#cautiously hopeful that I’ll like the second half just as much despite my opinions on first read

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Deathless Thoughts:

I only read this book in full once in 2017 and have only really paged through it a lot since. I definitely found it much more deliberate and thematically coherent this time around. I remember initially feeling like the surrealism and constant jumps ahead were disjointed but it reads very cohesively to me now. I’m very curious if that will continue past the latter 50% which I haven’t reread yet. I remember starkly disliking that portion and I have no idea if I’ll feel similarly this time around— because I already enjoyed the second act much more on reread and acknowledged its purpose, when up until now I did not lol

My initial thoughts were that the fantasy elements were too surreal to care about and that the relationship was too much of a nothing, with too little not unpleasant screen time to justify its centrality to the plot. But having read more classic surrealist Russian lit has familiarized me to the former and makes me actually understand what it’s going for. And for the latter I think I’m just more onboard with unpleasantness and abuse being the point. So currently, my perspective is almost wholly positive.

I enjoy the book’s use of its subject material— fairytales set in actual history— as many many metaphors. First folktales and fantasy specifically in the Soviet era, so rife with censorship, as a vehicle for allegory, their use and importance in literature itself being a motif. Then the metaphor for inexorable class hierarchies and unchangeable power structures before and after the revolution, the way only the branding changed, but the power structures remained. And also, most pervasively, as a way to examine gender roles and gendered loss of agency; the politics of a marriage.

I really liked the way the novel built up Koschei and how everything is about Marya’s relationship with Koschei (her relationship with agency and the lack thereof) even when he’s fairly infrequently on screen. From her sister’s bird husbands in the opening, and child Marya’s musing on the potential transformative nature of marriage— but also the inherently unequal power dynamic and resolving that she will do/be better because she knows more than they did. To the metaphor of her thinking that a secret will treat her well and then later the line where the personified secret is then likened to a husband who will be her ruin. Even that when Koschei finally shows up to take her away it’s compared to being taken away by the revolutionary government/the police.

Marya is herself highlighted for her knowledge and her desire for it. Specifically the ability to see discrepancies in the stories she is told whether that is the magical or ideological and political. The sisters in the opening marry into seemingly static unmoving snapshots of history. Meanwhile Marya’s singled out in her precociousness and open admittance of there being anything completely beyond the ideologies presented by each suitor in his human form [the power structure of the Tsarist state, and the Soviet Union]. She’s defined by wanting to see beyond dichotomies and limited scopes of propaganda. She sees it as a skill, and it is, but it’s also something that singles her out for misery, both by her peers (the scarf incident) and by the likes of Koschei who is specifically drawn to willfulness and a lack of adherence to a particular role with the intent of breaking that will.

The entire seduction segment that is turning all the food and her illness into an erotic power exchange is also just explicitly about breaking her will, and fostering perfect obedience and dependence on him. It’s also really interesting that, in going with him, she does somewhat lucidly give up and trade away her agency/ability to dictate a story/her own perspective in exchange for being physically well cared for. (But then even that is very thorny and with many strings attached)

So by part two, she is stuck in the dichotomy of “who is to rule” and either she can be a Yelena/Vasalisa or a soon-to-be Baba Yaga. Yet, either way, she is never good enough and it is still inevitably an exploitative and draining situation.

Marya being successful in her willingness to do degrading and cruel things to earn Baba Yaga’s blessing and Koschei’s favor being punctuated by all her friends— who without which she would never have succeeded at all— dying horribly illustrates that so well. In her success she is only further isolated. She will never repay their help, because being Tsaritsa of Buyan, and having any sort of power, is inherently antithetical to that.

The emphasis on Lebedeva’s girlboss magic makeup and the passage about Marya being told that girls must care only for vapid, pretty things, among other moments, might feel extremely dated. But I do think they’re intended to be employed in a way where traditional femininity presents a sort of deliberate and acknowledged safety? And it goes hand in hand with Marya, while never choosing to be a “Yelena” in traditional soft femininity, does end up choosing to try to leverage soft power and soft manipulation within deliberately gendered terms fairly often. But again it’s just presented from a very dated and particular context.

So far, the sheer dedication of the book to being an explicit Bluebeard tale and a story about abuse, and how there is no winning in that sort of relationship has been very fun for me.

I also enjoyed Koschei outright lying about the Yelenas and Vasalisas— and then later about the location of his death. I think that’s a character type you usually expect to deceive via omission but, no, he just outright lies a lot.

Another example is that Widow Likho’s book makes it clear that humans best enter into Buyan when ill, and meanwhile everything Koschei does is of course explicitly a repetition of previous stories. So it’s practically confirmed that he had taken every Yelena etc on that same long trip and made them ill on purpose. Even though in the moment he claims to be surprised by it, and spontaneous in caring for her through her illness.

Or the suggestion that he found a reason to put all the other girls in the stable when they got to Buyan as punishment for disobeying him. That the point is the punishment and breaking of the will rather than there being any sort of standard the bride could realistically meet where he would be happy with her and welcome her to her new home without that initial humiliation and fear.

It’s also incredibly funny and refreshing that this book buys into Koschei’s nonsense way less than any of its subsequent imitators. (The Grisha trilogy included!) I enjoyed Baba Yaga being like “Why is everything black, stop being dramatic 🙄”

He’s barely present in the book at all. His page count is truly negligible! And it’s great!

Like I mention earlier, that was actually something I was annoyed by on my first read, the relationship just seemed fairly thin, even though the snapshots of it that we get are fascinating. But after being inundated with so many books worshipping the ground love interests like him stand on, I love how much he doesn’t fucking matter and how little page time he has. How that itself allows Marya’s emotions and conflicted feelings to remain central. The narrative doesn’t care about him, it’s only what impact he has on her that’s relevant.

Anyway somewhat superficial but I really enjoy the goth love interest being the Tsar of Life, because authors typically go a more obvious and melodramatic route. Despite all of the goth mystique, him not being associated with death, darkness, night, etc was refreshing. But also I do generally just find the concept of life being equated with the lurid and demanding, the parasitical, something that is always in a personal sense at war with death— aka the mention of him always looking sickly or feeling skeletal initially when he kisses Marya— a compelling one. It’s death and the maiden wrapped up in a single person essentially.

Anyway I also appreciated the parallel of the Yelenas being trapped in eternity weaving soldiers while Marya’s first thought upon seeing Koschei is that if she had knitted herself a perfect lover he would look like that. There is the constant underpinning of Marya being wholly separate from them, the question of whether she is greater or more horrible than them, but at the heart of it she’s really not. She’s just another victim in a long string of them.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Twist of Fate, Chapter 11

IT’S THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER, GUYS!! Oh my gosh it feels so weird and surreal. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Tagging @cosmicrealmofkissteria and @tanookiroxx. Happy reading! 

In which the night of the farewell ball finally arrives.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The three weeks had finally almost come to an end. All the meetings were over; the future of the alliance between KISSteria and the Celestial realm was secure; all that was left now was the party celebrating the end of the diplomacy matters, then the two days the KISSterians would spend there before returning to their home realm.

Starchild took a moment to adjust the outfit he had picked out for the evening, hoping it would be a good one. But he liked how it looked. He suddenly thought of how he hoped Tomaziel would like it. Not that anyone’s opinion should have held more weight in his mind than his own, but he couldn’t help thinking that it would be nice to know Tomaziel liked it.

Upon entering the ballroom, he was met with the usual sights and sounds—music playing, people walking around and standing and talking. He knew from past parties like this that they were waiting for it to officially start. He was scanning the room for Ace or the Elder when he heard Ace from one side. “There you are!”

Ace came up with a wide grin, Amalthea following behind him with a smile of her own, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I was wondering when you would get here! How many hours did ya spend gettin’ ready this time?”

Starchild playfully scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He grinned back. “I only took an hour and a half.”

“Prince Starchild of KISSteria getting ready in only an hour and a half? This man is possessed!” Ace started laughing.

Starchild laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Oh please.” He turned to Amalthea. “Has he ever told you about the time he had a fit because, quote, ‘I look like lady with this poodle hair’?”

Amalthea glanced at her husband with a smile. “No, I don’t believe he has,”

Ace gave a sheepish laugh. “Eheheh… We don’t have to talk about that…”

“Oh no, I believe we do,” Starchild smirked deviously. He winked at Amalthea. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“I’m being ganged up on!” Ace sobbed dramatically.

Their laughter was interrupted by the approach of the Elder, who looked amused by what she saw, and Tomaziel following behind her. “If you all are ready,” she said to them, “we ought to officially begin the festivities.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Ace nodded, and all of them moved to get into their correct positions.

Since Tomaziel was aide to the King of Jendell, he would be walking behind them all in the procession with the head Council members. The four monarchs would be all walking together to symbolize the strength of the alliance between the two realms. Before Tomaziel moved to get into his place, his eyes met Starchild’s. They shared a smile, then Tomaziel went to stand behind them.

Starchild offered his arm to the Elder and said softly, “You look beautiful, Mother.” Though to be honest he thought she always did. Tonight she wore one of her more extravagant gowns with her flowing red cape, and a silver circlet that looked like twisting vines sat in her greying hair. She looked every bit like a queen.

The Elder smiled softly. “Thank you, my son. I noticed you decided to wear purple tonight.”

Starchild glanced down at his outfit, surprised she had even noticed. It had been a while since he had worn anything that wasn’t simply black and silver. “I thought it would be something nice to wear tonight, is all,”

“It was a good decision. You look very handsome.” The Elder smirked at him slightly. “I’m sure you will have many admirers tonight.”

Both mother and son shared a laugh—though Starchild’s was a little more embarrassed—as the music changed and the procession began.

When they were all at the front of the Great Hall and standing on the raised platform that housed Ace and Amalthea’s thrones, Ace and the Elder picked up goblets of wine and stepped forward together. “Good people of the Celestial Realm, and honored guests of KISSteria,” Ace began, “tonight is one of celebration. Although we mourn the departure of dear friends, let us also celebrate the renewal of our bonds of friendship and the assurance that our alliance will continue to be prosperous for us all.”

“Tonight we honor the alliance of KISSteria and the Celestials,” the Elder continued, “as one that shall last for years to come.” She raised her goblet. “To unity.”

Everyone raised their glasses and echoed. “To unity!”

Starchild couldn’t help but smile happily as he raised his cup of wine to his lips. The last three weeks had been as the Elder had warned him; long and arduous, with meetings that were numerous and taxing, but in the end, it was all worth it.

Ace set down his goblet and gave an inviting grin to the musicians. “Now then… music!”

-JENDELL-

Starchild enjoyed parties, and he was in a very good mood the entire night, but eventually he couldn’t brush away the urge for a moment alone. So he gave a polite smile to the woman he had been talking to and turned to melt into the crowds. His eyes scanned the room, then he smiled again when he spotted what he was looking for. It was a pillar in one corner of the ballroom, with enough room for someone to slip behind it and be relatively concealed from the crowd. He had discovered it years ago on a different trip to Jendell.

He headed over, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking, and slipped behind the pillar, leaning back and closing his eyes with a sigh. Despite how much of a social butterfly he sometimes was, it was nice to get away from crowds once in a while. There was a surprising amount of room behind the pillar, enough for him to stretch out; in fact there was enough room for two people to fit behind it and still be hidden relatively well. A memory came to mind of one night he and Ace spent kissing back here, making him smile. He wondered if Ace had done that with Amalthea at some point.

“Hiding from the crowds?”

Starchild opened his eyes and looked to find Tomaziel peering behind the pillar at him with a smile. He immediately smiled back and chuckled. “For a while. I was starting to feel a little stifled back there.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t all the noblewomen trying to get your attention?”

Starchild laughed outright. “Oh no, I was enjoying that. I am a ladies man back on Earth, after all.”

“You are?” Tomaziel looked rather surprised. “But I thought…” He glanced out at the crowd of people. “Do you mind if I join you back there?”

“Oh no, by all means,”

Tomaziel glanced over his shoulder then moved behind the pillar. “I thought…” his face turned slightly awkward. “Forgive me, but I thought you liked men.”

“I do,” Starchild answered easily. “To be honest, I thought I preferred only men. But my time on Earth has made me think that perhaps I like both. Though I am attracted to men more.” He paused, then cautiously ventured, “Does that… matter to you, or…?”

“No,” Tomaziel shook his head. “It doesn’t. I’m just… rather surprised you seem so at ease with saying it.”

“Oh, believe me, it’s taken me years to get to this point,” Starchild smiled wryly. “Literal years. But thank you. Besides…” he looked over Tomaziel’s appearance and gave him a flirty smirk. “How could I not like a man when he’s dressed like that?”

Tomaziel looked down at his robes. They were formal robes, perhaps ceremonial ones going by the crest of the royal family stitched onto the lapel, and were black with silver lightning bolts and other ornamentation. He looked back up at Starchild with a smile and a laugh. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”

“You like it?” Starchild glanced down at his black and purple outfit. “It’s funny, I haven’t worn purple in years, except for when I’m on Earth, of course. But when I’m here, I keep wearing clothes that are black and silver. I thought purple would look nice for today.”

“Well, I like it,” Tomaziel said, with a soft smile that made Starchild’s heart pick up speed. “You look lovely.”

Starchild suddenly felt his cheeks grow a little warm, and a shy-sounding laugh burst out that was more of a giggle. “Thank you.” He turned to take a gulp of wine from the glass still in his hand, set it down, then turned back. “So… only two more days before I have to leave. Have you found any other ways we can stay in contact?”

Tomaziel shook his head regretfully. “No… I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had the time to look for any.”

“That’s fine. We can write letters. I will be in KISSteria for a couple more months before going back to Earth; we still have time to figure something out.” Starchild gave him a cheeky smile. “It will be sad to not see your cute face every day.”

“I…” Tomaziel’s cheeks turned light blue and he ducked his head. Starchild’s eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion at that, and was about to open his mouth to ask what was wrong when Tomaziel gave a giggle. “I’m sorry, I just…” He looked back up at Starchild with a faint blue dusting across his cheeks. “Sometimes you say things like… like that, and I am not sure how to respond because,” he gave another nervous giggle as he shrugged, “I never thought something like this would happen. I always thought we would simply be friends and nothing more. But then… as I spent more time with you, and then when you suddenly grabbed me to kiss me in the training hall, I realized…” His fingers reached out to touch Starchild’s and he felt the Spark when they made contact. “I really do like you, Starchild. And it feels… so surreal sometimes to know you feel the same about me.”

For a moment, Starchild couldn’t speak, struck dumb by the sincerity of Tomaziel’s words and the look on his face. “I… I really do like you too, Tomaziel.” He moved his hand so that it fully grasped the other man’s. “I thought that too, that we would simply be friends. But when I spent more time with you, and over these past three weeks, I’ve realized that I… well, that I really like you too. Before this, I was content to not be in a relationship again, but…” He squeezed his hand. “I want to be with you. Really, I do. I want to explore what I feel for you. You’re so patient and understanding, and if you do not understand, you still try to. I like that about you. I like you.”

Tomaziel looked to be the one that was now speechless. He began to lean closer to him, so slowly he perhaps didn’t even realize, and he leaned in to meet him halfway.

Their lips met in a kiss, and Starchild’s heart felt like it was soaring. He cupped Tomaziel’s face with one hand and poured more passion into it, and then felt Tomaziel touch his face to do the same. He felt little sparks dance across their lips and fingertips at every touch and sighed softly into the kiss; he wanted to feel those little sparks every day of his life. It was like fireworks were going off around them.

Oh… Oh, suddenly he wanted more. Suddenly he was remembering the image that had flashed in his mind that night; that image of Tomaziel’s face as he threw back his head in a cry of pleasure. What would it be like in reality?

His mind reminded him of his promise to himself, of how he wanted to slow down and get to know Tomaziel first before they did anything like that. But suddenly all he could think of was what it would be like to make love to Tomaziel—to kiss Tomaziel again and again until they couldn’t breathe and smooth his hands across Tomaziel’s skin and Tomaziel Tomaziel Tomaziel—

And suddenly it was so easy to give into his feelings. He didn’t even realize he had done it. Instead he, reluctantly, pulled away. “I’m feeling rather fatigued,” he said quietly. “Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my rooms?”

Tomaziel laughed softly. “It would be my pleasure. You should inform the Elder.”

“Yes, I should,”

Starchild stepped away from him, again reluctantly, and turned to find the Elder. Luckily she was easy to spot, speaking with someone who looked like Jendellian nobility. He quickly headed over. “Pardon me,” he said politely. “Elder, I’m feeling rather tired. Tomaziel has agreed to escort me back to my chambers for the night, if you will allow it.”

The Elder nodded. “Of course. It is rather late anyhow. Sleep well, Starchild.”

He didn’t miss the look she sent him, but pretended not to notice it. He inclined his head, then turned to walk back to Tomaziel. Smiling, he gestured to the ballroom doors with his head. “Shall we?”

And with that, the two left the ballroom.

-JENDELL-

Honestly, Starchild wasn’t sure how he managed to make it all the way to his guest chambers without giving into the desire to kiss Tomaziel again. But their hands did join together at some point, and it made them both look at each other. The look in Tomaziel’s eyes made Starchild’s heart race faster and his stomach do flips like an acrobat. It made him start giggling childishly and pull Tomaziel along down the hallway, and smile even wider when he heard Tomaziel start giggling along with him.

When they finally made it to his guest chambers, Tomaziel grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, grinning at him. “After you,”

Starchild giggled. “What a gentleman.” He entered, then Tomaziel followed after him and turned to close the door.

As soon as he turned back around, Starchild was kissing him again, his fingers gripping his clothing. Tomaziel’s hands reached up to grab onto Starchild’s shirt, blown almost completely away by the intensity of the kiss. Starchild felt him sigh against his mouth and his heart skipped a beat.

Through a bit of gentle direction, he had Tomaziel backing up towards his bed. It was a bit slowly, since they couldn’t help eagerly kissing each other every few moments. He broke away and managed to gasp out, “Oh Gods…”

“What?” Tomaziel panted.

When he tried to think of something to say, his mind came up blank. “I… I forgot what I was going to say,” he said, giggling sheepishly.

Tomaziel couldn’t help laughing. “Is there any way I can help you remember?”

“Well, there is one way…”

Starchild pushed Tomaziel to sit down on the bed, smiling sweetly at him. He kissed him gently, and it was so sweet and perfect that Tomaziel wanted more. He threw his arms around his neck and pressed himself closer, and questioningly ran his tongue over Starchild’s mouth. Within moments, Starchild had melted into the deepened kiss, placing his hands on his hips and leaning closer.

Unfortunately, he leaned too far and lost his balance. He fell right on top of Tomaziel, making their teeth clack against each other and making Starchild accidentally bite Tomaziel’s bottom lip.

“Ow,” Tomaziel mumbled.

Starchild flushed in embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

To his amazement, Tomaziel suddenly snorted and his head fell back as he began to laugh. After a moment of shock, Starchild found himself smiling and joining in, and soon they were both lying there giggling at what had just happened.

“But seriously,” Starchild managed through his laughter. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Tomaziel chuckled. “I’m fine,”

Starchild giggled down at him. “Good,”

Smiling, Tomaziel stretched up for another kiss and Starchild happily reciprocated. This was going so wonderfully and he felt so light he could float on air…

But then he felt Tomaziel’s hands move down to his waist and his mind screeched to a halt. WHAT AM I DOING?!

He pulled away, his heartbeat quickening with fear this time. “I… I-I…” Embarrassment began to claw at his stomach. How did it look from Tomaziel’s point of view? One moment he was passionately going for it, then the next he suddenly didn’t want to. How did that make any sense?

Brown eyes blinked up at him. “Do you not want to…?”

“I… No…” Starchild got off of him to sit back, trying to hide his increasingly hot face. “N-Not now… I-I… I forgot what I said I wanted to do. I… I still feel like I don’t know you well enough to…” His face must have looked incredibly red now. “I-I’m sorry, I know it must have seemed like I wanted to, but I… I just… I changed my mind…”

Tomaziel didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, to Starchild’s immediate relief, he sat up and nodded. “I understand. That’s all right.” He tilted his head a bit shyly at him. “Can I still kiss you?”

A smile bloomed on Starchild’s face and he laughed. “We can still do that,”

He happily let Tomaziel lean forwards and kiss him again. It seemed he would never get over how understanding the Jendellian was. He had to be so unpredictable sometimes…

The thought made him break away and speak again. “Thank you for understanding, really. I must be so,” they kissed again, “so erratic sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” Tomaziel replied. “It made sense to me, why you don’t want to anymore. There’s really,” another kiss, “nothing to worry about.”

Starchild couldn’t help but kiss him again, smiling against his lips. “You’re so sweet…” Tomaziel suddenly yawned widely, making him smile and laugh. “And tired.”

“I suppose I am,” Tomaziel shrugged, smiling and chuckling sheepishly. “I just felt exhausted all of a sudden.”

Starchild chuckled. “You should get some sleep,”

“I should…” Tomaziel moved to get off the bed, but suddenly stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wonder how it will look if anyone sees me leaving your chambers…”

Starchild opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and considered his words. He hadn’t thought about that before. No one knew about him and Tomaziel, and he knew people loved to gossip. The only solution he could think of was… “You could stay here,”

“I—What?” From the way he spoke, Starchild wondered if Tomaziel’s face was flushing blue. “Stay here? As in… sleep here? With you?”

“Yes,” Starchild nodded. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t want to…”

“W-Well…” Starchild shrugged. “Just because we aren’t doing anything doesn’t mean we can’t sleep in the same bed.” He smiled at him in an attempt to ease his nerves. “I trust you enough that I don’t think you’ll dishonor me.”

His quip made Tomaziel smile and give a laugh. “Alright… If you really do not mind…”

“Excellent.” Starchild couldn’t help kissing his cheek. “Let me go change.”

When he came out of his bath chamber after getting ready for bed, he found Tomaziel still waiting for him. He had taken off his boots and removed his formal garb, leaving behind black underclothes. “I thought you would have gotten into bed,” he remarked.

“I was waiting for you,” came the reply.

Starchild couldn’t help smiling. “You’re sweet.” He pulled back the blanket and got into bed, Tomaziel following suit. After turning out the lights, Starchild turned back to Tomaziel. “Well…” he pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He couldn’t see in the darkness, but it sounded like Tomaziel was smiling.

Starchild’s heart couldn’t help but start beating a little faster as he laid down to sleep. He was sleeping in the same bed as a man he’d only been in a relationship with for two weeks.

… Considering his track record, that was an improvement. But still.

He felt Tomaziel rustling and shifting beside him and turned his head. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, I am just… trying to be a little more comfortable…”

A bold idea suddenly popped into his head. They only had two days left to see each other anyway; he might as well try the things he had been thinking about doing.

So he rolled over onto his side so that they were facing each other and moved closer to lace their fingers together. He smiled at Tomaziel, ignoring how warm his face was becoming. “How about now?”

Tomaziel looked down at where their hands were joined under the blanket, then looked back up at him and smiled. “It’s a little better,”

His cheeks felt slightly warmer. “Good.” He shifted slightly and closed his eyes to sleep. The last thing he remembered thinking before drifting off was how he could get used to falling asleep like this…

[youllallriseintheink]

Secrets and Lies, chapter 3

This is a Death and Taxes fic. It takes the typical, predator-prey dynamic that one often sees in one-offs and tells a story with it. It’s going to be the edgiest thing I’ve written thusfar, so buckle up.

tw for internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, and discussion of rape and abuse

---

Blood was on his bed sheets and Joey was asleep on them. Grant let him sleep- he didn’t feel like dealing with him yet. Looking in the mirror, he was met with purple bruises on his face and neck from the night before. Thankfully not much swelling. After Joey had woken up and gotten out of his house, Grant headed into town to buy some liquid foundation to cover up the marks Joey had left on him. Buying makeup was mildly embarrassing, but he was not wearing his shame to work on Monday.

Was this life now? Letting Joey do what he wanted with him and licking his wounds in secret? It seemed that way. Over the coming two weeks, over which Joey came to him three times- twice in Grant’s own office- Grant learned that trying to lessen the amount of anger Joey released onto him was pointless. Joey didn’t want an amateur therapist or a sub, nor was this a method of punishment or control- Joey just wanted a fuckable punching bag. And especially after Joey assaulted him in his office, work began to feel like a very unsafe place to be.

In those two weeks, Grant also counted up the price of leaving the studio and Joey behind. He’d been spending more lunch hours than usual with Norman- spending time with the man could always lift Grant’s spirits a little, and Norman was so intimidating that he felt (irrationally, of course) like Joey couldn’t lay a finger on him as long as they were close. Norman could tell that something was up, but he didn’t say anything, thankfully.

Grant didn’t want to look at Norman and see someone he’d have to leave behind if he chose to get out of the studio and have the pictures come out. He couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject of how Norman viewed homosexuality. There were a few other people Grant cared about at work- a few from his department that he knew casually, and Shawn and Lacie who he’d gone out drinking with a couple times. Aside from Norman, no one worth staying for, though.

Even before the affair with Joey had happened, most of the reason Grant was still a part of the studio was because he wasn’t sure he could land another job in this economy. But, the economy was recovering. It would be safest to try and land something else before fleeing the studio, so just in case Joey decided to do sabotage him professionally- assuming Joey cared enough to, which he probably didn’t. It was hard not to get paranoid. He could quit right away if things escalated, but for now he’d spend at least a few weeks looking for a job.

There was still the matter of his next of kin. He didn’t remember who he’d put down as his next of kin- it was either his ex-wife or his mother. Neither were attractive options, but his parents he could deal with more easily than he could deal with Joey.

A knock on his office door jolted Grant from his train of thought. Oh God… Joey? Cautiously, as though caution could save him, Grant went over to the door and opened it slowly. He let out a sigh of relief when it turned out to be Toby, their overly friendly treasurer.

“You alright, there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grant forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. What can I help you with?”

“Just here to drop off some ordering forms.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Grant had always noticed that, although Toby was downright bubbly with everyone else, he seemed very uncomfortable with Mr. Dew. And, well, he did fulfill certain stereotypes- the way he walked (Grant hoped that wasn’t what he looked like- good God was it effeminate!), his love of aesthetics... Maybe…

“Joey makes us budget for some strange things, doesn’t he Toby?” Grant asked. He knew how ominous he must have sounded despite his best efforts. But he would have done anything for someone to talk to about this. “Has he ever made you budget for something like this?”

