#also the chain how its a bit visible but under the t-shirt

[lonely-soul-02]

[javi-reno]

7

JR: The ESR dashes round the ship looking for either Lily or Joe. It knows Javi will be mad when he realises it’s gone but right now it was following its primary programming.

@Lily_Bede_

@Joseph_Bede

JB: The lights had flickered on the bridge, and he had left to check cultivation.

He knew his wife had been feeling poorly, and thought he might find her in the hammock between two mushrooms.

LB: She had been curled up in the hammock, under her duvet with a hot water bottle and a cup of red raspberry leaf tea.

The lights also flickered in cultivation.

JR: -the ESR stopped outside the cultivation bay doors and beeped at them to open only to be denied access, he beeped again to the same result. He beeped more angrily, getting more angry each time he was denied access-

LB: She heard the beeping and looked at Joe, then spoke aloud. “Computer, open the cultivation bay doors.”

The doors didn’t immediately open.

JB: He sighed, shaking his head. “I think we’re under attack.”

Walking to the doors he used her screwdriver to force them open.

JR: -the ESR damaged in flashing several rather crude emojis and beeping in a way that could only be discribed as rude swearing-

JB: He nodded, seeing the emoji swearing. “Describes how I feel.”

LB: Slowly she got up from the hammock, and walked over to Joe and ESR.

Holding the water bottle over her midsection, she looked at ESR. “Where is Javi? Is he alright?” She asked.

JR: the ESR started swear again flashing some new emoji

LB: She nodded, remembering what had happened previously. “Lead the way, ESR.”

JB: Once they had walked out of cultivation, he turned to close the doors again with her screwdriver.

The lights flickered again in the corridor.

JR: -the ESA bleeped and started moving swiftly but quietly down the corridors heading towards the communal bath on the other side of the deck-

JB: He reached for his wife’s hand and walked at her side following ESR.

LB: She walked at a normal pace though she felt poorly, her concern for Javi making her try to walk a bit faster than she was.

JR: -the ESR stopped for a second and offered Lily a sweet. ‘No ginger’ flashed on his screen’

LB: She smiled and accepted the sweet, “Thank you.”

While they continued to walk down the corridor, she noticed the lights flickered again. “Computer, engage security and lockdown.”

JB: He also smiled, though he remembered the last time she managed to get ginger drunk inadvertently - though now that had been centuries ago.

A distraction from whatever had been causing mayhem for a few moments.

JR: -the ESR stopped outside the communal bathroom door and beeped-

LB: She pushed on the doors, they didn’t budge. “Computer, open the doors.” Nothing, and the lights kept flickering every few minutes.

JB: He still had her screwdriver, and again used it to force open the doors.

Walking inside he looked around for Javi. “Javi?”

JR: -the room was filled with extremely hot steam. The centre of the room was filled with a pool sized bath. Near one side was a towel, and what could only be Javi’s boots and chain collar.

LB: She walked over the pool sized bath, blinking her eyes due to the steam.

When she seen his boots and chain she decided to walk into the pool.

JB: He walked around to the deeper end of the pool and dove in.

JR: -it immediately started scolding their skin, the temperature only slightly below what could be survivalable for a human. Javi was floating just below the surface towards the centre of the pool, his baggy T-shirt floating around him, his nose ocassioanly coming out of the pool, his visible skin bright red and blistering in places.-

JB: When he surfaced, he swore in Gallifreyan. It felt like he had dove into a river in Hell.

He swam toward Javi, and brought him back to the side of the pool. Gently he lay him on the tiles after he had gotten out of the pool.

LB: Her body temperature was a few degrees cooler than an average human temperature, though she could tell the water was scalding.

She followed Joe and Javi, kneeling down next to him.

JR: -Javi was breathing but it was only just and extremely shallow, more blisters appearing as they looked.He would also have heat stroke. The ESR rolled up and started beeping rapidly,pushing a oxygen mask out of his carry cupboard,a oxygen line attached,already blowing out cool o2-

LB: She scanned him with her screwdriver, and could tell he had heat stroke.

When he was stable they would move him to their quarters.

JB: He remained nearby, observing ESR and Javi. Hopefully they could move him from this room soon.

JR: -the ESR bleeped. An emoji on its screen

. It had done all it could do-

JB: He nodded and bent down, gently picking up Javi. “We’ll go back to our quarters.”

LB: She stood and picked up Javi’s things, ready to follow Joe and ESR.

Something dodgy was happening onboard, what was truly behind it now she wasn’t exactly sure.

JR: -the view screen in the room flickered before showing a message. ‘We will come for you one day. You have something we want” -before going blank-

LB: She looked at the screen and while it wasn’t very polite, flipped them off.

JB: He held Javi and glared at the screen, “Like hell you are.”

Turning to his wife, “At least now we know what we’re up against, those arseholes.”

JR: Javi whimpers very slightly from under his oxygen mask-

LB: She stands next to Joe, and reaches to hold Javi’s hand. “You’re safe and with us. ESR is here too.”

JB: While he held Javi he looked at his wife with concern. “We should be headed back to our quarters, call EMH.”

JR: -Javi’s head lolled, his unsteady breathing and very occasional whimper the only sign of life-

JB: He held Javi and walked carefully out of the room and into the corridor.

The lights were steady and he walked to the lift. The doors opened and he walked inside.

LB: She followed onto the lift, concerned for Javi and also trying to sort out a plan for how they would deal with their other issues onboard.

JR: -the ESR stayed close, maintaining Javi’s o2 levels through the oxygen line and mask-

JB: The lift ride to their quarters was slower than he would have liked, and he kept watching the screen of the ESR.

They arrived on the top deck of the saucer, walking off the lift and down the corridor.

LB: She felt exhausted now, though by sheer force of will kept herself going.

JR: -the ESR kept level with them, through he beeped once at lily and offered a vile with his new telescope hand that Javi had fitted the night before ‘lily painkiller Javi approved’ it’s said on the screen-

LB: She smiled and nodded, taking the vial. “Thank you.”

Javi must have added settings for her as well, and she was appreciative.

JB: At the doors to their quarters he spoke, “Computer, open our doors.”

When the doors open he sighed and walked inside, going to the bedroom and gently laying Javi on their bed.

JR: Javi let out a whine as he touched the bed, he ruby red skin raw and oozing in places, blistered in others, his clothes stuck to him. His eyes fluttered as he thought his way back to consciousness-

LB: Rather than call EMH, she was busy getting supplies from Javi’s medical kit that was in their quarters.

Looking to ESR, “Do you have burn cream, one he isn’t allergic to?”

JB: He also looked in the box, taking out a flask of the pain reliever and bringing over to Javi.

Sitting on the side of the bed, he offered the open flask.

JR: -The ESR seemed to think for a minute before information popped up on the screen. “Cool sterile damp cloths over burns, change regularly, once the heat has disappeared, treat with petroleum jelly and dressings”-

LB: She nodded, getting up to get cloths to dampen and bring back for Javi.

Joe no longer looked like a cooked lobster, though he did earlier after getting out of the water.

JB: He put the lid back on the pain reliever and got up to help his wife, following ESR’s guidelines.

JR: -Javi whimpered slightly, his eyes opened the tinest bit. -

LB: She began to place the damp cloths on Javi, looking at him still feeling concerned.

JB: He sat on the edge of the bed again, picking up the pad and deciding to run a systems check.

JR: “Lily, Joe?” Javi’s voice was only just above a whispered murmur, barely audible above the O2 mask-

LB: Lily looked at Javi, “We’re here, and he’s having a look to see if he can sort out what happened.”

JB: He set the pad aside for a moment, looking at Javi. “I’ve got the flask of pain reliever here, whenever you’re ready.”

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[tulsa-trash]

Bob Sheldon Headcanons

WARNING(S): Mentions of alcohol abuse, physical abuse, death; got angsty towards the end there god damn—

Has an older brother named Gordon who moved away to go to law school, they’re a little over 4 years apart. They were never really close, due to their father creating unnecessary competition between them since they were younger. He doesn’t like talking about him much.

Mr. Sheldon would always compare Bob to Gordon, saying that Bob “ought to be more like his big brother instead of screwing around all the time.” Overtime Bob grew to resent his old man a whole lot.

Mrs. Sheldon is a chain smoker, she tried her best to hide it from the family but eventually Bob found out. Most of the time after she gets into a fight with her husband, she locks herself in one of their bathrooms, opens the window, and silently lights a cigarette as she stews by herself. One night she forgot to lock the door and Bob walked in on her. He promised he wouldn’t tell dad.

He tended to favor his momma over his daddy, she spoiled him more and he felt she was always easier to talk to than dad.

His parents have a decent age gap, his mother being eleven years younger than his father. They’d known each other since they were kids, his dad was best friends with one of his mom’s brothers growing up.

Being spoiled rotten with tons of cash throughout life has its pros and cons. Despite always coming off as cocky and entitled, deep down bob hated being a soc. At the age of 18 he already had all the money, nice clothes, popularity, and dr*gs he could ever want, so why even try?

He had no goals for himself, didn’t want to go to college, didn’t want to work, he could really care less about all that. He had a tuff car and he was dating one of the hottest gals in school, that was all that was important to him.

He met his best friend, Randy, in kindergarten. They went to catholic school together, they’re parents even get along well. Both of their childhoods were spent visiting each other’s houses and going to family cookouts often.

His dad forced him to join a baseball league in seventh grade, even though Bob expressed he didn’t like it his dad made him stick with it for a few years. He was eventually kicked off the varsity team his sophomore year in high school for excessive drinking, along with constantly butting heads with his teammates and the coach.

The only good thing he got out of baseball was watching Cherry Valance preform with the cheerleaders at his games, that’s how their relationship started.

He’s secretly blind as a bat, but he refuses to wear glasses. Bob found out he desperately needed glasses in the third grade. once all the kids in his class seen him with those thick-brimmed, magnifying glasses it was all over. he was teased ruthlessly to the point where he just stopped wearing them and never put them on again.

“What happened to those god awful goggles, Sheldon?”

“Psh. They were fake I wore em as a joke.” 😅

^ That forced him to sit in the front of class a lot so he didn’t have to struggle as much to see the board. Even though the poor b*stard was blind the entire time, it made him used to getting called on by the teachers and chatting with his classmates. He was one of the most popular boys in town in no time.

Mr. Sheldon slowly became an alcoholic as his boys grew up. He went from one glass of scotch at night to taking a shot immediately when he wakes up in the morning and being plastered by the afternoon. Usually he’s a sluggish drunk, but god forbid he gets to drinking when he’s mad.

His old man was terrifying when he was both intoxicated and livid. He never put his hands on his wife but there have been multiple drunken episodes where he either destroyed sh*t in the house... or he’d beat Bob.

If you were to ask Bob if he would rather get hit with a belt or his dad’s hands, he would pick the belt. Even the metal part hitting him was no where near as painful as his father’s closed-fist strikes with his gold rings. If Bob had a good buzz on it numbed the pain a bit, so he tried his best to be hammered before he got home most nights.

His mother never stepped in or said anything about it, she’d clean up her husband’s mess and go to bed. The next morning the family would act as if it didn’t happen. They had to maintain their pristine reputation of course, wouldn’t want the neighborhood to know both Mr. Sheldon and his youngest son had drinking problems. Bob eventually couldn’t even stand his mom anymore. He hated them.

Mrs. Sheldon hated herself too, and her husband. She knew her baby boy was f*cked up because of them, the guilt ate away at her every day. Deep down in her heart she knew her son was drinking and causing trouble because of how he was brought up— how he was being treated at home... and she did nothing about it.

The mixture of bullies at school and his own personal bully at home molded him into being the arrogant and angry a*shole we’ve come to know. No one would be able to hurt him if he just beat them to it and hurt them first... right?

One night things got really bad, Bob’s report card came in the mail while he was out on a date with Cherry. His daddy was displeased, to say the least, 3 bold F’s sat on the paper.

“That no good son of a b*tch is lucky he ain’t home.” Mr. Sheldon spat as he slammed the report card on the dining room table, his wife visibly flinched.

When Bob got home that night he was already fired up, some greasers were trying to make a move on Cherry and Randy’s girl, Marcia, at the Nightly Double. The last thing he expected when he got home was to see his mother sweeping up broken glass while nursing a busted lip and a black eye.

They held eye contact for a long moment, neither of them said a word. His mother looked at him with so much pain, so much regret in her eyes, tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Bob turned around and left wordlessly.

He picked up a few of his friends, stopped by the liquor store, then began to look for some trouble. He immediately drove to the east side of town to look for some greasers to mess with, and after only fifteen minutes of cruising his eyes landed two younger boys from the drive-in earlier that night.

“Jackpot.” He slurred to himself as he turned his car onto the grass and pulled up to the park.

Whoever wasn’t helping Bob restrain the greaser he was drowning was beating the second boy in the grass. Every now and then Bob would pull the kid out of the water only to shove him back in almost immediately. He held him under the water, the cold liquid splashed everywhere managing to soak everyone near the fountain but he didn’t care... he couldn’t feel a thing.

The other greaser was shouting, his pals continued to egg him on as he continued swing the greaser’s head back and forth wildly under the water. He didn’t even know what anyone was saying, he wasn’t paying attention, all his focus was directly on hurting the individual in his grasp.

Red. Everything was fine until Bob noticed the water was changing colors. His ears were ringing, all he could hear was the faint sound of footsteps rapidly getting lower and lower, farther away. There was no more yelling, no more voices.

“Did I k.ill him?” He thought to himself, immediate regret and fear flooding over him.

He let go of the kids shirt and fell over with a soft thud, a sharp pain erupted from his torso. His hand lightly touched the left side of his ribs and there it was... warm, red liquid coated his fingertips after he pulled his hand away. It was then he noticed the other greaser, the tan boy frantically pulled his friend out of the water and laid him down on the cold concrete.

“P-Pony? Ponyboy?” He shook violently, his right fist held a switchblade tightly. “Oh god... what did I do... what did I do.”

Bob watched him slowly sink to the ground, his back resting against the side of the fountain as he began to sob. His eyes flickered to the unconscious kid, Ponyboy. He didn’t understand how his body went from hot to cold as fast as it did, the reality of the situation was crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, he knew he was going to die.

He looked up at the sky and took in a strangled breath before wincing in pain. To his left he noticed his flask— his dads old flask, it was his eighteenth birthday gift. The thought of his father’s proud face as he handed it to him that day made Bob sick. He reached for it, the cold metal on his palm soothed him a bit. He weakly unscrewed the cap and went to take a sip, only to realize it was empty. Johnny watched him the entire time with a horrified gaze, but Bob didn’t seem to notice.

“Damn... that’s a shame.” The Soc grumbled to himself.

He tossed it, making it land a few feet away in the grass. His attention returned to the starry sky, a light feeling crept its way in his chest. He couldn’t tell if that was just him dying or if it was something else, but after eighteen years of being in this world his finally took the time to stop and look at how beautiful the sky was for the first and last time. He was scared, he didn’t want to go so soon, yet at the same time... he was relieved.

“Wow...” Bob sighed, “Ain’t this something else.”

His vision began to blur, tears— or was that also death? He felt the salty streams creep past his eyelids and run down the corners of his eyes. He was ready.

With one final breath, he passed away. His eyes never closed, he died looking at the stars.

[iwach4n]

i said I'd do it and now it is simp time because punk yamaguchi is the only thing on my mind rn. general hcs for now but perhaps i will do a boyfie hcs for him as well

also yes this is sorta badly written and obnoxiously long its mainly just me rambling all my ideas

punk third year hcs

his confidence has grown drastically since the beginning of first year, especially when it comes to volleyball. but the end of second year and the holidays before third year starts are when he really starts to come out of his shell and experiment with his style

his hair comes first. he doesn't have time to get a haircut for a while, and so he ends up tying it back as a temporary thing. except its no longer temporary because he really likes it

he only does it for volleyball and when he's studying at first, just to get his hair out of his face. sometimes when he goes out on errands.

but he leaves it up after morning practice once, and suddenly he's getting Looks. he would have missed all the blushing stares of the girls (and probably a few guys) if tsukishima hadn't pointed it out to him

his face has become a bit more defined and masculine recently coz puberty, and although he still has pretty soft features, tying his hair up shows off a sharp jawline

he's a bit awkward about all the attention he's getting at first! like he really doesn't know what to do with it. but he slowly manages to take it in his stride (tho he'll still get blushy if anyone outright compliments him on it)

buying a leather jacket on impulse is really the turning point for him. he loves the more confident vibe it gives him, which in turn makes him even more confident

he buys more clothes like that to match it, and by the time third year starts he's decked out with a whole new wardrobe

when the new first years start on the first saturday practice, they're already a little nervous because karasuno has a pretty intimidating rep.

but when they see this guy with long hair, a leather jacket, big boots and ripped jeans unlocking the club room? shaking

that is, until he notices them and starts talking

he literally just smiles and they know they're fine. just immediate 'cool older brother' vibes

he's absolutely great as a captain, he helps out all the new kids and keeps tsukishima and kageyama from being too mean or intimidating

one day, yachi asks if she can paint his nails. he agrees and loves it and now he constantly has his nails painted. they're black more often than not but sometimes he switches it up with random colours. because of the volleyball they're always chipped but it just adds to the whole vibe

tanaka invites noya and all the third years (like the year below them you know what i mean) over to his house to catch up. when yamaguchi shows up he does a visible double take, but before you know it he's giving him an undercut and noya's dying his hair black

he's now a lot more scary at games. not only is his style more evident even without the clothes, he's also spent years watching his teammates intimidate their opponents and he's picked up a thing or two

while hinata, tsukishima and a handful of the younger ones are actively insulting the other teams, yamaguchi can't really make himself do that and knows that as captain he should reign them in

"leave them alone guys, we don't have time for this"

but his confident stare and tiny smirk sends shivers down their spines too

the minute they get round the corner, everyone's clapping him on the back and cheering about how he 'totally made them piss their pants', while he just laughs awkwardly

the first time he does something like that, he genuinely feels bad about it and almost apologises. but sooner or later he just finds it kind of funny

at some point, tsukishima finds some rings that akiteru used to wear (akiteru had a low-key eboy phase in my mind but thats another story) and gives them to yamaguchi. its like a gateway drug to jewelry for him honestly

rings? yes. chains? you bet. bracelets? fuck yeah.

soon enough, he's got a couple of piercings too. he starts off with a few in his ears, but then he gets a lip ring and eyebrow piercing too and he looks sO GOOD

he's pretty much got fangirls at this point. and one thing they love is how he looks really punk and hot but whenever they talk to him he's super sweet and awkward

he forgets to take his lip ring out before a game once and they l o s e t h e i r m i n d s

audible groans from the stadium when ukai reminds him at a time out

(honestly me too i can't stop thinking about how hot he'd look with a lip ring)

(i've been trying so hard to keep it together and not just yell about him this whole time but it's so hard. i'm breaking down man. i've got a crush on punk yams send help)

ukai is also his go-to for advice on piercings, and the man lives for it. he's watched this kid grow from a nervous smol babie to a confident punk child and he's more than happy to take him under his wing and share what he knows

if there's one group of people he knows he'll never be nice to if he ever saw them again it's his old bullies. he’s moved past them but looking back he gets kinda mad

well, one day he’s walking out of saturday practice with tsukishima and sees an awfully familiar group of guys walking down the road, talking about the school, and about “doesn’t that really weak freckly kid from elementary go here?”

well, speak of the devil

remember how they were intimidated by tsukki before? oh how the turntables.

i wouldn’t say tsukishima has a ‘soft boy’ style, but he opts for slightly preppy clothes like button up shirts, knitted sweaters, that kind of thing. and he usually wears lighter colours (beige, light blue, a muted yellow, ygm)

meanwhile, yamaguchi is here with all his black clothes and piercings and newfound confidence, and the way he’s looking at them is honestly a bit terrifying

“t-tadashi?” “who the fuck let you call me that?”

tsukishima is genuinely impressed. probably the first time he’s heard him swear not out of frustration

its a bit of a staring contest until one of the new first years runs up and calls him captain and asks him if they’re getting meatbuns (he totally carries on daichi’s tradition of treating the team to them prove me wrong). he’s back into nice senpai mode when he says he’s buying, but the bullies now know he’s also the captain and it just increases the air of authority he’s got right now

they keep staring each other for another minute or so, and tsukki’s getting concerned because god knows what this kid’s gonna do

but he suddenly just starts walking past them, no fucks given

“come on tsukki. these assholes aren’t worth our time.”

those bullies are left having an existential crisis in the street because that was mildly terrifying and also the last years treated him well damn (puberty hit him like a freakin BUS)

I WAS GONNA END IT THERE BUT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT TATTOOS

while he’s still in high school, he can’t get any tattoos done professionally, but he definitely messes around giving himself stick-and-pokes

they’re all quite small and simple - little stars and smiley faces on his ankles and arms

would probably let the team try their hand at it on him. as a result he has some deformed splodges, something that is just barely recognisable as a volleyball and a couple freckles on his legs joined up like a dot-to-dot (he asked yachi to do a crow on his bicep because she’s the best at drawing but she was too nervous about messing it up)

he’ll also try giving the team some if they want to (though not first years coz to him they’re literal babies). hinata tried to get the third years to have matching ones but tsukishima didn’t want to be associated with them like that and yachi was a bit scared to so they didn’t end up doing it

when he’s old enough, he gets a few proper tattoos, but they’re all quite small and simple. he probably seriously considered getting a big design on his neck (kind of like this) but he ultimately decided against it

in conclusion yamaguchi is punk in third year and my heart is going absolutely crazy over him

(jesus christ this turned out long)

[chaos-in-bright-pink-hair-dye]

The stars still shine as bright

So, @ordinary-dust happy fucking birthday! Since I can't give you a gift irl I wanted to at least write or draw something for you and well why not both actually. I love you and here have this Kobrastar so that you don't have to create all the content for this ship yourself as you said XD

It isn't easy to be brought back into a world that is nothing like the one you left twelve years ago but in the end it doesn't seem as hopeless when you have your partner by your side.

wordcount: 1358

warnings: death mention

Kobra wiped his hands to get rid of the grease and dust, there was something wrong with 27 and he, for the love of the Witch, couldn’t figure out what. He checked and took apart everything at least twice looking for broken gearing, corroded parts, exchanged all the belts and hoses and just couldn’t find what’s bothering his bike so much. Everything seemed in perfect condition yet she always whined and growled in a way that made Kobra’s soul ache when he tried starting her and his inability to fix it was driving him crazy.

