#UGH but then there’s always the issue of someone seeing me use snap in public and then asking 4 it idk….

[dreamertrilogys]

just finished downloading all my snap memories & changing their dates/times in the photos app to match up with the time stamps in snap

[zukuist]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞

200 followers special

includes: multiple characters (would add more tags but.. i reached 30 ;;)

your name is shortened to y/n, they/them pronouns

notes: thank you for 200 followers! this isn’t really going to be that long, but im just doing the characters i really like so ;; ALSO I MIGHT’VE GOTTEN KIRI’S ENTRY A LITTLE WRONG so ugh sorry ;;

—

shouto todoroki

— THE OBSERVANT SIMP

from the start, he’s quite oblivious to certain things, (social ques, signs of romantic interest, etc.)

but when he’s observant with someone, then that totally means you’re special to him. does he realize how much he pays attention to you? hmm.. maybe?

he’s going to be the first one that notices you’re hungry, even if you don’t realize it yourself. he’s quick to grab a snack and break it open to you

same thing with being thirsty— if he notices that your water bottle is empty, he’ll quickly find the nearest vending machine and buy a bottle.

temperature is also no problem. he can immediately tell whenever someone’s cold; but he usually helps you first

too hot? he’s slowly putting down the room’s temperature

too cold? his left palm starts emitting some sort of heat in your direction, hoping it creates some sort of aid

if your shoelaces are undone, and/or he notices that there’s a button undone on your shirt— he’ll fix it for you

will ask to take your pictures on dates, and he’ll also help you pick out the best photo (not that any photo of you is short of any beauty)

in short— people will notice that he’s actually a big simp for you; because of how observant he is with you specifically.

katsuki bakugou

— THE TSUNDERE SIMP

just because he’s simping for you doesn’t mean he’ll treat you any differently. bakugou will be bakugou, and you eventually learn how to adapt to that.

but even so, his simp habits slip out sometimes.

when he’s cooking, he’ll accidentally make too much to eat, and he’ll coincidentally put the extras in another box and hand it to you

he’s a good student, even with studies. but would he say he’s a good teacher? hm. probably not

but if he notices you need help, he’ll sigh, feining annoyance as he decides to tutor y’all, because those ‘idiots’ are hopeless

rolls his eyes when he sees food on your cheek, but he’ll grab a tissue and wipe it off for you— claiming how you’re so messy.

he’ll act like he hates hearing your ‘annoying ass singing’ but he’ll lean against the doorway and listen to you rock out to whatever song you’re singing to.

denki will call him a simp for looking after you, and bakugou will just yell at him to “SHUT UP” >:T

he secretly likes taking care of you. his words aren’t the softest thing in the world, but his actions make up to it.

izuku midoriya

— THE DETAILED SIMP

as katsuki bakugou would call him; he is a nerd

he definitely meant that as an insult, but his input on detail makes it very useful in things like relationships

he remembers every detail of your quirk, your limits, potential secret moves.

it would’ve been stalker-ish, if it weren’t for the fact that deku does this out of admiration for his s/o

so if you so happen to collapse due to overusing your quirk— deku has a detailed plan on what to do. it’s almost scary.

he puts detail in a lot of things, anniversary gifts, birthday gifts, and so on.

deku’s also the type to plan things weeks before it actually happens. like.. planning out the perfect birthday gift

and with this, his memory is really good. so it’s very unlikely that he’ll just suddenly forget anniversaries and birthdays.

i hc deku as a bad cook, so he eats takeout food more than his homemade food

but he’s takes note of your allergies, your dislikes with food— and he finds himself mumbling small details to recall what you like

when you walk out in pretty/good outfits for dates

his face will break out into shades of red— suddenly rambling all the good details of your outfit, complimenting you while he’s at it

“y/n’s looks fantastic as always. i might die from their beauty”

if anyone calls him a simp, he’ll be really embarrassed about it. “me? a s-simp? is that a bad thing?”

just tell him it’s fine.

denki kaminari

— THE HYPEMAN SIMP

a big simp

like.. really big

he worships the ground you step on, and hypes up everything you do

y’all know when irene from red velvet literally breathed in north korea, and the crowd just

*claps*

yeah, that’s denki to you

it’s so blantly obvious that he’s simping over someone, and everyone’s just kinda used to it at this point

he’s just a big fanboy sometimes

whenever you’re sparring with someone, he’s always in the background like

“go s/o!!” 🤩

and he has tendencies to go a little easy on you like.. what’s he gonna do when you get electricuted??

but that doesn’t mean he’s never serious— nah.

there are times where he’s just a little bashful just being in your presence

sneaking glances your way, as he silently fanboys about you in general.

“s/o looks really good today. they always look good but !!”

when y’all weren’t together, the bakusquad was just tired of the constant romantic pining

it was really obvious that he was simping back then, and they’re not so sure as to how you didn’t say anything about it

mina always called him a simp

so yeah!! it was a big relief when you got together with him. he never makes you feel terrible, because he’s always your #1 hypeman.

eijirou kirishima

— THE HELPING SIMP (rip idk what to call this)

i didn’t really know what kinda name i went for this one but let me carry on

kiri upfront is very confident, and friendly. he never shows a mean side to anyone,

and there are rare cases of him being bashful

he’s kinda almost like a golden retriever? since he’s always nice and friendly to everyone

but then when you enter the room; he suddenly goes quiet, and he’s left alone with his rather loud thoughts about you

he didn’t really know how to properly approach you at first

but him being kiri, he’s still rather friendly to you (for now)

when he’s messing around, practically sharing one braincell with kami and sero

and then you suddenly walk in— he snaps out of his foolishness, and greet you with his very warm smile

“hey y/n!” he waves at you, and he hopes you don’t mention the teasing look on both kami and sero’s face

sometimes when he’s doing his close combat training, and he notices that he’s getting too close to you

he’ll be like “woah man, maybe we should move locations.” bc he doesn’t wanna hit you by accident ;;

kirishima prefers to not stand near you when his hair is all spiky. like he’s never conscious about it, until he’s around you

man poked sero with his hair before, and he doesn’t want to do that to you

kiri always looks at your hand, just to see if it’s occupied with something. his thoughts linger to what your hand might feel like

“their hand looks really.. soft. argh! i shouldn’t be thinking about these kind of things in public! im sorry y/n”

bakugou really only notices kirishima’s simping ways

bakugou always mentions the fact that kirishima goes really silent whenever you’re around—

and he’s secretly contemplating on having you around more so he can just shut up 。・°°・(＞_＜)・°°・。

moving aside all of that, kiri always carries your things.

you’ll beg him to give you at least one thing, and he’ll say no because it’s “not manly to let someone carry all of this.”

if you’re sad, he’s the first one to cheer you up— reassuring you that everything will be okay.

kiri’s just wants to be at your service at all times! it’s manly to help people, right?

hitoshi shinsou

— THE DISCREET SIMP

no one would be able to tell that he’s simping for someone

because unlike kaminari; he’s not like IM HITOSHI SHINSO AND IM ACTUALLY A SIMP

he’s a lot more discreet, and no one has really caught on, besides you and kaminari of course

he’s a lot less sarcastic with you, asking you about anything that’s happened instead of just being there

he prefers it to hear you talk. the way each word and syllable rolls off your tongue smoothly, and the way you use your hands to emphasize things

he’s amused.

oh and the way he looks at you? almost any normal person can sense the simp in him pop out (he’s so contained though)

he’s definitely the person that’ll get rid of any bug that’s terrifying you— even though he’d normally just leave it to them

he’ll do it, regardless if it’s the biggest fucking spider he’s ever seen, or the smallest spider

he’ll do it to make you feel safe.

he has these random spurs of compliments during the day

the source mainly comes from his staring habit

and they’re just so unexpected and out of the blue. hitoshi’s amused whenever he sees your reaction to his compliments

like.. you could be really frustrated about something, and he’ll just go “your eyes are pretty.” that’s his discreet method tO MAKE YOU TEMPORARILY DISTRACTED FROM THE ISSUE—

call him a simp, whatever. it’s true anyway so he doesn’t why should he be ashamed of it?

he’s discreet about it, since it’s your business and his business. but you can definitely feel his feelings loud and clear

neito monoma

— THE 180 SIMP

“i’m not a simp!”

[you enter the room]

*nervous laughter*

he had his last laugh, and he never thought he’d be this soft around someone.

especially if you’re from class 1-A like.. i became the thing i hated, ugh.

relentless teasing is amped but this is his way of making sure you remember him loud and clear

but he’ll never tease you in a condescending way— like how he torments the rest of class 1-A

that’s reserved for them 💅

always compliments you, that’s the first thing he does when he sees you—

and they’re never generic compliments either

“it’s nice to see you here, y/n! you make the world better day by day!”

“i’m still wondering what you’re doing in class 1-A, you’re much better than them!”

everyone secretly wonders how you got monoma to like you

monoma canonically likes pastels. spread the word

so sometimes, you’ll walk over to your desk— and you’ll just see this random pastel ornament sitting on your desk

you know who it’s from

whenever monoma starts becoming annoying, kendo will definitely use you as a weapon to make him shut up

he’ll be laughing at the expression on his face, thinking he’s absolutely winning at this

but the smile is wiped off his face when he hears “ok go on, i’ll tell y/n about your antics.”

“no, no! i’ll behave now, please don’t tell y/n.”

class 1-b literally use you as blackmail whenever monoma acts up, and it’s because of how different he is around you

like.. his personality takes a 180, (besides the obvious teasing) it’s alarming

—

©️zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not repost my work❕

[another-stark-sub]

“Are you in love with him?” - Tony Stark Imagine

Notes: I wrote and editted this in two hours instead of going over my notes. Was gonna be spicy fluffy but it just turned into fluffy, and one of the lines/paragraphs (smth like that i dont remember how long that segment was) is based on/inspired by a fanfic on ao3 I bookmarked. I think it’s debt-free, but I could be wrong.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I’m so sorry im not on here more oftennnnn

- - -

“Of course I am. He’s Tony Stark.” You sighed, a weight finally lifted off your chest. “Who isn’t in love with him?”

Bruce blinked a few times, the confusion evident on his face. “Then, why don’t you tell him?”

You scoffed. These geniuses think they know everything, but they couldn’t see what was glaringly obvious to you. “He’s Tony Stark.”

The perplexed expression didn’t disappear from your friend’s expression. So, you explained further, “It’s already a privilege, beyond that really, to be talking to you, to any Avenger. To work with any of you is an honor, and to be friends with you” -you laughed- “it shouldn’t even be possible for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re amazing, too.” 

You tried to find any tick, any clue that he was lying. But Bruce seemed to really believe this. “I know I’m amazing.” You shrugged. “I’m great. I love and I care deeply, and I have a stable job. I have a place for myself, and I take care of myself.” You clicked your tongue. “However, you all, all  you Avengers… Forget out of my league, more like off planet.

“And Tony? He said it himself. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Add superhero, figurehead, public figure, ex-CEO, and savior of the universe. Bruce, I have confidence in myself, but Tony is something else entirely. No one is worthy of him or his affections unless they’re a god or another Avenger.”

It was hard to keep up with the statistical analysis you were trying to run. The literal one on your hologram and the one keeping your view of Tony in check. So, defeated, you sighed and leaned back in your chair. 

Bruce closed his own work and stood across the lab bench. “Weirdly enough, I’m sure none of us Avengers think that way.” After a few taps of his pen against his palm, he added, “Aren’t there fans making posts about you, too? Tony showed me the, uh, Instagram videos.”

You laughed. “Fan edits don’t make an Avenger. Saving the world does.”

He shrugged. “You help us save the world.”

“From inside Avengers Tower on a computer.” You took a deep breath. “Look, Bruce, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’m not telling him.” You shrugged and brought your statistical analysis back up.

You knew your own worth. You were worthy of an amazing partner and person. Tony Stark, though, was easy beyond that. You had accepted it soon after you realized your own feelings, and while they haven’t dwindled, you knew it was for the best. 

~ - ~

Tony had never resorted to this before. It was never a question of his ability to code. In the past, it was because he didn’t need a program or an AI to do it for him. He could always tell if someone was into him. He knew when Pepper was into him. The moment Rhodey gazed at him back in their MIT days. Every single reporter and heiress and model he slept with, he knew when their thoughts turned sexual or romantic. 

You, though. With you, he couldn’t fucking tell, and he knew it was because of his own feelings. Tony felt intensely for people before. Pepper, Rhodey, that one reporter all those years ago. However, with you, it wasn’t just that fluttery feeling in his gut or the immediate smile he can’t seem to stop when he sees you. It was the comfort he felt when he heard your voice or the softness he could feel in his heart when he saw a picture of you. 

It was like his entire life was full of panic, never resting, never stopping. But when you entered his life with a gentle smile and a quick wit, it felt like he could finally breathe. 

It was addicting. 

“Sir, I have the calculations.”

“Hit me.”

“Speech diagnostics of you and of Ms. (Y/l/n) are similar. Whenever you speak of her, 79.4% is positive and 18.8% is neutral. Ms. (Y/l/n) has  78.9% positive and 17.2% neutral dialogue regarding you. When she speaks of you, her heartrate increases by 4.6%, and similarly, yours increases by 4.1%. When speaking to each other, heartrate initially increases by 7%.”

Tony nodded. “How does this compare to other Avengers? I gush about Banner like a teenager.”

“Well, sir, while you and Ms. (Y/l/n) have high positive dialogue about other Avengers, all of them have at least a 10% decrease compared to each other. And heartrate varies depending on the topic of conversation.”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Am I excluding all non-super friends? Include any agents, co-workers. Pep isn’t an Avenger after all.”

Friday took two seconds and responded. “You and Ms. (Y/l/n) have a significant difference in speech diagnostics when talking about or to each other compared to any other Avenger, co-worker, and friend.”

When Tony remained quiet, Friday added, “Do you want me to repeat the results?”

“You don’t need to, Friday.”

“But you’re not doing anything with the new information. Would you like me to save these findings?”

“Friday,” Tony warned. 

There was silence as the love-wrecked scientist pressed his fist between his brows. Data and cold hard facts said yes, but was it right?

“Sir?”

“Yes, Fri?”

“Would you like me to play examples for you?”

He blinked. “Examples?”

“Yes. Of you and her talking about each other positively.”

It was an invasion of privacy. Tony shouldn’t. 

“Play examples.”

Before his rational mind could tell Friday no. 

“Are you in love with him?”

Tony’s eyes widened. This was too private. It might not even be about him.”Friday-”

“Of course I am.”

“-stop playback.”

“He’s Tony Sta-”

“Playback stopped.”

Tony scrambled. “What? No, wait, go back. Play it.” Screw rational. You knew he was a narcissist. You wouldn’t expect him to hear that and stop. 

“He’s Tony Stark. Who isn’t in love with him?”

“Then, why don’t you tell him?”

“... He’s Tony Stark.”

Tony started to fiddle with something on his desk. “What does that mean?”

Friday answered, “Dr. Banner asked her if she loved you, and she said yes. This means that she’s in love with you.”

Why did he program Friday like this? “I know that. I mean, those two lines. Why does me being Tony Stark stop her from saying something?” Was it the attention? Did you want some sort of normal life away from cameras and international gossip? Maybe it was the Avenging. Having a partner who was always out risking death wasn’t ideal. 

Sure, you could be in love with him. But you couldn’t be with him. 

“Maybe you should ask her.”

There were celebrities who were able to live normal lives. Some paid to have prosthetics for going outside of moved to a remote country to get out of the spotlight. He thrived off attention, but he could give that up. Avenging, he couldn’t give that up, but maybe he could cut back. Take a mission a month instead of one a week. Or maybe take more digital missions. He wasn’t just Iron Man after all. He was a genius, could hack into the Pentagon if he really wanted to. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I could talk to her.”

~ - ~

The moment you put your bag down on your lab table, Tony said, “You’re gonna be mad.”

You narrowed your brows. “What did you do?” You pressed your palm to your chest. “Oh my god, Peter overwrote my data, didn’t he? Ugh, I know he said he’s great at managing holograms, but really, Tone, you should’ve given him a tutorial before giving him access.” You brought up your holograms to check your data and analysis. 

“That’s not it.” Tony stood next to you as you looked through your files. “I did something that invaded your privacy.”

You tilted your head. Closing the holograms, you took a deep breath and slowly asked, “How?”

Tony flashed an embarrassed grin before sighing. “You’re gonna be shocked, too, so prepare yourself.”

You did not know where this was going at all. What horrible thing could Tony have done? Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and nodded at him to continue. 

Tony cleared his throat. “Usually, I can tell when someone has feelings for me. People are obvious about it, but you? You aren’t. So, I had Friday do some analysis on our speech patterns. Me, being in love with you, was one of my controls. You and your dialogue regarding me was the main variable. 

“Long story short, I accessed some audio of you and Bruce talking, and you said that you loved me but could never tell me.” He glanced at you. “So that’s why I need to apologize.” 

Your expression didn’t change. No, that wasn’t it. You, at first, looked confused. Now, there was just nothing. No expression. No wrinkled brow in anger of flushed cheeks in embarrassment. Nothing. 

Tony blinked. “You can shout at me now. If you were confused about when to shout at me.”

You licked your lips before taking a deep breath. “Ok, that was a lot.” You pursed your lips then opened it. But, you couldn’t really think of anything to say. You didn’t even know how to feel. “So you know that I” -you pointed at yourself and then at him- “and that I didn’t wanna tell you.” You shook your head. “Wait, do you know why I didn’t want to tell you?”

A broken scoff left Tony’s lips. “Yeah. I’m a mess.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Wait, you’re a mess? That’s why you think I don’t want to tell you?”

“Among other reasons?”

Other reasons? 

You crossed your arms. “Ok, what other reasons?”

Tony looked offended. Still, he listed, “I’m surrounded by cameras, and everyone wants some privacy. Can’t get it if you’re with me. Then, there’s the Iron Man of it all. I went into a wormhole with a nuke. That was also all over the news. Then, there’s the whole daddy issues thing. I’m working on it, but it takes a while-”

He rambled on and on, listing reason after reason, and with each one, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was a weird mix of heartbreaking, confusing, and enraging. The emotions built up slowly with each word that left his mouth, overwhelming you to the point that you couldn’t even say how it happened. 

But, as Tony paced and talked so horribly about himself, you somehow ended up in front of him with your hands on his cheeks. 

You only realized it when Tony stopped talking and when his breath touched your lips. “What?” he asked. 

You didn’t answer. You kissed him instead. 

It was a hard press of  your lips against his. It was short, and it wasn’t much. 

But by the way Tony gripped the back of your neck and pulled you back for another kiss, you’d think it was his first kiss. You knew it wasn’t. Not just because you knew he had kissed all sorts of people before you, but because he somehow knew how to make you gasp and melt into him. 

While one hand kept you steady, the other trailed down your back and pulled you closer to him. His lips moved fluidly against yours, pushing and pulling, and everytime he moved back, you chased his lips to continue the kiss, because the softness, the passion, the fact it was finally happening, was all too good. You didn’t want it to stop.

Your hands started to move. For someone so rich, his t-shirt was rough when you twisted it between your fingers and pulled it to you. Slowly, you trailed your fingers along the side of his neck. You rubbed your thumb along his pulse point, a reminder that this was indeed real. You were kissing Tony Stark, and- He was pulling away again.

Desperate, you leaned forward, reached around to hold onto his shoulder, and kissed the side of his neck. 

He let out a breathy laugh, and before you could suck on his skin, his stubble scratched your cheek. 

You looked up at him and giggled when his nose bumped into yours. When your giggles turned into a smile, he kissed you again, a soft and short kiss, before leaning his forehead against yours. 

His thumbs rubbed circles into your waist as you lightly scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he seemed busy gazing at you.

“Speechless, Stark?” you teased. 

He laughed. For a few seconds, he just gazed at you, seeming to prove your point. Tony’s hand began to wander, from stroking your cheek to pushing back your hair. “More confused.”

Remembering why you interrupted him, you brought your hands to his cheeks again and held him there so he couldn’t look away from you. “You are amazing, Tony. That’s the reason I didn’t want to tell you.” You shrugged. “You’re too good for me.”

His fidgeting stopped. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Tony, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically, you are also an Avenger.”

“You’re a genius.”

“Who can’t cook scrambled eggs.”

“You literally saved the universe.”

“After producing weapons of mass destruction for decades.”

You glared at him. 

He glared back. Then, he fought back. “I don’t plan on retiring.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“I have severe PTSD, anxiety, maybe ADHD, all mixed with trauma galore.”

“And I will learn to help you.”

“I couldn’t give you a normal life.”

“I’d rather have you anyway.”

He opened his mouth, but you instead told him, “I’d rather have you than anything. As long as, well, for as long as  you’ll have me.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

Tony shook his head with a smile. “Cause, I’d rather have you for, well, how does til you get tired of me sound?”

You laughed. “Won’t happen. But, sure.” You kissed him again.You would’ve kept going, but there was something to settle first.  “By the way, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Friday recording right now?”

“Friday records everything. It’s in the contract.”

Friday added, “I record everything that happens in the tower.”

“Ok.” You could work with that. “I’ll forgive you for the invasion of privacy.”

Tony beamed, and you couldn’t help your own smile when he did. Still, you continued, “On one condition.” Your own smile turned devious. “I want evidence that Star Spangled Banner took my ice cream.”

Tony burst out laughing. He kissed you again, a deep kiss, and when he was done, he mumbled, “God, I love you,” against your lips.

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

-------------------------------------------------

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

---------------------------------------

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

-------------------------------------------------

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 7

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @fadesbrina, @sweetlyblushedbouquet, @streetfighterrichie, @thatguppienamedbae, @wolfiepirate, @okbwtch, @sinnerskies, @broimjustvibin 

Description: The night of the Yule Ball has arrived and you have no plans to attend. Until a familiar face shows up and urges you to reconsider.

                                                          X

It was the night of the Yule Ball and you weren’t going. Once the school got word of your “breakup” with George it was all anyone could talk about. You became the bad guy, ridiculed for breaking such a sweet guy’s heart. The only slightly positive side to your uncoupling was that George was now the school’s most eligible bachelor. Every girl was vying for him now and even Fred was reaping some of these benefits. Girls figured if they couldn’t have George, Fred was the next best thing. You had to admit, you were surprised that Angelina and George weren’t the school’s next big couple. They were spending a lot more time together but there was little evidence of any exclusivity. Perhaps they were keeping it a secret just for the thrill of it. 

At the end of the day, you were feeling lower than ever. You were upset with yourself for messing things up with George. You shouldn’t have snapped at him and should have just talked rationally about the situation. But it was too late. The worst part was, hanging out with your usual group wasn’t fulfilling. You didn’t feel like you belonged with them any more and you started spending more and more time alone. 

You didn’t even want to think about the Yule Ball. This was a once in a lifetime event and you weren’t even going. You received no other escort offers after George and you split, not that you would have accepted any. 

Somehow you were coerced into going to the common room to gawk over all the dresses and see everyone off. You gave your most genuine smile and compliments as girl after girl twirled around and tried to hide their excitement. Once the last few had left, you pulled out a book and got comfortable in a corner armchair. The plan was to read a few chapters and head to bed early, quite the exciting night.

“Hey stranger,” you heard from behind. You turned around and saw an old friend standing behind you.

“Fred. Hey.” You were shocked to see him standing there in his finest dress robes. “Don’t you look dapper?”

“While I appreciate the compliment, I’m actually in a bit of a situation and I could use your assistance.” You were surprised that he was being so nice to you. You hadn’t spoken to him at all since you ended things with George.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” By this point he circled around the armchair and took a seat on the ottoman in front of you.

“You see, I was supposed to go to the ball with this lovely girl from Beauxbatons but unfortunately she’s fallen ill and is unable to attend.”

You knew where this was going, “And…”

“And I didn’t get dressed up like this for nothing. “

“So go? I don’t understand where I fall in all of this.”

“Y/N, I can’t show up stag. That’s just not my style. Besides, I was hoping we could have a very public break up and more girls would flock to me,” he said with a smile. You were unamused by his mocking comment. You closed your book and stormed off. “Y/N, wait I was just joking.”

“Ha ha.” 

He lightly grabbed your wrist and kept you from moving further, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Do you really want to miss out on this though? I know you’ve been upset about this whole situation but maybe this will help you take your mind off of things.”

“I don’t know, Fred. I really don’t want to be gossiped about any more. I’m not sure it would be a great look to show up to the ball with my ex’s twin brother.”

“Don’t worry so much about what other people think of you. Look, I know we’ve had some issues the past few months, but I can’t let you stay here by yourself and miss out on this opportunity.”

“I don’t have a dress,” you used, as the only excuse you could really think of.

“I’ll take care of it. Just promise me you’ll go?”

 You thought for a moment, unsure of what to say. It was the first time you felt like someone cared about you in a while. 

“…Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” he held out his arm to you. “Let’s go get you a dress.”

You made your way down the empty halls, seeing as everyone was already at the ball. You had a sneaking suspicion as to where you were going. Fred stopped in front of the Room of Requirement and opened the door, allowing you to enter first. When you stepped inside the room was filled with racks of formal dresses of all style and color. 

“Wow, I never thought to use this place as my own personal closet. There must be hundreds of dresses here.”

“I figured you’d be able to find something here,” he took a seat on a plush ottoman located near a three way mirror.

“Are you going to sit there or are you going to help me sift through these dresses?” He looked up cluelessly at you before finally making his way toward a rack. 

“What sort of dress are we looking for here?” he asked, slowly looking through the gowns. You didn’t really have anything in mind, you just figured you would know it when you saw it. 

“I don’t really know, just something I would look good in I guess.”

“Y/N, you would look good in all of these.”

“No need to flatter me Fred, I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m serious. You always look great in whatever you wear.”

“I wish I felt that way about myself nowadays,” you mumbled.

“You just need to regain your confidence. I think that’s what sets you apart from other people. You are so comfortable in your skin and so sure of who you are. It’s incredibly attractive.”

“Easy tiger. Just because we’re going to the Yule Ball together does not mean we’re going to start dating.”

“That’s not what I’m getting at here. I’m just a friend trying to help out another friend,” he said. This statement seemed a little off but after looking in Fred’s eyes you could tell he was being genuine. Instead of responding you nodded your head and continued skimming through dresses.

“So can I ask what happened between you and George? It all seemed kind of sudden.”

“You mean he hasn’t told you?” you asked.

Fred shook his head, “He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” you said. That surprised you. 

