#I also have a couple of volumes of blue period and some other scattered one shot manga

[calliecat93]

It’s been a long and chaotic hiatus period folks, but at least we’re here. RWBY Volume 7. There’s been a lot of hype in the leadup to this. New outfits. New setting. New characters. Old characters making long-awaited comebacks. There is so much to be excited about this season, and the absolutely insane opening only added more fuel to the fire. I’ve done a review/analysis on the opening already, which if you’d like to check that out, you can find it here. 

But for now, after nearly ten months of waiting, it’s finally time. Review season is in full swing. So why wait any more than we already have? Let’s kick the Volume 7 Reviews off with Chapter One, The Greatest Kingdom. Because of course, that would be the title of an Atlas-centric chapter. Of course.

Overview

We begin exactly where we left off before. RWBYJNRQOM have reached Atlas… but Ironwood’s fleet is armed and ready as though expecting an attack. Everyone is taken aback by this, especially Weiss. This causes complications. With Atlas this high alert, if they dock in an unauthorized ship, they’re going to be in a lot of trouble. Weiss also worries that if that happens, they may very well return her to her family, and to her father. But she then remembers that since they’re now back in Atlas’ range, she can contact Winter. Thus, Maria steers the ship downward, towards the city of Mantle.

We get our first glimpse of the former capital, and it’s telling. The location has a New York kind of vibe. It’s big and industrial but also run down. One reason for that may be because of the number of troops and drones in the city. They’re making people afraid or rebellious, even children as we see two throw a rock at a drone. But even more telling is that the holo-screens have Ironwood talking, claiming that this is all for their own safety. Everyone is unnerved by this, and worst? Winter is also spewing out the propaganda, shocking Weiss. Due to this, the plan is to ditch the ship and join the masses in Mantle.

Thus, the ship is parked… somewhere. We never see where. But the gang walks through the city, and get an even better look at how rundown that it is. Thre’s political posters around, namely featuring some kind of pale blonde-haired figure. We also see some headlines highlighting events like the Embargo, the discovery of a dead journalist, and damage to the border. Drones are going all around and take photos of Yang, which earns a kick from her and then it gets run over. Oops. We even see graffiti that says “Show Your Teeth”. Best guess is that that’s the White Fang’s doing. Life looks awful in Mantle, and Blake expresses this out loud. This earns her getting told off by two drunkards, who go off about Atlas being great and all that kind of stuff that we’ve heard before. But when one starts to make racist Faunus remarks at Blake, Weiss responds by gravity Glyphing into a dumpster. This attracts security attention, but it was worth it.

Maria knows where they can go, and she takes them to some kind of clinic. This is where she had intended to go in order to get her eyes adjusted. We, therefore, meet the man who runs the place. An elderly, wheel-chair bound man named Pietro. He is a well-known scientist who has made various advances for Atlas and Ironwood, but he volunteers in Mantle to get away from the stuffy atmosphere and to help the people below. The gang has questions about Atlas, so Pietro explains how Ironwood’s paranoia has gone into overload. Not just because of the Fall, but because of how badly his forces were hacked and made Atlas look like both terrorists and buffoons. But we do find out that they still don’t know who hacked their systems, but they /do/ suspect that it may very well be one of their own. With everyone blaming Atlas for the Fall of Beacon, the council is so scared that they’re just doing what Ironwood says. So needless to say, Atlas is in utter chaos and isn’t as safe as our heroes previously thought.

Pietro begins to talk about Mantle’s representatives taking action… until he recognizes Weiss. Yang tries to get things back on topic, only for Pietro to recognize her arm. He sounds… kind of offended that she painted it, haha! But he soon recognizes Team RWBY, having heard of them from his daughter. Who is his daughter? Well before Ruby can find out, a warning siren goes off. A group of wolf-like Grimm that I believe are called Sabers are attacking, so our heroes fight back. It’s a pretty good action sequence, full of a lot of high-paced energy and an awesome guitar riff in the background. Poor Blake’s sword is still broken, so she’s forced to stick to the gun mode. Fortunately, our heroes are ripping the Grimm apart with ease… but they ultimately don’t defeat the Grimm themselves.

A series of lasers blast away the remaining Grimm. We see a figure flying up above. A very… familiar looking person. Green color-scheme… red hair… a pink bow… freckles… wait… the figure lands, and we get to see them in full. Ruby’s eyes widen in shock as, for the first time since the Fall of Beacon, she sees Penny Polendina. 

You read right folks, Penny is back! Pietro tells her to say hi to her friends and… she recognizes them! She recognizes Ruby! She flies right into Ruby to hug her! That probably gave Ruby a concussion, but eh she’ll live. But only one thing matters right now: PENNY! PENNY IS BACK!!! SHE’S ALIVE!!! WHOO~!!!

