#maybe ill make them into a sticker pack as well……

[kaogens]

future vocaloid charm designs ^__^ preorders open this weekend if everything goes right!

[dragqueenpentheus]

MY BUSINESS CARDS ARE HERE

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[sugiwa]

small dreams

It took one 27 second long video for Keigo to fall in love

The video looped through every news cycle, and each reaction varied from outright derision to almost mythical awe emerging. On YouTube, it was viral in fifty-three different countries and Starburst—a name derived from a candy company that the pro-hero was fond of—jokingly tweeted that she was more famous than All-Might.

And she might have been thanks to the reporter that not only caught her decking the father of a girl she just saved but also recorded the subsequent twenty-seven seconds it took for three police officers to pull her off him and pull her away. The peace sign Y/N threw up as the police led her into a car probably didn’t help, nor did the live stream of her twenty-four hours in a holding cell while they investigated her claim of the man’s abuse and finally released her.

Though there were news outlets that tried to pin Starburst down as a hero on the edge of villainy, her public reputation hadn’t taken any damage. It was hard, after all, to claim that she did the wrong thing when they heard the girl’s testimony and pulled her medical records. But, Starburst—or L/N Y/N—still faced punishment from the Hero Public Safety Commission despite all this.

Attacking an unarmed civilian was apparently a big no-no—even if he was an abusive asshole. She was spared having her license revoked until she retested the simple principle that she had refrained from using her quirk. Her sentence was lessened to a month-long suspension with a strict patrol schedule in some city near Tokyo.

Y/N could work with it. She could put up with the Commission’s inane chatter for the sake of her job, but she drew the line at issuing an apology. It took three hours to wiggle her way out of a press conference to address the event. By the time her meeting with the Commission and sentencing was done, Y/N retweeted the initial video with the caption: Totally worth it.

Keigo was slightly in love with Starburst. Maybe it was the way she strolled into the Hero Public Safety Commission building fresh out of handcuffs and bluntly told them that she wasn’t apologizing and would rather become a vigilante than listen to ten more minutes of them debating the future of her career.

Or maybe it was the video which he’d seen a hundred times over, where she looked like a hero. The kind he’d always dreamed of as a kid, the kind who swooped in and beat the bad guy and then offered you stickers and candy and told you everything would be alright because it was exactly what she’d done for that little girl.

Either way, L/N Y/N was a hero who deserved a little rest, which was why he was currently tailing her patrol route and taking care of the problems before she could move. Her quirk was right out of a comic book too. The golden energy that left her capable of issuing an instant KO.

“Will you leave me alone?” she snapped, finally turning around to glare at him. She had a warm face, not made for anger which was probably why the glare fell away a moment later, replaced by a smile. “I appreciate the help, but I’m not offering any fanservice in exchange.”

“Who said I was a fan?” His wings flapped, feathers flying back toward him.

“You regularly stalk girls mid-air? That sort of thing does not fly with me.” Y/N laughed, nose scrunching at her own joke. “Get it…cause we both fly….”

He smiled innocently, “Thought of that all on your own?”

Y/N groaned, twisting her earring, “Just because I didn’t go to a fancy-ass hero school like Wet Jeanist and Flameo Hotman doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

Slight insulted by the nickname she gave his favorite hero, he asked, “Flameo Hotman? You mean Endeavor-san?”

“Ohhh, that’s a man-crush voice.” Her eyes tightened with mischief, “I’m gonna have to dip since I got a hot date with my credit card. See you later, Chicken Little.”

He watched her go in slight awe because Y/N really was as crazy as the stories said. Starburst was a hero that had a bit of a cult following. She wasn’t high enough in the rankings to be wildly popular the way he was—up until she went viral, that was. A graduate of Ketsubutsu who went on to attend college before actually becoming a hero, she was on a watch list with the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Apparently, non-conformity was an issue…who knew.

A rain of confetti fell over Keigo’s head, brightly colored and all covered in specks of glitter. He inhaled deeply, turning to see Starburst’s grinning face as she eagerly clapped. Endeavor, like always whenever he was forced to be in Starburst’s proximity, turned around and stalked down the hall. Her confetti burned in his wake. Y/N’s voice followed him, offering an empty congratulations to the hero.

“How’s my precious senpai doing?” she asked, turning her attention to him.

“You really know how to annoy him, huh?” asked Keigo staring at the empty hall. If you gave Y/N too much attention, she ran with it. “What’s the deal?”

Y/N shrugged, rolling her shoulders confidently, “Some people are not equipped to handle true talent.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Keigo.

“I may or may not have drunkenly confessed that I had no idea who he was to a bunch of reporters during last week.” Y/N made a rude gesture with her hand. “I mean, if you’re not Number One, then do you really matter?”

“Harsh,” he ruffled his wings, freeing the last of her glitter confetti and letting it rain on the ground. “You all good with the Commission now?”

“All thanks to you! I owe you one, you know that?”

“Nah,” Keigo waved her off, resisting the urge to laugh as she made her bright eyes as wide as possible. “It was pretty brave of you. Plus, I think anyone would have done the same thing.”

Three months out of trouble, Y/N once again made headlines for ‘accidentally’ dropping a child trafficker off a building. She caught him before he hit the ground, but apparently, the authorities deemed the emotional damage a little extreme.

“They probably would have been a bit smarter about it, though.”

“Well, don’t worry, no one expects you to be the brains.”

Y/N pouted. “True.”

Keigo laughed. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re not in the top ten.”

“Is bullying the new rage these days?” Her pout grew, arms crossing over her chest, “Everyone’s got something snippy to say to me. Where’s Rumi when I need her?”

“Gonna hide behind her?”

“Fuck yeah.” Y/N nodded emphatically as she reached into her pocket for a pack of gum. She offered him a piece. “Let’s see how your chicken wings stand against her legs.”

Keigo looked at the gum and then her. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Wanna get something to eat?”

Her smile looked like the sun, “Thought you’d never ask.”

“So, what’s the deal with you and Dragonbreath?” asked Y/N, sprawling across his couch. It was the third time this week she was here. He should tell her to leave, but the words die in his throat in his mouth every time he tried.

There’s too much risk. Dabi’s listening in on everything he does these days, and he doesn’t want her anywhere near them. Not when he’s aware of what they’re planning. Not when he knows how Y/N would react.

She was rough and improper in everything she does, but there’s no one brighter or better when it came to genuine goodness.

Keigo dodged the question with his own. “Endeavor again?”

“Ran into him last week and got yelled at for ten minutes for getting in his way. The guy was in my path, and I’m the one getting yelled at? Next time, I’m drop-kicking him off his skyscraper.” She kicked her leg in the air, reminding him that she was scarcely dressed.

Was this what having a girlfriend like? Constantly jumping between fondness and horniness? He wasn’t complaining.

He heard this threat a million times. “Still mad about the fact that he has one?”

“I’m a simple country girl. I’d be happy with a peach orchard and some chickens.”

“Come here,” he crooked his finger at her. Y/N got up instantly, crossing the room toward the balcony where he stood. Her hands wrapped around his waist, slipping under his shirt, across his skin, over his chest. Too much and too little at the same time.

“You’ll get cold out here,” she murmured. He could sink in the warmth she offered.

“It’s nice seeing the world so still.”

A noise left her throat, wet and worried, “Hawks, whatever it is, whatever they’re making you do, I’ll be here. I promise.”

People joked about Y/N being dumb—he did it too often to count, but she saw more than most people did when it mattered.

“Why’d you become a hero?”

“Saved a cute boy once, and he gave me a kiss,” she said. He’d heard that story before. She offered it in every interview, never expanding on what boy or how she saved him. It was also a glaring lie.

He didn’t push her. He lied about too many things to count.

Keigo took her face between his hands—the urge to kiss that tiny speck by her eyes thrummed through him. It would take a thousand-thousand years for him to forget her face. Y/N turned, her lips skimming his palm, cold and warm at once.

He loved her because she was Y/N. Because in her, he could love himself and not grow cold from it. Because the numbness he’d always known leaked out in place of affection. He loved her boundlessly—above, below, and across—unhindered, without ill will, without enmity.

It was with her that he was Takami Keigo and not the current Number Two.

His hand cupped her neck, fingers tangling in the curls of her hair. Her lips opened under his. A trail of fire burst across his lips, and for a moment, he only knew the sweetness of her mouth. He drank her in, each breath, each hushed sound leaving her throat.

He would do what they asked and make the choices no one else could.

It was worth the world he dreamed of.

[pmiller1]

Had anyone ask about the Cap that Fret seem to have?

Rindo: You mean the one that be keep to the side? Not really, I haven't ask him about it, really.

Nagi: Nor had I.

Shoka: I did ask him about it one day, but he wasn't give me an answer, just saying that he keep it.

Beat: Wait, wouldn't that cap mess with his hair?

Nagi: I believed it would, witch is why the question of why he possessed that Cap in the first please is the problem.

Rindo: Yeah, now that I think about all that time, I never see him wearing that Cap. He wear all other cap sure, back in the game even, but never that one.

Shoka: So he never wear it once...

Nagi: Lady Shoka, do you had something address?

Shoka: Yeah, the reason why I've ask him about that Cap it because it was familiar, in fact I remember someone wearing that Cap back in the Game.

Shoka: In the 1st Thirty weeks of Shinjuku Games.

Beat: Wait you mean that... when those Shinjuku punk just took over Shibuya's Games?

Shoka: Yep. He was one of the Player, can't remember his name or the team that he was leading, but I know he was one in the early games.

Rindo: I take it he and his team didn't go so far?

Shoka: Oh he was no push over, he and team work Heller goods, even if it was just a twelve player team, they able to hold it off for over Thirty weeks. Really, if it wasn't rigged, they would had won in the early week, maybe in the first week.

Beat: Man, that suck.

Shoka: It was there last week when they tried to take down the Ruinbringers. And they was close to beating Big Su and Tsugi's Army of Mr Mews.

Nagi: Take it it was the same outcome as us?

Rindo: Shiba showing up and stuff them out?

Shoka: More like breaking there hope right then and there. Never seen someone just lost the will the fight that fast.

Beat: What an ass.

Rindo: Guess that he thought there was a changed to come back to life once there beat the Ruinbringers and win top places.

Nagi: Tragic.

Shoka: Yep. And you know the worst thing. He said something that really shaken me up.

Shoka: He call Shiba a "Heartless God" for giving them fault hope, a empty promises to bring them back to life, that he could had told them that he couldn't bring them back to life instead of lying toward the player.

Beat: Woah. Really calling him for his BSing. Tricking people is not cool.

Shoka: And yet it what he after that it what set me in. "Imagination if your friends was in this stupid game, would you really let them suffer in this hopeless game?!"

Beat, Rindo and Nagi: O_O;

Shoka: Even if that wasn't address me to, I sure you guy guess what my answered was.

Rindo: Wow. I guess that was something.

Shoka: You had no idea how I fear the day that you would died and be stuck in the Game. I just never thought of that before that.

Shoka: It keep me out up all night. What am I gonna to do if that happen? I've talk to Ayano about it, but she said it nothing to worry about.

Shoka: Big Su said if that happen, if gonna make sure he ready. Shiba was out of question, Shibuya Reapers wasn't all high up to me.

Shoka: Only Kaie said that I have to prepared myself of that day.

Nagi: So you worry the day that Rindragon would end up in the Game.

Rindo: Would explained why you was being Cautious. I've lost count how many time Swallow texting with "be careful rin" and it was cute that you cure for my well being.

Shoka: Well yeah... it wasn't that big of the deal.

Rindo: Oh I remember that one day I was sick, they was would packed of medicine by front door, it wasn't addressed from anyone, well other then a sticker of a swallow. My mom was about to get some before she saw that.

Shoka: Well, yeah I had to, illness isn't good y'know.

Rindo: Or how my phone ring right before I've almost mindless walk into traffic, it was always silent. But the caller ID was Swallow.

Shoka: Yeah! You really need to keep your eyes on the road. I've panic every times I seeing your player icon going to traffic for some rare mods.

Nagi: Yeah, Lord Tosai told me how you tend to look at your phone when walking.

Rindo: Even still, I'm impress that you keep me alive in all that years.

Shoka: Yeah, you welcome by the way.

Beat: Man, she was like your guardian angel. Yo.

Nagi: Dissipated that she where a Reaper at the time.

Shoka: Well even still, that guy impact me to what led me betraying my fellow reaper and save Shibuya with you guys.

Nagi: I see. Should we inform Lord Tosai that old friend fought well trill the very end? I sure he would like to know.

Shoka: Well, I think he would find it worst that he played the Game and having it worst then we had.

Shoka: Beside he still uncomfortable talking about his old friend, if he wouldn't tell us about the cap that use to belong to him.

Nagi: He may had supped that we would know that Cap does indeed belong to his old friend.

Beat: Actually yo, I never knew that Cap would belong to his old pul.

Nagi: I did say "may" after all...

[bellygunnr]

Blown Lightbulb

A commission piece for @poisonheadcrabsalesman featuring Thomas Lasky/Sarah Palmer. 

---

The house is cold. It hasn’t changed at all since you’ve last been here, some twenty odd years ago. You hadn’t been a kid then-- just a pilot, home on leave despite not really wanting to be. It had been tense then. It was the same now, even if your mother wasn’t even here, and you were laying bare the contents of your past to the two people you loved the most and considered the most important in your life. You hesitate to look at them, not quite fearful of what they’re thinking but definitely reluctant, like any of this is your fault and something to be ashamed of.

You know no one can really blame you for wanting some modicum of closure, but you’ve always been conscious of starting losing battles. Your mother isn’t even here, for one. A toneless holo-message is all she’s left you, detailing that an emergency at work brought her in and she’ll be back sometime in the evening. Maybe you and your colleagues could meet her at this location, even, and upon further investigation, that location is a startling high-profile restaurant of considerable Martian renown.

So much for flying close to the surface. You’d be in the air for all to see, just for a chance to reconcile with what little remains of your family. But that wasn’t for several hours yet, so you content yourself with poking around the giant empty house and listening to Sarah and Roland banter between each other.

“No offense, but this feels kind of like a museum exhibit,” Sarah says. “It’s not even dusty. I’d prefer it if it was.”

“You’d prefer it? There are stock photos of kids up here-- unless the Lasky family is way bigger than records suggest,” Roland answers.

You look at the picture frames Roland is pointing out. Amid the pictures of your brother Cadmon, there are photos of a foreign family, conspicuously only featuring a father figure. You run your fingers through your hair, nostrils flaring with a barely-restrained sigh.

“We didn’t take many family pictures,” you say, as if that explains anything. “I’m going to check out the upstairs.”

You tug on the back of your head, pulling at the recently shaved strands in a fit of anxiety. You don’t want to go upstairs. You’re afraid of what you’ll find there. Cadmon’s room was practically a shrine twenty years ago. The stairs don’t even creak as you step up them and you’re not sure why you expect them to. They look and feel and sound like wood, but you know them to be special composites that just didn’t degrade.

Your grip lingers on the railing as you take the final step. The door you know that leads to your mother’s room is closed. The keypad lock to it is bright red. You wonder if the keycode has changed at all, but testing it probably isn’t worth the risk. Across from her room is Cadmon’s, but that door is also, as you expected, closed.

And the one you recognize as your own is ajar. You let your hand find Sarah’s, squeezing it so tightly that she squeezes back, thumb rolling over your knuckles in a decidingly tender way.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Tom,” she says gently.

“But I want to,” you say. “I know I don’t need to.”

“Well, that’s something.”

It is. You offer her a braver smile than you feel and let her follow you to your room. There are more picture frames up here, covering the walls in even intervals. You can only ignore them because you know Roland is looking at them. You nudge open the door with your foot and, again, hesitate at the threshold.

Was everything in this house going to be difficult?

You shut your eyes and take in a shuddering breath. You can feel Sarah at your back, her presence radiating warmth. If you wobble, you feel her sturdy body against yours, so you let yourself lean into the partial embrace of her arms. She squeezes your shoulders, just as ice trickles down your spine.

Roland’s presence bleeds into your mind like condensation forming on the outside of a glass. It’s not enough for his thoughts or feelings to be tangible, but it’s so distinctly him that you smile and relax, easing the tension in your balled-up fists and opening your eyes. The room ahead is dark, but all you need to do is step inside for the lights to wake up and--

It’s not exactly the same as you left it, but it’s close. Your eyes roam the room, picking out all the various effects of teenaged you. There are posters on the wall, though some of the pixels have gone dark in their paper-thin construction, and models on the shelves, thick with dust. Your bed is perfectly made, the pillows hidden beneath a dark red blanket. Inevitably, your eyes roam over to a box bolted seamlessly into the wall, just above your nightstand. 

“Ah,” you breathe, staring at the box. “I see.”

“Is that…?” Sarah starts, but trails off, uncertain.

You can feel Roland’s curiosity curling up in the back of your mind. If you strain, you can even see his glittery-gold essence creeping out toward the box, but that gives you a migraine the harder you try.

You open your mouth to try and explain what it is, despite what it is being obvious. It’s a physical control panel for a domestic-grade Dumb AI. His name is still plainly depicted in the form of colorful stickers-- Admiral Hart. He hadn’t been active last time, but he hadn’t been gone either, so at least the sick hope flickering in your belly isn’t fully misplaced.

Still, is it worth trying to activate him?

“Roland,” you say, feeling quite outside yourself. “You can investigate it, if you want. Um, if he’s in there, could you…?”

“Of course, Captain,” Roland says.

Roland’s projection hovers in mid-air, thrown there by the custom commpad he was currently residing in. He smiles brilliantly at you and Sarah before bringing up what must be the digital counterpart of the control panel, his gestures as grandiose as ever, his expression just visible behind the transparent boxes. You hate it, but you distract yourself by leaning into Sarah’s space and kissing the bottom of her chin, staying there until Roland pipes up again.

“He’s in there, Captain. Says here he hasn’t been activated since… 2549. Very long service life, this one.”

Oh, that wasn’t too bad. Still, nearly ten years, completely shut down.

“...I don’t know if I’m ready to see him yet,” you say in one long rush of breath, the realization making you feel ill. “I do miss him, though.”

“There are also several other AI matrices in here,” Roland adds. “Why so many, if I may ask?”

“They were my teachers, when I was doing homeschooling. I’m surprised they’re still here.”

Dumb AI were very limited in their fixed personalities, but you swear they’re more sentient than they let on. One didn’t befriend several all at once and not experience some inexplicable variances, but dwelling on it was starting to make you feel hot behind the eyes. You shake your head, exasperated.

“Sorry, this is-- a lot more than I thought it’d be.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sarah says lightly. “Want to go back downstairs?”

“Mind if I hang out in your house’s network for a little while?” Roland asks. “I won’t touch anything.”

“Go for it,” you say with a smile.

Roland winks and smiles before gathering up the tendrils of himself, more visible now that he was letting his essence ooze out between commpad, neural interfaces, and nearby network ports. Smart AI were remarkably fluid, or even gaseous, automatically filling in the void spaces around them, not because they wanted to be big as possible-- they were just that big. Still, you rub the back of your neck the same time as Sarah does, acutely conscious of the absence.

“Downstairs, then,” Sarah says. “Think there’s anything in the fridge?”

“I have no idea. Are you hungry?”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday. To keep the motion sickness down, you know.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Her moving ahead of you prevents you from lingering too long upstairs, anxious as you are to keep up with her long strides. You have no idea where either of you are going to get clothes nice enough to go to a restaurant. Neither of you are dressed for it, let alone packed. Roland had suggested dressing as casually as possible to take the edge off, and well, maybe that was going to backfire. 

“I can feel you thinking too hard,” Sarah says.

She’s in your space the second you leave the stairs. But it’s gentle and unintrusive despite her taking up your whole line of sight. She’s teasing you, even as her brow is bent in concern.

“What am I thinking too hard about?” you ask.