The twelve years of standing under a sheet, getting dusted on, uncared for, becoming another ghost of the past really took a toll on her, it was wonder no one stole her, actually. He could probably thank Cherri or Dr. D for that, he was a legend in the zones of course, but when you’re a killjoy there’s no respect for your things after you die, someone needs them more and there’s no arguing with that so no matter how great The Fabulous Killjoys were none of their stuff would be left if it wasn’t for the radio crew.

It was weird to wake up into a world without them, Kobra knew them since his first day in the zones, he couldn’t imagine the desert without Dr Death’s broadcast blasting from the radio on long rides, without Cherri stopping by to brag about another clap he barely made it out of alive or without Newsie’s familiar laugh on the waves. But it’d been three months and they were really gone. And so was BL/Ind. It didn’t feel right, it was all they fought for, all they died for but it just didn’t feel right. The Girl did defeat them and now that there was no revolution, there was no need for four mismatched teens who knew nothing than running on gasoline and gunpowder, there was no place for them anymore, they were out of their time, imprints of the past somehow brought back, lost and trying to find their place in the world they didn’t know and that didn’t need them. They couldn’t go back to their old lives, there were no old lives to go back to after all, but they couldn’t go back to the city either, they simply didn’t belong.

‘Hey, Speed, want some help? Can’t stand the wailing anymore’ familiar cheerful voice from behind Kobra’s back jerked him out of his thoughts. How long has he been staring into nothingness? He quickly glanced around, the ground was still covered in spare parts, misplaced pieces of metal and plastic and screws, and he was still holding the cloth covered in motor oil, now more brown and grey than white, one tear rolling down his cheek, he quickly wiped it of before turning to Jet smirking in the way that earned him his reputation and name, teeth bared and every word dripping with venom that wasn’t really meant: ‘Thought ya were outside helping Party and Ghoul with the car, needs care too. And knowin’ Ghoulie it could be putting a bomb under the hood and not that I wouldn’t like bein’ dead but few more days’d be nice.’ but he knew Jet noticed the movement of his hand, the slight tremble in his voice, he always did.

‘Can’t take a break to visit my favourite crewmate?’ Jet rolled his eyes leaning on the doorframe ‘Plus Party and Ghoul were throwing hands over some fuckin’ bullshit as usual when I left so ‘s your brother I’d be worried about.’ the older killjoy laughed. His laugh died away turning into a warm smile as his eyes got caught on something on Kobra’s chest. Kobra loved Jet’s smiles, he didn’t smile often, at least not when anyone could see him but on the rare occasions when he did Kobra could swear the desert sun didn’t feel so bright in comparison anymore.

‘You really never go anywhere without it huh?’ Jet uttered with amazement as he walked slowly to the younger killjoys still not lifting his gaze from the small ring of gold hanging from Kobra’s neck on an old beat-up chain, the metal shining bright in the dim lighting of the room. ‘I know how much it means to you. And... it means a lot to me.’ Kobra whispered softly wrapping his own hand around Jet’s, he could feel the heat radiating from his skin, Kobra’s hands were always cold but but Jet’s burned with the warmth of thousand stars and Kobra would like to pretend it was the only reason he like being close to Jet so much but everyone knew it wasn’t true.

‘Zone rats like us might not really praise these but it was your mother’s and… and I appreciate this so much yk.’ He smiled at Jet who finally looked up and back at him, sometimes Kobra forgot how beautiful Jet Star really was. He might be covered in sand and dust, infinite scars covering every part of his body, his bright blue and purple hair not really so vibrant anymore and his eyes clouded with worries and stress even tho he tried to bury them deep underneath loud laughs and ironic remarks but again and again Kobra realized he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than the boy standing in front of him, every little imperfection making him love him even more.

‘Maybe I wasn’ talkin’ about 27 before, Kobes.... You’re not really yourself, I can see it.’ Jet whispered laying his hand gently on Kobra’s cheek, worries visibly reflecting on his face. 'None of us is okay, Star.’ Kobra snickered as he wrapped his arms around the older boy’s shoulders pulling him closer. He missed hugging Jet, he missed his smell, he missed the strength he hugged him back with that made him feel so safe.

‘Is true.’ Jet had to admit, none of them really felt like themselves but how could that be of any surprise. How could you feel completely okay waking up after over a decade of being dead. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun, hm. Just the two of us. Party and Ghoul will find a way to entertain themselves and maybe if we’re lucky they won’t even burn the whole place down.’ Jet laughed winking at Kobra, bright blue curls falling into his eyes before he left a butterfly like kiss on the side of his neck. 'Heard there’s a party in The Nest tonite, how about we take the AM. Haven’t seen ya wear that pretty red dress in a while’ this time Kobra was the one to kiss Jet on the corner of his mouth smiling as he saw the bright blush on his cheeks covered in freckles. He always thought it looked like the night sky somehow found its way onto his pretty face and wondered how his name matched him so perfectly in so many ways.

‘Sounds nice, Shiny’ he kissed his partner again before sliding his ring from the necklace and back onto his finger where it belonged. They did have their beads to prove their pledge but he always liked the way their rings were special and he never took his off unless there was a high chance, he could lose it and even in that case he still kept it close to him tucked safely underneath his t-shirt.

‘Okay, by the car in fifteen. Gotta get those two boogies of our tails’ Jet winked and Kobra before quickly disappearing into the dark hallway and Kobra had to smile. He had to smile ‘cause he loved the boy so damn much and Destroya fuck it now he really had to go find the red dress. He had to smile ‘cause he knew Jet would look beautiful in the fifteen minutes they agreed on casually leaning on the white car he praised so much with glitter in his hair, his eyes shining in the setting sun and smiling in such a way that everything around would seem to disappear. And everything could be fucked but it didn’t really matter when he had Jet Star by his side again.

ID: Digital drawing of Kobra Kid and Jet Star slow dancing and lovingly smiling at each other. Kobra has his right arm on Jet's shoulder and his left hand in his hair and Jet is holding Kobra by his waist, Jet is a little bit taller than Kobra and their noses are only few centimetres away from each other. Kobra Kid is wearing red dress and has two little black stars painted on his cheekbone. Jet Star is wearing a black crop-top and his curly hair is black at the top turning purple and blue the longer it gets, he also has glitters on his nose, cheeks and in his hair. The background is a gradient going from yellow in the middle of the image through purple to black at the edges, the yellow functioning as a backlighting giving Kobra and Jet warm yellow rim lighting. There are little white blurred lights all across the scene. /End ID

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

hold me like the moon holds onto the tide (2/3)

Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a cell with no escape. Alex and Michael are faced with an ex-Caulfield employee who is prepared to do anything to get alien powers of his own. (Inspired by the Daisy/Sousa scenes in Agents of Shield 7x06)

Word Count: 3,203

[Also on AO3] [Part One] [Part Three]

Barely any time had passed before Hughes had returned to collect his prisoner, with two soldiers following close behind ready to do the grunt work.

Michael had been forced to watch as they released Alex from the wall and used the chain to lead him out of the room like some obedient dog. He listened to the threats being made towards them, how if one of them tried anything the other would be punished and as much as Michael wanted nothing more than to send Hughes flying into the wall, he didn’t so much as move an inch from where he was sitting in the hopes that it would save Alex from further pain.

Now he was sitting alone in the cell, his back still pressed against the cold stone, waiting for Alex to return.

It had been silent behind the door since they’d left. No footsteps, no murmurings and mercifully no screams. It was bad enough letting his imagination run wild with what Alex was enduring but he didn’t think he would have been able to handle it if he had actually heard Alex’s cries of pain.

Finally, after far too long in the deafening silence, Michael was ripped from his thoughts by the door slowly opening.

Hughes entered first with a smug grin on his face. The crisp white apron he was wearing had several splotches of blood down its front and Michael had no doubts that he had kept it on just to taunt him.

The sight of the man made his blood boil but the sight of Alex completely took his breath away.

The same two airman as before had a grip on each of Alex’s biceps and hauled him into the room, his head lolling weakly against his chest and his feet dragging behind him. His skin was uncharacteristically pale and there was blood seeping through his t-shirt and the many bandages wrapped around so many parts of his body that Michael had to wonder if there was anywhere that Hughes didn’t touch.

Michael shuffled onto his knees as he watched them drop Alex unceremoniously to the floor and resecure his chains, completely uncaring of the pain their actions might cause.

“What did you do?” He demanded as his eyes roamed over every covered wound that was visible from the angle that Alex was laying. He hadn’t actually expected Alex to be in such bad shape.

“Took as much blood and spinal fluid as I thought he could handle, a couple of glands,” Hughes began rolling his sleeves down from where they had been kept safe from the mess of his experiment. “Now I’ve got to synthesise it all and transfuse it to me.”

“You really think it’s going to be that easy to give yourself powers? You’re insane! It’s never gonna work.” Michael gritted his teeth as Hughes nodded at the two airmen as permission for them to leave the room.

“Maybe not. But if his cells fail, at least I’ve got a back up ready and waiting for round two.” Hughes shrugged with a smile as he turned to leave, shutting the door forcefully behind him.

Michael instantly crawled over to where Alex was lying on his side on the cold floor and closed the gap between them.

“Alex?” He whispered, as he placed a gentle hand against the back of Alex’s head. He watched as Alex squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath before attempting to push himself up onto his forearms, his weak limbs shaking with the effort.

“They can’t take you. I won’t-- I won’t let them take you.” He muttered as his muscles gave out and he dropped the small distance back to the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” Michael whispered reassuringly. His heart was pounding at the sight of how frail Alex looked but also at the words he just spoke. Barely conscious and Alex was still ready to protect him. “Just stay still okay.”

Up close, the fine sheen of sweat against Alex’s forehead was hard to miss, as was the quick, shallow breaths it seemed like he was struggling to take. Michael delicately pressed the back of his hand against Alex’s forehead fully expecting an unnatural heat but instead the skin felt strangely cold and clammy.

There were bandages wrapped around his wrists, his elbows, even some gauze tapped to the side of his neck, each with their own small stain of blood that luckily didn’t look to be growing. Peering at Alex’s back, Michael grimaced at the blood sitting prettily in the middle of his t-shirt. Liz had mentioned to him before about the pain that Jenna had gone through with her involuntary spinal tap. He didn’t even want to think about how much suffering Hughes’ spinal fluid extraction was causing for Alex.

With closed lids and a furrowed brow, it was hard to tell if Alex was unconscious or just too drained to open his eyes, but he was breathing and right now that was all that mattered.

Michael leant against the wall once more and huffed at the inconvenience of having to rearrange the chain to the other side of his body as he carefully coaxed Alex’s head to rest against this thigh. Alex let out a low moan of pain but quickly settled as gentle hands began to card through his soft hair.

“So, while you were gone I was thinking about how we managed to get ourselves kidnapped and I remembered what we were talking about before we were rudely interrupted.” Michael pressed his fingers to Alex’s neck, being mindful of the bandage, to check his pulse. “You were talking about that stray cat that’s been hanging around your place and my weak attempt at persuading you to stop feeding it was clearly not working."

Alex let out a small noise not far off a chuckle.

“Well, I never got round to bringing out the big guns, you know, the thing that was going to blow your measly, animal loving side of the argument out of the water, the-- you know the--,” Michael’s eyes roamed towards the ceiling as if the word he was thinking of would be helpfully written there in capital letters as his brain tried to grasp what was on the tip of his tongue. “Ugh, remember when we had to do that dumb debating at school? I swear there was a word for it. Anyway, yeah, I was gonna tell you about the time that a cat managed to sneak its way into the airstream.”

Michael shuffled over slightly so that Alex’s neck was better supported. His back protested at the odd angle he had now positioned himself in but he was prepared to ignore it for as long as it meant that Alex’s pain eased even just a fraction.

“You know me, I don’t bother shutting that door half the time when I’m working in the junkyard, so it could have been in there for hours by the time I finished. It was certainly long enough to make itself at home though, as I soon found out when I tried to get into bed that night. I was just minding my own business and this mangy thing attacks me out of nowhere! Scratched all up my arm and the side of my face but then it went crazy trying to get out, bouncing off the walls and messing up all my paperwork, causing way more destruction than was necessary before trotting out the door. And, okay, maybe it scratched me because I happened to ruin it’s evening by sitting on it while it was under the sheets, but I choose to believe it’s because cats are evil, evil creatures that are plotting Earth’s demise.”

Michael leant closer to Alex as if preparing to reveal a secret, his hands still carding through Alex’s hair as he dropped his closing statement.

“And that is why you should stop feeding the stray, because soon it’ll want more than your little scraps of food. Soon it’ll invite itself in and make itself at home and then it can take you down from the inside.”

Michael looked down at Alex’s face. His ashen cheeks growing steadily paler. His closed eyelids, twitching occasionally, but still beautiful even in sleep.

“But then again, I can’t imagine any cats hating you, so maybe you’re safe.” He added softly.

-

Several hours later and with no sign of Hughes returning anytime soon, Michael had rambled on and on in a shaky attempt at keeping Alex awake. He talked about Isobel’s latest dining room decorating plans and Maria’s most recent cocktail creation and the new milkshake idea that Liz had run by him. As soon as the stories starting involving Kyle he knew that he was running out of material. All the while, Alex barely moved besides the occasional groan or violent cough.

Michael didn’t want to admit to himself that he was scared but honestly, he had kind of betted on being rescued by now and the longer that Alex went without help, the more bleak their situation was looking.

Alex had squirmed several times under his hands but still his eyes remained closed. Feeling Alex move again, Michael watched as he scrunched his brow and pressed his forehead to Michael’s thigh. “Need to help Michael,” he muttered quietly against the material, his hands weakly trying to push against the floor.

Michael felt a pull in his chest at the words. Alex was so out of it with probably zero awareness of his surroundings, but as always the man’s selfless natural was pushing through to do the one thing he always did without fail. Protect others.

“Shh, it’s okay Alex, I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Michael tried to reassure him, the sudden lump in his throat making it difficult to get the words out. “Just gotta hold on a bit longer, okay? I’m sure after last time they’ve got an entire search party out looking for the pair of us.”

He placed his hands back on Alex’s head and resumed the soothing actions of running his fingers through Alex’s hair.

“I’ll do you a deal. You hold on until we get out of here and I’m gonna finally take you on the best first date you could possibly imagine. I’m gonna pull out all the stops, I’m talking flowers, champagne, a candle lit dinner at some super fancy restaurant. After everything I probably owe that to you anyway, don’t I? I mean it’s definitely my fault it’s taken us this long for us to actually become an us.”

Alex’s hands weakly reached up to feel at the gauze on his neck but Michael gently caught them and guided them back to the floor before he could do any damage.

“I mean let’s be honest, we’re both as bad as each other, constantly running away from it. But then at some point you stopped running and I still didn’t do anything. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, I just think after everything, I didn’t want to get it wrong. Because I’ve always loved you Alex. There’s no point denying it. But no matter how much we loved each other back then, it just went so wrong last time. Maybe we just weren’t ready, we were both dealing with so much and keeping so many secrets. And then I keep thinking, if we couldn’t make it work in the past decade then maybe the smartest thing to do would be to move on completely, to not even risk repeating it all over again.”

Michael’s head shot up as he faintly registered a sound beyond the door. It was hard to make out what was going on, but his breath instantly caught in his throat and he felt his hairs stand on end at the thought of Hughes entering the cell.

His powers hadn’t returned yet and with the chains not going anywhere anytime soon it was going to be impossible to protect Alex. He’d try, of course. He’d rather die than not try to protect Alex.

But he knew what was about to happen. It was playing out so vividly inside his head.

Hughes must have discovered by now that Alex’s cells were no more than human and no-one hates an inconvenient test subject more than a madman on a mission. He would have no problem with disposing of Alex and moving onto his next lab rat.

The noises continued outside but Michael closed his eyes and focused on the feel of Alex’s hair caught between his fingers.

“But we tried to do that as well,” He continued softly. “And yet, here we are back at the beginning. I guess that’s just the thing about your first love, isn’t it? Your first love always hurts the most. It gives you the biggest rush and the most incredible feelings and the greatest heartbreak. And there might be other loves, but none that quite compare to your first. And I just can’t seem to walk away from you Alex, no matter how hard I’ve forced myself to.”

His heart was pounding now. He could practically feel it slamming against his ribcage.

Why did he ever think he could get over Alex?

Why did he think he should try?

They had wasted so much time dancing around each other and now that they’d finally made it to the same page it was going to be torn away from them.

The noises quickly turned into shouts and Michael naively hoped for a second that maybe something else was going on. Maybe some other poor soul was being tortured and Alex would be spared for a little while longer.

But then the unmistakable sound of footsteps stopped right outside the door.

Nothing happened for a moment and Michael could feel his palms getting clammy. Then it creaked opened carefully to reveal the last person Michael had expected to see.

Flint Manes.

There the man stood, in the doorway, in his usual army attire with an unreadable expression on his face as he looked down at his little brother.

Michael held his breath as he and Flint locked eyes, his hands gripping Alex a little bit tighter. He had been ready to put up a fight with Hughes no matter how short lived it would have been, but if Flint wanted to get to Alex, he’d have to kill Michael first.

Months ago, when Jesse was still alive, Michael had had no trouble believing that Flint was capable of kidnapping his own brother. But since then, Alex had been trying so hard with Flint, trying to encourage him to leave their father’s ways behind and become his own man.

And he had succeeded. Or so Michael had thought.

To see him standing in the doorway filled Michael with so much anger he could have exploded in that very moment. Or at least sent Flint flying into the nearest wall had he still had his powers.

Michael opened his mouth ready to unleash his fury at the man if he dared take a step closer, when Flint barely turned his head - his eyes not wanting to stray far from his brother - and shouted loudly out of the cell.

“Valenti!!”

Michael barely had a chance to be confused before Flint swiftly crossed to the other side of the small room and dropped to his knees with a loud thud. His hands came close to Alex but stopped a few inches away, hovering hesitantly as if unsure of where to touch that wouldn’t hurt his brother further.

“What happened?” His voice quivered as he looked up at Michael with such a pained expression that Michael couldn’t believe the rage he’d felt at the man only mere moments ago.

Before he could answer, Kyle appeared in the doorway with Isobel right on his heels. They both looked flustered and were breathing heavily as if they’d been running but no amount of cardio could stop the pure joy from crossing their faces at seeing their friends.

Kyle immediately switched into doctor mode as he joined Flint in kneeling next to Alex, his hand going straight to his neck to check for a pulse. Isobel dropped down next to Michael and used the key she was gripping to unlock his and Alex’s cuffs.

“You’re okay.” She smiled as she gently cupped his cheeks for a moment, the look of such relief shining in her eyes. “We’re gonna get you both out of here.”

“How did you find us?” Michael asked as he rubbed at his wrists. Now that he was free of the cuffs he noticed just how heavy and uncomfortable they had been.

He glanced down at Alex, desperately wanting to reach out to him again, and watched as Kyle gave a careful glimpse under a few of the bandages.

“It was all Flint.” Isobel helped Michael to his feet. “The guys who took you used to work with him at Caulfield. It’s a long story, but as soon as we realised you were missing, he worked it all out and managed to track them down.”

Michael glanced down at Flint and watched as the man’s eyes shone as his focus stayed on his brother. He wanted to thank him. In fact, his mouth did its best impression of a fish as he tried to find the right words but it just felt so strange to be so immensely grateful to a man who had been willing to kill him in the past.

As if Flint could sense his hesitation, he looked up and gave a short reassuring nod, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“You can explain the rest in the car. We need to get Alex out of here, now.” Kyle nodded at Flint as he stood up.

At the confirmation that Alex could be moved, Flint wasted no time in getting his brother off of the cold floor. He couldn’t stop the grunt from leaving his mouth as he lifted Alex up and into his arms. He may be made of muscle from his many years in the army, but Alex was just as tall as him and probably weighed just as much.

He shifted his brother slightly into a more comfortable position, being extremely mindful of his many injuries. Alex’s head rolled into the crook of his neck and Flint could feel his soft breaths as they ghosted against his skin.

Michael quickly followed as Flint led the group out of the cell, a sickly feeling settling in his stomach once more as he watched Alex’s legs swing so lifelessly as he was carried.

He barely registered the sheer number of empty cells they passed as they hurried through the corridors and towards the exit, Isobel’s protective hand on his lower back reassuring him more than he could admit.

There was no one in sight as they left the Caulfield-like building and as much as Michael wanted to know what had happened to everyone, the priority of that question was way lower down on his list than Alex’s wellbeing.

In that moment, as long as Alex was breathing, nothing else mattered.

