#also Scar with freckles is REAL I just forget to draw them on him all the time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aizawaorkuroo · 4 years ago

Text

on the house (chapter 6) - coffee milk tea (with boba!)

Ship: Yagi Toshinori x reader

Rated: T

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: You see Toshinori three times before he has to stop hiding.

Warnings: Language

AN: Sorry for the delay!! i like lost all motivation to write but i got it done! This chapter reads as a series of vignettes lowkey like at each line break. Let me know what y’all think 🥺💖 Also coffee milk tea is also called yuenyeung and it fucking slaps gerfwas

OTH Masterlist

_________

Toshinori texts you religiously after that weekend. A sprinkling of messages throughout the day that make butterflies swarm in your stomach. They start off in the morning when you’re already working at Sweet Bean.

It’s always something simple like Have a good day! :-) or Good Morning! But nonetheless, his messages always stirred up warm feelings.

It always makes you smile, which Aiko takes full advantage of. The teasing you got when you saw her was merciless. The number of jokes centered around “you’re absolutely glowing” astounded you. If she wasn’t such a valuable employee or a good friend, you would’ve thought about sending her home.

Yamada outright teases you, much to your horror. He’s relentless, maybe even worse than Aiko. But it’s Aizawa’s knowing grins that make your stomach flip. But when Toshinori messages you, the growing waves of affection confirm that you would put up with all the teasing and giggling in the world for a chance to have something real with him.

The days slip into something warmer and longer, the air becoming sticky and thick with rising heat. You can’t help but breathe a little easier in the summer. It’s especially nice whenever students come in while they’re on break. They bring a sense of life and youthfulness that warms your heart.

The group of girls Sato brought are back again, lounging around a table. They have stopped by a few times since then, and it’s been nice, watching them study, gossip, and celebrate the end of the term. This time, they’re joined by two other girls, and you can’t help but smile.

“Boss, stop being weird,” Aiko whines from next to you. You roll your eyes, tearing your gaze away from the group of girls to your bubbly employee.

“Don’t you have a summer class you need to be getting to?” you ask bluntly. Aiko’s mouth twists as she’s about to volley back another teasing remark before she freezes. Her eyes widen as she processes what you said.

“Oh shit!”

Your customers offer the two of you a small glance as Aiko rips off her apron, throwing it into the back. Without another word, she sprints out the front door. As she exits, she sails past Toshinori, who looks mildly alarmed.

You grin as Toshinori shyly waves at you from the entrance. There’s someone with him that piques your interest: a boy with green curls and freckles scattered across his face. When they walk past the group of girls, the young boy waves excitedly, stopping to talk.

Toshinori’s been stopping by more and more, much to your pleasure. There were some days where he forgets to order something, too enthralled in chatting with you and watching you work. But you’ve never seen the kid that’s with him.

When Toshinori steps up to the counter, your phone buzzes. Your head tilts as you read it, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Please clock me out!

“Suga, can you clock Aiko out?” you call to the back. You hear him mutter, and you smile when he tells you she needs to be fired or demoted.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you tell Toshinori, who looks a little concerned. “Also I want you to try something!” You beam up at him, watching as his eyes widen before a soft, tired smile crawls across his face.

“I trust you. I’m good with whatever you want to make,” he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. You hum excitedly, turning around to make his drink.

He watches you fondly as you flutter behind the counter. He meant it, that he trusts you. He just can’t tell you everything. Not yet, at least. It’ll all come crumbling down if he says anything now. The smile on his face slips into a frown, the peaceful feeling evaporating from him. Toshinori’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t even notice when you’ve turned back around and placed the cup down in front of him.

Furrowing your brows, you wave your hand in his field of view, grounding him in the moment.

“Where’d you go?” you ask gently. He shakes his head, eyes downcast.

He’s about to answer when the boy that he came in with bounds up to the counter. Toshinori smiles and glances down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“This is Midoriya. He’s one of my students.” Midoriya beams at you, and something clicks. You’re almost positive you had heard about him before. You don’t know whether he came up from Yamada or Sato, or the group of girls, but you’re positive Midoriya has been brought up before.

“It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya. I’m Y/N.” He waves at you, and your eyes pass over the faded lines that cover his hands and arms. Your heart drops into your stomach as you force your gaze to meet his, trying to maintain the cheery attitude.

“Got any plans for summer break?” you ask, hoping he didn’t notice your concern for his scarred body. He blinks up at you, his smile never leaving his face. If he did notice, he’s doing a decent job at not caring.

“Just training camp! It’s what we were all talking about.” Your head cock’s to the side, and you glance at Toshinori, silently asking for an explanation. He chuckles at your confusion before elaborating.

“There’s a training camp for the Hero courses coming up, so both Class 1-A and 1-B will attend.” You make a noise of understanding before nodding your head. Your gaze flickers to the group of students that are giggling about something. Your heart warms at the thought of them getting a nice break to train somewhere fun.

“Well, Midoriya, I just made Toshi a drink that all your friends are drinking. Would you like one too?” Toshinori’s face flushes red at the use of a nickname in front of his student, and you wink at him. You stifle a laugh as his blush darkens. Midoriya looks at the counter, mildly uncomfortable at how you tease his mentor, but he nods at the offer. You immediately get to work, when his quiet voice pipes up again.

“How much is it?” he murmurs. You shake your head, working quickly.

“Don’t even worry about it. My treat!” When you turn around with Midoriya’s drink, he looks very excited, like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. Maybe giving him caffeine is a bad idea.

“Oi!” A voice draws your attention to the back, and you roll your eyes at Suga sticking his head out of the kitchen. “Giving out free things all the time is not a sustainable business practice.” Your nose scrunches up, and you stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes before disappearing to bake. You purse your lips and set the drink down next to Toshinori’s.

“Ignore him. Anyways, it’s a coffee milk tea with boba!” you say excitedly. “Suga felt like making boba, and I figured why not add some black milk tea and a little coffee!” Toshinori smiles down at you, affection running off of him in waves. You watch as Midoriya and Toshinori both take a tip. Midoriya’s eyes widen as he chews one of the tapioca pearls.

“I know! The texture’s perfect,” you hum happily. “Suga kind of makes whatever he wants, and I’m alright with that. We’ve been talking about expanding so he can do some more actual cooking besides the ‘fucking sandwiches’, but it’s pretty expensive.”

You tap your chin in thought as you ramble to Midoriya, and Toshinori’s face pulls into a sharp grin. He’s going to tell you soon. He swears he will.

_________

You fall back against your bed, exhausted after a long day at work. The temptation to just shut your eyes crashes over you. Your phone buzzes much to your annoyance, but any frustration you harbor disappears when you see the message is from Toshinori. You smile stupidly at your phone, curling up on your side as you read the message he sent over and over again.

Can I call you?

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing out the window. The moon’s drifting across the sky, city lights washing away the stars. It feels warm, and something syrupy makes its home in your chest.

Of course! <3

You narrow your eyes, thumb hovering over the send button. You delete the heart and hit send. A stillness hangs over you, as you wait. When your phone lights up with his incoming call, you sit up, bringing your knees to your chest. Tentatively, you accept the call.

“Hi,” you murmur, trying not to feel shy. He’s fucked you before; a phone call should be nothing. You flush, shaking your head at the thought.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you offer hesitantly.

“Not particularly, just wanted to hear your voice.” A smile unfurls on your face, and you let yourself fall back onto your bed, your legs spreading out in front of you.

“Oh I see, you go a few days without stopping by Sweet Bean, and you just go crazy without me.” He stutters at your words, not able to form a reasonable answer. You laugh at his panic, but change the topic, offering him a way out.

“How’s work going?” He sighs in relief at the question.

“I worked on some lesson plans, and the students will be leaving for camp in a few days.” Your eyes slightly widen as you remember the way Midoryiya said everyone was excited.

“Right, camp! That’ll be fun for them!”

“They’re there to train. But the Pussycats will treat them well.” You bolt upright at his casual tone.

“The Pussycats? As in The Wild, Wild Pussycats? The hero squad?” you ask, desperate for confirmation. He laughs but reassures you that it’s true. Your rest your head in your palm as the realization that Toshinori probably knows some really famous heroes settles in. Your thoughts drift back to the green-haired boy you met and the scars that litter his skin.

“And Midoriya will be going too, right?” you ask. He makes a noise of affirmation, but something lingers: an unspoken worry, a hint of doubt.

“Are you worried for him?” you question lightly, trying to get a better grasp at what’s eating away at him. Toshinori sighs into the receiver, the silence hanging heavily between you too. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever he’s debating over to spill out and into the phone.

“I want him to push himself and grow stronger, but not to the point where he breaks his bones. But Aizawa will be there, and I trust him.” You hum into the phone, brows furrowing with concern. He feels farther away than normal, the phone distorting his voice, but not doing much to hide the fact that he’s avoiding something. A seed of doubt lodges itself in the hollow of your chest, but you drop the subject. Whatever Toshinori’s hiding isn’t coming out anytime soon.

You frown thinking of the first time he slipped up. It was subtle, so tiny that you could’ve easily missed it. Just a few inconsistencies about where he had been. They were small enough that you didn’t say anything, and there’s a chance that you were overthinking it. But at the same time, it sat uncomfortably in your chest, where it rests now, weighing you down. You lie back, letting yourself flop against the bed.

“Besides working on lesson plans, what else are you doing over the next few weeks?”

“Not a lot,” he answers quickly, relieved at the change of topic. “I have some meetings, but that’s it really.” You nod to yourself, a sly grin spreading on your face.

“So, would you be interested in, I don’t know, having another date?” You hear him sputter into the receiver, and you practically see flames of red spreading from the tips of his ears to paint his cheeks. “And it’s not that I don’t like you coming to Sweet Bean, but it’d be nice to see you other places too,” you murmur. His breath catches and you bite your lip, trying to stifle a giggle at his reaction.

“I’d like that very much.” Toshinori’s voice is soft, sending butterflies gently floating through your stomach. You sit up again, nervously tapping your fingers against your thigh.

“Good. I was worried you were beginning to lose interest,” you tease. He lets out a laugh at the notion.

“Sweet girl,” he groans, making you flush, memories of the last time he called you that overwhelm your brain. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“There’s a small festival that’s going on, actually. It’s some sort of dance competition I think. Would you wanna go tomorrow and check it out?”

“It’s a date.” A large smile forms on your face, and you make a satisfied noise.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper.

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

Laying your phone down in your lap, you look out the window and your brows crease, the twinge of concern solidifying its roots. The city lights look a lot colder now.

_________

The festival is wonderful, full of games, a variety of colors, and inviting scents. You had been right, and it was some sort of dance festival, much to your delight. Troupes of dancers in beautiful, flowing, clothing performed in the street all day.

You let out a little hum as you bring a spoonful of kakigori to your mouth. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the scattering of clouds gold, and shining beautifully in Toshinori’s hair. You glance up at Toshi, before pulling the spoon out of your mouth and offering it to him. He grins sharply, accepting the spoon and taking a bite of the shaved ice.

“I swear, those people have the best topping options,” you exclaim. He scoffs at you, shaking his head as he returns the spoon.

“I’m pretty sure they’re the same as they are everywhere.” You narrow your eyes at him and pout. Toshi’s eyes widen before he lets out a laugh that resounds in the air around you, enveloping you in something warm and soft.

“I mean, you are right. Their menu is special,” he corrects himself, shoving a hand into his pocket. You laugh at him, before carefully holding the kakigori with one hand, and sliding your other arm around the one he just placed in his pocket. You rest your head on his arm, and when you glance up, a deep red blooms at the tips of his ears. You grin before looking towards the crowds on the street.

“I kind of wanna see another performance. What about you?” you ask. A noise of agreement rumbles through his chest, and the two of you walk towards the mass of people. You never let Toshinori go, holding him close until you reach the crowd. Making sure to keep an eye on your kakigori, you take his hand, trying to guide the two of you forward, but the crowd is surprisingly dense. You stand on your tiptoes, trying to see the current group of dancers that were performing, jealous of Toshinori’s height.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he gently pulls his hand away from yours. His eyes flicker over to you, and then back to his phone. You take another bite of your kakigori as you wait for him to tell you what’s wrong. Toshinori shifts uncomfortably on his feet, reluctantly looking back at you. Your stomach drops at the way his pointed face is twisted.

“There was an emergency at the school. I have to go.” Your brows shoot upwards. You had not been expecting a school emergency. Especially when they’re on break. But then again, it’s one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and some of the classes are about to go to a training camp.

You set your spoon down in the ice, and you nod, forcing a smile onto your face.

“I understand. Don’t worry about it.” His shoulders sag in relief, but you smirk and bat your eyelashes at him. “But I was looking forward to taking you home again.” Something full of pain and longing slips into his eyes, and his mouth fixes itself into a sad smile.

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night. If you’re free.” Toshinori sounds sad as he says it, and you reach up to gently grab the side of his arm.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Your words give him permission to leave, and yet he hesitates. You squeeze his arm in reassurance. “It’s okay, Toshi.” He nods down at you, before stalking off into the crowd. You let out a sigh and turn back towards the dancers, taking another bite of the sweet kakigori.

_________

Toshinori is late. A twinge of annoyance flickers in your chest. He had already called you, apologizing to you about not being able to pick you up because something had kept him at work, and he was just now heading out. That was thirty minutes ago.

Starting to get flustered by the sad glances the waitress keeps sending your way, you pull out your phone pulling up Toshinori’s contact again. Before you hit the call button, Toshinori is sliding into the seat across from you. You blink blankly at him, before slowly setting your phone down on the table.

Something hot and sharp grows in your chest. He looks worn out, as if he’s being spread too thin, tugged in too many directions. He’s always looked tired, and you partially think whatever caused his scar is to blame, but this, this is different. A small frown forms on his face, and you reach out, resting your hand on his.

“Is everything okay?” you ask quietly. His eyes flicker between your hands and your concerned face. Toshinori’s face softens before he shifts his hand to squeeze yours lightly.

“I’m just glad to be here now.” You flush under his gaze and tighten your hand in his.

“I’m glad you’re here now, too,” you murmur. His large, calloused thumb strokes the back of your hand. You lean forward, wanting to bask in this moment. Toshinori mimics you, a smile tugging at his mouth. Your eyes trail up and down his face, and the tips of his ears turn red. Eventually, the waitress comes by again, and she looks relieved that someone’s finally joined you. She takes your order happily and manages to make only one comment about how long you’ve been waiting, much to your horror.

“Anyways, how was your day?” he chokes out once the waitress scurries off. Giving his hand one last squeeze, you pull it away, drawing back into yourself.

“It was fine. Same as every day. I’m sure your’s was more interesting.” Leaning against the table rest your head in your hand, looking at him expectantly. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, he’s interrupted.

His phone buzzes on vibrate, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Toshinori exhales shakily, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. His face is downcast, shoulders slipped, and he meets your eyes reluctantly.

“Y/N, I am so sorry,” he starts, but you just shake your head cutting him off.

“It’s okay. We can reschedule,” you try to say brightly, ignoring the cold feeling seeping into your bones. He nods at you sadly and rises from the table. His mouth quirks up sadly, and he ducks down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, Toshinori leans his forehead against yours and brings his hand up to caress the side of your face.

“Tomorrow,” he reassures. You nod against him, and he’s gone, tearing out of the restaurant in a flash. You twirl your straw in your drink and purse your lips, brain twisting along with the liquid. A frigid thought pierces through your muddled mind: maybe he wasn’t interested in you and didn’t know how to let you down? When the waitress drops off the check, she smiles sadly at you; you wish you were a thousand miles away.

_________

He doesn’t even make it the next night. You’re left by yourself for about an hour, trying to ignore the pitying looks from the waiter. You had been excited earlier, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower, until the sweet orange shifts into soft pinks and deep blues. But it’s dark outside now, and you feel nauseous.

Your phone rings, jolting you from your thoughts. Your mouth twists into a small frown when you see it’s Toshinori. You let it ring, tilting your head to the side as you look at his contact picture. It’s a selfie of both of you holding to-go cups from Sweet Bean. He had to duck down to fit into the frame, a pretty blush covering his face as he looks at you with more tenderness than you’re used to. You had taken it when he walked you home from the police station with the intention of sending it to Aiko. Taking a deep breath, you answer the call.

“Hi.” You wince at how pathetic your voice sounds.

“Y/N, I am so sorry,” Toshinori practically yells. His frantic tone jolts you out of your self wallowing pity.

“Toshinori, what’s wrong?” Your stomach flips as your mind races through all the worse case scenarios.

“There was a villain attack at the camp, and -” he breathes in sharply, trying to calm himself down. “I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“Oh my god, do not worry about it. Do what you need to. I’ll talk to you later,” you reassure him, guilt pooling in your stomach. He quickly sputters out a goodbye, and the line goes dead. You walk home by yourself, and the entire time you think of those girls laughing inside Sweet Bean just a few days ago. When you finally go to sleep, your cheeks are wet and your eyes are sore.

It’s only the next day that you find out one of the students has been kidnapped. Bakugou Katsuki. You don’t know him, but you recognize him from the Sports Festival.

You close Sweet Bean for the day.

_________

Aiko is over the next night, watching you from the couch while you tend to the tea plants on your tiny balcony. She’s brought over takeout that’s been forgotten in your kitchen. You’re much too focused on trying to stay busy.

You hold the plants tenderly, trying to turn on the faucet of warmth inside you.

It’s foolish to be this worried about someone you don’t even know, but you can’t help it. You’ve met his classmates (and you are constantly worrying about them now), you know some of his teachers, and it’s horrible that he’s been kidnapped. It twists your stomach, and you bite back the bile that’s threatening to rise.

Your hands stay cold.

“Y/N, you should see this!” Aiko calls from the living room. Standing up, you wipe your hands on your pants and join her. On the screen is Aizawa, another teacher, and the principal of U.A. Your nerves pool in your stomach at seeing how much worse the bags under Aizawa’s eyes have gotten; you can’t help but think of Toshinori.

You space out, chewing on your lip nervously as the conference comes to an end. You hadn’t heard from him all day, and considering what was going on, that’s to be expected. But you just want to know if he’s okay. The panicked tone that was in his voice plays on a loop in your mind.

Aiko’s gasp jolts you back to reality, and your eyes zero in on the screen. There's a fight being televised. You squint, trying to make out the hero as the camera zooms and refocuses. It’s All Might, you realize. A shallow sense of relief overwhelms you. He’ll take care of this. But to your horror, the villain’s power is on par with his. You reach out, gripping Aiko’s arm, your jaw clenching.

Your brain slinks back to the day he had chastised you for running recklessly into a situation. It’s best to leave situations like this up to the professionals. That’s what he had said to you that day. And then he had stuck his neck out for you for no reason. He can’t lose. He can’t lose. He can’t lose, fuck.

You watch, mouth tightened into a firm line, as he takes a beating. After another forceful blow, Aiko stills next to you, the atmosphere between you two crystallizing into something cold and sticky as your jaw slackens.

On the screen, in All Might’s now baggy outfit, covered in blood is Yagi Toshinori.

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Taglist: @bougainvilliea713otaku @chou-maitresse

#yagi toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi x you #toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori x you #all might x reader #all might x you #all might fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x you #on the house #my writing #💫.yagi

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headfullofstories · 4 years ago

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Truly Monstrous Luck - part 2

I wake up in a new room, and the first thing I notice is that my binder is off. Fuck. I bolt upright and bring my arms up to cover my chest. Oh no, oh no no no no no. If someone had to take it off of me, then… someone saw my body. I throw up a little bit in my mouth at the thought.

I look around the room I'm in. I'm on a cot, and… oh god, there're my tits. I curl my knees up to block them from sight, and continue to survey my surroundings. The room as a few more cots scattered about, most of them empty. There's a desk at the end of the room, currently occupied by a girl who looks a little older than me, skin the color of volcanic glass - a sort of deep blackish purple, covered in white freckles that look like stars. Her lavender hair is tied up into a bun, and she's wearing a denim jacket. Fuck, she's pretty.

