#and continue reading the love mechanics spin-off that never made it on screen

[pharawee]

So many shows, so many gifs to make and so little time

[northwest-cryptid]

So I "don't go here" so to speak, but Drifter's gameplay made me fall in love with Warframe again and I'd like to talk a little bit about why.

See Warframe is a game that advertises itself as being this high speed game about space ninjas. That's cool and all, I'd argue that especially early on that kinda seems to be conveyed... at least aesthetically?

Yea I'm gonna rip the bandaid off quickly, as much as I like Warframe I really don't like Warframe. The gameplay just doesn't feel good, it doesn't feel bad either... it doesn't feel like anything.

I don't think I'm particularly good at the game, I'm not particularly strong, I don't use the best gear, most my stuff isn't even upgraded and I have, and continue to run some of the higher end missions. Yet the thing is, the game switches almost instantly from me instantly decimating everything unfortunate enough to be visible on my screen, to not being able to put a dent in enemies even when I unload an entire clip into them.

This is all Warframe ever has been for me, and even watching other people play it... yea that's the game. The whole "ninja" thing is pretty much an aesthetic gimmick to give reason to all the various katanas and kunai you'll be tossing around. Thing is, you'll quickly replace those with stronger weapons, primarily guns, or sci fi scythes and swords. Maybe you'll pick up a pistol that shoots rockets or you'll use the silly disc launcher... none of these things are really "ninja" and that's the bulk of the game.

Now yea I get it there's a lot of reason behind that, I'm not going to say there's not reason for that. But if we're meant to be ninjas let us use more thematic weapons or maybe make the Warframes themselves look more Ninja-esque? There is a total of maybe 3 - 4 Warframes that even look like they could be ninjas, most just give off alien sci fi vibes.

I think if Warframe was to lean more into it's sci fi aesthetic nothing would change. It wouldn't hurt the game nor help it. It would just be one layer of early 2000's marketing they wouldn't have anymore.

Now that I've likely accidentally upset (not my intention mind you) a lot of people by saying I don't think the aesthetic remotely holds up throughout most of the game, allow me to explain as well that the gameplay in Warframe goes from being the strongest thing in the known universe to being unable to deal damage almost immediately.

There's almost never a flow state for me, I'm either entirely overpowered or I feel like I can't put a dent in anything and I just resign to spamming abilities that deal any amount of damage and basically spinning around using my melee weapon since hey it deals decent damage. Mind you this isn't for a lack of understanding the game and it's mechanics, this is just a matter of how the game's scaling works.

Nothing about the aesthetic or gameplay actually fits what I feel like Warframe promises in it's advertisements and generally speaking I think it's all or nothing gameplay is lackluster. Why do I bother pulling off different melee combos when at the end of the day all it comes down to is how quickly I deal damage. Things either die in the first hit or survive the whole combo so I may as well just do whatever combo deals the most damage the fastest and sometimes that's not even doing a combo.

I really feel like this game is marketed in such a way to appeal to early teens and kids who just want a power trip fantasy of being a space ninja. To that end, sure it gives them that power trip fantasy; and nothing else. There's nothing there for people who want more nuance without agonizingly understanding systems that are literally never explained to the player.

I LOVE getting to discover new things, but I think there needs to be an understandable method of discovery. Not just saying "get better mods" and then leaving it up to your players to understand exactly which mods are the one and only meta.

Now I know most people already stopped reading because they likely disagree with me on this, that makes sense considering most people who would even bother to read this far into a post like this probably like the game. Those people probably forget what it was like to be new to this game or have no idea what it's like as a new player being introduced to every mechanic at once, something I sorta get from having taking a long break when my old computer literally couldn't handle the open world segments without lagging so much I'd freeze for 5 minutes and come back to being dead.

What I'm getting at is, if you like the game it's probably because you're playing on a level that suits you, and more importantly you probably just enjoy the "number go up" power trip the game feeds you, nothing wrong with that; but I think it's nice to have a break from it once in a while.

Something we didn't have until we got the Drifter.

Drifter's gameplay is actually really fun to me, because it strips away all that power and artillery you have, it gives you a small pistol and a sword and says "learn to be methodical" and I really enjoy that.

For those who don't know, Drifter doesn't even have shields, they get very weak weapons but they get a slew of ways to keep themselves alive.

For example, most enemies you'll fight as the Drifter are melee users, blocking their attacks opens them to a parry, this will execute them outright. Your weapons are easily blockable, including your gun which is slow and can't be quickly fired over and over again to whittle down enemies. You need to actually slow down and pay attention to your opponent.

And that is cool since again SPACE NINJAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A THEME HERE.

I have done years of HEMA and various other martial arts, and I will say that Drifter feels the closest to a simulation of actual swordsmanship.

It's not these flashy back and forth thousand strikes whipping around in mid-air flying and cutting a dude in half. It's methodical, it's parrying a blade away and quickly following up with a stab that instantly kills the opposition, it's shooting someone who's prepping a big attack to stagger them so you can gain the upper hand; it's knowing when you need to dodge vs when you need to strike.

Drifter's gun allows them to knock enemies down when they prep larger more devastating attacks, which is clearly shown to you with a large target icon appearing over the target that can be staggered this way. You only get 9 shots per reload, and they're slow. They only deal like 30 damage or so with headshots taking off maybe half the health of an enemy.

Your swords are your main source of damage and they are clunky. Most enemies will punish you for spamming attacks by guarding, but if you use a heavy attack you can break their guard and knock them down.

Fighting as the Drifter is fun because let's look at the following:

If I'm playing as my Warframe and I see 5 enemies at the end of the hall I press Shift to sprint forward, then while holding Shift I'll tap Ctrl to commit to a slide, when I'm in range I press E and my Warframe pulls out their blade and does this really sleek and fast spinning cut slide that instantly kills all 5 enemies in a single hit.

Or maybe I press 1 and just kill them all with my primary ability.

But when I'm playing as Drifter?

I have to approach with some level of caution, I don't have enough health to take many hits and my weapons don't deal a lot of damage.

If I try to commit to a heavy attack the enemy might retaliate with a hit of their own, sure I'll deal more damage than them but it likely won't kill them and I'll be punished for it. Instead I'll wait to see which of the enemies approaches first, and I'll quickly shoot him; he might just get hit but hopefully he'll block it. Now that he's guarding I can commit to using a heavy attack to punish the block resulting in an execution of my first enemy bringing their numbers to 4.

At this point another might approach and launch an attack, I can quickly guard with proper timing to parry that attack into another execution attack which brings them down to 3.

Perhaps one of the ones who isn't in the front lines is attempting to hit me with a ranged ability, they shoot a bow at me which I block to parry the projectile back at them and I can then turn my attention towards the other enemy who is charging up to use an AoE; I'll shoot them to interrupt their attack which leads into another execution.

This system of watching for what my enemy is doing, reacting to them in a way that makes sense given my situation and my kit; and then moving onto the next enemy based solely on who's the biggest threat keeps the action up.

Sure I'm still 1-tapping enemies, but I'm not literally pressing 1 button and being done with it. I'm reacting to what they're doing, I'm constantly assessing which is the most threatening, I have to be present and aware of the fight.

If I had a warframe all 5 would be dead no matter what they were doing. Oh you're prepping this big attack I could easily counter with a gun shot? That's cute I have a sword and I'm just gonna spam my spin attack because it will kill everything here easily.

Now the other fun thing about the Drifter is that as you roam around and clear essentially mini games ranging from puzzles to horse races to playing Go against a small animal; you get to choose random passive buffs that make you stronger. They power up your existing kit, maybe your heavy attacks send out a shockwave; or whenever you slide everything nearby takes toxic damage.

The more time you spend clearing these little additional bits of content the stronger you become and the more trivial these fights get. It absolutely gets to the point where you're not even really worried about enemies, a single headshot could take out a swarm.

Guess it's not fun anymore right? Well, kinda. See all of this has been earned slowly and it will go away between runs. You get to figure out a fun build for the run, fight the boss of the mission; and then go back to the basics to start fresh every time.

Once a Warframe gets powerful, it's done. That's it, you need to fight harder and harder enemies and well, let's be real it's all or nothing, there's no need to be present in a fight even when you deal considerable but not too much damage; you just have to hit them again.

Now sure I get it "that's every game" sure that's fair, that's literally how a game works.

...

...

...

But like if we look at Mabinogi- Hey wait no come back I'm serious!

Mabinogi is like if the Drifter didn't have the roguelite element.

In Mabinogi I could be the strongest son of a bitch around, and suddenly that doesn't matter at all because I got careless and threw a smash attack at an enemy who was countering. Sure I might not instantly die from it but I'll be knocked on my ass and take a sizable chunk of damage from it because hey would you look at that, counter returns your own damage back at you.

Mabinogi isn't a game where even the most powerful can get entirely careless, sure they worry less and less the more power they gain; that makes sense. However if you ever fully lower your guard you're going to eat dirt.

Mabinogi's strength comes not just from stats but from the knowledge of how to apply those stats in a manner that fits the situation you find yourself in. If something resists Magic, it doesn't matter if you're the strongest wizard ever, you're going to need to figure out a counter to that. If your whole build revolves around knockback and the enemy has heavy stander you're out of luck unless you adapt.

However the other thing is, Mabinogi isn't all or nothing in how it's scaling functions.

Like okay let's look at the answer to crowd control that Warframe gave us, eximus enemies. They have this hefty overshield (at higher levels at least; pretty flimsy early on) and while that shield is active they do not obey the laws of crowd control.

Does your Warframe command the laws of gravity? No they don't. Not for this special little man and his big ol' overshield. Not until you get rid of that by other means.

Okay cool in theory... but in execution it just means I need to hold left click for 2 seconds with my Soma or spam E a few times to get rid of that overshield and suddenly I can go back to spamming my crowd control abilities.

Mabinogi has similar answers to it's problem of people just spamming things like Fireball or big crowd control melee attacks. Things like Heavy, Mana, or Natural Stander exist to negate knockback, and then you have armor resistances to various types of damage such as ranged, melee, or magic.

On the surface these two things might feel incredibly similar, it's the same thing as Eximus overshield but with a different coat of paint.

However I fully disagree with that notion, rather it's the fault of my ability to give you all the context. Which is hard because Mabinogi is such a large game that it would be no easy task to fully explain to you how the inner workings and mechanics actually function.

However let me explain this, an enemy having heavier armor that resists melee isn't an issue for a player who has a bit of ranged or magic under their belt, and most every player does. Even a wand or staff can be used for melee if needed, they can smash, windmill, or most importantly counter. An enemy typically only resists one type, meaning the most a player needs to invest in is 2 types of damage, and you might think that's a lot to ask of someone...

Well, yes and no; because Arcana exist mixing magic and melee for elemental knight who can imbue their blade with lightning to cut through armor, or who can use ice to freeze targets and deal magic damage on their windmill. Likewise Alchemic Sharpshooter mixes alchemy and archery to apply various buffs. They too can freeze targets, or they can apply corrosive acid to their arrows to melt through enemy defenses, cause them to deal less damage, or even deal damage over time. Dark Diviner allows mages to have plenty of tricks up their sleeve including a chain blade to handle melee necessary combat.

However more specifically all of these mechanics have a mechanical counter. If an enemy has heavy stander and cannot be knocked back I need only fight them in a manner that does not necessitate knockback. The game isn't just asking me "do damage before you do more damage" it's asking me to approach this enemy differently than I would others.

Eximus doesn't feel FUN it feels like a tedious extra step I need to take.

Drifter doesn't really fight enemies who have those sorts of extra gimmicks because they don't have any kind of crowd control like that. It brings the scope of the game down to you and your opponent, but you need to be aware of the enemies around you and be constantly present to account for threats and punish enemies for misjudging your awareness. If something tries to attack you, counter and punish that with an execution, if something tries to guard you; use a heavy to open them to further attacks. If something is launching an attack that you cannot parry then dodge and attack them when they are recovering.

Look, Warframe's brainless power trip gameplay CAN be fun, but it gets old fast in my opinion. Railjack missions or Drifter's gameplay ask just a little bit more of the player and I think that is a very welcome break from the monotony of "I press [button] and everything dies" at least for someone who actually wants to feel powerful through an understanding of mechanics and my abilities rather than just seeing a big number pop up when I press [button].

But hey, remember that's just my opinion.

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

an: we really getting into now hehe 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The military cemetery thirty minutes outside Orynth was cold and bleak, fitting for the day.

Everyone in attendance was staring at the empty casket being lowered into the hole dug into the frozen ground of early January. Weylan shuffled his notes, clearing his throat before speaking, “Our space program was lucky to have an astronaut like Aelin Galathynius. She gave her life to this program and will be sorely missed. Her sacrifice in the furthering of science itself will not be in vain and the men and women here at TNSB will notice her absence every second of every hour, ensuring that her death means something. Anneith bless her and Hellas save her,” he said, making the sign of protection and prayer, a three fingered claw-like shape and pushing it from his heart.

The attendees repeated the gesture while Manon and Asterin whispered their own prayers, holding hands tightly, designating the highest Ironteeth honour on the fallen woman.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Gavriel was already in Weylan’s office as he walked in with Asterin, the two locked in a hushed argument. Upon spying the mission director, they paused and Weylan nodded towards the folder in his hand, “What’s that there?”

“I need you to sign off on the plans for the-“

“No.”

Gavriel pressed harder, “I know I can get parliament to fund it-“

“Gavriel, that’s not why I said no and you know it.” Weylan sighed and walked past him to sit behind his desk, Asterin taking a seat beside Gavriel. “We’re a public organization, everything we do has to be transparent.”

“And?”

Weylan and Asterin shared a look before the director responded, speaking slowly, “The moment the satellites point to the hab, we broadcast Aelin Galathynius’ body to the world.”

Gavriel scoffed, “You’re afraid of a PR scandal?”

Asterin rose a brow, “Of course we are. We have a dead astronaut on Farnor and we still need funding for The Crone.”

“So then what do we do?” he asked, tapping his finger on the folder, “She’s not going to decompose, her body will be up there forever.”

The director shrugged, “Meteorology reports that she’ll be covered by sand in less than a year.”

Gavriel threw his hands up, nearly hitting Asterin in the process, “We can’t wait a year! We have work to do and are we not going to discuss retrieving her body?”

“And what? Waste money and time for a corpse?”

Both Asterin and Gavriel flinched, the former hiding her adverse reaction better than Gavriel did. He was at a loss for words, thankfully Asterin spoke up, “Weylan, think about it. The Crone can bring the body back. Sympathy for her family-“

“What family? She’s an orphan and unmarried.”

It took conscious effort to anger Gavriel and he clamped down on the red-hot emotion, gritting his teeth as Asterin spoke again, “The Crone can bring back her body. We don’t make the mission about that, but we make it clear that that’s part of it. I can spin it if we do this now, Weylan. We can’t wait a year – people won’t care in a year.”

  +*+*+*+*+*+*

The pain had lessened, if barely, as Aelin came to, not sure how’d long it had been since she’d passed out. There was no new blood and she sighed in relief, reaching for the pills again and taking one. Aelin stood up, pushing herself up carefully until she was standing.

She groaned but was able to breathe past the ache and hobble her way to the bunks, dragging out her box and getting warmer clothes.

Putting them on took energy, too much of it, and she was panting as she sat on the floor, her back against her bed. Her stomach panged in hunger and she would have to find something to eat soon, but first, she grabbed her laptop and moved to the kitchen, sitting down and opening the computer up.

After a few taps and a bit of fiddling, she clicked on the video journaling and the camera started rolling. “Fuck, I don’t know how to do this,” she muttered, glancing at herself on the screen before squaring her shoulders and taking deep breath. “Uh, hi. This is Aelin Galathynius, recording from the hab. It’s currently,” she looked at the timestamp next to the recording time, “sixteen-hundred hours and surprise, I lived!” She laughed shakily, dragging her hand through her hair. “Obviously.” 

“I’m assuming this is a surprise to the crew and TNSB, if not, I’m going to kick some asses, but… I did not die on day eighteen. If I’m piecing this all together correctly, this,” she held up the antennae, “lovely little thing here damaged my bio-monitor and the team… had to leave before someone else got hurt.” Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away, “Stupid painkillers, making me cry. But I… if I don’t make it out of here, which is highly likely, I just want to tell my crew that I don’t blame you, ok?”

She let out a shaky breath and continued, “I know that you broody humans are going to blame yourselves, especially you, Commander, but it was a tough situation and I would’ve made the same call. It’s just my bad luck, you know?”

Aelin shook her head, “Alright, now that all the mushy stuff is out of the way, I need to do some science.” She grabbed a nearby pen and her mission file, “There’s no way to contact TNSB because the satellite broke and I was impaled by the antennae. The next manned mission is in four years and I have to survive on a desolate planet for that long, right? Oh, and get to the Mistward crater where a prepositioned FAV is just waiting.”

She chewed on the pen, brows furrowing as she thought, “It’s a thirty-one-day expedition which means we have provisions for seventy, as a precaution.” She scribbled some numbers down, her mind whirling, “Now, it’s just me here which means it’ll last for…” she trailed off, “three-hundred days. With rationing, I can stretch it to four hundred. Which means I don’t have enough provisions to make it.”

With a sly grin, she looked up at the camera, “Thankfully, I know a thing or two about botany and soil.”

Aelin pushed herself in the wheeled chair to the pantry, opening every drawer and carefully counting every packet they had, separating them into different piles.

One, marked with red letters, Do not open until Beltane caught her eye and she grabbed it, “Oh, thank fuck the only thing Terrasen can grow is potatoes.” She looked at the camera by the microwave, “I’m about to science the shit out of this. It’s not gonna be pretty, I need to reclaim our waste and make fertilizer, but… it’ll keep me alive.” For now.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

It had been a week since the storm and Aelin had completed converted the kitchen into a greenhouse, Farnor soil on the floor, fertilized with the crew’s own human waste, with neat rows of spuds by moving all the chairs and tables outside, dumping them on the ground next to the rover station. That was another thing. To get to the next drop-site, it was a two-thousand-kilometre drive and the rover went a total of fifty.

Adding in the fact that she would have to spend the nights inside the rover as well, with outside temperatures reaching negative seventy-three in Celsius, she would need to turn on the heater, which would drain the battery.

She’d long since gone through everyone’s things, finding the holy grail, a rover manual in Lorcan’s box. Aelin had never been more thankful for mechanical engineering in her life.

It was slow and hard work to modify the two rovers they had. After fifty kilometres, the batteries would need to be recharged, at the hab.

Left with no other options, Aelin had been forced to dig up the old radioisotope thermoelectric generator, powered by none other than plutonium itself. The list of dangers was lengthy, however, Aelin wasn’t too worried.

She talked to the camera in the rover, “Now, I do remember that one of our lessons was ‘Don’t Go Digging Up The Big Box Of Plutonium,’ but it’s either cancer due to exposure or slowly dying due to the laws of thermodynamics. Honestly, at this point, getting cancer due to exposure to a toxic chemical would be heaven compared to being alone on a desolate planet, but them’s the breaks, I guess.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

The lone astronaut was sitting before the computer, wearing the hoodie Rowan had left. It was the only thing that brought her comfort, other than the motherload she’d found on Nesryn’s computer – all of the Twilight movies and, of course, the computer geek’s favourite manga, Anatolia Story. It was surprisingly interesting and after she’d binge read seven out of twenty-eight volumes, Aelin forced herself to stop, telling herself she’d only read one volume a week. So far, she’d kept to her promise, but she’d been so busy with figuring out how to stay alive, she hardly had any free time.

She did find enough time to laugh herself silly over the fact that Fenrys’ had every Disney princess movie available, even her favourite: Mulan.

Elide had been her saviour with PDFs of Harry Potter, and Lorcan with Marvel movies. Even grouchy Rowan had Grey’s Anatomy, which was quite a shock to find out, given how much the doctor looked down on the show. Sometimes, Aelin imagined his voice as he ranted about how dramatic and unrealistic it was, especially with how many of the doctors slept with their co-workers.

But now was not the time to think of such things, Aelin had work to do.

Last night, she had recorded, yet again, her random thought pattern, focusing on how she would water her crops, after having planting the spuds for Beltane. “Thank the gods that Elide was always a fucking weirdo and learned how to fabricate water at much too young, but hey, foster parents don’t pay that much attention. Well,” she chuckled, “they paid enough attention to stop her from ordering The Anarchist’s Cookbook, which is a good thing because that was a time when we were in one of our little spats,” which were really anything but little. “She was able to put together this handy-dandy thing.” She indicated the packet on the table, of various simple reactions including one very, very important one.

Water.

Aelin toyed with Elide’s evil eye symbol, “The thing is, to make water, we need fire, which seems a bit strange, why would one need fire for water? But anyway, TNSB is against fire because of the whole ‘fire in space makes everyone die’ thing. So, everything is fire-retardant. Everything,” she held up the evil eye, which happened to be made of wood, “except for El’s personal items.”

There was a small knife on the table and she picked it up, shaving off pieces of her sister’s carving, “Ellie, if you see this, I’m assuming you don’t mind that I went through your personal boxes – all of yours actually. Commander, and I mean this with no offence, but all you listen to is punk. I have nothing against punk, but after a while, it all sounds the same, you know? One guy yells, ‘one two three four’ and then the guitars and drumming starts!”

Eventually, she had a nice pile of wood shavings and she carefully carried them over to the middle of the room. She remembered to put on her mask before passing through the plastic tarp, where Aelin had set up a very rudimentary stove-esque set up.  The normally risky experiment was even more dangerous and she wasn’t going to blow herself up by forgetting to account for the oxygen she was exhaling.

“Ok,” she breathed out, putting the wood shavings on the sieve that covered the empty can of beans. Her eyes were wide, missing nothing. So many things could go wrong and Elide’s voice filled her head, There’s a reason people without chemistry degrees don’t make water. “I know that,” she bit out, her brows lowering as she carefully poured a few drops of rocket fuel – hydrazine – which was conveniently made of two sodium atoms bonded with four hydrogen atoms.

Carefully, so carefully, she struck the torch, wincing as the wood caught on fire, the flames fluttering happily. When nothing bad happened, she cheered and smiled beneath her mask, keeping one eye on the set-up and another on her spuds as she backed up into the kitchen, a slightly mad smile on her face as she sat down heavily on the chair and looked into the camera, “Don’t worry, guys, no explosions or fire, other than the very controlled experiment.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin was hunched over a map, Iron Man: 3 playing idly on the laptop beside her. She was planning her route to the drop-site, which was in the Mistward crater. She breathed out and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Sweat.

Hardly daring to move, she turned to look at the plastic tarp of her greenhouse, seeing the drops of moisture on it. With a half-crazed laugh, she stood up and entered the closed off space, running her hand over the tarp, her fingertips coming away wet. “Water,” she breathed, buzzing with joy, “water! I have water!”

She raced to her bunk and threw on her suit and helmet, bouncing on her toes as she waited for the airlock tunnel to depressurize and then she raced to the water reclaimer, as fast as one could while wearing a spacesuit.

The sun beat down on her but she barely paid the heat any mind as she opened the water reclaimer, a dry sob tearing from her throat as she found it to be filled to the brim with the crystal clear liquid. 

For the first time since she’d woken up, Aelin felt hope, bright and beautiful hope. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

It was past midnight in Perranth and Nox Owens yawned into his mug of tea, blinking hard to stay awake.

He settled back into his chair in Satellite Control, pulling up the aerial images of the hab for his boss. They took a while to load and he might have dozed off, jolting and nearly spilling his tea as the computer beeped, indicating the images were ready. With a slight sigh, he carefully put his mug down and pushed his glasses up after they had slipped down to the end on his nose yet again.

Blinking the sleepiness from his startlingly grey eyes, he clicked through the batch, making sure everything was normal before sending them up to his superiors. Something had him shifting in his wheelie-chair and narrowing his angular eyes, “What the fu…”

No. It couldn’t be. How in Hellas’ realm was the rover moving? The solar panels?

This didn’t make any sense…

Logically, the satellite planner knew that there was only one answer for this, he just couldn’t believe it.

Maybe he’d seen it wrong or these were old pictures, but the timestamp in the corner of the screen told him that what he was seeing was correct.

And that meant that… Aelin Galathynius was alive. And they’d left her on Farnor, alone.

Shit.

It took him a few tries to grab the phone and he couldn’t tear his eyes away as the operator picked up.

