#maybe it will have to become a pining chapter someday

[palfriendpatine66]

Promot case I am stuck in traffic for three hours now in the back seat

“What do you think about having public sex in your car in broad daylight?”

Very sorry about this unfortunate traffic situation anon!

You will think I’m crazy but my mind immediately goes to Pining and I’ll tell you why:

At one point while writing PiP wanted to have Anakin go watch Obi-Wan at karate, and I thought: he would be so turned on watching him spar. He would pick up his shit so fast and rush out to the car and just have to fuck him right there. And then I thought my myself: I can’t write this. Obi-Wan is a preschool teacher. He can’t risk being arrested and labeled a sex offender for public exposure and indecency. This is a horrible idea.

Which is why the only thing going through my mind since I read this prompt is:

Obi-Wan, still flushed from exertion and hair damp with sweat, slides into the passenger seat with his first place trophy in his lap.

“Would you like to tell me why you ran out of there like the place was on fire and didn’t even stay to see my score?” He glances down to the trophy in his lap. “Not that it really matters, except for bragging rights over Cody, but I won.” He looks to Anakin, bemused to find him also flushed and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Love? What has gotten into you?”

Anakin turns to him with a scorching look. “What do you think of having public sex in your car in broad daylight?”

Obi-Wan would have scoffed, but something in him responds to the barely contained need rolling off of him in waves. He swallows thickly. “I think that sounds like a terrible idea,” he responds, his voice strained.

“Damn it, I know.” Anakin grits his teeth. “Buckle up,” he commands shortly and peels out of the parking lot, intent on arriving somewhere private as fast as possible.

[primojade]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

“ may the day where we discard all lies for good come soon. ”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | romantic tropes that I think would fit them just right.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | gn!reader x albedo, wanderer, cyno and tighnari (separate); fluff, mild angst, pining, cursingcursing, kind of cheesy lmao; no proofread; let me know if I missed anything!

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | This is a very self indulgent fic that I thought of while writing the next chapter of fallacies of love. And yes, I finished this first before that one 🤣 btw, this may or may not have part 2 but for different characters ueue. If I find the motivation to write a continuation, that is xD

masterlist |

second chances to love

Two old friends meet again wearin' older faces. And talk about the places they've been. Two old sweethearts who fell apart somewhere long ago. How are they to know, someday they'd meet again. And have a need for more than reminiscin'.

Can two people finally find their shared happiness the second time around? Is there really a way to fully mend a heart broken by the past? Are second chances really the answer to the heartache that one carried in the present times?

Your relationship with Albedo unfortunately did not work out as you want it to, and as he put it with the Traveller, once a relationship starts to drift away, it will become bothersome. 

But can you really be blamed for why you fell for him? Albedo is a charming man, intelligent to a fault, a gentleman at heart, and your greatest source of inspiration. That's why when he started to show signs of interest in you unlike any other, you wholly welcomed it, cherished it in your heart even. The more time you spend with him, he shows you the other side of himself that he refuses to show to anyone else. The sliver of attention and dare say, love, that he shows you was enough to make your heart race. 

But alas, love alone was not enough, and you both know it—his mere attention is not enough to call…whatever this is…as "love". For only when your heart began to feel weary of his constant busy schedule that you realised that some love was not meant to hold onto. Love that could become your sweetest poison to indulge, love that will surely drift no matter how hard you hold on. And there is that kind of love that cannot be yours no matter how besotted you are.

You were tired waiting for him to decide, to pull you close to him, but when he deemed you too close, he would shoved you away. You got tired waiting for his decision to make, and in the end, it was not you. So, you did what you knew was best for the both of you. To end everything before it becomes to the point of no return.

Still, the heart is a very fickle and turbulent thing, artificial as it may, and just as love could bring you to the highest summits of happiness, Albedo found out that it could also bring you to the lowest depths of despair. For only when you were gone to his life that he realised that the love he took for granted was the one who gave him the true meaning of this world.

Shaking to the very core of his being was the ache that no alchemy nor chemical experiments could soothe, Albedo tries his best to move on, to pretend that everything is alright, pretending that all things will go back to the way it was once, but…

Maybe this time, it'll be lovin' they'll find. Maybe now they can be more than just friends. They're back in his life, and it feels so right. Maybe this time, love won't end.

But alas, time doesn't help when moving on, it does not help him heal, it only teaches him to live with the pain. Settling himself to be your friend does not cool down his flame, and when Albedo sees you smiling at him again, laughing and waiting for him, that flame burns even brighter than ever before. And this time, if he tried his best again…maybe this time, this promised love will never end.

“Maybe…maybe this time? Are you…willing to try again?" He asked, hope blooming and his artificial heart beating so fast in his chest it might as well jump to your hands and never leave again. This time…he will make sure to do everything right, and give you everything he had, this time.

“Because the only way to love someone unconditionally is to realise that it may be lost.”

friends to lovers

Do you remember when I said I'd always be there? Ever since we were ten, baby. When we were out on the playground playing pretend. Didn't know it back then.

“[Name], let's make haste. The weather today is too perfect for our weekly surveillance, and I do not trust you to not wander in the forest and accidentally poison yourself. So, you are coming with me.” 

You immediately noticed the peculiar twinkle in his bicoloured eyes, the lightest tint of pink on his cheeks, the twitch of his ears and the slight wag of his tail. All of his mannerisms are so familiar to the point that you could hear the barely concealed excitement in his usually stern tone. 

Perhaps it's because you have known him since you were both still in diapers? Tighnari has always been someone passionate at what he does, talented and smart and reliable, he was always there to help you even before you asked of him, hell, sometimes, even before you knew you yourself needed some help. He was that perceptive when it comes to you.

Even during the times he was busy with his research papers in the Akademiya, Tighnari would not hesitate to discard whatever he was doing in favour of knowing what was happening to you. He was even fussier than a mother, and would scold you harder than a father would. But as much as his lectures become weary at times, you know that it all comes with good sentiment for your well being, and for his love for you.

Love…for being his very first friend, you supposed. The very first person who saw him through all his hardships, his achievements, seeing him at his lowest and highest. It was supposed to make you feel happy and proud that he still chose you even though it felt like he became someone so…unreachable now. Capable, reliable and an akademiya scholar. And nowadays, the word 'friend' has merely brought bittersweet feelings and nostalgia to your heart.

Love…is not something he would be thinking right now. He was busy enough taking care of the forest and the former sages as it is, and professing your long-term feelings for your childhood friend was not something you would call a wise decision. You were not ready to risk your decades of friendship for something as fickle as love…

Now I realize you were the only one. It's never too late to show it. Grow old together, have feelings we had before. Back when we were so innocent. I pray for all your love. Our love is so unreal. I just wanna reach and touch you, squeeze you, somebody pinch me. This is something like a movie. And I don't know how it ends. But I fell in love with my best friend.

But even though he was supposed to have his hands full, even though you knew the right and logical actions to never disrupt the fine line between friends and lovers, the heart is not something that was meant to be repressed. Ever. 

But what it felt like endless nights of pining, of hopeless hoping, of days of being a lovestruck fool had ended when Tighnari, finally, had enough of your indecision and tiptoeing with him. There were no grand confession like what those Inazuman novels wrote in exaggeration, nor any special place he took you aside from the secret base that you two found as children before. But it felt just as special as he kissed you without reckless abandon, having exchanged the closeness of being friends, to the intimacy of being lovers, at last. 

“...If, hypothetically speaking, would you still choose to return home when I tell you that I wanted to keep you for myself?”

(denial) enemies to lovers.

I never knew life could be like this. Never thought that I would be the one that you would kiss. I never knew love could be so rough. But now I found the real thing I can't get enough.

The first time you met the General Mahamatra, you already knew that you two wouldn't get along. It's not because of his steadfast sense of justice and persistence, or the way he apprehends scholars who broke the academic rules, no, but it's because of how he glared and scowled at you worse than the criminals he set his eyes on. 

It does scare you a bit, especially when you knew to yourself that you did not do anything that would warrant his attention. Tighnari said that your research topic is safe enough, so you don't understand why…why is he so adamant at menacingly tailing you as if you didn't know he was watching you like a hawk in the library? Does he not realise that despite his short stature, ability to sneak undetected and blend in the background, he was basically standing out? And no, it's not because your eyes literally gravitate towards him and would be the first thing that you zoomed into when you knew he was nearby. It's definitely not that.

Though when you decided to bravely confront Cyno about his suspicious behaviour around you, he merely gave you a hard stare boring into your soul, scowling, before saying it's none of your business and walking off. You have never guessed the General Mahamatra is just so rude!! 

Though when you tell this discovery to Tighnari, frowning and fuming, the fennec therianthrope hide a barely concealed amused grin with a shake of his head and told you that's just the way Cyno is when he was faced with something that he didn't know how to handle and deal with…namely, his emotions and the actions that come with it. 

You decided to ignore the sly implications your friend was conveying to you, because there's just…no way that would ever happen! Though the reddening of your ears and the loud thundering of your heart didn't escape the Forest Watcher's observant eyes.

The sweetest surprise caught me tonight, right there in your eyes while I was kissing you. So don't say that you don't love, everything you dreamed of could be here.

"It isn't like what you think!" You exclaimed, defensive, eyes filled with horror as Tighnari smugly smirked at you. "I don't like the guy! He's irritating! And bossy! He's always picking on me! The only reason why I'm thinking of him is because surely, you're a lot nicer than him, unless we talk about your sass."

"Keep your reasons, [Name]." The fennec hybrid snickered when you glared at him. "I personally think you would not feel the need to compare someone to anyone if they weren't important. Really, my parents started like that."

You felt your whole face flushed in embarrassment. "Shut up. It doesn't mean—"

"Deny it as much as you like, but there's a very thin line between love and hate, you know. All those bickering, those exchanges of offending commentaries, calling each other names…" His grin turned wicked, before his eyes darted behind you. "Who knows? Perhaps you and Cyno are merely harbouring what we like to call…hmm…yes, adoration."

"The audacity! How could I adore that guy? There's no way!!" 

Perhaps it may take time. But even though you both were in deep denial, even with the thunderous lies crossing your lips and the faux masks he wore, someday…somewhere, when the time is right and when you felt a little braver, you could finally admit that you loved him too, from the very beginning.

“When you believe me when I say I disliked you, why can't you believe me all the same when I say I love you, too?”

stuck together

…And I tried to find out if this one thing is true. That I'm nothing without you. I know better now and I've had a change of heart…

Sometimes, it does get hard taking care of him, there was no doubt about that. When you accepted the job offered to you by the Dendro Archon herself of taking care and basically being a prison warden of the "false god" that tried to take over her own country, you dreadedly knew that this was not something like a walk in the park, the one-of-a-kind job that you've never handled before. 

But for the sake of not disappointing the newly-freed Archon, you tried your best to get along with your ward. He never ever told you his name, saying a lowly mortal like you doesn't deserve to know, and the few conversations you had with him were just full of insults, cruel remarks and if he's being somber enough to ignore your presence entirely, only silence remains between you two.

This same scenario had stretched over for months, and at this point, you were certain that this boy was merely testing your patience, if that annoying,  arrogant and knowing smirk was anything to go by.

Though little by little, you noticed a bit of changes in his attitude towards you. It takes a shit ton amount of time till he stop with his cutting words, and instead of calling you a 'weak worm' just like what he loves calling your fellow human beings, he would settled with 'stupid mortal' for you instead. His condescending remarks would tone down a bit as well; and at times when he feels like it, he would even answer your questions and inquiries. His good moods were literally just him allowing only you to share under the warm shade of his hat during the rainy days or when the sun is too high.

I'd rather have bad times with you, than good times with someone else. I'd rather be beside you in a storm, than safe and warm by myself. I'd rather have hard times together, than to have it easy apart. I'd rather have the one who holds my heart.

Little by little, step by step that you barely noticed it, he would allow you to see a part of himself that he locked tightly centuries ago. During the restless nights when he was visited by nightmares he long to forget, he would wordlessly seek out your company, and you knew better than to ask him and pester him what was wrong. Deep inside, when this happened, he was grateful that you didn't pry any further. 

This was a routine that you both fell comfortably with, albeit started as a weird, and exasperating one. Cutting insults slowly turned into playful bickerings, his rude name calling became a little affectionate, and sometimes, just sometimes, he would begrudgingly allow you to hold him in an embrace to keep him grounded and sane. 

There was one time that he accidentally fell asleep on you in this position, while running your fingers through his surprisingly soft and silky hair, and the dumbfounded expression on his face when he woke up leaning on you was so worth the numbness of your body the whole night. He then proceeds to threaten you to never speak of this event ever again (especially to anyone or else!) his ears turning adorably red and his face flaming with embarrassment, to your amusement.

These moments are both precious and irreplaceable to both of you, and when the time comes that he could finally find it in himself to completely trust, to trust you fully, once again…maybe it would also be the time that he would trust you with his name, at long last.

“They're the person who held me at my weakest, their eyes saw me at my darkest, and after all of that, they're the one who continued to love me at my worst.” 

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added in my future works!): @samarill , @maehemthemisfit , @chocogi , @rvoulte ...

[callsigndragon]

A Rebel in my Soul [2023 ver.] | Ch.3: Like a Mitchell

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!pilot!reader (Call sign: Rebel)

Word count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, dogfighting exercise, worried Jake (that deserves a warning), mutual pining (even tho nobody seems to notice duh), alcohol consumption, and maybe i'm forgetting something.

A/N: things are starting to heat up a bit! more changes from the original version starting from this chapter hehe

Tagging the usual people, if you want to be added, comment down below!

Masterlist

Rooster ends up flying up there on the first team. You stay with Phoenix, Bob, Hangman, and the rest, listening to the radio in the officer’s lounge and hearing how things are going up there. You just hope that Rooster doesn’t get distracted by the past and that he can actually prove to Maverick how good he is.   

“Good morning, aviators. This is your captain speaking. Welcome to basic fighting maneuvers. As briefed, today’s exercise is dog fighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5000 feet.”  

You take a seat next to Hangman because that’s the only available seat in the room. “Yeah, sure, like he’s not down there already.”  

“Howdy, Rebel. Want to tell us how you know so much about him?” Hangman turns around an F-18 model that he found on the table. He’s trying to tease you, and that’s evident, but if he doesn’t start being careful with his words, he’s going to end up in trouble.

“He’s a legend,” you reply, going with the evident answer and the only reasonable excuse. “Everybody knows him and his tactics.”  

“You think I’ll be as famous as him someday?”  

You scoff, taking the F-18 from his hand. “Keep dreaming, Hangman.” 

“If I shoot either one of you down,” Maverick keeps explaining the rules of the exercise. “you both lose” 

Jake looks at the radio, shaking his head in disbelief. “This guy needs an ego check.”  

“You’re one to talk, Hangman.” You mumble, rolling your eyes so hard that it physically hurts. “But actually, and I can’t believe I'm gonna say this, you’re right.” 

“I can shoot him down. Maybe even you can.” He looks at you, whispering so nobody hears him. “Show him how good you are.”

One thing about Hangman is that if you’re a good pilot, he will say it. He respects it. He messes with Rooster because he’s cautious, and in a way, you think he’s trying to push his buttons to make him snap, and become the best pilot he can be. 

Rooster has always been too careful when flying. Maverick once said that he wasn’t ready to leave the book behind and start doing things his own way. As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Rooster is an excellent pilot, but he follows every single rule in the book.

It didn’t take a therapist to know that this was the result of his dad’s death. It has turned into a trauma for Rooster. He’s always trying to keep control of the aircraft, flying fast but not too fast. 

He’s too cautious, and you’re too reckless. If you were paired together, you would probably make the best team.  

Right now, Rooster is doing exactly what he’s not supposed to do. He is too slow, and Payback and Fanboy are almost smoked, but Rooster gets in the middle to save them. He always makes sure to bring the whole team back home.  

One after another, all your team goes up there, but none of them is able to get Maverick. Not even you; he tried to make conversation with you several times, but you weren’t having it. Phoenix and Bob were surprised to hear Maverick’s interaction with you, denoting a closeness that you two didn’t have. He kept talking and ended up frustrating you so much that it was impossible for you to get him. You had to do 200 push-ups. 

The second time you’re up there, you have Hangman as your wingman. Which actually means that you’re flying alone, because he’s going to leave you behind as soon as he sees Mav’s aircraft. 

“So, Rebel, mind if I ask you a personal question?”  

“You’re gonna ask it anyway,” you say while looking around, trying to find Maverick. He’s not on the radar, but he’s not far away either. 

“What’s the story with you, Rooster and Maverick? It seems like it has you both a little rattled. I mean, I kinda know a bit, but... I want to know the whole story.” 

You turn your head in his direction, glaring at him to shut up. If he keeps talking, people will know that he’s your father. And you can’t allow that to happen. “That’s none of your business, Hangman. Where the hell is he?” 

“Been here the whole time,” says Maverick, appearing from below your aircraft. He moves and turns his aircraft until he’s inverted over your F-18.  

“Holy shit!” exclaims Hangman. You’re not actually surprised. He’s that type of person.  

“You see me now, kid? Come on, let’s get it over with.” He tells you, looking directly into your eyes.  

He thinks that he can just pull out of nowhere, after what he did to you and Rooster, and solve everything with a dog fight? Just old Maverick behavior. If he wants to fight, you’ll give him war.  

“Fight’s on, old man!” You howl, turning your aircraft.  

“These two are going to get themselves killed,” Hangman says, moving his own aircraft to follow you around.  

You both go down, spiraling around each other, with the sky and earth spinning around you. You keep falling. Neither of you is going to pull up soon. This is dangerous, to say the least, and once you set foot on the ground, Rooster is going to scold you for your actions. You said that you wouldn’t let Maverick get to you. But he has a talent for making people angry.  

