#try good kid my grand plan and take the weight stay on top >>>>>>.

[crunchycrystals]

lightning thief musical stays on top

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence. 

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something. 

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place. 

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more. 

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. 

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain. 

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus. 

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over. 

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at. 

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why. 

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck. 

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste. 

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault. 

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize. 

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals. 

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things. 

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting. 

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person. 

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe. 

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better. 

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water. 

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. 

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. 

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program. 

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating. 

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack. 

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you. 

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. 

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything. 

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home. 

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days. 

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice. 

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs. 

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly. 

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight. 

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat. 

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment. 

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode. 

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.” 

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself. 

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase. 

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting. 

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble. 

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.” 

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed. 

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to. 

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home. 

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate. 

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year. 

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters. 

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone. 

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask. 

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat. 

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches. 

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors. 

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates. 

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time. 

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score. 

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended. 

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah. 

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head. 

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel. 

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up. 

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom. 

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair. 

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump. 

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip. 

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps. 

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey. 

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you. 

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake. 

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye. 

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel. 

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you. 

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before. 

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice. 

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves. 

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates. 

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet. 

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone. 

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd. 

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals. 

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features. 

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda. 

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point. 

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

 It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase. 

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him. 

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months. 

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. 

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper. 

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about. 

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list. 

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship. 

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them. 

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights. 

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.  

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop. 

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.” 

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience. 

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door. 

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles. 

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years. 

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut. 

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?” 

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall. 

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?” 

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is. 

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete. 

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly. 

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction. 

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well. 

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much. 

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal. 

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror. 

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger. 

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates. 

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch. 

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city. 

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile. 

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift. 

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible. 

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable. 

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities. 

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off. 

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals. 

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine. 

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep. 

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front. 

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly. 

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay. 

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. 

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.” 

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you. 

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself. 

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms. 

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot. 

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down. 

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help. 

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there. 

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater. 

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain. 

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength. 

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again. 

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[stillness-in-green]

MVA In Memoriam (3/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia) (Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party)

Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade

Chapter 229 – All It Takes Is One Bad Day

• The full first page, of Jin getting mobbed by Puppet!Jins, them tearing his mask off, and flinging it and then him away. Saved them a bit of budget, I suppose, but it’s a shame to lose the drama and the violence of Twice having his mask pulled away, since it’s decent foreshadowing (indeed, possibly intentionally so, on Skeptic’s part) for the violent bewilderment he’ll be subject to shortly.

• Re-Destro’s line, “Not when he’s using his meta-ability to puppeteer, unless you want another nagging lecture.” They didn’t keep the first nagging lecture, so of course they wouldn’t keep this. I’m still annoyed, both on general principle and at the loss of RD’s implication that these nagging lectures are a regular occurrence, especially if one tries to bother Skeptic when he’s using his meta-ability. Has RD himself been on the receiving end of one? Possibly so! But you’d be less likely to think so just from the anime.

• Re-Destro’s line, “This allowed our warriors to momentarily hold back and stay out of danger.” Because why would the audience need to know that Skeptic planned for and Re-Destro cares enough to observe something like that lol?? Obviously the MLA is perfectly content to just throw their peoples’ lives away because, whatever, more where that came from! Dammit, anime, the fandom believes this enough as it is without confirmation bias from your cuts!

• Skeptic’s “fufufu” laugh, because the anime is allergic to the MLA having fun.

• The police officer’s line, “Sure, but in a case like this, you’re still to blame.” The rest of the exchange hints at it, of course, but there’s a horrifying callousness to a police officer just saying straight to the face of a teenaged orphan facing his first offense, “Yes, you were obeying the law perfectly and this guy just ran out in front of you, but it’s going on your criminal record anyway, whatever.” A weight the anime lost, and another that makes me very suspicious of the patterns behind what, precisely, was put on the chopping block.[1]

• Jin’s narration, “That police officer couldn’t have known. Me neither.” Demonstrates that Jin doesn’t really hold his fall against the one policeman. It’s a consistent thread with Jin’s character that, while he’s very jaded, he’s not actually vengeful, nor is he looking to enact systemic change. While he’s very defensive of his friends, people who hurt Jin himself are never in any real danger of him coming to collect his pound of flesh in return; he just rolls with it as part of how the world works, in the way of someone who was never given reason to believe any different. This line is a good example of that.

• From Jin’s old employer’s angry rant, deletes the note that the client that called is angry, and that the client said, “That young punk of yours did this!” It’s nothing that wasn’t obvious from the rest of the conversation, but I do I think cutting it loses a sense that this guy is just unloading all of his frustration and fear on Jin. The length of the screed, the extra details—it clearly communicates that Jin’s boss is so angry and upset he’s not paying any real mind to filtering, but just recounting every point of contention the moment they come into his mind.

• In modern society, when you’re someone without roots… Well, not a lot of people can relate to that.” It isn’t just the police that failed Jin; it’s a whole society that’s distrustful of people who don’t have a place in the fabric, and thus are unwilling to try and bring them into it. Like Tenko, there are a thousand little places where someone could have reached out a hand, but no one ever did. The audience can intuit this, but I feel it’s better to be clear about it—it’s not just the legal system that screwed Jin over; it’s every other person that never tried to help him because they were afraid of his eyes or distrusted a guy who had no connections. When Shigaraki comes, he’s not going to be coming for heroes alone; he’ll be coming for this entire tapestry of indifference and timidity.

• Skeptic’s lines, “Hrm? Fighting back? I was sure he’d either flee or cower in place... We didn’t anticipate such unity between them.” This gets at two things. Firstly, and once again, that the MLA did their research; that they came into this with educated expectations and a definite plan. Secondly, an in-character observation of what the arc has been showing the audience all along: that the League isn’t just a disparate gang of hoodlums anymore; that they’re developing real bonds. Those bonds mark them as unusual—Re-Destro comments on it in 223, as did Overhaul in 147; even Mr. Compress remarks disapprovingly on Twice’s “habit” of getting overly attached to people. It’s striking that, even though the MLA knew from Giran’s records that the League was uncommonly well-bonded, Twice’s devotion still fell outside Skeptic’s parameters.[2]

• Again Skeptic’s line, “Now his legs.” The drones don’t actually get this far (though you can see them gearing up for it on the next page), so it’s a reasonable enough cut, but it does emphasize the ludicrous, over-the-top extremes Skeptic in particular is willing to go to in securing what he wants. If, you know, “Kidnap the doubler so we have a method to make copies of the Grand Commander at our leisure,” wasn’t bonkers enough.

• Twice’s line, “Even against Gigantomachia!” It really highlights just how much mental energy Twice has been dedicating to avoiding injury, that he was able to keep it in mind even fighting a foe as overwhelming, and for as extended a period, as Machia. And like, the anime blitzed over the Machia fight so quickly, and with so little visible wear and tear to the League, that it really could have used all the reminders it could find room for about how intense those six weeks were.

• Twice’s line, “I won’t watch a friend die!” Such an important line that the composer named an entire track for it, not that the anime gave us that track in the moment it was clearly scored for. They added in a new line later in the scene which mostly gets the important sentiments back in, but loses out in being slightly less fitting to his breakthrough. See the Additions portion of the write-up on Chapter 230, following.

Framing Shifts

• The policeman in Jin’s flashback looked up at him in the anime, where in the manga, his eyes stay down on his paperwork the entire time. I realize that anime can’t just still-frame every panel of a manga and call it an adaptation,[3] so characters will do things like move and look around in different directions just in the course of inhabiting a room, Still, in this case, it has the effect of making the officer look more alert and engaged than he was in the manga, and given that this whole chunk of backstory is about Jin slipping through the social safety net, it feels appropriate to me that the officer should be completely checked out.

Additions

• A new shot of Jin(s) in his pre-massacre doppelganger army days. Didn’t tell us anything we don’t already know—it’s little more than a new angle of the gang in the truck—but it was nice to see.

Bonus Note

• They left Re-Destro’s phrase, “My company,” alone when he was talking about the micro-transceivers Skeptic was using. That’s accurate to the manga, but I’d like to remind everyone that, at that point in the anime, viewers whose only reference is the anime itself have no idea that Re-Destro is a businessman. The show skipped the commercial, RD’s intro, the dinner scene where his company comes up, and Giran’s association of RD with Detnerat; it will further go on to skip Shigaraki recognizing him from the commercial. The news report mentioning Detnerat was ten full episodes prior to Episode 110, and was followed up on in not the faintest degree. For heaven’s sake, would it have been so hard to have Hirata Hiroaki say, “My Detnerat’s,” instead of just, “My company’s”?

Chapter 230 – Sad Man’s Parade

• Deleted the MLA members that are attacking Compress as they get pushed off by the Twice wave. Not the first time, and not the last, that the anime didn’t animate the random MLA people on the street. It’s hard to take the threat of their numbers seriously when the anime kept deleting them from what are supposed to be crowd scenes, you know?

• Mr. C thinking worriedly about Dabi as he’s mulling over Geten’s strength and disregard for catching his own people in the collateral damage. It’s just a, “Dabi—!” but it’s yet another tiny cut that shaves away at the manga’s clear depiction of Leagues’ concern for one another—even Mr. Compress, who claims that such things aren’t very villainous.

Framing Shifts

• Changed the random MLA’s exhortation to kill all the Twices to a generic, “Damn—!” I know American censors have often taken issue with the words “Kill” and “Die” in kids’ cartoons, but I was never of the impression that that was the case in Japan. And it’s not like the show made any bones about Curious planning to kill Toga. A rephrase to save a second and a half on dialogue, maybe?

• Had Skeptic give his lines about failure on the way over to the elevator instead of stalking over in silence, and then dumping the whole monologue all at once. The manga’s extended silence over three identically sized panels is much funnier and more characterful. I grow ever more confident in my assessment of Skeptic as the second-most ill-treated MLA character in this adaptation.

• The return of the Doom Choirs for the Twice Parade. I really wish the anime would lay off slathering Doom Choirs all over everything, especially a moment like this: a triumph for Twice, and, true to form for Twice, also crammed to the gills with visual and verbal gags. The Doom Choir is out of keeping with both the victory and the comedy—Mine Woman, later on, served the Parade much better.

Additions

• Gave Twice a new line, “I will protect my comrades!” It was nice to make up for his, “I won’t watch a friend die!” but the latter is more characterful, especially since a more literal translation is, “I won’t kill my friends!” Which is, you know, relevant to the fact that Twice has problems telling himself apart from things that just look like him, and he just had to intervene to stop some of those look-alikes from killing one of said friends. At least it got his use of nakama back in.[4]

• A new little cut of animation as the action went back to Geten and Dabi. I suppose the Dabi fans liked it, and it was nice to see more of Geten’s ice dragon, but I’d have much preferred they could keep the scenes we already have before adding new ones.

Chapter 231 – Path

The scene of Hawks wondering why he hasn’t heard from Dabi and his subsequent flashback to the last time they spoke were relocated to the beginning of Episode 102, the first thing the audience saw after the prior episode ended with Shouto inviting Bakugou and Deku to come intern with him at Endeavor’s. In the manga, of course, it’s not “a few weeks ago in Kyushu,” it’s “meanwhile in Osaka.” Also, the order of the scenes was flipped—the episode led with the flashback, then returned to the modern day. It really makes the timeline needlessly confusing—the viewer has no real context for what we’re seeing and when, especially since the anime neglected to specify how much time passed between the two scenes. You have to assume it was enough time for an outcry to be raised over Jeanist’s disappearance, but the random shot of a bird flying over was not at all helpful there.

          Alterations included (as usual, outright removed material is in bold text):

          1. Cut Hawks’ thought, “That’s why you keep calling,” and his line, “What’s the job?” I know I should give a breakdown here about Hawks’ mentality and training, but I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to complain about any lines Takami Keigo loses. God knows the anime gives him plenty enough bonus material.

          2. Spliced in the flashback scene of Hawks reporting to the Commission from Chapter 243, but subtly changed it to suggest that it took place after the phonecall in which Dabi demanded Hawks kill a non-Endeavor top hero, rather than it taking place right after Hawks and Dabi’s first contact, which is what the manga implies.

          3. Deleted several key shots in the Jeanist apartment scene, with the effect of making Hawks way less creepy. We got an anime-original shot of his eyes, narrow and serious, but not either of the shots of his big, off-putting grin and widened eyes as he pulls a feather-blade on Jeanist. We also lost a shot of Jeanist turning to face him, framed between extended primaries of Hawks’ Fierce Wings. It’s not like the anime dropped the fake!Dead Jeanist plot, so I’m not sure why the shift, unless it’s just that they wanted to keep Hawks likable for the merch-buying crowd, not creepy and unsettling. And while I personally never believed that Hawks really killed Jeanist, a lot of people thought it was plausible, no doubt based on how off-kilter he comes across in this scene. It loses a real frisson, to just play it straight.

• Shigaraki decaying a missile in mid-air. So Dabi can get those little animation flourishes but Tomura can’t, huh, anime? I see how it is. I. See. How. It. Is.

• Spinner’s little side comment about all the ice everywhere. A nice demonstration that Geten and Dabi’s fight really is affecting huge swathes of the city; that’s certainly apparent already in a bunch of the wide shots showing exactly that, but it’s helpful to have the more zoomed-in moments, too. Also, I do enjoy those little side quips wherever we get them, and the anime often removes them.

• Thinned out the crowd guarding the route to the tower somewhat (it’s particularly noticeable on the mid-distance rooftops) and, as best I can tell, removed Shigaraki and Spinner from the shot. Why keep all the lines harping on the 110,000 number when a) it’s not even accurate to the MLA’s forces, just the League’s assumptions, and b) the studio doesn’t even have the resources to adequately convey the numbers the manga does portray?

• Somebody in the crowd being defiant about Twice’s multiplication and vigorously declaring that the League are all just sacrifices for the MLA’s Revival Party anyway. The background nobodies? Allowed to express even bog-standard over-confidence? Well I never. How dare those people think their lives count enough for them to get dialogue.

• Spinner’s, “This keeps happening!” Of course he couldn’t have that line in the anime, since the anime cut the other big place Trumpet clearly used his power to rile up his followers. What other times were you even talking about when you said, “Every time he talks,” Anime!Spinner? That scene was the first time we even saw Trumpet since he welcomed you guys to town.

• Twice calling Re-Destro a cult leader. He just called him a damn moron (bakayarou) in the anime; he uses the considerably more specific baka kyouso (Google Translate gives “guru”; jisho gives “founder of a religious sect”). He uses the same term again immediately afterward—Viz’s translation gives, “More like chrome dome cult!”—which the anime also deleted.

          So here’s another example of the anime doing everything it could to erase the presence of cults in the HeroAca world. The easy assumption to make is that this was tied to broadcast standards about the depiction of what Japan refers to as “new religious movements,” which—and pardon the brief swerve into real life historical horrors here—have been very unpopular in Japan since Aum Shinrikyo and the sarin gas attacks in 1995. But were these elements removed because the anime didn’t want to represent anything that smacks of new religious movements at all, or because the depiction of both the MLA and particularly the CRC are explicitly villainous and calling religious movements, even made-up ones, evil on TV leads to a lot of angry phone calls?

• Re-Destro’s line, “Unlike my good Miyashita, there’s nothing charming about you.” Of course they’d cut this, having cut the Miyashita scene, but I hate it anyway. As I said earlier, RD’s invocation of Miyashita in front of two people who are going to have not the slightest clue who that is tells me that Re-Destro really does miss and feel bad about killing the guy. Cutting the reminder that RD still feels that sting makes it much too easy to assume that Shigaraki’s right about RD hiding up in his tower, uncaring of the blood shed on his behalf, when if you read Re-Destro with even the slightest of attempts at good faith, it’s clear that those losses weigh very heavily on him.

          Incidentally, and not to harp on the art again, but in the manga, Stress is still visibly spread down from RD’s temple to the ridge of his brow over his eye socket. The anime returned it back to its normal resting state, again suggesting that the death toll mounting in the streets below (as well as, possibly, the new stress of confronting a quirk as powerful as Double) left RD completely unmoved. The spread was back in the following shot, so it was probably just an art error, but it would be nice to have had fewer of those, especially when they impact characterization as much as what RD’s Stress blots are doing at any given time.

Framing Shifts

• Had Machia doing this weird cannonball skim just over the ground, when in the manga, he’s still half-buried, spraying earth and stone everywhere. The manga never namedrops Machia’s Mole quirk during the story itself, but it’s important to know for later that Machia can not only tear through obstacles, he can tear through obstacles extremely quickly.

Additions

• Gave Hawks a few new lines about how too many unexpected things happened for their last arrangement, and that Dabi should have given him more warning. Largely seemed to be there to give the anime an excuse to flashback to the High End fight, in case the viewers had completely forgotten about Hawks and Dabi having a clandestine meeting and sniping at each other in the aftermath of that event. An understandable addition, but deeply frustrating in the context of all the lines that got cut.

Chapter 232 – Meta Abilities and Quirks

• Dropped a third instance of Twice calling Re-Destro a cult leader. I don’t know what the S&P restriction is on this, but given that the movie was allowed to create and villainize an entire international terrorist cult, it is really incomprehensible that the MLA doesn’t get to keep their designation as such. Why?? Because the movie involves going out and defeating its cult, but the series is going to engage in a more sympathetic treatment?[5] Because the self-selecting movie crowd is less likely to complain than the TV audience? Did they just not want to draw attention to how much the movie was ripping off the MLA’s whole shtick? What??

• Missed that RD’s swole arm swipe wipes out the puppets Skeptic left behind; they just vanished from the scene entirely after Twice’s arrival. It’s hard to blame the anime for this; the manga also seems to lose track of the fact that they’re right there in between RD and the elevator—they’re nowhere to be seen anywhere between the end of Chapter 231 and the aforementioned arm swipe, where you can see them getting obliterated. Both versions could have stood to be more attentive to this; indeed, the anime could have fixed it, small error though it is.

• A sort of twitchy sparking around Shigaraki’s hand right after he decays the tower. This is foreshadowing that Shigaraki’s big AOE decay attacks are hard on his body, which will become extremely apparent after he unleashes it on the city at large during the climax, and factors into his decision to accept the mysterious power Ujiko offers. The damage Shigaraki sustains there doesn’t come out of nowhere; Horikoshi is, on the whole, extremely good at layering in foreshadowing many chapters before the foreshadowed elements come fully to light. It makes the writing look much messier than it actually is—more convenient, more pat—to delete this stuff.

• Shigaraki recognizing RD from the Detnerat commercials. Well, they ditched the Detnerat commercial, so of course they ditched this. Still, it lost one of the indicators that Shigaraki is, despite not receiving a formal education, actually quite up to speed on current events—even, apparently, when those current events are happening while he’s been fighting Machia in an isolated stretch of mountains for six weeks! I already suffer enough through fanon characterizations of Shigaraki in which he’s a basement-dwelling feral manchild glued to his gaming console whom AFO bans from accessing information about the outside world, anime! I don’t need you dropping the scenes that most clearly demonstrate otherwise!!

• In the anime, Baby!Chikara’s face was unmarked, just a normal infant face—you’d never even know the kid had a meta-ability just to look at him. In the manga, the skin of his face is clearly darker, contrasted against the paleness of his mother’s hand. It’s obvious that he’s not “normal” looking, and thus equally obviously would have attracted negative attention in his era.[6] Also had his mother smiling; her face in the manga is too shadowed and vague to make out an expression, befitting the murky tragedy of her story and the fear she must have been living with.

Framing Shifts

Additions

• A little thing: they had Twice echo, “Cushion?” when Clone!Shigaraki told him to get ready to cushion Giran’s fall. If anything, Re-Destro and his little thought-bubbled question mark is probably the one who should have had this reaction line.

• Added a visual for Clone-araki catching himself on the window. A perfectly reasonable way to fill screen time while a dialogue beat was ongoing.

• Added a panning still over a reaction shot from a bunch of Twice clones when the tower came down. It had a few good faces in it.

                                                           ---

So, generally, this episode was better. I definitely still had issues with it, but compared to what came before, when they were trying to cram 5+ chapters into the episodes, there were far fewer cuts, and what cuts and tweaks there were, were relatively minor. Definitely nothing that made me want to throw chairs Jerry Springer-style the way 108 and 109 did.

Sadly, I can't say the same for the remaining two episodes. Come back next time for Part Four, Episode 111: Shimura Tenko, Origin.

FOOTNOTES

[1] After witnessing the massacre that was Episode 108, I was convinced they were going to cut the policeman scene entirely, and just go right to Jin getting fired for hitting someone with his bike, letting the audience think it was his fault completely rather than cast aspersions on police and the justness of the law. I was pleased they kept it at all, but less pleased with the steps taken to soften the sharpness of its accusation.

[2] Of course, it’s not like the MLA themselves don’t understand the willingness to give everything for the people who matter. They just label those feelings Devotion To The Cause, and don’t think the League is capable of such resolution.

[3] Netflix’s Way of the House Husband, be told.

[4] Nakama is, of course, a shonen standby, but, to the best of my knowledge (which is admittedly limited; I don’t follow a lot of shounen series), it’s pretty rare to hear the word coming out of a villain’s mouth! Jin calling the League his nakama ties into how the League are both sympathetic villains in the larger story and also the protagonists of the current arc, thereby operating under a lot of protag tropes for the duration—foreshadowed by Spinner’s earlier talk of Shigaraki and his boyish, dream-chasing eyes.

[5] Sometime after the mass arrests, one hopes.

[6] This could well be a coloring error in the manga, but if so, you’d think they’d have corrected it for the volume release. Especially given that, again, the color is in a different shade/screentone than the shadow that covers most of his mother’s face, and her hand stroking Chikara’s chin isn’t shadowed at all.

[dearestdaffodils]

Season 1, Episode 5: MIDSUMMERS

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, some Sarah Cameron slander

I knew shit was bad when I saw John B and JJ sneaking out to the HMS Pogue through the water instead of coming into the house. A quick glance out the window revealed Deputy Shoupe parked next to the van, watching the house. 

The grass swished around my ankles, quietly swaying as I made my way towards the Pogue, staying low to the ground. I haul myself over the side, letting JJ grab my wrists to help me. 

“Shit, J…” I whisper, cupping his cheeks to inspect his beat-up face. “Your dad do this to you?” 

“Who else would it have been?” JJ mutters, slightly leaning his head into my touch. “First, I almost get strangled to death by Kooks, and now I’m on the hook for 30 grand. We should get Kie and Pope and just dip.” 

“Where would we go?” John B snorts, untying the boat from the dock. 

“Yucatan,” JJ says like it's obvious.

“Yucatan?” I raise an eyebrow, taking the keys from John B to start the engine. 

“I’m dead serious right now.” JJ sighs. “Surf all day, and then we can just live off lobsters we catch with our bare hands.” 

“You just wanna leave cause you got your ass beat?” John B teases, pushing off from the dock. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” JJ huffs. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌

How does one describe Midsummers? There are so many ways and none of them are exactly appropriate. My best stab at describing Midsummers is a gathering of the island’s richest families, celebrating how rich they are while the rest of the island struggles to keep their lights on and put food on the table. 

So how exactly did I, Y/N Routledge, end up dressed like a waitress? Two answers and they both start with J. 

“Can you two slow down?” I huff. “Heels and sand don’t mix, dimwits.” 

“Go over the plan again.” JJ looks at John B, fixing his bowtie. 

“I need you to get this to Sarah.” JB hands me a note. 

“Ooh, can we read it?” JJ grins, his black eye shining in the faint lights from the party. 

“No, you can’t read it.” John B sighs.

“Who’s Vlad?” I tilt my head, opening the note. 

“God, do you two ever listen?” John B groans, lunging forward to try and take the note. 

I dodge him, closing the note. “Hold up. Are you mackin’ Sarah Cameron?” 

“Would you shut up?” John B hisses.

“You’re macking Sarah Cameron!” I shriek. “I knew it!” 

“I’m doing it for everyone, all right?” JB sighs softly. “Just get that note to her and meet back here.” 

“Aye aye, Vlad.” I salute him, laughing. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌

“So, my dad’s already gonna kill me. What’s this mandatory meeting about?” Pope sighs, poking at the fire with a stick. 

“Might as well tell him.” I lean back against the log, picking leaves off of Kie’s dress. “Before we’re gaffed.” 

“The gold never went down with the Royal Merchant.” John B smiles. 

“Not this again.” Pope groans.

“It’s been here the whole time.” JJ pipes up. “It’s on the island.” 

John B pulls out the letter from his backpack, passing it around the group. 

“Where did you get all this?” Kie asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sarah Cameron. She’s coming tonight with the plat map.” 

“Hold on.” Kie frowns. “Sarah? Why Sarah?” 

John B shifts his weight, looking at her. 

“This is gonna be good,” JJ whispers to Pope.

“She got me into the archives in Chapel Hill and that’s where I got the letter.” John B mumbles, sounding like a kid who got caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

“You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?” Kie murmurs. 

“He was macking on her,” I mutter.

“I wasn’t macking!” John B huffs. “I was using her for access.” 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌

Okay, John B isn’t well known for his ideas. Going to the Hawk’s Nest during a thunderstorm probably makes the top 20 of his worst ideas. Going to Hawk’s Nest period is always a horrible idea. 

The driver’s side door bangs open as John B slams his leg into it. “You guys stay here.” 

“Really?” Kie and I say in unison. 

“I don’t want to spook Sarah with the peanut gallery.” He sighs, leaning on the open side door of the van. 

“I just don’t really understand why we’re involving her at all.” I huff as Kie nods in agreement. 

“We’re not involving her, okay?” John B frowns. “This is just like… a business meeting…” 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌

Once again, John B is known for many things. Having brilliant ideas is really not one of them. I think that’s why he keeps me around, I have all the good ideas. 

