#anyways first jam cookie is actually quite tall

[allimili]

Impress the Red Witch !?

Effective!.... BUT ITS NOT ENOUGH !!!!

[ramp-it-up]

Fresh Squeeze, Ch. 5

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x OFC Linden Marshall

Set in 2023, post-pandemic

Warnings: Cursing, Angsty Angst, drug and alcohol use, surprise flights, Anthony Ramos. Lots of Plot.

Word Count: 3.5 K

Plot: Linden Marshall just finished law school at Columbia University in NYC. Daveed Diggs is still creating magic with his platonic life partner Rafael Casal in the form of their Blindspotting musical, Bay Boys. Linden’s boyfriend WAS Mark Monaco, star of the superhero movie series Invincible.  They were together for years, and her trauma and his addictions were toxic. She knows now that wasn’t love. 

A/N: Keep in mind that this the same AU as Arrivals, with Holly Woods, but is BEFORE Rafa and Holly get together. And don’t come for me about Anthony.

Read the Previous Chapter.

===================

NYC, May 2023

Jasmine was blowing up your phone as you were trying to get dressed.  You had to search for it under the pile of clothes on your bed.

You had procrastinated getting ready, trying to finish one of your applications for a summer internship at this law firm in Harlem that you were excited about.  

You wanted to finally relax after finishing Columbia law in the top 10% of your class. You just wanted to relax and enjoy this weekend.

Craig, your mom and your uncle were the only ones to attend your graduation.  They knew you didn’t want any fanfare, so your famous friends didn’t attend, and they had a show to do, but they’d sent you tons of well wishes.

We're coming up, get decent!

You chuckled and shook your head. Anthony usually raided the refrigerator when he came over. This time, you told him to bring his own snacks..

You slipped on what you were wearing for the night.  Craig was in his room getting ready and you had volunteered his place, so you were playing hostess. You were surprised that he was so chill about it, actually. 

“Pika Pika,” you said to yourself in the mirror then ran to answer the doorbell. It was almost 6 pm.

You opened the door for Cookie Monster and Big Bird.  You burst out laughing. But you stopped when you saw Anthony's face. He had like five bags from Whole Foods that he was juggling in his blue arms.

"Jazzy!!!! There's my girl.  Hey Ant! leave the food and your girl. We may run off together."

Anthony came in the door loaded down with bags and kissed you on the cheek.  

“I love you Lindy, but fuck you man.” You punched him on the shoulder. 

“Ow! Time to get this party started!”

Linden heard Jazzy’s Brooklyn accent turn into a London lilt as she started play fighting with Ant. They felt like family at this point.

=================

Ever since the launch party in January, Jasmine had pursued you as a friend persistently. You normally didn’t let anyone in because of the circumstances of your life, but Jas was oblivious to your awkwardness with normal human beings.

“Girl, you are fucking DOPE, and you are NOT gonna deny my love.  I know your life has been a trip, and you don’t have to tell me all of it, but I’m not gonna let you shrivel up and be a little retiring wallflower. Life is to be lived.” 

Jasmine telling you that during a Saturday brunch date in February was the key to your heart. She drew you out, and you didn’t see what value you added to her life.

But she loved you anyway. And you loved her, and of course, Anthony was part of the package.  

He was beautiful, loud, talented, and reckless, but he reminded you too fucking much of Dell to be annoyed with him very long.

Your circle had certainly widened from just Craig. That was one thing for which you could thank Mark. You were working on him being a distant memory.  He hadn’t lasted too long in Bay Boys, quitting soon after the musical opened in March.  

Daveed’s hands and feet had ‘slipped’ one too many times during the scene when he was stomping his ass on stage. Mark cited health reasons, and publicly spiraled a bit. He was currently in rehab. 

Again. 

You had not heard from him and that was absolutely fine with you.

Because Jasmine was in Bay Boys and that was her life, the cast and crew became yours as well. Rafael was the type of chaotic creative genius that fascinated you; you could listen to him talk for hours.  

Things with Daveed were more tricky. Ever since that awkwardness with him after the launch party, you’d kept your distance, but you hung out a lot, so you were trying to be friends.

When you and Jas and Ant and Rafa hung out and talked, Daveed was there, smiling shyly and sneaking glances at you, throwing in pearls of wisdom every so often. 

He was so dope and so talented and intelligent and so freaking hot, but you were trying to get yourself together.  You were convinced that night in January had been a mistake. 

You needed some space. And time.  Law school was no joke, and you were in therapy so entanglements was not what was up.

Daveed sensed your hesitancy and decided to stop pursuing you. But he couldn’t stop how he felt.

You were both a little wasted and keyed up the night of the launch party, and despite the way you were beautiful and intelligent and sexy as fucking hell, he was not going to press you. 

Daveed was sure that you two could be something special if you would give it a chance, but he didn’t want to chase you, but he was so gone for you, that if you just nodded your head at him, he would be at your feet.

The attraction was undeniable. There was a crazy little dance you two did that everyone recognized and respected.  This group seemed to know you were fragile, and that you didn’t need to be pushed too far.

But the more they persisted, the more you came out of your shell.  The more you trusted, the more the old Lindy came back. 

Craig noticed first soon after you started hanging with the crew when you were trying to find a place to live. He went to one showing with you and sat you down for a talk.

“Girl, I love the light in your eyes.  I haven’t seen this Lindy since…well in a long time. Stay with me for as long as you want. I know you need to get through this last semester of school, you don’t need one more thing to think about. I’m proud of the work that you’re doing on yourself, Linden.”

You were grateful to Craig.  His place on the Upper West Side was super convenient to Columbia, and not having to think about finding a place was so clutch.  Third year was kicking your ass.

“Besides, I wouldn’t have this place if it wasn’t for…”

“Hush,  I don’t want to hear that.  Dell would have wanted this. I love you cuzzo.” 

=================

Craig came out in a Sully onesie and immediately dragged Jasmine into a conversation about the Met Gala that had happened a few days ago. 

You approached the kitchen where Ant stood, food all around him on the counter. You were whispering. He smiled a secret smile at you.

“I’m so proud of you doing this for Jasmine.  It’s good for you all to get away. I’m glad that she got a little break. She deserves it all.”

Anthony had arranged for this little get together to be a surprise for Jasmine. This was going to be a kickback weekend.

The show was on a four day hiatus while the set was moved to a bigger theatre.  It was a hit and was destined for a long run.

Ant’s green eyes lit up as you kept talking about Jasmine.

“Yeah, she does. And the woman of the hour deserves all the happiness in the world.” He lifted his beer to you.

They way he said that was weird and you were about to ask him what was up with that when the doorbell started ringing, you went to answer it and were stuck there for a few minutes as people started coming in. 

The food and the drinks were flowing while all kinds of characters came in. 

Now they also had Jack Skellingtom, and a Care Bear in the house to add to Big bird, Cookie Monster, Pikachu and Sully. It was an odd cast of characters who were jamming to 90's rap, eating chicken wings and basically tripping like only friends could do.

Then there was Toni, some tag-along chick who showed up with Rafa.  She had on a plain gray onesie.  What a downer.  

You’d  pegged her for  a star fucker who only hung with Rafa because of who he and his friends were.  The girl was too much in everyone's business. 

"Sooooo. You and Mark ARE broken up for real for real. The tabloids say y’all are back together!  I told my friend Susie you weren’t, but she wouldn't believe me."

You  just smiled and didn't confirm or deny, treating Toni like the paparazzi. The girl was oblivious to your hate and just kept talking.

Daveed rescued you. 

"Hey, Toni, show these folks how you can blow. They're setting up the karaoke machine over there. Show us what you're working with. Someone might hook you up with a gig."

Toni perked up and hurried over to Anthony and Craig, who were setting up the lyrics on the big screen to match the karaoke music. Some Bad Boy joints were up.

Rafa was behind them screaming, "Dylan, Dylan, Dylan!" 

They were a scene.  You  breathed and relaxed a little.

"Don't stress. She's not coming with us  to the island."

You looked up at the tall, fine Grumpy Care Bear who was nursing some of your special 18-year-old Chivas Regal that you had gotten for graduation. His beautiful smile shined out of his brown face and beneath the curls tumbling out of his hood. 

“I’m not pressed. I’m chilling. You can do what you want. With who you want.”

“She’s not with me. Rafa brought her for the ride to the airport. And it’s not entirely true that I can do what I want. With who I want. Because what if who I want to do doesn’t want to do me?”

You knew what he meant. But you eyed his drink instead of looking at him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. That was far from the truth. You didn’t want to get lost in him. And you could see that happening.

Daveed saw your wheels turning. You were over analyzing again.  He’d spent three months observing you every chance he got. He felt like he knew your anxieties.  So fucking smart, but here you were thinking too much.

"Hey Genuis Ass. Want some?" Daveed’s voice was softer as he grinned and offered you some of his drink.  “Or, I could go make you something?” For some reason he wanted you to get loose. 

"Nah, I'm good Diggs.”  For some reason you needed to stay in control.  You played it off by changing the subject. 

“I still can’t believe y’all call me that.” 

Daveed just smiled and nodded, chuckling a little. He craned his neck and looked at it, having to dodge a smack upside the head.

“That ass is genius, you know. That’s the one thing He Who Shall Not Be Named was right about. And you’re one of the smartest humans I know.”  

You had to look at him then. The flecks of gold in his eyes tho.  But you could tell from the slight redness that he was a little zooted.  He didn’t get that way around you a lot, but you knew for the stories that he partied occasionally. 

He and Rafa and that Toni chick must have pre-gamed.  You remembered the last time you two were  tipsy together.You cleared your throat and looked away.

“Why did you lie to that girl? She can’t sing.” You were shaking your head, scowling at Toni’s screeching from the karaoke machine.

He winked at you. D was well on his way to getting LIT.

"What? She can blow.”  Daveed sipped his drink and watched her. 

“She’ll suck your soul out and spit it back in your mouth." Daveed was loose. And so was his mouth. But he didn’t care.

Your mouth was hanging open at Daveed as you wondered what Daveed had done with Toni, what Daveed AND Rafa had done with Toni... 

Shit, you were just going to ask.

"How do you know that she..."

"AWWWW SHEEEIIIITTT! THAT'S MY JAM! REMEMBER THIS LINDY??"

“No, I was like, negative 5..”

You raised your voice as he traveled away from you, smiling. He was not slick.

“Well you missed out being tardy to the party…” 

He was backing toward the mic, knocking it out of Anthony’s hand and starting the rap. Rafa joined him, trading verses.

Now as the record spins around, you recognize this sound,

Well, it's the underground,

You know that we're down with wutchyalike

Yeah, with wutchyalike, yeah

And though we're usually on the serious tip, check it out:

Tonight we're gonna flip and trip and let it all hang out tonight,

We're gonna say what we like.

'Cause, yo, yo, we want to know how many people in the flow,

Would like to just let yourselves go

And doowutchyalike,

Yeah, well tonight's your night.

Just eat food, try not to be crude or rude,

Kill the attitude, chill the serious mood,

And doowutchyalike,

Yeah, and doowutchyalike,

Everybody doowutchyalike

Everyone was dancing and Daveed had effectively deflected your question. But you would never forget.

By 8 o’clock, Craig grabbed the mic and motioned for Jasmine to come with him. You had enjoyed some cocktails finally, and just figured they were going to duet Wind Beneath My Wings just like they always did. 

You were actually moving to the music and feeling good.

"Ok guys, whew.  I'm hot.  Is it hot in herrrre?" Craig was fanning himself.

“Whoooo! Nelly!”

You yelled and everyone laughed.

Craig took his hood off and started to unzip his onesie. Jasmine did the same.

You kept dancing nervously, not realizing it, looking around at the others who were also disrobing. You did a double take as D’s abs came into view.  What was going on?

Craig continued.

"Lindy, I just need a minute to talk, can you stop whatever it is you're doing?"  He grinned at you from across the room. "You're still moving Lindy."

You blushed and stopped fidgeting.

"Ummm, Craig, what the..."

One by one people dropped their onesies, all except Toni, who had no clue what was going on. Soon, everyone was standing in Craig’s condo in their swimsuits, looking fine as hell. 

You just looked around, then in your cup wondering if you were too drunk and hallucinating.

“Lindy, you’ve worked real hard, and this past few months have been crazy, so we wanted to do something special for you this weekend, for your graduation, and for your birthday, WHICH IS SUNDAY!!”

Everyone cheered as Jasmine took the mic. “You think this party is for me. Well the joke’s on you bitch, because you have been hosting your own party!”

You opened your mouth, squeaked a little, then spoke,

"But why?.. Everybody?  But what..."

Daveed moved close.

"Damn, you fine," you whispered. 

Your hand flew to your mouth when he smirked in response. Everyone was rolling because turns out, you didn’t whisper.

Daveed cleared his throat. "Thank you. You’re fine yaseif. Anyway, Anthony and Jasmine have a house there, and we’re flying out of JFK tonight.  In about two and a half hours in fact. So we gotta get going.”

You still had only a part of a clue of what was going on. But you couldn't resist all of this.

"Okay? But... I don't have any clothes. And I don’t have a ticket..."

Craig came from the storage room off the kitchen with one of your suitcases. Others started getting their bags as well

"Everybody's shit has been in my house for a week. And girl, you know I got your information. It ain’t nothing but a thang.  Your ticket is ready and waiting. Just sent it to your email.”

Your mouth dropped open and you stared at Craig as everyone pulled their onesies back up and got their bags together.

Your eyes filled with tears that you hurriedly brushed away. Craig came over and hugged you. Then every else joined in for a group hug.

"You deserve, Lindy. Let us celebrate you."

You looked like you didn't quite believe it, but you went along. You laughed, visibly deciding to go with the flow.

"I'm down!"

Toni was nearby. When the hug broke up, she started asking questions.  Your  patience was wearing thin.

"I don’t believe that all these people really roll like this. Y’all wild. Susie won that bet."

You just continued to look at this fool.

"But isn’t this dope?  All these famous, successful men being so fearless with their love and appreciation for Black women, of all people. Who woulda thunk they didn't want white women?"

Toni just kept saying the wrong thing. It was the "of all people" for you.

You stared daggers at your houseguest. Toni caught the look.

"Wait, are you mixed?"

You narrowed your eyes and said, "Black mixed with Black."

Toni clutched her pearls.

"Oh wow. Didn't mean to offend. I just mean everyone knows Jasmine is mixed, with her dad and all, as black as can be. But her white British mom saved her from his skin tone. I mean, she has braids in now, so you can see it, but all she has to do is blow her hair straight and she can pass..."

Toni jumped when Rafa spoke. She didn't know he was there.

"Toni. Not Jas. She's the homie." 

The look in his ice blue eyes could burn. 

"And you are a Black woman, so you know how dope they are. Why would anyone NOT worship at your feet?"

Lindy just sipped her drink as Craig entered the chat. "Amen!"

"Maybe it is time for you to get going, honey. I might call you when I get back."

Rafa  led Toni to the door as she protested.

"But I was going to take you to the air..."

"And I APPRECIATE you Black woman, but we'll get there.  See you later."

Then Rafa shut the door in her face. Linden discovered she loved him eternally at that moment. She was rolling.

No one mourned Toni’s departure as arrangements were made for cars to take everyone to the airport.

"You and Daveed can ride with us, Rafa." Ant to the rescue.

"Yeah, Jasmine loves to look at my profile." Jas pinched him so hard he jumped.

“Fuck!”

Ant  was screaming as he, Jasmine and Rafa went out the door. 

"Peace! See you at airport security.  If you get nabbed by TSA, you on your own!”

Daveed lingered. “I don’t know if all of us and our bags will fit in one car. Can I ride with you and Lindy, Craig?”

Craig smirked at Daveed, but didn’t say anything. “Of course...you good with that Lindy?”

You tried to keep it light. 

“Sure.. no biggie,” you cleared your throat and headed to the bathroom to make sure you had everything you needed.

=================

By the time you got to your Uber, the traffic was horrible. It took over an hour to get to the airport. You felt both anxious about missing the flight and keyed up about sitting next to Daveed in the car.

His thigh and side pressing into yours in the dark in the back of an Uber Black brought back memories of that reckless night. 

When he put his arm up on the seat behind you, “For more room,” he said, in that voice and flashing that megawatt smile, you were enveloped more into his scent and warmth. You had to control yourself not to melt into him.

Craig was sitting on his phone, sneaking glances at you and smirking the entire ride. He’d insisted that you be in the middle because you were so tiny.

The whole world was against you, you thought, as you and Daveed both stared straight ahead, both flashing back to that January night.

You were the last three people to run through the airline gate just at they were about to close it. All your friends in first class cheered when you took their seats, and Rafa popped a bottle of champagne.

"Talk about cutting it close," Ant commented as Rafa gave Daveed a high five.

Daveed looked at you. You shook your head at him. Somehow, you were sitting next to him. You just decided to let it be and have some time.

“Just make sure you don’t molest me under this blanket, Ms. Marshall,” Daveed intoned when you were settled and given amenities for the night.

The flight attendant had to tell y’all to keep quiet as the cat calls went up.

Welp, you thought. This will be the vibe the entire weekend. 

You weren’t mad at it. You loved these people. And you were safe. You just smiled, settled down, and looked out of the window to watch the lights of New York fade away.

=================

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[displacedentities]