Cyclone is going to give you an earful for this, too.

“All right, you put us here. How are you gonna get yourself out?” He asks you, always with the teacher's tone. Maverick should know by now that there are only a few things left that he can teach you. He raised you; you learned everything he had to teach. 

You are just like him when it comes to flying. 

“Already wanting to leave, old man? You can bail out anytime.”  

He breathes heavily, not tearing his eyes away from yours. “How long you want to go, Rebel?”  

“I can go as low as you, captain! And that’s saying something.”  

“What’s past is past. For the three of us.”  

“Wouldn’t you like to believe that?” you sneer. He really is something else. He comes here, trying to make you and Bradley forget every single thing that happened, believing, as always, that he was doing the right thing. Only what Maverick does is right. The worst thing is knowing damn well that he’s not even going to offer an explanation.

“Hard deck is 5000 feet, fellas. You are running out of room,” says Hangman through the radio.  

Altitude. Altitude. Altitude.  

The automated voice is warning you. You’ve broken the hard deck. You’re still going down, approaching the ground faster by the second, but you cannot look away from Maverick. The first one that pulls up loses. He knows it. You know it.  

And a Mitchell never loses.  

“Your strategy is about to run us into the ground. What’s your move, Rebel?” 

Altitude. Altitude. Altitude.  

You look at the numbers on your screen. They're going down really fast. You want to pull up. You need to pull up. But you can’t lose. You can’t let Maverick win. Not this time. 

Not again.  

Pull up. Pull up. Pull up.  

“Rebel, pull up!” shouts Hangman, his voice piercing your eardrums through the comms. 

Maverick pulls up before you. You smirk and follow him, knowing that this time he’s not going to win. He’s going down, flying low, as if that could scare you.   

“Come on, Rebel. You got him!” says Hangman, and while you want to know the reason behind this sudden change in behavior, you’re currently really busy trying to beat your old man’s ass. 

You drop down, flying right behind Maverick, and try to mark him.  

“Come on, come on, come on.” You keep repeating it like a mantra, as if that is going to make it work faster.

Tone. You get a tone. You got him.  

“Whooo! Attagirl, get your ass up here before you crush.” Hangman is being too nice. Is he trying to be nice in front of the teacher, aka your dad, to secure a place on the final team?

You move your aircraft to be next to Maverick’s, watching as he takes off his oxygen mask. “Remember, old man. 200 push-ups,” you say, turning to leave with Hangman right behind you.

Once you’re back on the tarmac and your feet touch the ground, you see Hangman waiting for you, arms crossed over his chest. “Breaking the hard deck, insubordination… You really live up to your call sign,” he jokes with a friendly expression that surprises you and scares you at the same time. Does he actually know how to be friendly? But the important question is, what the heck is wrong with him today? 

“Want something, Bag man?”  

“C’mon, Reb. What’s going on?” He sounds sincere, not even a trace of humor in his voice. He really wants to know. Should you really take the bait? Should you really start sharing personal information with him? He knows more than you’d like about him.

“Why do you care so much?”  

“Cause I’ve seen you fly before. You’ve always been reckless. But this? This is something else.”  

You stop walking and turn to look at him, but this time you pay special attention to his features, finding out if he really means his words or not. His usual cocky smile is gone. He’s looking at you, eyes full of concern. He is worried about you. You look away, unable to keep watching those beautiful green eyes that take your breath away.  

“I’ll see you at the Hard Deck. Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.” Why did you just offer to hang out with him? Did you hit your head with the canopy while dogfighting with Maverick? Something is really wrong with you. 

Hangman smiles a little. A different smile from the ones that you have seen before. Did he hit his head too?  

“I’ll see you there, then,” he says softly before leaving. You remain there, speechless, trying to understand what’s going on in Hangman’s head. 

And in yours.

You enter the Hard Deck, watching Hangman wait for you at the bar, beer in hand. He looks good out of his uniform, wearing some old jeans, a white t-shirt and his aviator jacket. His hair is loose, giving him a more juvenile aspect. You wouldn’t mind seeing more of this side of him.  

He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes scanning the door to see the incomers. When he sees you, he raises his beer as a greeting. You smile a little, walking towards him.  

“Hangman.” 

“Rebel,” he welcomes you, looking at Penny. “Can you get me two more? Thanks, dear.”  

“So, you’re really gonna get me a drink.”  

“I keep my promises. You get your beer; I get to know what is happening here.”  

“I never thought Hangman was an old gossiping lady.”  

Penny puts the beers down in front of you, smiling, before leaving to serve more drinks to other clients. The place is relatively quiet, but it won’t be like this for long.  

“Darlin’, I was born and raised in the south. Of course, I gossip,” he admits, raising his beer. “Cheers.”

You mimic his actions, drinking the cool liquid. If someone had told you three days ago that you'd end up drinking beers with Hangman, you would have laughed. 

“So what did good ol’ Maverick do to get on your bad side?” 

“He tried to pull my papers at the Naval Academy,” you admit after swallowing the drink.  

Hangman chokes on his beer. You grab a napkin to clean the drops of golden liquid that have fallen on his jacket. He looks at you, his eyes completely wide in shock. “Excuse me, are we talking about the same Maverick?”  

“Yeah. The man, the legend.”  

“But why would he do something like that? He is really proud of the Navy and what it represents. Why didn’t he want you to become a fighter pilot like him?”  

“I used to think that he was trying to protect me,” you admit, your eyes focusing on the beer in your hands. You twirl it around slowly, not really interested in drinking it. Hangman takes off his jacket and moves his stool closer to you. His hand brushes yours innocently, but it makes your skin burn in delicious way.

What are you, some kind of teenager? Having fantasies with someone’s hands? 

“You thought your father could do something like that?”  

“I thought he wouldn’t dare. I thought I knew him,” you admit, taking a big sip of your beer.  

Hangman glances at you for the nth time today. It’s like he has looked at you more times today than all the years you’ve known each other. There’s a shadow in his eyes—a feeling that you cannot identify. At first, you think it's sympathy. But you’ve seen the pity in the eyes of the rest of the world every time they knew who your father was. That’s not sympathy. He blinks a few times, making the shadow disappear. 

You know that look is going to haunt you in your dreams tonight.

“Are you late because Rooster reprimanded you?” mocks Hangman, a small, devilish smile adorning his features.  

You let your head fall to the bar with a groan, causing Hangman to burst out laughing. Of course he did. He lectured you for thirty minutes while reminding you that it was your life you were risking when doing “bullshit like that”. His words, not yours.  

"I’ve always said he's like my big brother, but he took it personally," you mutter, your voice muffled by the wood.  

“Oh, he did. When we met at the academy, everyone thought you two were dating. And then one day, we were here playing pool, you went to the bathroom, and he said, and I quote,” he clears his throat before speaking in the most ridiculous sound-alike Rooster voice you’ve ever heard. “If one of you idiots tries to get in my little sister’s pants, I will kill you with my own bare hands.”  

“Please tell me it’s a lie,” you beg him, not wanting to believe his words but picturing at the same time the whole scene in your head.

He leans closer, his breath warming your cheekbone. His cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat at the sudden proximity. “He even said that to Phoenix,” he declares, a laugh following soon once he sees the mortification in your eyes.  

“Oh, my God. I’ll kill him,” you whine, putting your hands on your face to shield you from Hangman’s stare.  

“Honestly, it was for the best. There were a few guys interested in finding out if you were as good in bed as you were in the sky. Assholes.” He finishes his beer and turns on his stool. “Pool?” 

“Sure,” you say, getting up and taking your beer with you.  

You play for a while, opting for small talk rather than important conversations as before. There’s something inside your brain—a tiny little voice screaming that you should leave. It’s true that you don’t understand why he is being nice to you all of a sudden, but you know that he means no harm. He’s egotistical, arrogant, and a complete idiot when he wants to be. But you’ve seen him be a good teammate when the occasion required it. You don't know what is behind this change of behavior. But there’s nothing wrong with hanging around long enough to find out.  

“So… what’s the story with your dad?” You test the waters, sitting on the edge of the pool table. You’ve told him about your past with Mav, it’s only fair that he reciprocates it somehow. 

He sighs, placing both hands on top of the pool stick. “That’s… a fucking long story.” 

You look at your watch and then glance at him. “I have a few weeks.” 

Hangman snorts, placing his chin over his hands. “Then we’ll have to meet up another time so I can tell you ‘Jake’s sad story part 2’”

At that, you frown. He’s not one to whine about things, but the wording he chose sure makes you feel like this is not an easy story to tell. “Hey, if it’s gonna make you feel bad, you don’t need to tell me.” 

He shrugs, not caring about the consequences of remembering his own story. “My dad is a politician. You know that, right?” 

“I’ve heard things over the years, but I didn’t think you actually were a famous politician’s son.”

He nods absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the Navy logo stamped over the pool table. “He said if I wasn’t going to follow his steps, he would never admit he has a son.” 

“The fuck? Just because you wanted to be a Naval aviator rather than a politician?” 

“Every single male in the Seresin family has been a politician. I was the first one who didn’t want to follow the path. I didn’t want my life to revolve around meetings, campaigns, and elections.” 

Just the idea of living a life like that makes you want to throw up. Sitting all day in an office chair, wearing dresses and high heels? No, thanks. You’d rather wear your flying suit. “I would have chosen the Navy, too.”

“Well, it’s easy to say. But I had a family to lose if I chose the Navy.” He explains, resuming the game. 

“Did you lose your family?” 

“I think that’s a story for another day,” he states, knowing that this conversation has officially ended. 

Hangman keeps playing and you have to admit that every time he leans over to aim, you look at his hands. There’s something about them that drives you mad. Strong, calloused hands that make your imagination go wild. You find yourself thinking about how those hands might feel between your legs.  

“Hangman.” You blurt before you can even think about what to ask once you have his attention. You just need to keep your head occupied and stop thinking about his hands.

He raises his head, giving you his full attention. “Yes?”  

“You called me during the dogfight.” 

“Did I?” he tilts his head, feigning ignorance. At this point, you can tell when he’s lying and when he’s not.

“Yeah, you told me to pull up. Were you worried about me?” You tease him.  

“Oh yeah. If you crash and burn, the mission will be over. And I really want to know what this is all about,” he says, his cocky smile present again. Back to lying. Why is he being nice and honest one second and hiding behind his stupid Hangman persona the next?

You shake your head in disapproval, feeling like you have lost time with him.. “And here I thought you were being friendly.”  

Hangman’s smile drops instantly, as if he has just realized that he’s done something wrong. He is about to say something when you feel an arm on your shoulders. 

“Rebel! You didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.” Rooster says, appearing behind you and almost giving you a heart attack.  

“Jesus, Rooster. Don’t scare me like that.”  

“C'mon, I want you to meet some people.”  

You give the stick to Hangman. “Thanks for the beer.”  

He nods and remains silent while you leave. You don’t notice, but he watches you move away with a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. Hangman pays for the drinks and leaves the Hard Deck without saying goodbye.  

Jake leaves the Hard Deck, trying to identify the feelings that cloud his mind. Why is he feeling bitter? Is it because Rebel chose Rooster? Of course, she will always choose him. He and Rebel are not friends. How is he even going to be an option? 

He gets in his car but doesn’t turn the engine. He remains there, looking inside the bar. She is smiling at something that Rooster is saying, her big, shiny eyes full of adoration for the taller man. Jake has never been jealous of anyone. He's got the looks, he's got the skills, and he is better than the majority of the pilots on the base. But yet, he’s not enough for her. And he feels jealous of Rooster because it doesn’t matter how much he messes it up—Rebel will always be there for him. 

Why are these feelings and thoughts materializing right now?  

Maybe it is because she almost killed herself.  

That dogfight with Maverick was dangerous. When he saw Rebel breaking the hard deck without caring about her own security, he felt the need to go after her. But he didn’t. How could he? It was impossible to stop her when she was flying. He knew, though, that if anyone could beat the old timer, it was Rebel. That girl was made to be an aviator. But she needed someone to stop her from pulling these stunts. It's funny how he’s the one saying that. 

He thought that maybe, if he opened up a bit to her, he could at least gain her friendship. But it’s hard to open up when you have been hiding yourself all your life. 

Recently, everybody has been talking about the Mitchells. Not around Rebel or Rooster, of course, but they’ve been talking. The way they talk to each other is really suspicious. Fanboy said that maybe Rebel was his wife, hence the name. Nat smacked him in the back of the head. 

Obviously, Rebel wasn’t married. Maverick was her father. Everybody knew, but no one said anything out of respect for the pilot. And he wasn’t going to confirm their suspicions, either. 

It didn’t look like you two had a great relationship.

Jake was ready to say something during the exercise. Being just the two of them up there, maybe he could ask why she and her father were strained. But when he saw the turn of events, he knew that if she wanted to talk about it, it wouldn’t be with him. Now he knows why their relationship is completely broken: Maverick tried to pull her papers. 

He doesn’t know, though, why Rebel trusted him with such an important secret.

He had been a dick with her since the first day. How could he expect that Rebel would tell him something so personal? He was out of his mind. And yet, she did... Why? 

But what he really wanted to know was why the heck he cared about a nepotism baby. Her father is one of the most famous legends at Top Gun, and she’s here. Did her father’s name open the doors of the academy for her? 

No. Jake knew that was bullshit. Not only was that bullshit, but the fact that her dad didn’t want her in the Navy proved to him that all she has is earned. There’s no way she could have benefited from her dad’s name. If there was anyone on the team who really deserved to be here, it was Rebel. 

She’s a hell of a pilot. Jake remembers the first day that he saw her at Top Gun. He couldn’t understand how someone like Rebel made it into this world. Shy, quiet, and always hidden behind Rooster. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he was always a dick with her. He wanted to get her out of her shell. He wanted to break down her walls to see the real Rebel. 

If she was there, she was good. She was part of the 1%. Then she proved to be better than everyone at the academy, and nobody could believe that the shy girl was a menace in the air. She became confident, brave, and a force to reckon with. Rebel found her voice, and she stopped being the quiet girl in the back of the room. That's when the troublemaker appeared. And she gained her call sign.  

Jake gave it to her.  

He remembers the exact words that gave inspiration to the team. “You’re a rebel in disguise, Mitchell. And someday your actions will have consequences.”  

That was the day Rebel was born.  

He turns the engine and leaves the parking lot with thousands of unanswered questions in his mind and your laugh echoing in his heart.

@xoxabs88xox

@pono-pura-vida

@shrimping-for-all

@purplevortexx

@dempy

@elijahmikaelsonbitch

@blueoorchid

[yunarim]

our rainbow-coloured days will advance forward, so shine forever

❤︎ summary : Yuuka, a completely ordinary magicless girl, finds herself in an incomprehensible predicament. Soulmates appeared in the human world only a few decades ago and still have many inconsistencies, but Yuuka's case, to her dismay, becomes rather unprecedented.

Apparently, her soulmate is waiting for her somewhere beyond this world. ❤︎ tags : female reader, soulmates, reader is yuu, sfw, fluff, pining in some chapters, one character = one soulmate prompt ❤︎ ao3

ִ    ꕤ Light and Daffodils | Jade Leech

⏤ . . . prompt : soulmates have each other’s eye color and see everything in shades of that color  ⏤

Yuuka’s going to be a marvelously talented artist someday, keep that in mind, once said Yuuka’s art teacher.

She enjoyed peaceful evenings where she would find herself standing lost in thoughts in front of an easel, deciding which color palette she should use today to entertain her imagination. Little splash of water in the cup, shapeless stains from a riot of colors rolled out on the surface, while a splendid landscape unfolded on the easel. 

Everyone praised her as a prodigy in arts. And maybe she really was, but a glimpse of sadness always remained in her works, as if ink stains accidentally dropped on the completed art, not exactly ruining her efforts, but rather inverting them into something unpredictable, erasing her original intention. 

Academic painting was her prerogative, something she was proud of. Strictly aligned strings formed architectural wonders, perfectly straight lines looked as if being calculated in some sort of a computer program. 

Despite showing an excellent performance in academic painting , fine arts and especially landscape painting stood athwart in her list of achievements.

“Now, mix blue and red.”

She was twelve by the time she realized that both blue and red were undefined for her. How did blue contradicted red? What kind of result would she expect to witness after mixing two colors?

“Before you do it, tell what color you will get in your opinion.” 

No matter how she tried mixing them, experimenting with the amount of paint, with sequencing, with adding too much water or adding just a little, maybe even adding none, but in the very end it appeared irrelevant. 

“I’m sorry, teacher, I don’t get the color.”

She did see the world in two particular colors she didn’t know the names of. Despite teachers’ attempts at trying to explain to her which color is which and how to imagine it she still couldn’t bring herself to figure it out. Was the water deep blue or light green? And how do people divide shades and hues? What was darker and what was lighter ⏤ oh, she didn’t see it coming, bewailing the fact she couldn’t understand colors, a huge part of human being’s life.

All in all, living with world perception divided into only two shades Yuuka couldn’t even describe wasn’t something lamenting for a long time worthy in her eyes.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

“So, every dorm has its own representative color. Which one do you prefer the most by color, Yuuka?”

Trey was describing the NRC dormitory system to her quite politely and in much detail, while she listened, nodding in order to show she hasn’t lost her concentration. Ace and Deuce threw curious glances at her, as if hinting she better choose Heartslabyul as her fave.

“Oh,” she forced a smile. “I prefer not to be biased in such things as colors. Your dorms were based on outstanding individuals’ personality traits, if I were to choose, then I would dwell on such matters instead.”

 “Woah, being quite a thoughtful young lady, are you?” Cater flashed her a smile, giggling. “Alright, what’s your bias for now?”

“Heartslabyul obvi,” Ace added, chuckling. “I mean girl, you’ve been hanging out with us for such a long time I already consider you my another sibling.” 

