#she loves rooting through garbage and finding cool stuff to make or keep for herself.

[constellaj]

I will pay you up front if you can rewrite the Urban Jungle episode. Please, I am begging you

I love undergrowth and his character but the episode was just, awful

*Alright* I am going to approach this as if it is part of the original series; I won’t be making it stupid gay, changing the overall tone or messaging of the story, making it any rating past pg-13, etc etc

with that in mind: urban jungle feels like the episode where danny and sam should have started dating (going with sam x danny to fit with the ‘original series but good’ angle). the line “i always thought you ruled” is fucking banger so what we’re going to do is extend that out into the actual theme of the ep: sam and self-esteem

sam has friction between tuck already (vegetarian vs meat eater) and in the beginning of the ep we also are gonna bump up the friction between her and danny, with how she thinks his powers should be used for good and how he just wants a break etc etc. sam gets really caught up in activism and her friends kind of snap at her for it due to burnout, so they break up what was going to be a group movie night and sam goes back to her house alone while danny and tuck go to danny’s place.

i don’t want undergrowth to magically appear, and I don’t even need it to be anything to do with urbanization necessarily; instead let’s take a popular fan theory of summoning and combine it with the premise of the episode ‘what you want,’ where tucker gets ghost powers. let’s say that sam, while digging into the occult, is like ‘if i had ghost powers/plant powers/could drive out oil industries i would in a heartbeat’ and learns about a ghost she can summon (undergrowth). danny and tuck are busy playing doomed while she does this. undergrowth takes one look at her and is like “ohoho, i can tell you love plants just so much.” he will be manipulating her and preying on her rage and feelings of inadequacy for the majority of this episode

cool, undergrowth is here now. let’s keep the enslaving-people-into-plant-zombies thing, but instead of instantaneous let’s make it a little scarier, with creeping roots sinking into the water source and slowly moving through amity, bit by bit. danny is unaffected cause he’s a ghost, and he and tucker manage to realize something’s up with the fentons before tucker gets zombified too. they’ll run to check if sam is okay, and on first glance they’ll think she’s been zombied, but of course she isn’t in the same way everyone else is. she’s a host body for undergrowth, and she’s actually actively repressing his possession (shes had a lot of practice, working alongside danny), and she’s super bitter about literally everything they’re doing and kicks them out.

it has to be shown earlier in the episode that sam feels like a lot of what she does is performative/etc and that danny and tuck are in the wrong with treating her sorta like garbage.

i’m cutting the ice powers cause that’s dumb. instead we’ll have danny and tuck working together to try and find a solution, and learning (probably through old fenton records or tucker being smart) that liquid nitrogen can get rid of undergrowth until summoned again, so they have to go all the way back to the lab at casper high and hook up some machine or other to clear the town. (retroactively, let’s make one of the earlier arguments between them and sam take place during a lab, and throw in a sidebar about liquid nitrogen; lancer saying that it should be here, dash and kwan fucking around with it, danny just touching it cause hes ghost, etc, something like that) 

as they progress undergrowth/sam starts putting spores out, meaning tucker’s also getting infected, all while theyre fighting back these different plant people all in the town. plant people still retain some of their original personality and stuff as a joke though. insert joke about plant-paulina zombie-lumbering towards Phantom, creakily going “how about a kisss” and danny just, morphs back into Fenton, and she goes “ew. gross” and leaves. that kind of thing. it’s a lot of strategy and we get to see other characters interacting in a pseudo-dreamworld with danny and tucker, and a lot should focus on self-esteem or making them feel bad to drive the point home

also what needs to be shown earlier is sam’s crush on danny.

during the progression danny has to be getting really worked up about this and eventually let slip ‘and can you believe i was going to ask her to [x event, movie, dance, etc]’ and tucker like, balks. tucker says ‘she has had a crush on you for like two years man’ and danny is like “WHAT” and now, encouragement to get things done faster. course then dramatically tucker gets turned into a plant. here we learn that the plant people are mouthpieces of sam’s self esteem issues right cause tucker just goes “well why would you like her. she’s a sweaty goth girl. she’s too loud. she’s so bossy” which are all things that sam would have said about herself/danny would have said about sam earlier when they were fighting

so danny rushes to the school and grabs the liquid nitrogen but uh-oh, of course undergrowth/sam is already there ready to stop him. something something she probably heard his conversation with tucker through another plant person, maybe valerie on a hoverboard. anyway she wants to possess danny and make him a plant person and we get the “together we can rule / I always thought you ruled” line that was the only good part in the og episode. this inspires sam to break out of the undergrowth mindset partially but, naturally, she was just a pawn for undergrowth who’s been preying on her self-esteem issues this whole time, and so now he’s like “ugh well if you’re not easy to manipulate what’s the point. i have to take over the entire planet with plants now bye”

epic fight scene with danny and sam working together to blast the man with liquid nitrogen while sam slowly gets possessed/plantified. something something something, they run out of nitrogen before sam gets totally planted, ghost breath is very cold (also needs to be referenced earlier). it’s probably tucker’s idea, but danny gets to do a magic kiss so she comes back.

it’s super awkward and she punts him at first. but then on for the rest of the series they actually ARE dating and there’s no more weird back and forth drama about things. danny’s ‘ice powers’ are now just being able to slightly control his body temperature (jokes later on about him faking sick by artificially making a low temp). sam is never once weirdly sexualized and instead she’s lashing out because she thinks her friends don’t care about her as much as they care about each other. undergrowth isn’t giving sam special treatment, she just happened to be the easiest pawn to reach

[faunusrights]

yeah, all i got is this belly button lint: a happy huntresses short fic

wrote this real quick because i love thinking about the random crap fiona has in her Inventory(tm). also i just like thinking about these clowns in general, so,

=

"Okay, so, what's actually in your Semblance right now?" Joanna asks one day in third year, when Fiona and May have sneaked away to Robyn's dorm to lose at cards and help edit her new batch of flyers promoting union creation in the workplace. Fiona had given a couple a look and accepted them as good enough, but May is weirdly exacting about her standards and is currently trying to convince Robyn to nudge the text headers over by ten pixels to the right. That's why, as she's sat on the floor and wrapped up in the drama of watching Robyn try and slowly fail to ignore May's insistent pleas for her to boot up her editor, Fiona's caught just a little bit off-guard by the question.

"My Semblance?" she asks, and Joanna nods all serious-like from her place on the bunk above Robyn. Joanna often looks very serious, because she suffers from what Robyn calls resting thoughtful bitch face, so sometimes it's hard to gauge how actually serious about something she really is. "I mean, it's probably a mess in there right now."

"I keep forgetting you actually use it like storage space," Robyn adds cheerfully, having now progressed onto shoving May away from her laptop computer every time she tries to creep closer. "Since most Semblances are, y'know, combat-only things or like... special occasions, I guess. And yet here you are, telling people you really don't need a bag for all your groceries!"

It is fun to flex on all the people struggling to carry like six bags to their car or their home, and Fiona preens. "Yeah, it's nice. I mostly keep things in it that I'd wanna have in an emergency, but it's been a while since I last sorted through it, so, who knows what garbage I've put in there."

"Tell me Robyn's braincell is in there too," May says imploringly, still trying to slide an arm around Robyn to get at the keyboard, but Fiona just shakes her head. She can't and won't be blamed for that particular disappearance any time soon. Instead, she rubs her hands together, scrunching up her face as she tests the edges of the Semblance. It's a funny thing, a Semblance like this--she never really has to think about it, but it's always just in reach, like this extra weight in her chest that she can totally forget about. It's strange to think about, so she often just doesn't.

"Okay," she starts, and she goes for the biggest item she can sense, which is an easy one to explain. In her hands materialises an acoustic guitar, worn and scuffed with age, and this attracts to attention of every girl in the room. "Well, this one's easy. This is my guitar, and honestly? If I ever leave it behind in the meatspace and don't pick it up on my way out the door, know that you've just seen my evil clone and you have to kill her."

Joanna blinks, and Robyn seems caught between asking about the guitar, the evil clone, and also the fact that Fiona insists on referring to the physical world as the meatspace. So, she does as Robyn does best, and settles on an expletive. "Shit! You play?"

"Been playing since I was... like seven? Something like that." Fiona shrugs, because she really can't be sure; her first vague memory of even seeing this guitar was a long time ago, her uncle telling her it used to belong to her grandmother who'd never managed to learn a damn thing on it. So, Fiona had taken up practice, if only because it was something for a little lowlands Mantellian Faunus to do during the long, cold polar nights and the endless sunshine of the midnight sun. "But, yeah, this is always on me in some form or another."

"You should've played it whilst we were on watch our last mission," May says, with a certain scowl that Fiona knows is 100% directed at their team leader, who is currently off doing... some sort of bullshit with their partner, no doubt. Gods, this team is a nightmare. "All those hours trying to stay awake so we could stare into nothing..."

"Sorry," Fiona says, and she means it. She'd intended to, but, well, she'd sort of chickened out. The echo in the mountains is kind of insane. "Next time?"

May nods, but Joanna cuts off whatever she's about to say next by waving her hands through the air like she can physically dissipate the conversation. "Okay, okay, cool, but now I gotta else you got hiding in there."

Re-compressing her guitar--and oh, is Fiona thankful that dematerialising and rematerialising it doesn't leave it out of tune--Fiona has a mental root around. "Uh, okay, so, we've got--"

In no particular order, she starts pulling things out: a pair of thick gloves for the brutal Solitas chill, an extra pair of socks (hugely understated by most, but never by Fiona), a ushanka that Robyn instantly cheers for, and a couple of jackets ranging from light windbreakers to thick furred jackets that feel like she's wearing a mattress around her ribs. Her Scroll and wallet are in there too, naturally, as are her keys and some extra ammunition, and she pulls out a load of old train tickets with a grimace. "Hm. I was meant to throw these away years ago."

"You're basically carrying around a wardrobe in there, then?" May asks in a way that'd maybe be a little teasing if she didn't look about as jealous as she sounds, but it becomes a thoughtful expression when Fiona shakes her head again.

"Bold of you to think I haven't got a whole pantry in here too," she says, and now Joanna looks very interested. "Check this out."

The first thing she pulls out is a gallon jug of clean water--endlessly fucking useful, she's found, especially when you're in some situation where you can't sit on your ass for an hour waiting for the water purification tablets to do their job--before pulling out a whole host of Atlesian MREs that she keeps around just in case shit really does hit the fan. Atlas rations are... not good, in a phrase, but she's owed them her life more than once, so, whatever.

"What dates are on those?" May quickly interrupts with a critical eye, trying to make out the printed numbers on the snow-patterned packets, and Fiona tosses her one if only to distract May's hands from trying to puzzle out Robyn's password when Robyn isn't directly paying attention.

"Things don't really degrade in my Semblance," Fiona admits. "I've tested it before on stuff with a short shelf-life, like cheese and milk, and honestly I can leave it in there for months and have it come out just as fresh as when it went in. Something to do with a sort of... internal stasis, I guess." Then, she adds, "One thing in my Semblance is a goldfish in a bowl, but he's part of a practical theory I'm running, so I can't materialise him for another fifteen years or so."

"That sounds very normal," Joanna says, and Fiona is glad she agrees as she barrels right over the inherent sarcasm.

As May agonises over finding the date, though, Fiona continues to unveil her pantry--there's plenty of snacks, like dried fruit and nuts and energy bars and chocolate, and when she reveals she carries extra for every member of her team and then some (then some in this instance being Robyn and Joanna, not that she'll admit it), Robyn looks delighted. "That's so sweet! Look at you, making sure nobody goes hungry. You're one in a million."

That's cute and very gay, but Fiona has a lot of stuff to be working through and so she keeps on going--there's a flask of coffee that, thanks to the maybe-stasis, is eternally hot, a bottle of dark Mantellian ale she keeps as, uh, moral support, and she blushes when she pulls out half an uneaten tuna sandwich. "I wondered where that went. Whoops."

