#I surprisingly got the exact right colors from the flag

[alicornze7]

Happy (late) international asexuality day!

this took a whole weekend...

it’s literally my day and I missed it how can I even call myself an ace smh/j

[imagine-nation20]

Just Like This

Summary: Capture the flag isn’t always your least favorite camp activity, but sometimes it is.

Requested by: Anon

Request:Hey if your still doing Percy Jackson fics/headcannons can I request Connor stoll x shy daughter of Hecate reader pls

A/N: I started writing this as headcanons, and then I got really carried away and decided to write this, oops. I’m just glad someone requested Connor. Even if I forgot about this request and stumbled upon it very late. Also, not so sure this turned out as a shy reader, since I am bad at writing shy characters.

~~~

Hecate’s cabin was the exact opposite of what you had expected when you first arrived at the camp. Instead of the dark, dreary color palette you had imagined based on the other camper’s cabins, it was surprisingly bright. White walls, with a mix of pale and dark purples. There were various decorations around, only one bed, and different magic bits and bobbles. One wall was taken up entirely by a bookshelf. Most of the books looked far from normal though, and you had only been brave enough to open the most plain looking ones as of yet.

It felt safe. It felt like home.

Still, you couldn't remain inside all day. Someone would notice, come looking for you, maybe make you do their chores. A knock at the door confirmed this thought, and you stood from your bed, moving over to the door.

It swung open to reveal the youngest Stoll brother, Connor, who looked to be in his usual state of disarray. Dark hair looking unbrushed, his camp shirt wrinkled, jeans rolled up to his calves, and his sneakers properly drenched and getting water all over the front steps of the cabin.

You raised a brow, “Do I want to know?”

Connor looked down to his shoes, “Probably not,” he admitted, looking up at you with a toothy grin.

You leaned against the doorway of the cabin, smiling down at Connor who was much shorter than you from his placement down the steps. “And I guess knocking on my door was more important than changing out of your drenched sneakers for some reason?”

“Annabeth ordered me to remind you not to miss capture the flag again,” He shrugged.

You narrowed your eyes, “Ordered? Aren’t you supposed to be some hotshot counselor? When did you start taking orders?”

Connor leaned on one of the pillars, exaggerating a ‘smooth’ aura. “Since those orders allowed me to visit my favorite demigod.”

“Me?” You asked, faking sweetness.

A meow came from behind you, and Connor’s facade shifted into a smile, “No, Mordred.”

Your cat ran out to him from between your legs, jumping right into his arms. You glared at the cat, crossing your arms. “Traitor.”

“We should be going, if we don’t want Annabeth to cut us into little pieces for being late.”

“Do you think we could take her?”

“Ha, no.”

Capture the flag wasn’t entirely horrid. Especially since Hecate and Hermes cabins were both sided with Athena that time. That means that all Connor and you had to do was lounge around where the flag was, and make sure no stray Ares kids got a little too big for their britches. So far, they had no trouble.

“Oh, oh, I spy with my little eye, something green.”

“Connor, I swear to god, if its a leaf again-”

“This is so boring,” Connor groaned, cutting you off. “Maybe one of these days, the Athena kids should get the boring job. Let Anabeth sit as a rock for an hour with nothing to do.”

The small clearing was quiet. You and Connor shared a look. There was nothing innocent in the mischievous glint of his eyes. You began to shake your head, silently telling your friend a blanket no for whatever he was thinking.

“Connor, do-” An arrow whizzed through the trees, catching you in the shoulder. You shouted out in both surprise and the sudden pain that came from the tip embedding itself into your skin. It had cut through the leather armor like butter.

“(Y/N)!” Connor shouted.

The sound of a heavy scuffle met your ears, your eyes staring up at the canopy of trees above. Footsteps, echoing beneath you through the packed dirt. Your eyes drifted over to your shoulder, seeing the arrow shaft sticking up from your shoulder. With a bit to your lip, and a deep breath, you reached over to feel the back side.

The tip of the arrow was poking out from the leather armor. Knowing that pulling it back would just cause more damage, you reached to the shaft, snapping the wooden stick off. This would give more access to movement, and you wouldn’t have to worry about knocking into it and causing more pain.

Slowly, you stood. The sword on your belt was easily drawn with a ‘shink’, drawing the attention of the Ares boy making his way towards the flag. Connor was busy with another, their sword clashing. The Ares kid smirked at you, charging with a hearty yell.

You ducked the blow, kicking out at his shin. The boy toppled forward, groaning. You hit the back of his head with the pommel of the sword, halting his movements. He would have a terrible headache when he woke up, but at least you hadn’t the stomach to repay him for the arrow wound.

“Hey, you good?” Connor’s hand was on your good shoulder, he eyes peering closely into your own. You must have been staring at the knocked out camper for too long.

“Yeah,” you lied, feeling the pain ripple through your shoulder. “I think I should go see Chiron.”

Connor nodded, reaching down to his belt for the emergency horn there. After a few events of campers in danger with no way to call, Chiron had proposed special war horns for the counselors to call for help.

“I think something is wrong,” You mumbled, looking down at the wound. It was festering a dark purple. “That’s not good.”

The horn blew, and you blacked out.

~~~

When you came too again, you were in the Apollo tent. A few other campers were held up in cots, but it was mostly empty. Outside, cricket could be heard. You must’ve been asleep for a good few hours. Your stomach rumbled at the thought of missing dinner.

Every little movement hurt, even tilting your head to look around the tent. Something cloth rustled on your head, and you went to lift your right hand. However, you found yourself unable, as your hand was pinned to the bed by a much larger, warmer hand.

Connor’s head rested on the cot beside you, his dark, curly hair spilling across the linen sheets. Soft breathes escaped his mouth, which hung open. Soft cheeks dampened by puffiness and dark purple circles beneath the lids of his eyes.

“He’s been there the whole time,” A quiet voice whispered. “Will couldn’t get him to leave.”

You looked over, spotting an injured and annoyed looking Nyssa. She looked like she had been hit by a train, and knowing the Hephaestus cabin, she probably had.

“Did he miss dinner?” You whispered back.

Nyssa gave you a weird look, “Yeah, three of them. Will had to shove a plate into his hands and force feed him.”

Your eyes widened, “Wait, three?”

“Yeah, you’ve been out for two whole days,” Nyssa looked out the flap longingly, “At least you didn’t have to be awake for it though. Harley set off an explosion in the workshop, threw me into a wall. Everyone was still scrambling around you when I got here.”

A shift beside you, and you looked down. Connors dark lashes were fluttering, his eyes slowly peeling open. The bright blue looked dulled, like it had lost its shine. They trailed up your arm, seeing you sat up slightly, eyes peering back.

He let out a shaky breath, “(Y/N),” sitting bolt straight, he gripped your hand. “Are you okay?”

“What happened, Con?”

He looked almost annoyed, though not at you, “That stupid Ares kid accidentally loaded his quiver with poisoned arrows. Don’t worry though, I accidentally laced his food with laxatives, and his bed with roaches.”

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched out over your face, “And here I would have thought you wouldn’t have had time, being here twenty-four-seven and all,” you gave him a look.

“Yeah yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Listen-”

“Oh for gods’ sake, just kiss and get it over with. If I have to sit through one more awkward conversation where you two dance around each other I’ll poison you both,” Nyssa growled out, looking only mildly annoyed in reality.

You shared a look with Connor, both of you holding back smiles, “Should I tell her?”

“What? That we’ve been dating for the last two years?”

You both turned to look at her simultaneously. Nyssa looked almost horrified at the realization. Her mouth hung open, the hello kitty Band-Aid on her cheek scrunched as her face did.

“Oh Zeus’ beard, you two are just like this? May the god’s have mercy…” She muttered under her breath, laying down in bed. She moved her pillow over her head to block you out.

You and Connor shared a laugh, and with both of you stuck inside the tent after curfew, you saw no problem in letting him climb into the cot with you. It was a more comfortable and peaceful sleep for you both.

[nevervalentines]

(went looking for) a creation myth [read on ao3 here]

With the Vytal Festival just weeks away, Yang is left looking for answers to questions she is too scared to ask. 

***

Yang and Blake, before. 

[7k words of a speed run enemies-to-lovers, roughhousing with bladed weapons, and sexually charged hair washing]

Blood is seeping through the fabric of her top, and her tan jacket is gritty with dust. It’s enough to staunch the tacky, rust-colored stain, but only just, and the cut stings with sweat and friction as Yang raises her forearm to run it across her brow.

She slicks her bangs out of her eyes, and reloads her gauntlets with a tight punch at her side, bracing her arms for the recoil as the shells drop into their chambers. Ember Celica is overloud in the sudden quiet of the clearing. Moss-dampened and studded with new spring growth, Emerald Forest is surprisingly silent, as if Yang hadn’t been booking it for her fucking life thirty seconds before.

Then, just there, through the trees – she sees it. Yang’s heart drops, and she risks a step forward, eyes scanning the mulchy cover of dead leaves and underbrush for a trip wire. There’s the potential for anything, from a steel-jawed bear trap to a cartoon-esque snare and net. She really wouldn’t put it past them.

She sees nothing and raises her eyes to scan the trees, finds only the pale underside of the arcing canopy and the gnarl of tangled vines. Grinning, she feels an early flush of victory, a rush of satisfaction that pounds like a second heartbeat. She might actually win this thing; the others be damned.

Bleeding side forgotten, fists held loosely at the ready, she is about to take the final steps toward her target when the metallic click of a safety releasing freezes her in place. Yang winces her eyes closed, breathes out shakily. She feels the mouth of a pistol nuzzle in between her shoulder blades.

Yang knows who it is without turning around. Which is to say: the worst-case scenario. She swallows, hard.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says. At a firmer nudge of the gun against her back, she raises her hands, obedient.  “You can just pretend like I was never here.”

“And why would I do that?”

She turns slowly in place, arms still raised above her head, and finds herself face to face with her captor, finds narrowed, golden eyes, Gambol Shroud pointed squarely at her chest. Blake is wrinkling her nose in the way that means she’s biting back a laugh.

“Because you love me?”

Blake bites at her lip, considers. Shrugs. “Maybe. But not enough to let you take our flag.”

“I was so close,” Yang whines. She pivots her head over her shoulder, pouts in the direction of the blue fabric hanging from a flagpole just a few yards away.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Blake says, stepping closer, until the heat of her thigh presses against Yang’s, “you really weren’t. Pyrrha’s had you in her sights since you crossed the creek.”

“Have you considered,” Yang says, flattening her hands against the back of her head in a way that she knows pushes her chest out, in a way that, without fail, means Blake’s eyes will flick down to her cleavage, “that I was just a distraction?”

Blake hesitates for just a second, but it’s a beat too long, and Yang lashes out her leg, timing the strike perfectly with Weiss’s rush from the trees on the far side of the clearing, darting from glyph to glyph, a lightning-crackling Nora close on her heels.

Yang and Blake go down in an undignified heap, and Pyrrha’s shot spears the space she was in just moments before.

The scramble at the base of the flagpole dissolves into an all-out brawl. A petal-blurred Ruby drops from a tree and gamely tackles Weiss, and her subsequent shrill scream makes an entire flock of birds flee their roost from the above canopy.

More players from both teams race into the clearing, skidding through dead leaves and debris, pant legs flecked with creek water and mud, more roughed up than a 50-minute long, single class period game of capture the flag has any right to make them.

From her spot on the ground, the sky wheeling overhead, Yang distantly hopes some people stayed behind to guard their own flag, but the odds aren’t looking good.

At the edge of the tree line, Juane trips one of the exact traps Yang had been wary of, something rigged so quickly and neatly it has to be Ruby’s handiwork, and it hoists him overhead by his ankle. He dangles, looking resigned, sword sliding out of its scabbard and thunking Cardin squarely on the top of his head.

Cardin goes down like a brick.

Juane cheers.

They’re on the same team, but no one seems to remember the red/blue delineations at this point. The flag all but forgotten, Weiss and Nora are facing off against an odd match-up of Ruby and Ren, and Yang tries to clamber off the ground, ready to provide back-up.

But in the split seconds it had taken the feverish mob to descend, Blake has twisted on top of her, and is driving the hilt of Gambol Shroud down towards Yang’s face. Breathing hard, knees hugged tightly at Yang’s waist, she’s all lithe and muscle – completely unlike close quarter sparring with Ruby.

Yang catches her wrists and squeezes, and Blake drops the blade and scabbard, until the two of them are grappling like teenagers, pressed too tight for Yang to feasibly use her gauntlets, just adrenaline-flushed and tangled limbs, Blake’s eyes flashing, mouth open in an unexpected grin.

“If you wanted to wrestle,” Yang says, twisting on her back in the dirt. “We’ve got beds back at the dorm.”

Blake cuts her off with a forearm to her windpipe, presses down. “I want to do it here.”

Yang knows Blake can be playful – has seen her gloat after a long-fought evening of board games, or loopy with lack of sleep after a few too many all-nighters, pulling dry jokes that make Weiss cringe.

But this – the full weight of her levered onto Yang’s chest, bursting into a laugh as Yang’s hips jump, hands and legs meeting in a mishap of strikes and punches that would make Glynda weep – feels so young. It’s like the tether that tugs at Blake, forces her eyes over her shoulder, knots her brow with worry, has been cut free. Like just for a moment, just for now, it’s only the two of them tangled in the sun-dappled clearing.

They manage to roll to their feet, and Yang shakes her hair out of her face, cocks her fists loosely in front of her chin. Gestures Blake forward.

“Let’s see how nicely you play without your toys, Belladonna.”

Blake’s mouth pulls tight, and she drops into a crouch, leaving Gambol Shroud half-buried in the leaves.

Despite the weight of it, Yang barely remembers Ember Celica exists. It’s been an extension of her own body since her first years at Signal, but suddenly she’s much more preoccupied with how to best get both of Blake’s hands back on her.

“Yang,” Blake says. She flashes teeth. “Stop stalling.”

Behind them, Ruby and Ren are gamely losing, and Pyrrha melts out of the trees, cutting Juane down from the branch with a smile and a well-placed spear throw, catching him before he can hit the ground. All the partners had been split onto opposing teams, but Pyrrha leverages him gently to his feet anyway, backing up a few steps before gesturing for him to challenge.

Cheek smushed into the forest floor, Cardin has begun to drool.

With the full weight of Blake’s attention on her, Yang feels that same second-heartbeat-flush, better than any almost-victory. It’s a feeling she has been careful not to examine too closely for fear of what she will find.

They’ve been partners now for almost two full semesters, and she’s spent too much of it avoiding stating the obvious – avoiding the thing building in between them as if averted eyes will stop the pot from boiling over.

The few slip ups she chalks up to chance, to hormones, to a laundry list of excuses that Blake’s own silence seems to affirm.

It’s working, she tells herself. It’s working, it’s working.

Hair a tousled ripple down her back, Blake’s black cravat had dislodged at some point during the game, leaving her neck bare, skin shining with sweat, glistening in the hollow of her throat. She flicks her bangs out of her eyes and tenses under Yang’s gaze, firming her jaw until the muscle pops, half-smiles.

If Yang didn’t know any better, she would think Blake is enjoying this.

Blake moves on the offensive first, and it catches Yang off-guard, forcing her to step back to dodge a flurry of quick jabs before taking a fist squarely to the jaw. Blake flinches harder than Yang when she lands the hit, immediately backing off.

“It’s okay,” Yang murmurs. Her aura absorbs the punch, and she can feel her semblance simmer, heat lighting under her skin like the kiss of a match against a gas burner. “You can even go harder next time.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but acquiesces.

Even sparring, Blake is careful not to touch her hair – and part of Yang wants to tell her to stop taking it easy, to grab it, pull it. She wants to know what it feels like when Blake plays dirty.

Inevitably, always, Yang comes out on top, breathing hard, the both of them breathless with laughter – unsure what to do with her victory. She knows both of their aura levels are sinking, and Ruby – all but fleeing from Weiss across the clearing – has dropped dangerously low.

When a shrill whistle interrupts the scramble – the flag still dangling untouched, she and Blake immediately deflate, the fight going out of them as easy as it came. Yang heaves a noise of exasperation, drops her forehead onto Blake’s chest. When she lifts her head, Blake’s arms have wrapped loosely around her back.

“Call it a draw?” Yang says, digs her chin hard into Blake’s sternum. “I pretty much had you.”

“Nice try,” Blake says. Her words reverberate in her chest, and Yang feels every moment of their conception, the slight intake of breath into her lungs, the buzz of them as they carry through her throat.

Professor Port’s voice is like a bucket of cold water. He’s standing at the edge of the wood, brandishing a silver whistle, looking at them with ill-disguised exasperation.

“Class,” he says, “I believe the directive was to steal the other team’s flag, not to scrap like children on a playground.”

“Who won?” Weiss pipes up. She’s scraping her hair back into a neat ponytail, standing over a prone Ruby who must have fallen, and has wisely chosen to stay down.

“Everyone lost,” Port says, cheerily. “Back to the school. After that display, I don’t trust you all out here after dark.”

Despite the game’s failure, he seems in good spirits, clapping Juane on the back, and chiding Pyrrha about helping the opposing team mid competition. As punishment, Juane is saddled with Cardin, likely concussed, and directed to help him back to the infirmary.

Hauling herself off the ground, brushing clinging soil off of elbows, picking leaves out of her hair, Yang reaches for Gambol Shroud without thinking. It’s half-submerged in the close-knit groundcover, and she untangles it from curling tendrils of green, robotically sheathing the blade back into the blunt scabbard.

Only after, does she freeze, halfway to her feet. It’s an unspoken taboo to handle other huntresses’ weapons, certainly not without express permission, and here she had done it so casually, tactless.  

But Blake, one arm stretched over her head, shoulder muscles rippling, doesn’t bat an eye. She accepts it from Yang gratefully, fingers brushing as it passes between them. She slings it over her back, and reaches toward Yang, pulls a twig free of her hair.

Wordless, they head toward the group, Yang trying to gauge if she’s going to have to piggy-back Ruby to the dorm room. Still lying prone, Weiss is poking at her with the toe of a boot.

It’s only then, so brief she almost misses it, that Blake reaches between them, brushes her fingers over the cuff of Ember Celica. It feels like the answer to a question Yang hadn’t known how to ask, and the last of the fight, the tension she didn’t know she was carrying, coiling at the top of her spine, ebbs entirely.

They fall into step easily, automatically, and together reach down to help Ruby off the ground. Like a top-heavy punching bag, Ruby lists once she’s on her feet, limbs weighted with exhaustion.

Though Yang reaches out, it’s Blake who steadies her, one hand brushing Ruby’s bangs out of her eyes.

“Reunited at last,” Yang says, laughs at Weiss’s pinched expression. “Can’t believe that game had the audacity to tear us in two.”

“Shut up,” Weiss grumbles, but she’s smiling, and half-heartedly accepts Yang’s high-five. Yang bullies them into a bear hug before they join the others, an eight-legged jumble of girl-sweat and protesting laughter, leaning so hard on one another that when they begin to fall, they topple in turn, like dominoes.  

***

After Port’s dismissal, they troop back to the Beacon dorms leisurely. They have an hour of free period before dinner, and no one in seems to be in any rush to get to the dining hall, content to nurse bruises and grievances, ribbing each other good naturedly, flags forgotten.

Ren is quietly chastising Nora about what looks suspiciously like a human bite mark wetting the sleeve of his tunic, and Juane brings up the rear of the group, quietly sulking, a blessedly out-of-it Cardin’s arm slung over his shoulder.

The wooded forest bleeds into a scrubby grassland, and they wade through waist-high wheatgrass as the spires of Beacon come into view, dodging prickly burs and seedpods that cling stubbornly to their socks and hemlines.

Yang presses her palm to her side. It comes away tacky with old blood, and she grimaces. Her aura had strained to heal it, skin stitching together to staunch the flow, but the last of the fight had drained her reserves, and it reopened easily in the struggle. Catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Blake grabs for Yang’s hand, frowns down at her skin like a disgruntled palm reader.

“How did that happen?”

What she doesn’t say, plainly written on the landscape of her face in a language Yang is just learning to read is: is that from me?

“My own fault, actually,” Yang says. “We really don’t need to get into it.”

She ignores the stinging pain in favor of Blake’s fingers, stroking carefully over the dips of her knuckles.

“She fell out of a tree early in the strategizing process,” Weiss says. She’s snuck up on them, appearing at Yang’s elbow, face drawn with disdain. Her voice lilts, obviously mocking. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Weiss. I’m just getting the lay of the land, Weiss. Those branches aren’t too thin, Weiss.” She sniffs. “You could have broken your neck.”

“See,” Yang says, slinging an arm around Weiss’s shoulder, pulling her against her side, “she does care.”

“I didn’t say it would be a bad thing,” she says. But Yang doesn’t miss the way she turns her face into her casual embrace, her hand coming up to tug at the back of Yang’s jacket affectionately, clumsy, like it’s an action she’s unfamiliar with.