As it turns out, Pietro is Penny’s father/creator. After Amity Arena was brought back to Atlas, they were able to recover Penny’s core and Pietro was able to rebuild her and even better. She is now the official protector of Mantle. Penny is excited to catch back up with Ruby… but another siren goes off, and she has to go off. Everyone has questions, but fortunately, Pietro is more than happy to answer them. So successful Grimm fight, they made it to Mantle, and they found a friendly face. Two friendly faces! Sure we had the rough patch with Ironwood’s forces and his propaganda, but hey! So far things are going pretty well!

Well, let’s ruin that!

The gang is suddenly captured and bound down by a group of blue and white-clad soldiers. This is a security force known as Ace-Ops. Qrow argues that he’s a licensed Huntsman and was doing his job, but Ace-Ops take their weapons and, even worst, the lamp. Pietro questions the meaning of this, and their leader named Clover Ebi reveals the list of charges. The unauthorized ship, disobeying commands from Control, and fighting Grimm despite all but one of them being unlicensed. As such, they’re being arrested and taken to Atlas. The episode ends with everyone loaded up into the back of a police van with Qrow hating himself for jinxing everything up. Stupid Bad Luck Semblance.

Review

So this was a bit shorter than the previous couple of premieres, but really? That’s not a problem whatsoever. This premiere was really good! Not the best, but certianly does its job and does it well. We get to see Mantle after so many years, get to finally meet Professor Polendina, and we get a big surprise in the return of Penny. We get a fun action scene as well, which is always nice. And it has a solid ending in everyone getting arrested… well okay, that sucks for them, but it was an appropriate place to end.

Before we go into more detailed stuff though… let’s talk about the elephant in the room first. That being Qrow’s new voice. For those unaware, Vic Mignogna was fired and I don’t feel like going into it any more than I’ve already had to. But long story short; Vic did a lot of gross, horrible stuff and he deserved to be kicked out. As such, voice actor Jason Liebrecht was cast to take over, and so far… I think that he’s good! It was a tad bit spotty, but he’s still new so I’m not expecting perfection. But it still feels like Qrow and the voice honestly sounds like a cleaner, healthier version of Vic’s Qrow. Which if Qrow starts to sober himself up, it will fit very well. So yeah, I am perfectly happy with Jason’s rendition and I am looking forward to hearing more of him going forward~

Okay, got that out of the way. So let talk about good stuff now!

Mantle looks amazing. IIRC, Miles and Kerry said that Mantle and Atlas are based on different periods of America’s evolution. Mantle represents the Industrial Era, in particular New York, and it certianly feels that way. It’s a big city, but it’s not happy. The place looks run-down and dirty, there’s tons of unrest, and they have to watch as Atlas stands above them in all of its glory. It was meant to be a symbol of hope, but now? It just represents the oppression of Mantle and how Atlas stands superior to them. One of the most telling scenes is when we see a wagon of miners pass by. All of them are covered in soot and just look sick and miserable. It paints a very harsh picture, and it’s only going to become all the harsher as we learn more in the future.

But there is a bright spot. We FINALLY get to meet Pietro. He’s as I expected, a kind old-man, if a bit scatter-brained and forgetful. He very much fits the image of a Gepetto-inspired character. Though him being wheelchair-bound and his frequent coughing certianly has me concerned for him… and I have a very bad idea about his final fate by the time that this arc is over. Still, we get a very clear image of his character and there’s a lot of Easter Eggs in his office. Like the whale statue on his shelf, another allusion to Pinocchio. It’s that attention to detail that makes me appreciate CRWBY so much. Also fun fact, his voice actor is David Fennoy. Which this isn’t his first time working on RWBY. The other time? As Dr. Merlot, the antagonist of RWBY: Grimm Eclipse. Who, if you don’t know, was a mad scientist… so great casting gag there CRWBY!

But speaking of Pinocchio… 

Well everyone, we knew that it was coming, but we weren’t ready. Yes, indeed, Penny is back. So… there’s been some debate over her re-introduction. While everyone is happy to have her back, some have questioned the under-whelming execution and lack of reaction from Ruby. Now I will admit that it is more subdued than I was expecting, but Ruby? I don’t at all get her so-called ‘lack of reaction’. You can see how wide her eyes are and how stunned she is, but it quickly evolves into over-whelming joy. Not every reaction has to be tearfully breaking down, guys. Ruby processed it quickly and was just overjoyed. Then after the tackle-glomp, you can hear her struggling to find the words to say as she starts to ask what happened since she thought that Penny was dead for at least a year. So no, Ruby’s reaction was perfectly IC for her and he DID have a reaction.

