#through gritted teeth i need to make weirder art.

[muirneach]

when so many people make such gorgeous inventive and unique art and i feel like i draw the most normal boring things possible 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[igotyoukth]

Instagram Post. BTS

Masterlist

Seokjin

"Anyone can tell that's me, look at the shoulders!," he pointed at his silhouette on the photo. His shoulders were kind of prominent, but all in all in was a pretty anonymous couple picture.

“You are being pretentious here, Jin,” you argued, even though he was kind of right.

“Nowadays telling the truth is often misunderstood,” he shook his head and pouted,”And what’s the point if my handsome face is not even shown.”

“The point is, that I can share our picture without people cutting my head off.”

“You are sacrificing my face for your own life? So selfish,” he responded rather amused. It didn’t matter if people knew that their favorite singers were dating, pictures still effected them. You didn’t want to make new enemies with an obvious picture.

“Either my face or shoulders, people will recognize me.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“Thank you.”

You had no other choice then captioning the picture as “Mister Worldwide-Arrogant”

Yoongi

It was so hard to find a couple picture to post, thanks to your camera shy boyfriend. He always took his selfies like it was hard work, so pictures of you together were practically nonexistent. Except for that one picture Jimin took of you.

The picture, Yoongi liked to refer as "The Fake Couple". Yes, it was so staged. You basically had to tell him through gritted teeth to smile a little and look at you. And he had complied for two second before looking away. Of course, the seconds he looked at you didn’t make it to the picture. It was you looking at him, and he stared straight at the scenery. But the composition and colors of the picture made up for it.

"Noone has real couple pictures," he tried to explain when you pouted,"You know the story behind Taehyung's profile picture? His girl cursed at him seconds before."

"You are nothing but excuses," you were already editing your one and only, precious photo,"I'm posting this, don't sue me later."

You finally posted the picture with the caption "fake couple", like he named it. He rolled his eyes, when his notifications went off. But still, he took a screenshot and you even noticed a small smile on his face.

Hoseok

Matching. Matching. Matching. That was all that mattered here. Hoseok's new habit was buying two of anything he wanted to wear. Size didn’t matter, oversized clothes were his thing anways. You were fine with walking around like twins, the people stared at him either way. The reason wasn’t solely that he was build like a god, but also that he posed. But not like other people.

How you wished that your boyfriend would just take mirror selfies with you. But no. He didn’t shy from climbing places or dancing for pictures. And you had to join him.

“You know what’s weirder than me posing like this?,” he asked glued to the wall,”you standing so normal next to me. I look like a crazy person.”

“Maybe you are a crazy person.”

“I will pretend like I didn’t hear that, so hurry,” he pressed his face even closer to the wall.

Murmuring things about bacteria and bugs you mirrored his pose.

“There is a spider on your head,” you whispered.

“I know you are lying,” he said with a fake smile for the picture. But you saw the fear in his eyes. Once the self-timer on the camera beeped, he jumped away from the wall and shook his head.

“It’s gone,” you continued your lie. It was your little revenge.

Namjoon

Dating Namjoon included, that every one of your days were little adventures. As soon as he was notified about his free days, he started planning. His favorite spot was the beach, where he met his crab friends, but he also looked out for special things like festivals and other outdoor activities.

Like the one you recently visited. People let lampions rise, with their wishes attached to them. There was no need to discuss it, as soon as he saw posters about the event, you were already on the way.

You felt like you were in a Disney movie, the one with Rapunzel. Tangled. But it was even better. Namjoon made you feel that way quite often. Like a Disney princess.

“What did you wish for?,” you asked him, and tried to peek on the paper he attached to the lampion.

“It’s a secret,” he responded.

“You can’t wish for a better girlfriend.”

“Dang it.” This earned him a push in the shoulder, that didn’t affect him at all.

“And you can’t wish for a better boyfriend, impossible things aren’t allowed.”

Jimin

While others had very few pictures with their lover, you had way too many. Not only did Jimin love taking selfies together, but also pictures of you. “Hold on,” was the most repeated thing, when you two went on a date. That’s why the others didn’t like going out with you. Wandering around could take a while, when you stopped every few seconds to pose for a picture.

“But they are all we have later on,” Jimin argued, when the other boys rolled their eyes. You nodded and supported your boyfriend. You didn’t only take pictures and stored them digitally, Jimin and you bought an album last month. Not all of the ten thousand photos made it, but you tried printing most of them. What you didn’t print, landed on your social media. Like the one you were editing right now. The one from your aniversary.

Neither of your faces were fully shown- that was the reason, why you didn’t print it. But because of that, it was the perfect secrety couple picture to post. Another good thing about your hidden faces was, that noone would know how red you were. Jimin had prepared the perfect date by the sea. Your favorite food, candles, flowers and most importantly balloons. You had a thing for foil balloons, since they became so popular online.

“One year with my number one,” was the caption you chose and seconds later the picture landed on the internet. It sometimes scared you how much you revealed there sometimes, but it was okay to brag about your perfect boyfriend sometimes.

Taehyung

His artsy side definitely rubbed on you. You were into paintings, sculptures and mostly into photography. Art had always fascinated you, even before meeting Taehyung, but now that you both could discuss and admire those things together, your interest rose. So it was inevitable that all your social media pages turned super aesthetically pleasing. And your instagram page was no exception.

You loved sharing black and white or simply minimalistic pictures. They were mostly of everyday things, that caught your eye. But you were going through a phase, where you loved photography of body parts. No, you didn’t turn into a perverted photographer, you liked pictures that emphathized the simple beauty of hands, of the corner of a smile or a mole under the eye. You didn’t have to mention who your favorite model was, right?

“Look at this,” you zoomed into the picture you took.

“You look so tiny,” he commented, when he saw it. The difference between your hands was extreme, but still cute.

“I don’t think that I am the problem.”

“I think you are.” “Should we ask Jimin?”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

Jungkook

“Can you stay still for one picture,” you pouted while scrolling through the pictures of last night. Jungkook was still too shy, when taking selfies with you. Or worse, when other people took pictures of you. He either made funny faces or didn’t stop moving. He was doing it because he felt shy, but you really wanted to post a picture with him. Like everyone else.

“Here,” he answered, made a peace sign and posed for you. You rolled your eyes, he was pretenting not to understand.

“You better do that next time we take pictures.” As an answer, he sticked his tongue out.

“Can I post this at least?,” you showed him a still blurry, but cute picture. He was hugging you, hiding his face in your neck. But it wasn’t his affection or sudden love for you behind the pose. His members had teased him for being so awkward, and he needed a place to hide. Thank god for Jimin always having a camera in his hands.

“Sure,” he tried to sound unaffected, he definitely blushed a little when he remembered the words of his hyungs,”and send it to me, I’ll use it as my background.”

“Yes, Mister tomato,” you teased him, when his blush became very noticable.

“Don’t call me that,” he rubbed his cheeks.

“So I can’t use it as a caption?”

“No!,” he grabbed your phone and checked if the post went up. He then typed a few things before handing it back to you.

“Hug me more,” was the caption he chose.

[vertigoseokjin]

Be Okay

Sweet Pea x OC

Part 2

“Why're you messing with my head? Took me days to get out of bed I need to move on I need to move on Just let me Let me, go”

Be Okay- Too Far Moon

Ahh this is my first ever writing I’m posting! Feel free to leave criticism, enjoy!

Ariane Cogan practically bounces into the White Wyrm in an odd show of her excitement. Ariane is typically seen as one of the more detached serpents, similar to Sweet Pea, she is always very careful in who to let past her many, many walls. Also, her lack of emotion to the majority of people she interacts with doesn't help to disprove the rumors. However, today is a special day. After countless nights crying to Fangs and Toni, they all decided on today, November 18th, being the day the ice queen finally confesses to her lifelong crush. They both reassured her that Sweet Pea felt the same towards her as she did to him. Although they never explicitly asked, they claimed they could tell based on how he acts towards her.

The pair have been best friends since before Ariane could even think. Their first official meeting was 14 years ago, when Ariane's parents forgot her at a local park. The three year old stumbled upon a little girl crying on a worn down bench.

"Hey stupid. Why are you crying." He masked the care he had with anger, the one emotion he already perfected at such a young age.

"I'm not crying!" She pauses to rub her reddening brown eyes and wipe her runny nose. "And don't call me stupid... cutie!" Ariane internally slapped herself. Out of all the insults she learned in her brief years of living, she let her mind speak for her instead. He called her stupid and she called him cutie. She wanted to take the words back as soon as she yelled them at him. Her own internal conflict led her to miss his blushing cheeks.

Other than meeting her best friend that day, she also quickly learned thinking on her feet was not her forte.

She spots him almost immediately thanks to his large frame.

"Hey cutie." Ariane teasingly comments while walking towards the much taller male, knowing his hatred of that nickname.  Sweet Pea almost instantly grabs her by the waist and carelessly tosses the girl over his shoulder. "Pea! Put me down you giant!" Ariane practically squeals. She playfully beats on his back at an attempt to get him to release her, but her hits feel like bug bites to him. Not painful, just really annoying.

"You do this to yourself, stupid." He insults her before gently placing her next to Toni, then collapsing on the seat next to her. Sweet Pea's naturally places his arm around Ariane's shoulders and subtly pulls her closer. Although their actions are normal for any other day, Toni and Fangs are especially on edge today given the circumstances. Unfortunately, Fangs took Sweet Pea's show of affection as a green light.

"Tell us what happened!" The shorter boy suddenly shouts. Ariane wishes Sweet Pea placed her next to him so she could dig her elbow into his ribs. However she settles on angry facial expressions directed towards him, where Sweet Pea wears a confused appearance. He quickly removes his arm from Ariane in his confusion. Sadly, Fangs never mastered the art of subtly like the other three young serpents did. "Why are you guys giving me those fac-" Toni successfully cuts him off with a hard kick to the shin that leaves him howling in pain.

"Fangs and I are going to grab a drink." Toni snaps through gritted teeth. She grabs Fangs by the back of his neck and drags him away from the pair.

Ariane and Sweet Pea sit in one of the most awkward silences they've experienced in their entire friendship.

"So," he breaks the tension, wiping sweaty palms on his black jeans. "You know anything about what just happened?" He finally asks the question. Ariane refuses to meet his eyes in her humiliation. The thought of confessing to her best friend seemed like a perfect idea 30 minutes ago, but now she'd rather clean FP's truck for the next three months than sit next to the person who used to make her the most comfortable.

"What just happened?" Ariane asks stupidly in her nervousness. Sweet Pea can't help the scoff he releases. He finally turns to look at her and the pair make eye contact before he flicks her harshly on the forehead. She lets out an annoyed whine before punching him on the arm.

"Don't play stupid Cogan." He asks sternly, taking her face in his hands as he usually does during a serious conversation. They both know Ariane can't lie to him, which is why he always forces eye contact during conversations like this.

"I don't know what just happened." She tries to escape his grip, but the warmth of his hands provide security even though he's the main reason for her anxiety.

"Cogan..." he warns. "You know I'm going to find out. Better now than later." She lets out a deep sigh, gently pushing his hands away from her, instantly missing the safety that leaves when his hands do.

