#did I…..draw her nose consistent w how I always draw it? no I think I usually draw it a little straighter

[aldoodles]

F1 for Nerissa TUC please

She deserves the worlllllld

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

lifetimes of scars both visible and not

(au, not canon, this is all related to my unreasonably extensive timeline)

(they're married)

(she/her for flash)

i definitely made some of the text too small 😂 new tablet has given me too much power (pressure sensitivity)

closeups:

crow's feet :3c i wrote "1987 – 2005" but really it's probably more like "1990 – 2005" but birth year was easier than trying to decide exactly what year harrison started to be a piece of shit 🤷and also really his abuse did continue intermittently even after flash moved out in 2005 but not consistently since flash wasn't around him very much after that (but like, there's the incident in 2006... and some later incidents in 2013 ish) — that's what the ptsd is referring to also though by this age i think she's mostly fine... small things can still get to her of course but by 50 she's very well-adjusted and much, much happier than she was 30 years ago.

and of course... recovered/recovering alcoholic... that's kind of a lifelong thing of course

carpal tunnel is just from using a wheelchair for 30+ years

also not a wound or a scar but flash will have been on hrt for like............................ 20 years at age 50??? i think? so... boobies 😂

the three rings on her left ring finger are engagement, wedding band and an anniversary ring peter gets her for their 10th (wedding) anniversary (they'll already have been dating for like 5 years when they get married though) — she's also wearing peter's wedding band on her right ring finger on account of his arthritis causing him problems + often already not wearing it because of spidey, but you can't see her right hand in this pic and i decided not to label it since it's not exactly a scar or lasting injury

peter gets a soul patch in his late 40s because it's a law of the universe that if he's middle aged he needs to have questionable facial hair and i didn't feel like trying to draw the full goatee when i designed their older looks and i still don't (also because he looks too much like dr strange when he has the goatee AND the white streak tbh lmfao)

if peter lived into his 50s you know he'd be going fully silver w/in a couple of years already — the stress 😂 it's making him a silver fox... well. it's given him a skunk stripe at least (cause i always think it's cute when he gets a white streak when middle aged in comics)

he's got that fuzzy neck and fangs too from man-spider (even w/ the missing front teeth XD) (normally he wears partial dentures but i figured he probably doesn't sleep in them) — missing teeth, broken clavicle and one of the times he had his right scapula broken are all from the same incident which happens in 2032 and which i haven't written yet but may or may not involve a Kraven of some kind... (the first time he had the same scapula broken was by the jackal which i ALSO have not written yet... but is 2012)

busted-ass nose from when he fought doc ock around high school graduation and insisted he didn't need it looked at

ptsd is from the jackal as well, as mentioned not written yet.

also peter is 4 months younger than flash, thus 49.9 😂😂😂 it's ALMOST his birthday here okay, he's basically 50,

obviously flash has some of her own scars... maybe not quite as many as peter but losing both your legs probably counts for a few XD

and i decided to draw her a little bit fuzzy cause she's 50 here and she doesn't shave (her body) all the time anymore but... you can barely see it anyway since the hairs are red XD

trying to decide flash's level of muscle as a 50 year old woman is also difficult and i am still not sure how much tummy to give her... i probably could have given her more, though i guess she and peter still have a lot of sex....... either way i know she still has those guns even with carpal tunnel in both wrists lol

similar dilemma with peter but peter has the wrinkle of needing to eat over 5000 calories a day just to not lose weight so i think he's more likely to remain very svelte on top of refusing to like, retire from spider-man... bro take a break you already have arthritis and nerve damage which i forgot to label,

(the nerve damage is from the burn scar though) (it was real bad) (i haven't written that one yet but it's in 2009. nothing complicated, he just runs into a burning building to save people while wearing a polyester costume is all—not Trauma, just Stupidity) (...i mean, medically speaking it's burn trauma, but)

compression glove for aforementioned arthritis. he has arthritis all over, like his shoulders and stuff, but his left wrist is the worst because of when fisk broke it and he set it himself at home so it never totally healed right, but is manageable until he hits his forties and it starts getting arthritic before any of the rest of his joints 🤷 actually iirc it probably starts twinging in his 30s... but by 49 it's his whole arm for sure... plus his right shoulder... probably most of his fingers... left knee not arthritis just the nerve damage... wouldn't be surprised if he gets a sore neck from all that spidey whiplash... probably tennis elbow too lbr... yeah, he really should retire lol

also you can see his weird ribcage divots from when the extra arms in man-spider fell off...

flash and peter both got the knuckle scars—peter normally wouldn't but in 2007 he is currently spending a lot of time busting his knuckles open (peter: um some people mangle their hands punching steel and concrete to cope,) so they don't get a chance to heal fully and he ends up with scars from it.

sexual assault survivor referring to both skip in 2000 (which is finally being mentioned more concretely but i have made allusions to before) as well as the jackal in 2012 (which i have not written yet but have a lot of notes for) (well, i have a lot of notes for all of this, really,) - those are also both the major sources of his PTSD, particularly the jackal, though he's got other traumas too like his abandonment issues (parents' death) and his uncle's death... he's just been through a lot in general. unlike flash he isn't like, mostly fine, either, and therapy didn't really work out for him, so he's on... meds lol though idk maybe by 50 he doesn't need them anymore..... when he was in his 20s and 30s for sure though... he is a man prone to flashbacks and nightmares... hyperfixation... and 2012 will be a very traumatic year for him if/when i write that fic...

anyway it's fine, he's fine,

here's a foot for all the foot fetishists out there

no scars there i just really hate drawing bare feet and think it turned out sort of okay

the red things are how they die btw. peter gets taken out by [insert organization here] (i'm still working out the details, idk if natl guard or shield or what... or WHY tbh lmao i just know it happens)

flash i'm actually still not 100% sure i will do though, she might die of a broken heart/lots of stress from the very public death of her husband of 23 years (partner for almost 30)/heart problems from limited mobility (exacerbated by the carpal tunnel) or...... she might live longer, idk yet... idk if i'll even ever write that part... who knows!!!

me like angst😂 it's happy too though!!! i mean sure tragic ending eventually but also they are together for nearly 30 years despite all odds and that's not tragic at all... they love each other... 🥺🥰

they just don't live very long

though for flash 50 feels like a longer time than she'd ever expected, like, this is a woman who never thought she'd even make it to 20, you know???? so 50 is a pretty big deal. regardless of if i have her live longer than peter or not, though, i don't think she's surprised when he dies... like, upset yes, but... there have been so many times she's worried he'd never come home so it's only a shock in that it's emotionally devastating, not surprising at all. a long time coming... RIP

tfw you're outlived by your clone with a compromised lifespan

anyway i got way more rambly than i meant to on this XD

oh update in july lmao: i realized i had forgotten about a scar peter will probably acquire in 2012 in my notes and only found it skimming thru my timeline recently to edit some stuff so i sketched this real quick:

though in my mind this sketch is of peter when he's still in his mid to late 20s... but the handprint is obviously a mark of kaine print (though I think i may have made it too small XD considering peter already has big ol hands and kaine is 4 inches taller than him) think of it as something like a grab while grappling during a fight, like wrestling or whatever—though i'm ngl i'm still working out some details but i think when peter is first kidnapped by warren, he may attack kaine, for reasons having to do with his aunt, though like i said i'm still working out some stuff so there isss a chance i scrap this scar anyway... we'll see if i ever make it that far (current fic is 2007 and this would be 2012 after all but i may end up time skipping at some point like i did with, for example, curse of the man-spider)

drawing peter on a towel was the only way i could think of to get his back bare at this point too. he really buttons up for a while there.

(has a separate post on my blog: https://hoardlikegoldenirises.tumblr.com/post/722440569862881280/a-scar-i-totally-forgot-about-in-my-notes-and-by)

[max-iwtaco]

[october 2022] yo.........

analyzing my own drawings under the cut cuz its my blog i do whatever i want

/i use all pronouns so ill be jumping between they she and he. ratio of each pronoun in this post is not the same ratio i actually prefer for myself or my sona/

its mostly very similar and the only two things that look "off" in the old art for are the lashes and shape of her hair

lashes are kinda easy cuz i dont actually like presenting too femme for too long w/o any masc elements to counter that and theres lashes consistently. idk why and also i havent done that ever since i dont think

and hair now goes up first for some reason?? also it changed in the literally the first drawing i did after the mspaint doodles (the second drawing [end of 2022])

that change also made the whole shape to be more trapezoid-like (aka WRONG)

theyre supposed to be triangle + circle* and trapezoid is very square</3 im not gonna change it now cuz i like the way it looks but i might make em more square+triangle instead (will also help w making them less thin)

it also made the hair look less ear like WHICH IS SUCH A SHAME ok heres some me lore

[first half of 2022]

so originally he just fully had animal hears that turned into hair later when i was simplifying them. the idea was that its just ears that look like hair (or hair that looks like ears)! and it actually was like that for some time

also clothes were exclusively based of off stuff i was wearing to school regularly (the blue shirt over a tee. i still have it!). same with the haircut and pimples/other weird dots on my face but that ended quickly:

[summer 2022 // late 2022]

aaaand then i got comfortable. she shirt eventually came off too

[early 2023 // mid 2023 // early autumn 2023]

to be fair i wasnt drawing myself much until recently (Gray fixed me everybody say thank you Gray) so the way she looks wasn't as consistent and i was kinda bullsitting it every time. hell a third of these files are labeled "redesign" or something similar

its still inconsistent but THIS TIME its on purpose, with the major things such as hair shape, body, tail if i remember about it being the same and minor such as body/facial hair, lashes, tits, bra strap appearing and disappearing (epic transgender moment)

fun that of all things the wolf nose, sharp teeth and the black shirt are the things that have been consistent for a while. and now cargo shorts are coming back too loll

makes me wonder what will happen next. will i keep the collar? how will the clothes change? the shapes? will i finally start drawing them with their tail? i dont know and its so exiting!!!

uh idk my name is max im an artist, a gender and a wolf. my sona has been reflecting that tru a good chunk of my life now look at this sick drawing i made in 2022

______________________

*for those who know nothing about character design, there's three shapes with which you design a character: circle square and triangle. they mean different things and are used to convey character's personality visually, for example square is seen as stable strong and static so if you're making a character like that it would make sense to use more square-like shapes

it doesnt always means square circle and triangle literally and more that bright dynamic character is going to have more sharp edges and a fast character is going to have lots of curves which is why i said that trapesiod is more of a a square

having too many different shapes on a character might make them a little confusing to look at so people usually choose one and build character of off that, i like to also have a secondary shape to make it easier for myself

there's this good vid that touches on the topic more

______________________

also fun little things i find interesting:

my art got messier where it needs to! it meand im getting better :]

even though ive always been a beast ive just recently started drawing blood and gore (and my sona reflects it)

i got more gender

its been years and there wasnt a consistent face shape for any period of time

i got more uncomfortable-looking lmao

more weird and creepy too

barks at you. bark at me back if you read the whole thing

oh the homestuck influence.....

awtizm creature

goddamn its been over a year since i started drawing myself like that

[poguestvff]

LIKE A BIG SISTER SHOULD — WHEEZIE CAMERON

in which wheezie cameron finds that blood doesn’t make you family, love and affection does.

taglist | masterlist | 2.5k words | @pogueslandia ,

warning(s): food, she/her pronouns, ward slander, a little sarah slander but that’d include reading between the lines. why’d this make me want to make a series of reader and Wheezie being best friends.

There's always been a heavy feeling of loneliness that rested upon the youngest cameron's shoulders, weighing her down as it seemed to pile over the years. Her siblings were always older, an age gap between them that even if it was shortened by a few years, their worlds would still be two different things. All three of them were in three different stages of life yet somehow it felt like Wheezie wasn't even there at times.

Throughout the entirety of her schooling career so far, everything had somehow been about Rafe and Sarah. Sarah was the perfect one; the paragon who could do no wrong. Even if Sarah tried to disobey, it'd be turned around to be made out as a minute mistake. She'd probably be able to get away with it a second time if she did it a different way. Maybe the same way.

Rafe was quite the opposite. The bastard child who needed a plentiful amount of attention in hopes he can be more like the paragon. With all this attention, his head only grew. It never gave him the space for growth. It minimized the space to stay exactly where he was for years on end.

This left Wheezie to be the ostracized sibling. She wasn't a social butterfly or a poster child like Sarah and she definitely wasn't a loner or the 'damaged goods' child like Rafe. She was just... average. With average grades and an average personality. Just average old Wheezie. She told herself this consistently, watching her father balance his attention between making sure Rafe stayed between the lines he'd drawn for him in a radius such as a dart board and allowing Sarah step out of them, even erasing some of the lines so she could walk on by them without a second thought.

But Wheezie was stuck in that tiny little circle in the middle, the bullseye as if scared to move out of those lines. The one place that was the hardest to pinpoint specifically by her father. But there was one thing Ward Cameron always said correct about his younger daughter. That he wouldn't be able to pin point his little dart of control into the middle of the board because she was misunderstood and misunderstood she was.

Though one person had been able to pick up on every single one of Wheezie's emotions.

Y/n Y/L/N was a pogue who had done tutoring on the side for a little extra money and when John B had recommended Y/n for help with Wheezie's homework, Ward was quick to say okay. He hardly even asked a thing about Y/n, just telling her to help Wheezie pass eighth grade and that was all. It was made very apparent to Y/n that was Wheezie was not as much of a priority to Ward as other things were.

Their first tutoring session, Wheezie was awfully dismissive. She didn't care for any of Y/n's efforts as they sat within the comfort of Wheezie's bedroom. She just wanted the entire hour to be over with the second she'd entered her room but Y/n was insistent, knowing that by the end of the school year she would have something instilled in Wheezie's brain. She just didn't know what that something was yet.

The second time they met, Y/n was more passive aggressive in hopes of breaking down the brick walls Wheezie had stored between her and everyone else in hopes of not disappointing them like the way she thought she'd disappointed her father. Y/n sat her down in her desk chair, swiveling her chair to her as she rested her hands on the younger girls shoulders. "You are going to have a really awkward couple of weeks if you and i don't become friends so no work today. We're playing 20 questions."

That night, Y/n learned a lot about Wheezie Cameron that she never thought she'd learned. Wheezie hated the color purple, she just painted her room that color because Sarah liked that color. Wheezie loved to paint and to draw, it was her favorite activity, she just rarely showed it bevause she hadn't believed in herself. Though, when she showed Y/n the canvas' that were shoved at the back of the closet, Y/n marveled at them. But Y/n's favorite fact, and the same one that almost made her hug Wheezie on the spot, was that she was never taught to swim and Y/n made her a promise that she would teach her.

As the weeks went by, Wheezie waiting anticipatingly for Y/n's beaten down, green ford bronco to pull up on the driveway and she'd leave the house with a giant smile on her face. It’d be early in the morning, a little less than an hour until school started, just like how Wheezie liked. She'd jump in the driver seat, embracing the smell of vanilla from the scented item hanging from the rear view mirror. She’d toss her bag to the back as Y/n would ruffle her hair, just like she had every morning. "And beloved was set in... late 1856!" Wheezie answered excitedly as Y/n drove down the final street towards her school after the two had gotten breakfast together.

"Perfect! You're gonna do so good on your test, Wheeze, I promise." Y/n told her ecstatically as she pulled into a parking space. Just before Wheezie could get out, Y/n held her upper arm just to gain her attention before she got out. "Tell Rose she doesn't have to get you after school. I'll leave school early and you and I are having a girls day. No studying, just me, you and a shit ton of sweets."

Wheezie smiled, she could feel the muscles in her jaw begin to hurt from how wide she had. She tilted her head to the side out of curiosity, eyeing the look of excitement on Y/n's face. "But why?"

Y/n shrugged, adjusting in her seat and fixing her rear view mirror. "Cause, you deserve it. I'm so proud of you, Little W." She told her, looking back towards the girl and seeing her smile slightly drop. "You okay?"

Wheezie couldn't remember a time where she was genuinely told that. Yeah, sure, Ward said it a few times but it'd be in a lousy tone before he'd wave her off, saying he was busy with whatever office work he had to attend to. Sarah may have said it a few times but it was rushed before she'd run after her friends with a quick goodbye to Wheeze, leaving her alone in the sand. It was never sincere. Not in the way Y/n had said it.

She rubbed her hands against her jean clad thighs with a sharp breath before nodding. “Yeah. I've just never really been told that before. Like—Like genuinely." She said, lowly, in hopes Y/n would understand and wouldn't push it.

Y/n had known Wheezie long enough to know her tells and avoiding eye contact was one of the biggest ones. So she didn't indulge further in the conversation, brushing it under the rug but knowing she'd have to go diving back in for that little tidbit later on. Instead she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug from over the console. "I'll tell you i'm proud of you everyday if i have to." Y/n muttered before kissing the top of her head. "Now go, if you're late to first period, your dad will kill me." And Wheezie was able to leave the car with a smile on her face, already looking forward to the day planned later on.

Y/n was overall consistent, it was one thing Wheezie enjoyed knowing that when she made promises she tried to keep them as best as she could. Sometimes things slipped her mind but Wheezie could recognize that Y/n didn't forget a thing when it came to Wheezie. Like she made sure to engrave bits and pieces of her into her mind like a data chart. But it showed she cared and that was enough for Wheezie.

Y/n cared enough that when she entered her car after school, the smell of her favorite cinnabon's filled the car that made her look in the backseat, seeing a picnic basket. There wasn't a chance, right? You could only get them on the mainland. She turned her body swiftly towards the elder girl who sat with a smirk on her face. "You didn't?"

"I did. Second I left fourth period, got on a ferry just for you to have those overly sweet treats." Y/n said, tapping her nose with a 'boop'! "And I almost got stuck on the mainland because of it so you better enjoy the hell out of them."

"I will, I promise." Wheezie said dramatically as Y/n smiled, pulling out of the parking space to head down to the beach. Wheezie had said she didn't have a bathing suit, not prepared for the outing, though Y/n already said she had ransacked her room for clothes for after. Y/n was the only person allowed in Wheezie Cameron's room without Wheezie being there and the elder girl took pride in it.

As Y/n set up their small area for the few hours, she noticed Wheezie standing just where the water and the sand met. She kicked around the water with clear disinterest causing Y/n to huff, hands on her hips, before tossing off her hoodie to get in. The splash she'd made by pushing herself into the water made Wheezie jump, a laugh falling from the two's lips. "Come on." Y/n said, standing and holding her hands out to Wheezie.

"Y/n/n, I can't swim."

"Y/n/n I can't swim, well, obvi, i know that, little W. But, you have your amazing best friend to keep you afloat. I won't let you go, i swear." Y/n said, holding up her pinky.

"Swear?"

"On my life." She reassured with a trusting smile before Wheezie walked further in. When the water had gotten to her above her waist, it'd freaked her out a bit though Y/n talked her through it, coaxing her further in slowly. Wheezie was kept above the water as Y/n held her hands as the buoyancy was used to their advantage. "See, not as bad as you thought?"

Wheezie shook her head though still nervous. "Not as bad, not my thing though."

"Why don't we try actually swimming? I won't force you if you don't want to and we can get back to shore right now but maybe just try?" She asked as Wheezie had to think about it for a moment. She almost felt guilty, remembing just a few months ago when Sarah had asked her if she could teach her but she refused. Though maybe, just maybe, it was because of Y/n being a bit more trust worthy that Wheezie said yes this time.

It took a while, Wheezie was frightened by letting go even as Y/n would say she was okay. Wheezie would tighten her grip on her shoulders before trying again and again until she eventually got it. She finally was able to keep herself above the water without flailing, recognizing that she was okay. Y/n cheered as she watched, not caring for the stares of others around them. "See, dude? You just have to start applying yourself! You did it!"