Callie's Key

Mod: A quick-fic I made for the Fiascrew! I wanted to write out a potential introduction to how Spooky's (@fedoraspooky) character Callie (plant character via @mak-to-the-future) across Destin's artifact, the Night Key :) Hopefully you like it!

~~~

Old Mr. Prescott had had enough. Fed up with all the junk piling up in his garage, it was time to clean the place out. He wasn't a hoarder, but rather he collected a variety of paraphernalia over the years, as older folk do. Some of the junk might classify as antiques, but as far as he was concerned, that was just a fancy word for junk with a price tag. Maybe he could actually make some coin from all this nonsense in his house, and get some much-needed walking space while he was at it. There was, of course, that damn box to deal with.

Prescott had gotten into the habit of storing everything he wasn't sure how to sort, handle, or throw away into a single box, simply labeled 'WEIRD THINGS' in big capital letters. While the cardboard outside was benign, Prescott was certain at least a couple items that got tossed inside were cursed. He kept the box of 'WEIRD THINGS' shoved far into the corner of the garage under a tool bench for several years, until something he picked up made affairs surrounding the box significantly worse. Tools started to fly off the rack, rearrange themselves into cryptic symbols and messages on the work table. One instance, he even got the word 'STUCK' spelled out from wrenches and a tire iron. It was at that point, Old Mr. Prescott knew he was being haunted. Something else had arrived in his house, it threw things to get his attention or stole food from the fridge, and he had no idea how to drive it out. Professional exorcism did nothing - the wrenches were arranged to spell 'NO' a mere hour later. Setting up protective runes to drive out malevolent demons had no effect at all. The fridge was missing a jar of blackberry jam the next morning, found empty on the tool table. Old Mr. Prescott had moved the box away from the tool table and shoved it into a closet right after. But today was the day. He was going to be done with that cursed box, and whatever random object inside had brought this nuisance upon his house. With any luck, he might be able to sell it off with the rest of the junk. If not, Prescott resigned himself to throwing the entire box in the trash, and hopefully doing away with the poltergeist plague. He was getting too old to deal with this. --- Callie peeked out the window of the car as her mother drove through the residential neighborhood. Big eye blinking in the bright light of midday, she watched the trees full of autumn leaves zip by in a blur of color. It was so pretty! And it looked just like her hair! She was almost 6, soon to be a big girl, and she was quite proud of the vibrant yellow-orange petals starting to puff out from under the leaves on top of her head. Mom said it made her look quite fluffy, which made her think of her T.Rex stuffy, Munchy. Callie hugged Munchy tight, feet wiggling over the edge of the cushion. She was bouncing in her chair, excited. Her mom, a Dryad with hair made from sunflower petals and leaves, hummed to herself as she drove. She glanced over to Callie every now and then, smiling gently. "Thank you for being so patient, sweetheart," Mom says, reaching over with one hand to bump her daughter on the shoulder, before her hand returns to the wheel. "I know we've done a lot of errands today, but just one more, ok? We'll get ice cream afterwards- how does that sound?" "Ice cream!" Callie repeats, brightening at the thought. Ice cream?? Yes! Mom chuckles. "Mr. Prescott is having a garage sale for the first time in fifty years- there's sure to be some interesting finds in all that mess! The man hasn't cleaned house since we moved into the neighborhood before you were born. If you find something small that you like, I'll get it for you, ok?" "Yay!" Callie cheered, holding up Munchy in delight. A present, AND ice cream later? This was the best day out ever! The drive through the neighborhood was brief. The closer they got to the destination, Callie's mother squinted, making a sound similar to clicking her tongue. "Shoot, looks like we weren't the only ones with that idea," Mom mutters under her breath, looking left and right. Callie sits up, craning her neck to look outside at the houses. There were cars all over the place! Mom eventually finds a spot to park, a short distance from a house with wooden shingles and roof tiling. Gravel crunches under Callie's blue rubber sandals as she hops down from the car, turning to stare in wonder at the squat old house. It looked like a pop-up book whose contents had unfolded into the lawn and driveway. Furniture was strewn across the yellowing autumn grass, neatly arranged in a grid with walking space between every piece. Chairs, a

coffee table, a big old couch whose leather had softened from use. A squat Sphinx cat-man in a striped shirt, bowtie and overalls leaned on his cane while he spoke in a gruff voice to a woman. Callie didn't understand everything they were saying, but it was something about money, and the coffee table. Next to the furniture were foldout plastic tables covered in random things, some of which Callie had never seen before in her life. Kitchen utensils that could be from the Great Depression, glass dishware in pristine condition, hand-me-down clothing in less pristine condition. Oh! There was a toy table! Callie immediately scampered over to the toy table, hopping up and down to get a good look at the wares. The selection was charming, and had the warm feeling of well-loved antiques. A wooden pull-along train, a cloth teddy bear with button eyes, a cup with a ball on a string, and... some wooden cage-things with jingle bells in them? Callie shook one of them to see what noise it made, and the wrinkly cat-man looks up with ears perked for a moment, before shaking his head with a huff and returning to his conversation. Callie feels a hand on her shoulder, and smiles up at her Mom as she ruffles Callie's petal hair with the same hand. "I'll be talking to Mr. Prescott about some of the glass dishes," Mom says. "Don't go wandering off, and stay where I can see you. If you can be very careful and promise me you won't break any of Mr. Prescott's things, you can go ahead and explore, ok sweetie?" "Ok mom," Callie says, bouncing on her feet as Mom ruffles her hair one more time. "I'll be right over here," Mom says with a nod, keeping an eye on Callie while she walks over towards the cat-man, who had finished speaking with the other woman by this point. Free to explore, Callie's eye sparkles as she examines this wonderland of new things to investigate. It was like a playground, but small! Callie wastes no time hopping onto the big couch, quite pleased with how soft it felt. There was something just- fun!- about a couch being outside. It felt forbidden, like taking a cookie from the jar before dinner. From her elevated vantage point, Callie could see all the houses across the street, as well as some of Mr. Prescott's neighbors. One of them was mowing the lawn! Callie waved with enthusiasm. They stopped and stared at her, and Callie beamed a smile back. They kept staring, lawnmower stalled. Probably admiring her pretty orange petal hair! She was so proud of it. Callie stayed on the couch for another minute or two before she slid off, eager to look around. Mom said if she was nice and careful, she could have something small from all the things to play with here. She was going to be the best daughter ever. Callie explored through the kitchen things, first- while she was quite a mean chef with an Easy Bake oven, she wasn't quite tall enough to reach the counters yet in Mom's kitchen. A metal ladle was the first to be picked up, as she gently swung it around to feel the weight. Hm. Shiny, but heavy. Probably not fun to carry around for very long. She put it back down. Next was an ironically stained stainless steel pot. That went right over her head. Hmmm. No, it blocked her eye. Not a good helmet. Not much else in the kitchen section was interesting, aside from a few wooden spoons that were smooth to the touch. Callie could see her Mom side-eyeing her from the table where she was talking five feet away. Callie carefully returned the kitchen things to their proper places and moved on to the next table. It was covered in books! Callie got very excited, until she saw how thick they were. These would take forever to read! Maybe she could convince her mom to pick up some of the more colorful books for them to read together, but aside from making a fort or tiny city using the books as bricks, there wasn't much this table had to offer for a five-year-old. At least the books smelled nice. The old clothing didn't smell so nice. Callie poked her head into the hanging rack of old coats and shirts, feeling like a spy - until the scent of

mothballs made her sneeze, and she pulled her head back out with a squint of disgust. Ew. The clothes were all too big, anyway. And some had holes in them! She could have sworn she saw a small poof of moths flutter off one of the old frock coats. She liked bugs, but not in clothing. The thought of a moth crawling around her favorite yellow dress and nibbling at her pretty petal hair made her squirm. At long last, Callie let herself return to the piece de resistance- the toy table. She wanted to play-test everything here! Within reason, of course. Mom said to be careful. Carved wooden train cars, a deck of cards- even the creepy monkey with the pair of cymbals got some attention. Callie poked at it, afraid it would move, and was grateful when it remained inert. The eyes wigged her out. No thanks. The cards were arranged in patterns, and she didn't quite know how to play with them, but they fascinated her regardless- definitely not a first choice, though. Callie compared the old cloth teddy to Munchy, who she sat up next to it with a critical toddler eye. The teddy was a bit smaller than Munchy, and not quite as soft. Cute eyes, though! Callie picked up the wooden train cars, turning them over in thought. They felt sturdy, and were polished with wood lacquer. Soft and smooth, and really cool! It was a bit heavy, but that was fine. She was sorely tempted to pick one as her choice, but she had to know how they rolled. If they couldn't roll like a train, they wouldn't be fun. Putting all of the other toys back where they used to be, Callie set the toy train engine on the floor, and pushed it with her hand. The toy train made a delightful clatter of wooden parts, the wheels carrying it over the bumpy concrete of the driveway. It comes to a stop after a foot of travel. Callie smiles, clapping her free hand against Munchy, before scampering forward and taking the pull chord. It rolled so easily behind her, and she didn't have to worry about breaking it if she was in front. Callie giggles, running in delighted little circles with the train clacking along behind her- -until the train veers from a bump in the concrete, and clatters into the leg of a smaller foldout table. The bump wasn't strong, but it was enough to make the table rattle. Callie froze on the spot as several small trinkets and random objects fly off the table to the ground, fear spiking in her chest as she looks over towards her mom. Mom was still talking to the cat man about the set of chairs, but she did glance over with a raised eyebrow. Callie quickly waved back with a smile, trying to feign that everything was alright. Her mom looked curious for a moment, before the cat man drew her attention back to the conversation at hand. Callie immediately drops the train chord and kneels on the ground next to the small table, checking desperately to make sure everything that fell off was okay. The small table had been holding random trinkets and knickknacks, pieces of old jewelry, and a metal cup that thankfully stayed on the table- Callie was sure she would have been in trouble if Mom heard THAT hit the ground. The objects that fell from the table were all sorts of small things, ranging from expensive-looking jewelry to simple puzzle toys that looked more like key chains for a backpack zipper. Callie quickly picked up a necklace- which, thankfully, hadn't broken or chipped- featuring a large amber-colored stone, and stood up to replace it on the table. Necklaces hung from the weird bird perch-looking thing, right? There were other necklaces on it, so that was where it was going. She had to hop a few times to reach it, but she managed to loop the necklace back on the display. Next was a wooden block puzzle- it was so simple that she solved it in her efforts to put it back together, before setting it on the tabletop. Some rings, sparkly rocks, more key chains- Callie knelt down to continue cleaning the mess, panic still bringing a light sweat to the back of her neck. Among the mess was a small bag of marbles, and she'd accidentally knocked one of them across

the asphalt of the driveway. Scampering over, the youngster picks up the shooter marble- and pauses. Sitting on the sunlit path, sparkling in the light, was a small key. Blue-black of the deepest reaches of space, shaped so strangely, it lay half-under a stray tablecloth from where it had clattered to the ground. Callie couldn't make out a lot of details, but even from here, the light that hit the object was seemingly absorbed by its depths, casting almost no shadow. Yet, the sunlight caused a small scattering of stars to sparkle on the asphalt. ...Callie crawls forward, leaning under the table and lifting the cloth with one hand to pick it up. She slides back out to hold the key in the sunlight, fascinated. The key was very odd in shape. The teeth were thick and blocky, with an angled shape she hadn't seen on her toy keyring. The head of the key was weird, too- three holes arranged in a semicircle, and the top was swirled. Like ice cream, or a cinnamon bun! This key was so pretty! But- what was it a key for? Well, whatever it was for, it sure was pretty! Why would the cat-man be selling a key? Didn't you need keys to lock and unlock stuff? If he was getting rid of it, he must not need it anymore. ...a gentle breeze tugged at Callie's sleeve. She- felt something at her shoulder. Callie turns around, curious and confused- but there's nothing there. Huh. That was strange. But- she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was here. She wasn't scared, though. It was a warm presence. A gentle one. She couldn't explain how, but she knew. Whoever or wherever they were, they were nice! "Callie?" her mother called. Callie jumped to attention, startled out of her small reverie by the crashing reality that she still had a mess to clean up. She scrambles to pick up the remaining items and shove them back onto the table, no longer caring for organization- -but the ground is clean. Huh? Did she pick it all up already? Callie could have sworn there were still scattered items on the driveway. But the ground was clear. Even the wooden train car, which she'd crashed into the table leg, was back in its place on the toy table. How-? "Callie!" Mom says, and Callie spins around with a wide eye. "Honey, are you alright over here? I thought I heard something fall over." "Oh- I'm ok, mom!" Callie says quickly, putting on a smile. Inside, she's still confused. Did she clean up the mess that fast? "Okay," Mom says, looking around with a critical eye. Seeing nothing amiss, she appears satisfied. "Have you settled on something to take home, sweetie?" Callie takes a breath to answer that she wanted the train car- then stops. She squints, thinking. She looks down at the key in her hands, turning it over in the sunlight. It sparkled and was warm to the touch. It felt good to hold, smooth and polished. She couldn't explain why, but it felt like holding Munchy- soft and comforting, somehow. "I like this!" Callie said, making up her mind as she holds up the starry key with a smile. "Oh my," her mom says with a smile, looking at the sparkling key her daughter presented. "It's so lovely! Are you sure you want this, and not one of the toys?" "Mmmm," Callie hums in thought, eye narrowed. She did really like that train car, but... she makes a big smile. "No, I want this! It's pretty! Feels soft, like Munchy!" Mom chuckles, patting Callie on the head as she hefts her stuffed T. Rex and hugs it tight. "If you're sure, pumpkin. Let's take it over to Mr. Prescott, and we'll see if we can buy it." Callie's mom gently takes her hand, and starts to lead the tiny flower puff away from the display tables back towards the lawn. Callie clutches her pretty new key to her front, beaming. It wasn't a toy train, but it was so pretty! She'd definitely add it to her keyring, filled with toy keys and old spares her mother let her play 'house' with. Her shadow warped on the ground behind her skipping steps, forming into a curious silhouette. Flowing almost like water, the shape is thin, and retains a vague semblance of a person. Three eyes, like cutouts

in a piece of paper, followed Callie with a gentle curiosity from the head that flowed like gel in a lava lamp. The warm presence remained at Callie's back, as the child pranced at her mom's side to buy her pretty new trinket. --- Callie's mom finally finished talking to Mr. Prescott. The sphinx cat-man didn't blink an eye at the item of Callie's choosing, asking only for a handful of dollars in exchange. He shook paw with her mother's ebony black hand, and the two turned towards the arrangement of chairs set out for display. Callie watched as her mother passed the cat-man several more large green bills, and he gestured with his cane towards the chairs with a gruff nod. Looking relieved, Callie's mother walked over to her daughter and knelt to eye level. "We're just about done, sweetie," Mom said, smiling as she ruffled Callie's petal hair, earning a giggle. "Mr. Prescott's just going to help me load up the chairs, and we can get going for that ice cream, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie agreed, smiling. "Thank you for being so patient, baby girl," her mother sighed, quite tired, but managing. "This is the last errand, I promise. Hang tight, I'll be right over here- and don't go anywhere!" Callie nods, sitting down on the grass with a happy hum as she plays with some clovers popping out of the lawn. Her mother walked back over to where she'd parked the car. With the help of the old cat-man, who was surprisingly limber for his age, Callie's mother got ahold of some straps and began the process of lifting the dining room chairs from the grass one by one. Callie smiled and waved every time they got close, getting smiles from her mom and amused half-chuckles from the cat-man. She busied herself with plucking the little clover blossoms, arranging them into little intertwined bracelets. She even got ambitious and started making a flower crown- it smelled really nice! Struggled to hold its shape, though, with how short and flimsy the clover stems were. Maybe the bees would like it? Callie liked bees, so fuzzy and clumsy. At least Munchy liked it! She put her first tiny flower crown on the T. Rex's head. Callie's mother and Prescott finished moving the chairs to the car, and started lifting them to be secured down on the car roof with the straps. Right then, Callie feels a rough grip latch onto her arm. Startled, Callie yelps as she's pulled up to standing, her eye snapping wide open as she looks up in shock and surprise. The hand on her arm belonged to the neighbor she'd spotted from the couch, the one who was mowing their lawn not long ago. They were holding her arm very tight! It hurt! She squirmed and tried to push the fingers off of her, but she was a small child and this was an adult. They were much stronger. "Hey kiddo," they say, smirking with alcohol on their breath. "Your mom's busy, so she told me to watch you for a bit. It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." Alarm bells were firing off in Callie's mind, as she stared up at this total stranger in fear. Her mom told her all the time, don't talk to strangers! This stranger was way too close for comfort, and hurting her! "L-let go!" Callie pleads, trying to sound brave like a big girl, but it only came out in a squeak. "You're weird!" "I'm weird? You've got a flower for a head," they say, less amused, and frowning now. "There's a lot weirder things than me in this world, kid. How about we take a break from the sun in my house? It's right across the street, you saw it from your little seat on the couch earlier. We can even pet my dog- how does that sound? Your mom said it was ok." Callie looks desperately over to her mother, trying to confirm in some way if this was true, but her mother was still busy loading the chairs on the truck. She was on the other side, and couldn't see what was going on unless she peered through the car windows. The neighbor yanks on Callie's arm, causing her to yelp again as she's tugged off the grass and away from Munchy. "Come on, kid- let's go, it'll be quick," the neighbor insists. "No!" Callie says, trying to raise her voice as

she tugs back, straining with all her might to pull away. "Let go!" Somebody help! Please! wcrACK The hand releases, and Callie plops down onto the grass in surprise. From her shadow on the ground, a long snakelike limb had sprung into reality, and whipped the neighbor across the face with incredible force. "aUGH- WHAT THE FU-GKKGHK-" Before the neighbor can finish, the tendril swiftly wraps around their neck, tightening. It coils, lifting the stranger a foot off the ground. They struggle and squirm, held aloft and clawing at the cable of night-sky patterned darkness at their throat. Five seconds pass, and the tendril lifts them higher, before slamming their face down into the dirt. The neighbor coughs and groans, protesting the treatment as they're lifted yet again. From behind Callie, her shadow bubbles up, gaining size and definition as it materializes into a figure of its own. Movements fluid like water, the stick-thin limb around the stranger's throat is connected to an equally thin shoulder on a being whose body reflects a sky full of stars. A window to the universe in the vague shape of a person. On the presumed head is a set of golden eyes, narrowed in anger as they focus on the stranger. They tower over Callie, hovering protectively as they step forward, blocking Callie from the neighbor's sight. Callie stares, wide-eyed. This thing was so big, so strange! She didn't feel afraid- why wasn't she afraid? Were they- saving her? "Never touch her again," they warn, voice like a hissing bell. "You will get no mercy." This time, the neighbor doesn't get much chance to choke on their words. The being reels back that limb, and with a snap of elastic tension, whips the unfortunate schmuck across the lawn. They collide with a table, crumpling over one side as the contents are thrown akimbo with a loud crash. That immediately gets the attention of Mr. Prescott and Callie's mother, who stop dead before racing over to the commotion. Prescott leaps with nimble steps to yell at the neighbor, while Callie's mother runs right over to her daughter. She passes the thin void-person without even a glance. "Sweetie!" she frets, kneeling down to look over her daughter in worry. "What happened? Are you ok?" "M-mom," Callie stammers, still spooked and staring at the big starry thing right next to them. "The- they- they helped me. The star-man- saved me." "The who?" Callie's mother repeats, confused, looking around. Her eye slides right over the star-man nearby, not a hint of recognition. "Honey, who saved you? From what?" Callie's rapid heartbeat stars to slow in her chest as the fear is gradually replaced by confusion. She frowns and points over her mother's shoulder. "The star-man! They saved me," she explains, uncertain how else to explain it. She doesn't know how, but... somehow, they saved her. "They stopped the bad man. He hurt my arm..." Callie's mother wastes no time looking at both her arms. As she does so, the star-thing slides closer. Callie watches with owl-eye as the being gets very close, and extends a tendril-arm towards her. Having seen what those snake arms can do, she flinches back, and the arm stops. "Honey, I can't see where it hurts if you don't hold still," her mother says, taking the flinch as a response to her checking. Callie is still staring right at the void creature. She- can't read their face very well, if that is a face. The golden eyes blink, and they speak again. It's oddly comforting. "I will not hurt you. I promise. Will you let me help?" Were they asking her? Callie hesitates. She wasn't supposed to listen to strangers. She just dealt with a scary stranger. But this one carried that same softness, that feeling of safety. She couldn't explain how, but she knew they meant it. She could feel it in her bones. In any case, her mom was here now- if they tried anything, mom would knock them silly. Uncertain, but feeling more confident, Callie nods once. The being extends the arm again, and ever so carefully taps Callie on the arm with the pointy limb. They leave it gently overtop

the area where the bruise was forming from the neighbor's harsh grip. Warmth emanates from the contact, and within moments, the bruise that had begun to bloom faded away, leaving only the healthy charcoal-colored flesh. They remove the starry limb shortly after, Callie staring in amazement. Callie's mother is perplexed, looking at the same arm. "That's... hm. I could have sworn you were bruised... Callie, sweetie, are you alright?" she asks, concerned. Callie flexes the arm, and is amazed to find the arm is totally fine. It didn't hurt at all! That was so cool! She looks up with a smile to thank the starry stranger- -only to see empty sidewalk. Callie looks left and right. Where did they go? They were just here... "Callie?" Oh- right, her mom! "I'm ok," Callie says, meaning it this time. "Arm feels fine, now. Starry man fixed it!" "Alright," Callie's mother says, sighing once with a closed eye. "Well, as long as you're not hurt or anything, sweetheart. You tell me if anything feels wrong, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie says, glancing over to where the neighbor was getting reprimanded by the cat-man. The reprimands progressed into the neighbor getting menaced with the cane, cowed away from the cat-man's yowling. "Can- can we go, now?" "Yes, sweetie, of course. Let's go get that ice cream." Callie's mother takes hold of her daughter's hand, scooping up Munchy to tuck into her daughter's arms, and the two start walking out to the car. Callie glances over her shoulder, looking all over for the starry man, but not seeing them anywhere. That was a shame... she really wanted to thank them! As she clambers up onto the car seat, a star-speckled shadow follows at her back, vigilant and close. ~~~

The End

Mod: Thanks for reading!

[haxorus-imp]

Human Perspective - Reader LBP fic

Gender neutral Reader - No romance - Little Big Planet - No dialogue 

