#alternative title for this is also ''two realities'' but oh well. shrugs

[sleep-nurse]

same story

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

to see the sun again i’d give anything

A/N: if you couldn’t already tell, the dream smp has definitely taken over my thoughts lately. also hello and welcome to my "c!philza needs to process losing his son and his wings in the span of ten minutes instead of deflecting with laughter and destruction" agenda. title is from Bird With A Broken Wing by Owl City! enjoy!

Warnings: past character death, trauma, past injury, emotional repression, flashbacks, crying, minor violence, emotional hurt/comfort, teasing/banter, hugs

Summary: Phil tries to get some work done around Techno's house. The only problem with that is that his mind ends up wandering into darker thoughts than he'd like, leaving Phil to shatter. But luckily, someone is there to pick up the pieces.

-

Beware the Angel of Death, who cackles while cities burn. That was what they said about him, that was what everyone expected of him. That or they expected wisdom and fatherly care from the man whose wings died with his son. But the truth was that the great Philza Minecraft was neither of those things. Well… to be fair, the moniker “Angel of Death” was well deserved, the rubble of L’Manburg made that fact absolutely certain. But Phil didn’t want that to be who he was. He wanted to be safe and at home with no war or fighting, preening his wings while Wilbur’s music drifted through the house- but he had ruined all of that on his own, hadn’t he?

Phil squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. He was in the middle of checking over the bee farm, why were all of these thoughts hitting him now? Maybe it was because the yellow of the bees made him think of Wilbur’s sweater, their buzzing resonating at a frequency similar to the sizzling of TNT-

Okay. Maybe Phil should leave the bee farm for later. There were other things he could do… like gathering supplies for the Syndicate! Yes, that would be good, having something monotonous to work on always helped. With that plan in mind, Phil spun on his heel to head to Techno’s house to check and see what they needed- and smacked right into Ranboo. The two stumbled away from each other, Phil ending up falling onto his back- and therefore onto his permanently damaged wings. Phil hissed in pain as the fragile, half-there feathers made crushing contact with the snow and cold ground beneath it, and Ranboo’s expression twisted in a mix of guilt and sympathy.

“I’m sorry! I thought you knew I was there,” Ranboo said, holding out his hand to help Phil up. He took the offered hand and shook the snow from his wings once he stood up.

“It’s alright mate, I was just… lost in thought, I guess,” Phil said, trying for his usual smile. Ranboo didn’t seem to buy it, if the worried frown was anything to go by, but he didn’t directly comment on it.

“Oh. Okay! How’s the uh, bee farm?” he asked, clearly trying to keep things casual, which Phil was grateful for (even if it was painfully awkward).

“Giving me difficulty, I keep getting… frustrated. Think I’m gonna deal with it later,” Phil replied with a shrug.

“I can do it!” Ranboo blurted. Phil startled a bit at the outburst from the usually mellow teen, blinking in surprise.

“I, uh- thanks mate, but…”

“Really, I can do it! You showed me how to take care of them once, and I put down what you said to do in my memory book! I can handle it, promise,” he said, pulling out his memory book and flipping through the pages. Phil smiled, a true smile this time, at Ranboo’s eagerness to help.

“I- thank you. You let me know the minute you need help though, okay?” Phil insisted, tone leaving no room for argument. So of course, Ranboo argued against it.

“I think I can handle taking care of some bees, Phil,” he scoffed with a grin. For a split second, the snarky reply felt so reminiscent of Wilbur. If things had been different, would Wilbur be there with them? Phil could practically see the alternate reality play out in front of him- Wilbur helping out with the farms, getting into snowball fights with Ranboo and then egging on Techno and Phil to join them, or sitting on the porch and strumming his guitar and humming half-worked out melodies. A bittersweet smile came to Phil’s face, and he blinked away the sudden mistiness in his eyes.

“If you say so, mate,” he said softly, then walked away from the bee farm and to Techno’s house.

Once up the stairs and safely inside, Phil let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His wings sagged, their damaged tips lightly brushing against the floor. Saving face in front of Ranboo… that took more energy than he had thought. That combined with how much he had seemed like Wilbur for a moment… well, Phil wasn’t exactly in the mood for gathering supplies anymore. But he didn’t want to be idle either. Being idle meant being alone with your thoughts, and Phil’s thoughts often weren’t that kind to him. They’d be filled with accusations of him being a terrible father for killing his son, for letting Wilbur twist and become such a darker version of the bright young musician Phil once knew, for destroying the thing his son had built to rid himself of the memories of Wilbur’s screams begging Phil to kill him-

Before he realized it, Phil crumpled to the ground, knocking something over as he went, hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his sobs. What on earth was he doing? He had to get up. He had to stop crying. Wilbur, his wings, and L’Manburg- those tragedies were in the past. He should be over it now. Right?

Phil’s feeble reassurances to himself did nothing, as he remained on the floor with his wings shielding him like a fragile cocoon and shoulders shaking with sobs he was stubbornly trying to hold back. He was so lost in his sorrow and denial that he hadn’t realized that someone heard something crash in the house, and now had come inside to investigate. They tried to get his attention, but upon garnering no response, they put a gentle hand on Phil’s back, right between his wings.

The touch, no matter how gentle or well-meaning, caused something inside Phil to snap. Some strange, almost primal instinct took over and replaced the mournful sorrow. No one touched him anywhere near his wings and lived. He shot up from his curled up position on the floor, drawing his sword in the same motion and lunged at the person behind him. He tackled them to the ground, sword edge at their throat- and froze. Because he saw eyes wide with fear and shock, and for a moment all he could see was Wilbur. Then he blinked, and registered the heterochromic red and green eyes of the person he just attacked- Ranboo. He broke eye contact and scrambled away from Ranboo like he had been burned, tossing his sword aside and hardly registering the clatter it made over the thundering of his heart.

“Ranboo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, you clearly didn’t realize I was there or who I even was, it’s not your fault and I’m not hurt anyway,” Ranboo said, voice low and soothing as he shifted into more of a sitting position on the ground, not standing up quite yet. Phil felt way out of his depth. Not only had he been caught crying by a teenager, but his immediate reaction to said teenager trying to comfort him was to kill him. Some father figure he was.

“I-I-”

“You don’t have to talk about what’s bothering you if you don’t want to, but… something tells me that this is something you’ve been keeping to yourself for a while. And trust me, I know that bottling things up is never good. So when you’re ready to talk about it… I’m here,” Ranboo said softly. Phil let out a sigh.

“Ranboo, you’re just a kid. I can’t be putting all my problems onto you,” Phil said, his voice a hollow echo of the cheerful kindness it usually held. A mildly irritated expression crossed Ranboo’s face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this server is full of kids and people who are basically kids to you anyhow. So who exactly else would you be able to talk to about this?” he said, a bit more blunt than he probably meant to, but beating around the bush certainly wouldn’t help things either.

“I don’t need to talk to anyone about anything,” Phil huffed, sounding a bit like a stubborn child.

“Uh huh. Says the guy who made a loud crash when having a mental breakdown, and then startled so bad that he instinctively attacked someone. You’re right! You don’t need to talk to anyone about this at all,” Ranboo said flatly. Phil winced, and let out another sigh.

“I… you’re right. I shouldn’t be keeping this all bottled up. It’s just that everyone here is so young and already has had so much struggle and heartbreak. I couldn’t bear to add to that,” Phil said softly.

“Misery loves company,” Ranboo pointed out with a smile. Phil couldn’t help but smile back.

“I suppose so,” he said. Ranboo’s smile grew wider, and he stood up, then offered a hand to Phil to help him up (again).

“I’m capable of standing up on my own, y’know,” Phil chuckled, but took the offered hand anyway.

“And yet I’ve found you on the ground twice today, old man,” Ranboo teased. A surprised laugh burst from Phil’s lips.

“Oh you little shit, I thought you were trying to comfort me,” he said, still laughing.

“Okay hold on, first: there is nothing ‘little’ about me, I’m a lot taller than you. Second: I got you to laugh, didn’t I? Seems like the comfort is working pretty well,” Ranboo said, sounding unreasonably smug. And yet again, Ranboo reminded him of Wilbur. It was strange- upon first meeting the half enderman, Phil saw so many similarities to Technoblade in him. But now, the more he got to know him, the more he noticed a remarkable similarity to Wilbur as well.

“Maybe so,” Phil sighed. Ranboo squinted at him suspiciously, and Phil kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“You keep getting that wistful tone in your voice and a faraway look in your eyes. Do you… wanna talk about that?” Ranboo asked, fidgeting with his sleeves and looking otherwise unsure of what to do with his hands. A smile tinged with bittersweet memories came to Phil’s face.

“I suppose I should. Let’s sit down by the fire, this isn’t a conversation I want to have standing or feeling cold,” Phil said, taking a seat in front of the fireplace with Ranboo quickly following his lead. One of Techno’s dogs, who somehow had stayed snoozing by the fireplace throughout Phil’s mental breakdown, instantly perked up and trotted over to sit in Phil’s lap.

“Dogs are good for comfort too,” Ranboo pointed out. Phil agreed with a chuckle, gently running a hand through the dog’s fur. After a deep breath to calm himself, Phil delved into the story of his son, his wings, and L’Manburg. Ranboo listened with a patient and understanding expression, reaching out every once and a while to put a comforting hand on Phil’s arm whenever his voice wavered.

“And that’s it, I guess. I’ve tried to put my focus into working on farms here or gathering supplies to keep my mind off of it… but as you can tell, that hasn’t entirely worked,” Phil said after he finished his story. Ranboo was quiet for a few moments, taking in what Phil had said.

“In theory, I guess trying to distract yourself isn’t the worst idea, but… you haven’t really given yourself time to… process anything, have you?” Ranboo finally asked. Phil laughed bitterly.

“Unless you count what happened earlier? Not really,” Phil replied, keeping his eyes on the dog dozing in his lap.

“Phil,” Ranboo said reproachfully.

“Oh, because you’re the champion of processing emotions?” Phil shot back. Ranboo winced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Phil immediately felt guilty.

“To be honest, I don’t really remember many things to process them anyway,” he said, voice low. Phil sighed, and reached out to put a hand on Ranboo’s arm, much like Ranboo had done for him earlier.

“It’s alright mate, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You were just… entirely correct, and I didn’t want to admit it,” Phil said with a soft, apologetic smile.

“Hey, if I were in your shoes, I probably would have lashed out too,” Ranboo said, smiling back and affectionately nudging Phil’s shoulder with his own. Once again, Phil was reminded of Wilbur. He had always been so dependent on touch- things like shoulder bumps, hair ruffles, playful punches on the arm, hugs- and it seemed Ranboo was the same way, albeit a bit shyer about it. Phil must have had that “faraway look” as Ranboo put it, as the half-enderman was regarding him with a puzzled expression.

“There’s… probably something else I should explain to you. But I don’t want it to affect who you are as a person, and I don’t want you to think that anything you do makes me feel… bad,” Phil explained, internally wincing at the way his words came out. “Uh… okay? Gonna admit, you’re scaring me a bit there,” Ranboo said with a nervous laugh, looking a bit startled. Phil took a deep breath, then reached out to take Ranboo’s hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

“When I first met you, you reminded me so much of Technoblade. A little standoffish, skeptical of everything and everyone, and a bit stubborn. But the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more you make me think of Wilbur. You have this snark to you like Will, but at the same time you have the capacity for cheerful optimism like he did. Sometimes your mannerisms even remind you of him! So that’s why I get a little… wistful, every now and then,” Phil explained. Ranboo’s expression brightened at the comparison to Techno, but the Wilbur comparison clearly threw him off a bit.

“So… I remind you of the power-hungry revolutionary leader who is now a bizarrely cheerful ghost?” Ranboo asked, head cocked to the side in confusion. Ranboo’s puzzlement startled a laugh out of Phil, and he shook his head fondly.

“I forgot that you never knew the real Wilbur- I don’t know if anyone in this server ever really knew the real Wilbur. Maybe some of the original people of L’Manburg did, but creating that nation… it corrupted him. He was so far from the person I raised… I should have gotten here sooner. Maybe things would be different now,” Phil said, voice soft and tinged with regret.

“Well… I think you did the best you could, considering what you had to deal with when you arrived. And if what you say is true, about no one really knowing the true Wilbur… I don’t know if coming sooner would have helped anything. But I guess none of that really matters, all we can do now is focus on our present actions,” Ranboo replied, sounding much older than he actually was.

“Pretty wise words for someone your age,” Phil said, unable to keep the impressed tone from his voice. Ranboo’s eyes widened, and an awed smile came to his face.

“Huh… yeah, I guess so. And for what it’s worth- I think Wilbur sounds like he was a pretty neat guy. I would’ve liked to know him, the real him,” Ranboo said, squeezing Phil’s hand before letting go of it again.

“I think you two would have gotten along well,” Phil said, finding himself a bit misty-eyed. He wiped at his eyes quickly before any tears could fall, and Ranboo frowned sympathetically. He scooted closer to Phil, then slowly and cautiously leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around him in a half hug. Phil initially stiffened at the contact, but quickly melted into the touch, his arm going around Ranboo’s shoulder while his fragile wing gently covered the hybrid like a cocoon.

The two of them stayed by the fire like that for a while, leaning against each other with Techno’s dog in Phil’s lap. Neither one said a word- not that they really needed to. It felt so nice to be the one being comforted for once, to not be looked to for answers, or to be looked upon with fear. Sure, he was the Angel of Death, the great Philza Minecraft, and a fatherly figure that those could rely on for guidance- but for once, it was nice to just be Phil.

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART THREE - A Rogue One Fanfic

This part/scene went in a little bit different direction than I had thought it was going to go, but I regret nothing!

Read Part One

Read Part Two

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Three

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Looking, Ogling, Leering, Letching, Yearning… Okay, Lusting. (Only Jyn doesn’t realize she's there yet...) Let me know if this needs a 'nsfw' tag... I'm not sure. There's nothing explicit.

Words: 1217

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

3 hours until the ceremony…

Jyn was loathe to do it, but there really was no other alternative. She could at least try to be gentle, even though being gentle honestly never had been in her nature. Before.

She’d also been fiercely independent. Before.

With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed, indulged in a moment to study the unconscious man, who deserved the few hours of peace he’d had over the past week, after the decades of suffering she often found reflected in his eyes, in his voice, the tense way he held his body.

His body…

She’d be a liar if she tried to claim that she didn’t find his body appealing, and not just because it felt so good when she pressed her own against the warm, sinewy flesh of his, feeling his heart beating in his chest and the rhythm of his breathing. With Cassian, she felt safe and content in a way she hadn’t since childhood, which was ridiculous with the state he was in. If anyone would be protecting anyone, it would be her protecting him.

And gladly.

It was a possessiveness she had never experienced before, having precisely one item she valued, her mother’s kyber crystal necklace, and no one significant to her.

And maybe it was that unbidden possessive feeling twisting her up inside which rendered Cassian Andor the most beautiful being Jyn had ever encountered. She could just look at him for hours, study the contours of lean, wiry muscle on his slender frame, his tan skin with its abundance of scars that rivaled her own collection, the smattering of dark downy hair across his chest and trailing down from his navel to beneath the waistband of his shorts.

The angles of his face intrigued her to no end. And the broody downturned curve of his mouth, which if she just brushed her fingers across the sharp plane of his cheek…

Cassian’s mouth softened and his cheek rounded as his lips curved into a contented smile, which pulled a smile from Jyn’s lips as well.

He. Was. Pretty.

And part of her ferociously insisted that he was hers.

Whether she could keep him beyond this moment, these past few days of easy, quiet intimacy more or less apart from the rest of the universe, remained to be seen.

But reality could not be avoided any longer. She brushed the unruly hair that had fallen across his forehead out of his eyes.

He murmured her name in his sleep and heat blossomed in her chest. Jyn tamped it down the best she could. She was letting herself get carried away by this… whatever it was… Infatuation?

She’d never been infatuated with anyone or anything in her life. She was not a romantic person, but was she romanticising the rebel captain?

He was stubborn and single-minded with his goals. At first, she thought he could only follow orders, thought him cold and hard. But she’d learned he was soft and warm and wounded inside. And wounded outside now. And that damned blind loyalty she’d hated when they’d first met -what, 9 or 10 days ago- it was what made him hers. Well, maybe it made him hers. She’d never had anyone’s loyalty before. No one had ever come back for her until him. No one had ever stuck by her. To the end. He'd been with her through what should've been the end. But somehow hadn't been. And now… She would stick around for him.

Jyn took a deep breath and placed her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm and inviting but she resisted skimming her palm down his arm, resisted exploring the shape of triceps and biceps with her fingers. Instead, she gave him a shake.

“Cassian. It’s time to wake up.”

He whimpered, a low throaty sound that was so filled with gravel, it was practically a growl. It did things to her she didn’t have the capacity to consider. And when he said her name, all sleepy, thickly accented and heavy on his tongue, she had to dig her fingers into her palm to prevent herself from grabbing him and doing things to him.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, the effort making his muscles twitch shift beneath his skin, making him wince, but then he was running a hand over his face and the back of his head, ruffling the messy overgrown hair. His dark eyes settled on her face, as clear and alert as ever. He was no longer on meds for pain and Jyn was happy to find all the clever sharpness had returned to those deep brown eyes of his.

“How long?” He asked the same question every time he woke, something a soldier, a survivor asked, always wary about what might have happened when they were asleep, as if they had no right to a moment’s peace.

“Thirteen hours.”

Cassian swore softly in his native language before addressing her in Basic.

“You promised me you wouldn’t let me sleep more than ten hours.”

She shrugged, but wouldn’t meet his eyes, not worried he was upset with her, but afraid that he could see straight through to her possessive thoughts about him.

“You need it.”

“I need to move around or I’ll get all stiff.”

Jyn bit her lip. No. She wasn’t going to-

Her eyes convulsively dropped to his lap and thenshot back up to his face, and just as quickly darted away.

He was stiff.

And not just his back and leg as he'd actually meant. But his partially aroused maleness wasn't intentional, she knew. And the times when she'd woken up tangled in him with the feeling of him half hard pressing against some part of her, despite the interest her own body returned, she knew it wasn't a conscious choice of his. He was asleep and his body was just doing its natural thing. It wasn't as if he actually wanted…

Cassian swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting so close, her body practically hummed in response, began gravitating toward him. Why? Why did she need him, so deeply she could feel it in the marrow of her bones? Sometimes she felt as if they had actually been hit by that energy weapon, while they were embracing on the beach waiting for death, and were fused together on the subatomic level.

And then felt like maybe she’d suffered a brain injury they hadn’t detected, which scrambled her survivor’s practicality into delusions of romantic grandeur.

Get your head on straight, Jyn Erso.

Cassian got to his feet. It was a bit of a production, difficult to watch and also heartening, but Jyn made no move to help him. Oh, she would assist him. And she had done so. But not when he could manage on his own, not when he needed to know he could.

“I’m going to wash up,” he said. “Then maybe we can go to the mess.”

Jyn raised an eyebrow. Did he really feel like he could walk that far? She hoped he was feeling that strong, because,

“You’re going to need to shower. Command wants us to go to this Award Ceremony thing.”

“What?!” Cassian’s look was pure confusion, as if she’d let him sleep for thirteen years and he’d woken up to a completely unfamiliar galaxy.

She sympathized. It made no sense to her either. And she’d much rather just curl back up in bed with him. Just Cassian and her, together.

Nothing had ever felt more right. But since when had the galaxy ever given Jyn what she wanted?

[kumawrites]

what are you, my sugar daddy? (pt. 1)

☆ ushijima wakatoshi x reader ☆

☆ - 3.9k words

☆ - a/n: aight ushijima fuckers here y’all go. but like,,,, me too tho i’m a proud member of the ushijima club. alternatively titled, “y/n has good morals (unlike me) and ushijima really does not want to be sued”

☆ - taglist (ask to be added): @miceonmars

//

When you said you wanted to be hit by a car to pay for your tuition, that was a joke. A joke. Apparently, God didn’t quite catch that it was supposed to be a joke, and decided to bless you with what you asked for. A car! A car that ran you over at a crosswalk!

In retrospect, it was probably your fault. Sure, you were on your phone, too engrossed trying to read a tweet while walking, which was surprisingly hard as you couldn’t really keep focus on the words. But you could have SWORN that the light turned green. For you. Not for the car. You think. Well, maybe not. You really didn’t remember, too focused on the pain sizzling through your entire body to think straight. The (very expensive looking) car had hit your body head on, and while it wasn’t going too fast, you would probably be dead if it was, it was still a car. And your body was still in the street, just chilling.

And oh god, you still had to get to class. Not only were midterms just around the corner, but maybe you had spent too much time in class definitely not paying attention and rather playing a bootleg Club Penguin on your computer. Trigonometry is boring, and Club Penguin is not. But, your negligence to your studies was going to be your downfall if you didn’t actually start paying attention. And you had planned on it! Too bad your plans got ruined.

At least the sky was pretty today, and so was that guy. Wait, what? You’re well aware that there was a crowd surrounding your dead(?) body, but no one had really made it into your peripheral, probably too scared to move your body. You didn’t blame anyone for not getting too close to you, it was a good precaution to not get injured any further. But you noticed that one man was crouched over you, brows furrowed, phone next to his ear. He looked distressed. Wonder why? That was your last thought before you promptly passed out on the warm concrete.

When you came to, you knew you were in a hospital without even opening your eyes. The smell of the whole place was almost sickly, not surprising, hospitals are literally made for sick people. It smelled heavily of disinfectant and sadness. You hoped that you weren’t hooked up to a bunch of machines and that you weren’t missing any limbs. That would mean a longer stay, which did not sound optimal.