Blake smiles, ducks her chin. “Don’t say that. I like having her around.”

Yang quiets her internal rejoicing to a silent cheer. She feels, helplessly, like a child picking petals from a wilting stem. She loves me. She loves me not.

She beams, bumping her shoulder against Blake’s. “From Blake, that’s practically a marriage proposal.”

Cheeks flushing, Blake tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, looks away. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Who’s getting married?” This from Ruby, fending off an assault from Weiss who is trying to pat down a stubborn cowlick in the tangled mess of her hair.  

“No one,” says Weiss. “You need a haircut.”

“Me and Blake,” Yang says, cheerfully. “She was the one to propose and everything, it was super embarrassing.”

“Congrats,” Ruby says, batting at Weiss’s hands.

“Long time coming, really,” Yang says. She smiles at Blake. “I’m picturing a summer wedding.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but smiles. A rare one, with teeth. Yang almost stops walking, just to take it in.

Clearly over their antics, Weiss lengthens her stride to catch up with Pyrrha, Ruby trailing behind.

It leaves Blake and Yang alone, shoulder to shoulder, picking their away along the muddy, tire-rutted path that meanders toward the eastern portion of the Beacon grounds. In the distance, the colorful, striped tents of the Vytal Festival fairgrounds are just visible, the encampment half-pitched in preparation for the festival, mere weeks away.

The skeleton of a mostly-assembled Ferris Wheel crests over the treetops, like the pale, bleached bones of a Goliath, its mechanical frame at odds with the verdant landscape.

“Excited?” Yang asks. She bumps her shoulder against Blake’s, jerks her chin toward the pennants lethargically drooping in the stagnant spring heat.

“Hardly,” Blake says. She peeks at Yang out of the corner of her eye. “The tournament might be interesting, at least.”

“All the people, the spectacle, the fried festival food,” Yang reels off, ticking up her fingers, “it sounds like your –”

“—worst nightmare,” Blake says.

Yang laughs. “Maybe so, but,” she shrugs, “meeting new people, smashing their faces in, it’s the huntress way.”

“Now that,” Blake says, “I can get behind.”

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be trying to engage Pyrrha in an in-depth analysis of the capture of flag bout, looking seconds away from pulling out a notebook and taking notes on every one of Pyrrha’s absentminded observations.

“This is painful to watch,” Yang says, gleefully. “If Pyrrha touches her, she’s going to –”

Pyrrha sets a hand at the small of Weiss’s back, guides her around a rock pitting the dirt path.

“Oh, there it is,” Blake says. She’s actually biting her lower lip to hold in laughter, eyes squinting with mirth. “Someone check the girl’s pulse.”

Like this, sun-lit and flushed, wearing her in-on-the-joke smile, Blake is radiant. She’s a little roughed up from the fight, ribbon a dark, striped wreath around her forearms, her top mud-streaked, the single button of her vest undone.

Yang is enamored. She offers her an arm to use as a crutch, and Blake leans into, buries a laugh in her shoulder.

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be staggering her way through a conversation about semblances, ponytail swishing. She only comes up to Pyrrha’s shoulder, and when Pyrrha pauses, blithely rubbing at a scrape of dirt on Weiss’s cheeks. Yang can see Weiss’s face blush and burn, even from ten feet away.

Ruby, lagging a few steps behind, looks chuffed to be the most intelligible person in the vicinity.

“Why don’t you look at me like that?” Yang murmurs. They’re winding their way through a spindly grove of peach trees, the last surviving vestiges of the orchards that used to grow on Beacon’s loamy, river-rich soil.

Unkept, the trunks fork and spur, rough bark splitting like over-risen bread, papering off in grey-brown patches. This early in the season, the fruit is small and green, but Blake pauses under the heavy boughs anyway, tilts her face upward.

“What?” she says, studying the waxy, canoe-shaped leaves, veins bleeding from the midrib in furrows. “Like I’m going into cardiac arrest?”

“No,” Yang says, teeth parting around a laugh, “like you adore me.”

Blake gestures Yang forward, touches a palm to her cheek, guides Yang to look up to the branches above where, inexplicably, Blake has spotted a single ripe peach.  

Without needing to be asked, Yang knits her fingers at her belt buckle like a basket, offers it to Blake who leverages herself up to grasp a branch, just high enough to pluck the peach from the stem. She lands lightly on her feet, offers it first to Yang, who cups the fuzzed, sunrise-bodied fruit in her palms.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” Blake says.

Reaching out, she lifts Yang’s hands, brings the peach to her own mouth, and takes a bite. Juice dribbles from her lips, wets Yang’s knuckles, the vessel of her palm. Blake does not meet her eyes.

A world away, the dinner bell clangs on campus, and the sound reaches them across the grounds. From just ahead, Ruby yells for them to catch up.

**

Yang’s sweating again by the time they enter the Beacon courtyard, the sun creeping west across the sky. Already, the moon, in fragments, hangs low over the horizon like a coin toss, illusory and half-spun. Heat shimmers off the gray cobblestones, a sun-stoked haze that blurs the geometry of fountains to a mirage, and she wriggles out of her jacket, stripping down to her orange tank, hissing when the rotation of her shoulder pulls at her side.

Blake looks at her, and immediately cuts her eyes away. Looks back, lingers. She has an affinity for Yang’s freckled shoulders, has said as much, and Yang exposes them around her as much as possible.

Between them, Blake’s fingers brush the back of Yang’s hand. She thinks, for a moment, that Blake might take her hand in her own, and the idea alone leaves her with a wanting so keen it embarrasses her.  

It’s compulsive, chemical, that Blake’s presence pulls her attention like gravity.

A touch curls at the inside of her elbow, and Blake tugs Yang gently toward her, sidestepping a water feature that looms, overlarge and obvious.  

“You were about to walk into a fountain,” Blake murmurs. One of the loops of her bow flicks, a smile ghosts the corner of her lips.

Yang jerks her chin up, begins to apologize, and Blake shakes her head. “As fun as that might have been, I don’t want to miss dinner because I’m drying you off.”

“I think I could have handled it on my own,” Yang says, leans into Blake’s touch.

“What kind of betrothed would I be,” Blake says, releasing her elbow and moving toward the mouth of the dining hall, “if I left you wet and alone in your time of need?” She only spares Yang a glance before stepping out of the final slash of the sunlight, into the shadow of the doorway.

Frozen, Yang roots herself into the flagstone – tries to parse apart if Blake could have possibly intended that as – if she would have ever said something so – and no, right? No.

“Blake – ” she says, helpless. But Blake is already disappearing inside with a light laugh, leaving Yang to flounder in her wake.

In the early evening sun, buffered by classmates on either side, Yang stares after her, desperately trying to do the math, imagines petals shedding like snowfall.

**

It’s Blake who offers, which surprises each of them, but most of all Yang.

They’re scattered around the dorm room after dinner and a short stint in the library, Weiss pulling her pajama top over her head, Ruby dangling upside down from the top bunk, while Blake smooths a bandage over Yang’s ribs.

In just a sports bra, sitting on the edge of her desk, Blake’s hands trailing over her side, Yang feels like she’s lost control of the situation. Blake mistakes her shuddering breath for pain, and winces in sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” She presses down the adhesive of the bandage with her finger gingerly, nails skirting the rungs of Yang’s ribs, prodding the skin as she checks for inflammation. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“All good,” Yang says, strained. She’s trying to decide if flexing her arms, like, only a little bit, is going to be a dead giveaway. “Take your time, really.”

Across the room, Weiss scoffs. Yang tries to pin her with a glare, but Weiss evades, busies herself tidying her discarded clothes from the day. Weiss must be the only person in the world who folds her shirts before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper. It causes Ruby endless amusement, and she swivels her head to watch.

Blake’s hands are cool, and Yang can smell the citrus-perfume of her soap, the soft cotton of her t-shirt rubbing against Yang’s bare shoulder as she leans closer to survey her handiwork.

“I think you’re going to live,” she says. She meets Yang’s eyes glancingly before her gaze drops down, hovers somewhere around Yang’s mouth.

Ruby clambers from the top bunk and comes up on her feet, shaking her hair out of her eyes. Weightless with static from the thick, wool blankets, it frizzes and wisps, too short for a ponytail, and too long to do anything but make her look like a disgruntled miniature pony.

Pulling away from Yang’s side, Blake turns to Ruby thoughtfully. Yang, immediately missing the warmth of her, falls back onto the desk, her muscles popping gratefully with the pull of the stretch.  She examines the pulpy, drop-tile ceiling studiously, trying to calm her heartrate, embarrassed at the rush of longing Blake always seems to leave in her wake.

“You know, I could cut it for you, if you wanted,” Blake says. This to Ruby, whose eyes go wide, a little shy, a little pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yang turns her head, grinning again, shrugging the melancholy off like shedding a second skin. “Now this, I’ve got to see.”

***

Blake drags a desk chair from the bedroom, positions it in front of the sink. She’s spinning a small pair of silver scissors on her pointer finger when she ushers Ruby into the bathroom, and Yang and Weiss troop in as well, like it’s a given.

With the four of them crammed in the tiny bathroom, it’s a tight fit, and Yang leans with her back against the door, Weiss perched on the edge of the tub.

“I didn’t realize I would actually have an audience,” Blake says, quietly, but she isn’t successful in hiding her smile, mouth turning up at the corners.

The sink is running, and she dips two fingers under the flow, waits for it to warm, flicks water in Ruby’s face just to tease.

Shoulders relaxing, Ruby barely grumbles as Blake pushes her gently down into the chair, tilting her head back until her hair wets under the faucet’s flow.

“Too hot?” Blake asks. She cups water in her palms, diverting it until it wets Ruby’s hair to its roots, slicking her bangs out of her face with careful fingers.

Ruby shakes her head, bare feet swinging over the tiles. “S’nice,” she slurs, lashes fluttering against her cheek. “Mom used to do this, remember?” This to Yang, one eye cracking to look at her before closing again.

Arms crossed, Yang nods. “I do.”

Her voice sounds strange, swollen, even to her. She clears her throat, looks to Blake who is looking back at her, gaze soft and steady. The mirror over the sink is fogging with heat, and Yang is stupidly glad not to see her own expression reflected in the glass.

The memory is blurry with overuse, and she feels selfish for hoarding it, something she and Ruby talk about so rarely – the short window of domesticity, the four of them, together.

Blake must sense her discomfort and leans over Ruby, carding through her hair gently, warm water swirling down the drain.

“We’ll just do a trim, okay?” She tilts her head, considering. “Just enough to get your bangs out of your eyes.”

From her spot on the lip of the tub, Weiss is watching the them with open interest, dressed in her slouchiest pajamas, hair loose around her shoulders.

Blake looks back at her. “What do you think?”

Weiss looks surprised to have been asked to weigh in, and shifts unsteadily, pinning her hands under the backs of her thighs, lips tucked into her mouth.

“It will look nice,” Weiss ventures. Then, unsteadily, like she’s unsure if that’s the right answer: “Fine, I mean. It will look fine.”

“Weiss thinks I look nice,” Ruby says, dreamily, eyes still closed.

Yang laughs. “Anything to stop you from going into fights blind should do the trick.”

Blake is methodical and careful, her movements practiced, and Yang watches her hands closely, fascinated by the routine of her gestures. Her long fingers are sure as she brushes out Ruby’s hair, fixing the lengths of hair between two fingers, snipping, tendrils of dyed red spiraling to the bathroom tile.

“You’re good at that,” Yang says, careful not to pose it as a question, even if her curiosity is clear.

“After I left home,” Blake says, tilting her head to frown at Ruby’s hair, thoughtful, “there weren’t places where – well, there weren’t many places that would be willing to serve Faunus, let alone cut our hair.”

Focused on her task, Blake fits two fingers under Ruby’s chin, lifts until she’s staring straight ahead. She hums, approving. When she began to talk, Yang, Blake and Weiss each stilled, incremental, like curious children unwilling to startle a flighty bird.

It’s rare for Blake to offer much from before, even after all these months, and Yang squirrels away every piece of information she manages to glean, coveted closely in a well-hidden corridor in her chest.

“It was a necessity at first, we were moving around a lot, but I like it now,” Blake says. “It’s soothing.” She scrubs her hand under the fall of Ruby’s hair, appraising her work. “I wish we had some clippers, you would look really good with a, like, undercut.”

Tilting her head to look back at Blake, Ruby grins. “Yeah?’

“Oh, yeah,” Blake says. “Very edgy.”

Ruby’s eyes flutter closed again and she leans back into Blake’s hands, accepting the easy touch, pleased.

Watching her like this, the baby round of Ruby’s cheeks, her deep-set eyes, so like Summer, Yang’s heart pangs and pulls. She looks so young, and it’s been so long since she’s seen Ruby find comfort and closeness in groups like this. At Signal, she was always worlds apart.

Too young to hang out with Yang and her friends, and too buried in her comics and starry-eyed dreams of far-flung heroism to mesh easily with the other kids her age. Weiss is watching, too, almost hungry. She is starved, Yang has come to realize, in similar ways – for family, for acceptance, for the way Blake look back to ask her opinion, listening intently when Weiss ventures an answer.

“Okay,” Blake says, steps back. “All set, I think.”

Ruby pops up out of her seat, swipes a hand through the mirror’s condensation to look at her reflection, tilting her head this way and that, before grinning, bright.

“It’s perfect.” Then, shyly, “thank you, Blake.”

“Anytime,” Blake says. “We can pick up dye next time we’re in Vale, recolor the ends.”

Yang groans. “Don’t get her started, she’s been threatening more drastic dye jobs since grade school. I’ve had to talk her out of lime green more times than I can count.”

“The red suits you,” Weiss says, pushing off of her perch to more closely examine Ruby’s bangs. Ruby obediently stops fidgeting, submits to Weiss’s hands, but not before shaking her wet head like a dog, sending water droplets flying.

Aghast, Weiss hisses a chastisement, but cards her hands through her hair, all the same.

“I could cut yours,” Blake says to Weiss. Appraises her, head tilted. “It’s getting long.”

Weiss looks shocked at the sudden kindness, turning a gradient of shades, from a light pink to a dark red the longer Blake looks at her.

“Oh, no,” she says, haltingly. “I have a standing appointment at an Atlas salon but,” she trails off.

Blake nods, that tiny smile still evident on the puzzle-box mystery of her mouth.

Ruby looks on with interest, pokes at Weiss’s cheek, but knows better than to comment.

With a final thanks, the two of them troop out of the bathroom in a snippy caravan, Weiss already haranguing Ruby about an assignment due in the morning, Ruby loudly asking Weiss if she’ll brush her hair before homework, anyhow.

Their departure leaves a vacuum, a pocket of silence, just Yang and Blake, who both seem to realize how close they are standing at the same time, all excuses having fled the room on the heels the others.

“Thank you for doing that,” Yang says, quietly, she reaches out hesitantly and takes Blake’s hand, rubs her thumb across her knuckles. “It’s nice not to do all the mothering, for once.” She shakes her head. “I tried to cut her hair once, must have been about 13. Dad almost had to shave her whole head.”

“She would have loved it though,” Blake says. She doesn’t pull her hand away.

Yang laughs. “Yeah, probably.” She steps closer, emboldened by their hands clasped between them, by the way Blake tilts her whole body toward her, magnetic.

“It was really nothing,” Blake says. “Ruby restitched, like, four pairs of my leggings last week, anyway.”

“It was sweet of you to offer a trim to Weiss, too.” Yang lowers her voice, though the other two are well out of earshot, having closed the bathroom door behind them. “I don’t think she was ready for you to send her into a full-fledged sexual identity crisis.”

Blake throws her head back in a laugh, exposing the long line of her throat, cheeks dimpling. “Oh, no. That’s what Pyrrha is for.” A beat. “I don’t think I’m her type anyway.”

“How?” Yang blurts, clumsy and unthinking, tries to amend it with – “I think you’re everyone’s type,” which really just digs the hole deeper.

Blake looks at her steadily, in that awful way she does, and shoves a little bit at Yang’s shoulder, bullies her toward the chair.

“You should let me do you next,” she says. She must misinterpret Yang’s expression – which flatlines at an alarming speed, elevator music starting to play behind her eyes – and hurries to correct herself. “I mean, not a cut. I know how you feel about your hair, but I could wash it?”

“Wash it?” Yang looks at the sink, back to Blake. The air in the bathroom seems to be getting thinner, and she can’t stop looking at Blake’s forearms, the flex of them as she toys with the scissors, running her thumb lightly over the tapered point.

“You’ve still got leaves in it from earlier,” Blake says, words taut with amusement, “and if you lift your arms over your head, you’re going to undo all my hard work anyway.”

The cut is mostly healed, barely a pale scar at this point, and they both know it. Yang wonders how long they will continue to run round these excuses.

It’s working, it’s working, it’s – “Let me touch you,” Blake says. She presses down on Yang shoulder, guides her toward the chair. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

The chair creaks under Yang’s weight, and her outstretched legs butt up against the opposite bathroom wall. To maneuver around her, Blake has to step between her legs, her hips pressed tight against the inside of Yang’s bare thighs.

Unsure, Yang leans her head back, feels the porcelain cold against the back of her neck. “Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Blake turns on the faucet, and the lull of running water, the warmth of it, is enough to make Yang drowsy and pliant, hands clasped obediently on her lap.

“I love your hair,” Blake says, quiet, confessional. She runs her hands through it, pulls gently, the sensation sending tingles to Yang’s scalp. Yang’s eyes close, and she breathes out through her nose, shifting unsteadily in the chair.

She hears the plastic click of a shampoo bottle, and lavender perfumes the air. Yang thinks of gardens, of soft-petaled flowers, of sunlight and checkered blankets.

“We should have a picnic,” she murmurs. Her muscles feel putty-soft, and Blake’s hands, slick with water and suds, are drawing tiny circles under the fall of her hair, thumbs pressing ecstatically into the corded muscle at the base of her neck.

There’s laughter, barely hidden, in Blake’s voice. “Come again?”

“A picnic.” Yang doesn’t open her eyes. “Just you and me.”

“Did I knock you too hard in the head today?” Blake asks. “Give you a concussion?” Her fingers slip up to prod at Yang’s temples before her fingers firm, massaging there. Yang groans. For her sake, Blake pretends not to hear it.

“I’m not concussed,” Yang says. Against the back of her eyelids, there’s a constellation of color. Blake sluices warm water through her hair, washing out the last of the shampoo. Yang’s hand ventures from her lap, hooks her fingers in the soft cotton pocket of Blake’s shorts. “I just like you.”

She still doesn’t open her eyes, worried that if she does, reality will solidify, transport her away from the dreamy-liminal of this unspoken space, Blake’s hands in her hair, Blake’s body warm against her thighs.

“I like you, too.”

“Actually, I think you said you loved me earlier.”

Blake laughs. “I didn’t. You said I loved you.”

Yang does open her eyes now, finds Blake startlingly close, her gold-flecked eyes, the laugh lines that crease the corners of her mouth like the seams of a love letter, folded over, then folded over again. She steps out of the bracket of Yang’s legs to fetch a towel. Yang reaches to take it, but Blake pushes her hands away, preferring to towel at Yang’s wet hair herself, leaning across her body, her chest pressing against Yang’s shoulder.

Embarrassed now, Yang squirms, but submits to the attention, lets Blake dab away beaded water at her hairline, droplets dripping into her ears, wetting the shoulders of her t-shirt.

“But you were right,” Blake says, so matter a fact, Yang almost doesn’t understand her meaning. Comprehension pales in comparison to the sheen of water on Blake’s hands, her wrists, as she wipes them dry, her hair spilling long and dark around her shoulders, the ends wet where she had leaned over the sink. Blake tosses the towel underhand toward the hamper behind the door, reinserts herself between Yang’s legs. “I do love you. I really do. And yes.”

“Yes?” Yang asks, dazed, still stuck halfway inside the feeling of Blake’s body, pressed up firmly against her own.

“Yes to the picnic,” Blake says. “Just the two of us.”

She loves me.

Yang shifts to prop herself upright against the body of the sink and frames Blake’s hips in her hands, guiding her firmly into the V of her legs. Blake concedes, arms wrapping around Yang’s neck, petting through damp hair. The hem of her shirt scrunches under Yang’s fingertips, slipping up to reveal the unblemished hollow of her hip, the skin of her sides, goosepimpling under the duress of Yang’s touch.

“We should do that thing again,” Yang says, a wish, a confession. Said aloud, she’s worried, like memory, she’ll bleed away the magic of unspoken things, but it only seems to strengthen the energy between them, the accumulated weight of all that they never talk about.

Blake plays dumb, but she’s smiling, ducking close even as she asks, “what thing?”

Her breath is warm against Yang’s ear, and she presses her mouth just there, against the round of Yang’s cheek.

“Close,” Yang says. She exhales, grip tightening.

Blake drags her lips to Yang’s jaw. Then to the dimple of her chin.

“Closer.”

