#and also because engagements are front-facing in nature! they belong to the public a little bit!

[itspileofgoodthings]

Random thought but I do think that fun can be such a good marker of whether or not something is healthy for you or even sometimes if it’s just good in general.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Jgy and jyl couple, where meng yao asked for nmj help for courting her in the middle of sunshot campain, could we see the political shenanigans involving jgs being his scummy self and newborn meng ling

World 2 - continuation of Four Worlds (JGY/JYL) - ao3 link

-

“So, uh,” Nie Mingjue said, uncertain and tripping over his tongue a way he never typically did. “What’s your plan?”

Meng Yao blinked at him.

“For courting Mistress Jiang,” Nie Mingjue clarified. “Unless you’ve already reached an agreement..?”

A bowl of soup every night and some pleasant conversation did not, in fact, make for an agreement to marriage, so Meng Yao shook his head.

“Right. So you have a plan, then.”

Meng Yao did not have a plan. Meng Yao did not have anything, nothing but his father’s blood, the weight of his promise to his mother, and his own clever mind; all he had was the sudden and overwhelming conviction that if he let Jiang Yanli go her own way without him that he would never again find a woman who would truly see him as her equal.

There was that girl, Qin Su, that he’d rescued – but that had been artifice, deliberate. He who had access to all of the reports of all the spies in the Sunshot Campaign, who sent out correspondence advising people on what roads were dangerous and which were safe, how could he not know that she would find danger in the route she had chosen? He had deliberately manufactured to rescue her as a means of winning her affection, his eyes all the while fixed on the prize of her surname, her family, which was one of the strongest subsidiary sects of Lanling Jin. They had influence he would need in winning back his name.

And while he had succeeded in his goal – once he had some status, she would fight her father to marry him, he was certain – he still thought he could detect the slightest hint of pity in her eyes. She was a girl in love, claiming that she didn’t care who he was or anything about his past, but how long would that last in the face of sober reality? In the face of struggle, of bitter adversity, of the opposition and scorn of all?

“…would you like help?” Nie Mingjue said, possibly correctly interpreting the blankness on Meng Yao’s face as absolute panic for the first time in the time they had known each other.

“Can you help?” Meng Yao inquired. It seemed unlikely.

“Well, I can write to my brother,” Nie Mingjue said, which sounded far more likely than the infamously frigid Chifeng-zun abruptly developing an expertise in wooing women. “And I’m on good terms with Mistress Jiang personally, so I might be able to provide some insight –”

“Wait,” Meng Yao said, fixing him with a stare. “What do you mean you’re on good terms with her personally?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Exactly what I said..? We first became acquainted as children, and while we were never close, we were always friendly.”

“But – you only allowed her to stay at our warcamp if she agreed to work! You said you’d kick her out if she wasn’t useful!”

“Naturally,” Nie Mingjue said. “Otherwise she might suspect I pitied her.”

Presumably, Meng Yao reflected, that statement made some amount of sense in Nie Mingjue’s head.

“What does she like, then?” he asked, deciding to focus on the practical. “Cooking, her brothers –”

Befriending people who are so far below her that they aren’t worthy of touching her shoe.

“She’s never had much talent at swordsmanship,” Nie Mingjue said at once, because of course that would be the first thing he would pay attention to. “Not her fault – she’s like Huaisang, born with a weak body, only worse, since it affected her breathing. Too much exertion and she’d turn blue…she used to chew licorice for it, when she was very young; if I recall correctly, she developed a taste for it.”

“Licorice? She likes licorice candy?”

Nie Mingjue nodded.

“She also always enjoyed reading. Poetry, classic texts or light, she wasn’t particular,” he said, brow furrowed in recollection. “She liked puzzles. Was always doing something with her hands – not embroidery, though, not unless she had to. But other things.”

Meng Yao nodded, his quick mind already flooded with ideas, thoughts…he was going to need to be clever about this.

Worse – he was going to need to be honest.

Jiang Yanli deserved it.

-

Meng Yao went to Langya with Nie Mingjue’s recommendation letter in his pocket and the memory of two hands in his, pressing together tightly, and a “yes” that rang in his ears so loudly that he almost didn’t hear the sneers and disdain of the people around him.

His father refused to see him, his peers mocked him, his supervisor stole his achievements and called his mother a whore –

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli whispered in his ear. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Meng Yao ignored them all.

He figured out soon enough that Lanling Jin was getting him nowhere, and that without some tremendous achievement, he wouldn’t get the name he had promised his mother he’d have, the one he was starting to doubt he even really wanted.

His supervisor told him he’d be better off dead in the battlefield, implied that he’d see it happen sooner rather than later. Meng Yao considered killing him.

“I would be proud to be your wife.”

Meng Yao did not kill him.

Nie Mingjue might’ve, chasing him out of the battlefield the way he did, eyes red with rage at Jin Guangshan’s insulting pretense – if nothing else, he should have given Nie Mingjue face by accepting the letter, especially given how many battles Nie Mingjue had won for him – but Meng Yao did not.

“I have an idea,” he told Nie Mingjue once he’d had a chance to calm the man down. “You’re going to hate it, so I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

“Be safe,” Nie Mingjue said at once. “Don’t do anything stupid and widow Mistress Jiang before you even marry her.”

Meng Yao smiled, and closed his ears to the sound of Jiang Yanli’s voice. He would need it more than ever, where he was going, but more importantly, if he wanted to succeed, he needed he needed to be the sort of person he was without her.

“I won’t.”

-

It was, Jin Guangyao thought with satisfaction, a perfect strategy.

He had brought down Wen Ruohan with his own hands, saved Nie Mingjue’s life – “What part of ‘I won’t do anything stupid’ means ‘I’m going to go spy in the Nightless City’, you imbecile?” “Sect Leader Nie is happy to see me, then?” “Of course I’m happy to see you! Now get over here and let me break your legs!” – and even swore brotherhood with him and with Lan Xichen.

With such a string of achievements to his name, strong connections to the other Great Sects, and even a personal title, there was no way Jin Guangshan would be able to resist the idea of bringing him into the Jin family to steal some of his reflected glory, even if it meant he’d finally have to give his bastard son the recognition and the name he’d so long refused to grant him.

Oh, his father had gotten his dig in there, calling him Jin Guangyao and situating him firmly outside the line of inheritance for the next generation where he properly belonged, but a name was a name. He was Lanling Jin, now and forever; his promise to his mother fulfilled at long last.

“We will have to find something for you to do, I suppose,” Jin Guangshan said when Jin Guangyao rose to his feet bearing a new name, as though he was trying to place a distant relative into some position as a servant, the minor irritations attendant to the life of a sect leader. “You were a deputy once, weren’t you? Doing all sorts of administrative things. You can arrange the hunt that we will hold to celebrate the end of the war, at Phoenix Mountain.”

“It would be my honor to serve you in this matter, father,” Jin Guangyao said demurely, and even managed to avoid rolling his eyes at the way Jin Guangshan pretended he didn’t know exactly whose deputy he had been, even after Nie Mingjue’s rather impassioned and too-public lecture on the subject back in Langya. “I am pleased to be able to contribute something before I leave the family.”

“Before – what?” Jin Guangshan turned a little purple in his rage, embarrassed in front of all the people who had come to view the naming ceremony and who had all started whispering all at once. His wife, who had been glaring death, suddenly looked far more interested in the proceedings. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

“I’m engaged to be married,” Jin Guangyao said apologetically. “I agreed to marry in – you understand, I didn’t have the Jin surname at the time.”

“You have it now. The girl can marry into our family, instead!”

Jin Guangyao’s smile widened. “I’m so pleased to have your blessing upon my marriage, Father,” he said, bowing his head. A father’s blessing was critical to a proper wedding, so he wanted it to be clear to the entire room that Jin Guangshan had agreed. It would make it more difficult for him to recant later. “But her family is small, her parents and much of her sect killed in the war, and she has only one brother – I promised her that I would marry in to ensure that her parents’ legacy lives on, even if only as the collateral branch.”

“It does you credit to respect your future bride in such a manner,” Madame Jin said before Jin Guangshan could speak. Jin Guangyao had counted on her leaping to his aid: she must think that it was in her best interest that the one bastard that Jin Guangshan had finally legitimatized be immediately rendered utterly ineligible for inheriting the Jin sect, and that nothing else mattered. Her open support now would make it more difficult for her to recant later, too, when she discovered that he was foiling her plans for her own son’s marriage. “Quite romantic, even. It warms my heart to see such faithful love.”

Jin Guangshan’s face went even more purple. To be criticized in public like that – only Madame Jin could accomplish such a feat.

Jin Guangyao saluted and bowed deeply to them both once again. “Father and Mother honor me too much. With your approval, I will arrange the Phoenix Mountain hunt as a proud member of the Jin clan and leave the family to marry into my beloved’s family on the first auspicious date thereafter.”

“Fine,” Jin Guangshan said, his lip twisting into a sneer. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be part of Lanling Jin and then leave it behind – he probably expected Jin Guangyao to stay and beg for scraps of attention, to run around doing anything he wished, to scheme for an inheritance he would always be denied. He might not have been wrong, in another life where that was Jin Guangyao’s only route to power – he’d always been ambitious, and often a little too optimistic with it. “Fine. You are, after all, my son, and to marry you will be a great honor for whichever family you choose. We’ll pay for your wedding, and even endower you as if you were a bride worthy of the family you marry into – it is the least that we can do, for the great honor that you have brought to Lanling Jin.”

At least his father remembered that he’d made a contribution, Jin Guangyao thought, and bowed again. It was an insult to call it a dowry, as if Jin Guangyao was a woman, instead of simply bestowing it on him outright as a gift, and even that pathetic gesture was only being made because his father knew they were in public, surrounded by the sect leaders of the cultivation world that he wanted to impress. And even then, even then, he had still tried to be clever, to say he would only make Jin Guangyao equal to the family he married into.

No doubt he expected that the only family that would take him when he was Meng Yao was some bunch of nobodies, and that the wedding would therefore be small, cheap, and uninteresting, just as he no doubt thought Jin Guangyao deserved.

He was doomed to disappointment.

“Congratulations, brother,” Jin Zixuan said, and maybe even meant it. “Who is your intended bride?”

Jin Guangyao savored the moment.

“Mistress Jiang, of Yunmeng Jiang,” he said, and watched Jin Guangshan’s face go pale, Madame Jin’s twist in abrupt rage, Jin Zixuan’s eyes go wide in sudden envy.

There were those that said the best revenge was living well, and they had something of a point, only they had left out a bit.

The best revenge was living well – and rubbing your enemies’ faces in it.

[yakumtsaki]

Cyneswith rolls the want to dine out with her Methuselahian boy-toy and I’m hoping we can knock this love out during this date so we never have to see him again. Naturally the road to 20 simultaneous lovers is gonna have some duds, but did we really have to start with one?? Between Cyn’s gray hair turn on and Shajar’s fitness/fatness ones the chemistry mechanic is ruining my life this generation.

Yea that’s great, CADP, here’s an even more appropriate green face: 🤢🤢🤢

-I don’t get paid enough for this shit. 

Random Waiter sweetie, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we’re romancing this old bitch in front of you, oh my god.

Mercifully CADP wastes no time falling in love with Cyneswith after this public woohoo witnessed by every townie within a 20 mile radius, and the date is a stunning success:

LMAO. Watch Cyneswith become a pillar of the community thanks to publicly banging the elderly, she truly can do no wrong. No wonder she’s the only child Jojo acknowledges. 

Beyond over for Don. 

Cyneswith returns home in the glowing triumph of her platinum plumbob. She literally hasn’t even made it to the front door yet-

-and CADP calls to ask her out again! Man, these drama professors are relentless, remember how half-alien prof stalked Gunther? Did this guy even go home or is he calling us right from the diner where we left him?? Whatever the case, hardest ‘Stay Here’ ever pressed, grandpa. 

-But I wanna go out with him again! 🌸

Yea well we don’t have time to be systematically dating these flops, Cyn, if you wanted in depth affairs you should have rolled a different LTW.

NICE. Another fine addition to our yard of wonders! We’re still not dating you, CADP, but when we’re throwing ragers on this thing, we’ll be thinking of you with some nostalgia and a lot of disgust. 

With Cyneswith platinum for the foreseeable future, I take a look at how everyone else is doing to ensure there aren’t any aspiration failures lurking. Ti-Ning and Frances are ultra-loved up and doing great-

-Angel rolls the want to get engaged to Wulf as well as the want TO INVITE OVER GUNTHER AKA HER TEENAGE FLING FROM 30 YEARS AGO, FFS ANGEL-

-and Don.. well he’s seen better days. The sad ‘go on a date’ want is killing me, I’ve considered it a given so far that he’s endgame for Cyn but they haven’t been interacting much lately, we’ll see how it goes, it might legit be over him.

The semester ends and with it Sophie’s insane 0 studying A+ streak, which is understandable since she literally almost died. Proud of Wulf and Don for bringing their grades up since they were both doing terribly, Don especially was flirting with academic probation last semester. I guess once your gf is no longer distracting you because she’s too busy cheating on you, you start hitting the books.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life.. and Sophie autonomously goes to gossip with Shajar!!! I was so shocked I unironically took a screenshot of the little action queue window, but whatever, it’s a big deal! 

-Hey Shajar, you know who’s an even bigger turbocuck than you?? Ti-Ning! God I can’t stand that loser. 

-Haha couldn’t agree more, Sophie! 🖤 Not like I’d agree with anything you say, I have my own personality and opinions and everything!! Why are we talking about him like he’s not right here? I’m not questioning you, just curious! 🖤

-It’s my new bullying tactic! 

-It’s great! 

-Congratulations on your ever-evolving bullying techniques, Sophie! 🖤

-Congratulations on idolizing me! Maybe you’re only a cuck and not a turbocuck after all.

AAAAAAA THEY’RE PLAYING RED HANDS OMG OMG IS THIS FINALLY GONNA HAPPEN????

-Haha great punch, Sophie! I actually felt the nerve damage as it happened!

-Thanks, ever since my post-workout coma I’m stronger than ever!

OMG THEY FINALLY BECAME FRIENDS. Bro I still cannot believe Cyneswith not only befriended Sophie first but is LITERALLY BFFS WITH HER. UN.REAL. ANYWAY there’s only so much blue balling I can take from these two, it’s time to find out if there’s something there once and for all. But first, we need a slight adjustment so let’s head to the nearest mirror..

-OH BROTHER.

In the name of love, Shaj, come on!

-So, Sophie.. As I’m sure you can see, I’m blonde now. And I had to sign a contract promising I won’t sue for how terrible it makes me look, so I’m legally blonde. Now that that’s out of the way..

-..it’s Ti-Ning trashing time!

GODDAMMIT SHAJAR NO. NO MORE TI-NING TRASHING, NO MORE USELESS PLATONIC INTERACTIONS, IT’S GO TIME. Check her out, and let the chips fall where they may!!!

F I N A L L Y I                 L N                L A                A L                N L                I Y L L A N I F

OK. SO NOW WE KNOW. What you do from now on is up to you, first and last time I’m intervening but these two were driving me insane.

-And so after careful consideration, it became clear that blonde is truly my color! 

-Are you sure, Shaj? Because when I saw you upstairs you were sobbing and doing vomiting motions in front of the mirror.

-Aw Angel, that’s not a very nice thing to say! Don’t worry sis, I love your new look! In fact, I’m so proud of the way you look I want you right there next to me when I meet potential lovers! 💗

NOW THAT’S WHAT I LIKE TO SEE. I mean I wish I wasn’t seeing Shajar’s terrible blonde hair but Sophie’s blondeness turn on forced my hand. But the rest of this pic is what I like to see!

Despite recent developments, Sophie remains elusive af but I’m not butting in anymore, I’m returning to my go with the flow playstyle. So Sophie once again leaves us dick in hand and goes inside to.. you guessed it, socialize with Cyneswith. Shajar follows suit.. and..

....

................

.....................................

SHAJAR. YOU FINALLY STEPPED UP. I guess there’s only so much cucking from Cyneswith one person can take!!! If Sophie rejects this I’m literally gonna die-

-HELL YES OMG FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 

CYNESWITH ARE YOU KIDDING ME. BRO. LITERALLY THE BIGGEST COCKBLOCK TO EVER LIVE

And Shajar is now in love with Sophie, whereas Sophie isn’t even best friends with her yet, oh Shaj.. Well whatever, you’ll get there (I hope). ACR gets right down to business, let’s ignore Sophie thinking of Cyneswith, istg..

Boy, that escalated quickly. I mean we literally went from first kiss ever to woohoo with 0 other interactions in between but after all those years of incelitude who can blame Shajar.

And it’s official!!! ❤️ I’ve been convinced these two belong together ever since they were teens but I was also convinced Gunther belonged with Melody/Daniel belonged with Brittany/Jojo belonged with Frances and we remember how all 3 of those went so only time will tell.

In the meantime let’s marvel at how uneven this burgeoning relationship is thanks to Shajar unilaterally obsessing over Sophie for half her teenhood. But she finally got her! An inspirational tale about never giving up on your dreams even when your dreams prefer your sister. 

[starkeristheendgame]

Starker Valentine

Firstly, I want to start by wishing @softstarkerstuff a wonderful Happy Valentine’s, and also every other wonderful noodle that may see this! This is my second time participating in a challenge and I am beyond excited! Softstarker requested a High School AU where childhood best friends drift apart after Tony rejects Peter’s feelings for him. Naturally, Peter has the mother of all glow-ups over summer and Tony is quickly forced to reconsider.

I didn’t wanna go absolutely crazy on the word count for this, so I haven’t actually written out the majority of the backplot. This fic takes place after said rejection and focuses on the requested act of Tony developing his character in order to deserve Peter’s affections.

(I said that and this ended up being over 4,000 words!)

@starker-valentines 

TW: Light Angst | (Not) Unrequited Love

“Tony. Get up,” Natasha hissed above him, and ordinarily the glint in her eye would have been enough for Tony to hop to, but the situation outweighed whatever horrible consequence she could bestow him, and he shook his head.

“We live here now,” Clint shrugged happily, popping another nacho into his mouth from the bowl he’d swiped before joining Tony in an act of solidarity on the floor, hiding behind a countertop in the kitchen. Natasha arched a dangerous eyebrow at the other boy, and even Tony twisted to look at Clint.

“Why are you down here?” Tony asked, risking leaning over Clint’s thighs to peek around the corner. Fuck. He couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was safe to move. He blew out a harsh breath and curled back up against the counter, scowling.

“Barnes has that leather jacket on again,” Clint announced simply, as though that explained anything at all. Above them, Natasha heaved a put-upon sigh, settling for kicking Tony in the shin with an unimpressed frown.

“Him I can understand,” she begun, motioning to Clint, who paused like he didn’t actually know if he ought to be offended or not. “But you. I had higher expectations of,” she sniffed, eyes scanning the room behind them before she reached down, grasping a fist of their shirts and hauling them to their feet despite their yowls of protest and clamours to hide behind her.

