#alas I never expected this to be a short or easy project

[oatmilk-vampire]

Cannon-compliant, near future early 90s, enemies to friends back to enemies then to lovers angst and smut 11k word steddie fic.

Preview:

“Shouldn’t you usually ask for my license and registration?” Eddie delays, wondering if he’d be able to lure him away from the drugs.

“I already know who you are and that this van belongs to you. Please step out of the vehicle.” He repeats.

Eddie swallows. Unbelievable. He’s been selling for four years now and Steve’s the one to catch him? He wasn’t even in the act! He just re-upped his supply from Reefer Rick, which is even worse because now he has enough drugs for a small army.

Fuck it. He’s going to jail anyway.

His fight or flight kicks in and he’s running the moment his feet hit the dirt, leaving Steve behind to deal with his van full of paraphernalia.

He hasn’t had to run since that time in the Upside Down. He’s never been athletically fit, but he was always used to running from a threat.

Steve, on the other hand, has always been a star athlete.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve doesn’t stay with the van, instead he chases after him and, man, is he fast.

--

Or it's the early 90s and Steve is now a cop, and Eddie is still a drug dealer.

Based on the six stages of grief, all in (nearly) one night.

Or read it down below 👇

1.) Denial

Steve Harrington had gone through some shit in his teenage years. Hell, most of Hawkins went through some shit. High school politics weren’t anything compared to monsters and evil Russians and stopping numerous apocalypses all before you ever reached the legal drinking age.

Trying to figure out what he wanted do with his life shouldn’t have been that hard, but there he was getting the third degree from Daddy Dearest. Steve’s a failure, a letdown, a disgrace, a stain on the Harrington name. He’s heard it all before, but not with such animosity attached. His mother kept quiet, slowly shaking her head to show her disapproval. It should have hurt Steve; their reactions to his decision not to pursue college or take on the family business. But it didn’t.

In fact, it just made it all that much more easier.

Steve was always told he’d go to some Ivy League university in preparation of inheriting the Harrington family business, that is if he didn’t fuck it up before then. His dad’s words, not his.

But unlike Daddy Dearest, he’d seen some shit. He’d saved lives. He’d taken care of children more than he’d ever been taken care of himself. Even though Steve and Eddie were the oldest amongst their peers, they were still kids. Steve realizes that now. Nineteen and twenty are way too young to have to save a bunch of tweens and teens and the rest of town. There’s only one adult male he truly knows stepped in to help. Who did the work and risked his life.

So the decision was easy. He would follow in a different father-figure’s footsteps.

Instead of college and finance, he signs up for the Hawkins training academy.

He’d never been awesome at school, his grades just high enough to not get his ass whooped by his parents. But when he enrolled in the Hawkins training academy to become a officer, well, he excelled.

He had to wait until he was twenty-one, as were the minimum age requirements, so he worked Family Video with Robin for the remaining two years staying vigilant for any possible otherworldly threat, but alas none came and he was getting trained to protect and serve.

When he finally graduates twenty-four weeks later, he knows his place. He’s just a rookie. A baby officer. It feels nice to not have to be a leader anymore.

Another twenty-four weeks later, he graduates to his short sleeved uniform shirts and is finally allowed to ride alone.

He didn’t expect to fit in right away, but he also didn’t expect his fellow officers to bust his balls and haze him. He thought he escaped that life by avoiding college and the fraternities he once dreamed of.

Tomorrow will be the first day he rides alone. Today’s the last chance they have to truly get to him, and laugh the most at him.

“Where are my cuffs?” He throws the toy pair on the desk before him, placing his hands on his hips just after. It doesn’t have the same effect on men decades his senior as it does on the brats he once lovingly babysat.

“Maybe you should keep a better eye on your gear, rookie.” One officer laughs at him.

The other seems to take pity on him, if for only a moment.

“Oh, Harrington, there was a call. If you’re willing to clock back in you should take it.” He says, a genuine look in his eye.

“Yeah? What’s the address? I’ll head over now. What’s the call?” He momentarily forgets his woes, just happy they’re finally accepting him. Offering him his first real job.

Until the second officer throws the replacement cuffs at him, and with Steve’s reflexes he catches them. “You know that night club down by 69th? Yeah, I hear they’re looking for a new stripper.”

Steve feels himself visibly deflate, which only eggs the man on.

“All you’ll ever be is some rich kid pretty boy. You’ll get more use out of those than the real deal.”

A chorus of raucous laughter follows him out.

Steve groans and grumbles once he gets to his cruiser. He wouldn’t let them know how much they’re getting to him. He’s got to rise above and make Hopper proud. Who knows, with hard work he hopes that one day maybe he’ll even be the chief when Hop does decide to retire. Although, he has a feeling it’ll be a long time coming before that happens.

After Eddie recovered from nearly having his flesh ripped from his bones, he was proven innocent. He finally got his diploma and, as expected, didn’t go to college. He also never got around to making it big and leaving the shitty little town he calls home.

Instead he sticks around to continue his own father’s “business”.

Aka, still breaking the law and flying under the radar.

It’s not his fault he never got another chance at an audition in Cali. Record labels just weren’t willing to give him or Hawkins a chance after the shitstorm that hit in ‘86 and the years following.

So when he’s driving alone down a dark side road and he sees red and blue flashing lights, he knows he’s fucked. He’s gonna have to run, and he’ll have a warrant for his arrest because there’s no way he could hide the supply fast enough.

Then he sees Steve. His bad, Officer Harrington.

The moment Steve knocks on his window, Eddie rolls it down and immediately starts his bullshit, flirting and big friendly grins, hoping to distract him from asking if he can search the van. But to his misfortune, Steve rolls his eyes and asks Eddie to step out of the vehicle.

“Shouldn’t you usually ask for my license and registration?” Eddie delays, wondering if he’d be able to lure him away from the drugs.

“I already know who you are and that this van belongs to you. Please step out of the vehicle.” He repeats.

Eddie swallows. Unbelievable. He’s been selling for five years now and Steve’s the one to catch him? He wasn’t even in the act! He just re-upped his supply from Reefer Rick, which is even worse because now he has enough drugs for a small army.

Fuck it. He’s going to jail anyway.

His fight or flight kicks in and he’s running the moment his feet hit the dirt, leaving Steve behind to deal with his van full of paraphernalia.

He hasn’t had to run since that last time in the Upside Down. He’s never been athletically fit, but he was always used to running from a threat.

Steve, on the other hand, has always been a star athlete.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve doesn’t stay with the van, instead he chases after him and, man, is he fast.

Steve catches him almost right away, slamming them both to the ground in a pile of aching joints and soon to be bruised limbs.

Steve gives him enough slack to turn around just so they’re nose to nose while the officer straddles the drug dealer’s lap.

“Well, I see the donuts haven’t hindered you any.” Eddie grins because that’s all he can do to stop himself from crying at how unfair his life is.

Then he’s being pulled roughly to his feet. He waits to feel the telltale coolness of cuffs clamping around his wrists, but he doesn’t. At least, not the cold part.

His heart still hammers in his chest, but then he looks down and sees what Steve put on him.

Furry red cuffs. Meant for the bedroom, not the streets.

“Not a word.” Steve warns as Eddie’s eyes widen.

But Eddie laughs even as he trips over his own feet, mind already working over time with what he’s going to say.

“If you wanted me in cuffs so bad, you could have just asked, big boy. You didn’t have to become a cop to do it.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie stops laughing when he remembers the predicament that led to him being placed in the sex cuffs in the first place. He swallows as they near his still running van.

“You gonna stay right there or do I need to put you in my car?”

“I’ll stay.”

Steve takes his time with the search, careful hands uncovering each of the hiding spots.

At least he didn’t rip it apart like he could have.

“Find everything you’re looking for, officer?” Eddie surmises based on the grim expression of his ex-classmate and former crush.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t find anything.” Steve admits with a sigh, and if his hands weren’t currently full of every drug known to man Eddie imagines he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Then you shouldn’t have checked. You didn’t have a warrant or consent.”

Steve fixes him with a look that tells Eddie he’s stupider than either of them thought. “But I had probable cause the moment you ran.”

Eddie groans. Of course. He always has to run. He always has to ruin everything for himself. He really is a fuckup.

“You realize I have to take you in now, right?”

“Or you could not?” Eddie tries, hearing how pathetic he sounds.

“Eddie.”

“Steve.” He begs, blinks back the way his eyes feel.

Steve sighs, putting the drugs down to scrub a hand down his face.

What is Steve supposed to do? This could be his big chance. His first solo arrest and a big one at that. He’s not even technically working right now! The hazing would have to stop now. He’d finally have respect. Especially because the entire station hates the Munson name and has a betting pool going for who will finally be the one to bring in Eddie for good.

Not that Steve cared about the betting pool, mind you. Although it couldn’t hurt to cushion his pockets more. Especially after his family officially cut him off after his big decision.

“Okay, look. I won’t bring you in right now.” He emphasizes, doesn’t want to give Eddie the impression that he’s letting him go. “But I will be in the morning.”

Eddie’s face falls, then brightens back up. “So, you’re letting me go for now. What’s that, say, ten hours?”

Steve can already see the gears turning in his head, so he’s quick to shake his head. “No. I said I wouldn’t bring you in yet, I didn’t say I was letting you go so you can evade arrest. You really want another charge?

Eddie deflates. “No. So what now? You just gonna keep me in your sex cuffs overnight? That’s really kinky, Steve. I thought you were more vanilla than that.”

Steve’s face burns but he holds his ground, unwilling to let Eddie overwhelm him like he always does when he gives him that look and smile.

“We’ll leave your van here on the side of the road, and you’ll ride home with me.”

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have just asked. Are you gonna braid my hair too?”

“Do you want me to bring you in tonight?”

“No. I’m just trying to lighten the mood, man. Jeez.” He looks over his van as he watches Steve carefully place the drugs back where he found them. “So what, you just leave this van full of evidence here unattended? What happens if someone robs me? Takes the drugs? What then, officer?” Eddie knows the chance of someone happening across his van and stealing from it is slim to none. He goes down this road because no one else does. No one other than Steve, apparently.

“As much as I don’t want these drugs on the streets—” He levels him with a look Wayne himself has given. “—If they’re not in your possession then I can’t necessarily arrest you for any drug charges, now can I?”

Is Steve serious?

It seems highly unprofessional, but he wouldn’t push his luck by pointing that out. Maybe Steve really does want to help him and this is the only way he knows how.

“Why don’t I just drive the van back to your house? You can keep my keys.” He offers.

“So you can sneak out while I sleep and hotwire it? I don’t think so.” He snorts at Eddie’s half-baked plan. Damn, he knows him too well.

“Fine. So we leave it. God forbid anyone take the drugs—at least I don’t let anyone OD on them.” He helpfully points out. “But if someone does, take them, what then?”

“Then we just had a sleepover. We’ve been over this.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at the cop. This is Steve. But is it the same Steve who helped save his life, who helped exonerate him? What a way to come full-circle.

“Okay,” Eddie finally gives in, what other option does he have? “I’m in.”

“Great. Hop in.”

To his surprise, he’s guided to Steve’s passenger seat rather than the back.

“You sure?” Eddie furrows his brows.

Steve raises his own. “Should I not be?”

Eddie stays silent. He would never hurt anyone, especially Steve, unprompted. But Eddie’s also skeptical.

“Are you gonna take these cuffs off?” He finally asks.

“Nope.” Steve smiles at him for the first time in years.

It makes Eddie’s chest ache.

2.) Anger

Steve is obviously being hazed by the other officers

They took his actual cuffs and left him with these because they didn’t expect him to make any actual arrests. It’s not his fault he’s “too pretty” to be a real officer and eventual chief, and that they think he’ll only ever be seen as a stripper cop. Oh but Steve will show them alright. Starting tomorrow when he brings in Hawkins most prevalent drug dealer.

Who also happens to be Steve’s once unrequited crush.

Steve was hoping to give Eddie one last night of freedom, and more selfishly, give him one last night of spending time with Eddie.

He’d only seen Eddie in passing since they both recovered from their injuries, and even less often this past year. Only ever if his T.O. decided to harass Eddie when he really was just minding his own business at the grocery store or gas station.

But now Eddie was here with him, and he was pissed.

Steve thought they’d come to an agreement but Eddie must have changed his mind because now they were having a screaming match in the middle of Steve’s kitchen and this was not how Steve wanted the night to go.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, what do you expect from me? I’m just trying to do my job!” Steve cries.

“I expect you to have my back, Steve! Like you did last time we were in a life or death situation, remember? Or did that Steve die in the Upside Down?” Eddie fires back.

He knows he’s being unnecessarily harsh. After all, Steve is technically the one in the right here given morals and you know, the law but Eddie is essentially a wild animal ensnared and desperate for escape. Excuse him for lashing out.

“Life or death? You want to talk life or death, Eddie? You’re the one who’s contributing to the start of an opioid epidemic! How would you feel if someone gets hooked so bad they OD or end up homeless?” Steve’s words pummel Eddie, agitating him more as he defends himself.

“I already told you I don’t let anyone OD!”

“How can you be so sure? Anything can happen, Eddie! This is stupid, this is irresponsible.”

Eddie gets in Steve’s face, and he imagines he’d be a whole lot more intimidating if it wasn’t for Steve’s stupid sex cuffs he’s still wearing. “And leaving a van full of drugs on the street where anyone can get them isn’t? Grow up, Steve. Why do you really have me here?”

Steve cowers back at that, suddenly turning away from Eddie but not before he catches sight of the tears welling in his eyes.

“Aw, come on, Steve.” Eddie tries, feeling his own eyes grow warm with tears. He’s already going to jail, he doesn’t need to feel bad about telling Steve how it is on top of everything else.

Steve doesn’t face him, doesn’t respond.

How could he? How could he explain that he’s alone? That all of the kids have grown and scattered across the country in pursuit of their own college adventures. That Nance is some bigshot reporter in Los Angeles. That Rob is traveling the world. She had wanted Steve to come with her, but when he decided to pursue law enforcement right here in Hawkins, she reached out to someone else. Who would have known Tammy Thompson’s singing voice would be so popular in different countries?

Steve’s happy for them. So fucking happy.

So maybe that’s why he’s so angry he could cry. Because the only person he has left isn’t his, won’t ever be his, especially now that Steve has specifically chosen a career that’s put him on the opposite side of the law than Eddie. It’s the one time since this entire journey of his that he’s truly regretted his decision to become an officer.

3.) Bargaining

“Remember when we saved the world?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, staring deep into Steve’s as he tries to make his case. “You didn’t give up on me then. We worked pretty well together! Why do you have to give up on me now?”

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s more difficult than that, Eddie. I haven’t given up on you. I just have to do this. It’s my job.”

“And selling is my job! I’m not hurting anyone.” Eddie cowers when Steve fixes him with a look.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so overzealous about contributing to the decline of humanity.

“I mean,” he continues, “it’s not like I like my job. It’s just the only one I can do. No one will hire me.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips and Eddie expects him to be chastised for something, but instead Steve only says—

“Your birthday’s coming up. Let me make you a cake. What flavor you want?”

Eddie blinks. Did he hear him correctly? Maybe he got a concussion from when Steve knocked him to the ground earlier. “Officer Harrington, offering to make me a cake? Are you gonna give me a show too?”

“Show? What—” Realization dawns on his face as he takes in Eddie’s cackle. “I’m not a stripper! Fuck you.”

“You wish.” Eddie snorts.

They’re left staring at each other uncomfortably long before Eddie sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Angel food. Out of character, right? I know.”

“I like devil’s food.”

“Really? Devil’s food? Huh.”

Steve nods. “I used to love red velvet.”

“Used to?”

“Can’t anymore. Maybe if I eat it already made, but I can’t deal with the mix anymore.”

Steve doesn’t explain, instead just leaving Eddie to sit there. He doesn’t know much about baking but he thinks he can take a wild guess.

“Blood. It looks like blood, doesn’t it?”

Steve nods, keeps his eyes trained down. Searching his hands for something that used to be there. “Especially the mixer. When it slings the mix around the sides of the bowl? It’s kind of funny how much it looks like blood.”

“Steve.”

“I try not to let it bother me. But it really shaped me, y’know? You don’t realize the things that’ll end up scarring you. I mean, shit, I gave up a stable and well-paying career where I don’t have to do anything more than sit at my desk and yell at some poor person.” He huffs, runs a hand down his face. “Instead I chose a job where I literally run into danger because apparently I didn’t get enough of that knocked into my head with each concussion.”

“You did it because you want to save people, Steve. It’s who you are.” Eddie briefly worries maybe Steve did choose the wrong career. A career that could put his life in danger, or traumatize him further. What if some bloodbath happens and Steve can’t handle it? Stranger things have happened in Hawkins. “Plus you don’t want to yell at some poor person.” He dips his chin, a grin spreading across his face. “You could always quit while you’re ahead, take your cushy office job. I’ll give up my…extracurricular activities and be the assistant you yell at all the time. I’ll know you don’t mean it.” He bargains, tone saccharine and joking but he couldn’t be more serious.

Steve tilts his head, seems to consider it. “While your rap sheet isn’t that long or bad, you still probably wouldn’t get hired.”

Eddie’s smile falls. “Ouch. You wouldn’t hire me?”

“I don’t know if I’d have that kind of power. Plus, I’d have to go get my degree before I could even think about begging my father for the position.”

Eddie frowns. Even if he didn’t want Steve to be an officer of the law, he didn’t want him to waste away in four more years of school only to have to defeat the final boss that is Mr. Harrington himself.

“What if I told you I can turn in some powerful names?” Eddie switches gears. If Steve’s meant to be the do-gooder officer, then he can at least be a do-gooder drug dealer.

Steve narrows his eyes in intrigue, “Like who?”

“Like Kline?” Eddie offers up, voice high.

Steve rolls his eyes. “He’s not the mayor anymore.”

“But he still buys! More so now that he’s hit rock bottom.” When Steve doesn’t respond Eddie sighs. “Okay, how about Principal Higgins? You can’t tell me Hawkins PD wants our youth going to school under that.” He hopes this works. “I can get you all of the important people, the ones who influence today’s youth.” Eddie doesn’t know of much, but maybe he can find out more from Reefer Rick.

Steve’s expression changes. Bingo. “How long has Higgins been buying? Does he use on school property?”

“I’ve personally known since ‘84. Keeps little blue bottles right there in his desk drawer.”

“And they’re not prescription?”

“Unless Reefer Rick got a medical degree and didn’t tell me—”

Steve nods. “Okay, I can work with that. But, Eddie, he’ll just flip on you. Higgins. Rick. Anyone will. They’d get the deal. The disgraced former mayor and Higgins are small fish. Typically we want the big one.”

“You think I’m the big one? I’m flattered, really.” Eddie puts his hand to his chest and flutters his lashes. “Okay, how about Charlie Greene? He’s one of the biggest drug kingpins in Oregon. Weed, coke, heroin, speed, K—if he can’t grow it or cook it himself he imports it.”

This catches Steve’s attention. “Tell me more.”

“He’s got a whole fleet of produce trucks he uses to transport. Farris Farms. Last I saw, there were kilos and kilos of pot wrapped up to look like carrots. I do know of at least two of the guys by name. CJ and Toby.”

Steve visibly brightens, looks a good ten years younger. He pulls out his little pocket notebook and pen. “Last names?”

Eddie winces, “Sorry, I don’t know everything. Didn’t think to ask while I was doing something I shouldn’t have.”

Steve frowns, and Eddie feels like a kicked puppy. Or like he’s the one who kicked the puppy. “Uh huh. And how do you have that connection?”

“Because Al Munson tricked me into stealing their supply to pay them back for something he also stole from them.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. Believe it or not that was the first time I’d had guns pointed at me. It was also the first time I got arrested, but I hadn’t actually been arrested for anything they could keep me on. I tried to stop a cop from bleeding out and he vouched for me after he was out of surgery. That’s just about the only time a good deed worked out for me.”

Steve worries his lip just long enough for Eddie to worry it would bleed.

Steve puts his notebook and pen back away in his little uniform pocket, a blue uniform that looks pretty damn good on him. “I’m making you that cake.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Mm hmm. Come on, you can come sit in the kitchen with me.”

After he’s settled in and watching Steve collect the necessary ingredients he speaks, “You saved my life, Steve. I never forgot that. Felt like maybe you did.” Eddie clears his throat, wishes it didn’t sound so hoarse.

Steve barely glances at him before finishing measuring out some sugar. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About that night. How close you came to being another body caught in the crossfire.” Steve shudders. “I’m just happy we’re having this conversation.”

“You’re happy you have me in your sex cuffs in your kitchen while you bake me a cake? You’re into some weird stuff, man.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, asshole.” But Steve smiles anyway.

Despite the distance between them these last few years, their playful back and forth banter is organic. Eddie appreciates that.

By the time Steve’s caught him up on all the hazing he’s suffered, Eddie’s laughing so hard he barely feels like any time has passed at all.

By the time the cake is out and cooling on a wire rack, Eddie is so taken by the fact that Steve actually seems to want to know about him, that he’s actually interested in him and his life, that Eddie might just find himself on his knees between Steve’s legs—if Steve wasn’t already in that exact position for Eddie.

“I should have known this is what gets you going,” Eddie pants as Steve takes more of him into his mouth, making up the difference with one hand while using his other to explore the expanse of Eddie’s tummy, his thighs, before finally caressing his balls. “I will let you arrest me anytime, big boy.” Eddie promises with a gasp.

Steve can feel Eddie trying not to buck up into his mouth, resisting the temptation to choke him with his cock as Steve moans his appreciation around him. Steve can’t blame him—he’s been teasing him nonstop since he managed to get his hands around Eddie’s handcuff belt buckle, being too gentle, too light, too fleeting when he knows Eddie wants more. Knows they both want more. It’s just serving to amp Eddie up; Steve hopes it’s enough to make up for how this will all end between them.

Steve pulls back to lick around the head of Eddie’s cock, not hiding any of the vulgar, wet noises that come along with it. He looks up at Eddie, who has thrown his head back. Steve moans around the head, speeding up his hand on the base of the shaft.

He pulls off with a lewd pop, forcing Eddie to keep his eyes trained down on him.

Steve thinks Eddie is a vision, he’s certain of it actually. With his hair drooping messily in front of his face, lips parted and a flush high on his cheeks, Steve would do nearly anything for him. Especially with his pale and tattooed chest dusted with an evident blush.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before slowly pumping Eddie again. “I don’t want to argue with you,” he says, “and I want you to take what you want.”

He takes Eddie’s hands from where they clench at his own bare thighs and pulls them to rest in his hair. When he can feel Eddie’s grip tensing in his hairspray-stiff waves, Steve puts his mouth back on him, taking him down as far as he can, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like his life depends on it.

Eddie holds him in place for a moment before letting Steve pull back and bob back forward in a quick rhythm.

They can both feel the saliva pooling in Steve’s mouth as he tries to take Eddie deeper and deeper with every pull, swallowing when he can feel Eddie closing in on, and eventually, hitting the back of his throat. He can feel the hands in his hair tightening to the point where he worries Eddie may be causing irreparable damage to his roots. It hurts—but it’s a dull ache, and a welcome one. This is what he wanted.

Steve chances another look up at Eddie with his cock as far down his throat as he can take it without needing to pull off, and he can see Eddie’s eyes trained on his—half-lidded, clouded with pleasure. He’s biting his bottom lip, in effort to not make noise, perhaps? No, that just won’t do, Steve thinks, as he swallows Eddie again, moaning around the hot, thick weight on his tongue.

He’s blessed with a string of sharp expletives from Eddie’s mouth, which would make Steve smile if his mouth wasn’t so full.

He swallows again. At this, he can feel Eddie fight back his climax as he holds on to Steve’s hair as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and finally forces him down to take the rest of him down Steve’s throat.

Steve can feel Eddie come as he’s held there, unable to move or breathe. He could die like this, Steve thinks, and he’d probably be fine with it. It would make for a hell of a story, anyway.

Steve Harrington died doing what he loves: Eddie Munson.

When Eddie finally releases his hold on Steve’s hair, Steve pulls back quickly with a gasp, chest heaving as he catches his breath, but Eddie is already clumsily trying to use his limited range to haul him up for a hungry kiss. The kiss is wet as Eddie seems to be chasing the taste of himself in Steve’s mouth—as if there was anything there to taste with how far he came down his throat.

Steve feels like putty in Eddie’s hands; he doesn’t resist at all when Eddie flips their positions so that Steve’s the one sitting in the kitchen chair, and in another swift movement, twisted again so that his back is flush to Eddie’s front, his front pressed nearly in half against the table.

Eddie attempts to pin him there as he uses both hands to fumble with Steve’s zipper, pulling his jeans down just enough to expose his ass to the cool air.

He withdraws his hands and Steve can hear him spit into his hands before reaching around to grip Steve’s painfully hard cock in his fists.

The position is beyond awkward, with Eddie still being cuffed, but he’s nothing if not determined.

“Next time,” Eddie says, draping his body over Steve’s, looming over him like a warm shadow. He releases his grip in favor to dip a few fingers between the cleft of Steve’s ass, just feeling. “I’m going to fuck you, just like this. Bend you over the table next time you try to convince me you’re not the greatest man to ever live.

Steve groans—he can’t do much of anything else between the sensations around him; Eddie feels too good. Between barely touching him and his threatening promises, Steve is ready to come when Eddie wraps his hands around him once more, jerking him under the table with perfect rhythm. As soon as Eddie dips a finger to tease his small hole on the tip of his cock, that’s all he can handle: he comes hard, shooting across the tiled floor of his kitchen with Eddie’s name on his lips.

He shudders as Eddie pulls him up again, and he’s expecting a rough kiss—but instead, he just gets tenderness. Eddie kisses him sweetly, chastely, even tries his hardest to hold Steve to him, wanting nothing more than a warm embrace. Steve thinks maybe he could and should take off the sex cuffs.

Of all that they’ve just done together, this is what takes Steve’s breath away the most.

4.) Depression

Looking at Steve, Eddie becomes excruciatingly aware of the distance between them.

