#wooden pencil? DESTROYED

[bonemeal12]

Stimmy Speedster Sunday II!

[cheriden]

「 txt in kindergarten 」 。。。

𐙚 SOOBIN

• Passes by his friends’ houses to collect them, walking together to school • Pouts whenever someone else takes something he’s set his eyes on but doesn’t say anything about it. He tells himself it’s fine, as long as they're happy • Only brings essentials to school, but overpacks on situational things he might need like band-aids and bug lotion/patches — “What if I get bitten by a THOUSAND mosquitoes today?!” • Loves to play with house toys, such as kitchenware with fancy wooden stoves. A bit stressed when someone comes along and plays beside him.  • At the playground he tries to conquer the seesaw. Unfortunately he is afraid the person on the other end might not let him down or catapult him into the air, so he just sits on it with nobody on the other side. • Lunchbox has every food group, sometimes even gets dessert when he’s behaved enough. Eats the longest because he may have to force himself to eat whatever he doesn’t like. • Favorite time of the day is nap time! Everyone is quiet and he gets to sleep, no complaints here

𐙚 YEONJUN

• In charge of looking both ways when crossing the road, grips hard when holding hands. • Overpacks toys and stationary, but still capable of forgetting something mildly important.  • Loves to play with building blocks and matching games/puzzles. • At the playground he’s at the top of the slide, ruling over his minions and most likely hogging it. • Likes to trade lunches with other kids, particular about the quality to quantity ratio. Expert at haggling. — “I’m taking more from you because my dish is harder to prepare and has more ingredients! Maybe if you give me a piece of your sides, I’ll consider it.” • Favorite time of the day is recess! Likes mingling with other kids, there is no set agenda so he could talk about or do anything

𐙚 BEOMGYU

• Strays and wanders away from the walking group, sometimes gets lost. • Things are heavily personalized, same unsure handwriting that says "beomgyu" on every item he owns, and as much as possible they’re all the same color or have the same character.  • Erasers are the gel fruit ones that get lost (or eaten) • Loves to play with very select plushies, may throw a tantrum if he doesn’t have it with him • At the playground he can be found in sandboxes, making castles and pretending to be a monster. • Steps on other kids’ work in the process. Sometimes it’s an accident, most times it's intentional — “I didn’t destroy your castle because it’s better than mine, which is a lie. I destroyed it because I’m godzilla.” • Brags about all of the snacks and candies his parents gave him (or what he takes from the cupboard) • Favorite time of the day is arts class! A subject where he can be as loud and messy as he wants for the sake of whatever project he’s making that day.

𐙚 TAEHYUN

• Has a map in his bag in case they forget the route • Loves to talk about his surroundings, eyes glistening when others ask follow up questions • Always asks questions in class, he’s so attentive !! • Complete stationery set, including a cool pencil case with a built in sharpener. Will let others borrow but will ask why they need it, asking every other second if he can have it back because he’s afraid they’ll lose it or keep it • Loves to play with interactive books, pop-ups and especially ones where you can feel the texture of things. • At the playground he loves being on the swing sets, telling other children to wait their turn or when 5 minutes have passed to let others have a chance on the swing. — “Your time was up two minutes ago! Why am I still here? I’m the reason you get turns in the first place!” • Always eats whatever his parents have prepared for him, boasts about being healthy and outliving everyone else. • Favorite time of the day is math class! Since math class is technically indirect and simple arithmetics, such as adding apples, sometimes it’s easy to cheat (count on his fingers)

𐙚 HUENINGKAI

• Stops to look at all the fauna and flora, squealing and telling those around him. My little arthropod lover! • Extensive art set that gets everyone's attention, other kids love to borrow from him and he can be kind of a pushover. Unfortunately, they end up losing them. • Loves to play with anything colorful that makes sound, such as a rainbow xylophone • At the playground he loves the roundabout, but he’s too shy to get on. He patiently waits for someone to invite him to ride, so instead he pushes the others around. • Tries to eat his lunch quickly in case someone might ask him to share. He will, but he will sulk a lot. It was prepared for him! • Favorite time of the day is music class! Generally this is a time where everyone just makes noise, but most eyes are on him when he learns a new toy instrument. He doesn’t like the attention, but it’s not so bad either. — “This? Oh, I guess it’s just easy for me. wait, sorry! I didn't mean to brag.... When I want to hear a sound, my hands move on my own to do it! Teach you? Um I’m not really good at that… But sure!”

i saw that pic of them in the unifs and imagined little tubatu crossing the street hand in hand :(

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags appreciated♡

[starmocha]

never the same Rafayel/MC | 2216 words | AO3 She will be his magnum opus. A/N: Uhh…this can be interpreted as sharing the same timeline as “the day bleeds into nightfall” or it’s in its own individual timeline. Not sure if it explains my mental state, but I wrote this while playing Kitty Cards at 2am.

He had that dream again.

Or rather, it was that nightmare that continued to play on loop every time he closed his eyes.

As the sun glared into his face, Rafayel blinked his grogginess away, his mind still lingering in a haze as the last remnants of his dream slipped away. His eyes adjusted to the room, and he remembered. As he sat up, groaning at the back pain, he realized he had fallen asleep on the wooden floor in the living room again.

He had lost count of how many times that had happened in the last four months. He cradled his head in his hand, groaning as he heard Thomas’ voice ringing in his ears over and over again:

Rafayel…I’m sorry…She is…

Rafayel groaned aloud, burying his face into his hands, wishing he was still asleep, just trapped in a horrendous dream waiting to wake up. He heaved and sobbed, just wishing he could bury the memory of that horrible day, but no matter how strongly he willed it, Thomas’ voice cut through, pained and saddened, but nowhere near the level of grief that consumed Rafayel:

She is…

“…dead.” He stared soullessly at his destroyed studio, canvases were smashed, incinerated, or shredded mercilessly with his blade during his rage. Paintbrushes were snapped like toothpicks while paint splattered everywhere like a crime scene.

Rafayel no longer found joy in his studio. He had not held a brush or pencil in four months except to destroy them in his grief and anger. There was no longer any inspiration or passion for his paintings just like how he no longer found any reason to wake up.

When she had left, she had taken all of the colors out of his palette.

The world had turned to gray, and he found himself stuck in a stagnant, his days repeating the same as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, looking at the messages he had sent over the months to someone who would never be able to respond to him again. He looked at the last conversation he had sent, just a month earlier:

do you know what the most heartbreaking thing in the world is

withered flowers beached fish

and me when i cant see you

Rafayel sighed and leaned against the window, his eyes drifting to the sparkling sea outside. The water seemed so inviting, like she was inviting him back into her embrace, urging him to let her lull him to sleep and forget this unrelenting pain.

He turned his gaze back down to his phone in his hand, his eyes drifting to the next conversation, dated two months ago:

its been a week and still cant paint anything

i think my inspiration left with something

His breath grew ragged as he scrolled up.

no motivation to paint these days

should i shut myself in

He scrolled up to three months earlier, recalling when he was finally starting to allow the notion that she was gone to enter his mind. He gripped his phone tightly as his hand trembled.

dun even remember what day it is today

the sea outside looks blue but also gray

a gray sea sounds pretty cool? maybe the entire world was gray from the start

He scrolled up to the first text conversation he had sent four months earlier, just three days after Thomas had revealed the devastating news to the painter and subsequently after his own vandalism of his studio.

thomas asked me why i didnt clean up my studio yesterday

nobodys coming over so why would i

When she had left, she had forsaken him again.

He knew she never did it willingly, never intending to hurt him, but the pain was all the same. For once, Rafayel found himself actually walking to his bedroom and laying down on the plush mattress to stare at the domed ceiling overhead. It was still dusk, but within just a few minutes, nightfall would take over, and the stars would come out to shine and illuminate the sky.

He raised his phone, covering his view of the glass dome. His eyes focused in on the last text message she had sent him shortly before her final mission:

Gonna send you messages in drift bottles LOL

The reception is going to be really bad in the mountains. I promise I’m not ignoring you, so don’t freak out again. We’ll go eat seafood when I’m back home! Or do you want sushi again? Make a decision before I come home!

“Neither,” he mumbled to the quiet room, his eyes already drifting back to the first word of the message as he reread it again and again and again, until the sound of waves finally lulled him to sleep under the starry sky.

When she had left, he wished to return to the ocean, becoming the seafoam and forget the cutting pain of mortal life.

The dream was always that same scene of Thomas breaking the news to Rafayel, but each time he had had the dream, the words started getting more muffled, like they were underwater.

This time was no different as Rafayel closed his eyes, wishing to drown out the words and forget the pained look on his agent’s face. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was underwater. His face relaxed, feeling the familiar cool water embraced him. The brief moment of serenity did not last long, though, as his sight caught a glimpse of a figure slowly sinking into the dark depths of the ocean.

His chest ached with a searing hot pain, his heart responding to her as she drifted further and further away from him. His body went into auto-mode, unaware of the instinctual changes as fin replaced the human legs he had previously. He swam with the swift speed of a black marlin, but no matter how close he should be getting to her, she was always cruelly pulled further out of his reach.

His voice called out to her, his throat raw with pain and desperation as he screamed and reached out, silently begging for their fingers to just touch.

“Come back…” His fin thrashed in the water, propelling him deeper into the cold darkness. He extended his arm, reaching desperately for her limp hand. “Come back…back…to me…”

As the darkness enveloped her, Rafayel woke up screaming and shaking, his chest tightening with pain as the dream replayed over and over in his mind. He buried his face into his hand, screaming and cursing for anyone to hear him.

“Why…why…wh…”

Just how many lifetimes was he supposed to endure, only for her to slip through his fingers like sand time and time again?

Rafayel mindlessly browsed a shopping website on his phone, just adding products after products to his cart without thinking about the actual necessity of the items or the prices. He also ordered art supplies again: new canvases, paint, and tools, but as he finalized the payment, he felt the same emptiness, the lack of desire to create.

His orders arrived the next day, sitting outside the studio for hours until Thomas stopped by and helped hauled the packages inside.

Along with his presence, Thomas had also brought along a bag of takeout food.

“It’s just fried chicken,” his agent commented, laying the greasy fast food out on the kitchen counter. “But it’s better than not eating.” The brunet looked at the painter with shades of disappointment and worries. “When was the last time you have eaten, Rafayel?”

Rafayel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and shrugged. “Dunno. Wednesday?”

“It’s Friday today,” Thomas bit out immediately, voice tinged with a layer of frustration. He sighed, reining in his emotions. “Just eat something. I have a meeting with the press in two hours. What should I tell them about your next project?”

Rafayel walked over and bit into a chicken tender strip. “Ugh, bland,” he quipped, tone unchanging. He waved off Thomas’ question. “Tell them I became a hermit. I ran away and I’m not painting anymore.”

Thomas crossed his arms and looked at Rafayel with a shake of his head, sensing that Rafayel was trying to maintain his usual flippant attitude, but this time, though, the once normal exaggeration seemed genuine. “I’ll tell them you are taking a break then.”

Rafayel waved him off without a glance as he stared at the array of fried chickens, buttered toast, onion rings, and a soda on the counter. “Should I make a sandwich…”

He placed the toast on a plate, spreading mayonnaise on the bread before stacking two chicken tenders and a large onion ring on top. He closed his creation with another slice of toast, pressing down on the sandwich before taking a bite, wishing he could go back to that perfect evening when she and him had shared a similar homecooked meal together.

Days slipped by in the usual monotony of disinterest and solitude, but sometimes Rafayel would break the cycle and sit down on the floor in front of the coffee table with Reddie’s fish bowl on top.

He watched the little fish swim in circles for hours, both of them unaware of the passage of time.

“Do you miss her?” Rafayel asked the fish. “Do you think about her?”

The Lemurian listened to his fish companion respond, and he sighed empathetically. “I do, too,” he admitted quietly as he reached for the bottle of fish food. He gave three light taps, watching the little round pellets float on the surface of the fish bowl.

Reddie immediately swam to the bottom of his bowl, hiding within the modest decorations to avoid his owner.

Rafayel frowned.

“You need to eat,” he scolded the little fish.

Reddie peeked out and opened his mouth, seemingly echoing the same words back to his owner.

For a moment, silence filled the studio, the only sound heard were the waves crashing on the shore outside and sea gulls crying overhead. Eventually, Rafayel relented.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, standing up and heading into the kitchen, unaware that Reddie swam to the top of his bowl and began eating again.

Rafayel knew there was no correct or concrete unanimous consensus for the exact appropriate time to grieve, but he still found himself angry with everyone.

The world was already moving on. Her former co-workers have already returned to some semblance of normalcy without her. No one mentioned her or her name. Strangers who had only met her once or pass by her unspoken had no idea a fair maiden had been taken from the world, her mere life exchanged for the sake of others.

The very thought enraged him, igniting the flames within himself.

She would not be forgotten, he vowed. Not by him and not by the world. For the remainder of this mortal life, he would pour his heart and soul into preserving her existence.

Rafayel picked up a paintbrush for the first time in months and he stepped forward, his sight set on the enormous canvas that claimed the entire studio wall.

My magnum opus.

The studio filled up with canvases of varying sizes, all at different stages of completion. Many of them were deemed as failed attempts to capture her beauty, her soul, her existence. Crumbled sketches scattered across the floor, surrounding Rafayel as he lay there staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally his eyes drifted to the large canvas waiting for him to start adding paint strokes to it.

It was not time yet. He hadn’t perfected her, still needing to practice recreating every single part of her on sketch papers and smaller canvases. He needed to perfect the curves of her body as she moved and swayed, capture the way her hair had flowed, and mix the perfect shade of paint that truly was reminiscent of her beautiful eyes.

Rafayel was in a hypnotized daze, losing himself to his newfound obsession of preserving her memory for the world to see.

She was here.

She was here.

She was here.

Through his paintings, he was going to scream to the world that she was here and she would be immortalized alongside the great muses of the past. He surrendered himself to endless nights of painting, trapped in a frenzy as he hurried to capture the images in his mind before they slipped away.