Blake kisses her, proper, all it takes is a tilt of her head, nose nudging into the plush-round of Yang’s cheek. They both breath twin sighs of relief, like the pressure of playing coy has been alleviated in a single moment. Blake’s hands knot in Yang’s hair, fingers threading.

Yang smiles, murmurs: “just like that.”

It isn’t their first kiss, but it’s close. New enough that Yang still isn’t used to the shape of Blake’s mouth, the rhythm of her kisses, or the taste of her breath. New enough that this alone is enough to alight a heady, perfect rush, the thrill of two whole, perfect things slotting into place.

Her hands slide to the small of Blake’s back, splaying wide across the ridge of her spine, and Blake whines low in her throat, tilting her head until their mouths catch in full, her teeth scraping against Yang’s bottom lip.

Blake swings her leg over Yang’s hip, then the other, settles on her lap. The warmth of her body like a weighted blanket, her chest pushed flush to Yang’s. Pulling back, breaths ragged, they survey each other, eyes bright.

Blake drops a kiss on the bridge of Yang’s nose. Again, on her mouth. Yang tilts her chin up, submits. Nods lazily into another kiss, rolls her tongue into Blake’s mouth.

They don’t talk about it, but they never do.

In the crowded, humid heat of the bathroom, the silence is enough, both smelling like the same shampoo, like lavender, trading kisses until their mouths are slick and pink, until Blake has a strawberry bite under the collar of her t-shirt, and there is no excuse they can make to Ruby and Weiss to explain the lost time.

Exiting the bathroom feels like stepping through a portal – the air of the bedroom is stale and cold, and tastes like the bitter-metallic spit of the cranky window unit that churns, futile and constant.

They shouldn’t have worried. Ruby and Weiss are passed out on Weiss’s bottom bunk, tilted into each other, Weiss’s head leaned up into Ruby’s chest, a textbook open on her lap.

Blake smiles at them, soft, and Yang presses a finger to her lips. Sound asleep, neither stirs when Yang removes the book or when she shifts both of Weiss’s legs to the bed, pulls the lip of the comforter up over their bodies.

Weiss does move then, but only to turn her face into Ruby’s throat, fingers curling into the sleeve of her shirt.

Across the room, Yang watches Blake walk through the final stages of her night time routine. Removing her rings, one-by-one, setting them into a china bowl at her bedside. Toeing off her socks – because anyone who sleeps in socks is a serial killer, yang – and turning back the cool underside of her covers.

Yang, suddenly shy, mythical, waits for an invitation.

“It’s only fair,” Blake whispers. She shifts over to make space against the hollow of her body. “Turn off the light.”

Yang does, the room plunged to darkness, and she feels that little-kid thrill in the few steps it takes her to cross to the bed. By the time she reaches it, she fears Blake will already be gone, leaving her only with under-the-bed monsters and grasping hands.

She shivers into the sheets, and it’s Blake’s warmth that accepts her, slinging a long, bare leg over her hip, claiming her cheek with a warm palm, stroking her bangs out of her eyes.

“We need to talk about it,” Yang whispers.

She can see Blake’s eyes gleam in the darkness, a flat sheen. Yang swallows, wriggles closer until she can insinuate her thigh between Blake’s legs, suddenly desperate to be close. She would swallow her whole if she could, sink themselves inside of one another, like nesting dolls, like palms cupped in prayer.

Yang’s eyes adjust in the half-dark in the time it takes Blake to answer, moonlight shredding through the parted curtains. When Blake opens her mouth, the wet of her mouth refracts light, the uncurling of her tongue.

“I know,” Blake says, voice small.

Their hips-stomach-breasts bully into one another, until every breath is a part of a cycle.

“If we don’t, we’re just going to keep colliding until something breaks.”

“I know,” Blake says, again. “There’s just so much I haven’t told you yet.”

Yang runs her hands up and down Blake’s side, slips her palm under the hem of her shirt to feel the blanket-heat of her bare skin.

“We have time,” she hushes. She tilts in, her lips find the corner of Blake’s mouth, press there. Retreat. “After the Vytal festival, then. We can have our picnic. We’ll talk about all of it.”

Blake nods, nose pressing into Yang’s. She giggles, readjusts, turns her mouth into Yang’s cheek. “Okay. After the festival.”

Pinkies twined under the covers, they seal it with a kiss. Blake nods more kisses against her mouth, slips a tongue behind her teeth, until the taste of her lingers well into Yang’s dreams.

Yang won’t remember falling asleep.

[cottage-babe]

Burning Scars part IV

Previous | Chapter 4 | Next

Masterlist

I’ve been watching haikyuu and Nishinoya is so cute :(((

This chapter is going to fill in pretty much EVERYTHING related to Y/n’s past. also i feel like this shorter than my other chapters idk

Summary: Y/n, a werewolf from a hidden village, comes across Zuko and Iroh after being exiled. How has fate intertwined the wolf into the avatar's destiny?

*****This chapter takes place on Season 2 Episode 11*****

___

“Thank you,” Y/n said as she accepted the cup of tea from Mushi. 

The boys were surprisingly welcoming to her. Lee had begun to ask questions as soon as she came up to them, but his uncle had told him to stop and let her speak. He set up a pot of tea and had now given some to the young teens. 

All throughout the wait for the drink, Y/n’s mind was racing. Where does she start? How much does she tell them? The girl desperately wanted to come clean, but her loyalty to her pack deterred her. However, she knew that she had no obligations anymore, so why was she still so stuck on them?

Mushi took the spot next to Lee and quietly sipped his drink. His eyes weren’t on her, but she could feel that his desire for answers was just as strong as Lee’s. 

She took a deep breath and started her story.

“So I’m a- uh- werewolf.”

Silence. 

The girl knew that she probably should’ve continued from there, but she couldn’t help but wait for their reactions. Or rather, lack thereof. 

Y/n didn’t want to look up at their faces. If she did, she knew that their facial expressions would cause her to assume things and she didn’t want to guess their emotions; if they felt something, then they would need to say it. 

“Oh, well, we know that much!” The uncle laughed lightly, breaking the obvious tension. 

“But Uncle, I thought you said they were only myths; fiction.” Lee questioned.

“What more proof do you need? She’s a living, breathing piece of evidence!”

The teen nodded his head as he thought about that logic. Y/n assumed that it would be hard for him to process; just yesterday he had heard the story and now there she was, telling him that it wasn’t a myth, it was completely real and in front of him. 

“So, are you the only one? Or are there more?” Lee thought for a moment. “Wait, no, you mentioned a town before; there’s a whole village of werewolves?!”

I have no obligations toward my pack. I have no obligations toward my pack. I have no obligations toward my pack. 

“Yes,” she said confidently. It was about time that she went past her fear of her pack. They could no longer control her, she was her own person who could make her own decisions. 

But they’re your family.

Y/n shook the thought out of her head. Family doesn’t treat family that way. 

“Don’t ask me where they live or anything, because I won’t speak it.” Y/n succumbed to her guilty side slightly, hoping it would soothe her small feelings of regret. 

“We won’t, we promise,” Mushi said while sending a stern stare toward Lee. The boy nodded his head once again. 

Lee continued with his questions, though. “Why aren’t you with them then? You came to us two days ago, alone. Did something happen?”

Why does he ask so many questions?

She supposed that if she wanted to maintain their trust, she would have to wipe the slate clean; no more lies and no more hiding. They already knew that her kind existed, so there was no way that she would let them leave her behind. 

“In my pack, there’s a rite of passage that we must do when we turn 16...”

___

This was it. The day that everyone in the pack was waiting for. 

The L/n children’s Days of Trials. 

The morning had started wildly; their mom had helped clean the fur of all five of her “pups” while they watched decorations and food being prepared from afar. The village was quite small and had wooden huts for each family. Each one had a large leaf door that slid close for privacy; they had evolved a lot since their original days. Almost everyone in the pack was helping set up, except for the male Alpha.

That man just so happened to be their father; the exact reason why everyone was making such a big fuss over today. The Alpha’s children were going to be doing their trials to prove their worth to the pack. Some of the other wolves were excited and curious to see how the days would pan out; recently, there had been a spike of children who couldn’t complete the tasks assigned. 

However, there were many members who didn’t quite care for the right of passages. Every time the children of their leaders undergo the trials, they pass with flying colors. Never has there been a “royal” family child that didn’t meet the standards that were put up. 

Half of the workers around were in their human bodies to put up the decor while the other half were using their wolf’s to carry heavy things. It was a beautiful harmony that Y/n enjoyed on the Days of Trials; no one in the pack was looked down on for using their human skins. People would only use what was convenient. 

The five teen’s mother changed down to her human form. Her children copied her actions.

Their mother had long, overgrown hair and lively eyes. She was the kindest mother that the kids could ever dream of having. The wrinkles that surrounded her eyes not only showed age, but her strong, wise experience. She was absolutely perfect. 

Mother sighed as she looked at each one of her kids in the eyes.

“I want all of you to know that no matter what happens, I am proud of you,” she smiled so sweetly. “You worked so hard to be here and no amount of trials can take that away.”

Just as she said that, someone called for her aid and she had to leave, but not before leaving a kiss on all five of her kid’s foreheads. 

Soon, the siblings were left alone. 

“I-I don’t know if I can do this,” Fen spoke while trying to even out his erratic breaths. “It just feels so wrong to lie like this.”

Ayano rubbed Fen’s back to try and calm him. Then, Binu spoke up.

“I hate to agree with him, but he’s kinda right. Mom’s worried about our safety while we’re here with a secure plan? It feels sick to let her be so scared.”

Shong crossed his arms with a glare. “Don’t be dumb, guys. Our plan makes it so we all come out alive. If anything, we’re doing her a favor.”

They’re tall brother spoke some truths. The siblings had devised a scheme a long time ago to ensure that each member completed their tasks efficiently and met the bare minimums. 

They’re first task would be to go out and hunt a total of three animals before the sun rose to the center of the sky, signaling noon. Y/n and Binu were the best hunter’s of the family; while Y/n took hiding in the shadows easy, Binu was fast enough to outrun any animal. The two would use their skills to help the other’s catch their prey and make it back before their time ended.

Then, their next task would be working as a group to capture something that belonged to an opposite group (sort of like capture the flag). It was meant to see if the group could work together nicely and form a strategy. Luckily for them, Shong was very smart and him with the combination of Ayano would be able to easily make up a plan for any situation. 

Lastly, the five siblings would have to fight head on with each other and gain a total of two wins. They weren’t aware of the line up, but the siblings knew that no matter who went up against who, they would stick to the plan.

If they didn’t, then members of their family could be gone forever. 

___

“Ahh, I see,” Mushi said once the girl took a pause in her story to drink her tea, “Your plan didn’t work, then?”

Y/n shook her head softly and spoke quietly. “No, no. It did work. We made it past the first two trials so quickly, we almost broke a record.” A frown slowly set upon her face. “It was just at the third trial that things didn’t go as smoothly...”

___

“I think a congratulations is in order!” Ayano yelled as she held her wooden cup up into the air. 

Y/n let out a laugh and grabbed her sister’s arm. “We haven’t even finished everything yet. The last Test is tomorrow, so maybe you should get some sleep.”

Her siblings were, to say the least, drunk. 

One of them (at this point, Y/n couldn’t remember who) had stolen some liquor and brought it to the brothers and sisters. They all had a couple drinks, but Y/n and Fen seemed to be the only ones smart enough to remember what tomorrow was. 

They had finished the first day of the Trials; they had assumed that it would be the hardest due to the randomness of it, but it had seemed fairly easy. 

Many say that the Days of Trials were never meant to be hard, they just weeded out the absolute weakest of a bunch. Y/n wasn’t entirely sure how other’s had failed the tasks, but she didn’t like to think much of it. 

There were rumors of what had happened to the werewolves that didn’t pass. Some say that they were forced to live in solitude for the rest of their lives... others say that the pack’s fighters chase them down for fun. 

It was a little alarming that not even she, daughter of a family who is ranked so high, knew what happened to those poor wolves. 

Ayano clumsily transformed into her wolf skin and whined softly. Y/n sighed before looking at Fen. 

“You can take care of the other boys, right?”

He gave her a small salute. “Yup, I got it.”

She was about to help her sister out before Fen began to talk again. Y/n turned around to see Binu on the floor, but Shong was no where to be seen. 

“Uhh... you wouldn’t happen to know where Shong is, Y/n?”

The girl groaned in exasperation and dropped her sister onto the floor. 

Just as the brother and sister were about to leave their hut to search for him, the man in question pushed his way passed the hanging door and paused when he met their stare. 

“Dude, we were about to go look for you.” Fen groaned out, then went to the passed out Binu on the floor. “Help me bring him to our room.”

And with that, the two semi-sober siblings completely ignored Shong’s time of leave, despite knowing that no one else in their pack was awake that late into the night. 

The next afternoon, the five of them rushed to a big, open center where the rest of the pack was surrounding. Almost everyone was in their wolf skins, so they copied the actions of their fellow members. It was there that the children learned of the order that they were fighting in. 

There would be ten matches: each teen going against each of their siblings. A battle would be won once the victor gets their opponent outside of the circle. This trial was supposed to be the easiest for the five brothers and sisters. Emphasis on supposed.

Their fights went semi-smoothly.

At first, it was hard for the wolves to pretend to fight. They attacked each other like it was their dying wish, but in reality it was all a part of their plan. 

Just two wins each, that’s all they needed. 

By the time seven matches finished, Binu had already received his two wins; the rest of his fights ended with him losing dramatically as if he were in a play. Shong also had his two wins, but he still had to fight two more rounds and give his opponents the victory. 

The eighth battle was between Shong and Fen.

Fen only had one win under his belt, which meant that Shong would need to lose. Y/n knew what her tall brother’s tactic was when he need to lose the fight; he would put on a huge show to demonstrate his strength, then would pretend to make a misstep that costs him the win. It was extremely entertaining for the crowd. 

The siblings waited on the outskirts of the circle with the rest of the pack. The wolves around them were howling and barking in excitement. It was going to be such an amazing fight; Fen was seen as a weak asset and it seemed like Shong was going to completely destroy him.

The two sisters shared a look that said exactly what they were both thinking: if only the pack knew what was really going to happen. 

And with that, the teen’s father let out a bellowing howl; the signal for the battle to begin. 

Shong began his usual wolf dance. He skirted around each of Fen’s attacks and landed soft, teasing blows to his brother’s hide. He would only let Fen hit or bite him every once in a while, his only goal being to feed the crowd’s desire for a difficult fight. 

‘Okay, this is it.’ Y/n thought to herself, ‘Right about now, Shong should let Fen win.’

Just as the thought crossed her mind, her tall brother stopped his antics. It was a bit too sudden and the crowed around them let out a confused noise. It seemed as though Shong was... looking at someone. 

The girl followed his gaze all the way until it landed on their father. From her position, she couldn’t quite see the silent conversation they were having, but it seemed important. 

It was then that Fen struck. 

He pounced on his brother and shoved him straight out of the circle. 

It was silent for a moment, but eventually the noise flew up and cheered for the weaker sibling. It was a true display of power, even of the two hadn’t planned it. 

The look on Shong’s face was indescribable. It was a mixture between sad, angry, happy, and... something else. It was like every contradicting emotion was running through the wolf’s system. 

‘Why is he acting like that? This loss isn’t any different from the other ones.’

___

“I should’ve seen what was coming next,” Y/n spoke. “With the way he was acting... I just never expected him to be the one that broke all of us apart.”

___

It was the middle of the ninth match. 

Shong was up again, for the final time, but was against Ayano. 

Now, their sister wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. There were multiple times that she had fought one of the pack members for bullying a sibling (mainly Fen or Y/n). She wasn’t the strongest or the smartest or the fastest, but she made up for her weaknesses with her quick thinking. Her mind connected dots faster than all of her siblings combined and it’s what made her standout. Ayano’s passion and fast brain made her a threat to some of the strategists that lead beside their father. 

The duo’s red eyes glared at each other, circling the edges of the ring while they waited for the other to pounce. In this round, Ayano would receive her final win from her brother and complete her trial. 

But why was that look still molded into Shong’s face? He had death in his eyes instead of the playfulness that should’ve existed there. Something’s not right. 

Y/n desperately wanted to warn her sister, but if she mentioned anything about their plan, then they would all be banished for treason. It was best to just let it all play out. 

Maybe their brother just got really good at acting. 

Shong then jumped at Ayano, but the girl dodged it with milliseconds to spare. The brother almost slid out of the circle with the velocity of his jump, but slowed down in time. They both growled at each other.

The same actions repeated itself for the next couple of minutes; one would jump and the other would dodge. It really seemed like they were trying to kill the other, even with Y/n knowing who was supposed to win. It was terrifying. 

The brother and sister looked as though they were evenly matched. They predicted the other’s movements like it was their own; they danced as if they had practiced this for hours. 

However, the two weren’t the same. Shong was strong and had a everlasting stamina. Ayano didn’t.

The entire crowd could see that Ayano was growing tired. Her movements were turning sluggish and it was taking her longer and longer to dodge any attacks. 

Why isn’t Shong letting her win yet?

By now, Shong should’ve done his “misstep” and lost, but he seemed so persistent on his jumps.

Then, as some twisted, sick peice of fate, their brother pounced and Ayano was too exhausted to move out of the way. She let him drag her out of the ring, her body falling limp. 

Shong had one, which meant he got three wins; effectively stealing it from Ayano. 

That meant that in the last round of Y/n vs Ayano, one sister would be met with the doom of banishment for the rest of their lives.

___

“And so we fought. I let her win. End of story.”

Y/n set down her empty tea cup and looked at the two men in front of her. They were so invested in her story that they had forgotten about their own drinks. Steam and heat no longer rose from the small cups, it instead being a cold, lifeless collection of flavored water. 

“Is that- Is she the reason you got hurt?” Lee asked, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a while.

“Uhh, yeah.” She wrung her hands. “Its a rule in my pack: when someone’s banished, they have to have something like that visible on them, so they can never come back. It was only a coincidence that my sister was the one that gave it to me.”

“I am so sorry you had to go through that, Y/n,” Mushi whispered with a frown set on his face. The girl shrugged her shoulders in response.

“I mean, it’s better that it was me and not her. Her navigation skills are subpar, so she would’ve been so lost out here,” she forced a laugh. 

Mushi just his head in disbelief while Lee stared at the ground, lost in thought. It made her wonder what was going on in that head of his. 

Y/n really hoped that she had made the right decision by telling them the truth. It’s not like anyone would believe these two random travelers if they ever mentioned it. But still, the thought of them telling a town and having her pack torn apart made her shudder. 

Lee stood up suddenly. 

It surprised the two other people, but they quickly regained their focus as the teen began to speak. 

“I think you should stay with us, like for the long run,” he said confidently. “You could help us out a lot, and I think that we could help you.”

“Okay!” She stood up excitedly as well. This was the exact thing that she had been hoping for.

“And, of course, Lee,” Mushi interrupted, “shouldn’t that mean that we tell her the truth about us as well?”

Y/n was almost certain that whatever secret they had couldn’t be as bad as hiding being a werewolf. 

The boy puffed out his chest and nodded his head. 

“My real name is Prince Zuko and this is my Uncle, General Iroh. We are both from the fire nation.”

Silence.

There were many things running through the girl’s head, but the main one being Oh, so that’s why Mushi yelled out Zuko yesterday!

It took her a moment, but eventually she found something to say.

“You’re a prince? Should I bow or something?”

Le- or- Zuko deflated slightly at her words.

“Is that really all that you have to say?”

Iroh let out a hearty laugh at his nephew’s reaction. He quickly picked up their tea pot and cups while the two teens talked. 

“And that ‘fire nation’ stuff, does that have to do with that magic thing you did yesterday?” The girl asked with a tilt of her head. This cause him to shrink even more.

“Y-you mean my bending?”

“Bending? What is tha-”

The girl paused as her ears caught a soft thumping sound; almost identical to the one that awoke her that morning. 

Those people must be coming back.

She quickly warned the duo and helped them pack up their things. Just as the noise grew closer and closer, the three of them jumped on their ostrich-horses (in the same positions as they had the day before) and rode out before the group of men could find them again. 

Iroh laughed from his horse beside them. “Maybe I should’ve stayed, it was nice to see old friends.”

“Too bad you don’t have any old friends that don’t want to attack you.” Zuko groaned front his seat in front of Y/n. 

The three of them were riding pretty fast, so Y/n had her arms gripped around the boy’s torso. He had stiffened at first, but slowly relaxed at her touch. 

“Hmm... Old friends that don’t want to attack me...” 

___

thanks for sticking w me guys <3

even if you skipped past the memories like i know some do, i appreciate you reading this :)

anyways might actually have some cutesy stuff next chapter so wait till next week to read it <33

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Masterlist

Taglist: @bucky-blogs @hopefuloperaangelnerd @simplyfandomish @oddlypointlessescapes @lozzybowe ((bolded couldn’t be tagged))

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

we fell in love in October

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! 