"I did it!" Wheezie said as Y/n hugged her, the two laughing before Wheezie screamed making Y/n's laughter die fast. "Something touched me!"

"Wheeze, it was seaweed." Y/n said softly before turning and letting her place her hands on her shoulders. "Yeah let's get you out of here before a jellyfish gets you."

Wheezie widened her eyes. "Jellyfish?"

As the sun had began to set and people had packed up their things and left, Y/n and Wheezie stayed. Wheezie was on her fourth doughy treat, even though Y/n told her to slow down two treats ago. Towels were wrapped around each of their shoulders as they watched the pretty colors fade in to one another, a mixture of pink, blue and orange array of colors combining to make a cotton candy sky. Wheezie watched as Y/n got up, accepting a phone call from Ward, the only phone call she hadn't silenced since they'd left the car.

In the time she'd left, Wheezie took advantage of it to recognize how appreciative she was of all that Y/n was doing for her. She came in as a tutor and, to Wheezie, was to stay as a friend. As family. Wheezie was more then ecstatic to have someone who would be there to rant and rave about the other Cameron's, someone she could trust with her secrets and the contents of her always running brain. Someone who was just there.

"Hey, your father would like us back in thirty so we should leave in ten." She said coming back and sitting beside Wheezie as she caught sight of her face, the lack of the smile that was there previously concerning her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, really. Just... I really enjoyed today, Y/n. It really lets me know you're not just here for like... like the money or something."

Y/n let out a scoff. "Are you kidding? I enjoy nothing more than watching you freak out over the existence of jellyfish." She joked as Wheezie pushed her to the side with a laugh. Y/n recovered, letting out a content sigh as she tossed an arm over Wheezie's shoulders. "You're stuck with me now, Wheezes. Can't wait to record you falling at your next soccer game."

Wheezie couldn't help the laugh that slipped past her lips, leaning into Y/n's embrace as her head rested against her clavicle. "And I'll be looking for you in the stands, Y/n/n."

Y/n and Wheezie had both found out something about the other that night. Wheezie found that she didn't want to be like Sarah and she was glad she wasn't like Rafe. She was content with her own little circle on the dart board but maybe she could take a bit after her newest role model. And Y/n found that she was able to instill several things into the youngers mind including To Kill a Mockingbird, Inca Civilizations, and that she now had a true and present big sister to look up to.

[hopeandvolleyball]

when you break up

w/iwaizumi, akaashi

genre: pure pure angst

a/n: i might make this a series because i like the idea and i like hurting people with angst. sequel “when you move on” here

iwaizumi

he was just busy. that’s what you wanted to tell yourself. he got a new job and he was just busy.

but at some point him standing you up, cancelling dates for team hang outs was enough. you understood that this athletic trainer job was important to him

but weren’t you? he said he wanted to marry you.

that’s what the promise ring on your fourth finger supposedly said.

so that’s what you were going to find out.

you were waiting on the couch when iwaizumi returned home to you. despite everything you still missed him and got butterflies in your stomach whenever he walked through the door. you jumped up when he set his bag down to hug him. arms wrapped around his waist you wanted to pull him closer and sway back and forth. instead he grunted and pushed you off him.

“nows not the time, y/n,” his voice was gruff as he continued to walk to the kitchen to grab some water. instead of feeling your heart break you felt an odd fire in your chest. a fire of anger, please, do not get it confused. you followed him, swaying on the balls of your feet.

“i made dinner a while ago, i can reheat it for you if you’d want,” you suggested, trying not to let the annoyance you were feeling slip through. iwaizumi didn’t give you the same pleasure.

“i already ate.” he snapped simply, sipping his water. you gripped the fabric of your pajama pants tightly, lip curling and brow twitching in anger. just breathe. don’t scream. don’t get angry.

“hajime, we need to talk,” you demanded, voice squeaking just a bit as you spoke to him. he pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes at you. never in your life did you ever think you would hate those sparkling emerald eyes of hajimes. now you couldn’t bare to look at them. they held no sparkle. at least not for you.

“can’t it wait? i’m exhausted.” iwaizumi bit back with a bit more force than you had with your first demand. you bit down on your lower lip harsh enough to draw blood.

“just like our anniversary?” you barked, trying not to let your voice waver. you wanted to get your opinion out before he walked away from you and continued to ignore the ever present poison in your relationship. “like the date you were supposed to take me on last week? or the one on fucking friday? jesus christ hajime i don’t see you anymore! ever! it’s like i don’t exist to you. you spend more time with that god damn team than you do your own girlfriend!”

“it’s my job to spend time with them,” hajime defended, tone not wavering and he sounded disinterested by this argument. he didn’t even try to defend himself in regards to the missing dates.

“it’s your job to train them, iwaizumi!” you countered. “not continuously go out to dinner with them, plan hang outs, none of that! i’m sure you’d remember atsumu miya’s eye color before you’d remember mine. i’m tired of this, hajime. i moved back to japan to start a life with you. to be with you and you don’t even care! i’ve given up all of my dreams for you and you take me for granted and i’m sick of it. something has to change here iwaizumi.”

“if you can’t handle my job and what i need to do then you can leave,” iwaizumi snarled, crossing his arms. your eyes widened and stepped back. “i can’t be with a person who doesn’t support me.”

“i’ve been so supportive! more than you!” you wailed, still wanting to cry but you didn’t. hajime didn’t respond and continued to walk down the hall. “fine. i’m gone.” he turned around, not sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t you taking off your ring off and placing it on the counter. “have a good life hajime. don’t treat your next partner the way you did me. i’m done.”

“wait, y/n-”

“thats the thing, hajime. i’m tired of waiting.” you sadly laughed, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your purse. he stared at you with wide, confused eyes. he wasn’t going to stop you. he didn’t care enough and you knew that. but some part of you wanted him to follow you and kiss you outside of you apartment while he confessed his undying love for you. but he wouldn’t. “i’ll get my stuff while you’re at practice so you don’t have to see me. goodbye hajime.” with that you walked out the front door. you didn’t cry until you got to your car, sobbing while driving down the street. you stopped at the old cafe you and hajime went on your first date to. sadly you went inside and got yourself an americano. hajime’s favorite drink. you sat alone at a table until someone tapped your shoulder and pulled up a chair in front of you.

akaashi

you didn’t want to be jealous or insecure really you didn’t. that was the last thing akaashi needed.

but from dates skipped because bokuto needed something, or him letting other people flirt with him

you were done.

no. moreso you were just tired.

you two have had this talk more times than you could count and he promised to be more considerate of your feelings.

then why did he let the waitress on your date flirt with him and why did he pocket the number they left on the check.

the ride home was eerily silent, you staring out the window not bothering to speak to keiji. he was getting annoyed and you could tell by how harshly he was gripping the steering wheel. you knew he wasn’t going to bring up what happened so you were going to have to start this argument. again. you were the bad guy again. that’s how it always was.

“what was that back there, akaashi?” you asked quietly, cheek still pressed onto the cold window of the car. keiji sighed, slightly annoyed slightly depressed.

“what are you referring to, my darling?” he asked, not taking his eye off the road to look at you.

“you let the waitress flirt with you all night! kei we’ve been over this we’ve been over how it makes me feel!” you responded incredulously. akaashi rolled his eyes and sighed once more.

“she was not flirting with me, y/n, she was just doing her job and trying to get a better tip,” he defended, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel once the car pulled to a stop, the red of the stop light illuminating both of you. almost like a warning. you threw your hands up and laughed.

“is that why you have her phone number in your pocket?” you bit, a sharper tongue than any snake he could have ever met. “why are you defending her?”

“i was going to throw it out when we got home,” akaashi rolled his eyes. “i’m defending her because you’re acting crazy and possessive. you’re being insecure for no real reason. i give you everything stop acting like an entitled brat.”

“that’s bullshit and you know it, keiji!” you slammed your hands against the dashboard which caused akaashi to flinch. “you’ve only started to pay attention to me because i called you out. i’m insecure because you have consistently made me feel like i’m worthless! like everyone else means more to you than me! your coworkers, your editor, your assistant, bokuto. need i go on?”

“is nothing i do good enough for you?” akaashi fought back the moment the light turned green. “i’ve been trying. i have. and if you can’t accept that i’m not perfect and that this is going to take a while for me to change then maybe you should just leave.” the car went silent at that proposition. you stared at him with glassy eyes, hands falling to your lap. akaashi’s blueberry eyes were starting to wet as well.

“are you serious?” you meekly spoke up, worried of what his answer was going to be.

“we’ve been at each others throats for months now. i’m not making you happy. and clearly nothing i do is helping. we need to just end this. i’m sorry, y/n.” you stared at him, your entire world crumbling within minutes. you loved akaashi keiji. but if he wasn’t willing to fight for you here he never would be. he didn’t love you the way you loved him. nodding, you turned back to look out the window.

“i’ll start packing when we get home.” was all you said for the remainder of the lonely car ride.

[blushnote]

↳ requested | 1.6k words

↳ dom!wonwoo smut

a/n: HELLO. i’m sure everyone is wondering what’s going on and WHY i’ve been absent for a few months. put simply: things got hectic and i needed a break! i’m not saying i’ll jump back into being completely active again, but that i’m going to come on as often as i can! (which might be every few days or so! i apologize!!)

as a treat for everyone - this features rich girl wonwoo! <3 

wonwoo stands at the street pole, conversing with his friends. the bar is unusually crowded. mostly likely because it’s a friday and there isn’t much else the townspeople would rather do than get plastered, forgetting the atrocities of work. his friend extends a box of cigarettes to wonwoo, offers him one, but he shakes his head.

since getting involved with you, wonwoo has attempted to forfeit smoking. it has always been something he’s done to pass the time at the street corner. plus, he likes the idea of blowing a big, stinging cloud right into someone’s face when they give him attitude. 

instead wonwoo suckles on a lollipop that tastes like an artificially sweet strawberry, pushes up the bridge of his glasses, and folds some silvery hair under his beanie. he knows it’s about the right time for you to be returning from that dinner party your parents forced you into attending.

as wonwoo’s friend exaggerates a tale about getting into a fist-driven confrontation at a bus stop last week, someone strutting by on the packed street bumps wonwoo’s shoulder.

“choose a better place to stand.” the stranger rumbles, agitated.

wonwoo flicks up his middle finger indifferently. “fuck off.” he grunts, the fog of his breath appearing in the night air.

he’s feeling sort of agitated himself. your parents have tethered you to a leash lately, forcing you to all these fancy gatherings and opening ceremonies and dinners. to put it frankly – wonwoo misses you. your laugh, your eyes, the texture of your skin, your voice in his ear. he’s been wanting an excuse to get his hands all over you. every single inch.

that’s when he hears the ding in his jacket pocket. looking away from the dramatic enactment involving his friend driving a fist into his palm, wonwoo checks his phone to see a text from you. a series of images.

23:28 // JPEG.1034

23:28 // JPEG.1035

23:28 // JPEG. 1036

the three pictures load. he chokes on his breath.

23:28 // i know u don’t like when i spoil my lingerie but.

23:28 // don’t i look so cute :( so fuckable?? im srry but I had to :(

his teeth crack the strawberry lollipop into sugary shards in his mouth. that lace is squeezing your flesh in all the right places. the picture with your fingers splayed teasingly over your underwear, hiding your core, it’s enough to make him shudder, salivate even. he’s officially ignoring his friend’s story by tapping a reply, fiddling with the thin stick in his mouth.

(ww) 23:30 // u free now? head to my place.

he receives an answer immediately.

23:30 // hmmm why?

(ww) 23:30 // u know why. don’t act like such a brat.

already, wonwoo can sense the desire form inside him. pounding almost. like a second heartbeat. you’re usually compliant and bending to his carnal whims. maybe all this time away from each other has you forgetting just how well wonwoo can fuck that stubbornness out.

23:30 // it’s new. i don’t want u ripping anything!!

(ww) 23:30 // idc.

23:30 // so mean!! not even gonna let u touch me now :-)

(ww) 23:30 // yeah. ok. we’ll see about it then.

after sliding his phone back in his pocket, wonwoo glances briefly in through the bar window. he sees a bartender pour a glass full of ice cubes before sloshing in a surge of alcohol. at that, wonwoo gets an idea. when his friends question about why he’s leaving so suddenly, he smirks.

“need to teach someone how to behave.” wonwoo shrugs before jogging quickly across the street.

“i’m not gonna tell you again. keep your fuckin’ thighs spread nice and wide for me or else i won’t let you cum – not even once. you understand?”

a harsh dip in your stomach suggests the breath you just inhaled. after a moment of silence, he hears you comply, and watches with his hungry, intent gaze as your legs part open for him. wonwoo has been teasing you with a bowl of ice cubes. at first, he held them to your nipples, had you whimpering into his mouth while he simultaneously rubbed his tongue against yours. but the real fun began when he introduced the ice cubes to your lower region. it was a very different punishment compared to his past endeavours, a tantalizing one.

wonwoo returns the cube to the nook of your inner thigh, then creeps it slowly toward your core. you’re beginning to tremble with the restraint required to not snap your legs shut. the ice cube ghosts transiently up your slit, a contact you had yet to experience, and a beautiful gasp tears from your lungs. he swears that you leak even more onto the sheets.

he takes the cube away, then drags his warm tongue from the bottom of your pussy right to the top, delivering a slow, flat lick which tastes sweet and cold and makes him so unbelievably dizzy with how much he loves it.

“w-wonwoo, please, pl-please keep going.” you stutter, opening your thighs even wider to invite his tongue.

he shakes his head. “what else did i tell you? don’t ask me to do anything. you’ll lie there and you’ll fuckin’ take it.” smiling, wonwoo issues a tight grip on the ice cube and presses it right into your clit. you whine sharp and loud, your hands traveling all over your body in confusion, not sure if it’s more pleasure than pain, or a hot mix of both.

“or are you still interested in acting like such a brat, hm?” wonwoo utters in his deep voice. “ like a smug little princess who thinks she can tease me whenever she wants and she’ll still get my cock all the way inside her? nice and full, just how she likes it. is that it, babygirl?”

he feels the ice melt under his fingers. you can hardly piece together a response, just a very incoherent, “no wonwoo” as tears start slipping down your cheeks. wonwoo takes the cube away, then massages your clit with his thumb, warming you up slowly. a few jolts pass through your body. he can tell you’re falling apart inside with how badly you want to cum, though wonwoo had strictly told you to hold it. he rubs and rubs and rubs, barking at you to control yourself, your pussy so slippery with arousal that it’s running all down your skin and wetting the bed.

right when he feels you’re about to snap, wonwoo completely removes his touch. you wail at that, suckle in a shaky breath and cry his name.

“please, wonwoo! i-i’m sorry, m’soso sorry! i’m sorry for acting so bratty and sending those pictures, t-teasing you like that! but i just c-ccan’t take this anymore. treat me however you want, but please let me cum!”

he’s truly missed the sound of you begging for him. his cock twitches in his pants, reminding him of how hard he currently is. each time you cry the boy’s name in such a lewd manner, there’s another surge of pleasure and he aches even more, to the point where he could cum just from touching himself over his clothes. still, wonwoo must ensure you’ve really learned your lesson. so, he offers you a deal. he’ll get to watch you pleasure yourself with the ice cube until he cums.

and so wonwoo sits in a chair based at the end of the bed, a hand stuffed down his pants, watching you swirl an ice cube at your sensitive core. he guides you every now and then: “hold it right there, pretty baby. let it melt all the way down. that’s it, sweetheart. n-now rub it, okay? f-finger yourself too. nnrgh, f-fuck. fuck you sound so wet. m’gonna c-cum—”

his strokes lash faster until wonwoo’s head rolls back against the chair, his eyes blinking shut while he chases his high. he hears you continue to whine as he cums, his cock throbbing in his hand, still so hard and heavy. in fact, wonwoo requires a moment just to breathe and let the heat circulate properly through his body.

with his fingers covered in the sticky mess of his cum, wonwoo approaches the bed again, fingering it as deep as he can inside you. he’s unable to remove his gaze from the filthy sight. there’s something so raw and intimate about watching his own seed getting pumped into you that sets his whole body aflame. he decides to let you orgasm as well, stimulating your g-spot consistently, letting you clamp down tight and ride his hand until you’ve got a full fix.

wonwoo supposes he’s done his job.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be able to look at an ice cube the same way again.” you laugh, sitting back against the headboard, tucked into his t-shirt.

drawing a warm washcloth between your thighs, wonwoo blinks at you, a very sly grin forming on his mouth. he plants a kiss on your nose.

“good. means it worked.” the boy says.

he folds the cloth over and finishes the last of his cleaning, ensuring there’s nothing more of his fluids that are still leaking out or anything sticking from your orgasm. grabbing your overnight bag off the floor, wonwoo pulls out a fresh pair of underwear and helps you slide into them. your lingerie sits in a pile off to the side, a few lace straps ripped.

“sorry about your little outfit.” wonwoo apologizes, staring at you earnestly. “it was pretty. you look good in everything.” he squeezes your hip and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay.” you murmur. “i’ll order something even better. and i’ll surprise you with it. maybe for your birthday. sound good?”

“mmhm.” wonwoo purrs, pulling you down with him to cuddle up close for the night.

“as long as i can take it off you, sweetheart, i’m fine with that.”

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 27/?

May I? - 27/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

The lights in the bedroom were dim but Data could still see the outline of Faith’s body by the moon shining through the blinds. Her back arched as he thrust into her from behind, his hands holding her hips for leverage. She rocked and moved with him, panting and twisting the bedsheets as she did. They had not done this position before and he found he quite liked the visual. And judging by the noises Faith made, he was sure she enjoyed it as well.

“Oh, Data!” she moaned.

The high pitch in her voice let him know he had found the correct angle. But her body did not shudder so he readjusted by a fraction of a degree. He earned a loud whine for his efforts and felt the way her body jolted in pleasure.

He calculated that at his current rate of speed if he maintained that angle and applied manual stimulation…

She feels so good.

The sudden stray thought interrupted his processes and he immediately froze. He had heard of humans experiencing such random thoughts before but he himself had not been able to replicate it on his own. To experience such a phenomenon himself had taken him by surprise. It was not just the appearance of the thought that struck him but the thought itself.

He had been enjoying himself as much as he can during their sexual acts. The smoothness of Faith’s skin had always intrigued him and the sensation of being inside her was not something he could quantify. And yet, his brain had decided that it felt good.

“Data?” Faith panted, craning her neck to look back at him. “W-Why’d you stop?”

“I had a thought.”

“Now?”

She did not normally get annoyed with him but it was evident by her tone that she was.

Data looked at her, bent before him, her buttocks flush against his lap, and the tantalizing dip of her spine as her top half rested on the soft mattress. Her wild hair was in her eyes and he reached out to push it away from her face as he draped his chest along her back. She whimpered when his breath ghosted across her ear.

“You feel good, Faith.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Wha…what do you mean?”

Data began to move again and though it was not the precise angle from before, Faith still responded to it. She moaned again, louder than before.  

“I am enjoying being inside you,” he went on. “I do not wish to stop anytime soon.”

Faith gasped and Data slid one arm around her chest so he could hold her as close as possible. She wiggled and moaned, rutting along with him as much as she could with the small space she had.

“Stars, Data! When you talk like that while moving like that…” She could not finish her sentence without moaning again.

“By my calculations and judging by our previous experiences, I estimate you can handle at least another two hours of sexual intercourse before requiring rest.”

“Oh god! Please don’t make me wait that long before I can cum.”

“I did not say you had to. In that time, you will experience several orgasms.”

He let her go so he could push himself up again. Minutes later, when her release took hold, she called his name louder than he had heard her done before.