“…here…she was here…” His hand glided across the canvas as his chest throbbed, the desperation to hold onto the image in his mind was etched on his face as he moved quickly to preserve it. “She…is here…”

Dawn broke through the night, the orange glow of the sun taking over, its light creeping into the studio as Rafayel staggered back from his latest creations. He smiled, delirious from the recent spells of sleep deprivation, his eyes taking in the portrait of her he had painted a week prior. The beauty before him smiled radiantly against the backdrop of a blue sky, her eyes locked on his, beckoning him closer to her with an outstretched hand.

One day, in a new lifetime, they will be together again.

“For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow…” he murmured, stepping forward and letting his lips meet hers on the canvas. His eyes closed as he shuddered and sighed, his hand splayed over hers.

A bond everlasting.

[spacenintendogs]

random httyd headcanons

eret snorts when he laughs really hard

everyone has a crush on him at some point or another & fights for his attention (in their own ways)

eret also has a HUGE soft spot for tidal class dragons. HUGE.

when snotlout is geuninely furious, like, fucking pissed, he's weirdly quiet in a way that makes everyone uncomfortable (& a little scared)

out of the gang, def the best singer (when he actually puts effort into it, but he's usually tipsy or alone for that)

fishlegs will shuffle his deck of dragon cards as a form of stimming/self soothing

excellent at shuffling cards btw. whenever anyone in the gang plays a card game/gambles, they make him shuffle the cards. yes even when he's not involved in the game at all. (it's hot & mesmerizing)

tuffnut has itemized lists in his head of what each of his friends like and dislike & will randomly inflict the information he knows upon them & always takes them by surprise

bc of this he's actually a very good gift giver, ties into ruffnut being an excellent shopper. he figured out what to get, she's able to find it.

ruffnut actually does love shopping whilst being excellent at it & dragging astrid out to do it is smth she also loves

gets astrid into it too, bc ruff actually finds the coolest shit. even has a collection of old, small knives from around the world. she always has an elaborate story abt it (either true or made up by her but no one can truly tell)

astrid has slivers consistently in her hands from the wooden handle of her axe & the amt of times she's had to pull it from tree, targets, etc. she never notices & they don't bother her

one day eret asked her if she knew dragon eggs exploded when they hatched & she thought abt fist fighting odin, thor, & then eret before saying yes through gritted teeth

hiccup can spin his pencils in his hand between his fingers & has accidentally had them launch & hit ppl in the face

toothless thinks it's a game & will shoot the pencil out of the air & destroy it (hiccup has to make a lot of new charcoal pencils)

hiccup taught fishlegs & astrid how to draw

[afyrian]

no. 8 - googly eyes masterlist

    glue, glitter, and googly eyes, the three main components of any good craft time. you can supply kids with an array of supplies, but none will ever as integral as those three. which you learn rather quickly when you head down for your scheduled time. 

  the table is already covered in glitter and cut up pieces of paper. popsicle sticks are violated behind belief and little girls are destroying each other's creations. after seeing the sight that sits before you, you breath a sigh of relief knowing that your group will likely be a little more mature. however, you can't help but feel bad for yachi.

  she sits at the corner of the table, right besides the one your group will be sitting at. she has some bags under her eyes and is clearly regretting choosing one of the younger groups of kids. they're going crazy around the table and are occasionally spilling things on her and not caring. "you doing okay?" you sit next to her, pursing your lips. 

  "i'm so tired, please distract me with something that is adult related,” she grabs your shoulder with her hands, resting her forehead on them, sighing out loud. 

  you tap your chin, narrowing your eyes, “ooh yeah, i’m stuck with atsumu all week if you didn’t see the plans. like last night, we had a scary campfire night and like we laughed together.. it was wild.”

  she raises her head up with her mouth wide open and her eyes staring into yours. “oh my gosh, you were flirting with atsumu miya?!”

  the volume of her voice immediately makes you cringe, hands reaching to cover her mouth. the idea of ‘flirting’ with him makes you want to laugh and roll your eyes. “no! we were just laughing, nothing more! besides, for one, he doesn’t even remember me. and two, he was such an.. ass,” you try to whisper the last part, looking down at some modeling clay in front of you.

  “you totally were,” yachi shakes her head, grabbing a pencil and doodling on her paper, “and who cares! he could be this new person, i mean you wouldn’t be laughing with him if he is as he was years ago. like yes, you’re totally valid for how you feel about how he treated you. so talk to him about it or something! especially because i can totally tell you’re freaking out.”

  you shake your head slightly, pulling at the clay and squishing it back into a ball. “it’d just be awkward, i mean i acted like i didn’t know either.. just to save from the embarrassment,” you lean forward, resting your forehead on the table, letting out a short sigh.

  “oh my gosh, y/n, i can’t believe you. you’re so lucky i have to leave soon because i want to be hounding you so bad,” she leans against her hand, elbow resting on the wooden table. 

  you roll your eyes at her words, acting like they didn’t make you feel something. last night, even if it’s your worst nightmare come true, you did have fun. pretending to argue with him, proving him wrong and watching as he tries to hold back a truthful apology. something about it stirred a feeling within, and yachi certainly isn’t help you understand what it may be. 

  “well you’d be hounding about nothing.. we do have archery after this so i will let you know how it goes. but nothing is happening between us,” you lean over and bump her shoulder, trying to ignore that feeling in your gut.

  yachi looks over at you, shaking her head. she’s always known you a little better than you’ve known yourself. she’s intuitive like that, ignoring the activity just to give you advice, “ooh something will definitely happen, trust me. you just watch.”

  she gets up from her spot to bring her group with her to their next activity. looking back at you she points her finger at you, “you’ll see! especially if you tell the truth!”

a/n: this is so short but i wanted to get something out!! it didn’t post last night this is fantastic D: taglist (open): @lemurzsquad, @froyaoya, @localgaytrainwreck, @guitarstringed-scars, @girlkissersco, @hyenagoated

[liennka]

Fromage - part II

Hannibal Lecter x Will's daughter/teen patient reader

Summary : When Y/n for once arrives early for her therapy, she ends up in a life-or-death situation... And she has to fight too (s1 e08)

-> Feel free to insert yourself instead :) This is my first story and I am open to any criticism (be nice pls).

I just wanted to say that I am not the owner of this show, but I did make this story, so don't copy it without my knowledge, thank you.

"And where do you think you are going?" he took a couple of steps to her side of the room. 

Hannibal couldn't stop him, feeling dizzy himself. Y/n opened the door, almost out of danger, but he had long legs and great range.

One second he was stretching out his hand, the next she was on the floor. His cord cutting across her cheek and neck. Y/n felt a searing pain, as if ten people slapped her at once, throwing her to the ground.

Tobias swung the wire again, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second by ducking under the table, her blood stuck to her hair. Her sob was low, but Hannibal heard it. In a matter of heartbeats, he picked up a small sculpture and threw it at him. It hit Tobias's back and he crashed into the wooden door.

Hannibal had time to compose himself as he walked up to him and punched him in the face. Tobias got his jaw dislocated, but he still managed to boot Hannibal, swinging his string once more. It wrapped around Hannibal's hand, making a terrible sound similar to breaking bones.

----☆----☆----☆----

She wiped the blood from her cheek with her sleeve, feeling the deep gash every time she moved her facial muscles. Meanwhile, Tobias threw a tea table at Hannibal, destroying his favourite glass furniture. Enraged, Hannibal threw him over his other table in return. Y/n covered herself with her hands and curled up.

Tobias got hold of Hannibal's decorative knife and tried to stab him. Y/n crawled out the other side, picking up a shard of glass. And as he was about to stab Hannibal, she crept from his side and stabbed him in the shoulder. 

Tobias screamed, letting go of Hannibal and grabbing the back of her head, slamming her into a wooden cabinet.  Her vision went black and she passed out. Tobias stomped on her, but was stabbed by a pencil.

Focusing on Hannibal again, they made their way back to the ladder.

"You two are really annoying. When I kill you, I may use her guts, she seems to be a tough one," he grinned. 

Hannibal saw red, such rudeness was too much. He let Tobias punch him through the ladder and grabbed his arm, breaking it. Tobias could only scream and wave a knife, but a clean blow to the neck sent him to the ground. Hannibal pulled out a handkerchief so as not to leave any prints on the stag statue and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. 

----☆----☆----☆----

Y/n regained her consciousness as she felt Hannibal's hand cupping her face. 

"You were so reckless Mažasis, but you saved my life," He gently stroked her hair.

"You killed him," she breathed out in relief, "was that mercy?"

“Tobias?”

“Franklin.” 

“And what if it was not?” Hannibal cocked his head, clearly testing her.

----☆----☆----☆----

"If he was killed simply for living, may his death be kinder than man," she whispered, glancing to where his body was lying lazily. 

As she slowly pulled herself together, Hannibal called the FBI. 

"They're going to ask questions."

"So we answer them, from the bottom of our hearts," Y/n knew what he meant, she would have to lie. 

"Is my dad gone? "Y/n remembered what Tobias had said.

"I suppose so, but I hope not."

She began to cry, not caring that her blood mixed with her tears and made her face look like a painting of a wild berry cake. Hannibal's warm embrace lulled her to sleep, and when she awoke, her father was standing over her. Hannibal was patched up, only his bloody face remained. 

"We were worried you were dead," Hannibal said lovingly to Will, still holding her in his arms.

"Dad!" was the first word of Y/n.

Will took her from Hannibal and kissed her bruised forehead.

“If I had got here sooner I would have killed him myself, I am glad you are all right, though you are still injured. I am so sorry Y/n/n," Will whispered, his brows furrowed with worry. 

"She saved me, you have a fierce child, Will. I admire her, although she shouldn't have been here in the first place," Hannibal smiled, then raised his eyebrow.

“Yeah, that was mainly my fault, I couldn't take her here today,” Will scratched his neck, obviously feeling guilty.

----☆----☆----☆----

After that, Jack had interrogated both of them, but for the most part she had not even had to lie as she had been face first into the ground. Her face was bandaged, the blood was washed off and ice was put on her forehead.

Y/n made a mental note to never come early to her sessions again, and to always carry a knife.

[underthetree845]

ADA Members as High School Students- Headcannons

All the characters are of high school age, except for Fukuzawa who is a teacher.

I might do the older ADA members as teachers eventually, but I wanted to focus on them all as students for now.

Includes: Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Ranpo Edogawa, Atsushi Nakajima, Kyoka Izumi, Miyazawa Kenji, Yosano Akiko, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Cws: mentions of suicide (because it's dazai), mentions of school fights, school life, mentions of bullying, school counseling

Dazai Osamu:

Would mess with the underclassmen by sending them on a wild goose chase for the nonexistent school elevator or something like that. 

Takes advantage of his friends and always gets them to do his assignments for him (that habit obviously carried into adulthood). 

Proudly holds the record for the most unexcused tardies in one school year. 

The teacher keeps trying to call on him to answer a question when he seems like he’s slacking off but Dazai always answers correctly, that devilish little unapologetic grin on his face. 

Literally never studies. 

The teachers can’t tell if he cheats or is just really intelligent, but if he were cheating, they wouldn’t be able to catch him. 

(He doesn’t cheat by the way, but he never explicitly denies it). 

Has been confessed to at least three times, (he scared them away when he asked if they’d be willing to commit double suicide with him). 

The guidance counselors keep trying to schedule a meeting with him to talk about his “suicidal tendencies,” but then he just shows up on mushrooms or something and they’re like “Nevermind.” 

Drama queen. 

Used to be part of this questionable after school club (Mori was the faculty advisor) that got disbanded. 

Pulls pranks on the faculty and other students (mostly Chuuya), particularly ones he has some reason to hold spite against.

Never gets caught. 

Smooth liar. 

Completely up with the gossip too. 

Those career path quizzes never know what to do with him, he gets a jumble of results. 

The underclassmen have no idea who Oda is, but they know you should never bring him up around Dazai.

Lots of rumors circulating as to why he wears his bandages. 

Probably hides Kunikida’s glasses so he can’t see the board. 

Surprisingly good at writing, language arts is his best subject.

Kunikida Doppo: 

Constantly threatening to snitch on Dazai but never does. 

This audio. 

The kid that asks for clarification on assignments and ends up reminding the teacher that they meant to give homework. Doesn’t see the problem with it. 

Does. not. condone. bullying. He’ll push up his glasses and emotionally destroy the perpetrators before filing a fancy report to the faculty advisor. 

Keeps a planner notebook. Very meticulous and organized, he’s proud of it. 

Probably class rep. 

Takes way too many things way too seriously. 

Has never missed a deadline. Ever. 

Every single one of his pencils is somehow always sharpened and perfect. 

Strongly believes that wooden pencils are superior to mechanical ones. 

Good at math, but also art. He sees the canvas as a kind of graph, does particularly well with landscapes. 

Very serious about getting proper nutrients from what he eats and drinks throughout the day, he plans his lunches for the week ahead of time.

Does very well in debate class too.

Always perfectly in uniform, scolds Dazai when he has his tie loose or didn’t button up his blazer or something like that. 

Ranpo Edogawa: 

Does favors for people when it gets close to Valentine’s Day to make sure he’ll get some chocolates. 

Do I even need to say it- ALWAYS snacking in class. 

Coerces as much free food out of other students as possible. 

Eventually they pick up on his game and stop feeding him. 

Snitches on people flawlessly in the middle of class, the culprit fuming, the teacher dumbfounded. Maybe he can get away with snacks once in a while. 

When people ask him to help them study he usually just redirects them to Atsushi. 

That kid that’s always leaning his chair back way too far but never falls.

The faculty has basically given up on punishing him. After school detention?- more sleeping time. Extra homework?- doesn’t even break a sweat.

Knows exactly who is cheating on the test, gets offered bribes from both the students cheating so he doesn’t tell on them and the teachers who want to know who it is.

That one kid that just shoves looseleaf crumpled paper into their backpack, seems like they’ve never used a binder in their life. Somehow turns everything in just fine. 

