollhunter.”

Claire furrowed her brows. She did like the idea of helping Jim.

“I still don’t know…”

Morgana raised to her feet, and came over to Claire, gently touching her cheek. “I understand your reservations. Take time to decide.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why. Why do you want to do this?”

Morgan shrugged, a truly defeated look on her face. “Would you believe that I’m bored?”

Claire said nothing.

“Incudo. It means ‘to forge’. With it, you can mend something of metal back together. Whether it be armor, or a sword, or what ever. Speak it backwards, Oducni, and you will undo a forged piece.” Morgan walked back to her chair. “There, I leave you with a simple spell. It can be deadly, if used cunningly. Or harmless. It’s up to you. Now, it’s getting late. You should awake.”

And once again, Claire was gasping for breath. But this time, she was alone in her hotel room.  

[odanurr87]

My thoughts on... Ghost in the Shell

On a whim, I decided to watch Ghost in the Shell, the 2017 live-action adaptation with Scarlett Johansson. Having watched that movie it only stood to reason I should watch the 1995 animated film upon which it was based (although some reviewers claim it also incorporates elements from an animated GitS series I have not yet watched), if only to have an idea of how faithful it was to the source material, where it deviated, and why. While I realize this will probably be a very unpopular opinion, I have to say I prefer the 2017 adaptation over the 1995 animated film.

Before you bring out the pitchforks, hear me out! There’s merit to be found in both films, yes, but let me try to explain why I think the 2017 adaptation tells the better story of the two. Let’s start with the original film. You will encounter spoilers from this point onwards so I encourage you to watch both movies, animated first and live-action second (I watched them the other way around, actually), and then come back to read what I have to say on both. Of course, if you don’t mind the spoilers, by all means keep on reading.

The plot

The 1995 animated film follows the character of Major Motoko Kusanagi, an android with a human brain (a "ghost" in a shell) that works for the Public Security Section 9 of New Port City in Japan (an intelligence department that engages in activities in support of national security). Our story takes place in THE FUTURE; a future where we have apparently conquered the stars and perfected our ability to create cybernetic limbs and bodies to replace our fragile counterparts. Indeed, as Batou (another member of Section 9 and perhaps Major’s only friend) states at one point in the film, the majority of the personnel working at Section 9 has been augmented to some degree (actually, if the translation's correct, he flat out states they all have cybernetic bodies but I'll come back to that later).

Unfortunately, with the advent of new technologies also come new dangers, as proven by the Puppet Master (who goes by the name of Kuze in the live action movie), a dangerous criminal who can hack into people's "ghosts" (not sure whey they didn't use the word "mind" or "brain") and implant false memories. The plot follows the members of Section 9 as they track down the Puppet Master to try and uncover his intentions. However, the plot is only a means to an end and that end is to explore the question of what it means to be human. The film toys with the concept of, as Legion would put it, "Can this unit have a soul?"

This is not, by any means, a new concept to sci-fi. It has been explored in anything from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein to BioWare's Mass Effect games, with varying degrees of success. One of my favourite writers, Isaac Asimov, delves quite a bit into this question, as reflected in his Robot Series and numerous short stories, and even his Foundation series to some degree. In fact, Alex Proyas used Asimov's works to explore this question in the 2004 movie I, Robot which, incidentally, bears some similarities with the 2017 GitS movie. The issue I have with the GitS animated film is that it foregoes everything else in favour of exploring this question and yet comes up short. What do I mean by this?

The world

This is what the future looked like in 1995.

For starters, this is supposed to be a futuristic society that has made huge advancements in the fields of cybernetic enhancements and space travel, yet none of this is reflected in the world surrounding its characters. Were it not for the odd android appearance here and there, New Port City could be any Japanese city from 1995, not 2029 as the film would have us believe. 

Say what you will about the 2017 movie, I can at least look at what's going on in the background, the holographic adverts, the Geisha robots, the cibernetically-enhanced people, and think to myself, "Yup, this looks like a future where GitS could exist." Sure, I've seen this future before in movies like Blade Runner and Total Recall (the new one), or games like Remember Me and Deus Ex: Human Revolution, to mention a few, but at least it's trying. It can only strengthen your narrative when you show how technological advancements have affected society as well as illustrate their potential pitfalls. 