[slashhinginghasher]

Social Engagement for Misanthropes: Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Jesse Cromeans cleaned up nice, and he damn well knew it. It was one of the first skills he’d cultivated after leaving his shithole hometown. One of the best ways to get money, he’d found, was to look like you already had it. The looks he got from women (and some men) were a welcome (some would say unnecessary) boost to his ego, and a sharp suit could always be counted on to draw the piggies out of their pens. The first few times he’d worn designer had felt strange, like a kid playing make-believe, though after a while it became as natural as breathing.

Now, as he stood in front of the mirror in his walk-in closet and fiddled with a tie he hadn’t touched in over three years, he felt a bit like that broke, backwater kid again.

He didn’t particularly want to attend this event, but it was, unfortunately, somewhat necessary. Spann had called it “proof of life” when she handed him the invitation, an actual, physical piece of paper that had been calligraphed and embossed within an inch of its life. It contained phrases like “humble gathering” and “the pleasure of your company” and had, apparently, been mailed with an honest-to-god wax seal.

Pretentious prick.

Jesse had been to his fair share of “humble gatherings”; you couldn’t conduct real business without them. They were mind-crushingly boring affairs, a slow-moving social dance of caviar, expensive booze, and pathetic attempts at wit. If nothing else, the people-watching was usually interesting. For all their “good breeding”, wealthy families could be far more dysfunctional than the most slovenly of small town homes. Upper class socialites didn’t blink at multi-million dollar checks, but flash a bit of ink and they’d fall over themselves to choke on his cock while their husbands talked golf in the next room. He’d even picked up a piggy or two at a few events, though you had to be extra careful with that (chain of association and all).

But he hadn’t shown his face in public since it had been ripped off and reattached, and some of his business contacts were getting suspicious. Spann’s iron-clad assurances were no longer enough to quell the rumors that Jesse Cromeans had died, or been deposed, and that someone else was running the company under his name. And that just would not do. He’d RSVP’d immediately, memories of Preston’s failed takeover flushing his system with old rage.

At least he’d be guaranteed some interesting company tonight, he thought, smirking at the garment bag draped over the stool next to him as he tapped out a quick text.

💀🖕: COME UPSTAIRS, I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU

Macarena: IF IT’S YOUR DICK I DON’T WANT IT

Jesse chuckled and went back to his tie, certain that either Marena’s curiosity or the urge to insult him to his face would bring her up shortly. He knew bow ties were traditional for black tie events, but wearing a fucking bow around his neck was a concession he’d never been able to force himself to make. Besides, he had a reputation for being… unconventional, and reputation was everything. Satisfied with the crisp Windsor knot, he shrugged on his black waistcoat, secretly pleased with the way it showed off the breadth of his chest.

“You look like a goth pirate,” came Marena’s voice from the doorway. “What the fuck.” As usual, he hadn’t heard her approach. She was the only person he knew who could sneak up on him, which was fun. Made things exciting.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘black tie’ before?” Jesse signed with a grin.

“Call me surprised then. Are we done?” In lieu of a verbal response, Jesse tossed the garment bag at her. Marena unzipped it enough to peek inside, then immediately re-zipped it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nyet.”

“Can’t go to a gala wearing that,” Jesse replied, looking pointedly at her worn t-shirt and jeans. Marena threw the garment bag back and crossed her arms.

“How sad. Guess I won’t go.”

“Sure you will. I can think of a few things to make it fun.”

“So can I. Like not going.”

“Not an option.” Jesse was struggling to smother his laughter. The stubborn furrow of Marena’s brow was too cute to keep a straight face around.

“Why are you going?”

“Business.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

“You’re my plus one, little wench.” Marena visibly cringed.

“If we’re being pirates, I want a fucking sword. And I don’t mean your dick,” she snapped, cutting him off before he could sign a single word. Jesse’s shoulders shook with a full-body laugh, composure completely shot. He cupped Marena’s face in both hands and kissed her forehead, which he knew she hated, before pressing the garment bag into her hands once more.

“Try to look a little less like a corpse,” he advised, stepping around her to grab his dinner jacket. A litany of Russian curses followed him.

***

Marena’s concession to not resembling a corpse was a violently red lipstick that made it look like she’d been eating human hearts for every meal, which Jesse immediately wanted to smear across her face. The dress was black, of course, with a high collar and long sleeves. It would have covered her neck to toe had she not hiked one side of the skirt nearly up to her hip while she slipped a set of throwing knives into the holster around her slender thigh.

She made a compelling argument for ditching, Jesse thought, feeling a familiar tightening in his slacks. He couldn’t resist smoothing a hand along her exposed leg, fingers coming to rest just shy of her underwear.

“Once this dress comes off, it’s not going back on,” she warned.

“Noted and appreciated. You still have to come to this party.”

“Fuck.”

“Later.” 

Marena said nothing, just glared at him through her curtain of hair - which she had brushed just enough that the messiness looked intentional - and let her skirts fall back down to her ankles. Jesse quickly ushered her out of the room before he could do something ingenious like cancelling all of his commitments for the next month and spending the entire time in bed.

The ride in the Bentley was tense and silent. A sick pit of nerves was brewing in Jesse’s stomach, all too similar to the way his boyhood self felt on the way to school, and that was ten kinds of bullshit. He was a grown man. He was motherfucking Chromeskull. He should not be feeling like a little kid about to face a playground bully. But he was finding it very difficult to push the feeling away. His face looked a damn sight better than it did several years ago, but it would never go back to the way it was before, and he was about to walk into a room full of people who treated a minute blemish like a national scandal. He wanted his mask. He wanted to say fuck it and just keep driving until he hit someplace tropical. He wanted to kill something, to drown his insecurities in blood and adrenaline.

He half-wished he’d flown Asa out to rig the whole venue beforehand in case things went south.

Beside him, Marena was deathly still, one white-knuckled fist gripping the fabric of her skirt. She looked a million miles away, lost in whatever personal hell her own brain was conjuring for her. Jesse reached over and squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was his version of a concession; a silent expression of gratitude. The fact that Marena didn’t push his hand away was a testament to how anxious she was.

“I still want a sword,” she grumbled. Jesse smiled and chucked her under the chin, which she also hated, and felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit.

***

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. People stared, of course, but they were too “polite” (which was money-speak for “two-faced”) to say anything to his face. There were far more eyes on Marena, which Jesse both loved and loathed. The women’s jealous eyes tracked her every move like sharks scenting new prey, which was admittedly hilarious to watch; but the barely-concealed desire on the men’s faces sent prickles of possessiveness down Jesse’s spine. He kept his hand glued to Marena’s lower back, low enough to skirt the line of what their current company would consider decent.

If there was one thing the rich understood, it was possession.

“Cromeans!” the host bellowed, arms spread like they were old friends. “Still alive and in the flesh, I see! Some of the lads were getting worried!” A few of the “lads” murmured noises of agreement while the host gave Jesse an overly enthusiastic handshake. Jesse could feel their gazes catching on the eyepatch and the new curl of his lip, and he almost wished one of them would say something, just to give him an excuse to lash out. But the host’s attention wandered over to Marena, whom he foolishly deemed to be a safer topic of discussion.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked, ignoring the sinful glances his wife was casting Jesse’s way.

“No one of consequence,” Marena replied sweetly with a tight, close-lipped smile. The man tipped his head back and guffawed, trying not to wither under the combined weight of Jesse and Marena’s unimpressed stares. He forged ahead anyway.

“You always did have a penchant for… unusual company, Cromeans, I’ll give you that. Tell you what,” he rubbed his hands together eagerly, “I’ve got a bottle of Lagavulin with your name on it in the gentlemen’s lounge. I’m sure Genevieve here can handle your lovely companion for a bit while we talk business.” He beamed benevolently at his wife, who looked as though she’d rather eat glass.

“Of course, dear,” she said, pasting a megawatt smile on her botoxed face. “It’s such a treat to see a new face around here. I’m sure the other girls would love to meet you.” She swept away towards a group of tittering young women draped in diamonds and pearls, Marena following with the stiff spine of a person walking to their execution. Jesse felt much the same way as “the lads” filed into the oak-paneled gentlemen’s lounge.

“Business” was code for the same inane bullshit being discussed in the ballroom, with the addition of whiskey, cigars, and complaints about wives and mistresses. These conversations were usually a goldmine for Jesse. As a mute, he was rarely expected to be an active participant, and the number of weaknesses people revealed when they assumed they were surrounded by allies was astounding. Tonight, though, he was twitchy and bored, distracted by thoughts of Marena stabbing one of those debutante brats through the eye with the stem of a champagne glass. As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

Macarena: I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING

💀🖕: DON’T START WITHOUT ME

Macarena: IT’S CUTE THAT YOU THINK I WON’T TAKE YOU OUT FIRST

💀🖕: AWW YOU THINK I’M CUTE?

Macarena: I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT

💀🖕: DON’T TEMPT ME WITH A GOOD TIME BABY ;)

Macarena: THIS FUCKER KEEPS TRYING TO GET ME TO DANCE

Macarena: CAN I KNEECAP HIM

Macarena: I’M GONNA KNEECAP HIM

The little bastard’s kneecaps were spared when a staff member scuttled into the lounge to inform the host of some dire emergency, effectively breaking up the little gathering. Jesse strolled back into the ballroom and spotted Marena at a table near the exit, cornered by a little bitch with slicked-back hair and a greasy smile. The waves of irritation coming off of the girl were palpable and her smile obviously fake, and Jesse couldn’t decide if the guy was too stupid to notice, or was ignoring it because he had that effect on every woman he spoke to.

“Come on, baby,” he goaded, and Jesse could have broken his neck just for that, “it’s just one dance. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Marena’s smile froze on her face, and Jesse could practically hear the Kill Bill sirens going off in her head. The barb would’ve worked on any other woman in the room - horror of high society horrors, to be considered ill-mannered! - but for people of Marena and Jesse’s backgrounds, it hit much harder and much deeper.

“No,” she said, rising slowly and deliberately from her seat. “She didn’t.” She turned on her heel, leaving the idiot to gape at the failure of his clumsy manipulation tactics. Jesse grabbed her elbow and she passed and made a beeline for the exit. Not that he didn’t relish the prospect of a bloodbath, but initiating one right now would make future business dealings… complicated.

He memorized the fucker’s face on their way out, though.

***

Marena spent the next few days in a well-deserved sulk, resulting in the destruction of two punching bags and a serious case of blue balls for Jesse. He’d really been looking forward to ripping that dress off of her, damn it. He distracted himself with work and few more personal arrangements. At the end of the week, he tracked her down on the rooftop deck.

“Say your piece and fuck off,” she growled as he stood silently next to her chaise lounge, hands behind his back. She sounded exhausted and looked as though she hadn’t slept in at least two days. Affecting an air of mock seriousness, Jesse moved in front of her and bowed, offering her conciliatory gift on open palms.

“You did not.”

The shashka’s scabbard was a deep midnight blue, with subtle patterns of tree branches embossed in the fine leather. The hilt was smooth, black horn. The blade gleamed in the afternoon light as Marena unsheathed it with a fluid schnick.

“You are the absolute worst fucking person in the world,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. A glint of wicked delight sparkled in her eyes as she gave the sabre a few experimental twirls and slashes.

“Only for you, baby,” Jesse replied with a cheeky grin. “Want to test it out?”

***

All it took was a pair of handcuffs and a dark warehouse to really bring out the bitch in some people. The asshole from the party (Jesse really needed to come up with a term for male piggies if this was going to be a recurring thing) had been tied up for barely a day and he was already a sniveling mess. Jesse, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He had his mask, his camcorder, and his favorite knife, and judging by the way Marena was practically purring as she traced her fingers around the shashka’s hilt, he was for sure getting laid tonight. 

The rich bitch didn’t recognize Jesse with his face covered, but his eyes went wide and he started screaming obscenities into his gag when Marena stepped under the light. She yanked the fabric out of his mouth.

“You fucking cunt! You’ll fucking regret this! Do you know who I am? Do you-” All the blood drained from his face when Marena drew the sword and held it to his throat in a lightning-fast move. He swallowed hard, the tip digging in just below his Adam’s apple and drawing a bead of blood. She really was a natural with that thing, Jesse thought as he circled the tableau with his camera. It was hot as fuck.

“Hi,” Marena said.

The man sweated in silence.

“I wanted to go back to our conversation a few nights ago,” she continued. “About my mother.” She let the sword drop to her side and the man relaxed fractionally.

“See, she did not teach me manners, but she did teach me a lot of other things.” She pushed the gag back into place and patted him a couple times on his quivering, tear-soaked cheek. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a black butterfly knife.

“Lesson one: bleeding.”

[gotchagirl]

MLQC: Victor

Victor x M/C

Sweet fluff

kiss

Summary: You decide Victor needs some real downtime and decide to invite him on a day out, It’s a surprise thanks for supporting you. He begrudgingly obliges you.

Word count: 3027

You agree to meet at a coffee shop near downtown. You're there early dolled up in a bohemian style white skirt to your calves and a loose fitting hemp blouse with a v neck and large sleeves, you have donned a brown sunhat and you have matching brown sandals on that lace up to your knees. Underneath it all you are wearing a swimsuit and you have lots of wood bead bracelets on your wrists but no other jewelry. You left your hair loose and flowing as that was the theme for the day. 

You were excited to see Victor, you told him to dress as casual as possible. You have never seen him outside of a suit. It was also very hot out so you guessed he would wear shorts and a t-shirt. You had waited for him outside in anticipation. Watching the hustle and bustle of people go about their day, you feel your excitement bubbling up. 

As you turn around to look the other direction, you step into a hard sculpted chest. Big warm hands had to grab your arms to keep you from falling on your ass. You noticed he barely stifled a laugh and felt your face turn bright red. 

“Victor,” you squeaked meekly, taking a step back looking him up and down. 

He was wearing a pale green polo shirt that made his grey eyes look green, light brown khaki shorts, he also had sandals with thick brown straps and buckles. Victor's hair was dark and tousled by the gentle breeze. You could still see the hint of a smile on his lips and the mirth in his eye. 

“Enjoying the scenery?’”

You smiled up at him, “yes I am very much. I never expected to see you without socks so soon.”

“In what context were you expecting to see me without socks?”

“Nevermind….” You trailed off, “Lets get some Iced coffee and go for a walk.”

Victor followed you into the cafe and you both ordered Iced coffee and walked out towards the park. You snuck a quick glance at Victor who was sipping his coffee and surveying the surroundings casually. You smiled to yourself, he already looked relaxed. You leisurely walked halfway around the park chatting at Victor about your week. When your drinks were done you threw away your cups in a trashcan. 

You had been eyeing up the dock full of paddle boats and you wondered if Victor would be up for it. 

Victor turned to you and at the same time you asked each other, "Do you want to rent a paddle boat?”

You giggled and he smiled simply taking your hand and walked you to the boat rentals. “One boat please!,” He paid, taking the key for the boat. 

“It will be number 5,” said the worker pointing to the dock, " I'll keep your purse, bags and belongings here into the same number locker. He opens the locker and puts your phones and wallets in locking it.

The two of you walked to the dock and Victor helped you into the boat and climbed in himself. Once he was in he unlocked the chain and used his foot to cast off the dock. You started paddling in time with him. It felt like you two were in sync. It was very calm and peaceful. 

“So, this is what you do for fun?” he inquired.

You smiled, “No, this is what you do on a date. I would not do this with just anyone you know.”

He nodded, “I wouldn’t like it if you went on one of these with another man…”

“Victor, was that jealousy i just heard?”

He looked at you with such a serious face,”Have you been on one of these before?”

You were trying to tease him but he was so serious right now your smile faltered, “Yeah, I have.”

Victor frowned.

You raised an eyebrow at him and gently touched his hand, "When I was little my dad would bring me out here.”

He seemed to relax at that, “I see…”

The two of you stayed on the lake and stopped paddling just sitting there enjoying the bobbing of the boat on the small waves. Holding hands you sigh. 

“Is this your first time on a paddle boat, Victor?”

He nods his affirmation,”I quite like the pace, I don’t often get to just stop and take a breath.”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes for just a moment. You find yourself studying his profile, his sharp jaw, his angular face contrasted by his soft lips and thick dark eyelashes. You follow his neck past his adams apple to the sweep in between his collarbones. You swallow thinking you really wanted to lick that spot as you run your hands across those shoulders. 

The breeze blows his cologne towards you and you automatically breathe in his scent and close your eyes. You feel the boat shift and something soft touch your cheek as you open your eyes. Victor's hand came to rest on your cheek and he caressed your lower lip with his thumb. His steely demeanor seemed to soften in the warm sunlight as he looked from your eyes to your lips. He leaned in close, you hold your breath in anticipation of something more.

"Your lipstick is smudged," He states simply as he tucks your hair behind your ear as he leans back. you feel disappointed but brush it off.

The two of you continue paddling and talking when suddenly a frog hops from a stray branch onto your lap. It startles you and you automatically try to stand up which tips the boat off balance and Vicor tries to steady you but you grab onto him and fall backwards into the water with a huge splash taking him with you. 

You resurface and see Victor is okay too. You grab the boat and swim to the other side putting it between you two. Victor grabs onto the boat and sees your huge grin and playfully splashes you with a handful of water. 

"Idiot…"he says but he's softly laughing. 

You both cimb back into the boat agreeing it's time to find dry land. You return to the dock and secure the boat. You were both sopping wet. Victor's looks you up and down. You blush under the scrutiny. 

"Was this your plan all along?"he motioned to your swimsuit visible under the soggy blouse.

You shrug, "Well, I can cross it off my bucket list,"you giggle, "I always wanted to go swimming with a shark."

He shook his head exasperated.

Once you returned the boat key, collecting your belongings, you grabbed Victor by the hand and found a great soft patch of grass. Let's dry out in the sun and watch the clouds. Victor played along and lay on the grass hands behind his head and you plopped yourself beside him.

"That one looks like an ice cream cone, you started and that one looks like a rabbit." 

Victor watched with you even giving a few suggestions himself but slowly he started to drift off and you'd hear the occasional soft hmmm in agreement when you looked over he was almost asleep. He must really be exhausted, you think to yourself letting him nap. After all you suspected he was more run down than he let on and that's why you planned this outing initially.

You watched him sleep for a bit and decided to occupy yourself with a cute phone game you have been playing. You rolled over onto your stomach so your backside could dry. Kicking your feet up in the air you played for a bit and started yawning yourself. 

Glancing over at Victor you smiled, watching him sleep made you warm and fuzzy. He looked so completely different. The tight features you were used to seeing were now completely gone. His furrowed brow now smooth his tight lips slightly parted his tension replaced with relaxed demeanor. It was special, a treasure to be hoarded for your eyes only. You wanted to carve this sight into your melting heart forever. You took a picture and hugged your phone to your chest for just a moment. You watch him for a while longer nodding off yourself. 

When he woke up from his nap you were holding your phone to your chest protecting its precious contents while lying on your side. Victor gently brushed your hair out of your face noting that it was so thick it was still heavy and wet. He would remember that for later. 

Looking around it was still early afternoon and he watched people sitting on the grass, noting couples and families with their children. It was calm and simple. Something he wasn't used to but it felt good. He had known he was overworking himself but ignored his need to rest in favor of faster results. However sitting here right now he felt so completely at ease. How did you know he wondered? 

His eyes trailing back to you. Watching the swell of your breast as you breathe shallowly, noting the soft curve of your hip and the cute sandals that made your ankles look so dainty. Your tiny hands desperately clutching your phone. Your soft lips part as you sigh in your sleep. He wondered if you were bored, surely falling asleep on a date was not acceptable. Frowning he thought he might need to make it up to you later. He wasn't one to disappoint.

He caressed your shoulder, "____you should wake up." The deep cadence of his voice drifted into your dream making your toes curl. 

"Victor…"you moan contentedly.

The tone of your voice unhinges him shooting him in the gut and slightly lower. Taking him off guard for a moment. He had never heard his name so sultry coming out of your sweet mouth. 

He runs his hand up your arm again, "It's time to wake up ___,"

"I don't want to wake up, I want to stay here with you…" you grouse as you drift in and out of your dream.

"What would we do?,"Victor asks, realizing you are not quite awake, and you are talking in your sleep, this could be fun.

"I want to touch it, it looks so fluffy…"

Victor quirks and eyebrow at this, "What are you talking about?" 

"Your hair, silly." 

He's a little surprised at the comment and reaches up to touch his hair. It is soft, he thinks.

"Tell me what would you do if I let you touch my hair?"

You respond with no hesitation, "I would run my fingers through it all the time. You're so hard everywhere else. I love the contrast." 

Vicor blushes at the thought of your hands running through his hair and down his shoulders to his chest. He shakes his head grateful you're not seeing his reaction. 

Feeling a little guilty he again rubs your arm. He knows he should stop but he just can't seem to help himself. 

"What else do you want to do babygirl?" he drops his voice lower quietly prompting you to respond.

"Victor, please I want you to…" you doze off again.

"What do you want me to do?"

You hmmm licking your lips, "Pudding!"

He drops his head in dismay thinking he was going to get something good and here you want him to make pudding? It figures. 

"Idiot!"he says to himself this time. 

Victor gets up and walks over to one of the park vendors ordering two coffees and comes back to sit beside you. This time he shakes you awake. 

You yawn and stretch out. opening an eye you look up to see your boss beside you. You sit up ,"I'm sorry I didn't mean to doze off…"

He simply nods and hands you a coffee. You take it and sip it. Looking around, it's still early. You check your phone. It's about three in the afternoon and your stomach grumbles. 

"Time for some special food," you smile.

Victor looks dubious at the prospect of you choosing the food. You smile and get up.

" We are strolling over to the tea house. I had the owners pick out a special meal for us. I promise it will be amazing."