Heart in his throat, Tony cast a quick glance around, but couldn’t find the object of his fears. Or... The person. He relaxed a fraction, mindlessly pawing at Natasha’s iron grip with the dull awareness that his shirt would likely be crumpled.

“Idiots. The both of you. If I were less of a friend I’d complain about you ruining my night,” Natasha sniffed as she begun to drag them out of the kitchen, Clint still desperately clinging to his snacks and having no qualms about stealing a bowl. Tony kept himself alert as they walked, fugitively scanning the rooms as they made their way towards the door.

He couldn’t exactly say he lamented leaving - Contrary to every single clichè American film, high school house parties were often measly affairs, more pizza than booze and always with that one weirdo pretending they were absolutely wasted off alco-pops and mixers. 

This party was largely no different, thumping music that made it hard to talk, pizza that had long gone cold and Tony would rather starve than touch, shitty drinks with a 4% content.

Mm, but no. What made this party truly, utterly horrific, was the fact that Peter Parker had shown up. And really, that sounded meaner than it was intended. Tony didn’t hate Peter - Not even close. Wasn’t disgusted by his presence but terrified of it.

Peter was - Or rather, had been, his best friend. This is where Tony’s sort kind of did realise the typical ‘teen film’ plot.

Boy meets boy. Boys grow up as childhood best friends, joined at the hip and vowing during recess to never, never, ever break friends. Boys navigate pre-teenhood together. Boy gets crush. 

Apparently, other boy also gets crush. Boy admits crush. Other boy is too emotionally repressed and terrified to admit crush. Boy rejects boy. Summer comes. Boy gets glow up. Other boy now doubly regrets rejection and is left to wallow in pitiful regret and jealousy.

Yeah. Tony liked it about as much as he liked Marmite, which was to say, not at all. When Peter had rolled over on their bed, eyes imploring and voice soft as he admitted his feelings, something within Tony had died. 

Because Peter was this perfect, pretty thing he was destined to never have. The flower that Tony was too scared to pick because he didn’t want to see it wither and die.

“He’s gone all thinky and melancholy again,” Clint complained at his side, and Tony thumped him on the shoulder, tripping over the welcome mat as Natasha lugged them along like reluctant suitcases. 

Tony would have given a smart quip in response, something scathing about how Clint was also running away from someone, but a soft voice interrupted the quiet of the front yard just as they reached Tony’s car.

“Tony?”

Fuck. Fuck. Don’t turn around. It was easy to pretend he hadn’t heard, grabbing Clint by the scruff to stop the moron from turning and waving as they hauled into the car. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face it. Him.

They were barely even in the car before Tony begun to pull away, Clint and his nachos rolling around in the back as the teen struggled to buckle himself in. From her seat up front, Natasha eyed him.

“Coward,” she announced, and Tony immediately agreed without shame. He was, of course. He was a coward. Had been from the start, from the moment he was old enough to let his feelings morph from the love of a friend to just...Love. He drove with a grim expression and an ache in his chest that felt like drowning.

He lay in bed for the remainder of the night, nose filled with chamomile and flora and heart aching with every memory that encompassed all that he had left of Peter. He had run away that night, recoiling from the prospect of ruining something he loved, and knowing he was ruining it by running. A vicious circle; a rat maze he was destined to run forever.

The torture of it had only increased upon their return, when cheeks round with baby-fat had slimmed and sharpened, when Peter’s unruly curls had smoothed into rolling, silky waves. He’d worked out over summer a little too, no longer just slim but lean. Summer glow-ups were nothing new, but Peter’s had hit hard.

Peter’s new looks had only succeeded in turning him from a neutral, friendly nerd to the newfound adoration of Queen’s Public High School, the boy suddenly inundated with attention and propositions. Peter seemed to have taken it in stride, not exchanging his personality for popularity, and still sat with the same two friends at lunch, still studied hard and ignored the feral social ladder.

It only made Tony love him all the more.

His sleep was restless and by Monday he was tired and grouchy, stalking through the halls towards his locker with a pair of deep shades covering his stinging eyes. Natasha cast him a glance as sympathetic as she could offer when she had made her opinion of his torment clear, and steered him towards first period. 

Peter was already there when they arrived, slouched over his desk and engaged in an enigmatic conversation with Ned. Tony allowed his gaze to linger for exactly six seconds before he slumped in his own desk, decidedly across the room from Peter and slightly in front, so he wouldn’t have to spend any of his lessons watching the other boy and lamenting the loss of his warmth.

A shadow fell over his desk and Tony slowly lifted his head from where he had been staring at the floor, willing his migraine to jump ship. The shadow belonged to one Steve Rogers, who’s summer glow up had happened over the previous year, and who had gone from your average joe with pretty eyes and a jawline to a six foot tall, broad-shouldered, lean hunk of very biteable meat. If Tony wasn’t fairly (entirely) certain one Bucky Barnes would knock all his teeth out, he’d have tried a taste.

“Can I help you?” he asked blearily, tipping his head so his glasses dipped and he could see Steve without a vignette of black. Steve merely raised an eyebrow, and Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously in response.

“Hm.” And then Steve turned away, striding towards his own desk. Tony blinked dazedly at the now empty space, cast a sideways glance at Steve who sat down and begun to talk to Clint without a peek in return, and sighed. Ah. So Peter’s presumable warning about not going after Tony for breaking his heart must be nearing its end, then.

Wonderful.

At lunch, Tony snuck off campus and drove to the nearest Starbucks, returning to Natasha’s side with a coffee that was more espresso than water. He slouched in his seat and gave a pathetic whine, rubbing at his temples, and she slid a manicured hand through his hair, deliberately catching the tips of her nails on his scalp.

“If you weren’t such an emotionally repressed baby, you wouldn’t be like this,” she ‘soothed’ gently, and he cast her a sideways scowl.

“Yes, thank you for that. Nothing compares to your compassion and support,” Tony grumbled, scowling at her from behind his glasses. He needn’t remove them - she knew him well enough by now. Across the table Clint leaned forwards, petting idly at Tony’s forearm whilst his gaze remained steadily on Bucky from across the hall.

“Thighs like that should be illegal,” he sighed dreamily, and Tony and Natasha raised a brow in unison. Tony wasn’t the only one afflicted with love-interest related drama; Clint had gone and fallen in utter besottment with Bucky Barnes, also known as the second side of Steve Rogers’ coin. 

Unlike Steve; Bucky had always been tall and broad, with a slick haircut and a face that was already breaking hearts across the school.

Tony’s gaze drifted, away from Barnes’ denim clad thighs and instead to the sweater-clad form besides him. Peter was sprawled in his chair, sipping absently at a Cola and paying delighted attention to whatever conversation was happening. He looked... 

Soft. Soft in a way that Tony knew was huggable, touchable. His sweater was a deep blue to match the unlaced Doc Martins on his feet and his hair was askew like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

“Stark!”

Fuck.

“What can I do for you?” he ground his teeth, voice faux sweet as he turned to eye Ms. Hill, who arched a brow at him and leaned down, plucking his coffee cup from his grasp.

“Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but last time I checked, the campus lunch hall didn’t stock Starbucks,” she announced, voice steely as she stared him down. Tony only offered her a short smile and an easy shrug.

“Correct.”

“Well then. I hope you’re sufficiently fuelled for a long day - you have detention. Immediately after last period.”

Tony simply cast her a serene, unbothered smile, taking his cup back before she could throw it in the trash. Tony’s grades more than made up for any mishaps he might incur, but Howard would still be displeased with him. Even more so at the triviality of why he was facing detention. 

Neither of his friends deigned to say anything about the instance, though Clint had given a dramatic wince at his punishment and had tossed a scowl at Hill’s retreating back - ever the supportive friend.

Natasha disappeared shortly before the end of lunch, though Tony had long since learned not to question her. He’d once found her lounging behind the bleachers, making a scalpel out of a piece of plastic card, some gum and a pencil. 

Since then he hadn’t dared to think too hard about what she might be doing whenever she wasn’t sitting in view and judging everyone.

She was back by the time last period rolled around, sitting primly in her seat with her book open, interest lost in a magazine she had apparently pulled out of nowhere. A glance at the cover showed it was a rifle magazine and Tony was not, at all, surprised.

Last period was history, and their tutor was a decidedly crabby old man who was never pleased with the efforts of his students. He was a fair grader - Never shorting them of their achievements, but he sung little praise and always had something to say about improvements.

They'd been given homework that no amount of groaning would rescind, and Tony pulled his from his bag with a sigh, rooting in his bag for a pen. In this class, he sat at the back, and it gave him a full vantage of where Peter was practically sitting in the lap of the pretty girl that had transferred here not too long ago. He had a vague notion of her name, but he knew for a fact that Peter always called her 'MJ'.

"Students! I should hope your weekend was spent wisely. Anyone not in possession of their homework will receive a detention," Mr. Ardell announced, hands clapping together. Tony breathed through his nose at the sound, pressing at his temple.

"Stark. This is not a nightclub nor a fashion show. Take the glasses off, and keep them off," he added in a snipe, and Tony forced a brittle smile, steadfastly ignoring the way that soft, honeyed eyes turned to him as he slid his glasses off And set them on his desk.

Even the typical 'bad type' student or the dumbest of them all listened to Mr. Ardell. The man had a booming voice and no hesitation about dealing punishments. 

At a glance, Tony could see that every student had their homework on their desk. Every student except Peter, who was rummaging around in his bag with a growing sense of urgency. Tony perked.

That was unusual. Peter often had his homework out before the teachers even got a chance to ask. Tony’s gaze remained fixed on the boy, who was now frantic as he dug around, mindlessly passing Mr. Ardell his homework as the man roamed the room, collecting sheets, right up until he stood opposite Peter, who floundered.

“I... I did it! I packed it this morning. It was right in my folder and now it’s gone!” Peter breathed, panic blossoming in his eyes. Mr. Ardell was quite clearly having none of it as Peter rambled and rifled through his bag, until Mr. Ardell finally held up a hand. Despite himself, Tony sucked in a breath, wincing in sympathy.

“Detention, Mr. Parker. And such a shame. You’re one of the few that don’t frequently make me wish I had the money to retire sooner,” Mr. Ardell sighed, and Peter crumpled. 

It made Tony’s heart clench in his chest, sympathy surging through his veins. He had no doubt Peter had done the homework - But perhaps he’d simply forgotten to pack it.

He was sitting there, chin on his palm as he watched MJ comfort Peter, when he sat bolt upright.

Detention.

Tony had detention.

That meant -

“Aw, fuck.”

“Mr. Stark!”

As Tony packed his bag at the end of class, Clint came sidling over, nudging him with a meek smile. “Hey, man. It’s not that bad. Just put some earbuds in. I bet he hates your guts too much to talks to you anyway!” he added cheerfully as they strode from the room, and Tony cast him a flat look.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem! Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta dash if I wanna make it home to walk Lucky before food!”

And then, there was just Tony and the rapidly emptying hallway. He heaved a sigh, ground his teeth, and strode towards the detention room. It was only half an hour. 

That was nothing. He could make it. The wild notion of fleeing and dealing with a double detention tomorrow crossed his mind, but Tony could only stand being in school for as long as he had to, and with a duck of his head he strode down the hallway at a faster pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner it was over with.

He reached the door and was about to push it open when the sheet of paper caught his eye.

Detention students - Room 3A12.

Tony frowned, but turned on his heel, making his way towards the other room. Perhaps that one was being cleaned or something. He was putting his earbuds in when he pushed into 3A12, Guns’n’Roses already filling his ears when a yelp of; “don’t let the door shut!” filtered through, followed by the soft slam of the door behind him.

He blinked across at Peter, who had stopped mid-stride, arm outstretched, looking pained. “Fuck! It locks from the outside. Now neither of us can get out,” Peter whined, and Tony scoffed.

“None of the doors in this place lock only from the outside.” to prove his point he turned, grabbed the handle, and slammed shoulder-first into it when it did not move as he did. Tony frowned, lips thinning as he jiggled the knob, tried again.

It wouldn’t open.

“Who the fuck installs a door that doesn’t open from one side!” Tony exploded, panic beginning to seep like cold water through his veins as the reality of the situation hit him. He was stuck alone in a room with Peter. Opposite him, Peter groaned and sank back down onto the -

“Son of a bitch.” They weren’t even a proper classroom. There were barely ten tables in here, a tiny whiteboard and a miniscule teacher’s desk. They couldn’t have been put in a smaller room if they tried. But speaking of the teacher's desk…

“Where’s the teacher?” he asked, nose crinkling. Opposite, Peter heaved a sigh, fidgeting on the edge of his seat and tugging at the ends of his sleeves.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in here for ten minutes, nobody has come in,” Peter sounded quiet, miserable, and Tony’s heart squeezed uncomfortably within his chest as he sunk down into a chair, frowning. 

Maybe the teacher was just held up with a student. They’d arrive soon enough, and Tony could be out of here and far away from that plush mouth, those dark eyes.

The minutes ticked by, with nothing but the sound of the clock on the wall. Tony tried texting Natasha and Clint, but they were both home already. If Peter had text anyone, he’d had similar luck, because ten more minutes passed and still not a soul even passed the door. 

Tony blew out a breath and tossed his phone down, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter watching.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“There’s not a lot in this room to look at.”

Tony gave a soft sound, eyes closing behind his shades as he settled. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this. They just had to wait and hope that a caretaker came around, or that someone called the reception to report that they had not come home. More minutes ticked by.

“You’re still staring.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t...I haven’t seen you in a while,” 

Tony sucked in a breath, eyes closing and fingers beginning a tempo against the table. No. He couldn’t do this. If he did this; he’d crumble. He’d get to his knees and beg for all he’d lost, and he couldn’t do that. Not as a Stark, and not to Peter. Couldn’t lead Peter to a reckless end.

“We’re in all the same classes,” he noted roughly, and Peter made a soft, frustrated sound besides him. Tony winced but said nothing more, steeling himself. Peter deserved better than him - especially now, when it would look like Tony only cared because he’d changed. Except... Peter hadn’t changed all that much. He’d just filled out a little, gained some confidence.

“You’ve been avoiding me and ignoring me.”

“So have you,” he replied evenly, relenting to the fact that Peter wasn’t going to drop the issue. He let his head loll to the side, almost startled when he found Peter leaning forwards, arms around himself, staring at Tony with shining eyes.

“I haven’t wanted to. You pushed me away, disappeared, came back and won’t even look at me”.

Tony ground his teeth, chewing his tongue. “It’s not like I wanted to either, Peter, but I couldn’t…” Couldn’t be around you, knowing that, and not taking advantage of it. Couldn’t see you hurt. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.

“What, you were so disgusted with me you couldn’t even bear to be around me?” Peter sounded defensive now, voice hardening slightly, and part of Tony was thankful. Yes. He could do barbed. He could fight. He could take Peter hating him. At least he wasn’t hurting him further, that way.

“I’m not disgusted at you,” he replied quietly, turning his gaze away. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, throat tight and hands gripping his desk to stop them from shaking. He thought about ringing Clint, bribing him to come open the door, but Peter spoke again.

"I get it if you don't like me that way but... It's not fair. Treating me this way. Being so... Awful about it.”

"I'm not being awful. I'm…"

"Running away from your feelings? Yeah. That's kind of your MO.”

And Peter said it so bitterly that Tony flinched, teeth clipping the edge of his tongue as he sucked in a breath. Low blow. An emotionally neglectful childhood was bound to leave it's scars.

Peter seemed to regret his words immediately, because he actually stood, taking a few steps to reach for Tony. Despite himself Tony leaned away from the reaching arm, mindless of how much he longed for the contact.

"I didn't mean…"

"Words said in anger are still words with intent.”

"Tony…"

"I can't do this. I can't pretend to hate you and I can't be around you without wanting what I can't have!" he didn't explode, but it was said with some degree of passion, standing to round on Peter, who sank into a chair, looking up at him sorrowfully.

"You can have me!”

If only.

"You said it yourself. I run from my feelings. I can't have you because I'll fuck it up, and I’d rather lose you without hurting you and without attaching myself. I'm a fucki-"

The rest of Tony's emotional rant was cut off sharply as Peter reached up, grasping him by the front of his shirt and hauling him down, so he had to brace himself with one hand on Peter's chair back and the other on the table as Peter's plush mouth met his own, clumsy and a little too forceful.

A man with a stronger will would have pulled back. Would have stuck to his cause and not been selfish.

Tony was not that man.

He let his lips part, opportunistic of the way Peter gasped against him, licking into his mouth and moving his hands to cradle Peter's jaw, relishing in what he knew would be the only time he could indulge his festering love.

There was a click, and then -

"I told you it would work.”

They jerked apart, mouths red and eyes wild, Tony twisting to find none other than a prim looking Natasha and a dubious looking Steve taking up the doorway.

"What." Tony managed, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Obviously this was a set up. A good one, too. It took forever to sneak around and replace the door lock. You two were disgusting and all... Pining. It had to be stopped," she announced, like a mad plot was nothing unordinary.

But turning, looking at the flushed grin on Peter's mouth and the sparkle in his eyes... Well. It was worth getting another detention for missing the first, and it was worth the hours of agonising emotional talk with Peter, tears and sloppy kissing and the jeers from their friends when they came into school on the Wednesday, hand in hand.

"How come I wasn't in on the whole plot?" Clint whined at their table during lunch, casting a mulish glance around them. Natasha gave a sigh and pet at him with faux pity.

"Because you're an idiot with a big mouth," she informed him, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Overnight she'd gone from fiery copper to a blue-black. It suited her well. Some black lipstick, and she'd be every boy's wanna-be-goth-girlfriend.

"Only we get to insult the idiot and his big mouth," came from above them, and none other than one Bucky Barnes ducked down, pressing a kiss to Clint's cheek, before moving on to Steve.

"That's... New," Tony managed, glancing across at Peter, who looked equally perplexed. Clint had the decency to look sheepish.

"At least I didn't need to get locked in a room to sort my shit out," he grumbled, and Peter giggled, before kissing the affronted look off Tony's face.

Tony wasn't good at feelings. And he'd never been in love before. But Peter was worth it. Peter was worth trying, learning for. 

[clovermunson]

Fluff Alphabet: Barnaby and Rhia

oof, it took me months to get this done, and I should’ve had it done at least 2 months ago😂

everything is under the cut!

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

What Barnaby finds most attractive about Rhia is her sense of humor and how patient she is, how she’s always trying to lighten everyone’s mood and make someone laugh; how she’s always so calm and understanding towards him.

What Rhia finds most attractive about Barnaby is his eyes, not only for their deep green color, but how the light shines in them and how they’re so expressive, like they’re truly windows into his soul.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

They both do, but they agree to wait until they’re completely comfortable with the idea of it. That doesn’t exactly go to plan though.