“Hmmm. Something about your mom, like that stupid message she left us. Seriously, talk about a neutral location.” 

You laugh before you can stop yourself. 

“Got it in one,” you say. “I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“Guess poor mother Lasky is going to have to come home after all,” Sarah says. “Isn’t that sad?”

She bumps your hip with the back of her fist, a playful nudge that, surprisingly, doesn’t send you stumbling. You punch her shoulder in return, silently following her into the next room, where the kitchen is. You watch Sarah go for the fridge and open it, head disappearing inside to scope out the contents. She retreats a moment later to throw something green and limp into your arms.

You catch it more out of surprise than anything, but you feel nauseous just holding it.

“What the hell is this?”

“Nutritional smoothie paste!” Sarah says, like she’s struck gold. “Used to eat this shit when I was a baby Spartan. They put it in Mjolnir on long-haul ops.”

“And that’s…. Is it good?” You ask, instantly skeptical.

“Hell, no. But I’m too polite to eat the meal plan stuff she has in there. So, drink up.”

Well, you couldn’t fault her there. You set the plastic tube of paste down on the faux-granite countertop, deciding that you’d rather let Sarah just drink both of them. You can’t stifle a smile as she immediately scoops it up, tearing open both of them at once and drinking them down in a truly disgusting fashion. But she doesn’t spill a drop, so... 

“I see you’ve gotten better at that,” you say.

“Roland made me promise not to make a mess if I’m going to be carrying the commpad,” she admits, looking exasperated for all of a split-second. “So.”

She tosses the spent bags onto the countertop, despite the trash can being directly underhand. You shrug that off in favor of grabbing her by the collar of her tank top and pulling her down, kissing her flat on the mouth. Her answering hum is felt in your bones and you both relax into each other, your anxious tension sapped by her solid core. She curls an arm around your waist and holds you in place, like she’s been waiting to do that.

“Relax a little,” she murmurs. “We can worry about her when she gets here.”

Not you, we. You feel a little weak in the knees at the distinction and let yourself hang onto her arms, certain that you’re looking at her with a dopey smile.

“But we probably shouldn’t do this in the kitchen,” she adds.

Before you can pull away, Sarah effortlessly hauls you into her arms, supporting you by grabbing a fistful of your ass and waiting until you wrap your arms around her neck. She squeezes your rear a couple times before moving, gait so smooth that you don’t even feel it when she turns on her heel to dump you on the couch with a flourish. 

You sink into the couch cushions, but wrap your arms around hers so that you don’t disappear completely. Her face is so close to yours that you count each individual scar and freckles, including the faint lines of surgical augmentations that only show up in the right light. You snake your hand up to the back of her neck, mindful not to grab ahold of the enlarged neural implant.

“Anyone ever told you you’re handsome, Tom?” Sarah murmurs.

“Mmm, I can think of a few…”

Her laughter is felt on your skin as warm puffs. She kisses you, her lips rough with bitten and half-healed skin that you nip at, chasing them when she tries to pull away. The plasticine fabric squeaks as she carefully, carefully lowers her weight over yours and straddles you, her thighs big enough to keep you in place. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will,” you promise.

You want to say that you know she won’t, but she always looks so earnest when she asks that this time, you don’t. Because she has before-- there’s a biological differential between the two of you that you never stop thinking about. You work your hand further up to pull her hair out of its ponytail, working your fingers into the coarse locks and kissing her more intently, eyes fluttering shut. I love you, you want to say. I trust you, which is just as hard.

Her hands roam across your shirt and pluck open several buttons so that she can follow the edge of your collarbone and the slope of your shoulders. Her warm, slightly sweaty palms are a sharp contrast to the cool air, and the shock of physical contact has goosebumps lifting on your arms. You lick at her lips and fist some of her hair, mumbling indistinctly as you pull her down closer.

There’s no smart quip or knowing look to make light of your neediness. She finally lets her weight drop onto your lap completely and the kiss moves on, her teeth and lips tracking across the edge of your jaw to just underneath your ear. Instead of letting your hands hover, you start to follow the hard curves of her body, groping at the bunching muscles and admiring the power coiled there. 

Then she snaps into rigid attention, face turned toward the front door, her lips drawn back in a snarl. You vaguely notice that she has a chipped tooth before you hear the door opening and Sarah is still poised over you and she’s kissing you again, hard, and you kind of moan into it--

“Well, then,” an all-too-familiar voice says. “Thomas, care to… introduce me?”

Finally, Sarah climbs off of you, but not before buttoning your shirt and kissing your forehead. Your brain already hurts from the mental whiplash of the situation.

“Um, mother,” you start. “This is Sarah Palmer. My partner.”

Your mother is shorter than you remember. Her hair, once a brownish-black, is in faded tones and grey at the roots. A scar that wasn’t there twenty years ago lurks just by her eye and she looks exhausted. Stress and worry lines make canyons of her face, ones that twist your heart to look at.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sarah says stiffly.

She does not look amused. She doesn’t look much of anything except terribly stern and suspicious of the scene before her. You almost can’t blame her. Almost.

“You know, I was hoping you’d be here when we got here,” you say. “But it seems you’re still working.”

“Of course. Duty still calls, you know.”

You watch her as she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack in the anteroom. Both nothing and everything has changed about her and it makes something in your throat tighten.

“Oh, I know that more than anybody,” you breathe. “Yeah.”

“I do appreciate you coming home, Tom,” Audrey says, not looking at you. “It means a lot. I thought I’d have to see you when the Infinity opened her doors to the public. That is still happening-- right?”

“Sure, it’s happening,” Sarah says. “Look, Tom, do you want me to…?”

You shake your head.

“Yes, but I won’t be back on Mars until then. Working nonstop has its benefits-- like a lot of vacation time.”

“That sounds like a dream, to be able to use it,” Audrey replies calmly. “I need to know if we’re having dinner tonight.”

You and Sarah share a look.

“I was thinking we could share a bottle of wine and shoot the shit instead,” Sarah says. “Or some scotch, if you have it.”

At that, Audrey looks amused.

“I never took you for a scotch man, Tom,” Audrey chuckles.

You don’t say anything as she leaves the room, no doubt seeking out the desired glasses and alcohol. The sun is going down outside, plunging the room in a deep red. This was going better than expected. You want to break open the window and run. You want to do anything but sit back down and draw out the table and sit in a semi-circle and “shoot the shit.” But you’re already sitting down and the bottle is open and you haven’t ate anything-- neither has Sarah, even, but with her augmentations drinking on an empty stomach is probably beneficial and--

“Good news, everybody! I took the liberty of ordering us some, what do you humans call it? Party food? You know, for all the drinking we’re about to do. You’re welcome!”

You choke on your own spit and your mother nearly drops the glass she’s pouring. Sarah, for her part, is taking the bottle and stealing a sip directly, if only to conceal a smug smile.

Roland is hovering inches above the faux-wooden table, drawn up to his full height with chest puffed out and expression gleeful. He flicks one hand out in a casual salute toward Audrey before trotting aside and sitting down, legs crossed.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Hi, Roland,” Sarah greets.

You had completely forgotten about Roland. Oops.

“Thomas, I do hate to ask,” Audrey says, peering down at Roland with a pinched expression, “but why is there an AI?”

“Oh, you know,” you say vaguely, waving a hand. “It’s classified.”

“I’m Captain Lasky’s boss,” Roland says, grinning. “So I’m allowed to be here, you see.”

“Are you my boss, Roland?” Sarah asks.

“No, ma’am.”

Audrey’s eyebrows shoot up. She takes a sip from her glass, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

“Well, I’m Audrey Lasky,” she says finally. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night goes painfully.

[idris-hunts-the-mando]

Right place, Right time  \the departure pt.1/

Rating: Mature

Words: 6.1k

A/N:  this took me the bulk of a week to complete, i think ill make a few small bite sized works for a while, working on the next part in a week or so, once i get myself back together. give me all the love you as a reader can, I’m fueled by praise/hj 

pairings: none yet

Warnings: series typical violence, hard swearing, moderate gore

I woke up sore and hurt in the bunk room, the cold cot felt like frozen river stones under my tired bones. I could tell we arrived at our destination from the frostbite settling into my fingers and nose. The slow neutral hum of machinery was a tell tale sign that the ship was at ease, the noise usually deafening. Pulling my threadbare scarf up over my neck and chin, i started regretting choosing this particular cargo ship going to a frozen planet for a runaway plan. I braced for the aggravating beginning to the tiresome day and sat up from my cramped bunk space. sleeping in a room with a dozen oily work worn men didnt make any part of the trip to Maldo Keris easier, not to mention the fact they all saw me as more of a womp rat and less of a sentient being. keeping my eyes to myself, i shoved my tattered boots over my feet buckled my tool belt to my hip and hurried out of the barracks before the bulk of my crew mates woke up. stepping out onto the loading dock,i took a breath in. the smell of poorly filtered air irked my mechanics brain. It would be such an easy fix if they payed me to care. But alas, for this particular voyage, i was bunked out like a stowaway, giving in return my fix-it help around deck for passage off my planet of origin. Sighing out the musty air, i checked my stations. Navigating the hold was like a womp rat through a maze, you had to be rather nimble and graceful to get through the makeshift corridors without issue. Unluckily for me, I was neither nimble nor graceful. When i got to the panel, i took out my key ring and unlocked the rusted metal door to expose the intricacies within. the wiring looked tip top shape, but the fuel lines needed a bit more attention than the other tangle of electronics, so i took out my multi-tool to tighten the fittings. The liquid distilled Rhydonium that flowed through these particular lines was a less explosive substance than its pure form, but dangerous nonetheless. the multi-tool was a newer model, so it didn't fit this type of bolt all the way, but it was better than nothing. Better than allowing it to loosen over another voyage and have the ship explode mid hyper-speed.

  My mind was so stuck in its own world, the training I had over the many years in a scrappers shop spewing all of its knowings about rhydonium and fuel lines that I didn't have time to notice the first lieutenant Maegs stalking his way over to me. I jumped a moment before he spoke, tightening the last half inch of the bolt down maybe a bit too aggressively.

  "We the captains crew appreciate the helping you've been do'en for this ol beasty of a ship," he mentioned, one his independent eyes viewed me separably, while the second one was monitoring my work. I froze for a moment out of fear, but i didn't think he took notice. "You're more than welcome to stick 'round 'an see what else you can fix up for this rust-bucket." the first lieutenant never gave me much of a hard time, unlike most of the crew. But I had made up my mind the first night in hyperspace that I would haul ass out of this suffocating ship as soon as a habitable planet was spotted. I finished up closing and locking the wires box, shaking my head slowly and turning to face him.

  "I do love the sentiment, lieutenant. but maybe another time if our paths cross again." I forced an obligatory smile, avoiding making eye contact with him at all costs out of fear for not having the attention span to pick and stick to a wondering eye. If i could ever force myself to say something nice about the ship and its crew, it would be the acceptance of short interactions. A conversation rarely surpassed the 'how are you doing today' phase, by the moons it never got to that phase in the first place. And I was a person of not many words, and not much of a filter.

  Maegs nodded slowly, clasping two of his 4 arms behind his back and turning away. I felt the need to repay his unprompted kindness with some suggestions for the ship before I left it for good. Call me sentimental, but this ship, albeit mostly composed of literal blood sweat and spit, was my ticket into a new life. "don't let yourself get caught without changing the air filtration system, them new republic scouters are picky about what type of poison you use for cremates." I remark with a little smirk. Maegs paused, narrowing his eyes, amused by the backhanded remark. He had surely gotten complaints about the smell before. He gave a thoughtful nod toward me, and allowed himself a small smile. I looked down in my hands, the key ring still hanging off my index finger. I tossed it towards him and was relieved when he caught it. he turned with no further words needed. On his way to the control room, he pushed the cargo bay door release button. My line of sight was clear from the opening door to the nearby port town and when the frosty air stung my face, I knew in my soul that this was a good thing. Taking in a breath of the salted frozen air, my body naturally recoiled. I'm not one for cold. 'Ah well, way to go picking the nearest ice planet than idiot' I scolded myself, pulling my cloak back over my shoulders to take the first step out of the ship held together with sticker line and bantha spit. 'Good riddance'.

  Walking into town was harder than expected, the ice on the ground blended into the ice of the horizon, making spacial reasoning a thing of the past. The only anchor I had to the planet besides its heavy gravity was the stark grey buildings stapled to the sheets of ice about 10 meters in front of me. I never could have guessed the sky of Maldo Keris could get any uglier, but planets like these have a way of surprising a person. I tucked my hair and ears away with the hood of my raggedy travelers cloak, bracing myself from the heavy winds by retreating further and further into my cloths. I stayed on the worn path from the ship's dock port, hearing from previous crew mates that this was the warm season, that the ice was thinner and the creatures lurking underneath had no sense of remorse. Now nervous at the revival of that pleasant memory, I kept a close eye on my surroundings, not having the most faith in my feet for staying their course. The wind stung at my exposed skin, reminding me I was wearing only my work cloths that weren't  meant for the sudden change in climate. The cloak I had was best at protecting my human skin from the suns above. Beyond that, my tatterd outer layer didn't do much for the safeguarding of my body heat.

  I was relieved to have stumbled to shade from the wind so quickly, the heavy kit bag on my back was starting to feel more like a boulder taped to my body than a simple means of containing my tools and spare cloths. Paying attention to the signs overhead, i quickly located the nearest cantina and rushed towards it as fast as any human Popsicle can. Opening the circular doors with the press of a button took me into what felt like a summer time resort. Hiding my appreciation for the warmth from the patrons staring at me, i collected my composure and swiftly found an open table. The electronic doors closed rather harshly behind me. I recognized the sound of faulty pressure hinge and eyed the door for a moment when i took my seat. That door was a danger to customers who get caught in it, it could cause some serious injuries for larger species and even fatalities for humanoids.

  Sitting down at the frosty old wooden chair was a relief on the fatigue in my joints. It was neither a comfortable seat, nor a relatively stable one, but it gave me time to take off my pack and study the small, rather ugly, room I found myself to be in. It wasn't too long before I would have to order something, or I feared starvation. The crew mates on the cargo ship were kind, if the bare minimum counts. Food once a day (as per average in the parsec), and as much sleep as necessary per species or race. For humans in particular, that amount of time was annoyingly low. tired and hungry was a bad mix for me as it is, but add cold to that mixture, and the first person to get on my nerves would be the last. i checked the contents of my bag to make sure everything looked as it should and moved up from my chair, replacing the spot with my hefty bag. I was rather confident that if any Kung Nerfhearder tried to run off with it, it would be too weighted for them to get far. I may be rather small compared to other sub species of humans, but i pride myself on my strength often.

  Making my way to the bar counter, I lean up between two silent patrons sitting a few seats away from each-other. I get the barkeep's attention with a wave of my fingers, calling him to me. "What kind of meal do you have on the stove top right now?" I ask with my flattest low tone. In port towns like this its important to be as emotionless as possible in order to not draw attention to yourself. Colorless, shapeless, uniform and mad was always the role you had to play to make it through the galaxy.

  "We got a silver weed in the radiator, it'll be 3 credits." He replied, picking up a glass and wiping it out with his rag covered hand. I pulled the amount needed out of my pocket and set it down on the bar counter. he swiped his hand over the credits, picking them up quickly. nodding, he left the sight of the bar for only a spit second before returning to the table with a small bowl of mush. I tried my best to smile and be thankful for the meal, but as the bowl transferred to my hands I had to focus on not gagging. I hurried back to my private table in the corner and settled back into my seat, dropping my bag on the floor between my legs to keep it as safe as possible. The last thing I want is a soup that tastes like the scrapings of a persons shoe into street worn snow, but what can you expect on a planet such as this. Prodding the gelatinous mass in the bowl with my spoon, I ponder the ever growing question of 'what in the hell is in this shit'. my mind wonders deep into its personal wonderland while my environment continues to be less and less favorable.

     Hostile voices from the other side of the cantina rise louder and louder, as if at the warm up stage of a slowly progressing screaming match. The feeling of sourness in my heart rose with a predictable inclination. The tension in the air grows as yet again the same scene unfolds before my and all other patrons of the cantina's eyes. I strain my neck to see what was happening. At the far end of the room, closer to the door than I am, I saw the oddly familiar face of a poor amphibious creature's head being slammed on the table he was sitting at. The oldest and most primal of situations, the strong picking on the weak. Three tall imposing figures towered over the poor humanoid looking fellow who was obvious to any idiot to be lacking in intimidating features. Seeing this obligatory show of power for any insecure creature with anger issues never sat right with me. It reminded me too much of where I came from, the slums of sand and glass where bullies like these were treated like royalty without challenge from the ones they harassed.

     'Dank ferrik, don't do it' i challenged the assaulter internally, as if pleading with them to harm their victim any more so I would have a reason to put in use my blade skills. i had no idea where I've seen that face before, but as they say, curiosity killed the Cathar. And there it happened, the final action in the escalation. The largest of the assaulter lifted the poor guy to his feet and the ring leader lifted his knife to the throat of his victim. A cry of anguish and fear came from the poor fool being restrained, and that was my last straw.

     I stood from my chair, kicking away my bag and drawing my vibroblade from my thigh holster, walking over to the group across the tavern. I growl, squaring my shoulders and stiffening my legs to make me seem bigger. I must have looked pretty wild, my tattered cloak drawn over my body like a dark fog, and my scarf still pulled up like a mask over my nose with only my furious green eyes over the top. Just as I started my warpath towards the men, the heavy ring shaped door to the cantina opened abruptly, startling a few of the onlookers. I knew what type of situation I had put myself in and how important focus and intimidation was, so I didn't take any time away from the assholes with blades to gawk at who had happened to stroll in. With my attention solely married to the poor bastard and his assailants, I noticed all of their attention was stripped from their target and glued to the newcomer. Evaluating my surroundings, I saw most of the other patrons in my sight were enthralled too. This piqued my interest and I felt it safe enough to turn and check out the royalty.

     Standing soberly at the bar counter, the figure of a mandolorian stood in silence, facing the bar keep. My heart dropped first, than my jaw. Only legend, only in the oldest fables and the scary stories my nan would use to scare me into not stealing the sweets late at night, had I ever heard of the likes of him. from the bescar armor forged in the heart of a black flame forge (or so i've been told) to the galaxy known creed of mandalore, this being was the stuff of leadgeneds. To be feared and adorned wherever they so chose to walk. but not anymore. Not since the planet turned to glass a hundred years ago, destroying much of what was known of the infamous warriors.

     I don't think the aggressors saw me and the dangerous piece of weaponry clasped in my hand, instead they looked drunkenly amused at the new patron, like sly cats with a new toy. surveying his surroundings, the warrior's expressionless visor swept the room. He inspected the threat levels of the patrons, the bullies, the amphibious humanoid sucker that was caught under it all. The mandolorian made no comment as he momentarily swept over me, with my clenched fist around the vibroblade. Rather he ignored me entirely, leaning against the bar counter and staring absentmindedly at the wall ahead of him. The scum saw this as an odd mandolorian intimidation tactic and took it to heart, growling a string of multilingual insults. I couldn't quite understand all the words from their  chosen dialect, but something about a drink spilling and how it was somehow the mando's fault.

     when they didn't get a response, they snorted, puffing their chest out and stalking towards the armored newcomer. Continuing to talk in another language I didn't understand fully, the bar keep attempted to translate, feeling the tensions rise in the air. "He says you spilled his drink." a moment of silence, with the smell of anger wafting from the half intoxicated bantha shaggers, And the barman attempted to diffuse the situation by offering the men drinks to hopefully get them to settle down. And by the two suns it did not. The drink slid from the barkeep's hand and down the table. The mandolorian took it out of its trajectory and started the assault, smashing the creature's head on the counter to his right and simultaneously twisting the louder man on his left arm until the knife in his hand stabbed himself in the ass. As the third attempted to run out the front door, mando caught him with his grappling wire and pulled him back. The tangled creature got his blaster from a thigh holder and shot a round at his would-be captor. The blaster fire ricochet off the bescar Armour, bringing the mando's attention to his own firearm. With the tangled assaulter in the right position, mando fired a single shot at the door of the cantina, Forcing the wiring to go into hyperactive shut down, closing the doors around the alien. The doors struggled for a moment, and so did the thing caught in it, but nothing stopped the metal and electricity from slicing through the meat of its body. The legs of the now dead man fell to the ground at the door with a sickening thump.