“Well, it all started when Roger dumped me. I was upset and I didn’t want to lose him. I had detention with George and he sort of planted this idea that I needed to make Roger jealous. We made a plan to act like we were an item so that Roger would want me back and George would seem like boyfriend material. But we made a rule that either one of us could break off the fake fling whenever for whatever reason,” you paused, picking up a dress that you thought maybe could work, but you put it back realizing it wasn’t right. “George was absolutely perfect. He made our story seem realistic and he did all these cute things for me. I forgot that we weren’t even a real couple. It got to the point where I didn’t even want Roger back, but I didn’t want to stop hanging out with George.”

“What happened then?”

“The night after the first task, when there was that party in the common room, I…ugh…I accidentally walked in on George and Angelina making out in the stairwell. And it hurt. I think it would’ve been easier if he just told me, instead of me walking in on them. The next morning I kept things simple with him and cut it off quickly. He was fighting it and I sort of snapped and said some things I shouldn’t have. And he hasn’t talked to me since.” It was just then you noticed a single tear was dripping down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, hoping Fred didn’t see your vulnerability, but he did.

He stopped searching through the rack and looked at you with clarity in his eyes. It was like everything finally made sense to him. Before he could speak, you interjected.

“I understand if you’re upset, but please don’t be upset with George. It was my idea not to tell you. I wanted your reaction to everything to be genuine. I felt like that was going to sell our story better. And I’m sorry if I created tension between you and George. That was never my intention. I never wanted to hurt him. I think...I think I love him.”

“Y/N, you’ve got this situation all wrong,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Fred let out a small chortle, “That wasn’t George in the stairwell with Angelina, it was me.”

You furrowed your brows, “No, it had to have been George. She made a comment about easing the tension between you. That had to have been about me.”

He shook his head again, “I’d been feeling a bit tense acting as the third wheel all the time. Angelina was saying that with us together, I wouldn’t have to tag along with the two of you.”

Your jaw dropped, “Oh my god…”

“George never had a thing for Angelina, it’s always been you darling.”

You let out a long sigh and hung your head, “Oh I really fucked up.” 

“Look, when you and George first started dating, I had some hesitations. For good reason it seems. But I’ve never seen George happier than when he was with you. And you seemed pretty happy with him. If you really love him, which I suspect you do, you need to tell him. I wouldn’t be up here with you now if I didn’t care about you and my brother. It’s your move now”

“When did you become so insightful?”

“Please, I’ve always been this way. Now hurry up, let’s get you to the ball”

“I just need to find a dress…”

“Oh I have the perfect dress already. I just needed you to fill me in on everything.”

“What? So we’ve been wasting time looking through all these dresses for nothing.”

“Hey, relax. I had good intentions. Now go put this on.” He handed you a white high neck halter dress. The collar featured strands of thin gold chains that fell right on your collarbone. The dress was open back and had a slit up the front that reached just above your knee. It was simple, but stunning. You slipped behind a curtain to try it on and the dress fit you perfectly. You emerged from the makeshift dressing room and Fred was waiting there with a pair of peep toe gold heels. 

“So, does it look okay?”

“See for yourself,” he turned you towards the full length mirror. You  let out a sly smile when you saw your reflection. 

“You look incredible,” Fred said. He placed the heels on the ground and helped you to step into them. You pinned back some of your hair and found a pair of dangly gold earrings to put in. Once you quickly put on some basic makeup, you were ready to go. Your stomach was turning at the potential of seeing George but you had to face your nerves. You knew Fred was right and that you had to tell George how you felt, or else you would always wonder what if.

“You ready to go?”

“I guess so…” you muttered. Fred put a friendly arm around you and steered you out of the room.

[oikirstein]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 | Kuroken | Day 1

Synopsis: Kenma has has loved his best friend, Kuroo, for a lifetime. After a misfortunate occurrence which was photographed by the media, the PR team for Bouncing Ball Corp. decide that it’s a good idea for Kenma and Kuroo to play along with the public to increase the sales of their upcoming product release. Will Kenma be able to control his emotions, or will he lose his best friend in the process?

Contains: Angst, unrequited love, fake relationship

Posted: 12/21/2020

Word count: 3,342

Haikyuu Angst Week Prompt List here.

I have been in love with Tetsuro Kuroo since I was seven years old.

I still love him—eighteen years later.

Growing up as best friends, he was never a hard person to love. He looks out for me, brought me out of my comfort zone, hell, he’s the reason why I’ve grown into who I am today. I’d never admit that to his stupid face, though.

I was seventeen when I realized my love for him was more than just platonic. He was a year older than me, so by the time I started my third year, he was already off to university. The harsh reality of the situation finally weighed heavy on me when I waited outside of his house for thirty minutes and remembered he’s not coming anymore.

He called me later that evening apologizing, although he did nothing wrong, because that’s just the type of person Kuroo was. The next week he surprised me by waiting outside my door to walk me to school.

“I miss this,” he reminisced, staring up at the sky.

“What?” I turned to him, heart racing just a little more than usual, hoping for a certain string of words to come out of his mouth.

“Walking to school like this every morning.”

They didn’t.

I don’t know what I was hoping for. Maybe I wanted him to say he missed walking with me. I’m not sure whether I’d rather hear lies or the truth. That was the day I admitted to myself that he’d be the only person for me.

Now here we are, me at 25 and him at 26 sitting in my office with my publicist yelling at us for being so reckless in public. It was a misunderstanding, really.

“How could you do that at a party where you knew there’d be press coverage?” Kata was pacing back and forth while I rested my forehead on my crossed arms that laid on the glass desk and Kuroo leaned back in his chair on the other side of the table.

“Kata,” she stopped mid-stride and turned her attention to me as I muttered, “how many times do I have to repeat myself,” I lifted my head back up, “IT ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK.”

Kuroo found it difficult to hold back his laugh.

“I don’t think you should be laughing, Kuroo-san. You’re in just as much trouble as Kozume-san.”

He stopped laughing.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think. It was never about what I thought. The point of my job is to make sure you look good for the public. Thats what a publicist does. Now the issue here, is that the public thinks you’re dating.”

“Okay, wow so all it takes is for me to fall, Kuroo to catch me, and some no-name photographer to snap a picture of us for us to be considered ‘dating’ now?” 

“Kozume-san if you play into this little charade, say for a couple months, just long enough for the new product to be released, sales will go up, and then you can just announce that you two called it quits.”

Was it really worth playing with my heart just to earn a quick buck? 

“No. I don’t want Kuroo to be forced to date me, that’s weird and embarrassing.” 

Kata walked forward and took a seat in the chair next to Kuroo before she leaned forward and rest her chin on her hand, “Here’s the thing Kozume-san, you two ‘dating’, doesn't even have to be real,” proud of her award-winning idea, she leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest, and a smug look written all over her face.

“So what you’re saying is to do this as a cash grab?” Kuroo seemed genuinely curious.

“Well somewhat. Think of it more like...fan service.”

“Hmmm...I mean if it’s a show they want then it’s a show they’ll get,” he reached over and smacked my back, “What do you say kitten? Be my scene partner?” he smirked.

Ugh. Why does he have to use those stupid nicknames that always make my heart flutter. My face was visibly cringing as i scrunched up my nose and scowled at him. He knows I could never truly refuse when it’s him.

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath as I looked away.

Kuroo’s footsteps were light as he got up from his seat and went around the desk to sneak up behind me. He bent down and leaned in close towards my ear.

“What was that, puddin?” he whispered, his hot breath whipping through my loose strands of hair.

I jumped out of my seat and rubbed my ear with the sleeve of my jacket and he laughed his ugly, stupid, hyena laugh. 

“See! Look at that! You two aren’t even ‘dating’ and yet you have so much chemistry!” Kata said enthusiastically while clapping.

Of course we have chemistry. We’ve been best friends for eighteen years. Soulmates our whole lives. It was always easy to be around Kuroo. That’s one of the things I love about him. Why wouldn’t we have chemistry?

“Well, when you’ve been best friends with someone for like, your whole life, of course you’re gonna know exactly how to push his buttons,” his voice was breathy as he wiped tears from his eyes.

I didn’t realize it then, but I truly did sell my heart for pocket change.

A full month later was when we went out in public together as a “couple” for the first time. It was a simple brunch at a well known restaurant, but Kata made sure to anonymously tip paparazzi that we would be at that establishment. Together. It wasn’t even 30 minutes into our meal when we were bombarded with cameras.

“Today we are here with Kenma Kozume, the young CEO of Bouncing Ball Corp., and his supposed boyfriend, Tetsuro Kuroo, from the Japan Volleyball Association. Are any of you able to speak on the rumors spreading about the two of you?”

Kuroo had always been good at talking. He's been smooth with his words for as long as I could remember him. He was...a people person. The complete opposite of me, which is why we agreed that Kuroo would do most of the talking, should a camera crew show up.

He laughed, not the ugly hyena kind, it was an attractive laugh. That’s how I knew it wasn’t real.

“Well I mean we won’t confirm or deny anything right now, won’t we kitten?” he winked at me and suddenly all the attention was directed towards my direction.

Idiot. Two can play at that game.

“Im pretty sure whatever the public is thinking is probably true, hm Tetsu?”

I’ve never called him that before, so it was obvious he was shocked. Big eyes and blushy cheeks. We gave the camera exactly what it wanted.

“Is that a confirmation?” the man behind the camera was provoking us for an answer.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he smirked before taking his chopsticks back into his hand and grabbing a plate full of beef, “Now if you gentlemen will excuse us, we’d like to continue our lunch date.”

Satisfied with the content they would now be able to work with, the cameras slowly started retreating from the scene until it was just us two again.

“Damn maybe I should’ve gone into show business,” he smirked.

“Shut up, they might still be around,” I whispered while looking down, incase we were still being watched.

“How do you know I was talking about that. I could just simply be saying that I would’ve been amazing on T.V.”

“No you wouldn’t,” I replied, monotonous voice, as I took a bite of some barbecue and rice.

“Kenma, why do you have to break my heart like this? What if I was born to be an actor?”

“Uhm I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen an actor that has the same hairstyle twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year.”

“That’s a technicality. Why should hair define my amazing acting abilities?”

“Then I want to see you shave your head and wear a wig.”

Kuroo froze in the middle of whatever movement he was making and just stared at the grill in the middle of the table with a horrified expression written on his face.

“You know what? Maybe I wasn't meant to be an actor...”

Outings usually continued on like this. We would have little interviews with paparazzi, slowly dropping more and more hints about our “relationship,” and once they left, we’d have breakfast, lunch, or dinner, like we usually do. I suppose to any outsider it would seem as though we were on a date, but I wouldn’t allow myself to call this pitiful get together as such.

I could pretend this was real. I could tell myself that Kuroo reciprocated my feelings. I could tell myself that we were truly in a relationship. I could tell myself I have a chance, but a mere sliver of probability isn’t worth risking our friendship. 

Since I was seventeen I accepted the fact that I’d be happy as long as he was in my life. I mean, he’d still smile the same. He’d still laugh the same. He’d still love me... 

I’m supposed to be content with what I have. It’s either we stay as best friends, or we go on as strangers, and I’d rather avoid the latter. So why do I feel such a tightness in my chest whenever we’re forced to go out together? Why do I feel so selfish for wanting more?

Two months went by until we had to make an actual appearance together at a party. Me under Kuroo’s arm like some sort of bittersweet candy. 

He was always good at reading people—especially me. Which is why he pulled me aside before we walked into the huge rental house. The only reason I agreed to show up was because it was Shoyo’s team celebrating their win against some team who’s name I can’t remember.

“You okay Ken?” he rested both hands on my shoulders with my back against the wall.

“Yeah, I just need a second.”

I never did like big crowds.

After taking a few minutes to breathe before submitting myself to the abyss of rowdy adrenaline-high athletes, Kuroo took my hand in his as we walked through the front doors together. It was warm. Like my fingers were molded to fit perfectly into his palm. Must’ve been why I felt so cold when he let my hand go.

As soon as the camera flashed and Bokuto called him from the other side of the room, he whispered an “I’ll be back kitten,” before joining the beefy player by the bar. 

I guess I’ll go find Shoyo.

It wasn’t long until I saw a bush of bright orange bobbing up and down through a sea of people.

“Shoyo!”

“Kenma!”

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you! I wouldn’t want to disappoint my sponsor,” he winked, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little loud in here.”

Whether he means to or not, Shoyo’s always been good at making sure people feel comfortable.

“Uhm, Shoyo?” I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged a little to get his attention.

“What’s up?” he practically had to yell over the loud music and the incessant yelling of the surrounding people.

“Can we get a beer first?”

A smile spread across his face, “Of course, just wait for me by the fire outside.”

I followed his instructions and sat in one of the red lawn chairs that snaked around the circular bonfire.

“How’ve you been?” the ginger said while handing me an opened beer and sitting in the chair next to me.

“I’ve been alright. Things are running smoothly for the product release—”

“I didn't ask about how work was, Kenma,” he interrupted, “How are you?”

“Oh. Uhm...I’m keeping it together.”

He leaned back in the plastic chair and took a sip from his drink, “So you and Kuroo-san, huh?”

I looked around to make sure no one was near us. I could never lie to Shoyo.

“Barely,” I mumbled as I, myself, took a big gulp.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s an act. All because of a misunderstanding from a few months ago.”

“Well did you have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“That's unfortunate. I thought you would’ve told him how you felt by now.”

“Wait- what do you mean ‘how I felt?’ You knew?”

“I may not be that bright, but I have eyes, Kenma. I can see the way your eyes gloss over when he calls you one of those cute pet names, or the way your cheeks redden when he does that weird laugh at your jokes.”

“Hmm... You’re more observant than I thought, Sho.”

“So why haven’t you told him?”

Just thinking about confessing scared the shit out of me. All I can imagine is the disgusted look on his face when I tell him. The scenario plays over and over again in my head—the one where he walks away and fades into the background. I don’t know when I started crying, but I had only realized it when I heard the glass of Shoyo’s bottle tap the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

I wiped the hot tears from my cheeks with my wrist.

“I guess I just love him too much to lose him.”

Two weeks after that party, we had another meeting at the office.

“This has been going great so far!” Kata exclaimed, obviously proud of her idea, “Have you ever thought of being an actor?” she teased Kuroo.

“See! That’s what I’ve been telling Kenma, but apparently my untamable hair is standing in the way between me and fame.”

“You’re already all over the news, idiot.”

“And all thanks to my little kitten,” he walked over to my seat behind my desk and peppered my cheek in kisses.

“We’re not in public, you can stop acting all lovey dovey,” I spat. I didn’t even think about my words until Kata’s effervescent expression changed into a state of confused shock. She wasn’t sure how she should react to my outburst.

“W-what? It’s all fun and games, Ken,” Kuroo was taken aback by my response as well, but he hid it much better than my publicist.

“It always is with you,” I got up and walked out of office. I couldn't take it anymore. All this pretending and toying with my heart. I felt bad for blaming it all on Kuroo, when he couldn’t have possibly known about my feelings, but it was easier to blame him for my pain than to admit to myself that I’m a coward. 

I rounded the corner and continued on my way to the vending machine to get an energy drink. Those always seemed to put me in a better mood.

Kuroo knew me well. Who wouldn’t after eighteen years? That’s probably why he knew exactly where to find me.

“What the hell was that, Kenma?”

I pulled up the tab of the can and let the hiss of carbonation fizzle out before I took a sip and leaned against the wall.

“What was what?” 

“You’re little scene in there? What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’re lying to me.”

 I looked off to the side, my eyes scanning every row in the vending machine, “I just think it’s time to call quits on this charade we have going on,” I responded dryly.

“Huh? Why? It’s only a couple more weeks until the release. Why end it now?”

“I’m tired, Kuroo. I don’t want to have to pretend all the time anymore.”

I was never an emotional person, so I knew that in this moment Kuroo knew something catastrophic was going on inside my head, for me to put myself before the potential success of the company.

“It’s just for a little while longer and then we can go back to normal, okay? Can you just hold out until then?”

“No. You’re not listening to me. Why the hell do you want to keep doing this. This doesn’t benefit you in the slightest.”

“Because I love you,” my heart rate went up at these words although I knew he didn’t mean them in the way I wish he did, “You’re my best friend and I want to see you thrive.”

“Why are you always putting yourself on the line for me?”

“Putting myself on the line? What are you—”

“I’m so selfish! And then you over here,” I rolled my eyes at him before kicking my weight off the wall, “You constantly give but you never take!”

“I don’t see the issue with that.”

“You’re too good for me,” I looked to the ground because I knew that if I looked up into his gorgeous hazel eyes, I would definitely cry. 

“That’s not true—”

“Yes it is and you know it,” my voice was on the verge of cracking from how tired I was from arguing.

“You know what? You look like you need some space. Think about things okay? I’m only a phone call away. I’ll see you at the launch party,” he walked away.

The day of the launch party was a bore. Just a bunch of business men in suits and the growing anxiety in the pit of my stomach, for Kuroo had yet to show up like he promised. 

It was half-past twelve when I stepped outside the venue to get some fresh air. The second I opened the doors was when I saw him pacing back and forth, deep in thought.

“Kuroo?”

“Kenma! I’m so sorry about what happened a few weeks ago—”

I did nothing but hugged him like I was going to lose him.

“Why are you apologizing? I was the one that had a tantrum.”

“Well you’re not the only one that got mad.”

“Let’s go for a walk?”

He nodded and draped his heavy arm over my shoulder before he took another step.

“Well so far sales have been good. Almost linear.”

“I’m glad I was able to help. So this is the end, huh?”

We both stopped in the middle of the side walk. I didn’t want it to end. The handholding, the hugs, the camera kisses. I wanted all of it. I so badly wanted all of it to be real. Maybe it’s because I spent half the night drinking, or maybe it’s because his midnight hair ricocheted the moonlight ever so perfectly, that I felt a courage rush through me like never before.

“Why does it have to end?”

“Didn’t you say like three weeks ago that you wanted to end our little ‘relationship?’”

“I don’t mean it like that. I mean,” I unwrapped myself from his limb and stepped in front of him, “I’m in love with you, Tetsu. I have been for eighteen years.”

A piece of my heart cracked when he took a step back, face pale, and eyes widened.

“What?”

I wanted to take a step forward, but for some reason, my feet were glued to the ground.

“I love you.”

He smiled assuringly before he laughed to lighten the air. The same type of laugh he’s used to fool reporters. 

“You’re my best friend, Kenma.”

“I know. I’ll never be more than that, right?”

“You know I love you,” I wouldn’t dare get my hopes up again at those words, “You’re like a little brother to me.”

Damn. Is this what it feels like for my heart to be so irreparably shattered? Physical pain spread from my chest throughout my body. To the tips of fingers and toes.

“I—” he started, before giving you that diabetes inducing smile, “I should go.”

I watched him walk away. It was a vision from my worst nightmare. When did it all change? Is this what my selfishness was bound to lead to?

What was supposed to be a simple marketing tactic, turned out to be a fate worse than death. I was heartbroken to think he was my soulmate, but I wasn’t his.

© all content [unless stated otherwise] belongs to gellysticks 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[spencers-dria]

Instinct

Someone To Stay Ch. 11

Content/Trigger Warnings: violence/guns/blood

I close my eyes in an attempt to get any amount of sleep possible before the jet lands. After a night full of tossing and turning, we got called in on a case in Washington State. Of course this means delaying a talk with Y/N about last night. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, so why can't I stop thinking about it.

It was just alcohol right? People do and say all kinds of crazy things while they're drinking, things they usually regret the next day. Maybe she won't want to speak about it at all. Ugh, how am I supposed to focus on a serial killer when my mind is so clouded with personal drama. I'm going to have to find a way to compartmentalize. While I'm with the team, it will be all business. I can find time to sort through my personal issues at the hotel tonight.

Finally giving up on getting any extra sleep at all, I sit up from the bench and move to a window seat across from Morgan. He's the only one who seems to still be awake. His eyes are closed but he's tapping his hands to whatever music he's listening to on his headphones, so I decide to let him be.

I find myself staring out the window, at the city lights down below. There's something really magical about the way things look from up here. I snap my head up when I hear a noise beside me. Morgan slides over a fresh cup of coffee. I hadn't even noticed him getting up. I must really be out of it.

"Reid." I note the seriousness in his voice, the lack of nickname use. "What's going on with you? You hardly spoke during the case briefing?"

I simply shrug, continuing to stare out the window as I sip on the fresh cup of coffee. I can tell he put in extra sugar, the way I usually make it.

"Is this about last night? About Y/N?"

I set my coffee in my lap as I stare into it, almost as if waiting for it to give me answers.

"I don't... I don't really know." I sigh.

"We haven't talked about what happened. We pretty much just said goodnight and I left. Then we got called in on the case."

"Is there something going on between you two?"

He wiggles his eyebrows at me, in a typical Derek Morgan fashion.

I shake my head. "No, at least I don't think so. There wasn't but after last night...I don't know what to think."

"Do you want there to be?"

I feel nerves building up in my stomach, the same ones I had on the dance floor last night. My thoughts drift to how she looked, how I felt, how easy it was being around her, how I couldn't stop smiling.

I know my face is turning red again.

"I don't know. Maybe..."

Derek let's out a long sigh and leans over to pat my shoulder. "You'll figure it out, pretty boy. You are a genius after all."

I can't help but laugh. I feel a little better, knowing that someone else knows what I'm going through, without having to say more than a few words. That's the great thing about Derek, he gets me. He teases and jokes but at the end of the day. He's always there. Before I realize it, I've drifted off into the sleep I had so desperately been craving.

I wake to the jet finally entering descent. The sun has come up and the rest of the team is awake. I glance at my watch to see the clock read 7 AM. I decide to send Y/N a quick text. I don't need her thinking I ran off after what happened.

Y/N

Spencer: I got called in on a case. I'll let you know when we get back so we can have another movie night.

Y/N: Order of the Phoenix?

Spencer: Of Course! :)

After getting settled at the police station, I start to go through the files. It's a small town and they don't have much to give us. It shouldn't take me more than 30 minutes to read through any relevant information.

The rest of the team returns to the station later that evening with updates from the autopsy, the locations where the victims where taken and where their bodies were dumped.

It isn't long before we put together a solid profile: Male, late twenties to early thirties, confident online but incredibly insecure when speaking with women in person, feels emasculated by powerful women in his life, job requires extensive knowledge of the local wooded areas, takes his victims by surprise and knocks them out before making cuts and marks all over the bodies, leaving them in public places to be seen, shaming them the way he feels shamed.

We spend the next morning narrowing down the suspect list. I feel like I'm on the brink of a break through, when my thoughts are interrupted by Hotch.

"JJ, Morgan, go back to the site where our latest victim, Victoria, was taken off the hiking trail. See if you can figure out how he targets and approaches them. Blake and Reid, start questioning some of the friends of our most likely suspect, Mr. George Kelly. They may know where you can find him. Start with the ex girlfriend. Rossi and I are going to call the friends and families in to see how much they can remember."

Thirty minutes later, Agent Blake and I are pulling into the driveway of a small house, set a ways away from the road. We step out of the car to the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees. As we approach the front door, each of us keeps a hand tentatively on our holster, just in case.

After three sharp knocks, Blake announces herself.

"Ms. Hutchinson, This is Agent Blake with the FBI. We need to speak with you."

After a few moments, there is still nothing but silence. "Ms. Hutchinson, we are looking for your ex boyfriend Mr. Kelly. We just want to talk."

Dead silence.

Blake and I give each other a knowing nod as she stays at the front door, I approach the back, gun in hand. I make my way around the house, taking in all of my surroundings, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary.

As soon as I turn the last corner, I lock eyes with George Kelly, standing on the back porch with a gun held to the head of his ex. I quickly swallow the lump on my throat and focus all possible energy on deescalating the situation.

"Mr. Kelly" I speak loud enough to alert Blake to the situation, knowing she may already be inside.

I slowly lower my gun into its holster. I see something in his eyes I have seen before. This man does not want to kill her.

"Mr. Kelly my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I'm here to help you. But I need you to put the gun down, okay? You see me putting mine down? I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"No! No you'll just kill me! You think I don't know what you'll do to me for what I've done! I hurt people! But I don't wanna die!"

Tears start to spill over from his eyes as the gun shakes in his hand.

"George, I know. I know you don't want to die. You don't have to. It's ok. Just let Anna go so we can talk about this. I know you don't want to hurt her. She never hurt you. She only appreciated you right? She made you feel special. She never belittled you or emasculated you like other women, did she?"

He starts to sob and shake but his hand never leaves the gun or the girl. Through the window, I see Blake making her way slowly through the house, trying not to alert him to her presence.

"Fine! Leave your gun! Leave it right there on the ground, and come get her!"

I know this is a bad idea. He's clearly unstable. All my FBI training is getting set aside, but I have to try right...I have to try to save her. I slowly remove my gun from the holster as a lower it to the ground. I start to take a couple steps away. I can see his grip loosening on her.

I take a couple more steps toward the porch and the girl is finally able to run toward me. She wraps her arms around me and begins to sob, and I quickly realize I've made a mistake. Seeing his ex cling to me has triggered something in the unsub. I see a fierce look enter his eyes as his hold on the gun steadies.

Out of instinct I turn the girl in my arms away, with my back to the gunman, shoving us both down on the ground, praying silently in my head that Blake will be able to react quick enough. Before I hit the ground I feel a sharp sting in my shoulder.

There's a ringing in my ears as I feel my head go fuzzy. I quickly scramble for my phone to call back up. I look up from where I'm laying in the dirt to see Blake handcuffing our unsub.

The girl and the killer, both still alive. And so am I. I let my head fall to the ground as a take in a deep breath of relief and exhaustion. Hotch finally answers as I update him on our current whereabouts and situation. Before the phone calls ends I can feel myself start to fade a bit. I look down to finally see just how much blood I have been losing. There's a puddle of red slowly spreading, running through the dirt and grass. I suppose the adrenaline numbed my awareness of what was going on. My eyelids are suddenly heavy as I struggle to stay awake. In the background I hear Hotch's voice on the phone fading, mixed with the growing sound of sirens.

"Reid? Reid? Reid are you okay? Reid what's happening?"

[reds-self-ships]

🔎 The Adventure of the Detection Club

Chapter 3: All in, bail out.

Table of Contents & Trigger Warnings

“Excuse me, Detective, but there must be some kind of mistake,” protested Susato. “Why are you arresting us all?”

“Yes. We haven’t done anything wrong. Well, nothing that’s ever made The Randst anyway—Hey! Careful!” said Sholmes as a police constable rattled an old parliamentary despatch box in the midst of a full search.

The entire flat, as well as the upstairs office seemed to have been taken over by police constables.

“Mr. Ninate here’s under arrest for murder, as well as attempting to obstruct the course of justice and resisting arrest. And you lot are under arrest for harbouring a dangerous fugitive, and proving to be accessory to the crime!”

