#but there’s no way you could ever at the anatomical level enjoy this thing like i do

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Hello! I really enjoy reading your takes on fantasy tropes and designs. I'm wondering if you ever had something in mind like the biology of werewolves and how they're able to physically and biologically change between a human like form and a bestial like one; furrier, muzzle, and potentially different mentality, and so on.

I'll go into more detail when I make a proper shapeshifter anatomy post, but for more specific shapeshifting like this that only has two forms (human and wolfman) I think there are more ways to help it feel realistic. for example, you could reshape the skull to have multiple new joints and moving parts around the face, like some fish who extend their jaws outward to catch prey. only instead of a quick slingshot type of motion, for a werewolf it might lock into place to give them a new face shape. they could also have weird feet, shifting between plantigrade and digitigrade by just having a longer foot and slightly narrower heel with a thicker toe pad. some of the shift might just be in the posture, like clark kent holding himself differently than superman.

as for the temporary and sudden growth of fur, I'm not sure that's possible on a purely anatomical level. might be more of a "handwave with magic" thing. but the change in behavior could be linked to a surge of hormones and other brain chemicals that's triggered by the shift, whether that's more of a conscious change or something triggered by environmental factors.

[immoralimmortals]

Akatsuki Member Songs and Headcanons Part 2

I told you I could do this post over again with new songs! Some of the associations are more based on headcanon than others. The songs are linked in the headers. Hope you enjoy!

Hidan: BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA by Will Wood

This song...is definitely about someone who cannot die. Whats more: it is also definitely someone who has a strange relationship with pain and suffering. Hidan in canon so very clearly dislikes being in pain if he is not in his ritual form. Simultaneously, he says he'd love if someone managed to kill him. (I know he may be sarcastic but imagine the possibilities if he's not!) He's a gratuitous man of contradictions and confidence, and I think this song carries it well. Throughout are mentioned symbols of health and longevity in grotesque situations. You KNOW this man's body is fucked up, both by his hand and others. I want to cut him open and study him like an anatomical doll. The whole "interview" in the middle is me eventually grabbing him by the collar and going what the hell is fucking wrong with you! How can a severed head breathe and talk!

I've also heard that WW wrote this as a test to himself to get as many words in a normal length song as possible. It suits how much Hidan fucking talks. I also think it's a nice nod to the fact that he quite obviously introspects and thinks *a lot* despite being portrayed as headstrong and stupid.

Notable lyrics:

And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history

His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down

He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends

A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead

You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine

Sasori: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert

Something I've mulled over a long time is how the contradiction of how a man who prefers things to be long-lasting can also be so impatient. My interpretation so far is that this implies some level of anxiety; he wants things to last if they are comfortable for him to exist. That's why he doesn't mind his fight with Kankuro taking longer, despite just bashing Deidara for playing around. I think l, in perhaps the kindest way I can, that he is both shallow and more sensitive than he'll ever admit.

This is a song about wanting interactions condensed. If you tell me something bad, get it over with. But also, I don't know how to give you more than what I have. He's insecure about what he emotionally brings to the table, im sure. I figure that's a big reason he's destroying his humanity down to the core.

Notable lyrics:

Keep it quick, say it brief If it's fast, it will be a relief Short on time, that's a gift Count your seconds, and they'll catch the drift

Don't like what's revealed here When your depth of field's near, it's hard to come close Chip stones from the boulder Suddenly, my vulnerability shows Oh, you can crop and trim, 'till all that's left Is the essence of a presence that is feeling bereft Avant-garde, just the gist of a tale That is less of an image, and more of a thumbnail

How novel is a novel that can fit on one sheet It seems that I'm destined to fail To compress myself to the size of a thumbnail

Itachi: Blood on My Name by The Brothers Bright

Need I say more? Lots of individual lines that match up with his circumstances, especially his imminent death and the bodies he unfortunately racked up. And...of course...the Uchiha name is bloody as hell. His fate is inevitable, it is in stone and he is dragging his corpse to the finish line.

Notable lyrics:

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you With the hounds of hell comin' after you I've got blood And I've got blood on my name

When the fires, when the fires are consuming you And your sacred stars won't be guiding you

Can't you see I'm sorry? I will make it worth your while Made of dead man's money You can see it in my smile Oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid? Oh, Lazarus, were you so afraid?

It won't be long, 'til I'm dead and gone Watch the fires rise, burn through my skin Down to the bone, scorchin' my soul

Konan: Saturn by Sleeping at Last

As tragic as life is, Konan is defined by her hope. This song references how others have come around time after time to help her see the light. This is a song that gets me emotional. It is slow, lingering, and forces you to drink it all in, every star and sorrow alike.

Notable lyrics: its literally the whole song so here's one verse

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death With shortness of breath You explained the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

Deidara: Boss by The Correspondents

This man HATES his fucking job! He was just out there, vibing, and was forced to be an Akatsuki and remains more or less to exact revenge on an idea (that the Sharingan is perfect art). Petty bitch! But he kind of has a point, at least with the being forced to be Akatsuki part.

Notable lyrics:

I would love for this to not be an issue I would love to just laugh in your face But I'm finding it hard to dismiss you When you're the one running the place

We didn't ask for you to lead us We didn't want you to be boss You have done nothing but deceive us And it exacerbates our goals

Kakuzu: Six Feet by Patent Pending

This song is nearly perfect for my headcanons about him. The world is harsh, you must do as you must. He takes no joy in it. His ability to understand you or not does not affect your situation or relationship as shibobi. It is going to be what it is regardless. We are going to work until we die.

Notable lyrics:

When you hear that whistle blow, only the weakest go home Like their pain don't put food on their plate

You're keeping up, I see Well, it's a big world and it's only getting bigger And if you wanna be the best then you've gotta beat the best

Ain't nobody coming when you make the call 'Cause every man gunnin' for the first to fall Fill that bucket 'til the well runs dry It's left, right, left, 'til the day you die

Zetsu: Stalker's Tango by Autoheart

GREAT song if you want one for a ship with him. Describes over the course of its verses the increasing invasiveness and intensity of a stalker's relationship with the listener. References to being able to appear anywhere AND shape-shifting? Bonus! Also has a very calm yet arrogant, self assured air about the singer. I think it's great for him. I can imagine myself tied up in a chair while he explains himself to me with this song.

Notable lyrics:

I know, I know, I know this situation's strange It takes a little getting, a little getting used to

I know, I know, I know I'm always in your place But don't you see, my dear? I am your Doppelgänger I have your face

It's not that complicated, no matter what they say You'll never meet another me It's not that difficult to get your head around You'll never meet another me You'll never-never-never-ever-ever meet another me

Pain: Godhunter by Aviators

Hunting tailed beasts while claiming to be a god himself? A song where perhaps the godhunter becomes so powerful shes a God to be hunted???? YES!

...okay that last bit is largely my own very indulgent interpretation of this song. But I LOVE how it would suit him, being both the god and the godhunter in the plot of the story.

Notable lyrics: its literally the whole thing. Here's some cherry picked lines.

When you're holding on to majesty You'd fear the hunt, a travesty That balance may return

If you're something more than flesh, ascended And you've taken on the rest To end it then she'll find you in a dream, tormented Godhunter's gonna hunt you down

Tobi/Obito: The End of the Rope by They Might Be Giants

Who doesn't love a good villain song? You could almost think it's from a musical, how dramatic and explanatory it is. Very good representation of the heel turns this man makes to the protagonists throughout his character arc.

Notable lyrics: its the whole song. Here's the first verse.

How thoughtless of me How dumb can you be? Hopeless, wasn't that What you called me? And in fact It was even more true than you knew

Kisame: Delirium Tremendous by Felix Hagan & the Family

Kisame's a bit of what the kids would call, uh…blackpilled? He enjoys himself, yeah definitely, but he also knows he's a special kind of traitor, the lowest of the low. In my book, that makes him a little less low than some other villains in the series, but he would not agree.

To me, this song is a couple things. Most obviously, delirium tremens after drinking. Next overtly, it's about not being able to fit in. More specifically, it's about not being able to fit in among misfits who are defined by their abnormality, their abhorrent nature to regular society. He is a very alienated man, he wants the good, but he has accepted he is not and that the world as it is will never be that way unless someone else (Tobi/Madara, in his view) takes it by the reigns and changes everything about how it works. He yearns for something he does not feel he has earned or deserves. It captures a lot of vibes and emotions I associate with Kisame all at once: lonliness, sensation, aggressiveness, fighting, longing. AND it's a fucking bop!

Notable lyrics:

What would make you get so battered That your bones betray you, start to shatter And you can’t relate to all the happy little night-time boys and girls

Save breath, crave death Can’t be much worse And I'm sick, sigh, can’t abide This twitching track from wet to dry I’m too old to cry, too young to die Too rabid for the pack So I’ll spit, try to hold it in Search for a sign of life within And I’ll fake a grin, until my skin Is starting to crack

So just stay cool and break through this sick delirium state I got wasted, now I’m tasting the cruel justice of fate

[mrmajesticcircle]

Pepsi

Look at me.

I never been so thin.

Heavy; heavy; I'm feeling so heavy baby.

Heavy; heavy, you got so heavy on me.

When I was once young, I used to be all you adored.

All you you could ever need.

Your providence of avoiding the voice of the light.

Your welcome heart, and way to the dream.

Your biggest star; your only star.

Now, you look at me with disgust, and you tell me come on baby loose some weight.

I used to think you were just being modest, until you pushed me into the wall, then you asked me do I remember the time we painted it pink.

Then I replied;We only destroyed it's true color, when I bleed over it, and you tried washing the stains all out, from breaking my nose in an argument.

It was the reason I regret seeing you making the taste of love cold and bitter.

The memory of growing up all alone, and barely surviving the raging seasons, it's been done; this lying down wherever they throw me away.

It's been low all of the time, can't fix it now.

Undo the pain.

I'm bitter and dark like Pepsi because you won't touch me unless you want to throw me away.

I'm cold, when it pours rejection reign upon my pores.

Opening up my senses; volumes of pain unreal I feel like dying my sister cola white, so with one good glance at me you'll see Pepsi in my coffee eyed rivers I've poured over you.

Sometimes I swear you like to make me feel like running away. I'm just a can of Pepsi.

I don't deserve to be delivered into pain.

It shoots the heart into the soul, but nobody cares to share this part, if the anatomical foundation of these walls were anymore fragile I would not be.

Let me be.

Let yourself pretend to empathize.

Let the solar systems reign Pepsi down, blessing me with that overcooked lung tone tonight upon my face.

Lets wait for the configuration circle to buffer the gif of inhaling weed clouds, so thick it's a foggy night all throughout the dawn, but I indulge off the levels of my isolation.

You're murder on my lips while I stop to turn up the acid to my colen.

You give me colen Cancer, so intoxicating on my heart.

I don't farewell here, I don't know how to break into this business this year.

I'm not taking in too well; seriously; I have an autistic melody just to last the bass, a cover of being the American dream.

Running off raffle tickets for the Mills, I don't owe you anything but bitter tastes and soar throats due to hardcore weather changes through the fizz.

Going to be the very best thing you scornfully soon swallow me in just to be fit for.

Your deepest desires.

Socialisms.

Contingency funds, nor nationalities mean nothing more than going to forty- fourth street.

On a summer day this fourth of July.

Whether you're mainstream, or syncing with difficulties, on and off duty.

I'm color blind, in a summer haze.

Stumbling over my words, in prolonged days, waiting for someone to save me from the blacking out, catch me in your rainforest midst, before I faint.

I promise you if you forget all about my PsychoAngelic Gene aqufeena and Fanta ;you won't have anything to become disappointed about.

Paralyzed physics the philosophy remits paranoia.

Because the phobia of loosing the sense to crave the

Gold rush is more petrifying than the loss of memory.

Take me to the store of youthfulness, where the fountain machine give you ice; gives us more more more than just a thrill.

More than a chill that runs down your ancestors spine.

I need this.

Not just another drink, but a cold one that chase the memories that floods the hall.

I need this.

Something to forward this anxiety to the past.

Someone to talk to all through the lonely nights.

Give me a sign, or a Pepsi.

I won't waste it away like alcohol.

Give me six three litter bottles for hire.

Bottles for bladder uncontrol, line them up at the bottom of my refrigerator.

Because if you don't have a cold one, you might not get to enjoy the rest of the week.

I won't be caught without it, gotta have it overflowing through the energy.

Release your interventions, free your ambitions.

Decide the new coalition.

Cosign for the affiliation.

Today it's insulation, tomorrow could be higher inflation.

Power Wine even though the final strike; final blow inventory more deviation outlawed devastation.

Count civilian casualties sich toll, on out of place mats, to pile the dead mesothelium oxygen build up.

Bacteria build up.

The tension build.

Traffic builds up, sororities beef up like static interfering with the program rioting.

The postwar rackettuering; the academic gnawing at the intentions of employers on a bluer world.

Sometimes I just want to sit by and watch just to let it all in to catch my breath.

Holding up a Pepsi in both hands, like a child with small hands.

Catch my breath for the surveillance; for the scenery I have to be the one who feels up the tank, moving up the ranks of a cold one.

Don't tell me that you feel you're no one, you are someone, when you have one.

Don't panic at the disco, if you run low there's more in the trunk.

Authorship by Mr Dashaun Rashod Snipes

© Dashaun Rashod Snipes

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Hi! Could I request some hcs or a one shot (whichever you prefer!) where Gojo finds out reader has never orgasmed with a partner before because her previous partners were kind of asses. Thank you either way! Have a lovely day! :)

hello love~ I figured I might as well turn this into a one shot because there had been just so~ many ideas floating around my head for this (including a few Japan traumata lol) - I hope you're ready to buckle up cause this one comes in at 5k appr. enjoy -mesu. PS: A very special thanks to niob for beta-ing this monster and talking me through it!!!❤

Gojō Satoru x f!reader warnings: vaginal penetration, oral sex (receiving), Gojō being a smug arse

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.

The first time you had met Gojo it had been your first year teaching at Kyoto jujutsu high and your first impression had been that no single living being could withstand his gaze of scrutiny. Given, as the wielder of both infinity and the six eyes there wasn’t anyone on his level to begin with, but did he really have to be an arse about it? Who even hired him as a teacher – a person supposed to be of pedagogic value – in the first place?

Luckily, you didn’t have to see him all that often, usually just whenever the time of year came around for the good-will event with the sister school in Tokyo but he had picked up an unhealthy interest in your person and relentlessly teased you for whatever you did and didn’t do alike.

Utahime had once suggested that it was Gojo’s twisted way of flirting with you and you couldn’t help but scoff and reply that you had seen Gojo flirting. And it was nothing alike how he was acting towards you. Afterwards, Utahime had taken pity on you and acted as an intermittence between you and Gojo so he wouldn’t get under your skin anymore, albeit he mostly ended up getting under hers instead.

At least, that was until tonight. With the students being sound asleep in bed, everyone involved in the event unanimously had decided to head for a drink at a fancy bar in Ginza to celebrate the event ending more or less successfully despite the unforeseen interference of some higher ranked curses and you ended up sitting sandwiched between Utahime and Shoko who both had insisted on a girl’s table away from curious colleagues and ears, while the other staff were seated at a slightly larger table just out of earshot.

The back of your head hit your nape when you downed what felt like the 7th shot of nihonshu. The alcohol prior to the shots had already infiltrated your system, leaving your senses foggy and your tongue loose. You weren’t about to spill your secrets just yet, but it was definitely getting harder to suppress the glances you’d love to gift Gojo who seemed entirely unfazed by any of the liquor he had consumed this evening.

That prick has to use his innate techniques to cope with the alcohol!

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at the tall man across the table who hadn’t even bothered to take his blindfold off while sporting a vaguely amused if aloof expression while the headmaster of Kyoto high and Tokyo high appeared to be in a heated discussion. Speaking of rude.

Lost in your thought of how much you longed to wipe that smirk off of Gojo’s face, you didn’t follow the topic of conversation of your friends at the table who definitely had one nihonshu too many.

“I’m telling you, anatomically speaking, it’s just unfair. It’s so much easier for men to achieve an orgasm, alright? It’s as if nature was against us women,” Shoko sighed dramatically, taking the nihonshu bottle to refill the shot glasses only to find it empty. Another, this time desperate, sigh followed.

“What’s even worse is that men usually don’t care about their partner's pleasure at allll,” Utahime responded with a distinct lull in her voice while she was already close to resting her cheek on the table. She’s definitely had enough but that didn’t stop her from going on, “Ever since I started dating, there’s been what? Maybe two decent enough guys that actually cared if I came too or not.”

“Sounds about right,” Shoko agreed, apparently trying to find some universal truth in the emptiness of the bottle she was still holding onto.

You shot a glance to the two unhappy women at your side, deciding that it was time to share your two cents of truth under your breath, “At least you’ve had partners before who took care of your needs, too. I for once have only been with arseholes who could care less if I came or not. And so I never did… so…consider yourselves lucky? I guess.”

As expected, your volume made it impossible for them to catch what you were revealing and Utahime unbeknownst interrupted the aftermath to your soft confession by suddenly straightening her posture in a surge of drunken energy, grabbing one of your and Shoko’s hands respectively to declare something about not letting this circumstance prevent anyone from having a great night.

You could’ve sworn the corner of Gojo’s mouth perked up the second you shot him another glance…

A few drinks, a second bar, and a couple hours later.

Your head was spinning slightly and you leaned your back against the wall of the establishment you’d just stepped out of. Damn your senpai for making you drink. You soaked in the wet, clean night air which could only be achieved during the rainy season in Tokyo.

The moment you pressed your eyes shut you could hear Utahime demanding to move onto a karaoke bar and continue this until morning. Of fucking course, you thought to yourself and opened your eyes, desperate for any excuse to skip what was about to come.

Among general consensus with a few nods and exclamations here and there, you slowly noticed how Gojo was watching you intently. By now he had actually gotten rid of his blindfold and was sporting his dark shades, his soft hair was framing his angular face, slightly damp by the drizzle and you would have gladly punched him for the way the street lights and shop signs reflected in his hair.

Still, right now you had other things to worry about and so you took a deep breath and spoke up, “Thanks for this evening but I’ll have to take my leave now. It’s already late and I don’t think my voice can handle singing right now.” An obvious lie as your voice was just fine, but it’d do the trick of getting you out of corporate pressure.

And that’s exactly what happened. Your excuse was accepted at face value and you were wished a good night’s rest. Umbrellas were opened and the group made of two faculties strolled towards the closet illuminated Karaoke sign.

You waited until everyone was on the move, so you could gather yourself in your time without any scrutinising eyes on you.

“Leaving an intoxicated damsel to her own devices? How could I be the strongest without taking care of her? Allow me to lead you home, (Y/N)~”

Just when you thought you had lived through the worst, Gojo’s voice piped up right next to your ear. You hadn’t seen him stay behind and now he was close, dangerously so, and he didn’t even care to hide the glee in his voice.

You managed to turn your head in his direction and gift him – what was in your imagination – a nasty stare. For Gojo, it rather seemed like you were trying your best to fixate your dizzy gaze on him.

He sighed and for once dropped his excruciating façade, speaking in a normal tone, “Seriously tough, (Y/N), I’d rather lead you home. Tokyo’s far from being safe at night.”

Seeing and actually hearing Gojo apparently genuinely concerned made you weigh your chances enough that you finally sighed in defeat, “Fine. But only up to the doorstep.”

Gojo blinked at you repeatedly, appearing almost insulted that you dared to think him a man who would take advantage of women like that – truth being that he was more insulted that you thought that he was actually in need of such tricks – and made an off-hand remark of how he could never.

You waved your hand dismissively and slowly tried to straighten your posture, “You’re here by car, right? That’s why you used your innate technique to not get drunk. Wish I could’ve done the same, wouldn’t be dying of spinning world syndrome right now.”

That stopped Gojo’s rant about his hurt pride. A sheepish smirk appeared on his lips and he stated flatly, “You noticed.”

You nodded, which turned out to have been a terrible idea. Nausea overcame you and you tried to curl into a ball, but Gojo was next to you in a second, smoothly wrapping his long arm around your waist while his free hand reached for your hand, easily securing your stance like that.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”

You nodded and simply concentrated on not getting sick while he led you towards the parking lot where his car was parked. He left you shortly to pay for the ticket and you leaned against one of the nearby vending machines, concentrating on your breathing.

A few moments later the relatively quiet night was disturbed by the low roar of what turned out to be a pricey sports car. It didn’t take long for Gojo to stop said car right in front of you. Ever the gentleman he stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door to the passenger’s side for you, offering his hand to you for assistance. The entire picture which enfolded in front of you seemed to be taken out of a romance.

Only when you wobbled over to the car and felt the infinity between your hand and Gojo’s you snapped back to reality, pursing your lips as you stated, “You never let anyone actually touch you, do you?”

“If someone’s worth my while, sure I do,” Gojo replied with a sly smile, but something in his eyes appeared resigned, almost lost. But maybe that was just your imagination? Almost promising.

You didn’t even have time to follow-up on his statement as he simply shut the door in your face, cutting any further discussion short. Soon, Gojo settled in the driver’s seat and drove off towards your hotel. You didn’t even question how he knew where he needed to go.

Silence fell upon you and you simply turned your gaze to the flashing street lights, allowing you to marvel at Tokyo’s nocturnal atmosphere for a while. This was so much better than making your way through the confusing public transport in time for the last train. You shot Gojo another gaze and were surprised to find him diligently keeping his eyes on the road.

At once you wondered if you unwittingly had been keeping him from joining the others at karaoke. Singing one’s soul out and getting undressed in the process seemed right up Gojo’s alley.

“…Thank you for taking me back to the hotel. I appreciate it. You… didn’t really have to do this though, I’m sure you wanted to attend karaoke with the others,” you started off your half-apology.

A soft yet deep chuckle escaped Gojo’s throat.

“Oh sure I did, hun. There’s been something on my mind concerning you which is just soooo much more fun than karaoke could ever be after all,” Gojo casually replied, eyes never straying from the road.

You frowned and cocked your head in an inquisitive manner.

“Don’t act confused now, love,” Gojo smirked as he pulled over and parked the car right next to the entrance of the hotel. He unfastened his seatbelt to turn to you completely and casually rested his elbow against his seat, “Now, why don’t you tell me about never having orgasmed with a partner before?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as Gojo watched you curiously while you didn’t believe the meaning behind what your ears had picked up on.

“I…,” you spilled quickly, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. This had to be a nightmare. How did he know of that? You never told a soul, too embarrassed by your unfortunate choice of past sexual partners, and now Gojo Satoru – out of all possible people – knew of your secret?!

The panic must have shown on your face as Gojo’s smug expression softened slightly and he leaned closer to you, only stopping when the tip of his nose almost collided with yours, “You should take more care who might be listening in when you’re talking to yourself, (Y/N).”

You nodded once and leaned back, avoiding Gojo’s touch and gaze as best you could, “T-thanks for the ride.” Even if his revelation had thrown you off entirely, you tried your best to hide it.

“My pleasure. I’ll have to insist on taking you to your room though.” Gojo’s tone was unforgiving and made it very clear that you wouldn’t get out of him walking you all the way.

You sighed deeply and submitted to your fate, sinking into your seat until he had rounded the car and opened the passenger’s door so you could accept his hand to disembark in a semi-elegant manner.

Once you had found your balance he let go of your hand, matching your pace as you walked towards your room, acting as if he hadn’t just nonchalantly invaded your privacy. You shot him several glances but Gojo acted very interested in the interior of the hotel. You didn’t buy it though. Obviously he was just relishing in the fact that he got under your skin.

So he didn’t want to push any further? Fine by you. You huffed softly and pushed the button for your floor once you boarded the lift, Gojo strolling on your heels, hands shoved into the pocket of his trousers.

You refrained from looking at anything close to Gojo’s direction, albeit you could feel his piercing gaze on you. You used the time of the short ride to get your room card out of your purse and as soon as the automatic doors opened, you darted out of the lift and unlocked the door to your room with a soft beep.