But yeah, Penny is back! But unlike what we all assumed, she has her memory! I was confused on how since we saw the Nevermore stomp on her remains… but considering that the area was sent back to Atlas, I can buy that they dug around enough to find the core and repair any damage that it had. I admit her return is a lot less dramatic than I thought it would be… but I really have no issue with it. For one, there’s plenty of things with her that can be touched on later. How she felt about dying. Her status as Mantle’s protector. What’s happened with her since the Fall. Plus after everything that’s happened, I think that we deserved this one break regarding Penny and her having her memory still. So yeah, maybe the execution could have had a bit more substance, but I really have no problem with it. Penny is back, and that’s all that matters.

Thre is a lot of good setup here. We have Ironwood’s paranoia on full display as well as the results towards Mantle due to it. We get a look at the mindsets of people like the kids throwing rocks at drones and the drunkards shitting on Blake for her comments about Mantle. But we also have Weiss Glyphing the one guy, which while it was oh so deserved, she did cause a fuss due to it when Blake was trying to deal with the matter peacefully and had even previously stopped Ruby when she was about to argue back. It’s good to see Weiss not dealing with any racist garbage thrown at Blake, but it was not the best way to deal with it when Blake had it under control, and that may very well be something that we see touched on more and more with the plot as a whole. Not just regarding Faunus racism, but regarding the conflict of Mantle vs Atlas.

We have the propaganda being spewed in Mantle not just by Ironwood but also from WInter. Something that Weiss is clearly unhappy about, and something that may cause friction down the line. We have the Ace-Ops, who going by the opening is going to play a major part in the volume. Which funny how they showed up to arrest the gang… but none of the vast amounts of security forces were around to stop the Grimm. Sure Penny was there and she is officially Mantles protector, but a good chunk of the Grimm were stopped by our heroes. So much for looking out for Mantle’s safety, huh Ironwood? Clover doesn’t even listen to Qrow or ask to see his license for proof of it… okay yeah, Qrow would still be arrested for the unauthorized ship, but still. There are so many small things that show us exactly how oppressed the people of Mantle are, and we’re probably going to see even more of that unrest and protest as we go on. Especially with this Robyn Hill character that we see is running for Council, and against an Atlesian tycoon. And I have a good guess at who that tycoon may be…

Chapter Two Predictions

Introducing a new section to the reviews! Which I will also add to the Red vs Blue reviews when that starts up again (2020, hurry the heck up!). But yeah, I’m gonna start doing predictions and see how well I do… or more likely, how badly I do. It’s all for fun though, so keep that in mind.

So the gang has been arrested and is going up to Atlas. So we’ll probably get to see that and get to compare it to the worn-down Mantle. We see in the trailer that Ruby and Ironwood are talking, so chances are Ironwood will recognize them and hear them out. If we’re lucky, he may have gotten the letter that Qrow sent as well. Now whether hell license the kids or not I’m not sure, but he clearly is going to allow them to work with Ace-Ops (likely under his strict rules) so it could be that or he’ll mark it as Community Service to make up for the charges against them. I can also see him deciding to take Oscar under his wing both for his own safety due to Ozpin, and/or to properly train the kid since even with Oz’s muscle memory, he needs all that he can get. After that, the gang is able to get their new gear, get some haircuts, etc. Only one IDK what’s going to happen to is Qrow… but he’s likely gonna do whatever the Hell he wants or Ironwood’s gonna give him the harder jobs. But we’ll find out soon enough.

Episode Stats

Favorite Character: Pietro and Penny Polendina Favorite Scene: RWBYJNORQ vs The Grimm Least Favorite Scene: The intro before they went into Mantle since it was just re-establishment exposition. Favorite Voice Actor: Taylor McNee (Penny Polendina) Favorite Animation: Either the Weis and Ren combo on the Grim or Ruby slaying the Grimm. Final Ranking: 8.5/10

Final Thoughts

We are off to a very good start! We get to see Mantle and understand exactly the state that it, as well as Atlas, are in. We get a nice action sequence. We get a lot of setup for things later, like the propaganda and introduction fo the Ace-Ops. But most of all, we have Pietro finally appearing and, of course, the return of Penny. Not my favorite premiere, but it did its job and was a very satisfying watch. So I say job well-done CRWBY! It sure as Hell makes me excited for what’s ahead!

[pumpkins-s]

Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 8: Longings

(( Author’s Note:

(kicks down door) Greetings, I'm back.

Apologies for being away from this fic so long. It's been a weird few months for me with a lot of personal stuff going on (If you follow me on social media I'm sure you witnessed the fallout of my breakup with my near year-long partner, for one), and that in addition to the Large amount of discourse in the fandom that sprung up after season 2, particularly surrounding Lance content, made me too nervous to update for a long time.

It took a while, but I eventually remembered that I started this fic for me, because it makes me happy, and letting the pressures of how long an update was or worrying over people's demands for when Keith would arrive was only hurting me, and my ability to write the fic.

So new rule. I'm doing this at my pace, Keith will get here when he gets here. End of story.