Summary: One where the reader and Ben were together in high school and left Derry together and when they come back they are married and everyone is surprised to see them still together

A phone call that your entire adult life is based on stacks of self-imagined and wrongful placed memories is best not received in a an overseas, foreign country with your husband ten thousand miles away. The trip it selves originally lasted no more than five days, but after Mike’s ring, you cut it short and immediately booked a flight destination Derry Maine after two. 

It was a work trip meant to educate you on all the new techniques and information you missed out on during your two year hiatus, and the company you represented, Thomas Cook, is an English company, so England was the best place for you to learn.

You and Ben had been away from each other every once in a while, so neither of you made it a big deal to spend a few days apart, but Ben nor you expected the phone call that shook both of to your core.

Following a meeting on etiquette, you returned to your hotel room for the night, unlocking your phone and noticing that you missed a few of ben’s calls. That was odd, considering Ben always patiently awaits for you to initiate contact so he wouldn’t ever interrupt you in case you’re busy.  

You were planning on returning the call the moment you arrived in the privacy of your room, when another person tried to contact you, and this time it wasn’t someone you recognized. The number came from Derry, and although that name sounded vaguely familiar, you couldn’t pinpoint an exact memory to place it.

Thinking that it might have been an assistant reaching out to you, you picked up the phone and listened as the elevator slowly rose floor above floor, trickling painstakingly slower than a snail, and making little bump noises at every level.

The only other person in the elevator with you, a coworker, swore to never reveal the undignified yelp you let out as Mike reintroduced himself to you, claiming to be one of your childhood best friend and begging you to come home to aid in another battle.

It clicked then why Ben never let up the constant stream of messages and bells, and why you always felt like you knew since the beginning of your life, because you had.

Every new thing Mike explained to you solidified itself in stone, as real as the clothes you wore and the floor you stood on. The name pennywise revolted you, every hair on your body standing up in high alert as a fight or flight reaction, transporting you back the summer you turned thirteen years old and an inhuman thing haunted your nightmares and your daily life.

By the end of the call, you craved Ben’s calming presence and his sweet nothing whispers he shook out of his sleeve at times you dreamed of shadows curling up your form and pulling you down to the deepest pits of despair with futile strength.

It made sense now why you blanched every time someone asked you where you and Ben met, or how long you two had been dating before marrying in a forest Ben decorated with fairy lights and flowers that sprouted a smell so delicious you caught a few guest sneaking them with them at the end.

‘Mike?’, You asked right before he launched into another aspect of his story. Part of you felt immensely sad, at the idea of Mike staying behind in Derry, helpless to do anything as you all forgot and moved on, but another part of you couldn’t care less at the moment, talking to Ben the only thing you knew would calm you down.

‘Yeah Y/N?’

‘Did you speak to Ben yet?’ In a way, you knew the answer. The none stop flood wouldn’t exist if he didn’t, but as long as an ounce of doubt remained, you were not picking up.

‘Yeah, I talked to him. Wait, you remember him?’

In a not so proud moment, you ended the connection abruptly, and pressed the icon next to Ben’s name, his contact photo one you snapped when he designed the new home and proudly presented it to you as a surprise.

An answer came at once, before the first ring even echoed, the breathing down the other line harsh and brisk.

‘Y/N, thank god. Are you okay?’ His deep, sturdy voice anchored you back to real life, a tranquility that he somehow always possessed reducing your stress levels.

‘I’m fine honey. I’m fine, are you?’ It’s a throw away question for sure, since Ben would do anything in his power to let you remain sane, and expressing his own worries is not part of that plan. Not being able to be there for your husband when the world is tilted up its head is killing you.

‘Sweets, don’t worry about me, worry about you. I can fly over to England tonight if that’s of any use.’

Frankly, getting to Ben and sifting through the confusing onslaught of emotions and recollections with him lists higher on your priority list above everything else, but you can’t do that to the others.

‘No, Ben listen to me.’ Your voice remains flat and drained of anything other than firmness, a benefit of working with customers you have required over the years. Freak out postponed ‘till you dragged your suitcase from terminal to terminal, for you had to arrange plans first.

Ben would most likely think with his heart and prefer to be around you, but by the time he would land in England and the two you transfer to another plane, the other losers – you named each other that if you recall correctly – may be dead.

‘Book a flight to Derry, and I’ll do the same. I won’t travel as fast as you, so assure the others that I’m on my way.’

‘But Y/N’, Ben protested, his desire to protect you standing in the way of common sense, god you adore this man.

‘Ben please,’ a droplet of tears drip on your cheek, confronting you with the realization that you cried.

‘Okay,’ Ben gives in, the displeasement out in the open, but listening to you none the less.

---

The old clubhouse is not as hard to find as you originally thought, the way to the spot from your old house purely muscle memory that allows you to pinpoint the exact location.

You know the reunion of the losers already transpired yesterday, Ben updating you throughout the night, but your flight only touched base this morning. Derry is an old town with reception towers spaced out and far apart, resulting in barely any communication between you and Ben.

The Derry-Inn was exempt, and so the next best guess as to where they could be was that the losers retreated to the one place radiating with love and untainted by the dirty hands of the towns curse.

The hushed talking under the hatch prove you right, and a smile carefully pokes through the bland face you’ve sported for two days, and regardless of how crazy it might seem, a blanket of safeness falls upon you, creating a barrier between you and the problems about to head on your path.

You reach down to rattle the hatch, a warning that you’re coming down to the others, and the swing it upon, dust flying in your face in such a huge amount it suffocates you. While coughing, your hand flags away the excess dust swarming around you, gulping down breathes of fresh air.

The leader creaks under your weight, but surprisingly you’re not required to bow down to fit into the clubhouse, a comfortable height for you to ease into.

You misjudge the last step, losing your footing and tumbling down the last two trads with a yap at the pain radiating from your feet up your leg, falling down faster than you should have.

Richie shrieks in fear, jumping several steps away from his spot under the stairs to hide behind Mike, the entire losers club swiftly glancing at you.

‘Ha’, Eddie exclaims once his brain catches up to his sight and he apprehends its you. ‘That’s what you get fucker, that’s karma.’

‘Yeah? Was it karma when I fucked your wife as good as I fucked your mom?’ Richie inquires, smirking at the reaction Eddie provides him.

‘That’s fucking disgusting and not the definition of karma by the way.’

‘You guys are clearly still the same’, you mutter, forgoing the pain and observing the interaction between the two best friends.

‘Y/N’, Bev breathes, approaching you with a pep in her step and halting in front of you, allowing you to close the distance and embrace the girl that you forget about yet missed so dearly.

With most of the losers here, it’s hard to grasp that you ever omitted them, for they colored your childhood in so many ways and are intermittent with the person you are today.

Ben shuffles closer too, but waits forbearance so Bev can take her time. The other losers greet you with a smile and a far-off hello, happy to see you again after so long. After Bev stops hugging you and walks away to further explore the shelter, Ben stoops in and kisses you with a short and soft peck. He’s always respectful of you, to the point he usually won’t kiss you in public so you’re comfortable, but this is an exception.

‘Ben, man didn’t you claim to have married someone?’ Richie wonders aloud and gaps at the two of you, resembling a fish out of water.

‘Yes’, you drag out, confusion lilting your words, ‘we are.’ The losers pause, including Mike, the wheels turning in their head to process the new information.

‘You guys got m-m-married?’ Bill questions, his eyes sparkling with happiness for his friends, all the times he psyched Ben up so he gained the courage to ask you out on a date in high school.

‘Yeah for two years now’, Ben proudly proclaims, resting his hand on the small of your back to stable himself and hide the way he falters when everyone zero’s in  on him.

‘In October. Ben arranged the whole thing in the woods with a fairy tale theme.’ You nearly add that it was perfect, but that’s a lie. Something was missing that day, like a stubborn smudge you tried very hard to remove yet remained. You never shared it with Ben, because he thought of every detail and ever speck to a T, and by all means it should’ve been flawless. Maybe that smudge was the insistent memory of your friend not being there to support you like you wished they were. Despite not sharing your concern with Ben, you wonder if he experienced the same thing and was afraid to inform you.

‘Wait, do I remember this wrong or did you guys start dating in October too?’ Bev quizzes.

You peer up at Ben for guidance, but he comes across just as clueless as you. It could very well be, and looking back on it, the two of you did instantly reach a consensus about the date of the wedding. Perhaps the remnants of your childhood manifested in the date, and if they did, the next anniversaries will be extra special than so far.

Right now, it’s essential your focus lays elsewhere, like in how to defeat IT for good this time, so no other lives are cut short because of an intergalactic demon.

Ben links your hands together, a tight grip that lets you know he’s right beside you, and he’s not going anywhere. The two of you together are equipped for anything.

[avatoh]

Lassiter downloads a dating app and Shawn decides to catfish him. What happens when the fake psychic gets too close and Lassiter catches onto his scheme?

Read on A03 or below

Happy Psych Movie 2 week!

Lassiter stared emptily at his phone screen, wondering if he was making the right decision. He was never really the kind of man to put himself out there, not like this anyway. But honestly, he was getting incredibly lonely at this point of his life. Being the person that he was, he, of course, had his qualms about online dating. To put his photo out there, his name, his location...well, this was almost out of the question for him.

But, with some minor changes to his personal information, like his name, his location, and some artful photos that concealed his identity, he found himself completing a profile on an online dating site, a semi-popular phone-based dating app to be more specific.

To his surprise, he got a few messages when he opened the app up a few days later, checking it for the first time since creating his profile. A lot of the messages were simple one word greetings, some were weird, while others were just asking him semi-personal questions regarding his profile and his height, with questionable emojis tacked on to the end.

Was dating really this simple now?

“Hello.” He had messaged back a few people after extensively combing through their profiles. So far, so good. This wasn’t so bad! Maybe he should have done this sooner.

Unfortunately for him and his odd and demanding work hours, about four months after downloading his dating app Lassiter’s phone went completely dry.

Since downloading the app though, he’d gone on six separate in-person dates in total and out of those six dates, two of them had warranted second dates and he’d gotten two goodnight kisses from both of them. He’d eventually slept with one of them, but after that, he never heard from them again as they were only in town for business and traveled a lot.

In short, it had now been a month since Lassiter had last had a date and he’d only gotten a one night stand out of four months of effort.

Lassiter heard a familiar ring chime on his phone at a crime scene, one day. He pulled out his phone on instinct to check the dating app and potential new messages and…

Spencer!

Oh no, Shawn had caught him on the app, recognizing the sound of the ring too, somehow. Lassiter hadn’t realized what he had done in front of everyone until he saw Shawn’s head perk up in his peripheral vision...

They made eye contact.

Lassiter could have sworn Shawn gave him a head nod of acknowledgment before he managed to fumble his phone back into his pocket. How embarrassing! At least Spencer had the decency not to say anything out loud, for once. But the man knew. He definitely knew what that app was and he knew that he was desperate and lonely enough to make a profile on it! God! This was not good.

Hopefully that was the end of that!

“Yo, dude,” Shawn whispered at the crime scene to his best friend in the world, Burton Guster. “Check it out! Lassiter’s using a dating app!”

“What? For real!?” Gus asked.

“Yeah,” Shawn whispered back. “Just saw him on it right now!” The knowledge made him feel like a giggling school-boy finding out the Chemistry teacher was dating the English teacher.

“Wonder if that app thing is working for him?” Gus smiled, amusedly, touching his thumb to his nose.

“Working for him? A man like Lassie on a dating app...” Shawn mused. “Yeah, I mean, he’s a pretty good-looking man. Bet it sure is.”

“But his personality-” Gus interrupted.

“Ehhh. You’re right, but it's not that bad once you kinda get to know him,” Shawn vocalized.

“No. It is.You’re just saying that because you like him.”

“First of all, Gus, I didn’t say anything like that. I simply made a questioning sound with my throat, indicating my wavering thought. Second of all, the man had a wife for God’s sake. Someone out there liked him enough to not only date but marry him. He can’t be that bad.”

“Well, ‘first of all,’ Shawn, yes, the noise that you made with your throat meant that you do like him and you were disagreeing with my statement because you feel the opposite of what I said. That was a positive sound, Shawn. And ‘second of all,’ he got divorced and hasn’t had a steady date since.”

“That’s because if he dated me, he’d never want to date again!”

“So why don’t you try now? He’s clearly looking for somebody.”

“Eh,” Shawn said in a saddened tone.

“What?”

“I’ve already asked him out before and he shot me down. Didn’t take me seriously.”

“It’s because of the ways you've asked him,” Gus said blatantly. “You gotta ask him for real!”

“Like...for real, for real?” Shawn squeaked.

“Yeah,” Gus answered. “That’s generally how these things work, Shawn!”

“What are you two talking about,” came Vick’s voice. The case that they were called on was pretty important, it seemed. There was no time to talk about Lassiter and his dating app habits. Both Shawn and Gus turned towards one another and shrugged.

“Just talking about the case, Chief.”

“Get to it then, boys.”

“Yes, Chief!”

Later that day, when Shawn got back to his place, he plugged in his phone in the charger next to his bed and closed his eyes. His fantastic memory allowed him to recall the exact details of what he had seen on Lassiter’s cell phone screen. He really hadn’t tried to remember those details, they just came into his mind as he was falling asleep. Shawn groaned and flipped onto his side. Sleep was now out of the question now; he was curious and intrigued.

Shawn perfectly remembered Lassiter’s online dating profile. Age, height, and location were all a bit off from the truth, but that was to be expected. Pretty interesting. Before he knew it, the dating app Lassiter had used was now downloaded on Shawn’s phone. Shawn wanted to snoop...he really really wanted to. For the time being, he set the app aside and cycled through his normal apps to keep his mind occupied. There was no wrong-doing in downloading an app. Shawn quit before he was further tempted and turned on the T.V and decided watching re-runs of Friends was a better use of his time than holding temptation in his hands.

After a long week at work, Lassiter walked into his home and took a hot shower, then laid down in his bed, relaxing for the first time all day. It was now when he finally allowed himself to look at his notifications on his phone. There were a few emails, a few software updates, and a few notifications from apps.

It had now been a few days since Lassiter had opened his app at the scene of a crime in front of Shawn. About seven messages had built up on his dating profile and he hadn’t checked due to the case he had been working on. It had consumed him. Some of the profiles that he had messaged him looked promising. Just as he was about to log-off the app, he got a new message from an attractive-looking woman: Esther.

Esther: Hey there. I see you're online rn too. Did you just get off work? :)

Her profile checked out and she seemed nice. She was older than most of the women who messaged him: around his own age, in fact. She wore a pant-suit in one of her profile photos and a nice smile. She must have just gotten off work like he had. He messaged her back.

Lassiter: Yes. Got off 2 hours ago. What about you?

Esther: I got off about an hour ago. Today was a long day.

Lassiter decided to thumb through Esther’s profile more extensively now. His consensus was that she was a rather interesting woman and it seemed that he may have seen her somewhere before but he couldn’t quite place it. It seemed that she worked for a company as an executive. She was 4 years younger than him. They had quite a few things in common and she seemed rather okay at face value. This was somebody he’d like to get to know better. He decided to talk to her more to see if there was a potential good match in the making.

Sometime after Shawn had downloaded the app, and made a profile. He really hadn’t wanted to, but he did. His curiosity got the best of him. He created a fake profile in the name of Esther to browse and look for Lassiter in the app. He used photos from an old girlfriend of his who he was still friendly with after he explained that it was for a case. Surprisingly, she had given him permission to use her pictures. Lying already. Yes, this was getting off to a great start.

After setting up the profile, he had to actively look through hundreds of profiles for Lassiter which made him feel really, really creepy. So he stopped and put his phone away.

Esther was a nice woman, she really was, and he really liked her but his cop instincts were kicking in. Something seemed off. She just...seemed too perfect and a little too tailored to him and his tastes, so to speak. She absolutely couldn’t be real. He wished it wasn’t that way, but he was almost certain he was being played.

He wasn’t being paranoid, it was actually far from it. There were subtle, subtle hints that “Esther” knew he was. The person was careful, but they were also too proud and self confident. It was only two little details that they slipped up on: that’s it. They commented about his phone being in the drawer on his work desk. He locked it away there on occasion.

Lassiter: Sorry I was busy. At work atm.

Esther: Forgot your phone in your desk?

Keyword IN. On the desk would have been more normal, not a lot of people had a drawer to put their phone in.

That was the huge red flag. The other red flag and what seemed strange was that on two occasions he saw Shawn on his phone at the same time he was receiving messages from Esther. He was across the station but he swore he heard the ding from the dating app on one occasion. Shawn cursed when he received a pretty bold response and then they caught eyes in a half glare from across the way. On another day, Esther knew the color of his shoes he was currently wearing, all of which was very peculiar.

Three days passed and Shawn had since then he had begun thumbing through profiles and finally stumbled upon Lassiter’s. He knew it was his by the icon he saw for a split second on the detective's phone.

He didn’t know what compelled him but he happened to open the app once more late at night and found himself looking at Lassiter’s profile after mindlessly flipping through the app again. There was little green light indicating that Lassiter was online was on the corner of the profile. Now was his chance. Gus was talking to a woman at the bar they were at and he felt lonely. Now was his opportunity. It was only going to be one quick message. Lassiter probably wouldn’t reply anyway. Besides, he was bored. He didn’t expect a reply, anyway.

About two minutes later he got a reply. Huh. That wasn’t what he was expecting. They ended up talking all night.

Yes. Esther was most definitely fake. To make matters worse, Lassiter was 95% sure that Shawn was the man behind Esther. He had never been so embarrassed in his life. The conversations had already gotten deep and real and involved: all the things that normally didn’t happen when he talked to someone online. He’d admitted to things to Esther and “Esther” confessed some things to him as well and some of those things didn't exactly fit her backstory but could easily fit Shawn Spencer’s...

Talking to Lassiter had become a bit of a habit for a whole week. They had just started talking about meeting up in real life now, which was obviously a problem. There were always vague excuses on his end and sometimes even on Lassiter’s due to business and scheduling conflicts, which was strange. It was probably subconscious. Shawn was about ready to end this whole charade once and for all, but sometimes it seemed that Lassiter just liked talking to him as “Esther”, so much so that he didn’t want to stop. They were getting along and the companionship was great.

Shawn was really questioning why he was still doing this though. Sometimes when he replied back pretending to be someone else he just felt plain nasty and dirty: like the liar that he was. What exactly was he gaining from keeping this up? He could stop anytime he wanted. He should stop. Why were they still talking? He had investigated him enough. What else was the point of continuing these conversations? Well, it’s not like he had anything better to do, anyway, right? And, besides, talking to Lassiter was nice.

Early on into his “investigation” he had already gotten one of the main answers from Lasstier that he was seeking.

Esther: Hey, on the little quiz match thing that we can take on here, it says you’re both interested in women and men?

Shawn really, really had always been curious if he even had a chance with Lassiter and this was the answer he had been waiting for. Hopefully Lassiter wasn’t so computer inept that he had chosen “looking men and women”on accident. His heart raced as he saw Lassiter typing.

It took him awhile to respond, but when he did, Lassiter replied:

Is that going to be a problem for you?

“Not at all,” he typed back. I’m actually bi as well.

I’m pan, but ok.

Shawn’s heart beat quickly in his chest. What. What the hell was happening here? He heard from Lassie’s mouth itself that there might be a chance for them to be together. Lassie was pansexual? Oh my God! He, for years, had been hoping with all his might that Lassiter wasn’t straight. He wasn’t! Oh my God, he wasn’t!? He suspected as much but he’s never really seen Lassiter interested in people other than the few women he chased after on a few occasions. I haven’t dated too many women tho, you know... he said, as Esther.

That’s fine.

Shawn wanted to know more about his dating history but Lassiter wasn’t budging. He could feel him shrinking back a little, so he stopped.

Yes, “Esther” was most definitely Shawn Spencer. For a day or two, he was actually very very convinced somebody was stalking or after him. He realized “Esther” had to be someone within the department who had close access to him on the daily. Lassiter regularly checked the SBPD as well as his desk for bugs, but he checked again. No dice. He then reviewed security cameras in the office. There was only one recurring common threat to him: Shawn.

To finally confirm his seemingly impossible theory, he kept on messaging Shawn while they were in the same room together. Shawn kept on checking his phone. He eventually stopped when Lassiter got too bold but thanks to the use of the office security cameras, when he was in a different room Lassiter messaged him again and watched Shawn pull out his phone and open a familiar looking app. Even with the pixels barely visible, he knew all evidence pointed to Shawn.

What the Hell.

What was he playing at? Lassiter felt sick to his stomach and betrayed. He didn’t know what the hell to do about this or how to confront Shawn directly.