She looks up at me suddenly, corneas jet black and irises a startling silver. If I was still alive I’d probably have a ridiculous blush all across my face right now.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “Yvonne was freaking out when you collapsed, thought she pushed you too hard with that walk, which was… kind of the case, but c’mon dude, you had to know this was gonna happen if you kept this thing on.” She holds up my ratty old Underworks binder, stretched and worn from years of constant use. I’m not quite sure the last time I took that thing off, whether it was last night or the day before, but my ribs are sore as hell now.

“There’s a recommended maximum time to wear these for a reason, y’know.” She sighs, dropping it onto the desk and picking up a walkie talkie. “Yvonne?” She asks into the radio, “your kid’s awake.”

A few moments later Yvonne runs through the doorway at the far side of the room near the desk, looks around the room for a moment and sees me.

“Oh thank god.” She sighs, walking up to me. “Camilla said it was probably nothing to worry about, but… I didn’t wanna cause you more grief today.”

“You gonna adopt every single fledgling you find, Yvonne?” The girl at the desk grumbles, looking down at her phone. “That’s… five now, right? Over the past 15 years? You should introduce New Kid to the others.”

“Well, none of my other 4 have left, which is a lot more than can be said for a lot of people here.” Yvonne reasons, before turning back to me. “I’m sorry that we had to take the binder off, Victor, but you’re not supposed to sleep with it on. Or do strenuous activity, which is on me, but you really should follow the doctor’s recommendations on these things.”

“I know, but… it’s… too much, sometimes, not to wear it.” I reply cautiously, doing my best to use the right words. “I get sensory overload really easily, and looking at my body makes it… a lot worse, most of the time. Being on T has helped with a lot of the visual dysphoria, but until I get surgery I’m gonna risk it with the long hours.”

The girl at the desk grumbles something under her breath, then picks up her walkie talkie again and mutters something into the speaker. Yvonne looks saddened by this and mutters something about the healthcare system in this country, but doesn’t object outright. After a few minutes Arthur walks into the room, exchanges a few brief words with the girl at the desk, then walks over to me and stands next to where Yvonne is sitting. He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

“Hey kid, what are your thoughts on top surgery?” He asks, sounding a little fed up. “Because what happened today can’t happen again, and if you fuck up your ribs there’s only so much vampiric healing can fix, and you’re gonna have a bitch of an afterlife.”

My vision goes double for a moment as I try to process what I just heard. “T-top surgery?”

“We have contacts at this practice out on Long Island, some people who are… specially equipped to handle people like us.” He elaborates, “We’ll cover all of the medical expenses, so you won’t have to worry about selling your fucking soul to the american healthcare system.”

Against my better judgement, I start sobbing. Arthur looks confused and Yvonne looks worried.

“Hey kid, you good?” Arthur inquires cautiously.

“I'm really sorry,” I manage to blubber out between hiccups, “but… th-that’s the closest thing to good news I’ve had in m-m-months.”

He nods. “I had bad luck when I was your age, too. Broke a rib wearing ace bandages when i was 19, couldn't bind for a year and damn near killed myself. In a fucked up way, dying was the best thing to happen to me.”

I look up at him, wipe my tears out of my eyes, and calm down a little. “You-you’re trans?”

He flashes a demonic looking smile, all teeth and a bit of pride, and lifts up his shirt to flash twin scars sprawling across his chest.

"Came out at the Stonewall Riots when I was 18 years old." He explains, still smiling wide and wild. “Year and a half before I was turned; when that happened I was a little younger than you, I think.”

I look at him in awe. “I’ve never met a trans person that was so much older than me.”

“For real?” He snorts, crossing his arms. “I should introduce you to Liz, then. 600 years old, turned when she was 14, didn't start transitioning until she was 87. I think she came over here on a Spanish Galleon, I'm pretty sure she originally made landfall in Guatemala..."

"Art, I know you're trying to focus, but you keep getting off topic." The girl at the desk yells over.

"Thank you Camilla, I realize that." He growls at the girl. Oh, so she's the Camilla person Yvonne mentioned. "Shit, did I forget to take my adderall again?”

I suddenly realize I don’t know where my backpack is. Oh fuck no, that thing has everything I own in it - my T, my journal, my charger, my spare clothes…

"Where's my backpack?" I ask Yvonne, panicked. I can feel my leg start involuntarily bouncing. “I need it, it has everything I have in it…”

Yvonne leans down and reaches under the cot I’m on and pulls out my ratty jansport, setting it down on my lap. I cling to it for dear life. It’s too late to stop the shaking, but at least it’s not gonna get any worse.

I see Yvonne go to rest her hand on my shoulder, but Arthur grabs her wrist and mutters something in her ear. My vision goes out of focus again as I try to calm myself down.

After a few minutes the shaking stops and I look up at the two now even more worried adults in front of me.

"Sorry…" I mutter, looking at my feet. "I… I need to know where this thing is or I… lose it, a little. It's really stupid, I don't know why it happens, it's super overreactive… my teachers all thought I just wanted attention in school."

“They…” Arthur starts, then hisses something unintelligible before looking at me in the eyes. The eye contact makes me a little nervous, but I do my best to hold it. “You’re not looking for attention if you have big emotions. That’s bullshit.”

I look down at my hands now, pulling at my joints and popping my knuckles. “My parents always said I’m broken and my brother thinks it’s something I can manage. I love my brother, but it’s… hard to get him to understand.”

He nods a little, then looks over at Camilla. “Can you check when Boris is open next?” He shouts over, to which Camilla gives a thumbs up. He turns his attention back to me, and shoots me a quick finger gun. “You need a new bus card, right? And you were going to your brother’s house when you got attacked, did you call him when you were heading over?”

I shake my head. “He was at work when I was heading over, and I have a key to his apartment so I was just gonna head over and wait for him.”

“Do you feel comfortable staying here for the night?”

"I think… that'll be better than going to my brother's house. I’m not sure if I can deal with the subway yet…”

He nods, mutters something to Yvonne, then heads out. Yvonne stretches out her hand, a silent invitation to get up and follow her. I take it after a moment of consideration, suddenly overwhelmingly nervous about my entire situation. What if these people are bad? What if they want to use me? I consider running, but after a moment I start thinking logically again. At the very least, Yvonne and Arthur are good. That’s enough for right now.

I grab my binder from Camilla on the way out, her silver eyes piercing my very soul, a silent warning to bind properly. I put the binder in my backpack, and throw the bag over my shoulder.

Yvonne guides me through ancient looking halls, lined with candelabras fitted with dim mercury light bulbs. I pull out my phone to check the time - 1:34PM. Shit, the day’s still only halfway done. I try to read Yvonne’s expression as we walk, but all I see is worry. No indication of where we might be going or what Arthur was whispering to her about.

Some people look at us as we walk by - some stare for a moment, but mostly they just glance briefly then look away. I keep as close as I can to Yvonne, and eventually we stop in front of a big pair of wooden doors.

“This is the common room,” she explains, gesturing towards the doors. “It has the best wifi in the building, it also has public computers, some books, board games… the works. I’ll leave you here, but feel free to explore around. There are signs at most of the intersecting hallways, so it’s not too hard to get lost around here, but most people will be willing to give you directions if you get turned around. You good with that, Victor?”

I give her a thumbs up, and hang outside of the common room until she disappears down the hallway. I debate going inside for a moment, but decide against it. There’s probably people in there, and people means social interaction. It means people seeing me without my binder on. I subconsciously start hitting the heels of my hands together as I debate what to do from here before deciding to head further down the hallway, away from where Yvonne and I came from. I cross my arms in an attempt to hide my chest, which is a little counterintuitive since it's probably just drawing more attention to that area.

I walk around for a few minutes without really seeing anybody, and after a little while I start to zone out, looking at the ironwork on the candelabras instead of where I’m walking, when I bump into someone. I yelp and jump back out of instinct, and the other person falls to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry!” I squeak as I start to fiddle with my backpack straps. “I didn’t see you!”

The person I knocked down, a boy with black hair and dark brown eyes, growls at me as he stands back up, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Um, m-m-my name’s Victor.” I respond, on the verge of tears.

“Alright, Victor, what the fuck are you? What are you doing here?” As soon as he’s fully upright he starts examining every detail of my face, and I realize that my mouth is still slightly open, so I slap a hand over it to cover my fangs.

“Oh, you’re a vamp.” He grumbles. “Were you one of those assholes who sells their blood to rogues, one of em went too far, threw you out?”

Suddenly I’m crying again. Three times in one day, what the hell? I start scratching my arms to try and counteract it. I try my best to look even smaller.

“Wh- oh fuck, don’t cry! I… fuck, I’m such a dumbass!” He hits his head a couple times. “Look, I’m really sorry, I have really bad impulse control issues, that was just the first thing that came to mind. Uh…”

It takes all of my willpower, but I manage to stop crying, only thing now the stimming is worse. I start hitting the heels of my hands together and tapping my left foot uncontrollably. “Um… thanks for the apology. Most of the time when I start crying I just get yelled at even worse.”

He looks at me, mild horror on his face, which I’m not quite sure if it’s from what he said earlier or what I said just now. “That’s fucked up.” He mutters, then he outstretches his hand. “I’m Adrian. Again, so sorry about what I said, I do not know what came over me. You’ve probably had a really rough day, huh?”

I take his hand after a brief moment of hesitation. His grip is really strong, I think normally I would be a little hurt by it but now it just feels like a very firm grip… wait, can I still be anemic if I'm a vampire?

"Um, yeah." I laugh a little, slightly intimidated by this guy. I'm automatically a little scared of anyone who makes me cry, but… I don't know. "It was kind of a shitty day before, but then with the… getting jumped and everything, and my life kind of being over, it's just been a whole lot worse."

"God, I'm an asshole." He says, a forced grin plastered to his face. "I completely understand if you never want to interact with me again."

"I'll think on that." I respond as I bring my arms back across my chest and start to focus on the wall right next to his head. "Uh, nice to meet you? Kind of?"

"Um, likewise." He responds as he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks off quickly. That was... weird.

#original story #spooky monsters n shit #this is maybe the most self indulgent thing ive ever written i have no goals in mind for this guy but im havin a good time

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ravenqueen89 · 5 years ago

Text

a distant star

I’m sticking to my tradition of posting in random bursts cause this is how my brain do.

Here be a patron offering for @agentkatie, who writes the best CullShep that ever will be (as you can see here) and who entrusted me to write a snippet of it for her. I had about three meltdowns while writing this, but I also enjoyed it a lot, because I love them and I love Katie and I’m very happy to have been trusted with the opportunity to do this. Again, with the hope that I’ve done it justice, and for your reading pleasure:

Fandom(s): Dragon Age/Mass Effect

Title: A Distant Star

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/Mollie Shepard

Rating: I’m bumping it up to M to be on the safe side because these two are thirsty for each other (and I don’t blame them).

Notes: this is basically a variation on a theme, a small episode occurring somewhere within the wider context of the TTC universe featuring Cullen’s POV, a lot of feeeeels and a lot of stargazing. Title and mood music are, of course, from Hozier’s Better Love. There are slight mentions of Cullen dealing with the withdrawal and everyone in general dealing with ongoing issues.

Word count: 2298

Now on ao3.

Cullen wakes up to the memory of her in his bed, his hands empty, pressed to sheets that have gone cold. He traces patterns from the blanket to the sheet and back again until he is sure that he is not trapped by the dreams anymore, and then he sits up and notices the sky.

The cold reaches through the ceiling to chill his skin and make his bones ache, but the night is clear and the stars are brightly captivating, even to him. They also tell him exactly where she is.

The guards he passes along the battlements are too cold to comment on Cullen’s ruffled appearance, but they both tilt their heads in the direction she has gone in after their muttered salutes.

As usual, she is standing right next to where the wall crumbles and the torches remain unlit, leaning back onto the battlement while she gazes up at the sky. As usual, it’s not the cold that steals his ability to breathe.

Commander Shepard belongs to the stars, Cullen has always known this, even before he’d understood just how true that statement was. Every time he looks at her, he expects her to vanish, expects the stars to claim her, expects her to have been only a dream.

Cullen’s fingers are stiff with cold, but when he reaches out, Shepard’s hand is warm, and she is real as she holds onto him, her thumb drawing circles in his palm. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him, but she is here, so he stands next to her, watching her as she watches the stars.

He can’t imagine how it must feel, being part of that world beyond the sky that Cullen had always known to be unreachable, and then being stuck here, so far from home. He doesn’t understand why she looks at him like he is a good enough reason to want to stay.

When she speaks, she doesn't sound quite like herself, though she is not distracted enough to keep from teasing him, as usual.

'Looking rough, soldier,' she says, but Cullen can see the wink she gives him because of how close he is to her. Perhaps he's been spending far too much time with her, but he rolls his eyes, making her laugh.

'You don't seem to have a problem with how I look, Commander.'

He is not afraid to admit that the title fits her more than it will ever fit him. It's right there, in the rigid line of her shoulders. It's right there, in all her scars. It's right there, in the steely expression, in the way her eyes seem hollow sometimes. It’s right there when she wakes up gasping from dreams that are too horrific to articulate. It's part of her, no matter how far she is from home.

Shepard is not shaking like Cullen is, but her skin is cold now, and he realises, as belatedly as usual, that he doesn't need the excuse anyway. He holds her, and she holds him. Under the stars, they are each other’s shields. It is as it should be.

It is a quiet time in the Inquisition, unusually so, and Cullen becomes more and more aware of how restless Shepard is becoming. She sleeps even more fitfully than he does, which is a feat in itself, and Cullen frequently wakes to a tangled mess of sheets and her absence.

He has nothing interesting to offer her from his own pile of reports and correspondence, so she ends up going on short requisition journeys in the Frostbacks. Cullen is not surprised to hear that the bandits attempting to settle in the area have been driven away, but she comes back exhausted and short-tempered, and Cullen doesn’t quite know what to do. He wants to help, but she’s the strongest person he knows and he is only…himself.

At night, the dreams torment him not only with the past but also with images of him running after her, unable to reach her by the time she disappears, like a lost memory. He wakes up with Shepard whispering comforting sounds, his face buried in her hair, her hands holding his until he feels real again. As usual, he’s not the one helping. All he can do is draw patterns along her skin, tracing the paths of freckles. All he can do is look at the stars with her, and learn her constellations, and tell her about his.

One night, Shepard finds him at his desk, in the dark, the last of the candles having flickered out without his notice. The pain is clawing at him, his thoughts scattered, but when she walks in, he goes to her. A hint of moonlight makes its way down the ladder, and they move around each other like shadows, her hands on his hips, his hands in her hair. Time disappears with her mouth on his, with her holding him against the ladder until he forgets his own pain, until hers disappears with it.

Josephine is the one who suggests it, and Cullen stares at her with disbelief until he realises that he doesn’t actually have all that much to do at the moment that can’t be delegated.

The ambassador smiles at him, all innocent sweetness, but Cullen knows when he’s being -very diplomatically- led on a specific path. Luckily, a few days away from Skyhold with Shepard isn’t something that involves the Game much, so he accepts the suggestion, but he doesn’t show how content he is with it until he’s alone.

‘Would you like to accompany me on a small trip?’ he asks when Shepard walks into his office with more things from her room that she is going to leave peppered around his.

She climbs the ladder without saying anything, and Cullen tries to decipher what exactly is being moved around upstairs but he gives up by the time she slides back down in that distracting manner she has.

‘A trip to where?’ she asks in return, knocking some of his letters onto the floor before sitting on the side of his desk. Cullen supposes the indignation on his face doesn’t have as much impact as his hand finding its way to her thigh.

Her hand covers his, and he is once more distracted by his knowledge of the freckles on her palms, and he wants to kiss them, so he does.

Shepard’s expression softens as she watches Cullen, and he doesn’t remember what he was meant to tell her for a while yet.

They leave for Crestwood the next morning, and Cullen wonders if Shepard will complain about the early hour the entire trip. It’s just the two of them and their mounts, at Shepard’s insistence that they could very well take care of themselves on a short trip. Cullen remains unconvinced at the lack of danger, despite Crestwood now allegedly being stable in the wake of the Inquisitor’s trip, but he’s aware of his skills, and even more aware of Shepard’s.

After they cross the bridge, Shepard turns to look back at Skyhold, and Cullen, as ever, looks at her before he looks at the sight of the fortress, and his heart flutters throughout.

It doesn't take long for her to challenge him to a race, and he learns quickly that she is now more comfortable with a mount than she's ever been before because she leaves him so far behind he'd be embarrassed about it if he hadn't half expected it. He can hear her laughing, far ahead, around a bend that prevents him from seeing her. Sleet intersperses with sunlight and the mountains are calm and quiet, blanketed by snow. Then he hears the telltale sound of her magic, or her biotics as she insists on correcting him, and by the time he reaches her, the bandits are fleeing in terror. Shepard turns to him, her grin as captivating as ever, and he shakes his head at her. She always runs straight into danger, and he always trails behind, hoping and praying that she's alright. The more he wants to protect her the more he realises he can’t, and he’s still not sure how to make peace with that.

At night they build their camp and go to sleep tangled in each other in the tent they have been supplied, which is definitely far too big and imposing for just the two of them, but Josephine has spared no expense. They are only meant to drop off some supplies at Caer Bronach and to make sure that the new mayor is settling in well, but their ambassador has been acting like it’s a diplomatic mission rather than a swift journey. Shepard has not commented on it, and Cullen has followed her lead because regardless of what it is, they’re spending time together mostly away from the dealings of the Inquisition.

He wakes before light and listens to the comforting sound of her breathing and to the pattern that the sleet is drumming across the tent. It doesn’t seem like either of them has had any bad dreams, and outside everything’s frozen but here they are warm. They’ve made an opulent nest of blankets as a counter for the hard ground, and for a moment none of Cullen’s aching bones hurt him. For a moment it’s just the two of them and nothing else, just him brushing her hair very gently with his fingers until she wakes, looking more rested than she has in weeks. They leave late because he traces patterns along the freckles that lead from her collarbone to her shoulder until the sleet stops and the sun breaks through.

Cullen hasn’t been to Caer Bronach before, and it looks more imposing than he’d expected. There's a veritable army of workers restoring the keep, and merchants and scouts mill around each other in a sort of organised chaos. Crestwood is also slowly but surely recovering from wounds both new and old, and Cullen feels certain that the new mayor is a veritable asset. Shepard stays behind at the keep when Cullen visits Crestwood proper, and when he returns he sees her watching him from high up in a tower, her red hair rebelling with the wind. His heart beats faster at the sight of her, and he still doesn't know how to control that reaction, so he doesn't even attempt it. They keep to themselves in the Keep, sharing only one room because they both know they're well past hiding what they are to each other. Cullen collects messages for everyone at Skyhold, and Shepard trains with the soldiers and the scouts.

She also spends a lot of time chatting to the merchants, asking so many questions about their wares and their provenance and trade routes until the merchants turn beseeching eyes on anyone in the vicinity while Cullen laughs to himself while sitting on a bench across the road.

Shepard’s restlessness has vanished, and she sits with Cullen during bursts of blinding sunshine. They explore the keep together when it rains, and Cullen thinks idly that they should probably return to Skyhold soon, but this feels too much like a holiday he hadn’t realised he even needed. They climb towers together, and Shepard never looks pitying when Cullen needs to pause on the steps when the pain has him in its grip. She offers him her arm and he holds on to her and for once doesn’t feel like a laughable burden.

They watch the lake together with solemnity, her hand holding his, her head tucked under his chin, the only sound the wind tearing at the flags on the battlements. They sleep until late in the mornings and find themselves breakfast later with reddened lips and telltale flushed cheeks. It feels like a dream, a good one, but Cullen knows their duties are on both their minds with increasing urgency.