Jones lifted his black bowler hat and removed a pair of handcuffs, pointing them at Redford menacingly. “In other words, you’re nicked! Hands.”

Redford folded his arms.

“HANDS,” said Jones, louder.

“Ugh, fine,” Redford replied, presenting both wrists for handcuffing. Jones had them on in a moment with the sound of a lock snapping shut. “Ow! They’re a bit tight, aren’t they?”

“You’re lucky I don’t do ‘em tighter than that after all the trouble you’ve caused me. You’re coming with me in the Maria.”

“Detective Jones, don’t you think that Mr. Ninate should be allowed to state his case before you jump to conclusions?” asked Ryunosuke. “I mean—he does have the right to a fair defence.”

“In a court of law after an investigation. And now he has to go to jail because the investigation found that he was the only one who could’ve done it. Crown Prosecutor Abidon’s absolutely sure of the case.”

“Oh, Abidon, is it?”

“Mr. Sholmes?”

“He’s some new upstart at the Crown Prosecutor’s Office and the new flavour of the month, seeing as Van Zieks is currently taking a leave of absence. He’s worse than Flynch is, what with his stupid black robe and his funny little white wig thingy and the way he’s always wagging his finger…”

The room grew quieter and quieter as Sholmes continued, slowly fading to a stop himself.

“He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”

Ryunosuke, Redford, Susato, Iris and Jones nodded slowly and silently.

Sholmes turned around: “Oh, good morning, prosecutor! Lovely day isn’t it for the…er…crocuses?”

Abidon shot him a steely cold glare.

“OK then I’ll just shut up now, will I? OK? OK.”

Prosecutor Abidon looked to be almost a sort of caricature of a standard prosecutor, with long black robes over a grey suit and tie, with black hair covered by a short, white, powdered barrister’s wig and gold-rimmed half-moon glasses sitting on the end of his nose.

“Good morning, Mr. Sholmes,” Abidon said with a harrumph. “Detective.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Escort the defendant to Newgate Gaol, I must see him for questioning urgently.”

“At once, sir.”

Jones and a pair of constables approached Redford, looking as though they were ready to bring him kicking and screaming if he wasn’t prepared to exercise his right to remain silent. A drop of sweat trickled down Ryunosuke’s neck as he quickly and anxiously looked around, wondering what on earth to do.

It was then when it hit him.

HOLD IT!

He pointed directly to the prosecutor.

“Prosecutor Abidon. I would like to invoke my client’s right to bail!”

The shout of HOLD IT! seemed to have disturbed Prosecutor Abidon enough, causing him to jump slightly and knock his wig askew and release a small puff of powder that Detective Jones sneeze.

“Mr. Naruhodo, what is the meaning of this?”

“My client has the right to apply for bail, especially if you’re planning on taking him into custody to charge him with murder.”

Susato caught on. “Mr. Naruhodo is right!” she chimed in. She removed her legal textbook from the sleeve of her kimono, quickly flicked through the pages before pointing a finger on the appropriate section.

“‘Under the Bail Act, a defendant has the right to seek to be granted bail, meaning he doesn’t have to spend any time in prison before the trial begins. All he requires is a permanent postal address and someone willing to account for him, as well as a reasonable amount of cash payment or bond’.”

Abidon shrugged and smirked. “The defendant has neither. Temporary student accommodation is excluded in the same act, and he’s admitted to us before that he’s a student and hasn’t much money to his name, nor anyone to vouch for him.”

“Then I’ll vouch for him!” cried Sholmes. “I’ve known him for all of ten minutes now and I deduce him to be a decent enough sort of chap—an army doctor recently returned from Afghanistan!”

“I think you’re getting your stories mixed up again,” said Iris with a shrug and a sigh of resignation.

“Well what about money or an address?”

“He can live here!” proclaimed Ryunosuke. “We can take him in and look after him.”

He reached into his pocket and removed a wallet packed with some coins and several banknotes, handing it over to the prosecutor. “Consider this bail money.”

“Mr. Naruhodo,” said Susato, “That’s—!”

“Our allowance from the Japanese government. It’s all the money we have, but I believe in this man’s innocence. If I had any more, I promise you I’d bet it all.”

The prosecutor was already thumbing through the banknotes, silently counting them up under his breath. “Well,” he said. “It all appears to be in order then. I’ll send the formal paperwork round then before the trial begins tomorrow. And if he doesn’t show up, I will have him remanded and all your money will be forfeit. Am I clear?”

“Absolutely,” said Ryunosuke.

“Positively,” added Redford.

“Clear as mud,” added Sholmes.

“Alright, I suppose we can leave off any further arrests or prosecutions for now. Detective, please uncuff the defendant.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

Abidon didn’t dignify the detective’s pink-face or question with a response as he silently undid the handcuffs. Redford shook the pain out of his wrists as he was finally granted some temporary freedom. The constables began to silently file out of the room, as well as the prosecutor and the detective, who made the “I’ve got my eye on you!” gesture before he left.

Redford and Sholmes waved cheerily and sarcastically after them, before being given simultaneous thumps in the side by Susato who promptly reminded them that they were on thin ice already. Especially as Mrs. Hudson was already complaining about having to telegram her son Freddy to come and fix the door.

“I take it that means you’re accepting me as a client, then?” asked Redford, shaking Ryunosuke’s hand.

“Absolutely. You’re definitely innocent, there’s no doubt about it.”

“I’m glad to see you think that way, Mr. Naruhodo. If you need anything from me, I’ll happily provide it. Though I guess in the meantime we should sort out my bed or whatever.”

“Bed?”

“Yes, you did just tell the prosecutor I’m staying here. And I don’t think it’d be clever to lie to the police, given that, as Susato rightfully said, we’re already on thin ice.”

“‘Bail will also be forfeited if it turns out the defendant lied to any public official involved with the issuing of bail or breaks any conditions involved with the issuing of bail’,” Susato read. “Mr. Ninate is right.”

“I’m happy to crash on the couch for a while if you need me to.”

“Not at all. You and Mr. Naruhodo can share a bed,” said Sholmes.

“I—what?”

“Yes. It’s the policy of Iris and mine that nobody ever sleeps on the settee in this house. And given that you and Miss Susato have already taken up our two guest bedrooms, we have no real other option. Especially as I’m far older than him and it’d be too inappropriate to have him and Iris or Susato share a bedroom.”

Ryunosuke had to admit, that was an argument that he definitely had no chance of winning.

But all that could come in another twelve hours’ time. Right now, it was time to investigate.

[ahmedmootaz]

To Find A Blot

Hello, dear Tumblr folk! How are you doing? Fine as always, I hope. I had made a story predicting (or trying to predict) the events of tomorrow’s episode of Ducktales as a reply to a request. Unfortunately, Tumblr decided that the original post endangered public safety, so here I am, posting it again.

I would like to ask for everyone’s thoughts! Whether they be comments or critiques, I want your feedback! I like long comments, so write away! I hope you like this little piece of mine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551864

And for anyone who prefers a direct Read More button, here it is! Unfortunately, italics do not copy from Archive Of Our Own, however, I think it should be obvious where they were. So, once more, leave your thoughts, and until next time, see ya’!

It was a dark, cold night in the Forest Of...whatever. Lena couldn't care less about what its name was. It was damp, awful, cold, and filled with monsters. No wonder Magica would hide here; it was basically her dream home. Maybe it was a mirror, too. She trudged with her friends, Violet and Webby, who'd oh-so-kindly volunteered to help her on this mad quest of hers. She was going mad, that's what, and they were both ready to go mad with her. She really was lucky when it came to friends.

They kept trudging in silence, not wanting to reflect on the series of what must've been unfortunate events to lead them to searching for Magica DeSpell in the dark, cold night in the middle of a swamp. An ugly swamp, too...though, now that she thought about it, there weren't really 'pretty' swamps, so it wasn't like Magica chose a bad one; they were all bad.

Despite telling herself several times how she was over this, how she had no issues whatsoever about what they were doing right now and that it was for the greater good, she found herself contemplating any other choice. Just what, exactly, led them to this point?!

...Well, they all knew. It was a rhetorical question. An angry rhetorical question. Leave it to the McDucks to be attacked by a literal video-game monster that crawled out of the screen and treating it like another boring day. Which...yeah, it kinda was for them, but she'd gotten used to the calmer household she moved in. It wasn't like that was the biggest thing that happened today, either, it was more like...the appetizer, even though that wasn't really a correct statement, since it was like eating a whole roast duck only to be told it was an appetizer.

Still, it wasn't the tentacle-monster which they took down that led to this situation. It was the fact that Gladstone...Gladner? Something along those lines, showed up. Apparently, he was the boys' uncle, which made him someone she didn't know. Not that it mattered anyway, he came in, crying about how his luck left him forever before weeping on her arm, which was conveniently next to him. Her sleeve was never going to return to regular levels of salt after this.

It took a while before Scrooge managed to calm him down. It seemed like his luck...which was a thing she didn't know about, had left him. Normally, she was told, they would've chalked it up to some paranormal mystery and had to excuse themselves and send her home, but it went further then that...Almost everyone in Duckburg was losing their abilities.

They didn't really believe it at first, but when Scrooge's monetary abilities started going blank, the alarms blared loudly enough in everyone's minds. It wasn't just him, too; Gyro was losing his intelligence, so was Huey, Mrs.Beakly lost a good portion of her Agent skills, and Dewey lost the ability to Dewey, whatever the heck he meant by that.

It only left her and the rest of Team Magic to fend for themselves and figure out what was draining their powers. There was one teeny-tiny problem, however:

How would they do that? Webby was an amazing fighter, but their enemy, a certain Phantom Blot that Violet heard about, didn't leave a trace, much less a body to fight, and despite Violet's best efforts, nothing came out of her investigations to find where he hid, which left Lena to do the job. One issue, however: She couldn't.

She was a brilliant sorceress, or so she bragged, but there was still much she needed to learn before casting detection spells. And they, she theorized, didn't have that time. Violet was an amazing step-sister and a scarily fast learner, but even she came up empty-handed when it came to learning anything about that power. That left one magic user in Duckburg she knew. Ugh.

She shivered at the memory, snapping out of her mind due to some whimpering from Gladstone. He said he needed to find his luck or else he was a goner. She thought he was exaggerating at first, but then a boat nearly fell on him. 4 Kilometres away from sea. He promised he'd do them anything if she let him accompany them on this treacherous journey while the rest of the gang tried investigating using their own ways, and the agreed. How bad could he be, anyways?

-"U-Um...Lena? I don't know how to tell you this...but I...I hate swamps. I don't think I know how to walk in them. It was always my luck helping me out. I'm cold, scared, and humiliated."...well, not too bad, but he just wouldn't shut up! And while he seemed to amuse Webby and Violet, he was just getting on her nerves.

-"Well, nobody here likes swamp, either! And you've been listing the things your luck did for you for two hours now, is there anything you can do on your own, Mr.Gladstone?", she shot back, irked.

He used to argue and bicker with her, but as his luck kept worsening throughout the day (How on earth does one get mauled by a bear, an alligator, and then receive a speeding ticket because the alligator's death-roll was too fast??), he mostly stuck to paranoia to help himself. She couldn't help but feel bad for him, despite how much he annoyed her.

-"W-Well...I used to breathe well on my own...I could also walk...I think...", he mumbled, his voice a broken mess compared to his arrogant and proud tone, or so she was told by Webby. "A-And...I think I might need to learn how to go to the bathroom in the swamp.", he added, his exhaustion overpowering his embarrassment.

-"Pffft, don't worry about it, Gladstone! The entire swamp is your bathroom! You're basically the King of the swamp!", and there it was, the perky, energetic voice that was trying to keep Gladstone away from depression this entire trip.

-"Oh, quit with the lies! I am nothing without my luck!", he cried, seeming on the verge of tears for the...seventeenth time today? Lena couldn't remember. "B-But...It wasn't my choice! My luck was always there for me! Like...Like a-a stick! Something to lean on my entire life and now it is gone!", he lamented, slouching as his footsteps got a bit slower. For the sake of all them, Lena hoped he regained any of his luck soon.

-"Well, it is true; any being born with a condition, abnormal or not, that aids him throughout his life without any major work done from the part of the being will eventually get used to this condition, which could explain why you're taking this particular misadventure hard, Mr.Gladstone.", Violet bumped in their chat, checking the notepad on which they brainstormed the possible locations of Magica. "Still, I'd advise you to remain positive, as I sense we may be able to fix these conditions.", she added, giving him a small, encouraging smile which he didn't notice.

-"Yeah, probs.", the teenage witch agreed after she felt a nudge from the Vanderquack. Anything to cheer up her friend's friends' uncle. "Hey Vi, are we close or not?", she asked, trying to ignore the eye-roll from her shorter friend.

-"Well, I don't have a particularly detailed map, though I imagine that Magica would mark her camp with a particular sign; an X on the ground, perhaps, or perhaps we must deduce it from the surrounding environment-"

-"Or she might've carved her face on the bottom of an ancient tree!", the cheerful duck happily announced as they entered a clearing with a small dirt road that led to the mouth of Magica DeSpell. A wooden carving of her, anyway.

It was just as Webby said, large, reeking of pride and arrogance, and yet...oddly well done. The details were really nice and actually looked like Magica. If she had to give her 'aunt' something, it had to be that she apparently didn't suck at something in her life. Really though, wood carving, of all things? Was she a carpenter before becoming an evil, awful witch? Is she talented? She didn't have her magic...maybe she had someone else with her.

-"Alright, so, is everyone prepared to meet my homicidal aunt?", the tallest duckling asked with fake happiness, receiving a nod form everyone but Gladstone, who emitted  something of a sniff. Webby readied the axe she brought with her, patting the kitten at the top while Violet tightened her garlic necklace, while Gladstone...he stood there, steadying his back a bit. "Mr.Gladstone?"

-"Ah, forget about it, whatever she does to me, it can't be worse than having an anvil hit me from ten-meters.", he steadied his tone, managing to make it more bitter than desperate. Well, at least he wasn't going to cry when they see her.

She looked back at the tree's base, blocking out the various memories that gave her the urge to blast the door, and knocked. Harshly. Hey, she was going to give herself something. She felt both Webby and Violet's hands on her shoulders, and she anticipated the door opening. Now or never...they were going to convince her, and somehow, she didn't think it was going to be too easy.

Her mind raced, imagining all the awful things she could be plotting right now. She heard garlic was harmful to magic users, something she didn't know too much about, but was apparently true, as she figured out when her magical powers suddenly dimmed as she touched some garlic. Still, Magica could hit them form a distance...and what about that axe? Was going physical the ideal plan? Was-

 CRASH!

The quartet of ducks yelled, jumping back before they realized the door didn't even open. It was something from the inside. Someone, to be exact. A couple of curses came through the door as a metallic sound came through as well.

-"Bloody Hell! Who comes in this hour of the night, in this swamp, to this tree?! I don't even pay bills!", the angry yelling of her not-really-aunt came through. Yep, that was about the attitude she expected. "If you're the Magical Supplies Shop, I'm sorry, but if you couldn't tell, I lost my powers after following a wonderful plan of mine. I cannot pay you in whatever things you want. Now go away before I shoot you!", she answered with a sickeningly sweet tone. Even her voice brought Lena awful memories and forced her to frown.

-"You can do this, Lena. You faced her down before. She can't do anything to you.", Violet squeezed her shoulder, giving her a determined smile. Lena shot one back, before taking a step closer to the door.

-"Hey, this is Lena...Your...", she sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. "Niece?", she finished, awaiting a sick laughter or an undignified scowl at her for attempting to break free from being a shadow. Sorry-not-sorry, Magica. For moment, there was silence. Then there was laughter. Hysterical laughter. So much laughter Lena felt scared.

-"Ooooh, good one, person-who-is-trying-to-fool-me! I don't have a niece! My brother is dead and my sister cannot keep a worm alive! Now scram before my patience runs out!", she thundered from behind the door, leaving the ducklings and Gladstone in shock.

-"She has a brother?", Lena repeated with incredulity, looking at her two friends and Gladstone.

-"I don't know! How should I know? I thought she didn't have family!", Violet answered with equal confusion, shrugging.

-"I mean, technically she doesn't have a brother anymore.", Gladstone chimed in, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm. "Who's this woman anyway? And why does she sound like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed?", he asked, raising his voice a tad too much.

-"The wrong side of the bed?!", came the war-cry from behind the door, only leaving a moment before a couple of locks unlocked and it swung outwards, revealing Magica DeSpell . With a shotgun. Oh, well this was just lovely, wasn't it? "Alright, that does it, I will put more holes than you than there is in...swiss...cheese...", her speech slurred, looking at the three ducklings in front of her house.

The silence remained for a moment, with no one doing anything. Webby brandished her weapon, Violet made a threatening expression, and Lena ignited a spark in her hand. And Gladstone stood there, trying to take all this in. That moment gave Lena enough time to admire Magica's hut; a three-room lodging, more aptly. It was basically a sink, a gas-cooker, and some drawers, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf, all locally-made, apparently. There was also a toilet and a bath in the background. It was a pretty sorry place to live in, but it seemed functional enough.

-"Hi, Aunt Magica.", Lena greeted, gritting her teeth and delivering the widest, fakest smile she could possibly give. "I almost forgot how you looked! We haven't seen each other in such a long time. What a shame.", she continued, trying her best to remain calm and to look the elder sorceress in the eyes. Said sorceress was now surveying the ducks surrounding her, measuring her chances and keeping her hands on the shotgun's trigger.

-"Get out. Now!", the cape-wearing duck yelled, looking dangerously close to a rage-fit. "All three of you. Now!"

-"Three? Hello? I may have lost my luck, but I am certainly not invisible, lady!", Gladstone announced with an undignified tone. He got a glare that shut him up. "Yeah, sure, okay, talk with the people who really matter. Why wouldn't you?", he grumbled bitterly.

-"Listen, as much as we'd love to, we can't really do that.", the younger sorceress laid her hand on her waist, looking both bored and uncaring. At least, she hoped she did. The last thing she needed was for the awful, horrible duck in front of her to sense any weakness, something she assumed she excelled at.

-"Besides, we're already outside! Your evil mind trick won't work on us!", Webby boasted, swinging her axe a bit for intimidation purposes. They didn't seem to work all too well, but at the very least, they made Magica's shotgun point at her just a tiny bit. Was that a victory?...Probably not.

-"Fine then, get away from me! From this place! The last thing I need is to spend my night with a bunch of McDucks.", the gun-wielder practically screamed, her veins starting to bulge from the anger. Her voice was laced with venom dripping off of every word. It was honestly both terrifying and admirable how much hate she poured into every word.

-"I told you we can't.", Lena repeated calmly, trying to avoid a fight she saw she was coming.

And then, just as she hoped things would calm down, a loud, roaring BANG! filled the swamp. Every single member of her group jumped, looking frightened as they searched around for wounded. There were none, only four ducks staring at each other. She'd tricked them. And she didn't even have her magic. Lena frowned and turned her face back to her shadow's origin. Her...uh...creator? She was her shadow, did shadows have creators? Maybe a caster was a better term? As much as she hated it, 'Aunt Magica' rolled off the tongue far better than 'Caster Magica'.

-"Are you searching for fight? Because I'm not certain your chances would be very high with the four of us.", Violet spoke for her step-sister. Her new room-mate at this point, but Lena still appreciated the gesture with all of her heart. It appeared Magica actually fired a shot, even if it was only a warning shot. Everyone tried to make good on that statement, looking as threatening as they could. Even Gladstone lifted his fists, adding a grand total of 4% to how threatening they were.

-"Maybe you are! Why can't you get away from me? What do you want? I don't have any more plans for the moment, I didn't do anything illegal for the last month, and you're taking my books from my cold, dead, hands!", the former-Sorceress Of The Shadows barked back defiantly, still pointing at them with her gun. "I don't care if you kill me! I'll take at least two of you down before I-"

-"Could you shut up?!", Lena cried out, her eye twitching and doing everything she could to not attack Magica. "We're here because...because...", she couldn't say it. She couldn't bring herself to ask her for help.

-"...You want to buy something?", her 'aunt' guessed, gun still pointing at her head, but apparently curious.

-"No."

-"You want to brag?"

-"...No.", okay, maybe they did, but they couldn't do that. Not now, anyway.

-"Are we here to rent the room?", Gladstone chimed in, scratching his head. Lena was certain Violet explained to him on the way here...but he apparently forgot.

-"I NEED YOUR HELP!", there, she spat it. She couldn't believe she said it, covering her face afterwards. She felt Violet's hand pat her and heard Webby saying something along the lines of 'There, there'.

-"...I'm sorry? Is this...Listen, it's the middle of September, the swamp is humid as all Hell and I'm trying to set up a fan, if you're just here to brag,", she said before adding 'as you McDucks do.' under her breath, "Then you can come sometime else, these garments aren't exactly fun to wear when the humidity is 85% today so-"

-"No, we need the help. But you'd better watch your back, you witch, because if you try to betray us, I'll shove this axe right down your head!", Webby warned threateningly, patting the kitten once more. Magica actually remained silent and judged what she said, and Lena decided it was time to uncover her face again.

-"And why would you need my help?", the witch repeated, lowering her weapon. Lena could just feel smugness radiating off of her, and she hated it with every molecule of her being.

-"There's a thief in town. He's stealing everyone's abilities. Everything about them. He's stealing it. He calls himself the Phantom Blot.", Violet answered, looking rather impatient with Magica, who smiled with a hum.

-"And why should that concern me?", she smugly inquired and...well, she wasn't wrong. Lena hated that she wasn't wrong.

-"The Phantom Blot hates magic and its users. He wants to eradicate the both of them and you, if I remember correctly, are a witch, yes?", the hummingbird explained, gaining a bit more of a reaction this time: A chuckle. They really couldn't find anyone else, huh?

-"Listen, Purple, if you can remember so well, then you might as well remember that Lena over there stole all of my power. I'm in no danger of this Phantom Blot.", she shot back, a taunting smile on her beak and crossing her arms.

-"Alright, listen up you freak, maybe you don't realize this, but he doesn't know that you don't have your powers. All he knows is that you were the single biggest magical spell to hit this town less than a year ago. I'd say you're still on his hit list.", not taking any more of this back-and-forth, the younger sorceress quipped, closing her hands together and trying a smirk of her own to counter the furious frown and growl her 'aunt' gave her.

-"And you're still on our hit list, you monster! So don't try to even think about doing anything funny!", Webby added, giving her best-friends a reassuring smile, though a somewhat threatening one.

-"I don't think I care about that too much."...she didn't? Oh. Well. There goes the entire base of their plans. "My family isn't here, neither is my home, I don't have my powers, I struggle to eat half-decent food, and I can't even make any new plans after that piece of-", she stopped herself, "Sorry, after Glomgold took everything I had monetarily. In other words, life isn't looking too great for me.", she finished indifferently, though a bit sad and bitter. Huh. That's...really odd. Bitter yes, but sad? Lena wouldn't have ever expected that from her.

-"Tough luck, lady. There's a great pharmacy that sells anti-depressants on the next corner. You know. If you're like me and lost all the joy your life ever had.", the former-luckiest duck in the world suggested darkly, pointing a thumb somewhere. "Look, I don't know you, you don't know me, but please just do me a favour, alright? I need your help. Magic or whatever I just...I just need my luck back. I need my life back. Can you please help us for the good of your heart?", he got down on his knees and begged, not showing too much emotion, but just enough to almost make you forget his bitterness a moment ago. Almost.

-"...Yeah, listen, the 'good of my heart' doesn't really exist, and even if it did, then I won't be giving it to you of all people.", well...Lena couldn't say she wouldn't say something similar to some duck she barely even knew. Unlike Magica, however, she'd actually accept. Probably. "But it seems Scrooge's thinking isn't there quite yet for all of you.", she stated, almost with disappointment, as she brought two fingers to her temple. "My life at this point is in danger...but that's not really what's motivating me here. What do I have to gain?", ah, straight to the point, are we?

-"What, keeping your life isn't enough for you?", her former-shadow snarked back, utilizing the opportunity to show no respect whatsoever. Ah, that felt good. It didn't feel good to see her nemesis laugh at her, however, as if she knew something she didn't.

-"Now, I may be misunderstanding this, but you don't have much time, yes? Phantom Bolt or whatever is already striking. Both of our lives are endangered, and if it means taking you out...well, I don't need to say much, eh?", oh, how Lena hated the smugness in her voice. They'd accounted for this, but she just wanted to punch her in her stupid beak so much!

-"Fine, does this make you any more inclined?", the younger witch pulled out a purple gem, dangling it from her finger and immediately making Magica's pupils widen.

-"My Sumerian Amulet!", she yelled, throwing herself on Lena, though not with so much force the latter wasn't able to repel her. Indeed, all the younger duckling had to do was raise a hand as her 'aunt' tried grabbing the amulet that was dangling so close to her.

-"There, feeling a bit more excited now?", the intelligent, sharp voice of Violet observed. "We know how much this means to you. Maybe you could even regain your magic with it, yes? This is as much as we're going to offer, so if you don't want it..."

-"...Fine!", came the near-instant response. Magica was biting her lower beak, looking majorly conflicted. "Alright, you have some of ol' Scroogie in you. You want my help? Fine. Fine, no really. How about we seal the deal, then? I help you with whatever it is you want to beat the Phantom Blot, you give me back my Sumerian Amulet, and we all try to kill each other sometime later, affaire conclue?", she extended a fingerless-ly gloved hand, looking all-too-gleeful about all of this. Lena knew the amulet was powerful, but the way Magica accepted their offer...it gave her second thoughts about giving her the amulet.

-"It means 'deal?', Mr.Gladstone.", she heard her step-sister tell the triplets' uncle. Apparently, he wasn't too fond of Magica's new terminology...but then again, neither was Lena. "Though I must wonder how you know of French, Magica.", the short hummingbird muttered as she extended a hand alongside the other three ducks.

-"I have some Savoyard cousins. You're not the only ones with a family here.", came the dry answer.

It took a moment of hesitation, with everyone almost certain that the other side will pull out at the last second. Then, suddenly, Webby's hand went forward and shook, or rather, grabbed Magica's. Violet soon followed, and Gladstone did as they did. That only left Lena, who stared at Magica. If she shakes this hand...she'll take orders from her again. She'll give her the amulet that will make her able to hurt her again. She didn't want to do this...but she had to. Not only for herself, but for her friends. For everyone who depended on her, she took a breath and forced her hand to shake with Magica's. It was...huh. Wow. Her fingers were tiny compared to Lena. How did she never notice?