Sitting in the van in the pitch black, JJ and I move into the front seat while Pope mutters to himself, and Kie tugs the flowers out of her hair. 

“Guys,” Pope’s head shoots up, looking towards the Hawk’s Nest. “Isn’t that Topper’s car?” 

“Shit, John B is still up there,” I mutter, shoving the door open. “We need to go help him.” 

Another thing about John B. That boy has no balance whatsoever. Pair that with a rickety structure, overly emotional Sarah Cameron, and Topper… bad news. 

We reach the base of the Nest, watching in shock as John B crashes through the railing, falling towards the ground. 

permanent taglist: 

@deathbythousandcuts  @hazzy @marauderskeeper @sunnymfskies​

outer banks taglist:

  @kwbaby24

[obxparadise]

Rebel Love Song

JJ Maybank x Female Reader 

Word count: 3,836

~JJ’s had enough of his abusive father and life on the Cut, so he tries to convince you to run away with him~

Song: Rebel Love Song by Black Veil Brides 

A/N: Leave a comment please :) 

*GIF is not mine, but found on Google. Creds to the owner!*

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

I cannot hide what’s on my mind

I feel it burning deep inside

A passion crime to take what’s mine

Let us start living for today

“You are a worthless piece of shit.”

“Shut up!”

“Your mama knew!”

“Shut up!”

JJ’s fist strikes his bedroom door, although he wishes it were his father’s face. It probably wouldn’t be as painful, and he’d feel good about it. But his dad would retaliate like he always did, and JJ’s face couldn’t handle another black eye or split lip. Luke had already done a number on his face twenty minutes prior.

Luke turns up the volume of whatever rock song is playing throughout the house, and JJ clutches the sides of his head, digging his palms into his temples, the thoughts in his head drowning out the song. What the hell was he listening to anyway? Judas Priest? Black Sabbath? He had no fucking clue.

He should be used to it all by now. The loud music. The constant drinking. The verbal violence. The physical abuse. The mental manipulation. It’s been going on for years. And there’s no way to stop it.

The cut on JJ’s lip burns as a salty tear mixes with the dried blood. He drags his fingers across the bottom of his lip, wincing. Thirty grand in restitution for a boat he didn’t even sink. He should’ve seen the punch coming, anticipated it as soon as he slid in the passenger’s seat of the beat up pick up truck. But it happened so fast, over and over, until Luke’s knuckles were painted red with blood.

He doesn’t regret taking the blame, though. Even if he now has to scramble to come up with thirty thousand dollars, JJ’s glad that he did the right thing for once in his life. Pope was a good kid, had too much to lose. But JJ? He had nothing.

The music dies down in the living room and JJ peers toward the door, heart hammering against his chest as he waits for Luke to bust into his room. His fists are balled by his sides, ready to attack if necessary, but the door never opens.

JJ takes it upon himself to crack open the door, just enough for him to peer out into the living room and see Luke passed out on the sofa. Empty beer bottles are scattered along the coffee table and a pill bottle is just barely sitting in Luke’s hand that dangles off the couch. Just another typical Tuesday in the Maybank household.

It’s times like these JJ wishes he wasn’t an only child. Although he’s glad no one else is subjected to Luke’s abuse, the house gets lonely. Talking to his father is impossible. His mother is nowhere to be found, and he resents her for leaving him to live with a monster, to fend for his life.

He could always talk to his friends, though.

Ah, scratch that. They’re all busy tending to their own lives.

Pope’s in and out of scholarship interviews.

Kiara’s working overtime at the Wreck.

John B is glued to Sarah Cameron’s hip.

But there’s one more person left. One person that would always make time for him. One person he could confide in no matter the circumstances.

JJ retrieves his phone from the back pocket of his shorts, typing out a quick message.

Can you meet me at the dock?

He smiles as your name pops up on the screen, promising to meet him in ten minutes.

~

You watch from afar as JJ stands at the edge of the dock throwing rocks into the bay. The sun has begun to set, the sky now painted a light orange and pink, and there’s a slight chill in the air thanks to the open water. Tugging the sleeves of your hoodie down to cover your hands, you shuffle quietly along the wooden boards.

JJ’s body instantly relaxes when your arms circle his middle, forehead resting against his back. The cologne on his body mixed with his natural scent is what keeps you still against him until he turns around to hold you. He needs this hug. You can just tell.

“I owe thirty grand for sinking Topper’s boat.” His voice is defeated, arms limp around your body.

Wherever trouble was, JJ found it. He was always getting into scuffles with the teenagers on the other side of the island, parents turned their noses down at him, and the cops had no problem blaming JJ for crimes he didn’t commit. The boy was an easy target.

You shake your head, refusing to believe his story, but asking the question anyway. “Why’d you do it?”

JJ pulls away, stuffing his hands in his pockets, eyes downcast on the dock. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but you have a guess as to who he’s protecting. “Just sick of everyone treating us differently because we live on the poor side of the island. Money isn’t everything, but it’s all these people on Figure Eight know.”

He’s not wrong. The rich kids on Figure Eight can’t separate fantasy from reality. They’ve never known struggle. They’ve always had designer clothes, food on the table, a roof over their heads, plus the perks. Motorcycles. Boats. Cars. Status. Friends. Opportunities. So much more than the average person could afford, or wish for.

And you were one of them.

It’s a wonder how you and JJ became friends. You knew of his hatred for rich kids before you’d even met him. But JJ saw something in you. You weren’t like the rest of them. You had a pure heart, kind soul. Being rich wasn’t a personality trait for you.

“I just,” Dragging a hand through his hair, JJ gazes at you sadly. His frown tugs at your heart. “I just want to get away, you know? I can’t hide it, but I’ve had thoughts about leaving the Cut, the OBX in general.”

Now that’s something you never would of thought would come out of JJ’s mouth. He lived and breathed the Outerbanks. He didn’t know anything else.

“Where would you go?”

He takes a seat on the end of the dock, feet dangling just above the water. You join him, sitting close, head on his shoulder, toes skimming the cool water.  “Paris. England. The Yucatan,” JJ chuckles, nudging you. “That’s long term.”

“What about now?”

JJ exhales, thinking hard. “Maybe Florida. Or Texas. California, possibly. I want to go somewhere warm, like OBX, with a beach and some palm trees,” JJ looks down at the top of your head, resting his cheek on your hair. Your presence calms him. “And I’d take you with me.”

He knocks the breath out of you. You were never one to plan for the future, but the future is all JJ can think about it. And he sees you in his future, wherever he decides to be. How could you possibly tell him that the life that was destined for you would always be in the Outerbanks, breaking his heart in the process?

“Don’t you want to start living? The way we want to?” JJ asks softly, fingertips grazing your leg. Goosebumps rise on your skin at his intimate touch.

“I already am,” you say, considering his words. “My life is here, JJ. I can’t leave it behind.”

“No, it’s not,” JJ retorts instantaneously, voice unwavering. “This life you’re living? It’s not yours. It’s your parents’.”

Bringing your knees to your chin, you reposition yourself to look at JJ, whose staring out at the bay, blue eyes scanning the water, tuffs of blonde hair dancing in the breeze. It’s the first time that night you really took notice of his face. Dried blood dots the corner of his mouth, and a purple bruise rings around his eye. There’s a tick in his jaw and his fingers drum quickly on his leg. He’s tense. “How so?”

He’s never been anything other than blunt. He hides nothing, letting you know how he thinks, what he feels. “Because you don’t stand up to them. They drag you to yacht parties on the weekend because you’ve never told them who your real friends are. They think Susie Milligan and Delia Pratton are your best friends, except they have no idea that you can’t stand them and would rather be surfing with Kie and John B. They make you stay in and study your dad’s old college textbooks, convinced you’re going to be the world’s greatest attorney, but you complain to Pope that the material is dry and you’ll never be happy working as a prosecutor.” Pulling a cigarette from his pocket and then lighting it, JJ takes a drag, puffing out the smoke before turning to face you. “You let them dictate what should be your life. What is it that youwant to do? You never talk about the future, but one day it’ll be here, and it’s sooner than you think.”

His eyes are focused as he waits for you to consider his question. The truth is, you know what you want, but you’ve never said it aloud. No one ever cared to ask, except for now. Except for JJ.

“I want to be a marine biologist,” you’re confident in your answer, and it leads you to spill more. A weight lifts off your shoulders. “I want to go to school in Hawaii or Australia and learn about animals, nature, sea life. I want to surf, fish, and wear flowers in my hair, embrace my free spirit.”

JJ’s smile encourages you. Opening up to him is so easy because he understands. He listens. And he wants the same freedom as you do. The only difference is, JJ will chase after his dreams.

“I want to learn how to play guitar, climb a mountain, run a marathon, learn Chinese, ride in a hot air balloon,” you take a second to catch your breath, feel the chill of the breeze on your legs. “I want to find love. Maybe get married, have a kid or two. Adopt five kittens. Build my own home with a pool that has a waterfall. I want to try escargot, visit a rainforest, and see the Northern Lights. I want so many things, JJ.”

“Then let’s do it,” JJ says, standing and pulling you to your feet. A smile lights up his face as he grabs your hands in his. It’s the happiest you’ve seen him in the last hour, but it contrasts with what you feel inside. “Let’s start living.”

~

Never gonna change my mind

We can leave it all behind

Nothin’s gonna stop us

No not this time

“Hawaii, huh?”

You look up from your soup. Kiara leans against the bar top, watching you curiously. JJ has gone off to the bathroom, the perfect opportunity for Kiara to grill you with questions.

“He seems pretty adamant,” she remarks, flipping hair over her shoulder. “What’d you say?”

The spoon clinks against the metal bowl as you set it down, dabbing your lips with a napkin. “I didn’t answer.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Kiara asks, playing with the beads on her bracelet. “From what JJ said, he seems pretty sure that wherever he goes, you’re following.”

“Oh, he’s set on us moving to the west coast, but I can’t just leave the OBX,” you counter, shoulders slumping. “My life is here.”

“Then why did you tell him all the things you wanted to do if you don’t ever plan on doing them with him?”

The million-dollar question.

“Because I knew he’d listen,” you say quietly. “I didn’t think he was serious about us leaving together, though. We’re sixteen, Kie. What sixteen year olds do you know drop everything and leave their home behind? And besides,” your laugh comes out strangled, “My parents would never let me leave. You know how they are. They don’t even like that I’m friends with JJ. They think he’s trouble, a bad influence. How do you think they’d react if I just up and left with him?”

Kiara leans in close, whispering, “That’s why you don’t tell them.”

You roll your eyes as Kie laughs. “I’m not going to change my mind on this, Kiara.”

Her face turns serious as she chews on the corner of her lip. The gears turn in her head as she contemplates. “Would it matter if I said JJ’s in love with you?”

Your eyes roam her face, waiting for a laugh, a smile, a teasing wink, but her composure is kept intact as she stares at you. Your face falters. “He—what?”

She nods. “What boy asks a girl to travel the world with him if he’s not in love with her?”

Color creeps up your neck, mouth dry, heart beating irregularly. Your body is jelly, almost sliding off the bar stool, but you slink back further into the chair, hands gripping the arm rests. “Are you sure?”

“If I was a gambler, I’d bet it all. That’s how sure I am.”

“I—no,” you dig in your purse for some cash, slapping the bills down in haste. “I’m either going to disappoint JJ or my parents, and I can’t disappoint my family. So, no, JJ being in love with me doesn’t change anything,” you say, exhaling a breath. “I’m not going with him.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Kiara’s eyes expand, and you freeze. JJ’s boots pad against the floor as he pushes through the front door, angrily stomping into the night. You thank Kiara for the dinner before rushing outside to chase a visibly irritated JJ.

“JJ, wait!” Your hand clamps down on his shoulder, spinning him around. The look on his face is disheartening. You try to cradle his cheeks, something you normally did to comfort him, but he pushes your hands away. “Please, stop.”

“You were never planning to come with me, were you?” JJ questions, twirling a few of the rings on his fingers. “You were just…what? Entertaining me?”

“JJ, my life is here, in the OBX!” The words that use to flow perfectly off your tongue don’t even sound right anymore. Part of you doesn’t believe them. “I can’t just leave it all behind. And my parents…God, JJ, they’d never let me go with you. I mean, we’re so young.”

JJ nods, although he doesn’t understand. He knows you. He knows your heart. He knows where you really stand. But he can’t persuade you anymore than he’s tried. “I’m taking my dad’s boat and I am leaving tomorrow. I’m getting out of here because I know what I want and nothing is going to stop me.”

JJ turns, and your heart squeezes as you watch him leave. Your fingers twitch, begging to reach out to him. This can’t be it. He can’t be leaving you. “Is it true?”

He stops in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder.  “Is what true?”

You choke back a soft cry, voice croaking. “Are you in love with me?”

JJ faces you, staring absentmindedly. He wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms, kiss your breath away. But he keeps his distance, shoving his hands back into his pockets, whispering, “It doesn’t matter, because it wouldn’t be enough, anyway.”

~

Back home, you’re surprised to see your parents still awake, chatting softly at the island in the kitchen. You hastily wipe away any leftover tears before they can hound you with questions.

“You’re home late,” says your father, giving you a look. He’s the stricter parent of the two. “I assume you have a good reason?”

You keep the conversation short. “I got caught up talking to JJ. I lost track of time.”

Your mother wrinkles her nose, wine sloshing in her glass as she takes a sip. “How many times have we told you to stay away from that boy, Y/N? He’s trouble.”

“He’s not trouble,” you fire back, wishing you had come up with a lie instead of telling them the truth. “You’re just judgmental.”

“That’s enough,” your father snaps. He runs a hand over his tired face. Being an attorney has aged him ten years. And to think he wanted to send you down the same dreadful path. “I’m having lunch tomorrow with DA Lance Nicholas. I figured you could come along, ask him some questions--.”

“No.”

Your mother stares at you quizzically. “No?”

“Is tomorrow a bad time?” asks your father, loosening his tie. “I’m supposed to meet with him next week as well, if that’s better for you.”

You feel the rage building up inside of you as you remember JJ’s words. You let them dictate what should be your life. What is it that you want to do? “No, dad, there will never be a time that’s good for me to meet the DA, because I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

You’re sure they’ll yell, give you a hard time, but the laughs that come out of their mouths are surprising. You don’t understand why they’re laughing, but you’re determine to stand your ground, speak up.

“You’ve never once asked me what I wanted to do with my life.”

“Well, yes, because—.”

“Because you planned it for me.”

Your mom glances at your dad, unsure of how to continue the conversation. “Sweetie--.”

“I’m not going to law school,” The light dims in your father’s eyes, face growing red as your tone grows serious. He’s silent, but it doesn’t scare you. “Because I want to be a marine biologist.”

“Honey, listen,--.”

“I want to travel, see what the world has to offer me. I’m tired of being your puppet. I’m tired of pretending to like Susie and Delia. I’m tired of going to stupid yacht parties with out of touch rich people. I’m tired of reading college textbooks about a career I don’t even want while I’m still in high school. This is my life, and you don’t get to choose how I live it.”

Your mom speaks up after what feels like an hour of silence. Her eyes are full of sorrow, voice low, disapproving. “What happened to you? You’re so…outspoken.”

“It’s that damn Maybank kid,” your dad’s forceful voice cuts right through you. He slams his fist on the counter, startling your mom. You stand your ground, unflinching. “I always knew he’d corrupt you sooner or later.”

“Corrupt me?” A laugh escapes you. He can’t be serious. “He helped me, dad. He taught me to stand up for myself, which is what I’m doing right now. He taught me that there’s a life outside of our world in Figure Eight. JJ helped me realize that I don’t belong here,” your mother’s face drops. Guilt briefly flickers across your face. “I belong with him, wherever he goes. Whether it be California or Texas or Hawaii. I belong with him.”

“You are sixteen years old,” your father reminds, looking at you in disgust. “You have no clue what you’re talking about or what you are doing. Go on, get out of my sight.”

You shake your head, turning your back on your parents. It didn’t matter what they said. They wouldn’t be able to stop you from chasing your dreams, from living your life the way you wanted to. They could say you were too young, too naïve, until they were blue in the face. But you know what you want, and no one, especially not your parents, would stop you.

~

So take your hand in mine

It’s ours tonight

This is our rebel love song

Staring down at the note in your hand, you exhale a sigh before dropping it on the kitchen counter. You sign it with a kiss, letting your family know you love them, before venturing outside, quietly closing the door behind you.

The last night in your house was spent packing, constantly checking that your bedroom door was locked to keep the helicopter parents away. There wasn’t much you could fit into the duffel bag, but you squeezed as much as you could, the contents varying from clothing to toiletries to small mementos you didn’t want to leave behind.

The plan was to surprise JJ at the dock. Tugging your duffel higher onto your shoulder, you walk with a content smile.

When you reach the dock, your heart rises to your throat. JJ stands with his back to you, one foot on the dock, the other in the boat. He’s ready to take off, and your legs break out into a sprint, daring him to leave you behind. “JJ!”

The voice makes his ears perk up. He turns, wide-eyed, smile brighter than the gleaming Carolina sun. JJ’s heart swells as he watches the girl he loves run after him, one hand waving frantically in the air, the other tugging the bag higher on her arm.

“JJ, wait!”

But he’s not going anywhere. He’d never go anywhere without you.

You drop the bag onto the dock, launching yourself into JJ’s body. He wobbles slightly, arms coming around your middle, pulling you as far into his chest as you’ll go. You fit perfectly.

“You came,” JJ breathes into your hair, kissing your forehead. The soft pecks are quick, friendly.

It’s not enough for you, though.

You grab his cheeks, pressing your mouth to his, hard. Your heart reacts, beating wildly. The feeling in your body, the sensation you get from kissing JJ, it feels like sunshine. Warm. Blissful. Happy.

There’s no hesitation as JJ kisses you back. His hand creeps up your spine, pressing you impossibly closer to him, almost as if he’s testing to see if you’re real.

It’s all real. You, the kiss, the moment.

He pulls away, slightly breathless. His eyes flicker to the dandelion lying on his drawstring bag, and a smile tugs at his parted lips. He’d picked it for you on his way to the dock, just in case.

“It’s true,” JJ says, reaching down to tenderly pick the flower. Doe-eyed, you watch as he tucks the dandelion behind your ear, shielding the stem with a few strands of your hair. “I am so deeply in love with you.”

“And you were going to leave without ever letting me know.”

“A part of me hoped you wouldn’t let me leave without you,” JJ answers, helping you settle into the boat.

“You’re right,” you smile. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing I’m in love with you, too.”

The kiss that follows is better than the first. It’s softer, more intimate, and it feels like a rainbow.  

It completes him.

It completes you.

After grabbing your bag from the dock, you help JJ untie the boat before joining him at the wheel. The boat rumbles to life, sailing slowly across the open bay. A new life is just in the distance.

“You ready?” JJ asks. There’s nothing in his eyes other than hope, nothing in his grin other than happiness.

Taking his hand, you smile. “I am now.”

[kayr0ss]

Spectacles

[LWA, Diakko, they’re getting old so Diana needs glasses, Akko will never let it be easy, crushes, cute feelings realization, relaxed town day]

Diana’s sudden need for spectacles brings clarity to more than just one aspect of her life.

-----

“You’re squinting again.”

Diana blinked at the feeling of being poked on the forehead and looked up to find Akko all up in her face. This was nothing new, but the proximity—which was welcome on most days—seemed to catch her off-guard and defensive.

“I’m just checking a message.”

“And having a hard time doing it.” The brunette finally pulled back, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at Diana. “Your phone font is laughably large, and you’re holding it out a mile away. I’ve seen that before.” Her attempt at seriousness gave way to giggles, “my mother does it.”

The blonde witch found herself blinking, unable to respond as swiftly as she was accustomed to. Something was eating away at her attention, keeping her from moving to the next thought. Was it the chatter coming through the window from Luna Nova’s courtyard? The smell of Lotte’s apple pie from the table beside theirs?

“Your mother? What do you—”

“Nothing,” Akko chortled, “come on.”

“I have texts to finish decoding,” Diana started apologetically.

“Not with eyesight like that you don’t!” Akko held a stern finger up.

She blinked again, enraptured as she watched the brunette’s endless reservoir of determination focus into a single goal for this overcast afternoon:

“We’re getting you glasses!”

---

“I thought we were procuring spectacles?”

“Nis is pwart of da proshesh,” Akko replied with indignation, chewing through a hefty bite off a cheeseburger.

“The process,” Diana replied with a smile, “starts with a burger?”

“Everythwing stagrst wid a burg—”

“Chew first. Talk later.”

With an eyeroll that could put Sucy to shame, Akko sputtered a muffled ‘yes, mom’. The sight of it made Diana’s lips curl ever so slightly upward, then she blinked, dropping her gaze down to her cup of coffee upon realizing it must have been rude to stare at her counterpart while she ate. Akko devoured the burger with such vigor that it didn’t take long before the sound of chewing was replaced with words.

“Have you ever had a crush?”

Diana paused, caught off guard by the question. She realized, with great incredulity, that—“I… think I’ve never had one.”

“You’re shitting me.” Akko’s jaw dropped. She leaned forward on instinct when Diana whipped out napkin, comfortable while the blonde wiped away a smudge of burger dressing along her chin. “You are literally nineteen years old.”

Diana neatly folded the soiled napkin away. “It isn’t exactly something you have time for, when, you know.”

“The weight of a thousand expectations settles on your shoulders?” Akko playfully stuck out her tongue, but the sentiment hit right home even if she was kidding.

“Worded quite precisely,” Diana admitted. “Of course, there were many expectations that Andrew and I would eventually come into an arrangement but—oh dear!”

Akko had nearly choked on her soda. “Sorry!” she squealed, wiping herself down before the sugary drink dried into something sticky.

“I just—pfft!—I’d have paid to see how that panned out.”

--

The plan was simple: make a trip to the optometrist on this free afternoon. Of course, Akko made no mention of what felt like a million stops between Luna Nova and the elusive optical clinic, but Diana was foolish to think for a minute that it was going to go smoothly. Not that she minded the brunette’s company, she simply preferred it when things stayed…

“Diana! There are street musicians!”

…on schedule.

She should have refused. Really, she should have. In fact, she realized that Akko had swayed her into getting dessert, taking the longer road (“Let’s take the scenic route!”), going into a shop to look through dresses, and purchasing several vials of questionable ingredients for Sucy. She supposed another few minutes of distraction wouldn’t hurt—the music was pleasant in itself anyway.

It was a love song, one that Akko seemed familiar enough with to hum along to. The lyrics were as sweet as honey—and if she was going to be honest, a little too enamored for her liking. “Curious,” she found herself mumbling.

A crush. She’d never given much thought to such a frivolous and wholly unnecessary concept before. Of course, romance she was familiar with—many an evening was filled with Barbara’s NightFall dissections and commentary. But romance was grand, with so much finality and depth. The lovers in the stories books she’s read seemed to be so fully consumed by their emotions that it began to pain them as well. Whereas a crush… was it the fluttering of the stomach? A giggle one grows fond of? The feeling of—

“Ding dong?”

—slight exasperation but tenderness despite it all?

Akko made a doorbell out of Diana’s cheek, and with a tick of the eyebrow the blonde gently moved the offending finger away, “I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doing that.”

“You were totally spacing out!” Akko teased with a grin, unfazed by the rejection. Her hand slipped easily into Diana’s, and just before she could pull them towards the cotton candy cart, Diana set her foot down.

“No more detours,” she declared with firmness. “Glasses.”

“Mou, Diana!”

“Come on,” this time it was Diana who tugged at Akko’s arm. “Before it gets dark.”

--

Akko happily nipped at her puffy, pink cloud of sugar. It was hopeless; when Akko set her mind to it, she found that she couldn’t ever really say no.

“Hey, Diana?”

They were finally walking towards the optical clinic, much to the relief of Diana’s tired feet. “Yes?”

“You were thinking about crushes earlier, weren’t you?”

The blonde witch felt her ears go red, “I—Well…”

“You were mumbling out loud,” Akko nudged her shoulder. She giggled a little, “it was kind of funny. Such a literary perspective. I thought you were going to write an essay critiquing the notable differences between classical romance and modern-day infatuation.”

“Infatuation…” Diana trailed off. “Is that what a crush is?”

Akko just shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe? I think crush is a little more… wholesome? I guess.”

“Go on?”

“Like… you like being around the person.” Akko flailed her free arm around, trying to make gestures she couldn’t quite figure out like that crazy divination professor when trying to read tea leaves. “Hanging out with them never feels tiring, and little things makes your stomach get all weird and like—”

“Like…?” Diana blinked. Akko froze and in a mixture of concentration and… panic?

“Ahh, this is impossible! You blush and feel warm inside and stuff! There are butterflies which make you feel like they’re throwing a violent party in your stomach.”

Diana stopped walking to give Akko a blank, expectant look.

“What!”

Diana tried to fight it, but her pressed lips curled into a smile and then she broke into giggles. The giggles grew into chuckles.

Then she laughed. A full, hearty sound that Akko couldn’t help but smile at.

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all!”

--

The sudden clarity of the world made her dizzy. The blonde witch blinked—were corners really that sharp? She could read! She could read the text from across the room, and her phone font was suddenly offensively large.

Akko was studying her with such scrutiny that she wanted to hide away.

“How do they look?”

The brunette huffed and crossed her arms. “Frustratingly good on you!”

Diana blinked, unsure how to respond to such a direct compliment and rubbed the back of her neck. “Th—thank you?”

“Well are you comfortable?” Akko inched in closer to inspect the wiry spectacles. “They don’t pinch at the nose or anything?”

Diana is a little disoriented by the sudden change in her vision and all of Akko’s movements but there were so many details she’s never seen before.

“Freckles,” she suddenly blurted out.