Steve had apparently retreated into himself. Losing whatever intimate atmosphere that surrounded them right after handing Eddie a glass of water.

In fact, there was so much distance between them that Steve is currently leaning against the opposite kitchen wall, as far from Eddie as possible. He tried not to let it bother him, but Eddie has never been God’s strongest soldier.

After staring at Steve’s profile for too long to count, Eddie speaks, tired of Steve avoiding his eyes.

“Hey, you know—I didn’t even get to properly hug you or anything, man. I mean, I haven’t seen you in forever and we didn’t even, I don’t know, commemorate it or something like that.” Eddie says with furrowed brows.

He sets the empty glass down on the table he held Steve against just minutes ago. “Steve?” Eddie takes a hesitant step forward.

“I…I kinda don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Eds.” Steve finally says, looking away from his floor and up at Eddie with an uncomfortable look in his eyes.

“What?” Eddie scoffs, a little too loud and a little too snappy considering the feelings swirling around inside of him. Maybe that’s exactly why he’s so loud and snappy. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Steve raises his brows, like he’s surprised Eddie isn’t happy with his opinion. “Whoa, you don’t have to be like that, you know. You know exactly why we shouldn’t. I mean I’m happy to see you again, don’t get me wrong, but these circumstances are horrible—” He holds a hand up to stop Eddie from speaking. “—and I’m well aware that it’s my own fault we’re in this situation. I either should have let you go or arrested you immediately, not… complicate things.”

Steve looks away from him again, no need to observe it when he can feel Eddie still staring holes into him.

He knows that if he looks up, he’ll see the hurt in his eyes, the hurt he can hear in his voice.

“You seriously don’t even wanna hug me? Not even a ‘hey, nice to see you, bro’ and a pat on the shoulder? Even after—I can’t believe you right now,” Eddie is really raising his voice now, “I have my dick down your throat, my hand around yours, it’s fine—but somehow hugging me is crossing a line?”

Eddie would basically be screaming right now if his voice wasn’t so choked up and full of suppressed feelings.

“Eddie—” Steve starts softly, but Eddie’s sudden outburst of anger takes him by surprise.

“No! Don’t even start with this crap, with you’re excuses and your, ‘Eddie, be reasonable about this,’ I fucking can’t take it, not from you. I don’t see you, properly see you, in years, I want a fucking hug, or just…something, anything, Steve!”

Steve hadn’t dared to look up during Eddie’s cry.

He didn’t want to hurt him. Why didn’t Eddie just understand that Steve couldn’t give him what he wanted, what he needed so desperately himself? He would make things worse. He just knows it. He already has.

When Eddie stops talking and the silence becomes unbearable, Steve finally looks up.

Eddie hadn’t moved, his back still to the counter, his knuckles white from clutching the surface.

Steve looks up at his face and sees tear tracks down Eddie’s cheek, head down, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

Immediately, Steve steps forward, closing the remaining distance between them and raises a hand towards Eddie’s red and dampened cheek, brushing a stray tear off with his thumb just in time before Eddie’s cuffed hand reaches his face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Eddie.” Against his better judgment, Steve closes his arms around him, pulling him close.

He feels Eddie’s chin wobble in the dent of his shoulder.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you. I really didn’t.” Steve starts, but Eddie cuts him off, pulling away to create enough space between them to look Steve in the eye.

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Eddie drifts off.

It’s not fine. Nothing about this night is fine. The first time he’s ever been able to be intimate with Steve, able to show some hint of how he really feels about him, and the memory will forever be tarnished by how this night will end. Of course it hadn’t began so good either.

Eddie spent the last hours of daylight scrubbing his uncle’s headstone clean from red graffiti which read awful and completely untrue things about him. Wayne was never a bad man; but the Munson name carries a reputation. After that, Eddie made the split-decision to pick up more than usual from Rick, not wanting to see him again until next week instead of their every-other-night dealings. Then flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, and Steve in a blue uniform.

This night has been horrible. Steve was just about the only good thing about it.

Eddie might as well enjoy the time he has left.

5.) Acceptance

Eddie’s heart aches for reasons that are probably more psychological than physical, especially when Steve takes Eddie’s face into his hands, soothingly running his right thumb up and down his cheek. This time, however, Eddie gives into the touch.

He moves his head just enough for the next caring stroke to brush over his lower lip instead of Eddie’s cheek like Steve had intended.

Steve pauses, as if unsure what to do, but Eddie’s made his decision.

He kisses the tip of Steve’s thumb.

When Steve doesn’t react, Eddie takes it a step further, parting his lips to wrap around his fingertip.

Steve can feel the warmth and wetness of Eddie’s mouth on his skin; can feel arousal stir in his gut once more. He presses his thumb into Eddie’s mouth, watches the way Eddie sucks on the digit before his eyes fixate onto Eddie’s.

Once Eddie gets a good taste of his skin, he releases Steve’s thumb with a soft plop, only audible because the kitchen is so deadly quiet.

Steve looks startled for a second, as if waking from a dream he didn’t even realize he was having.

Eddie’s mind fills with dark thoughts and a further spiraling mood.

“Sorry man, that was really weird, sorry.” He hastily spits out, taking a step back out of whatever pocket dimension they’ve found themselves trapped in.

Before he realizes it, tears start spilling from his eyes again. God, what was wrong with him? He’s been through much worse than getting rejected by some guy.

Steve watched him closely, letting Eddie keep his small distance until the tears start back up. Now he steps forward, slowly nearing Eddie as he would a dangerous animal, prepared to be torn to shreds for his next move.

He cups Eddie’s chin and tilts it upwards until their eyes meet. “Please stop crying.”

Eddie isn’t sure if he can do that… But he can do this.

With a only a second of reaction time and a small moan he’ll deny until his dying breath, Eddie meets Steve’s lips in a desperate, wet kiss. One Steve instantly returns.

Their kiss, only their second kiss, increases in neediness and lust so fast that Eddie can’t hold back the noticeably louder moans that make Steve kiss him even harder.

Steve is sure that his heart will burst and his lungs will collapse but he just can’t let go of Eddie, can’t let this opportunity get away. He loves him.

He’s basically shoving Eddie against the counter now, rubbing his hips against the gasping and moaning mess of a man.

When the sharp pain in Eddie’s lower back from where the edge of the counter presses into him increases to unbearable amounts, he finally pulls off for air and looks into Steve’s wide, familiar eyes. He knows his own must be reflecting that look of want.

But instead of pushing Eddie away again or taking his pants off, Steve pulls Eddie close and holds him tight; like he’ll lose him if he lets go. In a way, he will and they both know that.

Eddie inhales the familiar scent of Steve’s shirt. He never got to see what brand of cologne Steve uses, but Eddie knows it’s the same one he wore back in ‘86; he’d wager it’s probably Calvin Klein’s Obsession for men.

Steve presses a kiss on Eddie’s forehead, over his messy and probably sweaty bangs but it doesn’t seem to bother him any because he starts kissing a line along Eddie’s neck, jaw and cheek until their foreheads are pressed together and his hands are back to cupping Eddie’s face.

“Bedroom?” Eddie asks, breathless.

“Yeah, lets do that.”

With that, Eddie takes Steve’s offered hand, still wearing the stupid sex cuffs so it’s a bit awkward as Steve drags him through the kitchen door and through the short hallway to his bedroom.

Once within a reasonable distance from Steve’s bed, Eddie is suddenly pushed onto the mattress.

It’s not that he’s particularly scared of being pushed, especially by Steve, but with his hands bound and unable to catch himself it startles him. Before he can voice his disapproval, Steve is crawling on top of him, his strong arms holding Eddie down as he covers his lips in needy kisses—as if Eddie even needed to be held down.

When Steve rocks his hips against Eddie in a desperate attempt to satisfy his already hardened dick, Eddie suddenly stops all movements as he uses both hands to push against Steve’s chest.

When Steve sees the unsure look on his face and feels the pressure on his chest, he distances himself. “Oh, shit, did you not want to—”

“No, um, it’s just… Well, what’s the game plan here, Harrington? I mean, are w—are you gonna fuck me?” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, adding a hasty—“Because I’d really like that.”

“Oh, yeah, Eds. I would really like that too.” Steve smiles before adding on—“But I look forward to you bending me over my own kitchen table some time.”

Eddie nods, wide-eyed. He can’t believe this is actually happening. Wayne is probably rolling over in his grave right now. Not because he’s against this way of life, despite being Catholic, but because he’d clocked Eddie’s crush years ago and Eddie had vehemently denied it to the point of blaring his music at an even more disrespectful volume than usual. He supposes he owes him an apology now.

Maybe Steve will take him to the cemetery to say it, and goodbye.

“But… Neither of us have done this before…right?” Eddie questions, wondering if instinct and common sense will just take over.

Steve bites his bottom lip, genuine concern in his eyes as he considers how exactly they’re meant to have sex. “Right, but I think if we go slow it’ll be okay. But only if you want it, though.”

“No, yeah, I trust you.” Eddie confirms with a nod.

“Okay. If you change your mind, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m already inside?”

Eddie would roll his eyes if it wasn’t for knowing Steve is just trying to be a good person. “Yes, Steve.”

“Even if we’ve been doing it for a little bit and it could almost be done but you change your mind—”

“Yes, Steve, I understand! Just fuck me already!” Eddie exclaims, just about ready to get himself off when Steve kisses him so dirty that Eddie can’t help but moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could be like this.” Eddie admits, always envisioning Steve to be a missionary and vanilla man. A straight man too.

“Yeah, well, you’re in for a treat, baby.”

Before Eddie can make a smug remark, Steve starts to kiss his way down to Eddie’s neck as he uses his left hand to explore under his shirt and circle the only nipple Eddie has left, which forces a surprised moan out of him. He had lost quite a bit of sensitivity after the demobats damaged the nerves under his skin, but there’s something about Steve’s touch that lights a fire beneath his skin.

Steve sucks a mark into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie hopes it will be visible for days after even if it might put him on his cellmate’s radar. Eddie’s no bitch, but he also knows sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to to survive.

Steve slides his other hand under Eddie’s shirt, pulling it up and forcing them to break their contact in order to slip the shirt over Eddie’s head.

“Steve, can you please take off your damn sex cuffs? I mean, they’re great and all but—” he shakes his hands to show how the shirt had gotten tangled.

“Shit, yeah. Hold on…” Steve fumbles in his pants pocket before retrieving a little key, finally freeing Eddie’s wrists.

Eddie immediately rubs at them. They’re not exactly sore, but they are clammy and tender.

“You okay?” Steve asks, reaching for Eddie’s hands as he looks over them with a careful eye.

“They’re fine. Please just get me out of these jeans.” He begs, wiggling his hips.

Steve smirks and goes directly back to Eddie’s body, giving one particularly harsh bite on the lone nipple. He laughs when Eddie’s hips buck up and his hands bury themselves in Steve’s hair.

Steve’s desire to get Eddie naked is much stronger than teasing Eddie any longer, so he follows the request gladly and unbuckles Eddie’s belt, gently pulling the tight jeans down. After a hesitant look up to Eddie, who nods slightly, he pulls his boxers down too before discarding both onto the floor.

“Fuck.” Steve says breathlessly as he takes in Eddie’s completely nude body, his own arousal heightened as he gets to see Eddie in a way he’d never gotten to before.

He wastes no time in pulling off his uniform, which he both thanks and curses for Eddie being beneath him at this moment.

When he’s naked, Eddie just stares. Eyes wide, mouth agape. He hadn’t gotten a good view earlier, but now he gets to see… Well, he gets to see that Steve has once again been unfairly blessed with literally everything. He regrets never trying to be on any sports team that would warrant him to have to change and shower in the locker room with Steve.

But Eddie doesn’t have a whole lot of time to admire the muscles, the face, the beautifully curved dick and everything else that will forever accompany his dreams, though, because Steve fixes him with a smug smirk before speaking.

“Like what you see, Munson?” Before giving the still speechless Eddie another sloppy kiss.

When Steve pulls away for breath Eddie laughs, “I never thought I’d see the day where you take off my pants.”

“Really?” Steve grins, “I always kind of knew it was gonna happen. Or at least I had very strong hopes.”

“Fuck me!” Eddie exclaims, the new emotion of annoyance making itself known within him thanks to the knowledge that he and Steve could have done this so many years ago if only he wasn’t such a judging idiot.

They’d probably be having sex in their own apartment right now instead of this hookup before Steve takes him to jail, if only Eddie had pursued him sooner—or at all.

Before he can get too deep in his head, he carefully puts his hand around Steve’s dick.

He moves his hand down to the base and Steve notices he’s looking at the tip of his dick, where a little precome had gathered.

Pausing his movements, Eddie looks up at Steve with an almost hopeful look in his eyes. “Can I blow you?

A blush crosses Steve’s face, any cockiness long gone by Eddie’s words. “Yeah, sure.” Then he changes positions with Eddie so that his back is against his headboard, and Eddie is straddling Steve’s legs as he swallows him down with no hesitation.

Eddie gives it his all, like Steve expected he would, like Steve himself had done.

Steve watches Eddie through half-lidded eyes, in too much pleasure to stare with widened eyes but not wanting to miss a second as he watches Eddie.

Eddie’s confidence is only boosted by the look on Steve’s face, and the many noises Steve makes as he continuously takes more of Steve’s enormous cock into his mouth.

He wastes no time, pushing down as deep as he can go, moving up again and simultaneously cupping Steve’s balls with his left hand.

Steve’s half-closed eyes now shut completely as he thumps his head back against the wall with animalistic groan that would have made Eddie worry if he wasn’t so fucking turned on.

“Fuck, Eds, oh God, why are you so good at his?” Steve asks with his hand in Eddie’s hair, who slurps at and sucks Steve’s dick as if his life depended on it; in a way, Eddie thinks it might.

“Oh God, you need to stop though, Eds, if we want this to go any further, you really have to not make me come right now.” Steve urges, tugging at Eddie’s hair.

With a pop, Eddie pulls off and immediately crawls up to Steve, letting him taste his own dick in a dirty kiss.

Eddie’s own cock was aching to be touched now as he turns to lie down on the empty side of the bed to give Steve the opportunity to take care of him now; and Steve intended to.

He kisses Eddies belly, touching every inch of skin he can find, before startling Eddie into a moan with a wide lick across his balls.

While moving onto Eddie’s dick and taking the tip into his mouth, Steve fumbles around for his nightstand drawer, opening and closing it.

He sucks Eddie hard, before pulling away altogether to get a good look at his flushed face.

Steve looks at the condom he has in hand before meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Have you had something inside you before?”

“Yeah… Nothing compared to what you’re carrying but I’ve experimented here and there. Never had an actual dick up there, though.”

Steve nods, thinks to himself before reaching for his bottle of lotion, grateful it’s the unscented kind. “Okay, I’m gonna start slow. Tell me when to stop.”

Eddie nods, not pointing out Steve said when and not if.

Steve grabs one of the pillows Eddie isn’t lying on and helps Eddie to tuck it under his hips before lifting his legs up for easier access.

There’s something about the way Eddie looks at him, so trusting and open for him. It feels so intimate to Steve that he almost can’t stand it.

Steve tries to warm the lotion in hand, but Eddie still flinches when he slowly inserts one finger and it slips it in oh so easily, pushing past the rim and into Eddie’s warm body.

“More.” Eddie requests before Steve had even started moving.

Steve complies as he carefully pushes a second one in, feeling Eddie tighten. He studies his face carefully for any sign of discomfort or regret before he starts moving his fingers in a gentle but steady pace.

“We’re gonna need a third one.” Eddie says through a particularly loud moan as Steve thrusts his two fingers deep and hard into a spot that Eddie has only ever felt on his own self-fulfilled adventures.

So after a bit more lotion, Steve does push a third one in and Eddie melts under his touch.

Steve’s fingers were perfect for this, Eddie thinks as he floats away, not able to stop smiling even while Steve pounds his fingers into him. If this is how could three fingers can make him feel, he can not wait for the real thing.

“Steve, I’m ready.” He moans desperately.

Relieved, Steve smiles at Eddie as he pulls his cramping hand free to put on the condom. He isn’t even worried that Eddie has anything, he just hopes the lubrication it has with it will help Eddie with the stretch.

He looks at Eddie’s expectant face, his beautiful body and positions his throbbing cock at Eddie’s hole. With a deep groan, Steve slowly slides his aching cock into Eddies tight, hot ass.

Eddie screams out, though it ends on a keening mewl. With the stretch of his asshole, what feels like fire igniting throughout him, he can already tell he’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Fuck.” Eddie whispers, tears already threatening to spill down his face.

“Fuck.” Steve echoes him, his voice hoarse like he’d been the one who was screaming.

Steve slows himself once fully sheathed, doesn’t move a single inch. He runs a soothing hand over Eddie’s tummy. “You okay?”

Eddie blinks back his tears and nods his head. “‘M good, Steve, don’t stop, fuck. I’m good, I want—I want it. Want you.”

When Steve looks like he’s having doubts, Eddie closes his eyes. “Just don’t pull out, please.” He mumbles.

“You sure, sweetheart? I can get something else. Vaseline maybe—”

“No,” Eddie squeaks. Pushes back onto Steve. “Feels good, the pain.” He reaches up, fingers grazing the tanned muscles of Steve’s arm, over his chest and through the hair that rests there. He looks even hairier than the time on Lover’s Lake when he nearly drowned just before getting mauled by demobats. They survived for a reason, he concludes.

Eddie smiles. At Steve, to himself. “Want it hard,” he confesses breathily.

The tenderness of Steve’s hazel eyes makes him feel safe. Wanted. Makes him never want to be out of Steve’s sight, be without his attention.

Steve brings his own hand down to Eddie’s waist, squeezes him gently before snapping his hips roughly, suddenly, drawing those keening noises out from Eddie’s lips once more.

He pushes Eddie’s legs to his chest and holds them there, pulling out just to push into the deeper angle a second later, making Eddie let out a punched out noise as Steve hits his prostate head on.

Pleased with the reaction, Steve pulls out again and pushes back in, harder this time and as deep as he could go, watching Eddie’s face the whole time.

He isn’t disappointed. The little show Eddie seems to be subconsciously putting on only gets better with each thrust. His mouth opens in a gasp at each intrusion and his head settles further into the pillow beneath it.

With hands clenching the sheets, he whispers. “Yeah, just like that, Steve.”

“Oh, you like that?“ Steve teases even as he sweats more than he did when he was finding out if he passed the single most important exam of his life. “You want me to fuck you really hard tonight?”

Not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, he begins really fucking into Eddie now, pounding him into the mattress. He goes so hard, he worries it’ll be too much for Eddie, or for him.

But judging by the the sounds Eddie is making, he’s enjoying himself; if a little overwhelmed, crying out every time Steve buries his thick cock in him. Despite the tears streaming down his face, the wild grin on his face and painful looking erection shows Steve exactly how much he loves it.

When Steve changes the angle, spreading his legs a little, Eddie honest to God thinks he’s about to die. Die from being fucked by this incredible man. A cop, his brain reminds him. He supposes this is what they meant when they say “fuck the police”.

The mixture of pleasure and pain begins to be too much for him, and he knows an orgasm will be punched out of him very soon.

Steve seems to knows this too.

A deep sob escapes Eddie’s mouth when Steve thrusts into him particularly hard.

“Shhh, come on, Eds, I know you want to come with me inside you so deep. Because you’re so full right now, baby, and I can feel you clenching around me. So fucking tight. Do you like it like that, your dick untouched and me pushing into you while you moan so desperately? Come for me, baby. I missed you so much, Eds.”

And with that, Eddie utters a surprised sound as he comes all over their chests, making a bigger mess with each increasingly desperate thrust from Steve.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Eddie can feel Steve shaking and with one, two last pushes and a guttural almost painful groan, he closes his eyes and comes deep into Eddie, his whole body pressing Eddie into the mattress, filling the condom with his come.

They both secretly wish there hadn’t been one.

Eddie’s exhausted when he comes down from the headspace he’s occupied. His face buried deep into Steve’s pillow, drool threatening to leak out of the corner of his mouth, eyes half-closed and blurry to his surroundings. His untouched cock is as sensitive as his hole when Steve pulls out. It’s almost a relief, he had been so desperate to be smothered by the weight of Steve Harrington that he’s realized he can finally breath again.

But something in his mind short circuits as Steve moves off of him, getting back and away.

Eddie can hear him enter his bathroom, turn on the sink, but he can’t convince himself it’s okay.

Steve has left him.

But just as soon as Eddie is ready to cry for an entirely different reason, Steve is back in Eddie’s personal space with a cool and damp washcloth wiping gently over his skin. Pressing lightly in a slow wipe across his belly and ass. Steve is careful, knowing Eddie is tender and raw. That’s enough to make Eddie want to cry again.

When he finishes cleaning him up, Steve lies down beside Eddie, wrapping a protective arm around him.

They stay like that in silence for quite some time before Eddie comes back to himself and lets out a sort of laugh that doesn’t sound quite right to either of them.

Eddie says, “Okay, dude, all I wanted was a hug.”

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Eddie a little before pulling him back in tighter than before. “One day, I wanna be fucked like that by you.” Steve says as if it were nothing, prompting Eddie to wiggle out of his hold to face him.

“Oh, we can arrange that. I believe they’re called conjugal visits?”

Steve gives him a look. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Eddie mirrors him. “Are you just figuring this out?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head at the ceiling. “Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?”

Eddie follows Steve’s gaze to the popcorn ceiling. “That’d make a really good song lyric.”

“You’re right. It’d totally be pop.”

Eddie looks at the other, aghast. “No way, Harrington. It’d be metal, rock. At the very worst it’d be country. Not pop.”

Steve only grins. “Sure, Munson, whatever you say.”

Eddie says nothing as he watches Steve’s bedside clock show the new morning hour. They really did have a sleepover, a real one where no one actually sleeps. “You have to take me in now, don’t you?”

Steve leans over him to check the clock. 5:30. “I do.” Eddie would swear Steve actually sounds disappointed.

Eddie swallows the lump building in his throat. “That’s okay. You gave me one last night of freedom, and man was it an experience.”

Warmth blooms across Steve’s face and down his chest. “I wish I didn’t have to.” He admits with a sigh, pulling Eddie closer once more.

Eddie doesn’t indulge in the fantasies any longer. “It’s for the best. You said it yourself, the little fish will flip on me anyway. Best if I go willingly, right? Maybe work out some deal.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything more.

As the minutes count down until they have to leave their little pocket dimension, Eddie begins to cry again.

He won’t admit he’s crying over Steve, instead he turns up the drama to hide his real feelings just as he always has. “I haven’t got to watch Graveyard Shift yet. Misery. Night of the Living Dead. Or fuckin’…Edward Scissorhands. Ghost. Beetlejuice. Heathers. Winona Ryder is pretty hot. So is Patrick Swayze. Sue me.”

Steve says nothing as Eddie rambles and bemoans all the movies he hasn’t seen yet, how many he’ll miss, he just wraps his arms around him tighter.

6.) Hope

2014.

Eddie’s hair was still the same length as it was when he began his sentence, keeping it trimmed through the years. His hair is now streaked with gray, looking more salt and pepper verses the dark brown he had in his youth. Even if his personal style is long since out of style, it’s still his style.

He pushes some of his hair out of his eyes when he sees a silver SUV pull in front of him.

He’s about to look behind him to see who else might be getting released when Steve rolls down the passenger window, smiling at him from the driver’s seat. “Need a ride?”

Eddie grins, jumping to his feet as he approaches the shiny silver vehicle. “Downgraded, huh?”

“Who needs a BMW in their forties?”

“You look like a soccer mom in this thing.” Eddie snickers as he climbs in and buckles up without being asked.

“That’s the thanks I get for picking your grimy ass up?” Steve shakes his head but still has that smile. He’s aged too, Eddie realizes.

Steve’s hair is shorter now, less big. No product. He’s got crow’s feet around his eyes, which are adorned by a really nice pair of browline glasses that suit him.

Eddie feels his heart skip a beat.

“Want to hear some music?” Steve asks suddenly. “I got a new CD in I think you might like.”

“Sure, yeah. Why not? Might as well see what the world’s been up to while I was away.” Eddie agrees with a nod; anything to distract him from how Steve has apparently aged like fine wine.

“Awesome.” Steve presses the play button, and Eddie sees it’s on track seven.

Goin’ out tonight, changes into something red

Her mother doesn’t like that kind of dress

Everything she never had she’s showin’ off

“Hey, Steve, what is this shit?” Eddie looks at him incredulously. He’s always known Steve had a shitty taste in music but this is a new low.

“Just listen.” He cranks it up.

Drivin’ too fast, moon is breakin’ through her hair

She’s headin’ for somethin’ that she won’t forget

Havin’ no regrets is all that she really wants

“Is this song about a girl losing her virginity?” Eddie almost laughs.

“Just listen!” Steve insists.

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Eddie has such a visceral reaction to that last line that he can’t help but to listen more closely. “No! Seriously?”

“Seriously!” Steve exclaims, excited as he begins to drum the beat on the steering wheel, even going as far as singing along.

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you

Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

Chasing it tonight, doubts are runnin’ ‘round her head

He’s waitin’, hides behind a cigarette

Heart is beatin’ loud and she doesn’t want it to stop

“We could have had a hit song.” Steve supplies as he makes a right turn.

Movin’ too fast, moon is lightin’ up her skin

She’s fallin’, doesn’t even know it yet

Havin’ no regrets is all that she really wants

“This is insane.”

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you

“Steve, I can’t believe this.”

Goin’ out tonight, changes into something red

Her mother doesn’t like that kind of dress

Reminds her of the missin’ piece of innocence she lost

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change, baby

It will never change, baby

It will never change me and you

As the song finally comes to an end, Steve turns off the radio awaiting Eddie’s review.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?” Eddie asks, still in disbelief.

Steve nods his head with a grin. “Night Changes. Teens love One Direction, that’s the band.”

Eddie surprises even himself by playing it back, listening to the lyrics as Steve continues to finger drum and sing.

“They’re pop.” Eddie acknowledges.

“They sure are.”

Eddie catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror, he turns to look back at Steve who catches his eye with a smile.

