#but then it just faded to the title screen and the implication was that they’d just be stuck there til the next plot beat

[planet4546b]

second time in the past few weeks i’ve had a banger dream about what’s gonna happen next in destiny. i should start writing these down

[rafael-silva]

in only a moment’s time: a tarlos fic

Carlos looks over his shoulder and connects some dots in his head. “There’s a flower shop two or three blocks down,” he recalls. “We can save time if I go pick up the ones we want for my mom while you finish here,” he suggests. “Or whoever finishes first can meet up with the other.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” TK agrees and then returns the soft kiss Carlos brushes against his lips. 

*

It was supposed to be a quick in and out at the florist before going to Andrea and Gabriel’s, but Carlos and TK’s day is quickly turned upside down and their plans ruined by a police chase gone wrong. 

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + ambulance ride

major character injury, hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, off duty injury, whump, angst, nonlinear narrative, gun violence, hopeful ending

3.7k | rated T | on ao3

thank you to jamie @firefighterreyes for reading through this and giving me feedback! and the title from I knew this would be love by imaginary future

*****

“You’re okay, Carlos. Stay with me, babe, stay with me,” TK pleads, ignoring how his voice breaks and instead tightens his hold on Carlos’s slack hand.

His bloody slack hand. And TK’s hand is covered in blood, too. It’s covered in Carlos’s blood. TK’s stomach churns and twists in an unnatural way when his eyes move from Carlos’s ashen face and land on the amount of blood coating their joint hands, staining their matching silver bands.

There’s so much blood. Carlos is losing so much blood.

But he doesn’t have much time to think about it because in the next moment, his head is quickly snapping up at the paramedic’s urgent voice. TK watches with horror as Carlos’s vitals drop dangerously and his own heart sinks into his knees.

The ambulance starts to move, the sirens wailing in its wake as they speed towards the hospital. TK watches the paramedic work frantically from the corner of his eye, work to stabilize Carlos but TK can’t really spare him a full glance, his attention solely focused on Carlos.

The officer’s skin is pale and clammy, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and his breaths coming short and quick, fogging up the oxygen mask covering most of his face. Tears build in TK’s eyes, terrified he’s about to lose Carlos.

He feels helpless, he feels that Carlos is slipping right through his fingers and—

No. He can’t lose Carlos. He can’t.

TK can’t help but wonder if there were anything he could have done differently, if anything could have changed this outcome. If anything done differently could have made it so that Carlos wasn’t currently lying on a gurney, barely stable.

TK can’t control his mind when it takes him back in time. When it takes him just thirty minutes back in time, when he and Carlos were walking side by side, holding hands and laughing, the silver spark TK loves glittering in his fiancé’s eyes. And now Carlos is fighting for his life, now TK can’t see that spark and it feels like his own light is slowly fading away…

*****

“We have space in the fridge, right?” Carlos asks, he and TK stopping to stand in line to use the ATM.

TK thinks back for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

“Good, because you know mom will be packing up some food for us to take home with us,” Carlos chuckles. “I think she automatically adds portions for us while she makes lunch.”

TK nods, a smile spreading on his face. “Her food is amazing.”

“It is,” Carlos agrees. “And the food she packs for us lasts a while, makes me think I could stop cooking and we can just have her food.”

“Carlos Reyes, that implication wounds me, don’t you dare stop cooking,” TK gasps, playfully hitting Carlos’s shoulder. “As much as I love your mom’s food, and trust me, I do love your mom’s food, your cooking has a special place in my heart.”

Carlos chuckles again, lifting their connected hands to brush a kiss to TK’s knuckles. “Well, in that case…”

TK’s smile widens, brilliant and bright. “I am excited to have lunch with your parents, it’s been a while.”

It was deemed near impossible for Carlos and TK’s schedules to line up together for a day off in the past month. They’ve both had hectic shifts that seemed to drag and never end, shifts that were always opposite each other. One of them gets home just as the other is about to leave, barely giving them time to spend together. Their time together was either spent taking a quick shower together or having breakfast or dinner before one of them had to dash out the front door with a soft kiss brushed to the other’s lips and a promise of I’ll be careful.

And aside from their frustration at the lack of quality time they had together, they were also pretty down by the fact they couldn’t go over to Andrea and Gabriel’s as it had been established.

Since their engagement, Carlos and TK would go over to the Reyes’ once a week and it had become a ritual all of them loved and looked forward to, until the misalignment of Carlos and TK’s schedules had broken what was becoming their tradition.

They would make it work when their schedules were in sync and even opted for breakfast or brunch when Carlos and TK had shifts on the days that worked best for Andrea and Gabriel. It was important for all four individuals to have that time together, for them to grow even closer and strength their relationship.

There were the infamous Sunday dinners at the Reyes ranch they go to as well, Carlos and TK always happy to see Tia Lucy and the rest of the Reyes family, and the feeling was reciprocated, with the family always happy to see the young couple, too. But they had regrettably missed a few of those, courtesy of their jumbled work lives. TK remembers coming home from shift to find Carlos on the phone with Tia Lucy, promising they’d make it to the first Sunday dinner their schedules allowed for.

And soon, it seemed a higher form was finally in Carlos and TK’s corners and they found themselves at the Reyes ranch the following Sunday.

“Mom and dad are really looking forward to it, too,” Carlos replies. “They really missed having us over. And mom is making your favorite.”

The line moves up just as Carlos’s phone pings in his pocket. He fishes it out and his smile widens at the screen.

“Mom just replied,” he tells TK. “They don’t need us to pick up anything on the way, she says they just want us to hurry over because they miss us.”

TK chuckles. “As soon as this line moves some more.”

Carlos looks over his shoulder and connects some dots in his head. “There’s a flower shop two or three blocks down,” he recalls. “We can save time if I go pick up the ones we want for my mom while you finish here,” he suggests. “Or whoever finishes first can meet up with the other.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” TK agrees and then returns the soft kiss Carlos brushes against his lips.

Carlos squeezes TK’s hand before letting go and making his way down the street, almost speed walking down the block.

TK’s eyes follow Carlos until he disappears down the road and then moves up on more spot in line. He pulls his phone from his jeans back pocket and starts scrolling through his Instagram feed to kill some time while he waits.

TK isn’t sure how much time had passed by when the all-too familiar ring of a shot has TK’s head jerking up so fast he thinks he gives himself whiplash.

And with a sinking feeling, he realizes the sound came from the direction Carlos had walked in.

*****

The ambulance hits a small bump but TK barely feels it. He closes his eyes, sending a prayer that today isn’t the day he loses the love of his life.

He squeezes Carlos’s hand, his heart breaking some more at the lack of response from his fiancé. At the absence of his loving and comforting touch, at the absence of the warmth that always radiates so brightly from him. The warmth that has become TK’s home and his sanctuary.

Part of him is scared beyond words he’ll never get to feel that warmth again.

TK’s a paramedic and he knows Carlos is in rough shape, he knew the moment he found him. He’s seen this so many times, how quickly it happens, how—

TK shakes his head, he’s never given up on Carlos and he isn’t about to start now.

He does his best to expel those intruding thoughts and he faintly registers the paramedic’s voice saying they’re three minutes away from the hospital.

“Stay with me, babe,” TK whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “Please.”

Dread stirs in his stomach when Carlos’s numbers keep dropping, the only response he gets…

*****

Carlos had just finished paying for the bouquet when his ears pick up on the sound of commotion getting louder and louder outside. It’s a stark contrast to how calm and quiet it was when he first made his way to the shop. He frowns, quickly thanking the florist and makes his way out of the store.

The door hasn’t even fully closed behind him yet when he spots three uniformed officers running in his direction, and his eyes track their movement to find a middle aged man running ahead of them. He immediately recognizes him as the perpetrator, and the atmosphere around turns heavy and tense.

His training kicks in and his concern shifts to the civilians standing around. He wants to help get them to safety, to move and guide them away from this chase. There aren’t that many people but it’s still a considerable amount, but they start yelling and dispersing when they notice what’s going on.

It turns into chaos and the fact that any of them can get hurt, that an innocent person can get hurt, powers Carlos’s legs to move. He’s about to speak up while digging his hand into his pocket for his phone to call TK when he spots the gun in the perp’s hands.

The gun that is being waved around and is being aimed at the officers.

He follows the trajectory and Carlos’s eyes go wide when it leads straight to a little girl standing alone in the line of fire, fear etched on her features.

They make eye contact for a moment, Carlos immediately noticing the tears staining her cheeks and her shaking body. His heart pounds harshly against his ribcage and the next thing he knows, he’s in the middle of the sidewalk, directly in the line of fire, his body curled around the little girl and a loud bang is heard.

Everything is still and silent for a few seconds and Carlos doesn’t move.

And then he feels the pain, it comes all at once, spreading and flaring up through his entire body and tears start stinging in his eyes. He draws in a deep breath but the smallest of movements makes the agony worse, makes the fire in his nerves burn hotter and he feels paralyzed. He pushes through it, wanting to make sure the little girl is okay and that no one got hurt. He vaguely recognizes his own voice when he asks her if she’s okay and he only half registers her small nod in response.

His hand goes to the source of the pain and it comes back wet and sticky.

Add pressure, his tired head supplies. He does his best but he has to stifle a groan at the wave of pain that shocks his system.

His vision blurs, the sounds and voices around him fading away, even the ones coming to his aid and the ones yelling to call 911, it all feels so far away now. He sways dangerously to the side, losing his balance and then everything is sideways.

A moment later, his sight narrows and darkness creeps up on him. And his last thought before he gives into the darkness is a name.

TK.

*****

TK hears the paramedic in the front radio dispatch about Carlos’s condition, giving them live updates so the hospital is prepared when they arrive. He’s done that himself so many times, taking updates from Tommy and Nancy and had that back and forth with dispatch but it never had his hands shaking like they are now.

He sucks in a lungful of air and shakily exhales. He leans closer to Carlos, and even though his eyes are closed, TK hopes he can hear him.

“You’re going to be just fine, babe, I’m right here and I promise I’m not going anywhere. We’re almost at the hospital and they’re going to help you and you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” TK sniffs. “You’ll get better and we’ll continue planning the wedding, you know our parents have so many ideas and opinions and we gotta work through all of that together.

A little heavy voice at the back of TK’s head whispers, if you get to have a wedding…

TK silences it.

“I’m pretty sure your mom’s binder for the wedding is now twice the size it was last time,” TK lets out a wet chuckle, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I need you, babe, I need you so much and just…please, please, hang on.”

TK’s hand is still shaking when he reaches out and threads his fingers through Carlos’s soft and loose curls, TK loves them when they run wild. He then brushes a stray curl back from Carlos’s forehead, the same one that falls over the officer’s forehead when he sleeps. He brushes it back in the same manner he does on the rare occasion when he wakes up before Carlos, smiling when Carlos gravitates towards him even in his sleep upon his soft touch.

But Carlos isn’t asleep right now and TK is painfully aware of that fact by how cool Carlos’s skin feels and how still his body is. Carlos isn’t a fidgety sleeper, he doesn’t twist and turn often, he’s quite calm but there are small movements that TK had noticed over the years they've been together, small movements that are Carlos; a soft sigh, a light turn, nuzzling his face against the pillow, an arm tightening around TK’s middle, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way Carlos’s eyes move a bit under his closed lids when he’s dreaming. And all of those little things are absent right now, their absence breaking TK at his core.

He wishes this were a dream, that he’d wake up and they’d be in their bed, safe and sound, wrapped in each other’s arms and he’d get to experience and witness all those little things again. He already misses Carlos’s touch.

But he knows this is reality, because if this were a dream, he would have woken up already.

It’s not a dream, but it is a nightmare.

*****

TK’s legs move on their own accord while his brain works on catching up with what he just heard. The logical side of his head tells him to wait, that maybe running in the direction of danger isn’t the best idea but he pushes it to the side, not giving it another moment of thought. He can’t. He needs to do one thing and that is getting to Carlos, to see him and to make sure he’s okay.

Something in his gut tells him that Carlos isn’t okay and that instinct has him breaking into a full sprint.