“Nice try,” Yuuka smirked, actually admitting Heartslabyul guys helped her a lot, not to mention the ADeuce duo who she adored the most. “But actually…”

“No, don’t say it if it isn’t us, I’m not in the mood of having a heartbreak today!” Deuce complained. 

“#Heartbroken #Yuuka_to_the_betrayal #Friendship_ruined… And sent. That’s it, Yuuka-chan!” Cater put a lot of crying emojis to emphasize how woeful it was. 

She shrugged it off, but laughing even still, genuinely enjoying their reactions and feeling herself purely loved by her friends, a warm gentle sensation blooming in her chest.

“As much as I adore you, gotta be honest here. Octavinelle piqued my interest…”

Suddenly Yuuka felt something heavy perched on her shoulders, making her gasp and startle, almost dropping the sandwich she was eating. She tilted her head, turning to her peacebreaker. 

“How sweet of you to say such thing, Little Shrimpie~”

A tall boy was hugging Yuuka… no, rather than a simple hug that felt like a firm squeeze instead, and as much as she enjoyed hugging and being hugged, that was a little too much. She moved, so a stranger boy could sit beside her, and he did just so, not letting go of her and enjoying the way her body felt in his arms. Squishy and nice, what a cute shrimp!

“And you are?” Ace gave the new boy a questioning look, not really appreciating him hugging his best friend so nonchalantly as if they were childhood friends or something. 

“Meh, what’s with your reaction, Crabby. I’m Floyd.”

Not satisfied with something that couldn’t even be named as an introduction, Ace clicked on his tongue and noticed how unbothered Yuuka was, occupied with observing the guy’s face instead of actually listening.

“Floyd Leech, the second-year student from Octavinelle,” Trey gave an introduction instead, and Yuuka finally pulled off from his tight grip on her. “Although usually he can be seen with his brother and Azul.”

“Jade’s off to help Azul today at the Lounge, something urgent came up.”

“Doesn’t that mean you need to help them too?..” Trey suggested. 

“Nah, not feeling like it,” Floyd brushed it off, sighing. “They’re doing boring stuff while you’re having fun with such cute Little Shrimpie! Besides, she kinda looks like me.”

“How come?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Your eye color, Shrimpie~ Don’t you see yours and mine are quite similar?”

Yuuka shivered as he said it so casually. So their eyes are similar? She knew her own eyes were colored differently, one was quite of a darker tone than another, and yet how colors worked was still a mystery veiled in a fata morgana.

“Oh Sevens, do you actually come from our world, Yuuka-chan?” Cater gasped dramatically. “Do you go by the Leech surname?”

A little strained laugh escaped her lips as she really wondered, what shades on the palette would she choose to draw herself?

“Maybe Shrimpie was our long ago lost sister, hehe!” Floyd cupped her face in his hands, large palms covering her cheeks and poking it slightly, sparkles of amusement glimmering in his eyes of unknown color. 

“Indeed, identical twins are supposed to have almost no differences, but Jade has different eye color…” Trey said, noticing how Yuuka jolted at his statement. “Ah, sorry, Yuuka, I’m just joking.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I was just surprised… You know, what a coincidence, huh?.. Ha-ha… ha.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Jade wondered if he was even Floyd’s real brother just once in his whole lifetime. 

An itching feeling in his left eye occurred once he was trying to persuade someone. The day his unique magic was discovered he realized there was something wrong. 

Sea waters always struck with their pristine pulchritude, such a magnificent scenery unfolding before Jade, never failing to daze him. Obscure to him was the fact the scenery, the sea, the world itself was trapped in one color. Although Jade seemed to entertain the thought he loved that pretty shade the world was devoured in. 

How fancy was it to realize that it wasn’t just sea waters which were inveigled in one particular hue. Human lands weren’t the exception, also possessing the same color he was percepting his whole life.

“Your eyes are disgusting, never speak to me again, you monster.”

People tend to say peculiar things when they’re facing the truth, even if forcefully. 

Jade himself acted rather amusing when he figured out he was different from Floyd. His eyes. Floyd was often told he looks scary with those two-colored eyes of his, while Jade was referred to as calm, collected and sometimes even welcoming.

Wasn’t it curious?..

No mountain could entertain him as much as soulmates phenomena did. Merfolks usually have something attached to their voice when human beings possess a wide variety of bond shapes, having fun with guessing how to trace their soulmates and finally meet their kindred spirits. Ah, curious indeed. 

But then again, he had a life of his own to maintain, and searching for a soulmate wasn’t his top priority until Floyd showed up in a giddy mood, his interest index escalating rapidly to the stars. 

 “Jade!!~ Go see Shrimpie!”

“Not so appropriate wording choice, Floyd,” Jade sighed, checking out consignment notes once more. “I haven’t encountered her yet to see a young human lady so casually. Besides,” he chuckled, an obscure smile on his face.

“Whaaat!”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t be boring, Jade! You just have to see her eyes.”

Little did Floyd know that Jade couldn’t even guess her eye color. 

“Her eyes are the same color as mine! It’s so cool, she’s like our human sister, hehe~~”

Jade flinched, but Floyd hardly noticed, more being carried away by talking about his new friend. Wouldn't that make her rather entertaining in that case?..

“Interesting how we have a sister from another world then.”

“So you are curious about her if you know she’s not from our world~”

Avoiding admitting it would be just suspicious at this rate, Jade thought and sighed in defeat, nodding slightly. 

Yuuka did piqued his interest. 

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Jade didn’t intend to encounter Yuuka like that, being dragged into Mostro Lounge due to Ace and Deuce shenanigans and not enjoying the thought of making a deal with Azul after hearing not so pleasant things about pacts with him. 

And yet maybe such a prompt was the most suitable for them to meet.

His attire was stunning and neat, his hair arranged in a pretty way, and the color of the world was especially beautiful today as if hinting at something peculiar to happen.

Yuuka entered their establishment, all furious and obviously not in the mood of meeting someone predestined today, but genuinely tried to collect her thoughts and regain composure, clearing her throat and seeing Jade coming her way.

“Welcome, dear customer,” he bowed at her, trying to ignore the rapidly increasing heart rate he was denying. “How can I be of help?”

Jade straightened up and looked her straight in the eyes. It was as if a shock wave went through his body, knocking the ground out from under his feet and pushing all the air out of his lungs, forcing him to open his mouth in surprise, mirroring Yuuka, who was also confused and dazed by what was happening.

A great variety of colors erupted before their eyes, filling the world with a kaleidoscope of stunning hues and forcing them to unconsciously blink rapidly at the unaccustomed sensations. 

“I…” Yuuka spoke quietly despite the unimaginably large number of people in the establishment, the world seemed to have shrunk to just the two of them, leaving the rest of the people in silent mode. “Wait…”

“Huh…” 

Jade never felt so surprised in his life. Who knew the world was such a breathtaking sight to witness all along… 

“Y-your eyes…” her lips trembled in excitement. “They’re so marvelously beautiful.”

For the first time in his life Jade saw someone crying while stating such an absurd thing.

Was he even better at this point, trying to cover his watery-eyes and appreciating her own, extraordinarily lovely eyes? 

A deal with Azul was left long forgotten that day.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

“Damn, girl, never knew you were an artist!” 

Ace stared at her painting in awe, amazed by the astonishing dance of colors on her painting, as she smiled genuinely.

Jade bended down to her, his face close to hers, corners of his lips twitching in delight. 

“Have you decided how’d you name it?” Deuce asked, trying to not point out how exceedingly sweet she was behaving with Jade around her.

“Yes,” she answered confidently, making her final brush stroke and turning to Jade behind her.

“Olive green and Summer Daffodil.”

She smiled, looking straight into Jade’s eyes before pressing a light kiss on the corner of his lips and giggling softly. 

Jade caressed her cheek gently, admiring how beautifully her eyes shimmered in the dancing sun rays, the whole world turning into a colorful palette with one look at her. 

“Get a room, you two, that’s so lame!!”

“Aw, don’t whine because you can’t handle how cute we are!~”

“Not only lame, but also cringe.”

"At least you guys haven't experienced your brother getting his eye color back and becoming absolutely identical!"

"You two are incredibly different!!"

Jade watched them fighting a little, then turned to the painting, looking at his portrait she drew, his vision not monocolored anymore, and thought,

his eyes, their shades. Olive green and Summer Daffodil. What a lovely sight to witness, indeed.

❤︎ notes :

song : light and daffodils - lee ho san & lee hyun jin

jade got me jskdajfhuisyhrwihsd so here i am, simping shamelessly sry for not posting for a while, i was busy having a fever, but here i am, alive and kicking, i'm back!!!

© yushiiae 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.

[ohmyoverland]

Fic Writer Questions

Thanks for the tag @anything-thats-rock-and-roll :D

1. How many fics do you have on AO3? 26

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 25, 570

3. What fandoms do you write for? Except for a few one-offs and my 3 Anne With An E fics, I write Lockwood & Co. 💚⚔

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

After Chameleon, an unbetad Miraculous Ladybug salt fic written before the actual episode had come out. It accidentally blew up asldkfjhjkl

On My Mind, a Detroit: Become Human rk1k ficlet where Connor can read minds.

All the Words I Don't Have, pure grade A Locklyle fluff

are we out of touch, are we out of time? AWAE Season 3 speculative fic that is actually an expanded version of a tumblr post I wrote after the penultimate episode of the series premiered.

wavering, my cot3 pining + character study fic. I'm really proud of it and I promise chapter 3 is coming eventually lmao

5. Do you respond to comments? I don't 😭 I want to but I never know what to say and before I know it, the comment is 2 years old oops. I reread comments all the time ❤

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? That's tough to say for sure but I think every lessons forms a new scar ending with an off-screen character death is probably the most angst I've ended with so far.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? That would have to be All the Words I Don't Have again. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. And Lockwood writes some really bad poetry.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not so far.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do sometimes, and it's not published yet.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Another Change of Plans is the most tumblr WIP I have lol. It dares to start asking the question, "What if the Old Guard adopted Adam Young, the antichrist from Good Omens?"

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Sort of? There was one collab fic I wrote a scene for but it never got finished. Someday I might post my part, because ngl I'm pretty proud of the Skull/Lucy banter in it.

13. What’s your all time favorite ship? How could I ever choose??? By bookmark stats, it would be Marinette and Adrien from Miraculous Ladybug. But cot3 (Lockwood & Co) and Superbat (DC) are up there too.

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? A better question is what isn't a WIP I'll never finish??? I have dozens 😭 Though one that stands out is an old Frozen fic I outlined in I think 2018(?). The premise is a canon divergence where Anna's death is faked when they're children and she's raised in the village instead of in the castle. There are two full acts that are just set up for a The Prince And Me/Princess Diaries-esque rom-com between suddenly-a-princess Anna and just-a-normal-guy Kristoff.

The outline on its own is about 8k words, and frankly I've considered editing and posting the outline itself before because it's detailed enough. This fic is actually a drabble I wrote to take place within my AU, but it reads canon compliant enough of its own so I posted it.

15. What are your writing strengths? Ideas. I am always getting new plot bunnies, always getting excited about the next great idea, always thinking about new aspects of these worlds and characters I want to explore.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? Dialogue and volume. That's why I write so many descriptive, very short fics XD

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I'd only do it in a language I've studied for a couple years, and even then I would want a native speaker to read over it for me. But it hasn't come up yet?

I do really like Superbat or Star Trek fics where the author sparingly includes Kryptonian / Klingon / Vulcan with a translation at the end.

18. First fandom you wrote for? My Little Pony, or maybe Percy Jackson?? I'm too scared to check my old accounts to see which came first, if I ever even posted the fics I remember writing then at all.

19. Favorite fic you’ve written? building glass castles for sure!!! I love the atmosphere in it, and the monologue from Skull. That monologue came to me in the middle of the night once, so I had to type it up immediately and build the fic around it later.

No pressure tags @sabetha @synestheticwanderings @abumperprize @lenacarstairspotterstewart @woahpip @flythesail @shizuoi

[abigail-nicole]

tgcf liveread 7

continuing porting my liveread of Pure Light And Joy In Novel Form, Heaven Official's Blessing, Tian Guan Ci Fu, from the dying twitter to the optimistically-not-dead tumblr. please support official translations of TGCF, the best novel, and maybe someday we'll get to see the COMPLETED, FILMED, EDITED LIVE ACTION if the chinese government ever quits being ragingly homophobic. enjoy season one of the donghua in the meantime and do read the original text!

originally tweeted on 3/31/2020:

I unabashedly love Xie Lian’s thrifty grandma personality & also the casual “wanna come to my ghost palace instead of always staying at your one-room apartment with three other people also living here which I never complain about even though I own a fjking palace”

I have Great Fondness for the ghosts in Ghost City being overly protective of Hua Cheng & Xie Lian (even if it is just to try to curry favor)

hahahaha oh my god this scene of sexytimes on an altar on top of poetry about Longing....

I’m. VERY PUMPED ABOUT SEEING MOUNT TONG’LU

tomorrow. i guess ill be responsible & start CHAPTER 128 TOMORROW THANKS EVERYBODY THIS IS THE ONLY THING BRINGING ME JOY AS I WORK THRU THIS PANDEMIC

yall Lang Ying THOUGHT HUA CHENG LIVED WITH THEM im dying....

He didnt think he could hide his feelings HE DIDNT THINK HE COULD HIDE HIS FEELINGS HEAAAAAAAAA

He’s really going straight WE USED TO SLEEP IN THIS BED TOGETHER level melancholy oh my god

This is a little nightmare story, the kind at which MXTX excels

Oh my god hes the crown prince of PINING AWAY TO NOTHING

okay mxtx it is Not At All Obvious that Hua Cheng is this Lang Ying & this gratituitious bathing scene is.... amazing omg

more like dianxia babysitter of errant dieties

-shi qingxuan

-quan yizhen

-qi rong

Heavenly Babysitter Dianxia confirmed with DONT PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH and DONT SET THAT ON FIRE

Think of the donghua playing with this scene of attacking empty clothes

his whole “this is the robe! no THIS is the robe! just kidding it was never here! now ive trapped you!” feels a little Princess Bride iocane powder reasoning

the boyfriends being Soft sustains me

hahahahahahaha god xie lian’s cooking is so amazingly terrible how is this book so great in its most domestic scenes

OUR BOY SNAPPED

bitches destroy Puqi Shrine gotta contend with the Flower Crown Martial Prince

hahahaha hua cheng really had to turn into a child for Flimsy Plot Reasons didn’t he

this Ghost Inn scene is pure chaos and slapstick & detail & action, and this is the cherry on top of the elaborately-crafted layers of this cake of a scene

Im sad about ling wen???? I love her???? She’s the most competent character in this book sorry hua cheng

“He might spit in the water of someone he doesn’t like....or put laxatives....but not poison...” Lolololol

Let’s pause mid-investigation so we can appreciate hualian holding hands

fetuses don’t have teeth......LIES EXPOSED

fetus eyes also don’t yoke together in utero this is a real medical fact unrelated to the fetus ghost in tgcf

ah yes, sitting in the window in the glowing, luminious moonlight, with your weapon-pet-scarf, an excellent time for a heart to heart confessional with your beloved

this is on level with Single Plank Bridge as a life philosophy / love confessional

so many important scenes happen over a table here. Jun Wu + Xie Lian + Hua Cheng taking tea without dissembling is A Mood

“Sometimes three with a single move” Lololol I Love Him

This adorable little exchange where they just talk about how much they belong to each other

Let’s stop here a second, pause the film on Puppet Master boyfriends, and do a bit of Plot Dissection:

-Jun Wu has sent Xie Lian to Mt TongLu to...become the next Ghost King

-Hua Cheng, the most recent Ghost King, is with him

-don’t you have to kill all the other ghosts to win

Let’s also stop & think about our Magical Girl Dianxia becoming A Ghost King:

I have no idea how this plot is gonna turn out but it’s always fun & fruitful to examine your thoughts & expectations the first time through something & wonder why you want or fear a certain outcome

Hua Cheng would be devastated if Xie Lian became a fierce ghost king capable of murdering millions. In fact it’s so antithetical to everything he is that, at that point, Xie Lian wouldn’t be the same person anymore.

(contrast this to wwx & lwj, both of whom have proven themselves capable of Big War Murder when pushed hard enough)

he contrast of soft sideplot of boyfriends being The Most Obviously In Love But Afraid To Say It and the extremely harsh main plot of What The Fuck, Did God Just Send Xie Lian Into A Literal Torture Volcano With Like, Real High Stakes

... but also does anyone else wanna see ghost king boyfriends

these gays obviously

but this plot, lighthearted flirting aside, is going to a real dark place??? & i see the end of book 3 coming with xie lian in a real bad cliffhanger of a situation for me to sit through while reading another painful flashback

Lolololol more fuckin on the altar i guess

The General Who Broke His Sword !!!!

let’s take a roll call:

(check) the general who broke his sword

(check) the prince who pleased the gods

[ ] the princess who slit her own throat

(check) the young lord who poured wine

OKAY BRING OUT THE REST IM READY!

continue Mt Tong'lu next time on TGCF Liveread livetweets part 8 or whatever part is next!

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

The frustration of thinking you've picked up a found family story only for it to be revealed half way through to be a wife husbandry story

You know what I'm really starting to get frustrated with about being an anime/manga fan.

Specifically with the series that aren't immediately clear on what genre they are, be it a found family situation between parent and child, or if it's going to turn into a grooming Wife Husbandry* kind of story.

*[Wife Husbandry is the trope in which an adult man adopts/takes in a young girl who is often literally a prepubescent child, and then raises her to be his ideal wife.

A lot of the time it's presented as the man not at all being interested in the girl romantically/sexually when she's a child. But the little girl instead falling in love with him, and then just refusing to be with anyone else or move on her entire life.