A human is lost in the imagisphere and is struggling to cope with their new surroundings. AO3 for those that prefer to read it there - > https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741977

You really don’t remember how you arrived here in this strange place. One moment you were resting peacefully, the next thing you know, you were being woken up by a small little humanoid fabric creature.

Once your eyes focused, you had gotten startled upright from the presence of the being, which was obviously understandable. In a hurry, you scoot away from the being and frantically look around. Despite just waking up, it took mere moments for you to realize that something was completely off about the land you were in...let alone how you got there. You were left completely dumbfounded. The small little humanoid seemed a bit worried about you, despite just meeting you.

Flustered, your confusion only grew when you tried to ask the little creature where you were and it simply spoke in sign language. Which you didn’t understand. Seeing your expression of complete loss, the little being thought for a moment before it decided to wave at you in a ‘follow me’ motion as they turned and waddled away. Still lost and confused, you really didn’t have a choice.

You picked yourself up and followed the little being through some garden-like areas before the landscape began to change and buildings made out of wood and cardboard slowly appeared. While on the walk over to who-knows-where, you decided to slightly distract yourself with looking around at your surroundings.

It was strange, as it almost felt like you were back home on Earth. However, this was far from the case. An example of your strange predicament lies in the horizon and around yourself. It was all made of fabric...just like the ground was...with an exception of other things. Like the cardboard buildings and creatures that dwelled nearby, as well as the fabric clouds that floated on by. The only thing that could be deemed ‘normal’ around here, at least to you, was the water that flowed in the rivers under the bridges you two passed by. Everything was strangely made to look like projects of arts and crafts.

Not even the locals were exempted from this rule. As the little creature that was leading you somewhere was made entirely of knitted wool. I just left you puzzled and completely stumped at where you even were.

But hopefully this little biped would be able to provide some answers. Your first set of strange contacts was with a small group that the little sack...thing...person...was leading you towards. Your approach didn’t go unnoticed. Once you and the little creature arrived, the three figures were giving you wary glances. But the little sackperson stepped forward and began to sign to them. It was quite a surprise to learn that these larger beings seemed to be British...despite this place not looking like Earth. A bit of back and forth later and you finally managed to introduce yourself and explain your situation to the three larger beings. In which, they introduced themselves to you as well.

There was Larry Da Vinci, an elderly individual with a paper beard and cardboard 3D glasses, who seemed to be rather forgetful, as it took him a moment to remember his own name before the bun-having blonde next to him spoke up.

Her name was Victoria, who had doll-like features and a steampunk-inspired body. She also seemed to be very polite too. Despite being an older female, her and Da Vinci even seemed to be a thing. If the sweet-based names he kept calling her had anything to say for it.

Then there was a rather depressed-looking individual named Clive, who was a man with an eraser for a body and a cyan desk calendar for a head, which was just to name a few things that caught your eye about him. It was just so strange to see paperclips merely sticking to a body without an anchor. But he was still polite none-the-less, even if he wasn’t as enthusiastic as Larry or Victoria.

As for yourself? Well, you were a human. Made of flesh and blood, unlike the natives of this realm you happened to get lost in. It wasn’t hard to take notice of how the others would look at you strangely from time to time.

Not only just because you showed up out of nowhere, but because your appearance just seemed...as that Ginger-Haired prideful loudmouth ‘Avalon’ would put it - “Highly suspicious-looking”. You didn’t think you looked that bad...or creepy. So, you just played down their doubts by just explaining that you're from very far away and that you were lost. It took a bit of convincing from Sackthing to see if Larry had any leads on what to do.

Many of them acted like they had never seen a human before and it wasn’t hard to see why. I mean, they even thought you looked ill and took you to an apple-headed nurse, who was strangely in a birdcage of all things, named Eve to have a look at you. She apparently tried to find your ‘stitching’, which took you awhile to explain that you weren’t born with ‘stitching’. She seemed completely lost with your explanation on a normal human body and she did some typical tests. Took your temperature, tested your reflexes, and gave you a few psychological tests. All came back okay, showing that you were in fact a perfectly normal human being. Even if she seemed slightly disappointed. The rest of the time was spent visiting the other creators once word got around that a unique stranger was visiting Craftworld from ‘very far away’. Despite meeting a fair chunk of them within the first few hours.

It was most likely Avalon who let the cat out of the bag, the dude probably can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. If your first encounter with him had anything to say about it. Dude even had the nerve to call you a ‘rubbery-looking tall weirdo’.

Thankfully, Larry chewed him out for his rudeness before you could. So one by one, you met the creator curators and visited their homelands with Larry as your guide, since sackthing had other duties to attend to at the time.

It was quite an exhausting trip. Thankfully most of the realms could be accessed by rocketships that were provided by Larry Da Vinci. Yes, rocketships. Made out of cardboard...with a jet attached to them.

You didn’t understand how they worked, so you pretty much just went with it and didn’t ask any questions. Each encounter was as unique as they came as you headed off to the other parts of Craftworld with Larry. Your first encounter was with the lovely baker you met before, Victoria. She was very interesting to say the least, having a lab and bakery hybrid that she called home. She explored the possibilities of pastries and science. A strange combination. She even tried to offer you some of her baked goods, which you sadly discovered you couldn’t eat. At all . You just couldn’t force yourself to eat a literal SPONGE cake, so you had to turn her down gently but gratefully thanked her for the offer anyway. After that was Clive, the same depressed individual from earlier. You eventually discover that  he has lived in a factory for most of his life and just knows the day in and day out of being at work constantly. No wonder the poor sap was so blue. He obviously needed a long vacation. After a typical meet and greet, you toured the factory he called home and had a lot of fun watching how things operated while Clive rambled on and on about work and various activities he would perform around the factory. You even got to meet the cute little sackbots while you were there. Which was a pleasant experience in itself! After that was Eve’s Asylum where she and Professor Higginbottom were located. You met Higginbottom at the Asylum. Which was probably the strangest thing you have ever experienced...aside from being lost in this fabric dimension. He seemed like someone who got into the bong and never came out. Though, listening to him talk was quite entertaining. Even if you didn’t understand anything that came from his mouth. Eve was present there as well. Despite the underwhelming encounter from earlier, Eve was still elated to observe you and see how you were coping.  She apparently ran the asylum that was filled with beautiful flora, magical trees, and crazy people. Which wasn’t a surprise, but you were just happy that they were under the care of someone as loving as Eve. Even if she got a bit frustrated that she couldn’t make heads or tails about your ‘strange biology predicament’. Even with an unnecessary ‘second analysis’. Then finally, there was Avalon. The dude was about as loud and as arrogant as they came.

However, he pushed it to a point where he made it endearing rather than annoying, but your traveling companion could beg to differ. It seemed that Larry and Avalon had a lot of disagreements on who was the leader of “The Alliance”. Whatever that was. Both of them mixed like oil and vinegar, like broccoli and pizza, like boomers and millennials...it was honestly kinda funny to watch them bicker. However, you haven’t forgotten that rude comment he made about you. So you were still on the fence with him. Still, Avalonia was a wonderful place to visit. Looking at all of the strange gadgets that were made, the types of vehicles, and the sheer ethereal aura that the place radiated...Avalon really did have a strong reason to flex after all.

But as fun as it was to visit these Curators, you still needed to find your way home. Plus, you had to keep moving if you were going to be able to find anything to eat.

I mean, you have been offered food on numerous occasions while on your trip, however it wasn’t anything you could actually eat. ‘Sponge’ cakes, icing that was too sweet, jam that was too sticky, crackers that were made of cardboard, cookies made out of paper, fruit made out of fabric or plastic… It was all fake...and you were starting to starve.

Your lack of eating also seemed to worry Larry, but you feigned being fine. Despite the fact that you hadn’t really eaten in days. It was wearing down on you pretty bad at this point. Despite your lie, Larry seemed to still be lost on what to do with you. You honestly couldn’t blame him though. You were quite an enigma. Then, Larry was reminded of something and had explained that he was going to go to a place called Bunkum to attend a session in a place called Popit Academy and graciously offered if you wanted to visit while he was participating. At that time, you really didn’t know that you could explore other planets...but this was a strange new universe with strange new ways. So what could possibly go wrong?

So, from one planet made of patches to one with strange gadgets on it, you arrive at a place called “Needlepoint Peaks”.

Which was filled with crisp mountain air and little floating objects that harassed you at every angle. It was quite frustrating, as they would cling to you and you would have to constantly shake them loose. It seemed to amuse Larry to the point of chuckling as you both headed down the mountain together. While on the way, you even decided to take a bite out of the crackers that were sticking out of the ground. Which turned out to be a big mistake.

The ‘treat’ was about as stale as they come. It was hard to chew and it had the lingering scent of cardboard and dust. You promptly spat it out and coughed violently while Larry looked at you like you had lost your marbles.

Despite everything looking tasty, it was all dried and stale, nothing more than deceptive decorations for your ever growing hunger that gnawed away at you from your insides. You could only sigh helplessly as you passed the deceptive goodies and just focused on following Larry to the next destination. Once down from the mountain, both of you arrived at a place called ‘Stitchem Manor’, which seemed to be occupied by two lightbulbs and a monster. The family greeted Larry and seemed to notice you, despite you attempting to hide your taller figure behind the Elder Curator. The smaller lightbulb seemed to be very eager to meet you, as he strode up and waved and said a rather friendly hello. You timidly come out of hiding and meet up with him too. Returning the greeting politely. The lightbulb seems to happily chitter about as you stare at him. He then graciously introduces you to his father, a clear idol in his eyes, and his mother. Who wasn’t a monster. She just looked scary as hell.

You politely greet them in return and Larry explains your situation to the family. It seemed that Larry had decided to see if you could visit with the Pud family, which was a rather strange name, until he was through with his lessons at the popit academy. Seeing if one of them was available to show you around Bunkum until he came back later. You almost rolled your eyes at the thought of needing a guide or babysitter, but you didn’t know this place. So you really should stick with someone until you understand the ropes. The younger-looking lightbulb, who was named Newton, proudly volunteers to show you around Bunkum. A desire to give his ‘new strange-looking chum the best tour of Bunkum they have ever experienced’. So he says. Apparently, his parents were both worried about his proposal. Not because of you, but apparently Newton had caused a heap of trouble for the natives of Bunkum and was still in too-hot water because of it. Despite making peace with most of the locals and trying to clear his name from the titan incident...whatever that was. It sounds bad just by the name alone.

However, after enough begging, his parents gave in and decided to allow him to show you around Bunkum. Satisfied with the ordeal, Larry had headed off and Newton’s parents headed back inside the large manor.

Once alone, Newton had grabbed your hand before suddenly letting go in surprise. When questioned, he just stared and made a comment about how your ‘knitting’ felt strange against his hands. You just merely shrugged and walked ahead, Newton quickly taking the lead again as he rambled on and on about stuff to do while you were visiting.

The first stop was Manglewood. Which could only be reached by boat. Which just made the ride over much more boring than usual, except when Newton would talk about it and mention all the things to do there. It helped to pass the time until the island in question came into view. By appearance alone, you would’ve thought you both were lost in some bayou in the heart of Louisiana, but that wasn’t far enough from the truth. There were film reels, movie cameras, and set pieces all strewn about the landscape. Making it look like a set that was covered in moss and willows. However, you also took notice of a strange figure sitting at the edge of the landmass. Simply sitting there and watching the boat. Once close enough, you seemed to make out that it appeared to be...dog-like? Like a sock puppet type of dog? It was just waiting there and once you both touched down on land, it sped over to investigate. In which, it happily jumped aboard and sniffed around.

Once it glanced at Newton, it’s face changed to a certain type of disinterest but once it scanned over to you, it began to wag its’...butt...and bark happily. You confusedly look at the animal before waving and greeting the...dog-thing. Having it jump up on you and lick you with a fabric tongue, thankfully it didn’t seem to leave any slobber behind.

Newton explained that it was a creature called Oddsock and it seemed to be protecting Manglewood. He almost seemed a tad bit jealous that Oddsock had taken a liking to you so quickly, even if he didn’t show it openly.

He led you off of the boat and further into Manglewood, the dog sticking close to your side.

There, you both found a man who introduced himself as Marlon Random.

He was quite a character. Looking like a spool of film with a strange hairstyle to go with it, the dancing, the personality, the references to movies and such...he was probably the most enjoyable to be around. He didn’t even seem to mind Newton. Greeting him as if it was any other day, in which Newton had replied half-heartedly and explained your situation. Once Marlon heard of your plight, he stopped and looked at you closer. Taking notice of your strange appearance as well, he nods and laughs lightly. Eager to show Manglewood to you, despite Newtons’ protests. You had decided to visit the space area and discovered that floating in space was incredibly fun. The zero gravity, peaceful music playing in the background, and just the weightlessness of it all...it was truly an experience. After that, he took you over to the old-style diner. You jammed out to some old-style tunes, which strangely came from Earth of all places, and you even tried to take a few bites out of the food laying around. Getting the same result as the one from Needlepoint Peaks. You even tried the milkshakes. Which were SO SWEET. Too sweet even!

It was like everything around here was made out of two dumptruck loads of sugar. Plus, you couldn’t really force past it, as it was strong enough to hurt your teeth anyway. One secret spit out later and you lot had decided to settle in for a bite.

With the exemption of you. So while Newton, Marlon, and even Oddsock enjoyed the food...you found yourself without a meal yet again. Your aching belly rumbling in disdain as you sigh quietly. You just had to endure for a bit longer...you would get home soon...hopefully. Thankfully there was water to drink. So you had that instead. Still, you had a kick watching Newton shove fries and pieces of food into that hole in his neck. Which made sense, as he simply couldn’t shove it past the glass that covered his head. It just made you wish you could enjoy it with them...wait...why were they looking at you...why were they laughing --? A tickling sensation pretty much crawled around you as those bothersome floating objects began to stick to you again, resulting in you crying out in agitation and shaking about in the seat to dislodge them. Your companions seemed to find the situation hilarious as you pluck them off and flick them away from yourself. Huffing a bit at your group as they laugh at your grumpiness. But once it was all said and done, the last places being too ‘dangerous’ for you to explore, you both decided it would be time to head out to the Ziggurat. You would’ve headed to a place called ‘Zom Zom’s’ however Newton explained that he only took a special type of currency called ‘collectabells’, which got a chuckle out of you. Sadly, you didn’t really have any currency at all. So you skipped on going there. He probably wouldn’t have anything in your size anyway. So, both of you cross the bridge and ride the gondola into the distance while Marlon and Oddsock waved you both off. In no time at all, the temperature began to drop and snow began to fall from the sky. The wind from the gondola didn’t help the situation either, your clothes could barely keep out the chill. Newton didn’t seem bothered by it, which wasn’t a surprise to you. That fluffy coat he was wearing looked comfortable.

You would ask to wear it, but it was just too small for you. Plus, Lightbulbs radiate heat, so he was probably all warm and toasty underneath that fabric. Talk about being lucky.

Finally, the gondola came to a hill and along that hill seemed to be a towering figure. It almost looked like a burlap sack...like something you would shove potatoes in. Once closer though, it seemed similar to the last creature you encountered.

If logical reasoning could be fathomed here, that must be this land’s protector as well. Seeing by how they grew alert to the approaching elevator. Once it stopped and you and Newton stepped off, the large figure approached curiously. Similar to before, the creature met Newton with a poker face about as blank as the snow, but he gave you a rather silly smile once he looked in your general direction. What you didn’t expect was a large friendly hug to accompany that smile. You were pretty much scooped up and pressed against the taught cloth-chest of the large figure, gasping for air as it cuddled you. Newton began by explaining that this was the Ziggurat, which also happened to be Toggles’ home. Which was the name of the creature hugging you. He told you about the grand library and the ballets that would be held here every day and that hopefully you would enjoy the shows while you both were here. With a few desperate taps on Toggle, you were released and were finally able to get a full breath of air. You almost felt bad for Toggle’s worried face, but a reassured pat on their arm seemed to make them satisfied that you were okay. You walk along, following Newton as he gives you a brief tour of the entrance. Toggle following close behind you both as you walk towards a large and towering brass-like structure that was the centerpiece of this frozen wasteland.

Then, you met Papal Mache in the temple sanctum. Who gave Newton a rather skeptical glance after your arrival before staring at you for a brief moment. Once again, another remark on your appearance was made.

It almost made you wanna put a bag over your head and hide away from the world.

And what is with everyone asking where your ‘stitching’ was? You’re not made of fabric!

You just let out another sigh as Newton repeated the spill from earlier encounters while you busied yourself by looking at the temple architecture. From the looks of it, it seemed to be the insides of a large pipe organ, with stained glass windows of ballerinas and russian-esque soldiers. Which made sense, as Russia was known for its musical culture and revered classics in the modern world. While you admired the art and such, Papal Mache seemed to understand and decided to escort you both down to the library. Which was being looked after by...a dog...woman...thing.

You simply just shake your head and decide to listen in on her history lessons that were offered to you, which were indubitably interesting and selectively inspiring.

Especially once you began to read some of the pamphlets that Toggle helped save from a flood. Toggle even stayed and sat down to listen to his heroic deeds for a bit. Out of curiosity, you pick up one of the pamphlets. No wonder the lady-dog would’ve been so upset to lose some of this history, it was pretty interesting! However, it was short-lived once Newton grew bored and pulled you away from the library with a rushed goodbye to the friendly dog lady. Nearly leaving Toggle behind. Only then did you realize how cold you were getting from the temperature after sitting still on a cold floor. You begin to shudder as the cold wind brushes against you and you slow down as the cold bites at your flesh.

Curiously, Newton had questioned what was wrong as you trembled helplessly in the frigid gales. Once you explained that humans can get something called hypothermia from excessive cold and die, Newton practically flipped his lid.

A quick grasp of your hand and he took off with you in tow.

He quickly rushed past Papal Mache and through the temple to get you to a large furnace on the other side.

Once close enough, you could feel the warmth of the furnace melting away the freezing ice that had wrapped itself around your body. Replacing it with warmth and comfort. Once at the entrance, you graciously sit down on the warmed metal and let out a blissful sigh of relief. You were pretty much scolded by Newton for not telling him earlier and a worried Papal Mache arrived on scene not much later. A brief questioning later and Papal figured it might be best if you don’t stay here too long. Not that he didn’t enjoy new visitors, but because you just weren’t equipped for such freezing temperatures. Which were even worse when night fell.

You nodded in understanding and let out a sigh of brief disappointment, but the snow was hard to endure at this point. Once you thawed out, you both would be heading to your final destination, Bunkum Lagoon.

The sound of small rapid footsteps grace your ears as a smaller version of the big guy came scuttling onto the scene. A brief slide later and suddenly it was the big guy again! Only then did you realize what ‘Toggle’ meant. It made you almost wanna laugh. Papal Mache decided to speak up to the large silent hero about your incident and Toggle seemed to become saddened by the news, but nodded in understanding anyway. You felt bad for such a rapid departure, but what else could be done? It was best to finish touring Bunkum so you could get back to Stitchem Manor so you could wait for Larry. Once you got warm enough, you stood up from the ground and Newton rejoined you as both of you walked back into the temple and towards the back where a large elevator awaited. Both of you got on and Papal Mache and Toggle waved their farewells as the elevator began to move and drop down. You had no idea how this would get you to a lagoon, but if you weren’t at the risk of getting hypothermia, you may like it a bit more… Newton seemed to be more apprehensive about this place, unlike the last two places you both visited. He began to talk about a wicked queen who probably boils her disrespectful subjects in hot oil and how she would probably tear him limb from limb if she as much as smelled him. You probably broke a sweat listening to his anxious worries about the next destination. Didn’t seem to be as peaceful as the last two places, just from what he was saying alone. You gulped as the air began to become more humid as the elevator slowed to a stop.

Once outside, the first thing your eyes caught was the sunset that was glistening over the very large lake that resided in a city filled with towering spires and buildings. You couldn’t hide a gasp of awe as you stepped out into the residential areas and admired the masquerade theme that the city had going for it. Plus, there were airships and clouds as far as your eyes could see. It was truly breathtaking. Newton slowly slinked out after you, scanning around as if to keep an eye out for danger. You had thrown caution to the wind as you walked out further into the Lagoon, Newton squeaking and following behind you for a change. You pretty much just happily stroll through the town, looking at all of the cardboard, stickers, and crafted creatures fluttering about. A stark contrast to a human like yourself.

Suddenly, a sudden shout came from above. The noise made Newton cry out in fear as he hid behind yourself as a hovering platform came into your view. On top of it was a marionette looking female as she called down to the both of you. From the tone of her voice, you already knew you weren’t gonna like her. Her tone was bratty and easily portrayed the type that she was. That type being a heavily spoilt princess that expected everyone to obey and respect them, despite them not deserving any. She was also being followed by another sack creature, this one resembling a bird. She immediately began to chew out Newton for one reason or another, you weren’t exactly paying attention as she hissed at your companion. It was almost like she was demanding an explanation as to why he was in ‘her’ kingdom. Newton had managed to pluck up enough courage to creep out from behind yourself as he explained your situation once more. About how you were from ‘very far away’ and a friend had asked if someone was willing to show Bunkum to the newcomer. Despite the fact that he tried to pass it off as him trying to make amends by doing this ‘tour’ with you. Despite the fact that he selflessly volunteered for it, no pressuring from his father or anything. Still, you said nothing as the ‘Queen of Bunkum’ introduced herself to you and you to Swoop, who had landed and was staring at you after giving Newton another neutral passing glance. It even almost seemed to flutter happily for a bit. It made you wonder why all of these sack creatures seemed to be happy to see you, but that can be pondered later. Right now, you just wanted to go and explore this last location before the night began to fall.