Barely having shuffled inside you got rid of your purse and turned around to thank Gojo once again, finding him right on your doorstep.

“Thanks, Gojo, I appreciate what you did tonight,” you smiled awkwardly at the close proximity and mustered the courage to look into his eyes, just to be surprised by their intensity.

“Of course,” Gojo hummed, resting his left arm on the doorframe he leaned closer, stopping right before crossing the threshold with his movements. He easily kept your eyes locked in his, making you all but forget about bringing some distance between you.

“Before I leave… y’know I could help you out with your little problem, (Y/N). If you’re up for it, that is.”

Gojo’s voice was low, eyes dark, pupils dilated with a certain hunger as they stared right into your soul.

When his words registered a soft gasp unwittingly left your lips as your eyes grew wide.

Just what was happening? Had Utahime been right all along?

The next moment Gojo was leaning down to you, making all but sure that your senses shut down to a bare minimum. Standing there frozen in place, time seemed to slow down around you as your eyes flickered from Gojo’s luscious lips to his cyan eyes and back to his lips again.

Was this really happening right now?

Your heart pounded against your chest harshly and you pressed your eyes shut to calm your nerves. That is when you felt his soft lips against the skin of your cheek, undoubtedly skin on skin. He‘d really turned his infinity off!

“As I have told you prior, I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. But as I understand it, you still have a couple hours before your bullet train back to Kyoto tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you, (Y/N). You won’t regret it. . .~”

You held your breath and nothing. When you finally opened your eyes again Gojo was gone. Simply vanished! He had done exactly what he had promised to do. Taken you home, up to your doorstep and not a millimetre further.

Did this mean that he was going to keep what he offered if you turned up at his doorstep tomorrow? Up until now Gojo had never given you any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was a prick, but he was honest about being a prick. At least that was more than could be said about any of your former affiliations.

It took a couple more moments before you managed to close the door and turn in to a sleepless night contemplating if you might as well take Gojo up on his offer.

The next day. After some empty excuses to Utahime of why you couldn’t spend the last hours in Tokyo together. In front of Gojo’s apartment.

You stared at the kanji at the apartment, contemplating if you should really proceed now. It had been a pain to get Gojo’s address, dodging several inquisitive questions of Utahime, but now that you were finally here you weren’t sure if you should be anymore.

Given Gojo had lived up to every single thing he had proclaimed so far, plus he never had given you any reason not to trust him. Still, did being here meant that you were willing to compromise your integrity for something as trivial as good sex? More so than the actual act, you were afraid of what it might mean for your future relationship with Gojo; which would be anything but professional hereafter.

Before you could spiral further into second guessing yourself, the apartment door in front of you opened smoothly, offering the view to a slightly dishevelled looking Gojo apparently just out of the shower.

The moment you locked eyes with his bare ocean orbs, a smug grin emerged on his face, “Fancy seeing you here, (Y/N). Come in.”

You mumbled a greeting and stepped into his modern apartment, quickly getting rid of your shoes and outer layers while Gojo walked further back into the flat calling out to you, “Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Pineapple juice?~”

You rolled your eyes, very convinced that you just shouldn’t have come here. You followed Gojo’s voice into a broad living room with an open kitchen. The colours and décor were kept simple, black and white, sometimes a splash of colour in the colour of his goddamn eyes.

After having accessed the surroundings to your heart’s content you turned to Gojo, “Do you happen to have pineapple juice – notoriously known for apparently for making the taste of oral sex sweeter – at hand for your guests at all times? Or did you go shopping for me yesterday?”

A soft chuckle, “I happen to like the flavour. Plus, I am quite certain your juices aren’t in need of any enhancement.” A wink followed. What a bastard.

Ignoring the faint blush that emerged on your cheeks, you countered, “And what exactly makes you so sure about that, mh?”

Gojo shortly nibbled on his full lips as he sized you up with hungry eyes. Then, he slowly rounded the kitchen counter until he stood right in front of you. The smell of his surprisingly fruity after-shave intoxicated your senses.

“Wanna find out?”

You managed a nod and Gojo smirked wider, simply lifting you up on the counter so you were closer to eye level with him.

And then he finally let his soft luscious lips collide with yours, involving you in a breathless, inifity-less kiss while your arms wrapped around his neck on their own accord. Gojo smirked against your lips pulling you closer to himself, gladly taking the opportunity to feel up through the fabric of the blouse you were wearing for travel.

How you cursed the school’s clothing protocol at that moment!

Frowning slightly you broke the kiss, quickly trying to get rid of your blouse with your hands, but Gojo had other plans, catching your hands in his he leaned closer and purred on your lips, “Ah-ah (Y/N), there’s still plenty of time till your bullet train. No need to rush~ This is more than a mere quicky to shoot one’s load and carry on, after all. I need you to relax and enjoy the ride.”

You weren’t quite sure what did the trick. The proximity to him or his genuine tone, but you visibly relaxed and started shamelessly feeling Gojo up in return. You weren’t surprised to find defined abs when you pushed the fabric of his shirt out of the way and followed their lines for a bit before you moved on to explore his back.

“Good girl,” Gojo chuckled in your ear and let out a teasing gasp in response to your initiative before he went to nibble on your earlobe, making you cross your legs behind his hips as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Sensitive, are we?”

Gojo moved back, capturing your lips in another kiss, this time parting yours with his cheeky tongue so he could explore your mouth to his heart’s content. You happily complied and concentrated on his tongue enough that you didn’t notice how he skilfully unbuttoned your blouse.

Your legs tightened around Gojo’s hips and you moaned when you felt his growing bulge through the fabric. Gojo took this opportunity to kiss down your neck only to ravish it mercilessly while his hands had taken a liking to your boobs, kneading them through your lacey bra.

“Hah~” More and more lewd noises filled the heated air as Gojo pinched your hardened nipples just the right amount to send shivers down your spine and you were glad that you didn’t have to depend on your trembling legs anymore.

Desperate for support you scratched blindly over Gojo’s upper arms which led him to gift you a wolfish smile as he pulled back enough to strip off your blouse and a swift motion later your bra followed.

Pouting slightly you picked on his shirt, making Gojo scoff and get rid of it, too. You sighed content about the equal stages of undress and wiggled slightly on top of the counter, enjoying the friction this provided against both the fabric of your pants and Gojo’s bulge.

“You little minx,” Gojo growled lowly, suddenly pinning you down to the counter by your neck. The cold surface sent a shiver through the entirety of your body. He adjusted his grip to be more gentle, yet still determined enough to hold you in place, actively preventing you from escaping from his touch. You would welcome the sweet torture that was to follow deliberately and Gojo was very aware of that.

Soon enough Gojo began his agonisingly slow treatment of your torso, mouthing his way from your collar bones to your chest where he spent his sweet time circling each nipple with his tongue.

You didn’t know what exactly he was doing with his shameless long tongue but you had never felt your body rise to the touch on its own quite like that and it took a minute to recognise it was your own voice which echoed through the apartment so obscenely.

Desperate for more stimulation which Gojo still withheld from you, you tried to pull him closer with your crossed legs, earning a suppressed moan from him as his erect member brushed against your clothed sex. How much you would’ve given for those layers to finally be gone.

“You really haven’t been getting laid properly at all, huh.”

Completely unnerved by now you groaned and shot Gojo an acid glare, but the elite sorcerer just chuckled to himself as he straightened back up, sizing you up in the process once again. You had never seen his eyes this dark.

In a split second his hands were undoing your pants as if they had never done anything else in his life and a few moments later you were sitting on the counter completely undressed.

When you blinked away your surprise, Gojo brushed another deep kiss on your lips, humming on them, “I’d hold onto something if I were you~”

And then he dove down to your core, hands holding your hips in place well aware that you wouldn’t be able to hold still.

As soon as his lips connected to your nether folds, a lightning impulse flashed through your body and your loudest moan yet left your lips. Your head flew back by itself and you wreathed as best you could on the counter top for either more or less friction, you weren’t quite sure.

All the while Gojo relentlessly continued his pursuit of your sex, tongue swirling expertly over and around your clit, building up a certain intensity before he moved down slightly to lick and mouth at your entrance.

You desperately held onto the edge of the counter for support, spilling his name over and over again, while Gojo cheekily thrust his tongue into you for a taste before he redirected his attention to your clit again.

The coil in your core seemed to harden and become undone at the same time and another flick of Gojo’s tongue made you scream as you jerked up as you finally hit your high. Juices spilled out of your cunt and you buried your flushed face in your hands while your entire body was convulsing in ecstasy.

Gojo made sure to keep his grip on you so you wouldn’t slide down from the counter, licking his soiled lips. Once he was sure that your breathing calmed down a bit he gently stroked away a couple of stray strands of hair and smirked, “Told ya you weren’t in the need of any enhancement, babe. You’re to die for~”

Still concentrating on your oxygen intake you were feeling rather overwhelmed with everything that had played out just now. It took a bit of bargaining with yourself to search for Gojo’s gaze again, but when your eyes met you immediately noticed the mixture of hunger and smug complacency in his. He had gotten you good, but you decided you weren’t going to leave before payback.

And so you cocked your brow up and smirked, “I admit you lived up to your word, Gojo. Mind if we take round two to the bedroom?”

A grin.

“Not at all, princess,” Gojo replied and picked you up bridal style to carry you off into his chamber.

Gojo’s bedroom was dark. Both furniture and bedding were either held in a dark grey or black and the shades were lowered. When Gojo let you down on the bed you took a look around and tended your head slightly at the unexpected interior.

You were torn out of your thoughts when you heard Gojo unbuckle his belt, followed by the sound of his zipper and turned back to see him in his whole glory.

His member was definitely on the larger side, but you were happy to see it came short of what you knew would be painful to insert. It had a nice girth and was slightly tended to the right, the tip glistening with pre-cum meant for your prior endeavors. You licked your lips unconsciously, eager to feel it in you.

“Marveled at my dick enough, have we? ” Gojo smirked knowingly and reached for a condom which just happened to lie on top of his nightstand.

You nodded slightly and watched him routinely put it on, before you pulled him on top of the bed and ravished his mouth with yours. He had deserved your undivided attention after making true of his promise and you were way past the stage of having any second thoughts.

Gojo curled his lips against yours, easily positioning himself on top of you while his hands were suddenly all over your body. It seemed like he wanted to leave his touch on every inch of your being and honestly? At this very moment you didn’t mind if he did.

The energy between the two of you grew hotter by the minute and you gasped for breath when he readjusted your hips so his member was prodding against your entrance.

“Last chance, (Y/N)…hng~”

The strain in his voice did it for you and you brushed a fleeting kiss on his cheek on your way to his ear, “Take me already, Satoru!”

A deep groan reverberated in Gojo’s upper body at the mention of his first name and he penetrated you in a swift, smooth motion, making both of you moan with pleasure.

He gave you a moment before he moved, offering the opportunity to get used to his considerable size before he started moving at a cheeky pace. Something had just clicked between the two of you and you moved against him as if you had never done anything else in your life. It felt liberating. It felt right. . .

A couple many minutes and exchanges of ecstasy later.

You were laying sprawled half-way over Gojo while he lazily played with your slightly damp hair. After your last round he had suggested a shower since you technically still had a train to catch and you thought it a good idea.

If you hadn’t stopped him, you would’ve also stained his bathroom with his name. Who would’ve thought that his infinite also applied to sexual stamina? But then again, it was Gojo who you were talking about.

You weren’t quite sure how this session was going to change your relationship with Gojo in the future, but you definitely didn’t regret going through with it.

You shuffled slightly on the bed and stretched slightly, “Mh, what’s the time?”

“Hn, ten past two,” Gojo replied with a raspy, yet slightly amused voice.

Ten past two. Ten past two. The bullet train back to Kyoto you were supposed to board was leaving at half past two!

You jumped out of the bed, hurriedly reaching for your clothes.

“FUCK!”

“Any time, (Y/N)”

You shot Gojo another glare, painfully aware that he had to have known.

Gojo only gifted you a wink and grinned, “If you are going to be as nice to me as you were just now the next time we meet, I might be willing to help you out, (Y/N)~”

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.,

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah​! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back. 

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table. 

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine. 

“Origin?” he asked. 

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.). 

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down. 

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”  

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself. 

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee. 

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack. 

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius. 

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later. 

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other. 

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week. 

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card. 

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête. 

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes. 

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning. 

Milieu was her word. 

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library. 

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them. 

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel. 

“Okay, ready for another round?” 

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done. 

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad. 

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence. 

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas. 

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!” 

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float. 

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said. 

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…” 

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged. 

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd. 

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board. 

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself. 

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said. 

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning. 

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down. 

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

[sunflowerstache]

Lifespan

A/N: Hello! This is very different from most of my writing, not only because its an OC, but because the storyline is just something out of my comfort zone. But I really hope you enjoy it(: I got the inspiration from a ad I saw on Facebook a long time ago lmao but yeah, come say hi once you’ve read it and tell me what you think! It’s much appreciated! I love you all so very much! Also hugeeeee shoutout to @devil-in-bw-the-sheets​ for spending like six months reading and re-reading this every single time I rewrote it and changed things and encouraging me each time! And @emotionally-imbruised​ for beta reading it for me!💛💛

Word Count: 7.3k

“Doll?”

The fog that seemed to have settled over your mind instantly melted away upon hearing the barista’s voice, her sweet drawl grounding your focus back on her. She was an older woman, probably nearing her sixties based on the collection of grey hairs scattered throughout her small ponytail. But still so incredibly full of life. She had red glasses perched atop her nose - which perfectly completed the red polka dots covering her black dress - a beaded chain dangling from the end to the front of the frame, a pair of silver peace sign studs resided in her ears, and the anatomically correct symbol for caffeine dangled in necklace form on her chest.

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Just asked if you wanted the cream on that.” She smiled, thin lines spreading out and away from the sides of her eyes as her mouth widened. Upon glancing down quickly, you took notice of her clearly hand drawn name tag filled with swirling letters - different then when you stopped by earlier in the week when she had used stickers to spell out “Rita”.

“Oh, um yeah sure. Why not.”

“My husband always says that during weather like this, the calories don’t count. That they disappear with your shivering. Can I just have your name, dear?”

“Georgie. And your husband sounds like a very smart man.”

“Oh, he is.” A dreamy look took over Rita’s features, like just thinking about the man made her heart race. “Been together for forty-two years and he still teaches me new things.”

Your heart ached with each word; the fog slowly started to creep back through your mind while you watched her grin fondly. The hope and excitement for the future that was always so very clear in people’s eyes was what made it so hard not to explain everything you knew, every secret you held. However, as much as you wanted to urge everyone to live the life they’ve always wanted, you knew there was a natural balance to life, and opening your mouth would undoubtedly throw that balance off. So instead, you grinned and nodded your head.

“He sounds wonderful.”

“My best friend. Counting down the minutes until the end of my shift. We’re heading up to see our grandbabies for the week.” It was like she knew exactly what kind of secret you were keeping and made sure to hit you where it hurt each time she opened her mouth. As if her being impossibly sweet didn’t hurt enough.

“That sounds nice.” Digging around in your bag for your wallet made it much easier not to focus on the ticking time bomb in front of you. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh my! I’m sorry, I know I can’t talk forever if no one stops me.” her laugh was soft, inviting, one you would love to listen to while storytelling. “It’s four pounds.”

“You can keep the change.” You said when handing her some cash, but stopped yourself before you turned to walk away. Even if you weren’t ever going to outright explain anything to anyone, slipping in tiny, reassuring comments made you feel at least a little better before parting ways. “Have an amazing night with your family Rita.”

The coffee shop was relatively empty at the hours you stopped by. Other than the same group of men that were there every morning, chatting over the newspaper and a black coffee and a young nurse who was just getting off of her night shift, only customers on their way to work stopped by. But that was just how you preferred it. It was much easier to avoid running into people when the sun had barely just peeked over the morning horizon. You suppose the city isn’t exactly the best place to reside when you’re on a mission not to get close to anyone, but you’d much preferred the hustle and bustle of the city than the silence of the countryside. At least here you were able to escape your thoughts when they got to be too much, out there you were left to drown in the weights you held.

Rita was right when she said the weather would bring shivering. The moment you stepped through the café doors, all sense of warmth you previously had was sucked out of you, leaving the tips of your fingers tingling against the warm cup. You hadn’t ever really gotten to know the woman behind the counter, a few kind greetings every now and again, but she seemed to be someone who brought a lot of joy to those around her. And she always put extra chocolate curls on your drink. You made a mental note to send some flowers to her family within the coming days.

It was a car horn that initially took your attention off of the pavement, turning to look for who was in such a rush at 5:30am, but the hard torso smacking into her shoulder is what brought your attention back. Followed by the searing heat of your hot chocolate spilling down your front.

“Oh fuck!” you yelled, immediately dropping the paper cup and trying to pull your shirt away from your body to decrease the chance of a burn. There goes your chance to get home and drive right to work without any issue.

“Oh my god! Oh shit!” the man that had ran into you gasped, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto your elbow to steady your wild movements.

Even though his words were quite loud on the empty street, his voice was still husky, almost like he wasn’t awake yet and still had some left over sleep in his throat. And when you turned to look at who had ruined your shirt, your own voice got stuck in your throat. He was tall, which made sense considering your head had bounced right off of his chest. He was wearing black basketball shorts with tall white socks and a light grey hoodie, which was pulled up to cover the dark grey beanie resting on his head. With one hand he was holding a water bottle with ease, while the other was frantically pulling the airpod from his ear. But apart from his sheer stature, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful this man was. How even the worry lines littering his face were perfectly accenting his features. Or how the green of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the Whole Foods you had been stopped in front of.

“I’m so sorry! Shit are you okay?” he quickly asked, shaking his head before you could even respond. “Obviously not, that was probably hot. Oh god I’m so sorry!”

Finally getting your bearings back, you couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah it was pretty hot.”

“Shit, I don’t even know how that happened. I must’ve taken my eyes off the pavement for one second. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” You chuckled, bending down to pick up your now empty cup at your feet and tossing it in the bin by your side. “Don’t worry about it. Really it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I’ve ruined your shirt.” If the disappointment in his voice wasn’t evident enough, the small pout on his lips definitely was. He looked absolutely distraught at the sight of what he’d done. “Let me at least get you a new drink. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” You’d always known it was rude to speak to someone and not give them eye contact, it was something your father had drilled into you as a child, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Looking someone in the eyes meant seeing above their head, and that was an area you actively tried to avoid looking. But there was something about him that drew you in, and you couldn’t help glancing up at him quickly again. “I actually have to be getting to work. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Positive. Have a good morning.” Your touch was soft on his arm as you made your way past him, leaving the mystery man standing on the pavement staring as you walked towards your flat.

You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but it’s just how you’d grown accustomed to living life. It was the easiest way you found not to get close to many people, which meant less hurt in the end. And you’d been around enough hurt in your short twenty three years. It may be a lonely life, but you were happy with your cat, comically named Lucifer, and living a simple life. Sure, there were times you wished you could live the carefree life everyone around you got to experience, your only issues being stresses of work or relationship drama, but that wasn’t who you were. After living the life you did, there’d be no way you could live a normal life.

“Don’t give me that look, Luci.” you grumbled when walking through your front door, your cat perched on the dining table just watching as you moved through the living room, ripping your destroyed shirt from your body. “This wasn’t my fault.”

You’re sure that you looked like a crazy person if anyone was watching on, talking to your cat while walking around your flat in nothing but a pair of black slacks and a bra. But you didn’t care, because this was your normal. You ranted to her after a long day at work or a particularly draining day, and she always sat and listened. Mostly because she was a cat.

“He just ran right into me, like he literally couldn’t see me. How odd, right?” you stopped briefly while searching your closet for a new shirt. “God Luci, he was cute though. So cute. And tall.”

Just because you secluded yourself in the world didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy taking a peak at what it had to offer. It was the forming relationships that put you off, not because there was a level of uncertainty - nothing was uncertain to you - but because you always knew the timeline of said relationships. It was always the same. So why put yourself through it? But also, why not? What if that was just what you needed to make such a painful existence a little more bearable?

“I didn’t even get his name. Maybe I’ll see him around the cafe sometime.” you hummed, throwing the new peach colored blouse over your head and peeking your face out of the hole. “No. No Georgie, don’t go there. Who are we kidding, it’s not like anything could ever happen anyway.”

Lucifer meows loudly at your comment., making you turn around to glare at her. Obviously she didn’t know what was actually going on, but it was nice to entertain the idea of someone listening to your problems and helping you talk them out. You were a secluded young woman, not crazy.

“What? Like I’m wrong? It’s not something I’d be able to keep from a boyfriend forever. And It’s not like I’d be able to just flat out tell them.”

She meowed again, jumping off the table and prancing her way to your feet, rubbing her side against your ankles.

“What would I even say? Hey, I was born with this thing where I can see a floating clock above everyone’s head that literally counts down to the day you die? Yeah because that won’t get me sent to the looney bin.”

From the start of time, there has always been a beginning and an end to everything. No matter if it was an Oscar award winning film, delicate relationships, or even life itself, it all ended. People come, and they go, but the world continues on; taking care of those who stay to see another day. And on a daily basis, the idea of the end rarely floats through anyone’s mind. Except for you.

For you, it was impossible not to think about when it was quite literally staring you in the face. For as long as you could remember, you walked through life with a different outlook on the end than most other people.It wasn’t because you had some near death experience, but due to a gift. Or at least what some people in the world would consider a gift, because in no way would you call being able to see the exact day someone is going to die, a gift.

It was something that over the years you had grown to ignore, trying not to look too far away from people’s eyes and never thinking too hard about the ticking numbers.They weren’t obnoxious or flashy signs hanging above everyone’s heads - like you had seen some films try and depict - but instead, just a simple, faint, white clock just above the tops of everyone’s head, showing each individual’s lifespan. No matter how many hours you sat down and tried to rationalize why you were able to see this, there was never any answer. No one else in your family carried the burden, and because of that, you never mentioned it to anyone in fear of sounding crazy. But you knew you weren’t crazy, not when you prayed night after night for those numbers to disappear or for someone’s clock to be wrong, only to be let down.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you finally saw your favorite florist Don after he spent some time away, and his clock suddenly read 3 years, 20 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes, and 6 seconds instead of the 27 years you had grown used to seeing on him every day before he left. It didn’t take long for you to find out he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and treatments had stopped working.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you got to watch Kim’s clock - the very sweet receptionist at your job - begin to slow down the more she adjusted to a healthy lifestyle of eating right and taking care of her body. What was once a ticking time of a measly 21 years adjusted what would be a long and fulfilled 59 years more.

And you knew you weren’t crazy when at only seventeen years old, you watched as your best friend’s clock suddenly dwindled down to zero’s across the board like a slot machine while laying on the bathroom floor of a house party. The drugs in her system being too much for her young body to handle and completely consuming the 72 years she once had left.

You weren’t crazy, you just carried a burden no one should ever have. And because of it, you made sure not to get close to anyone in fear of watching yet another clock strike zero.

So you moved on with your life, forgetting all about the tall man who had spilled your drink and run into your mind, making you think things you hadn’t in so long, and instead, focused solely on getting through your days at work and getting back home. It was an easy routine, one you hadn’t strayed from much since moving to the city six years ago; wake up, feed Luci, get coffee, go to work, go home, shower, watch tv, go to bed. And as happy as you were that life wasn’t so painful these days, boring would be the only word good enough to describe your life.

Until your neighbors moved in.

You were standing in the kitchen, lifting the collar up to your mouth to try and quickly lick the hot sauce off the old, ratty Elton John Tour shirt you were wearing before it left a stain, wearing nothing else but some shorts, a nice pair of cheetah print slippers to cover your chilly toes, and one of the two hundred paper face masks you’d ordered off of Amazon in an attempt to clear your skin, when the loud bang on your front door startled you. Not only did your family not live in town, but your neighbors knew that you weren’t a people person. Ever since you made that very clear to them upon moving in, they hadn’t tried to contact you, so you just assumed whoever it was had gotten the wrong flat number.

But the knocking persisted.