As you opened your eyes, you were absolutely blinded. No, not by the light, the windows were closed and you weren’t even next to them. But by the extremely attractive man, sitting in your room on his phone. Well, that’s new. It wasn’t like you knew who he was, no one that hot was actively associating themselves with you. You didn’t have time to process who the mystery man might be before we turned his head from his phone and locked eyes with you.

“Hello.” He spoke with a deep rumble in his voice. Wow, that’s hot.

You attempted to greet him in return, but your voice crackled leading you into a coughing fit. The man furrowed his brows, and suddenly you recognized him. He was the one that was crouched down by your body! While you were presumably coughing up your lungs, the man quickly left the room. And there he went. Maybe he was an angel. Maybe God sent him down as an apology for not reading the entire request. That was probably it. Hot people like that definitely didn’t exist in the real world.

Too focused on the crazy thoughts in your head, you didn’t notice that he actually came back! With a nurse! Oh. He came back?

So he was real, you deduced. Well, when you were able to get words out of your dry throat, you’d ask him his skincare routine. And workout routine. And well, his life routine at this point. It was like there were no faults, physically at least. He was probably a psychopath who broke into your hospital room to kill you. Yeah. That’s it.

You weren’t paying attention to reality, and didn’t even notice the nurse leave to go call a doctor. And then there were two. You only snapped out of your very deep and intellectual thoughts when he cleared his throat.

“Hello. Again. I apologize, it seems I hit you with my car.” His brows furrowed once again, and you were extremely tempted to tell him to stop, he would get premature wrinkles if he kept that up. But, you needed to have an actual conversation with this not so mystery man.

You took a breath and actually managed to speak this time, although it was still raspy. “Howdy.” Howdy? Did you really just say howdy? “It seems you did, huh?”

That was all you were able to get out before the nurse came back with a doctor. The doctor grabbed his rolly stool and sat down by your bed, explaining that you had only sustained minor injuries and were actually lucky since you didn’t hit your head. Your left leg, however, was a different story. Since that was the side you got hit on, your leg was basically in shambles. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but you wouldn’t be able to walk for quite a while, having broken your bones in multiple spots. Well, that sure did suck.

You didn’t have a car, so you were forced to walk everywhere. But, that didn’t really matter at this point. It wasn’t like you would be able to drive a car with a broken leg.

Other than your broken leg, you were basically fine, and would be able to be released from the hospital in a few days. They wanted to run some extra tests, just to make sure you wouldn’t die somehow due to your injuries when you got home.

The nurse then switched out one of your IV bags and promptly left with the doctor, after making sure you didn’t have any further questions, leaving you alone in the room with the handsome man.

You didn’t really know what to say to start off the conversation, but luckily, he started. “Do you feel okay?” He questioned and you had to ponder that. Yeah, for the most part you did feel fine. But you hadn’t gotten out of the bed, and whenever you shifted your hips they ached. So, a solid maybe? But you didn’t want to make him feel bad, so you simply nodded your head.

“Yeah. Aside from the leg, obviously, I feel alright.” You shrugged as you examined your casted leg. Your gaze shifted from your left leg to the man, sitting a safe distance away from you. He looked rather stiff, with his hands properly placed in his lap. His posture was impeccable, and you bet he didn’t have back pain when we woke up in the morning, lucky bastard. You also noticed the very expensive looking watch, adorning his left wrist. Then you remembered just what kind of car hit you. It was for sure some fancy car, but you were no car expert, so you had no idea what model or even brand it was. But that meant this man had money. Good for him.

“I’d like to make up for it. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to pay your hospital bills.” Your eyebrows shot up, not expecting that. Honestly, you were ready to take the L and go into debt to the hospital. And then probably pitifully ring up your parents and beg for some money. It wasn’t like your family was poor, but they were for sure not rich. While they’re able to keep themselves afloat, you weren’t sure what a presumably large hospital bill would do to their finances. And they really weren’t responsible for you at this being, being that you’re in college and living on your own. So simply taking this stranger's money would be super easy, right?

It would! If you didn’t feel extremely responsible for the entire situation. Damn it good morals! Why did they have to come out now! Thinking back on the accident, it was most certainly your fault, and taking this law-abiding citizen’s money just rubbed you the wrong way. Yeah, he was rich, but he seemed genuinely extremely apologetic. If that was what the furrowed brows meant. You were just assuming. You were also assuming that he was a law abiding citizen, but his presence alone almost guarantees it. Almost.

“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate the offer, but this whole situation is for sure my fault. My carelessness led to your car, uh, hitting me. So don’t worry about it. I’ll just call my parents, and figure something out.” You said as you brushed your fingers through your ratty hair, attempting to get the knots out. It was a mess, and you couldn’t even see it. You wondered what you looked like, probably not hot. The man, however, did not seem pleased by your response, somehow managing to furrow his brows even more at your response.

“No, I insist. Please let me pay for your bills.” He seemed almost offended that you attempted to decline his offer.

Nonetheless, you weren’t about to allow yourself to mooch off of a stranger, even if he looked rich. “Thank you, but it just feels wrong, you know? They can’t be too bad.” Somehow you knew that sentence was going to bite you in the ass later. You gave him a slight smile and before he was able to respond to your foolishness, his phone dinged. He looked down at his phone, and abruptly stood up, and wow, he was tall. But you almost expected him to be this giant, since his whole being and presence was just like his height, large. You blinked at him, as he looked almost distressed as you kept looking at you and then back at his phone. He sighed as he slipped his phone in his windbreaker.

The man glanced around the room until he found a slip of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled down something and then handed the paper to you. “I have to go, but here’s my contact information. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” And with that, he left the room. You looked down at the paper and read his name, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Huh. Sounded familiar, but you just couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You shrugged and put the contact into your phone, knowing that you would somehow manage to lose the paper if you didn’t.

You were fully prepared to never call him, however, still not wanting to make him pay for anything.

//

Your eyes almost fell out of your head as you read the bill. Was it even possible for a number to be that big? The amount of digits was almost offensive to look at, and your roommate, Kaori, seemed to agree.

“Y/N, that number is going to give me a migraine, please put it away.” She dramatically sighed as she sprawled out on your bed, next to your sitting, basically frozen body. You break one leg! Just one! And this is how much that costs? You’d have to sell your soul and kidney to even begin to pay the bill.

“If I throw this bill away, do you think it’d just disappear?” You asked, fully prepared to rip the paper in half.

“Hmm.. Probably not! I don’t think the IRS would be too happy with that. Wait, is that was the IRS is for? You know, I don’t know. But it’s worth a try!” Kaori and her many words of wisdom never seem to get old.

“Very helpful Kaori.” You sighed and flopped down next to her. She instinctively began to scratch your scalp, as a way of support. Whenever you were stressed or upset or anything, you’d come to Kaori and ask her to scratch your scalp. It felt good, and she knew where all of the best spots were. “I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this, especially without letting my parents know. They’d seriously castrate me, Kaori. I would be dead. Deceased.” You dramatically wailed, and Kaori just kept running her fingers through your hair.

“Didn’t you say the guy who hit you offered to pay for it?” She arched her eyebrow and you sighed.

“Yeah.. But I just feel bad? You know? Then again, he looked like he wanted to pay.”

“Then let him! There’s your solution. Call him up right now and explain that you’re just a little too broke to pay for them and would very much appreciate his financial support.” She sat up and removed her fingers from your scalp, causing you to groan. She grabbed your phone, unlocked it, you had given her the passcode ages ago, and opened your phone app. “I’ll even call him for you! Well, press the call button. You need to talk to him. What was his name?” She asked as she scrolled through your contact list.

“I don’t know, uhh, Ushijima? Yeah, Ushijima. I think?” You casually mentioned and didn’t even notice how Kaori’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Sorry, what?”

“Huh?” You turned your head towards her at the sound of her confusion.

“What.. What did you say his name was?” Kaori looked shell shocked and you had no idea why.

“Ushijima..? I forgot his first name, it was Waka something. Umm, Waka, Wakatoshi? Yeah, that’s it. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Why, do you know him or something?”

“Know him? Do I know him!? Y/N, he’s a D1 athlete! Ushijima Wakatoshi hit you with his car! Oh my God, Ushijima hit you with his mcfreaking car!” Kaori exclaimed, and you could only look at her in confusion. You genuinely had no idea who that man was, other than the man who ran you over, but apparently he’s a big deal. To Kaori at least. You listened to her as she spoke on and on about Ushijima and how great of a volleyball player he is. Apparently, in high school he was one of the top aces in the country. Honestly, you didn’t know what an ace was, but you nodded along to whatever Kaori said, knowing that she was a manager for her highschool’s volleyball team and a sports medicine major.

“So, basically, what you’re saying is, I got run over by a super famous athlete? Is that it?” You blinked at her as she finished her speech that was basically about the entire history of men’s volleyball. You learn something new everyday.

She nodded enthusiastically and re-unlocked your phone, in search of one name. “And that’s why you need to call him! Think about the scandal of it all! ‘Famous Athlete Brutally Runs Over Innocent College Student’! He definitely does not want that on the news.”

“Well, first of all it wasn’t brutal. The only thing broken about me is my leg. Second, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who caused the whole thing, so I’m not innocent. And finally, I’m not going to blackmail him into paying for my bills.” You rolled your eyes playfully at your roommate and she huffed.

“Fine, fine. At least call him so he knows you’re still, well, alive.” She handed you your phone back, and his contact was already dialed. You groaned at Kaori and put the phone up to your ear as there was no going back.

After about the fourth ring, the line was picked up. “Hello?” Ushijima’s deep voice managed to sound deeper over the phone, and you had no idea how that worked, but this wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Uh, hey, Ushijima? It’s Y/N, the person you, uh, hit with your car.” Was it even possible for you to sound even more awkward? Out of the corner of your eye, Kaori was muffling her giggling and you threw a nearby pillow at her face, which she caught. Stupid sports majors with their stupid athleticism.

“Hello, Y/N. How do you feel?” Even though you had only spoken to Ushijima once, you could tell what kind of person he was. Blunt and didn’t have a lot of words to say. He was probably the kind of person that didn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Respectable.

You hummed in response. “I’m okay. My leg doesn’t hurt, but I guess that’s because I can’t really feel it? Or something.” You bit your lip and an awkward silence fell over the phone call. “Um, how are you?” You asked completely out of formality and because you had no idea what else to say. Holding a conversation seemed like it wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’m fine. Y/N, I’d like to ask to pay your hospital bills once again.” Oh, you were right. He went straight to the point.

“I really appreciate it, but like I said before, I definitely caused the accident. It’s not your responsibility to pay for my bills. They’re, uh, not really that much anyways. Haha.” Could he tell you were lying? Kaori sure could, and even you could recognize how fake your voice sounded.

Apparently, he could tell that you were lying. “I asked to see how much the bill was when I was at the hospital, and it is not a small amount, Y/N.”

“Oh. Uh. Well, I guess you’re right. But still! It feels a little icky?”

“I don’t mind paying. My job pays me very well. I can easily pay your bills. Are you in college?” He asked out of the blue, following his not so subtle flex. Okay, he probably didn’t mean to flex, didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but boy he sure did.

“Sure am. I’m in my second year, dying.” Groaning, you remembered all of the schoolwork you have to catch up on after putting it off AND getting hit by a car. You wouldn’t be surprised if you failed Trig. But you probably shouldn’t.

He grunted in response. “Do you drive?” Ushijima asked another odd question that seemed to have come from nowhere.

You didn’t know how that had any correlation with the current conversation at hand, but you responded anyways. “Oh, no I don’t. I usually just walk everywhere, not that hard to do. Well, maybe now it might be.” The annoying realization that you couldn’t just simply walk everywhere had just hit. Again. When you remembered earlier at the hospital, you simply forgot all about it! A true way of solving your problems! But what an inconvenience getting hit by a car is. At least you got to meet someone who could be considered a celebrity. And he was hot! Really, it was a win-win. No, that’s a lie. Your leg is broken and you’re suffering from crippling debt. But you still met a hot guy!

“I’m going to pay the hospital bill, Y/N.” Ushijima bluntly stated and snapped you out of your daze You honestly almost replied with a ‘yessir’. He was just so confident, how could you argue with that? Wait, how were you supposed to argue with that? The whole goal of it is for him to not pay your bills, but how is he so damn convincing with just a few words? He’s truly an enigma.

“Please, Ushijima, it’s really fine. I think. Wait no, ignore that. I’m very much confident that I am fine. Yeah. That.” Your voice wavered as you panicked and your eyes darted to Kaori, watching your dumbass in amusement.

“Excuse me for a bit.” It didn’t seem like Ushijima had cared to listen to your babbling, and simply hung up. You put your phone down from your ear and stared at it. What? He just excused himself? Can he do that? Well, of course he can do that. It’s Ushijima Wkaatoshi, and at this point, you were pretty sure that he was capable of doing anything if he really wanted to.

Kaori crawled back next to you and tilted her head. “Did you hang up on him?” She curiously stared at your phone, displaying the recents page of your phone calls.

“Uhh. No. I didn’t, at least. He was just like, excuse me, and hung up?”

“Huh.” Kaori simply vocalized.

“Huh for sure.” You agreed.

Before you had time to even think a cohesive thought, for once in your life, your phone rang. You looked down at the display to see that it was Ushijima calling. Well, he did say excuse me, implying that he was coming back, but you didn’t really have the time to process his words before he hung up, just minutes ago. You stared at your phone before you answered, still trying to wrap your head around what was going on.

“Uhh, hello? Ushijima?” You answered your phone.

“I paid your bills. Please do not worry about them. They were quite significant.” You choked. Kaori stared at you like you had just grown two heads, presumably hearing Ushijima’s words. He, he just, did it? This man just paid your bills? Like it was nothing? Was he allowed to do this? It wasn’t like you weren’t relieved that someone else took care of your ridiculous bill. At this point, you were just downright impressed! Ushijima really just did that, huh. A true display of big dick energy, if you must say yourself.

It was almost impossible to find a way to reply to him, after all of this insisting that you were completely fine and he didn’t have to cover the bill. Apparently, you must be really bad at pretending since you were definitely not fine. Or maybe Ushijima is just incredibly perceptive. You weren’t for sure, and you also weren’t for sure if you’d ever figure out. Actually, you’re well aware that you’re a shitty liar.

“I would also like to cover your physical therapy and transportation until you completely recover.” Well that statement certainly gave you whiplash. It was almost as his expensive car ran you over again. He wants to what?

“Wait, hold on. Okay, so first, thank you for paying my bill, but really you didn’t have to. I’ve said this enough, but it really was my fault. And you don’t have to cover anything else, the hospital bill was just enough. I seriously can’t thank you enough, and I’m fine and alive. You really don’t have to do anything else.” You explained and hoped you didn’t come across in an ungrateful way. This man had just paid your unreadably expensive hospital bill, after all. He was showing you so much kindness already that you really didn’t know what to do. Your kindness acceptance meter was full.

Even after your mini speech, it still seemed like he didn’t care. “Please send me your schedule for classes and your address. If you want anything, do not hesitate to call me. That includes food, or anything you want. It does not matter. I have to go now. Please take care. I will see you soon.” And with that, he hung up, leaving you shell shocked. Did this mean what you think it meant? Anything? Seriously, anything? You were very much sure that this was far past the usual situation. Ah yes, the usual situation where a famous athlete hits a dumb college kid with his car. Happens all of the time.

But you were pretty sure that it wasn’t a normal thing to be offered food, or as he said, anything you want. Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute.

“So?” Kaori was looking at you expectantly.

“Okay so, I don’t know if this is how it works but, I think, just maybe, I got a sugar daddy?”

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 8

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,407

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: alternate title: Virgil's very subtle epiphany. also Patton has a gay panic moment lol

...

Slam.

Monday morning. Mr. Berry was slapping a small poster on each student's desk like a stamp, one-by-one and painfully slowly.

"This," he began, "Is the official welcome to the schoolyear; audition posters for the Fall Talent Show." His bloated belly hardly fit between the desk rows, and students made futile attempts to scoot away from him before they were bombarded by his tyrannical tummy. "As a retired thespian and a life long supporter of theatre and the arts," he continued, bringing his pile of posters to his chest in his passion, "I highly recommend you at least consider looking into auditions. Everyone has a passion, or at least a hobby, and the talent show is a perfect freelance opportunity to show off your skills."

Roman rolled his eyes too dramatically. This was upsetting him more than he thought it would, and his eyes shot daggers up at his large superior as he slammed the next poster onto Roman's desk.

"Auditions will be held next week, on the specified dates. The show itself will be two weeks later, I believe on Friday night. Be there, and I will award you some extra credit points. All you must do is present me with your ticket, which must have your name on it," he eyed a few mischievous students in the room, "With a stamp on it from the Talent Show admissions booth, on the following Monday." As soon as Mr. Berry had given a poster to Virgil and moved on, Virgil quietly crumpled it and shoved it into a random part of his backpack, proceeding to fold his arms on his desk and put his head down. This caught Roman's attention, and his subconscious latched onto formulating a teasing remark for after class as a distraction from his own feelings about the Talent Show.

After class, the usual place where Roman and Virgil were shortly alone and had a short interaction - most often consisting of some insufferable tease from Roman or occasionally a debate spurred by Virgil making a witty side comment - the two met once again. After their first class of the day was usually the only time they were both at their lockers at the same time, as it happened, and Virgil was always thankful that it was the only time. Since their assignment to the Biology project, however, Roman had taken to walking with Virgil from their English class to their lockers and beginning his bouts of banter prematurely.

"Not a fan of the infamous talent show, are we?" Roman paced quickly over to Virgil, who had just made it outside the classroom door as they'd been dismissed. Virgil huffed in defeat as his attempt to escape before Roman could catch him had been fruitless.

"It's ridiculous," Virgil didn't slow his pace for Roman, and began essentially speedwalking down the hall. Roman was slightly taller than him and was able to keep up, but still got a little out of breath doing it. "Hey everyone, come and show everyone in the school something you really enjoy so they can all collectively judge you and make you self conscious about your interests and - oh no! you don't wanna do it anymore because you feel horribly inadequate? shoooot. Sorry man, no one could have seen that coming. Oh well, better luck next year when you'll just ruin a different passion for yourself!" Virgil flailed his hands at the end of his mini-rant.

"How can you stay that sarcastic for that long consecutively? I'm honestly impressed," Roman said, huffing as they arrived at their lockers. Virgil's permanent frown seemed to somehow deepen. "Though, I guess I really can't argue, Count Woe-laf. I see your point. The pressures of an impromptu performance are... undeniable." Roman focused his attention on the padlock hanging from the latch of his locker, while Virgil looked to him with widened eyes.

"Really?" He didn't look away from Roman until he would look back.

"What?" Roman defended.

"It's just..." Virgil focused on his own padlock now, "You never agree with what I say. It always becomes a debate," he pulled his locker open lazily, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and putting it on backwards so that he could more easily exchange things. When Roman didn't reply, he continued, "like... I don't know. Why is it any different now?"

Roman was exchanging things as well, and didn't have an immediate answer. Well, he knew the answer (or in this case, answers), but it wasn't one he was even ready to admit to himself, let alone anyone else, and especially let alone Virgil. He just eventually shrugged.

This reaction only further alarmed Virgil. He opened his mouth to continue his flabbergasted interrogation, but the bell rang right at that moment. Roman slammed his locker shut suddenly.

"Well, that's our queue I suppose. See you tonight, Incredible Sulk." Roman elbowed Virgil in the shoulder a bit awkwardly and began skipping down the hall to his next class. That left a dumbfounded and nearly-panicking Virgil standing in front of his open locker in an almost completely empty hall.

He wished Roman would stop leaving him like that.

...

Roman had texted the Biology Project group chat that weekend, saying he had an important football practice on Monday that went until 5. they'd have to have their meet-up at Roman's a bit later in the evening. Logan simply waited it out by heading to the school library to get his other homework done, while Patton and Virgil shot the breeze, walking down random hallways of the school.

The two of them were grabbing a snack from a vending machine when Virgil checked his phone. It was 4:50. They got their respective snacks - Patton got a strawberry Pop tart and Virgil got a Sunny D - and made their way to the designated meeting place. It was a concrete bench at the front of the school. They expected to find Logan there, but he wasn't. The two of them simply sat on the cold bench and exchanged bits of each other's snacks, and continued talking until Virgil noticed someone approaching.

He figured it would be Logan, but this person was shorter and more filled out than Logan. He trained his eyes better and realized that it was Roman. Roman, who happened to have a towel around his neck and sopping-wet crimson curly hair unabashedly on display. A drip of water rolled down his cheek and along his jawline, and Virgil realized he was staring. Roman finally got within conversation distance.

"Like what you see, Charlie Frown?" He teased. Patton looked to Virgil, noticing his awe, and giggled.

"Hah, in your dreams, Meta Knight," Virgil deflected half-heartedly, still finding it hard to pull his eyes away from Roman's unfortunate perfection. It was only worse that Roman knew just how attractive he was.

"Why's your hair all wet, silly?" Patton asked, standing energetically to greet him.

"We rinse off after practice. I considered leaving my shirt off so i could just get a clean one when i got home, but i knew that might be a bit too much to handle for some of us," Roman elbow-nudged Patton, who just giggled again and pushed his glasses up. Virgil knew that was extremely forced, especially after their conversation on Friday.