With courtesy, you bowed a bit and greeted Pinky. Being sure to call her ‘queen’ in a respectful manner. She looked like the type that was prone to suck-ups.

In which you assumed correctly. Almost seemingly flustered with your polite behavior, she cackles a bit before welcoming you to the Lagoon and ‘knowing fully well that you WILL enjoy your stay ’. However she does give you a warning to keep ‘that yellow ninny’ out of trouble, to which you assured her that she had nothing to be concerned for. Satisfied, she calls swoop back to her side and the levitating platform hovers off into the distance. A thankfully short encounter. Newton lets out a relieved sigh as you continue on. A desire to explore in your veins as the sun continues to set. It was kinda sad that you couldn’t hang out with the bird like you could the other two, but it probably has a job protecting the queen. Still, you continued on. Your lightbulb co-conspirator follows you from close behind. Just waiting to see what you decide to do with the rest of your day. And It was a rather eventful rest of the day.

Both you and Newton had attended various events. Such as an air joust festival, a puppet show, and you two even climbed the tallest tower in the district and listened to the bells of the tower ring. You even got to see the ‘legendary creative heart’, which was strangely disturbing. Despite it being just a giant valentine heart with large bird wings, it still pulsed like an actual heart. You honestly didn’t know how the locals could stand being next to it for so long. Even from this distance it was loud enough for you to hear. You just brush it off and try to ignore all of the bothersome floaty things that came from it. Hopefully none of them would stick to you. At the end of your trip, you both stopped on a pier to watch the sunset over the lagoon. The purple and pink clouds just brought out a tranquility in the atmosphere that almost made you forget about your troubles and your lingering sleepless exhaustion. Despite being here for about a few days, you were starving and getting any sleep was rather rare. Mostly since weird things would occur while you were dozing.

You fell asleep in the rocketship once and a large flower garden had grown up around you while you had slept and you only took notice when you woke up. It was hard to explain it to Larry. You even crashed in Clive’s factory and when you awakened, some new robots were by your side. Seemingly not made in the factory at all, as they didn’t even have the same body shape as the Sackbots. Clive was about as stumped as you were when you showed him. It was just...when you fell asleep, weird stuff would happen to you and the things that surrounded where you were sleeping. So now, you just try to stay awake as much as possible. Even if your eyelids felt like cinder blocks and tiredness nipped at your aching muscles. The thing that bothered you the most as your empty stomach.

If you couldn’t sleep nor eat, how would you even make it out of here?

There was no sustenance to keep you going. You’re pretty much running on emergency energy right now. Burning stored calories and trying to stay alive while you were at it. The constant insomnia was also wearing down on you. You just felt like you could fall asleep right here on the pier. But Newton jostles you awake by reminding you that you both had to head back to Stitchem Manor before night fell on Bunkum. You nod slowly in understanding and finally muster the strength to stand up with a long stretch. From there, Newton led the way back to his home. Leading back the way you came. Back up the mountain, back through the Ziggurat, back down the mountain, through the swamp again, and back to the boat. Once you both set sail, you watch the sinking sun with a lazy gaze.

It was quite a trip...but you really wish you were home. It wasn’t like you were miserable here. These strangers were so nice and open to you, despite your off-putting appearance. You just wished you had something to eat right now...and maybe a nap. Or a thousand year sleep, which would be far better. Still, Stitchem Manor came into view at the cliffside and you both began to dock the boat. By the time you both arrived home, the sky had turned to twilight as you slowly walked after Newton.

Who seemed to be rather jovial after todays ‘adventure’. Both Nana Pud and Captain Pud were there to greet you both at the gates of the manor, Larry Da Vinci was there as well. Seemingly having an idle chit chat while you both arrived. Once you two were noticed, you sluggishly came to a stand still next to Larry while Newton griped about being pampered by his doting mother. You and Larry couldn’t help but chuckle as you all said your goodnights and you and Larry headed away from the manor. You manage to look over your shoulder as the younger lightbulb seems to be happily waving to you while he and his parents go inside the manor. You returned the favor, albeit a bit more slowly as exhaustion slowly caught up to you. Once you were out of sight of the manor, Larry had asked how your day went. You pretty much told him everything. About the fun you had in Manglewood, the freezing experience in the Ziggurat, and the jousting shows in Bunkum Lagoon. You spoke of all the people you met and how Newton was informative and made sure to look after you. It seemed to earn Larrys’ approval as he nods as the pod comes into sight. Once you both were aboard and a course was set for Craftworld, you decided to settle in on the pillows on the far side of the pod. Where it was a bit quieter than the control room. Larry decided that he would drive you both back to Craftworld while you took a nap. You didn’t mind and happily accepted the offer. Though, he probably could tell that you weren’t getting enough sleep. You could practically see the darkness lining your eyes.

Now you were wrapped up in soft materials and laying in a nest made from pillows and such. Your mind was so tired and strained from being awake for so long that all you could think about was how many people you met in the last few days. How many potential friends you could make...but it was still a mystery as to how you arrived on Craftworld in the first place. Let alone how to get out of this dimension and safely back to Earth. If you wanted to go back...that is. I mean, you were still hungry. Even more so now. You could only sigh as the feelings of hunger went away some time ago after you tried to not focus on anything. You were still lost. Even if you met some friendly faces along the way. Still... how did you get here? And how do you get back? You merely blink as these questions run through your mind and you just let out a deep exhale and close your eyes tightly. You just needed some sleep for now. Maybe this is all just one big fever dream and you’ll wake up back in your normal bed with normal humans around you. No fabric, no cardboard, so sponges...just flesh and bones. Organic stuff... REAL stuff.

Or...at least the things you HOPE were REAL things. Oh, but it was just another problem to solve for tomorrow.

You let out another final long sigh as your heavy eyes finally close and you drifted off to sleep in record time.

Blissfully unaware of the images and energy seeping from your head while you slept peacefully throughout the whole trip back to Craftworld.

[shijiujun]

one more red light

“I’m a really good driver!” Lu Yao declared yesterday, car keys in hand.

Fucking bullshit, Chusheng thinks, his face buried in one hand, because of course, San Tu has crashed them into a tree.

(where Lu Yao doesn’t marry You Ning and go off on a honeymoon cruise at the end of ep 36, but Chusheng gifts him with the car as a reward anyway)

---

Lu Yao kissed him.

Well, he kissed him on the cheek, so it’s not really the kiss he wants, but it has to count right?

Chusheng was still lamenting earlier that he hadn’t even gotten the chance to drive the beauty of a car around yet, but seeing how happily Lu Yao is smiling right now, the amount of money he spent on the thing was well worth it.

He would do anything, if it kept San Tu smiling like that.

“Hold on, why’re you so happy?” asks Chusheng, and he can’t quite control the smile tugging at his lips either, “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course I’m happy!” Lu Yao scoffs. “I’m a really good driver!”

“Well I won’t believe it until I see it,” Chusheng replies, crossing his arms and raising a challenging brow at Lu Yao. “Who knows, you might just crash the car on your first day driving it.”

He knows he’s gotten Lu Yao good when the man’s eyes go wide. Pointing at Chusheng, Lu Yao nods his head sagely, “Hah, I’m not scared of you. I know what you’re doing. You and me, the car, tomorrow! You’re going to have to eat your words, and then we’re going to Bo Xin Street for dumplings!”

It would be strange if Lu Yao didn’t know how to drive considering his love for expensive things, including cars. That was the only reason why Chusheng decided on this as a gift for Lu Yao. After all, he’s bought all manner of things for the man — a watch, leather shoes, a three-piece suit set and he has given Lu Yao a wad of cash too many times to count — and a car seemed like a reasonable next gift. Still, Chusheng has never seen Lu Yao drive.

He’s a glorified babysitter, wallet, drinking buddy, work partner and more to Lu Yao, but more often than not, Chusheng is the genius detective’s chauffeur.

“We’ll see,” Chusheng grins. Then to You Ning, “You in on the bet?”

You Ning rolls her eyes, “I’m not getting in the car until you test it out for me. Besides, I’ve gotta work tomorrow.”

“Hey! Who cooks for you, huh? You didn’t ask him to test it out before you started stealing my food-“

The two begin to bicker, and Chusheng looks away when the bickering evolves into a cushion fight again. He will leave them to their petty squabbles and come over tomorrow instead. Truth be told, he is rather curious. And it’d be a nice change from always driving Lu Yao around.

(In hindsight, he should have known. And maybe he could have started off with a less expensive model.)

You Ning has an early interview the next day and disappears from their shared apartment in before Lu Yao is even awake. Both Chusheng and Lu Yao have the day off after the arduous week they had, what with Lu Yao’s older sister, the troops, and Lu Yao’s persistent father.

By the time Chusheng turns up, Lu Yao is already making breakfast for two.

“Hey, you’re right on time,” he says, bringing a pot over from the stove to the dining table. “Get the bread from the couch!”

Chusheng grabs it on his way to the kitchen, and looks appreciatively at the spread before him.

“It’s a little extravagant for breakfast,” he notes, before looking up to watch Lu Yao putter about the kitchen, humming softly under his breath. “Something’s got you in a good mood this morning.”

“Inspector Qiao just gave me my dream car, of course I’m in a good mood. Plus, you’re bringing me to Bo Xin Street for dumplings later, I’m just thanking you in advance. Grab a cup of coffee, I finally got to try out the Swiss coffeemaker I got a store to import in last week,” Lu Yao chatters on.

Chusheng shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, “You haven’t won the bet yet.”

“You’re doomed to lose this bet,” Lu Yao says confidently, settling down in the seat opposite his. “I had to drive around a lot in London too, and Dajie has two cars back at home. Just because I prefer not to drive doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive-“

“Geez, that’s enough, eat your breakfast,” Chusheng shoves a slice of bread into Lu Yao’s mouth, because they won’t get out of the house otherwise.

===

To be fair, Lu Yao does start off pretty well. He spends a long time touching the seats and feeling the metal and leather beneath his fingertips, smelling the car and communing at a spiritual level with the automobile. Chusheng doesn’t mind; while Lu Yao toggles with the switches and wheel, looking around wide-eyed like an excited kid, Chusheng watches Lu Yao instead.

He likes it when Lu Yao is this happy. He likes it a lot.

The car starts without any trouble, and the vibration of the engine under them has them both grinning at each other. Chusheng hasn’t driven the car yet either, and it’s all new to him. He first ordered the car for himself too, before deciding to gift it to Lu Yao for solving the Norman case, and also to celebrate his sister and father finally allowing him to stay in Shanghai.

They slowly make their way through town, and just as Chusheng resigns himself to treating Lu Yao to probably three bowls of dumplings at minimum, that’s when things literally go downhill.

Lu Yao makes a right turn and starts going down a slope. Instead of stepping on the brakes, he steps on the accelerator, and they start moving downwards really, really fast.

“San Tu!” Chusheng calls, his eyes wide, “There’s a person up front what are you doing-“

“Where?”

“There! Turn the wheel, turn it-“

“Oh!”

“San Tu!”

Chusheng grabs for the wheel and pulls hard, but Lu Yao jam brakes, and the car begins to spin. They barely avoid the old man strolling up the damn hill, and they hurtle off the road into the foliage on the side. When Chusheng sees what’s right in front of them, his heart leaps to his throat, and his first instinct is to grab for Lu Yao and cover him.

As expected, they crash, and rather spectacularly.

The force of the impact slams the both of them against the dashboard, with Chusheng hissing in pain as his elbow knocks into the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, Lu Yao fidgets in his arms, where Chusheng is holding him and covering the tall man with his body. Lucky for them both, the impact force wasn’t that severe, and aside from a ruined, crushed front end of the car and cracks in the front window pane, they’re safe.

Lu Yao angles his head to the side and he’s so close. He exhales, the puff of air tickling the skin on Chusheng’s neck, causing him to shiver.

“You okay?” Chusheng asks with a frown, pulling away to look Lu Yao over.

“I’m good,” he answers, a little shaken.

Glad that San Tu is alright, Chusheng lets him go and turns to stare at the damage. It sinks in suddenly, that this really, really expensive car that cost him four months of his salary, has been totaled.

“I’m a really good driver!” Lu Yao declared yesterday, car keys in hand.

Fucking bullshit, Chusheng thinks, his face buried in one hand, because of course, San Tu has crashed them into a tree.

Lu Yao stares wide-eyed at the damage, before turning to him.

“Sorry?”

“I’m a really good driver?” Chusheng repeats what the man said yesterday, exasperated. “Do you know what being a good driver even means, San Tu?”

He’s going to have to find a repair shop and a mechanic, and the cost for repairs might be so costly that he might as well get a new car for Lu Yao instead.

Chusheng really liked this car though. He liked it so much he gave it to Lu Yao, and the idiot crashed it.

He must have been silent for too long, for there’s a tug on his sleeve the next moment. Chusheng looks up at that, only to see a sheepish Lu Yao biting at his lips, looking appropriately chatised as if he was caught putting his hand in the cookie jar. In this case, however, the cookie is a car, and Chusheng doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’m sorry,” Lu Yao apologises. “I’ll… I’ll pay for the repairs. I know you liked this car a lot and I… I guess… I’m a bit rusty?”

“You almost hit an old man on the road, San Tu,” responds Chusheng wryly.

“I’m sorry,” Lu Yao repeats, inching closer. “Don’t be angry with me. Please? I’ll pay for the damages, or… or I’ll just get a new one for you. I mean, I’ll have to borrow the money from you first and then pay you back, but give me half a year and I can do it-“

Chusheng slips his arm around Lu Yao’s waist and drags him closer, and cuts the infuriating man off effectively by sliding his mouth across Lu Yao’s lips.

He doesn’t know how long he kisses Lu Yao for, all he knows is that he can’t get enough, and they only pull apart when people actually come over to check on them.

Chusheng can’t help feeling satisfied at Lu Yao’s very, very red and wet lips.

“Hey, you guys okay?” the old man who they nearly hit earlier asks, knocking at the window with his walking cane.

“We’ll continue this at home,” Chusheng says, eyeing Lu Yao.

===

At home, Lu Yao applies ointment to Chusheng’s very bruised elbow, and cannot help but press a kiss to the mottled skin. The last of Chusheng’s control snaps then, and he grabs Lu Yao’s arm, tossing him onto the bed behind them.

(Chusheng does order another car for his San Tu the next day. Something cheaper though, they’ll work their way up.)

[yuthoe]

To-Go: 2+1 (PENTAGON: Yan An)

or “The Two times Yanan Tries to Ask You Out and The One Time He Succeeds.”

So this was requested a while ago, and at first I thought they were asking for baker!reader, but I reread the ask and saw it was actually the opposite so I had to rework the plot in my brain. Regardless, in both versions, Yanan is adorably awkward.

This turned out so long and I swear I didn’t mean for it to get to 2k words lol, it just happened. Also it seems that i HAVE to add a dash of mild angst whenever i write my fluff. apologies if this turns out bad--i’ve been out of it lately, and i guess exploring my writing style. also i’ve been busy trying to become a #contentcreator on youtube lmao.

hope you guys like it!

WARNING: a dash of angst. WORD COUNT: 2,223.

Master List

---

Yanan pulls his head up from putting freshly baked strawberry and chocolate Danishes in the display rack at the jingle of bells. The “welcome” dies on his lips at the sight of you, and he quickly makes to straighten up, only to bang his head on the underside of the top shelf. He rubs his slightly throbbing head as he wobbles to the kitchen.

Depositing the empty tray and tongs on a table, he desperately says, “Help! She’s here!”

“Ooohh,” his friend Changgu says, closing the oven door on a new batch of baguettes before turning fully to Yanan. “So what are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t you be out there at the counter?” he asks, one eyebrow raised and a playful smile on his flour-dusted face.

Yanan just groans. “Yeah, but I don’t know what to say!”

Changgu shrugs, takes the rag from the belt of his apron and wipes his hands with it. “The usual, maybe? ‘Is this all, or would you like a coffee with that? Will you have these to go?’ Come on, you’ve said it tons of times before--,”

“Not that, Changgu!” the taller man said, waving a hand in front of his face, as if swatting a fly away. “I meant about asking her out! I have no idea how to ask her! I’m not exactly the most suave person out there.”

The baker laughs, hearty and clearly amused. “Just be yourself, Yanan, what’s the harm in that?” Changgu takes the few steps to the refrigerator to get another batch of dough. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some bagels to make.”

Yanan lets out a pained sigh before turning and exiting the kitchen, mentally thanking his friend for that unhelpful advice.

Just in time too, as you’re stepping up to the register with a tray of goods. You smile at him and wave as you set the tray on the counter.

“‘Afternoon, Y/N,” Yanan asks, quickly punching in the codes for three chocolate-filled croissants, two lemon curd Danishes, a pack of miniature cookies, and a baguette loaf; two years working at a bakery as the frontman leaves him no choice but to memorize product codes even for the least popular baked good. “Would you like a coffee with these?”

You hum, already scanning your prospects at the menu board above him before he asked. You squint, pursing your lips in concentration and Yanan thinks it’s the most adorable thing. And then you smile and turn back to him. “Yep, a medium caramel macchiato, please!”

“All righty,” he says, punching it in. “To go as always, I’m assuming?” he asks, smiling shyly.

“You know me so well, Yanan,” you reply, smiling back. “I’ve got a few friends coming by tonight, so I’m doing some shopping.”

“Ah, hence the baguette?” Yanan asks, before rattling off the price for everything.

You root into your bag for your wallet and hand him a bill before saying, “Yep, gots to have that bread for the cheese board.” Yanan gently puts the change into your upturned palm before turning to the coffee machine behind him.

“Don’t cheese boards usually have crackers?” The whir of the coffee grinder almost drowns out his voice, but thankfully you can still hear him.

“Yeah, but sometimes you just need more carbs.” Yanan sputters a laugh as he presses the shot button on the machine and turns back to see you smiling at the joke.

And then Yanan just decides to go for it. “Does this wine and cheese party have room for one more?” he says as he turns his attention to making your coffee. He feels his ears burn--from embarrassment or dread, he’s not sure.

You’re unable to bite back a smile, and then a loud laugh. “Mm, sorry, Yanan, I’m afraid it’s girls’ night tonight. But you know, sometimes one of our guy friends tags along too, just for the cheesy rom-coms, so I can ask. If you want.”

Yanan sets the hot paper cup in front of you and waves a hand. “Ah, no, you don’t have to; I was just joking.” He hopes the laugh he lets out is believable.

“Oh,” you say, taking the cup and the paper bag in both hands. “Well, let me know if you change your mind about that, ‘kay?” You turn for the door. “Thanks for this, Yanan! I’ll see you!” you say, and you disappear once again with the jingle of bells.

Yanan stares at the closed door, then sighs and deflates until he’s crouching behind the register, resisting the urge to just bang his head into it.

***

You reappear the next Monday, just as Yanan finishes putting up freshly packaged dinner bread on a shelf. The bells’ chimes welcome in a gust of wind from the chilly morning, and Yanan shivers, just a tad, and rolls down the sweater sleeves he wears under the bakery’s navy blue linen apron. He takes the empty tray he’d brought in and retreats once again behind the counter, sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t mean to be creepy, and he hopes he doesn’t come off as too chummy when he asked if he could join your get-together the previous Friday. He doesn’t usually do that, nor does he even usually have a need to ask someone out; he spends all his free time in the bakery and all the customers, while nice and respectful (except of course, for the one-in-ten nasty ones), are more like family to him.

And then you came along one summer afternoon for a mocha iced coffee and a bagel, and after taking a sip said, “Is the mocha iced coffee this good usually, or is it just because you made it?” Yanan’s face turned as pink as his hair back then and stuttered through the rest of the transaction. 

The next time you came in a few days later, you made no mention of the iced coffee thing, but still managed to strike up a conversation with the introverted boy. Yanan was grateful for it--he was too flustered to reply properly, after all--and from that short exchange about strawberry jam blossomed a casual acquaintanceship.

Everything was going fine and dandy until one closing time when Changgu said, “So when are you going to ask Y/N out?” At Yanan’s expression of incredulous surprise, the baker continued, “What? She comes by the bakery more than once every week and talks to you everytime. She even asked the part-timer once if it was your day off when she came in and you weren’t there. All signs point to her liking you, man.”

Yanan had been helping put away trays and bolts, but at his friends words he froze, party scared of the idea that someone might be interested in him and he had no idea how to go about it, and partly excited that someone might be interested in him and that hadn’t really happened or been brought to his attention since elementary school.

And he does suppose it’s time he puts himself out there since Changgu has been pestering him about taking less shifts because he’s getting sick of seeing him all the time. Plus, he needs to get out more anyway. Two birds with one stone, right?

“Thanks, Yanan,” your voice snaps him out of his reverie. “I’ll see you later!” He registers your goodbye too late, tries to make words come out of his mouth, raises a hand at the door swinging closed behind you.

He really just went on autopilot while being consumed by his thoughts, huh? Yanan groans inwardly, deciding to make himself an espresso to distract him from his abysmal flirting skills.

***

You push the heavy door open and inhale the distinct smell of freshly baked bread. It’s been a few days since you stopped by--work had been demanding lately and required you to clock in earlier and punch out later, so your routine got disrupted. But yesterday you submitted that finance report and could finally take your time getting that good, good coffee. And yeah, maybe a snack for later.

There are a couple of people milling about, trays full of bread, or holding a bag of rolls. You make a beeline towards the display case of confections; if you could, you’d spend all day here, just looking at the golden-brown baked dough, some lightly glazed with sugar, colorful from the fruit fillings you know they make in-store. The chocolate chip cookies are a crowd favorite--big and chunky and guaranteed to have an ample amount of chocolate in every bite. You however, are partial to their oatmeal cranberry cookies.

The way this bakery makes them gives the cookies a crunch (you suspect they put rock salt in there or something, but you aren’t a baker so what would you know?), the tartness of dried cranberries gets dialed down by the oatmeal, and the cinnamon adds a depth to the fruity flavor. It’s your favorite to-go item here, and you immediately take a medium-sized bag. You tell yourself to save these and not just devour them in one sitting this time.

A customer is getting his items rung up when you get to the counter, already seeing Yanan’s head bob up and down as he reaches for the baked goods. “Sometimes being tall is tiring,” he told you once. “Like here, I have to bend a bit to ring up the food because the counter is too low for me. But don’t tell Changgu I told you that, he’d hold it over me forever.” You both laughed at that.

