#it came early!!!!! holy crap!!!!

[eternal-sacrifice]

ITS HERE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[zhelin-thames]

Now pay interest - 10% per year

Masterpost

As the Bat-family processed what had just happened, Jason was already plotting.

“So,” Jason began, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “does this mean we have a ghost King in the family now? Because I’ve got so many questions.”

“Focus, Todd,” Damian snapped, though his own curiosity was evident in his furrowed brow. “That... entity was clearly powerful. Father, why did you not inform us of this connection sooner?”

Bruce didn’t even glance up from his computer. “It was irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Dick exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “A glowing ghost guy just popped out of a portal in our cave to collect a debt, and you think it’s irrelevant?”

Tim, typing furiously, pulled up the mission logs from Bruce’s early years. “Okay, I think I found the mission in Prague where this all went down. It says here... wait. Danny wasn’t just some guy you ran into. You trained with him in the League of Assassins?”

Steph leaned over Tim’s shoulder to read. “Wait, what?! He’s an assassin ghost King?”

Jason let out a low whistle. “This just gets better and better.”

Duke raised his hand, hesitant. “Uh, just a thought… if he’s the Ghost King, doesn’t that mean he has control over, like, all ghosts? Including... uh, Lazarus Pits?”

Everyone froze. Slowly, they all turned to Bruce, whose expression darkened slightly.

“Yes,” Bruce admitted reluctantly.

“Holy crap,” Jason said, leaning back with a stunned look. “He’s the reason the Pits freaked me out after I came back, isn’t he? I thought it was just the resurrection thing, but you knew he was tied to them!”

Bruce’s silence was answer enough.

“I want to meet him,” Cass signed firmly.

“Seconded,” Duke added. “He seems cool.”

“No,” Bruce said, finally standing and cutting through the rising chatter. His tone was firm, brooking no argument. “Danny is not someone you want to get involved with.”

But before Bruce could elaborate, the room was bathed in green light again.

Danny reappeared, now sitting cross-legged in mid-air, holding what looked like a spectral clipboard. “Forgot one thing,” he announced casually.

Bruce’s glare could have burned through steel. “What now?”

Danny smirked. “I want interest. Fifteen years is a long time to wait for sixteen bucks. So let’s say... ten percent per year?”

Jason cackled as the rest of the family broke out into laughter. Even Damian couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I’m not paying you interest.”

Danny shrugged, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to stick around until you do. Hope you’ve got extra space, because I’m moving in.”

The Batcave erupted into chaos. Jason and Steph cheered, Tim frantically calculated how much Bruce technically owed, and Bruce’s patience reached its breaking point.

“Fine,” Bruce growled. “But you’re staying in the guest room.”

Danny floated down, looking entirely too smug. “Deal. Now, who’s up for pizza? I’m starving.”

[henry7931]

Playing in the Attic

Kenton:

Chris and I are cousins (the youngest in the family), our whole family is gettin together this weekend at my Uncle Al’s house for his big birthday celebration. I was so excited to see Chris that I talked my dad into letting me come stay with them a night early. Al (my dad’s older brother) is Chris’s dad and when I got there I was surprised to see that my other uncle Tim (my dad’s younger brother) came to stay early as well.

Chris and I were having a good time catchin up but then Chris brought up how his dad never lets him go into the attic.

So curious me, talked Chris into going upstairs. We waited until we knew Uncle Tim and Al were too busy to notice that we snuck upstairs.

Both of us sneaked our way up and opened the door. We quietly shut it behind us and giggled out of excitement to see what’s upstairs.

Once the door was shut, we found a light to turn on. And both of us were surprised to only find one small box.

“What the heck? What do you thinks in it?” I said to Chris.

“I don’t know, should we open it?”

I gave him a mischievous grin and said, “we made it this far!”

I walked over and carefully took the lid off. Inside was an old lookin statue.

“Booo!!! That’s not exciting at all!”

I grab it and show it Chris and immediately felt strange. Chris touches it as well.

And that’s when things got crazy!!!!

One second we’re upstairs. And the next the second I’m in his living room looking at Uncle Tim.

I look down and notice my tummy is huge! So arms and my feet!!!

I wiggle my toes just to make it’s not a dream.

I look over at Uncle Tim and he looks just as confused as me!

“Uncle Tim?”

Uhhh no…. Dad?”

“Nope!,” I say back to him.

That’s when I start to put some of the pieces together.

I get up and go to the closet mirror I could find. That’s where i see my Uncle Al staring back at me!

“Holy crap!!!,” I say out loud giggling.

I turn over to Uncle Tim, “it’s me Kenton!”

“Kenton!!! I’m Chris or I guess—“ Chris looks at his new reflection seeing Tim’s face looking back.

“IM UNCLE TIM!!!”

We both grin excited about our new discovery.

“Wait a minute what about our bodies?!?”

We both dash up to the attic and see both of our bodies lying on the ground.

“Wow! That’s freaky!”

“So where is my dad and Tim if they aren’t us?”

“I don’t know maybe they’re still in here with us but we’re in control?”

“Freaky!!”

“Here grab your body and I’ll grab mine. Just don’t touch that status.”

“Haha okay!”

We both carefully pick ourselves up and it’s so funny carrying myself. I’m so light with Uncle Al’s big arms.

We place our bodies in bed and head back downstairs.

That night was the most phone I think I’ve had in a long time!!

Chris and I went out on the town. We went shopping, I bought Uncle Al a couple of things I thought he’d look cool in. I also got Chris all of the video games he’s wanted the last of couple months since I’m now his dad.

After we got dinner and I tries sushi for the first time. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it but Chris and Al eat here all of the time. Even the waiter knew Uncle Al’s order.

I didn’t want to make it weird so when he asked me if I’m going to have ‘my usual’ I said sure!

It was actually pretty good!

That night Chris and I got into some bathing suits and went into the hot tub together. We even both had a couple of beers which I kinda liked as well.

By 3 am both of were so tired, Chris and I went upstairs to bed. We both tugged off our clothes and was surprised that Chris got completely naked in Tim’s body.

I looked at him from head to toe, covered in hair— I pull off Uncle Al’s bathing suit and his junk came flying out.

“Kenton!! I don’t wanna see all of my dad!!”

“Well you started it!”

Chris and I laid in bed together. I couldn’t help but stare at both of our naked bodies. I kinda liked the way we looked.

I looked at Al’s big feet and rubbed them against Tim’s big feet.

Chris gave me a look and I said, “what??? These big feet are cold! I was hopin I could warm them up with yours.”

“Ugh fine!”

We wrapped our new big feet together. And I felt a rush go through me. I looked at his hairy belly, I wanna run my fingers through it but I stopped myself.

“You ready to go to bed?”

“Yeah I’m sleepy!”

The next morning I wake up and looked down at myself. I’m still uncle Al, I look over and Chris in Uncle Tim’s body still sleeping.

I pull back the covers and look at Al’s junk. I get a little handsy and start playing with it.

I try to slow myself down but it feels sooo good.

I watch my uncles big hands go back and forth. I rub his big feet together and rub my other hand up and down his hairy chest.

I tug faster and faster about 15 minutes until I make a mess everywhere!

Chris wakes up and doesn’t seem to notice the mess I just made.

He grins at me with half open eyes and says good morning. He gets up and heads to the bathroom. I guess he had to go real bad.

I get up as well and I pass the other room. I can hear Chris, he’s making a lot of noise in there.

I carefully crack the door open and see he’s standing in the shower tugging away at Tim’s junk!

I back away from the door and let him finish up.

Today’s the day everyone is coming over so I knew our fun had to end.

Chris walks out and I tell him we should probably get dressed and try to figure out the statue.

After we get ready both of us head back upstairs. I look at the statue and without much of a plan I say to him, “I guess let’s just grab it?”

We grab it and the same time. I feel kinda funny again but nothing happens!

“Well… that’s not good,” he says to me.

We both go back downstairs…

That’s when we hear voices coming from Chris’s room… it’s our voices!

2 months later…

So… turns out that when we touched that statue that just put Uncle Al and Tim right into our bodies.

We were in sooo much trouble! Especially when we found out that we couldn’t switch back to our bodies for an entire year!

Soo now im uncle Al for a very long time and Chris is gonna be Tim for a while as well.

But it’s all good, neither Al or Tim are mad at us anymore. No one in our family knows about it outside of us. So Tim lives full time with me in Chris’s body.

And the best part is Chris comes over every weekend! And we still get have a lot of fun even if Uncle Tim gets annoyed with us. Who cares! We’re the ones in charge now!

[moonrisecoeur]

Ur the best sub Leon writer soooo… idk if you seen these but ppl treat las plagas parasite as sex pollen 😭 and I’m so here for it. Concept : re4 leon infected by the parasite OK but he starts out very agressive but ofc he’s a sub so he does whatever reader wants in order to yk… achieve the goal of the parasite (breeding 😔 who said that? Not me) And pls make the reader mean, I love mean femdoms sm, they are chefs kiss. If you need more clarification post it I’ll send another one idk but I’m just seeing what YOU come up with. LOVE UR WRITING btw I love how it’s pretty in character tbh cuz I read ur bully Leon one and I was like “yeah fr like he’s too caring to be a bully 💀”

OMG WAIT MY DUMBASS FORGOT TO ADD: you said smth so mean to him that he came too early. He was so sorry for coming early and the mess he made in you But then he continued to keep going trying to pump more- OK SORRY

the BEST?? idk about that but i shall take ur compliment and deliver to you only my best work so thank u bestie i appreciate it sm !! ^-^

las plagas is crazy cuz like the black veins, the loss of control with your physical body, the pain it causes… that’s literally so hot. leon was so fuckable all of re4 but especially in the scenes where his body is being controlled that man is SCRUMPTIOUS

also just so you know. the veins on his dick are black as well ♡

no pronouns mentioned, afab parts mentioned, plaga leon has to be a top im sorry (technically in straight relationships men are always topping unless u count pegging BUT in this context i mean he’s a top more like ‘he’s a sub but he’ll fuck u stupid’ like that’s the vibe)

you spot his blonde hair from across the hall, running over to him excitedly. thank god you found him.

“leon!” you call out, grabbing the attention of the man in question, as you catch up to him. finally finding him in this nightmarish place after getting separated was the best thing possible, “holy crap, i’m so- i’m so glad you’re okay— woah, what… what happened to you?”

he takes a cautious step back, still seemingly holding a little bit of control over his body, “they said it was a gift in my…. my blood… don’t know what the fuck that was about..”

you take a step forward, reaching out your hand to touch his face, fingers tracing the black lines that were once veins invisible to the naked eye. but he stops you, his hand roughly grabbing your wrist, “don’t.”

“don’t… what?” you ask nervously, shoulders slumped.

“you need to… stay away from me,” he groans from pain, and you’re too worried to listen to his words, “stop, get away from me, you— i could hurt you! i don’t want to hurt you…”

but you don’t listen to him, betraying his wishes by shaking off his grip and reaching your hand out again. he can’t try to stop you this time. he moans, actually moans, when your fingertips touch his face, caressing him softly.

“really? it’s that good?” you ask with a small smirk on your face. leon thinks he could die.

“f-fuck…” he mumbles, finally coming closer to you. his hands wrap around your waist as he leans in for a kiss that you’re not ready for, and you both stumble backwards while you try to ground yourself.

he’s getting rough, aggressive, and you need to push back a little or else he’ll consume you entirely. not that you’d mind.

“leon, ease up,” you whisper, pushing him back slightly, and when a growl escapes his throat, you know he’s clearly not in any state to listen, “leon.”

he annoyedly makes eye contact with you, trying his best to listen to what you’re about to say. he is trying, and that’s the worst part. this is him at his most gentle, most restrained.

“you need to listen to me, okay? can you do that?” you ask softly, hand against his chest to keep him from diving too deep into you, and pressing a kiss to his lips. it’s softer. he moans into your mouth needily, but you don’t let him get rough. instead you sweetly get the taste of him. sure, it’s not a delicious taste, but he’s a delicious experience.

you enjoy the way he’s trying so intensely to control and contain himself, for your sake. he knows what you want from him is not his full fledged desires out in the open, completely unchecked.

when you pull away, he looks wrecked already, “please, you can’t do this to me, not if you’re just going to walk away and leave me desperate.”

part of you wants to reassure him. i’m not going to leave you. i would never abandon you when you need me most. but the other part just wants to ravage him, take all of him for yourself, leave nothing of him left but the perfection you’ve created. perfection in your eyes. maybe he’s not the only one infected with some kind of tainted desire.

instead, to accomplish both, you kiss him again, letting your own intensity and desire take over, potentially overpowering his. he whimpers, his shaky hands holding your hips for stability. he’s not being grossly possessive and rough like before. he’s softer now, pliable.

when you pull away, you whisper, “we need to get somewhere safe.”

“wha… what?”

“i need to take my time with you, and we’re not safe out in the open like this…” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to that sweet spot right below his ear. it’s so cute how truly weak leon is right now. sure, that’s always been his weakness, but it’s elevated multiple times over by this parasite in his blood. you have half the mind to thank that weird cult.

when you find a safe room, you’re immediately back on him, pushing him against the wall, enjoying the way he whimpers as you kiss him, his need for you multiplying by the minute.

“please, please, i need you, i need you so fucking bad, please, i need to take you, need to make you mine, need to—”

“shut up,” you groan, fingers roughly grabbing his jaw, pushing his head back and away from you, “you’re going to be good, or you won’t get what you want. i don’t care how badly you fucking need me, you’re going to be patient. you’re going to be nice and obedient or you’ll get nothing from me. and that little parasite inside of you is horrified at the idea that you won’t get to fuck my pretty pussy, hm?”

he looks pathetic, moaning like a whore at just some words, but it’s the way you say them, the way you say them, that kills him. he eventually calms himself down enough to nod with his eyes shut tightly, “i’ll do whatever you say. you know that.”

“lay down on the floor,” you command, almost growling back at him, and he opens his eyes in surprise.

“what?”

“you heard me. on the ground, beneath me, right now, leon,” your eyes narrow at him, enjoying the way he weakly sinks to his knees before sitting down completely and laying back.

“like this..?” he asks, confused. he doesn’t know what’s about to happen, and that excites him immensely.

you take off your belt with all your utility tools and your jeans along with it. then finally, your underwear. he looks up at you with wide, delicious eyes.

he asks so sweetly, even though he knows the answer, “are you… are you gonna make me..?”

“yeah, you are. i’m going to sit down on your pretty, pretty face and you’re going to enjoy every second of being beneath me, where you belong, servicing me, and making me cum.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of belonging beneath you, “yeah, fuck, okay—”

“—and you’re not going to fucking talk until i cum, got it?”

he nods, and once you sit down upon your throne, he gets right to work. he laps up the fluids of your cunt like a dog, working tirelessly, sucking on your clit and tongue fucking you. this is his place. he deserves nothing more than to be here with you, caving to your every desire even if all of his thoughts include breeding you and getting you pregnant with his babies. he’d do anything you asked if he could just have that.

he’d be at your service, at your mercy, until you chose to give him what he wanted.

but he makes you cum so fucking hard that it’s impossible to not give him what he wants, especially when rough hands grab onto your thighs as you’re cumming and he’s still giving you the head of your life through your orgasm. he grabs you just to stabilize you, but also to be possessive.

he can’t help how bad he’s gotten about jealousy and possessiveness with this parasite. he’s never been the jealous boyfriend, knowing you could hold your own and you’re loyal and stuff, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. it’s deep and primal. he looks at you like he needs to have you, and no one else can.

it’s insanely hot, but it’s also inconceivable how uncontrollable those urges are. leon has good self control, and you notice it in how he’s acting. again, this is him at his most restrained. he’s trying to keep himself from pouncing on you, taking everything he wants from you because he knows you don’t want that.

somewhere deep inside of him, he’s still himself, still that awkward and dorky guy that just wants to love you and give you everything you want. you wouldn’t want that.

when you roll off of him, laying down next to him to give yourself a moment to recover, you press a kiss to his shoulder, a sign that it’s an act, your harshness isn’t real. he returns the gesture by kissing the top of your head. a sign that he acknowledges your motives.

“please,” he whimpers suddenly, startling you out of your daze as his hand caresses your back softly, “i’ll let you control everything, you can do whatever you want with me, but fucking please, i’m so desperate to put my cock inside of your pussy, baby. i can’t think straight, and i’m trying so damn hard to control myself but i won’t be able to much longer…”

“yeah? you wanna put your cock inside of me? feel it throb inside the wetness and warmth of my cunt, fill me up with—”

he cuts you off with a loud moan, his hands grasping onto you and his eyes shutting tightly at the thought of such pleasure. he looks wrecked at the mere mention of cumming inside of you. you obviously have to capitalize on this fact.

“oh? so it’s the filling me up part, isn’t it? the ‘gift’ you have makes you really want to cum inside me, hm?” you say, smirking cruelly at him, watching his resolve crumble as he moans shamelessly, “do you want… breed me, leon?”

he gasps, breathing heavily. he’s incredibly wound up, and now you know the real reason he’s insatiable and uncontrollable, “f-fuck, i— it’s not that i want to, it’s that i need to… i need to fuck you and breed you so damn bad, i—”

you cover his mouth with the palm of your hand, enjoying the way he groan in pleasure when you straddle him. god, he’s not even inside of you, but he looks fucked out. he looks he’s about to burst already.

“god, you’re so fucking desperate,” you mumble to him, leaning in closer to whisper to him despite having him muzzled with your hand. not that he’d ever hurt you, he would never even imagine it, “you’re going to fuck me stupid, okay? you’re going to fuck me until my legs go numb and i can’t feel anything but you… and only when i tell you you can, you’ll breed me, fuck your cum even deeper into me and not let any of it escape. understood?”

he breathes shakily, not responding. obviously you forgot you have your hand over his mouth. when you take it off, he nervously says, “got it. i’ll… i’ll be good. i’ll make you feel so good.”

your voice is dark, cruel, full of malicious intent, “you fucking better, or i won’t let you cum. you’ll get to fuck me, sure, but i won’t ever give you the satisfying orgasm your body is desperately aching for. you won’t get to fill me up, and all you’ll have left to fuck for your little orgasm is your hand.”

his heart aches. the idea of disappointing you makes him feel a physical pit of nervousness in his stomach, the same ones he felt when he was more like himself. he just wants to feel like himself again.

“g-got it,” he whimpers. you get off of him, and he’s got you pinned immediately, gently resting you against the ground he was previously laying on. the image of you beneath him has him breathless. he feels like he’s worshipping a god with every move he makes.

he slides his cock into you, groaning at how easy it is, how wet you are. he bottoms out almost immediately, enjoying the way your body wraps around him in almost every sense. he silently adores you. he loves that you want him, crave him just like he craves you. that underneath all of your dominance, you’re his lover too.

fuck, he’s starting to feel possessive again. he beings to thrust into you, his body moving faster than either of you can handle, but you keep your cool better than he does.

“don’t let yourself start to think you’re in control,” you murmur, leaning up to press your lips to his shoulder, baring your teeth but not hard enough to draw blood. just enough to remind him of his place, “you belong to me. not the other way around, got it?” you growl into his ear.

he can’t even respond, too enraptured by your body and the feeling of your control over him leaving him a shuddering mess.

and you can’t even deny it. he’s putting in the work, thumb playing your with your clit just like how he knows you like, and clearly he’s getting the results he’s looking for. his body comes closer to the edge sooner than he’d like, but he tries to stave it off, for your sake.

still leaning into him, you whisper in your darkest voice, “maybe i should leave you like this, so you can stay this desperate… for me. i would try and cure you, but… not sure if i really care anymore.”

he shudders, voice giving out on him as he tries to plead with you. he cums without warning, obviously his body did it without the consent and go-ahead of his conscious mind. he already looks embarrassed at cumming without your permission. you don’t really have the mind to care right now, but you remember it for.. later.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck, leon, give it to me, give in to your cravings, your desires, your needs,” you moan in his ear, desperate for him, only him, and he’s yours, he’s all yours, it’s all he’s ever been and all he’ll ever be. he keep fucking you even after cumming, keeping you filled up, pushing it deeper, “make me yours.”

and he has no choice but to comply.

[poetlus]

“SIBLING RIVALRY” — katsuki bakugo & sibling!reader

SYNOPSIS: after being away from home, katsuki comes back for winter break. he reunites with his sibling, y/n, who’s missed him. when he realizes how bad him leaving affected y/n, he makes a proposal.

WORDCOUNT: 1.4k

A/N: requested!! i wish i could find the blog to tag them, but i lost it :( im so sorry. hopefully u see this requester, cus i really enjoyed writing it!! proofread by @sepptember & @lemkay-luminary :)

“Mom, when is Katsuki coming back?” You asked as you took a nibble of the snack in your hand. You’re both on the couch, sitting arms length apart.

“It should be some time tomorrow, what with New Year’s and all. If that kid doesn’t come to see us for the holiday, I swear he’s gonna get it the next time I see him.” You giggled at your mom’s response, making her laugh too.

“I miss him, ma.” You say as you bring your knees to your chest.

“Me too. Miss that kid like crazy.” She brings you closer to her, rubbing your back.

“He’s, like, my inspiration, y’know. I wanna be a hero just like him.”

“Meh, maybe without all the yelling? He’s gonna give civilians a serious headache if he doesn’t cut that out.” You giggled again, this time in agreement with your mom. You leaned your head on your mothers shoulder, her pajama shirt acting as a pillow. You yawned, thinking about your childhood with Katsuki. It was always filled with laughter and banter. You hoped nothing would change when he came back, although it was very likely that things would. After all, you're both getting older, you’re both maturing. Change was inevitable. After almost drifting off to sleep multiple times, you finally decided it was time for bed.

When you woke up the next morning, it was a little after 7am. You didn’t expect to wake up this early, but you figured it was just your body’s way of telling you that you were excited to see your brother.

You got up and started your morning routine. You took a shower, made some breakfast, and then scrolled on your phone until about 9.

Then, you heard your front door open.

“Katsuki!” You heard your parents exclaim. You shot up from your bed and raced down the hall, nearly slipping on a carpet and crashing into the corner of a wall.

“Holy crap, it’s really you!” You shouted when your eyes fell on your brother. You ran up to him and acted like you were going in for a hug. Right before you made contact with him, you smacked his arm. Hard.

“Why haven’t you been responding to my texts?! Is it that busy at UA? Surely you have some time to respond, so why is it that I’m constantly on delivered?? You think you’re too good to text me back, now that you’re almost a pro-hero? Is that it?!” You barked.

“Quit hounding me, will ya?!” Your brother shouted back, smacking your arm back. You jumped back and rubbed the tender spot.

“Hey! That hurt, you ass!”

“Yeah?! Good! I wouldn’t have smacked you if you didn’t hit me first!”

“Well I wouldn’t have smacked you if you had just responded to my texts!”

Your sibling banter went on for another minute, your mom finally tearing the two of you apart.

“God dammit, you kids are no different than when Katsuki was living here! Can’t you just get along?!” The two of you glared at your mom, who was glaring right back— as if she was daring one of you to say something.

“We missed you, Katsuki.” Your dad said from the kitchen, breaking the semi-awkward silence.

“Missed you too, dad.” Bakugo grumbled. He then pushed past you and went to his room, you followed him.

Once you reached his room, you leaned against the doorframe as he set his bag down.

“You still haven’t answered me.”

“Listen, I’ve just been caught up in hero work, okay? I’m not meaning to ignore you. I always am thinking about you, mom, and dad. You know that— don’t be dumb.” Another awkward quietness fell over the room.

“How’s it here without me?” He asked you.

“It’s really quiet. Kinda unnerving, not gonna lie. It’s like…too quiet. How’s it at UA?”

“It’s good. The dorms are good. The guy I have a room next to is like, my friend or whatever. How’s school?”

“Ooh, a friend? What’s his name? Is he cute?”

“His names Kirishima, and no. He has the weirdest hair I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“No. Shut up.”

“Ugh, you suck. Have you met any real pros?”

“Duh, a bunch. My teachers Erasurehead— I’ve even met All Might.”

“Woah, no way! How’s that?? Is he as cool in person?!”

“Hell yeah he is.” Bakugo smirked. “You never answered my question.” He looked up at you from his spot on the bed.

“What question?”

“How’s school?” His brow furrowed, as if he felt like he was being tricked.