“Eh?” Akko inched back.

“You… you have freckles.”

…and long lashes which curled naturally upward, and a little button nose, and eyes in a clear vibrant red. Akko’s eyebrow shot up and she blinked a few times before smiling.

“That’s your first observation?”

The second observation was that Akko had a blindingly radiant smile. But I knew that already. It was framed by a slight blush that had always been there, but she never really noticed before.

“Uhm… Diana?” Akko takes her hand to capture her attention. “You don’t have to keep wearing them all the time yet. You take them off and break them in a little at a time.”

Akko’s words fell into obscurity. Diana’s gaze moved towards where Akko’s hand met hers.

There were… butterflies in her stomach?

“Diana? Are you okay?

She could feel blood rushing up to her face as quickly as the realization was setting in. Akko was looking straight into her eyes with concern, and when the brunette’s palm came into contact with her cheek everything turned crystal clear.

‘Have you ever had a crush?’

“I…”

She had never had trouble with vocabulary before, but—

“Stomach. Insects. Violent party.”

--

A/N: Hey guys! I’ve missed ya’ll! Sorry, still rusty as usual, but I keep trying to come back and write anyway. Is Diakko and LWA still alive these days?

Times have a been tough since I started working (around the end of my Diakko writing spree days, I think?) I guess. I hope everyone is doing well. I’ve recently gotten into Haikyuu! and absolutely adore everyone ++ you can expect some Kiyoyachi fics sometime soon, maybe? Also found the time to watch She-Ra and I love it so far!

Inching my way through so that I can post an update to my multi-chapters, so to everyone who have reviewed recently and still encourage me to continue - thank you so much. You guys are the best! I’m still hanging on as well. I’ve gone into graduate school on top of work, so things are crazy, but somehow I manage. See you soon. :)

PS - I don’t think I was able to proofread this well enough so I am sorry luvyu

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (8)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: My computer just died on me twice now. Whatever bullshit it’s trying to do, it’s not helping my anxiety at all lmao I’m just outliving its usefulness until it actually dies for good... that is until I get a new SSD and HDD.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

“Hey, get up! It’s time for your daily exercise,” a Stormtrooper grumbled on the other side of the ray-shielded prison cell.

You sit there inside—eyes closed, in a meditation position on your knees, hands on top of them. Purposefully ignoring the guards, they tagged you as stubborn, dismissive, and ignorant. They can’t comprehend how you’re perfectly unmoved by the shouting and the banging of their weapons against the walls to draw your attention.

You can hear them, alright. You just chose not to listen.

A lie. Your mind spoke.

Ever since they saw your display against the Second Brother, the so-called “daily exercise” is a kind word they used for the gladiatorial training they throw you into. Everyday, they’d force you out of your cell—which, ironically, is the safest place you could ever be in this predicament—and each time you resisted, a strike on the head or the first body part they see is what you get in return. Once in the dojo, you face a wave of enemies; at first it was a batch of Scout Troopers—they were quite easy to fight—next they started mixing it up with Scout and Purge Troopers, and eventually they used Purge Troopers for your duels, the latter persisted for the rest of your days in the prison.

Sometimes no one knows who is whose training dummies—regardless, the fights went on and the Purge Troopers treated it like a breath of fresh air every time.

“HEY!” the Stormtrooper, impatient of your unresponsiveness, punched the wall at you. Your reaction defeated its purpose. “Do you hear me?! I said stand up!”

“Hey, don’t cause such a ruckus. It’s just one kid,”

“Are Jedi always this stubborn?”

The second Stormtrooper made an incoherent, indifferent grumble as he shrugged his shoulders, wanting to end the small talk and just wait until your budged. When there was nothing but silence, spare the muttering complaints of the guards in the midst of the silence, you relished the peace again.

“Well, finally,” you quietly tell yourself and hung your head down.

There were worse things to worry about.

Visions revolving in hate, anger, and even death—these were the images that you cannot purge from your mind. Not even the purification of meditating proved to be of any help. Something was clouding your mind in the Force and bent them to their malignant will.

Much later, the ray shield died down at the push of a button. The same, irate Stormtrooper enters your cell, but you remained still as a stone. His boot harshly bumps into your knee.

“Hey,” he nudged. “Stand up!”

Nothing.

Again, he kicked your knee, hard enough for it to bruise in a few minutes.

When he’s had about enough, he kicked you in the stomach—he made it precise for the tip of his boot to rupture your gut. As you were weak—which he took advantage of—you curled up, hugging yourself with your arms coiled around your torso, you writhed in pain while supporting your entire weight with one hand planted on the floor.

“Don’t make me hit you again—though I wouldn’t even need a reason!“ he snarled.

You sharply, nasally inhaled; fingernails scratching against the dirty metal floor of the cell as you wait out for the pain to alleviate. Your eyes flicked open and your head jerked up, shooting the Stormtrooper an unwelcoming, hateful look in the eye—he didn’t want to admit it, but he flinched when he saw your bloodshot eyes: dark circles framing it, and the linings swelling in a burning pink hue.

“Come on, Jedi, we got a long ahead of—”

A soft rumble in the air hummed around the cell. Apathetic eyes stared at the Stormtrooper, watching him gag, desperately gasp for air through the barely-breathable helmet, and claw at his neck. He submitted to his knees, in the same level as you sitting down leisurely in the middle of the room, and it’s as though you two saw eye-to-eye—through that black tinted visor, he catches an arrogant smirk curling at the corner of your mouth, and he realizes too late that he’s crossed you.

You were neither a Jedi nor an Inquisitor. For now, you were something in between. Your madness is basically limbo.

You slowly raise your hand, your fingers are curled in a chokehold but there was still a gap around them, though it didn’t stay that long because with an abrupt closing motion of the hand—a popping sound came from the Stormtrooper, his head had twisted to an abnormal angle, and then his corpse made a loud thud that alarmed his companion.

“Hey, what’s going on over th—?”

Horrified, the Stormtrooper choked on the last words of his sentence. He stood there frozen in the hallway, contemplating whether to step inside to pull the dead Stormtrooper out of the cell; his course of action was to contact the maintenance assigned to the prison block to get you. The crew was equally afraid of you, but since they know in themselves that they’ve never crossed you, they’ve got nothing to fear—although it’s the way you look at people is what scares them, it’s rather more of an upward glare than a look.

Minutes later, the Second Brother strolls into the prison block as if it was some kind of leisurely pastime. At his command, the ray-shield disappeared and he let himself in your cell.

“Hello, little thorn, can’t be late for your daily exercise,”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the Seventh Sister, the Fifth Brother, and the Grand Inquisitor,”

“I’ve never seen the Grand Inquisitor. Though, none of you have autonomy over me.”

The Second Brother stood still for a brief second, his shoulders rose as he took in a big sigh. The hand behind his back hoisted to his helmet, the duraplast clicked and the mechanisms of the mask hissed as it loosened up. This was your first time seeing the bare face of the Inquisitor.

A human male, his fair skin was an open book written with scars and bruises—a few of which were by your own hand during the exercises—a pair of brown irises twinkled but you detect the apathy in them—the expression in them was a dramatic contrast to what you imagined him to be without that mask. He seems to be growing out his shaven head, there was a short yet noticeable length of hair.  From his complexion, you wagered he’d be in his thirties. He bent down while keeping his helmet in one hand and tried to parlay with you in getting out of your cell.

“While you sit in these sorry walls, we have perfect autonomy over you,” he raises his free hand, a single finger extended. For each word or two, he poked your forehead to make sure you got the point. “No matter what you think.”

“You’re still not going to make me,”

He did a series of facial expressions to highlight his mock pensiveness: rolling his eyes, bobbing his head as he made a squeaking noise with his tongue against his teeth.

“Well, we don’t have the time to be very difficult, little thorn,” he clicked. “Unless, of course, we can ask your sweet Cal Kestis to make some arrange—!”

In the blink of an eye, you repeated the same action with the Second Brother, only this time you’re using two hands to choke him using the Force. They’ve exploited your mind by using Cal and whatever predicate they can come up with to trigger you—and they loved it when you’re easily stimulated by the mere mention of his name.

They’ve fashioned you into their personal time bomb and plaything altogether, saying the “magic word” to make a puppet of you and your emotions.

“Provoke me again with his name and what you plan to do with him—it’s your neck I’m snapping next!” you angrily growled.

The Second Brother tried to fight your chokehold, but he did it with more grace and dignity that he can afford. It was never your intention to instill fear, but your aggression is what cements it to everyone in this fortress. You expected him to gag, but you heard hints of snickering while he claws at his neck; regardless, you continued choking him.

A few more minutes lapsed before you decided to let him go out of your own volition. He coughed as he fell lower to your level, you’re practically looking down on him right now as he catches his breath.

Look how pathetic… you thought.

Over the Second Brother’s shoulder, you spotted the Fifth Brother standing in front of the door, unamused and grumbling like a freighter’s engine. You shot him the same bitter look you gave to the Stormtrooper and the Second Brother.

“One last time, [Y/N], I personally don’t like repeating myself—or anyone else, for that matter.”

The Second Brother regained his composure, dusted off his armor, and stood by. When you didn’t obey the Fifth Brother, he took matters to his own hands—literally. Shoving past the Second Brother, the other Inquisitor dragged you out of your cell.

“Get up and follow.”

The Second Brother hooked his arm around yours and followed the Fifth Brother.

“Where are you taking me?”

“No questions. Just follow.”

They escorted you to the dojo again. Waiting at the center of the room is the Seventh Sister, this time she wasn’t wielding an electrobaton, she was holding her own red haloed saber. The Second Brother shoved you away to face her; she raises her hand, in it was a weapon and she tossed it to you.

Your fingers trembled, you reluctantly wrapped them around the hilt. The steely coldness eventually warmed up around your palm. The glossy, dark grey finish distorted your reflection when you held it level to your face. The female Inquisitor stepped back—so did her two other companions—and ignited her saber. Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard two more buzz in succession. All of a sudden, your knees felt wobbly, you spun around, looking at the crimson rods of light glowering over their sinister faces.

“Go on and fight us,” the Seventh Sister initiated.

She didn’t want to hear anything from you. She immediately put herself in a stance, and then the two other followed. Having no choice, you did the same—one push of a button ignited a single beam, until you spotted the second switch and the latter half emitted out of its cylinder.

The three of them ganged up on you, but it was the Second Brother and Sixth Sister who were more aggressive with you. The Fifth Brother fought with great calculation and precision, conserving his strength for the next attack only to overwhelm you while assisting the other two. Lost in the thrill of the fight, the same burst of energy returned to you.

It was addictive. You didn’t know it was poisonous, and yet you kept on using it to your advantage. You know it to be wrong, but you cannot will yourself to break away from it. Like a leech, you’ve bitten into it.

And you liked it.

“Raaarrgh!!” the Seventh Sister roared as she swings down her saber.

You deflected the two with both ends of your given saber and pushed them back. You recompose yourself into a much more proper stance, then fixate on the Seventh Sister; you’re able to match her strength—if not her caliber—and equal your odds in this duel. However, you still have the Second Brother to deal with.

“Whoa, look at her go, Sister!!” the Second Brother cackled.

The Seventh Sister comes charging right towards you, but she was blocked at the last second, and before she could even pull away to afford an attack—you planted your sole of your shoe flat onto your stomach. She staggered and clutched her torso with one hand; quickly, you turn your attention to the Second Brother, who was evidently much feistier than Seventh Sister. He took most of your time—a pair of dual-ended sabers cutting through the air, their lights curving as they’re swung by the wielders, and sparks flew to light up the rest of the room.

“I guess the tough girl is back now, huh, little thorn!? Cal Kestis would be so impressed! You could practically kill him for abandoning you!”

That did it. Relying again once more on that intoxicating energy that granted you the strength of five Jedi Masters at best, a massive push of the Force sent everyone flying—even the hulking, six-feet-or-so Fifth Brother wasn’t spared by that immense wave of energy!

Only you remained standing in the circle, you looked around—there were so many targets to choose from! You had a vendetta for each one of them. You strode towards the one who gave out the taunt first—the Second Brother—while he was still shaking off the nausea, he reacted at the last minute and lousily deflected your hits.

Left end, right end… they all flung to his direction and he could not keep up with the speed of your wielding while suppressed of fighting space. He could only block you for so long.

When you sensed his sword arm becoming weak, his jawbone met the hard sole of your shoe and rendered him incapacitated. Next was the Seventh Sister, she was just about to hoist herself up back on her feet until she saw you sprinting toward her—she had time, albeit little of it, to evade you but your sabers still clashed. She kept up with your pace—all the twirls and flashy footwork, she matched it all—but she was overwhelmed by how heavy your attacks dealt. You bore your weight on her as she deflected you and never has she ever felt so intimidated in all her life! Your eyes—now devoid of empathy and flooded with rage—blended perfectly with the redness of the saber. You were satisfied when you saw the Seventh Sister struggling, it’s plastered all over her face!

“Oh, look at you, the shrewd sister is overtaken,” you taunted, basically parroting the Second Brother’s trademark singsong. “By a damn prisoner! Hah! How does it feel to have your pride stabbed right into its gut, huh?”

Before she could even react and respond, you staggered the female Mirialan again and this time she stayed down—your fist to her cheek made sure of it. The third and final enemy: the Fifth Brother. It was brawn against brains. Strength versus dexterity. After all, what good is brute strength if you can’t even utilize it efficiently?

“Come on, big guy—I’m wide open!”

The Fifth Brother wasn’t a fan of being taunted. He charges on like a deranged Reek, his saber brandished up in the air, ready for an overhead strike but you slipped away in the blink of an eye and slashed him from behind. All three of them exchanged glances with one another and then nodded in agreement, as if they’ve had a Plan Z all along; three Inquisitors come charging towards you, but before they could lay a finger on your hair, you planted your fist hard into the tiled floor—your knuckles swelled and then bled the same time the tiles cracked.

At first, the cracks stayed only within the radius of your fist, until they multiplied and spread. From thin crosshairs to actual breakages along the surface, the marble broke into shards and was sent flying with the current of the Force energy that sourced from your punch—like seashells tugged by the waves as they’re beached to the shoreline. The shards cut through the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother’s cheeks, they had to shield themselves with their hands—consequentially getting their palms and fingers nicked as well.

It was too strong for them to fight, rendering you untouchable until the wind died down. The loaned lightsaber which you used so skillfully fell from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

Silence. Soft, tired gasping of air. And then a single, slow series of applause followed.

Everyone searched for the applauder.

The Grand Inquisitor.

He was hauntingly terrifying, alright. Ashen as bone, blood-red streaks painted on parts of his face, and a pair of topaz-gold eyes. He walked past the felled Inquisitors and stood in front of you—his height obviously lumbered over you that you had to step back to fully acknowledge him and look him in the eyes without breaking your back.

“Well, well,” he cooed, bringing his hands behind his back. “It seems that we have a new face among us.”

You panted one last time, and used the Force to bring the haloed saber back to your hand. You poised your demeanor in front of the Pau’an, and with a dark, sinister grace—you bend your knee, the black, weathered saber is presented in your hand to the Grand Inquisitor. A smirk curled along his ribbed skin, showing a corner of his jagged, pointed teeth.

“Welcome to the fray, Twelfth Sister.”

[zwritestuff]

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Chapter Three) - Kyara

A/N: Me? Actually updating regularly and not letting the months go by? Who would've thunk. This chapter actually took me a lot of erasing and deleting, and there are some scenes that didn’t make the cut, but I like the end result! Hope you guys do too :D This ended up being 4.5K, so it’s quite a treat. A million thanks to @fromthenorthernskies​ for screaming on the doc beta-ing this chapter!

AO3 Link!

Kyne would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy having lunch with Kiara; it was way too different from sharing a coffee and sweets in Kyne’s office in the middle of the day. Now they weren’t alone, and they had to lower their voices when they wanted to laugh loudly, but it was nice. She always has a good time when she’s with Kiara.

She learns that Kiara’s favorite color is purple, her favorite movie is Beetlejuice and one day she wants to have a pet chameleon so when she dresses it up, it changes its color to the one of the garment. Kyne tells her that’s something a privileged rich kid would say, but it oddly makes sense - and that if she ever does it, she expects to see a picture.

When it’s time to come back to the office, they walk through the streets with their shoulders bumping and their hands brushing ever so slightly, neither of them having the courage to grab the other’s hand. That’s until they cross a particularly busy street, and Kyne wraps her pinky around Kiara’s. To not lose her, she mumbles, not sure if she heard her. Their fingers stay intertwined even when they make the walk to Kyne’s office, closer than they should be in an empty hallway with space to spare. 

They get a few stares, and Kyne feels her free hand twitch. She tries to brush it off and focus on what Kiara is telling her instead. She’s talking about the ball, and how they will go about dress shopping on Friday.

“If you drag me to go shopping before I’ve had a shower, I’m breaking up with you,” Kyne says, coming to a stop in front of the door of her office, letting go of Kiara’s finger. Kyne could swear she saw Kiara look disappointed for a brief moment, but if it happened she doesn’t bring it up. Why would she, anyway?

Kiara laughs shortly, and dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “I’ll pick you up from your place after you get a shower, then we go shopping. That sounds okay?” She asks gently, clasping her hands behind her back. Kyne has noticed she does that a lot when she talks to her. Not that she thinks much about it, or Kiara for that matter.

“Sounds fine to me,” she agrees, smiling with satisfaction. Kiara smiles back, saying she should get back to her office, promising to text her later. Kyne furrows her brow at that, only the slightest bit concerned. “You still haven’t told me how you got my number, y’know. It’s kinda creepy,” she says before Kiara can bid her goodbye.

“If you think about it, I have everyone’s phone numbers at my disposal. Whether I decide to make use of them or not, that’s up to me.” Kiara shrugs, Kyne stares at her for a moment. She hadn’t thought about that.

“You know, sometimes I forget one day you’ll inherit this whole thing,” Kyne comments. It’s not a lie though. She has never met someone as powerful as Kiara that just decided to hang out with her employees instead of all the other powerful people. Sometimes Kyne forgets she could fire her if she got on her nerves, and treats her like she’d treat an old friend. 

It seems to work in her favour, though; her friends always ask her how she had struck a friendship with none other than Kiara, the infamous heir of the company that never cracked a smile. Kyne was always skeptical of that - whenever she hung out with her, Kiara was nothing but a giggling mess, not the stoic person her friends, and everyone else apparently, made her to be.

Perhaps she was the only person with the privilege of being able to make Kiara laugh. She wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Kiara just stares at her with an amused smile, and Kyne proceeds to explain herself after a moment. “You steal the cupcakes you bring me and always ask me if I have a spare charger, when you have the money to buy an entire cupcake shop and a thousand chargers if you want to,” she explains with a grin, and Kiara laughs wholeheartedly, the slightest hint of a blush appearing on her cheeks.

She’s decided her new favorite thing is making Kiara laugh, not only because it seems she’s one of the few people able to make her smile, but also because she throws her head back, scrunches up her nose and drops the invisible weight from her shoulders. It suits her a lot better.

“Stolen cupcakes are the best cupcakes,” Kiara jokes with a complicit smile. Kyne chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I gotta go for real now, but have a good rest of your day.” She smiles, waving at her, and Kyne waves back.

“Have a good day, and don’t fire anyone!” She jokingly exclaims, entering in her office.

She’s barely settling down in her chair, wondering when Kiara would text her, when Priyanka, Bo, and Scarlett enter without knocking and Kyne sinks in her chair when they all give her curious looks.

In the grand scheme of things, Kyne hadn’t considered the fact that her friends were all but trying to get her to ask Kiara out and scam her to get her money, only for Kyne to always shut them down by saying they’re just casual friends - they said it so often she swore it wasn’t a joke anymore.

They have questions, questions that Kyne isn’t prepared for answering, because she never really asked Kiara if she could tell her friends that this is fake - though she supposses she can’t, if the conversation they previously had means anything.

“Oh, there’s nothing going on between me and Kiara, you guys are just imagining things!” Scarlett mocks, mimicking her voice. Kyne groans, sinking into her chair and covering her face with her hands. “So you lied to our face this whole time? You bitch,” they complain, folding their arms.

“Normally I don’t agree with Scarlett, except now,” Boa pipes up, “Bitch,” she echoes, and Kyne swears she’ll snap her optic nerve by the strength she rolled her eyes with.

“Would you guys let me explain?” She exclaims in frustration. “There should be a category in the Olympics for jumping into conclusions, you all would excel at it,” Kyne comments, cocking a brow.

Priyanka takes a seat in the free chair on the other side of the desk, looking solemnly at her. “Firstly, you know I would. Second, go right ahead, then. Explain,” Priyanka says, cocking a brow in her direction. Kyne looks at her friends, and they all have the same stern, confused look. Shit.

She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking of something to say that’s convincing enough to appease her friends. She knows lying isn’t good, but if she already messed herself up in a lie of gigantic proportions, what would another little white lie do?

“It’s not like I’m dating Kiara, per se,” she begins, “We’re just getting to know each other.” The skeptical looks don’t vanish from her friends’ faces, and Kyne fidgets with her hands under her desk before dropping the bomb. “And she’s bringing me to a charity ball on Saturday,” she muses, speaking fast enough to make her words almost unintelligible. She purposely leaves out the part about meeting Kiara’s parents, because her brain might be good with numbers, but not with coming up with lies on the spot.

“Excuse me, what?” Bo says, furrowing her brow. “Did you just say she invited you to the Starzy Charity Ball?” She asks, eliciting an over the top gasp from Scarlett and Priyanka. Kyne cocks a brow, is this ball of common knowledge? Maybe they weren’t lying when they said the company could be shutting down and Kyne wouldn’t know.

“When did your hoe ass land a date with Kiara Schatzi and an invitation to the Starzy Ball?” Priyanka inquires, sounding as confused as she looks. Kyne would laugh at their collective reaction if she didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed.

“I am very charming when I want to, thank you very much,” she replies, matter-of-factly, with a shit-eating grin. 

Scarlett perches themself against the desk, folding their arms with a childish pout. “So you’re telling us you’ll be at a ball full of rich people, and you still won’t consider my magnificent plan of scamming some of them, running away and not work a day of our lives again?” They dramatize, bringing a hand to their chest.

Kyne snorts, quickly laughing along with her friends. Of course Scarlett takes every opportunity they get to talk about their “millionaire plan” as if it was that easy. At this point, Kyne just brushes it off as an in-joke.

They stay at her office a little longer than they should, trying to get all the details out of Kyne, but she keeps her answers short and concise, not giving much away - though there’s not much to say, really, and she’s not particularly good at lying, especially to her friends. Especially to Priyanka. Kyne swears she can smell the bullshit even before it comes out.

She’s surprised when Priyanka seems to believe her; out of the three of them, Kyne suspected she would be the one to pick up on the plot holes in her story. But she has yet to look suspicious, so she tries not to worry about it.

They finally leave her office when they notice the time and that they should be back to work, but they make it very clear that they want every detail possible about the ball, and that she’s not going to escape their query once Sunday arrives.

“How do y’all know I’m not going to be with Kiara on Sunday too?” Kyne challenges playfully, earning a screech from her friends. She has no idea where that came from, and almost right away she regrets it.

“Damn, you had lunch once and you already wanna climb on her?” Scarlett teases, making Kyne blush on the spot. She tries to stammer out an answer, but before she can they’re biding her goodbye and leaving the office.

The door is shut closed again, and Kyne groans, rubbing her eyelids. Well, that didn’t go as bad as planned, but it certainly didn’t go as smoothly as she would’ve wanted. She hopes and prays that the last line doesn’t find it’s way to Kiara’s knowledge.

Speaking of which, she hears the text alert go off in her phone, and when she goes to check, she bites back a smile when she reads it and sees it’s from Kiara.

***

Friday comes before Kyne can even notice it, and when she arrives at work that day, she feels her hands twitch every so often at the thought of going shopping with Kiara once work is over. They had exchanged a few texts here and there over the past two days, agreeing on an hour and talking about their boundaries when it came to money - though that was more Kyne's doing than Kiara’s.

It's one thing to let Kiara buy her a coffee or a cupcake; it's not that big of a deal, and something she can repay easily. But letting Kiara buy her a dress that costs about the same as her rent is a completely different thing, and she made sure to voice her concern to her to avoid any misunderstanding. Kiara had understood, but she said that, in the slight case a dress caught Kyne's eye and it happened to be expensive, it wouldn't bother her to buy it.

If anything, it's the least I can do to thank you, honey, she had texted her, and the pet name had left Kyne speechless for a couple moments. She had no idea how to answer it, so she just left it at that. Though she thinks about it more than she should.

She's chewing on a pen, reading a report they had sent her with a request to calculate the budget for a new hotel the company was building in partnership with some other rich people. Exciting stuff to do on a Friday morning, basically. There's a knock on the door, and she tells whoever it is to come in. She doesn't even need to look up to know it's Kiara.

A cupcake is settled in front of her, and she smiles when she looks up and finds Kiara staring right back at her. 

“Good morning,” she says, sitting in front of her and taking a sip from a Starbucks foam cup. Kyne bids her good morning too, and takes a bite from her cupcake. “Ready for today?” Kiara asks, with a playful gleam in her eyes. Kyne bites the inside of her cheek, fidgeting with her hands.

“I have a feeling that I should be worried,” she comments, chuckling nervously. Kiara laughs shortly, dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

“Don't be, this will be fun! I'm positive about that, it won't be that different from going shopping with a friend or by yourself,” Kiara assures her, but Kyne isn't sure if she should mention that she mostly shops at thrift stores and modifies the clothes she buys by herself, while Kiara probably spends hundreds in one item of clothing.

She keeps her mouth shut, and smiles gently at her instead. "I'll take your word for it, then." Kiara sets the foam cup on the desk, and claps excitedly.