Grant pulled a bottle of liquid foundation from his desk- the same liquid foundation that was currently smeared over the bruises that Joey had given him a few days ago before. Toby eyed the bottle.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you talking about… unprofessional relations?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh. Ouch. Sorry to hear about this. Yeah, Joey and I were hooking up for a while, but he never… compelled me to buy that. Look, he’ll probably forget you in a month. Okay? Hang in there.”

Grant didn’t know if he could or should explain that he was more than one of Joey’s hookups. He supposed it didn’t matter. “Could you help me with something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I need to access my file without Joey knowing. I have a meeting with him tomorrow at three pm- could you do me a favour and tell him there’s an issue he has to see to elsewhere? I just need a couple minutes alone in his office. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Toby looked concerned, and a bit overwhelmed. “Sure. Seems easy.”

“Thank you.”

The plan went as expected. Toby came in at 3:10, telling Joey that there was an issue in the music department that he had to see. When Joey arrived with him in the music department and there was no disaster, he said that they must have taken care of it. Joey gave him a harsh look, but that was all before they headed back to their respective offices.

Meanwhile, digging through Joey’s filing cabinet, Grant found what he was looking for. His next of kin was his mother. Good. Everything was back in place by the time Joey returned- as though it had never been touched at all.

Well, now he knew what the hardest part of all this would be. It was a few days before Grant could bring himself to do it.

Grant took a deep breath. In front of him was a prepared speech written on note-cards- he knew that that was the only way he would be able to go through with it. And if getting away from Joey meant his next of kin receiving that photo, he’d never have the courage to leave Joey otherwise. He dialed the familiar number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Mom? I have something to confess. I’m bisexual.” Not that he was- but there was a chance she would take this better than if he’d admitted to being gay. “I never acted on it in my life until a about a month ago. I fell into an abusive relationship with my employer. He’s threatened that if I don’t do what he wants, he will fire me and release a photo that he took of me while I was in a sexually compromising position. I’m telling you because he threatened to send it to my next of kin, and I thought that this would be a better way for you to find out. I’m going to try to get away from him, and after that I want to turn my back on the lifestyle. Permanently. I promise.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re… you’re what?” her shocked voice made Grant pity her.

“Bisexual- half straight, half gay.”

“I need to talk with your father about this. That- and you being in a position like that is just… a lot. I’ll call you back in a while, okay? I love you.” She hung up.

Grant spent the next twenty minutes too stunned to do much of anything other than worry about what this would mean for his relationship with his family. His mother had always been emotionally fragile, and he hated hurting her like this. His father’s potential reaction scared him more, though. His father had grown up religious and was still in close contact with family members who were, and whose opinions he cared greatly about. And while his mother would never think for a second to disown him… well, his father loved him, too, but…

If only he hadn’t liked being helpless so much! There had been times- several times before the night that Joey had first raped him- where he could have told him, “no, I won’t sleep with you, I’m straight,” but he’d told himself that Joey wouldn’t take no for an answer, that the situation was temporary, that he was passive in it instead of actively choosing it every time. He’d chosen this.

The phone rang. “Hello?

“Hey,” it was her mother’s voice. It sounded a bit teary, but calm- probably a good sign. “So, we talked about it. Most important part first- do you have a plan to get out of this abusive situation you’re in?”

“Yes. I’ll be out within a month. Ironically, once you get that picture in the mail is when you’ll know I’m out.”

“Good. Secondly- your father and I talked about it, and we don’t think you’re half-gay- it’s more like you have the potential to be gay, and you rejected it. I mean, you could live like you’re normal the rest of your life and no one would know any different. So, it’s okay. Right? You just got misguided for a while.”

“Right. Soon, this will be a memory.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” she said. With that they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Grant cried- probably from relief. Thank God his parents had accepted this- only because he’d massaged the truth, but nonetheless. That was a lie he’d have to keep up for the rest of his life- and maybe that was for the better. Joey was awfully close to the stereotype, wasn’t he? A sexual predator who targets men- men who considered themselves normal not too long ago- and brings them to the point of buying makeup, crying regularly, and accepting a woman’s place in bed. Lust wasn’t worth that, or hurting his parents, or being like Toby, who, nice as likable as he was, might as well have had “wipe your feet on me! Everyone else does!" Written across his forehead. No, that wasn’t the man he wanted to be- he needed to leave this world of predators and prey behind.

[poppibranchlover]

Nine Lives, One Fight - Part 15

The story: Deep in the forest of Troll Town, there lies a mysterious tiny purple mushroom that has a secret magical ability. King Peppy calls this mushroom forbidden for all Trolls to go near it. One day, while Branch is out in the woods doing his survival research studying, he encounters it and, not knowing it is a regular mushroom, decides to harvest it and bring it home. But in the next morning, its magic effects transform him into a small blue cat! After being sent to the animal pound, his girlfriend, Poppy, finds him and decides to adopt him, although not recognizing it is Branch. Desperate to finish his research project due for a special event invented by Poppy, Branch is forced to learn how to behave like a pet cat and must figure out what caused him to become one.

You already seen what had happened in Part 14. Now get ready for Part 15!:

By the time Poppy and Branch got into the queen’s pod, it was already nighttime. They cleaned themselves up and then get ready for bed.

Not wanting to feel left out and having completed his main objective, Branch wanted to sleep beside Poppy rather than sleeping in isolation on the shelf near the window. She saw him on his bed feeling proud of himself and gently petted his head.

“Goodnight, Mr. Tickle,” said Poppy. “You’re the best little kitten I’ve ever adopted!”

After kissing Branch’s forehead, she immediately went to sleep. Branch scooted closer to her and snuggled beside her, smiling and somehow enjoying his life as a cat.

Halfway during his slumber, Branch started to wake up. He cautiously scanned the room and stared at Poppy, who was still sleeping. He knows he couldn’t waste any hour right now and he needs his Show-and-Tell project to be finished before morning.

Branch stared at Poppy’s clock, trying to figure out what time it is now. Okay, I don’t have much time left, he thought to himself. I have to get to work before sunrise!

Then he jumped out of the bed and sprinted to the dining table, where a giant red cloth is covering something underneath it.

Branch carefully pulled out the cloth, revealing his construction equipment he had gathered from his bunker earlier this afternoon.

Satisfied at his choice of duty, Branch crept under the table to admire his tools he needs to make his project. He was so eager to win the contest tomorrow that he wanted to get started right away.

“All right!” he said triumphantly, cracking his knuckles and pulling out a neat-detailed blueprint. “In these clear well-written equational documents, I’m gonna know how to construct some stuff!”

Wiggles peeked from behind Branch’s trusty toolbox, holding up an eaten carrot. “How are you gonna do that?” he asked. “You’re just an ordinary tiny kitten!”

Branch couldn’t believe Wiggles was asking some questions on how a cat can build inventions. He sighed with exasperation and told him “It’s going to be fine, Wiggles. I can really build a great invention of mine that easily. I have four arms, just like Cooper!” He held up a paw, showing five of his pads sticking under it.

Wiggles chomped on his carrot. “But each time you pick up a tool with your teeth, you’re gonna lose some momentum!” he warned.

Branch eventually saw what the tiny rabbit was doing just now. He pointed at the carrot and demanded “What are you even eating?”

Wiggles stopped nibbling and examined his meal for a moment. It took him some time to remember where did he get it. “I think I just found it in a giant bowl of ‘white flowers’ on your owner’s pantry,” he answered meekly, trying not to be ashamed.

Branch was stunned. He can’t believe that that little bunny was stealing something from Poppy! “No, Wiggles. Those are cauliflowers,” he protested. “And you know where cauliflowers come from?”

“A flower garden?” asked Wiggles absentmindedly.

“Vegetables!” Branch corrected him firmly. “Cauliflowers are vegetables like that carrot you stole!”

“Okay, so what’s the difference between flowers or ‘cotton flowers’?” Wiggles wondered. “I didn’t even think-”

Branch tilted his head down to the floor and groaned with frustration. This rabbit is very dumb and doesn’t seem to know the world of Trolls very well. “Can’t you just get it right, little bunny?!” he insisted. “Don’t you remember the rule of staying here?”

“I did!” Wiggles said with a reassuring nod. “You said I follow exactly what you said!”

“Then why should I bring you here for a reason?” Branch asked, folding his tail between his back legs.

“Then what about your plan for that “so-called” Show-and-Tell party?” Wiggles snapped back. Branch just stepped back quietly. “You’re gonna waste some time when you keep talking to me and comment about my Thanksgiving dinner!” Then he paused for a second, seething. Branch was too startled to reply. The little bunny stared at his half-eaten carrot and shook his head with a sigh. “I shouldn’t be stealing that from Queen Poppy. I’m very sorry.”

“Uh, that’s alright,” Branch told him, trying not to offend him even more. “She didn’t even eat any carrot like that, and I think you can deserve it.”

Wiggles was grateful for his words. He stared at Branch’s blueprint, and then at the night sky through a window. “It seems like time is flying so fast,” he said.

Branch immediately knew what Wiggles was trying to tell him. He looked at the same window and realized what that meant. It is getting closer to the next morning. “I think you’re right, man,” he said. “I don’t have much time left before sunrise! I gotta get started!”

Wiggles was shocked. “Yes, but how are you gonna build a good structure like a—?”

But the plan is already happening very quick. Branch whipped out his tools and his wooden planks from his toolbox and got ready to work.

Surprised that he was carrying a large saw despite his small cat size, Wiggles’ jaw dropped. “Oh….uh, well….that is fine,” he muttered nervously.

In a flash, Branch was already hammering and sawing some wood. He spent a few minutes of using his constructing tools and adjusting to his cat form at the same time. He exhausted himself from carrying his heavy tools for a little while and drank some cups of milk to energize himself...if it’s for the best that he needed some coffee.

Later, Branch put on his hard builder’s hat and began painting the wood. Holding a paintbrush in his mouth, he carefully painted the plank with a neat dark brown color. From a corner during his work, Wiggles nibbled his carrot along the way.

Branch hammered, painted and drank tons of glasses of milk. He stayed up all night at work long putting the finishing touches to his latest invention. Despite being a cat, he can still think like a Troll. No longer bothered by the sheer excited swaying of his tail, he put on a welding mask and held up a blowtorch in his paw.

When he was sure to have almost finished, Branch lifted up his welding mask to admire his work. He smiled with satisfaction, feeling like he was ready for Poppy’s newest party tomorrow.

I can totally win this! he thought. Those Trolls out there will think I will be the best hero when they see what I make! Hopefully I’ll earn a medal and be on first place!

“Tomorrow is another day,” Branch told himself.

The next day, Poppy’s Show-and-Tell Festival has already begun. Trolls everywhere gathered around the giant mushroom stage, where Poppy is addressing everyone else who were invited for the party. DJ Suki, the village’s resident disk jockey, played some thumping music that got everyone grooving, dancing and celebrating the occasion.

The Show-and-Tell festival was jam-packed with fun activities. Some Trolls who signed up to show their projects on stage proudly present them to Poppy, who is observing every single one of them. The party was a great success. The Trolls finished it off with a banquet filled with cupcakes, berries, flavored punch and cookies and a special oversized scrapbook they made together to remember the occasion.

Poppy proudly went up on stage, holding a pink glittery microphone in one hand. She held up her arms wide and greeted her fellow crowd of excited Trolls. “Hello, Troll Village!” she proclaimed. “Ready to set your brains aflame?! Then I hope you are all as excited as I am! Welcome to my party of Show-and-Tell, where you’ll be able to show your opinions and tell us about them in order to get promoted as future leaders of the kingdom!”

“YAAAAAAAAAY!!!” all the Trolls cheered. “Hurray for Show-and-Tell Day!”

“And just you wait, there are some of the best contestants that will bring us a load of Troll-riffic inventions that they come up with!” Poppy added. “Sit back and relax as they will come up on stage to present their creativity to the rest of the world!”

Then Poppy jumped out of the stage to check on her best friends, who have their brilliant Show-and-Tell inventions ready to be submitted.

“Okay, guys,” she reminded them proudly. “I hope you’re ready. Got your thingamabobs needed for this special day?”

The rest of the Trolls agreed with her reassuring words.

Deep down, Biggie was feeling scared. “I’m so nervous I felt so many Mr. Dinkleses in my stomach,” he said, his voice quaking with fear.

Guy Diamond put his arm to the big Troll’s shoulder to comfort him. “It’s alright, big fella,” he told him in his shimmery voice. “Y’all won’t be so jealous ‘cause my masterpiece will be a great hiiiiit!” He nodded to his shining glitter globe that was required to present to the rest of the crowd.

Cooper kicked his colorful ball with his front legs enthusiastically. “I’m SOOOO excited to show my favorite ball to everyone!” he exclaimed with utter excitement. “I’ll make a great king!”

Smidge was not sure of this idea. Not all Trolls wanted to be declared as winners because Poppy needs to select one Troll with the best invention. “I think you’ll be the king someday,” she said.

“Oh, come on, Smidge!” said Cooper. “I wonder what an actual king can do?”

“You’ll have to wait, Cooper,” Poppy told him. “When a Troll has the best project ever built, they would soon earn a medal.” Humming to herself, she went off to find Satin and Chenille, whose presentation about shampoo and hair conditioner were coming to fruition.

When Poppy saw them, she greeted them happily “Hey, girls! You’re gonna be fine! Just present your projects and I’ll qualify each of them as top prize!”

“Yes, Queen Poppy,” Satin answered politely. “We’ll do our best. No arguing!”

“Sis, keep it together! We use the shampoo first!” Chenille protested.

Meanwhile, Branch was watching the festivities coming on. He knew the big celebration had begun. A tiny, secret part of him was to be still in Poppy’s contestant list despite still stuck in cat form. He jumped off the big mushroom that he, Poppy and the twins were standing on and ran over to his brand new creation, covered with a red tarp.

Wiggles hopped closer to him, admiring his fantastic work. “Ooooh, now I wonder what you come up for this party?” he asked happily. “How well you are doing?”

“I’ll do great progress!” Branch said enthusiastically. “Besides, I worked so hard on this baby.”

He pulled off the red tarp. Underneath it was a wooden machine that looked like an old-fashioned coffee grinder.

Branch introduced his latest invention. “Behold...my homemade Berry-Presser!”

Wiggles was impressed. “Whoa, dude! It looks totally awesome!” he cooed. “But...what does it really do?”

Branch had spent lots of time all night inventing this mechanical grinder. He enthusiastically bounded back and forth in front of his invention and pulled out another basket of berries he had harvested yesterday as he explained the purpose of how it works. If Branch could get the rest of the Trolls to agree to this brilliant idea, it would ensure that he is able to be declared first prize.

“Based on my precise calculation, I built this thing to ensure proper nutrition for the Trolls,” Branch explained. “It’s very simple. Harvest a berry or more, compress them inside and turn them into healthy drinks; the perfect combination of integrity and a touch of love!”

“Cool! What a great combo!” Wiggles cheered, hopping up and down. “Everyone will love your berry-making gizmo when they see it in action!”

“Yep!” said Branch. “When I come out on stage, Poppy is going to qualify me as a new leader. Isn’t it great? It’s like I’m going to rule with her!”

Wiggles gave a serious look on his face that said “Are you kidding me?”

“Time for me to hit the spotlight!” Branch said proudly. He started to leave with his Berry-Presser, but Wiggles grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Branch yelped in pain upon having his tail bitten by the rabbit’s teeth. “Ouch! What is your problem?” he asked.

“Before you go, one BIG problem…you’re just a cat, not a Troll,” Wiggles reminded him. “The entire village won’t notice or accept you and your project! You know what I mean? Animals don’t get qualified by Trolls!”

Branch chuckled and pressed down Wiggles’ forehead with his paw, forming a frown on the bunny’s face. “Awww, Wigs. Don’t be so pessimistic,” he told him, smiling proudly. “You'll give yourself worry lines with all that nagging. They’ll know I made this little toy and Poppy will definitely promote me for sure!”

But Wiggles was getting worried that Branch’s plan is going to fail. He knew if he showed up on stage, Poppy and the Trolls will never understand him when he was about to present his invention. He tried to stop him before he can move on. “I’m being serious here! I told you Queen Poppy never recognizes you as a small animal!”

It was too late. Branch pushed his Berry-Presser and made his way to the backstage with the rest of Poppy’s friends.

“Ugh, he’s gonna take low price,” Wiggles said sarcastically, exasperated as he watched Branch go into the party anyway.

A few minutes later, the Show-and-Tell presentation has finally begun. Poppy introduced Biggie and Mr. Dinkles on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Biggie and Mr. Dinkles’ performance of the world’s most powerful “Mew” of the universe!”

The crowd cheered as Biggie and his pet worm arrived on the stage. Mr. Dinkles was sitting on a chair, ready to play a piano. Biggie acted like a conductor and he waved his baton to cue his worm to start singing. While pressing the piano keys, Mr. Dinkles sang in a big, operatic voice as the rest of the Trolls watched the performance in awe.

“Now that’s what I call the world’s most powerful ‘Mew!’“ Biggie clarified, admiring at his beloved pet’s extraordinary talent.

When the performance finished, the Trolls cheered and Mr. Dinkles took a bow before hopping into Biggie’s arms. The big blue Troll hugged his worm tightly and bowed before the crowd as well before he left the stage.

Next, Guy Diamond appeared on stage with a poof of glitter showering all over the audience. Poppy made his introduction. “Brace yourself for the world’s most glittery Troll in the whole wide world! Guy Diamond!”

When Guy landed gracefully on stage, he pulled out his glitter globe and shook it. Glitter showered around the plastic unicorn inside. “This wonderfully-glittertastic snowglobe SHIIIIIINES like a DIAMOND!!!” Guy explained with his iconic shimmering tone. “With this, you can SHIIIIIINE your whole world with LOTS OF GLIIIIIIITER!!!” 

The entire crowd cooed, impressed at the glitter Troll’s brilliant work. “Ooooooooooh!!!”

“I wish I can keep that! It’s got a tiny unicorn in it!” a Troll child said excitedly, pointing at the glitter globe.

“That’s some good stuff, Guy!” Poppy said as the glittery Troll left the stage, carrying his globe. “Next up, we have Cooper and his fantastic rainbow bouncy ball!”

Cooper waddled his way to the stage, with his ball balancing on his head. “Hey, guys!” he said enthusiastically. “Let me show you my favorite super duper bouncy-douncy ball! Look what it can do!”

Then he started doing some tricks while playing with his soccer ball. Almost as fast as Cooper moved his four legs each time while getting the ball to balance on his back, all of the Trolls were amazed.

After ending his trick with a big finale, Cooper bowed at the cheering audience and gracefully danced away from the stage.

“This is gonna be a cinch. Two sisters, one mind,” Poppy announced on stage. “Put your hair together for the fashion sisters and their hair gel experiment!”

Satin and Chenille appeared on the stage, pulling out their whiteboard depicting the shampoo and hair conditioner pictures. They held up two bottles of hair lotion as they challenged the Trolls to a quiz about where the shampoo originated in and how different is the hair conditioner, just like how they challenged Poppy to the same quiz yesterday.

“I know these answers,” Poppy whispered to Biggie, watching from the backstage.

Finally, the fashion twins come to the conclusion of their explanation. “In direct conclusion, we know that both shampoo and conditioner...” Satin began.

“...count like good HAIR GEL!!!” the girls said the last sentence in unison.

The Trolls roared with thousands of applause, and the twins bowed. “Thank you for seeing our presentation!” Chenille squealed. “Have a hair-tastic day!”

Later, during Smidge’s turn on presenting her Muscle Spirit treadmill on the stage, Branch curled up in a corner, watching the other contestants perform. Soon it will be his turn to be on stage, he will present his berry grinder invention to everyone, and finally he’ll be awarded first place. He can feel his destiny coming towards him.

Branch looked at his invention and then at the stage, feeling quite ready to embrace his inner Troll. “Oh yeah,” he said with determination. “I’m ready to rule the world with you, Poppy.”

After Smidge completed her presentation, Poppy announced to her people “And for our very last contestant of the season, you may know him as the former village grump...let’s hear it for BRANCH!!!”

“Oh, that’s me!” Almost immediately, Branch can hear the loud cheering. He couldn’t believe it. All of the Trolls were now cheering for him, and now it is the time for him to show his face to everyone. He smiled with confidence as he pushed the berry grinder to the stage.

“Come on up there, Branch!” Poppy said, just as Branch and his berry grinder finally showed up on the stage. Once he stopped pushing his invention, he greeted the audience. “Meow!”

Instead of cheering for Branch, the crowd gasped. Even Poppy gasped as well. “Mr. Tickle, what are you doing here?” she asked, staring at Branch.

Everyone stared at the blue-haired cat in confusion. Then they all started talking at once.

“Wait a minute. It’s just a cat,” a glitter Troll said, scratching his head.

“Who’d put a cat on stage?” a Troll asked, looking genuinely confused.

“Where is Branch? He’s supposed to be here!”

“Yeah, where is he?”

“Where is the last Troll?”

“We need him!”

“Branch! Branch!”

Branch looked at the confused crowd. Is it working? he thought. Am I getting through them? Am I gonna win first place? He hadn’t much luck getting their attention lately. But his face fell when he realized what is going on. “What’s happening?” he asked himself. “I thought they all liked my invention!”

Poppy tried to shoo him away from the stage. “Get back in the backstage. You’re not supposed to be here,” she told the cat. “I need Branch to show up and present his project.”

“Meeeow! Meow! Meow!” Branch insisted, attempting to tell her that he is here to show his berry grinder to the crowd. “Meeeeeoooowww!!”

But it didn’t seem to work. This made Poppy think Branch is absent. She looked around while he tried getting her attention. “Where’s Branch?” she asked. “I swore that he should’ve arrived on time! Branch!” Then she fled off the stage and ran to search for him. Branch helplessly watched her leave.

Behind Poppy, her friends watched her running away from the party. Biggie asked her “Poppy, what’s wrong?”

“We’re calling this party a hiatus!” she announced before disappearing into the distance. “There’s been a serious mistake here!” 

“What mistake?” Guy asked, not until the rest of the Snack Pack saw Branch on stage, meowing for Poppy to come back.

“Awwwww!” Cooper cooed. “Cute kitty!”

Branch felt hurt and defeated. Why didn’t Poppy recognize him, and what is wrong with being a cat? He glanced at the audience, who were still murmuring questions about him.

“What should we do about this cat?” a Troll demanded.

“I wish Queen Poppy would cancel him off from the list in the first place!”

“I can’t believe she halted the party with a hiatus because of his absence!”

Branch watched in horror as the Trolls continued ranting about the disaster. He couldn’t watch this anymore, so he sprinted after Poppy.

“Poppy, come back!” he yelled, jumping off the stage and making a run for it to follow her, leaving the Trolls surprised at his departure.

From backstage, Wiggles watched him go after Poppy, finally knowing that Branch’s attempt to show his project had failed.

                                              To Be Continued...

                                          Stay tuned for Part 16!

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 16

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

=

Delilah looked up from the mountain of paperwork her new assistant had just piled onto her desk when she heard someone come in. Dressed impeccably in white, Pepper Potts strode in with a friendly smile on her face and a manila folder in her hand.

The mess in her office made her suddenly self-conscious, and she tried to straighten out the papers into what might vaguely resemble neat piles. "Pepper! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important," she remarked, eyeing the mess of files on the desk with a weary smile. "I just wanted to run something by you."

"Oh, not at all," she fibbed, but rectified when Pepper made a face. "You're giving me a good excuse not to obsess over the shambles that is the Receiving department." Lilah gestured a chair across from her. "Take a seat. What's on your mind?"

The redhead sat down with a plop, crossing her legs as she leaned back. "Well, I was talking to Tony last night and he gave me a suggestion that I am tempted to pursue."

Delilah rolled her eyes. This was not the first time the computer generated Tony had demanded one of his ideas be brought to fruition. "What did Ghost In the Machine have to say, now? As long as it's not the Starburst pool, again, I'm open to suggestions."

Pepper laughed. "No, though he still claims it will work. It was about Loki."

Not sure whether or not she should be weary, Lilah opted for keeping her expression neutral and clasping her hands on the desk in a pose she had taken from Loki. "Oh, what about Loki?"

"Well, he was going on and on about how good Loki was with dealing with Morgan– you know that she's super headstrong, like her Dad– and how all the other kids in the academy love him."

"Right," Lilah agreed, suspicious.

"Tony suggested I make him a permanent fixture in the Academy."

Delilah blinked in confusion, tilting her head curiously at Pepper. "Loki? You want him to, what? Teach seven years-old's how to fight?"

Pepper waved away the comment with a chuckle. "Of course not. I thought he could be part of the after-school program. He can watch kids, make sure they do their homework, keep them busy until pick up."

"You want to leave agents' children with the man who tried to take over the world? And you think the agents will go for this?" Lilah shifted uncomfortably. Despite the generally positive opinion of Loki in the current climate, it was insane to think people would purposefully hand their kids to the demigod.  

"Tony thinks they will."

Delilah bit her bottom lip in thought. "OK, let me preface this with saying that I love Tony and I love working for this company, please don't fire me–"

"OK?"

"–but Tony is a fancy computer program," she finished cautiously, but Pepper didn't look offended.

"But is he wrong?" Pepper leaned forward, leveling her gaze with Delilah's. "Hon, last week I did rounds and found him finger painting with six other kids," she offered as an example. "He snuck into an art class to finger paint."

Delilah's smile widened on its own accord, feeling a small little bubble of affection burst within her. Loki Odinson, child of Asgard, son of Laufey of Jotunheim, softest villain in the realm and expert finger painter. "So that's where all those portraits came from," she remarked, thinking back on the half dozen brightly colored papers hanging on Loki's walls, attached there by knives. "He does genuinely love those kids, but he hates being told what to do. I can try to talk him around–"

"He already said yes."

Lilah was flabbergasted. "What?"

"I talked to him this morning over coffee," Pepper explained. "He accepted before I had even gotten the full offer out."

Delilah frowned, more confused than she had been at the mere suggestion. "Then why did you need to consult me?"

"He has demands."

She groaned and Pepper laughed. "Of course he does. Lay it on me. Million dollar salary? Private jet? More knives, for some fucking reason?"

