#but damn even the refurbished ones are expensive...

[marscats37]

clearing out my procreate files and saving images on google drive makes me realize I need to get a flash drive for all of my art

[theknightmarket]

Act 1 | Scene 1 - Pick Your Poison

Six regulars and dozens of other patrons were going to be tough to handle, but then you just had to get involved in their lives and wind up the unwilling babysitter of a bunch of surprisingly infuriating products of an inter-dimensional accident. Why bother shutting off the water when the cup was overflowing? It wasn't like you were overworking yourself, anyhow. Oh, wait.

Your bar was your baby. You’d worked damn hard to get the money for the deposit, you’d worked damn hard to refurbish it, you’d worked damn hard to get where you were today. Call it a sin, but you were understandably proud of the place you had grown to cherish.

The Astral. Your new bar. Well, not technically new – considering it was a café before being a bar and a government office before being a café, and it was already the second month of your running of it – but you still liked to call it new. Made it feel more special that way, and the furniture was new. The repainted walls were a deep crimson compared to the scratched beige they used to be, and the tables actually had legs to stand on instead of a propped-up broom handle. Admittedly, when you first visited the place, you were less than eager about your prospects. You should have realized something was wrong with it when the estate agent shoved the keys into your hand and booked it so fast that he left his car behind. Alas, by then, you had made your choice. You’d thrown all of your eggs into one basket, and you were going to have to reap the rewards if you wanted to survive. 

The good news was that you had a plan. The bad news was that the plan would set you back $60,000. Your faith in your project was dwindling as fast as your bank account. But it wasn’t as though you could just not pay it – you didn’t have any other choice. 

One thing led to another, more bills led to more expenses, and there you were, standing behind the counter of your very own bar, trying hard to not grin too much. You weren’t going to dwell on the past unnecessarily. You didn’t want your switching between smiling and grimacing to freak out the paying customers.

Of which there were nine. 

Not that you were complaining. No, this was the best you’d had since you first opened. You would have preferred all of them be conscious, but, again, all your eggs in one basket, and you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Luckily, they were also pretty quiet, letting you get to grips with your role and your atmosphere. The sound level was what you were aiming for. A lot of your money had been spent on painting a pebble yellow and calling it gold, and this speakeasy-esque aesthetic was the product of your labor. Ignoring the few spilled drinks and smoke billowing against the ceiling from one small group, you were happy to say you were getting there.

So, you watched the patrons sip at their drinks and talk, the light chatter interspersed with the gentle hum of music from your jukebox. Something classical fit the bill, and you often found yourself with waltzes and ballads comforting you when you had no other guests. Currently, with nothing else to attend to, you grabbed a semi-dirty glass and assumed the classic bartender stance with a pristine, white cloth. You silently joked to yourself that you hoped this wasn’t going to be the norm. The whole silent bartender schtick could only go so far, even with your black vest and cream shirt, with the attitude you so often towed around. According to your family, at least. Maybe you’d end up being exposition, that sounded better. You just needed to find a suitable small-town rumor to peddle…

A floorboard creaked in front of the door.

Sucker.

A flamboyant sucker, but a sucker, nonetheless.

The newcomer strolled up to the bar and quickly threw himself in one of the seats. Your smirk was getting harder to hide every second as he glanced around. 

The only positive to the lack of a reputation, you’d discovered, was that nobody knew the little trick you had up your sleeve. Now, you weren’t a petty criminal looking to pick your patrons’ pockets while they had their backs turned. You were above that. Instead, you preferred a different tactic. Backhanded, but definitely legal, and that was the best kind of backhanded. You didn’t explain it immediately. The guy would find out when he got the bill, which would have an automatic ten percent of the cost added to the total of his drinks. 

You loved your human behavior plank.

You forced your thoughts away from your business practices and turned them towards the man – sucker – sitting before you. It was in that moment that you really took in his outfit, his face and his, well, everything else.

It might have been an understatement to call him flamboyant; from head to toe, he was coated in a mass of garish colors that raged against the backdrop of your bar. You’d seen a manner of characters pass through, none of them quite the same, but all on the opposite side of the coin to the multi-colored suspenders and yellow shirt he sported. The moustache topped it all off, whether it was because it was bright pink or because it didn’t match his actual hair color. Either way, you couldn’t say you didn’t like it. Under the maroon lighting that lazily dragged itself over him, he wasn’t half bad to look at.  

This sugar-coated prince smiled when you finally met his eyes, though that seemed to be his default reaction. He dropped one elbow onto the counter and placed his head in his hand, the other rhythmically tapping next to it.

“What can I get you, sir?” you began as you set the clean glass amongst the rest of them.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been called sir.” His laugh was strange. Not bad. In fact, it was lighthearted and genuine, if a little dramatic, but it seemed to echo through the bar as if there were no other sound. It ignored the classical music still streaming from the jukebox and the murmurs of the other patrons. As it slowly trailed off into the notes of a piano, he leaned closer. “Call me Wilford.”

You nodded hesitantly; nobody was considered a regular yet, but there were a few people who had been in there already, and you knew none of their names. Even though you had no doubt, Wilford was clearly a unique individual.

You restarted, “What can I get you, Wilford?”

The drumming of his fingers sped up for a second, before he stopped altogether and answered, “What do you think of a vodka martini?”

“I think it’s a good choice.”

Classic, quick, and easy. It was much better than the barely-adults who staggered in after looking up the hardest drink order possible, who asked for a Commonwealth like they were five years old again, who laughed uproariously to their pals when you told them you wouldn’t do it. A vodka martini. That, you could do.

“Do you want to start a tab?” 

“Oh, no, that’s quite alright. I’m not one for cards.”

To each their own, you guessed. Into a mixing glass, you poured the vodka and dry vermouth, then topped it off with ice. Wilford watched as you worked, peering intently at your hands as they dashed to-and-fro, stirred the drink, retrieved a cocktail glass from the underside of the bar. You felt his eyes on you when you turned to get the olives for a garnish, and, while you expected him to at least look away then, when you turned back. Like he was expecting you to do something other than prepare his drink.

After pouring everything into the glass, you slid it directly in front of him, the clink against the counter finally drawing his attention away from you.

You couldn’t say exactly why you were so interested in his reaction. Hovering while he took the first sip, expectations rushed through your head. Martinis weren’t easy to mess up, but they also weren’t easy to make exciting. A lukewarm response was the best you could come up with.

You didn’t expect him to lean back in his stool, almost tipping himself to the ground, and make eye contact again.

“How long have you been open?”

Shit. Did you mess up? Was he some kind of secret judge for a television show? Were you being made a mockery of? Who was he reporting back to? 

You batted away the torrent of terrifying thoughts that threatened to send you spiraling, and you took a second to recover. He didn’t look put-off, his happy-go-lucky expression didn’t change, so you answered, “Two months.” You were biting back the venom in your tone just as much as the impulse to call him sir. He had told you not to, right? What was there to worry about? Nothing. Nothing at all. The tendencies went hand in hand for you.

Reassuring yourself that this was no formal chauffer looking to cause you trouble had never been so difficult, despite all the evidence that suggested he was just a weird guy in flashy clothes.

“I’m surprised I’ve never been in here before,” Wilford hummed back, returning his head to one of his hands. The other absentmindedly twirled the cocktail glass.

“I haven’t had the chance to really advertise it yet.” You were going to have to be careful with your words. The paranoia was getting to you, you knew and recognised that, but it didn’t stop you from looking over your responses with a fine-tooth comb like a script.

Your eyes narrowed at the man’s glances around the bar. He clocked the entrance, the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the backroom, the latter being the one unlabeled door behind the bar. His gaze swept back to you. “You’re the owner.”

“Yes, s- Wilford, I am.”

“And you’re the only bartender?” He leaned in even closer than he had the first time.

Your heart quieted down, and your shoulders relaxed. You should have expected concerns over your business practices. Inwardly, you brushed your fears away entirely. This was fine. He was exactly who he said he was, which, while not much, you could rely on. If he had any other intentions, you were sure the back room would have piqued his interest instead.

Suspicion lifted from your tone, you answered, “You’re correct. I think with the attendance as low as it is right now, I’ll be fine to be the only one working.”

Wilford nodded in understanding, focus drifting back to the drink that had gone woefully unattended to.

In the time that it took for him to drain the glass, you served another two patrons while another closed their tab. Thankfully, it was the guy who’d finally decided to wake up and greet the night. You didn’t want to try kicking out a drowsy drunk, and he was too blinded by sleep that he didn’t notice the dollar and eighty cents missing from his change. You stowed the cash in a drawer beneath the bar for counting later that week.

Wilford waving you over caught your eye just as you grabbed one of the pints to clean.

“Can I get you another drink?” you asked, pulling forward the empty one.

“Of course—” his hand reached out to the base of the cocktail and stopped you from walking away with it, “—though, I’d ask you some more questions, if you don’t mind.”

Fully returned to a comfortable role, you copied, “Of course.”

A sly grin overturned his curious look, while you turned to place the glass by the sink and get out a new one. You repeated the process for the second martini, slightly faster now that you’d had a refresher, and then handed it back to Wilford, who threw it back without a second thought. You couldn’t help but think it was impressive, and that was before he caught the cocktail stick between his teeth. The prideful twitch of his moustache let you know that he thought it was impressive, too.

With a new dirty glass and cloth in hand, you nodded. “Go ahead.”

“That classical music,” he started, “is that the norm?” 

Currently, Infinite Ways was streaming gently through the air. “I prefer it,” you replied, “it stops people staying too long if they’re just looking for a drink and a fight.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not as often as most bars—” You wouldn’t mention that you hadn’t really been open long enough to have many, “—but we don’t have the reputation to stop it completely yet. I step in if gets out of hand.”

You thought he might ask you more about them, maybe quiz you on proper techniques considering his line of questioning so far. Instead, he nodded and fiddled with the olive’s toothpick.

“What are your hours?”

“I open at noon; I close at two.”

“Is this your first time owning a bar?”

“My first time owning a business, in fact. I’ve got the experience of working at one, but I’ve never gone in alone before.”

You placed your next clean glass where it came from, looking for something to break the monotony. You didn’t know how, but the dramatic stranger with a cotton-candy color scheme was managing to make the conversation a tad boring. If your suspicion from earlier had stayed with you, that would have been at the forefront of your mind, but now you only had confusion and tediousness to think about. It felt more like a job interview than a casual chat.

But you didn’t need to wait long for him to pick back up the flair again.

“When were you born?”

“If you’re asking whether I can legally sell alcohol, I can assure you that I am past the age limit.”

And that was that. His final question used on something that should have been obvious. Never mind the suspicion from earlier, you were getting a revised distrust of Wilford, as he looked you up and down, until you were blocked by the counter of the bar. He hummed.

Momentarily, you were pulled from the conversation by someone closing out their tab. It was getting fairly late, so you were likely to be hit with a wave of customers leaving soon. Hopefully, if nobody new walked in, you’d be able to have some time to yourself, even if it would be standing behind a counter.

When you returned to Wilford, who you’d seen poke himself with the stick out of the corner of your eye, you didn’t reach for anything to occupy your hands. The glasses went untampered with, in favor of staring the man straight in the eye.

“Now, can I ask you a question?”

He shrugged. “It’s only fair.”

“What are you fishing for?”

Immediately, he looked startled, shaken out of whatever thoughts he had and into the present. One of his eyebrows rose while he leaned closer to you over the counter.

“Pardon?”

And you matched the distance. “You’re looking for something.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Half of those questions you’d already figured out for yourself. You wanted confirmation. Why?”

You’d hit the nail on the head, it seemed. Wilford spluttered as he tried to answer for his behavior, while you watched. The tables had turned, and you took pride in seeing him flounder.

“Well,” he choked out, “well, I simply wanted to know—”

“How long I’ve been open, what music we play, how old I am?” 

You were well aware some of the questions made sense. You wouldn’t say it out loud, but you knew. But Wilford shot himself in the foot by panicking; you wouldn’t have pressed it had he reacted differently.

“Yes, but—”

“You’re either casing the place and looking for a way in, which I highly advise against, or you’re accidentally coming off incredibly unnerving. Choose.”

Wilford might not have been who you had suspected he was, but he certainly wasn’t the average guy looking for a drink after a shift. Something was up with him, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it, the chance at a regular customer be damned. He could sneak around all he liked in somebody else’s bar, but you didn’t want your first time owning somewhere, after putting in blood, sweat and tears, to be a catastrophic failure because somebody decided to play with you.

In the midst of your monologue, Wilford managed to regain his sense of self, enough to realise he wasn’t getting out of it without explaining. Besides, it wasn’t as though it was a problem. For once in his life, he wanted to avoid making a big scene, even if it was only because someone asked him to.

So, sighing, he looked anywhere but you as he spoke, “I have a dear friend who has a terrible habit of shutting himself in his office, from dawn to dusk without a break. He’s not the type to go where I frequent, and this charming speakeasy has a similar aesthetic to him. I desperately need to get him out of that house, and this place seems like a good fit for a trail run.”

That was… not what you were expecting. Nosiness, boredom, any sort of criminal motive – but not wanting to find a place to bring a friend. After your blatant bull-headed challenge, you were surprised that he still appeared open to the idea.

Briefly, you wondered just who this friend was, that Wilford was willing to bring close a testy bartender in return for old music and a clean room. Whether he would end up showing with him was another question.

Turning around, you decided to take the risk. “Well, if that’s the case,” you muttered, as you grabbed the pad and pen from the corner of the wall before pushing them towards him. “Write down the details so you don’t forget. I’d hate to lose a potential customer.”

Wilford stared at you. You stared at Wilford.

A smile brought up his mustache from underneath, and you took the opportunity to serve some of the others milling about the bar. When you were attending a pair by the door, you noticed he was swinging his feet off the stool, just barely scraping the ground. You couldn’t help but grin lightly, which was bolstered when the undertone of his voice started humming underneath the music. Even if he was a little kooky, he was nice.

He was finished by the time you returned, the ripped-out sheet of notes sitting beside the pad and pen. You couldn’t read the handwriting, but the sketch of the bar was pleasant enough. You supposed you’d find out what he’d written if you ever saw him again.

Gently, he pushed both the pad and his empty glass towards you. “My thanks, dear Dionysus,” he drawled with a wink.

Dionysus, huh? Well, you weren’t going to be telling him your real name any time soon. Neither of your behaviors warranted it, and you doubted it would ever be used, given how, thinking about it, you were certain you’d screwed the interaction up with vague threats.

Nevertheless, you muttered, “Apt name,” and passed the glass over to the sink. “I hope to see both you and your friend in the future, Wilford.”

Getting up from his seat, the man fished an embroidered, leather wallet out of one of his pockets and threw down a twenty dollar note. He was supposed to have change, even with that human behavior charge, but he started waltzing away before you could reach for the drawer. Although, he very deliberately stepped over the plank on his way out, so you couldn’t guess that your shady practice went unnoticed.

“I’m sure you will!” he called out behind him. He tugged the door open and, with a final wave, escaped into the cold night. He disappeared from sight almost immediately, consumed by the darkness that welcomed in your own tiredness as you stared through the windows.

Only two more people left. You could close out their bills and be done before all the stars were out. You didn’t know if you would stay focused throughout it, however, as your thoughts drifted around your head like a haze of fog. It was weird to be as interested as you were in Wilford; nobody had caught your eye quite like him before, if only out of morbid curiosity. It wasn’t like you’d ever met someone like him before, though, so it was so be expected. 

What a strange man. 

AO3 Link - List

[lebrickster]

Emulating an old Phone System is Hard

For a moment in time there, I really wanted to get into emulating an old Phone system. Why? Because I wanted to, and I thought it was cool. Being able to use a vintage phone, and use dial up over a serial modem? Sounds awesome! But it's sadly not so simple. My god is it not...

So, I started off with what phone did I want? It was pretty quick to decide for me, as I wanted a phone with ringing bells, that classic look, and a touch tone pad. I went with a Black Model 2500, refurbished, from OldPhoneWorks. This ended up being expensive, but I wanted to sure it was in good shape. I don't regret this purchase, and think it looks great on my desk!

Well, with the phone situation settled, it was time for the modem. I decided to go for a new in the box U.S. Robotics, to ensure I had working drivers and the correct Power Adapter. It does it's job, and is the sort of look I know Modems for. Though the construction isn't great, since I can lift the top back part of it easily, since it doesn't seem to be held down by snaps, or screws.

I then wanted to get something else to go alongside all of this! If you know anything about the history of Club Penguin, you'll know some of it's earliest music came from an Indie band, known as TAS 1000, named after an answering machine they sampled messages from, and made music around. I got a lucky break and managed to find a unit on eBay, which I was so excited about. Keyword being was, but I'll go into that, later. (Too lazy to get it out of the closet for a fresh pic. Cry about it)

To make this all work I needed a way to connect all of it. No service in my area offers standard POTS Copper lines anymore, so I had to look into a VoIP ATA. After talking with someone in a Preservation Discord, they said they had good experience with a Cisco SPA112 VoIP ATA, saying it worked good for faxing, which is similar to internet via a modem. I bought one brand new, to ensure it was unlocked

With the hardware in-place, it was time to select a VoIP service provider. The best one hands down, price and feature wise, is VoIP_MS. They even have a super helpful Wiki with specific instructions on how to setup the SPA112 I chose, which I found super useful!

It was time to assemble it all, and in theory, all was good! But wait! No it wasn't my first snag with with the damn Modem. It would just not install for some reason, and that was down to me being stupid. I had bought this Serial cable because it was cheap. But I failed to notice the part that says Null Modem. This allows computers to talk to each other, but cannot be used to have a computer talk to a serial modem. D'oh.

OK, no problem, buy a new cable, and all is well! And, it was! ...Until it wasn't. I quickly learned that the SPA112 was not at all good for Dial Up, being super unstable. I was kinda warned of this before I had it in, too, but I bought the SPA112 AFTER that was all sent. So, that was one part of the package I wasted my time on, which bummed me out greatly. Sadly, the problems don't end here. The next problem was that the phone would not ring. It can receive calls and make calls fine, but it just won't ring. It turns out those bells demand a ton of power to work right, and the SPA112 just doesn't send enough juice. To fix this problem, I need a Ring Voltage Booster II, which sadly costs 125$, which is super expensive. I will get one eventually, but the cost of this component, and failures outlined so far has driven me to put this on hold for a long time.

And finally, there was the Answering Machine, the part I was most excited about. It was listed as used but working on the listing, which is partially right, but not entirely. You're supposed to be able to record an outgoing message, but do you see how this button is caved in? Sure, I can press it, but it doesn't do anything, strongly indicating it's broken. I can playback tapes, but what use is that if it can't record the outgoing message?

All of these failures broke me, and just made me depressed, tbh. As a result, this setup has gone more or less unused, with the TAS 1000 going into the closest, and me sometimes only calling my mobile phone with the Model 2500 phone, out of boredom. The modem has gone unused, since I don't trust the flaky connection the SPA112 has with it. What am I going to do from here? Well, down the line, I want to replace the SPA112 with a Obihai OBI302. I've been told this unit is a lot more stable for Fax, so it might be what I need to get for a stable modem experience.

I already mentioned the Ring Voltage booster of course, but in terms of the TAS 1000, if I can find another one, I'll jump on it, but chances are, I'll probably jump on a TAS 3000, since those units seem to be a bit more common, and not as much of a pain to find.

Well, that's about all I have to say here. I will revisit this one day, since I don't want it all to entirely go to waste, but the whole situation did frankly break my heart with how it headed, for now.

[contreparry]

Happy Friday Ann! From the romantic yearning prompts, how about "we can share the bed. if that’s not weird."?

Here’s some pre-relationship Isabelaxfem!Hawke for @dadrunkwriting !

The manor had a surprising lack of beds.

Guest rooms were plentiful. The Amells had no shortage of chambers. At some point in the past there was probably a bed in those rooms, but those days were long past and now the rooms only stored dust and memories, and Marian was frugal with the money she had. Sure, she could refurbish the manor in the latest style and refurnish every room and have a fortune to spare, but circumstance made her wary. So she made the manor safe. She bought what was necessary. She fixed one room at a time.

The problem arose when her friends came over for supper.

Most departed in the later hours of the evening, retreating to their own homes and beds. Varric escorted Merrill down to the Alienage, Aveline returned to her office at the keep (something about filing some paperwork), Sebastian crossed the square to the Chantry, Fenris drifted down the street to his own manor, and Anders took his now customary route through the cellar back to his clinic. But Isabela stayed behind, lingering in the study with a goblet of cut crystal in one hand and a bottle of cheap brandy in the other until the hour grew far too late for Marian to be comfortable with kicking her out of the house. Not that she ever would, especially in regards to Isabela.

“It looks damn pretty in this, even if it tastes like tar,” she explained as she poured the amber colored liquid into the glass. It sparkled like a jewel, but Marian prized Isabela’s smile more than any riches money could buy. She was smiling thoughtfully turning the glass this way and that to catch the lamplight.

“Mother says those glasses were an heirloom. Her mother- my grandmother, I suppose- inherited it from hers and so on. Guess I’ll get them next,” Marian said. It was hard to imagine herself inheriting anything, never mind something as frivolous and expensive as heirloom crystal goblets, but ever since she recovered them at an auction she put them out on the sideboard in the study. Best place for them, really. They lived with the drinks, saw some use, and her mother smiled whenever she happened upon them. It was nice to give her something to smile about. Maker knew her mother hadn’t had a much of a reason to do that after… everything.