-"Lovely. Now, you're trying to go after this Phantom Whatever, yes?", the cape-drapped witch asked, looking a bit more enthusiastic. She received a nod from everyone, Gladstone included. "Very well, I can make you an elixir to poison him, though it's going to take some-"

-"Woah woah woah, we're trying to defend ourselves here! Not everyone is a murderer like you!", Lena objected, waving her arms frantically just as her 'aunt' was going to enter her hut. She earned a disapproving stare. She hated them.

-"He's going to kill you, Lena. You're being naïve if you think showing kindness is going to change someone who's bent on murdering you.", the sorceress mocked, resting her hand on her hip. "Besides, why come here in the first place if you're all such big fans of Gandhi?"

-"We want you to teach Lena spell.", Webby replied, her axe still unsheathed, though it only gained an unimpressed look as her enemy got used to it. "We can defeat the Phantom Blot without resorting to your methods, and you'll see that yourself!", she proudly continued, lifting the axe a little higher.

-"A spell?", Magica repeated, mystified. "You...You want me to teach you a spell?! To be back where I belong? To rejoin my magical destiny-", oh, come on. Couldn't she stay clam for five minutes? Why was she acting like a hyperactive child all of sudden? That wasn't how she was supposed to act!

-"Yes, yes, all of that. Now if you could just-"

-"Ooooh, it feels good to be back!", deciding that two could play at the interruptions game, she ignored her 'niece' as she wrapped her cloak around her, covering her beak and moving her fingers for dramatic effect.

-"You are exhausting to be around, you know that?", Lena quipped, glaring at the far-too-gleeful duck in front of her.

-"I try. Now, what spell do you exactly want?"

-"We were thinking about trying a spell to locate the Phantom Blot.", Violet explained, and Lena couldn't help but notice Magica tilted her head just a teeny tiny bit. "We want to know where he is, and if possible, bring him to us.", she clarified, her dignified tone not wavering.

-"You seem worried, witch. Are you worried because you're trying to play us and now you can't?", Webby interrogated with her 'detective accent', looking suspicious to Magica's current indescribable expression.

-"No, it's not that, it's just...Locating people and things is more of a Teleporter thing...", she answered, almost begrudgingly.

-"Welp, we came to the wrong person. I told you! We needed a teleporter, we have a witch. And we made a deal. This is just fan-tastic.", ever the positive one, Lena ranted as she started walking around, waving her arms, exasperated.

-"Of course it would be you to not know magic-branches, Lena.", her 'aunt' scolded, noticing Webby's sudden axe-swing and trying to ignore the obvious threat. "Teleporting is magic. Just a branch of it. I'm more talented in the spells branch and the alchemy branch, alongside shadow-manipulation, of course. Teleporting...well, I can help you. I tried learning it, after all.", she boasted, mumbling the last part to herself more than to the ducklings surrounding her.

-"Branches, huh...And how can we know you're not just messing with us? You could be saying absolute mallarcky!", the seater-wearing duck accused, earning an undignified huff from the older sorceress.

-"I said I tried learning it, and not without some success.", she claimed, hoping to satisfy Lena's questions and just get closer to getting the darn amulet. She didn't. "Listen, my brother was a pretty good Teleporter. I'll tell you what he told me, alright?", she explained further, noticeably uncomfortable with what she was saying.

-"How come I never heard of him if he's so go-"

-"Because you've never spent more than two months in Europe, you brat! Don't you dare talk about the King Of Napoli like that!", she screamed, looking more threatening by the second. A full-blown beatdown was about to ensue if it wasn't for Gladstone, of all people.

-"Hey...I remember that name...He stole my car when I was on a trip in Europe! And my newly-won crown which I won in Barbaria!", he recounted, looking far-too-happy for what he was saying.

-"Bavaria.", Violet corrected.

-"Whatever, he just teleported in my car and stole it after throwing me out! And he had someone else with him, too!", the former-luck king continued, still looking inexplicably happy. "I never thanked him for his service! Some old lady saw the accident and thought I needed help, so she gave me one of her luxury jets to console me! Told me nobody was safe from the King Of Napopi.", he finished, a smile on his face. "That was before the whole...unlucky thing...", and now he was going to be depressed again.

-"See? Now just listen to what I tell you and you should be fine!", the elder duck ordered, apparently unable to sense the internal moment of struggle Lena had before she obeyed, taking a step forward.

-"Yes...Magica.", she muttered under her breath, standing in front of her arch nemesis' cold stare. Her friends were there to protect her. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all. This was just a forced training session. She was going to get through this.

-"I'd appreciate it if you call me Miss Magica.", and yet it didn't seem like her momentary teacher was willing to make this easy for the both of them. Holding her sly smile, she straightened her back and looked at her forced-apprentice for a second. "Let your magic run through you. Teleportation is a complex art, and all its branches need a constant flow of magic through one's self. Location is no different, let the magic run through your body.", she stated, trying to throw her cloak in a dramatic way.

-"Okay so...like this?", the tallest duckling asked, holding her right arm in front of her and sensing the tingling sensation of magic as it coursed through her. She came to control it after a multitude of attempts, so this wasn't much of a trial. "Oh, and since I might as well milk you for whatever you're worth, can I change this colour? I hate this purple.", she wondered, noting that she didn't get any reply before forcing her vocal cords to add "Miss Magica?"

-"Hmm, well, I don't know, the colour of one's magic is determined by both their will and their chosen Branch of Magic, I had to go through lots of training to change my magic's colour, and since this is my magic,", she pointed at the flame-like purple shape that surrounded her 'niece', "It's going to take a lot of time for you to change it back. But it's no special technique. Some can immediately change it, others cannot. It comes eventually.", she continued indifferently, paying attention to the magic that was radiating off of Lena.

-"Don't talk to Lena like that!", the Vanderquack reaffirmed her stance on Magica as she exchanged glares with the now-dysfunctional sorceress.

-"Webs, it's fine. I can deal with her.", her best-friend answered, turning her attention back to her teacher. Oh, how she hated that she had to refer to her as that! Nevertheless, she was surprised she actually got an answer. She expected some insults and nothing else, but it seemed that once they had a deal...she worked with it. It was...unnerving.

-"When it comes to searching for something, you must see it with your blind eye. You must both wish for it, see it in your mind, and release enough magical surges to clear the way for you. Only then will you sense where what you search for lies. For example, I have a red neckerchief in my house with a raven on it in my home. Try sensing where it is.", the DeSpell explained emotionlessly, guiding Lena a bit closer to her home.

She closed her eyes, as she was told, and tried seeing the neckerchief. Red...raven...yep, pretty plain alright. And yet...she tried releasing energy as she was told, but the only thing that was getting released was a bunch of aimless magical balls that deflated on the ground. She couldn't sense anything. She had the image in her brain, but she couldn't really...get 'it', if that made any sense.

-"Not good. As expected, you cannot properly use my magic. Perhaps you need to be more emotionally motivated to feel the 'click'?", of course it would be like Magica to benefit off this situation. Of course. Well, at least she was partially right. Lena grunted as a response, not wanting to give her trainer any more satisfaction than necessary. "Then we must up the risks a bit.", the elder sorceress claimed moving a bit to where her friends stood.

-"Listen here, Magica! Lena's trying her best, and we have no need for you! If you ever- Hey! My...bow...", in an instant, there was a 'splash'. The eldest of the ducklings turned around to see Webby without her iconic bow staring into the stagnant water of the swamp, shocked and furious at the same time. "That was a gift from my grandma!", she yelled back.

-"Oh, quit it, you want to help your oh-so-precious friends, yes? Then let me teach!", the witch shot coldly, evading an axe swing with relative ease, watching as the energetic duckling gritted her beak; they had no one to trust but her. "Now, Lena, this swamp is filled with alligators and all sorts of nasty creatures. If we don't find Debby's bow in five minutes, it might as well be gone forever. If you can find where I threw it, I'll go get it myself. Sounds good?", too good. Especially that last part. In fact, only that last part, since Lena had little faith that she could succeed.

When everyone around her went silent, the young witch turned her head to Webby. She looked distraught. Closing her eyes once more, she faced the swamp and tried sensing for the bow. Pink, small, and plain. It was a rather noticeable part of Webby. Something that clearly meant a lot for her. If she could find it...Then she'd have helped her friends. She saw it...she willed it...and she started releasing magical sparks. For a moment, just like last time, they merely deflated.

Then, all of a sudden...she felt 'it'. A guiding feeling...like an arm on her shoulders. It made her open her eyes, but she could still see the bow. She saw it. She felt it. It was pulsing...the pulsing pushed her to where it came from:...Away from the water? It was behind her. But the only thing behind her was...she turned around to look at Magica, who had a detestably smug expression on her face as she showed Lena her fingerless-ly gloved left hand. The glove had a small bulge near the wrist.

-"Seems as if I was correct.", was all she said. Lena didn't growl or frown this time. She had no reason to. It slightly angered her to agree with her 'aunt', but as far as correctness went, there wasn't much to critique here. "I learnt this little trick as a little girl. It can help you in a tough spot.", she added as she removed it from under her glove, throwing it into her student's hand. "There, I made good on my promise, right?"

...She did?...Well, yes, she did teach her. Lena thought that she didn't mention some things, such as the formula or how much energy one should dedicate, but in the end, those details were all discovered by her apprentice with no need for more external help. She, should she follow the instructions correctly, was now technically able to find the Phantom Blot.

Then why did she feel something wrong? She felt as if something wasn't quite...right, to put it simply. She expected a bigger fight with Magica. Harsher treatment. Little to no emotions, but it was just...meh. Nothing too big. She stared again the the elder witch. She was smiling. It was a smug smile alright, but it was a smile. It wasn't something she expected to see of Magica. Perhaps as a result of her disdain for her 'aunt' she, too, came to see her as incapable of being a person.

-"I guess so...", she murmured, knowing exactly where her former-teacher at this point was going. She prepared her amulet, not wishing to give it away. "Her name is Webby, by the way.", she added, not getting a response

-"I told you my brother was a good teacher.", her fifteen-minute trainer mumbled, more to herself than to anyone else, and Lena felt awkward. She stared back at her friends.

-"I...uh. Sorry about him. Dying. I guess.", she whispered but it caught the attention of Magica, and she looked positively shocked. "Don't look so shocked. Respect the dead and all that.", that came out wrong. So wrong. If she meant to disrespect him, she couldn't have done worse.

-"Heh...listen, sometimes faking death is a bit easier with magic on your side. If you're willing to share a bit more than the amulet, then maybe I can tell you about him.", she smiled again, though this was one of her more typical smiles, if still an actual smile. Huh. Curious

But just as the newly trained sorceress was about to say something, a 'zap' echoed in the swamp. There was light for a moment, and Magica had to jump to avoid the bolt that zapped a part of her hair and neck. Everyone turned in a split second to see a black-clothed figure with green eyes and a metallic glove on his right hand.

-"And I was just about to pick this four-leaved clover, too...", was the only sentence uttered for a solid minute. And by Gladstone of all people.

The Phantom Blot looked menacing. Pure, undiluted, unadulterated intimidation radiated off of his clothed figure. From afar, you wouldn't be blamed if you thought he was a medieval executioner. The metallic glove on his hand looked more electronic than medieval on closer inspection, but that didn't matter too much. His eyes, fully green by some method, conveyed little emotions, but there's something Lena sensed from him: Hatred.

-"Finally...", his clunky, distorted and terrifying voice announced, his footsteps calculated and his eyes focused. "It seems my searching has led me to the most vile of beings, at last.", he added, closing his fist.

-"The most vile of beings? Listen, I heard some nasty things about ducks, but come on man-", Gladstone tried countering, only to receive a bolt that knocked him over, making him grunt.

-"Not you, you imbecile! These WITCHES!", he cried, hatred drenching his words as he advanced. He most certainly had an accent...But Lena couldn't just pin-point it...though she thought she heard it sometime in the past...

-"These what now?", Magica repeated, apparently offended.

-"WITCHES!", he repeated, not slowing his advance as the group of ducks slowly backed off. "You come in with your magic, destroy cities with your undeserved power, and you...you're never satisfied! You always want more! You never leave something to the people who work for their power!", he ranted shooting a couple of bolts that forced the group the yell and retreat further to Magica's hut.

-"Oh. Witches. I think I still hate you, but a little less than when I thought you said-"

-"It would just be like you to show up now, huh?!", back to interrupting Magica, it was Lena who couldn't keep it in her head anymore. "I spend an hour with Magica to learn how to find you and you just show up like that?! Couldn't you have came in a little early?! Do you have any idea what kind of deal we made?!", she complained, ranting at him, and forcing him to do a double take on her words.

-"Not only are you a witch, but you are a sore loser. I could make my nonna's pasta with that much salt!", he mocked, doing a small laugh that almost sounded dead...like, the whole laughing part was there, but there was no spirit behind it. Just a sick, twisted glee.

-"Hey, hold it there for a minute, you're italian?", Magica asked, flabbergasted. Ah. Right. Sometimes Magica lost control of her British accent in front of Lena. Now she remembered. But really? This was the thing she asked about? Why would that matt-

-"Indeed, and my heart shall always remain there! It is why I find great pleasure and cleaning Napoli of your filth!", he growled, firing another shot which she barely avoided but backing her into the tree where her hut was located.

-"Oooh, you're digging your own grave here, you Blot! I am a proud Neapolitan, and the mere name is much more than wherever you're from!", she challenged, pointing an accusing finger as the other ducks stared at each other. They didn't know what exactly was unfolding in front of them, but it couldn't have been anything good.

-"Don't you dare insult Genova, you wretch!", he shot back, almost losing his nerves for a second before calming down. "No. I am much better than losing my nerves to a fiend like you! Prepare for justice!", he suddenly declared, and the speed of it made Magica unable to dodge the bolt he fired, punching her into Gladstone, who tried hiding behind her, and throwing the both of them into the trunk of her tree. She fell down with a hard 'crack', leaving Gladstone in a duck-shaped impression.

-"Wh-Why me...?!", he lamented before falling. The sorceress tried getting up but she limped.

-"Magica!", Lena yelled. Why did she yell? Why could she possibly yell?...Because if she dies, he's going after them. Definitely. She ran, trying to raise a shield to protect her from another, more frightening zap that would've hit her. Heck, even then, it shattered Lena's shield. Crud, this guy really isn't messing around anymore. But then a pink figure shined behind the Phantom. Yes! Webby was doing it!

-"How's this for justice!", she cried from behind him as she jumped, but he was good. Too good. He managed to spin his entire figure, raise his mechanical weapon and take a fighting pose at once, stopping his assailant's hit. Oh. This guy wasn't going to be any fun, was he?

-"You...Hah! It wasn't enough!", he bragged, pulling the battle-axe from his glove as his previous wielder suffered from the vibrations of hitting a metal. One powerful grab and swing from his glove sent Webby back to her friends, face in the dirt, and with no weapon.

-"What kind of justice are you hoping to achieve?!", cried Violet, hoping to buy them some time. It didn't work, and he only accelerated his assault, firing multiple electrical charges or whatever these were, forcing the ducks to separate.

-"Justice is not my primary concern, hummingbird. I am a criminal, after all, but if I can do my job and rid the world of this evil, then I shall take the initiative!", he calmly replied, not paying any attention to the fact that most of them were getting zapped or were running in terror. "But enough playing around, I do not wish to fail now!", he stopped, preparing what seemed to be a worse, more powerful form of his weapon.

-"Lena, do you think we can take him on?", Violet asked, trying to get them regroup.

-"Nope."

-"Webby, do you have any more weapons?", she turned to the Vanderquack, trying to assume to role of the leader.

-"Don't really think they're going to affect him.", she answered pulling out a few knives that looked like toothpicks comapred to her axe.

-"Mr.Gladstone-"

-"Don't have my luck; can't do anything.", came the reply.

-"...Magica?", she asked her voice a bit desperate.

-"My shotgun has one more round in it.", she declared, pointing it at their attacker, who finished upgrading himself and was about to shoot once again. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

-"Probably.", Lena answered her, watching the black-wearing man as he began shooting at them again.

Well. Nothing else to do but to face the music, as they say. Whoever 'they' is. And whatever that meant. And whatever that had to do with their situation. Oh, give her a break. She didn't have time to think about this fight of theirs. Magic versus one very wronged, apparently, and angry man and his technology. The fight of the century.

The Phantom versus The Sorceress. Time to see how long they can stay alive.

[m2jay]

True Self [Genos x OC]

Ch. 2 |  ~To Avail~ (pt. 1)

The infestation of mutated bugs hadn’t lightened up. For the past few weeks, the Hero Association had been announcing constant threat levels of both Wolf and Tiger. Many C-Class Superheroes had gathered together to form teams to take on the threats since they weren’t strong enough to encounter an enemy on their own. Although the threats were easy to maintain, there were too many popping up to a point that it all became tedious.

The higher ranked classes didn’t see any point in intercepting as it didn’t seem like much of a big deal. They all either dismissed it or took action if an enemy came in their way. To most, they viewed the main issue as more of an inconvenience rather than an actual problem. 

Though there were a lot of mutated bugs, not all seemed to have brought harm to society. The Hero Association may have sent out many announcements, but there were also just large bugs that just acted like ordinary bugs. This, of course, wasn’t good news for those that weren’t fond of critters. It was more anxiety inducing to see them.

Saitama would often have some fun with the situation. With the large bugs roaming around, he would often ride some to maneuver around to take on those that were actual threats. For some time, it brought him amusement, but it didn’t give him that excitement he chased after. All the creatures showing up were far too weak in comparison to him. There was no challenge. 

Occasionally as Genos would watch his master with his antics and blast whatever creature he was on to bring him back down as there were more important things that needed to be done. The cyborg knew that not all were bringing destruction, but they were disturbing the peace. If all the mutants got used to being within the cities, they might unintentionally take over by inhabiting the area as they got accustomed to it. 

Meanwhile with Miyu, she was in the forest. She wasn’t able to pay the cities rents since they were too expensive with her pay. When it came to things like cleaning, she would go to a spring and hoped for the best as she rubbed flowers against her clothes, hair, and body in the water. She always brushed her teeth at the public bathrooms back at the city, which she didn’t mind too much. However, the long way back was the issue. It took too much time and energy, which caused her to be sleep deprived and exhausted a majority of the time throughout her shift. 

With all the announcements that the Hero Association gave to the public, she was sure to be cautious during her travels back and forth. Luckily, she’d only seen harmless ones like giant butterflies. Miyu didn’t mind it too much as long as she wasn’t in a close enough distance to touch her. They were beautiful to look at, and she doubted that the ones she had encountered would really do her harm. 

Miyu’s shift was about to start soon, but she was far too tired to go. Although she knew she needed the money for necessities like food, she didn’t have the strength to go. She looked at the path that she usually went and groaned out loud as she knew she also had to drag her luggage around. She didn’t trust leaving it anywhere in fear of it getting taken or destroyed by whatever was in the forest. She hazily began walking off. 

At the udon shop, Genos had arrived for part of his daily routine other than the workouts. He noticed he didn’t see Miyu during his run, so he assumed that she was inside already since she was at times, but she didn’t seem to be there. He asked the owner if she had a day off and she forgot to tell him or something.

Her boss shook his head and informed him that she hadn’t shown up at all. He soon called on the phone for another worker to take over her shift. “I don’t understand why she’s late.” he commented. “She said she would work everyday, but she probably needed a day off. It’s not like Miyu can call in though.”

“Why can’t she?” the blonde cyborg asked curiously.

“The girl doesn’t own a phone, so we can’t contact her.” he shrugged.

Genos looked down and placed his metal fingers on his chin to lightly rest on as he thought to himself. He did notice Miyu being sluggish in the recent days, but he didn’t think too much about it at first. Now that she’s late, it did bring some concern. He decided to wait out at the door frame for a bit. He laid his back against the wall and placed one leg up behind lightly as he crossed his arms.

As Miyu made her way, she felt the sweat dripping off of her body. From her head to lower body, she felt disgusted with how sticky she felt. Up ahead, she could see Genos waiting for her at the entrance. She gave out a heavy sigh as she knew that he waited for quite a while. 

He looked to the side and saw Miyu riding her luggage as if it was some ride. His eyes and eyebrows slightly twitched from not understanding her strange behavior. Genos stood still as he kept his eye on her, waiting for her to catch up. When she got to a close enough distance, she smacked her luggage to roll next to him. Genos’ eyes widened as she had never done that before.

Miyu walked in all drowsy and apologized to her boss. She then asked, “What about my shift.?”

He shook his head. “You don’t seem all too well. I think it’s best that you take a few days off.” her boss suggested.

She felt shakened a bit from the thought. “But--.”

He raised a stopped hand sign and interrupted her before she could say anything. “I get that your financial situation isn’t the best right now, but you seem to need it.” He noticed her distressed expression. “I don’t intend on firing you given the amount of hours you do and someone had just quit recently. How about I give you at least a week off? If you go any longer than that, then there’d be an issue.” he suggested for her.

Miyu hesitantly agreed and nodded, “Okay..” She walked outside and saw Genos was still there, now standing next to her. She looked up at him with her tired eyes and squeamish smile since she was dissatisfied with the day. 

Genos noticed the eye bags under her eyes. “You’re tired.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I am.” she said bluntly.

“What’d your boss say?” he asked her.

“That I’m off for a week.” she told him.

He raised his brows. “Well, that’s good for you. You can go home now to rest.” 

Miyu looked at him and froze for a bit. He slightly tilted his head, waiting for her to respond. She looked back at the direction she came from and began to internally scream. “Ugh.!” she wailed out loud as she collapsed onto her knees.

He offered his hand out to her. “Is there a problem?” he asked, again.

She glared a bit but quickly shook off her expression. Miyu looked at his metallic hand for a bit. Her stare went from his fingers to up to his shoulder. ‘I wonder if it hurt..’ she thought as she placed her hand onto his to help her get up. She then dusted off some dirt and groggily sighed, “Too far..”

Genos pulled out a flyer and showed it to her. “I must attend to this.” he said as he showed her.

Miyu looked at the flyer intently and took it from his hands to look closely. It was about bargaining discounts at the supermarket. “Oh..” she yawned, “That’s today.?” 

Yes, you can come if you want.” he told her as he took the flyer back. 

She looked behind her then back at him and nodded. “Might as well.” she agreed as she lazily dragged her luggage around as she followed him to the supermarket. 

“My Master hates missing out on such sales.”

Miyu squinted her eyes at him. “You’re always talking about how great this ‘Master’ of yours is, yet it sounds like a kink at times.” she laughed to herself.

“No, you’re misunderstanding what I say, just like him. Great minds surely do think alike.” he compared both Saitama and Miyu. 

“No, I don’t think that’s the case here. I’m literally just trying to help you understand easy themes.” she disagreed with him. 

“You call it easy because it comes naturally to you.” he pointed out.

She facepalmed, practically tired of trying to explain to him after the past time. After a while, her legs slowly began to give up. “I’m tired.” she complained.

“Do you need assistance?” he asked as he walked back to her.

Feeling weirded out a bit and uncomfortable, Miyu shook her head as she sat down on her luggage. “Just for a bit.” she pleaded. 

He proceeded to go up to her and push the luggage with one hand. “You’ll slow us down if this continues.” he commented nonchalantly.

“H-Hey! No.!!” Miyu whined. “Don’t push it while I’m on it.!” she begged him as her face turned red from embarrassment.

Genos stopped and looked at her since he didn’t fully understand. “You’re in need of aid though.” he pointed out.

“And I thought you were learning from me?” she asked sarcastically. “Like- it feels weird. We’re not close or anything. I know more about you than you know of me, and I thought we’re more of a teacher student kind of thing.” 

“My Master told me to live like my age. Given the material you’ve given me to read, I can count you as a friend of some sort? The reliable one.”

She raised a brow and said, “But you haven’t known me long.”

 “And in some of those mangas, those characters didn’t know each other for long.” he rebutted, proving her wrong.

Her mouth shifted to the side awkwardly as she avoided eye contact. Miyu soon snapped her fingers when she thought of something. “Again, you don’t know much about me.” 

Genos looked ahead as she got up from her stuff. “Then why don’t you share more? It might make you more comfortable.” 

“Fine.” Miyu began walking ahead while doing jazz hands and motioned him to follow her. “Let’s go somewhere else for now if that’s the case. That sale doesn’t end ‘till 8pm.”

Genos followed her, confused on what she had planned. “Are you not tired?” he wondered.

“You honestly put me in such a shock earlier than I have enough energy to at least last me this day.” she awkwardly laughed it off as the blood that rose to her face slowly faded. Her face was still pink to a noticeable degree, so when Genos caught up to her, she looked the other way to make sure he wouldn’t see. “If your master told you to go act like your age, then we’re going somewhere.”

“And where do you intend on making us go?”

She shrugged back at him and replied, “I don’t know.”

“You can’t say that we’re going somewhere without a destination.”

“Yeah.” she scoffed. “You can.” Miyu waved her hand slowly in front of his face. “Want me to sound sophisticated? Hm? Then- the future is an enigma.” she said with an upfront yet sarcastic attitude. 

Genos nodded slowly as he followed her. He tried keeping up with her pace regarding topics. Miyu would often say one thing and then another the next second. It was a lot for him to process since her behavior seemed more unpredictable than Saitama’s. Though she was tired, she kept going on about how it was important to enjoy places or try to have fun. 

The two went around some of the cities. Genos would give descriptions about some of the places that Miyu would point out and question since she wasn’t familiar with a majority of them. He continued to give as much information to what he knew, which was overwhelming. Miyu found it unnecessary, but she let it pass by since she got to learn things too.

It didn’t take too long for them to realize that the supermarket’s discount sale’s end was nearing. They headed to the supermarket to take advantage of the lower prices. Genos looked at the list he had written down and also remembered some other things to pick up since they were so last minute. 

“What are you doing?” Miyu asked as she peered his side.

“I’m checking if there’s anything else I need to get before I head back.” 

She shook her head in disbelief and placed some coupons into his hand. “Use these.” she told him.

Genos noticed she wasn’t carrying much and questioned her, “Shouldn’t you get more items than that?” 

Miyu averted her eyes and stuttered, “T-To be honest.. I don’t really have a place to go to..”

His eyes widened. “Then where have you been going whenever we part ways after our lessons?”

“Ahaha..” she laughed awkwardly. “Yeah- about that.. I kinda.. Go to that forest nearby.” 

“I think you need to explain more later.” Genos looked her straight in the eyes firmly without breaking eye contact. “You seem to need more help than I thought.”

Miyu tucked in her lips since she had been quiet about the situation for some time. “I’m sorry..” she apologized. 