Says he doesn’t have gum on him when he’s literally chewing a piece. 

Always goes and visits/annoys Fukuzawa when he can. Fukuzawa actually doesn’t mind and Ranpo enjoys getting to talk to his favorite teacher. 

Doesn’t even check the board when tests results come out, he already knows what he got, and can easily guess the others’ scores too. 

Most people couldn’t actually tell you what his eye color is. 

Fukuzawa is the only teacher Ranpo will actually take a lecture from seriously, the other administrators have to call him over when they need to scold the boy.

Atsushi Nakajima: 

The only one who did their part in the group project. 

Always offering to help the teachers, tutors other students, etc. etc.

An angel, really. Akutagawa is the only one able to make him upset. 

Extremely apologetic, would probably help the janitor clean up if he ever accidentally made a mess. 

Probably tried out for a part in a school production at least once. 

Turning heads from around the room when he reveals that he plays piano. 

So shy about it though, he probably didn’t even mean to say it. 

Dazai gave him a pep talk before his first performance. 

After that, he starts to come out of his shell in music class, does well in music theory too. 

Would literally die if he ever received a love letter or anything of the sort. 

Doesn’t like to share who his favorite teachers are out of fear of hurting their feelings. 

Definitely has a bond with at least one facilitator, is probably friends with the janitor and cafeteria cooks. 

Wouldn’t hesitate to give his umbrella to someone if it were raining after school.

Found a blue-eyed kitten on his walk home once. It’s his now, he kept it, and Dazai absolutely adores it. 

Always has index cards or post-it notes on him to quickly write something down or give someone a piece of information. 

Makes specific playlists for studying different subjects. 

Kyoka Izumi: 

When she entered school, there was a lot of talk about her past; it ranged from what happened to her parents to saying she’d kill you if you even looked at her. Became a social outcast. :(

As soon as Atsushi caught wind of the rumors, he immediately shut them down, jumping to her defense whenever he could.

Now she’ll death glare at anyone being mean to him. 

Doesn’t understand the concept of a school dance, she only went because the others seemed excited about it. 

Actually ended up having a great time, replaying the fond memories in her head the next day. 

A sucker for bunny keychains. She has the one on her phone, yes, but also a few on her backpack and maybe pencil pouch.

Atsushi gave one of them to her for her birthday, she doesn’t even know how he found out when her birthday is.

She refuses to allow her phone to be confiscated (for obvious reasons).

Doesn’t use it in class or when she’s not supposed to or anything like that, but if a teacher is having a particularly bad day and decides to try to take it from her, her grip is unassailable.

Fukuzawa knows what happened to her, so he usually steps in to diffuse the situation and get the teacher to let it go.

She finds watercolor time in art class pleasantly therapeutic. 

The only one who helps Atsushi with the group assignment. 

Fukuzawa’s favorite student. They get each other. 

Kenji Miyazawa: 

Literally every teacher wishes they had him in their class. 

His only issue is that he keeps forgetting you have to wear close-toed shoes to school, he can never remember to change them.

So many athletic teams want him to join them, but he remains loyal to the garden club. 

Has impressed the school nurse with his home remedies. 

Has (unknowingly) talked down a few fights. 

Smiles so brightly in his school photo every year. 

Does well in the environmental/botanical portion of science class. 

Incapable of holding a grudge. 

Really dislikes doing dissections. 

The meals he brings from home are the BEST- everyone always wants to try a bite. Kunikida has to shoo the others away so Kenji doesn’t give away his entire meal. 

One time at a school soccer match, Kenji was watching from the sidelines with some friends and one of the players kicked the ball his way. He got hit smack in the face and fell over, everyone thought he was out cold and was ready to call an ambulance, but he just stood up and brushed it off like it was nothing. His nose bled a little, but he assured everyone that he felt fine.

They had him checked out by the school nurse that day just to be sure. Yosano had a look at him too. 

Returns every single pen and pencil he borrows. 

Had never seen mechanical pencils before coming to Yokohama, was absolutely fascinated. 

Yosano Akiko: 

No one actually knows what the inside of her bag or locker looks like.

“When you first meet her and wonder why she’s single and now you’re three months into the relationship and you know why.” (No Yosano hate, I just feel like this has happened to people who thought she looked approachable at first glance). 

Keeps a hairbrush and bobby pins in her bag.

Checks every box, the prime example of that friend everyone needs. She’ll stick up for you, provide you with things you need, is really nice to talk to, gives AMAZING advice.

Some people are afraid of her, which is kind of fair. 

Hands-on learning experiments in science class are her favorite. 

Actually enjoys dissections. 

The butterfly clip is OFF LIMITS. Absolutely no one is allowed to touch it. 

Hardly ever has to use a calculator, she excels at quick mental math and long division problems. 

Completely prepared to perform CPR, the Heimlich maneuver, etc. at all times. 

I feel like she would keep houseplants on a shelf somewhere. Simple ones, dark leaves and pretty blossoms. 

Professor Mori, the psychology and human behavior teacher, is the only person in the entire school who can give her the chills. 

Has known she wants to be a doctor since the beginning of her school life. 

The teachers have tried to encourage her to at least consider creating a plan B, but she refuses. 

Probably critiques the school nurse and their methods so hard. “No, the gauze needs to be tighter than that if you actually want to stop the bleeding.” “Apply heat if you want the muscles to relax, not cold!” “Do you even know how to use an epi-pen?!”

I feel like Yosano can sing, she would probably do well in choir.

Could be persuaded to sing onstage for a school production if provided a good enough reason. I’m just saying it’s not completely off the table for her. 

Fukuzawa Yukichi:

The only student that knows his complete backstory is Ranpo, and he won’t tell anyone else because Fukuzawa pays him off with snacks in exchange. 

I could only really see him as a literary teacher.

One time he accidentally mentioned that he has a cat in class. Every student erupted into a series of exclamations and demanded pictures.

Now they get him cat-themed gifts on holidays and for his birthday, the man could not be happier. 

Naomi likes to come talk to him about random thoughts she has, things her brother does, she treats him like another one of her friends. 

Has the scariest serious voice, it’ll make any student shut their mouth. 

Likes to eat his lunches outside. 

Kyoka is his favorite student. Ranpo too, of course, but Fukuzawa and Kyoka hold a special kinship.

A handful of students can sense the mutual war between Fukuzawa and Mori, the psychology professor across the hall. (I considered anatomy or something like that for Mori, I just feel like psyche would be more fitting for him to actually teach). 

Fukuzawa and Mori are the faculty members that have been at the school the longest.

One time Atsushi brought Fukuzawa a warm turvis of his favorite tea because he “just looked a little tired yesterday” and that’s when he knew that he would be keeping his job for a long time. 

Always cooks his own meals and brings them for lunch, would rather die than have to survive off of instant ramen or something like that. 

His class is the only one ever completely behaved during the fire drills. 

[lasatfat]

Happy Friday! ❛who in the fuck authorized this?❜ for Rian/Varric ~ @lordgoretash

adventuring party dialogue | @dadrunkwriting | @theaceofdragons

I'm hoping this fits the spirit of the prompt, at least? Even though I didn't get the exact line in there. For context: Athim romanced Solas, the twins are his, but he bounced before she could tell him about it. Go figure. That guy has the worst luck.

Planning Permission

It’s been a good five years since Kirkwall’s Chantry was destroyed. A lot of critical infrastructure was damaged by the blast, and the unrest that followed. Up until now, reconstruction efforts had been concentrated on trivial things like the water supply, the docks and sewage systems. By the beginning of 9:43 Dragon, the work is still well underway, but at least the people’s waste is firmly underground in a pipe where it belongs.

The nobles of the city are also tired of worshipping in a temporary wooden building, and now they have a viscount to petition. Negotiations started as soon as he arrived home, and have continued for the four months since then. Varric supposes he can’t complain – according to Bran Cavin, the original plan involved enough marble to eat up three years’ worth of taxes – but the back and forth of ‘too expensive,’ ‘too big,’ or ‘why do you need this much fucking gold’ is really starting to get on his nerves. He had even considered abdicating, but his successor would probably not have the same interest in things like housing Kirkwall’s citizens.

He knows that he’s working too late whenever Hawke comes looking for him. They’ll either drag him to bed, or, increasingly, send for tea and sweets to fuel the midnight politicking. Tonight, Athim decides to join them.

“I can’t sleep,” she laments, as he stands to offer her his chair.

“You okay?”

“I’m under attack, is what I am,” she replies. She sits down, heavily – at six months pregnant with twins, ‘heavily’ is about the only way she does anything these days. “The second I get anything close to comfortable, one of them starts kicking me.” Varric can’t really empathize with that, but he squeezes her shoulder in commiseration.

Hawke pours three cups of the tea, something herbal that Varric probably wouldn’t touch with a bargepole if he had drunk anything else in the past three hours. “Is it the Chantry thing again?” they ask, as he rounds the desk to stand beside them.

“What else would it be?” he replies.

They sit perched on the edge of the desk in comfortable silence, sipping tea, and taking bites of the shortbread Hawke had picked out from the kitchens. It takes one cup for Varric to decide that the plans can wait until tomorrow. After months of bothering their viscount, the city council can wait another day. “Well, I’m going to bed,” he says, putting the cup down. “What about you, Hawke?”

“Oh, try and stop me,” they laugh.

Looking over the desk, though, Athim doesn’t appear to have registered this development. She frowns silently down at the papers, deep in concentration.

“Copper for your thoughts,” Varric says, warmly. She doesn’t answer, running her fingers along the lines on the pages, lines that would later translate to walls and doors and windows. As absorbed as she is, he decides to walk around the desk and rest a hand on her arm.

She glances up, and does a little double-take. “Oh, me?”

“Yes, you,” he says. “You look like you’ve got an idea or two brewing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking a Dalish elf for city planning advice. I’ve never even lived in a city before.”

“I’m not asking any old Dalish elf, I’m asking you,” he protests. “I trust you.”

Athim hesitates, but he nods, encouragingly. Apparently, this is the final touch to convince her that he isn’t just being polite. She pushes herself to her feet, awkwardly, and leans over the building plans again. “I was just thinking…what if…?”

She takes a pencil from the table, drawing roughly over the shape of the building as she talks. “You could have the Chantry half the size.” She makes a corresponding line straight down the middle of the building. “Still big enough to house the nobles, but then you have space for something else, like a library, or a school…”

“Or a clinic,” Hawke chimes in.

“Or a clinic!” She points her pencil at them, grinning with the kind of untainted joy she hasn’t shown in months.

Shame he has to cut it down.

“The first dwarf Viscount of Kirkwall halves the size of the Chantry, on the advice of his Dalish friend,” he says. “I don’t think it’s going to go over well.”

Athim’s face falls. She might as well have stabbed him in the heart. “No, you’re right,” she says. But then, her eyes fill with energy again, and she flips the paper over. “What if we built a second Chantry? In Lowtown, so the people have somewhere to worship too. If anything, that’s more Chantry than there was before, it’s just in different places. We could run a school or clinic right out of the building.”

Varric scratches his chin. It’s a great idea, if your motivation is to help people, but he has a sneaking suspicion that the nobles breathing down his neck are more interested in having a fancy building in their neighbourhood. “Listen, I love it,” he begins, “but I’m not convinced the council will go for it.”

Hawke frowns, looking back and forth between them as if waiting for them to notice the strikingly obvious. “Aren’t you two forgetting something?”

“Like what?”

They lean over the desk, face forming into an impish grin. “We know the Divine.”

Construction on Kirkwall’s twin Chantries begins within the month.

[stat1cstarz]

🫧HOUSE OF WAX | MERMAID AU | SERIES|🫧

A/N:Their is still no title,and I don’t wanna just call it the little mermaid, so this will be the title for now! And yes, you’re apart of the royal family

Warnings:None

Genre:Fluff

Prologue:

A large shipped sailed over the briny depths, a wooden giant, carrying hundreds of men. The Captain, Gunther, and his companions. Bo, a skilled fisherman, famous for discovering countless of fish, even a close relative of the kraken. Even though it was probably untrue, he was the professional and many people believed it. The third, Bo’s little brother Lester, was a poor farmer, who lived on the outside of France. He had a wife and a few kids, and who merely survived on what few animals he had, as well as the vegetables and fruit his wife worked on that weren’t rotten.

Lester and Bo relied heavily upon Bo’s twin and Lester’s older brother, Vincent. A famous artist that owned a huge museum in Paris, and an estate on a nearby island. He was his brothers only source of income, when waters were frozen over with Crystal water, or the orange trees and chilled air stopped food from growing. The ship was littered with many other crew mates, ones that the heads didn’t care to remember, some even went hungry if they weren’t memorable. The ship had been sailing for a while, Bo was currently managing the net, Lester was cooking in the canteen, and Vincent was drinking with the captain in his study. A black sheet fell over the merfolk and the people on the top of the sea, encouraging everyone to eat dinner and go to bed. The anchor was dropped, and dug into the sand, coming close to a coral reef

————————

You were exploring the same coral reef, you followed the ship for a while, the humans truly fascinated you, their way of life seemed so relaxing, not having to deal with huge squids and sharks. They got to walk on two.. fleshy sticks..legs? You wanted to be one of them, but you knew that if your family found out you went against their orders, you’d be exiled, you had to come up with a plan, but for now, you would only admire from afar. The anchor fell from the sky, almost crushing you, you had to swim out of the way as fast as possible, so you or your tail wouldn’t be crushed under its weight. The coral reef was pretty much destroyed, broken coral floating around, as the ship stilled for the night.You got an idea, a dumb one of course, but an idea nonetheless, you swam up to the surface, wanting to look at the ship. You swam up as fast as possible, your tail flapping behind you, as you reached the surface.

You couldn’t stay up there for long, knowing your gills wouldn’t allow it, so you stopped at a rock, allowing you easy access to the ocean, you laid yourself on it, watching the ship. Some of the men were still awake, probably drinking, while everyone else was in the sleeping quarters. Vincent however, was sat on the bow of the ship, a sketchbook and pencil firmly clasped in his strong hands, and his long legs dangled over the sides. His raven hair was in a tight braid that fell down his back, a small rope secured it, as he was drawing on the paper. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, the bright stars enhanced his dark red scaring.

