#captain definitely wears a jacket of some kind i simply did not draw it

[scalpho]

tbk fusions because watching steven universe wires one's brain a certain way. thanks as always to @cledubs and @nenekkasa for chatting about these freaks with me

[redrobin-detective]

Everyone has a type

I’m trying to be better at quick stories so uh here.

_______________________________

One minute Billy was standing outside of Beck’s Diner, feeling cold and hungry and wondering if a quick meal was worth the last few dollars he had when a feeling came over him. It was both familiar and completely alien and from one breath to the next, he was somewhere entirely different. He blinked, Superman blinked back in confusion. There was Batman and Robin off to the side, Flash dropped a snack bar he’d been munching on in surprise, there were two Lanterns in sight and both of them were swearing. But mostly Billy focused on all the stars glittering from the windows and the lovely view of the Earth from the teleporter pad.

He was.... on the Watchtower. Wait a moment, he was on the Watchtower as Billy Batson. He went from slightly confused to panicking in moments. 

“Who the hell is that? It’s some kid!”

“How did he get here?”

“You were supposed to grab Marvel! Who’s this!”

“Shit send him back!”

“We can’t send him back! We don’t know what happened! He could be a spy and report straight to the villains!”

“Son,” Clark (no it’s Superman, don’t say Clark then you’re really screwed, Batson) said gently but with a steely, cautious edge to his voice. He floated closer and Billy took a few stumbling steps back. Should he run? He wouldn’t get far with the fastest in the League, save Marvel of course, right here. What would he even do? He knew these hallways like he knew the back of his hand but he’s in the wrong body and he had no idea what to do and he was kind of freaking out a little bit. Okay maybe a lot. His anxiety must have been obvious, if not for the reasons they thought, because Clark’s expression softened just a bit. “It’s okay, we had a little mix-up but we’ll get this worked out.”

“Where am I?” he asked because that was the logical question anyone would ask. 

“That’s classified,” one Lantern, John Stewart, said with a distrustful frown. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Clark tried again, floating a little closer. “What’s your name? Where are you from?” Oh no way in hell did Bill want his name in their files.

“Fawcett City,” he murmured instead, still tamping down the instinct to run. He glanced over at the Bats who had yet to intervene. The newest Robin, a kid his age named Jason was looking at Billy like he was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Bruce, as usual, was hard to read behind the mask. 

“Well we got the right city at least,” Flash chuckled awkwardly. “You didn’t happen to see a flying man in a red suit, did you? Can shoot lightning, big smile, bigger heart?” 

Oh they were trying to get Marvel, made sense, it was just very, very bad news for his secret identity and overall mental health. He heard some of the others whispering to each other, going over the transporter and wondering what could have gone wrong. Pretty soon, they were going to draw together some very uncomfortable facts and his identity was going to be exposed. No one would ever take him seriously again, he’d be out of the League, lose all his friends and-

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw black and realized the Dark Knight had snuck up on him without noticing. Normally he’s taller than Bruce but now the man towers over him and he has to wonder how there’s any crime left in Gotham if this guy protects it. Even worse, he was smiling. 

“I believe we just had a simple misunderstanding,” Bruce (no, definitely Batman when he’s like this) said simply. “I’ll take Captain Marvel’s communicator back and we’ll send you back where you came from.” Billy’s mind went blank.

“We honed in on Cap’s comm,” Clark said with a frown before looking back at Billy, “but how does he have it?”

“A distracted hero, an enterprising and quick fingered boy and an opportunity too good to pass up,” Batman subtly looked over at his sidekick. “I’m familiar with the story.” Realization slammed into Billy, Bruce had recounted his first meeting with Jason at least a couple of times. He always had this soft smile on his face as he described coming back to find the Batmobile missing it’s tires and the bold street kid who’d lifted them. That was the same sort of smile he was wearing now.

“Are you saying this punk took Cap’s comm?” Hal said with a little laugh. “Man, you got balls kid targeting someone with the literal Gods on his side.” 

“Uh,” was all Billy could say because what else could he do? They thought he was a thief! And that Cap was a bungling idiot who let a kid steal his equipment! He supposed that was better than them realizing their teammate was twelve and homeless. He wordlessly opened his jacket and deposited the comm into Batman’s waiting hand. 

“He didn’t see you take it, did he?” Batman said casually, “he would have reported it missing if he had.” 

“Uh,” Billy said again because this whole situation felt like an uncomfortable fever dream. Batman tucked the device into his case and loomed a little bit more.

“Do no take things from heroes again or you may find yourself with more than you can handle,” he growled before nodding at John to fire up the teleporter. “But keep up those skills and you might find yourself with a job one day.” As before, one moment Billy was staring down Batman and the next we was back in front of Beck’s Diner. An old lady with a dog startled when he appeared put of nowhere and hurriedly walked past. Bill looked down at his hands in confusion.

“What just happened?”

XxX

“Hey Cap,” Hal said in a sing song voice. “Lose something?” He continued holding up Marvel’s missing communicator. The parts of Billy inside the god rolled his eyes but on the outside, Marvel feigned surprise and took the device.

“I’ve been looking for this, wasn’t looking forward to asking Batman for a new one. Where did you find it?” Marvel asked, clipping it back on his belt.

“We were beaming you up for a mission debriefing and instead snagged a ratty Fawcett kid. Seems he nicked your comm while you weren’t looking, probably was gonna sell it or keep it as a souvenir until we accidentally kidnapped him.” Hal said with a wide grin. Wisdom of Solomon said the man was just teasing him and delighted to find a mistake in the otherwise godly reputation. Billy thinks he’s just kind of an ass in general. Or maybe he’s just a bit offended about Billy being called ratty. 

“Well I’ll be sure to secure it better this time,” Marvel said, already wondering just how to prevent this from happening again. 

“Yeah, be careful, Batman looked like he was ready to take the kid home with him,” Hal joked.

“Excuse me?” Marvel questioned.

“Bats was pretty impressed the kid was able to swipe the thing from you. If his other street kid sidekick hadn’t been standing right there, Bats probably woulda offered him a job right then and there,” Hal said with a laugh and a wave as he wandered off. Marvel just stood there wondering how close he got to having Wayne added to his name. This secret identity stuff really was getting to be a hassle. 

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 12

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Bit of this and that, but nothing that requires specific warnings. A/N: Survival mode: activated.

12. Running to the Edge of the World

...   Loki   ...

“Are you out of your goddamn MIND?!”

The Midgardian’s outrage surprises Loki as much as it amuses him, two emotions he keeps close to his chest especially now they are back aboard the ship where Arox has been waiting impatiently. The brute’s kind are made for action, be it fighting or merriment, not for sitting around alone. Thankfully, the warrior has accepted added payment in form of hard liquor and has resigned to his cabin for now.

Turning to glare at [Y/N], the Asgardian schools his features. “Watch it, wench.” Of course she balks at the moniker but he stops her quickly. “Enough! You know very well my plans for Jotunheim have failed. If the only means of guaranteeing your safety and that of the rest of the realms then this is the path we must take. At least the old fool can be guided by playing at his pride.”

Refocusing on the instruments of the cockpit, he can already hear the next inhalation fuelling her. Of course, having grown more comfortable in each others’ presence she must now be seeking to push the boundaries between them and Loki cannot in all honesty claim that he doesn’t like the challenge already although it exposes him too.

“Sure. Yeah. Right. Except there’s the part you showed me where he chose to have you fall into space rather than acknowledge your part of the family.”

“They’re not my family.”

“Thor still refers to you as a brother.”

Finally reaching a limit, he pounces at [Y/N], driving her against the steel wall. “He’s a fool for believing the fairy tales Odin spun when we were children! And so are you, giving credit to empty claims. Mark my words: there’s no love between Asgard and me as I am a monster of their own making, a twisted prince they seek to cage!”

She does flinch but refuses to draw back from Loki’s shouting, instead squaring her stance and crossing the arms. “So I repeat. Why? Go? There?”

I can think of no other place where you might be safe. “Odin may be dusty and old, but the Asgardian forces are formidable.”

“What good will that do you if you’re stuck in a cell?” she retorts hotly.

Her chest is heaving, brushing against his whenever she inhales particularly deeply. Each movement stirs the air with the soapy scent she has adopted while on Alfheim and it goes straight to the god’s brain to shortcut any reasonable thinking. Gone is the train of thought. What were they arguing about? Does it even matter as long as she will remain this feisty?

Closing his eyes to focus, his old mannerisms come to save him. “Worried, hmm? Have you come to care, pet?” Loki can hear her stutter and it makes him grin wickedly. “Fret not, my dear, I will make sure you don’t have to go a single day without me.”

... Reader   ...

Alfheim has quite possibly spoiled your expectations of space, or maybe you have managed to repress the memory of how it is to be stuck in a metal box surrounded by nothing. At least you’re no longer confined to just the cabin but after the immediate thrill has worn off...well, there’s only so much to see onboard the space ship.

Arox is having trouble accepting the shift in dynamics and is more often than not hovering nearby with a menacing look on his face while he sharpens his knives (in your eyes they might be swords) or follows the deep patterns in his skin with a finger across the muscles. Any attempt at talking with him leads nowhere. Thankfully, the moments alone with the brute are brief, cut short by Loki.

You catch the two men talk one evening. Unable to sleep, you’re wandering the narrow corridors on bare feet and hear their voices drift down the stairs from the cockpit. Quietly. Controlled to the point that there’s an edge to their voices. It’s upon hearing your name, however, that you stop. Not every word is clear enough to make out, leaving your mind free to generate a wealth of scenarios spelling doom for you, but as Arox’s heavy stomps come nearer there’s no way you’re gonna stay to find out what the conversation really was about and you flee to your cabin.

You get the answer a day or two later when you find Loki in the captain’s chair.

“We’re docking at nowhere soon. Get dressed.” His eyes are fixed on the instrument.

Your eyes are stuck on the giant structure looming against the endlessness of space ahead of the ship. It alm-...is that a head? Whatever it is, something tells you it’s a rough place, the kind where the villains in movies would come wearing sturdy boots and leather jackets to drink some horribly unhealthy kind of moonshine liquor while making shady deals.

“Is’t safe?” you blurt before thinking.

There’s a warmth to Loki’s chuckle that you don’t remember from the first days onboard. “Stick close to me, don’t talk, and don’t touch anything,” he smirks wickedly, “then it might be.”

On a scale from one to ten of things you were dreading to hear? A solid seven. Seven and a half. Still, you do as the Asgardian tells you, deciding that staying behind on the ship (alone or with Arox) would be worse.

Stepping out onto a metallic surface, you’re pleased that the air is breathable even if you would have given anything you had for it to not be smellable. The stench of sweat, rust, and much more is heavy in the air, making your eyes sting and your gag-reflex squirm. Arox doesn’t seem to mind – he just nods at Loki before trudging off – and the god is as stony faced as ever. Barking an order at a spiky alien, he simply motions for you to keep up as he strides towards the bustling crowd away from the docking area.

Unlike on Alfheim, where the Älfir clearly was the dominant species, there are barely two beings that look the same in this place and only 50% of them fall into the category of humanoids. Hurrying to keep pace with Loki, you have to weave in and out of the steady stream of foot traffic (again, “foot” seems to be a very lose definition) whereas the god carries on in a straight line. Head held high and a grim smile plastered on his face, everyone lets him pass. Do they realize they move aside? If they do, you would love for them to show you the same courtesy.