“So is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That even when the night changes, it’ll never change me and you.”

Fin.

-

Tags! @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @steddiecameraroll @goblinpoet I hope it was worth the wait <3 Sorry for the delay, like Stevie up here ^ I'm 22 and trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life so I spent the past week corresponding with... My college! Yeah, I got accepted into college, baby! I'm so worried I'm gonna fail out.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And the last chapter of the first volume! Though technically there’s after-chapter content that will be in a separate post from this, but for now, what matters is finishing up the quirk assessment and getting into the battle trial!

Honestly, it’s a good thing that I just shoved all the opening arcs from before the USJ together into one tag, because this chapter literally goes from the quirk assessment into the beginning of the battle trial stuff, and trying to separate them out would have been a mess and a half. Better to just have it all in the ‘opening arcs’ tag.

...weird title for something that only comes at the end of the chapter, but whatever, it’s not like we don’t see that happen later on in the series as well.

[No. 7 - Costume Change?]

And we immediately come back to where we left off, with All Might realizing what just happened and what Izuku did and even why! One of those little peeks that remind us that All Might is very smart! Also god, him with a small fanboy moment over how proud he is of his kid and how cool that workaround was, mmm this is the Dad Might content I signed up for. 

Izuku is still standing firm, even with his finger swollen and damaged, biting back the pain. Ochako is cheering about that record, Tenya notices Izuku’s finger is damaged and thinks back to the entrance exam, calling it a ‘strange quirk’, Aoyama says it’s stylishly done, and Katsuki is brain broke.

I’m sorry that’s just so fucking funny. He is such a goddamn gremlin, but he’s also completely shook. He thinks about how quirks never manifest past age four, but somehow Izuku has a quirk. 

He then recalls Izuku saying ‘he earned this’ and gets pissed, blasting forward to demand an explanation while Izuku freaks out-

Only for Katsuki to have his quirk cancelled by Aizawa and also get caught up in the capture scarf. 

Beauty. Grace. He’ll bite off your face. 

Katsuki notes the cloth is stiff, while Aizawa tells him that it’s a capture weapon made of carbon fibers and a special alloy wire, then tells Katsuki to stop using his quirk already. Which is interesting; can Aizawa sense when people are trying to use their quirks while under the effects of his? If so, is he sensing the aborted movement of whatever quirk factors exist, or ??? 

(All I’m saying is that that is some possible fuel for a Dad For One connection but for Aizawa instead of Izuku… you know, just in case.)

As we sort of saw from the last chapter, Aizawa’s quirk has the side effect of giving him dry eyes (he was putting eyedrops in his eyes after using his quirk on Izuku). Izuku thinks that sucks since his quirk is so awesome. Aizawa lets his quirk and scarf drop, telling the class to prepare for the next event.

Katsuki is standing where he was stopped, glaring at Izuku who is holding his hand while Ochako worries over him and his finger. He’s caught up in a flashback (which again, reminder that this is chapter 7 and we already have flashbacks), thinking about how up to then, Izuku was just another pebble in his path. We get a brief cut to a memory flashback (not a chapter flashback) to when Izuku and Katsuki were still friends, and Izuku was waiting for his quirk to come in still, and then repeats that Izuku was only supposed to be a pebble. Single track mind, much?

Discord:

Ah, that good Bakugou discourse. This is why you do this stuff in a server with friends.

Izuku narrates a short passage of time - over the rest of the events - while handling the pain of his injured finger. Aizawa tells them it’s time for the results, with Izuku thinking about how he’s going to get expelled because the only record worth mentioning was the throw, and how the endurance running failed hard because of the pain. Aizawa says he won’t explain the process behind the scoring process, just that they reflect performance.

And then he reveals he was lying about expelling someone. 

The trio’s faces. Aizawa’s manic smile. The trio’s faces. And Momo there like ‘what did you expect?’ God, I can’t help but giggle.

Izuku just fucking ascending to a new plane of existance here.

Aizawa turns to leave, saying they’re done there and that the documents about the curriculum and whatnot are back in the classroom. He then calls out Izuku, who is shaking in panic (probably about Aizawa changing his mind again - I wonder if teachers before UA pulled that sort of ‘syke’ on Izuku… yikes.)

Instead, he just gets handed a pass to the nurse’s office (not even filled out fully, incredible) and then turns and walks off.

The class is left to stare after Aizawa in bafflement, with Izuku’s narration noting that he’s safe for the moment, but still has too much he can’t do, and that he’s literally starting from the bottom - but here’s there to learn so he can get closer to his dream!

Class rankings:

And- ah, he walked past All Might, who calls him out as a liar. Aizawa either didn’t notice him watching or didn’t know it was All Might specifically who was watching, but either way calls it ‘wasting time’ - which makes sense when all the teachers know about his time limit that he’s spending there watching Izuku the kids do their trials.

All Might notes that April Fool’s was over a week ago, and that the ‘rational deception’ thing falls flat when he expelled an entire class of first years the previous year. Aizawa discards those with zero potential, but he went back on his word here, and then asks if he sensed Midoriya’s potential as well. While giving Aizawa finger guns. Have I mentioned this man is a complete dork yet?

Aizawa catches onto the ‘as well’ bit, and determines that All Might’s supporting the kid - which isn’t his usual style. He then starts walking off again, saying Midoriya doesn’t have no chance, but that’s all he’ll say on the matter. He then says that if the kid had no prospects, he’d cut him loose, since it’s crueler to let someone chase half-baked dreams. 

All Might determines quietly that it’s Aizawa’s way of being kind, but out loud states that they can agree to disagree. Meanwhile, in the background, Sero and Sato notice All Might, which probably leads to class 1a going after him and him fleeing for safety. 

We transition to when Izuku is heading home, with him exhausted because of his trip to Recovery Girl. Tenya checks in on him, and Izuku says he’s fine, with us seeing a temporary flashback to the nurse’s office. Izuku notes his finger’s better, but he’s exhausted all of a sudden (he doesn’t remember last time since he was unconscious). 

A couple of things:

Kamui Woods pez dispenser 

Oh, so if he doesn’t have stamina he’ll die! Good to know! :)

Anyways, Izuku thinks about how he can’t keep going on like this and has to figure out how to regulate his power fast. Tenya goes on to talk about how Aizawa had fooled them, making them think that was how it was, only for it to be a deception. (The irony that the mercy was actually unplanned all along gets to me.) Izuku is more relaxed around him now that he realizes Tenya isn’t scary, just super serious.

Ochako rushes over to catch up, asking if they’re heading for the station. Tenya calls her ‘Infinity Girl’ and Izuku repeats it mentally in surprise. Ochako introduces herself, and then brings up their names - though she mistakes Izuku’s name for ‘Deku’, because of what Katsuki said during the test. Izuku corrects her with awkward hand gestures, saying his real name and that the ‘Deku’ is just Katsuki being a bully. 

Tenya and Ochako both acknowledge this, with Ochako apologizing, and then mentioning how ‘Deku’ sounds like ‘do your best’, and that she likes it. Izuku goes beet fucking red and immediately replies that Deku is fine, with Tenya chastising him for not showing backbone while Izuku calls it like the Copernican Revolution and Ochako questions who Copernicus is. 

The narration takes over, noting that even if there’s a lot he can’t do, he’ll do his best, but having All Might and even some friends behind him… it’s more than he could have asked for. 

Good children. Best friends. God, these were the good days… more OG Dekucrew content please and thanks.

We get one panel of Toshinori that Izuku’s got no time to rest, and that tomorrow the real test begins. Then we’re onto the next day, aka the first day of actual classes - and oh, right, UA has clubs, that’s something that’s easy to forget when we never see it with the hero classes. I mean, considering that the actual hero training classes probably overlap the usual club hours, not surprising, but still.

Present Mic is shown to be the English teacher, trying to get the kids in the spirit of class, but pretty much everyone is finding it boring - asides from Izuku, who is actually trying to answer the question mentally, even if not out loud. The narration notes that the mornings are for normal classes, and that lunch is top-notch food for dirt cheap in the cafeteria (as cooked by Lunch Rush), and then hero training is in the afternoon… possibly after lunch? Which isn’t great when people could end up throwing up. Ah well.

These fucking dorks. Two peas in a quirkless-to-superpowered pea pod.

And of course, more meta from the class on how All Might’s drawn differently.

Anyways, All Might gets into Hero Basic Training, how it’ll mold them into heroes, and that there’s no time to waste as he shows off a card reading ‘battle’ before stating that they have battle training. 

Have I mentioned he’s a dork? There’s more ham here than in Shatner’s performances in the original Star Trek series!

Katsuki is thrilled with battle training, of course. All Might notes that for battle training, the class will need - as the wall clicks and opens several drawers with numbered cases, each with contents in accordance with the quirk registry and the special request forms fill out before admission - costumes! Which the class is super hyped about. Izuku is holding his backpack in excitement, and All Might orders the students to come out to Ground Beta in ranking order once they’re changed, to which the class agrees. 

As he takes his leave, he notes that looking good is important, and to look alive, because from today on, they’re all heroes! We also get some nice transition moments showing pieces of people’s costumes, with Izuku being the last one out as the rest show theirs off.

So cool! And what a way to end a chapter and a book! And a nice nod to the prototype costume for Izuku. Time to say goodbye to it before the end of this arc. 

Next time, I’ll try to get through all the bonus stuff for the end of the volume, and then we can get into the battle trial proper! Looking forward to that.

[gredandforgesmischief]

long story short - f.w

title: long story short

pairing: fred x female slytherin reader

summary: fred has been in love with y/n since they were fifteen, but the universe was never really on their side. (idk i'm bad at writing summaries but basically best friends to lovers. this takes place during gof in the spring.) this is also vaguely inspired by "long story short" by taylor swift bc i'm obsessed w her (see if you can find the lyrics)

other characters/pairings mentioned: adrian pucey/y/n, fred/angelina, george weasley, harry potter, ron weasley, neville longbottom

content warnings: its all fluff, some parts can be construed as angsty?? maybe probably not. sad fred at some point. sad y/n at some point. fred and y/n are both clueless all the time for no reason.

a/n: i wrote this with my Head Empty, but I hope you enjoy (feedback welcomed) also this wasn't proof read so ignore any grammatical errors

“... right Fred?”

“Yeah that’s cool, whatever,” Fred grumbled as a very irritated George hit his side.

The pair were having breakfast at the Gryffindor table, and the two were supposed to be brainstorming shop ideas, but it was apparent that Fred’s mind was off somewhere else.

Regardless of how hard he tried, Fred’s mind was often clouded with his feelings about Y/N. The two had been best friends since third year, and it took him a long time to realize that he wanted to be much more than just her best friend. But just as expected, right as Fred realized, Y/N had gotten into a relationship.

“Dude, Y/N is with Adrian now, you need to get over it,” George said. While he did feel bad for his twin, there wasn’t much that either of them could do about it.

Fred nodded, but just as he was about to respond to his brother, he noticed a flustered Y/N get up from the Slytherin table. In all honesty, if Fred hadn’t been staring at her he wouldn’t have noticed how distraught she was. Without another thought, the ginger boy got up from his seat and followed her into the corridor.

“Y/N, wait up!” Fred called out, not quite sure what he was going to say to her. The Slytherin girl slowed down, waiting for her friend to catch up.

When it came to his and Y/N’s relationship, there wasn’t a lot they wouldn’t talk about, but Y/N’s relationship with Adrian was a conversation that was often avoided. Y/N knew how Fred felt about Adrian, so she made an effort to keep the two as separate portions of her life.

“Hi, Fred,” Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes glossy.

Fred winced. Up until she had started dating Adrian, Y/N always called Fred by his nickname. When Y/N started dating Adrian she pulled away from Fred quickly. He could tell she tried to make everything seem normal, but it wasn’t.

“Is everything alright? You walked out of the Great Hall a bit fast.” Fred said. The pair were now sitting on a bench in the courtyard.

“Just… some stuff with Adrian.” Y/N said, knowing that there was no way that Fred would allow her to leave it at that. There was an ever growing vendetta that Fred had against Adrian, and him hurting Y/N would probably be the worst thing that the Slytherin could do.

“Listen, I know I’m not Adrian’s number one fan, but I’m still your best friend.” Fred said, hoping that Y/N would talk to him. It had been months since the two had chatted about anything of substance and he feared their friendship would fall apart if they kept avoiding each other.

Y/N went silent for a moment, weighing her options in her head. After a short while she looked at Fred and started, “Have you ever been in love?”

The question completely caught Fred off guard. He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected Y/N to say, but that wasn’t a question he was prepared to think about.

Sure, Fred had dated around during his time at Hogwarts, but the only person he had ever really loved was Y/N. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted to talk about with her, particularly because he didn’t know how great he would be at concealing his emotions. How terrible would it be for him to confess it to her while she was in a relationship?

Fred nodded, “Yeah, I’ve been in love before.”

“How did you know? What did it feel like?” Y/N asked, looking genuinely curious. Was Y/N truly asking him about this?

Fred looked at her incredulously, speaking once more, “Honestly, love, I think it's different for everyone,” The look on Y/N’s face was unreadable as Fred continued, “for me, I just knew.”

Y/N let out a deep sigh, “I feel like it’s all moving too fast.” There she goes again without any elaboration.

As Fred continued to give her terse answers, Y/N decided she had to describe what she meant. She had never really been great at putting her feelings into words, but she’d try.

“Adrian told me he loved me last night,” Fred’s face faltered, “and I didn’t say a word back.”

Fred wasn’t shocked by the idea that Adrian loved Y/N. The pair had been together for nearly five months, and Fred knew from experience how easy it was to fall in love with Y/N. If anything, it was more of a shock to him that Y/N didn’t say it back.

“But you do love him, right?” Once again, Fred hoped that Y/N would say what he wanted to hear. It was cruel of him to wish that Adrian and Y/N wouldn’t work out, but he couldn’t help it.

“I do,” Dammit. Y/N continued, “but I don’t think I’m in love with him. You know?”

Fred understood completely. He had loved a few of the girls he had dated, but he never felt in love. There was always some sort of hesitation that he had.

“I... just feel like I’m trying to force something that isn’t there,” The frustration was evident in Y/N’s voice. “And I thought that maybe I just needed more time, maybe we were moving too fast, but honestly I just can’t feel the way that I want to about Adrian.”

“Do you think there’s a reason why you can’t love him? You wouldn’t stop talking about him during Christmas break.” Fred said, recalling Y/N’s happiness after Adrian had asked her to the Yule Ball.

“What do you mean? I don’t think I acted any differently about Adrian during break.” Y/N was confused. If anything, Fred was the one who had acted strangely during Christmas break.

“No, I definitely recall you acting funny,” Fred said as Y/N shot him a glare.”You ignored me for two weeks Y/N.” Y/N frowned, shaking her head.

Fred remembered the two weeks in vivid detail. Up until six months ago, Fred and Y/N were attached at the hip. That’s why Y/N’s sudden absence in his life stung. In some way it felt like Y/N had picked Adrian over Fred, but he didn’t know why.

“Fred, I did ignore you, but do you really not know why?” Y/N said.

Once more, Fred tried to remember the events leading up to Y/N and Adrian’s relationship, but everything seemed normal. Adrian and Y/N had always been friends. It wasn’t strange for friends to date.

Fred shook his head, prompting Y/N to tell him what had happened.

-

It was a week before the Yule Ball, and the cheeriness around the castle was gleaming. The Great Hall was decked out with garlands of tinsel. Mistletoe was hanging in all of the corridors. It was nearly impossible to be unhappy with how much light was around., but as Y/N had watched what felt like the fiftieth person get asked to the Yule Ball, she was feeling less than cheerful.

“Y/N!” Fred greeted, earning an adoring smile from the girl in front of him. She was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, as she had just been working on an herbology project with Neville.

“Hiya, Freddie, what’s up?” Y/N was excited. She and Fred had been spending a lot more time together recently, and she was convinced that he was going to finally ask her out.

Fred smiled, “I need advice. ” Y/N nodded, encouraging the ginger boy to continue, “if you were to get asked to say, a ball, how would you want to be asked?”

Y/N was practically exploding with joy at this point, but alas, Fred still needed an answer.

“Well, for me personally, I’m not fond of the huge gestures. I feel like if you really like someone then you should just… ask? I know that’s a bit boring, but I wouldn’t want everyone to be involved in my business, so public gestures aren’t for me.” Y/N was getting rambly, a clear sign of her nerves.

Before Y/N could ramble anymore, Fred was marching up the dormitory stairs, calling out a short, “Thanks, Y/N!” over his shoulder.

Although Fred’s behavior was strange, Y/N brushed it off as Fred being, well, Fred. The boy often did things that were unexplainable. It wasn’t until dinner that day that Y/N had realized why Fred had asked her about the ball.

-

“Y/N, c’mon what’s on your mind?” Adrian asked, poking his friend in the side. Y/N was staring down her plate, pushing around peas with her fork. After her encounter with Fred earlier in the day, she had been on edge. The ball was coming up quick, and at this point it was now or never.

“It’s nothing important, don’t worry about me.” Y/N had finally put her fork down, flashing a sad smile at the boy. Adrian looked suspicious, but as he opened his mouth to talk, the pair noticed commotion at the Gryffindor table.

George was ruffling Fred’s hair, and Ron and Harry were laughing. Fred had a smirk on his face, his cheeks tinged a pink color. Just as Y/N was about to approach Fred to ask what the deal was, Fred walked out of the dining hall.

“I’ll be right back,” Y/N told Adrian, before walking to the Gryffindor table to ask George about what was up.

“Hey, George, what was that all about?” Y/N asked as she sat.

“Oh, Freddie boy just asked Angelina to the Yule Ball!” George replied, causing the two other boys to start to laugh again.

Y/N muttered a “thanks” to George before heading out of the Great Hall. She nearly sprinted to the Slytherin common room, not wanting to have a meltdown in the middle of the hall. Y/N was convinced that Fred would ask her to the ball, and it stung like hell to know that he had asked someone that wasn’t her.

When she arrived outside the common room, Adrian was waiting outside for her. Without any question, Adrian outstretched his arms, embracing the teary-eyed girl.

-

“You wanted me to ask you to the ball!?” Fred asked, mentally slapping himself for being so clueless.

Y/N nodded her head yes, clasping her hands together. She thought she had been very obvious about how she felt about Fred, but it was clear he truly didn’t know.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I never meant to make you upset. Angie and I went as friends anyway.” Fred apologized. He hated seeing Y/N cry, and to think that he was the reason made his insides churn.

While Y/N had cleared up her pre-Yule Ball behavior, there were still a few questions that Fred had.

“Okay, but what does any of that have to do with Adrian? If you wanted me to ask you out, why did you start dating Adrian?” Fred asked, despite knowing how forward all of those questions were.

Y/N sighed, this wasn’t the part of the story that she was particularly proud of.

“Other than you and George, Adrian is probably my closest guy friend. After I heard about you and Angie, Adrian was the person who comforted me while I was crying. I think somewhere along the lines I got my feelings for him all confused…” Y/N trailed off.

“Adrian was sort of an escape from everything. I thought that if you were dating Angie it would stop whatever friendship we had going. It felt like I got knocked off of some weird pedestal.” Y/N’s explanation made some sense, but it didn’t explain why she wouldn’t just talk to him.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Y/N? We’re best friends.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, “I sort of went down a rabbit hole when I stopped talking to you. I was embarrassed, and Adrian was sweet. But after it all, I think I was trying to emulate whatever feelings I had for you with him. I thought clinging to another person would stop my feelings. Clearly it didn’t work. It was just a bad time.”

From what Y/N was saying, Fred was hoping that this meant something for the two of them. But right now, Y/N was still with Adrian, and neither of them would ever do that to them.

“Y/N, you need to tell Adrian how you feel.” If the two were going to date, it had to be proper. Fred didn’t want to be some sort of secret.

“I did, that’s why I ran off actually. We broke it off yesterday, it was just a lot for me to be sitting with him today…” Y/N was slightly embarrassed.

“There goes your excellent communication skills again, why didn’t you start with that?” Fred teased, earning a groan from Y/N.

“Hey, the knife cuts both ways. If you had just said that you were asking Angie to the ball I would have never gotten my hopes up!” Y/N quipped back, intertwining her hands with Fred’s.

Fred sighed happily, “Is there any chance that you still feel the same way about me?” Fred was sure he knew what she’d say, but this situation had proved the two needed to talk more.

Y/N laughed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m all about you, Freddie.”

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 2)

This is the second chapter of my “Someone you like” inspired fic. It’s also available on AO3 in case you prefer that platform.

Feel free to write comments in the tags or send me messages about this. I love feedback!

16 and 14 years old

Pidge Gunderson. I am Pidge Gunderson.

Katie looked herself in the mirror, trying to convince her brain that the image reflected was hers, that it was a boy, with no previous links to the Garrison, someone who had wanted to go into Communications.

It didn’t really work. All she saw was Matt: his glasses; his short, unkempt haircut; his nickname for her.

Maybe it was better like this. Katie had initially meant to immerse herself in this new identity, to go so deep into Pidge Gunderson that no one would be able to see past the cover, but the truth still kept slipping through her defenses. Katie was a Holt and her family was missing, so she was gonna find them. Pidge was just a tool.

It would be easier if there weren’t so many risks in studying at the Garrison.

Her father hadn’t brought her around often, but Katie had become infamous among the night-time security for her excursions to discover sensitive information regarding the Kerberos mission. Iverson, in particular, was probably expecting a new advance on her part.

He hadn’t recognized her, yet.

Sometimes Katie worried that she’d already been exposed and that they were just gathering evidence before actually making a move against her. If the Garrison was willing to lie about her father’s and brother’s deaths, then she couldn’t overlook the possibility that corruption ran deep within the organization.

She sighed, tugging at the ends of her hair.

“Come on, Gunderson!” she heard someone shout from outside her door. “You’re coming to lunch with us whether you want to or not!”

Lance continued to make noises, probably talking to Hunk. They usually threatened to hack into her keypad if she didn’t come out to join them for meals. Katie couldn’t really understand their stubbornness. She might have appreciated their offer of friendship back in Middle School, when she’d felt ostracized by her peers, but now it was just another hazard to her already convoluted plan.

“Go bother some poor girl, McClain!” Katie shouted in response, feeling more inpatient than strictly necessary.

She knew that Lance meant well, but she didn’t have time for his hijinks. Katie had a duty to her family, first and foremost, and any effort spent placating her teammates was a waste in that regard. Not to mention that Lance had a knack for attracting attention that completely opposed her own need to remain unseen.

Her door slid open with an elegant swoosh.

Katie poked her head from the bathroom to glare at the two boys who stood there. Hunk had the sense to look ashamed, but Lance just grinned.

“It’s bonding time, Pidge!” He stepped into the room, arms wide open. His easy smile was the same as ever, despite the news they’d received earlier that day about their performance stats. It was probably why Lance was there, after all.

Katie actually felt a little bad about the whole thing. She wasn’t particularly invested in training as a communications officer and, though she wouldn’t say it affected her retainment of the knowledge demanded from her, it certainly translated into frustration when they were in the simulator.

She wasn’t much of a team player, Katie could admit.

“If you’re trying to get on my good side, this is not how to do it,” she grumbled, trying her best to keep her voice low. Too much of a change would eventually weight on her vocal cords or sound plain ridiculous, but a difference in pitch and speech patterns were certainly necessary to disguise her true identity. Thankfully, any slip up could be attributed to puberty, as she’d been seeing many of their male classmates endure the difficulties of cracking voices.

Lance took her by the shoulders and shook her indiscriminately. “Quit being the worst!” His cheerfulness hid the vexation that Katie knew he truly felt. “We’re having burgers today, so I’m not letting you bring us down.”

She snickered. Lance was notorious for his love of junk food, despite Hunk’s attempts to get them more nutritious meals. He frequently spoke about his mother’s cooking but didn’t seem to have that same interest in the dietary plan prepared by the Garrison.

Katie couldn’t really fault him for that. Their meals were usually so blend that they seemed to withdraw taste from any of the condiments added.

From behind Lance, Hunk had finally gathered enough courage to come in. He looked around in such false innocence that Katie might have believed him, hadn’t she caught him going through her drawers the previous week. That boy was nosy as hell.

Just another reason to keep them away.

“If I go with you to the cafeteria, does that mean I can get you out of my room?” She fixed them with a stony look.

“For a time,” Lance offered, all cheeky and bright and annoying.

Hunk put a hand on his shoulder, pulling his friend back from Katie. “We noticed you didn’t eat yesterday, again.” He sighed. “If you took better care of yourself, we wouldn’t come here so often.”

Katie let that reasoning sit with her for a bit. She usually sneaked granola bars and other less-perishable types of food into her room to eat while she worked, but it was true that she didn’t really sit for meals unless the boys pushed her. She didn’t think they would notice.

It brought a strange warmth to her chest. She’d felt cold for so long now, always at arm’s length from those around her. Her mother had tried, but she was grieving and her suffering filled her until there was no more room for her daughter. These small kindnesses had gone away with Matt.

She struggled not to reach into her pocket for the picture she kept of them. Hunk had a curious soul and Lance was a gossip; they had almost caught her one too many times.

“I guess I did want your input on how to recalibrate this old radio I found in the junkyard…” Katie huffed out a breath, which the boys took as a surrender.

“Ah, nothing like the smell of oil and grease to really improve the day!” Lance put an arm around her shoulders, but she quickly dodged away, lest he recognize anything different about her body. Even though she was already pretending to be a boy, Katie didn’t want to also have to pretend to be trans. It was a line that she dared not cross, morally.

She felt the dysmorphia more acutely than she’d imagined she would. As a child, she had enjoyed cutesy things and dresses and her long hair. The sudden departure from those possessions was supposed to remove her from her previous identity, but Katie would always know the truth. There was no escaping it.

More than anything, it was the inability to choose that left her frazzled. The loose clothes and glasses and boyish haircut didn’t bother her and they did give her a liberty that more feminine wear didn’t, but Katie wished the circumstances allowed her to be a girl too, sometimes.