"You're gonna hate me."

"Cogan, I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to. You know you can tell me anything. Just say it. If someone's hurting you I can-" she quickly cuts him off by grabbing his hand.

"No, no one's hurting me. I'm fine just... look..." she takes another long sigh trying to collect her thoughts. "I don't know how to tell you." Ariane spent numerous nights practicing in front of her mirror or to Toni on how to tell him, but now that they're actually in the moment, it's like she forgot all her practice.

"Take your time. We have all night." He brushes aside a strand of her brown hair and rests his hand on the side of her neck before the redness in her cheeks explodes to her entire face.

Like their first meeting as children, she lets her mind speak before she can think.

"I like you." She suddenly blurts out, squeezing her eyes shut in fear of his reaction. "I've liked you for the last three years but I've always been too scared to say anything. Toni and Fangs convinced me to just do it, which is why they were both acting weird- or weirder than usual I guess- and I didn't want this to ruin our friendship or for you to hate me, I think I'd die if you hated me - not die that's a strong word but I... I'd be really upset and- and I don't know. But I really like you, Pea." Ariane finally puts an end to the nonstop flow of words from her mouth. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut, but she feels Sweet Pea remove his hand from her neck.

This is it. The end of our friendship. She sadly thinks.

"Pea, just say something? Please?" The shaking girl forces herself to open her eyes and look up at the boy causing all this pain for her. "Okay, okay, can we just forget I said anything? I'm sorry... I-"

"Ariane." He suddenly cuts her off.

Oh no. He never uses my first name. The thoughts fly through her mind and she can't stop them. The use of her first name feels foreign coming from his voice, but she has to accept it's going to be like this for the next... forever. He's going to hate her and they'll never go back to being like they were.

"Yes?" The first tear slides down her cheek as she hurriedly wipes it.

"Look," he pauses to let out a long sigh, "I'm sorry if I ever did anything to make it seem like I like you. Hell, I always thought the names and touching was best friend shit but now I feel like I shit." He humorlessly laughs. "Honestly, I've only ever seen you as a friend." There's a long pause that leads them sitting in a very uncomfortable silence. "I had something to tell you today too, but now I don't think it's the right time." He laughs again.

"No, just uh... what is it?" Ariane forces herself to ask, refusing to look at him.

"I'm seeing someone." He adds the words bluntly and quickly, like he's not tearing her heart out with those three words.

"Oh! Wow. Good for you! Who? Since when?" She tries her best to be happy for him.

"I don't think it's necessary for you to know right now." He doesn't mean to make the words come off so coldly, but he's too shocked at her confession to watch his tone. “Like, no offense, but did you really think we would work? You and me? You know you’re not my type. I like... tall girls, pretty girls. You know?” Similarly to Ariane, he speaks before thinking. 

"Oh, yeah, you're right.” Ariane cuts him off, she doesn’t think she can handle hearing about her flaws anymore. Especially from him. The typically cold girl tries to mask her hurt by keeping her tone expressionless as she does when talking to anyone else. But this is Sweet Pea. Her Sweet Pea. The one she could always be honest to and tell anything to. She ruined their entire friendship because she couldn’t control her stupid feelings. “I think I'm going to head home now. I'm sorry again, Sweet Pea. I'll... see you at school?" She already starts backing away from him before he can respond.

"Wait, Cogan-" she doesn't stay close enough to listen to his words. Ariane doesn't know if she can take it.

Now that the heartbroken girl is at a safe distance away from him, she freely lets the tears fall down her cheeks, red from embarrassment. She seeks out Toni with her blurred vision.

Ignoring the dirty and the bewildered looks from other serpents, she quickly finds the pink haired girl.

"Oh my gosh Ari, how did it-"

"Can you take me home? Please?" The trembling in her hands doesn't relent as Toni's eyes widen in panic.

"Of course, let me just tell Fangs and grab my keys, okay babe?" She talks to her like Ariane's a child, which is probably what she looks like right now. With her wide eyes filled with tears, small hands clutching Toni's jacket, hair messy and a few strands covering her face, Toni's never seen the seemingly heartless girl like this. "I'll be right back, just sit here, okay?" Toni leads her to an empty stool at the bar and gives her a tight hug, before scurrying away to quickly gather her things. Ariane lays her head on the bar, crying quietly to herself. A hand on her back causes her to jump up.

"Sorry, just me. Fangs. Uh... Toni told me to keep an eye on you, I can probably guess why. I'm sorry I didn't catch your hints." Fangs rambles, the feeling of guilt unable to leave. Maybe if he just kept his damn mouth shut. "He's an idiot, just so you know. Anyone would be lucky to-"

"Please stop talking." She chokes out, not trying to be rude, but also not in the mood to listen to anyone right now.

"Right, right. I'll just sit here with you." He comments awkwardly, placing himself in the stool next to her. "So, the weather-"

"Please stop talking." Ariane repeats, much more sharply, hoping Fangs will get the message. Luckily the tense situation is saved by Toni.

"Okay, I got my shit. Let's go babe. Bye Fangs!" Toni grabs Ariane by the wrist and quickly leads her out the bar, doing her best to cover her tear stained face from the nosy serpents. "You'll be okay babe, I promise."

Even with her friends reassurance, she doesn't know if she believes her.

She doesn't know if she can really be okay after this.

Let me know what you thought and if you want another part! Thank you!

[rueitae]

Roommates in Disguise - Chapter 9

My last chapter! @fallen-angel-nightshade has the final chapter tomorrow!

Thank you so much to @whyamistillhungry for beta and @mybluelionlancylance for the outstanding art. You guys both really motivated us and we can’t thank you enough!

Read the chapter on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901668/chapters/47478652

~~~~~

“I think I’d like to go on a date.”

The words ran through his head when he woke, when he showered, during breakfast, and as he sat at work twirling a pencil; the word document open on his computer remaining untouched.

“Are you working on the Founder’s Day Parade article?”

Lance sighed, calm delight filling his mind. “Yeah,” he answered dreamily. 

“Coran wants that on his desk today, you know.”

“It’ll be there,” Lance replied in his haze. He tapped the eraser on his keyboard. K. A. T. --

“... the press is under attack from the Green Starling.”

Lance hummed. I. E. “That’s nice.”

“She’s got Katie hostage.”

Lance dropped his pencil. Blood rushed to his head as he stood in a flurry. He’d promised to keep her safe! 

A hand with familiar fingerless gloves nabbed him by the arm. Warmth returned to his gut, quelling his icy powers - for now. There was no attack.

“What is going on with you?” Keith asked. “You’re acting even weirder than normal.”

Lance clenched his teeth and licked his parched lips. There was so much to it between his near breakthrough with Pidge and his relationship with Katie - how life was going right for once. “You wouldn’t understand,” he settled with. 

He grabbed his thermos and walked past Keith to the drinking fountain, not caring that their shoulders collided. 

“What do you really want?” Lance asked with a growl when Keith doesn’t leave him alone to fill his mug.

“Is that Katie Holt you’re thinking about?”

Unprompted jealousy filled his chest as he spun to face his rival intern. “What do you know about Katie?” he demanded. He gasped before his peer could respond, memory returning to him. Pointing a finger at Keith, he said, “You like her! I saw you watching her at Cafe Altea that day!”

Keith grit his teeth. “I was making sure Lotor didn’t take advantage of you - protecting you.” He sighed, frustration leaving his posture. “She’s been in the school paper - the Green Starling taking over her house was big news. I wrote the article.”

Lance bristled, something about the casualness in which Keith spoke of the incident rubbed him the wrong way. “Katie and I are going on date, if you must know.”

He couldn’t always get a surprised reaction out of Keith, so Lance relished in this one, grinning smugly as Keith gaped. “Um... congratulations. You’re… you two are okay with that?”

“Of course we are!” Lance exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because…” Keith stops himself, steeling his gaze. “Nothing.” 

And he began to walk away.

Lance had the worst feeling that he was missing something very important. While he and Keith butted heads often, Lance begrudgingly acknowledged he wasn’t a bad person by any stretch of the imagination. “W-wait! What do you mean?”

“Forget it, Lance! Just…” Keith turns around, an odd look of... sympathy on his face. “Just be careful, okay? I’ve been doing some Galra Corp stories and there’s some weird stuff going on. Stay away from them if you don’t want to get burned.”

Keith disappeared into the break room, leaving Lance standing dumbstruck. “What the quiznak?”

“They have you all fooled!”

~~~~~

All thoughts of Keith and their mysterious conversation was out of Lance’s mind by the time he left work that day. His heart thumped swiftly and there was nothing that could wipe the giddy smile off his face or quell the flutter in his chest - there was so much to do before tonight! 

Dinner would be candle-lit with spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic knots. Then an evening full of Killbot Melee and he’d tap it off with the biggest surprise of all; stargazing. 

There’s a beautiful high-end telescope in the closet of his bedroom, covered up with a sheet with dust on top of it. Lance doesn’t know when it was last used, but from the wear it looks as if it was well-loved. For weeks he’d been thinking about cleaning it off and putting it to use. It stirred up childhood dreams of becoming an astronaut. Using his powers to go fast was fun, but there was a nostalgic beauty to spacecraft; to pilot a machine to its full potential above the atmosphere and take in the majesty of space. 

Lance loved space. Katie’s eyes would light up whenever the stars wove into conversation. They could look at the details of the moon, make up their own constellations - talk about the great deeds of the heroes who they represented. 

He’d talk about the crafts and the missions; Katie would talk about orbits and black holes and the latest theory.

The genuine smile on her face and the light in her eyes… Lance could listen to her talk forever. 

And maybe, just maybe, if this worked out - and continued to work out, he dared to think - he would. 

Groceries first, loverboy.

Basket in hand he made his way through the aisles. It was nice to see the place cleaned up so quickly after he and Pidge trashed it in their fight. 

He found the fresh oregano and garlic against the newly built wall. The scent of wood behind the mortar was still fresh. An unpleasant knot filled his stomach; he still hadn’t come to any definite conclusions over his newest power - it was almost if… as if he had a berserk mode. 

Lance placed the items in his basket and walked away as quickly as he could. Later. He could worry about his own problems later. Katie came first today. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he couldn’t do that?

Grabbing ripe tomatoes on his way out of the produce section - because surely making the sauce from scratch would impress her, he’d have to thank Hunk for the recipe later - he strode over to the pasta aisle. Pausing with his hand over the traditional noodles, he spots the package further down - angel hair pasta. 

Lance grinned. That was far more romantic - he could think of at least ten flirtatious lines with simply the name of the pasta as a jumping point. 

Neatly and lovingly arranged bouquets were on display at the floral section. Lance selected a small one featuring a beautiful mix of a variety of flowers. 