“Vincent” a crewman yelled, holding a harpoon over his shoulder. The man walked closer to Vincent, and because of the harpoon, you went back into the ocean. The men both noticed the splashing water by the rocks, but believed it to just be a manatee or something. They decided that it was time to go to bed, and hurried to the sleeping quarters, while you were heading back to the castle, you were hoping that your dad wasn’t up, or your sisters. Once you were finally back, you took a moment to catch your breath, leaning against a pole in the castle. Once you weren’t tired, you headed up to your bedroom. The bedroom includes a giant shell as a bed, with a full set of bedding, and a lavender blanket, and matching pillows. There was also a vanity sat in the corner, and a nightstand next to your bed. You pulled your blanket and sheets back, and climbed under, and let your head fall upon the soft pillows.

You woke up pretty early, from your father standing at your door with a bell. “Wake up Y/N, breakfast is ready.” He said, ringing the silver bell. You woke up from the loud ringing, and sat up, stretching. “I’m up, and thank you for making breakfast” you told him, getting up to adjust your bed, and swimming past him. You met your sisters downstairs in the dining hall, who were already busy eating, seemed to be shrimp and octopus. You found your seat and followed suit, you weren’t really focused on breakfast, though. You were to entranced on the man you saw last night, how badly you wanted to play with his long hair, or use his pecs as a pillow. The sister next to you started snapping to get your attention. “Y/N, eat your food, the hunters worked really hard to get it”, S/1 told you, annoyed at you. “Ok, I apologize. I just saw a man last night, and I can’t stop thinking about him.” You replied, you were sure their were love hearts in your eyes, as you began to chew on a tentacle. “Who’s the lucky man?” S/2 replied, jokingly raising her eyebrows, as most of the sisters were cleaning up. “I don’t know his name, but he’s a human I think” you said dreamily, causing both of your sisters to choke on their food. “Girls, is everything alright over here?” Your father appeared from behind you, his hand resting on your sisters head. Once sister gave a thumbs up, while she was downing her drink. “Everything’s alright father, don’t worry” you said, feeling your heart drop.

“Alright, but please follow me to my chair, I need to talk to you.” He told you, as he swam to the throne room. You followed behind him, as he sat in his chair. You sat on the chair closest to him, so you could hear what he says. He loudly cleared his throat, before he began speaking. “Y/N, how’d you meet this human?” He asked you, his brows furrowed. “You heard?” You replied, anxious. “Of course I did, now answer the question” he told you. “I went to surface, and saw a ship.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers, as an angry expression tainted his face. “I told you that you were forbidden from going to the surface, and you still go. Do you not know how tiring that is?” He said angrily. “I’ll have Sebastian watch over you, to make sure you don’t go anywhere near that man or the surface again, do you understand?”, you nodded in agreement, as you saw Sebastian swim as fast as possible. He landed on your shoulder, noticing your fathers look. “I came as soon as I heard my name..oh” he knew what was going on, and wasn’t ready to deal with it, but he knew it was his job. “Sebastian, can you please watch over them, they’re a bit rambunctious.” Your father said, and Sebastian reluctantly agreed. “Alright your majesty, I got her in between my claws” he joked, a raspy laugh leaving his mouth. “Y/N, please follow me?” He asked you, and you agreed.

You followed him to your bedroom, where you both sat on your bed, with a golden brush in his big claw. He sat atop your head, brushing your locks, while he allowed you to speak. “Y/N, you mind telling me what was going on?” He asked you, detangling your hair. “I saw a very beautiful man, he had long hair” you said quietly, causing Sebastian to squeal “Who is he?” He asked, excitedly. “He’s a human” you said ashamed. “Oh child, why do you have to be so difficult, theirs plenty of merfolk desperate to marry you” he said, trying to be convincing. “But I don’t want them, I want him” you said. “You don’t even know his name child” he told you. “I’ll learn it than” you said, swimming off, causing him and the brush to fall off your head.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Old Time's Sake

Summary: The robot once known as "Metal Sonic" attempts to ask Amy Rose for a favor.

TW: suicidal thoughts

---

It crashed into a pot of petunias on the porch, ceramic shattering against the wooden panels of the house. Shredded pink blossoms settled against purple, yellow, and blue plating, only to be shaken off by the onslaught of shudders that battered its frame. 

Neo pulled itself to the door just as the knob twisted from the other side. Amy Rose stared down.

“Metal? Oh my goodness, you look- what happened?”

It grasped the frame of the door and pulled itself upright.

“No, it’s okay, stay right there. Or actually, I’ll bring you in!”

Amy Rose grabbed its arms and pulled it through the door. It simulated her gripping hard enough to damage its plating. A reprimand shot down its spinal strut response. She did not lose or even tighten her grip, however, as she led it to her couch.

She sat it down. “Stay here. You’re going to be okay. I’ll get Tails on the phone and he’ll make you right as rain!”

The name switched its self-preservation programming from hostile to cooperative. Calling Miles “Tails” Prower would result in Sonic’s arrival, so it must not allow Amy Rose to reach her cell phone, so it must attack her, and she would summon her hammer and then-

It lept off the couch and embedded its claws into her shoulders. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open to match the exact ratios of panic it had recorded from her on Little Planet. In an instant, her hammer was in her hand.

The force dented its torso plating. It crashed into a wall. It waited for more blows, simulated the damage from other instances in which she’d demolished Badniks, anticipated, anticipated. It looked at her to find her stationary despite her vitals being elevated beyond even what might be registered in ordinary combat.

It pulled itself out of the wall and approached.

“What is going on with you?”

It scratched at her, but only pierced air as she stepped away.

“Would you stop that? I can’t help you if you’re going to attack me!”

Neo recalled her being more intelligent than this. It pointed to her hammer, then pointed to its own frame. 

Her panic unfroze and dripped down to a facial expression that would be unrecognizable if it were not for the events of the past two weeks. It was an expression of Sonic towards hurt Flickies. Of a young “Rosie” uncovering a broken robot on a snowy day. 

Her hammer disappeared. “You want me to hurt you?”

Neo gave an affirmative ping before the shudder of a reprimand could stop it.

“No. I’m not going to.”

It lunged forward, piercing the skin of her arm, the tips of its claws coming away with blood.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Amy Rose shouted. “Don’t do that again or I’ll call Sonic!”

Neo froze.

“Not that I don’t think I can smash you to pieces myself, but that I don’t want to. Tails tells me that you’re not working for Eggman anymore.”

That was the point. Without Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s interference, Neo was without purpose. Neo should be destroyed. Neo should be destroyed. Neo should be-

“Did you ever want to work for him in the first place?”

Neo looked at her.

“Did I. . . make a mistake, that one time in the snow?”

It lowered its gaze.

“Because you just seemed so sad, sitting abandoned there. Like you’d given up.”

It could not feel ‘sadness’. It could hardly recall the memory file; data input from that time had been minimized to best preserve power. It had been out of standby mode for only a minute, knocked back into active mode when she had saved it from the path of the falling tree. 

And it could not give up. Its prime core directive demanded as much. The reminder triggered reprimands, and a shudder up its neck joint rattled it out of the memory. 

“Here, can you write?” Amy Rose retrieved a pencil and pad of paper from a table at the end of the couch. “Let’s sit down so that you can tell me what’s going on instead of barging in and being rude.”

It shook its head.

“Then I’ll go get my phone so you can type.” 

She walked backwards, keeping her eyes fixed on its frame until she slipped behind a door. She returned with her cellular device, cased in pink with charms dangling from the corner. She unlocked the screen and extended the device in its direction.

“You’re either telling me what’s going on or you’re leaving.” She said.

Neo took the phone and typed, “this unit cannot give up.”

“Seems like that’s what you’re doing right now, huh?” She smiled with only half of her mouth. “Back then, I just couldn’t leave you there to die. Or deactivate, I guess. I thought at the time that you might miss Eggman. He gave you more headpats back then.”

“This unit did not wish to be left there.” To fade into nothing. It could not be nothing.

“But did you want to go back to Eggman?”

“No other beneficial course of action.”

“I could have brought you to Tails.”

“The result would have been deactivation.”

“He could have reprogrammed you, like he did just now.”

“Exposure to Tails increases likelihood of exposure to Sonic by 94%. Deactivation would have followed.”

“That’s not true.”

“Negative. This unit-”

She did not wait for it to finish typing. “That’s not true. Sonic isn’t just some bloodthirsty monster out to get you. He just wants to protect people. Every time he beat you up it’s because you did something to deserve it.”

“Define: ‘something to deserve it’.”

“You don’t know what you did wrong? I thought you wanted to be good now.”

“Define: ‘good’.” Neo stepped forward. “Define: ‘good’.”

“Good! As in, not hurting people!” Amy Rose pointed to the scratches on her arm. “Or kidnapping them!”

“67% of this unit’s missions did not involve hurting or kidnapping sentient organics.”

“Or animals! Not hurting or killing plants and animals either. Really, it’s not that hard and you missed the bar. That’s why Sonic fought you so often.”

“24% of all encounters with Sonic the Hedgehog did not involve other organic beings.”

“Because he knew that you were going out to hurt people, or to help Eggman get things to hurt people with.”

“Why did you return this unit to Dr. Ivo Robotnik?”

“I-” Amy Rose held her breath for two seconds. She directed her gaze to Neo’s foot plating. “Because I thought it was where you’d be happiest.”

“Incomprehensible. Elaborate.”

“Did you like it, when you kidnapped me?”

Neo was prepared to repeat its prior statement before its optics swiveled to the same angle as Amy Rose’s. It stared down at its body, the remains of lines and hues of purple, shaped in a way that it did indeed ‘like’. And it compared the sensation to that of returning to Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s lair with the then-little girl in hand. 

It remembered depositing her in the cell, before turning to meet its creator. It remembered a soft hand on its forehead plating. It remembered his words.

“Excellent work, my finest creation!”

Even the review of this piece of data in its memory banks brought an echo of euphoria in its processor. That it was once finest. That it once completed excellent work.

“Yes.” Neo answered. “This unit liked when Dr. Ivo Robotnik praised it.”

“But did you like seeing me afraid? Did that make you laugh or make you happy?” Amy Rose asked.

“That data was irrelevant.”

“And did you like hurting animals?”

“That data was irrelevant.” 

“And do you like hurting Sonic, or do you just want to be praised for it?”

Neo generated fifteen different responses, but only five made grammatical sense and of those, three were non-sequiturs and the other two were objectively false. 

“That’s what I thought.” Amy Rose said.

“This unit must destroy Sonic.” It snapped. “If it cannot destroy Sonic, then it must cease existing.”

“You don’t have to do either. You really don’t. I know you will never believe me. . . but you don’t.” Amy Rose stepped forward. She then sighed, before gesturing further into her house. “Follow me.”

Neo followed her past her main living area and into a room covered in decorative scraps affixed to the walls with a bed against the far wall. She opened the door to the closet and retrieved a roll of red ribbon. She retrieved scissors and snipped a scrap off the end. She then manipulated the scrap into a bow knot, before turning to face Neo.

“Here. This is the ribbon I gave you that day. I’m giving it back to you.”

This was not the ribbon that Amy Rose gave it the day she returned it to Dr. Ivo Robotnik. Dr. Ivo Robotnik had seized the fabric and thrown it into the incinerator before Neo had shut down for repair. This new ribbon was, however, of the exact same color and material composition ratio as the previous, suggesting that this roll of ribbon was the common origin of the two. 

“This time, though, you get to choose what to do with yourself. You get to go wherever you’re happiest.”

“Even if this unit is happiest when determining how to destroy Sonic?”

“If that’s where you are happiest, then I’ll beat the crap out of you with this.” She summoned her hammer again. “Because I am happiest when I’m making sure my friends aren’t getting hurt.”

“And if it is unknown where this unit is happiest?”

“Then keep going until you figure it out.” Amy Rose deposited the ribbon into its hand. 

She clasped her palm against its fingers. It loosened its joints, allowing her to curl its fingers around the fabric. She then let go. 

“You should go.” She pointed to the door. “You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you here.”

Neo cocked its head. 

“Because I’m still really mad at you.” She gripped her hammer tighter. “But that’s something we can talk about when you figure out if you want to be better or not.”

Her statement was illogical. If she was mad at it, then she would not be giving it a gift. It could not understand. But it could understand her command, so it left her bedroom, walked through her living area, and passed through the exterior door of her house.

The door shut, and it heard two locking mechanisms engage behind it. 

Neo stood in the darkness looking at the bow in its hand.

[1001gallery]

pandora. chap. 2 - sonder

chap. 1 | masterlist | chap. 3

Curtains ripple and colours blur, voices mumbling in the morning air.

Your eyes blink slowly, cheek pressing against the coffee table as you watch the subtitles change only catching bits and pieces while characters you had never seen come up more often than not. You don't see the show playing but know that it would be one of your grandmother's collections of pre-quirk shows.

Obaa always preferred the older shows than the ones most people enjoy now, all heroes and quirks. There's no difference than actors and heroes, she had said once under her breath, shaking her head as the news played out on screen, letters filling it with 'number one hero' an old mans face crinkled in a smile, his eyes the sharpest blue.

"Yn." You must have missed her once because her voice was annoyed. Peeling off the table, you answer, "Yes?"

"When will you go outside? You've been holed up, it's not good for you." A breeze comes past the sliding door hitting your back. I am already getting fresh air, you thought. Yet Obaa was right, you haven't stepped out of the house since the night of meeting Izuku. The days had been slow and you always found yourself waking up feeling weightless, floating. Your body moving on its own to do the things you needed to do, to eat what you needed to eat.

Your mouth opens, jaw slumped on the table mumbling your response.

"Huh?" The voices of the TV go silent, your grandma's attention solely on you. "Speak up, child."