     After this, the silence in the room was so thick you could swing at it with a hatchet and not make a dent in the shock factor. unsurprisingly enough, every patron went back to their own businesses with each other as if nothing had happened. A pair sitting at a table close to the door went swiftly to the half body to move it away to continue the flow of traffic as they then scurried out the doors, carrying the top half between them. Scavengers i bet, black market womp rats' i thought, sighing at how quickly the circle of life can flash before your eyes. death isn't something to be dewlled on in a universe like this, now back to the issue at hand.

     recollection hit me like a half ton of bricks when I remembered where I saw the face of the teal looking bastard with a knife previously on his neck. Spite flooded in my blood as I narrowed my eyes at my next target, shoving my vibroblade back in my thigh holster aggressively and stomping towards the useless excuse of flesh. "You're a dead man now, Mythrol." I said to myself. he must have heard me, or possibly sensed all the rage walking swiftly at him. His eyes upturned towards me, full of fear, but I now remember there is an ugly smugness to him too. I made it to the table, putting my hands down in front of him, leaning my top body weight on my palms. "You better have a divine excuse for not meeting me at that port you Druk Nerfhearder, or you'll be seeing the wrong side of the ice ocean outside in 30 seconds." I could barely contain my frustration with this sniveling worm, he was the reason i had to bunk with the disgusting oiled engineers for a week in hyperspace. The reason I had only 12 credits in my tech vault and less than that on hand. He scammed me out of a decent ride and my entire years savings. It was a genuine miracle how well I kept myself from not leaping over the table he sat at and giving him a new meaning to crazy bitch.  

     "H-hey, hey you, long time no see huh, man am I sorry for missing out on that meting we had that one time, sorry pal I kinda slept in-" but before he could make up any more exuces, any more lies, my vibroblade was at his throat right where the other man's was just a moment ago. He hissed and recoiled back in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying to breathe, to speak. whichever it was, it wouldn't matter soon. He had talked enough in his lifetime to anger hundreds of poor victims throughout the parsec, letting him one last word would be a dishonor to all of them.

     Before I could press the blade into his flesh, a firm leather covered hand wrapped around my forearm, pulling it away carefully. I looked at the arm, attached to it was a shoulder, and atop the shoulder sat a gleaming bescar helmet. I felt my heart sink into the depths of my stomach, the anger switching places with feral panic that I tried my absolute best to contain. No words came from the mandolorian, a simple shake of his head was all i got. he loosened the grip on my arm, letting it recall back to my center of gravity.Ii looked down at the arm, looking for any obvious signs of damage, but his grip was closer to gentle and firm than harsh. A soft metallic thud brought my attention to the table, where the mando has tossed a puck. A bounty puck. Today was certainly a day for emotions, because T felt as pleased as a jawa coming across the flashing screen of Mythrol's face on the holographic screen projected by the puck.        Mytrol looked between me and the mandolorian a few times before painting his face with a fake smile, the wheels in his head turning into overdrive trying to make a lie up to get himself out of this one. "Is that me?" he questioned, the forced denial barely hiding the fear in his eyes. "Aw come on, I can pay you more than that pitiful bounty, a whole new cruiser," he pleaded, bargaining for his life. "on me, waddaya say."

     The mandolorian doesn't waste a breath to reply, his electronically filtered voice filling the getting-to-be awkward silence. "I can take you in warm." he placed a hand on his hip holster, bringing attention to the deadly gun strapped in it. "Or I can bring you in cold." Mythroll's face turned pale with fear, looking like a sort of pale blue spirit. Gulping down what could have been vomit, or another plea for life, he couldn't move at all, just staring at the mandolorian's unfeeling visor.

     The mandolorian slaps restraints on mythrol's wrists, pulling him up and out of his chair in one swift motion, the disparaged lump following along with his hands bound together. He seemed resigned to his fate as he was pulled out of the cantina, leaving in his wake and eruption of whispers and a few sobs of relief from the clientele of the bar. I myself was in a state of shock by what had happened and the intense speed at which it had occurred, Standing in front of a table with drops of blood on it not knowing what to do next. Mythrol had cheated me out of a lot of money, and he was just walking away, atoning for crimes he didn't commit against me. that in and of itself felt somewhat fair, fair to any of the galaxy he had screwed over so far.  

     My body flew back to my table mostly on its own, smashing into the chair at which I had just been sitting less than a minute ago. I hauled my ridiculously large bag over one shoulder, the extra strap free in the wind. I knew i had to at least try. for myself. Running back to the door panel where the halfed creature had met his end, I slammed the controls urgently, opening the door back out to the wild wind of Maldo Keris. Scanning the nearby environment was hard without protective goggles to shield me from the dust and yuck in the wind, but I spotted a pair of hulking figures 15 yards from the cantina, moving at a steady pace away. Try for me, I can do this one thing for myself. I sprinted as fast as I could with the pack over one shoulder, making me surely look like some sort of lame bantha to any possible onlookers. "Wait! wait please!" I called out to the mandolorian, my tone accidentally becoming demanding, but I think that helped to get the mandolorian's attention. They stopped and Mythrol looked at the mando, as if he was pleading to get him away from me in fear I had came back just to fight a mandolorinan for a chance to stab him again. As tantalizing as that thought was, the actions I were taking were purely selfish. I deserve justice just as much as any poor sap sad enough to cross paths with the scamming womp rat or the mystery person who called for the bounty.

     "Please let me come with you for when you collect his bounty." I asked somberly, stopping my chase a few paces away from the pair standing together. "I swear I wont take the credits from you, I just want to see him pay for what he's done." Tiny beads of sweat pearled at my brow, my breath was labored in my throat. Even walking with my bag was hard, but I had just chased down a bounty hunter and his captive. Strands of my hair stuck to my forehead and I wiped them away with the back of my forearm once they crept into my eyes.

   Mytrhol had to get his two cents in of course, holding the bounty hunter by the cape and making his eyes go wide with worry. "I don't know who this person is, don't let them come along, they could try to hurt me!" He plead, tugging on the cape like a whiny child. Now the anger came back, a cold rage in my fists, ready to start brutalizing someone at the drop of a pin. I narrowed my eyes at Mythrol, who didst bother to return the look. the mandolorian stared for a moment, looking off behind me in thought. The worry then set in, a fear whispered in the back of my skull 'You'll never get your closure and die alone on this hell planet.' My eyes went to the obsidian visor of the mando, creasing my brows together, subconsciously chewing on my lip as he made his decision. Loosening his shoulders, he slumped his head downward, as if morally defeated. I was taken aback by the conflict he was having about weather or not to let a weird stranger aboard his ship or not. oddly enough I understood his seeming frustration, I wouldn't let me go if I were him. He picked his head up after a second, looking me up and down as if to study me entirely. I felt eyes over my body, it was weirdly intimate. When he made his way back up to my eyes, he stood in silence for a moment before asking. "Do you have any weapons on you besides the blade?"

   Certainly a different question than what I thought was going to be asked, so for the answer, I had to think about it for a moment, mentally going through my bag and person. "n, no. I have my vibroblade. and a sack full of my electrician's tools, but they arn't traditional weapons." I responded earnestly, my tone going flat again. Another moment of silence, Mythrol looking quickly between the bounty hunter and myself.

   "If you truly wish to see the bounty delivered, I can take you to the trade. In exchange for the ride there, my ship needs mild internal repairs. If you try to cross me," He paused, a hand went to his blaster as a warning. A flashback to the cantina entered my forethought, the image of his hand on his blaster the same way as it was now moments before a man got cut in half. The warning was received properly, I felt thoroughly intimidated. "You'll be dead before you could pray to any gods." damn. That was intense. thoroughly intimidated, to the core. i took a breath in, almost allowing myself time to rethink my request in its entirity. but i responded with a quick nod. I knew my way around most ship interiors, if the ship wasn't rusted and breaking in half on take off, i knew i'd be able to mend it.

   The mandolorian gave no other word to me and turned, walking towards the ice flats docking crew. I allowed myself a cheeky smirk, fulfillment at the succession in my pursuit gave my heart a good warm squeeze. Following along behind the mandoloian a pace, he negotiated with the docking crew, asking oddly enough for a live pilot, not a droid. Some harmonic whistling came from the ferryman, hailing over a rust bucket of a speeder. As the speeder came to a stop to collect its haul, rusted pieces of under backing fell from the rear, clanking to the ice annoyingly. We all loaded into the speeder, I sat in front with the driver, the mando and his bounty in the back, a gloved hand around Mythrol's bicep at all times. We reached out frozen destination, the driver of the speeder calling one last warning to the three of us after collecting his dues and puttering off towards the port.

   I took a moment to asses the hull of the razor crest, it wasn't too bad for a pre new republic vessel. Some battle scars here and there around the landing gear, a charred blaster fire mark on the windows of the cockpit. This was truly the ship of a bounty hunter. Turning to follow the speeder's course, I couldn't help but feel a deep unease, he had warned about the ice planet's personal creature of death, Ravanack. Just then, the entire rusty hull of the speeder and its driver were swallowed whole in a single angry bite. The ravanack retreated back into the ice just as Mythroll let out a girlish scream of terror. He booked it twords the mandolorian who was opening the hatch to the belly of his ship, screaming for dear life to let him in. The ice where the speeder was swallowed started cracking in the direction of the ship, very quickly speeding directly at Mythrol.

   My instincts kicked in and I hopped out of the way, swinging myself onto the floor of the cargo hold of the ship with the momentum of my bag. Just as i got out of harms way, the mandolorian swung himself out of the ship to grab the petrified blue idiot only moments before the jaws of his early death lunged out of the ice, driving sickeningly deep into the landing gear of the razor crest. I winced at the damage done, scrambling back away from the flying Mythroll the mando had haphazardly chucked at me. The mandolorian seemed to ignore me entirely, herding his bounty into the cockpit with him. As the engines revved and the propellers blasted their heat down towards the ice at max capacity, the beast clung tightly to its prey of metal and paint, determined wholeheartedly to bring the ship down to its frigid death. The mando hopped down the ladder, rushing to the cargo bay door with his riffle. he stabbed the bayonet into the beast's head, sending a current of electricity into its skull. the beast roared furiously, releasing the ship and sinking back into the inky ocean.

   I collected myself and scrambled up off the floor. the cargo bay doors closed quickly, leaving the mandolorian and myself in the ambient humming of the bay. His breast plate rose and fell, getting less an less noticeable as he calmed down. turning towards me. He nodded at a upturned metal basket with a weather worn blanket tossed over it. I took the hint and put my bag on top of the makeshift stool, retrieving from it my more universal tools. Going from one job to another wasn't my ideal, but this was a more opportunistic adventure. My original goal was only ever to get off the sun bitten planet i was from, beyond that was up to fate, and I can't really complain about where it took me today. Now i'm headed to gods know where with a mandolorian and his bounty who single-handedly ruined the last year and a half's hard work I had done. turning my head towards the mandolorian, I saw him stand in the hallway between the cargo bay and the cockpit, eyeing his bounty.

   Words hung on the end of my tongue, ready to ask millions of questions out of pure adrenaline fueled thrill. But I stopped myself from spilling over, taking notice of the details in the mando's body for the first time. For the most feared warrior in the galaxy, this man looked as any other bounty hunter. His armor was chipped and dented, highlighting the flaws in the outer most shell of himself. A deep rooted curiosity took roots just then, desiring to know more of what laid under his iron and bescar plates. "Where should I start working first?" I asked as politely as possible. feeling a need to use respective words when in the presence of a man who just stabbed a water beast in the head. This got his attention away from the bounty if only for a moment. He paused for a second, going through the archives of his mind to see where needed the most urgent attention. Turning 180 degrees, he lifted a gloved hand to point at the panel of buttons and levers at the end of the metal room. It looked mostly in tact, but only mostly. There was blaster char at the center of the damage, near the bottom left hand corner of the panel itself. "Yikes." I whispered mostly to myself, reaching in my bag for a clean oil rag. Acknowledging the mandolrian's request with a glance and half nod, I got to work at the station. It looked to be the control panel for the gun hold under the main cargo bay. The possible stories tied with the maiming of this piece of equipment swarmed my mind, finding my own way of theorizing any number of adventurous tales.

   A few minutes go by, tweaking the damaged area as best I could to fit my hands into the circuitry. Mythroll passed by quickly, entering the open door of the munitions hold to the ladder down. I got nervous for a moment, than I heard him calling back to the mandolorian pilot, talking about molting and stellar seasons. What an odd being. Slimy thieving nerfhearder. Going back to work, not questioning the reasons tmythroll went down there. so wrapped up, figuratively and literally, in the wires of the control panel, i hadn't noticed mando sneaking past me, silent as death. I hadn't noticed him, that is, until I heard the thumping and crashing of combat and the pitiful yelps of the bounty rise to draw my attention toward the lower hold. Mythroll's shout cut short with an angry metallic hiss. The fear now taking a hold of my stomach, I pulled my hand out of the tangle to look nervously down the ladder, seeing the mando start his ascent. "carbon freezing." he said simply. I know his intention was to explain what had just happen in hopes to ease my worry, but no. it worried me more. Drawing my thought to the intense reality that I was willingly trapped on the ship of a proven dangerous bounty hunter. I felt rather idiotic in that moment, the crushing weight of the situation bringing me to a moral defeat. The mando slid by me, his body language more casual than it should have been seeing as how he had just half killed someone in the hold of his ship. He paused momentarily, looking over my work. nodding, He left in silence, returning to the cockpit.

   After a second, I gathered my thoughts and took a deep breath into my lungs. The reality of my life now was flipped upside down and tossed into a spinning vortex of crazy, but I know my strengths. I know myself and what i can handle. This? was obviously odd and scary and new, but the skills I cary can get me far. Exhaling, I focused my mind at the task at hand. Knowing my entire world was going to be changing from here on out was more calming than expected. The determination I felt towards my own new chapter of life soothed my aching back and fried nerves. This was going to be epic.

   A/N: i'm so glad to have finally finished this, holy hell ;-;    

[tiarasnteakettles]

Some updates.

It’s Sunday, so it’s always a last minute scramble to get packages put together, weighed, and postage printed for hopefully a Monday post office trip. Danish Ruby and Cambridge Loveknot tiaras are STILL NOT HERE and I’m waiting 5 more business days  before filing a dispute. Obviously this past #tiarapocalypse is taking longer than ever - between holiday delays in addition to COVID related delays, it’s safe to say a lot of folks aren’t happy with me. This isn’t even beginning to touch on what is happening to me personally in addition to that. I’m kinda hoping what I’m going through right now can be a teachable moment for someone else, however, so I’m just gonna get to it.

My partner, the one who preps my art files and sends them off to have stickers and cards made, as well as take me to the post office whenever I have packages to send - well, he’s been gone since the week after Halloween 2020. Each week, we think he’ll be home the following week, then something happens to prevent that. Then the next week. Then the next. His father has dementia and needs round the clock care - and his mom, through some poor life choices, isn’t in any condition to do so. This is where it starts to get teachable. See, they’re in their 70′s, well past retirement age, and should have plenty of benefits to help get the care they need. This family is VERY well off. Why is their only son nearly being fired from his job for this extended absence to care for them? Where is the money for home healthcare, transportation, etc. if they are, essentially, rich? Well, turns out all those years of cruises, gambling, expensive restaurants every night, and more - have taken their toll.  They did not set anything aside for when the inevitable happens and they become too old to care for themselves.  No insurance, no plans, no money. Nothing. And if you’re an american like me, you know damn well the government systems leave much to be desired. In their case, they’ve managed to get 12 hours of a nurse to come help out per week.  12 hours a week to help them bathe, use the restroom, prepare meals, pick up prescriptions, run errands like getting groceries, etc. It’s not nearly enough.

And so each month goes by, my partner still can’t come home because there’s nothing in place to help his parents if he leaves. And of course we’re angry.  But we’re past the point of anger, being angry doesn’t do anything.  They spent all their money. They didn’t care about themselves, or their son, enough to save a single penny for this part of their lives and chose instead to blow it all on wining and dining and travel. How the money disappeared is of no importance at this point. What matters is the now, and the now is that he is trapped there. No one is expecting him to abandon his parents. I wouldn’t either if I was in his place. And so, while I’m about 11 years younger than him, I still wanted to ask my mom a pretty uncomfortable question: “What happens when you and my stepfather are too old to take care of yourselves? Do y’all have insurance plans or anything for when that happens? Anything set aside to cover things like nurses or transportation or doctors?”

She said, “Nope! Whatever happens, happens.”

She made it pretty clear that I’m expected to leave whatever life I’ve built for myself by that point and come home to care for them - “because your sister won’t,” So I guess the moral here is if you’re in your 20′s, 30′s, 40′s. If you haven’t had this kind of talk with your family - maybe you ought to soon. Don’t get completely blindsided like we have.  I am intellectually disabled and chronically ill. I need help managing daily tasks. I don’t have a drivers’ license because I can’t drive, and I’m immunocompromised so I can’t really leave this house during a pandemic.  It’s hard to take care of myself, let alone keep up with Patreon and the shop (the only thing paying my bills).

The delays from the holidays and now covid are one thing, but having to manage all of this all by myself is also difficult. I’ve been at it 4 months now. I can’t even use the washer to launder my clothes, there’s some sort of leak and he’s not here to look at it and I can’t afford to pay someone to come out and look at it. People drop off groceries at my door to make sure I eat.  When my best friend has a spare moment during the onslaught of classes, every other week or so, he’ll pick up a bunch of my packages and take them to the post office. That’s part of what’s taking so long. I may print the label and pack the order, but it could be sitting in the outgoing bin for weeks before being taken to post. That’s not his job, I’m not about to remind him or beg to come more often. He has his own life and taking care of me isn’t his obligation. So yeah, things are slow. No, I don’t know when things will be better. And for the love of god, talk to your parents about their future plans if they have any so you can be prepared.

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chapter 20

She hasn’t been stood out in the hall all that long, but when she gets back under the covers, she starts to shiver and then she can’t stop. She’s shaking so hard, she wonders if she’s really sick- maybe she’s caught The Flu or one of the scary diseases that they have in books, Scarlet Fever or Galloping Consumption. The thought makes her hopeful for a moment- because surely Catalina won’t make her leave if she’s really properly ill? But then, she wonders, what if she DOES? That would be even worse- to be ill and to not even be at home, like when she was little and didn’t feel well at Rainbow Camp and still had to stay all night because the leader said it was Just Homesickness. Except that the Just Homesickness turned out to be chickenpox. (She hopes this doesn’t turn out to be chickenpox.)

Eventually, the shaking stops and the bed feels cozier but it’s still hard to get comfy. 

The new knowledge lies heavy on her like a weight and she can’t stop wondering what’s going to happen.

Is she going to have to leave first thing in the morning? Or later? Will she be allowed to pack- and if she is, will she be allowed to take the books that Catalina brought her, the toys and clothes and shoes….or will she have to leave them behind, so Catalina can get rid of them or take them back to the shop? 

(Will she have to leave Little Women behind, half unread?)

Maybe though she’ll just keep them, and give them to another little girl- a nicer, quieter, better goddaughter, who never slams doors or complains or argues or forgets things and who always, always, always tells the truth.

She thinks about this little girl folding over the pages in her books and wearing her beautiful new otter pajamas and making bracelets with her new Rainbow Loom and feels sick.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever fall asleep- her bed is very empty without Tarkar and her pillow is uncomfortably damp and cold under her cheek- but she does, somehow.