Momentarily side swept by two moving quarries, panic grips you when you can’t spot the one person you’re depending on. I would’ve leapt at a chance like this before Alfheim. Now, you hold your breath and break into a mad dash from fear of being separated. Passing ramshackle stalls and open doors leading to places with coloured lights, music, and noise the world around you is reduced to a blur, your senses strained for one task only. Where the fuck did he go?

You come to a halt where the street splits in two: the right-hand alley is leading down towards what might be a part of town with workshops rather than bars, the left lane leads upwards and is fringed by bright lanterns.

No Loki. Instead, as you turn around frantically, you come face to face with Arox.

[howling-harpy]

Perfect storm

Pairing: Winters/Speirs Rating: T Word count: 5470

Summary: Dick reluctantly takes a pass alone to Paris and learns that sometimes someone most unlikely can become the right one at the right time in the right place.

*

If a trip to Paris was supposed to be relaxing, it wasn’t working. Nix’s thought had been nice, and maybe it worked for him, but Dick couldn’t say he liked Paris much. At least, not now. It was too noisy and too crowded, and if he had to choose the people to be crowded by, he’d choose his men over anyone else a thousand times. But it was forty-eight hours, a real privilege not everybody got, and so Dick was trying to make the most of it. He already treaded going back to base and seeing Nix welcoming him with a smirk and asking, “Well? How was it?”

