#ch: howel

[tinartss]

assorted mr amazing doodles (feat my other favorite blonde)

[corpiote]

keith drama ch 24 slight spoilers below

yves being himself🥰

irl, I am liam. however, this scene is fluffy and humorous, so I'll let it slide

[927roses-and-stuff]

with the new gameplay ch 3 has this is a NEED please omg

idk if this would even be plausible buy i need dan and phil to play deltarune plsssssd (especially with deltarune ch 3 & 4 coming out soon 👀👀)

[wren-writes-stuff]

Had a dream last night that I got to meet Dan Howell in person and tell him how much all of his and Phil’s videos meant to me when I was a kid, and he was so nice about it. But then Phil showed up, looking completely haggard and sickly and only said “…..cream cheese. C..cream ch-cheese.”

And then he passed out and I woke up. What the hell. What does that mean.

[socgf]

the outsiders bts tea from rob lowe's book: part 1 (casting)

okay i am reading rob lowe's autobiography and taking notes on anything the outsiders related! this first part is some personal background as well as the casting for the outsiders.

i know some of this is already common knowledge about their audition process but i thought rob had some interesting insights/ways of describing it so thought i would share. 😁 also i am recording every word he says about matt dillon because that's my man

ch 1-8: early life and acting idrc

at 15 rob gets a role in a tv sitcom, "a new kind of family” - this is when he first starts being seen as a teen idol, he's only 15 and getting fan mail from men in jail asking to see him shirtless :( and girls chase him around and basically jump him, they steal his shoelaces (?) he writes a lot about how he hates this ear piercing scream of teenage girls

he moves to santa monica and becomes friends with the LA actors crowd, mostly through his high school - he’s friends with the sheens and penns, robert downey jr, emilio estevez

charlie sheen is a freak and sometimes wears a bulletproof vest to school and is a huge conspiracy theorist but we knew he was a weirdo

but the tv show flops and he has trouble landing acting gigs for a while, he feels like a has been at 17, thinks of doing something else with his life, is ready to go into usc

in december 1982, he’s told he can audition for the outsiders - it’s basically his last chance

ch 9: the audition process part 1

LA auditions: tom cruise, emilio estevez, tommy howell

every male actor in hollywood between ages of 15 and 30 were being asked to audition

coppola didnt even know the outsiders existed until one middle school liked the book so much that they petitioned it to be made into a movie and he was like okay

rob says s.e. wrote the outsiders set in the 50s? maybe a writing mistake but i think that’s so funny if he actually thought it was in the 50s this whole time

rob sees emilio at the soundstage for the audition among 25 other actors, the audition is nothing like he's seen before, emilio is wearing a ‘ridiculous looking pompadour’ and rob asks him wtf is going on, emilio is like “hey what can i say it’s francis” - his dad genuinely almost died of a heart attack working for coppola on apocalypse now

side note the filming process of apocalypse now is absolutely INSANE - sickness everywhere, a tapeworm coming out of martin’s driver’s mouth at one point, playboy bunnies were just written into the film etc

everyone is leaving the auditions miserable except for this one guy who comes out all happy, telling rob and emilio that francis sent all the actors away except for him - rob describes him as friendly and funny but having a robotic, bloodless, focused intensity (tom cruise btw)

francis keeps switching everyone’s parts and having them read each others parts in front of the other actors

tom reads for sodapop randy darry and dally!

rob reads for sodapop and randy

emilio reads for sodapop and darry

the auditions have this insane setup of a table with a small light and 4 chairs in the middle of a dark room, everyone who’s not in the scene is circling around watching- he describes it like a boxing match

he says tom looks like he wants to bash his brains in and steal his role from him

1st lineup: dennis quaid as darryl, scot bayo as sodapop, tommy howell as ponyboy

tommy is so lowkey he doesn’t seem like he’s trying, but also seems very real and authentic, he looks like a baby

tommy is stonefaced and cool the entire time he’s watching others, they can’t believe he’s only 15

mickey rourke comes in and rob says he looks dirty and homeless lol francis worships him

2nd lineup: rob and tommy play their respective roles with john laughlin as darry

robs entire career lowkey rests on the soda crying monologue, he’s only able to cry because he sees tommy’s eyes water for him (aw)

francis gets mad at some of the actors for pronouncing soc as sock LOLLLL

the role of sodapop is most coveted after ponyboy, it’s supposed to be huge, romantic, with the big breakdown scene at the end - he will bring this back later i assume with how he was upset about it being cut

NYC auditions: matt dillon, ralph macchio

they fly to new york for the next round of auditions

on the flight together rob tommy emilio and tom are ‘working a cute stewardess for alcohol’ lol and become friends - this is like the LA squad

the new york actors make up the other group which is kinda fighting for roles against this LA group, they’re tough, intense, serious

the actors stay at the plaza hotel and they’re told they need to share rooms

as soon as tom hears this he calls his agent and rob literally does an impression of him “uh paul? they’re making us share 😠” he is certain this is not right and wants this fixed asap, he’s already a diva

the boys go out to times square and get super drunk

next morning is what rob calls the east coast vs. west coast acting brawl (screentest time)

rob’s impressions of the other actors below:

matt dillon

matt is already a huge teen idol, he’s pretty intimidated by him

he’s reading the part of dallas - “and by reading i mean reading, he’s holding the entire script with his eyes locked on the text” - idk what he means by this i thought this is what they’re supposed to do.. whatever

after a while he puts it down and is paraphrasing completely, adlibbing, making up dialogue while the other actors try to keep up with him

he can’t tell if francis told him to freestyle it or not - if so, he’s got the part locked in and if he didn’t, then matt dillon has “dangling, clanking, scary big elephant balls”

ralph macchio

he recognizes ralph because they were competing for a part in ‘eight is enough’

describes him as a tiny kid, bro is 21

he says it’s clear he’s the front runner for johnny

ralph says him and matt have only been reading for their respective parts and have been doing so for days (together btw) (it’s clear the dally-johnny dynamic is very important to francis)

this is very interesting to me!!! how everyone else was so in between parts and matt and ralph were just. locked in from the start. and paired.

tom comes in and is asked to do sodapop, he is nailing the breakdown and rob’s like ‘i’m done that’s it’ - he is a force to be reckoned with

then tom stops in the middle of the scene!! and says “this just isn’t working for me i’m sorry”, francis lets him try again but it doesn’t hit so that’s how he loses the role basically

rob does the scene and crushes it

that’s all for chapter 9, no one is casted yet. the only greaser not mentioned at auditions at this point is patrick, i assume he will get to that + diane lane + others in the next part though, and it’ll also cover the dynamic between the cast once they already get the roles

pt 2 coming soon hopefully some more juicy stuff 😋

[brabblesban]

Ch 12: If ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion and Ban's happiness isn't as long lived as they had hoped.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

BONUS: I've been listening to this song for this fic. Enjoy!

Astarion awakened at dawn’s first light, and first expected his hand to fall upon thin air. Instead he grasped Ban’s side and she shifted, unwillingly stirring at his touch.

“It’s too early,” she grumbled, trying to swat his hand off. Instead he pulled her tight against him, and for a few minutes they struggled with each other playfully, ending with the Ascendant pinned beneath his beloved.

“What was the point of all these powers,” he lamented, “If you can just hold me down like this?”

“Let’s see,” she mused, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses from his temple to his jaw. “Walking in the sun, turning into a bat, or mist… summoning ghoulish minions… what’s not to like?”

“Touché.” He took a moment to try to flip her; she merely raised an eyebrow and tightened her hips around his midsection, holding him down more securely.

He growled, without heat, and gave up. Laughing at his predicament, Ban pinned him down a little longer to pepper more kisses along his throat, and then climbed off.

“I need to go to the Elfsong to get my things,” she said, rising from the bed and tugging a pair of trousers on.

Astarion watched from the bed, utterly unperturbed. “Of course, love. Shall I meet you for lunch somewhere?”

He’d been dining with her of late to allow her to enjoy the taste of human food.

“Sure.” She pulled her shirt over her head. “Blushing Mermaid?”

He snorted derisively at her choice of location, but nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

He watched as she left on foot; she hadn’t been taking the carriage recently. He’d wondered about it, had considered asking her why, but even he could feel that there was still much left unsaid when it came to Ban - and with how tentative their relationship felt, he didn't dare push.

Astarion tilted his cup, sipping his morning tea on the balcony as Ban’s figure receded in the distance. There was still a slight worry whenever she left, a niggling feeling he resented himself for harboring. As she disappeared from sight he turned to head inside, ready for today’s tasks.

Ban entered her room in the Elfsong, stopping dead in her tracks the moment she got a look inside. There was something… off about the way everything looked. She looked down at the book she was reading. It was sitting just where she’d left it, but upon closer inspection she noticed that it was opened to the wrong page.

The wind could have blown it to another page, she rationalized to herself, but when she looked up to check, the windows were closed. They had been ever since she’d started renting this room. She frowned, then took another cursory glance.

I didn’t leave my pack open, did I? She approached and opened it, then turned it over, spilling its contents out onto the bed. Ban took inventory; there was a dawning sense of unease as she concluded that seemingly nothing had been taken.

Someone had been in her room, had rummaged through her things, but had taken nothing. She immediately looked for her greatsword, and to her relief it was right where she’d left it, leaning against the wall.

A sigh of relief escaped her. A precious relic in and of itself, she valued that sword all the more for the memories it had borne witness to, for all the times it had saved their lives. Odd, that it hadn’t been taken.

She crossed the room in two strides and picked up the heavy blade. It seemed fine; she checked the grip and crossguard for any untoward substances that could indicate sabotage or poison. Nothing, yet again.

Curious.

There were always threats, of course. Being the hero of Baldur’s Gate brought accolades and honors, but it also ensured that everyone knew who you were, or at least had a passing idea of your deeds. Few however know her face, or that she was now undead, or that she had been living in the Elfsong for some time.

Few, but not none. She felt all the more glad she was leaving.

Ban gathered her possessions, trying to get everything to fit into her pack. It was a struggle, with all the clothes and random trinkets she had been bringing back from her visits to the palace requiring more space than she had been expecting.

“Fucking hells,” she groaned to herself, slinging the bulging pack over one shoulder and her sheathed greatsword over the other. She regretted not asking for the carriage, but there was no point thinking about that now.

Not taking the carriage had been a deliberate choice. She had felt rather trapped by it, by the idea of one of Astarion’s servants sitting there, waiting for her to run whatever errands she had that day. It made her feel like he was still keeping her on a leash - a leash with more slack, granted, but a leash nevertheless.

Still, Ban found herself grateful for the fact that he never argued against it. He had even stopped offering the carriage’s services, and although she could see the burning question in his eyes, Astarion had so far kept his mouth shut.

She knew his eyes always followed her as she walked out of the palace each day, that he stood at the balcony with his cup of tea, watching her as she departed. It gratified her, knowing just how much she occupied his thoughts, but there was also a sense of foreboding, the knowledge of just how easily such affection from the Ascendant could morph into possessiveness.

Ban slowly made her way out of the room after one final visual sweep, taking the stairs down and dreading the trudge to the Blushing Mermaid.