With the man eventually giving in to her advances once she reaches adulthood, because if he doesn't the little girl will instead just be alone forever and just pine for him.

Which is entirely groomer cope logic if I've ever heard it.]

I'm not interested in stories about literal 30/40 year old guys becoming the guardians of 12 year old (or god forbid younger) girls, and then those two ending up in a romantic relationship later down the road.

Okay?

I don't want to be on like chapter 50 of a manga, only for the mc who'd never before expressed romantic interest in his pseudo/adoptive daughter, to suddenly have a romance scene where the child confesses their feelings to this grown man, and the mc to immediately get defensive about not being a loli-con.

Which immediately tells me that the mc is in fact a loli-con.

Because a normal non-creepy adult guardian hearing a child tell them that they love them, wouldn't ever assume the child meant it in a romantic way.

Or if they did think the kid meant it romantically. They'd laugh it off as the kid being too young to understand that romantic love is different from familial love. And not take it seriously at all. Maybe gently explain to the kid that the love between spouses is different between that of a parent and child, and someday they'll find someone who isn't them to love in that way.

Don't care if they don't actually get together or do anything until the kid is fully grown.

I'm not interested in those kinds of stories, and I don't like it when a story that presents itself as a wholesome found family kind of story for the entire first half of said story, suddenly bait and switches to an age-gape wife husbandry romance in the second half.

Especially not when the adult mc has at least one adult love interest introduced (but often more than one, because anime/manga's intense desire to form harems/love triangles for drama) also early on in the story.

With the story making it seem like he's going to get together with this grown woman, and not the literal child he adopted for like 30-ish chapters, up until the sudden love confession from the 12 year old.

Like if the story had presented itself as the age gap wife husbandry story it apparently is within the first two or three chapters, I wouldn't be this pissed.

Sure the wife-husbandry trope is personally squick to me, and every time I'm conned into reading it under the guise of the story being a found family story pisses me off if I'm made to sink too much time into it before said reveal of the actual trope.

But I know it's liked by a lot of people, genuine creeps who should probably be on a watch list, and those with daddy issues (or trauma) alike.

So like I don't begrudge the story's existence, I begrudge the author for lying to me about what kind of story this actually was for so long.

Write your age gap romance if you want to, but don't try to like cat-fish people who are fans of the found family trope into your audience.

People into the found family trope, are not looking for stories about 30/40 year old men adopting children to groom into being their ideal wives, with the angle that it's totally not creepy because they don't actually do anything before the kid is 18.

We are not your target audience. Please stop trying to sell your wife husbandry stories to us, because we're not into that kind of thing.

[stuckinamok]

☔

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Okay, so I did start writing this fic, but it's one that I doubt I will ever complete. It's kind of a crack-fic, but one I was semi-taking seriously... but also the plot is not too difficult for the readers to put together (some of the comments on the chapters picked up on the 'twists' super early, lol). Since I'll probably never jump back into it, might as well share everything here, haha.

It's called Boiling Gravity (I know I've shared it a couple times before, but not the entire plot).

The first couple chapters are posted on Ao3, but here are the plot details I wrote before getting into the actual chapters:

Backstory:

Stan Pines met Eda about 16 years ago and they had a small fling going on while Stan happened to be visiting the area. As soon as Stan finds out that Eda is a witch from an alternate universe (aka, The Boiling Isles) he immediately gets himself the heck out of there. He isn’t about to get himself wrapped into the weird multi-dimension voodoo crap his brother is obsessed with.

Regretfully, Eda is hurt by this, yet another rejection due to her being herself but her lack of communication skills… but something unexpected came about from it. She was pregnant. It was her explaining the Boiling Isles that she used as a way of leading up to the news about her pregnancy but… he left. Knowing the Boiling Isles was no home to any human, let alone half-human, she made the difficult decision to give up her baby for adoption. She left a token with her child that would give him a hint as to who his father was so that someday perhaps he could find him… but nothing about her. She had the owl beast in her, after all. There was no way she could raise a child safely.

Unknown to reader:

Eventually Stan loses his brother to the alternate dimension because Ford made the deal with Bill. Stan decides to dedicate his life to getting his brother back, just like in the original story of Gravity Falls.

However, the dimension that Ford ended up in? The Boiling Isles. Who is the Titan? It’s Bill. Well, sort of. Bill now has Ford under his mind control to make him believe that he is Belos. And yes, there was time travel involved because obviously. Additionally, because there is a secret door/portal to Gravity Falls, Ford under Bill’s control, discovers Hunter, Stan’s (and Eda’s) son. He takes him at a very young age and adopts him into becoming his nephew (already being so, lol) to do his bidding and the like, eventually grooming him to become The Golden Guard.

Present Time:

Stan has accidentally fallen into the bottomless pit that is in Gravity Falls but instead of falling right back out, he ends up in The Boiling Isles.

Plot of this fic:

Stan’s goals: to get back home. He has Dipper and Mabel to take care of after all, and also, of course, he needs to keep working on saving his brother.

Eda upon finding Stan: asks without asking about their son, to see if he knows where he is. Use Stan to help Luz get back to the human realm. Mostly, she is just frustrated because she wants to rescue Rain, her ex she actually cares about… but now she has this human she dated once to babysit. She is conflicted because he fathered their child she had to give up and now that she has the owl beast somewhat under control maybe she could have raised a child… but not with this jerk. She orders Hooty to do whatever he wants to him but Stan brings up their past and Hooty is immediately invested in Stan’s long backstory (aka his needed therapy session about his long life of conning and trying to save his brother and now he has his niece and nephew visiting and can’t get back…blahblahblah).

Hunter: Doing Belos’ bidding. Figuring out his crush on Willow (eventually). After discovering Bill mind-controlling “Belos”, his goal is to put a stop to him. He ends up kind of like Zuko, joining the hero gang after figuring out who the real bad guy is.

Bill/Belos: Causing Ford misery while simultaneously creating chaos and drama, while also dominating the witch’s realm as belos, getting rid of wild magic.

Luz: figuring out Eda’s romantic past and making the connection as to who Hunter is. Getting back home to the human realm with a way to go back and forth so she does not have to stay there permanently.

Ford: Go back to human realm but primarily freeing himself from the mind control of Bill.

Purpose of this fic:

Sharing interactions of Eda/Stan, Eda/Hunter, Stan/Hunter, Hunter/Luz, Hunter/Willow… but mostly Stan’s interactions with all of the characters in the boiling isles. Stan and Eda do not end up together in the end but they come to a mutual understanding and respect for one another. Luz and Stan find a way (with Ford’s help after defeating Bill) to connect the realms so they can visit back and forth. Hunter is now fully initiated into the Clawthorne family (King is a little jealous, mostly because he still has not found his biological family and yet Hunter found his here in their house). Hooty teases Hunter about Willow, probably. Luz teases him about how she’s his sister now and he just has to deal with it.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Are there any ficlets that you think you’d ever write a sequel to?

Hello love,

Sorry, this one has taken so long for me to answer! The truth is that I have a ton of ficlets I'd love to expand on. Keeping myself from writing chapter after chapter is actually one of the hardest parts of writing ficlets, to be honest.

I'd love to write a sequel to Arson. I loved the whole premise of this one and I think that this one could unfold into something really neat.

There's a prequel to Chickens that's entirely mapped and like a third of the way written.

If I ever had free time, I'd like to flesh out Tulips. This one seems like it would be a great, pining, angsty chapter fic.

The story line of Dog is also one that I'd love to pursue at some point.

Likeness has a sequel already (Charge) but is definitely a universe that I'd like to explore more.

I would like to flesh out Entwine a little bit more (at least a couple of chapters in the middle).

Veritaserum is already several chapters (22k words).

Truth has a couple of chapters drafted because I think that story could be great someday.

I love Tattoos- I loved the whole feel of this one and the easy way it unfolded, I'd love to write a sequel to this one someday.

I think that Text Message could actually be a pretty cute fic about healing and becoming friends.

I think that there's definitely more of a story with Shower.

The whole Soulmate concept is delightful and I've been working on a longer, multi-chapter soulmate au because I love soulmate aus.

I want to write several chapters of Shoes and explore the animal sanctuary and watch them fall in love.

I'd like to write a follow up to Amnesia with their date.

Arcade can be read as a sequel to Break Up.

Accidental Bonding is a seven part series.

I'd love to flesh out Personality Swap- it felt super truncated and I'd love to really delve into their experiences in that one.

I want to write all of the gender fluid Draco fics. I am weak for it. So, I'd love to build on Heels, Make Up, Glitter, Gold.

The whole concept of 99 Days is so much fun and I'd love to write more of this one and more about their bad dates but how they're in love anyway.

Cuddling would be a fun one to flesh out and write about them as roommates after Hogwarts.

I love to write an entire fic for Mine and Dark dealing with that transition and the stigma that Harry's facing.

Radiant was one of those ones that seemed really great in my head but the execution was poor. I'd like to rewrite and expand this one.

The part of me that loves clean, tidy, happy endings would love to add more to Climb.

Eyes has a sequel already (Rough) and I think that I'll probably write another part.

A sequel to Ideal seems almost inevitable, honestly.

Maybe I'll write a sequel to Feather

I'd love to write a sequel to Snake- I love the whole idea of them just dropping off the grid to raise dragons.

Tinder Date Gone Wrong has a sequel (Books) and will probably get another, I love Trashy Romance Novelist Harry.

Tease already has a sequel and might also get a few more chapters.

I'll definitely write a sequel to Long Drive, that's a fun world to jump into!

I Need You would be a great one to expand on.

Insult is my most recent multi-part fic and it's a twelve part series (but is complete at this point).

This probably isn't an exhaustive list, I never know where the muse may lead. :)

Thanks for the ask and for your patience with me as I went through to remind myself about some of the fics that I should put on this list. <3

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

“I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.  

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 18

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 17

Next Chapter: Chapter 19

Thomas had always enjoyed swimming. He used to be a competitive swimmer in school, and still considered going back to it at university. He was fast and he guessed he’d need to slow down for Alastair, who was not a frequent swimmer at all. While Alastair was fast and nimble on the land, his swimming skills appeared only enough to not drown. Which arguably was the most important when it came to swimming, but Thomas had to be careful, he didn’t want to exhaust Alastair or leave him behind.

‘I don’t usually like swimming all that much,’ Alastair admitted.

‘Really? Then why did you come?’ Thomas asked.

A wicked gleam appeared in Alastair’s dark eyes and he smiled. ‘For the scenery, of course.’

Thomas guessed it was the first time they’d seen each other wearing only swim shorts, although he had seen some of Alastair’s chest after Tessa had bandaged his shoulder. The wound looked closed now, but Thomas knew it was still sensitive.

While Alastair was skinny, he was also lightly toned. Not muscular like Thomas was, but elegant and graceful. He was beautiful. He remembered Alastair telling him he’d gained weight lately because of his new medication, but if this was his body after gaining weight, just how skinny had he been before?

And although Alastair tried to act casual, Thomas caught him staring at him too. Truth to be told, he was a little insecure about his body, and what Alastair would think of it. Thomas knew he was muscular, since he worked out so much, which he knew was considered desirable, but he often felt he was a bit too tall. Not to mention he hated the stretch marks that had appeared on his back, and worried what Alastair would think of those. His mother had freaked out the first time she’d seen them until she’d realized they were stretch marks. They were a faded pink now, although they used to be a bright red like wounds. Hopefully in time they’d fade to white. Of course, after three pregnancies, his mother had them too but everyone seemed to associate stretch marks with pregnancy when it was also completely normal to get them after gaining weight or growing very fast. Thomas sometimes wished he’d known that sooner.

‘My parents would often take me and my sisters swimming when I recovered from one of my fevers,’ Thomas said.

‘In the winter as well?’ Alastair asked. ‘Isn’t that cold?’

‘At the indoor pool,’ Thomas clarified. ‘I always had lots of fun there. There were water slides, a wave simulator bath, tropical plants to create a nice atmosphere. There was this one water slide that was in the dark and Barbara was scared of it so she always claimed I was too small for the water slide and wasn’t allowed to take it either.

Often when I was sick, it was something I looked forward to because I knew I could go to the pool when I got better. When I was older and no longer sick, I started swimming competitively. Didn’t you go swimming as a child?’

‘Not often,’ Alastair said. ‘Cordelia would go with Lucie and her parents sometimes.’

‘I remember getting these invites to classmates’ birthday parties. It’s a surprise what we’re doing, but bring your swimsuit,’ Thomas said. ‘Of course, I could only go when I was well enough, but it was a very common activity at my school.’

‘I was that child who never got invited. Which was fine, I didn’t really like being around other children anyway. My mother couldn’t swim, and my father didn’t really go have fun with us. I did take swimming lessons, passed my exams, but beyond that I didn’t really go swimming. My mother started taking classes not so long ago, though, so she’s learnt the basics. She found a class for adult women and even made some friends there.’

‘Maybe you should give it a chance,’ Thomas said. ‘Unfortunately, the pool I went to as a child closed. They built a mall there, I think. but I’m sure there are other pools I could take you someday.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Maybe if we survive this summer, I’ll take you up on that offer.’

Thomas felt himself become a little warm inside, despite the cold water. Here, spending time together in the lake and in the woods was nice, but Thomas wanted to show Alastair all his favorite places, go to the museum together, go swimming like he used to do. He wanted to introduce Alastair to his sisters, who would undoubtedly like him very much. He hoped they wouldn’t be too protective of him though, Thomas did not think Alastair would react well if Genie started threatening him. He made a mental note to send a warning to his sisters that there would be no threatening Alastair.

‘Do you play any sports?’ Thomas asked.

‘Currently not much beyond generally trying to stay active and taking very long walks,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia and I used to take dance classes together for several years, Father thought it important we learnt how to dance ballroom. The memory is a bit tainted because it was something he demanded of us, but truth to be told I did like dancing and I was quite good at it. We both were.’

‘Oh, that sounds nice,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve always thought it would be nice to learn partner dancing, but I never got around to it. Besides, I’m a bit clumsy on my feet so I’d be stepping on my partner’s toes all the time.’

‘That doesn’t happen as often as people think,’ Alastair said. ‘I think there’s a dancing association at the university, so if you want to learn that might be a nice and affordable place to take classes. But you could also join a swimming team there if you’d prefer. Or both, but you’ll need to find time to study too.’

‘Is that something you struggled with?’ Thomas asked.

‘Not really. I had no social life beyond my ex boyfriend and I don’t need much time to study. Magic memory and all. But there were definitely a few students who were partying too much to keep up.’

‘I’m not really one for partying, so that won’t be a problem,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I didn’t realize there were so many options, all I heard about student life was either lots of partying or study until you drop.’

‘Oh no there are definitely options,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m just too antisocial for most of them. I don’t like being around people anyway. One on one is fine, but I’ve never liked groups. And I absolutely despite it when people are loud. What else do you like to do beside swimming?’

Thomas could recognize what Alastair described. He had always been shy as a child, and had never really grown over that. He liked being around people, but mostly in small groups.

‘I like music,’ Thomas said. ‘I play guitar, but I really like writing my own songs.’

He’d never told anyone that. He wasn’t sure why exactly. He’d started playing the guitar after growing over his sickness. He’d tried the saxophone before that when he was younger, but his frequent fevers made it difficult to keep up. To learn an instrument you had to practice daily, and that hadn’t worked out.

He’d started playing guitar at fourteen and he’d written lots of songs, most of which he’d discarded. He never believed they were any good, and he wasn’t very good at singing. He’d practiced, of course, and he knew how to pitch his voice, but he just didn’t sound that good or interesting. He could be a decent back up vocalist, he guessed, but then he’d need to find someone to actually sing his songs.

‘Really?’ Alastair asked. ‘What kind of songs?’

‘Oh, all sorts. Ballads, sad songs mostly, I guess. Love songs too. I’ve never told anyone before. They’re not good or anything.’

He remembered he’d written a very sappy, hopeless pining song not long after meeting Alastair. He was glad there was no remaining evidence of that ever happening, it was exactly the kind of thing Eugenia would use as blackmail. Which he guessed was why he’d never told Eugenia about his songs.

They reached the island in the middle of the lake, and sat down in the shallow water, a comfortable place to rest for a bit and talk. He could tell Alastair was getting tired, swimming was very different from walking or running and Alastair wasn’t used to it. Perhaps it was hard on his shoulder too.

‘You told no one? Really? Why?’ Alastair asked.

‘As I said, they’re not any good,’ Thomas admitted. ‘And I can’t sing well.’

‘Maybe I could sing them for you,’ Alastair said. ‘Although it’s been a while since I’ve really sung.’

‘You sing?’ Thomas asked. He wondered what Alastair’s voice would sound like when he sung.

‘I used to,’ Alastair said. ‘I played the piano too, growing up, but I haven’t played in years.’

‘Why did you stop?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair sighed. ‘I couldn’t find joy in playing music anymore. In anything really. Although I did listen to music a lot, and I do sing along occasionally. But apart from that… I just couldn’t bring myself to play anymore, it hurt too much. I wanted to get back to it, but so far I haven’t found that joy.’

That sounded sad. Would Thomas’ songs be able to cheer him up? Probably not, they were terrible. He would need some good music to play or sing to get back into it, not his hopeless attempts at song writing.

‘I hope you can,’ Thomas said. ‘I can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to enjoy the things you used to.’

‘Well, sometimes interests change,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve had a lot of odd interests that changed. But in this case… I want to be able to feel the joy I once felt. I want to play, and sing your songs and feel like myself again.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with sharing any of his work, but if it would help Alastair then he would let him sing all of his songs.

‘Could you sing something? Now, I mean. If you want to, you don’t have to. I’m just really curious what you sound like.’