“Mmm. Probably will be used for something far more posh by then,” Isabela murmured. She took a sip of the cheap brandy, her eyes fixed in Marian. Marian’s heart raced. She was only looking, it hardly meant anything if Isabela was only looking- she looked at people all the time! Andraste’s Tits, the woman spent all of supper teasing Fenris about his beautiful eyes! Looking was something Isabela did, just as she examined the brandy in the crystal goblet. Isabela liked pretty things and people, that was all.

“Honestly, they’ll gather dust. I’m no good with ‘delicate and dainty,’” Marian joked. Isabela looked skeptical but didn’t argue, which was nice of her. There were some wounds that never quite healed right, and sometimes the weighty history and expectations of being an Amell (a noblewoman who ought to have a noblewoman’s hobbies and bearing) was too much to handle. Much better to be a Hawke, truth be told. Hawkes were supposed to be unconventional.

“Mmm,” Isabela hummed. “I think we’ll let the matter of you ‘not being built for the softer things in life’ lie for now. I’m rather tired, sweet thing. I can take the, ah, chaise lounge in the parlor, if you don’t think I’ll give poor Orianna a fright in the morning.” She winked at that, and Marian giggled at the thought of Orianna opening the curtains the next morning to find Isabela napping on the chaise.

“The first guest chamber is under construction, but you can use my room,” Marian offered. “We can share a bed, if that’s not weird.” The suggestion popped out of her mouth before she could think better of it, and even as a flush overtook her face and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest Isabela’s lips curled up into a sly smile as she looked up and down at her. Marian knew that, whatever happened next, she would not be sleeping that night.

“Oh no, sharing isn’t a problem at all,” Isabela murmured. “But I’ll have to borrow a nightshirt.”

[satendou]

⟼ distance

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next | 1/2

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi hajime/reader/oikawa tooru

⇢ au: 365!au, poly!au, college!au, pro!oikawa

⇢ summary: prequel to 365 days; oikawa goes to argentina, leaving you and iwaizumi behind

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: pre-relationship, cursing, fluff, mild angst

⇢ word count: 6757

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: a few things. 1) i did not particularly care for how correct the timeline is or how correct the actual offer, signing, etc happens. 2) the cut is a little weird bc i when i wrote this, i wrote as one fic but it turned out to be 18k words so...no. 3) i love this whole fic sm so i hope you guys do too!

“I’ve had an offer.”

Oikawa’s voice cut through the sound of your and Iwaizumi’s playful arguing and the sound of video game music that filled the room.

“That’s great news, Tooru!” you exclaimed, looking up at him leaned against the door. Your smile fell when you met his eyes, a pained mix of happy and uncertain. It was such a rare look that you couldn’t place any moment in recent memory that you had seen it.

“What?” you asked, setting the controller on the table. The sound playing from the TV cut out without warning, and Iwaizumi shifted on the couch beside you, leaning close enough that you could feel his warmth through your sweater. It was mid-winter in Tokyo and you had stayed home after classes were cancelled, choosing to hang out together rather than frolic in the snow. “Tooru?”

He bit his lip as he considered the news he had just been delivered. It was an actual dream come true, exactly what he had wanted all this time. But then why did it feel like someone had just punched him in the stomach? “The offer is for um, a team down in--” He sighed. “--in Argentina. It’s one of the top teams in the world, and they want me to be first string.”

“Oh.”

You said it at the same time as Iwaizumi, both staring at Oikawa’s pained expression.

“Then you need to take it,” Iwaizumi continued, his sharp words cutting through the tense air like a knife. He knew what Oikawa was thinking, what he was worried about, and couldn’t let him think no one would support him. He’d be lost without his best friend, but this was Oikawa’s chance at his dream. “And Argentina is far enough away that we won’t have to deal with you anymore. We deserve a break from your drama.”

You smacked him on the arm for that, but Oikawa chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I know you’ll actually really miss me, you adorable tsun. I’ll come back to visit, so don’t give away my room,” he said, and you were relieved to see his expression lighten. He kicked off from the door and plopped down on the couch beside you, slinging his arm around your shoulders. “And I know our dear _____ is going to be so lonely without me.”

You mimed throwing up into Iwaizumi’s lap. “Like hell. It’ll be so peaceful without you here. _____, my girlfriend broke up with me for the third time. Iwa-chan, why hasn’t she texted me back it’s been two minutes.”

“_____, can you bring me an ice pack? My dumbass overdid it again and my knee hurts,” Iwaizumi mocked, and Oikawa yelped in indignation.

“I do not sound like that or say those things,” he said, pulling his arm from your shoulders to cross them over his chest. There was a warm glow in his heart as the three of you bantered, stemming from the undying support the two of you had always given him in the pursuit of his dreams-- even if you were really mean to him while doing it. “Thank you, guys.”

You stopped laughing at him, both you and Iwaizumi turning to stare at him before you smiled. “You sap. Of course we’re going to support you no matter what! We’re gonna miss you, though. Like, bad,” you answered, and your throat tightened a little at the thought of him being halfway around the world. The three of you had been inseparable for years, even ending up attending the same college in Tokyo, though that had been because it had the best courses for the majors you and Iwaizumi wanted and Oikawa loved their volleyball team. It was a no brainer to get an apartment together when you found out you’d all been accepted either.

“Speak for yourself, _____. I’ll be glad when he’s gone. And don’t expect us to run all over the world chasing you, either,” Iwa said, picking up the controller off the table again and unmuting the TV. As soon as he unpaused the game, his character died. “Goddammit.”

“You really deserve this, Tooru. More than anyone,” you said, bumping against his shoulder. 

Oikawa looked down at your face, eyes lit up with happiness as you smiled. He hid his face in the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with a grin, warmth bubbling in his chest all over again. He was finally going to live his dream and he had the two people he loved most in the world at his back. He couldn’t imagine anything better than that.

So many words danced on his tongue, his thoughts a jumbled mess and he opened his mouth to let them spill out.

“Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?” You groaned as Iwaizumi reached around you to smack the back of his head, and he snickered into your hair, his arms squeezing you into his side. “I love you guys.”

Picking up the controller, you let him cling to you like the monkey he was as you rejoined the game. “Yeah, sure, Shittykawa. We love you too.”

--

There was a lot of planning after he accepted the offer, outside of what the agency would take care of. He just had to find an apartment within his budget and they would take care of securing it for him before he arrived, and travel was taken care of. 

Naturally, what was his responsibility became yours.

“Don’t you own anything besides basketball shorts and sweatpants?” you asked, holding up what had to be the sixtieth pair of shorts in the last thirty minutes. You were helping him pick out what clothes he was going to be taking to San Juan with him, leaving the rest in his room in Tokyo for when he visited. They all smelled like him, the light and breezy cologne he wore that seemed to stick to everything, including you. 

You were struck by the realization that when he left, that smell would fade from everything, including you. And the idea that you would never be teased for smelling like Oikawa again caused your heart to clench.

Your face must have twisted because Oikawa’s happy babbling cut off.

“_____? What is it?” Setting the longsleeve t-shirt he held in his hands aside, he turned to fully face you while you turned fully away from him. He gripped your shoulders, trying to force you to turn to look at him, which you resisted at first. When he heard the light sniffling though, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Fast as lightning, you turned and threw your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. Without hesitation, he hauled you closer, rubbing your back as you cried into his neck. Between sobs you managed to choke out, “I’m gonna miss your stupid face so much. And what am I gonna do when the apartment stops smelling like your cheapass cologne? Am I gonna have to wear it?”

Your fingers twisted in the soft white t-shirt he wore. You hadn’t meant to cry, really you hadn’t, because you knew things like this would only make it harder for him to leave. And as much as you did want him to stay here with you, you also knew he would never be happy unless he was in the spotlight playing volleyball. But your tears soaked his shirt anyway as you tried to stifle your sniffling.

He burst into laughter at your childish whining, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

“Awe, I already knew that, princess. Everyone’s going to miss me,” he said, putting on that smug air that came so naturally. He was just trying to cheer you up though, and you could see through him like a window, laughing into his shoulder.

One hand curled into your hair, holding you close as he took in your warmth and your sadness. It was a mirror to his own, tempered by a cautious enthusiasm that his future-- and his dreams-- were about to take off. He was being selfish throughout all of this-- selfishly keeping you close while selfishly leaving you at the same time.

That warmth he always felt whenever you were close welled up again, and he smiled.

“I’ll miss you too, you know,” he whispered into your hair, and felt your arms slide back up around his neck, squeezing so tight he thought his breathing would stop. “You and Iwa, more than anyone.”

“Well, you’ll come back,” you whispered back, resting your cheek on his shoulder, facing away from his neck. “You’re like a parasite. We’ll never be rid of you.”

Oikawa’s shoulders shook underneath your head and you smiled.

--

“Help me pick apartments,” Oikawa demanded, folding himself into the empty seat beside Iwaizumi. He had his laptop in hand, a dozen or so tabs open to different apartments near the stadium his new team called home. He would be leaving in a few days to check them and the stadium out, and likely to sign the contract while he was down there. Truth be told, he was nervous.

“Don’t you have any manners, you damn brat?” Iwaizumi asked, even as he set his phone to the side. He’d been surfing through DoorDash, looking for something to get for dinner. You would be home from classes soon and no doubt starving. “I’m ordering dinner.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. _____ said she was going to stop and pick up something for us. I requested takoyaki, but she said she wasn’t feeling it,” Oikawa answered with a pout. 

“Probably,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa flipped to the first tab and he turned the screen to show him, “because she’s been doing labs with crustaceans in biology all week.”

It was a 3 bedroom, 2 bath with an open floor plan and a lot of windows. Newly refurbished and expensive. Not that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Iwaizumi shrugged. It wasn’t terrible, and definitely Oikawa’s style. He liked lots of natural light for his Instagram photos, and that apartment definitely provided.

“I should’ve waited for _____,” he grumbled, but flipped to the next one anyway.

Another 3 bedroom, 2 bath, smaller than the last and darker, in both light and color scheme, but no less expensive. Instantly Iwaizumi grunted and shook his head, and there was a small gratification as Oikawa instantly X’d out of the tab, letting it get lost in the void.

If there was one thing Oikawa valued above a volleyball player’s skills, it was your and Iwaizumi’s opinions. You knew him just as well as he knew himself, and better, in some ways. If Iwaizumi thought that apartment wasn’t good enough, then it wasn’t good enough.

The next few went much the same way. 3 bedroom, 2 bath, too dark or too small, too old-school or too extravagant. Each and every time Iwaizumi said no, Oikawa was secretly relieved to click the X button. A lot of the apartments he’d found weren’t to his taste, but he also knew his tastes were dramatic, hence the need for Iwaizumi’s down-to-earth opinions.

“Hey, I have a question,” Iwaizumi said when apartment number nine was bookmarked. It was a close contender with number one, the only other one he had agreed with. He knew Oikawa would never be happy living in a closed in, dark space. He was a lot like a plant.

A really mouthy, annoying plant. Like that tentacuwhatever from Harry Potter. Clingy and needed attention nonstop or else he’d cause trouble. What was he saying?

Oh right.

Oikawa paused his scrolling to look up at Iwaizumi, who had settled back into the couch, his arm slung across the back just above Oikawa’s shoulders. With his leg pressed to his, Oikawa was practically tucked into his side as they fought to both see the laptop screen. 

“What’s that, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi leaned back in, his cheek right next to Oikawa’s. “Why are all these apartments three bedroom?”

In response, Oikawa spluttered. “Well, I mean, you know, it’s for if-- if friends want to come stay for a while or-- or you know. Geez, Iwa-chan, I do have those you know. And I’ll make more in Argentina. Might even replace you, if you aren’t careful.”

Iwaizumi’s arm curled tight around Oikawa’s neck then, his voice dangerously low as he growled, “No one will ever put up with you like I do, so good luck.”

Smirking, he pulled away and settled back down into the couch, picking his phone up again to see a text from you, asking if soba was alright for dinner. Typing his response, he said to Oikawa, “Soba is for dinner. And you may as well close out of the other tabs. I think the first one is the best one. Think we could come with you and pick out our rooms for ourselves?”

Oikawa choked.

--

The day of his permanent departure finally arrived.

 To all three of you, it felt too quick and sudden, like you had blinked and the time had disappeared while your eyes were closed. All that morning, the three of you skirted around the topic as you dealt with the last minute details.

“Hey, you want this shirt right? You better--”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Oi, Shit-- Tooru, you’re forgetting these, dumbass, and I’m not mailing ‘em to you.”

As the time whittled down to nothing, you found yourselves standing in the living room, staring at each other. You had sworn up and down that you wouldn’t get sappy or cry or do anything to make it any harder on Oikawa than it already clearly was. But the tension in the air, the strange, manic sparkle in his eyes as he stared the two of you down broke whatever resolve you had and you threw yourself at him, tears welling in your eyes.

His fingers, previously wrapped around the handle of his suitcase, found their way into your hair, his other arm winding around you as the suitcase hit the floor with a clattering of plastic, squeezing you tight enough to force the air from your lungs. And yet it wasn’t close enough, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his back, pressing yourself even closer, until there wasn’t an ounce of space between you.

Against your will, the tears spilled over and wetted his shirt, but he paid it no mind, too lost in breathing in the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your warmth for close to the last time. 

Behind you, Iwaizumi sighed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, thankful that Oikawa’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the glittering in his own. Much as he might like to give his friend hell, he was going to miss him. A lot. More than he liked to admit.

Another set of arms came around you, completing the missing piece as you stood there and cried into Oikawa’s chest. You could feel tears in your hair and it only made you squeeze him tighter. The urge, the need to ask him to stay, just for another day, welled up so strong you had to bite your tongue to keep the words in. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if he would say no, but no way were you going to put him in that position.

“We’re gonna be late, Oikawa,” you whispered into his shirt and felt him nod against your head, but no one made a move to pull away. 

It took all your willpower-- and a few elbows in a few ribs-- to pull away from them. Oikawa’s lips parted, his hands still reaching out for you, and you took one while Iwaizumi picked up his forgotten suitcase.

“Oi, Lazykawa,” he barked, “I’ll get this, you get your carry-on. _____, make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

At that, Oikawa gasped in mock outrage, placing his free hand over his heart and affecting a hurt tone. “How could you think so low of me, Iwa-chan? Do you think I’m so stupid?”

From the hallway, a very deadpan, “Yes,” rang out and you snorted in laughter.

“Really, Tooru, how could you not see that coming?” you asked while he picked up his bag. His fingers stayed laced with yours while you locked the door behind you. Doing it one handed was difficult and took longer than if you’d had your other hand, but neither of you were inclined to let go.

Iwaizumi was waiting impatiently outside the taxi, his foot tapping arrhythmically against the snowy pavement. His fingers were freezing and his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you walk down the stairs hand in hand, both wearing sad smiles as you looked back at him.

“If you two take any longer he’s gonna miss his flight,” he snapped, holding the door open for both of you. His mood settled when you patted his cheek before sliding in beside Oikawa. It was a bit cramped with two 6’ tall athletes wedged into the tight space, but frankly there weren’t a lot of other places you’d rather be.

Now if only you weren’t stuck between them on your way to the airport to see one of them off to the other side of the freakin’ world.

The ride, in typical fashion when doing something you don’t want to do, took both too long and not enough time. You filled it with jokes and memories as each held one of your hands, mostly about what you thought San Juan would be like and of games he and Iwaizumi had played in while you cheered your heart out in the stands.

Their number one fanatic, they affectionately called you. A lot of your highschool career was spent with them just because there was so much jealousy among the other students that you were so close to them. You were grateful to them for so much you couldn’t even begin to list them all, but you could at least say number one on the list was loving you the way they did. 

Oikawa was met at the airport by some diehard fans and his family, all teary eyed and clamoring for his attention, and you looked at Iwaizumi. He shared a resigned, grateful expression with you, glad you had said your goodbyes in the privacy of your apartment. There was no way you were going to get it here, surrounded the way he was.

While you stood on the outskirts, watching Oikawa smile and simper for everyone while making his way further inside, he looked back and his smile changed. From polite and sweet, it morphed into something genuine and deep, and even from a distance you could see the glitter in his eyes.

He laughed and said something, and the tone of the crowd changed, dispersing slowly until it was only his family left. Something was said to his mother, who was clinging to his hand with tears streaming down her cheeks, then he was making his way towards the two of you.

“I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to check in so I…” he said, but trailed off, scratching the back of his head. The words were stuck in his throat, too hard to say to the two of you. He could put on a show for the crowd all day, playing the part but as soon as he was placed in front of you, it was like someone had corked him. “I’m really gonna miss you guys. Who’s gonna cheer me on at games now?”

A sigh rode on the tail of the laugh that escaped you while Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, looking very much like he was going to kick Oikawa into the luggage carousel. 

“Oh, I don’t know, you dumbass. Maybe the thousands of adoring fans you’re going to gain with your face plastered all over national television?” he asked, his fingers flexing with the restrained urge. It was muscle memory at this point, he couldn’t be blamed.

Oikawa’s face fell, though Iwaizumi’s voice held no bite and Oikawa wasn’t really upset. Setting his hand on his hip, he pointed at Iwaizumi. “It won’t be the same and you know it. You better watch every game. I’ll know if you haven’t.”

Iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. “How are you gonna know, idiot?”

Oikawa’s arm snaked around your shoulder, still pointing to Iwaizumi as he tugged you into his side. The smile he wore was somehow both fake and so genuine it almost hurt to look at. “Well, our little _____ will tell me if you haven’t, won’t you?”

Before you could answer, the loudspeaker sounded, announcing his flight was ready for check-in, and all the humor left you in a breath.

“Tooru,” his mother called, beckoning towards him with her hands.

“Just a minute, mom,” he called over his shoulder, and his typically playful eyes were soft as he stared down at you. One hand took yours while the other met your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that had managed to escape without your notice. “I’ll call you when I land. And text you every day. And you better not let anyone take my room, I’ll need somewhere to sleep when I come back to visit. Lord knows I won’t be able to stay with them while I’m here.”

“Tooru,” his mother called again, sounding desperate now. You couldn’t blame her, Oikawa had spent an altogether longer time saying goodbye to you than he had with them since he’d arrived. Besides, the place his family held in line for him was moving forward rapidly-- as rapidly as the time you had left with him was shortening.

“You better not forget us, Tooru, or we’ll come down to Argentina and kick your ass,” you said, all three of you stumbling towards the line. He ducked under the rope, still holding your hand in a death grip, still unwilling to let go. “Or Haji will. I’ll keep a lookout so we don’t get arrested.”

At that, all three of you burst into laughter, the action causing the dam to break and then you were all crying too. In a split second decision Oikawa couldn’t explain, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste kiss, letting it linger there as he said, “I could never forget you. Either of you. My best friends and the people I love the most.”

“Love you too, Tooru. Give ‘em hell,” you whispered into his chest before pulling away.

“Go, before your family has a shit fit,” Iwaizumi said, pushing at his shoulder. But Oikawa’s hand covered his for a fraction of a second and squeezed with strength that only came with practicing serves for hours on end. Some unnamed emotion flitted in his eyes, but Iwaizumi nodded in understanding. “Come see us soon, alright?”

Oikawa’s throat tightened until all he could do was nod. With one last look at you, he turned and walked towards the front of the line, becoming obscured by the throngs of people.

An arm came around Iwaizumi’s waist and he instinctively curled his around your shoulders. He could feel the tears wetting his shoulder, where your face was pressed into his shirt. His own throat was sore as he held his tears back and he rubbed your arm as he fought to catch just one last glimpse of the last third of his trio.

But he was gone, off to the other side of the world and away from you. Some cynical part of Iwaizumi said he was gone forever, that in typical Oikawa fashion he would get down there and completely forget about the two of you. That wasn’t what the more rational side said, though. That side said he was being completely unfair to his friend, and he was inclined to agree with it more.

Leading you back out to the entrance, he hailed a taxi and helped you in, where you wrapped yourself around him again, causing him to laugh.

“It isn’t forever, you know,” he said, petting your hair. Of course, he would never tell you what he had been thinking just a few minutes ago. It wouldn’t help, even if it did turn out to be true. “We’ll see him again, probably a lot sooner than we’d like.”

As if to prove his point, both of your phones pinged with a new notification.

When you swiped them open, you found a message in the group chat that was so typical of Oikawa that Iwaizumi snorted before you both burst into laughter.

‘First class sucks without anyone to share it with. And the wine is bleh. I miss u guys :(‘

Each of you answered, Iwaizumi with a typical ‘you’re an idiot’ and you with an ‘i miss u too bby :’(‘. 

You received one last text, telling you he had to shut his phone off and then you settled your head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to stare out the window. The scenery passed by in a blur while you focused on Iwaizumi’s rough thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. 

After a few minutes, you hummed thoughtfully. “What should we get for dinner?”

“How does takoyaki sound?”

--

It was several months after Oikawa had left and both you and Iwaizumi were coming up on a small break from school. Since he’d left, Oikawa’s texts and calls had been spotty at best, though he made the effort to send a goodnight text into the group chat every night. When he’d first realized that he was failing in his promise, he’d apologized while telling you he would try harder.

Iwaizumi had shut that down real quick and you could imagine him tapping on his phone furiously during study period, wearing a scowl that would have had Oikawa cowering in the corner if he’d seen it. 

‘Shut up, idiot. You’re training, right? Then train. We’re adults. We understand, right, _____?’

In your biology class, you had snuck a quick response. Even as adults, your teacher was a real bastard about using phones in class, and being caught could end in a pop quiz.