The return trip is uneventful, though longer than it should be. Cullen savours every single moment he can spend alone with her. He finds resilient flowers that he threads through her hair and she returns the gesture, and they laugh together until Cullen’s cheeks hurt, until she leads him into their tent and all he can remember for hours is her name and the way she feels, the way she makes him feel.

He takes a great deal of self-satisfaction in the times he leaves her speechless, the blush spreading from her face to her cheeks as she catches her breath, and it’s how she makes him feel every day so it’s only fair. He hides his smile in the curve of her neck but she’s aware of it anyway and she scoffs at him, ruffling his hair into an even wilder state and tipping his chin up to kiss him lazily, and Cullen still doesn’t think he deserves any of this but he is too happy to worry about his lack of worth.

Back at Skyhold, Cullen feels he’s probably smiling a bit too obnoxiously, even when he’s being teased incessantly about it during war councils. At nights, he takes Shepard for walks on the battlements before they go to sleep together, and they count stars together until they are worn out enough.

Some mornings, he braids her hair while she tells him about plans for the next expedition and he tells her news of his family. He is always aware that his coin rests in the pocket of her shirt, right over her heart and sometimes he brushes over it just to hear the hitch in her breath that matches his.

Cullen doesn’t think he’ll ever know if he could ever possibly be worthy of this, but she reminds him that he has it anyway. It is enough. It is as it should be.

#my writing #anyway katie is amazing go read ttc #treat yourself to it you won't regret a thing #patreon #i also had a great deal of feels while writing this it's not just you cullen

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flightofaqrow · 3 years ago

Text

‘getting to know you’ game

qrow x Lifa Hakon [incomplete]

Lifa looked around the room, before she inched over to her bunk and grabbed her rucksack from under it. “We could go, if you’re willing to hike for a bit and be ready for a scrap if there’s Grimm or wolves. Or bears. Or really, really angry owls. It’s worth the trip and it’s the perfect time of day to start the journey! It’ll be dark by the time we get to the lake and that’s the best time to be there.”

“i asked for adventure, didn’t i?” qrow opens his arms wide and excited. this could all go terribly, terribly wrong for him at any time, and probably will. it always does. but for once, he thinks just maybe it might be fun enough to be worth it.

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

...

“Do you know this game? The goal is to trap the fox where it can’t escape or eat one of the birds. If there’s no space behind a bird, it can’t be eaten but if there is, the fox can jump over and gobble it up. I’ll play the fox?”

“…so better for the birds to work in pairs.” a universal truth in qrow’s life, “s’this mean i get t’call ya a fox now, since you said it first?”

“You can, but I’ll be calling you Scare-Qrow if you do.”

Lifa takes a sign of bad luck and changes it to something a bit silly, that hangs out in an open field, and is meant to protect… “kinda like that one actually.”

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“this is your dorm and i just came in and ruined everything, didn’t i?”

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Lifa stared at the scattered papers and folders that she had organized in a filing system all her own, now in chaos on the floor after a lanky fellow student burst inside and collided with her just as she was going to leave. Her fingers twitched in despair and irritation, before she slowly took a deep breath, turned to face Qrow and grabbed a fistful of his vest. Not violently, not too hard. Just enough to firmly get his attention. “I’ll hide you from whatever it is but you are helping me clean this up. Understood?”

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qrow ruins everything. he does. of course it’s just his luck he picks the room of the pretty girl from the roof to try and duck into.

and that there would be some sort of elaborate shelving unit that definitely didn’t seem standard. and that his awesome cape would get caught on the stupid doorknob, and send his gangly limbs flying into said shelves. and she’d be standing right there.

is it really so bad when he already gets to see her, faces nearly touching, yanking at his clothing…? ah, well. yeah. it is. when all her hard work is in chaos on the floor and he still looks a damn fool.

he faces away, ready for a scolding, ready to be passed off to Raven and the teacher she alerted. but none of it comes. seriously?

qrow nods in agreement. he’d be shuffling some papers together already if he weren’t, uh, otherwise restrained. “man, i knew you were cool.”

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“Damned right I’m cool!”

Lifa has lifted him ever so slightly off of his toes before she let him go, realizing she might be a little overzealous. Despite the circumstances, she was glad to see the nice boy from the roof again, even if he was going to see her messy desk…Oh, shit. Family pictures.

Lifa quickly gathered up some papers and threw them onto the desk, taking the moment to snap the frame face down before he got a glimpse of her and her father in full regalia, posing for her fifteenth birthday. All around it were tiny tools, clockwork parts, scraps of metal…

The papers were blueprints, for weapon and armor designs but also a few charcoal sketches of woodland scenes, marked with lines of simplistic colored pencil to represent the presence of evergreen needles and a broad frozen like and a crumbling cabin. Lifa turned to face the mess once more, tightening her jaw. “Ugh, they’re all out of order…what did you do that’s got you on the run, anyway? Hide a toad in someone’s boot?”

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qrow knows she’s hiding something. they’ve all done that frantic scatter at some point when suddenly intrude upon. however, he thinks little of it, lumping similar ultimately unimportant reasons in with those same memories. not that he isn’t curious, of course. but he’s not one to press when she’s already doing him a kindness.

not to mention, what he can see is fascinating enough in itself. landscapes… weapon and gadget ideas… not bad ones, either. the roughness of her hands make more sense if she’s a tinkerer on top of a fighter. really cool.

“heh. somethin’ like that. switched my sister’s tea with some of the weird grasses outside. but forget that. …is all this stuff for real?” he holds up some of the drawings he’s gathered, and points to one of the frozen forests in particular, “i mean, can we go here? is this what ya were talkin’ about last time?”

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“I’m going to wager a guess that you are the younger brother,” Lifa mused, since that sounded like something Runi would absolutely do, with perhaps a more devious twist. As she laid things out to survey and put them back in their place, she smiled softly. It took the edge off the need to laugh.

She glanced back at him, in the middle of lining two see through papers together so one layer of armor completed the other. A method that helped her better plan how to complete the final result. “You mean the lake?” She asked, rubbing the soft paper between her fingers and enjoying the pleasant smell of it and fresh ink. “I mean, yes. The lake is real but the plans are all theoretical, or at least all except the shield. I made that for the Vytal fight…it’s north east of the city, if you really want to go but it’s not exactly a stroll in the park to get there.”

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“by two minutes that she constantly holds over my head,” he says with equal amounts annoyance and affection. he crawls around on the floor, looking for anything that my have snuck beneath furniture while she starts arranging things back in proper order. it takes a second a second for it to click, but he got there. “…you got one too, then?”

stragglers collected, he stands next to her and looks over her work. it’s all very clever. he can see the thought process and enhancements. “okay, Lifa, you got me. i’m impressed.” he crosses arms over his chest and grins, as if he had any authority to be appraising. “most of the students stop after building their own weapon. this is certainly next level.” meaning, it looked like she enjoyed further improving her own equipment, and designing even beyond that. for other people too perhaps?

he shrugs, drums his fingers on his arms, “s’too bad about the lake, then. anythin’ interesting within reach? i do need to avoid Raven for awhile…”

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“A brother? Yes,” Lifa ran her fingers along one frame that she pushed over and lifted it upright again, since it had nothing incriminating to reveal. She missed the northern lights and smells of her home, but couldn’t not miss anything more than her family and her scruffy haired know-it-all little brother.A boy not more than ten, with lots of tawny brown messy hair seated in a wheel chair and seeming like he was about to lob the wrench in his hand at her. “His name is Runi. He’s ten.” Impressed? Suspicion lurked in her eyes but she had to remember he didn’t know who she was. Any respect he had, she had earned it by her own merit. She moved a lock of hair behind her ear, since most of the red locks were piled in a hastily woven bun at the back of her head out of her eyes so she could work. “Thank you, that’s– that means a lot…My brother and I’ve always made these sorts of things together. He’s the brain, I’m the hands.” Lifa looked around the room, before she inched over to her bunk and grabbed her rucksack from under it. “Don’t be disappointed, we could go, if you’re willing to hike for a bit and be ready for a scrap if there’s Grimm or wolves. Or bears. Or really, really angry owls. It’s worth the trip and it’s the perfect time of day to start the journey! It’ll be dark by the time we get to the lake and that’s the best time to be there.”

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one tidbit more of personal information reveals itself, then. her brother has wings of beautiful feathers, even if his body doesn’t seem like it can make very good use of them. that makes Lifa half faunus. which changes absolutely nothing of qrow’s opinion, but is interesting to know.

“heh, that makes sense. i remember your hands,” qrow winks, waits just a beat. “Runi looks just s’cool as you,” now he’s intentionally laying it on thick, but the undertone of appreciation for family weaves into the flattery anyway. he’d die for Raven, kill for Raven, almost and has, respectively, and he trusts the same from her. they acquired their weapons separately, but have gone through many a process side by side. he can’t imagine ever not having her there. he opens his mouth to ask if it’s hard for her to be here without him, but stops, and only nods in acknowledgement. maybe that’s too personal. maybe he’s wrong when she’s moved on from the subject so quickly. maybe he shouldn’t make her think of that kind of thing and ruin the mood for basically attempting to ask her on a date.

…or she could make the offer and already be grabbing her things. honestly, she’s adorable. “i asked for adventure, didn’t i?” he opens his arms wide and excited, “gimme a tick to grab Harbinger and let my team lead know i’ll be out again. i’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

this could all go terribly, terribly wrong for him at any time, and probably will. it always does. but for once, he thinks just maybe it might be fun enough to be worth it.

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“My hands?” She blinked and looked down at them, noticing the scars around knuckles that nicked edges and hot surfaces when she was too in the moment to be careful and didn’t notice her injury until much later. By the time she looked back up at him, some of her freckles had faded under a new blush. Is he…? No. No way. But at the mention of adventure, she smiled the tiniest bit and began pulling her blanket off the bed, rolling the handmade quilt up tight and shoving it into her pack along with a few snacks she pulled from her desk drawer. “Harbinger? That’s very fitting, for a boy named for the crow. I’ll get Forsvarer and Utholdnet. See you there!” By the time she got to the courtyard, she had redone her hair in a more casual style, braided around the top in a pretty manner but tied off loosely at the bottom so it trailed down her back. Snow was slowly falling and Lifa was just making sure her oil lantern was secure to her pack side, her eyes darting around for Qrow’s presence.

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he sneaks in the shadows, in all the darkness of his namesake and skills, just for fun. he sees Lifa, notices the charm in literally letting her hair down, and also suddenly feels severely under-packed with only Harbinger and a blanket roll strapped to his back for the occasion, but he’s always traveled light. qrow is used to finding what he needs where he goes, or simply going without. …or losing things, or having them be more trouble than they’re worth… he doesn’t give himself time to dwell, pursues further in his game of how close he can get before she senses him, eventually stepping into the light slightly to the side and behind her.

“ready to go?”

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Lifa turns towards him and with her lopsided grin, she pulls her deer skin hood up, lined with white fur, and nods. “Ready and eager.” And seeming none too surprised at his sudden presence. Things lurking in the shadows? Child’s play for her. Lifa leads him through busy city streets, knowing the way to her destination easily as she had been there frequently enough to have it memorized. It was quite a trek through civilization alone, so she passed the time on their way to the border with the only chatter she could think of. “So what sort of weapon is Harbinger? A sword? You seem like a swordsman.” Weapons. The first subject that came to mind. “One handed, if I had to guess.”

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well, he tried. good practice, anyway. at least she doesn’t rub the lack of surprise terribly in his face. admittedly, he’d be disappointed if other students were as easy targets as any old passerby.

and he has one more piece of information about her skills for the tournament. qrow plans to hold onto his secrets as long as he can. this is almost immediately tested, even in the middle of qrow’s wide red eyes trying to take in the city of atlas. everything is steely and it feels like rain-washed glare even on a sunny day. it’s not the most comfortable or familiar of environments, sterile, almost, but it has its own beauty.

he lets his head lull to the side, smirking, lifting an accusatory brow, “Sunshine, you’re really just gonna straight up ask a guy how he handles his sword?” a crude twist of implication, but he’s a teenage boy with adventuring and a pretty redhead on his mind. he turns to start walking sideways, and flips up his cape to reveal the longsword in its entirety. he lets that answer for itself, and even though the small rig of gears could easily suggest to someone with Lifa’s engineering skills that there’s more going on, he says nothing else further. they can geek out after the fights. “…mostly one-handed. buuuut there’s also a lotta things i like using two for.”

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Was the architecture impressive? Yes. Did Lifa like it? No. It lacked something personal and homey for her, no personal connection or familiarity for her to appreciate other than the engineering perspective. When they finally passed the city into the snowy fields, she breathed a deep breath of relief and took it all in, the open horizon caressing something in her soul and reminding it that it was alright. “Well– yes. How else would I learn about your method of combat?” Lifa looked at him quizzically, even tilted her head to the side in a manner so innocent that it was hard to tell if she was messing with him or really didn’t get it.

At his show of weaponry, Lifa her flexed arm in the sleeve of plate that covered from the shoulder to the fingers in a gauntlet and all at once, it showered down to knit into plate sections and spiraled out around the back of her hand to form a heavy circle shield, meaning the sleeve couldn’t be light either. “Interesting you forgo a shield. I was always taught if you have to choose between a blade or shield, take the shield. Did you fight before the academy?”

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a grin returns all the wider when he looks to Lifa again. qrow has seen and done enough playing dumb to know pure innocence at face value. faking it lacked the curiosity clearly on display. oh boy, what is he getting into. trying to get into.

… calm down, qrow. when leading flirtations fall flat anyway, it’s time to simply join the conversation. he lets his cape fall to drape along his back once more, but keeps his hands at the back of his head and laces fingers together, elbows happily raised while he walks and thinks.

“well, mosta the time i find that nothin’ ‘learns’ ya better’n actually trading a few blows instead’a talkin’ about it. but your team made it t’the next round too, right? so we got more of that comin’ up.”

he watches the deployment of her equipment, more impressed by how smoothly it executed in both inner workings and user experience than by the piece itself. his gaze follows along up her arm for eye contact once more, offering a serious expression, “been fightin’ all my life in one way or another. …an’ i was taught if you need a shield, ya ain’t fast or clever enough.”

well, and Harbinger is wide enough to block shots as well as any shield if positioned right, but again, she can find that out for herself. “… so the people who taught ya were more the defensive type, huh?”

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“Indeed. We fight well together, but that’s about all we do together.” Was that bitterness in her voice? Maybe. Scorned by those she was chosen to lead for all her time spent away from home, for the first time in her young life, was something that she couldn’t help but stew over. Lifa lifted her shield slightly to look over the runes she had painstakingly engraved around its rim and took comfort in its familiar presence, like an old mentor showing her the way. “That may be true, but words still have their merit…The shield is a symbolic choice. Almost all of our warriors use them.” The crunch of snow was the only noise for a moment, as Lifa absently rubbed the shoulder of her shield arm, recalling one of many scars she wasn’t quick enough to avoid.

“Ever since I can remember, Grimm clawed at our gates. I didn’t want to hide behind the barricade and hope someone else kept my family safe. I wanted to be one of the shields protecting them. Hence…” and she lifted it with a tired smile, feeling her point was made, as she gestured her fingers around the runes and translated them. “ ‘Fight because you love what is behind you, not for the hatred of the enemy before you.’ If you’re using a shield to hide, you’re dead or worse; useless. But fret not, I also have an ax to take the limbs off any Beowulf too bold for its own good.”

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finally, all the scenery hits qrow. trees stand taller than he’s ever seen sprawling in more packed patterns. the air freshens, the sounds quiet, save for their footsteps and Lifa telling her story. he realizes quickly that his boots are not made for this kind of snow, but at least he has steady feet, most of the time. Lifa acts confident in the direction they are headed, and he’s glad.

lips scrunch into a pout at her obvious resentment, but he doesn’t push it. they differ there, too. everything the tribe did, they did together. even when physically separated, each group was a cog in the wheel of the same goal. survival. and survival when they had no gates.

she has his full attention when she starts talking about being a protector. “that’s… all very noble.”

he’s staring at her, nearly in wonder, while lost in his own head at the same time. another difference. he and Raven came not with hatred nor love in their hearts. simply to learn to kill. because that was their place. their job. maybe it could fall into the category of loving the ‘family’ that would be behind him, but. did he? did he really love any of them besides Raven, who would always be by side? he shakes his head, covers the gesture with a chuckle at her last comment.

“i bet you would. much as i’d like to, i hope i don’t have t’see that today. …so where is all the ‘we’ and ‘our’, anyway? besides ‘not atlas city’, i mean. sounds like the kinda place that’d have a name.”

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“I’m grateful you think so,” Lifa turned her face towards his and smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up with it. He was a good listener or perhaps he was just waiting for her to stop talking…No, she believed the first thought. He had that sharpness to his gaze that said he didn’t give his attention to anything he didn’t want to and that was something she quite liked about him already. Lifa walked strangely in the snow. Toe heel, toe heel, toe heel. Piercing the icy surface carefully with the point of her boot so her foot slid into the powder almost silently. But as she noticed the way her was looking at her, with all that garnet intensity, Lifa for once felt compelled to turn her own gaze away and that was not something she did lightly. With her free hand, she reached above to run her fingers along the lush green needles above. “Of course it has a name, it’s just not one people in Atlas respect much. As for if we’ll meet any Grimm…Hush for a few minutes and I’ll be able to tell you.” Was she purposely dodging the question? Perhaps. As they ventured deeper into the wood, she slowed down and turned her face up to the treetops before lifting her hands to her mouth and emitting a high, pure series of sung notes. It echoed high into the air and Lifa gestured for him to wait. Distantly, there was the flutter of wings and chatter of birds in response. Some even emerged from the branches to investigate them with curious dark eyes and Lifa smiled and pointed to them, “See? No Grimm close by.”

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when she stops holding the connection of their smiles, he does too. he’s nothing if not observant, watching her feet instead. an attempt at walking the same way shifts balance, and he has to continue looking down. the snow gets thicker and thicker as told by how much the rocks and underbrush becomes buried. she wasn’t kidding about it being a hike.

if not observant, then call him too curious for his own good. he looks back at her with a quizzical lift to his features. had Lifa just answered the question, qrow could have been satisfied. skirting around it made it a far, far more interesting topic. he’ll drop it, but now he’d have to dig and find out not only what the name is, but why she wouldn’t want to say. surely someone around the school would know.

speaking of dropping, somewhere between the new footwork, the shifted attention, trying to bring up an argument about being hushed when he was already quiet, and likely his damn curse, his carefully stepping feet slip right out from under him when she holds her hand out for a halt; he falls right to his ass with a grunt.

which, maybe, is a good thing, because he’s rather glad to already be floored while trying to process the sound she makes. Somewhere between singing and an animal call, a captivating, otherworldly sound that’s of such a pitch it almost hurts his ears, and then echoes back softly from every surface for what seems like miles. the animals nearby even respond.

his jaw hangs open, and his eyes fill with disbelief, and his hands hold himself upright in the snow, clutching as if he might just fall through the ground because everything suddenly became a crazy dream. he had no idea humans were even capable of making such beautiful noises with nothing but their raw voice.

and then she turns to him like what she’d just done was part and parcel of any other day. the grimm are currently the least of his worries. she keeps getting more beautiful and magical by the minute, and he might just be getting in over his head, but for better or worse that’s never really stopped him. but he really does hope she’s going to offer some sort of explanation for all that.

seriously, who is this girl and where did she come from?