He'd know that nothing exciting had happened, Dick just wasn’t that kind of a person and Nix knew that already, but still he would ask, and Dick would have to awkwardly figure out what to say without sounding ungrateful. He didn’t want to think about it now, he’d save that for when the time came. Now he simply wandered the streets, just walked ahead until the air turned cool and his breath started to come easily. He ended up on the underground, traveling back to his hotel late in the evening. The rhythmic rattle of the tracks underneath and the rocking of the train lulled him into deep thought, and the constant swaying of the car felt like it was shaking jammed thoughts in his head loose. He stared out of the window into the darkness and listened to the clang clang clang of the tracks, metal against metal, and his thoughts shifted back to Holland. He remembered charging through the open field, the earth soft and muddy under his boots, his own footsteps like thunder in his ears. He remembered standing on that dike so clearly he could smell the wet grass, mud and his own sweat, and he looked at that soldier, knelt down, unarmed and wearing German green. It was a boy, shockingly young, the uniform jacket ill-fitting on his coltish frame. He didn’t even look scared, just surprised and confused when he looked up at Dick like he couldn’t make sense of him being there. And then Dick squeezed the trigger, felt the recoil of his rifle, felt a sting in his ears at the noise, and the boy went down. Dick kept shooting. He didn’t think, just kept firing, there were too many targets to choose from, he felt his own adrenaline coursing and heard his company reaching his side. He had forgotten about the boy quickly, hadn’t thought about him even right after, but for some reason he was on his mind now. There was a boy on the train too, just as young, just as wide-eyed and just as soft-looking. To Dick, they looked exactly the same, dead boys staring back at him with too young eyes, bright for a moment and no more. Dick couldn’t look at him without feeling a heavy, sharp feeling settling in his chest. The rest of the way from the station to the hotel he was staying at felt longer than the many miles he had already walked even though it was just a few blocks. He dragged his feet and felt a horrible, deep exhaustion that he feared he wouldn’t be able to shake now that it had settled over him. In the moment he felt so heartbreakingly lonely he almost wanted to cry. He didn’t want to be alone in Paris, he wanted to be with Nix wherever he was right now. He just wanted him to be there, that would be enough. “Captain Winters?” someone called, and Dick felt his heart skipping. Dick turned to a bar he was just passing and saw Nix. His heart skipped again almost painfully in joy, but it didn’t make any sense – Nix wasn’t here, he was back at the base probably avoiding his many responsibilities, how could he be here? Dick blinked, took another look, and realized that it wasn’t Nix. The dark hair, handsome face and the paratrooper’s uniform had fooled his lonely heart, and the man whom he was facing wasn’t Nix but Lieutenant Ronald Speirs from Dog Company. “Ah, hello, Lieutenant,” Dick greeted mildly. Speirs had stepped out of a bar Dick had been passing, apparently to have a cigarette in peace since he had one between his lips, but now that he was curiously regarding Dick he didn’t reach to light it. He looked like he wanted to talk more than the passing greeting, and with a hint of annoyance Dick stopped. “I didn’t know you were on leave too,” Speirs said. Dick didn’t see why he would have and shrugged. “This was pushed on me. I’d rather be doing something useful.” Speirs nodded with understanding, the unlit cigarette still between his lips. “Ah, that makes more sense. Have you enjoyed your stay so far at all?” “It’s been alright.” “You alone, or…?” Dick frowned slightly. In his opinion the answer was obvious; he wouldn’t have been walking the streets alone if he had company, but his hesitance seemed to only raise more questions for Speirs, who stepped further from the door and closer to Dick. “I was just wondering, since you’re out this late and just walking,” he said, drawing out the sentence for a reason Dick couldn’t begin to guess. “I came alone, too, if that’s the case,” Speirs added with a tilt of his head. Dick didn’t know how to respond. He had a feeling he was being asked something more than it seemed, but he couldn’t read Speirs. He did remember him well from the OCS as one of the top soldiers, but he couldn’t say he had learned to know him very well. The man was still somehow unreadable to Dick, and despite having fought alongside him, he didn’t feel any closer to him. “I am alone, yes. Do you have a place to stay?” Dick asked, guessing that was what Speirs was trying to ask him. A strikingly warm smile spread of Speirs’ face, and with a start Dick realized it made him not only more handsome but approachable. Suddenly, he decided he wouldn’t mind company at all. “Actually no, I don’t,” Speirs said like it was a surprise that it came up. For the first time during the whole conversation, Dick smiled back. “I happen to have actually too much room. Would you like to share?” There was a curious gleam in Speirs’ eyes. “I’d like that.” They walked together. Speirs tossed his cigarette away when he hurried to join Dick, who showed the way back to the hotel. He had to admit that as annoyed as he had been about being spotted like this, Speirs’ company was actually comfortable. They arrived at the hotel far quicker than Dick thought they would have, and Speirs followed him upstairs into his room without another word. When he closed the door behind him, it occurred to Dick that he had never been alone with Speirs before. The first thing Speirs did was to kick his boots off. He looked around the room and gave an appreciative nod. “A nice room you’ve got,” he said. Dick felt awkward about it. Three-room-suite for one person was definitely too much. “Thanks. Nix picked it for me.” “And didn’t come with you?” Speirs asked, looking far too surprised. For some reason, Dick felt embarrassed. Not by being alone or having been tricked to take leave, but by the casual intensity of Speirs’ look and tone. Dick might not have been sure if he liked Speirs, but Speirs certainly had gotten comfortable around him quickly. It even made Dick feel a bit bad for being so reserved and on guard around someone who seemed to simply enjoy his company. Still, kindness didn’t mix seamlessly with Ron Speirs, and Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that they were here for some other reason than the obvious one. He felt a funny tingle in his nape. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. Speirs’ brows shot up. “Do you have something good?” Dick heard the real question there and smirked. “There was a bottle of brandy here when I arrived, compliments of the house, I think. I didn’t ask for it, yet here it is. Might as well give it to someone who wants it rather than waste it.” Speirs smiled again, a twinkle in his green eyes. “A splendid point. I’d like a drink, thank you.” Dick went over to the cabinet that had a bar and a selection of fine glasses behind its stained-glass doors, took out the crystal bottle and a matching glass, then poured a drink for Speirs, guessing the amount. It was a polite thing to do, but also gave Dick something to occupy himself with and bought him time to think. He glanced to Speirs, who was walking around the large sitting room and admiring the fine furniture at leisure pace, and wondered about him. This Speirs was once again different to the versions Dick had been acquainted with. Speirs back in OCS had been raw material, eager and competitive, tough but still green. Speirs in combat had been ferocious, covered in grime, and more than a little mad. This Speirs, Speirs on leave in Paris, was something else entirely, or perhaps a polished mirror of his combat self; Dick could see the ferocity underneath the surface, and the line of his shoulders and his general demeanour were pure military confidence, but he was also calm, clean and sociable. Something about his clean face, neatly combed hair and dress greens had softened him just a bit, as had his smile. There was a strange ambience in the room. Dick didn’t know what to do, so he elected to sit down on the nearest armchair after handing Ron his drink. Ron kept watching him even when he drank, and Dick had the strangest urge to put on some music. He didn’t, and the dim room was quiet for several long minutes. The single warm lamp didn’t illuminate much, but Speirs didn’t seem to mind. He circled the room slowly as he sipped his drink, his hands idly touching the tabletops and the windowsill, and his feet made almost no sound on the oriental rug on the floor. Finally Speirs made it to the chair where Dick was sitting, and for a moment Dick thought that he was going to reach for the brandy bottle on the delicate little table next to it to take another drink, but instead he sat down on the footstool before the chair. Dick swallowed. Speirs was very close, their legs pressed against each other in the narrow space between the chair and the stool, and even with a brandy glass in hand and in uniform, sitting on a low stool Speirs looked boyish. “I always wondered about you,” Speirs said. Dick didn’t understand, but he had a creeping feeling he should. “About what?” “Since OCS. I just saw you and wondered, if… You know,” Speirs said in a quiet, intimate tone that shocked Dick. Earlier this evening he hadn’t thought he and Speirs knew each other very well and he certainly wouldn’t have called them friends, but here he was, sitting with him of all people with their legs tangled together and speaking in low tones. It was comfortable, he noted. Perhaps it was his loneliness and the cold thoughts from before, but Speirs didn’t seem at all reserved, and that made Dick relax into it and accept the warmth. Dick slumped a bit forward on the chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. Before he had been perching rigidly on the edge of the seat, but now he just leaned closer to Ron. “What did you wonder about?” he asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ron watched his smile for a moment before looking him in the eye again. “I wondered if you walk the twilight zone as well. You do, don’t you?” Dick tilted his head at the phrase. It wasn’t familiar and he suspected it was Ron’s original. It was an oddly beautiful one too and didn’t fit the image he had of Ron, but at the same time something warm bloomed inside his chest. Yes, he could deal being called that. Dick smiled, and there was a silent understanding in Ron’s eyes when he returned it. “What where you looking for on the streets?” Ron asked, tilting his glass and sloshing the last drop of brandy around. “Oh! Not – Um, not that,” Dick said and thought rapidly back to their encounter before the bar. He was slightly impressed how quickly Ron had read him and jumped on the chance. “I was trying to walk the stress off, that’s all.” “That’s what the leave is for,” Ron said. There was something gentle in his tone, and Dick wondered about that. He had already heard a few stories about Ron and knew him to be a wild thing in combat, something he didn’t relate to, but now he considered if Ron’s ability to let go of certain higher values also meant that he was uncaring towards judging others for small sins. Dick laced his fingers together, wrapped his arms around his knees and wondered if he could tell Ron. He flicked his gaze over the man again, and Ron just craned his neck and quirked a brow back at him when he was inspected. He seemed comfortable, not at all intimidated before him or awkward like differences in rank often meant, but he wasn’t a familiar shadow or a missing piece that had fallen into place like Nix was. Ron was something completely new, and in an odd way a kindred spirit. Almost like a mirror image, similar but still the opposite. Dick hadn’t even noticed when their legs had properly tangled in the narrow space they had at first shared tensely. “Some thoughts come back to me,” Dick muttered. “At times, I remember combat and feel like it just happened a second ago, and I feel like I’ve just attacked for a mile. I’m afraid I’ve done things I can’t forgive myself for.” He stared at the intricate designs woven into the rug by his feet when he said it, but when he was finished talking, he looked up to Ron again. Ron was leaning on his knees as well and reaching towards Dick. There was a steady, open look in his eyes. “I get that too,” he said. “But I don’t get memories, I just feel cold and alone. It feels like I’ve already judged myself and that no one can reach me ever again.” Dick had nothing to say, he just lowered his eyes. “Is that why you were so eager to come with me?” Ron tilted his head, maybe thoughtful, maybe trying to catch Dick’s eye. “Perhaps,” he allowed, but not without a sly quip in his tone. “Maybe I have a thing for tough but kind wholly good guys who complement my darker side.” Dick let out a dry laugh. He knew he was being played, but it was still a nice thing to hear. “I’m not so sure I’m the soft beau you’re looking for.” “Perhaps not,” Ron admitted lightly, “but you’re still good. And this is Paris after all. It would be wrong not to fan some sort of a flame up here.” They were so close that their knees were pressed together, and one of Ron’s hands that was resting on his knee was slowly creeping over to Dick. He turned to watch Ron’s fingers reach out, slow but bold, the index one brushing against his knee, climbing on and pulling the rest along. It was a light touch, a gentle little pet that kept to the knee for a few strokes before slowly moving up his thigh, careful like he didn’t want to spook him. Dick looked down at the hand when it stroked his thigh over his crisp uniform trousers and marvelled at how tender the touch was. It was once again something he wouldn’t have thought of Ron before, but it seemed that the hotel room would be keeping more than a few secrets, so it was alright. When he looked up, he saw Ron looking back like he had been waiting for him. It was a curious, warm look that flicked over his face, and Dick knew Ron was trying to read him, perhaps searching for a permission. Dick felt like he had downed a whole cup of hot chocolate with all the sweet warmth suddenly flowing through him and warming the very core of his chest. He leaned forward an inch, tilted his head a little, and something softened in Ron’s eyes before he leaned towards him the rest of the way. It was a heartachingly sweet kiss. Dick heard Ron take a deep breath before sealing his lips over his, and they pressed together close enough for Dick to feel the light scratch of stubble. He heard Ron dropping the glass on the rug and felt him inching closer on the stool, his lips were so much softer than Dick could have ever imagined, plush and warm, and all the while his hand petted his thigh. When the kiss ended, Ron didn’t lean back at all but pressed closer. Dick didn’t open his eyes but leaned towards the inviting heat that was Ron’s embrace. Ron had nearly climbed on the chair with him with one hand stroking the inseam on his trousers and other grasping the armrest. Ron placed another tender kiss on Dick’s lips before pressing closer, nuzzling his cheek and taking a deep breath like he wanted to enjoy him with every sense. “You know what would help?” Ron muttered idly. “Hm?” “A hot bath. It just might make you feel like a civilized human being again.” Dick sighed a laugh and leaned against Ron. “Sounds wonderful.” Ron turned his head and searched for Dick’s mouth again, took him into a kiss for a few long, drawn out seconds before gently leaning back. “I’ll draw you a bath then,” he said, brushed his fingers against Dick’s chin and then regrettably stepped back. When Ron got up and walked to the bathroom, Dick let out a shuddering sigh and collapsed into the chair. Its cushions were soft enough to sink into, and he let the velvet cosiness hold him. The sound of running water came from the other room, muffled by the wall but still clear. Dick lazed in the chair and stared up into the ceiling, following the ornate decorations with his eyes as well as he could in the dim light. It felt so strange to think that this city had seen war and faced occupation for years, and still beautiful things like these had survived it. Dick was lost in his thoughts and only came out when Ron touched his arm. He had appeared back from the bathroom and was leaning over Dick with his arm draped over the back of the chair. He was smiling down at him. “Your bath’s ready. Come on.” Dick stood up from the chair, and once he was up, Ron started to lead the way to the bathroom. Dick followed him barely a step behind. The bathroom was a small but beautiful one with cool tile floors and an ornate, oval mirror over a porcelain sink. The bathtub was clearly a recent addition in the middle of the room, now full of steaming hot water. There was a low rack with towels on it by the foot of the bath, and Ron picked one of them up and handed it to Dick. It was large, soft and heavy in his hands, much thicker than an army towel, and Dick sank his fingers into the fabric with deep satisfaction. For a moment he regarded Ron, who looked back with a pleasant, expecting expression. It was warm in the room because of the bath, and the steam gathered like morning mist around. Ron moved first and pulled the top button of his jacket open. Then the next one, then the next one and the next one until he could drop his jacket on the floor. Dick followed his example, shedding a layer after layer of his uniform and feeling lighter by each article. It wasn’t like he hadn’t stripped before other men before, but something about the privacy made him shy, so he held the towel to his chest the entire time, hiding behind it. Ron didn’t strip all the way, just lost his shirt and socks, then pulled a small chair from underneath the sink next to the tub and sat down. He leaned on the side of the tub and stretched out his legs, getting really comfortable on his spot, and then looked up to Dick still clutching his towel, bare feet cold on the floor. There was a latent charge in the air, something that made the blood in Dick’s veins buzz in a way that was remarkably pleasant and exciting. The pale steam spiralling in the room felt like a curtain that protected his modesty even though it certainly didn’t, and letting the towel fall was suddenly easy. Ron tilted his head, and Dick felt his green eyes roaming his body. He stepped into the tub, slowly sinking into the hot water that welcomed him into its steaming hot depths, and he could practically feel his skin turning red. The water embraced him completely. The slight burn was nothing but welcome, and Dick sank down all the way down to his neck letting out a deep, worn out sigh and let his head rest on the side. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ron said quietly to him. Dick opened his eyes and looked at the man leaning on the tub, resting his chin on the back of his hand. He smiled. “Yes, it does,” he answered. Ron blinked slowly resembling an affectionate cat, and his hand slipped to let his fingers sink into the water. “Can I ask you something?” Dick turned and curled in the bath so that he could rest his head on the side closer to Ron. “Sure.” “You wanted to come here with Nixon, didn’t you?” Ron asked, his fingers stirring the water. Dick could feel the ripples in the water on his body like a promise of something to come. There was no reason for pretence or lies here, and Dick gave a timid smile and half a shrug. “I would have liked to, yes.” Ron peered at him curiously. The steam had undone his neat hair, causing it to fluff up and curl, and a strand of it had fallen over his forehead. He looked younger like that, wearing only his trousers and undershirt and with his dark hair damp and out of place. “You’d like him here with you in this room. You wouldn’t have gone out at all if Nixon were with you,” Ron stated. It was too confident to be a question, and Dick felt completely seen. He thanked the hot water for already flushing his skin all over. He didn’t answer, just nodded against the side of the tub. Ron nodded back. “You have a thing for bad boys, huh?” he joked. Dick frowned. “No, not really,” he said, “You’re a chance meeting, and Nix is honourable and good, just a little wild sometimes.” Ron raised his brows at him and was quiet long enough for Dick to get that he didn’t agree. But instead of arguing, Ron just sighed. “You’ve got it bad, I see.” Dick sank deeper into the water. Loneliness threatened to creep over him again. “Yeah,” he admitted even when it made his insides ache. Foolish and hopeless, he already knew. He didn’t say anything more, but Ron seemed to sense it in him anyway, because he reached out to sink his fingers into Dick’s damp hair and leaned closer to kiss him again. It was fast becoming all too natural and easy to kiss Ron, even when it was thrillingly intimate like that, naked in the bath with Ron so close to him, half stripped down himself and swaying towards him like some unseen power was pulling him in. With their hands in each other’s hair they just kissed for a while, lazy and languid in the damp heat of the bathroom. It was Ron who pulled back again but only a fraction of an inch, and his fingers stayed tangled in Dick’s hair where it grew longer. “Let me wash your hair for you?” Ron asked so gently it was almost a plea, muttered against Dick’s cheek. The request filled Dick with such warmth so fast he had to gasp for breath. He pressed his cheek against Ron’s. “Sure.” Ron pulled his chair to the head of the tub, and Dick lay back again and closed his eyes. Ron used the unscented, simple soap the hotel provided and spent way too long washing Dick’s hair with it. It was nothing like the army efficiency when your shower lasts five minutes top, this was a slow, affectionate affair that made that warmth inside Dick’s chest wind up and ache. Ron dipped the soap in the water and rubbed it between his hands before combing the foam into Dick’s hair. Again and again he ran his fingers through strands of hair, slow and thorough until he was satisfied with his work. The soap bar was placed back onto its little plate somewhere, but Dick didn’t pay it any mind. Ron’s hands were back in his hair massaging slow circles into his scalp and making a deeply satisfying tingle spread all over Dick’s head and the back of his neck. Ron kept massaging all over, little by little covering every inch of his scalp, then moved on to rub the soap into his hair by one small strand at time. It felt like he wanted to do more than just wash, he wanted to care for him and make sure every last speck of dirt was gone, even those that couldn’t be touched upon with simple soap and water. Ron cupped his hands and ran water on top of Dick’s head. Instinctively Dick slumped down and tilted his head back to make it easier, and Ron just kept patiently bringing palmful after palmful of warm water on his hair while combing through it with his fingers until every last bubble of soap was gone. Dick felt utterly comfortable and relaxed. He lay absolutely boneless in the bottom of the tub, stirring only when he felt his towel on his hair. Ron patted his hair before properly towelling it, first ruffling it and then firmly petting it back from Dick’s forehead. Dick knew it was time to get up, and reluctantly he pulled his sluggish limbs under him. Ron helped him out of the bath and wrapped him in the towel. Nothing remained of Dick’s earlier shyness like it had been washed away with all the sweat, stress, and lingering fear. He felt pure and strong again, and civilized enough to desire touch and warmth. Ron must have seen it in his eyes, because he pulled him by the towel against him. He relaxed into the embrace and wrapped his arms around Ron, letting him carry his weight. Ron was steady and pressed his hands to his hips and his lips to his neck. “Your clothes will get wet,” Dick commented idly. “I’ll just take them off, then,” Ron replied against his neck. “Good,” Dick sighed and pressed closer. He felt the last droplets of bathwater running down his spine, and Ron’s fingers caught them on their way up. “But not here.” Dick huffed a laugh. “Yeah, no. Come, let’s go to bed,” he said and started to pull him with him from the bathroom. The floorboards and the rug were warm compared to the cool tiles of the bathroom. The room felt smaller now that they were pressed together and moving as one, and before Dick had the time to gather even one coherent thought in his head they were already by the bed and Ron tipped them over on it. They landed in the middle of fresh sheets and thick covers on their sides. The bed was softer and warmer than anything Dick could remember, and it felt unnatural to the soldier in him. But perhaps that was good, because something truly strange and uncharacteristic was about to take place there, something he didn’t think he could allow anything like this as a soldier on duty. He kicked the towel off the bed, then reached over to relieve Ron of his white undershirt and trousers. There was a bubbly, giddy feeling growing in Dick’s gut, and it made him both smile and blush. “This is my first time, you know,” he confessed. He didn’t know what compelled him to say it, perhaps he was just surprised that it was happening without planning it at all. Ron pulled back enough to quirk a brow at him but didn’t look surprised or off-put, then leaned in to give him a kiss, his hand cupping his face before slipping down his neck and chest. “I’m honored, then,” he said with feeling. “Are you nervous?” Dick thought about it. He wondered if he ought to be, but there was nothing alien or scary about lying in bed with his arms around Ron, who seemed to take this as a challenge to rise to if anything. The thought made Dick laugh quietly. “I suppose not,” he said, studying Ron’s green eyes that were beginning to darken and gleam with what must have been desire. “Good,” Ron purred, kicking the rest of his clothes off the bed and crawling closer. “There’s no need to be. I’m always kind. We can just take it slow and see where it takes us.” It turned out the night took them everywhere, all the way, every way. It was nearly three in the morning when they finally tired and just lay in the bed half under the covers but still too hot to want to fully crawl beneath them to sleep, both pleasantly sore and thoroughly loved. Dick pulled Ron to his side and let him rest his head on his chest, while Ron absently drew spirals on Dick’s belly and thigh.   “You know…” Dick said, “you’re not at all like I thought you’d be.” Ron chuckled like he already knew what Dick meant. “How so?” he asked, low-key playful. He was tracing a figure eight in the dip by Dick’s pelvic bone. “I don’t know,” Dick replied, “You’re such a rough and tough soldier and you have a temperament. I never would have guessed this is what you’re like in bed.” “Like what?” Ron asked, now clearly teasing. Dick didn’t have to look to know that the man was grinning, obviously pleased at everything he was hearing. “Like you are,” Dick said, refusing to be toyed with. “Like a lover, you mean,” Ron specified for him. “Like each of my men are precious to me and not interchangeable lays.” Dick nudged him and heard an honest-to-god snigger. “Each of your men, you say, huh?” he asked and couldn’t help wondering how many men Ron had loved for a night, and how many of them were in service with them. “Oh yes. This is why I love the army,” Ron said in a low tone, drawing out the words like he was lost in pleasant memories, which he most likely was. “I plan to find one man to take home with me for good.” “One?” Dick asked. “Yes, one. One who is gentle, strong and faithful and who loves me. One to have and hold for the rest of my days,” Ron mused, and his grinning, purring voice turned gentle again, as did his hand that had only been resting on Dick’s thigh for a while now. Ron stroked him with his fingers like he was tracing an oath on his skin. “Sounds wonderful,” Dick said. “Yes. If I can do that, whatever else has happened to me doesn’t matter.” Ron said it like a conviction, unwavering in his faith in it. Dick stroked his hair. “I’d like that too,” he said. It was strange to be there. Mere twenty-four hours ago Dick hadn’t thought he shared much of anything with Ron Speirs, and definitely not the bed and the deepest desire of his heart. It was surreal enough to make his head spin to think how much had transpired between them within such a short period of time and in just one room. But then again, they were both creatures from the twilight zone. Perhaps it was only natural.