“So, I think we haven't talked about tomorrow, and how we'll get ready together, or if we will get ready together for that matter--”

“Wait, what?” Kyne interrupts her, furrowing her brow. Kiara tells her that she had thought about bringing her to her apartment to do their hair and make-up together before the ball. Kyne plasters a smile on her face, but on the inside, there's a ball of nerves forming in her throat that keeps her from speaking.

It starts to dawn on her that, tomorrow, she'll know yet another face of Kiara at the ball, and she'll have to act accordingly to it. She'll have to hang from her arm like arm candy, talk to people that could buy her entire apartment complex without batting an eye, and actually meet Kiara's parents, whom she had only seen briefly in the hallways and never dared to look in the eye. 

Maybe this was a hell of a bad idea disguised at just being not that bad.

She remains silent for a minute too long, and Kiara senses that something is off; she leans forward, looking at her with a tinge of worriedness, and asks her what's wrong. Everything, Kyne wants to answer, but she doesn't find the courage to vocalize her thoughts — besides, she knows it’s too late to back down, and she doesn’t want to let Kiara down.

So she swallows her fears, clears her throat and tries to lie as best as she can.

“I’m kinda intimidated at the thought of meeting your parents,” she says, which isn’t technically a lie, but it isn’t all of the truth either. Kiara’s expression softens up, and she goes out her way to assure her that meeting her parents won’t be as bad as she thinks, that they’re actually great people. But the only thing that flashes through Kyne’s mind is how fast she will be fired once they fake their break up and her boss is mad at her for breaking his daughter’s heart.

Kiara is talking, she sees her lips moving, but the words don’t reach her ears. Kyne takes a deep breath, and tries to concentrate on what she’s saying.

“Besides, you’re already pretty, it shouldn’t take you too long to get your makeup done, right?” She says, giving her a sly wink. Kyne blinks repeatedly before blushing — well, that’s what she gets for zoning out.

Kyne tries to shut down all the negative thoughts, and gives Kiara a genuine smile. Or as genuine as she can.

“I can try to paint fast, I guess,” she offers, biting the inside of her cheek, hoping Kiara hadn’t noticed she wasn’t paying her attention.

Kiara smiles, the conversation goes on and Kyne tries her best to not let her anxiety eat her up, which is easier said than done.

***

It turns out that going shopping with Kiara is fun, despite the initial awkwardness when she had picked Kyne up and neither knew what to say to break the ice. It oddly felt like a blind date, in which you have no idea how your date even looks like, but that wasn’t exactly their case. So after some moments of uncomfortable silence, Kyne had asked Kiara if she had started How To Get Away With Murder like she promised she would do, and the conversation just flowed naturally.

Kiara takes her to the fancy side of the mall, with stores with prices so expensive Kyne and her friends could never afford, so they took pictures of the garments on display and then commissioned Kyne to recreate them for much cheaper. She drags her through three different stores in the span of an hour, searching all over for something that Kyne likes and agrees on the price of - the later was harder than they had imagined. Kyne doesn’t need her degree in math to know that their concept of cheap isn’t the same.

Their hunt in store number three isn’t successful, even though Kiara insisted she tried on a red mermaid gown on sale that would look beautiful on her - which it did, but it was too tight for Kyne’s liking, and it didn’t come in any other size.

“You know, you could buy me some nice fabric and I could wipe out a whole dress overnight. I did that for my high school prom,” Kyne comments as they’re leaving the store, and Kiara cocks a brow, amused.

“Wait, for real? I didn’t know you could sew,” she says, signaling Kyne to keep walking forward. Their hands brush again, just like on Wednesday after lunch, and Kyne wants to reach for Kiara’s hand and squeeze it tight so she doesn’t lose her in the crowd. But she desists from it.

“Yeah, my Lola taught me new things every time I visited over the summer when I was a kid. She says I came out just like her, because my mom can’t even thread a needle,” she tells her with a giggle, remembering all the summers she spent sitting next to her Lola, watching her sew beautiful garments, rummaging through her sewing room and imagining she was an important designer. 

Kiara snorts, grinning from ear to ear. “Now I kinda want to see what you could come up with if I bought you fancy fabrics,” she tentatively says, hiding her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Kyne wraps her arm around her bicep, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her gallery for a particular photo.

“If I pulled this in one night out from some fabrics I had in my house, I’m pretty sure I can come up with something for tomorrow.” She shows her a photo of her when she was eighteen, after she finished doing her makeup and was getting ready to go to prom with her friends - looking back, there are a ton of things wrong, except the golden floor length dress hugging her frame.

“You look so tiny,” is the first thing Kiara says, and Kyne pinches her arm out of reflex, sarcastically thanking her for the compliment on her dress. “Your dress is stunning, but I guess you already know that.” She gives her a playful smile, suddenly coming to a stop. “You know what? I have a new idea.”

“Oh god, not another one,” Kyne dramatizes, and Kiara pinches her back.

“This one is actually good!” She protests, and Kyne tells her to go ahead. “I need to know if you can sew another dress overnight, though.” Kiara’s tone grows high pitched, and Kyne puts two and two together rather easily, though she’s a bit confused.

“Either you wanna take me up on the fabric offer, or you want me to make you a gown for tomorrow,” Kyne says tentatively, cocking a brow. Doesn’t Kiara already have a dress? And why would she want Kyne to make her one, when she can perfectly buy some fancy dress for herself?

Kiara insists on her question, asking her to just answer with a yes or no, and Kyne says it depends on the design; it’s not something she can do if the design is something massive and opulent, like she probably wants.

She pulls out her phone with a big smile, quickly opening Pinterest and showing Kyne one of her boards. “My mom actually wanted me to get something very extra, but I said ‘mom, I’m an adult now, I can wear whatever I want!’. But in the end, I forgot to buy a dress altogether,” Kiara confesses sheepishly, but Kyne is too concentrated on the board. 

She sees a lot of vibrant colors that would go well in Kiara, and she tries to imagine how long it would take her to create any of those rather intricate designs. Surely more than one day and a half, she thinks - then, one design in particular catches her eye; it’s a floor length dress with a small cut on the left leg, the top half being off the shoulder. It’s fancy enough, easy to make, and it would look great on Kiara.

“I have a royal blue fabric that would go really well with this design,” Kyne comments absent-mindedly, looking back and forth between the photo and Kiara. “It’s expensive fabric though, so I expect nothing short of a royal dress in exchange,” she jokingly says, but Kiara takes it to heart.

“Let's go then, your majesty, we have some shopping to do.” She tugs at her arm to keep walking, with a playful smile on her face. Kyne tries to ignore the fact their arms are still linked, and that Kiara strokes the back of her arm with her thumb ever so slightly.

It takes her two more stores to find a dress that Kyne actually likes and has no complaints about; it’s a deep shade of green, floor length, with a deep cleavage and some delicate embroidery details all over it. Kyne almost rejects it despite absolutely adoring it, all because of the price - Kiara just swipes her credit card before Kyne changes her mind.

The bag feels heavy in her hands, and there’s a tinge of worry in the back of her mind. What if she wastes her and Kiara’s time, and she ends up not liking the dress she makes? She’d be absolutely mortified, not only because she already cost her five hundred dollars, but because she’d hate to let Kiara down.

Her train of thought is interrupted by Kiara asking her if she wants to have ice cream before they leave. Kyne accepts, smiling gently, trying to push her worries to the back of her mind.

***

Admittedly, it's been a long time since Kyne brought anyone outside her friend circle and family to her apartment. It's not as messy as it is most days, and she'd like to think it's cozy enough, with all the pictures scattered around and the potted plants on the windows to make up for the small space. Kiara says something about not knowing she had a green thumb, while she takes off her shoes and leaves them at the entrance, despite Kyne's insistence that it's not really necessary if she doesn't want to.

Having her around feels weird, especially because just a week before all they knew about each other was compressed to the type of coffee they liked and how much they hated corporative meetings. She eases up once Kiara leaves her jacket on the coat rack, loosens up the buttons of her shirt and her hair, flopping onto the couch and asking with a child-like excitement when will they start.

“I need to take your measurements first,” she says, rummaging through her drawers for her measuring tape. Kiara practically jumps off the couch, bouncing with excitement.

“I can't wait to get a custom made dress from Miss Kyne Aguilar herself,” she teases lightheartedly, and Kyne coos.

“Don't get your hopes up,” she deadpans, getting a giggle in response.

Kyne tries to ignore the annoying way her heart beats so fast when Kiara laughs, and she makes her stand very still while she takes her measurements, but she feels Kiara’s eyes following her throughout the whole process. She swallows thickly when she brings the measuring tape up to her hips, writing down her measurements faster than she ever did, trying to ignore the heat creeping up at the back of her neck - though it’s almost impossible to ignore when she places the tape over Kiara’s chest, and now she’s sure her stare is glued on her.

“This should be quick,” Kyne muses, once she’s finished with the measurements, breathing out a sigh of relief when she walks to her cabinet full of her sewing equipment, pulling out basic molds for the top part. 

“You know, if you actually can do this, I’m going to be really impressed,” Kiara says, settling on Kyne’s couch again and tucking her legs under her body. Kyne cocks a brow at her, setting up her things at the coffee table.

“I take payment in cash, not surprise,” she deadpans, eliciting a faux offended yelp from Kiara. She giggles after a moment, spreading out the fabric and fetching for chalk in her pencil case to trace the initial patterns. “It shouldn’t be that hard, y’know? Your design is very standard, I thought you’d want something more, I don’t know, fancy.” She steals a glance at Kiara, who cocks a brow and shifts on the couch, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.

“I’m not a big fan of those big, opulent dresses, honestly. I prefer comfort above everything - ‘sides, I'm pretty sure I'd look like a clown,” Kiara comments, watching with interest as Kyne fumbles with the fabric, making sure it's perfectly symmetrical.

Kyne pauses to meet Kiara's gaze. “I mean, have you seen yourself? You wouldn't look bad even if you wore a sack of potatoes,” she says earnestly, and she's not sure where did the courage to say that came from, but the smile that breaks in Kiara's face makes Kyne's stomach twist again.

“Coming from the woman that can pull off every color under the sun, that's a very high compliment,” Kiara compliments back, causing Kyne to blush slightly and dismiss her with a wave of her hand. 

The next hours pass in a blur of cutting and sewing fabric, making sure she wasn't pinching Kiara with the pins, and Kyne's heart beating so fast it may come out of her ribcage whenever Kiara's laugh echoes through the apartment.

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - Epilogue (Late Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 3.5k

----------

Shawn doesn’t settle at the piano until the crowd at Emilia’s has grown. The loud chatter echoing in the small restaurant quiets when he turns down the music tinkling through the soundsystem. Heads turn towards the sleek black piano in the corner of the restaurant as he places his well-practiced fingers on the ivory keys. 

He speaks into the microphone as he begins to play his favorite melody. 

“This is a song about finding love again when you least expect it,” he coos softly, so as not to interrupt anyone who doesn’t care for the live music. 

(He’s not sure why you’d come to Emilia’s on a Thursday night if you don’t like live music, but to each their own.) 

“Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed. I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited…” 

Chatter in the restaurant kicks up again, but those closest to him seem willing to forgo conversation for a free concert. It’s quiet in this little corner of Emilia’s, save for the plinking of the piano and the delicate croon of his falsetto. 

“When I look across the room, and you're staring right back at me, like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughing...” 

Maya’s at her new favorite table watching her old favorite guy do his favorite thing. Back in the day, she and Shawn used to cozy up in a booth in the far corner. They could be gross and kiss there without anyone looking at them funny. They were kids. 

Shawn plays regularly at Emilia’s now and Maya loves to watch, especially on days like today. Maya’s been in the studio she shares with Shawn since just after her sunrise surf. She’s had one of her first commissions since starting to paint semi-professionally in Avila and spent her whole day focusing on the piece — it’s a landscape, oil on canvas, based on a crumpled old Polaroid the client got from his grandparents of the boardwalk when they lived in Avila years before. It’s nice. Maya’s proud to do it. 

She and Shawn expanded his studio when the space next to his came available. Now it’s their studio. Mostly, she adds her artistry to his instruments, adding little painted elements or even much larger ones, like in the case of that first piano Shawn built. She ended up adding a whole gorgeous Avila sunset mural on top. It sold for a lot (!) more than expected. Her business acumen has also helped them in their new ventures together. 

Tonight is a welcome break from it, though. They’ve both been working themselves so hard to finish pieces commissioned by some of Margaret’s San Francisco finance friends. But tonight, back at Emilia’s like nothing ever changed and at the same time like they’re brand new, Shawn plays her song. 

Not her only song, obviously. He’s written her many over the years. This is the new one, the one he started a decade ago, tripped over through that first hazy summer and finished around the time they decided to move in to Maya’s cottage together. She’s heard it before, whispered into her hair, plucked quietly against the backdrop of sea and sand on their daybed outside. Never like this, in front of a crowd of strangers who mostly all know their story. 

Maya watches him smile as he sings the words like he always does, like he has a secret, like he got the girl in the end after all the trouble. It makes her smile too. 

Shawn takes a breath, suddenly aware of Maya’s eyes on him from across the room, though he hasn’t looked up since he began playing. 

“Don't know why I tried, ‘cause ain't nobody like you, familiar disappointment every single time I do…” 

She must’ve tucked into their new favorite table right as he started playing, or else she would’ve pressed a good luck kiss to his temple like she always does before he performs. She insists he doesn’t actually need luck, but they both like the tradition, anyway.

“Every single night my arms are not around you, my mind's still wrapped around you. 

Baby, tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'. Baby, anytime you're ready, I'm waitin'...” 

He knows where she is without searching, so when he tilts his head and finally opens his eyes, she’s there, staring him down like he’s something magical she’s never seen before. His face heats, because even after all these years, being the sole focus of Maya’s attention makes his heart race. 

He catches her gaze with his and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a tender smile. Memories of the night before race through his mind and send a shiver down his spine; memories of staying up far too late to make love over and over until sleep pulled Maya under, with Shawn easily following. 

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her as he continues to sing the words he’s already pressed into the curve of her neck while tangled together between their sheets. 

“Even ten years from now if you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around. Tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'...” 

Maya’s lips switch around a shy smile. She knows, somehow, when he’s looking at her like that, that he’s thinking about last night.

Last night is just the latest in a long thread that they’ve had since reestablishing their relationship. They’re hot and frantic or lazy and sensual and completely perfect. They’re the kind of nights when sleep holds no appeal at all, that touching each other is the only kind of satisfaction they need.

A curl flops over Shawn’s eyes as he plays and sings right at her. She grins for real because she can’t help it and props her chin up in her hand as she watches.

A pair of warm, flabby arms wrap gently around her shoulders and she feels the weight of a chin on her head.

“You know,” Emilia’s gritty voice says softly near Maya’s ear, “I think the two of you are my favorite thing that’s ever happened in this little beach town.”

Maya rubs Emilia’s arm and nods. “I think I agree.”

Emilia winks at him from her perch above Maya’s head. Shawn flushes, still unable to control the rush of blood to his cheeks each time Emilia looks at him with that mysterious twinkle in her eye. He watches the women murmur to one another, and his heart beats a little faster, just enough to feel against his ribcage. 

But before the galvanized rhythm can overwhelm him, Shawn closes his eyes and continues to sing. His voice is soft, as though he’s decided to sing the rest of the song to himself. Sometimes it’s the quiet moments with his music that have the most powerful impact on an audience, and more importantly, on the woman he’s in love with. 

“And if I have to, I'll wait forever, say the word and I'll change my plans. 

Yeah, you know that we fit together, I know your heart like the back of my hand…” 

Shawn’s energy shifts. He gets quieter, like he forgets he’s not in the studio playing quietly for her or in their house, sitting at the baby grand piano he built for them as a housewarming gift when he moved in. 

But there’s just so long he can go without looking at her. His gaze is drawn to her, as if pulled by a magnetic field so strong he couldn’t fight it if he wanted. His fingers climb along the piano keys while he watches Emilia press her cheek into the top of Maya’s head. It’s his turn to wink, but he directs it at Maya.

“So baby, tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'. Baby, anytime you're ready, I'm waitin'...”

She giggles at the way Emilia squeals teasingly in her ear. As Shawn’s voice fades out and the song ends, the restaurant claps politely. Maya mimes whistling at him and continues clapping.

Emilia releases her from her loving near stranglehold. Maya tilts her head up at the woman’s face, grinning ear to ear and covered in sunspots.

“Can I have a coffee milkshake with caramel and whipped cream please?”

Emilia tosses her head back and laughs, a big, strong belly laugh that doesn’t match the finer aesthetic she’s created for her still quirky restaurant since the renovation. They don’t even have milkshakes on the menu anymore -- too lowbrow. But Emilia kept the machine. Maya and Shawn are glad she did.

Shawn manages to catch Maya’s request when he’s heading to their table. He grins up at Emilia, slings his arm over Maya’s shoulders and slides into the seat beside her. 

“I’ll take a chocolate shake, Em, if it’s not too much trouble.” The smile that splits his lips is as sugary as the treats they’ve ordered. Emilia calls it his ‘popstar smile’ when she’s trying to give him shit, but he thinks she likes it more than she lets on. 

The woman shakes her head, but smiles as she wipes her hands on the front of her black apron. “You’re always too much trouble, kid.”  

Emilia gives Maya one last look, something Shawn can’t quite read, then scurries back to the kitchen, repinning her curls to the top of her head as she goes. 

“So,” he murmurs, angling himself towards Maya, “What were you two talking about? I can only assume it was me.” His nose nudges her temple, lips brushing over the apple of her cheek. 

With his heavy arm around her shoulders, Maya curls comfortably into Shawn, resting her hand on his stomach as he peppers her cheek with kisses. She can feel the way he smiles through it, just happy to be close to her. She knows the feeling.

Maya crosses her legs, resting her foot against his calf. She shrugs. “You always think everything is about you. You’re not the sun.”

She’s teasing. He knows she was talking about him anyway. She moves some floppy curls out of his eyes.

“She just loves us, that’s all.”

“Everyone seems to love us these days, don’t they?” he asks with a smile. 

Maya and Shawn are a bit of local lore. The town is small and it talks. Everyone knows about the guy who owned the workshop whose long lost love came back to where they spent a few weeks in love one summer, and how the beach brought them back together. They’re not too nosy, but Maya and Shawn are noticed, and not just by Emilia.

She brings them their milkshakes, making a silly show of pretending to hide them so the other customers won’t wonder where they came from.

Shawn nearly moans. The milkshakes are beautifully decorated, with a smooth caramel drizzle topping Maya’s whipped cream, and a deep brown ribbon of chocolate swirled around his own. 

“Em,” he says with a laugh, “If you wanted to be inconspicuous with these, you shouldn’t’ve made them so pretty.” Shawn grabs his spoon and digs into the homemade whip Em always keeps around just in case he and Maya stop by. 

“Maybe,” hums Emilia, “But y’all deserve a nice treat every now and then.” With that, she drops a kiss to the top of Maya’s head and shuffles off to the busy kitchen. 

“She’s spoiling you rotten, Lemon,” Shawn garbles around a spoonful of milkshake. As he swallows, his mouth stretches into a wide, close-lipped smile, his cheeks ruddy, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “But I don’t think I can blame her.” 

Maya rolls her eyes, swallowing her own enormous mouthful of espresso-y goodness. She winces at the slight brain freeze and shakes her head quickly before answering.

“Spoiling you, too. She gave you extra whip, I can tell,” Maya accuses playfully, jabbing her spoon at his overflowing glass.

She settles back into his arm and continues poking at her own shake. The restaurant is lively tonight, warm with conversation and good energy. Emilia’s is almost always like that. It’s why she and Shawn love it so much. She may even miss it while they’re gone.

“How much do you have packed?” Maya asks him carefully after swallowing, narrowing her eyes.

They leave for Greece tomorrow. Three weeks of beach hopping around the coast, exploring little towns, enjoying history, even taking some sailing lessons in the Mediterranean.

Maya herself has barely packed. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Shawn wipes a dribble of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. He tilts his head, swirls his spoon in his glass so the rest of his whipped cream mixes with the shake. 

“Packed? For what?” he asks with a quirk of his brow. He keeps his gaze trained on his glass, the most promising method for maintaining his silly rouse. 

A bag full of light summer linens packed specifically for Greece is stashed on his side of the walk-in, where it’s been for a few weeks now. Shawn’s been eager to get away with Maya since even before they bought the plane tickets. Packing his bag so early was a cathartic release for the frantic energy of his anticipation. 

He certainly has more to pack, though. It’s hard, however, when every free moment he has tends to be occupied by efforts to make his girlfriend come as much as possible. 

Maya rolls her eyes and swallows a mouthful of ice cream, elbowing him softly.

“For what, he asks. Like you’re not counting the seconds.”

They both are. They both have been. They don’t lead extraordinarily stressful lives, but they’ve been pushing hard lately. They took on their first commissioned project together, a harp with an intricate design described and ordered by a doting grandfather for his granddaughter. He sent to pick it up yesterday and called the studio to relay his effusive praise personally, letting them know it would not be his last purchase and he wanted to tell all his friends about them.

Now that that project is done, they’re ready for vacation. Maya herself still has some things to toss into a bag. She’s packing light, though. Staying in a series of villas around Greece with Shawn doesn’t call for much in the way of clothes. Some light, breezy dresses, plenty of bikinis, and not much else.

She can’t fucking wait.

She finishes the milkshake with a deeply contented sigh and presses her cool lips to the side of his neck. 

“What are you most excited about?” she coos, the same question she’s asked over and over since they booked the trip -- a fun way to anticipate and daydream as they prepared for their first vacation together since they came to Avila as kids.

Shawn hums. He pushes his own empty glass away and curls his arm tighter around Maya’s shoulders, tipping his head so his cheek brushes the top of hers. 

“I think--” the word is drawn out, as if he really has to consider what might possibly excite him during their trip, “I think I’m most excited about finding a little cafe where you’ll jump up on the table and start singing Dancing Queen to me. Or Mamma Mia. Whichever fits the cafe scene better.” 

Shawn smiles into the kiss he presses to Maya’s head. The scent of her coconut milk shampoo floods his senses and he sighs, content to spend the rest of his life with his nose buried in her hair. As much as he’s looking forward to their trip, nothing beats being nestled together at their favorite table in their favorite restaurant, full of their favorite milkshakes. 

Maya snorts. “Gonna have to feed me a lot of ouzo to get that to happen.”

She has no doubt there will be a lot of ouzo and a lot of cafes. But if Shawn wants Maya singing in public, he’s also going to have to smile real pretty. Which, as it turns out, he’s an expert at.

One of their regular waiters drops the check on their table. Maya lets Shawn put down his card because she’s footing most of their vacation bill, since it was her idea.

“What about you, Lemon?”

“I thiiiiink,” she teases him with a smile, running her fingers against the back of his neck, “Probably all the skinny dipping we’re gonna do in the Adriatic. Or Mediterranean, either or. I’m not picky.”

She nips his jaw and reaches for her purse to stand. They have more to pack, so it’s probably time to be heading back. Maya blows Emilia a kiss and catches the one she sends in return. She makes a mental note to find her a nice gift while they’re abroad. 

“I don’t know about skinny dipping, Lu,” Shawn muses as he guides her out of the restaurant, aiming a friendly wave over his shoulder to Emilia as she bustles around the main dining room. “Those European seas get pretty chilly. And I’ve got precious cargo to protect.” 

She almost chokes on a breath.

“Did you just refer to your cock and balls as precious cargo? Not that I’m disagreeing, but Jesus, Shawn,” she laughs, squeezing his hand playfully. 

Shawn grins, the dimple in his chin popping out. “Bad joke? It was Geoff’s, first. Blame him.” 

He swings their joined hands between them, making sure to keep his pace at a leisurely stroll while they head down the boardwalk. Sure, there’s some packing to do, but Shawn’s not in a rush. The sun hasn’t even set. The breeze is warm, salty, perfect. Maybe Maya will go for an evening surf before they have to get down to business. 

The waves swell, roll in, crash, retreat. 

Maya finds herself slowing her pace to match his. Sometimes she catches herself power walking around this sleepy beach town like it’s Manhattan at rush hour and she has to remind herself to slow down. There’s no need for that anymore, and Maya is so grateful that he’s here to help keep her from sprinting through life.

Maya admires the way his curls rumple in the shore breeze. He squints adorably through the golden hour sun. She thinks about painting him this way and wonders if she could ever hope to capture the colors accurately.

Shawn turns so he’s walking backwards ahead of Maya, their hands still clasped together. “You wanna go for a surf? You didn’t get out there this morning.” 

She shrugs and plays with his fingers while they walk. “Maybe. Kind of just want to stay on land with you.”

He watches her bend and stretch his fingers as he continues his backwards trek. She studies his face, and he knows she’s got her artist eyes on from the contemplative intensity of her gaze. He stays focused on their linked fingers. A look like that from Maya is full of weight Shawn’s not sure he understands. 

He comes close, though, when he writes music about her. 

“Do we have to pack right away?” he asks eventually, swinging around to walk forward again when they near the house. “Let’s get stranded on the beach for a little. Watch the sunset. If no one’s around, I could make you come.” 

Shawn’s itching with the need to savor this last night in Avila, because it feels as though tomorrow will change them. They’ll be a different couple on the other end of this trip. He’s eager for it, to really begin his life with her, but he’s not in any rush. 

They have the time for another sunset. 

Maya’s eyebrows lift. “Well, I certainly think I could make time for that in our very busy, very official pre-travel schedule.”

Maybe they’ll be up late throwing clothes into a bag, dazed and smiley after spending another several hours in bed like they’re prone to do. Maya doesn’t mind. It’s always worth it with him.

They live far enough off the boardwalk to avoid most foot traffic. The house is quiet but warm -- they left a few lights on when they left for dinner, giving it a cozy glow. Maya looks up at it with pride. It was the best thing she’s ever done for herself, buying this house. And now it belongs to them both. It feels right.