“………”

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“Qrow!” Lifa exclaimed when she found him up to his waist in snow, like a fawn that had misjudged its next few steps and was waiting for its better-knowing mother to come dig him out. She didn’t mean to laugh at his expense, truly, but his looked so dumbfounded by the circumstances, wide eyed and mouth agape, she had to let a tiny giggle win. “Comfortable down there?” She reached down and grabbed him by the back of his jacket with a firm grip. One good pull and she lifted him straight out of the snow, his feet cleared the ground and she gave him a slight shake to dust him off (or perhaps to be comical) before she set him back down on his feet. She hardly grunted with the effort. “Joke as I may, you should really step carefully. It would dampen the mood if you break an ankle and I have to piggy-back you all the way home.” Lifa didn’t give him much time to recover but she was certain he could shake off the astonishment and fall into step. She smirked to herself as she continued forward, taking smug satisfaction before she brought her hand up to her mouth again and without warning, belted out that call once more, reverberating from her throat with a rich vibrato. It was like the forest swallowed it up and breathed it bigger into what should be possible for a small girl to make. She didn’t stop walking or even look at him, as she gestured vaguely in the air with one hand and tapped a branch so snow showered down on them both. “It’s called kulning, if you’re wondering.” On their horizon, the sky was growing a dark indigo color and the first pinpricks of starlight were making themselves known and with the glare of sunset, Lifa could see far ahead the blinding line of white as it reflected on a large body of ice.

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no. no qrow is not comfortable stuffed into the snow, but at least the chill along his back matches the chill down the inside of his spine that her voice had just given him. she’s laughing, and that’s better than the alternative.

he pouts when she plucks him from the snow. she’s strong - he knew that from the way she tugged on him the other day. and earlier today. she really did like the lifting and the tugging, huh? but even though she’s strong, his legs and arms pull in like he’s some kitten lifted by the scruff, as if consolidating his mass might make it easier to hold.

it really couldn’t get more embarrassing.

and he really shouldn’t have thought that, because then it did. she’s not laughing anymore.

“yeah, i know,” he says in a harsh mutter. he knows it would dampen the mood. it always does. he always does. he’s been afraid this whole time, trying to convince himself it would be okay, but now she fully admits it. and it all has nothing to do with his steps.

he almost feels better, letting him self sink into that singing sound again, to let it carry him away maybe to come back more spirited, but then face and shoulders scrunch as more snow invades his space and melts into his clothes. rude. he loves snow on a landscape, but finds it’s not as pleasant all caught in the entirety of his clothes now, and slowly seeping into his person.

“kulning,” he repeats, making the effort to show he’s still listening, but unable to hide the quickly waning amusement. his head hangs too low to enjoy the sunset.

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He had sombered as quickly as a cloud’s shadow passed over a plain and Lifa wondered if it was her doing. Something she did? Said? Had she made a terrible social misstep again and spoiled everything? Maybe he didn’t like her singing. That had to be it. Why did she ever sing in front of people? Stupid, she thought as she twisted the end of her braid around her fingers and muttered, “Kind of annoying, I know.” more at herself than anything. But she wouldn’t let him see her affected. She urged her steps to have purpose and to carry her steadily forward to their goal again, her back straight and eyes pointed forward attentively. Expression set to be impenetrable, as so well trained it was to be. She was looking for something, anything to change the subject to something he felt comfortable with and then she spotted it. As they neared the frozen lake in sight, Lifa reached to her pack and slid out her hatchet. She hefted it once in the air and when it landed in her palm again, she hurled it off to their right.

The blade sank deep into a fallen tree that was leaned sadly over a snowdrift and some stones. Lifa jogged up and hammed the back of the blade once with her shield edge to drive it deeper, before she levered the handle and the wood splintered loudly to reveal the core. A few more solid whacks and Lifa pried a chunk loose and held it up to him victoriously. “I’m sure you know, but a dead tree’s middle is the best dry wood you can find in snow and rain. Help me harvest it? We’ll need a fire to last. If you don’t want to dull your sword blade, I have a hatchet you can borrow.”

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he is still paying attention. he hears Lifa, and watches her lips move. “the safety lectures? yeah a little, tch.” blunt, but honest. as if to prove a point to himself, her, and the whole world, he pumps out a little kick at the next snow drift they pass, even shaking the scooped up chunks free from his boot, all while keeping his footing just fine. tonight, it’s Raven he hears in his head, calling him a moody broody little brother.

that cloud lingers and settles over them both. Lifa trains her gaze forward and with a purpose, so qrow hangs back by a few steps in silent follow, taking and offering some space. although, voicing his complaint, and letting loose his mini tantrum, he does feel a little better. he distracts himself the rest of the way studying those soft reddish braids again. the weave looks familiar, but the patterns are new. he could figure it out. probably. now he can’t get rid of the urge to play with her hair.

he’s supposed to be sight seeing but between his own misery and her, he can’t seem to stay focused on more than immediate surroundings. they stop moving again, and this time he’s prepared for… anything. the wield and throw of a hatchet only makes his shoulders square for a second, because he assumes there’s some sort of enemy target.

and when he figures out it’s only a log, he’s unsure if she’s just having fun or showing off. quickly getting to work and requesting he do the same doesn’t really clarify. well, at least chopping away at some stuff would blow off the rest of all his internalized steam. “yeah, okay.” hands remove from pockets, “i’ll take the hatchet. best to use the tool intended for the job, right?”

for now, he takes the first log and sets to the side to start a pile. finally, he finds a smile once more, “got any work songs to sing t’go with that forest call? i can pay it back once we get the fire goin’.” is that how it went for her too? trading entertainment for entertainment and hospitality. but qrow always had an easier time of it along with the rhythm of flames.

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“No, I meant my…” Lifa swiveled around sharply to stare at him, surprised he had missed her meaning and her hair swung over her shoulder as she did. But she saw the expression on his face and left it alone. Maybe it’s just wounded male pride after all. Thirty second cycle and he’ll be over it. She took the twin and tossed it gently in his direction, trusting he could catch it by the handle but she didn’t look to see if he did. If he didn’t, it would fall short just in front of his toes into the snow. Lifa set to work prying more wood free, intending to go in silence and just hope once she showed him the lake, she could make things better but then he asked. Lifa rested her fingers against the engravings of the blade, remembering the time she carved them with her own hand and the tune she hummed with the grind of metal. “Only if you pay it back,” she relented. So she chopped, stacked and wrapped the bundle in time to a gentle but comforting melody. “I know a place we can go, No one has been there and no one will know, There it is quiet, forget all the violence We’ve tried so hard to endure…” Lifa took a cord from the outside pocket of her bag and fastened her dense firewood bundle to it before she swung it onto her back and passed him a second one to wrap his own, finding a small smile again as she blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes. “So come with me dear, The bright city hum hurts my ears. Sigh with the trees We could be free. Oh, I know a place we could go.” With the last note on her tongue, she turned and began to walk. Over snow. And then onto the ice. “I’m tired of fear. Grasping for safe, familiar. You are like me, oh, could we leave?”

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qrow catches it easily. not that she’d have any reason whatsoever to trust his reflexes at this point. and she didn’t even watch when it worked. oh well. he already knows he’s missed some things, because he always manages to in his sour moods. he spins the hatchet in his hand, feeling the weight and balance of it, appreciating the design and craftsmanship. it is clearly a weapon, but he’s allowed to use it as a tool. to him, that is quite the sign of trust.

he takes comfort in knowing this has still been an adventure and it isn’t over. and that there will soon be a fire. a warm, dry fire. (he tries to ignore all the ways he could further screw it up.)

what she sings is not a burly, rhythmic work song as he thought, with a pounding beat to chop to, but instead something as lovely as the kulning, but softer. soothing. and he doesn’t wonder if the lyrics are intentionally chosen. between the song given, and Lifa’s own patterns, he finds a timing to work alongside, but almost feels guilty to interrupt with hatchet hacks and wood splitting.

he pretends the pieces are grimm. fears. doubts. he keeps controlled, skilled, and absolutely decimates them in perfect little chunks. he can even smile back when he proudly carries his own stack and accepts the cord.

but when he tries to tie everything up, one hunk wriggles out and drops into snow. he sighs and slumps his head once more, but she’s still singing, and somehow even though she’s turned away and walking forward he can picture her turning her head and singing that last bit right at him, and now he knows it’s intentional, and he’s not going to ruin it. she is like him. and qrow likes her.

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

he swallows hard as she steps out onto a slippery surface. but she is so sweet to spend time with him, sing for him, put up with him at all. he will try not to be afraid for her. he follows. he lifts his head and ignores the ice and finally takes in more than immediate surroundings. everything looks just like the picture, more or less. it has a solemn magnificence in the dusk, but he bet it’s looks absolutely breathtaking when the sunlight hits just right.

he looks gazes through a few more trees, “hey, that’s the cabin up ahead, huh?”

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Night had come. There was the last faded violet tones at the bottom of the sky between tree trunks and shadows, and then the day was finally asleep and the stars were making themselves known. Lifa walked with even, short steps on the slick ice, covered here and there with thin patches of snow blown across the surface by the wind. Luckily, the thick treeline kept the worst of it at bay. Lifa followed his eyes, as she steadily headed towards the middle of the ice and now that it was truly dark, she took a small lantern from her pack’s side and sparked it aflame to give them a small circle of amber light to travel by. “Sure is. It was just two and a half walls when I started at the academy. I cut some new logs and packed in some sod to make it a little homier…Sometimes I just come out here and stay the night. Then I climb back through my dorm window before daylight. Y’know, normal girl stuff.” She flashed him another crooked smile, strained and self deprecating. The lake didn’t take all that long to cross, but by the time they did, it was pitch black except for tiny pricks of stars and Lifa’s lantern. The night of a new moon gave very little light to be refracted by the ice crystals. She wants to get him to the cabin quickly, to a warm hearth and show him all the things she had brought to try to create a lovely night, to show him the otherworldly beauty she adored about her homeland. She wanted to have someone see why she was doing all of this. It was for no gesture of power or attempt to be noticed, no whimsical notion of a naive princess acted upon because no one could tell her no. Was it so hard to see she loved this world? And that was something to fight for? That was where her royalty, if such a thing could be defined, derived from? Not entitlement, but being honored with the chance to help that which she governed. No naïve princess am I, but you don’t even know that. Lifa took a chain from under her coat collar, produced a key and stopped at the cabin door to unlock it and let him inside. Every wall was covered in intricate wooden carvings, although there were empty patches or patterns still in the process of being finished. There was a bed of animal furs, some equipment to fish, hunt or cook, but otherwise it was quite simplistic. But best of all, there was a functional fireplace and chimney.

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qrow more or less scuffles across the ice, but it works. forever used to slipping up and catching himself up, he is. if he tries not to think about it too hard or care too much, his feet find themselves more naturally.

“you built it? …scratch that, ya snuck out to build it?” Lifa would only find the beadiest of little red rascal eyes with matching crookedness when she turned to look. (even besides the fact that her freckled face is even prettier in the lantern glow and star-studded snowlight).

“man, i got no idea what normal girl stuff really is, but tha’s what it should be, if ya ask me. i c’n pitch a tent pretty good, but we were never’n one spot long enough for anything like a real cabin.”

freedom. that’s what he’s here for. he doesn’t know any better, and doesn’t want much better either. there’s too much world to stay all cooped up or tied down. he loves the world too. more and more the notion of protecting it for true as a huntsman grows on him. and going home to the tribe seems so - small.

although four walls sounds pretty good right about now, for a bit, to warm up and refresh.

…and apparently be wowed by a whole new landscape that has nothing to do with land. a quick scan of the room takes in all the cozy furnishings. a bed covered in animal furs seems just a little too perfect and has his mind spiraling in far more pleasant directions than all the prior self-derision.

but ultimately all the little carvings on the door frame distract tactile desires and attention. fingers trace dips and ridges and grooves, eyes follow patterns. none of her drawings could have prepared him for this, not even the engineering ones had this much detail. connecting the two, he’s not terribly surprised, but still finds himself repeating with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “damn! you. built. this…? …in not even two years?”

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“Like I said, it was already partially there, probably used to be an ice fisher’s hut but it was abandoned for a bit. I just built over the old foundation, cut new logs and all.” Lifa brushed off the effort as if it wasn’t weeks of work, maybe a little flustered by his evident astonishment. Was it that impressive to him? The girl dropped her pack near the hearth, where a moderate stack of birch wood rested and set to work on getting a fire going. She knelt down close to the stack of tinder and kindling, taking the blade of her hatchet and striking the flint on the metal at a steady pace to shower sparks of it. It took a few tries, while he explored the images of stars, trees, elk and more she had created over her time at the academy. But the three largest were birds of different kinds. An eagle, an owl and a raven. The sparks caught and Lifa ducked her head down to blow gently on the curls of smoke. A flame sprung up and she sat back with a grin of pride, quickly feeding it before it ate through the starter. “Yes, Qrow, I built it.” She confirmed again, but with much more confidence. Maybe it was feeding her ego a bit. Lifa dragged her pack onto her lap and opened it, starting to set the contents on the floor. A tin of food, a bottle of something, a board game, a small cooking pot. “A small cabin is maybe a month of work with fair weather but how about to take off your shoes and get your toes warm again before I get into the logistics of it? And bring the furs over, we can get comfy while we wait.”

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he had no concept of time for such a thing. especially a thing filled with so much art. time passes slowly when he reaches the birds. big, beautiful ones, and regal looking. it seemed even art and atlesian legends favored ravens over crows. they’re still all three beautiful.

he hears the logs stack into place and the sharp burst of metal on flint. he knew how to start a fire, but just as well she handled it. he wouldn’t want to burn this lovely place down after Lifa worked so hard on it. when the flames reach a dull roar and Lifa’s sounding more pleased, he makes his way over.

“i knew you were cool,” he says for the second time that day, with a wink.

sweet stars a warm fire, yes!

his shoes are already kicked off by the time she says so. in short order, followed by socks, and pants and… once she’s set up her supplies, he’s stripped down to burgundy boxers, hung his clothes from the mantle to dry, and laid down on his back, basking like a cat - a lithe, sinewy cat with very taut and toned abs and legs - in the fire’s glow and warmth of the wood beneath him - dry and pulling away moisture from clammy skin.

“oh furs?” a gruff mutter considers it, “…okay, inna minute.”

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“You haven’t even begun to find out, pretty boy.” Lifa was occupied with opening the tin of food for them, full of shortbread cookies, small chopped pieces of some sort of smoked sausage, apple pieces dipped in caramel and a few other odds and ends like candied pecans and dried pieces of fruit. As she set the pot in place over the fire and uncorked the bottle with a pop! Lifa put a little packet of spices in with a golden liquid and left it to slowly warm. She turned back around to ask, “Do you like venis– ancestors above me!” He’s practically naked. How did he get so undressed so quickly? How did she not notice? Why couldn’t she stop staring? Her eyes, round as coins, were just wandering over the planes of his shoulders and collar bones, how the firelight pooled in shadows or ivory glows on his skin, turning him into something of an intricate oil painting. She kind of wondered if– No! You are not wondering anything! You are a sovereign and huntress! All at once, Lifa resurrected her melted brain and stood up, marched across to the bed and grabbed a reindeer skin. Without an ounce of grace, she tossed it over him. “You won’t warm up like that.” she said quickly, completely unaware that all of the freckles on her cheeks were almost invisible under how red they were.

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he’s blissfully letting the cold seep away from his bones, watching Lifa unpack more goodies than he thought could possibly fit in one tin. his mouth waters in a way it hasn’t since the best cook at the bandit camp had her rotation. this took some serious planning, which Lifa must have done all in one afternoon, because he’d only just picked a destination earlier in the day. no wonder she’s a team leader.

for all indecent thoughts which had crossed qrow’s mind on the way here, and indecent hopes still drifting in his head, the fact that baring so much skin could itself cross the lines of decency never even occurred to him. he had found not everyone in the kingdoms had the same openness he grew up with, but that’s why he left the boxers on! but then Lifa stares, and flushes, and he remembers his earlier considerations of how innocent she must be.

and all of a sudden he’s frowning from beneath a fur hide, decidedly colder from its spot in the cold air cabin than the heat coming from the hearth. not to mention the sight of beautiful blooming rosy cheeks having been stolen away and replaced with dead animal. momentarily.

“whaaat?” qrow digs his hands around until he finds an edge, and plunks his head out from beneath the cover, but respects her wishes of keeping the rest in place over his body. not an ounce of shame sits upon his features, but rather, quite a silly grin.

“never seen human skin before, Lifa? not even a communal bath or anythin’ back home?”

maybe people in colder climates weren’t so inclined to be naked to the elements all that often. well, he’s dug himself this deep. he might as well keep going. if he’s going to ruin things, at least he can start doing it fabulously. although, having traveled all the way out here now, she’s kinda stuck with him.

even more of his teeth start to show, “so. …am i still pretty?”

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Lifa groaned loudly and sat down by the fire, burying her face in her hands before dragging them down her cheeks and giving him a scathing look. Not truly hostile, just irritated that he was poking her buttons. “Baths? No. We have public saunas but I don’t participate. It would be improper for me and in fact, most of the time they’re restricted to men and women being separ– why am I even answering this question?” she tossed her hands in the air and set back to setting up the game board. It looked like a checker board, except more in a cross fashion, forming four avenues and there were a great deal many pieces. Smooth stones painted with a white goose on top and one painted with an amber fox. It was getting warmer with her layers on, so Lifa undid the clasps of her fur wrap and laid it aside, relieved with it gone. The fire was steadily heating the cabin’s interior and her sleeved tunic was plenty warm, considering it was such fine wool. Lifa toyed the end of her braid in her fingers with a pouty expression, her brows furrowed and jaw clenched. Her own form of bashfulness. “I am thinking of a word for you right now and it is not pretty. Do you know this game? she demanded the last question and held up the fox piece to show him.

Her entire right side was bathed in the fire light, now that it had begun to consume whole logs and her hair seemed to draw the light in and emanate it on its own, like the glow of a candle. The other side of her was shadowed, as though she were still standing on the ice.

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riling people up always made information slip. improper - for her specifically. qrow definitely tucks that little note away. she answers because he’s genuinely interested on top of being a smart ass, but Lifa seems set on changing the subject, so he lets her. he also knows better than to press too many buttons of someone who just laid out a bunch of delicious looking food.

now that he is dry and the air is warm, and they are both safe as it gets, and he can even relax a little - his stomach lets loose a loud growl beneath fur cover. but he dutifully tries to keep his attention on everything she’s setting out next, rather than the smells from the snacks, or what that word she’s thinking of might be, or the adorable expression he finally earns in reaction to his flirting - glowing in the firelight. teasing him in so many ways, this girl…

“uh…” he sits up, pulling arms loose from his hide blanket, and using them to tuck the rest into something of a tartan sash by sitting on ends or letting them drape over one shoulder. curious eyes glance over the board and pieces, and while he can find elements of many things he’s played in the past, the general combination doesn’t look familiar. a hint of anxiety spikes again.

“can’t say i do. t’be honest, looks like the kinda thing i wouldn’t be allowed near. me and, um, stuff with a lotta little pieces don’t really get along.”

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Lifa popped a piece of apple between her teeth and savored the tart and sweet on her tongue, as she settled down crosslegged and comfortable by the fire. As she chewed, she wiped a bit of melted caramel off her bottom lip and ran her tongue over her thumb, stopping to nibble on her nail in thought while she moved some of Qrow’s gear a little closer to the fire so the toes of his shoes would dry through. “You can’t be worse than me, I’ll flip the board if I get too upset about losing and spend all night angry I have to pick it all up again.” she smirked at him, although she was completely honest. She would do it. “So let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It’s an easy enough game, Qrow, I brought it from home to try to get my team mates to play it but, uh…anyway. One of us controls the birds, the other is the fox.” She moved a few bird pieces around the fox to demonstrate, “The goal is to trap the fox where it can’t escape or eat one of the birds. If there’s no space behind a bird, it can’t be eaten but if there is, the fox can jump over and gobble it up. If there’s not enough birds left to trap it, fox wins. I just thought it would be a fun way to pass the time while we wait for the show. I’ll play the fox?” Lifa rolled the game piece over her fingers smoothly, back and forth, like a coin or card. The last roll, she bounced it off her thumb and caught it in her palm deftly, waiting for his answer with an expression akin to hopefulness. A hope that he wouldn’t turn her down flat like her team did.

