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displacedentities · 4 years ago

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Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

#Coffee Shop Au #AHIT #A Hat In Time #doodledrawsthings #Snatcher #Hat Kid #Moonjumper #Clover #noticed a couple mistakes and it's too late to fix em wHOOPS #OH WELL

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simeonisalesbian · 3 years ago

Note

Ever wondered what domestic life would be with the ladies? 🤔 Like MC and their s/o get their own place for privacy, that gay thoughts been living in my head rent free 😖

Anon you found my weak spot 🥺 I've always been a sucker for cute domestic gay shit.

Lucifer:

Getting away from her sister's actually lifted so much stress of her shoulders

She was a bit nervous moving in with you honestly. Not that she'd show it.

Without her sisters continously causing mischief or pranking her office constantly She found she actually had a good amount of free time on her hands.

That free time went towards you of course

Slow dancing around the house as one of Lucifer's records play throughout the house is an common occurrence

She will always make sure to give you a kiss with a quick "I love you" before either of you leave the house. Even if it is to just take Cerberus on a short walk.

Whenever she comes home from a long meeting at RAD she'll lay down on the couch with her head in your lap ranting about everything that went wrong.

Even if you were there she just finds it nice to rant to you. She trusts you after all.

Mammon:

Mammon is so very excited to get your own place together

No sisters to nag on her every move? Helllll yesss

She gets to spend time alone with you whenever she wants? If you told her she was back in heaven she'd totally believe you.

she will constantly bring home various objects for decoration saying "it reminded me of ya!"

Minimalism is for boring rich people anyway.

as much as she talks, she does really cherish the moments where your both just sitting quietly in each other's presence doing your own things

Occasionally she'll just look up at stare at you during these moments with a sappy smile at her face.

If you ask her what's up she'll just say "I really love you ya kno?" Before going back to what she was doing before. Her "cool" facade being forgotten knowing it's just you two around

Leviathan:

She was really concerned that you'd changed your mind midway when moving all her figurines to your new place

Living alone with you just really seems too good to be true. Just keep reassuring and she'll stop doubting your love eventually.

Henry 2.0 has his own room with all of Levi's gaming and streaming equipment. Her figurines are also near Henry's tank because Levi is "afraid he'll get lonely in his own room"

She still doesn't leave the house much since she can still do most everything online but she has a whole house now instead of just her own room. Which is nice

Whenever you pop in while she's streaming she'll smile at you before asking if you want to say hi to her viewers.

If you do you should give her a quick kiss on camera before leaving her a blushing smiling mess.

If not she'll nod and turn to the camera saying she'll be right back before going to see what you wanted.

Late night anime marathons until one or both of you pass out on the couch.

You wake up with your limbs entangled with hers. She'll wake up not soon after she feels you stirring. She'll smile sleepily saying "Mornin normie. Lov u"

It will take a bit before either of you to realize it wasn't even morning and both of you slept past noon.

Satan:

Living alone with you means she can finally have her own cats.

The first cat, the both of you adopt together. afterwards it's fair game though.

She'll often come home with a stray cat she found always giving an excuse like "it was hurt see?" Or "They looked so cold MC. I'm the avatar of wrath but I'm not heartless."

She knows she can't keep every cat she comes across and does promise to look for good homes for some of the strays.

the two of you also invest in plenty of book shelves to prevent any walking hazards throughout the house. Of course with the cats though there are still plenty of those.

You've already tripped over a cat several times. Whenever Satan is nearby though she always makes sure to catch you. She'll laugh before asking "are you falling for me again MC?" Before giving you a kiss.

She will always bring a book to bed and will happily read aloud to you to help lull you to sleep.

Asmodeus:

she is absolutely thrilled to have a place on to yourselves

Oh all the things you could do without her pesky sisters around😘 (only if you consent of course)

the bathroom is arguably on of the biggest rooms and is filled to the brim with various beauty supplies.

The bathtub alone looks about the size of a small pool, which asmo argues is entirely necessary. You're pretty sure she just wants and excuse to bathe with you more often than not

Whenever she comes home from shopping, wether you joined her or not, She insists on having a little fashion show.

wether it's you wearing the outfit or her it always ends the same where you both collapse on the bed giggling at the silliest photos she took. (and will keep for herself instead of posting)

She'll cuddle into you before saying "I love you to the moon and back MC. You're the best."

Beelzebub:

her first concern is how the both of you are going to afford all the food she eats. She's really afraid she's gonna bankrupt you.

After this is resolved tho she settles into domestic life with you very easily.

She'll always try to include you in her workouts if you want. Anything from letting you sit on her back while she does push ups to guiding you through various exercises you can do yourself

she also likes going on morning jogs with you. She always goes slower than she'd go on her own but she wants to make sure you can keep up.

The both of you always make meals together. Though it's mostly you cooking and Beel taste testing.

Once you point out she's "tasted" half of the meal she'll apologise keep her hands busy by hugging you from behind and her mouth will be busy giving you kisses on the top of your head.

She'll always compliment your cooking following the statement with a "I love you so much."

Belphegor:

she acts pretty indifferent to moving in with you but really she's pretty nervous

she always roomed with her twin except for when she was stuck in the attic. So such a big change scares her more than she'll ever admit.

she settles down soon enough. She still talks to beel almost daily and she's become pretty confident that you won't leave her all alone.

even though the house has ceiling lights, she never turns them on preferring to turn on lamps or the fairy lights.

she'll also hiss and throw her pillow at you if you turn on one while she's in the room yelling at you to turn it off.

she does sleep most of the time still but you've figured out quickly enough that she's very ticklish

so anytime she's refusing to wake you quickly run your fingers over her sides gaining high pitched squeals of laughter. This of course leads to an all tickle war.

It always ends with the two of you out of breath still giggling a bit when Belphie shakes her head staring at you like you hung the stars saying "you're lucky love you." Before hugging you close for another nap.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me luficer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me genderbend #obey me headcanons

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ikeromantic · 3 years ago

Text

Fake It Til You Make It

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction - approx. 2200 words. This scene takes place post-romantic epilogue. Fluff and a little spice.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Adrift

Kyubei watched the innkeeper through narrowed eyes. Though the man was clearly nervous, he didn’t seem to be lying. His story hadn’t changed in the last three tellings, so either he was an accomplished liar or he was telling the truth.

“L-lord Akechi and the woman left with one of the Akechi warriors. Right after we saw the fire across the lake,” the innkeeper said for the fourth time. “Then the storm came and after that, no one saw him.”

“Do you remember anything else? Did anyone else come in after they left? Did you see anyone acting strangely?”

The man shook his head. “No, I mean, not really? Everyone was a bit strange after we saw the blaze. Wondering if Azuchi was still standing.” He frowned. “You think it might have been Lord Akechi? Him disappearing like that right after -”

Kyubei cut him off. “No. That was the work of the Mouri clan.” It wasn’t the first person he’d spoken with that suspected. And why wouldn’t they? Mitsuhide was only just back from his misadventure at the shogun’s side. An ally in disgrace. A man not to be trusted.

The worst part of all this was that Kyubei really had no idea what his lord wanted him to do. Should he quash the rumors? Encourage them? Mitsuhide’s instructions from his last letter said nothing about an attack on Azuchi - not like this - and nothing about disappearing. Of course, he pretended like he knew exactly what was going on. He had to, until he received additional instructions.

“So . . . am I free to go?” The innkeeper was frowning now. His nervousness replaced by a desire to get back to making money at the inn.

“For now,” Kyubei said. He gave the man a hard stare. “If I need anything else, I will send someone for you.”

The innkeeper bowed and left, leaving Kyubei alone with his thoughts. It really seemed that in the storm, his lord had simply vanished into thin air. And Miyake too.

Perhaps they'd left with Ranmaru, who was also missing. But if so, there would be a letter. A message. Something!

The castle staff had no idea where he was - they’d waited for him to return for hours. Miyake’s squad couldn’t find their commander either. Both men were expected.

And the chatelaine . . . his lady. Kyubei worried that he had failed to protect her again.

***

Morning came with pale light through a high window. It fell across four careworn, sleeping faces. Sasuke and Miyake lay in a tangle of blankets on the floor, and in a bed, Mitsuhide clung to his little mouse. He woke with the first notes of bird-song, but kept his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to confront the strange world of 500 years in the future just yet.

His little one stirred in his arms as the sound of morning birds turned into a hum of outside activity. “Is it . . . are we really . . .” She opened her eyes and looked around Sarutobi’s flat. “We’re really here.”

Mitsuhide nodded.

“I want to be happy about it, but . . .”

He shushed her with a kiss. “It will be fine. Worrying won’t return us faster.”

She sighed and buried her face against his chest. “I know. I just hope everyone is alright.”

“They will be,” Mitsuhide reassured her. He didn’t think of it as a lie - simply an assumption he based on his past experience. Nobunaga would handle this threat as he did others that came before it.

And Kyubei would see to what the left hand needed to be doing.

Sasuke sat up, rubbing his face. “I apologize for the accommodations,” he told them. The same apology he’d given the night before.

“At least we had somewhere to sleep.” The chatelaine sat up and wiggled out of the blanket. “I should probably check on my flat and see if it’s still mine. If so, we won't have to impose on you a second night. Although,” she sighed. “I don’t have my ID or my keys or anything.”

“I don't mind,” Sasuke replied. “You are welcome to continue crashing here. Although, we may not be here for long. Weren’t there activities you wanted to do in this time? While you can?” His left eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly.

Mitsuhide gave her one of his slow, warm smiles. His fingers traced a path down her spine. “Yes, you did mention some things I would like to see, since we are here.”

His little mouse arched like a cat against his hand. “I did . . . yes. Alright. Since we’re here, we might as well try to enjoy it!”

Miyake rolled over on the floor and pulled the blanket over his head.

“I take it that means you plan to stay here for the day?”

Sasuke answered for the half-asleep warrior. “Actually, I would really appreciate it if Miyake would accompany me. I need to go to my university and make some arrangements.”

Miyake groaned and sat up. He blinked as his gaze went around the room, taking in all the strange objects. Finally, he settled on the ninja. “You need protection or something?”

“No. I don’t think anyone will attack me.” Sasuke felt around for his glasses and slid them on. “But I expect to be moving some heavy equipment in the lab. And I may have a friend who can help us out with those arrangements, if you're there to corroborate my story.”

“Corr what?” Miyake frowned.

“Authenticate. Like a two factor security key.” The ninja grinned.

The warrior looked to Mitsuhide uncertainly.

“If Sarutobi believes you can assist him today, then that is what you will do. I am sure my fiancée and I will be fine.”

The chatelaine looked less certain about this, but she nodded agreement.

The four of them took turns dressing in the ‘washroom’ to give each other privacy. His morning was one of surprise as the . . . toilet . . . squirted him with water. And warm or cold water came from a metal spigot at the turn of a handle too, spilling into a porcelain basin. There were more smokeless lanterns - electric lights they were called - and other wonders.

Had Mitsunari been there, he was sure the scholar could have spent weeks studying every device but Mitsuhide just needed to know how to use it.

In this place, he was the naïve child, and his little one, the wise teacher. Such a shift in their positions was hard to take. Mitsuhide didn’t think of himself as arrogant but this situation was humbling in the extreme. Thankfully, he managed to get through dressing and breakfast without any serious mishaps.

Sasuke and Miyake left to the university. The flat was silent in their wake. Mitsuhide and his little mouse sat on the edge of the bed. She was tapping away at a . . . tablet . . . to get access to her accounts. The electronic scroll was interesting, at least. With pictures and writing all lit up so you could read it even in the dark.

Mitsuhide stood and stretched, trying to get used to moving in his new clothes. They were Sarutobi’s and didn’t quite fit. He was dressed in a pair of pants that clung tightly to his legs and ended short of his ankle. The top was a soft weave, dyed black. It sported an odd blue character on it and the word Sonic. Sarutobi said the picture was a hedgehog, whatever that was.

He would have liked to wear something without a picture on it. He’d had the choice between this one and something with a lizard that walked on two legs and shot fire from its mouth. Those were the only two shirts the ninja had that were long enough to cover him to his waist. And there was no way he was walking around with a bare midriff. Even if his little mouse looked interested in the idea.

Her midriff was bare afterall, she’d laughed. And it was - sort of. She tied one of Sasuke’s shirts in a bow under her breasts and had a pair of his shorts on. Though Mitsuhide wasn’t familiar with the clothes of this time, he thought she looked like a child trying to fit into her father’s clothes. Endearingly cute, but ill fit. Some of the clothes they saw women wearing on the way in the night before would have looked much better on her.

She looked up as if she knew he was thinking about her. “Ok, I think we’re ready to go.”

“Where to, my love?”

“Well, first to my apartment. It looks like my rent payments have all been made. And the building manager knows me so I should be able to get a spare key.” Her smile was all relief.

They arrived to the apartment, a small space in a tall building that reminded Mitsuhide of a castle, if the castle was robbed of all charm and beauty. Her room was utilitarian and sterile, and while there was still the wonder of technology, he could see none of her personality in the space. He said as much.

“Hm, yeah. I didn’t really have time to decorate. The apartment came furnished. I moved in and then, well,” she laughed. “I ended up in Azuchi with you.”

Mitsuhide pulled her into a hug. “A fate worse than death, little mouse?”

“You know it wasn’t,” she giggled, laughing harder as he ran his fingers down her sensitive sides. Holding her like this felt like home, even if nothing else was familiar.

After several slow breaths, they let go of each other.

“I must confess, I cannot see you living in this place. It doesn’t seem very safe. And you don’t have much room for your sewing.” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but poke into her cabinets, shelves, and drawers.

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty small but it was a place I could afford on my own.”

Mitsuhide heard the pride in her voice. He smiled. “I can imagine you coming here, determined to make it on your own.” He turned from the cabinet he was inspecting to see her stripping off her shirt.

Her pert breasts were a pleasant surprise, but she crossed her arms over them as soon as she saw him looking. “I’m just changing clothes! I didn’t want to wear Sasuke’s basketball shorts all day.”

“Please, continue.”

“I - I can’t while you’re staring at me!” She turned so that all he could see was her back.

Mitsuhide laughed. “Are we not lovers? How many times have I kissed, nibbled, caressed every bit of your skin from head to toe?”

She shivered, skin dimpling with remembered touches. Slow, nervous, she turned back around. Her arms lowered, revealing her chest again. “You can watch if you want to.”

He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or mischief that made her voice squeak at the end. Either was amusing. “Mmm, I’m a lucky man to get a show.”

“You are,” she smiled. Her fingers went to the tie on the shorts. They fell away, pooling around her feet. Underneath, she wore nothing.

Mitsuhide sucked in a breath.

Her hips swayed as she walked to her wardrobe. She glanced over her shoulder at him and fluttered her eyelashes, trying to be saucy. The effect was a little spoiled by the blush that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. From within the wardrobe she pulled out a little twist of cloth. It was light blue and made of some embroidered material.

He didn’t realize he could see her skin through it until she slipped it on, slowly pulling the fabric taut over her curves. Though she was technically covered, it was somehow more tempting than just skin alone. “What . . . is that?”

“Panties.” She giggled. Then she pulled out a matching bit of cloth and wrapped it around her chest. The rise of her breasts were restrained by this new piece of clothing as she reached behind her as if to tie it.

“And that?”

“My bra.” She turned right, then left, letting him get a good view.

The sight made Mitsuhide want to simultaneously rip the clothing off her and still enjoy looking at her in them. It wasn’t possible to have both . . .

“To be honest, it’s been kind of nice not wearing these the last few months. But I think I would feel weird if I didn’t wear them with my modern clothes.”

“I like them.” Mitsuhide smiled widely. A grin that brought heat to her gaze before she looked away, suddenly shy. He knew this ground well. Even here in a world where everything was strange, his little one was the same.

He stepped forward, reaching to cup her cheek. His other hand settled lightly on her hip, fingertips stroking the skin just above the fabric of her panties. She inhaled sharply, lips parting. Mitsuhide took the invitation.

The kiss was, at first, gentle and sweet, but the press of their bodies built heat between them. Their breath mingled, tongues entwined. Hands grasping, stroking, pulling. Tearing.

Mitsuhide stopped at the sound of fabric ripping.

His little one gasped and reached down to feel the damage. Her eyes widened. “You . . . tore my panties.” Then she started to laugh.

He laughed too. Never in his life had he expected a woman so wonderful. A woman he would want badly enough to - literally - tear the clothes off her. This kind of passion he’d always believed was fake. Yet here he was. It was unthinkable. Incredible. “I love you,” Mitsuhide told her, smiling so widely that it hurt.

“I love you too.”

She gestured to the wardrobe. "I should probably, you know. Finish." It took only a moment for her to shimmy into her own clothes. Then they headed out into this strange world that was his home 500 years after death.

Next: Kitsune's Day Out

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome boys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years ago

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(未定事件簿) EVENT! 「眷然恋影」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: Zuo Ran Birthday 2021- Days to Re-Live Forever (4.18: Volunteer Application)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Will also be filed under Zuo Ran’s tag #Tears of a Lawyer *The tracking tag for ALL Event Stories will go under: #Tears of an Event

4.18 / 4.20 / 4.22 / 4.24 / 4.26 Messages / Investigations / Call

Location: Cinema's Lounge Area

MC: …All in all, while this isn't considered a bad movie, it's also quite far from being a "Sci-fi Masterpiece".

Zuo Ran: Agreed.

Zuo Ran and I were both down at the Cinema’s Lounge, discussing the movie that we'd just finished watching.

The Stellis Film Festival had just started, and the movie that we'd sought to watch for how famous it was, was one of the most highly rated Sci-Fi movies.

But unfortunately, the content of the movie itself wasn't quite as interesting as we'd expected.

Zuo Ran: But "Time Travel" is considered one of the more classic Sci-fi themes, so it's not all that easy to come up with something new and exciting.

Hearing him say that, I suddenly remembered another movie with the exact same running theme.

MC: There are also many Time Travel themed Masterpieces out there. Take the film “About Time” for example; it’s an old film dating more than ten years ago.

MC: But it’s about slice of life, so you probably never watched it.

That’s right, although this movie was labelled a work of Science Fiction, it was also undeniably something that fell into the category of warm, healing, fluffiness.

It’s a movie about the story of the male protagonist, Tim, who wanted to use his Time-travelling ability to find himself a girlfriend; and eventually winning over the heroine, Mary’s, heart.

Additionally, it also depicts Tim’s family history. Generally speaking, it was an award-winning movie that had won over the emotions of many.

I recall that Zuo Ran preferred to watch Sci-fi Films, rarely watching anything emotional. Still, I wanted to try giving him a suggestion.

Zuo Ran: I’ve seen it before. It was pretty good.

His reply was a little unexpected.

MC: Huh? But even though the male protagonist is capable of Time Travel, there are still far fewer Sci-fi elements to this movie than there are elements of daily life.

MC: I thought that you don’t often watch these kinds of films...

Zuo Ran: You’re right, but this one’s an exception.

Zuo Ran: Rather than calling it a Sci-fi movie, I think it’ll be more appropriate to call it a movie about “Superpowers”, since its main purpose is to power the plot.

Zuo Ran: Although it’s a slice of life, the director of this film has a good grasp of rhythm and mood, capable of making people feel a strong sense of empathy.

Zuo Ran: Of course, I also personally agree with the idea it is trying to convey.

Zuo Ran analysed the movie with utter seriousness, and I could see that he had an extremely deep understanding about it.

Capable of extracting that many praises from him, it seems like this movie holds an extraordinary place in his heart.

MC: Sounds like you really do like this “About Time” film.

Zuo Ran: Yes, I do.

Zuo Ran: I suppose it can be considered… Among the ones I like best.

After getting an affirmative from him, I couldn’t help but to jump for joy.

MC: (Now I know how to celebrate his birthday!)

Zuo Ran’s birthday was the 26th of April; a day that was coming up soon.

I’d only heard about this date back when I was making small talk with Sister Zhai Xing. She’d even told me to put more emphasis on it, since I was his partner.

Zuo Ran has been taking good care of me ever since I joined the Law Firm, but I’d have been way prepared to celebrate his birthday for him, even if Sister Zhai Xing didn’t mention it.

But I didn’t really know what I should do, till now; the conversation I just had with Zuo Ran finally gave me a hint.

MC: (Recreating the classic scenes of movies and celebrating his birthday there will definitely make it an unforgettable experience for the Mr. Robin, the well-known film critic! )

A plan gradually started to take shape within the confines of my mind.

Zuo Ran: What’s on your mind? Why are you daydreaming?