He shook his head and said, “Master Saitama would surely understand.”

“What’re you talking about?” she yawned. 

Genos didn’t talk any further as he focused on the remaining time they had left before the sale was over. Admittedly, he was disappointed with her to an extent. She should’ve at least said something sooner. When he got everything they needed, he made sure she was keeping up with his pace. 

As they headed to City Z, Miyu began explaining to him that it didn’t seem right for her to open up about her issue at hand. It didn’t sit right with her that she was getting all the help she was getting from Genos after just meeting him a few weeks ago for the sake of shoujo manga learning purposes. Although he insisted that aid can be found from the empathy of those that understood and have been in that situation, he felt guilty.

“Why’d you leave your town?” he asked curiously. Genos noticed that she had a pretty durable luggage. “You seemed to be financially okay before.” 

Miyu yawned, again. Her eyesight seemed to be weary from pushing herself for so long. She waved it off. “Mm.? Egh..” she sneered in disgust. “It’s weird and gross in my opinion. My family basically wanted me to have an arranged marriage..” She shook her head since the idea bothered her. “I didn’t want that, so I left.”

Genos kept silent as he had nothing to respond with to that. He couldn’t relate or fully knew the whole story. He could tell that she clearly didn’t like it though, so he didn’t ask anymore details about it. “About the forest, we’ll get back to that. You’re far too tired to talk more.” 

She nodded as her eyes slowly started to struggle to stay open. “Yeah..” she sighed.

They soon approached the door and Genos knocked, signaling Saitama that he had arrived. Though he had brought more than his master would’ve expected, he was sure he could find something to explain about. Footsteps grew closer and the door soon opened.

Saitama opened the door and was somewhat shocked. He was pleased with more groceries, but he didn’t understand why Genos had brought a girl over. He looked at Miyu for a bit and realized that it was the new worker that the blonde cyborg was borrowing manga from. “Oh!” He pointed at her with an amused expression. “It’s that worker you were talking about.” he said with a calm tone as he looked at Genos. 

Miyu squinted as she looked at Saitama. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were playing tricks or not. As she looked at the man’s face, she couldn’t help but look at his bald head. She, too, pointed back at him and drowsily said, “Egg..” before passing out. 

Genos quickly caught Miyu and held her by the shoulders to keep her standing. “Master, this is Miyu, the worker that owns all those mangas.” he looked at his master only to see his face in shock.

The bald man stared at her, unable to utter a word. He frowned as he was offended by the new unexpected guest that his disciple had brought to their home. He was about to ask why she had knocked out, but he couldn’t help but be bothered by her comment. He knew she was referring to his features. He glared for a bit and muttered, “There’s nothing wrong with my head..” Saitama then turned his attention to the blonde cyborg that had brought her there in the first place. “If you’re going to be bringing girls over, I’m gonna make you move out.” 

“That’s not the case, Master. I barely know much, but apparently she’s been in the forest.” Genos walked in carefully and placed her onto his futon for the meantime. He then began putting the groceries away and started to cook for both him and his master. 

Saitama trotted into the kitchen with widened eyes as he pointed at the living room, where they usually do everything in. “What’re we going to do about a sleeping woman in the place?!” he whispered to Genos in distress. 

Genos continued to unload the abundant amount of groceries. “I’m not too sure.” he admitted. Noticing the dissatisfaction in his master’s face, he pulled out the coupons that Miyu had given him back at the supermarket. “She helped save us more money than usual.” 

“Ooh! That’s a good thing.” Saitama looked back at the living room again and shook his head. “That’s not enough with 3 people in this small apartment.”

He thought about it for a bit as he gave him his dinner for the night. The two of them sat down in the hallway and ate their food. After some silence had passed, Genos had offered to pay some extra rent for a bit and suggested that Miyu do most of the household related work when they were away to get things done faster. Saitama slowly nodded since it didn’t seem as bad of an idea, but it all depended on Miyu ultimately. 

When Saitama was finished, he went into the living room, unfazed. He wasn’t going to not sleep in his own futon in his own place. He quickly picked it up and moved it closer to the front door to get away from the strange girl. “It smells a lot like leaves in here.” He quietly opened the patio door a bit to let some air in as the night passed. 

The next day, Miyu woke up and stretched her arms out. She lightly rubbed her eyes and turned to her right and saw both Saitama and Genos staring back at her on the other side of the table. It surprised her enough to move back to the wall in shock. She looked around and noticed that they were in a small, compact apartment. 

Genos left some fruits on the table for her to eat for breakfast since they were good for her health. Since Miyu was so sleep deprived with a practically physically worn out body, he thought some sugar in her system would’ve been best for her to consume. 

Miyu gratefully thanked him and began eating, but she could feel the awkward atmosphere. She had accidentally made eye contact with Saitama and quickly looked in the other direction to avoid making things weirder.

Saitama soon broke the silence as he couldn’t take it anymore. “You made my apartment smell too much like nature.” he told her straightforwardly while pointing with a bored expression. “You need to shower.”

Her face turned red from embarrassment. “I’m sorry about that..” she apologized as she awkwardly scratched the back of her head. 

“Master Saitama is busy and would want you to have an explanation shortened to be 20 words or less.” Gentos explained to her.

Miyu looked at him with a confused expression then at Saitama. Her eyes’ focus alternated for a bit as she wasn’t fully comprehending everything since she had just woken up. “What am I supposed to explain.?” she sheepishly whispered to Genos.

‘Why’s she whispering?’ Genos wondered as he didn’t understand why she was acting in such a way. She was still loud enough for Saitama to hear. He heard her from across the table, so of course his master, who was right next to him, heard as well. He assumed it was some social cue test from the manga lessons and went along with it. He raised a hand up by his face to make somewhat of a wall by Saitama’s side and used his regular voice saying, “Your forest situation.”

Miyu made an “O” with her mouth as she understood and did a slow nod. She turned her focus onto the bald man and once again got distracted by the top of his head. “I- uh..”

Saitama noticed her eyes’ stare. He looked at her firmly with a somewhat done smile and a vein popping out of my head. “I get it. I’m bald! I stressed myself out from so much working out that all my hair came out!” he exclaimed. “I’m not old too, so don’t even try calling me old!”

[veridium]

in my way

alright (x3) okay gamers, guess what? COLLEGE AU UPDATE COMING AT YOU LIVE!

THAT’S RIGHT, HIATUS WHOMST?

I’m thrilled to finally be able to post this sucker. I’m naming it after one of my favorite MUNA songs, and it’s pretty fitting for where we are and where we’re going. Poor Olivia is gonna have some character development in this chili’s tonight. 

Thank you to Isabella @bitchesofostwick for being patient with me as I get my cats wrangled. You’re the MVP. 

fic masterpost / last chapter

--

When the high of the game weekend subsides, two truths remain:

1. Cassandra called her her girlfriend in public, in front of like, two dozen witnesses. Can’t walk that back. 

2). Cassandra has a fucked up ankle. The doctors recommended a boot, not a brace. Olivia knows enough about sports injuries -- particularly in the feet in legs -- to know it won’t be a quick and easy recovery. 

Luckily for Cass, walking boots have become a fashion, and she will only have to be in one for a short time. But that also means she can’t do certain things as easily as she could without it. Though as much of a soldier as they come, by the end of Monday, she’s in a shitty mood when Olivia calls her shortly after getting out of a work at the gym:

“It’s bullshit that they put me in this thing, the sprain wasn’t that bad. I saw the x-rays!”

Olivia tosses her bag in the trunk of her mini and slams the door down, phone tucked between shoulder and ear. “It’s only for a couple of weeks, right? Just rest up and--”

“--already tired of it knocking into things, what the fuck is the--”

“--Cass, er, hold on, let me…”

“I shouldn’t have called, you were at work--”

“No no!” Olivia slides into the driver’s seat, hurriedly trying to set up the bluetooth. She slides the key into the ignition and twists, but she can still hear Cassandra grumbling and ranting, and she’s not even on speaker. When the bluetooth makes her live on the car stereo, she’s thundering so much Olivia has to turn her down several clicks. 

“Babe, hey!” Olivia cuts in. The speaker goes sharply quiet. “Are you home?”

Quiet, and then a curt sigh. “...Yes.”

“Good. Is Cullen there?” Maybe he can talk her off the ledge. But by the sounds of it, though, he isn’t. 

“No,” Cassandra confirms, “he’s out.”

“Got it,” Olivia sighs as silently as she can. “Okay, how about I come over and cook up something, and you can work on that RICE thing they told you to do--”

“Ugh, the amount of times they said that fucking acronym bull--”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation! Yes, that bullshit.” She’s rubbing her hands in the lotion stocked in her console. “I can run to the store if you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“...Cassandra.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice digs into a dreaded monotone. No longer on a rampage, but seething. Olivia can’t pick which is worse. Instead of ragging on her, she puts the car into drive and pulls out of her spot. Just as she’s about to go forward, Cass says something:

“Actually, I have a lot to do tonight. Would you mind if you didn’t come over?”

Olivia stars suspiciously at the stereo, the best proxy she has for her hardass girlfriend. She blurts out a confused sound, her hands falling from the steering wheel down into her lap.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, are you going to be okay without Cullen around? Is he going to be home soon?”

“I don’t need Cullen around. I’ll be fine. I just have to get homework done.” There’s some background noise of things shuffling, like papers or binders or something. Cassandra wouldn’t be the type to orchestrate a lie like that -- at least, Olivia hopes not.

Unfortunately, no matter what it is, Olivia can’t push her way into her apartment. So, taking hold of the wheel again, she checks to make sure no one else is waiting on her spot.

“I, uh, I’m good with that!” she says, a bit distracted as she drives out toward the parking lot entrance. “Rain check, then?”

“Yeah.”

“...Okay.” She slides to a stop waiting for the 4:30pm rush to pass by. “Let me know if you need anything, alright? I can still stop by and drop off things. I’ll just be doing homework.”

“Thank you, but I should be fine.”

Fine. Fine, fine, fine. Always fine. 

“Okay...um, alright. Well, I’ll talk to you soon, then?”

“Sure.” 

Olivia scrunches her nose, missing a chance to pull onto the road by the sudden spike of frustration. She twists her lips shut and nods, as if Cass can see it.

“Cool. Bye.” She hangs up before Cassandra can do the honors herself. It feels kind of awful, and rests on her shoulders as she drives back to her part of campus. I shouldn’t be so impatient with her, it’s only been a couple days. Maybe she thought it would be too easy: the night of the party was all about celebrating them, and Cassandra was riding the euphoria of victory. Sunday was good, too: she stayed home from Church, a rarity for her, and they stayed home and watched movies. Sure she was tired, and a bit overwhelmed, but she wasn’t angry. 

--

“I don’t get it. I mean, if she’s been an athlete her whole life, shouldn’t she be used to this stuff?”

It’s Tuesday morning and Olivia is trying not to think about the fact that Cassandra didn’t so much as text her for the rest of the night. Perhaps she should have been more explicit when she said “let me know if you need anything,” and said “please don’t shut me out.” 

Josephine, walking beside her, is un-phased. “Cassandra seems to be the type to not let anything get in her way. I’m sure she’s just frustrated she has to consider limitations. That never gets easier, no matter how much you get hurt.”

“Yeah, but…” Olivia takes another long sip while she adjusts her shoulder bag strap. “I don’t know. Maybe I should take a step back.”

“Psh, Olivia,” Josephine gives her a look as they start up some stairs. “She announced you were her girlfriend, what, three days ago? That’s a step!”

“I know it is, but like…okay, I feel like injury care is kind of a step on its own, right? I mean, you wouldn’t just start becoming someone’s bedside physician a week into dating.”

“Is that what’s going on?”

“...Uh, no, but…”

“Then...?”

“I don’t know. I feel like...I mean, if she needed anything, I would be there. I took her to the hospital! I sat there for over an hour and waited for them to let her go. I picked up painkillers. I know enough to know that she’ll need help -- that she needs help. She can’t drive or walk very much, and I know it’s causing her pain. I just want to...you know...I want to make sure she’s taken care of. Is that intrusive? Am I skipping a step here?”

Josephine smiles as she holds the door open for Olivia to walk in first. Once inside, she bumps her shoulder into hers encouragingly. “I think it’s just a matter of getting used to things. Does Cassandra have people in her life she regularly depends on like that?”

“Yes! Totally.”

“I mean, like, ‘can you help me with this task I would otherwise have no problem doing by myself, but now I need special assistance with it, and it requires me to be sort of humble and take up someone else’s time and energy’ kind of way?”

Olivia is about to say yes again, but she stops. Josephine’s knowing stare only compounds her mistaken confidence. 

“Uh. Hm.”

Josephine is sense incarnate, and if she’s not saying to back off, then maybe the problem isn’t Olivia’s over-caring. But the fact remains: they haven’t exactly followed a traditional timeline. And this one is making Olivia confront some odd feelings she did not expect to come up so fiercely. 

As they near the hall outside their classroom, a last-minute topic is brought up. “Oh, I forgot,” Josephine says, finger pointed up in the air. “The festival is coming up. Are you going? You are going, right?”

Oh fuck, the festival. The event that happens right before break. Carnival games, cider, the whole autumnal enchilada. Josephine’s question makes the domino effect kick in: the festival is this weekend, meaning thanksgiving break is next week, meaning exams are less than three weeks from now, which means…

“Uh, Olivia?” Josephine snaps her back into reality with another cool smile. “You look like I asked if you remembered what your last school picture was like!”

Olivia shudders. “Ugh, no, no,” she clarifies, “I’m good. Um, the festival? I thought so, but, with everything that’s been going on I kinda forgot. Are you and Theia going?”

Josephine’s cheery facade subsides, and she holds the books in her arms close to her chest. “Oh. Um, not together, no.”

Suddenly it feels as though they’ve crashed through several floors of drama and into hell’s furnace. What the fuck? 

“Wait, what? Josie, what happ--”

“Shh, sh,” Josie takes hold of Olivia’s forearm and draws nearer. “Nothing, just...just a break. It is alright.”

“Alright?! I--”

“Olivia! Inside voice,” Josephine interrupts.

With as much as she can muster Olivia tries to slow her heartbeat, taking a breath that feels utterly useless. The Kill Bill sirens are sounding off in her head again. Seems like they have become a permanent fixture. 

“We are just taking some time. That is all.”

Olivia’s brow furrows. “Time? Is it because...is it…”

Josephine grins sorely and releases her gentle hold. “There is a lot to it. Too much to chat about before class. You’ve had your own stuff to attend to. I don’t blame you at all!”

Blame. Olivia didn’t think of the word yet, but hearing her say it, it’s pretty damning. Blame would be the way she’d describe how she feels: to blame, more like. If anything else has been going on between them, she has no clue. They were always good at putting on a stunning show of lovers. Now it’s like a “the parents are divorcing” saga all over again. Nevertheless, Olivia swallows her need to know everything all at once.

“Okay. We’ll talk about it, though, right? Soon?”

“Yes, sure,” Josephine says, “I just have a lot to do this week, and then break, and…”

“I get it, no, it’s fine.” Olivia says her least favorite word. “Whenever you can and want to. I’m here!”

They conclude their counseling of each other’s issues -- or, more like Olivia’s, ft. a mention of Josephine’s -- and head to class. Strangely enough it is like a vacation getting to think about anything except what she’s currently overthinking. As soon as the 55 minutes of class are up she goes right back to spinning, except now it has the added ingredients of whatever the fuck is going on with Theia and Josie. 

She checks her phone. No new messages from Theia since their reunion special at the pizza shop. 

Olivia: Hey, Theia. I was talking to Josie. Are you okay?

She sends it, but receives nothing back. At least not for the rest of the afternoon before she texts Cassandra, who is also stonewalling her: 

Olivia: Hey! You feeling better today?

Thankfully, within ten minutes, a response: 

Cassandra: Not really. I went home early and moved my office hours to Thursday. How are you?

Olivia: Oh, ok. I’m glad you’re resting. I’m doing good, just got out of classes for the day. 

Cassandra: Anything interesting?

Olivia: That Chad guy brought up Lenin again. Didn’t think he could do it, but he did! Lol :)

Cassandra stops responding, and after 30 minutes Olivia has arrived back at her dorm. She hops onto her bed and sees nothing, no typing ellipses. Feeling the sinking gut reaction again, she pries a little:

Olivia: Anyway, I know it’s only been a day, but are you up for company? 

Five minutes later, a quick and surprising reply: 

Cassandra: I would, but Leliana is here, actually. Filling me in on what I missed on Sunday. 

Olivia’s turns off her screen and tosses the phone across her bed. What, did a new Apostle get named? Apostle Jerry, or something? Fuck Apostle Jerry. She doesn’t respond; instead she’s disturbed by how much she cares, and how protective she’s being. Leliana is not her favorite person in the world, but she’s no villain. What the hell is going on with emotions this week?

Another half hour goes by of her trying to reign herself in. Her mind says “calm the fuck down, it’s nothing, it’s been a couple of days,” and her heart says, well, a number of inappropriate expletives. 

“Knock, knock,” says an infamous voice from behind the door. 

Olivia groans. 

“Good, you’re here,” Ellinor chuckles as she lets herself in. Dressed in jeans and no shirt, but a nice flannel that compliments her sports bra. She, too, must be trying to unwind from the day.

“Yep, here,” Olivia gripes, falling onto her back on the comforter. “Always here, just at the ready, willing to report for duty!”

By the sounds of it, Ellinor is chomping on something. Maybe a granola bar, or a handful of men’s hopes. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing. Just...just a long day.”

“I totally believe that. Anyway,” Ellinor takes another bite of whatever it is, and remains standing in the center of the room. “You want to go get something to eat? I’m out of ramen an--”

“Yes. Yes, 100% yes,” Olivia jumps up and heads for her closet, zooming past without so much as a hey, hi, hello. “Let’s go. Sushi? Sushi.”

“Hey, woah, there, woman,”

Olivia’s sliding on a pullover sweater, shimmying her cares away, before she hears Ellinor protest again: “Liv! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Y-yeah! Fuck yeah,” Olivia laughs nervously, pulling her hair up into a bun using a hairtye on her wrist. “I’m so good. You set to go?”

They stare at each other, Olivia’s semi-heavy breathing the only noise. Ellinor, is holding a granola bar wrapper in one hand, the last piece of it in the other.

“Uh, well, seeing as how I don’t have a shirt on,” she says warily, “I would have to have a minute to prepare…”

Olivia, bounding up onto her toes, is not one to criticize. “Sure! Yeah, no, take your time. I mean, it’s just a shirt, it shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“....No….” Ellinor’s side-eyeing intensifies. “Luckily, I just...did laundry…”

“Cool! That’s awesome, congratu--”

“Okay Olivia, what the hell? Did you shotgun three red bulls in a row, or are you hiding something?”

“I...I did not shoot a...yuck!” She groans in displeasure. “No, I’m just...just ready to get off campus. Midterms have been a nightmare.”

“Yeah, for you? Sure.” Ellinor rolls her eyes, dragging her feet as she makes for the door. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll hear about it in between the first and second roll…”

“...Wait, roll…?”

“Of sushi!” Ellinor says from the hall, a bit outraged. “How would I ever mean anything else besides sushi?!”

Relieved to no longer have her best and dearest friend who has x-ray vision into her mania, Olivia takes a deep exhale to herself and begins assembling her items: wallet, keys, and so on. Her phone is the last one she looks for, and indeed the last one she wants to have contact with now. When she grabs it, she checks the screen: no new messages from either of her problematic women. At this point, she’s almost glad. 

She pulls up Cassandra’s thread and begins typing:

Oh, that’s nice of her! On second thought, I forgot I had dinner plans tonight, so nevermind. 

Just as she is about to hit send, she bites her lip and stalls. Yesterday she got on herself for being too impatient with Cassandra and her wants and needs. Or, lack thereof. Maybe it’s fine to just leave well enough alone, since she obviously isn’t caring too much about what Olivia has to say. 

“Hey, ready?” she hears Ellinor from the hall, making the whole deliberation on a time crunch. 

Olivia erases the message, choosing silence as the best reply. If Cassandra has a problem with that, she can very-well rectify it. She slides the phone into her back pocket and leaves her dorm for the night. 

“Where do you want to go?” she asks Ellinor as they get outside, starting for the parking lot.

“Let’s go to that place on the corner by Parsons’ street,” Ellinor says whilst typing on her own phone. “The one with the big boat thing in the front lobby?”

“We never go there,” Olivia says curiously, “why start now?”

“Because Cullen and I have ordered too much from our usual spot and now the guy on the phone knows I’ve taken a lover because of how different my order is now.”

“Got it. Too bad Cullen doesn’t like my kind of sushi,” Olivia bemoans in a teasing way. She sees her beloved mini down the aisle of cars and hits the unlock button. 

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to say it’s you when I have to explicitly ask how spicy the spicy tuna is and if they can put all the wasabi in my box, just in case,” Ellinor says it with a giggle, but it’s a damning detail about Cullen’s beloved taste buds.

“He makes you ask?” Olivia laughs.

“No, I just do it anyway. I think he’s trying to prove to me he can handle spicy foods, he’s been asking to taste my plate. Then he starts sweating and turning red, and I ask if he wants anything to drink, and he tries to laugh it off.” They both get into the car, and Ellinor reaches for her seat belt. “It’s...tragically cute.”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” Olivia grins and shuts her door. After her own seat belt is secure she turns on the car and lets it warm up. Her phone gets tossed into the center console without so much as a second thought or concern. This attracts Ellinor’s attention rather fast. 

“How’s Cass the Boot--”

“Ellinor,” Olivia glances.

“Okay, okay, fine. How is she, though?”

“She’s fine.”

Olivia once again is putting her car into gear for the second time in 24 hours all the while pretending she isn’t bothered by something definitely bothersome. While she reverses, Ellinor proves that bluetooth communication is the better method for saving face, and continues her questioning. 

“Fine? That’s all? I thought…”

“She’s resting up at home. Not much to say, it’s only been a few days since the game.”

After a delay, Ellinor settles back into her seat. “Okay. I see.”

Once they’re on the road, and music gets put on, it’s far less difficult to breathe. If Olivia can just get over it and not treat every day like a make-it-or-break-it moment, she will be fine. Cassandra is just frustrated with herself and tired. She’ll be okay. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not her job. 

Just as they’re hitting downtown, Ellinor tries again to strike up conversation: “Cullen’s excited about the fall festival, apparently he and the guys get super competitive about the games.”

“Really? That’s unsurprising,” Olivia smirks. 

“Yeah, something tells me I’m going to hit the jackpot with stuffed animals won in my honor. Are you excited?”

“M-me? Yeah. Totally. I’ve been looking forward to it for the last couple weeks.”

“Me, too.”

Another few minutes of no talking. The conversation was dead on arrival. Olivia can’t help but think about going, or not going, or going and being alone. What would be worse, going somewhere with Cassandra being grumpy, or going alone and watching all the couples have fun? It felt rather anticlimactic. She wanted to share it with the woman she’s got it bad for. 

“It’s up a few more blocks, right?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Ellinor checks the directions on her phone briefly. 

“Cool.”

“You sure everything’s okay?”

Olivia grips the wheel harder, and fortunately the light in front of her finally turns green. “Yes, just on edge with midterms.”

“...that is the thing, though, exams never phase you.”

“Yeah, well.”

Ellinor gives a “mhm” sound and goes back to scrolling through her phone. Olivia knows better than to think her ignorant. But what else can she do when she herself doesn’t understand why she’s so nervous and upset? Why, if Cassandra texted her in this moment asking for her help and presence, she’d flip a U-turn and tell sushi to go fuck itself? Relationships have steps. There are steps for a reason. 

This isn’t Cassandra’s fault, Olivia tells herself. Over and over, but she barely believes it. This is a me thing. It has to be. 

As she gets out of the car in the parking lot outside the restaurant, Olivia finds herself holding tight to her bundle of keys. Tight onto something in particular: a keychain, one of only two on the ring. As they approach she takes a look at it in her hand: an old baseball keychain, so old the white on the ball has worn off. What’s more worn down are the letters that read “World’s No. 1 Daughter” on the back. 

“Hey, ready?” Ellinor asks, holding onto the door but not opening it yet. She sounds sweeter, now, like she noticed and understands. Ellinor always understands. 

Olivia shakes her head, smiling as she puts her keys in her sweater pocket. “Yeah! I’m starving, holy shit.”

Nothing pairs with sushi quite like anxiety.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 43 - Valentine

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Also known as: Gigs tries to write jogan giving their son The Talk and failing miserably due to being a useless asexual.

One day. One fucking day. I'll write a full next gen fic, with all the kids, because y'all know by now I have headcanons for everything. And then y'all would get to see just how chaotic AJ Sotto and Parker Willis can be. But for now, this is about Johnny and his adorable Hanover boyfriend.

If there was a truth everyone in Dalton could agree on, it was that history teacher and Warblers coach, Mr. Wright, was a man you didn't want to cross. The unfortunate ones who were asked to meet with him privately refused to speak of what was told, and whether it was for good or bad reasons, nobody wanted to ask.

And then there were the students who visited his office without even being called. Johnny Larson-Wright, AJ Sotto, Parker Willis. Parker's older brothers graduated from Windsor and Stuart a few years ago, so that brand of crazy would make sense coming from them, but the others…

Well, Valentine Moore always thought people were crazy for assuming their teacher was such a bad man. He made Warblers practice enjoyable every time, gave people solos in a very fair manner, and yeah, maybe he was a bit strict. But he seemed nice enough.

But who was Valentine to say anything? He's never had a conversation alone with him. Maybe they were just exaggerating things!

Yeah, that had to be it!

...until the unfortunate day in late February when he was called in to Mr. Wright's office.

It was all everyone talked about the whole day. Johnny didn't make a fuss about it, unlike most of the others, which was reassuring and even more stressful in equal measures. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, straight-A student Valentine Moore must see the monster, maybe he fucked up real bad this time. Maybe they found out that he contributed to Johnny and AJ's bullshit—

No, wait, no. He does draw, it's his one coping mechanism, but no way they used his art for graffiti. Maybe… maybe it had to do with the homework he didn't turn in for history class? No, but he did it all, he just forgot his notebook by accident, Mr. Wright would probably understand! He must understand, it's not the first time, it's just—

"Stop pacing by my door, Moore," the teacher called, making Valentine freeze in place and start shaking. "You're not exactly invisible."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wright." He just lowered his eyes and walked into the office, closing the door behind him. "Won't do so again."

"It's all good, I get that you're nervous. But there's nothing to be nervous about."

"Is it about the homework I forgot to turn in last week…?"