"No. He's working minimum wage," Pepper said, matter-of-factly.

"Minimum? And he agreed to this?"

"He was the one who demanded it. I was ready to offer him a decent wage, because kids are difficult, but he said whatever the minimum was, he'd take it. Instead, he wants us to invest the extra money."

"In…?"

"A scholarship." Pepper waited for the shock to fade from Delilah's face. "For students who were in some way affected by the attack in New York."

The answer made her insides twist, not unpleasantly just curious. "Did he give any reason?"

"Just that he knew how much of a difference a scholarship could make and then made puppy eyes." Pepper smiled knowingly. "Could I just tell you how exceedingly bad he has it for you?"

"Only if you tell him, too. He seems to not have gotten the memo," Delilah retorted, drily. "You need me to write up his paperwork, I assume."

"Yes, and I have the scholarship projections here for you, too," Pepper offered, sliding the manila folder across the desk. "I might have given it an extra little boost, but don't tell him."

Delilah flipped through the documents, glancing at the details of the scholarship and how selection would work. "This is excellently thought out."

"He was pretty adamant about the criteria and I agree with his selection process. He was astoundingly thoughtful of the demographic he thought was most deserving." Pepper sighed. "I didn't think Loki had it in him, but lo and behold."

"Yeah, he's… something else." Despite the lukewarm expression, there was a definite flutter in her stomach. "I'll set all these up and forward you signed copies by tomorrow."

Delilah sighed, waving goodbye to Pepper before contemplating her afternoon. After a moment or two, she told her assistant that she'd be back later and disappeared into the puzzle-like hallways of the compound. Lilah turned the corner towards the living quarters when she was pulled into a nearby closet with a hand over her mouth. Had it been the first time this happened to her, she would have been worried, but as it were, her initial response was to grasp the lapels of the charcoal button-up shirt and tug the person until her lips were firmly upon theirs.

Loki made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, slipping his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans to tug her closer. "Hello, darling," he whispered against the hollow of her throat before he placed an open mouthed kiss there.

"I love you, Lo," she said both abruptly and breathlessly, but the words tugged the corner of his mouth upwards, instantly.

Loki chuckled, skimming his mouth over her neck before stopping to press a kiss to her jaw. "I knew it was a good idea to steal you away," he quipped, easily, completely glossing over the fact that this was the first time she had ever said the words. He bent to kiss her proper, both his hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I know you do, you fool. Just as I love you." He rested their foreheads together with a sigh. "I brought food and set up the chess board at mine. Would you like to join me for lunch?"

"Are you asking me out on a date? How very forward of you."

"Forward would be saying that I plan on putting you up on my table for dessert. Though, it is implied." He grinned impishly and tugged on her beltloops. "I hope these are quick to take off." He kissed the wide-eyed expression on her face away. "Too strong?"

"No, I just… I didn’t think I'd enjoy you saying that." Lilah said the words as she shuddered the sensation off.

"Mmm, shall we skip straight to dessert, then?" Loki leveled his gaze at her, brushing locks of hair out of her eyes. "Or do you want to discuss Pepper's offer for the next four hours like I know you want to?"

"No! I mean… I think it's great that you took the job." She replied with a little hesitation. Delilah could already see the protest brewing in his eyes the second she opened her mouth.

"But?" Loki asked, knowingly. "Out with it."

"I'm just overprotective and don't want to see you get hurt for doing a good deed."

"They're very small, I can probably drop-kick them into orbit–" He joked, mimicking punting a small child in the tight space.

"You know what I mean. Don't play with me."

He hummed deep in the back of his throat and twined his arms tightly around her. His lips found her crown in a tender display before he buried his face into her hair. "You are a truly extraordinary specimen." Delilah huffed and he made a show of kissing away her pout and nipping her bottom lip. "I mean it in the most respectful and complimentary of ways." When she did not respond, he squeezed her further. "I am deeply honored that you would think a wretch like me important enough to warrant your protection. I love you so dearly for it."

Delilah sighed, hugging him around his middle so tightly it made his ribs ache. "I don't like people messing with my stuff!"

"Your stuff? Am I all of a sudden your stuff?" Loki husked, rubbing lazy circles on her back.

"When have you not been my stuff?"

He held her arm's length away, wolfish grin twisting his lips. "By the Norns, where have you been all my life? Deliciously possessive, clever, and gorgeous? I've died and gone to Valhalla."

"And yet you only kiss me in dark janitor's closets."

"This and accepting impromptu job offers are the only way to catch you unawares." He nuzzled into her hair. "Plus, we've always done particularly well in the dark."

She hummed her agreement, her head resting against his chest where she tucked herself under his chin. "Pepper mentioned something else," Lilah started, tentatively. "About letting your bracelets off on a trial basis."

"And you didn't mention anything about already fitting a felon with counterfeit manacles, I assume?"

Delilah bit her lip, looking guiltily down at her shoes. "I didn't. I might need to switch them right before Pepper decides to grant you a leave. Is that OK?"

"Would it be OK for you to put on the manacles you meant to keep on me back on so that you can take them off again?" He chuckled. "You realize how mad that sounds?"

"I don't want to get us in trouble!"

"That'd be fine." Loki kissed her forehead. "Except I already told Pepper about the manacles, oh, six weeks ago. She was probably trying to get a rise out of you."

"Six…that's nearly the time you've… Seriously!?"

"I didn't trust myself around you, and I wanted security in case–" Delilah silenced him with a kiss. He chased her lips with a contented purr. "Dessert?" She nodded and he made quick work of opening the door and shoving them both down the hall, giggling like schoolchildren as they rushed towards Loki's flat.

[nincompoopydoo]

Trouble Man

Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader Words: 1.5k Summary: You and Sam Wilson are neighbors. Never spoke a word a to one another but somewhat developed an unhealthy crush on each other. As a series of unfortunate events that began with the burning of spaghetti, you find yourself entangled in a mess of the appreciation for Marvin Gaye and your fear of cockroaches with the very man himself. Note: Oooo an unrequested Sam Wilson one shot? Yeap, that’s right darlings. Been wanting to write one for awhile now. Not exactly my best but it’s alright. Cute cute and fluffy stuff. Enjoy xo [ REWRITTEN ON 14/08/2021 ] Masterlist

Spaghetti. Should be easy enough.

Ah, words of the once optimist, now turned depressing pessimist. You told yourself that with a rather annoying cheery voice that echoed in your head before everything went swooping down the metaphorical hill and into the trash. You don’t do too well with simple distractions, for what you first thought was to lighten up the mood in your gloomy kitchen by singing along to an ultimate Marvin Gaye playlist.

Much to your embarrassment, you may have forgotten how sound travels far too easily, with the kitchen window opened for the whole neighborhood to hear your lovely singing. Someone might call the police, either out of spite of your contribution to noise pollution or they might think someone was being murdered, muffled by soul music.

The plate of Spaghetti stares at you mockingly from the kitchen counter, strands grazed in an odd shade of brown. Spaghetti is not supposed to be that shade of brown. With a pathetic scowl upon your lips, you gaze at the plate, wishing it smelled as good as it did. The thought of eating resides in your mind, wondering if you should just close your nose and power through the dish itself until you’re sick or throw it in the trash and feed several stray cats of D.C. when it reaches the landfill. By the looks of it, the cats probably don’t even want to eat it anyway.

You worked at a hamburger joint downtown for heaven’s sake; cooking hamburgers might as well be your only decent skill. Nevertheless, with a heavy sigh, you plopped the spaghetti into the trash. The plastic bag unceremoniously crinkles at impact as you fight back a wince.

So much for coming home early to prepare dinner. For yourself. Damn, you’re lonely. And as far as you’re concerned, only lonely people deserve microwaved leftovers from a week ago that have been sitting in the fridge for far too long. Overhead, Cleo's Apartment begins to play.

Goddamn it, Marvin Gaye.

Minutes ago, Sam Wilson had returned home from the VA, and through the jingles of his keys whilst unlocking his front door, the familiar tune of What’s Going On glides its way to his ears, ringing with the melody of your singing. He knows it’s you because as much as you don’t realize it, you sing in the kitchen very often. It’s unpleasant but he doesn’t complain because your taste in music speaks to him on another level, another plane of existence. Ever since you moved in after the previous owner passed, you had his whole heart with a single glance and a shy wave.

Courage was easy, having built that up during his military days. Yet, now that’s over, he finds himself forgetting his technique in approaching beautiful people. Deep down he knows it. Sam needs to try to talk to you. Just talking, not asking you out. That’s too much, for now.

His analytical side itches to take over—he needs a plan because walking up to your doorstep and hoping to spark up some sort of sudden conversation with you isn’t going to turn out well. So, he maps it out in his head, playing each possible scenario like he always does in bed, half-awake, wishing he had the guts to talk to you when he bumped into you at the grocery store or at the hamburger joint you work at. Coincidences usually don’t play out in his favor so, forcing it sounds like it would have a better outcome. He will wait until it’s 9:30, there’s a possibility you will be taking out the trash. Then, he’ll make his move. Hopefully.

Totally not creepy.

—

Sometimes, the universe listens. It especially listens to the thoughts of the lonely and then, some supernatural cosmic decision is made to guide two lonely beings to each other. It’s rare but happens. People call it fate. Now, fate seems to work in tandem with a certain man named Sam, who has fallen for his neighbor, who seems to feel the same way.

There’s hardly any rubbish in the trash bag within his grasp but he makes it a point to walk across the lawn despite the humidity in hopes of seeing you. Then, he hears the creaking of your front door swinging open and slamming shut. Though, all attempts to act casual fails when he ignores his previous resistance to turn and glance your way.

There you were, in an oversized Shania Twain shirt paired with track shorts—it’s very short. I mean, it’s summer after all. No one’s complaining. He’s certainly not complaining. His breath hitches when you meet his gaze, smiling sheepishly. Sam wonders if your cheeks are always this crimson and rosy. You smile, intending to hide your growing blush, heat blooming in your chest as you admire how he looks under the yellow hues of the street light, beautifully carving the structure of his face.

Then, the impossible happened.

“So, you like Marvin Gaye?” he spoke with a little too much enthusiasm. You looked at him with a wide-eyed gaze, completely caught off guard by his sudden question. Your mind is now only filled with the panic of him hearing you sing—it’s your biggest fear. Sam realizes his question may have been a little too obstructive in terms of privacy. Bad idea, really bad idea. “Sorry, just forget I ever said that. I didn’t mean to—"

"No, no. I mean, yeah, I do like Marvin Gaye. I love Marvin Gaye actually,” you cut him off in a somewhat desperate attempt to not scare him off because, in truth, you really want to talk to him. You have been meaning to for a while now. You purse your lips, deciding that elaboration is worth the risk, “Trouble Man is one of my favorites."

It’s risky because it’s an unpopular opinion and the irrational side of you is afraid that because of your weird and maybe obscure taste in music might as well turn him off. Yet, he’s not running now. Instead, Sam blinks, mouth slightly agape. A sentence runs through his mind, a quiet voice, a whisper: I think I might marry you if you don’t stop being so perfect.

Sam beams at you, "You like Trouble Man?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

You return a smile, “Yeah, I do. It’s probably the best—OH MY GOD—” Your sudden scream cuts through the white noise of the night like a searing knife when you spot a cockroach crawling up the trash can. You dropped the trash bag on the ground and started to stagger backward.

Sam feels bad for laughing.

“Hey! Quit laughing and help me get rid of it,” you shriek, watching the insect crawl around with a mortified look. Sam snorts at your sudden burst of command. "Okay, okay. But I’m not killing it.” Turns out that isn’t enough to calm your nerves and your fear of cockroaches. “Excuse me, sir, you HAVE to slay the beast!” you yelled dramatically. He chuckles with great amusement, swiftly plucking it with his bare hands before it could run, “Now, let’s not murder our new friend here, Bernie.” He watches your face morph into an unamused look, “Bernie? Like the politician?” Sam merely hums, “Yeah. Like the politician.”

Then, he’s walking towards you, purposefully dangling poor Bernie within his grasp. You stagger in your step, yelping at the sight of Sam nearing you. “Alright, alright. I’ll get rid of Bernie,” he says through attempted suppressed laughs, flicking Bernie across the road. You can finally breathe but your eyes remain wide. “And what if he comes back?”

Sam turns to you as you return to stand at your original spot as you cautiously scan the trash bin for any more unwanted pests. He notices a stray strand of your hair, falling against your cheek. He resists the urge to push back behind your ear, reminding himself to stay casual and stay cool. "Well, you know where to find me.” He sends a somewhat smooth wink your way. You go absolutely red.

Silence once again and the two of you have seemed to have caught yourselves in some awkward dance of pining and wanting to be close to each other. Then, Sam clears his throat, deciding to speak first before he misses the opportunity once more. “I was wondering if you wanna, you know, uh, come by for a drink sometime?” It’s a simple question, really. But, Sam doesn’t know why you make him so nervous. Maybe, it’s because you’re looking at him like you can see right through him. His mind starts to wonder, overthinking once more. “I mean, if you don’t drink, it’s okay. We can have something else. I have orange juice, I think. Snacks?—”

“Now?” you stop his rambling, feeling your brain equally shutting down because you’re very confused about the whole situation. Sam pauses, slightly hesitant, “Yeah, sure. If you want to. I mean, you have work tomorrow and it’s late and—”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.” you interrupt him again, the curve of your lips widening by the second. “And maybe, we could listen to some Marvin Gaye.” You don’t exactly know what you meant or hinted but neither does he, too distracted to notice the context of your words because you’re here, smiling at him.

[rorykillmore]

okay this is. well. a LATE birthday fic for my friend jemi, who does not have a personal tumblr atm, but i’m sticking it here because this is where i file all my fics at this point, and because it’s also a tiny bit of a partial co-present for @xivuuarath too! 

jemi, one of the things i’ve loved most about this past year is getting the chance to write with you again and develop these new and wonderful and crazy cross-fandom dynamics just the way we used to. it’ll always mean a lot to me to be able to write with you, and i really hope i’ve done everyone in this fic justice because i cannot tell you what a DELIGHT forming this disaster of a group dynamic/eventual found family with you and storm has been!!! i can’t wait to develop them more together, but for now, this particular fic is set a little ways in the hypothetical future once they’ve all gotten to know each other a little more, and after villanelle has had... SOME kind of similar encounter with her family to the one she just had in canon. tldr: her mom sucks, she’s dead now, and villanelle ran off after burning her house down.

anyway, yeah, ENJOY!

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time.

Villanelle supposes that maybe it’s a little unfair to blame Konstantin for the fact that her birth family turned out to be shit.

(Okay, not all of them were shit, but it is easier to pretend that they were and not that the few days she spent with them were the happiest she’s ever been in her whole life.)

Anyway, while it’s not technically his fault, he is the one who told her they were alive, and the last thing she wants right now is to go back and tell him exactly how catastrophically things did not work out.  He is no longer her handler anyway. She has to report back to Knock Out.

(Actually, she has not been on a mission recently, she has nothing to report, and Knock Out would probably not even notice if she didn’t contact him for several more days, but... Villanelle will just make up a reason to talk to him, then. He doesn’t have to know she’s wasting his time just because he makes her feel a little better.)

So she’s surprised when she texts him (or his comm frequency, however it works with Cybertronians) and gets a message back that he’s already waiting for her at Mistoffelees’.

That’s how Villanelle thinks of the house, absurdly, as belonging to Mistoffelees and Victoria -- namely because by know she knows them much better than she knows their people. Somehow, amidst the chaos of the past several days, Villanelle had entirely forgotten she’d agreed to cat-sit again (less for any pragmatic reason this time and more because she hadn’t had anything better to do, before the issue of her family had cropped up) starting this evening. She’d also forgotten that they’d all planned another marathon session of Kitchen Nightmares, and for some reason... all of this rattles her.

For some reason, when she arrives and walks up the driveway and finds Knock Out parked waiting for her, and Misto and Tugger settled side by side on the fence, she gets a strange little lump in her throat that she can’t explain.

“Finally,” Tugger complains the minute he sees her. “If any of us actually had thumbs, we may well have considered starting without you.”

“Excuse me,” Knock Out is quick to protest. “Just because it’s not exactly strategic for me to transform in the middle of a human neighborhood doesn’t mean you get to lump me in with you furballs.”

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes in an unnervingly human gesture that Villanelle is only just starting to get used to.  “I’m sure he meant ‘if any of us actually had thumbs that we could conveniently use without causing hysteria in this precise moment.’ Didn’t you, Tug?”

“Sure, darling,” Tugger says, not sounding very sincere at all.

Villanelle comes to a slow halt beside Knock Out’s alt mode, trying to bask in their familiar banter, trying to make it feel just the same as her family’s home-y sense of chaos did. It doesn’t quite work. But it does make her want... something.

“We should take a road trip!” Villanelle announces suddenly, entirely out of nowhere and without thinking about it.  Mistoffelees and Tugger turn nonplussed looks on her, and she can practically feel Knock Out figuratively side-eyeing her, and for a second she worries that they’ve noticed something’s wrong. 

But the silence only lasts for a beat before Knock Out scoffs,  “What, now? And where, exactly, were you thinking of going?”

Villanelle shrugs, undeterred by their skepticism.  “Anywhere. We could just... drive.”

“In that?” Tugger stares wide-eyed into Knock Out’s windows, and then very quickly clears his throat.  “Sorry. In him?”

“We could bring Victoria too,” Villanelle says, appealing to Misto. “Is she home?”

Mistoffelees flicks an ear uncertainly.  “She’s out at the junkyard this evening. And anyway, Villanelle, we can’t exactly up and disappear without giving the others cause for alarm --”

“So go tell them! We can wait here.  It would only be for, like, a couple of days, and your humans will not even notice since they’re not due back ‘til next week.”

“Not to agree with Tugger, but I’m still stuck at the part where I have to lug them around and get cat fur all over my interior,” Knock Out quips, rather casually considering the chaos unfolding around him. “...Not to mention, we don’t exactly have clearance for this.”

“We don’t have an assignment either,” Villanelle points out. “Do they really care what we do in our own time?”

Knock Out seems too surprised to answer, maybe because this is the first time outside their missions and their little casual reality television get-togethers that Villanelle has ever expressed such an interest in spending time together.

The cats are almost as baffled. Tugger and Misto exchange a look that Villanelle can’t quite read, before Mistoffelees settles his attention back on her.  “This is all a bit... sudden,” he starts, and it’s the fact that he sounds almost gentle that makes something in Villanelle prickle up again. Is her behavior so erratic and concerning that she’s making them feel sorry for her?

“Fine,” she cuts in, changing tracks suddenly.  “Fine! Never mind. I will take one on my own. See you all in a couple of days --”

“Er, hold on.” Knock Out recovers enough to stop her. “If you’re going to do this anyway, I might as well tag along and see that you don’t do anything careless. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do but drive around London while you go off and have all the fun.”

Villanelle stops in her tracks.  “Do you want me to be careful, or do you want me to have fun?”

“...Is that supposed to be a trick question?”

She shrugs, still recovering her pride and wondering if she should brush him off just on principle because of it. Deep down, though, Villanelle doesn’t want to, and so instead she looks back at the cats where they’re still settled together on the fence.

On the fence. Heh. Like a metaphor.

“I think you two could use the vacation,” she tells them casually.  “Have you ever actually been on a honeymoon?”

“A what?” Mistoffelees asks as Tugger sweeps his feathery tail around him. Villanelle has started to get used to the easy affection they share between them, but it hasn’t yet ceased to give her a pang of something indecipherable each time.

“A honeymoon,” she says.  “It is something two people do when they get m -- when they love each other and want to be together forever. They go off and take a trip and kind of... celebrate their relationship.”

Tugger tilts his head ever so slightly to one side.  “And is it customary for them to bring their friends along?”

Villanelle glances at Knock Out, but if he knows anything about this particular Earth custom, he stays silent for once.  So she shrugs.  “Sure. That way it is like a party, you know?”

“I daresay neither of us do.”  Mistoffelees turns so he can meet his mate’s gaze.  Villanelle expect Tugger to have a very decisive opinion on all of this, and to state it very loudly, because that’s just how Tugger is.  So it surprises her when instead, he returns Mistoffelee’s look quietly - almost gently - and waits for his verdict.

“Is it really only going to be for a couple of days?” Mistoffelees asks cautiously at length.  Villanelle grins despite herself.

--

It is roughly a five hour drive between London and Paris, which is a bit of a pain in the ass when the taking the train shaves about half of that off, but for once Villanelle is trying to be objective about how she is probably the least inconvenienced person in this situation. The only reason Misto and Tugger aren’t stuffed in the trunk right now is because she offered to buy them cat carriers to travel in instead, and when the cats vetoed that option, she’d reluctantly promised Knock Out that she’d be the one vacuuming his back seat instead.

Even with that compromise made, though, five hours is a long time to spend in a car with someone. Especially a sentient car. They’ve already gone through the motions of arguing about the radio - a pointless endeavor, given that Knock Out is the one who controls it - and then Villanelle had tried to teach them how to play a couple of road trip games ( “Fuck, Marry, Kill” had gone the most disastrously).

Finally, Mistoffelees asks, “Was it really necessary to come so far for this... other city you described? I don’t see how it can be all that much different from London.”

He sounds almost uncomfortable, and for the first time Villanelle wonders whether he or Tugger have ever been this far from home before -- they are cats, even if they are special ones.

“Paris is nothing like London,” Villanelle insists, though she knows that alone might not mean much to him.  “-- It is the most beautiful city in the world. And if you’re in love, you have to go at least once.”

“I never figured you for the sentimental type,” Knock Out quips dryly.

"Maybe she means if you’re in love with yourself,” Misto offers.  “I suppose that describes at least three out of four of us, so --”

He breaks off at Tugger’s feigned indignant gasp and even-more-feigned swat, laughing, and Villanelle gives both of them a pointed look through the rearview mirror.

They are just made for Paris, these two. Later, they’re going to have to admit that she was right.

Knock Out sighs audibly, distracting her from her thoughts.  “You know. You really do owe me for this.”

--

Even Knock Out can’t find too much to complain about once they reach the city proper, though. Villanelle beams smugly when he admits that there’s a certain classiness about it all “as far as cities on this mudball go”, and he rolls his windows down a little so that Misto and Tugger can better appreciate the scents and sounds.

“It’s not home,” Tugger drawls, enjoying the way the wind buffets the mane of fur around his neck.  “But it’s not half bad.”

It’s home to Villanelle, though, or -- the closest thing she’s ever had to one, besides the one she just burnt to ashes. She takes them past the street where her old apartment used to be, just for nostalgia’s sake.

“The only thing about Paris is, it’s really more of a walking city,”  Villanelle tells them at length.  “Hey Knock Out -- you don’t have some kind of boat mode, do you?”

“A boat?” Knock Out echoes scathingly.  “What exactly do you take me for?”

“Okay, so, the river tour is out. But I can show you around even better from here. Just follow my lead.”

Mistoffelees leans languidly against Tugger as they share the open window, and sighs.  “What could possibly go wrong.”

To Villanelle’s credit, she does give a hell of a tour, taking them past the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe. Then they make a stop at the Pont Neuf bridge, where Villanelle positions the very bemused cats on the railing so that she can take their picture against the backdrop of the Seine.

“I can’t say I really understand the purpose of this,” Misto says for about the third time, then flattens his ears when Villanelle shushes him.

“I told you! It is easier to show you than tell you -- here, look.” She approaches to show them the image on her phone, ignoring the peculiar looks she gets from one or two passersby.  Tugger is the first to lean forward with skeptical curiosity, and then --

“-- It’s us.” His eyes go wide, and Villanelle watches his reaction with a smug sort of delight.  “Oh, that actually is marvelous.”

“I knew you would enjoy any excuse to look at yourself,” Villanelle quips in return, though in truth, it is a very nice picture if she does say so herself. Misto and Tugger look especially handsome in the photo -- you know, for cats. The sun brings streaks of vivid color out in Tugger’s fur, while Misto’s black and white pelt looks particularly glossy. They sit side by side, their sides touching, and Villanelle had captured just the right moment to preserve the glance they’d exchanged as she took the picture: Misto looking up at Tugger in "can-you-believe-what’s-happening” exasperation, and Tugger returning his gaze with something that read between amusement and the inevitable fondness he always seemed to regard the other cat with.

It’s very... them, Villanelle decides.

“It’s...” Mistoffelees seems almost uncharacteristically at a loss for words.  “...It’s like you froze a moment in time.”

Villanelle shrugs agreeably.  “Humans kind of collect them. I can get this printed, and then you can have your own physical copy, if... that is something you want?” She isn’t sure whether cats have any particular use for photos, but Tugger and Mistoffelees seem to like the idea.

“Seems a shame to waste such a handsome keepsake,” Tugger says, his eyes glinting. Misto smiles - in that very un-catlike way the Jellicles have - and looks up at Villanelle directly.

“Thank you.”

She tilts her head and almost responds, but then can’t think of anything good or clever to say. So instead, she turns to where Knock Out is still parked, the impatience practically simmering off him.

“Knock Out! Let me get one of you.”

“I don’t do autographs, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Don’t be so boring, God. Actually, we can all get in it! I will get someone to take it for us.”

It is probably only Villanelle’s perfect French that saves her from looking like a completely batshit tourist as she herds the cats over to him and needles one very confused local into taking a picture of the four of them together. Instead, she just looks like... well, a batshit French person obsessed with taking photos of herself, her two cats, and her sports car. Which is fine with her, really.

The photo turns out nice, too. Not quite as romantic as the first -- actually, it looks pretty silly. Tugger, taking advantage of Knock Out’s inability to protest while in public company, had leaped up onto his hood and sprawled out like some kind of feline model, which had made Villanelle throw her head back and cackle while in the midst of trying to scoop a begrudging Mistoffelees up into her arms. 

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time. 

She takes them to the Luxembourg Gardens, too, where an artist asks if she can paint Mistoffelees (leaving Villanelle, Tugger, and Knock Out all quite individually offended evidently not to be considered the prettiest of the group), and then to the fish market where she figures the cats will be in heaven (shockingly, Tugger decides that Parisian food isn’t beneath him, though Misto is partial to the vanilla ice cream Villanelle buys him later).

By then, it’s getting close to nightfall, and Villanelle checks the time and then the listing on her phone. “Okay. Just one more stop. You will all like this one, I promise.”