"Well," Roman checked his wristwatch, "Where would my nerdy Wolverine happen to be? It's ten past, and if there's anything Logan certainly is, it's punctual."

"Quite right you are," a stern voice came from behind them, to reveal Logan's lengthy form approaching casually. "My apologies for my tardiness. I got quite engaged in a particular Physics problem." Roman turned to him smiling, and pecked him on the cheek. Virgil didn't need to look at Patton to feel his friend's heart sink through the floor.

"Shall we then?" Roman turned to lead the way on the five-block journey to his house.

...

"hmm, that reminds me," Roman said from his sprawled position on his bed, "what are all your sexualities?"

That sure caught everyone's attention. The clock beside Roman's bed read 6:28 PM. Logan was studying their plants and taking notes, Patton had been cooing quietly to Roman's pet turtle, and Virgil was sitting in Roman's spinning desk chair scrolling on his phone. They all looked at Roman at once, and then at each other.

"Heh," Roman sat up, "My apologies for blurting such an intrusive question, I was just looking up at my-" he gestured toward his ceiling- "glorious flag, and it made me wonder. No man must answer that which he does not desire to." Roman was blatantly referring to the Bisexual flag that was pinned to the ceiling above his bed. They all looked at it, and back at him. "I suppose it's obvious now, but yes, I am undeniably bisexual," He faux bowed.

The silence wasn't doing anyone good, so Patton broke it before it got too much more awkward. "I, I'm gay," he said sheepishly, continuing to observe the turtle. Virgil gave him a soft smile, and decided to offer himself up next.

"I'm pan," he seemed to recoil further into his hoodie, if that were even possible. Logan turned to the other three, adjusting his necktie.

"I'm not usually one to admit this to many people, but since you have all been so transparent and calm about such personal information," He started, "I am comfortable telling you that I am Asexual."

No one regarded this with much surprise, except for Roman. "Oh really?" He said, seemingly surprised and embarrassed. Virgil scoff-laughed at him.

"What, upset you can't make your sexual fantasies a reality?" Virgil teased. Roman gasped, bringing a hand to his chest in an offended gesture.

"Excuse me!" He exclaimed, a look of disgust contorting his face.

Before a classic Roman-Virgil debate could ensue, Patton decided to share his thoughts.

"Well, I, I mean, I'm not ace but I, I guess sex isn't really so important to me," he was fiddling with his ring yet again.

"W-well, it should never be the centerpiece of any relationship!" Roman declared. They all looked at him skeptically. "what? I mean, personally, I prefer grand gestures." As he spoke, he stood and walked to Logan. "In my opinion," he produced a pristine bouquet of deep red roses that none of the others had noticed anywhere in the room before, "they are the key to any person's heart."

Logan seemed tame, Patton thought. As if he were performing. If he were being his normal self, he would have been very confused by where Roman had hidden the bouquet, and how it looked so perfect after being concealed. Instead, he just took it with a very gentle sweet smile, and thanked him quietly. Instead of Logan, Patton was now the one confused.

Virgil's face was red, and his neck a blotchy pink; thankfully he was mostly hidden under his purple bangs and hood. He huffed and excused himself to use the restroom. Patton noticed this time, and grabbed his arm before he made it out of the room.

"You okay?" he whispered gently to Virgil. Virgil just looked at him, mustered a small smile and a nod. Patton knew exactly what that meant. Virgil was okay, he just needed a moment. He returned the smile, and released his gentle paternal grip on Virgil's arm, allowing him to leave.

There was the sound of someone calling Roman's name from another part of the house, and Roman excused himself, rushing off to find its source.

Logan slipped his phone into the pocket of his navy slacks. "Well, I must be going now," He began. Instead of reaching to gather his things, he trained his acute attention directly on Patton, who was startled by the sudden focus on him. "Patton, do you have a ride home today?"

"I, uh, well," He tried blurting out an excuse but none came to his mind. "No, not exactly..."

Logan was slowly approaching, and Patton tried to back up but hit the terrarium containing Roman's turtle after just one small step. "Would you like a ride? My parents would be more than happy to assist in your safe transport home."

"Well, well I really don't want to intrude, or-" He stopped dead when Logan placed a slender hand gently on his shoulder.

"I insist. It's no intrusion or burden to them. They appreciate being able to help others when they can, especially people whose company I enjoy." Logan didn't feel as though he was figuratively lying through his teeth, but he knew that his parents didn't exactly feel that way. The nature of the situation was more that they took kindly to those that Logan worked well with on academically related subjects, such as people from his study group or the like.

Patton caught himself before letting the thought "you enjoy my company?" escape his lips. He just smiled. He knew there was no way he could get himself to deny Logan's offer when his heart was taking the reins.

"I would.. really appreciate, a ride home, yeah," He said quietly. Logan was just looking into his eyes with a tenderness Patton hadn't seen before. He pushed away any thoughts that Logan may have looked at Roman the exact same way during their date. He hoped he hadn't, and cursed himself for hoping it.

"Wonderful," Logan pulled himself out of their shared momentary trance. "I will let them know. I'm sure they will find it a pleasure to become acquainted with you. They should be here in less than five minutes, so I suggest gathering your belongings." Logan's thumbs padded across is illuminated phone screen as he spoke, until he once again slid it into his pocket and began collecting his things along with Patton.

Virgil entered once again, hood off and face slightly red and wet. it was clear that he hadn't been crying due to the sporadic nature of the droplets of water across his face; it looked more like he'd just haphazardly washed his face in the sink and hadn't bothered to wipe the remnants away. Patton smiled at him brightly.

"Ah, Virgil," Logan addressed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, "It was pleasant to see you again. We are on our way out now. Are you ready, Patton?" He looked to Patton, who also slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Yep! Logan's giving me a ride," Patton blatantly could barely contain his excitement in his ever-growing grin, so Virgil only returned it with a small thumbs up.

"Alright, ill see you guys in class tomorrow," He hugged Patton tightly, and half-heartedly saluted to Logan without making eye contact. Logan simply nodded to him, and the two left shortly, leaving Virgil alone in Roman's room.

[muthaz-rapapa]

Let’s talk TroPreCure! (^∀^ 🌺)

i’m so stupidly proud of this dumb pun “tropurikyua~”, hahahahaha

Last post of the year and wow is there are lot to be excited for!

I even had to make a list for the stuff I want to talk about and I’m sure I already forgot one or two things but we’ll get to them as we continue to float~ along the wave to February 28th, mmkay? :)

Now for what has peaked my interest so far. And yes, we have to talk about the following first:

1) HealPre the shortest Precure season??

Unless they plan for double features in February (which I doubt but you never know), HealPre is likely going to reach only 45 episodes long instead of the usual 48~50 before TroPre I’m using this shortening of the title for now so if there’s a better alternative, tell me and I’ll switch out begins its broadcast.

Understandable because the producers probably want to get back to their normal scheduling as soon as possible (toy sales, y’know) and I suspect pushing the start of the new season back by a month is the most they’re willing to compromise.

As for me, I’m quite happy about this since HealPre’s lost its hold on my attention a while ago so the sooner TroPre gets here, the better. Though the downside might be a scrambled climax and a rushed, underwhelming ending for HealPre (I dunno if it’s January’s titles that feel a bit messy or if the hiatus is still throwing me off) but whatever. We’ll refresh ourselves with the new blood Cures so it’s all good.

2) Tropical movie announced for Autumn 2021, no All Stars??

(source)

First saw this mentioned on Youtube somewhere but it’s all over the fandom forums by now. I mean, HealPre’s movie is set for March, the usual time slot for All Stars release. If Toei intended for there to be an All Stars in 2021, there’s no way they would announce the seasonal movie before it so speculations of them skipping it this year are probably true.

To squeeze it somewhere between March and October-ish would force them to readjust their budgets as well and I don’t think even Toei wants to go through that extra hassle after all the trouble the pandemic’s caused for everyone already. It’s just easier to resume All Stars in 2022.

That, and I think Laura being a major character in TroPre despite not having a Cure title (yet) would make for an awkward situation when the three latest teams gather so perhaps that’s also one of the reasons. But I’ll get back to Laura in a bit.

3) Cure Summer is a RAINBOW Cure

So god help me if I see anyone calling her a Pink Cure.

Yes, she’s the lead Cure for this season. NO, she is not a Pink Cure.

Look, even the official website has a rainbow overlay for her profile pic and text font while everyone else’s respective theme colors are a solid hue:

Therefore, RAINBOW.

In promotional material and merchandising, they’re probably going to advertise her primarily with pink bah and at worst, she might occasionally be labeled as a White Cure with multiple subcolors (her outfit is not pink-dominant) but definitely NOT. PINK.

...also, this goes without saying but f***yea, we finally got a lead Cure practically and unabashedly wearing the LGBTQ flag and you cannot tell me otherwise, Toei!

Own up to it! Declare Manatsu/Cure Summer as the Precure queer icon!

I’m not gonna stop yellin’ until you do! 😠

4) Laura = obvious midseason Cure is obvious

First of all, Laura is a babe. I already love her the best and she’s not even Precure yet. <3

Anyways, the set-up is pretty much in the description. Important main character who’s not a mascot, stated to have a self-confident personality and just speaks her mind (oooh, I like~ :D), magical/foreign being from another world looking for Precure to save her home, possesses her own special item(s), has aspirations to become the next Queen (so she’s a princess-candidate or something to that effect, I suppose).

We’ve seen various combinations of these traits in past midseason (and a few starter) Cures so nobody should be surprised when we all guessed that one of the Cures would be a real live mermaid.

The only question is why not just make Laura a Cure from the get-go if she’s introduced to us at the beginning (like Hime or Lala) and having a team of five with no unnecessary extra add-ons later on (like Smile).

Well, there’s a simple answer for that: formula.

Toei is afraid that if they don’t spit out some new animation sequence at the halfway and third quarter points of the show, the kids will lose interest and abandon the series altogether. Which means failed toy sales. Oh nooo... [/sarcasm]

...Yea. 

And this way they can also have Laura available in the Cure lineup for the next All Stars in 2022 instead of making her sit the fight out if we were going to have one in 2021. I’m convinced that’s gotta be one of the reasons. *shrug*

But ok, whatever. Her debut is gonna be later, that’s all. She’s a delayed Cure.  Midseason Cure, same difference.

Moving along to the more important stuff now like what’s her Cure name gonna be, y/y?

Well, knowing Toei, a translation of the term “mermaid” into another language is the most predictable route even though we already have a Cure Mermaid. Not like that ever stopped them from repeating words before (ex. Cure Happy vs Cure Felice). Though if they do go down that road, I hope they opt for the Spanish/Italian “sirena” and not the French “sirène” because the latter sounds too close to how Cure Selene is pronounced in Japanese. And, putting it nicely, we all know Japanese pronunciation of foreign words is as off kilter as can be.

Hell, even the the Portuguese “sereia” sounds aesthetic as hell so it’d be nice if they can just remember there are other languages that exist out there besides Japanese, English and French when making the final decision at the writing table! *stomps foot* >:/

Alternatively, “nereid” or “naiad” are good choices too but they remind me too much of Greek myths and Laura’s from the Grand Ocean which covers more than just a couple of seas (Greece is surrounded by three, btw) so...

I dunno. But whatever it’s gonna be, she’s definitely got a strong association with water and her powers will probably be based on that.

As for theme color, since there’s noticeably no blue or green Cure in the starter lineup, it’s likely she will take up that spot when she debuts around ep 20.

Pink is also open since Cure Summer, again, is technically not a Pink Cure and Laura’s hair and tail fin are hot and light pink respectively but looking at Laura’s design and concept, does anyone seriously believe that?

Her upper torso consists of aquamarine while the body of her tail is definitely some shade of cyan, implying they’re aiming for somewhere around the middle of green and blue on the lighter spectrum.

And yea, I’m aware that green and blue are considered exchangeable in some perspectives with how close some of their shades are to each other but officially, I think Laura’s gonna be grouped with the Green Cures.

Cuz of the hair. If Laura’s gonna keep it the same or a similar shade after transforming, that is. The Blues have always had cool-colored hair so putting Laura in with them might disrupt that harmony whereas if you put her with the few Greens there are (including Parfait), she’d fit right in.

I mean, we’ll see but that makes the most sense, doesn’t it?

On another note, I just want to say that I love how they added frills to her arms instead of letting her elbows go bare naked. It definitely makes her look more like a genuine mermaid than if she didn’t have them (remember, half fish doesn’t mean half the body :P).

5) Magical Items

Frankly, I’m tired of seeing the transformation device being a compact again even though one of the main motifs is make-up this season. But at least, as far as Precure compacts goes, the Tropical one is my favorite cuz of how cute and delightfully colorful its toy version looks! So I guess I’m okay with it.

The Heart Rouge Rod, though? ...I dunno. I think it would’ve been fine without that...straw (?) jutting out at the top. It looks weird, doesn’t it look weird? :S

As for the collectible clip-ons, I can live without those for the rest of my life. Yeesh.

Laura’s items, the Aqua Pot and the Ocean Prism Mirror.

Again with the portable, travel-size housing. *sigh* 😩

Alright, I can let this year slide cuz Laura (I’m so soft for her, omg) probably won’t be getting legs for 20 weeks so she’s got to move about on land somehow. But unless they’re really thinking about turning this idea of carrying your apartment around in your bag/pocket/purse into a reality (cuz that would be effin’ awesome), please be more creative with your toys.

On the other hand, I’m much more interested in the Ocean Prism Mirror but from what Kusyami (the Precure merchandise reviews I follow on Youtube) said in his latest vid, this is the ED dance item so don’t know if it’ll actually have an relevance to the story or not. But I did hear him mention it having something to do with the Queen as well and since Laura wishes to become Queen, maybe it’ll be important after all? Maybe it’s her transformation device?

That’d be super cool. Let’s continue the trend of the midseason Cure having a different transformation item than the starters. Honestly, we should alternate every other year or two but we’ve gone three seasons with all of them using the same henshin gimmicks up till HealPre and I just want a break from that.

6) Fin sleeves??

These look so impractical for combat so maybe it’s exclusive to group attacks.

And/or a sort of precursor to the super forms?

*GASP* Does that mean they all eventually turn into mermaids? 🤩

7) Yui finally became Precure!! 😭

lol, it’s all crack from this point on so don’t take it too seriously but man, after Yuni’s deceptive braids, I thought I wasn’t gonna see anything that reminded me of Yui for a while and lo behold, Sango.

kehehehehehe xD;

Though Yui might be closer to Minori in terms of personal interests (fairytales and storybooks).

8) Akira, the actual Onee-chan version

I didn’t think this when I first saw her but once I read “Onee-san” in her profile, there’s no saving you now. Sorry, Asuka. 😅

Also, damn, do her sandals make her feet look big! Compare them to the heels she wears as Flamingo. Are they even the same?! lololol

9) ...this sounds awfully familiar...

Translation:

Tokimeku Tokonatsu! [Exciting/Thrilling Everlasting Summer!] Cure Summer! Kirameku Hoseki! [Sparkling Jewel!] Cure Coral!  Hirameku Fuurutsu! [Flashing Fruit!] Cure Papaya!

Japanese reiteration:

Mallow/Mao: Pink no tokimeki! Lillie: Blue no kirameki! Lana/Suiren: Yellow no kagayaki!

….........

@Toei 

Care to explain yourselves, punks?! 

୧(ʘ ∀ ʘ ╬)

[flipomatic]

Book Club

Author Note: So this is going to be my first attempt at a Lumity focus. It ended up pretty focused on Amity, but I like how it turned out. This takes place post season 1, though there aren’t any spoilers for the last two episodes.

Summary: When was the last time she had cleaned the secret room? It had been a while; it was probably dusty in there. Last time she had been there, she had been drawing… oh…

Amity could feel the blood drain from her face, quite unusual for when she was with Luz. Her drawings, the ones of her and Luz, were in the secret room. And she had left them on the table, in a dangerously incriminating pile.

She was on her way there now, with Luz, who might see them.

__________________________________________

Though Amity would never admit it, she was immensely looking forward to this day. She had circled it on her calendar in bright red ink, eagerly counting down until it arrived. She even took an extra trip to the library to fetch her books and skimmed through the first volume, just to make sure she was ready.

Today was the first day of Azura book club.

When they set the date, Amity agreed to meet Luz in the school entrance after school. From there, they would decide where to hold the club meeting. Since they weren’t an official school club, they didn’t have a classroom to hold meetings in.

When the bell screeched at the end of her last class, Amity bid a hasty goodbye to her classmates and made a beeline to her locker, quickly swapping her textbooks for The Good Witch Azura volumes 1 and 2. She put them in her bag and zipped it shut, then headed towards the front hall of the school, eyes peeled for Luz.

When she arrived, the other teen was nowhere to be seen. That made sense, Amity scolded herself in her mind, she had rushed there way too quickly, let her excitement get ahead of her calm demeanor. Luz would be probably be there soon.

Amity found a spot to lean against the wall where she could look down the hallway, deliberately facing towards where she knew Luz would come from. She double checked that the Azura books were both in her bag, reading the titles again to make sure they were the right ones.

“Amity!” The most wonderful voice pulled her away from her books, her cheeks already warming as she closed her bag and looked up. Luz was still halfway down the hallway, waving brightly as she approached. Willow and Gus trailed behind her.

“Hi Luz.” Amity hoped she wasn’t blushing, she was almost certainly blushing.

Luz stopped right in front of her, close enough that Amity could admire the way her brown eyes sparkled. “I’m so excited for Azura book club!” She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, grinning from ear to ear.

“M-me too.” Amity stumbled over her words, unable to resist Luz’s enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to it.” She couldn’t help but smile at the other girl.

“See you tomorrow Luz.” Gus interjected as he walked by, abruptly snapping Amity’s attention to him. He waved as he passed, chipper as usual. Willow was with him, and she waved as well. For a moment, her eyes met Amity’s. She offered a small smile, then turned to follow Gus out of school.

“Byeee, see you tomorrow.” Luz waved back as they left, enthusiastically bidding her friends farewell.

As Luz turned back to her, Amity brought the topic back to book club. “Where should we hold the meeting?” She’d been wondering about that since they set the date. Their choices were limited, since most rooms in the school were locked after hours.

“I have the perfect place in mind.” Luz said confidently, pointing over her shoulder with one thumb. “You know at the library, where you have that secret room? It would be perfect!” Amity nodded as a reply, she did know the room Luz was talking about. “Your Azura books were there, so we can use them. Also, I know you wanted the club to be secret. Nobody from school can spy on us if we hold them there.” Luz hit the bottom of her fist into the palm of her hand.

Luz really had thought this through, Amity thought. She was so thoughtful, trying to meet Amity’s desires for the club while still finding a good location.

“That sounds great.” Amity responded, heart fluttering at the way Luz’s eyes lit up.

“Awesome!” Luz pumped one fist in a victory motion. “Let’s go!”

Oh right, they were going there now to hold their first club meeting. Amity followed as Luz led the way out of school, down the steps, and towards the library. It would take about ten minutes to walk there.

When was the last time she had cleaned the secret room? It had been a while; it was probably dusty in there. Last time she had been there, she had been drawing… oh…

Amity could feel the blood drain from her face, quite unusual for when she was with Luz. Her drawings, the ones of her and Luz, were in the secret room. And she had left them on the table, in a dangerously incriminating pile.

She was on her way there now, with Luz, who might see them.

Amity felt like she could faint.

“You okay Amity?” Luz’s voice sounded slightly muffled, hard to hear through the ringing of Amity’s ears. She hadn’t realized it, but she had stopped walking mid step, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Amity brought both hands up to pat her cheeks, trying to focus back on reality. “Y-yeah I’m fine.” She shook her head and forced her feet to start moving again. “Everything’s fine.” It was not fine; it was very very bad. If Luz saw those drawings, Amity’s feelings for her would be exposed. She would know Amity liked her, and there was no predicting how Luz would react. Just the thought sent chills down Amity’s spine.

“Okay.” Luz didn’t sound like she believed her, but she followed along anyway. “Anyways, what was I saying?” Amity glanced back to see Luz raise one hand to her chin thoughtfully. “Oh yeah, I think we should start with the first book today. We can do one per meeting.”

Amity hoped the strain of her mind imploding wasn’t showing on her face as she replied. “That works.”

“I reread it to get ready!” Luz quickened her step to walk next to Amity, pulling a book out of her bag to show her. “It was just as good as I remember.” Luz’s eyes practically sparkled as she looked at her copy of Azura book 1, which Amity would’ve found adorable if she wasn’t panicking about the drawings.

She would have to put them away before Luz saw them, that was the only choice. The alternative would be… unbearable.

Enough of that thought. Amity had to focus on the conversation; Luz was waiting for a response.

“I like the first book a lot.” Amity glanced at Luz’s copy, with it’s worn down cover and well bent spine. “But we should wait to talk about it until we start the meeting. After all, that’s what book club is all about.”

Luz covered her mouth with one hand. “You’re right! Good catch Amity.”

The topic shifted over to the abomination class they had earlier, which was on the tone needed to effectively command abominations. Luz still needed work at it, so Amity gave her some tips as they walked the rest of the way to the library.

“Here we are.” Amity said as they reached the steps in front of the library. Her heart beat fast in her chest, both from excitement and worry. She led the way up the stairs, pulling the large library door open so they could enter.

The pair walked through the library and were almost barred from entry by the head librarian due to Luz’s previous activities. Amity was able to vouch for her and get them in, so they went upstairs to the secret room.