‘Yeah, you brat. Stop stretching yourself so thin or they’ll kick you out and you’ll have to come back to Japan and start all over,’ you typed, having to erase the word ‘home’ in favor of something less...that. Sometimes the way Oikawa talked, when your schedules lined up and you could talk on the phone properly, he sounded like all you’d have to do was ask and he’d be on the first plane out of San Juan. Even he still slipped up and called it home, often correcting himself afterwards as if to convince himself.

After that, he stopped apologizing, but he also stopped responding nearly as much. That didn’t stop you from using the group chat. You could see where Oikawa had read and reacted to certain messages and knew that even if he was busy, he was still there. And that in itself made the separation easier.

Two weeks before that break started, you received a long text in the group chat, both of your phones going off on the table. Only Iwaizumi picked his up, already knowing who it was from-- the chat had a special tone, so you knew whether to pick it up immediately or not.

‘Hey guys, I know this is sudden and a little short notice, but you have that break coming up, don’t you? I’m going to have my first game down here during that time so I was wondering if you’d want to come down and visit? Ik it’s only been a few months but you know how much i miss your stupid faces, and san juan is so pretty this time of year. I can pay for the tickets down here (obviously) and your rooms already have beds so you can stay with me! Isn’t that great? I have to go, but let me know!’

Iwaizumi stared at the text, a vein ticking in his forehead, while you read over his shoulder. It was clear Oikawa was excited at the prospect, but planning a trip like that in only two weeks was going to be hell.

“Does he even realize how full of himself he sounds?” Iwaizumi snapped, crossing his arms over his chest after you took his phone. “‘I can pay for the tickets’-- my ass. I’m gonna beat him senseless when we see him.”

“So…” you said, already typing away on his phone, “does that mean I should tell him to buy two tickets, since he’s so kindly offered?”

He caught sight of your smirk and followed it up with one of his own, belatedly realizing what he’d just said. “Well, since he can obviously afford it, may as well let him.”

You sent the text out without making any changes and Iwaizumi didn’t know if he should kiss you or smack you.

--

Oikawa was a lot more active in chat over the next couple of weeks, talking nonstop about how excited he was to see you. Iwaizumi was taking the blow up with more grace than you had ever imagined, and then you realized why. 

“Haji, aren’t you excited to see Tooru? And I never thought I’d actually go to Argentina. I’m kinda nervous,” you teased one night over takeout and beers. A movie Iwaizumi had picked up while he bought snacks at the store played in the background, though it was so bad neither of you were really paying attention.

He looked up from his phone, where he was no doubt texting Oikawa, looking thoughtful. You expected a huff or a denial, but he surprised you-- a lot, actually.

“Yeah, I’m really excited. It’s been...too quiet without that brat around,” he said, and frowned. “I miss him.”

You set your fork in the takeout box, staring blankly at the TV while you processed that admission. Iwaizumi wasn’t much for talking about his feelings. He was very action oriented, as you and Oikawa knew too well, so to hear him say it meant something.

“I really miss him too, you know,” you murmured, playing with your fingers. It wasn’t something that bothered you too often, but Iwaizumi’s confession had brought it to the forefront of your thoughts and you allowed yourself to wallow just a little. “I can’t wait to see him.”

“I can’t either. I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I love you both,” he said, his ears heating up at the admission. It was only easy to say in the dark, when he could focus on his phone instead of the embarrassment the words brought. It wasn’t something he said very often, no matter how much he thought it. 

You giggled, flicking a fry you had been about to eat at him. “You’re such a sap. Tooru really is rubbing off on you, Haji.”

Throwing it back at you, he playfully snapped, “Don’t compare me to Shittykawa, _____. I’m nothing like him.”

“You’re right. You’re much smarter than he is,” you replied, chucking the fry back into the top part of your takeout box. 

It felt so good to just relax and hang out with Iwaizumi. Your schedules had both been so packed with classes and work, and even when one was free the other rarely was, that you hadn’t had a spare moment with him in weeks. It was the first night that you had free since Oikawa first invited you down and, though you had been flooded with requests to go out to bars or clubs, you just wanted to stay in. Expecting to be alone that night too, you were pleasantly surprised when Iwa had shown up with two takeout boxes and a six pack of beer. It felt like all the tension you had been carrying over the last few weeks had dissipated and that things were normal.

Shitty movies, shitty beer, and Iwa. All you really needed was Oikawa, and you would have him in a few days. 

Your heart fluttered in your stomach, your chest tightening at the thought of seeing him again. It felt like years had passed since he left, between your hectic schedules and sporadic texts. More than once you had come home exhausted and wanting to just go to bed, maybe cry a little from the stress, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of something missing. The little negative voice in the back of your head would nag as you laid awake, staring at your ceiling, hoping your phone would light up or Iwa would walk through the door and fill the silence of the apartment.

It was nights like that that made you wonder if everything you were doing was worth it, if you were somehow losing Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and the doubt hurt more than anything else. It was a constant tug-of-war with yourself; you knew that eventually you would have to let them go, but only when you were good and ready, and ready you most certainly were not.

There was hope that this trip would help ease some of your doubt and fears, that seeing Oikawa in his element might prove to you that everything the three of you had accomplished made all the long days and sleepless nights worth something. But there was a part of you that was nervous that going down there would prove that the gap you were afraid of truly existed, and then what would you do?

“You know,” Iwaizumi said carefully, watching your face. “I really needed this. I’ve missed you too.”

He didn’t know what you were thinking exactly, but he could see you were well in your own head and that the thoughts weren’t pleasant. The both of you had been under a lot of pressure lately, with finals and jobs and projects over the last few months, and he could tell it was getting to you. Besides that, he had missed you fiercely in the interim, often coming home to find you already asleep or still out. Sometimes you had left him something to eat but other times he was the one leaving you food. Little sticky notes adorned the fridge with thank you’s and other endearing notes to each other as well, reminding each of you that you weren’t alone.

He looked forward to those and the passing moments he could see you in the morning before classes or work. It was the only time you had, sipping coffee as you chatted about meaningless things before rushing around to get ready because you had wasted too much time talking, but you would do it again the next time anyway.

“Same,” you said, smiling. There was an odd feeling in your chest, like you had drank too much coffee, your heart racing far too fast for your liking. 

Iwa quirked a brow at the strange look on your face, like an amused grimace, and laughed when you poked your lip out. You glanced at him and the look morphed to one of happiness, and he rolled his eyes. “Come here, stupid. Let’s put Netflix on and watch Wipeout or something.”

He grunted at the impact of you launching yourself at his chest. The couch bounced as you cackled, squirming around until you could lean back his side and he pushed at your head in response, scowling.

“What’s wrong, Iwa?” you asked as you made yourself comfortable, pulling his arm down around your shoulders in a familiar manner. Tilting your head back, you continued to grin maniacally at him. “You seem annoyed.”

“Yeah, that’s because I have a bratty ass roommate who seems intent on aggravating me. Thought I’d seen the end of it when Shittykawa left,” he grumbled, but the corners of his lips turned up, a soft look in his eyes as he scowled. “Guess not.”

He flipped through the Netflix menu, looking for something to watch. They had removed Wipeout, but the search menu pulled up similar titles, and you pointed at the third one down.

“Guess not. What’s ‘The Floor Is Lava’? It looks similar,” you said, and he clicked into it. It was close enough so he hit play. “Anyway what’s new with you? What about that girl from your uh...chemistry class…?”

He had mentioned her a few times in the morning when you were supposed to be getting ready, but her name escaped you. Talking about her brought that same strange feeling back into your chest, and you squinted as you tried to recognize it. It was familiar somehow but foreign too, like you had experienced it before but it was so long ago you had forgotten. 

“Oh,” he said, and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah it-- eh. I didn’t have time to spare and we kinda drifted apart.”

He didn’t tell you that most of the free time he did have was spent with you. At first he had been really into her, but as his schedule became more packed and he spent less time at home, he had had to make a choice. It was one he wasn’t even aware of making until she had pointed it out to him.

“I know she’s your best friend and all, but you spend more time with her than me!” she had griped one evening over video chat. It was the only time he really saw her anymore, and he squirmed at her accusation. It wasn’t incorrect and it left him feeling guilty because it wasn’t fair to her. When he didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Maybe you should date her instead, since you’re so up her ass!”

She had hung up and he had mulled it over for days afterwards, when he couldn’t push it from his mind. It felt wrong to consider you in that way, like he was doing something dirty, and the next time he saw you he felt almost sleazy. Her words flooded his brain again, causing his face to flush, turning away to continue fixing your coffees. It was a while before he felt settled again after that, his heart picking up speed every time your name flashed on his phone-- because of course he didn’t see you for days after that.

He had to tell himself it was normal to want to spend time at home with you rather than go out to bars or crowded restaurants after spending days on end coming in late from classes and work. Because it was normal right? To want to be with you in the comfort of the apartment than out with anyone else?

The tightness in your chest eased at his words, and you giggled, fiddling with his fingers. “Guess that explains why you’re here with me instead of out with her, huh? Kinda sucks, being so busy. We have no free time to do anything.”

Iwa nodded, pinching one of your fingers between his and squeezing, listening to you squeal playfully. It felt good to be spending time with you in a way he never felt with anyone else and he tried not to overthink it. “Yeah, but in a few days we’ll be responsibility free.”

“True. I can’t wait. ‘M gonna shut my phone off and let everyone assume I’m dead,” you said as you picked up your phone to scroll through your Insta. Oikawa had posted a new photo just before he went to bed of him mid-set to one of his team members, his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrated. It was gorgeous, his skin much tanner than he had been while living in Japan and he was so pretty it almost hurt. You clicked the heart beneath it, one of the thousands already there. 

Part of you expected to be introduced to a new girlfriend when you arrived, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about that. Picturing an unknown woman hanging around made you grimace, and you were gonna murder him if he did that.

Iwaizumi laughed, patting your hand. “Let’s not do that or they might send someone after us, and I for one don’t feel like being chased through the streets of San Juan by Matsukawa and Hanamaki.”

“Yikes, you’re right,” you said, turning your attention from your phone to the TV, where a trio of people were currently navigating what appeared to be a bedroom. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the sound of the TV and you passed the rest of the night that way.

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[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Part Five

I hope you enjoy this one! It features a surprise snooty owl (I wonder who could own such a creature???) and some well-meaning concern from a friend. And some banter. And an expensive lunch. Because Theo is extra and can’t help himself. And it’s 4.6k words long...

I also realised that, since I wrote the first chapter basically out of the blue and not really intending for it to blow up into a big multi-part story, I’ve messed up the timeline a little with Harry’s kids, so I’ll have to go back and fix that when it comes to a re-edit before it goes up on AO3, but for now, just handwave it, ok? :)

Finally, many thanks for your lovely owls, anonymous or otherwise, about this story and where it’s going! I was honestly floored by the feedback I’ve got, and thank you to those who’ve reblogged it and helped get it out there for folks to read. I have a very small following since this side-blog is fairly new, so all reblogs are very much appreciated. I did a quick doodle for the cover of the story which you can find here, if you’re interested in how I pictured Draco and Scorpius standing in the steam from the Hogwarts Express from chapter one.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

___

Far earlier on Monday morning than she was accustomed to these days, Hermione woke with a start and frowned, confused. Eyes dry and prickly, and hair absolutely everywhere, she sat up and looked around, straining her ears as she blearily tried to work out what had yanked her so unceremoniously from a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. Her Muggle alarm clock silently showed 05:54 in harsh red numbers, and nothing had touched the wards or tried to get in, though there was something thrumming against them, like the lingering reverberations of a plucked harp string.  

The temporary stillness was shattered when a wild scrabbling of claws and the beating of enormous wings started up against her bedroom window. With a flailing shriek of surprise, she nearly fell out of bed, but after taking a deep breath, she stumbled out from under the covers to wrench the curtains open.  

“Bloody owls!” she began, but drew up short when she saw the unfamiliar bird waiting impatiently on the other side of the glass.  

There, battering its truly monstrous talons against the glass, was a colossal eagle owl. When it saw her, it stopped its fussing to perch haughtily on the brick windowsill outside and fix her with a fiery red glare. If owls could have raised their eyebrows, she got the impression that this one would have done it at the sight of her.  

“Yeah, well, it’s early. What did you expect?” she groused as she slid the window panel to one side and the bird looked around her bedroom with obvious disdain. Imperiously, it stuck out one leg, like a noble expecting a servant to remove a dirty boot, and she saw a rolled-up piece of parchment with a green wax seal and a green ribbon to bind it together.  

“Who do you belong to then?” she asked, going automatically to stroke the bird’s flight-ruffled chest plumage. It instantly hissed and nipped at her fingers, and she barely drew them back in time. “Christ! No need for that,” she gasped. She’d never met a postal owl as cantankerous as this one. “I usually give visiting owls a treat, but I don't think I like your manners one bit.”  

With the letter in hand, she slid the window closed again, leaving a gap just small enough that the bird wasn’t going to barge its way in. She wondered if it had been instructed to wait for an answer because it began almost immediately clicking its beak against the glass and hooting indignantly. 

“Manners makyth bird,” she snapped without looking up, and broke the unfamiliar wax seal on the letter.

It had a cursive ‘M’ within a circle, but was otherwise unadorned. Unfurling it, she glanced at the name on the bottom and her eyebrows rose as her growing suspicions were confirmed. It was signed in a princely English roundhand by none other than Draco Malfoy.  

She snorted, glancing back at the bird who was doing its best basilisk impression from the other side of the glass. “Who else would have such a snotty owl?”

It hooted childishly at her again and she laughed.  

Dear Hermione,

I must beg of you to forgive the unspeakably rude hour of this correspondence, but I am leaving this morning for France by portkey for a couple of days and I had hoped to get your answer before I left. I should add now before you read any further — although with your kind heart I fear it may be too late already — that Cassiopeia here is not fond of physical affection, but is very partial to owl treats. She can be bribed into doing almost anything for food, but affection is sadly not in her nature, so please be careful with your fingers around her beak. The only reason I was able to get her to fly at all at this time of the day was to bribe her lavishly. She’s terribly spoilt, and for that, I’m sorry too.  

Hermione shot another look at the bird, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Cassiopeia, eh?” she said and the enormous owl bobbed a few times. “Prideful about your good looks then, are you? You should know how your namesake’s story ended then. But, I suppose you could be forgiven since you are an inordinately pretty bird. You’ll still not get a crumb from me after trying to take my fingers off though. I’ll be having words with Malfoy about that.”  

Cassiopeia ruffled her feathers and promptly turned her back on Hermione. The bird didn’t take off, so she returned her attention to the letter.  

I spent all weekend thinking about our evening together on Friday, but it will come as little surprise to you to learn that it has taken me all that time to muster up my limited courage to ask you to dinner at your next convenience. Naturally, I left it to the last possible moment to ask you. I have a place in mind in London, but it’s a little more out of the way than the restaurants on Diagon Alley. I have it on authority from the owner that you have never been there, and I would very much like to surprise you, but if you would feel more comfortable knowing in advance, then you can ask Theo while I am out of the country.  

Staggered, Hermione stared at the letter and found her vision swimming a little. Blinking, she was shocked to find tears blurring his formal — almost painfully formal — words.  

But how long had it been since anyone had actually asked her on a date? ‘Too intimidating’, ‘too boring’, ‘too work-orientated’, ‘too bossy’, ‘too driven’ were all things she’d heard at one point or another, and admittedly many of them from Ron.  

Thirty seven wasn’t even old - especially by magical standards - but she didn’t exactly have the same bright-eyed charms as someone like, say, Lavender did anymore. Hard work, and a draining marriage seemed to have sapped much of the youth and vigour from her. And, if she were honest, being replaced by someone supposedly ‘more attractive’ had damaged her more deeply than she cared to admit, even to herself. There were certainly days when she felt like a washed-up, burnt-out, dowdy old matron. She had crashed out of a sparkling career in the Ministry to run a scruffy old second-hand bookshop next to the newly-refurbished Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour.  

“Why are you even bothering, Malfoy?” she murmured aloud as she stared blankly at the letter in her hands. With looks like his — and a groaning Gringotts’ account if the rumours were to be believed, not that that mattered a jot to Hermione — he could probably have had almost any witch he wanted, his past and reclusive behaviour be damned. And yet he was asking her to dinner after having only met twice since they turned eighteen? Three times, she supposed if she included that brief encounter at the Ministry on the night of the attack.  

Perhaps he was lonely just wanted the company. Perhaps she was just… convenient; a chump with a soft spot for outcasts…

Before she let herself go too far down that unsavoury rabbit hole, she forced herself to read on, heart pounding. Outside on the windowsill, the owl had gone very still, watching her with curious, orange eyes.  

Please feel free to send Cassiopeia back with your response either way. I hope I have not overstepped or misread how things are between us now, especially given our history, but I find my thoughts returning over and over to our evening, and to that surprise lunch on the 1st of September. I’m not sure what I had expected when you asked me to join you that day, but I certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy myself as much as I did. In the years since I became Scorpius’ sole guardian, I have not sought the company of others, nor have I particularly enjoyed it when it has been inflicted upon me, but those two occasions spent with you have drawn me out of myself. You truly are a remarkable witch, and I’m more moved and honoured than I can express that you have given me even this much of your precious time already.  

Before I begin to ramble too freely, I think I must sign off here.  

Yours,  

D.M.  

P.S. Scorpius did write to me in the end. He has a detention already, and Potter’s youngest is also involved somehow… I will get more details from him anon, and no doubt a letter from McGonagall in due course.  

For a long time, Hermione stood in her bedroom, with her hair in a wild halo around her head and her scruffy old pyjamas hanging low on her hips, just staring at his signature.  

When Draco’s owl began to fidget and fuss again, she sighed and looked up. “Sit tight,” she breathed. “I’m going to get a piece of paper and if you keep quiet, I might bring an owl treat with me when I come back, ok?”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and ducked her head suspiciously, but remained put on the windowsill, so she took that as a ‘yes’ and disappeared into her tiny study.  

Grabbing a biro from the chipped mug that served as a pen and quill pot, and tearing a sheaf of paper from a muggle notebook, she scrawled a note back to him.  

With that done, and before she could talk herself out of what she had just accepted, she returned to his owl with a treat. The bird mobbed her for it instantly, but Hermione scowled at her, snatched her hand back, and barked, “Wait! My goodness, you are spoilt. Let me attach this first, and if I manage it without you drawing blood or otherwise maiming me, not only will it be a flipping miracle, but you’ll get your sodding treat, alright?”

The bird went still with a tiny shuffle of her wings, and stuck out her leg.  

“Thank you,” Hermione said tartly.  

Cassiopeia took off with her note attached by the same green ribbon and secured with a basic sticking charm. The downdraft from her departure sent bits of accumulated detritus from the window ledge spiralling up into Hermione’s face, but she coughed and blinked, and watched the bird soar way up into the sky. The receding dot of her silhouette banked west, out of sight and in the eventual direction of Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor.  

Malfoy Manor.  

She’d hardly given the place any thought since that fateful night ten or so years ago when Malfoy had been attacked, a whole wing had been burned to the ground, and Scorpius had nearly been killed. They’d never said in the papers who had done it, and the Auror Office had been distinctly tight-lipped about it. Not that she’d really bothered to find out more, if she were honest. Once Malfoy’s little yowling mandrake had left her office in his father’s arms, she had been almost instantly reabsorbed with her own caseload, and Harry had never mentioned the outcome of the investigation to her. A twinge of gilt shot through her but she pushed it down. It was hardly a topic for dinnertime conversation either, so she doubted she’d find out immediately.  

She thought vaguely about clambering back into bed, but since she was up, she headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. It had been a while since she’d been up before dawn, and she had some paperwork to do anyway.  

Cassiopeia’s appearance was not the only unusual thing to happen to her that day. She had no visitors to the shop at all for the entire morning, but when the brass bell above the door did finally chime, she looked up from the desk at the back of the shop to find Theo striding in.  

“Hi, love,” he grinned, stepping deer-like over the stack of recent arrivals beside the counter and stooping to hug her where she sat. “Lunch. You and me. Now.”

“Theo, I have a shop to run,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t just… leave. Besides, I brought sandwiches.”

“I will literally pay you the price of an entire chest of first editions to spend the next few hours in my company if things are that tight. Or I could just… buy you an entire chest of first editions,” he said, adding with his most dangerous puppy-dog eyes, “Seriously, please come to lunch with me?”

She flicked her wrist and the ‘open’ sign hanging in the glass-panelled door flipped over to ‘closed’. “I’m not accepting your money, Theo. What’s the occasion?”

He twitched slightly and then flashed her a grin; a combination that made her instantly wary. “Does a gentleman need ‘an occasion’ to ask a beautiful lady to lunch?” he asked, his brown eyes wide with feigned innocence.  

Hermione slowly raised one eyebrow. “You’re gay. And happily married. And that’s a terrible line. Try again.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take my very best friend out,” he shrugged nonchalantly.  

Something was definitely up.  

“Draco Malfoy is, and always has been, your very best friend in all the world. Try again.”

“You,” he said, actually growling the word this time with comical frustration, “Are one very persistent witch.”

“Mmhmm. How do you think I made it to Minister by twenty-seven, darling,” she grinned, still without getting up from her chair. “Last chance or I turn that sign around and forcibly evict you from my shop.”  

Theo whipped his wand out from his inner jacket pocket like he was in a duel, and apparently vanished the offending sign from the door altogether. “There. Your threats are empty. Come to lunch with me.”

“Theodore Nott, you return my sign this instant.”

“Say you’ll come to lunch with me, and the sign goes back up.”

“I will not be threatened in my own shop!” she laughed, arms folding across her chest like a petulant child. “Put it back. Now.”