She wakes up in the quiet grey light of the very early morning with her heart pounding from a dream of being held under the water at the swimming pool as punishment for not being able to swim- and she’s JUST about to go and take refuge in Catalina’s bed when she remembers.

Catalina doesn’t want her any more.

And this is her last day.

This might be the last morning she ever has in her room- No. Not her room. Not her room anymore.

Catalina smiles at her the next morning when she comes into the kitchen already up and dressed and it’s horrible, having to see how happy the prospect of getting rid of Cathy is making her.

‘You’re up early mija- I was just about to come and wake you.’

She can hardly bear to look at Catalina at all- she just shrugs when Catalina asks if she slept well.

(Catalina also very gently asks if she should put a load of laundry on this morning, which is just a bit strange because Catalina never usually asks her opinion on whether or not chore-things need to done, apart from when she asks things like whether Cathy’s bedroom needs to be tidied up, which isn’t really a question at all because the answer- no matter what Cathy says to the contrary- is always yes. So she shakes her head and Catalina nods and says ok.

And then that’s apparently the end of the conversation because Catalina goes and starts making coffee and it’s all very confusing.)

The very worst thing about the morning is the way that Catalina still hasn’t really told her that she’s leaving yet. It makes her think that maybe Catalina doesn’t even want to bother with saying goodbye at all, and maybe someone else is just going to pick her up from school.

(And if that happens, who will pack her things? Or does she have to leave EVERYTHING behind? Surely Catalina won’t make her leave without even a toothbrush?)

She’s anxious enough about it that she decides to pack Tarkar in her bookbag so that no matter what happens to her, she won’t have to leave him behind…..but Catalina sees her trying to fit him in and takes him away, gently but firmly.

‘You can’t take toys to school mija, you know that. He’s still damp anyway.’

It’s true- but she’d rather a not-quite-dry-yet otter than none at all. (Still, she HOPES this means she’ll be coming home- or to what will soon be her old home, she supposes- after school. She can get Tarkar then.)

It’s still frustrating that Catalina hasn’t TOLD her anything though- she picks at her cereal, waiting for the announcement that she’s sure is coming but there’s nothing, just a reminder to eat up quickly and put her shoes on.

Eventually, she manages to screw up all her courage as they’re getting into the car and asks Catalina if she wants to talk to her.

Catalina looks confused for a second and then her face clears- she obviously realises that Cathy heard her the night before, maybe she even planned it to save them an awkward conversation and spoke extra loudly on purpose?

‘We’ll talk once you’re back from school mija- I think that would be for the best.’ She fastens her belt and adjusts her seat angle. ‘You shouldn’t worry about it though, ok? It will all be alright.’

After a moment, she realises Catalina is waiting for her to say something- although she isn’t sure what (to agree that she’s ok with leaving? To apologise and beg to stay?), so she says nothing, just stares at the half-peeled off sticker on the corner of the windscreen until Catalina sighs and turns on the ignition.

Of course it will all be alright for Catalina once she’s gone, she knows that already….but she wishes she could ask what's going to happen to her without the words sticking in her throat like they are now. Where will she go? Will she even be in the same school….or is she going to be sent somewhere else entirely? It’s not as if she has any other family to go to- she overheard enough conversations about how Catalina was ‘all that was left’ to know that. But where does that leave her?

She wonders if she’ll go to a Home- the sort with a Capital H- like in Tracy Beaker and have to learn to be noisy and shouty like those children are on TV. Or maybe she’ll go to an Orphanage (like in Annie, where she’ll have to scrub floors and wash clothes) or even somewhere like in Oliver Twist (where you have to eat gruel and wear rags)?

 (Catalina told her there are no such things any more, but Catalina doesn’t know everything and what if this is like the time that Catalina said that definitely nobody would notice if she parked on a double yellow line for five minutes while she ran into the post office, but they did notice and then Catalina had gotten a ticket and then gotten very annoyed?)

What if she ends up going to a place like that? She tries to remind herself that really, Oliver and Annie were ok (even if they were 9 and 10 rather than 7) and so maybe she’ll be ok too?

But then she thinks about how even Oliver and Annie- despite all the horrible things that came first- ended up getting adopted by nice, kind rich people and didn’t have to stay in the scary places forever. She wishes there was a film about the other children in the orphanages- the ones who ended up there because they got to live with the nice, kind person first and then ruined it. She wishes she could know that those children would be ok.

She walks into school with the hoards of happy, wanted children and feels lonelier than ever.

*

It’s hard to focus on school- or on anything- when she’s got something so scary looming over her. Anne has to dig her hard with her pointy elbow to make her reply when her name is called for registration. 

Her eyes blur too much to read the words on the projector during assembly and a teacher from one of the older classes directs a glare at her when she notices Cathy isn’t singing. She doesn’t want to get into trouble so she tries mouthing words- any words, nonsense words- instead but then it feels like she’s just making faces so she stops….and thankfully, the song ends before she can be properly told off over it.

She doesn’t put up her hand once during Numeracy and Literacy Hour; Stephen Gardener answers a hard question after she is called upon and gets her answer wrong, and he smirks at her from across the classroom. She doesn’t even care.

(Well. Not VERY much anyway.)

Then her teacher calls her over to her desk when the bell goes for morning playtime.

She thinks at first she’s just going to be reprimanded for daydreaming (and maybe for copying Anne’s sums, if she’s really unlucky, since she’d just not been able to make the numbers work when she tried it herself)....but her teacher looks much more serious than that sort of telling-off would warrant, and when she asks Cathy to sit down, she knows it’s going to be bad.

She wonders then if maybe THIS is it, if she’s going to be taken to her new home during breaktime, like when people are allowed to leave early to go to the dentists.

Instead though, the teacher says that she wants to have a Little Chat. About dinner money. And truthfulness.

Cathy squirms in her chair while the teacher talks about the Importance of Honesty.

‘-and it was such a disappointment to me, dear, as well as to your godmother, because as I said to her, I’ve always said that you’re one of the children who can really be trusted and relied upon…’

It’s awful, the way that consequences unravel like this, slowly and first and then quicker and quicker.

‘You know you can always tell me anything Cathy, but you must see that lying about something that serious…..well, it makes things very hard on me, because what if another child tells me the same thing tomorrow and I didn’t believe him because I was wondering if he might be lying?’

She can’t even look her teacher in the eye, she’s so ashamed- she stares at the clock over the blackboard instead, and watches the hands tick round, but they keep blurring together.

The thought of someone else going hungry and maybe never ever being believed all because of her is too awful to think about, and it makes her wonder if maybe Catalina is right to send her away, if she’s hurting people she hasn’t even met yet, all without meaning to.

‘-and so very unfair for your poor godmother. Imagine how you would feel if she told me something about you that wasn’t true?’

She can’t imagine Catalina doing something like that- that's the sort of thing that she and Anne might do to one another when they’re fighting (like when Anne told the teacher that Cathy had made a face at her when she must have known really that she was just yawning) but it’s not something for grownups to do themselves. She can imagine it would be horrible though- she feels bad enough being told off for something that she knows she definitely DID do.

No wonder Catalina wants to get rid of her.

She almost asks her teacher if maybe SHE knows where she’s going to be sent….but before she can, teacher says that she can run along now.

So she does.

*

She gets out into the playground late and makes it to where Anna and Anne are standing with some other girls just in time to hear Anne say something about ‘winning the swimming race’.

‘You didn’t win!’ The words come out quickly, without her even thinking about them, and Anne scowls at her.

‘I NEARLY won.’ She carries on with what she was saying- about how she’s going to practise opening her eyes under water until it doesn’t hurt so that she won’t even need goggles- but she turns a tiny bit away from Cathy as she does.

It stings, more than it usually would- she can’t bear the thought that she’s turning everyone against her, even Anne- and she wishes she could take the words back. She tries to look like she’s extra interested in what Anne is saying but it’s hard to care about swimming or anything else right now.

‘You wouldn’t know who won anyway-’ Jayne Rochford turns on Cathy, breaking her out of her regret. ‘You were all the way over on the other side of the pool. In the shallow end.’

(She says it the way Cathy imagines you’d tell someone you saw them playing inside a dustbin.)

She’s trying and failing to think of a good response- she WAS in the shallow end, after all- when Kat goes on to say it’s because she can’t swim, just in case the others haven’t quite got it yet, and she has to clench her fists hard to stop herself from yanking one of Kat’s stupid plaits.

‘But I can-’

‘No you can’t-’

‘She CAN swim.’ Anne interrupts before Cathy can say anything, and it’s heartening, even if she says it without a lot of enthusiasm. ‘I’ve seen her.’

‘Then why was she in the shallow end?’

‘Because the swimming teacher made her!’ Anne sounds exasperated that everyone seems more interested in Cathy’s swimming abilities, or lack of, than in her plans for learning to see underwater.

‘Well I think-’

‘No one cares what you think!’ Anne throws up her hands in an excellent imitation of her mother and it’s a relief that even when Anne is a bit annoyed, she’ll always be MORE annoyed at Jayne.

(Anne has still not forgiven Jayne for telling their class that her Mummy thought that Anne’s big brother George was secretly in PRISON rather than in London. Anne had hit Jayne and made her nose bleed and Mary had had to come into school to collect her early and, Anne said, complained all the way home that the phone had rung JUST as she’d finally gotten Baby Catherine down for a nap.)

 Jayne scowls at her, then turns on her heel and stamps off to where the big girls are braiding scoubidous, turning back a couple of times to make sure they all see her going.

Once she’s gone, Anna adds that it’s stupid to make fun of someone just because they can’t swim, and anyway, she bets Jayne can’t do a handstand, even if she CAN swim.

Being able to do a handstand is, it turns out, something Anna is VERY good at, and the conversation drifts away from swimming to everyone trying to do handstands on the grass and arguing about how long their legs stayed upright for.

(Cathy is grateful for the defence. Even though she still sort of wants to insist to everyone that she CAN. And even though she thinks that perhaps a little tiny bit of Anna sticking up for her was just because she wanted to show off about being able to do a handstand.)

Still, she’s grateful Anna is her friend now.

(She’s going to miss her a lot when she has to leave.)

*

The clock ticks away the minutes and hours of the afternoon and she feels wound tight with anxiety the whole time. When the bell rings for the end of school, she almost jumps out of her chair she’s so on edge.

Anne looks at her oddly.

‘Are you ok?’

She nods. Anne doesn’t look as if she believes her.

Catalina is standing alone outside the classroom, waiting to collect her- on time, for once- and she wonders how relieved Catalina is that she’ll never have to make the drive, leave work early, and wait in the drafty school hall not talking to anyone ever again.

Her teacher comes over and Catalina asks for A Quick Word and Cathy wonders what she could possibly have done to end up in trouble since she’s barely said a word...and then she realises that they must be talking about how it’s her last day and not to expect her tomorrow and how Anna can change desks now and have Cathy’s old spot next to Anne rather than sitting her herself.

 (She’s a little bit sad when her teacher says goodbye to her so casually as they leave. It seems that no one will miss her at all.)

Jane is at the flat when they arrive home and she smiles at Cathy like she’s really pleased to see her, tells her how much Anne loved her birthday present, and says how glad she is that they all had a nice time at the sleepover. 

She asks if Cathy liked the birthday cake that Anne saved for her.

Birthdays and sleepovers and the (only very slightly nibbled) piece of cake all feel a very, very long way away to her now, even though it was less than a week ago.

She can’t smile and answer Jane’s questions politely- she’s too anxious- so she just nods and looks at her feet.

(When she thinks Cathy can’t hear, Catalina murmurs to Jane sotto voce that she must just be feeling a bit shy today what with everything going on, and Jane nods.

Cathy hates that they’re talking about her, but she also has a sudden wild urge to cling to Jane’s skirt and beg Jane to let her stay with her so that she doesn’t have to go to an Orphanage. She knows Jane has a spare room, and she wouldn’t take up much space and she hasn’t felt hungry all day so she probably won’t eat much either and then she can still see Anne sometimes….

But she stops herself, and screws her hands into fists. Of course she can’t stay with Jane- Jane can’t even look after Anne and Kitty all the time, so it’s not like she’d be able to look after Cathy. And besides, Jane is nice to her because she’s Anne friend, but it’s not like she cares about Cathy like she does Anne and Kitty. 

Then it occurs to her that since Jane and Catalina are friends too, and that since Jane is here now, that Jane must know what’s going on, that Catalina is tired of her and sending her away. Maybe she’s even here specially to help Catalina break the news.

She doesn’t quite have the courage to actually turn away while Jane is still talking to her, but she keeps her eyes on the carpet and eventually Jane stops saying things that require a response.

Good. She’s a traitor anyway.

*

The social worker smiles a saccharine smile at Cathy when she arrives, and walks around for a bit, saying how lovely things are and admiring the drawings on the fridge and asking questions about them in the way that grownups do when they’re trying to show you how interested they are.

She says that Cathy is excellent at drawing bears and Cathy can’t even be bothered to say that they’re really otters. It doesn’t matter anyway, but Catalina interrupts the woman after a moment to explain what they’re really meant to be. She even smiles at Cathy as she says it, as if Cathy should be grateful, as if she isn’t sending her away, and suddenly Cathy is furious with her.

How can she act so NORMAL? How can she not even care?

She scowls and says that maybe they ARE bears really and that Catalina doesn’t know EVERYTHING. Catalina flushes and starts to tell her rather sharply not to be so rude….and then stops herself, glancing anxiously at the social worker as if she’s said something wrong.

The social worker keeps smiling as if everything is normal and says that whatever they are, they’re lovely and anyway, maybe Cathy would like to go and play now while she talks to Catalina? 

She wouldn’t like that at all, but she goes anyway.

Jane asks if she’d like some company- and Catalina shoots Jane a panicked, pleading look, like Kitty when she gets dropped off at Reception and wants Jane to stay- and Cathy doesn’t even reply, she just leaves.

She doesn’t play though.

She needs to pack.

The only- the only good thing about today is that Tarkar is finally dry and she packs him first in her suitcase. Then her fluffy diary, and her favourite Barbie dolls and her pen that can write in different colours. 

She hesitates over her books- she still isn’t sure whether she’d be allowed to take them with her, and she doesn’t think she can bear packing them and having to unpack them again. (She’s already done that once, and she’s sure that this time, there won’t be a nice Catalina person to replace all the books she’s left behind.)

She’s folding her tshirts when there’s a knock on the door and Catalina pokes her head in.

‘Mija, can you come and-’ she stops ‘What are you doing?’

‘Packing.’ Surely she’s allowed to take SOME things with her? But Catalina’s face is white, like she’s seen something horrible.

She turns on her heel and walks quickly down the corridor, and after a moment Cathy can hear the rise and fall of voices: Catalina sounds upset and she wonders if she’s in trouble for trying to pack things that she isn’t meant to take?

The unfairness of it is too much for her and she upends her suitcase furiously- why is it that grownups can take whatever they want- always, and again and again?

They took her parents, her house, the furniture and the garden. They took her books, the toys that were too big to pack- and now they’re taking everything else, things that she actually owns herself and it’s so unfair, she hate it, she HATES it-

The anger bubbles up; the social worker comes in just as she throws the suitcase at the door- she has to step back to keep from getting hit.

‘Goodness!’

Cathy freezes, wondering if she’s going to get into trouble- maybe the social worker will think she’s REALLY bad now and decide she needs to go to a special home for Bad Girls?

But she doesn’t look angry- the shock clears from her face and she just looks concerned….and then she pastes on a smile.

She smiles- not like everything is normal, but like someone who is determined to smile no matter what- and looks around the room, turning her head this way and that as if she’s at a museum.

(She doesn’t say anything about the clothes lying scattered and half unfolded, or the fact that Cathy has just thrown a suitcase at her.)

‘What a beautiful bedroom!’

Cathy doesn’t reply- it’s not like it will be her bedroom for much longer.

‘And what lovely toys you have- and my! What a lot of books- you must like reading a lot!’

Cathy wants to ask if she remembers taking the stacks of books out of her suitcase and replacing them with boring t shirts and school dresses, if she remembers telling her off for packing books rather than clothes in the first place.

 (She thinks that someone who makes you leave books behind shouldn’t be allowed to sound happy about reading ever again) 

Still, she doesn’t say anything, even though the social worker is looking at her expectantly.

Eventually, after an awkward pause, the woman lets some of the smile leak away (which is good- her face must be aching by now) and she perches herself on Cathy’s desk chair.

‘I think we should have a little chat, dear.’

(She’s always hated being called dear. Dear is for birthday cards and thank you cards and postcards; dear is meant to be written down, not said out loud.)

Reluctantly, Cathy sits down on the edge of her bed. She grips the duvet tighter than tight between two fingers where the social worker can’t see.

‘I’ve heard there’s been a little bit of trouble here, hm?’

She nods.

‘How about you tell me all about it?’

She doesn’t feel like reliving it all so she says ‘Catalina can tell you.’

‘I’d rather hear it from you dear.’

The woman’s smile is implacable and it’s obvious she won’t be put off so she gives in and recounts everything as truthfully as she can, wondering as she does whether this is just a test of some sort.

She tells her about being late waking up, the cheque, not having her swimming things, not wanting to get into trouble, and how things sort of spiralled with her meaning for them to.

She waits, at the end, for the social worker to tell her how well (or how badly) she did, whether or not she left anything out, whether or not she passed the test…..but instead she just nods.

‘And what would YOU like to happen next? If you could choose?’

This means she’s being given some choice over where they send her- but since the social worker doesn’t actually tell her what the options are, she wonders if maybe this also is a test. 

Maybe it’s a test of whether or not she’s going to be greedy and asks for too much- like when you visit a house and get told to help yourself to biscuits but then they make you put the third one back because Two Is Quite Enough, Young Lady.

So she settles for ‘I’d like to live with someone nice. Not in a Home.’ (She tries to make the Capital H clear so that the woman doesn’t just think she means a normal home.)

‘Oh-’ There’s a flicker of surprise on the woman’s face before it’s smoothed over. ‘So you’d like to live somewhere else?’

She knows this is one of those questions grown ups ask you when they already know the answer and are just checking to make sure that you do too- like ‘You’re getting ready for bed, aren’t you?’ or ‘You’re going to pick up those crayons before they get broken, right?’

‘Yes.’

(She doesn’t know why this makes the social worker look so sad- after all, she got the answer right, didn’t she?)

And then the social worker says that they should talk about this All Together.

*

She follows the woman out into the living room, with Tarkar in her arms just in case the social worker tries the same trick on him that she did on Cathy’s books.

(She decides that if she does, she’s going to be like Kitty and bite her hand, even if she’s much, much bigger and more grown up than Kitty is.)

Catalina is sitting up very straight and still on the sofa, but when Cathy comes in, she gets up quickly and goes to kneel in front of her. She takes both of Cathy’s hands in her own (Tarkar crushed awkwardly between them) and Cathy realises that this is the goodbye she’s been waiting for.

 It makes her feel the tiniest bit better that Catalina is obviously so sad to see her going, and she thinks about how she needs to remember all of this because when she’s grown up, it’ll be the last memory she has of Catalina.

There’s a yawning, gaping sadness inside her, waiting to open up.

‘Mija-’ Catalina is blinking a bit too much. ‘I am so sorry. I’m sorry for- for everything- I never should have gotten so angry with you, I shouldn’t have said those things.’ She snatches a gulp of air- her words tumble over one another. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted, I shouldn’t have-’ Her voice dies away and her hands squeeze Cathy’s even tighter.

Cathy’s throat aches so much she can hardly talk but she manages to talk, just about.

 ‘I’m sorry too.’ It’s not a lie- she IS sorry, sorry that she lied at all and sorry that it’s the thing that must have made Catalina begin to not-want her in the first place. It’s very faint but Catalina hears her; she nods.