Now, before we begin, a couple things:

I'm incredibly honored and delighted to present to you all the finished version of Peachlance's fanart for this fic, which if you remember I linked the WIP sketch to a couple chapters back. You can check out their gorgeous art of Lance & Hunk here on tumblr, or here on twitter.

Also! I'm still not an artist in the slightest, but for those of y'all desiring them, here's some rough references for Mavis and Ritzie & Yuu I did a few months ago.

That's it. Have fun, bye. ))

Mavis’s apartment is a tiny thing on the thirteenth floor of a crumbling old residential building wedged between two larger, shinier new buildings, the few small windows in her apartment providing absolutely stunning views of her fire escape and the wall of the building outside.

It’s tiny, jam-packed, and bordering on claustrophobic, with its singular bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and bathroom all crammed together into one small unit. As a whole, it’s considerably smaller than Lance’s home, even if he is used to sharing that space with a hoard of other people, and arguably he’s pretty sure Mavis’s bedroom is actually slightly smaller than his and Hunk’s dorm room at Greenwood, which is saying something, given that’s not exactly a large space either.

Lance loves it instantly.

The first time he sees the apartment, an exhaustingly long thirty minute subway ride involving three train changes away from the airport, Mavis kicks the door open with otherwise little fanfare, dumping Lance’s suitcase by the door and straightening up.

“Welcome to city living! Mi casa es tu casa.”

Lance snorts, eyes roaming over the mess of dirty dishes in the sink, the unfolded pile of laundry on the coffee table, the assortment of books and music sheets on the kitchen counter. “Tu casa es un desastre.”

“Hush.” Mavis says, pointing a finger at him. “You try being an adult capable of clean, organized living these days. It’s hard.”

“You’re twenty-five.” Lance deadpans, and Mavis sniffs, flipping her hair and crossing her arms, pouting.

“Don’t remind me. I already feel old.” She claps her hands, grabbing Lance’s bag again and swinging it over her shoulder easily as if it isn’t heavily packed with everything Lance needs to survive here for three and a half weeks. “C’mon, let’s get you settled. You’re lucky I bought a bed that has one of those second mattress pullout trundle things in case one of my brothers or Evie ever came to stay or something.”

“Goodie.” Lance mutters, and Mavis smirks back at him, nudging the bedroom door open just as her phone goes off. Pulling it out of her pocket, she glances at the number and winces. “Work. I need to take this.” Swinging Lance’s bag off her shoulder, she turns and bodily chucks it at the trundle bed, sending it flying onto it with a loud crash that leaves Lance wincing and pitying his cousin’s neighbors. “Go ahead and get settled while I’m on the phone, if you want. There’s some toiletries and spare clothes I picked up just in case, since I wasn’t sure if you packed enough given I do the laundry like… once a month.”

“Gross.” Mavis snorts, and nudges him into the room, pulling the door shut behind her as she turns back to the living room, answering her call with a muffled, yet distinctly blunt “What.”, obviously none-to-pleased with whomever is calling her on her day off.

Sighing, Lance shuffles his way over to the trundle bed, nudging his suitcase over to a corner as best he can and then flopping down, savoring being able to stretch out properly after hours of being crammed on first a plane and then the subway. He may be smaller than an adult, or even, admittedly, small for his age, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates being shoved into tight spaces for extended periods of time any more than the next person.

Rubbing at his eyes, he sits up and turns to the small pile of clothes and what looks like a spare toothbrush and face-wash, among other things, resting on the pillow. He moves the toiletries without much thought, idly inspecting the label on the face-wash and happily noting it’s a brand he’s used before, but when he turns to the clothes he hesitates, looking at the shirt resting on top properly for the first time and noting a… small problem.

It’s pink.

A bright, searing pink, small flowers patterned along the collar and lace for sleeves.

Hands shaking, he grabs the fabric and carefully lifts it up, eyes roaming over the distinctly feminine cut and color of the shirt with a kind of displaced horror, offset by the hesitant want he feels just from looking.

The shirt is exactly the kind of thing he would have picked out, a year and a lifetime ago. On instinct, he holds it to his nose, and it smells… not like what he remembers when he thinks of clothing like this, of Loraine’s shampoo and his mother’s laundry detergent, but it does smell somewhat like Mavis, like the subtle scent of her leather jacket and her apartment, and that is… not right, but not wrong either.

God though, that doesn’t take the edge off the wanting, even noting these minute differences between his memories of the life he craves and his reality. If anything, knowing it’s real, here and presented in this space where he is relatively free of the consequences of such choices, makes the whole thing worse.

Almost idly, hands gripping light fabric, he thinks of a story his Aunt Rosa had told him once as a child, an old Greek myth from one of her well-worn books about a king who was punished for his transgressions in the afterlife by being placed on an island surrounded by water and with fruit trees growing on it, but could not eat or drink, no matter how much he hungered or thirsted, for eternity.