Everything was going perfectly. 

~~~~~

There was a note waiting for him on the counter when he arrived home. He unloaded the ground beef from his bag as he read:

In and out for a school project. I’ve got laundry going - food at seven? Call my cell if I’m not upstairs by then. - Katie

As if on cue, the washer beeps to signal it finished with the current load. 

Perfect. The only thing that could ruin this night would be a visit from Pidge. Worry passed quickly. He’d had pretty good luck with Pdge leaving the city alone when he and Katie did things together. As long as he didn’t say it out loud and jinx himself, he saw no reason why the trend wouldn’t continue.

He opened the linen closet and squatted, using a discriminant eye to look for the table cloths. Fingering through a stack of them, a white one colored with red flowers caught his eye. The petals are large and sweeping, as if someone took a paintbrush and simply took a few strokes. The flowers with thin green stems seem to float on the cloth, like they’re raining down on him - on Katie. 

This is the one. 

Lance unfurled the cloth and with a flourish he let it land delicately on the dining room table. He ran his hand along the surface quickly, doing his best to straighten out the creases. 

Maybe he should tell her tonight, about being Icebound. He really should. They were good friends, of that Lance was confident. She deserved him to be upfront with her and he trusted she would keep his secret. 

He paused mid-rub of a particularly infuriating fold. A sickening feeling began to churn in his stomach.

Yet… when the thought crossed his mind, when he imagined what she might say in response to his confession, he couldn’t help but see a more insidious smirk on her face. In his mind it's a good, reasonable idea - dating wasn’t a time to keep secrets - but his gut… his gut screamed not to say anything about it. 

But his heart was tickled with the idea of having someone to share his hero exploits with. He liked the idea of it being Katie. They already talked about everything else, why not this?

Really, it would be easier to coordinate the search for her family this way. 

He continued his preparations. Plates, silverware, candles, napkins - paper towels, but he folded them nicely - and then with great care, the small bouquet at the center, are all arranged neatly on the table. 

Lance stepped lightly; this was fun. The anticipation of seeing Katie’s face at his over-the-top display was just one more thing to look forward to. 

His heart pounded and his cheeks warmed as he worked. He was genuinely looking forward to tonight. 

The laundry beeped done again. Lance rolled his eyes. Katie must be really wrapped up in her project. He dug his phone out of his pocket and sent her a quick text:

Laundry’s done. You called it, you got it. (I promise the reward is worth it *wink emoji*)

There was no need to start cooking for another hour or so, the food would get cold otherwise. Lance set the phone down on the counter. He grabbed the saucepan from the cabinets and the boiling pot for the noodles, setting them both near the stove. 

With all the materials he needed for cooking set out and ready, Lance moved on to what he hoped would be the perfect cap to the evening. If Katie was working so hard, she’d probably enjoy a nice bath. He’d prepare one for her, then let her soak away her worries before bed. She wouldn’t be able to refuse the gesture if the tub was already full with hot water and bubbles and scented candles. 

He couldn’t count the times he pined for a hot shower to ease his sore muscles - he missed hot water so much. 

Lance scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again before declaring the tub clean. He plugged in an air freshener and a beachy smell began to fill the air. The pink bottle full of bath bubble liquid was set on the lip of the tub, ready for later use. 

The living room got the full treatment - vacuuming, dusting, air freshener. He even polished the wooden end tables, giving the area a fresh pine scent. 

Lance stretched, arching his aching back. Just cooking was left. 

His phone flashed red from its spot on the counter. “What the…” It had never done that before that he could remember. Eyebrow raised, he paused his date preparation to investigate. 

It wasn’t coming from the screen. He had no messages of any kind, not even an acknowledgement from Katie of the text he sent to her (that was no surprise). He turned it around in his hands, searching, until he found the flash coming from the battery case. 

He flipped it open.

Immediately, a microbot scurried out of it - itself blinking red. Lance gasped and dropped the phone to the floor. His heart trembled with fear as he backed as far away from it as he could, eventually stopped by the back of the couch. 

The nanobot disappeared but Lance continued to shake. He slid down the back of the couch, giving in to weak knees. 

That was one of Pidge’s bots. He’d recognize the difference between her and Katie’s anywhere. 

Pidge really had been keeping tabs on him this whole time. Through his phone. 

A small part of him worried she knew. Why hadn’t she acted on it? Up until now he had no idea about the phone and she’d told him explicitly about monitoring the house. Surely she’d have said something, gloated, held his identity hostage over his head. 

Muscles relax and breathing became easier. Maybe she doesn’t know.

Maybe she does and was toying with him.

He couldn’t let her know that he knew that she was tracking him. 

Lance buried his face in his knees, letting out a frustrated groan. If he was going to make that breakthrough with Pidge he needed to do it soon. He was running out of time. Pidge was always one step ahead of him and soon… he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop her, couldn’t do anything to protect others. 

He’d be a prisoner in his own mind, held hostage by her threats.

A problem for tomorrow’s Lance. Today’s Lance was saving the evening for Katie. 

It was time to look the part. 

With renewed determination, he stalked to his bedroom and threw open the closet door. His wardrobe had grown over the time he’d been here - but this created a new problem.

What should he wear?

Work clothes were out of the question. He wanted to feel like he could have fun. Lance removed the hanger of his Gameflux t-shirt. He smiled as quickly as he frowned as he put it back on the rack; Katie loved this one, but he wanted something a little nicer, something dressy-casual. 

Lance growled, teeth grinding. “Fine,” he said with a huff. “Compromise time. Saturday we are doing some serious shopping.”

His dark jeans are worn, one of the few pieces of clothing left over from before the apartment fire. The collared blue sweater was almost too stark of a contrast, but Katie wouldn’t care what he wore. This was for him. 

Lance adjusted the collar, looking himself over in the body-length mirror. For the first time since his family passed away, he winked and flashed a flirtatious smile at himself. It felt good. It felt right. 

It felt like himself. 

“You’re going to kill it today, Lance,” he told mirror-him. “You finally found someone in town who can stand your dumb, gorgeous face.” 

He meant it, but deep down, something uncomfortable rested in his gut. Lance took a deep breath. The microbot had set him on edge. Everything was going to be fine. 

To top it off, he spotted himself with cheaper cologne than he liked. After he became a junior reporter the first thing he’d get for himself would be the brand he liked. 

The buzzer beeped on the washing machine. Hadn’t Katie taken her things out yet? Well, she had said she was in and out. 

Tonight was for her. The least he could do was take care of laundry. It wasn’t like loading the dryer was hard. 

He trudged down the stairs, steps not as light as earlier. The pit of worry that Pidge knew his identity continued to eat away at him. With each stair, a sense of foreboding grew, as if he was walking into a trap. 

He walked past Katie’s workshop - the one she’d taken back from Pidge all those months ago. The chair he’d once been captive in was still there, but the laser and other villainous machines are gone. A shiver wound its way up his arms. Lance doesn’t mind the cold, but crossed his arms and rubbed them regardless. This chill felt different. 

The dryer was empty, the wash long done. Katie must be out. 

Lance sifted through the load, mostly Katie’s stuff, and threw it in the dryer. The mundane chore let him breathe, at ease with the familiarity. 

Until he grabbed it. 

Long and twisted tightly around the dispenser, it wasn’t a towel. Thick and dark he lifted it out, curious. It was longer than a towel, like a coat. Why would Katie need a coat in summer?

Green accents around the collar and cuffs made him freeze. He couldn’t breathe. 

“I hate Galra Corp for taking my family from me.”

“Ms. Berry was right for yelling at you for those heroics.”

“I know what it's like to be alone and no one deserves that. Even heroes.”

“Well, say... hypothetically, if someone wanted to steal a bunch of chemicals, when would the best time this week to do it?”

“Genius doesn’t allow for plans!”

“I had a chance to find my brother today - you ruined it!”

“I… have something to tell you, Lance. I haven’t been honest with you and you deserve to know.”

Katie was washing Pidge’s coat. 

Katie’s coat. 

Dread filled him as he dropped to his knees, mind broken considering everything in a new light. Katie was never in danger.  

He… never really escaped that day. 

A door opened. Tears blurred his vision, but he knew there was no visible door there in the wall. It only made his heart shatter even more as Katie walked out of the hidden room wearing Pidge’s goggles on her forehead. 

Her eyes grow the size of saucers. “Lance! What are you doing down here? I told you I’d get the laundry and --” 

She cut herself off when Lance stood and raised the coat to where she could see it. 

“Why?” he choked out. There was so much he wanted to ask, wanted to scream. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. 

He could see it now. The fear in her eyes when he destroyed the flash drive - he felt sick, he destroyed the key to finding her brother - it’s the same. All he could see now was Pidge’s expressions on Katie’s face.

Because they were the same person.

“I… I can explain, Lance,” she started. “I was going to tell you tonight, I swear.”

But he didn’t give her a chance, anger rose to a boiling point. Lance doesn’t care that it comes at odds with his ice powers, making him even more queasy, he’s mad and terrified. He’s been living with his arch nemesis and falling in love with her. 

“Is that why you wondered if we could have a proper date? So you could gloat?” The accusations come faster than he could think. “Was that part of the plan too? Get me to lower my guard first?” 

“I like all of you, Lance.”

Because quiznak he had been ready to do that.

Katie - Pidge - swallowed thickly. “No - not anymore. I --”

Lance let the coat drop to the floor. It lands with a heavy flop, cutting her off. “I trusted you,” he said, voice trembling. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Pidge said hastily. 

She took a step forward and he found himself taking a step back, tense. “You - you destroyed my apartment so that I had to live here.” He took another step back, resting a shaky hand on a table;

“I didn’t know the lab was there. I just tried to... it wasn’t a meth lab, it was--” She took a deep breath. “Look, Lance, you’re not in danger here. I promise.”

Something in his brain snaps. “How do I know you’re not lying like you have been this entire time?” he exploded. He clenched his fists, unable to look her way. “Was anything about… us, real?”

“Of course it was!” she said quickly, stepping forward again. Lance couldn’t help it, despite her words he backpedels a few steps towards the stairs. “I like you a lot, Lance. I treasured every moment, from the day we went to the arcade to all the nights we just hang out and goof off. I’ve never felt more like myself since my family disappeared.”

A tinge of empathy twisted in his heart, but the hurt was too overwhelming. “Even though you’ve been hiding who you are?” Lance accused like a hypocrite. 

His heart stopped as her eyes turned hard, glinting with danger - a familiar Pidge expression. “And see where that got me,” she said, gesturing around them. Her face softened. “Please, Lance, I’m so sorry. I just need a chance to explain.”

“Explain what you want from me?” he hissed. “I’ve been the perfect captive for you.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. 

Her words do nothing to calm him. “So you’d let me just walk out of here, take my things and go?”

Pidge sucked in a breath. Her eyes shone, as if his words actually hurt her. “That’s - that’s not the best idea,” she said. “You’re in legitimate danger - you’re a lot safer here.”

“Oh am I?” Lance spit. “With your death ray? What’s more dangerous than you threatening to kill me?”

“Haxus is after you! He’s been reporting to Galra Corp on your every movement!” 

Lance rolled his eyes. He couldn’t do this anymore. Looking at her, remembering all the good times they’ve had in this house - each one like a million painful pinpricks on his heart - he doesn’t want to remember. He took a few deep breaths before saying, “I’m leaving.”

Pidge jogged forward, arm out to reach for him. “Lance. I’m serious.” 

He turned and climbed the first few stairs.

“You promised you’d help me find my family!”

Lance stopped. He had promised.

But that was before he knew she was Pidge. He couldn’t help her anymore. 

I’m sorry, Mama, he thought. He’d tried to listen, but this knowledge of betrayal, her long term plan...

A hand wraps around his forearm. “Please.”

Cool mist formed around his skin, concentrated where Pidge held him until she removed her hand. In its place, icy armor that quickly ran up his whole arm. He squeezed the banister with his other hand; why not reveal himself? It wasn’t as if it mattered anymore. 

“I’m sorry I destroyed the flash drive,” he said quietly. He owed her that much.

“I forgive you,” she said quickly - a little too quickly, as if she’d already had time to think over it. “I should have done this a lot sooner. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be this close and --”

A knot twists in his stomach as he turned to face her. A mournful tone escaped his lips. “How long have you known?”

“... Since after the supermarket fight,” she said. There’s no lie in her voice, he believed her despite all of this. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“I…” Tears threatened to overwhelm him, his chest tight.

“Please don’t go,” she begged. “They’re looking for you - I think they know. They’re looking for everyone who survived the accident.”

“Then let them find me,” he blurted out angrily. “At least they haven’t lied to me.” His legs move him up the stairs. He doesn’t stop. 

“Lance, stop!” 

He doesn’t. 

“They are lying to you! They aren’t after you for your benefit! Lance!” 

He opened the door to the ground level. 

“House! Initiate Protocol Six!”

Lance ran. He just wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, he shot ice shards into small drones that launch sticky webbing at his feet and all over his body. He shattered the large mechanical arms that attempted to restrain him. So much for being free to go.

Even when he managed to exit the house he kept running. He’d lost a home before, but this hurt a thousand times more than losing the apartment. 

He’d lost a friend. He’d trusted her and she’d used him. How badly he wanted to believe her apology. That’s what he’d wanted from Pidge wasn’t it? An apology and understanding? To work with her instead of against her? To bring out the good heart beneath?

“No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

But what she’d done to him hurt far more than any physical wound she’d ever inflicted upon him. He wasn’t ready to forgive yet. He wasn’t sure he could. 

Lance was unsure for how long he ran, or how far from the house he’d ended up. He only knew how tired he was as he collapsed into an alleyway. After regaining his strength he could go… somewhere… Ms. Berry had said he was welcome at her niece’s home. Perhaps he’d go there.

The air was the perfect temperature, which meant it was chilly for everyone else. A raindrop fell on his nose.

It was just one of those times the weather was going to reflect his mood. “Great, as if things couldn’t get any worse,” he groaned, sniffing deeply.

He wanted things to go back to the way they were; no powers, no super villains, his family still alive.

He missed his mom so much. 

Something pricked him in the back of the neck, perking his senses. It was too big to be a bug. Lance reached around to grab it - and came away with a dart in his hand.

His heart leapt into his throat and he swallowed deeply, closing his eyes in despair. Had Pidge followed him so quickly? He slumped against the wall of the alleyway. Maybe that wasn’t so bad; she’d find him no matter where he went. He only wished he had more time to compose himself. He wasn’t ready to face her again so soon.

Sleep suddenly seemed like an amazing idea. His body doesn’t protest.