“This is Nox Owens from SatCon, I need to speak with Gavriel Aryeh. The Farnor Mission Director, yes. It’s an emergency.”

“Emergency, really?”

Nox hissed into the receiver, “Yes, it’s an emergency.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

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[btswishes]

What we were and what we are

One Shot/ Random

A/N: Take it as an emotional dump. I will put a keep readying line since I don’t think anyone would want to read this. XD Have fun anyways if you wish to stay friend. Who knows maybe it could be a Yoongi x Reader , friends to lovers story, idk. 

Word count:   2,535

Playlist recommended for this : Jin-Epiphany   Big Bang- Loser  Big Bang- Blue   at the end you can try BTS- We Are Bulletproof The Eternal

Warnings:  dark, anxiety, talk of trauma , be yourself please

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

  The sky was covered with soft cotton candy like clouds, tinted in the colors of the ending day. Oranges, reds, blues, yellows, you name it it was there. The wind was warm and but a whispering tender sensation over your exposed skin. The grass pillowing your body under the roughly placed cover, as your head moved up and down by Yoongi’s breath. Laying onto him felt like a antidepressant pill to you.Time had stopped. He was leaning onto his left arm as you both were looking up at the sky. His free hand from time to time brushing over your hair. 

“Your mom is calling.” he said taking a glance at your lit up phone screen

“Leave it.” you didn’t even use all the breath in your lungs with this sentence. 

“Shouldn’t you pick up tho? I mean she is your mom.” Yoongi’s eyes now focused onto you 

“Nah man, she is probably mad at me for something. My mom or not, good or shitty relationship, no matter how much parents say ‘i understand you’ or ‘i was your age once too’ .It never works, telling them anything ends up being a pain in the ass later. Asking for help when you fuck up is the same.” you tried following a lonely cloud with the corner of your eye

“I guess them not accepting that something is wrong with their kids is a defense mechanism.” 

“That fucks us up tho. Just because they want to lie to themselves to feel better, leaves their kids untreated and undiagnosed ,messing them up. Years of being bullied and not knowing why, can’t study even if they try, can’t be themselves. Such an easy solution, yet such a hard choice to make to take the first step.” you sighed as you spoke out, a bit of disappointment mixed in with your breath. 

“Ha ha ha.” Yoongi laughed under his nose before laying back down 

“The fuck did I say?” you cut him off, thinking the giggle was a bit displaced in this talk

“And when you take the first step? What then? The so called professionals lie to us too, give us chemistry and tell us all will be ok as they turn us into addicts to fake serotonin. Psychologists? The word comes from Greek meaning the study of the soul, yet those assholes look at us as bags of meat that you can stuff with pills. Yet we would do anything to get that drop of calmness, that feeling of being a bit happy for being alive right now. And when the effect passes? You want more and more, pill after pill, pharmacy after pharmacy. What difference is there between us people with anxiety and disorders and drug addicts? The medical degree probably.” 

  You smirked after his last words “ Not all doctors are bad, but you can feel how genuine they are, the rest are health merchants. I don’t think there was a difference in the first place. Drugs, alcohol, smoking fuck it, even sex, man. It’s all to fill that void with dopamine, serotonin and all the bio crap.” 

“Isn’t that chemistry tho?”

“We learned it in biology class so it’s bio to me. Do I look like a professor to you?” you rolled over and flicked his nose earning a ‘yah!’ “Hey.” 

“Wasup?” Yoongi pulled his hand from under his head and spread his arms wide like a star in the vast sky. 

“You know that thing where people ask you, if you saw your younger self in front of you right now and they were having the same feelings as you. What would you do?”

“I don’t know honestly, probably give the little guy a hug and some money ,or buy him something to eat. Someone out there for sure has it shittier than me, but I guess one of my mistakes was to undervalue my own emotions and mental state. Fuck, i got myself in such a hole. When people say ‘after you hit the bottom there is no where more to go but up’ , honestly that is straight up crap and bullshit. Some of us keep clawing and digging fearing that there is more to come. “ 

“Ah.” a memory popped up in your head on it’s own “That shit hole. Yeah, either you lose yourself laying there with bloody fingernails and hands, or you start crawling back up like a bug. You know, the blood is gonna stain the walls so next time you fall you will remember and catch yourself...if you make it that far.” lifting your hand, you covered a bit of the sky with it, noticing the colors around it “What about the times we reach out but no one grabs on?”

“Fuck! Y/N! We were supposed to have a nice walk in the park not a whole ass depressing talk session!” Yoongi hissed out, unlike his words his voice wasn’t angry

“Oh come on, you know that somehow we always end up talking about this shit.We are both broken pieces, but I think that isn’t bad at all.” you felt his breath stop under you for a split second “I feel like that is why we fit so well together.”

“Oh for real?” he asked a bit surprised by your words “I always thought it was because we were both hella toxic.” you swung your hand and hit him in the stomach “OOF!” he folded in half, sending you sitting up “I forgot how aggressive you were too.” Yoongi’s voice was coming from between his teeth.

“I am serious! I feel like we went through our hard times and learned to manage, that is why we can talk about all these things like this.” 

“Makes sense, we were each other’s shoulder. You start falling, I pull on you and the other way around.”

 You noticed the contagious smirk on his face that mirrored onto you almost instantly “We fall together, we crawl back up together. Damn we sound inspirational.”

“I told you! We should make one of those vlog channels where people wake up at 5 am looking like damn models, meditate and finish all their work before 11am.” throwing your body back you fell onto the cover, but Yoongi didn’t join you. He staid sitting, letting you focus on his back as he continued “You know we are losers, right?” 

“The biggest losers out there.” 

  He looked towards the sky letting the wind play with his hair, when suddenly you both burst out laughing. Your voices were so loud the birds flew away. “Yeah, we are.”

“Honestly tho Yoongs. Why did we care so much what people thought of us? I mean sometimes I still do but-”

“Same, same.”

“Don’t cut me off stupid!” you kicked him a bit “As I was saying!” you emphasized on ‘saying’ ,when he pinched your leg in retaliation a couple of times “Body types, dudes, girls, genderfluid or no gender at all. Being cute or stylish, pretty or ugly, was a mad waste of time. The nerd is gonna probably become rich, the ugly people will end up becoming better lookin that those basic Karens. I swear, even with all that bulling and people wanting be to be the top. With or without them the Earth keeps spinning .”

 “Did you just discriminate flat earth people!?” he gasped cartoonish “Y/N, i didn’t know you were this type of person.”

“Yah! You really out here trying to cancel your best friend, Min Yoongi!” 

“You don’t need me to do that, you already do it yourself with the stuff you say.”

“Says you, loser.” your words made him lean onto his elbow next to you, eyes focused on your face as the colors of the sky began fading over your bodies and skin 

“I like that word, loser.” he said “It sounds rude, but at the same time no one calls you that if you aren’t different. Different means unique, special. Who tf would want to be the same as others?”

“That was us too stupid, back then.” Yoongi pocked your cheek a couple of times gently 

“Yeah, but it’s not back then anymore Y/N. It’s now. We grew up. With our jaw and fist clenched we fought and made it here. They shot at us, they threw rocks and called us cowards, weirdos. But we made it through the darkness. After all that we are and will forever be bulletproof.” the sudden rustle of the grass under you two signaled him getting up and spinning, hands to the side. His head leaned back and he looked so happy. Yoongi’s eyes were closed, he could fall and not even notice, but he wasn’t afraid no more. Whatever happens will happen. 

“You make us sound hella dope man. I love it.”

“Anxiety, social issues, any kind of mental problems and disorders. They level us up, as long as we try. At the end of the day you lose something to win something.”

“The end of the chapter is the beginning of the next.” you began to notice he was starting to lose balance from all that spinning around “Hey stupid, you will fall and hurt yourself like th-” you couldn’t even finish the sentence when his legs tangled up and he fell onto you “You ok?!That was such a stupid move! Open your eyes next time!”

“Why?” he became serious, his eyes looking into yours. Yoongi crooked his head to the side,as his fingers caressed your cheek “If I was looking I would have been too afraid to fall. At the end of it all i ended up failing and found a little angel. See? Win win to me. You can’t always see where you are going, but you gotta believe that good things are on the other side.”

“You are bleeding, that is what is on this side.”

“I am WHAT!” his forehead was a bit scratched “Damn it! My handsome face!”

“Oh come on! Wait till I glow up like that! I will get the best looking SO out there.” the child in you was pouting at Yoongi

“You know damn well we are too messed up for a relationship with others. We try and try, get used and then we either lose interest, or fall completely out of love for months. By the way...” his fingers found your cheek again, but this time it wasn’t a gentle poke but a sharp pinch. Your hands flew in the direction of his arm to try and make him let go of you. “Who told you you don’t look good?”

“Ow ow Yoongi! Let me go!!!”

“Not until you tell me who said all that crap to you!?” prying yourself from his grip you continued rubbing the now red and warm spot

“People i liked or others in general. You know how shit goes.” 

“You for real need to get your eyes checked! People stare at you when you walk by cus you look TOO good.” his words were like a low growl of a jealous pet

“Nah man, they are either judging me or they want to fight me. There is no middle ground here.” 

“You really!” with all the power in his hand he flicked your forehead 

“Stop inflicting me wounds!”

“Then stop talking shit about yourself! I swear your bodydismorphia needs to join Jimin when he has talk sessions about his day with Hoseok.Plus, people do stare at you when you walk in town in the attracted way. On our way here at least 5 people turned back and continued looking.”

“Ew creepy!” you said “Why do you count them!”

“You little!!!Come here!” your neck found itself in a chokehold in a matter of seconds 

“HYUNG!”Jungkook’s voice echoed through the park reaching your direction “Y/N AND YOONGI ARE BEING THE DEPRESSED AND FLIRTY AGAIN!”

 “This kid I swear I will kill him some time soon!” you hissed at Jungkook

“You two really can’t drop this habit.” the slow and calm footsteps pulled your attention and soon subsided your anger 

“Joon, you know how we are.” you added, leaning back onto you elbows 

“I know, we are all like that.” Joon looked at you two sitting on the ground

“Y/N is right, broken pieces do find each other.” Yoongi added, but Joon sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He squatted down eye level 

“Broken pieces find each other because they fit together and make a beautiful new bottle that they can fill up with happy memories. Our sad and hard pasts make us titanium that can’t be broken. Even if one of us cracks, we are all going to help him become stronger.” he reached his hand out, standing up “ You are not alone Y/N, we are going to be forever titanium. You have us and we have you now. We are not lonely or misérables with you.”

“WE ARE BULLETPROOF GUYS!” Jungkook yelled out again

“Yeah...we are.” with a smile shining brighter than ever ,you grabbed Joon’s hand.He pulled you up as you were holding onto Yoongi. When the chain starts no one can cut the bond. We pull each other up...is what you realized. 

“Oh and.”

“Yes Joons?” 

“Can you two date already or at least go out on a date. It hurts looking at yall like this.”

“What!?” the blanket in your hand turned into weapon as you began hitting him with it in a moment of panic. His words hit a nerve.Yoongi wasn’t the one to rush or to run. With his hands in his pockets he followed you down the hill. His footsteps stopped for a moment to look at the now dark sky. 

 We may not be able to see the stars during the day, but at night they are too many to even count. Nothing is truly hidden forever, even who you are meant to be. It’s ok not to know now or later. When we are young we dont really know. We try to fit in a mold that was created, but we can’t, we just can’t no matter how much we try.

 We end up being labeled by the things we are different. Some come from a darker past, others don’t. Yet everyone is important, the way they feel, their emotions and inner state. If I could, I would grab your hand and show you a bit of the future. Think of this, your future self, the one that did it all finally and continues to dream big, is looking at you through memories. They grab your hand and push you forward towards the good. The tunnel may be dark, cold, lonesome and scary but it always leads to something. Just don’t give up.

  Regret, unsuccessful love, residual feelings for someone who used you. They are all a stepping stone, don’t look at them. Now you know what not to do, EXP( experience points)  come in many forms honey. Be who you want to be, life is yours. Be the main character in your story, not anyone else’s. Even if you fall sometimes, show everyone how amazing you are by standing up. Baby steps turn into miles, whispers become yelling, crawling becomes flying. Breaking the mold becomes you. 

[edxwin-elric]

Darkest Roads - Ch.2

Chapter 2: Just Business

Rating: T

Pairing: Edwin/Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Total Work Count: 15k

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k

Description: Edwin Street Race AU – A meeting is set for the part and new players are introduced in the Central City underground.

@fmabigbangs

ffn || ao3 || tag

previous chapter || next chapter

Winry

He never texted.

I didn’t really start hoping for him to until the fourth day, since it was supposed to be a business deal. Though, I’m not sure, but…I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me. Maybe not flirting but he seemed interested… Unless I made that up.

I rise from my seat at my workbench and walk toward my dresser.

But it doesn’t even matter if he was flirting or interested or whatever because it was supposed to be business. I paid that Donovan guy a hundred thousand cens, and Edward agreed to text me when my part came in.

That was a week ago. A week.

As in seven whole days.

And still nothing!

I’m starting to think he and Donovan played me.

…maybe.

I turn around and walk in the other direction.

I mean, I don’t know… He seemed really sincere at the time. He was definitely serious about me never going back to Sinners’ Lane again. That’s for sure. Could he really have conned me out of seventy thousand cens?

I spin around to pace back the other way.

But then why would he have helped me pay Donovan in the first place?

He probably forgot my number. God, that is so like a guy, to say “I’ll remember it,” like a douchebag and then immediately forget it. And, of course, he wouldn’t give me his number, for whatever reason, so now I’m just—

“Winry, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? What?” I stop walking and turn to look at Paninya, who is sitting on my workbench frowning at me.

“I was talking to you about the upgrade, but I’m pretty sure you’re on another planet.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, moving to sit down on the edge of my bed. “I… What were you saying?”

“I was asking how much longer you think it’ll be. I mean, I don’t mind waiting, but I was kind of looking forward to my knees not hurting every time it rains.”

I sigh and flop onto my back.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “The guy said–”

“The hot one?”

Wow do I regret mentioning he was hot.

“More like the hotheaded one,” I correct, shifting my eyes to look at her. “But yeah, Edward. He said he’d text me when he had it, and so far…”

I cross my arms in the air as a big X meaning I have received nothing from him.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

I was really hoping this upgrade would work out. I still haven’t told her I only asked for one double-hinged auto retractor and not two, so even if it did come in, only one of her knees would be fully upgraded. But I just can’t afford a second one right now. Not when they cost two hundred thousand cens each.

“It’s probably better this way,” she says quieter, and I lift my head to look at her. “I still haven’t told Dominic about it.”

“What?” I jerk into a sitting position.

Dominic is her primary automail mechanic, but more importantly, he’s her adoptive father.

“Paninya, he–”

“I know,” she cuts me off, rubbing her hands over her face. “He deserves to know. I just… I know what he’ll say. That it isn’t worth the risk and pain of changing out both joints when I’m not completely done growing yet especially for such expensive pieces, but… I haven’t gotten any taller in the last year! And it’s not like you’re going to build completely new legs, just knee joints!”

“I know.”

And I’m hoping to make them so they can be transferred to any new automail legs she might need in the future.

She exhales loudly and jumps down from my workbench to pace in the same place I just was.

“And it’s not that I don’t appreciate what he’s done for me,” she goes on. “I love my automail. I just…”

“You are still planning on having me reinstall your weapons when I do the upgrade, right?”

She stops and turns to look at me.

“I mean…if you’re still willing to do it.”

I nod, and pull my legs up, twisting so that I’m facing her fully, sitting cross-legged on my mattress.

Last year, when Dominic fitted her with new legs to accommodate her last growth spurt, he added a concealed blade in her right shin and a 1.5-inch tear gas cannon to her left for self-defense. Six months ago, new restrictions were passed on automail as part of a government combat automail control bill. All weapons are required to be licensed and registered, and no one under the age of twenty-one is allowed to have any at all. Dominic disagreed with the new rules as much as we did, but he removed the weapons anyway since Pan is only seventeen. By putting them back, I’ll be breaking the law, but considering the kinds of activities she gets up to in her spare time, it’s worth it to me for her to be safe. In truth, I’m more concerned about Dominic’s reaction to me helping her than I am about the legality of it.

“Can we just worry about it when the parts finally come in?” she asks finally.

“Sure.” I nod again. “But I really think you should tell Dominic. At least about getting your joints upgraded.”

She sighs loudly and falls onto the stool at my workbench.

“I know you don’t want to, but he should at least be sort of understanding when you explain how your stumps and joints bother you when it rains, right?”

“Maybe. But then he’ll question why I’m having you do it and not him, since he’s designed all my automail before.”

“You can tell him it’s for my thesis project,” I volunteer quickly. “That Mr. Garfiel is having me design, build, and install a completely original design as part of my apprenticeship, and before I do a full arm or leg he’s having me start with some joints.”

She blinks and her face brightens.

“That might actually work.”

“Thanks.” I feel a glow of pride in my chest.

Though, maybe I shouldn’t, considering how deceptive this whole thing is. Am I really proud of lying? Gah. My brain can’t handle a moral dilemma on top of everything else.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about…”

My phone pings, and I blink, whipping my head around to look at it.

Paninya stands and grabs it off the workbench where I left it, scanning the screen.

“Princess, I have it,” she reads slowly before looking up at me. “What the hell?”

I groan and slide off the bed.

“It’s him,” I mutter, crossing to take the phone from her. “The guy with the part.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows. “He calls you ‘princess?’”

“Yeah. I can’t get him to stop.”

“Kinky.” She grins, and I smack her in the arm.

“Shut up.”

I text him back quickly, resisting the urge to tell him off for not messaging me sooner. And for calling me “princess” again.

“What is he saying?” Pan leans over my shoulder, and I hit send before turning off the screen. The last thing I need is her eavesdropping.

“We’re setting up a time and place to meet so he can give me the stuff, and I can pay him.”

“You should meet in City Park,” she announces. “Late, though, when there aren’t as many people around. Like nine pm. If you go too late cops start patrolling.”

I nod and send Edward her suggestion. I don’t have to ask her how she knows so much about secret rendezvous spots for underground trades. Before Dominic adopted her when she was twelve, Paninya grew up on Sinner’s Lane. She hasn’t shared all of the details with me, and I haven’t pushed, but from what she’s said I know she ran product for some of the local dealers on top of becoming a highly skilled pickpocket. (I have a feeling the accident that took her legs is related, but I can’t be sure.) It took six months to break her habit at school where I kept finding stolen items in her locker. Luckily, those items all found their way to the lost-and-found, and she never got caught.

Edward texts me back, confirming the meet, and I take a minute to add his number to my contacts.

“Tomorrow night,” I announce, sliding the phone in my pocket.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Like I told you last time, it’s too risky for you. Dominic will catch you for sure if you sneak out, and I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Or raise his suspicions.

“Besides,” I continue before she can argue, “City Park is much safer than where I went before.”

“That’s true I guess.”

“It is. So, if that’s settled, wanna go find something to eat?”

“Sure.”

I instantly start for the door.

“Hold on,” she calls after me. “You’re not going solo just so you can be alone with the hot guy again, are you? I mean, you know he’s bad news, right?”

Crap.

“No,” I answer her calmly. “I’m going alone because it makes more sense. And just because he’s hot doesn’t mean I lose all sense of reason when he’s around. It isn’t a date; it’s just business.”

She gives me a knowing look, and I want to slap her. I mean, I’m telling the truth.

I think.

“What?” I frown when her eyes widen and shift to the side.

“Nothing, just…is that not exactly what you said about that guy you met online, Neil or whatever, when he was talking to you about cold weather automail?”

“No,” I sputter. “I mean, maybe, but only because it’s true.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! Neil is just a friend. I was interested in his work. That was it!”

“You told me he almost kissed you.”

Oh my God. Why does she remember that? It was one time!

“Uh, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “The keyword being ‘almost.’”

He and I met up in Rush Valley for an automail convention and he asked me to lunch, and at the end, he leaned in, and…I leaned down to grab my purse.

“And if the hot guy almost kisses you?” Paninya continues.

“His name is Edward,” I snap.

“Fine, if Edward almost kisses you?”

“Why would he do that?” I cross my arms, still attempting to deflect her question. “We barely know each other.”

“You told me he was flirting with you,” she points out. “And I know guys from the Lane. Barely knowing a girl isn’t a deterrent to kissing her.”

Really? That’s… I don’t know what to do with that. I mean, what if he does try to kiss me? Do I want him to? Do I not?

Oh my God! This is nuts!

“He’s not going to try to kiss me,” I say with conviction. “We are literally only meeting to exchange money for automail parts.”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” She nods, sarcasm lacing every word she says. “Let me know how that goes.”

She walks past me out the door, and I glare after her, my mind spinning with her insinuation.

I mean, Edward wouldn’t actually try to kiss me, right? If he were interested in me as more than a…girl he met one time at a street race, wouldn’t he have texted me before today?

“Winry, are you coming?”

“Yeah. Yes!”

God. I can’t worry about this now. If he tries to kiss me when we meet…I’ll worry about it then.

Edward

Damn, she tastes like heaven.

“Ed…” she moans against my mouth. “Oh God.”

I kiss her harder, my fingers sliding under the hem of her top. She gasps at my touch, and I curse my automail for denying me the feel of her soft skin. Her knees go weak, and I lower her to the ground, covering her with my body. I tilt my head to kiss her better, her lips parting in surprise, allowing me just enough room to taste her tongue with mine.

“Ed,” she pleads this time, her fingers digging into my hair.

My palms slide over her sides—damn, her body fits perfectly in my hands.

“Oh!” She arches her neck, and I drop my lips to kiss the vein there.

And then lower to her shoulder where her top is slipping. It’s like kissing satin.

“Princess,” I whisper, kissing her again.

She moans my name, and I grab a handful of grass beside her head.

“Someone will see,” she chokes, her eyes opening wide. “We can’t!”

I kiss her cheek. Her jaw.

“No one is around,” I remind her, my thumb making tiny circles on the skin over her ribs. “City Park is abandoned at this hour.”

“But…but…” Her eyes flutter closed. “This was just business.”

I grin against her ear. “Says who?”

Her fingers tighten in my hair, and her knees open allowing my hips to fall through.

Holy shit. I could fucking howl.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I jerk awake and nearly fall out of my bed.

“Whada fuck?” I slur, squinting.

“Brother, what the heck are you doing in there!”

Shit! I was sleeping? I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. It takes a second for my body to wake up.

Well.

I grimace and throw my head back against my pillow. One part of me is definitely already awake.

“Brother!”

“It was just a dream, Al!” I shout back at him, trying to keep just how frustrated I am out of my voice.

“It’s almost noon,” he calls back. “Don’t you have to be places today?”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Throwing the sheets off, I stumble out of bed and swing open the door, forcing Al to jump back as I move past him.

“I needa shower,” I mumble.

I’m supposed to be at work at one, and I was planning to go to the garage first to check on my baby. Now, I’ll barely be there on time.

“Don’t you have school?” I yell back to him.

“It’s Saturday.”

I hear his amused answer but don’t have time to flip him off because it takes at least five minutes to heat up the shower, so the sooner I get the water on the better. While I’m waiting for it to heat up, I grab my automail maintenance stuff, and wince at the bottle of antioxidant oil. I’m supposed to apply it any time I get my automail wet, but with an entire arm and leg of automail, it goes down really fast. And since it costs almost an arm and a leg to buy a new bottle, I’m stuck.

“Fuck.”

I bet there’s a dealer I can negotiate with on the Lane, but I don’t have time today, and funds have been tight since I helped Winry out with Donovan.

“Winry.”

Saying her name sends a rush of intense dream images flashing through my head, which I immediately try to forget as I strip off my shorts and step into the shower. It’s no use though, because I can’t get her out of my brain.

Her adorable smile. Her deep blue eyes. All that pretty blonde hair. It’s probably as long as mine, and hell if I don’t want to run my fingers through it. Not to mention her perfect curves and those legs that go on forever…

What I wouldn’t give to see her in a skirt.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I squeeze the bar of soap in my hand.

I tilt my head back under the steaming spray and grind my teeth. Soap is not the thing I want to have my fist wrapped around.

On the other hand, I shouldn’t entertain any kind of dirty thoughts about Winry. All my business with her is literally just business. I’ll see her tonight for the meeting and never again.