Barnaby would love to have children as soon as possible, if given the option though.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Barnaby is always the big spoon. Rhia has tried to be the big spoon before, but due to the huge size difference between them (Rhia’s 5’2”, Barnaby’s 6’3”), it doesn’t really work that well. Barnaby’s naturally a protector, so he loves Rhia being the little spoon, and Rhia loves being the little spoon.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Most of their dates are spent taking care of their creatures in the creature reserve. They don’t really mind it, just as long as they get to spend time with each other. They’ve had a couple of fancy dates at Madam Puddifoot’s, but nothing really too fancy.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…)

Barnaby to Rhia: my everything, the light in my life

Rhia to Barnaby: my life, my world

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Rhia knew she was in love with Barnaby the moment she met him, quite literally. His goofy demeanor, he’s bright smile, his passion for creatures- it made it hard for her to believe he was a Slytherin and not a Hufflepuff.

Barnaby knew he loved Rhia as soon as they had their first date in 4th Year. The way she looked with her hair curled, her red and black dress, the way the moonlight illuminated the courtyard as they stargazed, she was perfect to him and nothing compared to her.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Due to his size, Barnaby knows he has to be very gentle with Rhia. He still gives her bear hugs though, as her favorite thing next to handmade Weasley jumpers are Barnaby’s bear hugs.

Rhia is very gentle with Barnaby, and very patient with him. While some people would be very harsh and rude with him, calling him things such as “stupid” and “incompetent”, she’s not and she often sticks up for him, as it’s something that makes her temper flare when others belittle him.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Usually, their fingers are interlaced. Barnaby loves his hand feeling as if it’s completey covering Rhia’s, it makes him feel like he’s protecting her even more than usual. Rhia loves resting her head on Barnaby’s arm as she’s holding his hand.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Barnaby’s first impression of Rhia stuck from the moment he met her. To him, she radiated a confident aura, but also a very kind, patient, and understanding aura.

At first, Rhia did think Barnaby was a little dense, but that quickly changed once she saw how much he understood creatures and emotions. When it came to feelings, Barnaby displayed a very high intelligence and it helped put Rhia at ease when she was finding out her feelings for him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Barnaby is very easily jealous. He doesn’t like seeing another guy trying to flirt with Rhia at all, and even if he’s on the other side of the room, he’ll casually make his way over to her and wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Rhia also gets jealous easily, but only when another girl flirts with Barnaby in front of her. If she’s sitting or standing next to him, they’re already holding hands, but if the girl can’t take a hint, Rhia will either kiss Barnaby’s cheek, or gently turn his head so he’s facing her, and she’ll kiss him on the lips.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

It’s always sweet little quick kisses with these two in public. It’s nauseatingly cute.

Alone though, it’s the exact opposite of sweet and quick. They snog each other like they need to other to live.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Rhia said it first. For the longest, she was beyond terrified to say it, but after a day of taking care of the creatures together, it just kind of slipped and she tried to play it off, but Barnaby heard it and was more than happy about it, saying that he loved her back.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Oddly enough, the Vault of Fear.

Barnaby never forgot how quick Rhia was to recruit his help, or how quick she was to save him, and felt as if he was in debt to her. Rhia never forgot how she mustered up the courage to face the Voldemort boggarts and save her friends. Sometimes, they both look back on the encounter and laugh about how Barnaby thought the boggarts were creepier as clowns.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Barnaby spoils Rhia like his life depends on it. Rhia never expects it, though she does like the thought he puts into everything that he gets for her, but she loves his homemade gifts more than anything else.

Rhia spoils Barnaby, but mostly with homemade gifts and baked goods. Barnaby loves sweets, so Rhia’s always baking cookies, cakes, and cupcakes for him.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

For Barnaby, yellow and red remind him most of Rhia. Yellow because of how she’s always smiling and happy, seeming as if nothing can bring her mood down. Red because of her passion and courage.

For Rhia, emerald green reminds her most of Barnaby. Partially because of his eyes, but also because of the mystery and elegance that the color holds, as well as the gentleness and calmness of the color.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Barnaby: darling, sweetheart, love, honey, babe, baby, princess, Emerald (due to Rhia’s Irish heritage)

Rhia: love, honey, sweetheart, babe, baby, goof, B, Barny (it started as kind of a joke, but Barnaby grew to love it)

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Vinyl records

The vintage porcelain teacup collection that Rhia inherited from her grandmother

Small woodland cottages

Old villages

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Mostly they just stay in bed all day enjoying each other’s company. Rhia would try and get some housework done, but she knows that trying to wriggle her way out of Barnaby’s grip is pointless, and she doesn’t really want to leave the bed either.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

There have only been two times that Barnaby has seen Rhia genuinely upset; once when she had accidentally insulted him due to being stressed over her N.E.W.T.s, and when Snape had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Both times Rhia had been reduced to tears, and Barnaby was the only one who could console her by doing the only thing he knew would help; holding her and reassuring her.

The only time Rhia’s ever seen Barnaby genuinely upset was when she had accidentally insulted him, and whenever he was having family troubles. Usually, just her presence was enough to make him happy, but Rhia always went above and beyond, using words of affirmation and telling him corny jokes to lighten the mood.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

They’ll talk about nearly anything, even if it doesn’t make complete sense to them or anyone else who overhears it.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

For Barnaby, he relaxes the most when he can take a day off for himself and just snuggle with Rhia. The sense of her being his and that he’s the only one who gets to hold her and call her his is all the relaxation he needs, though he does loves a good shoulder massage from Rhia every now and then.

Rhia’s prime method of relaxation is whenever Barnaby plays with her hair. Something about it just puts her at ease and melts away her stress, and she often ends up falling asleep in his lap rather quickly.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

If Barnaby could do it without everyone calling him annoying, he’d never shut up about Rhia. He loves showing her off, and loves bragging about her accomplishments to anyone who could stand listening to it for an hour or so.

Rhia is proud of how intelligent Barnaby is with emotions and creatures, and how he’ll shamelessly admit it. It took a while for him to finally warm up to the idea of that possibility, but once he did, he knew that Rhia was right.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Barnaby proposed on Christmas Eve in 1991, at the Burrow. He’d planned to wait until Christmas Day when they would be alone at home, but he couldn’t hold in his excitement about it, so he took his chance. The setting was perfect with a good bit of snow outside, and the two of them were in the middle of a full-on snowball war with the Weasley boys. What Rhia hadn’t known was that Barnaby had told Bill and Charlie, and they somehow kept the secret. Even though Rhia cried like a baby about it, and the cold air made her entire face even more red, she said yes and the two were engaged.

They married on October 7th of 1992 at the Burrow. Rhia originally wanted their wedding to be held in the large field next to her parents’ house, but Molly insisted that they marry at the Burrow and not in a place riddled with hate and guilt amongst family members.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

My Girl by The Temptations

Ain’t no Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell (thanks to @catohphm for suggesting this one!)

You Can’t Hurry Love by the Supremes

How Deep is Your Love by The Bee Gees

We Belong by Pat Benatar

I’m a Believer by The Monkees

Heaven by Bryan Adams

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

It doesn’t take long after they start dating for them to think about marriage. Within maybe four months, the topic is already on their minds. With the attention that Rhia has drawn to the McCarthy name, Barnaby wonders if her having his last name would help to protect her from his parents and other death eaters.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

They both want pets and end up with all sorts of pets. Everything from kneazles to even muggle pets like dogs, they have at least one of. They consider the creatures on the reserve as their pets to, but in all honesty, their creatures and pets are like family to them.

[mythgirlimagines]

Anon KG Characters With THH Talents

———————————————–

MYTH: Former SHSL Programmer

One of the three chaperones for the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. She has always been interested in technology in her younger years. Using what she had learned from coding books, she has made a couple of best-selling apps including the charming platformer Cannoli’s Romantic Quest and the dating/matchmaking app Lover’s Match. That was what propelled her to Ultimate status. Myth may seem a bit introverted, but with a little push, she can be quite talkative about her passion.

Clothes: She wears a pink hoodie hood-up with pixelated blue and purple stripes, and the same school uniform from her original design.

————————————————-

WYRE: Former SHSL Clairvoyant

One of the three chaperones for the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip and Myth’s childhood friend. Being born with an innate sense of precognition, she’s always loved boasting and showing off her skills, even if she only has a 30% chance of getting her predictions right. She’s started up a traveling fortune telling stand, and many people walk away marveled at her surprising accuracy, including Hope’s Peak. Despite her rough and tough attitude, if you get on her good side, you’ve got a really caring friend.

Clothes: A tan bandana with a green jewel in the center, a white button-up shirt under a black vest, a dark green cape and a matching ankle length skirt. You’d hardly see her without a crystal ball.

————————————————–

SCAR: SHSL Gambler

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. Starting out with simple card games, Scar has progressively risen up the stakes of her gambling, as she’s beaten even the deadliest of gambling bets. These high stakes are what influenced Hope’s Peak to pick her up as the Ultimate Gambler. In order to get foes to underestimate her, she puts up a Chuunibyou facade as the Demon of Chance. But every so often, someone at Hope’s Peak manages to make the facade crack a bit, to reveal a concerned friend who just wants the best for others.

Clothes: A gothic lolita dress with card suit motifs, long black stockings with white rose designs, red heels and a black and gold headband with a white and blue rose on top, alongside a black surgical mask with a fanged smile design on the front.

————————————————–

FUSION: SHSL Detective

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. As an observant soul with a great memory, detective work is a breeze for him. Starting out with simple missing belonging cases, he’s now professional enough to help investigate murder cases. With his analytical mindset, he can find out guilty parties in a flash. During his time at Hope’s Peak, he is considered the ‘Team Dad’ of his class, for his caring and wise personality and his commitment to keep all his friends out of harm.

Clothes: An oversized brown overcoat that covers his hands over a red plaid shirt, a brown necktie, black pants and brown loafers. He also stores detective supplies in his massive afro.

—————————————————-

FUSION II: SHSL Fashion Model

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. With an eye for fashion and a slim figure, she could even make a potato sack look appealing to wear. Though her main speciality is a sleek and futuristic look, she is perfectly chill with any fashion styles. Beneath her stunning appearance, she has a more snarky, sassy and memetic personality, which is one of the other things that catapulting her into stardom and grabbed Hope’s Peak’s eyes.

Clothes: The same clothes her normal design has.

—————————————————–

JANON: SHSL Idol

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. As the lead singer of the metal-pop band L.A.G.O, they have attracted loads of fans for their edgy, tsundere personality juxtaposed with their cute singing voice and appearance, both on and off the stage. However, much to the dismay of the fans and to the joy of Janon, the dating rule is still in place. While Janon may normally be prickly and unapproachable, if you get on their good side, you may for a split-second see them crack a slight smile.

Clothes: A black surgical mask, a black, bunny-eared hoodie with L.A.G.O’s logo on the back, black jeans and green sneakers. Underneath the hoodie, is his idol uniform.

—————————————————–

SPARKLE: SHSL Soldier

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. Having been recruited by the army at a young age for their skill in strategic planning, she has now charged to the front lines as a guerrilla soldier. Despite her loud, bombastic and eccentric personality, her skill at handling weapons and war strategies make Sparkle a formidable ally and an even worst enemy. To this day, Sparkle still has yet to harm an innocent.

Clothes: A black and white striped t-shirt, a camo-printed skirt, black stockings, green army boots, and to top it all off, a camo-printed cape.

——————————————————

EGG: SHSL Lucky Student

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. They are the winner of the annual Hope’s Peak lottery. At first glance, Egg seems like an average person. But that assumption gets thrown out the window the second they open their mouth. Prone to spouting cursed comments, this, along with a crazy luck cycle, makes socializing with Egg a twisted roller coaster of confusion and terror. Being a rather superstitious soul, they are usually seen with four-leaf clover themed items.

Clothes: A yellow Hawaiian shirt with green four leafed clovers on them, clover earrings, various lucky arms on each arm, blue jeans and green and yellow sneakers.

——————————————————-

WET SOCK: SHSL Doujinshi Author

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip and Egg’s twin. Despite their cold-hearted and knife-obsessed personality, deep down, they are just a nerd who loves anime and manga. In particular, they love anime and manga with cursed concepts, to make somehow even more cursed doujinshis. They don’t like to admit it to others, but they regularly use Egg as a test audience for their doujins. They don’t really like interacting with their fans face-to-face, so you could only find their doujins in online doujinshi shops.

Clothes: A pure black gakuran, with matching black pants and shoes. They also carry a side-bag with drawing supplies inside and anime pins covering the strap.

——————————————————-

CURIOUS: SHSL Swimmer

One of the attendants of the annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. They’re a really kind soul with a heart as big as the ocean, if a bit of a pushover. Despite their diminutive height, they have a surprisingly athletic build, with bulking swimmer’s muscles. They are known for their calming and poised, yet rapid form in the water. They’ve been offered some chances to represent the “Poised Swans” in the Olympics, and how could Curious say no to them? Their kind-hearted nature and fame as an athlete has made them really popular amongst the Hope’s Peak students.

Clothes: A green hoodie over a white tank top, matching green swim shorts, black sandals and a black scrunchie that ties their hair back.

———————————————————

NERD: Former SHSL Public Morals Officer

One of the three chaperones for the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. An aggressive and hot headed young man, his reign of terror began ever since he started school. Always wanting both himself and others to follow the rules, he has adopting a rude and aggressive approach to his scolding, which has earned him both fame and infamy. Eventually, the schools he has attended were vanquished of any delinquents and trouble makers. And just because he’s out of school, that doesn’t mean he’d slack off in his discipline.

Clothes: A black blazer over a white button up and a red tie, black pants and black loafers. Topping it off, is a red sash with “Public Morals Officer” written on the front.

——————————————————–

ELDRITCH: SHSL Baseball Player

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. A confident and hardy teenager on the diamond, well known for his well-thrown curveballs and being able to carry his team, “The Roswell Grays”. But all of that changes the second he steps out of the diamond. When off the diamond, he is very jittery and untrustworthy of others. Not many people know where his paranoia stems from, or why it suddenly vanished whenever he’s holding a bat, but no one wants to make him worry any more than he already does.

Clothes: A grey hoodie with his team’s logo on the lapel, over a baseball uniform. On top of his head, is a black baseball cap.

———————————————————

DREAM: SHSL Gang Leader

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. With her sunny, cheery and somewhat childish personality, you wouldn’t expect her to be capable of leading a gang. But in fact, her sunny disposition makes her a perfect leader for her motorcycle gang, “The Sunny-D’s”. When not hanging around with her motorcycle gang, you could find her zooming around town on her motorcycle or engaging in athletic endeavors. If you manage to hang around with her, you may find yourself joining her gang.

Clothes: A black leather jacket with her gang’s logo on the back over a pink shirt, a jagged grey skirt over black biker shorts and grey and pink sneakers.

———————————————————-

IRIS: SJHSL Affluent Progeny

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. She is the heiress to “Ocula Enterprises”, one of the leading businesses in scientific research. But while her scientific knowledge is massive, it was being a great heiress that earned her a spot into Hope’s Peak’s roster. Her very positive and cheery disposition helped boost morale and PR amongst her company and Hope’s Peak, and that is what made her slated to inherit “Ocula Enterprises” from her parents. 

Clothes: Two blue barrettes on each side of her hair, a blue business jacket over a grey button-up shirt and a light blue tie, a professional blue skirt, grey leggings and blue heels. 

———————————————————–

FANCY: SHSL Fighter

One of the attendant of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. Despite their skinny and androgynous appearance, they are packing quite a lot of lean muscle and the ability to dish out really strong attacks. A master in multiple martial arts, they have made quite the following for their handsome/pretty appearance, alongside appearing in a bunch of action movies as the main character. Although their a master in a lot of martial arts, their fighting styles of choice are taekwondo, aikido and capoeira. 

Clothes: A white karate gi with a black belt and a matching headband, with their hair down and sports tape on their arms and bare feet.

———————————————————–

PURPLE: SHSL Author

One of the attendants of the Annual Kibo-Con Ultimate field trip. Although she’s too timid to appear in person most of the time, her YA novels are literary masterpieces and instant best-sellers. Her elaborate and descriptive prose has been described as “poetry in motion” by multiple critics. Her main speciality is fantasy and romance. One of the first best-sellers she wrote was “Beneath The Binding Scales”, a fantasy-romance novel about a hardened and apathetic paladin falling in love with a cheerful and sunshiny dragon-shifter.

———————————————————–

It took me three hours to come up with the swap, but it was totally worth it in the end, right?

How did I do? Could you picture yourselves with any of these talents?

-Fusion Anon

—

These are all so in-depth and amazing!!! I wish I could make either of those apps, haha. You more or less described me perfectly with the “little push” part. Plus that hoodie sounds so comfy rn-

[drchiakinanami]

Kacchako week Day 2: Royalty

Day 2 ended up a lil spicer than i intended- read with caution! Rated teen 

Read it on AO3 here!

She wasn’t supposed to be in love with him, that much she knew.  He was a servant, ‘under’ her in every sense of the word (quite literally, sometimes).  But she’d been drawn to him in a way that none of the princes who visited the castle had ever been able to.  He’d captured her attention and her time, and he was always so close to her.  He was a bit rough, but a good listener.  There were many things about him that made her feel like the most important woman on the planet, and not because she was the princess.

She walked past the kitchen late that night after the party her father threw, long gown trailing behind her.  She peered in, knowing all the staff of the castle would be inside.  He was alone inside, to her surprise, but she didn’t want to alert anyone else to their affair if they happened to be nearby.

“Katsuki, could you please meet me upstairs?” He jolted when he heard her voice, looking up from the table.  His eyes bore into her, and a slow smile crawled across his face. “Of course, princess.  I’ll be up to assist you shortly.”

She smiled in return, resting her hand on the door frame. “Thank you, Katsuki.”

She barely had time to get to her room when he was behind her, turning her around and pressing her to the back of the door.  He leaned in to kiss her and Ochako hummed happily, wrapping her arms around his neck.  Something about being in his arms was the most comforting thing.  

He pulled back from her, panting.  “How was your night, princess?”

She laughed, a light, pleasant sound.  “Better now, Katsuki.”

He grinned.  “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I hate watching you dance with all those arrogant assholes all night,” He said, leaning forwards and pressing kisses across her jaw.  “I hate dancing, but I’d fucking dance with you.”

“Language,” she scolded around a gasp as his teeth sank into her neck.  His touch was intoxicating, something she couldn’t fight even if she wanted to.  She tilted her head back against the door, her eyes closed.  

“You like it when I curse.”

She ran a hand through his hair, fingers curling in at the root.  “I like you.”

He pulled back, looking at her through hooded eyes. “I like you too, angel.”  

She giggled, tilting her chin at him. “I sure hope so, since I let you in my bed most nights.”

“Well, when I get enough money to actually ask for your hand, it’ll be all nights.”

“You could propose to me now, if you wanted to.  Father likes you.”

“I wanna earn it.”