[lets-talk-appella]

The Trouble with Prom Movies

Bechloe Week 2019: High School

Summary: Beca hates everything about prom. That is, everything except the prom queen. 

For @rejection-isnt-failure, who asked for a dialogue prompt like this SEVERAL months ago. Sorry it took me so long, fam.

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: T

AO3 and FFN

“I really hate you for this.”

“You love me.”

“Um, no. Guess again.”

“Aren’t you having fun?”

“Pouring lemon juice on an open wound would be more fun and less painful,” Beca deadpanned.

Jesse frowned down at her. “Hey, don’t be mean.”

Beca rolled her eyes but tried to contain her bad mood. “Sorry, I know, senior prom, we gotta enjoy.”

Jesse had some ridiculous movie-based fantasy about their senior prom, and how they just had to go together because “Can you even say you were in high school if you didn’t go to senior prom?” Which was completely ridiculous, because of course high school revolved around much more than just a senior prom. But, still, he was her best friend and she knew how much movies (and, therefore, every teen ritual enclosed in such movies) meant to him, so there they were. At prom. Beca’s worst nightmare, basically.

“Exactly,” Jesse said triumphantly, then winced. “Can you stop stepping on my feet?”

Beca muttered an apology under her breath. It wasn’t her fault that heels were both uncomfortable to walk and dance in.

She and Jesse revolved on the spot, dancing with one another awkwardly in the middle of an overcrowded gymnasium. Yep, rather than shelling out for a nice prom venue, their school had enough in the budget to host prom in the gym. Not that Beca really cared where prom was held, but it was stiflingly warm, packed with hundreds of almost-adults dancing badly in their fancy prom clothes. Streamers hung on the walls, and a poorly-done cardboard reproduction of the Eiffel Tower stood in the corner, wrapped in white lights, a constant reminder of the cliché Paris theme. An arch swooped over the main entrance of the gym, next to which stood a somewhat decent photo area with a backdrop of Paris that the art kids had painted.

Overall, Beca had to admit it wasn’t bad, but still. It was prom. And she had to wear a black dress that she kind of hated in order to match Jesse’s black tux.

And she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to that familiar red hair, which, even from halfway across the gym, stood out clearly from the crowd. Chloe wore her Prom Queen’s crown as she danced gracefully with her Prom King, Chicago. Because of course the Golden Couple would win Prom King and Queen; she was the cheerleading captain and he was the quarterback.

It was gross and predictable and Beca really wished it didn’t bother her as much as it did.

But she had AP Biology with Chloe and had talked with her a few times, and, well, Beca has eyes. So seeing Chloe with Chicago—instead of, say, with her—bothered her a lot.

“Sorry, Beca,” Jesse muttered, following her line of sight.

Beca sighed. She’d told Jesse all about Chloe (only after he badgered her endlessly for the details). “This blows.”

Jesse nodded understandingly. “As your lesbro, I truly apologize.”

“Yeah, well, since neither of us could go with who we really want…” Beca shrugged.

Jesse’s expression clouded and he looked over Beca’s shoulder, where she knew Aubrey Posen and her date danced.

“You two don’t have a lot in common, you know?” Beca asked, bringing Jesse’s attention back on her. “She’s, like, the entire prom committee.”

Dancing this close to Jesse, she could see the way his eyebrows drew together just slightly. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Like you and Chloe have anything in common.”

Well, he got her there.

“Whatever,” she grumbled.

“Good comeback,” he smiled, and carefully guided her into a dip just as the slow song ended. Maybe it should have been weird dancing with Jesse to a slow song, but it really wasn’t. They’d known each other since they were kids living next door to each other; they’d been in worse situations.

(Thankfully, Beca had realized she was gay before Jesse had tried to take her on any awkward dates, so they’d avoided that, at least.)

When Jesse pulled her back upright, she dropped her arms from around his shoulders and stepped away. “Okay dude, I’m gonna go get some punch. Hopefully someone bothered to spike it with—”

She cut off abruptly, spotting something that made her stomach clench.

“Uh, Earth to Beca?” Jesse called, waving his hand in front of her face.

She batted his arm down with an impatient sound. “Dude, look.”

“What?” Jesse asked, craning his neck to look around the gym. “Are Amy and Bumper making out again? Because I just ate dinner before this and—”

“No! Gross! I think Chloe and Chicago are fighting,” Beca said, trying to point subtly in their direction. “Be cool.”

“What?” he whipped around and stared, most definitely not subtly.

“Jesse!”

“Oooh, trouble in paradise for the happy couple,” Jesse said as they watched Chloe and Chicago, who were clearly engaged in a heated argument. Chloe stood back from him, leaning forward and pointing a manicured nail at his chest as she ranted, her expression angry. He only glared back at her.

“She looks upset,” Beca said, concerned. She wished she could hear the argument, but they were too far away and the music (who picked Katy Perry?) was too loud.

Jesse shrugged. “Maybe she’s mad because he didn’t get her a corsage to match the dress.”

“Shut up,” Beca hissed, not looking away from Chloe for a second. “Oh shit, look…”

Chloe had whirled on the spot, her light blue dress fluttering and billowing with the motion. She stormed away from Chicago, pushed her way through the throng of students, and made her way under the archway and out of the gym. Chicago only glared after her, then turned to make his way to the punch.

When Beca glanced over, Jesse was already watching her.

It was probably a bad idea. She and Chloe only sort of knew each other, and her crush would be better kept in check instead of fed, but no one else seemed to have noticed the fight, and no one was bothering to check on Chloe, so...

“Should I…?”

“Go!” Jesse urged, waving her away. “Ain’t nothing gonna stop my girl!”

Beca was already moving toward the exit. “Not your girl!” she called over her shoulder, weaving through the crowd.

“Look at my girl!” Jesse shouted as Beca ducked (unnecessarily) under the arch leaving the gym.

Outside the gym, Beca looked around frantically, head swiveling in search of one beautiful redhead with a blue dress. Chloe could have gone anywhere; the library, the bathroom, the auditorium… or simply outside to the front of the school. Beca saw her, illuminated by the exterior building lights, standing on the other side of the glass doors of the main entrance.

Pausing only to grab her leather jacket from coat-check (the sophomore boy running it looked like a little kid and still tried to hit on her), Beca followed Chloe and went outside.

It was chilly for a night in April, especially compared to the heatwave that was the gym. Thankfully, Chloe hadn’t gotten far and was sitting on the main stairs leading up to the building’s entrance, her back to Beca as she looked over the main parking lot.

Abruptly, Beca felt awkward. This wasn’t really her place. She barely knew Chloe. She should probably have just gone back inside, because clearly, Chloe wanted to be left alone.

But...

Beca walked forward, offering Chloe a small smile when she looked over her shoulder at the sound of her approach. “Can I join you?” she asked when she got closer.

Chloe only hesitated for a second before nodding, and Beca took that as a good sign. Being careful of her dress, she perched herself on the step next to Chloe, noticing with some concern that Chloe was shivering; she hadn’t remembered to bring a coat.

“You cold?” Beca asked, then immediately wanted to sink into the steps and disappear. That’s why she was shivering, duh.

“I’m good,” Chloe shrugged, not looking at her.

“Oookayyy,” Beca drew out, feeling more awkward by the second. “So… prom not going well?”

Chloe huffed a little laugh, but Beca knew it wasn’t because what she’d said was funny. “No, not really,” Chloe muttered, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring out over the parking lot. “He’s kind of a dick.”

Beca wanted to roll her eyes but managed to refrain despite the annoyance flaring in her chest. “Then why do you date him?”

Chloe looked over at her, resting her cheek on her knees so that she was folded into a little ball. Beca couldn’t help noticing how beautiful Chloe looked, her hair in an elegant up-do that would have taken Beca hours and no small amount of swearing to achieve.

“I don’t,” Chloe said flatly. “Everyone just thinks we’re together ‘cuz it’s what happens in the movies.”

“Oh.” Beca suddenly felt foolish. And she felt a little happier, because that raised her opinion of Chloe, like, a lot.

And she kind of wanted to smack Jesse upside the head. Stupid movies.

Chloe smiled a little sadly, then shivered again. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself up a little, and Beca had to resist the urge to offer to do that for her. That would probably be super weird of her.

So, instead, Beca said, “Here, take my jacket.”

“I told you I’m not cold,” Chloe managed, just in time for another violent shiver to rip through her body.

Beca quirked an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Chloe huffed, reaching for Beca’s leather jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said with good grace.

“‘Course,” Beca replied awkwardly, trying to ignore how cold she was now.

Chloe tilted her head, looking at her strangely. “Where’s Jesse? Isn’t he your date?”