“I think we’ve all learned by now not to trust your promises,” Mistoffelees retorts, but it’s goodnatured, a mild protest by his standards. Tugger even joins in making fun of his grumbling this time, and Knock Out has spent the last twenty minutes idly looking into things near the city he might want to do “for reconnaissance purposes” the next day, so Villanelle suspects that - not so secretly - they are all enjoying themselves.

--

The last stop is at a little park just beyond the city, where an overlook affords them a view of the Parisian lights in all their glory.  Misto and Tugger stop to enjoy it together for a little while, while Villanelle urges Knock Out to continue on up the road a little ways to find parking at...

“A drive-in theater.” Knock Out realizes, surprise lacing his tone.

Villanelle slips out the passengers side door to stretch her legs, but also to inform him:  “Drive-in is a loose term. I rented out the entire space for us tonight. I figured if we had a bit of privacy, you wouldn’t have to be stuck as a car all night.”

“I --”  Knock Out starts, then seems to register what she actually said.  Villanelle waits through the pause patiently.  “...I happen to be gorgeous in vehicle mode. As anyone with optics could tell you.”

“Yes,” Villanelle agrees, because she’s already learned how to butter him up, “But you make an even prettier robot.”

Knock Out tilts his mirror at her. His version of a side-eye, and code for I know exactly what you’re doing but I’m still flattered. “Well. I suppose this was... shockingly thoughtful of you.”  He transforms once Villanelle takes another step back, and then crouches down to eye her suspiciously. “Uncharacteristically, one might even say.”

But Villanelle has no real ulterior motives, this time.  She is just happy they all came with her to her favorite city in the world for no other reason than because she asked. Instead of saying that aloud, though, she redirects her attention to the overlook, where Tugger and Misto’s silhouettes are visible.  “Do you think they are enjoying their honeymoon?”

“How would I know?” Knock Out flippantly tilts his head to consider the pair. Misto tucks himself against Tugger’s side, and Tugger wraps his tail around the tom’s smaller frame as if they’ve done this thousands of times before. They look so... still. So content, in a way Villanelle isn’t used to imagining them. “I’m not an expert on the mushy stuff.”

“Really? You don’t have anyone?”

“I...” That actually gets Knock Out to hesitate, his expression unreadable. “...Think it’s inappropriate to divulge that kind of information between agent and handler.”

Villanelle nods ruefully. Konstantin had always been smart enough to avoid talking about his personal life with her, too. “I have someone,” she announces quietly, the status of the actual having be damned. “I might tell you about her someday. But --”  And before Knock Out can react to that, she shifts her attention back to the cats again. “I think they really love each other.”

“That seems like a safe assumption,” Knock Out quips dryly.  “Why do you even care?”

Why does she care? Envy? Her usual fascination with other people’s emotions, the ones that are always just out of reach for her? Neither of those feel right, but Villanelle doesn’t know the name for what is.

It just... feels better, knowing that Mistoffelees and Tugger have each other. It makes something in her calm strangely when she thinks of them.

She just shrugs again, in the end. And then the cats are getting up and coming back around to meet them, and Villanelle shoos away whatever she was feeling or pondering feeling and gives them an elegant smirk.  “Finally decided to join us, lovebirds?”

Tugger smirks right back up at her. “Personally, I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of my night watching the city lights, but Mistoffelees here seemed to feel that would have been terribly discourteous of us both.”

“It is your honeymoon,” Villanelle points out, because despite her teasing she wouldn’t really have minded. Her and Knock Out have a movie they could have entertained themselves with, after all.

“Yes,” Misto agrees lightly. “And I don’t think it’ll be one we’ll ever forget. Especially if you’ve chosen a decent... movie for us.”

“Please, Mistoffelees,” Villanelle mimics Tugger using his full name, because she enjoys the way it rolls off her tongue and she knows her accent makes it sound a little funny. “Surely you trust my taste by now.”

“Not unconditionally.” 

“It’s French,” Villanelle promises them as she goes to turn on the screen.  “-Ish. And romantic. You will watch it, and be grateful that your lives are not anywhere near as terrible as this couple’s are!”

“Moulin Rouge?” Knock Out asks in confusion as the title screen pops up.  “I’m not sure I understand the need for dramatics. It all ends happily enough, doesn’t it?”

Villanelle stares back at him wordlessly, one eyebrow raised.

“...It... I may have caught Starscream watching it once. And I’m positive they get back together safely at the end.”

“Do not spoil it for the cats!” Villanelle tries not to sound too gleeful at this newly collected potential blackmail on the Decepticon second-in-command. She sits down in the grass by Knock Out’s feet, and Tugger settles in beside her with Misto at his side, and Villanelle spends a moment reflecting that it would be really fun to teach them some of these songs.

She wonders if cats can technically sing?

[redheadedbastards]

Daily Life Drabbles: The Cake

Wen yawned and shuffled half-awake into the living room. Just ahead he spotted Ronan. He was (as always) draped dramatically over Margo’s recliner in a way only thought possible for wet towels. A frustrated huff escaped him and his eyebrows drew together in concentration as he tried to make sense of the Country Living Magazine in his hands. He flipped forwards a few pages and seemed only more and more at a loss the further he read on.

“Morning,” Beckman greeted him and leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. His soft sentiment was lost though. His half-conscious reflexes missed his mark by a mile and Ronan cringed as Wen’s lips met the Irishman’s ear. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-...” He rubbed a hand over his eyes before waving vaguely. “..Yeah.”

“S’fine, swee’hear’, jus’ a li’tle gross fer ya is all.” Ronan sat up an inch to look around before settling back into the cushions more haphazardly than he started. “Ay, ‘N? Before ya go an’ make cereal o’ wha’ever ya were gonna make, come si’ with me a min’ will ya?”

The couch creaked as Wen settled beside him. His hazel eyes looked expectantly into his brown one. “Are you sick? You don’t look too happy.”

“Nah, nothin’ like tha’. Jus’ irritated,” Mulcahey explained and showed him the page he had just been attempting to glare a hole through. It was a recipe for a simple layered chocolate cake. “I wanted ta make somethin’ nice fer Margo since she’s helped us fer so long an’ Emme’ said ‘er birthday’s comin’ up. Bu’ tha thing is tha’ this book ‘e gave me doesn’ make any sense. They go’ tha ingredien’s righ’ ‘ere bu’ look a’ ‘em! I’s like their speaking French o’ something!”

The other man leaned forwards and scanned through the recipe. “What’s a teaspoon?”

“I’s a spoon. Obviously. Bu’-”, he points at another ingredient. “Then there’s tablespoons too. Which is also jus’ a spoon! Why are there two? Wha’s tha difference anyways? I though’ i’ was jus’ a mistake bu’ tha whole book is filled with tha’ shi’!”

“I have an idea,” Wen stood up suddenly and grabbed him by the hand. “I’ll show you.”

“Alrigh’y then.”

Ten minutes and three spoons now soaking in two tea cups to prep later, the two men began to try their hand at baking. It took a little while to find a large bowl and all the ingredients but whatever they couldn’t find they eventually found alternatives for. Things were starting to really come together in their opinion. At least that's what they believed by just glancing at the thing.

Ronan was busy cutting almonds as Wen dumped a cup of water into the bowl and then a few eggs. “Don’ forge’ tha flour. Tha’s an importan’ bi’.” He reminded his boyfriend.

“Oh right!” The taller man frowned at the empty cupboard in front of him. “I used all of our cups on the other ingredients. Should I use a mug instead?”

“Hm..” He squinted at him before bobbing his head in approval. “Yeah tha’ shoul’ be fine. Doesn’ ‘ave ta be perfect.”

The Irishman slid the bag of flour across the counter before pouring the almonds into the mix. Wen had just lifted the bag up in front of him when it began to slip from his hands. On instinct his other hand shot out and grabbed it before it fell, sending a large plume of flour into the face and chest of the man leaned in front of him. The flour-coated man coughed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“‘N.. Wha’ jus’-?” An accusatory brown eye glared up at him from a white-coated wasteland where his face had been. Wen, initially having felt terrible for accidentally dousing him in the powder, now struggled to withhold his laughter. He tried not to look at him as a few deep giggles escaped his lips. Ronan felt his face grow hot with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment before he saw the state of his clothes. “M-Mah shir’! ‘N, ya go’ i’ all over my new-! AN’ MY JACKE’?! Wen-!” He whined and uselessly tried to shake the cloth clean.

“I- I’m s-” Watching him wag his shirt about was too much for the other man and Beckman curled over as laughter overtook him. Tears streamed down his face as he guffawed. Anytime he looked up at Ronan he immediately was hit with a new wave of joy. “Sorry- I’m-!” He struggled to speak. “I-!”

“Ya think this is jus’ so funny, huh?” Beckman nodded and wiped at his face. “Well how funny is i’ for ya when I do this-!” Ronan grabbed him by the collar and pulled his laughing face down to him. He pressed his lips against his roughly, catching Wen pleasantly off guard. Just when he had begun to sink into the kiss the flour-covered man rubbed his face all over his own.

“Ah- Stop-!” He laughed trying to get away. He didn’t get far before Mulcahey wrapped his arms around him and went to work trying to cover every inch of the 7 foot tall man with flour. “Ronan, ah-! You got it in my sweater!”

“Tha’s wha’ ya ge’ fer ruinin’ my hair AN’ clothes.” He growled playfully then yelped as they both went careening backwards and landed on the floor. “AH! WEN-! THA FLOUR!!” He flailed uselessly underneath the larger man’s body. Only managing to get more of the flour on him in the process. Ronan let out a dramatic and forlorn groan and flopped his hands back down. Choosing to accept his fate rather than fight it any longer.

Wen grinned at him, his freckled face half coated as well. “Does that mean I win?” Ronan’s eye shot back open and he glared at him.

“Never!” He declared, grabbing him by the back of his leg and flipping him off. Mulcahey shimmied to his feet and stood proudly over his startled form. “Accept i’, love! In tha end I always-”

The front door creaked open and a small older woman walked through. The Irishman turned around and Margo looked between the two of them, the mess on the counter and her full sink. “..Boys.” She said in an eerily smooth tone. She took a deep breathe in and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m gonna go visit Kat for a bit.” She went back out the way she came and slowly meandered back to her truck.

“Shi’.” Ronan shared a worried look with Wen before helping him up. “Alrigh’ new plan. We clean this up then we finish tha cake.”

“Sounds good.” They shook on it and got started. Wen went to work trying to sweep the flour off the counter and floor with his hands. Mulcahey, on the other hand, began to strip off his clothes and put them into a bag so as not to track it in the house. Both now driven by their combined efforts to not get killed when the woman returned to the cabin.

-2 hours later-

Margo’s hand hesitated before grabbing the doorknob before her. She hoped her heart could handle whatever she found on the other side. She opened the door and to her surprise the kitchen looked nearly as it had when she first left that morning. Cautiously, she continued forwards.

“Shorty, Rooster, where did you all get off to?” She heard quick, very-much-audible whispering in the other room. After another few seconds Ronan stumbled out from the hallway as if pushed by an over-eager hand and grins apprehensively at her. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

“Well, ya see-,” his eye glanced at the living room and he cleared his throat. “We- Me and ‘N, ya know ‘im. Well, we made somethin’ an’- Oh-! Tha mess don’ worry we go’ tha’ all up! I’s jus’ woosh gone, y’know how tha’ goes. Jus’-!.. Yep.”

“Rooster, are you gonna spit it out or-?” All of her old worries were now gone and now she merely enjoyed watching the ordeal play out.

Ronan, looking rather constipated, shouted for the other to join them. It took him a second, but eventually the sheepish man came into the main room as well. In his hands he carefully supported a-.. Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was, on one of her nicer plates. Just going from the looks of the thing she assumed that if either church in town caught sight of it it’d likely be declared an abomination and quickly exorcised.

“We made a cake,” Wen said proudly. “For your birthday!”

“Was my idea bu’ ‘N helped me transla’e i’ and pu’ i’ together. Do ya know how hard i’ is ta make one o’ these?! Took ages. Bu’ i’s perfect.”

“Better than the picture,” the other chimed in. Mulcahey nodded in agreement and she chuckled. “We should have some.”

Margo had at first found the whole situation rather endearing. That is, she felt that way until that exact point. She smiled widely but as her eyes fell on the mess on the plate she only felt dread filling her gut. “Of course! L-Let’s go get us each a slice.” She had lived long enough, she decided and took the plate from him.

She set the thing on their dining room table and did her best to cut it as it oozed beneath her blade. Margo put a strangely rigid yet gelatinous piece on each of their plates and sat down. Her two loveably stupid sons smiled excitedly at her as she scooped some onto a fork. She smiled back, prayed to whoever or whatever was out there and took a bite. “Is-..” She struggled to swallow it. “Is that sour cream?”

Ronan gave her a smug look. “Yep, we forgo’ ta add i’ in before with tha other ingredients bu’ then I remembered we still needed ta make tha fillin’. So we jus’ threw I’ in there! Clever righ’?”

“Oh? Yes, very.. Um, creative.” She chewed through another glob and gave him a supportive smile. Turning her attention to the other man beside her, she found that Wen was shoveling down the mess without hesitation. Margo’s stomach twisted at the sight but she couldn’t help but respect him for it. “Well, this was real nice, boys. I love it alot. It was-.. Was very sweet of you both to do this all just for me.”

She reached over and dusted some flour out of the fan of Ronan’s mohawk. Making a mental note to teach them how to bake before her next birthday. He grumbled and waved her off and Wen continued to eat the “cake” like a man half-starved, smiling all the while. Margo, despite her and very likely Wen’s inevitable food poisoning, found that this was the best birthday she had in a long time and looked forward to the next one they would share.

[1dffexchange]

Uncomfortable Silences

To: Vicki @angstarella​

From: Liv @midnightcities​

Summary: It’s been 927 days since Rowie messily ended her two year relationship with Harry. 659 days since Harry Styles bared his soul and shared it for the world to hear in the form of a best-selling debut album. 173 days since his number had flashed across the screen of her phone. But finally, Rowie was starting to feel her sense of normalcy return.

It was any other Saturday morning. A half eaten piece of Marmite toast lay forgotten on the kitchen counter along with the dregs of my morning coffee. There was a haphazard pile of trousers at the foot of my bed that I had created when searching for my favourite black pair. My 10 minute snooze turned into almost 25 minutes and I was now on a time crunch to pull myself together for my Saturday shift. Despite promising myself that I would go to bed at an acceptable hour last night, I fell prey to my best friend’s masterful coercing and stayed out far longer than I originally intended. You think by now I would know better.

I was in my bathroom, scraping my hair back into a bun, when I heard the buzz of my phone. Jules, the aforementioned best friend I’m sure, checking in to either complain about her killer headache or to help fill in her hazy memory. This had become a bit of a ritual for us.

One last glance in the mirror and I deemed myself suitable enough to face the horde of Saturday shoppers. I flicked the bathroom light off and grabbed my phone that I had earlier tossed onto my unmade bed. The phone screen lit up as I brought it to eye level. I immediately dropped the phone back onto the bed when I saw the notification:

+44 7106 555555 iMessage

I had finally deleted that number almost a year ago; that’s the best way to move on according to all the break-up articles and books I have pored over the past 2 and a bit years. They don’t tell you how to delete a number from your memory though. I haven’t seen it grace my phone screen in quite some time, the longest stint yet actually. And still, it made my heart stutter erratically and my palms clammy.

What does he want now? Has something happened? Work. I haven’t seen much of him online lately. Who was that last girl he was linked to again? Work. Is this going to be some half-assed, drunk apology again? I need to go to work.

I broke myself out of my impending trainwreck of thoughts, forcing myself to throw all my effort into moving my body. I snatched up my bag and grabbed my phone once again. My eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see that damn number as I shoved it to the depths of my bag. Out of sight out of mind, right?

****

Waterstones was a staple part of my childhood London visits, so landing a job here in my first year of studying was a dream. I was lucky enough to take up residence at the Gower Street store. It always was my favourite, with its twisting shelves and hidden nooks, and it’s a bonus that it’s only a 5 minute walk from main campus for those days when I have class. As a child I always thought this would be the perfect place to play a game of hide-and-seek. And on days like today where I would rather do anything than enthusiastically suggest a middle-aged woman some egregious romance novel, the labyrinth nature of the store was appreciated.

I was tucked away on the third floor, shelving some second-hand Philosophy books. I studied each title intently, skimmed each books synopsis, and threw all my mental energy into deciphering what the philosophical knowledge each book was actually trying to impart. The upper levels of the store are the perfect study sanctuary; I have spent many hours holed up in here writing last minute essays. But today the comfortable silence was not good for my current mental state.

I had thrown my bag into the designated employee locker out the back, my phone remaining ignored in the depths. I’m sure I felt it vibrate again when I was on the tube but it stayed unopened and unchecked. I can’t do this again, I really can’t put myself through… that again.

“Um… Excuse me…” A quiet voice caught me off guard.

I turned, book still in hand, to see three girls standing awkwardly near the W-Z section of Social Sciences. They looked a little young to be browsing up here, but I reserved my judgements. “Yes, how may I help you today?” I flashed my customer service smile.

The girl in the middle opened her mouth before snapping it shut again. The one on the left nudged her, giving her a look of slight impatience. Odd.

“Are… are you…” She attempted again.

Now the one on the right shook her head and pushed herself forward. “Are you Rowena Porter?��

I felt my heart begin to stutter, my stomach clench. “Excuse me?”

“Rowie…” the girl in the middle whispered, “she likes to be called Rowie.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, “are you Rowie Porter?”

“I’m sorry,” my cheeks felt hot and I could feel my hands starting to shake, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

The girl on the right took a couple steps toward me, clearly she was the most confident of the three. “Harry Styles has been seen coming here a lot lately. And then I remembered reading on Twitter that you work here. Has he been visiting you? Are you back together?”

My breath hitched. Harry was here? When? Why? Was it to see me? Surely out of all the Waterstones in London he wouldn’t choose this one for his bookish needs. It can’t be a mere coincidence.

The three girls stared at me expectantly, as if I was about to really about to reveal some intimate, albeit non-existent, love-life details. I placed the book in my hand on the shelf adjacent to me and took a steading breath. “I’m sorry girls, but Rowena quit working here a while back. I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than that.”

“Oh, so you just happen to look like her?” The girl challenged.

“Coincidence.”

“But--”

“Look,” my tone had become considerably more clipped, “if you have any book related questions I am happy to help you out. Otherwise I need to continue on with my job.” I picked up the half-empty box of Philosophy books that still needed unpacking and headed down the aisle and away from the girls. I prayed that they weren’t following me. It took every ounce of my self-control to not completely blow up at them and tell them, in the nicest way possible, to sod off. But now I was throwing all my focus into not breaking down in the middle of the Greek and Roman Classics section.

I pounded down the three flights of stairs, determined to hold myself together to at least the back storage area. My head was swimming, like I had just thrown back five consecutive shots of Jäger, and my face prickling with sweat.

Just as I was about the push past the registers, my unstable hands got the better of me and I dropped the box, the books tumbling out. “Shit.” I scrambled onto my knees to pile the books back up but tears began to blur my vision and I could feel the stares of customers. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

“Rowie, are you okay?”

A pair of hands shot out and began haphazardly throwing the books back into the box. The hands belonged to Will, one of my co-workers and probably one of the only people I considered an actual friend on staff. I sat back, letting him collect the last few books, and willed my hands to stop trembling and for my tears to not spill over. Will stood and lifted the box up and behind the counter before offering me his hand. I hoped he couldn’t feel the stickiness of perspiration on my palms. “Alright?”

I shook my head. “I need to go.”

His eyebrows furrowed in obvious concern. “Do you want me to call someone? You look shaken up… What happened?”

Again, I shook my head. “Who’s on today?”

“Mara.” One small win, she was the kindest of all the store managers. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my early departure.

“Can you please just tell her I had a family emergency or something. I really need to get out of here.” I pushed past Will, past the registers, and burst through the back storage area doors.

“Is this because of Harry?” I hadn’t realised Will had followed me.

I whirled back around meeting his worried gaze. “What?”

“He was here... A few days ago.” He spoke cautiously, he could clearly tell I was on the verge of breaking. “He asked for you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Rowie, why would I? Look at the state of you right now, I wasn’t about to do that to you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to 10, and forced myself to take some calming breaths. Anything to stop the rising panic. “You did the right thing,” I spoke finally. I could see Will let out a small breath in relief. “I still need to deal with this though, please tell Mara for me.”

“Row--”

“No,” I cut him off before he could go on his usual tirade of why my ex is not worth my time, something that I normally do appreciate. “Just… Let me deal with this. I’ll talk to you later.”

Will pursed his lips, I could tell that he was struggling to keep his opinions quiet. He merely turned and walked back out to the store front. I knew he wasn’t happy, but that was something I needed to push aside for now.

I turned and made my way to the staff locker and retrieved my bag. Time to face the music. I grabbed my phone. The screen lit as I brought it to view. Four messages. All from that same number. My thumb hovered over the notification, my stomach churning at the thought of what could be contained in those four messages. I unlocked my phone.

+44 7106 555555

(7:42 am): Rowie, I know you don’t want to hear from me but can you please give me a call. Harry.

(8:09 am): Please Row

(8:47 am): im desperate

(8:48 am): i need you.

I stared at the four little blue bubbles, unable to process them. A weird sense of calm had blanketed me. My previously hammering heart had slowed, my hands were still, my breath even. Almost robotically, I dropped my phone back into my bag and made a beeline straight out of Waterstones and into the chaos of Gower Street.

im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you.

The words flashed over and over in my mind with my every footfall. My thoughts wandered to every possible scenario as to what he could need. A jostle from a stranger awoke me from my abstraction and I realised I was already on the Euston Square platform. A train had just pulled up, my train I confirmed when I glanced over at the schedule. I quickly slipped on just as the doors closed and found a free seat. I sat rigidly, the sway of the carriage slowly pulling me back into my spiralling thoughts.

****

It felt like time was moving funny. My usual 25 minute journey felt like it was over in less than 5. The encounter with those girls this morning felt like it happened hours ago when it has barely been over an hour. That weird sense of calm I felt earlier was ebbing away and I could feel the panic begin to nestle it’s way back in. And the crowded train platform wasn’t helping me to keep my impending panic attack at bay. I needed a voice of reason, someone to help guide me through. I needed Jules.

I moved with the commuters but reached into my bag for my phone, praying she would be awake. Just as I unlocked my phone though, it began vibrating. Jules’ name appeared on the screen; what are the chances. I answered immediately.

“Oh, Rowie. Thank god,” Jules’ breathless voice greeted me, “I thought you wouldn’t pick up because of work.”

“Yeah, I was there but I left. I was just about to ring you actually. Is everything alright with you?” I tapped my Oyster card against the scanner, keen to get away from the claustrophobic nature of the London Underground.

“Wait, where are you now?”

“Just got off the tube, heading home. There was… An incident at work.” I finally stepped out on the street, the fresh air felt good.

“Home?! Oh god. Listen Rowie, I’m so sorry but I didn’t know what to do.”

Jules sounded truly panicked now, enough for me to stop my brisk walking pace and throw all my attention into the call. “What do you mean you didn’t know what to do? What is going on?”

“It’s-- It’s Harry.”

My stomach dropped, for the umpteenth time today. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know! He rang me, I don’t even know how he has my number. He was asking for you, but he didn’t sound right. He had been to your flat, your old one though, didn’t even know you had moved.” Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t know anything that has happened to me in the past two years. “I wasn’t sure if it was an emergency, I didn’t know how to help.”

“It’s okay, you did the right thing by talking to him.”

“No, Rowie I-- Oh, I told him where you live now. Row, I think he’s waiting for you there.”

****

The last time I counted, it had been 643 days since I had seen Harry in person. That’s just over two years. And it has essentially taken me up until now to feel that sense of normalcy return which I craved back when I first ended our relationship. But seeing him sat on my flat’s front step, even from a distance, made me realise that no amount of time is going to stop that visceral, all-consuming feeling he has always given me.

He was hunched over, a beanie pulled down tight over his curls. It wasn’t even cold out yet, but I assume he’s wearing it to stay somewhat hidden. He fiddled with his phone and then tucked it away, tugged at the sleeves of the black sweater he was wearing, clasped and unclasped his hands. I could tell he was nervous. And judging from the twitches of my hands, so was I.

I crossed the street and approached him cautiously. He was so consumed with his thoughts he didn’t even hear me approach. I cleared my throat, crossing my arms in a way to steel myself.

Harry’s head jerked up, recognition immediately flooding his muted green eyes. “Rowie…” He stood. I forgot how tall he was.

“Hello, Harry.” I spoke quietly. I was surprised my tone hid my tumbling emotions so well.

“It’s…” he exhaled, “it’s so good to see you.”

I rolled my lips and nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Can I come up?”

No, no, no, no. My flat was one of my only Harry-free zones. No memories were attached. Everything had been removed that reminded me of him. Seeing him up there now would bring up a slew of problems. “I don’t think that would be best,” I spoke carefully. I was still trying to gauge where he was at mentally right now; he seemed off.

“You know I wouldn’t normally insist but I think it would be best. If someone spots me here you’re gonna be dealing with… Well you know the routine.”

He was right. And especially after what happened this morning, the last thing I need is more obsessive fans waiting outside my flat. “Fair enough.”

I unfolded my arms and grabbed my keys from my bag. Harry followed me up the few steps and watched as I unlocked the door. My hands visibly shook as I twisted the key. I know he noticed but he said nothing. In silence, we walked up the four flights of stairs and down the hall to flat 408. I let us in, promptly locking the door behind us.

My current flat was quite different from the one Harry had known. Paying my way through a Masters degree and some other unexpected financial problems at home had forced me to downsize, coupled with the fact that I was desperate to leave those walls which were filled to the brim with memories of us.

I watched as Harry’s eyes scanned the space - the cramped kitchen with the leaky tap, the speckled counter that doubled as a dining table, the IKEA sofa I had picked up on sale last winter. I knew my living space was a stark contrast to what Harry was likely used to and I couldn’t take his scrutinising gaze any longer. I knew my somewhat cool exterior was beginning to crack, the unwanted feelings of anxiety pushing to burst through and consume me. I needed some relief.