May looks up from the MRE for a second, and then does a double-take as she takes in the sight of the very limp and sad-looking sandwich, made courtesy of the Atlas Academy cafeteria. "Wait! Isn't that the sandwich you accused me of stealing last month?!"

"Anyway!" Fiona says with a forced grin, quickly making it disappear back into the void where it can safely continue not existing. "I think the final thing in here is... wait."

She blinks, and suddenly in her hands are at least a hundred little booklets entitled The Pocket Guide to Communist Outreach, scattering right over the floor. Robyn yelps, and then reaches down the side of her bunk to pick them up. "Oh shit! I forgot I asked you to hold onto these! I thought we ran out, nice."

Joanna's face is in her hands, and May sighs long and hard before tossing the MRE back to Fiona with a distinctly pained expression.

"It goes out of date in a month," she notes with distaste, and Fiona just sucks it up without a word. She'll be thankful for it when they end up down a dark cave with no backup, but Fiona figures she'll sit on that one for a bit before being able to make the greatest told you so call in history. She can wait.

"So," she says, watching as May takes advantage of Robyn's momentary distraction to try and access her computer again. "I guess... do you wanna hear me play a song?"

Joanna watches as her partner leans too far over the side of the bunk, yelping as she nearly slams her head directly into the hard vinyl of the floor, and she grimaces. "Please do."

Grinning, Fiona finds her guitar again--somewhere buried, she mentally notes, beside the gallon of water but under the coats--and she slings the broad strap about her shoulders before settling it on her lap, crossing her legs tightly beneath herself before finding her place on the fretboard. After having not played since being back home, it relaxes her more than she'd ever realised it did. It helps to be surrounded by friends, though. Helps to be with family.

"I don't take requests," she adds, flatly, and Robyn laughs from her place on the floor before music fills the dorm, soft and deep and achingly familiar of a place far, far below.

But she's okay with calling this place home, too.

[welllpthisishappening]

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hello, hey, hi there. It’s raining, I’ve already lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and haven’t written anything in weeks. Until now! Thanks, Taylor Swift. And @optomisticgirl​​​ who reblogged this post a few days ago from @initiala​​​ about how Killian holding Emma in 3x22 isn’t just that he’s trying to comfort her, but he’s trying to make sure she didn’t disappear. 

Which, like...ok, cool. Anyway, I have thought about this for far too long now and started slamming on keys when the kittens weren’t sitting on my laptop and here’s like 4.1K that may or may not make sense, but at least includes some scathing opinions of Back to the Future. Also, thanks to @shireness-says​​​ for always being like...yeah, I want to read that. 

-----

She sniffles. 

She can’t seem to stop. 

Tears stream down Emma’s face without much thought because thinking too much is a daunting obstacle that she can’t even begin to consider yet. Or ever. Definitely ever. Another sniffle, this one actually making her cough somehow, which is a bodily reaction she was not aware she was capable of. 

Until right now. 

When everything seems to be falling apart around her. 

God, she hates time travel. And magic. And evil queens. And parents who can’t recognize her. She supposes she should give them a pass. For a variety of reasons, least of all the magic that’s cloaking both her and Kill—no, that’s not right. Hook. Captain Hook. He’s Captain Hook and she’s still not a princess, but the dancing was almost nice and he hadn’t even slowed down before he was drawing his sword and the jacket spin was something even her muddled thoughts have been able to cling to, so—

He’d held onto her while her mother burned. Tightly. Almost too much. 

Emma nearly trips over a tree root. 

“Shit,” she breathes, pressing the pads of her fingers into damp cheeks. Her dress is too long. Maybe she’ll mention that to Rumplestilskin later. 

Once they get home. 

Back to Storybrooke. Those are not interchangeable words. None of this is interchangeable. 

Even the trees around Emma look different than the ones she only vaguely remembers from her last jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, taller and a little more imposing, like they’re also aware that she’s one good sniffle away from falling off the metaphorical edge. 

Directly into a chasm without magic or parents and she didn’t even get to talk to Mary—

“Nope,” Emma says entirely to herself. So, it seems insanity is looming just a bit closer than she realized. “Not here.”

Or ever. There’s that phrase again. Two words, technically. 

Two words probably don’t constitute a phrase. 

What does she know, she didn’t graduate college. Or high school, technically. 

“Literally,” Emma mumbles, and it’s almost impressive how that one word still manages to sound as loud as it does. As if it’s bouncing off the sides of those same tall and decidedly imposing trees. “Literally didn't graduate high school.”

Something snaps behind her. 

There are far too many twigs on this forest floor. 

Spinning on the balls of her feet, Emma’s hands fly up, only one of her wrists cracking in the process, and it’s difficult to make out the face moving towards her, but the set of his shoulders is exactly the same as always and that cannot possibly have any deeper meaning. 

“Swan?” “God, fuck what are you—” Emma is out of breath. That’s absurd. And a rather unfair commentary on her lungs ability to function. She’s had something of a day, after all. Running a hand over her face, she does her best to retain her higher brain functions, but that’s admittedly difficult when there’s moonlight gleaming from the point of Killian’s sword. 

Captain Hook. 

Captain. Hook. 

Maybe the state of her lungs is partially his fault. He really held on very tightly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Emma manages to get out, once she’s taken another pitiful breath. She hopes her lips don’t start to chap. There’s probably not an easy remedy for that in the goddamn Enchanted Forest. 

Hook gapes at her. 

She grits her teeth. And regrets the state of her knees. They keep wobbling under her, traitors to her emotional cause and the state of several body parts aside from her obviously failing lungs. Whatever’s happening in the general vicinity of her heart seems unstable. 

Erratic, even. 

“Making sure you’re alright,” Hook says like it’s obvious, and it almost is. Almost. What another piece of garbage word. “You’ve been—” Shaking his head once, the ends of his hair don’t move as much as normal, and Emma flinches when he sheaths his sword. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” Emma is going to lie. She is. Has every intention of letting the word fine pass through her lips, but those lips open without any sound coming out at all and Hook’s eyebrows jump. 

“Thank you.” “Excuse me?” “Thank you,” Emma repeats, finally giving into the urge of her knees and, if nothing else, the length of this dress makes it easier to sit on one of these overly large tree roots. Hook’s eyebrows don’t move. “Should have, uh—should have mentioned that before, probably.” “Thanking me?” “What part of this is confusing for you?” “Quite a bit, in fact,” he admits, and he doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t look away from her and Emma is pleasantly surprised to find she almost sort of likes it. Almost. Again. 

Letting out a breath that she wishes sounded more like a laugh than it does, Emma’s tongue darts out. “Shit, that..well, that sucks, doesn’t it?” His eyes widen. “That’s not a euphemism,” Emma adds. “Just out of place slang.” “You might have to be more specific, love.”

“That’s fair. I—ok, stuff sucking is...well, it just means that stuff is...not great. Like right now, you know...things are—” She shrugs. And tries to smile. It fails spectacularly. 

Emma sniffles again. 

“Not great?” Hook ventures, and he has to readjust his sword to sit next to her. 

“Less than ideal.”

“You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. I was worried something had happened.” “Hence the sword.” “Never want to be too careful. And you’re—” “—At least capable of still punching people,” Emma argues, not sure why she’s doing that exactly, but it feels like a matter of pride at this point. She exhales loudly. “But, uh...it’s nice that you came out here. I’m sorry that you had to do that too.” They both hear the words for what they aren’t — vast and a little overwhelming, and time travel is so overrated. Emma can’t believe what a popular fictional trope it is. Snow White was never supposed to die. The ends of Hook’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t actually smile, and that’s actually nice and maybe that’s her biggest issue. 

Everything about him has been so goddamn nice. 

He was much better at dancing than she expected him to be. 

And he keeps following her. She doesn’t mind that. 

Might even—

No. Not now. Not yet. Or ever. Again. God. 

“It’s not a problem, love.”

Emma swallows. Nods. Tries not to fall over that ledge. “I just...needed some time to think, I guess. Is that dramatic?” “No. And suggesting it sucks does have a certain charm to it.” “And you know all about charming, don’t you?” His left eyebrow arches. Some things never change, she supposes. Emma focuses on that. And not how she’s fairly certain she can feel waves of heat rolling off him, even with the few inches between them. Possibly a foot. She’s not great at estimating measurements. 

Or much else, it seems. 

That’s a far too depressing thought, though. 

“I believe I’ll leave that particular moniker to others in the party,” Hook says softly, sitting down. “Would you like to talk about it?” “Which part?” “Dealer’s choice.” “That one crossed realms, huh?”

“Some sayings know no bounds,” Hook smirks, and whatever sound Emma makes at that is even closer to a laugh than the last one. She takes that as a positive. “None of this is your fault.” “Practice that a few more times and it might sound more legitimate.” “Swan, that’s—” “—No, no, no,” Emma objects, not standing up, but she shakes her head quickly enough that strands of hair slap at either one of her cheeks. A few of them stick there. Probably because of the tears she can’t seem to stop. “All of this is my fault. I—I should have waited for help with the portal and everything I’ve done here has only made it worse and—” Another sigh, dragging her hand over her cheek. “—Fuck Marty McFly. And Doc Brown. It was so weird that they were friends, why didn’t anyone ever explain that?” “Did they not?” “No, not once. We were just supposed to accept that Marty met some senior citizen inventor guy who was more than willing to steal dangerous chemicals—” “—And he wasn’t a wizard?” “No, he wasn’t a wizard. No magic in the real world.” Or me, Emma thinks bitterly, but that’s not going to help the situation anymore than her current rambling, and she can’t seem to stop rambling. “But Marty and Doc hung out all the time. And Jennifer didn’t even think it was weird.” “Who is Jennifer, exactly?” “Marty’s girlfriend, I guess, but it always seemed like they were just starting to date at the beginning of the movie and then they got married. Just like that. You think they went to the same college or something? Like once Marty left—shit I can’t remember the name of the town.” Hook hums, a sound Emma can’t actually cling to any more than she can hold the one positive thing that has happened to her in the last twenty-four hours in her hands. It is not lost on her that both of them have to do with the man sitting next to her. 

Or how quickly his fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword. 

“How far do you think we are from Aurora and Philip’s...land?” Emma asks. “Is that the right way to say that? Did they have a land?” “I believe the word you’re looking for is kingdom.” “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Should have known that.” “That’s not your fault either.” “You’re really harping.” “Playing a symphony, it seems.” She laughs. She does. It’s not that loud, and there’s a distinctly watery edge to it, the muscles in Emma’s face aching when she manages to smile, but she’s having a difficult time coming to terms with the dexterity of Killian’s eyebrows and her hand moves before she thinks about it. 

The metal is cool under her skin, a smooth surface that she can drag her thumb across. Which is exactly what she does, an attempt to ground herself and remind her that she’s still here when she isn’t entirely positive she’s supposed to be. 

Hook doesn’t move. Might not breathe, if the state state of his shoulders is any indication and Emma hadn’t realized she was in possession of so many opinions regarding Captain Hook’s shoulders. Or her ability to recognize them. 

No matter what, it seems. 

“While it may appear that I know everything—” “—Ok, I never said that.” Hook’s smirk grows more pronounced. “I was in Neverland for quite some time, and the boundaries of some of the Enchanted Forest kingdoms changed in the last hundred or so years. But,” he adds when Emma opens her mouth again, “we’re more than a stone’s throw from the land Aurora should be ruling. At least several days' travel.” “God, that’s confusing. And did all these kingdoms have separate laws and everything? Who came up with that? Seems like a garbage way to rule.” “I believe you’d have to file a complaint with several different monarchies for that, love.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s quieter here than it was in Neverland, though.” “Most places are.” “Colder too. I hate the cold. I’m always—can’t ever seem to get warm and my toes are always freezing, it’s...I’m a notorious blanket thief.” “Pirate of sorts, huh?” He grins as he says it and part of Emma wants to scream. Stand up and run, as fast as her feet and far-too-long hem allow. But that part is also smaller than usual, and she’s all too aware of the state her knees are in. “Something like that,” Emma agrees. “When I was a kid I used to live in this place. Snowed for months at a time and I—I hated it. Wanted to be anywhere else. Kept trying to find somewhere that was warm, sunny. Like that would chase away the shadows.” Hook is disarmingly quiet. 