For three days he ignored Esther. On the fourth day, he launched his attack plan while Shawn was sitting with O’Hara on a lunch break. Shawn, Guster, O’Hara, and himself, were all at a restaurant together and Lassiter had excused himself to the restroom as he walked away. He couldn’t wait to see Shawn’s reactions and see him get caught in the act:

Lassiter: Sorry it’s been awhile. It’s been busy at work

Esther: It’s okay. I’ve been busy as well. How are you?

Lassiter: Good. Hey I was wondering. I’m free tomorrow. Can we meet up soon?

It took “her” a while to respond and she said no. Across the room, Lassiter could see Shawn’s fingers typing away but couldn’t see any facial reaction from him.

Lassiter: Then when?

Esther: I don;t know.

Lassiter: That’s fine. Thank you for the chats, but I don’t think this is going to work out if we can’t meet. It was nice knowing you.

The 5% chance that this wasn’t Shawn, that was “Esther’s” last chance right there. He was done with this and this game and done with Shawn’s shenanigans. He was about to walk over to Shawn to expose him when his phone dinged on his way back to the table. He glanced at his phone before he approached the booth.

I’m busy tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday.

What? What the hell?! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Esther wasn’t real. How could Shawn be taking this so far? He had practically caught him red-handed! Perhaps even Shawn knew it. Maybe he was calling his bluff. He had to think quickly. He couldn’t let Shawn win! This was ridiculous!

Lassiter: Ok, let’s meet at the cafe by the movie theatre

Esther: Okay. What time is good for you? I’m free all day.

Lassiter: 5

Esther: 5pm at the cafe?

Lassiter: Yes

Esther: Okay that’s fine :)

Lassiter eyed Shawn with his steely gaze as he sat down in the booth. Shawn gave him a little smile as he continued typing at his keyboard, probably to nobody.

Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

Shit! Shit! Shit! Yeah. Shawn had just made a date with Lassiter and was pretty sure that he was onto him. What the hell was he going to do? The man was sitting across from him staring him down as he pretended to type on his phone to someone and was attempting not to scream. He had until Sunday to figure that out. For now, he had to focus on pretending that everything was okay at this lunch.

Sunday came and Lassiter didn’t even bother dressing up for his date. 5 o’clock was arriving quickly and he drove to the proposed meeting spot and sat at one of the outside tables as he sipped at a coffee, starting exactly at 5 pm. When he was done drinking, he was planning on leaving. He wondered what Shawn was going to do to get out of this one.

To his surprise, at 5:02, Esther, the girl from the profile picture, showed up to the cafe and Lassiter’s mouth gaped wide open.

Shawn’s ex, the one the one he had gotten the photos from, had agreed to go on a date with Lassiter as he contacted her again and asked for this “one last favor” She laughed as he explained the whole situation he was in and had always been a fun person to date and was fully on board, thinking that it would be fun. Shawn had confessed to his ex that he had a crush on Lassiter and she sympathized with him saying she’d do her best to let him down gently.

The coffee date had gone...well but she wasn’t who he had been expecting. He sincerely was expecting Shawn or even just nobody to show up. Her words when she spoke were different, they didn’t click with one another like they had online.

Monday, the next time Lassiter saw Shawn, he pulled the man aside. “We need to talk.”

“What?” Shawn said.

“You know what you did!”

Shawn, playing dumb as usual, denied it. “What?”

“I think you know, “Esther,” Lassiter emphasized.

Shawn stared at him with a deadpan expression.

“I don’t know how you did it. How you got “her” to come to the coffee shop. But it’s you. It’s your words. Your phone number that’s registered to the account, I know it’s you, Shawn.”

“If you knew I was Esther , and I’m not saying I was, then why would you say the stuff you were saying?” Shawn stepped closer. “It was intimate, personal…”

“I-” Never did Lassiter think that Shawn would admit to something like this and take responsibility for his actions. He was growing as a person. He really did like him but he didn’t seem the most emotionally and financially secure person. But...he had just admitted to this little game, something like this was big for him. Perhaps…

“Of course the things you were saying…”

“Yes-” Lassiter inquired.

“One could say that you were really charming, really engaging, and surprisingly open.” Shawn moved closer towards him and his cheeks were getting red. “You really liked this woman, huh?”

“That person, yes, they were rather interesting.”

Shawn took a deep breath, Lassiter was...complimenting him. He was openly complimenting him. He felt his heart swell with giddy emotion. This, he really hadn’t suspected this from Lassiter. He was still just walking into a trap. After all this time, after all this pinning, it seemed too easy to admit these things. “Of course,” Shawn started to say with a movement of his hand towards his head. Two fingers on his temple. “My visions wont allow me to see anymore of what happened between you two. But I could tell that you really liked her.”

V I S I O N S!? Lassiter’s mood did a 180 and his eyes crinkled in anger. “I think we’re done here.”

This was his chance. But he was a coward as much as he was a liar. He had made the wrong decision. “Wait-” Shawn called after him.

“We’re done here,” Lassiter repeated again.

Oh no.

Lassiter left the stationhouse early to cool off. It was very unfortunate that Shawn had let him down like that again. They could have been so much together. Shawn…. Shawn was just a child. He could never date a child, a liar like him. Shawn, the fake psychic. He had some growing up to do before he could even consider him as a partner. He never took responsibility, and that was his main character flaw. He was disappointed in himself and disappointed in Spencer. This would never work.

Shawn, who didn’t have Lassiter’s actual phone number, created a new profile on the dating app. This time, as Shawn Spencer. He found Lassiter’s profile again and started typing out a long, heartfelt msg explaining his con, about his ex who was involved, how he had a crush on him, how he wasn't even psychic and the whole shebang.

Leave it to him to fuck things up as usual. He quietly deleted his long and wordy message and re-typed simply the words sorry, his thumb hovering over the send button...

A03

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness: 5.2 Sector 7

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“Alright kid, just follow my lead and stay quiet unless someone asks you something.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up for us.”

“Are you done?”

Dust crystals, weapons, and all other kinds of malicious paraphernalia were sold in the lower levels of Mistral. Beneath wired poles and under shady market stalls you could evidently buy pretty much whatever you wanted. In broad daylight. Probably pretty hard to enforce law when everyone was breaking it. The entire place was pretty openly criminal with people who were wearing masks purchasing put together bombs in full view of the sun. Or what counted for sunlight down here.

We followed a spider’s web marking on a wall into a dimly lit bar in which the only barrier between the inside and the elements was a flap with a Mistrali Flag on it. As though that was fooling anybody. It didn’t fool me and I colored myself as someone who was pretty easily fooled.

I took a look around the inside and noted several dozen people in similar purple drab. As if that weren’t enough, many people inside had that same spider web symbol tattooed to their forearms, bicep, or even their neck. I knew enough about gangs to know one when I saw one being so open.

I wheeled Qrow in.

“That's far enough now sweetheart.”

A woman sat alone at a table with two of what were clearly bodyguards on either side of her. I stopped pushing Qrow’s chair and held up my hands in surrender. I wasn’t about to start anything, even if some of the people we had passed were clearly on something and had glints in their eyes that made me want to draw my weapon.

Ether, I hoped, but perhaps even Hyper was on the table. Literally on the table as a dude did a line of white powder nearby.

I made no move towards my weapon anyways because it wasn’t like I could defend Qrow or myself in a tight space like this. We were very outnumbered and probably outgunned and entirely at the mercy of our hosts. I like to believe that I was alright in a fight, which was to say maybe I could take the lady’s two body guards if it was just the three of us and I managed something clever. This was something different. We were surrounded and they were in front of us, behind us, to either side, and, just to make things worse, above us. The place had two floors that I could see.

“Well if it isn’t Qrow Branwen. It's been a long time and you have gotten much shorter.”

“You know, you loose one fucking fight.”

“And who’s this? Some new protege or apprentice?”

The bodyguards came up to search me and I cooperatively handed over my sword and shield to the girl who staggered under its weight for a second before reclaiming her balance. “Jaune Arc.” I introduced myself as the dude patted me down. He came away with some fire crystals and an Atlas army knife. Nothing crazy for a place like this; I mean probably. I didn’t frequently search people who went to bars like this one.

“Didn’t answer my question, hun.” She probed. Jabbing at me with the spoon she held in a pudgy hand.

“He’s teaching me, yes ma’am,” I erred on polite caution.

“Good boy. You can put those arms down.” I did as she directed. “Now I’m sure you’re not here just to catch up with me, now are you?”

“I’m not no.” Qrow wiggled his stumps. I almost laughed. “I need a set of prosthetics, Atlesian or Valean or good enough for hunters.”

Would his prosthetics transform with him or-

“It’ll cost you.”

I’m sure it’ll be fine. Its magic so why not? I couldn’t think of a good reason why his new legs wouldn’t transform with him and Ozpin hadn’t said anything. Not that that meant anything.

“We don’t have much Lien.”

“Oh Mr. Branwen. Lien is how I run my business,” the spider said from her seat. She managed to glare down at Qrow still with a soft smile.

“You also run it with favors and errands.”

“A favor from the great Qrow Branwen.” She took a long drag of either tobacco or perhaps even some greens. It smelled most like tobacco, I think, though. “It would mean a lot more if he was capable of walking,” she jabbed easily. Which I think was perfectly fair.

“You provide the legs and I’ll do the walking. And if you don’t like that then the kid isn’t half bad in a fight either.”

“Hmm.” She pondered. “Okay.” She said with a sly smile. The dude handed me back my switchblade and crystals and the girl handed back my harness with my bigger blades sheathed as though that was some well rehearsed signal.

"I'll need real surgery." Qrow admitted begrudgingly. "Not those ones you just attach and pull off. I'll need them grafted on."

"Well that'll just cost you extra. Two favors.”

“Lets talk it over. Hey kid?”

“Hm?” I wondered.

“Why don’t you wait at the bar while we talk. You’re making me nervous just standing behind me.”

“Alright. Sure.” Why not?

I mosied up to the bar. The bartender in purple had a kukuri and some light armor. He didn’t card me or anything, just looked across the rosy counter towards me. “Whisky on the rocks.” Keep it familiar, keep it simple, keep it dumb, or else you’ll end up under some ganglord’s thumb.

My drink was slid towards me in a crystal patterned glass that I examined. It seemed clean enough. I had a sip. It was smooth. I had another sip.

“Who’s this Melanie?” A voice purred from behind me. A girl’s voice. I ignored it because ignoring women was my MO.

“I don’t know Miltiades, some new huntsman.”

“He’s decent looking.”

“Tall, too.”

I looked around. There were two girls looking at me. They had dark hair and pale green eyes. I looked them up and down. “Are you talking to me?” I wondered. It went against my MO. Explicitly, even. One had a pair of silver blades attached to white boots to match the overall assemble of a white dress. The other had red claws strapped to her back. The red claws matched a tighter red dress than the girl in white who could only be a sister. Maybe a cousin if I was stretching.

They looked damn near identical, though, so I was really stretching.

“Who else would we even be talking to?” I looked around, the girl in white made a fair point. There was nobody even close to me. They were to either side of me out in the open.

“So what brings a huntsman like you down here?” The girl in red asked.

“I’m with him.” I pointed to Qrow, not seeing any point to lying. I pushed him into this place afterall. Out in the open. “Need to get him back on his feet but we’re a little short on cash.”

“And what is he to you?” The girl in red asked.

“He’s not much to be completely and totally honest. Family of a friend,” I answered vaguely. “I didn’t catch your names.”

“I’m Melanie Malachite.” The girl in white introduced herself. “And this is-”

“Miltia.” The other finished. Malachite, like the woman in charge. Well I'd better be polite and not fuck things up. That was all the advice I’d been given.

“Well, can I buy the two of you a drink? Or drinks, rather?” I doubted they would be sharing.

Instead they just giggled a little at me. Cute girls laughing at me was nothing new though and after a few years it meant surprisingly little. Girls like this tended to laugh like that. It would be better for my sanity if I didn’t take it personally.

“I thought you were short on cash.” Miltia returned, hiding her smile behind a hand and failing. Probably intentionally.

“Short on cash for a pair of legs. Not for three drinks.” I lifted my glass to my lips. It was already empty and the glass clinked around in no liquid. “Make that four drinks. What’ll you two have?”

“A white russian,” Miltia said.

“A hurricane.”

I ordered for them and another whiskey for me. Then I slid the red drink to the girl in white and the white drink to the girl in red. I was sixty percent sure they were fucking with me. Somehow. And it was totally working. They were messing with my head completely and totally and probably for kicks.

But they took drinks from their cocktails with a familiarity that threw me off. Maybe they did drink these exact drinks a bit. I nursed my own, making sure to take it slower on my second glass of something straight.

The last thing Qrow and I needed was for me to be wasted.

"So where are you from?" Melanie pulled back from her red drink and bounced out the words. I hope she wasn't clumsy because that drink would stain like a nightmare on her white clothes.

"Vale. I, uh, I used to go to Beacon." I took my weapons off my back and set them on the stool to my left. The stool on my right was occupied by Miltia.

"We're from Vale too." Miltia said.

"Not really the biggest fans of Beacon students but we can make an exception."

"Lucky me." I slipped. "Well the 'ex-Beacon student' is kinda important anyways. I left that place behind after the attack."

"We left with the collapse as well." Melanie added.

"Decided it just wasn't safe enough." Miltia clarified.

"Makes sense. I was out of there in a hurry myself. How did you two get here then?"

"Airship." Miltia informed me.

"Our parents own several so we just flew." They were sisters, then.

"Must have been nice," I let myself grumble. The thought of my feet aching from walking ached.

"Sounds like there's a story to how you got here." Miltia pressed.

"I walked, rode horses, and took a train. Just extra steps comparatively. More monsters, you know?"

Melanie blinked. “You ride horses?”

“Well aren’t you a regular old fashioned knight.” She eyed me in my thick armor. She may be reading into my look and figuring some other things. They were all wrong but she was figuring some things.

"I had to learn on the way. It's not like that."

"Did Qrow Branwen teach you?"

"You two know Qrow?"

"We know about Qrow." Miltia corrected.

"Some hunters are famous like that."

"Him and his sister are both well known but there are others too."

"Winter Schnee, Glynda Goodwitch, General Ironwood." Melanie counted.

"Well Qrow didn't teach me that but I suppose he is mentoring me in other things."

"Like what?" Miltia asked.

"Like being a better fighter, I guess. He knows a lot about how to kill things, and not much else to be on the level with you." I reached the bottom of my drink and debated with myself before ordering another one. I was on the heavy side anyways, so it should be fine? "I really try not to take his advice on other things."

“You’re a heavy drinker.” Melanie watched me order more whiskey.

"Yeah. That's one of those things I really don't want to pick up from Qrow but it might be too late. I might have the sort of addictive personality that leans that way."

"You're not sure?"

"I'm really not the kind of guy that goes to bars much."

"You seem like a regular to bar or club life."

"Yeah. With the right haircut you could be a plain old ladykiller."

I blushed. "I don't think so..."

"Come on."

“I know, let us give you a makeover.”

"Nobody likes a good-looking guy with no confidence."

"Nobody likes a guy with the wrong kind of confidence either. Trust me on that one." I thought of Weiss. She really hadn’t been all that into me. Like at all. But hot girls not liking me was nothing new to my life. It was the rule and there were two redheaded exceptions. Weiss was… probably a friend? Now? I wasn’t really sure. I learned to dislike her a little as a self defense mechanism. And to be fair, while that was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism, it kept me slitting my wrists the short ways rather than the long ways. I sucked on my third drink. My vision was getting a little shaky and my lips and face a little looser. "Where did you girls train?"

"Train?"

"Get your huntswomen training, I mean."

"Huntswomen," Miltia giggled.

"I know he's so careful." Melanie laughed back.

"Listen, I have gotten my ass beat by so many women that it pays to jump through that kind of hoop. It just does."

"We don't have any formal training." Miltia returned to the previous question.

"We're from the mean streets of Vale."

"We're with the gang so…" Miltia finished.

"I see." I nodded along.

"You think it doesn't count?" Melanie prompted.

"It's probably more real than any training someone gets at like, Signal." I disagreed with her implication. "My real training came from after Beacon fell, in the wild. Hunting criminals and real Grimm instead of practice dummies or training partners."

"Plus whatever Branwen is teaching you."

"Eh." I managed. "The chair happened around the same time that I met him. Most of the training he has given me has been verbal rather than hands on. All-l, really-y." I slurred slightly.

"You seem perfectly capable anyways."

"Maybe gang life would suit you."

I watched Miltia trade drinks with Melanie. They took a pull from the others' drink in perfect synchronization. At my look she leaned over. "We don't mind sharing things." She winked.

"Uh huh." I managed stupidly. “So what kind of haircut should I get? Asking for a friend.”

“I don’t know.... What do you think Melanie?”

“Well he looks alright now but he could tame it even more. Slick it back and nice and short. Nothing to grab onto but it would be smooth.”

“Yeah, he’s sort of in between right now. Like go scruffy or comb it over. Pick one and commit.”

“Pick one and commit…?” I trailed.

‘Yeah. You’re scruffy-”

“But not full on scruffy. And you have the comb over-”

“But you didn’t commit to it. If you’d pick one and go with that one who knows what could follow.”

“No one likes a guy who’s indecisive.”

“Seems to me like you girls don’t like a lot of guys,” I cut in. “Indecisive, no confidence, wrong confidence. Boy, is there anything about me girls actually like. I’m honestly asking.”

“What should your angle be? You mean?” Miltia asked.

“Yeah? What cards do I play? I’m too nice for edgy and too honest for mysterious.”

“Well you’re tall and broad so you’ve got that going for you,” Melannie pointed out. “Everyone likes a huntsman. Who doesn’t like a huntsman?”

“Nobody.”

“Okay, I hear that. Let me ask you something. I met the most beautiful girl in the world when I was at Beacon. A smart, gorgeous huntress. Let’s say I was really trying to impress this girl and I tried everything I could think of. I tried singing. I tried asking her to the dance. I tried asking her alone and in groups and in and out of classes. I tried it all. Okay? I tried literally everything and the kitchen sink.”

“And nothing worked?” Melannie asked.

“Nothin’,” I said. “Nothin’ worked. Not a damn thing. I think she hated me.”

“Well it sounds like you were trying too hard. Nobody likes that.”

“And if you’re going to go honest you have to commit.”

“C-o-m-m-i-t,” Melanie hit the back of her hand into her palm with each letter. She spelled it out for me which was good because I’m fuckin’ stupid. “Honest is fine.”

“Honest is good, even. But if you’re dishonest in any way a smart girl will smell that from a mile away. You said she was smart right?”

“The smartest.”

“So what did you really do?”

“We can’t tell you unless you’re completely honest with us,” Melannie ordered.

“Real talk?” I asked. “I… I tried to fake my confidence… and most of my personality...”

“Yeah that’s not gonna work.”

“That’s not gonna work at all,” Miltia agreed. “You can't play the nice guy card and then try and fake it like that. A girl just knows.”

“A girl totally just knows. We would notice if you were faking it right now. It’s like a guy faking their orgasm. It’s not a thing.”

“It’s not like girls can really fake it either…” I pointed out. “It’s pretty obvious and world shaking when a girl finishes for real. And when you do it right she isn’t sure if she wants more or less. Can’t fake that. Come on.”

“He knows…” Melannie trailed.

“He’s onto our entire gender.”

“Who would have thought?”

“Scraggly, tall, and blonde has moves in the bedroom.”

“Please,” I waved off. “It’s so stupid easy to make girls come. It’s literally brain dead. If I can do it anybody can. The clitoris and G-spot are not hard to find. You can make a girl finish even when she is begging you not to.”

“Can you not with guys?” Miltia asked.

“Not a chance. It’s easy to get a guy into it but if he’s not completely into it you cannot get him off. Bet.”

“Is that a challenge?” Melannie wondered. “Are you challenging us?”

“Bet,” I repeated. I finished my drink.

"Are you done flirting." Qrow had rolled up on me without me noticing. No mean feat from the chair.

"I really wouldn't know flirting if it walked up and stabbed me in the front," I leveled against him.

"Well stop it. Come on. I worked out our favors from Lil' Miss Malachite." I said my valedictions, grabbed my tools, and wheeled him back over to the woman in charge.

"So what's the first favor?" I wondered.

"I need someone killed." She splayed her hands across the table. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well it depends on who it is, doesn't it."

"Does it?" She pressed me.

"Of course. It matters who it is to you too."

"Smart boy. It's a dust witch in a rival gang named Eminence Kramer. She’s been a thorn in my side for far too long and she has made it clear that she has to go."

"And the second favor?" I continued.

"I need information out of one Don Corneo." She took a long drag. "You decide the order. I don't particularly care. After that we'll get Qrow here a new set of legs and the surgery to boot."

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-WG

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 7

a/n: this is like my favorite chapter so far. I feel like I’ve been waiting this whole story to ge tot watch these two interact in this way. I hope it comes across as authentic. I worked really hard on the pacing for this story. You all have been incredibly kind to me lately with feedback for this story and I sincerely hope you keep it coming. It is without a doubt the brightest part of my days recently. Thank you so much for that. K bye. 