It’s easy to spot the group of people gathered around on the sidewalk and TK’s heart plumes into his stomach when he notices the havoc is right in front of the flower shop. He scans the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his fiancé, any sign to tell him that he’s okay, but as the seconds tick by and he gets closer with no sign of Carlos, the hot pit in TK’s stomach gets bigger and bigger.

He knows Carlos would have jumped into action at hearing the gunshot, but he’s worried that that took a turn for the officer. That’s when TK’s eyes catch the blue of Carlos’s shirt through gaps between the crowd, the blue of the shirt TK loves, the blue that’s too close to the ground for it to be anything other than what TK had feared, what he felt in his gut since hearing the shot echo off the buildings and ring in his head.

He can’t control the mix of a gasp and sob that escapes him as he yells Carlos’s name.

“Carlos!” TK’s voice pierces even his own ears. “Let me through! He’s my fiancé!” He pushes through the crowd, fighting to get to Carlos as his heart rages in his chest. “Let me through! I’m a paramedic!”

TK finally breaks through the crowd, spotting the bouquet that’s now on the ground, the flowers scattered and broken. He wastes no time in dropping to his knees next to Carlos and pushing two fingers against his neck. He holds his breath, waiting for that thud…one, two, three. TK’s shoulder slightly sag forward when he finally feels Carlos’s heart beat against his fingers.

He can hear someone on the phone with 911 but it’s in the background, all his attention is on Carlos. The momentary relief at finding a pulse is quickly replaced with fear as TK registers the pool of blood already formed underneath the older man, staining the asphalt crimson.

The blood seeping out of a bullet wound in Carlos’s stomach.

Carlos’s head has lolled to the side, his eyes closed and no, no, no, this isn’t how the day was supposed to go, TK thinks as he clamps down both hands tightly over the wound, ignoring how his stomach twists at the sensation of Carlos’s blood seeping through his fingers.

“Carlos? Carlos, can you hear me?” TK speaks, hoping his voice is steadier than it sounds to him.

He presses down harder and the action has Carlos gasping, his eyes flying open and drawing in a deep breath which is immediately let out through a series of groans.

“Hey, babe, hey, look at me, look at me,” TK guides Carlos, who’s eyes roam around for a few moments before finding TK’s worried ones.

“TK,” Carlos breathes around another groan.

“I’m here, I’m right here, just focus on me,” TK continues, his eyes never leaving Carlos’s.

“Hurts…tired,” Carlos whispers, his eyes beginning to close again.

“No, no, you have to stay awake, babe,” TK doesn’t hold back the panic anymore as it coats his words. “I know it hurts and that you’re tired, but you have to stay awake for me, can you do that?”

And when has Carlos ever been able to refuse TK anything? So he slowly nods, fighting against the pull back into the darkness and focuses on TK.

“‘m sorry…”

TK’s eyebrows knit together. “For what?”

Instead of replying, Carlos uses all the energy he has to lift his hand and places it over TK’s.

TK doesn’t need words to know what Carlos means, to know what Carlos is saying. They don’t need words to understand each other, their connection much deeper than that. TK’s heart breaks some more at the realization that Carlos is saying goodbye.

“Hey, no, no,” TK shakes his head. “Don’t say goodbye, we’re not done yet, you hear me? There’s still so much for us to do together, to experience together and this isn’t the end. It can’t be, I won’t let it be. We can’t lose all that we are and all that we will be. Just stay with me, baby.”

Tears are now streaming freely down TK’s face and he doesn’t move to wipe them and where is the ambulance?

Carlos lets out a shaky sigh and he barely responds when TK’s hands press down even more on his stomach in hopes of controlling the bleeding.

The lack of response from Carlos has TK’s blood running cold.

“I’m scared,” Carlos’s voice breaks, the tears swimming in his eyes bringing out the brown of his irises.

“I’m right here, I’ll be right by your side, I’m not going anywhere,” TK is quick to reassure him. “I won’t let go.”

Carlos blinks and sends a tear rolling down the side of his face, disappearing into his hair.

“Can you…” Carlos starts but pauses to breathe. “My parents…they…our day…”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it, I promise. And we’ll have plenty more days with them. Just save your strength, okay?”

And then the air around them is filled with the sound of incoming sirens, far away but getting closer by the second.

“You hear that, babe? Help is almost here,” TK says and moves to plant a kiss to Carlos’s forehead. “Hold on, babe, hold on,” he whispers against Carlos’s skin. “I love you so much.”

“Love…you,” Carlos replies with a hitch in his voice.

And when TK pulls back and looks down, Carlos’s eyes had drifted shut.

“No, no,” TK’s tone is laced with desperation and fear. “Open your eyes, Carlos, open your eyes…baby…”

He doesn’t hold back the wail that tears through his throat when Carlos’s eyes eyes remain closed.

TK still fights against the thought that Carlos had said goodbye.

*****

It’s a fury of action when the ambulance comes to a halt at the Emergency Room entrance. The doors are ripped open and a doctor and two nurses are standing by the rig. The information starts rolling off the paramedic’s tongue as he gives them a rundown of Carlos’s condition and injury.

TK is frozen in place, hearing the words but they’re not quite sinking in as the other paramedic jumps out of the front and rounds the ambulance. The two paramedics get Carlos out and TK watches as they push the gurney into the ER, moving quickly through the sliding door and through the hallways. TK knows he should follow but he still can’t get himself to step out of the ambulance.

Instead, he repeats the words he heard over and over in his head.

Vitals low but stabilized, bleeding controlled…

He feels his knees go weak and scared he’s going to topple over, he falls back onto the small cushioned seat.

He thinks about the promise he made Carlos and suddenly his phone feels very heavy in his pocket. He knows he has to make that call, he knows it’s going to break his heart all over again and he doesn’t know if he can get through that call without breaking down. But he will pull his phone out of his pocket. He will dial the number but right now, he can’t tear his gaze away from his closed fist. After what feels like an eternity, he slowly opens his palm and a choked sob echoes inside the ambulance.

TK stares at the ring sitting in his hand, Carlos’s ring.

He tilts his hand and the sun catches the engraved words written inside, Yours forever

He closes his hand again and brings his fist to rest over his heart, feeling it thump against his own skin.

TK prays he’ll get to slip the ring back onto Carlos’s finger and Carlos will reply with the smile that’s reserved for only him.

And eight days later, he does and the smile Carlos gives him brings the light back into TK’s world.

[theonceoverthinker]

Signs Clover Might Come Back

So if you’ve been reading this little blog for any amount of time since the end of the last year, you’d know I’ve had RWBY, Fair Game, and Clover Ebi on the brain. And if you’d been reading it for any amount of time since late January, then you’d know that both I and a lot of other people really, really, really hated the ultimate handling of each of those things following the release of 7X12.

But I’m not here to go off about that episode today (Though I still have PLENTY more to say on that front).

No, I’m here to look forward towards the upcoming volume with something a bit more optimistic (Given some of those quotes from the 7X12 commentary that have recently come to light and the possibility of a V8 trailer tomorrow, we could all use that right about now).

Volume 8 is about a month away, and with it, a large amount of the Fair Game/Clover Ebi community as well as myself are hoping Clover will be resurrected as a result of something we call the Staff of Creation Theory. 

Look, I probably don’t have to explain this to anyone reading this post, but just in case, the tldr of the theory is that the Staff of Creation will cease holding Atlas up and since it’s able to create, it just might be able to bring back the deceased as a form of recreation (I.E. Clover). I’ve made a theory or two about how it could work in the context of straight up execution, but again, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

So -- incredibly long intro aside -- what AM I here to talk about?

Well, as the title states I want to talk about the signs that we can look for in V8 prior to any resurrection that can reasonably suggest that Clover might come back.

My overall thoughts on whether Clover will actually come back or not basically come down to a coin flip at this point. Trace amounts of evidence both in some of the animation from V7 and implications of comments heard here and there give off a real sense that he just might be revived after all, but then again, the writers have done little lately to inspire a lot of faith in me, and a large amount of my distrust with RT is that we had a lot more to go on that 7X12 wasn’t going to be...well, 7X12 before 7X12 was 7X12.

(Jenna, come on, you said you weren’t going to rant about it...)

MOVING ON!

Anyway, I compiled a brief list of realistic ideas that could happen in the context of Volume 8 (And its marketing, merch, etc.) before the theoretical resurrection as a means of foreshadowing it, as well as a brief explanation as to my reasonings for believing them to be meaningful and possible executions they could take in their implementations. Anything is on the table here, so now that this incredibly long intro that somehow got even longer is done, let’s get going!

List under the cut!

1. Clover appearing ANYWHERE in the V8 intro. Simply put, dead people tend to not show up in the RWBY intros following their passing. Maybe their graves will show up, as they have with Summer, but that’s about it. But even outside of that trend, Clover appearing in Volume 8′s intro would put some nice power in the theory’s corner. I don’t even think he necessarily has to be in it himself (though I absolutely want him to). Giving any amount of significant screen time to the pin would (while not as good for us as actually showing off Clover himself) still be a point in our favor of Clover’s importance to the characters. I could see this happening in two ways. First, if it’s not Clover appearing, but the pin, we could have Qrow looking at or wearing the pin and then the camera doing a closeup of it (Hopefully without the blood). Second, if it IS Clover appearing (And if he does appear in the intro, I’d say his chances of returning will be up significantly since they’re bothering to animate not just the pin, but Clover’s face/entire body), Clover could be dragged away from Qrow in sort of an abstract nightmare-ish thing akin to the visual of Qrow drinking in V6 directly. In both cases, they’d be followed by a transition to something relevant to his resurrection would be the real money ticket.

Transitions...

Now, the specifics of this as it pertains to Clover will be explained in the next point, but what you need to know right now is that transitions are incredibly important. Simply put, the sequences of events, especially as they exist in and pertain to large ensemble casts like the one we have in RWBY because so many things are happening simultaneously, are important. They have the ability to convey narrative insights; story beats can be glimpsed off of them and themes can be established or deconstructed by the order of plot and story points. 

What are those things that it would be really good to transition to after mentioning/showing Clover/Clover’s pin?

I am SO glad you asked, because I’m about to get to it!

2. Any mention of the sentiment of “dead is dead” in the context of Clover’s death followed by a transition to something that calls that very idea into question. Here we go. 

I’m of the mindset that we could be witnessing some very nice foreshadowing of a Clover revival if during a mention of Clover, something that’s said by someone (Qrow, Ironwood, Robyn, the Ace Ops) that’s akin to “there’s no way he can come back” or “dead is dead” is IMMEDIATELY followed by one the following things: The Staff of Creation itself or just the door to the staff’s vault, Penny or Ozpin (Formerly dead characters now resurrected, Penny being the current Winter Maiden and the only one able to access the staff) doing pretty much anything, or the base of the floating city and the blue magic under it. ANY of these things (And probably one or two others because I’m only one man here) carry with them a heaping helping of foreshadowing, the universe itself telling us not to count our chickens before they hatch. I can see this happening via a hard cut or a fade between the character mentioning Clover (Or Clover’s pin) and the aforementioned element.

The reason why I place such emphasis on these transitions is because without them, bringing up Clover or Clover’s mortality (or present lack thereof) only has a narrative function of quelling any hopes of him being revived, a proverbial twisting of the knife, if you will.

3. ”No hetero”-ing the Jailbirds ship/separating them as quickly as possible. A worrying point for many of us has been the possibility that with Clover absent and killed off in a way that seemingly showed that Clover and Qrow were too opposite each other to make it work, that Qrow and Robyn (Now off to prison together) could possibly become a thing. I think doing something to ensure audiences right off the bat that that’s not a concern anyone needs to have will do a little something to show that RT at least listened to the clear dislike the ship received from the get go (No offense intended if you do ship it, but it is what it is and both components of Jailbirds are shipped far more with other characters, and for good reason). Moreover, getting rid of the chance of Jailbirds off the bat might show that Qrow’s romantic future is still up in the air, possibly for a revived Clover to come back and be a part of. This can be done in a number of ways -- canonizing Springthyme, getting Robyn and Qrow out of jail and separated ASAP, canonizing Qrow’s romantic love for Clover, etc. The quicker this is done, the more I’d be willing to believe we could see Clover’s return.

4. Not just Marrow being shown contemplating deflecting from Ironwood. This one’s a little hard to explain, so follow me.