And Emma can’t shut up. 

“But then I got some place where it never snows and it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. Dry heat, you know?” He shakes his head. That’s fair. Pirates with several-hundred years of experience under their belts should not be expected to understand meteorological cliches. 

“Anyway,” Emma mumbles, “it wasn’t what I expected or thought was supposed to happen and—” She scrunches her nose. Hook waits. Presumably for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come and she finds it difficult to breathe again when he starts talking.

“Sunlight always seemed better on the sea. Would reflect off the surf. Could see the entire horizon if you wanted to.” “And did you?” Hook nods. “As often as I could. Even when I was lad. My father used to bring my brother and I—” This might be their best and least organized conversation. Gritting his teeth, his shoulders shift when he inhales sharply. “These stars are different from Neverland’s.” “Really? Weird.” “Mmhm, made navigating something of a challenge.”

“But you’re here now, right?” “Presently, you mean?” Another head shake. More moving hair and unmoving fingers. Emma’s knuckles are white around the hook, holding it like a lifeline and she might have to spend the rest of her life thanking him for this. 

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it should be. 

“I mean past you is here,” Emma says, “in the Enchanted Forest. Doing pirate type things and offering Mary—” Her tongue gets in the way. As disgusting a thought as that is, Emma knows it’s better than thinking about what is actually happening, feeling as if her throat is collapsing in on itself while her heart does its best to beat its way out of her chest. “Shit.” Killian shuffles closer, not stopping until his knee bumps hers. “That happened from time to time. Leaving Neverland, doing jobs for—” “—Pan?” “Sometimes. He couldn't leave the island, you see. Not without losing the magic as well. Jolly’s crew was his only option. Although we always managed to stay here longer than he wanted us to.” “Well, pirates hate rules, don’t they?” “I believe that’s in the bylaws, aye.” She’s got absolutely no idea what sound that one is. Shaky and a little wobbly and some dark, half-forgotten part of Emma’s brain believes it’s drifting close to giggle territory. That can’t be right. She can’t giggle while she’s still crying. 

The bylaws of the Universe probably frown on that. 

“Is that how you wound up with Cora, then? Stuck around longer and got a good deal?” Nothing. 

No answer. No jokes. Certainly nothing even remotely resembling a giggle. 

Just the muscle in Hook’s temple, jumping rhythmically and consistently and Emma really does try to stay patient. Her sniffling makes that difficult. 

“Something like that,” Killian repeats evasively, staring straight ahead like he can see through the trees. Maybe he can. What does Emma know. Some pirates probably have to have good eyesight. Make up for the eye patches and whatnot. 

She nods. No one asked a question. “Ok.” “Ok?” “Ok,” Emma echoes, “you’re a real shit liar and I’m real great at telling when you’re lying, but—” “—Me specifically?” Yes. The answer is yes, but she doesn’t give voice to that either and maybe she should be writing all these things down. The things she’s not saying. 

Should say. 

Emma can’t believe she time traveled and didn’t even get to talk to her mother. 

And that’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to think of Snow White as her mother. 

“Super power,” Emma continues, waving her free hand towards her temple. Her other one is still clinging to his hook. “But that’s fine. You didn’t pry, so I won’t pry, I just—” Collapsing throats, she imagines, are supposed to hurt more than this does. This doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels passably uncomfortable, like there’s a wad of cotton in her mouth, making it difficult to say anything and Emma is so bad at saying anything, but Killian is staring at her and—

Killian. 

She lets herself call him Killian. In her head, at least .

“I can’t come up with anything else to say except thank you,” Emma whispers. 

“You don’t have to.” “Still.” “You’re welcome,” Killian says, and maybe words carry more weight in the past. By default. 

“Can I ask you something, though?” He tenses. Noticeably. It’s another round of fair and understandable, Emma’s teeth finding her lower lip until she tastes blood. Another reminder that she’s still here. With her fingers wrapped around Captain Hook’s—

No, that’s not right. Captain Hook did not follow her into a time vortex. Or ask her to dance. Or wear the fuck out of that jacket. Although that last one could use a bit more work, at least when it comes to sentence structure. 

The point still stands. 

Captain Hook didn’t do any of that. Killian Jones did. 

And he—

“When we were watching everything in the castle and Regina was you know…” Killian lips go thin. Emma might be staring at his lips. Past him had been a very good kisser as well. Maybe she’ll mention that at some point. After this. “Well, I just,” she stammers, “I was terrified, for my mom and my dad and even Ruby—God, is that her name here?” “Introduced herself as Red when Snow White sent her.” “Weird.” “Perhaps the best word for the entire situation.” “Or shitty.” “Aye that too,” he smiles, which is not weird. At least not as weird as it should be. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” “Yeah, me neither,” Emma breathes, not exactly the explicit truth, but at least several steps without moving. “I—you have very strong arms.” “A compliment?” “An observation.” Killian chuckles, and this hair really is unfortunate. Normally, that one bit that Emma has come to regard as her own personal torture device would artfully fall across his forehead, a metaphorical arrow towards eyes that always seem to get brighter when they’re looking at her.

As they often are. 

But while the hair is different, the distracting tendencies of his tongue are the same. The tip of it finds the corner of his mouth, a soft push on the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s not keeping a list — at least not acknowledging her want of a list — but the tongue thing is definitely one of Killian’s most telling tells. 

Seriously, her sentence structure sucks. 

“Although,” Emma adds, “it wasn’t that bad.” HIs tongue goes back in his mouth. She’s got to stop thinking about his tongue.

“No?” “No,” she says. “It was...nice.” So, off the top of her head, she needs to fix — sentences, her grasp of the English language, her tendency to repeat herself, and finding better adjectives for emotionally charged moments. 

Possibly. 

Emma still hasn’t called him Killian to his face, after all. 

“What did you think was going to happen?” No tongue, but an obviously tight jaw makes Emma’s stomach jump into her still-collapsed throat. “Like I said, love. I wasn’t sure. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The lie feels like it reaches out, smacks her across the face and then backhands her for good measure. It leaves Emma’s cheeks tingling and something tugs at the base of her spine. Not magic, because she still doesn’t have magic, but maybe magic adjacent, like a memory or hints of a dream that keep lingering at the edges of everything, and she promised. 

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t prod. 

She doesn’t pry. 

And Killian has to move his sword again when he gets back to his feet. “We’ve got a fire going, if you’d like to warm up.” “Yeah, ok. Thanks.” Emma doesn’t let go of the hook, keeps her fingers curled around it as they move back through the trees and neither one of them stumble, a very small, but much needed victory because—

Well, everything kind of continues to suck. 

At least for a little while. 

Snow White isn’t dead, but she’s a bug, and then she’s not a bug and Emma has no idea where Ruby goes. She’s too busy worried about this nameless woman and wielding a branch gets her another laugh and a smile she’s going to think about for at least seventy-two hours straight. Then there are trolls, and tears of the less-pained variety. Rumplestilskin continues to be any forest’s biggest asshole, and there’s magic and another round of crying and—

Emma runs. 

Sprinting across Storybrooke, she ignores the ringing phone in her pocket, determined to hug her parents and hold her kid with her own display of impressive upper body strength. 

And it gets better, less suck-like, at least. Food and smiles and the way her mother’s hand feels when it rests on top of Emma’s. 

Until she’s sitting — tucked into the corner of a booth with her own face staring at her from the pages of Henry’s storybook and Emma can’t quite recognize the person there. The happiness on her face feels like...well, a story. A good one, but something that she can’t believe was hers or is hers or could be hers and she’s got to add tenses to that list she only kind of remembers. 

Glancing around, the muscles in her neck object to the stress she’s putting them under, because time travel is awful and exhaustion is starting to creep its way up her spine. 

“Looking for someone?” her mother asks, and Emma’s lips pop. 

That’s it. 

She understands. Fucking goddamn finally. 

Emma might nod. Or shake her head. It doesn’t really matter. 

There are no words. No explanations. Just clamoring back to her feet, the bottoms of her boots sticking to the linoleum near the door because one of the dwarves definitely spilled punch at some point and—

His head snaps up as soon as the door closes behind her. 

“So, do you think Rumplestilskin is right?” Emma asks, dropping into one of the wrought-iron chairs at the table Killian has commandeered. Pirate term. “I’m in the book now. He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right. Otherwise I’d remember that damned bar wench I kissed.” She smiles. Wide and honest and easier than anything has ever been. And Killian doesn’t flinch when she teases him, like that’s something Emma is allowed to do, but she figures once she uses his name and once they start making out like teenagers it’s fine, and this is her favorite kiss. 

By far. 

No sounds, no rum, nothing except the feel of his fingers in her hair and her knees bumping against his and she tries to claw her way into his space, a burst of colors behind her closed eyes that she knows is magic and him and them, a collective unit that—

“You came out here,” Killian murmurs, the words barely making their way through the haze of Emma’s post-makeout brain. 

She bumps her nose against his. “Turnabout and all that. I...I didn’t want you to be by yourself. And I had a thought.” “Which was?” “Did you think I was going to disappear? When Regina tried to kill my mom. I—you said you didn’t know what would happen, but that wasn’t—” “—Super power, huh?” “Not cool to interrupt when I’m theorizing.” “Well, you don’t like being cool, do you, Swan?” Her smile is going to get stuck on her face. That’s...nice. “Was that what it was?” “The thought had crossed my mind, aye.” “Smart guy.” “High praise.” “I’m an official princess now. In the book and everything, so favors from me hold a certain weight, don’t you think?” He smirks. She tries to memorize it. Every shift of his mouth, the spark in his eye and slight scrunch of his nose, what might be a few freckles there or a trick of the dim lights above them. 

Emma’s skin feels like it’s vibrating. 

“Thank you.” “You don’t have to keep saying that, Swan.” “Yeah, I know, but—I didn’t think about disappearing, but I did think about wanting something to hold onto and that’s...thank you.”

It’s not enough. Not really, but even the concept of holding her tight enough to ensure that she didn’t disappear in some fairy tale realm is a lot for Emma to wrap her mind around, so she’s going to give herself a pass on this one. 

And kiss him instead. Kissing Killian is quickly climbing to the top of a brand-new list of Emma’s favorite things. In every known realm. His tongue swipes her lips and she opens her mouth at the same time her eyes fall shut again, a tilt of her head and bump of their chins, and it’s not easy to deal with all of their assorted limbs at this angle, but that just ensures that this is a bit slower and softer and something that is, quite obviously, the start. 

Because she came after him this time. 

[initiumseries]

CAOS Part 3 - review

Uh, okay, so I think by now, we all know this show is terrible. Netflix gives showrunners a lot of creative freedom, and I think, for better writers, you could get some really interesting content, but they just seem to keep giving these assholes who wrote the travesty called Riverdale, so many opportunities to make more shitty television, and I feel like they really deserve to be limited in their ability to create/write if not stopped completely and thrown into a well with Julie Plec.  Anyway, I’ll try to break this down as best as I can into different piles of shit and this will contain spoilers:

Characters

Prudence and Ambrose

So, to be really honest, I watch this show exclusively for Prudence and Ambrose. Because, well, look at them: 

I wish they had more chemistry because they are super hot together, and I still ship it. A young Black couple? On TV? In this sea of shitty interracial relationships? I’ll take it. Anyway, of course, the progression of their relationship is ridiculous and frustrating. Ambrose decides at the last minute, not to kill Father Blackwood because he has a weird time egg thing that they don’t really understand, also he has the twins under some weird mind control for no clear reason, so they stay their hands. It doesn’t make sense, but it becomes clear, Father Blackwood has an insane amount of plot armour and ultimately would have to serve as a vessel for Satan. Father Blackwood uses the manipulated mind of the other weird sister to sic her on the coven, and she ends up killing Dorkus, whom Prudence finds. She then blames Ambrose for not allowing her to kill FB, and they break up. Now...this would kinda make sense, if not for the fact that they trapped one of the pagan witches and forced her to change everyone back, but no one bothered to do anything about the mentally ill witch who you all strapped up for a reason? Lol ok. Seems like an oversight on your part Prudence, but...okay. Clearly manufactured breakups are exhausting, especially since [young] Black couples with no serious relationship dysfunction are now an endangered species. It’s also frustrating because we barely got to see them....*be* together, especially after they returned home. 