“Oh,” You huffed slightly. “It’s okay. Boring.”

“Yeah? You make any friends at least?”

“Um.. yeah I guess.”

“You guess? Whatdya mean you guess?”

“I dunno..” You looked like you were going to keep talking, but you stopped yourself.

“Gettin’ good grades?” Katsuki changed the subject. “Ya can’t get into UA without good grades.”

“Mhm,” Katsuki sighed.

“What’s with the dry responses, assface? You were so bubbly just now when we were talking about me.” he, clearly frustrated with your change in demeanor.

“It’s nothing, dickwad,” You returned his energy back, but then quieted down again. “I just feel like we aren’t as close anymore. Ever since you got into UA, you’ve changed so much. You’re a lot more…serious. Not like when you were living here. And now, especially when you’re in the dorms, we’re even further from you. It’s like you’re gettin’ to be a stranger.” You quickly realized how much you confessed and stiffened up.

“But— but forget about it! I don’t care that much anyways.” You turned around and began to walk out of Katsuki’s room, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks warming quicker than you expected.

As you stepped foot out of your brother’s room, you heard his voice.

“Hey, come back!” You stopped and turned around. “What makes you say that, huh? I’m not a stranger, I’m your brother. I’m always gonna be with you.”

“What makes me say that is the fact that you left me here. I don’t have anybody to talk to when I don’t want to talk to mom or dad. I’m alone, Katsuki.”

Your brother sighed and motioned you to come sit beside him on his bed. When you did, he wrapped an arm around you to bring you closer to him.

“I know I left you. You think I don’t feel bad about that?” You were quiet as tears began to blur your vision. “I think about you every day. I really do mean it when I say I’m too busy to respond, but I am thinking about you. The whole reason I left is because I’m thinking about you. Saving you, protecting you, being your hero.” A tear formed in your eye and fell onto your leg.

“Quit cryin, you big loser.” He took his arm off of you and playfully bumped your shoulder.

“I love you Katsuki.” You said as you wiped your tears and sniffled.

“I love you too, kid.” your brother’s words were soft spoken and gentle. “I’ll make you a deal.” You perked up in confusion, the tears from before quickly drying up.

“If you promise— and I mean cross your heart— that you won’t embarrass me in front of my friends, I’ll talk to Mr. Aizawa about bringing you to UA for a day. You can babysit Eri or something.”

“What?! You mean it?!” You gasped lightly.

“Only if you promise!” He shouted.

“I promise, I promise! Cross my heart!” You yelled back, gesturing to the right side of your chest.

“Alright.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day with your parents, eating a delicious home cooked meal and spending quality time together. Once it got dark, the four of you all retreated to your rooms after a long day. You were watching a movie when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N,” Katsuki’s muffled voice said.

“What?” You called from the other side of the door.

“Can I stay the night in here?” He opened it, revealing him in his black band tee and plaid pajama pants. You smiled.

“Sure, but I’m not giving up my bed. You can sleep on the floor.” He huffed, unsatisfied with your answer.

“But your bed’s so comfortable! You got the memory foam mattress!” He whined.

“Too bad, so sad. Take it or leave it, stupid.” Katsuki sighed and walked towards you, flopping onto your bed anyways.

“No! Katsuki, get off!” You shouted as you realized what was happening too late. You attempted to push him off of your bed, but to no avail. He was staying on that damned bed whether you liked it or not.

[whenyoufellfromheaven]

WHEN YOU FELL FROM HEAVEN

by Alyson Greaves

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One

THE BOY WITH THE RUBBER BAND IN HIS HAIR

He thought there would be more palm trees.

The car bounces off a pothole and wakes him from a restless sleep, and Max’s first thought, when he pushes himself up in the back seat and stares out the window, is that California doesn’t look like California. His whole life, California’s been a near-mythical paradise, drenched in sun, scattered with palm trees and populated entirely by beautiful people. But all he sees is just more America. More of the same suburbs they’ve seen, on and off, for the five days of their journey. It looks almost exactly like Rock Falls, the nowhere town in the middle of the country they spent a whole day walking around because Dad needed a break from driving. The same strip malls, the same absurdly wide streets, the same endless sky.

It’s just brighter here. More painful to look at.

After everything that happened, Max never expected to miss New York, but for the whole drive across the country he’s been feeling increasingly like an animal bred in captivity let suddenly out into the wild. Where’s the density? Where are the people?

All in their fucking cars, apparently. Same as him.

Screw this. He needs music.

His headphones must have slipped off while he was sleeping, because Clay’s holding them out for him. Max takes them, smiles at his brother in silent thanks, and thumbs blindly at his Discman until the first track starts again. The throaty rumble of someone seriously abusing a bass guitar immediately shuts out the rattle of the trailer and the hum of tires on asphalt, and Max turns back to the window to watch building after bleached building glide slowly by as they head for their new home, for his new life.

He doesn’t exactly have high hopes.

* * *

Taking the stairs two at a time—but sometimes jumping back up one just because she can—Taylor revels in her first Saturday alone in the house. Her parents are away all week! And that means she can do whatever she wants! Sure, she normally does whatever she wants anyway, but now she can do it without her mom complaining about the noise.

She sticks the landing in the front hall, bounces right into the living room, and collects the remote from its little holster on the side of Dad’s armchair without slowing down. The CD changer opens for her, prompting the whole stereo setup to light up like a space shuttle control board, and Taylor gets to work dumping out all of Mom and Dad’s boring old crap so she can listen to something good down here for a change. She’s got a handful of favorites on her, but she’s also got something that came out almost a month ago that she still hasn’t gotten to listen to on anything better than the crappy little portable stereo in her room. And as the speakers shake with the opening bars of Beyoncé’s Crazy in Love, Taylor readies the remote like a microphone and prepares to strut.

Holy shizz, she loves this song. She turns it up until the floor hums along.

Gordo should have been the one to get her this CD. She was excited about it for, like, ever, and he knows she loves Destiny’s Child, but did he remember? Nope with a big fat N, O, P and E. So she got it for herself a week late.

Freaking Gordo! He was supposed to come over today, help her take advantage of the parentals being away, but he’s flaked, which is more and more like him lately. Five texts on her Sidekick when she woke up, and not one of them was an apology! He’s preparing for college; he has football camp coming up; she wouldn’t understand.

Taylor scowls. It’s a sore point: no cheer camp this year. But Mom and Dad had the vacation booked anyway, and Garrett barely inhabits any part of the house that isn’t his room, the couch or the kitchen, so at least she has some time to relax.

Time in which she should stop thinking about her disappointing boyfriend.

Leaning into the beat, Taylor lets it lift her mood again, and when the final chorus comes around, she times her, “Yeah!” with a precise kick to the latch on the patio doors, opening the house to the summer breeze. As she dances out into the backyard, she points the remote back into the house and ups the volume another couple of notches.

Taylor lets the album play as she does some of her warm-up stretches. She’s not planning to go through her whole routine right now, but she can’t start the day without moving just a bit, and today she gets to do so to some loud music.

There’s a reason she always practices to music. Nothing gets her going like a beat and lyrics she can yell. And under any other circumstances, she might be a bit embarrassed, because her singing voice isn’t exactly great and it’s worse when she’s stretching a leg up over her head, but their neighbors on the right can’t get out into their backyard anymore without help from their grandchildren, and the house on the left’s been empty since—

Wait. It got sold, right? Isn’t someone moving in soon? Really soon? Like, today, maybe?

Shoot!

Given Taylor’s luck, they probably already moved in yesterday, and right now, cute boys are watching her out of their upstairs windows and laughing at how she almost fell flat on her face when she tried to do a handstand and sing Naughty Girl at the same time.

She shuts off the music, throws the remote down into the grass, and runs to the fence. There won’t be anybody there, she’s sure, but paranoia requires that she check.

Every house on this street is the same—on the outside, at least—and that means Taylor’s house has the same row of stubby trees against the privacy fence as their (potential) new neighbors. They’re staggered, so no tree interferes with any other, but together they provide enough cover that Taylor can stand on a lawn chair and peer over the fence and be pretty sure she can’t be seen.

Nobody in the rooms upstairs. And nobody in the backyard. Except now she’s switched off the music, she can hear noises from the front of the neighboring house, faint but growing louder: the growl of a large engine (a truck? or a regular car, towing a trailer?) and raised, bickering voices (boys?).

Then there’s movement inside the house. Curtains being swept aside, doors being propped open. People milling around. Taylor’s pretty sure she just saw someone dad-sized and -shaped staggering along with a huge box.

The back door opens, and Taylor lowers her head a little. Her blonde hair doesn’t exactly help with the whole camouflage thing, but what are the chances anybody’ll glance over at this exact section of fence? The backyards here are the size of football fields!

A figure emerges. Gotta be the mom. Looks like a mom, standard model, Italian-American variant: kinda tall, kinda middle-aged stocky, and her hair is incredible! She’s got it pinned but the volume! It’s straining to be set free, like a caged tiger, if a tiger was jet black and sort of lurked.

More like a caged panther, maybe.

The mom yells something back into the house—a New York accent! cool!—and the dad of the family comes out to meet her, and whoa. He’s not super tall, maybe an inch or two taller than his wife, but he is wide. Like if you took two people, trimmed off all the excess limbs, and smooshed them together. He’s like if puberty didn’t stop until you’re forty, and you just kept getting stockier and more hairy.

They talk a little, pointing out different things in the yard—none of them Taylor—and then they kiss, except they don’t just kiss, he dips her!

“Oh my goodness,” Taylor whispers. She can’t help herself; that was just so romantic! Married with kids and they still do that!

She remembers them now: they came looking around the neighborhood right at the start of the holidays. Mom offered them iced tea and they asked for regular coffee, and Taylor saw them for approximately three seconds, on her way through the kitchen to the front door. On second inspection, she likes them.

What was their name again? Something Italian, something with a G… Giordano, that was it! She remembers clearly now: when Taylor got back that night, Mom was going on about finally getting some ‘Italian flavor’ in the neighborhood, and Dad asked her what that meant, and she said something about tomatoes. Garrett, who was having one of his rare moments of consciousness, told them their heads would explode if they ever saw any actual diversity, and Taylor told him he smelled like weed again.

Another fun night in the Scott household.

Mom Giordano kisses Dad Giordano again and they both set off for the house. When they get to the door, Mom Giordano sticks her head inside and yells, “Boys! Stop messing around and unpack! We’ve been in California five minutes and you’re already driving me crazy!” She shrugs at her husband, and they both vanish into what Taylor assumes is the kitchen.

Then there’s nothing for a bit. Shame, because this is the most exciting thing to happen in Vista Primavera in years. She’s about to step down from her lawn chair and get back to her routine when someone new comes out the same door, and he’s… yum. Like his dad, he’s not exactly tall, maybe five-ten, five-eleven, but he’s built. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and jeans, and Taylor can see enough of him to know that there’s a good shape under all that. And he’s not shaped like a bodybuilder, either; nor is he shaped like her boyfriend, like a football player. He’s shaped like a guy who works for a living. He’s got the family black hair, cut short and kinda curly, and thick eyebrows and a mess of stubble, and if it weren’t for her stupid boyfriend and also for the fact that he’s probably at least twenty-one, she’d hop the fence right now and ask very politely if she could eat him up with a spoon and maybe some non-fat ice cream on the side.

Guys like that look good on her.

“Hey!” he yells back into the house. “Max! Come check this out! You can see a mountain from the backyard!”

Taylor doesn’t laugh, though she kinda wants to. That’s not a mountain! Not like the real ones; you have to go north for those. Here in Vista Primavera they have, well, they have hills, hills with delusions of grandeur, and they look kinda blasted and scrappy most of the time, except for two months in the spring. She makes a mental note to really admire them when they get green again. To genuinely try to appreciate them, because people in other parts of the country don’t have crappy hills to look at.

And then the last member of the Giordano clan steps out of the kitchen door. Max. And he’s nothing like his dad or his brother. He’s closer to Taylor’s height, maybe five-eight, definitely a good couple inches shorter than his jacked brother. His features are similar, though, just softer, like if his brother is maybe twenty-five percent through the family forty-year puberty, Max is at five percent. Maybe ten; he does have a little dark hair on his upper lip. He wears his black hair long and a little greasy, tied in a messy ponytail with what looks like a rubber band! Ick! She shudders to think what it’s like to get that mess straight in the morning. Maybe there are brushes still lost in there!

Maybe he doesn’t brush it, like, at all.

Max is clearly the younger brother, but he’s not young, he’s just kind of… hard to place. He’s wearing board shorts and a shirt with a band she’s never heard of on it, both of which are too big for him, and— Hmm. He is sort of toned, actually. He’s not covered in muscles, not like his brother or like Gordo, but they’re there, lurking in his slender limbs. He’s built like a swimmer. A swimmer on a starvation diet, maybe, whose hair hasn’t known the cleansing kiss of water in far too long, but a swimmer nonetheless.

And then Max high fives his brother, sways his arms, steps into a ready stance, and performs the most perfect sequences of handsprings, somersaults and flips Taylor’s ever seen. The form! The confidence! The sheer height he achieves! He finishes with a double full, and he’s barely panting at all!

Not built like a swimmer, then. Built like a gymnast.

Interesting…

“Show off!” his brother shouts.

“I’m just stiff!” Max yells back at him. “From the drive! I needed to stretch my legs!”

“Whatever.” His brother grins at him. “Just come help me unpack the kitchen stuff before Mom goes ballistic, okay?”

“Fine.”

His brother goes inside, but Max apparently can’t resist one more tumble, even more elaborate than before, and although Taylor’s inner cheerleader wants to scold him for not stretching properly and for just going for it on a lawn he’s never even seen before, which could have hidden rocks or loose stones or unexpected divots, she can’t help applauding.

Because he’s amazing. She’s only seen moves like that at the Olympics! And at, well, at the annual cheerleading competition. The one she’s been wanting the squad to at least try to qualify for. The one she always has to settle for watching on TV.

Oh.

Oh no!

He’s seen her.

Well, obviously he has: she’s still clapping like an idiot. Like a performing seal. He’s frowning in her direction, but before she can wave and say hi and maybe apologize, he takes off, running back to the house with impressive speed.

He glances at her one more time, and then he slams the kitchen door.

Shoot.

* * *

Max drops onto his brand-new bed, too tired and too annoyed to unpack his own shit. He helped with the kitchen stuff, he helped with the living room stuff, he even helped Clay put together those stupid ‘couch in a box’ things and almost got his fingers trapped, and none of it was strenuous enough to forget the fact that he’s been in California just a few hours and already he’s humiliated himself in front of a pretty girl.

A pretty girl who is his neighbor. And it’s not something she’s likely to forget. In a year, when they graduate, she’ll still be telling the story of the loner boy who moved in next door and immediately started prancing around the backyard like a—

Careful, Max. You hate it when they say it; why use it on yourself?

Ugh. It was supposed to be different here. Stupid thing to let himself think. It was always going to be exactly the same.

And why California, anyway? Everything’s too damn big here.

His bed included. He’s stretching to his fullest extent—he’s still sore from the car—and he can’t reach all four corners of the bed at once. Not like in his old bed. No, back home in Queens, when he and Avery lay in bed, talking, it would sometimes be a challenge not to knock each other off. But the money Mom and Dad got for the old place bought a fucking mansion here; he and Avery could probably host three other people on this monster-sized mattress before it got awkward.

At least the yard is super-sized, too. A genuine California bonus. One that he instantly wrecked, of course; he can’t go out there now. The neighbor girl might see him.

His phone buzzes again. He’s been ignoring it the last hour or so, but he can’t keep pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. After all, there’s so much of it here.

Max flicks open the pocket of his board shorts and digs around in the fluff until he finds his phone. Last year’s model, but when Clay upgrades again next year, he’ll have this year’s model, and until then, he’s fine with his Nokia 3410. It’s not like phones are any different year on year, anyway; they get a bit smaller and a bit rounder, and sometimes you don’t get Snake.

Avery’s been texting him. So far, he hasn’t wanted to respond. Too final. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how little they’re going to be in each other’s lives from now on.

Avery: Maxxy! Have fun in sunny California! Don’t forget about me! Avery: You’ve forgotten about me, haven’t you Avery: Crying real tears right now Avery: Max, you’re supposed to reply when someone texts you. That’s how it works. It’s called Textiquette. I read it in a magazine at the dentist. Avery: WHAT STATE ARE YOU EVEN IN RIGHT NOW? DID YOU MAKE IT TO SO-CAL? OR ARE YOU STUCK IN FLYOVER HELL? Avery: Sorry for caps Avery: I’m so bored Avery: Maxxxxxxxxxy

Unfair that he had to leave her behind. Unfair that he had to leave at all, but he couldn’t very well tell Dad he wanted to stay in Queens, not after everything. When your whole family sacrifices everything they’ve ever known and moves across the country just for you—even if they don’t say it—it’s bad form to bitch too hard about it.

Avery, though. An impossible goodbye. She cried a lot; he tried really hard to join in. But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe she’s better off with him out of her life, attached to him by only the thinnest and lengthiest of threads. She’s going places, after all; to the Olympics, almost definitely. He was never as good as her, even before he quit.

So she can get over him. Make other friends. Start her senior year without the baggage he brings unavoidably with him wherever he goes.

Avery: Max Max Max Max Max Max Max

He should probably reply before she texts again.

Max: Hey Avery: Max! Get on AIM nowwwwwwww Max: How do you even have the energy to hit the 9 key that many times Avery: Because I do my warm ups Max Avery: Unlike some of us Avery: Now get on AIM I’m booooooored Max: I can’t, sorry. I don’t think we have internet yet Avery: Not even dial up? Max: I saw the phone line when I was helping Dad unpack downstairs. Is it supposed to have a bunch of bare wires coming out of it? Avery: Boooo Avery: I don’t have infinite texts Max Max: You could have fooled me Avery: So I’m going to wish you a happy California and a very get on AIM as soon as you have ANY kind of internet Max: I will. Miss you Avery: You BETTER

Max drops his phone onto the nightstand and allows the low battery indicator to motivate him into doing something useful. He rolls out of bed—he has to roll twice to actually accomplish this—and starts rummaging through boxes, looking for his charger. Once he has it, he looks around for an outlet and plugs it in.

There. Now he has a bed and a phone charger! The place looks more like home already. And now that he’s out of bed again, he might as well have a shower and wash off the gunk from traveling all night. He digs around until he finds the box marked Max’s Bathroom and just takes the whole damn thing in with him.

Another California bonus: he doesn’t have to share a bathroom with three other people anymore.

* * *

Garrett’s finally crawled out of his room and slugged his way down the stairs to take up residence on the couch. Ick. Just three hours ago, this would have been bad because he would have made Taylor turn down her music or beg her to go to the store for more Doritos or something, and that would have been annoying enough. But now she’s on a mission, and the thing about being on a mission is that your goal is greatly hampered by anyone knowing what it is or having reason to guess.

So she’s trying to make smoothies as subtly as she can, and maybe he won’t get up from his cartoons and ask—

“Hey, Tay, whatya doing?”

Taylor stamps a foot in irritation. “None of your beeswax, Gar‑rat.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, rolling off from his precarious position against the dividing wall and returning to the living room. Moments later, he turns up the volume on the TV.

Well! That went okay. Obviously he’s still too wasted to have more than two consecutive coherent thoughts, and that suits Taylor just fine. He can waste away the day in front of his cartoons if he wants to. She checks interact civilly with my gross brother off her mental list and throws the rest of the ingredients into the blender.

They really should have grown out of the sibling thing, the way the other girls she knows with older brothers mostly have. But it’s absence that makes the heart grow fonder, and he’s always around! Worse, he’ll always be around! Mom and Dad won’t kick him out, not after he paid them rent on his room for the next five years, which means she’s stuck with him.

When the blender gets done, she pours the contents into two metal cups and screws on the lids, throwing them both into a plastic bag. In the mirror by the side door, she gives herself a final check, and she looks perfect: pink cargo pants, pink crop top, and a white shirt thrown over the top, for modesty. She looks sporty but fashionable; exactly the impression she wants to give to the new boy next door. She even left her hair up!

As she steps into her white sneakers she throws a final glare through the kitchen wall at Garrett. He won’t see it, but he might feel it, and it might spoil his cartoons by like one percent.

She has to admit, they’d probably also get along better if he wasn’t such a tech prodigy. And without even trying! It’s bullcrap. Computers are supposed to be Taylor’s backup, in the very likely event that cheerleading isn’t enough to take her to college, but she’ll always have to live in the shadow of her older brother, who started a dot-com when he was fifteen and sold it for literal millions when he was barely older than Taylor is now. So even if she does go to college for computer science, she’ll always be the cheerleader little sister to the guy who created Munchie Portal, the Portal for Munchies.

It has a new name now that Yahoo! owns it, but everyone still calls it that.

Ick. Forget Garrett. She’s here for one reason, and she squares it in her mind as she skips the short distance between the houses and knocks on the Giordanos’ door. A few seconds later, Mom Giordano opens it and smiles down at her.

“Well, hello!” she says. “Who do we have here? Wait, don’t tell me; you’re the neighbor girl, aren’t you!”

Taylor puts on her most dazzling smile. “Guilty!”

“Well, do come in. And what do you have there?”

Hefting her bag, Taylor says, “Actually, these are for Max. Or one of them is, anyway.”

Mom Giordano’s welcoming smile contorts somewhat. “You know Max?”

“I don’t know him,” Taylor says quickly, sensing she might already have stepped on some hidden motherly landmine, “but I think I sort of embarrassed him earlier? I saw him practicing out in the yard and I thought he was really good, so I clapped, and then I didn’t have a chance to tell him it was a sincere clap and not, like, a sarcastic clap, so—” she lifts one of the cups out of the bag, “—I brought an apology present.”

“Aren’t you a sweet girl?” And then Mom Giordano does the classic mom move, which New York Italian moms apparently do just as well as WASPy Californian moms: it’s when they lean back, away from the teen in front of them, and yell at the top of their voice up the stairs. Taylor’s never known why any of them do this, because the extra foot or so of distance doesn’t moderate the extreme volume even slightly. “Maxwell! You got a visitor!” When there’s no answer, she looks back at Taylor. “Why don’t you go on up? Third door on the right.”

“Thanks, Mrs Giordano!” Taylor says in her peppiest voice. She starts up the stairs.

As she ascends, she hears Mom Giordano say to her husband, “Well, look at that! She even remembers our names. And that outfit! This one might not be so bad…”

Taylor slows as she reaches the top of the stairs, and counts doors, quickly identifying Max’s as the half-open one on the end. There’s another mirror up here—just a little one hanging on the wall, filling one of the many preinstalled picture hooks, most of which are still empty—and she checks herself again: not a hair out of place, and her outfit still looks good. She could have worn her cheer uniform, since it tends to make a good impression on guys and parents alike, but she knows the reputation cheerleaders have at some schools; he might have cheer-TSD.

She knocks on his door, and though there’s no answer, the door swings all the way open at her touch, so she takes a half-step inside.

And immediately she sees a door on the other side of the room open up.

Before Taylor can react, Maxwell Giordano, loosely robed, with long wet hair draped over half his face down to his shoulders, and with a slice of his toned but almost skeletally thin body on display through the open top half of the robe… steps out of his bathroom and meets her eyes.

“Fuck!” he yells, and immediately turns around and slams the bathroom door behind him.

Shoot!

* * *

“I’ll be outside!” the Peeping Tom neighbor girl yells, and it has to be her, because, yeah, he didn’t get a good look at her before, but the girl hanging over the fence was blonde like her and—more pertinently—she clapped at him like a perky idiot, and only a perky idiot would walk into the bedroom of someone she doesn’t know, uninvited, so, yeah, it’s her. “I’ll let you get dressed! I’ll just… I’m sorry! I’ll be outside.”

He probably can’t wait her out, then. Not unless he gets lucky and the sun explodes before she gets bored, or Mom comes up to yell at him for being rude.

The first thing Max does when he leaves the bathroom again is check to make sure that Peeping Tom neighbor girl did, in fact, close his bedroom door; she did. Thank fuck. He leaves her out there while he sorts through boxes, trying to put together something presentable, eventually ending up with three options.

They all suck.