Prior to Clover’s death, Neath Oum made a Tweet that pointed out how odd it was that there were five Ace Ops in a world geared towards the number four (Four people on a team, Maidens, relics, kingdoms, etc). If this sentiment is to remain true with a Clover revival, something’s got to give to even out the inherently weird setup of the Ace Ops’ odd number (Pun intended). 

Look, if Clover’s coming back, then they’re not gonna make him a villain because it wouldn't make sense (Even with the garbage logic of 7X12). So that means that they have to make a big change regarding either just Clover or all of the other Ace Ops.

This can happen a number of ways. Clover can come back and take the place of the (possibly) deceased Summer Rose on STRQ (Best case scenario imho because it leaves the Ace Ops open to a redemption), another Ace Op can die (I REALLY don’t want it to be this), or Clover can back and deflects...but not alone, and that last point is the only one with real potential foreshadowing from the Ace Ops. 

Obviously, Marrow’s the one Ace Op everyone thinks will turn against Ironwood, especially with the reveal of Clover’s death to the Ace Ops now an inevitability. He’s going to have a reaction to that, and probably the biggest of his team’s. However, here’s the thing: If just Marrow deflects, that makes one member by himself (Or two if Clover comes back and joins with him) and a team of three. That absolutely doesn’t work with that sentiment of four being the central number of the show, either (Unless even more characters are thrown into the mix and...no...just no…). So if Marrow leaves the Ace Ops, I don’t think it will be alone.

Once again, there’s a couple of ways this could go. One of the remaining could be actually villainized to make space for Clover back on the main team (Harriet would be my most likely prediction because of that exchange she and Marrow had about killing team RWBY), or (ideally) all of them could deflect and create a hybrid of my first and third idea: Clover goes off to join Qrow, Raven, and Tai while Marrow, Elm, Harriet, and Vine stay as the Ace Ops (Maybe under a new team name).

The signs to look out for of this happening are bigger reactions from the non-Marrow Ace Ops than they’ve shown in the series up to this point (With the exception of 7X12), the Ace Ops mourning together and even growing closer during that mourning, or statements of doubt from the rest of the team regarding Ironwood’s plan or just Ironwood’s leadership as well.

5. Any marketing regarding Qrow mourning Clover. Why market a setup to something that doesn’t have a payoff? If Clover’s as unimportant as he was claimed to be, then showing Qrow mourn wouldn’t have a point, after all, right? So why do it? Perhaps because there’s something on its way. I’m just saying, if you see the official RWBY Twitter make a post of Qrow forlornly looking at Clover’s pin or putting on the pin, or a tweet that quotes the kind of “dead is dead” line I mentioned back in point 2, there might be more to it than the surface might have us believe. I’m not telling you to expect anything because as I said, my hope is not especially high right now either, but I will say that that could be a real sign.

6. Ace Ops merchandise with all five of them. A few months ago, a shirt of all five of the Ace Ops popped up on the RT shop. This set off an alarm bell or two in my head because why sell a shirt of a team that ended the previous volume with one member dead and the other four of them cast off to the side as basically secondary villains? I know people like the Ace Ops, but it was still a really weird merch choice. It was especially jarring because in that same wave of merch, the team ORNJ shirt was revealed, and that was effectively a spoiler since that team hadn’t officially formed yet (Just implied, but other teams like RNJR were given their team name on screen). However, I acknowledge that that could all just be a fluke. BUT, if we see more of this kind of thing during V8...you never know, right? 

7. Tyrian bringing up Clover a LOT. I can’t fully explain this one, but while Tyrian seemed to realize Clover’s importance to Qrow, him bragging about it a lot prior to or during his and Qrow’s inevitable next showdown would be a really solid potential mark in the Clover comes back column (If he’s not already back by the time this happens, of course).

So there you go -- a few signs that might be present if we really are going to get Clover back. Maybe getting all of these ideas together is just a means of working out my senses of hope and doubt as V8 grows closer -- it absolutely is (Especially after reading some of those commentary quotes -- YIKES). Maybe this will help someone who feels the same way I do cope as well. Whatever this was, I hope it makes things easier. 

[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 12: All I Want for Christmas

***

Author’s note: Hiiiiii, so I honestly have no idea what happened to the post scheduled for earlier, but Tumblr has always been a little b*tch so I’m not surprised lmao. This version isn’t as well edited as the one that disappeared, so please excuse any slips (it’s late and I’m kind of drunk so teehee). ANYWAY! Happy Holidays, everyone! Thank you so much for everything you do for me. From the bottom of my heart, I love you all :’)

***

Masterlist

***

Saturday December 13, 2008

With the holiday season comes all things festive; from brilliant and twinkling lights wrapped around post lamps, to an army of nutcracker statuettes that line town square, and finally that wishful little mistletoe hung above a few select archways and unsuspecting doorframes. There’s a different attitude that floats in the air during this time of year, an unexplainable elation swirled in with a dash of mild intensity.

You’ll never see more people in one place than at the mall, when everyone is on a mission to find that perfect gift, maybe even the perfect outfit for the office Christmas party with the cheap wine, or something of a school dance that may or may not be the social event of the year (unless you’re a senior, then prom is most definitely the only thing to look forward to).

“Why can’t I see it?” Harry pouts, peeking into the gaps of the brown Bloomingdale’s paper bag. 

She rolls her eyes; this is probably the eighth time in twenty minutes he’s asked her. For some reason he’d been under the impression that he’d get to see her try it on. Much to his dismay (but to her amusement), however, it had been a quick and easy pick up from the alterations department on the third floor. “Because I’m your girlfriend, and I said you can’t.”

Harry frowns slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t really see a correlation between those two statements, although. . .” He backs her against a wall, hands finding their place on the curves of her hips. A cheeky grin replaces his former expression, dimples making their indents on either side of his mouth. “I do like it when you call yourself my girlfriend.” 

Humming, she tilts her head to the side and wraps her arms around his middle. He swallows when she grazes the tip of her nose to his, his mouth parting in anticipation. They’re close enough that he can easily smell her strawberry lip balm. “Yeah?” she speaks meekly. The radiant look in her eyes makes his heart beat thrice its usual rhythm. He nods in response, just about ready to lean down.

Of course, timing has never been their strongest point, and Harry’s phone rings annoyingly from the pocket of his North Face. He sighs, dropping his head down, eyes squeezing shut when he sees the name lit up on the screen. “Are you gonna answer that, or should I?” Y/n giggles, snatching his cell from between his fingers. He shakes his head and pleads her not to pick it up, but she flips the cover open and brings it right to her ear. “Hi, Anne!” 

There’s a string of mumbles from under his breath. He had assumed that they’d be free from interruptions once they’d finally gotten together, but time and time again (an average of three times a week, he’s noticed) there’s always someone out to mess with him. The other day, Mason had squirmed his way between them while they were cuddled up under her favorite fluffy blanket, and Harry had only taken notice when he turned to peck her on the cheek only to end up with half his face covered in peanut butter frosting (his girlfriend––and he really can’t stress enough how happy the title makes him––thought it was absolutely hilarious).

“Yeah, we’re just about finished. . .” She playfully pushes his face to the side when he gives her another pout. “Okie dokie, we’ll be out in a sec. . .see you in a bit!” The call ends with the clap of the main screen against the keypad. She gives him a toothy grin and rises to the tips of her toes to press a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth. “Let’s go?” 

***

She’s on her bed when Cici barges into her room, a tote full of clothes hanging off her shoulder that she then drops by the closet door. “Where’s your knight with shining curls?” her best friend snorts as she plops herself down on her bed. She’d texted earlier saying that she would be hiding at the Y/l/n residence to escape the arrogance of her visiting aunt’s family. 

Y/n looks up from flipping through her latest issue of Teen Vogue. “I think he should be here quarter of.” He’d left over two hours ago to help his mom and sister decorate their Christmas tree. 

“I see you got your dress,” Cici notices, reaching for the bag by her nightstand. She pulls the stapled edges apart with an approving look from Y/n, then pulls out the garment until the bag falls back to the floor. “Oh damn!” she whistles, kneeing the mattress as she holds it up. “Has Harry seen this yet?”

“I’ve literally done everything in my power to avoid that,” she mutters, falling back against her pile of pillows. The implications of not going to the dance with her boyfriend hadn’t registered with her until yesterday when Zoey had showed him the exact corsage that she wanted him to get her. Now she feels almost sick thinking about Zoey’s perfectly manicured and deadly nails racking around her boyfriend’s body while she forces him to dance. And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want Harry to see her dress just yet, she wants to surprise him the day of because the petty part of her wants to send Zoey a clear message. 

Cici snorts loudly, laying down next to her, and both girls just stare up at the ceiling. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you should just go together. So, what if a few people get butt hurt? Do you really want to see that bitch try to make moves on him?” 

“Obviously not, but. . .” she lets out a long sigh. “Jasper.” She keeps having to remind herself that she’s Jasper’s date, and it just wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to be an absent companion. “He keeps saying how excited he is for this, and I don’t know Ci. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t want to go formal with him, let alone that the reason being that I want to go with my boyfriend of what? Two weeks now?” She’s given this whole lot of thought, really, she has! Sure, the easiest solution would be to call off her date with Jasper, but she doesn’t want him to think that he was only a stand in for Harry until they finally admitted their feelings. No one should be subjected to that kind of impairing thought. 

“You’re being way being too nice––maybe the pope will canonize you one day. ‘Saint Y/n’ patron saint of the criminally kind.” 

She pulls a pillow from behind and whacks the side of her friend’s head, who then whacks her back with just as much force. “Stop being so dramatic, this isn’t Gossip Girl.”

“And it’s a travesty,” Cici tuts, but her eyes start to twinkle as she loses herself in thought. “If it were, I’d be Mrs. Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald by now. Don’t you think Chace Crawford and I would make the most beautiful babies?”

“They’ll have the best eyebrows, that’s for sure.”

“Right!?”

***

Friday December 19, 2008

The last day before the winter formal––and furthermore the last day until winter break–– and it’s all the students of Ashwood can talk about. At every turn, all that can be heard is who’s attending with who or what designer their dress is from. Almost all of their classes have resorted to study halls since apparently no one can stay focused for more than five minutes at a time, which really is stupid since midterms are scheduled only two weeks after they come back. 

On the plus side, since they’re screening Home Alone 2 in Spanish, it at least distracts the rest of the class while she and Harry giggle to themselves in the back-left corner of the room. During the beginning of their relationship, they had at least tried to remain discreet so as to avoid all the theories of conspiracy from the school’s notorious gossips over at the Ashwood Almanac. As the final days of the year dwindle down, however, all precautions to keep everything on the down-low have disintegrated, and they’ve probably shared a few not-so-private (though none have ever been in front of a grand audience. . .about five people, max) smooches when they part ways after a long history lesson with Mr. Noone.  

“As in right in the nuts?” he laughs through the question, his arm wrapped around the back of her chair as his fingers tread through loose locks. She’s telling him all about how Mason had thrown a snowball, which had actually ended up having a moderately sized rock lodged in there somehow, directly between Jeremy’s legs. And yeah, he does feel bucket loads of sympathy because he can’t even count how many times he’s had a football to the groin in his years of being an athlete, but he’s more so charmed by how animated she is when she talks about her family.  

“I don’t know how he did it, but then Dad went completely cross-eyed when it hit him. Like this.” For a split second, she’s able to mimic his reaction and it has him trying to contain his amusement with her shoulder before Señora Gustavo can scold them for being too disruptive. 

After a few moments settled within a comfortable silence, enough time for them to let Jeremy’s many woes fade from consciousness, their eyes meet again, and he just smiles at her. It’s one of those sappy lovesick smiles that would have surely made her knees buckle had she not already been sitting down. 

“So, Mum’s Christmas Eve party, you’re all going, right?” he asks, his thumb grazing the side of her arm. For as long as he can remember, Anne’s been hosting this party every year without fail. He supposes it started when she and his dad were still together––maybe even before then––since he’s seen pictures from the early nineties before even Gemma was born. Even when they’d moved to the States, his mum has always been the sociable sort, so during that first year away from Holmes Chapel had been filled with the company of their neighbors and over a dozen of her colleagues. This time around, Harry’s excitement is beyond a scale’s capacity because his granddad is flying in to celebrate with them. After all their long phone calls, he’ll finally be able to introduce him to the girl he’s been gushing over for months. 