The future as depicted in the 2017 movie.

A poignant example of this, present in both films, is a scene where a regular Joe is confronted with the notion that his wife and child are illusory constructs placed there by an external agent and how he'll never regain his former memories again. Downright terrifying stuff. Can you imagine it? Waking up one day and being told that all of your life’s memories were planted there a few days ago? The animated film doesn't really capitalize on this notion, that memories are important to building our identity. To be fair though, the live-action version doesn’t fare all that better, (over) simplifying the discussion to the, oft-repeated, quote, “We cling to memories as if they define us, but what we do defines us”; a quote that seemingly tries to avoid the discussion that the animated film actively encourages.

In fact, insofar memory alteration or manipulation is concerned, DONTNOD’s Remember Me (yeah, the guys who created the wonderful Life Is Strange) pulls it off a lot better than either one of these films, not least of why because it is an aspect crucial to the plot. In the game, memories can be stored, downloaded, traded or sold, thanks to Sensen, a neck implant that interfaces with the memory centers of the brain. Of course, once memories can be easily accessed and stored it becomes possible to alter them or erase them altogether. Remember Me explores these implications in a deft manner through her protagonist, Nilin, a woman who has the unique talent to “remix” people’s memories but who has none of her own. Nilin is aided and guided in her search for the truth by a mysterious figure, named Edge, who has been branded a terrorist by the government. Ring any bells? I encourage you to play it sometime.

At least it’s self-aware, right?

The Major

As I've mentioned before, the concept of "ghosts in the shell" is not a new one in the world of the animated film. All of the members of Section 9 have cybernetic bodies protecting their human brains. In the world of the 2017 movie however, not so much. 

Scarlett Johansson's Major is actually the first "ghost in the shell," the result of an experiment ran by Hanka Robotics to engineer the first human (brain) in a cybernetic frame. One need not go to Deus Ex: Human Rebolution to realize the potential military use of such an asset. Indeed, the CEO of Hanka Robotics, by the name of Cutter, wastes no time in stating that Major is a weapon, the first of her kind, and shipping her off to Section 9 as a demo.

I’ll take two!

Already we've established a significant difference between the two movies: in one, Major is unique; in the other, she's not. Thus, Scarlett Johansson's Major is a much better vessel to explore the question of whether she can "have a soul." It's understandable that she's asking herself these questions more than any other character because she’s the first and only one of her kind. The live action movie further deviates from the original as it prompts the character to dig into her past before she became Major (something that explains away her appearance quite nicely), carefully building an atmosphere of suspense.

It can be argued, not without reason, that the execution of this journey of self-discovery is far from flawless. It is easy to guess early on that the Major's background is fabricated, that the drugs she takes are not to combat her mind's rejection of her cybernetic body but to suppress her memories (like in the 2015 movie Self/less, with Ryan Reynolds and Ben Kingsley), and that Cutter is, ultimately, the villain at the core of Project 2571. I can understand why people might look at this and consider it a Hollywood-ization of the 1995 film (I mean, placing Cutter at the scene of the crime, as it were, is a tad too much). There was no main villain in the animated film, just another secret organization trying to cover up one of their screw ups and getting rid of the evidence while they’re at it. In fact, I'd argue that 2004's I, Robot did a much better job with its villain than 2017's Ghost in the Shell.

And yet the combination of these elements makes for a more compelling journey for Major in the live action version, providing some much-needed context for her actions. Johansson's Major sees herself as little more than a machine, a weapon created to put down targets on behalf of Section 9. She also believes herself to be invulnerable, taking risks again and again, like when she dives into the Geisha's "ghost" in order to track down Kuze. This echoes a similar scene in the animated film where Major shows her willingness to interface with another cybernetic body not unlike her own. However, while Johansson's motivation is clear (they have to stop Kuze before he murders more people), the animated movie fails to adequately explain Major's overeagerness to attempt such a dangerous connection and her insistence that only she be allowed to do so. Unfortunately, this is not the only time where the Major acts seemingly out of character.