‘I know, mija. I know. You know I didn’t mean what I said?’ Her eyes are pleading, her mouth is trying to smile; Cathy supposes she wants to finish everything off on a clean slate. ‘I didn’t mean it, I was just- tired and upset and- I promise I would never, ever try and take Maria’s place.’

No chance of that now she is sending Cathy away, so she just nods.

Catalina’s smile wavers and she hesitates.

Cathy waits for her to finish but she doesn’t say anything else, so she figures this must be the end of everything.

‘Catalina-’

‘Yes querida?’

It’s hard to ask but she feels like she has to, she has to KNOW.

‘Am I going to live somewhere….very far away?’

Catalina drops her hands abruptly.

‘What?’ She looks horrified. ‘Oh mija- I know you’re upset with me, I know that, I do and I understand but must you really?’

She’s so confused- why is Catalina looking at her like that, what has she said wrong? Why is she looking so shocked? Nothing makes SENSE anymore-

‘What?’

‘Please Cathy, I couldn’t- I can’t bear the idea of losing you, not after this, not now-’ Tears are sliding down Catalina’s cheeks and she brushes them roughly away with her fingertips and keeps talking. ‘If Maria knew that you- that I-’ It’s as if she can’t even say it- although what it is, Cathy has no idea. ‘Please, can’t we give this another try? I love you mija, so very much, I-’ 

She presses the back of her hand against her mouth, like she’s in pain, and Cathy’s head is whirling, why is Catalina talking as if this is her choice, as if this is something SHE wanted? Why is she making it Cathy’s decision, why is she twisting things around after the phonecall, why-

Nothing makes sense, she’s not sure of anything anymore, and she can’t work things out in her own head either because of the weight of everyone’s eyes upon her as they all wait for her to respond, to see what she’s going to say, but how can she respond, she doesn’t know what the right answer is- is it a test or a trick or something else?

She opens her mouth- because everyone is looking at her so expectantly- but instead of words, she bursts into tears.

(It’s probably a good thing. If she’s crying, she can’t say the wrong thing and make everything worse.)

Still, it’s also embarrassing to be crying with an audience- she tries to stop and just ends up gulping and hiccuping through the tears. Catalina reaches for her and she flinches away instinctively- and the hurt on Catalina’s face just makes her cry harder.

 The social worker tries to put an arm around her and she pushes her away- she definitely doesn’t want this strange woman’s cold comfort, the woman who took away her books and her home. 

She’d like to hide in her bedroom so she can try and get things straight in her head and work out just what is going in- but as she turns to flee, she runs straight into Jane.

‘Easy there, sweetheart-’

At least Jane doesn’t try to touch her- she just presses a wad of Kleenex into her hands and steps back so Cathy can scrub her face and nose herself.

‘Mija, what’s the matter-’

‘Would you like to tell us what’s wrong Catherine?’

‘It’s CATHY’ She snaps it, and then wonders if that’s going to count against her too; she sniffles, humiliated and uncomfortable, and Jane looks down at her sympathetically.

‘Let’s go and wash your poor face, hm? And maybe Catalina could put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea when we’re back?’ It’s said very gently but firmly too- it’s not a suggestion. 

Still, it’s sort of nice that at least one person still seems like they know what they’re doing, so she follows Jane out of the room while Catalina goes to the kitchen, and when Jane offers her hand, she takes it.

It’s cool and soft- smaller than Catalina’s and Jane isn’t wearing any rings but it’s still nice.

The living room isn’t noisy, but the bathroom still feels like a haven of peace: no one is watching her or trying to tell her things or saying things that confuse everything.

Jane sits her down on the edge of the bath, then runs cool water over a flannel and hands it to her.

‘Here, sweetheart.’

The cold feels nice on her hot cheeks and stinging eyes.

Jane waits quietly until she’s finished pressing every last scrap of coolness to her face and the flannel is warm and not as nice feeling again, and then she sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

Cathy finds she’s leaning into her- she doesn’t want to really (Jane is still a traitor after all, even if she DID give her some tissues) but it’s too hard not to. 

‘Better?’

She nods.

‘It’s been a hard day for you, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s been HORRIBLE. And yesterday too.’

Jane tightens her arm around her.

‘I don’t want to tell you what to do or how to feel sweetheart- we all have rights to how we feel, and it’s not my place to interfere. But I do care about you- and Catalina. I want you both to be happy.’

Cathy nods- she understands. Jane is going to explain to her how her moving away is all for the best and she’s going to have to pretend to agree because Jane was nice and gave her a flannel.

‘Did you know I used to be a social worker?’

This isn’t what she was expecting to hear at all. She shakes her head slowly, she isn’t sure where this is going. It’s hard to imagine Jane in the place of her own social worker- she wonders if Jane made many little girls get rid of their books.

‘Were you? Did you like it?’

‘Yes, I did. Very much.’ Jane looks a bit far away for a moment and then comes back hurriedly. 

‘Why did you stop?’

‘Other things were more important.’

‘How long ago did you stop?’

‘About three years ago….’ She pauses then continues. ‘Anyway, I worked with lots of families- all sorts. And I’ve seen all the- all the trouble that families can give one another.’

Cathy nods again. She can see where this is going.

‘I’ve had lots of children have to leave home and live somewhere else and-’

Cathy waits for Jane to tell her that it’s really all alright, that it happens a lot and she just needs to be brave or something like that. Instead though, Jane just shakes her head and seems to wilt a little on the edge of the tub.

‘Well, everyone wants the children to be happy in their new homes but it can be very...difficult to get used to a new place and new people. Did it feel strange when you first came here?’

She nods- she can remember those first bewildering days, before Catalina’s flat had settled down into familiar shapes, when she got the doors in the hallway confused and felt afraid that she was putting things out of place every time she moved.

‘So- yes. Living with new people can be very, very difficult, even when everybody wants what’s best- and especially when you don’t know them. It can be hard- very hard, sometimes.’ Jane is choosing her words carefully. ‘Now we all understand things have been hard for you here too- that things have gotten a little unsettled lately, haven’t they?’

‘Yes….’ She wonders how much Jane knows about everything- she wonders if Jane thinks she’s a liar too: she’d ask but she’s having to focus too hard to make sense of what Jane is saying. Why is she making leaving sound so scary, why isn’t she doing the grownup thing of telling Cathy it will all be Fine even when it isn’t?

 It reminds her of when Anne had to go to the dentist and she’d gotten into trouble for telling her how much it hurt when they prodded and poked your teeth (even though it HAD hurt, a bit, when she’d gone the week before and so she hadn’t been exaggerating THAT much).

 But Jane is a grownup and grownups aren’t meant to try to scare you and-

‘-know things have been difficult, but sweetheart-’ Jane is looking at her very intently. ‘Catalina loves you so much, she only lost her temper because she was upset and she feels terribly that she scared you so much… The thought of losing you is really scary for her and I know she’d miss you so much if you went somewhere else, as would I. And Anne and your other friends. Your teacher too.’ Jane takes a deep breath. ‘Please Cathy, won’t you give it another try? I truly do think you’ll be better off here than in a foster home…’

Her mouth is dry, she feels sick with how upside down everything is. Has Catalina told Jane it’s her idea? But why-

Jane is looking at her, so patient and so hopeful. It’s somehow not as hard as having Catalina look at her.

‘But I-’ Her voice is croaky. ‘I HAVE to go-’

‘Why, sweetheart?’

‘Catalina doesn’t want me anymore.’

She’s said it out loud and it’s both a relief and exquisitely painful at the same time. It’s a relief because saying it out loud means it isn’t a secret, but also telling someone else makes it feel real, even though she knows Jane knows already.

Jane doesn’t LOOK as if she knows already though- her eyebrows knit in confusion.

‘Why do you think that, sweetheart?’

‘I heard her-’ She sucks in a little breath of air through her tight throat. ‘She said she didn’t want me ever and that she wanted me to go away-’

Jane looks even more confused. ‘She told you that she didn’t want you?’

She’s about to nod and then remembers that this is how it all started, not choosing her words carefully enough. So she shakes her head. ‘I heard her say it.’

‘To who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was it at school?’

‘It was on the phone.’

‘Catalina told someone that she didn’t want you over the phone- and you overheard-’

Cathy nods.

‘When was this darling?’

‘Last night.’

‘Do you remember when?’

She shakes her head. ‘It was after bedtime.’

Jane’s face is scrunched up like she’s trying to sort things out in her own mind, she looks as confused as Cathy feels….and then it’s as if something falls into place and her eyes open up wide and she starts shaking her head frantically.

‘Oh no, Cathy, no, no-’

‘I DID!’ She can’t bear to be disbelieved when she’s telling the truth this time. ‘I did, I did honestly, I swear-’

‘No, no-’ Jane looks even more urgent. ‘No, I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean I didn’t believe you, I just- I think you misunderstood what you were hearing...Oh god, what a mess...’ She looks terribly sad. ‘Did you really think Catalina wanted to give you up?’

‘Yes.’ She doesn’t understand why this bothers Jane so much- of course she thought it, she still DOES think it-

‘Come on-’ Jane stands up and holds out her hand again, and Cathy takes it automatically. ‘I think we should explain things to you. Properly.’

*

It’s easier back in the livingroom because although things are still confusing, it’s a bit less scary when she’s holding onto Jane’s hand. And because with Jane talking, no one is looking at her as much.

‘-and so she called me just to ask if I’d come and give some moral support because she was feeling a bit anxious about the visit today-’ Jane finishes. ‘It was never you she was talking about.’

‘Ay dios mio, no!’ Catalina breaks in fervently. ‘Not you, querida, never ever you!’ She glances at the social worker, looking incredibly guilty and more than a little embarrassed. ‘I was- I’m so sorry, I really am but I was so anxious and tired and-’

 She takes a breath. ‘It was her- you- who I was saying I didn’t want to come, not you mija, not for a second. I have never not wanted you, never-’ She breaks off and turns uncomfortably to the social worker. ‘Of course- I do, I really do understand why these visits need to take place and i want you to understand that I am entirely happy to cooperate and work with you as much as I possibly can, I was just feeling very overwhelmed and-’

 The social worker gives an awkward little nod and then coughs.

‘Of course. Ah- please don’t mention it…’ She half laughs, although nothing funny has been said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone has said that about me, believe me-’

Catalina smiles awkwardly, and turns back to Cathy quickly. ‘So you see querida, it was all just a big misunderstanding, and if I’d had any idea that you’d overheard or that that was what you were thinking…’ She shakes her head. ‘Oh mija, I can’t imagine how you must have felt!’

Cathy swallows hard, it’s all so much to take in, like the world has been tipping up and down and now she can’t tell if things are upside down or not because everything is changing so quickly. ‘So….you don’t want to send me away?’

‘No! Not for a moment mija, not for a second- I have always, always wanted you, and I’d certainly never send you away!’

She does sound as if she means it.

‘And you weren’t ever going to send me away?’

‘Never.’

‘And-’ This is the hardest one but she has to ask. ‘Are you still cross that I lied?’

‘Oh mija…’ Catalina shakes her head. ‘I still wish that you hadn’t done it- but it was a mistake. And we all make mistakes sometimes.’

‘But are you?’

‘No. Now all I’m really feeling is sorry that you had to go through such a horrible couple of days- it must have been very frightening.’

Funny that thinking about it is almost as bad experiencing it- remembering it is like she’s seeing it all from the outside, like she’s watching herself hear the phonecall and everything else, and she’s sad for herself, for the past her that has been trying so hard to be brave.

She can feel the tears welling up again- funny, that she’s been able to keep herself normal all day when she’s believed everything to be terrible but now she knows it’s ok, she can’t.

‘It was, I thought that-’ She sniffs and wishes she still had the tissues from earlier.

‘Mi vida-’ Catalina kneels in front of her and opens up her arms- it feels so strange, after everything, because for the last couple of days, Catalina has felt like a stranger but now she’s her again but she hasn’t forgotten the stranger with Catalina’s face that shouted and snapped, or the other Catalina, who maybe existed just in her head, who wanted to give her away and looked forward to it…

So she hesitates for a second. Just for a second though, and then she can’t hold herself back anymore because really, what she wants more than anything is for things to be back to normal, for Catalina to hug her again and make everything ok.

Then she’s being scooped up and held tightly and it’s such a relief after the horrible loneliness of the last few days that she’s crying again, even harder than before, and gripping onto Catalina so tightly that she’s sure she’ll leave bruises.

She can’t make herself let go but it’s ok- Catalina is holding onto her just as tightly, after all.

(And she’s not the only one crying.)

*

Even when everything has calmed down, she still can’t really let go of Catalina- she’s scared that if she does, somehow everything will go back to being scary and confusing and lonely again. She holds tight to Catalina’s hand, as if she’s Kitty’s age, as she shows the social worker around the flat and talks about things like work-life balance and school support. 

(At one point, Jane gets up and says she should let them get on with it and Catalina shoots her a very pleading look and Jane ends up sitting back down and pouring herself another cup of tea.) She even grips onto the hem of Catalina’s shirt when they see the social worker and Jane off at the front door and Catalina needs her hands back again.

Jane tells Cathy that she’s sorry she’s had to deal with so much but that she’s sure things will be better now that everything is sorted out, and that if Cathy ever wants to talk to her about anything at all, she will always be happy to listen.

She nods. (Maybe Jane isn’t ONLY nice to her because she’s Anne’s friend after all.)

Catalina hugs Jane warmly and says that she owes her a thousand favours and that Jane must be sure to come to her the minute she needs anything at all, that she’s a wonderful friend who Catalina will never be able to thank enough for helping sort all of this out.

(The social worker just gets a polite handshake and an embarrassed smile from Catalina, and a mumbled ‘goodbye’ from Cathy. But to her credit, she doesn’t seem to take it personally. She says she’ll ‘check in again soon’ and Cathy hopes that ‘soon’ means ‘months and months.’ She can tell from Catalina’s face that she’s hoping something similar.)

Then the door shuts and it’s just the two of them- odd, after everything, and even a little bit scary.

There’s a second of silence, of total stillness, of two people trying to scramble to untangle the confusion of the past few days...and then Catalina scoops Cathy into her arms again, lifting her right off her feet and picking her up as if she’s no bigger than Kitty.

‘Oh mija-’ Cathy wonders if Catalina is going to apologise to her again (she hopes she doesn’t- she’s said sorry at least a hundred times already, maybe a thousand, and she knows it will just make them both cry again and she’s cried enough for one day) but Catalina doesn’t, she stops herself with what looks like effort.

Catalina carries her back into the livingroom and sits down; Cathy wriggles into a comfortable position in her lap and looks up at her when Catalina takes a deep breath.

‘Mija- do you think we could maybe start again?’ Catalina is looking at her very seriously, almost like she’s talking to another grownup. ‘Could we start fresh tomorrow- forgive each other and begin again? I think we could both do better.’

‘Okay.’ Starting fresh sounds like a good idea- not being in trouble, not being cross. Still, she wants to say it one more time. ‘I’m sorry I lied.’

Catalina nods seriously. ‘Thank you, mija. And I’m sorry that I forgot your swimming things, I know you must have been very disappointed.’

Cathy hasn’t even been thinking about swimming- it feels like a long time ago. She shrugs. It probably doesn’t even matter any more.

‘It occurred to me…’ Catalina shifts her slightly and clears her throat. ‘I never even asked about how your first school swimming lesson went mija. And I did mean to.’

(She knows that this is true- Catalina had said more than once that she was looking forward to hearing all about it.)

‘That’s ok.’

‘I’d still like to hear about it. If you’re not too tired, that is….’

And with that, everything somehow starts to slide back into how it used to be- back into being able to tell Catalina everything, back into Catalina WANTING to hear everything…

‘Well first of all, I had to sit with Stephen on the coach-’

Catalina gasps, a real not-pretend gasp of horror.

‘But he’s that horrible boy that tortures insects!’

And Cathy knows everything is going to be ok.

[emptymasks]

Yancy being totally flustered and ruined by Illinois calling him pet names is totally valid but you know what’s better? The first time Yance feels comfortable enough and happy enough to be like ‘Aww, Illi, ain’t you a doll?’ and Illinois stops dead because HE does the pet names and complimenting, HE does the charming. No one charms him. But his heart is Bang Bang Banging and Yancy has a 404 adventurer on his hands.

ain’t you a doll // yancy x illinois 

Pairing: Yancy x Illinois

Words: 1089

Rating: General Audiences

Read on Ao3

Tags: Fluff | Tooth-Rotting Fluff | Fluff and Humor | Domestic Fluff | Romantic Fluff | just a lot of fluff | Romance | Dating | Dates | Pet Names | POV Third Person | Touch-Starved

Notes (more notes at the end): finally got around to writing something for these two. i put the call out for prompts for yancy/illinois two and a half weeks ago and im finally writing about them. i jsut finally felt inspired and woo boy this got really soft i was dying writing them holding hands. 

@wexeatxthexrude thank you so much for the prompt

edit: fixed the formatting issue, damn you tumblr why do you like to warp my fics. thanks to those that let me know.

Another adventure successfully and mostly safely completed, and anotherpriceless artefact soundly and more than mostly safely delivered to the museum.

This wasn’t the first adventure Yancy had tagged along on, but this was thefirst time he’d come with Illinois to the museum to deliver what they’dretrieved and Illinois felt stupid for worrying about whether Yancy was goingto like it or not. Of course he was going to like it, I mean thisplace had the most complete triceratops skeleton in the world! Okay… that’sone of the reasons he liked it, didn’t mean Yancy would. Illinoisforgot a lot of the time that not everyone found old fossils and relics andremains as interesting or cool as he did.

Luckily, Yancy had been enthralled as Illinois walked him around theexhibits and gave him his own exclusive, honorary tour, that was packed withway more information, and much more accurate information, than the museum’sofficial tour guides could ever offer, and hey he also heard this exclusivetour had the best looking guide.

And also luckily Yancy hadn’t gotten bored or fed up of him rambling andgetting over-excited, he’d just listened to everything and smiled and been sosupportive Illinois hadn’t felt this… it felt too early to say ‘loved’…admired maybe… He hadn’t felt this ‘unnameable positive emotion that made hischest feel warm and tight’ in a long time.

“Hey you know, there’s a cafe next to the lobby in here, and when it’snice and hot like this they sell ice cream, you want to grab any? Mytreat?” He asked Yancy once he’d finally finished leading him around theexhibits.

“Aww, Illy, ain’t you a doll.”

Illinois froze.

What… just happened?

Did Yancy just… call him a pet name?

No, no, no, that was his job, he was meant to be the onefull of compliments and pet names. He charmed people, people didn’tcharm him.

People didn’t… When was the last time anyone had charmed him?Illinois tried to think back and sure he knew when people were looking at himlike they wanted to do something to him, or wanted him to do something to them,but no one really flirted with him unless the occasional confident soul shot afew lines back at him as he winked and smiled.

But no one called him pet names, people didn’t call him pet names, Yancyhadn’t ever called him by a pet name before. Yancy was cute and softer, whileIllinois was stoic and cocky and tough, not that Yancy wasn’t tough but… Theway Yancy had said that…

It was just a pet name, just one word, why the hell was he freaking out somuch? He felt the urge to put a hand on his chest to see if his heart reallywas having as much of a fit as he thought it was. His cheeks felt hot, had theyalways felt that hot? It was fairly warm in here but the museum did have airconditioning but it was the summer so-

Something flashed across his face.

There it was again.

It was Yancy’s hand.

“Ill? I didn’t break yous, did I?” Yancy was a lot closer than hehad been before, when did he move? Oh god Illinois prayed to whatever strangedeity might shine down on him that he hadn’t just been standing here for whoknows how long staring into space.

“No, no,” Illinois cringed and coughed as he heard his voice comeout almost squeaky. “Not at all darlin’ you just, uh, took me bysurprise with that is all.”

“With what?” Yancy tilted his head to the side.