Whatever! None of his shit actually fits him, but that’s not exactly a new problem, and if the neighbor girl doesn’t like it, she should learn not to show up unexpectedly in people’s rooms. Shit, what even is the protocol in this situation? Should he make her a coffee or something? What do Californians drink? Orange juice? No, that’s Floridians. Iced tea? Pulped palm trees? That would explain why there aren’t as many around as he expected.

If only Avery were here. She might not know what to do either, but at least she’d be funny about it, and at least having another girl around might stop things getting awkward.

Fuck it. He’s eighteen. He can do what he wants. Including embarrass himself in front of local girls. What can she do, make his life worse?

He picks the least awful set of clothes, throws it on, and stuffs the others back into the nearest box. A quick glance in the closet mirror is enough to confirm that he looks adequate, so he ties up his hair in a rubber band and opens the door. On the other side, the neighbor girl smiles sheepishly at him.

“Sorry,” she says. “Twice. Sorry for that, and sorry for earlier, in the yard. Can I come in?” She holds up a plastic bag. “I have a peace offering.”

She might be intrusive and forward, but she’s also gorgeous. California blonde and dressed for a run, just like any number of other girls he saw out of the car window this morning, and there’s enough individuality to her face to make her attractive, not merely pretty. Like, very attractive. To him. Personally. And her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and her eyes are apologetic so he can’t be all that mad at her. She reminds him of Avery, a bit; she couldn’t look more different, but the expression on her face is uncannily like when Avery came rushing over at six in the morning to tell him she finally kissed Rebecca and that it was just as magical as she always hoped.

And it’s a cute expression. On both of them.

“Sure,” he says. “Come in.”

“Wow,” she says, craning her neck, making a show of looking around. “Nice room! Lots of boxes! And… a guitar! You play?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t do anything with it. I just kinda pick it up and put it down again.”

“Still. Pretty cool.” Then she shakes her head and pulls out of her plastic bag a metal cup with a straw poking through its lid. “Behold: my custom smoothies. No fat, plenty of protein, and a hundred percent delicious!”

“No fat, huh,” he says, a smile riding unbidden on his lips.

“I promise. Athlete to athlete.”

She’s still holding it out, so he takes it from her and tries a sip and, yeah, okay, it’s actually good. In fact, it’s excellent. It’s better than the smoothies Coach used to hand out back home, a long, long time ago.

Best not to think about that.

“Wow,” he says.

“Can I cook, or can I cook?”

“Yes. You can cook.”

He steps backward and drops onto his bed, still holding the smoothie. She takes it as an invitation and sits cross-legged on the floor, sucking on her own cup and looking around again.

“I think your house is the same as mine inside,” she says thoughtfully. “Like, I was pretty sure it would be? Since all the places on this street are kinda the same. But I’ve never been inside another one before. This? This is actually my room. Just—” she crosses her arms at the wrist, “—flipped.”

“Oh,” Max says, grinning. “Sorry for imposing.”

“Forgiven.”

“So, you’re an athlete?”

She perks up. “I am!”

“Um, this would be the point where you tell me what kind of athlete.”

“Cheerleader,” she says with a slight wince, like she’s expecting him to laugh. And that would be a dick move, so he doesn’t, but he is a little offended that she would compare what he does to what she does.

Still a dick move, Max, even in your own head. At least she’s probably still active. Probably doesn’t neglect her stretches, either.

“That’s cool!” he says, injecting the proper enthusiasm.

“It is cool,” she says, very seriously.

“Okay, neighbor girl, what’s your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the Peeping Tom girl’ forever.”

She giggles. “Sorry about that. I really did think you were good, though. That’s why I clapped. And I’m Taylor. Taylor Scott.”

She’s holding out a hand, so he takes it and they shake. He doesn’t linger on it, pulling his hand away immediately. It’s always a little embarrassing to shake hands with people: with men, they want to do that insane test-of-strength thing—Max tends to think of it as a Business Armwrestle—and he’s terrible at it; with women, he finds they both just sort of limply clutch each other for a moment.

At least with girls, his hands don’t get lost inside theirs. His brother’s hands are huge, multiple glove sizes above Max’s, though to Clay’s credit, he hasn’t teased him about it. He’s just promised Max that his growth spurt is coming, and that if he starts, like, actually eating again, he’ll soon be as big as the rest of the Giordano men. And Max is ambivalent about that, because as much as it would be nice to no longer be so scrawny, if he becomes suddenly Clay-sized, his gymnastic career—his primary passion since he was a kid—is definitely over, not just probably over as it is now. He’d have to relearn everything: how to move, how to jump, where his center of gravity is, all of it. And after the way things ended before, he’s not sure he can take instruction again.

He might finally have an impressive handshake, though.

“Hey, Max?” Taylor says. “You okay? You zoned out a bit.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck, where he’s the most sore. “I’m tired. I slept in the car but not well, you know?”

She nods, then looks around again and giggles. “Max,” she says, scandalized, “the door’s closed!”

So it is. Must have springs on the hinges or something. “Yeah?”

“Your parents aren’t going to yell at you?”

“Oh,” he says, laughing a little, “no, probably not. I had a friend back in New York— That’s where I’m from, by the way.”

“I guessed.”

“My accent?”

“Your mom’s actually. And you do look kinda… New York-ish.”

“I do? Huh. Anyway, me and my friend were in and out of each other’s rooms all the time. I liked hers better, actually; mine was always too hot in the summer. Our parents got used to it. They didn’t have much of a choice.”

Her eyes wide, Taylor says, “But a guy and a girl in a bedroom together? My mom and dad would not be happy about that.”

“Avery’s gay,” Max says, shrugging. “And even before she came out, I think her parents knew. And mine guessed. So they knew we weren’t going to do anything.”

“You’ve got a lesbian best friend?” Taylor says, almost shrieking. “That is so cool.”

“I’ll make sure and tell her you said that.”

“And you really never did anything together?”

“Well…” He can feel himself start to blush.

God damn Avery. Around guys—even around his brother these days—he keeps himself locked tight for his own good, but Avery never put up with that when he tried it with her. He kept closing himself off and she kept jamming that crowbar back in. Thanks to her, he’s used to letting his guard down around girls his age. And now Taylor, who’s been in his life for all of ten minutes, is able to open him up like a clam.

“Go on…” she says, leaning in with a smile and touching his hand, a maneuver that demolishes any chance he might have had at defending against her.

“We practiced kissing,” he says into his shirt. “Quite a few times. First she wanted to know what it was like and then she wanted to get good for this girl she liked, so I’d, um…” Helplessly he mimes something, his fingers vaguely grasping at each other.

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“She was your first?” Taylor guesses.

His cheeks are burning now. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It wasn’t obvious until you lit up like a Christmas tree!” she says, delighted. “You blush worse than I do. You really didn’t have a girl back in New York? A non-lesbian girl, I mean.”

He shrugs again. “Guys on the gymnastics team come in two types,” he starts, and then he hesitates, and Taylor takes over.

“Right,” she says. “Big built guys like your brother, and slim quick ones like you. And it’s the big ones who get the girls. And the slim ones...”

She doesn’t have to finish the thought. They both know what everybody at school thinks of the little guys on the gymnastics team. But she doesn’t seem to be judging. It’s just like before, when she saw him messing around in the backyard: she could have mocked him, and she didn’t. And it’s all right there for her to pick up and use against him! In his experience, nobody leaves an opening like that alone around him.

Nobody except Avery.

Huh. Maybe Taylor can be a friend. Like Avery.

“Hey,” he says, remembering how they got onto this topic, “do your parents know you came over to see a boy?”

“Oh, they’re on a trip,” she says, waving a hand. “And I’m eighteen in, like, a month, so what can they do?”

“What can they do?”

She sags. “They’d yell. A lot. But what they don’t know can't hurt me, right?”

He returns her grin. “Right.”

* * *

Taylor practically skips out of Max’s house. Wow, she’s almost high! For some reason, when Max spoke, it felt like every word he said was the most important thing in the world. And he’s so cool! He’s from New York, he plays guitar, and on this morning’s evidence, he’s also the best gymnast she’s ever met. He just might be the answer to all her prayers.

And he has the prettiest brown eyes…

It took some doing, but she managed to persuade him to come over tomorrow morning to spot her while she runs through her routines. He was nice enough not to say it, or even show it, but he almost definitely thinks cheerleading isn’t as challenging as what he’s used to; she’s going to show him how wrong he is. And she confirmed that he’s her age—eighteen, actually, so older, but only by like a month; his mom must have held him back at preschool or something—and he’s going to Vista Primavera High for senior year, same as her. So all she has to do, once she’s shown him how awesome cheerleading can be, is ask him to join the squad.

Ick, and then talk the other girls into accepting another guy on the squad. That might be the tricky part; it’s not that guys on the squad are a problem, but all the guys they have are, well, big. And they have to be, since they anchor and they catch a lot. Max, who is barely an inch taller than her—she checked when they said goodbye—doesn’t fit in there.

Whatever! She’ll work it out. She’ll make the squad see what he can do, and they’ll have to accept him. And then they might finally have a shot at regionals!

And that means she gets to spend a lot more time with Max Giordano.

She swings the plastic bag with the metal cups in her hand as she opens the front door, and she’s about to go straight to the kitchen to wash them when Garrett yells out from the couch, “Hey! Tay! Gordo’s here!”

And, rising from the other couch, where he’s been watching cartoons with her loser older brother, is her boyfriend.

Oh yeah. She has a boyfriend. Shoot.

Two

I CAN FIX HIM

Max can’t remember the last time he spent so long in the shower. Usually he just kinda jumps in, soaps up everywhere he can reach and jumps out again, but today he’s making an effort. He even snuck into the main bathroom, the one that has pride of place at the center of the upstairs hallway—the one nobody’s ever going to use, because every bedroom bar the guest room in this insanely massive house has a bathroom of its own—and stole the fancy shampoo, conditioner and body wash. He’s got no idea why Mom put that stuff out; it’s not like they’re expecting guests on their second day in Vista Primavera. But he’s got the matching blue bottles lined up on the side and he’s working his way through them, one by one. In a surge of diligence, he’s even been reading the instructions on the bottles for the first time in his life.

Apparently you’re supposed to leave the conditioner in! For several minutes! Does everyone know that? Is that why his hair’s always gotten so tangled? Because nobody ever told him?

He lathers up and cleans almost every other part of his body twice—skipping over the burn scars on his ribs, same as always—and then washes out the conditioner, running his hands through his locks as he does so. His hair parts cleanly between his fingers and doesn’t even clump up when he squeezes the water out of it. It feels kind of amazing, actually.

But yeah. He’s trying. This morning, he’s really trying. Sue him.

There’s no point to it, really. Taylor’s a cheerleader, and cheerleaders never go for guys like him, and she’s probably got a quarterback boyfriend or something. But Avery was always trying to get him to take more care of himself, like he used to, so what the hell, right? New city, new state; new Max. Mostly the same as the old Max, but cleaner and with detangled hair.

Besides, Taylor’s nice. And a nice cheerleader is so far out of Max’s experience that there’s no way he can’t take advantage of the opportunity she represents. To see how the other half lives: the popular half, the half that wears bright colors and has pep.

He should take notes. For posterity. There might be a book in it.

Opening the door between his bathroom and bedroom, he checks to make sure the drapes are still shut—of course they are; he hasn’t opened them since he got here—and follows the misty air out into his room, toweling his hair and dripping on the carpet. When he’s more or less dry, he throws his towel onto the bed and starts looking through his closet. Last night, in another uncharacteristic burst of diligence, he actually put all his clothes away. Hung up his shirts and pants and balled up his socks and shit. While he looks, he slaps at his CD player, and fills the room with music from whatever the last CD he had loaded was.

Knowledge by Operation Ivy. Cool.

Catching himself in the mirror as he walks around, his eyes flicker, as they always do, to the triad of scars on his right-side ribs. His fingers brush momentarily over them, from the base of his pectoral to the top of his belly, feeling the bumps and the distressed skin, reading his burns like a relief map.

They’re dry. And kinda rough to the touch.

Shit, he’s been neglecting himself in every possible way, hasn’t he? Habitually forgetting the dermatologist’s instructions is just another symptom.

Well. New state, better habits.

He remembers dumping the aloe moisturizer his mom’s been buying him in the same box as all his other bathroom crap, back when they packed everything up, so that means it must be… ah! Bathroom cabinet.

Still not used to having his own bathroom.

He spreads the moisturizer over the scars, and then over the rest of his torso and along his arms, because it smells nice, all the while looking through his clothes. In the end, he picks basically at random; he’s making an effort, sure, but he has no idea what Taylor likes. More to the point, he has no idea what kind of guy she likes, except what he assumes: massive, hung like a horse, and with a football instead of a brain that bounces around inside his head like a DVD screensaver. And he can’t ever be that, not unless the long-delayed growth spurt Clay’s been promising decides to show up, so why not just pick whatever? All that matters is whether he can move in it, since she invited him over this morning explicitly to work out with her or to help her practice her cheer routines or something. She wasn’t entirely clear about it.

Maybe she was and he just wasn’t paying attention. Too distracted by those bright blue eyes.

Anyway.

An old band shirt.

A pair of board shorts.

Mismatched socks.

And a belt. In which he already poked an extra hole. Because, yeah, shit, he lost weight, and a lot of it. Turns out, if you don’t really eat for over a year and you continue—halfheartedly—to exercise, you lose mass, and a lot of it. All his jeans look like cargo pants now, and his cargo pants are basically unwearable.

Today’s shirt—one of the many he inherited from Clay when he cleared out his closet—is baggy as hell, but it covers his scars and it hides how thin he’s gotten, and the belt holds up his board shorts, and that’s enough. He can exercise in this. He can stand on his hands in this. Hell, he can do cartwheels and somersaults and basically anything you ask of him in this, and he can do the fucking splits, too.

A quick look in the mirror. Yeah, there’s Max. Same as the old Max, the one from New York. But moisturized, and with nicer hair.

It’s fine.

Let’s go see the cheerleader.

* * *

Taylor never wears makeup to work out. Some of the other cheerleaders do, but some of the other cheerleaders are silly bee-yotches who’ve spent the last several years meticulously blocking every pore, and now they have no choice but to slap on the foundation half a tube at a time, lest anyone get a look at their real skin! Taylor, meanwhile, wears it light and only when appropriate, and she cleanses every morning, every evening and after practice, and that’s why she still has the skin of an angel while Meredith looks like the dark side of the moon.

So she doesn’t know why she’s doing her face this morning, except that maybe she still feels gross from last night and wants to look her best. Pretty face, empty mind, like Robyn, her old cheer captain, used to say.

Last night…

Last night!

Ick.

Taylor reaches over and yanks up the volume on her little CD player until J.Lo’s Love Don’t Cost a Thing starts to crackle and distort.

Stupid Gordo! He tried to get her to touch it again, and she’s beyond fed up with telling him she’s waiting until she’s eighteen. And that’s, like, only a month away! She doesn’t know why he’s being so impatient; she’s clearly relayed her parents’ rules around sex, which are that Garrett can do whatever he wants, because he’s an adult—legally, if not mentally—and Taylor cannot, because she is still a child. Also, and this comes specifically from her mom, because nobody wants to have to fight through the anti-choice weirdos outside the family planning clinic. And because good girls are not sluts.

And, no, Gordo, she doesn’t care that the other girls have all done it, because a) if Meredith’s done it, Taylor’ll eat her own pompoms and b) if the other cheerleaders jumped off a cliff, she’d only follow them if they’d managed to form a pyramid at the bottom, and would catch her.

But still he insisted! Ick! It’s like he wants her to get disowned by her parents and have to live under a bridge selling cheers for money, or something.

He insisted and he made her feel gross and she told him to leave and now she’s putting on lipstick, because if he can’t see her, then she’s going to look extra pretty.

It makes sense. Sort of. If you tilt your head and squint. Anyway, he’s off to football camp this week, so she doesn’t have to deal with him again for a while. Maybe he’ll find someone there to touch his thingie, some girl football player who shares his interests. Maybe she can make him come, and he can yell ‘Hut! Hut! Hut!’ at the moment of climax.

The song ends and she stabs irritably at the pause button before the next one starts. This morning’s gone wrong already, and it’s all because she’s sitting here, staring at herself, applying and reapplying lipstick until by rights her lips ought to stick out several miles from her face, and thinking about her stupid boyfriend and the stupid things he wants her to do and—

Reset.

Taylor closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. Opens her eyes again.

It’s a new day. Gordo’s a part of yesterday, and she doesn’t have to see him for a week. A new friend is coming over and she’s going to get to show him what she can do and find out what makes him tick.

She blots most of the lipstick onto a tissue, ties her hair in a practical ponytail, and skips out of her room. Same room as Max, she remembers, though not precisely. Their houses are identical but mirrored; their bedrooms even face each other! What sucks, though, is that even if they become friends, they won’t be able to do the teen movie thing of talking to each other through their windows; they’re kinda far apart. If Max ever opens his drapes, though, they ought to be able to wave to each other. And maybe yell.

She checks: his drapes are still closed. No wonder he’s so pale.

No, wait; he’s from New York. Don’t they have like five days of sun per year? Obviously he’s just not used to it. Well, that’s job one, then, isn’t it? Get Max used to the Southern California sun! The whole Southern California lifestyle!

He’s going to love it here, she’s certain.

* * *

Christ, even the mornings here are too hot. Good thing he covered himself in deodorant before he left the house, even if it did mean getting gently ribbed by his brother about the effort he’s obviously putting in for this Taylor girl.

He’s not putting in any effort, not really. Not for her specifically. He’s just stopped neglecting himself.

Yeah. That’s it exactly.

He rings the bell, and when the door opens, he’s presented with a face he doesn’t expect. Taylor didn’t talk about her brother much yesterday, except to say he’s a stoner and the most annoying man in the world, but here’s a clean-cut guy with a toothy grin and slicked-back blond hair. If not for his shorts and logo shirt, he could be an office worker, though from what he’s seen, casualwear is de rigueur enough around here that maybe people do go to work in shorts.

But then he comes close enough for Max to see his bloodshot eyes, and it all makes sense.

“Hey,” Garrett says. “You’re the, uh, the, uh, the dude from next door, aren’t you?”

“I’m Max. Garrett, yeah?”

Getting Garrett’s name right seems to delight him. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s me!” He leans down to whisper in Max’s ear, flooding Max’s senses with the smell of stale weed and cool ranch chips. “You’re not fucking my sister, are you? Because if you are… Be careful, dude. Big boyfriend. Big.”

“No plans, dude,” Max says. Yeah. She’s got a boyfriend. Obviously.

“That’s a ‘maybe’, then. Cool. Cool. Cool.” Garrett folds his arms, satisfied that he’s relayed his oh-so-important message. “So come on in! Mi casa es su casa. Mi… sister es su sister.”

Alright. Kinda gross.

Taylor appears from behind Garrett, whacking him with the flat of her hand. “Oh my gosh, Garrett, you slime!” she yells, whacking him again. “Don’t say things like that! And move. Move! Ick!”

She keeps slapping him on the shoulder until Garrett finally catches on, and with a roll of his eyes at Max, he steps aside and walks slowly over to a split square of couches in the living room. He falls into one and stops moving.

“Hi, Max,” Taylor says, huffing a displaced strand of hair out of her face. “I see you’ve met my brother.”

She grabs Max by the wrist and leads him inside, but Max is distracted: Garrett still isn’t moving.

“Is he… okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Taylor says without looking, dragging Max into the kitchen.

“He looks dead.”

“Yeah, he does! Unfortunately, it never lasts. Check it out: I made you a smoothie!”

Max’s view of Taylor’s allegedly alive brother is cut off as he enters the kitchen, so he turns his attention to her and finds her posing in front of the open fridge like a game show assistant. Two more of the same metal cups from yesterday are waiting in the door, and now that she has his attention, she pulls one out and hands it to him. He takes it from her, but she doesn’t pull away; instead, she squints at him, leans closer, steadies herself on his shoulder, and bats at his ponytail.

“Max?” she says slowly. “Why is your hair in a rubber band? Correction—” she raises an impertinent first finger right in front of him, “—why is your hair in a rubber band again?”

“Because I don’t want it in my face? And what do you mean, again?”

She snatches the smoothie back from him, re-fridges it, and beckons him. “C’mon,” she says, walking back around the dividing wall. “We’re fixing it.”

* * *

He comments on the way up the stairs that, oh yeah, their houses are the same, just flipped, and Taylor’s about to agree with him—and talk about the extra rooms that were built over the garages that he won’t have at home—before she realizes that, shoot, she just invited Max up to her room! She invited him up to her room and he’s a guy! A guy who isn’t Gordo!

Isn’t that, like, adultery or something?

Eh. Maybe in Utah.

She pauses, her hand on the doorknob, and thinks quickly, thinks like she’s about to be thrown and she’s just realized it’s Meredith who’s going to catch her:

It’s different, right? It’s not like Max is a guy like Gordo, right? He doesn’t seem the type to put his hand on the back of a not-quite-eighteen-year-old’s head and push her down toward his pants.

Because he’s nice. Okay, so they didn’t talk for all that long yesterday, but he is nice, right? A little sad, a little snarky, and a bit of a fixer-upper, but he’s nice. And does she even know any nice guys? Any guys who haven’t openly lusted after her since she joined the squad? Correction: does she know any nice guys who aren’t already (sort of but not really) dating her best friend?

Well, now she knows Max.

And they do share an interest, don’t they?

So there’s no harm, she decides, and lets him into her room.

“Wow,” he says, following her inside, “pink.”

“It’s not that pink,” she says, wondering why she instantly feels defensive about it. She points to the accent wall, the one her computer desk is pushed up against, which she had Dad paint pastel blue because she read that blue is conducive to memory retention. Plus, she’s wanted a skylight ever since she saw one in a movie. Something about looking up at those California-blue skies every morning being super romantic. Unfortunately, because of the attic and all, she had to make do with a not-very-big window and a very blue wall. “See?”

“I stand corrected,” Max says, holding up his hands in surrender. Gosh, he has a sweet smile. Teeth are a little faded looking, though. Don’t they have whitener in New York?

She can fix that. She can fix everything! And that starts with the way his smile fades too quickly, like he can’t have a positive emotion without something in his brain showing up and reminding him, hey, dude, you’re supposed to be miserable. Must be why he likes all those punk bands he was telling her about.

Anyway. She can fix him. Make him happy. Whiten his teeth. Get him to stop tangling up his hair with rubber bands. Get him a girlfriend.

At that last thought, it’s like she borrows Max’s sadness demon. Ick! Shoo! She chases it away and bobs up to him, confirming once again how close in height they are, and then puts a hand on each shoulder and turns him round. He doesn’t resist. Gently, she hooks a finger inside the first ring of the looped rubber band and starts to tease out the hair.

“I can’t believe you use this,” she says as she works and, gosh, his hair is so silky! Yesterday, when he first got here, it was really greasy, like, greasy enough that she could tell from halfway down the backyard—understandable, though, after driving the entire width of the continental United States!—and after his shower it was still only, like, passably clean. Did he wash it especially for her?

She’s not sure she’s allowed the level of excitement that thought generates in her. Kills the sadness demon right off, though.

“What’s wrong with a rubber band?” he says, speaking slowly like he’s in a trance, and it takes Taylor a second to guess why. When she does, she’s glad she’s behind him, or he’d see the huge, adulterous smile that temporarily takes over her whole face. She’s got her hands in his hair. And she is, no need to be modest, super pretty. What guy wouldn’t enjoy it?

Gordo. Gordo wouldn’t enjoy it. He just wants her to touch it.

Ick.

She returns to the task at hand, carefully extracting layer after layer of soft, sweet-smelling jet-black hair from its rubber band prison. To distract herself, because she’s enjoying this a bit too much, she concentrates on answering his question.

“Rubber bands are grippy, Max,” she says. “Your hair will get caught up in it and it’ll get stripped apart. It’ll completely destroy your hair.”

“Oh,” he says. It seems to be all he can manage, so before Taylor lets out the final loop, she gives herself a moment to smile again.

Why is she so loopy around him? He’s just another long-haired punk guy; she could throw a rock from the front room and hit a dozen of them as they drift lazily by on their stickered-up skateboards.

Whatever. A puzzle for later. She turns him round again and takes a step back to admire her handiwork. Smoothing out his locks, billowing them out around his face, she almost forgets to breathe. There really is something about him, something those other rando guys don’t have. Something she thinks Gordo would probably kill to avoid. And it’s more exciting to Taylor than a hundred sweaty football guys. It’s more exciting to her than the memory of Max’s own older brother, whose thick arms and tree-trunk waist had previously seemed so enticing.