“Dude, no way!” Beca burst out. Honestly, she was surprised that Chloe even knew Jesse’s name, much less thought they were together. “He’s just my friend.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, frowning a little.

Beca shifted uncomfortably on the steps, looking away from Chloe and down at her own hands. “Besides, I… I play for the other team, you know?”

She didn’t know what compelled her to come out like this. It was the first time she’d said it to anyone other than her group of friends, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies.

She risked looking back over at Chloe, who looked surprised and had a strange expression on her face.

“Is that a problem?” Beca asked, a little more defensively than she’d intended.

“Not at all,” Chloe breathed, her eyes widening in assurance. “In fact, I—”

“Chloe!”

Beca nearly tumbled down the steps, as startled as she was by Chicago’s harsh voice. As it was, she twisted around to look at him so quickly her neck cracked.

Chloe sighed deeply and rose from the steps, turning slowly to face him. Beca scrambled to her feet as well, struggling a little in her heels.

“What are you doing out here?” Chicago spat, glaring at Chloe. “And what’s that ugly thing you’re wearing?”

“If you mean my jacket—” Beca started angrily, then stopped as soon as Chicago’s dark eyes seared into her. She wasn’t scared of him, exactly, but he was taller than her and a lot bigger. She hesitated.

Just then, one of the main doors burst open again and Jesse came tumbling outside, eyes wild. Relief shone in his face when he saw Beca, only for him to tense when he realized Chicago was between him and her. It made Beca feel better, having him here, but she didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Go away, weirdo. This isn’t any of your business,” Chicago said, glancing back at him before looking at Chloe again. “I asked what you’re doing.”

“I’m getting away from you,” Chloe fired back angrily.

“What?” Chicago’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been acting like a pig all night.”

“Oh, ‘cuz… ‘cuz of what I said back there?” Chicago stepped closer, his voice turning soft. His eyes flicked to Beca and away, as if he was hoping she’d go away. “Come on, babe… it’s prom night.”

Chloe stilled dangerously. Beca wasn’t sure she was even breathing.

Chicago shrugged, putting on what he probably thought was a winning smile. “Don’t you wanna… you know… for prom? It’s prom, babe. We gotta. Come back to my house and I can show you—”

Chloe stepped back, her face filled with disgust. “I’ve never wanted anything less in my entire life. Get away from me.”

Chicago’s face contorted into an ugly glare. “You little… you’re gonna regret that.”

He moved toward Chloe, and both Beca and Jesse lunged for him; Chloe got there first. She slapped him across the face so hard that the noise of it echoed around them. Chicago staggered backward, groaning and clutching his cheek.

Beca could only stare at Chloe, beyond impressed.

But Chloe wasn't done. “Stay away from me,” she said, her voice deathly cold. “I mean it.”

With one more glare at her, his cheek flaming red from her slap, Chicago stomped away, headed for the football field to nurse his shattered pride.

“Yeah, go kick a football or something!” Jesse shouted after him. Beca rolled her eyes.

Chloe was still standing ramrod straight, staring in the direction Chicago had disappeared in. Beca tentatively moved closer to her.

“That was pretty badass,” she said, bringing Chloe’s attention to her. “Your hand okay?”

Chloe looked down at her palm as if she’d forgotten what she’d done. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Good,” Beca breathed, then shifted her weight. “So, uh, you were saying something. Earlier,” she added when Chloe looked confused.

Chloe’s expression cleared. “Oh, um, right,” she muttered, glancing toward Jesse.

Thankfully, Jesse got the hint; with an extremely not-subtle thumbs up to Beca, he turned and went back inside.

“Sorry about him,” Beca felt the need to apologize. “He’s seen too many movies.”

The ghost of a smile played around Chloe’s lips. “It’s okay. Um, I was gonna say… well, would you wanna, maybe, study together sometime?”

Beca blinked. As far as she knew, Chloe was a straight-A student. “For bio?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“But aren’t you, like, really good at that? Do you need a tutor? Because I’m really not—”

“Beca.”

“—good at biology at all, I’m only taking the AP class because—”

“Beca!” Chloe laughed, putting her hands up. “I’m trying to ask you on a date,” she said softly, shaking her head with what Beca really, really hoped was affection and not pity for her obtuseness.

“Oh!” Beca said. “Oh, you mean, like—with me.”

“Yes, with you. A study… date. Thing. A date,” Chloe finished, her cheeks turning a little pink.

Beca wanted to cheer, or maybe run back into the prom and shout to everyone: “Chloe Beale asked me out! Take that, losers!” But that would be immature and would probably make Chloe change her mind. So she took a deep breath. “I—yeah! Definitely! Let’s do it. That would be cool.”

“Totes. Um, I’ll text you?”

“Sure, let me get my…” Beca trailed off, realizing her phone is in her jacket pocket. The jacket that Chloe still had draped over her.

“I got it,” Chloe said, pulling her phone out of a dress pocket and wiggling her eyebrows. “My dress has pockets,” she said unnecessarily, handing the phone to Beca.

Beca didn’t know what to say to that, so instead she punched her number into Chloe’s phone and handed it back. “Do you wanna, maybe… go dance inside?” she asked, drawing courage from deep within.

“Definitely,” Chloe smiled, and Beca wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

They walked back into the school, dropping Beca’s jacket at coat-check again before re-entering the sweltering gym. Beca looked around for Jesse, so she could explain why he no longer has a dance partner.

“He’s there,” Chloe said, pointing to a corner, where Jesse and—Beca did a double-take—Aubrey were dancing together slowly.

Beca couldn’t contain the smile that broke over her face, and she led Chloe onto the dance floor.

Hmm. Maybe there’s something to movie-type endings after all.

[thedyingmoon]

💜 This I Promise 💜

***

XLVIII. Angel

***

It appeared that it would be the most memorable evening in (F/N)’s life.

Well, both memorable and taxing.

Not a few minutes had passed after entering the Reiss mansion when people’s eyes began wandering towards her and her escort, Erwin. Yes, they were talking a lot, their subject particularly focused on Erwin Smith’s former military title and how a debutante could benefit from it. But, their sole purpose for wagging their tongues was the fact that the most desirable bachelor of the evening had a partner and a potential fiancée already.

So, hesitant as they may, they removed the former Commander on their lists of potential grooms. And it left them focusing on the second entry of their own list, Levi Ackerman, Captain of the Scouting Legion, and rumored to be still single.

Problem was, no one could find him. Some even said that he skipped the event, altogether.

Had they looked and observed in the proper way, they would definitely learn that the Captain in question was disguised underneath false golden locks and a fancy dark suit. And the only ones who were aware of his façade were his footman, his attendant, his valet, and his partner. Particularly his partner, yes.

Levi raised an eyebrow, observing the crowd of blushing ninnies who started gathering at one particular area of the vast room, yapping their whole tongues away.

“What in the world is that all about?” he whispered to no one in particular.

“I’m not sure, Captain Levi. Maybe someone popular?” his partner whispered back.

Levi snapped his eyes at his partner and squeezed the person’s left hand, which was held unto his right arm.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that in here?” he warned savagely. “Didn’t Hange also teach you how to moderate your voice, eh brat?”

The brat’s captivating teal eyes widened in fear at his superior. He nodded quickly so as not to piss Levi off even more.

“Good.” Levi whispered and refocused his gaze on the crowd. “I hope we’re clear.”

“Yes, Si – my love. Yes, my love.” His partner said in a small voice imitating a female’s.

Levi nodded in response and satisfaction. He was about to scan the crowd for traces of either (F/N) or Erwin when he suddenly felt dagger gazes directed at his back. He slightly turned and noticed Jean, who was dressed as a valet, stopping Mikasa, who was disguised as the footman, from attacking Levi due to her utter jealousy towards him. At the corner of his eye, he could see how Jean mouthed the words, I apologize towards him for the gloomy brat’s behavior and tried very hard to reason with her. Levi just rolled his eyes, thinking that it was their own stupid idea in the first place.

Well, not exactly their idea, but the one who was dressed as their attendant for the evening.

“Don’t forget your rose, Sir.” The bespectacled attendant muttered mandatorily while pinning a violet rose unto the left side of his finely tailored jacket.

Levi let Hange do her thing and not be obvious, but Eren’s nervousness was starting to really get on his nerves.

Hange smiled and gently dabbed at Eren’s face with a pure, white handkerchief.

“A lady must not get nervous too much, Miss Baxter.” She told Eren. “Look at you, your sweat is beginning to mess up my three hours of vain sacrifice.”

“Well, you decided to put on that makeup and gown unto Jackie.” Levi sarcastically muttered.

Hange smiled devilishly and closed her eyes.

“Everything was done in perfect balance in accordance with the event.” She told him.

“I didn’t know that drawing the short stick could be considered fair.” Levi retorted.

“Let me rearrange that for you, Sir,…” Hange said and went closer towards him in a gesture of fixing his rose. “You should be thankful, shorty.” She whispered carefully to him. “Who do you want to be your Jacqueline for this evening? Mikasa? You both hate each other, remember?”

“I don’t fucking care who gets the role of Jacqueline! Not today, not tomorrow, not in a million times!” he argued back. “You all suck at it!”

“Well, you don’t exactly fit the role of Elvis, because he’s much taller!”

“Guys, guys!” Eren whispered to the both of them, gesturing towards the group of musicians from the large platform at the other end of the room. “It’s starting!”

Levi and Hange stopped arguing at once and diverted their attentions towards the platform.

Slowly, a man in his mid – fifties emerged from a corner and stepped unto the platform, taking his place among the musicians. A man they assumed to be the noble, Rod Reiss, himself.

(F/N) clutched unto Erwin’s right arm tighter than before, making the man turn towards her. He gently clasped her left hand. She looked up at him and was met with soft, blue eyes.

“Are you nervous?” he whispered.

(F/N) just nodded, unable to trust her own voice.

Who wouldn’t be, when the noble who owned the mansion and was the host of the Winter Season ball just casually asked you to lead the first dance?

(F/N) knew that she studied waltz to death for this very event. But, nothing did prepare her for the actual thing. And she was so nervous, she almost wanted the glimmering marble floor to swallow her whole. Not to mention the looks she received from other debutantes. Yes, they were all younger and more beautiful than her, that she instantly felt that she didn’t belong there. And that made her even more insecure and nervous.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, (F/N).” Erwin whispered to her ear, sending chills down her spine, but it was a good kind of chill.

“Y-you must be making me comfortable so that I would not make a mess of both of us in the dancefloor, Mr. Smith.”

“I never lie.” He replied, his hand shifting position and making its way towards the small of her back, supporting her gently. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Meanwhile, Levi and Eren observed as the man cleared his throat once more. He began with his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the,…”

And on he talked and talked, making almost everyone drowsy, including Eren, who was not really used to long, boring talks. A few more minutes of endurance challenge and the noble finally ended his speech, but not before announcing something about the invited couple who was going to lead to first dance.

At his signal, the musicians struck the first notes of the waltz. Levi and Eren looked all over the place for the mentioned couple. And as Eren turned, he found them. His eyes widened in surprise at what he saw. He tugged at Levi’s arm, gesturing for him to look at the couple. He looked down at him and noticed that Levi was already staring, particularly at the lady in Erwin’s arms.