MC: N-Nothing! I was just thinking about...

MC: My favourite movie! I was just thinking how brilliant it was that you also happen to like it!

Birthday surprises are something that’s meant to be kept secret till the very last moment, so I can’t afford to give the game away now.

Zuo Ran: It makes you that happy?

His expression appeared no different from usual, seemingly having accepted what I’d just said.

MC: Yup, of course it does! Sharing the same favourite movie as you goes to show that we’re well suited to be partners!

Zuo Ran: We do coordinate well together.

MC: Let’s talk more about this film, Lawyer Zuo.

Zuo Ran: Sure.

He probably wouldn’t have any idea about just what I had planned to celebrate his birthday with.

MC: (I’m suddenly really looking forward to seeing how he’ll react to this surprise. I’m sure he’ll be way different from how he usually is!)

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: The Film Museum

A few days later, at the Film Museum.

Staff: My apologies, miss. But the Museum's Live-action Studio is temporarily unavailable for loan for the duration of the Film Festival.

MC: I’d originally wanted to rent the Film Museum’s Live-action Studio to recreate the classic scenes of the movie “About Time” for Zuo Ran, to celebrate his birthday.

But how unfortunate...

MC: But I’m really in need of it; isn’t there any other way?

Staff: If you’re truly in urgent need of the Studio. Then you can try becoming a volunteer for this Film Festival.

MC: Oh?

Staff: The Museum requires a large amount of volunteers to help out during the Film Festival, and volunteer points can be earned through completing volunteer work.

She took out a brochure, handing it to me.

Staff: Take a look at this. Volunteer points can be redeemed for the rights to use the Live-action Studio in addition to some special props provided by the Museum itself.

Staff: You must be shooting on the set itself if you’re trying to rent the Studio, so I’m sure these props will come in handy.

The staff member pointed out the “special props” listed on the brochure to me.

They came as large as classic retro cars, furniture such as tables and chairs, old-fashioned suitcases… They were all classic props from classic movies.

MC: Are all these props the original ones?

I’d thought that it’d take a good lot of points to redeem rights to the Studio, but I’d never expected it to actually be the easiest to attain.

Although, that being said, most of those special props were pretty “point pricy”.

Staff: A small portion of them are, but the rest are replicated on a 1:1 scale from the original.

MC: Oh! There’s even the window display mural from “About Time”!?

Staff: That’s right. Although this one’s a replication, it is no different from the original one.

MC: (Not only can you rent the venue, but you can also change up the place to be furnished with decorations of your own choice. This can’t get any better!)

Thinking up till this point, I agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

MC: Okay, I’ll sign up! What do you do as a volunteer, though?

Staff: Welcome to the Volunteer Team. Your job this time is to simply hand out questionnaires.

Staff: As the organizer of this Film Festival, we plan to create a review column after the event; hence, why we have to collect information on the audience’s option.

Staff: The content of this survey includes, but is not limited to, their evaluation of the movies released this Film Festival, and their views on well-known film-critics, etc.

Staff: What needs to be specifically explained to them is that, due to the curator's request, this survey will take the form of an offline interview and a physical questionnaire to fill.

Staff: He believes that it is only by interacting face-to-face with the audience, can we then understand their true wishes; and that doing so will also reflect the utmost sincerity of the Museum itself.

She handed me yet another list.

Staff: The information of the willing participants of the survey are recorded here. So please carry out the surveys according to the name list here.

Staff: Your final amount of points obtained will be calculated based on the number of questionnaires you've managed to get filled, and their degree of completion.

I confidently took the list from her.

MC: Understood! You can leave it to me!

Staff: Volunteer Points can be redeemed at any time. I wish you the best of luck, and hope that you can exchange it for the rights to the Live-action Studio as soon as possible.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Next Part: (4.20: Questionnaire Filling)

#Tears of Themis #Zuo Ran #左然 #Translations #Otome #Mihoyo #未定事件簿 #眷然恋影 #Days to ReLive forever #Zuo Ran 2021 Birthday #Tears of a Lawyer #Tears of an Event #weiding shijian bu #tears of themis translations

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

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beach please

pairing: rex / reader / cody

word count: 6166

summary: once the war ended, you retreated to scarif for much-needed time to recenter yourself. rex and cody worry when you don’t answer your comms for days and leave coruscant to find you, fearing the worst. turns out you’ve just been drinking and partying, now sporting two new tattoos.

a/n: the self-created duke of scarif is jimmy buffett & i was inspired by his song “margaritaville” & “beach please” by kevin fowler.

canon changes: everyone listened to fives abt the chips & palps was discovered to be a sith lord. the clones were given human rights, a generously low locked-in rent if they lived on coruscant, and as much back pay as the republic could afford (not much but better than nothing).

“master y/l/n, there’s still so much to be done-”

“and you can have someone else do it. you must not be capable of recognizing the importance of reevaluating the way we interpret the code, or else this conversation wouldn’t be occurring.”

obi-wan blanched at the barely tamed fury radiating from your force signature. this was the second time in less than a year that he felt something so raging from your force signature, the time before this meeting being the aftermath of umbara. before the nightmare that was the siege on the shadow planet, it had been decades since you were angry enough about something to raise your voice to the council. it took a very great transgression to ignite your anger into something scathing and this meeting was doing exactly that.

the council was meeting to discuss the senate’s plans to have the jedi spearhead efforts to repair the galaxy and quell the revolts in areas that still wanted to continue the war. palpatine was manipulating both sides and if it weren’t for fives and kix, the republic would have been none the wiser when chancellor palpatine executed the order to have the clones murder their jedi.

“how are we going to guide the galaxy through the changing times if we’re unable to reevaluate our own beliefs and how the war impacted them? so many of our padawans were raised in this war, far different than how they should have been brought up.” your mind drifted to ahsoka and late-night conversations spent trying to make sense of the reality of war and how she’d been nothing but a soldier since she left the temple at fourteen. “the senate is not our responsibility nor our lead authority. we were their pawns once and despite seeing the consequences on geonosis, we let ourselves get wrapped in politics. think of what we lost because of it.”

eeth koth was deeply disturbed by your entire demeanor as well as the words spilling from your lips. if there was ever a jedi that made you want to leave the order, he’d be it. douchebag. “our duty is to the galaxy, to maintain peace! you can’t expect us to sit back and do nothing when people are struggling!”

obi-wan shared your sentiment but strived for more unity than polarization within the meeting. “but aren’t we struggling just as much as the rest of the galaxy? time must be allotted for us to heal the wounds of war before we’ll be able to successfully help others that are suffering, if that’s what’s agreed upon.” a few jedi nodded their agreement, masters plo and gallia among them. shaak looks close to being convinced but seems to still be hesitant to comment on her opinion.

“in order to help the galaxy, we must help ourselves. our emotions must be looked into with more than just the intent to throw them away at a moment’s notice. knowing why we feel the things we do can help us with far more than just our connection to the force.”

this was an idea that obi-wan has spent many years struggling with but it took the end of the war to guide him into believing that emotions aren’t the enemy, it’s how they’re utilized that counts. he explained this concept to his fellow council members and it was a sentiment you agreed with immensely.

saese scoffs at the mere idea of doing more with emotions besides dispelling them into the force. “that sounds a lot like allowing your emotions to cloud your judgement, master kenobi, something your lineage is quite popular for-” oh he crossed the line. saese was not about to talk shit about your creche mate and closest friend or his lineage and get away with it.

“no need to pardon my language, master, but it sounds a lot like you’re allowing your own emotional shortcomings and the bantha fodder you call intelligence to cloud your judgement.”

even mace was stunned at the verbal jab that came from your seat. kit had been mid-drink and it took him several seconds to recover from the way he choked on his water. you were normally calm and collected, a voice of reason amid the chaos. this time, however, you were at your limit. this was your cue to leave.

mace spoke up as you neared the door. “y/l/n, where do you think you’re going?”

“i’m going to heal and allow myself to enjoy the peace we gave nearly everything to obtain. if you want to join me, feel free to let me know.”

your robes billowed out behind you as the council meeting dissolved into chaos. you were convinced that if your seat was close enough to master yoda’s that you’d be sporting a few new gimer stick bruises. thank the force for the little things.

later that evening, you boarded your personal ship and set the coordinates for scarif. that was the perfect place to go as a jedi that didn’t want to be found by anyone that they didn’t fully trust. who would think to find a monk on a planet filled with booze, sex, and other carnal pleasures? a few comms were sent telling the recipients that you were going on vacation and to call if you were needed, giving them a new private commlink and vague hints at where you’d be.

scarif, here i come.

“she hasn’t commed us in nearly a week! what reason is there to not worry?”

“rex, she would have called us if there was something wrong.”

“you know as well as i do that there are still radical seppies trying to keep the war going. the kidnapping of a jedi would surely be cause to fight!”

cody sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. he conceded that you ignoring their comms was highly unusual, yes, but you weren’t the type to throw yourself heedlessly into danger like some of the other jetti they knew (cough cough, skywalker and kenobi). “no one in their right mind is going to think to look for a jedi on scarif, the place is too carefree and without a permanent stuck up its shebs.”

rex knew there was a valid point to the statement. he vaguely recollects general kenobi’s mild yet humorous complaints about the “uncivilized, booze-blooded” inhabitants of the beach planet. general skywalker’s only problem with scarif, it seems, was the fact there was sand nearly everywhere, the drunks and constant parties posing no issue to the younger jedi. the reason for his disdain of sand was never expanded upon.

“i’m still going to look for her, feel free to come with.” they were free men who had no one to report to, no one telling them where they could go or when to eat and sleep, so of course rex was going to look for you. with this newfound freedom cody and rex moved into a middle-level apartment together, nothing too fancy but quite a contrast to their former living spaces under the gar.

rex chose to join the police force on coruscant and quickly climbed the ranks, excelling in every task thrown at him. he was a force to be reckoned with, crime rates dropping rapidly within his first month.

cody hasn’t made a new career choice yet, the commander still trying to find his own path. he had tried his hand on the police force but he quickly realized it wasn’t his cup of tea and left rex to it. he’s helping with groceries and other living costs with his back pay despite rex’s protests for him to put it to better use (what better use is there for credits than helping you survive day to day? that’s what they’re made for).

they were given a ship by general skywalker -anakin, rex’s mind supplied; he had corrected them many times about not using the rank- that the man had modified himself because he “wouldn’t want any friends of mine flying around the galaxy in a piece of junk.” apparently any sort of ship/speeder/droid/anything not built and/or modified by the man was inferior in nearly every imaginable way. it was a kind and meaningful gesture that anakin was willing to go to such lengths to protect them, no matter how unnecessary. the war was over after all, there was no need to have blaster attachments on their civilian speeder.

“like i’m gonna leave you to your own devices, di’kut. of course i’m going with.”

“you better hurry and pack, i’m planning on leaving no later than 1800.”

sitting in the reclined beach chair with two margaritas, you haven’t enjoyed yourself this much in a long time. the togrutan brother and sister you met soon after your arrival had become dear friends in your two months on scarif, the three of you becoming a trio commonly seen hitting the best parties all over the planet. miek wasn’t as much of a party animal in comparison to his sister briel who was known for her wild drunken antics.

you had been there and lived in your small ship for a total of two days before they offered you a place with them. no one lived alone on scarif, they said, and it would be wrong to let you continue to be deprived of the peace the waters brought when it was lulling you to sleep.

meeting the duke of scarif during your first week planetside was quite an exhilarating experience, to put it briefly. duke buffett was an older man with hair as white as the sands he loved to party on day and night, one hand perpetually occupied by a drink and a guitar strapped to his back. he was known to play and sing during the parties he attended, his carefree attitude evident in his voice.

although no one would have guessed by looking at him, he was a fierce conservationist who would either have his guards fight anyone caught littering or, if drunk enough, would fight them himself. you’ve held him back a time or two when he clearly wasn’t in shape to do said fighting and helped ease the situation back to a fun normal.

now you weren’t a heavy drinker by any means, but your tolerance was better than most because of your connection to the force. this made you a favorite drinking buddy to many of the planet’s permanent inhabitants and tourists. of these numbers was the duke himself whom you would sometimes humor by opening drinks with your lightsaber. it was a splendid game that won you diplomatic immunity (apparently he can do that) on the planet after two weeks of jedi party tricks and fight-preventing.

time had become even more of a social construct than you had believed it to be before the war. there were parties going on at all hours of the day and night and the concept of solitude was forgotten. everyone here extended a hand to each other, friend or not-yet friend (there were no strangers on scarif, just friends you haven’t made yet). what little pain felt was carried by all until it was so faint that it seemed to heal itself. the waters healed, you had no doubt in your mind.

the sun was high in the sky when the ship landed next to yours behind your current residence. you were, of course, not home to know where it landed but you did see said ship flying overhead as you relaxed on a blanket next to briel and miek. maybe they were lost, but you had confidence that someone on the island would help them in what they need. this was the way of scarif, after all.

you were distracted by the drinks in both of your hands, alternating sips between the two. you were outfitted in a flowy summer dress that had ridden up a smidge too high while you were lounging on a reclined beach chair. briel was rubbing - lotion? sunscreen? - something on your exposed thighs as you relaxed, enjoying the way the breeze felt on the moisturized skin.

this was the best decision you’ve ever made, coming to scarif. eventually you were going to leave, yeah, but that was a problem for future you. for now, you were going to enjoy the endless sunshine and copious amounts of alcohol that aided in your relaxation.

they had seen the docking bay protruding into the sky like a gundark among loth-cats and decided instantly that you weren’t going to be there. you had told them ages ago that the vibes (you used that word a lot to describe force things to them) that came from industrial buildings bothered you terribly. something along the lines of wearing on your psyche, if they remembered correctly. instead, they flew a little lower than they probably should have to search the ground for where you landed your ship.

it took longer than they would have liked it to, but your ship was eventually found behind a medium-sized hut not too far from one of the many beaches. cody found just the right angle to land next to it and not hurt either shuttle, not trusting rex to touch the controls (his vod was a terrible pilot).

both men decided that even if scarif was a peaceful planet, they still didn’t know what to expect, so they equipped themselves with their blasters and lower armor before leaving their ship. first order of business: check to see if you were in your ship. if you weren’t, they could cross that bridge when they got there.

just as they were beginning to open the ramp, a man emerged from the hut and began to storm their way. he was togrutan, with yellow skin and lavender stripes on his lekku and montrals.

“hey! you two! what’s your business with that shuttle?” he sounded like he was ready to fight them about the ship, which worried the brothers, but he slowed his advance when he noticed the two blasters pointed in his direction. good, this guy wasn’t a complete di’kut.

cody was the first to lower his weapon, quick to take the diplomatic approach. rex followed suit but didn’t soften the intimidating stare he threw at the man. there was a reason your ship was there and they were going to stop at nothing to find out why. “we’re looking for a friend of ours, she hasn’t answered our comms in over a week and we were worried, it isn’t like her to not reply. last we talked to her she was here on scarif.”

the togrutan paused for a moment, inspecting the appearances of the men (clones, his mind told him, the telltale armor and near identical faces hiding nothing) in front of him.

the blond had an air of confidence about him, an almost dangerous sort of confidence. his armor was painted with a shade of blue that was pleasantly similar to the waters he just returned from, pieces of it chipped from what he supposed were rough times in battle. his jaw was set, hand hovering above where he holstered his weapon seconds before.

he didn’t appear to be bloodthirsty, just protective; who he wanted to protect, however, was still a mystery. there was a passion in his eyes that wasn’t even mildly held back. he seemed to be skilled in channeling that passion into his every thought, every action. with a note to himself to not get on this man’s bad side, he switched his focus on the blond’s companion.

miek’s gaze shifted to the other clone and quickly decided that he liked this one better. there was an extremely intimidating scar along the side of his face, yet this one seemed far less willing to shoot him on sight. he still has a grit and presence about him that told miek that this one wouldn’t hesitate to fuck your shit up if need be, but he had tact (thank the stars one of the clones had a sense of discretion).

he could tell that this one had some sort of authority over the blond, clearly serving as a high percentage of the other’s common sense. miek’s mind, after analyzing the men thoroughly, gives names for the men before they introduce themselves. “you must be the famed rex and cody! come, i’ll take you to the shoreline!”

he gestured for them to follow him and was genuinely shocked when instead of doing as he suggested, he was tackled to the ground. miek spit away everything that had gotten into his mouth, unable to move when one of the men pinned him down. this was officially miek’s worst day in over a decade.

he caught a glimpse of marigold stripes on leg armor just over his shoulder, confirming the identity of the man on top of him as rex. “how do you know our names?!” rex’s voice sent a shiver down miek’s spine (the blaster against his back also helped in that), and the togrutan reaffirmed his choice in his favorite clone: not rex.

“i’ve heard stories about you two! from y/n! i’m assuming you’re here about y/n, right?” the blaster was removed from his back and a little bit of the weight was taken off him. he must be saying something right. “she’s been staying with my sister and i, and i promise you she’s perfectly safe!” rex moves his weight completely off him now, allowing miek to stand back up but not move more than a few feet away from him.

“where is she?” cody’s voice was hauntingly low, nothing about him betraying his tension except for the hard glare felt like lasers. he had the same desire, same yearning to protect someone - that someone miek now knew was you - and it burned brighter than a hundred suns.

“last i saw her was thirty minutes ago on the shore with briel, my sister. i can take you to them if you would kindly not threaten to shoot me again. my name is miek, and i would say it was a pleasure to meet you both but then i’d be making myself a liar.” he had no idea where that bit of snark at the end came from but it seemed to sway the clones to his favor. why it did, he had no clue, but at least he wasn’t getting shot.

they walked silently for a few minutes, the two troopers beginning to slightly admire the view while keeping eyes on miek. it was a beautiful planet, there was no denying that. you were surely enjoying yourself in the sunshine, always finding a little bit of time to bask in the nature of whatever planet you ended up on during the war.

it was strange to cody, not feeling eyes on him as he walked with rex on the beach. when he would accompany general ke- obi-wan on trips to the temple or into the streets of coruscant, he constantly felt the eyes of many on him. they would be expressing curiosity, shock, disdain, or something in between, and cody could feel every bit of it. here, it seemed, no one cared that he was a clone. no one was leering at him for walking too close to them or for just breathing the same air as them. cody was blissfully able to blend with the people here and he loved it.

he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when miek had come to a stop in front of a small cluster of reclinable chairs. a large umbrella provided the area with a patch of shade and a smidge of reprieve from the sun’s blistering heat.

“see? she’s perfectly fine.” miek’s voice broke their precious silence. “i’m assuming you both can find your own way back to your ship, so i’ll be headed off.” miek left them quite quickly and rex guessed (with a bit more amusement than was warranted) that it was because he nearly shot the man on more than one occasion minutes earlier.

“cody! rex! when did you two get here?”

a familiar voice drew their attention and it took them a second longer than it should have for them to realize that yes, you were the one lounging in front of them as if it’s all you’ve ever done in your life. you were extremely relaxed and your posture conveyed your state perfectly, two margaritas perched in loose hands, both half-empty. an ivory summer dress flowed loosely around you, the front hiked a bit too high for the men to keep their imaginations under control. that wasn’t even acknowledging the neckline of your dress (or lack thereof) that made their throats a bit dry and minds slip into the gutter.

rex and cody cleared their heads after indulging the images for a second, the latter clearing his throat before replying, “just a few minutes ago. you haven’t answered our comms in over a week. rex had the idea to come and visit to see how you were doing, so here we are.”

that was really sweet of them to check up on you, you thought with a smile. you felt a bit guilty about not answering their comms. normally you were careful to reply to theirs and every other message you received soon after getting it, but as stated earlier, time has become a social construct that didn’t really matter while on scarif. you gestured for them to sit, and they took the open chair to your left. they didn’t bother laying back, just sitting shoulder to shoulder in the same chair with their eyes on you.

offering them both half-drank margaritas was a subconscious action on your part that surprised you. what shocked you even more was the fact they accepted the drinks with soft, fond smiles. kriff you missed them, how you’ve been able to go this long without seeing them was beyond you.

you smiled warmly as you introduced your boys to briel, who was smirking a bit too widely than would be deemed safe (you didn’t notice this, seeing as you were too busy drinking in the sight of your boys and the way the sunlight made their eyes glow). her eyes drifted to your thighs as she put in very little effort to hide a laugh. dark clone trooper eyes decided to see what was so amusing to the togruta, and they choked on whatever words they were contemplating.

on your thighs were rex and cody, left and right respectively. or, more accurately, on your thighs were six-inch tattoos of rex and cody.

both men were in quite show-offy poses, appearing to have the intent to make them look like pin-ups. the lower half of their armor was equipped but they were shirtless, faint details of scars and sweat appearing to glisten in imaginary sunlight.

cody’s face was set in a smolder the likes of which would send half the women in the galaxy into puddles at the commander’s feet. his dc-15a was held aloft in his right hand while his left arm was holding his helmet in place in the crook of his hip. his left foot was stepping on a small heap of droids which brought his knee up a bit, and he was facing the inked rex on the opposite thigh.

rex’s wild smile could catch the soggiest piece of kindling alight with the allure and charm it held. his eyes were sparkling with a pleasant mirth not often seen in the man. both hands wielded his trusted dc-17’s, the right blaster pointed at the droids under cody’s foot while the left was pointed in the air, blaster bolts coming out of both. his helmet was under his right foot, jaig eyes almost peering into your soul and welding marks visible from his customization of the phase 2 helmet.

commander and captain are both beginning to flush at the art in front of them. they were flattered to see drawings of themselves look so dashing, and seeing it on your body roused feelings they had spent years repressing. their biggest question now was whether their likenesses on your body translated into something more on your end.