Lucifer’s head had picked up from her lap upon hearing the first knock, now watching as you made our way closer to the front door. “What do I do?” but the only response you received was her head tilting to the right, like she was saying ‘Really? Answer it you idiot.’

You wanted to be angry, you really did, because you were nearly ready to be completely settled in for the night after a terribly long day and you just wanted to watch some bad tv with Luci, but the moment you twisted the door knob and peered into the hallway, any anger you had felt, completely washed away.

“Hey! Sorry, my mates and I-” he abruptly stopped mid sentence once his eyes landed on you, like his train of thought literally face planted into a brick wall. A look of realization flashed across his face quickly, and in a matter of milliseconds, what was once stress turned into a look of excitement. “Hey! It’s you!” he smiled.

“It’s me.” something about him made it very difficult for you not to mirror his smile, but that desire was overpowered by the confusion coursing through your mind.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! I still feel terrible about what happened, are you sure you were alright? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” The man was incredible at changing his emotions at the drop of a dime, for now his eyes were laced with concern where excitement had just lived. “Or I guess I should say I didn’t burn you, did I?”

He was much more put together this time, the workout attire you had last seen him in was traded in for a pair of light red slacks that looked to be a crushed velvet material paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black vans. He looked like any university boy you’d see walking the streets, but at the same time, like nothing you had ever seen before. Something about him standing in your doorway brought you a sense of calm, like just his presence was enough to wash away the stresses of your day.

“I mean I can’t say that it felt particularly good, but I didn’t get burned, no.”

“Oh good. That’s good.” he nodded, and you made the mistake of following his hand with your eyes as he lifted it up to his curls to fix the glasses perched on his head. You didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see what kind of fate the universe had in store for him because the peace he had brought to you in the few moments he’d been standing there felt better than anything had in the past few years. But you were never that lucky.

Your eyes quickly casted back down, looking back at the white of his shirt while you cleared your throat. “Did you need something….” you dragged out the end of the word to indicate that you didn’t know what to call him since he hadn’t bothered to mention his name.

“Oh, right. ‘M Harry.”

“Georgie.

“Hello Georgie.” if possible, the grin on his face doubled in size, causing two dimples to appear at the corners and the air in your chest to feel as though it was tightening.

The two of you stood in your doorway without saying anything for another moment before you spoke up; “So did you need something or…”

“Fuck, yeah.” his voice was breathy when he responded, standing up straighter, “My mates and I just saw you come home and we’re in desperate need of a needle and thread. You’ve got one?”

It only took a second for him to realize his words and that surprised look from when you first opened the door was back. His eyes widened and his hands raised in front of him as a way to stop you before you could respond.

“Not in a creepy way! We weren’t like watching you or summat, swear! My mates Niall and Louis just moved in across the hall.” using his thumb he pointed to the open door across the hall where you could see two other guys watching yours and Harry’s interaction. Upon realizing they were spotted, they raised their hands in a small wave. “We heard you come in. Not that we were actively listening! Just - ‘m sorry. I swear we aren’t creeps.”

“Good. Thought I’d have to sic my monster of a dog on you.” you replied, turning to dig through the small table in what could barely be considered an entryway. The table had started out as a place to keep your keys and mail, but like most did, quickly turned into a junk drawer. An abyss to put any and everything only to never see it again.

Harry’s eyes frantically looked behind you like some crazy monster was about to lunge at him for bothering you at night, even going as far as taking a small step back when the door opened a bit wider while you were looking for the tool. You laughed when glancing up quickly at the movement. It was obvious he was panicking at the new information of potentially getting mauled by a massive dog while simply asking for thread. So you put him out of his misery.

“There’s no dog. I’m just joking…”

As if on cue, Lucifer waltzed up to see what was going on at the front door, her small body weaving between your legs to get a nice scratch while checking out the never before seen man. “Oh! A cat! I love cats!”

“Yeah she’s pretty great.” you nodded, closing the drawer and holding your hand out to Harry. “Here you go. Um, not sure what colour you need so you can just take the whole bag.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you! Niall has a date in ten minutes and he’s split his only good pair of trousers.” he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the boys inside the other flat, trying to seem like they weren’t listening to the conversation, but very obviously doing just that. “Have to sew him in like ‘m some sort of tailor.” he chuckled, turning back to face you.

“Sounds like an exciting night.”

“Oh riveting. I would ask if you’d like to join but you look very busy-” the corners of his lips were trying hard not to curl upwards with the light sarcasm, wobbling a bit as he continued speaking, “-so I wouldn’t want to interrupt anymore than I already have. I’m sure I’ll see you again, I practically live with these two idiots.”

“‘M sure I will.” Luci hadn’t left your side since joining you at the door, instead, she began meowing quite loudly, so you bent down to scoop her into your arms.

You liked Harry, not only because he was a very obviously a good looking man, but because he seemed to pick up on your social cues fairly quickly. He didn’t linger and try to get as much out of you as possible or make the fact that you clearly didn’t have much interest in talking uncomfortable. And it was the first time in a long time that you felt content being around someone. Not fearing what the future brought.

Harry halted his movements halfway between flats and spun back around quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you press kisses to Lucifer’s head while standing in the doorway. Something you gathered from the very brief times you’d shared an encounter was that Harry was not very good at hiding his emotions. It was almost like he had no control of his mouth, because you could see him try to stop the smile from spreading, but it was no use. The dimples popped out in full force.

“I still owe you for that coffee.”

“Oh, um not a coffee.”  you tried not to be loud enough for him to hear, noting that the fact that it wasn’t a coffee was not really that important, but he heard you anyway.

“Pardon?”

“Just um, it wasn’t a coffee. More of a hot chocolate drinker actually.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead just continued watching you with fond eyes and a now very prominent smile. You felt as though he could sense how out of touch with relationships you had begun to get over the years. What other explanation could he have for being so soft with someone he had just met and barely even known

“Right, well keep your schedule open so I can take you out for that replacement cocoa.”

Your door swiftly closed the second he turned back around, not leaving any extra seconds for him to turn around and look at you again. And the second she heard the click of the lock, Luci leaped out of your arms and made her way over to the sofa, meowing her entire journey.

“Yes that was him.” another meow. “I told you he was cute, and I also told you nothing would be happening there.”

Harry wasn’t lying when he said you’d be seeing him again. It seemed as though every day when you got back to your flat, he was there. Sometimes on his way out, other times just standing outside the door waiting for the other boys. And despite how at peace being around Harry had made you feel that day he came knocking at your door, you never put in much more effort than a “hello” here and there. He and the others had tried quite a few times to get you to join them on their night out, but each time you came up with a different excuse. Even if they were comforting, what was the point in forming that friendship when you knew you’d just isolate yourself again eventually. You had made it this long without getting too close to anyone else, and you weren’t going to start just because two attractive lads moved in across the hall who happened to have a very fit, very inviting, friend.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that you actually had a full conversation with Harry again.

Typically you tried not to go to the coffee shop by your flat any later than lunchtime because it just got too busy. There were too many people for you to fully avoid them all and seeing too many clocks dampened your mood significantly. But you had already had a shitty morning and needed something to give you a boost.

The place had felt very melancholy since Rita’s unfortunate passing last month, she’d passed peacefully in her sleep while spending time with her family. You’d sent the family flowers as remembered, and also made sure to drop a few bills in the jar on the counter each time you’d been in the shop. Other employees were setting up a fund for Rita’s family since she was such a loved member of the community just with the joy she brought from behind the counter.

“Just a large hot chocolate for me, please.”

“For here or take away?”

“Take away please.”

“Actually she’ll have that for here, please.” a familiar voice behind you spoke up as you were digging through your bag for your wallet. You could see him out of the corner of your eye move from his spot behind you, to gradually standing next to you, looking directly at the barista behind the counter.

“Um..” you felt bad for the young kid, he couldn’t be any older than eighteen and all he wanted to do was get to work and get out. But here you were making his day more stressful than it needed to be. “So… for here then?”

“Harry I -”

“Come on Georgie. Please.” never in your life had you seen a grown man bat his eyelashes, but here he was, trying to lure you in with his breathtaking green eyes.

“Fine.” your voice came out soft and you rolled your eyes, but on the inside you felt giddy, like what you remember life to feel like before you started isolating yourself. “Um, sorry. I’ll have it for here I suppose.”

“Do you want the cream?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll have a -” Harry’s profile was something you could get lost in. How the tip of his nose seemed to bounce with every word he said, how it looked as if his lips were made to form the words falling from between them, or how no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay back, one of his curls would continue to break loose from the rest and fall past his forehead. From what little you’ve seen of it, Harry had a great sense of fashion. Comfortable. A brown teddy bear jumper was covering his upper body, sleeves long enough to gather just past his hands and torso short enough that you could see his white shirt peeking out from underneath, ripped black jeans, a pair of black chelsea boots, and  those same tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose completed his look.  

“Ready?”

“Huh?”

“You ready? ‘ve got a table back by the door.”

The two of you made your move to walk back towards the front of the shop, but you halted in your tracks when you saw that yes, he in fact did have a table waiting for him, but it was also being inhabited by the two boys you had seen behind him when he came to ask for thread. Neal and Liam? And a girl was sitting between the two as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Harry I don’t -”

“Come on, I promise we don’t bite.” Apparently you still didn’t look convinced because he leaned down to be at your eye level and stuck his lip out in a pout. “One drink. Please? I owe you remember?”

“Yes and you’ve already bought me a new one, thank you by the way, so you don’t owe me anything else.”

“I know.” the apples of his cheeks began getting pinker the longer he stared at you, “But I’d very much like to spend some time with you.”

Just like he did when he knocked on your door, his eyes widened and immediately seemed to want to backtrack what he had said. “Wait no, not in that way. In like a ‘hey I think you’re cute -’ no fuck that’s not -”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“One drink.”

The relief was instant on his features, his shoulders sagging and eyebrows un-furrowing at your words. “Good. Afraid my mates were going to start thinking I made you up.”

“I live across the hall, they’ve seen me.”

“Well yeah, but I talk about you so much they thi- I - fuck.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from between your lips. You may not have had many friendships or relationships of any kind, but you did know excessive rattling wasn't generally how people spoke to one another.  “You babble a lot.”

“Only when ‘m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

Harry wasted no time in his response, taking a quick glance over to you. “Because I finally get to spend time with the pretty girl across the hall.”

The heat rushing to your cheeks had become something of a common occurrence when speaking with Harry. It wasn’t obvious if he knew what he was doing or not, but you couldn’t imagine someone like Harry not knowing how to flirt. Thankfully, however, someone from the table spoke up before you could dwell on his comment longer than necessary.

“Finally!” the man sitting at the end of the booth spoke. He was dressed very similar to Harry in color - a tan quilted shirt was hidden beneath a cream colored teddy bear jacket, and pleated brown trousers. The light facial hair stubbled along his cheeks made him look slightly older than Harry, but his complete baby face counteracted that.

Harry looked at you briefly, raising his eyebrows with a ‘what did I tell you?’ kind of look as he bent down to slide into the booth next to the other man. His style was much different than the other two, more streetwear. He was wearing black trackies and an old gray band tee under a denim jacket, baseball hat and the very apparent smell of cigarettes finishing off the outfit. Another difference with him was that he had a girl with him. What you assumed to be his girlfriend by the way her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand fell on her knee. She was beautiful, long brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, only kept back by the fragile looking sunnies that rested at the top of her head. She was wearing a simple white top and a pair of white,black, and brown plaid trousers, both of which were overshadowed by the beautiful black Balenciaga jacket hanging off of her shoulders.

“Was starting to think you’d been lying about actually knowing her, Haz.” the one closest to Harry spoke, earning a light slap to his chest from the girl on his shoulder.

Harry disregarded all of their antics and turned to pat the seat next to him, indicating he wanted you to sit down, and he gave you a reassuring nod when you nibbled your lower lip between your teeth.

It was subtle acts like Harry letting you sit on the outside of the booth so you could make a quick getaway if needed that reminded you how easily he seemed to pick up on your social cues - even if you didn’t realize you did them. It made your chest tickle that even just from the two substantial conversations you’d had with him, Harry picked up on things you did.

“Piss off.” Harry chuckled, reminding you a lot of friendships you’d seen on tv where they all take the piss but it was easy to see that they all cared for one another. It was something you’d always been envious of while watching the world from the sidelines. “Georgie, this is Niall, Louis, and Louis’ girlfriend Eleanor. Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You were met with a chorus of hellos and you would’ve loved to just jump right into their conversation about the best places to get guacamole, just so that they knew you weren’t intentionally being rude to them. But not only were you not good at this conversation thing, but you also were still on edge about forming any sort of connection with these people. Apparently you should get used to Harry and his all knowing mind, because before you could excuse yourself from the awkwardness, he spoke up.

“So, how long have you lived in the building?”

Unprepared for the question, you froze for a second. “Oh, um going on six years now.”

“Impossible! What are you, like twenty? No way you’ve lived there that long!” Eleanor asked, her head no longer on Louis’ shoulder, instead she was sitting upright and looking directly at you. Of course, over the span of the years, you had gotten quite good at looking at people without really paying any attention to what was only visible to you above their heads, but it still made you uneasy. The best solution was just not to look at them at all. But these people, people who had no idea who you were a mere ten minutes ago yet were now welcoming you into their lives, made you want to work on avoiding the numbers. Because this was the most alive you’d felt in years.

“‘M twenty three. Be twenty four next Friday.”

“No shit! Alright well I’m coming over so you can teach me your skincare routine because you look flawless.” she gleamed, leaning forward on the table to jot down her phone number on one of the many spare napkins littering the tabletop.

“As much as I love a good skincare routine, let’s not skip over the more important part of that sentence. Your birthday is next week?” Harry asked, gently shoving his shoulder against yours and offering a kind smile when you glanced up at him.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since I turned like eleven.” your parents used to throw you a party every year while growing up, a lavish over the top kind of party where all of your classmates were invited and family you had never even heard of pinched your cheeks. But as time went on and you didn’t give up your ‘ridiculous fantasy’ as your mother so kindly put it, they began to stop throwing the party. Now, you were lucky if they sent you a card on the day. Plus, celebrating your birthday alone is kind of a downer.

“You haven’t celebrated your birthday in over a decade?” Niall’s mouth hung open like that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Nope.”

“Well that just won’t do.” you may not know very much about the people seated around you, but the smirk on Louis’ face told you everything you needed to know. “We’re having a party.”

“Um, thank you. Really. But parties aren’t really my thing. Plus I’m working that day so…”

“Oh, where do you work?” Harry asked, thoroughly interested in where you spend most of your days.

“Good Samaritan.”

“The nursing home down on Adams?”

“That’s the one. I’m a caregiver.” when you first applied for the position, you thought you were crazy. For someone who doesn’t want to get close to anyone in fear of their untimely demise, you definitely went for a job exactly the opposite. But that was the appeal to you. Sure, it was terribly sad to see one of your patients pass, but in the time leading up to it, you knew exactly who needed a little extra love. It was nice to be able to remind their loved ones to visit while making routine phone calls, and to do things to make them smile in what only you knew were their last days. It was the only time you thought what you were born with was some kind of gift. The tiniest most unwelcomed gift.

“That’s wonderful.” Harry’s voice was gently next to you, like he was hanging on to every short word that you said.

“Well, we’ll just have a party once you’re done with work.” Louis shrugged, but held his hands up when you opened your mouth to remind him you didn’t want anything. “Not a party, a friendly get together with friendly neighbors and alcohol.”

That day in the cafe was the beginning to a new start for you.

Obviously Lucifer had to hear about everything that happened that afternoon, but she was there to experience it first hand when Eleanor came knocking on your door the following day. She got to watch as you bent over in genuine laughter at your shared banter. She watched from the kitchen counter as Harry came by with food one night, saying he just happened to order extra lo mein and heard you come home. And as the two of you sat in the living room watching Big Brother, talking about everything from your favorite color to why he majored in physical therapy in university. Luci got to watch you break out of the shell you’d worked so hard on forming around you, and even though you knew she couldn’t understand what was happening, you liked to think her frequent meows were those of encouragement.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The yells came from all corners of the room when you walked into Louis’s flat the following Friday, making your eyes widen and shoulders straighten. As much progress as you’d been making in your life, with branching out and slowly losing your fear of connection, it would take more than a week to crack down those barriers you’d built so high for so long.

“Thank you.” you laughed, putting down the bottle of wine you’d brought just in time for everyone to start surrounding you in hugs.

“Happy Birthday, love.” Harry’s voice was soothing in your ear, like a sense of relief in the overstimulation the other three had given you. You didn’t regret their company like you would have only a month ago, instead you welcomed the foriegn feelings. But it was still nice to have a moment of calm to fully process everything.

“Thank you Harry.”

“I hope it’s not too much. I told them to cool it on the balloons and confetti - especially since we all know I’ll be the one to pick it up in the morning.” he laughed, offering you a glass of wine that everyone else seemed to already be enjoying.

“No, no, it’s great. A nice segway from doing nothing every year.”

“Still can’t believe you haven’t celebrated your birthday in so long! That’s a day that should be celebrated by everyone!”that same look you’d grown to quite enjoy flashed over his features, his momentary distress as he realized he said something he wasn’t planning on sharing. But the look disappeared when he saw your knowing smile. “Don’t start.”

As promised, there was no party, per say. Everyone was just scattered around Louis’ living room telling stories about absolutely nothing that had everyone in stitches. It was the kind of party you’d always been envious of, one where mates could hang out and lose themselves in the company of each other. It was the first time you didn’t have a single thought about impending doom for more than an hour, a feit you would be sure not to forget.

Niall was laid out on the floor under the windows, a half empty bottle of rum in his hand and the other rested on his stomach, occasionally itching an invisible nuisance. Louis was seated in the arm chair directly across from Niall, a very buzzed Eleanor draped across his lap and the more the night went on, the less chances you had of seeing their faces separated. And Harry was seated next to you on the sofa, his arm hung on the back of the cushion in such a way that everyone so often you would feel the very tips of his fingers skim the exposed skin on your shoulder.

You wished you could freeze this moment in time, because a photograph or video would never do it justice. It was almost as if you were watching the night play out in front of you like a movie, not really in your body but watching from afar. Watching as the girl who hid herself from the world began to hatch, slowly cracking the hard exterior surrounding her. And you would do anything to bottle the feeling of pride that swelled in your chest knowing you had achieved that.

“Literally right in the face mate. No joke.” Niall cackled, his laugh a contrast in that moment; escaping his mouth loudly but carrying throughout the room softly. Taking off like a leaf blowing through the fall breeze.

“Georgie.” your name slipped from between Harry’s lips beautifully, like he was created for the sole purpose of saying your name over and over again; forever. “Alright?”

And sitting in the living room of Louis’ flat, listening to your friends’ wine induced giggles, looking at the most captivating pair of green eyes and curly hair that only whatever magical being that was above could’ve created, you were alright. You were so alright that the minuscule ticks of the clocks of your new and only friends, ticks you tried so hard to avoid paying attention to, almost seemed to disappear completely. Almost.

71 years, 2 months, 10 days, 3 hours, 16 minutes, 55 seconds. 68 years, 11 months, 3 days, 19 hours, 43 minutes, 2 seconds. 68 years, 7 months, 21 days, 1 hour, 58 minutes, 33 seconds. 62 years, 8 months, 9 days, 11 hours, 12 minutes, 2 seconds. 2 years, 1 month, 30 days, 23 hours, 34 minutes, 56 seconds.

[wollfling]

Hi Allie! I wondered if I could ask you for some advice. I want to draw really badly and create art but I really don't have any skill! I know that in order to get better at art I have to actually do it, but I feel so overwhelmed by how I'm not where I want to be with it right away, and also with where to start with learning to draw. Do you ever feel that way when you draw? And if you do how have you gotten past it?

[I am literally so sorry this is so long oh my God. My mind has been very jumbled lately so I accidentally rambled too much, but I hope it still helps you in any way orz] Oh sweet little anon.. ;^; I do feel that way, a lot of the time if not all of the time! Just recently this week, I felt like I just couldn't draw despite picking up my pencil and scribbling, it just wasn't working partly for that exact reason! Overwhelmed by not being where I want to be with it! These things happen and its frustrating. It's hard for me to imagine as a beginner artist because I've been drawing since I can remember but I will still do my best to offer you some meaningful advice!

But first, to answer your very last question, getting past it can be a little random sometimes. This whole week after being unable to draw, I was laying in bed trying to sleep while reflecting on some heavy feelings ive been having and memories. Suddenly part of an image flashed in my mind and I got up to immediately try drawing it. (The drawing I recently posted and captioned "parade"!) I worked on it completely driven by my heart, and so it didn't matter at the time if it looked good or was anatomically correct, etc. Right now I am working on another heart-driven drawing, but if I tried to work on lets say a study or character drawing instead.. I dont think i could!

My point in all this is that, I think that its important to know/understand why you want to create art, and I think my advice would change slightly depending on your answer. For me personally, I am an emotional artist. I create art that (usually) reflects how I'm feeling or topics I am emotionally drawn to. Illustrations, drawing characters, writing comics, etc.. I think this week, while I'm definitely struggling with my skill level, I was so burdened by some things I've been feeling lately that I couldn't focus on or enjoy anything that I was trying to create, until I was able to release it all in a drawing. (And I'm still not done with them hence why I am now working on another related drawing, but im making SOMETHING and feeling passionate which cannot be said with any of my other attempts this week.) So since these drawings purpose outweigh my current issues regarding my skill, I am able to work on them. If that makes sense?

Okay im sorry with how long-winded this all is so far and all about myself orz but I wanted to give context on how I view art and I think if you asked someone who creates like. Hyperrealistic drawings their answers would be completely different. So! I wanted you to be able to judge if my advice would work for you if that makes any sense at all...!!! Moving on to my actual advice then..!

This is a little general ofc because I dont know what sort of art you are creating, or what your passion behind it is. And if after this you would like to tell me more about your art I would love to hear! 🥺💗 you are welcome to dm me or if you send another anon/ask i think that would be good too since.. well other artists who see can also give their own advice too!

Okay. So anyways lol, first I want to tell you that your desire to create art makes you an artist, despite your skill level. And therefore, everything and anything that you make even now has value. Even if right now you're drawing wonky shaded spheres and cubes! I understand its frustrating when wanting to make something but you feel like your skill isn't "there" and how that can prevent you from making anything to begin with!! But I really want you to try and work through it! Ignore it, disregard it, give your worries about your skill the silent treatment!! And I know its near impossible to do but if its getting in the way of you actually creating well.. thats the worst! We can't have that. If you really want to draw, then you really NEED to draw, you know what I mean? You deserve to draw! The hardest part for like 80% of artists is working around their skill level. I promise you will get there, but for now, you can't let it get in your way. And I realize me saying "oh you feel like you're not good at drawing and its hindering you from doing it? Just do it" sounds like Chad advice but ;---; unfortunately its the reality that comes with being an artist. If you tell me more about what you like to/why you want draw then maybe we can find some alternate lines of thinking that will help you (for example "this tiger i drew looks like shit but drawing all of her stripes was therapeutic and made it worth it!" If lets say you draw as a stim, opposed to "this tiger im drawing looks so bad I can't even look at it anymore " dhsjhd I really hope that this all makes sense lol.)

Moving on, learning how to draw.. this also depends on what you enjoy drawing but my main piece of advice here is study from real life. I grew up drawing cartoons and anime, and now that I want to draw a little more realistically.. its so hard!! If you study real shapes/people/animals/etc it might be easier later on when you understand fundamentals to bend them if you decide to create stylized or surreal art. However if right now you like to draw stylized art, I would recommend to keep working on your personal style while studying from real life on the side simultaneously! Any way you look at it, understanding how shapes, lighting, colour, etc work in the real world will help you out even with the most obscure pieces. And since art is a learned skill yknow you need to build those brain..pathways..and such. Im not a scientist but you get what i mean. Studies are the equivalent to lifting weights! I would recommend the website quickposes (com) they have a library of images that they throw at you at random. The site can explain itself better than I can lmao, check it out!!!