“Thank you for your patronage,” you hear Yanan say now, handing the paper bag of food to the man in front of you. “Take care, and come again!” He waves to the man before turning to you.

“‘Morning, Yanan,” you say, handing him the bag of cookies. “Are you feeling okay today?” You noticed when you last came in that he was oddly quiet and subdued. You weren’t quite sure why he was so down, so you didn’t attempt to make conversation; your mouth is sometimes too fast for your brain and you didn’t want to end up saying something to accidentally offend him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, greets you with a soft smile, but you see he’s trying to avoid looking at you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Yeah, a large hot mochaccino, please.” You hand him a bill and he returns your change. “I’m glad,” you say, fiddling with your wallet as Yanan works the coffee machine. “You seemed kinda down last week.”

You see him start, then press the button on the machine before turning to you. “Did I?” He bites his lip. “Sorry, I… I was just thinking.” He taps his long fingers on the wooden counter, the whirring of the machine and soft jazz emanating from the speakers the only sounds for a moment, before Yanan speaks again. “About last Friday… I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I just thought it would be a funny joke, but I actually half-meant it, but I wasn’t really expecting you to say yes to me, and even if you did I didn’t want to trouble you, but I just thought it would be kinda nice to hang out with you, you know, outside the shop, I mean, ‘cause like, you’re really fun to talk to, and I’d like to--,”

“Woah, woah, wait, Yanan, wait a minute,” you say, interrupting his rambling, an amused smile on your face. Yanan clamps his mouth shut and busies himself with making your coffee. You think you see a sweep of pink on his cheeks. “I… was actually serious about that--inviting you to hang out, I mean. I think you’re great to talk to, and I. I wanna get to know you more, too.” You can feel your face heat up as you fix your eyes on the grains of the countertop.

You hear a soft tap in front of you, just as the fragrance of espresso and chocolate assault your nose. The green paper cup sits in front of you, and you raise your eyes slowly--up Yanan’s clasped hands, to the linen apron stamped with the bakery’s logo, and landing on his eyes, shy and worried but hopeful.

“So,” he says, almost too softly that if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have caught it. Yanan takes a deep breath. “Do you… want to have dinner sometime?”

You think you must have misheard it. But you saw his lips moving, heard the sound come out of his mouth, so it must be real. 

You’re nodding before you realize it, smiling before you notice your cheeks are hurting. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.” A relieved smile breaks out on Yanan’s face, and you briefly wonder how you didn’t realize he’s beautiful when he smiles.

He lets out the breath he’s holding as he pushes the cup of coffee to you. “Here’s your coffee, to go.” You reach out to take it, and make sure to brush your fingers against his. Electricity rushes up your hand, and you feel it buzzing as you say your goodbyes. as you exit the shop and step out into the chilly morning. as you remember him everytime you take a sip of the delicious coffee.

[pika-ace]

Cookie Run One-Shot - Apology Aftermath

The Cheesecake Manor Mystery thing just pushed my writing buttons, my old post sealed the deal, and I decided my cookie child Gingerbrave deserved a bit more closure for his accident. Enjoy this fluff I came up with :)

Gingerbright visits Gingerbrave in the hospital after the incident at Cheesecake Manor; a few other Cookies tag along as well. (No real pairings, just fluffy friendship because Gingerbrave is a sweetie)

Gingerbright waited patiently in the waiting room of the hospital. She hadn’t been waiting long, but it had felt like hours! She wanted to see Gingerbrave now! 

When she heard that her best friend had been strawberry jammed, she would have rushed to his side immediately were it not for Walnut keeping everyone quarantined while the guilty party was scoped out. 

Cinnamon Cookie had tearfully told her the whole story, though she was still so shell shocked it barely stuck. She swore there was something in there about another cookie being disguised as her, but she was mainly relieved that the whole thing was an accident. 

Cinnamon was especially torn up about the whole thing; confiding in Bright after hiding behind his forced stage smile all night was like breaking a dam. 

Speaking of Cinnamon… Bright waved him over when she saw the magician enter the hospital, “Over here!” 

Cinnamon lit up a bit and hurried over to her, though his expression devolved into one of nervousness. “Are you okay?” Bright asked. Cinnamon nodded, his eyes on his hands where he was fiddling with his magician hat. Bright smiled and touched his shoulder, “It’ll be okay; it wasn’t your fault.” 

“She’s right!” Fairy Cookie flew down from above them. She smiled kindly at Cinnamon, “You weren’t the only one involved, and you didn’t make Gingerbrave fall; Gingerbrave won’t blame you.” 

“Yeah,” Bright lit up. “Brave doesn’t hold grudges, you have nothing to worry about!” 

“By analyzing all of Gingerbrave’s past interactions, that is a high possibility,” Alchemist Cookie approached the group. “I would have brought my brother with me, but he fell asleep just before I left.” 

“We’re all very glad you’re here,” Fairy said sweetly. 

“Well, of course, I’m here,” Alchemist shrugged. “I mean, I’m the one who made the ladder fall, it’s common decency for me to visit.” 

“How are you so calm?” Cinnamon asked softly. 

“Simple; the entire event was an accident and I had no ill-will behind my actions. Morally, I am sound.” 

“Excuse me, are you all here to visit Gingerbrave as well?” The group turned around. 

“Milk Cookie? Purple Yam Cookie? What are you guys doing here?” Bright asked, the blunt question softened by her actual curiosity. Milk and Yam kept to themselves or were usually off on adventures together, so the time they had spent with other cookies, let alone Brave, was very brief. 

“To see the KID, DUH,” Yam said. 

“We were both invited to that party; I arrived late, so Yam filled me in on what happened,” Milk said. “Yam wanted to see how he was doing.” 

“I did NOT,” Yam grumbled. “I don’t CARE, I just knew YOU would MAKE me go anyway.” 

“I knew I felt some kindness in you,” Fairy said happily. “You truly are a wonderful cookie at heart!” 

“Shut UP!” 

“Brave will be really happy to see all of you,” Bright said. “Walnut already told him what happened at the party after he was knocked out.” Cinnamon tensed slightly and Bright touched his arm in comfort. 

They all headed into the hallway and came to the room where Brave was. Bright quietly opened the door to see a single hospital bed. Brave seemed to be under the sheets; was he asleep? 

Choco Drop was dozing by his side as well. Bright softly motioned to be quiet, Milk giving Yam a stern look when she did, and they crept into the room. They gathered around the bed and felt their concern grow. Brave had a large band-aid on his head; a light shade of pink could still be seen underneath it. The young cookie seemed to be fussing a bit in his sleep; was he still in pain? 

Cinnamon wrung his hands as guilt crept up while Milk debated gently waking the poor cookie. 

Then his eyes opened with a smile, “Hey everybody!” 

The cookies jumped and Bright was the first to laugh, “Brave, you jerk!” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Brave chuckled. He slowly sat up, still wincing a bit. 

Milk raised his staff and a soft blue glow emanated from it, washing over Brave’s injury. “That should help with the pain for a while.” 

“Thanks,” Brave said with a smile. 

“How are you doing, Brave?” Bright asked. 

“Pretty good,” Brave shrugged. “I’m a bit disappointed I missed out on the whole mystery thing.” 

“DON’T be,” Yam spoke up. “It was a HUGE PAIN!” 

“Tell me more about that Phantom Bleu guy,” Brave said. “Walnut said they were some cool thief!” 

“None of us saw them personally,” Milk admitted. “But those who did admire him quite a bit; they sound quite dashing, from what how they were described; Cotton Candy seemed quite smitten.” 

“She’s smitten with everyone,” Alchemist retorted. 

“I wish I could’ve seen them,” Brave said. 

“They sent us NOTES about what HAPPENED to YOU,” Yam added. 

“Yeah, so this Phantom Bleu is more like...an antihero; no wonder Cotton is in love again,” Bright giggled. 

“Anyway, on to why most of us are here,” Alchemist said before clearing her throat. “Gingerbrave, I’m sorry I tried to move the ladder, causing you to fall to your almost-demise.” 

“That got dark…” Bright muttered. 

“I’m sorry too,” Fairy said, flitting above Brave sadly. “I should have caught you, but I caught the jar instead.” 

“Aw, it’s okay you guys,” Brave smiled. “I mean, it was just jelly.” Bright stole a glance at Cinnamon, who had been very quiet the entire time. 

Brave noticed this too, “Cinnamon? Are you okay?” He asked. “You look upset about something.” 

Cinnamon tensed and peeked up at the young cookie, “You...aren’t mad?” 

Brave blinked, “Why would I be mad?” 

All eyes were on Cinnamon. “Because...it was my fault…!” He said. “The whole reason this happened was because you were trying to make me feel better...if I wasn’t so distracted by my magic, then…!” 

“Cinnamon, I’m the one who hurt your feelings in the first place!” Brave exclaimed. “If anything, it’s all my fault, and I paid for it.” 

“But-” 

“It’s okay, Cinnamon, really!” Brave insisted. “I don’t blame you, I don’t blame any of you; it was an accident!” 

“Exactly!” Bright agreed. 

“Well, we were lucky it was an accident this time,” Milk pointed out. “But he’s right; don’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do.” Cinnamon’s eyes were wide and hopeful like he had just been told the greatest news in the world. 

“Hey, why don’t you do another magic show for us right now?” Brave suggested. “I mean, it can get pretty boring in here.” 

“Really?” Cinnamon asked happily. 

“Yeah, I wanna see!” Bright said. “I didn’t even get to the party in time to see it!” 

“I can second that,” Milk said with a smile. “I would love to see your show.” 

“I didn’t GET to EITHER, and I don’t really CARE,” Yam shrugged before Milk gave him a small whack on the head. “But I GUESS I have no CHOICE.” 

“I wanna see it too!” Fairy exclaimed. 

“I have nothing else scheduled today, so this is acceptable,” Alchemist said. “You may proceed with your magic show; and for Brave’s sake, I will not debunk any trick you do, as difficult as that will be.” 

“Aw thanks, Al,” Brave said. 

“Okay!” Cinnamon jumped to his feet, whipping out his wand and cards. “Prepare to be amazed! For the second time this week!” 

Gingerbrave shifted on his bed so he could watch better while everyone else in the room gathered around. 

As the magic show commenced, a tall shadow watched from the edge of the window. Roquefort Cookie smiled at the sight. While they knew about the ploy all along with their ingenious Gingerbright disguise, he was a bit worried for the young cookie Gingerbrave. 

What could they say; it was the same reason they always liked messing with Walnut. Roquefort just had a bit of a soft spot for children.

[urflowersdied]

cold as ice(d coffee)

In which Norah really just wants to make some money to finance her student life and Harry is her super serious, but incredibly soft-looking, café-owning boss.

A/N: Initially this was supposed to be a one shot, because I just wanted to write a story in one go and have you guys read and (hopefully) enjoy it, but turns out that’s something I don’t know how to do. So, here is the first, 4.7k long part of this three-part series.  I have to thank some friends on Twitter who will get their own message, but I’m also immensely thankful for @dadshirtking, who was incredibly supportive and a really helpful creative mind, @bribe-the-door, for being loving and positive and kind and the sweetest person around, and @isitjamiemoriarty, for being the world’s greatest feedback giver and without whom I probably would’ve gone crazy trying to figure this story out. 

Hope you enjoy! 

Norah was absolutely fuming. It seemed like just her luck that on the first day of her job the trains seemed to have decided on making her life all that much harder and arrived with a one-hour-delay. Presenting herself disheveled due to running all the way from Manchester Piccadilly to The Brewing Pot probably would not improve the impression she was bound to make on her new colleagues, but that was a risk she was willing to take in order to get there just a few moments quicker.

She knew that it could be quite difficult for a student employee to get on well with their full-time colleagues, which was why she had devised a seemingly foolproof plan to make the first day go swimmingly. Norah  had spent all of last night looking up some hilarious jokes she would try to sneak into some conversations and additionally baked some of her grandmother’s famous triple chocolate chip cookies. In hindsight, she realises that she had been hired as a help in a café where an actual baker worked in order to prepare all the sweet treats for the customers, but by then it was too late. She just hoped her colleagues would at least pretend to be interested in her amateur baking.

It wasn’t even as though this was her dream job. Far from it, actually. She loved spending time in cafés, but rather nursing a cup of coffee herself than working behind the counter with a constant fake smile plastered upon her face while listening to the ridiculous orders she had to fulfil. Needless to say, this was not her first job of this kind. She had held down her job at one of the coffee bars that were littered around her university campus for the first year and a half of her degree pursuit. After one of her coworkers had refused to stop their incessant flirting at her old job — and her boss had not even batted an eyelash when she mentioned her discomfort about the situation to them — she had felt forced to quit.

The first few weeks without a job seemed extremely relaxing, but when she had to decline her friend’s invitation to a night out because she wouldn’t have been able to afford the night - because, really, how expensive were the drinks at that club? - she decided to get back on her feet. Norah quite enjoyed working. Enjoyed the routine that came with having more than just her pain-in-the-ass philosophy class or some lecture that she would most likely not pay any attention to anyway to get her out of bed in the mornings. The social aspect that came with working was also something she cherished. She had always been a little more shy and dealing with colleagues was a fairly simple way to force herself to interact with humans without making too much of a fool out of herself.

Turns out, finding a new place of work in a town full of students had not been the easiest task. After asking around some of her friends and a few smaller shops around her university and gained nothing but shrugs and rejections, she decided to broaden her scope. She didn’t really mind taking the train to get to work - instead found it rather calming, actually -, so when she finally got the offer to work as a barista at The Brewing Pot in the heart of Manchester she had jumped at the opportunity.

The Brewing Pot was one of the most charming shops she had ever stepped foot in. The café section of the store was made up of wooden tables, tons of plants and some mismatched couches and armchairs. If you were to wander further into the building, though, you were greeted by tons of shelves filled with secondhand books. There was an extremely quaint, homely feel to the whole place. She didn’t even really mind the train ride she had to take in order to get to and from her new place of work.

The only aspect that made her feel a little on edge was her boss, whom she had met only once before during her job interview, which had not been all that fun. When she first laid her eyes on him, she had quite honestly been a little taken aback. He was absolutely gorgeous, with chocolate curls, piercing green eyes covered by a really expensive-looking pair of glasses - she was fairly certain she had spotted an engraved Gucci sign on them - and his very tall frame had been adorned by the most endearing knitted sweater. He had truly looked like the kind of man Norah could only have conjured up in her wildest dreams. That she would one day actually get to breathe the same air as such a specimen seemed laughable to her. But once he had opened his mouth, the fantasy she had created in a few milliseconds was destroyed just as quickly.

He had not been extremely rude to her, rather he had really only given her the bare minimum amount of time of day needed that could be deemed socially acceptable. Harry Styles seemed like quite the serious man though, not cracking one single smile at any of her attempted funny comments during their meeting. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to establish some ground rules on how he interacts with his employees or if he’d just gotten up on the wrong foot that morning, but she had definitely felt infinitely intimidated in his presence. Of course, looking back now, this first encounter with him did not calm her current frazzled state in any type of way.

Completely out of breath - she really should get started on that New Year’s resolution of hers to make actual use of her gym membership -, she pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by a jingle of the bells which notified everyone inside of a new entrance. Taking a quick glance towards the huge clock that adorned one of the brick walls in the café segment of the building, she thanked her lucky stars that she had decided to sprint. She thought that being a mere five minutes too late was the best case scenario in this really bad situation.

After gathering her hair up into some sort of ponytail to seem at least a little put together, she approached the counter. The wary smile on her lips paired with a nervous fumble of her fingers was probably enough to tip off the guy behind the counter as to who exactly she was. “Norah, right? You’re new, yeah? I’m Adam, supposed to show you around today!”

And, really, she could not have asked for a more charming person than Adam to show her the ropes and make her feel at home in her new job. Her other colleagues had also presented themselves as wonderfully kind people, but over the course of the next few weeks Adam had quickly established himself as one of her closest friends. For whichever curious reason, their shifts often overlapped and being of similar age only propelled their mutual understanding and bond into great heights. Dealing with some of the infuriating customers that visited, she was extremely delighted to be able to unload some of the stress into the ears of Adam, who completely understood her pain.

Therefore it’s pretty understandable how disappointed she is when he calls her one Monday morning to tell her he won’t be able to make it to their shared shift. As usual on Mondays the café was closed for business, but there had been an incredible amount of orders to fulfil for a wedding that was taking place the following day.

Ever since she started working there, her coworkers had given her crash courses on how to improve not only her own cookie recipe, which they had actually immensely enjoyed after she had mustered up enough courage to offer them to her colleagues, but also on how to perfectly follow the café’s original recipes. So when the question of who would come in on their day off to get a head start on the orders arose, she had felt pretty secure in offering her time and energy alongside Adam. The same Adam who had now left her to her own devices, because he had inspected the bottom of one too many bottles the night before.

Taking advantage of her solitude in the kitchen of The Brewing Pot, Norah blasted her ultimate mood-lifting album - does she even have to mention that it’s Nilsson Schmilsson? -  through the speakers that were installed to help motivate the staff during their work day. She was already dreading having to pipe about 170 cupcakes once they had cooled from their time in the oven as the entry bells to the store chimed.

Before she was even able to wonder who interrupted her jamming session to Without You (and also, had she just imagined triple-checking the locked entry door after arriving?), a disheveled-looking Harry Styles appeared in front of her eyes. Up until now she had only ever witnessed her boss on fleeting occasions, him often not being present during her shifts or hidden away in his office if he was in the vicinity.

So you cannot possibly hold it against her when she completely freezes up and just blinks her eyes at him a couple of times instead of actually making use of her vocal chords to inquire about why he was stood here, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed but simultaneously giving Adonis a run for his money. Luckily, he decides to address her first. “Good morning. I’ve been trying to find someone to come help you out but it’s too much of a short notice for everyone, so I hope you’ll accept my help.”

And because it really wasn’t her place to dismiss his offer, which could get her back on the train, home and into her warm cozy bed a little quicker, she shot him a timid smile. “A helping hand would be more than welcome to me right now, thanks.” Those words were apparently all he needed in order to kick into gear, as he rolled up the sleeves of yet another adorable knitted sweater. She quickly sprung into actions as well and turned the volume of the speakers down by a vast amount, so that the wonderful melodies by Harry Nilsson only soft drifted through the kitchen.

The space that wasn’t occupied by their bodies trying to move about the kitchen without much interaction was filled by uncomfortable silence. His presence did not calm the movement of her hands, which was already shaky due to her fear regarding finishing up these cupcakes. Additionally to looking so wonderful that she would much rather put the icing on him rather than the baked goods, he was also her boss, which meant that she would have to try her damnedest not to mess up.

“How old are you again, Mister Styles?” She had to break the silence which had quickly settled over them somehow, right? To her, it seemed more awkward to not engage with each other while being confined in the close proximity the kitchen provided.

What she had not taken into account was that Harry Styles did not seem like much of a conversationalist.  After a short confused glance at her - he must have momentarily forgotten that she is also taking up space in the kitchen, why else would he be so surprised for her to be speaking up? - he gives her the shortest reply possible. “I’m 27.”

It’s not as if she is extroverted in any kind of way, it’s just that awkward situations are even more difficult to handle for her than actually conversing. Which is why she definitely understands the hint his short answer was supposed to give her but she chooses to ignore it regardless. “So, Adam told me you’ve owned this place for like 5 years… Why did you open it at such a young age?”

“Didn’t open it myself. The owner needed a replacement and chose me.” His shortage of words stunned her a little bit. She could definitely tell he was starting to get frustrated with her incessant talking, but he seemed too polite to confront her about it. It didn’t seem to her as though she was prying into his life. She was just asking a few standard questions, no harm meant in any way.

Nevertheless, she let silence overtake the space once again and let her eyes drift from the cupcake bases she had been trying to cool by aimlessly wiggling another baking tray over it towards her boss. His head bent down (his glasses didn’t seem to budge at all which intrigued her more than it probably should), cradling a filled piping bag in his now bare hands - usually they were ring-clad, and she had been itching to ask about whether any of them held some sort of special meaning to him just like the quartz ring that she sported on her right pointer finger did to her -, she knew she was fucked.

Unsurprisingly, she had always had the tendency to gush over males who portrayed a certain distance, an unattainability. Harry Styles, though, definitely took the cake. He did not seem interested in maintaining the exchange of vowels and consonants between them in the slightest. Rather he made it seem as though these baked goods were his sole purpose in life, as he gave them his full attention.

She had noticed some thoughts cross her mind a few times before already. That he always seemed too serious, almost stoic, his mood always seeming solemn, and how that did not correlate with the beautiful features of his physique at all. His hands looked delicate, his lips pouty and the area around his stomach and hips incredibly soft - which stood in contrast to his otherwise incredibly lean frame wonderfully. Maybe her self-proclaimed hopeless romanticism had something to do with it, but had this intricate feeling as though he wasn’t born such a low-spirited person. Perhaps that was why she decided to open her mouth again. “Do you know the people who are getting married tomorrow? Like, the couple who -”

“Listen, I think you’re doing a great job working here, but I am not really interested in making friends with my employees. So if we could just… finish this order, I’d really appreciate that.”

Remember when she declared him as being too polite to call her out on awkwardly trying to attempt a conversation? She definitely takes that sentiment back. Surprised, her hands falter in their current swirling motion and lift the piping bag away from the cakes he so badly wants to complete in order to not completely mess up. She isn’t entirely fond of the idea of turning this whole encounter into an even bigger disaster than she has already found herself in.

Even after analysing the exchange in lightning speed, she couldn’t figure out where exactly she went wrong. What had warranted his coarse reply? Being completely honest, he had infuriated her. Not wanting to blur a line between friends and employees made sense to her, if that was what he really wanted. But there were right and wrong ways to make her aware of his penchant. Harry Styles had chosen to go about it in a wrong way.

“I’m sorry for prying, Mister Styles. I was just looking to make conversation. If you aren’t interested in being friendly with me and insisting on being a sourpuss, then that is your right. But please be civil when you inform me of that. It’s just common courtesy, isn’t it?”