I left Harry standing awkwardly near the doorway and stepped into the kitchen. Dumping my bag on the counter, I began searching through the drawers for what I knew I needed. I was beginning to feel light-headed again, my whole body falling prey to the shakes. Tucked snuggly next to a half-used pack of Panadol and some Strepsils was the bottle I was searching for. The safety cap proved too difficult for my unsteady fingers though. I let out a small groan of frustration.

“You need a hand?” Harry carefully took the bottle from my hands, expertly twisting the top off. He handed it back, but not before peeking at the label, something I wish he didn’t do. “Alprazolam? Isn’t that--”

“Xanax, yes.” I tossed back two pills dry, desperate for their calming effect.

“Oh. Uh, you should be careful with those. They can be addictive and--”

“Yes, I know that Harry,” I snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business but they’ve been prescribed and I only take them when the situation calls for it.”

My abrupt tone took Harry by surprise, judging from the way he shifted away from me. I could see he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. I felt a twinge of guilt at my unwarranted outburst.

“It helps with my panic attacks,” I said quietly after a few moments. “I haven’t had a full blown attack in a while though. I’m good at knowing the signs now. Shaky hands, erratic heart rate, feeling faint.”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t know… How long have you been dealing with them?”

I sighed heavily. I knew Harry wasn’t going to like my answer. “I had my first one in 2015. They were at their worst in 2016 though. That’s when I got medical help.”

“2015… Wait…” I watched as Harry connected the dots. I moved out of the kitchen and towards the sofa, as if putting some distance between us would soften the blow of seeing his reaction. “That’s when we were together. You were having panic attacks and didn’t even tell me?!”

“They weren’t a big deal, I didn’t want to worry you.”

Harry ripped his beanie off and slammed it down on the kitchen counter. I jumped, both at the sound and Harry’s sudden, extreme mood change. “God, Rowie,” he spat bitterly, “I was your fucking boyfriend. I was supposed to worry about you. To help you!”

“It was almost 4 years ago Harry—“

“So?!” He cut me off. “I had some right to know what you were dealing with!”

I could feel my face heating up, not due to panic but because of anger this time. “What I was dealing with? What I was dealing with? You wouldn’t have been able to understand Harry.”

“Try me.”

“You were born for this life Harry, an entertainer at heart able to bounce through life without worrying about what millions of people around the world think of you. But not me. Seeing my name, my personal life, splashed across social media and in news articles. People commenting about me, online and in person. People saying I don’t deserve you. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Harry’s hands were clenched on the counter, frustration radiating off him. “For two years I have sat and analysed every facet of our relationship, wandering what I did wrong. Repeated that day you ended everything over and over. I wrote a whole fucking album for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I interjected harshly.

“And if you had just told me these things at the time I could’ve helped you through it. Together, like a couple is supposed to!”

I shook my head. “I did what had to be done. It was the right thing for us. And for you.”

“No, it wasn’t. You broke my heart, Rowena.” His voice broke and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I was rendered speechless. My full name hung in the air between us, an uncomfortable silence smothering the room. It seems silly to be caught off guard by my own name, but I’ve never heard him say it. I’ve always been Rowie, his Rowie.

As we both stood there, kitchen counter separating us, staring but remaining unmoving, I felt as though I was truly seeing Harry for the first time today. With the beanie off I could see his hair looked unusually unkempt, his curls limp as though they needed a good wash. His skin had broken out, which I knew only happened when he was stressed, and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed that suspicion. His hands which were always adorned with an assortment of rings were bare. Even his clothes looked disheveled. This wasn’t the Harry I knew standing before me.

“Harry…” I said softly, breaking the silence, “what’s really going on? Why did you need to see me?”

I watched as he hunched over the counter, resting his head in his hands. His fingers twined into his hair, gripping at the root. As he ran his hands through the flat curls, he brought his gaze up to meet mine. His eyes had filled with tears and I felt that immediate pang in my heart.

Without inhibition, I joined Harry back in the kitchen and gathered him up in my arms, bringing his head down to the crook of my neck. As I stroked the nape of his neck, I felt his arms twist around my waist and pull me tight. I knew he wasn’t crying, but I could feel every ounce of emotion through his embrace. And suddenly I felt at peace, and not because of the meds. I hated that it felt so right to be here in this moment, that the one thing that could stabilise me was the thing I drove away years ago.

Harry loosened his grip and I took it as a sign to pull away slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “For what? I’m the one who should be apologising for being shitty and leaving without a proper explanation.”

“I should’ve seen it, the struggles you were having. You’re right, this life can be hard. And it was silly of me to just assume that you were coping with it fine. You say that I don’t worry about what people think of me, I don’t. But that’s after years of me being so caught up in it. I had to learn to ignore and move past the crap.”

“I should have told you though…” I said softly.

He drew his hands away from my waist, instead clasping my own hands in his and bringing them up to his chin. I felt the softest graze of his lips as he stared down at me, my heart skittered ever so slightly. “I really miss you, Row. Everyday.”

I nodded, unsure if I could trust myself to string together a coherent sentence.

He sighed heavily, dropping my hands and taking a step back to lean against my oven. I immediately missed the contact. “In 47 days I’m supposed to be announcing my upcoming album. Which means I have about 42 days to get the tracks laid. The first instance of them anyways.” I watched as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “And I am so fucking lost.”

I still stood quietly, unsure of what I could really say. Words of encouragement from me right now would surely feel superficial to him.

“God, last time I struggled to cut down the track list. I had such a backlog of material, it was mental.”

I knew I had some role to play with that. Breaking up with someone just as they were about to embark on launching a solo career would result in an abundance of inspiration.

“And this time I have nothing…” he continued on. “Everything I write is utter shite, and the pressure from the label isn’t helping.”

“Push back the announcement then,” I finally spoke.

He laughed, without humor though. “If only it was that easy Rowie. You remember what it was like when I was in the band, the label asking for a new record every bloody year. That was considered feasible as there were five of us. Now according to them, going beyond a 2 year break between records is ‘not recommended’.”

I snorted, and Harry looked at me questioningly. “Seriously? That’s crap. How many artists have been MIA for years and still come back with another best-selling album. Harry, you’re underestimating your talents a little I think. This isn’t like your early years of One Direction where you guys had to pump out content in order to stay relevant. You’ve put in the hard yards and made your mark, you are here to stay.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips. It gave me the confidence to continue on.

“You could literally release an album that consisted primarily of whale and dolphin calls and it would number one on release day.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Not sure if the label would like that though.”

I approached him slowly. “Well, I would love it. In fact, I’ve already got it pre-ordered on iTunes and saved on my Spotify.” I stood toe to toe with Harry, my fingers reaching out to the hem of his sweater. It was taking all of my self-restraint to not stretch up and trace his jawline, to comb back his hair with my fingers.

Instead, Harry seized the opportunity. Cautiously, he placed his hand to the side of my face. I melted into his touch. His lips parted ever so slightly before rolling them together, his telltale sign that he wanted to kiss me but was unsure.

“It’s okay,” I barely whispered out. I rolled up onto my toes, bringing my arms around his neck before pressing my lips against his. It felt as though no time had passed; we were in sync immediately, our mouths moving with familiarity. I raked my nails up through his hair and he mirrored by running his down my sides.

But as sudden as we had fallen back into routine, Harry pulled away. I couldn’t help a small sound of detest escape my mouth. “Shit,” he mumbled. He unlatched my arms from around his neck and pressed them back into my chest. “I shouldn’t… I know this isn’t what you want.” He sidestepped me and moved as far away from me as possible, which was only a few meters as that’s all my flat would allow.

“Who are you to say what I do and don’t want?” I challenged.

“You just told me the enormous toll our relationship had on you mentally. And I didn’t come here to try and win you back.”

I suddenly felt like I had been used. “So, what? You have no inspiration to write some songs so you come and see me, dredge up old problems, and then run off to the studio? Is that all I am to you now? A muse of emotional trauma?”

His eyes widened. “Jesus Rowie, of course not! I needed to see you because I knew you would be a voice of reason for me. Every person that I have spoken to about this album just doesn't get it. They’re all too… I don’t know. Too close to the project? They all just think I have a bit of writer’s block. My mum told me to clear my head by taking a walk in a bloody forest or something!”

I leant back, taking up the same position against my oven that Harry held minutes earlier. “How can my opinion even mean anything? I don’t know what’s gone on with you for the past 2 and a bit years.”

“And yet, I’ve felt more at ease here with you this past hour than I have for the past 6 months.”

“What, my 3 sentences of encouragement have instantly filled you with the creative juices you’ve been craving?”

“I wish,” Harry chuckled. “But your sense of assurance helps.”

I was about to respond when the buzz of a phone interrupted me. It sounded muffled, so I knew it was coming from my bag which lay forgotten at the end of the counter. It was most likely Jules, checking in to see if I’m alright.

“That’s probably a sign that I should go.” He collected his beanie that he had thrown down earlier and shoved it back on his head, paying no attention to the way it smushed some curls flat against his forehead. “Again, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I appreciate that you gave me the chance to talk though.” He jerked forward, unsure if we should hug goodbye or if he should just leave. I made the decision easier for him by crossing the kitchen and wrapping my arms around his waist. Pressing my ear to his chest I could hear the steady thump of his heart, a sound that I have fallen asleep to countless times. I felt Harry press his lips to the top of my head. This hug felt different, like a proper goodbye hug. Not ‘see you later’, but goodbye.

We pulled apart, locking eyes for one last time. “Good luck with everything,” I murmured.

“I’ll let you know when the Harry Styles featuring Whale and Dolphin album will be dropping.”

I let out a shaky laugh before moving around him to unlock the door. He stepped out, gave me one last smile, and turned to walk down the hall. I watched him walk until he disappeared from view, he didn’t turn back once.

That goodbye felt like it was the final closure we both needed, that now we could finally move on with our lives and be relatively happy. Maybe now I could hear and see his name and not feel a clench in my stomach. Or have those cluey fans find me and not dissolve into a puddle of panic.

But despite all these prospects, I knew it wasn’t the ending I wanted. Or the ending I really needed. My feet moved without warrant. I picked up speed, pounded down the stairs almost tripping over. I saw him, he had just stepped out of the building and down the steps. I burst through the door and he spun around, eyes wide with surprise.

“Stay.” I puffed out.

He blinked. Once, twice. “What?”

“I’m asking you to stay,” I descended the front steps and joined Harry on the footpath. “I just did the most cliché, rom-com thing and chased after you to ask you to stay. I mean, all that is missing right now is some rain and we would have the perfect scene.”

He laughed.

“Please, I’m serious.”

“Rowie, after what you said we can’t get back together. We--”

“After what I said we should be getting back together.”

Harry looked at me puzzled.

“I’m not going to be a prat now and try to shoulder all the pressure. I was stupid to not trust that you could help me in the first place. And I’ve gotten better at managing the anxiety.”

He was quiet for a while, staring down at me. I was desperate for something, even just a graze of his hand for reassurance. I was about to revoke the offer, feeling that maybe I had misread the situation, but he finally responded. “Are you sure? I don’t want you… I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“So sure that I ran down four flights of stairs and almost broke a leg for you.”

We both grinned before Harry pulled me in for a kiss. It was short and sweet but felt like home all the same.

“Let’s go up.” I said once we had broken apart.

“Oh… Uh... Actually,” Harry stammered. Oh god, have I suddenly been to forward or something? “I really need to swing by the studio. My phone has basically been in airplane mode all day and I was supposed to be there for a session at 10 am. I’ve been off the grid without even telling anyone.” He bit his lip, obviously unsure of how I would react.

“Go,” I said with a smile. Sure, the timing was crappy but I knew he would be back.

“I’ll be back,” he said as though he had just read my mind. “I’ll bring dinner tonight. Some thai food? Panang curry with fried rice?”

I smiled. He remembered my order. “Don’t forget--”

“Extra green beans in the curry.” He placed his hand on my cheek, bending down slightly to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he turned and began walking up the street, his phone pressed to his ear. No doubt he was finally responding to some very concerned people on his whereabouts. I watched him until turned the corner at the end of the block. I continued to stand there on the footpath outside my flat feeling calm, finally feeling at peace.

It almost seemed silly that this morning Harry Styles was the catalyst for a tumultuous amount of negative emotion, and yet my Harry was the one that was able to calm the storm and ground me.

I suppose I should thank him for that. I’ll do it when he comes home.

[willows-adventures-in-words]

Posting this before I leave for vacation. Someone asked me IRL what the egos reaction would be to getting up in the morning to find Jack missing. So I wrote this. So it’s a sort of epilogue for the guys.

@wishthefish916 I’m tagging you cause you wanted to be tagged for when I posted the story initially.

A Break from Reality Epilogue Word Count: 4424

_______________________________

It was early morning when Jackie woke. His left leg was hanging half off of the couch he was sleeping on. He groaned slightly as he moved to sit up. There was a slight ache in his right leg but it was easily ignored. He could handle it. After all, he's dealt with much worse. He slid his legs over the side of the couch with the intent of going to the bathroom then getting some more sleep. Glancing over to the couch across from him he hoped he didn't wake Jack. Except, Jack wasn't there.

Looking around the room, everything was dark. The sun wasn't up yet and the only one of the others that would even think about being up this early was Henrik. There was no light coming from the kitchen; the house was quiet. Jackie frowned. Something didn't feel right. He reached for the crutch and slowly got off the couch. Jackie hobbled off towards the bathroom then paused when he noticed the light shining underneath the door. His initial relief vanished when it was Henrik that opened the door.

Henrik stared at Jackie for a moment. “You're up early...” He sounded groggy.

“...Yeah. Had to use the bathroom.”

“Mm...” Henrik paused before he started off towards the kitchen, mumbling something about making coffee.

Stepping in the bathroom, Jackie proceeded to do his business all the while trying to figure out where Jack could have gone. He shut off the light as he left the room plunging himself in temporary darkness. His eyes adjusted with the help of the little bit of light that came from the other side of the house where he could faintly hear Henrik shuffling about. Looking down the hall, Jackie wondered if maybe Jack was with one of the others.

Glancing over at his own room, he doubted he'd be there but looked anyway. He was right. The room was empty of occupants. Closing the door he continued down the hall. Carefully and quietly, Jackie opened Chase's room door and peeked inside. He smiled at the sight. Chase was curled up in a ball hugging his pillow while at the foot of the bed lay Marvin. They were laying in a sort of yin yang position. He closed the door softly, not wanting to wake them up. This, however, only left one option as to where Jack could be, since Jackie knew he wouldn't be in either Marvin's or Henrik's rooms.

Before he started upstairs, Jackie took a glance in the kitchen. The only person he saw was Henrik, who was sitting at the dining room table. He slowly headed up the steps, finding it more difficult to do so while using a crutch. Quietly, he opened Jamesons' room door. He peered inside, hoping to find Jack. But instead of finding him, Jackie accidentally woke Jameson. “Sorry...” Jackie whispered as Jameson slowly moved to sit up. He blinked sleepily then looked over at Jackie. “I didn't mean to wake you.” Jameson let out a small huff as he stared at him with tired eyes. “Uh... I was trying to find Jack. Have you seen him?” The other man shook his head before he covered his mouth hiding a yawn. “Okay, sorry, I'll keep looking.” Jackie closed the door quietly.

Looking down the hall there was only the bathroom and Antis' room left. And there was no light coming from the bathroom. If he did something to him... Jackie started towards Anti's room. The door was closed and he had the briefest moment of hesitation before he reached out and cautiously opened the door. He scanned over the room as he pushed it open, looking for something, anything, that was out of place. That's when he saw it. The Switch handheld was sitting on his desk. Jack was playing that. Jackie pushed the door open the rest of the way and searched the room.

Jack was no where to be seen and Anti was sitting with his back to the wall opposite the desk just staring ahead. Concern fell away and anger quickly took its place. He clenched his fist as he faced Anti. “What did you do? Where's Jack?” Anti blinked but said nothing. “Where. Is. Jack?” Jackie ground out through clenched teeth.

“...He's not here.”

“No fucking shit. What did you do to him?!” Jackie was on the verge of wanting to hit him. Whether it be with his fist or the crutch he clenched on to, it didn't matter to him at this point. Anti choose again not to answer. Throwing the crutch aside felt like a forced action. Jackie grabbed him and drug him to his feet and demanded an answer.

“I sent him home.”

Jackie paused feeling a little confused. “What..?” Then Anti smirked. “Your lying. You fucking bastard,” Jackie pulled back a fist ready to punch him when someone suddenly grabbed his arm stopping him. Jackie pulled his arm back before even looking to see who stopped him. “Wha..? Jameson, why-”

Stop. Jameson signed before moving to stand between them practically forcing Jackie to shuffle back a step.

“Why are you defending him?! After what he did to you? And now he's done something to Jack!”

Jameson gave him the most agitated look he could manage despite his slightly pained expression. Stop fighting. Enough is- Jameson stopped to bring a hand to his side. Anti took this moment to disappear.

“Hey!” Jackie turned and started to leave the room intent on finding where he took off to, when he put too much weight on his right leg and nearly fell to the floor. He let out a sharp breath at the pain and barely caught himself against the door frame. Jameson watched Jackie trying to recuperate for a moment before he slowly stepped over. After he pushed over the crutch with his foot, Jameson leaned against the other side of the door frame.

Jackie watched as the crutch was pushed closer to him. “Why? I don't understand.” He looked up to Jameson.

I am tired of seeing my friends fighting.

Jackie stared at him for a second before saying, “I don't follow.” Jameson paused and tried to think of an easier way to answer him.

“What happened here?” came Henriks' voice from the hall. The two injured men could hear his footsteps as he came closer. Jackie reached for the crutch but Henrik grabbed it first. “Jackie.”

“Jack's missing. I have to find him.”

“Missing?”

Looking up at the doctor Jackie continued. “Anti did something to him. I know it.”

Henrik opened his mouth but stopped and sighed. “Let's discuss this downstairs.”

“We don't have time to sit and discuss it,” he grumbled.

“We'll talk downstairs.” Jackie huffed and muttered a fine. Henrik held out the crutch to Jackie, who took it from him and started down the hall.

Henrik reached out to Jameson, offering to help him downstairs. Thank you. Jameson told him, thankful for the help. As they started down the hall, Henrik let his mind wonder slightly. It was too early for this sort of thing. He thought the same thing when he heard a noise when he had still been downstairs. Having Jackie sitting down and talking about this situation was one thing, but what would make this so much easier was to actually have Anti agree to do the same. But Henrik doubted he would be willing to make his presence known again. He was surprised, and startled, when he showed up just a moment ago. He didn't say anything and was there just long enough to get his attention making Henrik curious, wondering what was going on. Considering that was not long after he'd heard the noise from upstairs.

“I'm going to want to check on your wound later,” Henrik told Jameson after he got himself settled on one of the couches. Jameson nodded. Henrik started off toward the kitchen as he asked if either of them wanted some coffee. Jackie gave a no as he leaned, with his arms crossed, against the wall dividing the living room and dining room. With a glance to Jameson, he noticed him telling him no as well. Henrik came back in the room a minute later with his cup of coffee and sat down on the couch opposite of Jameson. He took a sip then turned to Jackie. “Now then. What happened?”

“I already told you. Jack's missing and Anti's responsible.” Jackie was frustrated and impatient.

Now, if the past two days didn't just happen, Henrik would have had no problem believing him. But right now, he had a hard time believing that Anti wanted to inflict life-threatening injuries to Jack. Henrik couldn't just tell Jackie that though. Could he? “Are you sure?”

“Jack is missing,” he insisted. “And it's not like any of us would've done something.”

Anti had given Henrik the impression that he had no intention of sending Jack home. But, what if he did change his mind..? “But are you sure he hurt Jack? Did you talk to him first?”

Jackie frowned. “What, are you taking his side now too?”

Too? Henrik looked over to Jameson, who told him that he and Anti were friends. Henrik sighed as he turned back to Jackie. He understood what Jameson had told him and had no idea how to handle that information. “I'm trying to figure out what happened.” Logically, he supposed, it made some sense.

Jackie huffed. “Yes I asked. He said he wasn't here. That he sent him home.” He uncrossed his arms. Jameson had a small smile when he heard this. Unfortunately, that vanished as Jackie continued throwing accusations around. “But you don't seriously believe that do you? That he would just, send him home? After everything he did to us and to Jack?”

It was becoming difficult to remain neutral. “Hey, is everything okay?” They looked over to see Marvin standing at the entrance of the hallway. “We heard some stuff and Chase was getting anxious.”

“Yes, everything is-” Henrik started to reassure him but Jackie interrupted him.

“Hey, do you think Anti would send Jack home?”

Marvin was thrown off by the sudden question. “Why, are you..?” He glanced at Jameson as Jackie spoke up again.

“Jack is missing. I want your opinion.”

“Missing...” Marvin echoed as he thought back to his interactions with him and the other things he'd learned in the meantime. Looking back to Jackie he stated, “Yes. Yes, I do.” He held Jackies' gaze and, for a second, felt horribly exposed.

“Maybe it would be best to give him the benefit-of-the-doubt for now,” Henrik told him. Jackie looked over to the doctor. It didn't seem like he was going to agree, but in the end he mumbled an, I guess, as he turned away. It was clear that he wasn't very enthused or believed what they told him.

Marvin glanced to Jameson. Thank you. He would not believe me, he told him.

Marvin smiled and signed back to him. I believe you. Then out loud he said, “I'm going to let Chase know everything's fine.” Turning around he added, “Maybe get some more sleep,” as he walked off.

There was silence. After a moment past, Jackie grabbed the crutch and muttered about going to bed. Henrik sighed as he rubbed his temple. This was going to be a rough day, he could tell already. He had until the following Monday before he had to go back to work. Hopefully, everything would be calmed down here at home before then.

Looking up, Henrik noticed Jameson looking over at him. “Right. I said I would check on your wound,” he commented as he started to his feet but Jameson motioned for him to wait. “Hm?”

What do you think?

Henrik paused. “What do I... About Anti?” Jameson nodded. The doctor thought for a moment before he answered. “I agree with Marvin.” Jameson thanked him, to which Henrik asked, “What for?” But Jameson just smiled.

Henrik informed him that he would go get his medical supplies. Jameson nodded and watched him leave the room. Henrik seemed to have a lot on his mind right now. Jameson wanted to try to reassure him but he knew it wouldn't be easy to do with how things were right now. And he wanted to thank him and Marvin both for trying. Especially after the difficult week they all just had. Though, despite the difficulty and mess of the situation, something told him that, with some luck, everything would turn out alright.

- ~ - ~ - 

Chase felt consciousness tugging at him. He didn't want to get up since he was actually pretty comfortable at the moment. And considering he wasn't woken up by disturbing dreams he was more then content to just stay in bed. When he was on the verge of falling back to sleep there was a noise somewhere else in the house that jerked him awake. His eyes shot open and he clenched tightly to his pillow, tense and not daring to move. He listened but didn't hear anything more. “...Marvin?” he said quietly, checking to see if the other man was awake.

“I heard it too,” Marvin answered almost as quietly, before he moved to sit up. He looked over at Chase, who was gripping his pillow tightly and didn't move otherwise as he stared at the door. Marvin looked to the door when he heard faint movement somewhere else in the house. He hesitated slightly but with another look to Chase, Marvin got up off the bed. Chase looked up at him. “Don't worry,” Marvin told him, “I'm just going to find out what happened.” He gave Chase a smile before he quietly headed out of the room.

As Marvin left, Chase moved to sit up while still hugging his pillow. He hated this. He'd been fine last night and now the slightest thing put him on edge. What was it? Was he cursed to just have everything go wrong? That he would just cause problems for those around him? He wished things could go back to an easier time. To when life treated him well. When he had been happy... Chase rested his forehead down on the pillow he clung to and closed his eyes. His thoughts flitted momentarily to his missing weapon before he forced himself to try to think of something else.

The door opened and Marvin stepped back inside. The first thing he noticed was Chase had sat himself up. “Hey,” he called to him softly. Chase looked up at him. Mavin walked over and sat down on the bed. “So,” he paused for a second before continuing, “it turns out Jack went home.”

“...Oh.”

Marvin watched his friend as he laid his head back down against his pillow. “Are you alright?”

Turning his head so he could look at Marvin, Chase gave him a smile. “Yeah. I'm just tired.”

“Yeah, me too,” he told him returning the smile. “I think I'll go back to sleep for a while.” Marvin stood up then collected his mask which had been set aside when he'd gone to sleep last night.

Chase swallowed then asked, “You going to your room?” They heard someone close a door in the hall.

Turning around, Marvin told him, “Yeah. You sure you're alright?” Chase nodded and told him he was just curious. “Okay... Well, good night.”

“'Night.” And with that Marvin left the room. Chase watched him leave feeling miserable. He wanted him to stay but didn't want to feel like he was guilt-tripping him into it. While hesitant, Chase laid back down. It took him awhile but he finally shut is eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

Marvin rested a hand on his door handle but stopped and looked down the hall to Jackie's room. He should just go to bed. If he went to talk to him, they'd probably end up arguing. Marvin didn't move though. Just go to bed, he told himself. But that didn't get him to open his room door. Finally, he shut his eyes and let out a sigh. Letting go of his door handle, Marvin walked down the hall to his friends room. With a soft knock on the door, he called out to Jackie. “... Yeah?”

“Hey, can I come in?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

Turning the handle, Marvin pushed open the door. Jackie was sitting on his bed with the crutch leaning against the wall next to it. He had been looking at his dresser where his superhero costume was folded but glanced over when Marvin stepped in. Jackie had a few action figures standing guard by his costume. With a sigh, Jackie turned away. “Look, I...” He paused. “I know you guys think he brought Jack home, but nothing he's done tells me that he would. Why would he? He wanted Jack here. I just don't get why everyone is suddenly taking his side.”

“Jackie, I'm not... this isn't about picking sides.”

Jackie looked back up at him. “It's not? 'Cause it sure feels like it.”

“Ja-”

“He's traumatized Chase, kidnapped Jack, attacked Jameson, and I can't walk because of him. But suddenly you guys a treating him like some kind of saint.”

Marvin had known this was a bad idea. “I'm sorry it feels like we're choosing him over you, but that's-”

“But. Seriously just-” he stopped and looked away from Marvin again. “Why am I suddenly the bad guy?”