The sun is starting to dip below the horizon when they arrive out on the beach in front of the house. She stops and drapes his arms around her shoulders like he’s a blanket, facing them toward the sunset. She looks down at their feet, hers between his, and traces her toe around the inside of his foot.

“Love you,” she murmurs softly. Maya’s not afraid to say it. She saves it for the most special occasions, and for some beautiful, cosmic reason, this feels like one. 

Her gentle words push his heart into his throat. His pulse is loud— drum drum drum— in his ears, and he hides his satisfied smirk in her neck. 

She makes him feel painfully twenty-one again with such simple words. 

But he’s not twenty-one anymore, and he’s pretty fucking glad for it. He was a huge idiot back then, even if he did fall in love with the right girl. He’s better at loving her now, with his newfound, middle-aged wisdom. 

“I know,” he growls into her neck when he manages to find his voice. He bites at her throat, then kisses his way to her ear. “Now stop bragging about it, Lemon, and watch the sunset with me.” 

-----------

Thank you for joining @achinglyshawn​ and I on such a special journey! We loved sharing this story with you and appreciate every message, like, or reblog. 💜 wishing you all safety and love.

@smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft​ @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @desire-to-live​ @jillian-nd​ @shawnwyr​ @curlsofshawn​ @graysonmendes​ @tnhmblive​ @meltingicequeen​

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Silver Lining

Summary:  My sketchbook twist on what happened in the episode The Storm while Johanna was alone in her car. You know, technically, it could have happened...

Inspired by something I said in this rewatch post

Notes:  Okay so originally this was going to be something very different with lots of obliviousness and mutual pining, but then it hit me that outside of the angsty hell that is The Mistakes We Made, I have no established relationship fics??? Time to fix that. Also I wanted to jump into the “librarian and Johanna were secretly dating during season 1” bandwagon before season 2 comes along and crushes our dreams.

Read it on ao3

The art supply store had been deserted, presumably because of the storm raging outside, which seemed to only get worse by the minute. Uneasy over the weather, Johanna’s shopping was quick, and she only bought what was absolutely essential, even though she promised herself to come back some other time.

She couldn’t fathom what was happening that day. Even in the height of winter, it never snowed like that in Trolberg, not as far as she remembered. It could be one of those freaky effects of global warming, she supposed, but it still was weird that it had happened so suddenly.

Returning home was not an option. The roads were completely blocked by heaps of pristine snow, and she’d certainly catch her death if she attempted the walk back, thus why she’d called Hilda. She’d wanted to tell her why she wouldn’t be returning home so soon, but knowing her daughter as she did, she also found it wise to warn her not to leave the house. Just in case she had any grand ideas.

After putting down the phone, she looked around only to realize that the stores were all closing, turning off their lights and closing their curtains. Johanna could see where they were coming from, seeing as no customer would face this storm for things like art supplies or doughnuts, but she had hoped at least one of them would be available for her to stay inside and make use of the heating. Seeing no other option, though, she returned to her car.

Her cellphone had no signal, and she was sure that that, too, was due to the weather. The supplies she’d bought weren’t enough for her to get ahead on her work, or even to doodle, so she was stuck with people-watching to pass her time. Everyone she saw looked like they were hurrying somewhere, and Johanna silently wished good luck to each of them, even though she knew that they would only be able to go so far before being forced to find somewhere to stay immediately.

None of the anxious faces she saw evoked more than a brief memory from her, either people who frequented her favorite cafe at the same time as her, or perhaps people she’d helped during her time working at the hardware store. Until one did.

Johanna recognized her colours before her face, because even though she was looking down at the ground, stepping carefully on the snowy street, her black clothes and purple hair always gave her away. She was curled in on herself, apparently clutching something to her belly to protect it from the snow.

Her house wasn’t nearby, Johanna knew this. The only reason she was outside at all was because of the weekly coven meeting that the witches of Trolberg did every Sunday morning. She must have been caught abruptly by the storm when she was already on her way.

Feeling icy wind on her face as she opened the car’s door, Johanna waved her hand in the air and tried to shout to get her attention.

“Maven!” Though she knew the woman to get lost in thought while she walked, Maven heard her right away, and a look of recognition overtook her face when she glanced at the yellow car. “Come here, you’ll freeze to death!”

There was barely a second of deliberation before the librarian crossed the street and headed for the passenger seat. When she opened the door, Johanna was already sitting down again, and she helped herself inside the car.

“Thank you, Anna.” She said, incredibly relieved that Johanna had been there in the exact moment she’d needed her. “You just saved me.”

The smile Johanna gave her stole her breath, making her feel warmer in spite of the freezing cold she’d just come out of. She always had that power of making the room feel like it was filled with a light so strong that it seeped all the way into Maven’s heart, and it was one of those things Maven knew she’d never tire of.

“Well, I’m glad to be of help. How was the meeting?”

Maven shrugged, opening her coat’s zipper to get rid of the icy garment.

“It was alright. Harvesting season is coming closer and we are planning on blessing the crops nearby.” She said, throwing the coat on the backseats. “Heavens know they’ll need it with this storm. The elders also warned me that they’ll be coming to the library this week with a group of children who showed gifts to the occult arts. You know, to teach them about the path. So I guess that will be interesting.”

The most intriguing topic on the reunion had been, by far, the concern over a group of kids who had caused a commotion in the cemetery. One member of their coven had recently made contact with a ghost, only to find it unwilling to help her ‘because of the human children of their town that had been disrespecting their eternal slumber’. Maven had to admit that she’d had to make an effort not to laugh when their spirit worker told this story, but unless she had a death wish, she should not let Johanna in on this. It wasn’t lying, she told herself. It was simply not snitching on Hilda. Besides, since Johanna wasn’t a witch, Maven shouldn’t even be telling her any of that to begin with.

“What about you?” She asked, trying to shake the ghosts away from her mind. “What are you doing out here in this storm?”

“Oh, I came for art supplies.” Johanna pointed at the shopping bag on the backseat. “Wasn’t quite this bad when I left home. I wonder what on earth brought on this crazy weather.”

“Oh, weather spirits undoubtedly.” Maven said as she took off her gloves, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

“Weather spirits?”

“Yes, I can sense they’re the ones behind this. Besides, the coven has been observing some very unusual weather spirit activity in town. We could be here for a while.”

Looking worriedly at the sky, Johanna only noticed that Maven was offering her something when she all but shoved it under her nose. She blinked, picking a cupcake up on her hands. It was still warm and exhaled a sweet apple scent, with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top of it.

Maven’s left hand was inside a paper bag, which Johanna assumed was what she’d been trying to protect from the snow when she’d been outside. After taking another cupcake, she folded the bag closed.

“One of the witches made too many cupcakes and brought them to give us. Very convenient to have them right now.”

“Oh, that smells lovely.” Johanna said. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it home for yourself? I’m not going to starve if I have to wait a few more hours to eat.���

Maven smiled right before taking a bite of her own cupcake, shaking her head fondly in exasperation.

“I’m your girlfriend, Johanna.” She said when she finished chewing. “If I don’t feed you, who will?”

Johanna rolled her eyes playfully as she brought the cake to her lips, humming in satisfaction at the sweet taste. Along with seeing Hilda happy and with new friends, her newfound relationship with Maven was what made her be thankful every day that they’d moved back to Trolberg.

“So, these weather spirits.” Johanna began while each of them focused on their sweet. “Any idea of why they went haywire?”

“Hard to tell, really. They’ll pick fights with each other over anything, but for a storm this strong it has got to be an enormous gathering of them. I honestly don’t know what could have caused this, but one of the elders specifies in weather magic. Maybe he knows, I’ll ask him about it when he goes to the library with the initiates.”

Frowning, Johanna felt herself getting more worried.

“So there’s no way to know when this will stop.”

“I’m afraid not.” Noticing her girlfriend’s unease, Maven tried to catch her gaze, but Johanna seemed to look everywhere but at her. “Anna? Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little worried about Hilda.” She answered. “She’s alone at home with Alfur. I told her to stay put, but even so… she’s just a kid, and if anything happens, she has no way to talk to me.”

“Hey.” Maven put a hand on Johanna’s shoulder, trying to ground her to the moment and not leave her to imagine every bad scenario she could. “I know I don’t know her like you do, but from what you’ve told me she’s a smart and brave little girl. She’ll be fine. If you want to worry about anything, I’d suggest worrying about us at the moment. We’re due to become icicles any minute now.”

Johanna chuckled, grateful for Maven being with her in that moment. She always seemed to know what to say to make her feel better.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She sighed, relaxing the weight of her body against the seat and taking one more bite. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that Maven had taken a pen out of her pocket and was now scribbling something on the paper bag the cupcakes had been on.

“I’m not kidding, if this storm gets any worse I don’t know if the car’s heating will keep up.” She said when Johanna shot her a questioning look. “I don’t have many sigils memorized, but luckily Ruth packed a heat one with the cupcakes. I’ll just activate a few and we should be fine.”

Indeed, on top of her tight there was a small paper square with a doodle in it, which Maven had already copied three times on the bag, and was now doing a fourth one. If Johanna saw that symbol and no one told her of its meaning, she’d wave it off as some sort of stylized drawing of a spider, or perhaps of a flame from a certain point of view, so she was glad to be with someone who knew better.

After finishing the drawings, she put the pen aside and began to carefully rip the sigils from each other. When she had the four pieces of paper, she pressed the first one against her window and recited some words that Johanna couldn’t recognize. Listening to witch language always felt singular to Johanna, like even though she’d never learned it, something deep inside her felt awake when she heard it, like it was in her blood. She’d asked Maven about it once, receiving the answer that this wasn’t an unusual feeling. The language of witches is the language of the Earth, which we’re all part of, she’d said. Johanna couldn’t say in all honesty that she’d understood, but it had seemed to make sense to her girlfriend so she hadn’t pressed any further.

When she removed her hand from the glass, the paper had disappeared, and only the symbol remained on the window, shining with orange light as if it was on fire. Then, it vanished leaving no trace on the window.

Johanna continued to stare at where the sigil had been while Maven maneuvered herself to the back of the car to repeat the process with the back windows. Magic never failed to leave her astonished.

It registered on the back of her mind that the car was indeed getting warmer, especially when the librarian activated the third sigil on the window behind Johanna’s seat. After Maven had done that too, Johanna felt her put her elbow on her seat, near her neck, leaning the other against the passenger seat. She was kneeling on the car’s floor, practically by Johanna’s side in the gap between the two front seats. The look she was wearing immediately gave away to Johanna that she wanted to talk about something.

“Anna, I wanted to ask you…” She began, proving her right. “When do you think it will be okay to tell her about us?”

“Her?” Johanna frowned.

“Hilda, I mean. Obviously I’ll understand if you want to keep our relationship just between ourselves for some time. But what do you think she’ll think of me?”

Johanna opened a smile and leaned towards Maven, kissing her cheek. When she retreated, she had to bite back a giggle at how flustered her girlfriend looked.

“Hilda will love you.” Johanna answered honestly. She’d admittedly thought about how Hilda and Maven’s relationship would be, and she was afraid, just not the way one would expect. Her fear was that they’d get along a little too much and Johanna would have to run after them every other day, trying to stop them from getting killed at the hands of a magical creature they’d attempted to befriend or a spirit they’d summoned. Though it was possible that there would be some unease between them at the beginning, the thought that they wouldn’t see eye to eye didn’t even sound possible to Johanna.

“The only reason I haven’t told her yet is because she seems to have a lot on her mind right now. Some trouble with her friends, I think, but she won’t tell me yet. But it’s a conversation I want to have with her as soon as she’s alright again.”

Maven looked away from Johanna, now feeling silly for having asked. It wasn’t like her to be insecure like that, but this truly mattered to her. Whether Hilda approved of her or not would be decisive for how far she and Johanna would be able to take their relationship. Besides, if Johanna told her daughter about them, then that would mean that she took their relationship seriously, so she couldn’t help but care about it.

At least Johanna hadn’t taken it the wrong way, her pursed smile as she put a stray lock of Maven’s hair behind her ear telling her that her girlfriend was probably very amused. She could practically hear Johanna calling her ‘adorable’, stopping herself from doing so only because she knew how Maven didn’t like being called cute.

“I’m… very happy to hear you think so. And I hope whatever is troubling Hilda gets solved soon.”

“I do too. Are you done with your sigils already?”

Between her fingers, she was still holding one last piece of paper, and she flickered her wrist so that it was in front of Johanna’s eyes.

“There’s one more, but I’ll need your help this time.”

“How so- oh.” Before Johanna had time to wonder in what way she could possibly help Maven with magic, her girlfriend had already deposited herself in her lap.

Johanna wasn’t one to blush often, but she was certain the heat on her cheeks was not because of the sigils.

“Just keep this up. I only need to activate this one near your corner of the car.”

Maven then pressed her palm with the sigil to the window, repeating the incantation. This time Johanna was distracted by more than just the magic, in a way that she barely noticed it when the casting was finished and the car was filled by cozy warmth.

“That’s good.” Maven said, approving her own work. “I can go to my seat now, if you want me to.”

Realizing that she’d abstractedly put her arms around Maven’s waist, interlacing her fingers near her side, Johanna shrugged and then caught Maven by surprise by learning in to kiss her lips sweetly. It would have been a very romantic cenario, snug with her love while snow piled outside, if only they weren’t there because they were trapped inside a car due to a mysterious storm. Still, she was with Maven and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere, dearest.”

_#_#_#_

Maven did go back to her seat eventually, but it was only because Johanna remembered a deck of cards that she kept in the glove compartment and after some time they decided to play something. It didn’t take long at all for the librarian to realize that she was pretty bad at that, but seeing Johanna’s childlike joy every time she won a match, she couldn’t even be annoyed.

Safe and sound inside the car, the storm hadn’t really been on the forefront of their minds. The magic kept them comfortable and the flow of people running from the weather outside was all but nonexistent at that point. But they did realize when the few rays of sunshine that made it through the thick layers of clouds became stronger.

Both of them put their cards down, the change so noticeable that they wanted to get a good look at what had happened. While Maven only lowered her window and stuck her head out, Johanna stepped out of the car to look at the sky.

“At last!” Johanna sighed with relief as the clouds became smaller, making a gap just above them.

From her side of the car, Maven was more interested in another thing she’d noticed than in the changing weather. Either her eyes deceived her, or a thunderbird was flying away at that very moment. What it had been doing in the middle of that tempest was anyone’s guess.

However, they were soon startled by the booming sound of thunder, and watched in stunned silence as one of the remaining clouds seemed to swell unnaturally, darkening at each moment that passed. Johanna closed the door by her side just in time to not get hit by the first drops of water.

They were static while they watched the rain pour down, not believing in the situation even though it was happening right in front of their eyes. Stunned by the abrupt turns, a laugh escaped Johanna’s lips, and soon the absurd picture that she made, laughing like a madwoman while monstrous rain surrounded them made Maven break into giggles as well.

“Well dearest, I think we’re going to be here for even longer.” She said after she had gathered herself enough to form a coherent sentence.

Picking up her girlfriend’s cards as well as her own, she began shuffling them together.

“In that case, I would like a revenge match.”

“Alright, but I warn you that you’ll regret it.”

Huffing in feigned outrage, Maven began distributing their cards, and the ones that were left she put to the side.

“In the end I’m glad, you know.” Johanna said after they began their match, making the librarian frown at her. “For the storm. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t even see you today, let alone spend some time with you.”

“Me too, Anna.” Maven smiled. “Me too.”

[imaginesmai]

Thor-Hercules AU

I saw this gift and it just gave me Hercules vibe. And I thought, why not? Might be the first part of a Disney’s AU I’m going to do, since I’m working on college on a project for kids about Disney and WELL I CAN’T HELP MYSELF.

Plot:  you didn’t believe in heroes. Those strong, brave men that always wanted to save the day, only to cower away when the real problems began. You didn’t like heroes, who wanted to save the damsel in distress; you could save yourself, thank you very much. You didn’t fall in love with heroes, until a certain blonde one stumbled into your life.

Heroes, you had come to learn, were entirely more trouble than what they were worth.

They went and ran into danger without a moment’s notice, determinated to be noble and brave and never give cleverness a second thought. They did stupid things, always trying to outdo each other. And, in the end, they died.

You should have known, the moment that horrendous big beast roared, someone would come running. Some wanna-be-brave, and trying-to-be-handsome guy. Greece seemed to be absolutely overrun with heroes; if you lifted a rock, there could be at least two. Girls your age drooled over them, and you had met a few that had faked a dangerous situation just so they could see one. You had heard too plenty of stories about how they saved a damsel in distress and let her become the queen of their dreams.  Still, you didn’t like them.

“It’s alright” you assured the creature, hands spread wide and steps careful and slow. The beast roared again, tossing it’s massive – paws? In the air and moving his head around, as if it didn’t really know where you were. It was so wide that it seemed to block out the sky. “It’s okay, I’m not going to-“

“Milady!”

Your words got cut off by the scream, and you froze, eyes wide. The beast sensed the intruder as well, its huge, golden eyes narrowing as its wings folded in, tail whipping against the ground.

“Are you alright, milady?” the voice asked again, footfalls accompanying it.

You turned, coming face to face with a man about your age, clad in armour and holding a long bronze sword. Well, not much armour; his sculpted abs were bared, only his shoulders and one arm covered in laughably impractical armour. He had long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes, boring into yours as if you were the only woman he had ever seen. He was tall, taller than any man you had met, and his shoulders were broad.

Regardless of how handsome he might had been, you still had no interest in getting killed.

“Stay back, you idiot” you hissed, and the blonde man froze, his brow furrowing.

“I… you don’t want help?” he asked, to which you shook your head vigorously. “But – aren’t you a damsel in distress?”

You almost wanted to laugh. There was the hero; tall, handsome, strong and with not a single braincell that told him that you didn’t need help. It was as if every one of them had a sixth sense to know when a woman was in distress. Distress meaning anything that wasn’t sleeping or trying new dresses.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t resist the urge to perch a hand on your hop, fixing him with a withering scowl. You didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed up your entire figure, and suddenly the destiny of ending up between those enormous claws didn’t seem so bad.

“I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle it” you said, before turning back to the creature, giving it your full attention once more. It roared, wings spread wide once again and faring its razor fangs. If only, the presence of the man made it more nervous and aggressive, and you sighed in annoyance.

Your newfound hero didn’t seem to heed your words, as before you could blink, he was running past you, sword raised. The dress that was then stained and ripped flew past him and you let your mouth hang open, surprised at how stupid a man could be.

The beast roared, taking a step forward and coating the man and you with its disgusting drool. You closed your eyes and scrunched your nose, hearing the metallic clang of his sword against the animal’s side. It echoed through the clearing, only making the creature more agitated, hissing at the man.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, but he continued to fight, to no avail. You wanted to explain that you were the one stepping in the beast territory, and that it could be fixed with a little sweet talk. Your breath caught as he seemed to find a chink in the beast’s skin, the creature roaring in pain. “Hey!”

All thoughts of your own safety thrown to the wind as you rushed over the man, shoving him back from the animal before he could deliver the kill shot. He seemed so stunned by your actions that he stumbled back, sword falling to your side; although, probably, your shove had been like a soft breezed against a stone’s building, looking at his broad torso.

Your hands flew to the beasts neck, who was breathing heavily. It felt warm under your palms.

“It’s alright” you whispered, shushing it. The creature calmed and you swore it almost sighed in relief, the soft touch making it relax. You repeated the words a few times, until it stopped buffing. It’s head lowered and large, golden eyes blinked at her. “You’re safe now, he’s not going to hurt you”

A rumbling noise sounded in its throat, and his eyes slid shut as you tentatively stroked the top of its head, a whistling purr echoing from his nostrils. Once more, the beast’s eyes opened head rising as it spread its wings and leapt into the sky.

You stepped back to allow the creature room to take off, only remembering the ‘hero’ was still there when he spoke again.

“How did you do that, milady?”

“It was just frightened. Didn’t want to hurt anyone, not until you went rushing at him with a sword.”

The man looked down at the sword he had picked a few seconds before, afternoon sunlight gleaming off the bronze blade. The pommel was shaped to look like the handle of a hammer, you realized, rubies glinting on the sides. It looked expensive, and well made. Not something just anyone would happen to acquire. Not that the man was anything normal either; its beauty couldn’t be from Earth.

“Not everything that looks like a monster is one”

You raised your eyebrow at the man, sneaking a glance at his toned chest. He stood there dumbly, blinking at you and sword in hand. As the great winged beast grew smaller and smaller in the sky. Not everything that is a monster looks like one, either.

“I didn’t realize” he said finally. “I’m sorry, eh, milady. Do you – uh, have a name?”

“Y/N” you supplied.

“Y/N, your name calls the beauty in your” he answered, and you tried not to laugh at the poor attempt of a complement. Still, you wondered if you would be lucky enough to hear your name leaving his lips ever again. “I didn’t mean to interfere in something you had under control. Only wanted to help”

“It’s alright” you said with a shrug. “You should head into the city, though, if you’re looking for monsters to fight. Much more plentiful than out here”

He seemed to glow at your words, showing you a bright smile. He changed his weight from one feet to another, and you realised that you didn’t know the name of the handsome stranger that had made a fool of himself. Your smirked, and he took that as an invitation to talk again.

“I was on my way there” he admitted. “I’m Thor”

The name wanted to ring a bell in your head, but you couldn’t remember where you had heard it before. You blinked, trying to remember why it brought a sense of comfort over you, but he didn’t make any intention of explaining himself further.

“Well, I wish a good fortune. I hope you find the fame al glory all you heroes seem to be chasing” you said, with a little wave of farewell. “Thor.”

“I don’t want fame and glory” he replied, a bit of a frown on his face. Surprisingly, the conviction in his voice had you actually believing him. It seemed like he felt insulted for assuming that. “I just want to help people”

“Well, then I hope you can manage to do that. Try not to get yourself killed” you said. Finally, a teasing smile broke into your lips, a real one. Thor seemed to notice, as he laughed; and it was so loud, that your heart jumped from it. It was a beautiful sound, you decided.

“I’ll do my best, Lady Y/N” he said winking at you, before he turned, and he was gone. Leaving with you with blushing cheeks and small smile.

You exhaled, leaning up against a tree, heart still pounding with leftover adrenaline- whether from the beast, from Thor, you weren’t sure.

The calm after the storm didn’t last long, though. Mere moments after Thor disappeared, you could feel the chill creep into the wood, see the sky darken and the air grow heavy. You squeezed your eyes closed, whishing that you didn’t have to do that. Not after the sweet feeling Thor had left in you, and certain not after the happy smile you had on your face.

“Y/N, darling.”

A voice echoed from the trees, its owner emerging from the darkness like a shadow creeping closer. You could see the annoyance on his pallid face, long fingers pressed together as he stepped closer. You wrapped your arms around your chest, past from the point of being scared but still not comfortable with his presence.

“Hades” you said, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. It was not good to go and displease the god of the death, especially when he was already in a sour mood.

“What are you exactly doing here?” he asked, fake sweet smile on your face. “You’re supposed to be working. Convincing minor duties over to my side. Remember? Or is that dumb head of yours empty again?”

In a second, his pale face was in front of you. You had never met such a disgusting eyes over the years; dull, filled with darkness and pain, and slightly red at the end because of the constant hate he felt. Towards everything. His rancid breath hit your face and you tried to stay in place.

“Well?”

How could you forget, if it was everything he ever talked about. His grand plan to unseat the universe the gods by freeing the Titans when the planets aligned, giving him control of the universe. It sounded awful to you, and too much work to be worth it. World domination seemed better in theoreticals, you were sure. But you didn’t exactly have a choice. Whatever the god wanted from you, you had to do.

“I’m sorry, my lord” you said, smiling. Hoping Hades couldn’t noticed how different it was from the one you had a moment ago. “I was going to convince the river guardian to join your fight. I ran into the beast the way there”

“Our fight, darling” Hades corrected you. His hand, suspiciously wet and cold, caressed your face for a bit, until he gripped the back of your hair and pulled your closer. From that distance, he spat on your face when he talked. “As long as your soul belongs to me, my cause is yours too. You’re mine”

You squeezed your eyes closed again, letting the silence between you hang heavy. As if you needed any reminders of everything you gave up for a man who walked away from you the moment it was convenient. Hades kept his grip a little while longer, and finally let your hair go. Then, he wiped his hands on his thighs; as if humans were the most disgusting thing he had ever met.

You mumbled a quick apology, and looked to your feet. Stupid bloody heroes. Always chasing the next best thing, and leaving everything else behind them in dust and ruins.

“That’s more like it!” Hades said, his sickening smile too pleased. He remembered something and frowned, scary attitude back. “Back to the reason I was here. I was – you know, chilling between the eternal flames of death. And couldn’t help but noticing you were talking to, a man, was it? Didn’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

“I don’t know” you shrugged, a bit of annoyed that the conversation was focused on him. “Some here who came barging in, like the always do. Almost killed the poor creature”

“Oh, poor thing, um?” Hades blinked at you and put his folded hands under his chin, as if he was really sorry. “I wonder how long will that beast be alive for. Lucky I wasn’t here, or the dogs would have dinner for tonight”

You prickled at the way he called them beasts. You had always thought those creatures were fascinating in their own way. While they could be fierce, they could also be gentle. Some of them, hydras or chimeras, wanted to hurt you, sure; but most of them were just trying to survive.

Sometimes, you thought of yourself like them. You may had been a minion of Hades, been forced to do terrible things, but sometimes you could still believe there was something good left in you.

“It’s still alive, luckily” you spat back, narrowing your eyes at the god of death. “Even if this Thor almost ran him through”

You expected Hades to quip back. Ignore the anecdote and go straight to what he wanted from you. Maybe punish you from the unnecessary interaction with the man, or make you kill the creature for fun.