Alas, here she was, stuck between Hunk and Lance as they basically escorted her to the cafeteria. Matt would have a conniption if he ever found out there were boys breaking into her room at all times of the day.

“You thinking about those amazing fries we’re gonna get?” Lance sighed dreamily. “Honestly, I don’t know how they do it. Every other meal freaking sucks, but then Monday comes around and the cooks just nail it!”

Hunk chuckled, nodding along. “They probably want to put us in a good mood for the week. Everybody knows that getting back to classes after the weekend can be hard.”

“Hard? It’s impossible.” Lance dragged his hands through his face. “I nearly fell asleep during Arithmetic today. Professor Reeves is such a bore!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t fall asleep if you didn’t spend Sunday nights in town,” Katie quipped before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, well,” Lance floundered. “What’s your excuse, then? You won’t come with us, but you still look dead on your feet in the mornings!”

“I’m just not a morning person.” She crossed her arms, turning away from Lance.

In doing so, however, she came face to face with Hunk, who was staring at her with an inquisitive look. He was less loud about it than Lance, but it was clear that he also had questions about what Katie spent her time doing.

She tightened her arms around herself, feeling her stomach drop.

This was why Katie didn’t like to talk to them. It was usually easy to ignore Lance, because of how over-the-top he was, but Hunk’s gentleness and concern made the guilt rise within her. She didn’t want to involve other people in her lies, didn’t want them to believe Pidge was their friend only to be faced with a betrayal.

And that’s how they would see it, wasn’t it? Katie didn’t have a lot of experience with friendships, especially not ones as deep as Hunk and Lance’s, but no sane person would take it lightly to find out someone had lied about their whole identity and motivations.

Besides, if she ever did find out what the Garrison was hiding, it could possibly affect the future of the organization and disrupt the trajectory of every student there.

Before Katie could go further into her spiraling thoughts, she felt Hunk maneuver her into the cafeteria line. She had tuned out the rest of their conversation and now Lance spoke of a girl in his Aerodynamics class.

She ignored his ramblings. Lance tried to project this image of a lady’s man, but the few dates he’d scored since they started school never seemed to really move forward. They ended up in an endless cycle in which Lance fixated on some girl, hit on her endlessly, then finally gave up and went crying to Hunk.

Katie couldn’t see the appeal of it, but it most likely had to do with Lance’s self-esteem and need for validation.

“I think Jiya might actually like me!” he declared, despite how both Hunk and Katie were more focused on filling their trays with food. “Whenever the teacher asks me to stay behind and clean up, she stays to help! That has to mean something!”

Katie collected her juice box and went to sit down, pointedly ignoring Lance’s questions.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Hunk said agreeably. He didn’t sound too sure, but his expression showed that he was trying to be positive for Lance’s sake.

“Or, you know, the girl is just a nice person who thought you were being picked on by the teacher.” Katie raised her eyes to give Lance an unimpressed look. “And you’re reading too much into it.”

The boy scowled at her. “What would you know, Pidge? I’ve never seen you with a girl before.”

“Yeah,” she raised an eyebrow, feeling smug that the other two wouldn’t understand the humor in this. “What do I know of girls?”

Katie had to suppress a laugh when Lance turned to her with a very confused expression. Hunk, however, gave her a small, secretive smile that set off all kinds of warning signs.

“I don’t get it,” Lance complained to Hunk, then turned back to her. “I don’t get it!”

“Well,” Hunk started and immediately her heart started pounding in her chest. Outwardly, Katie tried to remain impassive. “The girls in our class all love Pidge.”

“They do?!” Lance burst out, eyes widened. His gaze shifted back and forth between her and Hunk.

They didn’t, Katie was pretty sure. Did they?

“They think he’s cute,” Hunk confirmed, waving his fork in the air as if trying to recall the exact words. “Pidge is quiet, but he’s smart and mostly polite, so Denise decided he was a good guy and the rest of the girls kinda followed her lead.”

Now that Katie thought about it, it was true that she’d helped Denise with her Bio homework and that people had been nicer to her since. She supposed they could see Pidge in a good light, especially because he seemed so much younger than the other students in Engineering.

Katie blinked rapidly to dispel her thoughts. She’d been thinking of Pidge in the third person, again.

“Fine, then.” Lance narrowed his eyes at Katie. “What miraculous advice do you have for me, oh Great Pidgeon?”

Despite his sarcasm, it was clear that Lance truly wanted an answer. It was one of the most ridiculous situations Katie had ever found herself in.

“How about you show some interest in what these girls like, instead of showboating around them?” She flicked a fry at him, which Hunk quickly stole for himself. “Sure, some people want to be impressed, but we all got into the Garrison and a lot of them already know your grades on the simulator. Most girls want someone who will listen and who they can have fun with.”

“I can be fun!” Lance protested.

“I get what Pidge’s saying, though,” Hunk intervened. Katie hadn’t meant to be harsh, but Lance suddenly looked a little deflated. “We know that you’re great, but you’re always so busy trying to be what these girls want from you that you don’t really get to know them. A little kindness goes a long way.”

Katie nodded along, munching on her burger. “No girl wants an egocentric boyfriend,” she added, mouth still half full. Lance glared at her in both disgust and indignancy.

“I don’t want to hear this from you, Mister I’m-not-here-to-make-friends!”

She shrugged and continued to eat her burger.

“Okay, okay…” Hunk put his hands up placatingly. “How about I get us some dessert and we change the subject?”

Lance glanced at him through the corner of his eyes. “Those guava-flavored popsicles?”

“You know it!” Hunk grinned back at him and the two shared a high-five.

“You’re so easy to please,” Katie commented once Hunk had gotten up. She used her last fry to soak up the mayo leftover on her plate.

Lance glared at her for a moment, before letting the last of his annoyance slip away. He reached into his backpack and took out an apple.

“Here.” He deposited it on her tray.

Katie frowned at him. “What is this?”

“You always eat fruit after we get something greasy, right?” he asked it casually, distracted by trying to squeeze ketchup onto his remaining fries. The condiment bottles in the cafeteria were continuously blocked.

“Yeah.” She blinked up at him, caught by surprise. Her voice had gone soft and she had to clear her throat to dispel the emotion that knotted there. “I didn’t think you would remember.”

Lance looked up from his food to give her an exaggerated eye-roll.

“You’re my friend, Pidge.” He kicked her under the table. “In spite of all your efforts to keep me away.”

She stayed silent for a moment, staring at the apple.

“Thank you,” she said. I’m sorry, she wanted to add, but it would make no sense to him. As far as Lance knew, Pidge was cold and self-involved and clinical to a fault.

“Don’t mention it!” He threw a fry up and tried to catch it with his mouth, but it merely bounced off his nose, marking it with ketchup. “Dang! One more!”

Katie let out a breath of laughter. Then, sitting up to better her odds, she waved at Lance. “Try me.”

By the time Hunk returned, Katie was biting into her apple as Lance complained about the ketchup stains he’d gotten on his uniform jacket.

--

She didn’t know what had driven her away from the dorms that day. There was a restless energy within her that demanded space and, though she’d never been the biggest fan of nature, it had sent her directly into the Arizona desert.

Katie felt like Pidge, today. Not like Pidge Gunderson, but like the little girl who’d yelled a misheard swearword at locked doors, until her brother had come to her rescue. She felt young and impulsive and alive, despite the grief that still weighted on her shoulders.

More than anything, she missed her mom.

In Katie’s eyes, Coleen Holt knew everything there was to know about agriculture and plant life. She was a different kind of genius from her father and brother, possessing a peacefulness about her that none of the other Holts could ever hope for. It had been a comfort through the years of Katie’s adolescence.

Sitting underneath one of the few trees distributed across the Garrison grounds reminded Katie of her grandmother’s place in Italy, where the fruit trees spread as far as the horizon. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the sweet smells that rose from the vegetation.

“I wonder if they have lemon trees here,” she murmured to herself.

“I don’t think they do, Pidge.”

Katie lurched back in shock. She felt her shoulder scrape against the tree trunk and had to stretch out an arm to keep from falling. Lance sent her a carefree grin, bent down at the waist to look her in the eye, as he usually did. It irritated Katie to no end, not only for how condescending it was, but because it always put him too far into her personal bubble.

“What are you even doing here, Lance?” she asked once her heartrate had gone down.

“I saw you through a window and thought we could eat together, since Hunk is sick.” He looked pointedly at the half-eaten sandwich she’d tossed in her surprise. “I see you started without me.”

“Well, now I’ll have to buy something else for lunch, so thanks for that,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be like that, Pidgeon.” Lance poked her on the ribs. “I even brought you something as a bribe.” And then he extended an apple towards her.

Katie took it, trying to cover up her amusement with exasperation. “Do you think I’m obsessed with apples or something?”

“Next time I’ll bring you a lemon,” he teased.

Maybe it was because she felt more herself than she had in weeks, but Katie snickered at him. While his sanguinity could be exhausting, this time it was a welcome relief from the stagnation she’d fallen under.

Lance pulled out a sandwich from his pack, one of those 30 centimeters subs in Italian bread and multiple fixings, and Katie felt her mouth water at the sight. He must have noticed, because Lance chuckled and broke out one end for her.

“I think this is a palo verde,” he remarked after swallowing his first bite. At a confused look from Katie, he clarified, “the tree. You were talking about it before, right?”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Yeah…” He sounded like he was laughing at her. “I’m Cuban.”

Katie suddenly felt very stupid. He and Hunk had probably mentioned this already, but she didn’t pay them that much attention. It was a little embarrassing, especially when Lance seemed to be memorizing every small piece of information she offered him.

“Oh.” She searched for the right thing to say. “I didn’t know. Your last name sounds American.”

The whole situation left in her a sense of déjà vu. She couldn’t quite remember why, but the words pulled at her memory.

Thankfully, Lance took it in stride. “Our family has been to the US, then back to Cuba, then back to the US for generations. My whole name is actually Lance Serrano Mcclain.”

She nodded. Normally Katie would let the conversation drop and focus on finishing her meal, but she had already decided to take a bit of a break that day, in order to be more attentive at night. It couldn’t hurt to find out more about her teammate.

“So… Palo verde?”

“It means green stick, which seems kind of unfair, because this tree is actually pretty big, especially for the climate around here.” Lance fanned himself. “I hate how dry it gets.”

She almost agreed with him, but, as far as Lance and Hunk were concerned, Pidge Gunderson had no reason to have been outside of Arizona. Instead, she pretended to ponder his comment.

“The desert can be pretty unpredictable. The lack of humidity during the day is bad, but I wouldn’t want to be caught out when the temperatures drop.”

Lance faked a shiver. “Don’t even talk about that! I have too much tropical blood to handle the cold well. Hunk’s Samoan, by the way,” and there was unnecessary emphasis to his words here, “so he’s the same.”

“I didn’t realize both of you weren’t from around here.” Katie could imagine how much they missed their families. Choosing to voluntarily leave so that they could study at the Garrison must have been difficult.

“That’s nice to hear.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” He scrunched up his nose, as if he wanted to take back the words as he said them. “You were so cold to us when we first met, we weren’t sure what it was about.”

It was her turn to grimace. Katie hadn’t wanted to seem like so much of a jerk. She could be snappish and patronizing, even with those she loved, but her haughtiness towards her teammates had been a façade created to keep them out. Not that it did any good.

“Ugh, you’re already closed off, again.” Lance threw his head back in frustration. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s just personal, Lance.” Katie played with the apple in her hands. “I swear it’s not about you two.”

Without looking directly at him, she couldn’t tell what expression Lance was making. He stared at her, letting the silence extend.

Then he popped the last of the sub into his mouth, spreading back onto the grass.

“We will pester it out of you.” She turned to see him grinning. The confidence there was a quiet thing, so much different than Lance’s usual hyperboles and that much more effective. She felt dazed by it. “Eventually.”

Katie had never understood what the girls in her school meant when they talked about crushes. They always seemed frivolous, going on about someone’s hair or how handsome they were or how strong. Meanwhile, Katie had simply hoped for a friend, for a respite to the unending mocking.

Still, Lance suddenly looked very interesting under this light. His chin was too pointed to be considered attractive, but his blue eyes caught the sunshine like polished stone. He could be funny and thoughtful and inventive, attributes Katie hadn’t expected to value.

She moved her gaze to where another group of students was sitting, uncertain if the heat running up her neck would translate into a damning blush. She bit into the apple to keep from incriminating herself further.

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 46: Thorns

[Sorry for the lack of updates, life has gotten busy lately. But I’m back and I bring some big bad interactions!]

“Of course, Anaïs,” the pureblood agrees. “Walk with me.” Though he politely offers his arm, it is more of an order, one I do not dare to disobey. I look at William for reassurance. There is no playful smile on his face, no witty comment. Oh, no. Instead, all he gives me is a slow, serious nod. All the words in the five languages I speak are not enough to express how wrong this feels.

“Alright,” I finally sigh, taking a hold of Vlad’s arm. It feels surprisingly robust under the sleeve of his coat, dark and billowy, which only ads to his already mysterious air. Usually, that is a quality I would appreciate in a man. Right now, however, it just makes me want to run for my life.

“Come,” he says, “I want to show you my garden.”

To my surprise, neither William nor Charles follow us out of the room. They know not to question the pureblood’s authority. I make a mental note to do the same. Vlad guides me down a hallway, and then another. The deeper we go into the building, the warmer and better lit it becomes, it seems. I was wrong about this church. It is far from abandoned, let alone decrepit, and it is certainly a lot bigger than I previously estimated. I think he lives here. As much as I dislike the idea of a murderous vampire in such close proximity to the city and all the people I have come to care about, I can at least appreciate that he is taking good care of the place. Even if the hairs standing on the back of my neck prevent me from enjoying it.

We come out through the other side of the building, where I am met by the sight of the beautiful city below us. The neighbourhood of Belleville, perched atop a hill on the North East edge of the city, is - and remains, even in my time - mostly inhabited by immigrants and the working class. In my present, most of the buildings, including Vlad’s church, don’t exist anymore, having been demolished and replaced by housing projects.

While the temple itself is nothing special, safe for it’s larger than usual size, I can’t help but mourn the inevitable disappearance of something so beautifully old, of all the history that will be wiped out from this place in favor of modern gentrification. I can see why Vlad chose to make his home here. Ironically, I doubt he knows what will happen to it.

“Ah, I see you enjoy the view from here as much as I do,” he chuckles, breaking my distraction. I nod, suppressing the chill his calm voice sends up my spine. “This way, Anaïs.”

Despite the majorly bad vibes I get from him, I let him guide me around the back of the building. We come to a stop on its side, where the sparse rose bushes along the wall become dense and frequent, melting into a lush garden that even the one in the mansion couldn’t compete against.

“It’s breathtaking,” I mutter, looking down at the vast expanse of white roses before me, flanked by a myriad of flowers of every shape and color. I glance at Vlad. He smiles, satisfied. “May I...?” I hesitate to let go of his arm and step onto the narrow path that cuts through the vegetation.

“Go ahead,” he nods. I do not like the smug smile on his face, but even I have to admit he has a right to wear it. This garden is... Wow. Just wow.

I walk ahead of him, marvelling at the pristine state of every single petal that has yet to wilt under the impending summer heat, but slow to a stop when I spot a plot of unfamiliar buds near a corner. They look like a bizarre cross between dandelions and arnica, only bigger, unlike anything I have ever seen. It is not until I approach them that I notice the thin mesh cage that has been built over them. Despite their odd shade, white with a slight blue tinge, they seem too unassuming for such measures to be taken. Most of the species they resemble tend to be considered weeds, not treasured and protected like these are.

“What are they?” I manage to ask quietly. Though I do not take my eyes off their striking petals through the mesh cage, I hear Vlad’s footsteps settle beside me.

“I presume you already know what blanc is, correct?”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I crouch to get a better look. I knew they were rare, but I was not expecting these little things to be the only source of nourishment to vampires. They look so... plain. Ordinary, even, were it not for my knowledge in the topic. There is nothing magical about their appearance at all.

“I have never even drank blanc before,” I say from the ground. “I have tasted it, though, and it is disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose, making Vlad laugh.

“I have to agree, Anaïs. But that is not why I keep them. I prefer my food fresh,” he concludes, leaning over me. His voice is somehow menacing and detached at the same time. I purse my lips, unnerved, but give him a questioning look. “They are extremely prized, which I enjoy. Besides, they have a certain beauty to them, don’t you think?”

“I guess they do,” I shrug before standing up again. I have been distracted for long enough. He’s good. “So now I know why you keep those flowers, but what about your friends back there? Why did you bring back Salieri?”

His eyes become a darker shade of red, almost like blood, though his expression remains unreadable.

“Be careful how you address me, fetiță.” His tone is cold, a mortal warning. I am quick to throw my open hands in the air between us in an attempt to appease him.

“I mean no disrespect, but you do kinda owe me an explanation.” He narrows his eyes. Shit, I should not have said that. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I go on. “Look, I might be new to all of this, but I am not stupid,” I say slowly, taking a step back. He responds by taking a step forward. “I know that you could tear me apart without breaking a sweat. All I want is to understand you, so I can avoid doing something that will get me killed a second time, okay? Please, at least give me that.”

My plea seems to make him relax, and I smile, relieved.

“I suppose you have a point,” he concedes. “I will do my best to answer your questions.”

My smile grows wider as I hold onto his arm once again. He wanted to walk, so let’s walk.

“Let’s start with something easy,” I muse, breaking the ice. “That word you called me just now... What language is it?”

“Romanian,” he answers as we begin to stroll through the garden. “It means ‘little girl’.”

“Of course it does,” I chuckle under my breath. Our height difference is more evident now that he is standing by my side, towering over me. Then again, most people do. “Wait. Romanian? Did you fight against the Ottoman Empire, by any chance?”

“So you’ve heard the stories too,” he sighs. I hear a tinge of amusement mixed in with the resignation of being found out. “I have not used this name in a long time. I suppose history never forgets...”

That confirms my suspicion, and I must admit, I really hoped to be wrong about this one. But no, I happen to be casually hanging out with the man whose notorious cruelty inspired Dracula. Funnily enough, at least Bram Stoker got the vampire thing right. I wonder how the author would react to finding out they are real. He’d probably lose his mind, and I would not blame him. I almost did too.

“Okay, next question,” I move on, eager to change the topic. I must get to the juicy stuff before I get distracted again. “Why are you going after Saint Germain’s people? I mean it’s obvious that it is him you are trying to get to, but I would like to know the reason for that. Weren’t you friends or something?”

“Something.” From his deadpan tone, I can tell Vlad does not want to talk about their relationship. However, he did promise me answers, and I intend to get them or die trying. Again. “That door of his, the one he brought you through? He is selfish with it. Collecting some of the greatest men in history for... what, exactly? It is such a waste...”

“What would you do with it, then?”

“Put that talent and influence to good use, of course,” he laughs, as if it were obvious. “As you must have figured out by now, I have a door of my own at my disposal. However, it is... tainted. Unstable. I have tried to convince your sire to let me use his on multiple occasions, to no avail. Alas, even our centuries long friendship is not enough to sway him. I believe we could see eye to eye if I could show him the truth. Maybe then he would not look down on my ways as he does now.”

“And by ‘your ways’, I guess you mean sending your henchmen to kidnap me so you can use me as bait?” I can’t help but retort. “You say you want to put these men to good use, but what does that even mean? For what?”

“You shall find out soon.”

I open my mouth, but my stomach grumbles loudly before I manage to voice my protest. Worst timing ever.

“Would you like some rouge? I am feeling rather peckish myself,” he cheerily offers. There goes the conversation, along with my chance to discover what he’s up to. I am forced to nod, however, as I have not eaten since early this morning. As much as I hate to cut the interrogation short, I am starving.

I follow Vlad back into the church, resigned, and we make our way to a hallway on the second floor. I smell the scent of human blood before I notice that the voices I can hear behind a closed door are new. There is a man, whom at first I mistook for Faust, but he sounds too cheery. And too French. I hear a woman too, giddy and nervous due to Shakespeare’s charming approaches.

I want to ask what is going on, but I am not sure I want to know the answer. I have a bad feeling about this. Vlad opens the door, revealing the sitting room on the other side. Along with William, the other two vampires I met are there. Faust stands to the side, merely observing, as Charles chats with the young couple, seated around a coffee table. They are unmistakably human. I can only think of one reason for them to be here, and I do not like it in the slightest.

As the now familiar feeling of bloodlust shoots through my veins, I clench my hands behind my back and smile politely. Vlad ushers me into the room, closer to the group, and soon lets go of me to offer his hand to the woman, motioning for her to stand up.

“This one will do,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek. She looks surprised for a brief moment, but any expression immediately disappears from her face when she locks eyes with the pureblood. “Listen to my voice. Relax.” The woman’s arm goes limp and falls to her side. “Good, good. Take of your necklace.”

She obeys. Is she... hypnotized? Can he do that? When the lady’s choker falls on the floor, the reality of what is about to happen sets in. The man I assume to be her husband does not react. He is looking at the woman, but his eyes are out of focus and his face blank, nothing but an empty shell.

The king of the castle eats first, of course. Vlad pulls the woman close and leans down slowly, almost tenderly, as if he is going to kiss her neck. He stops short of touching her skin before violently sinking his fangs into her. The horrible, wet sound her flesh makes causes me to bite my own lip in an attempt to hold back. I shuffle closer to William and lean over the back of his chair.

“I can’t do this.”

“It would be improper to deny your host’s food, my nightshade,” he says nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I won’t be able to stop, Will. I can’t-”

“You can’t what?” Vlad calls out. “It is your turn, come. Don’t be shy.”

Fuck. I am not in a position to reject that offer for two reasons: the first one being my hunger, and the second being that he might kill me if I offend him. I cough and begin to turn away, but feel William’s reassuring hand over mine. I hope I can trust him to stop me in time. If I end up killing this poor girl, he’s going next.

I exhale a shaky sigh as I hesitantly make my way to the center of the room, where the woman stands frozen, a lifeless doll. She is slightly taller than me, so I hold her body close and stand on my toes.

“Lo siento muchísimo (I am so very sorry),” I whisper in her ear. I don’t know if she can even hear me, but if she could, I doubt she’d understand my foreign words. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, expectant. Vlad clears his throat behind me. He is starting to lose his patience.

But so am I. Just like that, any control I had over my body fades when my eyes catch a glimpse of the two fresh puncture wounds on the woman’s neck, of the twin drops of blood oozing down from them. I make sure to bite over the same spot.

The familiar wave of relief that comes from feeding washes over me, but this time it is much more intense, much sweeter. Everything disappears around me. There is just me and my prey, her blood pulsing into my mouth as I barely have to exert any effort to drink it. But it is not enough. I bite harder. It is dripping down my chin now, and I hold onto the yellow satin blouse, now tinged with red, like my life depends on it. I cease to exist in this moment. There is only blood and my pure, unadulterated thirst for it.

“...Anaïs.” I vaguely recognize my own name being spoken. “That’s enough.”

“Come on, let her have her fun,” another voice says. I can barely tell who’s who.

“Anaïs, stop,” I hear again, this time more sternly. Strong arms pry me off and pull me into a tight hug, restraining me until I come to my senses. “That’s it, my nightshade. Well done.”

“Will?” I manage to pant, leaning back into his chest. “Shit, is she okay? I didn’t drain her, did I?” My voice wavers with dread.

“No, my dearest,” he softly says. “Thou stopped in time.”

“Thank you,” I sigh in relief. Still holding onto William’s arms around me, I glance at Vlad. He does not look pleased.

[script-a-world]

Clearly there are some settings which make no sense scientifically. But how do I decide when to intentionally ignore reality, can't bother to do research, don't understand research, and thus create scientifically impossible places? When are such things considered be offensive or overused cliche or have a reader point out the impossibility and can't get into the story? I'm guessing some of this might be structural issues instead of world building?

Tex: One of the perils of attempting to write about highly technical subjects is that you run into the issue of not understanding your writing. I do raise a nominal objection as your first sentence, because sensibility is a sliding scale based on one’s familiarity with a given subject. I don’t know crap about, say, textile art (however much I might have bluffed readers in the past - no, no, this is just good googling skills on my end), but that doesn’t mean the textile arts are an inherently incomprehensible subject.

Scientifically, automobiles were once thought to be insensible. Scientifically, phones were thought to be a flight of fancy. Scientifically, 3D printing was improbable. Scientifically, quantum computing was the stuff of sci-fi nerds who just wanted to slap the “quantum” label on everything.

And yet we are now on the verge of robotic vehicles, mostly functional smartwatches, laser printing cells (PDF), and quantum computers (VentureBeat, IBM).

So I would argue that the insensibility of a setting would be due mostly to, yes, a structural issue - on the part of the author. No matter what you put into your world, internal consistency is key; nothing, no matter how ostensibly outlandish, will make sense if you contradict yourself.

I’ll volley a few questions back to you:

“[...] when to intentionally ignore reality” - Are you ignoring reality entirely, or just parts of it? Why? How does that decision benefit your world? How does it detract from your world?

“Can’t bother to do research” - Is it because you are discouraged by the breadth of your comprehension of a subject, compared to the subject’s depth? Or is it because of something else?

“Don’t understand research” - Is this because you don’t understand the academic papers that turn up in your search results, or because you have a fundamental lack of or misunderstanding of the given subject? Or is it because of something else?

“When are such things considered to be offensive or overused cliche” - As someone who intentionally arranges their studying around the plausibilities of the future, I would quite frankly be delighted to see more conceptual stretches of the imagination in this regard, as do many others on this blog, and beyond it. Why have you already passed judgement on the offensiveness or clichéd-ness of incorporating scientific things? Is this related to your other comments?

“[...] or have a reader point out the impossibility and can’t get into the story?” - If you are writing to please a specific individual or demographic, you are inevitably always going to fall short, because it’s genuinely impossible to meet every single item on a group’s wishlist without devoting your life to it (not an entirely worthy pursuit, in my opinion, but alas). What made you decide to be so concerned over the potential reaction to your stories that you worry about it before the story is even written?