Y/n nods eagerly. “And I already know what I’m making,” she says. There were a few options that she toyed with before falling asleep until ultimately deciding on one special dessert that she sure hopes will be a crowd pleaser come the 24th. It’s something that in theory she knows how to make, but it’ll require a few test runs and backups since she’s aiming for nothing less than perfection. “Your mom mentioned it during Thanksgiving, so I really hope she’ll like it!”

“Don’t want you going through too much trouble. Mum will like anything you make. Went on and on about those pumpkin spice cookies you brought around the house Sunday.” 

“I know, but. . .” Her lips curl inward and trap themselves between her teeth. She looks down into her lap, fingers messing with a stray thread where her skit had been hemmed. “I just. . .I don’t know. Do you think she’s mad––okay, not mad, but you know. . .annoyed––at me for the whole Jasper-Zoey thing? You keep saying it isn’t, but it’s a hundred percent my fault that we’re not going together.”   

“Baby, no. Don’t say that,” Harry frowns, and he doesn’t realize the new endearment to have tumbled off the tip of his tongue. “This whole dance thing doesn’t mean anything anyway, and it definitely doesn’t change this.” He gestures between the two of them, a lopsided smile spread from cheek to cheek. 

Her eyes narrow as she crosses her arms. “You’re being all cheesy because you want me to kiss you again.”

A loud scoff erupts from the back of his throat, and Señora Gustavo glares up from her laptop to give him another warning. There’s a moment when his face impersonates annoyance (but his arm still remains around her frame), and he begrudgingly turns his attention to Kevin McCallister wreaking havoc on his two unmatched foes. She does the same, but from the corner of her eye she sees the way his mouth plays with his words. In her head, she counts backwards from five, holding in a smirk as the numbers dwindle down. Harry pouts to himself, before he turns back to her. 

“Are my chances high, at least?”  

***

Saturday December 20, 2008 

“Sweetheart, you look so beautiful!” Liv gushes as she brushes Y/n’s hair back, standing behind her in front of the vanity’s mirror. Y/n looks at herself carefully, her lips pulled up but pressed firmly together. The day has finally arrived, and she doesn’t think she can feel any more anxious than she does right now. Half her hair is pulled back while the rest is curled into the soft waves that fall just beneath her shoulders. Her dress is hung to the side, the sequins almost blinding as they reflect in the bathroom light. 

They’d spent the last two hours doing her hair and makeup, which Liv had insisted she do herself since aside from dentistry and orthodontics, is probably her second passion in life. There’s a story she always likes to tell, about how she’d worked for a beauty salon during college for some extra cash but had ended up staying all four years because she found the whole transformation process to be exciting for both herself and her clients.

“I remember my first high school dance,” her mom continues, and she takes the dress off the hanger and signals for Y/n to stand up. “Now, my dress wasn’t nearly as form-fitting as yours. I mean, what do you expect from the 80s?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head as she remembers exactly what she wore in her freshman year. Y/n braces herself against the wall as she steps into the pooled dress. “Philip Russo had asked me, and boy oh boy, was he something.”

Y/n snorts as she holds the lace fabric to her chest. “Does Dad know you still think about your high school boyfriend?”

Liv rolls her eyes, zipping the back up with one firm pull. “Oh of course, I talk about him every night before bed. You know what, honey? If I hadn’t met you, I would probably be living in Austin with Philip Russo and our seven kids. It makes for great pillow talk.”

“Did someone call me?” Jeremy’s voice calls from the master bedroom. Followed by his much shorter shadow, he saunters into the bathroom. 

Mason scampers past his dad and wraps his arms around his sister’s legs. “You look like a princess!” he giggles, picking at one of the beads. 

“You really think so, Mase?” she smiles, cupping his cheeks in her hand so he can look up at her. 

The little boy nods furiously. “Yeah! And that means Harry’s your prince, right? Because the prince and princess always kiss each other, right? You and Harry kissed yesterday! I saw it!” He even looks to Liv for support. “Right, Mommy?”

Y/n digs her nails into her palms. The three of them had agreed to keep Mason upstairs when Jasper picks her up just to avoid all awkwardness if her brother wonders where Harry might be. That’s not to say that her parents are completely on board with the idea of this bizarre arrangement. Jeremy had been quite vocally against it because he much rather send his daughter off with a boy he’s come to know and like, rather than. . .well, he’s never met this other boy, so that’s already a red flag in his book. 

“Now what I want to know is why you were snooping on your sister and Harry, huh?” she counters, hands on her hips and toe tapping with parental flare. 

“Because Daddy said I have to keep an eye on them when he’s not home.”

Jeremy’s jaw just drops. “You little traitor,” he grumbles, glaring down at his son. “I told you not to tell the girls about our little secret.”

“Secret secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone!”

“Enough out of you.” Jeremy lifts the boy up and places him over his shoulder. It’s now that he’s able to get a good look at his daughter, his not so little girl. Y/n notices a glisten in his eyes the longer he studies her.

“Dad,” she whines, “remember you said you wouldn’t be dramatic?” 

“I know, I know, but. . .” He twirls her around, a couple times before taking in her full image once more. “First, it's just a school dance, then it’s your wedding day. Jesus Christ, I’m getting old.”

***

The theme of this year’s winter formal is Winter Wonderland, and despite its cliché nature, student council and the decorations committee had managed to transform the events hall into somewhat of a festive paradise. There’s fake snow falling gracefully in the backdrop at the photographer’s station, where some of the more smitten couples strike their cutest poses as their arms wrap around the other’s figures. Dressed to the nines in their best attire, a few students are already swaying to the DJ’s soundtrack, while others mingle in groups by the punch bowl. 

Harry is somewhat part of the latter category, his one hand occupied with his untouched beverage, the other buried deep in his pocket as he stands stiffly at Zoey’s side. She’s bragging about the price tag on her dress, gushing over how her daddy bought it right from the designer himself. “And he totally gave me his number and said I could stop by the New York office any time.”

“Bunch of bollocks,” Harry snorts into his cup, the fruity red liquid just barely grazing his top lip. 

Zoey turns around, a sickeningly sweet and glossy smile greeting him. “What was that?” she asks, far too perky in her mannerisms, in his opinion.   

“Nothing.” He takes a long sip for no other reason than to keep himself distracted. It works for a few more minutes, with him only participating in their conversation when he’s directly addressed, or if Zoey wants another damn refill of water. 

Now, he isn’t quite sure what had possessed him to ask Zoey, of all the girls he could have chosen, to the dance. It was right after Y/n had told him she’d be going with Jasper, and he’d gone outside to clear his head. Who was the first (okay, second, but Señora Gustavo does not count) person he’d run into? The decision had been made in a split second, and for fuck’s sake his biggest regret is not taking a few more to think about it. 

“Harry!” He turns on his heel at the call of his name, the first genuine smile of the night cheering up his downcast features when he sees Cici and Maxxie arrive through the doors. Excusing himself, he all but runs to them, enveloping both in a hug that’s filled with every bit of relief. 

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs. “She’s driving me up the walls.” 

Cici looks over his shoulder, brow raised as she glares at the redhead. “Are those next season’s Christian Louboutin’s? Unbelievable!”

“Jealousy is not a good look on you,” Maxxie teases, poking her side. “I’m not jealous. Just annoyed that the nasty ones always get first serve. And it’s honestly super annoying that she looks kind of good.”

“She’s beautiful. . .” Harry says suddenly, and both Maxxie and Cici gasp at his confession. The latter smacks his chest, and steam practically flares from her nostrils because she’s always had that protective instinct. Maxxie is more sensible, however, and he follows the line of Harry’s gaze right the source. It’s then he takes it upon himself to turn their friend around.

“What are you–”

It’s a scene right out of a movie as Y/n steps through the door, gently shielding her eyes as one of the moving spotlights casts down on her. Her dress reflects a light just as strong, and it manages to catch the attention of a majority of those around. She searches for something, fingers fiddling at her front as she looks unsurely through the room. It’s when she sees the three of them that she smiles widely. 

“Guys!” she waves to them, lifting the skirt of her dress as she jogs over. “Oh my gosh, Ci! You look amazing!” she squeals, hugging her friend. 

“I know.” Cici has never been one to maintain modesty, but it’s one of the reasons why Y/n loves her. “But look at you! Oh my god, you look like Hilary Duff.”

“That seems to be the consensus apparently,” she blushes. She gives Maxxie a kiss on the cheek, giggling when he whispers something in her ear. It earns him a pinch to his side, and he playfully huffs as he directs himself and Cici to one of the empty tables. 

It just leaves her and Harry. 

He has to resist the urge to reach out.

“You look. . .wow,” he’s at a loss for words. 

Her eyes fall to their feet. “Still trying to get that kiss, I see.” And maybe she wishes she didn’t have to pretend like she doesn’t want to. It happens so quickly that she would’ve missed it she wasn’t paying any attention. His lips press against hers in a kiss. . .or maybe more appropriately a peck. But as her eyes flutter open, she’s met with a cheeky smile to top off an expression that constantly reminds her how in love she is with the boy in front of her. 

***

She thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to see Zoey hang off her boyfriend like some pathetic sloth until right at this very moment. And she knows she shouldn’t let it all get to her because Harry had assured her over a dozen times over the phone that she’d be the only person he’ll be paying any attention to, but she really can’t help but feel mildly insecure. She hasn’t even had the chance to tell him how handsome he looks because Zoey had abruptly whisked him away as soon as Mariah Carey had started playing through the speakers. Take that, and the fact that Jasper had finally found his way to her after he’d talked to a few friends by the entrance. 

The car ride here had been a bit awkward, if she’s being honest. Jeremy hadn’t been so successful in keeping Mason upstairs, and the little boy had even been the one to open the door because he had been anticipating a completely different face. “You’re not–” Luckily, Liv had been there to cover his mouth before he could say anything more. “Kids! Am I right?” And after a few quick snaps from her mom’s camera, they were off in his dad’s SUV, both sat in the back seat with the middle completely empty. There was some small talk, mostly questions of ‘are you excited’ or ‘hopefully the food is good’ and whatnot. She had tried her best, she really had, to keep things light and non bothersome, but she can sense that he knows something’s up.

“Hey,” she touches Jasper’s arm. “I’m just gonna go to the ladies’ room.” 

***

When she walks out of the bathroom, she feels herself being whisked to the side. Before she can let out a yelp, she catches a whiff of his familiar scent, and it’s enough to soothe her panic. 

“Are you crazy?” she giggles, looking down at the other end of the hall. “We’re supposed to be in there.” 

Harry shrugs nonchalantly before leaning his forehead against hers. “Just a little.”

“Thank god we got that settled then.” She lets her hands fall into his hair, loving the way his soft brown curls feel in the slope between her fingers. For the first time tonight, she feels completely at ease as their bodies sway gently to the echo of a song. “Hi,” she whispers.

It’s then he gives her a proper embrace, holding her as close to him as he can, letting everything around them fade into the back of his mind.

“Hi.” He buries his nose into her hair. “I’m sorry this is how we have to share our first dance.” 

He then pulls away just enough to look into her eyes, his heart swelling when she cups his face and presses a long kiss to his lips. The hold he has around her waist tightens as he deepens it further. 

“It’s okay,” she answers when she breaks free in need of air. She giggles as she swipes his mouth of any traces of her lip gloss. “I’m actually surprised you were able to get away from your date.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry lets out a humorless snort that she happens to find greatly entertaining. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. I had to make up some excuse about how my stomach was feeling all out of sorts when I saw you walk out. Figured it was the perfect opportunity to get my girl alone. Plus. . .” He directs her gaze above, and she can’t help but laugh when she sees a mistletoe hung above them. Without missing a beat, his lips find their way back to hers.

***

Come talk to me about our babies!

[zixzs-ajk]

As expected, he was a bit of a wimp.