“Say you’ll come with me,” he said with a wide, playful grin, planting his hands on the counter and leaning his long frame forwards.  

She had to bite her lips to stop from giggling. The charming scoundrel knew she’d say yes anyway. “I’ll tell Dan you were bullying me,” she said.  

“Tell him; he’ll never believe you. He thinks I’m lovely. Come on, Hermione,” he added, softening from playful to plaintive. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You and my ‘very best friend in all the world’, that’s what,” he said, and levelled her with a flat stare.

Her stomach dropped and she remembered the letter from that morning. And its contents. ‘…if you would feel more comfortable knowing, then you can ask Theo while I am gone’ Draco had said. He’d spoken with Theo about asking her out. She didn't know whether to be honoured or embarrassed.

Seeing her expression slip, Theo came round the side of the counter to stand beside her and leaned his hips against the wooden desk. “So you like him?”

“I… Why would that be a surprise?”

Theo blinked, and then his gaze flickered down to her left forearm. Everyone knew about the word engraved into her skin with the point of a cursed knife — she’d never tried to conceal it — but not many knew the real truth of just how the slur had come to be carved indelibly into her flesh. Theo was one of the few who did. “You’re really asking me why I’m surprised you like him?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You, of all people?”

She took a very deep breath, held it, and then sighed. “Let’s go. You’re paying though. And I’m drinking.”

He managed a shy smile, and as they approached the front door of her shop his shimmering illusion around the sign dissolved to reveal it once again.  

“Cheeky bugger,” she smirked at him and he waggled his eyebrows disarmingly. An undercurrent of anxiety still lurked beneath his jovial expression though.  

A number of new restaurants had opened up in Diagon Alley, but Theo’s and Dan’s favourite was a sleek, modern establishment, quite different from the fusty old decor of the Leaky Cauldron or the other more traditional restaurants in wizarding London. It also sat overlooking the crooked columns of Gringotts, and was eye-wateringly expensive. Naturally, Theo was greeted by name at the door, and the pair were shown without fuss or fanfare to one of the nicest — and most secluded — tables.

With food ordered, and enormous balloon-glasses of wine in front of them, Theo fixed her with a serious look and steered the conversation around to the real reason for his impromptu lunchtime kidnapping. “He finally grew a pair and asked you to dinner then?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I take it this is… unusual for him?”

Theo tipped his head back and chuckled softly, sounding more tired than amused. “That’s putting it mildly, love. Until Friday, I had the devil’s own job trying to get dear Draco to leave his gloomy little manor house and come to anything. I had to blackmail him into coming to our anniversary, you know?”  

Hermione just frowned, not entirely sure if he was being serious or not.  

Theo let out a slow breath and stared into his wineglass, idly twirling the stem between long fingers. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said without looking at her, “I’m beyond grateful that he finally seems to be opening up to the idea of… being somewhat… vulnerable again, but…”

“You’re worried I’m going to hurt him,” she said quietly, and Theo bowed his head. “Theo, I’m… You know me. This isn’t just some one night stand with a rich, attractive bloke I met in a bar. I haven’t —” she leaned in close over the table and hissed, “I haven’t even had sex with anyone in years, Theo. Years!” She brushed an errant corkscrew of hair back out of her eyes, embarrassed.

His lips twitched at that, but his eyes remained stormy.  

“I’m not going into this lightly. I was honestly as surprised as you are, but I wouldn’t even be considering going on a date with Draco Malfoy if I wasn’t completely convinced that he was no longer the bratty little owl-pellet he was back at Hogwarts.”

At that, Theo barked such a loud laugh that the patrons at the tables nearby turned to look at him like he’d sworn in a church. He covered his mouth with his hand and snickered himself into silent tears for a good thirty seconds before she rolled her eyes and sat back with her glass in her hand, waiting for him to control himself again.  

“I’m telling Dan you called him that. And Pansy. They’ll love it.”

“Right,” she said, cheeks suddenly hot. “Well, as much as he might have been an owl pellet, let’s not have it become a ‘thing’, hmm?”

The mirth in his face simmered back down and he looked at her steadily over the rim of his wineglass. “Look, I care about both of you, and I can see this going two ways. One: you realise that the two of you actually have an awful lot in common, he takes you to increasingly fancy places for dates, you have lots of steamy sex, and finally settle down together. Two: the past gets in the way, you both say hurtful stuff you don’t really mean, and you both end up single and twice as miserable as you were before you went for lunch at the Leaky. Don't think I didn’t know about that, either,” he added.  

“You’re such a gossip,” she snapped.  

“I was being serious, Hermione,” he said, leaning to one side as their food arrived.  

She paused until the waiter had left but didn’t make any move to pick up her cutlery. “Are you looking out for him or for me?” she asked.  

Theo sighed. “Both of you. But…”

“Mostly Draco, huh?”

“He’s like a brother to me, Hermione. He was there for me when no one else was. You know the things my father did to me as a child, and Draco helped me through all of it. And ‘Cissa too. And I couldn’t believe it when he actually showed up at drinks the other night. Watching him, it… it was like the old Draco had come back to me. The nice ‘old Draco’, I mean.” His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly, voice cracking as he continued. “After the attack, he shut himself away at the Manor with Scorpius, as if he could keep the whole world out just to keep little Scorp safe. I thought… I thought he’d never leave, Hermione.”

“You never talked about any of this,” she said gently, forcing herself to make a start on her linguine despite the fact that her appetite had vanished almost completely.  

Theo shrugged. “I guess… I guess I wanted to give him the privacy he craved, and to be honest, I didn’t think you’d be all that sympathetic to him after your history.”

At that, she scowled, but she could see his point. “Theo, I held his screaming infant in my arms for hours while he was being questioned by the Aurors that night. I saw his face when he came to my office for Scorpius afterwards.” She shook her head. “No one who saw him then could believe he was even a shadow of the person he had been at Hogwarts.”

At her words, Theo had stopped eating, fork held loosely between perpetually-ink-stained fingers even as it rested on his plate. “You did? He never said.”

She tried not to examine that last comment too closely. “Mm. Harry didn't know what else to do with him, so he brought Scorpius to me to see if I could quieten him down. In the end all it took was a handful of my hair and a few poorly-sung folk songs. But you’re missing the point, Theo. You could have trusted me with things that were worrying you. I would have listened to you.”

“I —” he cut off and cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… Aside from Dan, I don’t think I love anyone as much as I love him.”

It was Hermione’s turn to choke up a little, but she swallowed and said, “Then I can think of no greater accolade for his character.” She looked up at him and added, “So where’s he taking me then?”

“You said yes?”

“I did. I like him. And not just because he looks like a flipping marble statue brought to life. He’s thoughtful, and he always was extremely intelligent and articulate. I’ve really enjoyed talking with him this time around. I think… I think…” she pursed her lips and took a too-big gulp of wine. Luckily it all went down the right way, and she forged on. “I think… we could work. Or at least… I want to see where it goes, Theo.”

With a slow nod, Theo finally relaxed his shoulders and let out a shaky breath. “He wants to take you to The Foundry.”  

“I’ve never heard of it,” she mumbled. It wasn’t one of the ones in Diagon Alley, for sure.

Theo made a side-to-side movement of his head. “I’m not surprised. It’s…”

“Oh God, is it horrifically expensive?” she asked, eyes wide with a sudden abject terror. “Theo, if he’s going to take me somewhere hideously fancy for our first date, I’m going to back out right now…”

The corners of his lips lifted and he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. You have to know the owners to get a table though, and there are no menus. They’ll ask if you have any allergies, but other than that, you eat what they serve you.”

“Holy fuck, Theo…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it. The place used to be a bell foundry in the seventeenth century — hence the name — and it’s this gorgeous brick building with arches and vaults, and cosy little corners,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll forget where you are and be as comfortable as if you were in your own pokey little Muggle living room. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes and took another gulp of wine. “I’ll take your word for it, Nott,” she said. “What should I wear?”

Without hesitation, he said, “That burgundy number you haven’t worn since Pansy told you to buy it.”

She blanched at that. “Theo, it’s…”

“Gorgeous? Revealing in all the right ways, yet modest enough to suit you? Dead sexy? Exactly the kind of thing that will make Draco lose his goddamn mind when he sees you in it? The kind of thing that will make him spend all evening simultaneously admiring you in it and mentally tearing it off you —”

“Theo, stop!” she hissed, flushing darker. “For God’s sake shut up!”

He cackled into the remainder of his wine, but refused to give any more sartorial advice.  

“Burgundy dress and heels it is, I guess,” she said, and the two of them focused on their food again.  

“I hope,” Theo said as they left a very leisurely two hours later, “I hope you don’t think I was too…” he jiggled nervously on the balls of his feet as he held the door open for her, “Overbearing…”

“I mean, you did ambush me, blackmail and threaten me into having lunch with you at the fanciest restaurant in Diagon Alley where I couldn’t reasonably kick up a fuss, and then proceed to tell me all sorts of heartrending stories about Draco and yourself…”  

When she saw the wounded look in Theo’s brown eyes, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Theo, no. You’re one of my best friends, and you clearly care about us both. Stop panicking,” she added when she saw the slightly wild light in his eyes. “You didn’t try to tell me what to do or who to see. You’re looking out for your friends, and making sure we’re both… serious about this. And I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, “But know that if you keep meddling beyond that, I will hex your bollocks off and make you explain it to Dan.”

“Understood,” he said with a watery smile. “I was worried I’d overstepped.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Did you have the same talk with Draco about breaking my heart?”

His handsome, freckled face split into a blinding white grin. “I did.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Now, some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“I work!” he squealed. “I work bloody hard up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, thank you very much!”

“I know you do,” she conceded. “Not that you actually need a job, you filthy rich prick.”

Theo laughed long and loud, scooping her hand up in his and walking arm in arm down the bustling, cobbled street towards her bookshop. “And to think,” he chimed with a sidelong look down at her, “You used to be Minister for Magic with that mouth.”

“I know,” she said. “It nearly got me into trouble on many an occasion.”

Kneazel and Quill’s little sign swung jauntily in the breeze and Theo gave a slight bow from the waist when they stopped at the door. With anyone else, it might have seemed foppish and insincere, but with Theo, she knew he meant it. He was only silly like this with his closest friends.  

“Good day, fair maiden of the dusty bookshop,” he said. “And thank you for giving my idiot best friend a chance.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. She stood and soaked up the autumn sunshine for a while as she watched his retreating back, until he eventually disappeared into the Diagon Alley entrance to the Ministry and she slid back into the musty quiet of her little sanctuary.

Chapter Six

___

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of friendship! Next time, Hermione and Draco go for that date...!! Things will start to gain momentum too, fear not. It’s not going to be an eternal slow-burn...

writing masterlist | Ao3

[jarofstyles]

Fan Club II

A/N: Let the tension begin to build 😈This part is a little shorter than the others but it’s a necessary step - n + d

send feedback and requests here

masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: angst, anxiety attack, and tender moments

word count: 3.5k

Harry was confused on all levels. Y/N was in his brain like a damn worm and didn’t seem to ever be coming out of it. That was the most frustrating part. It had been about a week, his second bakery visit being short and sweet with another hug and asking for 2 more lemon squares, but he had been a bit bland with texting back. He was trying to distance himself. Not fall for the good girl next door act. 

“Harry, please at least make this believable tonight. I’ve seen a few tweets talking about you going to the bakery so someone must have been a fan in there, so make sure tonight you’re a gentleman to her. People are watching.” Jeff Warned. It wasn’t like Harry sat around and complained about her. He barely said a word. He did tell Jeff he didn’t trust her, but he had restricted any social media usage because he knew the moment he found Y/N’s pages he would stalk her for a while. He would need to make sure it didn’t happen. 

They were sharing a car to the restaurant, and everyone knew the secret so when they pulled up to Y/N’s place, Harry felt a little more relaxed. Jeff would take over until showtime at the restaurant. There would be paparazzi by the time they left, but going in would be far easier.

Y/N was nervous to say the least. This would be her first time being photographed officially with Harry, holding hands and everything. It was a big deal and she wanted to look nice. She had done her whole routine, showering and smelling nice, doing a light makeup that she saw all his past girlfriends do, and changed into her outfit. She felt sexy but still fashionable, definitely not too expensive. Just the right amount of everything. 

When she got the text saying the car was there, she knew it was game time. Y/N made sure to bring her keys, her phone, and wallet, putting it all in a small fashionable blue over the shoulder bag before walking to the elevator and making her way out to the car. 

“Hey.” Y/N smiled as she opened the door, climbing into the car and buckling up. God he looked delicious. His hair was all floppy, his outfit matching hers in a strange way. The two of them together looked good, she couldn’t lie. “You look nice.” She said once again, but she really did mean it. “Smell nice too.”

They both sat in the back seat, Jeff and his wife in the front. Harry smiled lightly and nodded. “Uh, thanks. You too.” He went back to his phone. Honestly, if he didn’t? He would have died. Honest to god died. Her tits looked immaculate. Harry hadn’t seen them like this before but he was nearly choking on the way he wanted to bury his face between them. The first he had dated weren’t really all that big in that department— nothing wrong with that. But she had the perfect amount. Perfect handfuls. Something he was positive would be lovely to suck on. Fuck— fucking hell. 

He had to look at his phone or he would get hard. Y/N smelled good too. Like coconuts, vanilla. He wasn’t sure if that was a perfume or a bakery thing but he enjoyed it thoroughly. They kind of matched, too. which was weird. They hadn’t discussed it. 

Y/N sighed a little, not really knowing what she was expecting considering they were in private. She would rather spend no time with him in private if this was the case. She went all out to look nice for him to just say, ‘you too’? God this would be hard. 

“Hi Jeff, hi Glenne, it’s nice to meet you.” Y/N spoke sweetly, “I’d give you a hug, but you know.” She chuckled and sat back, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was ignoring her. What a terrible fake boyfriend he was, really wasn’t into the whole method acting thing. 

“Hey!” Jeff greeted. “Are you ready for the first pap run?”

“You sound so cheery about it.” Y/N laughed, “I guess I’m ready.” She shrugged and pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I reckon dinner will be fun, bit more excited about that. Get to chat with you all a little more.” It was the honest truth. She wanted to spend some quality time with Harry and with Jeff and his wife. If she was going to spend a full year knowing them? Hell, she wanted to make the most of it. She didn’t just want to fake being friends with them.

Was she serious? Harry thought. Come on. That wasn’t real. There was no way she actually thought they would buy that excuse. She didn’t give a fuck. No way. But of course— both of them bought into it. It was like Harry was the only one who could see that this was sketchy. That it wasn’t what was right. She was too sweet for her own good and that alone had Harry very, very suspicious. He listened to them chatter and took glances at her every so often. This would be torture for him. The whole thing. He was so physically attracted to her that he was worried that it may show when they weren't supposed to be acting. Y/N seemed to get along with them great. It was another thing that made him want to pull his hair out. She had to be bad in some way. No one was genuinely this nice and sweet without having a bad side. Gorgeous or not.

Jeff and Glenne were genuinely nice people, and Y/N was thankful that at least they were being open. Then again, Jeff was Harry’s best friend, then surely there was just something wrong with her. It had been a few days since they met and Harry wasn’t letting up no matter what she did. It would be a slow burn she assumed. She looked over at him, catching him already looking at her with a small smile. Y/N turned her attention back to the front of the car, watching as Jeff pulled up to the restaurant. 

It was go time. Y/N walked out of the car after Harry, moving her hand to hold on to his bicep as they walked towards the restaurant. She didn’t really have a method to her acting, she simply did whatever felt natural. Let herself go whenever they were out in public.

Harry placed his hand over hers and squeezed. He could tell she was nervous, and regardless he didn’t want her to be nervous here and feel upset. Especially when they’d be looked at and photographed. 

When they walked into the place, he looped an arm around her waist and let her lean into him. He felt a small hand on his jacket lapel and let her play with it as Jeff took care of the reservation arrangements. They’d been sat outside at a nice place with those bulb string lights, lots of plants. They’d be sat facing people so photos could be taken— but the people wouldn’t know that. He’d have to keep a good face this whole time. It was going to be a new challenge but part of him was giddy to be able to play it up and touch her during this time.

Y/N’s nerves weren’t really that noticeable, but to anyone else it would just seem like she was nervous because she was on a date with Harry. It was a normal reason to be nervous and frankly, she felt it made her seem more relatable. Despite the fact that Harry and Y/N were acting, they seemed to flow quite naturally and easily off of one another. It didn’t take a lot of effort, she just leaned into him whenever he touched her and vice versa.

“Ooo this is nice.” Y/N commented on the look of the place. She had obviously never been here before, but it looked like it would be good. The smell coming from the kitchen was incredible as well. “Thank you again for inviting us out..” Y/N said to Jeff, purposefully saying us instead of me so anyone who heard knew they meant Y/N and Harry as a pair. She scooted her chair a little closer to Harry, making sure there was enough space for them to have subtle touches if need be. Y/N wasn’t sure what Harry would want, but she wanted to have their options open and ready. She had never seen him actually interact with a woman like this except for when he was with Kendall and those photos leaked. She wondered how he would act when he meant for people to see.

Harry felt the pressure but also knew he was lucky Jeff was here to keep the conversation going. He was feeling a little awkward but fell into his conversation relatively easily. 

“So the bakery... Harry said it’s lovely. That the lemon squares are amazing.” Glenne broke the ice, opening up her menu. It was a midrange pricing so he was hoping that she wouldn’t freak too bad. Money really wasn’t an object to Harry. Granted, most of his clothes were gifted to him and he didn’t pay for much luxury items because they were sent for promotion, but he didn’t mind spending if it was for a good time. He had millions. 

“They are very good. I like them a lot. All of the things are great, though.” Harry complimented sincerely but she wouldn’t know that. His arm hung over the back of her chair, subtly showing ownership. that’s what it would come across as anyways. Most people wouldn’t know this about Harry but he was possessive, jealous, and pathetic when it came to his lovers. He didn’t like sharing. He loved being alone with them and being in their own worlds. He hadn’t had a perfect fantasy of that yet but he figured he may as well get out his affectionate wants when it was supposed to be shown. Pass it off as acting.

Y/N smiled brightly when her bakery was mentioned, her pride and joy. She was just about to speak when he complimented her baking even more. That was cute. Too bad it was all acting. She needed to get out of that mind frame though and really sink into the character. She’d deal with her emotions at a later time. 

“That’s sweet, thank you.” Y/N smiled over at him, setting her hand on his thigh and rubbing her thumb against the fabric of his pants. “But yeah, my sister opened it up 5 years ago and I co-own. We have a solid flow of customers. It’s really fun, we’ve been saving to get it refurbished.” Y/N explained, also looking down at the menu. She quickly decided on the grilled miso salmon and carried on speaking. “I want to buy the upstairs bit as well. Want to open it up to local musicians to have gigs there and stuff. Also possibly wanted to do a kids baking class. Lots of ideas.” Y/N smiled, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. She was really ambitious and career driven, always wanting to improve. It was something she took pride in and hopefully Harry would come to admire about her.

Harry was impressed. She had ideas and they didn’t seem to involve being famous, so to speak. She seemed to want her bakery to do well but anyone who had a business desires it to thrive.

“That’s a lovely idea, pet.” His hand took purchase on her shoulder then. It was bare, jacket off so he ran his thumb over the softness of her skin there. Absolutely delicious. Y/N had to know that she was fucking gorgeous. That she had inspired many a man’s fantasies. He could see down her shirt slightly and had to adjust slightly, knowing he would get a stiffy if he continued. Harry was watching for any telltale signs she was lying but from what he could tell, she really did want to do that to her bakery. And that was pretty admirable. 

It took a second for Y/N to relax into Harry’s touch, not having expected it. The feeling of his rough calloused fingers caused butterflies to erupt in her tummy. She could only imagine how good they would feel on her clit— fuck she had to stop. 

“Lots of musicians in the town would thrive off of it. A little bit of exposure and a place to play goes miles for people who aren’t very hopeful.” Jeff confirmed. “You’ll have to ask Harry for opinions when you do that. He’s good at that stuff— the stage design.”

Y/N hummed in response, “I’m sure Harry could come up with some brilliant ideas, always does.” She complimented, sending him a small wink just to keep the ball rolling. It was nice to be able to flirt and know that it was meant to be reciprocated. Maybe this whole acting thing wouldn’t be too bad? She could just live out her fantasies like this. 

The waiter came and brought over a bottle of wine for the table and took all of their orders. Though the restaurant was mid range, she still had a feeling that this was a place posh people went. She’d have to get used to that as well. Y/N felt too normal for places like this, but then again, Jeff was really good at making her feel comfortable.

To Harry, the dinner was weird. Not in a bad way. But he had found that their chairs had gotten closer during the meal. They’d touched each other a bit— not sexually. Or trying to be sexual, he should say. He had been living out part of a mental fantasy, letting her hold his hand and play with his rings when they waited for the food to come. Y/N hadn’t gone for the most expensive thing— rather a cheaper item and he had tried coaxing her into getting something a bit more, but she said no. It was weird that she was acting like money didn’t motivate her. Isn’t that why she took the damn job? But they’d been touching subtly and talking, Harry smiling down at her pretty little face. He had an urge to kiss her too— which had scared the fuck out of him. He wanted to swoop in and taste her gloss before it went away but he couldn’t. When they finished though, Harry looked at her and began to talk. 

“Listen— May get intense, yeah? Lots of cameras flashing. Just hold on to my hand and don’t let go.” He was serious. There were a lot of cameras and a lot of flashes and he didn’t want her to freak.