WARNINGS: sex without a condom (gotta wrap it before you tap it). mentioned of white supremacy, racism, and micro-aggressions. 

*Shawn’s point of view*

Nothing ever simultaneously works out. It never all gets to be perfect. His life had been a memoir with that exact theme and yet somehow he always let himself forget. Y/n leaves and he somehow has a date with her. A date. Not a hookup. Not some elaborate set up to make her cum. A date. With like conversation and personality. He hadn’t been on a date in years. And sure he knew he was really good at sex, but that didn’t mean shit about being able to actually hold a conversation. She was lightyears above him mentally, and he had no idea how he was going to manage to not fuck it up. But he had a date. She said yes. And that within itself was a win. So of course something in his life was going to have to go to shit. Hold that thought.

Brian makes it back sometime between his gym run and a shower. By the time he gets out, the asshole is sitting on his couch fucking up his kill rate on COD.

“Move over, jerkoff! And switch to two player.” He grunted plopping down on the couch beside him.

“Jeez, bro take it down a couple notches. I am nursing a hangover from the depths of hell over here.”

“Not my fault you can’t ever handle your liquor.”

“Well Melanie seemed to think I handled it just fine.”

“Melanie sounds like she’s still never had an orgasm before.”

Brian punched him in the bicep which only resulted in him returning the favor. Idiot.

“Not all of us sneak our hookups in in the middle of the night.”

He rolled his eyes fingers smashing on the controller.

“I didn’t sneak anyone. It’s my fucking apartment you idiot.”

“Yea, sure, whatever. Did you at least hook up with someone new?”

His fingers stumbled on the joystick, sending his player headfirst into a grenade. Lovely.

“No. No I didn’t.”

Brian looked over at him. “You fucked the same girl again?”

“I don’t think we should be equating Melanie and y/n here. y/n is a woman. A grown ass woman. Trust me, she never lets me forget.” He snorted.

“What is up with you and this chick? You never fuck the same person twice.”

He supposed now was as good a time as any. He actually was going to need shit for brains’ advice.

“I like her okay! I like her. And we hooked up last night but it was...it was different. I didn’t tell her what to do. I didn’t pull out any bells or whistles. I just...We just had sex. And she kissed me like she liked me too. So I asked her on a date.”

“A DATE?! I haven’t seen you go on a date since you were like a child!!”

“No shit, jackass. I’m going to need every fucking ounce of help I can get. And that includes your ass, unfortunately.”

“Stop pretending you don’t love me bitch. Now tell me how you plan to get a thirty year old woman who isn’t on drugs to actually enjoy spending time with your sorry ass.”

What are best friends for?

***

*y/n’s point of view*

y/n: I HAVE A DATE.

y/n: I NEED YOU HERE ASAP

Tiana: Oh shit. K. omw.

The last time you went on a date was in 2016, what some might call the beginning of Armageddon. After a slew of horrid dates, you had been completely and totally ready to throw in the towel. But then this cute guy came out of nowhere. He was nice, sweet, not very funny but in a way that made you laugh. He was also persistent enough to not take no for an answer, without it making you uncomfortable. No immediate red flags. So you went on the damn date. And all was well. It wasn’t an earth shattering date, but you weren’t not enjoying his company. And then it happened.

I just really think Trump will genuinely make America great again ya know?

You nearly choked on a piece of lettuce.

“Really bruh? In front of my salad?”

“No just hear me out though. Is he unorthodox, sure. But Hillary? Hillary and those emails. It just wouldn’t have worked.”

“I absolutely understand what you mean.”

“You do?” He smiled.

“Yep. CHECK PLEASE!”

“Bitch we do not have time for you to disassociate I am trying to make a wing here!” Tiana huffed.

You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone working to still your features so that Tianna could continue with your makeup.

y/n: Are you a republican?

Shawn: Well thank you for asking, I’ve had a lovely day. How was yours?

y/n: I’m serious.

Shawn: I’m Canadian.

“Shit. I’m so stupid.” You whined.

Tiana tugged at your chin. “Not stupid. But NOT still.”

“Sorry, ti.”

y/n: Would you have voted for Trump if you could have?

Shawn: No. No I wouldn’t have. What kind of a person do you think I am?

y/n: Idk. idk. I just needed to be sure. It never came up when you were tying my arms behind my back.

Shawn: You didn’t mention political discourse as one of your kinks. Is there something I should know before tonight?

y/n: No. It’s fine. I swear. Just haven’t been on a date in a really long time. And my last one didn’t go so well.

Shawn: It’s been a long time for me too. But I’d really like to have a go at it, if that’s okay with you?

y/n: yea, I’d like that. Should I meet you at your place still?

Shawn: Actually I’m gonna pick you up. I’ll be at your place at 7?

y/n: Oh. Okay.

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm what? What’d he say?” Tiana asked.

“I’m not meeting at his place anymore. He’s picking me up.”

“Well where is he taking you?”

“If I knew that, Ti would I be sitting here in a ball of anxiety?!”

Tianna dropped her eyeliner brush and reach instead for the body lava. All hail Rihana.

“I sure hope he dicks you unconscious for a few hours. You have got to relax, sis.” She giggled. “It’s going to be alright, okay? He likes you. You like him. Let that be enough for right now.”

“Okay. Okay. Just...make my titties sparkle? Please?”

“Lord, chile. You don’t pay me enough.” She snorted.

Friendship!

***

Shawn: I’m here. Do you want me to come up?

y/n: No need! Here I come.

Outside your apartment building is one of those SUV hummer situations that you only ever rode in when you were visiting one of your artists on tour. Shawn is standing outside the door of the vehicle, and you can’t help but pause right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He traded the black jeans for a black slack that hones in on the fact that he’s most definitely not wearing a chelsea boot for the first time ever. They’re dress shoes. Like proper, wing tips. And he’s wearing a short sleeve button up with yellow, black, and white stripes. There are enough buttons undone to see the way that his rosary necklace melted into the firmness of his chest nestled amongst the most sinful amount of chest hair. God, where the hell had they made this one at? And how the hell did he wind up at my front door?

“Hi.” He smiled, legs crossed and chest broad. “You look really beautiful.”

You peered down at the jumpsuit you’d picked out with Tiana’s help. It was a really pretty shimmery gold color and the entire back was cut out too. In hindsight, it didn’t seem nearly as impressive as to what he was wearing now.

“Thank you. You look pretty beautiful yourself. Really showed me up tonight.”

He laughed. “Yea, sure. Come on, it’s cold out. Let’s get going.”

In the car, there’s a bottle of champagne and one of the playlists that you recognized from Shawn’s apartment is playing softly in the background. He pours each of you a glass, your legs somehow knotting simply together on the floor of the car. It’s weird in that it’s not like a first date  in the traditional sense. You put his balls in your mouth for one. He licked orgasms out of you like ice cream. But the nerves are still there. You find that you care about what he thinks of you, of how he feels about you. That’s new. And scary.

“So uh...where are we going?” You asked between sips of champagne.

He bites his lip and looks nervously over at you. It’s a new look for him. But one that you find solace in.

“Would you be angry at me if I said it was a surprise?”

You raised an eyebrow. “No. But I would be curious as to what that surprise is.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough.”

“I think I heard that line one time. I think Hannibal Lector said it.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back and you wished it didn’t make you giggle, but it does.

“Funny.” He smirked hiding behind his glass. “I just wanna impress you a little bit. Is that okay?”

“You wanna impress lil ole me huh?” You smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“Just a little.”

He licked his bottom lip and his hand inched its way up your knee. He was warm. Way too warm to not have your body react a little. Rude.

“Whatever happened to your friend from the other morning? Am I taking you away from him?”

“Oh Brian?” He snickered. “He’s just happy he’s got my place to himself. He couldn’t believe I was going on a date at all.”

“Tiana either.” You snorted.

“Yea? She try and convince you not to go out with me?”

“She is...surprisingly Pro-you for some reason. Must have something to do with me not having enough time to be a bitch as work with our arrangement and everything.”

“Hmmm. Well it’s nice to know I’ve got one person on my team. Maybe by the end of the night I can win you over too.”

“Maybe.” You smiled.

The car eventually rolls to a stop, and you’re not even aware of how long you’ve been talking. All the nerves that you couldn’t actually be together without the sex part sort of faded away. He could make you laugh. He could hold your attention. And you could offer him the same. Just when you were starting to think that it was all going to be fine? Shawn came to open your door.

Your heels touched gently to the ground and you let him pull you from the car. Behind him was not a restaurant. Not a bar. Not even a fucking hotel. Nope. Instead you were stood right in front of Mendes Industries’ private jet and a fucking flight attendant with a bag in her hands that looks surprisngly like your Louis Vitton. Fucking Tiana.

“What the hell. Shawn, what the hell?!” You gasped. “What is this?”

“You were concerned about people seeing us right? Well no one’s gonna see us. No one but the locals.”

“The locals?! I can’t--I can’t just fly away with you Shawn. I have responsibilities. I have a--a job.”

He reached for your hands, which tended to do a lot of movement when you were flustered, and stilled them by placing them on his shoulders.

“Listen to me,” He murmured silencing you. “It’s already set. Tiana canceled all of your meetings for three days. It’s just three days. Look I...I really like you, okay? More so than I know what to do with right now. And I think that you like me too. Do you like me?”

“Y--Yea! Yea, of course I do. That’s not really the point is it?”

“It is. Just get on the plane. Please? I just wanna take you out. Let me take you out.”

You peered up at him, all soft brown eyes and chiseled everything else. He had really come along out of nowhere. It was incredibly disorientating, and intoxicating. You lived your life by a planner, a set time for every hour by the hour. And here he was asking you to throw that all away, to let yourself be something else for a chance. And it wasn’t all that different from what he asked of you in the bedroom. Just let go. Release.

You sighed. “You know when most guys ask to take a girl out? They don’t mean out of the state.”

“I’m not like other guys.” He shrugged.

“No shit. Where are you taking me, white boy?” You groaned letting him steer you towards the plane.

“Try to contain your excitement.” He snorted. “Remember that time we had sex in the back of a storage room during Khalid’s video shoot?”

You smiled awkwardly at the flight attendant and knocked your arm into his shoulder.

“Oh please. We’ve had this jet since I was fifteen. I’m almost positive my dad has done some incredibly sketchy shit on here. Martha knows all. Thank you Martha!”

He leads you to a seat. There’s more champagne. You don’t know how you got here. This man was wild.

“Get to the point, maybe?”

“Right. We hooked up in the storage closet, and you told me that story about how you missed your high school trip to Rome because your mom was having heart problems and couldn’t afford it with the medical bills? You had a Lizzie Mcguire fantasy and everything.”

“I was drunk that night. Khalid had just gotten his first number one.”

“So you don’t want me to take you to Rome?” He asked.

“ROME?!”

“Rome.”

“....Who are you?!”

He chuckled. “I’m just a guy standing here asking a girl to let me take her on a little trip.”

“Oh my god. He quotes romcoms. This is too much.”

“Just relax sweetheart. We’re about to do liftoff.”

Jesus Christ.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’s a little worried that he may have broken her. Maybe it was too much too fast. He should’ve just taken her to fucking dinner like a normal person. The problem was he wasn’t normal. And she sure as hell wasn’t normal either. She was so different from anyone he’d ever been with before. He wanted to spend time with her. And the last thing in the world he wanted was her to think about his dad while she was with him. He could tell that it bothered her more than she was willing to admit, and he just needed them to be on equal footing. What said equal footing like going to a country where neither of them spoke the language. Tiana had given him the green light when she agreed to change y/n’s schedule around and even pack her a bag. It seemed like maybe it might go well.

She calms down after her first glass of champagne, and sits more comfortably into the seat next to him, her legs folded so that her knees poked gently at his thigh. She was closer, close enough for him to smell her perfume and he kind of loved it.

“So are first dates the one’s where we spill all of our dirty laundry, or is that the second one?” She asked.

He chuckled and laid his hand on her thigh. She smiles at him, so he doesn’t pull away.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Do your worst, woman.”

She situates herself a little more gently into the chair, chin propped up on her palm. He gets lost in the glitter on her collarbones and neck.

“Why haven’t you been on a date in a long time?” She asked.

Heavy first question. But he told her to do her worst.

“Well I uh...the last date I went on was with my girlfriend of about two years. And on said date she told me that she had been sleeping with a producer at Atlantic records for six months, and that he was going to share her demo. So, she didn’t need me anymore.” He shrugged around a sip of champagne.

“Two years? Two fucking years before she pulled that shit? That’s fucked.” She said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yea. It was really heavy at the time. Blamed my dad for a lot of it, even if it probably wasn’t his fault this time. But ever since then I just thought it might be easier to stick to the meaningless sex route.”

She nodded. “I fuck that up for you a little bit?”

“You have no idea.” He grinned rubbing his thumb along her chin. “I should’ve known the second I caught you checking me out at that party.”

“Excuse me? For the last time I was not ‘checking you out’. I was simply observing that snooze fest your father put on.”

“I was checking you out.” He admitted honestly. “I asked my dad to introduce us. I just knew I had to have you. And then I spoke to you and I found out you were trouble, and you weren’t going to take any of my shit. I should’ve known then.”

It’s a lot softer than anything he’s ever admitted before, and every time that he remembers that this is more, that they’re trying to become more, it makes his heart stutter in his chest. But she leans her head against his seat and she smiles at him like it means something to her to be open, to be vulnerable. And that alone is enough to get him to lean in.

“So maybe....maybe I was looking in your direction.” She says softly. “I’d heard of you. I’d just never actually seen you in person before. And maybe I was curious.”

“Curious?!” He laughed. “Okay. Curious. We can call it that; I’ll take it. Your turn. Worst date. Spill.”

She groaned softly and slid a little deeper into her seat, head fitting perfectly against his shoulder.

“I accidentally went to dinner with a Trump supporter.”

“Accidently?” He snorted.

“Don’t laugh asshole! It was thoroughly traumatic for me. I just thought that logically a white supremacist would not be interested in asking me, a black woman, on a date. I forgot that logic is not in their wheelhouse. It was awful.”

“Now your texts make a lot more sense.” He chuckled reaching his arm to pat her cheek. “That enough to take you out the game, aye?”

“I don’t know man...the world is fucking scary right now.” She sighed. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no one we can trust, like there’s no one who doesn’t have it out for us. It’s not just political agendas. It’s my safety. It really is that deep. It has to be.”

It’s this moment where she’s offering more of herself than she had in the entire time that he’d known her. Y/n was beautiful and sexy and intelligent, but there was also always this aura of mystery around her. Like she wasn’t quite ready to share herself, didn’t know if she could. And he wanted to find his way on the other side of that. He wanted to know her better than she knew herself. And he wants to cherish any moment where she’s willing to let him try that.

“I understand.” He paused and closed his eyes feeling maybe a little flustered and out of his element. “I mean I don’t. I know that I don’t, that I couldn’t but..I hear what you’re saying. And I believe you. I would like to know more at some point. If you’re willing to share it with me.”

Her eyes flicker over to his and they’re wide and brilliant and he wants to kiss her so bad.

“You do?” She checked.

He nodded and chanced reaching to pull her face a little closer, palm resting against her cheek.

“I do.”

She kisses him and it feels like the sun. It feels like everything.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

Rome  is kind of perfect. It’s not so hot that you’ve got to cover yourself in deodorant, but the sun is still pretty and bold in the sky. The hotel he takes you to has an entire terrace open for your access with those flowy ass curtains you only saw in cheesy 80’s pop music videos. There are couches that might as well be beds there so soft and plush. You touch down in the middle of the night and there’s not much to do but keep talking to each other, keep touching each other. You take your shoes off and sit out on the couches wrapped in blankets with another bottle of champagne. If the redness in his cheeks is anything to go off of, he’s just as tipsy as you, and it means that it’s not weird when you lean into him. No one’s gonna say anything for letting him hold you.

“It’s four am right now.” You giggled hiding your face in his neck. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yea. I really do. I always wanted to come here. I can’t believe this is our first date.”

“I wanted it to be special for you. You deserve that.”

“Since when?” You asked so thoroughly confused by everything that he was. “I mean, yes. I definitely deserve this but...when you did you realize that you want it to be more than what we were? I thought you just wanted to fool around?”

“I did.” He whined stubbornly tracing your nose with his thumb. “I really did. But...you are very good at sex.” You laughed and he smiled. “I’m serious! One of the best partners I’ve ever had. And sometimes when our bodies were moving I just got lost in you. Like you were a fucking beautiful ass star capturing me with your light. And then you stopped arguing with me so much and just letting me be like...a friend to you?  And then Miami happened and I just--I wanted to be with you. And I realized that I wanted to be with you as a person, even when we weren’t having sex. I was scared. Until I realized that you liked me too. Then I got my confidence back.”

“Oh lord not your confidence.” You rolled your eyes.

“You have got to stop acting like you are not all up on this okay? I see the way you stare at me, honey. It’s okay. Let yourself give in to Mendes Magic!”

“I am officially not attracted to you anymore.” You snorted going to pull away.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and tackled you down to the couch. Your laughter poured out into the night as his fingers dug into your belly. You laugh until your stomach aches. Until there’s tears in your eyes. Until he kisses you and you feel it in your toes. Until the only thing you can think about, feel, smell, is him. And you melt like that against the couch.

***

Rome is beautiful. It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been. The sun rises in the sky and you’re up immediately tugging Shawn out of bed. There’s breakfast at this little place near the hotel that looks out over buildings that were unlike anything you’d ever thing. Everything was historic and rustic and so endlessly different from everything you’d seen before. It was really like something straight out of a movie with cobblestone walkways and buildings that were works of art themselves. It’s wild. It would be wild on any day of the week. That was before you looked over your glass of wine to this guy smiling at you like the beauty of the city around him meant nothing in comparison to looking at you.

You liked him. Shit you liked him a lot. And every time he looked you in the eye and hung on every word you said? It just blew you even further away. And you kept trying to remind yourself how unrealistic it all was. You were thirty afterall. The two of you were in different times in your life. He was still holding on to every word his dad said. You had plans for your life, for your career. It was hard to figure out whether or not he could fit into those plans. And maybe that wasn’t first date type of thinking, but hello! He took your ass to Rome. None of it was normal. So you walked a little faster, tried to hold harder to the moments that you had to share. Cause why not?

“Hey can we slow down for a sec?” He asked as you pulled him towards your third museum of the day.

You frowned. “I wanna see the ruins.”

“We can. I promise. Just let’s sit down for a second, yea?”

You’d been walking all morning, stopping at every nook and cranny that you came across. It was a three day trip anyway. You had no idea when you’d ever be back, if you ever would be back. But there’s something special about the company too. You remind yourself that he’s the reason you’re there. The vacation, though amazing, was really just an opportunity to be with him.

“Yea, of course.”

He tugged you to a little corner of these big huge steps that were filled with people just sitting down, chatting, eating their lunches. The second you’re no longer standing on your feet is a little bit like heaven.

“Okay make you were right.” You sighed wiggling your toes. “I’m tired.”

“Well that’s good. I was starting to think you were a robot.” He chuckled. “I’m glad I packed tennis shoes.”

You peered down at his feet and quickly laced your legs with his where the white tennis shoes stuck out in contrast to his black jeans.

“They look so funny on you. I like them. You’re cute.”

He smiled over at you. “I’m cute, aye?”

“You heard me.”

“Yea, well maybe I wanna hear you say it again.” He murmured taking your cheek into his hand.

“You’re cute.” You whispered before pressing your lips together.

You had yet to get over this new style of kissing. The way he rubbed so softly at your cheek you got goosebumps. The way his tongue could make you feel like time was slowing down. Almost like there was nothing left here. Nothing but the two of you and the way you could make each other feel. It was maybe the best feeling in the world.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured when the kiss had ended, forehead pressed against yours. “I can’t believe you’re here with me right now.”

“I can’t believe you whisked me away to a different country for our first date.” She hummed. “What are you hiding? Do you have a third nipple or something? A serial killer perhaps?”

“Why are you so insistent on me killing people?” He laughed. “And you’ve seen all of my body at this point. If there was a third nipple don’t you think you would’ve seen it?”

“Well you’ve got me there. But statistically speaking at least fifty percent of all murders probably fit your description, honey. I’m just being realistic. I’ve seen what you can do with rope.”

He rolled his eyes and he found that it made you smile. And so he tended to do it more and more often.  That’s kinda how you knew you were fucked.

“What do you say we go see these ruins of yours, find some pasta, and fuck until we fall asleep?”

“As long as it’s in that order!” You gasped tugging him back to his feet to continue your wild adventure of the day.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’s got a new kink. And it’s definitely her calling him baby when he’s inside her. It is without a doubt the sexiest thing she could do for him. Which makes so little sense. How fucking soft had she turned him in a few short months? This is where he was now, almost blowing his load because a woman called him baby. It’s not just a woman though. It’s her. Holy fuck it’s her, and the sound of her voice is like directly tied to his dick or something. Shit.

