#in case its not clear they are wearing some sort of backpack

[liyass]

The Knight

[eretzyisrael]

by Seth J. Frantzman

AI-generated videos and images have come to help these people. The evidence that these images are AI-generated comes from how sleek they look on the one hand, but also their stark inconsistencies

For instance, some of the images show Sinwar with an M-4 or M-16 style rifle, the types of rifles that are rare in Gaza, even though they are more common in the West Bank, where they are trafficked from abroad.

One image shows Sinwar holding what appears to be an M-4-style rifle with some sort of military-style backpack, his arms bulging from having apparently just left the gym after a day working his biceps. The real Sinwar was skinny and didn’t have large biceps; most of his time was spent underground, not at the gym. The AI-generated images bulk up Sinwar, adding probably 50 lbs to his frame.

Then there is the comic book Sinwar, which shows him jumping through flames, his hands on his rifle, which in this case may be some kind of modified AK with a front grip. Here Sinwar is again more healthy-looking than he was, wearing a tactical vest with extra ammo as he charges into battle.

One image depicts Sinwar sitting in the chair in the ruined house where he met his demise. However, in this image, Sinwar is seated upright, gripping a seemingly generic-looking rifle from its barrel.

The rifle itself seems to have a lower assembly that comes from some kind of standard idea of what a rifle looks like but actually depicts maybe a French MAS-49 from the Vietnam era. Another image shows Sinwar depicted in what appears to be either a bronze or copper sculpture sitting on a couch holding an M-16-style rifle. He also seems to have a bandolier of bullets wrapped around his chest for a second weapon, which is apparently not shown. This one is incredibly unlikely. Yet, 600,000 people have viewed it.

He also seems to have a bandolier of bullets wrapped around his chest, for a second weapon which is apparently not shown. This one is incredibly improbable. Yet, 600,000 people have viewed it.

The AI-generated images become even more improbable as one wades through them. One image depicts Sinwar sitting in a house with his stick, his back to the wall, while an Apache helicopter hovers dubiously inside the house.

An M1Abrams American tank is also shown bursting through another room. Clearly, whoever made this must have asked the AI to make an image with a random tank and helicopter in it “in a house.” 

This didn’t stop 500,000 people from viewing the image. A different image shows Sinwar wandering in a field of flowers near the Dome of the Rock, carrying a pistol and wearing a military-style vest in a crisp white shirt. Some of the images don’t even seem to be Sinwar.

One of them depicts him as if he is in one of those advertisements selling expensive watches, with some black-and-white character that is then said to be Sinwar.

Another image seems to be a kind of drawing but is likely also produced by AI, showing Sinwar in the house waiting for death while an IDF tank and a pack of hyenas assault him. It’s unclear who would have entered the prompt “add hyenas.”

Some of the images created to memorialize and lionize Sinwar are also signed as if they may have been made by some kind of illustrator. It’s not clear in these cases if the images were in part produced with the assistance of AI or if someone drew them entirely.

In general, the way the images often copy historic covers or types of comic book drawings and styles, such as the neo-noir Sin City brand, suggests that they are not entirely original content.

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

His Soul (Chapter 5)

Investigation

Summary: After saving the abducted collectors, you were trusted with Curioso's box. What seems like a dangerous possession slowly turns into an opportunity to learn more about this creature and his curse. Can you earn his trust, and possibly, his affection?

Pairings: Curioso/Reader, Curioso/The Detective

----

That next morning, you completed your early routine and ate a nutritious breakfast to make up for last night’s dinner. You were feeling pretty good about today���what happened was behind you. You were determined to see this case through. 

You headed downstairs and prepped everything to be locked up. You didn’t know how long you’d be gone, so you made a small sign informing any potential-clients of your whereabouts and how to contact you. Couldn’t risk losing business over a small case like this…you weren’t getting paid much for a second day’s worth of investigation. 

You searched through some drawers before finding a decently-sized bag. You held it in front of Curioso’s box to see if it would accommodate him. You nodded to yourself before carefully lifting it and slipping it inside - it was a sturdy thing, made out of some sort of mystical wood, you were sure, but you didn’t want to rattle him around. You wondered if that would even be possible. 

You held it in your grasp and tested its weight. It wasn’t bad, but you needed something better so you could use both your hands. You wondered how this thing wasn’t any * heavier *, with the world and creature it held inside. You started rummaging around for something more convenient - a backpack, maybe. Something you could tie it to, or carry it around on your hip….

“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you,” You heard Curioso’s teasing tone.

“Not really. I use bags all the time for inventory space.” You stood to your feet and presented an older backpack you were sure would fit him. “..You’re not going to be picky, are you?” 

“Perish the thought..!” 

You chuckled, knowing he wouldn’t be. If he started complaining, you had no problem leaving him at home. You stepped forward and placed his box inside the backpack. It took up all the space inside. It just barely had enough room for the zipper to clear it. You tested this theory and closed the bag, then moved back and blinked. 

“Can you see anything like that..?” 

“Not terribly much,” His muffled voice replied. “Imagine you’re squinting, Detective. That’s what this looks like to me.” 

“Interesting…” Your mind whirled with possibilities, but now wasn’t the time to pester him with questions. “What if I open the bag a little?”

You unzipped the backpack halfway through and removed your hand. Then you saw the box glow, completely illuminating the dark space. It was only somewhat visible from outside the bag. You weren’t sure how concerned you were about anyone nearby seeing it. You could just make up a lie about what you were carrying. No one would really believe you if you told them it was a magical box containing a supernatural jester, anyway. 

“Hmm. A bit better. But I would prefer being *outside*…” 

You gave him a stern glare and he laughed. You were caught by surprise at the noise - you haven’t heard him laugh since his ‘game’ at Andrew Collins’ house… 

“I’m just kidding! I’m allowed to joke around, aren’t I?” 

“I guess I’ll allow it, since you are a jester.” You leaned down to move the straps around your arms and properly carry the backpack. “-What’s the story with that, anyway? You’re a magical jester?” 

“The costume wasn’t exactly my choice of permanent clothing,” His voice sounded clear behind you. You’d have no problem at all communicating with him like this. 

You moved to twist the door handle and lock your office. While you put the key in, you hummed curiously. “Huh. Then what do you usually wear?” 

“I don’t have a choice with that matter.” 

You were walking to your car now, searching for your keys in your pocket. “What? You can’t take your clothes off?” 

“It’s complicated. And really, we have more important things to do right now…”

You looked up and noticed a man walking his dog on your street, who was looking at you peculiarly. It must’ve looked like you were speaking to nobody. You probably looked like a madman right now. You grinned sheepishly as you politely waved to the stranger and hastily entered your car. You moved the backpack to the passenger seat, thought about it for a few seconds, then buckled him in. 

Curioso sounded amused. “I appreciate the thought, but-”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not for your safety - I just don’t want that thing breaking in a crash and *you* getting out.” 

“How cruel…” 

You started the engine and adjusted your mirrors. You’d been a little messy following that car around last night. You noticed the mug of dried coffee stains still sitting in the cup holder and the crumbled up newspapers on the floor. You had no time to clean up right now, so you drove out of your spot and onto the street, following the GPS route you logged last night. 

While driving, you looked over at the backpack sitting beside you. Things were quiet right now, so you had no clue what was going through Curioso’s mind. You wondered if he was looking outside the window, admiring the views that you two passed. It’s what you used to do all the time as a child, watching the buildings and lands to pass the time during car rides. A pang of sympathy hit you as you realized it was the first time he’d been outside since you captured him. 

You decided to break the ice. It would take a bit of time until you arrived, anyway. “So, why exactly are you interested in my detective work?”

“I’ve read a lot about you and your cases. Why wouldn’t I want to see the famous detective in action? To know how you do it all?” 

“Okay, you keep calling me that, but I’m not famous. I…barely make ends meet, sometimes.” You confessed sadly. It almost hurt to say that out loud. 

“Not to me. You played my game and proved you’re the better collector out of the two of us. You will always be renowned in my eyes, Detective.”

You weren’t sure how to feel about that. His words uplifted you, to know that someone actually looked up to you. But he was a magical creature who challenged your wits to a game of morals and decisions. How much did his respect mean to you, exactly? Judging by the heat on your face and a sudden struggle to find the right words, it was probably more than you thought. 

You cleared your throat and focused on where you were going. The silence prolonged, but it didn’t feel awkward or tense. You had the feeling Curioso was simply enjoying the ride. The atmosphere felt light. It was a beautiful day out right now - the sky was clear and the sun was warm, with some pleasant gusts of winds ruffling your hair through your open window. It strengthened your hopes for today. 

But then you were on the street you’d encountered last night, and that feeling subsided. It was replaced with an eerie sense of being watched. As you drove on the dirt, your chest grew tight and a chill climbed on your back. It made no sense…it was the middle of daylight, so nothing was hidden from your eyes this time. But the sensation almost felt tenfold now that you were actually on the road. 

“Curioso? Do you feel that?” You asked desperately. 

“Feel what?” 

“This…cold, unsettling feeling. Like…I don’t know.” You groaned as you thought about how to word it. “It’s like something is trying to stop us from moving forward. Like I’m pushing against something.” 

Curioso was quiet, which only added to your anxiety. You were quickly becoming a mess. You slowed your car down and took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before you freaked out. You locked your jaw and looked around. The neighborhood was desolate. You couldn’t spot another soul outside right now, nor any cars beyond some broken and abandoned ones sitting on a few properties. 

Your heart began to race as you proceeded forward, trying to keep your eye out for any sign or clue of Sophie’s whereabouts last night. 

“Detective, calm down. I think I know what this is, and you’re not in any danger.” 

“How could you possibly know what’s going on!?” You exclaimed. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you felt stressed right now, though you couldn’t fathom why. 

“It might be a concealing spell. Some use it to hide something or some place that they don’t want others to see.” 

“Spell? What are you on about?” 

“You believe in magic, don’t you? ” 

“Curioso, this is making no sense. Who would have cast a spell in the middle of nowhere like this? There’s no one who could possibly-” 

“I could show you, but I need you to do something that you might not exactly like.” 

You eyed him wearily, somehow feeling like he was going to ask you to release him from the box. No matter how you felt right now, it was not dire enough to let him free. You would drop this case right now if it meant making sure Curioso was still in your possession. Nothing could be worth that risk. 

“Press this part of my box. Sadly, it won't free me, but it will help you.” 

You slowed your car to a stop on the side of the road. There was a pink mist pointing to one of the blue gems decorated on the box. You hesitated before leaning over and pressing on it. You were surprised that it acted like a button, and even more so when your surroundings began to change. It was a lot like the magic Curioso had first presented at Andrew Collins’ house - when the world around you seemed to slow in time, and your surroundings became dark and light simultaneously. 

When you looked out of your window, you spotted a house that had not been there before. Something about it felt ethereal…like it wasn’t meant to be there, yet it was. 

“What just happened?” 

“I revealed what was hidden. If someone’s been playing with magic, then so can I!” Curioso giggled. “We’re in the same place, Detective, but now you can see what you couldn’t see.” 

You wondered what pressing that button on his box actually did, but you had no time to dwell on it. He was still in there, and that’s what mattered. You reached over and shrugged on the backpack, locking the car before walking over to the house. 

You stood on the front porch and realized there was no doorbell. The whole place looked quite old-fashioned. You knocked on the door instead and waited. As you stood there, Curioso spoke quietly behind your ears: 

“I’m surprised someone is hiding this by means of an incantation. It’s suspicious.”

“I get that,” You whispered urgently back to him. “Franky, I don’t understand how this is even possible.” 

“You’re lucky you brought me! You would have never found this place. How clueless you would’ve looked, driving around and around…you could’ve gone mad..!’

You were about to argue until you realized there had been no movement nor noise for awhile. You reached forward and knocked again, with more force to make sure whoever was inside heard it. After a few minutes, you surmised that no one was home. You’d been intending on asking the residents about Sophie or any strange sights, but this felt like a strange situation in itself. 

You began to inspect around, peeking through the windows to spot anyone inside. Most were hidden by a curtain, but you reached one that wasn’t blocked. The kitchen was empty and the window was right in your reach…as you lifted your arm and attempted it, it opened freely under your grasp. 

You gaped at the sight. You thought for sure the window would’ve been locked. Curioso must’ve noticed your confusion and made a comment. 

“Why would they bother locking the windows if most people can’t see this place? You should go and search inside.” 

“That would be trespassing. It clearly isn’t abandoned.” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t…! Besides, nobody's here.” 