Who could blame him and anybody else in the room? For before all of them waltzed a dark angel, moving very fluidly and gracefully with the tall, blonde man. Yes, she was not wearing the traditional Winter Season gown of white, gold, or pastel, but her garb of simple black dress that went down her legs in a flowing, graceful manner swept the glamorous dancefloor like a black tidal wave that covered everything in darkness. The simple garb, itself, brought attention to her tiny waist, hugging it along with a golden chain that swayed along with the princess who wore them. The man who supported her endearingly held her slender, black – laced, gloved hand. However, not only her dark opera gloves caught the attention of the men and women around her. Her low neckline, which defied the norm of Winter Season debutantes wearing cowl – necked, or high – necked, styled gowns which portrayed ancient princesses, clearly managed to draw everyone's attention towards her long and graceful neck and that picturesque collar bone of hers, not to mention the almost porcelain glow of her skin, which contrasted against her dark outfit. She may not be wearing a tiara just like other debutantes, but her simple golden necklace with dark red rubies in it outshone even the most expensive of all the jewelry worn by the evening’s madams and mademoiselles. And most especially, instead of wearing her hair in a beehive, she simply have it free and flowing unrestrainedly.

In other words, the most beautiful person Levi had ever seen in his entire, pathetic life.

And that person was no other than (F/N), herself.

Eren almost went out of his character as Jacqueline upon watching (F/N) dance with eyes full of complete admiration, so he just looked at Levi to see his reaction. And what he saw on the short Captain’s face threw him into total confusion, for he couldn’t believe that the man could be capable of endearing emotions, after all.

Basically, it was the first time that Eren had seen Levi in such a state of awe. He was clearly smitten, like he really had fallen in love with (F/N),…

All of a sudden, Eren saw something dark invade Levi’s blue eyes. He saw the smile in the man’s face change into that of a frown of disappointment. The boy looked back at the dancefloor and noticed how Erwin looked at her. How he AND (F/N) looked at each other.

It was as if they were both in love,…

The second phrase of the music brought all the other couples on the dancefloor. Jean and Mikasa nodded towards them and went unto their designated positions to spy on the nobles. Hange simply tapped Levi on the shoulder and went towards the direction of the musicians. Eren refocused his gaze unto the dancefloor, starting to forget all the dance moves he learned from Hange. He gulped and started sweating hard again.

“Let’s go.” Said Levi in a monotonous  tone, tugging at his left, white – gloved hand. “And don’t step on me. Got that, brat?”

“U-understood.” Eren muttered and let himself be guided by Levi smoothly towards the dancefloor for their very first dance ever, his pure, white skirts flowing dramatically as the two men danced the romantic steps of Waltz together,…

***

“This is outrageous.” One seamstress announced that afternoon to her colleagues. “How can we make a dress in such a short period of time?”

“We just do what Lord Shunerman suggested.” The Head Seamstress replied. “We just keep it black and simple.”

“How do make something black and simple for the Winter Season?!” one seamstress argued.

“The event IS Winter Season! Not frigging Masquerade!”

“We will be betraying Mr. Smith with this, you know that, madam.” Another pleaded.

The Head Seamstress contemplated for a while, her hand on her chin, her brows furrowed.

“If we force the miss to wear our design, she might go down in a hysteria once more. That, we must avoid, or no Winter Season for both her and the Commander. And that is totally out of the question.”

“What do we do?”

“We have no choice.” Their leader announced. “We follow Lord Shunerman’s advice.”

“You know you’ll be tampering with age – old traditions here, madame.”

“I know.” She said as she took out her sketchbook. “But, do we have a choice? Isn’t our motto to please our customers, and not plague them?”

Her colleagues didn’t say a word, showing their reluctant compliance.

“So, it’s time to get back to work,…” she told them with a clap of her calloused hands.

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @nerdyphantomlady , @unhappysap , @shewolfofficial , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***

[famous-aces]

Meriwether Lewis

Who: Meriwether Lewis

What: Explorer, Soldier, Politician, Civil Servant

Where: American, active in what is now the US

When: August 18, 1774 - October 11, 1809

(Image Description: a portrait of Lewis from circa 1807 by Charles Willson Peale. It shows Lewis, a white man with a narrow face, from the chest up. He has an aquiline nose, short gray hair, a slight cleft in his chin, doll-like lips, and bright gray eyes. He has a high collared shirt on or else has an ascot wrapped around his neck and a black jacket or coat over it. End ID)

You know this guy, or at the very least you have heard of him. Maybe you don't know him for his military or political careers but you have almost certainly heard of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. This is that Lewis.

The mission was originally called Corps of Discovery Expedition and it was the first American exploration of the North American West. The journey was commissioned by Thomas Jefferson after the Louisiana Purchase and lasted between 1804 and 1806. The entourage of roughly 48 explored some 8,000 miles, traveling from near St. Louis, Missouri to near what is now Astoria, Oregon (St. Charles to Fort Clatsop) and back again.  After the Corps of Discovery gained fame it became better known by the names of its two official commanders, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.

This journey took them all the way to the Pacific Ocean and was key in US expansion (sorry about that).  Lewis and Clark documented and charted everything they found, Lewis extensively in his diaries. They had many adventures, but the story that has stood out most in my mind about Lewis was that on June 29, 1805 when they were hit and battered by a sudden intense hailstorm Lewis simply grabbed one. After they measured and weighed it ("7 Inches in Surcumference [circumference] and weighed 3 ouncs [ounces]") Lewis had a unique solution for disposing of his sample "Cap. Lewis made a bowl of Ice punch".

The expedition interacted, and tended to have decent relationships with, the 50+ Native American tribes they encountered, including the Newe (Shoshone), Hiraacá (Hidatsa), Očhéthi Šakówiŋ (Sioux) (the one group that really didn't like the explorers), Siksikaitsitapi (Blackfoot), among others. Lewis and Clark also employed Sacagawea, a Shoshone teenager, as their translator. She was the only reason any of them survived the exploration and she did all of it with her infant son strapped to her back.  Although Lewis has a changeable relationship with Sacagawea he did demand she be given equal vote in the group's decision making process, along with Clark's Black slave, York.

The Lewis and Clark expedition brought back loads of new information about what would become the United States.

Before his time as the head of the Corps of Discovery Lewis served in the military and worked directly with President Jefferson. Lewis's military career began helping put down the Whiskey Rebellion in Virginia. In 1800 he rose to the rank of Captain in the US Army.  In 1801 he became personal secretary to Thomas Jefferson shortly after Jefferson became president. Because Jefferson knew he "was brave, prudent, habituated to the woods & familiar with Indian manners and character" Lewis was chosen to help head the vitally important expedition that now bears his name.

After the mission was done he was appointed Governor of the Louisiana Territory, in 1807.

(Image Description: a faded map drawn by Lewis and Clark during their expedition.  End ID)

Probable Orientation: Aroace

Lewis is another member of the No Partners, Not Married, No Kids club.

Lewis has some pecululars, however. He did attempt to woo women, but very badly. Women were ultimately repelled by him.  I argue it is because it became clear to his would-be-love interests that he wasn't actually interested in them. He was doing what he assumed was natural (like John Ruskin) and was actually noticeably uncomfortable flirting.

He also had the reputation for being a bit of a dandy, recent scholarship has indicated that many dandies might have identified as what we now call asexual; the queer subculture was not divided up as it is today, after all. So this might be further indication of Lewis's queerness (although it is not definitive by any means, there were cishet dandies).

Lewis was not interested in the bodies of men or women. In his diaries he voices disdain for the nakedness of some Native Americans they encountered. He writes vaguely of the attractiveness of women and being "determined to get a wife.". But it is not for any particular women or even particular traits, it is attractiveness of women not his attraction to them. His desire for a wife seems to be solely to have a wife. Probably because that was what was proper and Lewis was largely a proper, if foppish, gentleman. He was a man of class, rank, and importance. He should fit in.

His diaries are extremely extensive and were not seen in their entirety until after his death. Even in his private journals there is no hint of sexual or romantic desire for anyone.

Notably there are no sexual exploits that were used against him during his political career.  He was not necessarily well-liked and had enemies and rivals: if he had a sexual or romantic inclination toward men or if he had some kind of mistress or bastard child someone would have used the indecency against him.

Ultimately Lewis killed himself, depression, unfortunately, often affects aspecs, indeed more so than any other sexual minority, probably at least in part because we lack support. It is Lewis could not stand the isolation anymore. Depression is an extremely serious issue and if you are feeling suicidal reach out for help.

"[He would remain a] musty, fusty, rusty old bachelor.”

-Meriwether Lewis in his journal after striking out again.

(Image Description: A drawing of Lewis during the exploration. He is shown holding an enormous shotgun with one hand and the other hand on his hip. He is wearing a raccoon hat, leather or hide clothes with fringes on the arms, and leather shoes. Over his shoulders he is wearing some kind of decorative shawl or wrap kind of thing. It is black and white and fringed and hangs to his knees. End ID.)

[nicolamalfi]

“The Long Road Home: A Survival Story”

// After three years, here is the thorough 3,889 word summary of my magnum opus story. Parts I - III are completed and can be found here: I, II, III. I feel that this definitely isn’t the same quality as the actual story, but at least it conveys everything! There is a TL;DR at the very bottom.

Part I: Survival

After throwing himself between a dear friend and the blade of an enemy, Nicol is presumed dead and the broken Blitz is left half-submerged off an island near Orb, fodder for scavengers. Three brothers under the guise of a fishing crew find the mobile suit a few days later. They eagerly cut into the cockpit—the Blue Cosmos chapter in the Equatorial Union capital of New Delhi offers a fine reward for any ranking ZAFT soldiers taken alive—and attempt to strip the mobile suit of whatever materials they can.

They cut open the hatch and find Nicol alive but barely conscious. He's up to his waist in water and pinned in where the cockpit has crushed inward around his right leg. They're not sure what a red suit means but it's out of the ordinary, so after a brief moment’s consideration they use the same power saw to cut through his leg, just above the knee, and pull him free.

Nicol survives the journey west and is taken to the brothers’ home in the Equatorial Union. There he is allowed to begin recovering under the pretence that the brothers had rescued him from the goodness of their hearts. The eldest, Bayani, is the only one who ever speaks to him. Nicol doesn’t remember their first encounter, but he still doesn’t trust these strangers.

His suspicions are confirmed one afternoon when the brothers take him to a beach to supposedly practice walking with a new crutch. Their behavior becomes increasingly erratic until, at the sound of an approaching boat, they admit their true motives. Nicol manages to escape before the boat arrives to take him away, killing Bayani and wounding the other two in the process. He retreats into a jungle and begins walking south, towards the PLANT-aligned Oceania Union.

Nicol stows away aboard ships heading south. He lives on produce swiped from markets and the donations of curious children who see him as a poor young vagabond. Despite keeping the hood of a stolen jacket drawn up at almost all times, Nicol decides that it’s best to cut his obvious Coordinator hair short.

A captain named Isko spots Nicol in Luwuk and offers him a small cabin and passage as far south as Dili, in the state of East Timor. Nicol is suspicious, but he accepts the offer. He later realises that the captain and his wife are simply good-hearted people and regrets his initial wariness.

Alone in his cabin, Nicol faces a mirror and feels disconnected from the unfamiliar reflection. Gaunt, deeply tanned, hair cut short…When he looks down to inspect his healing leg, the physical and emotional toll of the past few weeks causes him to black out and fall into the shower. He strikes the shower lever on the way down, and the water that hits his unconscious body inspires dreams of dark waves and dead faces.