For a moment she holds her breath. His eyes shot up to her and she was able to detect the tightening of his jaw. Alright, maybe dubbing him a sourpuss hadn’t been the smartest move, but she couldn’t stop herself. The word described him perfectly. She was convinced that this would be her last shift at The Brewing Pot. Already mourning the loss of yet another job in her head, the man who she (for now) called her boss let his Adam’s apple bop one time and then dropped his head. The conversation had passed.

One hour and an abundance of tense silence later, all 170 cupcakes were iced and placed into the fridge, ready to be delivered first thing Tuesday morning. With one mutter, he dismissed her - opting to clean the kitchen on his own rather than dragging out this miserable encounter.

And with her head held high, but her heart nestled a little bit lower in her chest, she made her exit.

Apparently, the people in charge of the railway system and the trains really did not have any aspirations towards getting on her good side. It was March now, and she had just finished up her first solo closing shift in her three months working there. Spring had yet to peak through the dreary blanket that the Winter had placed upon England. She could not wait to take a hot shower. Would have preferred a bath and a nice cup of tea, but alas, that was a feature her student housing did not provide. Then she’d like to settle down on the couch to watch reruns of sitcoms until it would prove impossible to force her eyes open any longer and then retread to bed.

Much to her dismay, those plans were crossed through by her train home, who had taken it upon himself to leave just about two minutes before schedule. So here she stood, having just missed her last opportunity to get home towards the warmth and comfort her flat could provide her with and with not one place to go. After frantically calling just about every person in her phone book that either lived in a close mile radius or owned a car, she finally decided to seek solace in the confines of The Brewing Pot.

Truth be told, she didn’t really feel all too happy with her decision, but where else was she supposed to go? Catching a cab would’ve cost her an arm and a leg and Adam, who resided outside of Manchester but did own a car, was not even picking up his phone. She believed that her last resort was just settling down on one of the couches of the coffee house and trying to stay conscious throughout the night in order to grab a train home first thing in the morning.

And this plan probably would’ve worked out well enough, had her boss not entered his store after hours and found her lounging around way after she was supposed to actually be present. It seemed to her as though Harry Styles’ baseline state consisted of a mixture of stress and sternness. Norah had once again not caught more than a few mere glimpses of him after their unpleasant icing session. Not that she had minded their lack of interaction this time around.

“What… are you doing here?” She hadn’t expected any other question from him, the confusion apparent on his face this time extremely warranted. And this time, instead of holding it up high Norah lets her head sink a little lower, knowing that she wasn’t really supposed to be here after hours. This time, if he were to get angry and throw her out, she would not be able to hold that decision against him.

She felt stupid. How incapable did it make her seem when she would tell him that on her first closing shift she had managed to miss her way of making it back home? The closing shift itself had actually been kind of enjoyable to her, but would it seem rude for her to mention how she probably would’ve arrived at Piccadilly in time had she not been left to her own devices? The sound of his voice brought her back from the questions piling up inside of her mind while she had stayed silent. “Well?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Styles… I, uhh… My last train back home left a little earlier than expected and Adam isn’t picking up his phone, so… I had nowhere else to go. Was gonna just wait it out until the first one in the morning, but if that’s not alright I completely understand. I should’ve asked for permission.”

It seemed like this flow of words didn’t please him in the slightest. The shaking of his head was a clear indicator for that. On top of that, he let out a loud sigh. “You… You don’t have to call me Mister Styles. Harry is… just fine.” This was definitely not the kind of reply she had expected. For the first time since she’s been aware of his existence, his facial expression softened a tiny amount. “Listen, Norah. I understand that working a closing shift on your own is hard work, but you really can’t just… stay here afterwards without letting me know. It’s unprofessional.”

“No, yeah, I’m fully aware of that. I just… really couldn’t figure out another place to stay and I’ve got this really important presentation tomorrow. Thought that if I came here instead of sticking around at the station I would at least be in a safe place while waiting and might even be able to close my eyes for a second. But you definitely should have been informed.”

This reply seemed to calm his mood. Harry huffed and nodded his head in her direction. “Alright, well… You’re right, it’s better to hang around where it’s safe. Just make sure everything’s locked and the lights are off when you decide to leave.” With those words he ducked into his small office to retrieve whatever had made his trip back to his business necessary.

Relaxing a little bit, Norah leaned back into the sofa and observed the now illuminated doorway through which he had just disappeared. After their encounter she really had not expected him to let her off with a warning, but she was glad that he did. While sitting around The Brewing Pot for a whole night wasn’t what she had envisioned to be doing after work, the alternatives of either wandering around the streets of Manchester or lingering by the train station for multiple hours seemed even less appealing.

A few moments later Harry emerged from the office and let the door fall shut behind him as he closed the distance between him and Norah. “I -“, was as far as he got before he stopped himself to inhale a deep breath. She didn’t say a word. Just waited - admittedly a little (scratch that, a lot) anxious - for whatever he was about to blurt out.

“You were right, you know. I was extremely rude before, when we were working on that order for the Peterson wedding. You were just trying to make harmless conversation. There was no reason for me to blow up the way I did, I’m sorry.”

And if his hands fiddling with the files they were holding while waiting for her to speak up was a sign of his nervousness, well, colour Norah impressed. It wasn’t really the apology that threw her, it was the sincerity in his tone. She had accepted that she would not be able to establish some sort of friendly relationship with her boss, especially after there had not been any repercussions following her name-calling of him. She was grateful for that, at least.

“That’s… alright. Thank you for apologising, but I guess I was also out of line, so…”, was all she was able to come up with in reply. Frankly, there wasn’t much else left to say between the both of them. He had apologised for handling a situation the wrong way and she had admitted that her form of dealing with it could’ve also been improved upon.

Harry looked around his café helplessly before continuing his utterance of what she soon understood to be an invitation. “You said you have a, uhh… a presentation tomorrow? Are you… Do you think you’ll get enough rest staying here?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s quite close to the station and if I take the earliest train I might even be able to make it back in time to shower and go over my notes again. Gonna power through class tomorrow and then catch up on the sleep I’ve missed.”

With a shrug of his broad shoulders - and yes, she’s aware that she really has to stop lusting after him even though he’s behaving (and looking) extremely nice right now - he fixes his gaze on Norah once more. “I just stopped by to pick up these files that I forgot. Don’t live far from here, actually. You’re uhh… You’re welcome to stay in my guest room if you want.” Had she heard him correctly? Or had she already fallen asleep and was just dreaming up crazy scenarios? “At least you’ll get a few hours of sleep that way.”

Really, who was she to say no to the promise of being able to close her eyes for at least a few hours before what was sure to be a gruelling class tomorrow. Norah was also extremely curious to take a peek into his residence (and maybe his mind), even though she wouldn’t want to admit that out loud.  Harry waited by the door while she collected her belongings and not too soon after, they started their trek towards his house, accompanied by the biting gusts of cold nocturnal wind.

„You can leave your coat here, if you want.“ Harry‘s house was bigger than she had anticipated, but then again he did mention a guest room which could’ve tipped her off on the fact that his abode was bigger than her measly flat.

The seriousness he displayed during all of their encounters was nowhere to be found. His living room - where she now stood with her hands folded in front of her, waiting for him to return from the kitchen, which he had dipped into - was made up of a set of mismatched patterned couches and the walls were clad in artworks from all different styles that weirdly blended together in perfect cohesion. Plants and books adorned nearly every surface and corner in her line of vision - which made a lot of sense to her, because that was strongly reminiscent of the inside of The Brewing Pot.

Truth be told, she didn’t know what she had expected. Maybe lots of monochrome colours, whites and greys paired with a touch of black, and extremely modern furniture. Not wooden floors, which were scratched up and led her to believe in the presence of a pet in her vicinity (maybe the dog bed next to one of the loveseats tipped her off as well), and cozy, seemingly handmade throw pillows.

It was headache-inducing, really. Trying to figure him out. She was stood in the middle of a room that she would’ve definitely seen him inhabiting the first time she had laid eyes upon him. Before he had opened his mouth and heard the cold tone of his otherwise so deep and rich voice. So, had she pegged him right from the beginning? Was the solemnity a front he put on for strangers and employees or was his living space a remnant of a time and character passed, with Harry simply too lazy to redecorate?

Or was she just reading too much into this altogether?

Her way-too-deep considerations were put to a halt by Harry’s return into the room. “There you go.” In his hand was the biggest glass of water she had ever seen. The fact that she found such a small gesture endearing was enough to let alarm bells ring in Norah’s head. These mushy feelings and musings about his interior and its relation to his state of mind had to stop. She really knew next to nothing about the young man stood in front of her and based on the way their previous interaction had turned out, he most definitely wanted it to stay that way.

Gathering her wits, she accepted the glass filled with water from his outreached hand and took a tentative sip. Once again, Norah found herself in an awkward position that made her throat dry up just a little bit. “Thank you”, was all that erupted from her vocal chords.

Raising his hand to touch his glasses - which she knew for a fact had no need to be rearranged, remembering the way they hadn’t really moved an inch when he bowed his head to focus on the icing of the cupcakes - he spoke up again. “Alright, let me show you the spare room so you can get some sleep.”

[ebearskittychan]

So I’ve decided to attempt writing a Moomin oneshot (yes I have OCs pls don’t kill me there’s no ship I promise)

The Story of the Rambler and Pikkupoika

Moominvalley sees many different sorts of creatures big and small throughout the seasons. Two of them whose stories you may never have heard before are a young woman named the Rambler, and her little brother Pikkupoika.

The Rambler sort of comes and goes in Moominvalley. The first several times she was seen, Snufkin seemed to be the only person she'd actually talk to. If you ask him and he feels like talking, he’ll say that he's run into her a couple times on his travels, and explain that she is wandering around the world searching for a place to call home. "You see, some of us wanderers have a place we can go back to when we're finished wandering—I always come back to Moominvalley in the spring. But others haven't found that spot yet. The Rambler hasn't found hers yet, so she continues to travel the world, looking for home."

Moomin finds this to be the saddest thought ever and wishes the young woman with the floppy, blue-beribboned sunhat and the pale blue sundress wouldn't walk away shyly whenever anyone tried to approach her. "Well, how will she know when she's found it, Snufkin?" he’s asked before.

Snufkin just shrugs. "Oh, I don't know, Moomin. When I found Moominvalley, I just knew it was home. Maybe for some wanderers, it doesn't come that easy."

Moomin sighs and watches the distant Rambler as she leans against the bridge near Moominhouse, silently watching the river, the wind blowing loose a few wispy light-brown strands from her tightly-braided bun that hides underneath her sunhat. "Oh, I do hope she finds her home soon, Snufkin. She must be so lonely." 

One year, the Rambler rambles into Moominvalley in the early days of summer. Snufkin is well settled in by this point, his tent in its usual spot under the tree near the river, and is the first to be made aware of her arrival, mainly because her arrival is accompanied by the arrival of someone much louder.

"Sissy, sissy! Look! There's a big fish swimming in the river!"

The small boy with messy, choppy dark blonde hair that juts out in every direction, is younger than Moomin and his friends, but by no means a toddler or anything. In every way, it seems, Pikkupoika is entirely the Rambler's opposite. He runs, jumps, yells, sings, and happily plays with the other children, though his dark blue smock is ever getting in the mischievous boy’s way and tripping him up.

Sniff finds him a bit annoying at first, but the two of them soon relish in having ‘Loud Contests’ where the whole point of the game is to find out who's louder. Little My, who was not invited to play this particular game but joined anyway, is currently the reigning champion.

Pikkupoika gets along well with all of the children, and especially Moominmamma, who has always loved small children (and rather misses the days when her Moomin was so little), so the little tyke is often a guest at Moominhouse at all times of day.

But every night, the little one goes back to a campsite near the river, at the base of a grassy hill full of flowers, to tell his big sister of the adventures of the day. The Rambler is known for her quietness, but when she's with Pikkupoika, occasionally a musical laugh will ring out over the grassy hills of the valley. Moominmamma always says it's a hopeful sound, but also comments that she still wishes the Rambler would come over for tea—she worries about the girl.

One day, Pikkupoika brings the children to see the Rambler where she sits on a rock in front of their small, red tent, a leather-bound, green notebook and a set of lovely multicolored pens in her lap.

"Sissy, sissy, tell us all a story. Tell us the story of the fiendish ice salamander and the warrior princess!" Pikkupoika demands, his green eyes flashing with the excitement of youth and the admiration for a well-traveled older sibling that many older siblings will recognize.

(Snorkmaiden, of course, is shocked by the very concept of a warrior princess—princesses are far too refined for weapons—but even she has to admit that the story sounds fascinating.)

The Rambler is very blushy and shy and seems afraid to speak, her own green eyes staring down at her hands in her lap. But once Pikkupoika has sat down there, looking up at her expectantly, she finally begins, very quietly, to tell a story.

They quickly realize that her name has a double meaning--the Rambler not only rambles the world, but is also quite the storyteller, even if a little bit guilty of occasionally running off on some tangent for a bit.

Once the story is over and the warrior princess has vanquished the ice salamander (all without the help of a prince or knight, to Snorkmaiden's astonishment—"Well, I never!"), the Rambler falls silent and wordlessly waves the children off to play again with the smallest of smiles.

"She seems very nice," says Moomin after they’ve found somewhere new to play.

"Oh, she is very nice, much nicer than the old witch," Pikkupoika assures him emphatically as he attempts to climb a small tree, despite his smock’s getting in the way.

"The ‘old witch?’" Little My asks in curiosity. "That's not a very nice thing to call your mother."

"Oh, she wasn't our mother," Pikkupoika explains. "She took us from our parents when I was very little and the Rambler was much younger—payment of some sort, I think. I don't remember anything about them, but Rambler says they were almost as scary as the old witch."

"What sort of parents would sell their children to an old witch?" Moomin asks, stunned by the very idea. He could never, ever imagine Moominpappa and Moominmamma doing such a thing.

"Not very good ones," Little My asserts. "You're surely better off without them."

"But then, if you were stuck with an old witch, why did the Rambler come and go without you?" Sniff asks, confused. "That doesn't seem very nice of her."

Pikkupoika shrugs, now caught by his smock upside down in the tree branches, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the trunk, his dirty-blonde hair pointing down at the ground in crazy bits and spikes. "I was too little, then. I would have cried and woken up the witch when we ran away. Rambler ran away first chance she got, once she was a bit older, but she always came back to visit me sometimes in the middle of the night, with stories and treats from the world far away.

“And once I was old enough to walk so far, she took me with her, and we've never gone back to the witch's house since," he concludes.

"I hope she doesn't come after you," Moomin worries. "The Groke is rather like a witch, and when her ruby was stolen, she stalked Moominvalley for nights until she received something in trade."

"Pooh," Little My snorts. "I bet the witch doesn't even care they're gone."

"I don't know," Pikkupoika sighs, currently trying to free himself from the branches.

Moomin finally shakes off his thoughts enough to help his little friend down from the tree.

"But Rambler is very brave,” the little boy continues. “She'd protect the both of us if the witch came after us."

Little My snorts even harder. "That shy thing? I don't think she's ever even heard the word ‘brave.’"

"Don't be so rude, Little My," Sniff admonishes the tiny Mymble.

"Ninny was very quiet, but very brave," Moomin reminds her.

"And Rambler is too brave!" Pikkupoika huffs, stumbling around a bit as all his blood rushes back out of his head now that he's on his feet again. "When you ramble alone, you encounter many monsters, and none of them have managed to truly harm her yet."

Moomin tells Moominmamma the whole story of his encounter with the Rambler, and she becomes more determined than ever to get through to the silent girl with the floppy sunhat and the ever-present notebook.

"She's just a cat sort of person," she remarks to Moominpappa one evening as she watches Pikkupoika hurry back to Rambler for the night. The smell of some sort of delicious stew floats across the hills towards Moominhouse. At least the girl can cook, Moominmamma thinks to herself. At least I know she isn't hungry.

"What do you mean by a cat sort of person?" Moominpappa questions. "You mean like a Mumrik, like my old traveling companion the Joxter?"

"No, no, dear," Moominmamma shakes her head as she stands up from one of her flower gardens and carefully dusts off her old apron. "I mean, like a cat, you have to slowly win her trust, getting a little closer at a time."

Moominpappa finally looks up from the papers he's working over, on the table set on the veranda of the Moominhouse, and snorts. "You really think you can tame the Rambler?"

Moominmamma gives a resolute nod. "If I can heal colds, get Snufkin to sleep inside on rainy nights, and bring invisible girls back to light, I think I can tame the Rambler, dear."

Moominpappa gives a small laugh and returns to his memoirs. "If anyone can, it's you, Mamma."

And so begins Moominmamma's quest to ‘tame the Rambler.’ At first, she waits until the Rambler has left camp to ramble the hills and vales and write and sketch in her notebook, and leaves small trinkets and treats at the campsite--jars of raspberry juice or gooseberry jam, small baskets of cookies or biscuits, at one point a lovely new light blue ribbon for the Rambler’s sunhat, since Moominmamma noticed the old one is beginning to fray.

Finally, one day, as Moominmamma leaves a basket full of small strawberry pies atop a rock near the red canvas tent, a tiny voice addresses her, hidden inside a patch of tall grass and wildflowers nearby.

"Strawberry's my favorite, you know. Thank you."

"You're welcome, my dear," Moominmamma answers gently, not pressing any and not trying to spot the Rambler where she hides in the grass, probably cloudwatching. "I'll remember that. I think Pikkupoika mentioned that anything sweet is his favorite."

A tiny giggle comes from the grass, followed by more silence. Moominmamma allows herself a small smile of victory and returns home across the river once more.

The children continue to occasionally talk Rambler into sharing a story or two—their favorite soon becomes the tale of when Snufkin thought he was rescuing her from a cruel king once when they ran across each other on their travels, only to discover that the Rambler was exactly where she wanted to be—trying to silently pickpocket a magical object from the cruel king that actually belonged to the rightful king, so that he'd be able to return to the throne.

Snufkin did come in handy later on during their great escape from the dungeon—"He said he'd had a great deal of experience digging his way out of prisons with nothing more than his trusty can opener," the Rambler explains.

(Moomin later asks Snufkin why he never told him of this grand adventure. "Oh, you know," Snufkin shrugs as he fishes for minnows in the stream. "So many dull things happen that sometimes I forget all about the exciting ones."

"You're lying," Moomin accuses. "I just know you are."

Snufkin just smiles knowingly without looking at his friend, and Moomin sighs in defeat, knowing no one can make Snufkin say a word when he doesn't want to.)

But besides the Rambler’s occasional storytelling moments and the rare times she's seen sitting near-ish Snufkin while he plays his harmonica and she writes (they hardly ever seem to talk, just silently keep the other company in their own withdrawn way), it seems as though very little progress is being made on Moominmamma's part.

Concerned, Moominmamma waits until Snufkin is sitting alone on the veranda one hot and humid July evening, and decides to try questioning him about it. Snufkin is always reticent, true, but he's always spoken to Moominmamma about things when he knows they're important.

"Why can't I get the Rambler to come visit?" she asks him, mild frustration in her voice. They both know that she's not upset with the girl, just upset that she hasn't managed to get through to her yet. "I worry about the girl. She spends so much time alone..."

"I spend so much time alone, and I'm fine," Snufkin reminds her calmly.

"Oh, I know," Moominmamma sighs, crossing her hands over her red-and-white-striped apron and standing near Snufkin as he leans against the porch railing. "But your loneness is different, Snufkin, and I know you can see it. You like to be alone. I think that's part of the Rambler's loneness, too, but I think the girl is often very lonely, which is another sort of thing altogether."

Snufkin allows a small nod of agreement, but doesn't say anything.

"Oh, Snufkin," Moominmamma sighs sadly, giving her head a slow shake. "Why can't I get through to her? Why can't I help her?"

Snufkin eyes Moominmamma out of the corner of his eye for a second, but then turns his gaze back to the setting sunset. He closes his eyes. "Let me tell you a story, Moominmamma."

Part of Moominmamma wants to gently complain that now is not exactly the time for a story, but Snufkin so rarely tells stories (and never speaks when it's not important) that she knows better than to interrupt. So, she stays quiet, listening.

Snufkin has this sort of sad smile on his face, like he often does. "Let's say that once there was a cat, a very kind and friendly cat, the sort that cuddles and purrs and is always very glad to see you."

The Mumrik-Mymble boy is quiet for a long moment before continuing. "Now let's say that this cat was sold away to someone very cruel, someone who had no interest in cuddles, or purrs, or having anyone be very glad to see them, someone always shouting ‘You're being too loud!’ or ‘Get out of the room when I'm in it!’ or ‘You're no use for anything!’ or dreadful things like that." Snufkin pauses once more, brown eyes now open and staring at the distant Lonely Mountains, expression still calm.

"Oh, that person sounds as horrible as Ninny's aunt," Moominmamma comments quietly. "I'd still like to give that dreadful woman a piece of my mind."

Snufkin allows himself a small smile at the comment before continuing as if there had been no interruption.

"The cat didn't let that very cruel person stop her. She still cuddled, and purred, and was very glad to see people." He pauses again, but not as long this time. "So, the cat left behind the very cruel person and the kitten they lived with, who was far too young to travel at that time, and went out to see the world.

"But gentle cats who travel alone are often chased, or teased, or worse. In some places, people like to maim cats, or stomp on their tails. This cat got away from any horrible scrapes, but she saw a few terrible things that frightened her and stayed with her on the inside. And she learned very quickly that those cats who cuddle, and purr, and are very glad to see people, are often the cats who are chased, and teased, and stepped upon, and burned the very most.

"Eventually she grew exhausted from trying, exhausted from her gentle ways always being met with cruelty. ‘Everyone in the whole world must be cruel,’ she decided one night, hidden alone in a very dark place. ‘I don't want to be their friends anymore. I'm frightened they'll keep hurting and attacking me—'"

"Oh, the poor dear," Moominmamma interjects, unable to help herself. "The poor, poor dear."