In a way, it’s a shame that Clay is Max’s brother. If Clay’s anything to go by, Max is going to gain a good few inches, he’s going to thicken up, he’s going to be a man. And it’s going to happen soon.

So? So that makes this Max special, dummy! A firefly isn’t beautiful because it lasts forever.

“Taylor,” he says, “what’s up?”

Shoot! He noticed! And his hand’s halfway to hers, like he wants to comfort her but doesn’t want to cross a boundary. Which, again, her decision to let him up into her room: vindicated! She shakes her head, grins at him—wow, it’s easy to find a smile when he’s so close to her—and turns him ninety degrees, toward the mirror.

“Why do you tie your hair up, Max?” she asks. “It’s way too gorgeous to not show it off.”

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror, not for more than a second. Instead he starts gathering up his hair, pulling it tight, away from his face. “It’s not supposed to be gorgeous,” he says. Huh; cryptic! “Do you have a hair tie for me?”

She turns around and quickly finds one on her nightstand. “Here,” she says, pressing it into his hand.

“Taylor,” he says, holding it up, “this is a scrunchie.”

“Yes,” she confirms.

“It’s a scrunchie.”

“And?”

“It’s— Taylor. It’s a scrunchie. A pink scrunchie. Those are for girls?”

“Don’t be a baby,” she says, taking it back. Before he can stop her, she steps behind him, gathers his hair up, and ties a ponytail for him. She twitches her nose in concentration as she adjusts it, making sure it’s dead center, and then taps him on the top of his head. “You can look now.”

“Wow,” he says, turning his head. “That is definitely a pink scrunchie in my hair. And isn’t it a little high?” He reaches up to adjust it, and she bats his hand away.

“Leave it!” she commands, leaning into her cheer captain voice. And, yeah, it is a little higher than he usually ties his hair, but high is better, right? For cheering?

Oh right! They’re supposed to be exercising!

* * *

The Scotts’ backyard is, unsurprisingly, exactly the same dimensions as the one behind Max’s house, except theirs has a pool close to the house and way more intentionality to the foliage. Dad’s already been complaining about the weekends he’s going to lose getting theirs into shape, and Clay wasn’t fast enough getting out of the room when he was looking for volunteers to help out.

It’s nice, though. It’s like a preview of what their place will look like when it’s done. Taylor’s entire house is, actually. Even her room, fully furnished as it is and not merely looming around a single desk and a corner with a guitar in it, is a preview of what his might be like once he’s lived here more than ten minutes. Minus the pink walls, obviously. And all the televisions. The very boxy, very beige televisions.

Huh.

“I just realized,” he says, as he stretches his arms over his head, “you have three computers in your room. Which seems excessive.”

“You just realized?” she replies. She’s got her feet on the grass and her head between them, and either she’s showing off and she’s going to feel that tomorrow, or she’s limber as hell. “We’ve been in the yard for like two minutes and you just realized.” She straightens up and, despite her critical tone, she’s grinning at him, so he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I thought they were TVs. I was trying to think if I’d seen a TV that exact shade of beige before.” He copies her move, just to show her he can, and she laughs at him.

Christ. She’s so cute.

“And?” she prompts.

“Yeah,” he says, “no. Which led me to the obvious conclusion: three computers.”

“Well,” she says, “for your information, I have four computers.” When he straightens, to stare incredulously at her, she starts listing them. “I’ve got my main PC and some older ones for testing. I also have a laptop; I wanted to mess with OSX so Dad got me an iBook for Christmas. Don’t give me that look! It’s not fancy. It’s just the base model.”

Max snorts. “That’s not what the look was for, Taylor.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Max,” she says, sounding suddenly surprisingly pompous. “If you don’t know how to use a computer, you’re going to be left behind.”

“I know how to use a computer; I don’t know how to use four computers.”

“It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Oh my God,” Max exclaims in fake wonder. “Four computers. You’re a nerd!”

“I’m captain of the cheerleading squad. I can’t be a nerd. All I have are esoteric interests.”

“You’re a nerd,” he giggles.

The levity he feels around her! Avery’s the only other person who ever made him feel like this: understood and appreciated. But there’s more here, something he never felt before. Maybe it’s because Taylor’s straight, and therefore, despite her boyfriend, despite Garrett’s assessment of her boyfriend—big—some incredibly stupid part of his brain thinks he has a chance?

Doesn’t matter. He feels good! He’ll take the win.

“I like your shirt,” she says, when they’re done warming up. “Is that your band?”

He laughs, pulling at it to show it off fully. “Not my band,” he says. “This is Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. They’re, uh, well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Taylor bounces over, takes the hem of the shirt out of his hands and stretches it out all the way, so she can look at it more closely.

“Try me,” she says.

He can smell her perfume or her shampoo or her body lotion or something, and it’s intoxicating, and distracting as hell. Which might be why he babbles a bit.

“Okay, so they’re a punk rock supergroup, formed in San Francisco circa 1995 and still going today. They only do covers, and that’s because they all have their own projects outside the group, like, Chris Shiflett is also in No Use for a Name. Have you heard of him? You haven’t heard of him. Anyway, their first album was all songs from the sixties, seventies and eighties, stuff like Uptown Girl and Rocket Man, and their second album is all show tunes. They did Don’t Cry for Me Argentina from Evita and Science Fiction Double Feature from Rocky Horror, and… What?”

She’s looking at him with the most peculiar smirk on her face, and when he shuts up she broadens it into a delighted smile and says, “And you called me a nerd!”

Wow. Her smile is incredible.

“Uh…” he says, his retort dying on his lips, which he’s suddenly biting, for some reason. God, he’s losing control here.

“I think you were going to say something like, punk rockers can’t be nerds,” she says. “They just have esoteric interests. And then I was going to say something like, you just proved yourself wrong, you’re the biggest nerd that ever nerded, and then you were going to blush even harder than you are right now, and insist we start doing what we came here to do.”

In a daze, he says, “Which is…?”

She lets go of his shirt and prances backward, ultimately transforming her momentum into a perfect backflip and segueing into a full sequence.

“This!” she says, as she lands and spreads her arms out.

Holy shit.

She’s an actual athlete.

And she’s really good.

* * *

On their way back in, Taylor collects the smoothies she prepared for them both, and in her room she digs out her TV—her actual TV; she doesn’t know how Max could have mistaken her computer monitors for televisions since they’re so completely different-looking—from under a discarded pair of jeans and puts on the Disney Channel. Chores done, she flops onto the bed and starts sucking earnestly on her straw. Max, meanwhile…

Max looks adorably about the room for something he can sit on that isn’t her bed. Vindicated, vindicated, vindicated! She’s known him for a day and she’s never felt so safe with a guy. She points with her toe at one of her computer chairs and, moving slowly, he drags it over near to the bed and drops into it, cupping his smoothie with both hands and sipping from it, his eyes on the Boy Meets World rerun. As his exhaustion starts to fade, he makes himself more comfortable, dragging one leg up under his butt and propping the other high enough that he can rest his chin on his knee. Which, like, wow, flexible.

He’s still breathing heavily. But then, so is she.

What a workout! He challenged her like nobody on the squad ever has, like Coach Dale never has, like not even Robyn did, and she challenged him right back! She never knew she could move like that!

She never knew a guy could move like that. The guys on the squad, they’re talented and they work hard, but they’re all kinda bulky, whereas Max moves like…

Okay. So she can never say it to him, ever, because she knows what boys are like, but Max moves like a girl. He’s got grace and speed and just enough power to accomplish everything he needs to and not a drop more. And maybe that’s just what pro gymnasts are like, but Taylor watches every Olympics and she doesn’t think so. He’s just not built like those guys.

Except he will be one day.

Maybe, anyway. Thinking about it, she got a good look at Mom Giordano yesterday, and a decent glimpse at Dad Giordano and the older brother, Clay, and Max takes much more after his mom while Clay looks like a younger and less wide version of his dad. So maybe that means he won’t grow into something like Clay. Maybe that means he’ll stay just as he is. After all, he’s eighteen, and aren’t you basically done at eighteen? Like, sure, other stuff happens, like you lose your puppy fat, and if you’re a guy you start getting hair everywhere—ick—but at eighteen, you’re finished growing, right?

“How tall are you, Max?” she says without thinking.

“Five-eight,” he says automatically.

Well, that’s a lie. “Are you sure?” she asks, reaching out with her foot and rotating his chair to face her.

“I’m five-eight… if I go up on my toes a little,” he admits.

“I knew it!” she exclaims. “You can’t lie to me, Max. You’re an inch taller than me at most, and I’m five foot six and three-quarters.”

“Three-quarters?” he confirms weakly.

She nods at the door frame. “Check the marks.”

Humoring her, he stands, slightly stiffly, and carefully puts his cup on the floor. He walks over to her bedroom door and runs his finger over the notches in the frame. There’s a notch for every one of her first seventeen years, but she doesn’t expect to be making a new one on her next birthday in September, since she’s basically done, too. It’s kinda sad, really; always is, when a yearly ritual ends.

Following an impulse, she jumps up and joins him. She turns him around by the shoulders, the way she did in the backyard, until he’s facing her with his back to the door. She pushes him until he bumps against it, and then she prods at his feet with hers until he’s standing straight.

Without taking her eyes off him, she reaches for the craft knife on her chest of drawers, flicks out the blade, and places her hand on top of his head, to create a straight line to the door frame.

“You stick out your tongue when you’re concentrating, you know that?” he says. She shushes him and carves his notch into the frame.

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this. She barely knows him. They might not end up friends at all. They might not speak to each other after school starts. They might turn out to hate each other! But this feels important. And if there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s that when something feels right, she should trust it.

“Step away,” she says, and he does so.

The craft knife goes back on the mess of junk, and she opens a drawer—her underwear drawer, which she’s curiously unembarrassed to open around Max—and pulls out her tailor’s tape measure. She unravels it, presses the end against the wall with her toe, and smooths it up the door frame until it reaches Max’s notch.

“There’s a Sharpie on my desk,” she says, keeping everything in place. “Can you get it for me?”

“Sure.”

Moments later, a Sharpie—uncapped; how thoughtful—drops into her waiting hand, and she writes Max, August 3, 2003 — 5 foot 7½ inches on the wall, just above Taylor, September 13, 2002 — 5 foot 6¾ inches.

“There,” she says. “Immortalized.”

She twists around to smile at him, expecting one of his shy smiles in return, but instead he’s retreated back to her desk, he’s got his fists clenched at his side, and he’s standing very still.

“Max?” she asks.

“Shit,” he says, turning away. A hand goes up to his face, as if he’s covering his eyes or something, and that’s just so confusing that she takes three whole steps toward him before she realizes he’s not one of her girlfriends and she can’t just manhandle him because she doesn’t know how he’ll react. And, oh yeah, he’s a guy, and he’s in her room, and he’s been careful not to even touch her so far, and as nice as he’s been, she doesn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

“Did I do something wrong?” she says. She’s making her voice small on purpose, which is a little manipulative, but it is appropriate to how she feels. Max is special, and she doesn’t want to lose him as a friend before she figures out why.

It gets him to turn around, at least. And his eyes aren’t red and his cheeks aren’t wet, so it can’t be that bad. “No,” he says, forcing a smile. “Sorry. It’s just… It’s a me thing.”

“It’s just a stupid mark,” Taylor says. “I can fill it in if you want. I know where Dad keeps the filler.”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I like it. If you don’t mind it there… I like it.”

Okay. Okay. He has an issue about this. But as much as she wants to probe it, as much as she wants to know everything, she refrains. If there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s when to give a girl her space. Still applies here, even though Max isn’t a girl.

“Let’s keep it, then,” she says, matching his smile. It has the effect she hoped for, which is that his smile becomes warmer and more genuine, and she has to fight very hard not to just bounce forward and hug him. “Hey, Max,” she adds, “you wanna go out? We could go to the mall or something.” She pulls playfully at the hem of his shirt again. “We could even buy you some clothes that aren’t black and don’t have bands on them. And that are maybe your size?”

He laughs, and it seems almost real. “No thanks,” he says. “I’m tired out. Maybe I’ll just go home.”

“Oh, no you don’t, mister,” she says, mom-voicing him hard enough that he steps back. “I have nothing to do today, so you’re going to keep me company. Deal?”

He surrenders instantly. “Deal.”

“So. You smoke weed?”

Darn; she should have waited until he had a drink or something, because the look on his face is absolutely priceless, and she definitely could have gotten him to spray water if she timed it right.

“Uh,” he says, floundering. “Uh. Yeah? I guess so?”

She bounces on her toes. Flustering him is fun. “You wanna smoke weed and get takeout?”

“Sure?”

It’ll be good for him. He needs to talk, get whatever this is off his chest, and Taylor, she needs to listen. And maybe look at him a bit. Maybe look at him a lot. And if there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s when to stay sober and when to get high.

“Wait one second,” she says, holding up a finger. Then she skips over to her door, yanks it open, leans out, and yells down the stairs, “GARRETT! I’M TAKING SOME OF YOUR WEED! IF YOU TELL MOM I’LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AND DROP THEM IN YOUR FISH TANK!”

She turns back to Max, grinning and waggling her eyebrows at him, her hand cupped around her ear for the rejoinder.

“I WON’T TELL MOM IF YOU BRING ME ANOTHER BAG OF DORITOS!” Garrett yells back, probably from the same dumb couch they left him on. “See?” Taylor says to Max. “Told you he wasn’t dead.”

Three

LEGIT AIR

“Look at that,” Taylor’s pointing at the screen. “Look at the air they’re getting! It’s good, right? It’s legit.”

Max nods. It’s not been enough to admit to Taylor that, yes, she’s an incredible athlete and, yes, cheerleading’s legit, and, wow, no shit, captain of the squad, that’s really impressive; she wants to show him, and beyond summoning the rest of the squad and running through their routines right in front of him, the best way to do that turns out to be to drag him over to her computer desk and call up video after video of competitive cheerleading.

The trouble is, he’s having trouble concentrating. It’s not that the weed’s hit him all that hard, because it hasn’t, but between it, the takeout, the exercises this morning and the lingering fatigue from spending almost a week, on and off, in Dad’s cramped car, a portion of his brain keeps insisting it would rather just fall face-first into bed, and resents having to squint at a sequence of blocky videos recorded off of ESPN2.

He’s aware enough, though, to be seriously impressed by what he’s seeing. The shit the girls—and guys; a lot of the squads are mixed—are pulling off is downright incredible.

“It’s legit,” he says, passing the joint.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Taylor says, taking it from him and taking a lengthy drag. “Last one, I promise. See these guys?” She cues up another video. “Their routine is amazing. Just wait until you see the throws at the end!”

On the screen, a squad in green uniforms performs a tightly choreographed routine, and the more he watches them, the more he can’t believe they’re a high-school-age cheerleader squad.

“Tay,” he says, “this shit is ridiculous!”

She beams at him. He’s noticed she likes it when he calls her Tay. Almost makes him want an even shorter version of his name, so they can trade. But only his grandparents call him Maxwell—and his mom when she’s pissed.

“This is from two or three years ago,” she says, grinding the end of the joint into dust in the ashtray. “It was a huge controversy: another squad turned out to’ve been stealing their routines for, like, years, and winning trophies with them. Winning this trophy!” The video shows them being announced as the winners of the tournament, and Taylor stabs emphatically at the screen. “They just never had the money to compete for themselves. But they got the money together, they went all in, and they won. It’s like something out of a movie!”

“That’s… actually cool.”

“Right? It’s inspirational!”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon,” she says, abruptly switching off the monitor. Then she puts both feet on the seat of Max’s chair and pushes him away with enough force that the casters trip on the rug, tipping him right off onto the bed. Judging by the glee on her face, she planned it exactly that way, and it came off perfectly. “Max!” she exclaims, forming her mouth into a perfect O of shock. “I thought you were a gymnast! But there you go, falling off of chairs…”

“I would have been fine—” he starts to protest, but he has to cut himself off when Taylor launches herself at the bed. She lands next to him, bounces a couple of times, and comes to rest leaning on her elbow, grinning at him. “I would have been fine,” he tries again, “if I wasn’t so tired.”

“Jet-lagged?” she says. “No, wait; car-lagged?”

“I hate cars,” he says, counting on his fingers, “I hate motels, I hate small towns in the middle of the country, I hate my dad’s music, I hate how Clay takes up all the space in the back seat…”

“How come you didn’t fly? There are people who can move boxes across the country for you.”

“Money. Cheaper to do it ourselves than pay movers, or so Dad said. Hey, um, Taylor…” He shuffles away from her a little. “Should I be on your bed with you like this? Is this really okay?”

“Why?” she asks, pretending to be afraid. “Are you going to molest me, Max Giordano?”

“What? No!” He recoils even farther just at the thought of it, but she reaches out and rolls him over, bringing him closer again.

“So, chill,” she says. She leans over him—Max tries to compress himself into the mattress so she doesn’t actually touch him—and retrieves the remote for her CD player. She switches it on and dumps the remote on the floor. Something by Alanis Morissette comes on, but he’s only heard that one album of hers, the one that got really big; he doesn’t know this one. Next to him, facing up and with her hands clasped on her belly, Taylor sighs contentedly. “You want to smoke another?” she asks after a short while.

“Sure.”

She nods, sits up just enough to retrieve the baggie of pre-rolled joints she stole from Garrett’s room, and lights one up. She passes it to Max, who takes a deep drag, and when he looks again, she’s gotten another ashtray out from somewhere and placed it between them.

“How many of those do you have?”

“Enough,” she says, and accepts the joint from him. “Mom never cleans in here because I do it myself, and she can’t smell it in here because Garrett’s room always stinks of it, so…” She shrugs.

“Weird to be smoking weed with a cheerleader,” Max says, feeling sufficiently loosened up—by the weed, by his exhaustion, by Taylor’s apparent belief that he’s not the kind of guy who might try to hurt her—to just say shit. “I always thought you guys lived on mineral water and pep and calling all the other girls sluts.”

“Max,” Taylor says, passing back, “I’m going to say something very rude now, and you’ve got to promise me it won’t leave this room. I have a reputation to upkeep.”

Max crosses his heart. “Promise.”

“Your New York cheerleaders sound like stuck-up bee-yotches.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, they kinda were.”

“What about your friend? Avery?”

He laughs. “Yeah, she thinks New York cheerleaders are stuck-up bee-yotches, too.”

“I mean,” she says, giggling, “what kind of girl is she?”

“Gymnast. Lesbian. Oh, and she’s a huge nerd, too.”

“Like you, then,” Taylor says.

“Like you,” Max counters.

A little while later, when the second joint is done and they’re lying on their backs together, looking up at the star stickers on her ceiling, and when Max is feeling more relaxed than he has at any point in at least the last year, Taylor goes and ruins it all—or complicates it all, anyway—by asking the question he’d been hoping she wouldn’t.

“Hey, Max? Where did you get those scars?”

“You saw those, huh?”

Of course she did. You can’t throw yourself around the way he did this morning without your shirt flying all over the place, especially when it’s too big for you by several sizes. He ought to take a leaf out of her book and wear a tight crop top or something. The thought of it, of his belly sticking out of one of Taylor’s pink gym tops, is almost funny enough to make him laugh.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “Really, you don’t.”

He shrugs. He ought to lie, or claim it’s a secret, or otherwise keep it from her, because it isn’t exactly the kind of story you tell to make yourself seem cool in front of a pretty girl, but if she’s going to be his friend, she should know. And if she laughs or thinks less of him, then it’s better to know now, right? Better to be rejected by someone you just met than by someone you’ve known for a long time.

“It was last year,” he says, settling his head into the pillow. He might be telling the story, but he doesn’t want to look at her while he does. He wants to get her reaction all at once, when he’s done. In case it’s bad. Rip off the Band-Aid, etc. “End of the spring semester. I’d never been that popular, but I was never unpopular, either, you know? I was just another kid. And I’d been dabbling in gymnastics a long time already, but high school was where I started really getting into it. Coach thought I had real promise. I wasn’t as good as Avery—she started before me—but I was good. And Coach said I could be great. And I’d never been great at anything before, so I let her talk me into taking private classes. Mom was against it but Dad, in a fit of unexpected parental involvement, persuaded her. And then that was it. School, home, life, it was all about gymnastics. Me and Avery and gymnastics. It was everything to us. Anyway, Coach was right: I was great.”

“I’ve seen it,” Taylor says quietly. “You are.”

“And you’ve seen me after a year of doing nothing more than backyard stuff,” he says. “And we didn’t even have a big yard back home. Since then, since what happened, I’ve lost weight, I’ve lost muscle. I don’t have the stamina I used to. Compared to back then, I’m— Ugh. Sorry. Hard to lose something like that, you know?”

“What happened to you, Max?”

“It was inevitable, really. At school, I wasn’t just some kid anymore. I was a gym fag. I had my special fag gym clothes and I walked like a gym fag and— Well, you know what people are like. Shit written on my locker, guys bumping into me on the stairs and trying to get me to trip and fall. You’ve seen it, I bet.”

“Yeah,” she says. “There are a-holes like that in every school.”

“So, it’s the end of the spring semester last year,” he says briskly, moving the story along as quickly as he can, “and three guys corner me. I thought they were just going to beat the shit out of me, which would have been an escalation, but still, something I could deal with.” His voice is shaking. Huh. “No. Christ, I wish they had. What actually happened was that two of them grabbed me and held me down on the ground and the third, he had this beat-up old Volvo, and he got the cigarette lighter—”

“Oh no,” Taylor breathes.

“Yeah. Pushed it into me three times. And he wasn’t quick, either. He held it there each time. If you’re wondering: incredibly painful.”

“What did you do?”

He can’t help it. He sits up, earlier than he planned, unable to wait for her judgment, but she’s just lying there, watching him, no cruelty or satisfaction evident on her face. She feels for him. It’s obvious. And if it weren’t, the hand that reaches for his would make it pretty clear.

Still, he’s not done with the story yet.

“I didn’t do anything. At first it was because I was in pain, like, monumental amounts of pain, and then I just didn’t want to get up. They didn’t stick around. Just kicked me a bit, taunted me, and ran off. They left me there and ran off. And lying there, Tay, I think I already knew they’d broken me. I think I knew that was it, you know?” He shakes his head. Too much. “Anyway, I didn’t tell the cops or the principal or anything because I still had to go to school for another two years with those assholes and they could have made it even worse for me. So I just… went home. Swallowed Tylenol like candy and wrapped my chest in gauze. Mom eventually saw the burns and freaked and took me to, like, a gajillion doctors, but the best they could do by that point was just tell me to use lotion on them.”

“Does it help?”

“No. Not really.”

Taylor pushes up on her elbows, bringing herself closer, and she lets go of his hand and reaches for the hem of his shirt. “May I?” she asks, and waits for his nod.

It’s light and airy in Taylor’s room, and a breeze ripples over his chest as Taylor lifts up his shirt. He expects her to pull it up only enough to see, but she raises it higher and shoots him a questioning glance, which he interprets—correctly—as a request to raise his arms. She slides his shirt all the way off and drops it on the bed.

“I know,” he says, “I’m skinny.”

Taylor smiles sadly. “No skinnier than me,” she says, which is generous of her. “And I’d say ‘toned’, anyway. Um. Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

He knows how they look in the light; three angry, deep-red scars burned into his chest. Three concentric circles, the skin at its worst where they join. Each one is a memory, a humiliation.

Taylor doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Caught with one hand halfway to his chest and another halfway to her mouth, she’s frozen in place, her eyes searching him for the answer to a question she seems scared to ask. He nods again, and she touches him. Gently, almost nervously. She traces the outline of the scars.

And then he’s too self-conscious. Not just because of the scars, but because his skin is sallow after so long without sun; because whatever she says about how toned he is, he can see his weakness in her eyes. So he snatches up his shirt and slips it back on.

It breaks the spell.

“I’m so sorry, Max,” she says.

He struggles to regather his usual emotional state, to find again the ol’ reliable ‘Max’ persona, the guy who doesn’t care too much about anything, not the burn scars on his ribs or the friends he’s lost or the fact that his one remaining real friend is now thousands of miles away.