I really hope i was able to offer you something of value here, I didnt mean to ramble so much. I'm excited for you to grow as an artist, I love when I hear about others deciding to learn how to draw ;-; please feel welcome to ask for any clarification (as im having a hard time articulating my thoughts lately) or if you really just want to ask or say anything! ♡♡♡ again sorry if this was more than you bargained for length wise dhsishskshksj

[lethendralis-paints]

Artist Meme

Was tagged to answer this set of interesting questions by @kourvo​

(original post is here: https://kourvo.tumblr.com/post/621355098110640128/artist-meme

Thank you so much for that!

Let’s see....

1) What is the character you've drawn the most (Can be original or fanart)

This precious boy. I can never get enough of him. One of the most compelling characters I have ever come across. Love everything about Fenris and can relate to him on so many levels!

2. What colour do you often use? 

Gray and brown are my faves. And all other colours have the same chance of appearing in my artwork :D

3. Any colour you are bad at using?

I don’t think so...I love them all, even the pinks and yellows people usually find hard to incorporate into a colour palette. Tell me in the comments if I’m wrong :)

4. When drawing people, where do you start? 

Funnily enough - either with the front of the hairline or with the left eyebrow. Don’t ask me, why - I don’t know myself.

5. What is a character only your eraser will love?

Hmmmm...any sort of villainous character. I can’t draw evil people convincingly. I’m a huge softy at heart.

6. Which of your works took the longest time? 

Big scale commission I did for @pikapeppa​, featuring all the Inquisition companions, along with Fenris, Rynne and Carver Hawke. That one took almost 3 weeks, due to its sheer scope and my relative lack of experience in such large works. Pika was extremely patient with me though, for that I am eternally thankful!

7. What techniques do you use when you want to improve in drawing? 

Classical art studies. Varying my technique, themes I choose and software I use. I try to experiment and go outside my comfort zone often.

8. What do you think of the art of the person who gave you this ask meme? 

I adore Lillymon’s technical skill, refined style and limited colours! She is a huge inspiration for me!

9. What art tools/media are you good with? 

DrawPile, Photoshop, graphite pencils and liners. That’s about it :)

10. Art tools/media you are bad at? 

Traditional paints. I have no formal artistic education and my lack of knowledge comes to the forefront whenever I have to paint on a real canvas. It’s so much trial and error, you can’t even imagine....

11. What do you think about your own art? 

Lately it’s one of the last few things that were bringing me joy. I hope I won’t lose the passion for it. Because at this point I’m not sure I’ll be able to find some occupation I will be genuinely interested in and good at it. I don’t know if me gravitating towards moody fantasy art speaks about my fear of facing reality. If so, idk what to do with that. I do hope to develop my skills and being able to support myself financially as an artist.

12. Do you consult references for your drawings? 

Yes. A lot of them. Anatomical atlases, schemes for both academic and manga art, photographs found online and taken on my own, copying colour palettes from classical art - anything goes. I think it’s essential to develop your technical skill.

13. What do you like about your art? 

Lately - consistency, both in terms of produced results and in sticking to the timelines I set to myself. I hope this lasts. I would also like to branch out to other themes and not confine myself to quirky fantasy characters, so I’m working on developing my own story behind the scenes (spoilers) :P

14. What habits do you have while drawing?

Only the bad ones, lol. Hunching forward in front of the screen, forgetting to eat, drink and letting my eyes rest. Tilting my head to the side instead of rotating the canvas....I’m an idiot XD

15. Are you good at drawing faces facing right? 

I think that’s the thing I’m good at!

16. How frequently do you draw? 

For the last 1,5 years - almost every day without fail, for good or ill.

17. What do you do when you have artist's block? 

Change occupation and work myself into a depressed state. I changed work places in the last few years a lot, working as an interior designer, draftsman, textile designer, a cook, a bartender to name a few.

18. What must you have when you draw? 

No commotion around me and a cup of some hot beverage.

19. Do you have a lot of stray lines (messy lineart)? 

In the starting stage of my work process - yes, like you wouldn’t believe! If it’s a personal doodle, I sometimes just leave in as am under layer and draw clean lines on top of that mess. It looks cool in a way.

20. What is drawing to you?

An essential part of what helped me to retain my sanity in the last year and a half. Hopefully a lasting profession that will help me pay bills and survive on my own, if my life falls apart entirely later.

21. Your art goal from now on? 

Broaden the themes I depict, improve my technical skill, work on personal creative project and not only fan arts. And most of all - not giving up on it this time.

22. Artists you've had influence from? 

To name a few: @kallielef​ @kourvo​ @shayafury​ @fairsparrow​ who I met here on Tumblr, and many others who I follow and zealously study their works for clues on how to improve my own work.

23. Artists you like? 

I am following them all either here or on Instagram, I also do my best to share their works on my side blog!

24. Which is easier to draw, humans or animals? 

It was animals earlier. But now that I started to diligently study human anatomy, I would say it evened out! I’m quite confident drawing humans/humanoids now!

25. Show us an old drawing 

My first digital drawing from 2010 when I first bought my tablet!

26. What is the charm-point of your art?

I ummm....I don’t really get the question? Is that like the the strongest suit of me as an artist? Intense expressions maybe? Idk. Let me know in the comments :D

27. What is the first thing you would draw if we're talking about fantasy? 

Broody warriors, he-he

28. Please draw your most beloved character:

Here’s a sneak-peek of me drawing him right now! :D

29. When thinking of characters is it mostly female? male? or androgynous/no sex? 

I usually gravitate towards depicting strong-willed, caring, passionate, brave, honest men and women.

30. What did you draw yesterday? 

Started cleaning up that sketch from the last question, actually!

31. What is the funnest part to draw? 

A circle. Mostly because you’d die laughing seeing my struggle to draw a believable one XD

32. What part of other people's drawings do you notice first? 

colours, mood, eyes, hands.

33. Regarding backgrounds, what is your method of making it easier to draw? 

pick your favourite textured brush, find a good reference for mood and colour scheme, zoom out, squint your eyes and start slapping colours like mad. You’d be amazed at how much you’ll be able to achieve in 30 minutes with this approach. Bare white background is the enemy - destroy it! >:)

34. What colour coordinations do you like? 

Gray or brown as a main colour and then deep, earthy, saturated colours to complement the main one. Pink and orange is the combination I strangely enjoy using lately too.

35. What character did you last draw? Fenris and Eris :)

36. Does your style change easily? 

I don’t think so. More like it’s evolving slowly into something more serious and deliberate.

37. What part of drawing do you pay most attention to? 

Facial expression, body movement, mood and light effects. Not so much the composition and framing, he he.

38. How do you feel about drawing adult art? 

Tbh, I don’t consider straight up porn to be ‘adult’ exactly. To me adult art means aiming towards serious topics, exploring complex emotions and ideas, being honest with your viewer. I did doodle a few more steamy sketches of my OTP just to see if I could, but it was definitely a tongue-in-cheek kind of a artwork that I don’t take seriously.

39. Do you like criticism from others? 

If it’s friendly and in done in private - I welcome it always.

40. How many people do you normally draw per artwork? 

1 or 2. Rarely more. Crowded battle scenes are definitely not my thing :D

This was fun! Tagging forward to @shayafury​ @schoute​ @stella-minerva​ @nug-juggler​ @kallielef​ and anyone else wishing to go through such a long questionnaire!

[daxieoclock]

The Celestial Behemoth Fight: Hunters Highlights

As a direct follow-up to last week’s session, this week made me lose my fucking mind all over again. I can’t even articulate how excited I was, everything turned out so much better than I could have ever planned on, and everyone did a fucking amazing job.

(Credit to @thesunsetbox​ for his art of some of this session’s events)

Without further ado, enjoy!

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio lowers her rapier, breathing hard. One hand on her chest. She wobbles for a moment. And then steadies. Eyes sort of glazed over.

The glow under the door from the behemoth's chamber is still quite bright and very consistent. your journal doesn't like the door, but you don't quite feel a panicked urge from artemis. Just a steady caution.

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena hits the floor with her bat. "What the fuck! What the fuck!"

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Blake let’s out a long, shaky breathe like they’d been holding it in that entire time, and only now feel safe enough to breathe They turn back to look at Sakio, a malice in their eyes that isn’t disguised at all, but quickly course-corrects, softens “Well,” they say, a blank tone of scarcely-contained venom. “I’m glad you got to reconnect with an old friend.”

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) She bursts out laughing. A long, pained laugh. "Damnit." Sakio sheathes her rapier – misses the hilt twice – and runs both hands through her hair. "Of all the people I didn't wish you to meet..."

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy is startled by Sakio letting go of their hand, but stays close by

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) “If only there were a way to avoid such dangerous encounters,” Blake continues, eyes dead-locked on Sakio’s. “Your secrets will bury us all. So what was that about protecting us?”

Lena Tarr (Dave) "Literally. Right now. Like. Let's just. Go." Lena runs a hand over her face roughly.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) "My secrets are secrets to avoid that," she replies, sharp. Sharper than you've often heard from her. "Knowing about that woman..." Sakio sighs. "I thought she might have been dead. I assumed that. No one's heard or seen of her in years, not since..." She swallows, hard.

Ilse holds their arm, like they're biting their tongue. "She said she didn't want to stop us. But she might have been lying."

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) “That seems like the last thing I’d want us to do. Who knows if Sakio has been the least bit honest with us about the Behemoths?” They call that out to Lena without looking away from Sakio herself. “You do not know better for us that we do. Those claims are deeply offensive.” They laugh, cold and angry. “So you made a bet on her survival and you were wrong. You assumed she was dead and that we’d never have to know about her, she’d be another secret you could keep. And you were completely, entirely, deadly incorrect.” They look away just for a second to nod at Ilse. “That’s quite possible.”

Lena Tarr (Dave) "It literally. Doesn't matter. That woman died here, or inverted, or maybe she's just from here. Maybe she wants to kill us. Maybe fucking not," she hits the floor again. "It doesn't matter. If she comes back, and attacks us. I'll kill her."

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) “No, you won’t. You’ll die,” they say bluntly. “And it will be Sakio’s fault before it’s yours.” They smile just a little, angry, and glare at Sakio. “You understand that, don’t you? Despite all your claims and promises, the virtues you claimed to extol, it’s evident that you’re more than willing to risk our lives to protect Daedalus’ secrets.”

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) "Don't say that!" Those words come bursting out of their mouth, but they quickly muffle it with their sleeves.

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena hits the floor again, two handed this time. "I will. Blow myself up from within. And take her with me. I'll erase us from the fucking universe."

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio is quiet for a time. "The only thing you need to know about her, right now, is that she's the reason that Daedalus keeps record of every Persona-user's Brand. And, probably, why the higher-ups hide themselves away." She massages the bridge of her nose. "Please, don't risk your lives chasing her. Or, god forbid, fighting her. If you risk any life, risk mine. That's how it should be."

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Sammy’s outburst gets a reaction out of Blake, but they quickly recover. “Your team is ready to die because of her, because of that secret you’ve kept, and you can’t even lower yourself from your ivory tower for long enough to admit that you’ve made any mistakes? That, perhaps, keeping everything from us was wrong!?” 
They shake their head, and when they settle, their TV smile is back. “I’d be happy to throw your life to the wolves, Sakio. But even as dense as you are, you must recognize that martyring yourself won’t do you an ounce of good except stroking your fucking ego,” their smile drops away almost instantly, like they’re trying and failing to hang on to it, to get a handle on it again. 
“You’ll kill yourself protecting us from her and then we’ll all die right after you, because you can’t protect us. You never will.” Their face twists up, contorting in anger. “How far gone are you, that you can’t admit that, even now? That you’d rather DIE than look us in the eyes and admit the truth?” 
They’re gritting their teeth, and their right arm actively drops their journal to take a harsh grip of their left wrist, their left hand shaking beneath it.

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena grunts at the sky. "It doesn't fucking matter. It doesn't. There's nothing we can say that will make Sakio tell us anything. There's nothing we can say that will make that woman leave us alone. And we will just have to deal with it. That's it. Forever."

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) They nod. “You aren’t wrong. Perhaps I am naive for still believing in the truth.”

Lena Tarr (Dave) She turns to Blake. "Don't agree with me. Or do." She throws her hands in the air. "I don't fucking know!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio doesn't say a word. She turns around, slowly, and you can't quite pick an emotion out of her expression. One step forward, and she leans down, and picks up your journal. And holds it out to you. "I didn't believe it needed to be said. I have known, and I have no doubt that you have all known as well." She smiles, and it's a hurt sort of smile. "Keeping the truth from anyone is a sin. Keeping it from you all...is far worse. And yet, there is so much that I still cannot tell you, because doing so places you in danger. I was not ready to know it, when I learned. I hope to spare you that pain, and that risk." A deep breath. "Please. I don't ask that you forgive me, or that you trust me. But I will ask that you do not stand in front of me anymore. Martyr or not, I will face my sins. They are not your burdens to bear."

"What's done is done," Camellia grumbles. "Might as well either kill this thing or ditch the job." They rest their hand-axe on their shoulder. "And I'm voting former."

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Blake grabs the journal from her in a furious motion. “Do not TOUCH my things,” they snap. A second later they recover. “You can’t claim to be protecting us by obfuscating the truth. We are already in danger. Make your peace with that and get out of the way, or you’ll be burned in the end.” They sigh. “I agree, Pavel. My apologies for dragging this out. Let’s go.”

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena glares at Sakio. "Can you. Stop talking. As if you dying. Wouldn't fuck us up. Can you", she rubs at her face. "Fuck! Whatever. Let's go." And she walks forward and tries to open the door.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio glances towards Sammy. "Are you alright? You don't need to worry about me, by the way. You're very kind, but I've been through far worse than this." She chuckles.

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) "I'm... I'm okay...I know you're older and have been through a lot too, but I could see it back there...your fear." Sammy says this almost in a whisper, for only you to hear. "I don't want anyone to die..." they muffle themselves again, they look like they're gonna cry, but quickly change their expression to happy for Sakio's sake. "let's go!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) She nods, and smiles back. “No one will. I’ll make sure of that.” And she gently gestures towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy follows Sakio to the door, making sure to stay as close to her as humanly possible

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) The chamber beyond the vestibule is plain, and enormous. A circular room something like two dozen feet in diameter, with sloped walls that curve up and around into a giant open-roof skylight. Here, ten stories up, the already-close sky looks even closer, like the only thing between you and the heavens is a tall enough ladder. And at the center of the chamber is the source of that emerald glow. 

It seems to be some sort of symbol, a sigil of curved lines etched on the metal floor. You can't quite make out exactly what, not from where you're standing. But it almost resembles a simple drawing, something ancient and hallowed. And it's glowing. Pulsing like a heartbeat. But the moment you stepped into the room, that heartbeat quickened. Pulsing faster and louder and brighter, almost seeming to strain at the air, frantic and desperate.

"Beautiful..."

The air of Factals twists into impossible shapes, ever-spiraling patterns of green so bright and so vivid that they sear at your eyes, force you not to look to close lest you slip into it forever. Something surges out of the ground, out of that glowing sigil, gasping and writhing, oozing with black ichor.

"My stars....they're....so beautiful..."

It rises, squirming up on some unsteady anatomical base. At first to your eye-level, then above it. You can see something like an arm reaching up towards that skylight. Grasping with long, outstretched fingers.

"Mine. Mine. MINE."

And the world uncurls. Almost as if it's resisting the motion, pulling back into a form by strength of will alone. You finally see the thing before you, the so-called Celestial Behemoth, in all its horrid glory. His skin is grey and stretched, like a bodysuit pulled too tight, and it's covered in green lines and odd indentations like inconsistent scales. His hands are outstetched, fingers long as his palm. And his wide mouth is full of sharp teeth, and a long black tongue that lolls out the side. Bulging eyes spinning in a reptilian skull. Those eyes focus. First up, towards the sky. Then down, towards you. And he screams. A roar that could spit the heavens.

Blake, your journal snaps open. Shuddering with fear and hunger, Artemis writing not in silver but in crimson ink as dark as blood.

The Celestial Behemoth Star Arcana J A B B E R W O C K

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) I’ll start with a Tarukaja on Sakio

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) She looks surprised but sends a smile your way. "Thank you!"

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) They don’t look at her. “Kill it fast.”

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) So Camellia reaches behind and touches their shoulder-blade where their brand is. "Hecate!" And the witch bursts into being, extending her staff towards the behemoth. Ethereal purple chains burst from its tip, wrapping around the Jabberwock. It stands there, looking a bit perplexed for a moment. Then it merely strains against the chains once, and they shatter. Camellia stumbles back, looking surprised.

Lena Tarr (Dave) no preamble. she touches her ankle and wordlessly summons goliath before going right in with a power slash

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)  
 Result: 8d6 (3, 2, 6, 3, 2, 5, 1, 5) + 4 
 Total: 31

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) sakio is going to grit her teeth for a moment, and tap her brand. "Miss Tarr, you're doing a wonderful job of embracing your strength, please continue to do so!" And she casts Rebel Will on Lena

The Jabberwock is going to wriggle and make a very wet screeching noise. Its body glows orange for a brief instant.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Blake sees the orange glow on the Behemoth and swipes a hand cleanly across their left wrist, tapping their brand and summoning Artemis “Pavel, be careful!” Artemis fires an arrow into the sky, which descends directly onto Camellia and filling them with a deep blue glow

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Camellia flashes you grin. "Hey, thanks! I'll, uh, I'll try."

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) ilse's next, and they'll fire off a frei "Clotho, cut them down!" And a burst of blue fire scorches across the Behemoth.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) The Jabberwock is going to stumble backwards. Black ichor splashes to the ground from the corner of his mouth. He stares at you, then his eyes turn upwards. There's a moment of almost longing, staring through the skylight. And he shudders. Once, then again. Those green lines across his body glowing brighter and brighter, as the reptilian Behemoth shakes with fury. When his eyes turn back at you, they're filled with a deep emerald fire.

The Jabberwock spreads his arms open, fingers outstretched, and his eyes glow. The air around him begins to twist and distort, those odd shapes pulsing in and out of existence again. Like a heat wave radiating around his body.

"No you don't!" Sakio gestures with her rapier, two fingers on her brand. "Chorus!"

The beam of light descends, and it distorts in the heat wave. When it strikes, it strikes with barely any force.

Sakio swears under her breath. "It's placed up some sort of defense. We need to find a way to pierce it!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) camellia is going to fire off a psi The magic distorts into the swirling air. "Uh," Camellia says, "that...that worked a lot better last time."

Ilse gulps. "Is it resisting all our attacks? It...can't be, right? Something has to hurt it!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Neko Shogun gestures a bolt of energy towards the Jabberwock. And this time when it hits the distortion, it pierces through, glancing across the Behemoth's chest. He makes a furious, pained gurgle.

Lena Tarr (Dave) hmmmm ill. do a power slash again and rlly hope it does crit gdfgdfg

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)   Result: 6d6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5) Total: 21

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) NATURAL CRIT

Lena Tarr (Dave) jkhljkhjk two of them rlly

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) true but you only needed the one dfjbgjh

Lena Tarr (Dave) yea but it makes me feel cool gfdgdfg

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) the tarukaja and defense cancels out the crit puts it to 6d6 and hitting its weakness puts it to 8d6 oh wait im sorry crit isn't damage level up, its double dice that's 12. AND lena. you have a skill called exquisite technique you wanna use it now?

Lena Tarr (Dave) holy shit. yes please!

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) okay. so that's 8d6 times four.

Lena Tarr (Dave) dsfdsfdscasds

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) lena please roll 32 dice and add 4

Lena Tarr (Dave) at what point am i just being rude.

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)   Result: 32d6 (1, 2, 5, 2, 4, 6, 5, 6, 2, 1, 3, 4, 6, 3, 2, 6, 4, 3, 4, 3, 2, 3, 3, 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 5, 1, 1, 2) + 4 Total: 108

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) jesus fucking christ

Lena Tarr (Dave) Between her last attack and this one, everything Prim said rushes to the front of her head, and Lena almost blacks out with the rage of it. She summons Goliath wordlessly, and the floor splinters and raises around them, and when her bat hits the behemoth it does so with a thunderous roar, cracking the floor underneath it. "Can you just. Die."

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) The Jabberwock screeches, and the air around it pulses with one final distortion, and then returns to normal. It almost feels like a physical pressure lifts from the room. And it falls back, knocked down.

Hey lena. you have another skill it's called All-Out-Attack djfhgbhj

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Yeessss!!! Get em Lena!!!!!!!!!

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) wanna use it?

Lena Tarr (Dave) jhkjlhj abso-fucking-lutely!!

The hit lands, but it is not enough, and the rage grows even more. "Hey," she growls, "how is this in any way fair? Can't we have one second to just think? About anything!? Well, if it won't be given to us, we will make time for it by our own fucking selves!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) that's 38 damage to the behemoth

Sakio is going to beam at Lena, and without a word cast Rebel Will on her again. She Is So Fucking Proud

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena is distinctly uncomfortable at the pride being shown to her.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) The Jabberwock is going to struggle back to his feet. And it's going to make this growling noise in the back of its throat that starts growing louder and louder, until in opens its jaw impossible wide and screeches. Burbling Wail. You are all now Frail.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Joke’s on you! I was already frail!

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) THEN it's going to tense back and whip out with its tail. Whifflewhip.

Lena Tarr (Dave) god i wish i had a tail

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) None of you take any damage, but you're all knocked down. Any buffs you have are now negated.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Blake stands back up, having been knocked down, and grins to themselves “That was a wonderful showing, Miss Tarr. But you seem to have failed to finish it off.” Their voice is oddly cheery for someone in this dire position They look around and the party, and recognize the reality of the situation. They can’t rely on Sakio’s experience, Lena’s brute strength, Sammy’s magic power, Ilse’s tactics or Camellia’s ability. They can only rely on themselves, same as always. And they’ll burn bridges if they have to “Artemis!” they call out, voice fierce and loud, the persona materializing with bow cocked in arrow, and it fires directly toward the Behemoth

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) there's probably a spark of irritation there, like Camellia thought what Lena did was awesome and got a little frustrated that blake was still being harsh. But at the same time, they're a teammate. They're a friend. Camellia won't let them fight alone.

the arrow smacks the Behemoth between the eyes, and it stumbles backwards. Not quite knocked over, but reeling.

Camellia is going to stand back up too and rush in front of Blake. "Don't let 'em show you up, Hecate!"

Avrae (BOT) @Everyone Else (DaxieVane)   Result: 2d6 (1, 5) + 2 Total: 8

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Hecate has been shown up.

Sakio is going to growl as she stands back up, and sweep her hand like she's throwing back a veil. "Blind it, Chorus!" going to use Sukunda

He's going to focus on Lena. "Will...not..." he gurgles, almost a whisper. Jabberwock sort of tilts his head back, then whips it forward and spits something at Lena.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) so Sakio is going to leap in front of Lena. and sweep her hand up and towards the sky. A glint of light like a lens flare. And half the projectiles rips through her cape, while the other half imbeds itself in the behemoth's chest. Sakio's cape is now smoldering, and she smacks at it, still standing between lena and the behemoth. "Leto, Pavel!" she shouts. She looks calm, but she doesn't quite sound it. "Heal Lena, now!"

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)   Result: 3d6 (4, 4, 2) Total: 10

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) that's no successes. so. uh.

Lena Tarr (Dave) i fucking die.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Oh no-

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) you're now on fire. and knocked down.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) OH NO-

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) but you've got your Flow.

Lena Tarr (Dave) dgfgdfgdfgd thats so funny before i completely go up in flames i throw my bat at the enemy real hard

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) not like. immolated. but your outfit is definitely catching.

Lena Tarr (Dave) im wearing a tank top. this is not good

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) blake it is now your turn as a reminder: you have a baisudi bottle burn is an elemental ailment

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Wait I do Since when

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) you got it from hanging out with masumi

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Oh pog I was gonna use Active Support but the burn seems much more pressing… So I will use that

“Miss Tarr, please do me a favor and don’t die.” Their voice is strained, clearly more than a little frustrated at how things are going

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena gives them a thumbs up. "No promises."