Nick & Sabrina

So, I know from the beginning, we were supposed to believe that Nick and Sabrina had that kind of, Bad Guy, seduces the girl Good Girl, luring her into the dark side, hot, intense, passionate relationship. But their lack of chemistry and really shitty acting just made them really dry (which I get into here). I don’t believe them, and I definitely don’t believe that Sabrina would, once again, break a shit ton of rules to get Nick back. I just don’t buy that they had that kind of an intense, desperately in love, kind relationship, because they do not look all that comfortable around each other, much less in love. 

I personally find Sabrina utterly unlikeable as a main character, largely because who IS she? She has no personality, she just does whatever the plot needs her to do in the moment, and the actress makes Sabrina appear smug and unremorseful while she fucks up everyone’s lives. There is a lot of exposition of everyone telling us she’s this power hungry, manipulative character, but we never see that. She just does stuff and everyone is all “Sabrina how could you?!” and there are never, ever any consequences. I would have liked to see her push so hard to get Nick back and the struggle being, sure she wants him back, but mostly she’s doing it because she can. But that’s not what happens. 

So Nick ends up in this weird drug addiction, alcohol, sex demon spiral because he has parts of Satan still in him and it all just falls so flat and lame, because this show is SO bad at pacing, and these actors suck, so nothing is believable. The idea of him scrubbing his club foot, having nightmares, suffering PTSD, is fine, the execution was trash. Nick sees Caliban and Sabrina have one interaction and he’s like WELL, GUESS I GOTTA CHEAT. And just ends up in some S&M situation with sex demons and heavily self medicating, but none of this has any weight, and we don’t really see him...spiralling. He just immediately resorts to these things and it has no real impact on anyone or even him really, and that’s it. 

Harvey and Roz

Uh, they’re probably the most confusing match here, because there is no lead up to their relationship, there’s not suggestion, there’s no pacing. Just BOOM, we’re into each other now. BOOM, Roz is the only sexually active person in her friend group (lol of course the Black girl is sexually active. Gotta maintain white innocence at all costs), so she’s just ready to jump Harvey’s bones any second now. So of course, the show punishes her by having the pagans turn her to stone. And as if that’s not bad enough...

Which I talk about here and here, because honestly I’m just sick of this show’s antiblackness.  Theo & that other guy

So I was watching this unfold like, yeeaahh, they’re gonna make the trans guy get with the enemy aren’t they? And yes, they did. Cool, they didn’t kill him off, but I’m still perplexed at how Theo isn’t even a little upset that this guy was basically sent to infiltrate his friend group and sat by while his people harmed Theo’s friends, and also...used him? Like...we just...are gonna...gloss over that because he changed his mind? Lol ok. Sure.

Mambo Marie and suddenly Zelda?

I...I mean her name is Mambo Marie. I love the idea of Black witches finding Black spirituality and magicks through Vodun and a Hatian Priestess. But they quickly undo that, by ensuring that Mambo Marie only teaches Prudence in the presence of these white witches. And we see her...doing...an African drum circle (eye roll), only to be interrupted by the High Priestess of White Feminism, Zelda Spellman. It quickly devolves into thinly veiled racism where Zelda doesn’t trust Marie because she’s Catholic (says the woman who worships Satan, has an anti Pope and prays to Lilith with the same prayer for Mary mother of Jesus? LOL. Not even unpacking the fact that Vodun is an African spirituality having 0 roots in catholicism WHITE WRITERS). Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Marie and Zelda are a thing for no reason? After the way Zelda treated her? Why did Marie even stay? This isn’t her problem. This is a white witch problem. Okay. That’s too much to unpack. 

Plot

So, my biggest problem with almost all Netflix English programming is that they are so obsessed with aesthetics, and don’t pay enough attention to actual character chemistry, plot, story flow, details, pacing etc. Like...things that actually make stories interesting to watch. So they slap all these people together and throw them into aesthetically pleasing backgrounds, shake it up with so much exposition that nothing actually happens, and are like BEHOLD A STORY. And CAOS is *especially* guilty for this.

First of all those musical breaks were annoying as fuck. Musicals serve 2 story functions: advancing the plot or telling a story. These musical numbers did neither and were honestly ridiculously gratuitous, highly annoying and totally pointless.

What time of year is this? Why are we having pep rallies and how the fuck and when did Sabrina and Roz join the cheeleading squad, and why?

for the aesthetics and not for any real plot reason. It just seems stupid because now I don’t know how much time has passed between Nick going to hell and this, because you’re all handling it like it’s been a few weeks and is still relatively fresh, but suddenly, Theo, Harvey and Roz are in a garage band? You’re a cheerleader? For what? Since when? Why? These choices introduce more questions than they answer and serve no narrative purpose. So much wasted time on shit that doesn’t matter. 

Sabrina is supposed to be fighting Caliban (who is literally the only person she has chemistry with on this show and they killed him bc ofc they did), for her seat on the throne, and yet the trials only seem to come up when it’s convenient, and also seem to be directly related to her dealings with her coven, which is also convenient.  I’m so confused about Satan. His powers come from being a celestial being, and so, because his coven mistreats him he’s like...lol okay, well fuck you guys and goes through all these convoluted small motions to greatly inconvenience them and withdraws his powers? This is so petty and pathetic. Also, what’s the point? He could just wipe them out and start over, instead of skulking around inside FB then suddenly decides to track down Lilith. Again, convoluted. This plot is all over the place. Why does Satan need Sabrina to be Queen of Hell in the first place? He seems perfectly healthy. Why can’t he just rule it? Like...that makes no sense. What is he gonna do? Retire? WHAT is going ON?

How did Sabrina come back in time to herself stuck in stone? Is that trip to Pontius Pilate (lol) supposed to have created a loophole for her to save herself and everyone? This is giving me hardcore Twilight Breaking Dawn vibes, where, the show finally, FINALLY gets interesting, there’s real stakes, shit is actually happening instead of everyone talking about things happening (Hilda ending up killing her fiance was literally the only time I felt something watching this show because it was genuinely sad, and well acted, and Hilda coming through with that doll at the end was pretty disturbing, I’ll give them that), and ofc, Sabrina goes back in time and undoes it all. Lol. Okay. God forbid there be real consequences to anything on this show.

Final thoughts

Once again, the white feminism runs high on this show. They treat this Black Vodun Priestess Marie, like garbage, allude to her “foreign” magic, but Marie is sitting here like “we’re not men, we’re women, let’s work together.” This is why I hate white writers writing for Black characters. Black characters should have Black motivations, and a Black Vodun Priestess, should know that white women and Black women do not have aligned motivations just because they share a gender. Once they started with the bullshit right from her arrival, she should have handed Prudence her card and peaced tf out. Instead she tolerates the isolation, ostracization and thinly veiled racism...and decides to stay, and help. WHY? Marie has gained nothing by sticking around helping these ungrateful ass witches. I honestly would have preferred Prudence asking her to stay to learn more about Vodun, and them building a mentor/mentee type of relationship, especially since Prudence was the one who invited her and stepped to Zelda to defend her. I want(ed) to see that relationship go somewhere. The deliberate denial of healthy Black female friendships on tv is frustrating.

 These witches finally finding their power in their ancestors and I donno, some female creator or whatever, reminds me of white women “finding” wicca and praying to “Gaia”, (reminds me of BTVS s4 when Willow joins the wicca group) which is basically what happened but lol okay whatever. I guess they aren’t satanic witches anymore. Lol, I love how Harvey and Roz and Theo are teenagers, human teenagers, who have lead largely normal teenage lives up until this point, but see their loved ones tortured, deformed or murdered in hell, with basically no residual issues, and are all like, YES, let’s roll up on these adults with shotguns and swords and kill the FUCK outta these people!! That absolutely sounds normal! Like...what? Lol. God this is just so bad.

Also, I’m so confused by this aesthetic choice for Sabrina as Queen of Hell. Like what the fuck. Why is she dressed like a Victorian era queen, with shoulder and a broken rib bodice? What?!

This show is truly awful, this season made no more sense than the last two and now that Prudence and Ambrose aren’t together, I might be done watching. 

-20/10

[kusunogatari]

[ Naruto OC x Canon Ship Week 2020 - Face to Face ] [ @naruto-ocxcanon-ship-week​ || @abyssaldespair​ ] [ Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Obito ] [ Alcohol ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Trope: Online Dating ]

Nibbling her lip, Ryū stares at the slight reflection in her mobile screen. Thumbs flicker over the keys, not quite touching in indecision.

This is the closest she’s gotten.

The concept, admittedly, is just...not one she ever saw herself using. Online dating seems so, so...weird! Lining up your face, your name, a handful of facts, and calling it good. Is that really all it takes anymore? Sure, she...doesn’t exactly have mountains of experience beyond that. Maybe she’s just old-fashioned. But putting up something akin to a mugshot to try and find love seems very...strange.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Eeping in surprise, she claws the phone to her chest, face going pink and heart pounding. “N-nothing!”

Behind her, a coworker she knows mostly only in passing perks a brow. “Whoa, sorry! You looked kinda, uh...distressed.”

Ryū heaves a small breath. “...sorry, I didn’t mean to jump so bad. I just, uh...I’m trying one of those silly dating websites, and…”

The other woman quickly perks up. “Oh! Yeah they’re kinda scary at first but I met my boyfriend on one! I bet you’ll do just fine. Just be smart about it, and it usually all works out fine.”

“Smart…?”

“Y’know...meet in public places, tell someone where you’re going. About the same as a normal date for those like us, huh?”

At that, Ryū can’t help but deflate. “...yeah, good point.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. People gotta have their pictures on there. I take a pic of any license plates and send them to someone I trust just in case.”

Brow wilting, Ryū admits, “You’re...not exactly giving me votes of confidence here.”

“Hey, gotta be prepared for the worst, but the worst hardly ever happens. Besides, a bit of chatting online usually gives a pretty good indication of if something will even work. And you can always ask friends to go on doubles, too.”

At that, Ryū doesn’t answer. She...doesn’t really have many friends to ask, let alone any with dates she’d feel like asking along. “Yeah, good point. I’ll, uh...I’ll see how it goes.”

“Cool! Good luck!” Giving a wave as she passes by, her coworker heads around a corner and out of sight.

“...what am I doing…” Ryū mumbles to herself, looking back to her nearly-completed account. “I know this isn’t gonna work…” And now the less appealing sides are at the forefront of her mind. Maybe she should just keep her nose to the grindstone and pretend she never brought this up.

...but then again…

As much as she hates to admit it, she’s lonely. Being a pharmacist might be similar to her wish to be a doctor, but it’s not quite what she wanted. It just feels like something is...missing. And while Ryū isn’t the sort to assume all her problems can be solved by a guy (or gal), she’s still pretty able to realize that her social life isn’t the best. No real close friends, passing grades with her coworkers...not even any pets. Up until now, she’s lived life in a series of grinds. School, then work, and now...it feels lacking.

Hence the idea to try the app.

“...no harm in looking,” she eventually mumbles to herself, slowly going through the rest of her profile and hitting the confirm button. “You don’t have to go on with it, but...just look. See how it works. Maybe just...chat with someone. One step at a time, okay?”

Of course, by then her break is nearly over, so she mutes her phone and heads back to work. She...only ate half her lunch, but she’s not really all that hungry anyway. Only once her shift is over does she head back to her little apartment and...give this thing a real try.

At first, it throws nothing but male profiles at her. Which is all well and good, but...it’s not all she’s interested in. Looking over a few names and faces, she eventually bucks up the courage to pick one. He’s a few years older, lives a town over, and works as a physical therapist. Not bad, right?

...ugh, wrong.