“We don’t know that for certain.” Your grip on the window faltered. “They could be sleeping, taking a shower, or they left and they’re coming back-”

You could hear yourself talking and snapped your mouth shut. Since when have you become this cowardly? It was something about this place, you swore. You shook your head and climbed inside, making sure Curioso’s box didn’t fall out as you did so. Your entry was quiet. You slowly shut the window behind you. You didn’t move for the first minute - intently listening for any noise. After that, you began to freely roam around the kitchen.

“Look around while I do this; find anything related to Sophie or the men she was with.” You’d shown him your notes and photograph yesterday, so he was up-to-date with everything you knew. 

“Aye-aye, captain!” 

The kitchen was standard and yielded nothing worthy of your attention. If anything, it looked a little unused and under-stocked. You moved onto the next room - which appeared to be the living room, with couches, tables, and a T.V. You searched around to look at the photographs, keeping an eye out for Sophie or the others you’d seen at the restaurant. You didn’t recognize any of the people, so you moved onto looking in the drawers. For notes, important papers, anything….

While you looked, your mind wandered. There was something still bothering you. “Curioso?” 

“-I’m afraid I don’t see anything, Detective. Could you use a screwdriver or an axe?”

“Not right now.” You shook your head and your gaze shifted. “I can believe this house is under a hiding spell, but it doesn’t really explain why I’ve been feeling so…weird.” 

“It could be another conjuration, made to deter people from getting close. Causing fear, anxiety, a sense of intrusion…that could be why no one really lives on this street.” 

Your eyes widened. “That’s a good theory.” 

You stopped when you spotted a small notebook in one of the drawers. You opened it and scanned what had been written. The first few pages were random measurements and a grocery list, but in the back of the book, something interesting caught your attention. It was a drawing of some sort of symbols. On the next page was a list of colors. Knowing your history with these things, you didn’t hesitate to pocket it. 

“Found your first clue?”

“Yeah. It could be for a nearby puzzle. People like to put those in their homes sometimes.” 

You carried on to a nearby hallway. There were several doors to go through, but a few of them were locked. You swore under your breath - you’d have to find some keys or a way to open them. Your attention moved to a staircase leading down into the basement. Those usually held a bunch of storage items that might be telling about the owners of the house. You climbed down the steps and faced an elaborate-looking puzzle. You smiled until you realized a piece was missing. You gritted your teeth - now you’d have to go and find THAT as well. 

As you opened your mouth to complain about this trivial detail, you were interrupted by a blinding flash of light. 

The blindness surprised you and made you stumble backwards. You fell to your feet and hit your head on one of the steps. You clutched it in pain as your eyes struggled to open. You lost your sense of balance and had to use the steps to right yourself. Once you were standing, you quickly checked your backpack to assess the damage. 

The box was still intact. You sighed in relief. You’d nearly landed on your face, but at least you didn’t break anything. 

You rubbed the sore spot on your head that was quickly forming into a bump. Ugh. You’ll have to tend to it later. “Curioso? Are you alright?” 

Silence.

You quirked an eyebrow. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You turned your head in search of someone in the room - maybe he saw something you didn’t. But there was nobody there. You decided to try again.

“What was that? Curioso?” 

Still no response. Panic flooded into your system as you threw the backpack off your shoulders and looked at the box. It was dim again - no sign of life nor colors. Something compelled you to start shaking it and pressing the gems frantically, only for nothing to happen. This left only one explanation: 

He’d gotten out. 

Shit!

[mrdrcase]

"We should be okay in here~ ........ I hope."

Yuma took a deep breathe as they finally got away from the Peacekeepers. Damn they were really hot on their tail this time... Kanai Ward is so brutal... Luckily they wouldn't suspect a giant back pack right? Funny how Desuhiko's backpack was so large.... And actually spacious to fit two people in the bag.. Though this wasn't the first time that Yuma went inside Desuhiko's bag. Thinking about it made him blush a tad the fact that he had to wear a girl outfit. Just for investigation purposes. The smaller male looked a tad worried. Now what are they going to do. Shinigami of course was playing lookout. Making sure things were in the clear. Which it might take some time.

"Thanks Desuhiko... Glad that you carry that big backpack with you. Great for disguises and hiding. Though, why are there so many Peacekeepers here... Hmm... There must be some sort of case happening.."

Yuma spoke while he place a hand on his chin. Thinking on what the possible out comes. It was only a matter of time till the Peacekeepers look upon the bag. Gotta act quickly.

"As much as I want to stay in the backpack with you, its a bit crowded don't you think? Desuhiko is there a way you can Disguise us to get pass those guards? Maybe we can sneak to like a saferoom of some sort? There has to be one at this school location correct?"

[philtstone]

not even god can stop me now, here is what i have so far:

their first (and only case to date) was finding their weird friend's nephew's missing cousins, who snuck on board a tour bus full of old people headed for wine country and accidentally took down a crack cocaine den in the process

the "episode" plot starts when eowyn and faramir both show up needing help because no one else is taking their familial woes seriously. eowyn needs help getting her brother out of prison and faramir needs help finding his brother, who has gone missing

theoden owns a ranch called thengels ranch. it is barely profitable and the evil power company is trying to buy it from him but he keeps refusing

eowyn-faramir meet cute is in the PI office front lobby, obviously

gandalf is the equivalent of shawns dad. hes sort of retired lives in a bungalow by the ocean and they go to him for help on some obscure point of confusion once every case. keeps coming out of retirement for 1-2 business days for commitment to the bit. wears a lot of hawaiian shirts and probably sells weed out of his bathroom

elrond is like chief vick if chief vick was not a police chief and instead owned a bed and breakfast that sees all of the towns major dramas. in true immigrant dad fashion hes convinced aragorn and arwen wont have the money to survive In This Economy unless aragorn finally gets his fucking medical degree (its been years. he passed the mcat with flying colours. there's a family doctor shortage in the area. think of the people and your girlfriends incomeless humanities education, aragorn!)

aragorns true passions lie in herbal medicine, arwen, and guitar and he (correctly) thinks the healthcare system is corrupt. he does however finish med school eventually & is of great service to his community.

gollum is the awful hairless cat frodo adopted out of the garbage cans one day and adores, but cant keep at his uncle bilbo's house (his best friend sam is allergic) so he asks his uncles sort-of-bachelor friends to keep him at their PI office. daily havoc ensues. quoth aragorn "he does not like me very much, for he bit me several times"

the "this is my partner [wildly incorrect name]" bit is absolutely still going strong this universe. it is done by legolas, constantly, and always involves one of aragorns million fake names (no one else is in on the meta joke) and something really stupid and pop-referential for gimli.

"my name is legolas thranduilion and these are my partners eagle of the western star and goncharov"/"my name is legolas thranduilion and these are my partners strider longshanks and sh'dynasty. that's s-h comma to the top dynasty"

"that is mahal's comma, sir"

boromir went missing because he was trying to figure out how to tell his dad his real dream in life was giving up his sports scholarship to UCLA and coaching little league soccer instead while studying physio or something at home, but then he accidentally stumbled on the evil power company's Plot against thengels ranch and was kidnapped. or something. alternatively, he decided to go wilderness backpacking to clear his head and his phone died, so his disappearance was classic episode gotcha plot twist number 1. no one dies in this universe thank god its too stupid

naturally, the final clue to uncovering the evil power company's machinations is found in frodo and sam's eighth grade science fair project

shadowfax is the polar bear. from that one polar bear episode. but still a horse. aragorn is convinced he isnt capable of murder despite everyone else's suspicions.

objectively speaking i could envision gimli legolas and aragorn running a chaotic private investigator firm a la shawngus from psych except instead of two guys its three and also their uncanny seemingly superhuman abilities have absolutely nothing to do with detective work

[ao3bronte]

🌈⚔️MARIGAMI HEADCANONS🌈🎀

They say opposites attract, and Marinette and Kagami really couldn’t be more different. Calm, cool and collected, Kagami considers herself to be a brewing storm on an even keel, sharp enough to strike but only when prompted. She’s precise with a sword and even more precise with her words. Vague expressions and underhanded motives have never suited her; Kagami is lightning on the mountain. Unmovable. Unshakable.

Marinette is just a mess. Silly, excitable, all over the place. A heart of gold and a body that seems to contort itself in ways the body simply shouldn’t. She trips over a speck of dust and lands on her head only to right herself a moment later, just in time to face plant into a door frame. Marinette sings and dances without thinking, applying herself to every worthy cause. She smiles and laughs openly and always sees the good in everyone.

Kagami can’t help but be suitably enamoured.

The fencer has never had time for friends, but the more time she spends with Marinette, the more she realises that she needs to start making time. Kagami’s mother, a woman she respects greatly, has always controlled how she spends her free time. Lately though, she doesn’t seem to mind Marinette’s presence and Kagami doesn’t question it. If Tomoe will allow her the odd get together with Marinette, she certainly won’t argue.

Marinette and Kagami spend most of their time together at cafés drinking Orangina and giggling at videos on TikTok. Kagami is only allowed to have pre-approved apps on her iPhone and the two of them love watching all of the silly videos huddled up on their favourite banquette in the corner. Marinette knows she likes #organizing on TikTok and saves the amazing ones to show Kagami while they wait for their order to arrive. It’s always the little things with Marinette that make Kagami appreciate their time together more than ever.

This week, Kagami proposes that they go for a bicycle ride down the banks of the Seine. She loves to do active things and Marinette has proven that, so long as she wears a helmet, the clumsy girl can actually stay on her bike without falling over. It should be a safe enough passtime, but Kagami packs a First Aid kit in her backpack just in case.

The spring breeze rushes through her hair as they fly down the banks together and Kagami smiles, just a little. The sound of Marinette’s laugh brings her enough joy that she can hardly tamper the urge to join her, except Kagami doesn’t really laugh very often. She wants to though. Marinette inspires her to try.

“This is the perfect spot!” Marinette exclaims, slowing down her bicycle just enough to hop off the seat and walk it down to a larger clearing. The shade of the trees has invited many Parisians to sit down and relax with a picnic basket and all at once, Kagami realises that this is what Marinette expects to do as well. Kagami has never had a picnic before. It will be a new experience.

“You’re going to love this!” Marinette beams, tugging a blanket and an insulated sack out of her back pack. “I brought croissants and gougères and some vegetarian quiche…” Marinette prattles on, pulling out one snack after another from her parents’ boulangerie patisserie. It’s a menagerie of food Kagami isn’t always allowed to indulge in and Kagami has certainly begun to appreciate why the French are so obsessed with butter.

“What are these?” Kagami asks once she’s sat down across from her friend. Marinette has managed to unpackage everything without dropping them, tossing them skywards or mashing them into her toes accidentally and Kagami is thankful for little miracles. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“These? Oh! These are new. One of my dad’s newest creations.” Marinette giggles and hands her the little carton. Inside are two small, pear shaped cookies with pink and green frosting on them. “He calls them his ‘Poires d’Amour’.”

Kagami raises her brow and takes the one closest to her. “Do they taste like pears?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried them. We get to be guinea pigs today!” Marinette plucks the other cookie from the bottom of the box and takes a generous bite. “Mmm! They’re pretty good! A lot better than his matcha and date macarons from last week.”

Kagami cringes at the combination and takes a bite of the cookie, chewing it thoughtfully. The pear taste is subtle, its flavour heightened only slightly by the essence in the green frosting. There is another flavour there though, one that reminds her of melon, and Kagami scrutinises the uneaten half of the cookie between her fingers in an attempt to figure it out on her own.

“It’s cactus pear.” Marinette provides helpfully a moment later, licking the rest of the frosting off her fingers. Kagami finds her gaze drawn to the carefree flicker of her tongue between her lips. “Weird, right? I’d never heard of it, but my dad always buys the weirdest stuff from the exotic grocer just down the road from us. Apparently, it’s some sort of pink fruit that…”

Kagami listens with half an ear as Marinette continues down another one of her tangents, always happy to fill the empty space between them with words and stories and whatever else comes to mind. Kagami appreciates and welcomes the sound of her voice and the shape of her words on her lips as they pour forth like a fountain, bathing her in a warmth of chatter that Kagami grew up without.

It’s the complete opposite of what she’s used to and Kagami has grown to love it.

[PART 2] >>

SEE ALL OF MY LGBTQ+ HEADCANONS HERE!

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

--

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

“I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.  

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

The Orange Backpack Symbol

So, we’ve been batting around the symbol of the orange backpack for a LONG time. We first saw it on a hitch hiker in 3x10, Clear, when Rick and Michonne went and found Morgan. We’ve seen it and things like it many times since. We still aren’t entirely sure what it means, but these are some ideas we’re batting around.