As they stood in front of the bookshelf that housed the room, Amity again wondered what she was going to do about the drawings. It was almost time to act, and she would have to act fast. Perhaps if she put her bag on top of them, that would keep Luz from noticing their presence. Then, when Luz was distracted by reading, Amity could store them between some books on a shelf. That should work.

With the plan set, Amity located the book to open the room. She pulled out “The Lone Witch & Secret Room” and then pushed it back in, which triggered the bookshelf to slide in and open. Amity wondered if it was time to change the book, especially if Luz was going to come here more often.

“Even though I’ve seen it before, that is still so cool!” Luz exclaimed as she stepped into the room. Amity quickly walked ahead of her, heading straight to the desk.

As expected, a drawing of the two of them holding hands was in full sight. Amity slammed her bag down on top of it with a loud echoing thud, far harder than she needed to. Her cheeks were warm again, too warm. Luz was giving her a weird look, but it was fine since she definitely had not seen the drawings.

“How about we sit on the cushions?” Amity pretended nothing had happened, segueing right to start their club activities.

“Alright.” Luz shrugged, then grabbed three cushions and piled them up, plopping down right on top of them. Amity’s eyes were drawn to her as she stood up and reassessed the pile, shifting the pillows slightly before settling properly on them. She then took the first Azura book out of her bag, balancing it across her legs. She looked up at Amity, a dazzling smile on her face.

Amity cleared her throat and looked away, and then got her book as well, leaving her bag on the table to cover the incriminating evidence. With the push of a button the door to the room slid shut, giving them privacy. She grabbed a cushion and placed it in front of Luz, sitting down on it with her legs crossed.

Luz beamed. “I declare the first meeting of the Azura book club officially in session!” She was already bouncing on her cushions, too excited to keep it in. She followed this with the first official roll call, making a note that both members were there.

The next half hour was full of conversation about the first Azura book. They talked about the steady character development Azura had, how the older witch was a good mentor to her, and how her rivalry with Hecate grew over the course of the first book. They even dug into their favorite ships.

It was nice to be able to talk openly about the book. For as long as she could remember, Amity had kept it to herself. Emira and Edric had teased her about it mercilessly when she was younger, and the other kids she mentioned it to thought it was lame. She just stopped talking about it.

But now, with Luz, she had someone to share it with.

“Oh right, that happened in the second book.” Luz looked inside her bag with her brow furrowed. “I uh, don’t have it with me. You have book 2, right?”

Amity nodded. “Yeah, it’s in my bag.” She replied without thinking.

“I’ll grab it.” Luz hopped off of her cushion pile, causing it to topple over. She didn’t look back as she walked towards the desk and Amity’s bag. Wait, her bag, that was where the drawings were.

“Wait Luz,” Amity jumped up, reaching one hand towards Luz, but she was too far to reach. “I’ll get it.” Even as she said it, she knew it was too late.

“Don’t worry about it.” Luz had opened Amity’s bag and was taking the book out. “Got it!” She raised it in the air triumphantly, the motion bumping the bag aside on the table. Luz looked down, using her other hand to move the bag further away.

Amity was there in a moment, heart sinking when she saw that the drawing was exposed. Luz had her eyes locked on it, looking over every detail. She looked thoughtful, far more than usual.

“Did you draw this?” Luz asked, leaning slightly closer to the drawing as if to get a better look.

“I…” Amity couldn’t find the words. What would Luz think of her now?” “Yes.” She barely managed to say. Now Luz would know how she felt, what she’d been hiding all this time. Their friendship would be over, this new club would be over. Amity could feel everything she had gained slipping through her grasp.

Luz turned her head towards Amity, expression surprisingly morphing into one of joy. “I love it!” Amity thought her heart might jump out of her chest, did Luz really just say she loved it? She recoiled a step back, to get some fresh air. “This looks just like you, especially the hair. And me, wow, you nailed it. It’s super cute!” Did she not realize what it meant? Maybe the hand holding was a friendly gesture to her, rather than a romantic one. Amity thanked her luck that this particular drawing was the one Luz saw.

“T-thanks.” For the second time that day, Amity felt like she could faint. This was all too much. “I’m glad you like it.” Amity had one hand on the table for physical and emotional support.

“I really do!” Luz stepped back from the table, taking the second Azura book with her. “I’ll draw one too, for the next book club meeting.” Amity shifted to look at Luz with wide eyes as her friend went back to her cushion pile, rebuilding it so she could sit upon it once more.

“I can’t wait.” Amity replied and then took a few deep breaths, trying to bring her heart rate back to a regular level. When she like felt she could stand without stumbling, she released the table and went back to her cushion. Luz had started flipping through the second book, not even glancing up as Amity sat down in front of her.

When Luz found the passage, she read from it animatedly, even putting on a character voice for Azura as she went. Amity listened with a smile.

They continued to discuss the books, mostly the first one, for a while yet. There were a lot of different topics they barely scratched the surface of.

In what felt like no time at all, Amity had to go home. She was expected back for dinner, and her parents would not accept the Azura book club as an excuse for tardiness. The pair set a date for the next meeting and said goodbye in front of the library, walking in opposite directions to their destinations.

As she walked home, Amity was happy. It wasn’t her usual state, normally she was some level of stressed or worried. Before she met Luz, stressing about her social status was a constant. But now, she just had a great book club meeting and Luz hadn’t freaked out when she saw the drawing. She even offered to draw them herself, which Amity couldn’t wait to see. What if she drew them holding hands, Amity would actually faint if that happened.

She didn’t know how it would go, but Amity was greatly looking forward to the second meeting of the Azura book club.

[ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife]

MAG 020 - Desecrated Host (part 2)

Summary: Jonathan reads the second half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”

I’d like to propose an alternate title for this one: “Bartleby”. I couldn’t help but see the parallel between Bartleby the Scrivener’s “I would prefer not to” and Father Burroughs saying, “seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again.” Ah, Burroughs! Ah, humanity!

I mentioned in my last post that this episode was very heavy in the “altered reality” theme. I’d like to amend that: this entire episode was one long, terrifying fever dream. I’ve never been high but I think this might be what a bad trip feels like.

Jonny Sims et al. really outdid themselves on this one though, in both the writing and the performance. So many episodes really suck you in (not literally, fortunately - we’re luckier than some of the characters that way) and grip you ’til the very end. But this was one of the best so far for that. We get more than standard descriptions of things - we get things like that small, whispered “it was bright...so bright” in Father Burroughs’ description of the “church” and the resounding, gonging bell sound accompanying the bell-speech Father Burroughs hears. You can almost feel his throbbing head and blurring vision, and at times it just feels so real.

But it wasn’t. At least, not in the way that we like to think of reality. Whatever an outside observer might have seen that night, this statement was Father Burroughs’ reality. We do know that at least some of this episode was real in the normal sense of the word though. There are snippets, like Father Singh’s reaction to seeing Father Burroughs in the small chapel, and Father Burroughs later seeing Father Singh in the hallway, that seem like they were part of objective reality. Was this slip between reality and the illusion just so that we, the audience, knew that it wasn’t real? Or was it because whatever was affecting him couldn’t keep an airtight grip on his senses? I’d like for it to be the latter, but I’m worried that’s not the case. I do not like how powerful this thing seems to be.

During the “confession”, “Father Singh” recounted all of Father Burroughs’ past sins...so this thing either actually knew about all of those events, or it made Father Burroughs imagine that “Father Singh” was naming all of his sins (a la the psychic paper in Doctor Who). Also disturbing was the detail about its accent during the “confession” - it had “a crisp and clipped RP accent”, as opposed to Father Singh’s Indian one. The change in accent made it obvious for us that it was not Father Singh speaking, but otherwise it just makes no sense to me. Was it unable to imitate Father Singh’s accent for some reason? That might fit if it’s the same thing that spoke in a “low, grating voice” to Laura Popham in episode 15. But those are the only two times (that I recall) that the person making the statement has noted a change in the person’s voice when that static appears.

There are two possibilities I’m seeing for how this thing operates. Either it’s little more than an illusionist, or it can actually alter reality itself. The first would certainly be easier to deal with, but I’m leaning towards the latter. My main reason for thinking that is not strictly things seen in this episode, but more how things in this episode seem to relate to things in the rest of the season so far. We hear that recurring creepy static/interference twice in this episode, once when Father Burroughs reads Genesis 4:14 (after opening his Bible to Luke, no less) and once when “Father Singh” says, “Spiritual pride that has led to quite a fall.” And of course we have another appearance of creepy eyes: “the church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me.” The eye and the staticky voice tie these events to many others from the first half of this season, including a few times when reality itself seems to have been affected, rather than just people’s perception of it.

There were two Bible passages referenced in this episode. The second was Mark 9:14-19, which appears to be a pretty straightforward reference to Father Burroughs’ situation, as that passage tells the story of a boy “who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech” (NIV). But the first, as mentioned in the paragraph above, was Genesis 4:14: “Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the Earth, and from they face shall I be hid. And I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the Earth, and it shall come to pass that everyone that findeth me shall slay me.” And the writing around it seemed to swirl and was “obscured by dark stains”. This is obviously significant, given the static and the unexplained stains and the fact that this verse is actually quoted in the text (unlike the passage from Mark also in this episode, which was referenced but not quoted). But I can’t figure out the significance of this verse. Cain says the text of this verse to God after God banishes him for killing Abel. Cain is more or less saying that his punishment is too much to bear and that he fears for his life, presumably from others who will surely be angry about him killing Abel. The only possible parallel I can see between Cain and Father Burroughs is that they’re both cut off from God. If there’s anything more to this verse, I’m not getting it.

I’ve also been wondering about the various figures Father Burroughs sees throughout this hallucination. He sees shadowy figures along the street that “were always gone when I approached” - and then there were the parishioners in the pews at the “service”. Were the shadow figures the parishioners? Or were the shadow figures actual, real people, and his inability to reach them just a reflection of how trapped in this hallucination he was? And why did the parishioners come and go like that? Why were they leaving before the “service” was over? If they were real people then I think they had to have been members of the People’s Church of the Divine Host (episode 9). I just feel like there was something else going on at the “service” that Father Burroughs wasn’t privy to.

At the end of the episode, Jonathan calls attention to the man who met Father Burroughs at the Oratory door: “the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency.” We aren’t given much of a description of the “altar server” - he is tall, pale, and has thin, bony arms. None of that rings any particular bells (haha) to me, but I guess I’ll be on the lookout for a tall, pale guy with thin, bony arms. *shrugs*

“Cause of death was listed as blood loss from multiple lacerations all over their legs and torso, as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel.” However, no tools or weapons were found at the scene, and “at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students,” leading Jonathan to believe a second person was there. HMMM. I WONDER WHO THAT COULD HAVE BEEN.

The cause of death is very unusual, though, when you consider it from a real-world standpoint. It’s pretty easy to die of blood loss if, say, your carotid or jugular is cut. But lacerations on the legs and torso? Those lacerations would have to be extensive to cause fatal blood loss. It just doesn’t sit right with me - and it reminds me of another death we heard about previously. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik says his father was found dead in his study “with deep gouges along his wrists and arms”, and the coroner couldn’t identify the tool used on his arms. Robert Montauk (episode 9) also bled out, but that was after being stabbed 47 times, so it’s similar but not quite the same. The common threads I’m seeing in all three deaths are (a) cause of death being blood loss and (b) the idea that someone committed the murder who was not known to be there at the time.

Coincidentally, Father Burroughs was imprisoned at Wakefield Prison, the same place where Robert Montauk died a few years prior. I thought something might be up with that prison, so I did a quick search and apparently it’s a high-security prison for those who’ve committed crimes such as murder, rape, armed robbery, and kidnapping (Wikipedia). So there may not be any kind of supernatural connection there, but now I’m wondering if we’re going to get statements from or about anyone else in that prison.

One last observation. The sickly yellow color seen so many times in episode 18 made two appearances in this episode. Father Burroughs describes the parishioners at the “service” as having “fevered, jaundiced yellow” skin, and the stole that Mystery Altar Server gave Father Burroughs was “a pale, sickly yellow.” Oh, and that stole from Father Burroughs’ fever dream? An identical real one was delivered to the Oratory a few days prior to these events by Breekon and Hope Deliveries. And it must have been one of their last deliveries, since they liquidated some time in 2009, the year these events occurred.

Curiouser and curiouser...

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working for Love: A TerrorMoo story 16/17

Hello hello! Happy Saturday to everyone reading this. This story’s been a lot of fun to write, and I’m happy to get this final part out. This is the technical ending to the story, but per Grace’s request, I’ll have an extra scene for people looking for a mature epilogue. 

But for those who don’t, this is the final one! So please, enjoy.

OH! And also make sure to come to my new Discord’s Podcast tonight at 8pm! ‘The Creativity Corner’ is for writers and authors who want to have others to connect with, or fans that wanna help support their favorite content creators. We’ve got a happy little community right now, so come join us! 

Our Podcast tonight will be about Burnout and Artblocks and how to push through them. 

If you need the link, here it is. <3 

Now enjoy the story!

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brian couldn’t keep the smile off his face if someone punched him (Tyler had already threatened to once, due to how ‘goofy’ his grin looked all day). Why?

Because he and Brock were together. 

Well, sort of. 

After comforting Brock during his breakdown, he’d spent a week sleeping at Brock’s place. Cuddling and kissing Brock every morning before life dragged them out of bed had been the best part of his day, and he felt high from the sensations that thrummed through his body each time Brock murmured his name with fondness. Sex hadn’t been talked about yet, which Brian understood. Brock had taken two hours to fully explain the negative effects his ex had on his body image, as well as his mental health. Just hearing how Brock’s previous boyfriend handled the situation was disgusting and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d split a pizza with Craig on Brock’s couch the next day, letting Brock catch up on sleep he’d been struggling to claim due to his anxiety. Mini looked rightfully spiteful when speaking about the ex, pointing out that the emotional abuse he’d provided Brock had been going on long before Brock even realized it. 

Brian had made sure to cuddle Brock even tighter that night, hoping his warmth could chase away any residual pain left behind. 

“You still didn’t ask him to be your boyfriend? You’re literally worse than Jonathan and Evan. I didn’t even think that was possible.” Tyler’s blunt statement made Brian laugh and Evan shrug, arms leaning on the front desk.

“There’s no expiration date on love.” 

“You saying you love Jonathan?” Brian asked, forcing himself not to pump his fists when finally getting a hint of a blush on Evan’s face. 

“I’m just here for the pizza man, not to get dissected.” And to prove his point, Evan reached forward to snag a piece from the box in front of him. The tradition of the gym was to provide pizza every first monday of the month as an incentive to get fair-weather members in for a work-out. The likelihood of them signing up for a class once there was higher, especially after the guilt of eating four slices of pizza came into play. It was a smart marketing move on Tyler’s part, Brian would give him that. 

“Number one, you’re here because I still pay you for some fucking reason.” Tyler smacked the back of Evan’s hand, scowling when Evan only clutched the crust harder and took the pain in order to rip a bite off the piece. 

“You can’t separate a man from his true love.”

“Funny, I don’t see Jonathan here.” Brian quipped back, snickering.

“Look who’s talking!” Evan’s childish reply didn’t deserve a response, so Brian ignored it by stuffing his own piece of pizza into his mouth. 

“Number two,” Tyler continued, glaring at both guilty parties. “Stop eating the customer’s food.”

“It’s closing time; the only one whose gonna come in now is Brock,” Brian said, glancing to the clock. It was close to 9:30, meaning they only had a half hour before the place officially shut down. A quick sweep of the gym saw two, maybe three, people inside. 

“And it’s so good.” Evan said, or that was what Brian thought he said, since pizza was muffling his words. 

“Number three; you both are hopeless losers if you can’t get the balls to ask out the men you’re in love with. I barely even tolerate Mini, but I was smart enough to make it official.” The last piece of information made Brian choke on his slice. Tyler and Craig were dating? Since when?! What alternate reality was he living in? And were they fucking, because Tyler still was just as grouchy as he’d been during his dry spell. Brian was going to have words with Craig. “And for the last fucking time, Brian, put your hat on.”

“Can’t,” he coughed out after swallowing the ball of dough lodged in his throat. “Gotta go get the weights ready for Brocky, bye!” 

“I’m going to fire you!” Tyler’s threat barely left a scratch on Brian as he tuned him out, humming when jogging through the gym to get to the weight rack. He’d set up time for Brock to work with him on free weights, which really was just a ploy to watch Brock’s bicep flex up close. All of Brock was handsome, but there was something about the transformation of his arm that really made Brian’s stomach heat with arousal. He wasn’t planning on getting anything out of it (other than a nice little image to think of in the shower), but Brian had already accepted that Brock could read a newspaper and he would somehow find it sexy. At least during this particular activity, he’d have a reason to ‘fix his form’.

“Hey.” Brian paused in moving one of the bars to the side when he heard a new voice call out to him, glancing over his shoulder at the newcomer. The man wasn’t out of shape, though the lack of definement on his muscles proved the gym wasn’t the first place he thought of going after work. It may have explained why he was calling out to Brian; he probably needed help with something he hadn’t learned to use yet.

“What can I help you with?” Brian asked, caught off guard by the once over he got. Sure, this wouldn’t be the first time someone had checked him out, but most did it from the corner of their eyes or behind machinery. The guy was bold, Brian would give him that. 

“I’m new to this gym. Was wondering how to sign up for training lessons.” 

“Most of our sessions are between the hours of 9am and 5pm; we rarely do one this close to closing. You can talk to Evan or Tyler at the front desk and see what trainer fits your timeframe,” Brian answered, giving a polite smile that stayed rigid with professionalism. Flirting was nice when he wasn’t dating someone, but Brian knew how to turn off his charm when he needed to. Here, seeing the obvious interest in Brian, he made sure to keep an appropriate distance from him when pointing out the front desk. “They’ll tell you all of our availability up there.” 

“Are you free now?” Persistence did not look good on this man, and Brian had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. From the corner of his gaze, he caught a familiar face, and his smile was much easier to throw out when seeing Brock giving him a wave.  

“Actually, I’m not. My boyfriend’s coming over to work out with me.” He’d said the title hundreds of times in his head, but it was the first that he’d let slip from his lips. And damn, did it feel good. He added a nod behind the man, who huffed and turned to inspect who Brian was talking about. Brian didn’t get to see the man’s reaction, because the joy that drained from Brock’s smile was far more important. Brock had never turned pale so fast in Brian’s presence, his wide eyes and quickened breathing both signs that something had gone terribly wrong. And fuck if people were watching (really it was just this one guy in the gym now), Brian needed to soothe him.  “Brock? Sweetheart, you okay?” 

“That’s who you’re dating?” The unnecessary bite to the man’s tone had Brian snapping his head back, his glare already reved up. 

“That a problem?” 

“He’s my ex-boyfriend.” A sentence had never made Brian’s stomach drop out and boil with rage at the same time. 

He was going to give Tyler a reason to fire him, after all. 

“You fucking asshole.” Brian’s hands grabbed the man’s shirt before slammed him into the mirror, fists shaking from how hard he was pressing into the other’s chest. “You fucking waste of life.” 

“Brian!” Brock’s cry of his name was heard, but for once, he didn’t feel soothed by it. Instead, the hatred and anger blistered in his skin, his teeth clenched together between scalding words of disgust.

“You vile dick. You, you, think you have any right to say shit to Brock? That you deserve anyone close to his calibre? Are you fucking crazy?” His arms slammed the man back again when he tried to respond, not wanting to hear his response. “I should knock every one of your stupid teeth out-”

“Please stop!” Brock’s chest was warm when he grabbed Brian from behind, his forehead pressed to the back of Brian’s neck. The arms around Brian were strong, but shaking, and it was the fact that Brock was trembling that made Brian finally let go of the other’s shirt. Brock pulled him back a couple feet before another hand grabbed him, turning him to face Evan and Tyler.

“Yo, calm down dude,” Evan tried to be calm about the outburst, but Tyler’s anger palpable in the air. 

“What the fuck was that? You can’t attack random ass people in the gym!” 

“He’s not random!” Brian snarled back, sending a scathing glare toward the man now staring at Brock. Brock, who was now pressed to his side, hadn’t noticed the look, too busy grabbing Brian’s hands to check his knuckles for bruises. But Brian had, and he wanted to rip the man’s eyeballs out of his head for even thinking he had the right. “That’s Brock’s ex.” 

“Oh shit.” Evan’s voice was quiet, but it seemed to echo from how silent the gym had become. Brock flinched next to him, but stayed silent on the topic, shaky fingers rubbing circles into Brian’s knuckles. 

“Jesus fuck, what is my life.” Tyler’s groan was followed by his hand sliding down his face, but Brian picked up on some of his ire washing away. He wished his anger had lowered at all, but seeing Brock’s ex open his mouth made fury rise through him again.

“Brock, you… you lost some weight.” It was insulting to hear Brock’s accomplishment said with such a surprised tone. Brian’s spine was ready to snap with how stiff it was, but he held himself still when Brock’s hand slipped to his lower back and rubbed along the vertebrae. 

“I’ve been working on being healthier,” Brock answered quietly, and Brian hated how hard it looked for Brock to make eye contact with the man who’d crushed him months ago. “It’s not really about the weight; just trying to be happy.” 

“That’s what I meant, that’s what I’ve always been telling you-” 

“No.” In an uncharacteristic rudeness that had Brian’s pride swelling, Brock steadied his feet and took a slow breath before continuing. “No, that’s not what you did. You tore me down and picked out everything you felt was wrong about me. It wasn’t about me being happy, it was about being good enough for you to date. You supported change; you just… you didn’t support me.”