Thomas started rambling again, and Alastair silenced him by beginning to sing. The song would definitely sound better with accompanied by a guitar, but even on its own Alastair’s voice was beautiful. It was a bit lower than his speaking voice, but he seemed to have quite a range. Gentle, but firm and when he got farther into the song Thomas realized there was a lot of power behind Alastair’s voice. It was a romantic song he was singing, did this describe how Alastair felt about him? He didn’t catch everything, but some of the lyrics stuck with him.

Never opened myself this way.

Life is ours, we live it our way.

All these words I don’t just say

And nothing else matters

‘Trust I seek, and I find in you,’ Thomas repeated. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

Alastair smiled. ‘I do find trust in you. Even if it is something I still find difficult. I’m trying.’

‘What song is that?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair stared at him in shock. ‘You mean to tell me you don’t know this song? You can’t be serious.’

‘It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t name it,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s Nothing else Matters by Metallica,’ Alastair said.

‘That does sounds familiar,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I’ve never listened much to Metallica.’

‘You should, their music is very good, and it’s very melodic for a metal band. That’s what I like the most, when music is both heavy and melodic.’

‘What other music do you like?’ Thomas asked.

‘Breaking Benjamin must be one of my favorite bands. You probably haven’t heard of them, they’re not very famous. They’re probably best described as alternative metal. Very angst heavy lyrics, things I can relate to. And I like Metallica, Skillet, Three Days Grace. Within Temptation and Nightwish occasionally. What do you listen to?’

‘I like Green Day,’ Thomas said. ‘And As It Is, which you might not know because they’re not very well known, but they’re a pop punk band.’

‘I don’t know As it Is. I do know Green Day though. I’ve always liked Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’

‘Me too,’ Thomas said. ‘But 21 guns is my favorite from Green Day.’

They talked some more about music, and Thomas made a note to listen to some of Alastair’s favorite songs when they got back. He hadn’t had the time or inspiration to write songs lately, with everything happening, but he wanted to write something for Alastair. If he ever found the time in between trying not to die.

Truth to be told, Thomas found it difficult to have people worry about him so much, risk themselves for his sake. He didn’t want to die and was grateful he had people who were willing to help him, but he hated how all this was because of him. He hated being taken care of, being someone’s burden. It was something Thomas had always struggled with. When his mother had quit her job because Thomas was sick so often it wasn’t doable for both his parents to work. Since his mother was a primary school teacher, it had made sense for her to quit working as his father made more money and worked more hours. When his sisters would come straight home after school to keep him company rather than spend time with their own friends. When his father would come home early as often as he could, passing on opportunities at work.

It wasn’t just that the amount of attention could be suffocating, it was because he didn’t want to be difficult, he didn’t want other people to change their life, their habits for him. But as a sick child, he’d had no choice but to let people take care of him. Everyone had had to adapt to his sickness and even in a loving family such as his own, it wasn’t easy to have a child who was ill so often. Sometimes Thomas feared he’d taken up too much attention and had taken that away from Barbara and Eugenia.

‘You’re thinking of something,’ Alastair said. ‘Something that is bothering you.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Thomas said.

It wouldn’t be fair to complain about his childhood to Alastair. Compared to what he had been through, Thomas had wanted for nothing.

‘It’s not nothing,’ Alastair said. ‘I can tell when you tense up, when you’re thinking of something hurtful. Is it something I did?’

‘No. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Thomas brushed his hand across Alastair’s cheek. ‘You’re perfect.’

‘Then what is it?’ Alastair looked away. ‘Look, I know how difficult it is to talk about how you feel, how vulnerable it makes you feel. But I can tell when things are bothering you, I know when people are upset. If you don’t want to share, at least tell me you’d rather not talk about it. Because people always like to pretend they’re fine but they’re not and…’

Alastair didn’t finish his sentence, he seemed upset too now. Thomas felt horrible. He didn’t want Alastair to worry, he didn’t want to hurt him. It made sense Alastair could read people well. Thomas had always been good at reading people’s body language, but Alastair had had to deal with his father’s changing moods, anticipating them had to be how he’d survived. Of course people’s bad moods were stressful for him, because Alastair had learnt he’d get hurt when other people were stressed.

Perhaps it was better to tell, that might set Alastair’s mind at ease. Even if it was difficult, even if he did not quite understand why he felt this way.

‘I was thinking about how you’re all risking your life for me, and I find that difficult. I’ve never wanted to trouble others, I’ve never wanted to be a burden. But I also know I cannot do this without help. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you or to Cordelia or Lucie because of me.’

Alastair put his hand on Thomas’ cheek, wet from the lake water.

‘I understand. But none of this is your fault, Tom, and you’re not a burden.’

‘I’ve always felt like a burden,’ Thomas said softly. ‘I always needed to be taken care of because I was sick.’

‘Is it a burden when the people caring for you love you and gladly care for you?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Thomas said. ‘With James and Matthew, I was so glad to find friends, people my own age. But James’ mother and Matthew’s mother are my mother’s best friends, so we already knew each other from a young age. We were very close when I was still a child and they would come by to keep me company when I was sick. I am grateful, but they learnt I needed to be protected and when I grew over my sickness, Matthew still believed I was meek and dependent and needed to be rescued from you. James wasn’t as bad, he never noticed I liked you because he was always reading. I think the reason we drifted apart a bit is because of that. I never dared tell them how I felt about you, and I don’t think they would have reacted well. And again, I feared my feelings would make me a burden. That was less of an issue with Lucie, so I think that’s why I’m now closer to her. It was never a problem to tell her I liked you, and that’s why she was the first person I told.’

‘I didn’t realize you’d drifted apart from them. At school, it was always the three of you,’ Alastair said.

‘True, and I still care about them, I really do. But I think they’re closer to each other than to me, and that made me feel out of place at times. I still see them and spend time with them, and we text often, but not as much as we used to. But that’s fine, I think it was for the best. I still have plenty of people around me, enough friends, and we probably work better with a little more distance anyway.’

‘I didn’t realize, that’s all,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes change is for the best. How are James and Matthew anyway?’

‘I haven’t contacted them a lot with everything happening, and the last few days I haven’t been able to reach them. But I’m not yet sure what to say when I do call them. Do I tell them about us? Or about what’s going on? Do I tell my sisters? I do not want anyone else to come here and put themselves in danger.’

‘I have not yet decided what I will tell my mother either,’ Alastair said. ‘I did tell her I liked you, before I realized you liked me as well. But the past few days I haven’t been able to reach her, or Risa. Wait a moment, you said you couldn’t reach James and Matthew.’

‘Nor my sisters,’ Thomas said. ‘And my father said he was unable to reach uncle Gabriel. I don’t think uncle Will has had any success calling uncle Jem or your father either. Which is odd. You’d think out of all these people, at least someone would pick up a phone.’

‘Or perhaps that is part of what Tatiana is doing,’ Alastair said. ‘Isolating us so we cannot call anyone for help.’

Thomas tried to think that through. If he were in Tatiana’s shoes, he definitely wouldn’t want them to be able to contact uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily. Nor uncle Jem, he guessed. Matthew and James were no threat to her, nor were his sisters, so he wasn’t sure why they were unable to contact them. Nor did he suspect Alastair’s mother was a threat. Perhaps it was simply easier to cut them off from everyone.

‘That makes sense,’ Thomas said. ‘But if we can’t call them, how far away from the town and the forest would we have to be if we were to reach people again?’ Thomas wasn’t so sure it would be that simple though.

‘I’m not sure,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps it’s like the land in between, except bigger. Perhaps something Tatiana did will not only cut off our ability to contact people who aren’t here, but will also prevent us from leaving.’ He paused. ‘I assumed there would be no point in leaving, because whatever is happening to you would simply follow you wherever you go. But perhaps Tatiana does need you here.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He hadn’t considered running, didn’t think there would be a point to it. How could you run from a powerful being? But perhaps Alastair had a point and he was running from Tatiana. Perhaps that powerful being would simply take Jesse back if Tatiana failed, and that would be it. The thought brought no comfort. He would never want Jesse to suffer. None of this was his fault either.

‘It makes me wonder why that being picked Jesse over me,’ Thomas said. ‘It must have liked Tatiana a lot better than my parents, and I think when Jesse died Tatiana already knew what was happening. I think she assumed I would be the one to die, and when Jesse died and I didn’t, she got mad with my father.

But wouldn’t it have made more sense to take me instead of Jesse? Since Tatiana knew more about the deal, knew about the creature, knew how to barter with it?’

Alastair grimaced. ‘No. I think that is exactly why it chose Jesse. I don’t think the thief of souls intended to keep Jesse forever. If it had taken you, your parents would have been heart broken, they would grieve you, they would have sustained a wound that would never heal. But they would not have tried to get you back, not at the cost of someone else’s life.

Tatiana, on the other hand, would do anything for her son, and seems to hate everyone else. It doesn’t matter to her that lots of people will die, souls forfeit, as long as she can have her son back. She knew what was going on, what would happen to her son. Perhaps she tried to appease it, to make sure you would be chosen and not Jesse. But that’s exactly why it chose Jesse. Because with Jesse dead, Tatiana would do anything to bring him back, and she would exchange your life for Jesse. And the thief of souls could have asked her for anything it wanted, anything else she would realistically be able to give her.’

Thomas stared at Alastair. Everything he said made perfect sense. He had been looking at this from the wrong angle, from his own perspective of someone who made decisions based on emotion, based on his love for the people around him. But the thief of souls wasn’t like that, he didn’t care for Tatiana just because she liked him better than his father did. He saw her as a tool he could use. He played a strategic game and souls were the prize.

‘Why now, though?’ Thomas asked. ‘Jesse has been dead for years. If Tatiana already knew what was happening, wouldn’t she have gotten him back sooner?’

‘I think the thief of souls must have demanded much from her,’ Alastair said. ‘He could ask for anything. Do any of you know what she’s been up to the past years?’

‘She moved away from London, left her house in a state of disrepair,’ Thomas said. ‘My grandfather was incredibly rich and Tatiana inherited lots of money, so she could afford to just move around and leave her father’s house.’

Thomas knew his father and uncle Gabriel had often wondered what to do with the money inherited from their father, money he’d earned through dark deals and exploitation. Money none of them deserved. But for uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily the money had allowed them to hunt the supernatural, stop people like Benedict, since such line of work wasn’t exactly paid. His father had donated some of the money, but for them it had been convenient too since his illness meant he always needed someone around to take care of him.

‘Meaning, you don’t know where she’s been?’ Alastair asked. ‘I can’t imagine having so much money that you can just leave an entire house for several years without selling it. Honestly that should be illegal, considering how difficult it is for some people to even find a place to live.’

‘It was her father’s manor, had been in the family for a long time,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t think she could have even considered selling it, it was very important to Benedict. But no, we don’t know where she’s been. My father and uncle Gabriel did try to reach out to her occasionally. At the very least they called her on her birthday, but she never picked up.’

‘So these past years, maybe she had to complete other tasks first, offer him other souls, anything he could have wanted. And at some point she must have captured Grace, which I imagine made completing his requests a lot easier.’

‘How long do you think Grace has been her prisoner?’ Thomas wondered. ‘I assumed it was a recent thing, what if she’s been with Tatiana for years?’

‘No idea,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps capturing Grace is what finally allowed her to win enough favor to get back Jesse’s soul. Whatever he wanted from her, it must have been easier with a siren under her control. But I think there’s still more she must do to bring him back to life. Perhaps that child that drowned was part of it too.’

‘And when Jesse lives, I die,’ Thomas concluded.

Thomas had no idea how to fix this. How to survive without sacrificing Jesse. He knew Lucie and Cordelia wanted to kill the thief of souls, but they didn’t even know what it was. Their attention had to be on Grace right now, if anyone knew more of Tatiana’s plans it had to be her.

‘We’ll get Grace’ skin,’ Alastair promised. ‘Tomorrow. And when she is free, she can tell us all she knows of Tatiana. There must be so much Grace knows.’

‘Will you be alright?’ Thomas said. ‘After this morning… will you feel up to it? I can’t imagine how exhausting that must have been. It’s fine if you need more rest.’

‘I hope so, but if not I can function pretty well while tired. At some point you get used to it. I have good days and bad days. Today was not so good, you’re right that I’m still very tired from this morning. Such breakdowns are always exhausting, that is not something I’ve gotten used to. I would go to sleep early, maybe take some melatonin, but I’ll only have nightmares. And we don’t have the kind of time to wait for me to recover from this morning, I’ll have to do with how I function tomorrow morning.’

Thomas considered for a moment, turning a little red before looking Alastair in the eyes. Thomas had always found Alastair’s eyes beautiful, big and so dark it was difficult to tell apart the iris and the pupil. He’d never quite understood the way people obsessed over blue or green eyes, described as sapphires and emeralds in many of Lucie’s books. Green and blue eyes didn’t even look like that. Light eyes might be less common than brown eyes, but Thomas had always found dark brown eyes combined with dark hair like Alastair’s far more striking.

‘Maybe I could sleep over,’ Thomas suggested. ‘I mean, do you think that would help?’

‘I don’t know if it would help with my nightmares, but I would certainly like it if you stayed with me,’ Alastair said. ‘I like to cuddle. It is very nice when you hold me, sensory wise. So, where are we sleeping? I think my bed is bigger, we could easily both fit in there.’

Thomas wondered what Alastair meant with that it was nice, sensory wise. It sounded like something Lucie, who was autistic, might say, but Alastair had not mentioned such a thing, had he?

‘Alright, then I’ll sleep over at your place,’ Thomas said. ‘And I’ll cuddle with you as much as you want. And when you have a nightmare, I’ll be there to remind you that you’re safe.’

[clanoffetts]

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter I

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; only one use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 5.1k

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. Actually, one had never showed up. And this one was huge. A buff man, covered in heavy armor that had been painted blue. Even his helmet evoked fear. The townspeople were watching myth become reality. 

The large man walked into Aliria’s Shop. The shop had a name once, when Aliria’s parents had opened it, but that was some 80 years ago now. The shop had survived the Clone Wars and the Empire, not to mention the constant flow of smugglers and thieves customary to the Outer Rim. Aliria’s Shop wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. 

It was a fairly small shop, especially considering all the things packed into it. Aliria carried food, clothes, a small array of weaponry, and medical supplies. There wasn’t much in the little town, a droid mechanic, a ship mechanic, a small infirmary, and a bar. Aliria’s Shop was the hub, she had the essentials. 

The Mandalorian was like a bull in a china shop inside the store. Aliria had crammed crates, tables, and shelves into every crevice of the store. Not to mention the various pieces of merchandise hanging from the ceiling. 

“Watch it, Mandalorian!” Aliria yelled at the man as he almost hit the shelf of fruits with the huge gun on his back. She may look like a frail older woman at the age of 75, but her voice didn’t show it. Aliria’s tan skin was weathered and her body was tired, but her voice held life. She was the backbone of the community. 

The armored man let out a gruff sorry before moving on. He was looking down at his gauntlet, reading some kind of list. “Kriffing hell, how do I find anything in here?” 

“We don’t get many outsiders, Mandalorian,” she said. “But my sales associate can help you. She was an outsider once, too.”

The pitch black of his visor shifted to you. Your hair was a bit messy, as you’d just helped your co-worker unload a speeder of goods. But you smiled at him. A change of pace is always nice. You walked from behind the counter to be in front of the Mandalorian and you asked, “What are you looking for, sir?” Your customer service voice was rough, you never needed to use it with most of the customers. They knew you personally, everyone knew everyone here. 

“You got ration bars?” His voice was gruff and deep, but you couldn’t tell if that was just because of the helmet. 

“Not many,” you told him. “Maybe ten? Aliria has such good prices, no one ever needs to buy a ration bar in place of real food.” It was a sales pitch you’d been taught when training here, but it was the truth. Why pay a credit for a ration bar when you can pay a credit for instant noodles? 

He huffed a little. “I’ll take all ten.” This man was weird, you decided. “Non-perishables? Do you have any?”

“We’ve got some beans, some vegetables that won’t go bad for at least a few years, rice, and a few other things. They’re all kind of scattered around.”

“Of course they are,” he was annoyed. “Where’s the vegetables?”

You pointed through a door at the back of the shop. “Greenhouse out back. Tell me what you need, I’ll go grab it.” Reluctantly, he showed you his gauntlet. It was a grocery list. You locked the information into your mind, grabbed a basket and headed to the greenhouse. 

When you got back, he was in the same place. He must’ve seen your confusion because he said, “I’d rather not waste time looking for things myself. I figure you’d be better at it.” And you were. You helped him get everything he needed, but the list just got weirder. Baby formula, toddler sized coveralls, ammunition, a journal, and more miscellaneous items that made no sense to you. You didn’t believe a Mandalorian was going to hand write something and in a journal, no less.

You wanted to know more, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t be keen on questions. Before you’d come to Dantooine, you’d been all over the galaxy and heard stories of Mandalorians and their secrecy. 

“What brings you to Dantooine, Mando?” You ask as you ring up the last of his items, putting them in the up-cycled grain bag grocery bags. You were tired of the tense silence, Aliria had gone into the back to do Maker knows what, and the Mandalorian’s stare was unnerving. 

“Work,” he said. His visor remained unmoving, his eyes were on you. You had a feeling that ‘work’ was something either illegal or close to it. “You?”

You were surprised. And, again, he must’ve noticed. “The old lady said you are an outsider, too.”

“Was an outsider, Mando,” you correct, bringing up his total. “I came here for work, too.” He could tell you were lying, or at least not sharing the whole truth. “It’s two-hundred credits, Mando.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out all the credits. “That should be two-hundred.” It was. Exact change and everything. Once you’d counted the money and placed it in the register, he grabbed all his bags with ease and turned to walk out. 

“Have a nice day!” you tell him, remembering your lines Aliria insisted on. He said nothing in return.