“By paying my dowry?” “You’re a princess,” he said gruffly, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “And your dad isn’t forcing you to marry anyone yet.  I have time.”

She sighed heavily.  It was a conversation they’d had many times, and while she knew he was right and very much respected the fact that he wanted to wait and be worthy of her with the money he was earning, she was also itching to just tell the world that he belonged to her.  He’d be a good partner in pretty much every sense of the word, and she also looked forward to him helping her rule.

He seemed to notice that she was spacing out, and he leaned forward, nudging his nose against hers. “Oi.  Still with me?”

She smiled.  “Always.”

“Ah… Corny bitch.” he pinched her side and she giggled, moving away from him.  He let her escape his grasp, watching her hungrily from the door as she moved through the chambers like water, sitting at the foot of the bed.  

“Why don’t you help me get ready for bed, Katsuki?”

He smiled, getting to his knees before her and reaching out to help take her shoes off.  She carded her hands through his hair as he did so, smiling a little when he looked up at her.  

“How can I help you relax, princess?”

“You can call me Ochako, first of all.  You know that.”

“Mm.  Alright, Ochako.”

She closed her eyes, the sound of her own name washing over her.  She liked hearing it come from him, liked hearing it on his lips, whether it was said plainly or gasped out in the heat of the moments they often shared.  It was all good.  

He removed her shoes and leaned up to kiss her again.  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, allowing herself to get lost in him.  His kisses were as addicting as the conversation he engaged her in.  

While not a forbidden relationship, they’d have to keep their courtship a secret until Katsuki was able to ask the King for her hand in marriage.  There were parts of him that were still afraid he’d say no, Ochako knew that, but she also knew that if she told her father that she was in love with Katsuki, he’d have to say yes.  He could never say no to her, not really.  Her father wanted her to be happy, and she knew she’d be happy with Katsuki.

He broke back from the kiss to lift her at the waist, hoisting her onto the bed. She squealed, grasping for purchase on his vest and shirt, frowning when he chuckled at her, ducking to kiss the underside of her jaw and down her neck.

“Why don’t you ever let me spoil you?” She asked, hooking her leg around his and trying to flip him under her.

“Cause I don’t deserve that shit yet,” Katsuki responded, his voice muffled by the fabric of her dress as his mouth moved lower.  She sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I want to, though.”

“The world treats you like a princess,” he said firmly, raising over her, his elbows on either side of her head.  “I’m here to treat you like a goddamn goddess.”

“Language,” she whispered, blushing.

“Yeah yeah. You’re about to be saying worse when I show you how much I like you, Ochako.”

***********

Later, they lay together under her plush covers, properly ready for bed.  Ochako was rolled on her side, running her hand through his hair over and over, smiling when the sounds he made started to sound very similar to a cat purring.  His eyes were closed, face tilted towards her, and she was struck by how pretty he was.  Long eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks, face relaxed.

“I’m really lucky,” She said softly.

“Mm?”

“I’m really lucky,” She repeated.  “I… I’m really, really glad that you’re here.  With me.  I just… I love you, Katsuki.”

His eyes fluttered open. She’d said it before, and so had he, but it was usually in moments of passion.  He smiled softly, reaching up to cup her cheek.  His softness was something she knew was special and private to her.  He put a front on for everyone else.  But not for her.  This was him.  

“I love you too, Angel.  And I promise, when I get enough damn money we’re gonna have the prettiest, gaudiest wedding you want.”

“You’re going soft on me.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

She laughed, snuggling into his side.  “That’s more like it.”  She rested her head on his chest, tracing her fingers over his sleep shirt.  “I wish I could’ve danced with you tonight, Katsuki.  I just wanna show you off.”

His fingers came up to gently massage her neck.  “Not yet.  But you’ll get to.”

“Not soon enough,” She whined.

“Well, shit, in the morning we can dance in here and you can pretend that we danced together tonight.”

“Why not right now?” He gave a dramatic sigh under her.  “Because, angel, you’ve tired me out for the night.  And don’t let that shit go to your head!  Just cause you’re a damn princess.”

She pressed her smile to his chest.  “Only if you can be my prince.”

“Someday.  I mean it.”

She could see it.  Finally not having to sneak around, having him with her in the most boring moments of royal life… It was all too good to be true, but it was going to be true.  Katsuki’s stubborn nature was the only thing keeping them from a public courtship, but she knew why he was doing it, and it somehow made her feel even more treasured.  

“Okay…  I’ll stop talking about it for now.”

“Good.  You’re making my blood pressure go up.”

“Oh, like you do to me every day?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Doesn’t stress me out.”

“I should kick you out of my chambers!”

“Yeah, but you won’t.”  He turned into her, wrapping both arms around her and curling into her in a way that was both protective and simply for the want of holding her.  

She buried her nose into his chest, closing her eyes.  “No, I won’t.  Gonna keep you forever.”

“Good.”

[irrlicht-ghostfront]

a stray cat

Characters: Alastor, Husk, Angel Dust, Charlie

Pairing: Alastor & Husk, Husk/Angel Dust (implied), Charlie/Vaggie (mentioned)

Summary: Husk tended to fall asleep in places Alastor had accesses to. So naturally, to wake the cat up, he’d use an air horn. However, it’s been a few days since he found Husk asleep anywhere. He overheard a conversation between Husk and Angel Dust talking about Husk performing more magic on Angel this night. The implication made Alastor upset and he can’t quite figure out why.

A/N: Enjoy this piece of something I have written. Also, if any of you have something for Husk and Alastor in mind, do tell me. I’d love to get my grabby hands onto any- and everything.

____________________________________________

Alastor came to understand that Husk was what one would call a stray cat. The only place that Husk would stay at consistently would be the bar, and he wasn’t sure if that was even a conscious choice in the first place or if Husk simply passed out there and nobody bothered to move him somewhere else.

So when one day someone pounded at his door, he was rather surprised to see Husk standing there, barging his way in. He was clutching an – presumably – empty bottle and was rather wet, as it had been raining most of the day.

“Do you need something?” he asked then to which Husk didn’t really reply – he simply shook his fur and got water everywhere. That was quite disgusting, to be absolutely honest, but luckily Niffty would surely clean everything up in a heartbeat. Husk then finally turned to him.

“Bar’s closed today.”

That was it; the cat didn’t offer more information. Surely Husk would not consider his home to be a replacement bar? He did have alcohol here, yes, but it was not for public consumption. Husker tried to take a drink out of his empty bottle before he realised it’s empty. He let out a disappointed sound, but didn’t ask for more.

“Part of the owner’s family got killed during the last Extermination, so the bar’s closed for the moment. And it’s raining, as you sure have noticed.”

Maybe Husk was expecting him to turn around to look and verify that yes, it was indeed raining, but he would not get that satisfaction here. For a moment, they both stared at each other, each willing for the other to give up first. Husk gave in first, heading towards the couch. Without much questioning, he plunked down on it and for that day, it was the end of the discussion. In fact, it was also the end for every discussion after that, because soon enough Husk was able to get inside the house without knocking. Alastor slept very rarely, so he would notice the cat getting in most days. But some days he’d wake up and Husker would simply be there, purring on the couch. The Radio Demon found he truly didn’t mind.

In fact, he found that having the cat lounging on the couch was somewhat reassuring. And, obviously, he’d blow an air horn next to Husk’s face.

 ~

 And now they stayed at the Hazbin Hotel – Charlie still called it Happy Hotel and yes, he realised that was still technically the name of it, but he simply didn’t care – and they each had their own rooms. He still caught Husk sleeping at the bar enough times to make it feel like a real home. He was nice enough most days to leave his air horn in his room while he went for his morning walk. If Husk was still asleep by the time he returned, he got his eyebrow plucked. It was, after all, Husk’s own fault for being so sensitive to all and every form of teasing.

 It was very hard to get Husk truly drunk. While he might be severely intoxicated, Husker being black-out drunk was something Alastor hadn’t seen as of yet. He’d always stopped before that happened for some reason, and he’d always been curious.

“How am I supposed to get home if I don’t know where I’m going?”

So Alastor simply concluded for himself that it probably had something to do with how Husk died – he didn’t know. Asking would probably lead to be asked himself and that was just not a topic he was interested in sharing. Sure, he could always just not answer, but Husk would still have asked and it would forever taint the room. So it was best it remained a secret – perhaps would share one day without him having to ask in the first place.

 He found Husk several times in front of his door, deep asleep, usually hugging an empty bottle of the favoured alcohol for the night. After waking him up – with an air horn, of course – the cat would usually shuffle off with a very casual “fuck you” and that would be done.  Then, one night, he let the door unlocked as a test. And sure enough, come morning, he found Husk asleep on a chair in his room. He didn’t know why he came here when he had his own bed just next door, but he wouldn’t let the opportunity be taken away to dump a bucket full of ice-cold water onto Husk’s head and see him jump. After all, what did his friend expect?

With all the pranks he could pull off on Husk, the cat was a giving bag full of wonders.

 ~

 But now it’s been several days since the last time. When he went for his morning walk, Husk was not lying atop the bar asleep; and he also didn’t come crawling to his chair in the middle of the night anymore. Alastor surely missed his daily morning routine of pranks. Now, he would find Husk in front of the fridge when he returned in the morning; surely looking for cheese – for some reason, Husk really loved cheese.

He could, of course, simply assume that Husk finally learned to sleep in his own bed. But – something told him that that wasn’t the case. Husk never cared where he slept – in fact, he has found him in questionable positions all throughout. And – he believed, that somewhere deep down, Husk was looking forward to the teasing he received.

“Husk”, he said in the kitchen. “It is so good to see you finally learned where your own bed is.” It was supposed to be a jab, but the cat just growled at him, took the cheese out of the fridge and left the kitchen, heading over to his bar without a doubt. It sure left a sour feeling in his chest. No matter, it was time to brew some coffee.

 “Will you perform some more magic on me tonight?”

“I think you’ve seen the best of it by this point, Angel.”

“Oh, come on, there’s gotta be some more! It gets me all excited.”

“Fine, but we gotta do it somewhere else than your fucking bed this time.”

 Huh. Now that was an interesting titbit of conversation to overhear. So that’s where Husk had been spending all his time – in the bed and general company of Angel Dust. Of course, he himself had always stayed far away from any such activities, but he had thought that Husk did the same. After all, the only thing the cat was interested in was drinking and gambling – right?

Well, apparently not. Alastor wasn’t even sure why it upset him so. Let Husk do whatever he wants, as long he would still be available for menial task. So – so why was it so upsetting? Husk wasn’t really a friend – he was simply an asset that had proven itself to be very reliable. He wanted to break something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe he should go out. Yes. That might clear his head and if he was lucky, he would even come across a random demon he could tear apart.

 ~

 The air outside calmed him down rather effectively. It was starting to get late, and he should be making food technically, but he didn’t care. If someone helped her, Niffty was a good enough cook. So he strolled down the road, on the way into the city.

He didn’t really have a haunt to visit regularly. Normally, he would visit Rosie, but she was out of town. And besides, he didn’t really have the mindset to share his thoughts with someone. He was unsure what to do about the Husk-Angel-situation. He probably had no right to intervene and realistically, why would he even want to? It would only be beneficial. If people trusted Husk, they would also trust him. The cat integrating into these people seemed a perfect fit. Still, it made him upset thinking about Husk in that fellow’s room.

“Hey, handsome, you’re here for a good time?”

He turned his head and saw a female demon saunter over. She wore very little clothing and he wondered why that was. ...oh, she was probably in the same profession as Angel Dust. She came close to him and put her hands on his chest. What a disgusting pig.

“I could make ya a good offer...”

Hm. Maybe she could offer information while she was still alive.

“If I asked you to perform magic on me, what would you do?”

She seemed taken aback by that for a moment before regaining her posture.

“Well, if you’d have me, I could show you all the magic in the world, for a very nice price.” So, it was something of the sort. Simply the thought of Husk and Angel Dust actually engaging in that disgusting behaviour set him on edge. He grabbed both of her wrists and come closer to her. Maybe she realised who he was, just now. What a poor little soul this sinner was. It was way past dinner-time, as well.

“Oh my darling, I could just eat you up.”

 ~

 He returned to the hotel, somewhat sated. Of course, that demon had been very low quality, so she tasted exactly like that. But it had satiated his hunger for the most part at least.

Husk was not behind the bar when he returned, and given the time, he was probably in Angel Dust’s room. It set him back on edge right away. He tightened his grip around his microphone, so much in fact it started to complain. It was such a useless thing. He let it disappear. He didn’t need any more annoyance right now. Now, he decided to be stupid.

Alastor went upstairs and instead of going into his own room, he went into the direction of Angel Dust’s room. There were sounds coming out of the door. It sounded like someone squealing and another voice chuckling. The first voice probably belonged to Angel, and the second one must be Husk’s. Alastor himself never really heard Husk chuckle or even laugh; mostly it was a bunch of yelling and growling.

He left.

 The next morning, he sought out Charlie. He needed answers and he didn’t know who else would be able to provide them. Normally, he’d ask Husk because he wouldn’t care why Alastor asked things. Obviously, that wasn’t a possibility right now. Charlie was the only option he truly had. The chances of Niffty telling Husk were just too great to risk it.

“Charlie.”

The girl was sitting in the kitchen, drinking her morning drink. He clearly startled her, but that hardly mattered.

“Oh! Good morning, Al!”

He hated that name. But, he didn’t want to correct her. It was a nickname, and nicknames meant at least some sort of affection. Also, Husk used it too, along with many other names. Strangely enough, he didn’t hate it as much whenever Husk used it. To be fair, the nickname usually followed some sort of insult, so it hardly mattered.

“I have questions regarding sexual acts. You are in a sexual relationship with Vaggie, correct?”

That made her spit her drink out. She went beet-red and he didn’t understand. He hadn’t said anything wrong, had he? Husk and Angel both had called Vaggie and Charlie girlfriends.

“W-w-w-w-w-w-why would you ask that, what the hell.”

She stuttered and gaped like a fish. He tilted his head. He wondered if that sort of reaction was common. Perhaps he should launch an experiment on Husk, once this was all sorted out.

“I am simply curious as to what sounds would emit from such an act.”

She went even redder if that was even possible and her mouth moved without purpose. Was it perhaps a difficult question? He could retell all the sounds someone made when he tore them apart. Maybe intercourse was something more difficult and complex in retelling. But if that was the case, everyone seemed quite obsessed about it. Perhaps he should’ve asked the female demon before killing her. It was too late to do that now, however.

Charlie just ran out and left him standing. His only hope now was that she would not tell Vaggie. He closed his eyes briefly to regain his composure.

 Later that day, he sat at the bar and enjoyed a drink Husk had given him. The cat was trying to learn how to mix new cocktails, and was giving his tests out to anyone who wanted them. Alastor, so far, thought them all to be too mild and Husk said that was the point.

“Hey, Al!”

It was the obnoxious voice of Angel Dust sounding through the lobby. What could the spider possibly want with him? He decided to bear with it though.

“Hello, Angel Dust. It’s lovely to see you.”

Angel slid down into the seat next to him, soon to be served another of Husk’s new recipes. He grinned like he knew something and winked at Husk who paid no mind. Alastor doubted he even saw the wink and half suspected it was aimed more at him.

“I heard you asked Charlie about the do-do. Why not come to me and ask me all the sexy stuff?”

Oh. It was even worse than Charlie running to Vaggie; she had run to Angel Dust. Husk stopped in his actions and looked up, lifting an eyebrow questioningly. If Alastor would be a sweating type, he’d be doing it now. Luckily, he was not.

“I wanted an explanation, not a demonstration.”

Angel Dust laughed and hit two of his hands on the table. He quickly turned back to his glass, mainly to avoid Husk’s gaze. How should he explain? It was sort of embarrassing. But there was no backing out now.

“I was simply curious as to what sounds such an occasion would produce.”

Angel was wheezing now and Husk was still glaring at him. It was hard keeping his composure. Angel stopped laughing and decided to be – “helpful”, as he demonstrated various moans, screams and sighs. Alastor broke his glass, got up and left.

“Now you’ve done it, shithead.”

“Yeah, but now we’ve got more time for us, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hear Husk’s response and he didn’t even want to. He was fuming.

He went out again.

It was a shame, letting all that food go to waste.

 ~

 Alastor didn’t return until the next day. He didn’t bother to clean up, he was still angry. He was angry at Angel Dust, angry at Charlie and angry at Husk. And he didn’t know what to do about it. Could he tell Husk to just stop?

“You look like shit.”

He looked to his side and saw Husk sitting in front of the bar, scowling at him. He had various playing cards in his hands and seemed to be Angel-free at the moment. He chose to ignore the cat’s comment and strolled over.

“What are you doing?”

Husk shrugged and showed him the cards. “A week or so ago, I showed Angel one of my magic tricks. And ever since I did that, he’s hot on my fucking tail to show him another one. So, I’m practicing again. And also, I try to teach myself some new tricks I can show him.”

Alastor stood in front of his cat as he went on and on about the new trick he found somewhere.  Magic. Husk loved magic tricks. He’d completely forgotten about that. So – the “magic” Husk performed for Angel was just – was just magic card tricks. Now he felt like a fool.

“That’s what you’ve been doing at night?”

Husk just nodded.

“Yeah, it really cut into my fucking drinking time. I can’t be completely smashed for the tricks, y’know?”

Alastor just left. He went into his room, cleaned up and felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders. He made a complete fool out of himself, but now, it was over. Shortly after, he returned to the lobby and Husk had his back to him. Wonderful. He stepped up to him – luckily Husk barely turned around anymore when he heard him approach – and blew his air horn at Husk’s ear.

“WHAT THE FUCK –“

Yes, all was right in the world again.

[halsteadproperty]

Gardens, Courtyards, and Parks: Hidden Outdoor Spaces in the NY Metro Area

Curated by our Halstead agents

Few things are as coveted in the New York City area as green spaces. In the summertime especially, we all search for nature-filled areas to escape the noise, crowds, and pace of city life. We all know of the world-famous parks and gardens the area has to offer, but what about the lesser-known green spots—the secret gardens, hidden courtyards, and easily missed parks?

No one knows the hidden gems of New York City and its surrounding towns and cities better than our agents. So we asked them to share their favorite outdoor hideaways so that we can explore them for ourselves. Take a look at the hidden outdoor spaces they recommended, and find your new favorite place to unwind.

Palma West Village, NYC

“On a charming single-block street tucked away in the West Village is a restaurant that understands how to do garden dining right,” Janet Weiner shares. “With farmhouse décor and flowers everywhere you are transported to a romantic trattoria in Italy.” At Palma, attention to detail resonates in everything.

“Faithful to generations of family recipes and traditions and using only organic ingredients, the food is sublime—don’t pass up the pasta! The garden in back, overflowing with flowers and roses, is not to be missed. Its retractable glass ceiling makes outdoor dining possible year round.”

Janet recommends booking a table in the private carriage house for an intimate dinner party, while reserving the garden for a more festive event like an engagement or birthday party. “Dining in the garden at Palma is like taking a weekend getaway in the Italian countryside without leaving New York.”