They made love for as long as she could handle until she was a shuddering mess and her slow movements showed she was fatigued. Only then did Data finish, making sure to stay buried in her warmth until the moment of completion ended. It was an impulse that had developed over the course of their relationship, as he noted Faith seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.

Gently, he slipped out of her and laid on the bed, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. She did not move right away, only laid there spread out and panting.

“Faith, are you alright? Was that too long for intercourse?”

“I’m fine, just gimme a second.” Her words were slurred but he could still hear the satisfaction in her tone.

Eventually, she grunted and rolled over so she could face him. “Dear god, Data. That was the most intense lovemaking yet.”

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“And you did too apparently,” she said with a grin. “Did you really feel something or was that your attempt at dirty talk?”

“I was not attempting anything other than making you orgasm.”

“Mission fucking accomplished.”

“Did my talking elicit an arousing response?”

Still grinning, Faith drew closer, reaching down to take Data’s hand. She slid it between her thighs where he could touch the wetness there.

“Definitely.”

“Duly noted.”

He kissed her deeply while his fingers stroked the bundle of nerves that made her quake. She moaned, throwing her leg over his hip to allow for easier access. He had assumed she would need a break but it seemed his calculations were off.

He drew away from the kiss so he could study her expressions as he touched her. As many times as he painted her face, it was never enough. He never felt like he could truly capture what he saw when he looked at her. From the pinch of her eyebrows to the dip of her nose, to the way her bottom teeth dug into her full lip…it was all too beautiful to comprehend.

Data coaxed another orgasm out of her before she rolled into her back with a dreamy sigh.

“If this is what our vacation entails I’m mad I didn’t agree to take shore leave sooner,” she said with a satisfied hum.

Their shore leave had so far consisted of very little activity outside of their small stretch of beach

The first two days, they had taken the time to adjust to their surroundings and see what the hotel had to offer. There were numerous amenities, including a full-service spa, various small restaurants, and other recreational activities. Faith was not interested in most of them, except the spa where she had received a massage which she had described as leaving her boneless.

Other than that, the rest of the time was spent swimming or laying on the beach.

Lovemaking had also been a priority.

Data had noticed that Faith’s sexual appetite had greatly increased throughout their vacation. He concluded that since neither of them was constantly required to split their attention between their various duties, she was taking advantage of their alone time. Data did not nor would he complain. He was fascinated by the change in both of them.  

“I do not require rest and am happy to continue our sexual explorations during the time we have.”

“You’re too good to me.” She kissed him softly before forcing herself to sit up. “Mmmm, why can’t we just stay here forever?”

“I am assuming you do not actually mean forever.”

“I don’t. But it still sounds nice.” She draped herself across his chest, tracing the lines of his abdomen. Her wild hair and hazy eyes made Data stare, once again struck by her beauty.

“It does sound like an enjoyable way to spend our time. Though I do think you will grow mentally restless with nothing to do other than swimming and making love.”

“Probably. But it’s a sexy fantasy to have.”

“On that, I agree.”

They laid there for a time, Faith tracing her fingers across his skin while Data studied her. He was intimately familiar with all of her expressions. The one she wore now seemed hesitant, as though she wanted to say something but had not worked up the courage to do so.

“What is on your mind, Faith?” he asked, allowing one of her curls to wrap around his finger.

She smiled. “You and that positronic brain of yours.” She fell silent for a moment. “I have a present for you.”

This intrigued Data. It was not a special occasion or holiday so he had not anticipated receiving any gift. “I must admit I am curious. Why do you seem so worried?”

“I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

“Faith, you should know by now that I greatly appreciate anything you give me, regardless of what it is.”

Her smile widened and she leaned in to kiss him before slipping out of bed.

“You did not have to go through the trouble,” he continued as he sat up.

She crossed the room to their belongings. “It wasn’t any trouble. Well, that’s not true. It was a little bit of trouble but I wanted to do it. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.”

She dug around in their bag for a moment before withdrawing something and hiding it behind her back. When she returned to his side, she said, “Close your eyes.”

Data promptly did as she commanded. Faith picked up his hand and placed an object into it. He knew by touch instantly what the chemical makeup of the item was so when he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see a piece of neatly rolled paper, tied with a red ribbon.

“Thank you,” he said automatically.

Faith chuckled. “Open it, Data.”

Curiously, Data carefully untied the bow before unrolling the small scroll. He was surprised to find his own likeness staring back at him. The image had been carefully drawn in thick pencil, with smaller lines added to shade in and include minute details. While it was not an exact reproduction, it was fairly close.

“Faith? Did you draw this?”

She nodded with a proud smile, shoulders relaxing when she realized he liked it. “I noticed that you don’t paint yourself,” she explained, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I decided to try my hand at drawing, even took a couple of classes. What do you think?”

He had not known she had been taking drawing lessons. With their full schedules, he had not had the time to ask about any recreational activities. He had assumed since she was so tired, she did not have the energy. Now it seemed she had sought some out on her own.

“This is very good,” he said. And he meant it. “Your strokes and lines were done with confidence and precision and your attempt at shading was well-executed.” He felt a wave of affection and smiled at her. “Thank you. I have never received a gift quite like this.”

Faith beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. I know you love art and painting, and while it’s not really my thing I wanted to try. You’ve done so many wonderful paintings of me, I felt I should return the favor.”

“Perhaps we can hang it in our quarters when we return to the ship.”

“I would like that a lot,” she said. “Actually, I was thinking maybe you could do a family portrait of us. Me, you, and Spot.”

At the word “family”, Data tore his eyes away from the drawing. “Do you consider the three of us a family?”

“Well, yes. Don’t you?”

“I do. I appreciate that the sentiment is shared.”

He carefully placed the present on the nightstand as Faith made herself comfortable next to him. Drawing up the blankets, Data pulled her in close and settled against the pillows.

“Faith, may I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“We have been a couple for several months now. When do you believe you will feel comfortable talking about the subject of marriage?”

Her head, which had been resting on his shoulder, snapped back so she could stare at him with wide eyes. “Uhh…what…when…” She struggled to speak. “You…want to marry me?”

“Is that not something you desire?”

“I’ve honestly never really thought about marriage.”

“Oh. I see.”

Faith sat up, placing a comforting hand on his chest. “But that was before!” she said quickly. “Before I met you and before we started our relationship. Marriage was never on my mind because, honestly, I never thought I would feel close enough or comfortable enough with someone to consider it.”

“Has that changed?”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what it would be like if we got married.”

Data placed his hand over hers. “I feel it prudent to let you know that I do intend to propose to you in the future.”

Faith did not do or say anything for thirty full seconds, except rapidly blink. Data gave her a curious look.

“For once, I am having trouble reading your expression,” he said. “Some help into what you are feeling would be appreciated.”

Faith smiled. “It’s one thing to think about marriage, it’s another to talk about it. The same as any other fantasy.”

“Does this change your mind?”

She shook her head, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “No,” she said. “It just makes the fantasy more of a reality, which is scary.”

“In what way?”

Faith sighed and curled up against him again. “In a fantasy, everything goes how you want it to. In reality, there’s a chance of making a mistake.”

“And you feel marrying me would be a mistake?”

“Oh, stars, no! I’d be the luckiest woman in the galaxy if I had a chance to marry you I just…” She struggled to find the words. “I guess, I’m just afraid that you’d eventually think marrying me was a mistake.”

Data was confused. He could not follow her logic. “I do not understand.”

“Data, these periods of anxiety and depression most likely will never go away. Which means I’ll be experiencing them throughout the rest of my life. The thought of you having to deal with that makes me feel so guilty.”

“I do not see it at ‘dealing’ with anything. They are a part of you. You are operating under the assumption that I regard this as a chore. I do not. I am sorry if I made you feel like it is.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Faith assured him, hugging him tighter. “I guess to me sometimes it feels like a chore. And I know in previous relationships I was told it was…”

Hearing these words made Data feel angry. Not the explosive anger he had experienced prior. A more subdued version.

“Whoever made you feel such a way was wrong!” he said, his voice taking on a stern tone. “Loving you is not a chore.”

Faith looked up, brown eyes wide. “Data…”

“Faith, you are a wonderful woman. I am the luckiest sentient being because I get to experience you. All of you. And I do not want to experience another.”

He kissed her forcefully, needing to show her how much he meant what he said. Within seconds he had her on her back beneath him, her hands running up his shoulder blades as she allowed him to deepen the kiss.

Though he had made love to her for hours, he could do so again. He wanted to do so

The tiny gasp that escaped her lips as he pushed into her was instantly swallowed by his kiss. Data went slowly, taking his time. He knew the speed that Faith liked, how deep she needed him to be to reach orgasm, but he was not thinking about her pleasure at that moment. He only thought of his own growing need.

Data buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat-slick skin. He used to not understand how olfaction connected with sexual intercourse until he became sexually active with Faith. He then understood that it was connected to scene memory. Smelling Faith’s skin at such a close range, during such an intimate moment, brought to the surface memories of their numerous sexual encounters.

It made Data remember how she felt, how she yielded to his touch. How she sounded when he took her in his arms.

When he finally had his fill, his release came naturally. Faith lay sprawled beneath him, her brown eyes shining at him with hazy wonder as she dragged them open.

She reached up, pushing his hair back from his face, thumb stroking his ear as she tucked it back.

“Data,” she breathed in a soft voice. “Did you just…give into impulse?”

“I have given in to impulse before.”

“Not like that.”

He shook his head. “No, not like that. Was it…satisfying?”

“It was wonderful.”

“I did not hurt you did I?”

Faith smiled and shook her head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Although now we definitely need a break because I am sore. Not in a bad way. In a very, very, good way.”

“You should sleep. You must be very weary.”

They settled into comfortable positions and Data turned off the dim lights, plunging the room into darkness. By then the moon was hidden behind clouds. But it was not the total darkness of space around them. Ambient light from outside gave the room shadows and it was not long before Data heard Faith’s breathing become slow and even.

She slept curled in his arms. Data held her for some time. He did not want to activate his sleep program. Rather, he decided to lay there and contemplate. After several hours, he extracted himself from her embrace. Silently, he stepped out onto the porch. The waves were close enough for Data to step down and be standing in the water.

He stared out at the vast ocean, understanding why Faith was drawn to such scenery. It was hard to think of anything else when faced with such an endless view.

In many of the outcomes, he calculated he saw Faith leaving the Enterprise in six-five point two percent of them. Of those scenarios, he joined her eighty-nine percent of the time. That number steadily increased as their time together grew.

It would not be long before it was one-hundred.

Of the scenarios where he did not immediately join her, he calculated he eventually would within a short period of time.

Either way, Faith was a part of his future. It was as he told her when he said he loved her. He could not see a future for him that excluded Faith.

Data stood watching the water until the suns began to rise. He knew Faith would enjoy the view so he went back into the cabin. She was still sound asleep, spread across the bed and tangled in bedsheets. He smiled at the image, having never seen Faith so relaxed.

He crawled back into bed, hovering over her. “Faith?” He drew back her hair away from her ear.

She stirred in her sleep, leaning into his touch. “Hmmm?”

“The suns are rising. It is a remarkable sight.”

She rolled onto her back, yawning. “You’re a remarkable sight.”

“Come see.”

She lazily lifted her arm and Data helped pull her out of bed. With the blanket draped around her shoulders, Faith shuffled outside with him. Together they sat on the top step, watching the sunrise and the tide pull back. Her head rested on his shoulder.

Data knew he would remember this moment. Not just because he remembered everything, but because of the significance. There were several of his memories of Faith which he had categorized by importance. This would certainly be one of them.

“What do you wish to do today?” he asked.

She slipped her arm through his. “Just this.”

Because he could not think of a better way to spend their time, he smiled. “If you wish.”

[ducktracy]

185. porky’s hero agency (1937)

release date: december 4th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, emperor jones), tedd pierce (gorgon, assistant), sara berner (porky’s mom)

the final porky cartoon for 1937, and what a busy year it’s been for him! hard to believe he had an entirely different voice, look, and demeanor just 8 months prior. even then, his character still had much to explore, as we see here—in this cartoon, he’s cast as a child again. curiously, bob clampett is often credited as the one who refined his personality into the one we know today (he did give him his iconic suit and tie), but, like everything else, it was more of a collaborative exploration by all of the directors.

the title card is one of the more interesting title cards in the warner bros. repertoire—it’s a photo of a porky statuette! bob clampett would make several statues during his time at WB and distribute them to his top animators. while the statue in the credits is painted over, you can view an unpainted model here!

here, porky dreams of the wonders of ancient greece, prancing around as the mythological messenger parkykarkus. however, a gorgon has her sights set on turning him into stone, and it requires some quick thinking from porky to weasel his way out of this mess.

bobe cannon animates the expositional sequence, with porky propped up in bed, sucked into a giant book full of greek myths. his mother (offscreen) tells him it’s time to go to sleep, but porky objects, protesting that he was just at the exciting part. cannon’s animation is easy to spot with his trademark buck teeth, yet the gestures he gives porky--finger points, turning the page, etc.--give him a nice dose of youthful energy as he recaps the story, telling tales of gorgons and “great great great” greek heroes.

nevertheless, a disembodied hand turns out the light, dismissing porky’s protests. he heaves a resigned sigh, lamenting how he wishes he could be a great greek hero. 

the cartoon doesn’t make any attempts to keep the dream sequence a surprise--instead, the face of the book’s cover takes up the entire screen, the pillars emblazoned on the front melting to life as we fade into ancient greece. and, as to be expected, our favorite porcine hero proudly stands in front of the building, proudly advertising “HERO FOR HIRE AGENCY -- PORKYKARKUS PROP.”

porkykarkus is a play on parkykarkus (”park your carcass”), a character on eddie cantor’s radio show “the chase & sanborn hour”. truck into porky’s services as he narrates over the specials:

“has anybody any eh-deh-deah-deah-dragons you want seh-seh-sleh-slay-slaye--rubbed out? or maybe ya have some, uh, fair meh-mai-meh-maide--honeys ya want rescued! it’s a peh-pleasure. is your daughter safe? phone eh-peh-porkykarkus at olympia 2222!”

porky’s narration, as always, is fun to listen to, and the physical advertisement has its own charm and appeal, with discounts and deals on certain rescues. not only that, but it’s a damn smart way to save money, having just the narration over the still frame. smart thinking!

conveniently, porky gets a phone call, sparking the tried and true “gear up for a big sprint but merely tinker on over to your destination” gag. as porky answers the phone, filling us in by repeating the hidden dialogue from the other line, we find out it’s the emperor--he wants one hero to go.

chuck jones’ layouts stick out quite strongly throughout this cartoon, especially in the human designs. porky’s statue of mercury is no exception--the bulbous nose and rounded body construction are all surefire trademarks of his work. porky grabs the messenger’s hat and winged shoes from the statue, never once taking a beat to stop as he hobbles along, dressing as he prepares to head out. woodblock sounds simulate the sound of his hooves clopping, but also add an extra jaunty jive to the merry score of “have you got any castles?” in the background, the cartoon’s motif. it would also be a merry melody courtesy of frank tashlin not even a year later.

with that, porky takes off, soaring in the skies like a pro with his winged shoes. if the scene wasn’t appealing enough with the overhead layouts, the animation of porky steadying himself is wonderfully smooth and fun--the cherry on top. he circles the palace where the emperor is located, swooping down to his destination. complete with airplane sound effects, of course.

“howdy, empy!” another bulbous-nosed jones character silences porky from behind his armchair. emperor jones (boy, who could that name reference, i wonder?) speaks in a ridiculously hilarious dialect, completed with a thick accent: “shh! i’m making a fireside chat with my sheeps!” his voice then slips into a rooseveltian draw as he coos “my friends, grecians and customers, this is emperor jones speaking...”

pan to the audience, which consists of a sea of smiling statues. this entire speech sequence is wonderful--not only is his terrible grammar terribly amusing, (”statistics show... what last season at this time was population in greece from 6,000 with 500 with 54 people, with 17 statues.”) but little touches such as one of the audience statues roasting marshmallows and later a hotdog over the fireplace, the emperor making his audience clap by pulling on ropes tied to their arms, and so forth make the entire charade highly amusing with lots of details to look out for. porky standing idly in the background, awkwardly fidgeting as he tries not to intrude is a great little piece of character animation as well.

the emperor gives the skinny, all while chowing down on a hotdog: a gorgon has been turning more and more people into statues, and they need a hero to steal her life-restoring needle in order to turn all of the statues back into humans again. the hero he has in mind is, of course, porky, who bashfully accepts the offer. when the emperor asks those in favor to raise their right hand, he pulls on a lever that causes all of the statues to raise their hands in unison, including a hand on a nearby clock. with a handshake, empy concludes “it’s a deal!”

one of the most impressive pieces of animation in the cartoon (i actually dedicated an entire drawing to it!) is when the emperor sends porky on his way, who waves goodbye as he flies through the air with his winged shoes. just as he tips his hat, he knocks into a pillar, which sends him tumbling upside down, but still airborne. the wings on his shoes form hands as they shake their fists in the glory of the good landing, with porky flashing a cheeky grin to the audience before spiraling lower in the air, regaining his balance, and barreling onward towards a smoldering volcano. the animation is full of life and character--though porky is consistently jolly in the B&W clampett cartoons, the grin towards the camera as he prides himself in his save is a great little touch of personality. slowly but surely, bits of character are now becoming more defined.

a gag that took me just now to recognize it--porky swoops into the heart of the volcano, where we spot the source of the black fumes pouring out the top: the gorgon statue factory. a merry score of “you’ve got something there” serves as some easy listening as we’re treated to a sign gag:

outside of the factory is a human picket fence, comprised of familiar faces: statues of bobe cannon, norm mccabe, john carey, bob clampett himself and chuck jones surround the area. directly outside of the factory is the frozen statue of a salesman with his foot in the door--the joke is not only amusing, but the pose is quite strong and readable, too. though nowhere near the dynamism of frank tashlin’s poses in the mid ‘40s, clampett’s poses in this cartoon are quite defined and exaggerated for the time period. this is especially sharp in the scenes with the emperor.

porky knocks on the door held ajar by the ceramic statue’s foot, holding out an envelope. “telegram for the guh-geh-gee-geh-gee-gor-geh--” a hand snags the envelope out of porky’s grip, causing him to mutter “aww, nuh-neh-nee-nuh-neh-neh-nut--shucks,” a phrase he echoed in clampett’s previous entry, rover’s rival.

we transition to the inside of the factory, where we see the gorgon herself, positioned in front of a camera, awaiting to take “pictures” of her models. tedd pierce voices the gorgon, whose vocal stylings are a parody of tizzie lish, bill comstock’s character on al pearce and his gang. interestingly, the cartoon before this, the woods are full of cuckoos, featured a caricature of lish as well, also voiced by pierce. 

clampett and pierce’s comedic timing is sharp--not nearly as sharp as tashlin’s timing in the woods are full of cuckoos, but abundantly amusing nonetheless. the gorgon asks for a boy--”a sorta young-ish one”--and in comes a decrepit old man who can hardly hold himself up. the gorgon waits for the man to assume his position on the podium where his picture will be taken, singing a pitchy rendition of “am i in love?“, another homage to the characteristics displayed by lish’s character on the radio.

the gorgon snaps her photo, which turns the shaky old man into a stone statue at once, cheekily labeled “ANTIQUE --  $60,000 (P.S.: 000,000)” before he’s yanked off of the podium with a cane. 