“nice to finally meet my friend’s muses,” briel quips, “it’s hard to get her to talk about something that isn’t you two when she’s plastered.” she pauses a moment, thinking of her next words and chuckling to herself. “she’s barely spent three consecutive days completely sober since she got here, which means that you two are almost all she talks about.”

this deepened the heat in their cheeks as you playfully swatted at briel’s shoulder. “that is not true!” a moment of silence. “wait, what day is it? that miiiight make a difference.”

rex chortles at the admission. “glad to see you enjoying yourself, cyare. but kix would be enraged to hear that you’ve been drinking nearly every day for two months, and we can’t exactly blame him.” he grinned as he took an experimental sip of the drink you gave him. it was stronger than he expected, but it had an underlying sweetness not often found in margaritas. he liked it.

sitting up, your dress covered your ink as you expertly drank from the margarita in cody’s hand while he still held it. the commander sent you a soft glare, wondering why you didn’t just get a new drink but enjoying the moment nonetheless. “kix shmix, his face isn’t on my thigh so i don’t really care what he has to say right now.” you lean toward cody and rex before whispering, “you didn’t bring him, did you?”

all three of them guffawed at the question, you joining their laughter solely because of how happy the joy radiating from your boys’ force signatures made you.

calling them your boys had become second nature after mere months of fighting beside them. you spent an inane amount of time with them during planning and actual combat, and were just as much their general as their actual generals were (despite you not carrying the honorific). any free time was spent with one or the other if available, but if they were both occupied you would make your way toward the barracks and join a few games of sabacc.

there were nights you’d spend in the barracks with either battalion (depends on which group you were assigned to at the time) and be welcomed there as if you were a fellow clone. they taught you to play sabacc and you enjoyed playing with them despite the fact you had the most rotten luck with the game.

winning didn’t carry any weight when you were able to spend time with rex and cody, shamelessly basking in the way they always seemed to have some sort of physical contact with you every moment possible. when rex and/or cody returned from whatever responsibilities held them earlier, the men were quick to relinquish them a seat next to you with a sly grin.

their vode noticed the affection shared for the jedi on sabacc night number two and didn’t hesitate to spread word of it around to the rest of their battalions and beyond. on the nights you accompanied them on trips to 79’s, men under rex and cody both (read: fives and boil) made sure that the rest of their brothers and the occasional civvie knew that you three were off-limits to anyone but each other. you were their jetti & they were your captain and commander, no one would get between that even if it wasn’t decided among those in question.

“nah, he’s kept his head in his work. he just got his civvie medical license, started his own private practice on naboo.” rex was extremely happy for his brother, although it was strange to not see him nearly every day. it took a while before he was used to the lack of vode around him at all moments, but cody has been a massive help with that transition.

cody nodded before adding onto his brother’s statement. “and besides, we’re not that cruel, cyar’ika.” you grinned at the endearing tone, choosing that moment to snag another drink from the glass in cody’s hand. he swatted at your hand gently but didn’t put up a fight otherwise, just smiling at how carefree you’d become.

during their comms you did sound at peace, and the times where you’d appear via hologram to him your posture was less rigid than it was during wartime. scarif was good for you, cody knew this. the knowledge of your happiness, however, couldn’t prevent selfish thoughts from returning to the front of his mind. thoughts of you leaving scarif with him and rex, lighting up their apartment better than the sun with nothing but a smile were pipe dreams he indulged in when nightmares of war caught up to him.

“y’know,” you began, “no one would ever tell me what that word really meant.” the men froze, trying to play it off. they were saved only by the fact you kept talking. “none of the men ever gave me a straight answer, just saying that it was something you say to someone you trusted. i even asked duchess satine about it when i was on mandalore. she asked who was using the word and when i told her it was you two, she just grinned like a tooka with a rat tail hanging from its mouth.”

duchess satine was most definitely going to be receiving a gift in the near future.

briel chose that moment to speak for the first time in a while, crossing her arms behind her head. “i’ve never been to mandalore nor heard a lick of what i’m guessing is its native language, but you’d have to be a fool to not guess its meaning by now.” her words were directed at you but they made the men sputter.

“what is that supposed to mean, brie?”

“seriously? please tell me you’re kidding.”

briel was absolutely incredulous. how could a member of the highly revered jedi order, known for the wisdom of its members, not read between the lines? they were giving her plenty to work with in terms of evidence of their affections that they weren’t hiding very well, how did you not know?!

silence followed her words and she came to the startling realization that you were, in fact, not kidding. “look at them, these two adore you! they followed you here like stray tookas when you didn’t comm them enough.” the men didn’t even bother looking offended as they were called out by the togruta. they were scared you’d be disgruntled at the blatant show of care for you but briel wasn’t done. “sithspit y/n, you got tattoos of them because you said you missed them so much!”

hold on, rewind, what did she just say?!

“you… missed us?” rex’s voice was softer than anyone had heard it be in a long time. part of him aches to throw his drink over his shoulder and take you into his arms with no regard to the outside world, yet he restrains himself. this could very well be a trap, an illusion or extremely detailed dream the likes of which he’s never experienced.

then again, how would that explain his mind creating a taste for something he’s never had before?

he concluded that this was indeed real, and he very well could do exactly as his heart desires if he let go for just a moment, just long enough for the contents of his glass to seep into the sand and his calloused hands to roam your exposed skin.

but he also remembers long talks with his ori’vod about their mutual affections for you. how selfish and uncaring it would be for him to try and keep you to himself after spending so many nights lamenting with cody about the way you made them both feel more human. the way you tethered them to sanity when the war threatened to dispose of what little control they had over themselves or their fates, the softness of your fingers intertwined with theirs whenever you had the chance. both men would contemplate the way you’d taste as you downed several shots at 79’s or cups of the contraband moonshine brewed by the men, wondering how much would be the alcohol and how much would be you and wishing that they could find out.

it would be a betrayal far greater and even more despicable than that of palpatine and the republic, and rex didn’t think he could handle losing the respect of his ori’vod no matter what was given in return. not even you.

the togruta woman officially lost the last speck of patience she held for the clueless, lovesick trio, groaning that she gave up as she left them to their own devices.

you were confused. why would you not miss them? did those years of fighting next to them and caring about them and loving them not translate to the idea of missing them when they were gone? yeah you were a little tipsy when you got your tattoos, but that didn’t change the facts as to why you got them: you wanted cody and rex by your side and moments spent without them were moments spent unhappy. they were your boys, the two reasons you kept fighting in that cursed war instead of returning to the temple with your tail between your legs at the first sign of combat.

cody downed his margarita with a solid gulp before taking your right hand in both of his, face twisted almost identically to his brother’s while processing the information you presented. he marveled in the familiar grooves and calluses from battle that were beginning to soften, thoroughly enjoying the fact he didn’t have to hide anything from you or the rest of the galaxy about the love - cody was sure now that this was indeed love - he held for you and you alone.

“is that true, cyar’ika?” cody’s voice was sickeningly hopeful. he’s never allowed himself to hope, knowing that diving too deep into desire could lead to consequences tantamount to death. hearing you stumble over your words as you admitted to loving him, loving him and rex both in the same capacity, cracked the last mask of stoicism he had in his reserves. his mouth was smiling but his eyes were wet, and anyone who didn’t know him would think the man was karking mad.

you weren’t as focused on your boys as you would have been any other moment, too busy trying to figure out what you said for cody to ask about and oh. holy shit, i said all of that out loud. then, a brief moment of clarity. i said every bit of that, but they’re not leaving. they’re instead moving closer, taking my hands in theirs and then- “have i ever lied to either of you?” your heart once again overpowered your brain, taking over your vocal chords and bringing voice to your thoughts.

rex nestled his glass into the sand before going to his knees in front of you, eyes sparkling from both the scarif sun and unshed tears. “you could never, ner’jetti.” he rested his chin on your knee not blocked by cody, his subconscious deciding to nuzzle his head into the hand that had come up to his face.

within seconds, the clunky armor had taken to the sand. they didn’t startle at the sudden exposure to just their bottom blacks because they could feel the soft humming of the force around them, knowing that it was merely you making them more comfortable. you were pulling them toward you and into your reclined chair, rex’s chin in one hand and cody’s hands in the other. they were quick to take a hint, immediately moving to either side of you to lay on their sides, facing their jetti with soft smiles.

rex made quick work of wrapping an arm around your waist, face burying itself into the crook of your neck as best he could. he inhaled your scent, the familiar ozone that came with the force mingling wonderfully with scarif’s ocean water and the tropical drinks you’ve been keeping yourself busy with.

cody tangled one hand into your hair, fingers softly moving as he rested his other arm slightly above his brother’s. the hand touching your waist softly stroked your side as he let his eyes drift closed, the force wrapped around him like a blanket of protection.

no one spoke of love in the hours you spent wrapped in each other’s arms in that uncomfortable-for-three-people chair. the admissions and conveyance of all the love held between the three of you was saved for the privacy of their ship. cody and rex worshiped you and you did the same for them, no one allowing there to be a single doubt as to where your hearts belong.

#star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagines #commander cody #commander cody x reader #commander cody imagine #captain rex x reader x commander cody #poly rex x reader x cody #commander cody x reader x captain rex #beach please #this is fluffy as hell #i refuse to ship him with qui-gon #ct-7567 #cc-2224

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totallypathet · 4 years ago

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UK Episode Five

UK Hun?

I know I haven't at all talked about Drag Race UK this season, but I have ~opinions~ and my flatmate is getting bored of me so here we are.

First episode back after lockdown! I feel so bad for these queens, started filming, get sent home for seven months, have no idea if/when they're going to start filming again, lose income for 7 months, it must have been so awful. But I'm glad they're all back! Except poor Veronica who got covid - I hope they do a Eureka and invite her back for season 3, I feel like she had so much more to show!

Of course they brought someone back to replace her, typical drag race gag, but nice that someone else got another chance! Having said that, it should have been Astina. She didn't deserve to go home in the first place, imo. I do think it was kind of harsh to throw that at everyone first thing though! Like the eliminated three didn't get to do anything to even fight for it, and for all the remaining queens, like its been seven months! Who remembers things that long?? Not me, that's for damn sure. I think that was kind of harsh, and I think a lot of people did go for Joe maybe as a safe choice, like there's always an argument for the queen who went home first, they didn't really get to show much. You know what I wish, I wish those three had been a group for the Eurovision (I refuse to say Rurovision) challenge, and then everyone got a chance to vote someone back. That would have felt fairer somehow.

Anyway. I was initially really glad we got Joe back, because I really felt like she did have more to show. I was soon to be disappointed, however 😂

I do love the music challenges, and I adore MNEK, I hope he is like the permanent music judge. One of my favourite moments was him, I think it was after Bimini's first take, going "well...its good that we have that..." very like Chrissy Teigen 😬 that was so funny to me, I loved it.

1. A'Whora

Before the covid break I really didn't like A'Whora, but I feel like she's come back a bit more relaxed, a bit more open, and I liked her so much more this episode. I feel like maybe when she came back she was a bit more relaxed because she knew (kind of) what she was walking into, so she felt a but more at home, maybe. Anyway, I think she did really well this week! She's not a singer, but she leaned into this moany sexy thing that some people do do at Eurovision, and hey, sex sells! I think it was a smart choice for her.

Her look as well... amazing. You guys it was a bag of chips! She had wooden forks as her earrings! The font of the newspaper was to scale! She was carrying a salt shaker! It was so sick, I loved it. I loved seeing her be fashion and polished and beautiful, but also whimsy and funny at the same time! Great week for A'Whora.

2. Bimini Bon Boulash

We LOOOOOOOVE Bimini Bon Boulash! For me, she was the absolute stand out this week, I just adored her! Her verse was amazing, her lyrics were great, her very East London attitude was everything, I just loved it. And her outfit! That mad pink cowboy barbie? Incredible! Also, so Eurovision. And the jump off the stool! That lives in my head rent free. "Somebody do a death drop or summing!" Perfect. The whole performance was amazing.

Also her runway looooooook! It was so beautiful, so fashion, I was getting Gautier from that lace and the umbrella... everything about it to me was so perfect. I know it was a team win, but to me Bimini absolutely killed it, and she was my winner 🥰🥰

3. Ellie Diamond

I love Ellie, but honestly I think she's too young for this competition. She's so great, but if you give her just a couple more years, she's going to be absolutely unstoppable. I think she did pretty well this week, her lyrics were fun, she is a dancer, she performed great! I do agree with Michelle, she did look a little bit like she was in her head for a lot of the performance, but that just comes with confidence, and when you've not performed for 7 months and then suddenly you're on the main stage, that's got to be super nerve wracking!

I also think Ellie was a victim of a bad group this week. I think the group as a whole didn't have a lot of direction or focus, the choreography wasn't that great, they didn't really feel like a group. It was unfortunate. I feel like she did the best she could.

I kind of loved her runway, I think the seagull thing was hilarious! She was a human size seagull! That's hysterical. The only thing I kind of wish is that she'd had ridiculous padding on. Like, what's funnier than a giant seagull with huge tits in a bikini. I think that's so funny.

4. Joe Black

Oh Joe. I was excited for Joe to come back, but as soon as she walked out to the Eurovision challenge in that dress with that wig and a belt, I knew it was over.

I'll get into the dress H&M/Primark drama in a second, but first let's talk about the actual challenge. Joe's lyrics were pretty good, but the way she performed them was just so at odds with the track. It's cheesy Euro pop, you know? I just feel like she could have done things differently. And then with the choreo...look I don't expect anyone to walk in being a great dancer and doing flips and splits and all that, but I just felt like she didn't even really try with the moves Ellie and Tia wanted to do. Maybe that was the edit, I don't know. I also feel like, as team leader, she could have found some solutions, like they could've had Tia & Ellie doing these amazing moves, and Sister & Joe could have done something more simple, or they could have found some comedy Joe could lean into while the others were dancing, but it just seemed like they didn't even try and find a way around it? It was just a bit weird to me.

And then she came out for the runway, and it was like chalk and cheese. Joe Black had by far and away the best runway look of the night. That's one of my favourite things that's ever been worn on UK Drag Race, it was amazing. But it was also like girl if you can do that, why were you wearing H&M during the main challenge? And like, I'd get it, if that dress was beautiful, or bold, or she'd used it as a base and done something to it, but it wasn't. It was so basic, and she even said she knew it was basic, and it didn't even fit her right. It was just so disappointing.

Honestly, I understand what Ru was saying about not wanting to see off the rack. I can't believe I'm about to be defending Transphobia Paul, but I actually kind of agree. And it's not about money, I don't think anyone has to spend loads of money to be a good drag queen, I think its just about it being a Look. A Moment. Like this is internationally available TV. And you're going to come out to perform in a dress off the sale rack that you just threw on and belted? I just find that disappointing. And I get what people are saying about Astina in week 1 winning with an off the rack outfit, but at least she did something with it. I mean, first of all it at least was a cool jacket. But then she built this outfit, and sold a character, she gave us an East London Moment, and it didn't matter that the jacket was from ASOS.

Joe didn't give us anything with that dress. She did nothing with it, and she didn't give us a character or a presentation, it was just an ugly dress. But then she came out in that incredible runway look, why such a disconnect? And I know that it was covid, and everyone had a loss of income, but girl the filming started before that. Like Joe should have already had the wardrobe for the season all ready before the lockdown. And if she didn't, she had 7 months to do literally anything with that dress. Stone it, glitter it, paint it, dye it, wreck it with bleach, make it a top, make it a jacket, do SOMETHING! You know? Also, that runway look? Idk if she made it or commissioned it, but baby that was not cheap. That took time, and energy, and effort, and money, so I'm calling bullshit on "maybe she could only afford a sale rack H&M dress 😔". Bullshit, Vivienne.

I was just so disappointed in Joe. I'm glad she went home.

5. Lawrence Chaney

I was worried for Lawrence this week! She's not known for being a singer or a dancer, and she was the only plus size girl in her group. As a big bitch myself I know it can be intimidating to be surrounded by thin people, especially when you're doing things you're not confident in.

But bitch she fucking turned it out this week! She wrote good lyrics, she kept up with the choreography, but most importantly, she performed the song. Like she leaned into not being a good dancer, she didn't look unsure or awkward, she just did it. I love that about Lawrence, she always just gives it her best, and I respect the hell out of it.

Her day at the seaside look was cute. It was a little bit obvious, a little bit literal, but it was well made, it fit her beautifully, and she looked fantastic. She did the assignment, and tbh I'm happy with that. She did a good job, and I'm proud of her!

6. Sister Sister

Honesly, the fact that Tia Kofi was in the bottom two when Sister Sister was right there is a fucking hate crime.

I genuinely forgot Sister Sister even existed. Like the only memorable thing she has done all season is her Morning Talk Show goth, and that was painful to watch. And she spends all her confessionals just bitching and moaning about other people! She spent the whole Talk Show episode complaining about Veronica and saying she didn't wanna work with her, but bitch what did you do?? If you think someone else is boring, you should have no trouble out shining them! And then she didn't!

I'm over it with her. Her performance wasn't that good, her lyrics weren't that good, and then her runway look was like the Wish version of A'Whora's.

I'm not totally certain that I buy that Sister stole it as a concept from A'Whora, but... maybe? Like, if Sister had really seen A'Whora's when they were filming the first time, and Sister had something totally different back then... I can see that maybe she thought "oh, thats a way better idea". All I know is, if you're gonna do the same look as someone else, you better leave them in the dust; and she didn't. She should have been lipsyncing this week.

7. Tayce

Tayce really pulled it out this week! Her rap was one of the best performances in the whole show, she killed it! Her lyrics were great, she really delivered them like a rapper, and them she performed the hell out of the song! Loved it. The only things I had to say about Tayce was that she seemed like the odd one out in the group in terms of outfits? Like everyone else went very Eurovision, cheesy pop pink, and she went with a very cool, edgy, darker look. Like, she looked stunning, and I looooved her hair, but it just didn't quite fit with the rest of the group. But that's a real nitpick, in terms of the actual performance, she was amazing!

Tayce's runway look. It was okay. It was a little bit literal for me, she went for shells and netting. It was cool, she looked beautiful, but it wasn't like a knockout for me.

8. Tia Kofi

Tia got a raw fucking deal this week. She was the best performer in her group by a country fucking mile, she had the best lyrics, she was the best rapper, and I think she looked the best out of the four in that group (during during challenge). I could not believe they put her in the bottom two.

Okay, her runway look was not great. It was a long way from great. But at least she had a unique concept (*cough* Sister), and she gave us some form of presentation. It could have been a lot better, but there was potential! I really wish that she'd had a much more defined look, I wish the skirt had been a high waisted pencil skirt, with some kind of cone-like texture somehow, really fitted and beautiful. And then I wish the top had been really big and over the top ruffles, maybe tulle, just something BIG. And that wouldn't have had to be expensive, you can buy cheap pencil skirts, she could have dyed one brown herself, and then she could have bought that cheap mesh that looks like tulle and made a really big rounded ice cream top out of it - I'm just proving my point about Joe Black and the off the rack thing now btw. But I wish it had just been a bit more considered than it was. And I also wish she'd had a flake head piece instead of a cherry, because when you buy those ice creams at the beach it's always a 99.

One thing I will give Tia's runway this week is that her face was stunning. I think that's the best her face has looked all season, the makeup was beautiful.