Ban loved him; she knew that without a doubt. She’d been smitten the moment she’d laid eyes on him, and loved him the moment he’d asked her to join him in the clearing. The moment he’d walked out from behind the tree and she had backed him against it, his body an easy, comfortable weight in her arms, she had been his - to manipulate, to seduce. To come to love, eventually.

With loving Astarion came understanding and forgiveness for everything he had inflicted on her. However, even she couldn’t deny the wounds would take time to heal - and that doing so would require her to actually communicate with the Ascendant about her feelings. A daunting prospect, but something she knew had to be done if they were to last.

Ban was distracted on her path by a beggar reaching into her pack and nicking the first thing his hands could reach, a pouch of coin. She turned and tried to give chase, swift despite the overfilled pack and greatsword on her back. The man turned a corner and she followed, intending to grab his wrist and demand her coin back. A silly thing to be doing, considering the wealth Astarion and she now enjoyed, but in the moment indignation won out.

She rounded the corner into a dim, covered alley, belatedly realizing she and the thief weren’t alone.

Immediately she tried to reach for her blade. She was, however, out of practice, and her reflexes had become far too slow.

Hands grabbed her - cold, strong fingers digging into her arms and shoulders. She tried to shove them off, but with a dawning sense of horror she realized that the hands holding her were just as cold as she. Vampires, she thought, but the knowledge wasn't much help at all. Not when there were six of them here, in a dark alley that only led to darker alleys. The only escape would be to try to fight them off and run to the sunlight, but the fact that they were all clothed in heavy, hooded cloaks made it unlikely to be successful.

She had been a little wary of Vel Stedez and his coven, and thus had kept her guard up at nights, staying mostly within the areas near the Elfsong. But the daytime attack took her completely by surprise.

They had obviously been to her room, or had at least hired someone to snoop for them. They had probably been watching her for days. Somewhere in the back of Ban’s agitated mind, she wondered why they’d taken her today, but then it occurred to her - they had seen her come out with her bags. They couldn’t reach her if she moved back into the palace. Realizing that their window of opportunity was closing, they had struck.

She froze as she felt something pressed against her chest, between her breasts. She looked down and saw the beggar aiming a stake at her heart.

“If you don’t want to have an unpleasant time, bride,” one of the vampires muttered, “Come quietly.”

Ban struggled. The stake pressed harder, drawing a tiny bit of blood. Growling, she dug her heels in, preparing for a fight-

She heard one of her captors utter an incantation and the others’ grips on her tightened. Belatedly, she realized which spell was being cast. Eyebite. Shit. The effect was instantaneous - she gasped, thrashing in her captors’ grasp, terror flooding her system.

In her blind panic, she failed to reach out to Astarion’s mind. Her mind focused entirely on her surroundings and the vampires holding her in place and the stake burning into her flesh, mere inches away from ending her. The panic was all-consuming, unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

There had been little cause to consider that she might ever be in any real danger, especially these past few weeks, with her and Astarion reveling in each other’s company and their renewed affection for one another. They had been too swept up in their relationship and hadn’t really considered taking the time to maintain their defensive skills. They had forever, after all.

This, Ban realized, may cost her her unlife.

Do I try to fight them off? Or do I let them take me?

The fighter in her rejected the idea of surrendering, pushing her terror to the side in her fury. She growled and bared her fangs, tensing her whole body.

“He’s not coming for me, you know. We aren’t together anymore.”

Buy it. Please. Fucking buy it!

The same vampire, probably the leader of this little group, laughed.

“Sure, princess. Sure.”

The stake dug in harder, pressing deeper.

Ban’s panic rushed back to the forefront and she froze once more.

One of her captors grabbed her pack and the sword from her back, handing them to one of the other vampires with a smirk.

“You won’t need that where we’re going,” he sneered.

They began marching her, the beggar still making sure the stake was never lifted from her chest.

They approached a carriage, black and otherwise unadorned. She braced herself, thinking this might be her final chance to break free, twisting against the grip they had on her. The panic had yet to subside, but she knew that it would be harder to escape once inside the carriage. She managed to shove off one of the two, but before she could do more, they hit her with the spell again. Sleep, this time.

Ban crumpled, and was unceremoniously shoved inside.

Astarion sat in the carriage as it made its way through the city, rearranging his waistcoat absently. Like Ban, he had been contemplating their relationship in light of last night’s events.

He had known she’d bought into his lies. She had been the easiest - tavern drunks aside - mark he’d ever had, melting into his hands like putty at the simplest of touches, at coquetry so obvious that any fool would have seen through it. She had even offered him her blood nightly, an act so hilariously saccharine and yet so idiotic that he had no words for it. In the mornings he’d replenished her with the amulet they’d found at the grove, all the while thinking just how well his plan had worked.

He had thought her simple. Just another person smitten with his beauty, enthralled by it. It had been nothing new. She was attractive enough, certainly, with the kind of figure he had not often seen or encountered in his long years of servitude. A boon, as it had made sleeping with her easier to tolerate - even slightly enjoy, if he had been, begrudgingly, honest with himself.

What he hadn’t expected was how she would ask him things. Admittedly they had been simple questions at first, due to his own reluctance to open up - how he was, or how his hunt had gone, or if his crossbows needed cleaning, because she was cleaning her own equipment. Really, just throw them in, she’d offer with a smile. But the asking meant seeing. And no one had seen him. Not for two centuries.

Then there was the way she’d acted during skirmishes.

Brave and unheeding of any danger to herself, charging into the fray, greatsword in hand. But it hadn’t been the courage itself that had so moved him; no. It was the way she would watch where he went, and make sure nothing so much as approached him. And when something inevitably had approached? She would stand back to back with him, his daggers and her sword flowing together in a furious dance, their bodies moving so synchronously that in those moments they’d seemed to be one.

She had made him feel safe. A ridiculous notion, he’d initially tried to tell himself. But that cynicism had rapidly dissolved in the face of her actions. She’d become the one he would run to at the first sign of danger. Hers was the approval he’d slowly begun to seek. Slowly, irrevocably, his heart had been bequeathed to her without his knowledge. At least, not until it had been far too late.

She’d never pushed, willing to take what little scraps of affection he’d been willing to dole out. She had told him that she loved him for him, whatever that meant, and he’d been more than happy to just continue being him, not wanting to look into exactly what she saw. Because he’d thought himself weak. Pathetic. A mere monster with nothing to offer but burdens, who had somehow enraptured someone so deliciously naive it had almost been unfair.

He’d always felt like he’d been taking advantage of her, and that the day she figured that out, she would leave. He’d longed to be better for her, to measure up to whatever vision of him she had. To be worthy of her.

When the rite had fallen into his lap, then, that fact - that need - had galvanized him, spurring his decision to ascend. How could he have refused something that not only would ensure his freedom and spite his former master, but also allow him to give her everything she deserved? A lover of equal power and prowess, one who could stand in the sun with her, who could give her life eternal?

Who would refuse that?

Only she could have talked him down. And she had voiced no real dissent.

And so his love had changed to that hideous, misshapen thing - a shadow of its former self, twisted beyond recognition. It had become obsession, a need to own and to possess. To keep her in a gilded cage, safe and treasured, but also isolated and alone.

The more he’d taken, the more she had distanced herself. And then obsession had become resentment, and their love had died.

But now the embers had caught aflame once more, and here was his chance at redemption.

Would that the gods be so kind that he could finally pull it off.

Astarion cut a path through the sweaty, drunken crowd as he made his way inside the Blushing Mermaid. His well-dressed, rather imposing bearing caused people to instinctively move out of the way, and he quickly found a relatively clean table and pulled out a chair, sitting down.

He didn’t even know why Ban liked this place. He placed both hands on his chin, sighed, and waited.

The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes to an hour. He shifted now and then, watching the doors, his patience slowly giving way to the worry bubbling up in his gut. She didn’t arrive.

Astarion closed his eyes, searching for her mind, then paused. She might find it intrusive, however well-intentioned it would be. Trust her, he reminded himself.

He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths, fingers steepled together. It didn’t quite work.

He watched in silence as the daylight shifted with the slow waning of the sun.

Three hours. Astarion had been frozen, still as a statue for the past hour, motionless save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He finally broke, his worry erupting into a crescendo of fear.

He reached for her mind in desperation, and was met with an awful, devastating wall of silence.

His first and only thought was that she’d closed her mind off to him. Abandoned him again.

His hands, clasped together, dig into each other, the nails drawing blood.

No. It can’t be. She agreed to move back!

He stood abruptly, heading for the exit. He’d get in his carriage and then - then what?

Part of him, the Ascendant, wanted to hunt her down; to tear the city apart brick by godsdamned brick until she had nowhere to hide. The much larger and more powerful part of him, however, just wanted to go home. That part knew she wouldn’t leave like that - and if she had, if this was for her happiness - he wouldn’t interfere. He’d let his own heart break for her sake.

Calming himself, Astarion finally entered his carriage. He stared blankly at the seat opposite him - her seat - and silently began to weep.

Ban awoke, feeling foggy and disoriented. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. They’d apparently made their way through the city; it must have been hours, going by the angle of the sunlight outside the carriage. With every jostle and shudder of the carriage Ban fought to shake off the grogginess, using each disturbance to get a better grip on her body and mind.

They eventually arrived at an abandoned warehouse, where rough hands grabbed her again, dragging her out. She tried to pull, but felt the stake aimed at her chest once more. She realized she was being brought to another carriage, this one far larger, more lavish, an obscenely bright purple with silver filigree. Fear filled her at the realization that this abduction had been well planned. She was unceremoniously shoved inside the garish carriage.

As the carriage began to move, Ban assessed her situation. The effects of the spell were slowly wearing off. She was aware enough to realize they were likely to be leaving the city, judging from the change in carriages. She could make a run for it, jump out, and hopefully get away. She was hoping the sun would slow them down some, even with their cloaks.

She waited until the vampires seemed distracted, eyes moving away from her, obviously believing she was too groggy to make a break for it. Unfortunately, the mortal sitting beside her still had the stake aimed at her chest.

There was nothing for it. She couldn’t let them take her out of the city. Ban shifted her focus, hoping to at least shove one vampire off, creating an opening to dive out of the vehicle.

She looked each of them over, selecting the one she thought would be the weakest - a male drow, the one who took her things. Who knows? I might even be able to grab my sword.

She braced herself.

Please, let it work. Please let me go home.

Please let me see him again.

She shoved against the mortal with all her strength, hoping she would be quick enough.

But the vampires were prepared, they’d known the hero of Baldur’s Gate wouldn’t go quietly, and they moved as one, holding her down.

The stake slid home.

Astarion gasped. The dull, all-too-familiar pain of heartache suddenly transformed into an agonizingly sharp, shooting pain through his heart. He placed a hand against his chest, his eyes widening in realization. Ban.

If a vampire’s spouse was in enough pain, the other would feel it as their own.

She was hurt. Badly. Badly enough for her creator to feel it.

There was a wild, wretched joy that hit him first - she hadn’t left him. But a split second later, it was replaced by ice-cold fear.

What had happened to her?

When the carriage came to a stop, Astarion alighted and ran out with inhuman speed. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to search every room of the palace - she most certainly wasn’t there - but he pushed the urge aside. The palace would serve as a base of operations where he could think and plan.