(Not my edit but just thought it was funny. It shows the fandom picks up on these symbols, even if they often don’t know what to do with them.  😊) I’ll give you my fellow theorist’s observations, first. They are excellent and most likely correct, even if we can’t say for sure, yet. Then I’ll chime in with a few of my own.

@frangipanilove:

I’m still uncertain about the Orange backpack symbolism versus regular backpacks. It sort of depends on the Dutch angles from Coda. If the term “Dutch angles” was something that came from TPTB, then I can make a strong case about Orange being tied to Beth. If it didn’t come from the horse’s mouth then it’s a much weaker connection. It could still be a thing, but it’s just not a case I can argue very convincingly.

@twdmusicboxmystery: For the record, though we haven’t heard tptb specifically mention “dutch angles” in any particular interview that we know of, I do believe we can safely say this came from them. It was talked about in the fandom a LOT and I believe the writers themselves leaked the first idea for it. It’s also part of the “on screen notes” in the Amazon digital version of the episode. Amazon has no involvement in the show other than carrying it and wouldn’t know what to put in the on-screen notes. Which means they come from the production itself. So I DO believe the “dutch angles” idea can be seen as something confirmed by the writers. Back to @frangipanilove:

@frangipanilove​: But either way, I believe the “back” in backpack is a reference to “come back” or “return”, “resurrection”, Sirius symbolism. Same with “back pocket”, as well as the torsos we’ve seen sometimes. My reasoning behind that is from season 3 when Merle returned to the show, and Michonne wrote a “biter gram” where she used a walker’s back to symbolize “go back” to Merle.

The original Orange backpack in 3x10, Clear, can be tied to return symbolism in many ways. They initially ignored the guy, then later saw him dead. They passed him, but returned to grab the backpack. 

And we’ve seen the backpack numerous times since, and it’s easy to tie it to reunions and returns to one’s family etc. We saw it in Michonne’s trippy vision with Virgil as well. Basically, it’s more return symbolism, because she’s going after Rick. She’ll find him, but even if she doesn’t, the return symbolism has already happened in that she found his boots and the iPhone (apple symbol) with the etching. That’s return symbolism.

(To her, Rick is dead, but these told her he might still be alive, so he’s just been resurrected in her mind.)

So, I view the backpack symbolism as return symbolism, and then the question is if Orange is a symbol that adds something different to the symbolism, or if it just enhances the return symbolism.

@wdway​:

It's funny that we're having a discussion about the brownish orange or rust color backpack because I wanted us to discuss it, haha. I've been thinking of it quite a bit in the last few weeks and I agree with you to a certain point, @Frangi, about it possibly being a reunions symbol.

I guess the difference for me is that I believe it also represents a journey. Some journeys are shorter than others, but a journey that reunites you to a person you have not seen for a long time, or even possibly thought were dead. In my head, that's for the rusty orange color.

In the Clear episode, team Rick passes the guy with the backpack, they journey to his hometown where he reunited with Morgan, someone who he was not expecting to see and may even believed was dead. The difference is, he picks up the backpack on his return home.

With Glenn, his rusty orange backpack journey was longer, but he ultimately reunited with Maggie who he hoped was alive but was not certain.

Daryl wore the rusty colored backpack when he, Rosita, and Denise took a short journey to a nearby community. On their way back home, they encounter Dwight. It was a reunion, but not a good one. And although Dwight was alive, the last Daryl had seen him, I'm sure Daryl hoped Dwight was dead.

It occurred to me while I was doing my research about the red rag that Daryl is wearing a rusty orange with brown legging on his right leg when he is on a journey to find/reunite the body of Rick. I need to go back and check but at the D.C. capital, there was a banner of an eye that we believe to be Emily's/Beth's. I believe that banner was a rusty orange, which would mean that there would be a reunion with someone that would require a journey to be reunited with someone believed to be dead.

I believe a regular or bright orange could possibly also be a journey color, but not necessarily a reunion with someone the person believed to be dead. Virgil had a bright or regular orange backpack when he found Connie. And yes, Connie was believed to possibly be dead but we are not led to believe that Virgil knew Connie, so the reunions part of it does not apply. Only the journey he had taken from his Island.

I do not know if tptb actually mentioned Dutch angles but I have seen several interviews of movie directors over the years that have used Dutch angle and have commented that it is something taught in film school that could represent something being somewhat out of tilt, something that is not quite right. I do want to mention that in the episode Stalker that has Daryl and Alpha in the garage there was Dutch angles around Alpha which ties it to the episode, Coda.

I think there were better images of the eye in the promo pictures for that season. The second shot is in the entry hall where they showed all of the different exhibits, banners in different colors, etc. What I want to point out is that chevron at the bottom. The banner looks like it reads, “Natural History,” and maybe the word “Living.”

@frangipanilove:

Regarding the Orange cover on Daryl’s leg, I interpret it as boot symbolism (it covers his leg = boot = trunk), which is synonymous with trunk symbolism IMO. That’s also what we see after Michonne has had her hallucination, including the orange backpack; she finds Rick’s boots in the boat. Boots = trunk and boat = vessel = vehicle.

So, I interpret in a way that ultimately points to the story of survival by way of trunk (three/tree/trunk symbolism). In Michonne’s case, it points towards Rick’s survival story, but because of the blue heron painting (among other things) we know that Rick’s story and Beth’s story are two versions of the same story.

So, when I interpret the symbolism around Michonne in that episode as pointing towards a reunion with Rick (or return to Rick), it means I also interpret the same symbolism as pointing towards Beth’s survival.

The banner in the museum in 9x1 IMO is eye = Sirius symbolism. This is because of Sirius as the “heavenly dog with a star in its eye” from the Robert Frost poem, and therefore also a reference to the one-eyed dog from Alone, among other things.

And in 9x1, the eye banner is orange, and Daryl’s leg wrap is orange. Which ties orange symbolism, eye symbolism and boot (Daryl’s leg) symbolism into Sirius symbolism. The orange backpack = return/resurrection. Daryl’s leg wrapping = boot = trunk = return/resurrection. The orange eye banner = Sirius = return/resurrection.

Also, I don’t think they will ever comment on whose eye it is on the banner, but you cannot convince me that it’s not Emily’s eye unless they specifically deny it.

This is a very short explanation of the symbolism pathway that leads me to think back = return. It’s a way to explain it that fits into my system. But basically, I believe what you say about a journey is just a different aspect of it. They’re slightly different ways of ending up at more or less the same spot. But in order to have a return, there kind of has to be a journey involved, otherwise it’s not much of a return, right?

Actually, I don’t know where you guys stand on this now, but I remember when the Michonne episode aired, @twdmusicboxmystery interpreted the apple symbolism as “separation.” I interpreted it as kind of the opposite: apples as a symbol of “bringing your family back, as Virgil said after poisoning Michonne. She said it took her family away from her, but I believe tptb use the apple symbolism as pointing towards reunion/return/resurrection.

My point is, we’re both right because they are two sides to the same story. There can’t be reunion unless there has been some sort of separation first. So, it could seem like I interpret the apple symbolism opposite to what @twdmusicboxmystery said after the episode, but I actually don’t think about it that way. I think we’re both picking up on what’s important about the apple symbolism, and then we use slightly different word to describe it.

I focus on the return/resurrection part, but in order to have that, there has to be some kind of separation or journey preceding it. You can’t reunite with someone you haven’t been separated from, and most likely, there’s a journey involved. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make much sense, right?

We first saw the eye banner when spoiler pictures from filming 9x1 emerged. They made no attempt to prevent the spoiler pics from coming out, they actually made quite the spectacle of it instead. I actually find that very interesting, because if it really is Emily’s eye, which I’m fully convinced it is, then it was a very loud announcement to TD about Beth, the eye/Sirius symbolism and also the orange symbolism.

We first saw Daryl’s leg wrapping in Stradivarius, right? We see the orange leg wrapping (IMO a boot/trunk reference) in Stradivarius, which is kind of the first we see of Daryl after the time skip, if you don’t count the small clip from the opening minutes of 9x6, which is an interesting clip. But you actually don’t see the orange leg wrapping there.

Which, if you don’t count the clip from 9x6 is kind of the first chronological appearance by Daryl after FM. You see him transitioning into the orange leg wrapping in FM, but chronologically that’s set in the time between 9x5 and 9x7. I love the little clip from 9x6, so packed with symbolism. But I do find it interesting that it doesn’t show the orange leg wrapping. It’s like they went out of their way to NOT show it. No idea if that’s significant or not, but certainly interesting.

@wdway:

You're right Frangi at the core we pretty much all believe the same thing. I agree totally with the eye banner being symbolism of Sirius the one-eyed dog but I also was very excited about seeing the Chevron symbol at the end of the entry hall banners, all in colors that can be tied to Beth. To me it speaks that there will be some type of military tie between the Sirius symbol (Beth) and the Chevron symbol (Commonwealth/CRM)

@frangipanilove: Yeah, agree on the chevron. They really like to pile on the symbols, don’t they. It’s symbolism on top of symbolism.

@wdway: We did actually see a quick glimpse of Daryl's orange legging in Who Are You Now, immediately following the reveal of the X on Michonne's back.

@frangipanilove: That’s awesome. Because that means that when we see it in Find Me, it’s the first time in the chronology he wears it. Assuming he had the orange leg cover during the entirety of 9x6, it means the very first time we see Daryl wearing it is when he’s standing waist-deep in the water spear fishing. Obviously, we don’t see it, but I’m going to assume we’re meant to believe he’s wearing it in the water while spear fishing.

Spear fishing is something we saw with both Leah and Carol in FM. He threw a fish at the front door with the X. In 9x6 we saw him catch a fish on the spear, then immediately a walker emerges from the water. All very strong symbols. Michonne has a very poignant voiceover, lots of symbolism there as well. He sees a walker representing himself grown into the tree trunks (three I believe). It reaches out for him, or something. Then the blue bird comes, grabs the ear worm, we see the nest, the bird babies. More poignant monologue from Michonne, tiny beacons of light etc.

@twdmusicboxmystery

What actually kicked off this conversation not long after Fear, 6x12, In Dreams aired, was that I noticed in Grace’s dream, when she met her daughter Athena, Athena was wearing an orange backpack. Not THE orange backpack, but another one.

I don’t have tons to add except to say that I totally agree with these two ladies. Another, slightly different (though not really) way you could look at it is that backpack always appears before someone dies, but there’s always a return as on the horizon as well.

In Clear, as @wdway mentioned, Morgan qualifies as a resurrection and return, but the hitchhiker carrying the backpack also died. In this case, Morgan also disappeared again, not to reappear until 5x01. So it was also the beginning of another separation between Rick and Morgan.

I seem to remember Carl having the backpack in 3x16, just before TF finally kicked the Governor’s butt. I’ve often wondered if it was a death omen for Carl. And it may have been, given that this is the episode where Gimple took over and probably planned Carl’s arc. But that wouldn’t come for a long time. 

It’s more likely that it meant other things. Many of the Gov’s people actually did die, but that also kicked off the Gov’s arc where he disappeared and didn’t return until 4x08 when he bulldozed the prison. And there were HEAVY Beth parallels during those two episodes (4x06-07) about him. There were also smaller returns here, such as Karen returning to Tyreese at Woodbury, and them finding Andrea. Though she, too, actually died.

Michonne’s vision with Virgil has been covered pretty well here. Clearly it’s leading toward her finding Rick (reunion) but also kicks off her separation from her kids, Daryl and the rest of TF. We didn’t see obvious death around her, but I’m sure there will be some in her coming arc. The fact that she keeps ending up with Negan’s bat in her hands is proof enough of that.

I’m sure you can also see how the orange backpack ties into the left/right/back pocket symbolism as well.

So yeah. I think you get the idea. It’s a fascinating symbol, isn’t it? And one we’ll definitely keep an eye on moving forward. Thoughts?

[jojoboisimagines]

Josuke x Reader :: Promposal :: Ch. 3

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summary: A strange new transfer student has enrolled in Budogaoka High School. Josuke falls head over heels for her, but has a limited time to win her over before the school prom.

///

Josuke didn’t even bother going after you after you had dashed into the classroom. Okuyasu had mentioned something about it being ‘his chance to bag you’, but he didn’t care. The only emotions he could process right now were embarrassment and a slight bit of sorrow. For both you and him.

Based on how you reacted, he could tell you were utterly uninterested or promptly humiliated by being seen with the letters. Either way, it was practically over, he thought. There’s no way you would go through all of those letters. The probability of them being trashed by the end of the day was high. 