He didn’t. Instead, the god’s pale face grew more pallid, eyes going wide and mouth falling open. Hades demanded you to repeat yourself, stepping a little bit closer and making you press yourself further into the bark of the tree. His voice held something you had never heard; rage, surprise, hate. Fright. The stench of death and raw meat he always carried only made room to an even more disgusting one, and you scrunched your nose.

“The hero” you said carefully. “He almost ran the creature through.”

“I got that part!” Hades roared, and the temperature increased. He was fuming. “You said Thor”

“Thor” you repeated, unsure. “I did. Why? Who is he?”

There was no answer on his part, just a big bomb of smoke and he was out of sight. The beautiful landscape you had managed to get lost in the first place came back, birds singing and animals running around. You blinked confused, and took a step forward to finally relieve your back from the rough tree. Looking around, you tried to find the God.

You knew he wasn’t gone; Hades did that a lot. Whenever he remembered something or had business to do, he disappeared and came back a few seconds later. For him, it would had been some days of torturing something.

Your suspicious turned out to be right when he appeared on your right once more. That time, he was cleaning his hands with an old rag. It didn’t take a genius to understand what he had been doing; blood coated his left cheek and there were stains on his clothes. He had a murderous look on his eyes, but he was far more calm. And had a smirk that you didn’t like one bit.

You remined silent, not sure what to say not to anger him further. Thor had seemed strong, sure and a bit dumb although brave, but nothing worthy of being the worry of a god; let alone Hades. You had seen bigger and better man.

“I have a new plan” he said, brushing back his silver hair. “I need him dead, for real this time. And I know just the thing”

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tag list:

@all-i-need-is-marvel-and-coffee (I don’t know why I can’t tag you...)

@keithseabrook27​

[purplesurveys]

1083

surveys by chasingghosts

Just a boring word association survey inspired by one of my old ones. Say the first thing that comes to your head. Don't overthink it :)

Keyboard: Monitor.

Dog: Dalmatian.

School: Pencils.

Italy: Roman Holiday. Ahh one of my favorite movies; such a classic.

Fire: BTS, heh.

Table: Chairs.

Mask: Face mask. New normal and all.

Blanket: Weighted blankets. I still don’t get how they work and I keep imagining that a 20-lbs blanket would feel too warm...I guess I’m willing to try it for a night, but I dunno if I would want to spend 5,000 bucks on one.

Gun: That curly-haired blonde dumbass from the US who keeps bringing one around.

Soda: Fizzy. Do not like.

Man: Trash.

Beautiful: Beast. Beautiful and the Beast is the knockoff version, hahaha.

Country: Roads.

Dictionary: Thesaurus.

Play: Playgrounds.

Yoga: Mat.

Cross: Country.

Happy: Emojis.

Change: Coins.

Orange: The fruit with the same name. Also, hair dye.

Cereal: Fruity Pebbles and Lucky Charms.

Record: Vinyl records, aka what I would like to invest in eventually.

Jail: The Shawshank Redemption, even though I personally didn’t really like it lmao.

Tank: This made me think of the Elisa Lam case. It’s unfortunate what happened to her but personally, I’ll always be more disturbed by the stories of people who had to drink or bathe in that nasty contaminated water.

Plane: Travel. :(

Machine: Factories.

Empty: Outer space.

Medicine: Nasty taste. Whenever I was sick as a kid my parents/grandma always made me drink Tempra which tastes like shit and it took a lot of effort for me not to throw them back up. I hope kids these days have more better-tasting options for medicine.

Stockings: Uncomfortable. I hate stockings and always dread occasions where I’ll have to put them on. Fortunately I haven’t had to for five years now.

Curry: Spicy and aromatic.

Football: Superbowl. Or is it SuperBowl? Super Bowl? Anyway, that event.

Blonde: Jennifer Aniston, heheh.

Pink: Barbie.

Cart: Online shopping.

Bag: Herschel.

Bourbon: Breaking Bad, though I’m not sure if it was indeed bourbon that Hank/Walt regularly drank. First thing that came to mind, though.

Karaoke: Philippine parties.

Caterpillar: That chemical they release when they’re stepped on.

Wizard: Harry Potter.

Number: Queues, lol.

Tired: Myself.

Baby: Baby videos.

Beach: Moana.

Castle: The first thing I thought of is this big orange castle - that is actually an inn - that I would have to pass by every single morning on my way to school, from kinder to high school. It looked like such a pretty, magical castle as a kid and I, along with probably all of my schoolmates who went the same route, thought a real princess lived in it; it just felt that magical. But as I got older I realized most inns/hotels with outlandish gimmicks are the cheap and tacky ones, so the magic was ruined for me as the years went by, haha.

Rock: Patrick Star from Spongebob, since he lives under one.

Hotel: Top-notch hospitality and service.

Weather: Gloomy.

Beanbag:  Comfort.

Clean: Vacuum cleaners...and my mom.

Angry: Rage.

--

I was inspired to make this when I saw a similar survey on here. Answer true or false, or simply mark an 'x' for what applies to you.

Michelle:

You love anything Disney related. I mean not anything? I wouldn’t want Disney merch of every single thing that could be turned into merch; but I do love Disney movies and they have always been great at creating songs that make you feel all magical and giddy inside.

You find any excuse to go shopping. False. I haven’t created a hobby out of shopping; at least not yet, I think. But going inside H&M several times for the past month to buy gifts for my friends has definitely helped in making me see the appeal of shopping. For now, though, I’d still rather do my browsing and shopping in non-clothing stores.

You’re younger than most of your friends. False. I have older and younger friends, but most of them are also 1998 babies since most of my friends are the people I went to school with.

You have really long hair, to your waist or longer. False. It has gotten a lot longer over the past year, but it’s still only up to my upper chest.

You’re pretty antisocial. False. I don’t like throwing this term around loosely because it’s a real personality disorder. I have also gotten more comfortable with people in the last few years and I don’t prefer to be alone anymore.

You have a pet dog/cat that sleeps in your bed with you. False. Either are terrible in staying in bed.

You haven’t had your first kiss yet. False. I had it six years ago, and I have shared hundreds and probably thousands of kisses after that.

You’re Asian. We finally got one! Haha.

You’re good at cooking. Yeah, this is the biggest false statement in this category.

You have dreams of working as a chef. I can see how it’s appealing, but it was never a career dream of mine. My dad is a chef, though.

Cheyenne:

You’re blonde, but not naturally. I currently don’t have plans to dye my hair blonde.  

You always have your fingernails painted. False. I’m the complete opposite of this, but I do want to start having my nails painted professionally as a way to pamper myself from time to time.

You obsess over things easily, to the point of them taking over your life. True, I guess. I get very sensitive and I overthink and overanalyze a lot of actions and situations that aren’t meant to be more than what they actually are. Just last night and this morning I had a bunch of dreams that had to do with a work-related problem I ran into last night. When I feel anxious about something, they would undoubtedly take over my life and it would take a while to break free from them.

You spend a lot of time on the internet. For almost every single minute that I am awake, yes. Sometimes I’ll attempt to disconnect every now and then - which I’ve been better at, to be fair to myself - but it’s always only a matter of time before I will have to look something up on Google.

Your phone may as well be surgically attached to your hand. True. I will occasionally turn it completely off so that no notifications come in, especially during weekends and holidays; but it stays close to me all the same.

You use Snapchat way too much. False. Not anymore, but I definitely used too. I had Snap streaks of varying lengths with a lot of my friends back then. 

You eat a lot of fast food. True and I don’t really feel bad about it, lmao. I love food that tastes good.

You love a bit of gossip. Also true. Not my nicest trait but I do like to keep updated. I mostly receive them though; I never spread or start any myself.

You’re really good at keeping secrets. It’s not my story to tell, so yes, true. I used to share secrets only with Gabie since she was very forgetful, but obviously I don’t have that kind of person anymore.

You’ve never had a boyfriend/girlfriend. False. I’ve had one and we had two stints together.

Morgan:

You work as a receptionist. False, but my mom used to be one. This was before she made the transfer to a more corporate workspace as a secretary.

You eat a lot of food yet you’re still so thin. True. Runs in both sides of the family.

Your siblings are your best friends. My sister and I have a very casual relationship, and while we’re on great terms we don’t do cheesy nor sentimental. I’m not on speaking terms with my brother.

Not many people see your face without makeup. False. Everybody sees me without makeup all the time precisely because I don’t like putting makeup on.

You spend your money carelessly. I can, especially when it comes to spoiling myself or other people. But I am also equally good at saving if I have to.

You dream of living overseas one day. I can confidently tell you that a lot of Filipinos consider this because the situation here hasn’t been stable for the longest time – politically, because we’ve always been led by incompetent heads; economically, because of the Marcoses’ dictatorship and abuse of power and the country’s funds; and socially, because of all the backward, Catholic stances that my country continues to stand for. I would love to live in a place where I wouldn’t be glared at for holding a girl’s hand or where most people are educated enough to vote responsible people into office.

You have a penpal. False. Never had one, never been interested in finding one.

You’re older than most of your friends. False. I vibe the best with people my age so even if I do have some younger friends, my comfort zone are with those who are also 22.

Most of your friends live out of town. An overwhelming majority of them live in Metro Manila, yes. I live just right outside so technically I’m the one who lives ~out of town~

You swear like a sailor. Eh, not anymore. I still let out a number of swear words daily, though. Just not in every sentence.

Tom:

You have so many nicknames that it’s hard for you to keep track. False. I have a grand total of one nickname, and even that is just reserved for family. Most people just call me Robyn.

You have large feet. False as well. My feet are small and can easily slip into size 5 or 6 shoes.

Most of your friends are of the opposite sex. Can’t say this is true. I can only think of one guy friend, who is Hans. I haven’t been able to keep up with my other friends, like JM and Ed, since most of them are busy with either law or med school, and simply because Covid has kept us from seeing each other.

Romantic relationships make you shy and nervous. Getting into one does. Once settled I’m pretty comfortable, mainly because I enjoy nothing more than looking out for the people I love. I’m not looking for a relationship though; not anytime soon.

You watch reality shows religiously. Eh, I wouldn’t describe it as ‘religiously’ but I do watch my fair share of them from time to time when I just want stupid, too-easy-to-digest content.

Pop music is your favourite. One of my favorites. I used to be shy about liking Top 40 songs but the older I get the more I realized that that’s music snobs’ problem and shouldn’t be mine.

Family is very important to you. Only because I’m Asian and family being ~important comes as a default the moment I was born. I’m not emotionally close with them though and they honestly probably wouldn’t weigh so much if I had to make major decisions, like migrating to the other side of the world or having a civil wedding.

You’re the youngest child in your family. False - complete opposite. I am the eldest.

You call your mother by her first name. False. Save for others who may not have the best relationships with their mothers, why would someone do this? :/

You dream of living in a big city one day. True. Yeah, absolutely. Give me all the construction noises and busy traffic and skyscrapers. I feel like I would be the most alive I’ve ever been once I start to live in a loud and hectic big city.

Harry:

You’re determined and motivated in all aspects of your life. Not always. That sounds exhausting. I allow myself to take a breather every now and then; and if I want to be unproductive for a while, I don’t ban myself from being so.

You’re much taller than the majority of your friends. Haha, definitely false. I belong to the smaller batch. I had a massive growth spurt from ages 9-10 but then it just kinda stopped there lol.

You go to the gym at least three days a week. Not the gym, but I do work out from home with that frequency.

You care a lot about your appearance. Ehhh I’m gonna say false. Having to stay/work from home does that. I like dressing up when I get to go outside though, since I seldom get to do it.

You’re a social butterfly. Trueish. I do like being around people more and more now, yeah; but of course, it’s still a work in progress for me. One thing I’m sure if is that I’m definitely not as introverted as I used to be and I have no problem opening up in a group.

You party almost every weekend. I’d love to, but can’t do that for the meantime.

You’re very straightforward and never repeat yourself. Ideally, yes. I like to move on quickly from things and settle them as fast as I can.

You love to write and have been told you’re talented. I do like to write, just not fiction stuff. Writing is my main talent and so I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it over the years.

You consider yourself intelligent. Booksmart, at least.

You’re a bit of a player. Like, when it comes to relationships and flirting? ...Hell no. Again, very straightforward person lmao I’m either in a relationship or not.

Zack:

You’re in a band. False. Never been and never been interested.

You’re straight-edge. HAH, remember when I claimed to be edge when I was a teenager...I will say that listening to punk throughout high school and being familiar with the straight edge scene gave me a sense of belonging for a time, and it taught me so many important mindsets like positive mental attitude. But I can admit to myself that straight edge was a commitment I failed at, and as the saying goes, “If you’re not now, you never were.” I’ll always be thankful to the movement for helping me keep going during my tough teenage years, though.

You can play two or more instruments. Will it count if I say I know how to play the recorder, maracas, and the triangle? Hahahahaha but in all seriousness, I believe I don’t deserve to bold this.

You’re an uncle/aunt. I’m a godmother, which is pretty much aunt status in the Philippines. My godson is my first cousin though, and him being my cousin takes precedence over the fact that he is my godson.

You love Doctor Who. False. Never got into it.

You’re short for your age and most of your friends tower over you. I’m shorter, thinner, and look younger for my age. Long story short, I look like I’m 16 and I’m the one who gets ID’d the most whenever I enter bars or malls. I always feel triumphant whenever I get to show my driver’s license to judgy bouncers or security guards who look at me all conceitedly, though.

You’ve been cheated on before. False. My ex is heavily against cheating, and I always trusted her.

You have a big family. Any Asian would bold this, let’s be real. My immediate family itself is small with only 5 members; but my entire family – 1st cousins, 2nd cousins, 3rd cousins (and so on), cousins-in-law, cousins of cousins, aunts- and uncles-in-law, great-aunts/uncles and all – would amount to hundreds of relatives.

You have a nap every single day, without fail. Can’t do that as I have a busy 8-hour shift each weekday and I make up for it during weekends by drinking multiple cups of coffee a day.

You’re mostly quiet, but you can be loud when the situation calls for it. Definitely true. Or when I’m with the right mix of people.

Jenny:

You’re really good with computers. False. I know most things a Gen Z-er would know about, like basic spreadsheet formulas, keyboard shortcuts, how to retrieve files that crashed – basically the stuff that would let me survive at work; but to this day, I will still ask my much-techier sister how to download fonts or open ZIPs or compress photos.

You’re shy. At first; but I no longer have a hard time warming up to new people or situations.

You underestimate yourself often. True. While I know this isn’t a very good trait of mine, I find that it’s actually helpful sometimes? Setting my expectations low helps make me proud of myself whenever I succeed or excel at a task. In the long run, I’m okay with this mindset.

You recently moved house. The last time I did this was in 2008. I’m not looking to move out any time soon either as I make far from enough to afford even just renting a place.

You have a German Shepherd. False. The only people I know who own one is Chelsea’s family, but it’s been like five years since I saw that dog.

You wear baggy clothes. False. Not my style.

You almost always wear a beanie. False. I am never seen with a beanie and I only wear one when I’m in places with a much colder climate than Manila, like Baguio.

You have long hair if you’re a boy, and short hair if you’re a girl. Also false. My hair has since gotten a lot longer, and I’m due for another trim.

You recently got out of a really long relationship. True. Not my choice, but true.

You’re in a band. Again, never been.

Emily:

You’re a really good drawer. You mean an artist? False. At 22, I can only promise you stick figures.

You can’t help but doodle on anything you see. If there’s a pen and scratch paper lying around that are free to use, I will most definitely use up the whole page. Instead of doodling, though – since I can’t draw – I write things, practice my penmanship to make sure it hasn’t gotten all rusty, and whatnot. 

You want a career in art. False. That career path has always been paved for my sister.

You’re basically a personal taxi service for your friends who can’t drive. Hahaha this was essentially me in pre-pandemic days. Driving is such a simple good deed for someone considering the shitty public transportation in my country, and I would’ve been an asshole if I didn’t do anything to help my friends out.

Jeans and band shirts are your favourite thing to wear. Mom jeans and just *t-shirts are overall a great casual combo that never gets dated; but I don’t do band shirts.

You’re always wearing a necklace and lots of wristbands/bracelets. False. I would love more jewelry, though.

You have a lot of piercings on your ears. Also false. I’m not interested in piercings.

Your hair is currently an unnatural colour. False. It’s just black.

Not many people see your loud and boisterous side. I save this for my super super close friends.

You have several friend groups which you move between often. I can think of three off the top of my head.

Jack:

You always seem to have a boyfriend/girlfriend. This was me for six yearssssss, haha. The image I held for the longest time is that I was off the market and was in a happy, fulfilling, long-term relationship; so these days, it can get kinda fun watching people fumble around, not used to seeing me single again after what feels like a lifetime.

You have a fear of being single. I used to, only because I was taken for a really long time. I didn’t know if singlehood would work out for me, or how I would handle it. It took some getting used to but I’m happy now. I’m not looking to date, much less consider jumping into another romantic relationship.

When you’re not in a relationship, you’re a big flirter. Not at all. The flirting/dating scene is just not for me.

You are really sensitive and sympathetic towards your friends. I mean...like any good friend? Lmao.

Music means a lot to you. It doesn’t keep me alive per se, but sure.

You often overdo it when you drink alcohol. I wouldn’t say so. I like chugging a lot within the first 30 minutes (which helps because I’m low-tolerance and get lit way earlier than others do lol) but because I’ve always had to drive myself home after drinking nights in college, I’ve been conditioned to still be responsible with my alcohol and to start sobering up 2 hours before I have to leave.

You have no shame and love to be silly and have fun. I do like having fun in many ways, but I am probably the most rigid among my friends. I don’t really like doing silly dares or skits or dances in public.

You’re impulsive and this isn’t always a good thing. I’m working on it and have been better at it over the last few months. Now I take more time to think about things and weigh them out before I make a decision.

You have facial hair. False. There’s some light hair above my lip, nothing super thick or recognizable.

You have a baby brother/sister. False. I have younger siblings but I call neither of them my baby sibling because they are 20 and 17, lmao.

Nicole:

You’re madly in love with your significant other. I don’t get to answer this anymore. If you met me at an earlier time I would’ve gladly said yes, though.

You want to get married when you’re young. False. I want to get married when I feel mature enough and financially capable of handling a marriage and the things that can come out of a marriage, like a house and kids.

You’re quite petite. I’m naturally petite, yes. I’ve always been on the skinny side and I’m also shorter than most of my friends.

You dye your hair regularly. False. It has stayed black all my life, but I do want to experiment with green.

It’s almost impossible for you to feel the cold. False. I’m very sensitive to the cold and will shiver easily in an air-conditioned room.

You’re really good at flattering other people. Sure, I like giving compliments and reassurances.

You’re very self-conscious. And very insecure sometimes, yeah.

You find it difficult to make new friends. Sure, but only because I like to control the people that are in my circle. I’m not desperate to have hundreds of friends so this isn’t an issue for me.

People often stereotype you as emo. I have never gotten this before.

You’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. What can I say? Been through a lot, been through hell and back, been discarded and doubted, but I’m still here.

The end.

Who were you most like? Cheyenne. Cute name, too.

[janaikam]

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You - Collaboration

Day 4 of @luxyweek

Part 3

Read on AO3

There was some force working in XY’s favor because right as he made his realization, his phone went off. One of the first songs he had ever released, Answer Me, blared from his phone. It wasn't the first song he had ever written. No, the first song he wrote his father said it wouldn’t sell and told him the best way to produce music was to have other people do it for you.

XY moved away from the bathroom mirror to check his phone. His father was texting asking to meet for dinner later, which meant yet another boring business meal. Those were never fun because he had to be all serious and stuff, which was the exact opposite of his personality.

Plus he never really needed to be there. His father just told him plans for his career, and they moved on with their lives. It’s not like XY had decisions to make.

XY made bad decisions. That's what his father always said, so it was better to leave it up to other people to decide what was best.

“This has been fun, but I better go before, uhh, before someone recognizes me in these horrid clothes,” XY says quickly, moving to the bathroom door. “Can’t have my fans seeing me like this.”

“Of course. Image is everything. I wouldn’t want to be the one to ruin yours,” Luka said, dryly.

XY smiled. Luka already knew the first things about being a musician.

“I’m glad you understand! It’s definitely nothing against your personal style. Like it’s not all bad. This hoodie is super comfortable. How does something so nice and soft like this exist?” XY stopped his rant, realizing Luka was smirking at him. “Anyways gotta go. This was fun, we should do it again sometime!”

“NO, WE SHOULDN'T!!” he heard Luka yell, but XY was already at the top of the boat.

He dashed off the boat, running towards Le Grand Paris. Being around Luka seemed to have some effect on him that he hated to admit to himself, and he did not need Luka figuring that out.

He would probably use it as blackmail to get XY to buy him anything he wanted. After all, that’s what everyone else wanted.

XY was grateful that he didn’t run into anyone he knew on his run back to the hotel. If his dad found out he was playing dress-up like a little kid, he would get the worst lecture ever.

Thankfully when he returned, he still had about two hours until dinner with his dad, so he pulled out his laptop to play the Sims for a bit to try and distract himself.

It wasn’t until he was deep in a game with two male sims trying to become famous while raising a daughter that he realized he made Luka and himself in the Sims. What made things worse was that the Luka character had a more successful career than him.

Frustrated, XY slammed his laptop shut and threw it on the couch. Clearly, these feelings for Luka weren’t going to go away easily.

That blue-haired wannabe was giving him so much trouble, and he didn’t even know it. He wished that he was right there in his bedroom so XY could yell and give him a piece of his mind. Maybe cuddle a bit. Or even share secrets.

Just so Luka trusted him. Then he would blindside him with feelings. That way XY would have something on Luka.

Yes, that’s what he’ll do. Xavier-Yves Z Roth will make Luka Whatever His Middle Name is Couffaine fall in love with him.

Now all he had to do was figure out how exactly to do it.

----

The sweet sounds of his own music filled his ears as XY slowly woke up. The slight pain in his back let him know that his position on the couch the previous night was not very comfortable.

XY ignored the pain, moving to check his phone.

There were about ten messages from his father, nine more than he was used to. Most of the messages were questioning his whereabouts, which he found strange. XY hardly leaves his room, so it was easy to find him if someone really needed him.

It wasn’t until he scrolled up to the message from yesterday afternoon that he realized he skipped dinner with his father.

Quickly typing a response back, XY tried to think of an excuse as to why he never made dinner. Outright saying that he was watching rom coms to figure out how to make some guy fall in love with him was probably not the best. Especially considering his father wanted him to stay single, so all the girls would buy his album.

Instead, he lied, saying that he had found a great new song and was planning to record it as soon as possible. It would get his father off his back for a while and give XY more time to figure out what he was going to do.

He wanted to get on this Luka thing as soon as possible, but his movie marathon hadn’t been very successful. While the romcoms gave him some ideas, there were many flaws.

Like for one, two weeks in when the feelings are budding, Luka could find out what XY was doing and then hate him for it. It could ruin everything even if in a few days they made up.

Unfortunately for him, his father replied, saying he would stop by the studio to make sure everything was going alright. Which meant XY actually had to go down to the studio and find a song to record.

Just Great. It was gonna be a long day.

----

Everything was stupid.

None of the producers knew what they were doing, and XY couldn’t find a song to steal. He found that most of the producers at the record company were very nervous around him and didn’t want to upset him, which in turn just upset him even more.

“You guys can’t do anything right! How hard is it to just help me pick a song for my next album! There’s so much talent out there! Just find someone! I mean it can’t b-”

A knock at the studio door interrupted XY’s ranting, and everyone turned to see Luka there.

All the producers started whispering among themselves. From what XY gathered, “who would dare interrupt XY?”

XY tuned them out and instead focused on Luka. He looked very out of place with a plastic bag on his shoulder and his scruffed up everyday look.

XY couldn’t think of any reason for Luka to show up, but this was perfect. He could woo Luka and record a song for his dad in one fell swoop.

“Luka! What are you doing here?” XY asked, turning on his charm. He needed this to work or else he would have no way to get Luka back for the feelings XY was feeling.

The producers had stopped whispering instead, choosing to watch the interaction between XY and Luka. Their interest in what was happening was really getting on XY’s nerves.

“Could you guys go make music or something? You’re not needed right now,” XY told them, subtly implying that they should leave.

It worked as producers quickly grabbed their things and bolted out the door, leaving just Luka and XY in the studio.

“Uhh, I just dropped by to return your clothes. I don’t really need them, and Juleka was about to sell them online, so I thought you might want them back before she did that.”

XY blinked. XY vaguely remembered the purple haired girl from yesterday. Based on what Luka said, she didn’t seem very cash money to him.

“Oh, uh thanks.” It was weird the effect Luka had on him. One minute his head is filled with so many thoughts and ideas, and then the next it’s just head empty, no thoughts.

Luka handed him the plastic bag with clothes. XY took it and set it down on the floor.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, but were you trying to find a song to steal?” Luka asked, moving to the laptop XY had been looking at.

XY couldn’t help but feel that Luka was accusing him of something, but he had no clue what. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong.

“I mean yeah. It’s how I get all of my music. What else am I supposed to do?” XY flopped back into one of the studio chairs. The chair made a slight creak as it took on XY’s full weight.

“You could try writing your own music. You’re less likely to have akumas target you that way.” Luka crossed his arms while taking a deep breath.

“When has an akuma targeted me for stealing music?” XY scoffed.

“Are you…? You’ve got to be kidding me right? I was akumatized because you stole my band’s song!”

XY blinked. “You were? Huh, no idea how I forgot that. So were you a good akuma?”

“Wha-I-what does that even mean!?” XY inwardly smiled as Luka’s face became redder.

“Like did you win?”

Luka gave him a look that said, are you kidding me?

“Considering that you still have your voice, no I did not win.”