He arrived at the doors, breathless, and a servant approached him.

“My lord, someone left this for you.”

The item on her upturned palm made his heart stop.

A ring. Three garnet stones, with pairs of seed pearls in between. Ban’s favorite ring. She hadn’t been wearing it yesterday when she came over.

So they had been to her room in the Elfsong. Had presumably taken her. The ring was a message.

He knew where to go.

Like a bat out of the hells, Astarion rushed inside the Crimson Palace, his mind whirring with a million ideas, his heart filled with longing, his body trembling in rage.

His soul numbed with fear.

He must save her.

[corvuserpens]

A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - Ch. 11 (Part 2)

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: None Characters: Billy Bones, James Flint, Hal Gates, protagonist OC, supporting OCs Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends), James Flint/OC (mentor) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 11/13 Summary: Any good pirate has to have a tattoo or two. Whilst Constance observes Bjorn getting another for his collection, she is intrigued enough to consider having one of her own.

Author's note: The first of many tattoos, I assure you, lmao.

Chapter xi. Part ii.

A couple of days later, we were back to Nassau. It hadn't changed in all the time we had been away: the fort was still intact, the tents and wobbly wooden barracks still up, the smell of fish oil, tar and spices permeating the bay. The smell of home, raunchy as it might be.

In between loading our newest cargo into the launches, I would look up and take in her sight, eager to get my feet on land and go see some of my new friends. I had to tell Hammer all about my ordeal with a cadaver at the shipwreck and I wanted to go check on Max at the brothel. My pistol needed to be calibrated and I longed to go find myself some more jewelry. I might be a pirate, but that didn't mean I couldn't look good while at it.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long. I was among the first group going ashore to bring our merchandise through inspection, and once that was done, I was free to roam. I accompanied Winslow and Folsom as we brought in our stolen sugar and tobacco, the fine china and the spices. Knowing I was only a few hours away from my respite encouraged me to work hard and fast, and when all transportation was concluded so it was time for Dufresne to negotiate with Eleanor Guthrie's associate, Mr. Scott, I was given leave to go.

My first order of business was renting a room at the tavern and bathe. I sat in the warm water and marinated in the soap for almost an hour. God, it sensation of clear skin and washed hair was wonderful. When I finally got out and left to take care of my affairs, it was well past noon.

I decided to have lunch later on, for I wanted to get everything out of the way in order to have time to waste at the tavern, just drinking and catching up. I took care of my pistol first, then grabbed medicine from the apothecary at Howell's behest, since he would be busy taking care of our wounded to do it himself. On the way to the street vendor selling hand-made jewelry composed of wood, stones, feathers and shells, I found Hammer and promised to regale him with tales of my newest adventures soon. I was on the way back to the jetty to catch a boat to the Walrus when I heard someone call my name.

At the tents, I saw Bjorn sitting inside one, waving at me. He was getting a new tattoo. The artist who leaned over his back as he drilled the ink-soaked needle into his skin had a look of utter focus while working. He barely spared me a glance when I stopped at the entrance.

"Another one, big man?" I wondered with a smirk, arms crossed over my chest. "Don't you think you have enough already?"

"Not as long as there's space left," he replied with a chuckle.

I walked around him to take a peek at the artist's work and hummed, impressed. A giant Oroboros snake slowly took form on his shoulder blade, right next to a drawing of a strange looking hammer with intricate knots on it.

"Looking good," I commented as I returned to his front so I could see his face. "But doesn't it hurt? I mean, it looks very painful from my point of view."

I watched the artist hit the needle stick with the other, which produced repeating clacking noises as he dug the ink into Bjorn's skin. The artist himself had various tattoos on his arms, torso, hands and even feet. The effect was one of mystery and intense intimidation; one look at either him or Bjorn was enough to tell me these men were accustomed to pain, and therefore, it gave them an aura of unpredictability and danger.

Still, the designs decorating their flesh were stunning. I found myself yearning for one or two of my own.

Bjorn said: "Aye, it hurts, but it's not an intolerable amount of pain. We've both had worse, you and I."

"Hmm..."

I studied the drawings that covered his arm. Most of them were nautical motifs - waves, anchors, cannons and hooks - but he had a beautiful and fearsome looking hammerhead shark prowling around his neck and a ship being overtaken by a kraken on his left flank. There was also an Irish cross on his heart, a compass on the back of his right hand with the phrase "chart yer own course" weaved in elegant lettering around it, and a skull on the left hand. I wanted to ask about all of them, but Howell had asked me to deliver that medicine and supplies to the ship with urgency. Another time, perhaps.

"You should think about getting yourself a few," Bjorn suggested. "It's very... cathartic, I believe it's the word. Freeing. Like you're taking full ownership of your body. For a former puritan high born, it should be some experience."

I smiled but shook my head. "I wear trousers and enjoy the company of thieves, madmen and sinners. I can best a man in a fight, have scars, muscles and I've killed. I think that's quite enough to shed away puritan values of femininity. Besides, what would I put on my skin?"

"That's easy," he carefully tilted his head in a very light shrug, without moving his shoulders and risk messing the tattoo. "A swallow, for example. Symbolizes how far you've traveled at sea. Any sailor worth their salt has at least one, usually one for every five thousand nautical miles."

"Well... I might have traversed that far, already, if you count the journey across the Atlantic." I noticed the number of swallows dotted in between his other tattoos and I counted at least eleven.

"They also mean hope, commitment, true love..." He tilted down his chin and smirked as he watched me from beneath his ginger eyebrows. "You and a certain boatswain could each get one to celebrate your eventual union."

Thank heavens the Caribbean heat and the run from my errands had already made my cheeks go red. "What else?" I asked, more to change the subject than out of real curiosity.

He chuckled and stopped the teasing. "An eight-figure knot, marks you as a deckhand. A nautical star, for good luck. Or... a mermaid."

That did pique my interest. I loved hearing stories about them and had seen some beautiful figure heads carved in their shape. I knew merfolk were nothing more than folk tales, but truth be told, every time we were at sea, I couldn't help looking out the bulwark in hopes of spotting a fin or beautiful strands of hair disappearing beneath the Walrus' astern foam.

"It would be fitting for someone named Siren," he added.

There was that, too. Ever since the crew had heard me sing, they would use "Siren" to refer to me almost as often as they used my own name. Which also reminded me: I needed to find Luca and O'Neill. They had promised to take my diving lessons to the water when we arrived in Nassau.

"I will think about it," I said. "For now, I should take these to Howell."

I raised my package of medicine and supplies, carefully wrapped in oiled parchment. "Enjoy the rest of your self-punishment, Bjorn."

He snickered as I abandoned the tent and headed for the jetty.

*** Admittedly, after having witnessed how tattoos were made, the idea of getting one became increasingly hard to resist. One point Bjorn had made was especially compelling: taking full ownership of my body. All of my life pre-piracy, I had been told what I could or couldn't wear, what I was allowed to do, how I should present myself. Rarely I got to voice my opinion on my own looks, as my Mother treated me and my sisters as her life-sized dolls and imposed her taste on us, giving us no space to decorate ourselves. It was a stifling, restrictive half-live, almost not worth living.

Thinking about how she would shit herself from shock if she learned one of her daughters had a tattoo was, therefore, quite the temptation. And that was why, the following day, I returned to the tattoo artist's tent to set up my first session. It would cost me some pieces, but I was careful with my money (that was another advantage being a pirate brought me - earning and keeping my own finances), rarely spent it frivolously. I could afford something as expensive as a tattoo.

When I told Bjorn about it, he smiled so bright it was almost blinding, which meant that when I arrived for my first session, there was a bit of an audience to witness the start of my inking: Folsom, Thierry, Muldoon, Logan, Luca and Joshua just "happened" to be close by and came to offer moral support (and see if I was brave enough to go through with it).

I took a seat on the bench Bjorn had occupied days before and slipped my left arm out of my sleeve. The artist - his name was Lorcan - showed me the design I had requested for one final evaluation: a mermaid perched on an anchor. It would take up most of my upper arm and part of my shoulder, and I had chosen blue ink for the mermaid, black for the anchor and red for her lips. I gave him my approval, relaxed my arm and let him draw guidelines on my skin. I looked up at my crew mates and smirked in defiance. This was happening, so they better be ready for it.

I wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt. The needle was a thorn dipped in gunpowder and laundry blueing mixed with water, which Lorcan punctured into my flesh with unexpected speed and power. The first few prickles got a sharp inhale out of me, before I locked my jaw and focused on trying to keep my arm limp. Soon enough, I got used to the prickling and thought it wasn't so bad, at least compared to a broken nose, for example. An hour into it, I started to feel some discomfort. After two hours of non-stop piercing, my arm felt like it was on fire and it left a terrible feeling of crawling insects under the skin of my hand. I had to stop for the day and return on the next.

This continued for half a week, two hours per session, until it was done. Every time, someone from the Walrus would be there with me, helping me getting distracted somehow. De Groot would quizz me on my navigation skills or read to me; Logan would update me on the latest gossip, sometimes brought sweets to console me; Bjorn told me about his own tattoos. Hammer came over to hear all about the whales and my first hunt. One time, Billy and Gates showed up to check on my progress, and when they saw the sweat rolling down my forehead and "general look of utter misery" (Gates' words), they offered me a chalice of the finest brandy available at the tavern, which I downed in almost a single go, causing them to laugh. Then, they sat with me and chatted, mostly to each other about the various small problems and goings-on with the ship and crew, the typical quartermaster/boatswain discussions. I stayed quiet and listened to them, glad for the distraction of their voices, especially Billy's, though Gates' colorful commentary also got me giggling on numerous occasions, especially when Flint was concerned.

Then, at long last, after the grueling hours of torture, it was done. Lorcan washed the excess blood and ink with a rag dipped in clear water and sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow. He held up a mirror for me to see and I gasped at the sight. The mermaid sat on the anchor, arms resting lazily upon the cross, as she looked outward to the viewer with full red lips twisted into an eternal smirk. He hair fell in graceful blue waves around her voluptuous body, scaly tail and rayed fins drooping along my arm. I was floored by how gorgeous it looked. It was perfect.

"Not bad," Bjorn commented from behind me. "Not bad at all."

"I think it's my best work yet, if I do say so myself," Lorcan said as he washed his hands with the same cloth he had used to clean my arm. "And you, Miss? What do you think? Was it worth all the pain?"

I smoothed a hand down the tattoo - my tattoo - and gave him a radiant smile that could hardly reflect how happy I was with his work. "Well worth it. It's beautiful, I... I scarcely have words to describe it. Thank you."

"Glad to have a satisfied client." He reached out his hand for the final payment, which I delivered gladly, with a little extra for the good job and his infinite patience whenever I required respite.

Bjorn accompanied me outside while inspecting the drawing that was now forever etched into my skin, just before I covered it up with my sleeve.

"You have to show off that beauty to the others. They're all dying with curiosity. Some of them still don't believe you actually did it."

"Oh, really?" No surprise there, but at least I would get to have some fun seeing their faces when I showed them it was true. "Well, then what are waiting for? Let's go find those morons."