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) "Hecate!" Camellia is going to use media on the whole party, cause that's their best heal.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) "My...stars..." The Jabberwock stands still once more. Wavering, but not falling. The wind outside has started to pick up. It's howling at the walls, rattling loose panels. "I...will..." The lines on his body glow. And smear. And drip. Vibrant green down his body, across his skin. A pool of emerald begins to grow beneath him. "I will...Ascend."

His hands out to either side, he is once more invoking Manxome Glare. The air around him distorts with what you now recognize as a sort of anti-magic field. And within it, you see his eyes ignite with a haunting, sickening green fire.

The Jabberwock is preparing an attack.

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) HmmmMMM concerns

Lena Tarr (Dave) top 5 things that cant be good

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio is going to reach out, clearly about to grab Lena by the shoulder, but she stops herself. Instead she reaches into her bag and pulls out some medicine, pushing it into Lena's hands. "Tend to your wounds, please."

Lena Tarr (Dave) "Can you please hit that thing. I know I'm dying, but can you! Please! Hit that thing!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) "I would recommend defending yourselves!" Sakio says, facing down the Behemoth. "This is likely its last desperation."

Ilse Belanger (Ralu) ....what was it with magic? If I use frei, will it still work?

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Manxome Glare causes it to resist all magic but become weak to physical and gun attacks

Ilse Belanger (Ralu) Ah. I defend Sammy, then

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy was gonna hit Jabbers, but saw Ilse defend them so now they're gonna defend Ilse

Lena Tarr (Dave) awwww

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) sammy and ilse are just gonna hug each other and hit the deck djfhgbhj okay lena what sort of chaos will you get up to today?

Lena Tarr (Dave) ,nbm,n,mnbmnb ;p i am thinks. with my brain. so. i am frail. but i also have flow.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) and rebel will and it's weak to physical attacks

Lena Tarr (Dave) And rebel will. and its weak to physical attacks. hm. hm. fuck it. im assault diving him

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)   Result: 3d6 (2, 4, 2) Total: 8

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) THAT'S A CRIT, BABY

Lena Tarr (Dave) NICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) lemme see..... 6 dice for heavy down to 4 because of the def up up to 5 because of flow doubled because of crit doubled because of weak please roll 20 dice plus your strength mod

Avrae (BOT) @Lena Tarr (Dave)   Result: 20d6 (2, 4, 1, 5, 2, 6, 2, 5, 5, 4, 4, 5, 1, 6, 6, 1, 2, 1, 1, 3) + 4 Total: 70

Lena Tarr (Dave) decent

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) DAMN

After Goliath strikes, the distortion parts, for just an instant. Those swirling patterns start to peel away. The Behemoth is smiling. And its spinning, burning eyes track each of you in turn. "Eyes of Flame." And the room around you fucking explodes.

Lena and Camellia take no damage as their shields soak up the fire. Sakio and Ilse resist, since they're defended. Sammy resists, but they're also weak to fire, so they're going to take full damage. 
Which is.....

Avrae @Everyone Else (DaxieVane)   Result: 6d6 (4, 5, 4, 2, 2, 4) + 8 Total: 29

Lena Tarr (Dave) thats many dice omfg

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio and ilse are going to take 21 damage, 
Sammy is going to take 29 lemme check your hp totals real quick djfgbjh

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) uh oh

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) ilse is about to be ko'd 
 sammy is also about to be ko'd
 and sakio will survive with 5hp camellia only has 1 salvation

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Oh No

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) fuck okay djhfbghjd

Lena Tarr (Dave) oh my god aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) huh. no bonds to go off of. uh.

Avrae (BOT) @Everyone Else (DaxieVane)  
 Result: 1d2 (1) 
 Total: 1

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Camellia is going to save Ilse

They're going to turn around and see the fire heading for Sammy and Ilse, and desperately call Hecate to try and protect them both. There's moment where both of you are bathed in warm light, safe. But Ilse is inches closer to Camellia. And those inches make all the difference. When the smoke clears, Ilse and Sammy are right next to each other. But only Ilse's eyes are still open. Sammy is slumped, unconscious, in their arms.

Lena Tarr (Dave) Lena is staring at them, completely at loss.

Ilse Belanger (Ralu) Ilse hugs them closer, as if that would change anything

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio drops her rapier. She makes a noise that almost sounds like "no," but it's drowned out by the clatter. It's her turn now, and she rushes to their side, hands desperately grabbing into her back for something. She pulls out a small glowing golden marble, and none of you can see it for more than an instant before she crushes it between her palms, hands clasped almost in prayer above Sammy. Small specs of gold float down from her hands. "Come on," she whispers, "come on. Come back."

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy groans, slowly opening their eyes. "Tan...ger in e ?" It takes them a while to readjust their eyes, focusing on Ilse and Sakio. They gasp, quickly sitting up, realizing what they just said. "Oh! Oh no! Is everyone alright? Am I...alright?" They just kinda sit with a really confused look on their face before remembering where they are. They look back at Ilse, "Friend! Are you okay?" They grab hold of Ilse, doing a little inspection of their person.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) "You're alright." Sakio says, almost a little laugh in her voice. Relieved. So clearly relieved. "Thank goodness."

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy turns to face Sakio, teary eyed. "Sakio! you're okay too, right?"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio nods, but her smile seems a little more tense. "I will be. You can just wait here, if you need. Don't push yourself." She stands back up, as if she wasn't hurt one bit. Cracks her neck. And walks back over to her rapier. "Behemoth. I don't know your name; I don't much care. It's our job to cut you down, I can't blame you for defending yourself." Her voice calm, but dripping in frigidity. "But allow me to make one thing clear." She stabs the tip of her rapier into the metal, and places her palm against her brand; she's only ever touched it with her fingertips before. "Never underestimate my students."

She's going to invoke Rebel Vanguard. Everyone, you now have one charge of Rebel Will

Blake Leto (Jane 🐈) Blake’s been turned away from you all this whole time, not watching, eyes on the Behemoth. Tracking it, staring it down before it moves any further. For a moment, they remove their glasses and lift their arm, and wipe their eyes with their forearm. They’re careful, so careful, so deliberate. There are parts of their arms they can’t allow to get wet with tears. Their whole body is shaking, you can tell. And they hesitate. 
 “My persona isn’t offensive in nature,” they explain, their voice breaking despite pushing to stay calm. “It would be wisest to heal the others, or to power them up. But I’m going to be selfish.” 
 They grip their left wrist with right hand, clinging tight, and Artemis materializes, arrow cocked in its bow. “As this team’s leader, I’m obligated to send a message. You will not harm my allies and face no retaliation.” Aaand they fire.

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Camellia is going to shoulder their axe. Shuddering. They almost lost another friend today. It was almost their fault, again. "Alright. Big man thinks he's a god, huh? But I've got news for you." They grab the axe's hilt with both hands. "Gods don't bleed, moron." And they rush the Jabberwock with a furious cry.

Camellia is going to smack their brand mid-step and hop up as Hecate plucks a spark of celestial brilliance out of the sky, and drops in front of them. "Here's your fucking star!" And Camellia swings their axe like a bat and smacks the projectile directly into the Jabberwock's chest.

Ilse Belanger (Ralu) Ilse whispers to Sammy “glad that you’re ok, friend”, then leaves them to rush to the Behemoth with their knife

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) The Behemoth is going to reel backwards, his barrier fading, flickering. The air almost clear again. He's going to stare at the party with furious eyes already starting to ignite once again.

Sammy. It's all you

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy is gonna get up and without any hesitation, use snap, despite Sakio telling them not to push themselves--

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) djhfbgjhdg i love them so much Sammy's gonna SNAP

Sammy Cabra (Nyanko) Sammy is SNAPPING

Sammy looks a little mad, but they don't try to mask it this time. "You tried to hurt my friends! That's not very nice of you!"

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Lena. Jabberwock is down. fuck him up dfhjgbhjd

Lena Tarr (Dave) maybe its overkill. but lena is. angry. so angry she cant speak or think or move her face right. so she assault dives the bastard

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) Sakio is going to take a few steps forward. Placing the tip of her rapier against the Behemoth's head. "I hope you learned something today," she says, quietly. "There will not be a repeat lesson." Chorus descends from on high, circling like a masked halo. They raise their arms up, and a radiance illuminates the space between them. "Goodbye." 
And she casts Kougaon.

Avrae (BOT) @Everyone Else (DaxieVane)  
 Result: 4d6 (5, 3, 3, 5) 
Total: 16

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) crits

Avrae (BOT) @Everyone Else (DaxieVane)  
 Result: 13d6 (1, 5, 6, 1, 3, 1, 6, 4, 3, 4, 5, 5, 2) + 6 
 Total: 52

Everyone Else (DaxieVane) A pillar of light slams into the Behemoth's upper body with thunderous force. And then through, decimating that glowing symbol beneath it. And through the floor. And through the next floor. 
What remains of the Jabberwock raises one hand up towards the heavens as it plummets down through the Spiral Spire. Through what Puck described as its towering sin. And it vanishes into the dark.

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Ok so about that prompt thing... I'm a sucker for heavy angst with haply ending and... Anything along the part of (breaking up) /getting back together. I'm going with the Rose/Doctor trend because I'm full of Subwave Network feelings but really, any Doctor? Canon ou Human AU ? There's just something about two people loving each other so bad but still going their separate ways and then coming back together...

ahhhh! so, this was a little harder than i expected. giving characters so much history in just a few hundred words is pretty hard, but i did my best. hope you enjoy! (and i know you were feeling the ninerose vibes, so i went with that!)

read on ao3.

-

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤

-

1994.

-

The last week of camp was always the hardest. This year, it was less because the kids were getting impatient to get home, or because the nights felt both endless and fleeting as the flickering of a firefly. It wasn’t even because she was, as per usual, running critically low on knickers by this point. No, the whole problem could be summed up in one word—a name, actually: James.

It was easy to paint a picture, both metaphorically and literally; she could probably draw him with her eyes closed by now. The new counselor was tall in that way that left him perpetually ducking at doorways, making her feel small and delicate like she hadn’t felt in years—not since before she’d gotten too big to be picked up anymore. And he was thin. Lanky, even, his shoulders bearing no more than a suggestion of what would eventually become bulk. He wore his hair cropped close, a sort of militaristic look that he apparently only kept during the summer, when he was too hot to be arsed with a proper hairstyle. Which, of course, did him no favors in regards to his rather large ears. Not that Rose minded. She liked them.

She would never—not in a thousand years—tell him that, obviously.

He had a prominent nose. Long and straight, and it bumped into her cheek when he kissed her. Tortoiseshell glasses that did the same, unless he remembered to take them off. And beneath the frames, he had the bluest eyes, as sharp and intelligent as they were lovely, little twin reflections of the summer sky overhead. When he smiled—lopsided, left corner higher than right—his eyes crinkled up at the edges like the folded pages of a book, and it made him look older than he was, but younger, too.

And she liked that. She liked lots of things about him. His hands when he played the guitar, and his rough but obvious kindness toward the little kids and other counselors. The way he had to bend down to kiss her—his gravelly accent that sounded so different from her own—the fact he didn’t laugh very much, but when he did, the sound possessed him and made his shoulders shake. The way he teased her, and made her stomach do all sorts of things that shouldn’t be anatomically possible, just by looking at her. 

She just liked him. She just—Rose frowned, ballpoint pen halfway through a stroke—liked him a lot.

And in three-and-a-half days, he’d be gone.

Bound for Manchester while she headed back to London. Bound for uni while she still had two entire years before taking her A-levels. 

It was her own fault, really. She’d been the one who couldn’t make up her own mind, waffling about which subjects she wanted to study. The truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. And it was only because of him that she had an idea.

Sort of. More than before, anyway. 

If he hadn’t taken an interest in her sketches, asked her about how she’d gotten into art, she might have continued on like before. Aimless. And, okay, she maybe would have come to a similar conclusion sooner or later, but he’d cared enough to ask. He’d encouraged her. He’d seemed… impressed by her drawings, by the watercolor paintings she’d thumb-tacked to the cabin wall, to her eye for color and light.

Nobody had ever been impressed by her before—not that she knew of.

Was that really all it had taken? Just a little faith from an almost-stranger, and she felt like a new person.

But now that she had a direction, a trajectory, it was leading her decidedly away from him. There were no other routes: going home and studying hard—no distractions—and getting into a good university was the right thing to do, even if her heart rebelled at the idea of leaving all this behind, of leaving James and his hands and his mouth and his smile and his laugh behind, to become no more than a hazy summer memory.

She tapped the nib of her pen against the page, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to come up with an easy solution; she had to be missing something. The flat didn’t have dial-up, so they couldn’t keep in contact that way. And her mum would be suspicious if she suddenly started hogging the landline and getting random calls from boys. If he’d even want to call her.

If he even wanted to hear from her again, ever.

It made her slightly sick to consider. Did he want to keep in touch? Or was she just a summer fling, something best kept behind at camp?

A shadow slipped over her and she knew it was him, the air instantly cooling from where he blocked the sun. “What are you working on?” She felt him crouch behind her, his chin just hovering over her shoulder—close enough that she could smell the hint of sunblock and sweat, a touch of freshwater sweetness from the lake, and something clean, like laundry airing dry. His frames were present in her peripheral vision, shining in the late afternoon light.

“Nothing,” Rose answered truthfully, glancing down at her hasty sketch of one of the cabins. Her lines were messy and distracted, much like the inside of her head, and not particularly nice to look at. Reflexively, she started to crumple the paper out of her sketchbook, but James dropped a hand over hers.

“Wait, don’t. It’s good.”

She scoffed. “It’s ugly, actually.”

“It’s… honest,” he decided, swiping the page up before she could destroy it, folding the thin paper into squares and shoving it into his trouser pocket as he stood. “I like it.” She looked back over her shoulder, shielding her eyes from the sun, and glared.

“All the sketches I’ve done this summer, all the paintings, and this is the piece you want?”

James raised a brow, looking down at her in a way that might have been imperious, if he weren’t wearing an oversized, tie-dye t-shirt with the camp logo emblazoned on the front. “Are you offering?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed in response, knowing that he was digging for something. “Which one did you want?”

“The self-portrait you did,” he answered immediately, “after we—”

“Shh!” She felt her cheeks flush with heat and averted her eyes on instinct, too mortified to even reply. They both knew what he’d been about to say, and she was suddenly grateful that most of the kids were in the mess on the other side of camp. “Not that one. That’s…”

“Private?” He smirked.

“God, you’re unbearable.” She tried to blink away the image building behind her eyes, the memory from just a few short days ago, but it was so strong and present—almost like she was seeing it from the outside. 

James, his back against the twin headboard, skin scorching through his thin t-shirt and into her bare skin, where the straps of her camisole had slid down her shoulders. Her back to his chest and his arms around her ribs. His lips pressed against her neck while she absently sketched, something slow and easy still sliding through her veins. Contentment. The sort of unconditional acceptance she’d never felt from a bloke before, but couldn’t help feeling now.

Her head had been so pleasantly preoccupied that her hand took over, loosely drawing what her eyes couldn’t see. What she imagined they looked like: her own chest and shoulders and chin; James’s lips against her throat, and his glasses, sliding down his nose. He’d teased her later, when he saw the words looped down at the bottom in an absentminded rush.

Self Portrait, With James. Summer 1994.

“You like it,” James teased, reaching out his hand to pull her upright. She couldn't deny that he was right—she did like just about every irritating bone in his body—but she did roll her eyes while his fingers wiggled in front of her face, long and tan and tempting. When she didn’t answer, he tried another tack. “Had dinner yet?” 

Rose shook her head, not knowing how to say she’d been too busy thinking about… well, him. Them. The future that made her sick to her stomach. She swallowed. 

“C’mon, then. Can’t have you wasting away.” And he grinned his bright, crooked grin, familiar in a way she suspected she’d remember all her life. No matter how far away she got from this summer, from camp, from him, she’d never forget it.

She took his hand—big enough to dwarf hers, with callouses on the pads—and followed him across the grass, trying to stop herself from committing it all to memory. And knowing she would anyway.

-

1996.

-

It was raining on her tour date, which she felt distinctly to be some sort of omen—good or bad, she couldn’t decide. She liked rain, usually. It made things feel more abstract, like something out of an impressionist painting, and it tended to keep people off the streets, leaving them wide open for exploring. She had ventured out with her sketchbook in search of rainy day adventure more than once. But today, she didn't want to get wet, and her hair was already rebelling against the humidity.

And she'd forgotten an umbrella.

“Shit,” she mumbled, jogging into the relative shelter of the overhang, trying to protect her hair and her portfolio at the same time. Her entire hope for academic success was presently pressed against her chest, and the thought of her sketches and paintings—carefully analyzed by her art teacher and herself, selected and matted, representing the best of her work—destroyed by the rain was enough to make her cringe deeper into the recesses of grim, Gothic architecture.

For a moment, she thought it might be the right academic building—she’d made it to campus, that much she could tell—but a quick glance up revealed a plaque telling otherwise. This was not the Centre for Fine Arts.

“Shit,” she repeated, grinding the heel of one hand against her eyes. Light and color blossomed beneath her lids, shades of pressure and frustration.

She was going to be late. She was going to miss her tour of the building. She wasn’t going to get the chance to see the classrooms, or chat with any of the professors, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to make her formal interview. Rose felt a tightness—unmistakable worry—gather in her chest even as her hand pressed harder and harder, flattening her portfolio against her body. This was her one chance, she reminded herself, and she was bollocksing it all up with her lack of preparation. She shouldn’t have trusted her own compass; she should have brought a map and risked looking foolish.

It was just like everyone said: she wasn’t cut out for this, for going to university and trying to make something of herself. She wasn’t.

For a brief, irrational moment, she felt absolutely furious that she’d ever let herself be talked into this—into even aspiring for more, let alone actually trying to make “more” happen. The whole thing had been his idea, the wanker. She might’ve been content serving chips. She liked chips. She did not like feeling how she felt now. Exposed and idiotic.

This was absurd, of course, because she hadn’t seen him in two years, not since the bus dropped the counselors off at the train station and he hadn’t kissed her goodbye. And all the effort she’d put into this—sitting her A-levels and applying for schools and volunteering at the community center, spending her summers teaching arts classes instead of going back to camp—had been wholly her own. James hadn’t had much to do with it, except maybe being in the right place at the right time. And believing in her.

She couldn’t help remembering that. Someone had believed in her.

Even if it hadn’t lasted.

Rose reached deep inside herself for something resembling assurance, struggling to calm her breathing as her mind ran circles around her. Everything felt sort of detached, except for the panic pounding in her chest. But then she took a slow rush of air. In and out. Another. For a moment, she tried to focus only on her immediate sensations—what she could touch and hear and smell—the cool stone against her back, the sound of the rain, slashed by traffic noise and tires splashing through puddles, the smell of mildew and exhaust and rainwater and the perfume she’d put on because today was special. There was nothing else. Just those things, safe and certain.

Her head began to clear.

First, she assessed reasonably, she needed to check her drawings, make sure her portfolio—if the makeshift cardboard and twine could be called such—hadn’t leaked. If it had, it wasn’t worth worrying about anything else. And then she needed to get her bearings—ideally, she needed to find a bloody street sign. She was somewhere she hadn’t been before, somewhere in the bounds of an unfamiliar campus, but it was still London. Still her city. 

And if she was as lost as she imagined, she would ask for help. She would just ask somebody.

She inhaled slowly, letting the familiar smells and sounds settle her mind. The hand against her face kept up its steady pressure. And right when she thought she might be brave enough to open her eyes again and face the world—

“Rose?”

The whole world—everything, every priority she’d just rearranged into some semblance of a proper order—disappeared, wiping her mind abruptly blank.

“Oh, brilliant,” Rose blurted out. “This is all your fault.”

She said it before her eyes even opened, before she could calm her heart that was, once again, racing. 

And she regretted it immediately upon seeing him.

James. The absolute bastard. He was standing right there in front of her, wearing a too-large leather jacket and a smirk as smug as anything she’d ever seen. Like an apparition summoned from her stupid subconscious, he was in London and right in front of her, appearing at the exact moment she’d been thinking of him. How was that possible? She blinked up at him—had he grown taller? No, probably not. Just sort of… broader. His hair was longer. His eyes were… bluer? Or was that just the rain, turning the world cool and grey around him?

She realized she was staring—not staring, actually, but glaring—right about the time that his smirk, still higher on the left side, started to fade, turning to an expression of dismay.

“It’s my fault you’re crying in the rain?”

“I’m not crying,” she snapped. “I’m thinking.”

“My fault you’re thinking? Well, that’s sort of flattering”

“Oh my God, you’re still unbearable,” she groaned.

He stepped closer, his damp hair falling in loose waves around his face. Little droplets of water clung to his glasses. He must have just come out from the rain, she realized numbly. “You still like it,” he chimed back, the response so automatic that she could almost forget that any time had passed at all. She could almost imagine that they were both exactly the same as before, standing in sun-warm grass with her back against a tree.

Only she couldn’t. Because she was going to be late.

That, and he seemed just as surprised as she was by his instantaneous response, catching his arm before it could lift to cage her against the wall. He blinked—once, forcefully.

Her voice came out weak, swallowed by the rain. “You’ve got no idea what I like.”

And James just nodded; the familiar glint left his eyes, like the sun receding behind a cloud. She might have felt bad about it, if given half the chance. But she didn’t give herself even a moment to consider it, steeling herself with the memory of him turning his back on the train platform, his shoulders so set, so determined. She reminded herself that there was a reason she was out in the rain today, holding a fistful of paintings to her body, and he wasn’t that reason. She was.

“You’re a student here,” she guessed.

He seemed flustered by the easy assertion. “Yeah. Med student. Second year.” His gaze slid away from hers, and she was stung by realization that he’d been so close this entire time, for two whole years, while she’d been studiously trying to forget him. To forget the way it had ended without either of them saying a word. To re-learn the confidence he’d instilled in her. 

Had he not even attempted to find her? Surely he’d remembered that she lived in London, a few scant miles from his university. 

James must have been aware of her thoughts, or having similar ones, because his face looked pained and tight.

“That’s great,” she said faintly, still at a loss. It was; it was exactly what he’d wanted to do with his life. Granted, she hadn’t expected him to do it in London. “But I actually need your help. I’ve got an interview in—I don’t know—soon, and I’ve got… I’ve got to find the Centre for Fine Arts.” Now it was her turn to avoid his eyes. Did he remember? Would he even care?

I’ve done it, she wanted to say. I’m doing it right now. What we talked about.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips curve into a shadow of his familiar grin. “I don’t go there much, I’ll admit, but I know where it is.” And his hand stretched out—almost like he was going to grab hers, tug her along behind him like he used to—but he shoved his fist back in the pocket of his leather jacket only a second later. “C’mon, then.” He turned, expecting her to follow.

She did. Of course she did.

“Wait, could you—do you mind—”

James tilted his head, listening.

“Could you put my portfolio under your jacket? I don’t want the… watercolors to get wet and reactivate. It’ll ruin the paintings.” She hated the way her voice wobbled when she acknowledged what she was holding, as if she was afraid he might ask about her art. Had he kept her sketch of the cabin? 

But he didn’t ask; he took the thin cardboard from her hands and tucked it into his jacket, pulling the lapels closed over his chest to protect her work from the rain.

“Good?” he asked, his eyes sliding up to meet hers. They were so much more intent than she remembered. Focused.

Rose just nodded, throat thick. Why was this so hard?

After only a second, he stepped out into the rain.

They walked for a few moments in silence, letting it stack up like bricks between them, building a wall that was already starting to feel impenetrable. With each step, her damp shoes kicked up water that chilled the backs of her bare legs. She was scrambling for something—anything—to say when James cleared his throat, said, “So, you’re still… doing the art thing, then.” It was vague, but undeniable. He sounded pleased.

Rose blushed. “Yeah. Fine Art and Design.”

“That’s… good,” he offered. “You were always brilliant at it.”

“I think you’re biased.” It was the wrong thing to say, but she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth.