"No. I care less about the homework than I do about this subject." The teacher started tapping on the desk with his fingers, making Valentine shiver a bit more. "I understand you're seeing my son."

His stomach fell as his shaking stopped.

"I don't… what? No, you got it wrong, I just—"

"Wrong? Unless Johnny is dating another Valentine Moore, who goes to this school and boards in Hanover, and is a member of the Warblers, I have no reason to believe I got it wrong."

"I… I'll break up with him, sir, it's okay. I know I'm not…"

As Valentine started feeling tears fall down his cheek, he also felt a large hand take his, as he started a silent prayer in his mind.

"I'm not mad at you," Mr. Wright — Logan — told him. "In fact, I'm relieved. It seems like he's very serious about you. His father and I are very proud of him. But I'll tell you this. If you hurt my boy—"

"It's the end of me, I know. I'm so sorry, sir."

"...yeah. That's… yeah." As Valentine raised his eyes, he saw his teacher start to fumble a bit. That was unusual… "I didn't actually think I'll get this far, if I'm honest… I'm not allowed to hurt you, as your teacher. But do expect to have a talk again. If either of you get hurt. It's not just about him in this relationship, it's about you too."

"O— okay! Okay, thank you!"

"Now, about that homework—"

"Dad!" Interrupted a call as the door flung open, and in ran Johnny, red in the face and wholly amused. "AJ broke Ramsey's window by accident, we're gonna get killed! Help! Oh, hi Val!"

"Hi!" If Valentine smiled at that, it wasn't his fault. This was the best thing that happened today.

"I swear, when we got you into Stuart we hoped you'd do better than this," Mr. Wright sighed, getting up from his chair. "Excuse me, Moore, it seems like something more... urgent came up."

"Oh no, it's… it's all fine. I'll leave! It's okay!"

"I apologize, Moore."

As Valentine rushed to get up and leave, Logan put a hand on his son's shoulder, trying to make him calm down. The redness still persisted, but his smile cracked, and the twinkle of joy in his eyes teeny off as a blanket of disappointment fell on him.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"You're not. AJ, though, is in so much trouble. Now show me the damage. I'll talk to Ramsey."

————

"So how are you guys doing?" Julian asked through FaceTime, watching his family eat dinner while he had his lunch break on set. Jerry, their newest cat, was also on the table to eat his own dinner. Natalie was paying more attention to him than she was to her dinner.

Johnny kinda wanted to poke her to answer him.

"We're all fine," Logan told him, ignoring the kids to a degree. "Did you watch the regionals video?"

"I did. So did half the cast. Good job on that. Nice song choices too, Squid."

"Thanks," Logan snorted, then turned to nudge Johnny. "Did you hear your pops?"

"I did." He went bright red. "I… I chose the second one."

Julian chuckled at that. "Yeah? No shit, Johnny. Was it inspired by someone special?"

"Yeah… I mean—"

"It certainly looked like it. Reminded me of the Hummel-Sottos back when we were juniors ourselves. Ugh, I can't listen to Raise Your Glass anymore without wanting to gag."

Johnny tried to hide. His dads were great, he never thought otherwise! Pops was the more lenient one, the more open one. The one with less dignity somehow. Probably from growing up in the spotlight and being in the public eye for so long. Dad was stricter, less… open, about all the embarrassing stuff, but he was also home more. Less absent than Pops. So he… knew more, about the kids. Pops was the one to go to with love problems, Dad was the one for any other issues.

Johnny loved them both equally. But they were both equally embarrassing, and that was a lot of embarrassing, and he really didn't want to talk to them about his love life.

"So who's the special someone?" Julian kept on teasing. "Who were you singing You're My Best Friend to?"

"Just…"

"Val," Natalie answered for him, making him choke. "He totally likes Valentine."

"Nat, shush."

"Well, did you tell him yet?" Julian raised an eyebrow, laughing a bit. "He doesn't seem like the guy to get… subtle flirting."

"He's my boyfriend now, okay?" Johnny snapped. "I… I told him. After the performance ended. And then we were together for Valentine's day and now we're together. Is that what you wanna hear?"

"...actually yes, that is what I want to hear. Honey, that's great! Does he make you happy? Do you two talk through your problems or do you keep them inside until you'll burn out like what happened when you were in fifth grade? Do you two fuck yet?"

"Pops!"

"Daddy! Ew!"

As Johnny pretended to gag, and Natalie ran off from the table to wash her mouth, Logan rolled his eyes with a smile and turned the call to face him more.

"They're doing alright, J. They're actually doing better than we did when we started going out. At least with the whole… communication thing."

"You assume we communicated ever," Julian joked, making Logan smile more. "I'm kidding… I'm just happy they're doing well. He seems like a good kid."

"Who, Valentine?"

"Yeah."

"He's great… a bit shy. Reminds me of Reed back when."

"Sounds like a blast. God… I miss you guys. I wanna be there, I wanna meet that kid honest and proper… would it be too weird to give them the sex talk through face cam?"

"I think it would be… a terrible idea, Jules. Please wait until you're back home."

"You forget I can still hear you guys!" Came the groan from Johnny, followed by a call from someone to remind Julian he needs to get dressed for his next scene.

"I love you too!" Julian called to Johnny, receiving a loud groan in return. "Lo, I love you so much."

"I love you too, J."

"I'll see you guys in a month, okay? Not too much left to wait. I'll try to find some of those Japanese kitkats you like."

"Thank you. Have a good day, Jules."

"Good night, Lo. Good night, kids!"

Logan hung up as Johnny mumbled a "yeah, yeah" and Natalie came back to the table, still gagging. 

"...okay, but did you?"

"Nat, I'm not answering that question!"

"Okay, sorry! Jeez!"

Yeah… this was his family now. Logan still struggled to believe this fact. But this was his family now.

————

"How about this argument stops now?" Johnny called right as Julian walked through the door that Saturday afternoon, to catch his husband and daughter standing on one couch and his son comforting a redhead stranger on the other. "It doesn't fucking matter who's a better partner for Mark, he's in a fucking coma. And besides, your screams are making him uncomfortable."

"Do I even want to know?" Julian asked as he dropped his bags, pulling Logan down from the couch so they could kiss. Much to the gagging noises coming from Natalie. "Hello, love."

"Hi, Jules."

"They're listening to The Bright Sessions again," Johnny tried to say, getting somewhat ignored. "It's just—"

"I'm going to my room!"

"Okay! Hello to you too, Natalie!"

That was all about an hour ago, and as things were now, Julian felt far more awake. He took a shower, unpacked his bags, made himself a cup of coffee and now got to cuddle with his husband and their three cats on the couch as their son tried his best to make his boyfriend feel comfortable. The boy didn't look the most reassured though, but at least he didn't seem like he's going to stress himself to death, so he figured it was okay.

"You met my pops before," Julian heard Johnny tell Valentine quietly. "Why are you so scared now?"

"Because I met him as your friend, and now I'm your boyfriend, it's not the same type of meeting!"

"He's right, it's not," Logan told the kids, laughing a bit. "It's scarier than meeting as a friend."

"Dad, you're not helping."

"It's also more relieving than you think, Moore. Trust me."

He sniffled and nodded, trying to calm down more. An uneasy feat, but one Logan and Johnny were sure he could accomplish.

"So… how are you?" Julian asked after a moment of silence, winking at Valentine. "I saw your regionals performance. You did good."

"Th— thank you!" He started blushing at that. "I… I'm good! I think, at least… How are you?"

"I'm very good, thank you for asking. So…" Julian chuckled, taking a bit of a shaky breath. "You're dating now, I heard."

Valentine could've died then and there.

"Dad had to tell him," Johnny tried to explain, but it didn't exactly work that well, as he watched his boyfriend try to hide as his pops kept on smiling.

"I'm not going to make fun of you, I just want to talk to you two. Make sure you know what you're doing, so you won't end up, you know…"

"Like your pops and I were when we started going out," Logan filled in for him.

"Exactly."

"If you want to tell us to use protection, it's okay, I think we know that by now," Valentine managed to say through his weak voice and high anxiety. "At least I know. My parents had our pastor give me that talk when I was thirteen."

"I use protection every time, it's nothing new."

"I'm sure you both know we're very proud of you for practicing that part of the relationship, but there are many more things I'm sure you don't even think of. For example, do you two communicate?" Julian received a very tired side-eye from Johnny and a nod from Valentine. "I'll ask a more specific question. Do you two talk about your feelings? About how certain things the other person does make you feel?"

"What do you mean…?"

"Before Logan and I started going out, I used to be really jealous about things. He used to have a crush on Kurt Hummel, good god, just remembering that hurts me…"

"Does it hurt because Shadow is literally on your rib cage?" Johnny suggests, watching the cat in question curl up defensively.

"No, she's good. It's another kind of pain, honey. But it… you remember when we told you about Adam? Back when Nat was being stalked?"

Johnny nodded, and Val just stared for a moment. "Stalked…?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Adam was my stalker when we were in high school," Julian explained, feeling Logan's grip on him getting tighter. "He forced me to tell Logan I love him. Neither of us were ready at the time, and I wish Adam no harm. I hope he managed to build a normal, semi sane life from those ashes. But he forced Logan and I to have a conversation neither of us were ready for."

"Okay… Pops, why is this important?"

"Because that's what happens when you don't communicate, honey. We didn't communicate until we were forced to. Please don't do that, okay? Can you promise me you'll talk about your feelings?"

"...Dad, what is he talking about? He's scaring Val."

"You're asking your dad and not me? John, I am deeply—"

"Communication is the key to any relationship," Logan said, cutting Julian in the middle and leaving him to play offended. "Consent is just a form of communication."

"One day, you two would decide that now is the right time to start having sex." Johnny started gagging at that. "When that day comes, we both want you to be ready. And it goes far beyond just knowing how to have safe sex. Having a healthy relationship is all about talking, because if you keep it inside, you heard what'll happen. Now, do you two communicate? Do you talk about your feelings, your fears? How far have you gone physically? This is a judgement-free zone, so don't feel ashamed."

"Just… just first base… Val is… uncomfortable with sex… Pops, why are you like this?"

"Because I love you and want to make sure you're safe. You know, some people might not want to have sex ever in their whole life, and that's okay too. A relationship isn't defined by how many times your dick has been in your partner's ass."

"Jules, that's… maybe overstepping a bit. You're scaring the children."

"So let's go back to the talking part. How many dates have you gone on yet? Where to?"

————

Johnny drove the two of them back to Dalton the following Sunday evening, and Natalie had a sleepover at her friend's place, so Logan figured he could make something nice happen for Julian's return. They didn't exactly get to do much yesterday, but it didn't mean they couldn't do anything now. So he ordered some Italian food, he got a bottle of wine, he picked a movie for the two of them to watch before regrettably falling asleep on the couch…

"Well, hello," Julian called as he came down the stairs, seeing Logan fretting over his phone. "What worries you so?"

"I'm waiting for takeout to get here… Michelle says hi."

"Well, when did you order takeout?" He got up to kiss Logan's cheek, hugging him under his arms.

"Seven twenty-three."

"And what time is it now?"

"Seven fifty."

"So they're not late, you're just anxious."

"I guess…" He put his phone down, instead hugging Julian. "I just… I don't know, I got excited. We get to be alone for the first time in…"

"Yeah… you said Michelle said hi? How's her and John's vacation in the Maldives going? Do they miss us too much yet?"

"I don't think they do. Michelle always misses us."

"True… oh, she'd love Valentine."

"She already does."

Logan nodded, then buried his face in Julian's shoulder. He was gone for too long this time. Or maybe they'd just gotten used to spending more time together without any projects getting in the way.

For Julian, three and a half months in New Zealand were also getting too much, and he always got jealous that he couldn't see Johnny compete or be there for Natalie while she auditioned for her own tv shows. He felt like he was missing too much. Sure, he took a break after the whole… stalking situation happened, but that was years ago. His return to mainstream just made him tired.

Both of them had their qualms about the direction their lives were going, and both of them were cut off by the doorbell, and Logan letting go for one moment so he could get the bags and tip the delivery guy. But soon enough it was both of them on the couch, eating their pasta and drinking wine and trying to decide if The Favorite was really the right movie to watch right now or if they felt like something less serious.

"The boys really remind me of us," Logan said in the middle of it all, making Julian choke a bit.

"Really? I can see how Johnny reminds you of you, but I don't think—"

"When we started going out," he finished his sentence. "We were awkward at best…"

"Your friends wouldn't let me off the hook."

"Hey, okay, that was mostly Dwight, and he's your friend too."

"He still wouldn't let me off the hook!"

"You know he only did it because he worries for us. Both of us. He did the same to me too."

"Okay, sure… do you think I just went full Dwight on them yesterday?"

"You… didn't. Not really. I think you did okay. Maybe a bit TMI on some details, but…" Julian made a scene of hiding his face in a pillow, trying to suppress his embarrassment. "Jules, I love you, but I don't think talking about my personal relationship history with our sixteen-year old son and his boyfriend is such a smart idea. Especially since it was mine. I'm not the average, I'm the exception."

"Was there any other way I should've gone at it?"

"I don't know, but I don't think two of my own students can look me in the face anymore."

"I think we should both be grateful we didn't talk about Derek's history at least."

They shared a look, their faces bright red and struggling to hold back a smile, before bursting into laughter. 

"I worry for Valentine if you would have talked about Derek… Jules, that poor kid is terrified of everything, let's not traumatize him even more. I'm still his teacher."

"I worry more for what Johnמy would've said… or Nat. Oh, imagine if Nat would've heard that… you know she and Emma talk about everything, right? And I mean everything. She would've told her, and then Derek would've known, and then we'd both be dead."

"Let's… let's just be grateful that this talk is over with and that we don't need to advise them on more just yet…"

"More like what? Marriage, having children?"

"I know you're joking but yes, that is a very real possibility for us in the future."

"So let's just… fuck, I can't breathe…"

"Oh, shit! Your inhaler is here, come on…"

"...Logan?" Julian asked after a few moments, his breathing calming down now.

"Yeah?"

"Let's keep the marriage counseling to the future, okay?" He smiled as Logan nodded, leaning over to kiss his cheek again. "I love you."

"Jules, I love you."

"I know. Lucky me."

[aemonded]

3, 7, 9, 15, 18

booknet ask game (Apologies for the delay!):

3. what was the last book you rated 1/5? 

Probably this horrific and justifiably priced 0.25 cent paperback I got from the library book sale. I care so little about the title I’m not even going to bother getting up to look at it, but basically it was somehow involving a mystery on a liner heading to New York, and The Kennedys circa 1941 when Joe (’God what a terrible person’) Kennedy was ambassador to England (And casual Nazi supporter/isolationist, lovely).

But the book promises you that it will mostly talk about Rosemary Kennedy as a character. Which I liked, because in case you don’t know, Rosemary Kennedy was JFK’s sister who was considered the ‘prettiest’ of all the Kennedy girls, but also constantly was on a diet because she ‘put on weight easily’ (Poor girl), and because she was seen as ‘simple.’ Supposedly when she was in her early twenties, she had the mental capacities or a naive thirteen year old/ writing level of an eight year old. They kept basically shoving her into boarding schools to try to push her forward in terms of education, but obviously when she most likely had something like a severe case of autism, there weren’t exactly many programs that directly addressed those who were learning disabled, and being a Kennedy, they most likely were like PUSH HER THROUGH IT AND SHE’LL BE FINE (Great, thanks guys).

All this being said, there is proof in terms of letters that basically everyone was afraid, because once she became a teenager, she started running away from these schools or sneaking out late at night, and they were literally worried because of how ‘naive’ she was, that she’d end up getting pregnant by some weirdo guy forcing himself on her/ convincing her to have sex. What most normal people/historians think now, is that she saw her brother being John F. Kennedy, El Primo Playboy of the World 1941, dating movie stars and having a buttload of friends (As my older brother used to say), and she obviously wanted to be involved in this glamorous, fun life with the rest of her family, rather than shoved away at some crappy boarding school with nuns the age of time immemorial (Understandable). (Also, for what it’s worth, JFK basically WAS a great older brother, for what I’ve heard, and wanted his parents to loosen up on her. He involved her in his social groups if she was around and never pushed her into anything that someone with her ‘limitations’ might be hurt by).

So of course the natural thing would be to do is to give her a lobotomy so she doesn’t run away, and of course, it had some horrific side effects and basically killed her personality entirely from all accounts, making her basically a human vegetable with only a shadow of the person she’d been before. After that Joe ‘I’m the Worst’ Kennedy carted his daughter off, and debatably, depending on who you ask, she was basically ignored by most of the family for 60+ years of her living in a care home, or embraced in private (The Kennedy message/propaganda/nice try guys). There’s really only consistent public photos of Ted Kennedy visiting her, because besides the whole ‘I accidentally murdered a woman I was having an affair with’ thing, Ted was the baby and seemed actually like ironically the most ‘Christian’ in the most broadest sense of the word besides Bobby Kennedy (Yes, I know they’re Catholic, it’s an analogy).

So bringing this back to this awful book, the ‘mystery’ on the cruise liner shit basically seemingly revolves around Rosemary pre-lobotomy and how she wants to get married to a ‘coloured jazz man.’ BUT THIS NEVER FACTORS INTO THE PLOT. NONE OF THE HISTORICAL FIGURES ABOARD DO EVEN THOUGH THEY HAVE ‘POV’ CHAPTERS ASIDE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.

You heard me right. xD I KNOW IT’S THE 1940S IN THE BOOKS AND THERE’S FAR WORSE THAT COULD HAVE BEEN DONE AND THE JAZZ MAN IS NICE AND ALL BUT DAMN IT’S SORT OF THE WORST, BECAUSE THEY BASICALLY MAKE THIS THE ENTIRE REASON FOR HER LOBOTOMY AND WHILE THEORETICALLY IT WOULD FIT IN WITH JOE’S MOTIVATIONS HISTORICALLY, IT JUST CAME OFF AS SUPER SKEEZY AND UGH. Mostly the book A) Actually did a considerable job giving Rosemary a sweet and loving personality that you like, but considering what you know if you’re probably reading this book and how they’re just dropping bread crumbs the entire way through, it’s just incredibly morbid and bleh. 

If you’re going to write historical characters and fiction well, at least have something more to back it up than ‘Racism was more (outwardly) prevalent back then so she was going to be in an interracial relationship so lobotomy.” It just came off as conflating two important issues (The rights of the learning disabled to date and have families of their own, and interracial romances versus status in society), and just came out to justify it for a lobotomy we never even see. (Trust me, I’m making it sound far more interesting than it is).

Plus the mystery on the liner is the main aspect of the story, and I think that’s what makes it the worst: This author just chose to have these random historical figures on BECAUSE, and considering Rosemary’s background and what we know happened to her, it just seemed like a pretty desperate ploy to reel people in (like myself), and have them go, “Wait, this is just a sub-par mystery book, not a historical mystery book: She used that whole actual living person who existed and who was screwed over by her own family as ‘shock value’ and a ‘hook’ for the audience.” Double EW.

7. what was the last book that made you cry? 

Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese, who is unfortunately no longer with us but a BEACON of Canadian Literature, and I'm SO sad he didn’t get to write more books, because his writing style is BEAUTIFUL and poetic.

“Saul Indian Horse is an alcoholic Ojibway man who finds himself the reluctant resident of an alcohol treatment centre after his latest binge. To come to peace with himself, he must tell his story. Richard Wagamese takes readers on the often difficult journey through Saul's life, from his painful forced separation from his family and land when he's sent to a residential school to the brief salvation he finds in playing hockey. The novel is an unflinching portrayal of the harsh reality of life in 1960s Canada, where racism reigns and Saul's spirit is destroyed by the alienating effects of cultural displacement.”

What you also don’t get about the book from this review, is the role hockey plays as being central to the narrative. In that moment, and when Saul is young, inside his own head, he is just what we as the reader see him as: A young boy who loves a sport and finds it freeing. A PERSON. A kid who loves hockey. 

He’s so good that he has a chance to make it to the NHL. He’s good enough to play on the ‘white teams,’ but when he starts beating white players, grown men and women throw things at him, like plastic ‘Indians’ from a ‘Cowboy and Indian’ set. 

He is a skilled player. He has raw talent. But to make it to the next level, and because they won’t let him be on the team in any other role, because a Native man can’t become a skilled star in 1960s Canada, he has to become a ‘goon.’ There’s actually a moment in the book where he snaps, and it’s so well written and heartbreaking, where it’s like this Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde dynamic inside of him, where he literally just goes, “Okay? You want me to be a bloodthirsty ‘Indian’? Then I’ll be that for you.”

There’s also a movie I haven’t had the guts to watch all the way through, because I tried watching it on a plane ride from Australia to Canada without actually having read the book first, and having no idea what the movie was about aside from hockey and Indigenous culture, and Jesus Christ IT KILLED ME. I’m terrible at flying, had been throwing up and thoroughly miserable for about three hours at that point on the plane, tried to turn on a movie to distract myself, and within ten minutes, I was like “No, I think sticking to the vomiting is justified.” (To give you an idea of the directing style, it’s bizarrely produced by uber-Republican yet ‘weirdly-obsessed with Indigenous people’ movie star Clint Eastwood. If you’ve seen his other films and how sparse and depressing they can be, you can only IMAGINE what this material lends itself to. So I’d really stick to reading the book first. Because Wagamese’s voice is so much stronger within the book, and the pain and horror poor Saul is exposed to serves a purpose within the larger narrative much more clearly, and even when he is an alcoholic, he still is able to find hope within himself and returning to his people, and that’s a beautiful thing that I think was lost in the portions of the film I was able to catch.) Check it out: It was only written in 2012, but it’s already being heralded as a ‘classic’ in Canadian Indigenous Literature.

9. do you actually check out books that have been recommended for you?

I do. I might not actually READ them, but I’ll at least check out a snippet on Amazon to see if it’s my cup of tea. So if anyone has any recommendations, go right on ahead <3

15. how do you feel about reading buddies?  

I would love a reading buddy! <3 Feel free to message me if you’re keen. <3

18. what was your favourite book when you were 10?

Probably something by Roald Dahl or The Hobbit, if we’re talking sheer escapism or enjoyment (Or the original run of Harry Potter). My Dad is an English teacher, so I was always reading older books than were probably age-appropriate (I was placed at a college-reading level at twelve on an assessment test), so other than that, a lot of classic literature: Just name it, I’ve probably read it. 

I also was a nerd who decided to read the entire dictionary back to front somewhere around this time and copy down all the words I actually didn’t know on a list, so that was a hobby. xD I guess I could count that as a ‘favourite book.’ (-Insert Homer Simpson “NEEeeeRRRddddd” gif here-).

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

9. My Sharon…ah a.k.a. porn star alter egos, the other Stone and a dangerous ginger (Part One)

We’ve already been waiting for our food for almost an hour; unlike we do during our usually chaotic meals accompanied by parallel discussions, we’re all sitting silently staring in front of ourselves, trying to use as little energy as possible.

“I’ve told you we should have chosen that vegetarian restaurant…” Jeff mutters in a monotonous voice.

“Of course… and the predator part of the team can go to hell, right? Vegetarian restaurant, ‘course… over my dead body, Jeff.” Smitty hisses indignantly.

“Hey, I see food! Finally!” I sigh relieved as I spot the waitress approaching our table carrying two huge trays with burgers, burritos and fries. On arriving, she recoils desperately since everybody starts shouting their orders to be the first to be served. After a few seconds of hesitation, she puts the trays on the table and then flees terrified. I’m not surprised about her reaction; I’ve never been in the middle of a locust swarm but it can be something similar.

“And people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp…” Judy and Stone recite in unison but realizing the situation they both fall silent embarrassed.

“What???” I inquire confused. Their sudden telepathic connection is pretty strange, not to mention the fact that it didn’t make any sense.

“Armaments, Chapter Two.” Stone lectures me briefly with an eyeroll.

“Verses Nine to Twenty-One.” Judy adds helpfully probably seeing my still clueless expression.

“It’s from Monty Python’s Holy Grail. When Arthur and his knights encounter the Killer Rabbit, they think that the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch might…”

“Thanks for the explanation Mike, I think I’ve heard enough...”

“Finally, my precious.” Judy rubs her hands together and grabs the Tabasco bottle to pour an enormous amount of hot sauce on her large cheeseburger.

“Tabasco? Don’t your lips hurt?” Jeff’s head perks up.

Why would her lips hurt? Did Jeff bite her mouth on the date? I glance at Karrie who answers with a barely visible shrug. So she hasn’t succeeded to learn some details of yesterday’s events either… I haven’t been able to get rid of the guys and make Judy tell everything. I could swear she has been hiding intentionally the whole day, she pretended sleeping when I got on their bus and fake-shopped between the shelves of the store at the gas station for long minutes so that we wouldn’t meet at women’s restroom. She’s quite naive if she thinks I would give up and forget about it so easily…

“Why would her lips hurt?” Scully echoes my thoughts.

“Oh, eheh, I thought I got herpes but luckily it was only a false alarm…” she snickers awkwardly. Herpes? Jesus, she’s impossible… Okay, Jeff definitely didn’t bite her anywhere… I’m not the only one who’s shocked by her words, though, Jeff exchanges a meaningful look with the terrified Mike who forgets to chew for a few seconds, Dave narrows his eyes and glances at Stone who answers with a content smirk. Am I hallucinating or do they know something I don’t?

“Uhm, but really, Tabasco? I didn’t know you liked hot sauce.” I try to direct the chat back to culinary topics.

“Oh, I adore it! But… ugh… cucumber…” she picks out a few slices of vegetable of her burger.

“Are you crazy? I mean, that’s not an actual question, of course you are; cucumber is one of the best things in the world... But if you’re such a picky eater, then take the consequences… ” Stone leans over the table and steals the green treasures from her plate.

“Hey, you haven’t even touched your fries, are you a potato snob? And it is him who calls me a picky eater… Waster… Eye for an eye.” Judy fires back and grabs the small paper bag of fries greedily from Stone’s plate.

“Guys, could you suspend the food fight until we finish our meal? You can stay here and disembowel each other with plastic cutlery but please, wait until we leave, I can’t stand blood…” Eric intervenes. “Judy, are you serious, you eat cheeseburger with knife and fork?” he breaks the character of the form teacher.

“I have to… my mouth cavity is extreme small.” Judy explains making Stone snort.

“Hmph… this is new to me, I’ve never heard this excuse. OUCH!!!” he allows himself a sexist joke, which I immediately punish by stomping at full strength on his left foot.

“Maybe because you’ve never even got close to any type of situations when you could hear it.” Jeff joins the attack with verbal means and a satisfied grin.