“Some akuma you were,” XY scoffed.

XY wasn’t really sure how, but Luka’s face almost looked like a tomato at this point. It was really cartoonish and super adorable.

“Well if Ladybug hadn't stopped me, then you would be mute, and you would somehow have to explain to your fans how you’re still able to ‘sing’ your songs.” Luka smirked as if he was proud of something.

“That’s easy! We would just keep making the music! It’s already what we do. Doesn’t really matter if I can’t hear them.”

XY could practically feel Luka’s anger coming off in waves. If Luka hadn’t taken a deep breath, XY was almost confident an akuma would’ve appeared. Though maybe that wouldn’t be too bad, it would give him an excuse for not having a song for his dad.

“Before I completely lose my cool, Xavier-”

“It’s XY actually.”

“Xavier-Yves. It is in your best interest that you decide to start writing your own music and shut up when other people are talking for crying out loud,” Luka finished. His face started turning back to it’s normal pale color, much to XY’s disappointment.

XY couldn’t help but think Luka looked cuter mad. It was just a fact.

“That’s too much effort. I’ve tried and I suck.”

Luka frowned. It was debatably cuter than when he was angry.

“If you suck, why don’t you try writing one with someone else? I’m sure if you at least have some ideas then someone else could help you polish things,” Luka asked.

XY paused. He’d never thought of doing that before, or really, his dad had never thought of that. He had always said that success was based on individual effort, not a group effort, so help from others was usually out of the question.

“What do you mean? Like a collab?”

Luka shrugged. “Yeah, something like that. I’m sure there’s someone out there who would be willing to work with you.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. Most other artists in Paris had either stolen their work by him, or he’d made fun of them so much that they cut off all contact with XY. Even some of the celebrities his dad produced were willing to risk their contracts just so they wouldn’t have to work with XY.

Perhaps there was still one musician that might help him, XY thought, looking towards Luka.

Putting on his best puppy dog eyes and duck face, XY asked, “Would you collab with me?”

Upon hearing XY’s question, Luka’s face turned into a disgusted one.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll help. But promise me one thing?”

“What?” XY asked eagerly. He would never admit it to Luka, but the thought of working with him made XY extremely excited.

“Never ever make that face again.”

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

As it turned out, Bob Roth never stopped by the studio. But XY couldn’t have cared less that his father never showed. He had so much fun with Luka that working didn’t even bother him.

It turned out Luka was an amazing guitarist. He was also very talented at the kazoo, making the harsh noise sound very melodic and pleasing to the ear.

The two instruments combined with XY’s sound mixing skills produced an awesome new song that he couldn’t wait to show his father. Even the producers that helped record the song said it was something no one could have ever imagined.

All in all, it was a great experience that XY wanted to do again. Who knew that a new music partner was all one needed to make good music?

When he got back to his room, XY ordered some fried chicken from room service and turned on the TV. He wasn’t really interested in what was on, but he left it on just as background noise. After all, the news could mention him in something amazing he did.

He was just ready to relax from a long day’s work without a care in the world.

Looking over at his bed, XY noticed Luka’s clothes thrown in a pile at the end of the bed. It would be nice of him to return Luka’s things. Especially since Luka returned his clothes instead of letting them be sold online.

XY sighed as he went to pick up the clothes. Luka better give him something in return for all of this.

Maybe he would give him a kiss on the cheek. Now that would be a great payment.

He had almost gathered everything. The last item on the floor was a plain silver bracelet. It was really strange cause all of Luka’s other bracelets were very colorful.

Grabbing the bracelet, it surprisingly turned a soft purple color, and a bright light filled the room. XY had no choice but to cover his eyes, dropping the clothes in his hands.

When the light cleared, there was a green snake thing floating in front of him.

“AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 3: Stars

So one of my favourite things to do for Naegiri Week when I receive a prompt... is to find my own weird little way to twist it. Today’s prompt is one of those times. I don’t really have any general warnings to give, apart from the fact that this piece features body image issues.

I hope you enjoy!

_____________

“Kyoko Kirigiri was more attractive before she had kids.”

A stupid statement. A rude, stupid statement. Some tabloid writer said it, or rather, wrote it. She knew it was a hook to get readers. Almost everyone said she shouldn’t take it personally. In the grand scheme of things, the words of one tabloid writer meant nothing, they claimed. He was just some idiot who measured her worth as a person by the way she looked; his words were no proof of how everyone else felt about her. No matter what awful things he said about her and her body; the comments he made about her having “too much fat on her stomach” and “hips that only accentuate her obvious weight gain” were that of a loser. Everyone told her that he was an idiot, and that she should just ignore him. He wasn’t worth it.

And rightfully, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe she should have ignored it.

But it was hard to feel like that asshole didn’t have a point when she met herself in the mirror.

Truth be told, she’d been having problems with body image long before the article had been published in that magazine. It wasn’t exactly like it was unusual for people to comment on her body. Prior to this writer, there had been hundreds of others who made comments. At first, most people made generic comments. Simple stuff about her being hot, having a nice rear, and her husband being the one lucky guy who got to have sex with her. Seeing celebrities on television over the years, she grew to expect that. No matter how strong and intelligent she was, people would focus most on her beauty. She knew she couldn’t defeat the culture that valued beauty over brains, or perpetuated the idea that women couldn’t be both brainy and beautiful. So she just ignored it. It never meant anything to her. However, as time went on, and Kyoko’s little family grew, the dynamic of these writers changed. More and more of them started to turn for the worse, mocking her postpartum state after her first two kids.

Still, she’d tried not to care. She adored her kids. She’d been more than confident enough in that to tell multiple magazines that she valued her son and her daughter more than being conventionally attractive. And to some degree, it was true. She really did love her kids, and the pair of them made her so much happier than the idealized body ever could. 

Deep down though, somewhere within her heart, a seed of fear planted itself. A fear that maybe, just maybe, these tabloid people had some kind of point. That she really wasn’t as pretty as she used to be. That maybe the people most dear to her would start seeing it, and want to leave. Kyoko didn’t think she could take it if someone tried to leave. At the time, she’d been lucky enough to find that not a soul budged, even in spite of the comments, but… after the third baby, and the comments of that stupid tabloid writer… the worries had come bubbling back up again. 

Saying hello to those worries again, at age thirty-four, is how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom mirror. Every detail under her own critical scrutiny.

Staring at herself in the mirror like this, she wondered how she should think of her body now. Her hair was shorter and thinner, to stay out of the reach of tugging baby hands. Some chub clung to her belly, still hanging about after six months of vigorous workout sessions. Her hips wider than they used to be, even when Hiroko had insisted that they probably wouldn’t change drastically. And the stretch marks… she couldn’t forget the stretch marks, and the way they spanned across her belly. Each child insisted upon bringing multitudes of new stripes with them, as if they liked creating more work for her. She spent years using creams and formulas to fade the marks, and now that she’d had a third, she knew she’d have to start trying again. Just looking at all of the progress, in constant reverse due to her pregnancies, it made her sigh. Kyoko couldn’t help but doubt that Makoto found her as sexy as he did when she was twenty-two.

If she was being honest, that was really the only thing she cared about. The only thing she was really fearful of. Whether others found her to be beautiful or liked the way her body looked was something she’d deemed irrelevant. All that mattered to her was that Makoto still found her appealing. 

She felt sorry for herself, given that the sight of herself in the mirror caused her to sigh. Her charred fingers pinched her stomach sadly, wondering how she was ever going to reverse all of this baby weight.

“I can’t believe I actually used to wear this outfit,” She groaned, twisting to examine her figure further. She noticed new stretch marks start to reveal themselves on her belly, and she groaned. It made her never want to wear a sports bra or crop top again. “It’s amazing to think I ever looked good in this.”

She could remember those days. She’d been in her early twenties then; the perfect age to wear something so flashy. Back then, she could pull off this little workout outfit. A hot pink sports-bra and short shorts combination, built for sweat resistance and husband-catching. She recalled wearing it for every one of her home workouts, for the sake of granting herself Makoto’s attention. She could still draw up his expression in her mind; the face that told her that he was trying not to stare but couldn’t help himself. The memory of it made her giggle. How she longed for the days where he could barely keep his eyes off her.

Looking at herself in the present, wearing that outfit, she desired only to avert her gaze. Gone was the tiny waist, the strong hair, the flat tummy, the perky breasts. Replaced now with a shadow of those things; an ideal that seemed to elude the detective’s grasp. She’d been left with little more than a body that she struggled to feel comfortable in.

“So much for the days of looking sexy, I guess.” She muttered to herself, stealing one last glance in the mirror. She wasn’t sure what she hated more, when she saw herself — the state of her body, or the sadness etched into her expression. There was a haunting quality to the arms that were wrapped around her tummy, trying to shield her body from herself. Bowing her head, she drew herself away from the mirror, trying not to think about it. She would rather just rip the clothes off her body and move on with her day. At least she could do that comfortably. It wasn’t like she had any big plans to be intimate with Makoto that night; they were still parents to three kids after all. So long as she changed and tossed the outfit in the family’s outgoing donation box, no one would have to know. Her insecurity could be her little secret.

At least, that had been her plan, but a familiar voice from behind her was a little too determined to contradict it.

“Whoa!” 

Makoto. She cursed mentally. How could she have forgotten that it would soon be time for the baby’s mid-afternoon snack? He must’ve come upstairs to give her her bottle. Leave it to him to be irritatingly on top of things. She could have kicked herself for having forgotten. Heat began to prick at her face, coating her nose and chin with shame and humiliation. How could she have been so naive? This was the last thing she wanted to see. Her shame felt so great that she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

“Hello, Makoto…” 

Her voice came out weakly, contaminated by the slight tremors of total embarrassment. If he noticed the difference, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just kept chatting away merrily, like he didn’t just walk in on his wife in something she didn’t look good in.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answered, slight amusement in his voice. This only spurred her embarrassment on further. Was he laughing at her? The thought made her want to melt into the floor. God, he wasn’t so cruel as to laugh at her, was he? “Found some old clothes you wanted to try on again?”

She tried to play along. Surely he was going to joke, wasn’t he? Just like everyone else did. Pushing out the fakest laugh she could muster, she turned towards him. Maybe she could play it off as a joke, too, and spare herself the humiliation. “Yes, I wanted to make sure these didn’t look good anymore, so I could get rid of them.” She placed a hand on her hip, trying desperately to look nonchalant. “I look quite atrocious, don’t I? The years haven’t exactly been kind to me.”

“What?” Makoto exclaimed, shaking his head in disagreement. “Come on, don’t even joke about that.” 

Beads of sweat slipped down her forehead. Had she misinterpreted what he wanted to convey?

“Joke about what?”

“Your body! I mean, come on, Kyoko, look at you! You’re beautiful!”

Beautiful? If she couldn’t see the thick rims of them on his face, she would ask if he was wearing his glasses. Partial blindness was the only way he could have found her beautiful, or at least, that’s what the voice in her head said.

“Makoto…” She answered breathlessly, unsure of how to tell him the truth. She had hoped that the whole thing was just a joke to him, but he was making it increasingly clear that his intentions were serious. So serious that Kyoko found herself fidgeting uncomfortably; what could she possibly say? 

Her silence made his concern pounce onto her anyway. His face fell; his cute smile flipped into a frown. Before she knew it, he slipped into the room. Oh god, she thought, now he really means business.

“Kyoko?” His gaze was pitying when he stared at her. She loathed it. He knew how much she hated being pitied, but at the same time… she knew sometimes she had to let that go. Of course it was unappealing, yet sometimes she knew it to be necessary. Sometimes it was just what needed to happen. In cases that involved Makoto, this was often how he would help her work towards a solution.

Brushing a strand of purple hair away from her face, she swallowed. The words seemed to catch in her throat, and she wondered if she might even be able to say them. In front of his worried eyes, she felt so small and fragile. Like one of the ceramic ballerinas her grandfather kept in their old mansion. Saying the words made her feel like she was going to fall and smash. “I… Do you honestly still think I’m beautiful?”

Her husband’s eyes went wide with shock. Evidently that was a ridiculous question to him. So ridiculous that he went flying to her side; eager to provide affection for his downtrodden spouse. “Of course I do!”

His hand found its way to her cheek, and he began stroking it softly with his thumb. It was a technique he used frequently, should she become overwhelmed. In a way, she supposed it sort of helped her to push the words out. “Do you promise your words aren’t empty?”

He nodded frantically. “Of course. What made you think otherwise?” His eyes searched her face for a moment. She could see that he hoped for an answer. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the opportunity to give one. Anger flickered across his face suddenly, like the lighting of a flame, catching her before she could tell her truth. “Was it that tabloid writer?”

She shook her head sadly; her shoulders slumping. “It’s not just him,” She confessed, “I’ve sort of felt this way for awhile. Like I might not be as attractive to you as I used to be.” 

“What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know… I guess I just… got insecure. My body is so different than it used to be. When you married me, I could have been a model, but now… I guess I kind of have a mom body.” 

“And what’s wrong with having a mom body?” 

Kyoko rolled her eyes. “This coming from the guy who failed to gain ten pounds when the doctor said it would be good for his health.” 

“There is nothing wrong with having a mom body.” Makoto stated firmly, determination in his voice. “Do you have extra weight on you? Sure. Are your hips wider? Yes. Are you covered in stretch marks? Of course. But you know what? You’re still drop dead gorgeous. There’s nothing prettier than a mom body. It makes you look like the night sky.”

She blinked at him, not quite understanding what that analogy was supposed to mean. “The night sky?” She raised an eyebrow at him. Whatever he meant by that, she wasn’t sure anyone would have known. But in Makoto speak, it probably meant something sugary sweet.

“Don’t you think your stretch marks are like little constellations?” 

No, she thought, I don’t. I’ve never looked at them that way… Was that really how he looked at them?

“I… suppose? I fail to see how this proves the idea of a mother’s body being alike the night sky.”

He reached over to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, laughing gently. “Alright, think of it this way: your body's like the night. It’s full and beautiful, for it’s held so much. You’ve given birth to three beautiful beings; tiny planets that grew within you.”

“... and my stretch marks are constellations.” 

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Exactly. Having a mom body makes you just like the night sky, and you’re just as beautiful. You’re just as beautiful as a sky full of stars.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gush of air. Such an analogy being used to describe her, it made her speechless. After years of inappropriate comments from others, and these deeply-rooted worries that he might not love her if she wasn’t so pretty anymore… a little idea he had lifted all the weight from her shoulders. There was nothing she could say that would thank him well enough for that; the only thing that came close enough was his name as she flung herself into his arms. 

She made him stumble; her body crashing into his. She lucked out in him being able to retain his balance, nearly grabbing onto the edge of their bed with his free arm to ensure that would happen. His other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of it. She hadn’t realized just how long it had been since she’d really allowed him to touch her torso. 

“Kyoko…” He murmured, his lips to close to her ear that she felt as if she might shiver. “I want you to know that no matter what happens, or how you change… You’re always going to be beautiful to me.”

She laughed softly, pulling him in even tighter. “I’ll always be your night sky full of stars.”

[a-supernatural-writer]

Wendigo Pt.1

Summary: The journey to find John leads the trio to Blackwater Ridge. Being with her boys bring back old memories from Isabeau’s childhood. There was a time when the boys got to be children.

Pairing: Eventual Sam X OC X Dean (polyamorous relationship)

Warnings: mentions of blood, language

Words: 4,659

*This work is also posted on other fanfiction sites*

Next Part | Main Masterlist | “Party of Three” Masterlist

Isabeau’s face scrunched up, her eyes opening slightly. The open road was in front of her, her surroundings passing by as Dean drove the impala. She was in the front seat of the car, between Dean and Sam. Her head was laying on Dean’s shoulder, her cheek squished up against his leather jacket. 

She didn’t even remember falling asleep in the first place, but not sleeping for a couple of days finally caught up to her and exhaustion knocked her ass out. “Good morning sleeping beauty.” Dean playfully said, his hand squeezing her thigh where it’s been since the moment she fell asleep. 

Isabeau didn’t answer, her mind a little foggy, and eyesight a little blurry. Why the boys insist on her sitting in the front between them, she didn’t know. She only guessed it was because Sam wanted some comfort after the loss of Jessica and Dean, well, Dean only asked her to sit in the front if he needed support. Though he would never admit it. 

She tried to move away from Dean’s shoulder but an opposing weight on her other side prevented her from doing so. She glanced over, blinking slowly seeing that Sam was passed out on her shoulder. He was also holding onto her right hand tightly. 

The corner of Isabeau’s lip curled up. She was brought back to a time when the three of them were younger. 

June 21st, 1987

“Come on, Sam! Dean!” Little newly turned 5-year-old Isabeau runs down the little hill in the backyard of her house. At the bottom of the hill was a small lake, it’s surface reflecting the crescent moon in the night sky. 

A 4-year-old Sam giggles as he locks hands with Isabeau, the girl dragging him down to the edge of the lake. The two were stuck to each other like glue. The minute that John stopped by to wish Isabeau a happy birthday and drop off his sons, Sam never left Isabeau’s side. 

8-year-old Dean was close by the two, watching them and joining them in their antics in the backyard. His mind is void of any thoughts of his dad hunting instead of staying and celebrating Isabeau’s birthday. Dean was enjoying what fun he had when he stayed over at Isabeau’s. 

“Easy you three!” Isabeau’s father, Bartholmieu called out with a smile on his face. He was carrying four glass mason jars with holes poked through their metal tops. Bartholmieu reached the lake where the three waited by, throwing rocks into the water, seeing who could throw their rock the farthest. 

Bartholmieu handed each one of them their jar, leaving one for himself and gesturing the kids to open the jar. He crouches down to their height and points towards the field that surrounded the lake. “Now watch.” 

After a few seconds, hundreds of little yellow lights glowed in the fields, flying up from the grass and into the night air. Isabeau smiled. Fireflies. 

“Whoever can catch the most fireflies gets an extra slice of cake!” Bartholmieu declares a competition before jogging off into the field, Isabeau, Sam, and Dean running behind him, laughing and screaming in joy, each of them trying to catch the most fireflies. 

Isabeau looked away from Sam and groaned, closing her eyes back up, and shifting slightly to lay her head comfortably on Dean’s shoulder. “How long have I been asleep?” Isabeau asked. 

“About an hour. Sammy passed out not long after you. You both needed sleep.” Dean said. Isabeau smiled, taking her free hand, sliding it into Dean’s hand that was resting on her thigh. She squeezed it. “Thanks, Dearie.” 

Dean smiled and chuckled, squeezing back. Isabeau hardly ever used that nickname for Dean, so when she did, Dean cherished it. 

Sam suddenly jerks awake. Isabeau opens her eyes, lifting her head from Dean’s shoulder and looking at Sam, concerned. “Sam?”

Sam blinks, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Dean glances over in concern. “You okay?” 

Sam glances over at Isabeau and Dean, squeezing Isabeau’s hand and then looking away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Isabeau rubbed her thumb back and forth over Sam’s hand. Sam wasn’t getting much sleep either.

Dean nods. “Another nightmare?” He asks. 

Sam clears his throat, not answering Dean. Isabeau knew that it was another nightmare, he kept on having them ever since Jess died and refused to fall asleep because of them. Isabeau took it upon herself to conduct aromatherapy on Sam, and in doing so led to many nights that she didn’t sleep because she was helping Sam. 

“You want to drive for a while?” Dean asks. Isabeau glanced over at Dean. He barely lets Isabeau drive, much less Sam. 

Sam laughs. “In your whole life, you never once asked me that.” 

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” Dean brushed off the offer. 

“Look, man, you’re worried about me. I get it and thank you, but I’m perfectly okay.” Sam says. 

“Mm-hmm. Thank Isabeau for that. She lost sleep helping you.” Dean countered. Isabeau slipped her hand out of both Dean’s and Sam’s hands, lightly slapping Dean’s shoulder. 

“Hey! If I lose sleep to help Sam, then I lose fucking sleep. He’s human, you’re human, I’m not. I can go for a couple of days without it.” Isabeau huffed out. She turned toward Sam who was staring at her with his puppy dog eyes. 

“You still need sleep, Isabeau.” Sam said softly. 

Isabeau groaned. “No puppy dog eyes. I’m weak for those. Besides, it gave me a chance to work on my aromatherapy. Haven’t done it in a long time.” 

Sam nodded, looking away and grabbing a map that was sitting on the dashboard. “All right,” He clears his throat. “Where are we?” 

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” Dean answered. 

Sam folds the map of Colorado and has a large red ‘X’ labeled ‘35-111’. He sighs, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t have left Stanford so soon.” 

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica…” Dean said. 

“We got to find dad first.” Sam finished. 

“Dad disappearing… And this thing showing up again after 20 years?” 

“It’s no coincidence.” Isabeau stated. Isabeau looked toward the road. None of this was settling right with her at all. The fire at Sam and Jess’s apartment, she couldn’t stop it, it kept ongoing. It reminded her of her fire, never-ending, nothing being able to put it out. Whatever this thing is, deep down, Isabeau was terrified to know. 

“Dad will have the answers. He’ll know what to do.” Dean said. 

“It’s weird, man. These coordinates he left us, this Blackwater Ridge…” Sam said, looking down at the map. 

Dean glanced over the map. “What about it?”

“There’s nothing there. It’s just woods.” Sam answers. Isabeau puts out her hand, and Sam hands her the map. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?” 

The three glance at each other, not knowing why they were going into the middle of the woods. Isabeau sighed, looking back at the road, the car driving by a sign that says, ‘Welcome to Lost Creek Colorado National Forest.’ 

Isabeau smirked to herself. Fire might have been her element, but she had a strong connection with nature. This could work in her favor. 

The three wind up at the “Ranger Station Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest.” 

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” Sam says as he looks over a 3D map of the national forest, paying attention to the ridge labeled ‘Blackwater Ridge’. Isabeau was flipping through some plant identification books that were focused on the area while Dean looked at the decorations. 

“It’s cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place…” Sam explained further. 

“Dude, check out the size of this friggin’ bear.” Sam looks over. Dean was looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear. Isabeau looks up with a scowl as Sam stands next to Dean. 

“...And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It’s no nature hike, that’s for sure.” Sam says. Isabeau sets down her book and walks up to them, still frowning at the photo. “Horrible.” She whispers under her breath. 

Dean looks down at her, his brow furrowed. Before he could ask, a ranger walks up behind them. “You boys and girl aren’t planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge, by any chance?” The three whip around to look at the ranger. 

“Oh, no, sir. We’re environmental-study majors from U.C. Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam laughs a little as Dean raises a fist. “Recycle, man.” 

“Bull.” The ranger says. 

Sam’s eyes flick over to Dean and Isabeau. Dean doesn’t move and Isabeau’s hand reaches down to play with her rosary. 

“You’re friends with that Haley girl, right?” He asks. 

Isabeau tilts her hand and considers it for a moment. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…” Her eyes flicker down to his tag and gave a soft smile. “Wilkinson.” 

“Well, I will tell you exactly what I told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Blackwater until the 24th. So it’s not exactly a missing persons now, is it?” Ranger Wilkinson explained. 

Dean shook his head. 

“Tell that girl to quit worrying. I’m sure her brother’s just fine.” Wilkinson said. 

“We will.” Isabeau answered. 

“Well, that Haley girl’s quite a pistol, huh?” Dean said with a smile. Isabeau rolled her eyes, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. Sam noticed Isabeau’s actions and narrowed his eyes at her. 

“That is putting it mildly.” Wilkinson responds. 

“Actually, you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother’s return date.” Dean asks. 

Ranger Wilkinson eyes Dean and Dean raises his eyebrows. 

Dean, Sam, and Isabeau leave the ranger station. Dean is holding a piece of paper and laughing. “Yeah.” He folds up the paper.

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks. 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. 

Isabeau sighs. “The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge.” She said trying to get Dean’s mind off of a girl and back on the hunt. 

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s just go find dad.” Sam finishes for Isabeau. “I mean, why even talk to this girl?” 

Sam walks over to the passenger side of the impala, while Dean is on the driver’s side and Isabeau is next to Sam, ready to get in the backseat. 

“I don’t know, maybe we should know what we’re walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean suggested. 

Dean pauses and looks at his brother. “What?” Sam slightly spreads his arms out. 

“Since when are you all “shoot first, ask questions later”, anyway?” Dean asks. 

“Since now.” Sam turns away and slides into the passenger seat. 

Dean smiles. “Oh, really?” He looks at Isabeau. She raises her hands in defense, “I just want to get this hunt done and over with.” Isabeau leaves the conversation like that and hops into the backseat. 

Dean knocks on the front door of the Collins house. A woman, presumably, Haley Collins, opens the door. 

“You must be Hailey Collins. I’m Dean, This is Sam and Isabeau. We’re rangers with the park service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. We wanted to ask you some questions about your brother Tommy.” Dean explained to Haley. 

Haley hesitates. “Let me see some I.D.” 

Isabeau smiles lightly, pulling out a fake ID with the name ‘Samantha Cole’ and holds it up against the screen door. “There you go.” 

Haley looks at the ID and then at Isabeau, who still has a smile on her face. Isabeau puts it away as Haly opens the door. “Come on in.” 

“Thanks.” Dean says. 

But before they could walk in, Haley notices the impala and looks at Isabeau. “That yours?” 

Isabeau’s smile slightly falters at Haley’s sudden eye contact but she can’t help but chuckle.  Sam looks at the impala as Dean stares in confusion at the two girls. 

“No, it’s his.” Isabeau jabs her thumb at Dean. 

Haley smiles at Isabeau, glancing at Dean then back to her. “Too bad, nice car.” Hailey turns to lead the three inside while Isabeau turns her head mouthing, ‘Oh my god’, to Sam and Dean before heading in after Haley. Dean’s jaw is slightly clenched while Sam rolls his eyes. Both brothers weren’t happy about the interaction between Isabeau and Hailey. Not one bit. 