Snufkin eyes her again for a moment before continuing. "But despite everything that happened, the gentle cat didn't want to think everyone was cruel, which led her to think something else, something just as sad. ‘Maybe the problem is with me. Maybe I'm a very broken or mangy cat. Maybe I can't be loved. Maybe that's why everybody is so unkind to me, because I'm an abandoned cat who ran away from her mistress, to go and see the world on my own. Maybe there is no home for a cat like me.’"

The boy pulls his hat down over his eyes a bit to shield out the setting sun that's now right at his eye level. "But as she was sitting in that very dark place, a wanderer came across her, and asked what she was doing sitting in such a very dark and very cold place all by herself."

Moominmamma has a guess as to who this wanderer was, but says nothing. She knows that if she breaks the spell by telling Snufkin she knows he is speaking of himself, that she will never again have a chance to hear this part of the story.

"The wanderer helped the gentle cat find a warm supper and a fire to sit by. She was afraid to speak, so the wanderer didn't push at her. The wanderer understood very well that sometimes, it's far better to be quiet, and that sometimes, if people ask us to talk when we aren’t ready, all it does is lock the words up inside our mouths even more.

"The gentle cat and the wanderer traveled together in silence for a few days. The gentle cat helped make and break camp, and helped cook meals, but always stayed out of reach of the wanderer; never quite met his eyes; was always very, very careful not to be too close. The wanderer could tell she was afraid, and since some who wander the world are very unkind, he understood her trepidation. He kept his distance; never crowded the cat."

Oh, but that's what I've been doing, Moominmamma wants to interrupt, but again, she knows better. Why isn't it working? Why can't I get the gentle cat to see I am not cruel, or dreadful, or spiteful, or mean?

"Eventually," Snufkin goes on, "the gentle cat finally spoke to the wanderer. ‘Why have you been so kind with me? What do you want from me? When are you going to turn on me?’"

He pauses then for such a long time that Moominmamma is half afraid that he has finished with his tale.

Finally, he speaks up again. "‘I want nothing from you, friend cat,’ the wanderer told her, ‘save your smile, and your friendly ways, and your company. Even wanderers need friends at times, you know. I trust the same is true for gentle cats.’

“The cat thought that over for a very long time, before asking in a shaking mew, ‘But who would wish to be friends with a cat who is mangy, and unlovable, and unwanted, who has been spat upon, and kicked, and scolded for being cuddly and purring and being very glad to see people, and had her tail stepped upon, and dishwater dumped upon her head, and has very nearly been maimed or burnt before?’

"The wanderer had guessed that the gentle cat knew cruelty well, but even he was surprised and saddened by the things the cat told him. The wanderer knew how the world was filled with cruelty and sarcasm and fuss and misery, but sometimes, it surprised him to remember just how much of those awful things there are floating around in the world.

"So, the wanderer was quiet and let the cat sit across the fire and cry for a bit. But once she'd finished, the wanderer told her something important, something the cat later told him helped change her whole perspective on life.

"The wanderer told her, ‘Things can only hurt you as long as they're inside of you—a germ, a knife, especially words and thoughts. If they're not inside of you, they can't hurt you.’

“The cat replied in a sad yowl, ‘Oh, but how can you get them out when they written upon your heart and your brain in indelible ink?’"

"‘You must get them out,’ the wanderer advised her. ‘You mustn't let them stay inside you. Put them on paper, put them in song, put them anywhere else but inside you.’

“The cat cried, ‘Oh, but what if I forget and make the same mistakes again?’

“The wanderer answered her, ‘They will always be written on the paper where you can remember them if you must, or even use them to teach others to never make the same mistakes. But they don't have to stay inside you.’

"And so the gentle cat became a storyteller," Snufkin finally concludes, a sad sort of smile on his face. "She wrote, and she drew, and she told stories, and she rambled. She continued to get in and out of scrapes, sometimes with the wanderer, usually alone, and she always went back to visit her friend the kitten and tell the little one of her adventures and stories."

Snufkin seems now to be finished, so Moominmamma says sadly, "But she still never cuddles, or purrs, or tells people she's very glad to see them."

"Oh, she does," Snufkin corrects her gently, nodding at Pikkupoika as he runs across the wooden bridge Moominpappa built several springs ago and into the Rambler's waiting arms. "Just only for the kitten, for the one person she's cuddled and purred at and been very glad to see without ever having suffered for it."

"But how can the gentle cat ever be taught to cuddle, and purr, and tell people she's very glad to see them again?" Moominmamma asks sadly, feeling more for the Rambler now than ever before.

Snufkin gives her a long look before stepping down off the veranda. "She must get rid of the dreadful thing inside her that's still stopping her, I suppose. Now, good night to you, Moominmamma. Tell Moomin I said I'd meet him on the bridge bright and early tomorrow morning."

The next day, Moominmamma is more resolute than ever to reach the Rambler. So, she goes and sits quietly in front of the Rambler and Pikkupoika's tent, picking flowers and gently tying them into crowns and bracelets as she waits.

Eventually, the Rambler appears, a pail of spring water in her hands, walking quietly, rather dreamily over the hill. When she sees Moominmamma, she jumps a bit. Moominmamma doesn't say anything or look up, so quietly, cautiously, the Rambler places the pail of water down and sits down on her rock, pulling her notebook out of the satchel she always carries, eyeing Moominmamma warily.

A few minutes later, Moominmamma is poked in the back by something. She starts a bit, and picks it up to find a paper airplane with the words ‘Open Me’ penned on the wings. When she glances back at the Rambler, the girl is blushing a bit, her pale, freckled face mostly hidden by her notebook.

Moominmamma opens the paper airplane to find inside a beautiful sketch of herself from a behind sort of angle, sitting on the grass and tying flowers.

"Thank you, Rambler dear," Moominmamma says gently. "This is lovely. I'll hang it up in the kitchen, where everyone can see it."

The Rambler doesn't answer, and continues to hide behind her notebook.

Moominmamma carefully places the drawing in her lap and turns away again, going back to tying her flowers. "When I was a young girl..." she pauses for a long moment to think of how to word this, thinking over all of Snufkin's words the night before. "When I was a very young girl, and there were things inside me that I wanted to get out but couldn't seem to figure out how, I would always speak to my Mamma. She always listened, never judged, and always helped me feel so much better."

The Rambler is silent, and Moominmamma certainly does not wish to come off as presumptuous, so she quickly adds, "Every young boy or girl should have someone like that, someone to confide in."

The Rambler makes a small sniffling noise. Moominmamma is tempted to snap her head up, wanting to respond to the crying that must be accompanying it, but certainly not wanting to chase the cat away when she is this close.

Instead, she says gently, "Everyone deserves to know they are loved, no matter what they do, or say, or how they think, or who they are, or no matter what dreadful sorts of things have happened to them—oh, especially then."

The Rambler's snifflings continue, a little bit harder now.

Moominmamma finally chances a careful glance in her direction. "Everyone deserves to know they are loved, Rambler. Even you, dear."

The Rambler suddenly springs to her feet, throwing her notebook down, her face very bright red. "Why do you care? Why come make fun of me? The only one who loves me is Pikkupoika, and I'm lucky for that much. Nobody else could love a dreadful mess like me, thrown away, sold away, run away, chased away..."

Moominmamma says nothing for a long moment while the Rambler's breath comes in angry huffs, her hands clenched in small fists at her sides, the skirt of her pale blue sundress fluttering a bit about her knees in the hot midsummer breeze.

Finally, Moominmamma says gently, "Pikkupoika isn't the only one who loves you, dear. Moomin thinks your stories are absolutely riveting, and loves recounting them to Moominpappa and me. Sniff always complains that he wishes he could try your cooking, it smells so good. Even Little My admits that you seem nice, and coming from her, that's the grandest of compliments."

The Rambler continues to huff, but her eyes aren't looking at Moominmamma anymore; they're looking very, very far away.

Moominmamma continues quietly. "And I know Snufkin loves you; he never lets anybody sit with him when he's in one of his lone moods. And yet, because you two are cut from the same sort of cloth in some ways, because you understand each other in some ways, he doesn't mind having you present at those times. Those are important sorts of friendship, you know. The people we are willing to be with when we want to avoid everybody else are some of our best friends.”

"Moomin is his best friend," Rambler comments quietly, her eyes still distant. "He always mentions him, whenever we come across each other in our travels."

Moominmamma laughs quietly. "That may be true, but you are one of his friends too, dear."

The Rambler suddenly falls back down into a sitting position on the smooth-topped, grey rock, her hands limp in her lap and a few strands of light-brown hair having worked their way out of her hidden braided bun to frame her face, her green eyes sad as they stare at the ground.

"You really think they want to be my friends? You really think they aren't just waiting to hurt someone as awful as me?"

"By the Booble, dear, you're not awful in the least," Moominmamma protests firmly but softly. "I promise you you're not."

The Rambler sits there silently for a long moment, as tears begin to slide down her face. Moominmamma watches her quietly, making no movements.

Finally, the Rambler chokes on something, as if she's trying to get something out from deep within her chest, buried next to her heart.

She's trying to get the worst thing of all out. And it's getting caught along the way.

Moominmamma realizes this. Her instinct is to go rub the girl's back to help coax the foreign object out of her airways, but she knows in this case, that wouldn't help.

Finally, the Rambler gets out with a sob, first, "I've never had a mamma, or a pappa; not really." And with another sob, out comes some more of it. "And I've never had anybody tell me they'd love me no matter what, before."

Moominmamma can't help herself anymore as tears come to her own eyes. She gets up and hurriedly sits down next to the girl, who, while full-grown, seems so small, so vulnerable in this moment. Wrapping her firm, big arms around her, she hugs her close. "Oh, dear Rambler... Oh, dear..."

The Rambler continues to cry, before getting out the last of the horrible buried thoughts and words that have been hurting her for so long. "And I've never, ever had a home before."

Moominmamma lets the girl finish crying. By this point, Moomin and the others (Sniff, Pikkupoika, and Snorkmaiden, at the moment) have noticed. Most of them respectfully keep their distance, but Pikkupoika runs over as fast as his legs will carry them, falling on his face once and getting grass stains all over himself when his legs get tangled up in his smock.

"Rambler! Rambler! Are you alright? Why are you crying? What's wrong?" He shoves his way between Moominmamma and the girl, wriggling his way into the midst of Moominmamma's arms. "Please, sissy, what's the matter? Has Moominmamma made you cry?"

The Rambler's sobs have finally ceased, but a moment later, they're replaced by a new sound. A tiny giggle comes out of the Rambler's throat, followed by a bigger one, followed by one of her rare, real laughs. She wraps her arms around Pikkupoika—and, by extension, around Moominmamma. "Oh, Pikkupoika... I love you, dear brother. I do hope you know that."

"Of course I do," Pikkupoika answers, his expression still quite concerned. "You tell me so every night. I love you too, dear sister. I do hope you know that."

“Oh, I do, I do,” the Rambler half-cries, half laughs. “I do know it, and I will forever after.”

Pikkupoika is eventually convinced that the Rambler is alright, but he is shocked all over again when Moominmamma takes the girl by the hand and leads her up the hill to Moominhouse. Pikkupoika grabs the Rambler's other hand. "Where are we going?"

The Rambler isn't sure how to answer, so she looks to Moominmamma, who tells Pikkupoika gently, "After a good cry, some biscuits and tea are just what Grandma always recommended. I haven't found cause to doubt that, yet."

At tea, the Rambler is still rather quiet, but she tells a couple of her stories, and even smiles and laughs at the words and antics of the others. And after that, she is a regular at Moominhouse. Like Snufkin, she often doesn't talk much, and even when she does speak, she often doesn't say much, but the others can tell now that it's because she's content in the silence, like Snufkin, not because some lodged-up words and thoughts are blocking her throat.

Sometimes the Rambler will tell Moominmamma the dreadful stories of the things she has encountered in the past, sometimes resolutely, sometimes with tears and trembling. Just like Snufkin, Moominmamma is saddened to remember that there can be so much evil in the world, and a few people are added to her list of people to whom she wishes to give a piece of her mind one day, but she never begrudges the Rambler for her trust and need to be able to get the dreadful things out.

Sometimes the Rambler will give Moominpappa advice about how to rephrase things in his memoirs, or help him work through his bouts of writer's block. At first, he's hesitant to accept the help, but soon becomes quite glad of it and finds her an interesting fellow writer with whom to chat.

And, after a little bit of friendly begging on his part, she even agrees to be the official illustrator for his memoirs.

The Rambler plays with the group of children on occasion, though like Snufkin, you can often find the group without her, as well. And you can still often find her sitting near-ish Snufkin while he plays his harmonica or fishes and she writes or draws—while it is a joy to have the friends who draw us out and teach us to laugh and take up space, it is equally a joy to have those friends with whom we can simply be still and small.

Of course, like all lovely things, the summer eventually comes to an end. About a month before Snufkin would normally leave for the winter, the Rambler and Pikkupoika's tent is packed up into a knapsack along with their few other belongings.

Moomin stands and watches sadly, his hands crossed over his white, furry tummy. "Must you really go? Just like Snufkin... Why do you have to leave?"

"Sissy promised we'll go to the big city," Pikkupoika tells Moomin excitedly as he helps his older sister clean up their campsite and pack their things. "Or maybe across the ocean, even."

"Somewhere warm," the Rambler laughs, a beautiful sound that is, thankfully, much more common now.

"But still," Moomin complains sadly. "I'll miss you. And at least with Snufkin, I sleep all through the winter, but with this... When will you even be back?"

"Dunno," Pikkupoika shrugs with a grin, "but I'll bring you a souvenir. Promise!"

The Rambler, though, is silent for a long moment, looking Moomin in the eye. She finally gets a small smile on her face. "When all the leaves have burst into green, and the hills are covered with flowers, and summer is just waking up on the edge of the hills... We will come home, Moomin. I promise."

She is surprised the instant after by Moomin giving her a huge hug. "Oh, I knew it, I knew it! I knew Moominvalley would become your home! I knew it was going to happen!" he cheers, hugging the wispy girl so tightly that he's nearly picking her up off the ground despite the fact she's taller than him.

She laughs, patting his large nose until he puts her down. "Moominvalley isn't home, Moomin. But you're close."

Moomin grows very confused indeed. "But you just said—"

She has kneeled back down on the ground again, and smiles calmly down at the clothes she is folding and packing away. "Moominvalley isn't home for Pikkupoika and I. But you are, and Moominmamma is, and Moominpappa, and Sniff, and Snufkin, and Little My, and Too-Ticky, and everybody else. You're home, Moomin."

Pikkupoika, who was running along the riverbank for a moment, stops behind his sister, crossing his arms and resting them on her head, placing his small, freckled face atop his folded arms. "Yeah. Because for some ramblers, home isn't a place. It's found inside the hearts of people."

"I think I understand," Moomin murmurs quietly, still sad to see them go, but so glad to know they'll be back.

The next day, followed by the sound of two laughing voices this time—both the Rambler and Pikkupoika's—the two siblings leave Moominvalley for places unknown.

Snufkin looks after them with a bit of a knowing smile from the veranda, completely understanding the mixed joy and sadness of moving on for a time.

Moominmamma watches the two go (whom she now completely considers among the number of her already-sizable, always-growing brood), and murmurs to Snufkin quietly, "Thank you, Snufkin."

"Whatever for?" he asks in amusement, glancing over at Moominmamma and then off at the river. "I've not done anything."

"For helping me to teach the cat to cuddle, and purr, and be very glad to see people again, of course," Moominmamma says with a laugh.

Snufkin turns his knowing smile upon her and shakes his head. "I'm sure I haven't the slightest what you're talking about," he says in his rather wry fashion, and climbs down from the veranda, the small twinkle in his eye giving him away, as far as Moominmamma is concerned. "If you see Moomin, let him know I'll be down at the beach, seafishing."

"I will," Moominmamma laughs, shaking her head at the Mumrik-Mymble boy.

Autumn in Moominvalley is a always very quiet, very calm sort of affair—even quieter presently because of the absence of the Rambler's stories and Pikkupoika's giggles and guffaws.

But every year, the autumn is filled with a sense of hope and promises. Because after autumn comes the cold, sleepy winter, true... But after the winter comes the spring. And spring brings with it friends, hope, and second chances.

That's the end of this story, I suppose, but Moominvalley is never, ever short on stories.

Maybe there'll be another worth telling very soon.

[glorious-spoon]

Nothing Fancy, Nothing Much

Title: Nothing Fancy, Nothing Much Link: On AO3 Fandom: Agent Carter Pairing: Rose/OFC, Rose/Michael Warnings: None Other tags: Character Study, Wistful Summary:  Rose Roberts takes a job in L.A., and eventually finds her feet and her place in the world.

Written as part of the Fandom Supporting Migrants fic exchange for @musiclmaiden who donated to RAICES.

*

What with one thing and another, Rose has been in LA for more than a month before she actually makes it out to the beach. Surprisingly, she doesn’t actually mind that much, even though the beach was half the reason she decided to take the job when Agent--well, Chief, now--Sousa offered back in July.

Okay, more like a third of the reason. She really does like Chief Sousa, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever Peggy managed to pull off back in New York, the options for a gal like her were...well. Limited.

Besides, LA is like a dream. Scorching hot, sure, but it’s a dry heat, and the shop down the street from her new apartment sells these adorable little parasols to keep her from breaking out too badly in freckles. She’s been able to relax her wardrobe a bit, she’s stocked up on bathing suits, and even Chief Sousa has taken to wearing a string of increasingly outrageous Hawaiian shirts, although she’s pretty sure that pretty blonde he’s been stepping out with has something to do with that.

Hard luck on Peggy, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Anyway, it’s mid-September before she makes it out to Will Rogers Beach. In New York, it would be getting too cold for swimming this time of year, but here in California it’s just as scorchingly hot as ever, and by the time she gets her towel and umbrella and picnic lunch arranged on the white sand, she’s all over sweat and ready for a dip.

Despite the heat, the ocean is still icy; she’s not quite sure what she was expecting. She shrieks, splashes, and topples over on her fanny, and someone laughs nearby, a small warm hand reaching down to help her up before she can be too put out about it, and she looks up to see warm brown eyes sparkling in a pretty sun-browned face, blonde curls pulled behind a bright red bandanna.

“You all right?” the woman asks, white teeth flashing bright.

“Fine,” Rose says faintly. She feels a little faint, and she’s pretty sure it’s not the heat or the tumble she just took.

And that’s how she meets Doris.

*

Here’s the thing. Rose has always had an eye for a good-looking fella. She always figured that after the war was over she’s find a man, settle down, raise a family.

That was before she joined up with the WAC as a switchboard operator and… well. Got her horizons expanded just a touch by a string of pretty hard-edged gals in uniform.

Of course, none of those affairs were ever going to last, but it was good to have a little bit of fun in a miserable situation, especially since none of that sort of fun was going to end up with her in a family way. Just about everybody got up to some kind of nonsense over on the front. Half the men, too, although of course she wasn’t meant to know anything about that.

The point is, she never expected any of it to follow her back home, but with Doris… well. One afternoon of splashing in the shallows and sharing the large picnic lunch Rose packed under her umbrella turned into two, and then three, and then before she knows it they’re meeting for shopping trips down in Studio City, and lunch dates that ramble into dinner dates without anyone paying attention, and by the time two weeks later when Doris leans across the towel they’re sharing on the empty beach at dawn and kissed her on the mouth, Rose already knows she’s done for.

It can’t last. She knows it can’t. But Doris is here, and she’s beautiful, and Rose didn’t survive the war without learning how to hang onto any good thing she can get with both hands for as long as she can.

She knows it’ll hurt when it ends, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth having while it lasts.

*

She’s right. It hurts.

It’s not even a fight that does it, which might have been easier. Doris’s mother back in La Crosse gets sick, and Doris goes home to take care of her. She even offers for Rose to come with her, but Rose has the SSR, and she knows, she knows that if she gives that up she’ll end up resenting Doris until she poisons everything between them and is left with nothing.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but she kisses Doris before dropping her off at the train station, and smiles through her tears when Doris turns to wave with one white-gloved hand, her polka-dot skirt swirling around her legs, and she knows she’s made the right choice.

It’s just going to sting for a while, but Rose is a big girl and she’s lived through worse. She knows how to move on.

*

She never means to tell anyone, after. She doesn’t really date much--or, well, she does, she goes out dancing for a night, lets the other agents and scientists and the occasional civilian buy her a drink and spend a few minutes spinning her across the dance floor to Duke Ellington, but it’s never any more than that. She’s learned her lesson, she thinks. Spinsterhood is starting to look mighty fine.

And then Michael happens.

He’s the last thing she ever expected. None of them, even Peggy, were expecting him to be alive, so that’s a shock, and then he’s tall and blond and handsome and...gentle in a way that Peggy isn’t. Rose figures it has to be an act. She’s read his service files, after all. She knows what he’s done. What he’s capable of. She’s watched Peggy slap him across the face in the middle of the SSR bullpen and tell him that she never wants to see him again.

She’s sure as hell not expecting him to ask her out to dinner a few weeks later when he stops by the office. She’s definitely not expecting to say yes.

Rose Edith Roberts is not known for making smart decisions when it comes to her personal life, though, so she doesn’t exactly know why she’s surprised at herself.

He’s charming at dinner and over cocktails later. He doesn’t ask her to dance, which is probably to be expected. He doesn’t use a crutch like Chief Sousa, but he’s still got a stiff leg, a limp that he hides well enough that she’s not even sure anyone else notices it.

“You can go,” he says, smiling, and nods his chin at the dance floor. “Honestly. I don’t mind. I’m just not one for dancing these days.”

Rose gives him a long look, then lies cheerfully, “Yeah, well, me neither. You wanna buy me another gin and tonic and finish that story about the faked briefcase instead? You didn’t really jam some stiff into army clothes and dump him for the Krauts to find, did you?”

“You know, that’s really supposed to be top-secret,” Michael says, but he’s smiling.

Rose shrugs. “I have clearance. If you don’t want to tell me, though, you can just buy me another drink.”

“What about both?” Michael asks, and the way he’s smiling leaves her no choice but to smile back.

*

So, yeah. Michael Carter. Didn’t see that one coming.

She doesn’t let him kiss her that first night, or the next date when he takes her out to the boardwalk and buys her a cotton candy like they’re a couple of school-kids enjoying their summer break instead of a rather battered pair of spies. Former spies, in Michael’s case.

He doesn’t mention Peggy, and she doesn’t bring it up. Peggy herself has been tight-lipped about the whole business, which isn’t unusual for her, and Rose has a pretty good nose for figuring out when to push and when to leave it alone. This is a time to leave it alone.

But Michael is charming, and when he helps her into a cab later and asks if she’d like to take a picnic to the beach sometime later in the week, she barely even hesitates before she says yes.