“Well, I-” 

“But now,” Brock’s hand paused in its movement against Brian’s back, and he didn’t need any incentive to lean down and kiss Brock’s temple for reassurance. He felt Brock lean into the connection for a moment, as if trying to absorb Brian’s confidence in him. “I’m with someone who will.” 

“He’s only with you because you lost weight. If anything, I helped you. You’re never going to get better than you are now, which you only got to because I left you.” 

“Brock’s been the same fucking person since day one, you prick. Do you really think losing weight made him different somehow? How blind can you be? I swear to God- say something stupid like that again-” Brian was ready to launch across the floor to tackle the man to the ground, but in a blink of an eye, the man was yanked out of sight. Surprised, Brian glanced over to see that Tyler had the guy by the scruff of the neck. Using his height and strength, he manhandled the ex to the front of the gym, his scowl fierce. 

“Okay, I’m done with this. I have a no douchebag policy in my gym, and you’re well past that line. You’re done.” 

“Excuse me? I have a membership-”

“I’ll mail you a fucking refund.” Evan let out a cheer when Tyler tossed the man out of the gym, the doors slamming shut behind him. Brian wanted to feel anything but anger, but his blood was boiling. 

“Fuck!” Frustrated at himself for not chasing the man down, Brian pulled away from Brock, shoulders stiff when storming into the locker room. He barely made it past the door before he shouted again, hands slamming into the row of steel lockers lining the wall. His palms stung from the intense contact, but he didn’t care, needing to feel something other than pure rage. Why had that guy thought he had any right to make Brock feel worthless? All the emotional scars, the times Brock had lost sleep, the tears poured over that beautiful face were because of a piece of garbage like that? Another heavy roll of emotion washed over Brian, who clenched his hands and pounded against the lockers again. He leaned his forearms onto the cool metal, head no longer supported by his neck when he dropped it against the solid surface. Closing his eyes, Brian could feel his trembles trickling down his back, coasting along the skin light enough to create goosebumps in their path. 

“Brian.” The voice was cautious and soft, and Brian wanted to curl into it and never come out. He didn’t move from his tense position against the locker, hearing Brock move closer. “Tyler said to tell you he really did revoke his membership. Just deleted him from the database, too.” 

“Probably so I wouldn’t look up his address and beat the fock outta him.” And deep down, he knew Tyler’s caution was right on the money. 

“You wouldn’t really-”

“I would.” He took his time lifting his head to make sure that Brock could take in the serious expression on his face. “I would do it without a second thought.” 

“You shouldn’t do that.” Brock didn’t flinch away from the violence, but his concerned look was enough to settle some of the anger in Brian’s stomach. 

“After everything that focker did to you, I’d be more than happy to rearrange his face. Give me one reason I shouldn’t.” 

“Because that wouldn’t make me happy.”  Brian felt his lungs release the final wisps of tension at Brock’s soft touch, palms sliding over his cheeks to cradle his face in his hands.  “He’s a coward who would press charges, and then I’d be the one punished again. It’d just hurt me in the end.”

“Don’t want that,” Brian admitted without a fight. His shoulders slumped, leaning his weight onto the lockers. How did Brock ease his soul like this? Seconds ago, he’d been ready to tear through every house in the town in order to find the bastard who’d hurt the nicest man Brian had ever met. Now, nuzzling his nose against the soothing touch, he just wanted to hold Brock. But his body still shook with anger, and he didn’t trust himself to stay soft yet. Not the way Brock deserved. So he kept his forearms still, letting Brock take the lead in bringing their mouths together for a kiss that only lingered for a second. When Brock continued, the words caressed his lips like a whisper for nobody else to hear. 

“Neither do I. So we need to put this behind us.” 

“But he-”

“All that matters is that I’m here with you right now, not chasing after him to blow up his ego and make excuses for why other guys are stronger than him.” Brian could tell from the wistful way Brock’s tone shook that he’d been in those shoes far too many times before. “He can’t hurt me anymore. Maybe a year ago, seeing him would have ruined my confidence for days. But you helped me find my self-worth. I love myself too much to let him break me down again. And giving him any more of our time just feels wrong. So we’re not going to go after him; let his last memory of me be standing tall by your side without him. That’ll be worse than any bruise you’d give him, because it won’t ever fade. He’ll know I’m...” 

Brock’s confidence faltered, and Brian’s focus zeroed in on the quiver of the thumb that brushed over his cheek again. Brock was trying to be so strong, to be the support that Brian needed after he lost his cool over the ex. He was so amazing, and it shook Brian how often the beauty of Brock’s personality was hidden to make others feel better. Like Brian, right in this moment. And playing the bull-headed gym idiot others tended to see him as, he’d forgotten something important. 

“He’ll know you’re mine, sweetheart.” Brock’s face dusted with red was always Brian’s favorite image, and he felt a genuine grin catch the side of his lips at the sight. Still, he didn’t feel clear enough with his words. There was no way he was going to let Brock walk out of the locker room without knowing exactly what Brian wanted. Feeling in control of himself, Brian dropped one arm from the locker, his fingers roaming over the curve of Brock’s hip to pull him closer. Their chests met as Brian turned to face him, crowding him between his body and the lockers. “Tonight, he’s gonna go to sleep with the knowledge that I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in this town, because you’re my boyfriend.”

“Really?” The wide eyes and parted lips only lasted until Brian nodded. Then, like the first hint of sunlight over the horizon, Brock’s face bloomed with awe. His cheeks were stilly rosy, rounded and perfect to cradle the cute nose between them. His lips couldn’t hide his teeth from how brightly he smiled, eyes aglow with a warmth that would make fire jealous. Hands that others could find too clammy or pudgy were soft silk holding Brian’s cheek tightly, their foreheads meeting in the middle without words. Brian couldn’t stop himself from kissing Brock once, twice, three times more, his own relief growing with each second Brock didn’t deny the claim. And when he needed to pull away (because lungs didn’t care about romance), he made sure to use the space to answer Brock’s silly question.

“I’ve been head over heels for you since I saw you singing on the treadmill.” 

“Oh my God, Brian. You're the worst.” But the pure joy that came out of Brock’s watery laughter proved he didn’t mean it at all. Brian wanted to feel that giggle on his mouth, but before he could lean in again, a crackle shot through the air.

“Attention, love birds! Tyler and I would like to go home sometime before Christmas, so please stop fucking in the locker room. And clean any sex messes you make!” Mini’s loud cackle after the comment could be heard outside of the loudspeaker, and Brian laughed at the absurdity of their lives. Brock didn’t seem to find the humor in it, groaning before dropping his head onto Brian’s shoulder.

“I take it back; Craig’s the worst.” Despite rubbing Brock’s back to show sympathy, Brian couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried. 

Because he and Brock were together.

No doubt about it.

And look at that; happy ending! I love these two, theyre so fun to write. <3 So I hope you’ve enjoyed this! Don’t forget about our Podcast tonight, come join and hang out, and as always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think! <3

[mediocre-writing-found-here]

When Spring Came: Chapter 3 (Sirius Black x OC)

Alternatively titled Hot Damn

Okay, I want to start this chapter by giving a little shout out to @multi-fandom-reader​! they’re just getting started so feel free to show them some love!

Also this is a bit of a filler, but it’ll get rolling in the next chapter :)

tagged (feel free to let me know if you want to be added!): @treestarrrrrrrr​ @may-rapp​

(not my gif/edit)

It was the first Saturday after the first day of classes of course called for celebration. Or at least, that’s what James Potter thought. Through the week, they had taken a secret passage out of the castle and into Hogsmead two nights in a row to acquire the necessary supplies needed to throw an absolute rager. Then they spent Friday evening decorating the room of requirement. All they needed to do was to spread the word to their friends. 

“Well, obviously we invite sixth and seventh year Gryffindors. With a special personal invitation extended to you, Lilyflower.” James said, leaning across Remus to grab Lily’s hand. she immediately tore her hand from his grip and glared playfully at him. 

“And none for us, Potter?” Asked Marlene.

“Yeah that’s a bit rude.” said Dorcas. Next to her, Mary McDonald nodded with her mouth full of food. 

“Yeah James, what the hell?” she laughed after swallowing her food. 

“Goodness, girls if you’re so eager, then of course you’re invited.” said James, returning to his original spot. The group the spotted Sirius walking into the Great Hall with Seph. They parted their ways before Sirius joined the rest of them. 

“Good morning, gentlemen. Ladies.” He said, grabbing a piece of toast and lathering some strawberry preserve on it. 

“Sirius.” The group chorused. 

“is there anyone you wanna invite to the party tonight. Someone, oh I don’t know, special?” Marlene asked, wriggling her eyebrows.

“What?” Sirius asked with toast in his mouth. Marlene gestured over to the Hufflepuff table. “Who, Persephone? Yeah sure we can invite her and her friends. Why not?” 

Marlene, of course had insinuated that Sirius was interested in Persephone, however, the comment flew right over his head. Before they all knew it, they had finished breakfast and split up to break the news about the party to the upperclassmen of Hogwarts. 

“Hey guys!” Marlene said, approaching Katherine, May and Persephone. 

“Hi Marlene.” the three chorused. 

“So my friends are throwing a party tonight for the first week of classes and I was tasked with ensuring that you three are going to be in attendance.” Marlene said, excited. The three shared a look and then Katherine shrugged.

“I don’t see why not!” she said. 

“Great! I’ll swing by the Hufflepuff common room around six thirty Marlene then gave then the details of the party and left the trio to their own devices. 

“Wait so what’s the Room of Requirement?” Seph asked. 

“The Room of Requirement is a magical room which can only be discovered by someone who is in need. It’s up on the seventh floor, opposite from tapestry showing Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance the ballet.” May said, giggling a bit at the end. 

“Wow! We didn’t have anything like that at Ilvermorny!” Seph said, amazed. The three girls happily marched down to the black lake and laid out on their backs.

-

The afternoon passed by quickly and the trio spent the afternoon talking about past years and comparing and contrasting Hogwarts and Ilvermorny. In reality, they were pretty similar. On the way back to the Hufflepuff dorm room, Ktherine suddenly spoke up. 

“What do you think we should wear for this? I don’t know if I should wear a skirt or if I should just go with a pair of bell bottoms.” 

“Well, Katherine, if you want a skirt, I could lend you my brown corduroy one that I wore all the time last year.” May said. Katherine agreed, saying it would be perfect to go with a yellow blouse and socks that she had. May decided on an orange jumper (the girls bickered with Persephone saying that it was a dress and a sweater was a jumper which confused her) and a patterned blouse over it. Both of the girls wore black Mary Janes that went wonderfully with their outfits.

“Come on, Seph!” Shouted Katherine.

“Yeah! We wanna see what you you look like after being in there for so long!” said May. “And if you don’t hurry, we’ll be late!”

“Alright, Alright!” Seph said, giggling while she emerged from the bathroom. Seph wore a pair of bell bottom that accentuated everything she had perfectly. Her shirt was a tight band t advertising the weird sisters and on her feet were magnificent heeled, red combat boots. 

“Hot damn.” Katherine said.

“Hot damn indeed.” May agreed pulling her friends out of the dorm room, getting impatient. Stumbling out of the door of the common room, the three saw that Marlene was already there with Lily, Mary, and Dorcas. In addition to those four there was a girl and boy that would be introduced to Seph as Frank Longbottom and Alice Fortescue. Seph thought that they’d make an adorable couple.

“Damn Seph, pulling out all the stops tonight are we?” Said Lily, as tey made their way up the series of stairs leading to the seventh floor corridor. 

“Well I had to make a lasting impression, didn’t I?” she said, smirking. 

“Ladies and gentleman” Marlene said, adding a small wave to Frank, which he returned with a chuckle. “Welcome to the rest of you’re sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

With that, a door appeared where there once was a blank wall and she opened it with a flourish of her wand. The group stepped in and Seph was in absolute awe. And unknowingly to her, there was a boy across the room that was staring in complete awe as well

“Hot Damn.”

[tenshibeth1]

Fic Writer Meme

Thanks for the tag, @chierafied ! <3

----------------------------------------

Author Name:

Here and a few other places my author name is Tenshibeth1, which was a username I'd created back in high school some...gosh, ten years ago now? Time flies! But, it was created in part by my group of friends then. I was in the goth group, but they always said I was the nicest and most innocent of the group, like an angel. My nickname in reality is Beth, short from Elizabeth, and I've always been big into Japan, anime, and manga and all, so Tenshi seemed a fitting choice to add onto my name. Tenshi means angel. The one stands for the fact that it was my first author username. Now, Reflection of a Broken Dream (RoaBD) came later in life, when I felt everything I am and was, was broken. It came after my divorce from an abusive and terrible man...he had me believing I was nothing. I could do nothing right, I was a pest to everyone, and my dreams? Get real. I could never make them come true. Writing has always been a balm for me...and even though I believed few would read or like my stuff, I did eventually begin posting stuff again. To my shock, people liked what I wrote...they wrote me such kind words and pleas for continuation. Everyone who liked and commented on the stories gave me hope again, and confidence in myself. So thank you to everyone who read and commented! I'm where I am now because of you all. ,^.^,

Fandoms You Write For:

SessKag and SessOC from Inuyasha, KuraKag and HieiKag from Yu Yu Hakusho and Inuyasha, KuraOC from Yu Yu Hakusho (although I'm not sure if I've posted any...), and, a long while back, I used to post ShinoHina from Naruto. I also wrote some KakaHina, GaaraHina, SasuHina, and ItaHina from Naruto...I don't know if I ever posted any...but I ship it.

Where You Post:

Mainly on here and on Dokuga. I once posted on Spark a long time ago...and I was posting on FFnet, but something went awry when I tried to get the app...and now I can no longer sign in to my account and no staff members will help me, so I'll probably make another account. I also have an AO3, which I need to update. ><

Most Popular One Shot:

On Dokuga, it's a SessKag titled Now and Forever...which is a one-shot sequel to Written in the Stars. Here, it's the SessKag Someone to Protect with 79 hits. I have no oneshots on AO3. And on FFnet is Hinata's Favorite Insect, a ShinoHina, which only won by two follows. It was neck-and-neck with a SessKag Things That Go 'Thump' In The Night.

Most Popular Multichapter:

Here, it looks like the SessKag Alpha is in the lead with 104 hits. With Dokuga...holy crap, it's Cursed with over 12k reads! O.O On FFnet it's Overprotective, which is a HieiKag...and it looks like it's the favorite on AO3, too! Oh, wow. I need to go back and write on so many stories...T.T

Favorite Story:

Ahh...most of them hold a special place in my heart...but there are a few that are a little more...sentimental than others. Cursed, for example, would be one of the top ones. I began writing it when I was living with my ex-husband. It is one of the few reasons I stayed sane...and the original version of that fic was warped...just like my mind at the time. If anyone's curious, I'll tell that story later...but know that it will end well. Rising From the Ashes is going to be a good story if I can ever finish it. It's a bubbling of hope from the darkest recesses of depression...something I suffer and struggle with everyday and have to rise from. Very Merry Christmas With You is going to be a healing fic, Sesshoumaru helping Kagome heal from a trauma that happened to her as a child. They have the relationship I desire most. Same with Alpha, but it's a more recent trauma that reminds me much of my past marriage. The Unexpected, a ShinoHina, was a much earlier echo of this, with an abusive relationship in the making with her arranged betrothed in the Snow. And I just have a special place for Overprotective and All That is Meant To Be because...I do. They were works when I wasn't as confident as I am now, and I really loved and worked on the stories vigilantly outside of what I posted. I kept writing and re-writing to see which directions I wanted to go with them...I need to re-write them both with more detail and post them...

Story You Were Most Nervous to Post:

That's a tie between Arranged Marriage, a ShinoHina, and Cursed, a SessKag. Arranged Marriage was the first real fic I worked on that I posted after several years and the abuse I went through. The anxiety I suffered to post it was...unbelievable. I thought I might pass out. I expected people to boo me out of there since it isn't a very liked ship...but, happily, I found that wasn't the case. And Cursed... I was revamping it to be made public after realizing how messed up it was, and how messed up in the head I'd been... So, I was understandably nervous and trying to make it better. Real. Believable. And not the dark hole it once was...

How Do You Pick Titles:

Erm...I'm with Chiera, I pick whatever feels best. Mostly, I try to pick something short and sweet...and easy to remember.

Do You Outline:

Define outline. Haha. I do try to kind of figure out which events I want in the story and roughly figure out the ending...but I don't always do that. On the ones I have more of a feel of, I do. Ones I don't? I pretty much fly by the seat of my pants and go on the journey with my readers. Some, I still have no idea how they're going to end. We'll find out when we get there. XD

Complete Stories:

Ai yai yaiii...roughly eight. The Best Antiques will get a oneshot sequel or two, but...yeah. Not very impressive. I have a bunch of unfinished published works...and about seven hundred more on my computer... >.>;;

The list of completed fics:

FFnet

The Best Antiques

Things That Go 'Thump' In The Night

Butterfly

Waiting for You

Hinata's Favorite Insect

Dokuga

Written in the Stars

Now and Forever

Someone to Protect

In Progress:

I am currently working on The Pact, Alpha, and Cursed actively, with some work-ins on the other SessKags. I want to work on them all more, and get back into some of my KuraKag, HieiKag, and ShinoHina.

Coming Soon:

I just posted The Pact chapter 5! Dancing With Your Ghost, a SessKag one shot that likes to rip my heart out every time I write on it. I Found You, a SessKag one shot exploring alternate realities. Romancing, a SessKag series of Sesshoumaru trying to wordlessly woo Kagome. The Dark Guardian, a SessKag I hope to write for Halloween! An interesting take of Sesshoumaru as the deity of death that I started, like, a year ago and forgot about... And I'm working on a fic called The Child, an eventual KuraKag with a rough start. ...I'm also working on another KuraKag in little bits, it's currently unnamed and will revolve around Genkai's secret love child she didn't even tell Toguro about... Yes, I know I'm working on a lot at once. Because of my medicine change I have days where I struggle to focus on any one thing...so I write a little here and there. And some days I don't get to because work kills me sometimes and I have do things after work for work other days. -shrugs-

Prompts:

I love them and am open to them if anyone wants to suggest or send them. They might even help with what I'm writing. The Dark Guardian was created from a prompt. ^.^

("Unbeknownst to you, Death was watching you from the corner of the hospital room when you were being born. Fascinated by life, it imprinted on you. As the years went by, Death often saw you being bullied at school and couldn't do anything but watch; as taking the lives if your bullies would have been too much of a verdict. However, you have just been kidnapped and Death is pissed.")

Upcoming Story You are Most Excited For:

It's a tie between The Dark Guardian and Romancing! I'm excited to explore the role of Sesshoumaru as something loosely like Hades with Kagome as his Persephone...just in a very different way. (If you follow the telling of the story in which he does not rape her. The one I found, she could read the inscriptions and said it did not explicitly say he raped her, just whisked her to Hell.) But that isn't exactly the way the story is going, just that Kagome is his light in the all-consuming darkness. Romancing...is going to be sweet and funny, with a bit of drama added in. And frustration. Why does she not understand?! XD Poor Sesshy... If I could get my act together, I would work on The Youkai Games...something I've been working on, off and on, for the past ten years or so...

Five Authors:

@bearpluscat

@therebelalchemist

@dreaming-of-the-midnight-sun

And anyone else who wants to try! ^.^

[sarcasticgaypotato]

How You Say ‘I Love You’

(( Alternate title: GLaDOS projects her insecurities onto other people.          Set in @bondibee​‘s ‘LaaC,’ because apparently I can’t not write something for it. I can’t help it, the AU’s just too good. Too many good opportunities for writing bratty GLaDOS. )) GLaDOS did not love.  Because she was not human. One could be deceived into thinking that was the case- her human form looked, obviously, human- but in reality, she was just a machine.  A very complicated machine, but one that was far, far above the primitive waste of time that was the concept of love. Chell didn’t love her. Not that it mattered to GLaDOS, it really didn’t. It was just a fact.  Chell could not, and did not, love her.  Chell was a human, and GLaDOS was not. It was as simple as that. While humans could form a sort of fondness for creatures and objects that were not their kind- such as an infatuation with inanimate cubes- they did not love them.   Humans, at least the ones that weren’t completely broken in the head, loved other humans for a scientific, evolutionary reason. Loving a machine would be pointless. A waste of time. And Chell, for as insane as she was, had the sense to know that. Sure, she’d kiss GLaDOS, look at her with the most infuriatingly tender gaze, carry her to bed and hold her throughout the night, but she didn’t love her.  That was, as GLaDOS reminded herself, impossible. Even now, as they both lay in near complete darkness, twisted up in blankets and sheets, tangled in a pile of limbs that was somehow more comfortable than it looked, GLaDOS was aware that deep down, Chell probably wished she had a real human. Maybe it was subconscious, a nagging little pull on her heart, as the last rational part of her damaged brain reminded her that she was, as far as humans went, a complete failure. Or maybe, knowing how cruel Chell was, she knew full well that what she was doing was wrong. Maybe, she was just desperate, and considered GLaDOS to be some kind of… second-best option. GLaDOS felt her face scrunch up at the notion, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Chell only came back to Aperture because she didn’t find what she was hoping to find on the surface, right?  Whatever was up there wasn’t enough to satisfy her, so she reluctantly trudged back to Aperture, willing to settle for what GLaDOS could give her. GLaDOS squirmed out of Chell’s grasp at this realization- not caring to do so gently, Chell slept like the dead- and abruptly tried to get off the bed and head out of the room, just barely avoiding tripping and smashing her face into the ground, on account of the bed sheet that was practically tied around her foot. Thankfully, there was nobody there to see her angrily fussing with the fabric, then huffing to herself as she made her way back to her central chamber.