Thus we arrive at the subject of character development. I have an issue with it, Major has none. Much like the animated film she stars in, Major is a vehicle for the author to philosophize on humanity and the concept of self. It's not even subtle. At one point in the film, Major is having a quiet chat with Batou, explaining to him why she loves to go diving... and suddenly we pan to a close-up of Major as she explains to the viewer the notion of consciousness and being aware of one's self.

Well, it’s not trying to be subtle that’s for sure.

This is not the only time we're treated to the author's thesis, but it is without a doubt the most egregious example of it. We don't see a character wrestling with her own humanity but rather listen to someone else's dissertation on the subject. The scene is then followed by three minutes (I counted) of ambient shots playing to a choir. Am I supposed to use that time to reflect on this astounding revelation of the nature of the self? I mean, the story has been slow-paced thus far, I'll grant you that, but this three-minute break is pushing it. 

Sure, the live action movie brings up these concepts too but it doesn't hit you over the head with them, certainly not to the degree the animated film does (perhaps not nearly enough, it could be argued). It is precisely because the live action movie doesn't philosophize nearly as much that I felt the interaction between the characters was more believable, they felt real. I was able to appreciate Major and Batou's partnership and came to see the members of Section 9 as a family of sorts, with father Aramaki (Major's boss) looking out for his kids. Even Juliette Binoche's character, Dr. Ouelet (similar to I, Robot's Dr. Calvin), predictable as she was, was looking out for her "daughter," a common theme in stories of this sort.

The Puppet Master/Kuze

Perhaps the least convincing aspect of the animated film however, is the agenda of the person at the heart of Section 9's investigations, the Puppet Master (or Kuze in the 2017 adaptation). I'm about to talk at some length about his endgame so, if you wish to remain spoiler-free, I suggest you skip to the next section.

No, that’s not Anakin Skywalker.

In the 1995 film, the Puppet Master was actually an advanced artificial intelligence program, known as Project 2501, created by Section 6 for the purposes of industrial espionage and intelligence manipulation. At some point it went rogue and managed to upload itself into a cybernetic body, eventually ending in the hands of Section 9. This was all part of its master plan to contact Major and make her an offer: to merge their two selves in order to evolve. Indeed, the Puppet Master makes it abundantly clear that it's concerned about the prospect of its own mortality and legacy.

In other words, 2501 wants to have a kid with Major. Why it chose her and not someone more easily accessible is anyone's guess. Its reasoning that it chose her because it sees itself in her is dubious at best, seeing as we've already established that (this) Major is not unique in any way, shape, or form. 2501's argument that it could be easily be destroyed by a virus is equally laughable. Human beings can be killed by those and more. And why would Major consent to any of this in the first place? What is her motivation?

At least in the live action film Major shares a kinship with Kuze, however briefly explored, that works better at explaining why she would consider his proposal. With the truth finally laid bare, Major's arc reaches a major crossroads as she ponders her future. Does she want to join Kuze in immortality and become a part of his network? Does she see herself as beyond humans? Or has she come to terms with her new life and decided to embrace it? It is poignant that Johanssen's Major chooses her friends and family whereas her animated counterpart chooses an uncertain future for the sake of concluding a thesis.

The live action movie has a bit of an idealized ending, true. The good guys finally defeat the bad guy, Major reunites with her mother (I did not expect Major to reveal her identity, I mean, would her mother even believe it?) and fully embraces her new persona. It may be a (somewhat) straightforward story but at least it’s consistent. I cannot say the same for the animated movie and its “brave new world” type of ending.

Conclusions

I hope I have been able to make you understand why I believe the 2017 movie is the better of the two. While admittedly the 1995 film tries and, to some degree, succeeds at being the more thought-provoking of the two, it is also the only thing it tries to do, practically refusing to set up a convincing world or characters. The live action movie may at times be predictable and reminiscent of other films or games (to be fair, these themes have been explored plenty of times) but it tells the better, more coherent, story.