“Thank you very much, Jeff… Eeed… your partner is hurting meeee....” Stone whines in the voice of annoying squealer kids.

“Because she’s my feminist girl who immediately avenges jerk behavior.” Ed presses a long and slow kiss on my cheek, which makes me immediately pull closer to him.

“And she bites too…” I whisper into his ear making sure that no one else can hear it. Okay, I know, whispering in bigger company is not the most polite behavior but… it’s been a while since we…

“And how was the exhibition?” Scully’s annoying capon voice pulls me back in the present.

“The s...exhibition…” Smitty giggles and earns a head-slap from Karrie for his immature joke.

“I liked it a lot… Zach has really good eyes to find art in everyday life. It’s cool how these paintings reflect on current public issues or even on each other… You know, painters usually don’t use each other’s work as canvas but with graffiti… anything can happen. The angry owner paints the wall or it gets completed or altered by other artists… And this is why Zach’s work is so worthy; he takes snapshots of society…” Judy rambles unaware of the fact that Jeff is listening to her with dreamy heart-eyes.

“Jeff, I’ve started being jealous, you’ve never taken me to any intellectual programs, always those smoky pubs…” Stone pretends jealousy. Scully turns to him and takes a deep breath while stroking his shoulder gently.

“Stoney… it’s high time you faced the fact that is obvious to everyone else here: he’s ashamed of you.”

“But why? I do everything to meet his expectations… I read every day and…” he sniffs.

“Stone, what you do to those… “artistic” magazines… it can’t be regarded as reading.” Jeff snorts moving his hand obscenely over his lap.

“Jesus…” Ed almost spits out his apple juice of laughter and the general amusement spreads along the table like bushfire.

“Stone, if you want to win Jeff’s heart, you have to count with serious competition, reading won’t be enough.”

“Anyway, Scully, speaking of reading, I actually didn’t read yesterday evening since something very weird happened to me when I was heading to my room.” he darts his eyes at Judy who immediately freezes and stops snickering. “I heard music from the bar and went in to take a closer look at the piano player but I happened to meet…”

“AWWWW!!!” Judy groans with a surprisingly high volume, which makes everyone stare at her. “Dif... dif iv fooo delifiouf!!!” she mumbles pointing at her burger. Judging from her pronunciation, she must be nibbling on a half cow in her mouth.

“After this interesting gastronomic intermezzo, I would go on, may I? So, entering the bar I encountered…”

“Amd de dabafco… heabedly…” Judy keeps moaning. Okay, if she goes on like this, I’ll begin to be concerned about her mental condition, maybe someone spiked her drink…

“Okay, everyone who’s interested in this incomprehensible muttering, raise your hands. Nobody? Great. So, entering the bar I encountered a very weird chick.” Stone begins and for some unknown reason, Judy looks as terrified as if she had realized that her food was poisoned.

“You mean alien kind of weird or sort of a psycho girl?”

“Thanks for the great question, Mike. I don’t know, she seemed to be pretty harmless, she just ordered drinks she didn’t like but at one certain point she grabbed my arm, I thought she could have been able to break it. We also played pool but she insisted on choosing the most hopeless options, as if she had tried to lose intentionally.”

Judy listens to him with a tense attention while literally stabbing her burger with the plastic fork again and again.

“And then?” Ed asks with some impatience in his voice. I can relate to him, Stone’s story doesn’t sound very interesting even despite the theatrical presentation.

“I tried to help her with a few advice but she kept digging in my privacy and left insulted.” Stone shrugs.

“… and this was the story of the evening when Stone almost picked up a lunatic. Thanks Stone, that was interesting, really.” Ed sums up probably everybody’s opinion.

Hearing a snapping voice I squint at Judy; as if she’d just woken up from hypnosis, she examines the two plastic sticks helplessly that remained from the fork. Okay, I have to remind Eric to keep any kind of pointed or edged objects away from her if Stone’s in the room as well.

“Ugh… I’m not sure if I’m able to walk back to the club on my own feet…” Mike rubs his stomach standing up from the table.

“Because you’re a chowhound…”

“Would you be willing to pull me back while I’m sitting on carrier trolley? You would be allowed to insult me in the meantime… Consider it Stone, this isn’t an everyday offer, take it or leave it…”

“Come on Mike, he couldn’t even pull a five-year-old child…” Scully follows them and they begin a heated discussion about the estimated load capacity of Stone’s different body parts.

“Beth… uhm, could we talk for a second?” Jeff steps to me. I wait until everyone else leaves but I’m afraid this conversation will be embarrassing even without the smartass remarks of the others. I’m rooting for Jeff with all my heart but the role of the matchmaker isn’t really for me… I encouraged Judy but that doesn’t mean I want to mediate between them…

“What can I do for you?” I ask although I exactly know the answer. Pushing Judy into his bed and locking the door from outside.

“I don’t know if Judy have told you anything about yesterday evening… and I don’t even want to ask it… “he adds defensively seeing I’m about to refuse to take part in any intervention.

“Then what?” I fold my arms amused. I’m mean, I know. But I can’t help enjoying how this more than six feet tall guy is scratching the ground with the tip of his sneaker.

“Our date ended in a pretty sudden way. I mean, you know, we didn’t… kiss…” he lowers his voice at the last word, unnecessarily, though, since everyone else from the team has already left the restaurant.

“But she didn’t slap you either… I mean, I guess.”

“Exactly, that’s the point… we didn’t talk about what’s next. At first I felt pretty confident but… I don’t know, I realized we haven’t agreed on a second date yet and…”

“Look, I think you expect too much from her… Imagine this situation in a normal environment. And when I say “normal”, I mean the usual dating habits. Girl and guy know each other, guy likes girl so he asks her out, they have a date… and that’s where you are right now. What would you do normally after a date?”

“Uhm, I don’t know, I guess I’d call her a few days later and…”

“See, that’s the key. A few days later. You wouldn’t call her immediately pressuring her to give a feedback. The fact she’s around you basically all the time doesn’t mean she doesn’t need time to process and consider the pace. Plus, you’re colleagues. Plus, there are a bunch of curious people around who are observing you like you were the main characters of a soap opera. So being pushed is probably the last thing she needs.”

“I know, but this insecurity is killing me. I’m not a macho type but I don’t like to be fooled either…”

“I’m convinced that she’s not the type who would intentionally fool you. Just give her a little space.”

“Okay… but I would appreciate if you talked to her… I mean you don’t have to tell me how she feels but…”

Jesus, the guy is persistent and his only luck is that I really like him.

“I can’t promise anything, but if she comes up with the topic, I’ll try to drop some cautious hints. Deal?” I throw my arms in the air unwillingly.

“I knew I could count on you!” he flashes his trademark thousand watt smile at me.

And now, all I have to do is cornering Judy. Because I’m not going to let her screw up everything with this sweet idiot.

***

“Hey, Scully, what happened to my amp during the show? I started being worried about Ethel.”

Mike and I glance amused at each other hearing the sign of Stone beginning to embrace the name of his stuffed pet.

“The ventilator I stood behind it broke down. But your calf wasn’t in danger, she felt like a rock star in the cloud of smoke.”

“Please don’t overplay the role, Scul.”

“I’m not overplaying anything, I can hear her mooing the backup vocals every time you play Black, just ask Dave!” Scully puts his tongue out insulted at Stone.

“Jesus, I never thought I would be the one who warned you but… you smoke too much weed.”

“No because I share it with Ethel, she likes chewing the cud of it…”

“Okay, some hash and acid must have kicked in too…” he rolls his eyes following Scully in the hallway.

“Okay, finally we’re alone, we need to talk.” Mike jabbers pulling closer to me.

“But we’re already talking.” I grin at him enjoying his mongoose moves; I’ve noticed he acts like a nervous little rodent when he’s excited.

“Please Jude, we don’t have time for this, they’re back in minutes.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me who…”

“Jude, it’s about Jeff.”

The smile freezes on my face. I can’t believe this, even Mike? I thought if no one else, he’d leave me alone.

“Mike, I’m not going to discuss this with you, it’s my business. And Jeff’s.” I correct myself for show. Obviously, if I had to choose between discussing our thing (in case we have one at all) with Jeff and impalement, I’d pick the latter.

“Wait, so did it happen? Did he conceal it from us only because he’s a gentleman?” his face lights up suddenly. “Oh, I knew you play in the master class, Jeffrey, you shouldn’t be so modest.” he goes on talking to himself.

“Excuse me???” I cut him off suspecting he’s rambling about something I’m not even willing to call by its name.

“Oh, so you didn’t…?” he asks disappointed. “Then he didn’t lie to us…”

“Mike, would you try to speak coherently?”

“Sure, sorry. So Jeff joined us at the bar after your date and the main character was a girl who was raised by foster parents and she didn’t know anything about her biological family.”

“What?” I stare at him. Oh no, I should have known, he’s drunk.

“And she fell in love with her rich boss who owned an ostrich farm and collected bowling shoes.” Mike goes on and his eyes pop staring at something behind me, which makes me turn around. I notice Dave fidgeting with his drum kit and realize Mike shifted topic so that he can’t overhear us.

“Aaand… was her boss handsome?” I make an insecure attempt to play along with him.

“I don’t know; too much hair gel for my taste but…” he shrugs. “So the guy invited her to his ranch and we discussed your date and Jeff misunderstood everything, your hair, the lenses, everything…”

I guess from his next switch that we’re alone again.

“How do you mean he misunderstood my hair? How can one misunderstood hair at all?”

“He thought you had dolled up for the occasion but Stone tried to convince him that it was only the razor.” Razor??? What if I was right and he’s drunk? Or even high? Or is someone behind my back again? Or did Stone notice with his impossibly green X-ray eyes that I haven’t shaved my legs since I arrived to Cleveland?

“Yeah and after having had sex with him, the girl received an anonymous letter which claimed she and her boss were biological siblings.”

“Oh no! And then? What happened after she had read the letter?” I pretend astonishment and follow Smitty and Karrie with my eyes who carefully lift the soundboard and place it onto the amp to push them out to the van.

“She ran away from the ranch and got hit by a truck. She woke up in the hospital but due to her amnesia no one could identify her. Things got more complicated when the hospital was attacked by zombie apes and they dragged her to their space ship and…”

“Mike, you shouldn’t harass Miss Judy with your pervert movies. Judy, he made me watch that one too, you don’t want to know what comes next, trust me.” Smitty shakes his head and disappears with the gear in the hallway.

“So that was that weird chainsaw sound I heard through the wall last night… Mike, you should see a sex therapist, I’m serious.” Karrie steps back for a second before leaving with Smitty.

“Now I’m really interested in the ending, please go on, Mike.” I grin at the blushing guitarist.

“And Stone also found out about your trick. And now Jeff knows about it as well.” he retorts challenging.

“What are you talking about? I can’t pull out rabbits from a hat or coins from behind anyone’s ears.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” he points at me with an accusing look.

“No, I don’t, could you be more specific?”

“The trick you used to prevent Jeff got pregnant and couldn’t find out if the father was ostrich farm guy or one of the zombie apes. The guy was convinced it was him but the wedding ceremony got interrupted and…”

“Excuse me, Mike but have you just said that Jeff got pregnant from an ostrich farm owner? Or zombie apes? Ugh, I thought Montanans fucked cows but this… this is…”

The steps that made Mike tell on the plotline of the chainsaw porn belonged to Stone who unfortunately must have heard a few words from our actual topic.

“Actually, we wanted to keep it in secret, since you had that little quarrel at the restaurant. You know, pregnant... men have to be protected from any sources of stress. And in the meantime you turned out to be the father but don’t worry, Stone, you’ll be a great dad, anyway. And if you won’t find the front of the child just check it in the manual.” I flash my sweetest smile at him.

“Ugh… I imagined the baby of them, it would be no wonder if no one knew which is their back and their front… Jesus, I need to go to the restroom.” Mike frowns leaving us alone, although I guess the reason of his escape is the six pack beer box that was left unsupervised in the backstage.

“Uhm… Stone… do you have a second?”

To his nodding I start talking.

“Look, I…”

“Time out.” he mumbles rummaging in his guitar case.

“Idiot.” I click with my tong and stomp angrily; even despite my eyeroll I spot a weird twitch in the corner of his mouth which I can’t decode. Who cares, I decided to be a lady this time and I’m not going to let him rile me up. “I… I just wanted to say that I really appreciate that you didn’t mention our conversation to Jeff… or anyone… I guess…” I keep my eyes on the mic cables that I’m trying to untangle in the meantime, with not much success, though.

“Why?” he asks back briefly.

“How do you mean “why”?” I perk my head up.

“Why do you appreciate it? Were you afraid of me doing it?”

I mutter something indistinct since I don’t feel like answering yes but I don’t want to deny it either as who knows what his reaction would be…

“So basically you’re thanking me for not telling to Jeff that you find him amusing, kind and funny? You’re weird, I don’t think he would feel insulted hearing that.”

“No… I don’t… I’m not…” I gibber. And here we are. I hate that he’s able to confuse me with one single word and I hate that he doesn’t let me tell what I mapped out and…

“Are you not thanking me or don’t you find him amusing, kind and funny?” he stares me with that irritating poker face, I wish could punch him… but no. I’m going to stay cool. I don’t let him influence my behavior. I’m the more mature so I can’t lose my temper.

“It doesn’t matter what I said or did. I just wanted to thank you for your discretion.” I try to get out of the situation without giving a straightforward answer.

“Do you think that I shut my mouth to save your ass?” he folds his arms smirking. “Cute theory, truly. But it’s not about you. It’s about Jeff. I didn’t want to embarrass him since…”

“Embarrass him??? I’ve heard you calling him a caveman, a yeti, a Montanan cow-fucker… and you don’t want to embarrass him???” I burst out in an exaggerated laughter.

“At least, I don’t play with his feelings.”

“That’s for sure. You humiliate him in pretty obvious and clear ways. But I don’t like veiled references, let’s be honest. Do you think I fool him?”

“I haven’t even mentioned your name, you’re smarter than I thought.”

The fuckin’ smirk won’t appear from his face. Okay, please, let someone took this cable away from me before I strangle him with it.

“I don’t know what you have to do with my private life but...”

“Nothing, luckily. But our bassist has, however much unprofessional it is to run after a colleague…”

“Speaking of professionalism, you have to play in one of the most important TV shows of this country in less than twenty-four hours and instead of preparing for the big event you’re spending your time with prying into other people’s life.”

“I’ve played Alive and Porch so many times that could do it only using my toes so…”

“EW!!!”

“…so it doesn’t require much preparation. Look, I’m not saying that you’re fooling him intentionally. Or even consciously. I’m only trying to point out that it’s pretty obvious that you don’t have the faintest idea how to handle his affection.” he shrugs.

“But I have a pretty clear idea of not discussing this with you.”

That damn cable has tangled into a huge knot in the meantime and my nervous tugging doesn’t help much with untying it. He takes it out of my hands and starts loosening it with slow, steady moves.

“You don’t have to. But you’d better find out what’s next before things get more complicated.” he reaches his palm with the knot-free cable on it out in front of me.

“Otherwise?” I ask with hands on my hips refusing to take it.

“Otherwise things do get complicated.” he remarks nonchalantly and ties it again into the most complex knot I’ve ever seen. I should answer something witty but I’m just mouthing like a damn fish as he slowly reaches for my arm and pulls it from my hip to put the cable into my hand. I have no idea for how long we’ve been staring at each other when he finally clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair flipping it back. I only start blinking when he grabs his guitar case and leaves the stage. When I hear the nasal voice echoing, I’m still standing motionless on the stage.

“And by the way, nothing’s wrong with my toes.”

***

I’m not going to throw up. I’m not going to throw up. I’m not going to throw up. I should have already got used to public performances but I feel awful. The whole country is going to watch us and if it wouldn’t be enough, my mom called the whole family, uncles, aunts, cousins, their wives and husbands (including the former ones) and reminded them to turn on the TV at 11 p.m. My symptoms are worse than ever, I really need something to calm down… I should check our dressing room, maybe I find some booze there…

“Hey Mike… are you okay?” Jude approaches me with her tiny, quick steps.

“Yes, I’m okay… I’m almost okay…” I keep marching in circles in the backstage room of Studio 8H.

“You shouldn’t be that nervous, it’s not your first TV performance.”

“You don’t understand… I’ll screw up everything, I can feel it in my guts.” And I mean it literally.

“Haha, why would you? You’ll be great, I’m sure as hell.”

“Because. Before the unplugged show we realized our rented instruments weren’t suitable to anything we wanted to do and Ed fell off the chair during the set… my solos were barely audible…”

And it’s being aired in a few weeks so the whole country will know about the fiasco…

“You shouldn’t be that strict with yourself. But you know what? I know someone who is objective and can smell bad gigs from miles. A real expert.” she smiles cryptically. “We’re going to call Effie tomorrow. She’s going to watch the show, she even wants to record it.”

“Watch? Record??? No!” I squeak in despair. Suddenly, making myself ridiculous in front of my family and the whole American nation sounds pretty marginal in comparison to the fact that the person whom I’ve never met but to whom want to listen until the universe collapses is about to watch me making silly faces and stumble on my own foot.

“Jesus, why?” she sighs with growing annoyance.

“Because… because… she’s a young girl and… young girls should go to bed by 11 p. m.?”

My argumentation doesn’t sound very convincing and Jude looks at me as if I was completely losing my mind, which is pretty close to how I feel right now, actually…

“Okay Mike, now we’re going to look for your dressing room and I help you with a few relaxation exercises I learnt at Juilliard. They helped me overcome the terrible stage fright I used to feel before concerts so trust me…” she wraps one arm around my shoulder and gently but firmly directs me towards the hallway.

“I think Stone has already found our room.” I nod towards our rhythm guitarist who’s standing in front of a door staring it persistently.

“I know you’re convinced you can use the force but what if you tried the door handle?” she remarks in a mocking voice.

“There’s no try.” I help her out with the matching accent.

“Unlike you, the staff seems to be serious with this Star Wars thing.” Stone points with his thumb at a sheet taped on the door. After decoding the sloppy handwriting, I read the following names on it:

EDDIE VADER

JEFF AMEN

MIKE MCREADY

STEVE GOSSARD

DAVE ABRUZESE

       ABBRUZESE

     ABBRUZZESE

“Excellent.” Stone mumbles.

“I think they expected your porn star alter egos.” Judy shrugs casually.

“Our what?” I glance at her furrowing my eyebrows.

“You know, porn actors and actresses all use stage names, borrowing those of celebrities. Of course they always change the spelling to avoid legal problems.” she picks the sheet at the typos in our names.

“And what kind of porn actor would call himself Eddie Vader?” I ask in disbelief.

“Maybe he’s the protagonist of a kinky, incestuous story flavored with father issues. And Jeff Amen…”

“…is the naughty parish priest of a sleepy, small town somewhere in Montana.” Judy finishes Stone’s sentence. “Whereas Mike McReady…”

“…bangs everything that moves and comes in like five seconds?” Stone chuckles and although Jude tries to keep a straight face, to my biggest surprise, I spot a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that sends a completely different message towards him. They team up and joke at someone else’s expense? That’s new to me.

“You…” I point alternatively at Judy and Stone, who are still staring at each other with the same half smile on their face “…you’re supposed to be enemies, okay?” They finally notice I’m talking to them and interestingly, they both rearrange their facial muscles into a nonchalant expression in a fragment of a second. “Anyway, what about Steve Gossard?”

“It’s pretty obvious. The crew of SNL wanted him to feel like a normal person, at least for one day.” Judy explains. “Of course they didn’t know that a proper name was barely enough but they gave it a try.” she adds fixing her glasses and avoiding Stone’s glance.

“You can joke with my name but it’s undeniable that my name is the coolest porn star name in the world. Get it, Stone, hard like a stone, the connection is undeniable.” he slaps back putting on his disarming smirk and does indistinct moves with his hands to underline his theory.

“No sane porn actor would use your name but you know what, if you feel better of that thought…” Judy shoots one more arrow saturated with sarcasm after Stone who started pacing towards the studio room in the meantime.

“I don’t have time for this right now. If anybody looked for me, I’m gone to find Sharon Stone. Who borrowed her name from you know whom…” he answers with a high-minded wave, not even looking back at her.

“Who exactly needs to relax?” I squint at her. Am I hallucinating or are her nostrils really fuming? She looks like a dragon that’s ready to burn down a whole metropolis.

“I’m relaxed, Mike.” she utters slowly. “I’ve never been more relaxed.”

We spend like half an hour in the dressing room before the rehearsal. Although Judy’s exercises are efficient, I still find this whole process more stressful than a simple sound check. There are cameras and fussy crew members everywhere, we’re even asked to do everything the same way as we will do it in the live show. Like it was possible to ask Ed bouncing both times in the same way or Stone bouncing during the sound check at all, which he never does anyway... It’s just ridiculous. The glass-wearing, stage manager called Joe has even to act like the host of the show announcing us and then clapping exactly for five seconds playing the audience… like we were in some fuckin’ theater.

After having played “Alive” and “Porch” umpteen times, the director shows up to discuss the details of the gag in which they want us to participate.

“So according to our conception, the scene begins with Sharon Stone sitting cross-legged in a chair, wearing her famous dress from Basic Instinct. He announces you and after a cut, the camera shows you staring at her with dropped jaws for a few second. Can you do it?” he shares the plot. He seems to be impatient, probably because of the tight schedule.

“What a great idea. Of course we can, we do that all the time, right, guys?” Ed mumbles in a colorless voice. He’s right, it sounds like a pretty schematic, cheap, sexist joke, which doesn’t really fit our style but luckily, we’re open about our principles enough not to compromise ourselves by doing it.

“But where’s Sharon Stone? We need her to the scene.” Stone insists; he’s the most enthusiastic from the band for obvious reasons.

“As I’ve said, there will be a cut in the scene, which means we don’t need her to be able to shoot your part. Ms. Stone hasn’t arrived yet, anyway.” the director tries to keep his temper but Stone isn’t really cooperative in this process.

“But I’m not an actor, I can’t pretend I’m watching Sharon Stone if I’m not. I’m afraid I can’t do it without her.” he shrugs flashing his most irritating lopsided grin.

“I’ll see what I can do. But you need to wear the same clothes as in the live show, so please, go and change…” the director decides to quit the conversation. I can understand him.

We gather again in the same room about ten minutes later.

“Where is Sharon Stone?” Stone repeats the million-dollar question like a broken record player.

“I am Sharon Stone.” I turn in the direction of the familiar male voice and I notice Joe, the grinning stage manager waving towards us. “At least for the next ten minutes. I can even sit in that chair like her if that helps you. But I’m not willing to put on that dress, I like this sweater better.” he remarks addressing his words to Stone.

“No… uhm…I don’t think it’d be necessary… I learnt how to use my imagination in the last ten minutes…” he mutters.

The makes a few takes of our dumbest stares but we’re not told which one is the winner. Not that I’m interested in any of them.

“Hey, stunned guy, you were awesome.” Jude nudges me while I’m heading back to the dressing room, which makes me start.

“Huh, what?”

“Your stunned face. I saw your acting performance in the control room, I think it was sweet.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I flush. Maybe I should practice how to look stunned… maybe she’s not the only Camden girl who thinks I’m sweet… Cool down, Cready, what if she’s a hideous, toothless frog?

“Hey, and what about me?” Jeff catches up to us, provoking Judy to compliment him too.

“Your face can’t even be seen of that fur hat… I could cut a few holes into it for your eyes, nose and mouth, if you want to.” she teases him, which he answers by sticking out his tongue at her.

“That’d be problematic. His brain has already grown to the hat, if you tried to cut into it, you would basically execute a lobotomy on him.” Stone maneuvers between them, to Jeff’s utmost delight.

“It’s like you and your scrunchie, right? It blocks your skull so that your cerebrum doesn’t fall out of your head and roll away during your head bobbing.” she imitates Stone’s typical, pigeon-like neck moves. After a quick half turn, Stone rambles on walking backwards.

“Why don’t we discuss your potato bag dress too… sorry!” he adds mechanically not even glancing at the tall, blonde woman into whom he’s just bumped. She looks familiar but I can’t recall if I have met her and if I have, where...

“Ha, Stone Gossard is trying to give me fashion advice, I like that…”

“Yes, maybe you should set your own house in order at first…” Jeff retorts too.

“…says the guy who sleeps wearing a hat.” Stone keeps torturing our bassist.

“How could he take it off? His brain…” Judy points at Jeff’s forehead.

“Don’t make me turn this car around...” Jeff grunts.

“But where’s Sharon Stone?”

***

I loathe restrooms of public places so much. Small, tight compartments, like this one. Even the lock is broken so I have to hold on to the door handle while I’m balancing over the toilet bowl of questionable tidiness. At least, I don’t have any company; I hate sharing my most intimate body functions and enjoying those of the others at the same time. Awkward sounds and unpleasant smells… I know it’s a natural thing but still… I’m almost ready when I hear the door squeaking and heels tapping on the tiled ground. Unfortunately the owner of the legs picks the compartment next to me… great, one can’t even finish her internal monologue without being bothered. Maybe if I don’t move and breathe, I can stay unnoticed.

“Damn.” I hear my neighbor cursing. “Hey… there’s someone over there, isn’t it?” I hear the voice again from the level of my ankles. Of course, she peaked around under the wall, next time I should crouch down on the top of the toilet. “There’s no toilet paper in this one, could you give me a few sheets? Just put them into my hand, I think I can manage to reach for them at the bottom…

“Sure…” I groan. And now? Should I ask her whether she wants to pee or…? I make a quick calculation and tear off and hand her the estimated needs of an adult woman with healthy digestive system. I can get a glance at hear shoes in the meantime, one could commit a suicide by jumping off them. I decide to sneak out while she’s doing her job (whatever it is) to avoid the usual embarrassing encounter. I’m already washing my hands when the entrance door opens and it is Beth who slams it behind herself with a victorious smile.

“Ha! There you are.”

“So now you’re even following me to the restroom too?” I ask sarcastically.

“It was you who forced me to do it. And neither of us will leave until you finally tell me what happened last night.” she leans her back to the door folding her arms.

“Nothing particular, I don’t know why…”

I forget to finish the sentence since the door of the occupied compartment gets suddenly kicked out and a blonde, tall, beautiful woman basically falls out in front of the sinks.

“Shit, it got stuck, I was already thinking I would die here… Gosh, I hate this dress so much, I’m going to set it on fire in the second my contract’s running out, I swear.” she fixes the tight mini dress she’s wearing. Let’s wait for a second… Is she? Oh my… She is.

“Judy, nothing and nobody can distract me this time, not even Sharon Stone.” Beth stares me with her coldest look.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you, just finish the girl talk.” she remarks cleaning and drying her hands.