Okay maybe he could get away with pretending this never happened. “Oh,nothing, don’t worry about it, but I was saying wasn’t I that I would-”

“It’s cause I called yous ‘doll��� ain’t it?” Yancy was grinning butthere was an insecurity there as if he was afraid of being embarrassed if hewas wrong.

“I, uh,” Illinois shook his head. “Alright, you caught me. Ijust… didn’t expect the pet name is all.”

“Yous seemed to short circuit on me for a second there. How not used toit are you?” Yancy laughed and Illinois dug thumbs under his belt andbalanced back on his heels as he ducked his head (something he was starting tolearn was a nervous tick of his, not that he got nervous of course). “Oh,real not used to it huh?” And Yancy knew what his body language meant andthat was something unusual but… sweet. Not many people had stuck around(whether by their own choice or… not their own choice) long enough to get toknow him this well.

“I suppose I’m used to being the charmer but not the charmee,”Illinois joked, or at least tried to, it must have not worked considering theserious expression on Yancy’s face. “Yance? That’s not… weird, right?How I reacted, I mean.”

Yancy’s eyes stayed serious but he smiled. “Oh not at all, doll.I'ms just thinking what I can dos with this information.” And he smirked,Illinois hadn’t even known Yancy knew how to smirk. “So, what was thatyous were saying about getting us ice cream, sweetheart?”

Oh no. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Yancy had too much power.

He his face heating up had nothing to do with the room temperature thistime. His hand found it’s way up and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah,” He tried to shake the feelings off. “I’ll lead theway.”

Yancy, shyly but slyly leaned into him as they walked and brushed theirhands together. Illinois almost jumped, but pushed his hand back into Yancy andhe saw how Yancy’s face lit up from the corner of his eye. Something like thiswas a big step for both of them, both touch-starved from their time alone, butYancy was also so used to people touching him because they were hurting him.Illinois was making sure that never happened again, and was trying his best notto mess things up.

Yancy smiled and held his hand and squeezed it and just looked so darn cutethat Illinois turned his head to the side and slid his hand over his stubbleand over his mouth.

“Yous alright, Noisy?”

“I’m fine, Yancy.” Illinois sighed and dropped his hand, failingto fight the smile off his face.

“Alright,” Yancy cocked his head and grinned. “Doll.”

Tag list: @theshysepticeye @the-marvel-encyclopedia @gabby-doo @actrmrk @smol-gay-nerd184 @salmonisforthebagel (let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for my ahwm fics, also let me know if you want to be taken off the tag list)

More notes:

and if you guys could please help me out and and reblog this promo post for the heist charms, stickers and pins i’m making and selling that would mean the world! there’s also the link in there to my Etsy shop where you can buy them plugging that again because i need moneys

also if you want to see the heist art i keep drawing you can follow me on instagram and twitter

[marlynnofmany]

Forged in Love

This is an iron nail, made for practice.  One of many.  It was made by a friend of mine who’s learning blacksmithing, the same friend who helped inspire The Best Galdarn Love Story In The West. 

If you’re familiar with the California Firestorms of the last couple years, this is the person who came up with the phrase that’s on so many T-shirts and bumper stickers now: The love in the air is thicker than the smoke. 

The page for his process is called Forged In Love.  (A theme, you say?  Yes absolutely.)

And good news!  This isn’t a post asking for money to fight some dire illness!  All that is just proper context for the following short story, inspired by the practice nails.

I do love a good writing challenge.  When the conversation turned to “we should collaborate, with writing and metalworking together,” there’s no way I’d say no.  Especially when it came with as good an idea as this one.

(It’s set in the same world as Galdarn -- the Weird West with cowboys & magic, elves & orcs & dinosaurs.  Great fun.)

-------------

Accidental Magic

When most folks talk about love being magical, I reckon they’re not being literal.  There’s few things more complimentary than saying your lady’s smile could outshine a phoenix, or that she gives you strength enough to leapfrog over a sleeping dragon.  They don’t mean it’s magic exactly.

Well.  Turns out, maybe they should.

The day of this particular revelation of mine started with a stroll between towns, taking my sweet time in going to visit family.  I could have hired a cart, or borrowed a thunder lizard if I felt the need to arrive before my stomach caught up.  But no, a leisurely walk would do.  I could see the sights.  All I brought with me was a pack lunch and my lucky nail, made by my great-grandpappy when he was first learning to work the forge.

I was fond of that nail.  Its weight in my shirt pocket told me everything was right with the world.  Family was forever, and people were always learning new things, throwing themselves into the process with all the enthusiasm and love they could muster.  Great-grandpappy poured love into everything he did, and it always struck me as inspiring.  

I didn’t think none about it that day, simply enjoying the sunshine.  I decided to make a detour and eat my lunch somewhere pretty.  There was a wetlands next to the river, and where the dirt road hit the bend, I knew a path that led to a lovely little flowery grotto.  Young folks had been wooing each other there for generations.  It usually made for a fine picnic spot.

Usually.  

Today, all the flowers and greenery had turned to moldering slime, and I was reminded with a jolt of the salt spill into the river some time before.  The miners had been apologetic, and every effort had been made to clean things up, but these plants were suffering something powerful.  

I ventured off the path to take in the scope of the heartache.  There were still trees under the vines, and wilted tufts of grass, but none of them was in good shape.  I tried to think of when those miners had promised to have the river clean by.  Could have sworn it was weeks ago.  Was there a setback, or had the plants just not clawed their way back to health yet?  

I was wondering how long it might take when something moved.

It moved in the water, coming up close to where I stood on the wet grass, and I saw yellow eyes.

I stepped back.  

As soon as I did, the thing exploded out of the water with grasping arms and glowing eyes and slimy green waterweeds everywhere, its mouth open in a terrifying screech.  

I darn near wet myself and ran.  

Splashes told me it was following.  I didn’t look back, just booked it across the slippery ground until I reached the raised dirt path, and then I could really run.  I put my head down and sprinted like a jackalope with its tail on fire.  

A sound brought me up short.  

The thing was crying.  

I skidded to a stop, safe out on the road, and looked back to where the thing lay halfway out of the water, sobbing like a broken soul.  

It weren’t even looking at me anymore.  Just laying draped across the shore, its screechy voice turned into a hopeless keen, parted by hiccuping tears.

Well, if I could walk away from that, then I might as well leave my heart at the side of the road, cuz it obviously weren’t doing me no good.  

I made my careful way back.  I knew full well that this could be a trick — I’d never heard of any such creature living in the area, and for all I knew, it fed on foolhardy saps like me.  

But I did know that I wouldn’t be able to look my reflection in the eye if I walked away from somebody crying like that.  Even if they were covered in rotten plants.  

“Hey,” I said gentle-like, and it raised a startled face.  I set down my lunch bag.  “Do y’all need a hug?”

With a sob, it lunged for me again, but this time I caught it and held it tight.  The thing clung to me like a drowning child.  I tried to ignore the slime dripping down my neck and the water soaking my clothes.  

It held on for a long time, and I didn’t object.  It was only when I felt a tickle at my chest that the thing pulled back on its own, visibly surprised to find a blue flower growing from its weeds.  

“Oh,” I said.  “That’s pretty.”  It really was.  Star-shaped and deep blue, with speckles down the center of each petal.

The creature instantly looked away from it to poke at my shirt.

My pocket, where I kept Great-grandpappy’s nail.  

I pulled the nail free and offered it to the creature, who was already looking less slimy.  It plucked it from my hand with fingers like vines, gazing with open joy, then held it close.  

I watched tiny white flowers pop up from the creature’s head, flowing down its back and spreading across the ground.  

In awe, I watched dark slime make way for bright green, with flowers of every color springing to life.  They were still small, not the plate-sized glories I remembered, but they were there.  

And judging by the beaming smile, they would only grow bigger.  

“Are you all right now?” I asked the dryad.  “Just needed a nudge?”  I’d never heard of a dryad who needed love to be healthy, but I knew as well as anyone that anything goes when it comes to magic.  And love.  And with all the stories I’d heard about folks confessing their feelings for each other in this here grotto, it made a certain amount of sense.

She nodded, flowers swaying around her head.  While keeping the one hand clasped to her chest, she gestured with the other and I felt all the water drain from my clothes back into the swamp where it belonged.  

“Much obliged,” I said.  

In reply, the dryad plucked the blue flower and tucked it into my pocket.  It looked right dashing there.  

“You’re welcome,” I told her.  “Listen, do y’all want me to suggest that folks start coming back here right quick?  I figure they’ve been avoiding the place, and that’s not doing you a lick of good.”

She nodded in wordless joy, and spun around in the water.  I smiled back.  

“All right, then.  I know just the people.  You’ll get all the good feelings you can stand.”  I picked up my lunch, glad to see it wasn’t soaked.  “You can keep the nail,” I told her.  “I’ve got a box more at home, made with love in every hammer blow.”  

She said her thank-yous in flowers and dance, while the air blew the lovely scents every which way.  I fancied I could hear twittering birds flying back over.  Once again I made my way out onto the road, this time striding with purpose toward town, returning a wave to the happy figure behind me.  The love in the air was strong, and would only get stronger.  

[jacklynnfrost]

The Eighth Avenue Express (Part 2)

Fanfic by Jacklynnfrost for Smutember 2019. It’s Tuesday, here is the next part of the Train Fic. Again, shout out to my friends for being spectacular.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Elizabeth fumes at her desk. Her pencil taps over and over on the ring stains of the faux wood, which has bubbled and warped from her uninsulated cups of water. Diane volunteered to do the coffee run this morning, casually. Deep down she knows the sweet girl was just trying to give her a break but Elizabeth could not restrain the glare she so heartily delivered.

She had sums to finalize and calls to make but the entire hour that Diane is gone she gets nothing done. She snaps at the delivery boy when he asks for a signature and although she has the decency to flush and apologize, the act weighs on her with her other worries. The young woman restarts her old habit of biting her nails and does not stop until the brown-haired beauty of a fellow intern returns with the two stacks of coffees.

When Diane steps back into their cramped, shared office Elizabeth spins in her chair. “How’d it go?” She inquires and the pretty girl, taller than Elizabeth, straightens to be even taller as if a bit alarmed by the question. Diane squirms, her sparkling eyes meet Elizabeth’s blue ones with ill-concealed guilt. Her friend is not a good liar, cannot hide even minor infractions and Elizabeth’s shoulders sag before turning back to her computer with stinging eyes.

Maybe her beautiful stranger molests all the girls in the subway. Diane hadn’t answered, the other two interns don’t even remove their headphones as they clack away at their keyboards but Elizabeth notes her lack of response. She muses over it for the rest of the day and the next morning. While getting ready for work, she decides to wear another skirt with a wrap shirt held together with one knot at her hip for easy access. When she arrives at work and retakes her seats, arranging her purse and things she balks at Diane as she enters.

She wore a loose skirt today too.

Elizabeth’s heart clenches, her eyes dropping downcast as she decides she won’t be playing with her stranger any more if she’s one of many. He is the exception to the rule for her but if he is a serial groper, with thousands of women under his belt, she doesn’t want to partake. Another shock comes when the pleated skirt that just walked in finds the edge of her desk and Diane sighs as she leans in a partial sit against it.

“Can I talk to you?” She asks, shy and extremely low. “I was wondering if I can take the coffee runs?” Elizabeth’s weary eyes rise to find Diane’s sheepish expression, her lips tipped down in a frown. “There’s this man I met and-”

“Just take him.” Elizabeth resigns, pinkening and partially scowling. “I mean them, the trips to Twigo’s,” she amends with a sigh and softer tone. Diane giggles, girly, her face transforming to model level stunning in her joy when she’s always been beautiful. Elizabeth can see at that moment why anyone would single Diane out in a crowd.

The days wear on and Elizabeth’s ire fades as her logic finds holes in her self-doubts. The subway is packed, what are the chances those two found one another? Her critical thinking skills only improve as Diane’s clothing choices each day give her pause. A floral pants suit is only accessible if you unbutton and drop the entire thing. It’s absolutely adorable on her but not something one would wear for easy public access.

Three days pass before Elizabeth approaches Diane’s desk before the coffee run and she waits for her to finish her call while pushing back her cuticles. Diane’s decorations around her area are all chibi, with adorable little stickers and posters in her corner of their office wall. If only Griamore and Howzer, the other two interns, were half this interesting. “Hey Elizabeth, what’s up?” She cheerily says as the light on her phone console dies and she lowers her headset. Elizabeth takes a deep breath, not ready to begin even with the brief waiting time she had.

“I’m sorry I was so grouchy the other day.” The silver-haired woman starts, fiddling with those same pale locks as her blue eyes flash to Diane’s. Her friend waves the apology away with a gentle, relaxed expression. “You see, there is this man I met getting the coffee and... I thought maybe when you said you met a man too, I guess, I got a little insecure.”

“Woah!” Diane starts, hands raising up. “You think anyone would even notice me if you are in their lives? I don’t think so.” The surety in Diane’s voice is so solid Elizabeth’s mouth pops open with a smack.

“Are you kidding! You are a model- only way better!” Elizabeth retorts, dismissing the idea of being anywhere near the level of beauty that Diane is. “Your personality is like sunshine emboldened!” This makes Diane giggle, her hand covering her lips as her other waves her words away in the air again.

“Well, if you are in pursuit too, then we can alternate coffee runs.” Diane looks down at herself, her dress giving her curves an extra emphasis and Elizabeth laughs. “As long as you aren’t after Harlequin too?” For a moment the two stare as Elizabeth’s eyes widen, her hand coming up to scratch at her head in confused embarrassment and Diane releases a sigh of relief. “Phew! You don’t even know who my man is! You can do tomorrow’s run, that way I can tell him today- maybe have an excuse to swap numbers, ya know?”

The two part ways soon after as their boss returns from lunch and they act busier with her head popping in with narrowed eyes. Tomorrow then, now all Elizabeth has to hope for is that her stranger keeps going to work early... and that his name isn’t Harlequin.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Her dress is low cut, she took her undershirt off to shove in her purse before she left her building and the airy material flows around her thighs loosely. She swears to herself that she will make sure he isn’t a criminal groper before exploring this any further but her outfit decision makes her exasperated at herself. ‘Have some decency, Elizabeth!’ She scolds to herself internally but that same thrill from her core travels up her spine as the screeching of the subway fills the underground waystation.

She’s ridden the subway so many times and has never had these urges. Elizabeth considers that the man is the main reason for her overreactions. Impatiently, she dips around the others waiting and when the doors open to their car she’s gnawing at the bit as people rush out. At the first opportunity, she wiggles inside and all but bounds to the center pole, skipping the open seats on the way. Her heart drops and a tiny pout forms as her steps slow in disappointment. ‘I wouldn’t keep showing up if I were him, either.’ She thinks, assessing how wishy-washy she had been and how she told him a day then didn’t show up. If she had been him, Elizabeth would have assumed she was being blown off.

Out of habit she grips the pole, her eyes dropping to the tips of her shoes and she nibbles at her bottom lip wondering if she will forget about him. Elizabeth has a sinking feeling she won’t be able to, that she will always wonder. A hand grabs for her free one and instinctively she pulls her wrist to her chest, turning to the hooded figure in polite wariness.

“Oh!” She exhales, her protective stance eases and the hand she pulled away finds his, still extended toward her. “I thought... I’m sorry.” Elizabeth whispers, finding every excuse that comes to mind silly but his fingers interlace with hers and he steps toward the train car’s corner. There are two open seats beside the wall and he guides her to take the one in the corner where it’s more shielded. He sits beside her but angling so his shoulders block her from most of the other passengers. He’s closing her in and she looks him over.

He’s handsome and in a dark hoodie that’s looped over his chaotic hair with loose sweatpants. A plastic bag leaves his grip to rest behind him on his seat and her purse joins the grocery bag. Her beautiful stranger smirks, eyeing over her ample cleavage and over her loose dress cinched with a ribbon around her waist. “You wore this for me.” He notes and she doesn’t have to confirm as her face gives him the answer. Her pink flush even spreads across the creamy skin of her breasts that his eyes can’t seem to look from.

His right leg steps wide to overtake hers, currently crossed at her ankles. The doors hiss closed and her thumb rubs across his knuckles remembering with warmth pooling in her tummy that he worked her over with this hand. She flips his palm up on her bare thigh as her dress rides up, her other hand playing over the calluses of his palm and fingertips. Elizabeth can tell he has worked them hard in his life. With a little smirk, she reaches and finds the zipper of his hoodie over his chest, pulling it down for the two halves to separate. The back of her fingers feel over the contours of his torso until she reaches the end of his hoodie.

With a small tug, she opens the side of it wide to block anyone's view and she releases his palm as her other hand unashamedly dips into the loose band of his sweatpants. “And you wore this for me.” Elizabeth smiles tenderly as he adjusts his seat to give her better access to stroke him. He’s hot in her hand, as hard as she remembers him being last time and she leans to give him a better view down her shirt with his hoodie giving them a small wall to block them in.

He chuckles, his palm leaves her thigh, her stroking firm as his fingertips trace the swelling outline of her breasts. Her breathing turns harsher as her blue eyes find his questioning green ones. Her smile gives him all the permission he needs, his hand dives down her dress, disheveling the fabric. He groans, long and low at the first brush of his skin over her taut nipple. In her grip his cock throbs. She smirks, knowing instantly he is a boob man and she is glad for it as she has plenty of pillowy flesh for him.

“I wish you could taste them,” Elizabeth whispers hotly, dipping forward for a longer stroke over his hardness, her grip on his hoodie tightening. “I wish I could taste you.” She breathes, her lips finding his eyebrow. His arm loops out of his hoodie, leaving his sleeve empty and dangling as he opens the top of her dress to free her ample chest. This makes her hike up the hoodie wall as she doesn’t want anyone else to see.

He gasps, his lips parting for his tongue to wet them. “I wish that too.” He throatily replies. His hips move in miniscule thrusts to help her rhythm from the limited range she had with how they are sitting. With a flush, she raises her leg and she wiggles closer, pausing in her strokes to slip it to the other side of his hip with a twist of her body to face him. Her other leg loops up over his thigh and he stops his fondling by righting her dress enough to help her, lifting her waist. She shifts forward, almost straddling him but she stops when her core hits the head of his hard dick, his leg stretches under her until it rests under her thigh against the back of their seats.

She restarts her pumping of his dick to meet her tandem core rotations, the softness of her fabric-covered mons pressing into his cock has him gasping. His nose dips under her chin, his lips leave a trail of kisses and hot tingles as his palms find her chest once more. “Have I told you yet how perfect you are.” He mutters against her flesh, her spine lengthening to press his dick to just the right spot. Jolts of clenching excitement spread from their contact and it causes Elizabeth to lose some of her senses. Her strokes become frantic, her foot curves around his back to help push him against her and any outsider that looks over will know they are fooling around. The extent is of it indiscernible.

“Fuck, Elizabeth.” He mutters, losing his own will in the frenzy as his head dips, his tongue lapping at her flesh and reaching across her collar bone. She gasps almost silently, her breathy noise spurring him on and she tastes like heaven, her sounds are a symphony of pleasure to him. The barest hints of her skin on his drive him to the farthest extremes of his feelings and he cannot find a single comparison that comes remotely close. She’s experiencing a similar reaction, her brain is flooding with endorphins as she believes she will break apart with this desperate building inside of her.

Her face buries into his hair to hide, her chest heaving as her hips and hand do the work. She hasn’t dry-humped anyone since sophomore year and she knows it wasn’t like this in the slightest. She wants him to cum, to taste his seed from her fingers as he did with her orgasm last time. Elizabeth has been thinking about it near incessantly. His hot breath on her neck drives her wild and she wishes they were alone, behind closed doors as there are so many things she wants to do to him.