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

She couldn’t tell whether his reply made her feel better or worse. Maybe a bit of both. She bit down on her bottom lip, straining against the urge to ask him any of the innumerable questions suddenly swirling in her head: Had he missed her? Why wasn’t he at University of Manchester, like he’d planned? Why was he wearing a leather jacket in the middle of August?

When had his posture gotten so straight, like he owned the ground beneath his feet? He didn’t seem to be at war with his own body anymore, and something in her warmed at the thought.

He interrupted her musing—and her stare—with a sudden glance her way. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she rushed out. And then she admitted, “you just… look different.”

“Probably the hair. Haven’t shaved it in a few—”

Rose shook her head, still shooting glances his way as they stopped at a crossing. “No, it’s not your hair.”

“I mean, it has been two years, Rose—”

I know,” she interrupted. “You look good. Different, but good. Lighter, maybe?”

James stopped mid-step, and she had to reach out and tug him forcibly across the intersection. On the other side of the road, he dipped his chin, pressing his lips flat together. It looked like he was trying to hide his face—or hide a smile. “You’re spooky, you know that? Always asking the right questions.”

Well, she certainly had more where that came from. “New girlfriend?” Rose was guessing, but she was pleased to see his eyes jump to hers, his shoulders shaking with a repressed laugh. “Or no girlfriend? Either one could be something to smile about.” She arched a brow, pleased to feel some of her confidence returning. She’d caught him off guard, and she liked it.

“No girlfriend. It’s just, ah—I sort of went against my parents, going to school here. They didn’t want me to move to London.”

“And you’re glad you did?” 

Once again, he pinned her with a flash of blue. “You could say that.”

She realized, with heat and awareness churning though her chest and up into her cheeks, that she was still holding his hand. Her fingers twitched automatically, but before she could break the contact—and, oh God, he still had the same callouses from guitar strings—his own fingers tightened around hers. They were so warm, even in the clammy rain.

“Rose,” he began, a steady and sticky something building in his eyes; she couldn’t look away.

But she knew she had to break the spell, because if he acted on that something—something like confessing his love on a street corner in the rain—she’d go absolutely mental, and then she’d definitely miss her interview. The tour had probably come and gone by now, but there was still a chance… 

“Are we almost there?” She asked impatiently. “I can’t miss this interview—I had to borrow money for bus fare—”

“Rose,” he repeated, sighing. “Art building’s just over there. On the right.”

“Oh.” She turned in the direction he was looking, and sure enough, she could see the proper signage, but he still didn’t let go of her hand. She spun back, ready to say something, anything—

Why was her stomach churning? Why had she gotten so scared all of the sudden?

Would he disappear when she let go? If he turned around and walked away now, would she spend the next two years trying to forget the feel of his hand on hers? Her thoughts spun and spiraled, a yawning horror opening in her that made her want to run. Get it over with. “Well, thanks for—”

“Rose.” 

He squeezed her fingers, just gently, enough to make her pulse throb. Like a question mark at the end of a sentence left unsaid.

She sucked in a breath and pushed it out. “Yes, James.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“Don’t forget your paintings,” he said softly, pulling one hand from his coat, and with it, her portfolio. Raindrops immediately began to soak into the cardboard and she pulled it tightly to her chest with one arm—it was still warm from his body. She thought she could even detect a whiff of something—clean laundry. It felt like falling backwards in time, and her heart skipped another beat.

He couldn’t seem to let go of her. And it was sort of a relief; his touch felt like Rose’s only tether to reality. 

“You’ll blow them away,” he said, sounding assured like he always did.

Rose nodded. And then, surprising herself, she said, “I’m glad you found me today. I was just thinking…” But she wasn’t quite brave enough for that. I was just thinking about you.

“Yeah,” he agreed with what she hadn’t said, throat bobbing with uncharacteristic anxiety. “Me too. And I’m not waiting until it happens again. I’ll just wait until you’re done, and then we can—I mean, if you want—we could get chips. Celebrate what will definitely be a successful interview. And I can… explain.”

“Explain,” she repeated hesitantly.

James shifted his weight. His hand suddenly felt heavy in hers. “Why I spent two whole years not calling the girl of my dreams, even after… following her to London.”

The words spilled over her like rainwater, sending a shiver down her spine. He had known. He’d known all along. He’d thought of her. He’d missed her. She felt the smile overtaking her lips and didn’t even want to stop it. But she barely gave the pleasant feelings time to root before she determinedly tugged her hand out of his, determined to keep her priorities in order.

She had to do this; she wasn’t here for him. She was here to get into uni, because she wanted to. And yes, this was an unbelievable twist of fate and completely impossible and he just looked so ridiculously good that not drawing him was a crime. But she was going to be late.

“Okay,” she agreed quickly, noticing the way the hopeful expression was draining away from his face. “But don’t wait in the rain. That jacket is ridiculous. I mean, I like it—but it’s ridiculous. You’ll be soaked.”

It was unbelievable, the gymnastics her heart did when his face flooded with happiness. It wasn’t even a proper smile; it was something else, something in his eyes that felt like the rain letting up, a warm ray of sunshine on her skin. He nodded eagerly. “Okay. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

“And if this interview goes to hell—”

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I don’t want to hear a word about it. Understand?”

He nodded, a grin finally stretching his cheeks. He still had the silliest smile. And it still made her stomach do weird, anatomically-impossible flip-flops. It reminded her of mud-slinging afternoons and lake water and everything good and bright in the world.

“Right.” She said, forcefully interrupting her own train of thought before it could spiral out of control. “I’ve got to go, yeah? I’ll be late.”

“Right,” he echoed, nodding again. More seriously this time. He pushed his glasses up his nose with one long finger. “Don’t want that.”

“Nope.” Her voice was faint in her own ears. “Definitely not.” Her heart beat like a kettle drum, rebounding through her whole body with a rhythm she couldn’t recognize. She felt herself leaning forward and was briefly horrified by what she was about to do.

She was about to do something ridiculous, like confess her love on a street corner in the rain.

Or maybe not exactly that.

Rose pushed up onto her tiptoes before she could think better of it, brushing a kiss over his lips, rain-cool and just as quick. She could feel his smile under her mouth, and the way his lips suddenly shifted to accommodate hers, coaxed into an old familiar shape. But before he could reach out—before she could do something stupid like drop her portfolio and climb him like that tall tree at the center of the campground—she drew back, already flushing madly. 

“Bye,” she whispered.

He laughed—threw his head back, shoulders shaking. And then he answered, “Bye, Rose.”

She had just enough time to take in the pleased glimmer in his eye—embed it into her memory, so it could carry her through the interview—before she spun on her heel, taking off in the direction of the Centre for Fine Arts. Rose smiled so hard her cheeks ached.

She had an interview to ace.

[expertmakodriver]

30 Day Mass Effect Challenge: Day 9

9. Favorite romance?

Alright everyone it’s time to fucking cry.

Garrus and Femshep just HHNFGHHN they make me HNRHGhHH I love them.

Let me break down each part of their romance and why I (and like the entirety of the Mass Effect fandom) love it so much.

I already talked about Garrus’s relationship with Shepard in my “Day 5: Favorite Character” post, so I’ll refrain from repeating myself too much here. The bottom line is that Garrus is Shepard’s most loyal and trusted ally and that “There’s no Shepard without Vakarian” is one of the few good things to come out of ME3 (which, again, I will not really be including in this discussion).

When Shepard responds to Garrus’s story about him easing tension with a recon scout years ago (probably back when he was a teenager during his compulsory military service) with a proposed plan to test his “reach” and her “flexibility”, he doesn’t even realize what she means, at first; he thinks that she’s referring to sparring. Why? Because he doesn’t think that she would want him. It seems like he might get the idea that she’s propositioning him, but he can’t bring himself to believe it because he thinks it’s impossible. When she clarifies (and possibly confirms his suspicions), he is surprised at first, but recovers quickly and expresses that he is very much interested in ”blowing off steam” with her. It makes you wonder whether or not Garrus would have ever made a move onto Shepard, had she never expressed interest him first, since he is obviously attracted to her. The reason he provides as to why he is interested is because he respects her more than anyone in the galaxy. Their relationship is built off of mutual trust and respect and Garrus is acknowledging it; he doesn’t say, “Well, sure, Shepard! I think you’re really hot and I would love to bang you”. That’s really important, as it shows how deep their companionship is. This exchange between them is very quick, but it’s intimate nonetheless. 

Look at how he backs up when she walks by him and completely keeps his eyes on her. He looks like he’s wondering if he’s actually dreaming hhnngh he’s just in absolute shock

The next time he talks to Shepard in the Main Battery, he seems nervous. He says that he’s been thinking about what they had agreed to, and that he wonders if they’re crazy for even considering having an inter-species hookup. Even though different-species relationships seem fairly common in the galaxy, Garrus is still bewildered by the idea and states that “cross-species intercourse” isn’t something that he would normally consider. Here’s the thing, though: he’s not questioning whether or not he would enjoy sleeping with Shepard (though he does seem to be considering their compatibility and whether or not they could “make it work”) - he’s wondering why Shepard would ask him as opposed to someone who is a bit more like her. Shepard sees that he’s sort of doubting himself and she assures him so gently and warmly that he’s the one that she wants and it’s fucking adorable (especially if you play Shepard to have a lot of Renegade moments, as seeing her be a total badass who is almost sadistic when it comes to punishing her enemies to then seeing her be so gentle and soft with Garrus is just insanely cute). When she tells him that she wants him, he suddenly seems to gain some of his confidence back despite still being very flustered. 

An important thing to note here is that he uses humor to hide his nervousness and says that if their “steam-blowing” goes well, it’ll be something to cherish, but if their anatomical differences end up making things awkward, fighting the Collectors would be a “welcome distraction”. I’ll bring this back up again later.

So Shepard gives Garrus an opportunity to back out of the plan if he’s feeling uncomfortable (which is very thoughtful of her. She doesn’t want him to feel pressured and wants to make sure he’s completely okay with sleeping with her. She really cares about how he feels), but he refuses to. Again, he brings up how important their companionship is to him and tells her that the matter at hand has nothing to do with a “fetish for humans” - meaning that while he is obviously attracted to her, he’s not sleeping with her just because she’s an attractive human female - it’s about him and Shepard using this opportunity to be close and intimate. This is when he starts to hint that he has deep feelings for her, but he approaches her with it very subtly because he doesn’t want to chase her away with his feelings. He almost seems conflicted: “Do I tell her and risk making things awkward, or do I keep my mouth shut and risk never knowing if she feels the same way? I’ll compromise and drop subtle hints.”

It’s kind of hard to tell with the way the camera moves, but she’s stroking his chest as she smiles fondly at him while he kinda sorta lets it slip that she has all of his uwus. Talk about pure-yet-intimate. 

It’s hilarious to see Garrus’s composure slip when he catches himself making an unintentionally dirty pun (”You know me, I always like to savor the last shot before popping the heat sink”). This entire romance is just filled with hilarity. 

Shepard says that she’ll let him get back to work, and he jokes about how he’s all hot and bothered by talking about sleeping with her and that he can’t focus on his calibrations because he’s too horny. She just grins like a goofball at him as she backs away dramatically and waves goodbye.

His final dialogue with Shepard in the Main Battery before the suicide mission is where he finally starts to make it clear that he loves her. He doesn’t try as hard to hold himself back anymore, he just up and says that he wants to give “cross-species intercourse” a try with her out of all people and that he wants to spend his final moments with her and only her before they possibly all die in the suicide mission. He still flounders around a bit when she reciprocates his enthusiasm, probably because he’s still in shock that she even wants to sleep with him, and Shepard continues to tease him in good nature. Their relationship is just… so healthy and good and pure… hhhgh

AND THEN. THE SCENE BEFORE THE OMEGA 4 RELAY

As Shepard is taking a shower and gettin ready for Garry, he’s literally standing there waiting for her with a bottle of wine AND HE LOOKS SO NERVOUS LIKE HE DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO HHH

and then he like jogs up to the stereo system and plays the same cheesy club music that he had made fun of in the previous game. Yes, when he said that he’ll “find some music” for them to bang to, that’s what he had in mind AND SHE CALLS HIM OUT FOR IT BY SHAKING HER HEAD IN AMUSEMENT 

AND HE’S STILL PRETENDING THAT HE’S ALL SUAVE. HE’S LIKE “C’mon Shepard I’m a natural seducer, look at my strut. Lemme smash”

Shepard is so humored by the whole thing. It’s very wholesome. I love seeing them enjoy themselves like this, especially after Garrus’s recruitment and loyalty missions, which were both very emotionally charged. 

Shepard thinks Garrus’s bad flirting is endearing as he tries to apply his knowledge of turian courtship to his current situation and then immediately regrets it because he worries that he might have said something offensive by human standards (WHOLESOME). She calms him down and assures him that he doesn’t need to worry about impressing her (as if to say “Garrus, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re my best friend, not some random dude that I’m hooking up with. We’ve been through hell together man, relax), and then he immediately starts to confess to her that he wants their two or so hours before almost-certain doom to “go right”.

PAUSE FOR A MOMENT. Remember when I said to hang on to Garrus’s line about how if their “encounter” turned awkward due to their differing anatomy, they could just laugh it off and use the Collectors to keep themselves distracted? Yeah, so that line was a fucking lie. 

Garrus is coming clean to Shepard about his feelings in this final scene. He does want things to go right between them, but he was just too nervous and shy to admit that their time together would mean so much more to him than “blowing off steam”, so he uses humor to cope with it. The best part is, Shepard understands. It almost seems like she can read him because of how well she knows him; she’s aware of how he feels, but she wants him to feel ready enough to tell her on his own. ADORABLE.

LOOK. LOOK HOW GENTLE AND TENDER SHE IS WITH HIM. SHE JUST WANTS TO CALM THE NERVOUS BOY DOWN AND HE’S SO MOVED BY IT THAT HE JUST STOPS TALKING AND LIKE STARES AT HER SO INTIMATELY. IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL. 

She’s not just stroking his face, either; she’s stroking his scars - the ones that he got from an event which almost took his life - as if to comfort him and say “I was there for you back then, and I’m here with you now. I’m glad you’re okay. You’ve been through so much”. I DIE!!!!! I DIE. 

And finally, the famous head-butt of love (the first gif). I’m not sure if touching foreheads is something that turians do to show affection, but since they don’t have lips, it would make sense. Either way, it’s obviously a very affectionate and loving gesture and I cannot handle it. This to me is one of those things in life where I can think about it and immediately feel happiness no matter how bad of a mood I’m in. Do I care that it’s a fictional relationship? Nope, because it’s a very well-written (up to this game, I mean), healthy, believable, and profound relationship, and I think it’s absolutely adorable. I’m not normally into shipping or romance but this?? This is just on a whole other level. Nothing comes close to this. 

A few people feel robbed that the scene fades to black right as Garrus gently grips her shoulder (or something? With flycam enabled, he looks like he’s grabbing her boob, but that’s obviously not what’s supposed to be happening) and that we don’t even see a kiss, but I’m totally fine with it. It’s nonetheless an emotionally charged and wholesome scene and that’s exactly how it should be for them. I’m glad we didn’t get anything sleazy or fanservicey. 

If Garrus is the squad member who starts to fall after Shepard kills the Reaper-Larva thingy, it just fuels the feels. They have each other’s backs :’)

Aaah, yes, and let us not forget the post-ending canoodling. Again, not exclusive to Garrus, but seeing them so content is really euphoric, man. They’ve been through hell and really do deserve each other. 

I really like that their relationship hasn’t changed that much, even after confessing/sleeping together. We don’t ever see them acknowledge being in a committed, official relationship, but I think they do - just offscreen. I know there’s really not much post-main story romance in this game, but they still seem to interact normally. They’re very comfortable with each other; when Shepard goes to talk to him after the suicide mission, he assures her casually (but giddily) that he’s down to keep going with cuddlin and love-makin (aka, “what [they’d] talked about”). There’s nothing super romancey or cheesy, and that suits them (unlike ME3, but I’m not going to ruin this post by talking about that.)

Garrus’s romance being perhaps the most popular in the entirety of Mass Effect isn’t a surprise at all. He and Shepard are such a great match for each other, even with the romance aside. No other relationship fills the heart the way this one does. They build their relationship and really establish that same mutual respect and trust that I keep raving about before they move their companionship into a romantic light, and that’s such a great way to write a romance. 

Wholesome raptor lad and his badass, ass-kicking girlfriend own my heart. 

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 5

A/N: Okay...this took far longer than I expected it to, but to be fair for five minutes I was almost convinced to take a break and leave it at four. Five minutes is giving it too much credit, I think. But, either way - here it is. I hope you enjoy it. I labored over the last bits of this for far too long wondering if I was getting too ahead of myself, but... what the hell, right? Please reassure me with comments.

Rating: still T, for blood, language, and a bit of dubious consent/alluding to adult concepts 

Pairing: Dracula & Zoe/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters 1 & 2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE -

Chapter 5

It was another two weeks before Zoe saw sunlight again. Not out of any kind of vampiric repulsion, but purely due to the epic workload she had set up for herself. She knew as much as she hated to admit it that Dracula was right. She had a limited amount of time to make good on her intentions and an expanse of scientific ground to break, more than she had ever envisioned for herself. 

Worse, there was a level of occult knowledge that she needed to reacquaint herself with since she’d tossed it in the bin twenty years prior, but Agatha was at least useful in that respect. Granted 1897 was not the most ideal cut off, but it gave her a decent groundwork. What wasn’t useful was the obvious glee that overcame her in the presence of the monster Zoe had been taught from an early age was basically the devil incarnate. And it’s not as though the nun even disagreed with the assessment, save her belief in the literal devil causing a bit of a contextual conflict. 

Zoe had always took pride in her stoicism, but Agatha was quite the opposite. She’d always found some sort of wicked, curious amusement in everything, even in the face of death – and vampires, apparently. Not that she didn’t have a very personal reason to be interested now. No, ignoring Dracula was no longer an option. Understanding him was the only way to fully understand herself, and whoever else the Count was no doubt soon to add to the ranks of the undead. 

As much as she detested to admit it, she could feel herself changing – slowly, but surely evolving past the limits of what it had always meant to be human. Everything was different – the way things smelled, looked, tasted, felt… there wasn’t a sense unaffected. And with it had grown subtle, gnawing hunger that she was determined to repress – or, currently, find a safe way to sate. And she was close. So close. But without a few more key bits of information from the beast himself, there was no way to be sure.

She had let him be for now, since she knew they at least had time in that regard. Dracula was many things, but a total idiot was not one of them, and no doubt he’d taken notice of the pattern just as easily as she did. The longer he spent with each victim, the more ideal the transformation after death. Instant kills were a 50/50 shot at best. If he was on the lookout for another ‘bride’ – even if he’d found one, there was no way he’d waste his newly renewed hope by getting overzealous. Zoe alone seemed to be the outlier of that unspoken rule, but ingesting so much of his blood (and also being on death’s doorstep already) seemed to have been the push.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was. In fact, she found that if she let herself focus on him too long she couldn’t seem to avoid getting a sort of passing ‘update’ of his current actions – whether she wanted it or not. Just the person she wanted to be mentally connected to. Though whatever the connection was, it seemed to be a two-way street as opposed to the sort of controlling thrall that he had over certain others. At least she hadn’t caught herself doodling ‘Dracula is God’ in the corner of any of her notepads, thank fuck for that.

After a couple of weeks, however, the peaks at his consciousness were becoming more involuntary – either that, or he’d found out a way to push them at her deliberately, which wouldn’t surprise her in the least. An array of miscellaneous throats, mostly – with the occasional face to go with them even, but a strangely short order of corpses. Not too surprising given his renewed intent to procreate, but she expected the body count would be still reasonably…abundant. 

Despite knowing she should be relieved, Zoe felt a creeping sense of dread. How many people did he intend to turn? To keep up with his usual appetite he’d have to be keeping a menagerie of donors. Willing donors. For a brief, mindless moment she wondered to herself how the hell he was managing that. Her own voice (more or less) answered in a clipped mocking laugh, echoing out loud in the silence of her office. 

Tall, dark, handsome, well dressed, charming – in a snakey sort of way with no particular sexual preference, in a city full of jaded, power starved people longing to escape from their problems, with a cynical attitude toward life and death?  Christ’s sake, they were in the age of the opioid epidemic and the man was walking heroin. Literally. The world was doomed. 

Ready or not, it was about time she stopped making things so easy for him, Zoe decided, packing up her latest round of experiments and locking them away. Just because she couldn’t kill Dracula (yet) didn’t mean that she couldn’t distract him - a thought that she was well aware originated more with Agatha than herself, but the scientist in her was still fully willing to embrace. 

The methodology was...negotiable, they'd settled on vaguely as Zoe found her way quickly home to her flat. 

Once she decided to figure out his location, it didn't surprise her that the count was 'on the prowl', but she did have to roll her eyes at his choice of venue. Apparently he was going to make following him inconvenient. It definitely wasn't a club she could just waltz into dressed like a science professor and blend in. 

But this is good, he won't be expecting your intrusion. 

...Or he's expecting me to show up in a lab coat and give myself away Zoe countered internally, becoming arguably far too comfortable with disagreeing with her own inner voice as she yanked out a little black dress from the back of her wardrobe and tossed it on her bed, along with her far more lived in leather jacket.

Fine. This was fine. If she could keep randy 20-year-olds focused on studying science instead of each other on a regular basis, she could certainly handle putting a wrench in a 500 year old man-child’s seduction techniques. 

------

Of the numerous intrigues and conundrums the 21st century had wrought upon the Count, the notion of the vampire being not only a cultural topic of admiration but practically a fetish was one he had never seen coming. He was actually embarrassed it had taken him this long to fully comprehend and, in turn, utilize this phenomenon. It was true none of his earlier victims had really been surprised when his teeth sank into their necks, but the full scope of it had never really ‘dawned’ on him until baring his fangs had inspired one too many bouts of earnest excitement. It was frankly hilarious, not to mention convenient, though truth be told he was beginning to miss the charms of inspiring unholy terror. 

Not that the initial euphoria didn’t quickly evolve into proper panic once the reality of exsanguination occurred to them – if he allowed it to. He sometimes did, particularly since he was losing patience with being told it wasn’t Halloween just before ripping into their throats. He opted not to keep those idiots around, more often than not. The undead didn’t need any more denial in its ranks - Zoe was already proving to be so far immune to his influence in every way, he did not need any more deviance. 

It luckily hadn’t taken Dracula long to finally hit the smorgasbord: an entire dark room, filled almost entirely with dozens of willing, believing victims. So many nocturnal souls, full of wickedness and naïve delight at the mere thought of a creature such as him walking amongst them. Many of them even liked to already call themselves vampires, some in jest and others in actual earnest - artificial fangs and all! It was downright adorable. Now why should he, of all people, ruin their fun? 

It never took very long to capture someone’s attention, and that particular night was no different save for the fact that his potential prey had suddenly turned their attention away from him and was having some unknown words whispered in their ear by a woman he vaguely recognized as the bartender. 

“I…um, I need to go. Emergency,” The young woman stated in the broken persistence easily identified as that of an unpracticed liar, and she dissolved hurriedly back into the darkness from whence she came. 

Dracula’s head tilted briefly in confusion, but then in realization he sighed as his eyes scanned and locked in a glare on the slender figure at the far end of the bar who was smirking at him. 

Striding over with exaggerated reluctance, he leant against the surface at her side.

“What did you tell her?” 

Zoe shrugged, still clearly pleased with herself. “Just enough to make you sound revolting. Not exactly hard to do.”

“No one likes a cock block, Dr. Helsing,” he accused with a raise of his brows, looking down at her.

Zoe chuckled aloud. “I think we both know your cock isn’t something to worry about,” she replied, eyes rolling at his apparent need to show off his modern vocabulary. 

“Ouch,” he rumbled, amusement still glinting in the black pools of his eyes despite his attempt at a pout. “Should I be offended?” 

“Is there even anything to be offended about?” She found herself asking, and briefly cursed Agatha’s ever-greedy curiosity.