We headed to the tavern where, invariably, the majority of the Walrus crew were hanging out, all gathered over several tables at the back. When we entered, our arrival prompted a wave of cheers and applause as we approached them.

Joshua rose to his feet for the chance to be the first to see it. "Is it done, then?"

"What did you get, Siren?" Winslow demanded. "No one would fucking tell us nothing, like it was some big secret!"

"Show it to us!" O'Neill shouted from his seat, one arm around Luca's shoulders. "Unless you did it some place you can't expose in public, of course."

I said: "Relax, it was only my arm." And rolled my sleeve all the way up to the shoulder, heart drumming with excitement while an expecting silence befell the men. When I finished and turned to show them the artwork on my skin, I was delighted to see so many of them going "oooooo" with reverence, coupled with wide eyes and a short race to come take better look. They teased me over my choice of subject, but I wasn't distraught.

"I crossed the Atlantic, I get an anchor, but I wanted to give it a bit of flair, hence..." I shrugged.

"Fitting, given your nickname," Joshua chortled.

"That's what I said." Bjorn stretched out his broad hands to them. "And don't think I forgot about our wage. I told you it was true, so pay up!"

A small number of men groaned and started digging into their pockets to spill their contents over the tables. Bjorn took what he could get and stored his prize in a pouch hanging by his hip.

"No complaining, this is your fault! Next time, just go confirm before you place a bet. Thank you, Pablo, thank you Dobbs. Abel, I keep telling you to quit gambling, you have neither the luck nor the skill for it!"

I chuckled and turned toward the bar to grab myself a drink. There, I found Billy, sitting and waiting for his dinner. As my heart, already racing from all the fun we were having, kicked up even harder, I slithered to his side and pushed my blank arm against his to get his attention.

"Evening, Mr. Bosun."

He turned to look at me and smirked. "Evening, Siren. Done your penance, then?"

"All done." I twisted around to show him the complete drawing. Since he had already seen it mostly finished, his reaction was naturally a bit more subdued than the others. Still, he raised his eyebrows and nodded, pleased with what he saw.

"Very nice. And you're happy with it, aye?"

"Couldn't be much happier than this." I pulled my sleeve back down and waved the tender for a glass of rum. "When I was getting it done, all I could think about was the pain, but now... I feel... as if I'm completely free. Before I left England, everything I did was scrutinized and watched for the smallest sign of impropriety. I wasn't allowed to do anything for my own pleasure, or groom myself as I pleased. I hated the constraints I was forced to. My life was one of luxurious comfort and idle sloth, as is expected from a lady, but I felt like a prisoner in my own body."

"Which is why I told you, you don't need to be ashamed for leaving it all behind." Billy also waved to the tender. He presented us both a shot glass each and filled them with rum.

Billy took his and held it to me for a toast. "To freedom, no matter what kind of prison we came from. Navy ship or gilded cage, we escaped and that's all that matters."

I smirked and knocked my glass into his. "To freedom. And may we never go back to our chains."

We downed our shots, smacked the glasses on the counter and turned them over. Just then, Billy's meal of steak and fried potatoes arrived, and he slid it over so it sat between us, that I might snag a few for myself.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said.

"Shoot."

"You speak as if your life was awful despite the comforts. But... wouldn't your parents be worried that you disappeared?"

I snorted and ordered a tankard of ale. "Maybe they're worried they lost my dowry. Aside from that, I very much doubt it."

He stared at me incredulously, furrowed brows casting a deep shadow over his eyes. "That can't be true. Surely they miss you a little."

"Had I and my sisters been born boys, that might be easier to believe. In this world, girls are entirely disposable unless they are pushing more boys into the world. And even then, if we die giving birth, there's always some other poor damsel ready to take her place as chief brood mare."

"That's not how I was raised," he murmured.

I had to admit, I enjoyed the way his voice pitched low, grave and dark with revolt. "You were not born into high class. It's different in that world. My parents are not like yours. I wish they were. Perhaps then, I would have spared them some pity, thinking how my escape might have anguished them. But, they never showed even a little bit of true care or concern for my well-being, so I'm sure they don't miss me much. And neither do I. In fact... I would be glad to forget they even existed."

My ale arrived and I took a relaxed drink from it whilst snatching a potato from his plate. He cut up the steak with a heavy expression, deep in thought, roiling with contained anger. As I chewed, I laid my hand on his forearm and rubbed my thumb over it.

"Careful, Billy. You will get wrinkles, frowning like that."

"I'm having a hard time believing a parent could be so callous and indifferent to their child," he grumbled. "It's not natural. I know if it were my daughter, I would protect her and love her with all my being. I would never let any harm come to her, nor would I clip her wings the way yours did."

My heart softened, hearing that. I felt this overwhelming need to lean in and kiss his cheek again, but unlike on the ship, our crew mates were too close by for me to do it without them seeing. In fact, when I glanced back to them, I noticed the way their eyes were glued to my hand on Billy's arm. I gave it a gentle squeeze and pulled back to rest my elbows on the counter.

“You are a very sweet and very naive man,” I purred. “But that happens to be one of the many reasons why I like you so much.”

His cheeks gained a rosy color and he chuckled while staring at his food. “Sweet and naive, eh? You do remember I eviscerated a man right in front of you once, don't you?”

The image popped into my head with such clarity, I could still smell the blood and gunpowder. At the time, I had been horrified at the sight of seeing that ogre's guts spill out. Now, all I could think about was how unstoppable and ravenous Billy had looked while doing it. He had been a force of nature, the way he had jumped forth to save me, an animal's snarl on his features, teeth bared in a growl. He was out of control. Monstrous, even. And yet...

I bit my lip and shifted in my seat, thighs rubbing together to dispel the blossoming sensation between them. “I haven't forgotten, no.”

Something in my voice must have revealed a little bit of what I thought about it, because Billy glanced at me with this look full of curiosity. “And you enjoyed it, didn't you?”

I took a long swig of my ale, both to buy myself time while thinking of a suitable reply and to drag out his need to know. I slowly set the tankard down, licked my lips dry, then looked at him through half-shut lids, smirking wide. “Almost as much as you enjoyed seeing me jump onto the back of that same sailor and stab him repeatedly, I suppose.”

God, I could only imagine what any eavesdropping fool might have thought of this conversation. We were flirting over how agreeable we looked while killing someone. It was, for lack of better terminology, fucked up. Did I feel disturbed by it? A little. Was I going to stop? Hell, no. And Billy didn't seem inclined to do so, either.

“Good point,” he agreed. “I guess there's something... alluring about being saved from mortal danger by someone, isn't there?”

“I would say so,” I drawled. “You saved me, I saved you, then you saved me again... I think that's just how we are. Nothing to do about it except make the most out of it.”

“Make the most out of it?” He arched an eyebrow, cut a piece of steak and chewed it thoroughly, then swallowed and let out a long breath through his nose. “I do wonder what you mean by that.”

I mirrored his expression and sat up straight while pulling my hair over my recently tattooed right shoulder so it cascaded down to my hips. His eyes followed its flow and stopped somewhere entirely inappropriate for a man to be looking at in a woman, much less in public.

Impulsively, shamelessly, I turned ever so slightly in his direction and pulled one knee up to rest my foot on the spoke of the stool I sat at, then let the other leg fall slightly ajar to the side.

His breath hitched and that rosy tint turned into a deeper shade of red before he forced himself to look into my eyes. I tilted down my chin, all too pleased with the reaction I managed to pull out of him with a few choice movements, and stared him down through my lashes.

“Isn't it obvious, Mr. Bosun?”

From the tables behind us, I heard a long whistle followed by a chorus of howls. Meanwhile, poor Billy was on the verge of combusting and I took that as my cue to stop messing with him, so I grabbed my tankard, placed a coin on the counter and stood up.

“Anyway, I better go before that--” I nodded to our crew mates. “Gets any worse. Talk to you later.” I gave him a wink and sauntered toward the exit. On the way, I laid my hand on his shoulder and let my fingers drag along it until they dropped off. I finished my ale and left it on the nearest table before going out the door, my guts hot as the fires of hell and my heart the size of the whole world.

[chi-the-idiot]

SPOILERS FOR KEITH HOWELL'S ROUTE (from Ch 3 onwards, possibly) AND A BIT OF A THEORY ON FUTURE CHAPTERS AHEAD

This is more of a comment based on a theory of mine, but you know that story Keith tells Emma about getting lost in Rhodolite as a boy and a young girl finding him and leading him back to where he needed to be?

Yeah I feel like that's gonna be revealed at some point to be Emma herself, which will ABSOLUTELY squeeze my heartstrings out

And if that is the case, its giving "in a crowd of thousands" from Anastasia the musical

And so, I might make an animatic based on that because in the Venn diagram of hyperfixations, Keith x Emma and Anastasia the musical are one same circle

[ozimagines]

Ok so y’all have officially broken my brain. Now the Y/N character is a part of us all. So in this fic, we’re the new Oz GED teacher that McManus hired. We’re obviously very hot (like irl 😘) and our particular victim in this fanfic will be Chico, because god knows we all love that beautiful idiot.

Hot for Teacher ch.1

“Well, I think that about wraps up all of the standard interview questions.” McManus said, closing his files before him. You sit still and watch, nervous about this job interview. You’d wanted to work in Em City since its conception. It was something you really believed in; rehabilitation. A chance to be better than yourself.

“I guess I have one last question and we’ll give you all call about our verdict. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why Em City specifically?” He leans back in his chair, awaiting your response. You think for a second.

“Because they’re people. And I want to treat them like people. If people can’t change or be better, then what are any of us doing, right? You have to believe people can change. You have to or there’s nothing left.” You think it sounds a little lame and after school special-y but McManus is moved. He believed that too once, with his whole heart and more.

“Welcome to Emerald City, Y/N.”

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You arrange your classroom perfectly. The desks are in a circular formation to allow open ended discussion. Your blackboard is cleaned and Welcome to Class is written on it in your best cursive. You even have a goddam. Fish-tank in the corner. Its perfect. You know it is.

You sit there for your first day of class. You wait. And wait. And wait. No one shows.

It’s disheartening to say the least. You’d had so many plans and so many fun exercises for them. You can’t lie, you were hurt. You knew these prisoners had no obligation towards you, but it still felt like a punch in the gut.

You gather up your belongings sadly, and make your way out of the class. It wasn’t until you smelled something that you stopped. It was exactly what you needed today.

🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚🌝🌚

“Fold.” Chico grimaced. Carlo tried his best to hide the smile on his face, but he was wiping the floor with Guerra in their game of Hold ‘Em, and he let it show for a second. Chico noticed.

“Fuck you, mama’s boy.” He growled but Carlo took no offense, he just laughed. Chico was always a sore loser. They were in one of the side rooms. Study pods McManus called them, but Chico, Carlo, Carlos, and Jorge were using it to get high. Carlos’ friend scored some flower in unit B, and was able to move ten grams of that sweet skunky goodness for them today. It wasn’t heroin by any means, but that mellow high just cooled Chico’s fiery brain.

Carlos passed him the roach. Chico took a strong hit, closing his eyes afterwards and releasing the smoke from his lips like an ooze.