“So, are you willing to tell me what happened or should I pull everything word by word out of you?”

“Can I choose the word by word version?” my lips pull into an embarrassed smile but Beth’s reaction is crazier than expected. She turns the key in the lock and walks slowly to the toilet bowl in the closest compartment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be more cooperative?” she flashes a somewhat terrifying grin and swings the key over the toilet.

“You can’t do it, you can’t take us hostage… you can’t take Sharon Stone hostage here. She needs to go back to the set.” I try to make her come around.

“Actually, I don’t feel like going back so I’d stay… if you don’t mind, of course.” the captured sex symbol ruins my argumentation.

“Great. A real girl party.” Beth confirms with a plastic smile. “So, what happened yesterday evening?”

“Yeah, what happened yesterday?” Sharon repeats the question curiously. “Do you mind if I…?” she pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of her tights and since we both shake our head, she lights up.

“She had a date with Jeff.” Beth explains with a meaningful look. “With Jeff Ament.” she adds realizing the name didn’t ring a bell with her. “With Jeff Ament from Pearl Jam.” she narrows it down seeing the still clueless face of our chat partner. “And now it’s time to share the details.” she turns back demanding to me.

“Okay…” I sigh and give them a quick review about the date, trying to stay as objective as possible, avoiding any forms of judgment and not leaving any occasion for speculations.

“And at the end, you chickened out and used the trick.”

“Seriously, Beth, what trick? Mike told me the same and…”

“So you’ve already discussed it with Mike!” she shouts outraged. “Anyway, I’m talking about the herpes trick, of course.”

“What???”

“Pretending to have herpes to avoid being kissed.” Sharon enlightens me making me feel week-minded.

“Who… who would do something like that?” I try to sound innocent.

“Oh, come on, sweetie. The herpes trick is older than herpes itself. It’s a part of the female toolkit.” she goes on taking a deep drag.

“Judy, there’s nothing wrong in acknowledging you got confused and made a desperate decision.” Beth mellows out. “You can talk to me about your insecurities, it’s not a shame. I was too pushy and I’m sorry for that but I really think he’s a great guy and deserves a chance.”

“I know, I just… I’ve known him for... how long? Two weeks? I barely know him! And the thought of him having known me for the same time and wanting to know me better… maybe not only as a friend… it freaks me out. I’m not saying I’m not interested in him at all, it’s just… too fast!” I blurt out finally.

“Okay. You know what? If you’re not sure about your feelings… or expectations… let’s make a checklist! I mean… you start listing the characteristics you like and want to find in a guy and I tell you if Jeff has them. I’ve known him for more than two weeks…”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ve started being interested in that Jeff guy too.” Sharon hops on the sink with a bright smile.

“Jesus… guys are not like shopping lists… but okay, whatever!” I throw my arms in the air. “First of all… he must be reliable. I don’t like good-for-nothings.”

“Checked.” Beth nods satisfied.

“And… he must have a good sense of humor. If he can’t make you laugh or if he makes you explain your jokes, run!”

“Needless to say, but checked!” she confirms enthusiastically.

“The guy I’m looking for is… intelligent…”

“…checked…”

“…smart…”

“…checked…”

“…creative…”

“…checked…”

“…some talent doesn’t hurt either…”

“…some talent checked…” I can’t not notice that her voice gets more and more bored at every answer.

“He must be amusing and kind and funny as well. And interesting and gentle too.” I jabber in one breath.

“Checked, checked, checked, checked, checked… Come on, Judy, how long do you want to go on with this to believe he’s ideal for you?” she huffs impatiently.

“There’s one more thing.” I cut her off. “He… he must be attractive. Physically.” I feel my face reddening as I add the last word.”

“Checked.” she replies without hesitation. “Checked?” she repeats it with a questioning face and due to her reaction, I realize I’m scowling.

“I… I don’t know… I mean… he’s definitely not unattractive… but I’ve never felt that “let’s jump into bed immediately” vibe when being with him…” I try to express my feelings although the only thing I want to do is to mumble something indistinct and escape from this fuckin’ piss-smelling room.

“Now here’s the point!” Sharon exclaims and points at me holding her cigarette between her index and middle finger. “You don’t feel the buzz! Forget him.” she adds in a serious voice.

“The fact you don’t want to take him to bed immediately only means you’re not a slut. If a guy’s personality is likable, you can suddenly realize you’re attracted to him physically too. You should just spend some time with him without any pressure and let things happen.” Beth talks her over ignoring the advice.

“Bullshit! It’s not about having sex on the first date but there must be a spark… even if you don’t notice it immediately. Passion won’t grow out of nothing, trust me. Yes, passion, that’s the key. It isn’t worth a pile of shit if there isn’t any passion between you.” she flails intensely with the cigarette.

“Don’t listen to her, she doesn’t know any of you two.” Beth keeps persuading me and honestly, I don’t know whom I should believe.

“By the way, which one of the guys is Jeff? Is he the lanky one?” Sharon inquires while she’s stubbing the cigarette on the sink and then drops it into the trash bin.

“The tall, athletic one.” Beth helps her out. “The one with the hat.” she rolls her eyes seeing the uncomprehending expression of her.

“Oh. I thought he was the lanky one, with the ponytail.” she mutters disappointed.

“Ugh, Stone?” I groan in disgust.

“Yes, the one that almost hit me in the hallway. I heard you teasing each other, I thought something was going on between you. It looked definitely passion-like.”

“Wait, was that you?” I giggle.

“Yup. Wearing a leather jacket, denim pants and no makeup.”

“I have to tell this to Stone, he’ll freak out. He really appreciates your… ahem… talent… very much. Obviously not much enough to recognize you in “civil” clothes. Anyway, nothing is going on between us, let alone passion. Apart from the fact that we hate each other passionately.”

“Interesting, I could have sworn… But hate is a good start. Better than nothing. Have you ever tried hate sex?” she asks out of the blue.

“Excuse me, what?” I cackle.

“Of course, you haven’t. But you should. It’s hot.” she leans closer confidentially. “It makes things extremely complicated most of the times, but it’s hot. Anyway, what time is it? However much I’ve got fed up with drooling crew members, I should go back, they want to pre-record a few scenes…”

“Shit, it’s late you’re right. Beth, would you…?”

She fishes the key out of her pocket and unlocks the door unwillingly shaking her head.

“I hope you don’t let yourself be influenced by this… this… actress…” she whispers to me while we’re walking back to the studio room following the person in question.

“You mean by having sex with Stone?” I joke but Beth doesn’t seem to appreciate my humor so I go on sincerely. “Why would I? I’ve known her for like ten minutes. And I consider your advice but… you know it’s not as easy as you think, Jeff doesn’t stay away from me for a minute, the “without any pressure” factor depends on him too…”

“I see what I can do, don’t worry.” she smiles mysteriously in front of herself.

“Don’t you dare talk to him, do you want to ruin my life?” I scream-whisper since we’ve arrived to the waiting room in the meantime. The guys are talking standing in a circle apart from Stone who’s fixing his half ponytail with undivided attention in front of the mirror. What a narcissistic asshole.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be the prettiest poodle at the dog exhibition.” I remark casually as I pass him by.

“Do you prefer stray dogs?” he shouts after me in his irritating teenage guy voice. “Anyway, where is Sharon Stone?”

“I’m here and I’m ready for the action.” she answers in the steamiest tone I’ve ever heard and walks along the room with hypnotic hip moves.

“Stone, are you ready too?” I ask grinning ear to ear at my blushing enemy but I can’t enjoy his embarrassment for long since someone leans over my shoulder and sings two words into my ear.

“Hate sex…”

[ifridiot]

Honey, Don’t Feed It

Sometimes you can’t help people, even when they’re the ones you most want to.

Naia meets a young Stryfe. 

Naia is not a babysitter.

Fact of the matter is, Naia doesn’t like kids that much. Didn’t like kids when they were a kid, and now that that tenuous connection to that subset of humanity is gone, they would rather avoid them as much as possible, thank you so much for asking.

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. Naia might suck with babies (they’re too loud and the fact that they cry but can’t explain why they’re crying gives them anxiety) but once kids are old enough to communicate they can handle them pretty well for small doses. Little kids could even be endearing, once they got over their fear of Naia’s extra limbs and intimidating size. Kids usually did better than adults when it came to Spider-man rescuing them; they held on and stared in awe and then they ran back to their parents or to their siblings or to whoever came to collect them.

“I’m not a child.”

It’s teenagers Naia really can’t stand.

“Kid, you’re like twelve, hush.”

Standing between the kid and the cops, Naia has their arms spread in the traditional peacekeeping posture, one set of palms spread toward the boys in blue, one toward the telepathic kid on the edge of murdering a pair of bigots. Honestly, even if the kid wasn’t a kid, Naia knows who’s side they’d be on.

Cops are always wrong, and bigots belonged in the ground, but the issue here was more that it was seven in the morning and the kid is obviously strong enough to kill the assholes he’s got caught in some kind of telekinetic death grip but isn’t. Which means he’s not the bad guy.

Now to get the cops to put their guns down.

The crowd that has gathered around the scene is doing that collective silence thing that always makes Naia a little nervous. There are a lot of witnesses -- and potential victims, if the kid decides to go off. Judging by the fierceness on his face and the creep laying on the cement with blood trickling from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, the kid has a lot of power. Thus far he’s managed to reel it in -- the pavement-creep is breathing like it hurts, and from what Naia has gathered, he deserves it -- but if people start shooting, Naia doesn’t think self-control is going to be the first thing on the kid’s mind.

Ugh, telepaths. Kids and telepaths. This is gonna be the death of them, this exact bullshit. Kids and telepaths, they both want to get inside your head and then get mad when your thoughts aren’t the ones they wanted to hear.

Kid, they project, trying to remember how Mom taught them to do this. Shielding and trying to hold a private conversation is difficult and weirdly exhausting. You promise not to kill anybody and I’ll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe, help you out as best I can. But you gotta put those guys down and come with me.

They wince, almost lose their shields, at the force of emotion -- rage and contempt and a sort of pain threaded through it that Naia is pretty sure they’re not supposed to pick up on -- that is slammed back at them. They insulted me! They deserve to die!

Someone makes a helpless noise of agony, and blood starts gushing from one of the asshole’s nose. The kid has them suspended in air and, as far as Naia can tell, the two humans can’t move at all. Now one of them has a broken nose. That’s pretty fantastic control for a kid.

Dangerous, too.

Kill ‘em and the cops start shooting. You’re gonna have the whole damn city after your ass, even if you can wipe all of us out. Public enemy number one.

Why shouldn’t I? The kid’s telepathic voice is cold, dripping with condescension, but the emotions that twist through the telepathy are laced with uncertainty. The kid is lost, obviously. Naia doesn’t know the whole story, is pretty sure they don’t want to know, but they do feel a sort of vague sympathy for the kid.

Whatever pain he’s working through, being insulted by a group of anti-mutant bigots was probably the least of it. He’s a very powerful kid, but he’s just a kid, one who’s been hurt bad by someone he probably trusted.

Naia sighs.

C’mon, kid. Don’t make me side with cops.

There’s a startled sense of amusement, which is a hopeful sign. A question curls around their brain, wordless, just the impression of consideration and hesitation. It wouldn’t be bad, except Naia can feel the kid peeling at their telepathic shields. He’s damn powerful, but no one’s evidently taught him subtlety.

I am so subtle! The kid snarls, and Naia smiles under their mask. The anger fades a little, replaced by curiosity. You can get me away from here?

“The kid is gonna come with me,” Naia says out loud, keeping a steady gaze on the cops. Unsurprisingly, none of them lower their weapons, but everyone’s hesitant to shoot Spider-man after he’d saved so many people. He was a symbol, and most of the cops knew you couldn’t publicly execute a symbol without good cause. “He’s gonna drop the assholes and we’re gonna go. No shooting necessary. No one dies, you can take the creep on the ground to the hospital, it all works out.”

Put the idiots down, kid. Show of faith, c’mon.

And wonder upon wonders, the kid does. He doesn’t do it gently; he drops them like the sacks of shit they are -- it doesn’t take a telepath to find a Neo-Nazi when the jackasses love to advertise their nationalist bullshit on their clothes -- and in another miracle, the assholes stay down.

Glancing at each other, the cops finally lower their weapons, and Naia nods. “We’re gonna go. Make sure the guy bleeding all over public property gets to the hospital. Or better yet, give him a ticket for littering. Public indecency. Whatever.”

That said, Naia moves quickly to the kid’s side. One of the assholes cranes his head up to glare at them, and he growls, “Fuckin’ muties.” Naia wants to put a boot through his teeth, but before they can move, the asshole screams, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose, altogether too similar to the one unconscious over by the cops. He collapses face first back against the pavement, hopefully just passed out, and Naia feels the prickly tingle of the danger-sense just before the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Naia snarls, and before he can protest, they’ve got their right two arms around him, holding him against their body as they leap up onto the roof of the nearest building. He shouts, and shoves away as soon as they’re both on their feet.

“You can’t do that,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists, glaring.

“What, prevent your dumb ass from getting shot?” Naia snaps back, and it’s gratifying to see his mouth fall open, shocked. “Kid, I had you out of there scot free, and now your fuckin’ face is gonna be up all over the city as a dangerous mutant wanted, consider him armed and dangerous. Half those people down there were filming that. Gonna be all fuckin’ over YouTube now.”

The danger sense prickles again, and they half expect the kid to lash out, but his head twists toward the roof access door, eyes still wide. Naia sighs.

“They’re coming after us. So let’s get the fuck outta here. I can stash you somewhere for a while. Couple hours, ‘til the heat dies down some and you can get out of town tonight.”

“I have business here, I can’t leave!”

Kids. Fuckin’ kids and telepaths, Naia could just about scream. “Rain check your business, dipshit! Now can you use the TK to float or do I need to carry you?”

They’d seen Cable do that a couple times, but he was supposed to be super powerful or something. And he was old, had a lot longer to practice.

Looking back at them, the kid scowls. “I do not need to be carried.”

“Then float. Let’s go.”

Really, with the kind of attitude this kid’s got, Naia half expects him to obstinately stay put, or maybe run off on his own. He seems the sort of kid to refuse help on principle, but he also has that wide-eyed touristy look, and his clipped, formal way of speaking reinforces the idea that he’s not from around here.

As if the metal chest plate and cape thing wasn’t communicating that clearly enough.

He at least stops trying to pry into Naia’s head as they lead him into Brooklyn, leaping from building to building until they get to a quiet, rundown neighborhood. Most of the windows on the building they lead the kid do have been boarded over, and the place sucks to be stuck in during winter, but on a nice September day it shouldn’t be too bad.

“This building is abandoned,” he says, sounding disdainful. “You expect me to stay here?”

They sigh, prying open the plywood-covered maintenance door and holding it for him to go in first. “I know it’s not the Ritz, kid, but I’ve got food and a place to relax instead of being hunted all over the fucking city and getting your ass handed to you by one of the masked guys who don’t have a soft spot for idiot tourist kids.”

He stares again, but only for a second, before glaring and scowling, stalking into the building with a swish of his cape. “I’m not a kid,” he grumbles, and Naia finds it really funny that he thinks that’s the part of their assessment that needs correcting. They drag the door shut and hurry to get in front of him, leading him through the abandoned building to the ground-floor apartment they’d appropriated as a safe house. It was one of the only ones that had a door in the front room that hadn’t been kicked down or taken off its hinges.

“I can’t believe you’re happy your room still has a door,” he says, still scathing in that snotty way kids who grew up with nice things had.

“You should be glad too,” Naia says cheerfully, closing the door carefully behind them. “Means no homeless people have broken in and pissed on the couch again.”

It’s not the nicest safe house they’ve had, but it’s not bad. No electricity, but the broken down couch was comfy and there had been a number of cats locked in the apartment when they’d found it. Most of them and left and never come back when they’d left the windows open for them to roam, but one big tom, old and possessed of a rusty, broken meow, had stayed.

Presently he was curled on the center seat of the couch, sleeping. The kid stood looking at the cat like he wasn’t certain if he should chase it away or leave it alone.

“Cat’s not gonna bite, just take a seat,” Naia says, amused. “Luce is nice, but he doesn’t usually like strangers much.”

This was a lie, but Naia told it to everyone they brought here because it made them happy when Luce wanted to get in their lap or purred for them. And it’s really not a surprise that he perks up when the kid sits next to him, shoved up into the corner of the couch closest to the door. He stares at the cat for a moment longer and then looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“You said there was food.”

Naia snorts softly, moving into the kitchenette. There was a useless (and ancient) fridge, but since there was no electricity it was more a pantry than anything. Somewhere to store stuff they didn’t want Luce (or any other animal who slipped in through the cracked window) to chew into. They pry it open and take stock of what’s available. “Yeah kid, just gimme a sec. You a picky eater?”

“No,” he says, and somehow makes it sound like he’s being gracious by telling them. “And my name is Stryfe.”

“Strife?” Their eyebrows rise under the mask, leaning back from the fridge to look at him. He is staring down at the cat, who is now sniffing carefully at the edge of his cape. “Is that, like, a code name, or…?”

“It’s my name,” he says primly, head held up and jaw set. “It’s spelled with a ‘y’.”

“Ah, okay,” they say, sticking their head back in the fridge. “So your parents just hated you.”

It’s meant playfully, but they can feel the sharp way he stares at them, and it’s like all the breath in the room went out. A raw nerve, and one they just kicked hard. Fuck.

“Uh, sorry, kid, that wasn’t… That was a bad joke, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid starts breathing again, and Naia thinks that’s okay then. They grab a couple ramen packets and a can of chicken and step over the the counter. “So, what’re you in town for?”

His silence is telling, and they can feel him in their head again, pushing at the shields they have up, prying into them, looking for some ulterior motive, some hidden threat. They wish they were better at this telepathic shielding shit, because as it stands, they’re out of practice and it’s exhausting.

“Kid, I want to help. I’m not cooking for you so I can stab you in the back later. You think I’m gonna call the cops on you? I’m Spider-man, me and cops don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

The mental pressure eases somewhat, but doesn’t entirely disappear. For a long moment, he’s quiet, and they think he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, it’s not really their business, and they’ve already had a long night. Then, he says, “I’m from the future.”

Naia tries not to feel exasperation. Time-travel shit is always exhausting. They rarely have to deal with it, but they’ve been dropped into enough parallel universes to know that they’re lucky in that regards. They get pan-dimensional bullshit, let the X-Men and the Avengers deal with the time-travel shit.

“Oh,” they say as tactfully as possible, pouring a couple bottles of water into a pot and setting it on the camp-stove. “So what’s brought you, uh, to the past?”

“I’m cleaning up other people’s mistakes,” he says archly. “That’s as much as you need to know.”

Silence swallows them for a while, Naia focusing on cooking the ramen and draining the chicken and making the meal as palatable as possible. They’re running out of supplies in this place, so they’ll have to stock up soon, but they figure, what the hell, and dump a can of mixed vegetables into the ramen as well. Kid looks like he could use the fuel.

The kid eats with Luce curled up in his lap, eating with that careful sort of control that says he wants to wolf it but feels that sort of display would make him look bad. Measured and obviously relishing every bite. It would be flattering if Naia wasn’t busy trying to think about how much the future must suck if instant ramen with some canned goods tossed in is that good to the kid.

When they do start talking, they don’t talk about much. He seems pleased when they tell him the cape is a nice touch, almost smiling as he sits up a little straighter.

“I find it important to make a visual statement,” he says. Naia raises their water bottle to that, and tactfully doesn’t make any comments about drapery. The kid looks at them where they’re leaning against the wall and frowns to himself, dragging his fork through the broth that remains in his bowl. “Why do you keep the cat here if this is not your home?”

Naia shrugs, pushing away from the wall and coming to take his bowl. “He was here first. I figure if he wanted to go to a different home he would. He didn’t like it when I tried taking him out of here, so I brought him back. I make sure he gets fed and he has his couch. Also possibly he likes to hang out with the ghost of whatever cat-hoarder used to live here. There were a lot of cats when I took this place over.”

“That sounds stupid. Ghosts don’t hang around to watch cats.” They laugh, and he goes on a very serious diatribe about superstition being the crutch of a weak mind. Naia wonders if 4Chan is still big in the future. Kid sounds like he’d fit in real well with those sort of pretentious ‘intellectuals’.

While they wash up the dishes and put everything away, making note that they’re going to need more water here next time they stock up, too, they pull up music on their phone and play it to fill the silence. The kid makes faces, but doesn’t complain.

It’s a little past noon when they try to get the kid to open up again about what he’s trying to do, and he very clearly doesn’t want any part of it.  

“I have the matter in hand,” he says heatedly, arms crossing again, until Luce makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of being pet. He scratches at the cat’s neck, glaring daggers at Naia. “I don’t need help.”

“Well, you sure weren’t doing super hot on your own when I found you.”

He scowls and they soften a little.

“C’mon. You’re new in town, and this is a big place. I’ve been in the city all my life, I know where everything is. I can at least point you in the right direction.”

They have a little staring contest for a moment, and it surprises Naia that he’s the one to look away first. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Fuck, gimme a break. You were talkin’ so smart a minute ago, don’t shove your head back up your ass, c’mon. More hands makes less work.”

He huffs, glaring at them again, mouth pressed in a tight line. “I am on my own to prove a point, I do not need help.”

“Everybody needs help, kid.”

“I’ve told you, my name is Stryfe! I demand you stop calling me kid!”

The mask does little to hide Naia’s grin at that. If the kid weren’t sitting down with a lap full of contented cat, they think he’d have actually stamped his little foot. “How old are you, kid? Thirteen going on three?”

“I am sixteen, I’m not some child.”

Naia gentles again at that, at least a little. It’s all right to tease, but he’s so vehement, it’s clear enough that this is somehow important. Probably something someone’s pushed the kid into thinking. “The future must really suck if sixteen is when you have to start being an adult.”

“The future makes sense.” He proclaims, and Naia doesn’t know whether to laugh or just shake their head. “Once I finish what I came here to do, the future will be perfect.”

Setting their head to one side, they watch him for a minute. He’s focused on Luce, stroking over the soft fur of the cat’s head.

“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to to do,” they offer, tone as gentle as the voice modulator will allow, “I would help you.”

He looks back at them, suspicious but almost hopeful too. “You wouldn’t. And I must do it myself. That’s the whole point.”

“I’ve already been helping you. Why would I stop now?”

“You’re not unknown in the future. You wouldn’t help me.”

It’s hard to argue with an evasive time-traveler, but that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. As much as they want to help the kid, he sounds a little like a baby villain. All brooding secrets and deep hurts, ugly intentions. “You gonna kill someone?”

“I have to.” He says it flat, like it’s the obvious recourse any sixteen-year-old would come to. “He… they ruined everything. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who wrongs you, kid.”

His face screws up, angry, furious even. “Can’t I? That’s what you do, isn’t it? What makes Spider-man’s judgement better than mine?”

He says it like it’s a gotcha, and it’s a little surprising, how hard the words hit. Naia wants to say something about how they’re at least an adult, old enough to throw their life away crusading against actual murderous assholes. Not everyone who upset them, not even everyone who injured them. They’d had experience. This kid was just angry -- justifiably, maybe, but… he needed help. He needed patience, someone to help him unlearn this arrogant shit he used to wrap himself up and shield him from the ways he’d been hurt.

But then he smiles, sharp and cutting, and says, “Or should I just call you Naia?”

The way he pronounces their name, it sounds like a taunt, like the sound of it is something to mock. His expression does nothing to disguise the threat implied in his words.

Really, Naia’s a little sick of it. They’ve been playing nice all day despite the kid’s shitty attitude, and Naia was never a patient, kindly person. They’re not a parent, they’re not a big sibling, they’re not required to put up with this shit.

"Kid,” they say, looking down at him, scowling under the mask as they square their shoulders, “your name is Strife-with-a-Y and you ‘ported back from the oh-so-enlightened future with the manners of a four-year-old and the fashion sense to match, so just because you picked my name out of my brain, don't act like you're superior. You’re angry, and I can respect that, but you’ve done nothing to give me any reason to respect you. Bullies ain’t worth shit."

They expect anger. Yelling, maybe a punch thrown. The kid’s obviously practiced in hurting people with his TK, so maybe something like that.

Instead, the kid looks like Naia punched him. His eyes, normally narrowed and angry, are suddenly wide and open. He looks startled, like he’s grasping for his anger but so completely unused to being spoken to like that that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Naia tries to imagine that, imagine going sixteen years without anyone snapping you back in place when you were out of line, about being that secure in your right to treat anyone and everyone like shit, and finds they can’t quite do it.

“Less than a decade from now, you die a failure,” he hisses after a moment of that stunned shock. The viciousness of his tone is especially taut, the sort of tone used to mask pain with anger. He wants to lash back and hurt them. “You die ugly. Slow. And it doesn’t even matter.”

“Yeah?” Naia snaps back, nowhere near as mild as they’d like to be. “That supposed to make me, what? Stop? I might die as a loser, but I sure as shit don’t live like one.”

In a second, the kid is on his feet, Luce hitting the floor with a noise of feline offense and rushing off to the other end of the safe house. “I should kill you myself,” He says, hands balled into angry fists Naia knows he wouldn’t bother to use. He’d do for them with the TK to keep his hands clean.

“It make you feel better, threatening the only person you had on your side in this era?”

Their head bounces loudly off the wall. They hear something crack and hope to any god listening that it’s the drywall and not their skull. Collapsed on the floor, they have a hard time getting their eyes to focus through the mask, blackness lancing through their vision. They feel more than see Stryfe looming over them, and grin crookedly at him from where they sprawl.

“You’re not worth killing.” He says, savage. “Me killing you would honor you.”

They want to say something. They’re not even sure what; a dozen tones dance through their head, ways to play what just happened out to distinct, impactful ends. There’s a part of them that wants to push the kid to doing it, but they don’t know if he’s really still moral enough to get the satisfaction of his feeling bad about doing it. And thinking that makes them feel weirdly guilty. Guilty for doubting that a kid could be so devoid of humanity, for thinking he might be so far beyond help.

He makes a sharp noise at that, and they can feel it, when he finally withdraws from prying at their mind. His cape snaps at the air when he turns sharply away.

Really, a good hero would shake off the likely-concussion, get up, say something clever and thoughtful that would get him to stick around. They would try to stop him, try to save him.

Naia stays on the floor, eyes closed, and carefully shore up their telepathic shields. It’s easier to make them strong when you’re not focused on other things, like standing.

The kid’s boots click importantly against the tile, and when he shuts the front door behind him, it’s slammed sharply in place.