Jojo couldn’t help but to feel at least a twinge of disappointment. This was the first girl he had been interested in since..well since he entered high school. He tried to think of a positive, that being able to at least see you every day. Yet that became more and more creepy sounding the more he replayed it in his head

First period started without him even noticing. Now his mind was fixated on remembering what he actually wrote in the letter. 

Something about... beautiful, piercing (e/c) eyes...how he wants a chance to get you to smile for once... pretty (h/c) hair (which was especially a compliment from him given his standards), and he couldn't forget adding that he liked how you were 'badass" for wearing heels multiple times. That was perhaps the only thing in the letter that wasn't cliche.

He definitely remembered at the end of the letter where he asked you to meet up with him on the rooftop after school if you were interested.

Contemplating if it was even worth it to go there anymore, he reckoned to pay attention in class for the moment, only a little.

His mechanical pencil clicked against the desk, the annoyance was still there in the back of his mind.

.::.

You had only skimmed over most of the letters. Some weren't even love letters, they were just presumably shy students complimenting you on your work in recent classes. One even offered to be a study buddy. Letting out a sigh, it would at least be fair to appreciate the penwork and thoughtfulness put in these letters. It had been an hour already, and you had gone through the majority of them. 

Picking up another, you took it out of the envelope. It had a rather nice smell to it, as if a hint of cologne was spritzed onto it before it was sealed in. Nice touch, you had to admit. 

Opening it, you started to read. This letter was more than two sentences like some, but still less than some others. The writing came off as surprisingly honest, almost even bringing a smile to your face for a brief moment. As you needed the end, you couldn't help but wonder who wrote it. Your (e/c) eyes were led to the bottom of the letter where their name was written.

...Josuke Higashikata?

Your mind went back to when you declined his offer to walk you home. Perhaps you had come off as a little too harsh, but you would've preferred to walk home yourself that day. Truth be told, your shyness had got the better of you in that moment. You weren't here to make friends, you were here for a learning experience.

Though your mom had told you to at least try and make some friends. The idea didn't appeal to you in the slightest, but you guessed this was an opportunity to do so, if any. He even bothered to put a place and time to meet him if you wanted. After school on the rooftop..

Carefully placing the letter in your binder (unlike the others, that you had shoved in your backpack) you silently agreed to it. Hopefully you wouldn't get cold feet like last time when talking to him. Considering his status in school, that'd be a little more than just 'embarrassing'.

.::.

It took a bit of convincing for Okuyasu and Koichi to let Josuke wait on the rooftop all by himself. 

"We can wait behind the stairs!" Nope.

"We can hide beside the door!" Not a chance.

If there was any possibility of you coming up there, seeing his friends peeping in is on the list of last things he'd want to happen.

Hands in his pockets, he stared out into the distance. The top of the school really did give an ethereal view. Morioh's vivid yellow sky blending into a purple hue as the afternoon comes to an end. Students traveling in small groups on their way home. The trees blowing along with the gentle breeze, it was all such a sight to take in. He wondered if you chose Morioh to study on purpose. If you didn't like the school, he hoped you could at least enjoy the atmosphere.

Pulling back his sleeve, he caught a glance of his watch. It had been five minutes since he got here.

He let out a quick sigh, he hadn't given up all hope yet but if you were gonna come you could've at least showed up on time. Taking his favorite red comb out of his pocket, he straightened his pompadour. 

A sudden creak and slam from the door behind him nearly made him trip out of shock and the comb would've fallen into the abyss that was the school's courtyard if he wasn't careful. A scowl on his face, he turned expecting Koichi and Okuyasu that had gone against his wishes and peeped in.

But it wasn't them. It was you. Nearly out of breath, looking like you'd topple over if you ran any further.

Muttering an 'oh shit' he quickly put his comb away and corrected his posture. What was that uncomfortable feeling on his features? Sweat maybe? The teenager rushed over to where you were.

"H-hey, are you alright?" He asked.

"I…am so sorry." You breathed out. "I didn't forget, I swear. I had to clean the classroom today and came up here hoping you hadn't left yet."

The way you looked into his eyes sent him over the moon on it's own. He hadn't got such a good look at your eyes before, but now he was sure they were beautiful. The two of you stood still for a moment, before he awkwardly cleared his throat. If the stare went on for any longer it would've killed him.

"S-so, uh..you got my letter?"

"Yes." Was all you answered. You had never been confessed to a day in your life, and you had no idea how to even approach a situation like this. Hell, it's not like anyone back home was interested in you.

"That's great!" He smiled. Something was charming about the way he pronounced that word. A smile etched its way into your face as well.

"Hey, I think that's the first time I've seen you smile!"

You felt your skin flush at that comment. It was something you heard often, but this time evoked a different feeling knowing it came from someone who potentially liked you. It was also something you didn't know how to react to. Were you supposed to say 'thanks"? Instead you only nodded.

"Wow, you're a lot more...shy than how I first pegged you as." Josuke acknowledged. You were a far cry from the 'cool girl' everyone knew you as from the first day of school. It was frankly sort of embarrassing. What if he didn't like you anymore? Why'd you even care if he did?

"Sorry." Was all you could think to say. Josuke's eyes widened, putting his hands up to reassure you that he meant no harm.

"What? There's nothing wrong with that! I'm actually kinda glad. You wouldn't believe how many asshole snooty chicks think they'd have a shot at dating me. Let alone trying to be friends." 

"You thought I was an asshole?"

"N-no! You know what I mean! I mean not that I thought you were because of the other day but-" He stopped before he made it worse.

He took a breath. At least you weren't the only one nervous.

"Listen, I was just thinking we could..hang out sometime..as friends."

"...friends?"

"Yeah! Oh, and I could use some tutoring with my math homework." He came up with that one on the spot, but it wasn't untrue. The boy felt it was less likely you'd agree to that particular offer, but it was worth a shot.

The silence thickened between the two of you for a moment. It wasn't as tense as the first time, he could tell you were just thinking it over. His fingers were crossed behind his back just in case.

"Sure. I'm free tomorrow afternoon and Sunday." You simply responded.

"YES!" He chanted.

Out loud.

'..shit.' he thought.

"I mean---uh…" He snickered, breaking out into chuckles. Jojo really couldn't think of anything to cover that up. A smile found its way into your face as well as he laughed, shaking your head.

"Thank you so much for considering me! (L/n)-san!

"You can call me (y/n)-chan. I don’t mind."

Calling you by your first name. Something to brag about to the boys afterward.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow!" He swung his bag over his shoulder and began to walk past you.

"Wait, Josuke!" You called after him before he opened the door. He stopped, not turning around.

"Did you mean everything you said in that letter? My eyes, hair, and everything?" It sounded kind of desperate, but you needed to know. You could see a smile at the corner of his face. 

"Yeah, every word of it." Josuke left out the door to head home for the day. 

You could sleep happy tonight feeling more confident about yourself. Wouldn't hurt to keep wearing heels to school either..

[tumblebee-the-smol-bean]

For the classification verse what about little V who gets classified one year later than everyone else cause he's the youngest and during that year he tries to be as caregiver like as possible and the others are like "he's either neutral or a caregiver" cause he is like baby whisperer, cares for them. He gets his results back and he's like 0-2 age range regressor and he cries because he wanted to be the emo parent despite knowing deep down he was a regressor

Aight. Here we go. Since you didnt specify a caregiver I decided on Janus because I'm a sucker for Momceit and baby virge. Hope you enjoy!

Virgil gnawed at his fingers from the passenger seat of Janus's car. They were all packed into his minivan to go to Virgil's house so he could receive his classification. Being almost a full year younger than the rest of his friend group he was the last to be classified, but he had been there for the others when they were so he knew what to expect mostly. That didn't help quell the knotting in his stomach though, nor the bouncing of his knee.

A chuckle came from the seat behind him. "Calm down chemically imbalanced romance! It's rather obvious you're going to be a neutral anyways. We can be neutral buddies!" Roman smiled.

"No way!" Remus scoffed "he's definitely a caregiver! I mean he can calm me down. Me! That's some super caregiver powers right there." Virgil smiled fondly. It was true, when the others regressed he did the best he could to take care of them and make them happy. To be as much of a caregiver as he possibly could be. The others had taken to calling him 'the baby whisperer' because he was so good with them. To be honest that was the classification he was hoping for and he had been trying so hard to make it so that it was the one he received, despite the little inkling in the back of his mind.

"Now now." Janus tutted "we dont know what Virgil is going to be, let's not assume."

"Yeah!" Patton piped up "whatever you get we'll be super duper happy for you kiddo!"

"Indeed" logan nodded "although based on behaviors and subconscious tics I would say that-"

"Logan, stop. Hes going to get it in a few minutes anyways." Jan says smoothly. He of course was a caregiver. He often looked after Remus when Logan wasn't available and sometimes Patton as well. He sort of shared babysitting duties with Virgil. They made an odd duo being the oldest and youngest respectively. But they always took good care of the smol beans. Sometimes though...Virgil would find himself wishing Janus would show him the same affection he showed to the others when they were small. Wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him till he fell asleep. Safe and happy.

He shook his head to clear the thought as they approached his house and all hopped out next to his mailbox. The letter was plain and official looking. No indication of what the contents might contain.

"Well?!" Remus was practically bouncing on his feet and Patton, despite looking excited himself took on his caregiver persona, much diffrent than his regressed persona and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Calm Remus, I bet Virge would like to open it inside on his sofa instead of out here."

Remus nodded and they all shuffled inside. Virgil Janus and Logan sat on the couch and Patton remus and Roman lose on the floor.

Virgil took a deep breath and his heartbeat sped up as he picked up the letter and carefully broke the seal and pulled it out with trembling fingers. His eyes scanned the letter and...he dropped it with a small sniffle. He had wanted so badly to be the emo parent but it didnt look like that was in the card. Most of his friends looked confused and concerned but Janus just nodded to himself as if this was something he had expected and picked up the letter from the floor, not looking at it and tucking it into his pocket.

"I think Virgil needs a bit of space. Logan, take my keys?" The glasses clad one nodded in understanding and took them, ushering the rest out the door after they gave Virgil hugs and told him that even if they didnt know his classification whatever it was they were proud of him.

Then only he and Janus were left.

They sat for a few minutes in silence before Janus broke it. "I apologize for staying but I did not want to leave you alone, although it seemed you needed some space." An explanation for why the others had left. And honestly? Virgil was glad. He didnt think he could do this with everyone else here...and having Janus here was...nice. so he just nodded quietly.

"May I look at your letter?" He asked softly as he pulled it back out of his pocket.

Virgil hesitated...but...regressors often regressed right after receiving their classifications and someone needed to know so he nodded.

Janus carefully unfolded it, read through the contents and nodded. "0-2 is a little on the young end but I think we can manage."

Virgil sniffled again and felt himself start to slip as Janus mentioned his age range. Of course he couldn't have even been a kiddo like Patton at 8 or 9. No he had to be the absolute youngest of the group.

Janus placed a hand on his shoulder. "Its alright to be small Stormcloud."

He shook his head and felt a tear fall. He didnt want to be small...well he did but he also didn't. It was confusing.

"Yes it is." Janus wiped away the tear and paused. "May I cuddle you?" Virgil didnt even have to think about it. He nodded quickly and Janus pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and carding a hand through his hair.

"Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay baby, everything's okay, just relax."

The soothing tone and grounding touch soon had Virgil slipping into what he could only assume is his small space. He calmed down a bit and nuzzled into Janus with a soft coo.

"There you are little one." Janus smiled. "Its alright, you're safe. Do you know how old you are?"

Virgil only cocked his head in response. He didnt feel like using words right now.

"Ah, currently nonverbal I see." He hummed "perhaps I'll teach you some sign language later, but for now," he hummed again and picks up his backpack. "I have a few goodies for you. I always buy some things for classification reveals just in case." He explained and Virgil stared at it curiously from where he's pressed up against Jan.

"Its not much but should be enough for now. We can get you some more things later."

The first item he pulls out is a stuffed raccoon that makes Virgil gasps

and his eyes go starry. He starts to resch for it but then draws back and looks questioningly at Janus.

He nodded with a small smile. "Its yours love, go ahead."

Virgil gingerly takes it and rubs it against his face, squeaking in delight when he realizes it doubled as a rattle.

Jan wore a soft smile as he retrieved the next items. A dark purple pacifier that he held out to Virgil who immediately accepted it and then a sippy cup and bottle of similar skeleton designs.

"It looks as if this one is more suited to you at least right now." He picks up the bottle and sets the sippy cup aside to put in the cabinet later.

"Last things, are you ready?"

Virgil nodded and clutched his raccoon tight to his chest as he sucked on his new Paci.

He pulled out a pair of soft gothic kiddie pajamas and a black blanket with purple bats on it. Virgil started babbling and reaching out to touch the soft fabrics. Janus chuckled.