Suddenly the door to the pod creaked open, and the boys let out a series of curses. They could dispose of the weed no problem, but they’d been hotboxing the pod for the past hour. Carlo looked guilty immediately while trying not to. Jorge and Chico both blew their smoke away and looked nonchalant. Carlos got into a fighting stance.

When you entered, they were simultaneously relieved it wasn’t Metzger or Howell or Lopresti, but you were still a hack in their eyes.

“Evening, officer.” Chico chided, having established himself as top dog in the group.

“Hi, gentlemen.” You greet them sheepishly and take a few steps in. They stiffen. You notice. “Couldn’t help but notice you didn’t come to class today. I think you might really-“

“Save it, toots. We’re not coming.” Carlos answered sharply, taking a step towards you. You give a sheepish smile and nod.

“Okay. That’s fair. Look,” you check over your shoulder that Murphy or McManus are nowhere around. “I can smell everything from outside and I know you’re holding.”

Carlos took another menacing step forward and Chico narrowed his eyes. You had to tread carefully.

“Prove-“ Jorge begins to say before you cut him off.

“I’m not gonna report you. I’ve had a bad day and I’d like a hit or two.” You answer honestly and the guys exchange looks of wild confusion. “In return, I have some perfume/cologne that could help you guys not get caught.”

All three men looked at Chico for a verdict. This was fuckin wild. A hack wanting to share drugs? And not a crooked one from what they could glean. Chico studied you for a second, really taking you in. He’d been attracted to you immediately, but he had a rule against bedding the hacks. This, however was interesting. He looked deeply at you; not sensing a single dishonesty in your eyes.

“Es tu decisión, hermano.” Carlos remarked at him.

(Your call, brother.)

Chico was absolutely tantalized. He risked everything, unsheathing the rest of the spliff they just made, lit the end in his mouth for you, and handed it over, eyes wild and daring you to take it. You do, easily. You just wanted to forget today. You take a hit and feel the calm rush over you almost immediately. You sigh calmly.

“May I sit down?” You ask, politely. The guys seem confused but Jorge slides a chair over to you at Chico’s look of approval. You take another hit, really letting this one marinate in your brain. Chico smiled against his better judgement. Sharing is caring, after all. “How’s your sister’s new job, Carlo?”

Carlo was surprised you’d even known about that but he responded that she was doing well and still visited him once a month when she could. You nod and tell him that’s good.

“I’d just like to ask -damn, that’s some good shit- I’d like to ask something and then I’ll drop the subject entirely.” You pass the spliff to Chico, and he accepts it graciously. “Is there anything, anything at all that would make you guys come to class? I don’t mind making changes to make it more enjoyable.”

“You could teach it naked.” Carlos suggested meanly, hoping to frighten you. It didn’t work. You just smiled a little and giggled, mind working all the way.

“Would you come to class if I did?” You ask honestly, still smiling that goofy smile of yours. Chico barked a laugh. You had balls, he’d give you that.

“Would you?” Jorge asked incredulously. You shake your head.

“I’d never get it approved.” You laugh, trying to imagine the look on McManus’ face when you pitched that idea. “But I refuse to believe there isn’t a compromise to be made here. Just let me think on it, okay? Just let me think.”

“You do that, chula/o/x.” Chico remarked, smirking unkindly at you. You stare at him, taking him all in. He was handsome in that 90s cholo way. Suave. Kinda goofy too; you’d seen him causing trouble around Em City. You’d read his file. The file didn’t mention how nice his eyes were though. How deep and intense and full of fire and sound and music. You smile, kindly, and his smirk disappears.

“What’s your favorite color, brown eyes?”

“Red.” He answered, quickly, not being able to wait for the reveal of what you had planned. You didn’t reveal it though. You just nodded, and smiled through the fog of smoke. It was Chico’s turn to take you in. He seemed to be looking straight through you. You didn’t make sense. You were kind and nonjudgmental but still a hack. You smoked weed, joked about going to class naked, and showed four criminals nothing but respect since you’d entered. It wasn’t the reception he’d often gotten.

You stand after a second and teeter. Chico holds a hand outward to steady you, but fuck if he knows why.

“If I can make a compromise will the four of you try to come to class?”

“Not a-“ Carlos started.

“Sure.” Chico answered, grinning a little Mona Lisa smile. Fuck him, he was intrigued. Deeply. You smile directly at him for a little too long. It made him uncomfortable how long you stared at him.

“Till tomorrow, gentlemen.” You go to leave and tap Carlo on his shoulder.

“Try to get pictures of the baby, I’d love to see them.”

Carlo nodded in affirmation, touched that you had made the effort to know him at all. You exit the pod, and the guys are silent for a second, just sitting and thinking. After a moment, Carlos spoke up.

“Yo… what the fuck was that?!”

Chico dissolved into hearty high laughter.

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The next day, the Latinos were gathered at a table, playing cards and discussing business. The guys were filling in Hernandez and Morales (they both exist here, shut up, the fact they didn’t have ONE scene together is CRIMINAL) about the events of the day prior.

“Wild shit.” Chico remarked after the story, still trying to figure out why you’d asked his favorite color.

“And he/she/they didn’t confiscate anything?”

“No.”

“Didn’t report anything?”

“We’ve yet to receive any punishment.”

“Didn’t-“

“No, no, it was all normal and weird at the same time.”

Some whistling was heard behind them, some cheers and whoops as well. The Latinos turned their heads to look, and what Chico saw almost stopped his heart.

You were standing there, dressed in a bright red satin dress/suit (idk what you feel more comfy in), tailored to your specific measurements. Sparkly pumps/dress shoes were seen under the hem. Your face was immaculate, your body even more so. You saunter up to them, a sly smile on your face.

“Well, gentlemen. How did I do?”

They were silent for a moment, checking the others’ faces to see if they were, in fact, seeing what the others were seeing.

“Just fine.” Chico breathed. “Just fine.”

You smile, staring at him like you two are the only people in the world. The guys pick up on that.

“Will you remember our deal-“

“We’ll be there.” Chico agreed, much to Carlos’ chagrin.

You turn away and walk to class, getting catcalled all the way. Chico stares but doesn’t say a word. He’s not thrilled about the idea of going to class, but seeing you shake your little ass while bending over your desk… this he’s got to see.

[heroesofchroma]

Ch. 6 - Rude Awakening

(PREV / ALL \ NEXT)

A groan escaped Travis as he slowly came to. The ceiling was familiar. Those strange synthetic plaster tiles. As he moved, he felt a stinging pain rip across his abdomen where it met his chest. But it wasn’t his chest itself anymore, at least. Looking around, he realized something… He wasn’t in the same infirmary as before. No view of the city, no second spot for another patient… And there was a glass observation wall on one side.

Suddenly, panic ripped through his body moreso than the pain as he bolted up, his hand instinctively reaching to the rest of his body, looking for any number wires. His hands bolted to his neck, searching for a collar. His heart began to pound, echoing through his antennae.

“Mr. Backladder, please calm down!” came a familiar voice.

“It’s okay big guy, we’re here!” chimed another.

But Travis couldn’t tell who they were in time. He’d already ripped the cathodes from his abdomen and crumpled out of the bed, knocking it towards the wall as he all but charged the glass in sheer panic.

He could barely hold himself back when he saw Dr. Meran get tackled to the side by Corporal Mitchel. As his horn collided with the glass, a crack formed and a small whistling began.

“Shit!” the corporal cursed, scrambling to her feet and plugging the hole with her hand for the moment. She sighed, trying to remain calm herself. “Hey, big guy. Remember me?”

Travis panted hard, itching at his neck and face. “Where am I? WHERE AM I?!”

“It’s okay! It’s okay… You’re at Chroma HQ. You’re not locked in or anything. The door’s right behind you,” Mitchel replied, trying to keep a calm tone. Pulling a radio from her coat with her free hand, she called in, “We need a new pane in Chamber 6, patient had an episode.”

“DON’T! Don’t you dare!” Travis huffed, backing away.

“It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, big guy, we get it,” Mitchel tried.

“Mr. Backladder, please listen a moment,” Dr. Meran huffed as she finally caught her breath, bringing herself to her feet. “You had a severe sudden adverse withdrawal reaction. You are currently in… Well, what was supposed to be an air-tight chamber. It is currently being fed both air, as well as a dose of the counteragent to the drug we have been developing. It isn’t perfected, but when we were given the Okay by miss Howell to try it on you, we found it helped you stabalize.”

As the doctor talked, something in the back of Travis’s mind came down from his panic. He looked around again at his surroundings. It was a fairly sterile-looking room, no windows, square, plastic furniture aside from the bedspread and a few magazines. On one side of the glass wall was a box, seemingly designed to transport small objects and probably meals. The panels of glass looked strong, with about four in total making up the whole wall. At the front of the room was a bulwark door, a small green light barely visible just above the robust-looking handle.

Looking back at the doctor, he asked, “A-And I can le-leave?” he asked in a shaking voice.

“You are not locked inside, no. But you will need to wait for a few-second-long decontamination cycle,” the doctor explained. “Just step through that first door, and hit the green button next to either one. It will begin a decontamination cycle. It will be a spray down that dries quickly.” Dr. Meran took her time as she spoke, making sure she was calm and comprehensive. “I would personally recommend you stay inside for a little longer, but I will not stop you from leaving if you-”

Without waiting a second longer, Travis threw open the bulwark and hit the button, taking long, deep breaths. He stared at the floor, rubbing and scratching nervously at his neck. He could feel a cold ring against the twitching flesh, but no metal against his fingers, even as the cold antibiotic spray coated his shell and stung the fresh spot-wounds in his abs, the cold in his neck was worse.

As soon as the small beep chimed out to signal he was ready, feeling a touch sticky from the spray still, Travis flung the door open and huffed as he collapsed against the opposite wall, curling his legs up against himself.

The corporal knelt beside him. “Hey big buy, you’re okay. You’re safe, you’re not trapped again,” she assured, smiling at him despite him still not even looking at her.

There was a deep, vicious silence that permeated the air, waiting for something, anything to dare and try to break it. The only sound any of them could hear were Travis’s shaking breaths, only working to enforce that terrible ambiance.

As soon as that breath began dying down, however, Dr. Meran chimed in. “While you were unconscious, we took the time to take a blood sample for a tox-screening. The result aren’t quite ready yet, but by observing you, we noticed symptoms that have been in-line with both our soldiers who were exposed and have minor symptoms, but also prisoners from WASP who were exposed about as, if not longer than, you. You, however, seem to be suffering an extreme case of the withdrawals. We aren’t sure if you were exposed somehow to a more concentrated version of the experimental drug, or if it is your physiology simply absorbing it less efficiently, or what the true case is.

“All we are totally certain about is what is wrong. And how we can help fix it.” Dr. Meran gently coaxed Corporal Mitchel aside, and took her place kneeling beside Travis. “Miss Howell and others from our engineering team have taken the emergency project to develop a mask for you to wear comfortably to administer the antidrug until it is no longer necessary. If the blood tests come back saying you need a more concentrated version of the antidrug, are you willing to take it?”

Travis remained silent. But he slowly nodded. At least he was listening.

“Do you need anything? Want anything?” Mitchel asked, gently brushing her fingers against the chitin of his shoulder.