The Count’s brows shot upwards, in either genuine surprise or a good ploy of it as he turned his body to face hers. “Are you asking if I’m, as you say, ‘fully functional and anatomically correct’? Oh dear, now I am offended.” It didn’t falter his smile.

“I just assumed you saw everyone as little more than happy meals with legs,” she said in, granted, unnecessary explanation for the question. Never in anything she’d seen or heard of his attempts to seduce or charm did he seem to be in pursuit of anything but dinner.

“I’m a man of many appetites, some just supersede others,” he replied simply, at first, though quickly amended. “And certain aspects of being a vampire does make it difficult to find a partner who will remain conscious or even survive the experience through to its conclusion.”

“Sounds like a self-control problem to me, though...I wouldn’t have thought the killing part to be an issue for you,” she uttered in return, more of Agatha’s intrigue popping out without her consent. 

His eyes narrowed knowingly, as they always seemed to do when he sensed Zoe’s words were not always her own, though it didn’t stop him from responding.

“I may be undead, but I am no necrophile. I told you I like the lively ones, and I meant that. Even if the vast majority are ‘happy meals with legs’ that’s no reason to ignore what’s between them. Where do you think all that blood flows to when you’re aroused?”

“Sorry I asked,” Zoe clipped, eyes rolling again in sheer avoidance of his probing gaze.

“Maybe I ought to try some restraints,” he mused thoughtfully, ignoring her comment entirely and refocusing on his current ‘conundrum’ she’d been so kind as to bring to the forefront of his thoughts. “I fed from an interesting little dominatrix the other night…”

“For them or for you?” Zoe found herself snarking back, beginning to wonder if it was a better or worse choice to let a nun have this conversation in her place.

“Oh, them. It would keep them conscious a bit at least. When your saliva is a sedative, over-eagerness just breeds trouble. I don’t even know if they make anything strong enough to restrain me. Silver…if you believe the stories, though I’ve never tried it.” His brow quirked upward lasciviously at her, an obvious lure. “Perhaps you would do the honors?” 

“Perhaps I should try to stake you, just to be sure. You never know, I could get lucky.”

“Now, now. We both know you’re not going to do that. Come on Agatha – don’t think I don’t know when it’s you, you always were a curious cat - if things went your way I’d still be locked in a box to prod at for the rest of eternity, all for the sake of extending your morbid curiosity. I was extending a courtesy with that offer. It could be the closest you’d get to satisfaction in that regard. Or any regard," he drawled, punctuating his already not-so-subtle meaning by moving in closer still, deliberately intrusive. He lived to infuriate. 

Agatha’s first instinct was to aim a slap at his absurdly smug face just for the audacity, regardless of Zoe’s opposing instinct to ignore him entirely. Apparently the nun won out, though the speed in which her hands zoomed forward was an impossible thing, and as Zoe feared, a grave mistake. The older vampire caught her hand in his massive fist before it came within an inch of his flesh, with a look of pure satisfaction. In the same gesture, his other hand shot to grasp her throat and by the force of the movement alone urged her back from the bar and into the shadows just beyond it. The music was melancholic, but loud and just chaotic enough to drown out the faint growl erupting from his throat. 

“Ooh. Look at you go. I think my blood really did do the trick, didn’t it? None of my brides, before or after their full transformation, could even come close to my speed. And you’re already halfway there. Not to mention completely immune to my power of suggestion yet still able to locate me, it seems – very, very irritating, but impressive. Any fangs yet?” 

Struggling briefly in his grasp, she bared her teeth at him spitefully, showing off her teeth’s lack of points. 

“Aw. What a pity,” he sighed, letting go of her hand, but kept her neck in his grip – not squeezing, but present and unmoving, nonetheless lest she try to attack him again.

 “Still trying to fight it, aren’t you? Zoe’s just a stubborn thing, she wants to prove me wrong. But you…you are trying to protect her. From me…herself, I don’t know, but it’s only going to end up driving her mad.” 

“It’s completely feasible to resist the blood lust,” Agatha persisted, meeting his steely gaze with her own. “She’s figured out how it works, what the vampiric body needs to function.” 

“And I suppose you’d be the expert at resisting lusts, wouldn’t you?” His fingers tightened minutely around the long column of her throat, and his words were a harsh whisper that’s effect on her body mocked the very virtue it was pretending to praise. 

“For once, Dracula, stop flattering yourself,” she spat, turning her head as much to look away from him – at anything but him - as his hold would allow.

“I never flatter myself. You stop elevating yourself. You’re not a nun anymore, you’re just another wayward soul. You’ve died twice trying to rid the world of me and we’re both still here. Take a hint.” 

“Perhaps I’m still here to stop you,” she suggested, finally turning back to face him with a challenging lift of her brow.

The Count met her challenge with a look of utter acceptance , his face leaning down to hers in what to anyone else would be a clear threat - and to anyone else, it was exactly that. To a normal, non corrupt human his kiss meant instant submission, the predator incapacitating his prey. 

“Then, by all means, stop me.” 

She stood stiff in the face of his intimate approach, for a moment able to ignore any further context and simply prod at him. 

"Your delusions won't work on me anymore," Agatha reminded him blandly, pushing breath out with each word just because she could. 

This gave him pause for all of a moment, but it was seemingly only to observe her stubborn face with faint amusement. 

"Good," he uttered against her lips with mocking simplicity, but before she could take another breath he was kissing her hard and to his utter relief, didn't get limp, clouded acceptance in response. 

She let out a frustrated growl of her own in protest, more human than beast, though her attempt at clamping her lips closed in protest came a moment too late. He'd captured her lower lip between his own and she felt the sharp scrape of his canines as he pulled, still prominent without the animalistic haze of hunger. 

Her initial will to resist buckled to make way instead for an aggressive refusal to be dominated - whether those forces had names or were shared equally between the Van Helsing women, he couldn't say, but instead of allowing him to ravage her mouth unopposed, or even to attempt to fight or flee as the Count half expected, she'd responded with equal fervor - out of lust or spite or both. Her blunt teeth bit down hard where his had only nipped and her previously limp hand found its way to the back of his head and anchored itself in his locks to counter the tightening of his grip on her neck. 

The snarl that reverberated from his throat and into her mouth was every bit as bestial as hers was human, and his grip tightened dangerously just before forcing her backwards and away from him like he was embracing an open flame. She barely caught herself before crashing into a wall, but still looked on with unadulterated satisfaction as Dracula looked twice as shaken as she did in the face of his first kiss in 500 years that didn't end in immediate surrender. Men - alive or dead - were all the same. 

After a moment, he caught himself, letting out a wicked chuckle in the face of her smirk. "We'll make a monster of you yet, Van Helsing," he assured her raggedly, bluster gradually returning to his stance and the set of his jaw as he watched her.

Zoe - and fully Zoe at that moment righted herself from where she leaned against the wall, adjusting her jacket, the satisfied look still in her eyes. 

"Happy hunting, Count Dracula. Just don't expect me to make it easy for you."

And without looking at him again, she walked passed where he stood and headed in a leisurely stroll towards the exit, forcing her heart rate back to its normal deathly calm. 

----

I’m not even sure what to say to this other than either I’m sorry or your welcome. I’m just going to tag everyone who’s nerding has inspired me to continue, regardless if you’ve showed any interest in reading or not. If you want to be tagged, let me know

Tag List: @charlesdances @bellamortislife @carydorse @break-free-killer-queen @imagineandimagine @my-fanfic-library @punk-courtesan @ohveda @wannabebloodsucker @hoefordarkness @mymagicsuitcase @crazytxgradstudent @itendedbadly @theplumsoldier @gatissed @allfandoms-writings @littlemessyjessi @vampiregirl1797 @desperatefrenchwriter @iloveclaesbang @ss9slb @dreamerkim @mephdcosplay @violetmarkey @alhoyin @thozaarmitage @girlonfireice@cipherwheeldecoder @crowley-needs-a-hug @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @iloveclaesbang

[veorlian]

Idolatry - Renewal

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard

Rating: T for swearing and stabbing.

Summary: Citadel DLC, Part 2/3. Conclusion to the clone fight, hanging out with friends, and date night.

ao3 link

Excerpt:

“Legion, you know I’ve never played a video game before,” she said wryly. She was sitting on one of her too-large couches as Legion fiddled with the television.

“Acknowledged. Based on previous experience, the adequate response to this statement is ‘git gud, scrub,’ although I have been unable to ascertain its exact meaning,” Legion replied.

.

It was quiet in the cargo bay. Too damn quiet. Shepard paused just outside of the elevator door, listening. Since she’d gotten the cybernetic upgrades, she’d grown accustomed to dampening her senses. The first few days after her resurrection it had been almost impossible to move without being bombarded with sounds, smells, sights that sent her to her reeling. Now, she tuned back in. She closed her eyes, and she listened.

It was never entirely silent on a ship. The gentle, ever-present hum of the Normandy was a high-pitched whine, now that EDI wasn’t in control. It made Shepard wince. She could hear Garrus’ breathing, and her own uneven heartbeat. 

And she could hear faint breathing, up and to the left. Her lips curled in a humourless smile.

“You might as well give up,” Shepard called. “You’ve lost.”

“I haven’t lost anything.” The clone’s voice echoed off the walls, impossible to pinpoint. But Shepard could hear her footsteps now, circling around. Shepard motioned for Garrus and EDI to stay where they were, and she slowly moved into the room.

“And yet here you are, hiding from me like a coward. What’s the matter, little girl, are you scared? You should be. You should be terrified.” The footsteps grew stronger, closer together, nearer. 

The razor-sharp edge of the clone’s omni-tool came whistling towards Shepard’s face, but Shepard easily countered it with her own. The sound of the blades clashing echoed across the room. 

“You may look like me,” Shepard breathed, “but I’ve forgotten more ways to kill than you’ll ever learn.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” the clone spat. The fluorescent orange of the omni-blades reflected onto the clone’s face. It was a damn shame for her, really, that Shepard knew all of her own tells.

“I’m sure you’re used to disappointment by now,” Shepard said softly, and she shoved the clone away, hard. The next second she was invisible, and booking it towards EDI and Garrus at the back of the room. She ducked into cover behind the requisitions terminal. The cargo bay, Shepard realized belatedly, was a shit place to have a fight. From there, it was impossible to get a good fix on any of the oncoming enemies. Apparently they had no trouble hitting her though; a grenade arced through the air and exploded next to her, sending flames licking up her armour.

“Shit,” she hissed. She tucked into a combat roll away from the fire. She rose to her feet and a fist connected with her bruised ribs. Shepard stumbled back as her clone materialized in front of her. Damn it, she was supposed to be a long-range fighter, what the hell was up with all the melee? Shepard feinted to the left before delivering a swift upper-cut to her clone’s jaw. 

She should’ve delivered a swift upper-cut, but the clone wasn’t there anymore. Shepard felt an arm around her neck, choking her. Fuck that.

Shepard got a grip on her clone’s arms and then brought her torso down, sending the clone slamming into the ground. Shepard swung her Widow around and got the clone in the chest, point-blank. The clone faded into invisibility again and was gone. Damn it.

A handful of mercs raced away from the fight, climbing into the Kodiak shuttle. The hatch to the cargo bay opened and they sped away. In their haste, they left the door open. The wind whipped through Shepard’s hair, sending it flying into her face. She impatiently pushed it away. 

“Just give up, will you? You’re past your best-before date. I’m the new and improved version, without the scarring and annoying moral code,” the clone shouted. Shepard was having a bit of an out of body experience. It’s one thing to have doubts about yourself, it’s an entirely different experience to hear them repeated back to you in your own damn voice.

“Was that supposed to be an insult? I earned these scars on Feros, and Noveria, and Ilos, and Thessia, and Rannoch! You got yours out of a petri dish.” Her voice rang clear through the cargo bay. What was it she’d said to Zaeed? You’re just a collection of scars held together by spite. Maybe they had that in common.

“You’re just a mediocre soldier with a lucky streak.”

“Then what does it say about you that I’m kicking your ass?” Shepard shouted back. She finally caught her clone in her sights, and got her in the leg with a shot from the Widow. Her clone stumbled, and Shepard raced forward, tackling her to the ground. They rolled together down the open ramp until they came to rest almost at the bottom. Shepard’s clone reared up, her fist hurtling towards Shepard’s face. The ship rocked violently, sending them flying. They both ended up holding onto the edge of the cargo bay door, nothing but a steep drop beneath them.

“Why you and not me? What makes you so damn special?” Shepard felt a small twinge of guilt at the pain in her clone’s voice.

“Shepard, hold on! We’ve got you!” Garrus yelled. He and EDI hurried down the ramp and hauled her back to safety. She looked down to her clone. There’s always a choice, Commander Shepard, and it matters that you choose to help.

“Take my hand,” Shepard said. She saw her clone glance up the walkway. Looking for Brooks, maybe. Whatever she saw made her face fall.

“And then what?” she snapped.

“And then you live. Show me what you’re made of, Shepard,” Shepard said. Not a sentence she’d ever expected to say, but apparently it was just that kind of day.

Her clone looked up at her sharply.

“You’ll regret this,” she said. “It’ll come back to bite you in the ass.”

“I regret a lot of things. Now take my damn hand.”

And she did.

They caught Brooks not long after. Cortez, who had apparently been engaged in some fancy flying to keep the ship from leaving, led her forward in handcuffs.

“Caught this one trying to leave,” he said. “Alliance is going to lock her up tight.”

“Shepard,” Brooks purred, “I’m sure we can put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

“I’m not in a particularly forgiving mood,” Shepard replied. Or General Shepard? We’ll deal with her. Her hands balled up into fists.

“But wasn’t it fun to have someone running around, being in awe of you? Admit it, you’re going to miss me.” Shepard could hear the gentle tap of Brooks' hands on her restraints. She leaned down, until she was level with Brooks’ eyes. 

“You’re going to go along quietly with the Alliance, and you’re going to stay the hell away from me and the people I care about,” Shepard said, her voice forged in iron and steel

“Aww, is the great Commander Shepard pleading for her life?”

“I’m pleading for yours.” It was barely above a murmur. The tapping stopped.

“Very well,” Brooks said at last. “Till we meet again, Commander.”

“Rot in hell, Staff Analyst Maya Brooks,” Shepard suggested.

“Hey, maybe now you can actually have some shore leave,” Garrus said wryly as they exited the ship. Shepard snorted.

“I doubt it, but I suppose stranger things have happened,” she said.

“You can goddamn say that again,” Joker said fervently. Shepard gently clapped him on the shoulder.

“C’mon Joker, it could’ve been worse,” she said.

“How? How could it have been worse?”

“There could have been Collectors.”

“Hey, when the “Best Commanding Officer Awards” come up, don’t expect a nomination from me.”

“Noted. Can I interest you in some sushi?” The resentful silence was answer enough, and Shepard grinned wryly. As punishment, Joker refused to let her drive. He dropped her off at her apartment, but not before insisting that she needed to throw some kind of party.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“What was that? Couldn't hear you!” He revved the engine loudly to drown out her protests.

“Damn it, Joker!”

“And you owe me dinner! No knives this time!”

“No promises!” she shouted as he drove away.

Shepard didn’t do vacations. Fourteen years with the Alliance and she’d been on shore leave a handful of times, each more catastrophic than the last. The last time had been a few months before she’d died. She’d started two bar fights and had to be put on unofficial lockdown for a few days. The time before that they'd caught her sneaking back onto the ship. To be honest, having her evil clone try and steal the Normandy was just the natural progression of the Shepard Hates Vacations conundrum. 

Still, it wasn’t every day that almost every person you’d ever cared about was kicking around the same place that you were. The Normandy was in drydock for another few days, and so Shepard made the most of it. 

“Legion, you know I’ve never played a video game before,” she said wryly. She was sitting on one of her too-large couches as Legion fiddled with the television.

“Acknowledged. Based on previous experience, the adequate response to this statement is ‘git gud, scrub,’ although I have been unable to ascertain its exact meaning,” Legion replied.

“Uh huh. Got it. So then what are we playing?”

“Vega-Lieutenant suggests that you would enjoy playing Blasto: Hero of the Citadel.”

“Vega’s an asshole, don’t you listen to him.”

“Anatomically unlikely on both fronts.” The corners of Shepard’s mouth twitched up.

“What’s your favourite game, Legion?” she asked, trying a different tactic.

“I am banned from most games for suspected VI activity,” they explained.

“Tell you what, Tali and Kasumi are coming over to watch Fleet and Flotilla with me later, why don’t you join us?”

“Will there be popcorn?” they asked. Shepard’s brows wrinkled in confusion.

“You and Tali can't eat it…?”

“I understand it is integral to organic vid watching ceremonies.”

“Alright, we'll have popcorn.”

“Shepard, you know I can’t eat popcorn,” Tali complained. The four of them were settled on the largest of the couches. It stretched across half the room, but somehow everyone had ended up almost piled up on top of Shepard. She found that she didn’t really mind.

“I got some dextro-based snacks for you, Tali,” Shepard reassured her.

“Shepard-Commander?” Legion had the copy of Fleet and Flotilla in their hands and they were carefully examining it, holding it up to the light.

“Yes Legion?”

“What purpose does a relationship between two species serve? They cannot procreate,” Legion said. Shepard shared a loaded look with Tali and Kasumi.

“It’s about the romance,” Tali explained. “Forbidden, star-crossed love.” The last few words were wistful, almost dreamy. 

“I do not understand,” Legion said. Shepard patted them on the shoulder.

“How about we watch the movie, and you can ask any questions you have when it’s over, okay?”

“Acknowledged.” Shepard flicked on the TV and the beginning credits began to roll.

“Shepard-Commander--”

“Shhh!” Kasumi hushed them.

“After the movie, Legion,” Shepard said. Legion nodded reluctantly. Kasumi and Tali both snuggled in on either side of Shepard, their heads resting on her shoulders. Maybe, she thought, vacations weren’t all bad.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, thanks to the artificial light on the Citadel. Shepard had gently deposited Tali and Kasumi in the guest bedrooms (how big did one apartment need to be??) and Legion had spent the small hours of the morning playing video games on her TV. After breakfast, she cheerfully sent them on their way after inviting each of them to the party that Joker had insisted she throw.

She hummed cheerfully to herself as she got dressed for the day. It was a relief, really, to be pulling on her regular black cargo pants and hoodie. Nice clothes were all well and good, but nothing could beat a half-dozen pockets, each weighed down with knives and caltrops. There were another dozen people that she needed to see. So many people that cared about her. It made her feel disconcertingly warm and fuzzy.

Shepard's first stop was at the hospital. Blessedly, she didn’t need to stay inside for long. She picked up Thane and took him to the café on the Presidium to buy him brunch. She’d never done brunch before.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“As well as I can be, during these difficult times,” Thane said quietly. His eyes were fixed on the gardens. “But Mordin believes I will make a full recovery.”

“You’ve seen Mordin?” she asked, sipping at her coffee.

“Ah, I had assumed that you would have heard. The salarian councilor was extremely grateful for the part I played in his rescue.”

“You mean saving his life almost single-handedly?” Shepard asked wryly. Thane rewarded her with a smile warmer than the artificial sun.

“Indeed. He asked that Mordin create a cure for Kepral’s Syndrome. So here I am, better than I’ve felt in years,” he explained.

“That’s great!” Shepard said encouragingly.

“I may even be fit to help with the war effort,” he said, and his eyes flicked to her. Shepard’s face immediately fell into a frown.

“Not going to happen,” she said firmly. 

“It is unfair for me to remain here when so many are dying.”

“How many last missions can one person have?” she asked. “There was the hit on Nassana Dantius, and then the Omega 4, and then saving the councilor, and then stopping my clone--”

“You have made your point,” he said wryly. “But it doesn’t seem to have stopped you before.” She pursed her lips and studied his face. He did look better, she had to admit.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“We could always use military advisors. Strictly non combat, you understand?” she said.  He considered her for a moment, before eventually nodding.

“Very well, if you think that would be best,” he said.

“I’ll let Hackett know,” she replied. And then, “It’s good to see you, Thane.”

“And you, Shepard. But you are on vacation. Shall we talk of more cheerful things?”

“Please,” she said fervently, and he chuckled, without coughing once.

It still wasn’t easy, going down to the refugee docks, but Mordin had asked her to meet him there. He had assembled a new clinic, replacing much of the equipment they’d been using in the refugee docking bay. He was bustling around, issuing instructions.

“Good to see some things never change, Mordin,” Shepard said wryly.

“Former system inefficient. Had to fix it. Other people always get it wrong.”

“Want a hand?” She leaned against the wall casually.

“Equally inefficient. Healing not one of your skills. Would like to talk, though.” She smiled ruefully. He wasn’t wrong. Once upon a time, he might’ve told her that he was never wrong.

“You got it. Shall we?” She led the way to a few miraculously empty chairs amidst the hustle and bustle of the docks. His posture was as impeccable as always as he remained sitting up straight on the uncomfortable bench.

“What have you been up to?” she asked. “Aside from curing Kepral’s Syndrome.”

“Spoken to Thane? Yes, cure is complete. Recommend minimal physical activity for time being. Non-combat.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I clear him for combat.”

“Tactfully put,” he said. She grinned at him.

“So what else…?” she left the sentence hanging, waiting for him to continue. 

“Some side-effects to genophage cure. Created an antidote, but salarian doctors still not trusted. Been here for past two weeks.” Two weeks, and he’d already rearranged the docks. Knowing Mordin, he’d done that on his first day here.

“And how’s Urdnot Bakara doing in her new role?” Shepard asked. At that, he did smile.

“Exceeds expectations. Stabilizing influence on Urdnot Wrex. I like her.”

“Me too,” Shepard said. “Didn’t you say something about retirement though?”

“Yes. Wanted to run tests on seashells. Beaches in short supply at present, due to Reaper presence. Had a question.”

“Only one?” she asked wryly.

“As statement suggests, yes,” he replied. Shepard snorted.

“Alright, shoot,” she said.

“Clinic here running smoothly. Talents could be better used elsewhere. Crucible project needs scientists?”

“They’d be happy to have you,” Shepard said immediately. Mordin smiled warmly. They chatted a bit more, before Mordin insisted that he needed to get back to work. Some things really didn’t change.

Later that evening, after she’d visited even more of her friends, Shepard finally had a moment alone. The events of the past few days caught up, slamming into her like a freight train. Her hands rested on the cool marble of the bathroom vanity as she studied herself intently in the mirror. Scars mapped every part of her face, lancing across her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, notching a mark in her right eyebrow. Undeniably hers, but unquestionably altered now.

She looked at herself in the mirror, but she saw someone else. It was disconcerting to realize that the DNA that ran through her body was the same as her clone’s. It was worse to realize that her clone had been so violent, so capricious. Was that who she was, deep down? Was that who she’d been meant to be?

Her long red hair tumbled around her face, limp and bedraggled from days without washing it. She held a piece between her fingers, feeling every strand. She’d always been hopelessly proud of her hair, and had let it grow impractically long. The only part of her that the world hadn’t mangled.

But as she looked at it, she saw her clone. It wasn’t hers anymore. The world had taken that from her, as it had taken so many things.

Or maybe it had given her something new. She went down to the kitchen and selected a pair of scissors, and then she returned to the bathroom mirror in her room. With steady hands, she cut her hair. As it fell away, her angular features stood out in sharp relief. The haircut wasn’t even by a long shot, but it was hers. ... Garrus didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He’d been standing outside the door to the apartment building for ten minutes now, hemming and hawing about the best course of action. And if he didn’t figure it out soon, he was going to be late for their date.

There were a number of facts Garrus was sure of. One: he was in love with Shepard. Fairly obvious, he’d been in love with her for over a year now. Two: Shepard was in love with him. He still hadn’t fully wrapped his head around that one, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. Three: he had no idea what the fuck was going to happen when they went to that Cerberus base. He hoped with every fibre of his being that they’d make it out the other side alive and in one piece, but he didn’t know.

Which was why he was standing outside the entrance to Shepard’s building, the ring box held in a vice-like grip between his talons.