“now let’s try a group picture.” you know it’s a ‘30s cartoon if the three stooges come waddling in--they made their caricatured, cartoon debut in the 1934 film the miller’s daughter, notorious for being chuck jones’ first animation credit. as expected, they all beat the tar out of each other while on the podium, rendered immobile only through the power of medusa’s camera. they turn into the three wise monkeys, labeled “3 MONKEYS OF JAPAN -- MADE IN GREECE”. 

norm mccabe’s animation is easy to spot in the next scene with porky, characterized by his signature double eyebrows. porky knocks on a door, parroting a favorite catchphrase from the al pearce show that frequented many a clampett cartoon: “i hope she’s eh-eh-at home, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope...”

porky shakes the hand of the assistant, unfortunately a blackface caricature (save for the voice, who is just tedd pierce speaking in a deep, suave voice) as he greets “welcome, stranger. won’t you come in?” before porky has time to answer, he’s yanked through the iron bars of the door and placed neatly in line for the photoshoot, where he peeks through the door to see the action inside.

a pile of men form a pyramid, where the camera turns them into a literal statue of a pyramid, with some slight imperfections. “aw, shucks!” laments the gorgon. “you moved!” she approaches them with her life restoring needle, allowing the men to form into the proper position, maintaining good balance. she gets her “genuine egyptian statue”, quipping “ought to make a handy paperweight!”

the assistant informs porky that he’s next. porky backs up anxiously, echoing a short-lived catchphrase of his from the joe dougherty era: “nuh-neh-no! eh-nn-nee-no! a-a thousand times no!” the decision to make his thoughts visible (his head is slapped onto that of a piggy bank’s) is playful, and also reflects just how big of an influence comics had on bob clampett’s work: comic artists such as milt gross and george lichty have been cited by clampett as inspirations. the george lichty influence is definitely noticeable in rod scribner’s animation under bob clampett, as we’ll discover in the coming years.

in the midst of his panic, porky backs into a statue of "dick a. powello” (dick powell and apollo), causing it to break. but, rather than fuss over the mess, porky uses the opportunity to hatch an idea instead.

in comes strolling porky, concealed by powello’s upper body and a blankett hiding his hooves. the triumphant score of “he was her man” and the gorgon’s smitten woos makes the scene hilarious as is, but the blanket falling off and revealing porky’s pudgy little hooves is the icing on the comedic cake.

porky perches himself on a conveniently placed couch, where the gorgon approaches him. “pardon me, is this seat taken?” she doesn’t wait a wink before snuggling right up to him, a heart symbolizing her affections popping in the air. though clampett would play with typography at times and maintain an overarchingly jovial mood to his cartoons, it’s an odd thing to see him play with comic-like visuals in this manner, such as porky physically envisioning himself as a piggy bank or the heart from the gorgon. i wish he had done it more in this nature!

with the gorgon too close for comfort, porky uses this as an opportunity to grab the gorgon’s life-restoring needle, dangling from her neck and lying against her body. it wouldn’t be a clampett cartoon without sexual innuendos--porky reaches aimlessly around for the needle, prompting the gorgon to let out a shriek, cooing “why, mr. a POWELLo!” 

she smothers the ceramic head in kisses, giving him a nice lipstick finish to boot as she pretends the statue has given her a ring. her ecstasy is hilarious and WONDERFULLY conveyed through strong, rubbery poses worth freeze-framing. picturing porky’s befuddlement is another humor within itself. 

finally, porky’s disguise is revealed when the gorgon literally crushes the statue in an embrace, stone crumbling around him as he desperately slips out of her grip. as the gorgon makes threats to call the cops, reciting the WB favorite catchphrase of “calling all cars! calling all cars!”, porky makes with the needle and jabs it in various statues, warning them “uh-geh-uh-get goin’! i-i-eh-it’s the guh-geh-geh-eh-geh-gorgon!”

as the gorgon chases porky with her camera, he continues to revive a barrage of statues: the antique, the famed discus thrower (who throws himself out of the scene rather than the discus), the man from the end of the trail statue, who exits riding his horse like a merry go round (a nod to friz freleng’s sweet sioux), a woman who marches off with popeye’s forearms--note the bobe cannon statue in the back here--and a mermaid who unzips her fin and makes a run for it. the highlight of the entire montage is when porky approaches two temples (the two of them together labeled “shirley temple”) and injects the needle into them, prompting the temples to use their pillars as legs and run for the hills.

the chase reaches its climax as the gorgon pursues porky with a movie camera, turning the crank ferociously as she runs. her plan works--porky slows down, freezing in mid-air as the gorgon cries “hold it!” thus, the gorgon pins porky to the ground, who tries his hardest to fight back, but ultimately flailing around as she commands him to open his eyes.  

we melt into the present, where we find porky’s mother in place of the gorgon, telling him softly to wake up. he does so, after she pries one of his eyes opens. relieved that it was all a dream, he embraces his mother, prompting a happy end and an iris out.

this cartoon has a soft spot in my heart--it was one of the first LT cartoons i saw on this whole venture. i thought i was the smartest person alive, understanding the three stooges, popeye, and shirley temple references. who knew just how much i had (and still have!) to learn! though even without my sentimental biases, this still stands as a very good cartoon.

as i mentioned previously, the poses in this are full of elasticity and energy, especially in the emperor and the gorgon. porky does a very nice job as well--little pieces of animation such as him fidgeting awkwardly while the emperor rambles on, swinging from side to side as he’s offered the job to be a hero, etc. etc. are full of charm and character. while his personality isn’t the most electric in comparison to characters like bugs and daffy, it’s the little things like these that really make porky stand out. with him, a little subtlety goes a long way, and that’s why he’s one of my favorites. he’s so reserved in comparison to such a wild cast of characters that his timidness actually shines through and sets him apart! (though, on the other hand, he can still have quite the personality, as we’ll discover!)

personally, the only gripes i have with this cartoon is the blackface caricatured assistant (which, in comparison to some cartoons we’ve seen and still have yet to see, is relatively mild, but uncomfortable nonetheless). the jokes, while corny at times, still hit, the animation is full of life and vigor, and the short as a whole has a lot of charm, whimsy, and personality. it has my seal of approval! go check it out!

link!

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xiv. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  2500

chapter 14.  Right Here

When you finally meet his gaze, he wonders if you see him at all.

"Earth to Park Soomi.  Earth to Park Soomi."  It barely registers even on his last try and Jungkook can't help but sigh, curling his fingers and spreading them in some wonky, squid-like wave in front of your face.

You're back at your apartment - his request, not yours - and seated alongside one another on the loveseat.  Your blanket is draped over your laps, more effectively centred over your legs that rest over his thighs.  He's been flipping through Netflix for the better part of five minutes, tossing suggestions out to silence.  You weren't even doing anything - just staring off into space like you were seeing the future.

"What?"  You snap out of it with a jerk of your head, nearly colliding your nose with the tips of his fingers.  

"What do you want to watch?"  He repeats for what is the fifth time.  There's an edge of exasperation to it that has you frowning.  He immediately softens, because he hates when you're anything but sunshine and summertime.  "I was thinking something scary, for old time's sake?"

He doesn't call you on the way your eyes glitter, mischief pouring honey into the depths. 

"Let's watch Midsommar."  Neither of you have seen it - as far as you know - but you've been dying to watch it.  You'd tried, once, with Yejin and Minji, but the former had torn out of the room, ranting about how she didn't want to have nightmares for days.  You'd given up, after that.  

"Okaaay."  The single syllable is dragged out as he selects the chosen film, tossing the remote onto the opposite chair like he's some kind of basketballer.  You watch as it bounces off the cushion and lands on the floor, nudged out of view by a furtive foot.  

"I saw that."

Jungkook pretends as if he has no idea what you're talking about, individually covered toes - god, why did he wear those stupid weird socks? - disappearing back beneath the cover of blanket.  He casts a cursory glance your way, the picture of innocence.  If he weren't so cute, you'd probably make him pick it up.  "Saw what?"

You can't stop the smile that spreads like butter, sinking into every little crevice and warming you from the inside out.  It pools in your lopsided grin and the lines at your eyes, reflected right back at you by your childhood best friend.  

"Nothing,"  you hum, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his self-satisfied grin. 

As if to push his luck – he loved to do it, had all his life – he hooks his arm over your stretched legs, his left hand snaking around the small space between your back and the couch, and pulls you closer.  You try to ignore the way it ignites heat, spreading warmth beneath the soft material of your shirt.  You can’t.

“What’re you doing?”  It comes abrupt and demanding.  A little sad, too.  (You hope he doesn’t notice.)

It somehow feels worse when he draws his hand away, as if you’d burnt him and not the other way around.  His expression slips, falls, and he doesn’t try to fix it, allowing it to slide into something begrudging and hurt.

When he speaks, it’s a hard line imposed between the two of you, a verbal barrier.  “I just wanted you to be comfortable.” 

You have no right to be upset and yet you are.  Jungkook thinks he sees a flash of it in your eyes before you’re facing forward yet again.  You’re closed off and it makes his heart ache but he’s not about to apologize for who he is – who he’s always been.

Even if he’s dying to know why you seem to suddenly hate it. 

Instead, he lets the movie roll, carefully contained in his little section of the couch.  He loathes it.  Your knees over his, a weight that drag his heart into the pit of his stomach and burns it in acid.  You don’t relax, hands locked in your lap like you’ve got your secrets hidden between them.

It’s only when your phone buzzes, face-up on your living room table, that you move at all.  Your movements are a marionette’s, unnatural and unforgiving;  you’re holding a world of tension within your bones and he’s afraid they’re going to snap like strings.  You never check your phone when you’re hanging out.  It was kind of a rule of yours and one Jungkook did his best to abide by, despite his responsibilities. 

“Is everything okay?”  He finally asks, reluctant, after you’ve been staring at your phone for far too long, completely disregarding the scene on the television.  He’s staring right at you, a million questions on the tip of his tongue.

He wonders if he’ll get an answer to even this one.

You don’t immediately respond.  He can’t read the tone of your voice when you do.  You won’t even look at him.  “It’s just Hoseokie’s friend.”   

When you finally meet his gaze, he wonders if you see him at all.

The next few weeks seem to fly by and while Jungkook loves the distraction, it's a reminder of your distance. 

He hasn't seen you since that night and there's this distinct hole in his mind and in his heart, each thought of you repeating tenfold like in an echo chamber.  He hates it more than he can say, the loneliness sinking into his bones when he least expects it.

Like now, for instance, in the car ride home.  Jimin sits beside him, singing along to what blares through the speakers, and stares out the window, completely at ease.  On the other hand, Jungkook can't focus on anything, his gaze locked on the leather console between the two front seats.  

He wonders what you're doing or if you're still awake.  (It's just past nine.)

"Are you okay?"  The question forces its way into his thoughts, drawing him from his reverie with a harsh hand, despite the gentle delivery.  His hyung's face is soft, worry framed into the slope of his eyebrows and the way his full lips purse.  

He's not quite sure what to say.  Lie?  Or verbalize things he'd rather not?  He hesitates, tongue slotting into the space of his cheek as he considers the question.

The silence seems answer enough.  "Is it about Soomi?"  There's no demand in Jimin's voice, no pushiness or reproach to be found.  He wants to express his support for his friend but toes the line of too much and not enough, head canting to the side as he studies the younger - and yet bigger - member.

"Yeah."  His admission is quiet, almost lost among the melody that filters through the speakers.  Truthfully, he wishes it had.

"Did..."  A pause, because Jimin wants to be very careful.  He's seen the bond you two have - know how precious it is, cradled in the cavity of Jungkook's chest like a treasure.  "Did something happen?"  He hopes its innocent enough;  he knows his maknae would never do anything to jeopardize your relationship.

"I don't know."  Jungkook sounds wrecked when the words come, anguish coating each syllable like a fine dust.  Still, there's more to be found in the spaces between them - in everything that's left unsaid.  "She's just been distant."  He shrugs, the line of his broad shoulders - ones that could hold the world up but faltered with this misery - rising beneath his black bomber.  "I'm not sure if I did something wrong but I'm too afraid to ask."

That, and you'd been near avoiding his communications, providing brief - though never cruel - responses and only answering his calls at half the consistency you'd used to.

To anyone else, it wouldn't have been bad but to him - it was like a knife to the heart.

Jimin mulls over the revelation, turning it over and over in his head.  He's spoken to you here and there, sending hilariously filtered photos over Snapchat and new songs over KaTalk.  He hadn't noticed anything amiss in your own friendship with him but then again, he wasn't Jungkook.  

He wasn't the person missing his other half, somehow, despite you being right there.

He doesn't bring that up, though, steeling knowledge of your regular responses behind the enamel grate of his teeth.  Instead, he gives what advice he hopes he would receive.  "I think you should talk to her."

"I've been trying."  It's almost a whine - very Jungkook-like in its delivery.  He's even pouting in that way he does best, lips curled in.

"No, I mean, tell her you want to talk about whatever it is."

As if the mere thought might be worse than death, Jungkook flinches.  "I can't do that!"  

"Why not?"  Jimin's not always this way, but he feels like the other needs a solid push in the right direction.  

"Because what if I did do something wrong?"  There's suffering in every word, colouring them in a mosaic of blue and purple like a moulted bruise.  "What if she doesn't want to talk to me and I just make it worse?"  He sounds so small, Jimin's heart aches for his friend.

"The alternative is never addressing this and having it become something more than it is."  He's not sure if this is the right approach - realism wasn't something people often appreciated in times of distress - but he presses on anyway.  "What if it's all just a misunderstanding but because you aren't talking to her, she stops talking to you?  How silly would that feel?"

By the ticking in Jungkook's jaw, he knows he's struck a nerve.

"You're right,"  the brooding brunet is finally relenting, the heaviest of sighs escaping his soft pink lips.  "I'll text her when we get back."

"You mean you'll call her."  Emphatic, because Jimin can practically feel the nervous energy rolling off of the other in waves. 

"Yeah."  It's not the most believable but he's trying.  "I'll do that."

Instead, he does one better - standing in front of your apartment like he doesn't feel sick to his stomach, tension spread across his limbs like venom and rooting him to the spot.  It feels too heavy in his veins, weighted lead that sinks into his feet and keeps his hands curled.

He just needs to knock.  One knock.  That's it.  Easy.

So why can't he do it?  

"Get it together, JK."  The grumble is quiet but pierces the evening air, seemingly bleeding into the wood grain of your door frame.  With a sharp inhalation, his fist meets with three loud raps.  He doesn't immediately hear anything on the other side - why he thinks he would, he's not sure - but it does nothing to alleviate the bile that boils over and rises in his throat.

This was a bad idea, he thinks, when the silence stretches on for longer than a second.

And yet, the door opens, flies open in the next and he can't help the surprise from affixing like a mask.  It shoots into the curve of his brows, arches disappearing into his mop of multi-colour.  His lips curl around a greeting, though the sound falls short when you speak first.  

He's relieved that there's no anger there - only bewilderment and confusion.  "Jungkook?  What're you doing here?"

Your question seems to spur him into action, his broad palm moving to brush over his ear.  A default action, a tic he's had since he was a kid.  It teases at the intensity that sits just beneath his facade of a smile and makes you regard him more carefully.  He's still got makeup on, shadow around his pretty eyes highlighting the doe-like quality of them.  Even his hair is still done, neatly curled into place across his forehead, though it looks like he's swiped his hand through it a number of times.

Another nervous habit, you think.

"I wanted to see you."  

You can't help the way the words stir something in your chest.  First, delight.  Pure unadulterated joy at being wanted by the person you want most.  Then, concern.  Because it's late on a random Tuesday and he wouldn't be here without reason.  He'd have called you.  But then his next words are a nail in your coffin, sinking you six feet under beneath his clunky black boots.

"I think we need to talk."  

You say nothing as you step back, turning your body to allow him over the threshold.  You're the picture of calm, gently clicking the door shut when he's manoeuvred his way inside and goes about untying the intricate laces on his shoes.

Inside, you're in full turmoil, a kerosene-soaked rag held dangerously close to a flame. 

"Can we sit?"  Even now, with the possibility of brutalizing your heart in two - yes, you were a cynic - he's so polite.  The best boy you've ever met, a sweetheart full of good intentions.  He extends a hand to you, taking a step back in the same instance.  You hate - love? - the confidence with which he moves, like this is his home, too.

You suppose it is.  Tu casa es mi casa, or something.

"What do you want to talk about?"  You ask because you can't help it but you don't really want to know.  Not right now, when your poor heart is about to leap out of your chest and throw itself at his feet.  No, you'd much rather do anything but talk.  Watch a movie, take a nap, sit in silence.  Anything sounded better than the great unknown.

"Uh,"  he stumbles over himself - a decidedly un-Jungkook thing to do - and settles himself into the comfort of your loveseat.  He waits for you to alight yourself alongside him, knees pulled to your chest as you face him sideways. 

He looks nervous.  Somehow, that doesn't help your own frayed nerves.

When he speaks, it's with all the care of someone in a delicate position.  Each word is carefully chosen, handpicked and pruned with unrelenting shears until it's exactly what he wants.  "I feel like something's changed."  No malice, no blame.  Just a statement of fact, cloaked in sadness and misunderstanding.  "I don't know if it was something I did but if it is, I'm sorry."  The apology for nothing comes easily, because he's willing to give you anything if you asked.  "I feel like you're so far away and I don't know how or why, but I don't want it go on."  He's gnawing on his lip, his cheek - anywhere he can find purchase.  "Please talk to me."

Your heart breaks a little more with every syllable.  You want to reach out, hold him as gently as he's always held you.  Instead, you twist your fingers in your lap, clasp and unclasp them in quick succession.  You don't trust yourself - not yet.

"Soomi."  Whether he intends for it, your name falls like the prayer of a dying man.  

"I'm sorry,"  you croak before you can figure out anything further.  You need to get this out now - anything to alleviate the sadness that burns him to the core. 

notes.  i'm sorry this is so severely overdue!  i finally found my inspiration again and will be (hopefully) getting some chapters queued now that i have an idea of where/how i want this to go.  thank you for sticking around. xo

[thrushpot]

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele - XV

A/N This chapter is dedicated to all you lovely people who have sent me lil messages these past three days 🤍

T/W None...just a little sad

The rain didn’t let up by morning, the lighting and thunder keeping Daniel and Zach awake most of the night, their uniforms soaked through until they were shivering, huddled together in the muddy dugout for warmth. Zach still wasn’t doing well, keeping himself cuddled up against Daniel as if he was his mother, arms tucked around him and head on his shoulder. Daniel didn’t dare push him off. He kept an arm around the younger boy’s back, his eyes focussed on how the rain seemed to tear up the earth like small shells.

Daniel didn’t sleep for even a minute that first night at Passchendaele, praying that someone could just win the war and they would be able to go home. He felt guilty for not even caring who won, as long it would just be all over. Then he could be back in the garden with Elizabeth, starting their future together, and Zach could be safe at home with his mother instead of crying himself to sleep in Daniel’s arms on the muddy and cold Belgian ground.

Zach cried a lot since they left St. Julien, not even bothering to hide it half the time, and it seemed as though his cheeks were more consistently pink than usual, stained in tear streaks. Corbyn and Daniel never brought it up, not even making a move to comfort him when he would burst into tears over lunch or let tears trickle down his cheeks during Stand To; they just bit back their own feelings and turned away. Daniel found himself as Zach’s permanent safety blanket, the younger boy clinging onto him every night, his nightmares waking him most of the time and Daniel would pull him closer as he cried himself back to sleep against his shoulder. It was a torturous cycle for everyone; but Daniel had promised Elizabeth that he would take care of Zach so that’s what he made sure he did.

Daniel was raised to believe that men shouldn’t cry, so he forced himself into silence, preferring to bite his cheek and focus on writing his letters to Elizabeth. Corbyn seemed to be the same, silence often settling over their group of three. There was really nothing to speak about anymore.

The battlefield was silent for a while after arriving at Passchendaele, the soldiers busying themselves with rebuilding the duckboards and the trenches the best they could in the meantime. The rain never stopped. The trenches were flooded soon, the murky water reaching well over the freshly lain wooden boards until the water reached their ankles. Daniel forgot what dry clothes felt like.