She’s juicy, her core is dripping and with the dress, it would be so easy to push aside her panties and pull him free to rub them bare together. “I want you,” Elizabeth whispers. “I want you throbbing inside me, to taste you on the tip of my tongue and to ride you until I can’t feel my legs.” It’s true, but the man thinks it’s dirty talk and does not take her seriously. Instead, he presses harder against her core, casing a soft mewling sound to escape her. He rises, his lips capturing hers with a demanding, forceful entrance into her soft, giving mouth. His chest gives a low rumble and his throat groaning is the only hint she has that he’s about to cum before he’s spurting in his pants against her.

She swallows his sounds as he breathes them into her, her own orgasm sparking from the feel of him coming apart. Elizabeth doesn’t ease her rhythm, she wants to prolong his pleasure but as her own wave of bliss hits her, she drowns in it, losing function of her limbs as she’s reduced to sagging, unresponsive twitching muscles. He holds her up as her head falls to his shoulder and at the last second, he catches his hoodie before it cascades and gives their subway car neighbors a view of what they were really up to. His other arm curves around her back and for a moment as they catch their breaths, he holds her adoringly.

He flinches as her fingers in his pants fondle over him. He is sensitive, and, although he usually needs a few moments to rebound, her little motion has him hardening again. He inhales her, mouth parting to take in more of her scent as he knows he’s lost his mind. That thought becomes fact as she leans away, shyly showing him his own seed on her fingertips before she smears his orgasm on her lower lip and her bubblegum pink tongue pokes out for a taste. Elizabeth licks it clean, watching her stranger become mystified, pupils blowing wide until only a thin band of green circles it.

In his shock, she detangles herself from him, tapping her shoes to the floor and righting her dress to sit between his legs which are still embracing her. Elizabeth flushes, prettily in his opinion, and folds her hands in her lap. They were quicker today as the train car is still going strong. Reality returns to her first, her teeth nipping at the skin of her bottom lip as she side-eyes him. “Your name isn’t... Harlequin, is it?” She puzzles softly.

Confusion colors his face and her shoulders sag in relief. “No.” He breathes his answer, the hoodie fabric drops as he shoves his arm through the sleeve hole once more. “It’s nice to know you’ve been curious about me though?” He winces his words, his tone making it a question. She shifts, expecting him to detangle from his assumedly uncomfortable position, but rather than right his leg from behind her he leans in, his arms tentatively wrap around her waist as if asking permission. “I was starting to worry you weren’t interested in me outside of here.”

Elizabeth looks down to her hands in her lap, the wet spot on his sweats a clear outline that makes her smirk to herself. She is interested but the only topic of conversation she really wants to have circles around her own needs of reassurance. He’s warm and Elizabeth finds herself leaning just slightly for her shoulder to rest on his, still facing her. She feels strange touching him in this way, but his arms around her are comforting. ‘You’ll stroke him off in front of all these people but you can’t show him any affection or interest?’ She scolds herself into wiggling down to lay her head in the nook of his neck. Elizabeth brushes the tip of her nose along his Adam’s apple and with her ear on his shoulder she can hear the soft rumbling in his throat from the motion. Her heart races from their embrace.

He moves the sides of his hoodie to wrap her up and the two stay snuggled up until, not a moment later, the train car starts to slow. She pulls away, her eyes soft and resigned as she faces him with a teeny pout. His rough fingers brush her hair behind her ear and he smiles to her as if she’s important to him. “When will I see you again?” He ponders aloud, sounding every bit as vulnerable as he feels.

“I alternate days now, so I think next week, Monday?” She isn’t sure and it sounds like it as it squeaks past her trembling lips. He notices. His eyes follow the subtle dip in her bottom lip before they part, a rush of breath escaping her and this time, he closes the gap between them to steal a delicate kiss. Her beautiful stranger is bashful as he pulls away, releasing her to reach and pick up the stuffed grocery bag. She gathers her own bag as the tingles on her lips spread, her heart keeping pace as if trying to beat the subway to their stop.

“Are you a criminal?” She blurts, alarmed at herself for her delivery and her mortification only grows as his eyebrow quirks. “I mean...” Elizabeth vague gestures around the train car and then to herself. If anything his eyebrow simply raises up another centimeter, a smirk spreading slowly over his face.

“Like... if I’ve groped a thousand perfect breasts?” He answers, eyes sparkling as they drop to peek down her dress once more. Some of the humor on his face fades, his tongue poking out to wet his lips. Then he continues, looking up at her under his lashes, “Or if I’ve stolen a thousand girls’ panties?” Again, her face burns and she guesses correctly that he’s trying to make her react this way.

“You’re joking,” Elizabeth whispers, unsure but hopeful from his tone that he’s simply toying with her. “Of course.” He breathes, his joy fades with the slowing of the subway and vanishes completely when it rocks to a stop. She stands and he follows right after her, wincing as he stretches out his leg and rezips his hoodie to hide the cum stain on the front of his pants. Her eyes dash to the door as the light changes but flash back to him as he holds out the plastic bag. “I got you something.” He quietly directs, nudging his head to the offering when she doesn’t take it.

Slowly, she accepts it, her fingers grazing over his with a lingering touch. His eyelids drop to half-mast at the contact. Elizabeth has a hard time stepping away but the second's tick by so quickly. “I have to go.” She whispers. His nod is slow, silently accepting whatever she’ll allow him to have of her. Their time is stretching thin and in the last seconds they have together, she weaves her free hand through his hair to feel the locks slip through her fingers like silk.

As is their usual, she exits the train car at the last second and turns on the platform to stare at him through the curved window. He waves and a little smile tugs at her lips as she wiggles her fingers back. The train car pulls away, his resigned expression engraved in her mind as she makes her way to Twigo’s. In line she opens his gift, the bag crinkling in her gip. Bright red greets her and she puzzles over it until she pulls it free and it unfolds before her. In a confused blink, she stares at the coat. It reminds her of Carmen Sandiago’s outfit only longer and a laugh burst forth followed instantly by a heavy flush that matches the color of her new coat.

The possibilities are endless with a coat like this.

[solangelover]

Fight Me

@solangeloweek‘s Nico di Angelo Birthday Event: January 26 – “AU / Canon Divergence”

A/N: AU where Will is a nurse at the hospital Nico is currently at for some sickness, based on a Tumblr story.

Read on AO3 or FF.Net or Wattpad

Nico felt awful.

He was currently in the hospital for some illness he didn’t care to get the name of. It wasn’t life threatening or anything, he only had to stay for three days, two nights. But his head hurt, his bones ached, his nose was sniffly, and he would randomly spike a fever. Honestly, he’d never felt more physically miserable in his life. He guessed that, going most of his life without sickness, the gods felt the need to pack it all into one hellish affliction.

He had a nurse that was constantly monitoring him. Hazel offhandedly said he was cute, but Nico really didn’t care at the moment. He wasn’t present enough to check out his nurse, nor did he really think he looked like much of a catch in his hospital gown.

When the nurse came in a little later and Nico’s headache had calmed down, he caught the nurse’s nametag: Will Solace. There was a little sun sticker next to it, which Nico instinctively scowled at. It was mocking him – being all sunny and happy while he was stuck inside, suffering.

Yeah, sick Nico was not a very happy one.

“Hey there, Nico!” The nurse – Will – said all peppy-like, matching his sticker. “How are you feeling?”

Nico buried himself further under his mound of pillows – he had requested more – and grumbled. It came out all muffled, but Will got the message.

“Well, not to worry, you’ll be out of here before you know it!” Will smiled brightly, practically lighting up the room more than the sunlight streaming in through the blinds did. “I’m just going to check your vitals, okay?”

He moved around some of Nico’s pillows so he could actually find his patient. Nico clearly did not like this, as he basically hissed at Will. “Fight me,” he said as he pulled a pillow back over himself.

Will only laughed, apparently not taking Nico’s threat too seriously. “Maybe later,” was all he said, and then he proceeded to take Nico’s vitals.

Nico glared at his nurse, then found himself just flat out staring. Will was cute. Actually, more like hot. He had a solid build, his muscular arms right in front of Nico’s face as he did his job. His mop of blonde hair glistened in the sun, swaying as Will flipped his hair out of his eyes. His tan skin was covered in freckles, like he spent his days out on the beach instead of cooped up in a hospital. Nico felt like he should fundamentally dislike this guy, but instead, he felt oddly drawn to him. It must’ve been the painkillers.

Then, Nico noticed his eyes. They were a bright blue, not as shocking as his friend Jason’s, but more like the sky on a clear day, the darker edges like the rest of the universe hiding right behind the sky. They sparkled, especially so in the light, but just on their own as well, like the sun glinting off the ocean. Nico felt like he could drown in those eyes.

It was definitely the painkillers.

At that moment, Nico realized that those eyes were staring back at him.

He blinked a few times, pulling himself out of the ocean of Will’s eyes and noticing the small smirk on his lips. Nico instinctively scowled and burrowed back into his pillows, a light blush on his cheeks.

He heard Will chuckle and say, “I’ll be back later,” the door closing seconds later.

Nico let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He glared at his blankets, “I hate being sick.”

--

Sometime later (Nico had no concept of time here), Will came back to check on Nico. He was sitting up in bed, head tipped back and eyes closed as he tried to push back on the hammer pounding on his skull.

“Hi,” Nico winced at the greeting, the sound reverberating in his brain. He picked his head up and glared out at Will, who had pulled up a chair and picked up his clipboard.

Before Will could say anything, Nico bit out, “fight me.” Or he tried to. But then he was choking on spit and coughing, and then the mucus in his chest decided it was a good time to clog his airways and attempt to crawl up his throat, causing worse coughs that wracked his aching body. He vaguely registered Will patting his back and saying something, but Nico couldn’t hear it over his own coughing. When he finally stopped, he had tears in his eyes and his chest was heaving. He probably also had drool around his mouth. Ugh, Nico was grossed out by himself.

He didn’t really want to look at Will, but he was forced to as Will gently grabbed his chin to face him and wiped his mouth with a towel. Nico was too tired to protest. His eyes fell closed, only to be opened in surprise when Will pressed a glass of water into his hands.

“Here, this’ll help.” He smiled, as he always did, and this time, Nico gave the tiniest smile back. He drank the water gratefully, then handed the empty cup back to Will.

Will gazed at him for a moment, making Nico fidget and self-consciously pull at his hair in some attempt to smooth it out. “So…”

Will blinked and straightened up, obviously caught up in his thoughts. “Right, right. Vitals.” Since Nico was actually attentive this time, Will decided to strike up a little conversation. “So, are you a student?”

Nico was almost going to ask how he could tell, but then he remembered that he was Will’s patient and he had all of Nico’s records. “Yeah, about to graduate.”

Will nodded as he scribbled on his clipboard. “Cool, I just graduated last year. Now it’s full time at the hospital.” He glanced up Nico and smiled for the millionth time, though this one felt more personal, if that was a thing a smile could be.

“Do you like it here?” Nico inquired. He normally wasn’t one for conversations with strangers, or in general, but he had nothing better to do. Also, hey, if he wanted to talk to his hot nurse, who would really fault him.

Will’s eyebrow quirked at the question. “Well, it is what I want to do. I like helping people, even in the small things like temporary illnesses.” He glanced up at Nico through his bangs, which Nico definitely did not find attractive. “And I get to meet interesting people.”

“Oh, ‘interesting,’” hm?” Nico smirked. “Well don’t I feel special.” Was he flirting with Will? Nico had no idea what he was trying to do, but he found that he was too sick to care. It was a good excuse to let himself say whatever his brain came up with.

Will seemed to take it well, because he leaned back in his chair and gave Nico his full attention. “Interesting covers the array of people I’ve seen. Crazy people, funny people, rude people, even cute ones.” Did he just wink at Nico?

He didn’t have time to react to that as Will stood up and set the clipboard back on its hook by Nico’s bed. “I’ll be back in the morning. Get some sleep, okay?” It was nighttime? “Oh, and also,” Will paused at the door, “I wouldn’t fight you because I know you’d win.” Nico had no idea what was going on anymore, but then Will was out the door and Nico was alone.

--

The end finally came.

Nico had several more baby conversations with Will, and he probably did some baby flirts here and there, but ultimately, he didn’t think anything would come of it. After all, he was all sick and nasty about 90% of the time. Nico didn’t even like himself.

Nico came back to his room after changing and using the bathroom to grab the rest of his stuff. Hazel had brought him flowers and he had several cards on his bedside table from his friends that visited. When Nico went to gather them up, he noticed a small cup waiting there for him. He could smell the coffee and practically melted. He hadn’t had any for three days, and his body craved it so much. It was warm when he picked it up, so someone had just dropped it off. He wondered who it was for a moment before he noticed something scribbled on the sleeve.

“Fight Me?” was written in slightly sloppy handwriting with a series of numbers underneath it.

It took a second, but when Nico realized what it was, he snorted and laughed into his free hand, careful not to spill the precious coffee.

Apparently, Nico successfully seduced Will Solace with his glares and drool. Must’ve been a nurse thing.

He texted Will immediately upon exiting the building.

[milomeepit]

I Was An Island (Touch Starved!Logan LAMP)

Chapter One: Bagels

Word Count:  2092

Ships: LAMP

Warnings: Swearing, unhealthy sleep habits, food, touch starvation

What is it like to crave to touch or be touched on a consistent basis by someone? Crave to be able to put your arm around them, touch their face or have their hand or shoulder touch yours and so on?

Logan tapped his fingers against the keys of his laptop. This was a stupid topic. It made no sense. What kind of affect could physical contact have on a person’s psychological state? Surely, once past childhood, past the need for such things as comfort from one’s parents after a nightmare or a skinned knee, it wouldn’t matter.

He could hardly remember the last time he had hugged another person. Not since he was a child, he was certain. He was fine. Wasn’t he?

His fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, hearing it creak quietly beneath him. This was preposterous. Pointless. Absurd. Logan drew back from the computer, rubbing his temples as he sighed. However ridiculous he found it, it was a necessary project to make the grade in his psychology class.

Staring at the glowing screen of his laptop, the typing cursor blinking on the page, taunting him with his lack of an answer to this question that should have been simple. So simple.

He shut the laptop, pushed away from his desk, and rose to his feet. He stretched, feeling his stiff joints crack. Perhaps it was time for a break. Have something to eat. He had promised Patton that he would sort out his own dinner, since he wasn’t eating with the rest of them. He glanced at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen and grimaced.

3am was a tad late to call it dinner, but he was going to keep his promise and at least have some crackers or something.

He exited his room, making his way quietly down the dark hallway. Did they have any of those Lunchables packs left? He knew Patton liked to keep a few in his bookbag to nibble on while he studied. Roman had insisted they stock up on the pizza variety, claiming they were vastly superior to their ham and cheese brethren.

Logan shook his head fondly, pausing outside Roman’s door. His gaze travelled over the Disney themed stickers plastered to the wood, the bold lettering spelling out ‘PRINCE�� stencilled in bright red paint. Roman would be asleep at this hour, he was sure. Whether it was curled up in bed, clutching an armful of plushies, or collapsed against his desk, pen in his hand, passed out halfway through the latest sentence of his work, he would certainly be out for the night.

Logan continued down the hall, frowning to himself. Roman really did concern him, sometimes. The man needed a good night’s rest. That, however, was his own decision, and Logan could hardly police his sleep schedule and self care. Much and all as he may wish to, on occasion.

He entered the kitchen, heading straight for the pantry and pulling open the door. He ran his eyes over the shelves, chewing his lip as he considered his options. Crackers... peanut butter... Crofters was another option, but he didn’t quite feel in the mood for something sweet. His gaze landed on a bag of bagels, and a small smile crept onto his face. Perfect.

He grabbed the bag and shut the door, then turned to the counter. “Hm... perhaps...” He paused for a moment. “... Cream cheese?” He murmured aloud.

“You’re up late.”

The gravelly voice behind him made him jump, dropping the bag on the counter. “Good lord!” Logan spun to see Virgil, perched on the dining room table, a dark outline in the shadowy room. Sitting so still, it was no wonder that Logan hadn’t noticed him at first.

Virgil smirked slightly. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, his voice low.

Logan frowned as he opened the bag and pulled out a bagel. “Working on a paper. It’s a... difficult subject for me to wrap my head around.”

Virgil nodded to the bag. “Be a pal and make me one, too?”

Logan rolled his eyes and grabbed another bagel. “Brat.” He pulled a knife from the block and started carefully splitting the bagels in half.

Virgil winked, shifting position to fully face Logan. “So, what’s the paper? One of your star nerd ones?”

“Ah... no, it isn’t astronomy,” Logan shook his head. “Psychology.”

Virgil perked up slightly. It was one of the few classes the two shared. “Oh, really? What’s up? Having trouble with finding sources or something?” He asked.

“... Not exactly.” Logan was quiet for a few moments as he pulled cream cheese out of the fridge. He held it up to show Virgil, who nodded, before popping the lid and beginning to slather it over the bagels.

“So... you gonna ask for help or brood with your snack for a while?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. He leaned back, bracing his arms on the tabletop behind him as he swung his legs back and forth idly.

Logan cleared his throat. “I do not ‘brood’.”

“He says, broodingly, as he broods.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re damn right I am. Now quit dodging the question, nerd. What’s the problem?”

Logan sighed, retrieving a plate from the cupboard and dropping the bagels onto it. He made his way over to the table, setting the plate down next to Virgil. “I suppose... much and all as I’ve read over the subject material... I don’t quite grasp the concept.”

Virgil patted the tabletop. “Take a seat, dude. Let’s talk this out, step by step, huh? Maybe we can figure out where you’re getting lost.”

Logan hoisted himself up, perching on the edge of the table. He picked up his bagel, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Well... I suppose... I just don’t understand. I don’t understand the concept. At all. I mean...” He paused. “I’ve been reading accounts from people who experience this ‘touch starvation’ phenomenon. They state that... despite social interaction... despite seeing people... conversing with people in everyday situations... it’s the physical touch they crave.”

Virgil made a soft noise of agreement. He picked up his bagel, turning it over in his hands and poking at the small amount of cream cheese that had squished out the side when Logan pressed the halves together.

“I... have to confess I don’t understand the difference,” Logan admitted. “It’s all social interaction, isn’t it?”

Virgil sighed. “Not... not exactly.” He chewed on his lip as he thought.

Logan tilted his head, looking at Virgil curiously. “Oh?”

Virgil closed his eyes. “It’s... it fucking sucks. It’s one of the worst feelings I can think of, honestly.”

Logan lowered his bagel, licking cream cheese from his lower lip. “... You experience it?” He asked softly.

“... I have, in the past.” Virgil stared down at his untouched bagel. “You want to touch, but it can’t be someone you don’t kinda trust, and you’re afraid to ask, let alone do it, because it fucking sucks when someone belittles your needs or thinks it’s silly, or worse, thinks it’s pathetic.”

“Virgil...”

“It’s like... you’ve gone so so long without the touch you need that.. you’re just desperate for it, but you feel stupid for asking, for needing it, so you usually don’t. Which just makes you need it more, because it’s like every day you don’t get nice touches the problem gets... exponentially worse.”

Logan watched as Virgil’s grasp on the bagel tightened, his fingers digging into the snack. He frowned. These were the kinds of things Virgil had experienced? He felt a little guilty for his callous attitude towards it.

Virgil swallowed, shaking his head. “Like... someone touching you is like heaven… but if you ask for that, it’s gonna nibble at your brain that it’s artificial, that they don’t really mean it, that they’re just humouring you. And it doesn’t get better in days or weeks or months, because it didn’t get that bad to begin with in days or weeks or months.”

He set down the bagel, then crossed his arms, wrapping them around himself. “And, you know, the literal worst thing is someone scorning you for touching them, even though it’s perfectly within their rights to not want to be touched, it is just devastating to the psyche to have someone that you care about enough to want to touch get angry or disgusted or annoyed at you touching them.”

“I see…,” Logan trailed off, his mind trying wrap around Virgil’s explanation.