~~~~~

Unfamiliar machinery hummed loudly, consistently, rousing Lance to wake. 

The floor he lay on was comfortably cool, but could stand to use some cushioning. His eyes fluttered open to a curved grey ceiling - glass in his peripheral vision. Mind groggy, he groaned and flipped over to lay on his side. He faced a large window, floor to ceiling. He expected to see Pidge, dressed as Katie - resigned in his fear she’d show her villainous hand despite her earlier apologies.

On the other side - was not Pidge’s lab. 

Lance scrambled to sit up, heart racing in panic. He was in some sort of containment, wide enough he could lay down and stretch his arms and legs. 

There was no discernible door.

Past the glass, a laboratory. Tables are full of scientific equipment he doesn’t recognize, but he knew the grey and magenta tinted walls - though he hadn’t seen them since…

Since the fateful day he was chosen to deliver lunch to an employee at Galra Corp. The day the lab exploded as he was just about to walk out the door. The day he got his powers. 

Why was he here?

The door to the lab opened. First to enter was Haxus, who threw him an evil grin before holding the door open respectfully for a scientist, followed by Sendak, the chief security officer. 

A sense of wrongness intensified in his gut. 

“Hey!” he yelled, standing and pounding a fist against the glass. “Let me out of here! I’m one of the good guys!”

The door slammed shut behind Sendak with a troubling sense of finality. 

The scientist approached, grabbing a tablet off a table and powering it up. “Mr. McClain, it’s good to finally meet you face to face. You’re a rather difficult man to find.”

She sounded more like a James Bond villain than the bright smiles and cheerful disposition Galra scientists were portrayed having on the television commercials. 

Confusion set in. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I’m not hiding --”

Bright lights turn on inside the chamber, glowing reds and oranges. The temperature rose and Lance dropped to the floor - they’re heat lamps. It became hotter by the second and he couldn’t breathe --

“Subject is severely weakened to heat. Eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit brings him to his knees, ninety causes difficulty of breath,” the scientist said calmly. “Reducing temperature to sixty degrees.”

Lance collapsed as the heat lamps clicked off and blessedly cool mist rushed over his body. 

“I am Honerva,” the scientist told him. “I will be leading the study of how the Oriande serum has affected your body.”

“I think they know!”

Lance rose to his hands and knees, mind still spinning from the expose to the heat - heat someone with his age and health should have been able to handle with no problem, but rendered him helpless. 

“I - I’ve done nothing but help you!” he cried. “I’ve tried to protect your buildings and employees!”

“And your help is very much appreciated,” Honerva told him coolly, not even bothering to look up from her tablet. 

Lance looked past her, where Haxus leaned against the door, a smug smile on his face - as if he were enjoying watching Lance suffer  - and he probably was - and as if there was more of a show to come.  

“We have been searching very hard for your civilian identity,” Honerva continued. “Takashi Shirogane was the only employee known to be in the vicinity at the time of explosion, however, there are three vigilantes running around the city with powers. You can imagine our perplexion.”

Flame Dude and Sky Guy, Lance realized quickly. PhoenixFire and Arashi, their actual hero names flashed across his memory. One of them was Shiro (no way he was Flame Dude, Shiro was too awesome to be annoying like that). This is why neither of them had helped him in defending the city. His stomach churned uncomfortably. They knew Galra Corp was after them - Shiro had known they were in danger.

Why hadn’t they ever told him?

“We will find the other two in time. For now, it gives me the opportunity to focus on you.”

Lance hadn’t felt truly cold in ages, but her tone sent a chill down his spine. 

“I’m - I’m not a lab rat!” he protested. If that first test was any indication, the rats probably received better care. 

He’d have been better off with Pidge. Pidge who had tried to warn him - tried to protect him - and he hadn’t been able to see past his broken heart and anger to consider the sincerity in her words. 

He’d screwed up big time and was paying the price.

Honerva smiled at him, unkindly. “Thanks to your convenient survival, I will eventually re-engineer the correct combination of chemicals that resulted in your reception of ice powers.” 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked desperately. None of this made sense! “I’ve never done anything to do guys!”

Haxus snorted gleefully from his spot by the wall. “Except for having a hero complex.”

“Silence,” Sendak growled, banging his gigantic metal arm against the wall. The sound reverberated throughout the room, the force making his prison wobble. Haxus stood at attention.

Honerva sighed, perturbed. “Your services in preventing Ms. Holt from discovering this place will be taken into account.” She stepped up to the glass wall, towering over Lance as his heart raced despite resting on the floor. She placed a palm gently on the glass. “Do not be afraid,” she told him. “Because of you, President Zarkon will soon have powers of his own.”

“Wait,” Lance said. He doesn’t like the picture this new information painted. He’s sick to his stomach. “Why does President Zarkon want superpowers? He’s already the richest person in the city.”

Honerva tched. “Not everyone can be bought with wealth, Mr. McClain. If President Zarkon is to rule the world, he must have the ability to act.”

Lance chuckled. This situation was far from funny, he knew that; he could very well die. 

Honerva frowned. “A curious response.” She keyed in the information to her tablet. “Hysteria may be a possible side effect of the current Oriande Serum.”

He snorted and doubled over in laughter. 

Sendak hit the chamber, sending it rocking. “What’s so funny, brat?”

Lance laughed, eyes full of tears. “You guys,” he said, “are hilarious.”

The way they looked at each other in confusion made it even funnier. 

“Here I thought you were the good guys,” Lance explained through his laughter. “And I thought Pidge was the bad guy, but it's the opposite,” he howled, crossing his arms pointing left with his right hand and right with his left. 

“I got totally duped,” he threw his hands in the air, “and now it’s like a legit superhero movie and I am in serious trouble.”

He couldn’t stop laughing. This kind of stuff only happened in fiction and here he was smack dab in the middle of a conspiracy and he was definitely going to die if he couldn’t escape. 

Honerva let loose a deep sigh. “Sendak, begin the extraction procedure. I want a sample to work with before I run more tests on the boy.”

“Of course.”

A split second later Lance was hit with a prick that felt an awful lot like the tranquilizer earlier. 

Tears of laughter turned into tears of sorrow. Pidge had been right; she’d changed without him realizing and he shut her out of his life because he let fear and anger consume him.

No one was coming for him. 

[timetogoslumming]

The Trip

The big, exciting, romantic dates stopped a few months into Davey’s relationship with Jack. When they first got together, it was all trips to the beach, concerts, art galleries, ice skating, and movies. They went well out of their ways to plan extravagant outings, and they were fun. But they were seated, at least from Davey’s view, in a deep insecurity. At least early on, it felt like if he wasn’t making every date the most exciting date of their relationship, Jack would wake up and realize how boring and unextraordinary he was and leave.

Things changed the day before they were supposed to go on an overnight trip to the lake. Davey woke up with a terrible stomach bug and had to cancel. Jack came over anyway and stayed with Davey all weekend. (He even ended up catching the bug so they were both miserable together.) They watched a marathon of Teen Mom without really feeling well enough to pay attention. It was background noise. Somehow, Jack managed to absorb all of it– years later, he could still list off the names of all of the teen moms, their babies’ names, and the names of the fathers.

Now, they had been together for several years. They were living together, but that was a recent development. It just made sense. Jack hadn’t gotten along with his last roommate and was constantly coming over to Davey’s studio apartment with no warning. Sometimes before Jack moved in, Davey would come home from class or work to find Jack sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table with newspaper spread across the table, painting.

Just after their third anniversary, Jack started acting differently. He spent long periods of time out of the apartment. He started making excuses when Davey asked where he had been. There was a part of Davey that was scared– not just scared. Terrified. But surprising even himself, he found that he trusted Jack enough not to let that part of himself take over.

Then Jack started to act weirder. He took Davey out to a field in the middle of nowhere one cloudy night. He took Davey to the zoo one night after they were already closed and they were turned away. He tried to take Davey on a ziplining canopy tour, until remembering how afraid Davey was of heights.