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waiting until someone else started on the food is about all the etiquette qrow could actually pull from what had been crammed in his head so far, so he’s grateful to be surrounded by a picnic of familiar finger foods. he shoves a whole sausage and a few pieces of the dried fruit into his mouth and manages to chew with his mouth closed as Lifa fusses with more tasty smelling things on the fire.

yet again, she helps distract and settle over-stimulated nerves in demonstrating her own brand of messy eating and managing to make burnt sugar spilling over somehow attractive, but maybe his head just runs away with him again. she admits to making a mess of the game, too, and that definitely must have resulted in a losing some pieces in the past. well, as long as none of this is too important to her…

she speaks with the same dismissive disappointment Summer had when trying to convince Raven to spar with her their first few months. team leaders have it hard, huh?

he had come here for adventure, not games, but with his clothes still drying, food to eat, and all that same spark of light in her eyes emphasized by the fire’s glow, he figures there are worse ways to kill time.

“sure. i’ll try a round.” less secrets of strategy need be kept with minor pastimes. he mutters aloud, “…so better for the birds to work in pairs.” a universal truth in his life.

focused red gaze moves from the board to her face, back to grinning and apparently emboldened by warmth and the idea that she seriously has no issue moving along in all these planned intricacies with him in little but a blanket, “so’s this mean i get t’call ya a fox now, since you said it first?”

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“Seems you’ve already caught on to one of the many lessons this game has to teach,” Lifa set her piece down on the board with a sharp clack, leaning forward with her chin in one palm and her brow furrowed in focus. They followed every position on the board, calculating routes of both evasion and attack. Oh yes, it has a great deal of hidden meaning…she didn’t catch on to the one he was insinuating or at least not to it’s true theme.

Lifa rolled her eyes, jumping her game piece over one of his and claiming the devoured bird for her side. “Red hair, red fox. I haven’t heard that one before.” Sarcasm, of course. She had heard all manner of nicknames and jokes about her vibrant locks and that didn’t even cover the silly superstitions her own people insisted it meant. Favored by the gods, born to shed blood, born to die young. Shit like that. But all in all, his veiled flirting was a hit and miss. “You can but I’ll be calling you Scare-Qrow if you do.”

The fire spat and she leaned over to look inside the pot, which was now generating a very enticing, mouth watering aroma. Thank gods, it’s ready. Lifa took the two cups she had pulled from her pack and lifted the hot handle with her gloved hand, pouring the drink into each like molten translucent gold. Hot spiced mead; the real taste of home. The first sip ran like slow, gentle fire down her throat and seemed to set her aglow from inside with its taste, hot honey tickling her mouth delightfully.

Lifa closed her eyes for a moment to savor it and all the memories with it. “You know, it’s traditional for my homelands huntsmen in training to play this game. It teaches team work and sacrifice. I mostly ended up getting the pieces chucked at my head by my brother or smacked with the board by my mentor for being a brat…It’s nice to play it again, though, so— thank you. You’re pretty nice to a girl you’ve known less than a day. Nicer than most people at this Academy.”

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any strategies specific to this game elude him, but he makes his own assessment of the board. he projects his own experiences on top of it, mixed with the training from school. he focuses on moving the front line of birds towards their rear partners while fanning out. pairs, then small groups so pairs could cover for each other, in as many directions as the number of pieces allowed.

“nah, just foxy,” he states plainly without even looking up from the board to impress flirtation or explain what is perhaps cultural connotation, he seeks only to clarify any lack of allusion to color, to diffuse insult. “an’ i’ve been called worse. heh,” now he looks up, amusement rounding and raising his cheeks.

he grew up with his own share of superstitions thrust upon him. but here Lifa takes a sign of bad luck and changes it to something a bit silly that hangs out in an open field and is meant to protect… “kinda like that one actually.”

he hears and smells the pot too, had been wondering what treat she had for him next as he downs a few more of the nibbles laid out. recognition of the scent almost finds him, but the thought that a pot likely held soup distracted from the truth. he takes the cup and it reminds him of the cider, and his mind inches ever so closer to an answer. ultimately, the first sip finally reveals it. a brand new spice mix hits the front and sides of his tongue, while the honey hits the back, and the alcohol burns in a slow, syrup motion down the back of his throat. mead!

sugar crystals melt and prickle along inner linings and he smiles even wider, recalling their conversation on the roof, “you remembered! damn… this puts my two tiny whiskey bottles t’shame. might’s’well be muddy rain water in comparison.” forget even pulling them from his pouch now. something from his own stash is all he could manage without buyer covers here in atlas. no need for lesser when a whole pot of mead between them would be more than enough for a good time.

he listens, sipping often at the cup. it’s way too hot, but equally way too delicious to care. it’s good to know playing games seems to go about the same way for most teachers and siblings. he moves another of his pieces, fingers lingering and rocking it in hesitant thought at her last words.

“yeah, well. thanks f’bringin’ me t’such a cool place.” qrow remembers himself and lets go before it cracks or pushes through the board, or something else stupid. his voice shrinks, “most people don’t ev’n want me around this long. an’… t’be honest i’m still gettin’ usedta nice bein’ a compliment.” he puffs up his chest, willing some manner of pride back through humor - in letting out derisive air through a crooked and scrunched expression, “though i guess i shouldn’t be su’prised t’hear that when y’live with alla these atlas stuffies. …what about your team? y’get along with them alright?”

he kinda figured all the teams worked it out to work together one way or another, but, he looks down at all these birds and one lone fox piece, and he wonders.

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“I thought you might,” His subtle bashfulness and smile drew her eye to his features again magnetically. He had a sharp wit, a cold edge but there was a softness there that made her feel like she was being shown something precious, like this secluded and protected place of her own. She became distracted watching his long fingers move across the board and in a moment, she realized he was rapidly approaching victory. Lifa tried to snap out of it by taking a drink but it didn’t do anything whatsoever to pull her out of the warm ease she’d found. Complacency was eroding at her competitiveness, which was a very new situation for her. Lifa looked up at him in a snap motion, her eyes flashing in the same manner an animal might whip their head around and perk their ears when alerted of something. She washed questions down with another drink and gestured to him with her cup, “Well, I’m not most people. I’ll have you know I’m enjoying my time with you. It’s straight up jovial in this creepy cabin in the woods.” Lone fox indeed. Lifa, in all her boldness and liberty taking ways, found that fluttering wisp of shyness again and wrapped herself in it like a gossamer curtain. She gazed around the carvings, pretending for a moment it was the walls of somewhere back home, walls of no kind like these in Atlas. “They are professional, if they absolutely have to be. But I’ll always be the mountain savage in their eyes. Simple. Barbaric. Always deserving less, me and all my people.” Lifa skipped her piece over one of Qrow’s, promptly claiming another avian life. “But it’s alright. They can reduce me in their eyes until they go blind with the effort…I won’t grant their scorn any governance over myself. I know my worth.” I know my worth. She repeated it to herself, even as she fought to believe it.

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qrow feels it. he feels it all when he drops his guard like this. his mind engaged, throat tingling with alcohol, belly full, a pretty someone happy in his company, means he eases into uncommon happiness right with Lifa, she’s not wrong. short-lived. rare, so rare that it doesn’t surprise him at all when the sunny girl suddenly turns to shotgun fire and his eyes blast open too. his gaze flits around to follow, over both shoulders and behind him, those bangs she so liked to tease over flying in all directions, blanket bunching coming loose to fall lower on his frame. what had he done now?

he expects to see something in flames, a carving collapsing, the cauldron bubbling over, but nothing. nothing so far. no, his semblance didn’t spark it, something he said must have hit a nerve. another gulp of mead attempts to calm his own.

he doesn’t even look back to the board yet; still listening instead. the least he can do.

it doesn’t hurt how much she has a way with words when she’s upset, apparently. it almost sounds like she’s giving a speech from some high and mighty ledge.

…all her people? that seemed an odd way to phrase it. something more tucked away for later.

he knows the look of someone pulling themselves together by thin threads. qrow and Raven so practiced at the art they could practically weave a tapestry of false security between them. Lifa’s pride glows like gold from the stern set jaw of her face. all the wildest images of undressing her that still simmer in his head couldn’t match the layers which peel away and leave her bare right now.

bird pieces on the same side of the board as the fox fall back in tactical retreat to regroup. it may look cowardly, but qrow doesn’t like loosing so many pieces. a belief in minimizing casualties never gained him much favor in the tribe, but he can play this game his own way. meanwhile, qrow himself scooches closer to Lifa once finished with his move, lying a gentle hand on her closest knee.

“hey,” rugged voice itself shrugs. what can he possibly say to that? to someone he barely knows? “…if you’re a mountain savage in atlas, then i’m a forest one in vale.”

not how to compliment someone. not even close to the best expression of himself, finding words and courage to do so remains a weak point. a shallow attempt at cheer his best bid to offer.

“speakin’ of,” touch removes as quickly as placed. clothes most certainly dry by now, he slides himself back towards the fire and pulls his pants back on beneath the blanket. (and a button catches, and the inner lining of hide tears, because there it is now, but he’s just not going to mention it and make sure the frustrated growl he lets out sounds like it’s from the awkwardness of tugging trousers on while sitting on the floor), “…ahem. don’t i still owe ya a song?”

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His small but meaningful efforts to reach her were noticed. His words draw a smile of a girl remembering that yes, there is someone here who likes her, who doesn’t look down his nose at her and wish her gone as quickly as possible. She’s seen. And what a terrifying strategy of war that was, sliding off pieces of armor and lowering her weapon baring hand to stand close to a fire that only burns when disrespected. His hand startles her smile. Lifa didn’t know how to interpret it, the gesture was so utterly audacious of him that she had to remind herself that it could be just barely defined as treason, if facts were stretched. All her life, she was raised on a pedestal whilst kneeling in pious servitude, having to always walk the line between an acolyte and an idol. But in a single gently red hot touch, he reminded her that none of those things were in this cabin now. This boy was all equal parts mysterious, smart mouthed and utterly tender. What a way to make her head foggy and her cheeks flush for a few moments when she realized her leg felt cold now that his palm was away and she wanted it back. Was her heart going to jump out and do a dance it was clearly gearing to do? Lifa’s lips split into her lopsided grin and she promptly made herself comfortable among their blankets, stretching out on her stomach and propping her chin in one hand to peer at him expectantly through her eyelashes, feet raised lazily in the air. A rather flattering view of certain…curves. “You most certainly do and I am all ears.” she declared, eager for him to keep his end of the bargain.

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good. great. fantastic. maybe he could complete this while outrunning his next slip up of semblance. he downs the last dregs of his drink and pushes it all to the back of his mind, pulling forward instead the memories of bonfire revelry he grew up with at least weekly.

even if qrow had any idea of the standard which Lifa carries in her head, he holds little affection for authority, and far less regard for its rules - demonstrated in no greater way than how he decides for himself that pants make him decent enough, and finally lets furs fall to move around freely.

anyway, for his people, putting too many barriers between one’s body and the flames carrying tribute to the sky is what’s nearly blasphemous.

he finds a sturdy wooden footstool and sets it before the hearth. usual seating would place him looking into the fire to watch a flickering dance and let it focus and guide his beat, but tonight a far hotter view demands his attention on the opposite side. he chooses to cross legs and sit between burning logs and a makeshift drum with his back to the glow. shadows shift along his skin, and likewise darkened eyes openly drag over Lifa’s form; one brow raises in appreciation of long, thick layers draping in more revealing ways, wildfire locks flowing loose around her shoulders, and posture so eager and attentive.

with a head toss to rustle hair in her direction for some hype of what’s about to come, he’ll count it success if he can half match the show she gives him just lying there.

the song demands something of a primal nature, and she makes it too easy for him to call forth.

with no accompaniment or other instruments available, he’ll have to make do with keeping it simple. open palms strike the edge of the stool to make sharp sounds. after that, one hand forms a fist to summon a richer, deeper sound from the center. then, both.

♫ ♫

pat, pat pat, pat

bam, bam, bam, bam, bam

bam, pat, bam, pat, bam, pat, bam, pat…

to keep up with the rhythm of drumming, his body begins to rock, throwing controlled energy into the force of each beat. qrow tightens his belly taut like a drum itself to let foreign lyrics follow in gruff, gutteral chants bouncing from deep in his chest to vibrate in his throat and release with huffed air and hisses. the closest to singing the fry of his voice lets him get.

qrow’s heard it enough times to repeat, though clueless of any translation.

Нэг л хун их л гунигтай Ижлээ хайн тэмүүлэв гэнэ Эргэн тойронд хэрэн хэсэж Хайртай хосоо олов гэнэ Оройтож олдсон тэр л хайранд Умбан на��дан жаргав гэнэ Орчлон дэлхийг мартан дурлаж Олон хоногийг элээв гэнэ Үртэй болсноо ижилдээ дуулган Үүрд хамт байхаа амлав гэнэ Өсөж торнисон нуурандаа гэрлэж…

♫ ♫

#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *#* i gave you my life = past *

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littleladymab · 7 years ago

Text

what’s up losers I don’t post in god knows how long and now i reappear with some cassmako smut because Joanie was making me sad.

fun fact! I hand wrote this while on vacation and even wrote it while on the plane. Set post-september, in the same canon fic as this bit was, only I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not going to finish this fic because the fandom needs only one canon compliant cassmako and erin can have that title I’m too sad to write it

obviously, nsfw

also, i’m still no good at this so just take it for what it is

Cass pushes open the door to Mako’s quarters, and finds him curled up on his bed -- knees to his chest, face to the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. Cass breathes a sigh of relief and closes the door behind them.

They shrug off their jacket, toe off their boots, and climb into the bed as well. Their arms curl around Mako, feeling him tense at first, then relax into their chest. “Hey,” they mutter.

Mako makes a sound in the back of his throat, but it’s faint and doesn’t make it that far.

“I’m sorry. About everything.”

This time, Mako manages, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. A lot happened. I don’t need to tell you, because I’m sure you won’t be able to stop thinking about it.” They press their face to the curve of Mako’s neck, tightening their grip. “You’re not going to be okay for awhile. It’s been years since the war, and I’m still haunted by aspects of it. Those were things that didn’t even happen to me -- I saw the results of them in the trauma wing, but I was never directly involved.”

Mako is silent, but still listening.

“This is something that affects you. Your life, your history. Mako -- Aria told me you climbed inside Rigour.” Cass pulls him in closer still, tangling their legs together and trying to reconcile the warmth of Mako’s body against the memory of him cold, pale, trembling on the operating table after they first escaped September. “And I’m not just saying this as a medical expert--” they start, and are rewarded with a dry chuckle. “I’m saying this as someone who cares about you deeply.”

There’s a silence, then Mako completely relaxes into Cass’ embrace. “I saved some of the me’s. Well, Larry did. But I asked him to. I…” He pauses, licks his lips, tries to catch his breath. “After seeing what happened to Maritime, I’m terrified. Why was I the one lucky enough to be let go? What happened to the ones before me -- were there ones before me? I’d like to think that I’m the first, but…”

“It’s a valid fear to have.”

“I don’t want it to be a fear. Because I’m me and that’s what matters. But then I think about… what if they had people that cared about them? What if they had someone they were crazy about, and then one day they just… weren’t? And everyone they loved couldn’t know, or they would find each other again and… they wouldn’t know.”

When Mako starts to curl back up on himself, Cass follows, pressing their lips to the lines of his neck. “The here and now, Mako. That’s what we have. I’m here with you.” They press their hand to his chest, feeling the erratic heartbeat beneath it. “The memories of us, the memories of the Chime--”

“Cass, you saw first hand how easily those could be manipulated.”

“And going forward?”

Mako hesitates, then shifts in the circle of Cass’ arms. His eyes are rimmed with red, but wide with fear. Exhaustion lines every inch of his face, and Cass lifts a hand to brush it away. “Do you remember… back just before we left Counterweight?”

It was barely over a month, but it feels so long ago now.

“What about it?”

“How I took you out dancing. I made you look human.”

Cass’ brow furrows. “Of course. That’s when I kissed you. Those are real memories.”

Something shifts in Mako’s expression, and he surges forward to capture Cass’ lips. There’s a moment when the kiss doesn’t quite line up, but then Cass puts a hand to the base of Mako’s skull and tilts his head for a better position. There’s something frantic and uncertain in the kiss that puts Cass on edge, but they push it to the back of their mind.

Mako draws back, slowly, barely far enough to speak with their lips still brushing. “Can you do something for me?”

“What?” Cass asks, a small laugh tickling the back of their throat. “I don’t think we can find a club in deep space, and I can’t manipulate the Mesh like you can.”

But Mako’s not laughing. He gives Cass a desperate look before dropping his gaze. “No. I want to forget for a moment. I want…” He bites his lip, and Cass presses their thumb to the point, trying to free it. “I feel like I’m losing myself to Rigour, to September. I want to lose myself to you, Cass. I want you to fuck me.”

They immediately sit up, staring down at him with wide eyes. “Mako--”

“Please, Cass.” His hands lift, half-heartedly extending up, then fall to cover his face. “I keep seeing the inside of Rigour every time I close my eyes. That pulsing, the hum. It’s in me. I don’t know how to get rid of it. I just--” His voice hitches and Cass’ heart breaks.

They reach out, carefully pulling Mako’s hands from his face. “Are you sure?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation, and that’s all the answer that Cass needs. They sigh, reaching out to run their fingers through Mako’s hair. “Ask me for anything else.”

Mako looks away, but he doesn’t protest. “Distract me. Take my mind off these memories that I don’t want.”

Cass rolls over and props themselves up over Mako. “You tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” Once they receive a nod, they lean down and press their lips to the hollow beneath his ear. There’s a small constellation of freckles there, and they trace its pattern with the tip of their tongue. Enough to cause Mako’s breath to hitch. With a scrape of teeth, they kiss their way down his neck and jaw.

Their hands move to Mako’s hips and slip under the tshirt. As they kiss lower, hard enough to bruise, their hands ruck the shirt up higher on Mako’s chest until they’re forced to pause long enough to tug it free.

Cass drops the shirt over the edge of the bed and settles back onto their heels, studying the scars on Mako’s chest.

They look until suddenly there’s something blocking their view. It takes a second to realize that Mako’s hands are covering their eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Cass takes Mako’s wrists and pulls them away, pressing a kiss to each swatch of skin.

“You get these wrinkles on the corners of your eyes when you’re sad. Don’t look at me like you’re sad.”

Cass drops their hands and smooths their palm up Mako’s chest, brushing their fingers over the scattering of scars. They receive a shiver and a quickening of breath in response. “I’m upset because I couldn’t help you. Both times. Mako, I was… terrified.” They press the palm of their hand to the new scar, the one that’s angry and red and a few inches above Mako’s heart. “I had her in my sights and I hesitated. And she shot you, and you could have died.”

They don’t dare mention the other scars, the ones that he did die from.

Mako lifts his hands to tangle his fingers in Cass’ hair, guiding them down for a kiss. “Then don’t look.”

“They’re a part of what has shaped you. A part I couldn’t save you from.” They speak in between kisses. The protest dies on their lips as soon as Mako slips his tongue into their mouth.

Cass makes a small sound in the back of their throat, and Mako eagerly swallows it. He cants his hips up, arching his back as Cass’ hands tick down the knobs of his spine.

They fumble with the latch on the belt, not helped in the slightest by Mako’s stupidly intricate buckle in the name of fashion, or the way that he wriggles beneath the touch. Cass palms Mako’s growing erection, applying the slightest pressure and curling their fingers around the shape of it.