The couches on the terrace are perfect for sex in broad daylight. It’s completely secluded to just them, but anyone at the other hotels around would easily be able to hear them if they opened a window. It’s just another thing that seems to get them both hot and bothered. Her body is a dream. And he doesn’t need to tie her up to get lost in her. (Even if he really, really liked tying her up). All he needs is the feel of her body against his and his hands to direct her where he wants her to go, where he needs her to go for both of them to explode.

“Fuck.Honey you’re dripping. You’re dripping all over my dick.” He groaned tugging her thighs more ruggedly against his own.

“Baby I--I wanna cum.” She gasped, voice breathy and chaotic as her hips bucked like a fucking dream. “I wanna cum on it. Please?”

“It’s yours. Cum on it. Make yourself cum.”

He reached  around her waist to grind his fingers deep into her clit. Her ass began to bounce against him, quick and sharp and rugged. He’s barely holding on by a thread. And then she starts to squeeze down on him, her hips working to bring herself to her own climax, and he’s already done for.

“Fuck! I’m cumming.”

His fingers work harder on her clit, dropping down to his knees to drive desperately into her with everything he’s got left inside of him. It thrusts her over the back of the couch and he plasters himself against her back grinding tightly with everything that he’s got..  When she cums it’s just another accomplishment, another moment of making her feel good. It’s all he’s ever really wanted since they met.

“Holy fucking shit.” She gasped collapsing against his chest. “So good.”

“Yea? Still think I can’t dom you and date you at the same time?”

“Shhhh. No one has time for you sir, I can’t feel my legs.”

He nuzzled his way into her neck placing kisses against the skin. His arms were still wrapped around her and her fingers were playing in his hair. It was different than their usual hook ups, for sure. But, he liked it. He liked feeling close to her. He liked touching her and feeling her heart beat beneath his finger tips. Did she know how amazing she was?

“You want me to go get a towel?” He asked softly, pecking at her ear.

She hummed. “Not yet. Don’t leave yet.”

God he was ruined. Just like that.

“Yea okay.”

***

She hops in the shower and he has every intention of following her, of maybe pressing her into the shower door and fucking her until the glass breaks. But then his phone starts ringing and she giggles and runs off leaving his dick to twitch against his thigh. He was stupid on her. Aboslutely idiotic. And whoever was getting in the way of his idiocy was about to get an ear full.

“There better be someone dying!” He huffed eyes still very much on the shower where perhaps the most beautiful woman alive was waiting for him.

“That can be arranged. Can you explain to me why I had to find out from Tiffany that your half whit ass is in Rome right now instead of New York?” His dad roared.

Remember that whole things falling apart narrative? Surprise.

“Shit. Dad look I..I just needed to get away for awhile okay?”

“On the comapny fucking jet nonetheless?!”

“That jet has been open to family members as long as I’ve been alive. Since when is it even a problem?”

“Since you’ve been on that jet more than you’ve been in my office. I am tired of trying to explain this to you Shawn. The rules are very simple. You work for me, you do a good job, you get your inheritance. If you don't, you know what happens Shawn. Is that what you want, to make me have to do that to you?”

“Look Dad I,” He let his voice drop softer, shyer. “It’s not what it looks like. This isn’t just me fucking off okay? I--I like someone. Like really like them. And I just wanted to impress her. She’s different. And I wanted her to like me. This isn’t one of my hookups, I swear.”

He hadn’t liked someone in so long, hadn’t even come close to what he was feeling for y/n. Even though his dad was a dick and they had fought since the time he was eleven, there was still a part of him that yearned for his approval. It was hard not to get caught up in what the world knew his dad to be. It was hard not to feel like if he could just make him proud, just make him happy, then everything would be okay. He hadn’t been that naive in a long time, but it still pulled at him every now and again.

Manny sighed. “Great, son. That doesn’t help the fact that you went behind my back and are continuously neglecting your duties.”

“I--I’m not though. Niall is sitting at sixteen songs as we speak. You only wanted twelve remember? I convinced the producers to look into doing a deluxe edition. That’s gonna make the label happy, Niall happy, and it’s more money for you right? I’m back in LA in a week to work on the roll out for Sarah Leone to the press. I’m kind of working my ass off here. I’m doing everything you wanted.”

“Look whatever just get your ass back to New York, okay?” He muttered.

“I’ll be back in two days.”

“Shawn.”

“Two days. I’ll be back in two days, and I’ll keep living in this hell of a life you’ve set up for me , alright? See you then.”

He tossed his phone back onto the bed in frustration. The noose tightened a little in his absence, sick and tired of always fighting and always losing. It seemed like no matter what happiness he carved out for himself, he was always going to have to return home. Maybe he was kidding himself. Maybe there was no winning in this life.

He stands there for like forty-five seconds feeling sorry for himself, and just fully like a piece of shit. And then he hears her. It’s soft and gentle and sweet. He moves a little closer to the bathroom, the door still open and her naked body visible through the foggy glass door. She’s singing.

“I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away.” She cooed softly. “I don’t know where my soul is, I don’t know where my home is.”

Her voice was soulful and low, her fingers cupping her breasts and rolling down over her hips as she sang. It really kind of hit him in his heart. He leaned against the edge of the doorway, head lolling back for support at this gorgeous sound coming out of this gorgeous woman. The music lover in him just wanted to sit on the floor and listen to her all day, it was so pretty. Maybe map out some harmonies for the two of them. And the fact that he could see the smile on her lips as she sang only made his heart feel two times too big for his sturnemum. He wasn’t ready for the way that she could make him feel. He thought he’d known that, thought he was preparing himself. Not so much. He wasn’t sure one could prepare themselves for a woman like y/n. Maybe that was his lesson to learn.

She catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye and her lips glue firmly shut. He practically pouts when she stops singing. His arms crossed against his chest tighten in dissatisfaction.

“What are you doing?” She whined leaning her head out of the shower.

He shrugged. “Was just listenin’. You didn’t tell me you sang.”

“You didn’t ask. And I don’t. I was just...humming.”

“Humming?” He laughed softly. “Okay. Well you hum beautifully.”

“Well thank you, I suppose. Was your phone call okay?”

“No. Not quite but, I’m good now. Can I wash your back for you maybe?”

“Yea. Boy, you ain’t gotta ask to wash my back. Come on!”

He steps back into the steam of the shower and it’s like nothing exists but the two of them. And he just really wants to keep it that way for a little while longer. If only for a little while longer.

***

They’re lying on a hotel bed that’s so soft it feels like they’re sinking. After another glorious round of sex he found himself tangled in the sheets beside her. Their heads at the foot of the bed because that’s the position where he’d made her cum last, and their feet intertwined at the headboard. She’s not looking at him, but instead up at the ceiling. This doesn’t seem to stop him from peering over at her. She’s kind of too beautiful to not look at.

“Can I ask you something?” He hedged carefully.

She peered over at him, eyes warm and sated.

“Yes.”

“I don’t...I really don’t know how to ask, or what to ask. And maybe--maybe I’m gonna come across like some dick, but I don’t wanna do that with you. I want to learn ya know? I want to understand.”

“Shawn?” She pressed getting his attention. “Calm down. Just ask.”

He nodded softly and took a deep breath. His fingers twitched anxiously against his stomach.

“That stuff you said earlier on the plane...you know about--about the trump supporter, and how that made you feel? And then sometimes...sometimes it sounds like you don’t really like white people, which like makes sense right? We’re the worst. But I just...I wanna understand more about...about what that means for you? Fuck. I’m sorry. That sounded dumb just saying it.”

He closes his eyes ready for her to slap him and take his jet all the way back to New York. He thinks maybe he’d deserve it. It wasn’t even that he’d never been with a Black woman before. Black Women were beautiful and ethereal and wonderful. But, even his tiny white man brain could understand that the state of the world was simply a little different nowadays. His mediocre understanding of racism and privilege simply wasn’t enough. And he knew that if he wanted to be with this woman, if he wanted to feel like he deserved to be near her and absorb her intellect, than he should probably do his absolute best to understand the world in which she walked. Because it certainly looked different from his own.

He feels her hand on his chest and his eyes flutter open. She curled her fingers around his own and sent him another gentle smile that made his toes curl at the other end of the bed.

“It’s not dumb.” She assured him. “You’re asking. You might not have the language, but you’re asking. And that means a lot to me, okay? A lot.”

He nodded his head dumbly, eagerly hanging on every word that she said. She lied back once again, her head nestling a little closer to his. She doesn’t let go of his fingers.

“So, I do hate white people sometimes.” She mumbled. “Sometimes in the discourse Black folks will often try to explain that it’s not all white people, it’s just some. And most days I can get there. I can recognize that. But like… that’s not really how it works you know? Even white people who wouldn’t lynch my black ass grew up in a culture that would. Even white folks who might not feel the need to say the n-word grow up in a culture that situates their body, their worth, their value over mine. And even if that’s not your fault, and I can recognize that it isn’t you know? That’s how privilege works, it’s subliminal. But even if it’s not your fault, it doesn’t mean that you don’t benefit. And it definitely doesn’t mean that you haven’t absorbed messages about my inferiority.”

He watches her face the entire time, more specifically the emotions that seem to rush through every pore and every muscle. There’s a bit of agony on her features. A bit of frustration. But as she warms up there’s a freedom to it too. He knows that she’s not editing her words. She’s not doing anything for his benefit. He asked and so she would tell him, in whatever way was meaningful for her.

“White people just...sometimes it really seems like y’all don’t give a shit. I’ve had the cops called on me at the very building that I work at. On the top floor, with some of the most powerful people in show bizz twenty-seven times since I started. To the point where Mike in security has to keep an updated description of me every time I change my hair just in case. I have walked onto sets to manage my artists and been told that the back up dancers are in the trailer around back. Every step I take, every goddamn day, there is always at least one white person there to tell me that I don’t deserve it. That I don’t belong. And the intersections of my blackness with my womanhood mean that I am consistently and constantly facing an uphill battle of two indentities that the world just doesn’t give a fuck about.”

He couldn’t look away from her. Never had he ever seen her be so vulnerable for him. Y/n was always just an inch or two behind a wall, always peeking out to give him glimpses but never really showing herself in her entirety. He watched the way that her chest rose and fell more rapidly, watched the way her fingers tightened around his own, and her eyebrows wrinkled on her forehead. It was anxiety. She was anxious and angry and sad. The way that her lips pointed down and her eyes blinked faster than normal told him as such. It kind of broke his heart.

And it’s all so new for him that the only thing he can do is follow his instincts and hope that either he doesn’t fuck it up, or that maybe she’ll forgive him if he does. So, he rested his head firmer against her and held her hands just as tight like maybe it might root her a little better in this room with him, like maybe she might feel safe with him.

“And the people...the people that do these things to you. That do these racist acts all the time they--they look like me don’t they?”

Her eyes that were trained on the ceiling fell down to meet his again. They’re still sad, but a little softer now.

She nodded slowly a bit of a grin forming on her lips.

“I’ma be honest ain’t nobody walking around looking quite like you but...yes they--they kind of look like you.”

He nodded slowly and tilted his head back to peer up at the ceiling now. There’s an anxiety to it for him too. In asking the questions that he didn’t have answers to, to be vulnerable enough in his ignorance. There’s a desire to get it right because she’s important to him, and then a dread when he realizes the time it will take to get there, and the pain that might cause her along the way.

“Shit y/n...why the hell would you even wanna go out with me? Even I hate me right now.” He sighed.

“That’s just the white guilt talking baby,” She snorted before sobering up quickly. “Look it’s complicated right? Like given my problems with white people and white men in particular, I’m firm enough in my blackness and my identity to recognize everything that I just explained to you, while also recognizing that things are never black and white. No pun intended. I can still love your humanity and your individuality as long as you’re willing to do the same for me. I can recognize that not all white people are the same, that you all think alike. I just need the space to have conversations like this. I need someone who cares enough to learn. Anything else isn't worthy of my time. Either you’re down with me always, even when it isn’t convenient, or you’re not. So, which is it?”

Her eyes are wide and clear. It’s that firmness in the set of her jaw that gets him. She’s dead serious. Either he buys into her, and all of her, or he doesn’t deserve any of her. He can see that. He can understand it. It’s not that he wants her bad enough to “deal” with the rest of it. It’s that he wants her bad enough to understand all of her. He wants to know. Needs to.

“I’m down.” He assured her reaching for her cheek in his palm. “For all of it.”

“You’re sure?” She mumbled with desperate eyes. “Cause if you’re not we can go back New York and just be fuck buddies again. You can still find you some white girl without hundreds of years of internalized genocide and systemic oppression on her shoulders.”

He shook his head and kissed her until the tension melted from her body. Because he needed it to. He needed her belief in him, her trust.

“I’m so damn sure it’s insane. Just want you.” He whispered.

She reached for his lips pulling him back to kiss her again.

“Promise.” She demanded as if it was even an option.

“I promise.”

***

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[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 47

“What’re you watching?” Billy came up behind me in our home office, his voice breaking through my earbuds and making me jump an inch out of my chair.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook ya.”  His lips against my forehead made the tension ease from my body.

“I must have been more riveted than I thought.”  I hit pause on the video, and sat back.  “Just thought I’d prep for meeting  Ryan.”  I’d been watching one of the stop motion videos Ryan had made of one of Becca’s favorite movies.  “He’s talented,” I offered, smiling up at Billy, “I can’t think of many kids under ten who can use Legos to make a complete remake of ‘Dances with Wolves.’”  

“Becca always loved that stupid flick.”  He shook his head, a sad smile lurking on his lips.  “You were watching a movie he made?”  

I nodded, and pointed at the computer screen.  “Yeah, he made a bunch, all non-violent movies.  Clearly an outlet his mom wanted him to have.  A good one, a way for him to be creative without being-”

“Without him tapping into his powers?”  Another nod from me.  “What’re you worried about, Ronnie?  Really?”  

I considered how to explain without freaking out Billy Fucking Butcher to the point he’d go commando mode.  “Vought went completely opposite from where it went with Homelander with Ryan.”  I pointed out that they created an entirely false, safe community for him and Becca.  A cookie cutter, normal place with bland people, with a bland school, and with bland hobbies.  “Becca wanted so badly for her son to have a normal life, a safe and happy life, Billy.”  I rarely used her name and it felt strange on my tongue, but I wanted him to understand why I needed to see that Ryan was in a good place.  “I’d love to say that whomever Mallory was told would keep him safe is a good fit, but let’s be realistic, he’s being held by our government.  If Vought has some shady shit going on, do you honestly think that the US government is always on the up and up?”  

“You’re worried that he might be being what, Ronnie, what are you worried about?”  He wanted me to name it. To put it in exact words, but I wouldn’t, not only because I didn’t know for sure, but also because I didn’t want Billy to make a hasty decision that couldn’t be undone.  

“I just want to check on him, Billy, that’s all.”  I stood up and moved into his space, where he’d perched on the side of the desk, stepping between his legs and looking up into his face.  “I want to make sure that your promise to Becca is being kept, that’s all.”  And for the most part, that really was it.  I just worried, in the pit of my stomach, that it wasn’t.

I managed to watch three of Ryan’s Lego stop-motion film adaptations, getting Billy to watch “Terms of Endearment” with the promise that I’d reward him heavily.  I also was sworn to secrecy about the glassiness of his eyes at the end of it, because the pollen count was clearly high, it had nothing to do with the show, nothing at all.  I also went over some of the other videos from Becca and Ryan’s time before Homelander and Billy found them.  

I wanted to know what Ryan’s schedule with his mom had been like.  The day to day, their special rituals, how they interacted, how they communicated.  This was important because, even after Homelander unveiled the reality of the world at large to Ryan, Becca and Ryan were still a duo.  Even when he took Ryan away, even when Stormfront tried to weasel her way into his affection, Becca was still his foundation.  Knowing how Ryan was reared by Becca would help me when I met him because it would help me gauge how he was dealing with the changes in his situation and circumstances.  How was he handling it, how were his powers manifesting because of it?

I also had Frenchie get me a tiny gadget that I didn’t want traced through the office or the usual channels.  It had come to me while we were having our party and Annie sat across from me at dinner.  If Vought chipped The Seven, then why wouldn’t they do the same to Ryan- the FIRST known child born of a supe.  And if that chip had been removed by his new guardians, why wouldn’t our people put one in.  My own experience showed me that it was more than likely that he was wired to the gills, even if he had no clue, so I had a gizmo that was more or less like an app on my phone that would tell me if he was and would act as a jammer should that become necessary.  

I felt like a conspiracy theorist, but something about Ryan’s situation, the more I thought about it, the more it felt worrisome.  Billy, after careful consideration, was coming with me, but wanted to stay out of sight.  He promised me that he didn’t feel homicidal toward Ryan, but he wasn’t up to a face to face just yet.  Having him close by would be enough, for now.  And knowing that the rest of the supes were diverted with their own distractions kept my blood pressure down, for the most part.  

Nondescript.  That’s how I would describe the neighborhood and housing development that Ryan’s new guardians chose to take up residence in.  Every house seemed to be identical to the one next to it, and honestly, from what I’d seen of the fake Vought community that he’d been raised in, it had more character.  

“This is,” I sighed, as Billy grimaced while he drove down the boring street.  “Bland.”  Maybe they thought bland kept a supe calm?  Or maybe government guardians made shit wages and adopting Homelander’s offspring isn’t exactly lucrative, who knew?  

We pulled up to a house that was forgettable, and Billy sighed.  “So much for staying out of sight.” No trees, no bushes, this was the worst place I’d ever seen for recon.  Which made some sense, if you considered supes trying to sneak up to abduct a kid.   “I’ll wait here, Ronnie.”

“Alright,” I turned to see that he was staring at me like he was willing me to stay in the car.  “I’ll be fine, Billy.”  Leaning closer, like a magnet he met me halfway, our lips brushing.  “I love you, don’t go crazy.  Play a game on your phone or something.”  He snorted and I got out of the car.  

The sun beat down on the grass, which was surprisingly green, but there wasn’t any added color of flowers, nothing lined the walkway, there weren't any decorative touches added- no chairs on the porch, no flags, or wreaths.  Nothing that would mark this house from any of the others.  They didn’t even have a welcome mat.  Shrugging, I pressed the doorbell and waited.  And waited.  Finally I heard the muffled sounds of footfalls on the other side of the door, then the clicks and snaps of locks being turned, before the door opened a sliver and a bright blue eye blinked out at me.  

“Hello?” The voice was quiet, hoarse, as though it was rarely used, and I smiled benignly.  

“Hello, I’m Dr. Veronica Taylor,” let me in, I thought.  “I have an appointment to meet with Ryan.”  Open the damn door.  

“Right,” the door shut, but instead of reopening all the way, I heard muttering on the other side and then again the blue eye in a sliver reappeared.  “Do you have ID?”  Couldn’t fault that caution, but I did have to question why it took a second person reminding this one to issue it.  

Smile starting to twitch, I pulled my badge free, along with my office ID.  “Here,” I held it up for Blue Eye to see, along with whoever might be behind her, but out of reach so she couldn’t grab it.  “Now, may I come in for my appointment with Ryan?”  

Again the door started to shut, but again there was a whispered conversation and I was starting to lose my patience.  “Whose in the car?”  Damn it.  I sighed.  

“My driver, William Butcher.”  Blue Eye, who’d reopened her slat to ask blinked before her eye went wide.  “That’s right, same last name as Ryan.  Now may I enter?”  

The door opened only wide enough for me to slip inside, and on the other side was a slender woman, the owner of the blue eye- I was happy to see that she had two of them.  And a man who demanded I submit to a pat down.  Rolling my eyes, I sat my briefcase down, and stood with my arms out and my feet shoulder width apart.  Once he was convinced I wasn’t packing heat, I was led into a surprisingly bright and airy living area. 

In fact, aside from the blandness of the exterior, the entrance was beautifully laid out and decorated.  Large screen television, the art on the walls was both bright and yet also simple, the house was comfortable and lived in, but well appointed as well.  Told to make myself comfortable in the family room, Blue Eyes went to fetch Ryan, while her male companion stood watch over me.  

“I do hope you know that as a psychologist, I have to ask you to leave the room when Ryan and I sit down together,” I offered, as I took a seat where I could keep my eye on the guard.  “It’s a violation of doctor/patient privilege, you see.”  

“He’s a minor,” the man grunted, and I grinned.  

“Do you want me to throw my full weight around?”  My head was tilted in challenge as Ryan was led into the room.  The man huffed at me, but he led Blue out and I waited until I felt they were at least a reasonable distance out of eye sight.  “Hello, Ryan.”  He was staring at me like he wasn’t fully committed to trusting me, which was good.  Ryan needed to learn a healthy level of distrust in the real world.  “My name is Dr. Veronica Taylor.”  He stepped closer, but well out of reach and I wondered if he’d learned a new reason to distrust.