I think I will put the majority of my curiosity’s weight on the last bullet point, as I’m seeing similar themes with the other portions of your question. It’s a fruitless endeavour to tie yourself into knots over a possible (not necessarily probable!) reaction - and quite likely from a stranger, to boot. Education is a relatively easy situation to fix, so long as you’re patient with yourself; dealing with anxieties over readers is… not so easy.

I can really only recommend that you take a close look at the goals of your worldbuilding, and see where you contradict yourself - once you have that in hand, it’s a relatively simple yes/no process of what concepts you want to keep. If the issue of decision comes from a lack of understanding, then make a note to yourself to seek out either the million wikis we Pylons utilize ourselves like any other worldbuilder, or to chalk it up as a genuine lack of context.

Please understand that even someone who’s dedicated their life to a certain aspect of science won’t know everything about it - that’s the point of research! We’re constantly asking ourselves questions, and pushing the envelope of known boundaries. Star Wars has lightsabers, but we don’t need to know how they work; likewise with holodecks in Star Trek. So long as an audience is reasonably entertained with the least amount of head-scratching, you can get away with handwaving quite a lot.

Lockea: On a scale between Star Trek and Star Wars, how “hard” is your science fiction?

I mention that mostly to illustrate that science fiction exists on a continuum, wherein science fiction with more “science” than “fiction” drives a story towards the harder end rather than the softer end. Also, a story’s place on the continuum will change based on what we know and understand about science.

I feel like everyone always beats me to saying all the important stuff about questions, so I’ll just give a few thoughts from my personal experience as a science fiction fan with two engineering degrees and a thesis about robots on the moon (yes really, I wrote my thesis on AI for moon robots). I really, really, love the creativity of science fiction writers. I think so often in defending the genre, we can get caught up in saying things like “science fiction predicted XYZ!” Well, sure, I may have studied Isaac Asimov’s three laws of robotics in my introduction to engineering ethics course, but I was also greedily reading my way through “The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins at the same time. The fact that I sincerely doubt Panem will ever happen didn’t dampen my enjoyment of Katniss’s story. It was a fun read and it gave my friends and I something to talk about that wasn’t “feasibility of Battlestar Galactica” during our daily lunches.

The thing about writing science fiction is that, without a doubt, there will be someone who knows more than you about a topic who reads your story. Most of the time, I end up being that someone since everyone likes to talk about Skynet and robots taking over the world to a roboticist who sincerely refers to artificial intelligence as artificial stupidity. Y'all are seriously overestimating the field, my friends. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” even as I thought how impossible Project Insight would be. Honestly, something every READER of science fiction needs to make peace with is the fact that writers will get something wrong. Writers, despite their best efforts, are not always going to understand that a facial recognition algorithm will fail if you introduce tiny amounts of random noise and are thus going to treat The Algorithm™ as infallible in your crime drama novel.

It’s not the writer’s fault, though.

That deserves to be on its own line. It is not YOUR fault if you get something wrong. Would it be nice if science literacy was just better all around? Of course! But it’s not your fault if your science literacy isn’t up to snuff enough to parse the article I cited above. It’s also not your job. Your job as the writer is to tell the most interesting story you can and to maintain your own internal rules and logic such that the reader never breaks the willing suspension of disbelief.

I watch Star Wars and get really into the light saber fight scenes and forget that light sabers are basically impossible to make. Star Wars has the Force, which is basically magic, and that’s okay. Really. I KNOW it’s not possible, but I still have a lot of fun watching it!

So yeah, write that story about how the robots are going to take over the world. I’ll probably enjoy reading it even as I laugh off my friends telling me that I will be the first to die in the robot apocalypse (of course I will -- I have five robots in my living room alone).

Constablewrites: Tone and consistency are the biggest pieces of this for me. If it’s the kind of story where the answer to “How does this work?” is usually a detailed and plausible explanation, then getting an answer later that is implausible or slapdash will stand out more. But if it’s the kind of story where the answer to “How does this work?” is “You push that button and it goes whoosh” from the start, my expectations adjust accordingly. (It’s possible to have the latter version in a story that is mostly the former, frequently when it’s played for last. Again, tone is key.)

So yeah, a lot of this is execution and the way the story sticks to the rules it sets for itself, and also how central the implausibility is to the story. A realistic thriller that relies on cartoon logic for a background bit might be a little jarring, but not nearly as much as a realistic thriller that relies on cartoon logic to set up its main showdown. The more central it is to the story, the more consistency and accuracy matters. Learning how to balance this can take some practice and some insight from beta readers.

[helbramstrauma-main]

Thorn

Masterlist

Albert DaSilva X Reader

A Modern AU: A seemingly perfect life with one thread loose. What happens when you pull it?

Word count: 2089

My world isn't too bad, I follow the rules and good things come from it. That being said, I don't live in the most interesting world. I go to school, get good grades, have a close group of friends. Although I live a boring life, it doesn't mean I don't have hobbies, every day after school I go to the band room. Every day for two hours I play the flute, afterward, I go home for dinner. Soon after that though, I give flute lessons. Don't get me wrong I love playing the flute, but it has become my whole identity. Sometimes I just want to rebel against my family. It isn't that they treat me wrong, but being around them is like being wrapped in bubble wrap. 

Of course millions of people wish they were in my place, not having any real trouble. Of course, I do have a thorn in my side, but it isn't genocide or even abusive. My life is easy, excluding Albert DaSilva, he just seems to wreak my life. However, he seems to be the only exciting thing about it.

History in the basement seems to be the hardest part of my day.  The temperature is unpredictable, but today it seems to be a sauna. Unfortunately, my top is strapless so I have to keep my flannel on. Not to mention that the permanent thorn in my side just happens to be behind me. If Albert wasn't the only interesting part of my life I would never entertain his notes. Alas, he is though, so I always give in. Each of his notes says some silly pick up line, he is shameless. Almost as shameless for when he says, "you know after 15 minutes we can leave if he doesn't show up". That's another painful thing about this class, the teacher is always late, without a doubt. I am brought back into reality when I hear the boom of Mr. Richardson's voice. That's another thing, he talks way too loud.

"Partner time" an audible sigh leaves every person's mouth. Another thing about History is how he chooses groups. Like in elementary school everyone has their name on a popsicle stick and we choose our fates. The sticks are never nice, I usually get stuck with someone who lets me do all the work. Doing work for two people in half the time. It is almost like the list for everything bad in History is never-ending, Richardson's deadlines are never proportionate. Since today is Friday it will probably be due on Monday "since we have the whole weekend to work on it". Goodbye weekend plans. The project guidelines are being passed out and before I even look at it, I can tell it is one of his rambling masterpieces. Every assignment, without a doubt, he writes four paragraphs to say a simple thing, but he always contradicts himself making his class impossible. It is my only B, straight A's then this blemish.

My inner monologue is cut short by the familiar sound of popsicle sticks hitting a plastic cup. Another simultaneous groan fills the room as people start picking names. That is one plus side to this, you get to look at people as their eyes light up or their soul leaves their body after reading their partner's name. He stands in front of me mixing up the sticks, only one thought crosses my head. Not DaSilva, not DaSilva, not DaSilva. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation and I let out a breath I've been holding in. Upon opening my eyes I can feel my soul leave my body, Albert DaSilva.

"Don't just stare at it, it isn't going to change?" Richardson says wanting me to announce my partner to the class.

I swallow the saliva that has accumulated in my mouth before saying, "DaSilva". An audible sigh of relief washes over the class. Albert is known for getting on Mr. Richardson's nerves in class and his grade reflects it, and just because it is a group project does not change Mr. Richardson's harsh grades for him. However I don't know why I am not upset, normally the thought of working with Albert is enough to nauseate me, but in practice, it seems to excite me. Why?

After an extensive explanation of the project that somehow doesn't define the project at all, Richardson ends his lecture early to let us make plans with our partners. I spin around in my chair to face the thorn in my side, to see him looking all too pleased. "What are you doing after school, cupcake," He says with a mischievous grin. Why can no one smile normally? Also cupcake? I am not a cupcake! Just ignore him and get this over with.

"To be honest I am surprised you are even planning on doing this project," I say, fully expecting to do all of the work.

He leans farther back on his chair still making eye contact with me, "if you are going to fail the project because of me, it would be impolite not to help" his hand goes over his chest to show mock sincerity. However, as his hand leaves the table he falls backward from his chair. The noise is loud enough to make me jump and I watched it happen. Mr. Richardson yells at him for falling out of his chair. Great, that is another five points off our project.

"I think we can work on the project separately, and just do half the work. I can do the chart, reading, and essay. You can do the PowerPoint and the poster" I say, desperate to not hang out with him.

"But what are you doing after school" Albert persists.

"Band practice, and then I am going home," I say hoping that he just lets it go.

This time leaning on his desk, he sets his head in his hands and looks at me. I can see every detail on his face, I can see faint lines connecting his freckles together. It looks like he tried to wash them off but the faint lines are still there. My eyes wander around his face until they land on his hazel eyes. He isn't saying anything but his eyes are begging. I am not giving in, my parents would never let me go to a guy's house that they never met before. That being said I don't have to tell them, but they will worry about me. I continue to argue with myself, but then I look into Albert's eyes again. I am making a mistake, I am making a mistake, my attempts to reason with myself are useless.

"But practice ends at five, you can pick me up by the pool doors" I commit. No going back now. My mom will be waiting for me on the other side of the school, I cannot let her see me get into his car.

DaSilva's eyes light up even more at me giving in, and he is now grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, but all I can think of is, how I am lying to my parents. I am finally going to be free, I am going to live a little. Of course, my idea of living a little is lying to my parents to do homework, but it is living a little not living a lot. After we are dismissed from band, I practically grab my belongings and sprint to the other wing of the school. Usually, I would stay back to help the teacher clean up, but I cannot risk seeing my mom. Once I make it to the pool doors I see Albert leaning against his car. He spots me and smiles, motioning for me to join him outside. The air conditioner is blasting cold air, instinctively making me wrap my flannel around myself tighter. My phone rings and I see that it is my mom calling. Just let it ring, don't answer it.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?" Albert asks looking down at it.

"I don't recognize the number" I lie.

He just kind of gives me a look before saying, "it says mom at the top, and it has a photo of you two together on the screen". Right, instead of answering Albert or the phone, I simply decline the call and turn off my phone. This earns another strange look from Albert. "You could have just said you guys don't get along".

"No, I'm trying to rebel, live a little. I'm never allowed to go anywhere and I'm 17, I deserve some freedom" I say, being way too honest to the thorn in my side. I may call him a thorn but it dawns on me that all he does is mildly annoy me, but calling him a thorn sounds cool.

"You do know your great rebellion is doing homework, right" Albert is now chuckling, "kind of pathetic".

"What if I did this," I say quickly taking off my flannel slightly to reveal a shoulder. Never in a million years did I expect to be laughing with Albert DaSilva in his car rebelling, but here I am. The rest of the car ride, however, was silent and not the good kind either. We resort to listening to the radio instead. With my phone turned off I don't have anything to do, so I go back to studying Albert.

His ginger hair peaks out of his backward baseball cap and his hands are calloused. His lips are chapped and he has licked them 7 times before we reach his house. Pulling into his garage Albert turns off the music. Shuffling around to collect his things from the back. I simply grab my purse and binders and climb out of the vehicle. Shortly after he leads me into his basement. It isn't finished but behind the stairs, there are a couple of bean bag chairs and coffee table.

"My brothers shouldn't bother us down here," he says sitting in one of the two bean bags. I mimic his action and take out my laptop and History project. The thought of it makes me yawn, but then again I hear Albert's stomach grumble. "Why don't we order some pizza?" Albert phrases as a question but immediately start dialing a number, let me know that we are ordering pizza. "It will be here in thirty minutes"

The time before the pizza arrives, I am able to get through about half of the question of the reading, and Albert is still researching for the PowerPoint. However, after the pizza arrives all productivity comes to a halt. Ignoring the boring assignment, we focus on each other. I can feel Albert's eyes studying me while we talk. To be honest, I would usually be offended, but I am loving the attention. Even though Albert is possibly the most interesting person I know my body is just telling me to sleep.

"Before we get back to work, how about a siesta," I say looking at the boy I used to refer to as a thorn but now is tolerable. Albert is attractive, I have known this for a while, but it is easy to ignore when he is bothering you, but now I see the personality that matches the outside. This shouldn't be allowed, no one should be able to be this level of attractive and have this personality, it is unfair to every other person on earth.

"I don't see the harm in a nap," Albert says kicking his feet onto the bean bag I was sitting on. I take this as a cue to rest my torso on his bean bag. At some point, I rest my head on his chest, and I must admit he makes a good pillow too. I can hear his heartbeat against my head and it soothes me. I can feel myself dozing off when I feel Albert's fingers running through my hair. There is no other way to describe this situation other than, it just feels right.

"You know you're cute, cupcake," Albert says, half asleep.

"You're are not so bad yourself DaSilva," I say equally as exhausted. We fall into another silence but this time, it is the good kind. We fall asleep just like that, with my head on his chest studying his heart's rhythm and his hand tangled in my hair. Needless to say, neither of us set alarms, so neither of us woke up until mourning.

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 184

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 36 - “Go for the Goal! Marathon Race” Date watched: 13 May 2020 Original air date: 14 October 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/hrE6zQT Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Gamabunta is that you?

This show has been on a pretty good run lately. We had the vacation arc, haunted school, our festival fun, a day in the life of Urara, some romantic developments, Rin entering the wedding industry, and Karen as a knight. The defeats of Girinma and Arachnea were both suitably epic and inspiring. Well forget all that because it’s a Gamao episode and in true Gamao form, he ruins any goodwill we may have had for him. He can’t even do a last chance black mask monster transformation episode well. Let’s take a look.

The Plot

Cinq Lumieres Academy is having an all-grade level 4 kilometer race, and Nozomi is trying to get out of participating, but Rin keeps insisting she practice. Rin doesn’t have a lot of time TO practice with Nozomi, between her responsibilities to the Futsal Club and having to tend to the family store. More on this later, because it’s time to flimsily set up Nightmare’s scheme this episode.

Gamao is sitting on a bench when he’s approached by Kawarino. Gamao begs the senior executive for a management position at Nightmare but Kawarino remarks that his accomplishments so far amount to nothing. He says maybe he could change his mind if he were to obtain the Dream Collet, and considers giving Gamao the black paper, but decides not to before he disappears. However, Gamao discovers that Girinma "accidentally” left it behind for him, and is convinced he’ll be able to get into upper management. As he runs off to enact his plan, Kawrino reappears and snidely remarks to himself that he doesn’t have much faith in the frog.

We return to Nozomi and Rin’s running practice A few key shots of Rin show that she’s extremely tired but pressing on, because she really wants to repeat her first place title from last year. Karen notices this and decides that they should all join in the practice, so the next day when they run the practice course, all five girls and even Coco and Nuts are present. They begin to climb to a hill that could rival anything in San Francisco, and Nozomi starts to give up, but as she stops to encourage her friend, Rin succumbs to fatigue and collapses.

Everyone gets Rin back to Natts House and when she’s feeling better, she opens up to Nozomi, saying she wanted to do for Nozomi what Nozomi did for her when they were in elementary school. We flash back to a time in their youth when the school had a race, and Rin was the favorite to win, but she tripped and fell and almost gave up running entirely until Nozomi caught up to her and encouraged her to finish the race together. Nozomi promises to do her best in the race for Rin’s sake.

It’s important to note that the route for this race leaves the Cinq Lumieres campus and gets into the town (which I am realizing has never been named). There are signs along the route that point the way, and Gamao has taken a position as a sign holder at a junction. When he sees the Precures coming, he turns the sign to divert them off the route away from the other students, and when he has them all gathered in a dead end forest, he turns the ground into a beyblade arena crater and makes his presence known. When they naturally refuse to hand over the Dream Collet, he transforms and so do they. He tries to mow them over like Tasmanian Devil, zooming around the pit like fat beyblade.

I’m not kidding that’s his plan

The Precures are understandably tired as they’ve been running, but after he mocks them for running for no reason, Dream gets riled up and retorts that trying hard at something isn’t pointless at all, and then they all kick his ass. He pulls out his black paper, but clearly he wasn’t aware of the side effects when it latches onto his face and turns him giant. Now a giant, mindless toad monster, he leaps into the air and comes crashing down on Lemonade, Mint, and Aqua. He smooshes Rouge as well, and then tries to attack the fairies, who are watching from the edge of the pit.

Dream manages to catch his tongue before he can hurt them, and the other Cures emerge, one beneath each foot, lifting him up and throwing him into the wall. With Milk’s help, they summon the Symphony Set and perform Precure Five Explosion, finishing Gamao off once and for all. He will not be missed.

They make their way back to the race route and realize as they turn back into the school grounds that they’re in last place, ruining Rin’s chances at a repeat victory. However, she’s happy enough that she gets to finish together with her friends, just like she did all those years ago. Nozomi declares a race to the finish and sprints across the finish line ahead of everyone else as the episode closes out.

The Analysis

As you may have gathered from my introduction, I don’t have a very high opinion on this episode. Sure, it has some nice character beats, but it doesn’t introduce anything new or build on any facets we haven’t seen before, except to give us another reason why Nozomi and Rin are close friends. It’s not offensively bad or anything, I don’t think there’s any episodes that I outright hate in this franchise, but it’s bottom tier for this show. There’s very little narrative payoff to Rin’s plot in the episode. She overworked herself to the point of collapsing to motivate Nozomi, and ultimately Nozomi did internalize the importance of the race from Rin’s perspective, which she repeated during the battle. It’s nice but I’ve grown to expect more meaningful declarations during these pivotal villain defeat episodes than “I helped her as a kid and she wants to help me now.” The whole point of Five Explosion is a manifestation that they’re stronger together than apart, but this episode isn’t about the full team’s unity, so it falls flat. If it hadn’t been Gamao’s send-off I might have liked it a smidge better, or if it had been Hadenya attacking instead, or even Bunbee, then it may have made sense.

Moving over to Gamao, for a black mask final battle, this fell far short of what Girinma and Arachnea put the girls through. He didn’t seem any more threatening than a strong Kowaina, he only really got in one attack on the girls as a monster before they took him down with Five Explosion. He had a pretty cool effect of being so massive and fast that he generated really fast air currents but they didn’t do any damage to anyone. This battle is a ton of wasted potential. The best part of the fight was actually before he used the black mask. Spinning around the arena like he did was clever, and it worked better than just about anything else he’s ever done. Gamao’s shortfalling is that he’s lazy and shortsighted, he wants to take the easy way out, his plans amount to simply beating the girls up and that’s it. Compare this to Bloody from the previous episode, who nearly talked Nuts into just handing it over, and well, Gamao comes out of this unfavorably. About the only good thing I can say about him is that his black mask form looks really cool, and it’s huger than any we’ve seen so far. I really wish they’d used it more. If they’d swapped him out with Girinma in episodes 23-24 I would have liked that a lot more, it would give Gamao a better sendoff and it feels more appropriate that the weakest villain is the first to go. Alas.

Lastly, the art quality in this episode is in the toilet and that might be the biggest factor in making it seem underwhelming. The characters appear grossly deformed and oddly proportioned a lot.

Even when they’re kicking Gamao’s ass in the fight, which is a series of dynamic still frames, the quality is poor. There’s a shot when Coco and Nuts step in to announce that they’ll be running with the girls, and their models just bounce into the frame like they leaped into the air and landed, rather than stepping. It was bad and kind of hilarious by the same token.

This episode feels like an afterthought on both the writing and animation standpoint. The last few have been so-so in visual quality and if you’ve been following along, you know that’s normal for this point in the show, and of course it’s nowhere near as bad as Max Heart could get, but this is an episode that should have had weight to it, and to see it squandered like this makes me sad.

On the upside I will say I enjoy the little back and forth between Nozomi and Milk, ever butting heads. Milk tells Nozomi that they can all do their best in the practice run, while sitting comfortably in Nuts’s bag being kind of a slouch herself. It was amusing.

Speaking of slouches, Coco probably should go for more runs, because next episode he’s putting on some weight after eating a diet of nothing but cream puffs. Look forward to more on that!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Kettei!

P.S. dear Pretty Cure Splash Subs: your meme subs are not funny.

[kyndaris]

A Single Step and Then Another

Writing is no small feat. Ever since I was bitten by the writing bug, I’ve struggled with keeping projects afloat and maintaining interest in blog management. Before Tumblr, I tried to start a blog twice on Blogspot (now known as Blogger). Much of that came from my desire to track my days. Like keeping a diary or journal. But interesting things were far and few between. The days of my youth largely blurred together and I could hardly find the time to sit down and jot down my thoughts on school or university.

During primary school, when computers were still churlish machines that chugged along at a snail’s pace, I tried my first attempts at writing fanfiction. I didn’t know what it was called at the time, but my curiosity led me to tease out what happened after the Happily Ever After’s that were promised in certain Disney films such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. As ever, I proved an astute business woman, selling my perfectly printed books that were stapled on one side on the market for $2 a pop.

Alas, the only person that bought my works of genius was my mother.

High school was when I rediscovered my hobby. I was already an avid reader. Writing, while a more difficult challenge, once more sunk its claws into me. As always, I wrote to entertain - imagining daring mercenaries in a fantasy world or anthropomorphic animals clinging to a dying kingdom. Most were inspired by the stories I read and the video games I played. Many of the characters were named after my friends or were poor caricatures. 

There were times, however, when I was writing that I wondered if perhaps I was stealing too many tropes from such classics as Eragon and the Fire Emblem franchise. As such, I often hewed and hawed over many of my works. By the end of high school, I deleted the one major story that I had sitting on my FictionPress. Mostly because I had no proper idea of where I wanted the narrative to go. And I was just filling it up with utter nonsense.

Yet the idea of a mercenary and a hidden princess persisted. I tried to use it again in my next writing project. Still, the land of Thlandaris never quite reached my lofty expectations. Changing everyday animals into weird fantasy creatures with fantastical names also didn’t help.

And so my writing stalled once again.

It was not until I began working, however, that I found my way back again to the world of writing. Though I hadn’t opened up a blank Word page in a while (at least for anything other than a university assignment or a job application), ideas aplenty danced and tossed around in my head. That, of course, was when I decided to restart my attempts at keeping a blog. Yes, I knew it would never really transpire into something majorly popular (though the hope remained that one of my many articles would become viral and a newspaper would decide to feature it), but I thought it would assist with my attempts at writing.

The going, however, was slow when I began work on Divided We Fall. The story itself went through three drafts. With the last one being the most complete. And while I would have sorely liked to have edited it, it had taken a good four years to arrive at what I had been hoping for. Even during those gruelling years of crafting the characters of Feryden, Elisander, Kiralt and Lathin (who were based on many of my earlier characters), I was also tempted by starting up a new project. Like many before me, it was easy to simply toss away an idea that was taking too long and do something different.

Despite that, I decided to keep a record of my many ideas for future stories. After all, if I could just finish one, then surely I had accomplished something.

Back to Divided We Fall, I went. And gosh darn it, I finished it in 2018. Along the way, of course, I had written several short stories. And, I had also managed to be consistent with my blog updates. Yes, many were just impressions and reviews of the games I played - but churning out one a week was also nothing to scoff at.

But I still had ideas aplenty filling my head. While I was quite taken with the idea of writing a reinterpretation of Snow White, my dear friend Hayatedragoon convinced me to stick with my first idea. The one that I hoped would be published as a short series of books. The Adventures of Lacet and Idana.

Throughout the writing of my stories, there were many times when I wanted to give up or delete everything that I had written. As with most creative types with a hint of perfectionism, I was my own worst critic. No-one would like my characters, I said! My dialogue is atrocious! The singular starting sentence was not enough to capture the attention of readers!

With time, however, I managed to silence those thoughts (mostly). There are times, still, when I have wondered if it has all been worth the blood and sweat. It isn’t as if I have publishers and agents beating down my door. Nor do I have a thousand followers on FictionPress leaving me with positive reviews of the things I have written.

I will be honest, a part of me yearns for the praise. And my genius to be recognised. But to do so, however, would go against the very reason why I began writing. The reason why I wanted to write was to weave my own tales. To explore the stories of characters that do not usually get the spotlight. While Lacet and Idana follow many tropes that are stereotypical to the fantasy genre, I like to think I’ve subverted a few expectations. Lacet is no wise wizard. Nor is he young (and incredibly hot) upstart mage. He is middle-aged. His hair is balding and he has a bit of a stomach. 

Of course, as more chapters of Wild Child are uploaded to my FictionPress, I cannot help but worry if my writing will fall into the trap that so many others have done. Will I have ruined the characters by putting too much of myself into them? Will they all become Mary Sues by the end of it all? Will I overcompensate and so they all become terribly unlikeable? 

In other news, I finished editing Monsters Beneath My Bed a couple of months ago as well. Yet I’ve delayed uploading it until I’ve the entirety of Wild Child is up. And before I could even think to rest on my laurels, I began another short story (which is still in progress at time of writing up the blog post) and committed myself to another novel length story. This time, however, the genre is a departure from my usual stomping grounds. Forget fantasy. Let’s try and commit to a modern adventure/ thriller! 

Already I am regretting my decision. Nothing seems factually accurate and I fear that my attempt might just be deleted given another month or two. 

But I will persist. The key to forging ahead, at least for myself, is to worry not about how perfect the quality of the writing is. That is what the editing process is about. Of course, even after editing, slip-ups can still occur. But by carving out the crude gem can one polish it. Such is the process of writing. And if you think I’m talking out of my arse, well, the first few seconds of Neil Gaiman’s ad for his masterclass in writing also provided the perfect analogy of driving with one headlamp and hoping the editing will make people THINK you knew where the plot was going from the very start.

Getting caught up in the nitty gritty of the perfect prologue (for almost two years) did not allow me to craft the entirety of the story. Nor did it allow me much exploration of the characters and other important facets of the world. 

So, for those that are thinking of trying to write their own masterpiece, all I can say is start it as soon as the idea comes. And never waver. Sure, it might not be as good as you hoped, but all of that can be fixed later on. Also, never be afraid to look up synonyms on Google (or a thesaurus). 

But what I found helpful as well was to learn by reading widely. I mean, authors were published for a reason, right? Let them inspire you on your own writing journey. And question what you can make better.