It also doesn't hurt that it faithfully recreates some great scenes from its animated counterpart, such as Major's fight with one of The Puppet Master's agents or her epic showdown with the Spider Tank. It even ends winking at the source material as Major waves herself into camouflage like she does at the beginning of the animated film (albeit in a different context).

Except for that beautiful choir track that plays during the three-minute interlude, and that strongly reminded me of NieR:Automata, I don't recall a lot about the animated film's score. The live action movie, on the other hand, benefits tremendously from having two veteran composers like Clint Mansell (The Fountain, Moon) and Lorne Balfe (Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Assassin's Creed III) at the helm. Sadly, the release of the score was abruptly cancelled several months ago for, as of yet, unknown reasons (this is really weird) and we still don’t know when, or if, it will be released at all.

Now comes the hard part, the rating. Should I even try to rate these two movies? They are similar in some respects, yes, but their approach is remarkably different. The 1995 film sacrifices a lot in favour of its thesis, and while its execution is disappointing it's probably an average or above-average experience overall. Had I watched it back in 1995 I might have rated it higher. The 2017 film may have settled for less, but remains an engaging and consistent experience throughout. I certainly enjoyed it more than the Assassin's Creed adapation (yes, I enjoyed that one too) and while Scarlett Johansson is no Will Smith in I, Robot (let's be fair, Major is a pretty inexpressive character in both films) she gets the job done, in no small part thanks to the great supporting cast, particularly Pilou Asbæk's Batou and Takeshi Kitano's Aramaki. 

So, here goes nothing...

Ghost in the Shell (1995): 6/10

Ghost in the Shell (2017): 8/10

You may resume bringing out the pitchforks.

[ketchupcrisp]

Sanders’ Secret: A (That Would Be) Enough Timestamp

So this is a tad terrifying; I’ve rarely used the Tumblr I’ve had for years to do anything but lurk and bask in the greatness of others, but I’m giving this a try.

A couple notes first: This is a time-stamp from a larger WIP piece I’ve written (found here). It’s set midway through Chapter Four, during Natasha’s first shopping trip for then de-aged Tony.

Also, I should add that her thoughts about Build a Bear are not my own. A number of my friends work, or have worked, there and I think it’s a lovely place. It’s just not a store I can imagine Natasha having an easy time in.

Finally, content warnings for a few slightly macabre thoughts from Natasha, mostly concerning canon-typical violence, which she sometimes inappropriately compares to teddy bear shopping, because of course she does. If you need a redacted version or more information, just let me know.

Please be gentle with any comments/critique. 

This is Sanders (at least, this is the Sanders I imagined while writing). I loved the idea of a sloth of all things for Tony, because even though Natasha couldn’t possibly have realized it at the time, sloths embody so much of what they want for both de-aged and, later, little!Tony: a softness and a slowness, the polar opposite of the always-on, “Stark men are made of iron” stuff. (Also, let’s face it, sloths are adorable.)

There’s a secret about Sanders, one that Natasha would never tell anyone on pain of death, one that embarrasses her to even acknowledge in her own mind: his furry little body contains six cloth hearts.

She had very nearly left the store within seconds of entering it. The place was so unbelievably loud, in every possible way: bright fabrics, kids screaming, ridiculous music about the magic of childhood blaring in the background, it was like someone had taken every stereotype in existence about the sentimentality of Americans and distilled it into one store. The place was basically Natasha’s worst nightmare.

It was the surprise of seeing a stuffed sloth, of all animals, that had made her stop the hasty retreat she’d been beating towards the exit. She’d come in with the vague idea of getting Tony something pretty traditional, a simple bear that she figured she might (if her temper held out that long) dress in one of the Avengers t-shirts she knew the store sold. And the store had those in spades. But there had been…something, something about the sloth’s huge nose and silly little grin, maybe, or the way each of its hands contained a velcro patch that would allow them to form a loop for easy carrying and cuddling. Instantly, she’d been able to see a four-year-old version of Tony Stark huddled up with the thing, telling it his secrets and allowing himself the fiction his adult self knew far better than to believe, that the animal could keep him safe through whatever dangers his dreams or the world around him could conjure.