Maybe "wimp" was a bit harsh. Ralsei was still a Delta Warrior, after all. Saying he was a wimp was just an old habit Susie had yet to work on (or even really acknowledge). He was just… well, "squeamish" was probably a better way of putting it. Despite his status as the de-facto medic of the three, making sure everyone was healthy and prepared to avoid battle, Ralsei tended to avoid the more grotesque or ghastly sights of blood like the plague. Couldn't even handle a bit of cartoonish dismemberment, poor guy.

Susie also had to remember she had a bit of a leg up on him in that regard, too. Who knew how many R-rated slashers she snuck under the radar by now. That was also a bit of a habit, hence why she'd decided one such movie was a perfectly acceptable introduction to modern films for Ralsei. Didn't have a second thought about the conflict, really. At least Kris didn't seem to care one way or the other.

Well, maybe they did. Susie didn't hear either complaint or approval at her choice of movie. She did hear Ralsei's apprehensions when the comically bloody title card had faded in, and until that point, was ready to sit back and watch the carnage. Now she was ready for… well, she didn't really know, she guessed. Point was, she wasn't expecting Ralsei's aversion to slashers, but actively thinking about it, the case made sense. Even if it was kind of a downer.

To Ralsei's credit, he wasn't particularly vocal about his unease. They'd settled in about a half hour ago, letting the grainy audio of the television fill in the otherwise silent night. Not even the neighbors' lights were on, leaving only the brightness of the screen as some kind of illumination. More often than not, that left the spacious living room they sat in bathed in a deep crimson on account of "Blood-Knife III" being primarily about blood. Real shocker, there.

Kris, sitting atop the couch, seemed confident that their father wouldn't find out about what exactly three high-schoolers thought was an appropriate viewing experience. Susie didn't even know if their dad was in the house or out on some errand. As long as they didn't have any interruptions, she couldn't care less.

Susie had sat on the opposite end of the couch at first, chowing down on the combination of stolen popcorn and candy she'd thrown together (a classic of hers). She had decided that maybe if Kris and Ralsei weren't total dorks, then, maybe she might have potentially thought to get a bit more of her movie-going snackage on, if she hypothetically wanted to share. Or she just wanted an extra helping of food for herself. Unfortunately, the biggest bowl Kris had still wasn't enough, and for every fistful of popcorn and candy she yanked from the bowl, about half a fistful spilled out onto the floor. Hence why Susie was now sitting there instead. Didn't want that stuff to go to waste.

Ralsei had sat in the middle back when Susie hadn't noticed the recurring avalanche of lost snacks, and seemed quite happy, at first. Not only was he getting introduced to one of the most entertaining things since toilet paper, but he was spending time with his two best friends. There was a definite sentiment that he was more than eager to make a note of. Somehow, it actually sounded endearing to Susie. Not that she told him as much, but still. It was pleasant enough that she'd offered her bowl of mixed treats, to which he happily obliged. So, thinking back on it, that must've been why he'd joined her on the ground when she moved there earlier with the bowl.

Then when it came to actually watching the movie, Susie had the odd thought that food wasn't his only motivator.

For the most part, Ralsei had been quiet after realizing what kind of movie Susie had chosen for everyone. It was one of the older ones, where most of the effects were cheap plastic masks and an excess of "blood" in every scene, so Susie had treated it as more of a comedy than anything else. Ralsei, though, didn't quite find the humor in how pathetically bad the movie portrayed itself. He simply sat there, occasionally wincing whenever the more "in-your-face" shots were shoved on the television screen. A couple glances at him told Susie enough. Every few minutes, she'd look over to Ralsei to see him curl up tighter and tighter into the slightly oversized shirt they'd found for him.

It was kind of… endearing. To look at.

Somehow.

What dampened the agreeable feeling was his expression. Not necessarily displeased, but more… scared. With the movie being as laughably over-the-top as it was, Susie couldn't immediately get why seeing some grainy splotch of red and black with a rubber machete covered in ketchup was unnerving. But again, she had to remember the gap of experience she and Ralsei had with this kind of movie. During one of the quieter scenes, she leaned to the side, mumbling through a mouthful of popcorn.

"'s not real, y'know," she told Ralsei, her tone deadpan. Ralsei about jolted from her voice, probably being captured by the movie's silence prior. He hummed, loosening his posture with that continually perturbed grimace. Then he nodded with what he probably hoped was a casual shrug. It wasn't too convincing.

"I-I know," he said back. One of his hands moved to adjust his glasses. Susie grunted with a much more authentic shrug, shoving her hand back into the bowl of food. There was still plenty to go, despite her best efforts.

A contemplative frown fell over Susie's features. The girl looked over the bowl at her side, then to Ralsei's troubled features. He could probably use some kind of distraction right about now. Not that Susie was explicitly worried about making him feel better, just that… well, in a way, it'd make the movie more enjoyable for herself.

Best just leave it at that.

"Here," she offered simply. Ralsei tore his eyes from the veritable lake of fake blood on the television to see Susie scooping out a massive handful of intermingled delicacies, more than a few bits scattering onto the carpet. She'd get those later. Wordlessly, she pushed the semi-crushed clump of candy towards Ralsei, feigning disinterest. After a few blinks, Ralsei smiled a little; the first time since they'd delved into the slasher flick, actually. The sight was kind of endearing, too.

Ralsei reached a paw towards the food, then paused. Confused, Susie tilted her head. Some more seconds passed, then Ralsei awkwardly cupped both of his paws underneath Susie's filled fist. They were a bit smaller than she anticipated. Another delay passed. Then Susie awkwardly relaxed her grasp, letting the bits of food she held spill into Ralsei's paws. They overflowed from the difference in size regardless.

"Thanks," Ralsei granted, looking over the candy and popcorn. As awkward as the exchange was, he did seem grateful. And sure enough, Susie found herself enjoying the movie that much more.

Well, she enjoyed herself a bit more, at least. Not necessarily the movie. Watching Ralsei ended up being more entertaining, as far as Susie was concerned. He carefully moved back against the couch, carrying his bounty with him and probably working out how exactly he was going to eat it without just shoving it all in his face at once. Susie was a little curious too. His relatively higher standards prevented him from just setting the pile on the floor, and the scattered nature of the food also kept him from just laying it on his lap. While the usual stingers and splatters played from the TV in front of them, Ralsei tried moving his hands multiple times to portion part of the food he held.

Three unsuccessful attempts later, Ralsei hummed, looking back to Susie. Then he saw how amused she looked, realizing what she'd just witnessed. A light pink tinted his cheeks.

"Um…" he uncertainly started, quiet. Susie kept her eyes on him in silence, still smirking. Both her hands were purposefully kept at her sides.

"Well?" she questioned. A fake air of offense could be heard in her tone. "You gonna eat that or what?"

The implication that returning Susie's offer would be rude, even though it really wouldn't be, incited Ralsei to nod. One more glance was given to the assortment of food in his hands. More sounds of rubber props and ketchup followed. Then, in what Susie could only describe as an equally desperate and incredible power move, Ralsei brought his paws directly to his mouth, chomping a huge chunk of food before struggling to chew it.

Susie stared at him. He stared at Susie. All the while crunching candy and popcorn as best as he could, cheeks bulging obscenely. An eternity later, he gulped with an audible gasp for air.

A few moments passed.

Susie snorted, then broke out into full-on laughter, throwing some more of the popcorn/candy combination from her bowl in the process. Ralsei had joined her about a half-second later, making a similar mess in how loosely he held onto the rest of Susie's gift. Now his posture had completely returned to normal, the prince relaxing as he chuckled alongside his companion. To think he'd been curled up in fear just a minute ago.

Suddenly, a shrill scream echoed from the television, startling Susie enough to make her recoil. She didn't panic, per se. Ralsei did.

All Susie initially noticed was the movie she'd been ignoring. Blinking, she looked towards the screen, catching a glimpse of the comparatively higher volume now displayed over the array of red the camera was so focused on. Then she looked to the side to see Kris holding the television's remote, an irked expression on their features. They'd brought a single finger to their lips in a "shush" kind of motion. Susie grumbled, rolling her eyes. Only then did she recognize the furry grasp around her, and her eyes promptly broadened.

Ralsei's panic was unique in that, rather than jump a little and accidentally slam his elbow into the couch like Susie had, he grasped for whatever kind of security his arms could find. That security ended up being Susie. He held himself close to her, burying his head into the crook of her neck, face just above her chest. One of his horns poked at Susie's jaw. Weirdly, it wasn't that uncomfortable. Neither was the awkward stiffness of his glasses. Something still felt uncomfortable enough for a light warmth to flood Susie's face.

She glanced to the side for a moment. God, he was soft. Ralsei was silent, still holding himself tightly against her like a defunct action-gripping toy. Seeing his expression was currently impossible, but Susie had to guess that he was more than startled by the movie's spike in volume. Did he even know what he was doing, or…?

For a brief couple of seconds, Susie hesitated.

Aw, he was shaking a little…

"Ahem," she eventually cleared her throat. The noise was almost lost in the television's audio.

Still, Ralsei heard her, reanimating again over the next dozen seconds. He opened his eyes in surprise, slowly peeling himself away from Susie. Didn't seem to be in much of a rush. Susie watched his movements, ignoring the now louder slashing sounds coming from the television. At least Ralsei was also able to ignore them. He handled himself like glass, eventually able to make eye-contact with Susie. His arms took longer to move. If his eyebrows went any higher, they'd probably fuse with his horns.

"S-sorry," he stuttered out an apology. Saying he was embarrassed was an understatement. Susie, strangely enough, didn't really tease him about it, though. All she did was shrug meekly, turning to watch the movie again. Ralsei did the same. Something felt too different for Susie to pay much attention (not for lack of trying, though). The bowl at her side went untouched for a good while. Though she'd been so entranced by the film's terrible quality earlier, all her brain could put together now was, "Wow. He is unbelievably soft."

It wasn't even an exaggerated opinion, it was an absolute fact. Nothing Susie experienced before had come close to matching the feeling Ralsei incited. She wasn't thinking out of some weird fascination with Ralsei. He was just genuinely, incredibly soft. To a level that stuck with Susie so much that she couldn't even find the same entertainment in the fake blood being thrown around on the television. Her hand laid in the bowl of food at her side, still as a statue.

Though she didn't sneak as many glances at Ralsei now, she had to notice that he didn't seem too aware of the movie in front of him either. Some lingering embarrassment ensured his cheeks stayed pink. He was huddled up like before, though probably for a different reason. Judging by how much more flustered than scared he looked…

Well, he had to still be scared, right? If he was paying attention to the movie. Which he wasn't, but he'd probably return to it eventually, so… if helping him forget about it earlier made Susie feel better, then…

Now Susie frowned. That was kind of a jump in logic, especially for her. Her eyes stayed forwards, pretending to watch the television. Meanwhile, her non-eating arm relaxed itself, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Slowly, very slowly, Susie lifted a scaled hand behind her, pretending to stretch onto the couch. She had to hope Ralsei hadn't been aware of the cliche since he was still new to movies.

The prince's eyes were still focused forwards. Susie hesitated for a moment, thinking. This wasn't… weird, was it? She just… wanted to enjoy the movie more herself. Like before. Comforting Ralsei was just a byproduct; the means to an end, nothing more. And, maybe, if she found out she wasn't misremembering and Ralsei really was that soft, then, hey, lucky her. The dozen or so seconds he'd panic-hugged her didn't leave her too sure of the fact. Yeah, that was it.

Briefly, Susie glanced to the other side of the couch, seeing Kris with her peripheral vision. Her head didn't completely turn towards them, but she could've sworn they were giving her a thumbs up. That didn't exactly motivate her. It didn't stop her either, though. Swallowing whatever definition of pride she had, Susie untensed her arm, gradually bringing it off the couch behind her.

Slowly… slowly…

After what felt like years, her hand reached about the height of Ralsei's midriff, hovering next to him. Still he was looking at the movie intently. That didn't necessarily mean he was unaware of Susie's movements, but she hoped so. Nearly a minute passed. Then Susie forced her arm to tighten a fraction, and her hand came into contact with Ralsei's side.

There wasn't some bolt of lightning or flash of fire, despite Susie's paranoia. Ralsei didn't even recoil from the abrupt touch. He did straighten his back a little, though. The illusion of interest he awarded the television faded as he swiveled his head towards Susie, eyebrow raised in curiosity. Susie felt a bead of sweat on her brow. What was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to say something?