“We used to know each other,” he says, casually tossing it at her like it’s a factoid his mom just read in the Style section of the newspaper. “The guy who burned me. Grew up together.” He knows he sounds flippant, but better that than bare himself again. And she seems to understand. A guy needs his emotional space. “We used to be close. Like kids are, I mean. Back in New York, there’s a room with both of our heights marked on the wall, just like that. Him and me. It was him and me, and then we drifted apart, and when he came back, he did this to me.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, eyes wide. “Oh! That’s why you, uh, when we marked your height, uh…”

“Yeah,” he says, his cheeks reddening. So much for ol’ reliable, emotionless Max. “That’s why it hit me so hard. Kinda brought him back, you know?” He laughs. “I thought I was better at hiding my shit than that. Turns out, I’m really not.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I see everything, anyway. So you’re just going to have to get used to that.”

* * *

Those burns are vicious. And that level of bullying is something else! Vista Primavera High has its problems, yes, but the worst she’s heard of lately is just normal bullcrap like freshmen getting dumped in the trash or having their lockers vandalized. And that it was done by someone he used to be friends with…

Max Giordano is going to need good friends from now on. Of that, Taylor is absolutely certain.

It hurt him so much to tell her, too. She saw him clam up after. And that’s so accurate, actually! He opened up, just a little bit, just enough for her to see, and then he snapped shut! It took her almost an hour to restore the innocent, fun, almost flirty attitude he had out in the yard, and she wonders if the weed was a bad idea; Max seems like one of those people who get melancholy when they’re high.

It was probably just because she made him relive the memories, though.

He’s also moved farther away from her on the bed. He’s practically falling off! Inevitable, probably. Honestly, you get a guy to admit to having one (1) emotion, and they immediately stop talking at all!

No, actually. That’s unfair. That’s not Max she’s thinking of, that’s Gordo, a teenage boy who can’t wait to be a man, who already considers himself to be what a man ought to be, and Taylor’s not in a rush to spend time socially with people who remind her of her father, thank you very much! She’s tried to tell him, over and over, to just talk to her like he used to. If he did, maybe she’d even get to the bottom of his obsession with sex!

No, wait; that’s also because Gordo is a teenage boy. In a way Max, somehow, is not.

“Hey,” she says, “talk to me, Max.”

“I’m okay,” he insists. He’s regained a little of the slight swagger he had before, the sense that he knows who he is, what he wants. Yes, it’s a lie, or at best a coping mechanism, but it’s a comforting one, for Taylor. There’s a real Max under the front he puts up, and she got to see it.

“Are you sure?” she says.

“Yeah. It’s just… I think you’re the only person I’ve talked to about what happened. Apart from my family. And doctors. And Avery, obviously. You’re the first person since her I’ve chosen to talk to about it. Which is kinda confusing, because I’ve known you for, what, twenty-nine hours?”

“More like thirty-one,” Taylor says, and she bounces on the mattress to bring herself closer. “Avery. You miss her, huh?”

He smiles, and that’s good, right? That’s a genuine smile on his face! Not one of the fake ones he puts on when he knows he ought to be smiling at something.

“I do. She’s been bugging me to talk to her online, but we don’t have internet yet, so—”

“Oh!” Well, there’s a good deed she can do! “I have internet. You want to talk to her right now? I can set it up! It’ll be really quick. Will she be at home on a Sunday afternoon?”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” he says, recoiling a little. Taylor reels herself in a bit. Too much enthusiasm for someone who just finished being a huge downer.

“Come on, then,” she says, bouncing the rest of the way over to his side of the bed—her thigh momentarily grazing his; just an accident!—and hopping off onto the floor. She rolls his chair back over to the computer desk and boots up her main PC again. The fans whirr gently into life—she spent a whole afternoon making sure her computer doesn’t sound like a jet engine, unlike Garrett’s—and by the time Max joins her, she’s looking at the desktop again. “Which client?”

“Which, uh…?”

“AIM, MSN, ICQ…?”

“Oh. AIM.”

Taylor opens AIM, logs herself out, and wheels herself away so Max can sit in front of the keyboard. When he maneuvers himself into position, she swings her chair around behind his and rests her forearms on its back, with her chin atop them. She can see the screen over his shoulder.

It must be a slow Sunday over in New York—three hours ahead, she remembers; Avery’s probably going to be called for dinner in the not-too-distant future—because the AIM window lights up almost instantly with a response.

Maximillion: Hey Avery A-Very-Nice-Person: Holy shit you got internet A-Very-Nice-Person: Did you get cable? Is it fast? A-Very-Nice-Person: We’re stuck on DSL and it’s not fucking dial up at least but I hate it A-Very-Nice-Person: Dad says we can’t get cable again until we pay our cable bill A-Very-Nice-Person: And he is ideologically opposed to paying cable bills as you know A-Very-Nice-Person: Anyway it’s so cool you’re back online I was DYING without you to talk to A-Very-Nice-Person: Max? Are you there? Maximillion: I’m here Maximillion: You just type really fast Maximillion: Chill A-Very-Nice-Person: I refuse A-Very-Nice-Person: ONE of us has to talk

“I like her already,” Taylor says.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Max replies.

Maximillion: Anyway I don’t have internet yet Maximillion: I’m at a friend’s house A-Very-Nice-Person: You made a friend already! That rules A-Very-Nice-Person: Can I embarrass you in front of him yet or are you still in the delicate getting to know you phase A-Very-Nice-Person: Circling the cave and grunting at each other until you establish a firm enough masculine bond to roast and eat a dead stag without trying to kill each other A-Very-Nice-Person: I think that’s how it works with boys anyway Maximillion: When have I ever grunted? A-Very-Nice-Person: I think you could grunt A-Very-Nice-Person: I’m not saying it wouldn’t be under duress A-Very-Nice-Person: But I AM saying it would be adorable Maximillion: Well Avery Maximillion: You’ll be happy to know you’ve already embarrassed me in front of HER A-Very-Nice-Person: ROFL A-Very-Nice-Person: Sorry Max’s friend if you can see this A-Very-Nice-Person: But I’m about to get even worse A-Very-Nice-Person: Deep breath A-Very-Nice-Person: What’s her name is she pretty is she prettier THAN ME and if she is does she like girls and is she open to a long distance relationship Maximillion: You have a girlfriend Avery A-Very-Nice-Person: SHE doesn’t know that

Taylor leans over Max’s shoulder and borrows the keyboard.

Maximillion: Hi! Max’s friend here, Avery, and I’m sorry, but I very much do know that now. Maximillion: Ya blew it. Maximillion: Sorreeeeeeee!!!!! A-Very-Nice-Person: Hey look Max your friend likes punctuation Maximillion: I’ll have you know I have a 4.3 average. Maximillion: I love punctuation. A-Very-Nice-Person: Holy shit Max a 4.3, hitch your wagon to this girl A-Very-Nice-Person: She’ll take you places Maximillion: Okay it’s me again, and I’m doing fine thank you Avery Maximillion: I’ll keep my wagon where it belongs.

“You’re a menace,” Max tells Taylor. She beams at him, and then twists around to get out of her chair.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says. “You want something to drink? We have iced tea or water or—”

“Iced tea is fine, unless you have anything like Dr Pepper.”

“I think we might actually have Dr Pepper. You want? Okay! Be right ba-aaack!”

She sings the last word as she skips out of the room, and then she’s down the stairs in a flash. She can’t resist putting a little flourish into it as she rounds the bend from the bottom of the stairs into the living room, because Garrett’s probably still in there, and it annoys him to see her expending so much excess energy. Or moving fast, like, at all.

And there he is, wasting whole days away on the couch. As usual. She sticks her tongue out at him; he gives her the finger. She escapes to look for sodas, but by the time she’s dug them out of the fridge, he’s leaning against the arch that separates the kitchen from the rest of the rooms downstairs.

“Make sure you put the baggie back in my room,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Duh.”

“Make sure you reseal it.”

“Obviously.”

“And make sure you air out your room and—”

“I know, Garrett!”

“Okay! Jesus! I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re starting to get cranky,” she says, maneuvering around him as she exits the kitchen, a Diet Dr Pepper in each hand. “Maybe you should smoke some more.” On her way back up the stairs, she turns and yells, “And then maybe you’ll get turbo cancer and die!”

“I’m your big brother, Taylor!” he shouts after her. “I’m looking out for you!”

“You’re a big pain in my ass!” she shouts back, leaning over the railing so her voice echoes properly. She swoops back into her room, ignoring the grumbling from downstairs, and as she closes the door with her butt, she’s delighted to see Max laughing at something on the screen.

Well, mostly delighted. It would have been nice if it had been her who made him laugh, not this Avery girl, but it’s still good to see.

“Drink up,” she says, placing the can in front of him.

“Diet,” he observes, before opening it and taking a swig.

“I’m an athlete!” She opens hers and presses the cold can against his bare forearm, making him wince and pull away. “And so are you!”

“Thanks, Tay,” he says, grinning at her.

“So? How’s she doing?”

“Avery? She’s good. Same as normal.” He points to the screen, and Taylor swings her chair around behind again, so she can look properly. As she drinks, Max goes back to typing.

A-Very-Nice-Person: It’s going to be weird going back to school without you A-Very-Nice-Person: I’m going to have to get a new best friend Maximillion: At least you won’t have to have the locker next to the one that always has FAG on it anymore A-Very-Nice-Person: What if I befriend a new fag A-Very-Nice-Person: Oh shit am I allowed to say that Maximillion: No but neither am I

Taylor hides her smile behind her Diet Dr Pepper. Definitely not gay, then. Just checking!

A-Very-Nice-Person: Have you seen your new school yet Maximillion: No but I figure any school is like any other school right? Maximillion: Different color metal detectors maybe A-Very-Nice-Person: ROFL depressing A-Very-Nice-Person: Rolling on the floor sobbing my eyes out A-Very-Nice-Person: Leave New York and see the sights in sunny California! A-Very-Nice-Person: Get violated by entirely new rentacops!

“It’s not too bad, actually,” Taylor says, having drained her Dr Pepper already. “We’ve got a couple security guys, but no metal detectors. They keep saying they’re going to beef up security, but so far…” She crosses her fingers.

Maximillion: Taylor says no metal detectors

Taylor borrows the keyboard again.

Maximillion: Taylor here, AND our security guys have cute little name tags and they get fired if they get too handsy. Which HAS happened, so that’s not great, but at least they got fired. A-Very-Nice-Person: You’re leading the nation A-Very-Nice-Person: Also hi Taylor! A-Very-Nice-Person: Max won’t say if you’re prettier than me Maximillion: Just a second, Avery. I can solve that conundrum.

Taylor surrenders the keyboard to Max, but before he can type anything else, she claims the mouse and loads the webcam application. The little camera is still positioned on top of the monitor, pointing down at them, covering what Taylor’s always considered her most flattering angle. “Say cheese,” she says, and puts on a peppy smile, pressing her cheek against Max’s.

In the preview, he looks adorably startled and she looks great, so she saves the picture and drags it into the AIM window.

A-Very-Nice-Person: Oh shit she IS prettier than me A-Very-Nice-Person: How depressing A-Very-Nice-Person: You see it right Max A-Very-Nice-Person: You see how she’s prettier than me Maximillion: Avery Maximillion: You realize I’m stuck now don’t you? Maximillion: I can’t say you’re prettier than Taylor because she’s right here Maximillion: And I can’t say the opposite either Maximillion: Whatever I say I’m doomed

“Duh,” Taylor says, giggling. “You say we’re both beautiful.”

A-Very-Nice-Person: Repeat after me, Maxxy: “You’re both pretty.”

“She makes a good point,” Taylor says.

Maximillion: There’s an echo in here. Maximillion: Taylor said the exact same thing you did. A-Very-Nice-Person: Well yeah A-Very-Nice-Person: All of us are taught this as children A-Very-Nice-Person: We get secret classes A-Very-Nice-Person: How to make boys uncomfortable is like the first lesson A-Very-Nice-Person: It’s our main weapon in the battle of the sexes A-Very-Nice-Person: That and mace

“I have some Mace,” Taylor whispers, “if you ever need some. I have spare, I mean.”

“Why would I need Mace?”

“Don’t know. But just in case. I’ll bring some over.”

“Don’t bring me Mace, Taylor.”

“Just in case!”

* * *

Max isn’t exactly late for dinner, but he needs to shower to get rid of the weed stink, and since it’s also his turn to set the table, he’s going to be cutting it really close. So he barges in through the front door at full speed, yells out that he’s here, that he’ll be down in a minute, that he just needs a shower, and he makes it to the stairs without either of his parents getting a chance to intercept him and yell at him about timekeeping, about the watch his Aunt Gabriele got him, about how it keeps perfect time, about how he should wear it more, and about how he knows when dinner is and when to be home for it.

See? He doesn’t even need to be yelled at; he’s got the script memorized.

He doesn’t make it to his bedroom entirely unscathed, though. Clay’s in his room with his door open, and he calls out as Max passes. Panting, Max stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame with both hands.

“Yeah?” Max says.

“Nice girl, is she?”

“Yeah.”

“Girlfriend?”

“What? No. Clay, we’ve been here a day.”

“You moved on Avery pretty quick back home.”

“We weren’t— Never mind. I need a shower.”

“Good idea.” Clay wafts a hand in front of his nose. “And wash those clothes yourself.”

“Uh, yeah, I will.”

As Max turns to leave, Clay says, “Nice scrunchie, Max.”

“What? Oh. Shit.”

“You wearing it to dinner? So Mom and Dad can get a good look at it?”

“Uh. No. Definitely not.”

“Okay then.”

Max makes his escape.

It’s annoying to have to wash his hair twice in one day, but hair’s worse than clothes for retaining weed stink, and as much as he could pass it off as an unfortunate byproduct of existing in the presence of Taylor’s stoner brother, he doesn’t want to take the risk; Mom’d probably go over there to complain about Garrett’s corrupting influence. And the shower gives him the opportunity to think, too.

About Taylor.

He let her touch his scars. And something about that felt right. Felt like it demystified them somehow. Like Taylor claimed them, and in doing so, released their hold on him just a little. He’s not going to start going topless, but maybe by bringing them so completely into his new life, into a new friendship, she’s begun a process which might eventually sever their connection to his past.

Yeah. He kinda likes that.

He also likes that Taylor and Avery get along. They chatted for a while, switching the keyboard back and forth, until Avery had to go for dinner. She and Taylor exchanged details, and then it was just Max and Taylor again. Watching TV. Talking about nothing. Talking about everything.

She’s relaxing to be around. She’s a lot smarter than he originally assumed she would be, which is on him. Making assumptions. Like a girl can’t be bubbly and peppy and test well!

He smiles as he soaps himself up. Her words in her voice. Different to Avery’s—basically two exact opposite points of the female vocal range—but not shrill and whining like he always expects cheerleaders’ voices to be.

“Wow,” he says to himself, imitating Taylor. “Prejudiced much?”

They talked about birthdays. She has one coming up, and he is of course invited to her eighteenth on September 13. He told her he had a birthday recently, but that he didn’t really celebrate it, just hung out with Avery as usual. The confession brought the mood down again. It didn’t last, though, and to change the subject, she showed him her hand-annotated copy of the squad routine book and talked him through what cheerleaders do that gymnasts don’t. When it was finally time for him to go home for dinner, it was with the knowledge of what flyers, bases and spotters are, what they do, and how disastrous it can be when any of them fuck up.

In all, his second day in California could have gone a lot worse. Though it’s weird that Taylor hasn’t mentioned her boyfriend even once yet.

* * *

He’s so dumb! So adorably, annoyingly dumb! He wants to do gymnastics. He’s desperate to get back to it! She could see it in the way he hungrily watched the cheer routines she played for him, and in the rapt attention he paid when she was showing him the cheer book, but he won’t do anything about it! And, okay, Vista Primavera High doesn’t have a gymnastics team, so he can’t do it at school, but he can take classes or something! He can do it on his own time! But no, instead he’s just going to try to keep up with the basics in his backyard—or in hers—and leave it at that.

But he’s also not dumb, and she knows why. He doesn’t want to be the ‘gym eff ay gee’ at another school. He wants to keep his head down and graduate and go to college. And eventually, it went unsaid, he’ll become more like his brother—because he will, Taylor’s wishful thinking notwithstanding—and he’ll either have to learn everything again from scratch—and never again be as good as he was—or he’ll give it up forever.

It was itching on the tip of her tongue all afternoon: join the squad! She wanted so much to say it! And he’d be amazing! He’s better than her at the technical stuff, even if she’s fitter and can last longer, and the other stuff, the cheer-specific stuff, she could teach him, no trouble. Eddie could teach him the guys’ role in the squad. And he’d make them better in turn! They could learn so much from each other!

But she didn’t say it, because she can’t. Because he’s the wrong size and shape. Their routines—their very squad—assume a certain size and shape of guy. Eddie is six foot one and closer to Gordo than Max in physique, and the other guys on the squad are similar; there’s no role for Max there. And while in theory he could take up the same role as one of the girl bases, or even be a flyer if he starts working on his core again, since he can already land like a champ… he’d never agree to it. Being a guy doing girl stuff on the cheer squad is probably significantly worse than being a gym eff ay gee.

Shoot. She’s so close to a solution that helps them both, but there’s no way she can make it work!

Taylor shakes her head and jumps up from her bed, aiming to call for takeout before Garrett gets a chance to order the greasiest and most disgusting food he can find in the big pile of menus in the kitchen. On her way past the computer desk, the picture of her and Max, the one she took with her webcam and sent to Avery, catches her eye.

It makes her smile. Warms her stomach. Because they look like such good friends already!

But what’s weird is that with the low resolution of the webcam, with the fat pixels obscuring the finer details of his face, with the angle the picture was taken from, he looks kinda like a girl.

He looks kinda like a pretty girl.

Taylor stares.

Like a really pretty—

“Taylor!” Garrett calls from downstairs. “I’m ordering food!”

Shoot!

She shakes her head and runs to the door. “Oh no you don’t!” she yells, and starts down the stairs, flexing her fingers, preparing to rip the phone right out of his stupid stoner hands before he orders something with more oil by volume than an entire KFC, and kick him if that doesn’t seem like enough.

* * *

Monday goes by quickly. Max showers, dresses in loose clothing he can move in, and goes over to Taylor’s. They exercise together. Taylor shows him more of her cheerleader moves and tries to give him an idea of how they work with more than one person, but it’s difficult to imagine. She says she should get her friend Willa over, because she’s on the squad and can help Taylor show him, if he’s interested. He says he’s fine just imagining for now.

Then it’s back upstairs to chat and watch TV. She will take him shopping one day, she says, but she’s going to give him more time to get acclimated before she subjects him to the malls here. They hang out, they talk to Avery a little more together, Taylor still doesn’t mention that she has a boyfriend—he’s been noticing more and more how she doesn’t talk about him—and then it’s dinner time and he’s got to go home.

And just when he’s getting excited at the thought of doing it all over again tomorrow—and reveling in the feeling of actually looking forward to something for once—his mom drops the bombshell: on Tuesday, they’re having a family day. They’re going to go out together and look around the stores and have a nice lunch somewhere, so he needs to get his sunscreen and some nice clothes and be ready to go out at nine in the morning sharp.

As Taylor would say, ick!

They got the cable TV and internet connected while he was out, though, so after dinner he sets up his aging computer and messages Taylor on AIM to tell her he can’t come over tomorrow. She’s sad—and annoyed that it’s not going to be her who introduces him to the shopping here—but she gets over it, and they end up talking well into the night.

* * *

“Yeah, and he can’t come over today. His parents want a ‘family day’, which basically means they’ve kidnapped him and his enormous brother and they’re going to drive all over town and go shopping and eat out and because they’re from New York they’re probably all going to die of heatstroke on the steps of Spring View Mall twenty feet away from the air conditioning and I’m bored, Willa!”

“Whoa! Okay. Take it easy, Tay. Start again. Who is Max?”

Taylor winds the phone cord around her little finger. “He’s this boy—”

“No, no, I understood that part. I mean, why are you so into him?”

“I’m not into him! He’s just— He’s nice, Willa. He’s a nice guy. Do you know any nice guys? Apart from Eddie, I mean.”

“Apart from Eddie? No. I know plenty of only mildly offputting guys, if that helps.”

“It extremely does not.”

“Fair,” Willa says.

“Willa, he’s super sweet and you have to meet him! So what I was thinking is, he had his eighteenth like a week ago, just over, and he didn’t even do anything for it! So I thought about a surprise party—you know how much I love surprises—but he’s kinda gunshy. So then I thought, what about us? Like, the four of us? You and Eddie and me and Max. Tomorrow night. Over here. Garrett can get us drinks and we’ll have a little birthday party! For Max!”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-huh’?”

“Me and my boyfriend and you and your…”

“Max, yes.”

“You and your Max.”

“No! Just me and Max. He’s not mine…” She probably shouldn’t sound so wistful.

“You have a boyfriend, Taylor! Remember Gordo? Big guy. Linebacker. Very straight nose.” Over the line, Willa giggles. “Very straight guy in general.”

“Max isn’t like that.”

“Didn’t you say he’s not gay?”

“He’s not! He said so!”

“He just, like, came out and said it?”

On her kitchen stool, Taylor squirms. “Not directly. But we were talking to his friend from New York and they were talking like he’s not gay. He even said he’s ‘not allowed’ to say the word; you know, um, eff, ay—”

“You don’t need to spell it, Tay.” Willa breathes heavily into the phone. “So. He’s not gay. And he’s not like Gordo. What is he like?”

“I don’t know, Willa! He’s… He’s sweet and he’s sensitive and he’s kinda… He’s Max, Willa. Max.”

“You’re saying his name like you think it’s helping your ‘not into him’ case.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

“No fair,” Taylor whines.

“You’re lusting, Tay.”

“Am not!”

“Does he know he’s got no chance?”

“…No? Yes? Maybe? But I don’t want that from him, Willa. I want a friend. I want him to be more like how you are with me, not like how Gordo is with me. I think. Shoot, I don’t know. Stop asking confusing questions.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll come to your party, Tay. I’ll wear something nice and I’ll bring Eddie and I’ll meet your new best friend and we can do the birthday thing. Just promise me it won’t be weird.”

“Zero weirdness. I promise. Willa, you’re the best.”

“I know. And—”

“Shoot! Doorbell! Gotta go!”

She could probably have made it to the front door without having to hang up, because the kitchen phone has a really long cord, but if she kept Willa on the line she was going to keep asking those uncomfortable questions, and they’re not anything Taylor wants to address right now. She’s on the fourth day of her friendship with Max and she still doesn’t know exactly what she wants from him, only that she wants something, and it’s definitely not what she wants from Gordo.

She’s still frowning at the thought of it when the doorbell goes again, reminding her why she hung up in the first place. Irritably she rushes to the front door and yanks it open.

Shoot.

“Gordo!”

“Hey, babe!”

He yanks her into an embrace she has no chance of getting out of unless she wants to get violent, so she waits for him to get done before she says anything else. And then he plants a kiss on her mouth as he releases her, so she has to wait that out, too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, when finally she can. “I thought football camp was—”

“It’s not ‘football camp’, Tay, I keep telling you.” He starts taking the stairs two at a time, and Taylor has to admit that for all that he can be, well, annoying and persistent, he has a great body. And it’s a reactive body, too. He moves a muscle in his arm and it’s like a butterfly flapping its wings; somewhere on the other end of his body, another muscle moves with it. “It’s an intensive week-long training regimen overseen by—”

“If it’s so intensive,” she says, climbing the stairs after him, “then why are you here?”

“I missed you, Tay!”

He punctuates her name by swinging open the door to her room. She follows him inside, allows him to shut the door, and when he sits down on the end of her bed she chooses one of the computer chairs, rolling it into the center of the room.

“No, seriously,” she says. “Why are you here?”

“Coach gave us the afternoon off and it’s only sixty miles and I wanted to surprise you, Tay!”

She reaches forward to swat him on the knee. “Gordo! You know I hate surprises!”

“I know, I know,” he says, “you like everything to be organized and in its place—” he mimes typing on an invisible typewriter, which is seemingly how Gordo thinks you organize yourself, “—but you’re not doing anything today, are you?”

“No,” she admits.

“So?”