The titan beetle was still silent for a moment before he took a long, deep, held breath. “H-Hungry…” he muttered out.

“Of course,” Mitchel assured, holding out a hand to help him up, knowing he’d more than likely topple her but figuring the thought was worth more. “You wanna wait right here, down in the lobby, or would you rather go see how Gwen and the team are comin’ along?”

Travis looked up finally, and managed to relax a little at Mitchel’s offer. He really didn’t want to be alone right now, and more importantly, he didn’t feel comfortable being in the public eye, either. “Gwen… Please…” he muttered, reaching up and taking Mitchel’s hand.

Dr. Meran nodded. “I’ll go make sure the kitchen is made aware he’s awake,” she says simply before rushing out.

The corporal managed to help heave the massive lunk of flesh and chitin to his feet, and once he was steady, she gave his hand a gentle, reaffirming squeeze. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” she assured again, not certain he even felt her attempts at comfort. Nonetheless, she led him out into the hall, to the elevator, and up into Engineering.

Travis took long, deep breaths the whole walk down the hall, slowly getting better footing until he’s able to actually walk himself into the engineering lab that Gwen and Ishaan are working in together again.

As they entered, Corporal Mitchell announced their presence. “Ms. Howell? Do you have a minute?”

Gwen tilts her head as she looks up from her monitor. Almost as soon as her eyes lock on Travis, she drops everything she’s doing. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” she asked in a hurried voice.

“Sorry…” travis muttered, finding a chair that wasn’t close to any fragile-looking devices. “I… I just didn’t wanna be alone…” he admitted as Gwen came up and rested a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice she had to reach up.

Gwen sighed in relief. “That’s okay, big guy.” Even in the expressionless face WASP replaced his with, Gwen could see the panic in Travis’s eyes. Not really knowing what better to do, she rushed over to a silicone mask base on the desk she was working at. “Hey, why don’t you try this on? See if it fits right?” she offers, trying to get his mind of whatever was racing through it.

Travis looked at her properly for the first time since he saw her the morning before. The face he sees is split in a smile begging him to tell it that he’s okay somehow, and eyes beaming with something akin to pride. He sighs out one last time before he reaches up and takes the mask. “How long was I out…?” he mumbles before pressing the mask to his mouth, just between the small mandibles on either cheek seam to test the fit they’re apparently planning.

Gwen’s face fell, but maintained that smile. “You missed dinner… and breakfast… And lunch…” she lists tentatively.

Corporal Mitchell returns, the soft click of a phone button ringing in Travis’s hearing. “Food’s on the way up. Hope you guys don’t mind burgers for a night,” she announces, crossing her arms. “Figured something filling and simple was best.”

Travis handed the mask base back to Gwen. “Thank you, Corporal… Sounds great,” he manages in a bit of a louder volume. Looking to Gwen, he tried offering the most of a smile as his face could manage. “The jawline could be a bit tighter.”

Gwen nodded, taking the mask and offering to press it back to his face. “Do you mind? We can mold it to fit more comfortably.”

From the workbench he was at, Ishaan watched with a small smile on his face. He met Travis’s eyes for a moment as the beetle glanced at him. The two felt the want to introduce themselves, but neither could bring themselves to, knowing now was a bad time. So Ishaan simply got back to his work, keeping himself busy and quiet for now. Travis couldn’t see what exactly the portly man was doing.

Instead, Travis just nodded to Gwen silently.

Gwen gently pushed her hands forward, pressing the mask base to Travis’s face, making sure to press the molding into his jet black shell. She used a heat gun on low to make sure it stuck in that shape before pulling it away, the whole process taking about ten or so minutes. “How’re you feeling, big guy?” she asked, tentative but sure at the same time.

Travis shook his head. “It’s… Hard to think about right now. I can’t tell if… If my heart racing is some- some actual health thing. Or if it’s just… Memories.”

Gwen set the mask aside and nodded. She looked to the Corporal and tilted her head. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Well…” the corporal started, one hand finding her hip and the other rubbing her neck. “He didn’t like the cell, which… I guess we shoulda seen coming. I wasn’t one of the Lucky Few who got to go inside, so I never got treatment or anything with the anti.” She picks up her comms device for a second before shaking her head. “The doc would know more, but my guess would be best bet is finishing that glorified inhaler up.”

Gwen nodded again, looking to Travis with crossed arms. “We’ll do our best…”

“It should be ready before tonight,” Ishaan finally piped up, taking a break from his assembling… Whatever it was he was doing. Stepping away from the table he was at, he dusted his hands and approached, offering one to shake for Travis. “It is good to meet you, Travis, please. Call me Ishaan.”

Travis nodded. “Take it Gwen told you about me, then?” he asked, taking the hand with a gentle squeeze, fingers lingering a second too long. “Sorry it couldn’t be… Better circumstances.” He swallowed as he found himself unable to meet the kindly engineer’s gaze, finding some distant corner of the room as he dragged three fingers over his face.

Ishaan, meanwhile, just offered a hearty laugh. “Worry not, my friend. We’ve plenty of time to make better greetings. I just hope you get yourself a better mind soon,” he says, the enthusiasm infectious as Travis’s shoulders un-slump just a bit. Ishaan takes the mask base and returns to the workbench he was at before, picking up a welding mask on his way off of Gwen’s bench.

Gwen sighed deep. “He’s not wrong, big guy. We all hope you start feeling better soon…” she mutters with a soft smile.

After a moment longer, a knock echoed on the door before it opened. “Dinner call,” came a voice that seemed to draw Corporal Mitchel to attention, the soldier immediately turning to face and offering a salute. The woman the voice was attached to only chuckled. “At ease, ma’am. I’m not here for you,” she said, her stark white undercut bouncing as she marched in, carting in a lightly steaming cart covered in what looked like insulated covers. Her brown skin and dark golden eyes complimented well with the dirt-brown and off-white tones of the Supersuit under a bright yellow crop-jacket, heavy boots, no doubt steel-toed and reaching up to her knees with gloves to match hanging off her belt, clicked the tread floor with each step.

“Sentinella…” Travis breathed out as he looked up at the woman’s tall form, taken aback a bit by her arrival as his back straightened a bit.

“Heard the newest prospect had a bit of a tumble, but you look like you tanked it pretty well,” the woman praises with an undercurrent of sympathy, stopping the cart before Mitchel and rounding it to offer Travis yet another handshake. “Name’s Estrel Volson, but if you’d rather stick with the work name, I understand.”

Travis took the hand eagerly, finding her grip incredibly firm. “It’s a-an honor to meet you, ma’am…” he said, a little starstruck that the poster child of Chroma has deigned to personally meet him. As a ‘prospect’ no less, no doubt referencing his application. “I take it you already know me?”

“The important bits, at least,” Sentinella explained, finding a seat and setting it beside his, turned enough to face each other a bit. “Travis, right? You know, you were approved for the preliminary tests…”

Travis heard the doubt in her voice. “But?”

“But this visit seems to have the high-seats on high alert about yah,” she finishes, leaning back in her chair and crossing a leg over her knee. “I try to at least say hi to every new super we bring on board, usually being the last to have any say… So what’s your feeling?”

Travis hesitates, leaning forward again and looking at his hands, wringing the thick, clawed fingers together for a moment. As he thought more about it, he had more questions for himself, each one vaguer than the last…

“If it’s important, miss Volson…” Mitchel piped up nervously, knowing she has to report what she’s about to say, but clearly not sure if she wants to. “Travis… Did have an outburst when he woke up originally…”

Travis tensed his hands together, noting Sentinella didn’t respond verbally, his eyes remaining transfixed on his hands. If he had a flexible brow, it’d be furrowed hard, but to others his expression was as blank as ever… Gwen, however, thought she saw the tiniest sliver of movement in his thick shelled face.

After a long silence, Travis looked Sentinella in the eyes. “I’m ready to fight.”

“Whoa-” Gwen said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He- WILL. Be ready, WILL, you mean,” she exclaimed, looking between Sentinella and Travis, neither one seeming to offer any read on their inner thoughts.

“I am and will be ready. To fight for the safety of others. To use this… Curse-” He gestured vaguely at the mutated body, shell and muscle and mass. “-as a shield to keep the world safe. Safe from the bastards who did this to me.” There was an extra edge of vitriol in his voice at the end. But he continued with one last assurance. “And anyone else who’d threaten them.”

Sentinella nodded slowly. She took out a small notebook from her jacket along with a pen, and scratched a small note before handing it to him. “I’ll put in a good word. Get better soon, Travis.” With all that, she just waited for the note to leave her hand before she stood and offered a short salute of her own to Mitchel and left the workshop.

Mitchel gave a small sigh of relief as her indirect superior left. After a moment of silence, she offered the room a soft smile. “Guess dinner’s on,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster before beginning to hand out the basic meals, Ishaan and Gwen seeming to take to eating as they worked.

(PREV / ALL \ NEXT)

[ofangelsanddevils]

Illusion ch 4 Waiting for the school bell

Liana’s last class had started and she wanted to skip to the end, mostly because she wanted to see Scott again, but also because it was Ms. Howells’s art class. Ms. Howell hated Liana. She was the sole teacher in the whole school who didn’t get along with her dad, Mr. Everett, so she had it in for Liana.

The room was drenched in the smells of paint and contained a grocery list of art supplies scattered haphazardly on shelves and in cubby holes along the walls. Normally, Liana relished the unique art room perfume, but sometimes it made her panicky.

Liana had complained to her dad about Ms. Howell once before, but it had only unleashed Howell’s wrath upon her. Liana had learned to shut her mouth and serve her time. Upon taking her seat, Liana glanced at the walls that boasted prints by Monet, Degas and Van Gogh along with many other ubiquitous prints of famous artists and wished she could step into one of them for an hour in order to avoid Ms. Howell.

Class started and Ms. Howell stood up from behind her desk with all of the ceremony that her short and slightly rotund figure could muster. Ms. Howell had short dark hair which faded to gray at the temples that she wore curled close to her face. She sported white orthopedic shoes and large floral dresses cinched tightly at the waist with snake thin leather belts. Her old fashioned horn-rim glasses perched precariously on her hawk-like nose, and despite her nearsighted watery blue eyes, she was gifted at spotting even the smallest infraction.

Liana was aware that Ms. Howell glared in her direction once she’d taken roll, but to her surprise, Ms. Howell didn’t commence with her usual gas lighting.

She silenced the class and then assigned a drawing project to everyone, then retreated to her desk to work on her gradebook. Even though Liana was taken aback by the sudden change in behavior, she welcomed the break in routine. Class flew by with no vengeful behavior from Ms. Howell.

It was only as class was ending that Ms. Howell called Liana over to her desk. She spoke in a low tone so that only Liana could hear what she was saying, though with the noise of the other students exiting the room, it was unlikely that anyone would overhear Ms. Howell;

“Listen Liana, I know that you and I have had our differences in the past, but I wanted to let you know that it’s important that you report any odd behavior about Scott Langer to me.” Ms. Howell demanded bluntly. Her blurry eyes searched Liana's face for signs of understanding.

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Who's Scott Langer?” Liana tried playing dumb.