"Would you like to wear them?"

He nodded.

"Do you need help?"

He hesitated but slowly nodded again before hiding his face behind his racoon. Janus smiled. "No need to worry little bat. I dont mind."

He quickly helped him into the Pjs and wrapped him into the blanket like a mini taco.

Virgil cuddled up and yawned softly.

"Naptime for the little baby bat I think."

Virgil whined.

"Shhh, you're tired, and I'll be here when you wake up."

"Pwomse?" Its very soft and the first thing hes said since regressing. Janus practically beamed.

"I pinky promise."

And so they locked pinkies and Virgil fell asleep, wrapped tightly in his blanket and cuddling both Janus and his racoon.

[lluvguts]

extra sugar // reddie

pairing: modern! richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

warnings: none!

word count: 1964

summary:  Richie has been going to the same coffee shop for a week now but the barista still won't get his name right.

Richie’s stomach did a little flip when he opened the cool glass door into the coffee shop. Not because of the menu, showcasing their outrageously priced drinks, but at the young barista behind the counter. Richie couldn’t seem to shake that jittery feeling, he got his coffee from the same place every morning and still that kind face smiling back at him sent a new shiver of want every time.

The first time they’d met was a week before. A Friday, filled with Richie scrambling to get his stand-up act written on time in the early hours in that secluded coffee shop before his theatre class started. Richie had noticed between sips of a sugary mocha latte that the barista was sneaking careful glances at his hunched, furiously typing frame from behind the bakery display case. An older woman had taken Richie’s order before he sat down, but that didn’t stop the younger boy from hiding behind the large glass of pastries so Richie might be led to believe he wasn’t staring. But today, it was him taking Richie’s order, like it had been ever since he’d decided to return for some good coffee over the weekend—and to see those warm brown eyes again.

The barista did a small wave, inviting Richie into the comforting blanket of coffee smells and churning espresso machines that he’d grown to appreciate. Richie’s wallet, however, was not as happy. Each drink was eight dollars or more.

When he’d stepped up to the register his heart did that annoying jumpstart again, almost surprised to see the familiar face. The name Eddie was written with a practiced hand on one of the pins tied to his apron, among other buttons and colorful patches. Of course he knew his name , but he’d never stopped to examine the array of shiny pins across his chest. Richie took note of the newest addition to Eddie’s pin collection: a rainbow pride flag nested under his name tag, its colors glinting bright and well, happily in the golden house light.

“What can I get you?” Eddie’s voice brought him out of his head. He flashed a grin, making Richie’s heart lose it. “The usual?”

“If by ‘usual’ you mean whatever sends me into heart failure the quickest, then yes ,” Riche replied, gaining enough of that on-stage confidence to smirk back, earning a blush from Eddie.

“How about I surprise you?” Eddie turned to the screen in front of him, punching in a few details to the order, giving Richie the perfect amount of time to realize how many freckles spanned across Eddie’s softened features. And maybe even imagine how delicate his fingers would have to be if he’d let his hands brush across those flushed cheeks. Or what else his long fingers could brush over...

Nope. He saved those thoughts for when his classes were over and for nights spent in bed alone, after rehearsing his lines while inhaling microwaved instant ramen. Not right now when he was standing in front of him.

They’d only made small talk at the register, and every time Richie’s hands touched Eddie’s to get his coffee (knowing now was really the only time to say something) his mouth wouldn’t open. He’d remain frozen in place, the only sign of life chugging through his sleepy system being his wide eyes as he read the name on the cup. Or rather, the misspelled name . He had been keeping track of Eddie’s butchered attempts at writing Richie Tozier, finding it to be a constructive use of his free time—and a wonderful reason to flirt back.

Just Rich. Chee. Mr. Toziér. Richi Tozeer.

At that point he wanted to yank the coffee cup from Eddie’s hands and write his own damn name for him. Just to have an excuse to see if his palms were calloused and weathered, or warm and plush like he fantasized them to be.

Richie dug into a pocket of his skinny jeans for his wallet. “Go ahead, surprise me. But extra sugar .” Eddie nodded at this but was still focused on the register.

“Roger that. I’ll bring it to your table,” Eddie said with a wink.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie said back and handed over the money. Eddie lost all of the teasing glint he’d had before, instead he fell into his repertoire of shy little smiles. He was flustered and Richie found it very adorable.

“Oh, it’s just Eddie.”

“I know, I just like seeing that look on your face.”

Eddie stiffened, ignoring the other customers waiting behind Richie. “ What look?”

He chuckled and went over to an empty couch. He plopped down with his backpack while Eddie scooped a shaky cup of coffee beans into a grinder, trying not to blush and look his way.

Richie watched Eddie make his drink, peering down the edge of the counter to see that despite the growing overcast outside he was wearing shorts—ones that hugged his upper thighs and made Richie curse him to the depths of hell for even thinking of wearing them. His mind started to go south so he quickly slipped his backpack over his lap to hide his excitement at the sight of Eddie crouching down to rummage for new coffee syrup in a low cupboard—it was a serious effort to tear his longing gaze away from those painfully visible legs. He got out his phone instead, opening up some mindless puzzle game with a pounding heart so he’d stop thinking about the stupid barista with the cute ass only a few feet away. But that stupid barista was all he could think about ever since he saw him...

A to-go cup was set before him on the little rustic table, followed by a voice. “Mind if I join you? I’m on my break.”

Richie stopped sorting bright, pixelated candies and looked up at Eddie’s hopeful smile and the waft of steam peeking out of the plastic coffee lid. Before he said anything back he turned the coffee cup around until he could see the name scrawled in sharpie.

“‘ Riche Tisher ?’ How are you further off than yesterday?” Richie laughed, then nearly choked. Written after this was a phone number. Eddie’s phone number.

Eddie shifted on his toes, blinking nervously at the floor. “I know your name. I just liked seeing your reaction every time. It was um, kinda cute.”

Richie cleared his throat and hoped his next words didn’t sound too idiotic. “ Oh . Well, thanks, I guess.” Richie made room on the couch then hesitantly lifted his backpack off his jeans to set it on the floor. He kept his eyes level with the table so he wasn’t too tempted to glance down at Eddie’s bare legs dangerously close to his. He screamed at himself to say something other than his default of: a flirty insult or half-heard blubbering, but Eddie pointed to the cup.

Richie almost visibly sighed in relief and reached for his drink. “What‘s in it?”

Eddie smirked. “Surprise, remember? You tell me.”

Richie stared at that shiny rainbow pin on Eddie’s apron as he took a sip, consumed with the sweetness of honey and lavender.

“It’s my favorite thing on our menu. And the least pricey,” Eddie said.

“Well that’s good, cause I’m going to go broke after all these coffees.”

Eddie pondered over this. “You do come here often. Do you live in the area?”

“Actually, I go to the college a few blocks down. But the dorms suck.”

Eddie’s brown eyes livened at that information. “What’s your major?”

“Performing Arts. I wanna do comedy, but for now I’m stuck doing acting.” Richie said and returned that interested stare.

“Yeah, the dorms really do suck.”

Suck was an understatement. Half the time Richie’s roommates only showed up at the crack of dawn, tripping over themselves they were so wasted, to collapse onto—usually—Richie’s available bed and wouldn’t move for the rest of the morning. Even if Richie was still under the covers, fighting to breathe under their immense weight.

“You go there too? How come I never see you?” Richie tried not to sound overly eager.

“I take night classes...So I can still work,” He said with a tentative smile.

His face fell. “Oh. Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t realize that.”

“You know, to be a great comedian you have to be able to pay attention,” Eddie teased.

Richie had been paying attention, but maybe not to all the right things.

He exposed the side of the coffee cup with Eddie’s number on it. “Well, if I’ve been reading my audience, it looks like someone is trying to get me to call them.”

Eddie let his eyes wander to Richie’s backpack, where he too had a rainbow pride flag pinned to its front. His eyes widened and the color faithfully returned to his cheeks.

If Richie thought he had it bad, Eddie outshone his awkward attempts at conversation in the very attractive, breathless, asking-a-guy-out category. “Yeah, you definitely hit the mark on that one. Maybe, if you want to, of course...We could um, get dinner sometime? If you’re not busy— or if you aren’t seeing anyone! I totally didn’t realize. Well, if you want to?...”

Richie hadn’t really been listening, ironically enough. He was too caught up in that warmth on Eddie’s face, almost able to feel the heat of his embarrassment from across the couch. Eddie sat waiting for a reply, and in place of one Richie leaned forward with a delicate hand, just to let his fingertips touch the curve of Eddie’s jawbone. Only briefly, the slightest feel of his cheek, his racing heart, trailing a finger down to his chin, then hesitantly returning to his lap. Though bold, it was the only way to communicate with his actions what his stammered words had failed to say for the last week. Hey, I think I like you. You’ve got a cute face, too. See how soft it is?

Eddie’s breathing was reduced to a short little stutter in his throat, eyeing Richie’s hand with surprise as it was no longer against his cheek.

“Y-You certainly a put on a good show,” Eddie said when he could use his lungs again, shifting to stare at Richie’s dark eyes. It was like the rest of the coffee shop fell away, and Richie found himself stuck in a scene he didn’t know the lines to, with no stage directions to rely on. There were no wings, no gaping audience—only his own feelings to drive him forward. Only Eddie next to him.

Richie took the empty cup, swirling around the last dregs of honeyed coffee before examining the number so he could type it into his contacts. “This is only the first act, Eds. You could come by my dorm before your classes start? We’ve got pizza. A five star meal, of course.”

He grinned. “It’s Eddie . So is this... play, a comedy or a tragedy?”

Richie pretended to be deep in thought. “I was thinking something along the lines of a romance , but it’s totally your call. We could Romeo and Juliet this bitch and both die in the end.”

Eddie playfully bumped Richie’s shoulder, then glanced at his phone for the time.

“I gotta get back to work, but...dinner? Around seven?”

“Perfect.”

“And, if this is only the first act, ” Eddie toyed with one of the bracelets on Richie’s wrist. For a shy little barista of a man, he sure could flirt. “How many scenes are we talking here?”

Richie gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll have to wait and see. And thanks for the coffee, Eds.”

He frowned at Richie’s expectant grin, fighting the urge to smile through his irritation. “That’s not my name.”

“‘Riche’ isn’t mine either!”

[shesclearlya3]

Look What I Found.

Pairing: Bobby Richter II x Ghost!Reader

Word count: 2,716

2 0 1 9 

You had a hitch that today was going to be a beautiful day.

You were roaming the campgrounds with your best friend, Xavier, early in the morning. It had been over thirty-years since you took your last breath here at Camp Redwood. After all that time, you finally started to see your predicament in a different light. While it sucked being your age forever and unable to enjoy life, you were with your friends. You had a great view of the valleys and the large lake that you occasionally liked to swim in. You loved watching the sunset over the water. You didn't realize your full love for nature until it was one of the only things you had left.

There was something different in the air on this fateful day. You had asked around to see if Xavier Plympton or Montana Duke had felt the same way. They shrugged it off, joking that the world was probably going to end and take everyone out of their misery.

The air was strangely cold, so you wore an oversized jacket with your shorts. You decided to take some time away from your rowdy friends and see if there were any baby animals you could fawn for a few hours. Xavier liked to tease you at all the names you had given chipmunks, rabbits, and skunks over the years until you named a particularly chubby squirrel after him. You saw Xavier Plympton Jr occasionally, his fat cheeks always full of food.

You were about to breeze past the entrance to the camp until you saw a car idling in the distance. You squinted at it, wondering if it was full of curious teenagers or assholes ready to tear the place up more than it already is.

You never minded having company around camp. You always tended to hide as tourists came and went. Every day it seems the fashion changed drastically. You watched as denim jackets slowly went out of style until they seemed to become popular again. You've seen jeans become more shredded over time, and those god awful chunky highlights seemed to finally go out of style.

You slowly hid out of sight as one of the doors swung open, and out stepped a dark-haired man. You could vaguely make out that he seemed to be rather tall, dressed warmly, and with a backpack. You waited for others to join him, but the car sped off, leaving a dust trail.

It was rare you had singles wander around the camp. Most people bought at least one friend with them, just in case the horrid stories of tourists disappearing after a visit here. You remembered the days when Xavier and Montana murdered many innocent people. It was a dark period that you wished you could forget.

As the man grew closer, you noticed he was at least in his early thirties. He was very handsome, slowly taking everything in as he pulled out something from his pocket, pointing it at the sign before you heard a click.

Did he just take a picture?

Your interest was piqued. That wasn't a camera you were used to seeing.