“You're not.” When Jackie didn't respond, Marvin walked over and sat down next to him. Resting a hand on his friends back, he told him, “Jackie you're not the bad guy.” Marvin paused as he realized how he phrased that. He didn't mean to make it sound like anyone was a bad person.

“Marvin, what happened? Between you and Anti?”

“Well, it's like I told you yesterday. We just talked. But... when I accidentally implied that I overheard the end of his conversation with Jack, he got pretty mad.” Marvin removed his hand from Jackie's back and proceeded to fiddle with his mask which he had been holding onto. “He, uh... I don't really know what he did, but, he got in my head.” He gripped onto the mask and just stared at it as he continued. “It wasn't until I pushed back that he left me alone...”

As Marvin was telling his story, Jackie had turned to look at him again. He shifted so he was facing Marvin, before he rested a hand on his arm. “I'm sorry. I don't want to make you upset.”

Marvin shook his head. “If I would have thought more carefully about what to say, it might have been avoided.”

“Don't you dare. You did nothing wrong.” Marvins' grip tightened. “You are a precious cinnamon roll who can do no wrong.”

“Oh my god.” Marvins voice was laced with laughter. Looking over at him he told him, “And you said that with a straight face too.” Then Jackie grinned. Shaking his head, Marvin let out a laugh. Jackie smiled and laughed with his friend. He wanted to know what Marvin had talked about with Anti that made him defend him but, he didn't want to upset him by making him talk about something that he wasn't comfortable talking about.

When their laughter calmed down, Marvin asked if he should leave so Jackie could get some more rest. Jackie looked to the clock in his room. It wasn't even six o'clock yet. “Yeah, I guess.” He sounded a little disappointed, yet at the same time tried to hide the tiredness that crept up on him. “I mean, I barely got five hours of sleep. A few more wouldn't hurt.”

Marvin laughed. “Yeah. A few more is probably a good idea.” He stood up and started to the door.

“Hey,” Jackie called after him. Marvin paused and looked back. “Sorry I woke you up. I'm pretty sure it was probably my fault. It's just that... You know what, never mind. You should get some more sleep too.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Marvin told him with a smile before he left his friends room and headed over to his own.

- ~ - ~ -

He walked around the cabin. Just looking around momentarily at everything. Stopping in the doorway to the bedroom he looked back. This would be the last he'd see it. Stepping inside he sat down at the end of the bed. Jack was gone. The others left back to the house leaving him here alone. They left him alone even after they said they wouldn't. They didn't care. It didn't matter. It didn't for a long time. It was time. Nothing mattered at this point. If he kept going he would just lose more. Though at this point he hardly had anything more to lose. He was just tired. And done.

The gun was heavy in his hand. He had found it after searching the cabin. Slowly, he lifted it to his temple. There was no one here to stop him. No accidental interruptions. Not this time. Except one thing held him back. He shut his eyes. A tear slid down his cheek. A silent good-bye to the two he was leaving behind. He hadn't seen them in so long. They were young and would forget about him before long. If they hadn't already. He swallowed and tightened his grip on the weapon. Opening his eyes he stared at the dresser in front of him. His finger tightened on the trigger and then...

- ~ - ~ -

Chase jerked awake as the gun went off. He pushed himself up and threw the blanket off not wanting to feel constricted. Lifting his hands to his head, he rested his elbows on his knees. His eyes were wide and his heartbeat was quick. He knew the dream was just that, a dream. But that didn't mean it didn't freak him out. Reaching over, he picked up his phone and noticed his hand was shaking slightly. He looked at his phone. It was five to seven. Chase had no idea what time it had been when he had woken up earlier but he doubted he'd slept  much longer.

Slowly, he moved to slide his legs off the edge of the bed. Setting the phone next to him, he ran his hands down his face. He didn't feel any better than he did earlier either. “I need a shower,” he muttered, but made no effort to get up. He'd rather curl up in a ball in bed and just... not. But he was too afraid of falling back to sleep. And just the thought of going back to sleep made him think about the dream again.

Chase hated getting nightmares. They always lingered in his thoughts well after he woke up. And this one bothered him immensely. Getting to is feet he tried not to think about it as he searched for clothes to wear after his shower. It was like a different version of what could have happened, or maybe something that still could. He didn't know. But it was all wrong. Yes, he had considered it once, but... but he knew his friends cared about him. They wouldn't just, leave him behind. He... he shoved the thought aside and quickly grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a random shirt, a gray tee, and headed for the door. Only to turn back around to open the dresser drawer to grab some underwear before shutting it and leaving the room.

Henrik looked up from his book as Chase walked in the living room. His hair was messy and damp from his shower. Offering him a small smile, Henrik quietly told him, “Good morning.”

“Morning...”

“Did you not sleep well?”

Chase resisted the urge to turn away. “...I'm okay.” He couldn't tell him about that dream. Henrik watched him for a moment before he let out a sigh but said nothing. Averting his eyes, but not turning away, Chase told him, “I don't want to talk about it. I'd... rather just not think about it.”

Silence settled for a moment before Henrik said, “Come sit down.”

He paused, then stepped over to the couch the doctor was occupying before noticing Jameson asleep on the adjacent couch. An open book laid on his chest and a pillow under him to help brace his side. He looked peaceful and Chase couldn't help but smile a little. “He fell asleep reading,” Henrik told him softly. “We could all use the rest after the ordeal we've all been through.”

“...I don't want to go back to sleep,” Chase told him without turning to face him.

“It was a dream Chase. Do not let it weigh you down. Whatever it was can't hurt you.”

Chase looked to the floor. “I know,” he whispered, remembering the image of holding the gun to his own temple. He swallowed. “I know it can't.”

Henrik closed his book and got up. Resting a hand on Chases' shoulder he asked, “Would you like to play a game? I'm sure if we keep it down we won't wake Jameson.”

It took Chase a moment to realize what he was doing, but once he did he nodded and walked over to look at their games. Henrik watched him feeling regret. This wasn't something he could help him with. He couldn't protect him from his own dreams. All he could do was try to distract him from them. Until he stopped thinking about them. “Hey, Henrik.” Chase turned to look back at the doctor as he held up one of the games. “You wanna play?”

Snipperclips. One of the few games Henrik had taken the time to try playing. He smiled. “Sure.”

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Villainous Heroics - Chapter 19

And so it's all led to these final two chapters. Man, guys, I didn't think I'd get this done... This is the second long multi-chaptered story in my entire fanfiction career that I've ever been able to mark as complete and it's my FIRST BNHA and Erasermic fic and man oh man has it spawned the birth of SO MANY other ideas and universes I want to one day explore.

I'll still be doing two spin offs of Villain Mic and a collection of post-ending drabbles, but the main story as it is now is done and I can't thank you all enough for everything you've done for me. Every kudos, every reward, every hit... You all kept this story going and made me so extremely EXCITED to work on it. This was fun, and cute, and wonderful, and one of my happiest times writing. When I wrote the epilogue for this, I honestly started tearing up.

So, to corndog-patrol, everyone who contributed to this AU, and every single one of you reading... thanks for the fun journey.

I'll be editing the chapters this week and taking out a majority of the author's notes, so let me just say now that I can't wait to keep writing for you guys and I hope you keep supporting me in the future as you did with this story.

See you soon and... Enjoy, yeah?

               Click here to read the work on Archive Of Our Own.

                            ⍣ I have a Patreon! Support me?⍣                          ☪ I have a tip jar! Buy me a coffee?☪

Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

          <<First Chapter>> <<Previous Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

                                          Chapter Nineteen

‘I’m not sure I like the idea of this.’ Gaze tracking Hizashi’s rapid signing that betrayed his nerves, Shouta tried to think of something reassuring he could say.

“If you want to stay out of jail for all your previous charges, you need someone in high power on your side.” Shouta had half a thought that Hizashi might not find this as encouraging as Shouta wanted him to. “It’s logical, isn’t it? Now that you’re a public figure, the Hero Commissions is going to be out for blood to protect the image of heroes.”

The disgusted expression Hizashi made spoke volumes, Shouta mused. Them talking to Nedzu, however, really was the best option for them. Hizashi had been released from the hospital only two days ago and since then it had been a whirlwind of getting parole custody of Hizashi, dodging the police and heroes who thought he deserved to be behind bars, and hiding from any and all attempts at someone recognizing the former villain.

It was the reason that, despite all his pouting and protests, Hizashi was hiding under a baseball cap, a worn out U.A. hoodie from Shouta’s third year with the hood pulled over his hair, a pair of normal looking sunglasses, and a pair of distressed jeans that fit his figure better than should be possible.

‘Are you absolutely sure this is the only way out of this? Maybe I can do some community service or something!’ Hizashi looked dramatically desperate, but Shouta could see the tension coiled in his shoulders, fingers twitching as if they wanted to rub at the bandages that were still wrapped around his throat.

“Just trust me,” Shouta said quietly. Since they were alone and patiently waiting outside of Nedzu’s office in the school hallways where everyone was in class, Shouta didn’t hesitate to cup Hizashi’s cheek and rub at the skin, smiling when the man leaned into the touch with a soft, voiceless sigh. “We wouldn’t be here if I thought it wouldn’t help.”

‘That’s cheating, Shouta,’ Hizashi signed, features softer than before, anyways, as he relaxed. The only other time he had relaxed the past few days was when he and Shouta had went on their ‘date.’

Considering Hizashi was impatient and had self-worth issues and Shouta was just as impatient after months of teasing and dance around the feeling between them, their date had been watching dumb movies while eating takeout on Shouta’s couch. Shouta had fallen asleep surrounded by half-empty containers of rice and noodles and Hizashi sleeping soundly on his chest. It had been, in Shouta’s opinion, the perfect date.

“It’s either this or we deal with the Hero Commission on our own.” The returning expression was answer enough, Shouta snorting as he dropped his hand.

‘You know, it’s the Commission that leads people to become villains like I did. I mean, they’re just so awful! All they do is make things difficult and make it harder and harder to help people!’ It was both fascinating and rather sweet how Hizashi managed to ramble while signing. ‘Hey, hey, Shouta, are you listening to me? Shouta! I know you can see my hands moving! Stop ignoring me, Shouta!’

Shouta kept ‘accidentally’ looking away, hiding a smile behind his binding cloth as Hizashi pouted and ranted. It was fun to wind Hizashi up. The man was always so loud, expressive, and over-the-top; even without his voice.

The door opened before Shouta could figure out how to tease Hizashi even more, Nedzu waving them in with a cheery greeting, “Come on in, you two!”

The office was the same as it had been for the last few years, Shouta taking a seat in one of the armchairs in front of Nedzu’s desk and motioning for Hizashi to do the same. It was an effort not to worry when he saw how nervous Hizashi was, cautiously sitting down and scanning the room for what was no doubt potential dangers and a quick way of getting out if something went wrong.

“Well, well, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Yamada-san! I’ve heard quite a bit about you from my teachers on your work and the good you’ve been doing for our community. I’ve even heard that you helped to save one of our students, at one point, something I’m remarkably grateful for!”

‘Shouta, did you just lead me into a trap? He’s way too cheerful for this to not be a trap.’ Hizashi’s signs were sharper and less pronounced, hands kept close to his body as if he was trying to quiet himself even as he signed.

‘He’s odd, but you would know if Nedzu meant you any harm. He doesn’t much believe in playing kind when there’s no need for it,’ Shouta signed back, waiting until Hizashi relaxed to look back to Nedzu. “He says it’s nice to meet you.”

Nedzu smiled and there was a glint that reminded Shouta of the days when he was his homeroom teacher. It was a look that, all things considered, inspired a large amount of fear within him. He was proven right when Nedzu said, “There’s no need to play translator for him, Eraser, I can understand Japanese Sign Language quite proficiently!”

Shouta blinked, grateful that they at least hadn’t said anything too embarrassing before Nedzu revealed that piece of information. It was a kindness Shouta didn’t expect, honestly. “I’ll keep that in mind, Principal,” Shouta finally said, glancing at where Hizashi was flushed red and looking embarrassed.

“I’ll just be speaking for today,” Nedzu continued, looking at Hizashi. “I’m afraid that while I understand it, I’m not able to use it as well as I would like. Sadly, paws aren’t very useful when it comes to the more intricate signs.”

‘Oh, of course, that’s no problem at all! I can hear you perfectly well right now, Principal Nedzu!’ Hizashi signed out quickly, tension looking as if it flowed back into him at full force. He was going to end up dying younger than Shouta if he kept letting himself stress out so much.

“Simply Nedzu is fine,�� Nedzu smiled. “The signs for my name would be rat, bear, and dog, actually, so feel free to use them as needed!”

Shouta decided that the quicker they moved on from that conversation, the better. “You wanted to talk with us about the situation involving him, Principal?”

“Ah, yes.” While Nedzu had called them there to help Hizashi, Shouta knew it was going to be more than just to help. Nedzu always had reasons for his actions and kindness. “As of right now the public is largely in favor of Present Mic. The government and other pro heroes, however, are a different story.”

That was an understatement. While ‘Present Mic’ was already ranked like a pro hero would be, it was largely public opinion that was behind that. The Hero Commission was still adamant that Hizashi be put on trial for all his ‘crimes.’ It was ridiculous considering the worst thing that Hizashi had ever done was take a bar hostage for karaoke.

“It is true that the police seem to believe that Yamada-san here has broken the law quite a number of times in regards to using his quirk. He also has been a public menace, obstructed justice, and been a danger to society.” At each new word Nedzu spoke, Hizashi was curling up more and more.

The only reason Shouta wasn’t interrupting was because he knew Nedzu was going somewhere with this. That didn’t mean he couldn’t reach out and take Hizashi’s hand, though, squeezing it lightly. Hizashi stole a glance at him for just a moment, but Shouta saw at least some of the weight on his shoulders seep out of him.

“After hearing other accounts, however, it sounds to me as if the police have managed to gather quite the misunderstanding! Yamada-san, did you ever use your quirk when you felt as if you weren’t in some sort of physical harm?”

It took a moment, but Hizashi finally freed his hand from Shouta’s before signing carefully, expression neutral, ‘No. Since my debut, for lack of a better word, every use of my quirk has been in some form of defense or when I deemed the situation had no other means of resolution.’  

That… was true. Shouta couldn’t recall a time where Present Mic had used his quirk in harm of others. It had always been to defend himself just enough to leave a situation or it had been in the defense of others; not including the time he demolished a whole city block, but that was never on record since Nemuri hadn’t taken him in that night.

“I see.” Nedzu looked to Shouta, the gleam in his eyes brighter. “Pro Hero Eraserhead. Would you label Yamada Hizashi, also known as Present Mic, a public menace?”

Thinking about it, Shouta finally gave a truthful shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t.” A nuisance, maybe, but he had never been a menace. The worst he had ever done, barring the karaoke stunt that people could have walked away from if they weren’t so drunk, was cleaning out a bartender of some top shelf whiskey.

“Would you say Present Mic has ever obstructed justice in any capacity?” Nedzu was still politely smiling, but Hizashi was starting to grin. That, if nothing else, made this entire meeting worth it.

“No, I wouldn’t.” The only pro hero Hizashi had ever run up against in a fight beside him was Nemuri, after all, and every other pro after that had been ones that Hizashi had helped.

“And would you say that he’s a danger to society?” That, Shouta decided, was the easiest question, yet.

“No more so than one of my students.” Because while Hizashi had been a ‘villain,’ he had done good more than he had ever done harm.

Nedzu have Shouta the same look he always gave when Shouta played along with his schemes, smiling as he looked back to Hizashi. “There we have it, then. I’d be quite willing to testify in court as needed that you, self-proclaimed villain or not, have never broken any government laws that would label you negatively.”

Nedzu hopped off his chair and began moving around the room to look for something, ruffling through cabinets and folders. Shouta was assuming he was giving Hizashi time to pull himself together considering Shouta already saw tears forming.

“If you’re going to piss the Commission off, at least wait until we get our funding in for the year,” Shouta drawled, pulling at Hizashi’s chair and moving it closer until they were near pressed together, Hizashi giving him a soft smile. Shouta knew, without a doubt, that there were a lot of stupid things he would do for that smile.

“I’m afraid that might not be possible as I’m about to make them much angrier!” Oh. That was… Hm. Nedzu usually was fond of making people guess what he was, or wasn’t, going to do, so to hear him come out and say something so straightforward was… interesting. “Now, Yamada-san. I understand that you’re looking for work seeing as your last job ended your position with them due to villainous tendencies, correct?”

“He what.” Shouta snapped his gaze to Hizashi, who was suddenly much more interested in looking around Nedzu’s office. “I thought you said you were given time off!”

‘Well, if we’re being technical, I was given time off. It was just… a very long amount of time,’ Hizashi signed, smiling weakly and fidgeting with his hat and glasses as if trying to look away from Shouta’s expression without looking away. ‘It’s really not that bad.’

“Well, regardless of the circumstances, I might have a solution for that, as well.” Wait. Was Nedzu about to hire Hizashi to work for U.A.? “I knew your name was familiar when I heard it and it turns out I was right! I went through some old records and it turns out you applied for U.A. when you were younger, correct?”

‘I did.’ The signs were hesitant and slow, Hizashi looking as surprised as Shouta felt. ‘I never attended, though. I don’t even think I was accepted.’

“Well, we did try to contact you, but I’m afraid we never quite managed.” A student folder was set down on Nedzu’s desk before he returned to his seat, but Shouta was caught up on the fact that it was Hizashi’s student folder.

“You never mentioned you applied for U.A.,” Shouta said softly, frowning as he noticed Hizashi was still and silent, all previous motions of fidgeting and constant movement now gone. Nedzu didn’t seem to mind, plowing on with the tact of the non-human creature he was.

“He did! He also scored the highest scores in the history of the written exam. Your record has still never been broken. It’s quite impressive, really!”

It was obvious that Hizashi was smart considering he built his own support gear and had been playing the system for almost a year, but Shouta had never known the man was that smart. A glance to Hizashi and Shouta realized he was absolutely shocked, which, good. Maybe that information would help improve the man’s view of himself.

“Now, I’ve discussed a few options with some of the other teachers, and we have a few different choices on how to proceed.” ‘Some’ of the other teachers. Apparently one of them wasn’t Shouta. “The one I wish to truly discuss, however, is that I would like to formally hire you and bring you on as a teacher at U.A. There would be quite the amount of paperwork to fill out, of course, and you would need to pass exams for a teaching license, but you seem the perfect person to teach our students classes in sign language.”

Oh. That was… That was brilliant. Hizashi would be protected from the government by U.A., he could work out a deal to pay off any outstanding warrants or fines by doing community service with the school with volunteer classes until the classes could be made official, and it was something he could do without needing use of his voice.

‘It can’t be that simple.’ Hizashi signed the words, but Shouta had been a second behind in saying them. It really couldn’t be that simple, could it? Not after everything that had happened. Then again, maybe it would be that simple because of everything that had happened.

“I don’t see why not. You’re quite intelligent and would have no problem getting your credentials, and, as I said, there are no outstanding laws that you have broken to prevent you from taking such a post. Hm, we might as well as throw everything together and get you your licenses for hero work and the ability to make support items, as well. Your speaker system was really quite ingenious!”

Hizashi looked to be frozen in time and Shouta couldn’t blame him. He had only found out a few days ago that his quirk might be forever gone and yet here he was being offered the chance to get a hero license.

‘Nedzu-san, my quirk is gone. My voice is gone. There would be no point in obtaining a license for being a hero, of all things. Not to mention I’m a villain!’

“Oh? The way it was explained to me you were merely an over eager member of the community who often helped when a hero was unable to arrive on the scene in time. Quite the asset, if you ask me! As for your quirk…” Nedzu smiled, an honest and genuine smile, and Shouta was surprised by how large an amount of hope he felt at that action alone. If Nedzu thought there was a chance that Hizashi could get his voice and quirk back…

The door slammed open before anything else could be said, Shouta feeling nothing except fear, “Aizawa Shouta how dare you not tell me that my newest best friend is here!”

Hizashi perked up and spun around in his seat, beaming at seeing Nemuri in the doorway. Shouta regretted the day they ever met, but at least Hizashi was smiling and no longer looking ready to have some sort of breakdown.

“Yamada, Yamada, Yamada, we have so much to catch up on!” Nemuri was like a whirlwind in human form, sweeping up Hizashi out of his seat, checking him over, and cooing at him nonstop about how worried they all were about him.

“Ah, perfect timing, Midnight! Perhaps you would be kind enough to show Yamada-san to the teacher’s lounge? He might be seeing quite a bit of it, soon enough.”

“He accepted?” Oh, so Nemuri was a traitor who would need to die. Alright. Shouta would need to remember to take care of that before they left the school. “Wonderful! Come on, dear, let’s go and tell everyone about our stunning new language teacher!”

Not even a minute later and the room was filled with ringing silence, Shouta taking a moment to wrap his mind over what had just happened. It sounded like Hizashi would not only recover enough to use his quirk again, but he would be hired at the school and have a decent job while being completely safe and protected.

Looking up at Nedzu, Shouta saw the principal already had his attention on him. Shouta didn’t bother dancing around the subject, merely asking a blunt, “Do you really think he’ll regain the use of his quirk?”

“I do.” Nedzu was rarely wrong when it came to things like this. “I’ve seen the medical files for him myself, after all. While he’ll never regain quirk use compared to what it was before this incident, I believe a few sessions with Recovery Girl will get him back to where he needs to be. Thankfully, as a soon-to-be teacher of this school, she’ll have plenty of time to look him over and help him heal! A happy ending all around, don’t you think?”

This was all too easy. Happy endings like this didn’t just happen after this much suffering and turmoil. There was no way they would be lucky enough to be together and not have to worry about the next bad thing around the corner. Real life didn’t work like that and it never had.

There were no happy endings in the life of a pro hero, and yet Shouta couldn’t help but think that Hizashi made him want to believe in happy endings.

“If you’ll excuse me, Eraser, I have some new teacher paperwork to put together. Feel free to stop by for tea later, however, and bring Yamada-san with you!”

“Of course, Principal,” Shouta nodded, standing up and burying his smile under the layers of his scarf as he left the office. The halls were still silent, classes either still going on or having switched for new teachers.

Standing in the hall for a moment, Shouta felt his shock leave for a giddy sense of relief and lightness as he allowed himself to chuckle and start his walk towards the staff lounge.

“A happy ending, huh?” It didn’t sound like such a bad thing.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

This may be a weird request but can you do a Plance high school fic w/ Pidge singing in the choir room alone and Lance just passes by and hears her amazing voice so he decides to join in. I know like I said weird but I think it's cute.

so like a High School Musical AU right well i tried but i was never in choir and my knowledge of music in general is so outdated (so you can imagine whatever song you like in the right place) but i hope you like it!!

Lance meandered down the empty hallway from the chemistrylab to the gymnasium. The silence was eerie, enough that he ran his hands alongthe locks in the lockers, producing some sound other than his own footsteps.Usually other students filled the halls when Lance left his last class for after schoolsoccer practice, but after a mishap in chemistry his teacher had forced him tostay behind and help clean up.

Which was fair, Lance supposed, if inconvenient; oh, hiscoach would bite his head off for missing the first half hour of practice.

It was only the first week after winter break, so even themusic hall was quiet…except for a high, clear voice coming from the choir room.

Curious, Lance wandered a little out of his way towards thechoir room and peeked inside. His eyes narrowed, trying to see through the thinwhite curtain covering the window, but after a few seconds – as the singingcontinued – Lance took a chance and slowly turned the knob, pushing the dooropen on blessedly silent hinges.

After opening the door – just a crack, not enough for anyonewithin to notice hopefully – Lance could hear the lyrics of the song the personinside was singing…and he knew it! But why were they singing a duet alone? He bit his lip, resisting theurge to join in favor of watching the singer rehearse.

Short and slight, Pidge – his old friend, to whom he hadn’treally spoken since middle school – stood close to the center of the room, in frontof the raised levels that the choir sat on while rehearsing or performing. Shehad a music stand in front of her, eyebrows scrunched up while she scanned the music;but she stopped abruptly, mid-note and mid-word.

“God dammit,” she grumbled. She turned a page, quiet as sheexamined her sheet music.

Lance leaned just a bit closer, trying not to put too muchweight on the door so it wouldn’t swing open without his permission.

Pidge then pinched her eyes shut and started the song againfrom the beginning, her voice clear and high, hitting all the notes perfectly –though in Lance’s opinion she lacked the passion required of the song.

But this time, when she paused at the start of a verse thatwould belong to the other participant in the duet, Lance joined in.

Pidge turned her head rapidly at the sound of his voice,eyes widening when they fell on him, but Lance wasn’t deterred. He pushed thedoor open all the way and approached her, and when he reached the end of theverse, he nodded to her to join him in singing the chorus.

To his surprise, she did, their voices mingling well, histenor to her mezzo soprano, though he was out of practice and didn’t hit allthe notes. A fact of which he was quite self-conscious of, but when theyreached the end of the song, Pidge didn’t criticize his singing.

No, she immediately demanded, “What the hell, Lance?”

“What?” Lance said, raising his arms defensively. “Youseemed stuck so I helped you.”

“You were…eavesdroppingon my rehearsal!” Pidge retorted. She furiously flipped through her sheetmusic before slamming her folder shut. “I had it handled.”

“Sure, of course you did,” Lance told her. He propped anelbow on the top of the music stand, smiling when she looked up at his face. “Anyway,I thought you didn’t like singing duets.”

“How would you know?” Pidge asked without a hint of malice,her eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Well, you mentioned they made you…uncomfortable once?”Lance rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable for some reason.Maybe it was odd that he remembered that particular fact about her?

“I’ve barely spoken to you since middle school,” Pidge said.

“Then you mentioned it then?” Lance suggested. When shestill only stared at him in response, he added, “I have a good memory?”

“Guess so,” she said. She rolled her eyes, then sighed andadmitted, “You’re right though. I just…my teacher recommended I practice singingduets if I want to get a solo.”

“Hmm, that sounds a bit counterintuitive.”

Pidge flung her arms out in frustration. “That’s what I said! But apparently she thinks I needto be more versatile.”

“Hey, she’s probably not wrong,” Lance conceded, but whenPidge shot him an indignant glance, he elaborated, “I’m just saying, maybe it’sbetter to be good at a lot of things? I mean, I don’t want to brag—”

“Good to know you haven’t changed much.”