I turn and reach for the faucet. If I take a cold shower, maybe I can kill this stupid bodily reaction. Of course, then I would just be a different kind of uncomfortable.

“Bullshit,” I mutter, grabbing the shampoo.

All I have to do is not think about her, and I’ll be fine. No need to torture myself. She’s just some girl I met one time. It can’t be that difficult.

“You’re late, Elric.”

I wince at the deep voice from behind the meat counter as I rush to the back.

A cold shower did not help with my…problem, but it did make me late to get dressed, which made me late to catch the bus, which of course, got stuck in traffic somehow, so I had to run the last three miles, and ultimately, I  was still five minutes late.

I think I might be cursed.

“Sorry,” I mutter pathetically as I grab an apron and hurry to the sink to scrub my hands before putting on gloves.

I steal a look at my giant of a boss, and quickly look away when I see the intense stare he has me pinned with.

“How much trouble am I in this time?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“You’re in luck,” he rumbles, crossing his arms. “She hasn’t come out front yet, so you’re in the clear.”

“Really?” I look up in surprise.

Maybe I’m not cursed after all.

“Just don’t tell her, and I won’t say anything either.”

“Got it.”

Mr. Curtis might be as big as a house with a voice of booming thunder, but it’s his wife who’s the scary one. She says she’s just a housewife, but I saw her fight off a mugger once, and… I’d bet my two good limbs she could take on the entire Devil’s Nest and walk away without a scratch. Not that she’s mean or anything, she can be really nice and sort of motherly when she wants to be. She’s just also really tough. And she’s strict about her rules for employees. Being on time is nonnegotiable.

“You two aren’t talking about me, are you?”

I flinch and try to hide it when Izumi comes out from the side room with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.

“Of course not, dear,” Sig says smoothly before his features crease with a frown. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.”

She waves away his concern, but now that I’m looking, her face looks paler than normal.

“Edward,” she calls my name, and I straighten like a member of the military.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have some delivery orders I want you to run today.”

“Oh.” I nod and shift my weight. “But you know I don’t have my car back yet,” I remind her.

“Right.” She frowns. “Well, I guess for now you can borrow the bike, but!” she says quickly when my jaw drops open, “if you scratch it…”

Her eyes narrow on me, and I swallow.

“I won’t scratch it,” I promise.

“Good.” She nods, her look softening. “The orders are in the fridge.”

“Great. Got it.”

Grabbing the insulated bag from under the counter, I go to the back room and start checking the orders against the form posted on the door to the refrigerator and packing the meat.

“Weird,” I mutter as I slide in the last one and zip up my carrier.

All but two of them are for regular customers. The other ones don’t have labels.

“Hey, Izumi,” I call as I walk out, looping the strap over my shoulder. “Where are these two going?”

I show her the blank orders listed on the official report.

“Ah.” She nods. “Those are for our friends in the Xingese District. You can stop by there last.”

“Right.” I turn and head for the alley.

She doesn’t have to elaborate any further than that. The only “friends” she could be referring to in the Xingese District are members of the Yao clan, a large and wealthy family that owns the Imperial, the fanciest hotel in Central City. Rumors of underground gambling and illicit drugs have surrounded it for years, but no one has ever been able to prove anything. Other, wilder rumors about the patriarch of the family being terminally ill with an extremely rare disease and obsessed with a search for a cure have also been floating around, along with some of the wild and untested methods he’s considered.

But I’m not really worried about that. I’m just trying to deliver some meat.

Strapping the carrier to the bike, I swing my leg over and adjust my helmet before flipping the kickstand and revving the engine.

“Fuuuuck,” I hiss.

After an initial roar, the engine quiets to a low rumble. Not as sweet as when my baby purrs, but the feel of the raw power between my legs is intense.

“What did I say about scratching it?” Izumi’s yell catches me by surprise, and I lurch forward before stopping.

“I won’t,” I call back as I whip my head around.

“That’s right. You won’t.” She gives me a final parting look and disappears back into the building.

With the threat of imminent doom hanging over my head, should I fail to keep her bike safe, I pull out of the alley into the road.

It only takes me forty-five minutes to get the regular orders delivered, and then I head for the Xingese District, being careful to avoid back alleys and side streets because, while I know these streets like the back of my hand, I also know main roads are safer during daylight hours, especially when I’m on a borrowed motorcycle.

When I reach the Imperial, I pull up to the front door, only to be immediately waved forward by a glaring attendant. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but his frown is impossible to miss.

“Where do I go then?” I ask, the rude edge clearly audible in my tone.

“This way,” a small girl with braids calls to me as she steps up to the curb and starts walking around the side of the building. “Deliveries are always taken in the alley, directly to the kitchen or storage rooms,” she explains when I stop in a loading dock.

“Sorry, but do you work here?” I frown at her.

“Essentially.” She shrugs. “I’m Mei Chang, and the head of the Imperial is my father,” she explains, “but he has a lot of kids so the only way for any of his children to inherit is to remain close to him, so I’m here to maintain that connection.”

“Aha.” I nod, totally not understanding how this family functions at all, not that my own is a great model anyway. “Well, where do I go now?”

“This way.” She leads me through a side entrance and into a kitchen. “Normally, you would leave the food in the fridge and sign here that you left it.” She points to a form by the counter. “However, since you’ve never delivered before, you’ll have to take the food to a senior staff member to inspect it first.”

Internally, I roll my eyes as I follow her out into the dining area with the packages of cold meat in my hands.

“Mei,” a male voice calls out as soon as we enter the room.

“Ling.” She starts walking faster, and I rush to keep up.

She stops at a table full of food where a lean guy about my age is dressed in all black from head to toe, except his arms which are completely bare due to his sleeveless shirt.

“And who is this?”

“New delivery person,” she announces. “You should check his meat. I’ve got to go back to the front.”

“Edward,” I introduce myself as the small girl walks off. “Call me Ed.”

“Ling,” he mumbles through a fresh bite of food. “Hungry?”

“No, thanks.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“That’s okay. Lan Fan can have some.”

He jerks his head back which is when I suddenly notice the stony-faced girl standing behind him, knives glinting in holsters on both of her hips, and despite her casual stance, I get the feeling she’s ready to spring into action at any moment.

“No thank you, my lord,” she says softly, and one of my eyebrows quirks.

“‘My lord?’” I echo.

“Is that a problem for you?” Ling squints at me, and I shake my head.

“No problem. I just have your meat.”

“Let me see it.”

Shoving some of his many plates aside, Ling clears some space and I set the meat packages in front of him. He opens one and looks at it for half a second before declaring them both good and reaching for another plate of food.

“Is this really all for you?” I murmur, still not sure what I’m seeing.

“I like food.” He shrugs. “And I have jet lag, so my stomach hasn’t caught up to what time of day is supposed to be mealtime.”

“Jet lag?”

“I just arrived from Xing last night. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve made a pretty significant discovery that could affect my father’s diagnosis.”

I blink at him.

“Master Ling, please tell me you aren’t sharing our family business with random strangers again,” an old man suddenly comes out of the shadows and steps between us, causing me to take a step back.

“Hardly, Fu,” Ling waves his hand. “I was telling my new friend, Edward.”

“Friend? Hold on, I barely even–”

“Well, he’s working,” Fu says over me, “so it’s probably time he got going, right Edward?”

He gives me a look that leaves no room for argument, and I nod.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got meat to…do.”

“Well, at least leave your number,” Ling calls as I back away. “Give it to Mei. That way we can talk more sometime.”

What the heck?

Fu leads me back through the kitchens, and I sigh with relief as I quickly scan the bike for scratches and come up empty. Climbing back on, I hear footsteps behind me.

“Ed!” Mei says suddenly, “before you go, could you give this to your brother for me?”

“What?” I feel my eyes narrow at her as I frown. “How do you know my brother?”

“From school,” she answers jerking back, as if it should’ve been obvious, and…maybe it should’ve. “It’s his chemistry notes,” she explains holding a notebook out to me. “I borrowed them to compare them with some old texts I have here. We’re working on a project and–”

“I really don’t need details,” I murmur. “But I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“Okay, thanks!”

She beams, and I reach up to clasp the helmet strap under my chin before tucking the notebook into the carrier behind me.

“See you later then.”

She waves as I start the bike and pull out down the alley and head back to the butcher shop where people and things make sense.

[carry-on-my-wayward-imagines]

A Normal Day

Originally based on: “Imagine Dean breaking up with you for your safety but pretending it’s because he doesn’t love you anymore” 

A/N: I’m trying to get back in the mood for writing one-shots so I decided to do this for therapeutic reasons, for lack of a better word. I’m not taking the blame though, this was completely inspired by doing a re-reading of reactions to “Untitled” and @thefreshprinceofmirkwood 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 2,104

Warnings: any warnings outta “Untitled” are fair game in here. Some angst, some fluff. You know me ;)

Untitled (Part I), Part Two (Part II), 2,629,745 (Part III)  Conclusion (Final Part)

----

“Kids aren’t that bad, Dean,” you chuckled. “You just got to know how to calm them down. Once you’ve figured out how to do that, it’s pretty nice to be around them.”

If Dean couldn’t see you blush as you kept your head pressed against his chest, he sure felt it. After four years of marriage, you were still shy to his compliments, and he loved it. He loved telling you how amazing you were, how brave and different and fearless you kept on being even after you left the hunting life. But he mostly loved the shy smiles that came with his compliments, so soft and genuine that he could swear his heart would stop for a moment. It was reassurance that he was keeping his promises. Dean sometimes felt as though he had failed so many people, even you, but that would never happen again. Especially after he vowed to do his best to keep you happy all those years ago.

“I’ll take your word for that, then,” he finally replied to your comment, the corners of his lips gently tugged up.

Even if you weren’t a substitute teacher, Dean had no doubts you would be great with any children you’d have together. It was a topic you didn’t bring about too much, so he didn’t either, but he was finally feeling ready. Your fifth anniversary would be in six months, maybe enough time to start trying and get some happy news around the date. His smile widened as he thought about starting the talk today. Maybe he’d take you out to a nice dinner.

“Are you still going out with Charlie tonight?”

“Yup.” Dean’s smile faltered, but then picked up again. Tomorrow night. There was plenty of time. “Are you sure you don’t want to go see the new Marvel movie with us, though? Sam and Miranda are still on their honeymoon, and I don’t want you all cooped up here by yourself, babe.”

“I can always call Cas,” Dean shrugged, kissing the top of your head. He would need sometime by himself to get some plans ready. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please!”

Dean chuckled at your enthusiasm, seeing you light up. His cooking was the only thing that would ever bring you close to being a morning person, and he took pride at that. He began untangling himself from your embrace with a slow kiss to your lips, missing the other part of his puzzle piece even as he got out of the bed and threw a shirt on. Dean felt your eyes on him, gave you a crooked smile as he turned back to you, and then another kiss.

“I was thinking of banana pancakes,” Dean mumbled against your lips when you finally parted. Your smile gave him the approval he needed.

“Well, you’re the chef,” you said. Dean chuckled as you leaned forward and captured one last kiss from him. “You’re welcome to make whatever you want as long as I don’t do anything.”

“And you’re welcome to walk into the kitchen at any time as long as you’re still in only my shirt.”

He knew he was being cocky, but he couldn’t help throwing you a wink as you shooed him out of the bedroom. It was truly a sight that would never get old.

----

To anyone else, you might have seem excited about the movie, but Dean knew otherwise. He didn’t want to pry as he watched you nervously doing your makeup, or when you couldn’t stop tapping your foot against the floor as you ate pie together. You were going to be picking Charlie up, although you hadn’t seen her in months. Maybe it was that.

“Don’t forget your wallet,” Dean gave you a small grin, watching you almost head out of the door and straight past where it laid on the table. His smile was quickly replaced with a frown though, and he approached you cautiously. “You seem a little off today, sweetheart. Are you sure you can drive?”

You sighed, looking away from Dean.

“I’m okay to drive, babe,” you said quietly. “I’m just, well… I’m honestly a bit nervous since I haven’t hung out with Charlie in a while. I know it’s stupid, we’re both adults and dorks, but I also don’t want it to be awkward, you know? And Sam usually hangs out with us.”

“You’re going to be alright, darlin’,” Dean reassured you, happy that there wasn’t anything more drastic worrying you. “If you really want to, I could come with you.”

“Oh no, mister, that offer was in the morning when there were still tickets. You’d be crazy to get some now,” you half-joked, more confident.

“Alright, get going then! I held you up enough.”

Dean leaned in to give you the usual departing kiss, but was surprised when you pulled him in more passionately than normal. Perhaps he should give you motivational speeches more often. He could still feel the taste of the cherries on your tongue, so sweet and fresh that he was sure you took out another slice after brushing your teeth. His mind was filled with only the smoothness of your lips and the comfort of your hands around his neck. And the only thing to convince him that the kiss was fleeting instead of several days long was that the darkened sky outside had remained the same when you stepped back.

He had never seen you looking more happy.

“You know,” you said, closing off the space between you once more, but this time with a hug. “I think I made the right decision all those years ago. You’re the best husband ever. I love you, Dean.”

“I love you more, my cheesy warrior,” Dean smiled. “Now, drive safe and say hi to Charlie for me.”

Your car was soon a quiet rumble in the distance, growing ever so tiny as you drove away. Dean watched until you had disappeared, his heart feeling full, before he went into the house again and locked the door behind him. He had a couple calls to make, perhaps maybe try and make a special reservation at one of your favorite restaurants. He had to plan fast before businesses closed out for the night.

And soon, the long hand of the clock hung straight down, pointing at the plain six while the shorter one signaled the two identical pairs of ones. With a sigh, Dean grabbed the remote of the TV and turned the monitor off, the black screen faintly reflecting the movement of his body as he stood up. He wasn’t particularly tired, but he did have to work at the mechanic shop the next day, so he drained the leftover beer he hadn’t finished in the sink and turned off the living room’s lights.

After a quick check of the devil traps at the entrances of the house, he headed toward your shared bedroom. A yawn stretched Dean’s lips apart as he closed the door of the room, flicking on the lights with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He slipped off the worn pair of jeans and threw them in one corner, making a mental note to remember that it was his turn to wash this week.

He was deciding between saving time and just throwing everything that needed to go to the dry cleaner’s in a bag right now, or choosing to do that when you finally got home from the midnight premier, when he finally saw it. Sitting on top of his pillow was a rectangle envelope, and, judging by the faded yellow color and the bent corners, Dean guessed it must have been at least a few years old.

Curiosity pulled him towards it, the corners of his lips curving up as he read the words written on the front of the envelope: “To my dearest Orion.”

Dean took the old item into his hands and sat on the edge of the bed, observing your handwriting for a moment and chuckling to himself as he noticed that it hadn’t changed a lot despite the passing of time. Then, sure that what was inside wouldn’t fail to amuse him, Dean opened the letter.

It surprised him to see that the date on the corner read from four and a half years ago, but he kept on reading.

     Dear Dean,

     Well, I guess we finally did it! Okay, maybe not from my point of view, but from yours. I also think I should explain what I’m talking about, since this must be really weird for you. Anyways, if I didn’t freak out (or you) then we’re probably married by now. I don’t know if you noticed it, but tonight (or at least for me) is the day before we’re getting (or hopefully got) married. It would be a lie if I said that I’m not scared as hell of messing up tomorrow, but really none of this is what I wanted to talk about.

Dean’s smile started to fade as he continued reading. It wasn’t long before his hands were shaking, tears welling up in his eyes as he read, completely blurring out the words. This was wrong. This had to be wrong. It wasn’t just his vision that felt blurry, but everything else too. His head was spinning, the ticking of the clock was too loud, and his heart hammered against his chest with a pain he hadn’t felt before. It was constricting him, stealing every last bit of oxygen he had.

I’m sorry that I can’t be with you anymore.

He didn’t finish reading the letter.

“Y/N, what have you done?” Dean whispered to himself as he fumbled to find his phone, hands still shaking. This couldn’t be happening. He quickly began to call, feeling like his heart was stabbed with every ring. “Answer, god-fucking-dammit!”

But you didn’t pick up.

Dean quickly threw his pair of jeans on again, slipping into an untied pair of boots and running down the hallway with the phone still pressed against his ear. His could feel the heat growing on his neck as desperation crawled like a swarm of insects up his back in into his chest. You couldn’t be gone.

“Cas! Castiel!” Dean screamed into the empty house letting the phone fall to his side as his knees gave out. No one came. He was alone. “Please! I need you! Y/N is in trouble!”

Moments passed with Dean still on the floor, shoulders sagged. The shock was too much. He had to do something, but what could he do? Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell him sooner?

Dean heard his heart pulsing in his ears as he grabbed the phone once again, barely feeling the sobs racking through his body as he continued dialing your number. The tenth missed call didn’t make a difference. He couldn’t stop himself. He had to hear your voice say this was all an elaborate prank, that you would be home soon, safely tucked into his arms. That your hands would rub his back when he woke up in the middle of the night, dreaming about the terrors that weren’t supposed to be in his life anymore. He would never let go of you after this again.

He never imagined that morning that this was how he would end the day, what was supposed to be a perfectly normal day.

And in the days that followed, when he finally got a hold of Castiel, and when Sam cut his honeymoon short for a flight and frantic drive down to your home, Dean wanted to imagine that that wasn’t how the day ended. That you would come back despite your letter, running through the door to tell him about your movie night with Charlie. Charlie, who was five states away.

Your car, which was 60 miles away from your house.

Your phone, which was in the backseat.

Your ring–sitting undisturbed on the hood of your car.

It was the ring that broke him. Your promise to always keep it on was broken, just like the promises of protecting you, his wife, had been completely cut through. No matter what your letter said, he would never bury you in the back of his head, even if the weight of the pain dragged around his ankles like metal chains. Even if he had to pretend to carry on eventually, put up a facade to everyone else that met him, and imagine that the day would be a normal day like that day was supposed to be. Even then, his heart would never forget.

He would always be your hunter.

———

Tags:

General

@itsbubbaog @xxmy-day-dreamxx @lamme0456 @deannotmoose @15wiishes

Dean Winchester

@akshi8278 @Justanotherdogperson @justanothersepticeyefan

[closetcasefabray]

Don’t Make Me Spell It Out For You, Part 1/6

briefest of brief summaries: clarke kind of hates her neighbor because lexa hates fun or something. aka & they were neighbors

//

okay, so finally writing this as a fic. i could’ve definitely made this a one-shot, but i divided it into 6 parts (of varying lengths) to have fun with it, and i’m cleaning it up and adding more. also managed to hit several of the classic au prompts: fratboy!clarke, neighbors/girl next door, (kinda) enemies to friends to lovers, city au, useless lesbian/bisexual, & one bed. hope you enjoy.

titles courtesy of Janelle Monae.

EDIT: apparently this entire thing just up and disappeared when i made a small edit on mobile. fixed it. thanks tumblr for being generally awful.

//

1. all the feelings that i’ve got for you

//

You love and hate living in New York—love the diversity, art scene, local parks, trips to the Bronx Zoo, concerts in Prospect Park, and (finally) earning a living wage after graduating two years ago. You hate the MTA’s ceaseless delays, the owners of the dog barking outside your window every morning, rude restaurant guests who tip poorly, and the puddles that seem to always be on the sidewalks even when it hasn’t rained for days. You love your neighborhood but hate how old your building is—tiny living space, worn out hardwood flooring that slopes, the distinct off-off-white color of it all, and the incredibly thin walls.

You also recently determined that you’re really starting to hate your neighbor.

//

The first time you receive a knock at the door, it’s understandable.

Raven is, in her own words, “Queens, born and raised, and therefore a die-hard Mets fan.” It’s not always clear because most of the time she spends watching games, she’s swearing at the players and coaches, and groaning, “I fucking hate this goddamn team.”

So you’re sitting between Raven and Octavia late one night, watching the Mets play the Padres, drinking beer, and shoveling pizza into your mouths, when an unexpected home run has Raven jumping to her feet and shouting, “I fucking love this goddamn team!” She does a dance and claps as the Mets celebrate their two run lead.

A soft knock at the door interrupts Raven high-fiving you and O repeatedly less than a minute later. You all exchange looks and you roll your eyes when Raven and O look at you expectantly. You stand up, take a swig of beer, and open the front door.

A stunning but half-asleep girl, about your age, is standing on your old, beat up Welcome mat. You figure she’s your neighbor, but you hardly see anyone else who lives in the apartment building, not to mention the number of people who move in and out throughout the year. Your assumed neighbor is in her pajamas—a Columbia grad school t-shirt, striped shorts, and some moccasin slippers—and her hair is a mix of brown waves and curls, tousled no doubt from struggling to sleep. Her grey-green eyes remind you to finish your painting of a storm at sea.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, then explain, “West Coast Mets game.”

The other girl just nods.

“We’ll keep it down. Sorry again,” you say, offering a small smile.

Your neighbor doesn’t reciprocate and just turns around to go back to her apartment. You feel guilty as you gently shut the door.

“Well, that’s one way to meet your new-ish neighbor,” Octavia says before drinking from her beer.

“It is two in the morning,” you say with a shrug.

“She’s been here for over a month. This shit-hole I call home is nicknamed the City that Never Sleeps for a reason,” Raven says, taking an aggressive bite from her slice of pizza. “Also the Mets are winning!” she adds as she chews, “That, like, never happens, so she should respect my devotion to this piece of shit team.”

You and O just roll your eyes, and you hope the pizza and beer will keep Raven busy enough and her mouth full to prevent further yelling.

//

The second time Lexa—you read her mailbox label—knocks at your door, you expect it.

You get home from a killer shift and Raven is scrolling through Hulu and the like for something to watch, so when you say you never saw John Wick 2, she immediately tells you to “sit your ass down and watch this shit.”

You can’t hear the dialogue over the crunching of the chips you’re sharing with Raven, so you keep turning up the volume. Raven gets up to use the bathroom as you watch the scene unfold.

Then his house explodes.

For a brief moment you think the apartment is too because the surround sound speakers Raven has set up shakes the floor and walls. You scramble to turn down the volume and manage to pause the movie.

Raven’s head immediately pops out from the bathroom to look at you with her mouth hanging open in slight horror. “Oh no…”

You look at the time. It’s 12:30AM. “Shit.”

You realize you’re holding your breath when you hear the light knocking ten seconds later.

“Hi,” you say, feeling stupid as you look at another form of tired Lexa. She’s got her glasses on this time and a Les Mis tee to accompany a different set of striped sleep shorts, but her hair is in the same state of lovely disarray as it was a week ago. Eyes still quiet storms.

“Could you just turn it down a bit?”

“Already did. Sorry. It was hard to hear the movie and then something blew up… on screen, I mean.” You question if you ever actually learned the English language or had a normal social interaction with an attractive person before. Whether bars, clubs, or even work, you can typically charm people’s pants off. Apparently in your own apartment, all it takes is a pretty girl with messy hair and full lips to throw you off whatever game you can manage.

“Thanks,” is all Lexa says in response.

After you close the door, you turn to a still shocked Raven with her mouth agape. “Okay, so that one was fair,” she admits.

“Is there a thin-apartment-walls setting for your sound system?”

//

The third time Lexa knocks at your door is the last straw.

You have the night off after a 45 hour work week, carrying 20-pound boxes of wine up and down the stairs, memorizing five new menu items and an entirely new cocktail menu. Do you love the restaurant industry? No. But you’re decent at it and it pays double what the YMCA paid you for children’s after-school art lessons.

You manage to crawl out of bed around two in the afternoon, and proceed to drink an entire Britta’s worth of water before refilling it and sticking it back in the fridge. You probably shouldn’t have had the last two (or five) shots you took last night after work with your coworkers.

You hear the familiar sound of Raven coming up the steps and her keys in the door as you plop yourself into the chair at the small table that separates the kitchen from the living room.

“You’re home early,” you say, Raven is helping her mechanical engineering company collaborate on a big project with MoMA, so she’s been working ten hour shifts, six days a week.

Raven, despite looking exhausted, lifts her fist above her head in victory. “And I have tomorrow off! I’m going out!”

You groan, and Raven just laughs. “I heard you stumble in last night, so it’s cool. I’m going out with O and Lincoln later. I have pot, and you look like you need a cannabis miracle.” 