Five days after they arrived at Passchendaele, a truck pulled up to camp to deliver mail, dry socks, and new uniforms. Lieutenant Colonel Seavey ordered the men the line up as he stood with the driver under an umbrella. The rain was down to a light mist that day, but the men didn’t even notice, having suffered five straight days of torrential downpour. Daniel gently pushed Zach in front of him in line as they waited their turns. No one spoke except for the Lieutenant Colonel and the driver who were handing out supplies and mail. When it was Zach’s turn, he recited his name shakily and Christian checked him off on his parchment in his hand as the driver shoved a folded uniform and a letter into his arms, a round metal helmet topping the pile.

Zach stared at it.

“Keep moving, Private Herron.” Christian said.

Zach shuffled off and Daniel stepped up next.

The brothers stared at each other expressionlessly for a moment before Christian looked down at his list and crossed of Daniel’s name. The driver handed Daniel his own stack of fresh clothes.

“Sir, there’s a letter for you here as well.” the driver said to Christian.

“Get rid of it.” he replied without looking up from his list, tapping his pen against the paper impatiently. Daniel glanced at the envelope in the man’s hand, recognising his mother’s handwriting on it.

“But, sir-”

Daniel turned on his heel with a scoff without another look at his brother and followed Zach into the trenches again. Zach was changing into his fresh uniform, standing up on an empty shell crate to stay out of the water as he buttoned up his jacket when Daniel found him, giving the older boy a quick glance before he bent down and grabbed the new helmet, placing it over his brown hair. Zach’s face faltered as he adjusted the helmet on his head, his lips in a pout as he stepped off the crate back into the water, instantly soaking his clean socks and trousers. Daniel took his turn to undress on the crate himself, pulling on the new uniform that was slightly warm from actually being dry, the feeling being the best thing he had felt in a while. The helmet was slightly heavy compared to the soft cap they were expected to wear before, and Daniel took a few tries to feel comfortable with it on. He looked down into the murky water and sighed before setting one foot into it, the cold water filling his boot and sloshed around his calves right away.

Corbyn approached them, already dressed as well, muttering a lighthearted, “Looking sharp, boys.”

Zach glanced up from where he was leaning against the wall of the trench reading his letter. He looked back down without a word.

“Did you get any mail?” Daniel asked Corbyn softly.

“No.” Corbyn shrugged. “You?”

“Yeah. One letter from Elizabeth and one from Mum.” Daniel sighed, looking down at the two envelopes in his hand.

“Want to read them over lunch?” Corbyn offered.

Daniel nodded, giving Zach a nudge so he could follow them to eat. It was the most they had spoken in a while, but they fell into silence again as they got their rations from the mess tent and found the driest place they could to sit.

Daniel balanced his mess tin on his lap as he carefully open his letter from his mother first, feeling like he owed her that enough since his brother declined even touching his.

My darling boy,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written you, but I have been busy here at home. Anna and I have been going into the factory every day to sew uniforms and socks for the men. Have you received any? If you have, I have made sure to send an extra hug with them…I hope you can feel it. Anna misses you a lot, as do your father and I. We are sending prayers and well wishes. We haven’t heard from your brother since you were sent over. I hate to put this on you but if he is with you, please ask him to write me. I would love to hear from him although I figure he is busy as an officer – he explained as much in his last letter. I read your words often as they remind me so much of you. Keep each other safe. I love you, my sweet.

Mum

Daniel sighed as he folded the letter back up and tucked it in his tin box from the inside of his jacket to keep it safe before unfolding the letter from Elizabeth.

Sweetheart,

It feels like years since Christian took you away from me even if it was barely a day. I miss you terribly already. I’m being taken good care of by the nurses here…they also seemed smitten by you when you were visiting me…I made sure to tell them your heart is already mine. No one is to take you from me that easily! They say I am to be leaving on Sunday the 2nd in the evening. I will make sure to clean up the garden as soon as I get used to being back home as spring will have been well into blossom by then. I can’t wait to sit with you among the flowers again; the sunshine always makes your freckles surface over your nose and your eyes to sparkle. Write me as soon as you get note to when you might be dispatched, and I will make sure my best dress is ironed in time for when I pick you up from the train station. I’m getting so very excited just thinking about it!

Fight bravely, my love. Remember that I love you. So much.

Yours always,

Elizabeth x

Daniel let a calm smile come to his face as he folded up her letter again and tucked it into his tin as well before sliding it back inside his jacket for safe keeping.

“Good things?” Corbyn asked.

“Lovely things.” Daniel couldn’t hide his smitten grin.

“How about you?” Corbyn turned to his other side where Zach had barely touched his food.

“My sister drew me a picture.” Zach whispered, handing over the small piece of paper. Corbyn took it gently to admire it, Daniel glancing over his shoulder. The crayon drawing was of four stick figures all with brown hair and big smiles outside a boxy farmhouse. A pink pig with a curly tail was drawn on the end. “It’s us. Me. Back home.” Zach bit back a smile as if he wasn’t allowed to show an emotion other than sorrow.

“Are you the pig?” Corbyn teased.

Zach gave him a small shove as he snatched the picture back and struggled to tuck it into his inside jacket pocket, “That’s Petunia.”

“Petunia the Pig?” Corbyn snorted, smiling at Daniel who chuckled.

“Reese named her when she was 4.” Zach glared at them before shyly breaking into a smile towards his lap with the memory, ���Wouldn’t let father butcher her for supper. Threw a massive fit, made a hell of a fuss every time he would even go near it.”

“The pig could have used one of these against your father.” Corbyn chuckled as he knocked on the thin brim of the metal helmet Zach wore with his knuckle.

Zach’s smile faded quickly, and he kept his eyes focussed on the ground as they filled with tears and he let out a small sob, hiding his face in his hands.

“Christ, here we go again.” Corbyn sighed, closing his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the trench, rubbing his forehead with his fingers tiredly.

[faulty-writes]

Where You Left It.

Warning: Just quirkless Izuku. 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Characters: Izuku Midoriya and Mei Hatsume. 

(This is an AU where our dear Izuku has remained quirkless, luckily he still managed to get into the Support Course of U.A. High, but will the upcoming hero in training, Mei Hatsume aka Stalgic make or break his day?) 

“Okay! Um yes! I’ll have that new piece of equipment ready for you soon! I just need it approved, uh yeah. Thank you!” Izuku nervously waved goodbye to one of the students from the Hero Course. Man, it must be so amazing to be a Hero. He had always loved them and it was no surprise he was the biggest fanboy of All Might. He had once dreamed of becoming a Hero as well but the sad reality was that he was quirkless, he still remembered how he felt the day he realized he couldn’t achieve his dreams. 

But that didn’t stop him from trying, even if he couldn’t be a Hero. He could still help them and he was fairly intelligent, so he made the choice to put his skills to work that way. He shifted his focus to support and studied various weaponry and costume designs so by the time he enrolled in U.A. he would be a shoo-in for the support course. Though he was the only quirkless student in U.A., he would make his years at the school count. But every day seemed the same to him until she stepped into the workshop. 

Izuku was working on his latest gadget, one that would help the certain student in better channeling their electricity quirk. He was dressed in his usual workshop attire, which consisted of a dark tank top, thick sweatpants, boots, gloves with the index finger cut out and finally his protective goggles. Sometimes working on such advanced pieces of equipment required a little more help. His goggles while mainly used for protection also served another function, they were designed to magnify. Which helped him tweak the littlest of details on his inventions. 

It had been a boring day in the workshop, he had only gotten one request for a super-suit change and the rest of his day was spent waiting for the approval on the current gadget he was working on. He was thankful the approval had come in during the afternoon. Izuku sighed, the noise echoing in the semi-empty room. Apart from his pile of inventions and the tools, there wasn’t a soul. That was until he heard the heavy doors begin to open, “Hm?” Izuku paused and leaned up, pulling his goggles so they were now resting on top of his head. Who could be coming into the shop this late? He was about to slide off his work stool when a loud voice pierced the air. “HELLO!” He watched in horror as a leg came up and kicked the doors the rest of the way open. 

His jaw dropped at the bizarre behavior until he noticed the person’s familiar features. The pink-colored dreadlocks, those set of bug-eye sunglasses that rested on top of their head, and those unusual arm gloves accompanied with the strange shoe accessories they wore. “MEI HATSUME is here!” She announced and Izuku nearly stumbled onto the floor as he scrambled off his stool. He knew who she was, Mei Hatsume from Class 1-A. She had already come up with her hero alias, Staglic and she was known for both her unique style and combat skills. In addition to her seemingly endless amount of energy and her quirk ability. 

She was definitely someone Izuku wanted to study, he had taken plenty of notes on the other students of class 1-A which helped him keep track of their quirks and ideas on what possible gadgets could help them. But Mei was by far the strangest hero in training and yet at the same time, it fascinated Izuku. “M-Mei Hatsume, you’re uh ...you ...Staglic! Your hero alias is Staglic right!?” He questioned with a large smile on his face. “W-Wait, uh let me get my notebook!” He said, before scurrying off to another table where a small notebook laid. The front of it was torn and peeled off, but the inside was just fine. 

Mei, however, stood there in the middle of the shop. Hands confidently on her hips as she curiously glanced around. Taking note of the various tools that hung on the wall, locked away behind thick glass. There were also large piles of what looked to be gadgets, maybe a few weapons tossed in there as well. Though she didn’t know the support course student’s by name, she had seen the green-haired boy walking around school. She was almost certain everyone in U.A. had heard of her. She did make herself quite well known in her short time, mostly due to her destructive combat habits. 

Still, she smiled and watched the boy return, standing before her. Holding that notebook and a pen in his hand, ready to write down as much information as he could get out of Mei. “Yup!” She finally seemed to reply and placed her hand on her chest before bowing. “That’s me! MEI HATSUME, you better REMEMBER that name because ONE DAY I will be the NUMBER ONE HERO.” She spoke confidently and Izuku cracked a smile, it was nice to see someone so confident in their abilities. “Uh, do you mind if ...I ask you some questions?” His voice was soft and his slightly shy personality was showing through. 

Mei, however, didn’t seem phased. In fact, her eyes brightened. In a flash, she moved. Dangerously close to Izuku’s face, their noses almost brushing together. “SURE!” She grinned and tilted her head to the side. “BUT ...first I NEED a LITTLE help with a NEW idea for a COSTUME improvement. Think you can HELP ME with that?” She questioned before flashing a playful wink at Izuku who at the moment looked terrified and his cheeks were tinted red. He wasn’t too used to close contact with others, in fact, most people just explained what they wanted calmly and left. Not barged in, kicked doors and had no idea of what personal space was. 

 “Uh ...s-sure um ...” Izuku stuttered out before taking a step back. Lowering his notebook, he took a deep breath and looked at Mei. “So um, let me just get my other ...notebook.” He said, dipping his head slightly as he walked back to his work table and grabbed another small notebook. “I usually, write down what my client wants so I can reference it later and make any tweaks to it. So uh, what were you thinking?” It actually made him kind of excited, at least he’d have something else to do work on. “HMM well ...” Mei began, reaching up to tap her chin which almost made Izuku scared for what she had to say. After an entrance like that, he could only imagine what wild things she could want. 

“Ah!” He cried out when Mei was suddenly in his face once again. “I was thinking of something to improve my balance! Support these babies!” She didn’t hesitate to kick one of her legs up, holding it midair. She was known for her excellent sense of combat but she didn’t have the best footwork, thus the glorious idea of coming to the Development Studio. Izuku blinked, his eyes shifting from Mei to his notebook. “Uh, improve your sense of balance um ...okay.” His hand worked quick across the page of the notebook.”You want ...some type of leg support balance system then? I could ...create something similar to leg braces, it’d be more flexible though.” He explained quietly, hoping that would satisfy the hero in training. 

“SUPPORT BALANCE!?” Mei practically screamed before leaning back and giving Izuku the thumbs up. “Now that sounds COOL!” She laughed and Izuku wasn’t entirely sure if he should be happy or fearful. He let out another cry when Mei slapped his back, causing him to jolt forward. The notebook slipping from his hands and hitting the floor in the process. “THAT’S exactly the KIND of THING I expect from a member of THE SUPPORT COURSE.” Grinning, she bent down and swiped that notebook. “Here you GO, guy!” Chuckling once more, she practically shoved the notebook back into Izuku’s hands causing him to grunt. “Uh ...thank you?” Mei’s personality was certainly explosive, it was almost scary. 

Izuku readjusted his goggles, they had slipped off to the side when Mei slapped his back. “Um, I’ll just draw up the blueprint and ...I have to get it approved first but I’ll let you know uh, when I have the green light ...okay?” The nervous boy shifted on his feet, his fingers digging into his notebook. “Um, if that’s all, could I ...finally ask those questions or?” He was hoping he could get some information but Mei didn’t seem to be on the same page. “Mm, SORRY GUY!” She said, in her usual loud voice. “But I have SOME HERO training to get to. MAYBE next TIME!” Izuku felt his jaw drop and he held up his hand as Mei began to walk away. “But w-wait a minute!” He said, hoping his attempt would make the young hero stop in her tracks. 

However, the pinked haired girl just turned on her feet. Looking at Izuku before shaking her head. “Yes?” She questioned, placing her hand on her hip. “Um well ...could I at least ask one question before you leave?” Izuku said sheepishly, looking at the girl with an almost pleading expression. “Hm GET me those LEG balance THINGS and we’ll TALK.” She promised before heading to the door again, Izuku almost expected her to kick them again but to his surprise, she only waved goodbye and left. His shoulders slumped, clearly disappointed he didn’t get the chance to ask the questions he wanted. “I guess ...a hero is always busy ...” He sighed before returning to his worktable and pulling out a fresh piece of paper. Maybe the faster he got Mei’s request finished, the faster he could get the answers to his questions. 

[tiny-smallest]

6. Illusion For that micro-story challenge if you still want to take those

So you ALSO get two micro stories from two different fandoms (and with vastly different tones, too) but sadly one will mean VERY little to you oops. I’m sorry about that. I’m also sorry this took like three weeks.

Like last time, watch as I try to avoid using the actual prompt word.

–

The more time that passed, the more Sammy had to consider that Joey truly had zero idea what he was doing.

Boards weren’t finished on time anymore. Writers didn’t get directions. Backgrounds stalled. Hallways flooded. Sammy threw out the second pair of shoes in a month. Fuming about it to Joey over dinner earned him nothing more than a handwave and a loud proclamation of “It’ll be fine, Sammy! You’re just not seeing the big picture! It’ll all work out and we’ll be remembered in history for all time! I thought that’s what you wanted?”

Well yeah, it was, but how was Joey going to accomplish that if the cartoon itself wasn’t being produced? He pointed that out, words barbed, and Joey turned red and snapped back that it wasn’t as if he was getting his songs done on time, either.

“Well maybe if you did something about my department being flooded-!”

“Fine, I will.”

Four days later Sammy found an ugly pump switch installed in his office, and periodically from then on people would be in and out, ensuring that spills were drained from the music department. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. The toons sat grouped around him in silence, and he took a deep breath through his nose and pushed it all down, quietly handing Bendy more fresh paper to draw on before returning to his music.

He spotted Norman, Wally, and Allison all in rapid succession bringing their concerns to Joey over the course of the next three days, and each time Joey was all smiles, all big ideas. He addressed the studio over the loudspeaker the day after Allison.

“A small memo to all administration offices: Rumors have begun to fly that we simply can’t tolerate any longer. The idea that the company is in some form of financial difficulty is untrue! And a slanderous lie against us.”

His voice was so… loud and big, in a way that was beyond just volume. There was something powerful in that voice, something that commanded attention, without needing to be angry to do it. Sammy didn’t know how to do that. Maybe Joey would take him more seriously if he did.

He set aside his pen to stare up and over at the loudspeaker outside his office, unable to tune Joey out.

“It’s also been known to me that some backroom incompetents are not trusting in my leadership.” He didn’t need to be able to see Joey to visualize him pacing the room, finger in the air as he talked. “As a leader, I’m always steering the boat, guiding our destiny. Looking at the big picture. No need for you people to worry about such complicated things. Just do whatever it is you do and trust your leader… which is me.”

The loudspeaker clicked off.

Sammy’s eyes slid to exchange looks with someone who wasn’t there anymore and hadn’t been for years, someone who really did get shit done, someone who really did always steer that boat, and his chest tightened.

How was Joey able to get so many people to listen to him? How did he suck so many people in? Why did Sammy, every single time, believe Joey could do this?

The door opened. “Sammy?” Boris called softly, ears going back. “Are…?”

Sammy sat up straight, giving Boris a slow nod, hoping his face looked at least some modicum of gentle. “It’s okay. Come in.”

They sat and composed together. Sammy actually got his songs done. He turned them in. Joey paused, looked up from his theme park plans, and gave Sammy a smile reminiscent of the sun.

“Good work, Sammy! You must have worked so hard to get these finished so fast! Well done!” He clapped Sammy on the back, and Sammy let out a quiet chuckle, rolling his eyes. “No, I mean it!” Joey insisted. “You make this look so easy, and that’s just what we need right now. This’ll bolster a lot of people. The studio family really needs this right now.”

“Yeah, well. You did hire me to write music,” Sammy pointed out with a snort, hoping his face wasn’t actually as hot as it felt.

“That I did, ‘cause there’s really no one better.” Joey beamed at him. “Now, let’s sit down and discuss the next batch of episodes, huh?”

It mostly consisted of a lot of vague concepts. Joey couldn’t tell him what the story for the fifth one even was. Sammy’s brows drew together as he suggested a few things here and there, and Joey made alterations.

As he left the office Joey smiled at him again. That was, what, four times in one day? Sammy couldn’t look away as Joey patted his back again. “Good meeting today, Sammy. I’ll see you around! Time to get back to work, now!”

Back to work. His pounding headache, begging sleep, grew louder. He pushed it down, went to the break room, and poured himself coffee. Returned to his office. It would be fine. He just had to get this pile of work done.

Seven hours later, there was another flood, and he threw out the third pair of shoes in a month.

Sammy bought galoshes, poured himself another mug of coffee, and bit his tongue.

–

His fingers slipped on the neck of the guitar, a tangle of squeaky, off-notes marring the song. He blinked against heavy eyelids, confused for all of two seconds before realizing the off-key music had come from him.

A soft, low chuckle sounded from above him, and a large, soft hand enveloped his shoulder. “I think you’re done for the night, dear.”

Greg lifted his head to lay it against his wife’s lap with a quiet laugh. She kissed his forehead. “Yeah, probably. I was on a roll though, I swear.”

“Needing sleep is a curse,” she agreed to his unspoken, mild complaint with a grin, “but sadly it’s one you need to live. Come on, bed.”

“All right, all right.” He patted her cheek before sitting up, standing up to stretch and pop his back and put his guitar away. The water nearby lapped gently at the shore as she got out of the van, pulling the mattress in it from the wall to lie flat as he stored his guitar on the passenger seat.

She laid down on her back and he curled up half against her side, half on her chest, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Goodnight, Rose.”

She stroked her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. “Goodnight, Greg.”

ba-dum

His eyes snapped open, freezing.

ba-dum

What-

ba-dum

“Rose what-” He lifted his head to look at her, able to see even in the starlight the deep blush flooding her cheeks.

“Do… do you like it?” she asked, voice soft, nervous.

“W-well- yes but…?”

“Oh well- I heard some girls talking on the boardwalk? About how, um, humans like to listen to each other’s heartbeat? They find it soothing?” She tapped her forefingers together. “And, well- gems don’t have a pulse naturally but we can shapeshift and I don’t have to create a whole blood system to mimic a heartbeat and I thought- it might make you happy?”