Don’t be a coward, Vakarian. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be late. He squared his shoulders, and marched into the building resolutely. The elevator ride up seemed to last for an eternity. He studied the ceiling tiles, the grey swirling pattern seeming to vanish into the distance. It took him a second to realize that the elevator wasn’t moving anymore. It took him another second to exit the elevator. Spirits only knew how he got to Shepard’s door. He knocked gently. If he was quiet enough, maybe she wouldn’t answer.

But she did. He scrambled to shove the box into one of the very few pockets that turian clothing allowed for.

“Hey,” she said softly. Her eyelashes were longer than usual, and there was a dark tint to her lips. She was wearing that damn suit again and his brain short-circuited. His mouth was suddenly too dry. Shit, he should say something.

“Hey.” Amazing job, Vakarian. What a way with words. She gave him a crooked half-smile.

“Come in?” she suggested. Relieved, he nodded and stepped through.

“Your, um,” he tried. He gestured vaguely to her face.

“My hair?” she asked.

“Yeah.” It barely fell past her ears now. Could humans just...do that? She rubbed at her neck self-consciously.

“It felt weird looking in the mirror and seeing her. So, I cut it. Maybe by the time it grows back it won’t feel as weird,” she explained. He nodded stiffly. Spirits, did he have to be so awkward right now? You’d think it’d be easier to propose to your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. She was closer now, cinnamon and coffee in the air. There was a slight crease to her forehead.

“I love you,” he said suddenly. A warm smile spread across her face.

“Yes, we’ve established that,” she said. “But you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did I do that bad a job cutting it?”

“No, no it’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s...damn.”

“Now you’re making me worried, Garrus.” She pulled away. Shit.

“Dance with me?” he blurted. Her eyebrows shot up so high they reached her hairline.

“Am I having a stroke?” she asked incredulously. “Every third sentence you say is insulting my dancing.” He really didn’t have anything to say to that, so he raced over to the wall, keyed into her stereo system and started playing music, as well as dimming the lights. Tango music filled the apartment, and he held out a slightly shaking hand to her.

“Hell no,” she said.

“C’mon Shepard, do you trust me?” Spirits, did there really have to be pleading in his voice right now?

“Implicitly. I’m still not dancing with you.” Steeling himself to get elbowed in the guts, he grabbed her hand and tugged her close to him. She reluctantly let him lead her through a few beginning steps, but she stayed stiff as a board, completely unyielding.

“You’re going to pay for this later,” she muttered darkly. 

“Promises, promises, Joan,” he said, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Which reminds me, is that not your real name?” She scowled at him. Damn, but she was hot when she was pissed.

“Am I answering questions or am I dancing? I sure as hell can’t do both.” She blocked his leg as he tried to dip her down. He rallied magnificently, playing it off as intentional. He continued to lead her through the dance. 

Slowly, she started to get the hang of it, growing more confident in her movements. He ventured a spin, and to his very great delight she spun away from him and came tumbling back, a small smile gracing her lips. 

As a general rule, turian marriages were fairly perfunctory affairs. Not a lot of room for romance in the hierarchy. But he wanted this to be special. Those images of the romantic comedies he’d watched flashed through his head. She deserved something good.

He’d practiced the steps enough that he could do them in his sleep by this point. She didn’t need to know that though. He didn’t think he’d ever live it down if she found out he’d been practicing in the main battery until late into the sleep cycle. He dipped her low, both of them breathing heavily. Her gently waving short hair framed her face like a halo.

“It’s Jeanne. My name’s Jeanne,” she murmured, so soft he almost didn’t catch it. He gently set her back on her feet and then sunk to one knee.

“Marry me, Jeanne Shepard?” he asked. She inhaled sharply. ... Her head was spinning as they danced across the room. She begrudgingly had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Garrus didn’t need to know that though.

Time slowed almost to a standstill as he dipped her down, his hand snugly wrapped around her waist. His bright blue eyes were fixed on her, and she felt her face flush.

“It’s Jeanne. My name’s Jeanne,” she murmured. A name she’d left behind long ago, a name that only Marie knew. A part of her that the clone hadn’t been able to mimic. Maybe it was time to reclaim it, that concrete reminder of her time on Earth, of who she’d once been. 

Her feet touched the floor once more, and Garrus let go of her. She was reaching back out for him as he got down on one knee in front of her. Had she stepped on his foot…?

“Marry me, Jeanne Shepard?” he asked.

Oh. Oh.

She froze, and then a small laugh bubbled out of her.

“Well, that’s a little harsh,” he muttered. Still laughing, she helped him up. She rested a hand on either side of his face.

“Is that why you were so awkward earlier?” she asked.

“Listen, it’s a yes or no question.” His voice was so exasperated, so nervous.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” she said. A second later her feet left the ground as he picked her up and spun her around, kissing her soundly. He set her down and she wound her arms around his neck. “You have terrible timing.”

“Title of our autobiography,” he replied.

“True enough,” she chuckled. It was so warm, here in his arms. A safe harbour amidst the storm. 

“You really trampled all over my moment,” he griped. “I had the ring all ready and everything.”

“I hate to tell you this, Vakarian, but EDI already gave me a ring.” A victory ring she’d called it, with metal from every Council homeworld. Including Earth. Shepard had almost cried.

“Do you want it or not?”

“I never said I didn’t,” she said. He rolled his eyes, but he tugged out a small box from his pocket. 

She was definitely going to cry now. There was a scattering of stained glass inset in the band.

“It's made of an indestructible metal, so it won't get damaged in combat,” he explained quickly. She tugged him towards her and kissed him until they were both breathless. Home. This was home, here with him. She could die happy now. She could live even happier.

“So when’s the ceremony?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Got any plans this evening?”

“Yeah, there’s the party.”

“Perfect.”

[ourladyofperpetualnaptime]

Samuel Beckett - “Enough” (1965)

All that goes before forget. Too much at a time is too much. That gives the pen time to note. I don’t see it but I hear it there behind me. Such is the silence. When the pen stops I go on. Sometimes it refuses. When it refuses I go on. Too much silence is too much. Or it’s my voice too weak at times. The one that comes out of me. So much for the art and craft.

I did all he desired. I desired it too. For him. Whenever he desired something so did I. He only had to say what thing. When he didn’t desire anything neither did I. In this way I didn’t live without desires. If he had desired something for me I would have desired it too. Happiness for example or fame. I only had the desires he manifested. But he must have manifested them all. All his desires and needs. When he was silent he must have been like me. When he told me to lick his penis I hastened to do so. I drew satisfaction from it. We must have had the same satisfactions. The same needs and the same satisfactions.

One day he told me to leave him. It’s the verb he used. He must have been on his last legs. I don’t know if by that he meant me to leave him for good or only to step aside a moment. I never asked myself the question. I never asked myself any questions but his. Whatever it was he meant I made off without looking back. Gone from reach of his voice I was gone from his life. Perhaps it was that he desired. There are questions you see and don’t ask yourself. He must have been on his last legs. I on the contrary was far from on my last legs. I belonged to an entirely different generation. It didn’t last. Now that I’m entering night I have kinds of gleams in my skull. Stony ground but not entirely. Given three or four lives I might have accomplished something.

I cannot have been more than six when he took me by the hand. Barely emerging from childhood. But it didn’t take me long to emerge altogether. It was the left hand. To be on the right was more than he could bear. We advanced side by side hand in hand. One pair of gloves was enough. The free or outer hands hung bare. He did not like to feel against his skin the skin of another. Mucous membrane is a different matter. Yet he sometimes took off his glove. Then I had to take off mine. We would cover in this way a hundred yards or so linked by our bare extremities. Seldom more. That was enough for him. If the question were put to me I would say that odd hands are ill-fitted for intimacy. Mine never felt at home in his. Sometimes they let each other go. The clasp loosened and they fell apart. Whole minutes often passed before they clasped again. Before his clasped mine again.

They were cotton gloves rather tight. Far from blunting the shapes they sharpened them by simplifying. Mine was naturally too loose for years. But it didn’t take me long to fill it. He said I had Aquarius hands. It’s a mansion above.

All I know comes from him. I won’t repeat this apropos of all my bits of knowledge. The art of combining is not my fault. It’s a curse from above. For the rest I would suggest not guilty.

Our meeting. Though very bowed already he looked a giant to me. In the end his trunk ran parallel with the ground. To counterbalance this anomaly he held his legs apart and sagged at the knees. His feet grew more and more flat and splay. His horizon was the ground they trod. Tiny moving carpet of turf and trampled flowers. He gave me his hand like a tired old ape with the elbow lifted as high as it would go. I had only to straighten up to be head and shoulders above him. One day he halted and fumbling for his words explained to me that anatomy is a whole.

In the beginning he always spoke walking. So it seems to me now. Then sometimes walking and sometimes still. In the end still only. And the voice getting fainter all the time. To save him having to say the same thing twice running I bowed right down. He halted and waited for me to get into position. As soon as out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed my head alongside his the murmurs came. Nine times out of ten they did not concern me. But he wished everything to be heard including the ejaculations and broken paternosters that he poured out to the flowers at his feet.

He halted then and waited for my head to arrive before telling me to leave him. I snatched away my hand and made off without looking back. Two steps and I was lost to him for ever. We were severed if that is what he desired.

His talk was seldom of geodesy. But we must have covered several times the equivalent of the terrestrial equator. At an average speed of roughly three miles per day and night. We took flight in arithmetic. What mental calculations bent double hand in hand! Whole ternary numbers we raised in this way to the third power sometimes in downpours of rain. Graving themselves in his memory as best they could the ensuing cubes accumulated. In view of the converse operation at a later stage. When time would have done its work.

If the question were put to me suitably framed I would say yes indeed the end of this long outing was my life. Say about the last seven thousand miles. Counting from the day when alluding for the first time to his infirmity he said he thought it had reached its peak. The future proved him right. That part of it at least we were to make past of together.

I see the flowers at my feet and it’s the others I see. Those we trod down with equal step. It is true they are the same.

Contrary to what I had long been pleased to imagine he was not blind. Merely indolent. One day he halted and fumbling for his words described his vision. He concluded by saying he thought it would get no worse. How far this was not a delusion I cannot say. I never asked myself the question. When I bowed down to receive his communications I felt on my eye a glint of blue bloodshot apparently affected.

He sometimes halted without saying anything. Either he had finally nothing to say or while having something to say he finally decided not to say it. I bowed down as usual to save him having to repeat himself and we remained in this position. Bent double heads touching silent hand in hand. While all about us fast on one another the minutes flew. Sooner or later his foot broke away from the flowers and we moved on. Perhaps only to halt again after a few steps. So that he might say at last what was in his heart or decide not to say it again.

Other main examples suggest themselves to the mind. Immediate continuous communication with immediate redeparture. Same thing with delayed redeparture. Delayed continuous communication with immediate redeparture. Same thing with delayed redeparture. Immediate discontinuous communication with immediate redeparture. Same thing with delayed redeparture. Delayed discontinuous communication with immediate redeparture. Same thing with delayed redeparture.

It is then I shall have lived then or never. Ten years at the very least. From the day he drew the back of his left hand lingeringly over his sacral ruins and launched his prognostic. To the day of my supposed disgrace. I can see the place a step short of the crest. Two steps forward and I was descending the other slope. If I had looked back I would not have seen him.

He loved to climb and therefore I too. He clamoured for the steepest slopes. His human frame broke down into two equal segments. This thanks to the shortening of the lower by the sagging knees. On a gradient of one in one his head swept the ground. To what this taste was due I cannot say. To love of the earth and the flowers’ thousand scents and hues. Or to cruder imperatives of an anatomical order. He never raised the question. The crest once reached alas the going down again.

In order from time to time to enjoy the sky he resorted to a little round mirror. Having misted it with his breath and polished it on his calf he looked in it for the constellations. I have it! he exclaimed referring to the Lyre or the Swan. And often he added that the sky seemed much the same.

We were not in the mountains however. There were times I discerned on the horizon a sea whose level seemed higher than ours. Could it be the bed of some vast evaporated lake or drained of its waters from below? I never asked myself the question.

The fact remains we often came upon this sort of mound some three hundred feet in height. Reluctantly I raised my eyes and discerned the nearest often on the horizon. Or instead of moving on from the one we had just descended we ascended it again.

I am speaking of our last decade comprised between the two events described. It veils those that went before and must have resembled it like blades of grass. To those engulfed years it is reasonable to impute my education. For I don’t remember having learnt anything in those I remember. It is with this reasoning I calm myself when brought up short by all I know.

I set the scene of my disgrace just short of a crest. On the contrary it was on the flat in a great calm. If I had looked back I would have seen him in the place where I had left him. Some trifle would have shown me my mistake if mistake there had been. In the years that followed I did not exclude the possibility of finding him again. In the place where I had left him if not elsewhere. Or of hearing him call me. At the same time telling myself he was on his last legs. But I did not count on it unduly. For I hardly raised my eyes from the flowers. And his voice was spent. And as if that were not enough I kept telling myself he was on his last legs. So it did not take me long to stop counting on it altogether.

I don’t know what the weather is now. But in my life it was eternally mild. As if the earth had come to rest in spring. I am thinking of our hemisphere. Sudden pelting downpours overtook us. Without noticeable darkening of the sky. I would not have noticed the windlessness if he had not spoken of it. Of the wind that was no more. Of the storms he had ridden out. It is only fair to say there was nothing to sweep away. The very flowers were stemless and flush with the ground like water-lilies. No brightening our buttonholes with these.

We did not keep tally of the days. If I arrive at ten years it is thanks to our pedometer. Total milage divided by average daily milage. So many days. Divide. Such a figure the night before the sacrum. Such another the eve of my disgrace. Daily average always up to date. Subtract. Divide.

Night. As long as day in this endless equinox. It falls and we go on. Before dawn we are gone.

Attitude at rest. Wedged together bent in three. Second right angle at the knees. I on the inside. We turn over as one man when he manifests the desire. I can feel him at night pressed against me with all his twisted length. It was less a matter of sleeping than of lying down. For we walked in a half sleep. With his upper hand he held and touched me where he wished. Up to a certain point. The other was twined in my hair. He murmured of things that for him were no more and for me could not have been. The wind in the overground stems. The shade and shelter of the forests.

He was not given to talk. An average of a hundred words per day and night. Spaced out. A bare million in all. Numerous repeats. Ejaculations. Too few for even a cursory survey. What do I know of man’s destiny? I could tell you more about radishes. For them he had a fondness. If I saw one I would name it without hesitation.

We lived on flowers. So much for sustenance. He halted and without having to stoop caught up a handful of petals. Then moved munching on. They had on the whole a calming action. We were on the whole calm. More and more. All was. This notion of calm comes from him. Without him I would not have had it. Now I’ll wipe out everything but the flowers. No more rain. No more mounds. Nothing but the two of us dragging through the flowers. Enough my old breasts feel his old hand.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 010

I think I’ve run across a continuity error here.   Following Raditz’s death, a lot of what we’re seeing here is filler, mostly to show what Gohan did while living on his own for six months, and what the other characters were up to in the meantime.   The narrator sort of keeps track of time by stating how much longer until the Saiyans arrive.   I think we’re at eleven months now, instead of a full year.   The point here is that we’ve flashed forward quite a bit.   Gohan now seems to be managing pretty well on his own.   He can climb trees, gather food, and when he runs into dangerous animals, he finds ways to deal with them instead of running away or crying.

However, this is also the episode where Bulma and Krillin locate Yamcha and tell him that he’s been summoned to Kami’s Lookout for training.   The impliction here is that it took them days, maybe weeks to locate Yamcha, despite the fact that Bulma has Raditz’s scouter to detect his ki.

You can make the case that Yamcha was tough to find, because he wasn’t using his full power, but Piccolo was just standing around in Episode 1, and Goku was chilling out with his friends in Episode 2, and Raditz located both of them without any trouble at all.  I would think that, even at rest, Yamcha would appear as a significant blip on the scouter, but maybe lower levels are harder to pick up than higher ones.   Raditz only found Piccolo because he was the strongest signal in a certain range, and he only found Goku once he had moved to Piccolo’s position.   To track down someone like Krillin or Yamcha, you’d have to get even closer to wherever they are.    By the Namek Saga, it seemed like the scouters could find people more easily, but everyone was a lot stronger in the Namek Saga, so that kind of makes sense. 

Anyway, Yamcha’s been playing professional baseball for a while now.   He doesn’t enjoy it much, since his advanced martial arts powers make it too easy for him, but it pays well and he needs to pay the bills.   I’m not sure why he holds the bat that way.    It looks cool, but I’m pretty sure he could hit the ball just as well holding it in any other orientation, so he might as well hold it correctly.    Isn’t there a rule on how you’re supposed to hold it?    I’d look it up, but I really, really hate baseball.   Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Yamcha is my favorite thing about baseball, and he seems just as bored by it as I am. 

Why does Puar get to sit with him in the dugout?   Because Yamcha wins games, that’s why.   It’s in his contract.   Puar gets to hang out with him at all times.   Also, Puar gets a free stadium hot dog at each game, but someone has to cut it in half because he can’t eat a whole dog by himself.   He saves the other half for lunch the next day.

There’s some baseball rules horseshit in this game, and the coach signals his batter to get hit on purpose just so he can have Yamcha take his place, and that’ll help win the game for him.  This coach looks skeevy as hell.   He looks like Captan Dock from the Red Ribbon Army.   Yamcha looks like he recognizes this guy from an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.  

It doesn’t matter, though, because the pitcher realizes what they’re up to, and so he intentionally hits #12 with the ball, but before Yamcha can bat, they get into a fight over it.

This batter sort of looks like Staff Officer Black with hair.   Not sure if that’s intentional or not.

Yamcha gets all excited because there’s a real, honest-to-goodness fight happening.    He jumps in, but he has to hold back so he won’t hurt anyone, so he mostly just taps people gently and sort of sidesteps attacks.   Honestly, I would think this would be boring for Yamcha as well, but he’s probably so starved for action that this is the best he can do.

It’s only when he senses Krillin’s presence that he genuinely gets interested, and then he realizes that it’s Krillin, and he’s just here to talk.  

But Bulma’s with Krillin, and this brings back all the bad blood between them.    Yamcha stood her up on a date, because he couldn’t afford it, and they’ve been apart ever since.   Is this why Yamcha sought out a high-paying job that he hates?   Was it to salve his wounded pride as a man?  

Bulma gives him the same routine she used during the Red Ribbon Army Saga (which was eleven years ago, btw), but this time Yamcha plays it cool and acts like he’s just as aloof to their relationship as Bulma.  Puar seems to take that pretty hard, because he ships it.

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter how Bulma feels about him, because the deal here is that Yamcha’s going to train with Kami, and I’m pretty sure no one said Bulma could tag along for that.   They’re not going to see each other much for the next year anyway, so what difference does it make if they reconcile?

So he’s back in the Turtle School Orange, and ready to kick some ass.  

Back to Gohan, he’s taken up residence in a cave, where he’s got a fairly decent setup going.   He gathers food, catches fish, and then he takes it all back here, where he builds a fire to cook it all.  It’s like he’s playing Don’t Starve, only for real.   In this particular scene, he’s making some sort of bandage out of a leaf, to deal with an injury he got on his shoulder.   How’d he learn to do that?

Turns out he learned it from Goku, when he skinned his knee once.    I guess Goku knows a lot about making medicine from plants, since he lived out in the middle of nowhere himself as a boy.   Gohan fussed and cried a lot at the time, but he still remembers what his father did to make it.  

Later, he discovers an animal inside the cave with him, and he realizes it’s a dinosaur!   Kind of an old-school, probably-anatomically-incorrect-artist’s-conception of a dinosaur, but this is a cartoon where the king of the world is a dog.   Look at this guy, he’s great.

But the dinosaur is hurt from having a big piece of wood stuck in his flank.   Gohan yanks it out, probably because the dinosaur is too weak to stop him...

Then he patches the wound with the same remedy his father used.   He even says the same reassuring words Goku used on him back then.    This is terrific stuff.

Gohan spends the next few days gathering food for his new dinosaur pal to help him recover.    While doing this, he imagines how fun it will be to play with the dinosaur once he’s healthy again.  

Gohan rules.

On his way back, he tests his strength by punching a big rock, but he only hurts his hand, so he decides he’s not that powerful yet.

But the rock cracks after he turns and leaves.   There’s a moral here somewhere.

But when he gets back, he finds his friend under attack by a meat-eating dinosaur, the same one that chased him around in Episode 7.   This time, he stands and fights, but he’s just no match for the guy.   Gohan gets knocked away, and when he finally recovers...

It’s too late.   His friend is dead, eaten by the carnivore dinosaur.  Well, that’s the law of the jungle for you.    The question is: will Gohan be any more effective against the Saiyans when they get here? 

[getmemymicroscope]

This is the first time in a while that the latest Marvel movie hasn't been my favoritest of the MCU (wait, no - The Eternals wasn't that long ago), but that's not necessarily the fault of this movie so much as it is the fact that Spider-Man: No Way Home was so recently released that it still lives rent-free in my head, both the happy surprises and the very moving moments of sadness. But also, this movie has horror - it's not a horror movie, per se, but it's a movie with horror sequences (jump scares and all), which really just aren't my jam. Not that that makes it bad, of course, but it's also a reason that this movie won't automatically jump to the top of my "rewatch" pile.

There's another, very solid reason that it won't make that list: Wanda. More specifically, Wanda when controlled by the Darkhold. Because holy shit is she scary and evil and insanely powerful. Like, honestly, forget Thanos - the only thing that could possibly stop that version of Wanda is ... I don't know? Wanda herself, maybe. Seeing her go on her rampage is just ... terrifying. Which, of course, is the point: when the Darkhold takes hold, you sort of lose yourself. Which, I think, is what we all see when there's that trip inside her mind.

Somewhat related to that: there's some cool special appearances, one that hopefully signals something coming in the near future, but also some very ... painful moments. Her actions in that sequence, against those people, is absolutely horrifying. Tragic.

On the one hand, it's maybe a bit ... fucked up? ... that some of our great villains have got motivations like "eliminate 50% of people to make life better" and "take over the world" and whatnot, and she's given "find her kids." But then, Wanda - especially after the events of Infinity War and WandaVision - you can see that being her driving force. And we already know she's insanely powerful, so her going to this extreme - aided by said Darkhold - in that quest is believable. And to that end, while it is a multiversal threat, to the utmost level of threats, it's also nice to have a villain who isn't out to necessarily take over the world (which it feels like we get in so many of these movies). It's not exactly a 'benign' villain story, if such a thing exists, but it is slightly more contained which I think gives it more power in some ways. I actually like that her motivation is "find my children" - it's a pretty solid arc for any character, in my opinion.

Xochitl Gomez is absolutely great in her MCU debut - hopefully we'll get to see more of her soon. Her character's ability to travel the multiverse, though, is ... kinda scary. But they could just give her a series where she's exploring a bunch of different worlds looking for her parents and having adventures in that, and I would totally be down for that. Well, maybe not the paint-based universe - I'd feel really sad for her if she wasn't able to find some food.

Excited to see what comes next for Strange, especially with that end-credits scene ... though I really hope we're not constant stuck with his new anatomical feature. That's a bit ... creepy.

I do wonder what comes next for Wanda. It would appear that WandaVision, season 2, is probably a bit less likely to be a thing, though of course, one can never know for sure. And with the multiverse still very much in action, you can clearly never say never.

There's some fun jokes about other Marvel characters, which is pretty funny, but I really want to know what's up with Spider-Man. How's he coping? What's he doing? Is he going to get his friends back? I need answers - soon! ... Also soon: the new Thor. Can't wait!

Going back to the beginning of this post: favorite MCU movie ever? No. But still good? Oh hell yes. I did much enjoy it, jump scares aside (also, the two people next to me in the theater who just kept talking during the trailers - like I get it, you want to talk/cuddle, but like: we're amidst a pandemic. If you're going to talk that much, wear a freaking mask!). I really don't like jump scares, and that scene in the tunnel when you know it's coming but Sam Raimi just draws it out a bit to mess with you - gah.

Bruce Campbell is hilarious.