There was kind of a lot of drama this week with the whole off the rack thing, and then the A'Whora vs Sister Sister conspiracy, and I kind of loved it! I also really enjoyed this challenge, I feel like they've had much better and more interesting challenges on the UK series than the American one. Also UK Hun is going to be in my head for weeks.

I'm picking my top 2 of the season as Lawrence Chaney and Bimini Bon Boulash. Veronica Green would have been up there for me as well, it's a real shame that she got sick and couldn't finish this season! I really really hope they bring her back for season 3!

#drag race uk #uk drag race #rpdruk #a'whora #bimini bon boulash #bimini #ellie diamond #joe black #lawrence Chaney #sister sister #tayce #tia kofi #rupaul #michelle visage #graham norton

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karanna1 · 4 years ago

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A sort-of-Supercorp drabble (starring Nia Nal)...

Nia was spinning. Just two days ago, Yvette walked in and announced that she’d gotten her dream job and danced around for hours as she celebrated. She was expected to start right away. Naturally, Nia was ecstatic for her. Problem? It was in a different city. Yvette was incredibly apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that she was leaving Nia hanging. There was no way she could afford their rent on her own. Yes, Yvette was obligated by their lease to pay to the end of the term, but Nia couldn’t bear to hold her to it, seeing how happy her friend was...and also stressed about having to move to a new city and find another place to live.

Which led to Nia being an absolute downer at Thursday Night Game Night (Alex had to work Friday night so they switched it up). It was hard enough to find something affordable with a roommate on her cub reporter salary in National City, now she had to find another roommate in less than a week or find a new place. Understandably, she couldn’t muster her usual enthusiasm and she’d lost a third round of Pictionary without a single correct guess when Kara finally demanded that she tell them what was wrong. Not wanting to burden her friends, she mumbled something vague about finding another place to live.

Of course that wasn’t enough of an answer for this group. All of them, except Lena, jumped on her, demanding details and explanations. So Nia gave them the full story. They were sympathetic and encouraging. Kara was sunnily optimistic as always and insisted there had to be something Nia could afford in her own neighborhood. Unfortunately, what Kara liked to call her “rent-controlled” side of town, wasn’t exactly true. The DEO was subsidizing the cost of her loft, but she didn’t know that and Nia was not going to be the one to burst her bubble.

She’d mentioned it during a dinner party early on - that she was surprised at how nice Kara’s place was and was shocked when Kara told her what she paid for it. Before she could ask more questions, Alex yanked her aside and told her to quit it.

“I just...” Alex sighed. “She doesn’t know because she’d feel even more beholden to the DEO. I don’t want that. Please, let her have this, okay?”

Nia pretended to lock her lips and threw away the key.

So her friends were well meaning, but it didn’t change the fact that Nia was going to be broke and/or homeless if something didn’t change soon. There was an option to room with a girl she knew from high school and at least it would let her stay in her current apartment, but Nia’s stomach churned at the thought. They hadn’t been exactly friends back then and the girl still seemed insufferable now, but...less than before? That was something right? Ugh. How could her life reach a point where she was stuck between homelessness and an annoying high school acquaintance?

The very next day, she was at work when she got an email alert about an apartment vacancy. She looked at the pictures first and it was stunning. So clearly beyond Nia’s price range. She figured it must have been a glitch in the system for her to get the alert because there’s no way that place came under her budget. However, when she looked at the number, her jaw dropped. Impossible! Were they dealing with a bed bug infestation or something? That was the only way a place like that could be so cheap.

It didn’t take much digging. In fact, the answer was literally one link away and she connected the dots. It was in Lena’s building. Lena lived in the penthouse, of course, but she owned the building as well.

Nia picked up the phone.

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I’m a busy woman, I don’t have time to be.”

“I can’t accept it, Lena.”

“Look, it’s simple. I own the building. You’ll be a tenant. And, honestly, Nia, I would give it to you for free if I thought you’d accept, but I know you won’t, so go see the space and if you like it, take it. You deserve to have a comfortable, safe home to go to at the end of the day after everything you do, putting your life on the line every day, being a hero and fighting alongside Supergirl. It’s the least I can do for someone who gives so much of themselves and expects nothing in return.” She sighed. “Besides, I was thinking it would be really nice to have a friendly neighbor... I don’t think I’ve ever actually had one of those.”

“Don’t you guilt trip me with your lonely billionaire CEO schtick...” She thought about it for a long moment, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt herself giving in to the temptation. “Butttt it would be totally cool to be neighbors! We could host Game Night! Kara will get so mad at us for throwing the best ones because no one will want to go to her apartment anymore.”

Lena chuckled. “See? It’s perfect.”

“Yeah between date night and game night Kara will never even have time to leave your place and... Ohhhhhh. Dang, you’re slick, Luthor.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll send you the agent’s number, they’ll know who you are. Do you prefer succulents or wine as a housewarming gift?”

“Both.”

Nia was smiling from ear to ear when she hung up, feeling lighter than she had in days...weeks, even. Kara happened to walk by her desk then and grinned curiously.

“That’s definitely a different look than you had last night. Did you find a new place?”

“I think so?”

Kara squealed with joy and came around the desk to give her a hug. “Oh, I’m so glad it worked out! I can’t wait to see it. I’ll help you move everything! We all will. Just let us know when.”

“You got it. Thank you, Kara.”

“Of course! What are friends for? Yay!” She bounced happily. “This is gonna be so much fun!”

Nia shook her head in bemusement as Kara walked away. “Oh man,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s a golden retriever dating a black jaguar. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

#supercorp #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #nia nal #lena luthor #kara danvers #literally no one is reading these i know lol #but im screaming into the pandemica void #and the current subject matter is supercorp #hop on board ppl

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blackssuunn-mandoandyodito · 4 years ago

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Big dreams, expensive taste

Part one: How does it feel, to treat me like you do?

A Maxwell Lord x f!reader fanfic

Pairing:Maxwell Lord x f!reader

Rating: PG-13? Say the ratings again?

Words: 2.1 K

A/N: This is the first chapter of a series I'm working on (it's more like an introduction though). I hope you like it!

Warnings: swearing, talk of unwanted flirting, embarrassment?

Summary: you meet Mr. Lord in a very odd way.

Is working for such a big company supposed to be this tiring?

The phones keep ringing and ringing. Powerful, arrogant men enter and leave the building without so much as looking at you, and the ones who do, are just stares filled with lewd. It makes your skin itch.

The vase that decorates the counter stands tall over your head, full with some kind of white flowers that, even after four years of working in the three thousand eight hundred million dollars worth business, you fail to recognize. One would think that such an obscenely rich enterprise could easily afford to have even orchids as a way of impressing all the investors that come every day.

The amount of time you've spent working there still amazes you. It was supposed to only be temporary until you had enough money to rent your own apartment and not obliged to rent with someone you have to pretend to like for the sake of reaching the amount of money the landlord asked for. And then the pay had been great, it wasn't such a bad schedule and four years passed in the blink of an eye. The sight over New York City in your apartment was worth every day.

Another phone at your left rings in such a noisy way that it's as if it was a person screaming at you to pay attention. Might as well be, with all the condescending assholes you have to deal with daily.

Taking a deep breath, you pick up the receiver and put on a fake smile, instinctively making your voice sweeter and falsely warm.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

A nasal, petty voice of a woman asks you to communicate her with the head of the advertising area. Must be the girl from accountancy. "Yes, I'll put you through"

Diane's laughter comes from your right just as you hang up the phone and sigh, exasperated. It puts a smile on your face. Her fierce, genuine personality never fails to feel like a blow of fresh air in this suffocating world built on mountains of money.

"Accountancy again?" she asks, grinning. The black uniform that she never fails to look marvelous in makes her stand out in a way that even you understand why every guy and some girls drool at her sight. No one's stupid enough to flirt with her though. After that one time she sent a guy to ER for an obscene comment aimed at her, everybody understood that if she wanted something, she'd search for it. Otherwise, better stay away.

"Yes," you answer, "they seem to be going crazy with the new campaign"

Her hair moves in waves as she shakes her head, giggling. It sounds like bells.

She's better than you at handling the lines. You still can't understand how Diane can make her voice like dripping honey, convince everyone to be nice and want to kneel at her feet. And it wasn't even with malice, she was just that great.

Another phone rings, this time one of her lines.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

Shouting comes from the speaker as she picks up, making your blood boil as someone on the other side of the line screams at her.

She just grins and rolls her eyes.

"Sir, I can't understand a word from what you're saying. Breathe and I may be able to help you." she winks at you, leaning over the counter with a pen held between her fingers.

The shouting stops as her pen scribbles down something on her notepad, nodding. "Yes sir, will do"

She hangs up, manicured nails contrasting beautifully with the black plastic of the telephone. She looks up to find you with an arched eyebrow and an amused smile.

"It never fails," you say, amazed by how easy she can handle everything.

"It never fails"

Her skirt raises over her thigh as she bends down to pick one stack of papers that have been collecting dust all week, waiting to be taken to Human Resources.

"I have to take this to the girls at HR," Diane mutters as she walks outside the confined space of the reception.

You nod as her heels click away to the staff elevator, turning your attention to the phones again.

Before you take the new call, a deep voice reaches your ears as a blonde man enters the building. It sounds weirdly familiar.

"You have to schedule both reunions the same day," he orders to one of the three men walking behind him. "I can't be taking a flight every week to London when the shareholders feel like it"

His stance lets you know he's angry about something, and the men that follow him seem completely intimidated by the strong tone of his voice. It makes something hot settle on your stomach.

But not one of them bothers to show you their IDs, ignoring completely the fact that registration is needed.

You walk to them with a frown. Did they really think they could get through one of the most important buildings in the city without identifying themselves? They watch too much Tv.

"Excuse me, sir," you walk to stand in front of the blonde man. "who are you coming to see?"

His eyes burn holes through your skull as he stops talking to the man carrying his suitcase to turn towards you. "Pardon me?"

He sounds so offended that it makes you recoil slightly, but you're not getting fired over some stupid, conceited man. You look at him and he holds your gaze, impassive.

"You have to register with us before you walk in", you say, "if you're not wearing a badge, you have no access"

For some reason, the incredulous laugh he gives settles a void in your stomach and anger lights in your veins.

"Do you know who I am?"

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. You've heard that phrase at least a hundred times in the last three months by far more intimidating men than him.

"You could be the president and there would still be rules to follow, with no badge you don't have access"

He crosses his arms right at his chest, fury shining in his brown eyes. A shiver runs down your spine but you refuse to budge, holding his stare with conviction. His upper lip twitches.

His arm points to the picture of Maxwell Lord at the back of the room behind you.

And you turn.

That's when you realize you've really fucked up.

"Oh my God", your heart goes wild as you take in the picture of the millionaire.

You just stopped Maxwell fucking Lord from entering his own building. You're gonna get fired because you just denied access to the boss of your boss of your boss, the fucking founder of the company you work for.

Fuck.

"I-I'm so sorry sir," the apology leaves your lips as you stumble over your words. Your face gets hotter when he grins, amused by your embarrassment. Your chest begins to feel tight and breathing becomes harder the more you realize the mistake you've made.

And then, as if the situation wasn't bad enough already, he throws back his head and laughs. He laughs like you just told him the best joke in history, holding his stomach and covering his mouth, with shrieks of laughter that make everyone turn to look at him.

It leaves you speechless. The blood drains from your face and your hands start to feel sweaty and cold. His gaze never leaves your face once he calms down again.

"Well," he smiles, tucking his hands inside his pockets, "it's been a while since I last met someone so efficient in their work."

You grimace. "I'm just doing my job the best I can sir"

He laughs, extending his hand towards you. "Maxwell Lord, nice to meet you"

What are you supposed to do? Take it?

You find it hard to look at him after what you just did, but he doesn't even seem to think about walking off and firing you. That would be less painful.

He raises his eyebrows, cold eyes looking at you. He doesn't look very happy now.

Despite every instinct that tells you not to do it, you grab his hand, tell him your name and give him his so desired handshake, trying not to let your whole body combust or evaporate like it wants to.

You scold yourself when the first thing that comes to you is how warm his hand is, how soft his skin feels. His rings feel cold to the scorching heat that your whole body seems to be enveloped in. His grip is strong as he holds your hand, an entirely different kind of fire lighting his pupils as he looks at you. A bolt of electricity runs from the tip of your fingers and all the way up your arm, settling something hot and overwhelming right at the center of your stomach. His head tilts slightly to one side, studying you.

When he lets you go, all the air you hadn't realized you were holding goes out of your lungs. If he realizes, he doesn't comment.

"Go register," he orders his men, with a much stronger tone than the one he used with you. All three of them give him incredulous looks but are smart enough to shut up and do as he says.

With a weird sense of being in a dream, you walk to the counter and take their IDs, ignoring the glares that they're giving you. You quickly register their names in the computer and give them a card that identifies them as workers, and each takes them and pins them to their clothes.

Maxwell walks to you again and squeezes your arm, smiling.

"Keep up the good work," he winks as he turns around, grazing your arm with his gold ring. It leaves that patch of your skin burning. Now, watching as he walks away, you realize how much power he carries with every step he takes, how everyone seems to leave the way free no matter what direction he goes to.

You wonder briefly what would it take to bend that power, to break that sense of superiority he owns in such an exquisite way.

Someone calls you from behind as you stand there, stunned at what you just lived through. One of the most powerful men in the country gave you a handshake.

You just talked with the owner of one of the most lucrative companies worldwide and he complimented you for your job. And not only that, he made his men follow the rules per your request.

When Diane calls your name again from the counter, you turn around to see her with her jaw on the floor. You feel numb as your legs take you back inside reception.

"What the fuck did I miss?" she hisses, pulling you closer to her by your arms when your legs feel close to giving out. She pulls one of the chairs to you and pushes you down, making you sit. Then, she bends down at your level and looks you straight in the eye. It feels close to what you imagine would feel if someone could search through your soul.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. She shakes you by your shoulders.

"Tell me what happened!"

With trembling hands, you grab her fingers and squeeze until yours start to hurt. She lets you, not showing signs of pain.

'I…." You hesitate for a moment, "I stopped him when he came in because he wasn't wearing a badge"

"You what!?" She says, close to shouting. "And you didn't recognize him!?"

Your head snaps up to look at her, defensive.

"Well, I don't spend every hour of my shift looking at him!"

She laughs, pulling her chair in front of you to sit down. Her fingers start to draw circles in the back of your hand, trying to calm you down.

"But you're keeping your job, right?"

If you had met her back when you had to rent and made her your roommate, you'd probably still be living together.

"Yeah," you smile, squeezing her hand "you're not getting rid of me that easy"

She opens her mouth to say something else when one of your phones rings. She picks it up.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

For a moment, she listens to the person on the other side of the line. An incredulous chuckle leaves her mouth as she turns to look at you, handing you the speaker.

"They're asking for you," she says, astonished about something you're not sure you want to find out.

"From where?" You ask, scared.

"From Lord's direct office"

All air leaves your lungs. She shakes the phone in her hand, urging you to take it. With a deep breath, you grip the phone and hold it at your ear.

"Yes?"

An old lady speaks to you.

"Miss, I've been told by Mister Lord to call you so you come up to his office at the end of your working hours please"

Diane's eyes look like they're about to pop out of her head as the lady speaks.

"Y-yes, I will," you stutter, "thank you for letting me know"

When you hang up and let your head fall in your hands, Diane covers his mouth with both hands and gasps, laughing.

Calls keep coming in from every line.

You let the phones ring.

#max lord #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #maxwell lord fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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nikibogwater · 4 years ago

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The City Never Sleeps--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

“Moving to New York City is no easy task, and Douxie's been burning the candle at both ends for the past month in order to make ends meet. Fortunately, he has a family waiting for him every night when he comes home.”

Special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author for beta reading and providing me with the title!

So yes, this is my coping mechanism after the emotional trauma of Wizards. A little Found Family fluff to ease my screaming soul. Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830517

Or under the cut:

Why the hell was living in New York City so expensive?

Douxie had started this latest venture with at least some optimism. Protect the tiny sorceress and keep an eye out for any suspicious magical activity that could point to the return of the Arcane Order, all while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t that different from what he’d been doing for the last nine-hundred years.

Except for the damn cost of living.

Arcadia Oaks hadn’t exactly been low-rent either, but at least he’d been able to manage by juggling two part-time jobs and occasionally passing himself off as a streetside fortune teller (humiliating as that was) whenever finances got particularly tight. He’d had plenty of time to do his nightly patrols of the streets, chase down any rogue magical creatures, set new stasis traps, and be home in time to microwave dinner and pass out on his sofa-bed for seven hours before the routine began again the next morning. But New York City was a different monster.

He’d chosen this place for a few very good reasons. First, it was on the other side of the continent from Arcadia. Provided he’d covered their tracks right, the Arcane Order would have to scour any number of miles of the country before they could even begin to narrow down his position here. Second, the presence of magic in New York City was borderline undetectable. The area was so choked with noise, pollution, traffic, and people that picking out a magical signature from the chaos would be practically impossible. Third, (and perhaps this was the weakest reason, if he was being honest with himself) he had never been there before. Douxie had done some traveling in his centuries-long life, but somehow New York City had never ended up on his itinerary. If he was going to be immortal, he wanted to make the most of it and see the big sights. Up until now, he’d been stuck in Arcadia, trying to keep an eye on the magical stirrings there (and fuzzbuckets, there were a lot of them). Once he was free to go where he pleased, of course he was going to pick somewhere he genuinely wanted to be.

At least two of those reasons had been good ones, but that didn’t change the fact that paying for a studio apartment in New York City and feeding himself, Archie, and occasionally Nari (she only ate on days when she could not simply absorb energy from the sun) with no high-demand career skills to speak of was a herculean task. He’d had to take on three minimum-wage jobs just to make ends meet, and sleep? Well, he counted himself lucky if he got four hours in a single night.

Which landed him here, stumbling up to the door of their ramshackle apartment, fiddling with an ordinary keyring in order to keep up appearances should anybody walk by while he undid the twelve magical seals he had placed when he left this morning. He let himself in with a groan, slammed the door behind him, and somehow dredged up enough energy to replace the seals before he slid to the floor, utterly spent. What time was it? He’d gotten off work at 1:30, right? Or was he mixing up tonight with last night? Wait, was today Thursday or Friday? Fuzzbuckets, he could barely string two thoughts together in his head. He groaned again and pressed his fists against his bloodshot eyes. It was pitch black inside the apartment, and the only sound came from the small heating unit in the corner.

But he wasn’t alone. He felt a familiar form brush against his folded legs, and heard Archie’s welcoming purr close to him. Douxie sighed and blindly reached out, groping for a moment before his Familiar pressed his furry head against his waiting fingers.

“Did anything happen t’day?” Douxie slurred quietly. At this point, Archie no longer needed him to specify “anything magic related that could potentially be dangerous.”

“Nothing. All clear,” the cat told him, stepping into his lap. “Though I can’t say the same for you. I haven’t seen such a breakout since the fifteenth century.”

“What?” Douxie raised a hand to his face and felt his cheek, which was peppered with tiny red bumps. “Fuzzbuckets,” he moaned, letting his hand fall. “Think it’s the stress. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.” There were a few minutes of silence as Douxie stroked his friend’s fur, knowing he should move to his mattress in the corner, but too exhausted to care if he just passed out here.

“Douxie?”

His eyes slid open as he heard a small voice at his side (when had his eyes closed?) and saw Nari crouched beside him. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts, which was comically large on her tiny frame, and a part of him suddenly wished he could afford to buy her nicer clothes. He was her guardian now, he should at least be able to provide her with that. Then again, she had spent most of her considerably long life wearing enchanted armor from the Eternal Forest, so maybe she didn’t care about not having brand-name PJs. Right now, her eyes were sweeping over his face critically, her brow pinching with worry. Oh right, she was probably waiting for him to say something.

“H’llo,” he mumbled, his eyes closing again.

“Your aura is so weak,” Nari whispered, her hand coming to rest on his chest above his heart, where she could feel his magic give a pitiful, fluttering pulse beneath her fingers. “You are pushing yourself too far.” There was an element of reproach in her soft voice.

“Got no choice,” Douxie replied. “Have to keep you safe.” He heard her take in a sharp breath as though he had struck her. His lids flew open and he saw her fiddling with her hands and looking ashamed. “I....I didn’t mean...” He forced himself to sit up, pausing for a moment when his vision swam and his brain flopped around his skull like a dying Nyarlagroth. “Nari, this isn’t your fault. I just....It’s hard to make ends meet, that’s all.”

“You came here because of me,” she argued quietly, still refusing to look at him. “Because you thought I would be safe here.”