You took him to a beautiful tea house that housed a very traditional style garden full of several koi ponds with just the right amount of shade. You sat on the tatami mat, across from the table was Victor. The elderly couple who lived there were the ones serving you tea and a late lunch. There was a fair variety of food to choose from all in small portions and all very healthy. Victor was indeed impressed. 

You ate your food and described each dish to Victor. He already knew most of the dishes of course but he liked how animated you were when you talked so he indulged you. The two of you enjoyed a tea ceremony afterwards and you both got to try with some guidance. It was fun.

It was starting to get darker and you wanted to take Victor to a very special place. It was where you first met him, the street he had saved you from the car when you were five. There was a festival happening there and you wanted him to see it with you. You quietly hoped he would remember too. 

You hailed a cab and when the two of you got in you told the driver where to go. it was a long drive and you sat in comfortable silence along the way. It was always like this with Victor, you could just enjoy each other without saying anything. it was so natural like he'd always been by your side. 

When you arrived at your destination You paid and the two of you got out. Victor surveyed the surroundings with a positive nod. There were stalls and vendors along both sides of the road and Small stalls with various games. The highlight of the festival was the dance of the shrine maiden and so you literally dragged victor around to play games and kill time until sunset. 

When they announced the dance you beamed up at Victor and he nodded, taking you by the hand under the pretense of not getting lost. He skillfully weaved the two of you in and out of the crowd until you reached the platform. A huge crowd was gathered and you were too short to see. 

Victor got down on one knee in front of you, "get on," he said as you took each of his hands to balance as you hiked your skirt up to strattle his shoulders. He wrapped his large hands around your calves and stood up with ease and you grabbed his hair for balance. 

"Oh wow, it's so soft," you say as you run your finger through his dark locks.

Victor knew you wanted to touch his hair, he smirked to himself at your comment, "Pay attention dummy," he motioned to the stage as a woman came out dressed in a beautiful kimono. 

She collapsed to the ground dramatically and shot up suddenly with two large bells in each hand. The music started and she began to dance as she rang the bells.

It was a beautiful dance and you were so enamored of it you almost forgot you were on Victor's shoulders. There was a bang and smoke rose up from the stage. Suddenly men dressed as demons began dancing around the girl. You startled and could feel Victor shaking under you with laughter. His cheek brushed the inside of your bare thigh. 

Just now realizing how incredibly intimate this position was you failed to focus on the rest of the show. Instead softly letting your fingers play in Victor's hair as you pretend to watch. Wishing you could do this forever but also feeling like it was almost too intimate. You were at war with your inner self, would you get the chance to do this again? Who knew. Occasionally you'd feel Victor unconsciously rub his face against one thigh or the other and it made your toes curl. You wondered if he noticed.

It was over all too soon. Victor reached his hands up to grab yours and knelt down slowly keeping his balance. You climbed off and Victor turned to face you. His hair was a mess and you laughed. He had an unreadable expression as he looked at you. His eyes were darker than usual. You reached up to him and he automatically leaned down to you. Gently you put his hair back into place while he maintained intense eye contact with you. You stopped, hands sliding to rest upon his shoulders. 

Before you knew what happened he was kissing you. His arms around your waist pulling you in as he expressed his desire without words. Your hands went back to his hair, fingers curling around the softness pulling him closer as you leaned into him and your lips pressed his, a soft caress and he tilted his head and parted his lips letting his tongue caress your upper lip. You opened your mouth and licked the tip of his tongue with yours in silent affirmation.

Suddenly the kiss became deeper, more demanding. His tongue swept your mouth exploring every crevice as you chased it with your own. You lapped at his mouth as he moaned into yours. Sucking on his lower lip as you parted from him. 

Victor's voice came out husky,“That look on your face right now, it’s how I always want you to look at me!”

It was a command, a sweet one full of love. You put your hand on his chest and felt his heart pounding. Looking at his face he seemed cool as a cucumber but his heart told you the truth. 

The End

[homespork-review]

Homespork Act 3: Insane Mindscrew Haymakers (Part 3)

FAILURE ARTIST: We cut to PM, WV, and AR in the far but not that far future. WV is trying to obey the letter’s direction to give the package to PM but AR keeps shooting. Yet WV and PM take cover behind a rock and WV is able to complete the task. The letter calls PM “Miss Mail Lady” so we now have a gender.

Back to Dream Jade. She flies to another golden tower and peers in on John sleeping. This bedroom is also defaced like his one in the waking world, plus there’s a creepy harlequin doll next to him. She isn’t sure if he got her present or if she even sent it, so she decides she’ll ask later.

CHEL: Dream John is fitfully asleep, but Jade intends to let him wake up on his own. Here, it’s established that Dream Jade does not know everything waking Jade does, as she decides she needs a system to remind her of things, which in the waking world she has (remember the COLORFUL REMINDERS).

The moon on which the city is now revealed to be placed is moving close to Skaia, the gargantuan sphere of cloudy blue sky mentioned by Nannasprite as the crucible of creation. Apparently it’s not safe to be outside during the “eclipse”, so Jade heads back to her tower.

FAILURE ARTIST: We cut to John alchemizing a bunch of stuff, some useful and some never to appear again. One of these things is a Cosbytop computer and that hasn’t aged well. John feels like it’s both his birthday and Christmas and though he thinks that’s impossible these pages came out a few days before Christmas. This fourth wall wink and nod comes up during another alchemizing frenzy.

CHEL: He contemplates a “1980s time-lapse montage” but instead we have to sit through him alchemising everything item by item.

GET ON WITH IT!: 12

Though he does come up with some useful stuff, including a rather snappy suit. By combining his glasses with the PDA he gets hands-free internet, and the sledgehammer, telescope, and Sassacre book together create the TELESCOPIC SASSACRUSHER, an extremely powerful weapon which unfortunately he can’t lift. Nannasprite’s ectoplasm and the gushers make healing candies, and ectoplasm, the fake arms, and the PDA solve the giant hammer problem by making REMOTE GHOST GAUNTLETS. One of the funnier items is a steam-iron-hammer he calls the WRINKLEFUCKER.

Dave, meanwhile, is STILL strifing with Bro, who apparently doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the fact that the city is being flattened by meteors around them. Not doing a good job of showing “yes, this fight should be taken seriously”.

TIER: Neither does Dave for that matter, fucks given remains at a cool absolute zero on this roof.

GET ON WITH IT!: 13 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 6

CHEL: At least it’s captioned FINAL ROUND now. Surrounded by watching crows, Dave hurls himself at Bro, and their collision results in the snapping of Dave’s sword, the bisection of Lil Cal (hooray!) and, somehow, the splitting of the picture of the record on Dave’s T-shirt; not cutting the cloth, turning the picture of a whole record into one of a broken record, which it will remain for the rest of its time in the story. Lots of analysis has been done by fans about how this represents Bro’s abuse shattering Dave’s true inner self, but in the context, it just looks like even sillier cartoon physics than we already had, if one even notices it (in the rush of visuals it’s easy to miss the first time round). It probably doesn’t help that Bro never actually says anything (nor do either of the other living adults), so we don’t really know what his thoughts on the matter are.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 12

Dave goes flying, rolling and skidding across the roof, landing in a rather battered-looking heap but with no serious harm done, and Bro chucks the game discs at him and… flies off on a hoverboard which I guess he has? Yet again, not adding to a serious tone here. Are hoverboards normal in this universe? Like the sylladexes, it was never established. Dave messages John, matter-of-factly telling him “bro just kicked my ass”. It’s still unclear how literal John thinks this ass-kicking is.

BRIGHT: This is apparently a universe in which some form of combat with one’s guardian is apparently routine, so John might well be thinking of Dave’s strifes with Bro as just a more intense version of a normal practice. On the other hand, by that same token, there’s nothing at this stage to say it isn’t just a more intense version of a normal practice. In fact, both John’s and Dave’s reactions suggest this is the case.

The problem really comes later on. If Dave’s situation is going to be taken seriously, then so should everyone else’s. Right now, although there are suggestions that all is not well, the tone of the text takes none of these situations seriously. It keeps everyone on a more even footing.

CHEL: Back on the golden moon, the eclipse is happening; during same, the moon and Jade’s tower thereupon, which are chained to the planet, swing right inside Skaia, surrounding it with clouds. On the surface of the clouds, we see images of events which happened earlier, including John’s house in the Medium, Rose’s house aflame, the tree in the desert, and the meteors falling on Dave’s city. This, we gather, is from where Jade obtains her mysterious information!

Dream Jade types messages to John, while the Dreambot types them out on a keyboard in the real world so he can actually get them. We proceed to see the same conversation about the package and SBurb we saw when Jade was first introduced, but this time I think a recap of it is actually pretty useful, especially the reference to the explosion. What happens is a little hard to parse, but as far as I can make out, a cloud shows a vision of a meteor emerging from a space portal, and the meteor actually emerges from the vision, becoming a cloud in the process. Said cloud-meteor then passes into a vision of Jade’s island when the volcano was still active and strikes down as the real meteor did in that time period. Jade, in her tower, hears it; I guess this is why it’s not safe to go outside during the eclipse?

In the volcano vision, we pull into a close-up shot of the lava-filled crater beneath the volcano, and a very familiar featureless canine head starts to emerge from it. Creepy.

Jade leaves the tower to check, and finds a vision of the lava with a blossom-like lit-up spirograph emerging from it, but when she tries to look, vision-Bec blocks her view of it, as the real Bec flies back and forth in front of the Dreambot. She messages John again, saying Bec doesn’t want her to go near the meteor crash site.

In John’s dream tower, the bed is empty; Dream John is now hovering outside it, eyes firmly shut. Jade sees him and drifts toward him, while John’s eyes slowly open. (This bit fuelled a fair amount of shipping at the time.) We see again the shaped clouds and the slowly approaching silhouette of Jade, revealing this to be the time when John fell asleep earlier, and at the exact same moment, real Jade and real John awake.

Again, we have a repeated conversation, this one being the one where Jade implores John to wake up. Now we know what she meant! Again, I think recapping this is reasonable, but maybe it could have been trimmed down so we just got the important points? That should have been done with all the repeat convos, really.

TIER: Personally speaking the little blurbs of repeated conversation shown during the flash would've gotten the point across without having to completely rehash the conversations.

With Jade awake properly, we get another convo rehash (now with proper context from both sides). Jade then consults her COLORFUL REMINDERS, as the visions of past and future events visible in the clouds as she sleeps can get very confusing very fast and the things help her put everything into usable info! With is fitting because dreams are trippy and easily forgotten. Jade notes two things: that this time there wasn't that much of future being shown, and that this is the first time that her dog guardian Bec has shown up a dream.

Bec has apparently never let Jade wander into the weird temple that is such a strange landmark of her island, but with the overpowered pooch taking a nap at the feet of his master's corpse, this is a good a time as any to try and pull one over him!

As Jade zip lines towards the temple and Rose continues construction on John's house, we cut back to Dave in the aftermath of the strife.

Dave is slightly saddened by poor Cal's “unfortunate” bisection (personally I was hollering because fuck that thing Jesus). His strife kind has also been turned into a ½ bladekind, courtesy of Bro fucking up his shit blade. Fucking rude man.

BRIGHT: Fighting with half a sword never seems to hinder Dave, but it still seems a silly thing to do when Bro quite possibly knew Dave was headed into heavy combat. It’s funny at the time though!

FAILURE ARTIST: When I first read Homestuck, I was sad Bro didn’t seem to care about Lil Cal, but with later revelations...would be better if that puppet never existed.

TIER: Dave attempts to grab the beta that he worked so hard for, but wouldn't ya know it his dang inventory is all filled up. Mostly with useless crap, as Dave admits as well. After a quick setup change for his modus, Dave finally has the beta! Congrats!!

CHEL: *looks pointedly at GET ON WITH IT count*

TIER: While Dave attempts to pester her, Rose has finished building up John's house, which marks the end of how much more she can help John as his server player. There's not much else to do for her till Dave shows up. She's also nearly done with John's gift, that'll show him that Rose is the God King of, and I am quoting right now “facetious sentimental gestures”. That's a peculiar and slightly worrying sentiment to have. What an adorably wordy yet cheeky little goth.

With that, we jump back a few months into the past, when it was Rose's 13th birthday. She's opening a package from John (signed under his old handle ghostyTrickster) containing the gift of knitting stuff (yarn and knitting needles) and a very dorky yet endearing letter from the blue boy. What a goof.

Rose is then pestered by one of the trollslum inhabitants, this one by the name of grimAuxiliatrix! They type Like This, And I Think It's Very Neat. Also quite verbose this one. Like personally I kinda need to carefully read and reread their words to get what the fuck they're trying to get to. In this case, it's politely bitching about humans while weird time related fuckery gets explicitly name dropped. Mainly the weird situation that is the trolls being/not being from the future. It's as confusing as it sounds.

CHEL: I think here’s the first indication that the trolls aren’t just other humans. Meanwhile, notice that one of the names in the Trollslum is “centaursTesticle”. Lovely. That character will, as the handle suggests, be the source of a LOT of CALL CPA PLEASE points. But anyway.

GA: No We Arent From "The Future" GA: But We Are All Already In Agreement That You Dont Get It And Never Will TT: I thought you said we spoke in the future. GA: We Did GA: Your Future GA: For Me It Was Only A Couple Minutes Ago TT: I understand. TT: You exist in some temporal stratum through which you have communication access to various points of my timeline. TT: It's not that complicated.

TIER: While that confusing thing keeps happening, we jump on over to a younger Dave, whole record shirt and dumb not-Kamina anime glasses wearing. He too is opening a birthday gift, which consists of his iconic aviators and a letter as well. The letter is just as endearing as the one John sent to Rose. Might just be my bias talking concerning how much John is undoubtedly and unchallenged my favorite character overall.

CHEL: I think so too, but I’m still giving him a point for him telling Dave his “gay butt stinks”, even though he is a twelve-year-old boy - it never gets called out or presented as bad that the kids say -ism-based insults until near the end, and that part has its own problems which we’ll get to then. The rest of it’s cute though.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 11

I’d like to bring up another webcomic which is known for its incredibly offensive humour; R. K. Milholland’s Something Positive. Specifically, I’d like to contrast the offensive humour of it with the offensive humour of Homestuck. In S*P, the point of the offensive humour is that the characters saying or doing the offensive thing are horrible people who should not be emulated, and even they disapprove strongly of homophobic/racist insults. Here is one of the tamer examples, from 2003 (so later comics have no excuse). Please note the character saying all this is both very drunk and very frustrated by having read a lot of terrible writing at the time, and his decision to do this comes back to bite him later.

In contrast, the point of Homestuck’s offensive jokes seems to be that either offensive things are inherently funny or the writer doesn’t realise why they’re offensive.

John tells Dave he thinks he needs to get out of his brother’s shadow, showing no concern for Dave’s actual wellbeing; more evidence that either they don’t know about the strifes or don’t care. The gift John has given is the glasses worn by Ben Stiller, which John suggests could replace Dave’s current anime shades. John worries that they’re “sort of a shitty present”, which again makes me wonder about the Egberts’ financial status - we weren’t able to find an actual figure for them but those things would cost thousands, so what the hell makes him call them “shitty”? How much did Hussie think movie memorabilia cost? Name of the count aside, we’re using it for when their economic statuses are weird in general, so here we go again:

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 8

TIER: Dave too is dealing with a trollslum inhabitant, this one by the name of adiosToreador. It's around here that the trolls typing starts to get head tilt worthy. As Dave so eloquently puts it, toreador types like a tool. I mean, lOOK AT THIS, lOOK ME IN THE EYES, aND TELL ME THIS AIN'T RIDICULOUS.

CHEL: AT opens by telling Dave he’s awful, and Dave responds with frustration at having to deal with the trolls yet again. He complains that he’s “wasting good material on you guys” and that there’s no substance to their trolling; he also mentions one of them thinking he was a girl, which I think is the original source of the fandom’s popular female-to-male transgender Dave headcanon.

FAILURE ARTIST: I think it’s just that Dave is a popular character.

CHEL: I don’t know, it started well before the fandom started getting really enthusiastic about assigning identities to everyone, from what I saw, but maybe.

TIER: My two cents concerning this matter is that it's probably a combination of the two. Dave seems to resonate quite well with a great majority of the fans, so from what I've seen they more readily project onto him.

AT: i KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE, AT: oR WILL DO, aCTUALLY, AT: iT'S THE MOST AWFUL THING, tHE WORST YOU CAN EVER DO,

CHEL: The readers immediately start wondering what this thing is, but Dave is unconcerned, and immediately accuses AT of perving on him. Here is where the CALL CPA PLEASE count really starts to ramp up, because on one hand, yes it’s hilarious to watch the tables being turned, but on the other, this coming out of a boy who literally just turned thirteen that day is… uncomfortable for a lot of adult readers, especially since we know his home has obscene material lying around all over it and as mentioned before that can really mess up a kid, even if Bro was not in fact putting him in his movies directly.

TG: and i want to know exactly when i got to clear some space in my calendar for when some fuckwit blunders out of a magical phone booth and makes a ballad-inspiring play for my throbbing beef truncheon AT: sHOULD i BE PERTURBED BY THESE ALLUSIONS, TG: no man TG: look TG: i just need to know when to be there TG: when the stars come into alignment and your flux capacitor lets you finally sate your meteoric greed for crotch-dachshund TG: i wouldnt want to miss it and cause a paradox or something TG: itd suck if the universe blew up on account of you missing your window of opportunity to help yourself to a pubescent boy's naked spam porpoise AT: uHHH, AT: oK, THIS IS SORT OF STARTING TO UPSET ME, CALL CPA PLEASE: 5

TIER: How many words does a 13 year old need for his private parts? Asking for a friend. I get that Dave is a little gremlin but holy shit y'all.

CHEL: To quote Hiveswap, “SOUNDS LIKE SETUP TO ‘RIDDLE’ OR PERHAPS ‘JOKE’.” Or maybe a really weird rewrite of “Blowin’ in the Wind” and I just realised the (in)appropriateness of that song title. Anyway, I’m giving one CPA point for each of those elaborate descriptions. AT, perturbed, announces his intention to leave, but Dave continues.

TG: we're motherfuckin entrenched in this bitch TG: you and me TG: welcome to nam TG: now grab my hand and shimmy your soggy ass off that muddy bank before charlie gets the fuckin drop AT: uHHH, wHO, AT: wHO'S CHARLIE, TG: hes the guy whos gonna read our vows TG: im feeling pretty friggin MATRIMONIAL all a sudden TG: take a look down by your foot see that little bottle TG: stomp on that shit like its on fire TG: noisy ethnic dudes are flipping the fuck out and waving us around on chairs til someone gets hurt TG: im your 300 pound matronly freight-train TG: and my gaping furnace is hungry for coal so get goddamn shoveling AT: oH MY GOD, CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 14 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 9

Hey, our first double point assignment! Two points for using the same racist joke again, as if it wasn’t offensive enough the first time. And another one for the fat joke.

FAILURE ARTIST: Lifting the newlyweds on chairs is a Jewish tradition so I guess Hussie’s antisemitism didn’t start this year.

CHEL: Isn’t stepping on a bottle a Jewish thing too? Does that count as more than one anti-Semitic joke or is it all part of the same one?

FAILURE ARTIST: Yeah, that’s also a thing. But I’d say it counts as one big joke.

CHEL: Does the Vietnam joke count as a separate one? I’m not sure what the general attitude to those is since about half of 20th-century British comedy revolves around WW2 jokes and no one minds those.

TG: thats what you see TG: a kaleidoscopic supernova of all your hopes and dreams all swishin together TG: radially effevescing arms of more little boy peckers than you can imagine TG: turning out insane corkscrew haymakers of a billion dancing vienna sausages strong CALL CPA PLEASE: 7

CHEL: All the counts aside, I can see what Hussie was going for and the general idea’s still amusing, culminating in one of the funniest bits in the comic when all this leads up to adiosToreador [AT] blocked turntechGodhead [TG] - I think we’ve all wanted to be Dave here. I’m fully aware that this sequence was meant to be somewhat uncomfortable, but given that Hussie later tries to tell us that Dave’s home life scarred him for real, yet he presented this as funny, it adds to the general feeling of Hussie berating the reader for laughing at the comedy. I think he was just trying to pander to the woke side of the fanbase with that, but we’ll get to it when we get there.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 13

FAILURE ARTIST: We go to AIMLESS RENEGADE, who has finally run out on his clip without hitting anyone. Apparently, some nitpicker on the forum (not me) pointed out the AR’s gun is magazine-fed, not clip-fed, but AR doesn’t give a shit about that.

CHEL: “A clip is not a magazine, a mag is not a clip; neither is a grip a stock, and "stock" does not mean grip.”

FAILURE ARTIST: AR examines the murals and declares the amphibian and reptilian images illegal pictography. AR arms themselves with a rocket launcher but wonders if they should befriend WV and PM - particularly PM. However, AR decides the two have committed too many crimes that make AR’s carapace steam. AR dresses as a judge (to complement WV as a mayor and PM as a mail carrier) and declares order in the court. AR wants to go down the moving platform to catch WV and PM but it isn’t operating right.

Closer to present time, Jade puts her gift to John on top of the monument. The gift disappears, just as Jade planned. Back in the future, PM looks at her drawing showing where she’s supposed to go. The drawing seems to be inaccurate until the tower is shot down. It turns out AR accidentally launched a rocket at it. AR tries again to hit the criminals but is distracted by PM’s beauty. Instead, AR shoots the mobile station. WV throws a can of Tab and PM grabs the package in a clever callback to SBaHJ’s sock ruse comic.