This part did make Y/N nervous. The cameras. She had seen pap videos previously and they always made her uncomfortable to watch. It was scary having people say things to you whilst bright cameras were flashing. 

“Okay, I trust you.” Y/N told him in a soft voice, giving him a small smile that really was only meant for him. Part of her didn’t want this night to be over, she wanted to hang out with him some more and chat with him. It was her day off tomorrow so she didn’t mind staying up late and going home if that’s what he wanted. She doubted he would want her to stay the night.

Harry held her hand and as soon as they stepped out, the cameras flashed like crazy. Asking Harry to look at them, to say who his girl was. Who she was. How old she was, what’s her name. Were they dating? But Harry got irritated when he felt her move behind him, seeing someone had pushed her slightly and she had stumbled. He stopped in the middle, gently grabbing her hip and pulling her to walk with him. 

“Be careful, mate.” Harry said to the pap, brows furrowed. “Alright, love?” Y/N looked flustered, but nodded. So he continued on, lifting her by her waist and putting her in the car before climbing in behind her. Genuine concern took over when he saw her breathing heavier, face knitted in concern as he gently pulled her over and let her hide her face in his neck. His glare was actually visible to the outside where people took photos through the windows before Jeff sped off. “Hey.. Y/N? You okay?” Harry spoke, pulling her back.

The experience was something Y/N couldn’t explain. As a person who had mild anxiety, she thought that she could handle a situation like that but it was intense in a way that she truly didn’t know what to explain to anyone. You really just had to experience it to know. When she was pushed it really sent her into a small panic, trying her best to hide her face a little now that she’d felt what paps could really be like. Harry came through though and genuinely helped her. She was so thankful for him and for him sticking up for her as well. It meant a lot. It went by so quickly she could barely process it, a bit shaky and out of breath. Going off instinct she nuzzled her face into Harry’s neck, taking deep breaths to calm herself down and relax. It was over, she had jumped the first hurdle and things would get easier from there. At least that’s what she told herself. 

“Y—yeah, I’m okay... that was just.. a lot.” Y/N told him in a soft voice, still close to him but she wasn’t sure if that was okay. Y/N decided that it would be more hurtful if he moved her off than if she moved herself, but she really couldn’t do that right now. “I’ll be okay, just need a second..”

“It’s okay.” Harry rubbed her back a few times. He wasn’t a complete asshole. She was obviously shaken and he couldn’t even blame her. He wasn’t sure why so many had popped up— he was positive they’d only called for 3 but, that’s a later question. “You’re alright? Yeah? Shit’s scary sometimes but you made it through.” He didn’t know why he slightly melted but seeing her in genuine fear and feeling her shake slightly against his body made his urge to protect her come right to the front. “Jeff, drive around for a bit, yeah? Pop into Waitrose and get her a drink.” He could tell that she was going to be okay but needed a little coddling. He continued to rub her back and let her hide in his neck. Her breath was hot against his neck, and he felt her start to calm down.When Jeff came back, Harry gave her the drink and gently peeled her away, letting her stay seated close to him. “Slow sips. Just relax. You did great.”

Y/N kept herself nuzzled into the crook of his neck while she waited, finding that to be the safest place on earth. She relaxed just by taking in his scent and feeling his heart beat through the pressure point that beat against where her nose was. That combined with his hand on her back was doing the trick. This wasn’t acting and she knew it wasn’t. It gave her hope that he wasn’t in fact a shit person, he was concerned and cared enough to ask Jeff to drive around some more and get her a drink. She really did appreciate it and him. 

“Thank you.” Y/N said quietly, taking the bottle into her still slightly shaky hands and took a small sip before taking another slow one. Y/N did do great, she knew she did. She had seen enough pap videos to know how to elegantly carry herself, but there were way too many paps there. She’d never seen that many. Maybe people were just that excited to see Harry have a girlfriend.

Harry knew later on he wouldn’t regret being kind to her right now. She was genuinely terrified and he didn’t want that for anyone. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she didn’t want fame, but that didn’t mean he could trust her. Maybe he could be nicer. But he had to keep a distance because his cock was not on board with that. It wanted to bury itself in her plump little ass. But whatever— he could use that visual later. 

“You’re alright, Y/N.” Harry watched her carefully. “Didn’t know that many were going to be out there but, don’t worry. We’ll make sure we do our very best so that doesn’t happen again.” She wouldn’t get away from paps— but having 20 flashing cameras blinding her and pushing? That wouldn’t ever happen again. He was willing to risk his career on that. No human decency. 

“Now, let's get you home.”

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

[part 3]

A/N: H is soft, he cracks under pressure 🤧- n + d

let us know what you think! 

masterlist

[ducktracy]

187. daffy duck & egghead (1938)

release date: january 1st, 1938

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (daffy, turtle, duck), danny webb (egghead)

starting off the new year with a bang—the first cartoon of 1938 is one of my favorites! two tex avery creations, daffy and egghead, make their second appearances paired together.

both characters have gotten a makeover, though egghead’s is more drastic: he now has hair and talks in a dopey drawl courtesy of danny webb. daffy, on the other hand, now has blue irises and a matching ring around his neck—this design would be exclusive to this short only. but, it IS the first cartoon to pen him as daffy duck! he’d appear in a number of looney tunes shorts with porky as the year would go on.

like so many other “hunter vs prey” shorts, egghead is determined to hunt daffy. daffy, however, is prepared to do everything in his power to make egghead miserable.

ben hardaway, who would have been directing his own cartoons at the time of this cartoon’s release, is the writer, and it shows throughout. ben is notable for his more hayseed sense of humor, relying on puns so corny you’ll be flossing your teeth for a week to remove the kernels. his punny touch is noticeable right at the start, with daffy and egghead bursting out of literal nutshells in an odd little introductory sequence. irv spence does some nice animation here: daffy shakes his fists in the glory, soon to be interrupted by the fire of egghead’s gun. egghead chases after a HOOHOOing daffy, the smoke from the gun spelling out to the audience “DUCK SEASON STARTS TODAY”.

the scene is odd, but more so out of uniqueness rather than perplexity. one wonders how tex really would have prefaced the cartoon if he were paired with another writer instead.

in a tradition that would carry out into tex’s MGM days, one of our first impressions of the short is a facetious disclaimer:

a sense of tranquility is established through a soft, sweeping rendition of “morning song” from the william tell overture. various gorgeously painted backgrounds fade into each other to convey the passage of time and rise of the sun, each background absolutely stunning in its own right. in a tex avery cartoon, such peace and harmony can only mean one thing: chaos is soon to follow.

our eponymous hunter creeps onto the screen, remarking aloud on the eerie stillness of his surroundings. “i wonder if there are any more hunters out here this morning.” right on cue, a swarm of hunters pop out of the reeds, reciting a popular catchphrase from the ken murray show reused in many a ‘30s WB cartoon: “whoooooooooa, yeaaaaah!”

the sound of quacks ring out from the recesses of the reeds, turning egghead on the alert. just as he prepares to hunt his prey, a signature avery gag of epic proportions interrupts the scene... literally. 

tedd pierce’s silhouette darkens the screen as he makes his way to his movie seat--a latecomer. egghead spots him and urges him to sit down and not scare away his prey. the latecomer does so, only to rise up again and change seats. our frustrated sportsman urges the silhouette to sit down again, which he does so. the silhouette never utters a word, and that’s the best part. the matter of fact delivery of the gag, the control of it all is what makes the gag so funny. such even temperament from the silhouette juxtaposes starkly with the wild nature of avery cartoons. the normal is now the ridiculous. 

when the silhouette snoops around for a better seat once more, egghead loses all patience and fires his gun straight at the silhouette. tedd pierce’s theatrics are hilarious--he twirls around, clutching his heart, hamming up his injury to the last drop. the anticipatory drum-roll as egghead looks on brings the entire act together. finally, pierce collapses, much to the contentment of egghead. he merely rubs the dust off his hands in a job well done and continues where he left off.

cartoon characters shooting audience members isn’t an alien move in warner bros. cartoons (bugs in rhapsody rabbit, daffy in the ducksters), yet the inclusion of the silhouette and its subsequent dramatics brings a new level of inclusion with the audience. imagine what an uproar this would get in a packed house! it’s a great way to break the barrier between cartoon characters and the audience. WB did a great job of making the audience feel included. hell, a majority of daffy’s character throughout the ‘40s hinges on this! but that’s an analysis for another time.

speaking of daffy, he’s the perpetrator of those quacking sounds in the reeds. egghead parts the plants to see if his prey is still there. he is—daffy gives him a viscious bite on egghead’s bulbous nose before going back into hiding.

“that duck’s craaaa-zy!” daffy pops his head out of the reeds again, shrieking a reply of “you tellin’ me? WOO WOO WOOHOO!”

daffy’s voice is significantly more shrill than his dopey guffaws in porky’s duck hunt. in fact, it’s so shrill that this could easily be considered one of his most annoying cartoons. though his 100% screwy, totally out of his mind personality isn’t my favorite personality for him, it’s still pretty damn great! so if you like obnoxious daffy (like me), this is a short for you. if you can’t stand him being a lunatic, stay away!

with that, daffy takes an exit, whooping and shrieking all the way in a direct throwback to his ecstatic exit in porky’s duck hunt. this is a game-changer for the merrie melodies series—the screwy, lunatic antics were typically reserved for the black and white looney tunes shorts. and here we have daffy, splitting the ears of his patrons and being a royal nuisance in the more expensive, esteemed merrie melodies, typically reserved for song and dance numbers! this ain’t your mother’s merry melody.

when daffy takes refuge within a cluster of reeds positioned in the middle of the lake, egghead uses this as an opportunity to lure out his prey with a decoy. specifically, ONE LOVE-LURE DUCK DECOY.

egghead sends the obnoxiously feminine duck decoy out into the water, quacking in time to the beat of stalling’s “the lady in red” underscore. the decoy disappears into the reeds, and there’s a pause.

a flurry of aggravated, warbled quacking cues us in that daffy is pissed off. the action is all hidden behind the plants, leaving details of their altercation is up to the audience’s interpretation. what we do see is daffy’s physical anger: he pops out of the water at the bank of the lake, throwing the decoy down at egghead’s feet. a makeshift sign cleverly held up by a cattail echoes a beloved catchphrase from the radio show fibber mcgee and molly:

bubbles rippling on the surface indicate daffy’s presence. he pokes his head out to heave a teasing quack at the befuddled hunter before dipping back down again, prompting egghead to stick his rifle in the lake. cue a tried and true gag that was likely much funnier then than now: the ol’ tie-the-gun-into-a-bow trick. 

the next gag is one that tex avery would refurbish in his MGM debut, the early bird dood it!: egghead physically lifts the lake up like a blanket, where daffy appears just in time to give his nose another honk for good measure. cue crazed laughter and intricate water aerobics. daffy halts, addressing the audience directly with a flimsy reassurance: “i’m not crazy, i just don’t give a darn!”

irv spence takes the next showdown between hunter and duck. look at how much more appealing egghead is in his hands! egghead leans down to retrieve his gun he tosses aside, when daffy zooms into frame and fights him for it. daffy’s consistent smile as he and egghead battle for dominance, both trying to reach higher and higher on the gun, is hysterical—he’s absolutely getting a kick out of egghead’s frustration. though it was clear he was reveling in porky’s own anger in porky’s duck hunt, here his enjoyment is much more blatant. he loves being a pest.

daffy slides the rifle beneath his legs and out of sight, bopping egghead on the fist and causing him to slug a haymaker against his own head. signature irv spence grawlixes add a nice level of two dimensional graphic design, like something straight from a comic.

out of nowhere, a random turtle disrupts the altercation. the turtle is a parody of parkykarkus from the chase & sanborn hour, speaking in a thick accent and slightly butchered grammar. he opts to settle daffy and egghead’s fight once and for all, posing as a referee. “just a minute, chums. just a minute!” he supplies the two with pistols, both fitted for their respective sizes. to daffy, “turn around.” to egghead: “now you turn around.”

i love how daffy’s curiosity with the turtle’s interruption is noticeable. so noticeable, in fact, that the turtle grows hostile, getting up in his face and shouting “KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF OTHER PEOPLES BUSINESS, AIN’T IT!” it’s rare to see daffy lacking control of the situation, even this early on. 

the two put their backs together per the turtle’s command, walking ten paces backwards in time to the turtle’s countdown. just as the turtle reaches ten, daffy jumps behind egghead, who fires. a potentially gruesome conclusion is avoided as the bullet hits the turtle’s chest instead, causing his head to rocket upward, hit a branch, and shrink back into his shell. in a hardawayian touch, daffy hands egghead a cigar, walking off screen, satisfied.

random as the scene is (hardaway’s influence seems to be particularly strong throughout this whole middle section), irv spence’s timing and appealing animation makes up for it. the switch to another animator entails an inevitable downgrade in draftsmanship.

after egghead realizes he’s been duped, he retrieves his rifle and prepares to shoot daffy. though initially startled, daffy thinks on his feet, and eagerly places an apple on his head for egghead to aim at instead. stalling’s fitting accompaniment of “william tell overture” raises in key each time egghead fires (and subsequently misses), a pattern that sounds almost identical to scott bradley’s scores under the direction of tex at MGM. 

egghead shoots a tree, the lake, a barn, and even straight past daffy, who grows increasingly irritated at the hunter’s incompetence, moving closer to him with each effort. hardaway’s influence is strong with the next gag, matched with tex’s fast pace to prevent it from overstaying its welcome: daffy thrusts pencils, sunglasses, and a sign that says BLIND on it before turning to the audience and tssking. “too bad. too bad!” harsh indeed. i imagine this gag would have been prolonged had hardaway directed this cartoon or wrote it under another director.

if anything, this cartoon certainly displays the importance of the relationship between director and writer. writers have a much bigger influence on the cartoon than one might believe! there’s a reason as to why chuck jones and mike maltese are touted around as a dynamic duo. i wouldn’t call hardaway a bad writer by any means, but his influence is certainly potent. tex is a strong director, and thankfully he could cushion the blows of hardaway’s corniness as much as he could, but it’s also evident that certain decisions were made that tex wouldn’t have made in other circumstances.

decisions such as daffy singing an entire ode to his lunacy as the cartoon’s song number. this is definitely a hardawayian insert--a prototype, hayseed, screwball bugs bunny sings his own nutty anthem in hardaway’s hare-um scare-um just a year later. full song numbers have been making their way out the door in avery’s cartoons, and by either this year or next they’d be absent in total from the merrie melodies series. it’s unlike avery to write a whole song about characters explaining their nuttiness.

that is why i have qualms with the scene. at his zenith, daffy never attempts to explain or justify his screwiness. even in the mid-’40s, when he’s able to think and speak coherently and isn’t a mere caricature of his name, he showed no self awareness for his condition. the “look at me, ain’t i a crazy one?” jokes with him were out the door by 1939. half the fun with him is how unaware he is of his daffiness--he lives in it constantly, always zipping from emotional extremes, but never stops to tell the audience just how crazy and fun he is. here, his self-awareness seems ingenuine and prideful. daffy is my favorite character for his humanity and relatability (even--if not more so--when he’s a total loon). here, he lacks that dynamism. he’s merely a stock reflection of his namesake.

with that said, daffy’s rendition of “the merry go round broke down” is my favorite merrie melody song number, period. i’m certainly biased due to my undying affinity with daffy, but irv spence’s animation is genuinely fun to watch, and mel blanc does a wonderful performance. i know all of the words by heart! essentially, daffy’s justification for his daffiness is because the dizzy pace of the merry go round went to his head and made him nuts. while this sense of bragging is relatively out of character for him, it makes for a contagiously fun song, and also, this is his second film ever. they still had much to explore. 

the scene concludes with daffy shaking hands with his reflection in the water and diving back in. fade out and in to egghead, still furiously attempting to pursue his prey. cue a fun little avery gag where our hunter nonchalantly opens the reeds he’s hiding behind like a pair of blinds. daffy’s carefree quacking and swimming in the lake almost seems to mock him. in a gag that would be reused in avery’s lucky ducky over at MGM to a greater extent, daffy puts on a mask to scare away the oncoming bullets. indeed, the bullets retreat into egghead’s gun, prompting befuddled stares at both the gun and the audience.

daffy engages in another round of spastic water aerobics, HOOHOOing all the way. he only pauses to cling to a cattail, echoing an averyian daffy catchphrase that he would also shriek in daffy duck in hollywood, “ain’t i some cutie? ahah! i think i’ll do it again! HAHAHA!”

a nice, jazzy score of “bob white (whatcha gonna swing tonight?)” accompanies yet another endeavor by egghead. he’s either stupidly bold or boldly stupid to keep up such a tiring charade--or both! egghead loads a pair of gloves tied to a string into the barrel of the rifle, cleverly using a cattail as a bore brush. and, despite the absurdity of his makeshift fishing pole, it works: one gloved hand grabs daffy by the neck, the other konking him on the head and knocking him unconscious. egghead reels in his prize, dumping daffy into a net and letting out a handful of gleeful “WHOOPEE!”s.

avery’s timing is succinct--immediately after egghead snags his duck, the sound of a siren drowns out his celebration. a duck nearly identical to daffy approaches the scene in an “asylum ambulance”. “gee, t’anks a lot for catchin’ dis goof!” duck confiscates his fellow duck comrade. the decision to turn the conversation confidential, complete with the lowering of the voice and shifty-eyed glances is great. “y’know, we been after dis guy for months!”

despite everything that egghead has endured, he seems genuinely shocked at the duck’s claim that daffy is “100% nuts”. “oh YEAH?” he echoes, daring to believe it. duck nods. “yeeeeah!” with that, he gives egghead a honk right on the nose.

daffy, completely unscathed, wastes little time in joining the festivities as both ducks beat the tar out of egghead from both ends, literally kicking him in the arse and honking him on the nose. both ducks head to the lake, HOOHOOing in shrill unison as they bound off into the horizon. egghead only has one more option... to join them. thus, we iris out on our brave hunter HOOHOOing into the horizon himself.

as i said at the beginning of this review, this cartoon is one of my favorites--for this era, anyway. despite its imperfections, it’s still a rather fun and rousing cartoon. it’s exciting to see daffy becoming more recognizable, in terms of voice,  demeanor, and appearance. the same can be said for egghead as well, though i doubt anyone has the same attachment to him as they do other characters. i certainly don’t.

admittedly, porky’s duck hunt is a more solid cartoon. this cartoon feels much more like a string of gags than anything, though i suppose that could be said for many a tex avery cartoon. he wasn’t known for his moving stories. hardaway’s corny, hayseed sense of humor serves as the biggest detriment to the cartoon, but luckily tex is a strong enough director to try and work around those weaknesses as best he could. and even though i disagree with the reasoning behind the song number, the song number will always be my favorite merry melody song. 

i didn’t mention the backgrounds very often, but they’re STELLAR. the colorful, whimsical palette brings a lot of energy and vitality to the table. if you were to describe the cartoon in one word, “energetic” would certainly be it.

so, with that said, go watch it! this is a really fun cartoon that serves as an interesting look into early daffy’s character, obnoxious as he may be.

link!

[genogenocrazycatman]

Terrible - Eustass Kid x OC

Terrible [Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net]

Progress: 1/1

Characters: Eustass Kid, Original Character

So this a repost of a fic from a couple of years ago that is loosely based off of a headcannon that firefistlaw got from an anon..

“Modern!Headcanon that Eustass kid’s s/o goes to college like for some very impressive field, but Kid didn’t really want to go to college so he a mechanic and just, they live together and Eustass always picks up his s/o from their classes. Intimidating people because he’s just intensely gazing at the door to see if his s/o is on their ways/o"

***

“Well, I say that went well,” Jay said cheerily, grinning as we headed towards the elevators in the university’s main offices.

 Jay and his half sister, Rei, were biomedical engineers. The two WizKids and his sister, Rei, were biomedical engineers. The two whiz kids had been working with the world renowned, Dr. Vegapunk. They along with the rest of Vegapunk’s lab researched and produced highly advanced cybernetic limbs, that were integrated with the nervous system, and thus reacted to the body’s natural impulses.

 I didn’t fully understand the ins and outs of it, but I knew that the research was expensive as shit, and without funding any potential it had wouldn’t be realized. That’s where I came in. I worked in the University’s development office. I worked specifically with the science department as their development liaison.  

 Now I had worked with a lot of scientists and doctors who were wonderful people and great with donors. Vegapunk’s team? Not at all. Vegapunk himself rarely left the lab. He sent me the information I needed to shop out, but aside from that I never heard from the guy. From what I understood, he only ever met with the higher ups and that was only when he was met with the threat of termination. Admittedly, those threats rang hollow. Vegapunk was the university’s crown jewel.

 The others were all exceptionally bright. Without fail they were the smartest people in every room they stepped into… And they knew it… And without trying they let everyone else know it... No one likes a know it all.

 Vegapunk, Rei and Jay were geniuses, but there are some things that they couldn’t even manage to do and fundraise was among those. We’d just had a meeting with a couple of potential donors in one of the university’s board rooms, which thankfully with my serving as a buffer, had gone extremely well.

 I had another meeting with the father and daughter pair coming up in the next couple of weeks, where I would make a proper ask. I had high hopes.

 “That’s because I was there. You two are hopeless. If it takes more than three minutes to explain it, and it isn’t even something that they ask about, then don’t bring it up.”

“Materials are important,” Jay stressed.

 “Yeah. With this new compound that Dr. Vegapunk has created, everything we produce will be lighter and more durable.”

 I just blinked at them. “You mean you spent ten minutes explaining this to them in a way that went so far over their head, I’m pretty sure it went into orbit, and you just explained it to me in two sentences?”