“Fine,” she says, stepping up from her chair and over to him. He rises to meet her, circles an arm around her waist and dips her, and the shiver that involuntarily passes through her isn’t entirely unwelcome. Enough that when she comes up, flushed, she’s ready for more. But she has to set the ground rules, first. “No sex stuff, though.” She holds a finger up to his face, which is tricky because of how close he’s holding her. “Okay?”

He kisses her again and releases her. “Yeah, Tay, I got it. I can wait a month. Hey, you wanna go out on your birthday, just the two of us, and celebrate?”

“I have a party on my birthday, Gordo. You know that!”

“Okay. Day after?”

“That’s a Sunday, and we have school the next day. We’ll do something the Friday after, okay?”

Gordo nods, grinning expansively. “Perfect, Tay, just perfect. I can’t wait. I mean, I can wait. And I will wait. But I can’t.”

“Understood, Gordo.”

“And— Oh, hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

And that’s when Taylor realizes she should have been so much more careful, that she shouldn’t have let Gordo come up here—not that she had much chance of stopping him—and that maybe she should start applying the same ruthless organization and forward planning she uses for school, cheerleading and Gordo to the rest of her personal life, because he’s over at the door, looking at the latest addition to the height marks carved into the frame.

“Tay,” he says slowly, “who’s Max? Is he a guy? Did you have a guy in your room?”

Strangely, he doesn’t sound mad. At least, he doesn’t sound like he usually sounds when he’s mad. His voice is too steady. Somehow that’s even scarier.

“No guys, Gordo,” she says quickly, because it’s what he needs to hear. “Promise.”

“So who is he?”

Looking quickly around her room for inspiration, Taylor’s eyes land briefly on the computer, and she remembers the webcam photo she took. How the low-quality camera basically erased the wispy dark hairs on Max’s upper lip and softened his features. Made him look different.

“Max is a girl,” she says. “Maxine. She’s a friend and she was visiting. We were just messing around.”

“I don’t know a Maxine,” Gordo says, still frowning.

Taylor quickly reaches for some facts she can use to anchor the lie. “She just moved here. She starts at our school in the fall. She’s nice, Gordo.”

“Cool,” he says, nodding. “Cool.” And then his grin returns as if it had never left. “Is she hot?”

“Yes,” Taylor says, “she’s hot, but you’re taken, you idiot!”

He holds up his hands in fake surrender and edges around the room, pretending to back away from her. “I get it, I get it, don’t attack me!”

Gordo’s still backing away, and he bumps into the computer desk, knocking the mouse and deactivating the screensaver, and Taylor wishes desperately for a do-over of the last few days, or at the very least, the last few minutes.

She left the webcam picture up on the screen. She had it up last night when they were talking—just to look at—and she never turned off her stupid computer because she was too tired, and she couldn’t even hear it when she woke up because it’s so freaking quiet, and now Gordo’s looking at Max, and—

“Oh, hey,” he says. “Is that Maxine? She is hot.”

How to Fly, book one of When You Fell from Heaven, which comprises the first ten chapters of the story, is available:

On Amazon, for Kindle and in Paperback.

As an ebook from these online stores.

Or from Itch.io.

Or you can read all current chapters on my Patreon! Subscribing to my Patreon at the $5 tier will get you all fifteen chapters (so far) of When You Fell from Heaven. You will also get access to my ongoing stories The Catch, a forced-fem riff on Fifty Shades with illustrations by Emory Ahlberg, and Kimmy, a horrifying take on the Halloween costume that won’t let you out. And you’ll get the full epub of the revised version of Show Girl, my egg-cracking trans romance, and access to chapters of The Sisters of Dorley two weeks early!

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 22 - Bleeding through bandages, "oh that's not good"

This is my 100th lu whumptober fic. how on earth has it been that many. holy CRAP. I have so many things wrong with me.

It's not the most amazing 100th fic, but unfortunately my sister gave me her awful cold, so here we are lol. thank you all for indulging my love for (beating up) these guys all these years <3

Warnings: eye injury (not in detail), blood

Ao3 link

————————————————————

The battle had been going fine.

Time and Twilight were alone in a forest, the others missing after a portal, but they were handling the lynel that had come across them just fine, dodging in and out, taking turns dealing blows.

They’d both taken some small hits, but nothing serious, and easily fixed once they got their hands on some healing supplies. Time wasn’t as familiar with lynels, but Twilight enough of their tricks that he was able to assist him where necessary. Even with the early-morning fog curling in tendrils around their feet, blocking the first golden rays of sunshine and lowering visibility, the battle was going fine.

Until Twilight dodged just a little too slow.

Time didn’t see exactly what happened. He’d flipped away from the lynel as it had swiped at him, dodged a furious charge, and then moved away to shelter from a plume of fire it launched at him. It was nearly dead, only a few hits left, and Time sheltered behind a tree for a few precious seconds while it finished blasting fire.

And as he came back out, he watched the lynel swing out and Twilight fly backwards, a cry coming from his descendant as he hit the ground.

Then made no move to get up.

Time yelled, heart stopping, and he ran for the lynel. Blood stained its blade, and fury rose in Time. The lynel snarled at him as he got between it and Twilight, and Time didn’t hesitate in slashing his claymore across its chest.

It snarled even louder, and Time danced around its blade, ducking and leaping to the side. He ignored every small injury plaguing him, ignored his sore arms and aching feet, and focused only on defeating the lynel.

It charged at him, blade swinging to take his head off, but Time leapt around behind it and stabbed the beast through its spine.

The lynel let out a dying roar, falling to its knees and collapsing in a puff of dark smoke and black blood, but Time only had eyes for Twilight.

Who still wasn’t moving.

A wolf’s agonized howl echoed in his memory, and Time bolted, memories flashing through his mind. He was unable to stop the visions that shot through his head of Twilight lying near death, Hyrule trying to heal him over and over, blood staining his fur, his skin, words they'd all thought would be his last whispered through trembling lips—

“Rancher,” he said frantically, falling to his knees beside him, “Twilight, can you hear me?”

He got a moan in response, and Time exhaled, trying to look at Twilight’s face. The small pool of blood on the ground was concentrated under his head, and Twilight had a hand clasped tightly over his right eye, his breath coming in short pants. Time tried to gently pry his fingers away, and Twilight whimpered, his uncovered eye squeezed tightly closed.

“Twilight, I need to see it,” Time said, stuffing his fear deep down where it couldn't reach him.

“Old man, I... it’s— it’s my,” Twilight gasped, still clutching at his face. “It— Time my eye—”

Time’s stomach lurched. “Twilight, move your hand. I won’t touch it, but I need to look at it.”

Twilight shuddered, and drew his hand away, bloodstained fingers trembling.

There was too much blood to tell how bad it was, but Time could see the line slashed across Twilight’s eyelid, practically in the same place as his own scar. He breathed in sharply, then took Twilight’s hand in his, warm blood smearing on his fingers.

“Okay,” he breathed, trying not to think about his own eye, how his markings had been seared onto him that same day, the pain both physical and mental clawing at him. “Okay. I’m out of healing supplies, I assume you’re the same?”

Twilight shakily nodded, and Time swallowed.

“Right. We’ll have to join up with the others, I know Legend still has a few left. I need to wrap this in the meantime,” he said in a voice calmer than he felt, and Twilight breathed out, giving him another small nod.

Time pulled out the roll of bandages he had in his bag, as well as a clean cloth. He helped Twilight sit up, leaning him on his shoulder, and carefully wiped away the worst of the blood that was around his eye.

Twilight flinched, knuckles white where they were balled into fists. Time didn't wipe everything, afraid of hurting him or making the injury worse, and started in on wrapping his face. He covered up Twilight's injured eye with swift, practiced movements, and though he was as gentle as possible, he could tell Twilight fought to keep himself still through it all.

Time had to keep Twilight’s head tilted to the side while he worked, and his throat tightened as he saw a tear escape Twilight’s other eye. He finished as quickly as possible, and Twilight slumped against his shoulder, breathing heavily.

His uninjured eye cracked open, and Time carefully helped him stand, Twilight leaning heavily against his arm.

“Alright, I’m sure the others are close,” Time said, looking ahead into the fog, and ignoring the few twinges of pain he got as he adjusted his hold on Twilight. “Just hold on for me for a little while."

Twilight nodded wearily, and they got moving.

(...)

Time hadn’t been keeping track of the time as closely as he should have been, but he still knew they should’ve found the others by now.

Twilight was still walking, somehow, and Time carefully supported him, blood drying on his fingers as he and Twilight traveled through the foggy woods. Faint beams of sunlight glittered through the fog, catching on golden birch leaves, but Time wasn’t focused on the scenery at all.

Just on any sign of the others, and Twilight's quickly fading strength.

Twilight’s steps faltered a little, and Time clasped his arm, keeping him upright. Twilight sighed wearily, the noise shaking, and Time gave his arm a light squeeze. They kept walking in silence, though Time's thoughts roared with memories and worry and barely held-back panic. So much so that he almost missed it when Twilight spoke.

“Was... it like this f’r you?” Twilight murmured after a bit, and Time blinked.

“What do you mean?”

Twilight stepped carefully over a root, leg shaking. “With your... eye.”

“Oh,” Time said blankly, putting a hand to his own face. The scar itched, but he ignored it. “No, not... not exactly.”

“...Kitchen accident, then?” Twilight asked, and Time couldn’t help his snort, shaking his head.

“No, though Malon knows I have plenty of nicks from that sort of thing. I step foot in a kitchen and suddenly everything is out to get me,” he sighed, and looked over at Twilight. Then stiffened.

The bandages he’s wrapped carefully over Twilight’s eye were stained red.

“What’s wrong?” Twilight murmured, blinking at him with his working eye. Time carefully put his hand on Twilight’s cheek, tilting his head to the side, and bit back a curse as he saw how red the bandages were.

They’d almost entirely soaked through.

He’s bleeding too much, he’ll lose his eye, you'll have to watch him fade away again—

“You’re still bleeding a lot,” Time admitted, trying to keep the worry from his voice. Twilight frowned, and lightly put a finger on the bandages, wincing as he felt how damp they were.

“Oh. That’s not good,” he mumbled, and Time resumed walking, a little faster than before.

"Maybe we'll find a fairy around here," Time tried to reassure, remembering blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Twilight's middle, his descendant barely able to even raise his hand up. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head wondering if Twilight still couldn't be healed by normal means, if the Shadow still had some kind of grip on him even though it had been weeks.

"Maybe," Twilight said quietly. "I hope... so."

Time walked faster.

The fog around them began to dissipate, the water melting away as the sun rose higher. It was becoming a truly beautiful morning, but Time wanted to scream at the sky as Twilight leaned on him more and more heavily, arm shaking where it was slung over his shoulder.

Twilight was fading, and he was helpless to stop it.

Again.

“Time?” Twilight asked after another few minutes, and Time hummed. “Am... I gonna lose my eye?”

Twilight’s voice was small and scared, no doubt intensified by the blood loss. Time swallowed, and squeezed his arm, trying not to think back to those first days when he wrestled with the fact that his eye was no longer his own.

“I can’t promise anything,” he admitted quietly. “But the others have potions and fairies. And if those fail I’m confident in our traveler’s healing abilities. He saved you once, after all.”

Twilight’s lips upturned in a tiny smile. “True. H-he’s stubborn.”

“Indeed," Time said gently, and shifted his grip again. "You'll be fine, rancher. You'll be fine."

He wasn’t sure if he was saying it for Twilight's benefit or his own.

Twilight hummed wearily, and Time dragged him onward, ignoring the blood beginning to slip down Twilight's cheek, his face almost as pale as the fog still fading around them.

You'll be fine. Please be fine.

I can't take another loss.

The woods stretched on. Time kept walking. He was nearly carrying Twilight now, his descendant white as a sheet and shaking whenever he so much as took a step. Time tried to distract him by asking questions, remembering what Warriors usually did when one of their number was injured, and each response Twilight gave was more unintelligible then the last.

Twilight's legs finally gave out on him at one point, and Time hefted him onto his back, Twilight's head lolling as it fell against his shoulder. Time jogged as fast as he could, his mind whirling with options and last-ditch ideas, the mask humming in his pouch next to an instrument of near-equal power.

He lost himself in his desperation, world fading down to nothing but his rapid footsteps and Twilight's panting breath, blood staining his neck.

And Time was so intent on getting Twilight help, that when the help finally came, he almost didn't realize it.

"Old man! What happened?!"

Time jumped, hand going to his sword, but then the others appeared out of the last vestiges of fog, faces shocked and worried.

Relief slammed into Time like an avalanche, and he sank to his knees, pulling Twilight off of his back with shaking hands.

"It's his eye, a lynel," Time panted, realizing abruptly that he was out of breath. "I was too far, he needs..."

"Healing, gotcha," Legend said with a nod, and he began fishing in his bag, Time holding tight to Twilight.

The others gathered around as Legend fished around, checking their own bags for supplies just in case. Four stood next to Time’s elbow, watching Twilighth intently, and patted Time on the arm, giving him a gentle look.

"He'll be okay old man," he said softly, and Time nodded, holding Twilight even closer as Legend pulled out a fairy from his bag.

"I know," he replied, eyes never leaving the fairy. "I know."

So why am I still shaking? He wondered as she spun around Twilight, gentle sparkles falling from her wings.

Twilight visibly relaxed as she finished, and Time carefully pulled the blood-soaked bandages from his face, sighing in relief at the sight of Twilight’s eye. There was a faint pink line scored across his face still, and blood encrusted all over the place. But the wound had been healed. And it looked like the scar would barely be visible.

“Well if there was any doubt you two are related, I think that’s gone now,” Warriors said lightly, and a few chuckles went up.

“Yeah wow, do eye injuries run in the family?” Wild asked, the deep worry that had been on his face carefully banished.

“Very funny,” Time said with an eye roll, managing to keep his voice from shaking. Twilight shifted in his arms a little, and he tuned out of the conversation that ensued, looking down at him.

Twilight cracked open his good eye, and smiled weakly at Time, still white as a sheet from losing so much blood. Time returned it, albeit shakily, and held his descendant close, gently picking dried blood from his hair.

“Stop scaring us like that,” he whispered as the others chattered lightly around them, seemingly unaware of how terrified Time had been.

Twilight merely nodded, and curled into his hold a bit more.

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

Deadly Fun

Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman x reader.

Content: stranger sex, hookup, present day, knife play, afab reader, p in v penetration, oral (f receiving), KNIFE PLAY(like seriously don't read if you're sensitive to stuff like this)

Word count: 1.8k

Author's Note: holy crap I write something other than Mark Hoffman what? So this takes place present day, in the age of cell phones and dating apps. This is slightly inspired by a tiktok i saw a while back of what Patrick would be saying if American Psycho took place present day. Also a while back I read a fanfic, can't remember who wrote it, of Patrick getting mad at something and using a knife on his partner. So also slightly inspired by that too. Enjoy! Also peep the Ice Nine Kills reference.

It's a hot Thursday afternoon in June, and you find yourself alone in your apartment, craving something different. Something that would push your boundaries and satisfy your deepest desires. As you scroll through a certain dating app in your phone, you come across the profile of a man named Patrick, a 27-year-old with dark brown hair and a slender build, dressed in a nice business suit. Swiping right on his profile, you're immediately met with "it's a match!"

Never being one to send the first message, you place your phone on your bedside table and crack open a book. Within seconds, your phone buzzes with a new message.

The more you two message each other, the more your interest is piqued. After agreeing to meet at his place, you change your clothes. The lazy sweats and big t shirt come off, replaced with a black cocktail dress, black stockings, and a pair of black pumps. You spend an hour on your hair and makeup, hoping to make the best impression on Patrick.

Texting him that you're on your way, you climb into your Uber that takes you across town to his apartment. Upon arrival, you remove your shoes at his request.

His apartment is spotless, not a spec of dust on any surface, his furniture arranged perfectly, like a model home for selling. If you'd stepped into this place with no one else here, you wouldn't think someone actually lived here.

Patrick leads you to the nice leather couch, pouring you a glass of red wine, which he delicately places on a coaster upon the coffee table. In person, he is even more handsome, making you nervous. His warm brown eyes have your knees weak as you converse with him, just getting to know one another.

Standing up, he makes his way towards the huge stereo system on the other side of his living room. It's old fashioned, you hadn't seen one like that since the one your father had when you were just a kid.

"Do you like Ice Nine Kills?" He asks, holding up a disc as he switches the stereo on.

"Not really," you admit. You never really got onto the whole metal scene. All the screaming just made no sense to you. You're more of a softer, easy listening type of girl.

"Their early work was a little bit too scene for me, but when The Silver Scream came out, I think they really came into their own. Commercially and artistically. The whole album has a refined, melodic sensibility that really makes it a cut above the rest."

Clicking a few buttons on a remote control as he sits back next to you, he smiles at you as a song begins playing. Not your thing, but you listen attentively, giving it another chance. It's a track you haven't heard before.

"Is this about that movie, Saw?" You ask as the song is about half over.

"The Jig Is Up," he smiles at you, "my favourite song on the album."

His charming smile and intense gaze send shivers down your spine. You two sit on the couch, chatting and flirting, and the tension between you builds with every passing minute. As the wine flowed, so too did your inhibitions. Your heart races as you lean in closer, your breath warm on Patrick's neck.

"I've been wanting this all night," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. "Take me, now."

Patrick seems taken aback by your sudden advance, but nonetheless, he smiles.

With a growl, Patrick pulls you onto his lap, crushing your mouths together in a passionate kiss. Within seconds, your dress is unzipped and pulled off of your body, leaving you in only a pair of black lace panties and matching thigh-high stockings. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts and pulling at your nipples roughly. You moan and arch your back to offer yourself to him. Your hands fumble with his belt, desperate to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.

In one swift motion, Patrick stands up, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carries you to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. The wine is left forgotten as you fall onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. Patrick's hands wander, exploring every inch of your body. He cups your ass, squeezes your thighs, and traces the outlines of your pussy through your soaked panties. You undo his tie, throwing it to the ground as you frantically start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Watch it," he snaps, jumping off the bed, "it's a Dunhill. Very expensive." Scooping the tie off the floor, he folds it neatly before placing it onto the dark wooden dresser that rests along the wall. You watch as he slowly undresses, till he's wearing nothing but his skin. Your eyes scan his body, slim and toned, as you lick your lips and stare at him with your "fuck me" eyes.

Climbing on top of you, his lips make contact with your neck, causing a small whimper to escape your lips. Taking that as encouragement, his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

"Fuck..." You gasp.

Writhing beneath him, you feel desperate for release. With a wicked glint in his eye, Patrick reaches into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a knife. Your eyes widen at the sight, your breath quickening as a mix of fear and excitement courses through your veins.

"Trust me..." he whispers.

Patrick runs the sharp edge gently down your bare chest, following the curve of your breasts before sliding it lower, teasing your taut stomach.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he whispers hoarsely, his breath hot on your skin. "Seeing that look in your eyes as I play with my knife, it drives me wild."

Whimpering, your body trembles as Patrick lightly drags the flat of the blade over your sensitive nipples, teasing them to hard peaks. The cold steel contrasts with the warmth of your flesh, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You squirm, desperate for more. Patrick obliges, dragging the knife slowly down your body, over your belly, the tip dipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

With slow, deliberate movements, Patrick slides the knife under the elastic, slicing through the fabric with ease. The sharp tip of the knife grazes just above your clit, causing you to gasp. You lift your hips, helping him remove the shredded remnants of your underwear. The stockings stay on your legs, and Patrick takes a moment to admire the view.

Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin. Moaning, your hips buck involuntarily as you crave his touch. Patrick smiles against your skin, the knife still in his hand, as he drags the tip lightly down your slit, spreading your wetness.

"Such a delicious sight," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Your pussy is so wet and ready for me, baby."

With that, he plunges his tongue into you, licking and sucking at your swollen clit while a single finger enters your dripping cunt. Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair as you pull him closer. The combination of his skilled tongue and the danger of the knife heighten your senses, taking your pleasure to new heights.

As your impending orgasm builds, Patrick adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you.

"You're so tight.. fuck..." he grunts between licks.

He pumps his fingers in and out, scissoring them to touch every sensitive spot. You arch your back off the bed as you moan, pleading for more.

"Please, don't stop," you beg, your voice hoarse with need, "I'm so close, Patrick, you're gonna make me cum... please make me cum..."

Obeying your demand, Patrick increases the pace, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy further. He curls his fingers, searching for that magic spot, and when he finds it, you scream. Your body shakes uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, your orgasm more intense than anything you have ever felt before.

But Patrick isn't done yet. As you ride out the waves of your orgasm, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you with his cock. With one smooth thrust, he penetrates you, filling you completely. You gasp as your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his length buried deep within you.

Patrick begins to move, slowly at first, pulling out until just the tip remains inside before slamming back into you. Raising your hips, you meet his thrusts with your own, your nails digging into his back as you whine for more. The sound of your flesh slapping together fills the room, along with the grunts and moans of pleasure.

Reaching down, Patrick picks up the knife, pressing it gently against your throat as he fucks you hard. The cold steel contrasts with the heat of your joined bodies, providing a deliciously dangerous sensation. Staring at his face with wide eyes, your breath hitches in your throat.

"That's it, baby," Patrick growls, "Take it all. My cock... and my knife.... they're yours."

The passion escalates as Patrick quickens his pace, thrusting harder and faster. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still. You can't get enough, you want more.

"Cum for me," you cry out desperately, "Fill me with your hot load."

Your words send Patrick over the edge. With a roar, he releases, jetting his warm cum deep inside you. Feeling his cock pulse as he cums triggers another orgasm deep within your core. Your bodies shudder together as you ride out the intense release. The knife, resting beside you, now forgotten as your passion consumes both of you entirely.

Collapsing onto your heaving chest, Patrick gasps for breath, his spent cock still buried inside you. Running your fingers through his hair, matted with sweat, your body glows with satisfaction.

"That was..." you begin, struggling to find the words.

"Incredible," Patrick finishes your sentence, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"I knew you'd be intense," you giggle, "but this..." You gesture towards the knife on the bed. "I didn't think I'd be into that."

A smile plays on your lips as you trace the contours of Patrick's strong back.

"There's more where that came from," Patrick promises, his tone laced with lust, "Much more."

And as you lie there, sated and spent, the night was still young, full of endless possibilities and untamed pleasures yet to be explored.

Patrick quickly rises and begins dressing.

"You need to go, I gotta go do something." He looks determined. Like he's about to be late for something.

"What is it?" You ask, confused at his sudden change of tone.

"I have to return some videotapes."

[puji1over]

Help

Both hands where chained above your head. With all your force you pulled down. "Hey! You're hurting me ya know."

Ff Bout Luis n Leon because holy crap there is absolutely none. Your welcome babes🤑 (no promises it'll be good cuz I'm a ass writer😘.)

Warnings!!!

Erm cursing? Ee...plot not making sense!

_________________________________________

Your eyes slowly open. Your hand jerk. Chains could be heard. Looking up you saw both hands chained above your head. With all your force you pulled down on the chains.

"Ah Hey! Are you crazy? Your going to hurt me."

A voice spoked with a accent.

"W-" before you could speak you where dragged.

Quickly you got on your feet before getting drag against the dirty floor. Slowly looking up off the ground your eyes meet a pair.

"Ah~ una senorita" the voice from early spoke flirtatious

Your head slowly looks the other direction to the voice whom spoke earlier. Looking up you see a man, skinny tall man, a smirk was plaster on the man's face.

"Leon you weren't going to introduce me to your guapa amiga~?" The man said looking up n down on you biting his lower lip admiring your figure.

Looking at the man Infront of you that is now known as Leon, spoked.

"Don't know who you are." Leon said in a raspy grudge voice.

You moved back from Leon keeping an appropriate distance slightly tugging the chains in the process.

"Huh..Well name's Y/n." You said looking up both at the two men who where fairly taller then you.

"Name's Luis Serra...encantado." Luis winks at you.

Your eyes look at Leon. He gave no attention to either you or Luis. His blue eyes looking around his surroundings, possibly searching for a escape.

You also look around your surroundings getting a really good look were you're at. You where in some cell? Or storage room...as you look around your eyes meet Luis's gray eyes. He was still looking at you. You awkwardly smile and nod before looking back at Leon. You Notice how built the man was...his arms... Before having any farther thoughts. Your bonded hands were being drag towards Leon.

You let out a groan from the chains pinching your skin. As you did Leon stop.