PM gets the package to the Appearifier and Sendifies it into Jade’s toddlerhood, back when Grandpa was alive and shooting butterflies. Inside the package is a letter from John, a too-big t-shirt with a blue ghost on it, and pumpkin seeds. So we have the root of Jade’s friendship with John and the others and her interest in gardening. That’s a very elaborate time loop.

CHEL: Get used to elaborate time loops. Anyway, the letter’s painfully adorable again. John thanks Jade for her years of friendship and for being the reason he met Rose and Dave. He gave Jade pumpkin seeds because future Jade had been upset that her pumpkins kept disappearing so he wanted to help her grow more. Unfortunately his declaration that three people is “almost like, TOO MUCH FRIENDSHIP” was cute at first glance, but given how he has no contact with anyone but them that we see, it becomes a tad creepy. Did he not expect to ever have any friends, or more than one friend? The implication that Dadbert kept him locked in his room all the time is looking more and more likely!

We cut to a cartoon sound effect, WHOP, and You bear the vicious brunt of this story transition directly in the face, “you” now being Archagent Jack Noir. The sound effect is the result of Dad Egbert punching Jack in the face. Jack pulls a switchblade, but Dad retaliates by lighting Jack’s hated jester hat on fire, throwing it to the ground, spraying shaving cream on it, and stomping on it. Jack immediately sets Dad free.

Jade is instructed by the prompt to “Play guitar to summon giant lily pads”, which she does, and it works… somehow? I’m not sure how that happens. Anyway, she uses the lily pads to hop over to the frog temple, finding in it a wall covered in tiny lime green glowing symbols.

Cut back to Dave, who has finally succeeded in installing the beta, and not a moment too soon as Rose’s room is now full of red light, soon to be aflame. Rose is calm enough to join Dave in a SBaHJ joke, and we go into the act-ending animation, [S] Enter.

Dave dramatically sips his fortunately-really-apple-juice and draws cartoons as the game loads, while Rose plays with Vodka Mutini and Jade scurries through the temple. For clarity’s sake, I’ll describe each character’s actions in a separate paragraph.

"Homestuck - [S] Enter [End of act 3]" (Watch on YouTube)

In Rose’s burning house Dave quickly deploys the necessary machinery. There’s so little safe room left to use that he has to throw Rose’s bed into the burning forest for one, put one in the observatory, and put the third on the nearby roof; fortunately Rose is able to get to them all. Dave uses the wizard statue to knock open the Cruxtruder, then drops it outside, breaking its hand off and sending the hand flying. He moves the cruxite to the lathe, where Rose produces a totem for her entry item, a bottle. Rose flings the dead Jaspers into the Kernelsprite and Dave grabs the Eldritch Princess doll to put in too, but the flying wizard statue hand knocks the entry item into the nearby waterfall. Rose leaps out over the drop, successfully catches it, and is in turn caught by a long purple tentacle....

Flaming whirlwinds approach the house; Rose swings the bottle to shatter it, and the meteor lands.

In the temple, we see an enormous flower atop another countdown device, noting four-and-a-half minutes till disaster, but Jade suddenly falls asleep again, waking up with only nineteen seconds to go. Unlike John randomly falling asleep mid-battle, this has been happening often enough to seem to be a legitimate problem with a story-based cause. Keep an eye on that.

Dave, meanwhile, is still in his room, which is now filled with crows. He seems flustered at first, but in a later shot he’s back at his computer with a crow perched on his head, seemingly fine.

Back at John’s house, Nannasprite opens up his newer copy of Sassacre’s book and starts to inscribe the very message we read earlier, so she didn’t in fact know about it during her life. Seems odd that she’d bother doing this rather than just saying it, though, especially since when she finishes, she drops the book into the chasm, where it plummets through grey clouds, emerging over a dark-blue land scattered with tiny lights and black rivers. John, covered in oil, runs up the many stairs of his remodelled house, smashing imps left and right with single blows from the WRINKLEFUCKER and directing the SASSACRUSHER with the GHOST GAUNTLETS to take on the ogres. When he reaches the top, he slams his hammer down one last time and bounces upwards to the spirograph portal, entering whatever’s on the other side. Fade to white.

Generally, a very good flash! Exciting but doesn’t sacrifice useful information for drama, and now two characters have reached their current goals but more is still going on. Lovely music too. I think the Flash animations are one of Hussie’s greater strengths here.

FAILURE ARTIST: The animation was what drew me into Homestuck and this is a particularly good one.

CHEL: A couple of static pages wrap up the Act; we pan out from John’s house to see it and the pinnacle it’s perched on are now looming above the same dark-blue land covered with thick clouds that the book fell onto, which we now see is in fact an entire very small planet. Curtains close.

So that’s the end of Act 3! What does everyone think?

FAILURE ARTIST: It was fun seeing Jade and the Exiles but sad thinking about how underutilized they ended up. Especially poor AR.

BRIGHT: This is where the elaborate time loops really started to kick in, and I’ve gotta say, I’m not a fan. I recognise that they’re a key feature of Homestuck, but I found some of them too confusing on my first read through. (Though they do make more sense on subsequent reads.)

I think on the whole this Act is quite well paced. I really loved the bits with Jade, and a lot of nifty background info gets introduced without being infodumped.

TIER: I wasn't even aware that webcomics on the internet were a thing at this point, but I do believe that it's around here that Homestuck's popularity was starting to pick up, no? This chapter went a lot deeper into the strangeness of the game to!

FAILURE ARTIST:

Homestuck was popular but I don’t think it became a phenomenon until Act 5 when the trolls were fully introduced. Lots of people even skipped Acts 1-4 and the Intermission to get to them. I think a lot of the pre-Act 5 fans were my age (20s) while after that many were teens or tweens. Admittedly, I didn’t do much in the fandom except check the SA thread until Act 5 came around.

CHEL: I don’t think I got into it until Act 6 - I remember the first time I got further than a few pages in I gave up when the Alpha kids got introduced because it was way too complicated.

As for my thoughts on the act, well… Before, I was able to more or less chalk up the racist/sexist/fatphobic/homophobic remarks as being from the characters’ mouths (they are, after all, twelve to thirteen years old) and not the author’s, but they don’t really get called out by the narrative and Hussie has sufficiently drained my goodwill that I have to complain, and I suspect after recent events that it actually was him speaking there, if you get my meaning. Most of the dialogue is still as sweet and funny as I remember it being but those bits really taint it. Hypothetical rewrite would definitely remove those.

I’m in two minds about keeping Dave’s hurricane of euphemisms to AT for said hypothetical rewrite; on one hand, considering his home situation, it’s worrying, but on the other the whole point of the joke is to make AT uncomfortable and it’s hard to do that without making comments that would also make the reader uncomfortable. Maybe if Dave’s home life was adjusted a bit the reader would be more easily able to assume he just picked them up from Urban Dictionary.

Speaking of Dave, his storyline here is where we really start to see a thing which is a recurring problem with the comic. Namely, reliance on theme and symbolism over what is actually happening. If Hussie was indeed trying from the beginning to portray Dave’s situation as serious abuse, then he shouldn’t have chosen to represent said abuse with ridiculous cartoon physics while literally portraying Dave as unharmed onscreen. Dave’s behaviour does hint at some issues, but they’re easy to pass off as related to other things, and swords so sharp they cause printed pictures to change are not most readers’ first assumption for the cause.

Other than those, though, I think we’re still mostly fine; none of the problems are problems with the underlying structure of the story, so it wouldn’t require a huge retooling. That state of affairs will continue on for another couple of acts, but when it fails, it fails.

COUNTS ALL THE LUCK: 0 ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 13 CALL CPA PLEASE: 7 CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 14 GET ON WITH IT!: 13 GORE GALORE: 0 HOW NOT TO WRITE A WEBCOMIC: 14 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 6 IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 0 RELATIONSHIP GOALS?: 1 SEND THEM TO THE SLAMMER: 0 SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS: 0 WHAT IS HAPPENING??: 2 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 9 TOTAL: 79

[glorious-spoon]

all the broken hearts still beat

Title: all the broken hearts still beat Link: On AO3 Fandom: Shadowhunters Pairing: Alec Lightwood/Magnus Bane Warnings: None Rating: Teen Other Tags: Outsider POV, Established relationship, Pride, Future fic Summary: Weird shit tended to happen at Pandemonium.

*

Really, Shawn should have just gone back home after the parade ended. It was swelteringly hot outside, he had an early shift the next day, and the chaos and the press of bodies was starting to feel oppressive instead of celebratory, which just made him irritated and sad. Last year, with Cody, this had been so much fun. Of course, that was before Cody decided to go fuck some bartender in the East Village like the perfect fucking cliche that he was, so…

God. This just utterly blew, but Jamie and Bryn had dragged him into their favorite club with the explicit plan of cheering him up, and he didn’t quite have the heart to ditch them just yet. At least there was air conditioning inside. And alcohol. And Jamie was buying the drinks, which was sweet even if it was just because she was trying to talk him into finding some random stranger to take home and slake his broken heart with, or what the fuck ever.

He took another morose sip of his drink, vodka and artificial blueberries cloyingly sweet on his tongue, as Jamie nestled against his side, scanning the crowd with all the shrewdness of a buyer at a horse auction. Finally, she nudged him with one sharp elbow and pointed toward the far end of the bar.

“What about him? He’s cute.”

Shawn followed her gesture. The guy was pretty hot, at least if the drab paramilitary look was your thing: tall, dark-haired, a spiky, abstract tattoo half-visible on the side of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his plain black t-shirt. He was holding himself like he was expecting to get attacked at any minute, arms folded, expression closed-off as he scanned the crowded bar, looking like nothing so much as a blot of dark ink in the middle of the cheerful whirl of color that was Pandemonium at the height of Pride.

Shawn grimaced. “No way. Look at him, he’s probably a cop.”

“You’re such a cynic,” Jamie said.. “Maybe he’s just shy. Or closeted.”

“A closeted cop,” Shawn said. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I can do better. I’ll just enjoy the eye candy from over here, where I can make a quick escape if he breaks out the handcuffs--don’t even start,” he added as Jamie opened her mouth, a puckish gleam in her eyes. “Please. We agreed not to mention that.”

“I never agreed to anything,” Jamie said, grinning, but she let it go. “Okay, fine. We’ll leave Mr. Tall, Dark and Broody alone.”

“Thank you.”

“But I am getting you laid.” She slipped an arm around his waist and he let her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, where her short hair was stiff with spray-in glitter. “You need to stop moping over Cody and get back out in the game.”

“Please don’t bring up the C-word.”

“Cody, Cody, Cody… Shawn, it’s been a month and a half. I’m done watching you cry into his old t-shirts. You need to move on.”

“I shredded his old t-shirts, actually. It was therapeutic.”

“I’m proud of you,” Jamie said, only a little condescendingly, and slipped away from his side. “Fine. I’m going to go find Bryn and make sure they haven’t decked anybody yet.”

“You mean you’re going to go find Bryn and drag them into a dark corner to make out,” Shawn said. She shrugged like that was more or less the same thing, which, yeah, it probably was. It was also a tacit apology, and a more tactful one than Jamie usually managed. He waved her off when she made an apologetic face. “Go, go. Have fun. I’m just going to stay here and mope a little more.”

“You break my heart,” Jamie sighed, but she leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before slipping into the crowd, making her way toward the dance floor where Bryn was holding court, the matching glitter in their hot pink Mohawk sparkling under the rainbow lights. He watched as Jamie slipped in between two cute leather-clad boys to loop an arm around their waist, as Bryn grinned huge and sweet and pulled her into a kiss, and then he looked away before his battered heart could implode entirely from jealousy.

Tall, hot, probably-a-cop guy was still standing by the end of the bar, still as stiff as if he’d been ironed and then strung up on an invisible clothes hanger. There was a deep furrow between his brows as he peered into the chaotic crowd like he was looking for something in particular. Something, or someone.

“Excuse me, excuse me, thank you darling.” Somebody jostled Shawn hard enough to spill most of his drink over his wrist and arm. There was a shivery slide of silk against his bare skin, and the man who had just bumped him turned, placed a warm hand on his elbow, just briefly. He looked like a kaleidoscopic dream in the uncertain light, glitter smeared across his cheeks and an intricate tangle of chains falling over his bare chest, diaphanous silk draped across his shoulders like a robe. It was no stranger than any of the other outfits Shawn could see in the press of bodies, but something about him seemed ethereal, otherworldly, too vivid: like a painting that had been clipped out of its frame and pasted into this dull reality. He blinked, stared, and then the man patted his arm, said, “Excuse me, my dear, I’m so sorry,” and slipped past him into the crowd.

Shawn blinked after him, then looked down at his drink, then blinked some more. A moment ago, it had been the dregs of vodka and blue syrup and ice in a flimsy plastic cup. Now, his fingers were wrapped around a crystal Collins glass, frosted and filled to the brim with something that shimmered lazily where it caught the light. His sleeve, which had been soaked through an instant ago, was entirely dry.

What the fuck?

There was a peal of laughter from the other side of the room, and he looked up in time to see his mystery man come to a stop in front of the guy who was, actually, probably not an undercover cop from the way his face was softening, from the way he reached out and settled a palm against the other man’s cheek, smiling like he was in on the best kind of joke. Shawn hadn’t particularly been attracted to him when he’d looked like a scowling statue, but now—

“Magnus,” he was saying, half-laughing. “What is this? How much did you have to drink?”

“Oh, it’s a celebration.” The other man--Magnus--snapped his fingers, and there was suddenly a glass in his hand that Shawn hadn’t noticed before. “Now. Try this, I promise you’ll like it.”

“Like the last three, you mean?”

“No, no, this one’s perfect. I promise.”

“I really don’t trust you,” the man said, laughing, but he accepted the glass.

“That hurts me,” said Magnus, but he was smiling, watching avidly as the other man tipped the glass up to his mouth, took a drink, then licked his lips. “Well?”

“It tastes very… blue.”

“Blue.” Magnus’s mouth was twitching, something that was both amused and frustrated building in his handsome face. “Alexander, my love, you are perfectly infuriating sometimes.”

“I’m serious,” although he was grinning, a wide, happy smile that made him look like an entirely different person all of a sudden. “Here. You want to try?”

“Of course.” But when he reached for the glass, it was only to set it down on the bar top. Then he cupped Alexander’s face between his bejeweled hands and drew him in to kiss him, deep and thorough. When he finally pulled back, he tapped his mouth thoughtfully, then said, “You’re right. It does taste blue.”

Shawn snorted, dropping his gaze to his own cup, which, yeah, was still made out of glass and still full of something that was definitely not the cheap mixer that Jamie had bought him.

Weird shit happened at Pandemonium. Everybody knew that. It just wasn’t something anybody talked about. Sometimes you’d see people with horns slipping into the VIP lounge, the layout shifted without warning and with no sign of ongoing construction, the bathrooms were always clean and the music was always just what you wanted to hear and occasionally--every once in a while--you might wind up with a drink that didn’t look like anything you’d ever tried before without quite meaning to get it, and it would be absolutely perfect.

Bryn had once told him, only half-joking, that the owner was a wizard. At the time, he’d laughed at them. But now—

He glanced up again. The two men were slipping away toward the back room, but the shorter one, the one who’d been called Magnus, glanced back at him and smiled. For a moment, just a moment, his eyes seemed to gleam an inhuman, draconic gold.

It might have been a trick of the light. Maybe. Before he could get a better look, they were both gone.

Still, Shawn found himself smiling, something loosening a little in his chest as he turned back to the dance floor. Bryn and Jamie were grinding together to a song he didn’t recognize, something with a dark driving beat that he could feel in his bones. He’d been thinking about heading home, but maybe he’d stay a little bit longer. Maybe he’d even go dance.

He lifted his glass to his lips and sipped; it tasted like frozen sunshine, sparking on his tongue and spreading warmth through him.

It was Pandemonium, after all. Anything was possible.

[silence-burns]

Guests //part(2/2)

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine Loki being forced to live with you while Thor’s on a mission and someone has to watch him.” by @allthefandomloveandimagines

Genres: domestic, platonic, enemies to friends

Word count: 2,630

[Masterlist]        [Part1/2]

After three movies, two packs of popcorn, and one pizza, you still wouldn’t say Loki become your friend, but you both surely broke some ice and changed your behaviour a little. Just enough not to try to kill each other every given chance. Besides, it would be impossible at that moment.

The ending song was slowly playing in the background as the closing credits were rolling down the screen. The curtains were closed on every window, so you had a very general concept what time it was outside, but you were past the point of caring anymore, and apparently so was Loki. You were both laying on the couch, tucked under the blankets that just somehow doubled over the past hours, with your feet on the table and boxes and plates laying forgotten on the ground. Your neighbour’s cat came back to you, very pleased with all the leftovers he had all for himself. You were warm, a little sleepy, and quite surprised you could lay side by side next to the God of Mischief without feeling the need to strangle him.

Loki gasped, leaning further into the cosiness of the shared couch. At first he seemed quite reluctant to share it with you for the movie marathon, but that was long forgotten.

“Is this what you humans do on a daily basis?” he asked, yawning into his shoulder. “It’s exhausting.

“Not really. I would definitely do it if I could, but given that I work with Avengers and we save the world from idiots like you, I don’t have time for this too often,” you shrugged, even if he couldn’t see it. “There are just too many idiots trying to conquer the world lately.”

“Don’t you think wasting time for those… movies is stupid? You, humans, could be used for so many better things…”

“Bruh, five minutes ago you asked me if I had the next part, so make up your mind if it’s a waste of time or not,” you laughed, and even he couldn’t hide a little smile.

“That is not connected.”

“Don’t lie. Santa is watching.”

“Who is Santa?”

You growled. How to explain the connection between a guy in red sweatpants and a date of birth of a god – to another god?

“Let’s pretend you didn’t ask that, please,” you mumbled, hiding under the blanket.

“But I did.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s complicated.”

For a while there was only peaceful silence as you both watched the cat licking some sauce off his face. It was adorable.

“What is his name?” Loki asked.

“I’ve got no idea. I’ve also got some bad news.”

“What kind of?” Loki frowned, looking at you. His dark hair was spread over one of the pillows. You’d never seen him so relaxed and calm. It was a pleasant change, but you still weren’t fully used to it.

“When is your brother coming back for you?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know, he doesn’t confess to me. I don’t know what kind of a mission he was sent on either.”

“So, you’re probably going to have to stay here overnight?”

“Unless you decide to throw me out on the streets…”

“And wonder what wicked plans you come up with on your way to god knows where? Yeah, doesn’t sound like a good idea,” you pulled a face, imagining the consequences. “Anyway, this isn’t a big problem, you can always crash on the couch, ‘cause there is no chance I’m leaving my cosy little bed for you. The problem is, I don’t have much more food, we ate all I had and I’m gonna need to get some groceries.”

“This is the problem?” Loki raised an eyebrow, expecting something completely different.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t leave you alone here for too long, but I’m not sure if taking you with me is a good idea.”

“You’ve left me here alone for a few hours already,” he reminded you slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“I was sleep deprived and not thinking straight. I still don’t trust you, and you can’t really blame me for that,” you made a point and he couldn’t argue with that.

“So, what will you do?” he asked, trying hard not to show that something hurt inside of him when you said he didn’t have your trust. It was natural that after everything he’s done to your world you wouldn’t become best friends, but, completely irrationally, he still would be happy if you didn’t say it so directly. And so often.

“I’ve got an idea, but I doubt you’ll like it,” you stated. “But given that you have no right to vote anyway, we’ll do it.”

“At least you’re honest,” Loki muttered. He already didn’t like it.

“We’re gonna go shopping together and you will be nice. No terrorizing people, no trying to run away, because I really don’t want to shoot you…”

“Why shoot? Running after me sounds much easier,” Loki interrupted with a frown and you sent him a death glare.

“I hate running. And shooting you isn’t (technically) forbidden by law since you’re not a human being.”

“I’m a god. Are you going to shoot a god?” he raised an eyebrow, judging you.

“If I recall it right, it kind of worked on you last time we met in New York?” you smiled sweetly. “The look of surprise on your face as you fell down from that building was so pretty…”

Loki rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue with you. The more he talked to you the more he understood what the people around him felt like when talking to him.

“Let’s skip that part,” he asked you, raising his hands in a defeated manner.

“No problem. Now get up, go to that wardrobe there and change your clothes to Thor’s, because you can’t go out on the streets dressed like that,” you gestured to his leather suit. Even though he looked really good in it, it would gain too much attention toward you.

“Do I want to know why you have his clothes in your house…? Are you two…”

“No! Don’t even start! I only have them because every time your stupid brother comes down to the Earth, he is all suited up, waving his robe and Mjolnir and still surprised why he can’t go undercover in all of that.”

“It sounds very much like him,” Loki admitted.

“Yeah, what a coincidence since you look exactly the same, maybe except for Mjolnir.”

“I had very little to say as my brother literally dragged me here without my permission,” he reminded you.

“Now you’ve got even less to say, so better stop it and get dressed.”

Loki raised his still handcuffed hands to your face, shaking the chains.

“I’m a god, not a magician. You have to open them first.”

You pulled a face, not liking the idea at all, but he was right.

“If you try anything…” you warned him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Loki took the clothes with visible disgust on his face and after a few minutes he retuned to the living room with the same expression. You weren’t sure what he expected, but certainly not plain blue jeans and an over-sized T-shirt. Thor was much more muscled, so Loki looked a little different to say the least, and you had to fight hard not to break into laughter. To be honest, he still looked like a supermodel, but in casual, oversized clothes.