Lips pressed to the curve of Mako’s neck, Cass breathes a soft sigh against his skin and pulls the belt free -- dropping it to join the shirt. “Going forward. I don’t know…”

“Shut up,” Mako returns, nails scraping against Cass’ skull and his hips thrusting into their hand. “Shut up. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Tell me what you want, and if it’s within my power, I will give it to you.” Distantly, they’re aware of the Apokine hovering alongside the Kingdom Come.

“You,” Mako says, voice barely a whisper. “I want you.”

Their heart aches, knowing that they don’t know how much longer they can.

Mako must sense the hesitation, because his touch brushes back through their hair, then traces the lines on Cass’ face. “Here and now, right? Fuck tomorrow or whatever, and fuck the past. I have you here and now and I want you so bad, Cass, so please stop talking and put your mouth to something more productive before I lose my shit.”

Cass surprises themselves by bursting into laughter. They kiss the smirk on Mako’s lips until they feel it slip into a smile. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“Save it for a candlelit dinner and rose petals scattered over your bed, not with your hand being a goddamn tease down my pants.” He squirms just so, and Cass’ fingers automatically move to stroke him.

Cass kisses him again, hard and deep, using their free hand to press Mako back into the mattress. When they pull away, it’s only long enough to see the dazed look on his face, content half-smile curling his lips, cheeks flushed.

They kiss his neck, biting into the tender curves and drawing a breathy sound from him. They work their way down his chest, his torso, kissing each of the now-pale scars hard enough to leave a new constellation of bruises in their wake.

Mako’s soft, breathy gasps turn to small moans, and he wriggles beneath the attention.

Cass takes their time, lips and tongue and teeth working to draw any sound, no matter how muffled. They pull his shorts free, and scrap their nails along the clothed shape of his dick, teasing it with gentle strokes and the slightest pressure.

They reach out, mapping the shape of Mako’s hips, his waist, the way his ribs stick out just a little too much. The moan he makes as Cass’ thumb circles his stiff nipple is loud and throaty, so they do it one more time to hear it again.

Their searching fingers find his heartbeat, and they press their palm to the pulse. They can feel the ugly puckered skin from the bullet wound.

With their other hand, they pull Mako’s underwear free. A shudder runs through his body, and Cass feels it where they are pressed together. They trace the line of his hips with their fingers, and their lips follow.

They leave a bite-mark on the joint of his pelvis before placing a kiss to the tender skin just above the soft hairs. They tilt their head, licking the trace of pre-cum from the length of Mako’s dick. They run their tongue across it a second and a third time before finally closing their lips around the swollen tip.

Mako’s voice comes out as a strangled gasp, and his hips buck forward, pushing himself deeper into Cass’ mouth.

They clutch at his hip, holding it still, keeping their slow, teasing pace.

“Cass--” He cuts himself off with a low moan, straining against the grip on his hip.

They respond by scraping their teeth up the shaft and sucking lightly at the tip.

Mako’s hand works back through their hair with a pointed scrape of nails, and Cass groans as they work their way back down, the rumble in their chest and throat echoed by Mako.

They start to move a bit faster, taking him deeper and savoring his taste. Their name is a stumbled litany from Mako, who manages it between breathy moans and sighs of pleasure.

Mako’s second hand, which had been clutching at the bedsheets, lifts. For a moment, Cass thinks that it will also wander to their hair, a small demand from the man beneath them. They never liked people playing with their hair until Mako, who seemed to know all the ways to tease small sounds of encouragement from them as his fingers worked through the curls.

But instead, the hand covers the one they have pressed to his heart, twining their fingers together in a tight grip.

“Cass,” he gasps again, and they love the way their name sounds on his lips. “Cass, please. I’m so close--”

They know. They can taste it, and they dip their head lower, taking him as deep as they can. They work their tongue against every inch of him as they pull back up -- mouth coming free from the tip with a satisfying sound.

They take Mako’s cock in their hand, fingers already working on slick skin as they catch their breath.

Mako’s hand slips from their hair and traces down their jaw, catching beneath their chin.

Cass’ fingers tighten over Mako’s heart, the frantic beat jumping to meet their palm, and Mako’s tightens in return.

They lift their gaze, and everything falls still. Mako’s body, stretched out before them, is flushed and perfect. The bruises have already darkened across his chest, leaving a map of their progress.

Before they can ask if something is wrong, Mako pulls them up to capture their mouth in a sharp, desperate kiss.

Cass’ hand gives a gentle squeeze to his dick before dragging their nails down the length and back up again.

Mako clings to Cass, one hand back in their hand, the other clutching the hand over his heart. His hips stutter and jerk in time with the grip on his cock.

He comes with a sharp thrust, Cass’ name falling from his lips in a muffled cry.

They eagerly lick the sound of their name from his mouth, their hand helping him through the waves of his orgasm.

Mako’s grip finally loosens, and Cass can feel his body tremble slightly.

They press their lips to his forehead, and slide their hand up his neck, cradling the back of his head.

He drapes his arms around Cass’ neck, pulling him in to bury his face in the crook of their neck. “Apparently your slender fingers and pretty mouth aren’t just for serious things like surgeries and making plans.

Cass’ laugh is muffled against the side of his head. “Shut up.”

“I can’t because now I’m wondering why I never asked you for a blowjob before.” His fingers work absently through Cass’ hair in the way they like, and their objection is lost to a hum of pleasure. Mako’s voice is distant when he finally asks, “Should I--”

Cass shakes their head. Yes, they’re very turned on, and if Mako keeps playing with their hair, they might give in. “Not now. This is me taking care of you.”

“I feel like you did a much better job of it than I did. I left you alone to dance with strangers.”

“I still got to kiss you for the first time, so that was worth it.”

Mako makes a sound in response and pulls them in for a slow, deep kiss.

“Still,” he says, when they finally break apart. “It’s very unfair that you’re still completely dressed and I’m as naked as those other me’s in vats.”

The warmth of the moment is pushed away as Cass starts to sit up. “Hey--”

Mako follows, his hair hair completely tousled and lips still swollen from the kiss. The bite marks are darkening by the second, and Cass can’t stop staring at them despite their desire to be concerned.

“Hey,” Mako mimics. “I’m kidding. I didn’t mean it like that. Stay with me a bit longer? Just… get down to my level, alright?”

They huff, and they aren’t sure if it’s in annoyance or amusement. Still, they obey by unbuttoning their shirt.

Mako rolls his eyes as they undress. “Oh my God, this is the most boring strip show I’ve ever been to. It’s a good thing you’re hot.”

Cass pauses, struggling on one foot to pull off their pants. This isn’t the first time Mako has said something like that, but they’ve never pushed it. “Do you really find me attractive?”

“Of course!” Mako looks a little shocked. “I certainly don’t keep you around for the charming conversation.”

Their stomach drops, and they think if maybe they should just move to the Apokine for the rest of the month, to avoid the fact that they think their heart might be breaking a little. “Oh.”

Mako’s expression shifts from a shit eating grin to a look of genuine surprise. “Cass--shit, Cass, I was kidding.” He scrambles up on his knees and catches them by the belt loops. He doesn’t lean in for a kiss, which is good, because they aren’t sure they would give it to him. “I love our chats. I love being with you. You’re so… God, you’re so smart and serious and I know I might not act like it, but I need that from you. I rely on you to keep me focused and steady.”

Cass’ nervousness abates at the earnest tone and Mako’s wide eyes. They relax into his embrace, and he wraps them into his arms for a hug.

And then, with another tug, they tumble back down onto the bed. Cass barely manages to catch themselves -- one hand on the mattress, the other against the wall.

Mako’s grin is back, bright and brilliant, and all Cass can hear is his voice repeating, “I love, I love--”

He gives an impatient tug to the pants. “Now finish stripping for me, fish man, because I need you naked and in my bed a full five minutes ago.”

Dazed, but more certain than they had been in awhile, Cass wriggles out of their pants and underwear (with Mako’s hands a bit more of a hindrance than a help).

The two of them move at the same time, folding into each other’s embrace, and for the first time since leaving Counterweight, Cass feels themselves relax.

#counter/weight #friends at the table #uh #i have no other words #cassmako #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings

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angies-team · 7 years ago

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92 Questions Tag!

TAGGED BY: @hello-em75 (who is in every way awesome)

last:

drink: A wierd grape juice fruit blend thingy. I don’t really know but it was good.

phone call: my mother

text message: ditto ^^^^

song you listened to: Two Feet- I feel like i’m drowning.

time you cried: This morning I was watching Stranger Things okay

have you:

dated someone twice: neyooo

kissed someone and regretted it: yeah. Every night i put my younger brother to bed and regret giving him a kiss of the cheek when he makes some sort of annoying comment.

been cheated on: sorry that role goes to my tests.

lost someone special: yeah, family, I’ve had a few friends who have passed away for multiple different reasons, some more painful than others. Uhhh... I’ve lost a few fictional characters close to my heart.

been depressed: oh look it’s the title of my autobiography.

gotten drunk and thrown up: nopers

list three favorite colors:

blue

blue aquamarine

also blue multiple other colours that are also cool

in the last year have you:

made new friends: I HAvE. I sweaarrr. I have friends! It’s hard to sit alone ever though, but I wouldn’t change things even if i had the chance.

fallen out of love: nah, my heart still belongs to my one true love, Hayden Christensen.

laughed until i cried: did that yesterday, actually.

found out someone was talking about you: probably, but i don’t remember.

found out who your friends are: Iii’mmm not exactly sure what this means but one of my friends did turn out to be Batman soooo...yeah. no i didn’t i’m kidding i swear

kissed someone on your facebook list: nope

general:

how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: probably most if not all of them

do you have any pets: we have two turtles: Spock and Chopper. (Chopper is the biggest lil shit too it’s perfect)

do you want to change your name: i mean not really. If i were going to i’d just make my nickname my legal name since it’s what everyone calls me already anyway.

what did you do for your last birthday: Which was TODAY WUT. uhhh idk played a little BATTLEFRONT 2 (IT’S AMAZING GAH),

what time do you wake up: well i should wake up by at least 7 to get to school on time but lately I've been sick and i’m always sleeping in and late for school. Usually ranges from 8-8:30 on schooldays and i have no idea for weekends.

what were you doing at midnight last night: uh i was totally sleeping. I wasn’t watching stranger things at all. nope. nuh uh. not a chance.

name something you can’t wait for: The last JEDI. gah just give it to me now i’m already dead you can’t kill me any more.

when was the last time you saw your mom: today

what is one thing you wish you could change in your life: my math and Physics mark. that or get rid of my stupid concussion so i can do things again.

what are you listening to right now:

have you ever talked to a person named tom: yeah, my late grandfather. There have probably been other Tom’s in my life but i can’t think of one off the top of my head.

something that is getting on your nerves: MATH. and this guy who keeps following me around and WROTE ME A FRIKIN POEM nopenopenope abort.

most visited website: youtube honest

mole/s: i don’t think i have any?

mark/s: freckles (if that counts, but i have like five and they’re practically invisible when it’s not summer), the large scar that appeared on my cheek this week, cuts, scrapes and bruises here or there.

childhood dream: teacher *shudders* glad i gave that one a rest.

hair color: dirty-ish light blond sort of thing i have no clue what my hair is. My eyebrows are black though and no i haven’t ever dyed my hair, except for that one time this year i went as sabine for Halloween

long or short hair: short. my hair was halfway down my back in around March and i chopped it all off for star wars.

do you have a crush on someone: sort of? I mean i don’t think it really counts as a crush i just think this guy is kind of cute but he also looks IDENTICAL TO EZRA I KID YOU NOT i swear on my life it’s crazy. but yeah that’s kind of the only reason i’m sort of obsessed with him i guess? But yeah I honestly dont even know who he is and I’ve only talked to him like three times and two were like “oh hey sorry is someone sitting here?” “oh no. sorry i’ll move my bag because its on your chair.” so yeahh. fun stuff.

what do you like about yourself: ummmmm... things? I love that i can find beauty in music and the world in ways alot of people can’t and i feel lucky because of that. My artistic personality is realy what defines me other than my constant use of sarcasm and dry humor, as well as terrible jokes and combacks that aren’t even comebacks and it’s helped me become who i am and will be fore the rest of my life. i love that i can use not only pictures but song, as well as words to express myself and other things to the world. I’m also terrible with words when i’m speaking so being able to write down what i mean with the detail needed to paint the picture into your mind is great. i also make no sense. like all the time.

piercings: one simple hole in each ear is enough for me

blood type: I....don’t actually know.

nicknames: Angie, Ange, Angeasaurus, tangeriene, angerine, Rey (it’s a long story), Bob, Frank, Joe (i am being serious, actually)

relationship status: single not like a pringle because pringles come on tins which hold alot more than a single pringle (heh) soooo what am i even sayig

zodiac: scorpio

pronouns: she/her

favorite tv show: ooohhh that’s an unfair question.

right or left hand: right

surgery: i don’t think so?

hair dyed in different colour: oh look i just talked about this. uh yeah, but temporarily for halloween

sport: ice hockey, water polo, tennis, swimming, baseball, something else i’m 100 percent forgetting.

vacation: i legit just went somewhere and i kid you not i cannot remember where it was. my memory is actually really bad.

pair of trainers: either my white sneakers or, if it’s winter or fall i’m always wearing my boots.

more general:

eating: a lolipop :)

drinking: lemonade

i’m about to: draw something stupid (probably)

want: to just feel like I’ve made a difference. To be happy.

get married: one day. but i’m like 17 so...

career: broke student(?)

hugs or kisses: hugssss

lips or eyes: eyes mostly, but both

shorter or taller: taller

older or younger: older

nice arms or nice stomachs: both is the way to gooo

sensitive or loud: really depends on the time, place, and people

hookup or relationship: relationship

troublemaker or hesitant: troublemaker

have you ever:

kissed a stranger: nopers

drank hard liquor: uh yeah. i accidentally downed my mom’s vodka when i was like 11 because i thought it was water. heh mistakes.

lost glasses/contacts: i’m using my mom’s glasses actually right now because i lost mine

turned someone down: all the time tbh. just the other day actually (in my defense he was stalking me and it was getting creppy)

sex on the first date: uh nooooooooooo

personal:

broken someone’s heart: yeah (i feel like a terrible person saying yeah, but the things this guy did to me to try and get me to like him back were ridiculous)

had your heart broken: everytime my favorite fictional characters die okay in all seriousness, nope. I’ve never really liked someone that way. except for that one time when i was 12 but that’s a story for another time

been arrested: nope

cried when someone died: yeah. my grandfather earlier this year, a friend of mine commited suicide last year, and another one just died this yeah in a hit and run accident. so. other than that... *glares at stoick*

fallen for a friend: not as of current date

do you believe in:

yourself: sometimes

miracles: yeah.

love at first sight: nah. romeo and Julliet is a LIE. sort of.

santa claus: nope. (i blame my mother for not being more stealthy when i was 11)

kisses on the first date: i guess it would depend

other:

current best friend: doesn’t have tumblr and would rather i didn’t say his name.

eye color: blue (except when it’s really bright outside they turn almost white. it’s creepy)

favorite movie: The Empire Strikes Back

TAGGING: @twiggy242 @tarched @leffie-draws-fanart @jeditimelordinthetardis @fanwriter02 @fangirling1998 and anyone else who feels like doing this!

#httyd fandom #angie gets tagged

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fakesurprise · 7 years ago

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Bends in the Road

I’ve only been driving for four months, but even so it’s almost easy to forget that a car is a death trap. Noah doesn’t forget this even for a moment. I’ve given all all pretence of listening to music on my phone and I’m just watching him drive from the back seat. Wilbur is sitting up in the front for the room and doing the same. The Lincoln Town Car is old but the engine rumbles smoothly, the car seeming to glide with uncanny precision around turns. Some of that is Noah’s talent, I think, but the rest is attention. Every blind spot, every window, the forest around us. He drives with the same skill and care you would on a racing track or through a blizzard. Never mind that we’ve seen nothing on the road for over ten minutes and the town we’re driving into has about twenty people living in it along a road even logging trucks don’t use anymore.

We’re out of cell range, but we figured the distance to it earlier on our phones and my phone’s alarm lets me know we’re about five minutes from Oscars Bend. “Noah, mind pulling over?”

He flicks on the signal, pulls over, turns the four ways on after and looks back. “Something wrong?”

“How many driving lessons have you had with Aram?”

Noah blinks. Aram is his foster father, and is ex-secret-agent-something. He’s probably the most dangerous person we know without a talent. “Just four,” he says, quietly as always. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re too good at driving.”

“Anya.” For his size, Wilbur’s voice isn’t deep at all, but he does get attention with his voice alone. Probably because of the magic, but it’s hard to be sure.

“What? We took the same test, got almost the same marks and he drives like a professional. That is entirely not fair.”

Noah blinks a few more times, then offers up one of his slight grins. “I’ll let you know if I’m sorry for that after the accident?”

“Jerk.” I return the grin; Noah is never quite sure when people are joking. But after his parents, that’s not a surprise. He spent over half his life locked in a bedroom as his parents tried to turn him into a god. Or something. It went badly for them in the end, and left scars on Noah that go way behind the burns and scars on his right arm.

I’m pretty sure he’s blushing, but it’s hard to tell. He has enough freckles for four normal people, and the same with regards to acne. A mixture of genetics and circumstances, and parents who thought his acne was some sign of power, or deserved punishment. Noah makes me feel normal even when I’m the least normal of us.

Wilbur just shakes his head. “If there is an accident, Noah has to be there if I’m getting out,” he says with a grin of his own.

“Point.” I wait a few seconds for Noah to stop blushing a little. Noah’s talent is to move things, as mine is to cause pain. Useful, sometimes. Scary-dangerous, in the case of Noah. But Wilbur is our ace in the hole.

He’s the only ghost magician in the world, but it means his magic works far better with and on ghosts than when dealing with the living. Magicians see and know things others don’t, in general. I’m hoping it’s enough.

“Anya?” Noah asks.

“Sorry. Getting my head into the game. Wil, you’re the one Mr. Pickles told everything to. Are you getting anything?”

Wilbur undoes his seatbelt with a breath of relief he probably hopes we don’t notice. He spent a chunk of the last year telling people he was four hundred pounds; actually being that is something else. Weighing double what Noah and I do, well, weighs on him, even if Wilbur tries to pretend otherwise. We don’t talk about it: I don’t know if that helps, but I don’t know what I’d say. I’m good at being nasty with words when I have to. Some of that is my talent, and some of it is just me.

Wilbur shakes his head after a good minute. “Nothing. Which is odd. Oscars Bend is a motel and a handful of houses, but it’s still a town. Which means there should be a cemetery and I’m not sensing anything.”

“You have a cemetery sense?”

“Not literally.” Wilbur pauses. “Actually literally, come to think of it. I could tell you the direction and distance to each cemetery in Rivercomb. And even in Appleford,” he adds, waving a hand ahead of us down the road. “I doubt I’d be precise, but they’re thin areas ghosts can use to come through from the Grey Lands. Oscars Bend not having that is more than a little odd.”

“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word slowly. Noah fights back a giggle at that. I glance at him. “You?”

His gaze flicks toward the town, then back to us. “Nothing in the town is pulling at me. There is pushing and pulling in it, but that’s just people, families, tensions. I don’t know how normal it is since I try not to push my talent in this direction much. It – it would be dangerous to somehow push and pull relationships?” He rubs his temples gently after. “Also a small headache?”

“Point. I’d like to see you do it on Lia and Aram, though?”

Noah rolls his eyes at that. “You?” he asks.