As soon as they start chatting, she knows this...isn’t going to work. He’s all Mister Nice Guy, subtly bragging about himself and leaving only certain questions open for her in turn: the only things he wants to hear about, and...things she can easily see through as shallow. Eventually she manages to get him to shut up and quickly deletes him.

Okay...not a great first impression, but it’s not gonna be perfect the first time she tries. This isn’t a fairytale, after all. So, she tries another. And another.

After over two weeks of duds that don’t even get past initial chats, she’s about ready to give up.

Laying on her bed spread-eagle with a sigh, she stares up at the ceiling. What started as a vague inking is turning into nothing but a source of frustration. Not exactly what she signed up for. Weighing her options, Ryū eventually stirs when her phone gives an all-too-familiar notification sound.

Another match...wonderful.

Sitting up with a grunt, she opens the message and looks over yet another profile. At first glance, it’s just another guy. Ugh. The amount of lady-seeking ladies has been depressingly low, but...apparently those are usually on their own kind of sites. So, for now, she entertains herself with this one.

Obito Uchiha...huh. Vaguely sounds like her own Japanese roots. There’s a small spark of curiosity, adjusting her stance slightly. Short dark hair, dark eyes, and...well, his pics aren’t the clearest (he clearly knows his good side (or what he’s assuming is his good side since...it’s all she sees)). But she spies a cat. That’s a win. She likes cats. A glance at his actual profile shows a like of sweets, cats (aha!), and a dislike of...aubergines? Googling that, there’s a hum of understanding. It’s eggplant! She...didn’t know that...whoops. The rest of the summary (stuff about ‘being extreme’ and ‘having abs’) gets her to giggle.

Well...might as well give it a try.

Giving the okay, she opens up the chat window, nibbling her lip in thought. What should she say…?

Hello!

A bit surprised, Ryū jolts slightly, not expecting the quick response! ...hi!

I didn’t think you’d accept it so fast!

And I didn’t think you’d say hello so quickly either!

Oh, sorry...was that too fast?

The apology begets a subconscious smile. No, not at all! My phone is usually pretty quiet is all. Sorry if I’m awkward, I’m...still kinda new at this.

Ha, me too. I haven’t had too many matches yet, so I’m still practicing.

Guess we can practice together! Though I have to ask you…

...eh?

What’s your kitty’s name?

Oh! Her name is Tenebris.

Aww, I love that name!

She’s my lady, haha! Helps me reel in the girls ;D

Ryū can’t help a snort. Well it seems to be working. I don’t have any pets, sadly…

What? None at all?

No...I work a lot so I haven’t gotten around to it. And I don’t want them to be lonely!

Bah, cats are good at being alone. Feed them and clean their box and you’re fine.

I’ll have to think about it, haha~

After a few minutes, Ryū realizes...this is the longest she’s talked to someone on here yet. Sure, it was a little stiff to start, but by some grace they just sort of...fell into conversation. No posturing or anything. It’s rather...refreshing! Encouraged, she keeps texting as she starts working on her dinner.

So what kind of work do you do?

I’m a pharmacist! Not quite the doctor I planned on, but it works.

Ohhh, wow!

What about you?

There’s quiet for a few minutes, and Ryū can’t help but wonder if that was a bad question. But then Obito replies, Sorry, my cat got stuck behind the couch...I uh...am currently working on a garbage truck part time…

She blinks. That’s...very random. Nothing wrong with that. It’s an important job, after all!

Eh, yeah...not very charming though, is it?

Oh, pffft. I stand behind a counter all day and give people medicine over and over. It’s not exactly exciting most days. We all make our ends meet somehow.

I guess that’s true.

Smiling at her phone, Ryū keeps cooking and chatting, giving play-by-plays as he asks what she’s making.

Do you like cooking?

Mhm! Food’s one of those things that’s both a necessity, and yet can be fancy when you want it to be, so...I thought it would be good to learn. And it’s a lot of fun!

I’m...okay at it.

Maybe I can give you some lessons down the road, hm?

You would?

Sure! It’d be something fun to do.

Like a first date?

At that, Ryū pauses. Right...dating. That’s what this is all for. She almost forgot… Sure! If that’s something you’d like to do. I guess dinner and a movie is pretty common for that. We’ll just make our own!

I’d really like that!

Cheeks warming, Ryū beams at the screen. I guess...it’s a date! Eventually. Whenever we can make something work, and maybe talk a little more…?

Sure! I take a lot of random side jobs so I can be a little flaky…

That’s okay - we’ll just keep chatting until then. You’re actually the first person that’s been fun to talk to…

He sends a big smile emoji. Success!

You’ll have to think about what we should make! I have to warn you, I like making dessert, too…

Oh no...my biggest weakness…

And no eggplant, right?

Eugh, no.

Haha, noted!

The conversation runs well into the evening until Ryū admits she’d best get to bed. Guess I’ll talk to you some more later, okay?

Mhm!

Say hi to Tenebris for me!

Haha, I will! Goodnight Ryū.

Night, Obito.

Checking her other messages, Ryū plugs in her mobile to charge before mulling over the evening. As she does, a smile slowly pulls at her lips.

Well, she can’t make any assumptions yet, but...this is a good start.

Chatting with Obito quickly becomes a routine. Though not much of a texter before, she checks in and quips with him throughout the day. He tells her about his latest jobs, and she notes anything out of the ordinary at work. Days blend into a week, and then two.

“So…”

“Hm?”

Leaning against the counter, Ryū’s coworker smirks. “Seems to me you hooked one, huh?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Um...maybe…”

“You haven’t put your phone down for more than fives minutes all day!”

The pink gets darker as the other woman laughs.

“I’m glad! So, you gonna see him?”

“Yeah, eventually...I think we’re both a little nervous.”

“That’s adorable. You’ll have to let me know how it goes! Been nice seeing you look so bright lately.”

Ryū blinks. “...really?”

“Yeah. No offense, but...ever since I’ve worked here, you’ve been so quiet and to yourself. But lately you’ve just seemed more upbeat and...I dunno, out there.”

The observation admittedly takes her a bit off-guard. “...oh…”

“It’s just nice to see you look happy, that’s all. I know a job like this one’s kinda drudgy. Glad you’ve got something to keep your chin up.” With a smile, the other pharmacist straightens and heads back to work.

Still a bit struck, Ryū mulls all that over. True, she’s always been one to keep her nose to the grindstone. Maybe having a bit of a social outlet just...got her going to opening up some more.

...huh.

So...any openings in your schedule coming up?

Uh...I haven’t really checked lately. One sec!

Waiting for Obito’s reply, Ryū nibbles her thumbnail. She’s going to do it. She’s going to ask him over. By now she’s gotten to know him pretty well. She’s always been able to trust her gut, and...she believes she can trust him.

Though just in case, she’ll be letting her neighbor know when he comes to visit.

Just to be safe.

So I think I actually have Sunday clear. Does that work with you?

Yeah! I’m always on a Monday through Friday schedule, so weekends are almost always good with me!

Okay...cool!

Any idea what you wanna make?

Make?

Yeah! Remember, we talked about cooking…?

Ohhh, yeah! Uh...honestly I don’t have any preference.

You sure?

Yeah, just no aubergines.

I remember, haha.

Should I bring anything?

Nah, I’ll handle it. Though I guess if you have a movie you’d like to watch?

Ooh, okay! Uh...any you don’t like?

Maybe nothing too gory…?

Aw, that’s no fun!

I saw enough in medical school, believe me...it’s not fun.

Okay, okay. I’ll pick something.

And with a few other details hashed out...they have a date scheduled.

Ryū’s stomach can’t stop fluttering: both in excitement, and in nerves. She hasn’t really dated since college...what if she does something stupid? Offends him somehow? Or something just goes...wrong?

Okay, no, stop it. It’s gonna be fine. You’ve talked a lot, so...no need to be nervous. Just do it!

By the time Sunday rolls around, she’s as ready as she’ll ever be.

Fiddling with her hair in the bathroom mirror (can she EVER get it to do what she wants?), she jumps as someone knocks on the door. Trying to manage her nerves, she peers through the little peephole, spying what indeed looks to be Obito.

Taking a moment to steady her breath, she pulls open the door and looks up just as he looks over.

...oh.

She always thought his photo gallery on his profile was a bit...empty. At first she hadn’t really noticed that all of Obito’s photos had been taken showing one side of his face.

So only now, with him looking straight at her, does she see what he’s been hiding.

The apprehension in his face clearly shows he’s awaiting her reaction, and at first she can only blink. Eyes naturally slide to the right side where a plethora of scars mar the skin from his brow to his chin. One even reaches up into his lip.

But though it’s a surprise by novelty, it otherwise does nothing to hinder the blush in her face.

...gosh he’s handsome.

Her gaze lingers on the scars for only a moment before lifting back to his eyes, cheeks rosy and giving a demure smile. “...hi.”

“...hey.”

There’s a few beats of awkward silence, the pair of them stuck staring at each other. “...s-sorry! Um...come on in!” Ryū steps aside, going hotter in the face. A nice button-up shirt and clean jeans make him look quite snazzy. Seems her blouse and skirt wasn’t too much or too little. They hadn’t really breached any ideas about how formal to be…

Stepping in, Obito glances around before clearing his throat. From behind his back he draws a little bouquet of flowers. “Er...for you.”

Ryū’s greys alight with delight. “Oh!” It’s cliché as all hell, but she loves them. Delicately accepting the blooms, she gives them a sniff before beaming at him. “Thank you! I, er...I don’t have anything for you…”

“That’s okay! I mean, food’s good with me, heh.”

Giving a giggle, Ryū retreats to the kitchen to put them in some water, setting the vase on her little table. “There…!”

“You...have a really nice apartment!”

“Thank you...I’m always either working or tired, so I don’t manage to mess it up much,” she laughs. “I tried to make it kinda...cute. I’m not exactly an interior designer.”

“No, it’s nice. It suits you.”

That makes her go pink all over again. “...s-so! Um...are you hungry…?”

Obito gives a grin. “Always!”

“Okay! Um...I thought we’d do something a bit...basic? Just in case? Do you like spaghetti…?”

“Yeah!”

“...okay! Cool. Um…” Awkwardness creeping back up, she claps her hands and giggles nervously. “Then, I...guess we’ll give it a try!”

The pair move back into the kitchen, where Ryū already has everything sorted out and ready to go. “Wow...looks professional.”

“Oh gosh, it’s just…” She gestures vaguely. “...I wanted to be ready so we wouldn’t waste any time…” Turning on the heat under the water, she thinks to ask, “...no food allergies, right?”

“No. At least...none I’ve found…? And I’ve had spaghetti before, it should be fine, hm?”

“Okay!”

A bit stuttery at first, she starts guiding him through her process, letting him take most of the reins and acting more as a guide. Obito listens attentively, looking exceedingly focused.

...it’s adorable.

“Okay, so with the grease drained off, we can add our sauce...and once it’s all combined, that’ll be that!” She, in the meantime, worked on a salad mix. “And the garlic bread should be about done, too!”

“You make this all seem so easy.”

She flushes pink. “It...just takes practice! And you did really well!”

“I had a good teacher.”

Once it’s all finished, the pair of them ferry things to the table. “Okay...you try it first.”

“Me?”

“Mhm! You made it, right?”

Glancing to his plate, Obito twirls some noodles onto his fork, lightly pink at Ryū’s watching as he takes the bite and chews. “...it’s good!”

Beaming again, she follows suit. And it’s perfect! Mouth still full, she gives a thumbs-up, making him laugh. Between spaghetti, salad, garlic bread, and a little wine, they get through dinner with hearty conversation and increasing laughter.

“I dunno why I was so nervous,” she admits once they’re done, a cheek leaning against a fist as she twirls the last few sips of her wine. “I mean...we’ve been talking so much already. Guess I just felt kinda...out of practice. Y’know?”

“Yeah, me too. Though I try to bravado my way through things.”

“Well, we got through it. Should we play the movie…?”

“Sure!” He holds up a thumbdrive, grinning. “From my collection.”

“Oho!”

With a refill of wine, they move into the little living room of the apartment, Obito hooking up the TV and starting the film.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see!”