Recommended by Janet Weiner of our Village office

Half-Moon Overlook Spuyten Duyvil, The Bronx

An intimate space on Palisade Avenue in Spuyten Duyvil, Half-Moon Overlook faces west and gives you a view of where the Hudson and Harlem Rivers meet. The small park is named for Henry Hudson's ship, the Halve Maen, and it is a beautiful perch to watch the sunset from and forget you're in a big city.

Recommended by the Sanjya Tidke Team of our Riverdale office

The Maidstone East Hampton, NY

The Maidstone has cozy fireplaces and a great bar inside, but it also has a beautiful garden where you can enjoy a drink or a meal. With umbrella-covered tables, benches, and plenty of greenery dotting the area, the garden is a great place to enjoy a friend’s company or sip on drinks with a larger group.

Shaded by large trees, there is a peaceful, almost park-like atmosphere here. “The grounds are absolutely beautiful,” Ani Antreasyan says. “And as a landscape designer, it’s one of my favorite places to hang out in East Hampton.”

Recommended by Ani Antreasyan of our East Hampton office

Amster Yard Turtle Bay, NYC

Tucked behind Instituto Cervantes, the Spanish Cultural Institute, Amster Yard is a true hidden gem. Vivian Ducat goes to this courtyard refuge to work sometimes and enjoys the Victorian atmosphere, with its iron grille work, wrought-iron chairs, and beautiful greenery.

Recommended by Vivian Ducat of our Harlem office

Rowayton Community Center Courtyard Rowayton, Connecticut

The land where Rowayton Library sits has a long and interesting history. Built over 100 years ago, the building that now contains the library used to be a barn and is on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Mike Barbis, who is a Commissioner for the town, shares the beauty of the barn's courtyard. It was renovated a few years ago and includes café chairs and tables where you can read or simply enjoy your surroundings. There's even a 100-year-old English Yew. On the property you can also find the dog park and the greenhouse, known as the Potting Shed.

Recommended by Mike Barbis of our Darien office

Tudor City Greens Tudor City, NYC

Two elevated spaces above 42nd Street and First Avenue offer a breath of fresh, quiet air above the maddening crowds below. The gardens are maintained by a neighborhood non-profit and boast much-needed shade, flower beds, benches, and gorgeous views.

Recommended by Madeleine Dale of our West Side office

Mount Prospect Park Prospect Heights, Brooklyn

A little-known park nestled between the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and the Central Library, Mount Prospect Park contains the second highest point in all of Brooklyn and was used as a lookout point during the Revolutionary War. The park is now frequented by locals and their dogs for early-morning playtime. It's close to Kris Sylvester's home, so he often goes there with his daughter so that she can practice riding her bicycle. 

Recommended by Kris Sylvester of our Village office

West Side Community Garden Upper West Side, NYC

Amelia Gewirtz was on her way to a friend's house when she heard jazz coming from a flower-filled area on 89th Street. She had happened upon the West Side Community Garden, hidden between Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues. Since then, the serene hideaway has become Amelia's favorite hidden garden, not only because of its stunning atmosphere, but also because of the many free music and theater events that are hosted there.

Recommended by Amelia Gewirtz of our West Side office

Terrain Garden Cafe  Westport, Connecticut

Terrain's greenhouse cafe has beautiful décor and seasonal menus, and there is an outdoor section as well. Enjoy a peaceful meal here surrounded by the lush greenery.

Recommended by Alison Mark of our Westport office 

St. Luke's Garden West Village, NYC

A green oasis in the West Village, the garden belonging to The Church of St. Luke in the Fields is a home for flowers, berries, birds, and butterflies. This is where Bo Poulsen used to have lunch, and though it's in plain sight, it's not nearly as visited as you would think.

Recommended by Bo Poulsen of our Village office

The Elevated Acre Financial District, NYC

Take the escalator at 55 Water Street to discover an expansive urban oasis above the bustle of the Financial District. Here you will find landscaped gardens, a lawn, winding paths, a beer garden, and an amphitheater. The views are pretty incredible, too.

Recommended by Madeleine Dale of our West Side office

Paerdegat Park East Flatbush, Brooklyn

Found in a part of Brooklyn with a lack of green spaces, Paerdegat Park offers a full recreation center including basketball and handball courts, a playground, benches, and most importantly, trees. 

Recommended by Wilford Nelson of our Fort Greene office

New Canaan’s Protected Lands New Canaan, Connecticut

The New Canaan Land Trust owns over 350 acres of land across the town in an effort to conserve the spaces. Included are the Bristow Bird Sanctuary, Watson-Symington Woodlands, Browne Preserve, and Silvermine Fowler Preserve. Found dotted around the town, these areas have diverse terrains and feature rivers, meadows, reservoirs, and wildlife.

Recommended by John Engel of our New Canaan office

Greenacre Park Turtle Bay, NYC

A beautiful urban green space nestled between Second and Third Avenues on 51st Street, Greenacre Park is a serene escape from the bustle of the city. It features a 25-foot-high waterfall flowing down a granite wall, a rarity in New York City. “It’s truly a hidden gem,” Ali Rubenstein says.

“Mature trees and landscaping fill the space to create a jungle-like atmosphere with tables and chairs sprinkled throughout. It’s a few blocks away from my apartment, so I frequent this tranquil oasis on the weekends in the spring and summer to enjoy my morning coffee. I always leave feeling refreshed and at peace.”  

Recommended by Ali Rubenstein of our Brand Team

Liz Christy Community Garden The Bowery, NYC

The oldest community garden in New York City, this green space was established by Liz Christy and a group of “green guerrillas” that cleaned up and beautified the then vacant lot. Today, you can find a pond, wildflower habitat, weeping birch trees, vegetable gardens, a grape arbor, and more.

Recommended by Madeleine Dale of our West Side office

Columbia Manhattanville Courtyard Manhattanville, NYC

Vivian Ducat was searching for a comfortable outdoor space to relax, so she headed to Columbia University’s Manhattanville campus. She walked alongside the Jerome L. Greene Science Center and came upon a lovely courtyard with shade-providing trees and colorful chairs and benches. “A breeze off the river makes it a very pleasant place to sit,” Vivian says.

Recommended by Vivian Ducat of our Harlem office

Public Hotel Garden Lower East Side, NYC

The Public Hotel has the popular Bowery Garden on its rooftop, but for a more casual atmosphere, try the small garden directly in front of the building on Chrystie Street. The space has picnic tables for you to enjoy a meal (consider getting something from the Jean-Georges food bar inside) and have a nice respite from the city.

Recommended by Bo Poulsen of our Village office

[atmilliways]

You like AUs, right? Mash up Metalocalypse and That 70s Show, go! Mash up Metalocalypse and Friends, go! Mash up Metalocalypse and Frasier, go!

Oh jeebus, why?

… But yeah you’re right I do.

That Dethklok’s Show

You know what makes me mad is that I want to say Nathan and Charles are Eric and Donna, but Seth is unarguably Lori and that messes everything up.

Okay so Pickles = Eric, Seth = Lori, Calvert = Red but with hair, and Molly = Kitty except Seth is her favorite child too.

Skwisgaar = Kelso because he’s tall, pretty, and horny. Also, in this AU, he is drowning in brothers because Servetta can’t keep it in her panties.

Toki = Fez because he’s foreign, happy most of the time, sings and dances for the simple joy of it, and his room is decked out with toys and fun stuff.

Murderface = Hyde because of the righteous fa-RO baby, and also because he DOESN’T HAVE ANY PARENTS. He moves in with Pickles’ family and lives in the basement. (Pickles was hoping this would give Molly and Calvert another Target to rag on and give him a break. It didn’t work.)

Unlike Hyde, Murderface is not cool and doesn’t get any eventual Hyde/Jackie storyline. Instead, his relationship history goes more like Fez’s. Without the weird forced Fez/Jackie stuff at the end of the series, which really went downhill has soon as Donna dyed her hair blonde.

Charles = Buddy, the random rich kid who is canonically gay, only he’s a regular part of the group instead of a one-episode throwaway character.

I’m cool with Pickles/Charles, and that fits with Buddy coming on to Eric in the show. But I would eventually break them up and put Charles with…

Nathan = no one on the show, but he’s got a lot of Hyde’s qualities in terms of stoic, bad boy vibes. However, like Kelso, he is an Adorable Dumb (see “that’s doable” hat).

Rebecca Nightrod = Jackie, but she’s not a necessarily a regular character. Murderface fawns/lusts over her like Fez, even though she’s a bitch. Nathan hates her, even though he does date her briefly in a relationship that she holds onto tenaciously until, in an act of desperation that absolutely horrifies Pickles, he cheats on her with Seth.

Abigail = Donna, because she’s smart and has good hair. (Zero bleach kits in sight.)

Rockso = Bob, because he’s a cue ball on top and makes liberal use of crazy wigs. Bargain Rockso’s is that store that’s always open on holidays — just in case you’re driving home Christmas night, realize you forgot to get a gift, and rush in to buy a fridge to solve the gift problem and/or some cocaine to forget there was ever a problem in the first place.

Magnus = Leo. He gives Murderface a job at his hilariously unprofitable Photo Hut business, declines to sell his real cool car to Skwisgaar on principal, and generally supplies the gang with all their weed and assorted drugs.

Dory McLean = Midge. She’s young, dumb, has big boobs, and Abigail is exasperated as hell that she doesn’t understand feminism in the slightest.

Knubbler = Mitch, the weird kid who hangs around and is sometimes kinda entertaining but keeps hitting on Abigail, which annoys her. However, he’s also stupid and accidentally self-sabotages (see setting his sleeve on fire while trying to flirt), so she doesn’t really waste energy on slapping him back down.

Pickles “burning down the shed” = Eric telling Red “I do it too” when Hyde gets busted for possession. Either way Abigail (Donna) is standing in the background going, “For the love of god, DON’T.”

Trindle = Cousin Penny, only instead of prankish Pickles (Eric) she targets Nathan, who during her last visit when they were much younger helped Pickles trap her in a revolving door. Abigail is completely secure in her looks compared to Trindle and actually talks Rebecca out of a potentially disastrous sunlamp tan.

Nathan and Abigail go out for like, a second, while Nathan and Charles are I one of their off-again fazes.

Endgame parings are Nathan/Charles, Abigail/Rebecca, and Skwisgaar/Toki.

B.A.N.D.M.A.T.E.S

Nathan = Ross. Can you picture Nathan doing the *long sigh, ex wife is a lesbian blues* “Hi” thing? Because I can.

Abigail = Carol. They got together but it just didn’t work out in the long run. 

Rebecca Nightrod = Susan. Tbh, I think the reason she keeps popping up is because of how @little-murmaider portrayed her in Stay Alive. She and Nathan get along like a house on fire, in that it’s a disaster and Abigail keeps having to turn the hose on them to stop the bickering.

Toki = Monica, although his chef skills are mostly confined to providing fruit and burning plastic. He’s still got the overshadowed younger sibling thing going on though.

Molly = Judy Geller. Dotes on Nathan.

Oscar = Jack Geller. Is amiably odd.

Charles = Rachel. Except not as ditzy. But he does break an engagement off at the altar and moves in with Toki, an old acquaintance he hasn’t seen since high school and one of the few people he, ah, did not invite to the wedding. For the record, he was hoping that wouldn’t come up.

Skwisgaar = Joey. Except when they all go to London, Toki (Monica) does hook up with him, gradually teaches him how to relationship, and eventually they get married.

Murderface = Chandler. He hates his data processing job and keeps threatening to leave it to work on his side project, Planet Piss, but never actually does because the money is really good. When he goes back to the pet store to return the baby chick Skwisgaar impulse bought, he instead adopts an ugly-ass duck that no one wants because it’s original owners thought it was just an ugly duckling that would grow up into a swan. He feels that he can empathize with it, and names it Dick van Duck.

Knubbler = Dick van Duck. Listens patiently to all of Murderface’s Planet Piss ideas.

Pickles = Phoebe. He doesn’t even know who his dad is, and is proud that he doesn’t. (I’m not going to lie, Phoebe’s family situation definitely fits more with Murderface, but Phoebe’s dating track record is too good.) Remember the one where Pickles broke up with someone he’d just moved in with because the person shot a bottle of liquor?

Seth = Ursula. 100% Ursula. Seth is a “career driven” waiter and also a part time porn star on the side, using Pickles’ name.

Fraiser 

I don’t watch this one as much, so this one won’t be as detailed probably.

Skwisgaar = Frasier. Idk, because he goes on dates with a different woman at least every episode. Also, he’s a jackass, but good at what he does and there are some redeeming glimmers of not being a complete asshole that make his presence worthwhile.

Nathan = Niles. Minus most of the neuroses. Instead of successful musicians, he and Skwisgaar are both successful psychiatrists, although Skwisgaar usually gets the bulk of the public’s, ahem, attention.

Daphne = Charles. He’s oblivious to Nathan’s crush on him for ages, but when he realizes it’s there and thinks about how sweet Nathan’s always been to him, he falls hard.

Rebecca Nightrod = Maris. She and Nathan have a rocky marriage, and eventually a rockier divorce in which she accuses Nathan of being emotionally unfaithful because of Charles.

Abigail = The brilliant divorce lawyer that handles Nathan’s case, and briefly dates Charles. They seem like such a good fit on paper that they’re actually engaged for a bit, but they break it off amiably right before getting to the altar, and Nathan and Charles ride off into the sunset in an RV with “road warrior” vanity plates.

Toki = Roz. (I know, technically Roz’s promiscuousness would be more Skwisgaar, but Skwisgaar’s superiority complex fits better with Frasier.) Although competent and successful in his own right, he is not the on air talent. Unlike in Frasier, when Toki and Skwisgaar sleep together they actually become a couple instead of backing off and remaining good friends.

Rockso = That garbage man that Roz was head over heals with for a while… Rodger?He belongs in a garbage can. Anyway, after breaking up with Toki over the latter’s inability to get over his massive cocaine use, Toki goes to Skwisgaar for comfort, which leads to drinking which leads to sex. Toki flees the next morning and flies to Norway for the annual family reunion, only he hadn’t told anyone he’s broken up with Rockso. Skwisgaar, desperate to Talk Things Out and hopefully even Do That Again, follows and (cringingly, but of his own volition) answers to/pretends to be Rockso to help Toki save face in front of his critical family.

Murderface = Bulldog. He and Toki briefly have a thing, and he’s actually kind of sweet when you get right down to it, but things don’t work out. Masturbation photos are involved — don’t ask. Also, at one point Skwisgaar accidentally repeats a rumor that Murderface is going to get fired where Murderface can hear it, so

Murderface goes and yells at the station manager (then Knubbler) and quits. Then he’s unemployed for a while, and scrapes by delivering pizzas. I forget how that situation resolved itself in the show but it does.

Knubbler = Kenny the station manager. Weak willed. Weak chinned. Ineffectual. Good track record in his career, but mostly he’s just there.

Abigail = That domineering and extremely competent lady station manager that’s there for a while… Kate? Has a cat. But she does NOT get it on with Skwisgaar (Frasier) on his desk and accidentally bump the On Air button partway through. She has a very strict policy of not getting involved with anyone she works with, although naturally everyone tries.

That’s all I got.

Magnus = Martin. Because he’s a cranky old man. He and Nathan don’t get along and he resents having to live with Skwisgaar, but they all gamely trade barbed insults and leave it at that. Magnus is a retired cop who still works on old cold cases as a hobby, having vowed revenge on uncaptured murderers everywhere. He and Charles (Daphne) get along pretty well, and there is no stabbing of any kind.

Metal Masked Assassin = Cam Winston. At one point he blocks Skwisgaar and Toki in Skwisgaar’s SUV into a parking space with his own SUV, and only relents and backs out when Charles comes and calmly threatens him, because “that’s my bread and butter you’re blocking in.”

There, are you happy now?? I spent a ridiculous amount of time on this, asdf;lkj lol.

[hellagaymccree]

Two Ways of Saying ‘I Love You’

“Do you miss your tattoo?” Gabriel asks one night in New York, when he finds Jesse looking at his left mechanical arm. Almost like his commander knew he was reimagining the old skull and wings drawing on his skin. Jesse hasn’t spent this much time starring at his prosthetic since the first few weeks he got it. It’s only natural Gabriel, out of all people, know something’s out of place.

Jesse huffs a laugh, “Others ask me if I miss my arm.” He looks like the mystery man that’s talked about in novels. Leaning from the frame, the lights from the outside drawing his profile neatly. The only thing missing it’s the smock from his cigar.

Gabriel zips up his bag, ready to be picked up in three hours after a successful mission. “That’s why I asked about the tattoo.” Gabriel approaches him and mirrors the way Jesse stands by the window of their motel room, which has a view of a tattoo parlor. Being in front of him, the shadows and lights part Jesse’s face in half. One side beautifully highlighted, his features sharply standing out and half of his gaze piercing Gabriel. The other half is shadowed, but when he grins, he can see a part in the dark. Luring him into that side that only promises sins. “You’ve also been eyeing that place since we arrived.”

Jesse chuckles softly, admitting guilt as he lowers his head. Gabriel only smiles at him before also looking at the neon blue sign of the tattoo parlor.

“Sometimes,” Jesse answers. “I used to think they looked cool on the other guys and gals. And when I got it, I felt like I finally belonged. Like they took me seriously after they saw my devotion.” Gabriel nods quietly, waiting for the cowboy to finish. “I miss it sometimes because I still think it looked cool.” Both share a laugh and look at each other.

“Not the best one,” Gabriel comments and it makes Jesse laugh louder.

“Sorry we can’t all afford that masterpiece on that lovely thigh of yours—another masterpiece, I might add.” Jesse looks down at Gabriel’s clothed legs and bites his bottom lip as he remembers the detailed skull on Reyes’ left thigh with different colored flowers surrounding it. Vibrant and vivid, with sharp lines and edges. He could trace it with his fingers forever.

“You could now,” Gabe says as he crosses his arms. “Can’t be visible, though. After I’m done with you, you can do whatever you want”

“I will never be done with ya, boss,” Jesse responds as he tips his hat and Gabriel shakes his head with a fond and sincere smile. One that feels like a secret between them, a rare sight. “I wouldn’t know what to get, anyways. N’ I feel foolish askin’ now, but does yours have a meaning?”

Gabriel waves Jesse off, it’s not like he has offered to tell him anyways. His tattoo only comes to light when they’re in the bedroom and when not much talking is being done. “The rose is my mother’s favorite, the lotus my father’s, the orchids is Lizzie’s, the dahlia is Jennifer’s and the carnation for Carmella.” Gabriel says and Jesse remembers the photos of his three sisters, Gabriel was the second child. “And I just like the skull, but if anyone asks: it represents how alive my family makes me feel when I’m so close to death.

Jesse laughs, “That’s not bad. Dark and mysterious, as always.”