Her dark eyes met his, large and uncertain and hopeful. “D-did it?”

“Oh Rose,” he breathed, heart bursting. He leaned over to press a kiss to her mouth.

His wife was the one with gravity powers, but every once in awhile, he felt like he could just float away into the sky and take her with him.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 9)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

The Doctor is always the one telling her what to do and how to do it. She is finally, for the first time, making a choice on her own part rather than resorting to drugging him and sneaking out like she has done so much in the past. It is, however, more difficult than she thought. She has many ideas, yes, but she wouldn't imagine quite going this far. The ragdoll nervously looks back in the mirror, feeling as unconscious about herself as she ever has. She decided to sneak out tonight on the account that something is happening back in town - something colorful, vibrant, and loud. The windows of the Town Hall are illuminated in reds and greens and yellows, and from her tower could she hear the wails and laughter of the inhabitants inside. After a long day of Finklestein assigning her superfluous work as a punishment, the urge to leave was very tempting. She wants to join in on the commotion; to be apart of the screams she heard outside, and be where everyone else seems to go. She picked out one of her dresses she had made long ago, believing it is some sort of party outside. Not that her patchwork one wouldn't suffice - but it must be a special occasion to celebrate so late at night! And if it is any special, then she knows Jack Skellington will be there. She doesn't want to blend in with the crowds like she did yesterday and go unnoticed with him - she wants to stick out like a sore claw, and finally get his attention once more. She's always wanted to know what he thinks of her other dresses...and now she might finally get her answer. She observes it closely it in the mirror. It is a fairly simple dress, but not consisted of multiple fabrics like her usual one. It is clear white and has a modest trim. It leaves her shoulders and neck exposed, except for a part of her upper arm. It comes down to just below her knees. There is a transparent layer underneath with small details she'd etched in. They reflect off of any light nearby. If held or worn a certain way, it would glimmer. Another wave of light comes from her window, and as she whips around, she finds it is coming from the town. She should start leaving now if she wants to get in there time - before everything stops and she'll miss her opportunity to be apart of the crowds again. She dips her head out from the doorway and peeks around. Good. No sight of the Doctor or Igor! She tiptoes her way to the front door and avoids as many creaks and groans as she can. She grabs the handle and attempts to open it, but finds it isn't budging. "Going somewhere?" As if he has been looming in the dark the whole time, Finklestein emerges from the shadows. He has an oil lantern clutched in his hand and its dim lighting makes him look menacing. She stands up straight and holds her arms in front of her dress, trying her best to conceal it from him as best as she can. "Of course not, Doctor." She shakes her head. "I'm just...making sure you locked it for the night." "That was a trick question, Sally. I always keep it unlocked. The only reason it is now is so you wouldn't slip out."

The closer he gets, the more he can see how different her dress looks. He comes close enough that there is no point in hiding it anymore. She sighs in defeat as she slowly lets her arms drop to her sides. His jaw drops. Seeing in her a bright, white dress is the last thing he'd ever expect. He eyes her frame curiously, ignoring the tender feeling climbing in his throat and racking around in his chest. "You...You look astonishing, my dear - but just why are you wearing something so...so...." "-Horrifying?" She finishes, a hopeful grin on her face. He shakes his large head.   "No, never mind that. Where were you going dressed like this? And so late at night?" She starts entwining her fingers as she thinks of an excuse. Her eyes wander until they see the opened back door behind Finklestein. When she takes a step towards it, he holds his hand out. He notices what she's trying to do and holds out both his arms to discourage her. "No, you're not slipping out again!" He exclaims. "Tell me, just why do you want to leave this Tower so badly?" She caves in. "Th-There's something going on outside, and....and I want to-" "What?!" The Doctor spits at her. "You are NOT participating in any tomfoolery of this town! These type of things can stay with the citizens, and you have no reason to be concerned with them." She looks at him in disbelief. "But-But I'm a citizen, too! That means-" "It means nothing." He finishes. "I didn't create you to parade around with those monsters out there. You are to stay with me and Igor in this Tower and that's the way I want it. Now go back to your room!" She twitches her nose. She wants to just run away and never come back. But...he is right. There is a bed laying up there for her and lately she's been allowed to do whatever she wanted. But...that's not what she wants. She doesn't want to be treated with false kindness and have everything handed to her just so he can compensate for how badly he's been treating her. She keeps her tone collected. "Jack told me that I'm free to come into Town whenever I want-" "JACK DIDN'T CREATE YOU!" His outburst echoes through the Tower. They hear Igor stir somewhere, but Finklestein doesn't care. He now has his arm outstretched and his thumb and index finger held very close to each other. She has never seen him so angry. She takes a step back in fear, worrying just what he's going to do with his hands. "I've had it up to here," Finklestein warns. "Not only have you disobeyed me by leaving the Tower, but now you're trying to get involved with the affairs of the town. And do you know what that leads to?" "W...What?" "You'll be bugging Jack. And we don't want that now, do we?" "But I've spoken to him plenty of times!" The ragdoll defends. "He says he enjoys my company, and that I'm free to speak to him whenever I-" "Wait, wait, wait." He stops her. "You've been seeing him behind my back?" She messes with her hair, trying not to fumble with her hands. All of it is true, but she hadn't meant for it to escape her lips. She steadies herself by taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She may as well go through with it if the cat is already out of the bag. She can feel her leaves swirling heatedly in her stomach, the red tint returning to her face and washing over her clothed skin with an unusual hotness. "Doctor, I....I've been feeling restless, and...and I get this urge to leave. Very often. I'm very uncomfortable here, and the Town is just so big and wonderful. I've met many creatures there and I've befriended a few of them. Jack met with me and he's told me all about Halloween." She bites her lip, trying her best to control the giddy feeling in her fingers and the excited beating in her chest. "After that, I've just felt so warm around him. His voice is so wonderful, he's very handsome, and every time I see him I just get so tingly. The times I've spoken with him I've felt so nervous, but very wonderful at the same time. I'm constantly longing to see him again and I don't quite know what it is." She finally opens her eyes again and looks back at the Doctor, whose mouth is now agape. His eyes are so wide, she could've sworn she saw them over his small glasses. He takes a moment to gather himself as his stare is directed to the floor. "You...You love him..." She blinks and repeats, "-Love?" It all makes sense now. These warm, tingly feelings must be...well, feelings! But it is so wrong to feel this way now. She barely knows anything about him, but he already is informed about almost everything about her. They are just friends...but Sally longs for more. She feels such a strong attachment to her King now, and she doesn’t want it any other way. Her eyes go half lidded as she rests her head on her hands. "Well, I suppose I do...love Jack..." Finklestein shakes his head furiously. "No, no, NO! You are not supposed to love him. You're supposed to love ME." He emphasizes his point by placing his hands on his chest. She narrows her eyes suddenly. A profound, heated feeling is rising in her chest now...nothing like the same warmth she feels when thinking of Jack. This one is boiling, making her seethe with rage - It has been buried in her leaves and she's been holding it back this whole time. Now it's at the brink of of spilling, and she lets the suppressed outburst finally leave her lips. "How am I supposed to love someone who locks me up in my room all the time!? Jack greeted me with open arms, but all I ever get from you are the ones who demand I cook all the time! He's...he's so much better than you could ever be!" He doesn't like this sense of attitude one bit. He sits up in his wheelchair and waves his finger at her cautiously. "Don't you start with me-" "All this time I've had to push down how I felt about you," The ragdoll chokes. "I don't like your rules and I don't like you! Igor is nice to me, but all you ever want me to do is clean and cook for you. How am I supposed to love you when you treat me like I'm your slave!?" "THAT IS IT!" He slams his hand on his armrest. "I've been nothing but patient with you, but now it seems I have to draw a line. You are NO longer allowed to leave this Tower. EVER. Do you understand!?" She  gasps. Her eyes wander back to the open door. She runs towards it, giving no time for Finklestein to recover. He wheels himself around as quickly as he can, skids to the side, and follows after her. He raises a fist and shakes it angrily after her retreating figure. "GET BACK HERE, YOU SELFISH BRAT!" -------------------- Jack Skellington has never felt so out of place. 100 or so people crowded into one room - that is the first of it. There is barely any room for him to sit or stand anywhere, which is really saying something because he's a skeleton. He glances up from where he is and notices the witches are hovering on their broomsticks near the ceiling, seeing as the rest of the seats are taken and even more monsters are piled around the room. He glances back at the beverage in his hand and sighs, gently placing it back on the table in front of him and drumming his fingers along it in boredom. He's seen worse parties. There was a time the Behemoth had one for his pumpkin harvest, in which only he and the Mayor showed to. There was one half slice of cake and the rest of the food had long rotted. But this party is the exact opposite - there's plenty of food, people, and entertainment - the issue is that he doesn't care for any of it. Not that he doesn't wish the Vampire brothers congratulations for their 200th pint of blood, but the whole execution of it just seems...unnecessary. The Mayor perks up in his seat from beside him, having already consumed 4 ectoplasmic shots. His eyes glance about the room before landing on the skeleton, then laughs joyously and pats him on the back. Jack glances at him and finds he's spinning a little in the seat, his mouth forming into several lines trying to get his voice out. "I think...this is...simply dreadful!" He manages through his hiccups. "Those Vampire brothers sure know how to throw a party!" "Yes, I'm impressed with the blood fountain they brought in an hour ago." He replies, trying to think of everything else he can be doing right now. "--Did you try the chocolate-covered roaches? I haven't tasted anything so repulsive! And I know how much you love your chocolate-covered beetles, Jack..." His voice fades and, when the skeleton looks, finds him passed out on the table again. He makes the decision to finally leave, unable to stand all the voices and hotness in the room anymore, and taps the clown on the back asking to keep an eye on his inebriated friend. Then he dismisses himself effectively from the party, somehow managing to avoid the crowd following after him and leaving through the back exit. When he finds the plaza mostly deserted, he sighs in relief as a cool breeze tugs at his suit. He leaves in the direction of the Outskirts, planning to make a circle before returning to the Town Hall afterwards. He just really needs the fresh air. After being cramped in that room for so long, it really took a toll on him. Not that he didn't like parties or being with so many of his people at once, but he feels so out-of-place. "YOU INSUFFERABLE GIRL! I GIVE YOU A HOME AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME!?" A loud, scratchy voice interrupts the peaceful silence, as well as his thoughts. Jack jumps momentarily, but recovers when he sees a flash of red followed by a white shadow. He sinks into the shadows and inches his way closer to the scene. What he sees next makes his eye sockets widen in shock. Sally is on the floor with one of her legs detached from her body. She is wearing something peculiar, though he can't quite see the details of it from here. Finklestein is right on her tail. He has fallen out from his own wheelchair and is now trying to claw himself closer to the ragdoll. What is going on? The Doctor looks furious, and there is no doubt that he had been the one yelling. Just why had he called his creation "insufferable", anyway? He hopes they aren't arguing again, or that something terrible led to the scene unfolding before him...He makes himself quiet as he sinks further into the shadows, feeling some sort of guilt churn in his bones for not doing anything. He wishes to help them both, but it'd do more bad than good at this point - he doesn't want to get caught in the middle of a crossfire. Sally grabs her leg and wobbles over to a nearby wall to support herself while she sews it back on. Finklestein, meanwhile, continues to inch closer to her while she was busy, but is as slow as a dead turtle by this point. "So help me!" He yells at her from the floor. "If you leave me now, you're going to regret it!" She knots the end of the thread and looks around frantically. Jack presumes she's looking for an escape, which she finds as she runs off in a direction. She leaves the Doctor stranded on the floor with his wheelchair out of his reach. He raises his head and shakes an angry first as she disappears out of view. "YOU MAY AS WELL KISS YOUR CHANCES GOODBYE, SALLY, BECAUSE AFTER THIS I'LL! I'LL-!" He lowers his fist and slams his head on the ground in defeat. He clutches at his hatch and lets out  painful groan. Jack finally surfaces out of the shadow and retrieves his wheelchair for him, carrying it over to his figure on the floor. When Finklestein sees him, he both looks and sounds relieved. "Oh, Jack...my boy..." He mutters. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you here." Finklestein crawls back into the wheelchair, sitting himself back on it comfortably. He rubs the slight dent in the hatch on his head and sighs. Jack is too busy looking in the direction Sally went. He wants to find her already, but something is obliging him to stay. The Doctor is his longtime friend, after all. He needs to make sure the both of them are okay. "What are you doing out here?" His tone was softer. "The Outskirts are called the Outskirts for a reason, you know." "I heard some commotion," The skeleton explains. "Is everything alright?" "Just that wretched Sally!" Finklestein scoffs. "Causing more trouble than she's worth, really. I'm sorry if she's been disturbing you lately. I've just been notified about that-" "Not at all!" He waves his hands. "I'm very sorry if something happened between you two. I can-" "-Don't bother with her, Jack." The pale man turns himself around. "She could be anywhere else for all I care. She's not worth the trouble." The skeleton frowns as he watches him leave for the tower without another word. He looks back in the direction she disappeared before glancing back to the Doctor. There is a visible debate on his features before he decides to follow after Sally. What he doesn't witness is the Doctor glancing behind his shoulder, and sighing once he sees his decision has been made. ---------- There is a loud sob coming from the graveyard. His long limbs enable him to arrive at the gates of the graveyard in only a minute. He spots a small figure on top of the Spiral Hill from afar. He recognizes her red hair off the bat. She was holding her head in her hands and her shoulders were going up and down. Quietly, he opens the gate and closes it behind him very, very subtly. Its noise goes  unheard as she continues to cry. Seeing his friend so thoroughly hurt over what just happened upsets him. He's seen her cry before, yes, but this time the circumstances are....much, much worse. He tries to get as close as possible while remaining unseen. At a certain angle, he is finally able to see what exactly the she is wearing. His mouth goes agape as he stares at her. If he didn't know any better, he very well would've described her as an angel. White is very, very rare to spot in Halloween Town. She already looks wonderful as it is, but now she looks so...beautiful. Suddenly, the sobs stop. The skeleton freezes and looks at her back with surprise. Had she caught him staring? Instead of turning around and finding the Pumpkin King beneath her, the she looks up at the large moon, closes her eyes, and softly sings: "My life has been dull, The meaning is staring to fade But I have hope in my life That someday I'll be able to Be with you" Jack leans on a nearby grave as he listens. The way she exaggerates those last few words...it feels like an addiction just to hear it. He remembers her song from before but decides it's nothing like this one. It is much more smoother this time around, and he can feel her emotion. The emptiness. The empathy longing in his own bones.   "Someday, I'll be gone From this wretched place I call my home And someday I'll be sitting here With you" She nearly chokes on the last word. He goes to move from the grave but stops when she continues. "You're my life, You're my stars I never want to see you Torn away from me again" "Beautiful," Jack compliments aloud. His voice must've spooked her, because he sees her jump several inches into the air before turning around. When their eyes meet, she gasps. Realizing he's already made himself visible, he gets off of the grave and walks over to her direction. "I was right." He starts to climb up the Spiral Hill. "I like hearing you sing." Sally attempts to hide her face from him, choking. "P-Please....I..." "You want to be alone?" He asks sadly. "I'll leave, then. I just couldn't help but-" "J-Join me..?" She pats the spot next to her, barely looking at him. He stares for a few more moments until he finally steps forward and sits where she had motioned. He spaces himself appropriately next to her. His eye sockets are glued to her. He can see some of the tears falling down from her cheeks that are still drying. It pains his bones to see her like this again. "It always seems like we're meeting here, huh?" She stares at the floor before slowly nodding. "It's...relaxing. It gives me a place to escape." The skeleton opens his mouth, but only exhales. He didn't know exactly what to say. Witnessing a scene like that still is taking a toll on him, among what he experienced earlier. He's heard of the things Finklestein did to her, but hadn't been expecting to walk in on it. He turns to her and asks, "What on Earth happened between you two?" "He caught me trying to leave..." "What were you leaving for?" "I wanted to..to join in with...with whatever was...th-the party, I think..." His eye sockets grow wider at this information. Was she...going to the Vampire brother's party as well? He had no idea if she was coming, but if he had seen her there earlier, well...he wouldn't have left for that walk, that's for sure. She would've made those tight quarters more bearable. "It isn't anything special, but I wore this dress so I could come." She holds the ends up in the air weakly. "But...the Doctor caught me trying to sneak out so I could come. We argued, and he...he..." The ragdoll starts to sob again. The skeleton watches her for a moment before ushering her into his arms again, holding her momentarily. He feels her tense but then she digs her head on his shoulder and lets out her cries. He hesitates before placing a bony hand on her back in consolation. He feels nothing but coldness in this embrace, much like their last one. When she finishes crying, she removes herself from him and scoots back to sniff sadly. It's clear she isn't any better, but at least she got the sobs out of her system. "You wouldn't have wanted to go there, anyway. It was crowded and everyone was tippling. I don't think you'd have enjoyed yourself there." "Well, it would've been better than being with him." She retorts, sounding like she wants to add more but she doesn't. His gaze comes back to her attire - noting to himself how lovely she looks in white - before meeting with her eyes again. "I think it is a very lovely dress you have on. Did you make it yourself?" She perks up a little, peeking through her arm to glance at him. "You think so?" "Of course." He eyes the details a bit more, recognizing her sewing patterns. "I wouldn't be surprised if it took you awhile to make it. I admire what you do very, very greatly - have I told you that before?" He hears her breaths become sharp, and when he looks over at her, he finds there are a few tears streaming down her face. "Thank you...that's all I've ever wanted to hear." He pauses when he sees this, and she looks away before wiping her face. Something about that sentence makes his bones warm, and he smiles back at her gently. "It makes you look...enigmatic. But in a good way." "Does it make me look...scary?" He looks at her again before shaking his skull slightly. "No. But it doesn't have to." She feels the heat climb to her face. "Thank you, Jack..." He feels very relieved to see her smiling again. He still hasn't the slightest clue as to what Finklestein told her, but it doesn't really matter. All the Pumpkin King wants now is to focus on keeping her happy. After an event like that, he is sure she really needs it. "Sally...if you don't mind my curiosity." He eyes her. "Why exactly did you want my validation?" Her face turns a different color altogether, her blue skin now a light shade of pink. "The Doctor doesn't...appreciate me making things on my own. He doesn't care much for it. And I just wanted someone else to...well..." Her words trail off. She gets shy again and starts to play with her hair. His lips curl into a smile as he tilts his skull and watches her. He understands it perfectly. It's a reason he admires, and one he relates to, in a way. "-To actually appreciate what you make?" He asks. She deepens her blush before nodding. "Y-Yes..." "-Someone like me." She holds her breath. "Yes..." "That's something I admire about you. It couldn't have been easy leaving the Doctor...but you did because you felt strongly about getting someone to see what you made." His enthusiasm wipes off on her, judging by the smile climbing onto her lips. "Yes...I did." He usually finds her shyness quite flattering...but now it just looks downright flattering. He takes a breath and places his hands on his sides. He really needs to address the matter before he forgets, no matter how tempting it is to get lost in his words with her. "Can I talk with you about the Doctor?" She cringes. "What about him?" "I know everything he's doing to you." He places his hand on her shoulder. "From, what it looks like, the forced labor to...well, anything else he must say to you when I'm not around." She looks at the ground, the ends of her stitched lips twitching. "It's been killing me again to know that you're going through something like this.” He guides her gaze back at him carefully with his finger on her chin. "And I've seen a lot of you at Spiral Hill lately. At first I thought it was coincidental, but now I think I'm starting to understand it a bit more..." She starts weakly. "Jack..." "You use it as an escape, is that right? To get away from the Doctor? The moment he does something to you, you leave him and come here. That's why I've been seeing you here, hasn't it?" He hears another cry emit from her mouth. The skeleton leans down and places both of his hands on her shoulders. He ensures she's looking him in the eye sockets for his next statement. "--I can understand it. I really, really can. This is is my favorite place in town because it's quiet and I can be alone here. I'm glad you enjoy it too, Sally. I'm...really glad someone else can benefit from this place as much as I do." "Wh-what's troubling you, Jack?" His smile falters. He was hoping she wouldn't ask. "-Nothing you should worry about. My point is...I understand how you're feeling. The only thing is, I wouldn't advise to keep coming here so often at night. I wouldn't fancy something happening to you if I weren't here." She tugs at her dress. "I promise I'll be careful..." That's not the point, he wants to say, but a gleam of yellow light catches his attention. He glances behind them and notices the moon has gotten brighter. He turns back and offers his hand out to her, smiling and resting his other arm behind his back. "-We should get going before it gets too late." She nods and takes his hand, letting him lead them out of the graveyard and begin their way back to her home. He doesn't realize he lets go of her hand sometime during the walk, but notices its absence when her warm touch is no longer in his. ---------------------- "Here's your stop." Jack Skellington pauses in his tracks so he can turn back to the ragdoll. He isn't sure if bringing her back to the Doctor is a good idea because of the whole ordeal...but he'd much rather have her somewhere safe than out during the night. He may hold a grudge, but the Doctor couldn't say 'no' to him. He can at least be decent enough to let her back in, he thinks. Sally looks over at the tall building and fidgets with her hands, noticing they're reaching for his. When it hovers on his side, he decides to prod. "Is something wrong?" He asks. "I'm just not sure if he'll let me back in..." She admits, withdrawing her hand. He blinks before looking back to the tower. Is that really the only thing she is concerned about? "Not to worry. I'll come up with you and tell him to take you back in." He motions her forward with him. "And I'll make sure nothing happens to you, and nothing WILL happen." To give him a piece of my mind, he thinks. "I - I'm not worth the trouble, really." He wants to insist otherwise, but they're already at the front door. He lays three strong knocks on its surface. They wait until they hear the lock unlatch from behind. The door slowly opens, and since Sally is the first it reveals, she sees the face of her creator again, who looks more drained than angry. He doesn't notice Jack Skellington at her side right away and looks at her in surprise. "You've come back..." "-Yes, she did." Jack butts in, getting the Doctor's attention. "By my choice." "Oh, my boy! I'm sorry my creation has distracted you from that horrible celebration." He exaggerates. "I'll be sure to let her know-" "-That you're going to let her back in and treat her decently from now on?" Finklestein looks like he just choked on an apple. Jack's brusque manner takes him completely off guard that he can't come up with a response. At his lack of an answer, the skeleton moves himself into the doorway, standing between him and Sally. He looks down at the Doctor in disapproval. "It's one thing to be protective of her, but it's another when I find Sally alone at night, crying, because of the way you're treating her." The Doctor flinches at his words. "I thought you were better than that, Albert." "Jack, I assure you, I didn't harm her or anything of the sort! As her creator, she should just consult me first before-" "Sally doesn't owe you anything. She doesn't need your approval to go into town or participate for Halloween." He narrows his eye sockets. "I could suspend you from Halloween this year JUST for having those bars over her window. But as long as I don't see what I saw tonight again, I expect this won't be an issue?" "Of course, my boy....of course....no issues..." The skeleton finally stands to the side and motions for her to go in. She is still shocked at what has just happened that she passes by him very slowly. When she's close enough to the Doctor, she finds he's trembling in his wheelchair and sweating nervously. Her heart beats rapidly when Jack calls her name. His tone is much softer, and when she looks at him, she finds an endearing look plastered on his skull and his hands clasped together carefully.   "And Sally? Don't be afraid to get me. I live right over there-" He points to the mansion she knows so well. "My gates are always open for you. And you know where else to find me." "Yes, I - thank you..." Jack turns around and begins to leave. Before he can, Finklestein holds out his arm desperately and calls in his direction. "Jack!" He stops and turns, not looking very happy. Sally hears him hesitate. "-I do hope this isn't going to affect our relationship...because as I can assure you, this won't be happening again." "Well, let's certainly hope so." He turns and walks down the steps without even looking. "The straw horse could really do with those improvements, wouldn't you say?" Finklestein is quiet as they watch Jack push through the gates with ease and leave. He shuts the door once he's out of sight and sighs. He doesn't even look at Sally as he motions weakly to the ramps with his glove. "Just go...go to your room, my dear..." She listens and leaves, climbing the steps with her jaw still open. When she's inside her room and staring at the darkness, she has the courage to close it. She goes to turn on her lamp but finds her fingers numb. She struggles to find the switch but clicks it on and changes into her pajamas. Her mind recollects the events of today: the fight, the argument, the crying, and then Jack....and what he did. So much has just happened. This is the start of something new - she has an escape now. But would she even need it now that Jack ensures the Doctor will treat her better? She has never seen him yell at anyone before. She's been so used to hearing that welcoming and friendly tone of his that she didn't think he could ever be angry at someone. But he was. He sounded furious. And on her behalf. She didn't owe him anything, yet he went out of his way to defend her in front of the Doctor again. But this time he made his voice clear. And Finklestein listened. She has never seen her creator tremble before. She knew the Doctor always obeyed Jack, but just didn't know how far that could go. And when everything finally dawns on her, she's very happy. She jumps into her bed and closes her eyes, her mind encapsulated with nothing but Jack. His voice, his touch, everything about him...her smile fails to leave her face that whole night.        