“Not gory, right?”

“Nooo. But...maybe a little scary.”

“Scary is okay. I like spooks. Just not lotsa blood and flesh and…” Her nose wrinkles. “...y’know.”

“Ha, yeah.”

They settle on the one couch she has, and at first sit...a little ways apart. They’d had opposite sides of the table before, and...well, this is new. But like a couple of dumb teenagers, they slowly meander their way closer, testing the other’s boundaries as they go until Ryū finds herself snuggled up against Obito’s side, head on his shoulder.

Obito, just out of her line of sight, is clearly ecstatic.

The movie starts out tame, but true to his word, it quickly takes on a rather creepy tone. Transfixed, Ryū stares at the screen, slowly worming her way further and further into the dip of Obito’s side.

...if she weren’t so focused on the movie, she’d realize that was likely his plan.

Obito, on the other hand, has technically already seen this one, and instead mostly watches for her reactions. The closer they get to a big scare, the more often he looks, biting back a grin until it finally happens -!

Shrieking in terror, Ryū scrambles for someplace to hide, and...ends up burrowing into his chest with a string of garbled, frightened nonsense as Obito does his best not to laugh.

“You okay?”

“I -! That -!” Her head shakes with a whimper, still hiding. “Nope. Nope nope nope.”

“Want me to stop it?”

“...nooo…” One grey peeks out, finding the screen a bit more bearable now. “...that was fricken’ terrifying! Ohhh my gosh!”

He just snickers, ignoring her continuing whines of discomfort. “It’s almost over, don’t worry.”

To his delight, she remains half-perched on his lap for the rest of the film. Once the credits start to creep up the screen, she loses her tension and goes limp. “...I almost had a heart attack…”

“Aw…”

“I mean it was good! But cripes, I wasn’t ready...eugh…”

Obito rubs a hand along her back, still clearly amused. “Gonna be able to sleep tonight?”

“...I better, I have work in the morning…”

He apologizes, watching as she tears herself from the couch and disappears into the kitchen. “...Ryū?”

No answer.

Brow furrowing, he makes to follow just in time to see her pull a pan out of the refrigerator. “What’s that?”

“Peach cobbler,” she sniffs, setting it on the counter and then fetching vanilla ice cream. “This is my reward for surviving your movie.”

“You’re gonna eat the whole pan?”

She shoots him a pout. “...maybe.”

He mirrors the look. “...I want some…”

“You have to promise never to scare me like that again.”

“Okay, okay. But wasn’t it at least a little fun…?”

Scooping the food into bowls, she thinks back over how nice and warm it was in his arms...and she could smell his cologne… “...maybe a little.”

They stay standing in the kitchen, leaned against the counter as they eat their dessert. Though not as lively as before, they chat in the quiet.

“So...on a scale of one to ten, how was our date?”

Ryū sucks on her spoon with a thoughtful hum. “...a nine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why not a ten?”

“Because you scared the bejesus out of me!” After a moment to pout, she asks, “...you?”

“A ten.”

“...really?”

“Good food, good movie...good company. What’s not to love?”

She...isn’t sure how to respond to that, so she takes another bite to excuse her silence.

“We’ll have to try cooking something else next time. Something spicy!”

“Not too spicy, it’ll make me sick!”

“Whaaat?”

“I have a delicate stomach...nothing too greasy, either.”

“That’s all the good food!” he laughs.

“It’s not my fault!”

“Fine, fine...we’ll figure something out. I’ll have to find some of my grandmother’s recipes. From Quebec.”

That earns a blink. She thought she heard traces of an accent in his voice, but didn’t want to assume. “...sure! I’d really like that.”

But eventually, the bowls and the wine glasses are empty. The movie is over. The hour is growing late.

It’s time to call it a night.

...but it’s clear neither of them really want to.

Obito offers to help tidy up, and that helps take a little more time. But once that’s done, there’s really no more excuses.

“...well…” Ryū fidgets a bit. “Guess I’ll...say goodnight?”

“Yeah, I better go. Don’t want to keep you up to late. And I’ve got my route in the morning.”

“Mm…”

She walks him to the front door, the pair of them lingering in the opening for a long moment. “...be safe on your way home. Text me to let me know you made it okay, all right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And to say goodnight.”

“...again.”

“...yeah, again.”

Another pause.

Indecision seeming to make her bones vibrate, Ryū eventually makes up her mind. Stepping up a bit closer, she lays a hand against Obito’s chest and - with a bit of posturing up on her toes - she gives him a feather-light press of her lips to his.

Flashing pink, he nonetheless reciprocates, both of them easing slowly back apart.

“...goodnight, Obito.”

“...night, Ryū. I’ll...talk to you later.”

Nodding with a shy smile, she watches him head down the hall before forcing herself to shut the door. For a moment, she stands and holds the knob...then turns and leans against it with a sigh.

...it seems so quiet in here now…

Eyes lift to her little dining room table, where the flowers he brought her are still sitting in their vase. The sight brings her a small smile. As much as she’s sad to see him go...well, that just means she’ll get to look forward to seeing him again next time.

Next time...what a lovely concept.

Heaving a more contented breath, she makes her way back into the apartment. Time to get ready for bed, and wait to hear he got home okay. Then she’ll sleep, and start all over again.

...but at least now there’s something to look forward to.

     All righty, another day, this one with Ryū’s ship with @abyssaldespair​‘s Obito, set in a modern verse! I had...several ideas for these two, and picking one was difficult and ended up costing me time BUT, it’s done xD      Hopefully I can get MORE done :’D      But yes! This was actually an idea Meg submitted to me, with the premise based largely on Obito hiding his appearance on his profile until the big reveal! Ryū, of course, doesn’t mind his scars no matter the verse. She still thinks he’s one cute cookie x3      Anywho, I guess that’s...really all there is to say for this one! Hope ya like it Meg, and I better get to work on more drabbles xD

[dramaplustautology]

Samesies

I love Aco and Solan!! I’m like the old person asking them “Hey, dude. What’s going on?” “Teenage Rebellion.” “Hell yeah, stick it to the old people.”

And I’m at a block for writing other things so I did another scenario to freshen up and also have my OC interact with Ryunn’s in a sort of non-canon/AU way? Anyways, Tariche is a doctor that works for the Thorn and the twins visit him.

I’ll have a bio later, probably. (note that ryunn doesn’t have a bio up so this is just my....omg my fanon of them? nice).

3K Words. Book 3

Examining the newly fastened cast on her broken arm, Aco took her attention back to the doctor and his trailing coat.

“What’s that?” She asked him.

“This?” He finished the scribble on the cast. “So many of you come in here broken and squished, I can’t keep track of who has to keep their casts on for how long. And I hate paper work,” The doctor wiggled in his chair, excited over his drawing. “Instead, you all get pictures that I can remember you by. Look, this is you, me, and Solan. All the little hearts around us mean that we’re in love.”

Aco grabbed the doctor’s marker and drew Xs over his doodle version’s eyes.

He gasped, pushing his rolling chair away from Aco with his hands covering his heart.

“Now it’s a doodle of you both thinking how dead cute my corpse looks!” The doctor tsked, wiggling his finger at her. “Naughty children!”

Grabbing his hand, Aco twisted it and pointed at the lapel of his oversized white coat.

“Tariche, I was asking about what this was.”

The Doctor looked down at the crooked name tag Aco was jangling with his own finger.

“Didn’t you know? Tariche is short for Gregor McScully,” Tariche ballooned a cheek and shrugged. “The trendy way of shortening it at least.”

“Is it still cool when all of your fingers are broken?” Aco’s lips twisted into a wicked smile, about to flatten Tariche’s fingers against the back of his hand.

The Doctor leaned forward, placing his chin on his trapped palm, neither pained nor annoyed.

“You tell me, bloodbag. You and your brother still want my poison?” Tariche mirrored Aco’s expression to an impossibly sharp degree. The only difference between them was black to blond and midnight purple to starry golden vista.

That was suspicious.

“Pfft,” Aco made a satisfied noise. She hated having to ask for things, even after all these years of only demands. "This why you always stand to Solan’s right?”

“Nah, he got wise a long time ago. I just do it to keep him on edge.” Tariche slid his chair away and yelped when Solan caught him from behind.

“Your roots are showing,” Solan smirked, spinning the Doctor’s chair and kicking it towards his twin as the ‘blond’ tousled his course hair. “That trendy too?”

If for only a moment, Solan took some gratification from catching their Doctor off guard. The shorty was a lot like his office; filled to the brim with tools and texts too complicated for plebs to understand, stinking with flowery perfume to mask the sterile bitter smell of disinfectant.

Good thing there were two of them, one to distract and the other to take a stab.

“Did you know Gregor?” Tariche asked, having already collected himself by the time his chair reached Aco. He pressed a small case, not unlike a container for spectacles, to Aco’s lap.

“We picked him up from the weenie factory,” Code for blackmailing him into leaving the Rose’s main base of operations to work for the Thorn. Solan went to his sister’s side and the two shared a high five over Tariche’s head. “He used to squeal when I flapped my eyepatch at him.”

Trying to do the same at Tariche got the Doctor to leap up and attempt to stick his finger into the slit. Slapping his eyepatch back on, Solan just about chomped Tariche’s finger off.

“You must be happy then, no more Gregor to bore you and all of Tariche to—“He took a small vial out of his coat, shaking the clear pills inside. “—Help you leave an impression,” The vial disappeared into his sleeve and he stretched out his arm. “For a fair exchange.”

The twins didn’t need to share a glance to sync up.

“How about you trade those for our threats?” Aco leaned her chair on the door leading outside, about to cross her arms behind her head. The cast cracked and she pretended not to notice, letting it rest and using her good arm as a pillow.

“Hey, Theano? Did you know your kids can’t flex on those poor innocent spindly elves without speed and strength boosters?” He pulled his gloves off with his teeth, spitting them into the trash can by Solan’s boots. “Magic boosters?”  

That trash can was sent flying over Tariche’s head, courtesy of Solan stopping himself short of tackling him to the floor.

“You told us they were regular pills.” Aco stood, getting up to circle Tariche’s chair like a lion closing in on a light meal. The Doctor could hear the leather of her gloves stretching from the strain of keeping her hands to herself.

And the Doctor knew why. Aco knew herself, of course. And Tariche always knew the hard facts others grappled with.

“Regular for Lore,” Tariche clarified, tilting his head to the side. “Magic isn’t dead yet. Not that you need magic to dunk my head into an incinerator.”

Suddenly, Solan was right up against Tariche, hauling him out of his spinny chair and smashing him into the wall.

“I could do that without arms.” Solan growled and it sounded like a promise.

“How long would that take? A few hours?” Tariche’s eyes sparkled with literal stars, about to make his pitch. “With a little boost, you could do that in a minute with five inches of dental floss. Wouldn’t that make your murder pageant dad proud?”

Solan thrust the Doctor at the wall, smacking his head for insulting their Commander. All it did was make the stars flash wild.

“You’re not human,” Aco leaned into the exchange, grasping Solan’s shoulder, advising caution with a mere touch. “Typical magic types. You can’t hide your flashy bits even under pain of death.”

“Me? Afraid of my partners in crime? But I trust you so much!”

Trusted them to want his handiwork; that much and more Tariche knew.

The twins glowered, stepping away to let Tariche slide down the wall and back on his feet.

“What’s this then?” Aco asked, raising the rectangular box Tariche had given her.

“How you’re going to pay me this time.” Tariche dusted himself off and made sure to squish between the twins to get by them. He appreciated how hard they made it for him, refusing to budge.

He made it to his desk and pulled open a drawer filled to the brim with glass flasks. The multicolored potions sloshed and he roughly fished through the fragile ware for a particularly bubbly blue one. Swishing the contents around once to get the concoction mostly homogenous, Tariche popped the cork and drowned the drink.

“There’s a syringe inside the box,” Tariche gestured at the container. “That’s the antidote.”

Blinking at him, the twins struggled to understand what the Doctor had done.

“Did you poison yourself?” Solan gaped at the emptied flask.