Virgil swallowed again, and Logan realised he was fighting back tears. “I just want kisses down my spine, on my forehead, someone nuzzling into me, someone hugging me so tight it’s hard to breathe, petting my hair, scratching my head, idly rubbing my back. Little stuff. I want to hold someone, hug them with all my strength, bury my face into their clothes and skin and hair, kiss someone all over, touch them everywhere and do it over and over, run my fingers through their hair, play with their hands and kiss their knuckles and the veins on their wrists.”

Logan reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering above Virgil’s shoulder. Was... was it appropriate to offer physical comfort? Was it the correct response to offer a hug? Or would that be crossing a boundary, considering the subject matter? Did he even want to hug Virgil? He wanted to do something. God, why wasn’t Patton here? Patton was much better at these... touchy-feely, mushy, emotional conversations.

“It hurts, like, I get physically ill if I don’t get touch when I have those moments I desperately need it but feel too afraid to seek it,” Virgil continued, his voice strangled. “It doesn’t even really have to be sexual, or romantic. I just like touch. And I haven’t had enough of it from the people I loved. So now it’s kind of like a condition. Touch-starved.” He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “And it fucking sucks.”

Logan slowly, gingerly, laid his hand against Virgil’s shoulder. The fleece-lined fabric of Virgil’s jacket was soft beneath his fingers. His fingertips tingled at the contact, and he fought against the urge to pull back.

Virgil turned his head to look at him, his face pale. He looked like a ghost in the dim room, his dark eyes shining in the faint light seeping from the kitchen. “... So... yeah. It’s... it’s a thing.” He snatched the bagel off of the plate, tearing into it.

Logan licked his lips, silently nodding. He wasn’t sure what to say. He never was, when it came to these sort of things. He didn’t exactly intend to have a big, spill-their-guts, heart-to-heart conversation with Virgil. He just planned to have a snack, then to stare at his computer screen until his eyes burned and the birds outside his bedroom window began to screech at the rising sun.

“... You okay, dude?” Virgil’s voice was rough, and it pulled him out of his thoughts.

“I’ll be fine. I’m somewhat concerned for you, though.” Logan frowned at him, squeezing his shoulder gently before drawing back.

Virgil shrugged. “I can manage, usually. I’ve talked to Patton about it. It’s part of the reason he’s always laying on me when we watch movies and stuff. It’s... his way of helping.”

“Part of the reason? What’s the rest of the reason?” Logan asked.

Virgil’s lips quirked into a fond smile. “... Because it’s Patton.”

Logan found himself returning the smile. “That’s a predictable, yet totally valid reason.”

Virgil ate the last of his bagel, then eased himself off of the table. “I’m gonna go back to my room.”

“Going to sleep?” Logan followed him, picking up the plate and carrying it over to the sink. He rinsed off the plate and set it in the drainer as he shook the excess water off of his hands.

Virgil grabbed a dish towel and dried the plate, smoothly placing it back in the cupboard. “I’m gonna try. How about you?”

Logan paused, his glowing laptop screen flashing in his mind’s eye. The idea of working more on his paper made him feel physically ill, and he had to fight the grimace from his face. “... Yes. I think that’s probably for the best.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against Logan’s. “Night, nerd.” He nodded, then turned, disappearing down the shadowy hallway.

Logan stood, stunned for a few seconds. He slowly raised a hand to the spot where their shoulders had touched. His shoulder seemed to burn, his skin prickling like pins and needles.

What the hell?

[olliethealright]

Three Steps From Home - Novel Update #2

Hey everyone! Today, I’m going to do my second update on Three Steps From Home. This should be the last update with more than 1-2 chapters, after this I’ll be pretty much caught up to what I’m writing now. This update will cover chapters 5-8, and together, these chapters add up to 4361 words. Warning, this is going to be long because I like these chapters, sorry lol. 

Disclaimer: These are all my original thoughts and words, please do not steal them.

Trigger warning: Mental illness, mentions of suicide and self harm, homophobia, conversion therapy

chapter five - rest stop monsters - 1571 words 

theme song - the village - warbel 

This chapter is maybe the most chaotic in the book. We get the first taste of Jude being a bit unhinged and unreliable as a narrator. 

summary: Jude’s mother threatens to send him to conversion therapy, which causes a massive fight between the two. Jude packs a backpack and hits the road, making it a few miles on foot before he breaks down and calls Aaron from a rest stop.

Excerpts: 

Jude’s mother trying to send him to conversion therapy:

Mother clicked the TV off so hard, the rubber button got stuck in the plastic base. Her knuckles crackled as she shifted, turning the hard, unblinking stare of concentration usually reserved for priests on me. The reverence she used when looking at someone who spun God’s words like steel ribbons was gone, replaced by the look of someone who has found a dead thing in their house

“Father John and I have been talking,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Nothing good ever started with that phrase. “We’ve been talking, and we think you’re beyond our help. Beyond… normal help.”

No shit. I had been ‘beyond help’ since I was a kid, it was a miracle it had taken her so long to come to the same conclusion I had. “Okay… so what now?”

I knew the answer before I formed the words, but I wanted to hear her say it anyway. I wanted it to sting, I wanted a reason to blow up in her face. She fed my fire, she would watch as it burned me.  

Jude having a breakdown at a rest stop:

I brought my knees in closer to myself and shivered, my chest collapsed in on itself and my lungs emptied. The rest stop monsters closed in; I didn’t look at them. The minutes I spent waiting for you felt like hours.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot in your used blue pickup, I was half asleep, the start of a nasty cold already coursing through my blood. You parked next to me and got out, silhouetted against your headlights so you looked like someone else.

chapter six - Duo of Trespassers - 1266 words

theme song - mars - YUNGBLUD

Chapter five is definitely kind of a downer, but don’t worry, this book likes to play with your emotions so chapter six is weirdly... upbeat? This one is kind of hard to me to describe because the mood is very back and forth. It takes place the morning after chapter five. 

Summary: Jude wakes up at Aaron’s apartment, and they are now on a mission to break into Jude’s mother’s house and steal his stuff. 

excerpts:

Aaron talking about his past and then changing his mind and saying nothing:

“Good idea. When I moved out, my folks…” you trailed off, but it was enough to make me turn around. You had talked about your family just enough for me to know that you had one, and you probably weren’t adopted, although even that was foggy for me. Whenever I asked about them, you clammed up, changed the subject, complimented my eyes or the new sticker I had put on my laptop. I had stopped asking.

You waved me off like it was no big deal, but something about you had shifted already. You moved like a sparrow, ready to take flight at any second. You had paled a shade, your hands wouldn’t stop moving; adjusting the string at the waist of your shorts, then to your hood, putting it up, back down again, raking your fingers through your hair as if you were trying to pull it out by the chunk.

“It doesn’t matter,” you lied to my raised eyebrows. “Today’s about your bullshit, not mine. Now let’s get moving before we lose our nerve.”

“Aaron…” I should have stopped thinking about myself then, should have told you to go to work while I sorted my shit out, should have grabbed your hands and demanded you tell me something real about your life before I met you, but I didn’t. My tunnel vision didn’t include your distress, it barely included mine.

Jude and Aaron breaking into Jude’s old house:

My mother’s car was thankfully absent from the driveway when we pulled up. I slouched down in my seat and scoured the street for snoopy neighbors, determining after nearly five minutes that there weren’t any.

You boosted me through the same window I had used to leave the night before, left wide open, as if she had wanted me to return so she could trap me inside. Your fingers were freezing as I pulled you in after me, a duo of trespassers in a room that was still mine.

seven - high on nothing - 1011 words

theme song - peanut butter waffles - ryan caraveo

Summary: This chapter takes place three weeks after the events of the previous chapter. Jude gets a call from his mother for the first time since they fought and he moved out, and agrees to take Aaron to meet her over brunch. Aaron spends the rest of the chapter assuring Jude that he isn’t afraid of Jude’s mother, and he does want to meet her. Essentially, the whole chapter is Jude having an emo moment and Aaron eating his spaghetti and begging Jude not to worry.

Beginning paragraph: 

It was three weeks before my mother finally called me. Three weeks of being high with glee when I remembered she wasn’t waiting for me when I got home, ready to tear into me like a bear tears into its prey. Three weeks of feeling like I was looking into the chasm where her anger bubbled just under out of sight, ready to swallow me whole if I got too close to the edge.

Jude speaking with his mother on the phone:

“Jude?” she finally said, her pronunciation just a little off. My mother didn’t speak the language of apologies, but she stumbled through one that night. Her voice was hard as a brick wall, she was going against her better judgement, some part of her probably regretting it already. I let her talk.

She didn’t ask me to move back in, she didn’t ask me to change, she didn’t even ask me to go to church with her, which must have been a first. Instead, through gritted teeth, she said the words I never expected to hear from her. “Will you at least bring… him around the house? If you’re going to be dating, I deserve to meet him, at the very least.”

More of Jude being afraid of his mother...

I rolled my eyes and tried not to think about what my mother would say when she met you, how she would probably go after how you dressed first, and then the slight crookedness to your nose that I always thought made you more beautiful. Next, it would be: ‘does he even speak Spanish?’ And after that would come the obligatory: ‘I loved a white boy once, and do you know what it got me? An ungrateful son like you and a high mortgage.’  Then, she would pick you apart by the personality trait, by the star sign; tear you up and leave you in a heap on the floor.

 Jude explaining to Aaron why he’s afraid to see his mother

“My mother is… well you’ve heard the stories. My mother isn’t nice, she’s kind of a nightmare, actually. She doesn’t have a kind bone in her body, and she hates sinners more than anything. And she’ll probably insult everything about you. She’ll definitely try to shame me into marrying a Guatemalan girl from the next town over and having ten Christian kids and sending them to church school and having a dysfunctional family that looks perfect from the outside and then dying sad and alone.”

chapter eight - black and white - 505 words

theme song - untitled - EDEN (yes I've used this song before, but it’s one of the theme songs of the whole book and also its so pretty lol)

This is the shortest chapter in the book, and it’s definitely way underwritten, so I’ll be coming back to it. 

Summary: Aaron takes Jude to a drive in movie the night before their brunch with Jude’s mother to cheer him up. Aaron falls asleep, Jude drives home and reflects on his life.

Jude and Aaron being cute on the way to the movie:

You taught me words of the french you had learned in school as you drove, laughing when my pronunciation sounded more like ‘sad Spanish’. Eventually, I crossed my arms and spent the next ten minutes speaking only my mother tongue, which came back to me faster than I would have imagined after avoiding the language for years.

“Not bad, not bad,” you admitted when I finally got bored and switched back to english. “I mean, it doesn’t beat my secondary school French, but you’re getting there.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. I had learned Spanish and English at the same time, and until elementary school, I mixed them like they were one. I was smart enough to know the difference as the words rolled off my tongue, but not smart enough to understand that not everyone spoke that way. It took my kindergarten teacher kneeling in front of me on the second day of school and explaining that his classroom was for english only for me to realize that I was different.

Aaron falling asleep at the end: (I had a picture for this one but it got corrupted so RIP)

I’m not sure exactly when you fell asleep, it was somewhere between the last (and only) good jump scare, when you swore like a sailor and then laughed until there were tears in your eyes, and the end of the movie. 

Half the cars had already packed up and left before I slid your head onto one of the pillows and pulled a blanket to your chin. You shifted in your sleep, but didn’t wake. I shoved all the blankets into the passenger seat and then shook you just enough so one bleary blue eye opened. You were stretched out in the backseat, asleep before I could say anything.

Okay, there it is! I hope you enjoyed this update, because I had a really good time making it! As always, feel free to message me if you have any questions! Thank you for reading if you made it this far.

-ollie 

[fireemblemtcg]

The Cipher Frontier! Issue 34: “Yay, Yay, Yay! Series 11 Is Here!”

("The Cipher Frontier! With Emma, Shade, Yuzu, Randal, Alice & Val" is a regular column on the Fire Emblem Cipher website which summarises upcoming news concerning Cipher and other Fire Emblem materials. It is hosted by the six mascot characters. The following is a full translation of the 34th issue of the column, which was originally published on the 8th of December, 2017.)

More Fire Emblem Cipher translations!

Hello, everybody!!!!!!

It's gotten so cold, but we haven't come down with colds. I wonder why?

When I'm riding my pegasus, the skies are a bit chilly... But I'm completely fine!

Now, now, Emma. You mustn't be so careless. Naught is more important than your health.

Quite so! You mustn't permit an illness to rob you of your leisure time! After all, today is...

The day that Cipher Series 11 comes out!!!!!!

It is entitled "Glorious Twinstrike"! It is available for purchase even as we speak!

Ohh...! The title feels so twinny... It's kinda incredible!

"Glorious Twinstrike", huh? It's pretty neat how appropriate it feels as a way to close out 2017!

Heh heh... Now, with no further ado, let's have a look at the contents! Firstly, product information!

Glorious Twinstrike booster pack Featured titles: "The Sacred Stones", "Echoes: Shadows of Valentia", "Fire Emblem Warriors" RRP: 1 pack of 10 cards: ¥350 (including tax) 1 box of 16 packs: ¥5,600 (including tax)

What marvelous package art, with all of these lords standing together!

Oh! I just noticed! This time, all three of the featured titles star two lords!

Dame Eirika and Sir Ephraim... Sir Alm and Dame Celica... And Sir Rowan and Dame Lianna! My, my!

Heh... That's right, and in fact the set was named to sound so, er, "twinny" because of those three pairs.

Indeed... 'Tis brimming with deep meaning, if in an almost nonchalant manner.

The newly debuting cards from "The Sacred Stones" are marked with the "Legendary Weapons" symbol, but set themselves apart with all sorts of variations on skills that affect supports!

Promoted units with support skills, powerful support skills that demand a cost to be used... This could be an interesting way to fight.

Another improvement is the addition of skills that can manipulate the cards you play as supports.

And this series' showpiece is the new type of special skill that Eirika and Ephraim possess: Twin Skills (TS)!

...T-Twin Skills?! What kinda skills are these supposed to be?

I'm glad you asked! Put simply, these skills allow Eirika and Ephraim to share orbs and fight as if you have two lords!

Oho! But, er, Shade? Isn't that a bit too simple a take on it...?

Bah! It's still a perfectly comprehensible idea after simplifying it this much!

I'm not sure I understand it entirely, but it sounds incredible! Val, I wish to play at once!

Yes, milady. I, too, am most intrigued.

Whoa! Twin Skills! I'd do well to master them promptly, and to put them to use in combat!

Ahaha! What fun!

Anyway, I'd also like to point out that Eirika and Ephraim each received illustrations by Sachiko Wada, Rika Suzuki and Kotaro Yamada!

Eh?! Why'd they give them so many great ones?!

I see! I do believe that Dame Sachiko Wada was the character artist for "The Sacred Stones", Dame Rika Suzuki illustrated the novelization of "The Sacred Stones", and Sir Kotaro Yamada was responsible for Ephraim in the downloadable content for "Awakening"!

And now they're all together in one place? ...Heh, that's not a half bad idea there.

Moving on, in the "Echoes: Shadows of Valentia" cards, overclasses such as the conqueror, rigain and harrier make their card debut!

Overclasses?! Wow, that's sorta got a cool ring to it as well!

Hold a moment! Do these overclass cards... not have steeper deployment costs than class change costs?

That's right! For overclass cards, changing class is costlier than deploying, unlike other cards. Because of this, when you class change into them, you get to use a devastating skill!

And of course, we also expanded on superpromoted cards: one of the other features of "Echoes".

Superpromoted cards are the opposite: it's cheaper to promote into them than with regular cards!

Overclasses and superpromotion... It's important to put them to proper use in your strategies. Far as I'm concerned, that's what makes battles interesting!

Moving on, moving on! I'd like to draw your attention to the legendary heroes from various titles being featured with "Fire Emblem Warriors", which is also making its first appearance!

Whoa! There's Marth and Chrom!

Witnessing gallant heroes and cute heroes alike being brought together like this is truly a sight to behold!

Oh? Forgive me, my colleagues, but am I correctly seeing that these lack symbols?

What?! Sir Marth and Sir Chrom now have cards devoid of symbols?!

Hrm... It looks like these make it easier to build a deck with other symbol-less cards... Seems like a fun way to fight.

Also! Here are the bonuses included in this series' booster boxes!

Oh? So this time, there are no preview promotional cards to be found?

That's right! This time, two cards of Eirika and Ephraim are the bonuses included only in boxes! One of these will be a shiny holographic card!

Not to mention, also included are original sleeves for either "The Sacred Stones" or "Fire Emblem Warriors"

V-Val! You must purchase boxes so I can collect all of these! Please!

Be at ease, milady. I have already ordered them.

By the way... There are signed cards in Series 11 too, right?

Hehehe! But of course... But of course! These are the signed cards and panorama artworks for Series 11!

This time, we have cards signed by Taku Yashiro, the voice of Ephraim; Kaori Mizuhashi, the voice of Eirika; Atsumi Tanezaki, the voice of Faye; Hiroshi Kamiya, the voice of Clive; Yuuma Uchida, the voice of Rowan; Maaya Uchida, the voice of Lianna; and Saori Seto, the voice of Anna!

We've gotten a good crop of signed cards this time, too! Cipher's a hell of a pretty card game, huh?

Taku Yashiro, Atsumi Tanezaki and Saori Seto have all appeared on Cipher Live Broadcasts! They were all really fun there, too!

They contributed to some truly inspiring broadcasts! I certainly plan to get ahold of their signed cards.

Also, also! Accompanying the launch of Series 11, the "Cipher Winter Campaign: Original Notebook Presents" is also underway! Buy 16 booster packs or one box, and you'll also get a special notebook and sticker set!

Notebooks are most convenient! I'd imagine these will be useful for planning Cipher decks and taking notes on strategies!

V-Val! Purchase boxes as well!

I have also already ordered some, milady. ...And some for myself, of course.

Oh, by the way, Shade. I was wondering about those overclasses from "Echoes" you were just talking about... What the heck is an overclass, anyway? If a superpromoted class is higher than a promoted class, are overclasses even higher than those?

Huh?! Er, I, that's.... Ahahaha... I... don't actually know?

How discourteous. If I may, permit me to answer.

What? You... know, Val?

Yes, milady. I did not at first, either, but the director of "Echoes: Shadows of Valentia" graced me with this explanation.

"The "over" in "overclass" connotes not only being situated above other things, but also of otherworldliness and the surpassing of limits. The altars in which each class's power is sealed represent the "old gods" once worshipped in Valentia in the era prior to the coming of Mila and Duma, as well as the legendary warriors who once followed them, and through prayer one can attain the power of these pagan gods for oneself."

...So he said.

Whoa! That's what they are? That was really helpful!

I... I didn't know any of that...

Moreover, I borrowed a set of special design documents for the overclasses. These are for the conqueror, rigain, harrier, skogul, enchantress and exemplar, all of which were featured on Cipher cards.

He... he even got concept art...?!

I'm impressed! That's a hell of a job you've done.

You have my gratitude for such praise.

(First it was Randal, and now even Valjean can get information I don't know...? Gah! No, Shade! Fight down the urge!)

All are clad in magnificent garb, giving a grand aura of power. Truly, these are figures to which I aspire.

Definitely! These overclasses... Oh, and we're in this booster pack, too, so look forward to that!

...Anyway, there's all sorts of things in Series 11!

Characters from "The Sacred Stones" and "Fire Emblem Warriors" making their debut! Not to mention, overclasses from "Echoes"! I really want to use all these cards alreadyyy!

Not to mention, it is laden with fun cards bearing intriguing new skills! I can hardly wait!

I've been stuck thinking about a new deck to make as well. Maybe I'll do a "Randal Reborn Deck"?

I... I can wait no longer, Val! To the merchants at once!

Understood, milady. Let us depart on horseback!

These are our new cards! Please put us to good use as well!

Speaking of which, that brings us to the end of this Fronter! Until next time, everybody...

To the shops to buy Series 11!!!!!! Let's go!!!!!!