He observed the area quietly, occasionally raising the suspicious camera to snap a photo of the cabins. The more you watched him, the more you realized how good looking he was.

You decided it was time to leave before you got caught. You went to step over the large root of the tree you were hiding behind, not realizing it was higher than you anticipated. You let out a shriek as your sneaker covered foot snagged the root, sending you sprawling forward.

You hit the ground hard, your breath leaving you as you heard heavy footsteps rushing towards you. The man stood a few inches back as you scrambled to your feet, turning to look at him.

"Are you hurt?" He called towards you, his hands raised as you avoided eye contact, brushing yourself off.

"No, I just fell," you said, really wishing you would have just disappeared when you hit the ground. You were a ghost!

"Are you exploring too?" He asked a sort of timid, yet kind smile on his lips. You weren't used to this, what would you even say?

"Sort of," you said, deciding it was best to be friendly. "Uhh, what's your name?" You asked.

"Bobby," he said, finally putting down his hands. "And you are?"

"y/n," you replied, giving him a little wave. His lips twitched, giving you a small wave in return.

You decided to move towards him and out of the woods. Bobby watched you, his light smile slowly fading as he tried to pinpoint why you looked so familiar.

"I better get going..." you smiled, ignoring the confused look he was now giving you.

"What did you say your last name was?" Bobby suddenly asked.

"I-I didn't... but its y/l/n," you mumbled.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He shrugged off the backpack he was wearing, kneeling down as he quickly unzipped it and pulled out a thick black binder. You had a bad feeling in your stomach as he flipped through it, coming back to full height.

"Is this you?" He asked, turning the binder around and showing you a broad picture of you from the 80s. Your mouth fell open as Bobby watched you in fascination and fear.

"N-Nope, never seen her before in my life!" You deflected. Bobby frowned, and you were unsure if he was pained or just trying not to laugh.

"But your name is-?"

"Nope, not me." You said, before turning to head back to the lake.

"Wait a minute!" He called from behind, quickly stuffing the binder back in its place before he chased after you. You kept a quick pace, your head down as he eventually caught up to you.

"How are you still alive?" Bobby asked as you kept walking, steering clear of the lake when you saw your friends standing on the dock. You headed towards the kitchen, knowing there was a clearing you could go unheard.

"I don't understand what you're saying." You mumbled.

"You haven't even aged!" Bobby said. "What are you-?"

"I'm not trying to be rude, but could you leave?" You snapped, looking back as he slowed to a stop. There was a considerable amount of space between you now.

"I'm just... Trying to understand," Bobby said, looking a little sad now. You sighed, realizing you shouldn't have snapped at him.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to figure out who this man was. "Why are you here?"

Bobby stood in silence, looking as if he were debating on how to answer that. You crossed your arms, patiently waiting as the air around you grew colder.

"I'm Bobby Richter," he said softly. You stared at him as his words sunk in, and you realized how stupid you were. "I'm trying to find out information about my father."

"Mr. Jingles," you whispered.

"So it is you? You were one of the victims here in 1984?" Bobby asked, moving closer to you.

"Your father killed me," you replied, closing your eyes. You haven't thought of your death in a long time. "He murdered my friends and me."

"How are you here?" He asked again, his tone becoming more severe.

"I'm dead," you shrugged, almost enjoying the horror that crossed his face. "I'm a ghost. A lost soul trapped here forever."

"I don't believe that. Ghosts aren't real?" Bobby shook his head.

You giggled, "Bobby, things aren't always what they seem."

He didn't quite know what to say to that. Bobby thought your laugh was cute, but this wasn't what he expected to find when he came here. You were as young as you were thirty years ago. This didn't make any sense. Then again, most of his life didn't.

"Look, I'm just here to find out what happened to my father, I'm desperate," Bobby said, and you could see the hurt lingering just below the surface.

You knew that you'd have to prove to him that you were telling the truth for this to work. "Okay. Follow me." You said, not waiting as you walked past him, knowing your friends would be able to help.

-

Bobby chugged down his bottle of water as you took a seat next to him on the stairs. His forehead was beaded with sweat.

"Believe me now?" You teased, enjoying watching him squirm.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry I even doubted you."

"No hard feelings," you shrugged, and he smiled at you. "You learned your lesson."

Bobby laughed, taking a moment to observe the surroundings. The clouds were starting to move in now. You hoped it would bring a storm, you missed the rain.

"Was Montana telling the truth?" Bobby asked, bringing your attention back to him. "You haven't seen my father since?..."

You smiled sadly, "No, we haven't seen him. There are times I wonder if he was somehow able to avoid being trapped here."

Like yourself and the others, Bobby was still perplexed about how any of this made sense. You had come to the realization ages ago that you'd never have an answer why souls never got to leave this place. But it would make you angry knowing your murderer might have gotten to go to another place after his death and you were stuck here.

You noticed the strange device sticking out of Bobby's pocket. He was deep in thought when you poked it with your finger. He looked down before looking at you with a nervous grin, "That's my phone, y/n," he said.

"Oh... There's no wire?" you asked. 

Bobby laughed louder now, "No. It's all wireless, see?" he pulled it out, showing it to you. You came to learn that it did many things, including taking pictures, watching television, and shopping. You were amazed by this, wishing you had the chance to use it yourself.

"I can't believe how much the world has changed," you said sadly, seeing the darkened clouds hovering closer. "What year did you say it was?"

"We're halfway through 2019," Bobby nodded, now observing the sky with you. "Half the time, my life doesn't feel real anymore."

"What do you mean?" you prodded, seeing that he was back to being serious. You kind of liked that about Bobby, you realized. 

"I've lived my whole life wondering about who I really was," he said, "I was young when I finally learned the truth. How my mother died, who my dad was, what happened here, all of that stuff. I don't think I quite processed it until I was about to graduate high school. My aunt, who raised me, started to hate talking about it, I was annoying asking her so many questions. I just wanted to know who my parents were. I wanted to know what really happened."

You nodded, still in disbelief that Mr. Jingles, the man partially responsible for the death of your friends, had a son sitting right in front of you. Bobby was typical; he had a sense of humor, he was sarcastic, he was ambitious. You always felt bad for him, especially after time passed, and you weren't angry anymore. Montana always said that we'd finally see his son, but you never would have expected this.

"When I was able to finally come out here..." he laughed, "I've heard all the stories about this place. The whole world has. I was a little worried that I wouldn't make it out alive, but... I didn't expect to meet you, either."

You were surprised to feel a jolt of happiness hearing his words. 

"I figured if I could at least see the place that haunted my dreams for so long, maybe one day I'd be able to accept what is and put it behind me." Bobby gestured towards the cliffs where a storm was approaching. "Is there anywhere we could go?" he asked.

"Follow me," you said, and the two of you hurried off towards the recreational room. It was one of the few cabins that remained in decent shape; no leaks, no rotting wood, nothing. 

You made it safely inside once it started to rain, and you sat in a chair across from Bobby, who looked as invested in the rain as you did. You sat in comfortable silence, listening to the rain's patter on the windows and the roof above. 

"y/n?" He asked.

"What's up?" you asked, admiring the lightning that lit up the sky.

"You know, I did a lot of research about what happened here," he said, staring at your feet. You looked at him now, "And I read about how you died..."

You took a deep breath. You haven't thought of that in so long. At this point, you hardly remembered what it felt like. Your friends never liked to talk about 1984. It was almost like it never happened. You told Bobby this, seeing a hint of relief in his eyes.

"I just don't want to think of anyone hurting you." Bobby admitted, smiling at you. You reciprocated, finding that you loved talking to him.

"I don't remember, I guess time does heal." You shrugged, thinking of how your mother would always say that when you were in high school.

"I'm happy that you don't." He whispered.

You talked to him until the rain let up. The day was coming to an end, and you knew that he couldn't stay here with Margaret Booth on the loose. You swore to yourself already you'd protect Bobby.

"You should really head home, it won't be safe here after dark." You told him as you stepped outside, the air crisp. You hugged yourself as Bobby frowned.

"I don't want to leave you," Bobby said, and you stepped down into the wet soil. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at you.

You grinned, "I'm flattered, Bobby. But I'm serious, it's best if you stay away from here."

"And you can't leave?" He asked.

You shook your head, your smile fading. "I wish I could."

You followed Bobby towards the entrance. He rented something called an Uber with what little connection he had left. You still had a good twenty minutes with him until it was time to part ways. He continued to try and persuade you to let him stay.

"Bobby, don't you have a girlfriend or a wife waiting back home for you?" You teased as you stood in front of the lake in the sand.

He giggled nervously, "No, I don't actually,"

"Oh, I would have thought a stud like yourself would have a girl on the side, you know?"

He scoffed at you, "Nope, nothing like that."

You talked near the lake until his phone said the driver was three minutes away. You finished the trek to the entrance, stopping just before you knew you would be pushed back. Bobby paused, too, turning to look at you. The invisible barrier separated you now.

"I just want you to know that nothing you say will keep me from visiting," Bobby claimed, giving you a mischievous smile.

You smirked, "I'll hold you to it, Richter."

You could see the distant headlights of his ride. Bobby glanced behind him before looking at you with a solemn expression. You were saddened that he was leaving, but it was the safest thing he could do.

"I guess I'll see you around?" He asked.

You nodded, "I'll see you around..." you whispered.

Bobby grinned, before turning and walking down the path. The car was right down the road. Almost as an afterthought, you called out after him:

"Don't forget about me!"

Bobby stopped, swiveling around to gape at you. You stared back, feeling like you just offended him.

Bobby started towards you again, taking you by surprise when he grabbed your waist, pushing you back a few paces before kissing you. You were in shock, your hands up as you melted into him. It was short, but you missed the touch of another person. Bobby pulled back, looking down at you sadly.

"I'll never forget you, y/n," he whispered, and you watched as he slowly pulled back, heading to the car now idling feet away. You watched as he glanced at you from the window before he disappeared out of sight.

[devinescribe]

Next Time, No Death, Yeah?

Chapter 10 of '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: Swearing, weapons, violence, blood

You were somewhere in Tokyo. Where? You'd find out sooner or later.

Currently however, you were walking through an abandoned mall. Everything was abandoned, so it didn't make this one anymore special than the millions of buildings in Tokyo. There was broken glass under your shoes that crunched when you stepped on it. "That's fucking satisfying," you whispered. "You're weird," Last Boss said from besides you. "Ok, if anytime you talk it's an insult to me imma hit you," you said, glaring playfully at him. It was an empty threat, he noticed, seeing as your tone of voice was too light and playful to be a real threat. "I wouldn't test her patience. She can be a real bitch when she wants to," Niragi stated, walking in front if both of you. Last Boss saw your eyes narrow, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. You reached your hand out, and tugged on his hair. "I just said if you insult me I'll hit you," you laughed. "Ow. Fuck you," he cursed, rubbing his scalp as you laughed. You shrugged your shoulders walking faster, ready for anything to happen. 'What could go wrong?' You thought. 'All the militants must be pretty trust worthy if the have weapons.'

Well, that's what you thought when you first got there. Now, not so much. One of the militants had tried to escape, seeing as they got all they needed from the Beach. Hiding behind objects when the man had a gun seemed like the best idea. "Alright, so what do we do?" You questioned Niragi, who kept looking from the side of the cement wall you two were hiding behind. "Stop the guy, and try not to get shot," Niragi responded, a tone of sarcasm in his voice. You noticed, but really it was a solid plan. Not getting shot was the best outcome for both of you. "Sounds like a good plan to me, let's go!" You shouted. He found it amusing how only a few days into the borderlands, you had already adapted. There was so much change, and usually you didn't do well with change. But yet here you were. "He's going to run out of bullets. And he can't change them that fast. So, let's wait till he runs out, then we grab him and take the gun away," you suggested, pointing at a mirror that showed the reflection of the man. "His bullet case is strapped onto his belt... You damn genius," he said, petting the top of your head. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the feeling. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. "You the left, I'll take the right," he instructed. "Oki doki, let's goooo I'm bored!" You exclaimed, loading up your pistol. He kneeled down, peeking out the side of where you were hiding. "On the count of three?"

"Yeah."