Eventually he wakes and finds that he is still on the ship.

Part II: The Twins

Captain Isko drops Nicol off in Dili with a few kind words and a bag of food. It has been roughly one month since the battle, and Nicol feels almost peaceful as he eats his warm lunch in a shady spot across from a beach dotted with happy families. The war doesn’t seem to exist in this place.

A group of locals walk past, but a young man a few years older than Nicol pauses and catches his gaze. Nicol quickly prepares to leave, but the stranger has already hopped into the street and offered assistance. The cheerful man takes Nicol’s silence as an invitation to keep talking. His ready smile and memories of Captain Isko’s kindness convince Nicol to go against his instinct to run.

The stranger introduces himself as Alan. He leads Nicol to a dirt car park where his twin sister Ain is waiting in an old truck. The twins banter for a bit before they set off for their house. The radio is broken, so they talk to pass the time. About the island, the earth, themselves.

Nicol tells his story for the first time. The twins are surprisingly unbothered by his past as a soldier, and a ZAFT one at that. They’re mostly curious about life in space, and as Equatorial Union citizens they provide additional context for the actions of Bayani and his brothers.

They arrive at a white house set between two green hills. There are signs of disrepair and neglect; Ain later reveals that their mother has passed away and their father is away caring for family on another island. The twins insist that Nicol should receive some medical attention, but because the local clinic has already closed for the day they make do with what they have at the house.

Ain takes care of checking on Nicol’s leg and gives him some of Alan’s clothes to wear. She then starts preparing some chicken soup, but Alan keeps making innocent jokes about Coordinators so she throws a chunk of raw chicken that hits him square in the mouth. Nicol retreats to the back yard as they begin to fight, though he soon hears the tension dissolve into laughter.

After a while, Ain pokes her head out the back door and announces that dinner is ready. The table is set, the food is hot. Nicol is struck by how ordinary it all looks, and how deprived he has felt of such simple things. Alan misinterprets Nicol’s expression as one of judgement, because surely someone from space is used to fancier displays. Suddenly embarrassed by their home, Alan quietly asks if it isn’t too bad. Nicol smiles and tells him that it’s perfect.

Part III: Firelight

Four months have now passed since the battle. The trio spends an afternoon at the beach, and as the sun sets they build a fire to cook some dinner. Ain has to return to the truck for supplies, leaving the boys alone for a while. Alan is a bit unnerved when he sees Nicol looking up at the sky, as he fears that Nicol is unhappy or wants to leave them. Over the past three months the twins—and their community—have come to see the erstwhile soldier as part of the family.

Nicol says that he's not sure why he looks up anymore, since the PLANTs (he doesn't say “home”) feel farther away each day.

Ain returns with a plate stacked with foil-wrapped sweet potatoes. She asks if everything is alright, to which Alan responds with a snort and a string of Portuguese. This doesn’t fool Nicol anymore. After three months in Dili he is nearly fluent in Portuguese and has working knowledge of Tetun-Prasa. There are other languages on the island as well, especially after the creation of the Equatorial Union, so he also knows a word of Tetun-Terik here and Indonesian there, and enough Galoli to order breakfast.

They talk a bit more, but Alan is soon distracted by a seagull that alights nearby. He scrambles up and chases it down the beach. With Alan gone, Ain gives Nicol a stern yet maternal glare until he admits what’s really bothering him. He reveals his fear of no longer hurting enough at the separation, of becoming complacent and losing touch with his past self.

“I can’t give up on everyone, but short of rowing myself to Carpentaria, which is impossible, I can’t think of what to do. And I think about it every day.” He paused. “Or at least I used to. It’s so easy to live like the war doesn’t even exist here. And that’s what scares me. Am I…” He looked back up to Ain as his voice tightened. “Am I giving up on everyone?” 

“You can’t live torn in two,” she tells him. Maybe what he feels is a sense of closure, growing slowly and tenderly like scar tissue across a wound. If his life has led him to Dili, then maybe he should accept that. “And if the people in our pasts truly loved us, they would want us to be happy and continue on. Even if it’s without them.”

He can’t help but feel that she’s right. Everyone he knew must be coming to terms with his absence, so maybe he should accept theirs and continue along his new path. For so long it felt more like a dark river, pushing him along and under until he suddenly found solid ground on a small island. That was when Alan appeared, there under the blazing blue sky, hand outstretched.

Ain gives Nicol’s hands a squeeze to draw him back from his thoughts as Alan returns. The sky has fallen into night by now, and their small campfire is the only light between them and the constellations. The three friends laugh and eat and talk long into the night. The waves come and go in the darkness, eroding and rebuilding.

Part IV: Event Horizon

The trio spends one Saturday morning working for a local farm by making deliveries to restaurants and an outdoor market. When they reach the market square Ain runs ahead to get them breakfast, leaving the boys to do the heavy lifting. By now Nicol has a 3D printed prosthesis (with custom decorations by Alan) and putting it on is beginning to feel as normal as dressing in his ZAFT uniform once did. They pass familiar faces in the crowded market, though the appearance of an old friend of the twins throws the day into disarray. Alan is ecstatic; Ain is furious.

Later that evening, the twins’ friend Yasir appears at the door bearing a peace offering: brownies, Ain’s favourite dessert. It doesn’t go over well, but he is eventually allowed in the door. Alan properly introduces him to Nicol while Ain putters around angrily in the next room. Yasir is the tallest of them, with a gentle demeanour and a habit of gesturing as he speaks. Nicol learns that he used to live nearby, but he left at the start of the war to join a water rescue group called the Cormorants.

The group originally saved fishermen and boaters, but with the onset of war they began plucking soldiers from ships, planes, and mobile suits downed in the waters around the Equatorial Union. They are non-aligned, with Coordinators working alongside Naturals to save lives. Yasir reveals that he himself is a Coordinator.

Nicol retells his story, which comes more easily now. After a moment of silence Yasir offhandedly states that the Cormorants would have been able to get him into the Oceania Union with little difficulty. The conversation quickly moves on to other topics, but Nicol remains silent, confused at how deeply Yasir’s words struck him. He’s happy here. These are his friends—truer than the members of the Le Creuset Team ever were. This place feels like home. So what is the painful flicker of hope in his chest?

As Yasir leaves, Nicol catches him at the door and quietly asks what he meant about getting into the Oceania Union. Unfortunately, that is no longer an option, as the Cormorant leadership recently underwent a shakeup and their contacts are gone. The revelation that crossing into the Oceania Union was once possible eats at Nicol for days, and his mind once again turns to thoughts of reaching Carpentaria.

Alan and Ain notice that he has become distracted and seems burdened, despite the cheerful face he wears for them. They confront Yasir to find out what he told Nicol that night.

On September 20, Nicol comes home from his part-time job at a restaurant and finds Alan, Ain, and Yasir sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. As he sits, Ain confidently says that they’re going to get him home. They can tell that he’s in pain, and as his adopted earth family it’s their duty to do what’s best for him, even if it means that their paths will diverge.

Yasir explains how he was able to re-establish contact with one of their contacts in the Oceania Union—a member of the Junk Guild. But there’s a catch: their window of opportunity is in four days. He also shares news that the ZAFT base of Carpentaria fell to the Earth Alliance more than a month earlier.

The plan is for them to travel on a boat operated by Yasir’s Cormorant team and meet up with their contact at the border. From there Nicol will be taken into the Oceania Union and dropped off at a PLANT embassy.

Nicol immediately refuses.

The twins ignore him. They will stick together and see the mission through. The fact that they casually call it a ‘mission’ makes Nicol stand and leave the table. It could be dangerous. They aren’t soldiers. But Alan insists that they’re family, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Yasir says that he’s against it, but the crossing is calm at the moment so it shouldn’t be too dangerous.

Yasir gives them one day to decide. After many tears and hours spent sitting on the bench where Nicol and Alan first met months before, they agree to attempt it. The next two days are spent preparing and saying goodbye to the island. As the morning of the fourth day arrives, Nicol feels ill as they hurry out the door. His life is still neatly organised in the spare bedroom, as if he’ll return to it that afternoon.

Part V: Dark Water

The boat is manned by two additional Cormorant members who cheerfully greet the trio and assure them that the route is calm. It’s just another day of work for them. One attempts to make conversation by asking Nicol if he’s heard about what happened at Boaz the day before. The ZAFT base was destroyed, and the prevailing rumour is that the attack was nuclear.

After a few uneventful hours, one of the Cormorants spots an EA plane coming from the east. Its presence is troubling; the crew talk amongst themselves while their passengers stare up at the sky. It’s decided that they should stop at an uninhabited atoll known as Bedwell Island until the scout returns to the captured Carpentaria base. The Cormorants are generally allowed to travel unmolested, but they don’t want to risk being caught in anything.  

They wait on the island for an hour then set out again. Words are lost and nerves are taut as their destination takes shape on the horizon. Then from the west, with the sunset spilling red behind it, appears an Oceania Union flotilla accompanied by at least one Vosgulov-class submarine that slips below the water before Nicol can be sure he truly saw it.

OMNI ships begin to take shape off to the east.

There is nowhere to go but forward. The Cormorants’ small boat speeds across water limned in vivid sunset orange, racing towards the coastline and out of the line of fire. Suddenly the ocean in front of them erupts as the Vosgulov-class launches an aerial mobile suit with a roar that sends everyone to their knees. Stinging sea spray rains down and agitated waves push the boat back towards the impending conflict.

The Cormorants fight for control, but they are caught in the battle and capsized by the wake of an Oceania Union warship. As the last light fades, Nicol sees Alan go under. Ain is clinging to hull and shouting something. Yasir is swimming towards her. Where are the other Cormorants—they don’t matter, he has to find Alan. The deafening cannonade continues. Another DINN swoops low overhead and the gale drags Nicol farther away. He swims. He swims. The wake of another warship sends more dark water crashing down, and from beneath its surface he can see the flash of violent lights in the sky.

A lifetime ago dark water crept into the Blitz’s cockpit, cold and inescapable, and from there it swept into his dreams. But his friends burned that darkness away. Now they are gone and the waves are back. Nicol can’t move, can’t fight the ocean.

Part VI: Gravity

He’s moving, but no longer weightless in the water. Before he can think, the sensation of being dragged triggers some deeply guarded memory and he panics, flailing at the hands that grip his shoulders. The stranger, a woman, drops him roughly and delivers a hard slap to his face. Nicol goes still and attempts to gather his wits. While hurrying him to a nearby car, she impatiently confirms that her name is Ellis and she’s a friend of Yasir’s from the Junk Guild.

As she begins to drive away from the shore Nicol demands that they go back and look for everyone else. Ellis nonchalantly says that the Cormorants will take care of them, and that everything they did was to get him there, so to go back and miss his opportunity would make it all in vain. They had a deadline. It was a small miracle that he had drifted somewhat close to their meeting point. Nicol stares out the window as it begins to rain.

Ellis explains that they first thought of going to the PLANT embassy, but after recent events in Carpentaria they decided to take him to the Giga-Float mass driver, which is only nearby for another day. She passes him off to another contact in the town of Carnarvon, but before she leaves she softens for a moment to say that she’ll contact Yasir to make sure that they’re alright, though she can’t guarantee anything. In a moment of desperation Nicol gives her his aunt’s contact information in Quintilis Two. Hopefully she won’t connect Ciana Amalfi to his father on the Supreme Council.