“Trust me, it’s way better than that leather suit,” you promised him, trying to hide the smile, but he seemed to look right through you. “Anyway, let’s go.”

You quickly moved from the couch, leaving the warmth of the blankets with a sigh. Your stomach and its emptiness reminded you not to hesitate. You walked to your room, taking a backpack and your wallet. After a second thought, you packed a gun too. Just in case.

“You know, you are surprisingly nice and calm when you refrain from trying to destroy worlds,” you noticed when you both were in the elevator.

“How many times are you going to remind me of New York? Besides, I didn’t want to destroy it, just take it over,” Loki shrugged, leaning on one of the walls. The door opened and you walked out, moving to the streets.

“Like it makes any difference…,” you muttered to yourself, stopping outside the building.

There was way more people around than you’d expected given the late hour. It’s been a while since you needed to blend in and avoid the gaze of a crowd, but you could still feel that your little make-over session could not be enough. Loki looked at you with a question on his face as you dragged him to the closest store, owned by some old, Chinese lady. You quickly bought a baseball cap, putting it on Loki’s head.

“Now we can go, hopefully unnoticed,” you stated, wishing that no one would recognize the man. You really didn’t want any trouble.

“You were right. I don’t like your ideas,” Loki huffed, fixing the cap a little, visibly distasted at the fact that he had to wear it.

“You can make a complaint to Thor once he comes back.”

You had to take a little walk to the supermarket on the other end of the street. You kept your eyes on Loki all the time, wishing you could handcuff him again or chain him to yourself, but unfortunately that wouldn’t help with blending in. At least he was quiet, looking around with an expression you couldn’t read. You wondered how often had he came down on Earth before New York. He looked like a tourist, observing everything around, from the traffic lights to the bins.

“So, this is where we get the food,” you gestured around once you went into the shop.

“I’m aware of what a shop is,” Loki gave you a heavy gaze.

“Good,” you smiled, handing him a shopping basket. “So, you know what to do with this.”

He wasn’t very happy when he had to follow you, but because he was looking around at everything, he didn’t say much, not caring what you were putting in.

The cashier couldn’t tear her eyes off him, even though Loki was covered almost head to toe, and that bastard had seen her staring. He smiled brightly, watching as the redness was slowly creeping up her neck and how her hands were beginning to shake. Scanning the products almost stopped.

You nudged Loki. Hard.

“Please don’t flirt with the cashier,” you whispered. “Or it’s gonna take us longer.”

“You are so boring,” he groaned, walking away a little bit, closer to the exit. You paid the angry cashier and rushed after him. Oh, you were definitely going to punish him once you got back home. And Thor too when he finally shows up, hopefully soon.

“Do you want to visit somewhere?” you asked him as you walked by a park.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Why would I? This city is awful.”

“And yet you still look around all the time…”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he shut you down, his smile gone.

You shrugged, not interested enough to push him. Maybe he just wanted to see as much as he could before going back to his cell or wherever Thor was taking him back. Even though you couldn’t be considered friends, you’d come to get a little used to this calm man. Well, you could also be biased because he took the bags with groceries without even asking.

Once you were home, you clapped your hands with a bright (and maybe a little devilish) smile.

“We’re gonna make a pizza,” you informed Loki. “Both of us.”

“Why make if you can order it like the last one?” he eyed your moves as you dropped the ingredients into a big bowl.

“Because I want a better one. Trust me, it will be delicious. Now come and help me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Loki pointed out, crossing his arms on the chest.

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment. You were still holding your backpack. The backpack you had a loaded gun in. Using it was such a tempting idea… After a moment of consideration, you decided to try something different first.

“It’s not that simple. Neither of us know when Thor is coming back and as you’ve shown, you need to eat. You don’t have money to buy anything, so at least to me, it looks like you need to be nice to me.”

“I’m impressed. I never thought you’d be this good at blackmailing people.”

You shrugged, very proud of yourself. You didn’t add that Loki with his looks could just flirt with some poor ladies and make them do whatever he wanted.

“So now knead this, I have to prepare the rest…”

“Excuse me, but what?” Loki looked at you with a complete lack of understanding.

“Knead the dough, please,” you repeated slower like you would to a child. “Put your hands inside the bowl and mix all the ingredients until they become one mass.”

Loki’s eyebrows went so high you wondered if it hurt.

“I am a prince of Asgard and a god and you want me to help you in the kitchen? Have you ever been told that you are very weird?”

“No, but I’ve been told that I shoot fast and never miss. Come on, don’t be a child. There is no pizza for misbehaving kids,” you said with a stone cold expression.

You stared at each other for a while. You promised yourself that if you ever see Thor again, you’ll take a turn and run away from him, his problems, and his brother. God, what a relief he only had one sibling.

“I hate you,” Loki stated after some consideration.

“Okay, I’ll cry about that later. Now get to the bowl.”

And, to your surprise, Loki listened to you. You didn’t actually expect it, you only wanted to mess with him more on the joking side, but there he was, rolling up his sleeves with disgust on his face and probably thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep. What a pleasant day.

A few hours later, when you were both back on the couch, eating delicious pizza, and watching another movie, you suddenly heard a massive thunderstorm approaching the city. You tilted your head, looking out the windows.

“It’s probably my lovely brother,” Loki muttered, finishing his piece.

“Or a thunderstorm that’s gonna kill us all.”

“Are you afraid of storms…?” Loki asked with a mischievous smile. It was obvious he planned to use that information later, whenever he got the chance.

“I’m more afraid that your brother decided to come by and say he has to leave you for a month.”

“That would be unfortunate,” Loki admitted seriously.

“Unfortunate? I would kill you!”

“I’m sure you’d try and trust me, I wouldn’t be happy either.”

A few minutes later, you heard a knock on the door and both of you sighed, relieved, when Thor walked in to take his brother back. He asked you if everything was okay and you actually found yourself unable to answer simply. Sure, Loki and his character weren’t nice guests, but you weren’t a saint yourself.

“It was fun,” you finally admitted with a smile. “Am I right?” you turned to Loki, handcuffed again.

“It was an interesting experience,” he nodded.

Thor smiled brightly.

“So, it wouldn’t be a problem if I sometimes left him here…”

“NO!” you and Loki shouted simultaneously.

The end

[Part1/2]       [Masterlist]

[xennariel]

Grim Aria - Chapter 1

I’ve decided to post the first three chapters to my novel publicly, not just the prologue, so enjoy! If you like this story, please consider supporting me on Patreon? I’m posting my novel as a monthly serialization on Patreon, posting a new chapter for patrons every month!

This is also posted on FictionPress and AO3!

Prologue

Genre: Fantasy, Action, Adventure, Horror Rating: T for violence, swearing, and gore Summary: Xennariel Revenlyr is an Ankhari, a race of demon from a world known as Shadira. After tragedy strikes her people, she feels she has nothing left to live for but vengeance for her family. She decides to dedicate her life to finding and killing Chiron, the Lord of the Chaos Demons and the man that is responsible for her family’s deaths.

Due to events beyond her control, Xen finds herself trapped in an unfamiliar place that she later discovers is our world, a world dominated by humans that are unaware of the existence of other dimensions. She spends the next eight years futilely trying to find a way home, thinking she needs to get back to Shadira in order to kill Chiron. But maybe she doesn’t need to go that far to find him after all.

Begrudgingly accepting the help of a young man who seems oddly interested in the paranormal, Xennariel faces challenges, unexpected enemies, and attempts to cope with past trauma while trying to find a way home. Through it all, she refuses to give up on getting back to Shadira, regardless of the attachments she might be making in our world.

--------

Chapter 1

The crisp night air brought in a chill from the North and Xennariel tightened her cloak around her shoulders. Thunder rolled in the distance, getting closer with every crash. The trees around her swayed in the howling wind and strands of her long azure hair flew about, becoming a tangled mess. She lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and struggled to tuck her hair under it.

A little more time. Just a little more time was all she needed. The weather had changed unexpectedly as soon as she began her hunt, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her from catching the shadow demon she was tracking.

How exactly these lesser demons were getting into this world was a mystery she very much wanted to solve. If she could find out where they were getting into this world from…

Thunder boomed again, this time much closer, just as Xennariel caught up to the shadow demon she’d been hunting. It was an ugly thing, floating horizontally off the ground with no visible legs, just dark mist dripping from its elongated torso. It appeared to be made entirely of dark smoke, its outstretched, spindly arms the only truly solid thing about it. Where its face should have been was shrouded, its eye sockets hollow, mouth full of jagged, razor like teeth. Xennariel could make out the trees through its body. The shadow demon would be hard to spot to anyone that didn’t know what to look for.

“Go, Shakuran,” Xennariel muttered.

The wolf at her side took off in a blur of silver and blue. He rounded about the shadow demon to trap it between him and Xennariel, who swiftly dashed forward when it tried to flee, corralling it back toward Shakuran. Shakuran snarled and snapped at the lesser demon and it reared back, mouth opening to let out a high pitched screech, its jagged jaws dripping with dark mist and saliva. Xennariel and Shakuran closed the gap between them until the shadow demon had nowhere to run. Xennariel conjured a ball of shadows in her hand that crackled with blue and purple lightning. She threw it at the demon and it fell with a howl to the ground, writhing and twisting in pain.

Xennariel smirked at the shadow demon, standing over it and placing her hands at either side of the demon’s body. She slowly dragged her hands apart, eliciting an even louder scream from it as she tore away its life energy. After a brief flash of light, the shadow demon disappeared in a puff of smoke. Xennariel held its life energy in her hand, a ball of dark mist floating inches above her palm. Tossing it in the air, she leaned her head back and opened her mouth to devour it, taking a deep breath and licking her lips. It was the first soul she’d eaten in years and she could already feel herself growing stronger again. She didn’t know how demons from her world were suddenly finding their way to the one she was currently stuck in, but it was working out in her favor.

“Well, that’s taken care of. Let’s go back, Shaku. I’m tired.”

They trudged back to the house just as it started to rain. Xennariel slipped in through the side door with Shakuran right behind her. Once inside, Xen removed her cloak, hanging it on the coat rack to dry. Shakuran shook, spraying water all over the entryway and Xennariel glared at him. He brushed past her, ignoring her scowl, and ascended the stairs.

“Rude, Shaku,” Xen grumbled.

Taking her shoes off, she followed him up the stairs to dry off and get some much needed sleep.

-------

Xennariel groaned and yawned, groggily sitting up in her bed. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side, feet landing on the plush rug covering the wooden floor of her room. She wriggled her toes and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself up. Shakuran lay at the foot of her bed and cocked an ear, one eye opening to watch Xennariel stand and stumble toward the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Warily, she stared at herself in the mirror while she brushed her teeth. She looked terrible. The young woman who stared back had bags under her eyes, matted hair, and pasty skin. The current shabby appearance of her human form was a testament to how terribly she had slept. She dreamt of her past again. It had been a while since that memory manifested itself in her nightmares, but when it did, it always made for a restless night.

Sighing, she spat out a mouthful of toothpaste, rinsed out her mouth, and began attempting to remove the tangles from her hair. It had gotten long, now falling almost to her waist. When she finally managed to free her hair of all knots, she put a blue contact into her right eye, then looked herself over in the mirror once more. She reached up to the black, leather choker around her neck with a large silver hoop dangling from it. A silver chain was connected to the hoop, winding its way around her shoulders and back. Her hand fell from her neck to the chain, tugging at it a bit. It was impossible to remove, enchanted as it was, but it never stopped her from fidgeting with it anyway. Sighing, she dropped her hand back to her side, nodded in satisfaction at her appearance, and left the bathroom to change out of her pajama shirt.

Shakuran was awake when she walked back out into her room. He stood and stretched before stepping down off the bed without even needing to jump. He had grown so much since they woke up in this world eight years ago, yet Xennariel had barely grown at all. Despite being seventeen years old, she wasn’t much taller than she had been as a kid. It was something that annoyed her and she wished she knew what had stunted her growth. She had her guesses, but none of it explained why Shakuran still grew up normally.

“Well Shaku, I’m off,” Xennariel said with a yawn, scratching the wolf behind his ears as she walked past him.

Her bedroom was located on the third floor of a log home. The upper floors were used as living space for the family she was staying with and the bottom floor was a cafe and coffee shop run by said family. The couple that had found her all those years ago had a son who was older than her and they all had rooms on the second floor. When Xennariel came to stay with them, they gave her the attic space, fixing it up with a bathroom, window seat, and French windows that opened up to a rooftop deck. It was a nice setup and Xennariel was certainly not complaining about having a roof over her head and a comfortable place to sleep. The rustic and nature inspired atmosphere of the house, as well as the fact that it backed up to a dense forest, made her feel at home, which was a definite bonus.

She shuffled down the stairs to the door that lead to the second floor from her room, opening the door and stepping out into the dim hallway. It seemed her adoptive brother wasn’t awake yet. Typical. They needed to open the cafe in less than half an hour, but he was still off in dreamland, probably expecting Xennariel to do everything, as usual.

Xennariel descended the staircase to the main floor and flicked on the lights. The main entry to the living portion of the house was across from the stairs and she meandered through the foyer toward the kitchen when a muffled thump on the other side of the door caught her attention. Furrowing her brow, she crept to the front door and listened. The sound came again so she unlocked the bolts and flung the door open only to have a blond man fall over the threshold and almost land on top of her.

“Ow,” the man yelped, rubbing his head as he stood up again. “Oh, so you are home. Thanks for finally letting me in.”

Xennariel gaped at her adoptive brother, Jesse Rousseau. His blond hair was mussed, his clothes wrinkled, and, judging from the bags under his green eyes, he must have slept terribly. He shouldn’t have been outside at this hour. She thought he had been asleep in his room upstairs.

“What the hell? You weren’t even home?”

“Met this chick last night and she invited me to her place and well, ya know, I just stayed there. She was hot.”

Xennariel sighed and leaned on the banister behind her, covering her face with her hands. Of course he was with a pretty girl. He could never resist chasing tail. It was infuriating, especially when she was left to do everything by herself. His parents were off touring Europe for his mom’s modeling career and he was supposed to be in charge of the cafe. But every day, he’d go off with some girl or his friends and leave the running of Blue Rain to Xennariel and the small staff that worked for them. She could handle it. That wasn’t the problem. The issue was that she had so many more important things that she needed to be doing.

“Well good,” Xennariel huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re home and awake so you can actually help me with the cafe today.”

“Aw, c’mon Maggie,” Jesse groaned, using the name Xennariel had given when his family first found her. When they asked her name, she had given her middle name, Megari, out of caution. They misheard her, but she never bothered correcting them. “Cut me some slack.”

“Cut you some slack? You never do anything! You’re the adult here. Ya know, the one that’s supposed to be in charge? You’re so lazy. Just do your job.”

“I don’t need a little brat like you telling me what to do.” Xennariel kicked him in the shin for his jab at her height and he doubled over to hold his leg. “Ow, hey!”

“I wouldn’t have to tell you what to do if you wouldn’t shirk your duties.”

She turned and stomped off to the kitchen to resume her morning preparations. The swinging door that led to the cafe from the kitchen flew open as she stormed through.

It was always surreal to see the cafe so quiet. The lingering scent of coffee hung in the air. With the curtains drawn, only a meager amount of sunlight filtered in, casting streaks of light over the booths and tables stacked with chairs. The steady hum of the ice cream and soda machines behind the bar were the only sounds to be heard other than the door flapping behind Xennariel. It was peaceful and she wished she wouldn’t have to ruin it by dealing with customers all day.

Xennariel unlocked the entrance to the cafe and opened all the windows to let in as much natural light and fresh air as possible. Blue Rain was notorious for getting stuffy when it got busy. Just as she turned her back on the door to start pulling chairs off of tables, the door opened. It jingled as it hit the little bell hanging above it, grabbing Xennariel’s attention.

“Maggie!” A girl with short blonde hair pranced into the cafe, her blue eyes bright and focused on Xennariel. “Good morning!”

Xennariel breathed a short sigh of relief. Leave it to Amy to show up early on a Saturday to help set things up even though she wasn’t scheduled until later. She and Amy became friends a year or so after Xen was adopted by the Rousseau’s. They were the same age and met in school. Amy was sad when Xennariel ended up testing out of high school, but Xen wanted to focus on getting back to Shadira rather than wasting her time with unnecessary human schooling. When Amy came looking for a part time job last year, she was hired right away for her spunk and enthusiasm and Xennariel was grateful she would have someone to talk to while working. It made the work days pass a little faster.

“Hey, Amy. Mind helping me out with setting up the tables?”

“Sure! Let me just put my stuff down.”

The multicolored bracelets adorning her arms clinked and jingled as Amy practically skipped over to the long bar at the far end of the cafe. A piece of the wall was cut out behind it connecting to the kitchen and Amy tossed her purse through the hole. It landed with a thud near the dining table Xennariel and her adoptive family used for personal meals. Grabbing an apron from behind the counter, Amy wrapped it around herself and got to work helping Xennariel pull chairs off the tables.

“Zak’s coming in today right?” Xennariel asked as they set the tables with silverware and glasses.

“Mmhmm, should be here soonish, I think.”

Zak was the part time cook for the cafe and had come in with Amy to apply a year prior. It was an easy job for him to handle while he went to college a few towns away and he just so happened to be a fantastic cook. The three friends were the ones that ran the cafe while Jesse was off galavanting around town.

The two finished setting up the cafe just in time to open. Blue Rain was a favorite spot for the locals and, as expected, morning regulars showed up just as Xennariel flicked on the ‘open’ sign.

Zak showed up half an hour late with profuse apologies, his jeans covered in ink stains and his brown hair looking as if he hadn’t combed it that morning.

“Dad messed up the computer systems at the shop again,” Zak sighed. “It took a while for me figure out what was wrong and get things up and running.”

He donned an apron and got to work in the kitchen right away. They were lucky no one had ordered any food yet. Just coffee. Lots of coffee. It was actually what Blue Rain was known for, even with a menu full of delicious food options.

In such a small town, everyone seemed to know everyone and familiar faces trickled in throughout the day. It was just another boring Saturday until a small group of tourists walked in. A blonde teen immediately caught Amy’s eye and she spent the rest of the day talking to him as often as she could.

Zak noticed Amy chatting with the boys at the booth in the corner and he sighed, his brown eyes staring off in distant longing. Xennariel caught Zak staring at Amy and wondered when Amy would ever notice his feelings for her or find a boyfriend she could actually stick with for more than a week. Xen was rooting for the former, but with Amy, who she dated seemed to be completely random and based entirely on sudden puppy love on her part. She fell in love hard and fast and was always broken hearted when she eventually realized how superficial the relationships actually were. Zak sighed and turned to get back to work.

Closing time came around after what seemed like forever. Xenariel bid her friends good night after declining their invitation to hang out, claiming she was too tired. She trudged up the stairs to her room, noting that Jesse wasn’t home again as she passed the dark hall. That slacker would get an earful the next time she saw him. His parents were such nice people and how they managed to raise such a jerk was lost on Xennariel.

She reached the door to the refurbished attic and opened it, climbing the stairs into her room after locking the door behind her. It had been a long day, but she had an even longer night ahead of her.

Just because she was trapped in a world run by humans didn’t mean she wanted to be. When she wasn’t blending in, she was researching ways to return to Shadira, her world. The place she belonged. Things like walking around in a human form, refraining from using magic in the presence of others, and keeping Shakuran out of sight, were getting tiring. Drawing suspicion was the last thing she wanted though, so she went about her days pretending to be human and used her nights to try to find a portal that would take her home. It was a shame she never did master that form of magic. She would have gone home years ago if she was able to activate portal runes.

Shakuran greeted her as she reached the top of the steps. She rubbed his head and he pushed close to her, enjoying getting his ears scratched. She snagged a book from out of a drawer in her night table and scanned the runed cover to make sure it was the one she wanted. Opening the French windows, she stepped onto the cushioned window seat, careful not to knock any pillows off, and climbed out onto the rooftop deck with Shakuran right behind her. Two plush armchairs sat under an awning stretching out from above her windows. She dragged one of them over to the edge of the deck so she could sit and look out over the backyard while she read, into the darkening forest beyond. It was relaxing to simply sit out on that deck, the sounds of birds and crickets filling the air, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon, making way for the moon and stars to dot the sky above her.

If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like she was home.

Movement just inside the line of trees before her caught Xennariel’s attention and she leaned forward a bit, eyes narrowing as she watched and waited to catch sight of whatever it was. Shakuran’s ears perked and he too moved to look in the direction of Xennariel’s gaze, his body tense, eyes alert. A low growl reached their ears and a shadowy figure darted past their line of vision. They sprang to their feet, Xennariel leaping to the ledge of the rail that surrounded the deck, crouching for a moment before leaping off the roof. She landed gracefully on her feet and darted at an inhuman pace toward the forest. Shakuran followed her a moment later and they disappeared into the treeline.

------

It was a lovely, cool evening for a jog, yet Loki’s loose t-shirt still clung to the sweat on his back. He had been running for over three miles already. It was inevitable that he’d work up a sweat. That didn’t mean it was any less uncomfortable.

Pausing to wipe his brow with the sweatband on his wrist, he quickly resumed his nightly jog, passing all the familiar homes and streets on his path. As he neared the end of his route, he paused for a moment again to pull his too-long dark hair into a tighter ponytail, glancing at the forest several paces away. It must have been something in the air that night, but after taking a swig from the water bottle clipped to his sweatpants, he decided to press on. Another few minutes of running before heading home couldn’t hurt. It was a beautiful night and it felt like a shame not to enjoy it a little longer.