Davey came home on a Thursday afternoon and Jack was already home, even though he wasn’t supposed to get home for several hours. “What are you doing home?” Davey asked.

Jack glanced toward the corner, where several suitcases were stacked by the door. “We’re going on a trip,” he said. “Surprise.” He bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet.

“Where?”

“I, uh… rented a place in the mountains. I figured it’d be like a pre-graduation present.”

And so, they drove into the mountains. The cabin was small and rustic, but it was nice. There was a log fireplace in the living room, which was full of soft furniture covered in quilts and afghans. A hot tub waited out on the back deck and a small basket with muffins and wine sat on the kitchen counter. “Jack,” Davey said softly as he knelt down to examine the fireplace. “This is great.” Jack stared critically at a painting of a bear on the wall and didn’t answer. Davey didn’t have the eye for art that Jack did– to him, it was a perfectly good painting. But he could already hear Jack’s critique without him even having to say it. “Let’s go check out that hot tub.” That was enough to tear Jack away from the bear painting and he grinned.

“I’ll go get it ready!” He jumped over an ottoman and wrenched the sliding glass door open. Davey shook him head with a fond smile and went up to the upstairs loft to put their things away and get ready for the hot tub.

A few minutes later, he came out, carrying the bottle of wine and two glasses. Jack was kneeling by the control panel, using his phone as a flashlight. “I can’t get it to work,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Let me try,” Davey offered. He moved in next to Jack and studied the control panel before pressing a few buttons. There was no sign of life from the hot tub. They spent another ten minutes fighting with the hot tub before declaring it a bust. Jack looked deeply disappointed. “Come on,” Davey said. “They’ve got a bunch of movies in there.”

The next morning, they woke up to a torrential downpour. There was a skylight over the bed and Davey watched the rain hitting it heavily while he waited for Jack to wake up. Finally, Jack stirred and as soon as he realized that it was raining, his smile fell. “What?” Davey asked.

“It’s raining.”

“You like rain.”

“Yeah, but…” Jack grabbed his phone and angled it away so that Davey couldn’t see the screen. “I just sort of… had plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

Jack paused. “Uh, we had reservations. For a tour at this… bird thing? What’s it called? Like a zoo but just birds?”

“An aviary?”

“Yeah, that.”

Davey passed Jack his glasses from the shelf by the bed. “What’s going on with you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re acting weird.”

Jack’s face fell. “Are you not having fun?”

“No, I mean– no, I am having fun, hang on a minute. I just mean that you’ve been acting weird for a while. All these plans and reservations.”

Jack shrugged. “Just trying to be nice.”

Davey took out his laptop and started Googling activities in the area. There was a large brewery nearby that did tours, a cavern, a lot of hiking that was no longer an option, and even more ziplining. “Brewery tour?” Davey suggested. “And maybe that cavern if they’re open?”

They dressed and ran through the rain to the car, where Davey automatically took a spot in the driver’s seat. He was just starting the car when Jack jolted upright. “I forgot my phone!” he said before darting out of the car. As Davey watched his retreating form, he could see the outline of Jack’s phone in his back pocket.

Jack came back, slightly out of breath, and slid back into his seat. “Find your phone?” Davey asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

The brewery was situated on a river, which was rushing along the banks at an almost frightening speed and force. The parking lot was large, but theirs was the only car. “Uh, are they closed?” Jack asked.

Davey checked his phone. He sighed and rested his head against the steering wheel. “Closed Fridays,” he said.

With that, they drove around town trying to find a place to eat. They settled on a small Mom and Pop restaurant, where an ancient couple served them at a glacial pace. There was a stack of coloring pages and a Campbell’s soup can full of crayons, which Jack used to color the pages. Davey watched him work, blending colors and shading the picture of a family of ducks.

The food was mediocre but passable. They checked the hours of the cavern and confirmed that yes, they were open, and they would stay open, and they had space for two on a tour after lunch. Jack excused himself to go to the bathroom after the bill was paid and Davey picked up his jacket, which Jack had left behind. He decided to go wait in the car and reached into the pocket of Jack’s jacket for the keys. His hand brushed against something in the left pocket, and Davey pulled it from the pocket. In his hand, there was a small wooden box with a hinge. His heart flipped and he shoved the box hastily back into the pocket, immediately feeling a nervous sweat beginning to surface.

Of course, Jack took that moment to come out of the bathroom. He looked from Davey’s face to the jacket on his arm to Davey’s hand in the jacket pocket and turned bright red. Neither of them said anything. Jack stood by the bathroom door, frozen, while Davey slowly took his hand away from the pocket. “You left your jacket,” he stammered.

“Thanks,” Jack finally said, taking a few halting steps toward Davey. He took the jacket back and pulled the car keys from the other pocket.

They walked silently to the car. Inside, the radio played softly while they both sat in stunned silence. “I–” Jack started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Davey interrupted in a high, anxious voice. “Let’s go check out that cavern.” Jack nodded and stared at his lap.

The ride was awkward and long. Davey knew what was happening here. Worse, he knew that Jack knew that he knew. Jack’s leg shook nervously and he tapped his fingernails against the car door. The silence in the car was heavy, somehow managing to cover the radio playing in the background.

At the cavern, they joined a tour group and trailed along behind the group, neither of them listening very intently. It was a large cavern with occasional plaques attached to the stone walls. Stalagmites rose up like columns while stalagmites dripped mineral-rich water onto the path.

They were led into a large open area with a small, deep pond surrounded with bars. The tour guide announced that they would have a bit of free time to explore before heading back. Davey accompanied Jack to the pond, where they both leaned against the fence. Jack stared down into the dark water, biting the inside of his cheek. “You okay?” Davey asked. Jack shrugged. “Do you want to… uh… talk about it?”

“I just want it to be the right time,” Jack said quietly. “Things keep getting messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“The aviary,” he replied. “And that ziplining… that was a bad idea. And that one night in the field, there was supposed to be a meteor shower but it was too cloudy. And someone was supposed to let us into the zoo after hours but they didn’t show up…”

“You’ve been planning for that long?” Jack nodded. “Jack, come on. It doesn’t need to be some huge thing.” Neither of them had said out loud what they both knew was happening. Saying it out loud would make things too solid.

The tour guide called them to order and the conversation was cut off. Jack’s shoulders slumped as they walked. Periodically, Davey would try to strike up a whispered conversation but Jack always shook his head.

When they made it out, the tour guide directed the group toward the gift shop, but Davey took Jack’s hand and pulled him back outside into the rain. There was a gazebo near the parking lot, which he led Jack to. As soon as they were out of the rain, Davey rounded on Jack. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. Jack was obviously embarrassed. He trailed his toe along the lines of the wood floor, staring down at the ground. Davey was hyper aware of the outline of the box in the pocket of Jack’s rain jacket. “Just ask.”

“Not here,” Jack said. “It’s raining, and we’re practically in a parking lot…”

Frustrated, Davey grabbed his shoulders and turned Jack around so that he was facing the mountains. “There. Now you can’t see it. Just ask me.”

“You don’t want–”

“Yes, I do.”

Hope flickered through Jack’s eyes. “You want to?” he asked. “Really?”

“You have to ask.” Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. He flipped the lid open, revealing a shining gold ring with Elvish script circling the band. “You got me the One Ring?” Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Are you going to ask, or what?”

“Fine,” Jack groaned. “God. Will you ma– oh, wait.” He dropped down to one knee, a little too quickly, and winced when his knee hit the floor.

“Are you okay?” Davey asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, uh. Will you marry me?” Davey stayed quiet for a minute. He took out his phone and pointed it at Jack. “What are you doing?”

“Sending Sarah and Spot a picture,” Davey replied.

Jack scowled. “Can you not right now?”

“Yeah, I’ll marry you.” Davey reached for Jack’s hand and pulled him to his feet. As soon as he was straightened up, Jack threw the hand holding the ring box around Davey, pulling him in for a crushing kiss. As he swung his arm, they heard something hit the ground and roll.

“Wait, shit,” Jack cursed. He pulled away and chased after the ring, which had fallen from the box and was rolling in a wide arc across the floor of the gazebo. He caught it and held it out. “Want this?” Davey took the ring and put it on. It was slightly too large, but that was easily fixed. “Looks good.”

Davey admired it for a moment, tracing the Elvish lettering with his thumb. His head snapped up, looking at Jack. “You were going to propose while ziplining?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied with a laugh. “I was going to sort of yell it while we were going.”

“I would have said no. And you would have dropped the ring into a gorge or something.”

“Probably.”

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Leatherwing Rating: K+ Genre: Angst, Friendship Characters: Héctor, Chicharrón, original characters Warnings: Mentions of minor character death, BRIEF suicidal thoughts, minor violence. Description: Not everyone has a spirit guide in the land of the dead; they only appear to those who truly need guidance, and who are willing to listen to that guidance once they understand. And many years ago, there was a time when Héctor met those qualifications. View all chapters here!

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Chapter 6: Fly Summary: In which Héctor makes a mistake.

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Settling into Shantytown was both easier and harder than Héctor had expected.

He was quick to find a home—an old, one-room shack northwest of the front gate, at the far end of town. At first he was grateful, until he got a better look at the thing—the roof had holes in it that would need to be patched, and it had a lovely “window” that was, in actuality, a hole that had gotten knocked into the wall that was covered by a plastic curtain. Still, it was better than nothing.

Then he made the mistake of mentioning how lucky it was they had a spare house. Everyone went silent, some of them clearing their throats awkwardly, before the subject was changed. Héctor mentioned the odd behavior to Chicharrón later, and the old man clicked his nonexistent tongue.

“That was Alejandra’s house.”

“Oh.” Héctor rubbed his wrist. “Did she… move out?”

Chicharrón fixed him with a hard look, and then he realized—this was the land of the nearly-forgotten.

“Oh… ay, dios!” He covered his face in his hands, and Pizzicato fluttered up over his head, alarmed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?! I shouldn’t—”

“It’s all right,” the old man said, stomping his way back into his house. “It’s what we have to do.”

If he’d meant those words as a comfort, Héctor didn’t take them that way. He couldn’t shake the thought that he could move in… because someone else had disappeared. When Pizzicato landed on the side of his face, he shook his head. “They’re all on the edge of it, Pizzicato,” he murmured. “All on the verge of…”

Peep! The bat’s tongue flicked against his cheekbone.

He shuddered, and shook himself bodily. “Right. I shouldn’t think about it that way.” Hearing laughter ring from another corner of the town, where a fire roared and music played, he managed a smile. “I mean… they don’t.”

In spite of the reminders of death (first and final) all around them, the town never wavered in its joy. It seemed near-relentless in that aspect, as though if they let themselves down for too long, they would never get up again. People held parties and games, shared what little they had, and constantly helped each other out. And, honestly, it worked.

For a time.

One night, as Héctor sat around with his “new” guitar (a worn-out old thing he’d gotten from Tío Eduardo) and several new friends (Primo Lorenzo, Primo Estefan, Prima Violeta, Tía Gloria, and Tío Carlos—he always made an effort to learn their names), a flicker of gold appeared among them that had nothing to do with the fire they sat around. Prima Violeta nearly tipped sideways off her stool, Lorenzo holding her up and looking at her in alarm. All at once the joy was gone. The others rushed to her side, Estefan calling out for others to come and help.