“This is a new invention of mine. I came up with it all by myself!” Tariche explained, starry eyed again. His audience was captive after all. “It’s strawberry flavored this time but you can slip it into enemy supplies without notice. That’s whole communities if you hit an important well,” He winked and the twins could hear the literal twinkling sound his eyelid made. “There’s some time between ingestion and visible effects that I haven’t figured out yet but it should keep the fair and magic folk alive long enough to find out we have the antidote.”

And that they had to turn themselves into the Rose if they wanted to stay alive.

“Not sure why you want me to give you the antidote but I’d be happy to stab you.” Aco tossed the box and fiddled with the cathartically long needle. Tapping the bubbles out of the barrel on the corner of the cabinet, she playfully aimed it at the most tender part of the good Doctor. It was a hard decision considering how the Doctor was tender everywhere but his heart.

“How nasty are the symptoms?” Solan asked, scratching his chin as he looked Tariche up and down uncomfortably close. He could see the Doctor’s black roots. It seemed that the twins and Tariche shared the same shade of hair. Gross.

“My orifices are going to burn and squirt blood. All that horror stuff to really scare us clean and pretty magic folks, as far as I know,” Tariche tugged on the corner of his eyes to check if it was leaking. His heart was racing from the rush of not knowing for sure. “Luckily, I’m a masochist. You have to be if you want to enjoy getting into medicine.”

Past that, Tariche had nothing to say.

He usually did whenever he had one or both of the twins strapped to a cot, at the mercy of his unending stream of difficult nonsense.

Oddly, neither of the twins were comfortable with the utter quiet. Maybe it was how the Doctor just stared straight ahead, staring at nothing like it was everything on the page of a novel. They could see his pupils vibrate under those weird fairy sparkles.

“And you’re fine with siding against your own people?” Solan asked, orbiting around him with curiosity. Was one of the symptoms making his teeth heavy?

Rolling his head back on the chair’s backrest, Tariche considered the question.

“I don’t know them. Who cares?” He sighed, lingering on the words left hanging in the air. “If you’re wondering if I’m angry at ‘magic’ in general. No, I’m like you.”

“No.” Aco said.

“Please, no.” Solan shook his head at the same time.

“I don’t need to know everything to see that I see the same face in the mirror that you see on each other,” Tariche steepled his fingers on his belly, tapping them as he began to become impatient for the physical pains. “I love not knowing. It makes new books amazing even when they turn out to be puerile garbage. The only thing I don’t know for sure is my mom and dad issues.”

“How did you—“

“Dang, was it the mom or the dad?”

Instantly, the twins clammed up, wondering if Tariche had spoken up to save them from giving up too much.

“Anyways, my mom was the magic one, which is the simplest way of putting it,” He chewed on his cheek, wondering if it was a nervous tick or a reaction. “I didn’t find out about it until we met for the first time after I hit my teens.”

He looked like he was still in his teens, if not younger than Aco and Solan. Then again, both knew what it was like to grow old in the middle of childhood.

“She asked me if I had a lot of people, and I could have if I tried. Didn’t tell her that though,” He kept chewing on his cheek, close to drawing blood. “Mom said that it was good. If she stayed with me, I wouldn’t have anyone and my life would be lonely. Worse, she told me her life would have been better. Full.” Red began leaking from his mouth. “We didn’t know that for sure.”

Stock still, Solan glanced at Aco and watched her slowly stand with the syringe at ready.

Then, Tariche got up too. He had gone from waaaaaay out there to squared shoulders, standing at attention.

“Commander Theano, what brings you here?” Tariche asked.

The twins span around, finding the door still closed.

“I hate needles!” Tariche cried, taking advantage of their confusion to sprint past them and out of the quarantine office.

The Thorn were going to go from having one bad medic to having no medic.

“Crap!” Aco and Solan jumped into action, tearing through the door and past the rows of occupied beds. A gnome strapped to one of the cots struggled in their restrains and Solan pulled the blanket over the head to shut them up.

There were at least four rows of beds for Tariche to hide under until he croaked. He wasn’t going to crawl out easy if he was more afraid of needles than he was death.

Oh but the Doctor loved to blab.

“You weren’t finished,” Aco kept her voice steady, at conversation volume as she padded past the beds. There was enough light to see the Doctor’s prone silhouette. “What does joining us have anything to do with fixing your mommy issues?”

“I’ve read the history books. I know what kind of trouble she got up to. It took long for her to get it together but the effort was admirable. Her taste in lovers? Disagreeable.”

Aco heard his nonsense and pinpointed the cot he was hiding under, tugging off the blankets to find no one but a very upset elf.

“Quit crying!” Aco shushed the prisoner, catching sight of a few drops of blood across her way. She locked stares with Solan in the other aisle, nodding in the direction of the gory trail.

“Trust me,” Tariche couldn’t stop himself from speaking up. “I know what I’m doing. There’s nothing to be afraid of when it comes to your precious Commander either.”

“If he catches you, I’ll be happy to skin you myself,” Solan goaded him, closing in on the Doctor. “Blackmail or not, he knows who’s in his corner.”

“Theano doesn’t care about loyalty. In fact, the scariest part of this entire situation is how he wants—“Tariche was wracked by a violent cough. The twins weren’t sure if it was because of the poison or if the Doctor was faking because he had no idea. “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t me but I was caught before and now, I live again.”

‘The poison’s going to his brain,’ Solan mouthed to Aco. ‘Can’t we let him stay like this for a bit longer?’

The curtain hiding the bed directly beside Solan swung open.

“But this time, I know how to throat punch you.” Tariche got the jump on Solan but the boy’s gut instinct lead his eyes to the angle of the Doctor’s arm.

Seeing it coming from miles away, Solan raised his hands to shield his neck and allowed Tariche to imbed his fist on his rock hard stomach.

“Need a medic?” Solan grinned as Tariche cringed from the blunt force trauma he afflicted on himself.

“Right here!” Aco jumped behind the Doctor and stabbed the needle into his neck.

Wailing like a murdered ghost, Tariche was too shocked to move before Aco pushed the plunger down, injecting the antidote into, miraculously, the right spot for it to act quick.

If it weren’t for the twins catching his arms, Tariche would have broken his nose to top this entire humiliating spree off.

“Look!” The doctor flailed, still disoriented from the effects of that messily cooked poison. “I can fight now! I used to only know how but I can actually do it with my own hands!”

By all means, Aco and Solan were allowed to sneer at the disgusting display. But, if only for a moment, some form of impossible fondness.

“Same.” They whispered together.

All of a sudden, Tariche lifted his head.

“Your friendship means a lot to me.” He said before his head lolled to the side.

And the twins were about to drop the Doctor on his face when they heard the footfalls of boots they had come to memorize. The Commander wasn’t going to happy with the only Doctor on site, who was definitely not Gregor, going out of his mind on bad blue soda.

“I know who that is!” Tariche turned his chin up, almost as furious as the Commander was going to be. “I read the obituaries!”

Each of them slapping a hand over Tariche’s mouth, they thought fast and not hard.

Having heard the Doctor’s shriek, Theano entered his wing to see if a prisoner had escaped. Smartly, he left the trailing Thorn members outside the room to find Solan in the nearest bed with an extremely bloated stomach under his blanket.

“Aw man, I ate so much,” Solan complained, rubbing his writhing belly. “Why, good morning, Commander Theano. The eggs were bad today.”

His belly tried to yell, barely held back by Aco restraining him under the sheets.

“Remove that blanket,” Theano ordered, patience thinner than the starving mage strapped to the other bed. “Now.”

“It smells pretty bad, just saying.” Solan lied, sweating bullets as his Commander’s frown deepened.

“Remove. The Blanket.” Theano wouldn’t repeat himself.

“You know what’s also bad?” Tariche managed to yank Aco’s hand off of his mouth a little late to the right cue. “You at oral exams!”

In the space of a fraction of a second, Theano’s face when through all hues of shock, realization, rage, and steeled stoicism.

“I don’t understand what that means.” Solan admitted, more interested in his Commander’s actions than at Aco’s one armed wrestling match with Tariche happening right next to him.

Theano breathed in, then out.

“You have ten seconds to come back to reality.”

Solan stole a peek under the blanket, betting a face full of blood vomit.

“We need ten hours.”

The Commander had already slammed the door shut.          

[roxannarambles]

Acquired Taste - Ch5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: Acquired Taste

Author: Roxanna Rambles

Summary: When Heath defected from Bern’s wyvern knights and joined Eliwood’s group, he was very keen on keeping to himself, and for the most part, that was easy to do. However, a particular ex-assassin insisted on hounding him. It was extremely annoying. Heath hated it. And there was no way that was going to change. Nope.

Prev. Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Next Chapters: Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10  Chapter11 Chapter 12 Epilogue

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There was a small but interesting difference after that night. Heath stopped slipping out to nightwatch on the sly and started informing Legault each time with a brusque comment or a look. Granted, that comment was usually just 'Thief,' but he did allow him to ride out on his wyvern. The gut-wrenching trips took some getting used to, but Legault was beginning to adjust. Eliwood's army was passing through a small mountain chain dotted with villages, so travel was less grueling for a while. There were even some nights they were able to stay within a village inn.

That was not the case on this particular evening-- at the moment they were halfway between two villages, in an area bandits sometimes trawled. As such, it was one of the nights they stood guard. The gravelly path crunched under boots as the pair walked to the summit, surrounded by towering pines. Hyperion was back at camp, having gotten into the camp's food storage and gorged herself until she couldn't move, and was now sleeping off her indulgences. Although Heath was quite annoyed with her he hadn't minded the extra exercise through the cool mountain air. It was a steady but gradual slope, and the final dying rays from the setting sun were dropping dappled light and shadow around them. For a while they hiked in tranquil silence, simply enjoying the landscape, but eventually began chatting casually about the bustling market Eliwood's group had run across the day prior.

"I was skeptical because it was only 300 gold, but it appears to be of quality craftsmanship. It feels well-balanced, as well."

"Yes, I saw that merchant. They did seem like good pieces."

"You should spar with me. I could test it properly then."

Legault laughed nervously.

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered. But you're likely to just be disappointed."

"Or are you afraid to face me?"

"You're damn right I am."

Heath gave a dissatisfied grunt as they reached a small clearing,

"I don't buy that."

"Heath, you'd likely turn me to a kebab. Is this where we're stopping?"

"Yes. Over there between those two trees, there's a lot of flat ground there."

"All right. You can clear an area. I'll fetch something at least vaguely flammable."

Clearly still keen on the sparring idea, Heath crossed his arms and smirked a little,

"I could kick you again. Seemed to work last time."

"Please don't."

"I make no promises," Heath murmured as Legault left to hunt for firewood. The thief felt his skin bristle at the low, teasing tone.

Twilight had fallen by the time they started up their fire, and Heath thankfully seemed to forget about sparring and had moved on to describe the more awful trinkets he'd come across in the market.

"I think it was intended as a charm for St. Elimine, but it looked to be carved from dung with a spoon. I had no idea Lycia contained such an impressive amount of garbage."

"Did you see the fellow with the magic potions? He tried to sell me something I'm pretty sure was pond sludge."

"Con men, counterfeiters, and peddlers of junk, every last one of them."

"Now, that's a bit harsh. What about your new lance?"

"The only exception in that village."

"Mm-hmm, but you're wrong there," Legault sing-songed, grinning knowingly. Heath looked at him quizzically.

"What are you on about?"

"I brought us a special little something I acquired yesterday."

"I swear to the gods, Legault, if it's more of those pies--"

"It isn't. They sadly didn't have those," he said, rooting about in his shoulder bag from the market. He pulled a large clay bottle out and held it aloft.

"Tadaa!"

Heath actually seemed mildly impressed.

"Mead?"

"Yep."

"Are you certain it isn't just pond sludge?"

"Only one way to find out," Legault said, rocking the cork stopper out with a pop. He tilted the bottle back and took a small sip. Heath watched expectantly for the verdict.

"Ok. That--" Legault said, and tilted the bottle again, taking a much bigger swig,

"--mm. Is some excellent pond sludge."