"Um," was all she could muster. That probably wasn't it.

Ralsei simply looked at her with those green eyes of his. From what sliver of contact Susie could feel from her hand, he seemed to relax a fraction. Then, surprisingly, Ralsei just smiled in that weirdly soft way of his. It had a similar effect to his literal softness earlier. The next thing Susie knew, her hand more securely grasped around Ralsei. Sure enough, he was soft as hell. Almost like a plush toy. That effect was almost… intoxicating.

Weird.

Ralsei said nothing of Susie's grasp, which was completely fine by her. She was paranoid enough already. With that small bit of contact established, Ralsei looked back at the television again. The one difference was his smile. Susie couldn't say exactly when Ralsei had adjusted himself closer to her, as he moved about as slowly as she had (or maybe even slower). But he definitely was closer to her. Maybe in more ways than one.

[fangirlshrewt97]

Doctor Who (2005) Fic - The Goldilocks Vacation Conundrum

Title: The Goldilocks Vacation Conundrum

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)

Pairing: None

Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yaz Khan, Ryan, Graham

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Banned Together Bingo Prompt: Alien Weatherman

Additional Tags: Crack-ish, Prompt: Alien Weatherman, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Humor, The Doctor does not know how to pick human appropriate vacation spots, Poor Graham keeps falling because of the Doctor’s poor TARDIS parking skills, Post Season 10

Summary: Essentially, a semi-crack-ish fic where the Doctor tries to suggest vacation spots to her companions, and misses the mark. Until she gets it right.

After all, third time is the charm.

Excerpt:

The Doctor swiped through a few more potential vacation spots, this time, Ryan joining them. There were several that caught the eyes of the crew, but each time that Graham asked for the dangers, there was always one.

Tentacle monsters, giant crabs, Multiple-headed monsters, noxious gas, acid-spitting monsters, poisonous fruits, monsters with giant horns, unfriendly natives, evil tyrannical rulers that were wary of tourists. What was with all the monsters, honestly?

By the end, Ryan and Yaz had joined back on the steps with the Doctor standing in front of them.

 Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25314952

                                                          /// 

The TARDIS fam were sitting on the steps next to the central console waiting for the Doctor to return. She had said she would only be a moment and for them to stay.

“I just need to grab this one thing from a friend, I’ll be back before you know it. No need for you to follow me!” she had said, bouncing around the console as the TARDIS landed on another planet, nearly sending Graham to the floor from the abrupt stop.

“But doc-” Graham had started to protest only for her to already be halfway out the door, coat in one hand, and an extremely long rainbow scarf in the other.

“Five minutes at most. Just wait here!” was all the humans heard before the door swung shut.

Graham sighed. “Well that is not going to happen.”

“Who wants to bet she will get stuck on an adventure?” Ryan had asked, mischievous glint in his eyes.

Yaz barked a laugh. “What kind of a naive idiot do you take me for Ryan? The bet should be the kind of adventure she goes on. My guess is tentacle monster.”

“You’re on, I think it is alien species that wants to conquer the planet.”

“Ohhhh, good one, damn I want to change my bet.”

“No way too late!”

“Graham, what about you?”

“I don’t know about the doctor, but personally, I am going for an adventure to the kitchen. I want tea.” Graham had said, waiving off the groans from the other two. He did press the pedal to get a creamy custard biscuit as he walked by though.

That had been almost four hours ago. In the meantime, Graham had had his tea and biscuits, finished his book, taken a small nap, and wound up back in the console room, playing poker with Yaz and Ryan. The younger two members of the ship had tried to venture out of the ship, only to find they were parked at the top of a very steep cliff with no houses or identifiable signs of civilization in sight. And rather than risking getting lost, had ventured back into the ship.

Graham was chuckling as he won the hand for the fifth time in the row, collecting the candy they were using as betting markers when the Doctor burst into the room, tracking mud throughout the entrance as loud bird screeching followed her. She quickly barricaded the door with the bar she kept next to the door and ventured inside.

“Well fam, sorry for the delay, but I see you kept yourselves entertained.”

“Say doc, have you ever actually run an errand where things didn’t go tits up?” Graham asked as he opened one of the mints from his winnings. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yaz passing some money to Ryan.

“I resent the implications Graham, I will have you know I have had plenty of successful errands where nothing went wrong.”

At the silence from the three humans, she looked up from she was fiddling with the console controls again. “I have!”

Graham scoffed as Yaz made an empathetic noise and Ryan rolled his eyes fondly.

“Sure you have Doctor.” Ryan said as he stood up.

The Doctor’s comeback was interrupted by a piercing cry and the distinct sound of claws (or talons) against wood.

“Whoopsie, looks like we have overstayed our welcome!” The Doctor said before pulling down the lever. The trio of humans just managed to brace themselves before the ship took off, shaking like a teacup during an earthquake.

After a couple more minutes, the wheezing sound faded as the ship managed to land somewhere.

“Hey Doctor, where are we?” Yaz as as she peered into one of the monitors on the console. It was still displaying that odd (but beautiful) circular writing the Doctor had called Gallifreyan, but she could also make out a landscape. It was a flat field, with what looked like medium height grasses (green), under a clear sky (purple, which weird but cool), and a scattering of trees that almost resembled pine trees but had normal leaves.

“Ah, thanks for asking Yaz! Welcome to Brosha, in the Aresa galaxy. I figured I owed you guys a proper vacation, and this place has the best food this side of the Andromeda galaxy made from corn. Well, it is actually eir but tastes very similar to Earth’s corn. Looks similar too!”

The three humans were not looking at her as impressed as she was hoping. Her smiled dimmed a bit. “No?”

Ryan answered. “Doctor, that is really nice of you, but none of us are really big fans of corn. Also you are hiding something from us.”

“No I am not.”

Yaz chuckled. “Yes you are. You have a tell.”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“I-”

Graham cut off the childish squabbling. Honestly one was an officer of the law, and the other was a two thousand year old alien. It was undignified. “Alright enough. Doc, this sounds nice, but what’s the catch?”

“There are, rarely, every once in a while, stampedes of these huge moose like things. But honestly the chances of that happening while we are there are-”

“Sky high. Doc, we tend to always be around for the once in a blue moon situations. How about elsewhere?” Yaz said gently.

The Doctor pouted, but turned and fiddled with her monitor before brightening.

“Oh, I got one. What about Brakem in the Uccas galaxy? Hot springs filled with healing crystals, soaps and scents from around the universe. Never really rains, two suns, three moons. Gorgeous orange skies.”

“And?” Ryan asked, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Doc, this would be easier if you just mentioned the catch too.” Graham added.

“Average temperatures outside of the resorts are about 40℃.”

No way in hell. Mainly cause it sounded to be about the same temperature. “Next option Doc.”

The Doctor whined but looked at her monitor again. Graham went to sit on the stairs, he had a feeling they’d be there for a while.

“Ok, fine. How about, um, no not that one, ooh that would be, no nevermind, oh! No.” The Doctor muttered as she swiped at her monitor. Yaz went to stand beside her, watching her flick past some amazing landscapes. One in particular caught her eye, and she must have a sound because the Doctor looked at her. “Yaz?”

“What’s that?”

“This one? This is Chebara.” On the screen was a massive lake, extending seemingly to the horizon. The sky was so purple, but so clear she could almost make out stars and other planets in the photo. To one side of the lake she could see a massive hill rising from the ground, clouds covering it from about midway. In the middle of the lake, giant trees that seemed to be floating?

“Are those trees floating?”

“Oh yes, they are Ubal trees, their fruits produce dyes that don’t fade even after a thousand years. Very valuable.” The Doctor explained, glee filling her eyes again.

“Is it safe?” Graham asked. He loved the Doctor, but safety somehow never made it into the woman’s priority list.

“Graham, where is the fun in that?” The Doctor asked, only to be met with a raised eyebrow that would not be swayed. She sighed. “There is a small chance we may encounter the giant alligator-hippos that inhabit the lake.”

“No.”

“But Yaz wants to go!” the Doctor protested.

“Actually Doctor, I think just the photos might be enough. We have had so many adventures, and I would really like a vacation before we head back to the fray.” Yaz said, apologetic.

The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Back to the drawing board then.”

The Doctor swiped through a few more potential vacation spots, this time, Ryan joining them. There were several that caught the eyes of the crew, but each time that Graham asked for the dangers, there was always one.

Tentacle monsters, giant crabs, Multiple-headed monsters, noxious gas, acid-spitting monsters, poisonous fruits, monsters with giant horns, unfriendly natives, evil tyrannical rulers that were wary of tourists. What was with all the monsters, honestly?

By the end, Ryan and Yaz had joined back on the steps with the Doctor standing in front of them.

“Guys come on, I promise, the vacation will be fine, I’m sure the bad things won’t happen, they are all statistically very unlikely.”

Graham stood up and walked to the Doctor, laying a sympathetic hand on her forearm. “Doctor, I am sure you have noticed, but let me point it out again. We are kind of one-in-a-million central here. All I want is someplace to put my feet up, a nice cuppa, maybe a chance to tan.” Graham said. Beside him, Yaz and Ryan nodded in agreement.

The Doctor stood in front of the three humans, arms crossed, and cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Yaz internally squealed at how adorable this couple thousand year old alien could be.

The Doctor tapped out a distracted pattern on her forearm before brightening. “I know the perfect place!” she said.

And then, without waiting for the companion’s response she went back to the console and pressed a few buttons before pulling the lever.

The TARDIS’s wheezing sound was heard before the ship rattled and transported. Graham, who had been standing on the stairs still fell hard on his butt. Ryan and Yaz managed to stumble forward and brace themselves on the console.

“Ow Doc, a couple more rough landings, and you are going to owe me a new hip!” Graham complained as he rubbed the small of his back. Ryan came to his side, helping his sit up against one of the columns around the console.

“Sorry about that Graham! I just thought of the perfect place for a lovely holiday, and wanted to get us there ASAP!”

Ryan and Yaz exchanged glances before looking at her hesitantly. “So…”

“Where are we?”

If possible, the Doctor’s grin got even wider, her eyes alight with delight. “My lovely fam, welcome to Earth, third planet in the solar system, in the outskirts of the Milky Way galaxy. We are in present day Sheffield, the temperature is a pleasant 23℃, there is a humidity of 65%, and chance of rain is 7%!” The Doctor said as she clapped her hands once in delight. Ryan shook his head at the antics of the Time Lord and began to chuckle.Yaz started to giggle before the Doctor waggled her eyebrows at her, at which point she burst out laughing, using the console edge to keep from falling over. Even Graham had a grin on his face as he continued to rub his back. He used the column to brace himself and got up.

“How long will we be staying then doc?”

The Doctor swayed back and forth on her toes and heels. “Up to you guys. How long do you want to stay?”

“Wait, you are staying too right?” Yaz said, squinting at the Time Lord.

The Doctor brought up her hands in surrender. “I’ve got a whole universe Yaz!”

“And I’ve got a spare room with your name on it. Come on, just stay. I know we don’t have crystal pools or floating trees, but Charlie’s pub down the block serves some of the best falafels in the country.”

The Doctor bit her lip, but looking at the hopeful faces of her companions, she gave a single nod.

“Alright, why not.”

She turned and pressed a couple buttons, dimming the lights of the main area of the TARDIS. “There, she is in hibernation. Let’s go enjoy Sheffield.”

With a cheer from the humans, the Doctor let herself be led outside by her fam. Yaz dragging her by the wrist as Ryan lightly pushed her from the back, with Graham closing the ship doors behind himself.

Sometimes, the best vacation from a life traveling was a little bit of home.

[ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels]

Part 2: The Cross-generational Perspective

In which the influence of Cupid Hawthorne can be felt as early as junior-year history

Warning: contains a scene of murder (of a young person) more explicit than in the previous part, focused on in great detail - specifically, strangulation - and murder as a whole is discussed throughout. There’s also minor homophobia / historical gay denial from a forum poster, transphobia disguised as “it’s just a joke bruh” rhetoric, very mild NSFW implications in one paragraph, and a requisite Cuphead reference since Vidcund would have killed me if I didn’t work King Dice into this somehow.