 They looked at each other, finally getting my point. “Oh.”

 “Unbelievable,” I groaned.

 I shook my head, stepping off of the elevator behind them.

 “At least it’s over now, and you don’t have to deal with our genius level stupidity until Monday,” Rei said.

 “Or any donors,” Jay added.

 “Nope,” I agreed. “Just my man and his band of grease monkeys.”

 “Yes, the mysterious mechanic,” Rei said.

 I snorted. “Mysterious. Kid’s one of the most straight forward people that you will ever meet.”

 “But we haven’t met him,” Jay said.

 “Hence why he’s mysterious.”

 I rolled my eyes. “I hate, when you two do that.”

 I was pretty close with the twins. I interacted with them more than anyone else on campus, and we had formed a friendship, a weird friendship, but a friendship none the less.

 “I mean. All we know is that he owns his own repair shop,” Rei continued ignoring me. “Which makes the think of some middle-aged man named with Ron with an overly bushy mustache and a beer gut, and that doesn’t really fit with our amazingly professional and well put together fundraiser.”

 I scoffed. Professional and put together. That did not extend past the university. If only they could see me at the shop, in shredded jeans and faded band shirts, my electric blue hair free of the wig I hid it under at work, desperately looking for clients’ keys, receipts and invoices, while yelling at Kid and Heat to turn down the damn music. Meanwhile Killer practically danced around me, putting everything I was looking for together, before handing it over.

 “I see you with like an investment banker.”

 “Yeah or some really high profile real estate agent, named Chaz or Andrew.”

 I scrunched up my nose. ‘A Chaz?’ “Not even close.” I chuckled. “His name is Kid, and he doesn’t have a beer gut. In fact, he’s got abs you could grate cheese on, and I’m nowhere as put together as you seem to think I am. I’m just a dumb punk kid with a day job.“

 The two of them looked at me for a moment, assessing me. “Can’t see it,” they chorused.

 Jay was a step ahead of us and pushed the door to the outside world open, but stopped short, causing both Rei and I to crash into him.

 “That scary guy’s in the parking lot,” Jay said.

 “What scary guy?” I asked.

 “Seriously?” Rei whined, peering out the door over Jay’s shoulder.

 Jay back at me. “The terrifying dude that hangs out in the staff parking lot,” Jay tried to jog my memory. “Always here at like a quarter to five.”

 “Uh huh…” I said, not having any idea of, who he was talking about.

 “You seriously have never seen him?”

 I shook my head. “Apparently not.”

 “He must leave, before you get out of the office,” Rei deduced.  “Well, you’re gonna see him now. You can’t miss him.”

 “Whatever. Can we go now? Weird dude or not, I want to go home.”

 “Not weird,” Jay corrected.

 “Weird,” Rei agreed.

 “Okay, weird, but mostly scary. He just glares at the door, as if he’s trying to make it explode.”

 Cue the light bulb going off over my head.

 “Yeah. I know you said you were going to wait for your boyfriend or whatever, but why don’t you come back to the lab with us? I don’t really want to leave you here with that weirdo lingering.”

 I snorted at Rei. “I’m sure, I’ll be fine,” I said, wiggling past Jay and out the door.

 Once I was outside, I was finally able to see the guy that they were talking about.

 I could see how he could be intimidating. For one, leaning against the side of a perfectly refurbished 1970 Chevy Chevelle it was obvious that he was closer to seven feet tall than six. The garish fabrics that his clothes were pulled taut over his frame. The patterns almost distracted from the obvious muscle underneath. Almost.

 With a build like that, no one dared to comment on his outlandish clothing, the goggles on his head, the grease splattered over him, the black polish on his nails or the dark lipstick he wore. Despite all this, his eyes were still his most striking feature.

 With one glance, Eustass Kid could put the fear of the God into in to anyone stupid enough to cross him, no matter how big or bad they thought they were.

 Those piercing eyes met mine, which brought a wicked grin to his lips.

 Involuntarily, the muscles in my face pulled, returning that gesture. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and walked over to him, leaving the twins at the door.

 “Hey,” I greeted, wrapping my arms around his neck.

 “Hey babe,” he greeted.

 He brought his hands to my hips, running them up my sides, before pulling me flush against him and dropping his lips down to meet mine for a kiss that was by no means appropriate, especially considering that I was technically still at work, even if I was not technically on the clock.

 He rested his forehead on mine. “What’s with the audience?” he asked, eyes flickering over to the twins.

 “Probably trying to make sure that you don’t murder me. They think you’re rather frightening. Though after that display, now they probably think that you like to get off in public.”

 His smirk grew. “Considering how into it you were, I’m starting to think that you do. You know we could always-”

 “Not a chance,” I said, trying and failing not to smile at him. “You’re such a sleaze ball.”

 “That I am,” Kid said, hand traveling down to my ass. “But at least I’m honest about it,” he said, giving it a squeeze.

 I tried to level him with a firm glare, but it did nothing. “Kid, I’m still technically at work,” I scolded, stepping back, before he could get any more handsy.

 “I’m not,” he said, unfazed. “They can’t fire me.”

 “No, but they can me.”

 “Then, I guess we better get out of here, before I get you canned.” He pushed himself up off the car.

 I tossed my bag in the open window, heading around to the passenger’s side. I finally looked at the twins, who looked absolutely dumfounded. “I’ll see you guys Monday!” I hollered at them, waving.

 Kid gave them one of his more sinister grins, raising his hand in a mocking wave.

 I leaned over the center console, pushing his door open. “Quit trying to scare them and let’s go home.”

 “Whatever you say, babe,” he said, humoring me. He slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, the car roaring to life. He revved the engine a few times, before peeling out of the parking lot and speeding towards home.

 “You’re terrible,” I said, laughing.

 “You love it,” he shot back, removing his hand from the gear shift and flipping his hand, so that his palm was facing up.

 I slipped my hand into his. “Yeah. I do.”

 ***

Master List | Mobile Version

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter Three: Yesterday

A/N: Want to give proper credit to @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore whose thoughtful comments on the previous chapter inspired some of the sentiments and title of this chapter (even though she killed Liam this week and I had to declare war against her).

*One day I will create a moodboard, but, today is not that day.

Warnings: Language and brief mention of infant loss THAT HAS NOTHING to do with this chapter. I was asked by several people how Ellie will be able to continue feeding and it will be explained. Just wanted to be on the safe side there.

Series Summary: After losing the love of his life, Liam is forced to endure another social season. Not wanting to move on, he finds help from an unlikely ally...his late wife

__________________________________

Hana squinted as her car drove through the crowded gates of the palace; the sun hadn’t fully risen above the horizon yet and its rays were projecting a blinding glare. She slammed her brakes to a halt when she pulled into her usual spot, causing the car's tires to slightly squeal. The car door swung open wildly and she walked with purpose at a quick step, hastily swiping at the tears on her cheeks -- a woman determined to fulfill a promise she made months ago. 

She had received the call from Drake only an hour ago, and without hesitation, threw on a pair of white jeans, a tank, and flats. She sobbed as she brushed her hair and tossed it up into a loose ponytail, knowing she had more to do than just grieving the loss of her best friend. Hana, never one to shirk from her duties, had an obligation, one that meant more to her than her own life. 

Approaching the rear landing of the palace, she ignored the chatter and bellows that could still be heard from a great distance outside of the gates. For a split second earlier, as she drove in through the seemingly hundreds of mourners and press crowded at the entrance, she contemplated running them down. It was one thing to offer their support and want answers, however at what cost? Did they even know Riley Brooks? The real Riley Brooks? The American behind the Cordonian Crown who befriended a woman from Shanghai and helped her see she was more than some object -- a show-thing -- her parent’s means to success and notoriety. When Constantine was killed during the Costume Ball, she thought, she didn’t recall him receiving this much outpouring of sympathy and heartache. Riley’s death has yet to be officially announced and yet there they were, waiting anxiously for any word on their beloved queen.

Maybe, they did know her after all.

A Royal Guardswoman watched Hana ascend the stairs rapidly with a fierce look.  She was quite familiar with Her Majesties, best friend, and didn’t hesitate to open the door for her knowing if she didn’t comply quickly, Hana just may bust through it herself.

The atmosphere inside was somber as Hana continued her quest through familiar passageways; she disregarded the greetings and condolences that were offered to her. Even at a time like this, her mind was sharp and clear. She’d be damned if anyone was going to stop her right now. 

When she neared closer to Riley’s office and slowed her quickened pace -- not wanting to make a lot of sounds. Hana had not planned to knock, however what she heard from inside stopped her before her hand could reach the knob.

The voice was gruff but soothing and the song melted her shattered heart. Drake.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine ...”.

Hana had heard Riley sing it to the baby more times than she could count. It was obvious, Drake did as well.

She twisted the knob and eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. Riley had her office completely remodeled weeks ago to accommodate Ellie spending the majority of her time with her when she returned from maternity leave. In the corner of the room, next to a large, open window, Drake sat in an old wooden rocking chair that he refurbished as a baby gift for her office, gently rocking Ellie in his arms. 

With Ellie’s tiny fingers wrapped around his large, calloused thumb, he sensed Hana’s presence and began to blush, “I...uhhh...was just..”. 

She smiles softly, “I know.”

She walked over to Drake and the baby and crouched down beside them. As her hands glided lovingly over the fine hairs on the top of Ellie’s head, knowing she was fulfilling the promise she made to Riley, she looked up at Drake, both with small tears in their eyes. 

“Mind if I sing with you?” She asked; her voice cracked and wispy.

Drake pondered for a moment, not really wanting to in front of Hana, but, nodded..

______ 

Within the hour, Maxwell and Bertrand made the two-hour drive from Ramsford to the Capitol. The limo was subdued for most of the drive; Maxwell glanced at old photos of he and Riley on his phone while a dismayed Bertrand stared out the window, not saying a word. 

Maxwell had wept from the time he found out, that was just the kind of man he was. He is and has always been a very emotional person and shows no fear nor remorse in that fact. Bertrand, on the other hand, accepted the news like a Duke learning his monarch had lost any random member; he had work to do.

After arriving at the palace, Maxwell knew Drake was in Riley’s office, having received the text from Hana several minutes ago. As he headed in that direction, Bertrand moved towards the grand staircase, causing Maxwell to take notice in what appeared to be insensitive behavior on his brother’s part.

“Bertrand, where the hell are you going? I told Hana we would meet them in Riley’s office”.

Bertrand turned to his brother just as he climbed the first step, “Yes, yes...please offer up my sincerest condolences to your friends. I will be in the press office should I be needed...and Maxwell...don’t need me”. 

“But the press office is on the first floor”, Maxwell shot back.

Bertrand straightened his jacket and his posture, “Indeed it is”, before turning away and continuing up the stairs.

The eldest Beaumont, weaved his way through the corridor he had walked literally hundreds of times, stopping in front of one particularly large, wooden door. He peered down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one was the wiser to his presence. 

Knowing there would be no one inside, he pushed the door open and entered. Everything was exactly the same as he remembered. 

He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and rosewood painting a clear picture in his mind, one that haunted him deeply.

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent House Beaumont?”

Bertrand notices the large closet across from the bed and is surprised to find it still full of familiar clothing and accessories; every single piece he remembers fondly as he trails his fingers over each one. The pink derby dress and flashy hat that nearly bankrupted him to purchase and the white gown she wore in Lythikos that showed entirely too much cleavage.  

His eyes narrowed as he thumbed across the Applewood peasant costume and removed it with a growl, “Those two nitwits”.  

Riley and Maxwell had sworn to him they had returned it to that stage production company he borrowed it from -- quite convincingly so. Bertrand spent nearly a week on the phone defending the two of them and insisted the production company must have misplaced this one-of-a-kind piece of Cordonian history. After losing the battle and his temper, he set up a payment plan to pay off the 35000 Euros the heirloom cost.

He rolled his eyes thinking about how insufferable those two were during the social season: staying up all hours of the night giggling like two schoolgirls, the never-ending jokes at his expense, and those god-forsaken, drunken duets as they traveled from one event to the next.  If he never heard, ‘We Will Rock You’,  while stomping on the floor of the limo, it would be a day too soon.

 Riley and Maxwell caused him more anxiety and agitation than any two people have since, yet at that moment, he would do anything to go back and relive every annoying minute of it. 

He held the costume up, looking over it for rips and stains, thinking maybe he could still get his money back, yet that thought quickly dissipated. 

“Long live the Apple Queen.” He smiled, then held it close to himself briefly before placing it back on the hook and shutting the door.

He took in the entire room, recalling all those early mornings: their arguments over propriety and cutlery, her backtalk, and lessons upon lessons that somehow the waitress from New York aced each time. Riley knew he was proud of her, Bertrand was confident in that fact.  

He glanced down at his watch, contemplating whether or not he should meet up with the others. He opted instead to stay longer, to be alone in this room, with the thoughts and memories of his sister, fresh on his mind and heart.  As he sat on the corner of her old bed, he let the pain that had festered within him since leaving Ramsford finally break him down. 

His face fell into his palms as he let out a painful sob.

____________

Liam was still curled in the same spot on the floor in front of the sofa; still clinging to her throw blanket and still wondering what the hell happened just a few hours ago. His eyes were dry, having nothing left to secrete from them. He needed to get up because there is so much to do: arrangements needed to be made, meet with Madeleine to make an announcement to the public, and accept phone calls and messages from international leaders expressing their condolences. 

He pushed himself up from the floor, still holding on tightly to her blanket, and turned to take in the vast living quarters that had become their home. 

On the table in front of Liam were the purple lilies he sent her yesterday -- just like the ones he sent her every week for over a year.  

The flowers he would never send again.

Yesterday, everything was fine. Yesterday, he was a happily married man that was more in love with his wife than he thought was possible. Yesterday, he woke up with his arms around her and she taunted him about the plans she had for him that evening. Yesterday, life was normal, happy, and everything he ever envisioned a life with Riley would be like. 

Liam tossed her blanket on the couch and wondered: if all those things were true yesterday, how can it not be today? 

Their home seemed so empty without her and he shuddered thinking about the finality of that thought: she wouldn’t be home again.  He wouldn’t hear that laugh again, dance with her in the kitchen, or arrive late to another ball because he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. Those thoughts grew, and the anger that it manifested took root in the pit of his stomach and was now pushing on every nerve ending in his body. Liam could feel his face redden with heat and scorn. His heart surged, and his mind became muddled with rage. He lurched to the vase full of flowers and threw them across the room. The shattering of glass against the wall only propelled him further as he turned to the sofa table and flipped it over.

“You said you would never leave!" he yelled towards the heavens, “after everything we went through to be together: the scandal, the assassination attempts!!". 

He swiped a lamp and book off a nearby end table, "Was it all a fucking lie Riley? .Answer me, goddammit!!! Liam shouted.

Liam shoved the couch corner into the glass cabinet and continued to push and slam again with each remark, “We had a life..We had a marriage. We have a baby!". 

He reached for the fireplace poker and didn’t hesitate to bust out the glass covering of the stone hearth, "Damn you for leaving me, Riley Brooks! DAMN YOU!" 

He swung furiously over and over at anything and everything in his path while continuing his emphatic curses of damnation against his wife. The glass of picture frames broke, wood splintered, walls pelted with tiny holes, fabrics stripped.

In all of his rage, he didn’t hear the footsteps that were quickly approaching him from behind, Suddenly, there were two strong arms wrapped around him with a tightened grip and pulled him down to the floor.

“Get the fuck off of me, Drake.” Liam struggled to loosen himself as he laid face down on the floor with his best friend holding him in place.

Drake jerked the poker from his hand and tossed it away, “This isn’t the way, Li. She wouldn’t want --”

“Fuck what she would have wanted and your self-righteous indignation, Drake Walker.”  Liam continued to fight his way out of the constraints Drake had on him, “I remember the looks you would give her, I bet the two of you were going at it behind my back the entire time. Did you enjoy my wife Drake? Did she fuck you and ...”

“STOP IT!”

As much as Drake wanted to punch him, he knew his friend well enough to ignore his gibes; Maxwell, on the other hand, had enough.

Liam and Drake both snapped their heads back to Maxwell, never seeing him that furious or hearing his voice that raised.  “You will never, ever speak of her like that again, treason be damned. Do you understand me?”

A dispirited look crossed Liam’s face, replacing the rage and adrenaline he felt. His face lowered and rested on the floor, having nothing more to give.  “I...I just miss her so damn much.”

Drake quickly moved off and Maxwell closed in on them; the two comforting their lifelong friend as he draped his arms over his head and wept.

“Is it okay to come in now?” Hana asked as she peeked around the corner, holding the baby in her arms.

“Yeah...we’re good,” Drake shouted back.

Liam lowered his arms and looked to Hana when he saw his daughter, “Ellie”, he whispered.

Maxwell and Drake helped Liam up and watched as he crossed through the carnage in the living room to retrieve his baby.

Hana asked if he was okay, wanting to be sure he was calm enough to hold her; he assured her he was.

He held Ellie close to him, taking in Riley’s features, feeling ashamed of the words he never meant to say about her mother. 

Drake, Maxwell, and Hana spent the rest of the day with Liam and Ellie, joined later by Bertrand. 

Riley had pumped enough breastmilk to last several days and Miss Talbert, Riley’s personal assistant, found that bereaved mothers who lost their babies after birth, donated their breast milk to help deal with the loss. Liam gave her the go-ahead to look into that option further and get back with him.  

Liam informed Madeleine to release the news to the press and public, but insisted on privacy, although he knew not only the Cordonian press would be all of this, but the American’s, as well.

As Ellie slept in Maxwell’s arms, the group picked and prodded at their lunch, not one of them feeling like eating, when the doorbell rang.

Liam answered the door and stepped aside to let Bastien in.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“Bastien.”

Bastien handed him an envelope. “I received this moments ago. You’ll want to see this, sir.”

Liam turned it over, studying the large, yellowish envelop skeptically, His brows knitted.  “What is this?”

The head guard stiffened his postured and let out a heavy breath. “It's the results of Her Majesty's autopsy.. You may want to sit". 

[snapdraqons]

i think im gonna have to open commissions soon bc i need a new laptop for college bc this one can’t run any adobe software without dying but even refurbished ones are super expensive........ damn..

[writingwitheli]

GrandMech

Most mechs were hard to function, even with experienced pilots.

They didn't move like people do, the mechanics don't really allow for that. You have to know the engineering intimately to clearly envision how the thing was going to react to your direction. Most pilots spend months learning their piece before going into the field. There were simulators, and for a while the board argued for mechs to be built in a uniform manner for faster learning.

But technology went a bit too fast for that. And the things were way too expensive to mass produce.

Grandma Katersfield knew this well. It was her life's work.

I mean she wasn't my grandma. But she kinda was. She was everyone's grandma, in a way. Most mechs these days still have her work in them, even if there were scraps rebuild around it. Some people called it practical. Pilots called it good luck. The engineers called it "Finally someone who knows what they're fucking doing."

When she passed away, in her garage (had she ever existed anywhere else?), the military held a funeral. Most of the planets held a funeral. The board, somewhere in their core-planet bunkers, held a meeting.

The war wasn't over, and we weren't winning. And we'd just lost our best engineer. It was a big fucking hit for morale. There were losses everywhere.

Presumably after sending a swarm of government drones through the property, the board very quickly touted "Katersfield's Final Work", and "The culmination of everything she's ever done". Some people pointed out the public images that showed how the thing was half-done. But enough people wanted hope that everyone gradually bought into the idea.

The board appointed Katersfield's daughter to lead the finalization of the thing. Ann wasn't exactly an engineer, but they knew how the public would read it. They gave her a team of their best to work with.

When construction was nearly done, the board officially announced that Katersfield's son-in-law would be piloting it. Everyone expected it; he was the only striped pilot in the family. But it hit the top of everyone's news anyways.

The public test run was expected to be simple, and broadcasted live as far as the outer-space colonies.

It… didn't go so well.

Okay, it went very badly.

I mean.

Bad.

What followed was a lot of media confusion. The board hastily tried to put the blame on over-eagerness. People were fired. We lost four moons while our squadrons re-evaluated their lives.

Mark and his husband, Will Katersfield, had a very public divorce. Some people argue it was the media pressure. Some people suspect that the board forced them apart. I think it was a long time coming.

For a while the board pushed forward other candidates. They ran competitions for new mech designers and engineers and electricians. Offered an absurd amount of money and resources. A lot of cool stuff came out of it, but nothing really compares to Katersfield's work.

It was three years after that when media went into a frenzy over a low-grade video of the mech doing cartwheels over the family farm. Fucking cartwheels, man. I can't even do those in my own body most days.

Every news ship went down there as quick as they could. A bunch of civilians, too. Granny says a board member actually showed up in person.

Everyone was immediately on Ann about it. She was the only one that really stayed on the farm. She knew the machinery well enough. And maybe she'd inherited the pilot skills of one of Katersfield's late spouses.

To the dismay of the board, Ann insisted that the pilot was Thoma, one of Will's children. The media went ballistic. Kids weren't even supposed to be piloting mechs in the first place.

Thoma gave an interview to their school teacher and described the sensation of piloting upside down as "even better than going all the way around the bar on a swing and then having Grandma's cookies with two scoops of ice cream!" Their wide grin with missing teeth was eventually made into metal-cards for soldiers to attach under their breast plates and remind them of home.

At some point, Ann made the mistake of admitting that she'd taken it out for a test-run while she was tuning up some joints (she hadn't been an engineer when this started. But things change).