I let out a breath, relax. My talent lets me cause pain. I can pull it out of people a little, but mostly I can hurt people. Being in low key pain all the time from the Lupus helped focus it before. Now it’s a bit more complicated. Like Noah, I don’t want to find out my talent can go wider than I’d like to think. I can feel Wilbur’s knees and back aching in a constant discordant thrum. Noah’s right arm aches from the burns and scars where his parents burned him and the acne on his face and body is constant. For him, it’s almost background nose: for me, it’s not, but he can deal so it helps.

I try and set them aside, relaxing further. Pushing my senses ahead in the way Mr. Pickles said anyone with a talent can learn to. The world inside my head turns white. I jerk back with a gasp, head hitting the back of the seat.

“Anya?” Wilbur snaps.

“Fine. Surprised. There is – a lot of pain. Everything went white. Physical. Tension. Strain. Not certain which is was, or even the source. Whatever you felt doesn’t count as normal, Noah. We go to high school and I’ve seldom been hit that hard.” I rub the back of my neck. My back and neck ache a little. “I can tune it out from now on, but it was strange. Try for more, but carefully?”

Noah nods, looking back at the town. He’s silent for almost a minute, looks back past us toward home, then back at Oscars Bend. “There’s a lot of strain in Rivercomb, because of size? I think Appleford is the same, but I could be projecting?” He gestures, and the glove compartment opens enough for a bottle of water to snap into his hand. He takes a slow drink of it. “The tension in Oscars Bend is higher but that could be being in the middle of nowhere?” he offers, then remembers to ask if either of us want water too.

I accept a bottle, as does Wilbur. We drink them slowly, for something different to focus on. “Okay,” I say after. “All Mr. Pickles knows is that something weird has happened here, and Oscars Bend is outside his territory as a magician. So that leaves us to find out what it is and deal with it. Somehow. And we’re going into it blind.”

The other two both nod. I wonder if this is a test, or if Mr. Pickles hates us. It’s hard to tell with cats normally, and when the cat is a magician it’s probably impossible.

Noah starts the car up again, pulls out into the road and drives into Oscars Bend. The pain in my neck is definitely not worth it. The motel has some attached bar – thankfully not open – along with four rooms, housing for the staff above it and not even a sign saying if it has vacancies or not. The siding is falling off the walls in a few places, the parking lot has weeds for lines and the entire affair looks like the set piece of a bad horror movie. There is a slight bend in the road leading to the town proper, if four houses at a crossroads counts as a town. There is what looks to be a small store down the road to the right and the remains of a few other buildings.

The house closes to us on the right is the smallest, and looks newer than the rest. To the left is a house with an unkempt lawn and wheelchair ramp hopefully in better shape than the roof. The house across the road on the left is probably the oldest, but looks well maintained. Small, single storey, probably quaint. The house across the road on the right is a large, sprawling affair with a small school bus parked under an overhang, at least two gardens and the sort of home that was added onto using whatever materials were at hand.

“New, chair, old, large,” I say. “So we have reference.”

“Also store and motel,” Wilbur adds, almost seriously.

Noah pulls into the motel parking lot as I’m considering a reply. We all get out, stretching. I go a window that’s surprisingly clean and look inside. The rooms don’t even have flat screen tvs, but they’re a decent size and look to have bathrooms. I look over at Noah and nod to reception. The door to the reception area is closed, without any signs about hours or even the name of the motel. “You have the credit card and fake ID. If we each get a room, that might get some good will. If there is enough on the card for that?”

Noah coughs. “Aram gave me enough money for three rooms. He was insistent.”

“Three,” I repeat. Knowing Noah’s step dad, he probably made sure the card has more than enough money for a week, just to be cautious.

“We’re teenagers. He’s worried,” Noah says simply, not looking at either of us.

Wilbur laughs. “Aram gave you condoms, didn’t he?”

Noah says nothing, but his eyes are wide in a face that’s a mass of enough freckles for four people and acne on top of it. It’s hard to tell when he’s blushing sometimes, but I’ve got better at studying his ears and he definitely is.

I can’t help but laugh at Noah’s mortified silence. After a slight pause, Noah joins in, soft and sheepish. “He did. I’m not saying how many,” he adds firmly.

That sets Wilbur off again.

Noah hurries out of the car to the door without looking back. His fake ID has worked for us in the past, and the credit card is a real one Aram got for him. No one looking at Noah figures he’d get his picture taken unless it was for a real card, None of us like it, but it works. I wait, but there’s no shouts or curse words and Noah comes out quickly, handing Wilbur and I each a key and relieved we’re no longer laughing over the condom comment.

“You okay?” Wilbur asks.

“He just asked if – if I was like this for some movie? I said no, and he stared, then accepted the card and said he didn’t want to see the other people because I’d give him enough nightmares. But we have the rooms.”

“All right. We each take an hour. Unpack. Shower, all of that,” Wilbur says. “It will give time for people in the town to be told about us, and whatever Other is here might just show up and save us time?”

I take the key for the first room, Wilbur has the third and Noah heads into the second. The room is definitely cleaner than I thought it would be. Everything is dated, including the peeling wallpaper but the carpet is clean, the bed made and the bathroom scrubbed. The air smells of must and industrial chemicals, reminding me of too many hospital visits, but opening the windows helps a little. I gulp some Tylenol and water and check the TV channels. The TV gets two news channels, and six local ones, all with poor reception.

I check my phone, finding cell service non-existent. I’m starting to understand the feeling of mental white noise a lot better now and we haven’t been here ten minutes.

#writing #prose #magician series #Bends In The Road #this is a queue; I am not really here

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ocprompts-andsuch · 7 years ago

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LONG POST

So we ended up getting a lot of asks! Which honestly was fun as hell. However, I don’t want to spam our followers with 30+ posts, so, instead I’m making this.

mixolydian98 said:My OC is a misomaniac college professor who was transformed into a grotesque monster by an evil sorceress.

My OC Bor was cursed to live as a beast by a bunch of angry forest spirits -Ven My OC Ursa was cursed to be a werebear-Chris/p>

Anonymous said:My OC is an edgy, beatnik unicorn in a turtleneck sweater.

The closest thing I have is Priscilla, Sunan, and Hala are also very edgy -Ven My OC Cadence wears a sweater his husband made and tells edgy poetry -Chris

djdashieticktock said:My OC (Yesman) is a smelly rotting boi who needs to take a bath and chill on preforming necromancy

1. that’s a mood and 2. Priscilla is the result of necromancy -Ven My OC Beckett is a necromancer who wants to become a lich -Chris

Anonymous said:My OC is a mutated bunny who is a great mother.

My OC Dryn isn’t mutated but he is a great father! -Ven My OC Adrien is a great father and husband!

Anonymous said:I made my OC super trope-y because cringe culture is shit. She’s a witch with dark skin, bright blue eyes, and pink/magenta hair. She’s a bubbly baby who trains dragons for a living and I love her. Fight me Cus I’m having fun with her!

She sounds fun as hell! My OC Nelsis is a beast tamer who loves space and has a dragon (along with a plethora of other beasts that seem very intimidating but actually just act like dogs) -Ven Cringe culture is shit she sounds really cool! My OC Nimbus has naturally pink hair and she designed her hella mechanical wheelchair after a dragin she saw once -Chris

cyrokinetic-iceman said:One of my OCs is named Rory and he’s an Irish maid for Sean Cassidy from the xmen. he had long, frizzy red curls and is more freckles than man. He’s tall and bony with very pale skin. He’s a hemophiliac but also has mutant powers that allow him to take the energy (and in fatal enough cases life force) from organic life forms and he later discovers he can also enhance their energy and life force. He’s very shy but friendly and likes to bake and cook

Priscilla can take people’s life force (well really the demon that’s with her can but whatever) -Ven My OC Orion has a lot of freckles and red hair but he is trash at cooking -Chris

Anonymous said:My gay OC Steven had his arms ripped off by a demon, after breaking up with said demon.

Wow.. hmm.. My OC Tarryn only has two limbs because of an explosion -Ven My OC Nimbus lost use of her legs after being shoved out of a very tall tree by a schoolmate -Chris

PHANTASYMIST SAYS:my oc practices forbidden magic because of hunger for knowledge

my OC EcC0 is a hellish combination of magic and failed technology and he accidentally made himself and his friends immortal through a series of experimental magic and glitches -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My Oc is possessed by the spirit of a Samurai and is immortal because of this. She also owns her own City Apartment building and lives in one of her apartments, she even rooms with one of her tenants

My OC Shelby lives in the top room(home??) of the Penthouse her family owns and accidentally became a Naiad’s sugar momma -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Icarus is the child of Aphrodite but gave up on finding love for themself.

My OC Darcy is a demi-god who always forgets that he passed down his powers to his 6 year old until she starts telepathically throwing his circus group around when having a tantrum -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My Oc Alex attracts portals to a different world and goes through them in order to close them. She knows a bunch of survival skills because of how often she goes and stays there, especially cause there aren’t any civilizations in the other world.

My OC Ken is a dimention hopper who accidentally got stuck in time jail with three alternate universe versions of his friend Angel -Chris

Uuh… my OC Bor knows a bunch of survival skills cause for a while he was a human living in the forest -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Regalius is an 2000ish year old immortal who manages to screw up every relationship he has.

My OC Felix used to be dating an ex war goddess until she tried to leave him for dead (the other gods called her out on her bullshit) -Chris

I have an immortal OC Bor, he never gets into any relationships he just kind of sits in the forest and makes stew and helps lost travelers and protects the forest -Ven

THAT-AWKWARD-FANGIRL-270 SAYS:One of my OC’s is Ethan, he’s about half French and a gay trans boy and I love him so much and he’s also an adorable book nerd and has like a hundred thousand siblings (jk but there’s Lots and everyone is good at braiding like trust me sleepovers there are The Bomb) I love him

My OC Wesley is a french american who’s half succubus and owns a giant library, he’s also a necromancer -Chris

Uuh… I have a gay Hawaiian war vet named Jeremiah with like 9 siblings -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Locke is the headmaster of a guild and he’s also dating another guy also named Locke who tried to steal his money once

My OC Cyrus met his first boyfriend while doing a stickup -Chris

Well… my OC Xaro first met Cinder when Cinder tries to steal his stuff? They’re not dating or anything tho Xaro literally ends up adopting him -Ven

BUNNIKKILA SAYS:My OC is a member of the HEMA Alliance! Her dream is to open her own fencing school, as most of the schools in her immediate area focus on Olympic fencing.

My OC Telly fences in his spare time and is teaching his boyfriends daughter how to -Chris

My OC Cinder loves fencing and is very good at it, but didn’t actually get to start until he was 15! -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC took Tae Kwon Do as a tween. She was one belt away from getting the black belt (highest rank), but financial issues made her have to quit.

My OC Poppy knows Capoeria -Chris

I have an OC who gets to the 7th dan of Judo by age 14 -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:I have an OC based off the planet Neptune….her name is Neptune.(I know, real original name :/ )

I named my OC Castor after Pollux and Castor since I wanted a constellation name and I’m a Gemini -Chris

I have an OC named Snow White -Ven

REMEMBER-THERAIN SAYS:my OC Stevie is a 14-year-old aromantic/pansexual bounty hunter who travels the galaxy with her robot Lux :))

Oh cool!! My OC Dryn is also pan and sometimes does bounty hunting, he also travels a lot -Ven

my OC Castor ran away from home at 15 and is now one of the most renowned Space travelers of his species -Chris

DRAGONIANGIRL SAYS:My OC Nimladrie is a cleric of a drunk god that accidentally swore a blood oath but she can’t remember for what or to whom.

My OC Beckett accidently became a cult leader because he thought it was a Bards club -Chris

((Amazing)) Well uh… the closest thing I have is my oc Priscilla has blood contracts with like a shitton demons/daemons/etc

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Yilim is… well. To plainly state it he one ugly ass mofo.

My OC Scrib is just,,,,, literally a poorly drawn doodle, i usually draw him left handed -Chris

My main OC Tarryn is also considered ‘ugly’, another OC I have is unarguably ugly because his face is literally a deer skull -Ven

ATQEVALE SAYS:My OC Matisse wears a really freaking ugly salmon colored hoodie to school every day and my other OC Sparrow has a crush on her in spite of this

My OC The Boy has no fucking clue what fashion is and neither does his mom Ursa (he’d get it from his dad to if he wasn’t a giant Stag) -Chris

Uhhh… my OC Mike is colorblind and until he memorizes his wardrobe he has to ask people he lives with what color the stuff he’s wearing is?? It led to an Outfit Disaster a couple of times -Ven

WEARETHERUSSIANTWINS SAYS:My oc Hayley Williams (aka Sailor Aries) has schizophrenia and ADHD

My OC Finch has ADHD to! -Chris

My OC Mike has ADHD(a few others do as well but I haven’t hashed that out yet) -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Janice comes from a planet with pink water, and secretly prefers it over earth water.

My OC Scravenlay comes from a world that is mostly covered in turquoise freshwater that is extremely buoyant -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Vlansen forgot all about his past and is in love with a hallucination!

My OC Cadence woke up in the middle of a battlefield with no memory of what side they were on and they later married the soldier who found them! -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:i have so many OCs. But my mains are a Schizophrenic ex-hitman who runs a daycare and a half alien-human hybrid that has the ability to control plants and crystals ;v;b

My OC Brin is a (retired later in the story) Rebel Leader with a softspot for kids and animals and my oc Scravenlay was supposed to be the king of his species/people but decided he preferred to be an adventurer after an assassination attempt -Chris

Well… the closest I have is an assassin who also has a soft spot for kids? -Ven

THE-TINY-KRAVIST SAYS:My OC, Binary, is an android who is terrified of water!

My OC Rhys is a self made android (makes more sense in context of the story) who runs a roller rink -Chris

My OC Mike is terrified of water. He’s not an android he just can’t swim -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:my oc has a brand on her left side right below her heart from where she forced to fight in an arena

One of my OCs used to have something like that, now the closest I have is Tarryn has a lot of scars from fights! -Ven

My OC Beckett has a lot of scars after the gang who owned him tried to kill him for trying to escape - Chris

ECHOING-NIGHT SAYS:My OC iasi is claustrophobic.

My OC Beckett tries to fit into small spaces when he gets nervous or scared -Chris

My OC Xaro is also claustrophobic! -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:Uh my OC is a detective in the 1940’s

My OC Lost was a private investigator until he got possessed (this is close enough right?) -Chris

#we answer #long post #ocs

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fromthedeskoftheminister · 8 years ago

Text

Rise of a Region

Summary: A Friendly between three Quidditch teams becomes all the more interesting when a mysterious spectator joins the games.

Tags: Mysterious disappearances mentioned, suspected death mentioned, Whitebeard Pirates, Straw Hat Pirates, Revolutionaries, Quidditch AU, College AU, Modern World AU, Gen Fic, mild cursing, Entirely UnBetaed

AN: It is a time when tumblr is dead and Ive been sitting on this ficlit for a while. US Quidditch Cup 10 starts this weekend and Im going to be watching, so I figure its probably a decent time to post this. I’ll reblog it again before games start in the morning, but I want to post before I forget. Before I begin, Yes, Muggle Quidditch is a thing. Yes it is international. Australia won last year’s world cup. Yes, Brooms are used. Yes it is a full contact sport. No, we do not fly. The Snitch is a tennis ball in a sock velcroed to a neutral 3rd parties rear. It is only worth 30 points. Catching it, separating the sock from the person, ends the game. And I think thats all. If you have any sort of question about the story or quidditch, my inbox is open

Rise of A Region

The field was a nice one, Marco absently thought as he surveyed the grounds from his vantage point on the hill just behind the soccer goalposts. Turf field, regulation size brooms, plenty of extra balls and a set of what looked like a set Peterson hoops were set up on one half of the soccer field he was overlooking. Random joyous yelling drifted up to him as people greeted each other and he let the sounds wash over him. He was going to sit here and enjoy the sunshine in peace and relative quiet before the rest of the team arrived and he had to go manage things, make introductions and generally figure out the plan of action.

The spring sun was bright, warming the day to a rather comfortable temperature that was just shy of being too hot. It was negated by a very gentle breeze pushing the barest wisp of a cloud lazily across the brilliant blue sky. Marco set his hands behind him and returned his lazy gaze to the people on the field below. They had just started to set up their equipment and Marco checked the time. He had an hour or so before the friendlies were supposed to start but if he knew his team, it would in reality be more like 2. So what was he going to do to pass the time? Marco was half temped to copy the guy he had spotted while searching for a dry spot to sit and just take a nap.

While it sounded nice in theory, he knew it would be a bad idea. He wanted to be at his best for these matches. Their region was new as were the two teams that had invited them here today, but they had already gained something of a rep. Frankly, Marco decided, readjusting how he was sitting to see the field a bit more clearly he would be better served watching their practice and warm up in an attempt to figure out the team’s strengths and weaknesses.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he was watching for before the squishing sound of a canvas shoe stepping into a particularly viscous muddy patch alerted him to the fact that he had company. The arm that draped itself over his shoulder accompanied by a rather ridiculous red pompadour alerted him to the fact that Thatch had finally woken up and realized that they had arrived at their location. Due to their prolonged friendship he was probably one of the only people that would take such liberties. They watched in silence as the group of people below, which had only grown in size since Marco had started watching, completed a rather complex scoring drill.

“You’ve got maybe 5 minutes before the rest of the group starts arriving. ” he said with a yawn.

Marco raised an eyebrow at that. “You mean they’re actually going to be on time today?”

Thatch managed to look offended “Hey! We totally get places on time!”

Marco snorted, clearly amused. “Only because I’ve been purposely telling the group the wrong start time of tournaments for at least a year or so. Today’s the first time since that disaster that was our first tournament that I didn’t.”

Thatch gaped at him then rolled his eyes. “Of course you have. I can’t believe I forgot how devious you can be.”

“So, how late?” Marco chuckled.

Thatch grinned as well. “Last car should be here in 30 minutes at the latest.”

“Right.” Marco said shrugging Thatch’s arm from his shoulders as he smoothly rose from his seat. “I should probably go let them know then. And introduce myself while I’m at it. I don’t think I’ve actually ever met Sabo in person.” He turned to offer Thatch a hand up, but his friend had already hoisted himself to his feet.

“Might want to hold up a second. I see Haruta’s car.” Thatch said and Marco nodded in acquiescence. They didn’t have to wait long. The car had scarcely come to a stop before Haruta tumbled out full of their usual boundless energy and scampered over.

“Hey guys!” They cried out cheerfully as they attempted to scramble up Thatch’s back, clearly attempting to get a piggyback. “Where are the others?”

“Not here yet.” Thatch said

“Whoohoo!” Haruta yelled “Its not us who’s last this time!”

“Impossible things have been known to happen.” Marco said dryly as Jiru, Izou, and Jozu joined them on the hill. Haruta made a face when they caught the teasing tone directed their way.

“Yeah yeah. Get lost one time…” They grumbled good-naturedly and Thatch snorted from beneath them as they settled themselves on his back.

“Once? Try like ten or fifteen and then you might, just might be in the ball park” Marco teased.

Haruta stuck out their tongue in response before exclaiming, “Lets go!” Apparently spurred on by the other’s enthusiasm, Thatch took off down the hill like a shot with Haruta whooping like a maniac on his back. Jiru, the only certified EMT of their group took off a second later yelling semi-jokingly at the pair that they’d better not hurt themselves. Marco rolled his eyes at the antics of his teammates before heading down towards the pitch himself at a much more sedate pace.

Izou matched his stride and after a moment inquired “So?”

Marco shrugged. He knew exactly what the other was asking. “Not sure yet. I’ve heard that The Strawhats have a stronger chaser lineup with fast breaks while the Revolutionaries tend to favor gaining bludger control and taking their time. We should be able to beat them with ease but seeing as the two teams have been practicing together the entire time, I don’t exactly know who’s on which team. This would also be a bit easier if I actually knew what Sabo looked like as well.”