-  

Paz Vizsla arrived back at his ship far out from the town. He put the bags of supplies for the covert in the cargo hold and cleared the message from Armorer that detailed what they needed. After the covert had to relocate, they were in desperate need of supplies. Especially for all the children who lost a buir or, Maker forbid, both buire. The children who had basically become foundlings. Paz’s heart broke for them, he tried to be the best ba’vodu, but there some things that even stories from Uncle Paz couldn’t fix. 

He’d spent the little bit of left over change from the bounty on something for each kid, even Bezza, who was old enough to be treated as an adult at seventeen. She’d lost her buire, and the least Paz could do was get her a nice, leather-bound journal that she’d been pining for. Something hard to come by in a galaxy that had moved on from physical writing. 

Paz closed the cargo hold and began moving himself towards the cockpit. He was tired, and though no one else agreed, he was getting old. Nearing 44, he was ready to just be Mr. Vizsla the teacher, Uncle Paz, and hopefully buir someday. But he was one of the Tribe’s best fighters. They needed him to keep hunting, so he did. This is the Way. 

He moved to start up the ship. It gave a groan, but lit up all the same. Paz began his takeoff procedures, but the ship wouldn’t budge. Kriff, he thought. This can’t happen. Paz Vizsla was a capable fighter, fluent in Mando’a, and a brilliant teacher, but he was no mechanic. That had always been his biggest shortcoming. I have no credits, he realized. Stuck on Dantooine with no credits. 

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. But this one had now shown up twice. The awe of the townsfolk was still the same. He trudged back into Aliria’s Shop. This old woman would know someone willing to fix a ship for some food, he thought. She seems to know everything.

Except, when he walked in he was greeted by a new face. Not the saleswoman who’d helped him a few hours ago, nor was it the old woman. “How can I help you?” The boy asked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen. 

“You know anyone who’d be willing to fix a ship for a meal? Or maybe a small blaster?”

The kid shook his head. “No one around here is that desperate. I’ll go get Aliria, though. She might know someone I don’t.” The kid retreated into the back room without fully taking his eyes off Paz. 

When he returned, he had Aliria hobbling along next to him, bony hands around his arm. “Zenith says you need a mechanic? There’s a shop down the road but what he charges won’t be worth what you get,” the woman says. 

“I need someone who will work for something other than credits,” he says. “I don’t have any.”

You looked up from the datapad in the backroom. You had experience as a mechanic, you were rusty after all these years, but better than the other option, who probably learned by seeing a few pictures on the holonet. Maybe this was your ticket back out of the Outer Rim. You’d amassed enough credits to at least get an apartment for a bit until you can get work. Core Worlds always had open jobs, and you have connections. You hated to leave the little town, but it had always been the goal. You just thought it’d be many more years. 

You stepped out of the back room. “I’ll do it, Mando. I’ve got experience, I can probably fix it.” Zenith seemed surprised, but Aliria just smiled.

“I can’t pay,” he reiterated. 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve said. We’ll negotiate the price on the way to your ship. You got tools?” He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight, Aliria. I’ll finish up inventory then.” The old woman told you not to worry about it and shooed both of you off, ready to get back to whatever she was up to in the storage room. 

As soon as the door shut behind you, you said, “Passage to Hosnian Prime. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Hosnian Prime? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get from Dantooine to Hosnian Prime?” He was annoyed. The ship must be having a minor issue, but you were wanting a major payment. “And so far out of my way, my home is in the Outer Rim. And I’ll have no credits to refuel.”

Now you were the annoyed one. “I’m fixing your ship, Mando. You said anything but credits. My offer is passage to Hosnian Prime for the fixing of your ship.”

“How do I know you can even fix my ship? Why aren’t you the town mechanic?”

This wasn’t something you wanted to get into. You hadn’t talked about it in so long. Not since you got to Dantooine and Aliria took you in, vowing to help you back to wherever you wanted to be. “I was done being a mechanic, Mando, that’s why.”

“So you decided to work in a dingy little shop? With the galaxy’s oldest woman?”

You felt anger grow stem from the seed of annoyance. Aliria was like your grandmother. Like the whole town’s grandmother. And here comes an outsider, insulting Aliria’s shop. Aliria’s family built that town from the ground up. And this outsider insults her. “Do not speak of Aliria or her shop like that again, Mando. Or I won’t fix your ship and you’ll be stuck on Dantooine forever.”

Paz felt bad. He’d cut too deep, he’d only meant it to be a friendly dig about your job, a job most people weren’t ever satisfied with. He’d thought you’d laugh. He’d thought wrong. You walked in silence the rest of the way. 

“This is your ship?” you asked. No wonder it wouldn’t get off the ground. “Maker, Mando, what have you put this thing through?” It was dented, covered in carbon scoring, and there were chunks of it missing. You could only guess how bad the inner workings were. 

“A few altercations,” he replied. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at this sorry excuse for a Mandalorian’s ship with love and pride. 

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t even looked at the wiring, but I think taking me to Hosnian Prime is the absolute least you could do for the work I’m going to have to do on this thing.”

“I just need it to fly,” he told you. “Nothing fancy.”

“Mando, this thing is going to pull itself apart when you try to leave the atmosphere. I’m surprised it even made it through,” you told him. 

The ship always groaned a little when Paz asked it to do things, but it always had obeyed. Without fail. Until now, of course. “It did sound a bit...pained when I arrived.” He left out the whole being fired at by ex-Imps and the harsh landing he’d made that’d landed him here. 

“Alright, I’ll go take a look, if that’s ok? And I’ll try to tell you when I think I’ll have it done.” He nodded, and pushed a button on his gauntlet, giving you access to the ship. 

-

“Bad news and good news,” you told him as you reemerged from the ship. “Bad news is this is a piece of junk and you should replace it. Good news is I can fix it and it’ll only take a few days.”

A few days. He needed to get these things back to the covert, they needed them. “Ok,” he said. “But before I take you to Hosnian Prime, we’ll need to make a pit stop on Yavin IV. I gotta get these supplies back.” You nodded, just as long as you’d be getting to Hosnian Prime at some point. 

“I’ll get started, if that’s ok?” He nodded and you retreated back inside. The external damage wasn’t as crucial as the internal, your job was going to be rough.

It was a long, hard rest of your day. The blasted ship held the humidity of the planet tightly and your coveralls were thick. You’d brought down the top half to tie around your waist, leaving you in your tank top and bra. You caught glimpses of the Mandalorian as you moved past the port holes, and he just sat there on a rock, not moving. All day. You couldn’t imagine the heat under that armor. 

When you came out of the ship again, it was night. “I’ve made good progress. It won’t be done tomorrow, but maybe the day after. If I’m lucky, of course.” And worked almost non-stop, you silently added.

“Good,” he says. “Go home and rest, dal’ika.”

You furrowed your brow. “My name isn’t dal’ika.” 

“I know,” he said, and then he moved past you onto his ship. 

“Good night to you, too!” You called. 

- 

You walked to Aliria’s small home once you got back into town. She deserved to know your plans, you thought. She’d probably even help. 

“Ah! Dear! You’re back!” she said. “I was worried the Mandalorian would take you, but then I figured you’d comm if he’d try anything.”

You smiled. “He didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there.”

“What did you tell him your price is, dear?” 

You took a deep breath and sat on the sofa next to her. “Passage to Hosnian Prime.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nodded. “It’s time,” you said. “I have enough credits, especially since I won’t have to pay for transportation.”

“What will you do there, dear?” Aliria was worried. You were a grown woman, yes, but she felt protective. 

“Find General Organa,” you said. “See if she keeps promises.” You knew she would. She always had.

Aliria gave a bittersweet smile. “I knew you’d leave someday, but I never thought of how it would feel.” Her heart was breaking, and so was yours. This woman took you in when you showed up a mess on Dantooine, she held you during nightmares, and she helped you buy the little hut you now call your own. She gave you a job and a place in the community. “You’ll do much good on Hosnian Prime, dear. I know you will.”

You didn’t know what she meant, but somehow you believed her. “Thank you, Aliria. Thank you.” You couldn’t seem to say anything else, but it wasn’t adequate to what you were feeling. You needed a stronger phrase, but you didn’t know one.

“Take care of that Mandalorian, now,” she said, trying to be a bit more lighthearted. “I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband.”

You rolled your eyes. All the old women in town were like this. “He barely even talks to me and calls me dal’ika instead of my name, which he hasn’t asked for, by the way.”

“He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure. Especially if he’s got to take you from here to Hosnian Prime,” Aliria said. “You didn’t talk much when you arrived, either, remember?”

Aliria always had a way of finding the good in people, even if it was hardly there. That was rare, especially this far out in the galaxy, and you cherished it. You’d learned early on not to do that, but Aliria helped you open up more. Maybe she was right, this journey would result in a new friend.

“Ok, Ali, I will take care of the Mando,” you said. “Now I think I’m going to go home. Want to be up early tomorrow to fix his ship.”

She nodded and patted your knee. “Take the speeder bike tomorrow, it seems like a long walk.” You nodded, and placed your hand over hers for a moment. “Good night, dear. Sleep well,” she said and then she shooed you out in the way only an old lady could.

-

The next morning it was cooler outside. The trees swayed gently in the soft wind, and you became grateful for the coveralls as you picked up speed on the bike. You looked the same as you did the day before, just a little less rested. There was a little sunlight, but not much, and there were still a few nocturnal animals on the path. 

Arriving at the ship, everything was still closed up, and the big Mando nowhere in sight. You contemplated banging on the door, but before you made a decision the door lowered into a ramp and he walked out. “You’re very early, dal’ika.” 

“Told you I would be. Need all the daylight I can get.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze bore down on you again. You really took in how large he was. He had to be over six feet tall and maybe even closer to seven in the armor. A few people in town speculated that he wasn’t actually as buff as he seemed and that it was just the armor, but you doubted that. 

“I’ll go ahead and get started, if that’s ok?” 

He nodded. “You don’t have to keep asking, dal’ika.”

“That’s still not my name,” you said in a singsong voice over your shoulder as you walked up the ramp. He walked over towards some of the denser areas of trees.

You tried to watch him as discreetly as possible through one of the port holes, but you had a suspicion that, somehow, he could tell you were watching. He walked over some of the logs of fallen trees that had piled up towards the edge of the clearing. He picked two large ones, one in each arm, and set them upright. Then, he placed the large stones on the top of and behind them to keep them standing. 

He retreated a few yards, and his hands slid down to his thighs. He brought two blasters back up. Ah, you thought. Target practice. 

As much as you knew you needed to begin your day’s work, you stood at the port hole and watched him fire blast after blast, and you knew he hit each spot he intended to. He moved back farther, fired some more, and then moved off at angles. You never thought you’d be attracted to a man whose face you’d never seen and name you didn’t know, but here you are. 

Finally, you tore your gaze from the beskar-covered man and began your work, getting the tool box from where you’d left it yesterday. 

-

It was noon when you walked down the ramp again. The Mandalorian had finished his shooting hours ago, and had now shed his shin and thigh armor, along with the heavy cannon he carried on his back. He was already looking at you when you stepped into the doorway. 

“Need something, dal’ika?” 

You shook your head. “Lunch time, Mando.” You pulled some kind of bar out of your pocket. “It’s got meiloorun filling,” you brag. 

“Sounds good,” he said, a little amused at what you considered something to brag about. 

You sat down on the rock opposite him. “You want one? I’ve got an extra.”

“No, thank you, dal’ika,” he replied. 

You sunk your teeth into the grain and meiloorun bar, chewed, and swallowed. “What language even is that?”

“Mando’a,” he said. “The language of my people.”

“The Mandalorians?” You ask dumbly.

He let out a chuckle, it was small, but the vocoder processed it. “Yes, dal’ika, but I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s that mean? That word you’re calling me?”

He contemplated for a moment, but finally told you. “Dal’ika means woman in Mando’a. Well, dala means woman. The ‘ika bit just means it's a nickname. It implies that you’re, well, small. It’s used for kids a lot but also for friends.” He regretted saying that, in case you found it insulting or weird. He quickly moved on. “And I definitely consider you more than an acquaintance, especially since we’ll be spending some time together.”

You looked at him. You’d never thought of yourself as small. “Well, that’s good to hear. And I think everyone is small next to you, Mando.”

He laughed again, and you took another bite. “I suppose so. What is your actual name?” You tell him, and he nods. “I can call you that, if you’d like?”

“Dal’ika is fine,” you say. You’d never really had a nickname before. “But you can call me my name, too, if you want.”

“Ok, dal’ika,” he said. “Where are you from?”

You looked at him. Why all the questions? You briefly thought of home, but closed your eyes. “Rather not say.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry that I keep saying the wrong things. I really should know better, considering I don’t like too many questions, either.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like you know what will strike a cord,” you tell him. You hurriedly finished your lunch, eager to get back on the ship in case memories of home flooded back into your mind and tears flooded your eyes. “Well, I’m off,” you say, standing awkwardly and walking back to the ship, leaving the Mando by himself again. 

You sat on the floor of the ship, one of the flooring panels removed, working on some wiring. In the back of your mind you saw your childhood home, the mountain peaks you could see from the backyard, and the neighbor kids that you’d played with every day after school. You remembered leaving. You remembered never being able to go back. 

Your hands are still in the wire compartment in the floor. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and smiled to yourself. Aliria always said smiling makes you feel better. It worked, and your hands began moving again, replacing and connecting wires.

-

Again, it was nightfall when you came out of the ship. The Mandalorian had all his armor on again, and he stood as you emerged. “I should’ve walked you home last night, dal’ika. It was dark when you left, I’m sorry for not offering.”

You felt your heart swell a little. He was a gentle giant, you decided. “Thank you, Mando, but I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s dangerous people here.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I should have.”

You gave up and replied, “That would’ve been a kind gesture. I would take you up on the offer tonight, but Aliria lent me her speeder, so I don’t need an escort today.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Just be careful, dal’ika. Hosnian Prime awaits.” He walked past you and onto the ship, just like he had the night before. 

-

The next day was almost the same, except you had to walk. Aliria needed the speeder for Zenith and supplies he was picking up from a nearby farm, but apart from that, everything was the same. You made small talk with the Mandalorian over your lunch (a star fruit bar today), and  watched him shoot his blasters from afar. You got a lot of work done today, most of the hard stuff was finished and now just needed some tweaking. You moved on to the exterior of the ship a few hours before nightfall. 

“Dal’ika,” he said as you started working on the exterior. “Only do what you absolutely need to on the outside. I’d hate to see your hard work go to waste when I get into another altercation.” 

You nodded, but replied, “I hope you don’t plan on getting into one of your altercations while I’m aboard.”

“Well, I never really plan on them, but I’ll be extra careful if it makes you feel better,” he told you. 

You smiled. “It does.”

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said.

You nodded, opening one of the exterior panels and examining it. “I know. I just have a few more things,” you assured him. “And then I’ll take you up on your offer to walk me home.” You turned your head towards him and smiled, but what you didn’t know was that your smile brought the slightest blush to his cheeks. 

Paz sat back down on his rock while you worked on the exterior. He thought about the smile you’d given him, how you weren’t afraid of him. There’s something more to this one, he thought. Something’s made her tough, and it wasn’t this village.

Finally, you finished. “Alright,” you told the Mando as you exited the ship after putting the tools up. “It should fly, but we can test that tomorrow. For now, I need to go home.”

He nodded and stood from the rock. “Lead the way, mechanic,” he said. 

You walked a pace or two in front of him, even though he didn’t really need to be led to the town. It wasn’t like there were many of those around here, but he let you, and you rambled about the place with pride. About Aliria with pride. 

After a few beats of silence, he spoke up. “May I ask what’s on Hosnian Prime? If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“An old friend,” you said and looked back at him again. This smile was different, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure how. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I know she still cares.” You were telling him the truth, so why did you feel like you were lying? He didn’t need to know that General Organa was the friend or why you knew her. But you almost wanted him to know. Still, you held back. 

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds nice. I’ve heard good things about Hosnian Prime.” Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything about Hosnian Prime except that it was the new capital of the New Republic. 

“I have, too,” you agreed. “What about you? What’s on Yavin IV?”

“Family,” he said. He was telling the truth, so why did he feel like he was lying? And why was he trusting you with the planet of the covert? 

You nodded. “I figured, with all the baby stuff you bought. Is your wife a Mandalorian, too? I heard Mandos can only marry Mandos.”

He was shocked a little, forgetting that you didn’t know much about his culture. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or kids of my own. My Tribe is my family, and there are kids in the Tribe. They’re just not mine.”

“Oh, interesting,” you said, kicking a rock in front of you. You were surprised to find yourself relieved that he did not have a wife. “So, like, can you only marry inside your tribe?”

“No, dal’ika,” he laughed. “We’d end up with some interesting children if we kept it in the tribe. Some people marry within the tribe, some never marry, and others marry outsiders.” He didn’t really know how accurate his answer was. Maybe, in big tribes, people did just marry in the tribe. But the covert he belonged to was too small for that. 

You kicked the rock again as you arrived at the place it had landed. “Huh,” you said. “Guess I never thought about that.” 

“We prefer people not think about us at all,” he replied. His tone was solemn when he said this, and you instinctively placed a hand on his armored arm to comfort him. The Mandalorian was brought to a blush under his helmet again. Maker, he thought. How’s she doing this to me?

You walked into the town in comfortable silence, your arm now wrapped around his, fingers lightly rubbing the armor. It was meant as a soothing technique, but you doubt he could feel it under the layers of metal and cloth. Eventually, you neared your home. “That one’s mine,” you pointed. The house’s door was painted blue, and your flowerbed was filled with blue flowers. 

“Your house matches my armor, kebiin’ika,” he said.

A new nickname. “What’s that mean?”

“Kebiin is blue. And, you know, ‘ika is ‘small’ and an endearment.” 