Isabeau didn’t notice the brothers' reactions. Besides, if Dean wanted to shamelessly flirt with women, what’s wrong with her doing it when the women flirt with her first? 

They walked into the kitchen, Sam taking the lead for asking questions. “So, if Tommy’s not due back for a while, how do you know something’s wrong?” 

Haley comes back into the room with a bowl and places it on the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails photos, stupid little videos, but we haven’t heard anything in over three days now.” 

“Well, maybe he can’t get cell reception.” Sam suggested. 

Haley shook her head. “He’s got a satellite phone, too.” 

“Could it be he’s just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean asked. 

The boy, Ben, who was sitting at the table interjected. “He wouldn’t do that.” 

Dean eyes Ben and Ben looked away as Haley puts more food on the table. “Our parents are gone. It’s just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Isabeau nodded, understanding. 

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks. 

Haley nods her head. “Yeah.” Haley grabs a laptop and sets it on the table, pulling up pictures. “That’s Tommy.” She clicks through photos and stops on a still frame of the beginning of a video. “This is his last message.” 

She starts the video of Tom. “Hey, Haley. Day six. We’re still out near Blackwater Ridge. We’re fine, keeping safe, so don’t worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.” Sam tilts his head as he spots a shadow flicking past and the video ends. 

“Well, we'll find your brother. We’re heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.” Dean says to Haley. 

“Then maybe I’ll see you there.” Haley says walking away. The three share a look. “Look, I can’t sit around here anymore, so I hired a guide. I’m heading out in the morning, and I’m gonna find Tommy myself.” 

“I think I know how you feel.” Dean said. Isabeau discreetly hooked her pinky around Dean’s finger. Dean looked over to Isabeau and she said nothing. It was her reaching out to Dean saying that she was there for him. She was going to help him no matter what. 

Isabeau glanced back over to Haley who stared straight back at her. “Hey, you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks, breaking their gaze. 

“Sure.” Haley answers.

Isabeau heard someone breaking a game of pool in the distance, and rock music blasting in the bar as they sat down at a table, Isabeau in her usual spot between the two brothers. 

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn’t get a lot of traffic. Local campers mostly, but, still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam pulls out newspaper articles. 

“Any before that?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah. In 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack. And, again, in 1959, and again, before that, in 1936.” Isabeau pulls out Sam’s laptop from his bag and hands it to him. Sam nods at her and opens it up to Tommy’s video. 

“Every 23 years, just like clockwork. Okay, watch this.” Sam turns the laptop towards Dean and Isabeau. “Here’s the clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy’s video to the laptop. Check this out.” 

Sam pulls up the video and goes through the frames of the video one at a time. A shadow crosses over the screen. 

Isabeau furrows her brow. Dean notices it too. “Do it again.” 

Sam repeats the frames. “That’s three frames, it’s a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.” 

Dean reaches over Isabeau to hit Sam’s arm triumphantly. “I told you something weird was going on.” 

“Yeah.” Sam closes his laptop. “I got one more thing.” Sam hands Isabeau another newspaper article. “In ‘59, one camper survived the supposed grizzly attack, just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.” 

“Is there a name?” Dean asks. 

Mr. Shaw talks to Sam, Dean, and Isabeau with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he leads them inside of his house. “Look, ranger, I don’t know why you’re asking me about this. It’s public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a-” 

“Grizzly?” Sam interrupts. “That’s what attacked them?.” 

Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods. 

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks, too?” Dean steps forward. Mr. Shaw doesn’t answer. 

“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?” Still nothing. 

Isabeau sighed, stepping up next to Dean. “Mr. Shaw, please. If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.” 

Mr. Shaw pulled his cigarette away. “I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don’t see what difference it would make.” Mr. Shaw sits down. “You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever did.” 

“Mr. Shaw…” Sam comes to sit down across from Mr. Shaw. “...What did you see?” 

Mr. Shaw sighs. “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar… like no man or animal I ever heard.” 

“It came at night?” Sam asks. 

Mr. Shaw nodded.

“Got inside your tent?” 

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn’t smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.” The three glanced away when they heard that. “Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn’t even wake up until I heard my parents screaming.” 

“It killed them?” Sam asks. 

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr.Shaw shakes his head. “Why it left me alive… I’ve been asking myself that ever since.” 

Mr.Shaw pauses and his hand goes to his collar. “It did leave me this, though.” He pushes away his collar to reveal three long scars, they were claw marks. Isabeau’s hand flies up to her mouth in surprise at the scars. Suddenly, flashes of shadows casting on cabin walls flickered in her vision, screams of a man and woman fill her ears. They left as soon as they came and Isabeau winced at the slight headache it gave her. Sam glanced over to Isabeau, seeing that her hand migrated to one of her temples and was massaging it. 

“There’s something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.” 

The brothers and Isabeau walked down the corridor of the motel. “Spirits and demons don’t have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls.” 

“So it’s probably something else, something corporeal.” Sam suggested. 

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean mocks Sam’s choice of words. 

“Shut up. So, what do you think?” Sam asks the two of them. 

Isabeau shrugs, whatever she saw at Mr. Shaws wasn't enough to get a good look at whatever it was. “The claws, the speed that it moves… it could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog, hell, maybe even a wendigo.” 

“Whatever we’re talking about, we’re talking about a creature, and it’s corporeal, which means we can kill it.” Dean turns to Isabeau. “What the hell happened in there?” 

Sam looks at Isabeau, wanting an explanation as well about what happened at Mr. Shaw’s. Isabeau sighed. “I don’t know. Looks like my ability to look into the past just doesn’t have to be activated by touch. Now it’s just seeing things and then flashes. Whatever happened it gave me a fucking headache.” 

Both brothers nodded. “Also, that comment back at the ranger station?” 

Isabeau raised a brow at Dean. He rolled his eyes. “About the bear?” 

Isabeau nodded. “Ah, well Dad taught me the idea of the ‘Wiccan Rede’. Even though we are, technically speaking, witches, Dad taught us to ‘harm none, and do what ye will’. Meaning hurting no living thing and we can do whatever magic we want. Though there were exceptions of course with hunting. But I’m against hurting any animals of any kind.” 

Isabeau shakes her head. “It’s just cruel.” She walks ahead of them. The brothers stared after her. 

“You knew that?” Dean asked Sam. 

Sam chuckled and gave a sad smile to Dean. “No offense Dean, but we don’t know a lot about Isabeau’s ways of being a witch. Yeah, she’s a fire elemental and makes fire do whatever the hell she wants, but all we know is the little things; her aromatherapy, simple tracking spells, her ability to move objects, and now this.” 

Both of them remained silent at the realization that outside of Isabeau using her powers for hunting, they didn’t really know about her craft. “I guess we better ask when this is over?” 

Sam nodded at Dean’s suggestion. “We may be her best friends Dean and grew up with her, but there’s a whole nother side to her that we might not know.” 

Dean opens the trunk of the impala, then the weapons box, and props it open with a shotgun like usual. He starts putting some guns in a duffle bag. Both Isabeau and Sam lean in on either side of him. 

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” Sam says. 

“Oh yeah, what are gonna tell her? That she can’t go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” Dean asks. 

Sam nods. “Yeah.” 

Isabeau looks over to Sam. “Her brother’s missing, Sam. She’s not just gonna sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” Isabeau grabs one of her knives in the trunk and puts it in the duffel bag. 

Dean points a finger at her and nods at her words, picking up the duffel bag. 

“So finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam asks. Sam angrily slams the weapons box shut, then the trunk. “Now we got to babysit, too?” 

Dean says nothing but stares at Sam. “What?” 

Dean juts his head. “Nothing.” He throws the duffel bag at Sam and walks off. Sam stares after him and then turns back to Isabeau. 

“Isabeau…” Sam starts. 

Isabeau fists clench. “Sam, I don’t exactly like her coming either. But I know that you, Dean, or myself can stop her from going tomorrow. Hell, if I were in her shoes and it was my three little brothers, I’d probably raise hell and get rid of anyone who came in my way.” 

Isabeau sighed, stepping forward and placed a hand on his chest. “It’d be the same if you two went missing on me.” She patted his chest and walked after Dean. 

Sam watched her walk away. Isabeau would do anything to keep the people she loved safe. Sam could never be mad at her for that. Never. 

Isabeau leaned forward from the back seat as the impala pulled up to Ben, Haley, and another man along the trail. Dean stops the car and the three of them get out, closing the doors shut. 

“You guys got room for three more?” Dean asks. 

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley asks. Isabeau hands Sam the duffel bag and the three walk up to Haley. 

“Who are these guys?” The man behind Haley asks. 

Haley turns back. “Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” 

Sam takes Isabeau’s hand and the two head past everyone. “You rangers?” The man asks. 

“That’s right.” Dean nods. 

“And you’re hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley places her hands on her hips, giving Dean a look. 

Dean looks down at himself. “Well, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.” Isabeau snorts at that comment and she and Sam turn back. Dean walks past Haley and towards the two. 

“Oh, you think this is funny? It’s dangerous back-country out there. Her brother might be hurt.” The man said. 

“Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just want to help them find their brother. That’s all.” Dean responds. He heads past Sam and Isabeau. 

The group hikes through the forest, the man who they found out who’s name was Roy, leading them. Dean, Haley, Bean, Sam, and Isabeau bringing up the rear. Sam and Isabeau still held hands, Isabeau was looking around, her eyes scanning every tree, plant, basically anything living. 

Despite that they were on a search party, Isabeau was smiling at the world around her. The forest reminded her of the one back home that she would spend countless hours exploring. In a way, she felt at peace. Sam stole a few glances at Isabeau, he smiled a little seeing how happy she was. 

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean asks ahead. 

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy stated. 

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?” 

“Mostly buck. Sometimes bear.” Roy answered. Isabeau grimaced at his answer. 

Dean slightly passes Roy. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” 

Roy abruptly grabs Dean and pulls him back. Sam and Isabeau look on. “What are you doing, Roy?” Isabeau tightly asked. 

Roy grabs a stick and pokes a bear trap that Dean had almost stepped in. Roy looks at Dean with a smug smirk. “You should watch where you’re stepping… Ranger.” Roy drops the stick and retakes the lead. 

Dean purses his lips and chuckles to Sam and Isabeau. “It’s a bear trap.” Isabeau rolls her eyes, slightly annoyed and amused at what happened. Haley and Ben walk behind Dean and Sam and Isabeau take their place back at the end. 

“You didn’t pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You’re not rangers.” Haley reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm. “So who the hell are you?”

Ben goes past Haley and Dean. The two brothers share a look, Dean indicates that Sam’s good to go on by. Isabeau hesitates, looking at Dean. He nods to her as Sam drags Isabeau past the two. Dean watches them go for a moment. 

Dean exhales sharply. “Sam and I are brothers, Isabeau is a friend, and we’re looking for our father. He might be here. We don’t know. I just figured that you and me, we’re in the same boat.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?” Haley asks. 

“I’m telling you now. Besides, it’s probably the most honest I’ve ever been with a woman… that wasn’t Isabeau. So we okay?” Dean says. 

Haley pauses. “Yeah, okay.” 

“And what do you mean I didn’t pack provisions?” Dean asks. He turns over to Isabeau’s direction, she wasn’t too far up ahead. She let Sam go ahead as she waited for Dean. “Hey, Beau!” 

Isabeau turns toward him as he strides up to her. “Got my provisions?” Isabeau rolls her eyes as she pulls out a heavy bag of peanut m&m’s from her jacket pocket. “You mean our provisions. I bought these, moron.” 

Dean glares at her reaching into the bag and popping a few in his mouth. Isabeau jerked the bag away from him, smiling as she took a few herself. Haley waits a moment, watching the two bicker over the m&m’s, playfully pushing each other, fighting over the bag. She shook her head, following the two. 

Next Part | Main Masterlist | “Party of Three” Masterlist

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes pt7: People

The sun was finally out in full force to wake everyone up. Schnee manor began to have the sweet aroma of coffee and breakfast for two at this hour. The scent eventually found it’s way to the master bedroom where Weiss stood in front of a mirror to brush her short hair. She would never admit but sometimes it felt like that decision was a better one than marrying Jaune. Then again, the only reason it was cut was because the kids consistent pulling on it when they were small; kids that he helped give her. A smile crept onto her face as the thought lingered. There would never be a day saying things like “my kids” or “my husband” didn’t fill her with absolute joy. Without them then she would’ve known just how different a household could be from her own.

Weiss opened the door with a pep in her step; still in sleeping gown since her plans for today was enjoy a day off and clean up a bit since Jaune typically has the place spotless before she comes home. Today she would’ve cooked for him but that never ends well with the first attempt. Not like there was a need to rush though. After all, school started again so the kids aren’t home.

Weiss:*walks into kitchen*Good morning my beautiful hus-

Jaune:*Flipping pancakes* Hey hun.

Summer:*eating pancakes*.........

Weiss:........

Summer:Hey........mom, hehehehe.

Weiss:Summer sweetie, you do know school started again today right?

Summer:Yeah I uuhhh, chose to skip?

Weiss:.......

Weiss:*walks away* I’m getting the wig.

Summer:Please don’t!!!!

Weiss:Too late!!!!

The sound of her mothers footsteps quickly travel back to the room, much to Summer’s dismay. A drawn out sigh of anxiousness leaves her lungs as Jaune slowly puts more pancakes on her plate.

Jaune:Enjoy your last meal.

Summer:Dad please talk her down.

Jaune:You knee what you were getting into by choosing to skip.

Summer:I can’t help that school sucks!

Jaune:Doesn’t mean you should skip. Nicholas isn’t a fan of school either but he goes.

Summer:Nicholas loved by everyone who isn’t jealous of him. I mean he’s on his way to being valedictorian and all combat schools mail him constantly. He basically runs the school; good practice for a future leader I guess.

Jaune:Last time I checked you sort of run the radio station and we had to install a mailbox just for your fan mail.

Summer:Not all that mail is nice mail and it is not my fault the people of Atlas decided to make that train wreck of a song the top 25 this year.

Jaune:I like your new song.

Summer:Ugh, I still think I repeat a verse one too many times, I could’ve held some notes a little longer and don’t even get me started on how I should’ve gone grand piano instead of regular one. There’s not enough weight in the-

Jaune:You know, maybe I don’t have a pair of twins in my house. I’m starting to think Weiss really wanted a girl and just cloned herself.

Summer:*snickering* I’m trying to be serious here!

Jaune:I am too! If it weren’t for those dazzling Arc blue eyes of yours then I don’t think I could say I contributed anything to the gene pool.

Summer:Last time I checked, I had a good sense a humor.

Jaune:Awww sweetheart. It was nice to be your father.

Summer:Wh-

Tension at the base of her ponytail began to build up. She could feel the nimble fingers barely graze her scalp as she gently tilted her head up to to see scarlet eyes meet hers; black hair tickled Summer’s nose ever so slightly.

Bleiss:Care to explain why only half the children I painfully pushed out of my body are in school right now?

Summer:Oh......ya know........stuff?

Bleiss:.......I will give you one more shot before I chew into you.

Summer:....Physical exams, I didn’t want them all to see my scars....

Bleiss:.....That’s umm, hard to chastise you about. *lets go* Be that as it may, avoiding that problem won’t help you grades.

Summer:I know but the girls....

Bleiss:Fuck em...

Jaune:Hey, reel it in a bit Bleiss.

Bleiss:No! If someone is being disgusting to my kid can go fuck off. *crosses arms* They have no right to make her feel bad and you know it!

If Weiss was like a mother duck, then Bleiss would be a mother goose. Both go a bit feral over their kids but one of them had no problem being as loud and aggressive as it takes to get the point across. It was a bit comforting, yet completely terrifying. A Schnee without inhibition or a filter is a dangerous thing as Summer has come to learn about her family. Strangely that knowledge made her feel better about herself; they were all a little different. It just so happened that she was more different than the rest and unfortunately it also made her more dangerous. Her hands rest in her lap as she looks down at it and speaks softly. Both parents were caught off gaurd and puzzled by it.

Summer:I’m sorry I skipped school. My nerves, they got the better of me.I know better.

Bleiss:.....*looks at Jaune*

Jaune:*shurgs* What? You’re the one who wanted to punish her. I made her breakfast.

Bleiss:Sigh, fair point.

She reaches for Summer’s hands and has her stand up. The two look at each other eye to eye. Bleiss can’t help but to inspect the girl from top to bottom; hard to believe that her own daughter was already a bit taller than her. Not just that however, Summer radiated a maturity about her that most teens could only wish for at their age. Unfortunately that maturity also brought along so, so many insecurities and thoughts that weighed the child down. Seeing her try to march through them like a trooper made both Jaune and Weiss proud as parents but also very sad that it’s a problem in the first place. Is being upset with her really the best option?

Bleiss:Your punishment is.....fresh air.

Jaune:What?

Summer:I’m with him, what?

Bleiss:You heard me. I don’t feel like taking you to school who knows how many classes you’ll miss if you walked there now. However, I’m not just gonna let you lay around all day so bundle up and go see a movie or sit at the park. Just stay out until school is over.

Summer:......Thanks mom *hugs her*

Bleiss:*red* Don’t expect this treatment tomorrow. Also you have 15 minutes to go before you might hear something you don’t like. It’s my day off and I intend to kiss your father repeatedly.

Summer:And that’s my que to leave! Don’t need my stomach to be flipping pancakes too.*walks off*

Bleiss:Better run! You have 14 minutes left before things get gross! Isn’t that right my handsome king? *rubs his face*

Jaune:*grabs her waist* I’m not sure if I can wait that long my queen.

Bleiss:Ooohhh I love it when you’re impatient for me.

*aggressive door opening and clothes fumbling for down the hall*

Jaune:That got her motivated. Your getting a little soft aren’t you?

Bleiss:Pfft I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s early and I guess I’m just feeling a bit generous. Speaking of soft. *tracing his upper leg* I’m a little disappointed you still are.

Jaune:Well I still want breakfast first.

Bleiss:Tease...

Jaune:Me? All I’ve done is-

Bleiss:Be my dream come true? A handsome one at that.

Jaune:*blushing*........

Bleiss:You know....I’m a bit hungry too. *rubbing his chest* care to feed me? Countless missions away from home has made me appreciate you even more.

Jaune:Is....cough that so?

Bleiss:Yeah, you always make me full...*leans in*

Somehow Bleiss always knew how to say just the right things. Jaune was not about to lose composure and scar is daughter possibly. He glided his fingers up is beautiful wife’s figure and stopped at the left side of her face. Right as she went for a kiss he slid the wig off. The two stared at each other before Weiss smiled smugly and gave him a peck on the lips.

Weiss:*giggles* Couldn’t take the heat? You love it when I get into the zone like that. All those internal thoughts coming out unapologetically.

Jaune:Yeah well I need those thoughts of yours to pump the brakes for roughly ten more minutes.

Weiss:Just enough time for you to make me some pancakes.

Jaune:No problem, how do you want your eggs?

Weiss:Ask me in like 10 minutes. *blushing*

He playfully rolls his eyes and pulls her into a loving kiss.

xxx

[Prinipals office]

Nick:So Mr. Coal, what’s this all about? *sits down*

Flynt:I’m just wanted to touch base with ya before you finish up this school year. You’ve done a lot of good and keep trucking along. Not many students cast as wide as a net when it comes to school participation.

Nick:You know me, I like to keep moving ahead and all that hehehe. Lots to do, lots a people always watching. *rubs head*

Flynt:Eh, let them watch. I wanted to let you know not to run yourself too hard now. The tournament requires plenty of rest as well as practice. No doubt you’re doing one of those things. Make sure you’re getting the other.

Nick:No worries! I got the stamina of an Arc in my veins! Someone has to make sure things like the play, meetings, decorations, sports arrangem-

Flynt:*grabs his shoulders*..........

Nick:.......

Flynt:Remember that exercise I told you about? The one that my wife uses?

Nick:The breathing one right? *closes his eyes*

His chest rises as he slowly takes a deep breath and holds it. His mind focusing on the core of what he’s thinking about before exhaling all the air out and opening his eyes.

Nick:People expect greatness from me so I will achieve it. Not just because it’s a responsibility, but because helping where I can gives others an easier time. Wow, that was a load off my chest.

Flynt:I bet. Please remember that the other student council members are capable of doing more than what they’re doing now? You got a good heart kid like your pops and your mother. But the world as you know it can take a few more moments of you taking it slow. Speaking of which.....

Nick:Summer isn’t feeling well and will be here tomorrow, I promise.

Flynt:I hope so. I take no joy from failing bright and talented minds. I think the both of you need to take a page from each other’s books.

Nick:I’ll take that up for consideration. Now if you excuse me, there’s a meeting I’m late for. *walks to door*

Flynt:.....It’s a noble thing you’re doing. Being front and center to everyone constantly so she doesn’t have to be.

Nick:......Not sure what you mean. I just like the spotlight and benefits of popularity. It’s called networking. *leaves*

Flynt:Hmph, he should use those connections to learn how to lie.

Normally a model student should obey even the tiniest rules but Nicholas was in a hurry. Classes had already started so who was gonna call him out on running down the halls? Faculty should be proud to see his commitment of anything. In no time at all he made his way into a barren room with a white board, a rectangular table, and about a dozen kids his age sitting around it. One of them was a tan, blue haired woman holding a marker. Her gold eyes shot like daggers into his as he walked in. Nicholas couldn’t help but notice how her arms crossed over her white button up uniform shirt and the way her legs tapped; messing up the gray skirt. Across the table was Valerie with her head resting on her hands as she tried to look vaguely interested.

Eliza:About time you showed up! This was supposed to be a meeting between all main council members but I had to walk all the way down to the science room and get your Vice President!

Valerie:May I go now?

Eliza:No! You might as well stay. Never know when the King of Almanac Academy well up in vanish again.

Nick:Please, I’m not the king of anything and cut me some slack. The principal wanted me.

Valerie:What!? Everything okay? *sits up*

Nick:You know him, always checking up on students. Might as well have a second office in the band room sense he’s there. Anyways, what’s with the meeting? Something happen to the boiler room again? I can only by so many parts for that train wreck.

Eliza:Not why I called you but yes, hot water is only room temperature at the moment. I think it’s just because of the winter break. What I called you all in here for is for play production ideas during the tournament. It’ll be televised so-

Valerie:You interrupted my science test to help with play ideas!?

Eliza:Considering how you looked liked you wanted to die, you should be thanking me.

Nick:That hard huh?

Valerie:The smart kid in our class snapped his pencil and walked out.

Nick:Wow, if Ira is having trouble then I’m scared.

Eliza:Focus! Fighting isn’t the only reason people tune in. All the other competitions show’s what we’re about as a school. The play has to be perfect!

Multiple people started rapid firing ideas.

“The Snow Queen!!!”

“A Christmas Carol!!!”

“The Wizard of Oz!”

“Phantom of the Opera!”

“Lord of the Rings!”

Eliza:No, too cheesy, overdone, too dramatic, and entirely too long. I do like the idea of a musical though. Nicholas, is there by any chance.

Nick:There’s no way you’re going to get my sister to sing on stage and fight in a tournament on the same day.

Eliza:Not even if I bribe her?

Valerie:They’re rich......

Eliza:Ugh, Schnees and all their excess money.

Nick:Pfft, Marigolds and their constant whining. *smirks*

Eliza:*glares* Ooooo you’re lucky you’re cute and important. Got any idea Mr.President?

Nick:Hmmm, Tell the story Remnant itself. The two gods, Salem and Ozma; that’s still getting a shock factor.

Eliza:Yeah but there’s so many holes in it. *slumps in chair* Hard to make it cohesive with so many things nobody knows.

Nick:That’s what makes it interesting. Focus on the love and connections between all of them that leads to betrayal, and we’ll fill in wholes with information I can gather and inferences.

Valerie:Oh! I wanna help get info!

Eliza:......This sounds like an excuse for you to try to sneak into Atlas again for info.

Nick and Valerie:And?

Eliza:Sigh, fine then. But if nothing good comes out of it then you gotta convince your sister to sing okay?

Nick:I can promise I’ll try. *holds our hand*

Eliza:That’s all I’m getting out of you aren’t I? *shakes hand*

Nick:Smart and pretty. Dependable as usual.

Eliza:*blushing* I hope the gaurds jump you at the gate. Meeting is over everyone.

Valerie:Finally. *stands up* Well, back to the worst class ever.

Nick:Remember to check the back of the pages of questions before you turn it in. *leaves*

Valerie:Pfft like I would make mistake, twice.

Eliza:Gods you’d be screwed without him.

Valerie:As if! Unlike him, top shelves aren’t a problem for me. Besides, I always help when he asks.

Eliza:Still, he sure is something else. Vice President must be easy when the one above you catches all the problems his way. Even the split second ones. Must make life simple. His back must be pretty broad with all that responsibility he carriers. Almost like a knight.

Valerie:Keep it in your pants El. *walking away*

Eliza:*blushing* That’s not what I.....go to class!!!

Valerie:Don’t take me out of it then. *closes door*.........hmph.

She quietly lets go of the door knob and walks down the hall. Valerie couldn’t help but think about the walk to school just awhile ago. It’s hard to deny that he’s almost always on top of his game. That’s what made him so great in her eyes. They pushed each other or, maybe he just pushes her? Either way, it’s not like she needed him to watch her back; especially in a fight. A knight of any kind wasn’t needed. Knights are for princesses and other people who need help. Friends just help friends is all. At the very end of it she notices a poster above a door slowly peeling of the brick wall and Nicholas looking at it. A small smile starts to form.

Valerie:N-

He jumps up and pulls the rest of it off. Instead of putting it on the wall he just places it on the actual door. Satisfied with his work, he turns down the corner and disappears from sight.

Valerie:......

Part 6