That is what this is like, he thinks. It’s placing cursed salvation in front of a starving person and watching them crawl desperately towards it.

He wants so badly, and yet to have it is akin to taking fruit from the poisoned tree.

Jerking slightly, Lance drops the shirt with shaking hands, as if it might scald him. From the kitchen, Mavis’s voice, raising in volume as she argues with whoever is on the other end of the line, drifts through, pulling him back to reality.

Mavis… right.

Assumedly, this is her doing, then.

Hesitantly, he turns to the remaining pile of clothing, eyes falling to a now more than obvious assortment of bright patterns and cheerful designs, a veritable ball of doom. Reaching out, both hands grasping unsurely, he rifles through it, overly-short cut fingernails, a habit he picked up to fight the urge to paint them, catching on floral shorts and thin tights and close-shaped t-shirts splashed with color.

As a whole, he counts four shirts, two skirts, one pair of high-waist shorts, and a single pair of light pink tights.

…Oh, and a clip-on hair ribbon. Blue.

Really, it’s not that much, barely a few days selection of clothes, but at the same time, it’s everything.

He wants to cry, he wants to cheer, he wants to burn it and curl up in a ball and try to forget.

It’s the little things that destroy a person, Lance thinks, when it comes to the wanting.

Outside the room, Mavis’s voice rises to a sharp crescendo, followed by the muffled sound of something being chucked sharply against a thankfully soft object, and, judging by the following array of colorful swears directed to the air, Lance can only assume it was Mavis’s phone being thrown, hopefully onto the sofa or something where it won’t be damaged.

It’s a funny thought that preoccupies his mind for all of about two seconds, before his gaze falls to the clothing spread out before him, and he swallows nervously, calling out. “M-Mavis…?”

Despite his half-hearted effort at the tiny vocalization, the loud cursing from the kitchen trails off, and after a moment, Mavis pushes her way into the room, door slamming open and then swinging shut behind her on its own momentum. Her hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction where she’s clearly run her fingers through it, but she doesn’t look upset, just mildly pissed at best.

“Sorry, sorry, my boss is a dick. I was supposed to have tomorrow off to do fun bonding shit with you or something, but he’s now demanding I cover my lazy coworkers ass so…” She trails off, eyes falling to him for the first time and widening, taking in his own shell-shocked expression, before her gaze catches on the scattered clothing, and it closes off, becomes guarded. “Ah.”

With a kind of long-awaited resignation, she trudges over to the trundle bed, nudging Lance gently with a food to get him to move over, and then flopping down next to him, lifting an arm in clear invitation. Lance doesn’t hesitate, despite the distant knowledge that the articles of his distress were undeniably provided by the person next to him, and falls against her side, tucking his head under Mavis’s chin and listening to the thrum of her heartbeat, the erratic sound slowing out to a steady rhythm as she calms down.

It’s good. Soothing. Like how he used to lay with Loraine when he was younger, the two of them tucked up together on that cramped bed layered in old quilts and well-worn pillows.

For a moment, when he closes his eyes and feels Mavis’s blunt fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp as her fingers card gently through his hair, he can pretend he’s back there again, in his sanctuary.

But... He sighs out, opening his eyes and meeting the sight of Mavis’s whitewashed wall. He is not there, and this apartment might just be his next best chance at something like a new sanctuary.

“I’m sorry.” Mavis says after a long moment of quiet, voice low and unsure. “I forgot.”

“Why would you…?” He rasps out, words falling into uncertainty.

Mavis chuckles, a brittle, bitter sound. “Let’s call it a momentary increase in stupidity. I just…” She sighs. “I wasn’t thinking, really. Well… No, I was thinking, just not very intelligently.”

“Well, clearly.”

She laughs at that, small but genuine, and Lance manages his own wet giggle in return. She grins down at him, and then her face falls, turning away to look at the wall. “I… I listen to you on the other end of that phone every week, Lance, and I don’t even have to see you to know how much it’s killing you underneath, living like that. No matter what, you’re miserable because of it, and I suppose I just thought…” She shrugs. “No one knows you here, so there’s no consequences here, y’know? It’s completely removed from home, from your school… from everything.” Mavis smiles weakly. “It’s stupid, but I guess at the time I wanted this place to be the escape for you that I made it for me. Plus, well… I can’t help but feel a little guilty, I suppose.”

Lance shifts at that, offering a questioning noise. “What? Why?”

Mavis shifts nervously. “Lance, you hate living like this, and I was the one who talked you into Greenwood in the first place—“

“Hey, no. No.” Lance sits up quickly, glaring at Mavis. “You didn’t talk me into anything. This— Everything was my decision. You didn’t coerce me into making the choices I have or any of that shit.”