Lifting from the table, body straightening, your gaze is on the mess that litters the wooden surface. Evidence of the way you had been spending the past days - children's books, drawings on different colours of paper, flawed origami you wouldn't be able to tell what you had been trying to make - Obaa only a blur in your peripheral.

"I'll go after the doctors."

The sigh is heavy one that says, what am I going to do with you child, as the silence is filled with the sound of the TV once more. Leaving you feeling worthless. How could you tell her that it felt weird to move? That every step seemed to be made by someone else? When Obaa's health declined significantly since? Arms shaking when she cooked, breathing labored even when sitting down.

You feel guilty.

The cough that comes out of her throat makes your own ache from the sound of it. Your hands fidget in your lap, Obaa's body is shaking from the power of the coughs but you can't move to see her fully. She tries to speak in-between the fit, you don't catch all of it but enough to know the message.

Go out, now.

"You're going to die." Who can you go to know? Whose home can you destroy- "YN!"

You're already at the door stuffing your feet in shoes you can't see, hand hitting the wall to stop yourself from falling. The air in the entrance feels chilly. Stumping your foot it finally slips in just as you're halfway through the door and stop. Obaa's coughing stopped, the voices of the TV were replaced by another. A voice, one you never heard before had spoken like he was in the home.

Turning slightly just enough to get a view of the living room through the kitchen you see a young woman sitting on the couch looking above the head of a child who sits by her feet. The boy's hand holds a pencil as he writes, the woman points somewhere on the paper and the boy flips his pencil to the eraser side.

You slowly back out, the door slamming as it closes and sprint. Leaving the foliage covered hill and neighbor houses behind, you sprint to the maze of neighborhood streets.

That woman. That... child. Pictures you had seen when Obaa took out photos to show you, are dizzying in your memories.

"You in a bathtub?" The chest rumbles, "No it's a walker."

That's not grandma. Your chest hurts. How long have you ran?

"Who's that? Who is it?" Your fingers hold the finger as it traces along the face. Smiling, her hands holding her stomach.

Are you going to end up like your family? Is your life only going to hurt? Was your quirk only going to cause pain?

NO. No. Shaking your head, Obaa had told you she would take you to the doctors. She told you.

The air is knocked from your lungs, marbles clattering as they bounce on the ground. Forearms and hands burning still you don't cry. You can't not with the shoes that hurry over to you.

"Oh my! Are you okay?" You get on your side, knees aching just as a hand comes into view has you crawling away, back hitting a wall. Fingers already wrapping around the marbles, eyes twitching to the one who tried to touch you.

Tentacles hang from their chin, their nose slits. Skin the color of pink in a sunrise. The hand that reached out falls, balling on their sides. They stand taller even when you sit on the ground, much younger than them. Their voice is sharp and hurtful, "Don't think you can live like that. You're disgusting."

Turning they walked away, as you wish you could blend into the wall making yourself as small as possible. Hoping the groups of eyes that burn holes in your head would disappear.

Stupid wind.

The day is spent as you move around stores as they hide the neighborhoods behind their structures. You and your grandmother had walked here twice since you moved in with her.

Watching as cars pass yet not one student seemed to be out. Only older people, babies that were pushed in their strollers, and ones who wore dark blue or bright orange vests. It still wasn't summer yet, the time when kids got out of school and played.

It must be fun to be around your friends everyday. But would anyone be yours? Would you find someone you like?

The question lingered as you knelt by a bus stop, looking at the grass that had grown between broken concrete and a metal pole of the shelter. A flower leaning away into open space as it bloomed fully from the April showers.

"-saw her while I was shopping." The glass reflection showed two women whose heads were turned towards you, their eyes on the top of your head. One had spiked hair, blonde. The other.

Long green hair tied in a ponytail. Your heartbeat picked up, was she- could she be Izuku's mother?

"Hey, kid." You jumped, having kept your eyes on the shorter woman, you didn't see the blonde come up to you. "Are you waiting for someone?"

She had the same red eyes as her son. You were sure, yet she still stared, her eyes held only curiosity. No disgust. No hate. Sneaking a peek at the other to see that her eyes widen with worry. How long had you stayed silent?

You shake your head looking up at the woman. "Is your parent in any of the stores?" She expresses with her arm pointing, head looking back to the different stores that line the street before settling on you. Another shake of your head.

Her frustrated face is similar to her son's. The shorter woman enters your sight, her body more open - hands interlocked by her thighs, the blonde's had been crossed since looking back to you - more kind. Just like her son. She eyes your appearance.

Your grandmother hadn't had the strength to wash your hair while you only slashed some water on your face to clean up. She must see it. Her voice, gentle.

"Do you know where you live? Your home?" A nod. It seems to ease her, as the blonde woman straightens and looks around, groups of other parents had appeared. Their eyes cast downwards to you. How small are you supposed to be to have the eyes stop looking at you?

"-rent would leave their child dirty." Your jaw clenched, it wasn't Obaa's fault, you wanted to yell. It was your own.

Your eyes look down to the flower, the stem growing away from the pole. "Sweetie, are you o-?"

"OUTTA THE WAY, DEKU!"

All of the attention goes to the bus that had silently pulled up. It was different to the ones you had seen all day, smaller, the colour - yellow. But you don't get to see the drawings that fill the side of the bus. Not when you see Izuku stumble, having been pushed by the blonde that laughs behind him. Three more boys join in the laughing.

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!" His face ticked in annoyance, looking up to his mom who had stormed her way over. You're sure she said his name, you don't remember it as his head is pushed down, silently fuming as he walks, Izuku right behind him. Eyes full of worry.

Izuku is coming this way. You stand from your crouched position, hands wringing together. He's going to notice you're dirty. Izuku is going to be disgusted. Should you run?

His eyes sparkle as he looks to his mom. You must have moved, green eyes flick to you. Izuku's pace slowing, coming to a stop in front of you and his mother. The two blondes are behind him now, you catch the boys eyes. You don't know where else to avert your gaze and look down.

Izuku still wears his red shoes.

"Hi!" He was surprised, but was he happy?

"Oh, Izuku, do you know her?"

"We met at the park. Her name's Yn."

Thump. He remembers your name. Your eyes flick up to his, he's smiling. "Hi, Izuku." Now he's blushing. Your eyes meet the ground once more, your stomach feels sick.

"Was someone with Yn?"

"Her grandma," Izuku grips his shirt, "She walked me home."

The blonde boy laughs, his mother slaps him in the back of the head. "Is your grandmother okay, Yn?"

Your body locks up. What time was it? How long has it been? Was she okay?

Of course. Of course, she is. She'll be there when you get back. She will be okay.

The nod hurts your neck. "She's making dinner." You bow, turning away as you follow the route you had taken with Obaa. Maybe if you get lost, she will have to come find you. She'll be angry and annoyed but will tuck you in like always.

You don't see the bump on the sidewalk. You don't have enough strength to keep from falling, knees scratching the pavement. It's okay.

"YN!" Izuku. You turn and see his hand outstretched, you cower. He stops, his hand still out. "Are you okay?" You reach.

And grip a railing. Finding your feet under you, you get up. It burns to bend your legs. It's okay. Pins begin to grow in your chest. It's okay. Your shoe is back on. It's okay. You nod. His hand falls. It's okay. The boy grips his shirt, and you tighten your hold on the railing. It's ok.

You lost a friend.

All you see is green. A tug on your foot. Izuku stands, backing up a step. His eyes are kind. "Get home safely." So kind.

You don't hear the call from his mother nor the call of the blonde woman. You don't want to be stopped anymore. You need to get home with the shoe that had been tied by Izuku. You need to see Obaa.

The shoe isn't as tight as your grandmother’s still it stays on the whole way home. To the end of the street where the house sits beside a hill. Up the steps and to the front door. It stays on as you are greeted with the scent of your comfort food. Only does it come off when you force off your shoe - you can find a way to put it back on - looking around the blind spot of the entrance to the kitchen and see your grandmother standing as she places food on the table. Hands steady, a small nod turns her wrinkled head, inclining you to join her at the table.

Your shoulders drop. "Come Yn. Come and eat." Her voice is strong and stable, the way it had been when you had first arrived. When you first met her.

The dinner is silent. It was always like this, but you were comfortable with it but you saw the way Obaa's eyes look to you. The same eyes you saw in the reflections of yourself.

"What does Deku mean?"

The sigh is one of relief, Obaa puts a spoonful of food in her mouth. The question lingering.

"It means useless." The bully had called Izuku useless? "It doesn't matter what they think. It's what you turn it to be."

Obaa's words echo. Why are her words echoing? But how can you turn deku into something else?

Glasses Doctor is stupid and ugly. Ever since he came in and sat down in the comfortable chair while Obaa had to sit in a squealing stool, you knew he was a bad man.

You didn't like his mustache that covered his mouth. He can put the hair under his nose on his head where no hair was, you thought. Or maybe his bushy eyebrows that peaked out of the glasses that covered nearly his entire upper face.

"Has heart issues been a constant in your family?"

You didn't like him at all.

"Just my son."

Ever since the day you ran out, Obaa had been better. She breathed better, walked around without a limp or cane. You didn't like how she sounded now, her voice guarded.

"Who is second generation, yes?" A nod from your grandmother, a clock ticks somewhere in the hospital room.

"It's almost unheard of to have an emotion-based quirk. Let alone two finding and marrying each other." His pen is painful in your ears as he writes. "A stable household is what the young girl needs. There are plenty of verified children's housing with nurses and doctors who deal in trauma and quirk counseling." Obaa's stool squeaks, her hands tighten on her purse

"We wouldn't want what has happened, happen to anyone else, yes?" The marbles collide with one another, your fingers pinching the string.

"Growing old and becoming less able is something I too face. Think about it. For Yn's future."

A car honks as you wait for the bus. Your legs hanging from the bench, not long enough to reach the ground, not like the one who sits beside you. Your grandmother is mad, you can feel it. Like heat rising from her body.

"You'll continue to go to the hospital in Tokyo." Your head lowers.

"I'm sorr-" "Enough, Yn."

"I need my exercise just like you."

Another car passes, a group walks behind the stop, their voices fading as they leave.

"Look up, child."

You do as told, no need to get her more angry. Your eyes burn from the sun that reflects on the buildings windows. Slowly gaining more vision as the sting hurts less.

People continue their trek even on the other side of the street, more cars than you expected commute and zip by.

"They may be going the same way but not everyone has the same destination. This world is more diverse than ever, but humans never change. You have to understand that everyone has their own lives, Yn. Just as you have your own. Some may see a bracelet, but you know it's a talisman. Just-" She sighs, you stare at the road, the colours of cars blurring together.

"You've done nothing wrong, Yn."

A shadow falls on you as the bus stops in front of you two. Obaa reaches for your hand already standing.

You've done nothing wrong. Maybe you'll believe that someday until then - You hop off the bench, your grandmother's hand holding onto your own.

chap. 1 | masterlist | chap. 3

[girlactionfigure]

The Night Witches

They didn’t even have parachutes.

The “Night Witches” were a regiment of daring female fighter pilots in the Soviet military who played a crucial role in the Allied victory against Nazi Germany.

The unit was formed by Marina Raskova, aka the “Soviet Amelia Earhart.” Maria was the first female navigator in the Soviet Air Force and held many long-distance flight records. She traveled all over the USSR and everywhere she went, she was approached by women who wanted to fight Nazis. Watching the German aggressors kill their brothers and husbands and destroy their homes and villages made these brave Russian women want to do more for their country than knit sweaters. They were determined to fight.

Marina used her personal contacts to get a message to dictator Joseph Stalin, asking for permission to form a women’s fighting battalion. Stalin immediately issued orders to deploy three all-female air force units and create the all-female 588th Night Bomber Regiment. The women’s mission would not be to drop bombs, but only to return fire. The Soviet Union was the first country to allow women on the front lines of battle.

As soon as the new plan was announced, thousands of women submitted applications for 1200 positions – four hundred for each of the three units. The women ranged in age from 17 to 26, and were mostly students. Those selected for this dangerous job moved to Engels, a small town near Stalingrad, to train at the Engels School of Aviation. There was no time to spare and the women learned in a few months what most airmen take several years to understand. Each woman had to be trained and fully prepared to fill four roles: pilot, navigator, maintenance, and ground crew. They faced mockery and harassment from male soldiers and officers.

The women of the 588th received bargain bin equipment. The military had to outfit them on the sly, giving them hand-me-down male uniforms to wear, including boots that were so large they had to stuff them with rags. Their planes were primitive 20 year old crop dusters made of wood and canvas, providing no shelter from the harsh elements. Flying at night in the Soviet winter, the female aviators endured sub-zero temperatures, fierce winds, and even frostbite. The planes were too light to carry parachutes, radar detectors, radios, or guns. Instead they navigated with low-tech items such as maps, compasses, flashlights, watches, rulers, and pencils – which doubled as eyeliners. They were fierce fighters, but they found ways to add a feminine touch, wearing makeup and putting flowers in their planes.

Each plane could only carry two bombs at a time, one under each wing. Every night, the regiment sent out 40 two-person crews. They flew 8-18 missions each night. The flimsy planes struggled under the heavy load of bombs, and they had to fly at very low altitudes, making them easy to shoot down. This danger is why the 588th Regiment flew only at night.

Each unit had a nightly routine – the first plane would go in as bait to attract German spotlights, which illuminated the path for the other planes. The next plane would release a flare to light up the target. Then the last plane came in, idled its engine and swooped in silently for the kill. Germans called them Nachthexen (night witches) because the whooshing sound their primitive wooden planes made sounded like a sweeping broom. This eerie sound was the only warning Germans had that the fearless women of the 588th were about to attack; the planes were too small to show up on radar.

The Nazis were so threatened by the Night Witches that any German soldier who killed one was automatically awarded the prestigious Iron Cross.

The fearless Night Witches flew over 30,000 missions over the next four years, dropping 23,000 tons of bombs on advancing German armies. They lost 32 pilots including sadly Marina Raskova. She died on January 4, 1943 when her plane was shot down heading to the front line. She received the first state funeral of World War II and her ashes are buried in the Kremlin. Twenty-four of the fliers were honored as “Hero of the Soviet Union.”