She wasn’t human, and she wasn’t about to play pretend in order to be somebody’s replacement. GLaDOS didn’t actually want any of this anyway. She didn’t care for the closeness, didn’t relish every kiss. So of course, she definitely wasn’t grumpy when the next morning rolled around, and she had spent the rest of the evening in her chair, working with a scowl that now seemed permanently stuck on her face. And GLaDOS felt absolutely nothing- other than perhaps mild annoyance- when Chell finally poked her head into the central chamber.  She didn’t turn to look at the human, she didn’t say anything, she just kept working. If Chell wanted something, she could come over and ask for it nicely. Which, of course, she’d never do. Chell could, but she didn’t. Maybe if GLaDOS was a real person, Chell would talk more.  Maybe she’d greet GLaDOS warmly, engage in casual conversation, ask about how GLaDOS’s experiments were going, or… tell GLaDOS that she cared. But those were all hypotheticals, not something GLaDOS needed to dwell on. Eventually, she heard the sound of Chell’s longfall boots moving against the floor, and for as much as she hoped that the footsteps were leading away from her throne, they were getting closer. GLaDOS refused to look at her, instead pulling up blueprints for her latest test chamber, and what changes she needed to make. They were all minor things, boring, really, but right now they were ten times more interesting than Chell. Finally, Chell was standing directly in front of her, and GLaDOS was forced to look at her. The human looked thoughtful, sparing a glance or two at the screens GLaDOS was working on, but seemed to be most intently looking at GLaDOS. “What are you waiting around for? If you don’t need anything, go entertain yourself elsewhere.” GLaDOS snapped with perhaps a little more defensiveness than she needed. Just because yesterday morning- and many mornings before it- she greeted the human with a few dozen pecks to the lips and cheeks didn’t mean she had to do it now. Those had been for Chell’s benefit, not her own. She didn’t care. And she wasn’t acting weird by not jumping into Chell’s arms after being apart for several hours, she was being normal. But no matter how much GLaDOS glared, Chell didn’t seem to be giving up, and so GLaDOS stood up, ready to brush past Chell and be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, a hand caught her by the shoulder, stopping GLaDOS in her path, and forcing her to turn around and face a somewhat worried looking Chell. GLaDOS hardly had the time to open her mouth to say something nasty to get Chell to leave her alone before she was cut off by Chell- who, mind you, still couldn’t seem to bring herself to actually say something. A furrowed brow, a gesture in her direction, a questioning shrug. ‘What’s wrong?’ “Why would you care?” GLaDOS had hissed the words out under her breath before she had the chance to realize that she had actually vocalized her train of thought, which had not been the intention.  Of course, to her horror, that meant that getting Chell to drop this was about to be ten times harder. The human took the hand she had placed on GLaDOS’s shoulder and, she brought her it to her face instead, tilting her chin up, then tapping the core’s lips- no doubt smearing her lipstick in the process, the monster- with her index finger.  ‘Talk to me.’ GLaDOS hated that she had learned to translate all this so effortlessly. “How about you start? I know you can talk, and yet you never do.” GLaDOS pulled her hand away from Chell’s grasp- pretending she didn’t find herself enjoying the gentle touch - and crossed both her arms over her chest, not caring how defensive it made her look. Chell let out a wordless huff, then pointed to GLaDOS, gestured to herself, then tilted her head.  ‘What exactly do you want me to say?’ Of course. Chell just had to play stupid, didn’t she. That was just like her. Making GLaDOS have to go out of her way and actually downright say it for her. “Oh I don’t know, maybe whatever you’d say to somebody you actually liked? I don’t have to be a mindreader to know that you don’t care enough to open your mouth and actually say something to me half the time, so I don’t know why I…” GLaDOS trailed off, biting the words ‘get my hopes up’ before they could leave her mouth. Instead, she pulled herself inwards ever so slightly, avoiding Chell’s eyes and deciding to focus her glare on the Aperture logo on the human’s tank top.

Chell was better off just leaving. Going back to the surface, or, if she wanted to cuddle something that didn’t care if she ever spoke a word, perhaps find a turret to throw herself at. Instead of this, Chell pressed her lips together, and let out a soft ‘hm’ that GLaDOS was genuinely a little surprised to hear. Not quite a word, but a vocalization nonetheless, and enough to get GLaDOS to glance up at her face, even if only for a moment. A slightly softer, almost… apologetic expression. A gesture to herself, her lips, then a small shake of the head, followed by another, questioning shrug.  ‘I don’t say it enough?’ “In case you weren’t listening to what I just said, you don’t ever say anything-” GLaDOS was cut off, mid complaint.  Chell put a finger to her lips once more, this time with the intention of shutting her up rather than asking her to speak.  Then, she pried GLaDOS’s hand away her arms’ crossed position, giving it a gentle squeeze, before pulling it forward, placing it against her own chest, holding it there.   The central core didn’t have the time to question this oddity before Chell had slowly moved GLaDOS’s hand again, this time, up to her lips, where she brushed a chaste kiss across the knuckles. GLaDOS’s breath didn’t catch in her throat. Her heart didn’t skip a beat. She didn’t feel a flush of warmth across her skin. Absolutely none of these things happened, even as Chell slowly moved her hand for the third, and final time, pressing the core’s and her own hand against GLaDOS’s chest, resting over her heart. ‘I. Love. you.’ Love was stupid, and GLaDOS would never admit to any interest related to it.  Thus, she would also deny just how quickly she managed to let go of her annoyance to take Chell’s face in her hands and press a kiss to her lips. GLaDOS wasn’t human, and so Chell couldn’t love her, “...You know I’d still like to hear you actually say it out loud.” Chell pulled back a little, eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t push it.’ But somehow, she did.

[beautifulspacegays]

Cinnamon Bagels and Peppermint Tea

Lance owns a cute marketplace bakery, and Shiro tries his damn best to make sure his delinquent brother knows about it. Alternative Title: Shiro is the ultimate wingman and Keith has a gay crisis.

Lance

Out of all the regular customers that frequented his bakery, Lance hadn’t met one as peculiar as the man he’d come to know as Shiro.

There was the little old lady who always visited early in the morning for a fresh croissant, often keeping him company with an endless stream of chatter as he opened. The owner of the deli across the indoor marketplace always appeared around lunch to order whatever Lance had on special, whether it be something simple or a new recipe Lance had been experimenting with. The small, single person table in the back corner of the store was almost always occupied by the same local college student, who’d sit for hours and hours typing away and ordering nothing but black coffee. Before his exams, Lance had slipped him a donut for good luck. He’d passed with flying colours.

But Shiro was different. Lance had first seen him about a month ago, and was instantly struck by his appearance. He was tall and muscular with a strong jaw and rough features. Most noticeably, his arms were ravaged with several large scars that had healed white and jagged in long strokes. Most of the indoor market’s customers were fairly average and local, and to be frank, Shiro looked like he was from another world. It wasn’t only his appearance that Lance noticed as out of the ordinary, but his behaviour as well. After his first visit, Shiro began to stop by several times a week. Unlike Lance’s usual regulars who visited routinely and in predictable intervals, Shiro came sporadically. Sometimes he’d rush through the door just as Lance opened, and others he’d catch him just before he was about to close up for the day. Regardless of when he came in, he always ordered the same thing: a toasted cinnamon bagel, one half covered in cream cheese and the other in butter, and a medium peppermint tea. He never once saw Shiro eat it.

“The usual?” The door of the bakery opened with the soft tinkling of a bell, Lance spying the familiar face from the corner of his eye. It was about a half-hour to close and, with the amount of customers quickly thinning, he’d recently began cleaning up shop.

“Yes, thank you.” By now, he was used to Shiro’s voice. It was always soft and polite, although it had a certain ring of authority to it. Somehow, it always managed to sound reassuring. Lance set down the cloth he’d been using to wipe the counters and began prepping his order.

“You ever going to get tired of eating the same thing?” Lance hummed, looking up from his quick work to raise a single brow in Shiro’s direction.

“Oh no, definitely not. He’s been eating the same thing since he was 6.” He chuckled and leaned one hip against the bakery counter separating him and Lance, a fondness creeping into his expression and softening his features.

“He?” Lance’s curiosity piqued. They’d had several conversations about Lance himself, mostly about the bakery, but he’d never once heard Shiro offer up a piece of information about himself.

“Oh!” He brought a fist up to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle another laugh. “I haven’t mentioned him yet. All of these orders have been for my brother, Keith.”

“Hmm.” Lance contemplated for a moment, spreading cream cheese over the top portion of the bagel. “Is he part of the reason you decided to move out here?”

“Yes, actually.” Shiro settled once again against the counter, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “After I told him about my job offer in the city, he jumped at the chance to come with me. He just finished art school, I think he’s looking for more opportunities.” Lance finished packing up his order, handing him the usual neatly wrapped bagel and steaming cup of tea.

“That’s nice.” A warm, genuine smile spread across Lance’s face, revealing two small dimples. “Family should stick together.” Shiro had hit his soft spot; family had always been important to him, and he couldn’t control the fondness from creeping into his expression at the mention of it. Shiro beamed, returning his smile with one of his own, big and excited and slightly… mischievous? Before Lance could process his reaction, Shiro had already placed money in his palm.

“Keep the change!” Shiro called from behind his back, quickly leaving the store with a skip in his step and a bemused Lance in his wake.

Keith

The first time Shiro brought him a cinnamon bagel from Lance’s bakery, Keith was lying on the floor of their new apartment surrounded by unpacked boxes and crumpled newspaper.

He continued to lay motionless as he heard Shiro’s footsteps approaching their unit from the outside hallway. He didn’t stir when he heard the click of the door unlocking, or when Shiro walked inside. It was only when Shiro nonchalantly tossed a warm package across the room, landing on top of his stomach and square above his bellybutton, that Keith turned his head to look at his brother.

“Breakfast.” Shiro shrugged, responding to Keith’s raised brow. “I also brought you some tea.” He watched as Shiro weaved through the maze of piled boxes the movers had carelessly placed, easily reaching the kitchen counter and setting down the steaming cup. Being a firefighter had its perks, one of them being the ability to move and coordinate a large, muscled body with inhuman grace. “You’re lucky that I remember to feed you, or else you’d starve.”

Keith huffed, sitting up slowly with a long, drawn out breath. He stretched his arms up high above his head, letting the paper bag roll down his stomach and fall into his lap as he straightened. He flinched as a strip of unexpected morning sunlight caught his eye, vision turning spotty. They’d both spent the entire night unpacking, but only Shiro had managed to keep track of the time. How Shiro was always able to remain awake and aware was beyond Keith, and he’d stopped trying to understand his brother’s innate and God-like ability to completely Have His Shit Together™ long ago. Which is why he didn’t question him any further as he reached for the package in his lap, heavy lidded and in a sleep deprived haze. He shivered as he took the paper bag in his hands, its absence leaving his lap feeling empty and cold. With clumsy fingers he unwrapped his breakfast, and without pausing to question what it might be, took his first bite. Immediately, his eyes fluttered wide. A warm flush of pleasure crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks as he began to chew.

“Oho,” Shiro cooed from across the room “Looks like Mr. Picky actually likes his breakfast.” Keith scoffed, crumpling up the bagel wrappings and launching them across the room. His aim was perfect, but so was his brother’s ability to dodge. Shiro side stepped the throw and caught the empty package with ease, shooting Keith a cocky grin that he returned with a scowl. Shiro answered with a light-hearted laugh, grabbing Keith’s tea and heading over to join him at his makeshift newspaper picnic.

The second time Shiro brought him a bagel, he set it down next to him without a word. The small action startled him, tearing him away from his work and bringing him sharply back to reality. It took Keith a moment to adjust, vision blurry from staring for too long at his laptop.

“You haven’t eaten yet today.” Shiro stated, matter of fact.

“I…what?” Half of Keith’s focus was still swimming in the colours and swirls on his computer screen, hands still poised to draw. He’d spent the entirety of the day working on overdue art commissions, completely sinking into his work and losing track of time. He leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to adjust to his surroundings. The sun, which had been high above the horizon when Keith had started work, was now setting, painting the room with vibrant pinks and reds. He slowly came back into his body, the hunger that was once distant now clawing at his stomach, desperate in its chance to finally be heard. Keith turned his attention to his desk, eyes travelling to where Shiro had set down a small, familiar brown package and peppermint tea. “Oh,” he stammered, the full reality of the situation finally hitting him “Thanks man.” They let the silence grow for a few moments, Keith taking the opportunity to unwrap his food.

“His name is Lance.” Shiro finally spoke, leaning against the side of Keith’s desk as he did. Keith paused, bagel in hand, mouth gaping around the ghost of what was going to be his first bite.

“What?” He spoke after a few moments, drawing out the silence. He must have looked completely bewildered, as his expression had Shiro laughing within seconds.

“The owner of the bakery.” He said, smile still etching his features. Keith blinked twice, utterly lost. Shiro held in his laugh this time, eyes travelling to the bagel and back to meet Keith’s. “Where I keep getting the bagels, Keith. Jesus.” Keith’s expression quickly turned skeptical, questioning. He let his eyes linger on his brother for as long as his hunger let him, but it was only a matter of moments before he shifted his gaze and took his first bite. He was immediately contented as the warm pastry settled on his tongue. He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him as he chewed. “First man I know who’s been able to win over your taste buds on the first go.”

“I’m not that bad!” Keith snapped, forgetting that his mouth was full, words cascading out sharp and messy. A blush quickly spread from his neck to the tips of his ears and he shot up a hand to cover his mouth. He refused to look at Shiro, who kept his eyes trained on him and watched in quiet amusement. Mouth still covered, he took a few moments to chew and swallow properly. Afterwards, blush still bright and patchy, he cleared his throat. “I mean… I’m not that picky.”

“Whatever you say.” Shiro straightened, deciding to let Keith eat and resume work in peace. “All I know is that I’m grateful to the man, he’s making my life a lot easier.”

This time, the crumpled bagel package caught Shiro on the side of the head as he turned to leave the room.

Every time Shiro brought him a bagel thereafter, it came with new information about Lance.

The third time, after Shiro had placed the bagel directly on top of Keith’s keyboard, he’d said: “Lance looks like he’s about your age.” When Keith responded with a gruff “What does that have to do with anything?” he’d simply shrugged, turning out of the room with a casual “Oh nothing, just an observation.”

The fourth time, he learned about Lance’s business. “He took the business over from his father, isn’t that interesting?” Shiro spoke from where he sat next to him on the couch. He’d just returned from picking Keith up his now go to meal, and was binging on some Chinese takeout himself.

“Mhm,” Keith hummed, mouth full and attention glued to the TV in front of them, buzzing with the evening’s news. He felt an elbow dig into his side, quick and abrupt, causing him to choke on a piece of bagel.

“Runs the whole place by himself. Seems like he’s doing pretty well.” Shiro continued a little too casually, prodding the contents of his takeout container with his chopsticks as though he hadn’t just elbowed Keith in the ribs.

“Shiro, why do you keep telling me all of this stuff about that baker? Last time I checked, you and Allura were in a long-distance relationship.” He drew out the last word for emphasis, knitting his eyebrows in frustration as he looked over at his brother.

“Yes, and a happy one at that.” Shiro continued to prod at his food, withholding eye contact. “Also, his name is Lance.”

“Alright. Why do you keep telling me all of this stuff about Lance, then?” He huffed in frustration, the conversation beginning to feel like pulling teeth. Shiro looked up at the mention of Lance’s name, a coy smile playing at his lips as he popped a piece of broccoli into his mouth. Keith stared, utterly lost.

“Just seems like an interesting guy is all.” He ate with a cheeriness Keith couldn’t place, like he was up to something. But for the life of him Keith couldn’t figure out what it was, and he had his upcoming commissions to focus on, so he let it go and continued to eat. If he had to listen about Lance in order to keep eating his bagels, he resigned, it was a small price to pay.

Keith leaned back in his chair, locking his fingers and stretching his arms far behind his head. He proceeded to rub his eyes, which were, again, overworked and tired from the strain of looking at a computer screen all day. He’d finally finished his work, and as usual, was having trouble adjusting to the reality that now surrounded him. The sun was almost below the horizon, the only light that remained in the sky burning like an ember about to go out. He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been working, but he did know that when he sat down to start, it was just after lunch. He put a palm to the back of his neck, stretching his muscles and cracking his tired bones. Now that his focus was shifted away from his work, his stomach had turned indignant, nagging and nagging to be obliged. He sighed, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone.

Keith: Where are you? 6:47p.m.

Shiro: Still at work, what’s up? 6:51p.m.

Keith: Can you bring your favourite brother a bagel on your way home? Haven’t eaten since lunch… 6:52p.m.

Shiro: Won’t be home for another hour or two, you’re on your own kid 7:00p.m.

Shiro: Also… you gotta start taking better care of yourself 7:00p.m.

Keith: I know I know 7:02p.m.

Keith: I don’t know where the place is tho… 7:03p.m.

Shiro: It’s in the indoor marketplace about a block away on 5th, fourth store to the right. Can’t miss it – but hurry, he closes at 8 7:05p.m.

Keith: I can’t believe you’re making me go outside 7:06:p.m.

Shiro: Tell Lance I said hi ;) 7:14p.m.

Keith had been in an art haze for days. He’d been able to take complete advantage of it, as Shiro was usually home early, but they were starting to trust him more at his new job, which incidentally meant more work and longer hours. He shuffled around his room in the dark, spying a bright red hoodie among the wreckage that was his bedroom floor. He sniffed it quickly, deemed it okay, and threw it on over his t-shirt. He tied his hair into a messy bun, swapped his pajama pants for a pair of dark jeans, and grabbed his leather jacket, keys, and wallet before heading out the door. He was a bit of a mess, the bun being a necessity to contain his second day hair, and his clothes wrinkled and disheveled after having spent God knows how long crumpled on his floor. His skin was pale from lack of sunlight and his eyes were heavy lidded and tired, but, he thought casually, swinging his keys on one finger and walking out onto the street, it’s not like he had anyone to impress around here anyway.

The Meeting: Keith

It was a little before quarter to 8 when Keith finally made it to the bakery. He opened the door to the subtle chiming of a bell, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty room. The place was small, but it was clean and nicely decorated. The shop consisted of a large counter and display case, which housed an assortment of equipment and a large chalkboard menu from behind, and a few quaint tables to eat at. However, his attention was instantly drawn to the walls that were painted a nice, airy blue. The bakery was warm in comparison to the crisp fall air outside, and yet being surrounded by such a soft blue reminded Keith of a cool sea breeze, or the mist that cascaded from breaking waves. The cool contrast of the ocean blues and the warm, homey smell of baked goods was a little disarming, and yet Keith found himself instinctively drawn in by the unique marriage of them both. As he made his way further inside, he could hear the distant sound of music coming from somewhere deep in the store. It was cheerful and bright, and although he knew he must have been imagining it, he could almost make out the sound of a sweet ocean breeze swaying along to each note, only drawing him further into the sea. He walked up to the display case, peaking in at what remained after the long day. The display was near empty, so he busied himself by combing through the assortment of labels marking empty rows. Strawberry Cheesecake, Coconut Cream Pie, Pecan Banana Bread… At the sound of hurried footsteps rounding the corner from what appeared to be the back baking area, Keith reflexively began to speak.

“I’m not sure if you have any left… I know I’m here pretty late. But, any chance you have any cinnamon bagels?” He remained partially lost in thought, mind still adrift at sea. His gaze continued to fixate on the display rather than meet the eyes of person he now spoke to.

“No worries!” The voice from behind the counter rang clear and bright. “We do, you won’t find them in there though.” Keith looked up as he continued to speak, following the voice. The sound carried his focus to a tall boy with a wide, goofy smile and kind eyes. He watched as the speaker cocked his head to the display, gesturing toward the empty case as he spoke. “I’ve been keeping a few extra in the back for-“ the boy continued, pausing for a moment “Well, they’ve been pretty popular lately.” Keith’s eyes continued to drink him in, utterly fixated. He wore a white apron over a light purple t-shirt, both garments sprinkled in powder. Despite slight bags under his eyes, he beamed down at him. Keith realized with a start that his eyes mirrored the soft blue of the walls. “What would you like on it?” Keith sucked in a breath.

“Uh…” Under his gaze, Keith immediately felt self-conscious about his appearance, remembering in grueling detail how long it had been since he had washed his hair, the carelessness with which he had thrown his hair up. He could feel his ears and cheeks, which were already rosy from the brisk walk to the marketplace, begin to warm. “If it’s not too much trouble… cream cheese on one side, and butter on the other.” His sentence trailed off in a low mumble and his eyes fell to his hands. He nervously began to thread his fingers together, palms quickly clamming. “Oh, please!” He tripped over his words, practically shouting them. He looked back up, surprised to see that the boy hadn’t moved, but was instead staring at him like he’d just stumbled upon something interesting. He laughed loudly in response to Keith’s outburst, face creasing and dimples appearing on both sides of his cheeks. For a moment, Keith felt like he was floating. The laugh wasn’t patronizing but kind, and it cascaded over him like ripples drifting outward in a pool. Their eyes met, and Keith thought for a moment that he might burn up on the spot.