You smoke some of Raven’s weed, and while it does make you feel better, it doesn’t do much for the lethargy part of your hangover. You order delivery for the both of you and wait, sprawled out on the couch in the living room while Raven showers. You snap out of your daze when Janelle Monae’s voice starts to pour out the bluetooth speakers, and you let out a full belly laugh as Raven dramatically exits the bathroom into your line of sight, dressed in only a towel with another wrapped around her head, using her phone as a microphone.

“Live my life on birth control. I lost my mind on rock and roll,” Raven sings, spinning through the kitchen to the living room. She points at you as she continues to sing along and dance. You join her and turn up the volume at the chorus.

You’re both belting along, dancing all sexy despite the fact that Raven’s in a towel and you’re still in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. Raven takes a small hit from her bowl and passes it back to you.

You’re not sure how long she was knocking, but it took a set of louder-than-usual knocks for you to hear it. You look at Raven and briefly feel like you’re back in your college dorm together and resist the urge to chuck the bowl in your hand out the window.

“Really?” Raven mouths, gesturing at the clock reading 3PM.

“What do I do?” you ask. Yeah, you’re moderately stoned.

Raven turns the volume down a bit. “I don’t know, but I’m naked,” Raven says, trying to appear serious before snorting and running to her room to put on clothes.

“Fine, I can just go fuck myself, yeah?” you stage whisper after her.

“Heeeeeey,” you say, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe.

Lexa still looks tired but is wearing a nicer version of your own outfit—jogger sweats, a UMD tee, and some red TOMS she evidently shoved onto her feet without pulling the backs over her heels.

“Your music… It’s distracting me, and just… Could you just turn it down a little, please?” Lexa asks with a light sigh.

“Sure thing,” you reply, and, christ, give her a thumbs up.

You’re sure Lexa can smell the pot, but she doesn’t say anything. She just shuffles back to her apartment, and you close the door not-as-gently-as-usual before turning off the stereo.

Raven walks back into the living room, now fully clothed, and sits on the couch with a dramatic sigh. She grabs her bowl and takes a hit.

“Who, like, gets fucking mad about Janelle Monae? On a Friday? At 3PM?” you ask, taking the bowl Raven offers.

“Someone who hates fun,” Raven says, blowing smoke out her nose and mouth.

//

In the week following the last knocking incident, you decide you don’t like Lexa Woods, maybe even hate her and her stupid university sleep shirts and stormy eyes. Sure, she’s got her beautiful hair and maybe you’ve thought about how soft her lips probably are once or twice; none of that stops you from declaring her the Enemy of Fun.

You’re not sure what mood you’re in, but you are sure that you drank a lot of gin at O and Lincoln’s engagement party. Raven jokes that gin makes you aggressive, a really dumb “fight me” kind of aggressive.

“She can fucking knock all she wants,” you huff, sitting down on the couch to stop the room from spinning. “Like, what? Are we not allowed to have fun anymore?”

“I know, but let’s try not to have tonight be another night where she comes knocking.”

“I’ll tell her what’s what. Come on, fucking Janelle Monae?” you say, waving your arms in exasperation. “And why not? I fucking dare her to come over. I thought you hated her too?”

“I mean, I think she kind of sucks, but hate is a little dramatic. You’re also pretty confrontational right now, so I don’t want a knock tonight,” Raven says with a chuckle, and you realize she’s far more sober than you as she pours you a glass of water.

“I’d win in a fight.”

“Right.”

“I would.”

“Of course, Clarke.”

“I hate her.”

“Sure.”

//

next

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 1: First Impressions

(Banner made by the savior herself @tiostyles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Blue, a perpetual wanderer, finds herself drawn to the mystery of Wolver Valley, and to a certain motorcycle-riding mechanic named Harry.

Read previous part here.

Author’s note: WELCOME TO WOLVER VALLEY. I hope y’all get the same vibe as I do from this place and these characters. Please like, reblog, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. Enjoy. Xx

Thank you to my lovely betas: @biteharrysthigh // @lilacobscure // @metinthehallway // @belle-ofthe-sea // @nofoookingway // @lyllibug // @justsaying20

Blue traveled back into town, balancing on the edge of the curb all the way. She hadn’t been in Wolver Valley for more than an hour before she’d seen everything Main Street had to offer: an old-school movie theater, some little boutiques, a diner, a florist, a bookstore, a record shop, a tattoo parlor, and something that looked suspiciously like a strip joint. Not even a cafe.

Deciding that she’d lugged her bag around for long enough, and finding that her strawberries were diminishing at an alarming rate, she made her way to the next block, where she’d caught sight of the Red Roof sign. She checked herself into a room, threw her duffel on the double bed, and stuck the rest of her fruit in the mini fridge. She left before she’d even noticed the pattern on the wallpaper.

As Harry said, The Five and Jive really was just around the corner. A little brick structure with a pot-holed parking lot and dying neon signs lighting up the front windows. Even at six in the evening, it was loud. Music and shouting filtered out through a wood-framed screen door.

Blue pushed her way inside and glanced around. A couple of pool tables, both of which were crowded around. Scratched up booths and a rather empty bar top. Blue swung herself up onto a stool and checked her pockets for cash.

“Oh, new face,” said a woman who appeared on the opposite side of the counter, bronze skin and full lips and cheerful dark eyes. “How exciting."

“Are you Leya?”

The woman looked taken aback. She raised an eyebrow as she leaned backward, toward the lines of bottles arranged on the glowing shelves behind her. “Who’s been talking about me?”

“Harry says hi.”

A wide, white smile spread over Leya’s face. “Well, in that case, first drink’s on the house. What’ll you have?”

“Vodka tonic,” Blue ordered. “You serve fries?”

“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a man, passing behind Leya and laying a hand on her hip as he worked his way to the end of the bar. “Jack likes to add so much salt, you’ll dry your tongue right out.”

“Actually, he’s right,” said Leya. “Onion rings are probably a better option, if you like those.”

Blue sighed. “I guess I’ll take an order, then.”

“Zayn?” Leya cued.

Zayn sipped a glass of water that he’d pulled out from beneath the bar and rolled his eyes before making his way back around her and into the kitchen. Leya returned her attention to Blue and began mixing up her drink.

“So, what’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Blue. And I’m not really from anywhere.”

“Blue. Like the color?”

She nodded shortly. If she was going to have to keep introducing herself to these strangers, she might just stay in her motel room for the rest of her time here. She’d only done it twice so far and she was already finding it tiresome.

“Not from anywhere?” Leya reached beneath the bar and stuck a lime wedge on the rim of Blue’s glass, pushing it across the counter toward her. “You’ve gotta be from somewhere. You didn’t just appear.”

“I was born in California.”

“Oh. Cali girl, huh?”

“Not really,” Blue deadpanned, sipping from the little yellow straw that Leya had stuck in her glass.

“Mysterious, then.”

“You’re not from around here either,” Blue commented, noticing the way that Leya framed her syllables.

“No,” Leya agreed with a short nod. “Jamaica."

Blue glanced around the bar, at the older men tucked away in a corner, dressed all in black and brown leather. There were a few kids who certainly weren’t of drinking age practicing shots at the pool table closest to her, and another of their friends messing with the old jukebox against the far wall. The girl stepped back to the pool table when she’d made a decision and the twang of a country blues song sounded through the room.

“So,” Blue began, spinning back around on her stool, "who would I have to talk to about getting a job here? Just for about a week or so.”

“You have experience bartending?” Leya asked, just as Zayn returned with a basket full of greasy onion rings. He set them down in front of Blue and looked between her and Leya.

“You’re hiring her?” he asked. “Some stranger? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Her name is Blue,” Leya told him with an irritated look. “And I will hire whoever I’d like.”

Zayn scoffed. “It took me two weeks to convince you to hire me, and we’ve known each other since second grade.”

“Because we’ve known each other since second grade, Zayn. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn muttered. He leaned in and pressed a rough kiss to her cheek and then flitted off down the bar to serve another customer.

Blue watched him leave and then raised a brow at Leya. “I should be talking to you, then? Do I have to sleep with you to get a job, too?”

Leya let out a chiming laugh. “Wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “This is my uncle's place. You never answered my question. Do you have experience?”

“I have experience drinking,” Blue offered, sipping at her vodka tonic again. “But I’m a quick learner.”

Leya took a deep breath, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Could be interesting. Where are you staying? Red Roof?”

Blue nodded.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a resume or something for me, huh?”

“No, ma’am.”

A large group of men burst through the screen door. Middle-aged, dads probably, wearing cut-off t-shirts with numbers on the back. Leya tipped her head to them. “All right. I’ve gotta get back to work, Blue. How about you come back tomorrow evening. It’s pretty slow on Sundays. We’ll get you a little training.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss,” Blue responded.

***

The strip-joint-looking place really was a strip joint. Blue knew when she walked past it for a second time, when the blazing sun was beginning to fall at the end of the valley, and a wide-set bouncer newly positioned at the entrance hit her with “You looking for a job, honey?”

“If only you’d asked me a few hours ago,” Blue responded, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and continuing on down the street.

She poked her head into a couple of boutiques. In one she bought herself a new pair of sunglasses, just before the store was about to close, to replace the ones whose frames she’d bent just a few days ago. She slid them into her hair on the top of her head as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The sun still wasn’t down, but it was falling, and somehow she was already growing hungry again. Probably because she never finished her onion rings.

Blue trailed up the strip to the neon-lit diner that read “Shelly’s.” She stepped through the door to find it filled with teenagers. Some on dates, some groups crowded into booths too small for the lot of them. There were only two tables left. Blue picked the one closest and threw herself down into the chair facing the windows. She drew out the notebook and pen that were tucked inside her leather jacket—all of which she’d collected from her motel room after she left The Five and Jive.

“What can I get you?”

Blue glanced up to find a waitress standing over her. She had big eyes framed by dark glasses, black, sharp bangs, and bright red lips that she licked at when she had Blue’s attention.

“Do you guys happen to have blueberry pie?”

The waitress—Ava, her name tag read—glanced toward the counter across the room and squinted her eyes. “I think we might just have one slice left. À la mode?”

“No, just the pie, please. Oh, and a black coffee.”

“Sure thing."

Blue opened up the faux leather cover of her notebook as she was left alone again and began to flip through the used pages until she found a blank one. Then she removed the cap of her pen with her teeth and scribbled, in fluid black ink, the date at the top left of the paper: Saturday, July 27, 2019.

She’d only jotted a few words down before Ava returned with a plate of warmed pie. The waitress set a mug on the table, beside the plate, and filled it from a pot of what Blue hoped was fresh coffee.

“Enjoy,” Ava said, withdrawing to fill more emptying mugs at the other tables.

Blue forked a bite of pie into her mouth and studied the diner’s floor as she chewed. The tiles were all different colors, arranged in patterns at some points and completely randomized at others, probably replaced and patched in countless times since this place opened. The pie was mediocre, just like The Five and Jive’s onion rings.

She blew over the lip of her mug, hoping to cool her steaming coffee just enough to take a short sip. The liquid still scalded the tip of her tongue. She teethed the spot, already growing sore, as she began to recount the day’s events, the people she’d met, the words that had been spoken.

Blue thought that perhaps Ava would stick out to her. A pretty, red-lipped waitress, the only person who hadn’t asked for her name all day, the one she’d spoken to most recently. Or even Leya, who was to be her new boss. And she did journal about both of them, along with Zayn. But she was surprised to find it was Harry who held most of her pen’s attention.

Blue didn’t even like him, she didn’t think. He’d been rather rude, acted like she’d inconvenienced him, as if her car’s decision to break down wasn’t an inconvenience to her. But there was something about the short clip of his words and the way that his eyes moved that she must have found interesting.

It was nearly an hour later when she finished writing down her thoughts of the day. Ava refilled her coffee twice. Now Blue’s mug sat half empty and the crust of her blueberry pie still sat on its plate, but she shelled out some cash for the food, along with a few dollars for a tip, and left the money on her table. She placed the chewed-up cap back on her pen and tucked it into her pocket, fitting her notebook under her arm, and left Shelly’s. Despite all the coffee, the day’s events had tired her out, and she craved the stiff sheets of an unfamiliar motel bed.

***

Blue slept late into Sunday afternoon. She awoke to the low glare of sunlight through the thin yellow motel curtains. She turned over, away from the windows, as she stretched against the day.

She was unsurprised by how late it was. The previous night she had driven straight through hoping to make it into the Carolinas before she needed to stop. But here she was stuck on the western end of Missouri, pointlessly deprived of sleep, bunkering down in the musty, scratchy sheets of Wolver Valley’s Red Roof.

Blue forced herself out of bed when she saw the red numbers on the side table’s digital clock. Leya hadn’t given her a time to be at The Five and Jive, but Blue wasn’t going to burn her bridges on the first full day in town. She showered to rinse of the scent of long car rides—the inevitable scent of a traveler. She slipped into a pair of jeans, a thin t-shirt, her worn-in boots, and pulled the front of her hair out of her face, still damp. She clicked the door to her motel room shut behind her and headed off, munching on the rest of her farm market strawberries on the way.

The sun, even from the far end of the valley, was hot on Blue’s back until she reached the corner of the street and turned right. The crowds at the bar really were thinned out tonight, although she was sure they would pick up at least a little before the evening was through. But for now the parking lot was nearly empty. Just a few cars, and on the bit of pavement just in front of the windows, a bike that struck a familiar chord in Blue’s mind.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the screen door, puffing on the last dregs of her cigarette. She scanned the motorcycle, glinting in the sunlight that seeped through the town’s shadows. She knew whose it was. That familiarity, after only being in town for less than a full day, made Blue uncomfortable, like there was something crawling just below the top layer of her skin. She crushed the sparks of her cigarette out into the pavement just in front of the rubber tire of the motorcycle before slipping into The Five and Jive.

The inside of the bar reflected its barren parking lot. A couple of old-timers were seated at the bar. Leya was wiping down the wood. And Harry was there, as Blue knew he would be, bent over the edge of the left-hand pool table, hair spilling around his face. Another man stood at the table’s corner, hands twisting around the stick clasped between them. A short blond sat on a stool that had been pulled across the room. She twisted the seat beneath her, apparently bored and impatient with the game being played out in front of her. Harry flashed a quick grin as she muttered something to him, revealing a deep dimple in one of his cheeks.

“Oh, good,” Leya said by way of greeting. “Perfect timing.”

Blue offered her a thin smile as she worked her way around to the other side of the bar, crushing the empty pulp basket that had once held her strawberries. She tossed the container into the trash can as she passed it and came to stop beside Leya.

“I’m gonna show you how to mix up some basic things,” said Leya. “But first, can you take these over to them?” She nodded toward the pool table as she pulled out a couple bottles of beer and began pouring tequila up to the rim of a shot glass. “You’ve already met Harry, right?”

Blue sighed as she took the beer bottles in one hand and carefully balanced the shot glass between her other fingers, trying to keep the alcohol from spilling. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Leya went back to wiping down the bar top. Blue took that as her cue. She spun on her heel and trailed across the room. Only the blond noticed her approach, eyeing the tequila shot in Blue’s hand and leaving her doubtless it was meant for her. Blue passed the shot over and was taken aback by how easily this tiny girl downed the alcohol without any type of chaser.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Harry glanced up at the sound of her voice. The other man with them was still tilted forward, eye squinted as he lined up a shot and sent the cue ball across the table. It bounced off of the eight ball and then rolled into the corner pocket closest to Blue. He swore beneath his breath and then he was looking up, too.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Harry asked.

Blue chuckled drily and held out the beers in his direction. “Again with the rude greetings.”

He scratched the back of his neck and leaned forward to take one of the bottles. The other man traveled around the table to take the other, tipping his head toward her as he took a sip of beer.

“Right. Blue, this is Niall and Boston,” Harry introduced, gesturing respectively to the man beside him and the woman still perched atop her stool. “They work with me.”

Blue raised her eyes to Boston, barely more than five feet tall, eyes glazed over with the effects of alcohol and feet tapping to the rock drumbeat playing through the bar. Blue couldn’t picture her covered in grease and pulling apart the pieces of a car, but it was fun trying to conjure up the image.

“Ah, Blue,” said Niall after he’d swallowed his drink. "The one that tried to set the garage on fire. You know, we’ve already had our fill of arson in this town."

Blue raised her brows. “Is that so?"

"What’re yeh doin’ here?” Harry repeated, cutting Niall off before he could even reply. His bottle was hanging unsipped at his side.

Blue took the glass from Boston’s hand and rounded the table to collect the empty beers that Harry and Niall had already finished from a wooden shelf against the far wall. “I work here.”

“Leya hired you? Thought yeh weren’ stayin’.”

“Just for a week or so.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Boston spoke up from behind her. “You’ll miss the party.”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall echoed. “You should stay another week. Wolver Valley’s bicentennial is coming up. Boston’ll probably be drunk off her ass, but we can take you to the fair and—”

“No,” Harry interrupted again. The other three all turned to stare at him. He finally swallowed a mouthful of his beer and then shrugged. “She’s a traveler. Wants to get outta town. Rushin’ me to get a new exhaust pipe in and—”

“Actually, take your time,” Blue told him. She waved the empty beer bottles in her hand. “I might just stay a few more weeks. Could use the money.”

Harry slipped a hand through his hair as he surveyed her. He didn’t look pleased about the news. Niall, however, nodded in approval. Boston clicked her heels together before hopping down from her stool at last. She really was short, especially beside the two boys.

“Perfect,” she said. “Could you get me one more shot, Blue? It’s my turn to kick Harry’s ass.” She peeled the stick from Niall’s fingers and began re-racking for a new game. “And also, if I could bum a cigarette when you go out for a smoke, I would really appreciate it."

Blue nodded and turned back toward the bar. She dropped the empty bottles in the receptacle that Leya directed her to and then poured out another glass of tequila for Boston. She felt Harry’s eyes on the side of her face, even as she trailed back over to the pool table, where Boston was breaking. And on her back as she returned with the empty shot glass. Hot like fire. The heat only faded as Harry lined up his own shot, and it didn’t return for the rest of Blue’s shift.

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

What happens in Germany stays in Germany. AKA, Tony refuses to tell Peter why the Avengers never came home. 

I’m reposting a couple of fics I had up on FF.net. This one is post-CACW and pre-IW. 

//

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened after Germany?"

The whirring sound of the welder ceased for a second. Tony lifted up his mask to look at the boy who was across the shop, dry-erase marker in his mouth, writing out calculus problems on the glass wall.

"Kid, what did I tell you about hanging from the ceiling?"

"You're jealous that you can't do it?" he said, using his sleeve to correct an error in his math.

"No."

"That it looks like a lot of fun? Because it is."

"Try again."

Peter pouted his lip. "It leaves footprints on the ceiling."

"Bingo."

The boy flipped himself to the ground, frowning as he looked up at his homework. "It's all upside-down now. I can barely read it."

Tony set the welding gun on the table, stopping to write a few notes. "Good," he said inattentively, "maybe it'll take you more than two minutes to work out the equations and you can feel like a normal kid for once. Who does his homework right-side-up. And hates calculus."

"Hey. You like cal, too."

"Yea, well. It's too late for me to be normal."

Peter rolled his eyes, walking over to sit in the rolling chair next to Tony's. "I know you're avoiding my question."

Tony didn't take his eyes off of the graphics in front of him. "What question?"

The kid rolled his chair around to the other side of the bench, his elbows casually leaning onto the tabletop. His face was shadowed in the blue light of the holographic screen. "The same one I've been asking for weeks now. Ow," he complained, rubbing his forehead after Tony poked it.

"You're in my blueprint."

"I'm trying to get your attention."

"Can you try to get my attention somewhere else?"

Tony rolled his chair away from the table so that he could look at the other side of the suit and avoid the voice that was talking his ear off.

"Mr. Stark—,"

He took a huge breath in, squeezing the tiny screwdriver in his hand until he thought it was going to break.

"What?!"

Peter's eyes shot wide open, taken aback by Tony's red face and flared nostrils, before flitting shyly to the ground. His shoulders rolled forward, hunching over in the backless stool as he stared at his toes.

"Nevermind."

Close to twenty minutes passed, the room silent save for the Aerosmith album playing quietly in the background. Tony kept fiddling with the suit, his hands twitching just a little each time he thought about the look Peter had given him. He opened his mouth, trying to muster up an apology, but it died on his tongue. Instead, he kept to himself, anxiously glancing at the kid periodically.

Another ten minutes went by, meaning Peter hadn't talked in nearly half an hour. It had to be some kind of record. Tony had spent the better part of that time trying reconfigure some wiring, but now he was just absentmindedly cutting and twisting the copper connections. His hands moved in a mechanical rhythm, unconsciously, because his thoughts were focused a million miles away.

Well, maybe more like a couple feet away. On a brown-haired kid doing homework in the corner.

Every time Tony looked over he was huddled over his textbook, spinning his chair gently from side to side and distractedly tapping a pencil against the table. He didn't look up from his book once.

Tony was going to make it up to him. He'd add those roller blade things (what did Peter call them, Heelys?) into a suit. Peter had been begging for them for weeks now, but Tony said they were impractical.

Who cares about practical. He's a kid. If it makes him happy he can have the damn shoe wheels.

Maybe he'd get him an ice cream, or take him to a movie, or let him drive one of the horribly expensive cars collecting dust in the garage. That would work, right? Kids like that kind of stuff, don't they?

He made a mental note to ask FRIDAY or Google or Pepper later: how to say sorry without actually having to say sorry. Tony pondered for a second, then added: how to make a teenager not hate you.

The consistent tapping of Peter's pencil ceased, prompting Tony to snap out of his daze.

"AH—," he screamed, nearly falling over in his chair.

Startled by Tony's loud reaction, Peter let a small squeal of his own before quickly composing himself.

"Sh, Mr. Stark, it's just me," he said gently, hanging from the ceiling by a thin rope of webbing.

"Jesus Christ—what in God's name are you doing?"

Peter cocked an eyebrow, still dangling in front of Tony's face. "Well, I tried the whole 'silent treatment' thing but that didn't work, so I went with plan B."

"Which was try and give me a heart attack? And for the love of—can you get down now?"

The boy smiled sheepishly before attempting to casually flip onto the floor, but his T-shirt gave way and draped over his face.

"Oof," he muttered, dropping to the floor in a tangled mess of web and nerdy science fabric.

"I'm going to do us both a favor and pretend that didn't happen."

Tony reached down to help him up, and the kid jumped to his feet.

"I knew that would work," he said, a stupid grin plastered across his face as he brushed himself off. "So, now that you're finally paying attention to me, are you gonna finally tell me what went down with Captain America?"

"Nothing happened."

"Then how come Mr. Rhodes and I are the only Avengers that are ever here?"

Tony sighed, playing with the tools sitting on his workbench to avoid Peter's prying stare.

"First, kid, you're not an Avenger—you're a trainee on a good day. That was your choice, and I fully agree with that. And second, Cap just decided he needed a break. From me. Call it... irreconcilable differences," his face twisted into a sad, rueful smile, "and the kids went with him."

When Tony had taken Peter home after Berlin, he'd assured him that everything would be okay. There was still hope Tony's his eyes.

"I'm sorry we lost, Mr. Stark."

"Don't worry about it. He's my problem, not yours. And he'll come around. You just worry about that homework."

But nearly six months had passed and Captain America hadn't come back. Neither had many of the others. That small, hopeful light in Tony's eyes had dimmed into defeat.

"I thought you guys were friends."

A flat, drained laugh escaped Tony. "You and me both, kid."

Peter's face fell, almost imperceptibly, but Tony noticed. He knew that feeling. Peter Parker, shy but proud owner of Captain America pajamas and a replica shield, was beginning to see a side of Steve Rogers he had never known.

But as much as Steve had hurt Tony—and the hurt was still fresh and raw and utterly consuming—as much as he needed someone else to shoulder even a fraction of the anti-hero part he had played for so long, when he looked into the kid's eyes—he couldn't do it. Peter already had to come to grips with the flawed and messy reality that was Tony Stark. He didn't need to see him lose Steve Rogers too.

At the end of the day, Steve might have cut him in a way that he never saw coming, but he still hadn't forgotten the reason the whole mess started in the first place. He wanted to keep the Avengers together, not just to save the world. He needed them.

We all need a family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine.

Tony knew better than anyone that families aren't all they're cracked up to be.

But he also knew better than anyone that it was damn hard to give up on them.

"Sometimes the world forgets that, behind these masks and alter-egos and gaudy, god-awful costumes, there are people just trying to do the best they can in a job no one else wanted."