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

You both ran at him, being concentrated on the gun. He tried to shoot, but he had already ran out. He reached to grab bullets, but you aimed your gun, shooting it at his arm. He dropped his gun, yelping in pain. Niragi kicked the gun away from him. "Nice shot (N/N)," he complimented, high fiving you. He turned his attention back to the man on the floor. Blood was passing through the hand that covered his wound, staining it crimson. "Damn, any last words? Regrets? You know, death to the traitors and all," Niragi asked, crouching down besides the man, pointing his gun at the man's chest. He gulped, and took a shaky sigh. ''Yeah. I only regret that a girl took me down," he said. Your eyes widened, and you grabbed the knife from its sheath on your waist. You bent down to his level, stabbing the knife into his stomach, and twisting it. He screamed in pain. "This girl knows how to murder and get away with it," you said. You let go of the knife stepping back. He immediately pulled the knife out, making both you and Niragi laugh. "Hey, dumbass. That makes more blood come out," Niragi snickered. The man tried making pressure on his stomach his shirt staining dark red. "Alright, I'm bored. Someone else can do that. I got his blood on me, I feel nasty," You said, grabbing Niragi's hand and pulling him along with you.

Once you entered a random store, you looked down. There was blood covering your hands, and your swimsuit. You cringed in disgust. "That was pretty fucking badass," Niragi said, walking around the store. You sighed, "I guess." It dawned on you that since you were a militant, you could wear actual clothes. "Wait, so on supply runs what do guys collect?" You asked. Niragi turned to face you. "Anything and everything that could be useful. And of course, we are allowed to bring back personal items if wanted," he answered. You smirked, grabbing some backpacks off of one of the shelves, giving one to Niragi. "These would be easier to carry things around in," you suggested. "Ok, well then you take the pink strawberry one," he said. You rolled your eyes, trading backpacks with him. "Suck up your fragile masculinity you stupid fuck~," you sang before laughing. He shook his head, following you around. It really was like you two never skipped a beat. Sure, your whole lives had gotten derailed, but being back together made most things ok. The longest you two had been without each other had been the two months you stayed with your grandmother. After that first summer without him, you always asked if he could go with you. Even though you had called each other every night, you couldn't go to sleep. It wasn't like he was with you every night, but knowing you'd see him the next day would always comfort you. You didn't know why, it just did. So every summer both of you would have two months of peace at your grandmother's house.

"Alright, that's two bags full for each of us. Let's see if we can fill a third?" He asked. You both put the bags in the car. The person who was guarding the cars thanked you both. She looked down at your hands, and back up at you. You gave her a friendly smile seeing her stare. You sort of forgot about your blood stained hands. She smiled nervously, waving you both away.

"What was her problem?" You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you both walked back. "Blood," he answered, pointing at your hands. "Oh... well, sounds like a her problem," you said nonchalantly. It was quiet. Something you hadn't taken the time to appreciate before. Living in the city, there was always something making noise, it was never quiet. But now, looking at the desolate city of Tokyo, you sighed happily. It reminded you of the quiet up at your grandmother's house when you were little.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N), Earth to (Y/N)," Niragi teased, waving his hand in front of your face.  You shook your head snapping out of your daydream. "Sorry... spaced out. What else do we need to do?"

On the way back, people were more talkative and cheerful. They had done a lot, running through the empty streets to find things. You were quite excited to return back, as Chishiya had mentioned talking again when you got back.

"(Y/N), piece of advice. Don't go to the parties at the Beach... everyone's to drunk to notice anything, and no one stops anyone from doing anything. So be careful," Kuina said. You two had been talking for a while besides the pool, watching others splash each other with water. You nodded, looking around. "It also seems you've caught the attention of Chishiya. He seems to think you're quite smart. That's near impossible, good job girl," she complimented. You laughed, shaking your head. "This is the first time in months I've been... truly happy, I guess you could say," you said, looking down at blue water in the pool. "What do you mean by that?" She questioned. "Well, back in our world, I thought my best friend was dead, so... I wasn't in the best mental state," you answered. "Ew, sorry, I just made this conversation about me. Ick, I hate it," you shuddered, shaking your hands. "Please tell me something about you Kuina?"

"They seem to get along well. She keeps him in line, she could be very useful," Ann observed after hearing what happened at the supply run. "She's also quite the wildcard, if you ask me. Dangerous, but calculated. Seems like she'd be a methodical killer in a show or something," Last Boss commented. This drew some attention, as he never spoke about others that often. It was often short answers, but it seemed you'd peaked his interest.  "Well, it's no use just talking about their skills. Put them to the test!" Hatter suggested, a bit too cheerfully for everyone in the room. "Haven't they proven themselves already? She's pretty high up for a newcomer, and Niragi has been here for a while, he's a high rank as well," Ann questioned, turning to face Hatter. "They've proven themselves as individuals. But if we have a pair that is on the same level physically and mentally, who seem to find fun in the games, that trust each other..." Hatter started, trailing off. Ann caught on to what he was saying. "It's an advantage for us in the end... in using their connection, it makes them stronger players?" Ann said, suggesting her thoughts. Hatter smiled widely, "Bingo! The easier the games are to clear, the faster we can all leave!" Of course, Ann was a bit uneasy at the idea. You had both proven yourselves to be useful, even in the short time you'd been there. Niragi, while annoying to deal with at times, did have amazing abilities with guns. He was able to complete games without hesitation to hurt others to get his goal, and that's what made him such an asset to the Beach. People feared him. The more you fear a person or punishment, you are more likely to not do what lead to dealing with that person or consequence. You were already building quite the reputation. Although coming into the Beach with Niragi, you would expect people to avoid you. People backed away from you even more now, seeing as you were a militant, and a dangerous one at that. You two were equally as intelligent and dangerous, the only difference being you thought things out before rushing in. He was more impulsive. A do now, think later kind of person. You, however, you thought first, thinking of outcomes, and followed through.  It would be interesting to see how you two worked together.

Wow that took a while to write for no reason at all.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.6 (spicyhoney)

Summary: There are some strange happenings in this little town, is Stretch about to get some answers or only more questions?

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Read Chapter Six ‘It’s All Academic’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

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The store was still a good block away by the time Stretch’s legs decided they’d had enough of doing all the heavy lifting today and would he mind finding a place for them to park his ass for a while, thank you ever so much.

His youthful escorts started drifting off right around the time he got into town proper and his sneakers hit sidewalk. Probably outsiders weren’t as interesting without the possibility of imminent disaster and the kiddos started back to their abandoned bikes and hopscotch squares, leaving him to stagger on.

By then, the wobble that had infected his knees before he even got out of the cornfield was working its way up to a full-out gelatin jiggle and his mouth was filled with the taste of the sweat that ran down his skull, bittersweet salt heavy on his tongue. The sun overhead was bearing down on him, the heat scalding through his t-shirt and shorts right down to his bones.

He wasn’t gonna make it to the store, Stretch realized with dismay, and flopping down on the sidewalk would be about as comfortable as hopping into a greasy skeleton-sized frying pan. Ending the afternoon charbroiled was somehow even less appealing than going back for s second visit with Edgar Allen and Stretch gave his surroundings a slightly desperate look.

The library. He hadn’t been inside yet, but it was right there, not ten unsteady steps away. A small ‘open’ card was in the front window and it was sure to have air conditioning, plus a place to sit and tally up what remained of his scattered wits.

Stretch gathered up the last of his waning endurance and headed for the door. It opened easily, no cowbell here to mark his entrance, and the blissfully cool rush of crisp air against his sweating skull the moment he opened the door confirmed all his hopes and dreams. He managed to close the door behind him and then staggered back a step to lean against the solid wood. Hopefully, no one else was heading in to swap out their latest reads for something new because he needed about five good minutes before he was prepared to even try moving.

Now that he was out of the heat, his mind was clearing a little and he was able to give the library a good look around. It took a minute longer for his vision to adjust; compared to the bright sunshine, this room was like stepping into a shadow, dim and mysterious the way libraries should be, even ones that weren’t in weird little towns.

Huh. It was bigger than it looked on the outside, big shocker there, another little surprise of Backwater’s to add to his growing list. Only one room, sure, smelling musky despite the air conditioning, but the bookshelves were tall, towering even over his head and Stretch was on no one’s short end of the scale. The walls were lined with those shelves, and more stood independently, every one of them heavy with all kinds of books.

There were also a couple of small wooden tables and for the first time, Stretch noticed he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting at one of the tables with his back to the door and unless there was yet another skeleton Monster hanging around town that Red hadn’t bothered to introduce, it had to be his brother. Couldn’t be sure, of course, all Stretch could see was his back, but he was willing to lay down a bet on even odds.

He’d left off the jacket this time, a wise choice in Stretch’s opinion given the ever-rising thermometer outside. Instead, he was wearing a thin black t-shirt and without the bulk of the leather jacket, his shoulders were narrower, putting him at only a little broader than Stretch’s generally scrawny condition. A crimson scarf was neatly wound around his neck, adding a splash of bright color not only to him, but to the shadowy room.

His spine was poker stiff, only his neck bent as he perused whatever book was in front of him, and his voice was that same rich chocolate tinged with battery acid from their first meeting as he spoke without turning around.

"Choosing to broaden your horizons with reading instead of wasting all your time at the movies, my, what will my brother…say…" the skeleton trailed off as he turned his head enough to glance at him. His head whipped around to give Stretch the full force of his startled gaze. The chair screeched on the floor as he shoved it back, climbing abruptly to his feet, his sockets narrowing as he looked Stretch over. It was not a sudden outbreak of overwhelming lust in that crimson gaze, more’s the pity, but stark concern as he asked sharply, "Are you all right?"

"yeah?” Stretch said uncertainly, and why was the world so unfair that he sounded like a croaking frog with developing case of laryngitis in comparison to that roughly silk voice? Worse, he still didn’t actually know if he was okay, might be better not to fully commit to an answer. Considering he was still covered in dirt and cornsilk, and felt like his bones might actually melt into a mess on the floorboards, he probably looked even worse than he sounded.

Red’s brother didn’t seem to buy it, either. He leaned over to rummage through an open backpack by the table leg, pulling out a bottle of water. Those heavy boots were surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor as he stalked over and thrust the water bottle into Stretch’s hands. He drank it gratefully, the cool water soothing on his parched tongue, only to nearly choke on a drenched yelp as wincingly brisk hands started dusting him off.

The other skeleton plucked free a straggly leaf that was clinging unknowingly to Stretch’s sleeve and held it up like an accusation, stating flatly, "You went in the corn field.”

Wow, this guy managed to fit a whole lot of disapproval into one sentence. He must’ve taken lessons at the same place as Blue. Probably aced the class.

“yeah,” Stretch admitted. He left off that the kids tried to stop him from going, always better to plead ignorance while you still could. “kinda got lost."

The other skeleton made a sound that was an honest to bits harrumph. He gave up on Stretch’s clothes, to be honest they hadn’t been in top form before he went into the corn field, and instead, holy shit, started poking at his actual bones.

Already the whole incident seemed more like a bad dream than reality, and now he was falling back into another dream, only this one was of a wet variety. It was really hard (heh) to stay traumatize with a guy this gorgeous unhesitatingly feeling him up. He was probably looking for injuries like a good Samaritan and an outside source needed to firmly (heh heh) tell Stretch’s bones that, because they sure weren’t listening to Stretch on the matter.

Hands skimmed down his ribs, sharp-tipped fingers cautious as they slid lower, ghosting over his shorts and the femurs beneath them. He crouched down to reach Stretch’s dirty sneakers, gently gliding over the delicate bones of his ankles and leaving behind a heat that was nothing like the sun’s.

Stretch took another long swig of cold water, nearly as desperate as his first but for entirely different reasons, and tried not to think of the skull that was currently level with his fly. Okay, he didn’t exactly want this to stop but he really, really, needed it to. He hoped the guy chalked up the renewed croak in his voice to lingering trauma. "um, thanks, but i’m okay. this scarecrow guy helped me."

“Ah, did Edgar Allen help you back out?” the guy said approvingly. “Good.”

Stretch tried not to look disappointed as he stood back up, seeming to decide there was no permanent damage from his unexpected ‘field trip’. At this point, any lingering aftereffects weren’t from the corn, and he took a shaky breath, sternly advising everything below the waist that systems were not at go, launch not in progress, abort, abort.

A distraction was in order.

Okay, so, no one in this town was at all surprised by the sentient scarecrow. Stretch didn’t pretend that he knew everything about the surface world, okay, this was his first time out of Ebott, but he was pretty sure that if this were the worldwide norm, he’d’ve heard about this once or twice; on the news, TMZ, twitter, something.

“edgar allen, right. um…soooooo, what is he?” Stretch asked.

That got him an impressively scornful look. “He’s a scarecrow.”

Yeah, okay, that was true, but Stretch wasn’t about to pretend that the scarecrow part of Edgar Allen was the debated issue right now. “scarecrows aren’t supposed to move. not on their own, anyway, and they really aren’t supposed to be able to offer opinions on the corn.”