“—but I’m an awesome midfielder. And yet, I can play any positionif I’m called upon, you know?” He grinned at her, hoping she took his meaning.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been to a few of yourgames—”

“You have?”

“—and you’re a better midfielder than you are anything else.”She crossed her arms. “But I guess you have a point.”

“See?” Lance pressed a thumb against his chest. “I can besmart.”

“I never said you couldn’t be,” Pidge mumbled, eyes driftingso that they fixed on something just behind him.

Lance smiled, a little awkwardly, at the reminder of theirold friendship. And why shouldn’t they be friends again? Why’d they even stopin the first place? “Hey,” he said, drawing Pidge’s attention back to his face.“We sang pretty well together today, right?”

“Right…” Pidge said cautiously.

“So why don’t I helpyou out?” he said. She opened her mouth, looking ready to contradict him, but heplowed on, “Look, if you want to do something for me in return, my chemistrygrade’s not too great.”

Pidge sighed, then propped her arms on the edge of her musicstand, leaning towards him slightly. “Fine,” she agreed. “I will accept yourhelp until I’m more comfortable doing duets, or until I get a solo.”

“So when do you want to start?” Lance wondered with a pleasedgrin, a welcome flash of triumph infecting his mood. “Now?”

Pidge eyed the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You meanyou’re not late to soccer practice?”

“Oh, shit,” Lance said, eyes widening. He laughed sheepishlyand turned to go. “I’ll call you then?”

“You don’t have my number,” she pointed out.

“Then I’ll find you tomorrow during lunch,” he said,shrugging. “We have the same one, right?”

“Right,” Pidge said, and she smiled.

Lance flashed a grin of his own over his shoulder before heleft, and despite his dread at his coach’s likely scolding, there was a springin his step the rest of the way to soccer practice.

[stillebesat]

In the Rubble (3/6)

Blurb: After a bomb collapses a building on both Conan and Kogoro, Conan is faced with a difficult decision regarding the Famous Sleeping Detective.

Story: Detective Conan Characters: Edogawa Conan/Kudo Shinichi, Mouri Kogoro TW: Claustrophobia/Trapped

Kogoro went still. Anger gone in a flash. Surprise did that to people. The brat actually thought? But...

"Can you stand?" Shinichi asked in the awkward silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he dropped his piercing look. "You should be able to put some weight on that left leg for a second so I can lift you onto my back. I think it's just fractured."

"Fractured is still broken, brat." He retorted reflexively, trying to get his brain back in gear. Shinichi couldn't have meant that. He couldn't have. And then the brat was offering to carry him? The old Shinichi wouldn't have done that. What had happened to...could being Conan really have changed his opinion of him so much?

"Do you want to drag yourself through the building then, Oji-Mouri-san?" Shinichi raised an eyebrow, offering a hand to him. "Because I definitely can't lift you on my own from there."

For some reason, hearing Shinichi refraining from calling him Ojisan now felt wrong. Especially after the boy had just stated he valued Kogoro's life, the Mouri Kogoro, the man Shinichi hadn't liked at all, over his parents.

Kogoro frowned and shook his head. "You're injured too, Shinichi-kun. You can't carry me with that shoulder." He may not know how badly it was injured, but with how Shinichi flinched whenever he had grabbed the arm connected to said shoulder, it had to be painful. Not to mention the boy's other cuts and scrapes that the jacket now mostly hid. They both shouldn't be moving until help arrived. But he doubted those injuries would stop the boy. Shinichi had a familiar stubborn glint in his eyes that Kogoro knew all too well. Conan had had it often whenever he'd tried to kick the boy out from crime scenes. So despite his misgivings, he lifted his hand for Shinichi to grab.

"It's no big deal, Mouri-san." Shinichi said, failing to hide a wince as he twinged the shoulder in question while grabbing Kogoro's hand.

Kogoro raised a skeptical eyebrow. Fine huh?

"I can still walk," he added defensively. "You can't."

Sure. Walk barefooted. Over broken glass, concrete, metal, and who knew what else, plus carry Kogoro's own weight? "You still need your own treat-" Kogoro yelped as Shinichi pulled him to his feet. He reached out to grip Shinichi's arms with the intention of never letting go as he put his full weight on his legs. He couldn't catch is breath from the radiating agony coming from his limbs. Quickly he lifted the right one off the ground to get some relief from the exploding volcano trying to take up residence there, while the left only felt slightly better as a ball of liquid fire.

Shinichi didn't let him stand for long. "I'll get treatment when I shrink again." He said, somehow removing Kogoro's vice-like grip on his arms as he pulled him into a fireman's carry, giving Kogoro blessed relief from standing.

Even though he was reeling in his own agony, Kogoro caught Shinichi's muffled cry of pain as his weight settled on the boy's injured shoulder. "A-any bandages I put on now will only fall off then."

"Sh-Shinichi-kun," Kogoro managed to say as the fire in his legs died down, unable to keep the concern out of his voice as he tried to get back off. The boy was going to hurt himself worse. It was amazing he could stay standing, the boy shouldn't be able to carry him as is. He shouldn't be strong enough. Shinichi'd said temporary strength. Not everlasting strength. "We can wait here."

Shinichi tightened his grip on Kogoro, preventing him from moving. "I'm fine. It's not-"

"Not safe to wait." Kogoro grumbled, full of misgivings for not trying harder to get off the boy. But...he didn't want to face standing on his legs again, nor did he think Shinichi would allow him to get off without fighting to keep him on. So he held still instead to prevent himself from jostling the boy.

Kogoro glanced upwards, not missing the creaking of the ceiling above them with the occasional pitter-patter of falling debris. Was Shinichi always this fool-hardy-yes, yes he was. He remembered the boy getting shot in the stomach, as well as kidnapped, and trapped in other buildings with bombs and fires. "I got it the first time." He muttered as he did his best to avoid putting too much weight on the boy's injured shoulder.

Shinichi nodded, relaxing when Kogoro went still. "Good. Let's get out of here."

Kogoro couldn't help but hold his breath as Shinichi wobbled, convinced he was going to collapse before the boy began walking them through the rubble. Surprisingly Shincihi didn't struggle as much as Kogoro expected him to. Only Shinichi's fingers tightening and releasing on Kogoro's limbs indicated how often the boy stepped on something sharp.

Did the boy really care so much for him? Mouri Kogoro? To risk further injury to get him out of this place? Ran he could see if she were here, but him? Kogoro stayed silent only for another minute before he stated "You can't mean that."

"Mean what?" Shinichi huffed.

"That you care for us more than your parents. They're your parents Shinichi-kun." It bothered him to hear that. It wasn't like Kogoro had been the most...welcoming of the freeloader in his house.

Shinichi chuckled and shook his head. "You know...I actually forgot to tell them. My parents." Shinichi admitted. He glanced to Kogoro before he returned his focus to the rubble around them. "I've been on my own for so long, it never occurred to me to give them an update on my...condition. We don't keep in constant contact since Dad's always traveling to avoid his editors." He twisted, sidling them sideways through a narrow gap, doing his best to avoid jarring Kogoro's legs. "So I was as surprised as you were when Edogawa Fumiyo showed up. I hadn't known she was my mother."

Kogoro tensed, both in disbelief and because his right leg had just been jarred by an outcropping of pipes. "You went off with a stranger?!" He exclaimed half-strangled. This boy was more than foolhardy! Hadn't he just said he couldn't let those people find him?

"Yes. Because I couldn't risk you and Ran getting hurt, Mouri-san." Shinichi replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If that woman was with the people who poisoned me...my only hope was to convince them that you had no idea who I really was so that they would leave you two alone."

Kogoro couldn't help himself. He thunked the boy on the head, causing him to yelp and stagger, nearly sending them both tumbling into a pile of broken concrete. Kogoro jerked his hands up, hitting the concrete with them before their faces could. He pushed them away from the pile as Shinichi regained his balance.

"What was that for!"

"You're an idiot, that's what that's for." Kogoro stated. "Go off with a complete stranger! Someone who could have killed you." He glared at the boy. "And not even tell us that you were in trouble. What if you had died!" It made him feel sick just to think about. He was supposed to be watching this brat.

"Then you wouldn't have known, Mouri-san." Shinichi replied, adjusting his grip on Kogoro. "You both thought I'd gone off with my mother. And I couldn't tell you she wasn't her. If she was a part of Them, she would have killed you on the spot." A tremor ran through the boy's body. "Besides, why would you question if I never made contact again? I'm a freeloader am I not? I would no longer be a burden to you." He glanced to Kogoro and then away, "You'll be glad to see the last of me when Conan finally 'returns to America' to live with his parents."

Kogoro huffed. Truthfully, he hadn't questioned it. He'd been glad for the brat to leave then, but that was over a year and a half ago when they'd first met Edogawa Fumiyo. "Well...that's hardly...true...now." Kogoro couldn't picture it actually. Conan had become such a part of their lives after two years that the thought of him leaving brought a pang to his chest.

Shinichi paused, wincing as his foot hit a jagged copper wire. "It's not?" he asked raising his eyebrows as he looked to Kogoro, disbelief clear on his face.

Kogoro looked away as the boy began cautiously moving once more. Well, it had seemed like the freeloader would be living with them for forever and even if he grumbled about it constantly...he no longer minded it. The boy had his helpful moments. "You're not...so bad...when you're not meddling in my investigations."

Shinichi chuckled quietly as he paused at a partially collapsed wall. "Well...I can't really help myself with that."

"No, no you really can't." Kogoro agreed ruffling the boy's hair with a fond smile. He really couldn't.

Shinichi made a small noise of protest, moving his head to try and dislodge Kogoro's hand.

It made so much more sense now why Conan was so acute at crime scenes. Why a six, well now nearly eight, year old could face death so calmly. Why he was so knowledgeable. His information didn't just come from 'something he saw on TV.' Shinichi already had known it from personal experience, from years of studying crime scenes with his father and through books.

"Do you think you can crawl, Mouri-san?" Shinichi asked drawing Kogoro from his thoughts, only now realizing that the boy hadn't moved away from the wall. "The wall's covered most of the doorway, I can't carry you through it."

Kogoro looked up to see that indeed the remaining wall was leaning dangerously over them, covering their potential exit. It took him a moment to locate the doorway in question, and narrowed his eyes when he did. A tiny hole at the base of the rubble. It hardly looked like they would be able to crawl through the narrow opening, let alone know if it would have an exit on the other side. It seemed more like they'd be wriggling through that tiny space instead of crawling.

"I can manage." He said finally, wondering how Shinichi could be sure it was a tunnel. Regardless, he'd already dragged his broken legs once today, he could do it again, especially if that meant giving the boy a break from lugging his weight around. Besides what other option was there? Who knew if there would be a second exit even available if they looked.

"Good." Shinichi bent over, letting Kogoro's feet touch the ground. Kogoro couldn't help but let out a cry of pain as once more he put weight on his legs, his hands gripping Shinichi's shoulders hard enough to bruise them as he fought to keep his vision from tunneling.

Shinichi winced, biting back his own yelp. "Easy, old man." He gritted out as he helped to lower Kogoro to the ground, getting the weight off his legs as quickly as possible. He pulled away from him once Kogoro was stable, massaging his shoulder with a grimace before the hand drifted down to grip at his chest. "I'll go first to make sure the path is clear for you to come through." He said wiping fresh sweat from his brow.

Kogoro narrowed his eyes not liking that idea, but the boy was in better condition. If only by the tiniest of margins. Just because Shinichi had working legs didn't mean that the rest of him would be alright. He was after all, just wearing Kogoro's jacket, that would hardly be any defense against whatever he might encounter in that crawlspace. "Be careful, boy," Kogoro said instead of arguing. They'd both have to go through the tunnel, might as well be the boy first.

"As careful as I can be, Mouri-san." Shinichi said flashing him his confident smile.

Kogoro tensed and grabbed the boy's arm before he could move. Making an impulsive decision. "You can call me Ojisan still, Shinichi-kun." He said, squeezing lightly. He kept eye contact as he fought to keep the frown of concern off his face. Shinichi felt...warmer than he had two minutes ago. "I don't mind." He really didn't. It was bugging him to hear the boy being so formal with him.

Shinichi blinked, his eyes softening before he turned away. "Alright...Ojisan." He pulled free of Kogoro's grip. "I'll holler when I'm on the other side." He said getting down on his belly and wiggled through the small hole, quickly disappearing from view.

[hutchhitched]

Context

Written by: @hutchhitched

Rating: T

Prompt 9: “you mean it like i think you mean it or you mean it like I would like you to mean it?” [submitted by @thegirlfromoverthepond]

Summary: Katniss needs some advice about her outfit for a date, so she asks her roommate Peeta for his opinion. His surly answer infuriates her until she understands the context for his mood.

Author’s note: Huge thanks to @everlarkficexchange and @javistg for both running the exchange and understanding the reasons for my incredibly tardy submission as I took care of some other responsibilities. While I didn’t get this story written during the exchange in March and April, I hope it’s a worthy addition to the collection. @thegirlfromoverthepond, this is for you, my dear friend. I hope you like it.

 “Peeta?” Katniss called down the hallway loudly enough to be heard over the baseball game blaring from the big screen TV. “Peeta!” she yelled again when he didn’t answer. “I need a second opinion.”

 “Living room.”

 She rolled her eyes and stomped down the hall. Her roommate had been in a mood for the past few days, and she was getting tired of his attitude.

 “Well?” she snapped and motioned at her outfit. She was supposed to leave for a first date in ten minutes, and she had no idea what to wear.

 Peeta, her best friend since they were lab partners in their freshman biology class at Seam College, flicked his eyes from the Cardinals/Cubs game and glanced at her with his big blue eyes.

 “You look great,” he said flatly and took a sip of his beer.

 When he didn’t offer anything else, she huffed and stepped in front of the screen.

 “Hey!” he yelped and choked on his drink. He hacked a few times, and his eyes watered so hard fluid streamed down his cheeks. When he recovered, he snarled, “I was watching that.”

 “Yeah, well, I was asking for an opinion, not a half-assed compliment from someone who barely glanced at me.”

 He narrowed his eyes and growled through gritted teeth, “I already said you look great. What else do you want?”

 “Do you mean it like I think you mean it, or do you mean like I want you to mean it?”

 He flopped back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes in defeat. “You’re gorgeous. You’ll knock him dead. Go get your groove on. I’ll be here watching baseball and waiting for you to come home and tell me how awful it was.”

 “Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” She winced at the hurt in her voice and turned to leave the room. When he didn’t stop her, she marched down the hall and slammed the door to her bedroom. It was childish, and she knew it, but she didn’t really care at this point. She was over his surliness and shade.

 Glancing at herself in the mirror one more time, she gave a curt nod at her reflection and grabbed her sweater and bag from the bed before pausing. The shirt she wore was a startling royal blue with a plunging neckline that accentuated her small chest, and her black skinny jeans clung to her in all the right places. She still couldn’t get used to seeing herself as a sexy woman, but the changes in her body over the past few years were real. Even Peeta had noticed and commented on how feminine she’d become since her tomboy days when they’d first met.

 She sighed, frustrated with Peeta’s recent curtness and barely contained anger. Palming the pearl earrings he’d given her for Christmas, she weighed them before putting them in her ears and adjusting her necklace to settle in the hollow of her cleavage. The blue shirt made her gray eyes sparkle, and her braid was loose enough that dark wisps framed her face and softened her angular jaw. She knew she looked good, and she wished Peeta would let go of his snark long enough to pay her a genuine compliment. If he did, maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to date the other men who asked her out while her roommate ignored her.

 Katniss squared her shoulders and grabbed her keys. She slipped down the hallway and through the living room quietly without bothering to say goodbye and drove to the restaurant where her date waited. He was handsome—a graduate student in forestry whom she’d met during her junior year in college. They’d been friends for a while, but he’d finally bucked up the courage to ask her out when they’d crossed paths at the coffee shop where she worked on the weekends.

 “Katniss,” Gale called when she entered the restaurant—a hole in the wall called Sae’s that catered to college students who craved home cooking.

 “Gale,” she offered in greeting with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

 Her date assured her it was fine, but the night quickly went downhill from there. All the ease and effortlessness of their friendship disappeared as soon as they sat down together, and their conversation deteriorated to stilted and uncomfortable. Gale managed to insult her without meaning to, and she couldn’t figure out a single thing to say to him that didn’t make him bristle with indignation. His behavior vacillated between attentive and dismissive, which confused and irritated her. By the time dessert arrived, Katniss wanted nothing more than to go home and slide into bed. That is, until she remembered what Peeta had said to her before she left.

 “You’re gorgeous. You’ll knock him dead. Go get your groove on. I’ll be here watching baseball and waiting for you to come home and tell me how awful it was.”

 Why was he always right? He’d known before she left the house that tonight would be a disaster. His smug arrogance was enough to make her rethink her hasty exit from the date, which is how she found herself back at Gale’s apartment, straddling him as his hand unclasped her bra and fondled her breasts.

 Gale’s mouth hovered over the soft skin on her neck, and she shifted and felt him grow rigid beneath her. He groaned and bucked into her before leaning her backward until he covered her with his body. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to convince herself she was enjoying what they were doing until he slipped his fingers inside her waistband and stroked between her legs.

 “Stop, Gale,” she ordered, but he kept kissing her. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her or not.

 “Katniss,” he moaned into her neck, and he pressed his length into her thigh. “So sexy.”

 She gritted her teeth and pushed against him. “Stop, Gale,” she repeated. “I don’t want to do this.”

 His finger stroked her again before he pulled his head back and looked at her in a daze. His darkened eyes lacked focus, and he rasped as he attempted to control his breathing. His pants were tented as he lifted off her, and he cursed when she accidentally brushed his crotch with her knee as she scrambled out from under him.

 “Tell me you’re joking,” he demanded, his voice deadly calm. Katniss shook her head and attempted to refasten her bra without exposing herself to him.

 “I’m not joking,” she insisted. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Gale, but we shouldn’t be anything more than friends. That was one of the most uncomfortable dinners I’ve ever had.”

 “Katniss, I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for months. Come back here. We can take it slow.”

 She studied him, her gaze wary and unsure. He was good-looking, with features so similar to hers that sometimes she felt as if she were looking in a mirror when she saw him. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to prove Peeta wrong. She wanted someone to enjoy her company instead of being snotty to her every time she asked a question.

 Cautiously, she asked, “Do you mean it like I think you mean it, or do you mean like I want you to mean it?”

 He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her. “I’m not sure what you’re asking,” he answered, and she swallowed her disappointment.

 Peeta always knew what she meant when she offered that response. Her best friend understood her habit of masking her vulnerability behind a series of questions. She’d mastered deflection soon after her father died and the adults around her probed too much in attempts to show her compassion she didn’t want and couldn’t handle. Peeta always knew. He always got it. He was always there for her—no matter how awful his mood.

 She shook her head and flashed Gale a soft smile, a gentle one to soften the blow. “I think I’d better go home. This isn’t really my style. I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression.”

 Gale rose from the couch and glowered at her, his height and build menacing in the semi-dark room. For the briefest moment, Katniss shrank back, but then he shrugged his shoulders.

 “Whatever you want. No skin off my nose.”

 The apathy in his voice shook her. She’d thought their friendship was stronger and more important to him than his response indicated. He’d ordered the same drink week after week as he made small talk with her at her work. He’d dropped hints for months before she’d agreed to date him, and now… Now he didn’t seem to care at all if she walked out the door. Just like Peeta had earlier that evening.

 Katniss blinked against the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes and ran for the door. She sprinted to her car and turned the key in the ignition with trembling hands. She didn’t stop shaking until she pulled into her own driveway and saw the light in the living room window. Peeta was inside—still awake and waiting for her to return from what he’d accurately predicted would be a disastrous date. She straightened her shoulders and checked herself in the mirror before approaching the front door.

 “You’re home early. Date go well?” His tone was flat, but she still shivered at the sound of his voice.

 “I wanted to see how the game turned out,” she said as she moved into living room and studied the set of his jaw. Seeing him brought her comfort, despite his rotten attitude.

 “Which game are you talking about?” he grumbled, and she released a frustrated sigh.

 “The one you’re watching Peeta. What other game is there?” she cried as she threw her hands up in the air. “Why are you being so awful to me?”

 “I’m not being awful.”

 She stared at him until he shifted uncomfortably and looked up at her from his slouched position on the couch. At the look in her eyes, he flushed.

 “I’m sorry.”

 She remained silent and watched him until he tried again.

 “Seriously, Kat. I’m sorry.”

 “Do you mean it like I think you mean it, or do you mean like I want you to mean it?”

 The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and he fought to keep his face straight. He lost it when her lips curved upward into a smirk. In seconds, they both burst into giggles that spilled from them in cascading waves.

 “That always irritates me. You know that, Katniss,” he reminded her between hasty gulps of air.

 “You know that’s one of the reasons I do it.”

 “I do know that,” he agreed and patted the couch next to him. “Come sit. Tell me about your night.”

 She heaved an exaggerated groan and plopped next to him on the couch. He offered her his beer, and she took a hefty swallow before dropping her head back and staring at the ceiling.

 “It wasn’t great.”

 “I assumed that since you came home early.” She didn’t reply, so he nudged her with his elbow. “What happened? You know you can tell me.”

 “Can I?” she wondered aloud. “You’ve been such a jerk lately—snipping at me and pouting and snarling. I don’t understand what I did.”

 Peeta sighed and reached for her hand. As he intertwined his fingers through hers, he spoke softly, “You didn’t do anything, Kat. It’s my fault. I’ve just been in a bad place for the past few months. You can talk to me. I didn’t mean to be such a dick.”

 “Is that what you meant?” she asked as she jerked her hand from his. “This has been a game? You’ve been toying with me the past few weeks, pushing to see how much I’ll take from you before I snap?”

 His face flushed bright red, and he studied his hands that lay limply in his lap for several seconds before he nodded.

 “I thought you were going out with all those guys to hurt me,” he admitted softly. “It seemed like every time I asked you to do something, you had plans with someone else, and it bothered me more than it should have. The more that happened, the more I resented you.”

 “But why? When? What did you ask me to do that I said no?” Katniss wracked her brain, attempting to remember when he’d started to pull away from her, but she couldn’t exactly pinpoint a time. She just knew it’d been going on for much longer than she wanted.

 Peeta shrugged and admitted bashfully, “You probably didn’t even realize it. Remember when I went home for my brother’s birthday, and I asked you if you wanted to tag along?” When she nodded, he explained, “The older I get, the more my mom picks on me when I’m there. ‘Why haven’t you brought anyone home, Peeta?’ ‘When are you going to get married and give me grandbabies?’ ‘Doesn’t anyone want you?’ ‘You’re such a disappointment, Peeta.’ I just didn’t want to hear it anymore, and I thought maybe she’d lay off if you were with me. When you said you had to work, I was so upset that I took it out on you instead of realizing it’s my mother who makes me mad.”

 “Peeta—”

 “And then you started going out with other guys,” he continued, intent to finish. “If you said yes to them, then why not to me? Why not to your best friend? Am I not important enough? Do you not care about me and my feelings?”

 “You know that’s not true,” she insisted, her throat tightened with emotion.

 “I know. I know that, but that doesn’t mean I feel that.” He shrugged and joked, “This may surprise you, but I’m only human, you know. Just because I’m so good-looking and brilliant doesn’t mean I don’t have insecurities.”

 She surprised herself by giggling at his self-efficacy leaned her shoulder into his. “You know, I thought you were above all that being a human stuff. I mean, you’re practically perfect. I wondered if you were a demi-god or something.”

 “Well, you found my Achilles heel.”

 “Your mother,” she said, but he tensed next to her.

 “No, Katniss. Not my mother. You.”

 Shocked, she jerked her head sideways to study him. He wouldn’t look at her, his blue eyes downcast and his ears flaming with an embarrassed red. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, and she noticed a tremble in his usually steady, artistic hands.

 “What? Wh-what do you mean?” Her voice shook when she asked. The air seemed to have been sucked suddenly from the room, and the silence was so loud it hurt her ears.

 He inhaled sharply before raising his face to hers. He released his breath in a hiss and blurted, “I hate watching you go out with other people. I thought I could handle it. I can’t. I want you to go out with me. I want to be the one you get dressed up for and worry about whether or not you look good. You always do, by the way. Every single time. You are gorgeous. Every time you walk out that door. Every morning when you wake up. Every night when you say goodnight to me in your yoga pants and ratty t-shirt you pretend pass for pajamas. Right now…”

 Katniss stared at him, completely confused. Her eyes had to be as big as half dollars. She couldn’t form words.

 “I’ve horrified you,” Peeta deadpanned. “That’s just great.”

 “No! I’m not… I’m not horrified.”

 “You’re not, huh?”

 Working through her surprise quickly, she shook her head and turned on the couch to face him. “No, I’m not. Not horrified at all. I’m… I think intrigued is the word.”

 “Intrigued?” he asked, his eyebrows raised and a spark of hope glinted in his irises.

 “Curious.”

 He studied her for a few seconds and asked hesitantly, “About what?”

 “How it would feel to kiss you,” she whispered.

 Her eyes slipped closed as he cupped her cheek in his palm and threaded his fingers through her dark hair. He brushed his lips softly against hers before pressing his mouth more firmly into a gentle kiss. She yielded to him, her lips parting under his so he could capture her upper lip lightly between his teeth. He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, and she breathed in his scent—spicy, comforting, and enticing.

 Images of their time together flashed through her mind—Peeta cooking soup and fresh baked buns with asiago cheese melted on top when she had a cold; the way he blushed and stammered when he ran into her in the hall wearing only a towel around his waist and water droplets that glistened on his chest; the huskiness of his voice when he offered her a cup of coffee in morning. She’s been paying attention to him far more than she realized.

 He pulled back, and her eyes flickered open at the loss of contact. His vulnerability, uneasiness, and guarded happiness shone on his face.

 “You kissed me back,” he murmured. “Do you mean it like I think you mean it, or do you mean like I want you to mean it?”

 Her heart melted at his use of her defense mechanism to cover his anxiety.

 “You’ll have to figure that out from context,” she teased softly and pulled his mouth back to hers.

 She had no intention of letting him misunderstand her ever again.

[jumpthethunder]

SQ Week July 2017

Here is my entry for Day 1: Sharing A(nother) Child

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11457618

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12566135/1/SQ-Week-Summer-2017-Day-1-Just-a-Sweet-Babe-Alone-in-the-Woods

Or read on below the link!