The board came down hard. They publicly announced that Ann was the cartwheeling pilot, and further that she'd accepted a high raking military title with absurd honors and enough pay to buy a moon. They posted a date with a public countdown clock for her departure to the front lines.

Now the way Granny tells it; Ann didn't know about any of this until her neighbor came by with the milk and a congratulations. Granny would probably piss on the board if she still could. Don't let her try it.

Ann did go. She didn't have many options, really. Her bio-logs phrase the situation as "the board made a decision. I complied."

We pushed back the front by two whole planets. Ann wasn't much of a pilot; she spent too much time thinking, but the war pushed around her. Most of the time it only took a three second clip of her unnaturally smooth landing and quick gravity adjustment to a new planet. My old mech would take two minutes to land and readjust. A lot can happen in two minutes.

The official report says Ann died on Mitas 9. The board will probably censor this whole damn thing if I try to explain what happened, but just remember that official reports are. Well. Official.

The mech was commandeered immediately. They cleaned it up, threw on a new coat of paint, and put their highest ranking pilot in the hotseat.

Everyone was in a hurry to get back to it and have a plan ready before Ann's death was publicly announced. Yeru knew the schematics by heart and spent one month living with the mech every hour of every day to make up for lost time. The board went as far as making them legally exempt from standard reports. Yeru's bios were never made public, but you can pull them from the military archives in Section B. They clearly knew their way around a mech, and honestly seemed to be a good person as far as I can tell.

The board had seemingly learned from prior incidents. The Generals hosted a secluded military showing of the first test-run. Those archives are probably deleted, but all you really need to know is that Yeru never made it off the ground.

For a few months, the military looked into sabotage. Yeru's bio-post about the joints being "just plain creaky no matter how much I oil the thing" convinced a bunch of higher-ups that the mech had been swapped out or something.

I know. Creating a whole fake mech to replace it with? Somehow managing to swap the thing out with as much board, military, and media surveillance as it has? Absurd.

Also I'm sure you're well aware that plenty of good mechs have creaky joints. I hear you ran Sacrifice 2 for a while there. Lt. Jen complained about how loud that thing was for months after he shared a hangar with it near Osylus. Not sure if that was your time or not. I'm going to tell him it was, so he'll have something to complain to you about. When he does, ask him about the wardrobe cloning incident. I'm sure he'll know what you're talking about.

Anyways.

The news about Ann went public, and the board pushed it down the feeds with reports about a new Stealth Carrier that would move faster than a pilot-ship. It did. Everyone loved it. I'm sure it's shit compared to the last carrier you were on.

Thoma, meanwhile, had grown up and gotten their way through military school. It might seem strange to you now, but Thoma actually didn't touch a mech the first decade of their service. They had a few friends and plenty worshipers, but still hadn't officially earned enough stripes to be a pilot. The Generals wanted to make sure Thoma was knocked down enough to keep from getting big-headed about it. But Thoma didn't really care.

Thoma fought hard and studied harder. They proved themselves again and again. You can look up the public records of their medal-acceptance speeches. Every damn time they would say "This is a great honor. Can I trade it in for a mech?"

Pissed a lot of people off, but it was fucking hilarious if you ask me.

Eventually Thoma led a fairly large squadron and took a half a continent in a week. When I asked them about it, they said they had sent a text message to the Generals saying "I could've gotten all of it, if I had my own mech :,(". I know them well enough to know they probably actually sent a frowny-face emoji to the Generals. Don't do that. It's hilarious. But, Don't.

Probably.

For now, anyways.

The board reluctantly let Thoma break the mech out of some museum somewhere as a reward for their service. They weren't intending for Thoma to actually run as a pilot since Thoma had already gotten to be in charge of things. It would be a media mess, at best, a military loss at worst.

Thoma did a fucking backflip over live media.

Anyways the board and the Generals argued about it for a week, but eventually did the only thing they could do. They made Thoma a pilot. There were lots of assurances that Thoma would still be holding their responsibilities as Planetary Sergeant. No one cared. Thoma had done a fucking backflip; the Katersfields were at it again.

I'm told that week of debate consisted of at least fifteen other pilots trying the mech out and reporting up failures of various kinds. Don't worry about that, you'll do fine.

I'm sure you know most of the story from there. Thoma took Belet 5 through Belet 11, and some other smaller planets along the way. Majestic. War hero. Idol. Etc etc.

The board immediately pushed Thoma’s son, Madene, into the military and straight into pilot's school. They make a lot of dumb decisions, but even the board could see the pattern here.

You might not have read this about me, but I used to be an electrician. I worked on Thoma's team for a while. The Generals gave Madene special permission to visit us sometimes so he could learn the mech hands-on. He'd always wanted to be an artist or a planetary refurbisher. That was clear from the first day we met.

I'll tell you this now, it's not part of public record: Madene ran the mech just fine when it was just us around. Thoma would give some long drawn-out speech about minding your manners and being careful with her. It was their Grandmother's soul in that machine, after all. Madene didn't really listen, but the mech ran just fine anyways.

When Madene was nearing graduation, the Generals sent their scouts around to see how things were going. The mech ran straight into their drones and fell convulsing onto the ground.

It was a hard time for a while, Thoma was upset with Madene and Madene was embarrassed. There were lots of arguments, and the Generals tried to pretend Madene just didn't have enough experience as a pilot. The idea that Madene did it on purpose didn't get recorded, but it's what a lot of people assumed. I don't think that's what happened, anyways.

Madene tried really hard after that. He pushed himself in school, and as a result they let him try out a bunch of other mechs. He proved he could handle it just as well as some of our better pilots. He took Entrapment marching around the school-system planet four times.

Thoma tore their knee in a pretty brutal fight, and since they were nearing retirement anyways the board arranged for a public hand-off of the mech.

I used to talk to her when I worked. My old pilot - the one I worked electricity for before Thoma - had always been superstitious about this sort've thing. She used to spend a good half-hour reassuring it before she's let me do any work on it. I guess I'd picked up the habit. You might want to pick it up, too, if you haven't already.

I'd asked her to help Madene out. He'd worked so hard and I could tell Thoma was slowing down.

You might have seen the media of that. Afterward Madene was particularly… verbal. Even if you didn't see that, I'm sure you heard about what happened to him after. Don't be too harsh on him, it's really not his fault. We were all too hard on him.

All the media says the Generals did a lot of research and realized I was better suited as a pilot and they shifted me over. How that actually happened was… well. A little boring.

One of their scouts had caught me helping her move over so I could get a better angle at the spinal wiring.

Blah blah blah. I'm sure you know the highlights from there.

So here's where we get to the advice that was the whole point of this message:

I admit the public eye is a little difficult to get used to. Honestly I recommend you just ignore it. They'll say shit no matter what you do.

Don't call her by the name the board gave her. I know that's what you learned in school and in training. Don't do it.

Don't piss her off.

Be patient - her memory isn't what it used to be.

Don't tell her what to do. I read your file, you have a lot of experience. I know this will be the hard part.

If the mediacom switches to one of those awful family gameshows. Just. Let it happen. No, they do not get less annoying to listen to. Yes, she knows they're all the same.

The internal heating will be On when you're on any below-regulation temperature planet. I know you're from the outer colonies. I know that will be too warm for you. Get over it and try not to dress down too much; she's easier to maneuver when you're in layers.

The one exception to the above is her tune-ups and maintenance. She doesn't like it. She never does. We have four crews to make it easier and I still do it myself sometimes to help her get over it. You're going to have to get good at negotiating.

If you leave a battle with a sudden craving in your neurons for hot and hearty soup, go get some hot and hearty soup. She'll get stubborn with you next time if you don't.

Granny will take care of you from there.

-Captain Layfar

[maxparkhurst]

Crimson

“In the quiet I sit and wonder,

If the image I had were real

Or just that…

An image crafted by my own desire.”

Two years ago

Max stood hidden in the shadowy depths of a Mariner’s Row alley. She watched as tentative raindrops crescendoed from a light drizzle to a full downpour. Rats scurried and took shelter from the storm in open rubbish bins. She only turned her collar to the cold and damp; this cold couldn’t penetrate the frigid numbness she already felt under the black tide’s pull. Her fingers stroked the vials tucked in the folds of her coat, the smooth glass grounding her in the moment.

Are you always going to be a victim?

A man separated from the throng of by-passers and descended into the alley. He walked with a hunch, shivering uncontrollably as he clawed at his neck. Max met him half-way, her myopic gaze drifting up to meet his shifting eyes. They only focused long enough for her to see the bright, desperate light glimmering in his dilated pupils. A cordial smile touched her lips.

“Fifty gold.”

The man bristled as his wild gaze narrowed in on Max. “You’re fucking with me…” he breathed in disbelief. “It was thirty last week!”

“Supply and demand.” Max shrugged. “Fifty. Unless you don’t want it.”

“How ‘bout I take that supply and demand bullshit and shove it up ya’ass!” His hands fell to his sides- revealing the angry, red blisters from where he’d been scratching- and flexed his fingers.

“You’re welcomed to.” Max kept her voice leveled as she procured a vial from her pocket. Its crimson contents stuck out against the gray-scale backdrop, drawing the man’s attention. “But,” she said with an enticing wave, “You’d get none of this.”

He stared long and hard at the vial. His expression darkened as he dropped his head, a hand untying the coin pouch from his belt. “Damn you,” he spat, tossing her the pouch, “And your price gouging.”

Max palmed the pouch and offered the vial out to the vagrant. He snatched it up and yanked the cork with his teeth, shooting down the crimson concoction. A sense of composure seemed to wash over him as his shoulders slackened and his breath evened. She held out the other three vials for him, watching with a measured smile as he pocketed them. “Same time next week?” she inquired.

“Fuck you.”

The vagrant turned briskly on a heel and charged out the alley. Max didn’t need an answer. She already knew he’d be back next week- they always came back for more.

*** Max laid sprawled out on her couch. It’d been here when she moved into the single room apartment, a relic from the previous owners. She made no plans to replace it, despite the pungent scent of tobacco and brine wafting from the futons. This wasn't a permanent domicile. She was only going to stay here long enough to settle Augustine’s custody papers. At least, that’d been her initial intent. Months since her release had passed in a blur. Finding an executor to authenticate their father’s will and write up Max’s legal guardianship over Auggie  proved far more difficult than she could’ve imagined- and far more expensive.

She picked her head up and looked over to her poor excuse for an alchemist’s lab. Vials and alembics crowded a “refurbished” table she found in a back alley, a fresh batch of Crimson simmering over an old burner. The sight of its volatile contents made Max’s stomach turn sour. She collapsed back onto the couch and draped an arm over her eyes.

Crimson had been Vallory’s best kept secret; a secret not even her late husband knew existed. It was a secret she whispered in Max’s ear over a cigarette they shared. The memory still laid fresh in her mind. She could almost feel the cool night air; the heat radiating off of Vallory’s skin; the tenderness of her lips. She shared with Max a secret she’d given no one else and sealed it with a kiss. Her heart ached as she remembered how easily she caved under the woman’s will, allowing all of her vile secrets in.

“You love her...Don’t you?”

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as the memory shifted. His voice, hoarse and cracked, echoed in the chambers of her mind. She could still see him on the backs of her eyelids, his bulging eyes staring up as he labored for breath. He smiled up at her through a froth of bile.

“She doesn’t love you… She loves no one but herself.”

She knew that now.

Vallory akinned Crimson to prison shackles. Users who typically sought it were looking for a bolster in strength. The poppy extract in it suppressed the flow of glutamate in the brain, blocking the sensation of pain. It was popular amongst brawler rings. But its suppressant properties wasn’t what kept people buying. It was the withdrawal symptoms which followed. Hives, chills, nausea, and fevers were only some of the physical components. Users would experience spells of paranoia, rage, and sometimes suicidal tendencies.

Max witnessed it all through her clients. She found most of them through the underground brawlers ring. While vaguely aware of Crimson’s backlash, Max hadn’t a clue of how potent it really was. She watched over the next several months as these hardy men dissolved into decrepit husks. They quaked and begged at her feet for their fixes, tethered to her bloated prices like rabid dogs. But just as they were shackled to Crimson, so was she.

The executor explained to Max that she’d need to prove her capability as a guardian. She needed to be able to provide a safe home, warm food, and clean clothes for Augustine before they’d let her touch custody papers. Without those said papers, she wasn’t allowed any near her brother. Their Aunt had made sure of it. When news of Max’s release arrived, she’d placed a restraining order which prevented Max from coming within sixty yards of Augustine. She hadn’t even gotten to see him when she found the notice nailed to her apartment door.

They stayed in touch through letters exchanged by way of bottles tucked in the bushes outside the library. Augustine said he found the idea appealing in one of his letters, drawing references to pirates. She had smiled at that one. His letters were what kept Max going most days. She’d read and reread them long into the nights, committing them to memory in case they should ever stop. Some made her laugh and others made her cry. He wrote about his studies; about him and Joseph at the shipyards; about the children from school; about Auntie’s unreasonable requests; about the heaviness in his heart. He wrote that he felt cold and empty; that people were cruel and this world was unfair; that sometimes he wished to go to sleep and never wake up. But mostly, he wrote about how he wanted her to come get him; how he wanted them to sail far away and start a new life; how he really just needed to see her again. In all of her letters, she promised him they would and that it was only a matter of time. She asked him to be patient.

Max’s savings had grown exponentially since she started dealing. A few more transactions and she’d be able to afford the executor and the process of their father’s will could begin. Ruining a few lives along the way seemed like an affordable price. While it’d be one she’d keep paying to ensure her brother’s happiness, it wasn’t one she took exceptional pleasure in. Self loathing sprouted in her chest.  It took root not from guilt but from the fear. At first she thought this fear was of Augustine. What would he think about his murderous sister? She not only took the life of one man, but robbed many of theirs. They’d never know reprieve from their hunger for crimson, suffering long after she and her supply left the Kul’tiran Kingdom. He’d have nothing to think, though, because he’d never find out. Max hid her foot prints well and took every precaution to keep off suspicion. Her secret could die here in Boralus and no one would be the wiser. No, the only thing she feared was herself.

She’d broken a seal- made a decision which could never be undone. If she could kill once then she could again. If she could distribute Crimson in Boralus, what was to stop her from distributing in Stormwind? Temptation would always lurk in the back of her mind.  She realized at that moment what a horrible thing Vallory had done. She hadn’t shared her secret out of love. No, it was out of malice towards her husband. All of it revenge for his treachery. She hadn’t cared about Max as a person. She’d only used her as a means to an end.  Now, just as Max’s clients would never be free of Crimson, she’d never be free of Vallory. Every day she’d have to fight off these temptations; she’d have to fight to be better.

“I have to be better,” Max whispered into the dark room. The alembic simmered. Crimson replied with a bubbling boil. She bit down on her lip and ignored its tempting call. This would be the final batch, she vowed, and no more. No more back alley deals, no more drugs, no more drinking benders, no more shifty people, nothing. She needed to be better.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” she promised to herself, “I have to be better. I have to be better for him. Better for Auggie.”

Better for Auggie.

Her new mantra. She recited it to herself, whispering it over and over again until she couldn’t recognise her own voice. To obtain anything something of equal value must be lost. She knew this to be her one and only truth.

She forfeited her ties with Vallory

And in return…

She’d be better for Auggie. 

[pheedraws]

I got tagged in this ultimate OTP meme a while ago and this has been sitting in my drafts since because I am, at my core, indecisive. It also means I can’t remember who tagged me so my apologies! I could not sleep at all last night so I finally finished it off ... voila 

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?

They both try to keep things low-key, especially if others are within earshot, but they are also incredibly stubborn and won’t back down from an argument if they think they are right so things can often get loud.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

Neither of them. They’ve both had enough people walk out on them in the past that they wouldn’t threaten the other with that in the heat of the moment, regardless of the argument.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

As above. At the very most, one of them will go somewhere to cool off for a few hours but that’s the extent of that.

Who trashes the house?

Neither of them. Billy has the shorter temper of the two but that’s not his style.

Do either of them get physical?

Never.

How often do they argue/disagree?

Hoo boy. After Billy breaks things off mere days before they lose Maria and the kids? Dee can’t stand to be in the same room as him without fighting. Billy plays along, after all he needed the dispute to seem real so Rawlins would drop Dee as a potential pawn to use against him (thus keeping her safe), but the part of him he buried deep down hates seeing her hurt and angry. Doesn’t stop him from landing a few cutting jabs every now and then, though…

Post-S1? Not a lot. It takes them a while to work through things after Rawlins’ death and Billy’s pardoning, eventually getting back to how things were in the ‘good old days’. All the previous grievances just seem petty in comparison and thus arguments are few and far between. When they do get back together? It’s all small domestic things, the most common argument being Billy trying to get Dee to just slow down and stop working herself to the bone.

Who is the first to apologise?

Usually Billy. (He is usually the one in the wrong, so…)

Sex:

Who is on top?

More often than not Billy, though he certainly has no qualms against sitting back and making Dee work for it from time to time.

Who is on the bottom?

Mostly Dee, with exceptions of course. (She can top Billy every so often, as a treat)

Who has the strangest desires?

I wouldn’t say either of them have particularly strange desires, but their sex life is never boring. Let’s leave it at that.

Any kinks?

Too damn many. Dee more so than Billy, which he fucking loves.

Who’s dominant in bed?

Almost always Billy. Even when Dee’s on top, he’s still the one in control.

Is head ever in the equation?

Absolutely.

If so, who is better at performing it?

Billy’s an incredibly confident and smug man, both in life and in the bedroom. Is it justified? Wholly.

Ever had sex in public?

…Yes.

They just had to break in the newly refurbished head office at Anvil, after all…

Who moans the most?

They both get pretty vocal in their own ways. For Billy, it’s a lot of guttural moans and ‘fuck’s. In Dee’s case? Well, Billy doesn’t rest until she’s screaming loud enough that all her neighbors know him by name…

Who leaves the most marks?

Billy. He’d never push Dee past her limits or seriously hurt her, but he does get a little... carried away in the moment.

Dee loves it though.

Who’s the more experienced of the two?

Again, Billy.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

In the early days it was almost exclusively fucking. They had a friends-with-benefits situation going on that didn’t leave room for the feelings they both refused to acknowledge.

Post-S1, when everything is back on track and positive? It’s a healthy mix of the two.

Rough or soft?

Again, a healthy mix of the two.

How long do they usually last?

Billy has the stamina of a superhuman. Whether it’s fucking or making love, you can bet your ass he’s making it last until Dee is fully spent.

Is protection used?

Yes. They’re both too busy to consider the, ahem, alternative right now.

Does it ever get boring?

With Billy Russo? Never.

Where is the strangest place they’ve have sex?

An elevator.

Heathens.

Family:

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

That is… a complicated topic. After losing Lisa and Frank Jr., Dee was kind of put off the idea of starting a family with anyone. Billy has his own reservations about kids and parenthood too, given his own history. Plus post-S1, with both of them working hard towards getting Anvil re-established? There isn’t time for that.

Neither of them completely rule out future possibilities, though.

If so, how many children do they want/have?

Neither have given it much thought, in all honesty.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?

They are both partial to a good cuddle on the sofa or in bed, particularly after a long day.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

B I L L Y. That man’s randiness is second to none.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?

As above, Billy. It isn’t always inherently sexual, though; he uses touch as an affirmation more so than words, so he’ll make a point of brushing loose hairs out of Dee’s face, or sliding his arms around her waist whenever he can. He’s finally at a stage in his life where he can afford to be soft and affectionate, so naturally he wants to make the most of it.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

Depends on the situation. Both of them are borderline workaholics, so staying still for anything longer than half an hour during the day just doesn’t sit well with them and they’ll take themselves off to get back to work. If they fall asleep in each other’s arms, though? You best believe they’ll still be entwined when morning comes.

Who gives the most kisses?

Dee’s the smoocher of the pair, always has been, though Billy has taken to planting a kiss on her forehead when her brows knit together while working to ease the tension there.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

Their secret indulgence is sacking off work on a Friday night to order pizza and drink beer while watching some dumb movie neither are really interested in. Sometimes they invite the others over, but more often than not it’s just their night to breathe and enjoy each other’s company.

Dee will adamantly deny that she almost always falls asleep during the movie, though…

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

Billy spared no expense when decorating his penthouse, so the sofa and bed are simply to die for. In the end that’s what spurs Dee to move in with him, lest she have to listen to him complain about her brick of a sofa one more time…

How often do they get time to themselves?

Not as often as they’d like. Later on down the line, when Dee leaves her clinic behind, they both work at Anvil, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they have more time to themselves. It’s busy, especially in the wake of the Rawlins fiasco, but things settle down eventually. They take those moments to themselves whenever they can.

Sleeping:

Who snores?

Mercifully, neither of them do.

If both do, who snores the loudest?

While neither of them snore, Dee talks utter nonsense in her sleep, which Billy then teases her for relentlessly.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

Always share a bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy to Dee, but having Billy beside her helps.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

They’ll cozy up as they fall asleep. More often than not they’ll wake up like that too, though Dee has been known to shift into some utterly nonsensical positions that would make a chiropractor cry.

What do they wear to bed? If they’re together?

Dee sleeps in a vest and shorts all year round.

Billy? Just underwear, unless previously removed before falling asleep …

Are either of them insomniacs?

Dee is a chronic insomniac and workaholic. While they’re in the middle of their break-up, can’t-stand-the-sight-of-each-other phase, Dee works through the night until she physically can’t stay awake any longer; anything to avoid the tossing and turning and overthinking that awaits her in bed. Things get better after Rawlins is dealt with and Billy is back in the picture, but it’s still a struggle for her at times.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

Dee tried them once. They don’t work.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

A little bit of both. Dee likes feeling Billy there with her so will tangle herself up in his arms and legs when she can, but if it’s hot? Stuff that. There’s nothing Dee hates more than feeling hot and smothered.