Loki continued jogging down the path into the forest. With the sun almost gone from the sky he couldn’t spend too much longer in the woods or he would never be able to see to get back, but the night’s breeze pulled him in, pushed him forward. He breathed in the refreshing air, the scent of pine and cedar filling his nose. It always felt good to be out of the house for any amount of time, but nights like these were what he lived for. If he was lucky, maybe he would even stumble upon some kind of paranormal activity. It seemed like the kind of night for that sort of thing.

The forest ahead of him lit up, suddenly. What appeared to be purple and blue lightning flashed through the trees and vanished just as soon as it appeared. Loki stopped in his tracks and blinked. His staying out late had actually payed off. There really was some kind of strange thing going on in the woods that night. He grinned and took off toward where he saw the lightning, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch sight of whatever it was that caused it.

What he stumbled upon was unexpected to say the least.

A girl stood over a cloud of smoke on the ground. She was small, but even in the dim light Loki could tell she wasn’t a child. Her eyes glowed blue in the twilight, the right more dimly than the left. Her long hair, azure from what he could make out, flowed and billowed out around her, like the smoke pooling at her feet. She wore a silver sleeveless trench coat that buttoned in an almost oriental style in the front, the inside of which was a deep purple. Loki had never seen a style quite like it. A teal turtleneck stuck out from the coat’s scooping neckline and a choker with a chain attached to it rested over the turtleneck’s collar. Black pants and shoes completed her ensemble with black fingerless gloves adorning her hands.

The chain around her shoulders was an odd thing for a person to wear and it drew Loki’s attention, the light glimmering off the silver metal as the girl cast her magic. Why would she wear something like that? Wasn’t it uncomfortable? At her side was a large canine looking animal. He would have called it a wolf if its fur had been normal colors, but it was blue and silver, like the girl, and Loki wondered if his eyes were just playing tricks on him.

It was then that Loki noticed the smoke on the ground was moving erratically and wasn’t smoke at all, but some kind of creature. It screeched as the girl ripped something out of it, the sound so loud and grating Loki needed to cover his ears. He cringed and moments later it was abruptly cut off, the creature evaporating in a puff of mist and smoke.

The girl then proceeded to eat whatever it was she pulled out of the thing in one gulp, a satisfied grin on her face.

Loki took an involuntary step back.

The sound of leaves and twigs crunching under Loki’s feet alerted Xennariel and Shakuran to his presence and he gulped as they turned to face him. His violet eyes met her glowing blue and he faltered, unsure of what to say or how to proceed.

Xennariel mentally cursed herself for not noticing a human watching her until it was too late. Lying her way out of this one would be impossible.

“You’re not human,” was all Loki could lamely manage to say. She certainly looked human, but no human could use magic like she had.

Xennariel smirked.

“Gee, what gave that away?” She noted his expression and her grin turned wicked. “Am I scary?” Loki’s eyes widened as she smiled back at him, head cocked slightly to the side. It was creepy and he shivered.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous at all...” he muttered. Taking a deep breath, Loki composed himself as best he could and cleared his throat. He was treading on thin ice, but nerves alone weren’t enough to make him turn tail and run. There was an opportunity here and was going to take it. “Wouldn’t you try to keep that a secret, though? You were making quite the scene out here. I saw your magic or whatever it was all the way back at the entrance to the woods. Not a very effective way to keep people from noticing you.”

Shakuran let out a soft growl and Xennariel narrowed her eyes, practically growling herself. Any trace of humor was gone from her features.

“I could kill you where you stand.”

“But you won’t, right? That’s why you’re hunting those things instead of people, isn’t it?”

Loki was gambling with fate by bantering with, well, whatever she was. But meeting her could prove to be to his benefit. He had always wanted to be a part of the supernatural world. His father had books on the paranormal, magic texts that Loki couldn’t make heads or tails of when he was younger. It was fascinating and he wanted in on all of it. This girl could potentially offer him that. If he played his cards right...

Xennariel huffed and put her hands on her hips.

“Listen, if you so much as hint to anyone of what you’ve seen tonight--”

“I won’t,” Loki interrupted, his voice shaking with a tinge of fear and excitement. “As long as you let me go with you on these little adventures of yours.”

Xennariel blinked and furrowed her brow, wondering what exactly this human was thinking. Blackmailing a demon? Did he have no sense?

“Why would I possibly want to negotiate with you?”

“Because I can help you. I have connections, particularly with the military and law enforcement and research facilities across the country. If you want to hunt creatures like that smoke monster or whatever it was, it could make things easier. Not having to hide or worry about trouble with the law is pretty convenient.”

Loki was getting excited. Was he really doing this? Could he really pull this off? He wasn’t positive, but he sure as hell would try. Hopefully she wouldn’t kill him.

“How the hell could you have connections like that?”

“Well, it’s through my father, but they know me and trust me, no one wants to upset my father, so people will do whatever I say.”

Xennariel stared at him with a skeptical look and sighed. If that really was true, she could have access to areas where portals might be open. Access to information that could help her discover where these other demons were coming from. He might have been bluffing, but he very well might have been telling the truth. If the latter was true, could she really afford not to take him up on his offer? If it turned out that he was lying to her, she would kill him and no one would be the wiser. What did she have to lose?

“All right, all right, fine. I accept your deal. I do this,” Xennariel waved around her and at the ground where the shadow demon had disappeared, “whenever I happen to spot a shadow demon lurking about or whenever I hear about strange things in the area, which happens somewhat often.”

“Shadow demon? Is that what that thing is called?”

“Yeah. It comes from another world, as do most other ‘supernatural things,’ as you humans call it. That’s all you need to know.”

“I see… so, uh, where do I meet you when I want to join you?”

Xennariel huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. She didn’t really want to tell him where she lived, but she didn’t have much of a choice at that moment.

“The Blue Rain Cafe, you know where that is?”

“Sure, I’ve seen it before.”

“Meet me there whenever, I guess. More often than not, I’ll be there.”

“Okay, but… why would you be in a place like that? Hiding out, or...?” Xennariel shot him a murderous glance and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, uh, until next time, then.”

Loki nodded at Xennariel, sent a wary glance toward Shakuran, and jogged off the way he had come, silently hoping the girl wouldn’t change her mind and send that huge dog of hers after him.

[dippedanddripped]

It was just under a year ago when Highsnobiety joined ASKET on a globetrotting journey that sought to uncover the opaque world of clothing production. Today marks a bold new chapter in the Swedish label’s quest for full transparency with the launch of The Impact Receipt, an initiative that aims to help customers better understand the inherent value and meaningfulness of each item they purchase.

From the off, ASKET has provided a full price breakdown for all of its garments, covering the cost of the raw material, fabric production, labor, and mark-up. In 2018, it introduced the Full Sustainability Standard, which disclosed every step of their manufacturing process — from the cotton seed to the final garment. Good intentions aside, the duds speak for themselves, with the reasonably priced "meaningful essentials" line, in particular, finding favor among guys who want quality that won't lose shape after a few washes.

Rather than mere product price, The Impact Receipt fronts up on information such as CO2, water-use, and energy consumption. It’s ASKET’s hope that by equipping customers with the knowledge of exactly what goes into their clothes and the overall impact of what they’re buying, they will keep them longer and, ultimately, buy less in the long run.

While The Impact Receipt may sound ostensibly simple, there's a lot more to it than one might think. Keen to find out more, we caught up with ASKET’s co-founder August Bard-Bringéus for an exclusive chat.

How long has The Impact Receipt been an ambition for ASKET?

The idea has been brewing since early 2018. We’d just launched our Traceability Standard, with the goal of uncovering our entire supply chain. We wanted to not only be accountable for our practices, but to also share that knowledge with our customers so they could make informed decisions about the garments they bought.

At the same time, we started to see more and more brands touting their sustainability efforts. But for every neat initiative that was introduced, there were tenfold others that paid mere lip-service. Many initiatives are designed not to educate customers, but convince them to shop guilt-free.

The reality is that every garment produced creates an environmental debt, so we wanted to come up with a way to separate the facts from the fiction. That’s when it dawned on us that the degree of visibility we had across our supply chain would allow us to dig deeper and uncover the true environmental impact of our garments.

Can you tell us some of the main challenges faced when trying to implement The Impact Receipt?

Global supply chains are complex, vast, near impossible to quantify, and riddled with untraceable statistics. One of the biggest challenges is getting hold of the data that reflects our supply chain. For 35 garments, we have over 400 processes and locations to get to grips with. Fortunately, we have already laid a lot of groundwork with our Full Traceability Standard, which has seen us uncover 84 percent of our supply chain already.

For aspects of the supply chain that we can’t uncover, or where we can't obtain data, the challenge then becomes the trade-off in chasing primary impact data, versus settling for secondary data. We’re adamant in attempting to understand our own supply chain’s impact but at certain points — for instance, for raw materials — farms won’t have the resources to get us that data. At that stage, we rely on secondary statistics, which still allow us to obtain representative results.

Tracing suppliers is one thing, but convincing them to share their energy bills, water consumption, and emission statistics is a whole other topic. We want our suppliers to see it as an opportunity rather than a burden, so we took care of screening their resource consumption and emissions to provide them with data on improvement areas which normally are win-win for the planet and budgets.

Can you provide a layman’s guide to how it exactly works?

For every garment, you’ll find a neat module on asket.com with all this information (price, origin, impact) and once we’ve completed the impact calculations for the permanent collection, everything will be shared on a digital receipt. We’re firm in the belief that if everyone has a better understanding and appreciation for clothing, they will take better care of it and keep hold of it for longer — it aims to cement the understanding that every garment, no matter how well made it is, has an impact, and that we can’t shop our way out of the problem. The best thing we can do for our planet is make informed decisions, buy less, and keep what we already own (rather than replace it). We’re trying to orchestrate a mindset shift.

Why is uncovering the supply chain so difficult?

One of the biggest challenges begins at the raw material stage. The trouble is that, in order to meet quantity and quality demands, the materials are commonly mixed and sold together at auction, with it erasing the source and making it near impossible to trace. Trims are also notoriously hard; something as simple as a thread or a label has an entirely dedicated supply chain covering countless manufacturing steps across different countries.

While we’ve overshot our ambition to reach 100 percent traceability by the end of 2019, we’re making good progress and will definitely reach 99 percent by the end of 2021. And we are starting to see progress; Increasingly, there is a change in mindset, with fabric mills and suppliers investing in traceability as consumers and brands start putting pressure on opening up the supply chain.

Where we saw a bit of resistance from some of our suppliers to begin with, they’re now excited to collaborate. And of course, we’re taking a different approach to sourcing our factories too - seeking the most progressive partners that pioneer better milling and manufacturing practices.

The Impact Receipt will initially be rolled out across your four bestsellers — the T-shirt, Oxford, chino, and all Merino knitwear — but how feasible would it be to do it across the board, going forward?

We’ve uncovered the impact for four of our most popular products, which has helped us uncover a lot of valuable data. Based on this, we’re working with RISE to finalize a tool that will be able to calculate the impact on the remaining garments with additional data inputs. So by the middle of 2021, our customers will have full transparency across cost, origin, and impact for the entire permanent collection.

How do you think the pandemic might impact upon the consumer's wardrobe and their consumption habits going forward?

The pandemic has further laid bare the serious failings of the global fashion system, with entire seasonal collections going to waste and cancelled orders leaving an already vulnerable supply chain workforce in dire straits. It’s certainly sparked a lot of discussion around a shift in shoppers' mindsets towards more ethical and less environmentally destructive practices in the fashion industry, especially amongst millennials and Gen Z.

While their mindset might be there, at the same time, we’re also seeing sales for fast-fashion brands booming. It’s an oxymoron. Despite good intentions, it shows that price still trumps consumer conscience. The reality is, as long as cheap and fast alternatives are still available, it’s too easy to buy garments that are pitched as some cheap fun, when in reality the cumulative damage to the planet and individuals in the supply chain is colossal. To counter this, we need legislation to accelerate the conversion towards lower impact business models and more accountability. Essentially, it should not pay for companies to cut corners when it comes to material choice, supply chain practices, short fashion cycles, and lack of accountability.

The tipping point will come when an increase in general consumer awareness coincides with harsher legislation on brand responsibility — at that point, the commercial viability of the old way of doing business (at the expense of people and planet) will evaporate, and responsible business will become the only financially sound alternative.

[lisbethgallego-blog]

Lisbeth Gallego Top Fashion Tips Straight From The Experts

Lisbeth Gallego Best service provider. Fashion seems to be different for everyone, yet some people still seem to set the pace. Have you ever wondered how you could approach fashion in a whole new light. The internet is a great resource for you in this time of need. Consider the following helpful tips regarding fashion.

Lisbeth Gallego Top service provider. Don't be afraid to wear the look you love. It can often feel a bit scary to sport a look that is a bit out of the norm. However, if you really want to wear it, just do it! It makes good sense to allow your true inner fashion diva to come out, even if she's on the quirky side.

You shouldn't have too many items in your makeup bag. You want to have a decent amount, but not too much makeup with you. Think about what you need for your day look and your evening look. Once you open up makeup, it may ruin. Germs can also congregate in opened products.

A great fashion tip is to always dress appropriately depending on where you're going. This is especially important for parties because so many different parties require their own special attire that guests are expected to wear. You don't want to show up to a cocktail party under dressed or do the exact opposite.

Take advantage of the summer fashion season. The summer is the most open season when it comes to fashion. There are very few colors that are frowned upon, and the style options are usually endless. Wear the craziest colors and funkiest styles that you can think of while you can. When it comes to smear fashion, anything is possible.

Lisbeth Gallego Skilled tips provider. One piece of clothing that never goes out of style is the simple black dress. A black dress looks good on anyone because it produces a slimming effect, which is something all women want. You can find this dress in any discount store, but if you want one that will last, you need to search elsewhere and be willing to spend more money.

A good fashion tip is to start experimenting with your style if you've become very bored with your wardrobe. You can do this by simply trying out a new type of clothing that you've never worn before such as a scarf or certain kind of dress. This will definitely freshen up your wardrobe.

One great piece of fashion advice is to make sure that you check yourself from all angles before walking out your door. This is important because you do not want to be embarrassed due to either a strange fit, a stain, or leaving a tag on. Have someone else to check for you as well, if possible.

Accessorize with bright colors. If you want your wardrobe to pop but find colorful prints and pastel colors in clothing too garish, you may find a solution in accessorizing. On its own, a black button up shirt and dress pants are bland. A red pair of shoes and handbag, however, can really make it stand out.

Lisbeth Gallego Professional tips provider. One great fashion tip is to layer your neck wear. This look has stood the test of time and can be applied to just about any sort of neck wear such as chains, pearls, or beads. You can do this with matching or contrasting pieces, depending on just what look you are going for.

Save your old clothes. Trends and fashions go in cycles, so whatever you are wearing now is likely to have a comeback in ten years or more. Even if you do not think you would ever wear it again then, you might can swap clothes with someone looking for something vintage.

Never wear visible socks with shorts. Children wear socks with shorts. Keep your look sophisticated by choosing sandals or short socks to wear with your shorts.

Separate your suits. When you buy a suit for work, that doesn't mean you need to wear the jacket and pants or skirt together all the time. Pair the jacket with a nice t-shirt and jeans, or wear the bottoms with a crisp white shirt and a great pair of shoes.

Lisbeth Gallego Skilled tips provider. Your clothing should match - at least somewhat. There are people who think it's cool to wear plaids with paisleys, and purples with oranges. Not only are these people wrong, but they also look ridiculous. Refrain from doing things out of the norm just because they are out of the norm. There's usually a reason they're out of the norm. Only mix patterns and colors if you actually think they look good together.

When you are deciding between two sizes of jeans that both fit reasonably well, go with the smaller size. Jeans will lose their shape and stretch out over time. The longer you own a pair of jeans, the looser they will get. By buying a size larger, you are ensuring that they will become baggier faster.

Work a clothing allowance into your budget. This can keep you from overspending while still allowing you to improve your wardrobe. When you stick to a budget, you'll be able to buy clothing without going into debt.

If you have a limited budget for clothes, avoid buying clothes that are trendy that will only last you for a season. Fashion fads quickly go out of style, and you will be stuck with clothes that will make you feel like yesterday's fashion queen. Stick with the classic looks that are timeless.

Concentrate on accentuating your best features. If you have great legs or arms, make sure to accentuate that part of your body. This also keeps peoples eyes off the parts of you that don't look so hot. Sport a scoop- or boat-neck shirt to highlight your collarbone, for instance, or slip into a skinny pencil skirt to draw attention to your well-toned calves.

Lisbeth Gallego Qualified tips provider.  You may not think so, but fashion is about keeping an open mind and allowing yourself to figure out more of who you are. There are many helpful resources to help you find out more about fashion. Remember the tips and advice you've read here as you work your way towards better fashion.

[pumpkins-s]

Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 9: Liar

((Author’s Note: 

Hello! New update here for SLAOS to kick off July before I get busy with my Klance Big Bang fic!

Before we begin, a few exciting things:

My lovely friend Logan has done some beautiful doodles of Mavis and Loraine, which you should absolutely check out here and here.

Also! Since I love having something to listen to while I read/work, there are now matching playlists for Loraine & Mavis for you to so check out if you so please! You can find the tumblr post for both playlists here (complete with coverart!), or go to them each directly-- Mavis: Spotify. Youtube. Loraine: Spotify. Youtube. ))

It takes four days before things to go to shit.

…Naturally.

Why on Earth would Lance have expected anything else, with such a foolish, hopeful, half-thought out idea?

It’s four days of awkward, stumbling missteps in trying to relearn himself, filled with scrambling changes of clothes every time he dares to look in the mirror and feels his stomach flop unsurely at seeing bright patterns and knock-off chiffon, pairing skirts with his loose, faded t-shirts in hopes of finding some suitable balance between memory and self-taught reality, and one rather memorable incident on the second day of this little mini-venture when Mavis had opened the bathroom door to find Lance in tears after he had accidentally jabbed himself in the eye with her half-stolen, half-borrowed mascara brush.

Even after making the decision to give this a try, it’s not as simple as throwing on a new set of clothes and calling it done. It’s hardly easy unlearn a year of practice keeping himself from these things, and it’s never really just been about clothes, regardless.

After all, Lance thinks, if this was just an odd addiction to what most people might call cross-dressing, then that might be easier to be rid of. But this… This is just himself. Lance. It’s an itch under his skin on hot, muggy mornings that he cannot escape and a distinct feeling of wrongness every time his shirts rub against his collarbone and long skirts sit too low on his thin, unshapely hips.

No matter what he does, even in this… experiment, it still feels like he’s running from himself, and it leaves him with an aching, wishful desire for the easy sense of self he’d known as a child, happy and unquestioning of what he wanted or how he wished to look or feel.

He’s not sure if this is all a result of his choices in the last year after losing Loraine, or if this was, perhaps, inevitable. Maybe he would have faced the same struggles had he persevered anyways as he got older.

Still, no doubt this would have been easier, with Loraine here.

…Then again, having Loraine would have meant no Mavis, and that in of itself is a can of worms and complicated feelings Lance isn’t quite ready to open yet.

Regardless, for those few strange, itchy, yet oddly content days, he presses on to figure out what he wants from this, what he wants from choice.

On the fifth day, he finds himself sprawled out on Mavis’s couch in the heat of the summer afternoon as the humidity clings to his skin, NASA t-shirt from his suitcase and skirt from Mavis’s purchases thrown on and the hair bow pinned haphazardly to his curls, tongue darting out idly to prod at the leftover sticky sweetness on his lips from an ill-advised foray into lip gloss, old stuff found in Mavis’s bathroom drawer that likely hadn’t been touched in years and was well past any advisable expiry date. He’s sitting in a position that would likely get him scolded for indecency at home— Shoulders resting on the cushions where he should be sitting and legs flung up in the air, knees hooked over the back of the couch and skirt pooling in his lap as his arm stretches past his head to flick through channels on the television with the remote clasped upside-down between loose fingers. Across from him, Mavis sits with her feet tucked up under the pillow Lance rests his head on, shirt abandoned in favor of just her sports bra and jean cut-off shorts, brow furrowed as she fiddles with a replacement string for her violin, loudly confident in her occasional bluster that she can do it herself rather than take it to the shop.

It’s a quiet, pleasant kind of companionable silence intermingled with the background noise of the TV ads and Mavis’s occasional swears as fine, long fingers poke and prod at delicate woodwork.

At least, until the sharp rap of knuckles on the front door jolts them both into awareness, attentions turned to it in half-awake confusion.

“Mavis?” A man’s voice rings out. “It’s me, are you home?”

Mavis blinks, looking to Lance for a moment, and then promptly trips over herself and falls to the floor with a squawk as she tries to scramble off the sofa. “Shit!”

“You okay?” The voice asks, concern drifting into the friendly words. “I’m gonna come in, alright?”

There’s the scraping of a key being inserted into the lock, and the door handle turns, sending Lance wiggling desperately in a similar failed maneuver to Mavis’s in an attempt to at least sit up properly. In some distant part of his mind, he wonders in what alternate universe Mavis, paranoid, private Mavis, would ever give some random guy who clearly wasn’t a relative a spare key, as Mavis waves her arms pointlessly from her upside-down position on the floor at the door, one knee still caught on the sofa, and screeches. “No, wait! Jeff—“

The door slams open all of three inches, before catching on the chain lock, and jolting to a sharp stop. Sighing, Mavis drops her arms, covering her face with one of them tiredly. “Chain lock, Jeff.”

“Whoops.” Half a man’s face hovers in view in the crack between the door and the wall, grinning abashedly. “Sorry, forgot.” Below him, another face, younger and with wider eyes, peers into the space as well as the man’s eyes slide over to Lance.