[theonceoverthinker]

Doppelganger on the Docks (Captain Swan Role Reversal)

Summary: Even in Storybrooke, the town where most anything can happen, Killian doesn’t expect much chaos when he and Emma go sailing together. But hey, for good or ill, that’s their town, right?

AO3            Fanfiction.net

Here it is, my submission for the @csrolereversal​!!! Thank you to the wonderful creators of this project!!!

ALL of the credit in the world for this story’s existence belongs to the following two wonderful ladies!

First, @hollyethecurious​, thank you so much for the fantabulous artwork! Not gonna lie, when the development of this piece got hard, your artwork kept me going!! It’s so unique and scary and cool that it deserves some words to accompany it!

Second, @fraddit​ is the most amazing person in the world, pass it on! Seriously, the help with this piece’s story development you gave me as well as your encouragement was so helpful! I really could not have completed this work without you!

()()()()()()()()()()()

A bright afternoon Filled Storybrooke’s skies The ocean shimmered and glistened And all around were seagull’s cries

Killian walked across the scene A day of sailing just ahead But in a rare case nowadays He had no one in his stead

His family was working Or otherwise, in another realm But Killian was fine with that Sailing the Jolly, alone at the helm

But just as he was readying To depart for the briny blue He heard someone call his name And the source was one he knew

Emma was just down the gangplank Saying she’d been double booked at work She requested to join in her husband’s travels Though asked in words that made them both smirk

Killian brought her aboard his vassal And pecked her lips tenderly with a kiss A day at sea alone was of course a good time But one with Emma, he never would miss

So they both got to work on the rigging And a few minutes later, they left Though his new home grew more and more out of sight Of love, Killian couldn’t feel less bereft

The Jolly Roger rocked across the ocean And salt water sprayed through the air While laughter and chatter rumbled through them They had fun with less than a care

Emma pulled Killian close to her Her arms looping around his neck And the conversation slowed As they made out on the deck

The hours passed in much the same way Creating an afternoon that was fun While Killian expected the day to go fine even alone With Emma, it was second to none

But the entire time they snuggled and kissed Killian noticed things felt rather odd The way she talked and kissed felt just a bit off So Killian decided to prod

Emma told him that she had a headache And Killian supposed that made enough sense After all, why would he distrust the woman he loved? And trusting her always made him less tense

Together for the next several hours They idled in the sun as the time’s arrows marched on Emma curled into Killian’s side as they looked to the horizon And Killian nuzzled his head in his Swan

Only when Killian got hungry did they go below deck He revealed a small lunch that he took While it wasn’t a lot, both were happy to share And Killian fed Emma bits from his hook

All of the sudden, not long into lunch Killian’s cell phone made itself known It was a call from the station and though it pained Killian to do so He wanted to silence its drone

Emma tried to convince him to dismiss the blare Another odd thing for her to suggest  But Killian’s resolve won out in the end Though he promised it would be a quick quest

Killian climbed up the ladder as he answered the call “What’s going on, Dan?” he then pressed However, it wasn’t Dan who was on the other end of the line And who was Killian would never have guessed

It was Emma on the phone How could that have been so? She was talking so nonchalantly As if she wasn’t waiting for him down below

When confronted, Emma told him She’d been hard at work all day But she wanted to call to ask about dinner And just check that he was okay

Her phone had apparently died early that morning And work kept her too busy to call him before So when she at last was able to get a moment to herself She wanted to call and learn when he’d come back to shore

Killian turned between the phone and the ladder The directions of his two possible brides And suddenly his legs felt quite wobbly Though it was not a result of the tides

The Emma on the phone was persistent In proving who she truly was And through evidence Killian found it hard to deny Still, the whole matter gave him pause

If this Emma who had only just appeared Was the real woman that had won his heart Then who was this being who he’d spent the day with? And why did they want to keep he and its real self apart?

It would make sense if this were his Emma She didn’t give him that off feeling That this other possible Emma gave him Unghh, Killian’s head was now reeling

He needed to know  Which of the two was his wife So he thought up a means Of ending this bit of strife

Killian asked this Emma a singular question One only his real wife would know Her answer would determine once and for all Which of them was putting on a show

“What was it you said when we first kissed?” He waited on the meaning her answer would bring And his darling Emma answered fast “That was a one time thing.”

Killian then divulged what was going on Emma wondered why she now had a clone And he could hardly begin to contemplate it either But kept quiet to keep their cover unblown

It wasn’t long before they came to their conclusion Magic was what created the trick While the ‘why’ of the matter was still an unknown They could settle that later, but for now, they’d think quick

Killian would create an excuse to return home And Emma would meet them at the docks Once they converged, they’d corner the fake And to put it frankly, clean their dastardly clocks

Thankfully, while he was now quite heroic Killian was still good for the occasional lie So Emma agreed to the plan and bolted out of the station And Killian created a cover that was clever and sly

He climbed back down to where he left his fake date Killian’s absence seemed to not worry them at all So with that taken care of, he put his plan into action To get them back to the shore and then stall

With the gentlest tone he could muster Killian told the demon they needed to leave He sold them a story that their assistance was needed In a way they would have to believe

Killian nearly blew his cover by smiling And he had an overwhelming urge to gloat Seeing the fake mentally run through excuses On why the two of them should stay afloat

Triumphantly, Killian set off for Storybrooke Readying himself for some kind of fight And reminded himself no matter who this demon was He and Emma would make things alright

The ship was well on its way back to town They were now halfway back to port With any luck, if he could just keep his act together This misadventure would remain fairly short

But victory was never so easy And with a shove, Killian remembered that well Within seconds, he was on the ship’s wooden floor Still playing dumb, he asked “What the hell?”

The demon had clearly caught onto his scheme They looked at Killian, rather unimpressed “For such a renowned pirate, I expected better But alas, you’re just one more human I detest.”

And then they changed forms, no longer resembling Killian could hardly believe his own eyes Finally though, he completely understood It was a Siren that caused the day’s lies

He then asked the Siren what it was that she wanted On her face, a sinister smirk then appeared Killian knew whatever answer she gave would be bad But hers was worse than he feared

“Your father-in-law long ago killed my sister For too long I’ve sought retribution And while killing him would bring me great joy Killing you offers a better solution”

“For what could be better to ruin his life Than to dispose of his child’s True Love? Yes, to be forced to witness her mourning face everyday There’s no better vengeance I could ever dream of”

“I’ve waited between curses and realms oh-so long To bring real suffering to his daughter I was close to giving up when I found you It’s a good thing that her husband likes water”

“So I tried for so long to catch you alone And finally, I came upon my lucky day All it took was a vial of Lake Nostos’ water Now, for your father-in-law’s sins, you will pay”

Killian scoffed to himself and got up from the floor “Now, I don’t suppose you could be swayed?” It couldn’t hurt to try, Killian justified Especially if it would end this tirade

The Siren shook her head and her smirk nearly doubled Then she looked out at the port just beyond A curious hum had Killian turn to see what was troubling her And he spotted a quite familiar blonde

Killian looked to the Siren who had a glint in her eye He could tell that her plan had just changed What the hell was she going to do with his dear Emma Swan? If she thought she’d succeed, she was truly deranged

“You’ll never get to her in time,” Killian growled “The Jolly Roger’s far faster than you” But the Siren kept grinning and then she looked up From above, Killian could feel something brew

In an instant, the skies turned a bleak shade of mauve And the waves began to crash, smash, and roar As if these weather changes weren’t bad enough From above, dropped a heavy downpour

Torrential rain stormed down from everywhere Could just one thing go right on this day? And just as if the universe was trying to say ‘no’ The Siren left to go cause more foul play

Killian gripped the steering wheel with all of his might The storm daring him to get past its trials While he’d made a lot of progress before he was discovered The ocean left to cross was quite a few miles

Normally a close friend, the waves were rambunctious And the wind’s howl cheered it all on But Killian fought against rampage, sailing closer to home Ready to tough it all out for his Swan

As he sailed, he saw something leave the water A blonde head and two slow-moving hands Crept above the waves to the surface And pursued Emma, following her new batch of plans

Killian saw The Siren make a move to grab Emma A struggle broke out on the pier Emma fought against The Siren, who again wore her face But for Killian, the rain made the conflict unclear

When he arrived at the docks, he fastened and refastened his hook He needed protection for what would ensue Then he rushed off his ship to go fight in the battle And gazed at the terrifying view

Both Emmas were bruised and beaten and bleeding And once they saw Killian enter their sight They each cried for his help defeating the other It was up to him to resolve the fight

Killian took a close look at each of the ladies That was all he needed to know Which was the real Emma and which one was a fake And that decision was one he would now bestow 

Killian walked over to one, while the other cried for his help But Killian was sure his choice was indeed smart The Emma he walked to gave him a gentle smile Then he plunged his hook through her heart

The Siren transformed right before his and Emma’s eyes She tried to fight, but her strength was soon gone Killian glared at the fake, grit his teeth, and said “It’s over. I know my real Swan.”

As the Siren’s body bled and fell to the ground Killian rushed to his dear Emma’s side And as if to confirm Killian’s decision The crass weather began to subside

But Killian didn’t need such confirmation of safety For any doubt left in his heart was long gone Because just as told that Siren before ending her life He undeniably knew his true Swan

[kindofwriter]

Dr Jekyll’s Suicide Note

This is never going in my final draft, I’m sticking to 3rd person, it’s more of a guide of what’s going on in Jekyll’s life. Sorry for the deterioration in quality towards the end, I’m still figuring out how I’m going to execute that part!

-

I suppose all this started the very day I was born. My mother, a lawyer, and my father, a successful owner of an industrial company, always expected so much of me. Academically it was no struggle to exceed these expectations, but on a personal level I always seemed to disappoint. They wanted me to be meek, quiet, distastefully arrogant. I wanted to get tipsy, make out with boys, and be that friendly kind of arrogant that’s actually quite endearing: I hope.

So I committed myself to a life of duplicity.

At home I would be the uppity golden child my parents had always coveted, and the second I escaped their clutches I would be rowdy and curious; like a regular person. This would’ve been a fine arrangement, had I not so frequently got myself into trouble. The second time I was delivered home by the police was the last straw for my parents. I was nothing short of incarcerated until my university days.

But what they didn’t realise was that this repression only fuelled my desire to wreck havoc. My thoughts turned from underage jaunts to the pub to theft, brutality, even murder on occasion, but only that of my parents. I wanted to suffocate them like they had suffocated me. Those were the daydreams of an angry child, however. I would never follow through in reality.

Those lonely years spent locked in my room made me yearn to be another person, and it was then that I began my life’s work: actually becoming someone else.

At first I conceptualised a way to transfer my consciousness to another body, but all that was far too complicated. And anyway, I’m no Victor Frankenstein. So then my thoughts progressed to how I could alter my appearance.

I threw myself into the study of chemistry so devoutly I now find myself with a PhD in it. For a while I found that lab work and shallow friendships could distract me from the rage that burned inside my chest, but alas it was no long term solution. If anything, my mastery inflamed the issues, thrusting me into the public eye. I now had my reputation to consider when I wanted to get blackout drunk and throw beer cans in the Thames.

And what of my sexuality? I felt no shame in it, but I knew there were many doctors who would refuse to consider my research on this basis. Must I remain chaste my entire life lest I wish to peruse my passion?

No. I quit my job and dove back into my research.

It was gruelling. Lots of experiments gone wrong, many leaving me bed-ridden for days. I was manic in my desires.

But finally, years into my research, I had done it. One shot of this serum and my cherubic features would melt away, leaving me with hollow eyes and sharp cheeks and a diminutive frame. But my mind was still in tact. Or so I thought.

For a month or so I encountered no errors with my serum. It allowed me to masquerade as a fine young gentleman as I drank myself into oblivion and engaged in public displays of affection. Finally I could continue my contributions to the world of chemistry without feeling the need to repress my humanity.

And then something began to go wrong.

I began to transform without the use of the serum.

At first it was nothing to worry about. The only occurrences were when I allowed my mind to wander to the darker pleasures of life, and once transformed it was easy for me to control my behaviours.

Really I should have seen this as a red flag, but I was desperately in denial. For the first time since childhood I was experiencing freedom; the light, tingling ecstasy of being human. I’d made a deal with the devil to get it, but God be damned for all He’d ever done for me!

So I ignored the slight glitch in my system, instead electing to inform Poole that my new friend Mr Hyde would be frequenting the house, often in my absence but always with my permission.

Then of course, as I’m sure you know if you’re reading this, things worsened.

Edward Hyde was just a pseudonym I had constructed, a way of ensuring I would never slip up and reveal my true nature. But several months into my use of the serum he was beginning to develop thoughts and ambitions of his own.

It started off as overtly rude behaviour I would never have wilfully engaged in, but could easily pass off as me getting swept up in my new persona. But soon I was watching myself throw vicious punches, abuse my body with vile substances, and even purchase a house in Hyde’s name!

I had no control over this man! I had surpassed the ability to alter my appearance; I had created an entirely new person.

Hyde was born out of hatred, jealousy, and shame, and he acted like he knew it. If I was short-tempered, he was explosively violent. If I was selfish, he was narcissistic. If I was gluttonous, he was all-consuming, hedonistic greed.

I no longer had any control over when I transformed, and what I did after the matter. I was at the mercy of Mr Hyde, and he was not a kind master.

My one confort was that when Hyde collapsed into bed at the first tendrils of dawn, I would usually awaken in my own body, fully in control, if exhausted. Instead of relishing in the freedom Hyde had given me I began to feel trapped again, suffocated, desperately awaiting the hour when I would be free of Hyde.

Panic rolled in like a storm when, one morning, that hour never came.

I awoke in the home Hyde had purchased for himself in Soho, warm and dozy and grateful to have been returned to my former self. Things felt a certain degree of uncanny from the moment I became conscious, but I hadn’t been feeling myself for a while now, even in my own body.

Hyde’s various drug habits and vicious scraps had no impact on my physical body, but always inflicted a hazy sickness on my mind. The turmoil lost me a great deal of sleep and significantly reduced my appetite. All my life I assumed losing weight would be a pleasant sensation, but it only made me feel alienated from my own form.

But that morning I found I was experiencing more than the usual dysmorphia.

As I reached my hand up to draw back the duvet I saw not my own pale knuckles and perfectly manicured nails, but Hyde’s grimy fingers and bloodied hand.

Heart palpating with anxiety, I dressed in a rush and hurried home. Once in my lab I realised I actually had no conceivable plan.

The serum, which I had had no need for in months, was kept in a fridge under the worktop. It was the only project I had worked on in years, so was really the only substance in my lab.

In a fit of blind panic, I stabbed myself with a needle full of it.

Realising what I’d done, a whole new wave of panic engulfed me. But that was quickly replaced with the agony of cracking bones and melting flesh. I was certain I had killed myself, and the thought brought a strange sort of peace.

But then the pain subsided and I found my body had been returned to me.

I thought I was rid of Hyde then. Tentatively, I began to piece my old life back together; reaching out to friends, working on a simple paper on combustion, eating more than my share of deep fried breakfast foods. I began to engage in new activities, too. Soup kitchens, hospital visits, public gardening.

I had it. What I’d been so desperately trying to achieve with Edward Hyde, I finally had it. Freedom. Happiness. Fulfilment. I spent my days doing activities that made me believe in the literal soul, and my evenings in such a way that made me believe in the metaphorical one.

It couldn’t last, however. Scarcely had my head hit the pillow one night when I found myself awake again: and Hyde was awake, too.

He didn’t even bother to change out of my pyjamas. So long had Hyde been trapped at the back of my mind, he came out like a tornado.

He proceeded towards the Thames, stopping only to purchase LSD and to kick a poor homeless man. He lumbered along after an older gentleman who, God bless his soul, repeatedly glanced behind him in fear. Hyde sneered at him, so he crossed the street to walk along the side of the Thames.

Hyde crossed after him.

The man turned to confront Hyde, edging backwards as he did, but before he could even utter a coherent sentence he had stepped through a gap in the railings and into the water.

I screamed and reached out for him, but of course I was a mere consciousness, and had no voice with which to scream nor hands to reach.

The Thames is a perilous place for the strongest of swimmers; I knew without a flotation aid this old man would never survive.

Surely, I thought, Hyde would not be so cruel as to let this man die.

He strolled towards the railing, but made no attempt to remove the buoyancy aid. Instead he watched, head tilted in morbid curiosity, as the man thrashed beneath the surface of the water.

If I’d had eyes I would have been crying.

If I’d had lungs I would have been screaming.

But Hyde just watched. Watched the tumultuous waters. Watched as they grew still. Watched as the man’s last breath floated to the surface.

Then he shook his shoulders and continued on his way.

The next morning, reunited with my body, I was violently sick.

My initial thought was that I would report the crime myself. Find Ms Enfield and tell her everything. It’s not as though I’m deserving of anything more than a life in prison, what with the knowledge that this vile and careless apathy dwells within my soul.

The only thing holding me back was the thought of transformation. Were one to occur while I was incarcerated, which seemed exponentially likely at this point in time, I would be tortured to death in the name of scientific research. As despicable as I am I could not resign myself to that fate.

Thus, I tried to carry on as before.

My dearest, dearest Gabe, I trust you are reading this letter and know what comes next.

I apologise, but I must say it is true: I am desperately and inconceivably in love with you. I understand that it is not flattering to have a vile creature such as myself confess his undying adoration of you, but as you read this letter I will have parted with my last breaths, and thus will have nothing left to lose.

Please believe me when I say that I so desperately wanted to kiss you that night, but this monster inside me did not. He feels only lust, which cannot compare to the deep, profound love I have harboured for you for so long. Forgive me for pulling away. I could not live with myself if he had hurt you.

I used the rest of my serum to transform that night, but I knew it wouldn’t last. At a loss, and far too ill to operate my own lab, I paid a visit to Hatty. She greeted me, as usual, with slight warmth, masked by overwhelming distain.

As I began my explanation as to why I needed her help I felt myself beginning to lose control. The transformation was never painful, not like it was when I transformed back into myself, but it was as familiar to me as putting on a shirt.

Hatty gawked at Hyde in horror, unable to even utter a sound. She was a perfect still from a horror film.

I fled.

I think at that moment we both realised it was over. It would not be difficult for Hatty, world-renowned chemist, to prove my transformation. Hyde wanted to kill her, I could feel it in his mind, but he had been thrown at Harry’s witness to our transformation so I had, quite literally, taken the body and ran with it.

We entered my lab. I locked the door.

Hyde was stronger than me. I had known this for a while now. He screamed and hammered on the door and wrestled for control. It was like trying to reign in a wild animal.

I took a scalpel and impaled it in my thigh. Hyde roared in pain, but I, merely a numb observer, managed to keep my wits about me.

I think perhaps that’s why I’m not so afraid of what’s to come. I won’t feel it. It’s him who has to endure the rush of agony, and I don’t feel the slightest sympathy for him.

This really has been a long time coming. Hatty’s expression, one of such pure terror, such disgust and fear, but at the same time one that said all her suspicions had been confirmed, that was the last straw.

To Hatty, Hyde was never the monster; it has always been me.

That’s the one thing we have in common, I suppose. We both know that Henry Jekyll is the real monster.

Well, now I lay that monster to rest. I am truly, from the bottom of my empty soul, sorry.

-

Thanks for reading!

[leilas-digital-scrapbook-blog]

Giving Love a Bad Name – Confessions of a Fanfiction Writer

I know we’re supposed to blog about our major projects this week and I promise I will get to that soon, but I’d like to go off book for a moment to address something that’s been bugging me since last Thursday’s class. As someone who’s always tried to engage with fandom in as creative a way as possible, I hoped a class on user generated content would offer a fresher perspective than the usual amount of prejudice and self-righteous superiority that sadly seem to accompany the subject of fanfiction even amongst people that make stories and their passion for it their bread and butter.

Guess I should have known better.

In the world of professional writers, fanfiction is still a filthy word. It sums up everything that’s wrong with the people you’re sharing your stories with: the obsessiveness, the entitlement, the disregard for boundaries, the penchant for making everything about sex. Worse, gay sex, as unspeakably dirty as it’s hilarious. Be warned, writers: if you make it big, your stories will inevitably become a free-for-all at the mercy of those people. A worse fate than even George R. R. Martin could wish on his own characters.

I’m used to seeing the world of fanfiction belittled and disparaged, of course, and I’m the first to admit that the community is often its own worst enemy. But for some reason it still hurt a little to sit in class and listen to people I’ve come to like and respect during these past few months buy into every bad stereotype associated with the form. Not because I felt called out (though yes, I do write fanfiction from time to time, and I happen to quite enjoy reading it too), but because of the underlying assumptions that 1. something that’s not 100% original cannot be art, it’s a violence in fact, especially if it twists someone else’s creation into something it was never meant to be (in this case, queer representation); and 2. there’s something wrong with creating exclusively out of love, without ever expecting to be paid for it. And I have Strong Opinions on that.

So let’s talk about fanfiction.

Actually, scratch that, let’s talk about my favorite subject – yours truly. As you may have gathered by now, I love fanfiction. A whole fangirly lot. My gateway drug into it was my obsession with Lost about 10 years ago and its pesky habit of offing every character I was foolish enough to get attached to. But lo! Someone was keeping them alive through their stories! I felt blessed. I got to spend more time in a world I loved, and I stopped flirting with the idea of giving up on the show every time another character I liked bit the dust. Everybody won.

Even more than as a fan, though, I appreciated the world of possibilities that fanfiction opened up to me as a non-native speaker. I come from a small town in the north of Italy; the access I had to foreign books in their original language was limited, and if I wanted to read something in English I’d have to spend quite a lot of money on one of the very few novels (usually chunky airport bookshop thrillers or housewife romances – not exactly my preferred genres) that shared a single shelf in the bookstore with German, French, Spanish titles. But fanfiction was free, accessible, and there was so much of it. If I didn’t like a story, all I needed to do was move on to the next. Suddenly there was an infinite library of engaging stories to help me make my English better. True, they didn’t all read like a published novel would – there’s a lot of unpolished, error-plagued, stream-of-consciousness-y material out there. But there are also so, so many beautifully written works, and believe me, even for a non-native speaker it’s very easy to spot the difference.

Fanfiction also gave me the chance and motivation to practice my English writing in a way school never could have done. I’ve been writing my own stories since I could hold a pen, but I didn’t dare write in English until I was a fanfiction-loving teenager. It was a marketing decision, really – my first foray into writing fanfiction was for a fandom so small that I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I’m the only Italian representative, so if I wanted any kind of feedback on my work I’d have to suck it up and try my hand at writing in a language that didn’t come natural to me. I would never argue that the feedback I got on my works made me a better writer – contrary to popular opinion, the fanfiction community is made up of the nicest, most supportive people, and alas, you’ll never get a comment on everything you did wrong with your structure or even just pointing out common grammar mistakes from them (though I was lucky enough to have someone explain to me how dialogue punctuation works differently in English than in Italian, so I guess something can be learned even from the Internet). It did motivate me to keep writing, though, and that made me a better writer. If you think I’m being too dramatic, dishing out this monster of a post nobody asked for just to declare my eternal devotion to fanfiction, it’s because it’s personal to me. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been told that I write in English as well as native speakers, and fanfiction is a big part of why that’s true. I doubt I would even be in this course if it wasn’t for it.

And then, of course, there’s the gay thing. I’m not going to argue about how heteronormativity sucks and representation matters because I’m sure everyone’s as sick of talking about it as I am, but please try to understand how it felt for a gay person like me, used to be depicted in media as a plot device or token secondary-character representation if at all, to be able to step into a world where queerness was the default for once. Where queer protagonists had meaningful queer love stories and queer friends and got to save the world from the Apocalypse too. Or to fight the Empire or go to Hogwarts or everything else fictional straight people have had a right to do since the dawn of storytelling in addition to romancing the hottie of their choice. I’m not asking you to feel as passionately about it, of course, but (especially if you’re straight) you might try and empathize the next time you think a fanart of two boys kissing is something deserving of your amused contempt.

I hope I’m not coming across as the person that screams “homophobe” at everyone who disagrees with her because I guarantee that’s not what I’m trying to do here, but I think the general distaste for slash says a lot about the way our society sees heterosexual relationships as love and homosexual relationships as sex. Yes, there’s a lot of gay porn in the world of fanfiction. But you know what you’re most likely to find? Romance. Not in the saucy literary sense of the word, but in its simpler, most literal acceptation. Fanfiction is just one more way for humans to express themselves, after all, and love has always been front and center in our art. Love, not sex – even if it’s gay. In fact, explicit material doesn’t even make up the majority of what you’ll find on a fanfiction website. Don’t worry, I don’t want anyone to taint their souls by visiting one of those dens of iniquity so I pulled some stats myself. Here’s the number of works for each rating in three of the most popular fandoms on Archive Of Our Own, the current go-to website for the fanfiction community (sorry Fanfiction.net) – Harry Potter, Supernatural and the Marvel Cinematic Universe as of 9/3/2019:

Even counting both Mature and Explicit works as straight-up porn (which I don’t think is quite fair, but that’s a discussion for another day), they only make up less than 1/3 of the material. Kinda disappointing, for a medium that’s supposed to be all about filthy graphic gay sex. Imagine if only one in three musicals actually featured singing and dancing, or superheroes weren’t in the majority of superhero movies. They’re lucky fanfiction is shared for free, or I’d be screaming for my money back.

Maybe I’ve just been brainwashed by SJWs, though, and this has nothing to do with my being an immigrant or a lesbian. Maybe my inability to see what’s so bad about appropriating someone else’s intellectual property for your own amusement is a cultural thing. I apologize – as mentioned, I’m Italian, and we all know Ancient Roman culture was basically just a ripoff of everything those inventive Greeks came up with. It’s in our blood. Hell, our 2€ coin, the biggest, has the face of Dante Alighieri on it, a writer most famous for having written 14.000+ verses of self-insert real-person-fic in which the girl he fancied as a teenager, his favorite author, and God himself all fall over themselves to tell him how awesome he is and he gets to prophesy an eternity in Hell for his political enemies. Talk about wish-fulfilling entitlement. Not to mention all those creatively arid Renaissance “artists” celebrated for stealing characters from the Bible and Greek mythology (seriously, the fact that Greece hasn’t unleashed an army of lawyers on us yet is nothing short of a miracle) and putting them in their cheesy paintings. Other countries can rely on a much stronger moral backbone and endless imagination – I’m sure Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, those creative geniuses at Disney and countless others never had to resort to something as cheap and despicable as borrowing other people’s characters to tell the stories they wanted to tell.