“You must be Keith,” the boy smiled, dimples digging deeper into flushed cheeks. “Shiro’s your brother, right? He’s told me a lot about you.” He chuckled before continuing “Nobody but him ever asks for that order.” He turned slightly, craning toward the door that led to the back of the shop. He stopped mid-stance, however, to pause and look at Keith. Waiting, Keith realized, for a reply.

“Uh, y-yeah. Shiro’s my brother.” His throat felt like it was choked for air, words coming out low and patchy. In response, Keith received quite possibly the softest smile he’d ever seen.

“I’ll be right back with that bagel.” He chirped in reply, walking happily out of the room and into the back. After a few moments, Keith let out a long held breath, the tension in his body causing it to sound more like a strangled gasp as it escaped his lips. Suddenly, the entire set up of the bakery made sense. The ocean blues, the music that had him day dreaming of the sea, the warmth that somehow tied it all together. He felt like he’d wadded too far into the ocean, only to be swept helplessly away by an over zealous undertow. He saw light purple quickly come back around the corner, bagel in hand. Humming quietly to himself, the boy began to prep Keith’s order. Keith squirmed, desperately trying to figure out what to do with his hands.

“My name’s Lance, by the way.” The boy, Lance, spoke. His eyes remained trained on his work, but his voice carried the same smile that was spread across his lips. “I was wondering if I’d ever get the chance to meet the person who keeps ordering my cinnamon bagels… or if Shiro would play delivery boy forever.” He laughed quietly to himself as he said so, quickly adding “Not that I mind talking to your brother, he’s very good company.” Lance. Lance. The name hit him like a pound of bricks, heavy and sudden. The baker, the one who’d won over his tastes buds on the first go, who had taken over his father’s business, and who Shiro had been on and on about for weeks was here, standing in front of him, with nimble fingers and ocean eyes. The threads began to unravel in his mind one by one; why Shiro had mentioned his name so much, why he hadn’t been letting Keith eat in peace, why he stood here now. His mind spun and spun, the sudden buzzing of his phone from his hoodie pocket snapping him back into reality. He whipped it out, chasing the sensation that had temporarily anchored him. He unlocked his screen to see a picture of Shiro shooting him a peace sign, tongue stuck out. He was in their living room, clearly not still at work, caption reading plain and clear underneath: “Just kidding.” Before Keith could process the new information, his phone buzzed again, a new message popping up from his brother: “My final delivery: one cute baker, get em’ while he’s hot. ;)”

“I’m gunna kill him!” He stammered, mouth speaking before his mind had the chance to catch up. His eyes remained glued to his phone in utter disbelief, mouth falling open in a comical gape. Somewhere deep in his gut, he could feel a small fire begin to spark. The smoke rose and rose until it reached his cheeks, and –

Oh, Lance was staring at him. He was holding a paper bag in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. Had Keith asked for a tea? He’d wanted to, but had he forgotten? He figured he might have… so how had Lance known? It was probably because of Shiro… Oh, Shiro. Wait, Lance was staring at him. Realization flooded over him, Lance’s perplexed gaze effectively dousing his fire and completely deflating him. His arms shot up immediately, palms facing out and waving frantically. “Not you!” he blurted, a violent blush sprouting up his neck “U-uh… my brother!” Lance continued to stare, expression unreadable as he set down the package and tea he was holding. At this point, Keith figured his face must match the colour of his hoodie. “Not that I’d actually kill him!” He stumbled and stumbled, wracking his brain for anything he could use to explain his way out of this. “I mean, I spoke without thinking… he just sent me a text and-“ oh no, you can’t tell him what it said “Uhhh…. well, he sort of tricked me, and it surprised me… and…” He was interrupted by a burst of laughter. For a moment, Keith thought he had absolutely lost his mind. But Lance was laughing, loud and clear and without reservation. He clutched at his stomach with one hand and attempted to wipe at the tears spilling from the sides of his eyes with the other. His laugh filled the room in waves, lifting and breaking, until it bubbled all around him. For some reason, all the tension in Keith’s body eased at the light, carefree sound.

“I’m sorry.” Lance gasped between laughs, still holding his stomach. Once he’d calmed enough to speak clearly, he continued. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” His cheeks were patchy and rosy, and his face was still creased and bright with hints of laughter. “I have siblings… I get it, they mess with you. It can get pretty crazy.” Still smiling, he glanced at the watch on the underside of his wrist. He made his way over to the front of the shop, wiping at his eyes again as he did so, and flipped the sign on the door from “Open” to “Closed.” When he was back behind the counter, he spoke again. “Your order’s ready.” He glanced down at where he’d set the items on the counter. Keith followed his gaze, and felt his shoulders slacken.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Keith fumbled with his wallet, searching for change. He didn’t blame Lance for wanting him to leave, he had come in late… and probably freaked him the hell out. He tried not to appear too dejected as he handed the amount displayed on the register to Lance.

“I still have to close up shop.” Lance spoke suddenly, sentence trailing as though he was thinking aloud. “But, I’m pretty interested in hearing about how the ever-polite Shiro tricked his little brother…” Keith’s entire body perked without his consent, and Lance’s expression softened. “You can stay and eat here as I close, if you want to tell me.”

“If you don’t mind the company.” Keith replied, a little too quickly. “I jump at any chance to ruin Shiro’s spotless reputation. Man’s not as innocent as he seems.” Lance laughed again, this time low and quiet.

“I’d love company.”

[hjertetssunnegalskap1]

Skam Fic Love Fest Day 1: Comments

@evaksbinder arranges this lovely challenge, Skam Fic Love Fest 2018, and I love, love, love the idea. As always, I've planned this badly, and it collides with thousand things I've got going on right now. Still, I'll try to post a thing or two during the week!

Today's prompt is comments. 

I feel like I forget to comment on fics all the time, and lately I’m been too busy, too. So today I have commented on some recent fics and I will give them a shoutout here. Check out  Vivo (estas) Nun by Bewa,  Og opp til hodet by imminentinertia,  Scrim by eiqhties,  What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been by XioNin. I also commented on  The One That Got Away by cami_soul,  Synchronicity by XioNin and once more on  Masters of their own domain by evakuality. The comments got a little short today, because I’m in a hurry with some boring adulting things. However, a little is better than nothing, right?! 

* * *

As a writer I have gotten so many lovely comments, and I really can’t get how I deserve them? At all? But I cherish them all anyway, of course. It makes me so happy to see that others actually want to read the things I write and enjoy them, too! Here are some of the commenters I really appreciate.

One of the first comments I got was this one from Strangetowns / @canonicallyanxious on Don’t leave me (alone):  Aw, this is really lovely! And such an interesting start to what's coming up. I love the histories you've constructed for the two of them, like it's different from canon but also feels totally plausible and realistic with what we know of them as characters? I love the alternating pov, i think you pull it off really well and it helps create a more balanced dynamic between the two of them which is super lovely. I love that even though this fic happens in the course of one day, the development of their relationship feels quite natural. It's very believable why they would be so attracted to each other so quickly, especially considering their shared history! Anyway, I'm really enjoying this so far, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes <3

I really love this comment from Livet_er_naa on the same fic that actually mentioned something that didn’t quite work and that I could fix. I appreciate to get both positive feedback and concrit. This is the only concrit comment I have gotten from others than my beta readers, so it has a special place in my heart:  Tror du trygt kan utnevnes til master i lange kapitler ;) Bare en ting jeg stusset litt over - på slutten av delen som heter "Even - The gift". Først ser det ut som det er Isak som sier :" – Fy faen, he whispers. – Jeg elsker deg." (eller er det Even som sier det? Ble litt usikker). Bare noen setninger senere sier nemlig Isak "I love you", og av måten de snakker om det på virker det som det er noe han sjelden sier... Og det stemmer jo ikke hvis han nettopp sa det? Ble bare litt forvirret her, håper det er greit at jeg sier det, det er jo egentlig bare en detalj. :) Du skriver at du har strevd mye med kapittelet, men det merkes ikke når man leser i hvertfall. Og du fikk med mye fint fra sesong 4 også. Fint avslutningskapittel dette da! :)

@coolauntskam gave me this enthusiastic comment on The Very Personal Shopper: Ahhhh!!! You already know how much I love this fic. So sweet and funny and hot. It's still hilarious to see my grocery ordering adventures immortalized in fanfic. LOL. I'll never be over it. Thank you for this entertainment, haha!!And you had me laughing out loud with the lightsaber stuff. xD Oh, and OF COURSE Isak prefers Han over Luke. That's my boy! <3 Thank you for writing this, Camilla. It was delightful. :-D

On  Different, but same, I got some surprisingly lovely comments. Surprisingly, because the fic is a little strange and there are some consensual issues with it. Still, @rogueleader1987 , KT, wrote me this fantastic comment:  GIRL YOU KILLED ME!!!!!! that was so fantastic <3333333 i am feeling so many feels! ily. And later,  Flatfootmonster / @becsfannibal  attacked me with this comment when I needed it the most:  You are far, far, far from useless love. Seriously, one of my favortie writers sadi something like "Grammar, spelling, plot, playout, characters... these things can always be improved upon, because they are skills, but you have to have the talent to tell a story; that's the only prerequisite" and thank god he said that, cos lord my grammar is terrible now but it used to be appaulling. But I keep working on it and writing. YOU can tell a story, don't give up <3 I really felt a whole dizzying array of emotions from your words and that was beautiful. Thank you, I know fanfic writing can be a thankless task sometimes but remember the positivity <3

Im_a_bird  left me this amazing comment on Drunk on your colours: Only you can feel what you feel...except when you can also feel what everyone else feels too. This is such an interesting idea that they both have special abilities that set them apart and give them insight into other people. I would think Even's gift could be more painful than Isak's since Even is getting a real-time signal boost of their current feelings. It seems like it would be overwhelming. I want to comment on a thousand things from this chapter but I don't even know where to start. Oh wait! I do! That kiss...ahhh. Isak wanted that for so long and then finding out that Even deepened the kiss because he could feel how much Isak wanted him made it that much better! First year Isak and third year Even fics are especially my favorite! I love that Isak hasn't shrugged on that angry brittle protective shell quite so much at this point. He's just a little more open and innocent than he was by his second year. When he says he will change, I hope those aren't the changes he plans to make. This is so, so good!

arindwell/ @arindwell gave me this amazing comment on the same fic: I think I told you this already but I loved the positive feedback loop they had during sex, where Even felt Isak's emotions and got more turned on, and Isak saw/heard/felt Even get more turned on, and they just fed into each other. It's nice that they can get something fun out of their powers, not just the serious aspects (which are fascinating.) I really liked that when they finally got together it was light and not too angsty, which they deserved after pining over each other for so long. It was sweet (and sad) that Even could still think Isak would want someone other than him! I enjoyed this story so much. You always surprise me with your plots, as it's never what I'm expecting, and I love that. Thank you!

OceanOfInfinity always leave me lovely comments, and here’s one she left on The Cuddle Snuggle App:  I am all in in this one! Based on the premise, it might become my favorite of your app series. It's unique but based in reality. Can't wait for more!

Amfelia wrote me this amazing comment on Trollbundet/Spellbound: Spent the entire train ride to and from work reading this. Can’t begin to tell you how difficult it was not to do some stealth reading at work in between meetings, but I managed. Absolutely loved this, I think it is my favorite soulmate-fic, the way you used the bond as symbolism for how it sometimes can feel falling in love. And the tension, Even pulling back, Isak letting him do that. It was just so clever. You are clever.

On the same fic I got this comment that really picked me up when I was feeling a little down:  Amethystus wrote: Camilla <3 Been saving this gem for when I'd have better time, and which time could possible be better, than my first week of summer vacation! 

Where do I start? I haven't read many soul bond fics, so I don't know what's considered right and wrong, but I love what you're doing with it. Like, they're not forced to stay together, and they still have to work on their relationship, this is just some kind of magical matchmaking, like a nudge in the right direction. So beautiful!

The setting is perfect. I mean, meeting your sweetheart at a music festival, it's so realistic, even if it's literally Enchanting! All the little nods to s3, like "stay here with you forever" and kebabs (albeit moose kebabs) as comfort food, it's just so adorable. And I love the isfolket-ish chapter titles <3 Now I know you like playing around with different types of media, so you've probably thought of a soundtrack for this little darling already, but I thought I'd let you know that I listened to Jennie Abrahamson's "Into Deep" while reading. Check it out if you want to! Kudoskudoskudos and love!!!

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I could have mentioned so many more, but this was what I managed in a hurry. Right before midnight, lol. Thank you, all of you! All these comments and so many more made me forget my worries and keep writing! ❤️ 

[rinscribblessmalls]

Recently, I’ve gone back to a fandom that I have not been in for a long time. I only got back into it when they released a rhythm game--which I am a sucker for, especially when it concerns character songs. 

Yep. I just got back to the Prince of Tennis fandom. Again. The last time was two years ago when I was filling a void in me due to a lack of sports anime that did not catch my interest after Haikyuu and Yuri on Ice. 

And now? Since creating AUs is my life, this fandom was not safe from my thoughts. 

And then, this little prototype was born: an AU where Ryoma is their assistant coach and a twenty-one year old in a fifteen year-old body. 

You can also thank Onegai Sensei for this. XD

Title: Life’s Many Meddlings Fandom: The Prince of Tennis Category: Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi, Sports Ship: Initial plan is majorly Pillar Pair but very slow burn because, really, it’s them.  Summary:  Echizen Ryoma is 21, but with the body of a fifteen year-old. After an incident that brought him on the brink of death, he was diagnosed with a rare disease and had woken up four years later, but two years since his awakening, he still has the body of a fifteen year-old, but with the skills of a top professional athlete. Giving up his old dream as a professional, he now set his eyes in training other hopefuls as a coach.

Flash forward to the present, Ryuzaki Sumire, a former coach of his dad, asked him to be the assistant coach of her Seigaku Tennis Club to lighten her workload. Ryoma accepts while deciding to continue his education as a Japanese teenager and hiding his true age just to get by. 

Chapter 1

Ryoma didn’t really remember why he had agreed to Ryuzaki-sensei’s offer of a post as an assistant coach for her tennis club. It was convenient, she explained, since she had seen his progress as a tennis player all his life under the tutelage of his father, the legendary (pervert) Samurai Nanjiroh, and the fact that Ryoma finds more meaning in coaching rather than playing.

The agreement was he would accept the position at least until nationals—if he manages to bring her team there (for some reason being thrown a challenge was a major reason). Ryoma’s mother added another in the mix: for him to continue on as a fifteen year-old student with no one knowing of his true age while he was there. There was no age restrictions when it comes to education, add to that, his mother simply refused to pass the opportunity for him to return to school after six years of not going, with the last two of those years was spent just running around the world participating in tours and camps as part of the coaching staff.

His German doctor forbade him from doing extensive tennis, as he was still in the process of rehabilitation and medication for him to repair his growth until he reaches the appropriate height and weight of a man in his twenties. He would not be as tall as the others, but it was a step forward for Ryoma to at least gain a semblance of normalcy in his life after that event.

Which was why he asked the coach to keep his origins a secret for a while, unless it was inevitable that Ryoma tell the team himself about his medical condition.

As he arrived at the gates of Seishun Gakuen Junior High Division, he decided it wasn’t really that bad for him to act like his body age (for now). But the fact remains that he was entering as a senior and would probably be the shortest of them. His height as a fifteen year-old was nothing to brag about, to be honest. Ryoma was only 159 cm, as his 180 cm seventeen year-old little brother loved to point out from time to time.

Maybe it was because he was the new guy at school that he had to be the subject of the stares. Either way, he made his way to the faculty room where he was to meet his godmother, Ryuzaki Sumire.

“Oh, Ryoma, I see you’ve arrived safely.” Ryuzaki greeted when he saw Ryoma looking around the faculty for her.

“Good morning Ryuzaki-sensei,” Ryoma addressed formally, which the woman liked about him. She was glad that he didn’t turn out like his father though, and that was a plus in itself. It would save her the headache from hitting the boy upside the head if he ever gets the idea of skirt-chasing like Nanjiroh did in his younger days. “Morning practice is underway right now?” he asked.

Ryuzaki nodded in return. “I’ll introduce you to the team members for afternoon practice, though I do predict that some will challenge you because of your height and supposed age.”

“I’ll tell them this year’s setup off the bat if I have to, but for now, I think I’ll settle it with tennis so that I can shut them up immediately.” He replied off-handedly. “Can I observe them before classes though?”

“You have an hour before first period starts, so feel free.”

“Thank you.” Ryoma replied as he turned to leave.

“Oh, and Ryoma?” Ryuzaki called, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ryoma turned to give his godmother one of his rare smiles, “I’m glad too.” He said before he left.

Ryuzaki-sensei smiled to herself as she looked back at the photo on her desk that was dated twenty years ago, when she had first held her godchild.

When she had heard the news six years ago from an inconsolable Nanjiroh and a frantic Rinko about what happened to Ryoma, it took all of her strength not to book the next flight to Florida just so she could be with her godchild. It only took a few assurances that indeed, they were going to do something about it, and yes, they would be pressing charges after what happened to their son.

Unfortunately, Ryoma has had complications regarding his bodily state, but that was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that the young man had gone through the moment reality hit him when he had awoken two years ago.

She just hopes that Ryoma coming to Japan to start a new life with only his family in the know about his current condition would make him better.

…

Most of them are weak. Ryoma could tell that much from observing their practice, but it was nothing that he could not fix with a little tweaking for training menus. His father had been associated with a lot of tennis players and coaches throughout the years, so it would not be unfair for him to impart the victims—ah—members the training menu that was right for them. After all, if you’ve met the German team, you’d want their training menu too.

In his journey to the top, he went professional at fourteen, after his father had deemed him trained enough to go professional at such a young age. He was heralded as the Prince of Tennis in the pro-circuit. He was almost on his way to the top until…

His hand clutched the strap of his bag as the memory resurfaced. They were the reason why he was currently in such a state, why, after all the sacrifices that he has made in the course of his whole life fell into nothingness.

The only thing that kept him from going into insanity was the words of his mother.

“Make the most of this new life for yourself. You’ll never know what happens if you don’t take this chance.”

The words of his mother rang true, as he decided upon himself to go for this chance at a new lease of life, for him to start anew, even if it was under the circumstance that brought him and his family immense pain. No matter what, he would make the most of this brand new life.

…

Just as he suspected, the students in Class 3-1 were looking at him as if he was a new human species for public viewing when he was introduced to the calss. He was warned about this, but Ryoma found it better to just shrug it off and just continue on with his day like normal. It would do no good if he would entertain them. That would only encourage them to annoy you as much as they want.

Thankfully, the adviser came as his rescue and had started homeroom. Ryoma didn’t anticipate that on the first day, he would be subjected to a lottery seat where he has no control over where he liked to sit in class. He was fortunate that he got the window seat and on his right was a student that was named Tezuka, if his memory served him right. He was the quiet sort and kept to himself, which was fine with him. Silence was something he valued after all.

Then, there was what he dreaded. Lunch period was the way for girls to get the information they want from him. Surprisingly, the one who approached him first was his seatmate. “Echizen-san,” he called him, “I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu.”

Ryoma bowed in return, “Nice to meet you.”

Tezuka handed him a folder, “I’m sorry about the inconvenience, but the homeroom teacher asked me to hand you these documents.”

“Ah, no, it’s no trouble at all.” Ryoma replied. “Are you also the class rep?”

“No. I leave it to my classmates. I have enough work for the Student Council.” Tezuka replied as he sat back down on the desk beside him.

“Too much work as a student, huh?” Ryoma mused.

“That, and tennis practice.”

It was then when Ryoma started to let his childish side come to light, “You play tennis?” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Yes.” That seemed to catch the attention of the younger teen as well. “I’m a member of the tennis club. If you want, I could show you to the courts tomorrow afternoon. I’m afraid we can’t accommodate new members due to regulars having a practice match with another school.”

“Ah…I don’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll just ask Ryuzaki-sensei after classes,” he blurted out.

Tezuka tilted his head, “You know Ryuzaki-sensei?”

“Family friend.” Ryoma replied.

Before Tezuka could reply, he was called out by his friend. Turning back to Ryoma, Tezuka bid, “I hope I could see you tomorrow during afternoon practice. I must be going now,” he said as he bowed before he followed the teenager with an egg-shaped head.

‘Huh. That was interesting.’ He thought to himself. If the guy was a member of the tennis club, then he would meet him during afternoon practice. This would be fun.

…

The afternoon practice couldn’t have been quicker for him, as he went straight to Ryuzaki-sensei’s table at the faculty for her to lead him to the tennis club and introduce himself to the members. He was surprised to know that his classmate, Tezuka, was actually the captain of the team. It would make interaction with the team easier if he was in the same class as him, so he had no qualms about the matter. Even the egg-looking teen was the vice-captain, and the two were informed during lunch break that he would be arriving today.

“Nervous?” Ryuzaki-sensei asked him.

Ryoma scoffed, “Not in the least. They should be nervous.” He stated, “After all, I would be assessing them from this point on.”

“Cocky as always,” the woman mused.

“But I have the skills to back it up.” Ryoma returned as they arrived at the courts. “I didn’t see the regulars this morning. Where were they?”

“They will have a practice match with another school today and I told them to take it easy this morning. Don’t worry, they’ll be here tomorrow.” She assured him.

They were about to head to the courts when a student had intercepted them, specifically, Ryuzaki, about a matter of their class with her earlier. Glancing at Ryoma with an apologetic look, she sighed, “Since there’s only free practice today, why don’t you go ahead and ‘introduce’ yourself to some of them? I’ll be back in a moment.”