A sharp gasp left your mouth as Leon pulled the chains with more force, his muscular arms flexing.

Your arms where up roughly pulled above your head. Your eyes looked at both of the men. Their faces...red, eyes glossy lips parting...they looked aroused.

Your thighs clench together. The view was sure a sight. You then notice how both your arms are no longer forced above your head meaning Leon had let go the chains.

"Are you guys okay?" You spoke a few inches away from both of the men.

Both fell onto their knees. Muffles and small moans came out from both of. Flustered you stood there dumbfounded.

"f-fuck...Those *huffs* fuckers injected us with it" Luis spoke biting his tounge not trying to let out any nosies, his chest rising up n down fast while looking up at up with glossy eyes.

"Oh...really? *Huffs* I would- ngh~ never have thought" Leon mumble in a sarcastic tone.

You didn't know what to do. One second both of them were fine and next thing you know it their on the floor panting like their in heat.

"Es..*huff* una injection that ma- fuck-* Luis cuts himself off.

Looking at Luis direction you see him biting his finger. His back arch. His gray eyes staring right back at you..tears now running down his face.

You let out a moan. You felt hot. Your body burning. Knees weaken. You fell onto the ground. You where panting. Heart beating a second faster. You where injected as well... although something was different even though you felt weak you still had your strength...your legs pushing you up getting off the filthy ground. Luis eyes widden...

"T...u *huff* have...ength?" Luis slurred his words sounding confused

A loud moan was let out. Leons head throw back. His body shaking...he felt unbearably sensitive...

"Pl...*hiccup* ease...Y/n" Leon's looks at you eyes where droopy. His face wet from tears constantly running down, small whimpers spilling out.

.

.

.

(a/n: well that's all because god forbid I can't write full blown smut 🥰 hope ya enjoyed though!!)

[teecupangel]

Once upon a moonlit night, in the forgotten attic of an ancient manor, a spectral figure with wispy tendrils of mist for limbs, sat at an old oak desk. Beside her, a ferret, her faithful companion, scurried about, his tiny paws brushing against the dusty floorboards.

The ghost longed to share her tales with the world, but her ethereal form made it impossible to hold a pen or parchment. Yet, she possessed a voice that could weave enchanting stories. With a rustle of excitement, the ferret scampered over to a worn journal, ready to serve as her conduit once more.

As she whispered her latest creation, the ferret diligently transcribed every word, his delicate claws scratching across the yellowed pages. Together, they brought to life tales of adventure, love, and mystery, each word a testament to their unwavering bond.

One evening, as the stars twinkled outside the attic window, they both decided to send one of their stories to a faraway land once more, where they hoped it would find its way into the hearts of readers. With a flicker of her translucent form, she dictated the letter while he scribbled furiously, his whiskers twitching with concentration.

With the letter complete, they entrusted it to the care of the night, watching as it vanished into the darkness, carried by an unseen breeze. And though they knew not if their words would ever be read, the ghost and the ferret found solace in the knowledge that they had shared a piece of their souls with the world.

As dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, a letter arrived at the post office.

Inside it says: "I've been researching about mythological creatures and came upon the Manananggal. It's creepy and cool so Desmond or anyone else you prefer becoming this would either be badass or angsty."

For those unfamiliar with the Manananggal (and I will definitely misspell it in this post at least once), it’s a mythical creature of the night in Philippine folklore.

During the day, they’re normal looking people but, at night, their upper torso sprout bat wings and separates from the lower toros (some describe it with intestines dangling, some don’t). During this separated form, sunlight burns them so they have to fuse back before sunrise.

It made its debut as the first Filipino folklore related demon in Shin Megami Tensei V too.

…

Okay soooooo…

When I was a kid, I watched this horror movie that has a Manananggal in it. Scared the crap out of me when I was a kid.

There was this scene where the Manananngal was on the roof and the roof was made of some kind of leaves so the Manananggal could slip her really long tongue inside while the people sleep to eat the unborn baby of this pregnant woman.

(Because unborn babies are like one of their favorite food or something)

That gave me nightmares for months (and made me stare into the ceiling unable to sleep at times XD)

And now that I’m no longer a child, all I can think of is…

The Manananggal’s greatest weakness is that finding their lower half and sprinkling it with salt would make it impossible for the two halves to combine and, apparently, Manananngal burn in sunlight IF they’re not ‘fused’ (so yeah, they’re sorta counted as a kind of vampire)

In other words, the best way to defeat a Manananggal is to find their lower half and drench it with salt XD

I absolutely got sidetracked so let’s focus back on Desmond.

For this one, the first time he transformed into a Manananggal, he freaked out because, holy shit, he separated from his lower body.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

And that’s the start of his problem.

First of all: he has no idea what a Manananggal is (unless we throw him a bone and either (1) make him read horror folklore of other countries as a hobby or (2) make his mother Filipino or Filipino descent who knows about Manananggal and used it to scare him as a kid so he’d sleep early) so he’s flying by the seat of his pants (hehe)

And now we have four difficulties:

Easy Mode: Desmond became a Manananggal in modern day (after the Solar Flare? His mother is actually a Manananggal and passed it on him? Shrug). This means he can just check the net to figure out what he can and cannot do.

Normal Mode: Desmond becomes a Manananggal after being transported to Ratonhnhaké:ton’s time. Why is this normal mode? Because Manila was under British occupation for like… a couple of months in 1760s so there is British presence in the Philippines (somewhat) during the long Spanish Colonial rule. By this point, we can make an argument that the Spanish Brotherhood and the British Brotherhood would have some-ish information about the Philippines so it’s possible that they could be able to find information (or have a Filipino Assassin that’s in Spain or something) that can help Desmond.

Hard Mode: Desmond becomes a Manananggal after being transported to Ezio’s time. Leonardo could help try and understand how this all work. But the most important thing is that they would have the Apple depending on when you put Desmond. If the Apple can give them information about Desmond’s current situation, this lowers the difficulty. (aka: hardest during the start of AC2, after the prologue of Brotherhood and, well, all of Revelations until they enter the library)

Hard-er Mode: Altaïr’s time would be a harder time for Desmond because the best time to kick him into that timeline is AC1 so the Apple is with Al Mualim. He’d have to spend months trying to figure shit out while Altaïr tries to help and is also distracted with his missions. Of course, if this is after AC1, then the Apple is there to help out and Altaïr wouldn’t mind using it. (aka: only hard in the beginning then smooth sailing from there)

(As for food, blood is a staple food supply for Manananggal as far as I know so he can drink that instead of you know…)

========= For the alchemist side of this =========

There were many strange and wonderful things he had seen over the course of delivering items from and for the alchemist.

But this…

“I’ll have to check if we can actually deliver this.” He said with a frown, staring at the pair of bat wings that the alchemist had given him.

Well…

Dropped on his poor battered wagon anyway.

“Why? It’s not alive.”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” He said as he scratched his cheek, “We have a weight and length limit.”

The alchemist’s brows furrowed at that.

“Oh.”

They both stared at the bat wings, each wing as big as the alchemist themselves.

How tall were they anyway?

5’4 maybe? 5’3?

He wasn’t sure.

This might be too big for them to deliver.

Shame.

It looked so real.

“It’s not… like… what do cityfolks call it? Taxidermatology or something?”

“No, it’s purely made with alchemy.” The alchemist answered before walking inside.

He opened his mouth to call them back but they returned soon enough with a wicker basket that had some kind of lid. They pulled the lid open and placed it on the ground before grabbing the bat wings.

He took a step towards the alchemist when they wobbled under the weight of the bat wings and his eyes widened as his jaw dropped when the alchemist began to put the bat wing inside the basket.

Slowly, the large batwing disappeared into the basket. It didn’t change shape or showed any sign of ever receiving such an impossible load.

Once the rest of the bat wing was inside, the alchemist closed the lid and handed the basket to him.

“Here.”

“Uuuuhhh… Alchemy?” He asked as he took the basket from them, earning a nod.

“Yup.”

[felassan]

Article with some information on topics like early BioWare games, the early BioWare romance model, early LGBTQ+ representation, the origins of Dragon Age as a world etc.

Excerpts:

"BioWare’s first gay character was Juhani, a feline Jedi with a romance storyline which Gaider neither suggested nor wrote. “It couldn’t be explicit, because LucasArts wouldn’t allow that,” he says. “So she couldn’t say ‘I love you’. It just had to be very gal pal. ‘These gal pals are really close!’ It had to be hidden.” Gaider isn’t sure whether LucasArts were ever asked about the romance, or whether BioWare obfuscated it for fear of being overruled. “LucasArts certainly shut down anything they thought was over-the-top sexual innuendo,” he says. “But they looked at everything on a line-by-line basis, so if there was no single line that made it explicit, it went unnoticed.” BioWare’s first openly expressed same-sex romance came in Jade Empire, and Gaider was bowled over. “When I heard that the other team had done this, I was like, ‘This is something we can do in a video game? Holy crap.’ “It’s hard, especially for the younger audience today, to think of what it was like back then in the early 00s,” he adds. “Even when we started Dragon: Age Origins, on many levels, there was a lot of trepidation. I had a character I wanted to make gay - Zevran, the assassin. And they were still going, ‘Oh, well, you know that’s a really small part of the audience, so if we’re going to do that much content for it let’s make him bisexual at least’. So he can do double duty.”"

[...]

"In other words, Baldur’s Gate II was where the highly influential Bioware model was first nailed down. “James Ohlen came up with this idea of romances as something cool to try as a lark, not even thinking that they would be noticed much,” Gaider says. “I was just happy to be along for the ride. We had four romances and I did three of them, and that was really just Lukas Kristjanson and I sitting down, figuring out time-based conversation triggers so that your relationship grows.”"

[...]

"Dragon Age took off, and Gaider became the primary custodian of its world - leading the writing of all three released games in the series to date, as well as a stackful of novels and comics. “I felt like I’d gotten all the sword and sorcery stories out of me that I wanted to tell,” he says. Afterwards, he moved onto the early development of Anthem. “But that project was not going anywhere good,” he says. “I already could see the writing on the wall: ‘This is not gonna work out and I don’t belong on this team, but I left Dragon Age so there’s nowhere else for me to go.’” The solution was to depart BioWare, Gaider’s home for 17 years."

[source and full article]

[multi-fandom-agereg]

thank you for 300+ followers! (Long post)

thank you for 300+ followers?? Holy crap that's a lot of people!

(smiling friends oc: Noah he/it.) he can't spell. But he tried! 🖍️

Seriously though, thank you guys so much for the support on the blog. 300+ is insane and I never thought I'd get that far.

This blog is almost 2 years old, and I've been active on it for a year creating content for the agere community. In the beginning I didn't have a plan for what I wanted this blog to be. This blog was first created because when I first stumbled onto Tumblr, Tumblr made me create an account to view more content I wanted to see. I remember the first thing I've ever searched on here was Sally face agere content.

I left tumblr alone after this, but something told me to get back onto Tumblr and I did. And now I'm here. I do not really check my followers to see how long they've been following me, but to everyone who followed me from the very beginning, thank you.

Id also like to specially shout out to @dragon-queen21 , @xdeadxxeyes , @beaistiny and @red-panda-agere

To Mayliz/dragon-queen21 : to the most amazing person I've ever met, thank you for sticking around for as long as you did. You've always engaged with my content and I can't think of a post you haven't liked. You like my posts all the time, and when I was at my lowest at times you were there to comfort me (even if I didn't know what to say, but i still read them) I'm happy we've met and became mutuals. To someone who shared interests with me at the time (one piece) to someone who I've came around to call a friend, thank you. I can't express it through actions, but I hope words mean something

To xdeadxxeyes: to my pretty cool mutual, thank you for sticking around as well. I don't exactly remember how we met, but I'm pretty sure we met around the time we were posting total drama island stuff. You are a pretty cool person and you're very nice to me and I'm so happy we've got the chance to meet. :] also another plus, we both like Jjk and resident evil 🙌 so that's awesome !! My DMS are always open if you'd like to ramble about those topics with me (also by that way I'm able to get to your requests faster) since i know you requested some stuff 🏌️

To Beatrix!: we met when we were both posting Scott Pilgrim content! We aren't mutuals but I adore your content and was honored when you requested me awhile back. You seem like a very sweet person and I'd like to thank you for requesting me a few times. Your blog is very comforting and I love looking through it sometimes. Your posts are always a delight to see when you post/reblog/etc:}

to Nebby: I'm not sure when we met exactly, but I do know that we both have an interest in Honkai star rail 🦸 you guys were just amazing to talk to. When we commissioned you guys , y'all were very patient with us. And honestly? We were grateful you were 🤍 your art is so yummy and your commissioned art piece for us is one of our favorite pieces we have. Your art that you made for us is in a personal folder of ours and we can't wait to commission you again in the future. (To everyone who reads this, please go show your support! Their art is so good and they're a delight to talk to imo)

and most importantly, I'd like to thank the rest of my mutuals and my followers. Thank you for staying around to see all the dumb posts I post. I don't know how to thank you for all your constant support on this blog. This blog feels very personal to me, and I can't believe it's almost 2 years old now. Happy (early?) birthday to this blog) 🎉

[toomanyplotbunnies-sendhelp]

Hello and welcome to Day 22 of "Let's Explore My Plot Bunnies"

Today, I am going to fry my brain trying to explain this mess of a plot bunny that, over time, turned into a full-blown series in my brain.

So I present to you:

"A Thousand Miles Journey begins with one step" - a Lout of the Count's Family and Genshin Impact crossover

Buckle up cause the synopsis is gonna be long:

(I will put a line break here because holy crap I was right - It IS LOOOOONG)

Cale Henituse (the original one here) is the oldest child of the Henituse family, a noble family from Mondstadt. His reputation, however, is not exactly stellar... which is exactly what Cale intended anyway.

After his mother suddenly died when he was 8 years old, his father remarried. As if that wasn't enough to cause a lot of rumors to appear from the other Noble families in Mondstadt, his new stepmother, Violan, already had a child. Wanting to protect the two (and his future new sibling), Cale diverted everyone’s attention to himself by destroying the picture of the perfect and well-mannered child he was. He acted out, slacked off, refused to continue his studies, and even started drinking alcohol early in his life. All to protect the new additions to his family who had no clue how damaging the words of the other noble families can be.

And Cale would have continued it if not for the illness that plagued him and the promise he made to his birth mother, Jour Thames.

"When you turn 16, you must leave Mondstadt, Cale. Promise me you will. You need to live."

Those words from his mother are still engraved in his mind, to the point where he can vividly remember even the tone of her voice when she said them.

Living with an illness that makes him cough up blood and that spikes whenever he is in emotional turmoil is not ideal. But Cale can, at least, be thankful that he is still alive. Something that was only possible because of the Anemo God's assistance in the first place. Barbatos - or as he so insist to be called, Venti - has helped him survive this strange illness ever since he was 10 years old. But even a god like him can't fully get rid of his pain for good.

Six years later, on the night of his 16th birthday, Cale makes good of his promise to his mother. With a simple message to the only friends he knows will not say anything and with a quick goodbye to Venti, Cale sets on his journey to Liyue, where he hopes to have an audience with Morax - the Geo Archon - during the upcoming Rite of Descension.

In order to avoid the Knights of Favonious who are patrolling the only safe way to Liyue, Cale chooses to go through Dragonspine, a mountain where the snow never melts and where living conditions for humans are nearly non-existent. It is a gamble, but Cale always believed in the gambles he took.

Unfortunately, during his traverse through the ice caves in the mountain, Cale encountered Abyss Mages, who seem to be searching for something in this icy cave. Everyone knows that the Abyss are deathly foes who wish to kill the people of Teyvat - the ones Cale meets are no exception.

The Abyss Mages' attacks make Cale fall through the ice into a pool of ice-cold water. Thinking that he is dead, the Abyss Mages leave, as empty-handed as they came to Dragonspine. What they don't know is that Cale found a little cavern below in the icy waters. Said cavern led to a chamber that has the symbol of the Thames Family on it - an oval object around which a snake is coiled, as if to embrace it.

Knowing that this has to do with his mother's family, Cale enters the chamber and is greeted by the sight of a Vision sitting in a pool of what can only be described as raw energy - the kind that hurts you if you try to touch it.

An inscribed stone tablet nearby states:

"Those of you whose blood is of this family

try your best to prevent calamity.

Your blood shall spill in rivers here,

but heed my words for they are sincere:

For you to claim what is yours by birth,

you must prove to me your worth."

Cale approaches the pool of raw energy where the Vision lies. The Vision is unlike any other in this world: a round gem, around which the long body of a dragon is coiled (not unlike the crest of the Thames family), and around the gem are tiny claw-like structures keeping the small gem within the golden casing. It really looks like none of Teyvat's Visions.

Taking the small knife he had on him, Cale slices his palm, letting his blood fall into the pool of raw energy. The pool emits some light before becoming somewhat close to a pool of water - not capable of injuring anyone that approaches anymore.

When Cale takes the Vision in his hands, it lights up with the power of Anemo, confirming that Cale is its master now. Cale is pleased by this, since his mother always said that "Thames children always get a Vision, one way or another and you will surely get one too." It seems another one of his mother's predictions has come true.

Finding his way out of the chamber is a lot easier, and once outside, Cale realizes he is very close to the region of Liyue.

Soon, he meets two hungry cats - or maybe they are foxes - on his way. One silver, the other a reddish color that resembles his own hair color. Cale gives them some food, thinking this would be the end of it, but the two creatures follow him around after that. Which is not that surprising, but Cale had hoped they would just take the food and leave him alone. (Hearing them talk is not that surprising either - they live in a world where a God can just enter a tavern and drink twice his own weight in alcohol, rare it is for Cale to be surprised by anything nowadays)

Due to a wrong turn, Cale and the creatures (Ohn and Hong, as they introduced themselves) end up going north towards Qingce Village instead of going south towards Liyue Harbor. And yet, this detour might be auspicious for a little black lizard(?) that Cale finds after somehow getting involved in a potential creature trafficking ring - trust me, if Cale knew this would be his life once he left Mondstadt, he would have prostated in front of his mother's grave and accepted a painful death from his illness.

(At the begging of Ohn and Hong) Cale takes the little black lizard (which apparently has wings so... Cale is at a loss about what this thing is) out of the traffickers hands and set it free... or it should have been that way had the little thing not decided to follow him as well. Ohn and Hong's smug little faces didn't make him feel better.

Finally, after a few more weeks of traveling , Cale and his three little followers (more like kids at this point, not that Cale would admit that) arrive in Liyue Harbor, right in time for the Rite of Descension - which turns out to be a disaster but Cale can deal with this, whether it is a Fatui Harbringer or an old angry God traying to stirr up troubles.

Once the problems die down (and after Cale wakes up from his illness-induced coma he fell into after the fight with Osial, Overlord of the Vortex) Cale is proposed by the Adepti - mainly Cloud Retainer - to train with them for a year in an attempt to learn how to fully control both the power of Anemo and his newly acquired Geo powers. Cale and the kids accept and spend 1 year with Cloud Retainer at her abode in Mt. Aocang - being visited by the other adepti, Xiao, and even Zhongli, who helped him with his training.

After his year of training, Cloud Retainer presents Cale with a hand-made Polearm as his reward for finishing his training. That will become the weapon Cale uses for the rest of his journey.

Cale noticed that the illness seemed to be affecting him less since he learned how to use the power of Geo. Going on a hunch, he decides that having a meeting and (hopefully) learning how to use the elements from the Archons of each region, and his next stop is Inazuma.

Inazuma becomes quite a dangerous place, what with the presence of the Fatui Harbingers, a civil war and also the Electro Archon seemingly vying for his head. (Cale isn't pleased that Raon - the little winged lizard, that Zhongli said is a dragon -, Ohn and Hong are put in danger because of his journey, but it's not like the kids listen to him when he tells them to stay back)

Once again, things take a turn for the worst for Cale, who, even though the civil war is pretty much over and the Fatui are out of Inazuma, nearly dies from a combination of his illness and the injuries sustained during his fights with the 8th Fatui Harbinger, La Seniora, and with the Electron Archon herself.

On the bright side, Cale acquires the power of Electro, and, as far as the Priestess Yae Miko can tell, his body has been cleansed of the miasma that was seemingly the cause of his illness. Still, Cale has many questions left unanswered after he goes into what people call Enkanomiya to help Sangonomiya Kokomi with a ritual. Most questions are about the Thames Family and, it appears that only Archons may be capable of answering his questions.

On the not so bright side, what he learns in Enkanomiya about Celestia, the place where Gods reside above humans, does not paint them in a good light to him. With each new day and each new book read, Cale feels like he understands more and more Kaeya's hesitance to believe and worship Gods.

Regardless of his personal thoughts, when Cale gets word that Mondstadt is in danger, he and the kids jump back to traveling and reach Mondstadt. On that same day, Cale discovers the reason his home is in danger - Dvalin, one of the Four Winds who fell prey to the Abyss's lies and was deceived.

Now, Cale must team up with old acquaintances and friends to put a stop to all this, while also trying to pay his debts to Venti for helping him in the past (if only Venti would let him help). Add to that seeing his family after 4 long years of being gone and, shortly after, meeting the mysterious Dainslief who seems to know way too much about everything that he did in the last regions he was in (which is not good and Cale is very weary, regardless if his gut tells him Dainslief can be trusted) and you get the headache of Cale's life.

Cale knew he should have just run away when he saw Amber again.

Details that I couldn't fit in the synopsis:

Cale is 16 when he leaves Mondstadt, and this happens like half a year before Crepus's death. So Kaeya is like one year older than Cale (so he is 17 when he leaves), and Diluc is around 1 year and a half older.

Cale's best friends are Kaeya and Albedo. Albedo came to Mondstadt when Cale was 15. Kaeya and Cale were in the same class as Knights-in-trainning, and Kaeya got curious about this "Oh so horrible child" and basically never left after.

Cale knows that Kaeya is from Khaenri'ah. Kaeya never said anything, Cale is just too observant and noticed some few little slips from Kaeya. Cale admitted he knew at one point to Kaeya and assured him he won't say anything since "it's not his secret to tell."

Kaeya, in turn, is the only one to (unknowingly) guess that Cale's bad behavior is both to protect his family and to distance himself from people because he is dying. Kaeya made a joke, really. He said: "Oh, come on, you can be a bit less mean sometimes can't you? It's not like you are dying from some illness, are you?" and upon seeing Cale's unimpressed face (which in reality was Cale panicking), Kaeya said: "Fine, fine. I won't make a joke like that again, so don't look at me like that." before going back to teasing Cale. So yeah, Kaeya hit the nail on the head with that one.

This is Og!Cale Henituse centric. So no Kim Rook Soo, as much as I love him. But we still have (some of) the other characters like: the Henituse Family, Raon, Ohn, Hong, Choi Han, Ron and Beacrox Molan, Rosalyn, Alberu and the Ancient Powers given human bodies. And I guess the White Star (read: Raddish) is there too. (I haven't decided on others that will appear)

Which brings me to where are the others in this world? Well, Choi Han is still the unlucky guy who was dragged into another world here. He appeared in Mondstadt during the years Cale was away and was taken in by the Henituse family. He became kinda like a bodyguard for them as thanks for helping him. When Cale comes back to Mondstadt, Deruth wants to have Choi Han with Cale cause he is worried. Unfortunately, rather than Choi Han protecting Cale, it is Cale that protects Choi Han. (They go through Razor's Story Quest together and it was literally Cale doing the fighting there)

I can't really explain Alberu and the Ancient Powers without giving a ton of spoilers for something, so all I can say is that: Alberu was born in Fontaine, is once again 5 years older than Cale (who is 20 when he returns to Mondstadt); the Ancient Powers met Cale through various means and will fight the Gods themselves for Cale's sake; Alberu appears during the Fontaine Archon Quest so we get some interesting things about his past and Cale's involvement there.

Cale basically takes the role of the Traveler but with no Paimon and without him being a star that crash-landed on Teyvat. Instead, he was born in Teyvat, but the Thames Family is very much intertwined with the lore of Teyvat. That goes for his "illness" too. Also, no, Ron and Beacrox didn't know about Cale being ill. Cale hid that from everyone. Kaeya just guessed it without even knowing/feeling anything is amiss.

Rosalyn will probably appear either during the Sumeru Archon Quest or during Natlan. Depends where I can put her so it makes more sense, probably Sumeru tho.