Héctor, meanwhile, found his guitar slipping out of his hands and clattering to the ground. Pizzicato was nudging and licking his cheekbone and squeaking, but she didn’t register. All he could see was the memory of his father, collapsing to the floor of the old living room, his bones shimmering gold.

A sharp pinch of pain brought him out of his trance, and he yelped, pulling Pizzicato away from his face. The bat looked pointedly from him to the woman on the ground, and whimpered. He followed her gaze.

“P-prima…?” he stammered, taking a hesitant step closer. Even though he’d only known her for a month, seeing her like this was…

Violeta smiled weakly up at him as Lorenzo held her up and ran a hand through her hair—hair that never got a chance to turn gray. “Lo siento, cousin,” she said. “Guess I didn’t get to hear as much of your music as I’d hoped.” Her body shimmered as another attack seized her, and her smile fell, her teeth grit.

Hearing the plucking of guitar strings behind him, Héctor hastily turned around. He grabbed the guitar (Pizzicato had to quickly flutter off when it was picked up) before he lifted it up and began to strum. Though his hands threatened to tremble, he did his best to keep them steady as he played for her. He couldn’t find his voice in that moment, but the others filled in for him, a couple of them singing along while the others hummed.

Moments later, before they even had time to finish, there was nothing atop the stool but a ragged pile of clothing.

Héctor could say nothing, dragging himself away from the scene and leaning against the nearest wall that wouldn’t give way. Pizzicato hovered over him as he stared down at his hands—at the carpals and metacarpals and phalanges that remained a threatening yellow-gray.

Something seemed to lightly poke at his feet, and out of the corner of his eye he could see an orange-and-blue glow beneath him. Immediately after he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry,” he said quickly, before Lorenzo could speak. “I-I couldn’t… I had…”

“It’s okay.” His voice had a rough edge to it, but he seemed to hold himself together. “It’s… never easy. Especially the first time.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Héctor said, and swallowed, clenching his fists. He still found himself staring down at them as he unclenched them, then clenched them again.

Lorenzo followed his gaze. “You’ve still got a while.”

“No…” He drew in a shuddering breath, and looked up, holding his hand out to Pizzicato. “I’ve got no time to waste.”

---

The next Dia de Muertos, his plans for bridge-crossing got a tad weirder. This time they involved slightly more illegal activities, such as sneaking around below the bridge platform. He’d considered doing it before, but the only thing holding him back had been not wanting to soil his reputation for potential employers. Now, however, he had nothing to lose. So long as he didn’t actually hurt anyone, he shouldn’t be in jail for too long. Jail could only be a minor setback, now, rather than something that could destroy his opportunities for a job.

Sneaking below the bridge went about as well as anyone could expect, however. While he initially made it past the guards, they easily spotted him trying to scale the wall, and he slipped and fell in a panic. Pizzicato snagged his shirt and beat her wings in a vain effort to lift him up, and he felt something slam into his back. To his surprise, however, it was not the ground, but a giant, flying snake that had swooped up beneath him. He had to laugh at Pizzicato’s joyful expression when she thought her efforts were actually doing something… right before she spotted the giant alebrije holding him up, at which point her yellow eyes narrowed.

Still, they were grateful to the alebrije for helping them, up until it deposited them back on solid ground, directly in front of a pair of security guards.

Spending the rest of the day in a cell wasn’t too bad, all things considered. More importantly, it did nothing to deter them from further attempts. If anything, it fueled them.

Chicharrón found him a few weeks later drafting up plans for another attempt. “You just got outta jail! What’re you doing, planning another harebrained attempt like that?” he cried, jabbing his cane at Héctor accusingly. It looked like the only thing preventing him from outright striking him in the head was the bat that hovered angrily nearby.

Héctor only gave him a crooked smile. “Pshaw, what’re they gonna do? Throw me in jail again?”

The old man drew in a breath, looking like he was about to respond, only to stamp his cane against the floor and growl. “Well don’t expect me to help you with this… this…!” With a sound of disgust, he hobbled away.

He did, of course, help Héctor with his schemes on a number of occasions (after a lot of begging, pleading, and promising to return borrowed items). He was not alone in this, either—many of Shantytown’s residents would lend him items to help if he asked nicely enough, but sometimes they just did not have the items he needed.

One year, after digging through his Prima Alejandra’s closet (with her permission), he found that all of the clothing articles were simply too old and ragged to pass for what he needed. “Gracias, prima,” he said with a smile, only to let out a heavy sigh when he stepped out of her bungalow. “Guess we’ll have to make a new plan, Pizzicato.”

But Pizzicato was not there. Instead she was fluttering away from him, out through Shantytown’s gates. Confused, he followed along, surprised when she led him up through the lower levels and back to the Arts District, where he used to frequent.

Ceci, it turned out, was one of a handful of people outside of Shantytown who would still begrudgingly help him whenever he asked. She had found great success, now helping to create the wardrobes for many dead celebrities (Ernesto, unfortunately, included), and finally had a studio of her own.

Of course, she wouldn’t merely help him for free—Héctor found himself running errands for her, and occasionally helping out others around the district. Not that he minded. It gave him an excuse to hang around outside of Shantytown occasionally, and more things to do other than manically drafting up plans for Dia de Muertos every year. Pizzicato was good at finding him places to go to, people he could connect with. It was never anyone who could offer him a job, but folks he could talk to, or who he could do favors for in exchange for providing him with items he needed.

Even so, they didn’t spend all their time running errands in the Arts District. Héctor still enjoyed being with his Shantytown family, and still got use out of the old guitar his Tío Eduardo had traded him. Though he never busked in the upper towers anymore, he would gladly play requests for his family.

And no one there requested that song, for obvious reasons.

But as much as he enjoyed being with his Shantytown family, another family weighed constantly on his mind—a family that was still on the other side of the bridge. No matter how much he came to love the Nearly Forgotten that surrounded him… every time the golden shimmers seized a prima or a tío, every time another soul faded to dust, every time he glimpsed his own graying bones…

He would remember that his own time was limited, and he would retreat into his shack, and go back to preparing for his next plan.

But there was another thought that occurred to him many years later, when he caught sight of a calendar in Ceci’s studio:

He wasn’t the only one whose time was limited.

---

Héctor paced around his tiny shack, Pizzicato fluttering over his head in dizzying circles. “What am I going to do, amiga?” he cried for what was probably the fourth time, and bit into one of his knuckles. “Seventy… ay, she’s going to be seventy this year! And… and this is no place for her!”

With a groan, he threw himself back into his hammock, which immediately tipped and dumped him out backwards. He found himself with his feet still atop the hammock, his back and head on the floor, staring up at the bat alebrije hovering over his head. “This is no bed for her, either,” he mumbled.

Peep… Pizzicato landed on his chest, careful to avoid his bad rib (one he’d broken a few years back, that had never healed). Automatically he reached up to stroke her smooth shell, closing his eyes as he mulled over the dilemma.

It was true that he didn’t know when Imelda would die. Even in his loneliest moments, he would never wish an early death upon her. And while it was very much possible that she could live for another few decades yet, seventy was not young. Even if he was sure she hadn’t lost a hint of her beauty.

I wonder how she looks, now, he thought, wincing against the pang in his chest cavity.

“She’ll be remembered, though, when she comes… I hope,” he murmured. “Maybe she has that shoemaker job she wanted, and she could teach me. My own wife can’t deny me a job, right?” He tipped his head to give a hopeful grin to Pizzicato, who licked his nose. He laughed softly, then sighed, letting his head fall back with a clunk.

“I’ve got to do something, Pizzicato,” Héctor said. “I can’t just show up like this.” He gestured vaguely, as though to indicate his entire self. His bones were as gray as ever (though they hadn’t gotten much worse than when he’d first joined Shantytown), and his clothing was ragged and torn as could be.

The bat flicked her ear-wings this way and that, and carefully fluttered off of him, hesitating for a moment before hovering over to the door of his shack. Confused, he struggled to his feet, watching as she looked from the door to him a few times—she wanted him to follow her.

Even if there were a few times Héctor didn’t like to acknowledge it, Pizzicato rarely led him wrong. Without another word, he followed her as she led him out of his shack, out of Shantytown, and back to the upper levels of the tower.

---

Héctor grinned widely, in spite of the look Chicharrón gave him. “Eh? Muy guapo, right?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Chicharrón asked, narrowing his eyes at the old, blush charro suit Héctor was wearing.

“Fine, you don’t have to,” Héctor went on, still grinning as he put his hands on his hips. “I know someone who will think so.”

The old man glanced somewhere over Héctor’s shoulder. “She doesn’t count. She doesn’t even wear clothes.”

“Uh—wait what…?!” Héctor took a step back, blinking and scratching his head. “Wait, no, that’s… she doesn’t… uh…?” Following Chicharrón’s gaze, however, he found the man was looking at Pizzicato, who was hovering around above his shoulder. Dropping his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is not what I meant.”

Peep!

“Where did you even get that thing?”

Rubbing his right wrist, Héctor grinned sheepishly. “Oh, you know… I just… let’s just say I owe someone… a few dozen favors.” Of course, a few dozen was rounding it down, but he didn’t care.

Chicharrón cocked a brow-bone. “Wha’d’you need a fancy thing like that for?”

Pizzicato finally perched on the side of his face, careful to not let her claws snag his new suit. He reached a hand up to stroke her shell for a moment before answering. “I’ve… been counting the years,” he admitted, “and… Imelda’s in her seventies, now.”

“Sí. And?

Héctor sighed. “If… if I can make this last a few years…” He paused again, then shook himself, dislodging the alebrije from his face. She fluttered back into the air, watching him carefully. “I-I want something nice to wear. For her. When she gets here.”

“How do you know it won’t wear out before she gets here?”

“Ah, I won’t be wearing it all the time,” he said, brushing a spot of dirt off of the side. “In fact, I won’t wear it at all—not until she gets here. I’ll keep it nice.”

Even then, Chicharrón still looked unimpressed. “Why pink, anyway?”

Shrugging, Héctor shook his head. “Eh, pink, blush, ay… I can’t remember if it was exactly this color, but I think it’s close enough to the one I wore, when—” He stopped short, swallowing. “When I left.”

“So what?”

“Maybe if I wear it, play her song…” Finally he was smiling again, as he thought it over, the chords to Poco Loco already playing in his mind. “It’ll be like I haven’t been gone at all.”

To his surprise, Chicharrón rolled his eyes. “Pshaw. After what, fifty years?” He frowned, giving Héctor a serious look that made him feel small. “You really think that’s what she’ll be thinking when you show up after she arrives?”

Well, when he put it that way… it did feel sort of dumb. Even so, he looked back at Pizzicato, who lighted on his shoulder and nuzzled his jaw. “It’s… worth a shot?”

Chicharrón stared at him for a moment longer, and sighed, leaning against his cane and staring down at it. “You’re really hopin’ this’ll work, huh?”