For flying into battle with primitive equipment to defeat the Germans, we honor the 1200 brave women of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, led by  as this week’s Thursday Heroes.

[melancholiepeufiable]

Hi 😁 for the prompts for Sebchal, n*6 ?

leo!!! hi! thank you for requesting ❤️ i’m OBSSESSED with sanctuary. i loved the one-shot you did as well, thank you for gifting us with your work <3

6. “Please stop trying to hide them from me.”

for some reason, this prompt was hard to think of an idea for without making it angsty, haha. i hope you enjoy!!!

******

If Charles had one wish in life, he’d wish to win the championship. If he had a second, he’d wish for all headbands to disappear off the face of the earth. 

To say he hated them was a severe understatement. 

At first, he liked them. He liked how they framed Seb’s face and kept his curls back. Then it became less about the hair and more about Sebastian choosing to wear them because why not? 

The problem was: Charles really liked Seb’s hair. If he had to name a favourite part of his boyfriend (which he never would because he loved every part of him, from top to bottom, even when Seb was annoying), the hair would compete for the top spot. 

“Emotional support headband” – Charles knew what the internet was calling it. He also knew that Sebastian didn’t care one bit. In fact, the man laughed when Charles told him. 

“Funny people. I like them.” Sebastian had replied, then pulled one on and left the house. 

Charles had no choice. It was time to take matters into his own hands. He waited and watched, as patiently as a predator stalked a prey. He listened when Seb spoke, learning of his plans to visit some friends. 

He wore a cap. 

Charles smiled, all teeth, and gave Seb a passionate kiss that left the man breathless and wanting more. Then he pushed Seb out the door. “See you later.”

—

Sebastian ransacked the house, searching everywhere. He opened cabinets, upturned their closet, checked under the bed. He was in his office, rummaging through the drawers. 

“Where are they?”

Charles shrugged, crossing his arms. “Maybe the cat ate them.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Neighbour’s cat.” He laughed, failing to suppress his amusement.  

Seb scowled, sighing in frustration. 

Charles watched as he swallowed his rage, fists balling, then flexing as opened another drawer. 

Calmly, Sebastian said. “Please stop trying to hide them from me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am not trying, I–” 

A small, proud hum buzzed out of Seb’s throat, interrupting him. Charles’ blood ran cold. 

No. This cannot be happening. 

He stood, a thin, white headband pinched between his fingers. Smugly, he raised his brows, cheeks chubby as he smiled. 

Charles lunged across the desk, making a grab for it. 

Seb took a step back, shielding it with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Give it to me.” Not a single coherent thought went through his mind, apart from: destroy it. Take it and rip it to bits. Burn it, boil it, put it in the oven. 

“No.”

Charles grabbed the scissors from the wooden pencil holder Seb had gotten from a fan. He’d raved about it for weeks, showing Charles every single detail, from the painted rim to the carved bees, and every time he did, Charles melted. Now, however, Charles didn’t care. 

Seb covered the headband, brows furrowed as he glanced between Charles’ face and the scissors. Genuine fear flickered for a millisecond before it changed to irritation. “Stop it.”

He rounded the desk, following Seb as he stepped closer to the couch. It was easy with Seb – he had always been smaller, lighter, slimmer. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Charles twirled Seb around, careful with the scissors, until he tossed him on the couch, and grabbed Seb’s wrist. He pinned Seb’s free hand with his knee, gentle enough that there was a chance Seb could pull free. 

Cruelly, Charles pulled Seb’s wrist in front of his face. “This thing… this cursed thing must go.”

“No, wait, just–”

He snipped it in half, half-delirious at the joy of having gotten rid of it. He cut it again, gleeful as it dropped on Seb’s stomach. Relief poured out, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath. It’d been done. Finally. 

A quiet noise pulled him out of his high, leaving his fingers cold and heart aching. 

Seb pouted, staring at the material on his shirt. He dropped the headband, face drooping in sadness. 

Oh no. What have I done?

Charles tightened the hold on Seb’s wrist, bringing it to his lips to pepper kisses. “Oh– I’m sorry, Seb. I don’t know what got into me. You are very– you don’t need that. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

If Charles wasn’t so deep in guilt, he might’ve noticed the smile forming on Sebastian’s lips. Instead, he yelped when Seb tugged him down, rolling them over for a cuddle. He placed his head on Charles’ chest, arms wrapped across his waist. 

“Did you really hate them that much?” 

Heat blazed on his cheeks, the admission worse than anything Charles ever confessed to. “Yes.” 

Seb laughed, light and sweet. Charles’ heart grew a thousand times. He’d never bore of hearing it. 

“I am sorry, Seb.” Charles nuzzled his hair, running a hand over Seb’s back. “It was not right of me.”

He looked up, smiling. 

“What?”

Slowly, Seb reached under the couch and lifted a thin, grey headband. “You didn’t think you got all of them, did you?”

[eating-the-inedible]

Here is a list of the inedibles that will be in this bracket

Lava

Orbeez

Orange Joe (fictional "beverage" that's a combination of orange juice and coffee)

Doll shoes

Dirt

Pen caps

Mercury

Watermelon tourmaline

Comet/scouring powder

Moss

Paper towels

Play-Doh

Drywall

Marbles

CD

DVD

Dice

Kinetic Sand

Coins 

Fiberglass insulation

3DS Stylus

Plastic Bottle Cap

Chapstick

Babybell Cheese Wax

Paper

Bouncy ball

Human meat

Venus (planet)

Cascade dishwasher pods

Acrylic Paint

Magnets

Molten glass

Pens

Sea glass

Silica gel packet

Leaves

Cocoa butter lotion

Antifreeze

Pencil Toppers, the lil eraser things

Sand

Tumbled amethyst

Rubber Ducks

The rubber balls from the game Cranium Cariboo

Polly pocket clothes

Poison Dart Frog

Snow

0.1 uF Film Capacitor

The sun

Metal

Eraser

Tide pods

Phone charger wire

Those free wooden pencils you get at ikea (just the wood shell not the lead)

Liquid nitrogen

Aquarium gravel

the weird science juice in the beakers in those stock images

Origami star

Styrofoam cup

Sticky note

Collar of shirt

This submission form

Plastic straws

Glow sticks

Oil paintings

Candle wax

Glass

Nickel sulfate solution/Nickel plating solution

Silicone wristbands

Seatbelt

The wax paper under your Poutine

Forearm (doesn't have to be one's own)

Asbestos

Candy wrapper

“Okay so technically this is edible but I’ve had urges to just take a huge bite out of certain sea creatures before. Like just a chunk from an orca or dolphin or great white or seal, etc.”

“Those stupid wooden spoons”

Furbies

Scotch tape

Artificial grapes (the wax/plastic ones for display)

phone

THE FLESH OF MY ENEMIES

Crystals

Fire

The goo inside  Stretch Armstrong

Headphone wire

Raw steak

Art

Small colorful rubber bands 

Tinfoil

Pencil lead

Cattails (the plant)

Foamy soap

Liquid soap

Bar soap

Flourite

Shiny rocks

Grass

A hunk of random fish swimming by

A live goldfish

Toothpaste

Styrofoam

Price Tag Fasteners

The moon

Pool noodles

Smol frog

Destroying angel mushroom

the smoke coming out of the grain refineries two Mike's out of Gary, Indiana, Usa

Popsicle sticks

Cardboard

My hat

The tiny rocks in school playgrounds

Gasoline

Blue laundry detergent

Spray foam insulation

Battery corrosion

Fiber optic cables

Packing peanuts

Your mother

Pond water

Dry ice

Alkali metals

Chocolate shampoo

Ping pong ball

Bricks, like the stuff you'd build with. Minecraft bricks even, if you want

Hoodie drawstrings

Horse treats

Chalk

Copper (II) Sulphate Water / Blue Science Rock + Blue Science Juice

Ink

Floam

Fabric Paint

Oil paint

that one art piece of the banana taped to the wall

the hotdog somebody encased in resin

“the thin lego plates not the base plates but like the lego piece thats like 2x8 and they kinda look like hershey chocolate bar pieces”

One of those little hamsters

Model magic

Battery Acid (the drink)

manchineel apple

Rubber band ball

The lava lamp liquid

Blood

Rosin

Wax apples

That cake decoration that came with your slice and you're like 90% sure it's not edible... but what if ?

Soap bubble

Lush cosmetics' products

Plushies

Strawberry Shortcake's dolls with scented hair

Wood

Glue

Salt lamp

People who think children are not worth their consideration

Tarmac

Shampoo

Pennies

Poisonous berries

Chunky soft yarn

Crayons 

Rock

“whatever the Chuck E Cheese Ticket Muncher Machine is eating (it's not the tickets) (or the sound itself but that's neither a solid nor a liquid so this is just kind of holding hands with the hypothetical ticket muncher food)”

Snow globe liquid

Chisel tip whiteboard marker

Raw dough

Raw fuckin cactus. alive

Grape agate

Car seat

Succulents

Keys

Lock pick

Scrub daddy

Molten sugar 

Allergens

Lightning bolts

“Bark dust. Like the dirt/bark dust that's under the bark chips on a playground. Not the chips themselves. The dust.”

Clear deodorant

Apple earbud wires

Eggshells

Squinkies

Hello kitty sweatshirt zipper

Preshredded mozzarella cheese

Scrap metal

Rose

All of the rocks at a crystal shop

Origami polyhedron model

Bubbles mixture

Cupcake liners

Hair gel

Curtain rods

Incense sticks

Incense cones

Metal thing that attaches eraser to pencil

Windshield wiper fluid

Plastic pencil grips

Wooden ice cream spoon

Book

Tree

The liquid in levels

Vanilla extract

Aroace flag

Coil incense

California state testing “next question” button

Spackle

Forbidden coal iron french fries

Garage doors that look like chocolate bars

Plastic takeout box

Velvet

Weird anime girl hair

Freezable gel ice pack

Clouds

Necklace chains

Nail polish

Pencil Shavings

Pool floats

Bao Dumpling

Spray deodorant

0.1 uF Ceramic Capacitor

Vanillish (Pokémon)

Fondant

Really fancy pillars

Computers

Favorite song

Tumblr

“THE LITTLE ORBS IN THE MOUSE (aka trackballs)”

“Any cutesy anime character like Chopper or Pikachu”

Wooden fan blades

Balsa wood sticks

Those blankets that look like tortillas

Microwave

Milk and golden honey softsoap

Batteries

1x2 lego pieces

Light bulbs

Slightly melted lounge chair

Cork (the material)

Pineapple coke

Fingernails 

Sparkly lipgloss

Race Car Tire Marble

Gold trophies

Konjac sponge

Shirt

Mandy the Slayer / Orange Spyderco Dragonfly Knife

Malachite

Heater

Glasses Temples

Typewriter keys

EVA foam

Airplane

Sword

Crumbs in the couch

Children

My wife's arm/shoulder

Records

Yellow ACE bandages

Neon Signs

Scented candles

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fifteen

I sit on a kitchen chair sulkily drinking my burned cappuccino, crafted with minimum love and far too much bubbly froth, as Jude rifles around downstairs doing something that I didn’t bother to ask about. I only hear the occasional thump, or opening door, while his Americano gets cold on the table across from me. 

I stare out the window at the blue, sparkling sea under the afternoon sun and resent the fact that I’m finally back by the water, my favourite place to be, and it’s far too cold to swim in it. If I stare long enough and let my vision blur I can almost see myself out there like a ghost, seventeen in a little bikini, paddling out as far as my waist and then gliding forward with my face towards the horizon, early morning, an empty beach when everything was so much easier than it is these days. I thought life was complicated then. I thought that I had it hard, but I didn’t. I didn’t know a thing. 

I don’t know what Jude is doing downstairs. He stopped making sounds a while ago now, and I half expected him to come back up to the kitchen. My cappuccino is down to its final dregs, and his coffee sits full, black and so still that the light from the kitchen window reflects perfectly on the surface. When I reach out and touch the cup it’s still relatively warm, so I take it off the table to bring it to him. 

He’s sitting on the couch with one foot up on the coffee table. His profile is facing me, tilted down to look at the book he has balanced on his lap. One hand is on the page, the other rests on a little pile of rumpled orange neoprene on the cushion. He hardly glances at me as I make my way to him and place his coffee on the table next to his ankle, and holds out the fabric to me. 

“Your bikini.”

“You found it?”

“Yeah I had a look. It was in my sister’s room.”

“Someone must have thought it was hers.”

“Yeah.”

I take it from him, and he looks back at the book in his lap, which, now that I’m nearer to him I see is full of pretty pencil drawings. There’s a drawing of fishermen climbing aboard a little boat. A man teeing up a golf ball. A woman having a cigarette, leaning over wooden railings with a distant look on her face. I sit down next to him and look too. 

“Is this your work?”

“Yeah, this was my sketchbook from a few years ago. I found it when I was looking around, actually, I forgot that I even did some of these.”

“You never showed this to me before.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, even though you promised.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad I didn’t see these, they would have shattered my confidence.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, evidently you were twice the artist at eighteen than I ever was.”

“Your work was beautiful. And it isn’t a contest anyway, you can’t compare one style with another.”

He clearly underestimates my ability to compare anything and everything in my life in order to make me feel as awful as possible about my own abilities at all times. “Yeah I suppose.” I say benignly. 

He flips a few more pages in silence, and I wonder perhaps if he’s remembering where he was when he drew these things. I wonder where I was at those moments too. When he drew the couple playing tennis, was I lying on the beach with Claire? What about that drawing of Kasper playing Xbox, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration? Maybe I was destroying Kelly in a ruthless game of ping pong in the caravan park community hall. We were doing all of the things that normal teenagers do when left to ourselves,  but I do know that I never really did anything back then without thinking about him, where he was and what he was doing. Not from the moment I clapped eyes on him. 