“I....Yeah. But it’s not your fault the rent’s so high. ‘M fine, I just need to sleep.” He shooed Archie off his lap and somehow managed to get to his feet, though the world spun around him and his knees wobbled like jello. Nari reached out to help him, but he ignored her offer (it wasn’t like she could provide much support, seeing as she only came up to his waist), and stumbled over to the mattress on the floor in the corner, falling onto it with a rough sigh.

“Your shoes are still on,” Archie informed him, coming to sit by his head. Douxie hummed noncommittally and did nothing. A moment later, he felt Nari untangling the laces of his hightops and sliding them off of his feet. Archie curled up in the crook of his shoulder, his purring filling the wizard’s ears and silencing his disjointed thoughts. Nari draped a blanket over him, pausing for a moment to rest her small hand on top of his uncombed hair. He felt her thumb rub a few circles against his scalp before she pulled away and stood up to return to her own bed on the other side of the room. Douxie was asleep before she’d even crossed the floor.

*****

Douxie found his eyes opening twenty minutes before his phone alarm was set to go off. He felt oddly rejuvenated for someone who had worked himself to the bone yesterday and only fallen into bed at quarter past two. He double checked the time on his phone, wondering if he’d somehow slept through his alarm. 6:13 am. He rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Archie, who was sprawled out next to him, paws twitching as he dreamed. He glanced over at Nari, who was barely visible within a tightly-wound cocoon of blankets, her antlers the only easily distinguishable part of her. He could sense her aura, but it was dim, and scarcely pulsing, which meant she was quite sound asleep. Satisfied with the knowledge that his family was comfortable and at peace for the moment, he slipped out onto the tiny balcony, shivering as the cold embraced him. He left the door ajar a few inches in case Archie woke up and decided to join him, and zipped up his rumpled hoodie, before casting a glance around him.

The sky was a silvery grey, and he knew that the sun was peeking over the horizon at his back. The balcony faced west, and had a less-than-stunning view of a dank alleyway. It was barely wide enough for three people, and nearly half of it was occupied by Nari’s rapidly growing collection of houseplants and herbs. Douxie sat on the floor, crossing his legs beneath him, and leaned back against the brick wall of the apartment building. He gazed up at the slowly lightening sky, mind curiously blank, though not for want of energy. There was something about the stillness of the early morning that put him in a state of silence. Almost as though he were listening for something.

Or someone.

His heart twisted sharply in his chest, and for once, he let himself acknowledge it. He’d spent many early mornings like this in Camelot, perched on a battlement, watching the sunrise, waiting for the sound of his master calling him to his chores. Back then, he had dreaded hearing Merlin’s voice, knowing that it would be the end of the brief momentary peace he had carved for himself from the stillness of the morning. But now....Now he’d give anything to hear his master calling his name again.

Something pressed up against his knee, and he looked down to find Archie’s bespectacled gaze meeting his own. Without a word, Douxie opened his arms and let his Familiar settle into place on his lap. Douxie wrapped him up in his arms, clinging to his presence, suddenly acutely aware of how much his heart was aching, and Archie purred in understanding. The cat was warm against his chest, a physical reminder that although he had lost a great deal these many years, he wasn’t alone.

The door creaked, and Douxie looked up to find a very sleepy-looking Nari stepping out to join them.

“You’ll catch a cold out here,” Douxie scolded wearily, taking note of her bare arms and legs. She responded with a disinterested hum and rubbed one of her eyes blearily. Douxie sighed and held out an arm to her. She flopped down next to him and curled up against his side, one hand coming to rest above his heart, feeling his magic swirling and pulsing within.

“Your aura was twisting. You were sad,” she mumbled as he tucked her closer with his arm.

“...Maybe a little,” Douxie admitted. “I didn’t think you could feel that in your sleep.”

“Never try to hide anything from an ancient sorceress,” Archie advised from his place on Douxie’s lap. “Especially one who likes you.” Douxie breathed a quiet chuckle and gave his Familiar a scratch behind the ears. There was a moment of companionable silence between the three of them.

“...You enchanted my sleep, didn’t you?” Douxie said suddenly, looking down at Nari. She shifted, almost guiltily, and nodded.

“She does that several times a week, actually,” Archie put in. Nari opened her eyes long enough to send him the most resentful glare she could muster.

“Tattletale,” she muttered. The cat merely shrugged.

“...Thank you,” Douxie murmured. “I don’t think I could’ve survived this past month without either of you.”

“We’re going to be okay, Douxie,” Nari said through a yawn. “I believe in you. You’ll find a better job soon, and the Order will never find us.”

“You think?” Douxie asked lightly. The wood nymph nodded sleepily against his chest. “Well, I suppose there’s no arguing with you, is there?” He squeezed her shoulder fondly.

“You argue with me all the time,” Archie pointed out, turning a few circles and settling more comfortably on Douxie’s crossed legs. “If I were any less gracious, I might accuse you of playing favorites.”

“Oh, I do play favorites, Archie. You’re my favorite person to argue with.” Archie huffed and flicked his tail, but Douxie knew he was smiling without having to look.

The mage held his small family close, staring up at the sky that was turning more blue with every passing minute, no longer feeling the pervading chill. He couldn’t say what the future would bring. He couldn’t promise that everything would work out. But he did know, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that he would fight to save the world a hundred times over, work himself until he was nothing but skin and bone, if it meant he could have more moments like this.

#tales of arcadia #toa #wizards: tales of arcadia #wizards: toa #fanfiction #self-indulgent fluff #found family #the bean goddess is a good little sister

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

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no star in isolation [3]

The apple had been a bad decision. Mona can see that, now, but hindsight is always superior to the thoughts of the present. Of course there had been a reason why those apples were untouched, left at the bottom of the crate by the hilchurls.

Even the hilchurls could tell that eating them wasn’t worth it.

They looked alright. But they had tasted dry and mealy, not yet rotten but getting there. The one apple she managed to stomach left a strange filmy residue on her teeth that took ages and a lucky find of mint to scrub off. Mona doesn’t want to know how old those apples were, or what they’d gone through, to get such a texture. But she’d been so very, very hungry and begs aren’t afford to be picky. So she’d eaten the apple down to the core and felt thankful for having that much.

It was free, after all.

But she’s regretting it now. The apple might not have been rotten, but it was unsatisfying. It seemed like enough at the time — enough that she left behind the other two that she’d found, another decision she’s starting to regret now that hunger pangs are making her want to curl over herself. She should’ve eaten the other two, no matter how strange and particularly unpleasant they had felt in her mouth. Mona is hungry again and she doubts there’s going to be much in the way of free, or practically free, food to be found in the areas this close to the vibrant and bustling city of Mondstadt proper.

Rather than satisfying her hunger as she’d hoped, the apple seems to have made it worse. Her stomach seems to now recall how poorly she’s been neglecting it in favor of feeding her mind’s appetites. If only she could live on research alone and the satisfaction that comes from connecting new ideas and theories together!

Even with her wide brimmed hat the early afternoon sun of Mondstadt is already causing Mona to feel sluggish. She quickly ducks behind some buildings, searching out somewhere quiet and shaded where she won’t be spotted.

It wouldn’t do for the Astrologist Mona Megistus to be caught slumped over and curled up in the middle of the day. How unbecoming!

She just needs a moment to sit down and get herself under control and think out her next moves. She can risk fighting a few more hilchurls and hoping their camps have something edible, or foraging in the areas farther out from Mondstadt. That is, if she has the energy for it.

Her next check from The Steambird isn’t due to be deposited into her account for another week. She has rent due the same week, and she also has to pay down the interest on the new set of charts she’s having shipped from Liyue. Mona has some mora set aside for that she was going to have wired over along with the interest fee, but she may have to dip into that to buy whatever Blanche may be willing to liquidate at a sharply discounted price.

Mona’s stomach turns over on itself making her wince a little. Chances are that whatever Mona can afford would be of similar condition as the apple she’d eaten earlier. It would still be better than nothing.

Her stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble. Mona clamps both hands over it, scowling down as though she can bully her body into obedience. What an embarrassing situation for Mona Megistus! But this is the suffering she endures for the sake of her studies.

The sound of a soft chuckle startles Mona into almost falling over as she scrambles to her feet. Her heel catches the edge of her cape as she stands, almost sending her pitching forward before a hand catches the back of her cape and holds her steady.

Mona looks over her shoulder and sees red, red, red.

Oh! Fate is being exceptionally spiteful today.

Master Diluc is leaning out a window she hadn’t noticed was open earlier — partially obscured by some stacked crates — arm stretched out and holding the back of her cape. Seeing that she’s alright now, he lets go. His broad shoulders twist a little as he turns in the window to see her better, brilliant red hair flowing over one shoulder.

Mona quickly straightens up, adjusting her cape and hat before bowing.

“Apologies, Master Diluc for such an unsightly meeting!”

She hadn’t realized that the building she’d taken refuge behind was the Angel’s Share.

Diluc waves his hand, shrugging. “As far as meetings go this is far from the worst.” He leans his elbows on the windowsill, eyes squinting at her, “You’re…Mona? The astrologist?”

Mona nods, entering another bow — this time with a flourish of her cape, “Astrologist Mona Megistus, at your service.”

Her wonderfully proper and elegant bow is ruined by the sound of her stomach letting out another horrifically loud and petulant sounding grumble that Mona attempts to — and definitely fails at — covering up by forcing a laugh.

Diluc’s eyebrows are raised into his bangs.

“Right,” he says slowly, “Well. This is the Angel’s Share. Also at your service. Come inside and eat something before you faint.”

“Oh, no — I — “ Mona stumbles over her current predicament.

“If you faint,” Diluc says, “It looks bad for business. A young lady passed out right next to the Angel’s Share. I’d have the knights swarming the place and asking a million frivolous questions.”

“I appreciate the concern, but at the moment my funds are tied up in…other ventures,” Mona replies. “I haven’t the mora to afford to Angel’s Share.”

Diluc continues to stare at her. He points around the corner.

“We aren’t that pricey. It’s almost empty in here,” he says, either ignoring her embarrassing but wonderfully worded proclamation or not caring, “We open at eleven but we don’t really get many people coming in until ‘round evening.”

And with that he retreats back into the Angel’s Share, leaving Mona to stare at the empty window.

Mona finds herself entering the bar. The cool, dim interior immediately makes her shoulders relax as she sighs in relief. She takes her hat off, holding it to her chest as she looks around. She’s been inside the Angel’s Share before. Usually with Kaeya or Lisa. And usually late into the night when the place is packed with people and the bards are deep into their craft.

Empty and quiet as it is, Mona almost doesn’t recognize the place. She feels a little like an interloper.

Diluc comes from around back, pulling his hair higher up and off of his neck to tie it back. Mona takes a seat at the bar, carefully setting her hat onto the free seat next to her.

“I thought the Angel’s Share doesn’t serve food,” Mona says as she watches Diluc prepare a glass. She’s certainly enough complaints from Kaeya about that very fact.

“Oh?” Diluc hums, “And where did you get that information from?”

“Kaeya,” Mona answers and then grimaces.

Diluc raises an eyebrow at her, “You shouldn’t listen to everything Kaeya says.”

He a tall glass of something blue and cold towards her. Her nose tickles with the smell of mint and her mouth waters a little at the sight of the perfectly golden berries.

“Serving food is relatively new. We’re testing it out for now,” Diluc admits, “During the Windblume festival this year we received many comments regarding the fact that we don’t serve anything to pair with our drinks, while the Cat’s Tail does. We listen to our customer’s feedback and try to address it when we can, especially when it can help us against our competitors.”

Mona sips the drink, toes curling in her boots as the cool, refreshing mint flavor spreads over her body.

“I didn’t realize the Angel’s Share had competitors.” Mona certainly knows that Margaret considers the Cat’s Tail to be a competitor to the Angel’s Share, but she didn’t think it was reciprocal.

Diluc shrugs his shoulders, slowly rolling his sleeves up. “Allergies?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you have any allergies?” Diluc asks.

“No, wait — “

But before Mona can stop him Diluc has already nodded and disappeared into the back room behind the bar. She can only guess that it’s the kitchen area.

Mona groans. She wonders if she can open a tab. She thinks she’s heard Kaeya or Lisa mentioning having a tab here before.

While Mona is mentally rearranging her finances to accommodate for this sudden and rather strange turn of events, Diluc comes out with what looks like a tower of meat. Mona’s eyes pop as he sets it front of her.

It smells amazing and Mona’s stomach agrees because it lets out another gurgle.

“Eat it slowly,” Diluc warns her.

“I — that’s a lot,” Mona says, but she can’t take her eyes off of it. So much meat! Mona already knows it’s going to taste divine, but she’s going to be feeling sluggish and sleepy for hours after. She’ll have to drag herself back to her little house and sleep it off. It’ll be her entire day. And possibly evening. “I — don’t suppose you serve salads.”

Diluc snorts out a laugh, shaking his head and turning away to wipe down another section of the bar.

“I thought as much,” Mona sighs. “I — I meant it when I said I don’t have the funds right now.”

She bites her lip. She’s loathe to use her hard earned skills as an astrologist for such material matters as this, but she’s also equally as reluctant to accept someone else’s pity.

“If you like I can forecast the harvest for you in exchange for your kindness, Master Diluc,” Mona says.

Diluc shakes his head again, “No need. Mondstadt is bountiful with stable seasons. I have no need of such a thing.”

Mona scowls. “A personal fortune, then?”

Diluc shoots her a dry look over his shoulder.

Mona squares her shoulders, crossing her own arms. “I insist on a fair exchange. I do not have mora with me, but I do have my skills as an astrologer. It would not do for me to accept such a kindness without returning it with something of my own.”

The man sighs, turning towards her, “Alright. What do you need to do your work?”

Mona hums, squinting at him. “What’s your constellation?”

“Noctua,” he replies.

Nothing new to be found there, then. Mona knows enough about Diluc Ragnvindr that Noctua isn’t much of a surprise. She doubts he’d be very interested in her telling him about the darkness before the dawn or a wealth of tragedy followed by a boon of grace.

She holds out her hand. “Palm.”

Diluc’s eyebrows raise as he holds his hand out to her.

Mona takes his palm in hers, narrowing her eyes as she examines the lines of his hand. She’s momentarily surprised by the callouses and scars on his hand. She’d expected a wealthy man such as himself to have finger hands — more well cared for. There are even faint traces of burns, a few she can see that splotch and dot Diluc’s pale arm.

Then again, he is a former knight. And he is still a formidable fighter. Mona doubts that Diluc has managed to maintain his figure by overseeing a bar and walking about vineyards while inspecting invoices all day.

Mona traces the air above his hand as she studies the grooves of his palm in the dim lighting of the bar.

“Air hands,” Mona mutters to herself. “With a sunken Apollo. Flat Venus. Imbalanced Mars with a fragmented heart line.”

She sighs, looking up at Diluc. “You need to focus more on the people who are still with you. It’s going to be painful and unpleasant, but that’s what needs to be done or you’ll face regrets for the rest of your days. And I mean more than whatever you already feel.”

She moves her hands away from Diluc’s. “Also you should just tell Kaeya that if he’s hungry you’ll feed him. Even if the Cat’s Tail somehow overtakes the Angel’s Share Kaeya’s still going to come here instead of there. You’ve already got what they don’t have.”

Diluc’s hand remains in place, held tense.

“And that is?” He asks, voice low and teetering between anger and something much more fragile.

Mona looks Diluc straight in the eye. This is her own sort of kindness. Diluc fed a starving astrologer with his own hands, so Mona will return his own sort of hunger with hers.

“A taste of home, Master Diluc,” Mona replies evenly. New to Mondstadt she may be, an unfamiliar with many of the people and the ways their lives have woven together and frayed apart, but there are some things that cannot be hidden from the stars and their reflections.

Brothers raised by the same hand in the same roof — regardless of blood shared — will have similar tells. And while Mona hasn’t spent very much time interacting with Diluc, she’s had plenty of time with Kaeya to spot the similarities.

Diluc’s breath leaves him as he closes his eyes, fingers curling into his palm as he pulls his hand back and turns away from her. Mona takes up her fork and knife, turning to face her own personal challenge of tucking away this tower of meat.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment.

“You are most welcome Master Diluc,” Mona says, “And if you’re taking suggestions for your new menu might I suggest something lighter than a tower of steaks?”

#heartsfic #genshin impact #c: future diluc tag #c: future mona tag

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #397

“you’re my religion, you’re my reason to live / you are the heaven in my hell”