So she’d picked the damn thing up. The unstuffed animal’s shapeless floppiness reminded her strongly of some of the more bizarre corpses she’d encountered during her work with SHIELD, but honestly thinking about that resemblance was somewhat comforting. She was so utterly out of her element that being able to reframe at least some aspect of the experience through a more familiar lens was what got her through waiting in line for the ‘stuffing machine’.

Of course, she had almost left again when she reached the front of the line, watched the beaming employee stuff the sloth, only to stop before sewing the seam in the back.

“And now it’s time for the heart ceremony!” Again this sounded…oddly familiar, but Natasha was pretty certain this twenty-something who was practically buzzing with excitement was not referring to the ritual removal and burning of organs that she had encountered during some of her stranger ops.

“I…no thanks?” she’d tried stiffly.

“Oh but your new friend needs a heart! That’s how they know they’re made out of love!” Yes. It was official. This was a very material manifestation of hell. “If you’ll just pick one from the container right there, we’ll get started!” With a wince, she’d grabbed haphazardly at the tiny cloth shapes, accidentally picking up two in her uncharacteristically awkward haste. One was a solid red, the other a muted purple tone. But rather than put the extra down as she should have done, she’d considered the clear bin for long enough that the child in line behind her let out an impatient whine. Then she’d reached in and grabbed four more, expression daring the bubbly employee or the whimpering kid to say anything. Wisely, neither had.

In the minute or so that followed, in which Natasha was forced to rub the fistful of hearts on her head (to make the sloth smart), her bicep (to give it strength), and her ‘funny bone’ (so it would always have a joke ready), she had frantically tried to get in touch with her uncooperative brain. She had considered every possible option from mind control to the store actually being some kind of portal into a hell dimension, to figure out what could possibly have possessed her to not just participate in this lunacy, but to actually take a heart for every one of Tony’s teammates. She’d even grabbed one for Thor, and he wasn’t on Earth right now!

She’d stumbled over to the ‘bathing’ area, pressing the button to blow air onto the animal and fluff its fur, in somewhat of a daze. True, she regretted what she’d initially written about Tony in her evaluation, but they were moving past that now. And it wasn’t as if he would even know about the hearts sewn inside the stuffed animal she’d given his four-year-old self once he was an adult again, let alone care, or take that ridiculous display as a meaningful indication that her opinion of him had truly changed.

But the only other option, if she hadn’t done this humiliating, saccharine thing for Tony, was that she’d somehow done it for herself. And that was even more incomprehensible. She’d never been a person to dwell on the loss of her own childhood; of all the things the Red Room had taken from her, the constructed fiction of youth as a time of innocence and freedom was not one she’d been inclined to mourn. Not in the face of so many other losses, and not in a time and place where entire regimes were crumbling before the eyes and on the backs of its people. No, it wasn’t about trying to recreate or recapture something she’d never really felt she’d had to begin with.

The best she could figure, it was that after all she had done, she was still about to make her way into Stark tower and be trusted with a young, impossibly and incomprehensibly vulnerable version of her teammate. Natasha had been counted, without hesitation or conditions, included on a very short list of people deemed worthy and capable of not just knowing this child existed, but of caring for and protecting him. It was just as heavy a weight as her much larger promise to protect and shield the Earth from threats. But this prospect, and the thought of sharing that responsibility with the others, also left her almost…buoyant.

“Did you make a birth certificate for your new friend?” the man at the checkout asked, with no idea he was posing this question to one of the world’s foremost assassins, someone feared and admired and and courted by nearly every major intelligence agency. Here, for just a second, she got to be like anyone else who has ever had the privilege of going to absurd, unfathomable lengths to try to demonstrate to someone, several someones, actually, that she cared. That it mattered to be counted among them, even if she would probably never be able to tell them so outside the fluffy internal confines of a small stuffed sloth.

She did, however, make a mental note to wipe the security footage first thing in the morning. Because Natasha will be damned if Fury, or (God forbid) Clint, ever finds out about this.

[armorroofing]

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