“But—“

“Nope!” He says firmly, poking his cousin’s cheek gently. “You helped me, nothing more, and for that I’m grateful, okay? I’m…” He sighs. “I’m not saying I like living like this, or that I’m alright with it, because I’m really… really not, but I need it. I need this… purpose, to keep me going, to give me something to hold onto.” Lance hesitates. “I’m honestly not sure if I’d be alive right now, if you hadn’t helped me find that. It stabilized me.”

Mavis stares at him for a long moment, and then groans, head tipping back to fall against the side of the proper bed next to the trundle, where her back rests. “Don’t go getting emotional on me now, kid. We can’t both be having a sob fest, and your bullshit earnestness makes my self-pity just look sad.”

Lance grins in spite of himself. “Karma for deciding you’re to blame for all my problems.”

“Hey!” Mavis sticks a hand into the air, pointing up at nothing imperiously. “I never said I was to blame for all your problems. Just… a few of them.” She coughs, hand falling after a moment almost bashfully. “Ok, in retrospect, that sounds… Yeah.” After a moment, she glances down at him, raising an eyebrow. “I did actually mean to return those this morning before I picked you up and get you some different stuff, I just genuinely forgot.”

He smiles softly. “I believe you. I wasn’t angry in the first place, anyways.”

It’s true, really. Whatever slight slivers of annoyance he’d felt at Mavis sticking such metaphorical poisoned fruit in front of him had quickly drained away within minutes, leaving only a kind of calm acceptance and tiny pieces of lingering grief.

Mavis loves him, as much as any of his sisters, and maybe even almost as much as Loraine had, he knows this. She would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, or pain him. She only wanted to help— Had only ever wanted to help, since that first conversation after Loraine’s funeral, when she had offered him Loraine’s final gift, and along with it the directions to a chance at redemption.

“I should have known it was a shitty idea from the beginning, really.” Mavis murmurs quietly, leaning over and snagging the single pair of tights to glare at them ruefully. “Sticking you with that kind of decision.”

Almost unconsciously, Lance reaches out, catching the dangling ends of the tights carefully and tangling them between his fingers. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…” He swallows. “I want too much, I think. I’m afraid if I let myself have that kind of thing, I might not have the heart to give it up again.” His eyes flicker to his cousin. “And I can’t, Mavis. I can’t let those pieces of who I was back into my life. I’d rather die than jeopardize this last thing that I can do for her.”

Mavis sighs, dropping the rest of the tights into his hands. “You shouldn’t live your life trying to please what’s not coming back, Lance.”

“It’s what I want, though.” He says. “It’s the only thing I want, really, to do what she couldn’t. It’s the closest I can get to keeping a piece of her alive, and I… I need that.”

“I know…” Mavis says, closing her eyes. “God, I know.”

That night, Lance dreams of Loraine. Of the soft warmth of her hugs, of the sweet taste of summer air and of breathless laughter caught in near soundlessness on rushing air around a speeding hoverbike on old dirt roads.

There are dreams Lance has, nightmares really, that end in screaming, in the oxygen in his lungs being stolen in heaving sobs that leave him shivering and with an aching throat. Those… Those are the nights of blood and pain, the sensation of falling through air and of remembering what glassy, unseeing eyes look like, the nights when he cannot escape the day she died.

This is not one of those nights. Though, still, the bittersweet feeling of her face and her heart, loving and kind, haunting his sleep leave him with tear tracks on his face when he wakes, regardless.

Almost blindly, he rolls half out of bed, intending to walk the five steps necessary to reach Hunk’s across the room and curl up against the larger, slowly snoring warmth that is his friend, before his hand touches scratchy, industrial carpet instead of old wooden floorboards, and he remembers he is not at home, and Hunk is not here.

Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes blearily, squinting at Mavis’s distinctly unoccupied bed next to the pullout trundle, and then turns when the faint flickering of light under the doorway catches his eye. Stumbling to his feet, he carefully crosses the room and opens the door, pulling it open with the gentlest of creaks to bring the wash of yellow light from the kitchen streaming in, illuminating Mavis’s frame where she sits on a stool next to her kitchen bench, half hunched over a bowl of cereal and eyes settled on the book she has propped up against the fruit bowl. She blinks, glancing up, and when her gaze finds him her expression softens ever so slightly, almost lost in the imperceptibly neutral planes of her face.

He almost expects her to offer some quip, some cliché line that he can read in her eyes that screams you too, huh? But instead, she merely makes a halfhearted noise that falls somewhere between a snort and a sigh, and pulls out the stool next to her, patting it idly. Slowly, Lance edges out of the doorway and over to the stool, catching his toes on the well-worn wood of the ring between the legs of the seat as he looks for footing, scrambling up onto it as best he can. Legs dangling, too short to touch the ground, once he’s settled.

Mavis grabs a bowl from a stack on the bench, obviously washed but yet to be put away in a cupboard, in front of him, and then nudges the open box of cereal towards him. He accepts it wordlessly, pouring it into the bowl in rush of noise against the silence as the pieces of grain collide against the porcelain.