“Of course!” Héctor managed a smile, even as darker thoughts clawed in the back of his mind. “I mean, if this doesn’t work, what will?”

For another moment the old man was quiet, rubbing his thumbs against the cane, before eying Héctor again with a frown. “Well unless you’re expecting your wife to drop dead of a heart attack in the next few minutes, get that dumb thing off of you.”

And get out of my house, was the additional implication, further clarified when the man furrowed his brow.

“Uh, right! Adios, Cheech!” With that, Héctor scrambled out of the bungalow, and proceeded to creep carefully through the town, mindful of rotten planks and any other hazards that might potentially ruin the suit.

“He’s being too pessimistic,” he grumbled at one point, as Pizzicato flew alongside him. “I think it’ll be fine, don’t you?”

When the bat gave him a cocked head and what looked like a concerned look in return, he sighed, his voice softening. “They’re all I can think about, Pizzicato,” he said. “My Imelda and my Coco… They probably have an even bigger family now, but… they probably still miss me, don’t you think?”

They were nearing his shack now, and Pizzicato responded by swooping into it. Moments later, he could hear the faint sound of guitar strings being plucked, and laughed. “Okay, okay. Let me get out of this suit first, and we’ll play some music, eh?”

And so they did, Héctor playing Poco Loco as Pizzicato weaved around, filling their little shack with bursts and ribbons of color. As he played, he looked up into the colors, imagining Imelda and Coco sitting beside him. Though with a pain in his heart he knew they were much older now, he still saw them the way they looked when he left, as best as he could remember them—Imelda being twenty-two years old, and Coco being four. If he closed his eyes, he could see—feel Imelda leaning against him, enjoying the sound of his music, while Coco stood up and danced around beneath the streams of color, trying to jump up to grab them.

Papá! Papá! Come dance with me!

Standing up, he opened his eyes, and the music faltered as the image melted away. So too, then, did the colorful flourishes that had, moments ago, filled the air.

“…Oh. Right.” Slowly Héctor sank back down onto the edge of his hammock. Pizzicato was immediately at the side of his face, licking his cheek, but he brushed her off. “No, no, it’s all right, amiga,” he said, plucking at the strings of his guitar once more. They came out haltingly at first, but soon he was back into his rhythm, this time playing a slower song he’d written—A Feeling—instead. “They aren’t here yet, but… they will be, someday.”

Someday, indeed, but that someday could be this year, next year, or ten years off. But when that day finally came… he would be ready for it.

---

It was not, however, that year. Dia de Muertos passed, and he spent the night in a jail cell for trying to sneak past the guards again.

Nor was in the next year, when after the holiday he spent an entire week in a cell for “accidentally” breaking one of the new scanners.

Nor was it even the year after that, when he’d actually managed to avoid being jailed (at the cost of running away, badly clipping a fence, and losing a floating rib).

But the year after that…

Héctor had had a particularly rough day the day prior, having been chased out of a shop by an angry shopkeeper (he’d been accused of harassing a woman—which wasn’t the case, he had only been asking for directions), gotten the package stolen that he had been trying to deliver for Ceci, and gotten chewed out by the seamstress herself (for a very good reason), who told him she was not going to let him do any more deliveries for her in the future. Now he was lying in his hammock, though it was already midday. Pizzicato had tried to get him up without much success, and now hung from the ropes on the opposite end, waiting patiently, while Héctor considered staying there for the rest of the day.

And then he felt it.

It was not near as intense as the first time he’d felt it a few decades prior, but it was unmistakable as he felt a sudden spike of anxiety that quickly faded, replaced with a harsh, physical pain where his heart used to be. As quickly as it had come, however, the pain disappeared, only leaving him with the vague sensation that something had changed.

Something had happened.

Héctor sat upright, his hands clutching his chest, as Pizzicato leaped off her perch with an energetic buzz-flap. He looked up at her, his smile wobbling, unsure if this was an appropriate time for joy, given what the feeling he’d just experienced signified.

Ultimately, the joy won out over any uncertainty, and Héctor leaped out of his hammock with the loudest grito he’d belted out in decades. He could hear the faint voices of startled Shantytowners outside, but he didn’t care, bolting out of his shack as fast as his legs would carry him.

Peep! PEEP!

Wait, no. Not yet! Laughing and ignoring the bewildered stares of his primos and tías and others, he skidded to a halt and rushed back into his shack, scrambling to find the charro suit he’d kept preserved over the years, that he’d managed to avoid getting wrecked in the terrible flood two years ago. Frantically he put it on, nearly wearing the pants backwards at first, before running out of the house once again.

PEEP!

Skidding to another stop, he wondered what he’d forgotten this time, only to have his question answered by the plucking of strings. Right! Shaking his head, he bolted back into the house, tripped through the doorway, and crashed to the ground in a cascade of bones. Yet the whole time he found himself laughing, too giddy to care as he pulled himself back together, straightened his suit, slipped his guitar over his shoulders, and ran.

“Cousin Héctor, where are you going?” “What’s the rush, primo?” “Wait, is it—?!”

“It’s my wife!” he shouted, loud enough for anyone in the town to hear him as he ran. “I’m going to see my wife!”

PEEP!

And Pizzicato was right behind him, beating her wings frantically to keep up. It was a long, long distance from the far corner of Shantytown up to the higher parts of the towers and to the Department of Family Reunions, but Héctor felt like he may have had wings just like the bat that flew behind him, feeling lighter even than the tiny alebrije he could hold in one hand, because after years and years, decades and decades, he was finally going to see her again.

Imelda had finally arrived.

---

Héctor’s entire body felt heavier than the whole of the Land of the Dead, with all its towers and skyscrapers sitting upon the endless sea of oblivion.

Señor, please step away.

He could barely will one foot to move in front of the other. Occasional nudges from Pizzicato reminded him how to walk. Otherwise, the bat was eerily silent, the beating of her wings the only thing to remind him that she even still existed.

Señora, por favor, calm down—

His mind had gone near-blank, the faint echoes of moments ago still ringing through the emptiness. It had all happened so quickly, yet at the same time it felt like he’d rushed out of Shantytown a lifetime ago.

Someone get that alebrije out of here!

He had only the vaguest memories of a massive, monstrous creature that had somehow appeared just outside the door, all fangs and feathers and claws, though it had never touched him. It hadn’t needed to.

Por favor, put your shoe back on—

His right arm hung limp at his side, and he made no efforts to try to move it. He could not immediately recall why he was doing this, but he was not going to question it.

Someone—ugh!—someone call security in, please!

But the thing he could still remember most clearly were those eyes—the same eyes he’d seen watching him shyly as he played his guitar in the sunny plaza of Santa Cecilia, the eyes he had stared into as he held out the ring, the same eyes that had gazed down lovingly at the beautiful girl they’d created together—were narrowed in recognition, in fury.

In hate.

I never, ever want to see you again.

It was a long, long walk back to Shantytown.

---

No one approached him when he finally returned. While he kept his gaze on the rotting boardwalk below him, he could see out of the corner of his eye that anyone who was still out and about was giving him a great deal of space. He wasn’t sure if they were doing it on their own, or because Pizzicato was doing something to keep them away, and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not either way.

He wasn’t sure of much of anything right now.

Slowly, slowly he made his way back into the shack that he’d bolted out of so joyfully several hours ago. And then… he stood there, not knowing what else to do.

His hammock hung in one corner, but he had no desire to sleep. He had a single chair and a crate that served as a table, but what point was there in drafting up new songs or new plans? He had a small stash of drinks hidden beneath a pile of junk in the corner, but he wasn’t sure he had the will to fish them out right now.

Peep.

There was no energy to the bat’s voice as she hung from something on his back—her voice was dull and tired, and he briefly wondered if she felt as numb as he did. Well, numb except for the ache in his legs—he’d been on his feet for hours now.

With a shuddering sigh, he moved to sit on his hammock, only to pause when he felt something bulky get in the way, and he remembered he still had his guitar strapped to his back.

Héctor reached back to pull it off, only to cry out when a horrid, sharp pain shot through his right arm.

The sound was so loud, like a beam snapping, and the attendants were immediately behind them, pulling them away from each other.

It was broken—she’d broken it, and dios, it hurt worse than his broken rib. He quickly gripped it with his other hand, hissing in breaths through his gritted teeth as he waited, waited for the pain to fade, but it hurt—it hurt—

His breaths came quicker, heavier, his rib cage heaving, and before he knew it he was sliding down to the floor, succumbing to tears. He couldn’t stop himself, and didn’t even make the attempt.

Moments later a soft, small presence lighted on his good shoulder, gently licking at his face. He didn’t reach up to pet her, as he usually did, nor did he try to speak.

Together they sat, Héctor weeping through a pain he hadn’t known since losing his parents, and Pizzicato trying to comfort him as best as she could.

It felt like hours before Héctor finally managed to calm down enough to think, feeling thoroughly exhausted and not much better. “Wh-why would this happen, Pizzicato…?” he managed to stammer, his voice shaky and hoarse.

The bat whined, nosing his cheekbone and licking it again.

Not that he didn’t already know, anyway—Imelda had laid it out quite plainly to him. He hadn’t come back then, so why would he come back now? It didn’t matter that he’d tried to explain that he’d died—she wouldn’t hear a word. And then when she’d noticed the guitar…

You can leave your familia, but you still can’t leave without that thing?! Why did I ever—

He shuddered, reaching back with his left arm to unhook the guitar strap, letting the instrument drop to the floor behind him. Pizzicato let out a concerned whimper.

“I tried, Imelda,” he whispered, curling in on himself, gingerly tucking his broken arm closer to his chest. “I tried to come home.”

For a long while he sat still, pressing his head into his knees, while Pizzicato still sat atop his shoulder. Eventually she gave a gentle peep, hopping into the air and hovering over his hammock. He lifted his head to watch for a moment before easing himself upright, prepared to follow his alebrije’s guiding as usual.

And then he stopped, staring up at her.

Guiding.

Pizzicato had been the one guiding him for all these years, the one who he’d relied on throughout most of his afterlife, the one he’d spoken to about his family every day. She knew how much he missed them. She knew how much he wanted to see them again. And yet...

“Y-you…” he said, his voice a weak croak as the thought rolled through his head. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

Pizzicato’s ears folded, and she moved a few inches back.

The confirmation was like a blow to his chest, which was already hurting from the crying and the heartache. His frame trembled, and he lowered his head, holding a hand to his face. “You knew.”

It suddenly made sense—nearly every time he’d mentioned his family to her, she would go quiet, or look away. Whenever he tried to cross the bridge, there was always a reluctance to how she followed him. And even today, when he’d rushed off to see Imelda…

She knew. She knew from the beginning that his family did not want him. That his Imelda did not miss him. That this attempt would end in disaster.

All this time she’d been leading him, guiding him, all while knowing exactly where he would end up.

Before he realized what he was doing, he lunged to grab at her, and a second later found himself falling into his hammock, his bad arm pinned between his body and the rough material. “UGH!” he cried, struggling back to his feet, the pain in his arm and shoulder now only serving to fuel his anger.