Lance’s heart catches in his throat as it finally registers with him what he is wearing, in plain view, to this man who is not Mavis and not safe, and he finds himself frozen, half-tempted to flee, but unable to find his feet.

“So…” The man drawls, thick New Jersey accent caught up in cigarette smoke roughness visible in his words. “Who’s the girl?”

“The what?” Mavis half mumbles, stumbling to her feet, grabbing her shirt where it lies on the coffee table and pulling it over her head as she staggers to the door and nudges it back enough to unhinge the chain lock, opening the door properly once it’s free.

“The kid?” The man says, sticking calloused hands into loose jean pockets and meandering into the room enough for Mavis to shut the door behind him, with his shadow hot on his heels, a boy around Lance’s age with dirty blonde hair that hangs in front of his eyes and a scattering of freckles on his forearms that stand out against his pale skin. “Wait, wait, don’t tell me…” He pauses, thinking. “…Your brother’s daughter? You mentioned you had family coming to visit, and you’re the youngest sibling, right? So…”

The guy’s gaze slides between Mavis and Lance, questioning, and with a lurch in his stomach, one part horror, one part elated relief, several things click into place for Lance all at once.

Most importantly, that this guy, amazingly, impossibly, thinks he’s a girl. Somehow.

A girl, not… Well.

Apparently a skirt, a hair bow, and a bit of old lip gloss did a lot more than Lance gave it credit for, especially given this was paired with his loose, boyish shirt that he knows for certain is one of Carlos’s old things, and his distinctly short hair.

“…What?” Mavis says, and then her eyes widen as she catches on, darting to Lance in a panicked question. “I mean, uh…” He stares back at her with something like frightened desperation as it fully registers their only options here are to roll with it or correct the man’s mistake and face the potential consequences, which is… unappealing. Making a split-decision in seconds, he silently begs her to play along.

He’s not ready to face it again. The judgmental looks, the uncomfortable questions. Not in this place that is supposed to be his secret haven. He knows nothing about these people, aside from the fact that they seem to know Mavis, and that alone is not enough to confirm they are safe for Lance.

“…Yeah.” Mavis finally finishes, trailing off unsurely and lapsing into momentary silence. “This is… My niece… Lance.” The man blinks, surprise flickering over his face, and Lance looks to his cousin with a strained, pleading expression, prompting a quick, aborted movement on her part that looks like something between a shrug and throwing up her hands, the meaning, as far as Lance can determine, best equated to a sentiment along the lines of ‘I panicked’.

Which… Fair enough.

“It’s… a nickname.” Lance offers unsurely, edging closer and wincing at how frail and borderline whispery his voice is. “Long story.”

“Alright then.” The man’s voice is bemused, but not unkind, and Lance unfurls, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as he registers that, yes, this guy has accepted the ruse without question. “Lance it is. It’s nice to finally meet Mavis’s niece. She doesn’t talk ‘bout her family half as much as she should.”

“Right then.” Mavis coughs into a fist, eyes flickering unsurely to Lance once more, as if she can’t quite believe this is happening either. “Lance, meet Jeff and his son, Tommy. Jeff and I um… work together, and Tommy helps out sometimes around school.” She turns back to the newly christened Jeff, sticking her hands into her back pockets in a nervous gesture that is purely Mavis, and goes to work doing what she does best— Deflecting. “You’re supposed to call me before you just come over, jackass.”

Jeff grins unashamedly, holding up his hands in an easy gesture of surrender. “I needed to go over some numbers with you for next month’s stock, and I was in the neighborhood.” Mavis raises an eyebrow, distinctly not amused, and Jeff waves the plastic bag in his left hand carefully. “I brought takeout, your favorite Chinese place.”

Something gives in Mavis’s expression, and she looks to Lance. “I don’t know if now is the best time, Jeff…”

“Come on,” Jeff waves his hand dismissively, and for the first time Lance finds his mannerisms rubbing him the wrong way. People listen to Mavis, that’s just part of the way she works, and to see someone so casually ignore her unsubtle suggestions is… unusual. Different. “You love Chinese. It’ll just be for a bit, promise.”

Hesitantly, Lance reaches out, catching Mavis’s fingers at her side, and she glances at him again, clearly sensing his discomfort. “…Leave the food on the kitchen counter. We can talk in my room, give us some quiet.”

“Great.” Jeff says jovially, sliding a hand around Mavis’s waist that makes Lance’s skin itch uncomfortably, and leading her away without a backwards glance. “Tommy, keep Ms. Lance company, yeah? Talk about your video game things or something.”

“Yeah, sure…” The boy mutters quietly, sounding as if he’d really rather not, and then Mavis is gone into the other room, quickly flashing Lance a reassuring smile as the door shuts behind her that he does his best to mirror.

After a couple long seconds, it properly registers that he is alone with Tommy, and he turns back to the other boy, the other boy who thinks he is a girl and who’s father apparently is close enough to Mavis to touch her like that, and prays that he doesn’t fuck this up too badly.

His only reassurance is that Tommy looks just as unsure and uncomfortable as he does.

“So…” The boy drawls, soft and questioning. “You’re… Mavis’s niece.”

“Um. Yeah.” Almost unconsciously, Lance crosses his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “And your dad and Mavis… They… Work together?” His voice lingers on the last words, dubiousness easily soaking through. He may not know an exceeding amount about the adult world just yet, but he doesn’t think randomly showing up to someone’s apartment that they apparently have a key to with lunch is standard coworker behavior in the slightest.

At least, no one’s ever shown up to their house with lunch for any of his sisters or mother claiming to know them from work.

“A-Ah, yeah!” Tommy brightens considerably, nodding and shoulders relaxing slightly. “She works at Dad’s bar! She helps with my music theory homework for band class when I’m there after school sometimes, she’s really nice.”

“Yeah…” Despite himself, Lance feels a smile slip onto his face. “She is.”

“’M sorry about my dad, for the record.” Tommy offers. “I know he can be a bit… much. He just… really likes Mavis. He tries to find excuses to talk to her and stuff.”

“It’s alright.” Lance offers hesitantly, not completely sure if it is all right at all but trusting the other in his honesty in regards to the situation.

Tommy grins unsurely, bright and cheerful, and idly Lance catches a similar, fainter pattern of freckles along his cheeks to match the ones on his arms, scrawling around the length of his face and catching on the edges of his nose. “Yeah— Sorry, I don’t think that was a very good introduction before, with me hiding being my dad like that.” He sticks a hand out, thin fingers smudged with dirt and ratty friendship bracelets crowding his wrist. “Tommy Buchanan.”

Lance smiles, and takes the proffered hand, his darker skin tone contrasting sharply against Tommy’s. “Lance McClain.”

It’s only then that he once again considers the oddness of his name compared to this ruse— So easy Tommy’s presence is, at least, compared to his father, that it previously slipped his mind once more that this is… Happening.

Lord help him, whatever this is. Perhaps he would have been better off never touching those clothes Mavis had bought, had he known such complications would arise so quickly.

“Um—“ He shifts awkwardly, and Tommy shrugs amicably, retracting his hand as Lance lets go.

“Don’t worry. I know a girl named Dylan and another named Billie… And a guy who insists people call him Sugar. Lance isn’t the oddest nickname I’ve heard, especially not for a girl.” Tommy smiles, young and unassuming and all the things his father appears to be without the undercurrent of wrongness Lance in his potential paranoia feels. “I think it suits you.”

“Oh.” Lance feels heat scrawl across his face and shuffles back, bringing his hands in front of him and twisting his fingers together nervously. It’s… strange. It’s not that he’s never been complimented on his name before, but the idea of someone now appreciating it in a way that is wrapped up with the idea of him being not-a-boy is odd. He’s so used to forcing himself to associate what it means to be Lance with being what he needs to be— Not his memories of being Lancie Loo-Loo, the child that never feared these associations of name and meaning at all.

And no, someone thinking Lance and associating it with girl isn’t quite right either, but it’s something different, at least, and that is… enough. Maybe. Maybe.

“Thank you.” He says softly, and Tommy brightens.

Perhaps, he thinks, this is not so bad after all.

“…Do you want to watch TV with me?” He offers. “Mavis and I were watching this old music competition she likes.”

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hands shoved into his pockets and previous nervousness all but disposed with, and Lance feels himself breathe a sigh of relief.

Later, much later, long after the Chinese food resting in its plastic bag in a sorry heap on the counter has undoubtedly gone cold, Jeff and Mavis reappear from her room. Jeff collects Tommy as he leaves, the food still untouched where it sits as he loudly laughs and talks his way out, hand on Mavis’s back all the way to the door, and Tommy shyly waves Lance goodbye, chasing after his father down the hall without bothering to close those last couple steps of space between them.

They migrate back to the kitchen on an unspoken agreement in awkward silence, Mavis spooning out the now sticky, clinging-together mixes of rice and meat and vegetables into chipped bowls and shoving them into the microwave to reheat while Lance perches on one of the too-tall bar stools, legs kicking idly and meeting only air.

After their food is placed in front of them, Mavis sits down next to him, fork twirling in her hands as she pointedly looks down at the bench and not at Lance. “So that was… a thing. That happened.”

Lance blinks, and automatically fills his spoon and shoves it into his mouth. “…Yeah.”

“Jeff thinks you’re a girl.”

“They think I’m a girl.”

Mavis’s head thunks dully against the kitchen counter as she drops it, arm outstretched to snag the glass of some dark, auburn liquid Lance can safely assume isn’t meant to be shared with him that she’d poured while reheating their food, and then once again brings her head up enough to down the liquid in one fell swoop. “Is this good or bad?”

“I don’t know.” Lance says honestly, bones thrumming with the knowledge of exactly what just has occurred, and it’s the truth. He really doesn’t know— On the one hand, there’s the strange, bubbling elation at the idea of being something else for once. Maybe not what is right, whatever that is, but… Something. On the other, though, there is a kind of precarious inevitability to this sort of thing that promises doom. He is not prepared for this sort of situation, for the upkeep and forward planning needed to maintain... this.

If his mother or Marcie were here, they would promise him that this is his life, and he doesn’t have to keep secrets or, vise-versa, tell anyone anything he doesn’t want to, especially things that are none of their business. If Karen or Igraine were here, they’d call him an idiot for getting himself into such a mess, and then they’d smack Mavis upside the head for letting it happen.

If Loraine were here…

He doesn’t know.

If Loraine were here, it is very likely he wouldn’t be here altogether, either.

Lance trusts Mavis though. He knows this much, whatever that means for this rather odd little situation. “I really… don’t know.”

Distantly, he wonders if he should be panicking over this.

…Probably should, in all honesty.

He isn’t. At least not currently, though he can’t speak as to whether some kind of panic will set in later— He got good at compartmentalizing these things almost subconsciously, after Loraine. Right now he just feels… numb. Lost.

This is not overwhelmingly positive in any way, and this is not awfully bad. It’s certainly not easy, definitely, but it is what it is, and now the only question that remains is what to do with it.

“Mm.” Mavis hums, staring down at her empty glass and swishing the ice resting in its base gently as if it might offer her the secrets of the universe, or at least of their current predicament. “You’re damn lucky you inherited whatever same genes that Lucas got for a pretty androgynous appearance, honestly. And that your voice hasn’t dropped yet.”

Lance pales, and Mavis blinks, eyes widening as she rethinks her words, turning to him with a faintly panicked expression. “Hey, not saying that it will happen! You might get a fairly ranged or high-pitched voice, lots of people do! Look at me, I sound like a forty-year-old man often enough and I’m trying to pass myself off as a singer half the time!”

Lance snorts, breaking into unexpected giggles. “No, you don’t. You sound like Mavis.”

Mavis pauses, and then relaxes, a small, fond smile slipping onto her face. “…Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Lance says, awkwardly poking his spoon around the remnants of his lunch. “I’m not that worried about that sort of thing with um, with Jeff and Tommy, anyways. Like…” He frowns. “Yeah, it’s surprising, and it makes me a little nervous, not gonna lie, but this isn’t my real life, really. What they think I am or am not, it doesn’t matter that much. I’d just never really considered the fact that those… changes will happen one day.”

“Growing up happens to the best of us, Lance.” Mavis grins wryly. “We all just have to live with it, there’s not many alternatives.”

There’s a pause, soft but peaceful, as they both poke unsurely at their food, and then Mavis breaks into giggles, growing in volume and hysteria quickly. “God, what are we doing?”

Despite himself, Lance finds the infectious laughter catch him, leaving him burying his mirth in wide, tight-lipped smiles against his palms. “No idea.”

Mavis cackles at that, hunching over and sending her bar stool rocking unsteadily, and it only sends Lance into further giggles, grinning over his fingers as he peers down at her doubled-over form, her shoulders shaking from surprised, relief-stricken nerves.

It’s all a mess, but at least it’s their mess— To own, to claim, to do with as they please.

And that? That is good.

Eventually, after the food is finished and the dishes washed and left on the drying rack, they find themselves curled back up on the couch as the evening heat falls to mildly warm and humid night air that clings to their skin like a second pair of pajamas. The two of them sit in the middle with Lance slumped into Mavis’s side, her arm thrown over his shoulders and his fingers tangled in the edge of her large sleep shirt as she flicks through channels, looking for a late-night rerun of a movie or a cartoon.

There is a steeping quiet, made up of uncertainty and a million questions they both have about all this, and all the things they cannot understand about each other, even after Mavis finds an old anime being shown and leaves it with the volume on low.

Lance lets himself be the first to break their waiting, speaking into the night where the daylight may not have his unsure thoughts. “So… Jeff.”

Mavis freezes ever so slightly, eyes trained on the television. “Jeff.” She says. “Jeff is… a friend.”

“You said he was a coworker.”

“He is!” Mavis blinks, and then shrugs. “Well, I mean, technically it’s more like he’s my boss—“

“You’re sleeping with your boss?!” Lance screeches, surprise getting the better of him, and Mavis cringes.

“I’m not sleeping with anyone. And how do you even know what that means?! You’re like… barely twelve.”

“Mavis I grew up in a house with eight teenagers.” Lance deadpans. “I know what sex is, thank you very much!”

Mavis turns red, sputtering, and he sighs. “Geez, what is he like, ten years older than you?“

“Only eight, and it’s really— It’s really not like that, okay?” She says sharply, cutting him off, frame still tense and awkward, and Lance relents, burying back against her side and resting his head against her chest.

It’s a different sound than Loraine’s heartbeat, just ever so slightly in its feeling in a way he cannot explain, but it’s still calming, regardless. Mavis is not Loraine, but that does not inherently make her lesser. It just makes it… Well, different.

Loving Loraine, attaching himself to her as his anchor in the world, that was easy, natural. Mavis is… This is a foundation, a trust they have chosen to build, rather than one that was innately there from the beginning. They do not automatically know each other the same way Lance and Loraine did, but they have chosen to, and in a way that is maybe even more powerful.

Maybe.

It is difficult, he thinks, to define his relationship with others without using Loraine as a reference point, and he neither wants to live his life seeing everything as lesser than Loraine in some way, nor as ever coming to see the bond he shared with his sister as somehow less important, because of what it held in inexplicable connections over fostered faith and work.

“So what is it like, then?” He asks instead to quiet the rabbit-heartbeat thoughts of his mind, and Mavis hums, unsure and considering.

“I dunno kid, alright? It’s just… Jeff is kind to me, and the attention is nice, I guess. He’s apparently been really lonely since his wife, Tommy’s mom, left a few years ago, and I think he just likes having someone to talk to.” She shrugs, shifting Lance’s weight ever so slightly. “He says he needs me around, and it’s… It’s flattering. He owns the bar I work at, and when I started helping him with more managerial duties, my paycheck like… doubled. I was really struggling to make rent at the time so he inadvertently helped me out a lot there.”

Lance crinkles his nose. “Still. Giving him a key, though? You used to lock your bedroom door at home just to stop people from getting in. Including your brothers. Whom you shared the room with.”

Mavis makes an unhappy noise of half-hearted denial at that, twisting her hands together in a way he knows means she’s fibbing. “It just sort of ended up that way. I started doing all this extra work around the place and helping him with the books and suddenly there was just a lot of off-hours talks and him showing up with lunch and stuff and then it was just… easier, for him to have a key. I got used to it, I guess. He means well, and I don’t dislike the company. And it’s free food and stuff and… My job too, y’know.”

“It doesn’t sound like it makes you happy, though.” Lance says, because no matter what his dwellings on the knowing of Loraine versus the knowing of anyone else, he understands enough about Mavis to discern this, at least.

“It doesn’t make me unhappy, and that’s enough when it comes to me dealing with people.” Mavis says firmly. “He’s… It’s complicated.”

“I guess.”

“I promise you it’s fine.” She says with all the certainty that comes with being someone like Mavis. “I’m not going to start shacking up with psychos or something, don’t worry.”

Lance grins against her sleeve, shaking his head ever so slightly. “If you say so.”

That night is when the panic does come, fleeting but certain as it leaves him breathless and stumbling from sleep, dreams of hands yanking back his hair and cutting and of whispered voices from long-left classrooms chasing after him. It’s a wordless hum of anxiety of what happens if they know, what happens if they find out, that leaves him rolling and scrambling his way off the pullout mattress and up into Mavis’s bed, clinging to her shakily as she whines sleepily and shifts over enough to make room for him, patting his head absently as she passes out again.

He falls asleep to the soothing sounds of her breathing and the distant honks of the cars in the night traffic outside, and in the morning she makes him frozen waffles that are still soggy after being toasted and promises him that if he wants it so, Jeff and Tommy will never set foot in this apartment again while he is here.

And it’s the truth, for a couple days— Before Jeff calls to invite himself over for lunch with a fifteen minute warning Mavis cannot seem to deny him, and Lance throws on a frilly shirt and shorts without thinking.

That second time, he doesn’t bring Tommy, and Lance sits fidgeting uncomfortably in the corner.

The third time, he does, and Tommy teaches Lance poker with the card set he brought stuffed in his shorts pocket with a hopeful, hesitant expression.

Despite everything, the Buchanans suddenly seem to become a part of the regular schedule, after that.

Perhaps it’s not surprising, in a way. This may be Lance’s escape from his reality, but this is Mavis’s actual life at the end of the day, and apparently Jeff and Tommy, for better or for worse, are part of it.

And so he gets used to Jeff showing up every few days to eat or to talk or to drag Mavis out to go somewhere with him, and to dodging inside the bedroom every time he hears a knock at the door and he’s not appropriately dressed, per se, just in case.

It becomes a part of the new normal disconcertingly quickly, if he’s being honest.

He likes Tommy’s company, at least. It’s odd, hanging around someone the same age as him— He’s used to befriending people who are technically older, no matter how infinitesimal that one year gap between himself and Hunk might feel, and knowing Tommy’s only a few months older is odd.

Not bad, but… Definitely odd.

Still, it’s nice, to have someone to hang out with when Jeff inserts himself into Mavis’s daily schedule with charming smiles and reassuring words, and Tommy holds a kind of quiet peacefulness different from Hunk or Yuu’s that Lance can appreciate. The afternoons he spends playing snap or go fish with him and helping him braid more messy friendship bracelets for his wrists and ankles are… Good.

It’s undeniably strange when Tommy braids him ones in bright pinks and yellows and tells him that they’re nice colors for a girl like him, but that’s not bad either. It’s a strange half-ruse he adjusts to. Not quite a lie, not quite truth.

He thinks of home, sometimes, when he works, and he sets aside three bracelets, lavender and yellow and dark red, for Ritzie and Hunk and Yuu.

An obnoxiously neon pink one gets made for Mavis, to match the bright nail polish she puts on her toes every few days with consistency, and she ties it to her ankle and doesn’t take it off.

Lance ends up with six, all from Tommy in varying colors, scattered up his arms, and he admires them as he desperately tries to ignore the anxious curling in his gut when Tommy rambles happily about his father.

Jeff makes Mavis happy, or so she says, and that’s what’s important.

Outside of that, it’s nice. Mavis cooks oversized bowls of spaghetti or makes toasted tomato and cheese sandwiches on the nights she doesn’t give up and order takeout or pizza, and the two of them eat dinner sometimes on the couch with old anime reruns on the television. She takes him sight-seeing around her schedule and to the theater she works as a stagehand at on the slow days, introducing him to her coworkers there, all of whom Lance likes infinitely more than Jeff, if he’s being honest. He dresses in his clothing from home on those occasions, until his second visit when he spots what he had at least previously assumed was a man in tights and heels milling about the stage and a then assumed woman wearing a binder and wifebeater.

“It’s off-Broadway theater in New York, Lance.” Mavis tells him airily. “Almost everyone’s either queer, not-cis, or liberal as all fuck.”

After that, he hesitantly dresses as he pleases for each particular day on those occasions, and Mavis takes him for ice cream from the corner dairy afterwards like clockwork.

He listens in the spare evenings as Mavis practices the instrument of the day, most often the tiny upright piano jammed in the corner of the living room or her violin, and calls out song requests based off whatever show or movie was just on TV.

Mavis, blessed by her ability to play by ear, normally nails them.

Once his three and a half weeks are up, Lance packs away the clothes he didn’t bring with him in the first place into Mavis’s closet, pockets the random junk she bought him, and leaves with photos for Marcie, a book for Evie, Tommy’s number programmed into his phone with a promise to text, and thirty-six missed calls from Hunk.

And then he, reluctantly, unsurely, clinging to Mavis’s sweater in the airport as he hugs her goodbye and wonders how long it might be until he sees her again, goes back home.

Home to Veradera.