The new Junk Guild member is much friendlier and buys them both sandwiches  before they grab a quick RIB to the Giga Float. He escorts Nicol onto the mass driver, introducing him to staff as a nephew going to visit family in Copernicus.

Nicol has never been on a mass driver before. There are rows of sturdy seats with seven-point harnesses and small windows; it’s thoroughly utilitarian, more reminiscent of something military than civilian. He takes a seat and stares out a window, feeling hollow and beyond tired.

He seems to hallucinate a journey back to the house in Dili, where he finds Ain alone. He follows her as she walks to a room that he never saw opened—it belonged to her parents. Alan is nowhere to be seen, and it slowly dawns upon Nicol that Alan didn’t make it back from the crossing. Ain can’t hear Nicol as he calls out to her, can’t feel him as he tries to grab her arm when she lifts a canister of gasoline. She lights a match and Nicol is thrown back into his body as the vehicle hurtles along the length of the electromagnetic catapult.

Copernicus is neutral, so he seeks out a representative office and frankly states who he is and how he came to be there. They don’t believe him at first, but his biometric identifiers match their records. This earns him a quick shuttle to Aprilius One, which is cancelled due to the outbreak of the Second Battle of Jachin Due on September 26th. He’s stranded in Copernicus as the war reaches its climax. He attempts to contact his parents but no one answers and he fears the worst. Eventually the messages are checked by his mother, who immediately goes to where Yuri is at the Supreme Council and tells him.

Part VII: Endings and Beginnings

Due to the recent cessation of hostilities, it takes a few days before they can arrange a shuttle. He doesn’t know how to feel—space no longer feels like home in his heart. He betrayed his friends to get there. What if they died for his selfish wish? His parents usher him into a car and go straight to their home, though after a few days it’s decided that their estate on Maius Three would be a more restorative setting.

Doctors come and go. They diagnose him with PTSD and quickly get to work using biological 3D printing technology to generate a new limb without even asking if he wants the procedure. Nicol goes through with it, more to make his parents happy than for himself. Days pass slowly until he gets a call from his aunt on Quintilis Two about a message. He’s suddenly full of energy and begs to be allowed on a shuttle to visit his aunt. His parents agree hesitantly, though they contact his aunt Ciana to let her know their interpretations of what he’s been through.

After he arrives, Ciana leaves him alone in her living room to watch the video message from earth. Already aware of the video’s content, she returns a short while later with a pair of mugs filled with hot chocolate and finds Nicol kneeling on the floor, bent close to his legs with his arms drawn in, trying to disappear and shaking softly.

She sets the tray down on the floor and sits down a safe distance away. After a period of silence, she begins to talk wistfully about what she misses most about earth: the sky. You never see the same clouds, the same colours. Does he remember when she taught him about the different types of clouds? There is a faint nod. Does he remember her favourite kind? He clears his throat and answers, “the night ones,” his voice tight.

She nods and shifts closer. “That’s right,” she says while gently stroking his shoulders. “Noctilucent clouds, some of the rarest and highest there are, and also the most beautiful. But they’re brief, and you can only see them after the sun sets. Sometimes that’s how life is—when things turn dark, something bright and beautiful appears. But they’re fleeting and not meant for us to hold on to. I don’t know where you went, what you experienced, but you found your light in the dark and now that it’s gone-”

Nicol interrupts her to miserably point out that his friends weren’t clouds. His aunt chuckles softly and pats his head; at least he was talking now. He ends up staying with her for several weeks. At one point he is finally required to submit a statement to ZAFT officials about his whereabouts for the six months between his presumed death and sudden return. The story feels like a physical thing unfurling from his chest, too large for the room.

He returns home in December, emotionally sore but well on his way to healing. The light given by his friends had never disappeared, it was there glowing warmly in his heart, illuminating a new path.

He re-establishes contact with remaining members of the Le Creuset Team, though he carries himself with more confidence than before. In CE 73 he works as a liaison between the Equatorial Union and the PLANT Supreme Council and promotes an improved relationship between the two.

One suggested therapy method was to compose music inspired by his experiences, and after two years he finally feels that it’s complete.

He finally has a proper concert.

Epilogue: Destiny

After the fall of Junius Seven, Nicol returns to earth as a member of the humanitarian envoy to the Equatorial Union. He remains there for the duration of the war. 

TL;DR

Nicol is literally cut from the Blitz by human traffickers but he escapes and makes his way to East Timor, where he befriends two siblings and starts a new life. Five months later a new way home appears and the twins insist that he go for it. They try to help but they’re caught in a battle and separated. One twin is killed and the other is so distraught that she commits suicide. The Junk Guild helps Nicol get on a mass driver and return to space. Long emotional recovery. Gets better, has a proper concert, returns to earth to help after Junius Seven falls.

[fbmajor]

This is Aeryn. She’s pretty cool. That’s... really all there is to say on the matter. The world that she hails from isn’t really built yet, so it’s actually a bit odd that I drew her, but that’s that.

Of course, it has become a tradition in this blog to rant for an excessively long time on every post, and I don’t plan on breaking that just yet. Buckle up, this is going to be a long one, so long that I’m not going to grammar check it.

There’s a lot of interesting stuff behind the scenes of creating this. For starters, I drew in portrait instead of landscape, which really only makes the actual drawing a little bigger, but it ended up confusing the hell out of me when it came to drawing things at a reasonable scale. I think the end result, as is usually the case with my drawings of people (which is all of them at the moment, barring that one logo I did for Graft Theory a while back), has a somewhat large head and short body. But that’s alright, as anyone that knows me will know that I have a fondness for short people, and I haven’t actually decided Aeryn’s height yet anyway.

She also has huge eyes, which isn’t exactly a new concept but I prefer realistically sized ones. Despite the larger scale I was drawing from by doing portrait, I really can’t draw decently shaped eyes at anything smaller than the size they are in this picture. Or rather, I can’t draw two eyes that look reasonably similar to each other and in proper place.

You’ll also notice that she isn’t shaded at all. I usually don’t scan my drawings until they’re finished completely, as the process of scanning while I’m at college involves walking all the way to the campus library and back. However, as this is essentially concept art, I’m debating coloring it as opposed to just shading it, so I wanted to get at least an outline saved somewhere so that I can look back on it fondly after I inevitably turn it into a disaster by using colored pencils.

If you haven’t used them before, accept from experience that colored pencils are really finicky to use and are difficult to use for satisfactory color fillings, particularly the darker ones and the dreaded black pencil. Unfortunately, they’re the only kind of coloring I have available to me at the moment, at least that will work reasonable well with a penciled outline. They do have their strong points, though. Because they have fine points that don’t really splatter or distort like inkpens and markers, it’s not disastrous if you screw up, and you get quite a bit of precision. The real issue is making it look good, which is just a huge pain.

On that note, pencil shading isn’t exactly easy to get right either. The problem with pencils in general is that they will make it easy to see the grain of the paper and any particles that happen to be on your table under the sheet. This doesn’t really show up in lineart but once you add area to your penciling it gets noticeable real quick. The whole lack of distortion thing I talked about earlier becomes a curse as it becomes impossible to get a fill without missing a ton of really tiny spots. You can keep drawing over it, but doing so will cause you to converge on certain levels of darkness, effectively limiting your color palette to around 8 shades, which can be annoying in complex drawings with a lot of adjacent regions.

Speaking of, this is actually one of the more complex character arts I’ve done, particularly in reference to the clothes. Due to the aforementioned difficulty with adequately shading a large cluster of regions, I generally keep clothing pretty simple. This habit is definitely because of that and not because of how difficult it is to draw clothing. Since there really isn’t anything indicating it, allow me to list the pieces of this outfit: cloak/coat, shirt, vest-like thing, skirt, whatever the female equivalent of compression shorts is, boots, and fingerless gloves. It is at this point that I will give a shoutout to a particular person whom I’ve made fun of for having a character with fingerless gloves. You know who you are. I apologize, you were right, they are pretty cool (but my character is still going to make fun of yours for them).

I’ll get back to the outfit design in a minute, as it does require some world context. Aeryn, who is probably in her late teens in this drawing, hails from the world of Graft Theory that thing I mentioned in what I believe was my first post on this blog. The idea behind the story is essentially a fantasy world where there is at least one branch of magic that works via creating graphs with magic energy, and Aeryn and the supporting cast are attempting to overthrow a magocracy. Lot’s of spywork, secret missions, etc. If I eventually get the time, equipment, and skills to create it (the plan is for it to be a comic), it should be pretty fun.

Anyway, Aeryn is a mage herself, but she is only capable of using this branch of magic that involves graph theory, for reasons that exist but I don’t feel like going into because this is already the length of an essay. Anyway, graph theory branch is kind of the joke of the mage community because it takes too long to set up for actual combat, and as a result Aeryn would have a fairly low place in the society’s magic caste system.

Alright back to her fashion. I have very little regard for fashion, male or female, so if you think her choice of clothing is retarded, you’re probably correct but you can still go fuck yourself anyway. This outfit is meant to be usable in combat, which is why it’s mostly form-fitting. The obvious exception to this rule is the cloak, which probably would be a pain in combat, but she can easily drape it around her shoulders without it falling off to allow more arm-freedom. I have a particular fondness for the coat-over-the-shoulders style, which you can see in some anime, notable examples being the captains in Bleach and the high-ranking marines in One Piece. I will admit that I do this with a jacket sometimes, which is probably the most weab-like thing I do.

The cloak was loosely based off of the Grandmaster from Fire Emblem, and will probably get more design added to it whenever I get the time to finish the drawing. The skirt is based much more strictly on the same source as the cloak. It’s pretty much a direct rip with a few modifications. I don’t know what the ring is supposed to be. I just felt like putting there thinking it might be useful. She is also carrying a dagger which is mostly concealed behind her, but if you were wondering what that little handle thing was, there you go.

I’ve always wondered about the combat feasibility of short skirts. In terms of movement, I assume that a skirt that doesn’t form a complete connected ring anywhere other than the waist would allow full freedom of movement (Though at the risk of panty shots, but in this case the compression shorts eliminate the prospect of gratuitous fanservice). I mean, the only reason we started wearing pants was so that we could ride horses. The Romans used skirts and they turned out alright. I think this outfit is actually more limited by the rope-belts than the skirt, but unfortunately I don’t wear skirts often enough to really be able to say for sure.

I don’t wear fingerless gloves either. Frankly, I don’t think there’s any real benefit to fingerless gloves, but maybe someone more experienced in the matter can let me know. Aeryn’s gloves, however, contain prewritten graphs (specifically paths, if you familiar with the lingo) that she can funnel magic into to quickly cast a spell. I would’ve written runes on them, but the gloves will probably be black and the runes lighter, so I thought it would be best if that was left to the final stages.

Her boots, while not the most difficult to draw, were the biggest pain. Look at all of those god damn holes. I was also very particular about ensuring they were laced properly, though I did screw up a few times on her right foot. This greatly displeased me as it ran counter to the vast experience of shoe-lacing I have accrued simply by playing ice hockey. I was forced to drive to the nearest hockey rink and baptize myself in melted ice to wash away the shame.

Oh man that was a long rant. But this picture took a particularly long time, so I suppose it deserves a long rant. Perhaps this rant is so long a tl;dr is warranted.

tl;dr - Her name’s Aeryn, she’s a magical spy, probably in her late teens in this drawing. Pencils suck for coloring. Her gloves are magical. She’s cool. You’re cool. Have a nice day.