They’re Cheerios, he notes almost absentmindedly.

Loraine had liked Cheerios.

Fumbling, he reaches for the milk carton where it sits between the two bowls, and Mavis intercepts him quickly, picking up the carton and unscrewing the lid.

“New carton. It’s heavy.” Is all she offers, pouring the milk into his bowl. She resettles the carton once the pieces of golden brown are floating in white, presenting him with a spoon from who knows where wordlessly.

Lance takes it, scooping up a mouthful, and tries not to cry when the cool rush of milk and sweet tang of the cereal hits his tongue.

“I never liked Cheerios much growing up.” Mavis says quietly, staring down at her half-empty bowl and trailing her spoon through the mess before lifting it to her lips. “Loraine and Evie did, though, so that was all my Ma or Aunt Maria ever bought when they went to the store.”

Outside, there comes the faintest whisper of witching hour traffic along the streets, and the clinking of their spoons against the porcelain bowls is loud in the otherwise silence of the night.  

“You’re an adult,” He murmurs, “…Does it ever get better?”

Mavis sighs, propping an elbow on the bench and resting her cheek in her hand. “I’ll tell you when I figure that out myself.”

Lance nods jerkily, and that’s the end of it.

Even by that first day after Lance arrives, things are a mess, because Mavis’s schedule is a mess— And maybe her life in general is a bit of a mess, too, but Lance imagines that comes with the territory when one is somehow a part-time bartender, part-time stagehand, and freelance musician all at once.

Plus, well, it’s Mavis. She kind of specializes in functioning from afar while everything actively goes to shit, which he suspects is a trait he might slowly be inheriting via continued exposure to her mere presence.

Maybe. Maybe.

…Lance isn’t sure if he knows how to function period, really, regardless of outside problems, so maybe he’s just kidding himself with that one.

Either way, function Mavis does, so the morning after their little heart-to-heart over soggy bowls of Cheerios in the last trickling vestiges of night, she rolls out of bed to the chime of an annoyingly cheerful alarm at six AM and staggers her way into the bathroom to get ready for work, nearly tripping over Lance’s trundle as she goes, which is enough to wake him and send him scurrying into her bed to seize the warm spot she’s left behind.

She makes a face at him when she returns, poking the side of his head where it peeks out between the sheets. He hums sleepily, and she grins, a crooked, fragile thing. “’M sorry about this. I really wasn’t supposed to work today.” He offers a half-awake noise of understanding, and Mavis’s expression fades into a soft smile. “I’ll be back by dinner, I’ll bring takeout or something. You still like Thai food, right?”

“Mmmm….” Lance rumbles out, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “…Yeah.”

“Good, cool.” She straightens up, sighing out. “TV has a DVR, remote’s on the table. Don’t open the door to anyone, etcetera, etcetera.”

“I know, Mavis.” He mumbles. “I’ll be fine.”

She hesitates, dropping an uncharacteristic kiss onto his forehead, an action Lance would expect more from Marcie or Evie, and then she’s gone.

It only takes a few hours, once he’s rolled out of bed and forced himself into the living room, before the boredom sets in, and the itch, just there under his skin, becomes all the more obvious, like a crawling, wiggling thing, burying deep until it hums and scratches in his bones. It had been there since he’d woken up and gone to get dressed, uncomfortably aware of the selection of clothing Mavis had gotten for him shoved onto a shelf in the closet, just… there, right within grasp.

It’s undeniable, like a siren’s call, and television can only distract him for so long.

Almost automatically, he reaches for his phone, intending to call Hunk, his go-to backup system, before he pauses, and then drops his hand.

Hunk. Right. Part of the whole purpose of this trip was to not so subtly give Hunk a break from Lance’s… everything. He’s not going to go calling his friend after less than a day over some frigging clothing. It’ll just leave Hunk worrying about him incessantly.

He takes his phone, buries it between the couch cushions, and resurrects Mavis’s laptop from its constantly overheating, cracked screen, duct-taped death to Skype Ritzie.

“It’s just all so boring, darling.” She tells him in lighthearted monotone, bushy hair pulled back in a single ponytail on the other side of the screen, pale skin against jean shorts where she sits cross-legged and curled up in on herself. Off screen, someone calls her name, and she yells back loudly in French, before turning back to the camera with a sigh. “I love France, but it’s all just making nice with Papa’s business associates while he jets them around on cruises and listening to him arguing over the phone with Daddy about custody, again.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like I’m a freaking commodity to be passed around.”

“Sorry.” He tells her in a whisper, and Ritzie laughs, the bright, cheerful sound he’s come to recognize and appreciate in her.

“Not like it’s your fault. I’m just looking forward to when I escape the parental affection battle and school goes back. I miss you lot, even Yuu, despite his nagging.”