“I thought I heard you say Billy’s name.” I smiled and nodded.  “Is he here?”  He looked slightly hopeful and it broke my heart.  

“He’s outside, in the car.”  His eyes dropped to the carpet and I took a deep breath.  “Would you sit down with me, Ryan?”  He shrugged and I tried again.  “Billy and I want to make sure you’re doing well, that you’re-”

“If I’m not, would he-” he stopped, but I’d heard it, the slight break in his voice and I felt a clench in my heart.  “He wouldn’t want me to come live with him, would he?”

Shit, I thought, that wasn’t a question I’d prepared for.  “Come sit with me, Ryan, let’s talk about why you’d want to live with Billy instead of with Mr. and Mrs.-” Fuck, what was Blue Eyes and whatshisname?  

Leaving Ryan in the brightly decorated on the inside, but bland as vanilla pudding on the outside house was the hardest thing I’d done since I left the clinic after Homelander’s failed attempt to murder me.  Hearing that he wasn’t mistreated, necessarily, but that he also wasn’t being cared for so much as he was being lived with was bad enough.  Remembering the gadget I’d asked Frenchie for, I’d run a quick scan and felt bile rise up when I realized that not only did our government chip the kid, but they hadn’t removed Vought’s.  Why would they leave those trackers in?  

Saying goodbye to this little guy, a kid who idolized the man I love and who shared his last name, was harder than anything I’d ever thought possible.  Harder than walking into a clinic and having Homelander’s parasite removed.  Harder than slipping in and out of consciousness when the rejected Compound he’d had me injected with tried to self-destruct me.  Harder than when I thought Billy might one day see me as someone he would have to snuff out.  

Ryan wanted to know if I’d be back, and when, and if I’d know if he could leave with me?  And I wished like hell I could tell him something worthwhile.  I knew I had more research to do, more files to delve into, including who Blue Eyes and Mr. Personality was, not to mention just what this neighborhood really was and how Ryan’s life was outside of that house. 

As I slid into the car, before Billy could ask a single question, his thumb was brushing a tear away that I didn’t even realize was falling.  “Do I wanna know how fucked up it is?”  I shook my head, feeling like I couldn’t even start to put it into words and suddenly the sobbing that I hadn’t done for any of the shit that I’d had handed to me from supes came out in a rage and Billy pulled away from the curb, murmuring his love to me, as his hand held mine and he drove us home.  

[furederiko]

Countdown Counter: 3. Kyuranger 46 starts with a bang, and ends with an unexpected blow to the team...

- All 12 Kyurangers return to Earth, determined to stop the Big Consumarz from turning the planet into a Planetium Bomb. They do need one, because naturally a massive army of Indavers are already lining up in their way. The series director sure loves a line-up shot from the back, huh? Fun fact: I honestly just realized that Lucky's white coat is an exact copy of Tsurugi's, only with a different emblem and color scheme. How could I have missed that all these time? - Lucky handles the ground unit with Tsurugi, Stinger, and Naga, as they race time to locate Kuervo. Kotarou leads Champ, Balance, Hammy, Spada, and Caesar (where have you been, little lion?!) in Super Kyuren-Oh, while Commander Xiao teams up with Garu and Raptor in Ryutei-Oh. The two mechas are tasked to make sure the gigantic Consumarz is destroyed. Unfortunately, Kuervo's power is protecting the object, so the mecha team still needs to rely on the ground unit to complete their goal. - As Leo Red and Phoenix Soldier move forward, they reminisce a little pledge concerning friendship. Which is... kind of... concerning, if you ask me. It's as if Tsurugi is secretly planning a somewhat drastic measure to deal with Kuervo. - Speak of the devil, Kuervo has been waiting for his former comrade and is annoyed to see that he doesn't come alone. Still thinking that he's a true savior, Kuervo reveals a harsh truth that he "never once considered Tsurugi a friend". His 'friendship' was just to serve his own pride and glory. Oucch! To think that Tsurugi thinks so highly of him. Not that I'm surprised of course, having encountered many actual people who behaved exactly like this. Got to admit though, I do liked the angle that the writers chose for Kuervo, making him an actual villain and not another person (after Naga, and late King Aslan) who is waiting for redemption. - Amazed to see Tsurugi actually becoming a shield for Lucky, Kuervo traps Lucky in his own Kyu Globe, the #45 Corvus Kyu Globe. Yep, Kuervo was one of Tsurugi's 88 Warriors, so naturally he always had one. The power of this Kyu Globe is well... a bit hard to explain. But it's kind of like a 'Twilight Zone', shoving Lucky into a "world of despair"; an alternate reality or illusion where the outcome of their final battle is dark and gloomy. I mean, Earth heats up to the verge of blowing. There's nothing more dour and devastating than that, right? - Thankfully, Lucky is not one to give up that easily. Uhhmmm... okay, he DID gave up several times before. I mean, at the very least the other Kyurangers are acting way too off-character anyway, thus signalling that something is amiss. Lucky breaks out of the 'trap' on time, before Kuervo is able to put Tsurugi's life into a mortal end. - The ground unit successfully draws Kuervo out of the Consumarz, paving way for the mecha unit to destroy the giant machinery. Kuervo's plan has been thwarted! But is this really the end? Nope... this is in fact where the threat suddenly becomes even more dire... and personal. - Tsurugi might have poignantly ("Even after all this, I will still call you my friend"? Aaaaww) put an end to his former friend Kuervo with his own hands, but there's one major problem. Don Armage is a space ghost! The second Kuervo obliterates, Don Armage's spirit immediately looks for another host to possess. And all these time, he always have one special candidate in mind: TSURUGI! Poor Kuervo has always been a mere backup all along, he continues to be Tsurugi's shadow even after he dies. - Not surprisingly, Tsurugi also had suspected about this, therefore he has come prepared to sacrifice his fleeting body. He thinks that because he's dying, the other Kyurangers only need to destroy him to kill off Don Armage. Of course, that logic is rather... shaky at best. I mean, who can be sure that the moment Tsurugi is killed, Armage won't simply move to another body? The circle will then continues until every member of the Rebellion is killed. - Lucky might not be questioning the same logic, but without doubt he refuses to fulfill Tsurugi's 'last wish'. "I won't abandon a friend!", he shouts... which leads to Don Armage gaining a new and... ugh, weirder form. Seriously, the brain-infested look is already bad to begin with. Now it's worse *sigh*! The paint-job on those wings could have been waaay better. - The new Don Armage absorbs Earth's planetium into his own body, restoring its immortality so he can proceed to the next step: absorbing everything and everyone else! Xiao jumps in to protect his team, sacrificing himself the way Big Bear rescued him. Don Armage then mercilessly absorbs him (and his Draco Kyu Globe) and gains his power. So yeah, the team has just lost not one, but TWO members at the same time! Looks like that fan speculation that the end-game will only involve the 9 core Kyurangers could be true after all. Aaaawww... T_T

Overall: Ain't that one shocking development! When I saw this episode for the first time, it had me real good that I gasped real hard and totally didn't know how to feel or react. It's like that time you had a lovely moment with someone when suddenly that person slapped your face real hard it dazed and knocked you down completely (just an analogy, by the way, it did NOT actually happen in real life. Or did it? Hmmmm). As millennials would say, this episode might have 'scarred me for life'! To the point that it MIIIIGHT have made me lost enthusiasm to write this recap-view. Of course, things felt more obvious upon second viewing, so the show didn't pointlessly pull off something out of the left field. Tsurugi's selfless action has indeed been foreshadowed since the previous episode, so him taking desperate measure to protect the others' dreams was as to be expected. The same for Xiao. He kept on spouting "the last time" over and over again, pretty much parading his own death flags throughout the episode. Not to mention, he wanted to be like Supreme Commander Big Bear! This meant both him and Tsurugi have had their dreams prematurely granted in one episode!!! With such dire and intense situation, can the team truly save the universe without losing another precious member? Let's just cross our fingers so that won't be the case... Next week: Fight heats up!!! In an emotional way... PS: Pardon for the delay! Got a bit under the wind lately, hence why I couldn't post this last week... as it was planned to. Definitely not because I was trying to go with the number 9 (the date anyone?). Though the events in this episode MIGHT have caused it somehow. Anyways, expect the recap-view for episode 47 (that aired yesterday), before the end of the month!

Episode 46 Score: 8 out of 10

Visit THIS LINK to view a continuously updated listing of the Kyutama / Kyu Globes. Last Updated: January 9th, 2018 - Version 3.11. (WARNING: It might contain spoilers for future episodes)

All images are screen captured from the series, provided by the FanSubber Over-Time. "Uchu Sentai Kyuranger" is produced by TOEI, and airs every Sunday on TV-Asahi. Credits and copyrights belong to their respective owners.

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

DGB Grab Bag: Kid Rock, Cronin the Barbarian, and Whatever the Avs Are Doing

Three Stars of Comedy

The third star: Zack Kassian – I have no idea what’s going on here considering he doesn’t even play for the Golden Knights, but whatever it is, it’s creepy.

The second star: Lawson Crouse – The Coyotes prospect has had a slow start to his pro career. But on Twitter, you apparently can’t get anything past him.

The first star: The Colorado Avalanche – What happens if you make elite athletes wear a weird mouth guard and then ask them to blow a paper ball across a line? Um… this, I guess.

Not sure what the big deal is, I make those same noises every time I walk up a flight of stairs.

Outrage of the Week

The issue: The NHL announced that the musical headliner for next weekend’s All-Star Game will be Kid Rock.

The outrage: While Jeremy Roenick appears to be on board, the choice is getting decidedly mixed reviews.

Is it justified: The NHL making terrible decisions when it comes to musical guests for its marquee events has been a running theme for years. Call it the Chaka Khan effect. The genre probably peaked a decade ago when they went with Def Leppard and watched them immediately defile the Stanley Cup, but the choices are almost always laughably bad. (Last year was a rare exception.) You can even kind of understand why—the NHL is very much a niche league these days, so it’s not like they get the first pick when it’s time to draft up celebrity cameos. When you’ve dropped behind soccer in the American popularity rankings, you hire whoever will take your calls.

So sure, Kid Rock hasn’t really been a mainstream star in years, and it’s been almost two decades since you bought a Devil Without a Cause CD and then hid it in your room so your parents wouldn’t find it. But at least he’s a name that most of us have heard of. For the NHL, that’s something.

But of course, that’s not the real problem here. Most of Kid Rock’s recent headlines have come from the political world, where he’s teased a run for office and been one of the few celebrities to publicly support Donald Trump. He’s also been known to display the confederate flag during performances, attacked Colin Kaepernick’s peaceful protest, and, not surprisingly given those last two examples, he’s had to defend himself against accusations of racism.

For a league that’s constantly telling us that they don’t want politics in the game, this sure seems like an awfully political choice, especially on the heels of the controversy over the Penguins’ handling of their trip to the White House. Of course, these days that also means that the other side of the aisle has to act like they think this is a great idea—pretending to like rap-rock to own the libs and all that. Meanwhile, you wonder how many of those complaining about Kid Rock would be just fine with the NHL bringing in an openly anti-Trump act like Eminem. Maybe we’ll find out in 20 years.

In the end, Kid Rock’s performance will probably be fine—he’s a hockey fan, at least, so he’ll probably know which end of the Stanley Cup goes where. He’ll come out wearing a Red Wings jersey and do “Cowboy” and “Bawitdaba” and some country song off the new album, and that will be it. The moment will pass, and most of the hockey world will immediately forget all about it. Some will wonder what all the fuss was about.

But some small segment of hockey fans will be left feeling, once again, like this league just doesn’t get it. They’ll wonder if that whole “Declaration of Principles” thing about strengthening communities and creating inclusive environments was just somebody in the PR department’s idea of a joke. And maybe a few of them even throw up their hands say enough’s enough, figuring that if they’re really not welcome in the NHL’s world then they’ll find somewhere else to spend their time and money.

And all for… what? A ten-minute performance by a throwback music act whose popularity peaked years ago? It’s a strange tradeoff to make, but apparently the NHL feels like it’s worth it. The question is whether they really bothered to put much thought into it at all.

Obscure Former Player of the Week

Last week, we featured an obscure player from the classic-era Winnipeg Jets. This week, we’re doing it again. We might do it for the rest of the season, to be honest, because the 1980s Jets were crawling with obscure player candidates. But for now, let’s talk about Shawn Cronin.

Cronin was a bruising blueliner who spent four years at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Not surprisingly, his work for that prestigious program didn’t lead to him being drafted, but he did earn a free agent offer from the Whalers. He spent two years in the AHL, where he developed a reputation as a fighter. That earned him another free agent deal, this time with the Capitals, and he finally made his NHL debut in October 1988 against the Rangers. He didn’t record any stats that night, and it marked his only game as a Cap. By the 1989 offseason he was about to turn 26, had one NHL game under his belt, and no clear path back to the big leagues.

That’s when the Jets showed up. Cronin was traded to Winnipeg in a blockbuster deal for future considerations that were later cancelled. But he finally got his shot at regular NHL work, and he made the most of it. He topped the 60-game mark in three straight seasons, racking up 703 PIM in the process and earning a cult following in Winnipeg while fighting everyone from Bob Probert to Dave Brown to The Grim Reaper.

Speaking of enforcer nicknames, Cronin had a great one: Cronin The Barbarian. That was fantastic, right up there with the Reaper and The Missing Link.

The Jets traded Cronin to Quebec during the 1992 offseason, but the Nordiques quickly lost him to the Flyers in the waiver draft. He spent one season in Philadelphia, during which he tripled his all-time goal total by scoring twice. He then finished his career with two years in San Jose and two more in the IHL.

In all, Cronin played 292 regular season NHL games, had three goals and 877 PIM. He also managed one more goal in the playoffs, and it was a historic one: On April 18, 1994, Cronin scored the first playoff goal in San Jose Sharks history.

Debating the Issues

This week’s debate: Wednesday marked the 60th anniversary of Willie O’Ree making his NHL debut, breaking the league’s color barrier in the process. While his NHL career lasted only 45 games, some have argued that he should be in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Should he be voted in?

In favor: Yes. While O’Ree’s career was short, his influence on the league and the sport is being felt to this day. It’s the hockey hall of fame, not just the NHL, and O’Ree’s impact on hockey is undeniable and continues to this day.

Opposed: That may be true, but there’s no need to induct O’Ree into the Hall of Fame.

In favor: Why, because he played so few games? Fine, then don’t induct him as a player. He would fit just as well in the Builder category.

Opposed: There’s no need to induct him as a builder, player, or any other category.

In favor: You have to understand what O’Ree’s story meant. He broke the barrier in 1958, and played his final game in 1961. It took thirteen years for the league to have a second black player. That was Mike Marson of the Capitals, and part of the reason he was playing hockey in the first place was because he’d seen O’Ree on television as a kid.

Opposed: All very heartwarming, but there’s still no need to induct O’Ree into the Hall of Fame.

In favor: And can we mention that he was a damn good player? He won two scoring titles in the Western Hockey League, and played in the minors until he was 43.

Opposed: Great. There’s still no need to induct him into the Hall of Fame.

In favor: You keep saying that. Why? Why is there no need?

Opposed: Because he’s already in.

In favor: Um, what?

Opposed: I mean, he has to be. Hockey was the last of the major North American leagues to welcome a black player. In the first 57 seasons, there was one and only one black player to appear in an NHL game. Of course he’s already in. There’s no way he isn’t.

In favor: Did you… did you do any research for this?

Opposed: To be honest, no. But I didn’t need to. I mean, fine, I don’t know the exact year he was inducted. I’m hoping it was right away in the 1960s, but maybe he had to wait until society was a bit more enlightened. So like, the 70s?

In favor: Dude… no.

Opposed: Wow. They made him wait until the 1980s.

In favor: Not so much.

Opposed: The 90s?

In favor: I don’t know how to break this to you.

Opposed: Wait, really? You were serious about all of this? The Hockey Hall of Fame really hasn’t inducted Willie O’Ree after all these years? Not even into the Builder’s category, which is specifically for this sort of contribution and has such high standards that they’ve already inducted Harold Freaking Ballard?

In favor: Really. He’s not in.

Opposed: I always kind of assumed he was.

In favor: That seems to be the case for a lot of fans. But no, he’s not.

Opposed: Man.

In favor: I know.

Opposed: There is definitely a need to induct O’Ree into the Hall of Fame.

The final verdict: O’Ree belongs in the Hall of Fame. He’s also 82 years old, has been a tireless ambassador for the sport for years, and has been waiting far too long for an honor he earned six decades ago. Let’s make this happen now, while he can still be a part of the moment.

Classic YouTube Clip Breakdown

This week saw yet another terrible offside review, coming on the heels of several questionable calls earlier in the month. Many of hockey’s most respected voices have had enough.

Others are proposing a more radical solution: just get rid of replay reviews altogether. Between the NHL’s offside drama, the NFL’s never-ending debate over what makes a catch, and MLB’s problems with pop-up slides, maybe replay is causing more problems than its actually solving.

Well, maybe. But first, let’s travel back to the days before replay and ask Chico Resch what he thinks.

It’s January 6, 1985, and Resch and the Devils are facing the Rangers at MSG. New Jersey has just scored to take a 4-3 lead in the third period. Now all they have to do to secure the win is keep the puck out of their net for the rest of the period. Well, in theory at least.

We join the action as Rangers’ forward Robbie Ftorek cuts into the zone and unleashes a backhand. Resch gets a piece of it, deflecting it up into the crossbar. The puck rings off the iron and drops straight down, where Resch grabs it. Pretty standard stuff, actually. Oh look, here comes referee Bryan Lewis, I wonder what he was to say.

Based on Resch’s reaction, I’m going to say it wasn’t “nice save.”

It quickly becomes apparent that Lewis is calling a goal. Needless to say, Resch disagrees, and goes into full-fledged meltdown mode. He hops up and down, smashes his goal stick, and at one point chases after the linesman and starts in with the classic hands-on-hips yelling like he’s an exasperated housewife from a 1950s sitcom.

Mel Bridgman is shouting at the goal judge through the glass, even though the red light never went on. Bridgman, of course, would go on to a front office career that included serving as the first GM of the expansion Senators. He also scored the first goal in this game. The second goal was scored by… George McPhee, who’d go on to a front office career that included serving as the first GM of the expansion Golden Knights. The NHL is weird sometimes.

At the 0:50 mark we cut to a shot of Devils’ coach Doug Carpenter. You’re probably thinking he looks like he’s about to murder someone. But I remember him coaching the Leafs for a few years in the early 90s, and I can assure you that he looked like that all the time.

We finally get our first replay about a minute in, and it’s pretty clear that the puck’s not in. But take a look at Ftorek after he gets the shot off. Devils’ defenseman Joe Cirella kind of hooks his stick, and it ends up going up in the air in pretty much the same way it would if Ftorek was celebrating a goal. I honestly think that’s what threw Lewis off. The lesson for you kids out there: Celebrate every shot like it went in, because you never know.

Meanwhile, Resch is now working the other linesman. Resch was the best. Here’s an old clip of him mic’d up for a game, which is mainly him unsuccessfully trying to talk Kerry Fraser into letting him go to the bench because he desperately needs a drink of water.

Our announcers start talking about the board of governors considering the use of instant replay. You may remember that from a Grab Bag a few months back, when the league was launching its pilot project in time for the following season. That clip featured a similar play, in which the Rangers once again got credit for a goal that hadn’t gone in. When it comes to controversial calls, the mid-80s Rangers were basically the modern day New England Patriots, except for hockey and also bad.

Resch is now yelling at the guys on his own bench, who are clearly trying not to make eye contact with the crazy man. Also, I have no idea where Resch’s blocker has got to during all of this. Probably embedded in a goal judge’s head would be my guess.

We get a few shots of Lewis, who’s making that “I’m pretty sure I screwed up but it’s too late to change my mind” face. Resch is now pointing at his crossbar and screaming at his defenseman, who is making the same stare-into-the-distance face you make when your friend is 45 minutes into telling you about a bad day at work and you’re trying to will yourself into the future.

Lewis tries to organize a faceoff to get things going again, but now Carpenter is standing ominously by an open bench door like he’s seriously considering charging on the ice and upper-cutting everyone who gets near him. (Spoiler alert: He probably was.)

Of course, there’s some irony here—the guy who scored the phantom goal here, Robbie Ftorek, would go on to become the Devils coach a decade later, and is probably best remembered for once getting so mad he threw a bench onto the ice. Carpenter probably wishes he’d thought of that.

And with that, the puck is dropped and our clip ends. The Rangers went on to win in overtime, and the Devils were rightfully furious afterwards. So maybe back off on that “ditch the replay” talk. The NHL’s review process may be tedious and occasionally annoying, but at least you won’t have to suffer through watching your team lose a game based on a blown call, right Devils fans?

Huh. OK, bad example.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you’d like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com and follow him on Twitter @DownGoesBrown.

DGB Grab Bag: Kid Rock, Cronin the Barbarian, and Whatever the Avs Are Doing syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com