“You're friends with Scott, never mind how I know this and I need to be informed as soon as possible should anything go awry.” She stated with a knowing nod.

“Why, what’d he do?” Liana questioned, forgetting that she’d just informed Ms. Howell that she didn’t know Scott. Liana was intrigued, so despite her aversion to speaking up close with Ms. Howell she leaned in and caught the whiff of lavender and cold cream, the scent tickled her nose as the arid mixture forced her to breathe shallowly through her mouth.

Ms. Howell shook her head; “I’m not at liberty to say as the principal has sworn all of the teachers to secrecy about what happened at his last school, however I didn’t want to be completely silent on the subject. For now, you seem to be one of the few that has gotten to know him. I merely wanted to warn you to be on the lookout for any strange behavior. I need to know what’s going on with him. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Ms. Howell's bizarre request raised so many more questions in Liana's already confused brain. How did Ms. Howell know that she was friends with Scott? What terrible thing had he done at his previous school that Ms. Howell felt it necessary to warn her, even when Liana knew that her teacher didn’t exactly care for her? Liana had no clue how to respond. She watched her own reflection in Ms. Howell's glasses and wondered how she was going to get out of this predicament. Liana knew all too well how stubborn and unyielding Ms. Howell could be. However, she didn’t feel right turning informant either.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to spy on Scott?” Liana sputtered, to clarify the awkward situation.

“No! Not at all, I merely want to be informed if anything out of the ordinary happens. That’s all.” Ms. Howell protested, her lips smacking as she spoke with barely masked irritation.

Seeing no way out, Liana lied; “I guess I’ll do my part. If I see anything unusual I’ll report it at once.” She avowed hoping that Scott would never do something stupid or dangerous that would justify Ms. Howell's distrust of him.

“Thank you, Liana. I knew I could count on you.” Ms. Howell thanked her as she shook Liana’s hand with her long, claw-like fingers as her way to seal the deal and end the conversation. Liana had thought to escape the unbearable proximity of Ms. Howell, but she followed up the close of their intimate conversation by asking Liana to run a stack of books back to the library.

Liana shrugged, and accepted the chore, happy for any way out of Ms. Howell's presence. So Liana found herself carrying a huge stack of heavy books through the semi-empty hallways of the school. Her mind weighed the task that Ms. Howell had given her in reference to Scott; “What had he done that made him so dangerous? It must’ve been bad enough that one of her sworn enemies, Ms. Howell had told her to keep an eye on him.

Liana felt panic rising in her throat. Perhaps she’d been duped by Scott. He’d seemed nice enough, and she’d poured her heart out to him. Now it could all be wasted effort, especially if he were as much trouble as her art teacher was insinuating. Liana's mind swirled with questions. The vacant halls brought back the sharp and painful void of her missing sister and pressed in on her so forcefully that she resorted to her music as an escape again. She walked towards the library under the double load of books and remorse.

She was nearly to the library when she saw Scott. He was thronged by girls. The group was walking towards her from the opposite direction, and as they passed her, one of the girls bumped her arm on purpose, sending the books tumbling and sounding hollow thuds of thunderous proportions when they hit the ground.

“Watch what you’re doing Everett!” The girl laughed haughtily.

Liana bent down to recover the scattered tomes, and as she did, she saw Scott glance at her for a moment. His look was one of pity and possibly mockery, but he was pulled away by several pawing arms so quickly that Liana couldn’t be absolutely certain of his reaction. Although she shouldn’t care since he might in reality be some sort of a monster, at least according to Ms. Howell's hints, yet she was still bothered by how he’d just ignored her. Traitorous tears tried to launch a full scale attack, but she repelled them, barely.

Liana was irate that so many girls had converged on him like vultures. Didn’t they know that he might be dangerous? She glanced back down the hall, and saw the whirlpool of girls circling Scott like sharks when there's blood in the water. She grunted angrily as she struggled under the heavy load of books that she’d finally managed to pick up.

Even from far away, she could tell that he found those girls as inconsequential and bothersome. “Thank God!” she thought. “At least there’s some justice in the world.” It still irked her that he hadn’t greeted her, or offered his assistance. She felt like an idiot for opening up to someone that she hardly even knew. An emotional storm was threatening to break over her as she finally hobbled up to the library. There was a metal book drop door in the wall next to the larger faded wooden entrance to the library. She shoved the books through its’ gaping hungry mouth as fast as it would choke them down.

After she dropped off the books, she hurried to get out of there before she completely disintegrated. The flood waters were rising rapidly at the edges of her eyes. She sped to her dad’s classroom.

Quinn would be there, and she still needed to exact a vow of silence from him. As she opened the door, she pulled her earphones out of her ears, successfully extinguishing her shield of musical protection. Quinn was seated at her dad's desk and mercifully her dad was nowhere in sight.

Quinn's dark hair had fallen into his eyes as he was hunched over the desk grading papers, and the simple image of him in that position made him appear fragile and ghostly in the late afternoon light that was shining into the dim room. If she didn’t know better, Liana would’ve been tempted to imagine him as a suffering writer.

Either an Edgar Allen Poe, or J.D. Salinger squirreled away behind his desk writing poetry or the next great tragic story, and she was in turn the lover who was about to jilt him, and would therefore send him spiraling further into the bleak world of his artistic musings. But the spell was broken when he glanced up and spoke, bringing them back to the 21st century; “Hey, Liana, your dad will be back in a minute. He stepped out to talk to another teacher.” Quinn smiled up at her from behind the cluttered desk. Liana smiled despite herself, he was absolutely adorable sometimes. Yet, her immediate physical attraction to him wouldn’t help her with what she needed to say, so she shoved the attraction out of her head.

“Thanks Quinn!” She forced a smile, trying not to let him see her hurt from the brief encounter with Scott and the others. But she must’ve seemed off because Quinn noticed, stood up and moved closer to give her a supportive hug.

Suddenly, Liana wasn’t certain about telling Quinn that the kiss had been a mistake. She still had lingering feelings for Quinn. Maybe she’d be better off with Quinn after all, instead of the unknown equation of Scott, and the potential danger he could pose.

Quinn would jump at the chance to date her. Liana was irresolute, and lost in the ebb and flow, the back and forth, trying to decide which boy she wanted. Quinn tried to kiss her on the cheek while he embraced her, but she pulled away, still unsure as to what she truly desired. She prayed that he wouldn’t notice but he was perceptive, and tuned into her troubles;

“Hard day?” He accused, ice in his voice.

“No, not exactly.” Liana evaded his question by feigning interest in the European timeline of wars hanging on the wall behind her dad's desk. Quinn eyed her suspiciously;

“It’s Scott, isn’t it? Was he unkind to you, even after I told him to leave you alone?” His tone was superior and condescending.

“You told him to leave me alone?” Liana bit back her irritation so hard that it made her sick. She couldn’t tolerate interference. Scott might be a jerk or something even worse, but since when did Quinn think it was okay to fight her battles for her?

“I can take care of myself, Quinn. Why’d you do that?” Her voice was severe, much more than she'd intended, but she would not withdraw her statement.

“I figured you didn’t need someone like that for a friend, especially since I’ve been hearing rumors circulating about him all day. Was I wrong?” Quinn dropped his gaze down to his fist that he'd started to clench and unclench in frustration, the veins on the back of his hand popping out a bit.

“Actually, no, but I don’t need a rescue, Quinn.” Liana intoned, anger manifesting itself now.

“Okay, well I’m sorry! I was looking out for you. I care about you, Liana.” Quinn confessed, while he gazed deeply into her eyes. She lowered her gaze, biting her lower lip, and cursing her impulsivity of the morning yet again.

Quinn, thankfully, decided it was best to change the subject to something much less volatile;

“You're checking in to tell your dad you’re going straight home as usual, right?” He proffered in a matter of fact way.

“Yes.” She lied about the true reason that she was there. Liana wished herself brave enough to tell Quinn that nothing would ever happen between them, but it didn’t work; she was still a chicken, afraid to reveal to him what she actually wanted. She wanted to reveal all the truth to him; that she had a crush on Scott but she didn’t want to appear childish, and the truth was she didn’t want to hurt Quinn any more. She remained mute though her mind begged her to unburden herself to Quinn.

“Your dad asked me to stay after and help him grade some papers, but I can come over and keep you company later, if you like?” Quinn raised his dark eyebrows hopefully.

“No. Thanks, but no thanks.” She grimaced which caused Quinn's behavior to morph from love-sickness into anger;

“You want to hang out with Scott. I’ve heard from all my friends how you and he have been all over each other today.” He spoke jealousy tattooed on his face.

“Was I hanging onto Scott all day? Well, I guess that makes me an idiot!“ Liana thought before she fired comments back at Quinn; “I don’t like what you're implying about me. I was going to spend time with Scott and show him around town, but that’s not going to happen now, so you can stop worrying even though it’s none of your business.” Liana replied with heat visibly rising as she choked her words out past the anger in her throat. Quinn didn’t seem too thrilled with her response, and would’ve challenged her on her statement if her dad hadn’t chosen that exact moment to make his reappearance.

As usual he hadn’t listened to Liana, and misunderstood what she’d just finished saying; “Going to show Scott the sights? Sounds like a great idea, Liana! The poor kid’s been through a lot and could use a friend. He asked me before class this morning if I knew someone who could show him around and I volunteered you.” Her dad added in his absent-minded way.

“Dad, I don’t think that would be such a grand idea. I’ve heard that he’s a troublemaker. Didn’t the principal tell you to keep an eye on him?” Liana offered hoping that her dad would reveal some minute secret about Scott.

“Yes, he did. I’m not sure how you knew about that, but I guess people will gossip. I know the whole story however, and it’s no big deal because what happened at that school was in no way his fault. I’m inclined to give him a chance for a fresh start, as well you should too. I don’t want you prying into this.” Her dad’s voice was firm, “I expect you to give him a fair chance, which is probably more than most of the other students or faculty will give him.” His clipped tone was one that she knew well.

“Why don’t you at least let me make my own decisions about him? I don’t want to show him around.” Liana complained, she was upset that her dad would interfere in her life when he didn’t deserve to butt in like that. He’d been absent from her life for far too long. “I’m going straight home. I want nothing to do with Scott.” She confessed in anger, before she realized that her statement would only serve to invite more questions.

“Why not? He seems like a perfectly decent boy. He appears to be someone who you could be friends with, not to mention how polite he acts to everyone.” Her dad responded, still unclear as to why she was fighting him on this. The smile on his face belied his lack of understanding, and she would’ve taken pity on his out of touch behavior if it weren’t for the fact that he was so constantly out of touch. His eyes crinkled as a side effect of the silly grin on his face.

Liana fought in vain to contain her mounting irritation, but somehow his simple sincerity caused her to snap and she yelled;

“NO! I’m not going to show him around, end of story! I’m so sick of people trying to run my life. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I talk to Scott again!” She waved her hands in the air as a sign of her protest.

“What happened? What did he do to you Liana?” Quinn and her dad both asked simultaneously. Quinn's inquiry was full of anger, while her dad's was simply curious.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. It’s over and done with.” She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face, as it had fallen in her eyes due to her emotional outburst. Her dad was contemplating her in an alarmed manner.