“No?” The other skeleton waved a negligent hand as he turned away, heading to his chair as he tossed over his shoulder, “What should he be able to offer his opinion on, Paris fashions?” He settled into his chair, bending back over his book. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him your personal theories on his condition, he doesn’t need that kind of negativity right now.”

“wha—of course i won’t, why would i…?” For a moment, Stretch felt absurdly guilty for his preconceived notions on scarecrows, then he shook it off because seriously? He went to the table and pulled out another chair, turning it around to straddle the battered seat. The other guy didn’t even look at him, right, right, he was a dick, how quickly a little unintentional petting made Stretch forget.

“is he a monster?” Stretch asked. That would sort of make sense, not that Stretch knew any Monsters who’d willingly sit in a field all day long. Then again, he guessed it depended on the hourly rate and what kind of signal you could get on your phone.

The other skeleton licked the tip of his finger before turning a page and it was seriously embarrassing how that little flick of crimson tongue threatened to make Stretch forget all his questions again. But what he said snapped Stretch back out of it. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“okay. hang on right there.” Stretch set his water bottle down and propped an elbow on the table. He rested his face in one hand, pressing a knuckle between his eye sockets where a headache was starting to form. “what does that even mean? what the fuck is up with this place?”

“There is nothing up with this place,” the other guy said, testily. Whether that was from Stretch’s questions or the fact that he was interrupting his reading was up for grabs. “This is normal here and if you’re having difficulty with it, then the problem is yours, not the town’s.”

“i don’t have a problem with it, i never said it was a problem…!” Stretch blew out a frustrated sigh, “look, i’m just trying to understand!”

The other skeleton still didn’t look up, his crimson eye lights focused on the page in front of him. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost bitter and a stern reminder of who he was because in that moment he looked very reminiscent of Red. “Understanding Backwater is a fool’s errand and I suggest you get used to not.” His eye lights flicked up briefly. “If you recall, I tried to get you to leave. You’re the one who wanted to stay.”

“i…yeah. i did. i still do,” Stretch said, defiantly, “wanting to understand doesn’t mean i want to leave, you know.” He left off the ‘asshole’; if this guy didn’t already know he was one, Stretch wasn’t gonna waste his time trying to tell him “edgar allen really helped me out, i was losing my shit out in that field.”

“That’s his job,” the guy said. See, that right there, that was an extra piece to the puzzle Stretch was struggling to make. Helping people out of the cornfield was Edgar Allen’s job as a sentient scarecrow, good to know, even if one of the townies might’ve wanted to bring it up before Stretch took a stroll through the stalks.

“his job. okay, i get that, but not in a paycheck sort of way, right?” No answer and Stretch hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered, “wonder if he gets bored out there, hanging out all day long in the corn. think he'd like a magazine or something? maybe a farmer's almanac?” Not like it could hurt to add a scarecrow to his friends list, but how could he get it to him, leave it right inside the field and give him a shout? Maybe the corn would give him a heads up, it sure seemed chatty when it wanted to be and—

He abruptly realized that the other skeleton was staring at him, but not in a scornful way this time. It was a little softer somehow, those sharp eye lights assessing.

“what?” Stretch asked, a little defensively.

A beat of silence, then, “He's usually sleeping if no one is in the field,” the skeleton said, finally, “But that's very thoughtful of you.”

“never hurts to repay a favor. how do you know so much about edgar allen, anyway? do all the locals know or are you special?” Stretch gave the room another quick glance; there were two other tables with their own chairs, the faded floral pattern on the cushions barely visible in the dimness. Tucked into one corner was an old-fashioned card catalogue and next to it was an ancient computer, the monitor showing only bright white text against a black screen and a blinking cursor. Only one table had any books on it, the one Daddy Long Legs here was using, and that was it. They really were alone in here and now that Stretch thought of it, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? Should be at least one other person here, unless— “are you the librarian?”

“No,” the skeleton scoffed, “There is no librarian. And as to what I know, I simply pay attention. Simple observation can be very informative.”

“it hasn’t helped me out much yet.” Stretch leaned forward a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “you know, i still haven’t heard your name.”

“That would be because I haven't said it." But the skeleton gave him a faint smile and it was miles different than those past sardonic ones, soft and secretive. It shouldn’t have been fascinating, watching those sharp teeth curve warmly. "But if you ask, I may give it to you."

"for keepsies and everything?" Stretch teased, ignoring his slight breathlessness, seriously, he was not this hard up, he really must’ve gotten too much sun. "okay, how can i resist. what's your name?"

Crimson eye lights met his, a brief flicker, then back to the book. "You can call me Edge."

Stretch ignored the fluttering trill of delight in his soul, it was a name, for fuck’s sake, not an invitation. "edge,” he repeated, curling his tongue around that single, stark syllable. “that's some careful phrasing there, edge."

"Yes. It is,” the guy, Edge, agreed. “Nonetheless, that is what you can call me."

“edge,” Stretch said again, just to say it, “i like that."

Just in case Stretch got any ideas that he might not be a complete dick, Edge made sure to say as dry as glass of desert sand, “Wonderful, I've been waiting with bated breath for your reassurance. And if you want to know more about Edgar Allen, I’d suggest talking to his creator. You have a few weeks left, the scarecrow will be around until harvest time.”

Stretch frowned in confusion; what the hell did that mean? “what happens after harvest time?”

“He ceases to exist,” Edge said, matter of fact, “like all the scarecrows before him.” Yeah, because everyone knew that, right, who didn’t, that was probably kindergarten shit around here.

Only Stretch obviously hadn’t been around for that class. Stretch lurched backwards, accidently knocking over the water bottle and almost tipping over his chair as he blurted out, “what? he dies??”

Edge caught the bottle before it could roll onto the floor, setting it back upright. “He’d have to be properly alive to die. As I said, if you’d like to know more, ask his creator.”

“who, the wicked witch at the end of the woods? no thanks,” Stretch shook his head, which was still reeling from the knowledge that the guy who’d save him this afternoon was going to go kaput before Halloween. It wasn’t enough time, not at all, he hadn’t even figured out how to get him a magazine, how to properly thank him. Just another incident of ‘not fair’ to add to his lifetime, “i already had my children of the corn adventure, i’m not interested in adding any red riding hood to my agenda. doesn’t really go with my work schedule.”

Edge only arched a browbone, “On the contrary, his creator is my roommate.”

Wow, this guy really did like dropping puzzle pieces into Stretch’s lap, didn’t he, if only he’d do other lap-related—stop it, he told himself, then aloud, “oh, so you do live someplace. your bro wouldn’t tell me where.”

“A remarkable astute choice on his part.”

“i mean, you're already living rent-free in my head." Shit, shit, Stretch knew he didn’t mean to say that, but apparently his mind hadn’t sent the memo down to his mouth yet that Red’s sexy brother was off-limits, caution tape engaged.

"I…what?" Edge only looked confused and yeah, okay, dipping his toe into the flirting pond was only gonna give him wet feet. Tempting as a fling might be, Red was against it and Stretch didn’t really blame him. Just because Edge was single didn’t mean he wanted a starring role in Stretch’s shitty Hallmark movie and a fling was all it could be, a quick little rebound fuck, and his boss/landlord’s little brother was not the right choice for it, nope, nope, nope.

But, oh, honey, those hips—

“never mind,” Stretch said hurriedly, “what are you reading, anyway.”

“I’m doing research.” Dismissively, a pretty big clue that Edge was done with this particular chat. Stretch’s knees were doing a lot better, it was probably time to head out back to the store and surely Red could put him in touch with Edge’s roommate if he was really curious about Edgar Allen. He should go, should, but.

Stretch didn’t want to leave yet. Stupidly, he really wanted this guy’s tally mark on Doris’s side of the friendship list. Red was over there now, Edgar Allen was hovering in neutral territory, and Mitch was still firmly on the other side of the page, and hey, if a fling was off the table, friends might still be up for grabs, right?

“yeah?” Stretch craned his neck, squinting at the page, “maybe i could help.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Stretch ignored that, “come on, i know how to research.” Stretch grabbed one of the books from the stack and flipped through, pausing to frown down at the page. “uh. what language is this?” He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a language.

Edge almost ripped the book from his hands, snarling out, “What it is, is from the restricted section and none of your business!”

Stung, Stretch looked around the library. It was literally one room, not so much as an extra door in sight, not even a restroom. “restricted section? where? do you keep them locked up on the roof?”

Edge took a long, deep breath in through his nasal cavity, then ground out through gritted teeth, “Do you mind? I’d like to get on with it. I do not need your help, I don’t need anything from you!”

“sorry, sorry,” Stretch mumbled, cringing inwardly. He just had to push it, didn’t he, every fucking time, Blue always tried to tell him that slow and easy was the way to go, but, no, couldn’t do that, now could he? Stupid, so stupid, always, and Stretch slid clumsily off the chair to his feet and headed for the door. Even then he couldn’t help adding, “see you around.”

Guess he could add this guy’s name beneath Mitch’s in the ‘hates me’ column.

He wasn’t two steps away when a soft, “Wait,” stopped him.

Stretch turned back around, hardly daring to let the hope well in his soul. Edge was sitting sideways in his chair and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“it’s fine,” Stretch said hurriedly, “i’m the outsider here, right?”

“Yes.” Edge said, a simple agreement. “But that’s no excuse. You’re very fond of questions, perhaps you’d care to answer mine. Tell me, why are you here?”

Stretch hesitated, then shrugged. Not like Red didn’t already know. “broke up with my boyfriend. it…kinda sucked, and i wanted to get out of my hometown for a while.” The memory was enough to finish cooling off any of his overheated jets and almost absently he rubbed his sternum, right over the faint, lingering ache where his soul sat.

Edge frowned, his sockets narrowing in irritation, "If you’re not going to tell the truth, then you can just say you don’t want to talk about it."

Huh?

“hold up, what?” Stretch asked, bewildered. Like he needed any other confusion today.

“That’s not why you’re here,” Edge said decisively, with enough arrogant confidence to grate over Stretch’s already raw nerves.

“uh, yeah, it is,” Stretch said, his own irritation rising, why did he want to be friends with this guy again? “i think i’d know better than anyone.” He ignored the taste rising at the back of his throat, faint bitterness that refused to be swallowed away, and yeah, okay, maybe, it wasn’t the entire reason, but like Edge’s name, you took what you could get.

“Then you don’t know yourself as well as you believe.” Edge stood up then and walked over the shelves and Stretch followed him, more to watch the sway of his hips than to see check out the local dewy decimal layout. Hey, if he was going to deal with the asshole outbursts, he should at least get to enjoy the view.

Edge barely had to search before he pulled one off the shelf and held it out. “You should check out a book. As I said, there’s no librarian, it’s all based on trust. Write the catalogue number on the record and have it back in two weeks.”

Stretch looked at the book Edge was holding out. It was a thick, hardback novel, heavy enough to use for self-defense or maybe against alien invaders with a lethal allergy to paper cuts. “nah, i think i’ll stick to the movies.”

“Read this book,” Edge said and there was a certain urgency in his voice, in the way he held the book.

Stretch sighed inwardly and took it. This guy was hot as hell, yeah, like the town, and just as peculiar. He turned the book over and read from the spine, ‘An Informal History of Backwater.’ He looked back up. “what, is the formal history too posh for me?”

“Just read it,” Edge said, impatiently.

“yeah, okay, i can do that,” Stretch sighed. It had to be better than nightly ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Then, because he was an idiot and always liked a chance to prove it, he said, “so, if you think i need to talk to your roomie about edgar allen, does that mean you’re inviting me over to your place?”

“No, it means you need to do your own research and find them,” Edge smiled then, suddenly, wide and bright, “But if you happen to find your way down the path, I may feed you when you get there, Riding Hood.”

Stretch stared helplessly at that smile. All his irritation melted away as he tried not to see the way it changed Edge’s entire face, suffusing those sharp angles with softened warmth.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner invitation any normal person might’ve hoped for, but then, Stretch was starting to learn that if he wanted normal, he should’ve stayed on the bus.

“okay, then,” Stretch said, trying for something at least slightly above inane, “i’ll, uh, start looking for grandma’s house.”

“You do that.” With that, Edge went back over to the table, sitting back down in front of his book, and Stretch knew he was dismissed.

Okay, well, not exactly a friend yet, but he was still adding this one to the tentative win column. First, read the book and then he’d start on the new puzzle of finding out where Edge and his roommate lived. He wasn't as good at puzzles as his brother, sure, but Stretch was pretty sure he could manage that.

He did hope the whole Riding Hood gig was a joke, though. Stretch wasn’t really interested in meeting the big bad wolf right about now.

tbc