She’s been over Doris for a while now, but something about picnics at the beach just always get to her. But she looks at Michael, his blond hair gleaming under the street lamps, his soft blue eyes and the curl of his smile, and she thinks, yeah. Yeah, she can do this.

“Sure thing,” she says. “Maybe I can teach you how to surf.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that,” Michael says, but he’s smiling. As the cab pulls away onto the street, she leans out the window to wave, and then to watch the shape of him grow smaller as they pull away until the cab turns a corner toward her apartment and he’s gone.

*

She takes him out to Will Rogers Beach that weekend. It hasn’t changed much in the year since she’s been there. Still choked with tourists, the white sand shifting beneath her bare feet as she slips her sandals off. Michael offers her his arm and she takes it, but she doesn’t let him take the picnic basket. He doesn’t protest, which is a point in his favor.

It’s not until they’re sprawled out on the red and white checkered blanket, their picnic lunch demolished between them, passing a bottle of wine back and forth like a pair of teenagers, that Rose leans back on her elbows and looks over at him, at his bare feet buried in the sand and his sunglasses tilted on his nose and the pink beginnings of a burn across his shoulders, his blonde hair disarranged by the salt breeze, and thinks— oh.

She never really has noticed the fall, has she? Not until it’s too late.

Michael glances over at her, quizzical. “Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” Rose says. Michael is still looking at her, the beginnings of a smile starting to curve his mouth, and it seems like the easiest thing in the world to lean across the blanket and kiss him.

It’s just a kiss, nothing special. Just a sweet first kiss, entirely proper because they’re out in public. There’s no reason for her heart to flutter like it does when they pull apart, when Michael cups her cheek and smiles at her, when he says, “I’m so glad you did that. I don’t think I would have had the courage.”

“Aren’t you some kind of war hero?” Rose asks, grinning.

“Hardly a hero.” Shadows flicker in his eyes, then vanish as if they were never there at all. She doesn’t ask. She’s got a good idea at their causes, and she was in the same war as him. She knows how it is.

And anyway, they’re both here now, on this warm beach full of tourists with the ocean spread out before them and Michael’s hand still warm on her cheek. He’s close enough that she can smell his cologne, see the faint crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and there’s really nowhere else in the world she’d rather be right now.

“Thank you,” he says, “for coming out with me.”

“Thank you for asking,” Rose murmurs, and closes her eyes when he kisses her again. It’s another soft, sweet one, but there’s a hint of promise there now that makes her flush. When they break apart, she says, “I haven’t been here in so long. Not since—”

She breaks off. She’s not ashamed of everything that happened with Doris, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring up on a third date. Even if she gets the feeling that Michael might actually understand. He has that look about him.

“Not since what?” he asks softly.

Finally, she opens her eyes. He’s so close, and his blue eyes are so pretty, his expression gentle.

You can trust him, she thinks suddenly. You can tell him.

So she does.

[italicwatches]

Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online - Episode 02

Okay, let’s get into this a little deeper. It’s Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online, episode 02! Here we GO!

-It’s July 2025. We come in on Karen, who’s been attending university in Tokyo for the last three months. She thought things might change, but…They’re not. She’s still awkward, and shy, and taller than any of the other women in her classes. She’s still having no luck finding a job, and spending her days going from apartment to school to apartment if she goes out at all.

-A gaggle of schoolgirls pass by, and Karen can’t help but be deeply envious of the tiny adorable things. Made all the more real when she tries to walk past, and cracks her head on a hanging sign. The pain is real.

-Opening! Which, the more I watch it it’s very interesting how much…*fulfillment[i] they wrap into the game environment. This is very clearly a space where not just Karen/LLENN, but a lot of the people around her, find themselves.

-August. Karen went back home for the summer break. With nothing better to do, she ended up getting curious about VR games after seeing a news report on the new, next-gen hardware made to simplify the VR connection and block off a lot of the safety problems with the SAO-era gear. And something about the idea grabbed her…

-Which is how she ended up snaring an old acquaintance to learn about the things…An acquaintance who was, of course [i]very* eager to tell her everything about her passionate hobby.

-She got the gear, and a copy of Alfheim Online, and settled in to try it back at her place….And it was in! She picked the name LLENN for the first time, went through the creation process….

-And became a tall, graceful elf.

-She was NOT into that. At all. It freaked her out so bad that she actually tripped the safety sensors and got forcefully logged out.

-And learned from said acquaintance, Miyu, that the whole system automatically creates characters for you…She could try again, or try shifting her account to a different game in the same engine. Which is not how game design works, but, you know what, okay. So Karen tried something else…

-And again and again, her characters kept being big. Racing game? Tall sexy racer. Flight game? Thicc pilot. Sci-fi game? What a halloween store would call “Sexy Chilled Alien” because it’s off-brand Frieza race. Fantasy games? A buff-ass barbarian queen and a…I think they’re going for orc there but the Western and Eastern ideas of ‘orc’ have diverged so fucking far it’s hard to tell. Sexy mermaid. And finally Karen was just pushing on through sheer god damned stubbornness.

-When she stumbled onto Gun Gale Online.

-And it put her, after 37 different games attempted, as like three and a half feet tall. At that point it officially stopped mattering what the game was about. It officially stopped mattering what kind of crazy mechanics she’d have to learn. All that mattered was being a tiny adorable waif of a girl for the first time since she was a child. The identity of LLENN ended up filling her heart that day…

-And then she did the tutorial. And got to learn that her true LLENN was in a shooty shooty game and being taught by a dominatrix drill sergeant. This was not what LLENN planned on doing on this day. She learned of the two core gun types, laser guns and slug throwers.

-Side diversion! This is actually an interesting thing to be using in a representation of an online shooter, because shooters tend to divert into two key types of handling their bullets; Some games(or even some guns in games that use both) use hitscan, where at the moment you squeeze the trigger it instantly draws a straight line and sees where it hits, while others use projectile based systems where a bullet is actually spawned and sent at high speeds with physics and time applying. Both of these are entirely valid systems, but which one you’re dealing with has strong implications for higher level play.

-But here in Gun Gale Online, another core difference was put into play; namely, laser guns(or as they call them, optical guns) could be defended against by energy fields. Live ammo’s a different story.

-So LLENN got to learn about the Bullet Line, the singular warning sign that an attack is imminent. She got to shoot her first gun, and learn about the system’s Bullet Circle idea to model the randomness of bullet spread…Which would be fine if LLENN could keep the fucking pistol steady enough for the Circle to stay in a single place.

-She got to try pistols, and sniper rifles, and submachine guns…And at least the submachine gun was vaguely suited to her skills.

-Cut to September. LLENN’s decided to stick with the game. Because being this tiny adorable figure was just too good to give up. She ended up doing PvE, just learning the systems. The whole time she was playing solo, just thrilling in the experience of being LLENN…But she hit a bit of a problem.

-A distinct lack of cute and adorable outfits in this grim serious game. …On the other hand, they had a color palette system. So she took her drab green military garb, and turned it BRIGHT PINK. She even had her optical gun done! And hearing comments from other players, was enough to keep her playing…

-Until one day she was out in the field, had set up a trap for some monsters, and put on some tunes while she relaxed. It’s at this moment that I realize they keep using the same artist name, so I have to imagine that one Elsa Kanzaki is either a really neat reference I don’t get, or going to be relevant. Either way, I should probably note it.

-She could eat cookies and drink tea as much as she wanted, with no worries of calories…But, this trap she set up was in a free-for-all area. And another group of players spawned in. She considered running, or logging out, and ultimately ended up hiding…Not noticed…Her trap went off, and in a panic, she raced in and started firing wildly!

-That whole time, she’d been cranking her SPD stat through the roof with her XP, needing it to deal with giant monsters solo…And so she tore through the three in a flash…When LLENN had enough time to stop and think, and notice that her pink outfit was actually almost the same color as the sunset-lit desert sands…

-Within a few weeks, people were talking about the Pink Devil in chat. A PKer who operates the desert field, ambushing anyone who gets close…A tiny, speedy little demon with two submachine guns.

-Because, indeed, LLENN had thrown some currency into a pair of live-ammo guns, and had turned the desert into her domain to roam freely in, to run far and wide on her tiny tiny legs…

-Until one day, someone caught her and put a gun to her head. A woman in all black, who liked the Pink Devil’s style…Enough to not shoot her. To think the infamous Pink Devil was so teeny and adorable. And she offered a trip back into town to get some tea, since this game didn’t have anywhere near enough female players…

-That was how LLENN met Pitohui, or Pito. Who, true story, added those tattoo cosmetics to her face to reduce how many guys were hitting on her in the game. And played GGO since launch day. While LLENN had only been in for about three months at this point.

-Pito found her more than interesting enough to send her a friend request, and the two ended up in an obscure shop in the corner of town, with rare drops from the PvE segment…Which is how LLENN found her P90, a hot new arrival sitting on the shelf for mere minutes. She bought it right then and there…And with Pito’s encouragement, she named it.

-P-chan. She named that gun P-chan. And let me tell you there is nothing that has made me laugh quite so hard as LLENN enthusiastically saying she’ll do her best to kill lots and lots, while the swelling meaningful-moment music plays.

-Anyways, she and Pito became a squad, and would go hunting and PKing a lot. But aside from having enough real-world money to keep dropping premium currency on fancy shit, LLENN barely knew anything about Pito.. She barely ever listened to music, didn’t watch a lot of movies…And of course LLENN still had lots of anxiety about any talk of real life.

-So Pito ended up putting down a challenge. Take her down in the PvP mode one day, rookie. Get a kill on her, and she’d made sure they could meet in real life. Take that challenge and live up to it. And LLENN was fired up about it, as they made a woman’s promise!

-January came, and they celebrated together in the game. And LLENN learned about the new battle royale mode, the Squad Jam…

-Credits!

I did not expect this much feels from my cute-girls-shooting-cute-guns anime.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, Fake Smiles, 2

Hello naughty children, its sequel time. I got a lot of people showing interest in a sequel to this fic right here, and it was an interesting thing in the first place, so here we are. And do you all know how much I love horrifying imagery yet? Well, you should. Get ready. Roman’s writing some angst. And be aware; this is not necessarily in line with the first fic’s concept. It is just meant to be a sequel to it.

Tip Jar

Warnings: Non consensual changes to behavior and body, claustrophobic situation. 2,671 words.

Abstract: Roman angered the wrong personality trait.

Its time for a time out. Clear the room. He’s coming.

Here’s the thing about shape-shifting nobody ever talks about. Your size can change too. Your height. Your width. Especially if you’re part of a mind. Then there’s really no limitation.

Roman stirred and begun to wake slowly. This… didn’t feel like his bed. Not even close. He woke up in a mild panic and opened his eyes. Smooth, frosty glass all around him. He looked down. Still in sweats and a white tank top. He was stuck in something glass in his pajamas.

He stood up and surveyed the situation. It was a cylinder. On top there was metal that was screwed onto it. The glass next to it was tinted reddish in the shape of almost a… skirt?

Was he trapped in a jam jar? Sweet Hercules, he was trapped in a jam jar. Hm. Maybe that means the glass isn’t really frosted. If he had been sleeping in here all night, then…

He walked to the edge and touched it. Nothing unspeakable happened. It was just foggy glass. He moved his hand and wiped the fog away to form a little window to look out of.

Wall. Or a cabinet. It was wood.

He went to the other side and wiped away some of the fog there. More wood. He tried another part. There was a water glass. What appeared to be a giant water glass. He made a line all along the the jar at eye level. This was a cabinet. A nearly empty one with some water glasses and a few empty jam jars. Why was he here?

Roman thought about his castle and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He tried to will his regal clothes back. Nothing happened. He tried to shape-shift into someone stronger to try to break the glass. Still, nothing happened. He was stuck, in a jam jar, in his pajamas. Great.

He sat on the side in a huff. The jar was just barely too small for him to lie down in. If he lay down his head and part of his shoulders or his legs would have to be on the wall of the jar, but it wasn’t small enough for him to comfortably position himself against the sides either. All he could really do if he wanted to lie down was curl up into the fetal position, and he did not like doing that.

He considered turning the jar on its side and rolling out, but then he would have to crawl. And how high up was this cabinet?

After an indeterminate time,(time was an illusion in here, seeing as it was always dark) he decided to try it. Roman stood near a wall and jumped at the other side of the jar. Nothing happened.

“I am becoming quite pissed at the lack of movement here,” Prince mumbled to himself.

After a few more attempts to knock the jar over or break it, he gave up and sat down on the floor, holding his head in his hands.

Anxiety. This had to be Anxiety. Roman knew he shouldn’t have listened to Patton. Now Anxiety was back to his old self and free to carry out his revenge. It wasn’t like Anxiety had been completely someone else. Roman had just put a spell on him that would make him act like he would if he was a happy person. Interests and opinions didn’t change. Aesthetic didn’t change. Roman had even thought Anxiety had a nice smile when he was like that. Almost as good as his own. It had been warm and inviting, like the kind he saw Thomas wear when he was editing the parts of videos where he was playing Anxiety. Warm and playful, with a sparkle in the eye. It could almost make you feel warm inside.

But now that smile was limited to Thomas when he donned the makeup and oversized hoodie. Actual Anxiety hardly ever smiled, and if he did it was evil, or sad, or in slightly dark amusement. Even when he smiled at jokes or pranks Roman saw something darker there. Something sinister that chilled him to the bone.

He hugged his knees and fought back tears. Being stuck here was beginning to take a toll on him, and he had no idea how long he had been there. He would almost prefer Anxiety’s usual methods of revenge or symbolic bs. Breaking and bruising, panic, and being barred from speaking were all preferable to this. Being small and stuck with no chance of escape or awareness of the passage of time. Nothing but the fog from his own breath and a few empty water glasses to keep him company.

This was his torture. No escape. No movement. No change. Nothing to keep him occupied or inspire him. It was nearly unbearable.

He screamed. He couldn’t take it. He began pounding on the glass as he began to ugly cry in hysterical sobs. He was surprised at how suddenly he snapped, but he couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration and claustrophobic space were too much. It was too much.

“Anyone! God, please. Make it stop! Anxiety! Stop this! Stop! Stop. Stop. Stuh…”

He fell to his knees and leaned his torso on the foggy glass, wiping away the fog left there and smearing it with his tears, snot, and oily hands. He knelt there crying until he became too tired to keep going and he was all cried out. His head hurt now and his face felt flushed. The drying saltwater on his face stung and made him feel stiff. Sleep gave little rest.

He was awoken by a blinding light, followed by a jolt to the side. The jar was being moved. He attempted to stand and face the issue like a hero should, but the movement of the jar wouldn’t let him. It was still hard to see. His eyes were adjusting from the extreme dimness of the cupboard.

He heard a snap like a rubber band being removed from something, followed by a grinding noise as the metal lid above him twisted off. A pair of fingers reached in and he tried to fight them off but they found their way around his torso.

Roman thrashed and yelled. “Come on, Anxiety! Let me go full sized so I can fight you like a… Morality?”

Patton gently placed Roman on the counter next to the cookie jar. He placed the rubber band and cloth that had been on top of the jar in a drawer and the jar and its lid in the dishwasher. Then he looked down at Roman. Looked down at him with sharp daggers in his eyes.

Nothing in all the realms of the universe can make one feel smaller than the disappointed gaze of a benevolent parent, and Roman was currently four inches tall.

Roman stayed silent. His own eyes were looking down at him with a disappointed gaze and he wasn’t exactly sure why. After a minute or so, which felt to the prince as if it were an eternity, Patton spoke.

“I’m going to put you back to normal, and you’re not going away. Do you understand?” Patton said.

Roman stared in disbelief at the angry father in front of him. He said nothing.

“I said, do you understand? Answer me, Roman,” Patton said.

Roman swallowed and nodded. Patton moved his hand up and Prince was sitting on the counter, normally sized and fully clothed.

“Do you know why I put you in that jar, Roman?” Patton asked.

“You were the one that did that to me? I was lost in there! I was being tortured within an inch of my life!” Roman exclaimed.

Patton shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s just the problem, Roman. You don’t know what you did wrong. Well, its my job to know right from wrong. Were you under the impression I was just comic relief?”

This last statement was followed by a cold smile that was rarely seen from Patton. It was serious. It was deadly. It was the smile he gave just before someone was put in their place. When bigots were struck down. When friends were hurt and then avenged. When it was decided that someone would not be forgiven for what they had done. It was rare, it was cold, and it was absolutely terrifying.

Roman swallowed. “Fine. What have I done?”

“You hurt Anxiety. I know more about feelings than you do. What have Anxiety and I been trying to tell you and Logan for years? You can’t think through everything. Did you honestly think that hurting Anxiety would help us in any way?”

Roman jumped off the counter and got as close to Patton’s face as he dared.

“Listen up, you pretend parent, I did not harm him in the slightest. I simply altered his personality slightly. It was an attempt to alter the entire personality and it failed. Nothing about Thomas changed so you can leave it alone already,” Roman said in the angry serious tone he normally reserved for Anxiety, or in rare occasions Logan.

“Do not take that tone with me, Princey. I know Anxiety was trapped. More trapped than you were in that jar. More tortured. More closed in. I know about feelings and emotions. I am feelings and emotions. So would it kill his highness to listen to his feelings for two minutes?”

Roman took a step back. Patton’s eyes were slowly filling with tears. He blinked them away and closed his eyes tight.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, You just, really hurt him. You did. And now I hurt you almost as much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,”

The tears fell quietly, but Patton fell slowly to his knees anyways.

“I’m sorry, Princey. I’m sorry,”

Roman was used to seeing Patton cry, but somehow this time was different. There was something desperate about this. Something almost hopeless. Morality was always extremely open. He was the heart. He never repressed any emotions on his own. Never pretended to feel something. Sure, he might say he’s feeling bad with a smile on his face, but he will tell you when he’s feeling bad. This was just as genuine as anything else, and that was the terrifying part.

Roman got to his knees on the kitchen floor and touched Patton’s shoulder.

“Patton? Morality? What do you need me to do? What do you need?”

“Apologize to Anxiety. You need to mean it,” Patton said, not looking the prince in the eyes. “You have to mean it,”

Roman punched the wall in his bedroom, making a splintery hole. He quickly willed it fixed and then went back to pacing.

Apologize to Anxiety? Why? Why? Anxiety is the antagonist. Anxiety is the one that causes the most problems. Avoidance of social events, worrying constantly about problems that aren’t there, stopping Thomas from doing fun things even when they are possible. Why should he feel any remorse for what he did?

“What are you so stressed about?” Came a voice.

Roman jumped and drew his sword. Anxiety looked unfazed. He sat there on the headboard of Roman’s large gilded bed eating an apple. He seemed almost bored.

“What are you doing here?” Roman asked suspiciously.

“My job,” Anxiety said through a mouthful of apple.

“Explain,” Roman said, pointing his katana at Anxiety’s face,

Anxiety swallowed his apple and rolled his eyes. “You’re distressed. I’m here to make it worse. That’s what I do. Though I sense you’re upset about more than just all of Thomas’ friends being out of town. They’re totally abandoning him, by the way. Its probably your fault. You always did make us a little too eccentric,”

A thought passed Roman’s mind. He fought with himself about it for a second and then asked Anxiety the question.

“Do you actually bother us just for the sake of making things worse?”

“Nope. Its all justified,” Anxiety said bluntly. “Thomas really is that much of an idiot and we need to make sure his friends, family, and fans don’t realize that and suddenly abandon him. Or, us if you’re talking about the fandom maybe,”

“I think i preferred when you were being vague,” Prince said, sheathing his sword.

“So what’s your damage?” Anxiety said, taking another bite of the apple.

Every nerve in Roman’s imaginary form yelled at him to snap back with an insult and push Anxiety aside. He thought of Patton. Thought of those daggers in his eyes. That cold stare. The sobbing on the floor. The fog on the glass.

“What was it like when I put that spell on you?” Roman asked.

Anxiety froze mid-chew. His mouth was full and his jaw was raised under a closed mouth. After realizing he had frozen he swallowed hard and looked at Princey in disbelief.

“Why do you care?” He asked.

Roman looked at the area to the right of Anxiety rather than directly at him.

“Patton put me in a time-out today,” Roman said.

“Yikes. What was it for you?”

“A jar. A jam jar in a dark cupboard,” Prince said.

“He usually just doesn’t let me leave my hallways,” Anxiety said, taking another bite.

“Wait. He has done this before?”

Anxiety moved the bite of apple to the side of his mouth so it wouldn’t show when he talked.

“Rarely, and usually to me. He just makes me get lost in the nightmare hallways,” He swallowed. “I don’t like being in there for more than I’ve got to. Its not the worst thing ever though. Its just mildly irritating. Not like what you did to me,”

“Then what did I do to you?’

“You put me in Hell, Princey. I was in Hell. You have any idea what its like acting happy when you don’t wanna?”

He gently threw the apple core at Roman and it bounced off his shoulder. Roman noted there was no hostility in the gesture. If anything, it was playful, like siblings blowing straw wrappers at each other in a fast food restaurant. The lack of hostility and mockery Anxiety was showing today cut him to the core. There was something extremely unnatural about it. Somehow it was just as terrifying as Patton’s cold anger.

“No answer, huh?” Anxiety said. “Well, then I’d better stop messing around and do my job,”

There was the evil smile. Right on cue.

Anxiety seemingly vanished, but the room grew darker. He shouldn’t have told the emo idiot about his time-out. He really shouldn’t have done that.

How does it feel when you don’t get to choose? Not good, huh?

The words echoed through his head as the bed grew further and further away. Soon, Roman was about the size of a mouse. His belt and sword hadn’t shrunk with him. He pushed the now heavy leather strap off of himself. This was not going to be fun.

The guilt he felt, the terror he felt, the failure that was his to own, all weighed on him far more than that leather belt. He sat down leaning against one of the feet of the bed.

You cause problems just like the rest of us.

“I was wrong that time, but I do not cause as many problems as you do,” Roman said to the air. “I am sorry, but I can’t believe I deserve this,”

You’re not perfect.

“But I am. I am perfect just the way I am,” Roman said. “Far more perfect than you,”

I think he meant he is sorry. I think he meant it.

“So you’re here too. Very well. The line blurs more often than one would think,”

Ideas still came. Everything stayed the same. Or perhaps a bit more anxious than normal. Mild creative block after being forced to act happy for a few days. Nobody can be happy all the time, No creative person can be creative every second of their life. Thomas Sanders is no exception to the rule. This last week had just been particularly hard.