“Are you okay, Liana?” The furrows on his brow increasing in depth and maybe she was imagining it but some of his black hair turned traitor and joined the white side. She sighed and worked to calm herself;

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’m ready for the weekend. It’s been a long week and I’m utterly exhausted, that’s all. I’ll see you later, Dad.” Liana hated lying to him about this but she didn’t need him to morph into a domineering father. She needed to keep the distance between herself and her dad right now. Honestly, she didn’t know why she was making such a big deal over Scott. After all, he’d only pretended to listen to her sob story, and then hadn’t said hello to her in the hallway after school. This was a harmless thing, unless you counted the damage to her ego and her easily destroyed rediscovered ability to trust in others again. She wanted off this emotional roller coaster that Scott had put her on.

As a parting gesture of peace, Liana reached over and gave her dad a quick peck on the cheek so that she could retreat and hopefully avoid a third degree session with him later on. She turned to say goodbye to Quinn. She’d have to extract a promise of secrecy from him later. No way was she going to say anything about it in front of her dad. Quinn had re-immersed himself in the world of test correcting, and pretended to be unaware of her attempt to say goodbye.

“Oh well,” she thought, “perhaps Quinn has already figured it out. Maybe, I won’t have to say another word about the mistake we made. The kiss can’t have done so much damage, after all. What’s a kiss between good friends? A brief moment and nothing more, he’s still the same Quinn and he'll always be a good friend.”

She channeled her mind away from any trauma or hurt that she may have caused Quinn. Inevitably the course her mind chose was already set. Imagine that, her thoughts had sought out Scott, she wondered how she could’ve seen herself falling for Quinn. She was so busy contemplating her crazy choices and the resulting consequences that she hardly registered that Quinn had lifted his head and, with a cold, hard look in his eyes, had watched her leave.

Liana walked slowly downstairs toward the front exit. The empty halls resonated with the memories of her dear departed sister. She paced slowly, allowing the flood of memories to wash over her. She shouldn’t feel sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help it and allowed herself a martyred status for a few minutes. She neared the entrance and as school had been out for a while, she was surprised when she saw someone loitering in the common area.

The late afternoon sun was reflecting in and had created a backlight on the person who was lingering in the commons. She squinted trying to discern the silhouette. Success! Her heart automatically chose a rapid deranged beat when she became cognizant that it was Scott. He was alone, and he moved to lean against one of the trophy cases. He hadn’t noticed her yet and she contemplated sneaking past him and out the front door but before she could make her getaway he called her name.

"Liana!"

She froze for a guilty moment but then decided to give him a piece of her mind before she headed home. She stormed over to the case he was leaning on and glared up into his eyes. It was simple misfortune that she was violently reminded of May the moment before she spoke, for she could see May's smiling face gazing out at her from behind the glass in one of the photos that was just to the left of Scott's face.

He smiled graciously unaware of the impending scolding she’d planned, and greeted her with a pleasant hello. She swallowed down the lump of tears and angry bile in her throat. May's image sent her spiraling down a path of depression and she didn’t feel half as confident as she had only moments before. Yet, she decided to bluster forward;

“I think you should stop pretending to be such a nice guy. I had a teacher who hates me ask me to spy on you. I also noticed that you saw me with all of those books and you didn’t bother to help me, especially after one of your fans knocked them out of my arms. I guess I don’t merit a little of your consideration. But since we’re not friends I guess it doesn’t matter in the long run. Where did your ‘real’ friends go anyway?” Liana finished speaking, and felt her nose lift slightly in disdain. She could almost feel May's eyes on her, supporting her and buoying her up.

“I assume you're referring to those girls? Well, I told them that I wasn’t interested in dating anyone and they left.” He admitted, barely acknowledging her taunts.

“And that worked?” She questioned, surprised despite herself.

“Well that, and the fact that I told them that I don’t like girls, at least not in a romantic way.” Scott acknowledged.

“You don’t?” she worried aloud, even though she didn’t care to hear his answer. She felt her stomach drop as she waited for him to reveal additional information.

He stared at her with his breath-stopping eyes. His face was surrounded by his blonde hair that had fallen loose from his pony tail. His hair framed his face with a kind of ethereal glow.

“That’s right. I don’t date. I won’t do the relationship thing. Not ever.” He said in all seriousness. His eyes flashed with firmness and something else that Liana couldn’t define, and it scared her.

“What did his "not ever" mean?” She wondered.

Liana’s heart began a solemn dirge and her brain ceased functioning for a moment. The worst part was that she was unsure if it was due to embarrassment or because she didn’t know if she could place her trust in anything he said.

“Wait, I don’t understand. I thought we were, um, you know…” Liana was mystified, and in her confusion she revealed her motivations. His answer had thrown her off balance. She could feel herself teetering at the edge of a massive chasm that threatened to engulf her. Liana's brain tried to digest the fact that Scott wasn’t going to date her or anyone else for that matter.

She'd been hoping that somehow all the shared moments during the day had been building to an eventuality where she and Scott would end up together sometime in the foreseeable future.

He was diplomatic in his reply; “I think I know what you're implying, and even though I do like you. It’s only as a friend.” He answered and then bent down to pick up his backpack.

“Did you think I had a crush on you or something?” She demanded despite her better judgment that was screaming at her to run away and save her remaining pride. She thought she sounded convincingly unfazed, but she knew the stark reality that she sounded much more like a starry-eyed, love-struck girl.

He glanced back up at her with his unreadable eyes, and she stopped speaking in order to catch her breath. She was on the verge of hyper-ventilating if she didn’t get control of herself soon. This was the kind of thing that his proximity did to her. She was desperate to center herself back in reality.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything about it, but yes I do think that you like me way more than you should. It’s a very bad idea for you to get involved with me.” He could see the hurt that peeked out from the depths of her blue green eyes. To avoid it he averted his gaze back down to the backpack in his hands, as if he were seeking answers for the conversation at hand.

Liana needed him to pay attention to her and not his stupid bag. She surprised herself by attempting to grab it away from him, but he saw her hand shoot out;

“Don’t!” He yelled and jerked it away from her as he swung it up on his shoulder. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction and knew she’d been in the wrong to grab for it in the first place. Though she was to blame she felt herself draw back from him in fear.

He sensed this and apologized with alacrity; “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that, it’s been a hard day for me, what with all of the people gossiping about me, and Mr. Copeland kicking me out of class.” He sighed and tried out a sheepish grin to play on her sympathy.

“That’s okay! I shouldn’t have tried to take it.” She returned the apology, and made sure to put her hands in the front pouch of her hoodie to keep them from misbehaving again.

“Listen, Scott, you can’t assume that I like you, when it’s not true. I mean what are people going to think? ” She argued, trying to hide her chagrin at being so easily read and classified.

“Well,” He answered showing his warm smile that could flash melt ice, “I was waiting here to go on that tour with you. If you don’t think you can handle just being friends, I completely understand.” His voice was soft and sincere. She could tell that he honestly wanted to be friends with her. All sorts of weird emotions flooded her brain. She doubted herself. With a smile like that how could he not like her?

“Why don’t you want a girlfriend in the first place?” Liana gulped, trying to keep her emotions in check, but deliberately seeking the answer she so desperately clung to.

“Dating anyone is not good for me or anyone else. It’s not safe.” Scott said in a way that intimated he wasn’t divulging the whole truth;

“Don’t you want to be my friend?” Scott chided with a huge lopsided grin on his face that caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle, and in turn caused his irises to sparkle mischievously.

“I’d rather not answer that.” Liana mouthed, surprised at her own bravery.

Scott said with a nonchalant shrug that he didn’t care about her motivations; “That doesn’t matter. Don’t you want to hang out with me?”

“Based on the way everyone at school is treating you, I’m not so sure that I’d be entirely safe. I don’t think that I want to take a risk like that.” She proffered in a blatant attempt to get him to open up to her about his past. Though she wanted to say yes to every chance she could get to be with this intriguing guy. He smiled sarcastically; “Nice try! I’ve already told you as much as you’re going to get from me. And the fact of the matter is, either you trust me or you don’t. Now, can we go?”

After a few moments of staring at him with a dumbfounded look on her face, incredulous that he would reveal nothing more about himself even though that is what their outing hinged on, she turned away without acknowledging him further. Her heart told her that it was the best and only clear solution. She strode with purpose down the stairs and toward the front doors. He trailed close behind, asking if she was going to show him the town. This question irritated her like lemon juice in a paper cut. Liana turned on him as she reached the front doors;

“Listen, Scott, I said I’d show you around town, but that was before I heard some rumors that you’re not all that you seem to be. I won’t give you a tour, not today and not ever, at least not until you trust me.”

Even as she said it, Liana knew her voice betrayed her indecision. She did want to spend time with him, but she wasn’t sure she could trust herself. Even as Liana reaffirmed her negative reply aloud, internally she struggled against her emotions that wanted to betray her.

Liana made the mistake of peering into the blue depths of his eyes and was reminded once again of his recent tragedy. But she wrestled her pity back and spoke with sharpness instead of the softness that threatened to break through on his behalf; “You still haven’t told me the story about your past. I don’t know if I can trust you, yet!”

He ignored her plea for transparency and instead, like a broken record, continued importuning her to show him around.

Scott was holding the door open for her with one hand, and reached for her hand with his other one. Liana stood rooted and wanted to fight his unabashed behavior, and she swore aloud to herself;

“What the hell's going on here?”

Scott finally showed some irritation as he answered her, though he still managed to appear entirely sincere and enticing. Indeed, it was a wonder to Liana that she hadn’t given in to his request to show him around town. “Why did he have to be so god damn endearing, and attractive in the first place? It would all be infinitely easier if he were much less stunning.” Liana lamented internally.

“We’re not going to date even though that's what you desire. I simply want a friend. Is that plain enough for you? And I can’t tell you about my past. Don’t you think I should have a fresh start? A new school should equal a new life, wouldn’t you say?” Scott responded in frustration as he reached out to grab her hand and pull her through the door.

“No! If I can’t trust you, if you won’t open up to me, then how do I know that you aren’t the horrible person that everyone implies that you are? ” Liana screamed as she waved his hand aside and pushed her way past him. “Friendships are built on trust. If you won’t tell me what happened at your last school, then I can’t trust you.”

“Come on Liana, be reasonable!” Scott pleaded with her. Liana had already taken a few strides in the direction of her house. Upon hearing this she flipped around to face him, full of outrage;

“REASONABLE! You’re the one with the mysterious past. I think I’m being completely reasonable by getting the hell away from you. If you want to trust me and open up to me, then I can show you around town and be your friend.” She finished with an angry flip of her hair and she turned to go.

Scott dogged her steps for a few moments. Liana was determined to brush him off. Though her curiosity kept prompting her to glance back at him.

He kept calling after her, so she sought a shield of sound by pulling out her mp3 player and plugging her ears against his voice.

The welcome strains of a rock song cranked out and Liana was oblivious to his pleas as she left him in the dust.

[moonlife005]

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[hoiist]

Jedi-marring-ex-imperial-agent is adorable when he isnt a murdering machine

[plumdale]

life after their vacation!

[priscaren]

[sunflowerswithphan]

Look what I made !!

I've been wanting to make this since I saw the meme lol