“Little blue?” You ask.

He nodded. “Ding, ding, ding,” he said. “You’d pick up Mando’a quickly, I think.” You smiled at him, you spoke Basic and Huttese already, why not learn a third? He smiled back, though all you could see was metal and visor. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” 

“Yes, I think that’d be good. Tomorrow after lunch, maybe? I’ve got to pack up my stuff and say good-bye to everyone.” He nodded. He’d forgotten that you’re leaving your life behind. “I don’t have much stuff, by the way, so don’t worry about that.”

He chuckled again. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t worry. We’d find the space.” There was a warmth in his voice that made your whole body warm. You could tell he cared about the people close to him deeply if he cared about a stranger like this.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside. You weren’t expecting a good night, as you had no reason to, but you did stop yourself from closing the door all the way.

You looked up at him through the half-open blue door. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For walking me home. It’s very kind.”

“You deserve kindness, Y/N,” he replies, as if it was painfully obvious. Then, you realized he said your name. Your real name, not some Mandalorian nickname. 

You smiled again, your lips were beginning to hurt but your face wouldn’t let you stop. “Will I ever get to know your name, Mando?”

“Someday.”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 1

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let's try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We're living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn't actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub​ @mostly-marvel-musings​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Pining. I was pining after Stark and it made me upset. I thought I was better than that. Better than acting the part of a lovesick puppy, begging for scraps of attention- a kind word, a pat on the shoulder, a blanket thrown over me in my sleep. Even if he was my Mount Olympus, I wasn't exactly on board with starting the whole damn journey in the first place.

Most of all, I hated being a cliché. I tried my best to avoid showing how I felt and with time, I think I excelled at it. I am really good with things if I really put my mind to it. Was it a blessing, or was it a curse? Only the future will tell. I try not to think about it, as I prefer not to stress out too much. Peter was the anxious kid and I was the calm one. I was the Ying to his Yang. He flipped his shit often and I always calmed him down and cleaned up after him. No complaints there, Pete is pure and precious and I would kill everybody and then myself if he actually got hurt.

I'm only a year older than him and that year feels like an uncrossable bridge to me. We get along like a house on fire and I delight in the way he starts smiling when we're paired together for a project. Deep inside I'm sure he thinks of me as one of his best friends, his homies but-and there's always a but-I can't reciprocitate that. He goes to decathlon after school with his wholesome BFF duo, I go to a local dive bar with a fake ID I'd made sometime when I was about 15.

Peter has everything I wish I've ever had. Good for him. I'm not going to mess that up, no matter how much my angst demands I throw a tantrum and become, like, a supervillain or something.

I banter, instead. I chit-chat. I laugh and I repeatedly make a joke out of myself. Nobody suspects a thing, and I'm not surprised. People always see what they want to see. I've been the weird loner since middle school. Not the sad kind, of course, my pride wouldn't let me. I'm too good at things to be completely ignored. Teachers adore me, the event planning committee approaches me every year with tentative pleas for advice. The list goes on and on; what they don't understand is that it's just High School. Another year and I'll be out of there and nobody will be wiser.

I feel like a liar every time I'm excited. Because I'm not that - I don't care about their stupid field trips or collaborative projects. My mind is five steps and two hops ahead of that bullshit. It has to be or I just won't make it in the world.

"Parker-pen, Mr. Stark. G'day, sirs," I nodded, entering the lab, looking straight ahead. They both were hunched over... Something vaguely mechanical and I was terribly, horribly hungover. Saturday night was Science night but I'd gone to bed around 2PM after a party ran way too late.

"Hi," and "Powerpuff girl," came from them respectively, and they didn't even lift their heads.

I wondered if I could just skedaddle and leave them to their big brain time. "Is this a bad time? I can come tomorrow instead," I immediately regretted speaking, even to my own ears my voice sounds scratchy.

"No, actually, Dr. Ban-Bruce-wanted to talk to you," Peter mumbled out half-coherently. Tony kept ignoring me and I was fine with that. The less temptation I have the less trouble there will be.

"I'm not playing with his zucchini again," I groaned, causing the intricate pile of metal to squeak sadly as Pete tripped over his own damn body, jostling the prototype in the process. I could have sworn the room got several degrees hotter from the boy's blush alone.

Tony cackled, shuffling away from the newly ruined prototype. "He won the damn contest, you should've seen the judges faces," The engineer's grin threatened to split his face in half. I poked at my phone in muted interest. "Hold up, Friday has a recording. I definitely recorded the thing."

A holo-screen popped up. Tranquil scenes of a local fair, gourds and other assorted vegetables of various grotesque sizes were scattered throughout the square. An unmistakable mop of curly greying hair posed proudly next to a zucchini half the size of Hulk - I was fairly certain genetically engineering the plant was cheating and warned him so but somehow Banner managed to persuade the judges into letting him participate, and ultimately win, the competition for the Biggest Zucchini. Some of them were quite shocked at the size of that thing and well - well, their glances were quite contemplative to say the least.

"Damn, Tony, that blonde chick's face tells me all I need to know," I gave a lopsided smirk in the engineer's general direction. That was our thing, you see? He called me these ridiculous cutesy nicknames and asked me about getting my nails done or going to the mall and I'd make salacious comments and go on an occasional flirtatious spree. That was comfortable. We both enjoyed making Peter blush and giggle like the little schoolboy that he was.

"Our Brucie bear is a freak, don't let him tell you any different, Princess," Tony winked at me.

"Oh, I know all about it, Tones," I suggestively wiggled my eyebrows. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter groan and palm his face. I briefly bumped my knuckles to Tony's outstretched hand and made my way to the adjacent lab that hosted the second resident crazy scientist.

"Bruce?"

"Oh, hi there, come on in," He smiled warmly at me and I relaxed, shrugging off the tension in my limbs that seemed to appear every time Tony was around me. Banner's soft, friendly nature always made me feel welcomed and appreciated.

We made small talk as I threw on a lab coat and some protective glasses and discarded my bag in the far corner, away from any possible explosions. I congratulated him on his recent victory - here is when I say that despite what most will say, Banner has a serious competitive mean streak and isn't afraid to get down and dirty when it comes to matters of his personal pride.

That's what makes us alike, I think. I have too much dignity and self-respect to walk around Tony with stars in my eyes and hang around his neck like yesterday's tie.

The quiet, even pace of doing lab work made me completely lose track of time. Some time passed as I felt the crick in my neck become noticeable, and the deep ache in my calves from standing and dancing yesterday worsened. I hopped onto the nearest table, hunched over a tablet, eyes skimming over research articles - most of it didn't register at all in the wake of a dull throb behind my temples. My hair limply hung over my face - I had to wash it to get rid of the stench-hard liquor and cigarettes - but I was way too lazy to style it properly.

I ignored the swaying strands until a large palm gently tucked them behind my ear, a white lab coat coming into my field of view. "You okay?" Banner's quiet voice interrupted my reading. I lifted eyes enough to see he was wearing a dorky button-up in some gross shade of blue under the lab coat. His eyes were affectionate behind thinly rimmed glasses.

"Rough Friday night?" He questioned.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I'm hungover as fuck." There was no point in hiding the obvious; I'm sure the bags under my eyes already had tattled on me.

He chuckled, too, leaning his hip against the table, one broad arm coming to wrap around me in a hug. Usually he wasn't so touchy-feely; but I wasn't complaining. Banner was really, really warm. "I'll spare you the lecture on underage drinking," He said with another chuckle.

"Yeah, it's pretty pointless. You'd be three years too late."

A deep sigh left him, both of his arms wrapping around me in a comfortable embrace. I rested my chin on his shoulder, trying my best to really avoid showing how touch-starved I was. I was a hundred percent sure they all figured out my family life was difficult; the last thing I needed was their pity.

"Y'know, we should sit down and talk someday," He said after a brief moment of hesitation. "About your future. College, maybe?"

I gave a non-committal hum, basking in the warmth of the hug, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes - behind the glass divide, I could faintly distinguish Tony's and Peter's shapes, still bent over that bench the pile of metal.

"You have a lot of potential," Banner continued, his tone developing a gently admonishing hint. "I understand if you want to take some time off from your studies but I'd rather you succeed and not let all that potential go to waste," He finished, patting me on the back with a gentle hand.

I tried not to preen under his touch. "Are you attempting to guilt-trip me over a party, doctor Banner?" I teased him, expecting the smile that I felt being hidden by my hair. Sometimes I felt that I could read the man like an open book, he was so earnest about his interactions.

"I just - we want you to stay safe, okay? Don't blow your future for a little bit of fun," He shrugged carefully.

"Okay, Bruce," I simply replied, meaning it this time

He kept hugging me, running his hand over my back absentmindedly. Probably thinking about his recent science bender. I wasn't upset: my own brain tended to get tangled in personal projects, too. I had only one complaint and it was that the cuddle was making me sleepy.

I yawned, startling the man. Pulling away from the hug wasn't really an option. He was broad and quite strong, probably courtesy of the Hulk and radiation in his blood.

"Why don't we put you in a guest room for tonight?" He inquired and I nodded. "Call your parents for me, okay?"

"My mother is in Vancouver for the week and I doubt she would care anyway," I rolled my eyes. "She's in the middle of some shitstorm with OsCorp and their marketing department." If anything, I was grateful my mother was preoccupied with her job. Being around her was like hanging out on top of an iceberg in the far end of the ocean.

I felt Bruce's frown. His body tensed briefly, blink and you'll miss the hunch of his shoulders. "What about your dad?"

I cringed. "He's been in Ibiza since the season opened, no doubt snorting miles of coke and... " I hesitated. "You can guess the rest."

My dad was kind of a dick, but I don't blame him at all for being the way he is. My parents have been married for twenty years. They were happy, once - I saw their college pictures with my mother's bright smiles and bushy hair, and my dad's terrible fashion sense and their dog, a funny little runt with an atrocious name. Then mother had me and for a while, they were happy too, but it lasted about until she landed her first prospective job. Kind of cliché.

Bruce sighed again. "Okay. You hungry?"

"No, I'm not going near food until tomorrow. Nu-uh," I fake-retched next to his ear, making Bruce shiver and playfully pinch my side.

"It'll help with your hangover. Doctor's advice."

"You're not even that kind of doctor," I laughed, very gently poking him back, somewhere around his stomach. He squirmed.

"I have seven PhDs," Bruce smiled as he rested his chin on top of my head as he adjusted his torso to prevent my fingers from reaching his ticklish spots. I poked him again in retaliation, fully enjoying the snort and squirm I caused. Soft™. "Let's go get you settled in," Bruce, seemingly without any difficulty, picked me up, propping me against his hip like a toddler. It probably looked awkward but what the hell, I haven't been carried around since I can remember myself. My legs wrapped around his hips for balance, butt resting on his forearm.

"You're a showoff," I couldn't help but snort, getting a lopsided smirk in return.

He made his way over to the elevator with me dangling and examining my nails in an expectant fashion. Tony's jokes aside, I really enjoyed getting them done and weird colors were a quest of entertainment for me. I obviously couldn't have them very long because I worked in a lab so I chose outrageous prints and decorations instead. This week, each of my nails had a different style - thankfully my aesthetician was professional enough to make it look somewhat put together even if it took a good chunk of my allowance and an hour long Uber ride to get to her salon.

I noticed the dimmed lights in Tony's lab and none of Peter's usual mess scattered on the tables, figuring he'd already left. Stark himself stood propped against a table, watching something, smoothie in hand.

For only a brief moment, I let my eyes rake over his body, his beautiful, sculpted physique hugged by a pair of fitted jeans and an old Led Zeppelin tee. Tony's handsomeness wasn't obvious, it wasn't in-your-face kind of appearance like Captain America's, but the engineer was built sturdy and his arms - the only bare part of him - were riddled with scars. He used his strong, bulky body for work.

I turned away before I got too ahead of myself. Bruce smelled like lab equipment and rubbing alcohol, something that made me sober up and snap out of my daydream before Stark took notice and started teasing me about ogling him. My once-over lasted barely three seconds yet with Tony's genius, I always had to be on my toes.

I saw movement in my peripheral. Banner waved before entering the elevator - at Tony, probably, so I looked back, seeing the man watching us, content replaced with a contemplating frown. I waved at him, resting my cheek on Bruce's shoulder. "Tony's having a big mood," I noted quietly in the scientist's ear.

"You know Tony," Bruce sighed, adjusting his hold on me as the car ascended to the housing floors. "His brain runs a mile a minute and he can't make sense of it for the biggest part. Give him some time and he'll be back to his annoying self."

I didn't see Tony as annoying in any way, but then again, I was severely biased. The billionaire was quirky venturing into absurd but also clever and brilliant.

We had reached our destination and Bruce carefully set me down on my feet once the door to my room was open. A large queen bed, TV and another door to an adjacent bathroom. It was really simple but luxurious nonetheless - I had the exact same carpet at home, having heard my mother bitch about it's cost after seeing me spill soda on it way too many times.

"I'll let you get settled in. Ask Friday if you need something," Bruce awkwardly shuffled his feet, taking off his glasses and briefly examining them before putting them back on again. "Breakfast here is on the 74th floor starting around 7AM, someone will probably get you around nine if you sleep in," He finished, giving a shy tilt of his lips.

"Thanks, Brucie-bear," The nickname easily slipped from my lips. I didn't resist the urge to hug the kind scientist, quickly wrapping my arms around his middle, delightfully sighing when he immediately returned the gesture.

"Good night, Princess," I had to suppress a happy squeak when the man kissed my forehead before retreating and closing the door behind himself. A quick shower and a quest to find a power outlet to plug my charger into preceded my less than graceful flop into the bed. It felt like sleeping on a cloud, honestly, it had nothing on my mother's orthopaedic memory foam mattresses. I passed out faster than I’d ever had.

[strangerays]

Nothing in Particular Update #2

It’s the Nothing and Particular and Everything update part two: the electric booglaloo. This one is long, so strap in.

It’s been a while since I wrote an update for this story. To be honest, this one gave me a lot of stress, but here I am! Writing this story feels like it is going very slow. I keep telling myself I’ve made a lot of progress (which is true, I have) but for some reason it doesn’t feel like I have? This is likely just my own insecurity. To be frank, I can’t believe I’m still writing this story. If you had told me in February that I’d still be writing this when the weather got warm, I would have laughed.

I am SO excited that I will finally be able to focus on writing now that I’m out of school. I’m afraid to speak the rough deadline that I’ve given myself for this story (the end of August-early September) but now that I’ve spoken it into existence, I hope I can finish! (I hope I can stop watching dumb videogame playthroughs and listening to The Magnus Archives and get something done)

Here is a link to the story introduction and previous update!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover​ @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting

STORY CHANGES/THOUGHTS/IDEAS: 

Here is a big one: I’ve been trying to write this story for myself. I started writing Ray’s story from a place that was personal to me, but I feel like, as that part of myself has begun to heal, I’ve started to think about what a reader would want out of the story. I’m realizing that this is my story so it has to be what I want. Drafts are drafts for a reason, so I’m going to try to get better at letting myself explore what is fun to me.

I always thought I was a discovery writer (I still sort of think I am) but as I’ve finished small sections of the story, I am finding that it’s very helpful to do a rough outline of scenes in upcoming chapters. (I also recommend turning to this if something doesn’t work and you need to retrace your steps!) Just helps me feel more organized!

Jude’s character has got to be one of the most difficult personalities I’ve ever written. Putting her beside Ray just makes it harder. Where Ray is secretive and keeps to herself, Jude is ready to unpack her entire life’s story to anyone. I find that I really have to slow down when writing their interactions. I know this is going to be nowhere near perfect in the first draft, but I think it is a main contributor to my slow writing.

I really like this little narrative I’ve created in the background of the main plot with Ray and Lonan. I love writing these scenes because it’s a way for me to use Lonan when he’s not actively with Ray and to show why Ray is predetermined about things at certain points. Also I love their friendship so much <3

CONGRATULATIONS TO ME on starting to read again because I forgot how much of a help reading other people’s stories can be when you’re struggling with your own oml

I now have a set timeline for the story! Takes place ~4-5 months.

I did that thing where you write a letter from the characters’ perspectives and that was kind of fun

Also just for fun I thought I’d add in that I spent an hour and a half last week filling up a page in my sketchbook with diagrams of the plot. It feels good to be a mad scientist

EXCERPTS UNDER THE CUT!

*At this point, I’m only sharing writing that I am really proud of in order not to spoil the story! This is because I am unsure whether I want to publish this story someday. With that said, that does NOT give you permission to steal my ideas!

CHAPTER: NIGHT CRIES

#1

In the last week of summer, I did everything I could to avoid post-vacation blues. I rode my bike along the gravel roads with no destination, wore my dark sunglasses to people-watch, and fed salami to the minnows that floated on the cusps of boulders. Usually, I sat still for so long that my elbows turned a deep shade of red and the blood in my toes buzzed.

New pockets seemed to open up in Point Blink every day. And with them, came new people. Most of them were older – a middle aged woman who caked her lipstick on, an uncle estranged from his brother, a couple who had miscarried. I hadn’t forgotten about the kids at Mothouse. It was impossible not to think about them. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen them before.

#2

The girl’s limp cigarette bled a trail of smoke that seeped into my Vans. My shirt folded like skin over my bed post. Haunted the room – foiled my mauve sheets and teased my locks. Swept the curtains apart and heated the oak floor. Beams of moonlight leapt to my bookcases; highlighted the posters from various podcasts and bands that I listened to. Wind whistled when I was too still. She forced me to look outside, onto the dark cul-de-sac lit by the reflections of forming rain puddles. No matter whether I sat at my desk or burrowed under my sheets, I felt out of place. She made my bedroom louder. She made my bedroom quieter.