Pizzicato was now hovering on the opposite side of his shack, her movements panicked and erratic. He rushed at her again, snarling when she fluttered out of his reach. “How could you do this to me?!” he cried, and she gave an alarmed squeak. “You’re supposed to guide me!”

He went for another grab, but this time she darted up to the ceiling, hooking herself there and curling up. “You took me to a bridge I can’t cross, and down to these slums, and to—!” His voice cracked, and for a moment the anger left him as he covered his face, trembling as he fought the urge to sob again.

Shuffling noises from the ceiling turned to the sound of a faint buzz-flap, ending in a plaintive peep.

And the plucking of guitar strings.

Uncovering his face, Héctor turned to see Pizzicato sitting atop his guitar, her ears folded, her eyes pleading. He looked from the little alebrije to the discarded instrument, and slowly he approached it, crouching down as he stared at the guitar.

You can leave your familia, but you still can’t leave without that thing?!

Why did I ever marry a musician?

His rib cage heaved as he reached out with his good arm, taking hold of the guitar’s neck as he stood upright. Face twisting into an ugly snarl, Héctor lifted the guitar over his shoulder and swung it at the ground, hard—

—not noticing the alebrije still clinging to it.

The resulting cacophony exploded around him as the guitar crashed against the ground in a shower of splintered wood and screech of clashing strings. But even above that noise was a simultaneous, deafening SHRIEK, followed by a frantic flapping of leathery wings. Héctor staggered back as the tiny form that suddenly seemed too dangerous for its size flew erratically around the shack, alternatively screeching and growling. A moment later, it tore past the curtain covering the doorway, and all at once Héctor realized what he’d done.

“W-wait, wait, no! Pizzicato!” he cried, moving to bolt after her. Immediately he stepped on a piece of broken wood, which slid out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. “AGH! N-no! Pizzicato, come back! I’m sorry!” Frantically he pulled himself back together, ignoring the pain in his arm as he pushed himself upright and rushed to the door. “PIZZICATO!”

But the bat was already far, far from the shack, her dark form barely visible as it danced away through the night sky.

[vickyvicarious]

max, johnny, and the very important mission (bmw 2)

bullymagnet week, day two: heist

Since the plan is to make one cohesive story out of these, I’d suggest reading day one first.

.

“Mr. Spender, I need your help!”

It’s not exactly unusual for one of the Activity Club members to come bursting into the room with a dramatic one-liner. Actually, it’s probably far weirder for any of them to make their presence known like normal people, but Max usually does his best to bring down the curve on this one. Pair that up with his reluctance to ask for help in general, and… he would’ve expected more of a reaction, honestly.

“Oh, good afternoon, Max,” Spender mutters, flipping a page of his magazine. He doesn’t even bother to look up. “Yes, your pop quiz was a little below normal for you.”

“I’ve only been here like a week, you don’t know my normal,” Max retorts, frustrated. “Not that I ever expect to see ‘normal’ again… But, anyway, this isn’t about school!”

At this, Spender does perk up. “A spirit? Report!”

“…Not a spirit, per se,” Max shrugs. “More of a… Starchman situation?”

“STARCH-SIT!” Ed bursts into the room, followed by Isabel twirling her new umbrella around her wrist with a fierce grin. As Ed continues talking, he and she begin spontaneously fencing with their tools, leaving Isaac blocked in the doorway, scowling. “Man, I love those! What was it this time? Quoteathon? The Great Tremble? Oh, did he bring out The Noodle?”

“What? No. No. What is that stuff? No.” Max sighs, turning back to Spender. “He confiscated something that belongs to me, can you help me get it back?”

Ed just laughs mysteriously.

“Max! How could you lose y–” Cutting himself off with a quick glance to Isabel, Spender changes tacks with a sigh: “What did you do to make him confiscate your tool? Were you magnetizing things in class?”

“No. It’s weird enough that I’ve been carrying a baseball bat around everywhere, you really think I’m gonna draw attention to it like a numbskull?” The looks Max gets suggest that yes, everyone does think exactly that. Jerks, the lot of them.

“Well, your pop quiz suggests – ”

“There was a spirit on my desk eating that test! You saw it! You sparkled at it!”

“The fact remains, even Isaac gets good grades with spirits around.” The boy still trapped in the doorway perks up a little, until Spender continues, “Well, not in art.”

“Heh.” Max can’t help snickering at that one, despite the betrayed look Isaac shoots him. But he’s quick to get back on track – this is a serious matter, after all. “I only said I don’t really like The Hobbit, can you just help me get my property back?”

Spender sighs again, with feeling.

“Who doesn’t like The Hobbit, Max?” He shakes his head despairingly, and Max rolls his eyes. So sue him for preferring sci-fi. “I really shouldn’t encourage so much flaunting of the school rules – Isabel, your turn to watch the security cameras. I suppose I’ll be busy walking young Max down to the office to plead his case…”

“Max has his bat,” Isaac points out.

“Yes, it’s really not a good idea to separate a new spectral from their tool for long, we all know that Isaac – wait. You do have your bat.”

“I never said he took my bat,” Max grumbles, glaring at Isaac. There’s a stupid triumphant glint in his eyes; Max is totally going to remember how petty he is. He’ll be twice as petty back over this. “He took my hat! I need it back!”

As one, everyone turns to him with silent, yet expressive faces.

Do you really think I, a Teacher, would stand against the ancient teacherly art of Confiscation unless a tool were involved? Spender asks.

Gee, Max, that’s lame. Never knew you were so lame. It’s just a stupid hat, Isabel opines.

I wonder if I made a paint oven, could I cook a spectral potato? Hot potato hot! …Ed.

Ha ha ha that’ll show you, don’t make fun of my dumb drawings ha ha ha I win, gloats Isaac.

“Fine! I don’t need your help anyway!” Max yells, and storms out of the room.

The problem is, he doesn’t even know where Starchman keeps the stuff he confiscates. Normally the teacher’s desk would be a good bet, but this is Starchman. Max vaguely recalls a treasure chest his first day. The English teacher is way too terrifying to just ask for his hat back, and there’s no way he’s just waiting around until he manages to earn twenty-five stars to get it back.

Honestly, he’s not sure if it even counts as confiscation when you require students to pay you to get their stuff back, but the stars aren’t actually real money. Even if no one seems to ever remember that fact. Even the vending machine by the cafeteria accepts them, to say nothing of that school store.

Maybe, if it were just a matter of a day or two, Max would be willing to grit his teeth and wait it out… but collecting twenty-five stars would by all indications take a lot more time and effort. No, there’s got to be some way he can steal it back…

“Ow!”

Even though Max is the one who ends up knocked to the ground, Johnny gets mad. And he wasn’t even the one Max bumped into.

“Ollie,” the bully snarls, cracking his fists with that signature menacing grin, “what little punk dares to bump into my friend?”

The big lug blinks contemplatively down at Max, who rolls his eyes.

“He’s a nerd,” he decides.

“A nerd?!” Johnny’s voice gets more than a little bit insane, his grin ratcheting wider. Max can hear those tires screeching again. “Y’boys know how I feel ‘bout nerds.”

“You wish some of them actually wore suspenders ‘cuz snapping them seems like it’d be fun,” Stephen contributes with a grin, Ollie and RJ nodding seriously.

“No, not that feel, the mean feel!”

“I mean, that feel’s kinda mean too,” Max interjects.

“Yeah, Puckett, but it’s not like punch mean, you get me?” Johnny does a double-take. “Wait. Max?”

All of a sudden, Max finds himself lifted to his feet, brushed off in like fifteen different directions by what feels suspiciously more like nine arms than eight (a ghost?), and his right hand receives another weird Johnny slap-biff-punch-shake-clasp greeting. He’s fairly certain it’s not the same one as last time, but he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s moved up in Johnny’s book, or if they’re both just completely random. At the end, Johnny just stands there, giving him this weird stare.

“You look different, man,” Stephen says.

“Yeah, that’s cause Starchman confiscated my hat,” Max snarls, rage returning as he remembers the injustice done to him. “That thing is basically part of my head!”

“Oooooooh,” Johnny’s gang agree. “Yeah, that’s it. You look naked, dude.”

“You look like a nerd,” Johhny says. “That’s just not right.”

“I thought you thought I was a nerd, though? I mean… you broke into my house to call me one in the middle of the night only like a couple days ago.” Max hoists his heavily-graffitied cast as proof.

“Y-yeah,” Johnny says, cheeks flushing. “But. You don’t normally look like a nerd. Yer all… stealth-nerd. Normally.”

“Did. Did you just say my hat makes me look cool.”

“T-this kid needs a hat, stat!” Johnny roars, and leaps at RJ, trying to tug off their hood. “RJ, c’mon, it’s a sacrifice for the greater good! Gotta cover his, his stupid, uh bald head. Yeah!”

…That sounds like a yes.

Max ducks his head, scratching at his hair, grinning a little. When he looks up, it’s to Johnny staring at him again, frozen, with one hand in RJ’s mouth and the other hovering mid-air.

“W-what?”

“……Nothun’. Ollie, Stephen: extraction.” The two boys help Johnny to prise his hand out of RJ’s mouth, a task that takes a couple of minutes. They all act like this is usual stuff for them, but Max is very concerned about what this implies for RJ’s bite strength, and makes a note not to touch the hood any time soon.

Still, Johnny’s got a point. Max needs a hat. Not just any hat. He needs the hat his mom gave him, the one that makes him look cool. And, well, he was just thinking about how hard it would be to do this alone…

“Johnny,” he says carefully, well aware that maybe this counts as making a deal with the devil or whatever. “Johnny, uh, do you want to steal back my hat with me?”

Johnny’s face is – yeah. Definitely the devil.

“Do I ever, MAX,” he exclaims, suddenly at his side, arm clasped over his shoulders. “Do. I. Ev-arr. Yes! Yes Max I EVER SO DO -”

“Great we got it you like crime,” Max mutters, trying to at least pretend like he regrets this decision.

Twenty minutes later, after one strategy meeting, one hoist into the vents, ten minutes getting lost in the vents, and one spent hovering in the ceiling trying to think of a cool way to jump down without bumping his cast. After some frantic hiding beneath the desk and a lot of attempts at lockpicking the treasure chest and Johnny finally just kicking the lock off with a roar that brings Mr. Starchman back into the room moustache a-tremble and wielding what Max realizes in horror must be The Noodle -

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself bolting down a stairwell, screaming in mutual terror with Johnny at his side, when their escape is foiled by Cody, Violet, and Jeff walking up the steps chatting. The only free space next to them is filled up by a small spectral goat on two hooves wearing a ridiculously huge backpack, so there’s no way through. Well, on the steps anyway, but Max manages to leap up and rebound off the wall, flipping over them and landing in the hallway beyond. Freedom awaits him in the form of the open front doors to the school, and for a second he’s tempted, but…

Johnny’s tangled in a heap with the other kids on the last few steps, and if Max runs now he’ll probably start punching his way out. Jeff has had it rough enough lately, what with the spirit possession and all.

He pretends that’s why he goes back to offer Johnny a hand up, followed only moments later by a pool noodle lasso landing round both their necks with (he could swear) a spectral yeehaw! echoing in the air.

He pretends real hard.