"You don't blame Mr. Rogers for the Sokovia Accords?"

Tony took a deep, labored breath.

"The Accords were a shit show with no perfect solution, that's politics. I did what I thought would protect the people I care about. Rogers did too. He can pretend to be the super soldier all day, but deep down he's still the scrappy kid from Brooklyn who lost his best friend a long time ago and will do whatever it takes to never feel that again."

Tony closed his eyes, remembering the haunting look on Steve's face as he bled out in the dream induced by Wanda. He felt that pressing need to do more—to do anything to save him.

"I know what that feels like," he murmured. "Heroes make mistakes, kid, it's part of the job. We continue to believe in them anyway, we have to, because the second we don't... I—none of us should live in a world like that. People like me will always need people like Steve Rogers."

Peter stopped pressing. Mr. Stark would give him more information, if he wanted to, on his own terms. Right now, it only mattered that Tony Stark still believed Captain America was a hero—a man worth protecting—and that was enough for him.

Tony Stark would always believe in Steve Rogers.

And Peter Parker would always believe in Tony Stark.

One day, he might just get Tony to believe in himself, too.

[giggleandtears]

Crimson Renegade, Part 1

Enter me, (s)he says in parentheses  

Summary: It’s not even her first day and she’s already getting the Enterprise out of trouble

Pairings: OC/Jim Kirk(Platonic), OC/Leonard McCoy(Eventual Romance)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

My journey to Gamma quadrant has been wholly uneventful. Thank the gods. I had a few gas giants and nebula to befriend but other than that, I had only my thoughts to keep me company.  It has been pure bliss but I know it will be swiftly ending in a matter of days. Well, if I'm lucky, I'll get days.  The USS Enterprise is not known for its tranquil environment.  

Speak of the devil-

As I exit warp, at my assigned rendezvous coordinates, my view is littered with debris. Shards of metal and tempered glass glitter around me in the vast expanse. Small chunks bounce off my shield and wings, but it's nothing my ship can’t handle.  

"Battle on my first day. Of course," I mutter to myself.  

I trigger a quick scan to follow the trajectory of the debris and any lasting remnants of the Enterprise's unique energy signature. Oh, this is bad. Looking at the projected course the Enterprise took, it spans roughly 3.7 parsecs. On any other day my pulse engines would suffice in traversing such a distance. You never know what new wonders might be tucked away, but by the sheer magnitude of this scrap heap rotating around me, the Enterprise may be in need of immediate assistance.  

What the crap, Kirk?

I set my course and engage my warp drive. In a matter of moments, I exit. My proximity alert sounds as a wing of some kind careens towards me.  

"Shields to max," I shout, then roll right only to have the debris lightly skim the stern. "Gotta love voice commands. Engage cloak and lock onto Enterprise coms."  

"Cloak engaged and locking onto Enterprise coms." Making the onboard computer's accent a deep Scottish brogue was the best decision I ever made. I smile while engaging thrusters to find a better vantage point.

The coms are silent for a beat then the familiar voice of my new Captain sounds in my cockpit.  

"Chekov, I need to know what came out of that warp window," Jim orders in his own polite way, controlled concern lacing his voice.  

"I am sorry sir, but the window closed with no discernable trace of a ship."  

"Great. Just what we need. Invisible ships."

I start to hail the Enterprise to alert them of my presence when their flank is bombarded with phasers, erupting in lightning like sparks.

"Oh no. Today is not the day."

I double back smoothly with a half loop into a spin to right myself and shoot any foreign ships in my path.

"God, these things are sturdy."  

I inflict a significant amount of damage to the closest ship on my way back to the Enterprise but not enough to completely disable them. They themselves look like piles of scrap, perfect for an ambushing any unsuspecting ship that meanders by.  

"Mirror Enterprise targeting system," I command.  

One of my secondary screens flicks from the continuous diagnostic readings of my ship's system to the Enterprise's view of the battle field. An analysis of the enemy ship's unique variants begins to stream in, surely from Spock's order as protocol dictates. This is one disadvantage to being the lone pilot of a ship. Though the solitude matchless, multitasking can become cumbersome. Vigorously defending your future crew whilst sifting through scrolling logs, with the intent of finding one useful piece of intel, is quite a hassle.  

"Idiosyncratic element detected. State: volatile," My on-board computer informs me.  "Hmm, I forgot I built that alert. Isolate element and target any vulnerabilities."

The Enterprise and I both target the element, used the in foreign ship's power coils, and watch the inky expanse erupt in reds and oranges. A ring of explosions cascade from the Enterprise badly damaging two of the larger ships. The vast battle field is quiet for several steady beats until a swarm of guided missiles head straight for the Enterprise warp engines. Federation ships are made for explorations, not all out battles. If the missiles reach the engines, the Enterprise will be left stranded and completely at the mercy of the enemy ships.

I push my thrusters to the max and reach the Enterprise before the torpedoes do. I loop back, hovering right above the Federation vessel. Facing the incoming barrage, I fire at will. I gun down each missile, one by one, and the Enterprise is left mystified as to why the torpedoes are exploding before they reach them.

"Sulu?" Kirk asks, his mono-syllabic question loaded.  

"Not us sir."

Two missiles skirt my defenses, but the Enterprise picks them off. Broadcasting the comm, I finally hail the Enterprise.  

"Artemis to Enterprise. Artemis to Enterprise."

"We hear you loud and clear Artemis. Thanks for the save." Kirk replies, relief emanating from his voice.  

"You're not safe yet. We have incoming!"  

Kirk calls for evasive maneuvers as two more torpedoes hit the right side of the Enterprise.

"Shields at 83 percent." Sulu informs.  

"Enterprise, I'm going back into the fray. Sending data packet now, so you can track me."

Because it would really suck if you shot me down after all this.

"Receiving data packet. Tracking location." Sulu announces.

"Enterprise, if you target the ships, I'll run interference on the torpedoes."

"Copy that Artemis."

The Enterprise rights itself, and I float above the bridge once again. Using my phasers, I push back the incoming projectiles until there is sufficient space between the Enterprise and the rival ships, four in total.  

Diving back into the battle, I sweep left, dropping small cloaked devices as a wall of defense for the Enterprise. Hopefully I won’t have to use all my prototypes in this one skirmish. With the Enterprise focusing on the ships themselves, I press on into the raging battle.  

Swiftly flicking a sequence of switches and key strokes, my back phasers are trained onto the enemy weapon’s distinctive energy variants. A steady stream of soft vibrations ripple through my chair as the rear weapons system fires without prejudice. I maneuver in and out of the impeding projectiles in a whimsical dance, touching nothing. Upon my order, I release a string of rudimentary instruments in my misshapen path. My back phasers stop and start intermittently as to not shoot the Enterprise when it veers into its sights.  

Various torpedoes and rail weapons hurdling towards the Enterprise trail behind me. With a tap of a single key they halt as if suspended in an invisible dragnet. The second load of devices I planted begin to spin, glowing a pale violet. With each rapid rotation, the stagnant weaponry shakes and swirl in a mechanical tornado. When the revolutions seem to reach a fever pitch, adding more and more trapped shrapnel, the twisting conglomerate is sucked into a jagged mass. A wide-spanning quake emanates from within my magnetized EMP bombs, rendering the expended weapons inert.  

A sly smile ghosts onto my lips as Sulu utters an astonished, 'wow'.  

Time stands still in the continuous volley of weapons fire.  The Enterprise and I work in unison to vanquish the incoming threat. Coming out of a tailspin, I survey the wreckage surrounding me. I initiate an updated scan for remaining energy variants as I chart my way back to the Enterprise. The unhealthy pace of my rocketing heart finally begins to slow. I manage a labored swipe of my arm against my damp forehead. I haven’t experienced such a rush in far too many moons, but I wished it was under better circumstances of course.  

Swerving in and out of the wreckage, my readings remain nominal and steady. It’s a testament of my skilled crew that each oscillating piece of debris cluttering my view is from the enemy ships, not the Enterprise. Jerking to attention from reading the Enterprise’s running damage log, my ship alarm blares, signaling an incoming alert. Reacting a fraction of a second too late, a torpedo careens over my bow.  

“Where the bilgesnipe’s tail did that come from?” I grind out.  

The portable shields I dropped in front of the Enterprise activate as the expelled torpedo collides with an invisible wall. The proceeding explosions curve around the Enterprise in a fiery swell. The Enterprise and I are left scrambling as the incoming bombardment breaks through my defenses. We have no visible target to fire upon.  The Enterprise is pushed back a great distance but remains intact. Compressed air or some type of coolant spews into the atmosphere from a possible hull breach on the lower deck.  

Sulu apprises us that shields have dropped to 63 percent, his voice tight.  

Running a series of more in-depth scans, the results reveal nothing that indicates any active ships in our vicinity. The onslaught has seemingly come from nowhere.  

“How is that poss…oh crap,” the realization dawning on me. “I don’t think I'm the only cloaked ship.”

Trying to buy the Enterprise, as well as myself, more time, I turn sharply away from the battle, haphazardly dropping more EMPs.  

“Artemis to Enterprise, there are other cloaked ships. I repeat, there are cloaked ships in our vicinity.”

Shooting at full speed towards the outskirts of the battle, I triangulate the probable max missile range according to the size and type of these particular ships.  

“Artemis, what are you doing?” Kirk asks, no doubt tracking my locator along its seemingly nonsensical route.  

Ending this

“We can’t fight what we can’t see and my EMPs can only do so much. I'm sending 2 sets of coordinates. Once you move aft to the first set, on my mark, put auxiliary systems on standby. You’ll find cover out of the blast radius.”  

Kirk commands Sulu to reverse thrusters without question. A swell of pride blooms in my chest, his confidence in me unwavering.  

Reaching the edge of the target zone, I face the battle once more. Reverberations of my charging cannon thrum as it nears full power.  

“When the blast dissipates,” I continue, “you should have enough time to fire her back up and skip bail.  I'll meet you at the second set of coordinates.”  

Almost instinctively, Sulu plots a course to the coordinates, likely in response to Kirk’s commanding nod.

"Artemis, is this course of action wise?” The measured voice of Spock asks. “Firing an energy weapon of that magnitude while your cloak is active, will no doubt render it unstable. In all probability, there is an 87% chance of complete failure. You will be vulnerable to attack."  

An audible whirl sings in my cockpit as streams of energy cascade along the edge of my wings, forming small balls on the tips. With each passing second, the swirling spheres grow and before long they shoot forward, unifying into an even larger expanding concentration of blue brilliance. In all my test fires, the sight of my weapon is truly something to behold. The base was always left at a standstill until its blinding radiance had diminished. However, the neighboring combatants haven’t a clue as to what is brewing underneath my cloak.  

"Don’t worry Spock. I have every intention of giving you a run for all your Energy Credits.”  

“I am not concerned with my energy credits but your...”

Before Spock can finish voicing his unease, I waste no time informing the Enterprise my energy weapon has reached full power.  

“And mark!”  

In the distance, the Enterprise maneuvers around two missiles before its faint glow is temporarily extinguished.  

Releasing the energy burst, a bright pulse emanates from my ship, breaking through the confines of the cloak. A silent wave rolls lazily into the dark blanket of space. Azure, edged in a startling chrome, the Plasma shockwave advances forward, igniting each ship it touches. The corners of my vision begin to spark and fizzle, finally revealing the fleet of vessels that were completely surrounding us.  

The muted radiance of the Enterprise returns as her systems come back online. The space encircling the craft begins to warp, defining the warp cores very namesake. The Enterprise catapults forward, into safe harbor. I allow myself a moment to rest my head and expel a sigh of relief. The Enterprise would have been decimated in short order without my canon’s successful reprieve.  First battle down, likely many more to come.  

I start another fly-by and scan for life and power sources. The varying ships are still mostly intact. The blast only managed to disable their cloaks and short circuit their systems. My own cloak is barely holding at 6 %. Using my tractor beam, I manage to get a sizable piece of the only ship we managed to completely destroy. Hopefully it’ll help me determine where they originated from.  

My radar beeps as the surrounding energy readings begin to climb. Red indicator beacon after beacon blinks and solidifies on my screen. The legion of ships will be back on line shortly.  

Resilient little buggers  

My cloak slips down to 4% and I hastily set my coordinates to the rally point. Engaging my FTL system, I escape toward safety, before a battle begins anew. Exiting warp, I pick up the Enterprise’s comms.  Chekov’s distinctive accent notifies the Captain that a warp window has been detected.  

The Enterprise hails me but I’m entranced by the amalgam of colors enveloping me. It’s as if I've nestled myself in a cloud that has been dipped in the ink of a sunset. Moseying forward, the Enterprise is exactly where it should be, tucked away in the heart of a nebula. The visceral urge to reach out and touch the intangible is still the most fantastical yet unnerving feeling I’ve ever experienced in the black. The radioactive nature of the gases concealing us leaves me wondering if I’m witnessing the death of a star or its birth.  

Jim calls to me again. “Enterprise to Artemis. Artemis, do you read?”  

Snapping to attention, I guide my ship to the Enterprise and loiter in front of the Bridge. As if my cloak senses the danger has passed, it dissipates like fine silk rippling to the ground.  

Leaning lazily over my console, the Bridge crew is clearly in view.  “You rang?”  

A cocky grin alights my face and Jim can only shake his head and smile. He instructs me, knowing full well the reason for my delay in answering his hail. “Once you finish star gazing, you’re welcome to board.”  

“Copy that,” I chuckle and make my way to the shuttle area.  

Settling in the shuttle bay, I'm acutely aware of the grandeur of the Enterprise. I’ve been assigned to multiple ships, but never one of this magnitude. Artemis is a respectable size, far better than the average federation shuttle. But against the backdrop of the massive shuttle area, I feel all the more minuscule.  

Artemis is a 4th generation Stealth Fighter, equipped with warp and cloaking capabilities. Both were installed under my care, among other rare accoutrements. Her dark hue blends into the pitch of space, even without her cloak. In those rare moments I desire to be seen, illuminators are strategically placed along the wings and cockpit. On all accounts, she handles with a viperous grace. Beginning the power down sequence, a low hiss sounds as my wings retract inward. The outer wings smoothly lift vertically at their hinges, fully compact.  

Leaving the cockpit, I disconnect the emptied power cell belonging to the cloak. Adding four controlled isotope pellets, the canister begins to warm before the top spirals shut. With a gentle shake, the inert embers reignite, blossoming in blues and yellows. The tiny explosions build and expand into a thick congealed mass. Clear observation panels on the sides display the chemical reaction shifting from a vibrant green to a blinding white. Replacing it snugly back in the panel, the power cell will need about an hour to reach full power. I’m not expecting to use Artemis for more than the occasional joy ride and practical simulations but it never hurts to be prepared.  

Stepping off my ship, bag slung over my shoulder, I take in the hustle and bustle of the scampering crew. Breathing in the familiar scent of recycled air, an innate sense of ownership washes over me. This is not a temporary post. This ship, these people, now belong to me.  

Jim leans casually against a stack of crates. Anyone else would have surely fallen. “That’s definitely not regulation.”  

“My ship or me?” I ask, meeting him where he stands.  Jim takes a thoughtful pause to fully take in the sight of me and my ship. We stand in stark contrast to the other docked ships and scurrying crewman.  My lack of federation issued jumpsuit and unruly curls are a testament to my lax attitude while traversing the galaxy to meet the Enterprise.  

He replies with a cheeky grin.  “Both.”

A knowing smile sweeps across my face as I step into his arms. Jim radiates a warmth that is synonymous with our long friendship. There could have been a palpable sting of jealousy as I watched Jim being handed his own command ahead of me. But I have never desired the captain’s chair. It's a privilege to be back under the command of someone I respect so greatly, and a treasured friend no less.  

Squeezing me a little tighter, Jim chuckles into my ear. “And I thought I knew how to make an entrance.”

I laugh at the thought of Jim’s many memorable arrivals and daring escapes. Immersing myself in every detail of the Enterprise’s mission’ reports has been one of my secret obsessions for many years.  

“Hey, it’s not my fault you somehow found trouble in an uninhabited area.”

He concedes the point with a shrug but Jim’s cheerful demeanor has slipped away. His posture has grown taut, his grip tight, as he holds me at arm's length.  He studies me with an intense gaze under a deeply furrowed brow. When he speaks, his voice is quieted in concern.  

“Are you ok?”  

“I’m fine Jim-bo," I say, patting his hand in reassurance, “not a scratch on me.”

Jim would have known if I had been hit during our scuffle with the Scrap-yardigans. I would have voiced it, as would Sulu. But he doesn’t look convinced. Even with my assured answer, his scrutiny continues. I think he knows I felt the concussive aftershocks of the explosions, even though I wasn’t expressly hit.  

“Well, we’ll be taking a trip to Medbay just to make sure.”

I’ve been on board all of 10 minutes and I’ve already resigned myself to using my patented pout. That definitely has to be a record. “Come on Jim, I just got here and isn’t there a hull breach I can help with?” Hopefully it will still have the desired effect. Jim was never immune to its power but that was before he was my Captain.  

Strolling up to Jim and I, Spock interjects before Jim can answer. “There is indeed a hull breach on decks 16 and 17.” He says.  

Taking a deep breath, my eyes plead with Jim to let me help. The faster we’re done with repairs, the quicker we can leave this sector. Those nearly impenetrable ships left a bad taste in my mouth.  

“As you have only just boarded Commander, your mandatory physical has yet to be completed. Until such time, it is against regulation to assist in any repairs unless under direct threat, in which we are not.”

Jim smirks in agreement. With that, I deflate in defeat but still greet my fellow Commander with a genuine smile. "Spock, you always were a stickler for protocol but it is good to see you.”

Bowing at the waist, Spock welcomes me in return. “You as well, Commander.” Shifting attention back to the Captain, Spock hands Jim the PADD resting at his side, and readies himself for his report. Gathering my bag, we make our way toward the Turbo lift.  

“So, how’s our girl? Injuries?” Jim asks his Second in Command.  

“We are currently reporting 11 injuries, all minor in nature.”

“And the hull breach repairs are underway?”

“Yes Captain. They should be completed within the hour.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. Eloquent and informative as always.” Jim says offhandedly, all the while sending me a pointed look.  Translation, the crew has everything under control without your helping hands. “Do we have any idea who they are? Where they came from?”  

“Not as of yet. The database inquiries thus far have been inconclusive. Without a piece of the enemy ship I believe we are at a loss.”

“I may be able to help with that.” I say, stepping into the lift in front of Spock and Jim. “I was able to retract a sizable piece of ship debris.”  

“That will be most useful. When will-”  

Spock stops short when a familiar Scottish lilt rings out into the bay. ‘Until next time lassie’, reaches into the lift before the doors close. Artemis has fully powered down and is awaiting her next mission.  

Both turning to me, Jim and Spock wear the same incredulous expression, complete with matching arched brows.  

Jim is the first to speak, low and deliberate. “Was that Scotty?”

Staring holes into the floor, I nod yes.  

“Does Scotty know you use his voice for your on-board computer?” Jim’s voice is alight with mischief. A looming dread slowly creeps into my stomach.  

This lift is taking much too long. It’ll be the first thing I inspect tomorrow.  

“No, and there’s no reason to tell him.” In all honesty, I forgot to switch it back to the standard voice setting. I’ve always found Scotty’s excitable voice infectious and soothing. But in the wrong hands that knowledge will only be used to torment me, i.e. my astute captain.  

Jim crosses his arms and levels a knowing smirk. “That was before you tried to use your pout against me.”  

Well, that was a massive miscalculation on my part.  

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Found Love

This fic was commissioned by @asrasdarling. Thank you for trusting me! I hope you enjoy! 

“There’s such a thing as lying by omission.”

If you’d like to commission me for a fic, see the guidelines here. 

_____

Bucky had a lot of theories on life and death. Death, he had learned, offered a vast nothingness. He liked it better when he thought that there would be a resting place, no matter how good or bad. He tried not to linger on his thoughts of death for long. It always liked to pop up, always made a circle of thoughts occasionally

Life, on the other hand, offered more. He had options but rarely did life come with instructions-- personal or otherwise. Professionally, Bucky knew he would be lingering with The Avengers until the bittersweet end took him down for good. After Hydra’s manipulation, going back under cryo, coming back out of it, and then dying before reappearing left his head more than just spinning, it feels like it should’ve taken it clean off his shoulder. 

It hadn’t though. Bucky was still standing. Fate was giving him another chance and he didn’t want to screw it up. Screwing up wasn’t a fear Bucky had with a lot of things. There was a confidence and swagger he had about his life. Bucky didn’t fear signing up for the military. He wasn’t worried about the battlefield. It was people that Bucky worried about, he didn’t want to screw up with people he loved. 

Bucky wasn’t reckless about the relationships he had with people. And he couldn’t be reckless about this ring either. The salesperson drones on for a moment about the cut of the diamonds, carats and all. Bucky can almost hear her now, Jenna in his ear about it being big enough to block out the sun. So Bucky shakes his head. “It’s beautiful, but not quite I’m looking for.”

He wants to apologize for being so picky. He just knows it’s not right. None of the rings are. He could be going about this all the wrong way. He could’ve been trying too hard to find the right ring. Bucky wasn’t clued in on how to shop for engagement rings. The Google search hadn’t proved quite as useful as he hoped it would. With a sigh the salesperson stares out a the too bright white tiles. 

“Never meant to be a bother,” Bucky states, catching onto the unspoken frustration. 

“Not a bother. Each person is different. Each sale has its quirks.”

With a glance at his watch, Bucky winces. It’s much later than he anticipated. He can bet there are going to be a string of text messages. Gracefully exiting the store and thanking the salesperson for all their help, he walks out the doors of the jewelry store. And sure enough, his messages are littered. The latest one reads, I don’t know what’s got your attention but I do hope it includes food. 

Bucky doesn’t like to lie. But he’s not sure being blatant about an engagement ring is going to help him with his surprise. Would you believe me if I said I ran into an old friend?

His phone buzzes. Ha! Can’t say I’d believe it because Sam’s been by the house looking for you. Unless you ran across some dinosaurs. 

He knew it was coming. The moment his fingers hit send, Bucky knew the smart comment was incoming. It was only a matter of seconds. A tuft of laughter escapes him and he shakes his head. With his seatbelt strapped across his chest, he calls Jenna. She answers after three rings. “How are the triceratops?”

“They’re well and send their regards. So in order to make up for my utter idiocy, what do you want for lunch?”

She hums for a moment, mulling over the thought. “It’s far out, depending on where you are.”

Bucky knows the tactic, her attempt to figure out where he is. He won’t fall for it. He waits for her continue on with her food selection. Silence ensues between the two of them. Bucky holds the phone gently, resting his head into the headrest of his car. The parking lot faces a major road. He can see people stopped at the light, waiting. He’s a little trapped and has all the time in the world. 

“God, I’m hungry and you’re good at this.” So Jenna rattles off her choice. 

“Usual?” Bucky poses the question but knows the answer. 

“Yeah, the usual.”

“Sorry again for being gone so long. Time’s really lost its meaning with me. After all these years,” he teases. Her laugh filters in over the speaker and it makes his chest warm. He adores the sound. 

“I’m the only one that can make old people jokes about you,” she defends. 

Bucky shrugs, a playful hiss falling over his lips. “Looks like I beat you to it that time, sweetheart.”

“It’s unfortunate. I’ll have to keep that one in mind for the future.”

“I want credit.” A couple more minutes of laughter later, Bucky pulls out onto the street. It’s going to be a ten minute drive out and while, normally this would inconvenience him, Bucky wonders if he can blame traffic for one more quick pitstop. There’s a pawnshop halfway up the stretch and he hasn’t had a chance to stop by it. 

He ultimately decides against it. He can’t press his luck too much. He decides to be dutiful and just stick with lunch. There will be other days for him to venture out and hunt down this ring. He’s got some time. 

Jenna grins when the keys turn in the lock of the apartment. Bucky saunters through, hair falling just slightly into his face. “Finally good to see your face.” 

He disappeared in the morning after an early run and she hadn’t seen him half the day. She can tell something is off. Not a bad off, but he’s holding something back. She’s not sure what and he’s good at keeping secrets, putting parts of himself into smaller compartments and never to be touched again. 