He turns over to a new page close to the back of the sketchbook and we both tense up. I’ve seen these drawings before. Five heads arranged on a page. One on each corner, and one in the middle. Me. My face. My expressions. Jude says nothing, he doesn’t move. I wondered two years ago, when I found these drawings in the depths of his Instagram page, just as I wonder now; what was he thinking about when he drew these?

“It’s me.” I say, pretending to be surprised. 

“Yes, it’s you.”

“I like the way that you drew me.”

“Thank you.” He’s frowning now. “I liked drawing you.”

“That one in the middle.” I say. “I don’t know what that expression is. You know, I’ve never seen myself look like that.”

“You make that face all the time.”

I try to mimic it a bit, the quirk at the corner of my mouth, the cheeky tilt of the head. “I do?”

“Yeah it’s how you look when you’ve said something that you think is going to make me laugh.”

“Ah, that explains it. I try to make you laugh all of the time with my shit jokes.” And I laugh then, hoping that I’ll set him off too, as I usually can. Just a smile usually has him grinning right back, but not now. He stays perfectly still with that flat, stoic expression on his face, and I let my grin slowly slide away and we lapse into a long silence. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He says. 

“What?”

He looks at me and his hands fall limp by his sides. There is a tremble in his voice. “I don’t want to be your friend. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t do it.”

My heart kicks up and I start to feel sick. “What do you mean?”

“You told me, outside the hospital, that you don’t want to ruin our friendship with any other complicated feelings, that it’s all too important to you. Well I’ve thought about it now and I don’t think I know how to be your friend without my feelings for you getting in the way. It’s not fair on me. Or on you. I can’t do it.”

“Are you saying that you don’t want to be in each other’s lives anymore?”

“I’m saying the same thing to you now as you said to me that night in Jen’s flat. I’m not sure that friendship – like, real friendship with no other feelings involved is possible for you and me. I thought that maybe you were wrong at the time, but you weren’t. If we’re not going to be together then this just isn’t fair. So, yeah, I want to be in your life, but apparently it’s not in the same way that you want to be in mine anymore. I can’t put myself through it.”

“Put yourself through-”

“Having to be around you and not ever getting to have more than just friendship. Like, to potentially be around when you decide that you want those things with another guy. That’s too hard, and I just don’t want to do that to myself. This isn’t an ultimatum or anything like that, I’m just stating a fact. You can feel, or not feel, whatever you want, but I need to take care of myself here, and I’d rather if my heart didn’t break every time I look at you.”

I start to feel flustered. “But that’s not what I want.”

“Well, sorry but I-”

“No, I don’t want that.” My voice shakes. “Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“This is not all of a sudden. This is what I wanted to say to you at breakfast before our plans got derailed. I’m sorry I put it off, I just find it hard to face things.”

“Jude, no, I want-”

“Yeah, what do you want?” He looks straight into my eyes with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away. It’s the simplest question in the world, and yet so weighted and complex that it hangs heavy in the air. I can’t speak.

“What do you want, Evie?”

“You.” I manage. 

“As a friend, or as more?”

I try to derail. “You’re being different around me. You’re all distant and withdrawn, I don’t like you when you’re like this.”

His mouth is a grim line. “You’re so confusing. I have no idea what you’re thinking, or what you want from me. You really mess with my head.”

“I’m not! You’re the one who’s confusing! You’ve always been confusing and unclear and non-communicative, so I don’t know why-”

“No, don’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“You’re trying to turn this around and throw it back at me. Just face it. Am I being unclear right now? Was I unclear with you in Berlin? The way I remember it I looked you right in the face and I told you what I felt, I broke up with my girlfriend for you. I made moves and I took action, so don’t try and say that to me. Unclear. Please, Evie. You have some nerve.”

I’m stunned. I fully expected him to back down straight away, to sit there and take it, but I realise immediately that I was a fool. He sees right through me, and my stomach starts churning.

“Yeah.” He goes on. “You’re right that I couldn’t talk to you about my feelings four years ago- two years ago, and I had reasons for that, but yeah, I’ll freely admit that I was a bad communicator and I confused you, but to be honest, all of that stuff pales in comparison to the way that you are. You are so much worse at it than I ever was. I don’t know what to do, or what to say to you, because it seems like no matter what I do or say it’s the wrong thing, or it upsets you or freaks you out. Am I allowed to want you or not? Like, which is the right thing? If I tell you I do, you’re frightened, and if I keep my distance and pretend like I don’t you’re devastated, Evie, I’m in limbo here. What do you want?”

Tears spring to my eyes. “I… I don’t know.”

He stops, takes a slow breath, and says more gently. “I thought that you’d want me to kiss you. That’s why I did it. I thought I was sure about it, the things you said to me before about having never gotten over me, the way you acted around me that night I got kicked out of the bar, you looked at me like… like you wanted me. I thought it was a sure shot, I’ve never been that wrong before. I really thought you’d be all in.”

I did too.

“And you kissed me back. You did. You grabbed my face, bit my lip and you, you kissed me back. I was there.” His exhale is a shaky whoosh. “And I don’t understand why you were so enthusiastic about me when you thought I still had a girlfriend, but the minute you found out that I didn’t you were so put off.”

“I… wasn’t.”

“Yeah you were, as though there was something more exciting about having me sneak around with you than having everything out in the open. Why is that?”

“Maybe I’m just awful, then.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a victim, that’s not you. I don’t think you’re awful, I just want to understand.”

“Maybe the things I feel and do don’t make logical sense.”

“No, come on. Stop that.”

I feel trapped like a mouse. All I can do is sit blinking, and wonder what the repercussions of getting up and running away from this might be. Surely I could just hide in the bathroom or something. I feel unsettled in my seat, uncomfortable in my skin, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes. 

“Stop buying into this image of yourself of being somehow defective, irreparable or too complicated to understand. You do things for a reason, I just wish you’d help me understand what those reasons are instead of deflecting and trying to wriggle your way out of talking about things in a normal way.”

“I don’t.”

He whips the book off his lap and drops it onto the coffee table. I look at it. Stare at the yellowed pages and the crease along the damaged corner of the cover because it’s easier than looking at him. “My God, yes you do. Yes you do, and you have to stop doing it, because it’s boring. I don’t know why you do it, but you lean so much on this victim mentality and tell yourself stories about how badly you’ve been hurt, and how nobody wants you or loves you or could ever possibly do so, when it’s all a big lie. Look in the mirror, Evie. You’re a pretty girl, and you know it, you act like you don’t, but you do. Believe me, I’ve heard the way men talk about you, I’ve seen the way they watch you walk across the room, and I know you’ve seen it too. You just prefer to act like the world has cursed you with averageness because it better fits your narrative, just like this insane, teenaged idea about who’s in and out of your league.” 

The hierarchical structure of the dating pool. 

“Do you like living by the idea that I’m somehow too good for you but I want you anyway? Is it an ego thing? You know, I was pretty flattered by it when we were younger, but now I think it’s ridiculous. I’ve told you, I’m sitting here telling you that I like you, I’ve been obsessed with you, I lose sleep over you and you’re ignoring it in favour of your own, comfortable delusions, and your whole ‘poor me’ mentality. What the hell is that?”

“Well you are too good for me.” I manage, with words shrill and wobbly, and I’m not even buying it anymore. 

“Let me decide those things for myself. It’s always been obvious to me that I’d love you, you’re everything that I love. You’re so funny and goofy, ambitious and talented and so beautiful that you make me weak from looking at you sometimes, but sometimes I really wish that I didn’t, you know? I think my life would be easier if I felt nothing for you at all.”

“Well, fine, I feel the same.” I say as stinging tears pour over my cheeks. “Because being around you only reminds me of all the things I don’t like about myself, and you’re the reason I feel like shit.”

His spine stiffens and he shuts his eyes for a beat, like he’s trying to bear the full weight of my ridiculousness upon his shoulders. “That just isn’t true. If I wasn’t around there’d only be some other person to pile this onto. This mentality, this inherent dislike you have for yourself has nothing to do with me, and the way you’re blaming me for all this… You know that it isn’t fair on me, it makes it near impossible for me to communicate with you about how I’m feeling. When I call you out on something that’s hurtful to me and you turn it around and immediately internalise what I’m saying as some confirmation that you’re a bad person it kills any chances we have of talking this out rationally. It means that we can’t work through it together.”

Nobody has ever said things like this to me before. Something inside my head is misfiring, and I realise that everything I want to say is some variation of an expression of my victimhood. But even as I sift through a catalogue of defensive words I could use, things that shift the blame away from me, make me look innocent, but I know it will be useless to say them. They would only push him further away from me and be the final blow in this relationship that I’ve already made gallant inroads in destroying. I can’t, not when he looks at me like that, with this painful mixture of upset and confusion, frustration and vulnerability. But mostly because deep down I know that he’s right. I feel my brain trying to chew on that new thought, almost, almost taking it on before deciding it can’t digest it. It ejects it right out the top of my head. “You’re wrong.” I say with wild eyes that can’t focus on anything in front of me. “You’re just plain wrong.” But he knows he isn’t. He doesn’t look pleased about it, in fact he looks completely drained, but he knows. 

“Evie, I’m not. You have to think about the way that you are, the way that you treat yourself and speak to yourself. You are more horrible to yourself than anybody else could possibly put the time into being.”

“The way that you’re speaking to me is horrible.” I manage, in one last half-hearted attempt at combat in a war that I’ve already lost and he shrugs. “There isn’t anything wrong with conflict. You and I have needed to talk about this for a long time.”

I just give him a jerky shrug and sniffle. “Oh.” I say, thickly into the wrist that’s wiping tears and snot from my lip.

“I want you to see it from my perspective, I’ve hurt you, really badly, and I know that and I’ll never stop being sorry for it, but you’ve hurt me too. I know you don’t mean it, and it’s because of the way that you feel about yourself, but I’m just asking you to step out of your own head for a minute and think about you’re affecting the people around you instead.”

“I really don’t know how to be different, Jude. This is just how I am.”

He takes both of my hands in his, linking our fingers together and looking into my eyes with his steady, unflinching gaze, and if he cares about the snot, he doesn’t show it.  “Look, I’m telling you, I, Jude Turner, am in love with you. I have felt like this since I was eighteen, and it’s not some big joke, or a big, elaborate trick on you. I do not have a psychiatric disease. Do you feel the same?”

He waits, eyebrows raised for what must be a full, agonising minute for me to say something, and then, more gently than anything he’s said in the last ten minutes he says “Evie, do you have feelings for me?”

“Oh of course I do.” I whimper, and new tears pour freely down my face. “How obvious is it? Everyone knows about me and my affliction. I can’t hide it. I’ve hardly ever thought about another guy since I met you.”

“So talk to me.” His eyes are pleading, and his thumbs stroke the soft underside of my wrists. “What is going on in your head?” 

“God, I’m just so afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of change. Of being hurt. Of what people might think. Of you and what you’ll want from me.” 

“What do you think I’m going to want from you?”

I pull one hand out of his grip to swipe my face again and my lip quivers. I’m sobbing now, and Jude is patient, even as I let the silence stretch on and whimper and cough until I feel ready to speak again. “God, I’m so insane.”

“You aren’t.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but I’m afraid that you’ll want me.”

He hesitates. “Well…”

“Me. My body. Sex. Things I won’t be good at. And that I’ll show you new ways to be disappointed in someone that you couldn’t even conceive of before.” 

“I’m honestly not sure what to say to that.”

“It’s so stupid, I knew it, I shouldn’t have admitted that, God, never-”

“No, I just don’t know what to say that won’t make you feel worse. Do you want me to say that I don’t want that or that I do?”

“Tell me the truth.”

“Well I do. Of course I do. Don’t you?”

I recall my heady, vivid dreams of my hands on his body. “I’ve thought about it.”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me. Never. I’d never expect anything, any kind of wild performance out of you, or whatever you believe I might want. I’ll worship you, you won’t ever regret it.”

“It scares me.” I say, very quietly. “I’ve done it before, plenty of times, but, I don’t know. It’s just that it never… I never…”

“I hated it at first too.” He confesses, tucking my hair behind my ear. “It can be terrible if it’s the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

I blink. I was sure that Jude, who in my head is the master of his own sexuality, would have had nothing but a rich history of total satisfaction. I never imagined a reality where things didn’t always come easy for him in that regard. He reads my questioning expression and shrugs lightly. “I was fourteen the first time.” He explains. “It was in a playground with this girl I used to know. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but I remember all the other details about it, like how I could hear my friends talking and laughing somewhere off in the distance, and the way my mouth tasted too sweet, like the cider we’d stolen from someone’s dad. I hated it so much I really thought I was going to get sick, and then in school, every time someone brought it up again I thought I’d be sick then too.”

“Oh, Jude…”

“We were really big on trying to be adults at the time, but I didn’t want any of it. I wanted to ride my bike around and climb trees, but that kind of thing was too embarrassing to admit, so…” A shrug. “It’s how it was. You can’t really go backwards from there, you know, like, have sex one day and then cycle race down a big hill the next day, you’re just like an adult and you have to live with it.”

“I never would have thought that about you.” 

“Well, it’s pretty much the only topic that you and I never seem to be able to talk about, isn’t it? Sex, I mean.” 

“I suppose so.”

“It gets better.” He tells me. “I swear, and like, I’m not saying this so that you’ll leap into bed with me, but if you ever wanted to try it out with me then I promise I’ll show you it can be good. It’s meant to be fun, and nice, and yeah, obviously it’s a bit vulnerable but it’s gone from being the worst thing I’ve ever done to the best thing, so I think it can be the same for you.”

“And if I’m really shit at it?”

“You couldn’t be.”

“I think you might be shocked at how shit I can be at things.”

“I just don’t believe that. You’ve never been bad at a thing in your life, and I’m a good teacher.” He splits into a grin, but there’s new heat in his eyes as they trace a slow triangle from my eyes to my lips and back. He’s thinking about it now. 

I start thinking about it too, and heat instantly flares in my face, and the sun hits the angle of his cheek, warming his apricot coloured skin. Nobody has ever looked quite as pretty as he does at this moment. I look away quickly. “Those things you said in Berlin, about wanting me to be your girlfriend. That was too much.”