The White Raddish is, once again, creating problems, this time as the "Abyss Prince." And he still looks like Cale, which is really a red flag for our unlucky bastard. Also, he is kinda in his "Make Khaenri'ah Great Again" Era, which is heavily disapproved by Kaeya and Dainslief, btw.

The Abyss Mage that made Cale fall into the ice cold water in Dragonspine was reporting to Enjou and WS. Needless to say, Cale's meeting with Enjou in Enkanomiya ends badly for Enjou after this tidbit of information comes out.

"Adepti trained Cale, who uses a Spear as his main weapon despite being from Mondstadt," is probably my favorite Cale from all my fics that include him. Like holy shit, he is a noble from Mondstadt that just said "Fuck you nobility" and picked up a Polearm to fight with.

On that note, Genshin lore is IMPORTANT here. Any lore kinda fits in this story, be it because Cale learns about it, because I rewrite some of it to fit my narrative or because it's way too important to skip over. This means if I ever actually write this I am going over all Story Quests/World Quests/Events that have important lore in them. (This also includes Artifact Lore and some Weapon Lore too)

The Thames family is really important here, too. They have powers beyond what is normal, but all of them die young through mysterious means. Also, they have a motto: "A Thames should never fear the past or the future." This basically makes an allusion to the fact that they can see past and future events under special conditions. Because WS tried to get that power too (by killing most of the Thames left in the world) and only managed to damage the powers of the Thames family, Cale is not able to see the future, but he can see the past if he touches an object that is full of energy.

On the note of Cale's abilities, this Cale also has a perfect memory (similar to KRS's Record). So he has a lot of information and trauma stored in that head of his. It will be even more trauma after he gets to Sumeru and Fontaine's Archon Quests because omg, I fucking cried at them both and I was in shambles for days. Can't imagine LIVING through those.

The Thames family has also a bit of a thing that they do before they die. They infuse some object/place with their last remaining energy and leave a message for whoever (from their family) may find it: They introduce themselves, say where is their home and give some heads up about events they foresaw coming and want to prevent.

Because of this, Cale meets some of his ancestors from before Khaenri'ah fell actually. And in chronological order of meeting them, they are:

Wei Thames - his ancestor from Liyue. The message from him was found by Cale during the Quest "The Chi of Yore" after defeating that (accursed) timed trial.

Kannon Thames - his ancestor from Inazuma. Cale finds her remains and message during the Quest "Sacred Sakura Cleansing Ritual"; she was a good friend of Kitsune Saiguu and died during the Cataclysm 500 years ago.

Acacius Thames - ancestor from Enkanomiya. He lived in the time before Enkanomiya sank into the depths and Cale found his journal during his exploration of Enkanomiya. He had visions of the future catastrophe that will end with Enkanomiya in the depths. When he told the people that he was branded as a heretic and thrown into a prison cell where he met his death as Enkanomiya sank.

Elijah Thames - a wanderer that settled in Mondstadt during the reign of Decarabian and ended up helping with the revolution. Did not get along with Diluc's ancestor - which seems to be a theme between the 2 families. Also he was a dear friend to Venti who vouched for Venti to be the Anemo Archon since he will not abuse his power like Decarabian did. Cale meets him during the Mondstadt Archon Quest.

Isaiah Thames - ancestor from Sumeru. Cale meets him the first time when he connects with Irminsul and then again during the Subzerus Festival Samsara. Isaiah was Rukkhadevata's trusted helper who, feeling his death near, bound his remaining energy to the Irminsul so that he could attempt to help Rukkhadevata even after his death. He is very much disgusted and disappointed in the Academiya Sages and their treatment of Nahida - even states that he would "gladly bathe in their blood from head to the soles of his feet if he had a physical body".

Noah Thames - ancestor from Fonatine. Helped create the Fortress of Meropiede and left behind the papers that will be the foundation of "The Wingalet", Wriothesley's flying ship. Cale meets him first during "Cataclysm's Quickening" (aka Act IV of the Archon Quest) when he is staying in the Foretress of Meropiede and tries to find Childe. He feels his energy again while exploring the ruins that Arlechino pointed out to him and Navia during Act V and, once again and for the last time, after Cale battles the All-Devouring Narwal (basically Cale faints after the battle and speaks with Noah in a space made by his mind). Noah has his energy bound to the Primordial Sea and has been trying to keep it away from Fonatine for nearly 1000 years now.

Adam Thames - an orphan that wondered the Sumeru Desert for a long time. He stumbled upon Khaenri'ah and made a home for himself there. When the Cataclysm hit, he took Dainslief (his best friend) out of the way of destruction and returned to the Door (you know the door deep in the Tunigi Hollow) where, in order to contain the Abyss monsters, he sealed the door shut and left a message behind knowing he will not return. He perished in battle against the Abyss creatures. Cale finds the message and learns about Dainslief being his best friend when he finds the Door in "Khavarena of Good and Evil" Quest.

Another thing about the Thames is that names are very important to them. Their names spell their futures. You can see it in the naming scheme above: Wei means "to protect" which is what he did during his fight against the Chi; Kannon is the Japanese name for Guanyin, a Bodhisattva associated with compassion and is considered "The Goddess of Mercy" having saved a lot of people from extreme sufferings the same way Kannon does before she too falls during the Cataclysm; Acacius is another spelling for the word "Akakios" which translates from Greek to "innocent, not evil" which is want Acacius was really and this name was the name of some early saints who were martyred, which again is similar to Acacius from this story; Elijah is a Hebrew name and was a prophet in the Old Testament, who confronted the king and queen in the 9th Century BC over their idolatry of the Ba'al and other wicked deeds, which is pretty on point imo with the Revolution against Decarabian scenario; Isaiah is another Hebrew name and he was one of the 4 Major Prophets of the Old Testament and also (supposedly) the author of the Book of Isaiah, which has some paragraphs depicting trees on fire - aka just like the one Dottore looks at in the Winter Night's Lazzo; Noah is another Hebrew Name and I am pretty sure that everyone knows about Noah's Ark... only now, the boat was constructed 1000 years after he died; and, last but not least, Adam - another Hebrew name - the 1st human created by God, who, alongside Eve, ate the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil... here, this can translate to Adam (maybe) being too supportive of Khaenri'ah plans up until it blew up in everyone's face, and he had to run away to avoid death (aka he was casted out of the Garden of Eden) but returned later to stop the spreading of the Abyss monsters out of the Door to Khaenri'ah.

And because we (the travelers) give Scaramouche a new name, Cale here basically adopts Scara by giving him not only a new given name but also a family name (if he ever wishes to use it) alongside it. His name would be Cain Themes, again another Hebrew name but that makes sense since the story of Cain ends with him becoming a wanderer and becoming the founder of a city later, and Cale gives him this name while knowing the story of "Cain" from his mother and hoping that Scaramouche will avoid having another bad ending to his own story.

Cale's own name has a story, but, generally, children only hear the story of their name's from their Thames parents when they turn 10. Since Cale's mom died when he was 8 years old, he never found out the story of his own name - which is pretty common with most Thames children since they can live at maximum till 30 years old in the case of very lucky members of the family (mostly due to the illness they have).

The Thames family is also strongly tied to Dragons, something that was confirmed by Apep in Nahida's Second Story Quest, where Apep seems surprised that "the children of Nibelung still roam this land." Turns out, there were tribes of humans living with the Dragons before the First Who Came (Phanes?) appeared. The Thames family is the last remaining line of the so-called "Dragon Slayers" of old. They were mainly called Dragon Slayers because they could keep up or even slay other Dragons. As a result, Dragon King Nibelung was impressed and bestowed upon the Thames family, specifically, gifts of power (aka the old versions of Visions that looks similar to Cale's own Vision) and considered them his children. Most of those warriors perished in the fight against Phanes(?).

Because of his origins as a Dragon Slayer, it is not that unbelievable that Cale ends up taking care of a Dragon himself (Raon) since raising a small Dragon is like a Rite of Passage for the Dragon Slayers in this fic.

White Star, as stated before, killed most of the present time Thames in an attempt to get the power to see the future - an attempt that failed. He knows that Thames children don't live all that long, so he thinks that Cale's existence is insignificant and not a problem since he will die young too. (And he was not wrong technically - Cale was supposed to die before turning 20 if he never left on his journey and got better) This is mainly the reason why he let's Cale live after seeing him with Dainslief.

Since White Star is still in the body of a Thames, Cale can get some information from the things WS touches (kinda like how the Traveler has that flashback in the Chasm Quest with Dainslief).

And then there is the Caribert Quest where Cale basically takes the place of White Star in a memory from around 400 years ago when White Star was traveling with Dainslief and met Clothar and the whole Dark Crystal thing that calls itself a "Sinner".

Why was Dainslief traveling with White Star you ask? Because he was hurting from failing to protect Adam and wanted to, at least, try and protect his legacy - another member of his family Dainslief met by chance. Too bad he wasted his efforts on White Star. But he still got to know Cale and want to protect him so there is that.

Also, before I forget to mention, here Archons may be called "Gods" by humans but in reality they are more like "Protectors of a Land" who were gifted power by Gods after they won the Archon War - whether they were willing to accept the power or not. As such, when Khaenri'ah happened, most were given an ultimatum by the Gods in Celestia: "Either Khaenri'ah falls today or your regions fall." So, even if they were unwilling to help, they had to so they can avoid more human lives being lost. Pretty traumatic, don't you think? (Pretty sure that is what happened in the Genshin Impact canon too but we don't have explicit confirmation because all of them signed an NDA and Venti is still a little shit that has no part two to his Story Quest)

The Aranara call Cale "Crimson Nara", Raon "Blackie", Ohn and Hong "Kitties". Also, the Melusines see Cale in a very similar way to Neuvillette. In their eyes, both of them are large balls of energy (Cale's red; Neuvillette is blue) that have ribbons made of some other type of energy around them(both have gold colored ribbons). Because of these similarities, the Melusine are all "Monsieur Neuvillette will have a new friend" and "The two of them will get along well." Neuvillette likes Cale's (and his children's) company but he wishes he did not have to know the amount of problems they get into everyday.

Raon's first Growth Phase takes place during the Sumeru Archon Quest. It starts when Cale and Nahida run from the people ordered by Il Dottore to capture them (aka the scene where Khaterine is impaled) and it ends just before the battle with Mecha Scaramouche is over.

After Raon's 1st Growth Phase is over, he gets a new ability. As long as Raon remembers where said place is, he can teleport himself and others there. So basically, Raon = Automatic Teleport Point. Till then, they travel around like normal people would - which takes a while.

I can also say that Alberu has a Hydro Vision that he got in quite the hilarious way. Alberu had an argument with Cale over the fact that Cale constantly says he is not a good person (whether it is the original or KRS, they are both bad at admitting they can do good thing for people) and Alberu said: "If I have to make it my life's mission to make you see that you are a good person, then so be it." and a Hydro Vision appeared in front of him. Cale's response was: "Congratulations on your new Vision. My deepest condolences for the fact that you made an impossibility your life's mission." Alberu wanted to throw him out the window for that.

And for the last thing, I have a little project going on where I write voicelines for Cale (like characters have in Genshin). Currently, I am done with the Mondstadt ones (for the most part) and moving onto Liyue. Let me know if you are interested in seeing them.

And we are done. Holy hell this was longer than yesterday's post.

Well, it is very late for me (don't stay up late kids) so I have to end it here.

Hope you have a great day/night and take care!

See you tomorrow,

-TooManyPlotBunnies-Send Help

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

In ur opinion,who do u think draw moon knight best?

Mine is Declan Shalvey

BOY DID YOU ASK A QUESTION!!!!!!!

I’ve waxed on and on about the writers of Moon Knight. The best ones, the worst ones, a few mediocre ones that got the job done…. 

But what about the art? 

Each artist has their own style, their own ideas, and their own grasp of Moon Knight. 

When you get very lucky, you get a writer and artist dream team that create something beautiful. 

Let’s start with Bill Sienkiewicz. 

(THIS WASN'T EVEN FOR A COMIC. HE JUST FUCKING DREW THIS FOR FUNZIES)

He was not the first to draw Moon Knight. THAT was Don Perlin!  Look at this cape design! 

He was relatively new to the comic scene, but quickly a very sought after man. New Mutants, Electra, and many others for many different publishers. 

And even after he left us he still pops in now and then to remind us that no one…NO ONE can draw Moon Knight like he can.  Look at Sienkiewicz JUST FLEXING. 

(2014 people!!) Someone came to him and went, "Hey we could use a Moon Knight Variant. Do you wanna dip back in and hand us a little ol' Moony?"

And he gave them this and I'm sure they went "...WTF we didn't even ask for this. We thought he'd just do him perched on a building or something in the distance. What do we do with this? It's too good holy crap."

(2022 because he felt like schooling us again with another cover)

But he gave us more than the cowl. He gave us the men who wear it. 

And as amazing as his art was: 

He also gave us the most important pieces: 

I could wax on and on about Bill all day… But let’s take a look at some other artists. 

Kevin Nowlan Kept the dark parts of the suit and the billowing cape. 

Bo Hampton is the one that teamed up with Zelenetz to give us a fantastic sleek and angry design. Here's MK punching some Neo-Nazi in the face! 

Chris Warner came later in "First of Khonshu" run and started with a very classic 1990s muscle bound and glitzy design. A design that might start to look familiar to those of you with a sharp eye (look at that belt. We're approaching the BLING age of Moon Knight.) 

This was a weird time in comics for Moon Knight. We were switching out writers a lot and he suddenly had a much more Egyptian style theme. 

Moon Knight art goes on a WILD ride after this. We get the "Marc Spector" run that spans late 80s and early 80s and the art gets very 90s. Solid, Dark, and BUSY.

Sal Velluto (With the Punisher! This was a fantastic pair up!) 

Ron Garney Plays with the sharp edges of the cloak and that’s nice. Also gives his mask a bit more of a definition. 

Gary Kwapisz comes in with a BOLD metallic Moon Knight. Just look at those fists! Time time in MK was just wild you guys. 

James Fry flies in and tries to make sense of those MUSCLES. 

1993 arrived and the 90s hit HARD. 

Stephen Platt deep in that 90s style. 

What’s happening here? I don’t know. You don’t know. No one knows. But man does it look ACTION COOL. 

Muscles got BIG in this period in the 90s. Anatomy got weird and chest size had no limits. 

Tommy Lee Edwards steps in and slims our pal Moon Knight back down.

Now THAT is a breath of fresh air. I love this. 

Look at the use of that cape! And the hood? The subtle mask outline… Yes please. 

Mark Texeira steps in after this. Let me tell you guys about this art. This is the start of the modern age. 2008! 

(Look at the little Moon Knight design in the upper right near the signature! OMG little cutie!) Also the details in that rugged face and wet hair. 

But how does the suit look?

Nice.

We leave behind the glorious Tex and head to David Finch! You might recognize some of these motiffs as we get to some more popular runs. 

Hello there fist spikes! This is when Moon Knight starts to get his reputation as being a bit…punchy… 

The point in his cowl gets defined in this style too. 

Mico Suayan takes on this hard hitting run too. 

Clean lines, dark darks and white whites and that cape! The spikes are gone but the muscles are coming back.

This was a big action packed run and numerous artists got a chance. 

Now… This is about where I stop listing every single artist because it gets too fast pace with single issues, annuals, events, and all that fun business. SO here are some highlights. Also I have an upload limit so I'm sorry I can't show you all the beautiful art styles that branched off at this time.

Bong Dazo  gave us that little sad startled cat. 

Jerome Opeña Had such AMAZING action picks. I’ve never seen action done so well. And that outfit! 

I…I could go on forever about this artist and the run he did. But that’s for another day… Just know that I think about it all the time and it lives in my head rent free. 

I’m going to skip a lot here and jump to the BIG GUNS. 

Hate the run, LOVE the art. 

My dear Alex Maleev makes it worth it. 

The absolute SLAYING of the white in every image kills me. LOOK. LOOOK AT THE USE OF NEGATIVE SPACE.

It honestly brings me back to Sienkiewicz. 

I’m screaming inside holding this up to the moon. 

From there we slide SO easily into Declan Shalvey my precious. 

You know what I’m talking about. 

Ron Ackins Took over from there and it was stellar.

I am going to skip over THREE artists on purpose because not only was the RUN bad (the worst) but also the ART was just the worst. (See BEMIS run. Ugh. Nothing was good in that run.) 

Do I need to talk about Greg Smallwood? 

Do I really need to post anything about Greg? 

Or Cappuccio who works with MacKay's current run? 

Or Federico Sabbatini who also fills in with MacKay?

(I would but I'm out of picture space. Thanks Tumblr).

So who is my favorite? 

Hard to say… I’m caught up in the colors and designs of some, the action styles of others. Sometimes the raw power of MK’s fighting or just in how clever his cape and cowl are done. 

And sometimes I crave that amazing 1980s Sienkiewicz designs of Moon Knight in the rain, Stained Glass Scarlet’s everything, and the shape of Moon Knight (or shapelessness of him). 

I could argue that ANY artist that draws Moon Knight during a good run is my favorite. I could forgive most any style if the story is right and the style will weave into the words and the flow of his cape will settle into my heart once again. 

And sometimes…. 

Well…

[slasheru]

Slasher U Update Roadmap: End of 2023!

Holy crap, it's been a hell of year, hasn't it?! Slasher U Act 1 came out at the end of April 2023 and there's been SO MUCH that's changed!

Things that were added in post-launch Slasher U Act 1 updates:

Sawyer's entire romance arc, storyline, and hookup/makeout games

Outfits

Bartending

The ability to talk to Dark Tate post-coitally

Butterflies and crows (fighting crows used to crash your game)

The entire good UI

Characters including Cliff, Stitcherella, Jennykind, Paisleigh, Tanya, and I'm pretty sure Kennedy was a very early addition, too

And that's not counting the tweaks, fixes, and content! In the interest of continuing to Ship of Theseus this game into the best dating sim ever (no biggie, right?), I have the following updates planned before the end of 2023 for Act 1!

Accessibility settings: A way to opt out of minigames with a random roll based on your personality stats (different stat per minigame as appropriate!)

Refining the places you can get personality points in Act 1

Customization: Cane accessories! These will run on a different band than outfits so you can mix and match them/equip them alongside outfits!

Finance: I made everything in the game on the pricey/"realistic" side and the money you get from gigs relatively low because A) college and B) i kind of thought it would both be funny/reflective of shitty college jobs AND a nice incentive to grind some minigames but. I think the economy needs a bit of a fix, right? ;) (in the meantime, try typing InfiniteMoneyVent with the caps correct in the Cheat Codes menu when you're in-game! Your wallet will be a little fuller!)

There are 27 major bugs left in the list for me to tackle as of now, most of them are routine but there are 3 or 4 harder ones to tackle (naming save files is being a beeeetch specifically because afaik Wolf wipes any additional system string variables even if you specify a larger variable count list? My engine just is like "naw actually I'm not saving that"?)

Prior Planned Quality of Life Stuff: Either a way to name your save files OR a way to make your character name appear under your save file (this used to happen but there was a bug where all names would default to your last used character name)

WHITE WHALE HOLY GRAIL I'm still trying to fix the text box bug! This actually isn't borked in the vanilla version of the WRPG engine but I can't fucking figure out how to fix it with the way I've set up the UI (I think? I THINK?!). This is realistically the last bug to get fixed due to my own ineptitude, so I'm hoping to A) make autosaves automatically turned on and B) making Data 1's save slot unusable so it's reserved for autosaves!

There's ALSO a couple content updates for Act 1 still (nothing major, except for, uh, ONE MAJOR THING, haha):

The Truth or Dare minigame/scenario is now going to be included in the Act 1 game, but take place after the Act 2 bumper (post-murder-attempt)

This is already in there but the preamble for Dark Tate's continuing storyline, and Laila's Act 2, activates after the murder attempt

I'll be adding Hex, Juno, and Sawyer's Act 2 lead-ins, plus regular Tate's lead-in, as I work on Act 2

Resolving the storylines (or, if you're being a Chaotic Evil type of player, ruining everyone's life) with story choices/quests for non-dateables: Act 2 will include more Sawyer/Horsemike story, and personal quests for Melyssa, Professor Plutonium, and partially Veronika/Archibald (theirs will continue into Act 3)

Maybe I'll let you fight crows again. MAYBE.

I'm ALSO working on Act 2, which has a lot of new features (notably permanent cosmetic upgrades like a piercing system and tattoos) as well as new content (obvi lmao), but I really want to find a way to offer early access passes to folks who didn't make it to the Crowdfundr (maybe via Patreon)?

Here are some Act 2 features that I'm excited to include/are already being worked on (you'll recognize a lot of these from fanvotes!)

Piercing/Tattoo Parlor

Headless Horsemike one-off hookup minigame

Tate's movie date (yes it's scripted and implemented, it'll be in the next Act 2 update lol. I KNOW I KNOW :D )

Being able to run the speakeasy/sex dungeon as a little moneymaking game in and of itself (well. More for the speakeasy. The sex dungeon is mostly for sex. You're welcome, Sawyer Enjoyers)

Being able to gift outfits to dateables

I'm personally super hype for Tate's storyline (which also involves some other students?? ooo????) and how that's going to mechanically shake out, PLUS, tattoos. Oh my god. TATTOOS GUYS. Plus, the piercing system works like IRL-style - you have to get pierced, then buy jewelry for your piercing if you want to replace your starter/healer gear! I'm a big fan of body mods IRL and having a more realistic piercing/tattoo system was important to me!

Can't wait for next year AND to bring y'all more Slasher U!!!!!!!!! Making video games is literally my favorite thing to do in the whole wide world and I can't imagine doing anything else with my life :')))) (one day I'll be able to do this FULL-full time instead of on top of reviewing medical documents and drawing IP comics for Big Corpo)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE BEST FUCKIN' 6 MONTHS OF GAME DEV I COULD EVER FUCKING ASK FOR!!!!!!!!!! You guys rule :')))))))))))

xoxooxoxoxoxox, Professor Plutonium

[decadesfinds]

A realism tip and slight tangent for your 1890s-1950s sim homes!

When placing a sewing machine, pair it with a rocking chair.

Rocking chairs (usually without arms!) were used to help keep rhythm with the manual treadle pedal of the sewing machine, which required you to move it back and forth with your feet in order to keep the machine running smoothly. A rocker was the ultimate tool for this, because it also helped a tailor or wife to not hunch over, as you can't rock that way. It saved your back, and your shoulders, from aches and pains. Some people even used them when longform typing became more common and the angle of the fountain pen was no longer a going concern. (I own three Chinese fountain pens. They're actually quite nice to use, but you're fucked if you're on an angle.)

The reason this went away was electric sewing machines and the slow death of home economics and home skills like sewing your own clothing. Prosperity and mass production was nothing new - many eras throughout history often didn't bother making their own clothing, including Colonial America - as they were able to just go to the shop and buy something new after being fitted for it and commissioning a tailor. There were also off-the-shelf options. These came back after WW2 and all but wiped out the culture of home-sewing that had been cultivated between the turn of the century and the two wars. It was often that you could even get together with others you knew and collaborate on a piece, especially if skills overlapped, to make it quickly. Such occasions slowly became "sewing circles" and would spin off into other hobbies.

Sewing machine owners were almost always women or girls (as the past would define it. AFABs, basically.) The machines were even sized for smaller hands, which was a stereotype about women's bodies for a long time. Though men could sew, it was often seen as something only men who were "infirm" or "invalid" (injured or disabled) could do, as a way to pass the time when unable to leave the home or place of care. Hand-sewing was seen as manlier, as it was much easier to do in the middle of a logging camp or out herding sheep across the plains. (I personally picked it up due to being raised into a very, very conservative church that taught all the prepper essentials. I'm obviously no longer a part of that place and would burn it to the ground if I could, but hey, free life skills.)

With the can-do, make-do spirit that pervaded the first half of the 20th century, many women found themselves in charge of making their entire family's clothing, curtains, and household items such as linens, as a cost-saving measure or out of a specific need.

For an IRL example, my previous home that I lived in for 11 years had hand-sewn, hand-tailored curtains from the early 60s almost certainly done on an old treadle machine (if you sew, you can tell). They were beautiful, so we kept them... and also, well, free curtains for weird-shaped windows. Have you SEEN the price of a set of nice curtains? Holy crap.