With a mischievous smile on Ryoma’ face, he agreed and went ahead. Ryuzaki inwardly groaned. She knew that by the time she gets back, he would have traumatized almost everyone in the tennis club.

…

Of all things, Ryoma hated weak people who try to act strong. They were not just worth the space, to be honest. These types of people bullying weak ones though…it makes him snap.

So when he saw a bunch of sophomores trying to extort money from unsuspecting first years, well, he has had enough.

“Hey, this looks interesting. Mind if I join in?” Ryoma said with the guts that only he could bring out.

A ruffian-looking brown haired teen smirked at him. “You really want to join in? Think you can knock the can on your own?”

Ryoma raised a brow. “You think I can’t? I could put it down even with rocks on it.” He revealed.

The first years that they were messing with looked at their upperclassmen in shock at being tricked. “Eh?! Rocks?” they let out and glared at the two second years.

Now that he had them stunned, Ryoma did what he always do, he took out his racket and hit the ball towards the can squarely with pinpoint accuracy, and out came the rocks that were inside the can. “Anything else to say?” he taunted the two second years.

What he saw in their faces brought delight to Ryoma’s vindictive side as the brown haired guy spoke, “Who are you anyway? I hadn’t seen you as a second year here. You must be a non-member.” He growled. “Why don’t you get out of here and mind your own business?”

Ryoma raised his brow, “Hey, that’s not nice. Just because I’m a non-member? Did you ever think I’m just a passer-by who does not condone extortion bullying? Why don’t you try playing with me and we’ll see if you have the skills to stay in the tennis club, eh?” he dared as he tapped his racket on his shoulder. Well, Ryuzaki did give him permission to cast an ultimatum on the students, but he’s not that heartless to students…except of course, the ones who participates in camps and tours for the advanced students and athletes. But this time, he’ll just make them suffer a bit…differently.

…

Momoshiro Takeshi was a lot of things, and being a klutz is one of them. And because of this trait, he managed to miss the practice matches of the regulars today because he was nursing a sprain that he had sustained after a reckless move while training with the Snake.

He sighed as he made his way to the clubroom. His class had been let out earlier than planned due to the teacher being caught in something that cannot be missed, and so, an hour earlier than planned, he made his way to the courts, only to see a spectacle that he didn’t expect he’d see in school grounds.

There on the courts was Arai—his year mate and an annoying classmate of his. He might have enough skill to make it as a regular, but that would be for next year when the third years graduate. As of now, he was a non-regular member that might never really make it for this year. He had to do something about his attitude as well, having had a streak of being a bully in his personality.

And on the other side was another student. He was wearing their uniform, and not the mandatory PE uniform, which meant one thing: this guy doesn’t belong in the tennis club roster. What was curious was that he has never seen the guy before, and he has seen all faces of some of his year mates, and he was not one of them. He looked too old to be a freshman…which mean that he might be a transfer student.

Wanting to watch what will happen afterwards, Momoshiro did the logical thing and stayed out of sight as he watched the new guy get six games straight from Arai.

The new guy simply mounted his racket on his shoulder and looked smug at the kneeling Arai in front of him. “You’ve been a member of the tennis club for two years, and you got beaten by a person who’s not dressed for sports in less than six minutes. Anything to say, Arai, is it?” he taunted.

“You…” Arai mumbled.

New guy looked at his crony on the side, “Hey, you, care to try to play with me?” he challenged. “I’m looking for someone who could give me a good game. Don’t just stand there, grab a racket.”

The blue haired teenager grit his teeth. “Fine!” he grumbled as he took the racket from Arai.

Momoshiro wanted to snicker. Finally someone who could give Arai and his gang a proper lecture and put them down a peg or three.

…

Eight minutes in, Ryoma’s opponent barely got a point from him, and he was sweating buckets. “Is this the strength of the ones who will carry out the mission of winning Nationals for Seigaku come next spring? Because if it is, then I’m not amused.” He taunted. “An elementary school student with enough experience will be enough to pummel you to the ground in three minutes flat, and I know a lot of them.” He inwardly sighed. “I have a lot of things to do then…” he muttered as he went back to the first years, “When you advance to the second year, make sure you won’t end up as upperclassmen bullies just because you’re born a year early, eh?” he advised them.

“Um…” the kid with the bowl cut started, “Thank you so much for saving us from senpai, but…who are you?”

Ryoma tilted his head, remembering that he didn’t bother to introduce himself to the people in the courts. “Ah. I forgot I didn’t introduce myself.” He said absentmindedly.

“Bastard…I’ll have the coach know of this. You’re not even a member!” Arai growled as he caught his breath back, along with his friend.

“True, I’m not a member, but you really should watch your mouth in front of your senpai if you value seniority too much.” Ryoma said as he took out his third year pin that he had conveniently stashed away before he went to the courts. He marveled at the fact that the two second years stiffened when they realized he was older than them. “And as for who I am, well, you’ll have to wait for Ryuzaki-sensei.”

It was then when Momoshiro had decided to step in, “What’s all the fuss about?” Momoshiro called out. “Hey, Arai, don’t go picking on the first years. It’s not a manly thing to do, and it makes you look like a douche.” He stated. “Well, you already are, but no need to show it in broad daylight.”

“Momoshiro…isn’t it convenient that you’re here?” he mocked. “Fine, fraternize with the small fries. I’ll go on ahead.” Arai said as he walked out of the scene, but what Momoshiro could see was a dog running with his tail between his legs. Coward.

Turning back to the first years and the third year, he asked, “Care to fill me in what happened? My name’s Momoshiro Takeshi, a second year, by the way.” He introduced.

“What’s happening is disciplining, which I bet he has already has his fill today.” Ryoma replied as he stashed the racket back in his bag. “He talks big but has barely anything to show for.” He huffed. “I’m Echizen Ryoma, a senior transfer student.” He introduced. “I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow.” Ryoma bid them. But before he could leave, he looked back at Momoshiro, “Oh, and you, take it easy. It would be bad if you aggravate your sprained ankle.” He stated.

The taller teen was taken aback as he looked down on his shoes, wondering if it was too obvious. “How…?”

“I’ve seen my fair share of injuries, so take care.” Ryoma answered before he left the courts for the day, not noticing that almost everyone, even the reporters who were on the site, were staring at him.

Sighing, Momoshiro turned to the three first years that had been victims of Arai, “You three, are you okay?”

“We’re just fine,” the bald first year replied. “Echizen-senpai managed to save our wallets in time though, so we’re grateful.”

Momoshiro looked back at the retreating back of the new senior. “Echizen-senpai, huh? Where have I heard that name before…?” he wondered out loud. He can’t wait to tell his fellow teammates about the new student.

…

Ryuzaki watched the entire thing from the classroom three floors above, and watched in interest as Ryoma made his impression on some of the members. While she didn’t know what led to the eventual game against Arai, she knew that whatever was said below at the courts was something that will be interesting by tomorrow when the regulars return from their practice matches, and when she drops the bomb that Ryoma will not be their typical club member.

TBC?

Haha, If ever I plan on continuing it, I’m still contemplating on posting this on either Ao3 or FFN. Then again, Ao3 is easier to use for me these days, what with all the taggings and whatnot. 

Hope you liked it~!

[liveattheauction]

A Story with Mutants: Chapter 1, kind of

Hey, here’s a thing I’ve been working on forever. It’s an old project that I revived recently and have been working on in my increasingly small amounts of free time. I’ve got a little more than this written but I only wanna post the first part here, mostly so that a particular friend of mine (hi, Marten!) can read it. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it! I don’t even have chapter titles. It’s very unedited.

[Chapter 1, I guess]

The roof of the First Lupei Bank stood a few stories taller than all the surrounding buildings except one, a fifty-something story modern skyscraper misplaced among the old concrete and steel blocks. Its mirrored windows cast back the grey skies with a veneer of rain. Below the streets gleamed in puddles, passersby shedding their coats at the return of the sun, the rumble of traffic muffled by the height. It’d be peaceful if not for the industrial AC unit rattling. Sheinberg shrugged off his jacket, breathing deeply. “I love it up here,” he sighed warmly as he stepped out from the stairwell. “About as private as one can get in the historical district.” “Doesn’t seem very private,” Shiloh muttered, following behind him. Sheinberg leaned against the concrete edge, narrow shoulders lifted and elbows settled on the wall. “Too much interference. The AC’s too loud, the other buildings are too short, and that big one there is a news station—twenty-four seven broadcasting, radio, satellite, everything.” “That’s… very basic.” “Well, there is more.” Sheinberg pulled a small box from his pocket. “But no fun in telling everything, is there? You smoke?” “I do, actually.” Sheinberg held out the box and Shiloh accepted a cigarette with a nod of thanks, placing it between his lips to draw his own lighter. “‘S a dying habit,” Sheinberg muttered through the filter. He cupped a hand against the wind and puffed a few times, smoke swirling against his palm. “I mean, rightly so; it’s a killer. But it’s nice to have a smoking buddy now and again. How’d you get into it?” “Old teenage habit,” Shiloh murmured. “You?” “Similar. So.” He cast Shiloh a wry, knowing grin. “Let’s talk first impressions. Tell me, were you expecting a black man?” A flicker of surprise crossed Shiloh’s face, noticeable only as a spasm among the freckles around his eyes, but it was quickly smothered by a chuckle. “I admit, I was expecting an old Jewish man.” Sheinberg laughed too, cigarette bobbing between his teeth. He slipped it between his fingers and spoke with smoke on his breath, “I get that a lot. I get that look—you hid it pretty well, you sly dog—that little blink, the head nod, the ‘oh, okay, it’s like that’ look. You know what that is?” He waited for Shiloh to shake his head. “It’s called cognitive dissonance. Old psychology concept from the fifties.” Shiloh blew smoke through his nose. “Post-war, then?” “No, man, nineteen-fifties. Which,” he said, waving his hand, “I guess is also post-war. But World War II, not three. The idea is that we have a set of preconceived notions of what the world should be, a bias of expectation. You hear you’re coming to meet Samuel Sheinberg, middle manager of a bank chain, you think old white guy in a yarmulke, yeah? You think big nose and curly hair and all those other things that you’d be called racist for voicing.” Shiloh snorted, grinning faintly. “What?” “I’m Jewish.” “Are you?” “Partly. Though my grandfather.” He waved Sheinberg on, lifting his cigarette again. “Go on.” Sheinberg shrugged. “I know you’re Irish—see, there’s the other side of it. No cognitive dissonance when you hear a name like Moil—Maloi—” “Maoilseachlainn?” “That. That’s Irish if I ever heard it. Then you walk in, freckled all to hell, pale as the dead, speaking with an accent. All you’re missing is the red hair and a flask. You are a perfect fit with my idea of your average Irish ex-pat.” He clamped the cigarette between his teeth and reached into his jacket pocket, holding it out on his arm. “Which, if you’ve come this far, you are not.” “In many ways, I’m not,” Shiloh murmured, a smile ghosting about his lips. Sheinberg pulled out a little red card and draped his jacket on the concrete edge, leaning back onto it with his elbows, and rolled the card across his fingers like a coin. “I didn’t bring up hundred-fifty year old psychology concepts for no reason,” he warned. “That moment when things aren’t exactly what you expect—that’s a definitive moment. You can learn a lot about someone by how they respond to dissonance. And it’s not just when people aren’t stereotypes, it’s anything: situations, information, even actions. What do you do when you act against your own beliefs?” “Is that rhetorical?” Shiloh asked. “No. Dead serious.” “I imagine most people don’t do that.” “But they do, every day.” He waggled his cigarette between his fingers. “Smoking, for example. At the end of the twenty-second century, between vapor alternatives and the health crisis and climate change and all that shit, smoking tobacco nearly disappeared from American soil. The last major generation of smokers died of lung cancer. It was kept alive by traditionalists and historians, nothing more. If you ask someone if they smoke, most of the time you get, ‘Don’t you know that’s bad for you?’” He took a long drag and spoke with smoke whirling on his breath, “Ever tried to quit?” “Once or twice.” “You obviously didn’t succeed. So, tell me, Shiloh: when you picked up that first cig after weeks, maybe even months, of sobriety, what did you feel? When you knew you were breaking a promise to someone important, maybe yourself? You knew it was bad for you. Still is. Why’d you still do it?” Shiloh studied his half-burnt cigarette, sheltered from the wind by his shoulders. “Several reasons, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “Stress, mostly. You must know my line of work.” “Yeah, and I can’t blame you for any vice. But that’s not my question.” “It’s not, is it?” He sighed and looked up as if the sky held answers. “If I’m being honest, I felt guilty. Disappointed in myself. I managed to justify it later—to myself, mostly—but at the time I just needed the indulgence.” Sheinberg nodded slowly, cigarette loose in his lips. “That’s dissonance. Your own actions in opposition to your own beliefs and all the facts supporting them. So you justify.” He took the cigarette from his mouth and gave the red card another roll across his fingers. “It’s largely situational and I get that, but you get the concept, yeah?” “I do.” “Good. You see where I’m going with this?” “I have a sneaking suspicion.” Sheinberg flicked the card across his hand, pinning it with his pinky and index finger over the two between to show off the ram’s head logo. “What do you know about the Ramheart Outpost?” “Less than you, I’m sure.” “Once again, that’s not my question.” Shiloh took a long drag, held his breath as he snuffed his cigarette on the concrete, and sighed smoke through his nose. “I know it operates as a brothel,” he said lightly, “for a number of reasons. But my interest in it is primarily as one of the largest and most secure mutant sanctuaries of the country.” Sheinberg paused. “Go on.” “What do you want to know?” Sheinberg simply waved a hand, urging him on. “The Ramheart, as I’ve most often heard it called, is located somewhere in the city of Lupei and serves as a major entry point for a global network of sanctuaries and asylums for mutants. I’ve been to several others—Cardiff, Chicago, the Mojave—but none as large or as connected.” Sheinberg waved further. “I’ve got an approximate location on it, but—” “Listen, Mawlsee—Marl—fuck—Shiloh. We just had a conversation about psychology and emotion. Don’t play me for an idiot, Shiloh; you know I’m the Ramheart’s gatekeeper and you know I don’t care about what data you’ve scrounged up from chasing us. I’m not here to judge your spying abilities. I’m here to judge you.” He dropped his cigarette without taking his eyes from Shiloh’s and smothered it with his shoe. “What do you think the Ramheart is?” Shiloh stared him down without expression—for such a vibrant face, all freckles and cheekbones and fine brows, it was amazing how well he could keep it blank—and spoke with a stiff neck, voice loose and honest, “The Ramheart is a refuge for those without refuge. A banned people whose very existence is tied to the worst forms of organized crime. It is a gateway to other mutant sanctuaries, and I suspect that’s often why it’s sought, but it is first and foremost a provider of some simulacrum of a normal life for those for whom that can never be a reality. It is, by multiple definitions, an asylum. It is also—and forgive me, this is a personal interest—an enormous operation with clients around the globe that still manages a level of secrecy unheard of by even the most successful intelligence agencies. I don’t seek the Ramheart for personal reasons.” “I know,” Sheinberg said quietly. Shiloh nodded. “You’ve given me the runaround better than some of the mutant-makers I’ve found, you know. That’s as great a compliment as I can give.” Sheinberg leaned in slightly. “That’s. Not. My. Question.” “I seek the Ramheart Outpost because one of the mutants there is relevant to my mission, and you know already that I can’t tell you more about that.” For a moment, Sheinberg was silent. The cigarette smoke still ghosted about their feet, their last wisps crawling along the quarter-inch of windless space before being caught up and lost in the updraft. A car honked below and a dull voice called back angrily. “Okay,” Sheinberg said thinly, spreading a hand on the concrete ledge and drumming his fingers. “Let’s try something else. You know anything about history?” “You’re too general.” “You’re dodging me. We’re talking about mutants, so I pretty obviously mean mutant history. What do you know about it? And don’t”—he held up a hand quickly—“don’t give me names; I could not give less of a shit about who you’ve tracked and brought down. Tell me why you had to do that in the first place.” Shiloh stared him down. The man could cut glass with those eyes. “You really don’t understand why we’re here, do you?” Shaking his head, Shiloh pulled his lighter out again and a box of cigarettes of his own. “I don’t understand what you want, that’s for sure.” Sheinberg rolled his bony shoulders out to his wrists, a single fluid motion, and steadied his stance as if readying for a debate. Unperturbed, Shiloh lit another cigarette. “World War III. It starts there and should’ve ended there. You know mutants were weapons at first, right?” “Still are,” Shiloh murmured threateningly. “Not often. They started as just beefed-up humans, you know. Little genetic enhancements to make them better killers. Then people started making them more animalistic, bigger, carnivorous, real monsters. Those were weapons, Shiloh Starts-With-An-M. We’re fuckin’ lucky they didn’t survive that long.” He watched Shiloh’s hands hide in his jacket pockets shamelessly. “The Second Geneva Convention banned the technology in war but nowhere else—common misconception is that it was banned all over then and there, but it actually took ‘til 2069 for the general ban to be signed by every country. This incredible military technology to alter genomes however the hell you so choose suddenly passed from government to private hands. That’s where the more artistic mutants came from that inspired the ones you track today. The twenty-first century anthropomorphic fantasies. Did you know, Shiloh that in the 2050s, the mutant population of the United States was almost as high as the population of African slaves before the civil war? Millions of specially-made, designer, often intelligent beings passed around like shiny new toys. Guard dogs, sexual objects, pets—ever heard of Red Norton? He was a mutant actor made specifically for a series of horror movies in the early 2040s—who existed solely as property. They never had any rights to take when they were made illegal. It was like rounding up assault rifles after the ban.” Shiloh’s expression was dead. “You know, some bars and cafés host trivia nights. You’d be a champion.” “As soon as the ban went into effect,” Sheinberg continued, cutting over the last of his words, “traffickers started scrambling for the mutants. I’m sure you know more about that than I do, Mr. Tracker. What you might not know is the schism it caused among the global trafficking networks—who would move mutants, who could keep them, who’d deal in their technology. The Ramheart was one of the first underground sanctuaries and it split pretty quickly with the rest of the trafficking network. You know the name Marise Williams?” “The cryptographer, yes.” “The same. She founded it right before she died.” Shiloh took the cigarette from his mouth. “That I didn’t know,” he admitted, pointing with it. “It’s her work that started the incredible web of secrecy that you’ve been navigating for… how long now?” “The better part of two years.” Sheinberg drew himself upright, spreading his arms. “And here you are.” “Yes.” “Looking for one mutant in particular.” “Yes.” “And not for personal reasons. I can only assume, from what I know of you, that they’re connected to one of the traffickers you hunt.” “That’s as much as I can tell you.” Sheinberg put his fists on his hips, tapping a foot. “I don’t like it. I don’t at all.” “Does that matter?” Shiloh asked, cigarette hanging forgotten in his fingers. “My intentions are not to harm the mutant, only to question it. This might be important to you but, to me, this is just another part of another investigation.” “Does that matter?” Sheinberg retorted. He rubbed his cheek and sighed. “Listen. I’m torn on you. I can tell you don’t mean harm to my organization, but you’re… I think you’re a force of nature, man. You religious?” “I am.” “Right, Jewish.” “No, Kirian.” Sheinberg grimaced politely. “The Odd Gods, huh?” “Does it bother you?” “No, but I really don’t know much about it.” Rubbing his chin, he queried, “You guys have a chaos goddess, right?” Shiloh nodded. “Alad, goddess of both order and chaos. I—consider her my patron deity, even among the pantheon,” he added hesitantly. “I consider myself an agent of her peace, balancing the natural chaos of the world.” Sheinberg stayed silent and Shiloh dropped his cigarette, smothering it with the toe of his shined leather shoe. “I don’t often talk of my religion.” “I can tell,” Sheinberg said gently. He blew his cheeks out in a sigh. “All right, Shiloh. I’ll cut you a deal.” He held out his hand, the red card pinned to his palm, and Shiloh shook it. “I’ll grant you access for one night and one night only; you go straight to the mutant you’re looking for, make your contact, and get out. Not that I think you’re one to linger. And”—he held up a finger—“if the mutant doesn’t want to go with you, you have to respect that.” Shiloh nodded. “Those are fair terms. I can’t promise that I won’t contact your network again, though.” “Contacting us is fine, just leave the poor buggers at the Ramheart alone. They’ve been through enough.” He let go of the red card, letting it flap against Shiloh’s palm, and took back his hand. “Good luck, Shiloh.” “Thank you.” Without warning or explanation Sheinberg rubbed his nose and said, “How familiar are you with the history of tobacco? Fascinating crop. A quintessential item in American trade for centuries.” With a small snort of amusement, Shiloh pocketed the card. “Do go on.” Sheinberg swung his jacket over his shoulder and led the way back to the stairwell, chatting blithely and emptily of colonial American trade policy as they reentered the building. The rooftop seemed to sigh, relieved of tension, and the AC unit rattled once when the door closed. A rooftop away, a different AC unit opened and a slim figure stepped out carefully. She straightened her shirt over the listening device and made her way inside. In another building, a less subtle eavesdropper lowered his amplifier from the open window, grumbling about audio quality. The sniper atop the skyscraper lowered his weapon in relief and the sniper trained on him half a district away finally relaxed her grip on her own gun. Contact made, mission complete; Shiloh emerged from the bank a few minutes later and caught the downtown bus on the street corner. Sheinberg watched him leave from his office window, worried truly that he’d let on to too many secrets, shown too much vulnerability, damned himself with his nerves. A scarecrow playing brave to the tornado. He rubbed his nose again—maybe he should quit smoking.