“Okay.”

“That feels too intense too soon, that’s why I was afraid. It felt like you’d done all of this thinking about what you wanted and you’d broken up with Astrid and you’d put all of these things in place and you expected me to just go along with it all without warning me.”

He hesitates. “Yeah, you’re right. I kind of did.”

“I really don’t know how to deal with things like that, when people just come at me head on and expect me to react, I can’t. I panic, and I don’t know what to say, and that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be with you, it’s just that the idea of going all in like that feels like too much change all at once.”

“We can go as slowly as you want. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“You’re just used to asking for things directly, I get it, but it doesn’t work like that with me.”

“I understand that, I’m sorry.” He looks like he might cry. 

“I’m sorry.” We reach for each other and I slot my head under his chin while he wraps his arms around me, and immediately I notice that I’ve blinked wet mascara onto his shirt. Oops. “I’m sorry that I’ve confused you and hurt you like this. I was so wrapped up with my own stuff that I didn’t think about you. Or maybe I did, maybe I just assumed that you could handle it.”

“I’m just a human man,”

“I know.”

“It’s only painful because of how much I care about you.”

“I’ll try to be better with the whole… victim thing. I didn’t even know I was like that.”

“It’s best to talk to someone about that stuff.”

“Like in therapy?”

“It mightn’t be a bad idea.” 

“I don’t think I’m bad enough for something like that. It feels a bit extreme.”

I feel him sigh. “Alright. It’s up to you.” 

I shut my eyes for a few moments and listen to the sound of his heartbeat beneath his ribs. I’m so tired, my body is weak and drained from the conflict and the emotion of this whole conversation, but I’m finally peaceful, like the worst is over. It doesn’t feel like the times I fought with Dean, I don’t feel beaten down and stripped of dignity and made a fool of, I feel a distinct calm, as though something has been repaired. Yet there is still one thing eating me. 

 “Can we be something between friends and a couple?” I say, and I tilt my head up to watch what my question does to him. 

His eyes do a tour of my face. “What does that entail?”

“It means give me time to get comfortable with you.” 

��Okay, I promise I won’t try to coax you into bed with me before you’re ready.”

“You might find that hard.” I tease, he smiles. “I’ll keep my hands to myself at all times.”

“Not at all times.”

“Okay sometimes. I might need some sort of guidebook for this. I’ve only had girlfriends and friends before, not grey areas.” 

“Have you ever considered being more like a normal boy?”

He laughs for the first time all day and it feels like he’s filling my body with sweet honey. What have I been doing? I’m crazy about him. He doesn’t scare me, not when we’re sitting like this, wrapped up in eachother, basking in the warm spring sun that comes through the windows, and maybe we are meant to be together, because he makes me feel this indescribable way that nobody else ever has before him, and maybe nobody ever will again. 

“Okay, so just to confirm, you want me?”

“Yes, Jude, I do.”

“Then the rest is just noise. We can figure it out.”

We smile at each other, and I say “I bet no other girl has ever made things so hard for you before.”

“You haven’t made it hard.”

“That’s a lie – I’m sure you’re used to women just flinging themselves right at you.”

He looks at me like I’ve said something really weird. “I feel a little concerned about the things you believe about me at times.”

“Please.” I grab his americano from the coffee table and put it into his hands. “Finish this, I spent good money on it.”

“This really is a horrible coffee, isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s rank.” 

He takes a perfunctory sip and pulls a sour face. “Thanks a lot, Liam.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[kallard]

Old Friends

War buddies don't exist in the meeting room. It's a battle between a lot of different officers. Some continue fighting when they don't realize that they have been shot.

Kallard let loose a mighty yawn as he dropped into the wooden chair. He immediately rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, balancing himself with a single foot. The table in front of him wasn’t dirty, but it was covered in stains and carvings. Some of the carvings were proclamations of love and admiration, while others were simply crude insults.

A server approached Kallard from his right and bowed their head respectfully. She then stood straight and fixed the man with a soft smile, waiting for his order. When it didn’t come the waitress shot him a confused look that asked, “What can I get you?”

“Oh, right, two glasses of whiskey, two fingers each, top shelf,” Kallard said as he offered a small coin purse to the server. “Whatever’s left is yours.”

The girl smiled at him and accepted his coin and slipped it into a pocket on her black apron. She took out a notepad and quickly wrote down his order as she scurried off. Kallard watched her as she left, leaning back in his chair to follow her as she vanished behind the kitchen door. One of the other patrons smirked at the Garlean and called out to him.

“Look all ya want, kid, she ain’t gonna go with a lowlife like you,” the gruffy man said, affixing Kallard with an amused smile.

“Fuck off,” Kallard told the stranger, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Mind your business.”

Before he could offer any kind of retort, Kallard held up his hand and looked away, making it obvious he was done with the drunken fool. He wasn’t here to cause a fight just yet. Instead he kept his eyes on the server as she approached with two whiskey glasses on a small wooden tray. She approached him from the kitchen area with a smile on her lips, setting down one glass in front of Kallard and the other opposite of him.

“Oi,” Kallard said, motioning at the empty chair across from him. “Pop a squat. I got words for you.”

The server looked confused at first but obliged and sat down. She took hold of the glass of whiskey and took a sip, knowing it had been ordered for her and not anyone else. Why was this stranger buying her a drink? He didn’t look like the type of guy to pick up a random girl at work, at least she hoped he wasn’t.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Kallard asked the server before he reached up to his head and pulled back his hair, slicking it back momentarily. “How about now?”

Sky blue eyes went wide as the gears started turning in the woman’s head. She hastily tossed the cup back onto the table, spilling its contents as she shot out of her chair. The server then picked up her chair and smashed it against the ground and broke a leg off. She took hold of the makeshift weapon, holding it like a club and ready to defend herself.

“Whoa, shit,” Kallard said, releasing his hair and leaning forward. “Easy, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone. I just want to talk is all.”

By now several people were staring at the pair, the noise of the chair breaking drawing their eyes towards the two. The server shook her head and kept her defensive pose. She looked at Kallard with fear in her eyes, only to lower her chair leg. Her eyes narrowed as the server squinted at him, the weapon in her hands forgotten for now.

“Decimus,” the server said in a whisper-like tone.

“’Ey, that’s a start,” Kallard said with a cocky smile. “Jeez, you don’t see me for ten years and want to bash my skull in? Damn, thought we had a better relationship than that.”

The server dropped her club and picked a seat closer to Kallard and plopped down into it. She then reached down to her apron and removed the notepad and pencil. After rifling through a series of papers with words already written on them, the server eventually came to a blank page.

“I thought you were dead,” she had written. “The base you were on was destroyed and I assumed you and Seia were dead.”

“Yeah, well, funny story…” Kallard said before looking at the others in the tavern. “How about we move somewhere more private, hmm? Too many prying eyes,” he shouted the last part and whoever was left looking at him turned away, either out of shame or not wanting to piss the man off.

The server got up from her chair and walked over to the main door. She then clapped her hands loudly and waved her arms in the air, getting the attention of everyone inside. Rather than telling them to get out, she simply pointed at the door and stomped a foot, making it clear she wanted everyone out. Several people groaned as they got up, tossing coins onto their tables before sauntering out, hoping to find another watering hole they could waste time at. Once everyone was gone the server smiled, closed and locked the door before walking back over to Kallard’s table and taking her seat once more. She reached out and stole his whiskey and drained the cup of its contents.

“We didn’t die back then,” Kallard said now that the bar was empty. “Obviously.”

“Then what happened?” the server had written on her notepad, showing Kallard when she was finished writing.

“Hold on, why aren’t you talking?” Kallard asked, a little disappointed he didn’t have anything to drink now.

“I’m deaf,” the server simply wrote.

“The fuck? How did that happen? Last I saw you you had no issue hearing things.”

“I got sick and was medically discharged from service,” she had written down.

“Fuck me,” Kallard muttered. “You’re sick too? It’s not cancer, is it?”

“It was,” she had written before shrugging. “But it was a small tumor that I had removed. It just took my hearing with it. Haven’t been able for a while now.”

“I guess that explains why they transferred you out of the unit. Well, shit, I’m sorry you lost your hearing.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learned to live without it. Why are you here, if you’re not here to kill me, Decimus?” she asked with her notepad.

“Well, I came to see if you could help me out. I got a job that needs doing and I can’t do it alone,” Kallard said as he lit a cigarette. The server reached over and stole his pack of cigarettes, like she stole his drink. She took a cigarette out and held it out for Kallard to light, which he did without argument.

“Must be a big job if you came all the way out here to find me,” the server had written down, sliding the pad down to show Kallard. “What’s the job and does it pay well? I’m tired of his job.”

“Hah! Atta girl,” Kallard said with a toothy grin. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead coughed a few times and brought a hand to cover his mouth.

“You’re not contagious are you?”

“Fuck no, it’s cancer and it’s killing me,” he said with a frown and a shake of his head. “And no, there’s nothing I can do about it, not anymore. Doc friend of mine said I got a couple more months left in me, so I’m planning one final mission. I aim to sink a Garlean airship.”

“You want to what?” the server asked Kallard as she shoot him a questioning look. “You want to destroy Garlean property?”

“I’m gonna tell you a story, and I’ll try to keep it brief. Few years ago Seia and I were stationed at some base in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Some cunt, let’s call him Captain Cunt, decided my sister was his property and took things into his own hands, if you catch my drift. Fucked her up real good.

“After that Seia stopped doing everything. She stopped talking, stopped eating and refused to leave her bed. So, I killed the guy. Spread his entrails across the base and mounted his head on a fucking pike. Seeing no other choice but out, Seia and I escaped, destroyed the base and killed everyone on it and left.

“We were on the run for a couple of years before they finally found us. Well, they didn’t find me as I rarely left our apartment. They instead found Seia and stole her from me, whisking her away to a base even I didn’t know about. It took me several months to find her only to have Seia die in my arms.”

The server frowned and reached out to take Kallard’s hand with her own. She mouthed her words of apology, but he had grown tired of other people’s pity. Kallard moved to jerk his hand away but then realized that this was an act of kindness, not pity. This woman had known Seia and had been good friends with both of them before they were transferred away. During their time together Kallard and Seia did their best to impart what they knew about the job onto the server, believing she would make a fine agent.

“Obviously,” Kallard continued after looking away to regain his composure. Talking about Seia’s death always got to him. “I’m angry. And, well, you remember when I broke that dude’s nose for looking at sis wrong? Well, I’m like that except I’m murderin’ everyone even remotely associated with Seia’s death. I’m talking people who ordered folk around, ordered us around, that kinda shit.

“No good people who need putting down. The very same people who drove us to war and made us the enemies of the entire fucking world. So, I’ve been killing them off, one by one. I’ve run out of folk to kill and my path leads me to this, a single Garlean base far north of here housing a single large airship.

“I believe they aim to use this to try and continue the war effort. Too many of us have that hate in our heart still and I want to lower their numbers. Less Garleans causing problems the better.”

“And you want me to help?” the server asked once Kallard was finished telling his tale of woe and revenge.

“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I need you to fly my ship and ensure my friend does not come to any harm. You’ll have one job, and one job alone: Keep Yuki safe.”

“She must mean a lot to you to come all this way to ask me of all people for help,” the server had written down in her little notebook.

“She does, and it would mean a great deal if you could help me out. Whatever it is you need, I’ll take care of. Place to live? You got it. Clothing, food, other needs? All on me. You were a good friend to me and Seia back in the day and I’m sorry for not keeping in touch after we got transferred. Seia kept asking about you, but we were both busy and obviously fell out of touch. I know I can’t make up for the years apart, but I can try. So, will you help me, Julia?”

“Before I agree, what am I flying?” Julia asked with a soft smile.

“One of the empire’s hyper-sonic assault carriers. I stole one a few months back.”

“Oh fuck yes,” the server wrote with a huge smile. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

“Hah!” Kallard whooped with an equally big smile. “I knew it wouldn’t take much to get you involved. You were the meanest fuckin’ pilot I ever served with.”

“Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. When do we ship out?”

“Well, the mission isn’t for a few more weeks. I got some stuff to iron out and a few more folk to ask for help. Plus, it’ll give you time to fall in love with Yuki.”

“Love?!” Julia had written with shock on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I mean it. You’ll love this girl. She’s sweet as candy and not fake about it either. Probably the kindest soul I ever met. We’ve gotten real close since we met and I’d do anything for her,” Kallard said with a warm smile. It was true, he had a lot of feelings for Yuki and saw her as more as a little sister than a friend at this point. “She’s a good kid. You’ll love her cooking if not her.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Julia retorted, using her notepad to speak. “Coming from a guy who didn’t like anyone.”

“Hey now,” Kallard said with a snort. “I didn’t hate everyone! I liked you, Cass and Seia. Does that count?”

“No,” Julia mouthed, making an X with her arms.

“Aww, come on, you don’t have to do me dirty like that.”

“Too bad, so sad. Cry me a river!” Julia wrote in her notepad, running out of paper by now.

“Alright, as much as I love this lovely bar you found yourself in, I’m getting antsy and want to get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Okay, just let me close up and quit my job,” Julia wrote with a big, shit eating grin.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll meet you outside.”

Kallard got up from his chair and made his way towards the front door. He quickly tossed a look behind him, watching as Julia ran from table to table, giving it a quick wipe down with a stained white rag. With a smile on his face Kallard pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air and took in a deep breath before lighting a fresh cigarette after forgetting about his last one.

“You hear that, Seia,” Kallard said to the sky. “Jules is back in action and she’s ready to kick ass and take names. Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

A hand was then dipped into one of his long coat’s pockets. He dug around for a moment, rifling through wads of paper, cigarette packs and matches. After a moment of fumbling Kallard pulled a small radio out and toggled the on switch. He coughed, cleared his throat and then began the task of ringing up what little friends he had in hope that they would be as willing to help him as Julia was. And so, Kallard set out to assemble his merry band of ne’er-do-wells.