She can’t fault that though. She’s done much of the same in some regards. It’s not hard to want to swallow down pieces of their lives. After the snap, she fears shutting her eyes. Nights for the both of them include staying up too late, watching bad TV movies, while the screen flickers blue against their white apartment walls. Sleeping includes entangling themselves in the other and clutching to make sure they’re still real, that the world around them is still solid beneath their fingertips. 

“That’s a thinking face if I’ve never seen one,” Bucky quips around his bite of turkey panini. 

Jenna shakes her head. “Nothing, nothing.” Her hair falls like a brown curtain to hide her face. 

Bucky hums, a bit disapproving and finds her chin to tilt her head up. “That’s not a nothing face. We’ve been together for how long? I know you.”

Jenna doesn’t want to admit it. She doesn’t want to bring down the moment. “Just worried.” It’s true. She is worried. It’s just not a full truth. 

“There’s such a thing as lying by omission.”

“I’m not lying. I am worried.”

Bucky sets the sandwich done, wiping his fingers onto a napkin. “Worried about what?”

Jenna shrugs. “A lot of things. You got the time for it?” 

Bucky watches her, the way her hazel eyes never quite meeting is. It’s a defense mechanism. Both of them know it. 

“Nothing but time,” Bucky retorts, reclining into the chair. It creaks a little and he’s reminded that he was supposed to be getting something to support the bottom of the chair to help it stop creaking. He can’t lie that his memory has taken a small hit since the second thaw. He’s good about most things, having had to start writing down his tasks for the day so he better remembers. 

“Yeah,” she mutters. Her voice is soft. 

“Want me to be honest?” Bucky asks. It’ll ruin his plan.

“In a relationship, that’s kind of nice.”

“I was shopping around for you.”

Oh, that’s definitely not what she imagined. Part of her did have a moment’s panic that Bucky had either snapped, now a renegade and tearing the city apart, or was running around behind her back. Though shopping around for her seemed off too. “For what?” She risked a glance down at her old t-shirt, some paint splattered on it from them giving their dresser a facelift. She wasn’t one to be constantly shopping or in desires for new clothes. 

Bucky pulls out his phone. Pressing in the passcode, he pulls up his search history. He then stands and goes to his backpack. He finds his journal and opens that up too. When he sets them down in front of her, Jenna’s not sure she can quite believe her eyes. The notebook has a scribble of directions and his search shows gold and silver rings. 

“You’re buying me a ring?”

He has to restrain himself from the laughter pressing up his chest. “Yes, a ring.”

“A ring for what?”

“Aring for you,” he says. Maybe he can spare his plan just a little. “What did Sam want?”

Jenna still doesn’t let the confusion of his ring search completely escape her mind when she shrugs. “Really only asked if you were around and when I said no, he left.” 

They finished lunch in relative silence. Jenna studies him, the strong nose, and beard covering his chin and jaw. Bucky seems so calm about it that she thinks it can’t be an engagement ring. Would he just drop a proposal? It’s not inherently a secret as they’ve discussed marriage. It was far away though. Marriage wasn’t immediate, but it felt right. 

Maybe it would be a promise ring. Maybe this was Bucky’s way of saying someday soon. She liked that idea. That they both want to keep moving forward but aren’t tied down to any societal pressures or expectations. It was definitely freeing not to have to worry constantly. Bucky was always good on his promises. 

A phone beeps, blaring through the silence of their apartment. Bucky, currently now bunkered down on the floor, cleaning his riffle waits for just a moment to know if the noise will go off again. He hadn’t shot since Tuesday, but the act of taking it apart, inspecting the pieces and putting it back together was cathartic. Jenna knew, watching him with q-tips at his side, that he only did this most often when thinking, when mulling something over. She looks back to his journal, ears perked too to listen for another beep. If it goes off twice with only a minute and no less and no more apart, they’re being summoned to the headquarters. 

Shopping for a ring. No piece of jewelry should cause this much thought. It was metal and gems--as simple as that. 

The beep signals again. An exact sixty seconds. Bucky assembles the riffle back together, with only a small grunt leaving his lips as he stands. “Alright there, old man?” Jenna asks. 

He sighs, the smallest smile painting his face. “Too bad Steve’s not here. He’s the real old man now.”

 It’s most likely routine, nothing more than a headcount check in for them. But as they slide riffle and bow onto their backs, they know not to spare any caution. A hazard to the job if one decides to let routine dampen their alertness. Bucky holds out a scrunchie to her. Jenna takes it wordlessly, the debate of who does a better ponytail always ending with the same results. Bucky purposeful sabatoges his attempts so she’s tasked with doing it. 

She hasn’t forgotten the years prior, of watching him fixing his hair in battle. It’s a strange conundrum. Pressed down behind over, ears flooded with blood and the beat of one’s heartbeat and noticing the slip of a hair tie, demanding to be fixed. It’s a gamble for sure, to either let the hair band fall or risk the two seconds to tie it back again. Their fix now is to slip a couple hair pins in to keep the hair tie in place. 

Bucky settles onto the little stool of their kitchen counter, his all black uniform a little snug but slowly giving into the warmth of him. There’s a brief moment, even though Jenna’s carding her fingers through his hair quickly to wrapped the brown tie around and they both know they are playing with time, that Bucky feels at peace. This is a normal that he wants to keep forever and even though he doesn’t have the perfect ring right now, he could just ask. 

He could just ask. The thought hits him twice but it really only clicks after the second time. He should just ask. What if fate was opening another door for him? What if this was a moment--a make or break moment in life? There were a few of them. Deciding to enlist, deciding to trust himself again, deciding that he would heal on his own terms.

 “Done,” Jenna says, grabbing the second hair tie Bucky brought and wrapping it around her own hair. Bucky can hear his own heart thumping in his chest, feel it beating in his ears too. “Do you want me to drive or you?”

He spins. Things feel slowed down. Like the blink of her eyes, he manages to catch it in action. She’s towering over him a little, thanks to his seated position and her tall stature. His fingers cup her jaw and he senses the confusion twitching up her face before it truly settles into her muscles. 

“You alright?”

Alright, it’s a simple word. But there is something behind alright that Bucky settles on. He’s making it. “I know the proper way to do this is with a ring and on one knee. But you think you can spare an old man one of those things.”

“Buck, what’s going on?” This damned ring keeps coming back up and she doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, doesn’t want to think it’s real, but she can’t help but melt into his soft touch. 

“Jenna, I’ve got just one question. I’m not a man of many words. But I need you to know that I do love you dearly. We work so well together and I mean that, like, there’s an understanding between us. And I know you’ll never quit on the jokes. But I look forward to the jabs. And I know if you’ve made your mind up, there’s no changing it. I don’t want to change it. I just want us. In every sense of the word. Will you marry me?”

There’s just an inhale. It’s a gasp from Jenna. At first, there’s disbelief. Bucky hasn’t just uttered those words. But he continues to watch her, a small glint of anticipation flashes through his eyes. Disbelief fades into shock and she can feel the sting behind her eyes. “You don’t mean that?”

“Sweetheart, I do. I really mean it. I know a ring would really help me right now. And I do apologize for not having one. I wanted too. And then, the moment just felt right. I know you’ll hang this over my head for the rest of my life and I can’t say I don’t deserve it.”

“I--” The words dry up in her throat. A tear falls and another one follows it. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t want to marry him. Four years together, of navigating the world. It’s been four years of them of arguing over ripe plums, deciding which toilet paper was the best, fighting in arms together. She wouldn’t trade that for the world. She couldn’t trade it in even if she tried. 

“Yes,” she whispers, the elated sob chokes her just a little but she nods. 

Bucky grins, a full blown, teeth showing smile. “I swear I can hear but say that one more time for me.”

With a watery laugh, she tries to glower at him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Their kiss is soft, short pecks and she buries her face into his shoulder. Her laughter bubbles from her. The shock fades and she is just left with elation. “I love you,” she whispers, still having not removed herself from his arms. 

“I love you too.” 

The soft moment lingers but they are reminded of the check in and they have to return themselves to the real world. Bucky takes the keys and Jenna slips her hand into his. The drive isn’t terribly long. They opted to keep fairly close by. They’re far enough away that they don’t feel tied down to anything, but they know that things work better if they do keep close. 

Just a ring for you. The thought comes back. Jenna laughs, staring at Bucky. “There’s such a thing as lying by omission.”

Bucky knows that she’s caught on. “It is technically a ring for you!”

“Yeah, an engagement ring! That’s totally different. It’s a whole other significance.”

Bucky reaches over, taking her hand. His traces around her ring finger. “I’m gonna make it up to you. I promise.”

“Oh you will, alright. You’re gonna have a whole lifetime to make it up to me.”

At the headquarters, they can see the other cars, planes and jets littered about and it’s a nice feeling. It’s a sight that they try not to take for granted after losing it all so suddenly. Bucky brings her knuckles to his lips, pressing short kisses over each one. 

It’s definitely a sight when Bucky catches Sam in his suit, the shield on his back. Things have definitely changed. “Bucky and Jenna,” Sam says, “where are they?”

“Here,” they return in unison. 

Sam grins, when he turns to their voices. “Nice for you to join us.” The check in goes by faster, all of them are dismissed. Sam motions for Bucky to linger back. 

“Take the keys,” Bucky tells Jenna kissing her forehead. 

When Sam and Bucky get alone together, Sam breaks out his phone. “Think I found something.” The screen shows a love band, gold in color with a simple rhombus shaped diamond settled into the middle with tiny leaves settled around it also littered with smaller diamonds. 

“It’s perfect. I’ll have to propose a second time though.”

Sam slaps his chest. “You did not.”

“He did!” Jenna calls out. 

“I told you to go to the car!”

[popculturespiritwow]

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE: 1923 AD AKA A WORK OF ART(IFICE)

This issue is the Peakiest of Peak Gillen -- Gillen to the Power of Peak to the Power of Peak, if you will, #MathisCool. It’s a comic book masterpiece of research, reference and storytelling and I’ve been so daunted at attempting to comment on that it’s taken me months to make the attempt. You only climb Everest once, people!  (Shut your mouth, Nat Geo.)

WAGNER VERSUS WARHOL, FIGHT!

In format the issue involves a back and forth conversation/rap battle between high and low art. On the one hand, we have novelistic chapters rich with description. “The island looked like a threat, a fist of rock that had forced its way through the waves.” The island and Ananke both...

Then we cut to what at first glance seems like your standard comic book, but in fact is actually a riff on the early days of film, complete with title cards (which themselves get so silly the font might as well be comic sans #IllBeHereAllWeek) and everything shot in a wash of black, white and brown, except for the splashes of red at the scenes of death—victims’ blood, Lucifer’s apple, and my favorite, the red seaweed around Neptune.

Love that red seaweed.

The heart of the plot follows a similar back and forth, as the elitist “classic” artists, the TS Eliot/Ezra Pounds and Ginny Woolf-ish-types of the Pantheon, want to kill the more popular art types, the Shirley Temples and Buster Keatons and Robert Johnstons, to initiate a nightmare scenario that will supposedly give them control over the zeitgeist of the future. It’s an incredibly disturbing take on some of the giants of the early 20th century -- and one Gillen found based in fact.

It’s fascinating, too, for as much as the real object of venom is the truly popular artists, the movie star types with their simplistic narratives and opium for the masses, the elitists focus on killing figures who from our perspective sit far closer to them – Lucifer (F. Scott Fitzgerald), Poseidon (Ernest Hemingway), Dionysius (Pablo Picasso) and the Morrigan (James Joyce). I wonder if it’s something about the chaos those specific figures represent, the way that their particular forms of art end up undermining not only the structures but internal belief system of the modern world. If Baal-Et-Al’s idea is to work with Joe Goebbels to coopt pop culture for their own We Will Keep Control project, in a sense a Picasso or Joyce was doing the reverse, presenting in the formats of the elites only to deconstruct their validity. (Gillen’s notes on the Morrigan point in this direction. Also, his description of Set as coming off “a little like Tahani from The Good Place made me laugh out loud.)

In the end our good guys will stop the bad using their own popular media, film from a train, which was in real life the very first motion picture, and terrified people back in the day for exactly the reason that they feared the train was real and was going to leap off the screen and kill them all. 

Writing perfection.

HISTORY IN REPETITION AND RHYME

As we’ve seen throughout these specials, we get lots of echoes between periods here. Lucifer is once again the first one killed, the Morrigan is once again a character all about voice and drama (I love his self-narration so much, please sir can I have a spin-off?), the Norns are still trying to figure everything out, Susanoo=Dandy Baphomet, complete with his own complicated dating relationship (those rings made out of light, though, such a pristine beauty of a moment that Baph never gets), and Woden is once again a gross racist hack misogynist -- that submarine has got to be phallic, right? -- who has stolen his tech powers from someone else to produce content that is entirely derivative while secretly playing the gods and being used by Ananke.

There is also another mechanical creature, “Little Brother”, which we see only for a few panels, and that is not nearly enough because it is an adorable looking flying squid. (SCREW YOU BABY SHARK, BABY FLYING SQUID IS EVERYTHING.) Ananke also works from her standard playbook here, the Prometheus Gambit – you can gain some life if you kill others, which Baal et al will then use for bat#!% crazy purposes, which of course is also part of her plan.

And Minerva is also once again a child who seems maybe to be working with Ananke. It’s clear right from the start that the whole Shirley Temple schtick, lots of Yays and Gollys, is just an act, part of her “character”. And we get a glimpse of the real her again at the end.

That doesn’t have to mean she’s in league with Ananke. (Just read the next arc; she’s totally in league with Ananke.) But she also comes to know what happened to Verdandi, when she wasn’t with the group that discovered him. (Dude: She’s totally in league with Ananke.) And it gives her an excuse to leave Morrigan at precisely the right moment for him to get murdered by Ananke. (Yes, exactly, because she’s in league with Ananke.) And she will kill Set herself without a second thought; it’s all still just hint and innuendo (UGH NO IT’S NOT STOP), but given what we’ve just learned in the present day that’s all we need for now.

Meanwhile Baal is in some ways the opposite of ours, a racist white elitist who dismisses James Baldwin-type Amon-Re as incapable of being an artist given his “nature”, and Set is her own thing too, a snobby name-dropping Virginia Woolf.  Most intriguingly, the Norns have internal divisions that break them down, which make me worry a little bit for Cassandra and her friends. 

Best take care of your family, Cassie. Remember, in #WicDiv no one is just a sidekick…

CREATURE(S) IN EBONY This is the second special where the Fall of the Gods involves the introduction of a new being created by the gods by way of a classic Ananke “Definitely Don’t Do This (wink wink)”.  In 1831, Lucifer and Morrigan resurrect Hades to create an energy vampire that after killing them merged with Woden Shelley to create Steam Punk Elsa. This time the being – again a woman – is described as “looking like some ancient ancestor of the Metropolitans, but made of living poetry and bleak lightning rather than simple metal.” Which sounds an awful like the 1831 Creature.

She also emerged from “an ebony luminescence with streaks of blue beyond blue”, which again, sounds a lot like Mary Shelley Elsa Frankenstein.

Almost 92 years later we’ve heard nothing from her. But Kieron never forgets anything, INCLUDING YOUR BIRTHDAY, SO WATCH OUT. What could this all possibly mean…

ANANKIERON CHRISTIE

For me the most interesting element of 1923, though, is everything to do with Ananke. We come into the special, like the last two, knowing she is our Big Bad (probably, I don’t know you guys, I think in the next arc Kieron’s going to make me feel bad for her and I don’t want to). (No worries, he didn’t, or did he, wait, there are two Anankes now, I don’t know, what?)

But here for the first time we enter into the story alongside her. In fact, in that very first shot it almost seems like she’s looking right at us.  

Time’s running out, she’s got to get to the murder-y and behead-yness stat, and this time we get to watch her do it. Awesome!

It’s almost like we’re partners in the exercise, even; right before they’re about to go in for dinner and discover Lucifer Ananke seems to stop and look at us again.

Us and the millennia-old serial killer of children--High fives all around!

For the last 30+ issues I’ve been asking why Ananke is she always wearing a mask, and now finally I get it: just like the Pantheon, she is an actor giving a performance.

Here specifically she presents herself as a classic Agatha Christie protagonist, finding herself along with everyone else in the Remote Place version of a locked room murder mystery and slowly working to uncover the truth of what’s going on while others continue to die. And Then There Was Fun!

Except in fact Ananke is not The Marple but Christie herself, author of the entire series of events that happen, which makes this to my mind pretty much the greatest Christie story ever, and also reinforces the belief of All of Us that Jessica Beatrice Fletcher is the Greatest Fictional Serial Killer that Ever Lived.  

But wait, though. Doesn’t that make Ananke basically…a writer? Like um, this guy…?

But that’s crazy. We’ve spent the last five years with him. He’s fine.

I mean yes, both he and Ananke fashion fictional Big Bads (Note: this issue has absolutely no trace nor mention of a Great Darkness, despite the fact that this entire Pantheon has been around almost to their Use By) and also Ways to Save the World which motivate the characters down paths which lead to their eventual destructions.

And okay, true, in this issue Kieron does spotlight/ridicule parts of the storytelling mechanic, the machines characters are always trying to find/build/repair as nonsense. 

Such rituals are actually simple. It is about will and art. The machines…in my experience, they are little more than props. All that matters is your action and intent. They killed so the world would die. You die so the world can live.

But still, if we were to accept that Ananke is Just Kieron’s, er, Mask, then it’s like this whole time he’s been the one doing terrible things to all these characters, including the characters that he made me want to love.

And then this question which I’ve been chewing on since 455 AD, whether the characters can ever be free of the roles they’ve been assigned, in a sense becomes a question about whether they can ever escape not Her but Him…

Or what about us? The Audience. The ones that Jamie and Kieron and the others are creating this for.

This isn’t And Then There Were None, is it? No, this is Temple of Doom. Kieron may be Mola Ram, but I’m the Ever-Hungry, Never-Satisfied G--D-- Kali.

All along, Kieron has thrown in these moments where we get glimpses of the broader world, the way it feeds on the Pantheon. And I can get to the end of 1923 AD and say there’s a fascinating battle going on here about the ethics and/or violence of being a writer. But maybe there are also deeper questions being asked of me as a reader.

Maybe the issue begins with Ananke looking at me like that for a reason.

STOP IT, ANANKE. YOU’RE MAKING ME UNCOMFORTABLE. LOOK AWAY.

WORLD WARS, IRL AND URL A last point: 1923 AD is unusual for the degree to which it is haunted by something external, aka war. Even as the story takes place in the effervescent champagne bubble oasis of the Roaring 20s, both the nightmare that was World War I and the possibility of another war which is somehow impossibly much much worse than it hangs over the characters. That’s an insightful take on the period, but also an awe-full twist on the sense of doom that we’ve witnessed in the 21st century Pantheon, their own personal oncoming catastrophes expanded to the scale of disaster for the whole world.

It makes me wonder whether the last act of The Wicked + The Divine will involve something of a similar scale, whether the underlying momentum of the book has not always been toward the culture of celebrity, insofar as it engenders adoration, mob-think and a lack of fundamental care for and curiosity in one another, as sign of our own massive social crisis. (See: Brexit. Trump. The Fights My Dad Gets in on Facebook.)

Are we doomed? Do I still have time to tweet a thread about it? I really think it could make a difference, you guys.

[grailacademy]

Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-two: Trouble

Finally, the exams were over. No more stress, no more classes, no more teachers, no more lectures. A wave of relief swept over the entirety of Grail Academy, the hallways of the school had never been so calm before. Where there was once petty squabbles and panicked studying, now was students exchanging contact information and hugs before the winter break set in. Everyone, except for Esmerelda and her teammates. They all stood huddled around Nico’s locker while he maneuvered the lock on it. He had forgotten the combination years ago, but the paper clip he wiggled in the slot between the combination wheel and the locking mechanism was working just fine. A small click, and the lock popped off. “So, what’s the plan again?”

Esmerelda crossed her arms, a look of thinly veiled disgust crossing over her face as she watched her teammate hook the lock onto a belt loop on his pants. Tacky. She explained, “Wicker Street has Boost deals every day, that’s where we’ll start. The police tend to patrol that neighborhood anyway, so we’ll follow behind one of the cars and use them to lead us to potential suspects or witnesses, anyone that might know something.” Bernard held his arms out like a bellhop while Nico dove into his locker, chucking garbage over his shoulder and stacking items of importance in his partner’s hands. A rack of cassette tapes, a hoodie, a wrench most likely stolen from the Weapons Ec class, a pair of gaudy platform boots, a spare cartridge of dust, a second, bigger wrench, fistfuls of cheap plastic bead necklaces, a poorly handmade mug, a half-eaten banana, and a pink knitted scarf. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and tied it, seeing flakes of snow flutter down to the courtyard through a window by one of the classrooms. “That’s all fine and dandy, but….” Nico paused and gestured to Esmerelda’s high-end fashionable fur coat and matching earmuffs, snickering with an apologetic smirk. “You don’t exactly blend in with the street life down there.”

The other boy nodded while he dropped all of Nico’s stuff into an open backpack slung across his partner’s shoulder. Except for the banana, he first checked to see if it was moldy or brown, and then ate the rest of it. “They don’t take kindly to rich folk”, Bernard said monotonously. Esmerelda stared at the two boys in shock while they engaged in the most unsanitary activity she had ever seen: sharing the old banana they found in the locker. Okay, thin veil of disgust was now gone. Her disgust was now out in the open, for all the world to see. Bernard munched on his portion, and offered the end of it to Nico, who simply took a bite out of it while the other was still holding the fruit. How did she end up on a team with these animals? Nico continued talking while he was still chewing his food, adding to the nastiness that no one but their leader found appalling. “Half the community’s been gentrified to hell, and it’s only getting worse, so yuppies are a no-go.”

“I’m a yuppy now?” Esmerelda raised a brow, cocking her hip to the side. That look was never good, the end of her brow twitching and arched with her arms folded, her lips pursed. That was the look that mothers gave their children as a silent way to say, watch your mouth. The boys knew that look well. Bernard actually took a step backwards, ready to run, knowing that whatever Nico said next would determine their fate. Nico laughed nervously, putting his hands out in front to defend himself just in case. “No, no no no! I-I didn’t mean you SPECIFICALLY, I just meant….well. You’re fancier than most people. And that’s not a bad thing! No! But you….stand out. And we’re trying to be stealthy, you know?” The smile on his face did nothing to hide the fear in his eyes. To their amazement, the hook in Esmerelda’s brow slowly lowered, and her mouth slowly creased into a small frown, and she grumbled. “….I guess I could tone it down, a bit.” Those words ushered sighs of relief out of Bernard and Nico, who silently praised whatever deities resided in the heavens for sparing their lives from certain death.

Bernard added, “We’ll still need covers if we want to get into any of the joints.”

“Already on it”, Nico disappeared into the depths of his locker once more before returning with three plastic computer chips clutched in his fist and shutting the cabinet with a metallic slam. He handed each of them to his friends and they plugged the chips into their scrolls, bragging, “Made them myself. What can I say, Nico Rosé comes prepared!” Bernard and Esmerelda wondered how someone like Nico was capable of getting such high-end IDs, but their questions were answered when they read over the uploaded text on their scrolls. Bernard squinted and held the ID up close to his eyes. “….You made me forty two years old.”

“And what are these names?” Esmerelda questioned, “I mean, Viridescence Eau De Nil? That seems overdramatic, even for my tastes.”

Nico waved off their complaints, chirping “I know, aren’t they great? It’s our cover! We’re a rock band, and we’re looking at new venues for gigs. It’s perfect!”

“I don’t know about perfect….” Bernard grumbled, noting that the name on his card was Brick The Dick. Nonetheless, they all slipped their IDs into their pockets, bundling up before heading out into the snow.

Aurum sat reclined in a dusty loveseat, flipping through channels on the tiny tv box he had set up on top of a crate. Lolanthe was meticulously whittling a small bar of wax soap with a pocket knife on the other end of the loveseat, shaping it into the figure of a duck. They both waited on the couch, in the refurbished office space that hung above the factory floor with its glass walls covered in papers. The tv monitor paused on a baking show, where a contestant carried an elaborate cake with rose decorations up to the judges. It made Aurum burst out in a huff, “Bah! I could do better than that. These people never put their heart and soul into their work!” His thick accent broke through when he raised his voice. Lolanthe rolled her eyes.

“I was a baker once, you know”, he turned to the woman next to him.