Do you think that you’ll always love who you love now? Even if we're never together again romantically, I will ALWAYS love her at least as a best friend. Have you ever made out with a random person? Yeah, no. If you could do your first kiss over, would you? No. I'm lucky that my first kiss was honestly cute as hell. Do you like your country’s president or prime minister? Well I voted for him, so I obviously can't hate him. He seems to be doing fine so far, though take that with a grain of salt seeing as I don't keep up with politics. Even before voting for him, I just did a small bit of researching on his values. What color is your house? Yellow with white accents. Do you listen to Christmas music during the holiday season? No, I don't enjoy it. Man, Jason's mom sure did, though... I loved how in the spirit she'd get and always played Christmas music in the car during that time of year. I miss that woman and I sure as hell hope she rests easy now. Do you like ginger ale? Solely if I have a stomach bug, and I can only ever sip it. What are you listening to? "Electric Sugar Pop" by Jeffree Star. What’s the last thing you watched on TV? The TMS office has the TV on, and the woman who overlooks it (I have zero idea what her position is called) tends to have it either on a cooking channel or a home improvement one. Today was a cooking one. Is your favorite author the author of your favorite book? I don't have a favorite author. Describe someone you find really attractive: M-Mark Fischbach. *___* If you HAD to look like someone else, but could choose who, who would you choose? Hm... maybe my friend Alon. I've mentioned I feel like a million times that she is like, ethereal with how gorgeous she is. Have you ever seen someone get a tattoo done? If so, what was it? Did they cry or were they in a lot of pain? Yeah; it was a watercolor feather with "ohana" written below it. She didn't cry at all, but she grit her teeth a few times. Do you have anything you couldn’t go a day without? Some form of technology. Have you ever gotten caught doing something illegal? No. What’s your favorite flavor of Vitamin Water? I don't even think I've ever tried it. Is there someone you wanna date right now? Yeah. What first attracted you to the last person you kissed? If we're talking the very first, our vast similar interests. How many brothers does your father have? None. Does your best friend have any tattoos? No. Do you like Ben + Jerry’s? Yep. Man, I want their Phish Food ice cream now. Would you ever wish to be the opposite sex? Nah. Do you think you’re attractive? Nope. What is your favorite card game to play? Magic: The Gathering. I really miss my PS3 where I had Duel of the Planeswalkers installed on it, it was really fun. Do you own a globe? I don't think we still do. What is your favorite wild cat? Perhaps clouded leopards. If your bedroom had three portals to anywhere, where would they lead? South Africa, Sara's place, and maybe a nice little cabin in the mountains for when I'm feeling a peaceful getaway. You can ask any author one question about their story. What do you ask? I have zero idea. What’s a place you have a strong emotional connection to? The pond behind the local community college. Jason and I took our first prom pictures there. Do you take yoga classes? No, but I'm actually considering it since they offer those at the YMCA Mom and I now go to. What is a decision you’ve made that changed your entire life? To let Jason go. It's pretty great, my PTSD has been less of a bother lately! Have you ever made any money from a side-hustle? Could you consider being paid to take pictures once in a blue moon a "side hustle" when I don't even have a main job? Do you ever wonder what kind of person you’d have turned out to be if a certain event never happened to you? Ugh... it's incredibly painful to wonder how life would be if Jason never left. If you could have anyone’s singing voice, whose would you choose? Adele's or Amy Lee's, probs. What are your top 3 favorite genres of music? Metal, hard rock, alternative. Do you think Mars will be colonized in your lifetime? No. Have you ever been homeless? If so, what led to your homelessness? Technically, yes, because Mom couldn't afford the rent. She, my little sister (who still lived with us at the time), and I each were accepted into the homes of willing, kind people, though. Have you ever been on a ship? No. Who was Van Halen’s better singer - David Lee Roth, or Sammy Hagar? David. Which fictional character has the most memorable quotes? Heath Ledger's Joker is quoted all the time, so probably him. What do you think of the "Healthy At Every Size" movement/philosophy? Before I answer this, I want you to keep in mind that this is coming from someone who is obese, so I would positively love to agree with that for my own self-confidence, but I don't. I believe it's a very dangerous mentality. I think you should cherish your body unconditionally, like it's an amazing machine, but I firmly believe you should have an active interest in becoming what is physically healthy. You couldn't pay me millions to convince me that, say, a 300 lb. person is healthy. What was the name of the first person you ever had a crush on? Why did you like them? I think my first *real* crush was this guy Sebastian my freshman year of high school. I thought he was very sweet, funny, caring, and attractiveness was a bonus. What food will you absolutely not, under any circumstances, eat? Sashimi, caviar, raw eggs... Which famous person would you like to be BFFs with? Bindi Irwin, for one. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. Have you ever been bitten so hard that there teeth marks were there after? I mean I've had hickeys before if that's what you're asking. Ever gave one? Oh, I guess you were. Yeah. Do you think its weird if guys wear make-up like eyeliner? Not at all. Would you ever date a disabled person? (Be honest) Yes. Would you rather adopt or have your own child? IF I wanted kids, I'd rather have one myself because I'm well aware I personally need that special connection. Stepkids count, too, because they'd be my partner's and therefore very important for me too. What is the most personal question you have ever been asked? Probably TMI, so here's your fair warning, but I've been asked before if I "touch" myself and I was absolutely repulsed that someone would ask me that. Were you abused by your parents? No. If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? Sara. Were you one of the smartest in your class? Up to finishing high school, modestly, I was. Where did you meet your first crush? Art class my freshman year of high school. Do you ever go places with wet hair? Yeah, idc. Who is your favorite little girl? My niece Aubree. She's such a wonderful girl. Does your best friend have kids? No. If you were pregnant, would you want a boy or a girl? Hypothetically, a girl. What place outside of your own home do you spend the most time at? Um, maybe my older sister's house? Have you ever participated in a medical study? No. Do you have any family members who are cancer survivors? Yes, including my mother. Twice. Are you allergic to any medications? None that I've tried. Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don't even have that. If you’re atheist, would you raise you kids believing in God or not? No; I wouldn't intervene with their own spiritual (or lack thereof) journey. They'd learn what they'd learn and decide themselves what they believe. Do you like reading self-help books? No, I just can't get invested in those. What is your opinion on sex change? If you're unhappy with your body, you're more than free to surgically change that with no judgment from me. Do you have any goals for this summer? If so, what are they? Yes, to lose weight. Can you get a strike at bowling? I have before. There was one occasion where my first go was a strike RIGHT after saying I sucked at bowling, hahaha. Do you ever take pictures of negative moments? Well, I photograph roadkill, and that's one hell of a sad moment. I actually wouldn't mind broadening my horizons of photographing negative moments (with permission of course), because I actually find these very impactful and even builds empathy. I will never, ever forget this one picture I saw sometime of an emaciated boy huddled in the dirt with a vulture close by watching him... like fuck, it made me want to sob. No one should ever have to live like that, especially a child. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? No. I know that sounds contradictory to what I just said, I just wouldn't be able to do it myself. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Once, when my last niece was born. I'm terrified of holding them because they're just so fragile. Do you know anyone who has twins? My friend just had triplets. What is your favorite country in Europe? Germany. Are you thriving in your life right now? BOY HOWDY- Do you remember to water plants? I don't keep plants. Name three YouTubers you aspire to be like. 1.) Markiplier in a vast plethora of ways; 2.) Jeffree Star for his incredible work ethic; and 3.) Shane Dawson for his incredible compassion. Yes. I know the controversy, but regardless, he cares a lot about people. Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter? I wouldn't know, given I haven't read the books or seen the movies. Do you watch PewDiePie? Not anymore; his content doesn't interest me anymore. I watched him religiously back in the day when he was a serious let's player, though. Do you have a Steam account? Yes. Have you ever played Five Nights at Freddy’s? No, not personally. I like watching LPs of it and I find the story fascinating, but it's not the kind of game I'd enjoy playing. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yes. I don't think I ever beat it, except maybe once. Are you wearing socks right now? No; unless I'm wearing closed-toe shoes like sneakers, I never do. I hate the feeling of them. Can you twerk? Haven't tried, don't wanna. Do you like dabbing? No, it looks stupid. Do you like fishing? I honestly do think it's fun with all the anticipation and thrill of seeing how big the fish is, however I don't support it anymore unless, like hunting, you genuinely need it for food. The only case where I'd go again was if my dad asked me, because that's always been our bonding experience. Do you have a Spotify account? Yes. Have you heard of Blizzard Entertainment? Well, they're the company behind World of Warcraft, so obviously. Do you like bananas? Yes, but only for a VERY short window of time. I am beyond picky with the ripeness of bananas. Are you addicted to anything? Caffeine and technology. Do you know your phone number? I actually don't. Do you swear in front of children? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''here for you'' by ozzy osbourne

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ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

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how a life can move from the darkness [2/?]

|1|

Brief summary before the cut: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Frieda’s first real visit, where she was actually visiting her sister, not being their babysitter, ended with orders for them to invest in a pet. She didn’t phrase it particularly demandingly. She only said it once, and didn’t bring it up the rest of the night. She barely raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the stove.

She’d walked in on them during one of their mutual wall/ceiling viewing parties.

It was an order.

“No dogs.”

“Okay.”

“Or cats.”

“Okay.”

“Or ferrets.”

“Okay.”

Eren pulled his jacket tighter. The zipper was broken. He should have worn a sweatshirt. He walked down the sidewalk, foot hitting every crack and head wondering if his mom would have preferred a broken back to a broken heart. “Nothing that can get out and crawl around the apartment.”

Historia, behind the personal barrier that used to be the map to the pet store, said, “Eren, we’re getting a fish.”

“Oh,” Eren said. “Okay.” Pause. “Just one?”

“Do you want more than one?”

Eren wasn’t sure he wanted one. He wasn’t sure he wanted one of anything else, either. He mostly wanted Historia’s sister to worry less. He felt like he had two moms these days, and he was letting down both of them. “I… do fish get lonely?”

“Don’t know.”

That made two of them.

An hour, a very talkative employee, and five pamphlets later, Eren still didn’t have an answer to his question, and knew more about nitrate cycles than high school or Armin had ever bothered with. He also found out that the same yearly school field trip to the aquarium each year had taught him nothing about aquariums.

Pumps, vacuums, filters, water treatments, thermometers. Food. Tanks bigger than he could lift.

Armin would have loved this.

One text and he’d probably explain exactly what they wanted and what kind of fish to look for better than the sales guy, and ask if they wanted him to come help out in person with the selections. The trip wouldn’t be giving Eren a headache and he wouldn’t have visions of all the fish they were going to fail dancing in his head.

Armin wasn’t there, and Eren would have to read one of the hundreds of texts from him to find out if there was even a chance of changing that in this reality. Without hating himself so much he couldn’t breathe.

Historia was in the same leaky boat he was, so by the time the sales guy let them go with instructions to look around the store and figure out what kind of aquarium they’d like, Eren really had no idea why they were getting a fish. Besides the merit points from a successful purchase. If they pulled this off without anything dying, it would be like a giant neon sign announcing to the world that they were sort of functional.

The neon sign would not be going near the fish, because that screwed with the lighting, and that, according to the midpoint of their free lecture, would be bad.

“Did you have a breed in mind?” he asked Historia. The damp, weighty smell surrounding them made him feel like he was underwater and drowning. “Or a color?”

“You can pick,” Historia said.

Eren hadn’t met their new fish yet, but he felt sorry for it.

One of them had to put some kind of executive effort into this. Historia was paying for everything. That left him. He could handle walking around and figuring out which fish they were going to try like hell not to kill.

Sometime during their tutorial, they’d ended up in the tropical section. Everything was bright and smelled like the ocean. Eren’s eyes had spent the last ten minutes burning, and now that it was just him and Historia, he was having trouble keeping them from leaking.

Armin and Mikasa should have been there.

They weren’t, and they couldn’t be, and that was his own damn fault, and he didn’t want them there—

“Eren?”

He looked up from the stained concrete floor.

Historia had zoned back in, and was watching his clenched, shaking, fists. He tried to relax them. It didn’t work. He was standing in the middle of a fish store, trying not to cry, and he couldn’t hit anything because then he probably would kill a fish, and Historia being filthy rich wouldn’t fix how awful and pissed that would make him feel, and before he knew it he’d be back behind Zeke’s batting cages, hearing all of the offers the dealer was making and actually listening.

“Eren,” Historia’s voice said, firmly.

“Yeah.” His was too far away, somewhere under the waves of the ocean. But he blinked and he was looking at the bright colors, not the floor, and a quick swipe cleared the damp spots away from under his eyes. “Salt water’s okay, right?”

He could see her nod. Her footsteps followed him down the aisle, and he concentrated on looking at the damn colorful fish. He had no idea what to look for. The sales guy had set them loose with a happy smile, telling them that if they found something they liked, he’d help out with the step-by-step of what to buy first.

There were more steps to this than Eren ever wanted to think about, which probably meant it was healthy to try.

His eyes floated over to a tank on the other side of the aisle. Less colorful, and full of rocks. A lone fish roved back and forth inside, dark spines the size of his fingers swishing along with it. It looked like someone had chopped up a sea urchin and glued its spikes to a large brown goldfish with streaky frills. A lionfish, someone else’s happy voice reminded him, carrying the sound of hurriedly flipped pages.

He didn’t hate the thought of caring for one of those.

He walked over to the tank, crouching down to stare at the thing properly. The card sitting by the tank agreed with his memory. And the fish was too big to mistake for an art fixture. It looked like a real creature; a real pet, not just something to lock away and call personal growth. Alive and fierce. Frieda would approve.

“What do you think?” he asked Historia.

She watched the lionfish swish into one of its rock caves. They both did.

“Okay.”

By the time they were back in their apartment, and the giant tank with all its mixed water and pumps and gravel and sand and rock features was set up, and they were staring at it instead of a blank wall, Eren understood a little better why they were getting a fish.

He doubted it was the upgrade Frieda was aiming for. He also doubted they could do any better.

---

A week into cycling the tank, Eren found the will for the conversation he’d put off since moving in.

Eren wasn’t big on letting people take care of him. His mom could attest to that. To hear her tell it, the day he started crawling, he’d spent all his time crawling away from her. Bandaging his skinned knees as a toddler had taken an hour of convincing before he’d let his—

He didn’t like being kept, or treated like he couldn’t handle his own life. After rehab, he lost the right to that mattering. His mom wasn’t going to accept her grown son’s rent when he needed babying, and he didn’t have the energy to push past the shame and argue.

Things were different now.

He hoped.

Historia was his sponsor, not his mother, and he was hers. He’d seen the bill for their aquarium. Pre-fish (they were giving the tank a month before they picked up its resident). He’d lived in their apartment. He’d seen Historia throw things into their shopping cart without checking prices. She paid for it from a wallet full of holes, but she never cared about the cost or bothered with coupons.

He knew Historia and her family had more money than he would even know what to do with. He knew he couldn’t afford his share if they split it honestly. He didn’t care. He was an adult. He worked. He could help pay for his own sad life.

It was important, Petra had said once, to remember that they were still part of the world. Addiction was what kept them out of it; recovery meant finding their way back in.

That was one of the first meetings he went to. He’d broken a fingernail gripping his chair and acid had boiled up his throat. Petra’s cookies had been too soft, and he ate three to make the taste go away.

Things were better now. He was cutting up carrots for dinner in an apartment that he didn’t share with someone he had hurt.

“I want to start paying rent,” Eren said.

Historia, alternating between reading her textbook and watching a pot boil, briefly added him to the rotation. “I told you, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Eren repeated, wincing at the extra volume his voice picked up. “I’m not some helpless little kid who needs handouts. I can pull my own weight.” Even if he’d been happy acting like he couldn’t up until now. What the fuck was wrong with him. He kept talking, trying to skid over that thought before he crashed into it. “I can’t keep taking advantage of people.”

“You’re not,” Historia said. She leaned against the counter, frowning. “I’m the one who asked you to move in so I could stop worrying my sister. You don’t need to pay me for being selfish.”

“That isn’t the point,” Eren said.

Historia continued as if she didn’t hear him. “Besides, I’m not paying for any of this either.”

“That’s—look, Historia, I’d just…” Eren took a deep breath, because breathing exercises were supposed to help. They didn’t, but they were supposed to, and he couldn’t say some of the horrible things his mind came up with if he was inhaling. He screwed what was left of his useless courage and doubled down. “It would help my recovery a lot if I could help out with some of this.”

The words were terrible and lifeless, straight out of the meetings they both hated, and he should have stuck a thank-you somewhere in the middle, because he owed her everything for the help he was squirming out of.

Historia was looking at the ceiling. Her mouth was half-open, and Eren thought she agreed that he was back to saying all of the wrong things.

“My father’s paying for it,” she said quietly.

A block of ice coalesced in Eren’s chest.

“Oh,” Eren said, because even if she wasn’t talking about the dead one, she’d only ever mentioned the dead one before, and they both had dead ones and—he swallowed. Breathed. They’d never really gone over it, but Historia was easy enough to spot, and he’d gone to enough protests and rallies to know that blank silence was the worst thing he could do here, even if they weren’t talking about her. He smiled, jaw creaking with effort and soul cringing. “Your dad was gay?”

Timing meant he was expecting pain to get in the way of any relief. He was sure he was intruding on memories that weren’t any of his business, and even if he was trying to be a supportive friend, he was terrible at it, and they were now back to a place where he knew he’d be making things worse.

What he got was perplexed bewilderment.

“…What?”

He was definitely going to make this worse. “You—you said your dad was dead,” Eren said, slowly enough to be insulting on its own, “but your dad’s paying for the apartment, so that means you have—had, sorry—two?”

Historia stared at him.

She blinked, once, mouth forming a legion of unspoken words.

Eren, realizing he should have just shoved checks under her door each month, stayed standing awkwardly in front of the cutting board, waiting for the axe to fall and fervently regretting the lack of pills nearby.

“Eren,” Historia said at last, words warbling furiously, “my inheritance is paying for all of this. He put me in his will. Frieda wouldn’t let me—she thinks using it is good for my—” She looked across the room at the fishless aquarium.

“I’m supposed to spend it,” she said. Her mouth twitched, a muffled sort of chuckle escaping. Followed by another.

A peal of laughter whimpered from her lungs, ragged and horrified, and Historia was sliding down to the floor, hand pressed to her forehead while the fit of hysteria took over, giggles turning to honest cackles, tearing through the kitchen. Eren watched. He just stood there and watched.

Because she only had one dad, and she’d killed him.

He was dead.

The sob waiting in Eren’s chest came out wrong, not matching the horror and helplessness swirled in it, or the feel of blood warm in his hands as he tried to stop it all from spilling out even though it was too late, and he slipped down to the floor next to Historia, biting down on his thumb to keep from laughing.

By the time Frieda came by, bringing her weekly gift of ice cream, they were both crying.

---

Historia said they could work out splitting the fish costs and groceries, and there really wasn’t a reason to bring it up past that, so they didn’t.

Frieda didn’t, either.

Eren had the disturbing feeling that she understood.

---

Reiner wasn’t outside when Eren showed up for their run.

That was weird to start with. Reiner was as fanatically devoted to taking care of himself as he had been to heroin. Not just physically. He had a day planner. He’d offered to buy Eren one. The guy did not know how to flake.

Standing out in front of the house in Reiner’s usual spot was a woman Eren recognized from some of Reiner’s pictures. He’d flipped through them every single day of rehab, and Eren had wanted him dead.

He didn’t remember the woman’s name. She was scrolling through her phone when he jogged up, and the nod she gave him wasn’t very inviting. Dark circles shaded her freckles, but she was wearing workout clothes. Maybe Eren had missed a text, and he was helping out both of them today.

“Reiner still inside?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the woman said, pocketing her phone. “That’s where he’s staying, too. Bastard’s too sick to be conscious, forget running around the block.”

Too sick to warn Eren, too.

He was paying Eren. They were only sort of friends. Missing out on a run with him still made Eren want to crawl into the nearest hole and not come out. Reiner wasn’t exactly a bright spot to his day, but his day had started with a text from Armin. Reiner never made anything worse. Him and his normalcy had been something to look forward to when Eren woke up and threw his phone through his pillowcase.

World much gloomier than it needed to be at six in the morning, Eren said, “Is there anything I can help with? There’s a drugstore—” he wasn’t going to think about it, he wasn’t going to think about it— “a couple miles out I could hit for him.”

“Thanks, but I think Bert’s got the panicked nursing covered.”

Bertolt, Eren had met. He was usually watering the rosebush outside the house at the end of their morning run. “Great,” Eren said.

That left him… where? Needing to send a get-well text?

He made polite eye contact with Reiner’s friend. Like a person. “I’ll head off, then,” he said. “Let Reiner know today’s on me.”

The woman smirked at him. It might have been meant as a smile, but the glint in her eyes and Eren’s mood said smirk. “You have a side job exercising strangers,” she said. “Don’t volunteer to throw away money.”

Before Eren could point out that he wasn’t a dick, even if she was, she added, “Anyway, that’s what dragged me into this. Reiner thinks routines are part of the ex-junkie bible, and he didn’t want to screw you up just because he forgot to wash his hands. So I’ll be palling around with you this morning to assuage your mutual guilt complexes. You’re welcome.”

Eren had to unclench his jaw before he could speak. He wanted to go back to bed. He also wanted to go inside the house and wring Reiner’s fucking neck. The happy chittering of the birds sounded like cheaply ringing tin in his ears. “Reiner told you?”

Reiner told anyone?

Eren didn’t tell his friends that his client asked for makeup advice he didn’t have to cover up his track marks. He didn’t talk about Reiner’s lifelong fear of needles not holding a fucking candle to his snowballing drug habits. He didn’t breathe a damn word about any of it, not even in group, not even with the names taken out, because why the fuck would he do that to anyone.

“Don’t lose your head about it,” the woman’s voice echoed. “It only came up because he was already wetting himself over missing your appointment.” Her shoes thumped across the concrete, and Eren felt a slap against his shoulder. “He was worried, and hurling too much for his brain to keep a lid on why. He freaked out all over again when he realized what he said. He was trying to be a good friend, not an asshole. He just has a bad habit of mixing the two.”

Eren’s fingernails were digging into his palms. He had to concentrate to make them stop, but they stopped, and without the sting that said he broke the skin.

Deep breaths. The ones that never really worked.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Right,” said the woman. He could feel her watching him. The scrutiny reminded him of the rehab shrink. Or a more hostile Petra. “Sorry. Usually I only bring up sensitive subjects on purpose.”

Eren didn’t know how much of a joke that was. He decided it didn’t matter. He reeled his head back to a zone where he knew how to handle all of this, even if he didn’t, reminded himself it was too early in the morning for him to shoot Historia a text asking for commiseration, and breathed normally.

“Do you need some time to stretch, or are you good to go now?” Eren asked.

The woman gave a one-armed shrug. “Feel free to run away from me at your leisure. I’m just here to take up space.” She watched him another moment before sticking out her hand. “Ymir, by the way.”

Eren shook it with as much heart as he didn’t have. “Eren.”

Her smile was all teeth. “Nice meeting you.”

----

Reiner wasn’t the only person who was sick, it turned out.

Eren knew he had to do something about the phone problem. This was a marked improvement from not thinking of it as a problem. He didn’t think he could steal credit for that. The outside world was screaming it at him. Armin had taken up regular texts like clockwork, and if that meant something was wrong, Eren didn’t know how to check without losing his mind. Being a fuckup and a coward would do that. Mikasa’s daily texts had never stopped. Hannes had gotten back to him about supervising some free climbers over the weekend. His first since his broken leg.

His pulse hadn’t dropped a beat when that conversation ended and a disaffected buzz announced a message from Zeke.

Zeke had barely spoken to him since the funeral. He’d walked him in and out of the rehab facility doors and left him alone. It wasn’t that different from the way things were before their dad died. The only change was him not dropping by unannounced to take Eren off on some adventure. If he’d tried that recently, no one had mentioned it. Eren wasn’t sure anyone had even bothered giving him his new address.

A text from Zeke out of the blue was a danger sign. Eren couldn’t just ignore it. He also couldn’t click on it.

Pacing the entire length of the apartment back and forth and back again, Eren could admit he had a problem. Step one. The last time that revelation had crept up and slammed him into a gutter, it was one of the worst moments of his life. This didn’t compare, but it left him feeling lopsided and tired. He couldn’t ignore his brother. Zeke had never ignored him. He had every reason in the world to, but he never had. Eren owed him.

He couldn’t open the damn text.