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

"i know you can’t cook for shit so i’ve been bringing you dinner every night, just, y’know, to keep you alive" w/ hidge please i'd die and also draw you fanart of it

THIS WENT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED BUT IM HAPPY 

Here’s the fanart:

Her mother always said a girl had to learn to cook. Ofcourse, Pidge had insisted she had more important things to do, and she wasn’tpart of gender stereotypes anyway. Anyone could survive off of dinner invites,fast food, and microwave dinners.

Except she didn’t want to. When she’d been dating Hunk, he cookeddinner every night and made breakfast for them every Saturday. Her personalfavorite was his breakfast fried rice with Spam and breakfast sausages. Healways  let her sleep in and gave her acup of coffee when she woke up so she could join him to eat on the couch asthey continued whatever show they were binging.

They’d broken up on… somewhat amicable terms. She didn’thate him. And he didn’t hate her, at least she didn’t think so. She did have todrop off anything she had of his at the apartment he was rooming at with Lance.He still talked with Matt from time to time, but they worked together. Still,even Matt didn’t seem to be able to villainize Hunk.

It was a complicated breakup. They didn’t have time for eachother at all. Pidge was busy with school and work, exhausted by the time shegot home. That only made her cranky, and she’d nitpick at anything Hunk did ordidn’t do. She knew she was doing it, she just… couldn’t stop.

Then Hunk had met someone else through his cateringbusiness. He’d mentioned her as an offhand comment, a new acquaintance. ButPidge noticed he was on his phone more, that he didn’t bug Pidge to find morefree time anymore. Which on the one hand was good, but on the other… well notso much. She hadn’t gone crazy or anything. She didn’t check his messages orstalk his social media. But she noticed he was happier.

She asked him about it. And Hunk, who never lied to her, andswore he never would, told her the truth. There was nothing more than afriendship between himself and Shay. But he was ashamed to admit he had to becareful to keep it that way. That he’d nearly made mistakes in the times he metup with her. But he’d never acted on it.

Pidge had simply nodded, kissed his cheek, grabbed her keys.She claimed she was going to get a coffee to clear her head and energize herfor her studying. Which she did. But on the way back, she couldn’t stop thetears that had come out of nowhere and had to pullover. A cop had stopped forher, asking if she was okay. When Pidge explained she was just a littleemotional, the officer had offered to escort her home. Pidge thanked her anddrove home with a cop tailing her.

She’d gone into her home to find Hunk asleep on the couch,in the same spot she’d left him. She’d woken him up, tears threatening to spillall over again.

“This isn’t healthy,” she whispered. “I think… we need toend this.”

He’d protested, but Pidge made points out of their lack oftime, Hunk’s already wandering eyes, the fact that she knew she could beinsensitive when she was stressed. She didn’t want him to start hating her, andshe didn’t want to risk hating him. Not when she loved him so much.

And now, here she was, nearly a month without a singlehomecooked meal, attempting to make pancakes. It shouldn’t be this hard. Therewere instructions on the damn box, she was an engineer for crying out loud. Butshe couldn’t make a stupid fucking pancake.

She cursed as the smoke alarm went off again and stared atthe burnt piece of- God she couldn’t even call it a pancake- on the pan. Shesighed and decided if she and Hunk were supposed to be friends still, it wasokay to ask him to help her. Right? She needed food. Healthy food. Not KraftMac N’ Cheese or Stouffer’s one-person lasagna.

She bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

***

The consistent chiming of his phone was what woke Hunk up.He groaned and sat up, fumbling for his phone. He was a little confused whenthe phone showed “Katie” because he didn’t know a Katie. Except he did… he wasjust used to calling her Pidge. He unlocked his phone and scrolled up.

The last message had been about two weeks before when shelet him know she’d left a box of his things at the door. And he’d told her totake care.

Now there were more.

So uh, this is alittle weird… but I’m super hungry but…

There was a picture of something black and charred in a pan.

I KEEP BURNINGEVERYTHING!!!

Pls help me. I’mstarving & haven’t had a homecooked meal in weeks.

I just want somefucking pancakes.

Hunk laughed to himself, feeling something fond in his chest.He typed back, telling her he’d be there soon.

Thank. You. So much.

He smiled at his screen and shook his head as he got up toget dressed.

A half hour later, he was knocking on Pidge’s- Katie’s door,holding his breath. It would be the first time they see each other since theybroke up almost two months ago. The door opened and he saw Katie wearing anoversized yellow sweater and sweats, her hair pulled into a small ponytailwhile the smaller strands fell out messily. She looked embarrassed, and keptpushing her glasses up, only to pull them back down the bridge of her nose.

“Uh. Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey Pi- uh. Katie. Good morning. I was told my culinaryservices were needed.”

She grimaced and opened the door further. “You’ve beenwarned.”

Hunk laughed and walked in. “Come on, it can’t be that-Whoa.” He cleared his throat and took in the kitchen. There was a messeverywhere, and it smelled of burn… something. “You weren’t kidding when yousaid you burned everything.”

“Nope,” she answered. She looked over at him, her expressioncompletely blank. “Fire alarm went off. Twice.”

Hunk suppressed a smile, but failed because she nudged himand groaned. “Okay, well, first thing’s first,” he said, opening the fridge.“When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”

Katie looked around as though the answer would be somewherein the kitchen. Hunk chuckled and grabbed his keys, nudging her gently towardthe door. “Oh this should be fun,” she grumbled.

***

Arriving at Wal-Mart felt… nostalgic. Hunk got a cart andPidge walked beside him, comforted by their height difference. While the carride had been comfortable because of horrible singing and laughter, being atthe store felt different. Pidge felt nervous.

“So how’ve you been?” she asked as they started for the backwhere the frozen things were.

“I’ve been okay. It’s holiday season, so everyone’s callingin for catering.” She nodded, recalling how busy he could get during theholidays. “I’m saving up to open a restaurant. They have an empty building nearthe optometrist you go to. So I’m trying to lease it.”

“No way,” she said with a smile. “Seriously? You can startthe restaurant there?”

“Well, I know a lot of chefs. Shouldn’t be hard to getwaiters and waitresses. I’m not missing much.”

“Hunk, that’s… really incredible, oh my God.”

Hunk smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. “You seem sohappy.”

“I’m happy for you! I know how long you’ve wanted to dothis, and it’s gonna come true for you!” Hunk held her gaze and smiledappreciatively. Pidge cleared her throat and chuckled as she saw a hat displayin the clothes section across from the food section. “Look!” She grabbed alarge sunhat with edges so wide they seemed to scream “Personal space please.”

“Oh boy,” he laughed, leaning against the cart.

“Put one on,” she said.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Hunk!” He chuckled and looked at her. “Well,” she said,putting on a southern belle accent. “You’d never believe what I heard Susan sayduring Sunday’s mass.” Hunk hummed and raised an eyebrow. “She said hercasserole was better than mine!”

“Don’t blame her none, Miss Katie, you probably burned yours.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, and she swatted at his arm as shelaughed. “I mean you’re not wrong,” she said in a normal voice. “I love thesehats. They’re so ridiculous.” She put the hat back and gestured to a different aisle.“I’m done with frozen. I can’t have another Marie Callendar’s pot pie.”

“Okay, well, what do you want to eat?”

She sighed and shrugged. “It’s hard to want to make stuffwhen it’s just me, you know? Right now I just really want pancakes and hotchocolate. And like, I know the hot chocolate is just hot milk and the packet,but it still doesn’t taste like you make it.” She looked away and busied herselfwith boxes of cake and cookie mixes set out for Christmas celebrations.

A few seconds later, Hunk said, “Okay. So today we make chocolatechip pancakes from scratch. When you want to make something else, I can helpyou out again.” Pidge looked back at him, dubious. “Come on, Katie,” he said witha smile. “Get into the cart.”

“In the cart?” he nodded and she clambered in, cross legged.Without warning, Hunk began racing between the aisles, making Pidge gasp andlaugh nervously. “Whoa-whoa! Oh my gosh!” she laughed and held onto the sides,wincing as they narrowly missed a few displays. “Hunk, you’re going too fast!”

He came to an abrupt stop and she held herself in place,laughing breathlessly as she looked up at him. “That was never a problembefore.”

Pidge’s eyebrows went up, her cheeks reddening. She turnedand kept her eyes on him refusing to back down. “I’m hungry. Now is not the timefor sexual innuendos.” She sat and pointed. “To the chocolate!”

Somehow, the search of a few simple ingredients took themnearly two hours, and Pidge had forgotten she was hungry in the first place. Bythe time they got back to her place, it was past noon. But she still wantedpancakes.

Hunk began listing the different measurements andtechniques, but Pidge was just enjoying herself by watching the way he mixed.It was quick like he was barely even thinking about what he was doing. Heworked quickly with no mess. Pidge envied it.

He began to pour the batter into a pan, spatula in hand andPidge sat herself on the counter beside the stove. She was in charge of passingthe bowl of batter to him. She bit her lip and rested her head on the cabinetsbehind her.

“So…. Shay’s cool with you doing this?”

“Sh-Shay?” he questioned, looking over at her.

She smiled and shrugged, looking away. “Uh, Lance told meyou guys started dating.” Hunk pursed his lips and looked down at the pan. “It’scool. Just… don’t want to cause any problems.”

“Things with her didn’t… work out.”

“Oh?” Hunk chuckled and shrugged, placing a couple ofpancakes on a plate. He gestured for more batter, but Pidge didn’t notice. “Why?Did something happen?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, gesturing again.

She shrugged and swung her legs. “I’m just wondering. If we’refriends, we can talk about this stuff, right?”

Hunk sighed and stood in front of her, hands on either sideof her on the counter. “You’re supposed to be learning. Not gossiping.”

It was one of those rare moments when she was at eye-levelwith him. “Oops,” she breathed. Hunk smiled slightly and Pidge bit her lip. Sheprobably seemed nosy.

“She’s not you,” he whispered. Pidge looked at him in shock.

“But… you said-”

“I know what Isaid, Pidge.” She took a sharp breath at the sound of him using her nickname again.“But just because she was pretty…. That’s not enough. She was nice and funny,but a lot of girls are. But you’re…. You’re so insanely smart, and beautiful anddetermined and strong and…. No one comes close you. No one ever will. You were morethan just my girlfriend. You were my best friend.”

Pidge let out a shaky breath and gulped. She leaned forward,her arms over his shoulders and very slowly tilted her head. Hunk shut his eyesand leaned forward to meet her lips. It didn’t last as soft and innocent.

They’d been without each other too long. Starving for eachother. Pidge was shaking with how badly she’d been craving him. To hold him, tolean against him, to feel his warmth, his lips. Hunk’s arms wrapped around hermiddle, holding her tightly.

She only pulled away when she needed to breathe, forehead pressedagainst his. “I never should’ve let you go,” she choked past the knot in herthroat.

“And I never should’ve left.”

[sasha-rochester]

The Interrogation Chamber

OOC: This is an RP transcript of an interrogation that happened shortly after the murders-- Co-written with @safestsephiroth and edited to fit a story format.

“It will be nothing, just be honest and it will be done in a heartbeat.” Kukusedi’s voice resonated in her head as she twiddled her thumbs, waiting for the officer to arrive. The ‘interrogation chamber’, as they’d call it, was clearly meant for wealthier folk. Someone put out the effort to offer comfort that would likely be denied to most criminals or suspects—But she wasn’t any ordinary criminal or suspect, no, she was a wealthy one, and wealth meant power more in Ul’dah than anywhere else. As of now, she had been stripped of most of that power, something she was slowly easing back into due to Kukusedi’s guidance and Caroline’s generosity. Two guards stood at the door, both seemingly still as statues – humorless as any of their lot ever were. The only sound in the room was the echoing ticking of a grandfather clock in a corner, with Sasha’s heartbeat matching the ticking’s pace. She was terrified. Keep your wits about you. Lie and remain consistent. Stay calm. The Brass Blade who finally opened the door could be described many ways - that he wore the stripes of a lieutenant, that with his size it wasn’t terribly clear at a glance if he was a roegadyn or a highlander, that with every motion he betrayed to only the most careful observer a certain anticipation. His age was unclear - no longer young and green, for sure, and yet not tired enough to be old. He carried with him an imposing briefcase. As he sat down across the table from Sasha Rochester, the chair creaked beneath his weight, and the fire in his eyes made clear he was not a disinterested gopher like the kind which would usually handle an interrogation in this room. “State your name for the records.”   The tone lacked any familiarity or camaraderie. This wasn’t a job interview or a misdemeanor, not a friendly chat with a wink. No, his tone would not have been out of place in a much, much less comforting room. Sasha’s eyes briefly locked on the man before she cast a glance at the briefcase. “Sasha Elizabeth Rochester.” She spoke with a gentle, sweet, yet mildly nervous tone. Her eyes locked on his again, and despite her voice, her gaze had already began to devour all the information she could gather on him. His demeanor, size, posture, tone – everything. A small frown curled the corner of her lips.