Either way, I can’t help it – I see the prospect of creating something that will resonate with people so strongly that they’ll make it a part of themselves, that it’ll compel them to make more art, to reach out and connect with other fans, as something incredibly beautiful rather than scary. Maybe this is my usual naiveté speaking, and I will come to eat my words. It’s certainly disturbing that a bunch of entitled fans bullied the Mass Effect developers into changing the series’ ending, and sending actors explicit fanart of themselves is straight-up harassment, but is fanfiction really the problem here? Or is it social network culture, with its power to destroy all barriers and foster hive mind? To give resentment a platform to spread and be heard? I promise that the average fanfiction writer wouldn’t campaign to get an ending changed. They’d just roll up their sleeves and write a better one themselves.

[julianwolski]

Issue #7 - Why should you watch Kase-san and Morning Glories?

Young love is something to cherish, even though it doesn’t always last through the rest of our lives. It’s still an important experience to have because it shapes the way we pursue love from then on. Life isn’t just roses, and sometimes this innocent kind of love can be sad or dramatic, but it’s the best when it can overcome obstacles and have a happy ending.

Or dare I say a happy beginning?

When we fall in love for the first time it’s hard to know exactly how to tread these waters. We don’t know what to expect, and love is different for everyone, each experience just as unique.

At times, it feels like a good depiction of a love-story between girls is a hard thing to come by, but I wouldn’t know for certain seeing that I saw very few of them, to begin with. The good thing about this one is that it’s not tacky or over-sexualized, it’s not meant to be titillating, full of fan-service, or simply lined with terrible tropes--there are tropes in here, but they’re well-executed, and only help set the tone for the story.

Kase-san and Morning Glories is about the blooming relationship between Yui Yamada, a senior in high-school, homegirl, and gardening-nerd, with Tomoka Kase, also a senior, sports jock and the popular kid at school. The two of them meet prior to the start of the story, and through storytelling that takes a lot away from slice-of-life anime, we get to see a series of moments in the evolution of their relationship.

The two of them aren’t exactly polar opposites, but it’s clear that they are different from one another. Yamada has few friends at school and seems to like spending time on her own tending to the flower beds in the patio. She has a love for gardening and plants, justified by the number of books on the subject she has in her room and the fact that she wants to go to England to see more fantastic gardens.

Kase, on the other hand, has a flock of girls after her like bees after their queen. In general, be it in the hallways or in the sports fields, she’s always with a bunch of them going up and down with her. Other than that, the track team is a part of Kase’s life, and she’s set to keep going on this path in the coming year when she plans to go to college.

Their meet-cute isn’t exactly shown on the screen, but we get to see them fluttering about things like planing dates and talking on the phone. They are very mundane things, but when you don’t really have experience in life they seem to become a lot to take in.

Being nervous about meeting someone is real at any age, but it seems a lot less frowned upon when we are young. As the years pass we are told to get over it like it’s not an important aspect of feeling.

At some point, it seems like we won’t really get a story out of this because it is their lives and we are only in it for the ride. The plot meanders through day-to-day activities and misunderstandings that are quickly resolved, but little by little they paint a picture about who these girls are and how their love works.

I like that there’s real care in the way they act around one another, and how they are their own person. But they are also girls, through and through. They have their personalities and traits, yet at no point, they are painted in a straight way to be relatable--one of them isn’t the ‘guy’ and the other the ‘girl’ in the relationship.

And it’s not a dig at feminine boys or masculine girls, or whatever category they fall in. Yamada is very girly and shy, stemming from that damsel-in-distress stereotype, but she doesn’t really hold herself back and fears to project her feelings. At the same time, Kase has a tomboyish demeanor, with shorter hair and often using shorts and T-shirts, but at the same time she’s allowed to express herself, and--gasp--even blush.

Another aspect I like a lot about this anime is how self-aware it is. Not only it uses well-known tropes to set the tone and move the story forward, but it makes fun of things that were used to symbolize romantic behavior in other pieces of media--like watching someone from afar, like a creeper, before approaching them.

Also, there is a lot of funny moments that are completely unrelated to their being girls in love or their orientation--I don’t think that ever occurs in the story. Other characters accept them well, even if at one moment it seems like this might become an issue, it’s brushed off as soon as it is brought up.

All the humor in this is just about two people in love being cute with each other, and not knowing how to act properly to convey their feelings. To me, that’s one of the best ways to make a romantic comedy, especially one portraying that kind of love. Not all stories need to have some third person in the middle of the relationship or a reason for them to fight left and right for it to catch your attention. The reason that drew me into this one was the fact that it seemed pretty drama-free.

Of course, I would be lying if I didn’t say that there is some drama at the end, but it’s natural and expected at this age. When we are in that moment between high school and college it’s like our life is changing before it even begins to do so, and that is what drives the wedge between the two.

While Yamada is thinking of staying at home and just commuting to college, Kase plans to go to Tokyo and study there, all because of the opportunity to further her sports career. And during this time we get to see mature conversations and actions, as they are complicated but easy to understand.

Alas, this wouldn’t be a cute story without a happy ending. So, in a spur of the moment decision, the two girls get to choose a path where they can walk side-by-side without nothing to keep them apart. It seems like they are on the way to having their happy beginning.

As with any young love, we never know where it will take them, or where they’ll end up. They might be happy forever, or maybe they won’t last a year. The good thing is that we had these moments, that the two of them had these moments, and it was all worth it.

Love is always worth it.

That’s why you should watch Kase-san and Morning Glories.

[choicesfanatic86]

TTS: In Liam’s Eyes - Cordonia - Part 2/2

DISCLAIMER:  All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story.  Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS:  Riley (MC) x OC, Riley (MC) x Liam, Liam x Riley (MC) x OC, Olivia x Drake, Bertrand x Savannah, Maxwell x OC

SUMMARY: Liam returns to Cordonia and prepares for Riley’s arrival and enacts a plan to win her back.

If you are new to the series and would like to catch up by reading previous parts, please check out my master fan fiction listing.  CATCH UP HERE

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6/27/18 - Part 2 guys! I’m still on my break, these are all scheduled posts.  I will catch up on comments/questions/messages as soon as I come back. :)

As always, just shoot me a message or comment with requests to be added to the permanent tag or story tag. :)

In Liam’s Eyes - Cordonia - Part 2 of 2

Liam’s discussion with Regina had been a disaster.  He had expected as much, but it didn’t stop it from hurting any less.  He hadn’t expected her to suggest terminating the pregnancy, and out of everything that was what struck him the most.  He knew that she was probably speaking out of shock and desperation – her mind was ever-focused on what it would mean for Cordonia.  He tried to be mindful that he had also been blindsided by the unexpected news and didn’t handle things how he should have.  He had said some very hurtful things in the heat of the moment that he had wished to take back, but alas, once the words were said the damage had already been done.  Perhaps Regina was going through the same moment of shock and would come around to the idea eventually.

Despite her overall cold demeanor, there were moments when he was growing up that Regina showed a different side to her, a side that was almost maternal.  Having to deal with the loss of his own mother at an early age, he craved someone to fill the void of the mother figure he was missing.  When his father had married Regina, he had hoped that she would be that missing piece of the puzzle he had longed to find.  In her own way, Regina helped mold him into the man he was today, and in her mind, helped form him into the monarch he was as well.

After his father died and after Leo had gone back to the States with his family, Liam had felt so utterly empty and alone.  It was as if the life he had known for all those years had suddenly disappeared, and he was left trying to recreate a new life alone.  The only connection he had to that previous life that was still residing in the country was Regina.  She had been rather comforting initially – ensuring that he had the proper time to grieve and accept their new reality.  She also served as a wonderful confidante in those first few days after his father’s death so that he could express his fears and frustrations and what it would mean for their country.  She stood by and helped him stay strong for the country and his people.  That was why, he supposed, he had expected a bit more than a cold-hearted reception to the news about the pregnancy.  He had expected her to at least be supportive if nothing else.  Unfortunately, that had not been the case, and it as then that he decided that he wasn’t going to let Regina’s reaction distract him for the true purpose of what he was trying to accomplish – winning Riley back.

It was the day of Riley’s return, and he was nervous.  Nervous because he didn’t know what the future held for their relationship and their unborn child.  He knew what he wanted their future to be, but his conundrum was convincing her that the future he envisioned was possible for them.  In the two weeks since he had been back, he had accomplished nearly everything on the list he had first created back in New York – nearly everything because the nursery was far from done and he was nowhere near being able to get Riley to agree to marry him.  It didn’t matter though, because those last two items were a part of a much bigger plan he had formulated beyond the initial list he had created – a plan that couldn’t happen until she was back in Cordonia.  

Drake and Liam had been hard at work early that morning, getting some of the more complicated aspects of the nursery completed.  The last of the furniture had arrived and the men had spent the last couple of hours trying to piece the madness together.  

“How did you manage to get all of this in to the palace without anyone from the press catching wind that these were baby items?” Drake asked, looking around at the mess of furniture that was surrounding them.  

“Trust me, it wasn’t easy,” Liam said as he examined what appeared to be the leg from the crib.  “Bastien had the company use unmarked boxes and had them delivered in an unmarked delivery van,” he explained.

“So uh . . . you told Bastien, huh?” Drake asked, arching his eyebrows.

“I really had no other choice,” Liam frowned.  “He had suspected that there was more to Riley’s return than just another visit with the Beaumonts . . . he implied as much on several occasions, so I felt compelled to just tell him . . . he’s been quite helpful with adjusting my schedule and ensuring that everything remains confidential,” he explained.  “A few of the other staff members know as well.  It’s a rather difficult subject to avoid considering we’ve added a private obstetrician onto the staff,” he reasoned.  “Besides, Mrs. Scott caught me doing some research on Riley’s condition,” he closed his eyes as he began to remember the awkward exchange.  “She told me that her daughter had gone through the same thing and suggested she try drinking ginger tea. She was polite enough to not ask any questions, but I may not have been as lucky if it were any other staff member.  So we made arrangements to have the staff sign a non-disclosure agreement then told only a handful of the staff members who would be in direct involvement with the pregnancy or Riley when she was at the palace,” he explained further.

“Huh,” Drake said in surprise.  “It’s amazing how much you’ve considered in such a short amount of time,” he said thoughtfully.  “Impending fatherhood suits you, Liam,” he mused.

Liam felt his cheeks flush a little at the compliment.  “I hardly call what I’m doing fatherhood,” he shrugged, dismissing the compliment.  “I only wish to make things a bit easier for Riley when she comes back,” he explained.  

“Yeah, well, I can guarantee what you’re doing is a lot more than some dads nowadays would even do,” he countered.  “So don’t sell yourself short.  You’re doing pretty good,” he said encouragingly.

Drakes’ attention shifted back to the project in front of him as he tried to make sense of the mismatched pieces of wood that lay at his feet.  They had been working tirelessly on the nursery for the last week in between Liam’s numerous meetings, which meant that Drake was let with a bulk of the heavy duty labor.  The renovations to the room that Liam had first shown Drake when he had gotten back from New York had been completed, but the finer details still needed to be worked out.  They were currently struggling to put the pieces of the crib together.  Both men were getting extremely frustrated.  They had been at it for nearly an hour, and it didn’t remotely look like any sort of crib that Liam had seen before.

“I think we’re doing it wrong,” Liam said, throwing down a piece of wood.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Drake fumed in frustration, as he tried to read through the instructions. “That’s very perceptive of you.”

Liam sighed with a mix of frustration and worry.  “I had hoped all of this would be done before Riley flew in,” he said in disappointment.

“Well, Liam, I’m not a magician,” Drake countered, narrowing his eyes at his friend.  The earlier pleasantness flew out the window.  “You’re lucky we were even able to get as much done as we have,” he said looking around.  “How did you really expect us to get everything completed in just under a week and a half?  Besides . . . it’s taking twice as long because I spend half the time having to look over your work and fix things,” he said in irritation.

Liam frowned, feeling a bit slighted by Drake’s comment, even if he was right.  Liam had been useless.  Despite all his training in etiquette, public relations, hand to hand combat and foreign politics, he didn’t know anything about carpentry or home design.  It had never seemed important before.  Turns out, it’s actually a fairly important skill to have.  “You know better than anyone that I’m not handy at all,” he said.  “That’s why I needed your assistance in the first place,” he reasoned.  

“I still don’t get why we’re going through all this trouble,” Drake motioned around him.  “Riley isn’t even staying at the palace,” Drake sighed.  “And not to rub salt in the wound, but she doesn’t plan on sticking around long after she gives birth.”

Liam tried his best not to take Drake’s comment to heart.  He knew that the man was speaking out of tiredness and frustration.  He couldn’t blame him.  With Riley’s flight coming in today, he didn’t know when he’d have the time to contribute to get things done.  Every passing hour had him increasingly on edge.  Throughout the two weeks, anticipation and worry had been building.  He’d been short with many of his staff members which was extremely unlike him.  He even bit Drake’s head off a few times.  Liam could have sworn at one point that Drake seemed to be seriously considering throwing a hammer at him.  He had everyone around him stepping on eggshells, and he truly hadn’t meant to.  He just needed everything to be perfect.

“She’s going to change her mind,” he said confidently.  “This is just a small part of the bigger plan,” he explained.

“I keep hearing about this plan,” Drake said, as he pulled out his drill to fit two of the crib pieces together.  “But you haven’t exactly said what it entails,” he pointed out

“I want it to be a surprise . . . but I will say this . . . if it seems that our relationship has grown and strengthened to the point where I’m confident she’d be willing to make a commitment to one another, then my plan is to finally slide the ring that I’ve had for months onto her finger,” he grinned broadly.

Drake whistled lowly.  “You talk awfully big for a man that hasn’t sealed the deal yet,” he said skeptically.  “You don’t exactly have the best track record with attempting a proposal,” Drake shook his head.

“Yes, well.  She’s been rather reluctant to the idea of any sort of relationship with me apart from friendship,” he sighed.  “Even our text messages are so  . . . platonic,” he frowned.  “Not that I don’t imagine our short chats . . . because they mean the world to me.  I suppose I was just hoping for a bit more,” he frowned.  “She wants to be friends, and I was more than willing to jump at that opportunity,” he frowned.  “It’s better than no relationship at all I suppose.”

“Man, you two are making my head spin,” Drake said in exasperation.

“No more than you and Olivia make my head spin,” he chuckled, piecing some of the parts of the crib together.  “Is she speaking to you again?”

“Not quite,” Drake shrugged.  “I’m just going to let her go through her tantrum and let her get over whatever the hell she’s mad at me about now,” he said.  “At least the silence is better than her constant pestering about what happened in New York,” he reasoned.

“What does she want to know?” Liam asked.

“Oh you know . . . everything,” he rolled his eyes.  “It’s Olivia,” he said as if that explained it all.  “You’ve had to worry about your staff’s suspicions . . .  I’ve had to worry about Olivia’s suspicions.  She thinks there’s something going on between you two . . . which there is . . . but I haven’t confirmed or denied anything.  Told her that I don’t know what the hell is going on half the time, so she’d be better off asking you directly.”

“Which she’d never do,” Liam smirked.

“Exactly ,” Drake shrugged.  “She suspects something though . . . and I’m not too sure how much longer I’ll be able to fight her off,” Drake said honestly.  “You know better than anyone about how persistent she can be.”

“Should I talk to her?” Liam asked.  The last thing he wanted when Riley returned was Olivia hassling her about her relationship with Liam.  She had done so previously, and it had always managed to upset Riley.  With Riley pregnant, he didn’t want any sort of unnecessary agitation or stress adding to her already complicated pregnancy.  Olivia’s pestering could very well make things even more difficult than they already were.

“And say what?  That you got Riley pregnant and you’re trying to win her back and why yes we’ve been keeping this a secret from you,” Drake said sarcastically.  “Yeah, that will go over well,” he shook his head.  “This is Olivia we’re talking about.  She’ll go apeshit.  Remember what happened when I came back from New York?  It took all of two seconds after she found out Riley was okay before she started to chew my head off about me going after her.  She’s freaking crazy, man.  I don’t know why I stick around,” he sighed.  

“Because you love her,” Liam smiled.

Drake tried to stifle his own smile behind his typical brooding look.  “Yeah, I guess that’s it.  I guess that’s why you’re doing all of this huh?  Despite all the crap you’ve put one another through, you still love Lawson,” Drake elbowed him.

“Oh, most definitely. More than anything,” Liam didn’t even try to hide the broad grin that spread across his face.  “Don’t hate me, but I need to leave you again,” he sighed.  “I need to talk to Maxwell before Riley’s flight gets in . . . I’d like to surprise her at the airport and spend some time with her,” he explained.

“Is that such a good idea?” Drake asked carefully.

“I considered her being a bit uncomfortable with the idea, but we had a fairly wonderful conversation last night, and I imagine that we’re heading in the right direction.  Besides, friends can pick up friends from the airport,” he reasoned, the distaste of the word friends still lingering on his lips.

“Yeah.   Right,” he snorted.  “This another part of the plan?”

“This is only the beginning,” he murmured, shooting Drake a crooked smile before leaving.

Maxwell had been going on and on for days about how he was so excited to be reunited with his Tiger Lily and how happy he was to have his Little Blossom returning back to the manor.  He had casually mentioned that he had reserved a car service to pick them up from the airport and he had wanted to surprise both of them with a small bouquet of flowers.  His reasoning was that both girls had gone through quite a bit over the last few weeks, and he wanted them to start off their return to Cordonia on the right foot.  It was such a brilliant idea; Liam was envious that he hadn’t thought of it himself.  

Initially, Liam had suggested that Bastien pick the women up from the airport and escort them to the Beaumont Estate.  However, Bertrand raised the excellent point that Riley may not have been quite fond of the idea of seeing Bastien again, especially since she was still holding onto some animosity toward Bastien for the role that he had played in their break up before she had left Cordonia.  So, Liam promptly nixed the idea, and had reluctantly bowed out of coordinating the airport pick up and allowed Maxwell to make the arrangements.

But, now that her arrival day was upon them, Liam was having second thoughts.  He wanted to be there when she arrived.  He wanted to greet her and welcome her back.  He felt that he needed to show Riley that he was a man of his word – that he’d be there for her every step of the way.  It was then, that he decided he would court her and give her the traditional relationship that she had so desperately wanted to have when they first met all those years ago.  In order to make that happen, he’d need Maxwell’s assistance.

When he got to the Beaumont Estate, it was Bertrand who greeted him at the door.

“Your Majesty,” Bertrand inclined his head in greeting.  “You’re a bit early . . . Lady Riley’s flight hasn’t even been in the air for more than a couple of hours,” he noted in confusion.

“Yes, well, I was hoping to talk to Maxwell about that,” he began.  “Is he home?”

Bertrand nodded.  “He was looking over Riley’s office.  He and Savannah were adding a few last minute touches to make it a bit more personal,” he grinned.  “Excellent idea, Your Majesty.  I’ll admit, I was a bit taken aback by your request, but now that it has been completed, I’m certain that Lady Riley will be quite pleased,” he said proudly.

“Wonderful, Bertrand . . . I’m happy that they’ve been so helpful in making her space a little bit more like her own,” he smiled.

Just as he was about to take a peak in the room, Maxwell came bounding out.  

“Liam,” Maxwell greeted.  “I thought I heard your voice.  The girls’ flight isn’t due to come in for nearly six more hours,” he laughed.  “Did you get your times mixed up?” He asked.  Bertrand took that as his opportunity to bow out from the conversation and head off into his own study giving the men an opportunity to speak in private.

Liam shook his head.  “Not at all . . . I came to speak to you.  I was actually hoping to alter your little arrangement when you pick them up this afternoon,” he said.

“Alter it how?” Maxwell frowned.

“I’d like to pick up Riley from the airport,” he explained.  “I’ve missed her very much over the last couple of weeks, and I wanted to take a moment to discuss something with her . . . an idea I’ve been working on over the last couple of weeks,” he said further.

“What sort of an idea?” Maxwell asked curiously.

“Well, it’s actually more of a plan . . . to woo her,” he blushed.

Maxwell’s eyes lit up.  “Woo her?  That’s so romantic!” He exclaimed.

“Yes, well, this plan will take her full participation in order to work, so I’m hoping that by showing her that I’ll be there for her throughout the pregnancy and support her with whatever she needs, she’ll give me a chance to win her heart back,” he said his voice filling with emotion.  “Step one would be meeting her at the airport when she gets in,” he explained.

“Say no more, Liam.  I am happy to help,” he said eagerly.

“Thank you, Maxwell.  I appreciate your help with all of this,” Liam said genuinely.  “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t mention everything I’ve been working on with the list . . . and trying to court her again to Andy.  I know that puts you in a difficult spot, but I don’t want Riley to know what I’m working on,” he explained.

“Are we talking like secret spy stuff?” Maxwell’s eyes became much brighter and if possible, his smile got even wider, too.  “Because if you are, I’m one hundred percent totally in,” he exclaimed.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Maxwell,” Liam tried to stifle a chuckle.

“Oooh, we need to come up with secret code names . . . like maybe you can be Black Hawk and I can be Eagle Eye . . . oh and Little Blossom could be Mama Bird unless you think that would be too obvious and alert people to her condition . . .” he rambled on, making Liam’s head spin.

“Maxwell, it really doesn’t have to be that complicated or elaborate,” he tried to reason with him.

“We can call it Operation Win Riley Back,” he said gleefully.  “Yes, that’s perfect.  Operation WRB to protect the true purpose of the mission,” he said excitedly.

Liam couldn’t help but chuckle at Maxwell’s eagerness.  “Maxwell, I hardly think that secret codenames and mission names are necessary,” he mused.

“Oh, but it makes it that much more exciting, Liam.  Trust me.”

And with that, Maxwell spent the rest of the afternoon chattering Liam’s ear off about their secret mission and how Mama Bird was going to be pleasantly surprised with Black Hawks’ plan.  Maxwell had insisted that they formulate a ruse to get Riley alone at the airport, so that he could meet Andy while Liam took the opportunity to swoop in once Andy was gone.  Liam hadn’t meant for things to be so complicated.  He only intended to be waiting with a car at the airport, although he had to admit, he liked Maxwell’s idea a whole lot better.  It definitely added a little more surprise to the mix.

Hours later, Liam sat inside the small SUV parked in front of the terminal that Riley was scheduled to come out of.  Maxwell had his driver park at the back portion of the terminal and he waited in the backseat.  He had texted Andy explaining what Liam wanted to surprise Riley at the airport and gave her prompt instructions on what to do and say when they came out of the terminal.  Liam had hoped that al would go according to plan.  The success counted on Andy checking her cell phone as soon as the plane landed, otherwise, they’d just have two angry women waiting for their rides as the airport without any sort of direction.

Liam’s leg bounced nervously as he waited in anticipation.  He wondered briefly if she’d be upset at his sudden appearance, but pushed the thought from his mind.  He wasn’t going to worry about the what ifs anymore . . . that’s what had gotten him in trouble before.  He was going to live in the moment and make sure that Riley knew exactly how he felt about her.

It felt like hours later, but in reality it was only a few minutes later when he saw her.   All the love and emotions came flowing right through him.  Her coloring had improved substantially since he had last seen her.  She still looked a bit too frail for his liking, but he knew that the morning sickness has a lot to do with that.  He was just so thankful that she was starting to look a bit more like the Riley he had fallen in love with.  Her smile was brighter than when he last saw her as she wandered outside with Andy.  He watched on as Andy perused her cell phone.  He had hoped that everything was going according to plan.  Sure enough, he saw her start to wander off toward the opposite side of the terminal, her luggage in hand.  It had worked.  Andy was on her way to meet Maxwell, and all Liam needed to do was convince Riley to take a ride with him, and then, his plan could begin.

“Riley,” he called out to her.

He watched as she looked around her a bit confused, until their eyes met.  A small smile played on her lips when she saw him . . . at least he had hoped it was a smile.  

“Liam,” she gasped.  He went to grab her carryon bag that she had tucked beside her.  He saw her eyes widen in surprise.  “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I wanted to make sure you got in safely,” he explained.  He noticed the larger suitcase that was parked behind her, and started to grab at the handle of that one as well.  “After our talk yesterday, I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said quietly.  “You seemed quite upset . . . and . . . well . . . it just didn’t sit right with me.  I was hoping that I could take you back to the estate myself . . . I know Maxwell arranged a driver, but I was hoping that maybe we could talk on the way over . . . what do you say?” he asked hopefully.

His heart thumped wildly in his chest, waiting for her to respond.  He saw the hesitation in her eyes as she looked around a bit worriedly.  “Liam . . .” she smiled.  “I’d like to, but what about Andy?” She asked.

Liam’s worried expression transformed into a large grin.  “Let’s just say there were other arrangements made for her travel,” he smiled, as he began to pull Riley’s luggage toward his waiting SUV.

[allysia]

Penn Zero: Masquerading

Summary: Rippen and Audry must beat Penn at this mission to become full-time villains. That’s how it works. However, they must do so by navigating the seller’s masquerade ball. How will they get through the dancing crowd undetected? Blending.

Word Count: 2348!! 

The rest is under the cut because it’s kinda long: 

A masquerade! How fun!

Audry contained the excitement well. After all, she was the part-time villain’s sidekick of this story, and villains were not typically so bubbly. But, how could she not be? She stood among flashy dresses, accessories, and smiles; she was among the rich and formal. It was worlds like these that made her job truly feel like a fairytale, rather than the sci-fi she still loved reading about.

A waiter appeared to Audry, short in stature, with a beaming smile. He held up a tray filled with glasses of red wine, offering one to her. “Drink, madame?” Larry’s voice arrived as Audry’s view of his face did, and she smiled down at him while she took one of the glasses. Almost immediately, it was snatched from her and lifted to her opposite side.