“I know, Aurum. You tell me every day.”

“You know what this show’s problem is? The contestants are too-”

“-Too afraid to use heavy butter. I know. I don’t understand why you watch this channel when all you do is yell at the screen.” She had clearly heard him make the butter argument many times before.

“Because, butter is what holds the entire pastry together! They’re fools! This show should be called Teaching Clowns To Use Butter.”  Their one-sided bickering was interrupted when Sable’s imposing silhouette slithered across the back wall’s window, and Aurum snapped the tv off when her shadow reached the door. In she walked, with Queenie by her side. They both stood up quickly, the loveseat even scooting backwards on its stubby legs from the force of them pushing against it.

Queenie passed the envelope under her arm to the two of them, and Lolanthe inspected its contents. Blueprints of a clocktower, Grail Academy class schedules, the layout of the school’s basements, red marks over exits and entrances. “It’s time.” Sable folded her hands behind her back as she spoke, “Call in the Butcher.”

Outside the office, Yorick leaned against the wall and anxiously spun the canisters in his revolvers. They locked in place, then unlocked, then locked again. Scarlet eyed him, annoyed by the repetitive clicking. He tightened the white scarf on his neck before turning around and wandering down a hallway to get out of the inevitable awkward silence that came with being a third wheel. Leaving Rettah alone with him. Yorick didn’t notice until he looked up, the lack of a third presence automatically made him nervous. Rettah twirled the curls in her ponytails, whistling a tune. Why was it so quiet? Even with her whistling, and the clicking of his revolvers, it felt eerily silent. Was he sweating? He checked his palms. Was there something on his face? He smoothed back his bangs and picked at his teeth with his pinky nail. Where was everyone? Say something, anything. Tell her she looks nice today. Tell her you love her. No, no, too fast. Tell her that her eyes shine like sapphires. Ugh, cheesy. Say you like her dress. Talk to her, you idiot.

“Uhm….you’re pretty.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, uh. You look pretty today!” The fidgeting with his gun’s canisters sped up.

“Oh, thanks!” Rettah smiled brightly. It made his heart leap out of his chest. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, reel it back, play it cool.

“Because, some days you don’t look nice….”

“Oh….?”

Crap, too cool, too cool. “N-not that you’re ugly! You’re definitely not ugly. I think you’re beautiful!”

Rettah made a strange face. It wasn’t anger, more like confusion. Yorick’s heart plummeted. Too much, you’re coming on too strong, you have to save it. Suddenly, he started laughing weirdly and looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, yesterday you were a total hot mess! But you really cleaned up today!” His thumb slipped on the edge of the barrel, and the nervous spinning on his weapons caused the bullets inside to abruptly spiral out of their case in a shower of shells, all of them clattering to the floor. Rettah flinched, dodging the loose bullets, whereas Yorick was hit in the face by a handful of them when they sprayed upwards, making him jump. The jangling of the metal snapped him out of his rambling, and brought him far enough into reality to see Rettah walking away. He was trapped in awe of his own words, his body knelt down and his hands started to pick up each of the bullets without him telling it to. He felt like throwing up. “….You were a hot mess? Who SAYS that!?” He scolded himself, sweeping up the remnants of his bullet casings into his pockets.

The snowflakes passing across the orange glow of the streetlamps reminded Nico of the fireflies he used to catch during summer as a child. The light beaming off the insect made the flesh of his hands cupped around it turn a soft shade of pink. He preferred the warm weather to seasons like this, but there was still something charming about turning around and seeing his footprints alongside his friends tracks in the snow as they walked. The group made their way down street after street, shawarma and halal stands, hair salons, foreclosed apartments, rented office spaces, junkyards, sports bars, diners, autoshops, trailing behind a patrol car. “We’ve been following this dude for hours”, Nico muttered. Esmerelda responded by putting her index finger to her lips, hushing him so she could focus on her surroundings.

She had never been to this part of the city. Of course, they all visited the abandoned sector when they fought at the hotel, but that was only for a few hours. Esmerelda looked at each building, each stranger passing them, each rusted bench, each flake of paint peeling off the storefront windows, taking mental notes. The further they progressed down Wicker Street, the faster the quality of their environment deteriorated. She turned to her teammates, posing a question. “What happened here?”

Bernard stayed silent, idly flipping the fake ID in his coat pocket.

“Gentrification. Segregation. Whatever you wanna call it,” Nico piped up, “The governor thinks he’s doing the city a favor. Enriching the culture or something. The major parts of Calicem grow from new businesses and fancy houses, and the people who can’t afford to live in those houses and buy from those businesses are forced farther and farther out of the city, until they end up in shitholes like this where the resources are garbage.” This was the first time Esmerelda and Bernard had heard Nico speak like he knew what he was talking about. The first time he actually sounded serious. He pointed to the patrol car they were following, that was slowing down near a stop sign “It’s literally herding them like cattle. He uses the fuzz as his sheepdogs. Forcing them all into a corner, like some kind of slaughterhouse. He’s killing the city.”

The noiseless air that swept between the three of them rested on their shoulders like heavy fog, which strangely helped their attempt at being inconspicuous. “You ever wonder why every person who walked past us for the last three blocks was Faunus?” He tilted his head up to Esmerelda, who remained silent as she took a moment to look, really look, and see what he meant. Nico hunched down and slouched as he walked. “Exactly.” Esmerelda knew that her people faced hardships and struggles, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized just how sheltered a life she lived before Grail Academy. It only made her hate her father even more, and it left a feeling of guilt to fester in her stomach.

“Hey.” Bernard nodded his head towards the patrol car. It came to a full stop by the side of the road, and the driver stepped out. The officer was adorn in military-grade armor, from chestplate to kneepads. Her hair was pulled up into a tight high ponytail, and she approached a burly looking man in a leather vest, who sat on a stool next to the entrance of a pub. They talked for a minute or so, the man scratching his bushy ginger beard. The officer pulled out a notepad and tore off a page, handing it to the man and getting back in her car. As she sped off, the man crumbled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. This had to be a good spot to start.

Nico’s back straightened, and he slung his arms around his teammates. “I got this one. Watch and learn.” Bernard just grunted and rolled his eyes. Esmerelda huffed, crossing her arms. “Time to work my magic~” Nico vocalized, strutting ahead and flagging down the bouncer.

“Should we be worried about what kind of ‘magic’ he’s going to work?” Esmerelda asked Bernard. He shrugged. “Probably.”

“Yo, big hoss!” Nico flashed his ID to the intimidating presence of the doorman, smiling confidently. He quirked a brow at the little pink punk in front of him, reaching out and taking the card. From out of his pocket, he pulled a blacklight torch, and shined the bluish lavender light on the plastic square. Somehow, the frown that was already on his face sank down more, as if he was deflating. The scraggly voice vibrated in Nico’s chest as the man spoke, “….Your groups name is Jaundice?” He said it as a statement, but his tone suggested that the bouncer was questioning Nico’s logic. Nico’s smile never faded, he stood unfaltered. “Yup! Rest of the band is back there,” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder towards Esmerelda and Bernard, waiting awkwardly under a street lamp. “We got a meeting scheduled with the manager. Tickets, merch, stage set-up, that sort of thing. Very important, you understand.”

The man shifted on the stool, unimpressed. “I’m the manager.”

“Uh-oh….” Well, their cover was officially blown, and they hadn’t even gotten into the pub yet. Nico’s grin dissipated. “Listen, I’m gonna need a more legit form of identification, or else I can’t let you in”, The doorman explained. Nico took the ID back and begrudgingly stuffed his scroll into his pocket, looking over at his friends under the lamp post. They were a few yards away, just enough that they wouldn’t hear anything he said or see any fine details where he was.

“….Alright.” Discreetly, Nico pulled his scarf down and tugged at the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. The bouncer shined the blacklight on that section of skin, revealing the intricate patterns and symbols of a bird skull on his throat, the ink glowing an artificial pink under the light. The man’s eyes widened, and he flicked the flashlight off, making the tattoo disappear. The man whistled, “Phew. Chicken flew the coop, huh?” He held the door open, and Nico waved his friends over to follow him as they entered the bar. Neither of them could see what he did, but they were both thoroughly confused. “What did you do?” Bernard whispered. Nico just smiled again and linked arms with him. “Don’t worry about it. We’re in, aren’t we?”

“What did we get ourselves into….” Esmerelda breathed. Looking over the sea of bar patrons, the three of them gazed at an all-out bar fight taking place in the middle of the dance floor. The shiny jukebox propped up on the wall threaded a disc into the slot, an uncharacteristically upbeat surf rock song vibrating across to all corners of the pub. A bottle flew past Bernard’s head and shattered against the wall behind them. The women who were trying to dance screamed and scattered as a group of leather-clad men drunkenly wrestled and threw their fists. Near the back, everyone else ignored the commotion and continued to nurse their drinks and play pool. “This’ll be fun!” Nico joked.

[moonprincess92]

To the stars

the titanic au 

1, 2, 3 

Read on AO3 

Chapter 4: The bow 

“You reported me?” Cassian said, barely containing the outrage.

“You broke communication, broke cover, and failed to explain yourself why,” K-2SO pointed out simply. “Of course I reported you. Why are you surprised?”

Cassian just walked away in agitation, running his hands roughly through his hair. Failing to remain in contact was one thing, but breaking cover… K-2 was right, he never should have done it. It wasn’t just reckless, it was downright suicidal. There was absolutely no guarantee that someone who had heard his real identity in that third class common room wouldn’t eventually end up somewhere that Krennic could get a hold of the information. He would be forcibly ejected into the Abyss and Jyn murdered right along with him in a heartbeat. 

He remembered taking her hand and dragging her out onto the dance floor. He shouldn’t remember it fondly, he should think of it as a terrible mistake, but he could still feel her hands clasped in his and it was probably the happiest he’d felt in a long time. She hadn’t exactly known what she was doing, but she had followed his lead as best she could and thrown her head back laughing anyway. They’d eventually given up on trying to follow the conventions. The music had been loud, energetic, a thumping rhythm that hit deep in the chest and she had wrapped herself around him, fingers gripping his shirt collar. At some point someone had even pulled them up onto one of the tables and they’d been roped into a group dance, clasping each other’s hands and spinning, her face the only thing clear in an otherwise blurry room… 

Karking hell. A stupid, stupid idea. 

“I’m not surprised,” Cassian span back around then to face K-2. “but Draven’s going to question me now and if I give truthful answers, he’s going to pull me off the assignment. I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” K-2 moved his arms in what was his version of a shrug. “It seems that we have done what we came here to do. Establish contact with the mark, deem her reliable or not.”

“You’re forgetting get the plans.”

“We have not yet been shown conclusive evidence that these plans exist,” K-2 said. “Nor do we even have confirmation of this Death Star ever being built.”

“The threat of entire planet’s being destroyed isn’t enough for you?”

“No, the word of a woman who has been under Imperial control the last fifteen years is not enough for me.”

“Kay–” Cassian snapped in frustration. 

But there was no point in arguing with him. K-2SO was nothing if not stubborn and logical. Everything he said made sense and in any other situation, Cassian would be agreeing with him. At the end of the day, this assignment did not have enough to justify continuing and by all accounts, they should be sneaking down into holding to climb aboard one of the private shuttles he knew was being stored down there to make their escape. But…

“I’ve been doing some calculating,” K-2 mentioned, then. Carefully, in a voice that Cassian knew he only used when forced to deliver news that wouldn’t be well received. It immediately made his hackles rise. “and trying to come up with reasons for your recent out-of-character behaviour. I decided to dismiss oxygen deprivation and poisoning, so that only left me with one likely explanation… you have a sexual attraction to the mark.”

Of all the things K-2 had said to him over the years, that had to be the most bizarre.

“Kay, did you just say the word ‘sexual’?”

“You are avoiding my point.”

But what the hell was he supposed to say? It wasn’t just a sexual attraction, it was something else more, something entirely and utterly unexplainable. She was someone who actually understood him, someone whose life was as unstable and lost as his was. She heard him, figured out what was going on in his head without him having to explain. She had managed to find the real Cassian somewhere inside him and instead of hating him for the things he’d done, she instead looked at him and was able to smile. Sure, she was an angry, grieving mess, but Cassian looked back at her and felt his chest burn. He wouldn’t leave this ship without her.

He couldn’t.

“Exactly how mad do you think Draven is going to be?” Cassian just huffed, running a hand over his face.

Turns out, it was the exact level of mad that Cassian was expecting.

“WHAT THE HELL were you thinking, breaking cover?!” Draven practically spat through the hologram. “This is fucking basic protocol, what are you, green? You might blow the entire operation!”

“I made a calculated risk, sir,” Cassian lied through his teeth. “We saw the third class as an opportunity for recruitment and I met some people who were willing to join. You’ve always said that there is never one single objective on a mission–”

“There is on one as high-stakes as this,” Draven thundered. His face would have been purple with rage, if the hologram allowed any colour other than blue to come through. “Your objective was to check the authenticity of this Erso’s claims and until such a thing was known, you were to treat it as if they were true. We cannot fuck around with a planet killer!” Cassian opened his mouth to counter, but it would have been useless. Draven had every right to be livid considering everything he said was true.

Draven carried on his tirade, K-2 clearly trying to not look like he was 3 seconds away from saying ‘I told you so’ as he hovered in the background. “As it is, we have no idea whether your little jaunt down to the third class compromised you or not, so I’m pulling you from the mission.”

“Wait, Sir–”

“–DO NOT ARGUE,” Draven yelled. “I am pulling you from this mission effective immediately! As soon as this call is over, you will execute the extraction plan and return at once to Home One. I’ll decide what the hell to do with you once you’re here. K-2SO will remain on Titanic and carry out the mission’s objective.”

“Sir,” Cassian’s hands shook, but he clenched them into fists to disguise it. “The objective still includes the extraction of the mark. She has to be extracted, Krennic will kill her if it’s found out she’s no longer loyal–”

“It is no longer your concern, Captain Andor,” Draven snapped. “Leave it to K-2SO, I’m sure you trust him to carry out the mission. I have nothing more to say to you, transmission over.”

And the hologram cut out.

“Well,” K-2 said into the ringing silence. “all things considered, I think that went well.”

“I can’t leave,” Cassian said at once.

“You will be sanctioned or worse if you don’t.”

“I don’t care,” Cassian rose to his feet, checking that the blaster that never left his side was still hidden away inside his jacket. “Look, I have to go find Jyn, I need to–”

“You need to get down to holding!”

“KAY,” Cassian whirled back as the droid clamped a hand down onto his shoulder. K-2 visibly flinched away as Cassian deflected, the resulting clang of Cassian’s fist hitting the droid’s metal challis ringing throughout the suite. He hadn’t meant to be so forceful, though it at least seemed to have done the job. K-2 was clearly shocked, backing away from him. 

For a moment they stayed silent. 

“Look – I’m sorry,” Cassian said, softer now. “but who do you trust more: me, or Draven?”

“That is an unfair question. Of course I trust you more. But–”

“–then you have to let me do this,” Cassian insisted. “I only need a couple more days. We’ll get evidence that the plans exist and you don’t ever have to tell Draven that I’m still here. We’ll say I ran into technical issues on the journey back to base and that I’m still on route. By the time we’ve stolen the plans and actually arrive back, it will be too late to do anything to me and we’ll have much bigger problems to handle.”

“I do not like this plan, Cassian.”

“I figured, but please,” he said, stepping forward.

K-2 gave a mechanical sigh. “I trust you, and I will do it... but for the record, I am not happy about it. I will never understand organics and their need for sexual fulfilment.”

Beep, beep, beep. Please update your system!

For fuck’s sake, Officer Rohn Macehold was going to die of kriffing boredom on this ship.

“Anything good?” he asked as his co-pilot finally ended his conversation with the navigator, absently dismissing the notification from his control panel. “PLEASE, tell me that there’s something good? A nebula to swerve around? Meteor dust to avoid?”

“Nothing, mate,” Officer Yull’in Maan sighed, collapsing back next to him in his chair. “Captain won’t even let us go off auto until the next hyper-link!”

“That’s in six hours.”

“It was nice working with ya,” Yull’in sighed.

Beep, beep, beep. Please update your system!

“I didn’t go to friggin’ flight school,” Rohn huffed. “To sit on my arse all day playing Dejarik with the engineers.”

“Oh, who’s winning?”

“Bloody Dan, I’m pretty sure he’s cheating though.”

“Look, this is what we got for taking on a commercial job,” Yull’in snorted. “Just be thankful we’re not getting shot out of hyperspace, ok?”

“Would be more interesting than this.”

Beep, beep, beep. Please update your system!

“Ok, how the ever-loving fuck do you turn off notifications,” Rohn finally lost it, furiously swiping at the control screen. “because this is driving me NUTS–”

“Don’t waste your time man, every time I try the system won’t let me disable it,” Yull’in practically laughed. “We’re living in hell.”

“Honestly, who the fuck ever updates their system anyway? We haven’t crashed yet, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Starting to wish you’d taken that fighter pilot opportunity now, huh?” 

But Rohn ultimately shook his head, staring at their control screen without really seeing it. Quite honestly, he’d take the cheating engineers over being forced to shoot at rebels who were really only trying to make the galaxy a better place. He wasn’t strong enough for that. There were plenty others who were far more qualified than him to take on that role.

At least here he couldn’t do any damage.

Beep, beep, beep. Please update your system!

The promenade was probably only one of the few places on the ship where you were likely to encounter someone from literally any walk of life. One of the very few all-access areas, the promenade featured a long street right through the centre of B deck, the domed ceiling giving off the illusion of sunlight beaming down as popular shops, restaurants and entertainment lined the road. Of course, it opened out eventually onto the observation deck, which was mostly used as a wide open area to hang out or a place to host events when the shields were closed.

That’s where he eventually found Jyn, dutifully following Krennic as they casually perused the promenade’s shops. Maybe a little paranoid, Cassian followed at a distance, unwilling to let Krennic see him. If Kes or Shara or any of his other fellow Festian’s saw him up here dressed like this, and Krennic saw…

Finally, he saw his opportunity when Krennic and several of his party stopped to talk to someone who was clearly rather important in the ship’s running. Jyn hung on the edges of the group and he stole forward silently to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. She started, but thankfully didn’t ask questions or hesitate at all, simply let him pull her several feet away into the nearest building. 

Surrounded by what seemed to be lots of elaborate exercise equipment and a receptionist who clearly doubted that they were there to work out, Jyn glanced around at him anxiously. 

“What is it?” she asked. “Why are you–?”

“Jyn, listen–” He tried to keep his voice low, urgent and yet controlled. “I got myself pulled off his assignment for breaking cover. I’m talking major trouble, my supervisor is probably going to murder me when I finally make it back to the rebellion.”

“But that’s insane – Krennic still has no idea who you are–”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in. “I shouldn’t have gone to that party with you, I shouldn’t have told anyone who I was, I knew it was a bad idea, but you–”

“I didn’t make you,” Jyn said.

“I’m not–” He grit his teeth. He didn’t have time for this. “Look. I’m supposed to be on a stolen shuttle literally as we speak, but I can’t leave this mission–” without you. “–with – without knowing that the objective is completed. You need to get confirmation of the plans’ existence.”

“You said you believed me.”

“I do – hell, you’re not making this easy–”

“We had a plan,” Jyn said, a hint of anger now on the edges of her tone. “I told you it’s not safe to access the plans until we’re ready to take them. We’re going to have to force the safe to get it open, and there’s no getting them back in afterwards. Krennic will know–”

“If you want the Alliance Council to believe you then you will figure out a way.”

“What the hell?” she scowled. “I thought you actually cared about more than just the mission, that I wasn’t just another mark – lord, I’m fucking stupid. This isn’t you talking, this is your boss–”

“You don’t know who the hell I am,” Cassian hissed at her. He hastily glanced through the window, though thankfully Krennic’s party still hadn’t seemed to notice that she was missing. How the hell dare she say he didn’t care? He cared way too fucking much, and that was the entire goddamn problem. “Fine. Look, I can’t see you again then. It’s too dangerous, word will eventually get around that an Alliance spy is also on board the Titanic and Krennic is smart. He will eventually catch on and figure out it has to be me.”

He couldn’t let her convince him otherwise. He turned to leave, except of course she said, “Wait!” and grabbed his wrist. 

“I’m serious, let go,” he said without looking.

After a beat or two she did. He walked away, hating himself more with every step.

Jyn Erso was hanging by a thread.

She had been ever since her father had been shot down right in front of her. She wasn’t sure what was going to be the vibroblade that eventually severed that last inch, but she was certain more than ever that she was getting closer to it. Little by little, something would dig in until finally it wouldn’t take much more to make it snap. She’d thought that perhaps losing the only person who had ever bothered to help her would do it, but then she had chided herself for being so damn dramatic.

No matter how many times she closed her eyes, she couldn’t get the image of her father’s dead face out of her head. He had stood right next to her, on the cusp of Galactic domination as the construction of the Death Star was compared one last time to his original designs. Everything had matched perfectly. Nothing at fault was to be found and they were nearly, nearly there, when Krennic had turned around and said,

“Thank you for your services, Galen. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” 

Before putting a blaster wound through his chest.

Jyn visibly flinched, turning over in bed to try and hide the memory. Her father, who had been nothing but loving and kind, who had been forced to create a monster, was just murdered at the end of it all. She hadn’t cried, or at least she didn’t think she had – the memory thankfully blurred at that point – but every other part of her had been screaming. Krennic had then handed off the blaster to another officer with distaste before looking at her warmly and saying,

“Come on then, Jyn, dear. We have a lot of work to do.”

In other words, say anything and you end up on the floor like him.

She should have just let Krennic kill her. But somehow, maybe idiotically, Jyn had thought that she could still carry on her father’s legacy, succeed where he died and somehow get the damn plans out herself. It had taken five days to steal all the equipment that she had needed in order to send the hologram out undetected, encrypting it at least five times for good measure. At least her father hadn’t taught her nothing. She would make him proud.

She had to.

She let out a frustrated noise, opening her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping. Cassian had walked away from her and it was her own damn fault. The last two days he had avoided her completely. The only reason she knew he was still on board was because she could tell he had gone back to tailing her, always on the edge of her vision, but never approaching. She didn’t know what he was waiting around for. He had to get back or risk getting into more trouble and clearly he was doubting the plans even existed anymore...

She stole out of bed quietly, slipping easily into the shadows behind the one lone guard that Krennic always had posted, even in the dead of the night. She had to get out somewhere, and if she couldn’t leave the bloody ship, then she wanted to be the one place that had actually felt welcoming.

The entire E deck that was mostly made up of third class passengers was basically empty this time of night, but Jyn knew that she would be around somewhere. Shara Bey had told her that she often got up especially at certain times to watch the sights whenever they changed hyper-lanes. If she remembered the schedule correctly, the next was due soon and if Jyn hurried she might catch Shara before she headed on up to the observation deck.

She found her coming up the stairs just as Jyn was heading down.

“Going to see the Villina?” Shara called cheerfully when she noticed her. “Good idea, although you’re going the wrong way.”

“I was hoping to catch you, actually.”

“Aw, I’m touched,” Shara grinned as she linked their elbows together. 

They started the climb back up the stairs through the labyrinth of corridors. For a while they were both quiet, but it seemed that Shara understood the need to let Jyn talk when she was ready, although how she didn’t know. 

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Shara eventually asked. 

“No.”

“Wanna talk about it?” she gently prompted. 

She still wasn’t quite sure. Jyn had been so used to always having at least her father around to vent to. He was her one sole person to depend on, to be able to talk about anything with, only now he was gone and she had no one. That was the thing, people always left. Not that she’d had many people to get close to throughout her life, but if there was someone, they were eventually taken away. Her mama was gone. The kids of other high-ranking generals that she played with whenever they visted Eadu would always leave again. And eventually her papa too. The smart thing to do was to stay silent and not risk blowing Cassian’s cover any more than it already was…

But she didn’t want to be smart right now.

“I can’t… there’s a lot I can’t say,” she admitted, slowly. “but I want… Cassian and I had a fight.”

Shara made a small sound of sympathy. “Happens to the best of us.”

“It’s serious. We’re in a tight spot and our lives are in a lot of danger if we don’t tread carefully… sorry I’m being so vague–”

“It’s fine,” Shara said at once.