He made another agitated circuit around the apartment. His phone wasn’t set to tick down seconds, but they were playing back in his head fine without the help. He was rounding the couch, checking the aquarium and wishing they already had a fish to stare at—like that had a chance of helping, but maybe it did—when the loud clap of a slamming textbook stopped him in his tracks.

Historia, who he hadn’t noticed, was lying on the floor. Until a millisecond of time passed for her to gather her temper and she stood up from the rug, swept over, and threw out her hand.

Eren, who hadn’t come up with a better plan yet, gave her his phone. She almost took his hand off with it.

“Under Zeke,” he said. In case she mistook him for someone who had decided today was the time to finally go through and acknowledge the hundreds of unread texts Armin and Mikasa had sent him.

Historia scanned the screen in slow motion. “Someone’s sick,” she said, and visions of hospitals gone by and panic started up before she filled in the rest. “He wants to know if you can sub in for the game on Saturday.”

Baseball. No emergency. Baseball.

Eren breathed out, sighing. Relief was missing from it. He didn’t know why he had expected anything else. A quiet, petty hole that rehab hadn’t filled all the way was still waiting for Zeke to say something about what happened. He never would, and he was an ungrateful bastard for wanting more than what he’d got. What he’d got was more than he deserved. If Zeke never talked to him about anything but baseball, Eren would live with that.

That could really happen, too. Zeke loved baseball like he’d never loved anyone in his own damn family—

Eren moved to take back his phone before his head started something his fists couldn’t finish. Historia’s temper flare had vanished, and she dangled the device between them like it was the bomb about to go off instead of them. She made it look as large and unwieldy in her hands as it felt in Eren’s thoughts. He didn’t know why that helped. He wasn’t even sure if it did.

With how the day was going, Eren couldn’t be surprised when it buzzed with another text the second his finger brushed the casing. Historia jumped slightly, and Eren hated his eyes for catching the name on the screen.

Because Armin had started texting him again.

Great.

He was looking at the floor. Historia kept holding the phone. The bomb.

Great, great, great, great.

Eren could feel his breath shortening, his blood pumping faster, and he was supposed to be getting a grip and trying to be better than all of this and he wanted to break something. More things than he had the first time, or the second, or the third, or the twelfth, because all of those times hadn’t made the right impression, Armin was still trying, and so was Mikasa, and he was so sick of it, and himself, and Zeke, and—

“Have you ever been to a batting cage?” Eren blurted out.

Historia took a moment to answer. “What?” she said.

“Batting cage,” Eren said, feeling a tension headache building. “Have you ever been?”

“No?”

Ten minutes later, Eren didn’t think he felt a whole lot better, but nothing was broken, he hadn’t hurt anyone, and Historia wasn’t complaining about the sprinters’ pace they were walking down the sidewalk at. He didn’t think that last one was a point in his favor. She hadn’t given him his phone back. It was still a good thing. Someone was around to keep him from being stupid.

He led the way with a nervous energy that he hated. He knew how his body was supposed to work. It wasn’t a natural like Mikasa’s—and that turned the notch up on his leg speed one more time—but he’d spent time on it, and he knew how he liked to move. Purposefully. With real energy that came from the core. Not nervous sweats and clenched fists.

There were two batting cages within walking distance of their apartment. One, neither of them needed to be anywhere near. The other was fine, and normal, and open until midnight. Glazed lights decking a row of fence were visible from the street. The padded green of the fake grass stapled to every inch of the facility’s floor wasn’t. Two pairs of feet thumped across it to the cashier’s window out front.

Eren forked out the cash from his wallet to the drowsy employee manning the entrance before Historia had a chance to object. They marched on through without a word.

It was cool and dark outside, even with the glare of the lights, and Eren stuffed a helmet on his head from the rack and grabbed a bat before his thoughts slowed down enough to race in coherent circles. He couldn’t hit people anymore, but he sure could hit objects.

Historia was still trailing behind him, and she’d never been and he would help with that in a second after he took care of him, and watching was where it all started anyway it wasn’t like he was that great with words like—

He smacked the start button. His other hand clasped the bat, touching metal where the glue had peeled away from the grip. He raised it over his shoulder, a million lessons from a man who looked too much like his father coursing through his veins, and he was holding a metal pole and watching the blood spurt over it and his hands and

and

He remembered to hit the emergency stop and he made it to the trash can. That was the important part.

Fuck.

He didn’t know where the bat was, but all his hands were holding was the plastic bag around the rim of the trash can. His head was dipped down next to a collection of empty Styrofoam cups, gum, and vomit. The acidic burning in his throat waited for a swallow. The rest of him stayed still, waiting for the next hit.

That hadn’t happened before. He’d thought of it happening, but it never did. He hadn’t thrown up since he bet Jean he could drink an entire case of soda in first grade. He won. His mom still had a special sigh for that stain on the carpet.

Eren pulled himself out of the garbage. His knee was shaking. Badly enough to bring up more problems, so he sat down on the fake grass and let it scratch his fingers. He swallowed through the burning, and pressed a fist to his forehead.

Fuck.

Footsteps approached. Another cup showed up by his head. Not empty. Eren took it and sipped the water, and it was just like any other workout.

The only thing he could think of that would make it any worse was if he started crying, and he felt like he was going to.

Historia sat down next to him.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” she asked. She sounded like she was reading off a script. She was still holding his phone.

Eren hated his fucking phone. He wanted to throw it into a landfill.

He took a breath, and another sip of water. Besides the phone, which could go to hell, the hate felt cooler. Like all the lava out under the sky was turning into something solid. He’d liked Armin’s volcano phase. It’d been his phase, too. Like with the dinosaurs, and that one summer with pelicans.

He’d kill to be talking to Armin about pelicans right now. Instead he was sitting on a batting cage floor, the only support system he was strong enough to bear sitting right next to him instead of studying for her test like she was supposed to, and his lips were covered in drying bile, and he’d killed his dad.

Admitting he had problems wasn’t too hard when they were this obvious.

Eren opened his fist and dragged his hand through his hair.

“Do you have anyone?” Eren asked quietly. “That you have to make amends to?”

The answer was instantaneous, and not much of a surprise. “Frieda.”

Eren twisted his bangs around his fingers. Only a little of him wanted to tug it all out by the roots. “Not family. People you screwed up because they liked you and liking you meant they were around when you fucked up your life. Friends.”

Historia didn’t say anything for a whole minute.

“No,” she said.

That one was more of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been, because she was his roommate, and he had a pretty wide window into her life, but it was, and now Eren felt like even more of a dick. He dropped his hand into his lap and silently added Historia to his list. Maybe she’d be one he could actually cross off.

He didn’t know what to say next, because ‘sorry,’ was more of a distraction than he could deal with while being this useless, but as long as he was sober, he wasn’t the kind of person who wanted to just leave that bombshell alone.

Historia took pity on him and sighed.

“I had a fiancée in juvie.”

Eren blinked. He lifted his head. “You can get engaged in juvie?” he asked.

“You were in juvie?” was close behind, and he felt stupid enough thinking it to avoid saying it, because no matter how tiny she was, saying he had trouble picturing his drug addicted, father-murdering roommate doing time was…

“It’s not something you have to fill out paperwork for,” Historia said, continuing blithely on. “It’s just a promise. Words.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She was older, so she got out before I did, and after that, I never heard from her again. We never even—” Historia stopped herself. Her eyes shut. “She probably didn’t even mean it. It started as a joke.”

It didn’t sound like it came from any sense of humor he’d known. Historia wasn’t laughing. Neither was Eren. He took another sip of the water she’d found him before he crushed the cup and it spilled all over his jeans.

“She doesn’t even know my real name,” Historia said, almost inaudibly. Her blinks sped up. “She was gone before my drug habit could disappoint her. She would have—” Historia snorted and there was something dark and chaotic in her smile.

“She would have killed me.”

This was a joke she got. Eren didn’t.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sitting on the scratchy fake grass. Eren spotted his bat on the floor next to the open cage.

“I have these friends,” he said, “that I don’t know how to…”

Trailing off was as close as he could get to articulating it. Historia could probably figure out the gist by living with him. Tonight wasn’t the first time his phone had caused problems, it was just the first time he’d made them her problem.

“The text before we left looked like some sort of science fact-a-day,” Historia said. “Frieda has a subscription to a few things like that.” He could feel her watching him. Months of feeling like everyone was watching him had honed the sense. “He’s probably copying you on them.”

That sounded like Armin. The perfect way to start talking without saying anything.

He waited for anger to spike with the thought, but he just felt tired.

He looked at the baseball bat. Historia followed his look.

“Zeke’s my half-brother,” he said. “I owe him, but if Saturday’s anything like this I’d be better off not showing up at all.”

Historia said, easily, “I’ll fill in for you.” Like any of his friends would have after he dragged them out of their apartment in the middle of the night to have a panic attack in front of them.

Being too stubborn to admit that he needed help was what had gotten him here. He didn’t want to stay. He didn’t think anyone wanted him to.

“Have you ever played baseball?”

“No.”

Zeke was going to love this.

---

Zeke did.

He’d also shaved.

Eren hadn’t seen him without a beard in years. It was weird, made him look like he belonged at some sort of board meeting, and every time they made eye contact Eren needed a second to find his brother in the face.

What he didn’t find, and what he’d been scared of seeing, was their dad.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to say thank you. They didn’t really do that. Zeke hadn’t said anything about Historia showing up as the sub for his sub. He was grateful, since the tiny adult baseball league was his entire life, and he’d be heartbroken if he missed out on any of it, but he didn’t say it. Not with Eren. There was just this quiet expectation that it would all work out, because they were brothers. No thanks necessary.

Not being the one playing, Eren had too much time to think about that.

Now, after the game, sitting across from his brother at the pizza parlor Zeke had selected instead of the bar he’d taken his team to every game day for at least five years, Eren was still thinking about it.

“Your roommate doesn’t have a bad arm,” Zeke said. “Do you think she’d want to join up?”

“You’d have to ask her.” Historia had gone outside when Colt ordered a beer, and he didn’t know if she’d noticed that Yelena had spent the entire seventh inning stretch and drive over asking too many questions, but it was mostly going okay. She’d caught a fly ball and gotten a hit, and their team won. They’d both had worse days.

“I might, if you can’t play.”

Eren’s hand tensed around his drink.

Zeke wouldn’t ask. Somebody had shown up, so he wouldn’t ask. Eren still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew. Even if there was no way he could. Zeke was like that. Hide and seek had turned into a banned game the nights Zeke babysat. No matter how hard Eren tried, Zeke always found him, and his mom had gotten sick of coming home to him exploding in frustration.

Eren wanted him to ask. Zeke came to Eren instead of hitting up Mikasa when he needed a sub. He cared. Eren wanted to feel it instead of just knowing it, for once.

He was an ungrateful brat, in a lot of ways.

Zeke paid for the pizza. Historia eventually walked back in and sat with them. Zeke asked about school, and rock climbing, and what they thought about the batting order they’d tried.

He didn’t ask about Eren.

Which was fine. What would he have said, anyway? He was ghosting his best friends in the world while they tried to keep him in their lives. He didn’t get to miss his big brother for having the brains to stay out of it all.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Satellite Mind

A/N I can’t stop myself. I’m weak! Weak! The Saorsa-sequel is coming along, but the Metric universe just won’t leave me alone. This story takes place just after Lost Kitten and Gimme Sympathy. Previous fics are available on my AO3 page.

Oh, and mild warning for foul language, if that’s not your thing.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

January 14, 2017, Spittalfields, England

“I’m happy for you, Geillis, really. I mean... Cartagena, wow. You can, what? Dabble in the emerald market?”

Her friend saw right through Claire’s glass face to her latent fear of abandonment. Fiercely independent, a precious handful of friendships and habits anchored her in the world. Without those tethers, she lived with a nameless dread that she might spin off into the void, lost in a great emptiness.

“Dinna lie tae me, Claire Beauchamp. Ye havna left yer bed in the twenty-four hours since I told ye. Ye’re jus’ starin’ up at the ceiling. Ye ken I wouldna ever want tae leave ya were it no’ for someone truly special. Juan Carlos, he’s...”

“Built like a stevedore and hung like a stallion, I believe were your exact words,” she interrupted, smiling despite herself at Geillis’ moonstruck infatuation. The redhead had met the Columbian businessman at a New Year’s celebration and now, two weeks’ later, had dropped the bombshell that she was planning on following him back across the Atlantic in the spring, leaving Claire without a roommate just as her income was nearly halved by the commencement of her medical studies.

“Aye, he is that. Everyone thinks I’m mad, but it’s the real thing between he and I. I jus’ feel it. Ye’ll ken the feeling yerself one day. But I willna leave ye high an’ dry. I’ll see ye settled, a’fore I go.”

Claire doubted that very much. It was Geillis’ name on the lease, which meant that as soon as she gave notice their landlord was free to increase the rent. Spittalfields was moving upmarket as one dilapidated industrial building after another was converted into lofts and chic office space for the urban gentry. There was no way she’d be able to afford the new payment at their current flat, even if she could find another roommate she could stomach. And moving out on her own was equally out of the question. The ghost of her past mistakes haunted her most when she was alone.

***

February 2, 2017, Royal London Hospital, England

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” A metal spoon clattered into the break-room sink and a few other nurses glanced over, trying to decide if bloodshed between the two was imminent.

“Tis is a matter of some debate,” Geillis replied, undaunted. She’d expected this reaction, which was why she’d cornered Claire during the short overlap between their shifts when she couldn’t run away. At least the British Army had left Afghanistan, although South Sudan was still a possibility.

“James Fraser. You approached Jamie Fraser, without my permission I might add, to find out whether he still had a room to let. I cannot fucking believe you, Geillis Duncan! Where do you get off...”

“First,” Geillis interrupted the predicted tirade by holding up her index finger, “you yerself remarked on his lovely flat, and how fastidious he was. Second, tis in the neighbourhood an’ right around the corner from tha’ chipstand ye love. Third, ye’re both shift workers and will hardly see each other. Fourth, if ye do bump inta the wee fox cub when he’s runnin’ about in his skivvies, weel, thas a hardship many a lass would be willing tae face in yer place. And fifth,” here Geillis raised her palm and outstretched fingers right in front of Claire’s nose, “ye can afford it.”

Claire huffed, but was otherwise silent. She couldn’t deny that Geillis’ points were mostly valid, but she hated the idea of accepting charity from Jamie, of being seen as a burden. If she’d approached him herself, perhaps...

“Wait a second. How did you even know Jamie still had a room to let? Have you been in contact with him?” Something toxic simmered in her belly. Geillis and Jamie texting each other. Talking about her behind her back. Sharing intimacies from which she was excluded. It was a flashback of a feeling that hit too close to home for comfort.

“Och, no. Didna I tell ya? I ken the lad’s uncle, Dougal Mackenzie. Bald as a billiard cue, but tha’ man can fuck for hours. I remember one time, we were...”

“Oh my god, Geillis, please tell me you didn’t cheat on Jamie with his uncle!”

“It canna be cheatin’ if ye were ne’er together tae begin wi’,” Geillis pronounced. “Ye’re too ecclesiastical by half, Beauchamp. T’anyway, I hadna met Dougal when yon lad and I had our... dalliance. But imagine ma surprise when I showed up tae meet Dougal at Bethall Fire Station in a wee red dress tighter than a nun’s chuff, an’ standin’ right next tae him is the fox cub, face turning bright as a forge. Twas an awkward moment tae be sure, even measurin’ by my very high standards.”

***

February 13, 2017, Spittalfields, England

“Ye’ll be wantin’ tae look about the kitchen, I reckon. Twas the only room ye didna really see, when ye were here last. An’ the storage locker, but there’s nought down there but sportin’ equipment tha’ reeks tae high heaven. No’ that I dinna try tae wash out the stench, mind you.”

Jamie resolved to limit himself to two word sentences for the rest of the tour. Anything more was too great a risk to his dignity.

“It’s lovely, especially with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. How much is the monthly heating bill again?”

It was almost Valentine’s Day and Claire still didn’t know where she was going to live come March. She’d flipped through free rental magazines and scrolled a few message boards, but hadn’t made any serious efforts to secure a new home. She told herself she was too busy preparing for medical school and working full-time, but in the back closet of her mind she allowed the idea of moving in with Jamie to take root.

Then, last night while drifting through the deep fog just before sleep she’d had a thought. Living with Jamie would finally put an end to all of Geillis’ awkward match-making efforts. If they were roommates, they couldn’t be anything else besides. Rolling over and grabbing for her phone before she could second-guess herself, she fired off a quick text to the number Geillis had added to her Contacts under Wee Fox Cub. Despite the late hour, two minutes later he texted back. And now here she was, seriously contemplating the impossible.

They were sitting across from each other on the couch, negotiating terms. Claire found herself making ridiculous demands, somehow hoping that Jamie would balk at the last minute and this perilous adventure would come to its natural end.

“I’ll be studying when I’m not on shift, so loud noise and music is a deal breaker for me,” she listed while eyeing the bowl of trail mix set out on the coffee table.

“I own a good pair o’ headphones, and my sister would tell ye there’s a reason I dinna sing outside o’ the shower. Did ye want some?” Jamie extended the bowl in her direction, but she shook her head.

“If I’m to live here, the flat will need to be ours equally. I know you lived here first, but I’d be paying half the rent. That means we share common elements down the middle. Half the cabinet space, half of the refrigerator and freezer.” She looked around the main room, where it was obvious Jamie did most of his living. “I’d want to put my desk below the window there, where there’s lots of natural light. I don’t want to always be hidden in my bedroom like some low-rent AirBnB guest.”

“O’ course,” Jamie quickly agreed. “I can clear out some of my books and such from the shelves as weel. And I was thinkin’ of movin’ the Xbox inta my room. There’s ano’er TV in there, ye ken, so ye won’t be exposed tae my tears while I’m watchin’ Six Nations matches.”

“That won’t be necessary, Jamie. I really don’t have many things. Some holdover to my years living out of a suitcase with my uncle, I suppose.”

He was being altogether too agreeable. It was time to break out the big guns.

“We need to talk about one last thing. Some might think it usual for a young woman who is single, living with a young man who is single to feel a certain...”

“Wha’ makes ye think I’m single?” Jamie interrupted, and she snapped her mouth shut in surprise.

“Well, with your history with Geillis, and I’ve never seen you with someone, I just assumed...” she trailed off, fighting down the urge to bolt.

Jamie laughed. “I’m teasin’ ye, Claire.�� O’ course I’m single. Do ye think I’d be contemplating inviting a bonnie lass tae share my flat if I were spoken for?”

“Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? People might make assumptions. One of us might do so as well. Feelings would get hurt. So I think it’s important to be very clear at the outset. You seem like a lovely man, but there will never be anything between us.”

“Because of my history wi’ Geillis, y’mean?” Jamie asked.

“Well, that as well. But also because I’ll be far too busy with work and my studies to sustain any kind of relationship, least of all with someone who, when things fall apart, would be in a position to leave me without a roof over my head. I’ve been there before, and I don’t intend to ever go back.”

“Aye, I see.” Jamie nodded absently, obviously digesting this large morsel of information and not finding it entirely to his taste.

“So that’s my final stipulation. I don’t mind if you have overnight visitors. You’re a grown man, and you can act as you please. But we need to agree that any kind of romantic relationship between us is off-limits.”

Claire grabbed a handful of snacks and popped them into her mouth. She observed Jamie as she chewed. In retrospect, this was a brilliant move on her part. If Jamie accepted, she would have solved for both her housing crisis and her ambivalent feelings towards the Scot. And if he declined, well, that would tell her something too.

Squaring his shoulders, Jamie extended his hand.

“We’re agreed.”

And that was how Jamie and Claire became just roommates.

#my writing #outlander

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 4 years ago

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Something different.

Most of you know I’ve been devoting all my free time over the past three years to writing original novels. Here’s the opening chapter of one of them.