Who wakes up with bed hair?

Dee, and she will forever be bitter that Billy I’m-So-Perfect Russo can wake up looking like a damn model regardless of the antics they got up to the night before.

Who wakes up first?

If Dee had a fitful night of sleep, she’ll be up and out of bed at the earliest reasonable hour. On a normal day, Billy will wake up first.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

They usually just grab breakfast on the way to work, but if it’s a weekend or a special occasion? Billy is known to surprise her with breakfast in bed.

What’s their favourite sleeping position?

Billy on his back with Dee against his side, her head in the crook of his neck.

Do they set an alarm each night?

Billy doesn’t need one; perks of being a marine, and all. If they need to be up at a certain time, he’ll wake Dee up himself… sometimes in creative ways.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?

No. Billy never had one in his bedroom when he lived alone, and Dee wasn’t fussed either way.

Who has nightmares?

They both have their demons, so nightmares are a frequent occurrence. There’s a shared sense of comfort there, though; the pair always knowing what the other needs when they awake with a start, sheen of sweat on their body. The nightmares don’t follow them into the waking world anymore.

Who has ridiculous dreams?

Dee. And she’ll mutter and talk in her sleep the whole time.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

Surprisingly, Billy. While he’s kept many of his old sleeping habits from his days in the marines, he just can’t resist sprawling out in a big, fancy bed these days.

Who makes the bed?

They’re both neat people, so the general unspoken rule is whoever was last out of bed in the morning makes it.

What time is bed time?

It varies. They do try to have a healthy work-life balance, but Anvil is Billy’s pride and joy; if he needs to stay late working, he’ll do it without complaint. They’ll usually collapse into bed any time between 11PM and 2AM.

Any routines/rituals before bed?

Regular things; showering, brushing teeth, etc. If they haven’t seen much of each other all day they’ll lay awake chatting for a while, catching up on news and such. If Dee is going through a particularly bad stint of insomnia, she’ll work out in the evening to try and quell some of the restless feelings, and Billy has taken to joining her.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Dee. Billy is insufferably smug and cheerful on a morning.  

Work:

Who is the busiest?

It varies. When Dee is working at the clinic, she’s working constantly. Where Frank goes, trouble is never far behind, and thus there’s never a quiet moment without a bullet wound to patch up or regular patient to see to. After she decides to call it quits and work for Anvil with Frank, Billy and Curtis, her workload decreases a bit. Though she may be the resident medic, Billy has a lot more work and responsibilities being at the top of the chain in that scenario.

Who rakes in the highest income?

Mr Billy Bigshot-CEO Russo

Are any of them unemployed?

No.

Who takes the most sick days?

Dee is very much of the ‘work until you drop’ ethic, and while the same can be said about Billy too in some respects, he’s more lenient with himself and will take a day off when he really needs it. He’ll also bribe encourage Dee to do the same when it’s evident she needs a break.

And I mean hey, what’s the point in owning your own company if you can’t take a cheeky sick day off every now and then?

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

They travel together (technically live in the same damn building as their offices) so they really have no excuse. For the most part it all runs smoothly, but there are occasions where their ….. morning activities….. overrun, though Dee is adamant that you can never actually be late if you turn up with the boss; everyone else is just there early.  

Who sucks up to their boss?

Billy is technically Dee’s boss so…. go figure.

What are their jobs?          

After leaving the military, Dee establishes a small clinic in Hell’s Kitchen and works out of there for a few years. It’s met with a lot of resistance, what with her helping Frank out and getting involved in his grievances with local gangs. Eventually, post-S1 and after an arson attack leaves the clinic worse for wear, Dee decides to take up Billy’s offer of working for Anvil alongside Curtis on the medical team.

Billy still owns and runs Anvil, only with his friends by his side this time. It takes some time for the company’s reputation to recover, even after the truth about Rawlins comes out and Billy is exonerated, but he doesn’t mind the work. It makes it feel like his company again.

Who stresses the most?

They both have a knack for stressing and worrying, but Dee comes out on top in this regard. Maria always used to joke that she’d end up with frown lines by the time she’s thirty.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

They do. Billy has an immense sense of pride in his work now, and it’s therapeutic for him to work through the mess Rawlins made and reclaim Anvil as his.

Dee loves helping people, always has, so her work suits her.

Are they financially stable?

They are.

Home:

Who does the washing?

They’ll take it in turns for the most part. Both are incredibly neat people so household work is a breeze.

Who takes out the trash?

They’ll usually do it on the way to work, though if it’s cold outside and they have nowhere to be? Billy’s the one to take one for the team.

Who does the ironing?

Billy took one look at the way Dee irons shirts and forbid her from going near an iron again.

Who does the cooking?

Cooking is something they love to do together. It’s a chance for them to unwind and chat and laugh with each other after long working days, so it’s never a chore for them. If a few glasses of wine just happen to be drank during the process, too… well… they deserve it.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

They’re both pretty competent cooks.

Who is messier?

Neither is particularly messy, per se. Dee will say she’s not untidy and call her chaotic desk ‘organized clutter’, but that’s usually limited to her workspaces. The penthouse itself is almost always clean and tidy.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?

Neither, because they are not heathens… in this regard, at least.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

If Billy is tired, he’ll just strip wherever is convenient and deal with the clothes in the morning. Dee at least makes the extra effort to hang things up or, at the very least, drape it over a chair.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?

They’re both pretty good for remembering that.

Who is the prankster around the house?

Dee has more of a sense of humor than Billy, but that’s not to say Billy doesn’t act like an utter asshole at times when he sees the opportunity.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

Dee doesn’t have a car (she can drive, there’s just not much use for one in the city) so she’s exempt.

I feel like Billy’s car keys are permanently attached to his person. He drives a Wraith, after all.

Who mows the lawn?

Lawn? What’s that?

(Not having a garden is the one thing Dee doesn’t particularly like about city living, though)

Who answers the telephone?

Each has their own mobile, so they deal with their own calls and such.

Who does the vacuuming?

Like with most housework, they’ll take it in turns. Dee refuses to hoover stairs, though, on the grounds that she doesn’t have a death wish.

Who does the groceries?

It depends on whoever has the least amount of work to do on that particular day. Billy quickly catches on to Dee’s confectionary-buying ways, though, so he’ll volunteer to do the shopping more often than not to save their pantry from yet more sugar.

Who takes the longest to shower?

With both of them having served tours overseas, they’re used to showering quickly and effectively. If they’re in the shower together, though? All notions of saving water are out the window.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Billy. Russo. That man has a morning beauty routine to rival any model.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?

Nope!

How many cars do they own?

One.

Do they own their home or do they rent?

Billy owns the penthouse. Prior to moving in with him, Dee used to rent an apartment in the city.

Do they live in the city or in the country?

New York, New York, baby!

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

Both grew up in city environments, so New York just feels like home to them. I think after everything they’ve been through, both individually and together, anywhere else would just feel…. Boring?

What’s their song?

Green Grass by Tom Waits

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

If Billy is away with work, they call or skype whenever they can. They’ve spent unwanted time apart in the past, on particularly bad terms to boot, so they don’t like being away from each other for extended periods.

Where did they first meet?

Dee practically grew up with Maria; the two had been nigh on inseparable since the day they met in elementary school, and formed a sisterly bond that carried on way into adulthood. Dee was already going through basic training when Maria introduced her to Frank, who then brought Billy along to the group a couple of weeks later. The two swiftly became close friends, and dabbled in a bit of the ol friends-with-benefits arrangement when off duty.

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

Billy is more willing to spend money, but he rarely goes out shopping for himself; it’s either something to boost Anvil’s status or capabilities, or something for the penthouse. Dee grew up lacking the financial cushion they have today, so old habits die hard in her case. She won’t buy things for herself unless she really needs something, and even then it takes a lot of internal debating to reach that point.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

Dee is fairly clumsy, much to her dismay (and Billy’s apparent enjoyment).

Any mental issues?

Hoo boy. Billy is an entire essay in his own right so I’ll focus on Dee, though a lot of their mental troubles overlap. Dee left the military after a mission in Iraq under Schoonover went awry, landing the unit in a hostage situation with only Dee and the Major managing to survive two weeks until they were extracted. She was initially given leave to recover and recuperate with intentions of returning to duty, but she decided against it and was discharged. Dee was later diagnosed with PTSD as a result of the incident. Add to that the later trauma of losing Maria, her lifelong best friend and practically her sister, as well as Lisa and Frank Jr.? The woman went through a lot in an incredibly short space of time and it took its toll on her both mentally and physically.

(I’m missing a lot but alas I have not slept and cannot write a coherent paragraph)

Who’s terrified of bugs?

Dee point-blank refuses to be in the same room as a spider. She knows it’s a bit pathetic, but frankly? She doesn’t really care. Other bugs are fine, just no creepy crawlies inside, please.

Who kills the spiders around the house?

As mentioned above, Dee will not touch a single spider so it’s down to Billy to be the hero and remove them from the building.

Their favourite place?

New York City apartments don’t have much in the way of gardens, but the rooftop terrace on the penthouse quickly became their favourite spot once it was given a bit of TLC. Dee has a few planters for growing flowers and herbs for the kitchen, and Billy surprised her one night with a firepit perfect for huddling around as the sun goes down. It’s like a little safe haven away from the stressful jobs and business below them.

Who pays the bills?

They both contribute, Dee was very insistent on that when she moved in, though Billy offered otherwise.

Do they have any fears for the future?

Plenty. Billy still doubts himself, still judges himself by his past mistakes and actions and worries that one day, everything he holds dear will eventually crumble before him again, only this time he won’t be able to pick up the pieces. He keeps these fears to himself, but Dee can tell when those thoughts are giving him grief, and is always there to offer words of reassurance.

Dee worries about Frank. Her elder brother almost; the one constant in her life over the tumultuous years. She worries that one day, this life they’ve all rebuilt together won’t be enough for him, that he’ll miss what made him him, miss the violence and vengeance. And she gets it, to an extent. She lived that life too after Maria and the kids passed, helping him and getting her hands dirty in ways that meant they’ll never be clean again. But she’s settled now, here, with Billy and Frank and Curtis. She just worries the peace she found won’t last.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

Billy, most definitely. He has expensive tastes to begin with and is fairly spontaneous in nature; he’ll often call Dee at work to announce that they’re going out mere hours in advance. It brings him joy to do things for others.

Who’s the tallest?

Billy. He’ll tease Dee about it from time to time, but really? He loves the way he can press his lips to her forehead when she’s in his arms.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

While they both love showering together and, ahem, other more scandalous antics, it’s usually Billy who initiates and slips into the shower behind Dee as opposed to the other way around because for Christ sake Billy shower at a reasonable hour who willingly gets up at 5:30 every morning

Who wanders around in their underwear?

Dee, though Billy has been known to join the underwear party when he a. hungover b. exhausted or c. too damn warm.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

Dee, and while she can indeed sing, she gets so much more joy out of seeing Billy’s grimace whenever she purposefully butchers a song.

What do they tease each other about?

Dee pokes fun at Billy’s hair and how goddamn perfect it is all the time. She’s also taken to lovingly ruffling it up a tad when they’re at home, though that often ends with either her being hoisted over his shoulder or tickled relentlessly…

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

They both dress fairly smartly on a day to day basis, taking pride in their appearance and the way they present themselves to the world. There is one exception, however, and that is when Dee insists on lounging around the penthouse that god awful “I Got A Dig Bick” tee Frank gifted Billy during one of Anvil’s annual jokey Secret Santa exchanges. Each time he sees it in the laundry basket he tries his best to dispose of it, but that thing just keeps on making its way back into the wardrobe...

Do they have mutual friends?

They do! Frank and Curtis being the main two, with Karen being more of a mutual acquaintance for Billy, who missed out on a lot while stuck working for Rawlins.

Who crushed first?

There was a mutual attraction there which ultimately spurned the whole friends-with-benefits situation, but Dee was the first to start getting actual Feelings.

Any alcohol or substance related problems?

None.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk,  at 3 am?

If they’re out drinking that late, they’re most likely out together. Dee’s accent gets stronger when she’s drunk, which Billy finds hilarious. Coincidentally, he also finds everything funny when shitfaced drunk. Naturally, they make quite the pair...

Who swears the most?

Dee swears like a sailor, at any minor inconvenience. Dropped something? Oh fuck off. Minor inconvenience? Bastard. Billy blames it on being exposed to Frank Castle at an early age, which earns a fuck you from them both.

[mochalorian]

Star Wars Fic Recs

For intezaarlily 

I wanted to share some fics that I really enjoy from this fandom. I didn’t include every fic by the same author, because the list was getting pretty long already, but I highly recommend checking them out because they’ve also written some other great stories. (Listed alphabetically, because I’m that kind of person.)

Poe/Finn

Echo Base: Redux by stitchy (E)

A Finn/Poe fic inspired by 'Empire Strikes Back'- particularly, the classic Han/Leia miscommunication~

"Come on, you want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!"

"Yes, you're a great help to us, you're a natural leader!"

first comes the night by coffeeinallcaps (E) 

He doesn’t get nightmares. He doesn’t dream about the mask, the cries of the villagers, waking up in the desert with a blinding headache and his mouth filled with blood and the man who’d saved him gone, most likely dead.

Instead, he just can’t sleep.

get drunk on the good life by magnetic wave (G)

Finn is on the mend, technically.

hope by venusianbouquet 

Poe flies, Rey studies with Luke, and Finn studies with Leia.

If I Had Wings by boldlygoingnowherefast

Finn knows he is a Guide, but he isn't sure what that means until he meets Poe Dameron. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew about himself changes, and he is thrown into a world where meeting your soulmate is one of the most important things to ever happen to you. Finn doesn't know what it's like to truly belong, but when he meets Poe, the dashing Sentinel pilot of the Resistance, he will learn the feeling of belonging, and much, much more.

last stop on this highway by augustbird (E)

Home is a strange place.

legacy by mardia (G)

A long time ago, Luke Skywalker had a son. For seven wonderful months, he was a father to a small, wonderful baby boy with tiny brown fingers and his mother’s nose and dark eyes.

my feet won’t touch the ground by plinys (M)

With the Resistance base moving away from D'Qar and his recovery not yet complete, Finn is left feeling like a bit of a lost end. That is until Poe arrives with a solution, taking Finn with him as he returns home to Yavin 4, for the first time in a long while.

Names for the Stars by cheesethesecond (G)

In the aftermath of Starkiller, Poe struggles with a certain amount of inertia. Various droids, generals, and Resistance members struggle to talk some sense into him. And it all circles back to the struggles of an ex-stormtrooper, who doesn’t seem to realize the ways in which he’s knocked Poe off his axis.

not all those who wander are lost by cosmicocean (T)

Finn keeps finding his family in unexpected places.

A Finn Skywalker story.

Sehnsucht by jiokra (M)

Phasma issues to the FN unit refurbished datapads plundered from a demolished Resistance base, which have been refilled with First Order propaganda. Naturally, FN-2187’s datapad malfunctions and resets to its original settings. Before FN-2187 can properly panic over this, a message is sent to him by a Resistance fighter under the code name Black Leader. It’s one simple word: “Status?”

FN-2187 wakes up to the orders of committing coldblooded murder and falls asleep to the despair of the dead. He’s one step away from messing up and getting reconditioned. When Black Leader asks how he’s doing, even if the question isn’t intended for him, FN-2187 can’t help himself.

He replies, “Alive.”

Slant Rhyme by imaginary_golux (G)

Ideally, there'd have been a pilot. But there isn't, and FN-2187 still needs to get the hell out of the First Order.

That Kind of Story by nomsy (M)

After the destruction of Starkiller Base, Poe didn't really know where this thing with Finn was going. He wanted to find out, though. He just needed Finn to wake up. And everybody else to mind their own business.

The Bearer of Good Food by anonymous (G)

The last thing the Resistance thought they were getting in Finn was a decent chef, but Finn’s been cooking for his squad since he was small. He doesn’t mind cooking for his new friends — especially since Resistance cuisine is pretty damn awful. There's also the fact that Finn never really had a place to fit in when he was a Stormtrooper, and his journey to finding a place to fit with the Resistance.

Or alternatively — five times Finn cooked for other people, and one time other people cooked for him.

The Care and Feeding of Mammalian Companion Animals by ineptshieldmaid (T)

Today’s new and alarming development involves Poe Dameron. Poe has a… a companion animal. A tooka. It is male, its fur is mottled yellow and brown, and it has very fluffy fur and great big eyes. It curls up in Poe’s arms, or drapes itself over Poe’s shoulders, in an apparently friendly manner, but Finn has looked up its species in the databanks: it is a predator.

The Future Prince by Starmaple (T)

During a diplomatic mission, Poe and Finn find Finn's homeworld... and discover he is a long-lost kidnapped prince.

The Shortest Distance Between Two Points by LaVoileBlanche (G)

"Poe’s heart is a swollen thing in his chest, and at any moment he feels liable to pull Finn in for a kiss, but all he does is smile."

Another utterly unoriginal, "Poe and Finn fall in love on D'Qar" fic.

Walking Each Other Home by Xela (E)

The First Order, cut off from the Empire’s endless supply of clones and given the relative expense of actually raising their cannon fodder from childhood, has been experimenting.

“His name is Finn,” Poe says, voice quiet. “He is a person, not a medical mystery for you to solve. So get your shit together, figure out how to help him, and then wake him up.”

Poe/Finn/Rey

Fonder by disco_vendetta (G)

“For you,” she mumbles, cheeks going pink, and shoves something into his hand.

“Oh, hey, you don’t have to give me anything —“ he starts, looking down, then blinks a few times at his open palm.

“It’s a rock,” she adds unnecessarily.

Rey/Jessika Pava

full bloom by seventhswan (T)

Rey isn’t sure that anyone really loves anyone else on Jakku. She isn’t sure it’s possible to let your guard down that far in a place that wants to swallow you up, scorch you, starve you. Love makes you soft, exposes the guttable parts of you. It wouldn’t be safe to love anyone. Nobody would be stupid enough.

Han/Leia

no one can stop me, not even gravity or nasa by magneticwave (G)

“Fuck you,” Leia says. “Who said anything about getting married? Did Luke say anything about getting married?”

“Luke is not involved,” Luke says, not looking up.

“Hey, Luke is not involved,” Han says, pointing at her. She’s going to bite his finger off, then they’ll see how much pointing he can do with it. “This is about you and me, princess.”

“There’s not going to be a you and me,” Leia says. “I’m going to have this baby with C-3PO.”

C-3PO says, “Madam,” tremulous.

Han/Luke

The Sun in Your Eyes and Starlight in Your Hair by victoriousscarf (T)

Han agreed to help Luke find what he could of the Jedi because the war was over and running away with Luke sounded better than running away by himself.

Still the cats were something he hadn't expected.

Cassian/Jyn

to ashes and stardust wandering_scavenger 

'He is handsome when he isn’t scowling.' She thinks, feeling his nose brush against hers when he shifts ever closer to her. Their eyes remain open—watching each other—memorising their features through the outline of shadows.

This. She has never felt.

A look into the mind of the rebel girl who had lived a life on her own, and had given it willingly at the side of a man she should have hated.

Qui Gon/Obi Wan

Backwards by Valmouth (G)

They do this the wrong way round. First, they start with a padawan...

[miracufic]

...so I enjoyed the recent "Shooting Star" short, but the more I think about it the more weird it gets, at least from a world-building perspective.

I mean, okay. We have a giant robot that's trying to invade Korea. Where the flaming hell is the US Navy? Where the heck is the Air Force? Why the hell, after the first attack, didn't the US park half the Pacific Fleet nearby and a wing or two of our next-generation close air support aircraft within ten minutes of the engagement zone and a couple of submarines to monitor where this kaiju omnic was at all times (I mean, fuck me, a wing of A10 Warthogs could probably wreck this thing's shit, or at least keep it pinned down long enough to make sure that they can destroy it permanently)? The entire point of the US maintaining a military presence in Korea now is that we like having influence in the peninsula, but that's predicated at least partially on the notion that we'll render whatever assistance is reasonably necessary in a military conflict, and I'd assume having a giant-ass omnic trying to murderkill everyone would count. This thing shouldn't have made it out of the second or third major battle before it was met by enough overwhelming firepower to put it down permanently. I mean, for crying out loud, just bring in whatever we've built as a successor to the B52 at this point in the timeline (which is probably a refurbished B52, let's be real), drop a few unguided bunker-busters on it because I am guessing the thing has absurdedly durable armor or something like that and even in that case a bunker-buster will laugh at anything reasonable you could put on that, rinse and repeat until the damn thing stops moving, or just shell the hell out of it with conventional artillery.

For that matter, why the fuck are the only effective antimissile defenses on the MEKAs? Why do they not have a ring of antimissile lasers around every single city near where the omnic attacks at this point? I mean yeah, it's going to be expensive but come on, not even a mobile, maglev-mounted one you can rush to trouble spots? And obviously they can afford to build enough to replace them after the squad's MEKAs get trashed, so that makes even less sense the more I think about it, because then it makes it less likely that they can't afford a couple extra to defend the city.

Also, why the hell is it only these teenaged pro gamers that can defend Korea, and not, y'know, the actual fighter pilots in the actual Korean Air Force? You're telling me that not a single one of them was suitable for retraining?

The entire thing smells of Talon shenanigans, honestly.