Jyn nodded in thanks. “Thing is, I encouraged him to do something that was reckless and stupid and now he’s mad about it, pulling away,” She had been so angry at him at that time, his remarks stinging. His words had felt like accusations and she had bitten back, but after stewing in her own guilt, she realised that she probably did deserve part of the blame. He had warned her it was a bad idea to go down to third class, to fuck all covers and be whoever the damn hell he wanted and she’d encouraged him anyway. Maybe it was what he had wanted to do, maybe it was what was good for him, but this wasn’t an ideal world. This was a war, they didn't have the luxury of doing what they wanted, when they wanted, and she had just pushed away the only person in the galaxy who was willing to help her escape Krennic. 

“I want to apologise,” she said. “but for our safety, we need to stay away from each other.”

Shara squeezed her elbow. “Shit, girl. I’m sorry I can’t really help you out. I’d say just apologise, but if that’s going to risk your safety…”

“It’s probably better this way,” Jyn added, agreeing. The longer he stayed away, the less suspicious Krennic would become and the more likely she’d have a chance to do… something. Literally anything other than dutifully go to Scarif. But goddamn it, she didn’t want to. She wanted to talk to him, dance with him, feel his hands on her back again and his breath in her hair. 

There was a reason she kept seeking him out. Turns out she wanted a lot of things that she didn’t know she could ever want. 

“I guess I could just use a friend,” Jyn admitted. “I haven’t really had many of those before.”

“Say no more,” Shara said at once. “Come on, we’ve got a nebula to witness!”

They continued to climb all the way to the observation deck at the bow, catching it just as the shields were opening. For a moment, Jyn was transfixed by the gradual reveal of stars, until her gaze drifted down… and she realised that Shara and her weren’t the only ones up at this time after all. Someone stood right at the front of the bow, leaning against the rails and Jyn stopped dead in her tracks when she realised.

Shara seemed to get it straight away.

“There’s no one around,” she said, quietly.

“But I can’t–” Jyn said. “He doesn’t want me to–”

“Jyn, just go and say what you need to say. I’ll keep an eye out.”

She apparently owed Shara a lot. She turned to her friend and gripped her elbow tightly. 

“Thank you.”

The observation deck was basically empty at this hour. Not many people were willing to stay up, despite the view being the infamous Villina Nebula. The hazy purple cloud spread across the sea of space in front of him, Cassian able to at least get the best view right at the front leaning on the railing. With the glass viewport and nothing in front of him, he could almost imagine that he was actually out there among the stars, feel them skim by his face, run his hands through the nebula cloud. There was no war out here, no Empire, no rebellion, just him and the endless space…

“Hey.”

He gave a start, spine tensing immediately. He didn’t turn, but allowed himself to dare hope even as he closed his eyes at the same time.

“You’re so stupid, Jyn.”

“So are you,” she said. “I guess we’re both being stupid together now.”

“I said we needed to stay away from each other.”

“Yeah, well, I caved. Are you even surprised?”

He turned finally, finding her standing still a few feet away, fingers pulling at the edges of her jacket.  She held back, even as she came to him. If she felt anything like him, then she would be dying to move, to touch, to hold, but still couldn’t quite cross that line until absolutely certain that the other was ok with it. He supposed that’s why he was such a gonner.

“Honestly, I was about two minutes from caving myself.”

“Well, shit. Now I’m just the sad one who caved first.”

He broke into a small laugh. “I’m sorry,” he needed to say. “I was anxious and I snapped at you. All of the decisions I’ve made since boarding this ship I wanted to do, none of this is your fault.”

“No, I’m sorry as well,” Jyn was quick to say. “I knew it was a bad idea, you told me it was, but I encouraged you anyway.”

“Stop that, it’s ok–”

“Only if you stop it!”

He couldn’t help but smile again. He noticed someone a long way off across the deck, someone he suspected was Shara Bey hovering right at the edge as if keeping an eye out. They exchanged looks of acknowledgement but nothing more. He glanced back at Jyn. 

“I don’t really have a plan anymore,” he admitted. “I’m supposed to go back to base immediately, but I can’t leave without you.” 

A flash of emotion hit her face, but it was gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure what he’d seen there. 

“We’ll figure something out,” she said in reply. 

There were so many other things he knew they should be doing. They should re-plan, back off, go figure out what the hell they were going to do, but he ignored it all in favour of offering out a hand to her.

“Come here?”

She carefully moved forward, until her hand was clutched in his. Whispering for her to close her eyes, she did so after only a moment of trepidation and he carefully pulled her in front of him so that she could see the view from the very tip of the bow. He lifted her arms into the air, leaving them drifting through the stars and said,

“Open your eyes.”

Her sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but being right behind her meant he heard everything. She stared at the colourful nebula before them, his hands skimming her sides as they drifted down her arms, down to her hips. It was so quiet on the observation deck that they could be the only two people in the entire universe, and Cassian was quite fine with that idea.

“It’s like I’m floating,” Jyn said. “Part of the stars.”

“We finally got the best view.” 

"It's beautiful." 

He pressed his nose into her hair, hands moving again now, up her waist and down her arms until he could tangle and untangle his fingers with hers as they stretched out. He could feel her pulse thudding in her neck. He didn’t know what was happening, or what she wanted to happen, but he felt her grip his fingers and bring them down, wrapping his arms around her, and he got an idea. She glanced up at him over her shoulder and his entire universe narrowed down.

“I want…” she whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” and he leaned forward the meagre space between them to kiss her underneath the billions of stars and nebulae. She pressed in deep, his arms winding tighter around her waist. It seemed that there could be no in between for them. No easing into it, no taking it slow, it was all or nothing and he gave as good as he got, his entire body feeling like it had gone up in flames. It was all faintly terrifying. He half expected to hear K-2’s disapproving voice in his ear any second and all of his training seemed to have left him completely. He had no idea what was happening in his surroundings, no idea what the dangers were. All he knew was her in front of him as she reached up a hand, fingers raking through his hair so that she could tether him to her mouth (not that he ever wanted to leave it).

This is a bad idea. It should have been ringing through his head like an emergency siren, but he couldn’t seem to stop even when he tried. He pulled back a moment, only she used it as an opportunity to turn around in his arms, back to the stars and chest pressed to his. Her kiss was bruising. He felt his fingers grip handfuls of her jacket at her sides, like if he let go she might drift off into the void of space. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose this anymore. He cared way too fucking much. 

But he was beyond the point of pretending that he didn't. 

“Cassian,” she muttered against his lips. In between kisses, she said, “Cassian, let’s go.”

“I… yeah,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her hairline. “Let’s go.”

[italicwatches]

GAMERS! Episode 11

Okay, up and down, up and down. Let’s get to it. It’s GAMERS!, episode 11! Here we GO!

-It all begins at the end of the last episode. With Aguri bantering with Keita, and everyone just staring and seeing what’s grown between these two…

-Over to Tasuku, walking so very slowly as he tries to figure it out aaaaaand that’s Karen in a much worse funk than him. Just ignore it. Just get pa—

-…Karen’s got it bad, guys.

-And that’s how they end up walking together, and Tasuku can’t help but feel like he’s being watched by everyone. And they’re…Yeah they’re in a funk. On the one hand, Keita’s loosened up and Aguri’s gotten more mature and focused, from their interactions with each other. On the other hand…Well how would you feel if your significant other was getting all their growth and change from another X?

-And if you look at it with both of them maturing, becoming more wholly rounded and aware people…Well, that sounds like a perfect couple, doesn’t it. …My sympathies, both of you.

-Opening! We’ve got one last game, and it’s the Continue screen from Street Fighter II! The Street Fighter series basically defined the entire fighting game genre, and in one stroke completely built the standards of the genre. Major game mechanics, from many of the special move inputs that we know today, to the entire combo mechanic, to the six-button layout that was standard for a lot of games for a long time, all got born here. It revolutionized gaming, it revitalized arcades and gave those in the West another couple years of relevance, and it built an entire genre. That this happened on a game where half of its innovations were mistakes or outright glitches(the entire combo system was because of an overlooked glitch that let you cancel the recovery between moves and do a move faster than the opponent could recover!) just shows how much history is defined by the whims of fate.

-DAY 11: Gamers and Youth Continue

-So back where we left off. Karen’s insisting that she doesn’t genuinely believe Keita is two-timing her. And yeah, okay, they both know Keita and Aguri. Those two are good eggs, they’d never intentionally betray the people they love. The problem isn’t intentional cheating…The problem is that self-doubt fueled question, about whether or not sticking with them is the right thing, instead of letting them both go to find each other…

-But, no! They can still turn this around! Tasuku has a plan and Karen wants to know everything. …Wait isn’t this your place? Aren’t they in front of your house now? House later, plan now! So, just for the record, Karen is legitimately a little bit scary when it comes to matter of Keita. Like, she’s not full on Nice Boat, but she’s got a little bit of yandere in her. Be careful, Keita.

-So, the plan? How do you completely lock down your relationship status when you yourself doubt it? You create an indisputable, raw, locked down fact. Which is to say, you hit a milestone of action. Which means bumping their relationships up a level. Which…Woo boy, Karen’s lost in her own fantasies. And that’s when Tasuku realizes that this is all screwing his attempts to try and find Chiaki a happy ending of her own…

-And, oh, the whole thing got seen by Konoha. …So before we go forward, Konoha was watching from across the street. Given the way all of that was animated, I’ll bet you a Bison buck that she thinks Tasuku just confessed to Karen.

-To Keita’s place, where Karen’s just called him and suggested a double date! Him, her, and then Tasuku and Aguri…Isn’t that a little…cheesy? It is not now obey. But he’d be so embarrassed! …Well so will she, but…

-…Keita.

-Keita Keita Keita.

-I’m just gonna quote the subs here. “A double date could be higher-level than even marriage or child-birth!”

-What do you…How does that…

-At least Karen talks some sense into him. And his final answer? As a man, he wants to obey Karen in all things, but his pride…But, Karen…HE’LL DO IT! DOUBLE DATES ALL THE WAY! So if these two manage to stick together through the end of the show and their time in high school, they’re gonna find out they’re into some weird bedroom shit when that time comes. We all realize that, right? Like, I’m not reading too much into it?

-So, okay, plans made, Karen has a whole detailed plan put together already, and Keita is deeply uncertain…

-Cut to the trip, at the amusement park! Spiel Kingdom, the fantasiest place on Earth! And they’re both going nuts because it’s based on an RPG franchise, as Aguri just stares, and Tasuku is a bit embarrassed for his dorky, dorky friends. They’re normal, right? These two aren’t acting like normal people?

-Of course, it’s not long before things calm down…And Karen and Tasuku end up mulling around together a lot to scheme and plan, leaving a doubtful Aguri and Keita in their wake…

-Speaking of, let’s flashback. This morning, Aguri and Keita went to the cafe again, where Aguri had gotten nowhere near enough sleep panicking over what this double-date could mean. Contrast Keita’s bouncy, bubbly hysteria over the entire waveform collapsing. in front of his eyes.

-So back to where we left off, where Keita and Aguri are both increasingly convinced that Tasuku and Karen have a secret relationship going, because why else would those two be spending so much time around each other?

-By the time they’re all in line for a ride, Karen gives the signal that it’s time to go for a push, and they both go to reach for their dates’ hands…

-When Konoha and Chiaki find them! Well, mostly Konoha. Chiaki is very confused.

-Commercial break!

-And we’re back! Last night, Konoha forced Chiaki to go to the amusement park with her, having acquired two free tickets that needed to be used together…And she just barreled all over Chiaki’s fears and doubts because she’d just lose this stupid idiot if she kept worrying about game development instead of love development…She even pretended she’d invite Keita herself, if Chiaki didn’t want to go, and THAT did it. Great committed don’t forget to dress up goodnight!

-Oh, I guess I owe you a Bison buck. (OF COURSE!) Because Konoha actually heard Karen’s shouting and got enough of the gist to know it was time to fight to ensure a Hoshinomori stayed in this race…!

-So into the present again, where Konoha acts all innocent in wanting to know why her dear big sister didn’t get invited to a meet up event! Oh, that hurts Karen right in the feels. But the open reveal of this being a date hits Konoha, as it’s a back-and-forth of verbal sparring, until Keita finally ends up awkwardly inviting the sisters to join in just to make the battle stop…Which leads to a reaction that stings him the worst of all.

-But this feeds us into a montage of the whole group! Rollercoasters, wandering, log flumes, tons of awkward doubt in Aguri and Karen…All while Konoha’s twisted schemes are working. But perhaps too well, I’m noticing in this montage she’s a lot more forward than Chiaki…

-Eventually, they’re off there spinning teacups, where Chiaki is nauseous enough for Keita to get concerned…But then it’s right to the main attraction, the Kizuna Dungeon! And Karen’s starting to get really really discouraged…But she’s still got a shot at this.

-Unlike the rest of the park, the dungeon is actually pretty well done, complete with air-burst “traps”(one of which manages to scare Aguri enough to cling to Tasuku), and buzzing(god I hope it’s just buzzing) shock traps like the one that Keita trips when he touches a sword! Seriously I hope that wasn’t actual electricity you could’ve killed him. Oh and the springy monster popouts that scare even Karen and get Keita to be all concerned. Konoha’s plan isn’t working…

-And then they hit a spot where people go in two at a time, locked to their partner…They can use this! Tasuku and Aguri somewhat awkwardly go together, and then it’s time for Karen to…

-Karen to…

-To…

-Where is everyone?

-It appears that Konoha has convinced Keita to take the still nauseous Chiaki out through the surrender door. Much to Keita’s frustration since he got shoved through it, but he is genuinely worried about Chiaki…

-Who then collapses against Keita like a sack of…Well she’s too scrawny and malnourished to be a sack of bricks or potatoes…A sack of old anime merch? Sure why the hell not.

-Either way she doesn’t wake up for a while, and finds herself on a bench, her head in Konoha’s lap, and Keita still there all worried. He even carried her the whole way here! So all of this has Chiaki freaking out, as Konoha sees her time to slip off and stick them together. And this, gets, awkward fast…

-Which is when Keita gets a phonecall from Karen, ruining the whole moment…Only for Chiaki to realize she’s clinging to Keita’s shirt. And Keita, being a good guy but also a complete idiot, thus ends up staying with her instead of going off to answer the call. But this gives Keita and Chiaki a chance to talk, and him to actually ask what brought her here today, and it comes out that it was scouting for a date, and wait she has a date? Sh-shut up!

-But…Is she gonna do it? You gonna, Chiaki? Well she kinda gets there when she asks about his thoughts on Mono-san and Nobe-san. And of course they’re important to him. …More important than Karen? Oh god that just slipped out. Of course, for Keita, he doesn’t rank things like that. His girlfriend, his friends, even someone like Chiaki who he has lots of disagreements with…They are all so very, very important to him. And it all came from just Karen saying hi to him one day…

-Aaaand Konoha is watching this whole thing.

-Eventually it’s time to go back…Though Chiaki thinks she’s going to call it a night. She wants him to go enjoy the night with Karen…

-…Nope. Come on. They’re all enjoying this together! And that’s when he finally gets back to the others, explaining what happened, and everyone’s glad to see Chiaki still on her feet, and they’ve gotta all hurry if they want to catch the big night parade! Because every amusement park is Disneyland.

-The credits music starts, as the electric night parade starts…And Tasuku finally takes up Aguri’s hand, and takes her up front with him…And then Keita offers Karen his hand, in turn. Oh, Karen, just admit you got it bad for him. Which leaves Konoha to apologize to Chiaki, and did she get rejected by him? No? Good! And she insists that she will, and I quote, “someday make that man a slave to my overwhelming charm.” You’re not an overwhelming charm type and you know it.

-But the whole group ends up in the front, as Aguri clings to her beloved Tasuku, their relationship at least stable again…And Keita I think just twisted his ankle in that open grate.

-Fin~

Well, that…Wasn’t quite the actual end. Oh no, we’ve got one more episode. But in terms of actual core story, I think that was our big climax. And for the most part, it all worked out! Chiaki and possibly Konoha have some stuff to figure out regarding Keita, Karen’s got to loosen up with her emotional state, and Keita will hopefully finally realize what’s been going on around him…But this is the most stable things have been since, oh, the end of episode 2. So I’ll take it. We’ll have one last match with these plucky kids next time, in episode TWELVE of GAMERS! Wait for it!

[splashmommy]

Ronda Helped Me

Guys, I just ran two miles in the freezing fucking cold. Full disclosure, I speed walked them. Also it was only one mile, I just checked my pedometer because I have major OCD and can’t stand being inaccurate. So here’s the accurate story, I spent the last three solid hours of this afternoon laying on my couch eating pretzels, chugging coffee, and slowly crawling to the end of Christine (a Stephen King book which I’m ashamed to admit has taken me almost two months to finish. Sorry, there was just a lot of football and mechanics to push through in the beginning before the love triangle kicked in). Believe you me, I did not want to get off that couch. I could have continued sitting there in my five year old christmas jammy pants for, at the very least, another eight hours, and I would have, had it not been for Ronda Rousey.

Y’all. I watched wrestling again last night for the first time in a long time. Let me set the scene for you. I had just gotten home from a long day of work and I wanted nothing more than to microwave a Kashi meal and dive deep into The Tank (this is what I call Shark Tank) to see what disparaging things Mr. Wonderful had to say about Barbara or the retail industry as a whole while I dug deeply into some Chimichurri Quinoa. I had yet to change and unwind fully from my work day when my life partner, Craig, dropped the bomb. He told me that the WWE Royal Rumble pay per view that had been blaring from the living room was about to close out with a Women’s Main Event Royal Rumble. Wait, hold the fuck on, you mean the ladies are closing the show? HEADLINING AN EVENT?!

Then he told me that there were rumors that Ronda Rousey might surprise debut during the match.

Fuck. And yes.

So I sat my ass down, right there, on our grey cat scratched couch and proceeded to fall deep, deep into the world of, what we now call the WWE Women’s Division. Now full disclosure again on me here, I’m not what you would call a “lifelong wrestling fan”. I have dipped my toe in and out of the ring over the last decade since falling in love with a massive self-proclaimed monday night rasslin’ nut (Craig’s still got it!). I’ve been to Monday Night Raw two or three times. I attended Wrestlemania in Atlanta in 2011 (although honestly I slept through some of it because, again full disclosure, it was kind of a weird time for me). My husband and I once yelled “BAZINGA!” while waving a hot yellow hand made sign that said “BAZINGA!” at Daniel Bryan while we jumped up and down over a fence in the backlot of a Raleigh arena. He was getting inside his truck to leave, he did a little chuckle and an eye roll when he saw us before pulling out of the parking lot. It was pretty neat. We have since referred to this moment as “The time we bazinga’d Daniel Bryan.” We are still very proud. 

Now that I think of it, there was also this brief period in the late nineties where I got really into The Wolf Pack. I had a crush on a new kid in my sixth grade class at church named Jonathan who talked a lot about the NWO. I tentatively watched a couple of matches with my big bro, initially just so I could understand my crush a little better and have something in common to talk about if I ever got the courage to speak to him. I kept watching it after I was over him though, because there was something silly and really cathartic that I liked about watching magnetic people beating the fake crap out of eachother. I also liked recreating the moves on my older brother.

At this point I feel like I need to mention that the WWF Superstars performance of “If You Only Knew” from the 1987 Slammy Awards is my favorite thing on the internet. I literally dare everyone to try to watch it without getting up off the couch to side step shuffle.

So you could say I’m a casual, medium-rare-to-medium wrestling fan. My interest has waned in the past due to personal issues I have with bad storylines, uninteresting characters, negative stereotypes, and just the over-all regressive awfulness that’s been associated with the empire Vince McMahon built. However as I’m not an expert in the field, I’m going to kick my soapbox to the side and let you guys form your own opinions of the franchise/network that is Wrestling Entertainment. I’m just here to say that once that Royal Rumble match started, my ass was glued to that couch for fifty-seven solid minutes. Guys, I had to pee. I wanted that hot Kashi when I sat down but once the match set in and that buzzer started sounding I was hooked like an addict. 

It was more than just the lure of landing a possible crossover Superstar like Ronda Rousey, although yes that was a major pull. The thing that had me transfixed was the women duking it out on screen. They looked real. There was diversity in their style, shapes, sizes, personalities, presence, moves, motivation, and attitudes. They were kicking eachothers asses, but that wasn’t the thing that was surprising me. What really got me giddy was hearing the announcers commenting on their individual training, hobbies, stats, and accomplishments as wrestlers and people. It felt like I was watching the cast of GLOW acting out a live in ring performance, as if the Royal Rumble had somehow morphed into a real life extension of my favorite Netflix show. Y’all before I get on my feminist soapbox here, which yes admittedly I’m already standing on, can I just say one word that might make everyone understand where I’m coming from? Here goes,

Divas.

Jesus, without going into the full history let me just say that the WWE’s decision to evolve what was referred to as the Divas Division into the WWE Women’s Championship, thus rebranding “Divas” as “Women Superstars/ Superstars” is phenomenal. I mean, is the term “Superstar” phenomenal? No not really, it’s super corny. But that’s what they call the guys, so at least it’s equal. That’s what I dig. Equality. Equal playing ground for badass, ripped AF, war-painted, teeth baring, rage-fueled, gladiatrices who don’t give a fuck about spray tans. That’s what I mostly saw, and loved on my TV screen two nights ago.

I thought I had had my fill. My just desserts. I was nibbling on a secret stash of maple fudge couch-side at this point to celebrate. I thought it was all over. I got up, went into the kitchen, searched the freezer, only to figure out that I was totally out of Kashi Chimichurri Quinoa (BUMMER), and was about to ransack the cupboards when I heard Craig yell, “ABB GET IN HERE SOMETHING’S HAPPENING!”

So I ran. As I was crossing over from kitchen to living room I heard it. “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation…” I was air guitaring now. “Never been afraid of any deviation” full on running in place. “A girl can do what she wants to do and that’s what I’m gonna do,” at this point I did my famous mid-air spin kick and which shook our living room furniture so hard that Craig yelled at me and told me I needed to calm down. “An’ I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation!”

No. No. No. No. FUCK ME!

Dude. Y’all. Guys. I LOVE RONDA ROUSEY. I’M IN LOVE WITH RONDA ROUSEY AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.

Seriously though folks, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion after running/dancing/karate-chopping my couch and cats in excitement over this empowering series of events. First off, we have this whimsical beast named Asuka win the whole thing, we all think it’s over, then wham-bam-thank-you-MISTRESS we get a surprise pop-in from the Queen Boss herself, former everything weight champion, Ronda Rousey. I ran in place for the entire segment. I shook the furniture. I ignored Craig’s pleading. Naturally I spent the following morning reading the entire Rousey wikipedia and her full Reddit AMA. Naturally I am obsessed, inspired, and stoked that my interest in a fandom that I’ve been hot and cold is officially rekindled. Oh it’s more than just rekindled- it’s ON FIRE!

I was on the WWE website looking up tour dates first thing this morning. I ordered an officially licensed “Hot Ronda” ladies tee shirt off the WWE website.You can check my search history. Wait. No, don’t check my search history (at least give me like five seconds before you check it). I considered watching The Expendable 3 and Furious 7. Seven. Just to catch a glimpse of my muscle-bound muse. I already mentioned my soap box earlier, so I’m not gonna spend any more time than I need to up here. I do need to say though, that after reading up on Ronda Rousey’s life it’s safe to say that she’s tough as nails and authentic as fuck. She’s lived through shit, pushed past difficulty, and carved a place for herself in the universe with her own two, very powerful hands. She’s also beautiful and I want to smell her hair. In a respectful way.

Thinking about Ronda Rousey, reading about Ronda Rousey, and getting jazzed on life in general as a result is what got my ass up off the couch today. Sometimes I think about the main girl from the third Child’s Play movie doing push ups during that military camp scene when I need yoga motivation, today it was pure Women’s Division. Pure Rousey. I’m glad I got out there and hit the pavement today. I’m glad Ronda’s back and I’m beyond ecstatic to see where this new era of women’s professional wrestling entertainment will lead. Wait, we haven’t even talked about the fact that there’s an actual steampunk women’s wrestler currently on the roster. Her name is Becky Lynch, she travels through time, I just checked. While checking, I noted that the term “diva” was still in use on the official WWE website. Guys, I realize that not everything can or will change all at once. I’m just grateful that we’re moving full speed ahead and with Ronda Rousey on our side.