“Doesn’t always have to mean anything, though. But I get it,” Gabriel adds, looking back at the parlor. “Sometimes I’d like to get more. Just don’t know what.”

The parlor doesn’t look busy, maybe less than an hour before closing. Jesse gazes at every car that passes by, maybe to use it as a distraction to stop him from running in and getting something tacky.

Then he looks at Gabriel, at his profile painted by the street lights. At his tantalizing eyes, how much he wishes to have their attention again. At his closed lips, looking tempting even without moving. They could be standing on the same room, like now. Less than five feet apart, and it feels like the world’s between them. He can never be close enough to Gabe. Jesse wants something from the soldier marked on him. Printed on his skin and maybe his own bones. He wants to record every word Gabriel has said to him, keep the manuscript under lock, and dig it for years until someone else finds it and learns a love this strong once existed.

Jesse steps closer, “When was the first time you said ‘I love you’ to me before saying it?”

Gabriel looks at him with an eyebrow raised, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

Jesse’s head lowers, rethinking the question. Questioning himself if he wants to hear it and risk finding out he was the only one who spilled his secret in more ways than one before he actually said it. “Was there ever a moment where you said something to me that carried the same meaning as an ‘I love you’?”

It’s quiet again and Jesse’s still looking at Gabriel’s boots. The ticks and tocks of the clock on the wall ring louder, taunting the seconds that pass before Gabriel answers, “yes.”

--

They’ve written the words they want the other to carry in what soon will be permanent ink, forever. But Jesse doesn’t read Gabriel’s lines, and neither Gabriel reads Jesse’s. They sit on the tattoo stations, side by side, both artists shielding the view of the other. They don’t speak either, Jesse squirms a little under the needle, but Gabriel is as stiff as a stone. As if the girl was only brushing the ink with a paint brush.

Jesse sits up first, and hisses to the burn on his side, but leaves his arm up, afraid to ruin it before he even gets the chance to see it. He gets up, not patient enough to wait for Gabriel’s to be ready. He stands in front of the mirror, his tattoo artist behind to see his reaction. It takes a moment to read it from the mirror, but he gets it.

They can take you through scorching fires, over raging oceans and thunderous skies, I will find you and bring you back.

Jesse chuckles, almost breathlessly as he remembers and hears those words clearly with Gabriel’s voice after he had been kidnapped by old Deadlock members that held a grudge. He stood by Jesse’s hospital bed, while Jesse was coming and going from consciousness. He wasn’t sure if he had heard right or just dreamt those poetic words. Thought he had only imagined the intensity in Gabriel’s voice along with left over adrenaline that slowly ceased and overshadowed him with exhaustion of not sleeping for hours. That had been two years ago, and they’ve been dating for one and a half.

Gabriel stands beside him, eyes shut as he laughs. “What I do for you,” he whispers just for them. He’s hoping what he reads on his ribs won’t be one of those obscene lines Jesse says when they’re between bedsheets. Or a corny pick-up line he has thrown at Gabe since they met. There’s a knot in Jesse’s throat, preventing him from giving an answer or a cheeky remark. Gabriel opens his eyes and reads his.

I’d take any bullet for you, jefe. If that had hit your head, mind as well shoot myself in the heart Bet it’ll hurt less than losing you

Gabriel recalls the memory those words belong to. Right after Jesse a sniper’s bullet meant for Gabriel to his left arm, shattering his bones. They were separated from the rest of the team and trapped. Too many hostiles around to engage, so they waited for backup. Gabriel clung to Jesse, tried to keep him awake and talking. Jesse spoke those words after saying Gabriel had the prettiest brown eyes he has ever seen. Gabriel thought he was delirious from all the blood loss, he paid him no mind, but didn’t shut him either. He could not handle is Jesse felt silent, not then, not ever. The world would be too quiet, music would lose sentiment and tales would be worthless without Jesse’s tone and smooth way of speech.

He steps close and reaches for his lover’s hand. They look at each other for a second before he kisses the gunslinger’s lip. They forget where they are, who they are and what they’ve done. This moment is pure, but still fierce. Intimate even in a public place.

--

When they get to base, all the paperwork is filled up and the team has been checked, Jesse showers and makes his way to Gabriel’s room as if it was his own. Though the dresser drawer with a few of his shirts and pants, as well as a cowboy hat thrown on the couch and a pair of casual boots under the bed say it might as well be his, too. He lays in bed, resting his muscles and still lingering burn on his ribs while he waits for Gabriel, his job always lasts longer.

Once Gabriel comes in, he smiles to the gunslinger as he makes his way to the bathroom. The shower starts and ends before he joins Jesse on the bed, not bothering dressing up. They kiss while Jesse undresses and their fingers explore their bodies, paying extra attention to the new ink on their ribs, feeling the sore area around, too afraid of smudging the ink away, still. They treat them tenderly, like touching a baby bird and feeling its feather’s between their fingers, too worried it will all fade away that easy.

Jesse kisses and traces the painting on Gabriel’s thigh. Looks at the vibrant colors popping to life in the faint light. He stares at the skull’s dark holes and isn’t afraid to let the dark swallow him whole by Gabriel’s side.

[more works by me]

[nyutheatrepractices2020]

Fault Lines: Political and Real -Days 1 through 3

Welcome to the NYU Theatre Practices 2020 blog! We are a group of eleven graduate students from the NYU Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development studying applied theatre through the lenses of physical theatre and mask work under the direction of Puerto Rican artists Javier Cardona Otero, Deborah Hunt, Alejandra Martorell, and Awilda Sterling-Duprey, with the guidance of Dr. Amy Cordileone. For those readers unfamiliar with “Applied Theatre,” it is a term that serves as an umbrella for theatre works that are focused on creating social and political change within a community setting.

Most of us arrived in San Juan, Puerto Rico on the morning of January 6th, the holiday of Día de Reyes (or Three Kings Day in English) shortly after the island experienced a magnitude 5.8 earthquake. We spent the evening on the roof of the Hotel Miramar where we broke bread and enjoyed one another’s company as we got to know our instructors and discussed the political and economic reality in which the island currently exists, which has kept the people in poverty and has maintained a colonial system of oppression. At 4:30 in the morning we were jarred awake by a devastating magnitude 6.4 earthquake and the aftershocks that rocked the southern part of the island—destroying numerous homes and leaving one confirmed fatality. As I write this blog, more than two thirds of the island remains without power. The inequity that islanders face on a daily basis, and the juxtaposition of that oppression to the privilege that we hold as NYU students is not lost on us, and many of us are working to find ways in which we can help our Puerto Rican brothers and sisters. Our hearts ache for them, and we want to help.

Given the state and current trajectory of our country and our world, the study of applied theatre practices in Puerto Rico (although PR is a US territory) strikes me as a prescient case study, especially as I believe that our duty as artists is to serve as awakeners of the human spirit and illustrators of what an ideal world can be. I recently took a course with a renowned American theatre artist who stated that she did not believe that theatre or art could change the world. And yet, art has been vital to the political landscape of Puerto Rico for a very long time. CircoFest, an annual circus arts festival featuring street performances serving crowds which number in the thousands has ensured that the inefficient and corrupt government has kept the streets clean and navigable for the general public. In a larger capacity, artists of every discipline participated in demonstrations, using their art form, that played a major role in getting Governor Ricardo Rosseló to resign in the wake of the government’s ineptitude, which revealed itself in the wake of Hurricane Maria. I believe that the artists of Puerto Rico, who create profound and polished work with very little financial support, are proving my renowned American friend wrong in many ways, and I am grateful to be in Puerto Rico studying with artists that stand at the vanguard of art and politics—making real change in their community and the world.

Tuesday the 7th marked our first full day of training. The majority of the group began the day with a long and beautiful hike from our hotel in the barrio Miramar to the city of Old San Juan—traversing the sea wall and taking in sweeping views of the ocean and colorful vestiges of European architecture. I began the morning with a solo breakfast at 5:30 am at Los Pinos Café Miramar, which has become a regular haunt for me as it’s open 24 hours and serves a mean café con leche, as well as delicious yet cheap meals. I was unaware at the time that they were one of the few restaurants open because they were drawing power from a generator. Following breakfast, I too joined the group on the scenic hike to El Bastion (our main training studio) which is at the west end of Old San Juan.

Above: Views of the ocean along the walk from Miramar to Old San Juan. 

Above: Colorful buildings and cobblestone street in Old San Juan. 

Below: A bar called “Aqui Se Puede,” which means “Here We Can,” the name seemed very apropos for our endeavors in Puerto Rico. 

Our training at El Bastion commenced with a lovely physical warmup led by Alejandra Martorell which drew heavily on developmental movement, a methodology that focuses on training and expanding one’s proprioception and fine motor skills (chiefly in babies), and body contact/weight sharing. Everyone seemed most intrigued by the vestibular portion of the warm up, in which we made ourselves dizzy in order to reorient ourselves and holistically awaken our bodies. Our time with Alejandra was then followed by an introduction to mask work with Deborah Hunt. Before we ever gazed upon a mask, we practiced the simple task of pretending to be skilled fisherman throwing a fifty pound net into the sea, all the while exercising the “magic if” and carefully observing our peers movement qualities. After many attempts at throwing the net, carefully stealing from our peers, and accumulating the knowledge, we were finally able to try out the masks. Deborah set out a series of masks from which we each selected one that seemed to call to us. We then took the masks to our own private part of the space, studied the emotion on its face, and transformed our bodies and movement patterns to match the mask.

Above: Students engage in a physical warmup using partnering and weight sharing techniques.

Above: Students move through the beginning stages of the “flocking” exercise.

Above: Artist Deborah Hunt gives instructions to students during an introduction lesson on mask work. 

In the afternoon, we began our exploration of Applied Theatre with Javier in an intense conversation about the pedagogies of Paulo Freire and Augusto Boal, the nature of education, the necessity of building a safe space, and then moved through a handful of Boal’s exercises.  

Above: JW and Daniel participate in the “magician” exercise. 

Above: The whole groups participates in the centipede exercise. 

On Wednesday morning, the participants focusing on mask work joined Deborah at the studio Casa Taller, while those working on physical theatre met Alejandra at El Bastion. As I was in the group at Casa Taller, I will speak to that experience, which was quite rigorous and surprisingly physically exhausting. We began the session with a tour of Casa Taller, which was then followed by a series of warm up stretches in the upstairs studio—beginning with our feet and working our way up the body, ultimately ending with facial and eye muscle stretches, discerning between “big eyes” and “bright eyes.” We moved into an exploration of different centers of physical lead (knees, thighs, belly, chest, head, etc), which we used to locomote through space while exploring different character archetypes. This is an exercise derived from the work of French theatre practitioner Jacques Lecoq. Once we had warmed up and explored different characters, we moved into mask work, again letting different masks speak to us, putting them on, and transforming our bodies to match their qualities. Eventually, we moved into the study of counter masks, which is the alter ego of the mask that embodies, in some ways, its opposite, though in reality it is a hidden emotional quality belonging to the mask.

Above: Physical Theatre students work with Alejandra in the dance studio at El Bastion. 

Above: Student Daniel Leeman Smith explores the possibilities of a mask in front of the class. 

In the afternoon, we returned to El Bastion, where we joined the physical theatre students for another session of applied theatre with Javier. In this session we continued our discussion of the nature of education and the oppression of conformity that is often thrust upon students. We moved through several of Boal’s exercises, which address power dynamics and reframe the ways in which participants think about certain experiences by providing them alternative views. Perhaps the most exciting activity was the creation of still images based on impossible tasks. The participants were split into two groups which then devised images in which the person making the “proposal” (offering an idea or suggestion) had to be lifted off of the ground while maintaining the picture. One group presented the image of sleeping on a cloud, while the other presented the image of jumping into the sky and never coming down.

Above: Aaron holds the pose of “jumping into the clouds and never coming down” with the support of Carey, Kasey, Shari, and Daniel. 

In the evening, post dinner, we returned to El Bastion for a public performance of work by our teachers Alejandra Martorell and Javier Cardona Otero, which was followed by a stirring talkback with the audience. Alejandra’s work was centered on the history of dance in Puerto Rico, and the renowned teacher Petra Bravo, while Javier’s performance was centered on his identity as a person of color who is also queer and from Puerto Rico, and what it is like to shed the labels and hurt that others force upon us, while also exploring the complicity of the audience in the perpetuation of oppression.

Three days of the program has passed, and already it seems like we have been here for a month, and I mean that in absolutely the best way. I am looking forward to continued growth, to performing with our teachers in the festival of San Sebastián at the end of next week, and to further supporting our Puerto Rican brothers and sisters.

Until next time.

Signing off.

Daniel Leeman Smith  

NOTE: Videos are posted below with captions. 

Above: Students participate in a partnering and weight sharing exercise led by Alejandra. 

Above: Student Daniel Leeman Smith explores character through body and mask work. 

Above: Aaron explores the mask and counter mask of one of Deborah’s creations.

Above: Group 1 performs the impossible task of “jumping into the clouds and never coming down.”

Below: Group 2 performs the impossible task of “sleeping on a cloud.”

[dondake]

[aoaka] flame

rating: k summary: A fire that’ll never go out. [ABO verse]

[=]

When Aomine Daiki returned to the Tokyo headquarters after two years in Shizuoka Prefecture, he brought back snacks. For the ones in his department with a sweet tooth, he had two boxes of soft Castella cake; for the savory fans, he had sweet potato chips. He watched his old friends - and some new faces - dig into his wares, sufficiently distracted enough from asking him about his time in Shizuoka (plain, admittedly, and he had also given frequent reports during meetings remotely), so he slipped away to deliver his remaining edible souvenir. The eighth floor was just how he remembered it, still a bit cluttered on the south wall. But Akashi Seijuro was not in his office.

“Are you looking for the big boss?” Takao chirped, breezing by with an armful of laptop and manila folders. “He’ll probably be in Midorima’s office if he isn’t in a meeting somewhere else.”

“Huh,” Aomine said. As one of the major managers in headquarters, Aomine had had a few close interactions with Midorima, but as their departments did not interact with each other often, he did not have much to paint a complete picture of the man beyond a preference to operate by-the-book and to work efficiently without making waves. That in itself felt in line with Akashi’s work ethic, and he figured someone with such a particular way to run himself and his department probably shared Akashi’s tastes in other things like sophisticated liquors and fine arts. Of course, that was mostly his speculation, because he did not spend time with Akashi outside the office engaging in those kinds of things.

He saw them first before they saw him, Akashi behind the desk leaning over Midorima’s shoulder at the monitor in front of them. They were having an in-depth discussion about some papers in front of Midorima, judging by the way Akashi was pointing and talking in rapid succession and Midorima’s brow was furrowed in concentration. Aomine had a strange feeling as he approached the open door that he would be disrupting something if he announced himself, and for a moment he didn’t know why he thought such a thought. Akashi was Midorima’s superior - Akashi was all of their superiors, if he was to be honest - and it wasn’t like he was walking into the moment before a kiss or anything intimate like that - still, the way Akashi had a hand on Midorima’s shoulder and the way sometimes Midorima angled his face toward Akashi’s neck, there was something suspect and intimate about those gestures.

“I see you’re busy,” Aomine said anyway, knocking on the doorframe just to be polite. The two of them looked up at them.

“Oh!” Akashi responded to his arrival first, but he had always had more interactions with Akashi than Midorima. Midorima merely looked back at his computer and finished what he was doing as Akashi crossed the room and clasped Aomine on the shoulder. It was different from the way he was holding Midorima, casually friendly and more transient. “You’re back from the sunny shores of Japan. And it shows, I have to admit; you look like you’ve taken a tropical vacation.”

“I’ve always had a darker complexion,” Aomine shrugged, although his mother had said the same thing. Momoi had rolled her eyes and told him that he was risking his own skin by not wearing sunscreen, which contrary to his popular belief was not only for beach vacations and special outings. He shifted the watch on his wrist and exposed a tan line. “But yeah, it’s been very good for my vitamin D intake.”

“You’re coming back to headquarters, then? They didn’t want to keep you?”

“Oh, they wanted to. But I can’t leave my parents in Tokyo like that.” He handed Akashi the package in his hand. “Here. I figured you’d be the type to enjoy getting tea.”

Akashi turned the package of loose leaf green tea in his hands. “I do. This was very thoughtful for you.” Aomine looked over at the sound of Midorima pushing back from his desk and getting to this feet.

“Welcome back, Aomine,” he said, with the politeness of speaking to a coworker he wasn’t particularly familiar with. “I’ll fetch some hot water then.”

“You don’t need to; we need to get that proposal finished, so-”

“It’ll be good for everyone to take a break. I’ll be back.” Midorima spared Aomine a single glance as he walked past him in the doorway. Aomine figured now was a good time as any to actually enter the office, which he had been lingering outside with a strange invasive feeling.

Akashi was putting out a set of small ceramic cups on the desk when Aomine spoke up. “So he’s the one you’re with nowadays, huh?”

Akashi looked at him blankly and said nothing; it was, in a way, throwing the ball back in Aomine’s court to show his hand.

“I mean. It’s just a feeling. And you seem to know his office enough to know where he keeps his belongings. You’re a pretty conscientious supervisor but it seems a little out of character for just a regular colleague.” Aomine played with a loose thread inside his trouser pocket. “It doesn’t look good for me to just waltz in after being gone for so long with a personalized gift for you, does it?”

Akashi began separating portions of tea leaves. “It might look bad in other circumstances. He doesn’t know about what happened but I’m not worried about it. He isn’t the jealous type and it was a one-off thing years ago.” He turned to look Aomine in the eyes. “If you’re going to tell me you’ve been holding a flame for me this whole time, I’d be more worried for you, honestly.”

“That’s certainly what your father thought by sending me away. Thought we were getting a little too cozy.”

Akashi rolled his eyes, an unguarded expression that actually took Aomine by surprise. They were in a private office, but Akashi’s careless informality was a refreshing change. “Please don’t flatter yourself like that. I told you, I was the one who personally recommended you for the leadership track at Shizuoka. You’re unorthodox but I think you’ve got the instincts to really be a branch leader, and I recognize ability just like any healthy business-minded person does.”

“You couldn’t hold back your passion for me and had to keep your distance.”

Akashi’s scoff even made Midorima pause at the door as he returned. If Midorima was curious, he didn’t show it; Akashi demonstrated a barebones tea ceremony before them and Aomine watched as they brought their tea cups to their lips at the same time. To anyone who wasn’t watching closely, they were completely unsuspecting. Akashi’s neck was clean and he was wearing pheromone inhibitors. Their genetic makeup had nothing to do with the natural progression of couples to learn each other’s quirks and flow. They looked good together, if not a little intimidating considering their positions.

“There you are, brother.” Seijuro was scowling at them from the door. Aomine caught Midorima bristle from the corner of his eye. “Father’s looking for you. Why are you never in your office anymore? You may as well consolidate your floor and share this office space with Midorima.” He looked down at their tea. He saw Aomine last. “Oh. You’re back.”