                      Just a Sweet Babe, Alone in the Woods

      It took 3 days, 15 hours, 27 minutes, and 49 seconds before the nearly constant wailing, soiling, and spitting up became too much. To be quite honest, it was rather a lot longer than she'd thought she'd last after the first 24 hours had proved rather more difficult than expected, but she was loathe to admit defeat, especially in the face of such a...tiny...foe, so she had hung on until the anxiety rising in her chest and the headache pounding away at her temples was simply too much to handle. With a twirl of her hand and an exasperated huff she summoned the one person that she knew would take on this challenge, whether she wanted to or not.

      "What the-?!" Emma Swan spun around twice, taking in her surroundings. The Queen couldn't stop the exaggerated roll of her eyes as she took in the grilled cheese sandwich hanging half out of the other woman's mouth as Emma's brow furrowed first in confusion and then in trepidation as she realized where she was and who had brought her here. "Your Majesty..." she grumbled around her lunch still held between her teeth.

      "Miss Swan, kindly remove your food from your mouth before addressing me." Emma glanced down as if she was only just then remembering the grilled cheese, quickly plucking it from her lips and holding it awkwardly in her hand, looking about for somewhere to put it. Another eye roll accompanied the subtle wiggle of the Queen's fingers, the sandwich vanishing from between Emma's grasp in a puff of purple smoke.

     "Hey! I wasn't done with that." Emma whined, slouching and very nearly pouting before she remembered who it was she was dealing with and straightened back up, arms crossing over her chest as she backed up half a step and regarded the Queen suspiciously. "What do you want now? Come to give me another speech about how worthless I am? Got any more mirrors to throw me into?" Emma's tone was scathing and defensive, not even a week before she'd been nearly killed by the woman standing before her, yet now here she was looking at her with an expression that was disturbingly similar to the one Regina gave her when she thought she was being a slightly endearing idiot. The Queen seemed to realize she was being just a tad too transparent, quickly turning her back on Emma and waving her hand nonchalantly.

      "No dear, nothing quite so dramatic. You can relax." She turned back to face Emma, trying her best to school her features and look superior and disinterested.

      "Relax? Good one." Emma quipped sarcastically, but her body language did shift to something ever so slightly less defensive as she let her eyes wander around the vault. Things were different in here now that the Queen had decided to make it her make-shift home base. The entire place was lit with candles, too many to count, some on the stone shelves carved into the walls, some hovering in the air at varying heights. There was more velvet, more regal (and slightly gaudy) furniture, and a chandelier in the middle of it all (which Emma suspected might be made entirely out of actual diamonds) that refracted the glow from the candles all over the room making everything look like it was shimmering. It was, Emma had to admit, cozy, elegant, and hauntingly beautiful. Shaking her head and bringing herself back to the moment, Emma was about to once again push to find out why the Queen had dragged her away from lunch with her son if she didn't intend to hurt her when a piercing cry erupted from behind a deep purple canopy in the far corner of the vault. She rushed to the canopy, pulling it back and feeling her mouth fall open at the sight below her.

      "Is that? What is...?" She rounded on the Queen, anger obvious in her glare. "Did you steal someone's baby?"

      The Queen looked almost insulted, her shoulders shifting as she drew herself up even straighter than usual, a hand coming up to rest on her stomach.

      "I did not steal that child. I...found it."

      "Found?!" Emma's tone was incredulous, her body moving to place herself protectively between the child and the Queen.

      "Yes, Miss Swan. Found. It appears someone abandoned that child in the woods, one of the fools from the Land of Untold Stories I have no doubt. Seems they couldn't be bothered to care for this part of their story."

      "So you've what? Been babysitting? Are you going to keep it? Hoping to raise an evil spawn of your own?" The Queen glared and stalked forward, invading Emma's personal space and causing her to place both of her hands on the edge of the basinet behind her as she leaned away from the Queen's hissed reply.

      "I'll have you know I have been caring for this child, a child that no one else was looking after or even seemed to give a damn about, on my own. No harm has come to her, and none will if I have anything to say on the matter." The passionately protective expression in the Queen's eyes was 100% Regina and it had Emma's anger faltering, her own voice coming out hushed when she replied.

      "So why am I here?"

      The Queen averted her eyes, letting them fall to the still whimpering infant behind Emma's back who, as if on cue, released another eardrum shattering screech.

       "I can't get her to stop doing that."

      "And you want me to what? Help? What do you expect me to do? You have way more experience with babies than I do."

      The Queen turned away and began pacing, her hands clasped in front of her stomach, clenching and unclenching in a way Emma knew meant she was struggling with something, warring with herself likely over how much wanted to share, to give away to this woman she called her enemy. Emma let her pace, glancing back over her shoulder at the red-faced and clearly very upset child writhing her little limbs as she gurgled and sputtered away in the basinet. Despite her cries, Emma could tell she was a beautiful child, her eyes were large and brown, her head holding a dusting of soft nearly golden hair, and she clearly had one powerful set of lungs. When the Queen spoke again she was facing away from Emma, the tightness in her shoulders and the slightest quiver to her voice the only things giving away just how hard getting the words out of her mouth was for her.

      "I need your help. I need you to take her. I can't...I don't have any feel for this and she clearly doesn't care for me. It would seem that Regina was the half with the natural gift for mothering." There was a pain lacing those words, an ache that pulled at Emma's heart but before she could dwell on it too long she found the baby girl in her arms, wrapped in a soft blanket (one that looked shockingly like her own hand-knit one), her cries quieting instantly and her eyes looking up in wonder at Emma, who gulped down her sudden nerves and gave her a small, hesitant smile. She was about to press the Queen for more information, question her motives and insist she tell her the whole story behind the child when she felt familiar magic wrapping around her body from the feet up and knew she about to be transported away. As the purple cloud started to obscure her vision she could just make out the Queen turning to her, her eyes watery and brow pinched, her gaze fixed on the child.

      "Goodbye little one. This is your best chance."

      Emma's heart clenched, the longing so clear on the Queen's face that in that moment she couldn't see her as anything other than a lonely woman desperately trying to make a connection with someone, anyone, even if that someone was only a baby.

      When Emma reappeared it was, to her surprise, in Regina's bedroom, where she found the other woman rushing from the bathroom, her hair still damp from a shower while she hopped on one foot trying to slide a shoe on while the other dangled from her fingertips. The shoe fell to the floor and she very nearly followed it when she spotted Emma before her and let out a surprised little yelp.

      "Emma?! What are you doing here? Are you alright? Henry just called in a panic and told me you were abducted by magic from the diner in the middle of lunch. It was the Queen wasn't it? Did she hurt you?" Her rapid-fire questions stopped suddenly when her eyes fell to the small hand that popped up from the bundle of blanket in Emma's arms. "What in the world are you doing with a baby?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh as Regina's tone mimicked the Queen's so closely that she found herself wondering, not for the first time, just how different they really were, deep down. Not that she would ever voice that particular opinion because she was fairly certain it would earn her a fireball to the face, which again left her with the sense that the two halves of the other woman were really more alike than either would ever admit. Regina rushed forward while Emma was lost in thought and snatched the child from her arms, her expression softening as she took in the chubby cheeks still streaked with tears from her earlier bawling.

      "The Queen found it. Her."

      "What??" Emma watched as Regina's hold on the baby tightened almost imperceptibly, clutching the infant protectively to her chest.

      "She said she found her abandoned in the woods. I think...I think she wanted to keep her."

      "Like I'd ever let that happen! If she thinks she's going to get her hands on this innocent child again and use her as a pawn in her ridiculous plots she can think again! I will not let her hurt this child." Regina scoffed, her tone a near growl and her eyes flashing purple. Emma held her hands up to placate her, moving forward cautiously.

      "Whoa, calm down Regina, and maybe stop squeezing her so tight." Emma gestured to the baby with a crocked smile and she could see Regina deflate as she too looked at the little girl in her arms and relaxed her grip. Emma reached out, smoothing down the baby's hair and allowing one finger to run gently down her cheek, wiping away the last of her tears as the little girl cooed up at her.

      "How did you get the baby away from her?" Regina's voice was almost a whisper, clearly distracted by the now content child in her arms.

      "She, um, she...I think she gave her to me...to us." When their eyes locked Regina could read the look of hope, mixed with a healthy amount of apprehension, on Emma's face. She raised one sculpted brow and squinted her eyes, taking in every nuance of the other woman's expression.

      "Us, dear?"

      "Well...um, she gave her to me but she said you were the one with the mothering instinct, and then she sent me here, to you. So...yeah, I think she gave her to us." As she spoke the baby girl reached out and wrapped her tiny fingers around Emma's, attempting with every bit of strength in her little arm to pull it to her mouth, which Emma allowed only to let out a surprised little gasp when the infant began sucking on it vigorously. Regina chuckled, causing Emma to blush though she wasn't sure way.

      "It would seem that someone is hungry." A bottle appeared in the blink of an eye and as soon as it neared the child's lips she surrendered Emma's finger and began eagerly sucking down the formula. The expression that settled on Regina's features was one of pure bliss and as Emma stood watching the two of them together, the little girl staring adoringly up at the woman who'd known exactly what she wanted, she couldn't help but think that the Queen had been right.

      "You really are a natural at this, aren't you?" Regina's throaty laugh surprised her.

      "I have experience, that's all. Let me guess, the Queen called you in when she couldn't get this little darling to stop crying, am I right?"

      "How did you know that?"

      "Because it was the same for me with Henry. For days after I brought him home he wailed and wailed and wailed. Nothing I did comforted him, my presence actually seemed to make it worse. I was such a mess I even turned to your mother for help."

      "What happened?"

      "You already know the answer to that Emma, you already know the whole story." Emma was puzzled for just a moment before she remembered the shared memories Regina had given her, the ones based largely on her own life with Henry from before Emma had entered their world, and she let her eyes drift closed as she allowed them to come into focus in her mind. Ever since she'd returned to Storybrooke she'd tried to forget the memories Regina had provided when she'd written a new life for her and Henry because something felt invasively intimate about allowing herself to dwell on them, like she was seeing into Regina's deeply personal moments that she really should never have been privilege to. Regina spoke, as if reading her mind,

      "It's alright Emma, I knew what I was doing when I gave you those memories. I didn't have to give you mine, I could have invented whole new ones. I chose to give you what I did and I accept what that means."

      Emma blushed furiously, feeling the weight of Regina's words as the baby finished off her bottle and began to fuss. Regina vanished the bottle and was about to raise the baby to her shoulder to burp her when she gave Emma an odd look and moved towards her, Emma's eyes widening with every step closer Regina came, knowing what it was Regina was intending to do.

      "Oh no, no Regina. I can't." She tried to back away but found herself very quickly bumping up against Regina's dresser.

      "Oh but you can Emma. I know you, I know what you're capable of." The smirk on Regina's lips was infuriating as she thrust the baby into Emma's arms and flicked her hand causing a burping towel to appear draped over Emma's shoulder. Emma lifted the baby and looked into her face with an expression that read pure terror and Regina couldn't help but laugh. "The mighty Savior, afraid of baby."

      Emma glared at her while she placed the baby on her shoulder and searched her memories for ones not quite her own of doing this very thing with Henry. She allowed muscle memory to take over, pleased (and a bit disgusted) when not even minutes later the infant gave an outrageously loud burp and spluttered up warm formula all over the towel.

      "Whoa there, kid, did that all come from you?" She pulled the girl off her shoulder and wiped her chin tenderly, booping her gently on the nose and earning herself a happy little gurgle and two playfully kicking feet. "You're pretty damn cute, you know that?"

      "Language Emma."

      "Come on Regina, it's not like she can understand me."

      "Still. It's bad form." As Emma moved the child, whose eyes had begun to droop, back into the cradle of her arms she found herself captivated by the look on Regina's face as she watch the two of them. Minutes passed silently and Regina moved closer, her hand coming to stroke the fine baby hairs as the little girl's breathing started to even out and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The whole moment took Emma's breath away, the baby somehow feeling safe enough in her arms to fall asleep, the woman standing before her with a look of absolute awe on her face, the shared memories of Henry when he was this young dancing behind both of their eyes.

      "So..." Emma was the first to break the silence, never good at letting the quiet settle around her.

      "Indeed." Regina replied, sensing the weight of Emma's unspoken thoughts.

      "She doesn't seem to have anyone else, at least not anyone that wants her."

      "Except the Queen, it would seem." Though Regina tried for casual disinterest, Emma could sense the pain and conflict radiating off the other woman at the mention of the Queen. Almost as if trying to comfort herself, Regina reached for the baby and Emma handed her over without a second thought. Another silence fell between them, Regina clearly lost in her own mind as her fingers danced over the little girl's arm and cradled a chubby hand in her palm.

      "Her best chance." Emma muttered, almost unaware she'd spoken aloud until Regina looked up at her questioningly. Emma blushed, looking sheepishly down at her feet and clearing her throat. "As she was sending me here with the baby she looked right as us and said 'This is your best chance.' I think...um...I think she meant us." Regina's expression turned from questioning to thoughtful.

      "We have done well with Henry."

      "We?"

      "Yes, 'we' Emma."

      "So are you saying you want to try to do this...like, together? Me and you and a baby? Cause that's a whole different ball game than sharing custody of a teenager."

      "Look Emma, if you don't want to do this just say so. I understand it's a big undertaking but I'm not going to leave this child on her own and we both know that Storybrooke has no foster system so if you're suggesting we give her to Maine's social services-"

      "No! Of course not. God Regina, I wouldn't wish that life on anyone, you know how I feel about that." Guilt flashed across Regina's features at Emma's response and she rushed to apologize but Emma cut her off before she could. "Look, Regina, I'm just saying, this is going to be huge. It means a ridiculous amount of change for our lives, for Henry, for everyone."

      "For you and your pirate." Emma paused at Regina's comment, having completely forgotten about Hook and how this would look to him, but found herself responding with only a second's hesitation,

      "I don't care. Hook can deal. This is more important. If we're her best chance then we're her best chance." She wasn't really sure why she responded this way, why she knew deep down with every bit of her gut that she wanted to do this, to raise this child with Regina. Up until she'd seen the little girl in Regina's arms, seen the way the two of them looked at one another, the way Regina looked at her with pride when she'd succeeded in burping the infant, she hadn't even realized she wanted more children. Having children at all had never been in her plan and, though she wouldn't trade Henry for anything, she had never planned him and never truly wanted to be a mother. But now, standing here with Regina looking at her like the words coming out her mouth were possibly the most wonderful things anyone had ever said to her, she knew with a certainty that she'd never before felt that this was what she wanted and who she wanted it with.

      "Emma, do you know what you're saying?" Emma closed the last inches between them, one hand coming to rest on Regina's shoulder, the other cupping the hand that was cradling the sleeping child.    

      "Yeah Regina, I do. I want this. Me and you, we are her best chance. We can do this together. I mean, look at her, we already are doing this together."

      The smile the spread across Regina's lips was slow to start out, spreading wider and wider until it was so bright and so incredible that it was nearly blinding.

      "I don't understand you, Swan."

      "Yes you do. You really, really do."

         The Queen watched through the mirror in her vault as Emma magicked a crib into existence at the foot of Regina's bed, tears streaming down her face as she reached out with one shaking hand to the images in the glass before her. She watched as Regina placed the infant on her back, wrapping the baby blanket, the one the Queen had actually spent the past three days knitting for her (she'd grown quite adept at knitting once upon a time, back when Regina and she were still one, still a frightened teenager trapped in the walls of a castle trying desperately to fight against the rage eating away at her soul), tightly around her and bending to place a kiss on her forehead before reaching over and taking Emma's hand, looking at her with a sort of loving wonder the Queen swore she could feel in her own blackened heart. Emma returned the look with a ducked head and a shy smile, squeezing the hand holding her own before the two women gave the sleeping girl one last look and exited the room, no doubt heading to Regina's study to discuss the implications of this unforeseen new addition to their family, likely over a glass or two of strong cider.

      Once she was sure they were downstairs the Queen wiped away her tears, glamoured her make-up back to flawless perfection, and magicked herself into the room where the little girl she'd saved from the woods slept peacefully, something the Queen had only managed to get her to do once when the child had literally screamed herself into an exhausted slumber.

      "Goodnight, little one. You'll be safe now. Your new mothers, though they may both be painfully self-righteous, will fight for you and love you more than they love themselves." She reached out, tentative, worried that her touch would wake the child and send her into another crying fit. When the sweet girl continued to sleep she allowed herself another moment before taking a chance and bowing to place a kiss that mimicked her other half's before whispering, "You have nothing to fear from me. I promise you, I may not be good enough to raise you, but I will never hurt you."

      "Good to know." The familiar lilt of her own voice coming from the doorway behind her startled her, causing her to straighten and spin around. Regina cocked an eyebrow at her and shook her head. "Did you really think I would leave her unprotected? I knew the minute you entered this house that you were here."

      "Then why didn't you rush in to stop me?"

      "Because I didn't think you were here to do her any harm."

      "I'm not."

      "Like I said, good to know." The Queen huffed, looking rather irritated with both herself and Regina, before she moved away from the crib and began to raise her hands in order to transport herself away. "Wait-" Regina reached out and clasped fingers around her wrist, stopping her magic before it could swell to the surface. Regina waited until the Queen looked her in the eyes before finishing her thought. "Thank you."

      "What, dear Regina, could you possibly be thanking me for?"

      "For her." Regina inclined her head towards the crib. "For saving her, and for doing what was best for her." The Queen scoffed, tugging her arm from Regina's grasp.

      "Don't read too much into darling, I simply couldn't put up with that thing's pesky shrieking any longer." Regina saw through the lie in a second, they both knew it, but she allowed the Queen her dignity and didn't call her out on it.

      "In that case you better go before she wakes, the do have a habit of making rather a lot of fuss." Regina's smirk was knowing, and the Queen scowled, sparing one last look at the child before she backed away and threw up her arms, disappearing in an instant.

      Regina turned back to the crib, feeling her heart surge as she watched the steady rise and fall of the beautiful baby girl's chest. It was ironic, the Queen, despite all her "evil" deeds and despite all the pain she'd caused, somehow in her own way always seemed to give Regina exactly what she needed. She'd protected her when she was a helpless young Queen, she'd defended her from her mother's manipulations, she'd given her strength in the face of a world that left her to fend for herself, she'd provided her the insanity she needed to cast a curse that allowed her a second chance in a world without all of her past baggage. And now she'd brought another child into her life, a child that would cement the ties between herself and Emma, a woman she loved desperately no matter how much she'd tried to fight it. It would seem the Queen was, once again, and in her round-about fashion, giving her everything she wanted but wasn't quite strong enough to reach out and take on her own.

       There was just one problem, one thing causing her heart throb painfully within her chest. While she had everything, everyone she could ever want within her grasp, the Queen, who she knew deep down wanted all the same things, was alone once more. And this time it was so much worse than all the times before, so much worse than when she'd been locked away in the castle, so much worse than when she'd been sentenced to banishment, so much worse than the past couple of decades when Regina had kept her pushed further and further into the recesses of her heart and mind. It was worse because now the Queen was truly alone, truly without any of Regina's hope, Regina's love, that had always lingered within in her, even at her darkest. As Regina turned back to the still slumbering infant she placed her hand gently on the soft, pudgy stomach, feeling it rise and fall with each small breath.

      "I do believe she loves you, sweet Princess. Perhaps, in time, you can teach her how."

[liannyeong]

Flush

Summary: He brushes off the non-existent dust on the lapel of his suit before taking a step forward to press the bell.

Word count: 1433

Pairing: Sungjin X OC

Warning(s): fluffy, i guess?

A/N: this is for @daysixdreams because we’ve been sharing a lot of our thoughts about sungjin hahahahahahahahahahaha because sungjin is just :’)))) on a side note, the whole of Sunrise album is just perfect :’))) i love it so much beyond words I just... wow. DAY6 fighting!!! It’s because of this, I guess, that’s why I’ve been writing about Sungjin more than Jaebum or Jinyoung hahahahahahaha I shall come back with a Jaebum fic soon...

Sungjin doesn't know what's wrong. His heart pounds against his chest rapidly, and he doesn't know if he's got a medical condition or if he's just nervous. Nervous? He's rarely nervous. Not when he has performed and sang as a band with his friends in school events and competitions. Not when he's so used to making a fool out of himself whenever he hangs out with his friends. So he doesn't really get why he's nervous. It's an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Sungjin inhales and exhales to keep his breathing steady. He even slaps himself on the cheek to keep his composure. He brushes off the non-existent dust on the lapel of his suit before taking a step forward to press the bell.

A moment of silence.

The door opens.

Like in slow motion, the light from inside the house pours onto the doorstep. Sungjin's eyes were initially on the floor, but he flicks up and he sees her in front of him, basking in the orange light from inside the house. And he doesn't know if he should even say anything. He's too overwhelmed. His heart starts thumping wildly again like an bull on the loose. Slowly, he feels his cheeks burning up and he doesn't know if he's down with a fever. His lips want to crack a smile but he doesn't know what is the reason behind it. So he purses his lips and darts his eyes from the female. He doesn't even know why he did that.

Clad in sweatpants and hoodies - that is her everyday look. She never did try to look pretty nor did she ever try to act feminine. "There’s no reason for me to dress up anyway," she keeps saying, "when all I go for is band practice." It's not that Sungjin hates it. He's fine with it. She's always donned in baggy shirts and pants that could probably fit two of her, so nobody knows her figure at all. Nobody. Not even him. He's never look at her for the shape of her body, considering all the attention on her body is directed away by the way she carries herself as a person. Loud, rough, never elegant nor dainty. Nevertheless, despite the rather masculine traits for a female, he's drawn into her. Because at least, he knows that she's showing her true self and not masked under a lie.

But now, she's standing right in front of him, beautifully dressed in a white gown (which makes her look like a beautiful bride, in Sungjin's opinion). All the baggy clothes off, her figure is accentuated. She's slender and lean. She's rather petite, contrary to what she had always been in his eyes. And beautiful too, Sungjin concludes. Sungjin has always taken a liking to the sight of sweaty skin whenever they do performances together. Because when the light shines on her, it's like she's glowing. It's like she's the spotlight of the stage. His eyes cannot stop scanning her up and down and he feels like a creep, but he just can’t stop himself.

“What?” she questions, eyebrows raised. “Do I scare you that much with this look?”

“N-no!” Sungjin blurts as he waves his hands in disagreement. He meets her eyes and immediately, he feels the heat rising to the tip of his ears. So he darts his eyes to the ground, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Right,” she says, unconvinced. "You look good, Sungjin,” she adds. He snaps his head back up to look at her and is greeted with a smile. He freezes for a moment, because damn, she has smiled so many times but for some reason, it makes his heart flutter even more today. Sungjin curses himself for acting like a freak and he prays hard she doesn’t run away from him. “Shall we go?”

No, Sungjin thinks to himself. 

“No?” she echoes, surprised. She blinks at him, a little confused. And it takes Sungjin a second before he realizes that he has said so out loud instead.

“Uhh…" Sungjin scrambles for words to say.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. Her arms are crossed, eyebrows knitted as she stares up at the male. “Seriously? Explain yourself, Park Sungjin.”

A beautiful person shouldn't frown, he thinks. He wants to erase that look off her face but he’s afraid that she will blow up instead with the words he wants to say. Yes, he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to go to prom anymore. Not with her dressed so beautifully for other guys to rake their eyes on. Because underneath all the oversized attire she had always worn, she's as beautiful, in fact, more dazzling than any supermodel on the magazine cover page. This look on her is a secret he wants to keep from the world. And for a moment, he just wants her usual look on again. He'd rather go to prom with her in her everyday look if it means safeguarding her from the eyes of others. Sungjin doesn't want her to be taken away from him. He genuinely likes her as a person, for who she is, not for what she wears.

“Because?” she presses.

She's staring at him, her patience wearing thin. Her frown is still there, though her lips form a small pout with her cheeks puffed a little. Adorable, he thinks. Adorably beautiful. She still has her rough personality even with the feminine look, and he's highly pleased that she didn't pretend to be elegant for the night's event. The same stubborn girl he adores is still right in front of him.

“Because you look beautiful,” he meets her eyes, not missing a little flicker in her eyes. He’s being sincere with his words, carefully choosing the right ones because he's just afraid she might not take him seriously. He hopes she’ll know it if he looks at her in the eye as he speaks. “And I don’t want anyone to see you like this. I think I’ll get jealous...” he lets his words falter to a mumble, because he’s too embarrassed to say it aloud.

“Seriously, Park Sungjin?” her tone as harsh as he knows it to be. Sungjin can tell she's annoyed even though he dares not to look at her in the eye. “Why? Do you see me in a new light now because I'm wearing a dress?” she questions coldly.

Sungjin snaps his head up, afraid that she would misunderstand him. "No!” he half-shouts. “I... have always… liked… you… even before you… wear such… stuff...” His hands wave around in front of her, flustered to even say anything more. He brings his hand over to the back of his head, scratching his nape awkwardly, averting his gaze from her. He tries to steady his breathing, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he reckons it could just burst open. She says nothing at all and so he adds a while later, “It’s just that… you look too beautiful right now… so… I just-”

"You're unbelievable."

Sungjin drops his arm down, lets his head hang low. He keeps silent, and stares at the ground and their feet like a child being scolded by his mother. Her skirt covers her feet, and Sungjin wonders if she's wearing heels. It would make her taller, but she's still looking at him in the same way she always does everyday: neck craned a little, head tilted up. He stares, and the white skirt of hers moves out of his line of sight. He hears the creaking of the door and he bets he's done for. She would tell him to go back home and to forget about tonight.

“Come in, it’s getting cold out here,” she says instead.

“You’re not mad?” Sungjin asks cautiously, wondering if he had misheard her. 

“Why should I be when you've just confessed?" She chuckles. “And besides, I didn’t even want to go for prom in the first place. I’d rather chill with my new boyfriend.”

Sungjin breaks into a wide smile, his heart jumping for joy at the sound of her labelling him as a boyfriend.

Instead of going to their school's prom night, they end up holding a concert of their own in the living room of her house. They play and sing the songs they love - from rock to love ballads to random instrumentals they pull out from memory - with Sungjin strumming away on her guitar and her fingers gliding across the piano keys.

Prom, is indeed, a night to remember (whether you attend it or not).