“You still don’t know?” Izou asked incredulously.

Marco simply shrugged. How was he supposed to know what the other man looked like? He wasn’t on Facebook all that much and Sabo’s profile picture there was simply an icon of a Tophat. The other captain had emailed him instead of using a chat feature and in doing the set up for this friendly they simply had never gotten around to meeting one another face to face.

“Ah, I can help with that.” A new voice said cutting into the conversation. The source was somewhere near their feet and Marco looked down to meet a pair of curious silver eyes peering up at him from underneath a vibrantly orange cowboy hat.

“Really?” Izou asked, sounding skeptical. Despite the warmth of the day, the other man was bundled up rather seriously.

“Yeah. You said you were looking for Sabo right?” The stranger said as they pulled themselves to their feet. He adjusted his hat to get a better view of the field revealing a face full of freckles atop a deep tan. Without bothering to wait for an answer the other man continued. “Ah, found him. He’s the blonde one over there,” the stranger said making a vague gesture as he stooped down to grab a green zebra stripped bag with a rather intricately designed spade over one pocket.

“Well, that’s not terribly helpful,” Marco said, glancing in the direction that the stranger had gestured to before turning back to the other man. “There are currently several blonds ‘over there.’ Can you be a bit more specific?”

“Sure.” The stranger said. “He’s the only blond with facial scars. Here, why don’t I just introduce you?

Marco shrugged then offered out a hand. “Sounds good to me. I’m Marco by the way.”

“Izou.” Izou offered with a wave of his hand. The creased brow between his friend’s eyebrows was rather telling. It meant that Izou was trying to remember something, though at the moment it probably came off as unfriendly. It didn’t seem to bother the cheerful stranger who returned the introductions with a smirk.

“Nice t’ meetcha. I’m Ace.” Ace said shaking Marco’s hand before the trio resumed their walk to the pitch. “Who do you play for?”

“Eh? Oh, the Whitebeards.”

Ace looked rather impressed by that statement. “For real? That’s the shit man. Thought you guys weren’t a part of this region though?”

“We are now.” Marco said with a smile. “With the Strawhats and the Revolutionaries joining up, the board finally decided there were enough teams in the area to qualify for a region of our own.”

“Sweet.” Ace said. “Though I hope you don’t think you guys’ll be able to just walk all over these two teams, Mr. Quidditch World Cup Champions.”

Marco simply shrugged and Ace laughed loudly, drawing stares from all over the pitch with rather amusing effects as a couple of people suddenly became recipients of bludgers to the face. Another person, apparently startled by the laughter threw a quaffle a little too high and it sailed over the edge of the passing circle headed right towards them. Ace snatched it out of the air and had returned the pass to another person in the circle. That seemed to break whatever spell had come over the majority of the players except for two people in particular. A small tan lanky boy wearing a strawhat exchanged some sort of look with a blond young man with a series of scars scattered over his left side, the most prominent one over his left eye. Ace gave a small wave and apparently that was all that was needed to cause the pair to run towards them, no at Ace, full tilt.

Ace’s eyes widened and he quickly took the bag off of his shoulder and held it out to Marco who looked at him with undisguised curiosity. “Can you do me a favor and hold this?” Ace asked, the words coming out in a rush.

“Sure.” Marco had scarcely taken the bag before Ace continued

“You might also want to take a couple of steps to the side.”

“Why?” Marco asked but the question was rendered moot as the answer came barreling past as twin blond and black blurs tackled Ace bringing him down with a lot of noise. Marco turned to Izou who was still standing beside him. “Are you as confused as I am?”

“Yes.” Izou said. “Though I finally figured out why the kid seems familiar.”

“Oh?”

“That’s Ace.”

“Im aware that’s Ace. He told us his name Izou.”

“I wasn’t done thank you. That’s Ace of Spades.”

Marco blinked. “As in the Merc team that made it to the final four of the Quidditch World Cup Championships 3 years ago? The team that was rumored to be able to give us a run for our money but ended up withdrawing due to injuries?”

“Exactly.” Izou said. “I wonder what he’s doing here. I thought all of the Spades had retired from Quidditch after that.”

“Most of us did. The Spades as a Quidditch team no longer exists.” Ace said rejoining the pair, arms over the shoulders of the two people who had just tackled him. Strangely enough, the younger of the two the kid with the straw hat had tears running down his face while beaming like Christmas had come early. The blond under Ace’s other arm didn’t have any tears but had a rather similar smile on his face. Marco’s curiosity was driving him crazy but he pushed it away. He didn’t know any of these people well enough to ask about the strange series of events he had just witnessed. “And to answer your question, Im just here to visit these weirdo and play some Quidditch. Sabo, Luffy, meet Marco and Izou of the Whitebeards.”

“Nice to finally put a faces to the names.” Marco commented, hands in his pockets.

“Indeed.” Sabo said, ducking out of Ace’s hold. “Ya ready to get these games started?”

Marco looked around, and his eyes lit upon a familiar group of people that were just standing atop the hill he and Izou had just walked down. “Seeing as the rest of my team just arrived, I’ll have to say yes.”

“Great.” Sabo said. “Lets get this show on the road then.”

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mysticmysterywrites-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Prompt #5

My characters are stupid and in love and just about to get out of highschool and see the world, and your character recently had a rumor go around saying that they slept with one of them while drunk at a party

Maybe they are approaching them about the rumor? Maybe someone wanted to break them up with their current partner, and my character was an easy target? Maybe they break down in front of the two of them because of it, and get a nice long "it's just a rumor, why are you letting it get to you," comfort talk from them. Hell, maybe they were the one that started the rumor bc they want to sleep with one of them, but THAT didn't go as planned. Lots of possibilities.

Or maybe it isn't even bc of the rumor. Maybe they heard about their plan to leave and they want in. Tbh, I like the idea of them ending up last minute joining them on the trip regardless. There two are undeniably heavy go with the flow types, and if a cute person that also has nothing to loose wants to come with them on a stupid road trip who are they to say no? At the very least, I'd like them to drag your character off to ditch the rest of the school day with them, giving your character a day off from whatever they're going through, and then to go from there.

Also, there IS mentions of sex, but in the "we're high schoolers experimenting with our sexuality," kind of way. And I AM willing to let this get nsfw, but I'd like build up, Cha know?

Double also, you don't have to match length, but please at least give me enough to work with? Like this is REALLY long, it got way out of hand. But I'm not picky about reply length, I just try and match my partners.

Finally, a quick description of my characters. Eden is about 18, with long black hair she normally either throws into a braid or a bun, toned skin with freckles on her face, painted nails and green eyes. She's about 5'11. She can be a bit harsh to people she doesn't like, kind of uncaring. Not in a malicious sort of way, in the "I don't think this person matters in my life" kind of way. She has a belly button piercing, and a few in her ears. Nipples pierced as well.

The other one is Masao. He's 19 at the start of this. Same height as Eden, with brown eyes and dark skin. Hair in dreadlocks, where some of the dreads are bleached blonde to replicate highlights. Piercings in his ears, a tattoo or thorns and roses that goes around his upper arm and chest. Scarring on his lower right chin and upper shoulder and chest, tho that area is covered by said tattoo.

(Some wise man once said that people were cruel.)

He'd been 17 when he met her. She was a year or so younger then him, but the same kind of younger that everyone else in class was. He'd been held back once upon a time, at some point in elementary school that was too far beyond recollection in actual memory. He had a belief his parents just forgot to enroll him into school until a year after he was suppose to. Maybe faced some governmental push back or something.

It wasn't like they'd been the fastest of friends. For a while, they just knew each other by name and nothing more. It wasn't like he had that many friends to begin with. He wasn't oblivious to that fact. He was, a loner at heart. Friends were tiring, and he had more then enough to deal with the stress that came with it. But it wasn't like he was particularly bullied or picked on. He was background noise at best, nonexistent in the minds of his classmates at worst.

She was tall, height only increased by the fact that she sported heels on a bi-daily basis. Her gaze was sharp and critical, holding knives to others as she analyzed and took sight of them. However she was, also undeniably, quite pretty, and her laugh was like bells in his eyes. He admired her, in a way. She spoke her mind, loud and clear. Managed to have a nice group of people she spent enough time with. They got thrown into a group together for an end of the year project their junior year. That's when they really began speaking.

("I don't like them," She admitted, the first time they actually got really personal with one another. Perhaps about the forth or fifth time they'd slept together? At the very least, it was around the time awkward, clunky touches that had once only been there to experiement were now, becoming careful and sweet, purposefully lingering far more then they were the first few times, "I mean, not to sound like the edgiest fool around, but most of the people aren't really my friends, persay. I just kinda.. tolerate them. They're the kind of people that are going to be like 'lets stay in contact after highschool! Talk to you lots!' only to turn around and forget you exist. I don't mind it. It's just how it is, I guess,"

Yeah. He couldn't help but agree with the sediment. She'd continue on to talk about physically bearing but emotionally distant parents, and he'd return with talk of uncaring and neglect. It was the first time either of them had told anyone about it, and it was. Nice. Not good, not bad, but nice.)

It only took a few meetings for them to sleep together.

She told him to come over her house for the project. And, well. He was always looking for an excuse to leave home. They'd managed to get most of what they needed to done for it within the first night, and it was well into the night before the two of them began really talking.

("Your cute," she'd tell him, a little before the first time they fucked, "like, real cute. You have a nice face to you, I think. Ya just don't do anything with it," she'd pause, giving her makeup bag a look, "most men don't, but. Ya know."

He'd just shrug, his hands on pieces of paper that they'd reviewed so many times over that there really was no point in doing so anymore, "I wouldn't mind the idea of it. Might, uh. Be nice to clear up some of the scarring? I just don't know how."

Her eyes glinted with intrigue, and she zipped open the makeup bag without another thought. They slept together that night, uncertain touches just being pleasurable enough to get rid of the awkward air that came with it. She.. undeniably knew more them him. But maybe that was to be expected.)

"It's not healthy," he pointed out, when he noticed the way she started drawing in from her old group of friends and coming to linger by him more and more.

"What? Pulling back from a group of people I didn't like talking to anyway, and would have ended up going the rest of my life ignoring? Please," She'd rolled her eyes, reaching over to snag one of his chips from him. The librarian shot them a dirty look, but ultimately continued to let them eat their lunch in here, "Now, when were the days you're free at the beginning of school break? I just got my license and I want to go up to the lake," she'd take his DS out of his hand as she spoke and go through his team for the 5th time that day, but it was okay because he'd do the same in return.

("Won't they be mad?" He asked, the first night they'd spent up at the lake together. He'd spent most of it with his head tucked under her chin, the two of them finding solice in slowly growing familiar touches, "your parents, I mean."

She'd shrugged, "they aren't home this weekend. Some big important business meeting in Vegas. Bet they're just going to go there and drink and gamble though, ya know?" She'd rub her eyes, and look up out of the sunroof of her car, watching the stars that were scattered across the sky, "hey, move off me for a moment. I brought my DS and some snacks. Tell me, do you think I should keep Mawile or Sableye on my team?")

They grew closer and closer that summer. She enlisted his help in making videos for the internet, small silly vlogs that talked about anything and everything. But her personality was electric, and enticing, and he wasn't surprised when she got just a base following. She hug out with her old friends just enough to keep them in her mind, but not enough that she would actually miss them once she'd left. Or so she'd said. They went to the occasional party, he snuck in through the window by climbing an old oak at night.

It was stupid, and to a small degree vanilla. Stereotypical, to every other degree. He enjoyed every moment of it.

("Have you ever thought about leaving?" She'd ask him, only a few days before their senior year started.

He looked thoughtful, carefully above him.

"Yeah. I've been working since I was 16, to do exactly that," he finally told her, after just long enough had passed that she was beginning to squirm and stare, "Never actually thought I'd do it but. I might start considering it again."

Her eyes would twinkle, and she slowly rose up, "ever thought about seeing the world?")

There was a rumor that rooted itself down only three or so weeks before school ended. Something about him sleeping with someone who's name he knew of but face he wouldn't be able to recall. It was something he didn't pay much mind, or care too much about. There weren't many things that got his attention, after all.

Direct eye contact was one of those things. People didn't NOTICE him. He was normally background noise, the brown haired npc in the back of a shitty card anime. The one that didn't have focus on him. But things were... Something was off. He could tell by the way he was catching people's eyes, and the fact that it would linger. It made him want to find Eden, and press himself tight up under her arm her so he could pretend they were looking at her instead of him. That was a little more common, felt a little more natural.

"Hey, didn't you hear?" They spoke quietly, like having seen him reminded them of something that they'd heard recently. He tried not to perk too much. Not particularly with joy, but rather to attention. The two grew too quiet for him to hear, but when he did...

"THAT'S who they fucked?" He didn't have to look to know they were, at least, raising their eyebrow at him. His interests perked, if only for a moment. It wasn't like he was going around sleeping with the crowd. He was, at least for the moment, perfect content with just his current partner.

"Yeah. Odd guy that's almost never apart from Eden? That's him."

A laugh, "Yeah, nice choice there," before going about their marry way. Something about first times, wondering ifs. He didn't pay it much attention. Took note of it, but also just. Watched, for a while. Took note that more and more people were beginning to talk about it. It was just enough to catch his interest, just enough to keep it on his mind.

But. For a while, he was content with just ignoring it. It, really wasn't his issue. People very obviously didn't like him already, so this had to be more of an attack on them then it was him. And while he didn't appreciate being used as someones scrape-goat, but it wasn't his issue

(She had a van miraculously paid off by parents who modestly kept more money then they'd ever be able to spend (and the desire to buy the love they never bothered showing), and had a face familiar enough to the internet that would get someone a comfortable amount of extra cash would they be living a normal life style, but not familiar enough that should that theoretical person have that theoretical life style, be able to live off that sum of money from month to month. He had savings from about 4 years of work and planning, and the same will as hers to get away from the type of familiarity that brought discomfort and disgust. And damn if they weren't going to put their combined resources to good use.)

He did, however, bring it up exactly once to Eden. It was on one of those nights where he'd spent the night away from parents who'd sparsely cared about his whereabouts, tucked away in the dark behind locked doors in the house of a girl who's parents cared too much of her whereabouts. The familiarity and comfort soothed the anxiety and dread that haunted his dreams, and the rain pounded against all too clean windows

"What do you think?" He'd ask, rolling up onto her waist. His motions weren't smooth, and between them being about the same size it took a moment to steady. But her hand rested on his side, and she seemed to think about it for a good, single moment.

"I think someone's either trying to rip their reputation down or fuck with yours. Seems petty, for one of the last two weeks of school. Maybe wants to break them up with whoever they're fuckin? Could be a lot of things, really," her hand traced a tattoo that was normally well hidden in front of her parents, but without a shirt was well on display for her to see. It covered scars he did well not to talk about, and she did just as well not to bring up. After all. She'd seen them before they'd gotten covered, and she knew the stories behind them.

And even if she hadn't.. well. Was it really her place to dig? He came to her when he was comfortable with things he wanted to say, and who was she to force him to tell her things.

"Thats not what I meant," though he seemed amused

"Mm?"

"What if I had slept with them,"

"Oh," she looked bemused, but didn't even seem startled at the question, "well first of all, I'd ask how you managed to land that one-"

"Rumor goes we slept together drunk at some party we didn't even go to last week. Something like that."

"-because one, I want in on it too, and two. Attractive as you are, You don't particularly walk in the same social circles," hands that were naturally toned, but still far lighter then his own warm, dark skin, brushed up and down against his arms.

"...That said, I am serious," his face fell as he spoke, and he'd roll back onto his side as he spoke. She seemed miffed by the sudden lack of contact, but she was quick to follow him, rolling herself onto her own side and allowing an arm to wrap about his, "If something like it did happen, what would ya think?"

"Ah. well..." She hesitated again, though this time eyes glittering with intrigue and thought. He could see the gears turning in her brain, the way her mind buzzed with each and every thought, "I don't think I'd particularly mind. S'not like we're going to be here within the month," a clap of thunder, and a flash of lightning, and "Enjoy yourself. You don't let yourself have stuff. If what you want to do is go around and sleep with strange pretty girls and boys you've met at parties-"

"It's not, I think,"

"Who the hell am I to stop you? Sleep with a teacher for all I care," he'd roll his eyes, and she'd pull the fallen blanket closer to them as the both of them began to feel the effects of chill on bare skin, "just don't give me an STD or anything."

And that was that. The subject would change, and they'd sit there with their voices all but whispers, waiting until at least one of them finally let sleep get to them.

("I could make a blog about it," she'd said, as they'd been working on their plan, "would go along nicely with my videos, yeah? Talk about everywhere were going, what it was like, what the people were like," She nodded to the lists they'd slowly been working on separately, but combining together.

Lists of anything and everything they could find. National and international landmarks and tourist traps, beautiful national parks and natural formations, restaurant they'd found from clickbait internet videos that made this mouth water and stomachs jump. Ghost towns, water parks and amusement parts, even a few medieval fairs that only opened on certain parts of the year. A list with Interesting small towns in foreign countries tucked away in a passport that she'd gotten the day she'd turned 18 with money she'd stashed away in the back of dresser for the last few years. They'd been in the process of organizing it, listing where everything was in order and making guesses on how much they'd spend where.

There's was no guess for time. There was no need for it. They had all the time they could want when they left. Their only indication of when it would be time to leave would be when the buzz and excitement of the place they were at wore down, and their itch and curiosity for the next place would overpower it.

"Maybe," he'd nod, reaching over to fumble with a camera that they would only pack away last minute, "You'd need to get a domain name and set up a site. But I think we can make something work out?" She'd nod, and they'd move onto the next bit of planning that they'd scattered out.)

That was, of course, until they approached /him/ about it.

He'd been sitting against Eden, thumbing a joint between his fingers and letting smoke fill the air around them. It was the kind of atmosphere that soothed his anxiety, giving him a moment to breath. They'd been doing this more and more often. Which was saying something in itself, he supposed. But the weeks were practically getting shorter, days growing closer and closer to graduation till there was only three days left. Classes had turned to practice (wasn't like either of them were going to graduation) and the only reason he'd bothered to come to school at all was nothing but an excuse to see her, despite having all but moved himself into her bedroom at night.

"We could leave for the day," She'd offer, her hands brushing through his hair in a quiet, soothing gesture. Following against a long, bleached dread and landing to lightly scratch against the cloth of his shirt, "what are they going to do? Suspend us the last few days of school," his eyebrows raised with intrigue, and he didn't have to say anything before she was adding in her "Mmm. And any trouble I get into with my folks won't matter within the next few days. And as nice as sitting and getting wet under a bunch of bleachers sounds, I think sitting in a warm car sounds better. The mattress is already set up in it, yeah? Maybe we can go up to the lake and watch the rain on it. Smoke for a bit. I bet steam is rising from it today. Creates a nice fog, ya know?"

Well. She wasn't wrong.

He nodded, throwing the rest of what he'd been smoking down on the ground and stomping it out, "Yeah. Sounds good. Maybe we can spend the rest of the night there. Could probably just talk a teacher into giving us out graduation certificated Early, and not come back. If we really wanted to"

"We could, mm..."

His eyes flicked up, meeting the eyes of someone he didn't think he'd bother to see or remember the name of within the next few months. More importantly, he felt the way Eden stiffened next to him, and with a glance he could quickly tell how her eyes would narrow with suspicion and uncertainty and distrust.

Eden rose up from her spot, hands in her pocket and eyes narrowed in their direction.

"Hey pretty-face, if you're here about the rumor, he didn't start it," She was careful to place herself between them, eyes quick to fall up and down. Behind the distrust was curiosity, and behind the curious was.. well, amusement, to a small degree, "Though, I guess that depends on how much you take my word for it. And if you aren't here about the rumor... Well, color me curious."

#Cherubplay #Laelia and Okami #Technically

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