“I think not.” Accented, the voice alone made her aware of her boss’s presence. Audry rolled her eyes, picked her slumped-from-disappointment poster back up, and crossed her arms as she faced him. He really did have a way of timing.

Rippen, who poured her drink into a potted plant, was sharply dressed in a three-piece suit. It was a deep red, almost velvet, and had long coattails. His tie was tucked into his vest, but its gold color shone through. To finish the look, he wore a red and gold mask. “Might I remind you, Audry, that we are not here for the party, but rather…” He tried to remember a detail he hadn’t known, “Why are we here, Larry?” He asked, waving off the mistake as he looked to his minion.

At the sight of his suit, Audry was almost floored. She’d never seen him so well-dressed. Of course, he wore his normal teaching attire nearly every day, but this? This was another level. The young woman looked herself over, spotting her form in a mirror beside the lounge area they accommodated. Woah.

Audry’s dress was form fitting, with a mermaid-tail style of flourish at the end. It was red, matching Rippen’s suit, but hers was donned with sequins that made the whole dress sparkle as she twirled in the dim lighting. Audry’s mask matched Rippen’s perfectly, aside from the gem between the eyes. Her heels clicked on the floor, and her hair seemed to bounce as she moved. It was held up in a bun with a braided crown. I look like royalty. She thought to herself, smiling as the idea came up.

“Audry? Did you get that?” Rippen asked, waving a hand in front of her face. Audry’s eyes looked suddenly to his, and she shook her head. Rippen grunted in annoyance, “Larry, spectacle.” He shot a glare at Audry, “Again.” She simply stuck her tongue out at him.

“Rippen is a business tycoon.” Larry explained as a projection popped up from his orange glasses, “He and his assistant are here to buy the final nature reserve in the state so they can turn it into a fur-coat factory.” The two in question exchanged an understanding glance, but Larry was already moving on, “Our job is to stop Penn and his assistants from bidding higher on it before we can.” He removed his finger from the button and looked up to his teammates, “Easy peasy!” He added.

“Quite. All I have to do is beat Penn Zero to the bidding?” Rippen grinned, looking to Audry, “This mission is in the bag.” He grabbed two glasses of wine, and handed one to her, “Alright, one glass for good luck.”

Audry smirked, “Confident, are we?” She asked, jokingly. Her smirk became a smile, “You should be. You should always be.” Audry took a swig of the drink she’d been given - a much bigger swig than she really needed, but she didn’t drink often.

“I always am.” Rippen looked around, sipping his drink in his thought. “First, we locate the heroes, then we beat them to the seller.” He cackled, then set his glass down, and began walking. “Follow me, Audry.”

The young lady’s eyes went wide for a moment. He was determined, as usual. Audry tipped her glass as much as possible without spilling, swallowing what she could of the wine before she inevitably had to follow her leader into this mild-mannered battle.

The room was crowded, as one would expect from a fancy event. Audry found Rippen somewhere in the center, looking over the mass of people. His height was an advantage today, as he had spotted the redheaded boy without much haste. “This way!” He called to his sidekick, marching forward until…

A gentle piano melody, accompanied by gentle instrumentals began to settle the room, clearing a large space in the room. Laughing a bit confidently, Rippen pressed forward, only to be stopped as a pair of dancers partnered up, and shot him an annoyed stare from behind their masks. He looked beyond them, groaning at the sight of Penn and his team scurrying away to the sidelines. He turned back, grabbed Audry’s hand and weaved them both through an annoyed crowd, shoving past a few couples. Her quiet, embarrassed protests were lost on him. Alas, the Dream Team had already made it to the next side.

“Attempting to lure me into a game of chase, Zero? Not this time.” Rippen muttered to his nemesis as if the boy could hear. He watched with disdain, releasing Audry’s hand from his grip. Penn and his team began to speak of their plan, or something that, of course, the villains couldn’t hear.

“Can I get more wine, or do you have a plan?” Audry fixed her top and crossed her arms, not amused by this turn of events. She saw his expression as a sign that a plan was forming, but it helped to be snarky for her. Without an immediate answer, she huffed a frustrated sigh, and began to gulp down another glass of wine. A full one.

Before long, Sashi, Penn, and Boone had partnered off with people around the room for a dance. They looked around, before Penn grinned and seemed to lock onto a guest. Rippen narrowed his eyes, his focus shifting to where Penn had...No. It can’t be.

The man his nemesis had spotted was indeed the auctioneer from Larry’s projection. He was tall, lanky, and had a handlebar mustache to go with his old-timey top hat. Penn was planning to dance for this man’s attention!

Rippen quickly turned to his sidekick, who was still fixing her dress, and asked, “Do you know how to waltz or dance at all?” He asked.

Audry felt her heart jump. She stopped whatever her hands were doing and tried to understand his plan. She did quickly. “I know enough.” She assured, nodding. She grabbed his hand and took a breath. She kicked off her heels, and suddenly Audry was back to being shorter than he was. Dancing was always better without high heels. No matter what type. Rippen looked at her with such a confidence that it made Audry grin. “Let’s do this.” She whispered.

The floor was still crowded. Each and every couple that danced had such an energy about them that it almost made Audry nervous. She looked at every face she could. There was such joy, such pure contentment with their partners. Audry had never danced with Rippen, needless to say, so this was...new.

They found a spot with ample room for dancing and assumed a proper position. Their arms matched up, and both placed a hand on the other’s back. Audry had to admit, she was a bit awkward at the moment. Rippen was never one for physical contact. Even if it was accidental, or something small, he seemed off-put by it. As this thought graced her mind, Audry’s hand was grabbed and held out with her partner’s.

Rippen rolled his eyes. She was standing so far that there was about a foot of space between them. He sighed, “Audry, I’m not gonna bite.” He said, annoyed. Somewhat, he was amused by this. He enjoyed being feared, even slightly.

A red glow lit up the woman’s cheeks, and she stepped closer. Close enough to almost feel his breathing.

Rippen awkwardly cleared his throat, and gave her a final look, “Ready?” He asked, “We just need to get to the auctioneer.”

Audry nodded, and slowly they began to step into the rhythm.

It wasn’t only the music, it was Audry’s heartbeat that she felt she was keeping up with. She kept her eyes on her feet, a small fear rising up that she’d step upon his. Her dress’s flourish swept over his feet, and she was careful to keep it that way. Just her tail. She inhaled and began counting the beats under her breath.

One step, two step. One step, two step. One step, two step. One step, two step.

“Hey, hey!” Rippen whispered, “Eyes up, Audry. We must be on the lookout.” He sent her a fairly warning look. This wasn’t a fun dance, by any means, and it certainly wasn’t an excuse to ignore the mission. He watched her cherry red face find it’s way back to its tilt, and sighed, “Alright, we’re getting nowhere with this slow jaunt.” He told her, replacing his hands on her waist and back to holding her free one. Audry was surprised by this, but prepared accordingly, and placed her own hand onto his shoulder. Rippen spotted their target, “Ready? Let me lead.”

As the music picked up, Rippen led Audry into more of a fast dance. He spun her a few times, though his eyes never left the auctioneer. He glanced to Penn multiple times, nevertheless, and found his hatred welling into a growl. How I despise that boy. Taunting me with his never-ceasing smirk and smugness. His privileged life, his foolish friends…  If I had my chance I’d-- Rippen’s menacing stare melted into a bit of revelation as he heard his dance partner giggling. Pretty notably.

Audry’s grin had widened, and she was laughing as they danced around the room. Rippen raised his brow at this, quizzically watching her for an explanation. Her eyes were closed as she was finally stopped for the time being. She fell forward a bit, and her forehead found its way resting on his chest. Her laughter resonated against it, making Rippen’s chest hum as if he himself was the cause. Rippen immediately grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away, “Audry, what’s the meaning of this? We’re losing time!” He reminded his sidekick, his brow furrowing into anger.

“S-Sorry.” She chuckled, “I’m just…having fun?” She was unaware that this would be as amusing as it was, but once the spinning and fastness of it all settled in with the glasses of wine.

Despite her enjoyment of the time, Rippen was far from at the ease she was in. Again, his eyes locked onto Penn Zero, who was approaching their shared target, and offering a handshake. Rippen pushed Audry aside, and broke into a sprint.

“Nooo!” His drawn out, anguished cry of near defeat was accompanied by his falling to the floor at the feet of the auctioneer.

From behind a bushy mustache, he looked at Rippen as if he was a bug on the floor. “Good sir, I suggest that you remove yourself from my presence. I am about to make a very important deal with this lovely gentleman!” He shook Penn’s hand. Immediately, Rippen breathed a sigh of defeat. Penn laughed aloud, putting on a phoney British accent to speak with, “Sorry, gov’na! Looks like we’ve beaten you once againe!” He laughed again as he was escorted to the meeting of businessmen behind closed doors.

Sulking, Rippen brought himself back to Audry, and was faced with the woman sipping her third glass of wine. She seemed a bit out of sorts as he approached, grabbing his own second glass.

“We lost?” Audry asked.

“Yep.” Rip said through a breath, downing a large gulp of his drink. Screw formality.

“Bummer.” Audry set down her glass and raised the bottom of her dress by pulling from the top of her skit, “Well, I lost my shoes. So, I lost worse than you did.” As Rippen chuckled at the statement, she began to grin, “Wanna go dance some more? You aren’t half bad of a partner.”

Rippen took a look into her eyes. Yep. Tipsy. He could tell from the utter relaxation he could see in them. “How many of these have you had?” He asked, gesturing to his drink.

Audry shrugged, “I think this is my third? Or...second and a half.”

Rippen placed his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose, Damn it, Audry. He would have muttered it had it not had the potential to offend her. “Alright.” He huffed, taking a final sip of his wine as he set it down, and walked with her to the dance floor.

He took her hand and placed his as he did before. She followed his lead, and soon they were dancing to a tango-like rhythm disguised in the instrumentals of a waltz. Rippen smugly kept his eyes locked on her expressions. So much joy was in her very demeanor, and it reflected well in her smile. He couldn’t help but crack a smirk.

It was when he dipped her back that suddenly, they were surrounded in the familiar red light of the MUT’s zapping ability, and placed onto a metallic base with Larry. Where he had been, neither of them knew. Rippen looked to Phil, who stared at their positioning, before rolling his eyes.

“If you are going to be romantic, take it out of store.” Phil called, shutting the lights off.

Rippen’s expression twisted, and he suddenly looked much more offended, “What?!” He dropped Audry where he stood and moved off the platform, leaving Larry to help her up. He grabbed his keys from the counter, and walked for the door. Audry was a laughing mess, so he knew there were no hard feelings. Not that I care.

He looked up as he crossed to the driver’s side to wait for Audry. It was night time due to the lateness of their mission, and he saw the constellations above him. Thinking nothing of his expression, he smiled softly.

If only I had won...tonight would have been perfect for dancing.

[bat-besties]

On Impossibility - 4

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3     Chapter 5  Chapter 6   Chapter 7     Chapter 8  Chapter 9

A popular!Logan and loser!Roman high school AU based on @2pointomg’s idea with eventual Prinxiety. 

impossible 

ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l

adjective

·       not able to occur, exist, or be done.

Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.

·       very difficult to deal with.

Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.

·       (of a person) very unreasonable.

Eg. Roman Prince.

To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

Edited by @alpacasarethegreenestanimal, who can no longer be described as the Virgil to my Logan in this context. Theatre to Roman, then?

@toolazytothinkofcreativename

@entitydark

@romanasanders

@barclays-sides

@cashmeredragon

@jughead-is-canonically-aroace

@immacrazyfangirl

@narniasfinestavengingsociopath

@featuredfander

@what-a-catch-joe

@mightaswellenthuseaboutbooks

@candiukas

It was the best thing Roman had ever written. As his friends pointed out, he said that every time he wrote a new play (or ballad or short story) but that was just a testament to how quickly he improved, and how well he took constructive criticism aboard –

‘No, no, no! No kiss? How can there be no kiss at the end?’

Kyle looked down at his friend with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, ‘I’m not kissing you.’

‘It’s a teeny peck of a kiss.’

Talyn shuffled through their script, ‘It says here, ‘Rosso swoops Ombretto into a passionate kiss…. sensuous lips…. forbidden gay love…. could have confetti….at least 10 second of lip contact.’’ They looked up at Roman, raising their multi-coloured eyebrows.

Roman, lying on his stomach on the stage, held a hand out dramatically ‘Alright, alright. We’ll discuss the kiss when we get to it.’ He sat up, ‘So… do you guys like it?’

Valerie smiled at him, ‘I do.’

Terrence looked up. ‘Roman – it’s the best thing you’ve ever written.’

Roman smiled. All the stress of coming up with a good idea, all the late nights he’d put into that script, all the times he’d woken up his parents with reading through soliloquies, was worth this moment. Six high school kids sat in a circle on a stage in a dark auditorium, still cluttered with instruments and with the assembly podium in centre stage and realised they could make something amazing. Yes, there weren’t many of them, but Roman wouldn’t have traded his friends for the most star-studded of all Broadway casts. The love he had for them and his knowledge of their individual strengths shone through his play. It was an intense gothic-style story, and in his eyes, it was perfect.

Roman was Rosso, a knight fallen from grace due to his anger and arrogance who must prove his worth by going on a quest into a cursed forest.

Kyle would be Ombretto, who played the dual role of villain and love interest – Roman had originally written a different part for him, Rosso’s companion Giallo, who was the source of hope and goodness in the trials Rosso would face, but Giallo had to be written out because there was no way one person could play both characters – and Ombretto had to stay.

Terrence was a dancing malevolent fairy, Valerie was the evil queen of the forest and Dahlia would be Rosso’s guide through the woods, Margherita.

Of course, Talyn was in charge of hair, make-up, costume and props – their talents would be especially important as they had no-one to do set, so their work would have to evoke the gothic world much more than the group’s joint effort at some sort of background.

Elise had agreed to do sound and lights nearer the time.

‘We’ll show them,’ said Dahlia firmly, ‘we’ll show them what we can do – and how important drama and the arts are.’

Was it cheesy? When we are serious and heartfelt we can seem ridiculous, but in that moment it was not cheesy to say ‘We’ll show them’. In that moment, the six of them saw for the first time how this idea of theirs that they’d been working on for the past month could be realised. The easy companionship, the sense of purpose, the excitement for the future and the commitment to the project, no matter how hard it would be were cheesy, perhaps, but they swelled to fill the dim auditorium with possibility. The podium was some distant tower, the ropes backstage tangled vines and the seating was filled with expectant shadows.  

Jarringly, the doors at the back of the auditorium swung open, and the intruders flicked the harsh white lights on, revealing the stage again as set up for mundane assemblies and not fantastical plays. ‘Alright Logan, I want you opening, I know you like responding but I’m trusting you to write an airtight opening speech, I’m going to close since I have the most experience, the middle we’ll sort out….’ Joan paused, looking at the blinking theatre kids on the stage. ‘Um, we booked the auditorium, so could you please leave.’

Roman stood up, indignation radiating from him. ‘This theatre has been used by the Drama Society from 4 ‘til 6 every Thursday for the past ten years- ‘

‘I’m sorry. First off, it’s an auditorium, not a theatre, secondly….’

Logan was doing his best to hide behind Joan and the others, hoping that Roman wouldn’t notice him. He still hadn’t apologised for the assembly incident, the past few days he had just been trying to keep himself together after his fight with Virgil. The extra debate practices before their competition in New York had been a godsend, and now Roman had to ruin them.

The others had already slipped their scripts into rucksacks and had collected any jackets lying on the stage. ‘Roman.’ Valerie picked up her friend’s backpack.

‘No.’ Roman replied to Valerie apologetically, then turned back to Joan speaking firmly, ‘No. This is our place.’

As the theatre kids stood in the glare of the light on stage, bags hung off single shoulders and jackets draped over arms they looked – helpless, somehow. And Roman was still standing there, clutching his script to his chest and staring Joan right in the eyes. Suddenly, Logan could see himself as he had been at his old school, sitting in the back of the seating. ‘Disputandum dominatur displays logic and higher social status to remove the theatrum parvus from their natural habitat. It is unlikely the theatrum parvus will find a secure habitat again due to government programmes aiming to cause them to go extinct.’ He told his head to shut up.

In his notebook, Logan always rooted for the underdog.

He stepped forward, waiting for Joan to finish speaking. Once they had, he cut in before Roman could.

‘While the debate team must use the auditorium now, our competition is in just three weeks. If you would consent to using our classroom for that period, you could book the auditorium at other times, and after that you could go back to normal.  Besides, we practice in E4, which is very spacious so should be suitable for any small-scale exercises in make-believe you wish to engage in.’

‘Small scale? Small scale?!’ Roman roared, then he placed his hands on his hips – how someone could be that unconscious about the absurdity of their body language Logan would never know – and projected to the back of the room, ‘No! We are putting on a play. It will be the greatest play this school has ever seen, and furthermore it will get us back our funding! We will take your offer and for your generosity will give the debate club seats in the front row.’

Logan couldn’t tell whether that was sarcastic or a show of genuine gratitude.

Joan sighed, ‘Alright, it’s ten past and clearly we all have things to do. Let’s get started with compiling our research.’

As the Roman and his entourage left the auditorium, Logan didn’t hear a single word of what his captain was saying.

In the back of the room his former self was laughing. ‘Theatrum parvus member beats opponent twice its size with bravado and conviction.’

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

‘I don’t understand why I have to wear that!’

‘Because it’s your costume that’s why!’

‘Yeah - Talyn is the costume designer, they have final say!’

‘Well, I’m the actor, so shouldn’t I have final say over my lines?!’

‘So why did we workshop this play for so long if you don’t have any say over your lines!’

‘We workshopped for too long, we won’t get it ready in time!’

‘Maybe we would get it done sooner if you guys would co-operate a bit more!’

‘Maybe it would be a bit better if you didn’t bulldoze us every time we disagreed with you!’

‘Look, let’s just take a break for ten minutes and come back to it.’

‘Thanks Valerie,’ Roman sighed and put his head in his hands, ‘Ten minutes everyone.’

He knew that it was late and they needed to finish blocking the first act before the school closed or they would be a full week behind their schedule, but he would start ripping down the posters in that stupid English classroom if he had to stay in it for one more minute. Everything which made his play magical seemed childish in that room – the Google translate Italian names, Terrence’s dance which the space was too small for, even Valerie’s evil incantation.

Walking quickly down the hallways and enjoying the quiet, Roman ran over his lines in his head - why had he used ‘alas’ three times in as many sentences? ‘Princey’, ‘Disney’, ‘Princess’ or sometimes just ‘freak’ were the names the students knew him by and having a class of people shout ‘alas’ at him every time he spoke wasn’t something he wanted to encourage. Putting his whole being into every part he played always made it difficult for him when people teased him for his acting but performing in a play he had written was like offering his soul to the school on a platter. He knew everything inside him was beautiful and worthwhile – he was a shining star, the best guy in the school! – but it was hard to hold onto that when his peers found it ridiculous time and time again. And Logan Sander’s anti-bullying campaign counted itself as a success if nobody was getting beaten up in the hallways. Roman couldn’t help but resent Patton sometimes for the respect people in his year had had for him and his talent. He could never be the year’s shoulder to cry on or literal sunshine like Patton had been, but he would settle for nods in hallways and having the ball passed to him in PE - for genuine applause after his play. He could never settle for anonymity: it was something Roman found shameful, but he would rather be the butt of jokes or eyerolls than left in peace. This way, everyone knew his name. They would remember him when he succeeded in life!

He checked his watch as he wandered into Art – five minutes of freedom left. He stopped his journey and leaned on a table covered in splatters of purple paint. It all came down to the fact that no-one outside the cast and Talyn would feel the sense of mystery and charm this play held for them or appreciate the richness of the world or the drama of the story the way that they did.

Looking up, suddenly he was transported back into his enchanted forest.

Paintings in the style of illuminations had been blue-tacked to the peeling paint of the art room, and they were the most beautiful things that Roman had ever seen. Thorns embraced collapsing stone towers and glowing eyes peered out of bottomless wishing wells. A weeping knight cradled a dragon’s head as it lay with a lance in its side and a lady all in white wandered through a midnight forest lit by blood-red stars. The pictures glowed with light – he leaned forward, drinking in each careful brushstroke and inked line. They were perfect. Roman knew he had to get this person to join his play. He didn’t care if the artist was Logan Sanders himself because he was filled with the illogical but definite thought that as soon as he could get someone like that onto his team his play would begin to feel dark and eldritch again. He took a moment before he looked at that Comic Sans name tag, scared to have this hope taken from him. ‘Virgil Lee’. Huh.

Roman had mixed feelings on that. He had always enjoyed working with him, even if Virgil never seemed to want to move into a friendship beyond English projects and pre-lesson conversations. He had really tried to befriend him: he’d set up a speaker in his bedroom and sung ‘You’ve got a friend in me’ with a cowboy hat on to Virgil when he was round to analyse Moby Dick. Would someone time-travel to freshman Roman and burn his Disney karaoke CD? Or at least tell him that when Virgil stopped the backing music halfway through it wasn’t him that was being weird (Roman still used the CD). The angsty nature of the pictures definitely fit with the emo’s aesthetic and Roman knew that he had an appreciation for Angela Carter and Mary Shelley. The thing was that when Roman said he would even have taken Logan Sanders he did not expect his best friend to be the artist. Still, he had apologised to Virgil after the assembly (he was somewhat offended at the response his beautifully worded speech had got – the boy had been distracted and seemed as though he wanted nothing more than to be left alone) and at least it wasn’t some random freshman or something.

Pulling out his phone, he saw that he only had a minute to get back to the classroom. He needed Virgil as soon as possible, so before he could think too much he called him. The hall was silent except from the slapping of Roman’s shoes and the blaring of the dialling tone in his ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Ah, yes, Virgil, are you free to talk?’

‘You could just text me like a normal person.’

‘Is that the sound of a Disney film I hear?’

Virgil was indeed watching Disney. He had set himself up on his sofa with the Nightmare before Christmas, a tub of Oreo ice cream and a pile of blankets, trying not to think about Logan or Roman or anything much at all.

‘Nightmare before Christmas.’

‘Classic!’

‘What do you want?’

‘Well, friendo, I was in Art and I couldn’t help but notice your beautiful paintings!’

‘Um, OK. They’re not- ‘

‘I do not have time to deal with self-deprecation! I am calling because I need you to join my play. To do set design and help Talyn with the props. Please.’

‘Dude, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not qualified to- ‘

‘You were in set last year!’

‘I didn’t design the set though!’

Roman stopped outside the classroom door. He leaned on the wall and spoke more softly, ‘Virgil, it’s a gothic play. It needs you. I need you. Come on! It’ll be fun.’

The sound of a put-upon sigh was music to Roman’s ears. ‘Fine. When do you want me to come in?’

‘Now?’

‘I have ice cream and am watching a Tim Burton film, why would I leave that to go to school?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Sure thing, Princey.’

‘Goodnight, Charlie Frown.’

‘Hey!’

‘I’m sorry for calling you Charlie Frown.’

‘I’m sorry you called me too.’

‘Enjoy the movie.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

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

Virgil shifted the sketchbook under his arm as he stood outside E4, peering into the frosted glass panel in the blue door. He pulled out his phone to reread the text: 'E4 4:00’ which Roman had sent the night before. Tugging at the bottom of his sleeve, he barely had time to register a blurry shape rapidly filling up the window before the door swung open.

'Virgil, set designer extraordinare!’ Roman went in for a hug, which Virgil sidestepped. The actor looked down for a moment, then settled for ushering Virgil into their old English classroom as though it were the Old Vic itself.

‘Well, come on in.’

'You've met Talyn, right?’ Talyn looked up from their fabric samples and waved.

'Yeah, sure.’

If by met Roman meant 'stared longingly at the awesome dyed hair of' then Virgil had certainly met Talyn.

‘So, basically a disgraced knight called Rosso goes through a cursed forest with a guide Margherita, then faces an evil queen, mavolent spirit and finally a witch guy under the queen's power, who he gets together with at the end.’ Roman explained quickly.

Virgil quirked an eyebrow. ‘That’s really weird, you know.’

Roman threw an arm round Virgil, who started a bit at the sudden contact. ‘And you are here to make it even weirder!’

Virgil smiled – he was glad he came. It was funny how familiar this felt: the overdramatic boy, the yellow lights of the classroom defiant in the dark school, a project to be done. It was a funny mix of English projects with Roman and meetings with Logan. He shook his head, clearing it of all thoughts of his former best friend.

Roman had been so incredibly right about Virgil! Talyn animatedly explained their designs to him, and all the actors tried to do their best to impress him. Not Roman obviously, he was unaffected in his performance by the sight of those slender legs swinging from the desk or the pale knees framed by frayed, dark denim. It was just that it felt right to have him there. The boy's fringe fell in his face as he leaned over the design of Ombretto's cloak, tracing a finger along its intricate design.

‘How can you afford to make that?’

Talyn shrugged ‘We’ll find a way. I'll sew it, we’ve all chipped in for thread and beads and things, and I’ll see if the Art Department happens to have like a football field of black fabric spare.’

‘I’ll bring in some money.’

‘Thanks.’

As Talyn bent over their designs again, Virgil looked at Roman. The actor's hair was flopping stupidly into his face as he yelled passionately at Valerie until he unconsciously swept it back with a hand. What a dork.

For the past few days Virgil had been bringing in a packed lunch and eating by himself outside, but for convenience he began eating with the theatre kids. While he had been terrified of most people in his first few years of high school, he couldn’t believe he’d been too scared to ask to sit with them before now. A larger part of him than he would like to admit wanted Logan to see him with these people, sketching set pieces and joking with Roman about how their play fit into the lore of all different fictional worlds (Star Wars was as far as they could make believable). But the Student Body President didn’t so much as look up from his piles of text books when Roman stood up on a table to give his speech with a change in the position of him and Kyle or stop writing his anti-bullying charter when their table was overturned by a particularly annoyed sophomore.