Sundays at the local skating rink are my secret pleasure. Most of the week, the ice is devoted to hockey practices and private lessons, but on Sunday afternoons, the rink is available for a three-hour public skating session, and it's always crowded. I like to buy myself a latte from the cafe across the street, climb into the stands, and camouflage myself amongst the crowd of parents dividing their attention between their children, making slow, laborious laps around the rink, and their phones. I don't doubt most of them are hoping their kids will tire themselves out, thus making the last few hours of the weekend quieter. The faces change from week to week, but the categories the skaters fall into are the same. The youngest glide along between the feet of a parent (who looks with envy at the adults relaxing in the stands), while their older counterparts grip the boards, moving forward inches at a time. There are rambunctious teenagers, chasing each other on unskilled feet, occasionally crashing into unsuspecting skaters. Couples hold hands as they totter along, gazing at one another, like they can't imagine anything more romantic than spending a few hours in uncomfortable rented skates, on a badly-groomed sheet of ice, surrounded by screaming kids slamming into their legs every few minutes. There's always, of course, the requisite show-off, the young figure skater in their first year of lessons, dreams of Olympic glory filling their heads, earning the slack-jawed admiration of every child present with scratch spins and sloppy jumps. Most of them will quit within a year or so, driven off by the increasing difficulty, by the endless (and painful) falls that come before mastering each new skill. One or two will persevere, at least until high school, when they'll be faced with the choice between adhering to the demanding practice schedule, or getting to have a social life. But they're not who I come to the rink to see. The precise skater I'm here for isn't immediately obvious. She typically begins her session on the ice clinging to the boards, like the other first-timers, but she won't stay there long. Before she's gotten halfway around the rink, she'll discover she doesn't need as much help balancing as she'd thought, and she'll tentatively release her hold on the boards. Instead of choppy, uncertain steps, she'll start to glide, managing to hold her balance on one foot long enough to push off with the other... and then for a bit longer... and longer... until she's moving faster and more smoothly than most of the skaters around her. Her face will light up with one realization- Hey, this is easy!- followed quickly by another- Hey, this is fun! Emboldened, she'll see how long she can balance on one foot, or she'll try skating backwards, or she'll possibly even manage a shaky two-footed spin and emerge from it as excited as if she's landed a triple axel. This skater will be disappointed to the point of tears when her time on the ice is over, in sharp contrast to the rest of the children, most of whom abandon the ice in exhaustion long before the session is up. She'll rush up to her parents, not stopping to remove her skates, and she'll beg them to please, please, please let her take lessons, because this is so much more fun than ballet or piano or softball or whatever other activities currently take up her afternoons. Within a year, she'll have graduated to being one of the Sunday afternoon show-offs, and not long after that, she'll most likely have quit... but that doesn't matter, because where the skater goes from here isn't what interests me. What I come here to see is that all-important moment, that instant when the little girl or boy falls in love with skating. I come here to see the beginning of an obsession, the realization dawning on a child's face that they could do this all day, every day, and never get bored. I think, sometimes, if I witness it often enough, I might start to remember the time when I felt that way myself.

But inevitably, the public skating session ends, the rink empties, and I'm left to climb down from the stands, toss my empty coffee cup in the trash, trudge out to my car, and drive home, feeling more lost than I had when I'd arrived. Even though my father's farm is less than three miles outside of Kasson, Minnesota, I drive into town twice a week, at most- on Sundays, to visit the rink, and on Mondays for my weekly grocery run, which I make in the middle of the day when most people are in school or at work. These past three years, ever since the Sochi Olympics, I prefer to avoid conversation as much as possible... a difficult feat in a small town where everyone seems to know who Emma Lautner is, and how irredeemably I've humiliated myself. There's no sign of life at the farm. Dad's probably at his office in Rochester, trying to squeeze as much productivity out of the weekend as he can, juggling a caseload that would break most people. And even if he is home, he's probably out walking the fences, checking whether any are in need of repair. It's not like we can afford to pay someone to do that for us these days. We might not keep livestock anymore-- the last horse was sold when I was sixteen-- but Dad's a creature of habit through and through, and he likes to keep things in the best shape he can. I drive past the garage and the imposing seven-bedroom house-- noting that a few more shingles seem to be missing after the most recent storm-- and pull up alongside the one-bedroom guest cottage I call home. I park, cut the engine, and make my way along the path I shoveled for myself earlier this morning, when a February snowstorm finally blew itself out after three days. The cottage isn't locked; there's no need for security out here. I'm more likely to lock the door for privacy when I'm home than I am for safety when I'm out. Once the door is shut behind me, I sag against it, taking a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and solitude of my little home. Well... for about thirty seconds, that is, which is how long it takes for my cell phone to start ringing. I yank the phone out of my coat pocket, glance at the name, and groan. I silence the phone and stuff it back into my pocket, shrug off my coat, and hang it on the wall by the door. I slouch into the living room, where I flop down on the threadbare couch, closing my eyes. Five minutes later, someone pounds on the door, which, I remember with another groan, I haven't locked. It's thrown unceremoniously open, and my coach, Barbara Parker, a reed-thin former ballroom dancing champion, strides in on a gust of frigid February air. She slams the door behind her, and her brisk, determined footsteps announce her approach. "I need you out at the rink," she says, skipping right over her unanswered phone calls. "There's a surprise waiting for you." I roll onto my back and glare up at her. Barbara's "surprises" tend to be things like new, ridiculously hard exercises she's devised solely to torture me, and I'm not up for it today. "Barbara, I literally just walked in the door." "I know, I saw you from the house. That's why I called." I throw my arm over my eyes. "Look, if you didn't want me to know whether or not you're home whenever I need to talk to you, you shouldn't have invited me to move here." "I didn't invite you to move here," I point out, sitting up. "That was my father's idea." "And what an excellent idea it was." Barbara is infuriatingly unflappable as always. "Speaking of which, he asked me to tell you he had to drive up to Minneapolis for a couple days. He'll be back Wednesday." She nudges me with her knee. "Let's go, Emma. Time's wasting." Barbara isn't likely to leave me alone until she's revealed whatever the surprise is... so with a heavy sigh, I relent. I climb off the couch, shrug back into my coat, and follow her outside. About fifty yards from my cottage is a mammoth structure that once housed stables for the horses my father's family bred for generations... at least until, at the relentless urging of my mother, the entire operation was shut down, the horses were sold, and the stables were remodeled into a regulation-sized ice rink. The change did not endear Carolyn Lautner (already dubbed "that California bimbo" by my extended family, though they tried not to say it around me) to the Lautner clan. Even though my mom's been back in Los Angeles for three years, and even though I've been without a skating partner for most of that time, Dad's made no move to return the skating rink to its original use. And when it comes down to it, I'm just as much a creature of habit as my father, and I still come out here to train five days a week, partner or no. Inside, the rink has a slight air of neglect, though it remains serviceable. There's an ancient ice resurfacer, which I operate and which my dad's friend repairs when needed, parked at one end. Near the center of the rink's sidelines, where the judging panel would sit during a competition, is a raised plywood platform, where Barbara likes to perch and bark out instructions. I've got no idea what sort of "surprise" Barbara has planned, so I don't know what to expect as I follow her into the building and up to the edge of the ice... but whatever I'd expected, it hadn't involved a young man, whose face I can't make out at this distance, skating around on the ice I groomed myself this morning. I squint at him, trying to see if I recognize him from town, but he's at the far end of the rink and all I can tell is that he's tall, lean, and has dark hair. I turn to Barbara. "This is my surprise? Barbara, you shouldn't have." Across the ice, the skater catches sight of us and glides down the rink in our direction. He's graceful, at home on the ice, and watching the way he moves, I start to understand. "I thought you said you'd given up trying to find me a partner this close to the Olympics." "I did." "You said any senior male ice dancer would either already be paired up, or would have decided to wait until Beijing in 2022." "I thought I'd try branching out." Frowning, trying to puzzle out what Barbara means by that, I turn back to the ice. The young man skates to a graceful stop in front of us... and all the breath leaves my body. He's handsome, with large, green eyes in a narrow face, and his smile is cheerful, open, friendly. It's a smile, however, that I have no interest in ever seeing again in my life, no matter how gorgeous the face housing it might've grown to be. My chest grows tight, constricted, and I'm terrified I'm about to have my first panic attack in almost six months, right here, in front of both of them. "Emma," says Barbara, feigning total indifference to my sudden distress, "I'd like you to meet your new partner, Adam Murrow." For a moment, I can't bring myself to say anything. All I can do is stand here, hoping desperately this isn't happening, that he's not here, not standing in my ice rink as though he belongs here, as though he hadn't- "What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, my breath returning in one furious rush. I want to punch Adam Murrow right on his narrow chin, to wipe the infuriating cheerfulness out of his bright green eyes. But I've got a good idea of how Barbara would react to that, so I content myself with clenching my fists, confining the punch I'd like to throw to my imagination. "He's here at my invitation." Barbara's tone is a warning. "I contacted him after New Year's and asked if he'd be interested in coming out for a trial period." "And you didn't bother to mention this to me?" Barbara shrugs. "I didn't see the need to tell you until I knew for sure he was coming. I told him to take a few weeks to think it over, and here he is." I open my mouth, intending to demand she explain how, knowing the history between me and Adam, she could possibly have thought it would be a good idea to bring my former partner out here. Barbara's face, though, tells me exactly how that would play out, so I whirl on Adam, instead. "You're a freestyle skater now. And not even a pairs skater. What, you found out getting onto the Olympic team as a solo skater wasn't as easy as you thought, so you decided maybe you'd come running back to ice dancing?" "Um... not exactly," says Adam. "I mean... yes, I have decided to try ice dancing again, but it's not because I didn't think I could get named to the men's team on my own." He looks down, shuffling his feet. "What, then? Did you lose a bet?" I ask scathingly. "Or maybe you couldn't hack it in the big leagues? Couldn't manage the quads?" Barbara shoots me a warning look. "Adam has made the decision to give up solo freestyle skating and come back to ice dance because of some minor knee issues." She gestures for him to exit the ice. He steps out onto the rubber flooring and stands before me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a way that, years ago, would have told me he was nervous. "Nothing serious, not yet, but his doctor has told him if he wants to be able to get around without a wheelchair by the time he's forty, he needs to cut back on physical stress." "By which he meant, no more jumps. No more triples, and definitely no more quads," says Adam. "And since I'm not likely to qualify for anything at all, much less the Olympic team, with a program full of waltz jumps and single loops...." He shrugs. "There wasn't much point." "So, what, you thought you'd make the switch back?" "No, actually, I called him," says Barbara. I stare at her, aghast. "You contacted him and invited him to skate with me?" "I did," says Barbara, still completely calm, which infuriates me further. "And it never occurred to you to... I don't know, ask me what I thought about your brilliant idea first?" "It occurred to me, sure. But I knew you wouldn't go for it, so I decided to just do it. Adam very graciously flew all the way out here from New York on short notice, so I think you should at least give him a shot, don't you?" "Here's something else that probably should've occurred to you by the time he got here, since I've had enough time to think of it and I've only been clued into this insane idea for five minutes," I retort. "If his knees are too shot for jumping, what makes you think he'll be strong enough to do any lifts? Or are you going to suggest I be the one to lift him, instead?" "It's a completely different kind of stress on the body and you know it," says Barbara. "Lifting a one-hundred-thirty pound woman isn't exactly the same as putting six hundred pounds of pressure onto one knee for a quad jump." "And my knees aren't shot," interjects Adam. "They will be, sure, if I'm not careful, but she's right. Lifts aren't gonna be a problem, unless you've put on a hell of a lot of weight since I last saw you." He looks me up and down. "Which it doesn't look like you have." I glare at him as ferociously as I can. "You left this sport," I remind him. I want to remind him he left me, as well, but I bite that bit back. With difficulty. "I know I did." "And don't think I haven't seen the interviews you've given since then. For instance, the one where you said ice dancing is just freestyle skating with all the hard parts taken out?" "Jesus, Em." I bristle at his familiarity, the way he talks to me as though it hasn't been seven years since we've last spoken, as though he hadn't disappeared from my life and left a mess behind him. He doesn't notice. "I said that at least five years ago! I was being flip, going for an easy laugh!" "But you do think it's less difficult, don't you?" Adam rolls his eyes. "Of course not, Em." "Don't call me that." "Fine, Miss Lautner, then," he says. I keep glaring at him. "Your royal highness?" I actually take a threatening step towards him before Barbara puts a warning hand on my shoulder. "Emma. I don't think it's less difficult. I promise. It's not like I forgot everything about ice dancing the moment I switched to freestyle." You certainly forgot about me, I think, but I content myself with crossing my arms tightly and looking away. I can't stand looking at his stupidly handsome face for another second. "Adam, you can feel free to stay on the ice if you want," Barbara says. "Or if you'd rather go finish unpacking, that's fine, too. I'll have dinner on the table around six o'clock." Adam's eyebrows shoot up. "You're the coach and the cook?" "Yes, I'm the cook," says Barbara agreeably. "At least for tonight. Our budget doesn't exactly allow for a professional chef." She doesn't, thankfully, mention the other reason we take turns cooking and always eat dinner together: when she first got here, my relationship with food had been tempestuous, to say the least. "Tomorrow night, it's Emma's turn. And on Tuesday, it'll be your turn." Adam's cheerful expression falters. "I'm, uh... I'm not much of a cook." Remembering his difficulties with the simplest of recipes when we'd been younger, I can't help taking pleasure in his nervousness. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Barbara assures him. "It can be spaghetti with sauce from a jar, if that's all you know how to make. So once you've decided what you'll be cooking, check in the kitchen and see if we've got what you need, and if not, write it on the shopping list on the fridge." She takes my arm. "We'll see you at dinner. For now, I need to speak with Emma in private." And without waiting for a response from Adam, Barbara pulls me firmly away from the ice by the elbow. I glance over my shoulder before we leave the building. Adam's back out on the ice, gliding gracefully in slow circles, his arms held out, encircling an imaginary partner... and briefly, lost in memory, I can almost feel his hands on me, holding me firmly, but tenderly. Exactly the way his hands always had. Before. Back inside my cottage, I fall onto my couch without taking my coat off, leaning my head back, staring at the ceiling. "Why didn't you ask me what I thought before you contacted him?" I don't look at Barbara. "Because I had a pretty good idea of what your response would be." She lowers herself into my beat-up armchair. "So why go ahead with it, then? If you knew I'd be against it?" "Because, Emma, there are no viable options left at this point. There aren't many male ice dancers looking for partners only a year from the next Olympics, and any who are, well...." Her voice trails off, and the silence following her words is awkward. At the unspoken reproach in my coach's voice, a sudden stab of resentment makes me borderline nauseous. "What happened with Grant wasn't completely my fault." I lift my head, glaring at her. "Most of it wasn't your fault, kid. And as for how it ended...." She sighs. "The person who storms off the ice is always going to look like the one at fault to everyone watching. And if I'd been your coach when all of that got going, well...." She shrugs. "Let's just say, after a few days of coaching Grant, I would've known enough to advise against letting it begin in the first place." "I don't see how that's any different from blaming me for all of it, since what happened in Sochi never would've had the chance to happen if Grant and I hadn't--" "It's always a risk you take, getting involved with your partner. Even if the ending isn't as... volatile... as yours and Grant's, there's still the chance it will end. And an amicable breakup doesn't guarantee you'll still be able to skate together. If I'd been your coach, I would've told you that as soon as I suspected things were heading in that direction." "Instead of encouraging it, like Edgar did," I mumble, pulling my legs up to my chest and pressing my face into my knees. Barbara sets her mouth in a thin line, probably biting back the things she'd like to say about Edgar Fellig, her predecessor... but, as always, she holds her tongue. "No point living in the past" is one of Barbara's favorite personal affirmations. Except now, thanks to Barbara, my past will be living with me. "How do you know he won't bail the second something goes wrong?" I demand. "Last time, I'd been injured barely a week, and that was long enough for him to start auditioning new partners. Jesus, Barbara, he was skating with someone else the day after I left the hospital!" "You might want to remember you weren't completely innocent in what happened," Barbara cautions, and I bristle. "I can't think of anything I could have said that would justify abandoning your partner of eight years just because she got hurt." I'd like to say something much more cutting, but I can't risk driving Barbara away. Plus... it's not like she's completely wrong. "In any case," Barbara sighs, "you've got two choices. You can give Adam a chance, and have a shot at being ready in time for Nationals and getting selected for the Olympic team... or you can wait five more years for the Beijing games, and hope the gossip dies down enough by then for you to find someone else to skate with." "Wait for the gossip to die down? In this community?" I shake my head. "Fifteen years wouldn't be enough time for that, let alone five." "Then I guess you can either give my idea a try... or give up." I glare at her. "I am not giving up. If I never skate again, then Grant wins. Edgar wins. My mother wins." I shake my head. "Giving up isn't an option." I drop my feet heavily to the floor, leaning my elbows on my knees. Barbara's right: as much as I would've preferred never to set eyes on my former partner again, giving Adam a second chance is my only viable option. But being around him, day after day, spending hours on end together, in near-constant physical contact.... I promised myself, years ago, that if I ever got the chance to confront Adam over the way he'd walked away from me, I wouldn't do it. It would be an acknowledgement of how much his desertion had hurt me. Hurt me? Hell, it had destroyed me. But letting Grant win? That would destroy me even further. I look up at Barbara, resigned. "Fine. But I don't want him given any slack, okay? I'm sure he's got it in his head this is gonna be easy, and I have no interest in holding his hand and comforting him when he finds out how wrong he is." Barbara nods, satisfied. "Good." She stands. "I'll see you at the house for dinner, all right?" I wince. The idea of sitting across from- or worse, next to- Adam is the least appetizing thing I can think of. What the hell are we supposed to talk about? "I think I'll skip eating with everyone else tonight," I say, even though I know exactly how well that's going to go over. "Not an option and you know it." "I've got food in my fridge." "And you can eat it later, if you need a snack. But dinner is at the house at six, every night. That was one of my conditions when I agreed to be your coach, and I'm not letting up on it because you're in a bad mood." Sullenly, I nod, and Barbara, zipping her coat back up, lets herself out. I lean back and close my eyes. Somehow, even though I haven't done much today, I'm exhausted. The thought of going to my room, collapsing into bed, and napping until dinner is tempting, but if I do that, I'll probably end up lying awake for hours later tonight when it's actually time for bed. There's nothing to be gained by putting off the inevitable. I trudge outside and return to the rink. Adam's still on the ice, skating slowly, only now, instead of practicing partner holds on his own, he's frowning down at his feet as he moves. When he glances up, catching sight of me, he looks nervous, but he skates over all the same. "You don't look too sure of yourself out there," I tell him bluntly. "Moving pretty slowly. I thought you said your knees weren't that bad?" "They're not. I'm getting used to the different blades again, that's all." I follow his gaze down to the smaller toe pick and shorter blades of his ice dancing boots. "I've already fallen over backwards once. I keep expecting there to be more blade back there to catch me." "That's not encouraging." For the first time, Adam looks irritated. His mouth turns down and his eyes narrow. It's an expression I remember well from our teenage years, though he rarely aimed it at me. "Look, I know you don't have any reason to be excited I'm here," he says. "I get it. I'm obviously not your first choice of partner, and I don't blame you, but I do think you have to get over yourself at some point. Especially if we're gonna be skating together." I'm so furious, I can't speak. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to master my temper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to me. "I have to get over myself?" "I'd say you do, yeah." "No, Adam, I don't think I do. What I need is a partner who actually wants to be here, not someone who sees this as a last resort if they can't get to the Olympics any other way. I need a partner who knows how much hard work is in front of him and isn't afraid to put in the time." "And what makes you think I see this as a last resort? What makes you think I'm not ready to work as hard as I need to? You think I spent all my time as a freestyle skater slacking off and joking around for TV reporters? I worked my ass off trying to get onto the men's team." "Why haven't you yet, then?" I'm verging on being truly unkind, but I don't care. "Why's this going to be your first Olympics? You were old enough to go to Sochi in 2014, so why didn't you qualify then?" Adam glares at me. "Why didn't you?" he retorts. For a second, I see red. How dare he? "You know damn well that I did go." "That's right, I do," says Adam coldly. "I know you qualified, I know you went to Sochi, I know why your short dance was a disaster, and I know why you didn't finish the competition. Everyone knows. So I'd appreciate it if you could knock it off with your holier-than-thou attitude. We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together, and that's gonna be hard to do if you're spending every minute acting like I've somehow insulted you and everything you stand for by trying to have a skating career of my own." He turns away, skating back towards the center of the ice. "See you at dinner," he calls over his shoulder. I contemplate shouting some scathing retort at him. I debate storming out there after him and giving him a good, hard shove, knocking him on his ass on the ice. I think about maybe climbing on the Zamboni and running him over... but in the end, I do none of those things. I whirl on my heel, stalk out of the rink, and stand outside in the darkening Minnesota afternoon, allowing the frigid wind to cool my cheeks, reddened with fury... and with shame.

#Opening chapter #I wrote the first draft of this novel in three months #Then rewrote it six times #Got as far as a revise & resubmit offer with my dream agency #Shelved it when that didn't work out #Moved on to other projects #Contemplating self-publishing it now #Would anyone buy it?

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