“I see.” He opened the briefcase, undoing locks one at a time, and at this distance the “case” was starting to look more like a small trunk with handles. Upon finishing the task, he then took his time looking through the contents. Eventually he looked back to what he clearly viewed as prey. “So, Sasha. I’m very busy today. Now, don’t feel the need to rush, I’m just going to multitask. Save some time.” With all the nonchalance of someone drawing a piece of paper, he pulled instead a crooked dagger and a whetstone from the case and set them on the table in front of him, taking care not to allow even the barest glimpse into the case’s contents. “Uhm…Alright.”  She briefly scanned the contents on the table before turning her attention back to him. A small, gentle smirk curled her lips, though she didn’t seem terribly convinced as to his professionalism. Not internally, anyway. It took every single cell in her body to not tear her gaze away from his face - what was that dagger for? And the whetstone? What did he intend to do? Seemingly ignoring her discomfort - though it was clear he was scrutinizing her every action and movement - he continued. “How long have you lived in Ul'Dah, Sasha?” The woman blinked a bit, seemingly taken aback by the question. “W-well, I was born here. Uhm… I lived here until I was sixteen, then I lived in Limsa Lominsa for about two… Maybe three cycles? I returned roughly three cycles ago. Maybe four.” “I see. So you’d say Ul'Dah is your home, then. You’d defend the city against threats to its stability.” The woman nodded, “Yes, to the best of my ability, anyway. I mean, I don’t think anyone wants to see Ul'dah fall as it’s the economic epicenter of the realm.” He nodded in return, slowly. “So you wouldn’t, say, sink a business intentionally to cause a ripple effect which harms your homeland.” He picked up the dagger, with that, and pretended to examine it, his gaze never fully leaving the woman before him. Said woman tilted her head to the side. “Businesses sink in Ul'dah all the time, it seems like a perfectly natural part of the cycle of wealth here. But no, I wouldn’t purposefully sink one. After all, they often sink themselves.” “Like when a heiress who never learned business proper collaborates with men seeking to exploit her.” He’d had that line ready. Sasha sighed. “Well, sometimes a heiress doesn’t have much of a choice. While sinking is natural, nobody wants to reach that point. Besides…” She offered the man another genuine, gentle smile, “men aren’t always out there to exploit others. Sometimes they try to help, and it just so happens it benefits them, too.” “Well, Sasha, isn’t that what our city thrives on? You and I both know there’s a difference between the law in practice and the law in theory, now, isn’t there. It’s the crimes that harm the rich and noble that truly matter, isn’t that so? And also that there are plenty of men looking to help those in need who are in well over their heads?” Sasha quirked a brow before shaking her head in shock, “G-gods, no… all crimes matter, regardless of who the victims are. Crimes against the rich simply get more publicity, but it doesn’t necessarily make them more important. Unless, arguably, it’s a crime against a leader or political figure who influences a lot of people, though who would a leader be without those to lead?” The lieutenant stared across the table at her, trying to discern if she was playing dumb or if she was actually that stupid. It seemed he was leaning towards the former, but the fact he had any doubt at all meant it was working. “Why was it you were missing from Ul'dah for some time, recently, Sasha? Got business somewhere else? Seems you were gone awhile. Convenient timing, too.” “Oh… Kugane, you mean? Yes, I was supposed to travel with Kukusedi Nanasedi and Kaelric Voss for business. We are trying to establish relations with the city, though the latter didn’t show… I’m not very sure why, I think he was sick” She paused for a moment, seemingly sinking into her own thoughts, “-but I suppose after the events that transpired, I can make my own assumptions.” The woman frowned a little before locking eyes with him,  "I’m not sure how that is convenient though – as far as I’m concerned, it could’ve been me.“ "Yes. It could have. But it wasn’t, now, was it?  Interesting you bring up mister Voss. He strikes me as rather smart. Too smart to stick around, or leave evidence if he did something wrong. Such a bright future thrown away…if he’s the reason twenty-two innocent people were smeared across a manse. There’s a lot we haven’t shown the press, you know.” He takes up the whetstone, makes hard eye contact and starts sharpening the dagger. “Would you like to see some of it? Maybe you could help shed some light on what happened.” Sasha scrunched her nose at that, “Please, ser. I have a weak stomach for such things. I simply detest violence.” Her eyes locked on his, pleadingly. “If Voss was indeed framed, then I’m sure it will come to light… After all, he is… Convenient to me - to us! Kukusedi and I would greatly benefit from the culprit coming to light, if it isn’t Kaelric.”

He set the whetstone and dagger down, frowned at the edge, then reached into the case and pulls out a ream of papers. Some of them he started putting down on the table - depictions of the carnage and the aftermath. Then he started reading from a report. “Edith Castille, found head down in her beloved fountain in the back of her manor. Cause of death was either the drowning or the fact most of her skull was smashed to bits from repeated blows against said fountain. Had two broken knees, looked to have been dragged there from the house, then tossed aside when the killer was finished. Coroner found quite a bit of water in her lungs, but again, death was quite, quite slow for her. We know she was the last to die, which means her final moments were spent knowing that her husband had suffered a similar fate. Here,” he jabbed his thumb into one of the depictions. “That’s what was left of her. That’s how they found her. She was an innocent woman who’d never done anything wrong, already survived the death of her beloved son. Could you remind me - what was he like, again, Sasha?” The woman gasped, her eyes gluing themselves to the image as they began to well up. The information is too much to process - Gerrith! That… Monster! That sick fuck! How in the hells did he kill someone like that? What is wrong with him!? I should’ve never hired him–and why is this bastard asking me about Sebastian? I need to deflect, quickly. “I-I—W-why are you doing this!?” She brought her palms to her eyes, taking deep, agitated breaths as her voice began to tremble, “T-that’s horrifying, I don’t want to see it, p-please pay Edith enough respect as to not attempt to use her death to distress me, ser. What happened is horrible enough, I don’t want to see it!” The lieutenant clearly had no interest in slowing down. “You know what puzzles me, Sasha, is that I haven’t heard of you or your partners hiring more security after that. Did you know that the Castilles’ security’s firearms were disabled? We found many of them either had their ammunition fouled intentionally, or, in a handful of cases, they were missing key parts. Firing pins, that sort of thing. That’s the work of an insider, and yet absolutely everyone on the site died. Here, let’s show you what happened to the wait staff.” He slid another depiction across the table. “One of the maids had just bought something nice, a necklace, well outside her pay grade. Have your staff been spending a bit more frivolously, lately?” “W-wait, let me answer your questions and statements one at a time.” She took a deep breath, averting her gaze from the papers before her as her eyes continued to well up with distressed tears. “Security was tightened after the event, in fact, I hardly leave my manor unaccompanied. I just arrived from Kugane so I was going to meet with my staff later today to see if we could do anything about it – Kukusedi was doing the same, it was his recommendation that we watch our backs. Though…” she frowns, “Seems like we can’t even trust our staff–and my staff have always been paid a flat rate, so I doubt they’d be spending more lately, though admittedly, I don’t really keep up with their numbers.” “I see. Here, I’ve got one more thing to show you, so you can really understand the gravity of the situation here and why it’s so important we find who’s responsible for this.” He took out one more depiction - the body of a man sprawled across a desk, its head a pulpy mess with vague fingerlike grooves in it. “This look familiar to you? Give it a real close look.” “I, understand the-” She turned pale, The sight of Edward’s body turns her stomach, causing her to reflexively bring a palm to cover her mouth. “Gods, w-what’s the point of this!? How are you solving anything!? I’m taking this as seriously as everybody here, I don’t need– This.” “Where’s Gerrith Gaffgarion?” Her mind suddenly went blank in panic, only allowing a single word to blurt out the beginning of her reasoning:  “Who?” Gears suddenly began to turn, “That… Beast? I wasn’t aware he was even real.” The officer pulled out another paper - a fairly detailed sketch of a man with black hair and cruel eyes who looked distinctly like Gerrith if he were fifteen or so years younger. “He’s an Ala Mhigan mercenary and very, very real. The Castilles found that out for themselves. This is what he does, Sasha, he takes money to massacre people like this, waits until the attention’s faded away and then finds another job. He’s got connections that reach much further than they should, and I know there’s a lot of people on his payroll. I want him. I don’t give a damn about your failing business or your drowning business partner or whether or not he was framed, really. I want Gerrith, I want him to stand trial and dive right off Highbridge where he belongs. I’m willing to make a lot of concessions for you, girl, if you give me that." He picked up the dagger again and started absentmindedly tapping the flat of it against his hand. Internally, a wicked grin curled her lips, stretching from ear to ear. You think I’m stupid, little man? I know bait when I see it. Sasha lowered her brows, scanning the paper for a minute or two before looking up at him again, "I… I don’t know this man. I’m sorry. I wish I could help. Hells, I didn’t even think he was real, I didn’t–I didn’t think th–Wait, how do you know he did this? You said yourself everyone in the manor was killed. How do you even know this man exists?” “I’m glad you asked that question.” That much seemed true, as it was with a new eagerness he lifted a folder packed with papers from the case and slammed it on the table, a dull echo sounding through the room. “This is his file. This is his body count. Just the ones we know about, of course. But we know quite a lot. We know his rates. We know his capabilities. We know he’s willing to do absolutely anything and we know he loves it. We only found one pair of bootprints that didn’t belong to the staff. The same fingers that crushed Edward’s skull like a ripe melon, slowly, Sasha, slowly, so he could think about how it felt to die, they’re the same ones that forced Edith’s head underwater. Same fingers we found marks from on the neck of one of the maids. You hire an au ra, too, right? You knew the Castilles? Did you know this one?” He slammed down a gruesomely accurate drawing of the maid, her neck so thoroughly broken several bones had torn through the skin, her face twisted in fear and agony. “We’re not quite sure if he waited for her to pass out before he snapped her neck with one hand. One hand, Sasha.” Sasha’s eyes widened in shock. “T-this… Was all done…By a single man!? All of it!? How is that even possible!? These are trained people, they have to be! And yes, I knew the Castilles, I know their security was always enviable. I… I was engaged to their son… Cycles ago. We didn’t interact much, it was a convenience marriage set up by them and my parents–But I know they must have had trained staff, after all, they were owners of a weapon’s manufactory company.” “Weapons which were disabled. More than likely by this maid-” he jabbed his thumb once more into the depiction, then slammed down another drawing. “Or maybe this maid -” And another. “Or maybe the butler. So I’m going to ask you now, Sasha, why’d you do it?” For a second, her mind went blank again. A little voice whispered in her head: Don’t fall for it Outwardly, she looked utterly puzzled. “Why did I do what?” “When we threw your business partner in a cell, I got a subpoena to look at your company’s books, since we realized we could cross-reference any missing funds with Gaffgarion’s rates.” His eyes locked on hers, like a falcon that had just found his prey. “When I get the same for your accounts, I’m going to find two million gil that just magically disappeared, aren’t I?” “I was going to go to Kugane, of course money is going to be withdrawn from my account. I’m not going to settle for anything less than luxury I can afford. Especially considering the fact I’m looking at properties there.” “Our auditors are very thorough, Sasha. Now. Here’s my offer. You give me Gerrith, we’ll write it up that he acted alone. He’ll swing for this, you’ll walk out scot free. You and everyone else in your business. This is the best offer you’re going to get from anyone. Murder, conspiracy, these aren’t crimes that have a statute of limitations, girl. This is going to hang on your head the rest of your life, just an ilm away from exposure at any time, and when you kill people like the Castilles, well, that’s what gets judges famous. Judges want to be tough on crime, you know, they want the people to have faith in them. Really restores faith in the system to see the rich punished for their crimes, doesn’t it? Really good for the city, isn’t it?” There it is, his second attempt at baiting me – Lovely. Sasha leaned in across the table, her eyes fixing on his with a frown. “I’m going to make this very clear: I had nothing to do with this, and frankly, I do not take kindly to accusations like this. I am utterly disgusted by this crime, like any person would be, and I truly hope you find whoever is behind this–But it isn’t me. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.” Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The lieutenant stared coldly across the table, trying to size up the woman before him. He raised his hand, and the two guards in the room silently stepped outside. A heavy metallic sound resonated through after they’d gone - the door was locked. Once the echoing stopped, in one quick motion the lieutenant stabbed the dagger into the table, causing her to jump, then pulled a flat leather thing from the case, about the size of his hand. There was a soft metallic rattle as he lifted it. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Miss Rochester-” the specific tone he said the ”miss” with was particularly laden with venom - “To tell me everything you know. What about your partners, hmm? We found particularly damning evidence in the form of a letter, true, but both of you have access to your compatriot’s handwriting, now, don’t you?” Her eyes fixed on what she saw as a potential torture device. She gulped before soflty shaking her head, “Yes, we both have access to his handwriting, obviously. We maintain contact rather often.” “Now, I’ve seen your handwriting,” he said, with no humor whatsoever in his voice, the emotion that was there a moment ago fading away into an eerie calm. “It’s quite good. Quite intricate. And I hear you’re an artist, isn’t that right? Was the forgery Kukudesi’s idea? He’d be the only one you owe a debt to, then, wouldn’t he. Gives him even more power over you.” The woman scoffed, “I am not an artist I’m an arcanist. Yes, I’m good with calligraphy and drawing, but it hardly serves a forgery tool when your main focus is Arcanima. I’d think someone of your rank would know this, Ser.” She spat out “ser” with the same tone he had used “miss” earlier. “Kukusedi and I would never plot against Kaelric, we need him. He manages an imperative part of the company which is the management of the ports, in fact, this entire ordeal severely stagnates our operations.” “Ah, but leaving the Castilles alive would’ve hurt you, wouldn’t it? Never did give up the idea that poor Stefan was your fault, did they?” “Stefan is alive, I actually bumped into him last night. He abandoned me out of his own will, not mine. Frankly, anulling the marriage was the best choice I’ve done. I actually have his linkpearl with me and it is fully functioning, should you need it.” “But it was such a blow to the family honor, wasn’t it? Though Stefan surviving really did mean he got off lucky, now, didn’t it. Peculiar how death follows your every step, isn’t it?” He tapped the blackjack on the edge of the table, each time making a hard whump sound. Sasha scoffed. “I don’t care about my family’s shallow idea of honor. If I did, I wouldn’t have married a miqo'te. ” The woman narrowed her eyes, “And… death follows my every step? Really? How so?” “How’s your mother feeling?” Sasha let out a sardonic chuckle, “You think that’s funny? She’s dead.” “Speak with your father lately?” She knew exactly where this was going: “He died, and based on my family’s health records it’s pretty obvious why.” The woman locked her eyes with him, “What’s next? Sebastian? Going to really rub it in ? Like I didn’t suffer enough already?” “Sebastian was next, yes, how kind of you to be proactive. I’m just pointing out it’s rather interesting how everyone who gets too close to you ends up a corpse or missing. How’s your new husband? What was his name again?” It took every fraction of her willpower not to roll her eyes there and then, and instead, it resulted in her eyes coldly holding his gaze, “X'elo Maimhov,” she said in a rather robotic tone. “Didn’t even bother taking this one’s name, hmm?” Sasha exhaled from her nose sharply, “He’s a mi-” She stopped herself from finishing that thought, a pang of guilt crawled down her spine. “Why does that even matter? It was a personal choice. My name is tied to my company.” The lieutenant kept staring at Sasha, irritation slowly rising to the surface. This wasn’t working, and he knew it. He rifled through the case again, and didn’t say anything for quite some time. It was clear he was running out of cards to play, but still had something up his sleeve. Sasha frowned at the silence slightly, every tick of the clock she could hear without a word made dread weigh heavier upon her shoulders. Calm down, don’t let him piss you off. He’s trying to get to you. Keep going. “Ah, here we are.” He drew a single sheet of paper from the case. “How’s dear old Caroline doing? How was Sharlayan? I’ve never been, myself. Bit too much love for Ul'dah, you understand.” “I went to Sharlayan for medical treatment. I can’t say I had a lot of fun considering my physical condition and the heavy restrictions they place upon foreigners, despite our blood bonds. Caroline is doing fine, an old, bitter bitch, as usual. Glad you asked!” She finished her sentence with mocking smile. “Sounds expensive. Sounds like trouble she’d only go to if she cared about you. Is that fair to say? Caroline wouldn’t be pleased to see her granddaughter dead?” “Of course she wouldn’t be. It’s one of the reasons she wants me out of Ul'dah. She thinks this city is too dangerous and corrupt – but that’s what any Sharlayan would say.” He drew one more set of pictures from the case. It depicted an even more grisly murder - an entire family wholesale slaughtered at their dinner table, down to the youngest child. Blood and viscera were everywhere. Some of the bodies were posed in ways that suggest they were the victims of more than one form of violence. As far as the good lieutenant was concerned, Sasha didn’t need to know that some of it had been embellished. “So when Caroline gets a letter from an officer held in high esteem amidst the Brass Blades saying he’s concerned for her granddaughter’s well-being, with some copies of these attached as examples of the powers he’s certain she’s meddling with, what’s she going to do, do you think?” The woman turned away from the pictures, tensing up as she frowned: “Confront me about it, probably. If she thinks I’m in immediate danger, most likely drag me out of this city to somewhere she deems 'safe.’ Most likely Sharlayan, which I would be incredibly against — So I don’t advise you do that. In fact, I strongly suggest you don’t do it. After all, I am helping you to the best of my ability, and I wouldn’t be much help if I were in Sharlayan.” For the first time the entire interrogation, his lips curled into a wicked smile. “Oh, but you see, my sworn duty as an officer of the Brass Blades, the very oath I swore when I enlisted and reaffirm every day of my life is to protect the citizens of Ul'dah. All citizens of Ul'dah. How am I to live with myself if I didn’t help a poor, confused, innocent girl escape a situation which could very well end in her looking just like Edith Castille? How am I to disobey my duty when you’ve given me nothing?” She clenched her jaw slightly. “You don’t benefit from my departure at all. I am providing you with information to the best of my ability. I’m sorry it’s not helpful, I don’t know what I can pluck out of thin air that would benefit you. What are you looking for? A culprit? I don’t have one, hells, I don’t even have any information on Gerrith, but I’m trying to help, and sending a letter like that would only soil on your efforts to solve this case.” “Well see, Miss-” He slammed the blackjack against the table, rose from the chair and started stalking around to Sasha’s side of it - “-Rochester, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve given me nothing at all. I don’t believe half of what you’ve told me, frankly, and I’m getting tired of playing at politeness. More people will die, and it’ll be on you. Let’s work out a logic puzzle, hmm?” He leaned in, ilms from her face, his voice a terribly low whisper. “You’re a smart woman. If you’re here, and you’re guilty, and I can’t nail it to you, then you can kill again. If you’re here, and you’re innocent, you may end up a victim yourself. If you’re across the sea, and you’re guilty, then that’s unfortunate, but it means you can’t hurt any of my people ever again. If you’re across the sea and you’re innocent, well, at least you won’t end up crawling on broken kneecaps while a madman chokes the life out of you.” “Missus. I’m a married woman.” Gods, shut up, shut up! You’ll piss him off! Stop! The woman gulped, hardly able to hold his gaze. She fell silent, gears struggling to turn in her head as fear began to take over. Fear of ending up in Sharlayan, and fear of ending up killed by the blades. Either result would be hell or death for her – neither seemed very appealing. “I don’t know what you want me to say… I don’t — I don’t know anything. I’m as scared as any other reasonable person is right now. I mean — W-what question have I failed to answer? Besides those I have no clue about.” The lieutenant lightly tapped Sasha’s cheek with the leather weapon. “Think harder.” He’d found a weakness in the armor and was now gauging how far he would take it, how much reward could be gotten from this path. The woman hissed, “T-there’s nothing I know that’s terribly relevant to this case, u-unless you mean that Kaelric got sick. I-I… Or are you talking about my relationship with Sebastian? You asked me so many things I just – Why would that even be relevant!?” “The beautiful thing about these is they don’t leave marks. The word of a suspected criminal versus a distinguished Blade, well, no contest there. Here’s a thought, though - maybe your husband knows something about this. Maybe I’ll just ask him, instead.” He lightly tapped the blackjack against her cheek one, two, three more times, and then hauled back and slammed the fourth…flat against the table. As the noise faded, he stared her dead in the eyes. “What do you think, Sasha? Will he break before you would?” The woman furrowed her brow, “If I know nothing, he’d know even less. Do not involve him in this, I’m the one with ties to Voss, not him. ” Her eyes narrowed into what could only be described as a hateful glare, “If you care about justice in this city, you will spare the innocent and know when to stop pushing. I’ve told you all I know. Now please let me leave.” “Maybe he saw some secret problem going on. Maybe he orchestrated the whole thing. Maybe we’ll haul him in to ask him some questions, too. Either way,” the lieutenant said, straightening up again, walking back to his side of the table. “Twenty-two innocent lives were lost, and those responsible will meet justice.” He started  packing the case back up. The tiniest, tiniest hint of disappointment slipped through his facade. Sasha took a few deep breaths, seemingly a little more relaxed then, “I’ll help… I’ll help in any way I can.” A lie, of course. Crisis averted