“Miss you too.” He says, and even though he can’t tell her about the long-worn scars on his arms or the buzzing itch under his skin that he called to distract himself from, because she does not know, will never know, he still means it.

Will always mean it.

Even long after Ritzie hangs up the call, Lance sits there, fingernails digging into his arms where they’re crossed, and when it gets to be too much, he jumps up, forces himself into busyness by washing he dishes that lay piled high on Mavis’s counter, all the way down to their cereal bowls from the night before.

He eats a handful of dry Cheerios, pretends it’s lunch even as he ignores the sandwich sitting in the fridge, cut in triangles like he insisted on when he was little, before Mavis left home, and studiously does not cry.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

And when Mavis brings home takeout and bullies him into watching shitty old anime reruns with her, it’s almost good.

Almost… It feels like no matter what Lance does, he’s always just grasping at almost.

Two days after Lance first arrives in New York, minus the day he actually got off the plane and took his first steps into Mavis’s apartment, he reaches his breaking point.

...In a way, he’s surprised he even lasted that long.

It’s not so bad, in the morning, when Mavis doesn’t have work and drags him out of bed to walk around the neighborhood, teaches him the differences between the New York and D.C. metro systems, parades him over to the diner two blocks down and presents him cheerfully to the workers, who all know her by first name. It’s movement, noise, people, all the ingredients to the recipe for adequate distraction and entertainment. It’s nice, even with the oppressive heat of the summer sun beating down on the sidewalks, and Lance can see why his cousin treasures the home she has found here so much.

It’s in the evening, when Mavis, apologetic and reluctant, has to duck out for a short shift at the bar, that Lance finds the itch return, driving him to more frantic cleaning and fruitless pacing in an effort to forget.

He knows, really, that there’s only two options to drive away the itch— Give in, or… Well, he’s been trying to break himself of the latter habit, for the sake of Hunk’s sanity and the slowly healing marks on his arms.

On some level, Lance doesn’t know why it’s so bad this time, compared to any other. He’s been doing this for over a year now, has held himself strictly to this decision even when he’s home on the weekends and holidays, far away from Greenwood and its prying eyes, and he’s never come this tenuously close to slipping, to giving in.

He thinks, maybe, it’s the utter lack of pressures here. If he gave in at home, if he dressed and acted as he liked and found a way to lock it down every time he returned to Greenwood, his family would, in well-meaning intent, encourage him to take the clothing he loved, the things he once treasured, back with him.

They are too understanding, in a way. They’ll never be able to grasp the importance of this, of the lie he and Mavis have so delicately crafted.

But… Here? Here there’s only Mavis— Friend, cousin, coconspirator, secret-keeper. She knows. She understands why.

And so, as the hours drain away and the night creeps in, Lance finds himself falling from grace in a moment of desperate self-pity, fueled by exhaustion and resignation, and sneaking into the bathroom with the single hair bow Mavis had purchased grasped between his shaking fingers.

When he clips it on unsteadily, stepping back and squinting into the mirror, it’s all wrong, a conspicuous mark against his short hair and faded dark grey shirt. He looks more like a child playing around in his mother’s makeup drawer, metaphorically, at least, then he does like himself.

At the same time, though, even that one little piece is… Everything. The color of it, the weight of it against his skull, it’s everything to him.

“It looks nice.” Mavis’s voice rings out from the doorway, and Lance startles, turning sharply to see her reclined there, arms crossed and considering.

He hadn’t even heard her come in, he realizes. Too caught up in his elated panic over this tiny act of... something.

“It looks terrible.” He bites out, and Mavis shrugs.

“I think the color suits you.”

Lance glances back to the mirror, looking again, and for a moment he wants to ask if she really thinks so, but he shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter anyways.” He reaches to unclip it, and Mavis slides forward quickly, catching his hands in her own and staring down at them, biting her lip for a moment in an unsure, hesitant gesture.

“I’m not going to tell you what you should or should not do, Lance. But—“ She glances up ever so slightly, meeting his eyes even as she still looks down at him, the significant height difference between them never more apparent. “Nobody here can touch you. Nobody has to know.”

He blinks, pointedly ignoring the itch behind his eyes, and hesitantly looks back at his reflection, studying the splash of sky blue against his slight curls, the same as Loraine’s, even at this length.

He wants. He wants so badly, and he’s so tired of not being able to give into it.

Hesitantly, nervously, he slips one of his hands free of Mavis’s, dropping it to his side and running the edges of his fingers along the hem of his board shorts, the long fabric chaffing against the inside of his knees as it has for the last two days, heavy and unbearable.

“Could I…” Lance says quietly. “Could you bring me those shorts you bought me? Please?”

Just three weeks. Three weeks here, in this place where secrets can lay buried, and then he will go home to Veradera, and be who he needs to be once more.

Nobody needs to know.

…Right?