Aomine grinned. “Did you miss me?”

Seijuro ignored him. “Immediately,” he emphasized, staring at his brother. Akashi sighed and got to his feet and Midorima followed suit, collecting their cups wordlessly as Akashi sighed again and left the office. Aomine remained in his chair and watched Seijuro watch Midorima with narrowed eyes. When Seijuro left, Aomine stretched and cracked his neck.

“Back to the grind, eh?” Aomine offered.

“Yes,” Midorima said, frowning at him like he had asked a genuinely stupid question.

As coincidence would have it, Aomine ran into the whole ensemble on his way home in the building lobby. Akashi’s voice echoed through the space as most of the full time staff had already left for the night - “...just having a quick dinner with Midorima. It’s the least I could do by keeping him back so late tonight to finish up that proposal.” Midorima stood at his side with his lips pressed together; he was deferential to a fault and Seijuro was part of the executive team.

“How perfect,” Seijuro said, voice dripping with smugness. He knew perfectly well what he was doing. “I’ll join you two, brother. Half of my team will be working with your proposal partners, so it might be beneficial to have your input on how they operate.” In the public space, Akashi had no reason to disagree.

Midorima looked over and caught Aomine’s eye. “Aomine,” he called, startling the man as he tried to sneak past tactfully. “Thanks for your work today. Maybe you’d like to join us for dinner? You probably haven’t had a proper Tokyo meal since coming back.”

“It isn’t like he left the country,” Seijuro sniffed.

Akashi gave him a look and turned back to his brother. The game was pretty clear; by inviting him, Seijuro would be forced to spread his attention to a third person. Seijuro could rescind his self invitation, admitting defeat, and Aomine knew he was expected to drop off with a transparent excuse once Seijuro jumped ship. Seijuro was weighing these options too, clearly too proud to back off.

“Actually,” Aomine said to Seijuro, “I was thinking you and I could have dinner together. I wanted to talk about a project I heard about in Shizuoka that you apparently help manage. I don’t want to bother your brother and Midorima with that kind of conversation; I’m sure they’re tired enough with work as it is.”

“That’s a great idea,” Akashi agreed. “I can organize a meeting with our partners and you later in the week. Now, we really must be going; I made a late reservation and it won’t be good to miss it.” Aomine saw the way Seijuro shifted to stop them as they walked through the doors and he quickly grabbed the man’s arm.

Seijiro rounded on him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, pulling his arm free. With his targets gone, he immediately become frigid. “I’m not free to discuss business with you tonight; make an appointment with my assistant if you want to talk about it.”

“Huh,” Aomine said. He followed Seijuro out of the building and down the street. “Why are you doing all that? Getting in between them, I mean. Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” Seijuro scoffed. “Hardly. Shintarou is not my type at all; he might be an Alpha, but he’s too careful and passive. You should see the way he pampers my brother. And what is there to be jealous of an Omega for? Do you think I want to live that kind of pathetic existence, limited and reduced to accepting handouts? He should be grateful he even gets Father’s time of day and a partner willing to put up with him, shortcomings and all.”

Aomine laughed, which only served to make Seijuro bristle. “You don’t think your brother is deserving of love at all?”

Seijuro stopped, turning to him with a dispassionate expression. “He is my brother. We spent nine months together. Of course I think he is deserving of love.” He broke Aomine’s unwavering gaze and looked out into the street, undoubtedly searching for his driver to take him away from the conversation. “Because we are twins, we should be treated the same. I’m not so power hungry that I’m unwilling to share control of our Father’s company with him. But it’s disappointing that just because of his - disposition, he gets special treatment.”

“You don’t give your brother enough credit,” Aomine suggested. This made Seijuro click his tongue, narrowing his eyes, but Aomine began digging into his bag, the sound of a rustling plastic bag not enough to draw Seijuro’s attention. He didn’t turn back until he felt something hard pressed into his stomach. “Here. I got you this from Shizuoka, so don’t sulk anymore.” Drawing the plastic bag away, Seijuro looked down at a delicate sake set, lacquered black with green glaze trim. “You eat snacks and boil tea and then throw the leaves away. Isn’t this a little more permanent?”

Aomine thought he saw Seijuro’s eyes flash, but it could have been the traffic behind him. “I don’t want my brother’s sloppy Beta seconds,” he said.

“Are you really incapable of saying thank you like a normal person?”

“Alphas aren’t normal people,” Seijuro said, turning the set over in his hands. “And it’s normal for Alphas to receive gifts to curry favor.”

“I’m not trying to curry favor. Well, I am, but not like that. Not in the office.”

“Well, I still don’t have time to discuss business with you tonight,” Seijuro declared, tucking the sake set under his arm. Almost as if directly summoned, a black car rolled up to the curb. “I suggest you contact my assistant for any meetings you want to hold with me. He’ll know my availabilities best and when I can fit something with you in my schedule.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind-”

“He’s very good; he’ll always check with me on any time slot proposed if it’s free, even if it’s after his own hours.”

“I see,” Aomine said, grinning. “You have a very capable assistant.”

“He’s only a Beta,” Seijuro dismissed, sliding into the backseat of the car. “But I’m fair - I’ll reward performance no matter the person.” His left eye flashed almost gold before he closed the door. “I’m expecting to be impressed. Don’t disappoint me.”

[withchalkandkaijublue]

. @science-rockstars As always, the keys jammed in the lock. Newt tried to jiggle his hand a little, huffing in frustration. Damn this fuckin door! He then tried to pull the keys back, but apparently they were now stuck in there. Putting his forehead on the door of his overpaid apartment and closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. One in, one out. That wasn’t working as well as he had hoped, which wasn’t actually so surprising since that had been a bad day on different levels, some of them totally unrelated to each other. That morning the conference had been a completely disaster. Ok, maybe not so catastrophic as he was making it, but he had worked hard on that paper, and honestly, the giggling he had heard when struggling with the wire from the damn projector hadn’t helped. At all. He felt like he was back at MIT, which was true, but at the time when he still was a totally weird genius teen apparently not adequate for social life. Before the all “nerdrockstarsavioroftheworld” story. It had been a hell of a week. He sighed. Had been a hell of a year. And he seriously didn’t want to remind when, after making a total fool of himself like the uncoordinated juggler of the unfolding wires, he magically managed to throw his cup of coffee on the shirt of the old-and-bald head of the engineering department, who wasn’t the biggest fan of him from the beginning. Like I still have some fan left. Like I still have someone left. In a sudden fit of anger, he scrunched his eyes and kicked the door as hard as his boot allowed. Which was actually a lot. He felt a muffled click coming from the lock and when he tried to turn the key, it did it smoothly. Entering and closing the door behind him, Newt put his back on it and started to stretch out his skinny tie, dropping his bag on the floor and toeing out his boots. Padding to the open kitchen, he brewed the umpteenth cup of coffee of that miserable day. Glancing around, he took note of the mess that was his home: papers were scattered on every surface, the coffee table was vanished under piles of folders, unbalanced empty cups and his other laptop. His couch hosted the significant presence of one of his three guitars, and he was pretty sure the plant next the window had been dead for a considerable time, now. Deciding not to add a pet to that has revealed to be a wise idea, after all. Gloomily, he opened the freezer, looking for some ice cream in the unhoped possibility to enlighten his mood, but he was faced by test tubes and petri dishes left there to preserve part of his pet project. Giving up, he closed the lid and moved to his bedroom. For reasons he tried not to dwell upon too much, it was spotless. Not because he didn’t sleep there, because he did –not so much, but he did. Mostly because he reminded him of someone else room. Someone tidier, neater and made of straight lines.   Someone he had shared a lot with. Time. Space. Mind. Strangely, he never entered that person’s room, but he could still see it. It has not been a conscious decision, back when he moved in that flat, to not put posters on the walls if not for the chemical table one affixed precisely on the center of the headboard. He had cluttered all his action figures and paraphernalia and had put them in the living room. His Newt Cave. This one belonged in part to someone else. Someone he hadn’t heard from for more than two years. Someone who hadn’t been close to him since the time they met. After that… Well, he didn’t truly know what had happened, after. He didn’t know what had happened for the following eight years; the push and pull, the arguing, the rivalry. He used not to be like that. And even after saving the world together- well, helping save the world, merging their mind with a giant alien creature, he still didn’t know a qualm about it. Looking at his walk-in closet, he bit his bottom lip and scratched his arm. Thoughtlessly, he got inside and picked the box on the top shelf; it was full to the brim and the lid couldn’t actually fit to close it. Then he put the cup of lukewarm coffee on the floor and, box under his arm, he sat on the bed. He spread old photos and postcards on the duvet, laughing at some and getting nostalgic on others. Despite what one sane person could think, he missed those times; rushing everywhere, pushing on every human limit, finding a solution to save the humankind from extinction. And they did it. They did it, man. Nothing has been as thrilling as living on the brick of annihilation. And like that, puff, nothing more. Where has everyone gone? No more blaring of the siren for a Kaiju appearance, no more sharing a bench with techs in the mess hall, no more tiny cubicles for room. The clock zeroed and swallowed that life so fast it had made his head spin. Someone should have had told him that the compass needle never set itself right again, after something like that; than when you lose the North, it’s gone. Tendo tried to bring up the topic, the day after the victory but he was still high on adrenaline, so full of self-esteemed and Hermann. He had been happy, the day after. Truly happy and finally, oh so finally, right. He was almost forty and was not going to deny that that day he felt good. Good as you can feel when, going to the cinema to see a long waited movie, you find the perfect seat, right there for you. Comfortable and relaxing. Finally able to stay unmoving for hours, without the unstopping buzz of his head there to torment him. He found a spot on the shelf of Hermann’s mind, that day, and he sat there, feeling a belonging he never experienced before. That spot, that little place, had his name on it, and he took it as it was natural to do. He thought he would stay there until the very end, but time passed away, they got separate ways, and without notice, he was out of Hermann’s life, and his head. Newt felt a lump forming in his throat, and putting away the memorabilia, he aimed for the most precious and painful of his possessions.                                                                                                                           September 3, 2013

 ...We are, indeed, presented with something unprecedented, so we have to take into consideration what has still to be considerate. Also, I agree with you, it’s meant to happen again…

                                                                                                                            September 22, 2013 ... I’d gladly give you my help, if you’d ever require it. I’ll be frank, it’s truly a relief to make the acquaintance of a bright mind as yours, deeply engaged in to find a solution to what apparently anyone else bother to consider as a real threat...

   April 15, 2014 ... My schedule is unnervingly hectic, lately. I feel I’m wasting my scarce time as few individuals understand what’s happening. The truth, my friend, is that we were not ready for something of this gargantuan scale. But I guess we never thought we have to face it so soon.                                                                                                                        

July 30, 2014             ... It has become far more promising that I thought. It’s happening, finally. We are preparing to fight back; a prototype is already available but we still lack the how’s and whys of a proper functionality. If pressured, I’ll admit we are encountering unpleasant issues. If only I had at my disposition your supervision, I’m certain we could grab the bull for the proverbial horns ...            May 14, 2015                                                                                                                    As you are very well aware, simply because I’ve kept pestering you about it, some weeks ago I presented my application to be part of the newly formed Jaeger Academy and today I have received the answer. I’ve been admitted. Since I took part in the very jading process of creating the machine which name they borrowed, I guess is a no actual surprise. Nevertheless, I’m happy and I’ll borrow myself two of your most recurrent expressions: “Show time, rockstar”. Wish me luck.

August 17, 2016 It came to my notice, through your repeated announcements, that you have been admitted at the Jaeger Academy. Very well done, my friend. Congratulations. I’ll take this as an opportunity to query you about the material nature of the garments you intend to bring as the weather in that blasting island is beyond intolerable. I struggle to understand as human kind has managed to live in that freezing hell long enough to build functional cities...                                                                                                                 February 28, 2017 … I hope you are aware I consider you the most precious friend I have, if you let me be so impertinent. I highly value your opinion in any matter; a fact I hope I’ve made abundantly clear in this years of correspondence. Still, I find myself wondering how would be to finally shake your hand. If you are amenable, we could meet at the conference which will take place in five weeks from today, in Bejiing. I’m attending as a representative of the Jaeger modelling panel, in the 13th sector. I would be very honored to make your acquaintance, finally. Your friend, Hermann The stinging of his eyes was becoming embarrassing, and unbearable. Standing up abruptly, Newt rushed out the room leaving everything on the bed, reached for the fridge and pulled out a beer, thinking twice, he put it back with unsteady hands, moved near the front door and after slipping in his boots, grabbed his bag and got out, leading for his favorite place in that damn city: Boston Public Library.  After have settled his laptop and notes, hoping to distract himself with some amendments to his presentation, he found out his plane was lacking of any determination from his part. Such a glutton for pain... He stayed there for hours, doing nothing if not staring the blank monitor of his pc, his mind looping on a oh-so-terrible idea, pounding inside his skull like the giant heart of an extinct alien. His hands moved on the keyboards, opening his email inbox but then he stopped. He wasn’t looking for a nice virtual catch up with probably the most important man of his scientific life. He wanted something impressive but not so much, he wanted something old, actually. Something he didn’t even know it ever truly existed. But the pounding was now a high thrilling sound and his own heart seems very inclined to perform a mild stroke.  Something old, something old, old, old like chalk and tweed and a dumb old fashioned military haircut. And there he was. Turning on his side, he picked up his bag and after a thoroughly rummaging, he pulled out a stack of stationery papers with an excited “A-ha!” promptly shushed by the old librarian who glared at him. Plastering an awkward and apologetic smile, he mouthed “Sorry! Sorry!” and immediately moved to spread out the paper. Ok! We’re doin’it, Newt, my man! What a genius you are! Goodgoodgood! He picked up a pen and stayed like that for half an hour, petrified by self doubts and the sudden escape of his notorious chattiness. Because of course his traitor mind had waited until the very last moment to make its usual trick. What if he stopped corresponding to get rid of me for good? But who did it first? I don’t remember. Maybe he is happy I disappeared from his life, maybe he’s busy, maybe he has his house, his job - he had a wife, right? A beautiful woman. And a baby on his way. Why should he want to hear for the nuisance of his past? Maybe this is a terrible idea, no, it’s definitely a terrible idea. I have so many of them if a had a penny for each one I would be billionaire. So, no, no abort mission. abort abort abort . Scheiße! What the fucking was I thinking, he doesn’t want to hear from me, he doesn’t want his life ruined again because I’m a little clingy shit, he doesn’t want - Newton. QUIET.   He gasped. Loudly. And the librarian shushed him again, with more vigor, but this time he barely noticed. He heard that. Did he? That sounded like Hermann voice. In his head, again. But he was sure that was impossible, the connection had faded after few months from the drift. Still, it worked.  Looking down on the white paper, suddenly all the words that had escaped to him came back, at full force, like the crashing of a wave on the cliff.  He gripped the pen and started to write, before everything got confused or slipped away.  Dear Hermann, how things are going on? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I stumbled upon something and you came in mind so I started wondering how was dealing my old pen pal. Last time I heard about you, there was a serious proposition for the Professorship (note the capital p!) of mathematical modelling (note the absence of any capital letter) at Oxford waiting for you, out of the Shatterdome. Wow! Actually, I can see you, while you have your classes, scowling to everyone because they can’t see the true greatness of p. Are you having any fun there? I’m not bad myself, keeping busy, teaching adoring young minds yadda yadda. It’s been honestly a hell of a long time. In a way, I kinda miss you. With your horribile attitude wrapped in tweed. No, seriously, I would like to hear about you, and your family, of course!  Came on, don’t be a stranger! Your old friend and rockstar, Newt He exhaled a long breath he didn’t even know he was holding. It was a horrible letter, short and too cheeky, and he hated it but that was the best he could do without looking like a desperate asshole that apparently hadn’t still gotten out of his young crush.  Stuffing the letter in his envelope, he rushed out of the library before the black coil of commiseration swallowed him once again. Finding a mailbox almost immediately, he pushed the missive inside with more strength than necessary and then hurriedly stepped back.  Ok, no time to go back now.  He stayed next to it for few minutes then, feeling more stupid that he could handle at the moment, he turned away and walked home.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 26- An Obitine Story

The wedding has been set for four months from now, and Satine already couldn’t stand the idea. Korkie, Tristan, Mara, and apparently Tyra too, were now all on Concordia dealing with the Sith Temple, while the Duchess was entertaining Count Dooku. Celebrations for Queen Mara’s birthday were underway as well, and Satine found herself explaining the tradition to her fiance.

“I give a speech and we light paper flowers,” Satine stated, “then send them out on the water.”

“Quaint,” Dooku decided, taking a bite of breakfast, “is there dancing?”

“Naturally.”

The Count smiled.

“Honestly, Dooku,” Satine pointed, “you better not get any stupid ideas.”

The Count only smiled wider, “I make no promises.”

The Duchess sighed, “Dear me.”

Dooku laughed loudly, attracting some attention from farther down the table where Countess Bralor and Saxon were sitting. Satine gave them a polite nod.

“The populace is beginning to like me more,” Dooku observed, “only the old Countesses are unsure.”

“They are cautious,” Satine offered, “time has made them that way.”

The Count gestured with his wine, “As are you.”

“War makes us that way.” 

“Speaking of which,” Dooku interjected, “we must discuss how you will help the war effort.”

“We are a peaceful people.” Satine frowned.

“Offer optional recruitment,” the Count suggested, “and Mandalore has good trade deals with the Republic.”

“Oh no,” Satine almost turned green, “that will have to be broken off.”

“Use everything to your advantage, Satine,” Dooku replied, “that’s how we win.”

The Duchess did not like the use of the word “we”, but she allowed it, her mind drifted to Obi-Wan and what he would think of that.

“You should stop thinking about him,” the Count whispered, “we’re engaged and he’s on the other side.”

“At least I won’t have to meet him on the battlefield.” Satine sighed.

“No,” the Duchess looked up to see the Count smile, “that’s my job.”

Satine shivered.

“Cold?” Dooku questioned with a smile.

“Yes,” the Duchess lied, “my wedding dress will have to be long-sleeved.”

The Count raised an eyebrow, “Have you started planning?” 

Satine hesitated, “My seamstresses seem ready to go into battle.”

“It’s good they have a lovely canvas then.”

The Duchess did not know how to respond to that, she did not like it and worried about where that comment might lead.

The Count smirked, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“I will not deny that fact,” Satine set down her spoon, “however as I am no longer hungry, I would say this meal is finished.”

Satine stood, scraping her chair back and held out her hand to Dooku. The Count took it and led the Duchess from dinner to an outdoor evening party for their guests.

“May I get you something to drink?” Dooku offered.

“If we’re going to keep talking I find alcohol mandatory.” Satine replied.

The Count actually winked at her before heading to the bar, the Duchess shivered.

“You do not like him,” Countess Saxon observed, coming up behind Satine, “and you do not like this arrangement.”

“I do not.” Satine agreed.