I decided it would probably be best if I never saw her again.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about writing this chapter because it was over a month ago (sorry) but I’m still quite happy with the prose! This comes in after Ray sees Jude for the first time at Mothouse. Based on a first impression, decides that she might want be friends with Jude.

CHAPTER: SORRY

#1 

If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks had roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes – all things Lonan had taught me to observe.

CHAPTER: GHOSTS

Then there was the sea – violent and knowing as it romped within bays and alcoves. She had eaten me many times before, both my father and Lonan too. Gulped them as if they were shining plastic wrappings left behind after a meal. I spited her for inviting me once again. I reached up again to grapple with the next rung. It twisted and offered a low whistle.

In these two chapters, Ray is on a photography trip with her class. This is the first time she’s been on this annual trip without Lonan. She left that morning with a goal of being independent and learning to get on with one of the only people she has felt close to. I realize now that the Ghost excerpt sort of sounds like her dad and Lonan have drowned?? Which was not my intention??

CHAPTER: A DIVINE INTERVENTION

#1

“Do you believe in ghosts?” A raspy voice teased from behind me. Cigarette smoke tickled the words, like they were stuck together with jelly inside of her. The question wasn’t particularly calming, but it strengthened my grip on reality. As if the foiled leaves, bark, and dandelions had sprung from the ground and begun to float, they came crashing back down.

I was made of stone.

“I’m not a ghost,” Jude said. “If I was, a ladder would be a pretty counteractive way to outrun me. I could just float up there and haunt you.”

“Maybe you’re a ghost,” she asked, her voice distant.

I shifted my grasp up and down the sides of the ladder. “What?”

“Don’t you believe in ghosts?”

I was reading back some of Ray and Jude’s conversation and there are so many snippets of dialogue that make me laugh because I totally forgot I wrote them... but UGhhH I don’t know if I want to share them because I don’t know whether or not I want to try and publish the story someday. Speaking of that, it’s sort of because it’s so personal to me? I don’t know (this is for future me to pursue) Honestly though, reading these back has made me really happy :)

#2

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders. She acted as though Point Blink could breathe – as though corpses in the cemetery might pull the grass away like dead skin, neighbors would draw blades, and blood-salt would stain her clothes rather than that from the sea. “Trust me, they’ll forgive you. But, I’m just saying, most people around here don’t care nearly as much as you think so. Most of them are way older anyways, so they’re tired of us.”

“Is that you complimenting yourself?” Jude asked.

“Not intentionally,” I said, “but I will take it.”

She laughed. “You shouldn’t be so nice to strangers.”

I wasn’t trying to be. I just didn’t think I wanted her to dislike me.

#3

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing or a good thing,” Jude said. “Being good gets you tucked into a thousand different memories. Being good makes you live a lifetime.”

I almost laughed, but then I wondered what I was to her now. “I don’t talk to lots of people.”

“Sometimes there aren’t many people to talk to. But I thought you would have loads of friends.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I thought you would too.”

Alarm like grief lit her eyes, but she laughed. I did too.

“You hardly know me,” she said quietly.

Then the girls explore some old newspapers and letters in a fire tower! Spooky fun!

CHAPTER: YOU LET THIS HAPPEN

This isn’t a major spoiler as it’s literally in the blurb I wrote, but Ray and Jude are caught (targeted..??)  in a fire. Ray is brought back to a field where she is questioned.

CHAPTER: NOTHING HAPPENS

He was quiet for several moments while he painted a picture with what little details I had given him, then said, “It’s unfair. I think that’s why it hurts.”

“Because we almost got hurt?”

“No. Because it came true.”

His gentle, ragged voice made me think I could tell him anything. Sometimes, I think that, even then, he knew I left something out.

Ray talks to Lonan after the fire... She’s being a bit dishonest about what actually happened.

CHAPTER: WHY NOT

I remember how the barest amount of red light glared across Lonan’s entire scalp and washed his boyish curls magenta from the roots out. When Jude leaned back on the counter, she melded into the darkness.

This chapter is just part of the narrative that I created with Ray and Lonan’s friendship. There isn’t much I want to spoil from it, but I liked this paragraph!

CHAPTER: INEVITABLE

“We didn’t do anything,” I said.        

“Someone did. Why won’t you believe me?”

 “I think I would remember whether or not someone was there with us,” I said, “even if we didn’t have the picture.”

This was untrue. I hung lots of photos in my room. A long time would pass before I went to a restaurant again, or a specific coven on one of the beaches, or an outfit that I wore, and I would look into one of my pictures and remember it, and then I would be quite angry with myself that I had almost forgotten that thing forever.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” Jude said. I didn’t like the way she’d lowered her voice. She sounded different every time I saw her. She reached out her arm so our photos were side by side and our fingers were almost touching. “I don’t think you want to.”

Ray finds herself alone in the school’s dark room with Jude. Based on the contents of one of her photos, she tries to convince Ray that there is more to the fire than what meets the eye.

CHAPTER: (this one is untitled)

I didn’t mind that he followed me everywhere. Even when he was quiet, I didn’t find it strange to be around him. We sat silently through films and went on walks. Once, he had fallen asleep while watching The Iron Giant in my bed. I didn’t know if I should wake him up once it ended. I tried not to stare at him. He’d rolled onto his side and bundled himself in one of my blankets covered in stars up to his shoulders so only his small face poked out like a baby owl’s. His soft breath messed his dirty gold coils. They were at their longest. Except for the ebbing light from a candle on my desk, my house was asleep – Lonan needed to go home.

For the first time, I wondered if anyone cared where he was.

Another small part of the little friendship narrative! (This really is the part of the story where I get nostalgic for my childhood, isn’t it) Ray starts to discover more about Lonan’s home life in this part of the story, but there’s not much that I think I want to reveal about that for now.

CHAPTER: THE CRUX OF IT

Why did I feel so paranoid? I found myself staring out the window, into the film of blue that the late sun shown onto the grass and trying to remember what summer felt like.

My main problem was that I didn’t know how to talk to Jude unless it was about Sugarfell. I ran from the hush of cigarette smoke behind closing doors and heard her loud voice in conversations. Even though there might have still been a part of me that wanted to be friends with her, I didn’t have much to base that feeling off of. I could have spent hours clicking the little pieces of her that I had together, but the crux of it was that I would never know Jude unless I forced myself to.

For some reason, that really scared me.

I spent all week trying to think of what to say to her. By Friday afternoon, I still had nothing.

I left off writing with Ray actively avoiding Jude’s little investigation into the arsonist. Ray doesn’t want to be involved in this because she feels that it will throw her sense of normalcy off course. She really just wants to learn how to adapt to a life without her best friend. (It doesn’t help that she’s got fresh trauma)

What will Ray decide? I don’t know. We shall see. (just kidding I know)

Sorry this update was longer! I think I would like to start updating more often than once a month just because they would be shorter and those of you reading this won’t forget what happened in the last update. There are thousands and thousands of words that didn’t show up in this update because - like I said - I don’t know whether I want to publish this story ever?? I’ll probably talk more about this in a separate update.

Thank you so much to those of you who read about my story! I hope you enjoy it!

:)

p.s. btw I now have a myWriteClub account! You can check it out here and stalk me as I tragically fail my writing goals!

[amjustagirl]

Chapters:  one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dream.He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s for my mother’s birthday’, Akaashi says, and the florist tilts her head in thought, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. 

‘What about pink carnations? They’re pretty and well within your budget’.

‘Good choice – plus it means that I’ll never forget her’ he says, nodding in approval and she bustles around to gather her materials, fingers nimbly twining tissue and ribbons around the blooms. 

‘Oh - ’, he begins to say in surprise when he notices she’s included a bunch of baby’s breath in the little bouquet, because a university student’s budget only stretches that much. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s on the house’, she hastily reassures him, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. ‘I just thought it’s sweet you’re buying flowers for your mother.

‘Thanks.’ He smiles at her. She grins back and promptly trips over her own feet as she hands the bouquet over to him. ‘Watch out’, he calls, reaching over the counter to grab her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

‘Sorry! That’s so clumsy of me. Um – I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but would you like to grab coffee with me someday?’ she asks, cheeks flushing as pink as the flowers in his arms. 

‘Oh’, he says, dumbstruck. ‘I – uh’ 

She must read the hesitation in his face because she shakes her head self-deprecatingly, saving him from floundering awkwardly. ‘Sorry! I don’t know what came over me – please forget I ever said that!’ Then she bows and ushers him out of the store, waves away his apologies with a laugh and calls after him to ‘please come again!’ 

His mother fusses over him when he presents his bouquet of carnations to her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘Why does it look like university is treating you so badly?

‘I’m fine, mum’, he tries to distract her with a hug, but she’s having none of that. 

‘Are you really, Keiji?’, his mother asks, lips pursed. ‘I know my son well enough to know he’s not sleeping well’. 

‘I try’, he offers, but he knows his excuse falls flat when she sniffs. He’s so irredeemably busy with school work and internship that sleep is practically the last item on his list of priorities and things to do and tasks at hand, but he knows if he breathes a word about the amount of work on his plate, his mother would nag him relentlessly until she’s convinced he’s taking care of himself again

So honed by years of dealing with Bokuto-san, he switches tactics to diversion. ‘So mum, tell me how auntie managed to talk Yuji-kun into going on blind dates?’ His mum brightens and immediately turns her mind to her favourite nephew’s dismal love life. 

But his mother insists on him staying over that night, so he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom, in a bed that suddenly feels too small for the worries that adulthood is cramming into his head. He’s patient, counting the spaces between his breaths but sleep eludes him and he sits up, determined to sneak in more work at the very least.  

He tucks a pencil behind his ear, ready to get cracking on his thesis when he tilts his seat too far on the back two legs of his chair and loses his balance, falling onto the floor with a thump. ‘Damnit’, he curses quietly, hoping the noise doesn’t startle his mother awake, but from his vantage point on the floor, he can see the omamori he inexplicably refused to throw away on New Year’s Day hanging on the bars of his windowsill. 

‘What are you doing here’, he mutters, untying the charm and running his thumb along its fraying seams. The charm obviously does not respond - it’s an inanimate object after all, but for some reason, he slips it in his pocket when he returns to the dorm when morning comes. 

The frequency of his dreams starts to increase. 

He’s back in her body, curled up under a pine tree on a cool autumn day. 

‘I can’t believe you convinced me to spend an afternoon running around like a forest nymph when we could be studying to ace your exams’.  There is a tinge of disdain in his words because he  knows  her grades are better than decent, though they’d be better if only she’d spend more time on her books instead of flower fields. 

‘Aww, a nymph? Someone’s feeling extra poetic today’, she teases lightly. 

‘Don’t try distracting me from the fact that you really should be studying’, he insists, displeased. 

‘I do study’  she protests, but he hums disbelievingly, the spectre of Waseda’s devilishly difficult entrance exam looming in his mind. 

‘Not enough to get into a decent university at this rate.’

‘I don’t want to go to university, Keiji, I’ve tried telling you this before’, she sighs. 

‘You don’t?’ 

‘Nope’  she responds, popping the word in her mouth. ‘I just want to sell flowers to people someday, is that so bad? It’s simple - they make people happy, and that makes me happy in turn. If we only have a lifetime to spend on this earth, shouldn’t we pursue what truly brings us joy instead of dreams others impose on us?’

‘ I suppose that makes sense’, he says, sounding vaguely convinced.

‘Course it does’, she responds easily, a smile flickering in her voice. ‘I always make sense. Now. Let’s not squabble, it’s my turn to tell you a story today’. 

So he listens, enthralled despite himself, as she spins tales of the Kodama, tree spirits dwelling in the ancient forest, how her mother taught her to always offer a prayer to the gods before chopping down a tree - and if the tree bleeds, to back away because it means it has a Kodama living, breathing within it. 

‘Are they real?’  he asks her, when she finishes a tale of a  Kodama who assumed human form after falling in love with a maiden blessed with cherry blossoms in her cheeks.

‘Of course they are’  she laughs. ‘If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear them sing. ’

He closes his eyes, but the forest remains eerily still. ‘ I don’t hear anything, ’ he says, disbelief colouring his tone. 

‘Maybe it’s because they know you don’t really believe in them yet.’

He wakes up with the scent of pine in his nose, the lingering touch of grass against the soles of his feet. 

‘Electricity is a fickle beast in this household, so the first thing you need to do when you come home is to light the fire in the irori. Even Toya-chan knows how to do that, and he’s eight!’  

He stares balefully at the sunken hearth lined with stone and filled with ash, situated right in the center of the old house.  ‘This is a fire hazard’, he tells her stubbornly. 

‘Fire is life, you spoilt city boy! It only becomes dangerous if you don’t respect it. Now come on, or you’ll end up freezing to death and I won’t be able to save you. I always keep a lighter in my pocket and in the store room there’s coal and if really necessary, some petrol I flinched from the petrol station – ‘

‘You better make sure the teachers don’t find your lighter and think you’ve been smoking – ‘ he interjects and she continues as if she doesn’t hear him. 

‘So you light the fire and hang the kettle from the iron hook, and voila! You can cook porridge or soup if electricity runs out and you can’t rely on the rice cooker or stove. And when the night is too cold to sleep in your room, you can drag your futon out here for warmth. It’s kinda nice, almost like camping. Now, let’s see you try lighting a fire yourself!’ 

Her fingers are thin and nimble, but they’re unfamiliar implements to him, so he fumbles with arranging the coal and scrap paper around damp wood. He has to resort to using a drip of petrol to coax the damp wood to ignite in flames but he counts it as a triumph anyway as fire dances in the sunken hearth.  

He can hear her cheer – ‘Congrats city boy!’ Ignoring the implied insult in her words, he smiles. 

He’s back in her skin again when her voice echoes in his mind. 

‘Y’know you’re not gonna be able to learn how to put on a bra if you don’t open your eyes when doing it right?’  she says, amusement ripe in her voice. ‘Every girl has tits, Keiji . If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen your dick ’. 

‘What?’ he yelps, eyes still stubbornly closed. 

‘How else was I supposed to use the urinals? Goodness, being a guy is so convenient when it comes to peeing, you just point and shoot - ’

‘Right, that’s too much information, thanks’, he huffs. 

‘Well, you’re gonna make me late for school if you don’t open your eyes’’, she sing songs, and he knows she’s banking on his reverence for punctuality and perfect attendance records to get him to look in the mirror, but he’s not sure it outweighs his mother’s lessons of being a gentleman.  

‘Keiji-kun ’, she says again, amused. ‘I do appreciate that you’re trying to protect my modesty, but those rules don’t really apply when we’re in a situation like this, you know? If it makes you feel better, I give you explicit permission to look at my breasts when strictly necessary.’

‘Can you not say it like that’, he grouses before cracking an eye open, somewhat persuaded, and somehow manages to snap the tiny hooks in place. ‘Bras are like torture devices’. 

‘Don’t I know it’, she chuckles.  ‘Be glad you only have to put up with it every once in a while’. 

He snorts, more comfortable once some semblance of her modesty is secured. ‘I’ll count my blessings then’. Twisting at the waist to zip up her skirt, his breath catches at a glimpse of freckles on her back in the mirror. He forgets he’s still standing in front of the mirror as his fingers idly ghost over the constellation, a spray of stardust on bare skin. 

‘Keiji ?’ she asks, confused. 

‘Sorry!’, he startles. ‘It’s just - I never noticed you had freckles on your back before.’

‘Yes - I’m aware I have them, and?’, she replies archly, and the irony that she’s completely fine with him staring at her breasts but not her back does not elude him, but he holds his tongue. 

‘They’re arranged in my favourite constellation’, he tells her honestly and he’s relived to hear her chuckle again. 

‘I’ll show you the real thing next time’, she promises, before switching seamlessly to berate him -  ‘And you can stop staring at my back now, we’re gonna be late for school! ’

The next day is spent wondering if he’s a creep for dreaming about half naked sixteen year old girls – even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about his dream. 

He sees her run through the woods like a fawn discovering spring for the first time, watches her come to a stop at an open clearing framed by trees. There is a shrine in the center of the clearing, cracked and covered in moss, but she approaches it reverently, dropping to her knees. 

‘There is old magic in this shrine’, she whispers, brushing leaves and branches away before laying her omamori down at the altar. ‘ Do you remember the wish you made? ’ 

‘I wished for more time - I got greedy and asked for yesterday to come again ’, he answers, voice hushed. 

‘And I wished for the exact opposite. I got impatient and asked tomorrow to arrive, as fast as it can ’, she replies, tilting her face up to the sun. 

‘I suppose that’s what happened ’, he says. ‘Our wishes got tangled up, and our bodies and souls got thrown through time and space’. 

‘Hm. Do you think we have souls, Keiji? ’ she asks him.

‘Yes  ’, he says, sounding perplexed. ‘What else would we be swapping?’  

‘What colour d’you think your soul is? ’ It’s a strange question, but he’s used to anticipating the unexpected from her. 

‘Blue. It reminds me of the summer sky ’, he replies.

‘Fitting’, she laughs with a cheeky grin on her face. ‘Since the sky is a star’s domain’. 

‘What about you’, he asks, so accustomed to ignoring her teasing about Bokuto-san. ‘What colour do you think your soul is?’

‘Yellow, I hope ’, she says dreamily. ‘It’s warmth and life - like flames lighting up wintry nights, or daffodils on the first day of spring’ .

He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the strange dreams hit him in full force right after he brings back the omamori. 

But Kenma’s right, he’s become strangely addicted to the narrative his dreams are showing him. It’s like the books he snuck under the covers at night, emerging bleary eyed in the morning because he was intent on seeing the story end. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, it makes him feel like that he - quiet, bookish Akaashi Keiji is the protagonist in the Ghibli movies that Bokuto-san makes him watch, so he doesn’t put up a fight against the dreams that re-invade his sleep.

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