He held out the bottle to Heath, but the wyvern rider was hesitant.

"We're on duty, Legault."

"Pfft. It's just a bit of mead, we're not going to empty it tonight. And when's the last time we've actually run into trouble during nightwatch?"

"That isn't the point. We should always be prepared. We're responsible for protecting the safety of the camp."

Legault raised his brows and fixed Heath with a look. Heath frowned. Legault continued to look at him. Heath set his jaw. Legault stared.

Heath tried to ignore him. It didn't last for very long. He sighed.

"All right, just hand it over."

Legault passed it over, saying,

"I'm afraid I didn't bring cups so we need to drink out of the bottle like dirty savages."

Heath took a cautious sip from the stout bottle. His expression was unreadable. Legault asked,

"What do you think?"

After a moment, the man nodded and said approvingly,

"Good job, thief."

Legault tried very hard to not look like he was basking in the glow of Heath's approval, but a dumb smile reached his face anyway. Heath took a healthy swallow of mead.

"I guess not all of Lycia is garbage after all."

"Not when you have the right connections."

Heath handed the bottle back and then seemed to register what he said. In an unsurprised tone, he asked,

"Were your methods for acquiring this less than virtuous?"

Legault chuckled and said in a honeyed tone,

"I'm not sure what you're implying, Heath."

"That sort of thing could get our group into trouble, you know."

Legault took another drink and replied,

"Don't worry, nobody's going to miss a bottle that's fallen off the ample shelves of the local noble."

"Lord Gladwin?"

Legault nodded.

"Not a very popular fellow around here. Wasn't hard to get to. His servants practically begged me to help myself."

"Well, I suppose that's not so bad. I was concerned it may have been one of the merchants."

Legault looked appalled.

"Give me a little more credit than that. Do you really think I'd lift someone's livelihood?"

Heath was thrown off a moment.

"I . . . really was not certain."

Legault shook his head.

"My targets have always been twisted nobles. Even when I was young and desperate, it was all I went after. Preying on the already vulnerable would just be cannibalism."

Off Heath's questioning look, Legault clarified,

"Going after my own kind, you know? Besides, exploiting the weak is as loathsome as it gets. I wasn't about to start doing it myself."

Heath smiled a little.

"An honorable thief. I would not have imagined it."

Legault chuckled.

"I do have some standards. Admittedly, I also loved a good challenge. Going after highborn fat cats killed two birds with one stone."

"And then you became Black Fang."

"Mmm. Almost seemed like a natural progression."

Heath appeared amused.

"I'm honestly a little surprised Eliwood asked you to join him, considering your history with nobility."

Legault laughed and took a drink.

"I don't hate nobility whole cloth. None of us did. We hated abuse of power. You make it sound as though we went about slaughtering willy-nilly. We actually had a very meticulous procedure for selecting targets."

The wyvern rider was clearly intrigued.

"How did it work?"

Legault made vague gestures.

"Well, you know, collecting information, holding discussions, drawing up guidelines, the likes."

"Guidelines?"

He nodded.

"What I mean is that everything was codified. Our criteria, our modus operandi, our decision-making, all of it. Reed knew playing both judge and executioner could lead to a slippery slope-- he didn't want any of us to end up abusing power in the very same way we loathed. Truth be told, we tried our best to ensure only the most abhorrent ones faced the Fang's judgment, unreachable through other means."

Heath seemed very thoughtful. He commented,

"I had no idea."

"We didn't exactly made it a habit to share information about ourselves," Legault said wryly.

"But enough of my banging on about my old job," he added brightly, handing Heath the mead back,

"I'm very happy to leave the past in the past. Best to enjoy the present. Wouldn't you agree?"

Heath looked at the clay bottle a moment, as if considering the question. He took a drink.

"A valid point."

The evening passed more pleasantly than Legault had expected, conversation curving around light and wonderfully unimportant things. As the crescent moon climbed higher in the sky, Legault found the bottle of mead growing lighter and lighter.

"Actually, an Etrurian couple took him in when he was quite young and raised him as their own. He's currently on a training sabbatical, apprentice sort of stuff."

"What about the young man from Sacae?"

"Ah, yes. Tells everyone he's on a personal crusade of sword mastery, but mainly it was because he couldn't cut it as a nomad. Nice fellow, though. Likes to cook. Makes a nice chicken curry."

"All right, fine. How about those two grody axe-fighters? I can't always tell them apart, to be honest."

"Dorcas is the quiet one. He's trying to earn money for a sick wife back in Pherae. Natalie, I believe it was. Bartre is the one always punching things. People, objects . . . he punched a horse once, actually. The horse didn't care for it. He ended up with his jaw wired shut and in traction for a few weeks. Bartre, that is, not the horse."

Heath crossed his arms and spoke with confidence,

"Very well. But here's one you won't get-- the red-headed man, Raven, I think? I've not heard him speak but two words since he joined."

"He's not much for conversation, is he? He is no simple mercenary, though, as claimed. He's disguising his identity-- he's actually of royal blood. For what purpose, I can't say, but I'd keep an eye on him if I were you."

"Dragon's teeth, Legault, how do you know all this?!"

"I talk to people! And also, well, I notice things."

"You spy on them?"

Legault snorted.

"I don't think it's spying when you're standing in plain sight. I just like to people watch. I always have."

"Strange hobby."

The thief shrugged.

"Something to do. People can be fascinating. I like to know how they tick."

Heath shook his head, bemused,

"So with all the strange and diverse characters around, why choose to spend your time sitting here?"

Legault laughed.

"Are you kidding? You're by far the most compelling."

Heath glanced away, huffing, but Legault could catch the brief embarrassed expression.

"I assure you I'm not."

Legault leaned forward on the log he was perched upon and purred,

"I saw the fire in your eyes the day you arrived. You're pure, undiluted tenacity. I like it."

"Give me that mead. You're sounding more foolish than usual."

Legault grinned and passed the bottle over, saying,

"Who's being modest now?"

Heath looked annoyed. To avoid answering, he took a draft from the bottle. After a moment, he blurted,

"You don't even know me, Legault."

Legault smiled wickedly,

"Would you like to change that?"

Heath recoiled.

"Oh, come on-- I'm only joking. You always do that."

"You have a bizarre sense of humor."

"Yes, I am a little strange, I suppose."

Heath raised his brows at him.

"I think you just like to unnerve people."

The thief laughed,

"That's not true! I'm a friendly fellow!"

"The first thing you did when you met me was sneak up on me."

"That was the second thing. Besides, that's how I'm friendly."

"Uh-huh. Here, just take this back."

Heath plunked the bottle back into his hands.

"I thought you said I've been spouting too much nonsense for this?"

"I've realized it doesn't really make any difference."

Legault grinned at him and was about to reply, but the smile faded from his face. He spoke in a normal tone, though slightly quieter,

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think someone's come to crash our private party."

Heath frowned at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Legault's eyes flicked very briefly to the trees behind them,

"I wasn't sure at first, but I am now. Two or three of them, trying to be stealthy, really quite bad at it. They're closing in from the old snag, and the boulder to the right."

Heath looked around and was about to jump to his feet, but Legault spat,

"Wait."

Heath balled his fist about the handle of his lance but did not move. He replied tersely,

"Why? I can face three easily."

Legault shook his head.

"You knights are always so gung-ho about charging in, blades blazing. This calls for a more subtle approach."

Impatiently, Heath said,

"What do you suggest then?"

Legault nodded to the clearing in front of them,

"Go out to fetch some wood for the fire. Be loud about it. Drop into those trees and circle back. I'll be here as bait. They want the silly bags from yesterday's market, I'd bet."

"How do you--"

"--just go. They'll be within earshot soon."

Heath climbed to his feet, swaying only briefly, and then made a big production of telling Legault he was going to get more firewood.

"Sounds lovely to me. Can't have us catch our death out here, hmm? Ooh, try and find some pinecones while you're out there. I like how they crackle."

Heath rolled his eyes and strode off, with a reluctant backwards glance. Legault had reclined upon his log, hands tucked behind his head, looking at perfect peace. Heath clearly thought this was a stupid idea but vanished into the trees nevertheless.

Legault closed his eyes, concentrating completely on the sounds of the woods. Their pursuers drew closer and closer, emboldened and dropping much of the pretense of caution. Legault began to worry when they were practically upon him, but at that moment, a crash to his left through the underbrush announced Heath's assault.

A twisted ball of confusion burst out into the clearing, Heath whipping his lance about while two scruffy bandits swung axes at him in a panic. Heath's lance embedded itself in the leather armor of one bandit, and the ruffian's ally took advantage, going for Heath's throat while his weapon was caught. The knight ducked, the axe whistling just above him, and bodily shoved at the man while he was off-balance from his swing, then yanked his lance free and spun it around. The flat of the blade cracked hard off the bandit's skull, knocking him dizzily to the ground. The axe of the other fellow rang out against the back of Heath's breastplate, but failed to cleave through.

Thus far, Legault had been watching the scuffle, not feeling the need to step in. As Heath spun about and took on the bandit still standing, he still looked like he pretty much had things handled. However, something leapt in Legault's peripheral vision-- the third bandit that had been closing in from the other side, now charging at Heath while he was occupied. A simple glance confirmed Heath had yet to notice, busy driving his lance back into already torn armor.

Moments later Heath had felled his foe, but shot his head up at the approach of a third bandit barreling down at him. The bandit's expression shifted from angry to shocked as Legault pounced, arm hooked around the man's neck, cold blade pressed to his throat. The two skidded to a halt right in front of Heath, and stood there, Legault's dagger still pressed to the man's windpipe.

Heath stood from his crouched position over the man he'd just put a lance into. He watched the final bandit's eyes bug out as Legault leaned in, murmuring into his ear:

"Want to know a secret?"

The bandit swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing the dagger blade, but said nothing. Legault dropped to a whisper.

"My friend here's scarier than me."

The bandit whimpered. Legault muttered to him slowly,

"So if I let you go, you'd better be quick . . . I can't promise he won't follow . . . understand?"

The bandit made an unintelligible noise, and Legault said,

"Hmm? What was that?"

The man choked out a very strained 'yes' and after a moment, Legault removed his dagger and pulled away. The bandit stumbled immediately and nearly fell, but scrambled along in a sheer panic and then ran off into the woods. Heath and Legault watched him vanish, trees crashing behind him.

Legault turned to the other two dropped bandits and said,

"Guess he wasn't too interested in helping out his buddies."

Heath nodded at them,

"They'll live. I've only injured this one and the other will wake with a nasty headache."

They stared for a few moments at the crumpled bandits, as if still taking in what had happened. The fallen men were dressed in crusted leather armors and boots and festooned with various satchel bags and numerous blade sheaths. It was clear they were just local riffraff looking to pick off travelers.

"Looks like you were right about them being scavengers."

"Yeah, it explains why they were about as good at sneaking around as drunken sailors."

Heath turned to Legault, giving a short, breathless laugh,

"You certainly scared the wits out of that other one."

Legault shrugged a little,

"Sometimes all you need to do is talk a big talk."

Heath crossed his arms.

"And you claim you don't enjoy unnerving people."

"Well," Legault drawled, smile dancing lightly on his face,

"You're still the most fun for that."

Heath plucked his lance up and smiled slyly at Legault, then sunk into a battle position, eyes shining with zeal.

"Then come at me. My blood's still pumping and I'd like the extra practice."

Legault stumbled briefly on a tree root in his haste to step back and said,

"Ah-ha uh, what? Now? Shouldn't we report the little bandit problem to camp?"

Heath glanced back to the bandits, looking disappointed.

"Right. I suppose so."

He turned and gestured at Legault,

"Next time, then! You won't get out of it."

Legault winced, but answered,

"All right, all right. Just don't be too surprised if I end up getting blood on your nice new weapon."

Heath laughed-- really did so this time, a warmer, more free sound that contrasted from usual-- and Legault felt  stupid butterflies dance about in his stomach.

"I'll try to prevent it, if I can," the wyvern rider grinned, as they walked back to camp.

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