Castor didn't start collecting trophies deliberately until the third kill. By then, they were more at ease with the monumental task they'd set themselves, and more certain of what He would expect of them. Besides, the higher the body count, the harder it is to tell the victims apart without a souvenir or five. A broken button here, a tie there... Every little helps.

The first and second are both embodied by the same thing – though the need for reminiscence there is more out of desire than duty.

Automatically, they reach for a side drawer on the desk, an old shawl wrapped in a plastic bag wrapped in their hand in seconds. It's how Moms used to store the old photo album at home (may still do, actually; they need to pay them a visit next weekend). But, if anything, the history book inside is even more precious and handled with greater care, each page the wing of a gossamer moth. To desecrate His face would be nothing short of sacrilege.

Their finger runs along His pale jaw, and they pretend the deep-set eyes widen slightly at the sight of them.

Soon, Cupid. I'm nearly there.

The eyes that will first see that face on the page belong not to the nonbinary person they will become, but a teenage girl who happens to carry the name and the penis she had at birth. Her identity is just one of the many things Castor has picked up over time, like pierced ears, the zits that turn her rounded face into a game of connect-the-dots, and a keen interest in aspects of academia that most of her peers refuse to touch.

That last one especially. She didn't get into AP History through luck alone, after all. And it's paid off – she's learned more about the 1920s and 30s in the month or so they've been covering it than anything she gleaned from comparing the differences between World Wars I and II. To a Sim who drinks knowledge like it's water, such a thing is invaluable.

No matter how grisly that knowledge is.

“--looking at the rise of gangsters, mobs, and other such criminals, and how that relates to what we've already studied,” says Mr Piper, breaking through her thoughts. Ah, today's one such 'grisly day', then. “It's no secret that Roaring Heights, even today, has something of a fearsome reputation; when we made our list of qualities a few weeks ago, 'bad crowd' was a term that came up a lot, as I'm sure you remember. The existence of these criminal syndicates was and still is a large factor in those bad crowds, both proverbial and literal.”

“Like the Hook?” shouts a voice (as best as he can with it cracking) from the back of the room. “Is the Hook a syndicate?”

“No, Elliot. And I thought we agreed we wouldn't bring that urban legend up in class again.”

Elliot groans, but he does stay quiet after, thank god. It's not even from the right decade... Weren't it still Sunshine Cove back then?

“I'm more referring to actual families with lengthy histories of illegal activity: the Reeves, the Dandys, and so on. But we're going to focus exclusively on the Hawthorne family today, since they are particularly notorious. Who here knows which crimes the Hawthornes are the most tightly associated with?”

Hands rise sporadically around the room. Sam Nguyen's was up right away, but she was born there, so she's known about everything in this module so far.

Tallying the results in his head, the teacher stops when he sees her own hand still down. “Castor, I'm surprised you don't know,” he remarks.

“I've heard 'em mentioned in passing, Sir; I've just never had a chance to look into it.”

He seems to accept that: “Okay then. Glenn? Any ideas?”

“Extortion tactics, Sir? That's what most mobs do.”

“No it ain't! Haven't you seen CSI? Mobs are about murder. Culling the good guys, making them sleep with the fishes, capiche?” Orchid slips into an attempt at an Italian accent towards the end, one that doesn't jive well with the usual Hollow twang in the slightest.

“Uh, they probably wouldn't talk like that if they're--”

“Don't they blackmail people too?”

“That's the same thing, Clover!”

“Not really; extortion's more about getting what you want, blackmail's about them getting what they don't--”

A sharp tap on the desk with a spare whiteboard duster brings the class to silence and order... very temporarily, since it's broken by the sound of Steve's text-to-speech system. (God, she's just imagined that with a bad Italian accent too...) “Does it depend on which member of the family you're looking at, Sir?”

“That's right, Steve. And so are the other three of you, in that sense. Different generations of Hawthornes have those three aspects covered at different ratios. But while extortion and blackmail were reportedly the roots of the family business, it traces back to the 1910s, beyond the scope of the decades we are looking at this term. It's the second aspect – the murder –” Mr Piper lets the word hang in the room for a short second – “that cast the blackest mark on both them and the town as a whole from the years 1920 to 1930. If you can all turn to Page 74 in 'A Roaring Heights History' for me?”

Ever on the ball, Castor joins the others in retrieving their copy from the bottom of her quite hefty backpack. Damn lack of foresight. The air's thick with the sound of pages turning, numbers counted, 74, 74... ah-ha, there it is. Chapter title on the left, picture on the right, captioned: 'Cupid Hawthorne, feigning grief'. She glances at it by chance --

-- and the very foundations of the Earth shift beneath her.

He's so... striking. So real, despite the medium; like a firework given form. His jaw is practically a V, set in a scream, his lips curling back to show near-perfect teeth. Hair – no, she can hardly call it hair, it's a mane, swept wherever the wind takes it. His nostrils flare, highlighting a nose prominent enough to warrant sculptures, monuments. Eyebrows slant heavy in the fierce expression, and the eyes underneath...! There are a million and one stories within those eyes, greyscale though they are, every imagined fleck of those distant polaroid irises a new memory, of anger, of family, death, blood, anguish...

For a wild moment, for a wild lifetime, she imagines that it's her he is looking at, that his gaze is fixed upon her alone, that she's the reason for this burst of passion within such a soul. His voice, abstract, unheard, repeats within as the name lingers on his mouth, Castor, Castor.

When the world turns again and the echo fades, she's left adrift between peace and unrest.

Looking up to the classroom again is like stepping out of a cinema into a rainy day: brighter than hoped, darker than expected. To her surprise, only two minutes have passed since, given the clock's hands. She looks back at the people behind her. Sam, Steve, even Elliot... His face looks up at them all from the paper, captured and reflected from multiple angles.

And yet none of them seem to see him. If they look, it's briefly, before returning to the text underneath. There's a rarity in their books, and they're choosing to ignore it? Wait, Sam's looked up too – confused – was she, too, caught in the--?

“Uh, Castor?” she whispers. “You okay? You look pale. Need to see the nurse?”

“Uh-? Y-no, it's okay. I'll be fine.”

Castor quickly turns back to the front, to the task at hand – if such a thing even exists. There's words beyond the caption, and the teacher drones on, but they all seem strange now, nonsensical. An emotional dyslexia.

Is she really the only one to feel it? The only one to see Cupid Hawthorne, emblazoned in history, and have a reaction so...

visceral?

The haze the history lesson left behind shields her from the rest of the school day, for better or worse; she's unceremoniously home before she realizes it. Mom One is working tonight, so only her jade-green mother is there to greet her. Dinner's brief, a bowl of mac and cheese and a slice of sheet cake from the local baker's, and then it's time for homework. In theory, anyway.

In practice, the first word she types into Google, on reflex, is “Hawthorne”. She makes no attempt to stop it after that. She does have a week for most of these pieces, and a reputation of being prepared to uphold...

Result after result pours onto the screen, and with it information and revelation. First, that out of all the people in the room that morning, Orchid had been closest to the truth. Matters of money and influence are barely mentioned, with some of the forum users she digs up not even knowing that the criminal activity went that deep. All talk is of the War of the Hawthornes: the players, the game, and even a fraction of the cause.

Crimedivi So turns out they used to run bachelorette challenges in the old days too?? They weren't c**** popular like now, but there were apparently enough of them that RQ ran one, and Cupid meddled in it by killing everyone off!! I mean, wtf???? Even if you don't like your family that's just low you know??????

Castor assumes the asterixes are due to the forum's format, rather than self-imposed (especially when the same poster later refers to it as a series of 'a**a**inations').

Allystelle205 I've heard about that too! That's why no one knows who Rose Quartz ended up marrying in the end, I think: she had to protect his identity to make sure Cupid couldn't track them and kill them again... :O

xxxgogetterx “his”? wasn't she pansexual? there wouldve been women in there too dumba**

Allystelle205 Dude, gay people didn't exist in the 1930s! They would have been killed for--

She scrolls past that hot mess quickly until she finds a mod post warning them that her sexuality's neither up for debate, nor the actual point... she thinks. It doesn't have his name in it, so she doesn't get all the details.

movethatpawawayfromyoursim Anyway, back on topic...... @crimedivi it wouldn't have been the first time Cupid killed off his own family. Pretty much everyone else in it are dead because of him after all – three in that car crash, one got shot, one got strangled. I forget which is which. After that level of evil, killing her suitors to get to her really isn't that much of a stretch

Crimedivi ik ik but until then no one else had to get killed OUTSIDE off the family right?? and think about it, there's NEVER been a bc since where this has happened, people dying cus they wanna get married!!!! its just a new layer of bad somehow yknow??? kinda makes me wanna be sick!!

SpeckleP Especially since Rose Quartz was like reeeeaaaally mentally ill. There's records out there of her being in an asylum once upon a time in Bridgeport I think it was. They say schizophrenia but I think it was more that Cupid had such a hold over her that she broke herself so he couldn't hurt her anymore or something like that? Imagine getting out of there only to lose even more people to him and not knowing why...

Crimedivi now I really AM gonna be sick thanks SpeckleP!!!!!!

She looks at her hands, poised on the keyboard, then over to her open book. He's still there in print, facing away from the gossip about his motives and deeds that splits the screen. Castor slants him towards her again, giving him another long look, waiting for... she doesn't know what. Another change? How can there be change, when he has already infected her mind so thoroughly? How can there be anger, revulsion, at such a sight? And yet it's so easy for others to feel, firmly in the corner of the family scorned...

The book goes back down. Maybe there's something to what Sam said, after all. Maybe Castor is sick – just in a very different way to little Crimedivi.

This notion doesn't bother her as much as she thought it would.

The topic staggers on for another few posts (including a very pointed remark about the healthcare system from AtheistKatherine33) before stalling. Perhaps another website will bring her more insight.

Searching more specifically for “Cupid” this time, it's not long before she's inundated with a wall of neon text that looks like it's from the era of GeoCities, if not somehow earlier. But it doesn't take long for her to convert it into something resembling legibility. It's broken up by a picture – not a copy. This one's captioned “most recent known photo”, but he's less clear here, a calmer face in a crowd of dots and stripes, caught only by a red circle. His arm is linked with that of a black man to his right, in... is she imagining it? Or is it a protective sense? A partner of some kind? That'd be odd, given the era, and yet... they're standing so...

For the first time in months, Castor's chest feels a dismal flickering that she recognizes as dysphoria. She winces. Not now, not... Reading, more reading. She sinks into the paragraphs on paragraphs, feeling the flames of that shrink under a much greater fire.

1914-1918: Records show that Cupid H served in the Roaring Heights branch of the Allied forces during the events of the first World War. Debates are thick on the ground as to how many casualties can be attributed to him in this time ...

Winter-Spring, 1920: After a meeting with a rival syndicate, Oleander, Dogwood and Gillyflower H are killed in a car crash. It later transpires that the crash was due to sabotage of the vehicle in question; despite denying it at first, Cupid would later admit to being the culprit ...

Summer, 1920: Cupid strangles Blush H, then goes on to shoot Bow H in a duel to the death. These are the first murders that he is known to have committed directly, without the use of war as an excuse or a car crash as a buffer. Reports persist, though unsubstantiated, that Cupid was crying during these acts ...

1925: After five years of being in charge of the family business, Cupid H goes into an unexplained exile, leaving the company with no head and no direction ...

1930: A further five years of absence end with a secret reappearance in Raspberry Hearts. Cupid infiltrates the bachelor challenge of his sister Rose Quartz H, using Grey Tundora as a proxy to eliminate all competition. By the time only he and the person who will marry her remain, Cupid reveals himself to her, and--

“Cassie?”

“Mm?” She jolts herself back into the room in time to see a body in the doorway. “Yeah, Mom?”

“Are you okay? I've called up to you four times.”

Oh crap... first too little time has passed, now apparently far too much. “Sorry, I've just been doin' a spot of reading up. I'm fine.”

Mom Two doesn't budge. “I hope you did some of your homework before--”

“Oh, this is homework... sorta. Extracurricular – y- nothing you’d understand,” she reassures a little too quickly for her own mouth.