“Keep your head, Duchess,” Countess Bralor advised, “the Count is a master manipulator.”

“I will.” Satie promised.

The Countesses left and Dooku returned with the drinks.

“What did they want?”

“Information,” Satine replied, “they always do.”

“Information is a powerful resource.” Dooku nods.

Forcing herself not to think of her children, the Duchess scanned the party, eyes falling on the Prime Minister making her way towards her.

Satine turned to the Count, “Excuse me.”

“Death Watch has allied with bounty hunters and pirates to try and capture you or the Count,” Jaru Djarin frowned, “were you aware?”

“No,” Satine frowned, “I believe the Count feels that he shouldn’t worry.”

“I suggest you call your sister,” the Prime Minister continued, “you must ensure her help.”

With a nod, Satine left the public servant and climbed the steps to her room. She locked the doors and lowered the blinds in her personal parlor, then turned on her comm. Satine had to ring three times to get an answer.

“What do you want?” Bo-Katan hissed.

“Well, for a start, confirmation that you won’t kill me.” Satine replied coolly.

Bo-Katan snorted, “Wow.”

“The wedding date has been set.” the Duchess offered.

“We heard.”

“Bo-”

“No, Satine,” the criminal hissed, “you promised us something and didn't deliver.”

“What time works best for you?”

“Sooner rather than later,” Bo-Katan stated, “we hate him.”

“Do you have reach on Concordia?” Satine asked.

“Yes.”

“There’s an underground Sith Temple there that he wants to visit,” Satine frowned, “I just have to find out when he’s going.”

“Good,” Bo-Katan nodded, “call me when you have more info.”

An hour later, Korkie and his siblings returned, battered, bruised, and smiling.

“Quickly, children,” Satine ushered them in through the back door, “before anyone sees you.”

The Duchess directed the children to their usual rooms, where she had clothes waiting for them.

“Mothers worry.” was her response when asked about it by Tristan.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Lady Mother,” Mara clapped, “we got kyber crystals!”

“What?”

“The crystals that make lightsabers,” Tyra explained, “we-”

“Tyra Satine,” the Duchess said sternly, “don’t you corrupt your siblings with Jedi nonsense.”

“We don’t even have the parts to make lightsabers,” Mara offered, “also, we collected a bunch.”

She opened a bag and Satine gawked. Hundreds of small crystals glimmered inside.

“Those can go in the safe.” she ordered, holding out her arms.

“Your Grace?”

“Hera,” Satine smiled, closing the bag, “will you bandage up my children?”

“Of course,” the nurse smiled, “come to the med bay, children.”

After hiding the kyber crystals in the safe, Satine made toward the medbay, but was stopped by Dooku on the way.

“I would like to journey to Concordia,” he stated, “is there a good time to go?”

“It could possibly bring them closer to us,” Satine nodded, half paying attention, “is tomorrow good?”

“Yes,” Dooku relaxed, “thank you.”

“I shall see to it.”

Satine called Parna and Khaami to the med bay.

“Oh, poor children.” Khaami ran to the kids, “look at these bruises!”

“We’re alright, Lady Khaami.” Mara smiled.

“We had fun.” Korkie added.

“Are you sure you kids are alright?” Parna asked.

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, “just a little banged up.”

“I want to hear the whole story,” Satine approached, “but first, Parna tell the Ruling Council Count Dooku will go to Concordia tomorrow and makethe necessary arrangements.”

Parna curtsied and left.

“We had good timing then.” Korkie offered.

“Yes,” Satine turned, “Khaami, will you tell the Jedi Council that the Concordia Temple is destroyed?”

“Of course,” Khaami smiled, “anything else I should say?”

“No, Khaami,” the Duchess smiled, “that will be enough.”

After her lady left, Satine pulled up a chair and sat while Hera flitted between her children.

“Do tell me what happened.” she asked.

“No one was there,” Tristan began, “it was creepy, and it took all four of us to open the doors.”

“Also,” Tyra added, “there were some Sith runes on the floor, we copied them to show to the Council.”

Satine nodded, waiting for more.

“We found the kyber crystals and took them,” Mara explained, “I felt like they didn’t belong there.” “And,” Korkie interjected, “we fought Tyra’s boyfriend.”

Satine raised an eyebrow.

“Technically, we’re not dating,” Tyra gestured, “but apparently he’s Sith-Spawn, and his father is the Sith Master.”

“Tyra Satine.” the Duchess groaned.

“I know,” Tyra smiled sadly, “but Korkie set the Temple on fire, then we chased him across Concordia.”

“Wow.”

“He escaped,” Tristan explained, “but Tyra read his mind and his mother is Oana Shields of Harran, from Naboo.”

Satine gasped.

“Also,” Mara interjected, “Tristan can control water.”

“What?”

“Je’er barely escaped,” Tyra continued, “but that’s only because Tristan made it rain.”

“Je’er is the Sith-Spawn?”

“Yes.”

Satine placed a hand to her head, “Let’s call your father, meet me upstairs.”

On the way to her room, Count Dooku stopped the Duchess. Satine was so startled that she froze.

“My Master has informed me that the Temple on Concordia is destroyed,” Dooku’s eyes narrowed, “and that your children have destroyed it.”

Stuttering, Satine argued that his Excellency was already going to Concordia.

“Where are they?” the Count growled.

“Where are who?” Korkie bellowed.

Fear coursed through Satine, Count Dooku was going to kill her children!

“No, Satine, I won’t kill them-”

The Duchess heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’ll have their father’s mortal enemy do it, in front of you.”

Satine released a guttural scream and throttled the Count. She didn’t really know what she was doing, but she came to her senses when her fiance’s face began to turn purple.

“Lady Mother, Mother it’s alright!”

Dooku scampered off as Tyra and Tristan pulled Satine off him.

“Guards,” Satine shouted, “guards!”

Jaym and Gorg rounded the corner.

The Duchess glowered, “Catch the Count.”

“Capture Count Dooku!” Gorg yelled.

The guards took off, running.

“Mara, call your connections,” Satine turned, “have them look for Dooku!”

Tristan offered to find her mother’s ladies.

“Yes, go!”

Korkie blinked, “I’ll call Auntie Bo.”

When he ran off, Satine turned to Tyra.

“Tyra, alert your father of this new development!”

After her daughter ran, Satine followed her guards. The palace was in such a state of mass chaos that a throng of people pushed her towards the entertaining room, where there were many places to hide.

Satine broke free as they passed an exit to the gardens. Making her way across the dark grass, the Duchess followed a group of guards examining the maze. She walked for five minutes before her skin began to crawl.

“Satine.”

She turned. Count Dooku had his lightsaber ignited, and he was approaching her.

“Kal-”

“Oh, now you use my name?”

“You were going to harm my children,” Satine’s eyes narrowed, “all pretenses can be dropped.”

The Count growled, “Then shall we drop this marriage charade?”

Satine swallowed, “My family comes first, Kal, and you’re not a part of that.”

Dooku reached out through the force and grabbed Satine’s throat, lifting her off the ground. 

“You’ve made the wrong choice, Satine,” the Count muttered, “you could’ve had all the power of the Sith.”

“We don’t,” the Duchess gasped, “need you.”

Dooku laughed, “Stubborn as always, Satine.”

Gasping for breath, the Duchess' eyes widened as a clear night grew dark.

“Ugh,” the Count groaned, turning to face Tristan, “stop it, boy!” 

Blue, that was the color of Tyra’s lightsaber. She entered just behind Tristan, shouting at Dooku, but Satine couldn’t hear her over the wind.

“You couldn’t take me if you tried,” the Count laughed, “and if you move, your mother dies.”

The Duchess’ vision swam, the edges grew dark. Then, something moved in the darkness, and suddenly, Satine was able to see again.

“Lady Mother,” Korkie called, running to her, “can you hear me?”

The Duchess was coughing, but she scrambled into Korkie’s arms. 

“You didn’t tell me your children knew the ways of the force.”

Lightning echoed in the distance. Her poor people, Sundari was a weather-controlled dome, they must be so scared.

“Tristan,” Satine gasped, “stop!”

Her son obeyed while the other one helped her stand.

“Where’s the fourth?” Dooku asked.

“Right here!” Mara called jumping over a hedge.

The Count gazed at the four children with something between interest and disgust.

“Who would've known Jedi-Spawn had potential,” Dooku mused, “it’s a shame you all are prisoners now.”

“We are not.” Korkie growled.

The Count raised an eyebrow,“Oh?”

Black fire rose around Dooku’s feet, the dark flames melting into shadows yet burning the grass. 

“Good,” the count goaded, “try higher.”

Korkie snarled and the flames rose.

“Your anger is a tool,” Dooku smiled, “remember that.”

The flames disappeared. Tristan reached out his hand and summoned the Count’s lightsaber into his palm.

“Basic trick, boy, but good use of timing.”

Tyra, who had been inching closer, held out her saber.

“No, child,” Dooku smiled, “I would fight you, only I can’t kill you without your father here.”

Satine watched as Mara closed her eyes and the Count jerked.

“Nice try, girl,” the Count praised, “but I am a Sith Lord, that will not work on me.”

That’s when the guards arrived, making their way around the children and surrounding Count Dooku.

“Take your siblings and run,” Satine whispered to Korkie, “try to calm people down and help your Aunt when she gets here.”

Korkie nodded and gestured to Mara, who corralled her other siblings and left the maze.

“Count Dooku, you are under arrest!” Gorg yelled.

“What am I under arrest for, Satine?” Dooku smiled.

The Duchess straightened, “Threatening to kill the Duke of Sundari, conspiring to frame me, and threatening the safety of my palace.”

“What crimes,” the Count laughed, “I suppose you have proof?”

“More than enough.” Satine replied.

At that moment, a helicopter landed in the distance. Dooku frowned.

“Friends of yours?” he asked Satine.

“Depends.” she answered.

Bounty hunters and other underground criminals joined the standoff, and Jaym turned to the Duchess. She held out her hand. 

“What plan is this, Satine?”

Boba Fett approached the Duchess, eyes on the Count.

“Your sister sent us, Your Grace,” he whispered, “she’s sending pirates as well, they’ll be here in an hour, Death Watch is mobilizing, they’ll be here in the morning.”

“The morning?” Satine asked.

“I told Mara we were here,” Boba continued, “she said the Jedi would be here in less time.”

“Are we going to stand here forever, Satine?” Dooku asked.

“Capture him,” Satine ordered, “and have no fear, he’s without his lightsaber.”

Slowly, the circle around the Count grew smaller. Gorg gave the signal right after Boba Fett did, and it soon became a battle scene. Nervous, the Duchess took a step back, and a second later, she was glad she did. With a feral roar, lightning spewed from Dooku and sent many of Satine’s guards flying backwards, electrocuted.

“I am a Sith Lord,” the Count bellowed, “and the dark side will smite you all.”

“That’s what they all say.” Tyra laughed.

Everyone turned as she ignited her lightsaber.

“Ooh,” Mara clapped, “maybe the Count should just surrender.”

Dooku scoffed, “I can fight a Padawan, bastard.”

As if to prove this, the Count shot a lightning bolt at Tyra, who deflected it easily. Mara and Tyra jumped down from the hedge and approached their mother.

“Cover us, Tyra,” Mara whispered, “I have a plan.”

Standing in front of her mother, Mara closed her eyes and waved her hand.

“Is this what you want, Count?” she asked.

Tyra blocked a bolt aimed at them and Mara began to shake.

“In my head.” she whispered.

Satine grabbed onto her daughter’s waist, “Stay strong.”

“Keep going,” Jaym called, working to help Gorg stand, “he can’t stop us all.”

“On the contrary,” Dooku smiled, jerking his arms, “I think I can.”

It was a while before Death Watch arrived, and even then the Count noticed them first.

“Ventress,” he growled.”

Around him was a circle of dead guards. Jaym had been brave and brought some back from the tyrant’s feet to a med station Hera had set up, but there were at least half a dozen that didn’t make it.

Mara had passed out a while ago and was resting at the med station with Tristan. Korkie was off directing people and making phone calls to local government officials, while Tyra, who was classically trained in the force, was still helping the attack.

“Auntie!” Tyra smiled as Ventress appeared behind Dooku.

“Take a break, Jedi-Spawn,” the witch winked, “I’ll take it from here.”

Tyra practically collapsed in her mother’s arms.

“Come,” Satine whispered, “med bay.”

Bo-Katan flew down next to Satine at that moment.

“Keep him alive,” Satine whispered, “the Jedi should’ve been here by now.”

“The Count ordered an attack on the planet,” Bo-Katan stated, “they’re in the atmosphere.”

“Good God,” Satine whined, heaving Tyra across the grass, “good luck, Sister.”

Hera was happy to help Tyra at the station.

“I’ll take care of her,” she stated calmly, “go to Korkie, he’ll need you.”

Satine didn’t realize what he meant until she ran inside, all the doors were bolted shut and the lights were off. If Satine hadn’t known the palace by heart, she would’ve gotten lost.

“Korkie!”

He turned, saw his mother, and embraced her.

“I just got off the phone with Prime Minister Djarin,” he shook, “she’s mandating a stay-inside order and letting people know the Count has turned feral.”

“Thank you.”

“Governor Eldar and many of the Counts and Countesses are doing the same,” Korkie spewed, “and I called the Press Association to tell them that the Count tried to have you framed, I sent them the recordings.”

“Korkie,” Satine graped her son by the shoulders, “you did well.”

“Most everyone is hiding in the cellars on the far side of the palace,” Korkie continued, “I also told the police to keep a curfew.”

“Good,” the Duchess kissed her son’s head, “go check on the fighters in the med bay, they'll be happy to see you.”

Satine then commed Parna and told her to calm the palace staff and keep them safe. Khaami would help her. When lightning struck, down in the gardens, Satine ran back outside. Tristan was keeping most of the small fires out, but that meant he’d left Hera’s side as assistant outdoor medic. There were only two medical professionals at the palace, andDoctor Quial, who was on call today, was in the med bay.

“How can I help?” Satine asked, running up to Hera. “Bring people inside,” she ordered, “take the ones who can’t walk.”

The Duchess’ dress was bloody in ten minutes, but when she returned outside, the only two left resting were Tyra and Mara.

“Hera got hit,” Tristan explained, wrapping up her wound, “Tyra and Mara have fallen into some sort of stupor.” Groaning, Satine half carried, half dragged her daughters into the med bay. Korkie helped her with her burden

“There’s no more room,” Doctor Quial called, “if they’re not wounded, put them in a room.”

Mara and Tyra were left in their mother’s bed with Korkie watching over them.

“If you have to evacuate the planet,” Satine began, “bring the most important papers in the safe.”

Korkie kissed his mother’s cheek.

The Duchess placed a hand on the side of Korkie’s face, “Be brave, son of mine.” 

“I will.”

When Satine reached the garden, she realized what was taking Death Watch and the pirates so long, a Sith Zabrak was now fighting with the Count. As if he felt her presence, he looked up at her, yellow eyes blazing.

“Hello, Mrs. Kenobi.”

Satine shivered at the voice in her mind, it was cold, rough, and demonic.

“You want to help me,” he whispered, “come help me.”

“Help,” Satine mumbled, shaking with anger, “not help.”

The Zabrak jumped, landing outside of the circle of enemies around him.

“Duchess,” he smiled, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Satine made to turn and run, but he held her up by her neck with the force.

“Protect the Duchess!” someone yelled.

The wind left Satine’s lungs as she was thrown through the air and landed at the Count’s feet.

“Ah, Satine, my darling fiance.”

“Burn in hell, Kal,” Satine spat, sitting up, “you’re going to pay for your crimes.”

“My crimes,” the Count’s eyes narrowed, “quite devious of you to keep your plan hidden for so long?”

Satine swallowed.

“We should take her,” the Zabrak growled, “let me finish the job.”

The Duchess’ eyes went wide, “Maul.”

“Good,” the Zabrak grinned, “you know me.”

Satine struggled onto her knees, preparing to pounce, “Your master threw you away like trash.”

“You know nothing of my master.”

Satine actually giggled, “So it would seem.”

As Maul’s eyes shifted to Dooku’s, Satine lunged forward and tackled the Zabrak at the hips. His mechanical legs were thrown off balance and he fell backward. From there, Satine crawled a few feet to Jaym, who grasped her arm.

“Please, Satine,” Dooku sighed, “make this easy for us.”

“Never.”

Pushing herself along the grass, the Duchess made it a foot before she felt the air close around her throat.

“Hang on!” Jaym called.

Satine choked.

“The poor Duchess,” Maul laughed, “she-”

The Zabrak gasped and the pressure on Satine’s throat lessened. Jaym pulled her to safety. Satine looked up, Tristan was standing with his arms out and eyes closed, concentrating on something.

“No.” Maul frowned.

Tristan began to sway and Satine ran to her son. She caught him just as he fell.

“That’s enough for you.” she whispered, dragging him out of range.

In the distance, Satine vaguely registered Count Dooku tell Maul that there were four of them, but the Duchess’ current goal was to get her son to the doctor.

“Your Grace,” Boba appeared, “your sister and Ventress have set up a trap, the Jedi are waiting.”

Jaym appeared around the corner.

“Take him to the doctor,” Staine ordered, “if he’s alright, then bring him to my room.”

The guard nodded and picked up Tristan, Boba helped Satine to stand.

“The servants have been evacuated,” he whispered, “the trap is in the ballroom.”

With Jaym gone, the only people who could order her men was Satine.

“Fall back,” she commanded, peaking around the hedge, “follow me, and hurry!”

Boba Fett stayed back to enforce the order while Satine sprinted towards the dark palace. An angry growl explained that Maul was behind her, and the padded footfalls alluded to Dooku behind him.

“Help the Duchess!” a guard called.

Satine ran in the ballroom from the royal entrance, pausing to catch her breath in the middle of the dark room. She turned, watching Count Dooku approach.

“Duchess, Satine.” he smiled.

She swallowed and tried to smile, “Count.”

All of a sudden, Dooku grunted and his eyes widened. Satine began to shake with fear.

“Force stabilizers,” he whispered, “clever trick.”

Then, Death Watch soldiers appeared, all holding ghastly weapons and grinning wickedly.

“Count Dooku,” Anakin’s voice boomed, “you are under arrest for treason against the Republic.”

“Ugh, not you.”

“Actually,” Quinlan Vos contradicted, “there’s two of us.”

Count Dooku was put in chains.

“Remember, Anakin,” Satine whispered, “torture is inhumane.”

“Obi-Wan said the same thing,” the Jedi winked, “and speaking of my Master, there’s something he wants to ask you.”

Satine frowned, clearly confused, Dooku however, scoffed.

“Help us march him to prison,” Anakin yelled out, “and maybe if we’re nice, we’ll let you shoot him!”

Bo-Katan’s men and women cheered. The Count glared at Satine as he was forced past.

“Satine.”

“Kal.”

It was only at that moment, did Satine realize that Darth Maul was missing.