“What of, hon? Anything in particular?”

Yeesh, what is this, the Inquisition? I'm keepin' him waiting... “Just stuff, Mom. School stuff? That's what extracurricular means. And if I don't get back to it soon it'll be extra-extracurricular, so if y’all could... y’know...?”

The face in the door twists, disconcerted, confused. “Are you sure you're okay? You're not normally so ornery. If there's anything wrong, you know you can tell me and Laverne, don't you?” That look, backed with the sadness under her words, brings mollified shame to Castor's cheeks.

“No, nuffin's wrong. Sorry, didn't mean to shout; s'been a heck of a day, is all. I'm okay, though, honestly,” she adds before more worry can spawn from that. “Promise.”

This, at least, seems placating enough, since her parent smiles again. “Promise promise?”

“Yup. And if I'm wrong, sic Mom One on me in the morning.”

“I will. Anyway, I'm near about past going, so I'm heading to bed. Don't stay up too long now, will you?”

“I won't,” says Castor, already acutely aware of how much of a lie that could turn out to be. “Night, Momma.”

“G'night, little spark.”

And thus Mom Two finally departs, leaving her child to dive back into research, first online then back to off, under the watching eyes of a man briefly seen.

It's little surprise that she sleeps late, book tucked under the pillow; yet, inexplicably, she still jolts awake just before sunrise. She dreamt mostly of Cupid. She couldn't help it. A man so mysterious, powerful, and – judging by the hand pressed between her legs – experienced could invade the dreams of anyone if he desired it. (The fact that he would be several years her senior doesn't cross her mind, addled with mingling red and white splatter stains as it is.)

She spends so much time scrutinizing the parts of the chapter she missed over breakfast that she clean forgets to make up her usual teapot-ponytails. The excess hair weighs more than usual at her nape, a pleasantly strange sensation; few comment on it when she gets into school. At this point, they tend to let her more unconventional fashion choices slide.

Well... most of them do. As morning drags her kicking and screaming into the sticky, perpetual hours of lunch period, an exception first seeded years ago is set to prove the rule.

“Hey, Cassie. What's a gal like you doing in the boy's bathroom?”

Ignore him. Just ignore him. Focus on freshening up.

“Helloooo? I said, what's a gal like you doin--”

“That ain't gonna work, Lemonlips. I'm in too bad a mood.” Focus, focus. Sweep 'cross the eyelid, left to right...

Merlot barks out a laugh that morphs into a gravelly hack halfway through, courtesy of the cigarette aflame in his pale-green hand. “Shit, you're always in a bad mood now. What the hell happened to your sense of humor, babe?” he drawls, lingering on the final word as though it in itself is an insult.

Nothing, your sense of humor just switched into makin' me the butt of every joke when you worked out I was trans, her mind snarls, fingers curling around the eyeshadow brush. But there's no sense in voicing that. She's explained it to him before, even before their friendship dissolved, and he's never gotten it. Out of ignorance or malice, she still doesn't know.

Thank Christ he was in none of her classes today. After the morning she's had – distracted by a roaring beauty, sidelined by a surprise pop quiz in her worst subject, caught passing a note to Floss in Biology – more of Merlot than is necessary would turn her into the very being in the photo.

“I'm only saying that with you saying you're a girl all the time and wearing your hair like a girl and putting on that f-” he stalls, apparently thinking better of it – “makeup like a girl, you oughta be in the bathroom with the other girls. Sue me for making a good point every once in a while.”

A swift wave of red across the other eye. She loves this color; it puts more emphasis on the contrast within her pupils and less on the zit that’s somehow appeared in her eyebrow, what the hell? “Last week I was in the girl's bathroom, and you kicked up a stink about that too. Made out like I was a predator, remember?”

“Jesus Christ, I was only jok--”

“Yeah, well, it weren't funny. It were sick.” On to the next shade in her kit, a deeper hue this time, reminiscent of roses and blood... She wonders how often Cupid saw this color in his line of work. “Besides, everywhere else is full up today, so I'm stuck in here with you--”

“Riiight, right, gotcha,” says her fellow Berry dismissively. “Can't stand the thought of them being prettier than you.”

“It's not--”

“Don't lie, it's always been like that.” He stubs out his smoke on the wall, leaving one of many little marks on the linoleum. “Envy's your Achilles heel, babe, your deadly sin. That's why you broke it off with me, that's why you decided you were a girl – cus you knew you could never match up to what I've got to offer if you just stayed a boy like I asked.”

Her teeth grit together... is she being particularly touchy today, or he particularly aggravating? “Lemonlips, you know for a fact that's not true. I--”

“Bullshit it's not!”

Pain erupts in ear and vision both – “Gyah!” – he's much closer and louder than before, and the alarm's made her jab the brush through her closed lids and into the actual eyeball. “Sunnuva... ” Owww, she thinks as she pulls it out, sending an ugly smear along her right cheekbone, that's gonna sting somethin' awful.

“Sorry. Y-you okay?” she hears beyond the ringing. “Didn't... fuck your face up, did I?” There's a tremble in the tone, an off-key one. Did that actually...? Blinking the injured eye rapidly, she cracks open the other, casts it at him – Adam's apple quivering, but a smile in the mouth and the...

Laughing. The son of a bitch is still laughing.

The brush falls to the floor. Her hand reaches immediately, instead, for her standard trusty watch enclosed in a trouser pocket. By all rights she ought to have done this the second he saw her, but she had to give him a chance, didn't she? Like she does every single... ugh. She prays this time will be quick. Calm and quick.

“Uh, w- what are you doing?” the idiot says, still trying to stifle his guffaws.

“You know what I'm doing,” she replies, evenly. “What's important is what you're doin'. Doing.”

“Oh please, you think I'm gonna fall for that again? I'm getting wise to your tricks, Cas-”

But she is wiser. “No tricks, Merlot. Think about what you're doing. Think about what you're saying. Think about how you're breathing. Think about that breath, caught in your chest. Let it out for me.” The rhythm to her words is coming naturally, as is the subtle swing of the watch, a distraction to the other's eye. Even in their early days, he was drawn to this. “Let the breath in. Let the breath out. Focus on that. The breath in, the breath out. Focus on the breath. Focus on my voice, focus on the watch. Let us fade, let us stay, stay where you can see us. Focus on the breath and the voice and the watch.”

“Yyou're...” The protest is stoppered; he's already slurring.

“Focus on the voice and the watch. On the voice, the watch. The voice. Only the voice. Let the voice guide you. Let me do the work. Focus on the voice. Ignore how your eyes droop. Ignore how your tongue feels heavy. Ignore how your bones slouch. Focus on the voice telling you this. Focus all of your being on the voice. Ignore your tiring. Focus on the voice. Focus... and sleep.”

And he's slack against the wall, dropping to the floor in a well-executed trance state.

There. Now maybe he can shut up. Castor retrieves the brush from the ground, repacks her makeup kit, slips it and the watch into her bag. She's still got a while before class begins again. She can grab a snack from the cafeteria, she decides. Fix her eyeshadow elsewhere, add some blush. Read some more about...

She pauses in front of the door.

On any other day – on the same day, in any other world – this pause would be brief. She would shake it off, swing open and out into the school as herself. The satisfaction of seeing him down for the count would be enough, enough to quell everything, the haunting of her dream, the reminder of what was and what's to come. That would be the end of it.

On this day, she turns back.

A slow approach to her former friend. A discarding of the backpack. A lowering onto bended knees to see him up close. His yellow buzzcut is coarse, a shaved pattern disappearing. The insectine lines across his face are slack in slumber. Long eyelashes rest upon cheeks.

This much is true – he was pretty to her, once upon a time. But there is greater beauty than her own to compare him to, now.

He's not wearing his usual scarf; it's a warm sort of day, so it doesn't call for it, she supposes. The uniform looks incomplete without it, though. Too small for his body, too wide for his neck. His neck. Exposed, thin. The lump of a voicebox within is less clear, hidden by its stretching out, its length. She looks more carefully – there's a vein, or perhaps another birthmark of the skin, crawling to his chin.

It occurs to her, looking at it, how fragile a neck can be. There's only skin and blood protecting the windpipe, and not even that much of it. Anything could sever it, whatever the sharpness. A knife. A pen. A hand. Two hands.

Those of a criminal. Those of a hypnotist.

--three in that car crash, one got shot, one got strangled--

The bathroom at once seems much wider and taller than before, swamping them both. A dizzy Castor looks at her fingers again – red with makeup, green with potential.

Could I-? Could I...?

--the first murders that he is known to have committed directly--

She finds herself reaching out, softly, towards the breathing vessel. Two fingers, a thumb. A pulse underneath. He doesn't stir; the trance must be deep. So very...

He wouldn't even notice. He wouldn't wake. He'd never wake again, would he? No more of those thinly-veiled jokes. No more memories, tainted. No one hurt by him ever again.

And the ocean within her head would stop crashing at the shores of the skull.

--Cupid strangles Blush H--

Left hand joins right. Both fasten, like a collar, around the sleeping Merlot's throat.

Solid ridges form under her touch, columns of muscle. Tighter; the drumbeat rises, a steady rhythm. Tighter; she feels it when he subconsciously swallows. A circle smaller by degrees, the more she squeezes, her grip steadying with each of her own inhales and exhales. Calm and quick.

Calm and quick. Don't get carried away. Don't waste this. Could never waste this. Is she hearing herself, or him, or Him? Who's pretending to be her? Is this pretension? Too many questions. Too much air in the body of this waste of space, his arrogant being, his brother. Flush it out, flush it all out. Let oxygen drip away.  

A quickening of the arteries – a fluttering, a stirring. Dammit. Merlot's coming out, he's aware, he's seeing the vice grip and the body attached to the grip and the eyes of red and green and blue that see him too. He tries to gulp in alarm, to shriek... it won't help. How can it help if he can't breathe to do it? He struggles underneath her, fails to back away, to press forward. His own limbs, ineffectual, reach up to grab hers, to pull her away from this most vital of tasks. A begging for mercy, when he offered her none. A chance to let go.

She presses harder.

He croaks, panics, claws at her haphazardly, barely scratching the surface, much less the spirit; they're limp before he knows it. He's kicking out now, but she isn't dislodged. He has no quarter in this battle, this war, this slaughter. Not anymore. Not now she can sense that nothing's passing through, nothing in, nothing out. Focus on the breath. Hah – focus on the lack of breath. Focus on the blood vessels bursting, tinting the whites of him. Focus on the single tear. Focus on the fear, the danger, the regret, rising, then falling, fading, fading away...

When her own trance lifts, her palms can no longer feel his heart.

Castor finds herself unable to move at first. Then, gradually, carefully, she peels away from him, shuffles back to get a better look at this: her destruction. The body is unchanged on the fundamental level; buzzcut, filled with lines, lashes thick. But it's only a shell. Merlot, as she knew him, as grew up with her, as turned on her, simply isn't there, a victim of his own cocoon.

...no, not of that. A victim of me, she thinks. Thinks again. Victim. Killed. Killed him. It's almost tuneful. I just killed him. I've literally just killed a man. Didn't even need a car to do it. Just hands. 

Wonder if anyone heard me doing it. ...wait, what if they did? What if they find his body? This is going to get out eventually. Lots of things do in this school. What if it does and they find out I did it? What if they see my fingerprints? What would Moms think? What would Mr Piper think? Floss, Sam, wh- what would...

What would He think?

The bag's been dislodged, somehow, in the scuffle. She pulls it back to her, as though in a dream. An errant streak of pink is on the front cover; she can clean that up later. What's important is Page 74, and the Cupid within. The restrained rage. The black and white look that's...

changed. Everything that was within before has coalesced into one emotion. She doesn't have to guess to know it's for her, or to know what it is.

Pride.

The world is suddenly and startlingly hot and cold and wet. She crushes the book to her chest, His picture flat against her heart by coincidence or design. At the same time, there's a smell of ichor and bone and fog, wrapping around her legs. The walls rumble motionlessly.

Of two things, Castor is certain in this moment. First: that Death has come to take the carcass, the damning evidence, of Merlot Lemonlips away. Second: that she will love Cupid Hawthorne for the rest of her limited existence.