#this kind of composition has been in my head for a hot minute.. glad to have finally drawn it

[wyrmswears]

forget with me

[tanookikiss]

Paul’s Birthday

Pairing: Tommy x Paul, Gene x Eric. S

Rating: T

Author’s note: So I’ve had this silly little fluffy idea in my head for about a month. I wasn’t sure if I was going to finish it in time, but I have some awesome friends to thank for that. Thank you @ashestoashesvvi  for offering me valuable art tips and suggestions for this story.

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Tommy looked forward to all special occasions. He adored gatherings, celebrating milestones with his loved ones. However, there was one special occasion in particular that the guitarist had been prepping for months: Paul’s birthday.

The Spaceman would be the first to admit his infatuation with The Starchild. Who could blame him? Paul was the whole package; smart, sexy, kind, and talented. The two had spent a lot of time together, bonding over their shared love of painting, and Tommy cherished every minute of it. He adored any chance to be with Paul, really, but there was something special and intimate about their art sessions. He had taught Paul a few tips here and there, and Paul took to it like a natural. 

Paul wasn’t just painting a canvas; he was baring his soul. His radiant smile sent butterflies a flutter throughout Tommy’s stomach when he mixed his paints. There was a childlike wonder that twinkled within those beautiful chocolate eyes as the brush met the canvas ever so delicately. Paul was soft and vulnerable. It was a side of himself that he shields from the world out of fear and that made Tommy sad. Paul was at his most beautiful whenever he could let go and create. And Tommy was determined to help set him free.

As the party guests were busy mingling in Paul’s living room, Tommy was busy setting up his grand gift display in the art studio. Gene and Eric distracted Paul while Tommy meticulously re-arranged the color palette to be perfect. Nothing was too good for his Paul. He smiled as he observed his display.

“Hey Tommy, if you want any cake you better hurry before Gene monopolizes the sweets table,” Eric announced, walking into the studio with a glass of champagne. “Holy shit! How many cans of paint did you buy!?” he exclaimed, nearly spilling his drink all over the floor.

“Seventy-two,” Tommy replied with pride. “All seventy-two colors of Liquitex Professional Acrylic Paint. It took me weeks to get every single color to complete the collection,” he gestured to the colorful pyramid display in the center of the room.

Eric blinked, completely gobsmacked at the impressive rainbow pyramid before him. “Of all the things you could’ve bought Paul, you spent weeks buying various fingerpaints!”

“This is the highest quality acrylic paint on the market. All of the great artists use this brand. It’s in very high demand!” Tommy blurted out, explaining his reasoning to the skeptic drummer.

Eric squinted his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s so special about it?”

Tommy carefully pulled a red bottle down from the display. He opened the top to show Eric the buttery red consistency inside. “Each color is uniquely formulated to bring out the brilliance and clarity of the individual pigment. It’s perfect for color mixing.”

Eric still couldn’t see what was so great about this overpriced paint. It looked like regular red paint to him, but he knew Tommy went to a lot of trouble to get it for Paul, and he knew how important it was for his friend, so he tried to be as cordial as he could, “Yeah, that red is…very red,” he smiled, patting Tommy on the back. “I’m sure Paul will love it.”

Tommy smiled back at his friend. “Paul is an artistic genius! He only deserves the best.”

Eric scratched his head while observing Paul’s latest painting titled, “Doors Of Perception” in confusion. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…I mean, this door looks more like a window!”

“I think it looks like a waffle.”

Tommy and Eric turned their heads to see Gene propped outside the door, munching on his cake.

Tommy shook his head. “You guys aren’t looking deep enough into the emotionally charged compositions. It’s Abstract Art. It’s not supposed to be realistic. The colors and shapes represent aesthetic ideas instead of natural forms.”

Gene and Eric gave each other a puzzled look with arched eyebrows before turning their attention back to their supposedly art connoisseur Spaceman.

“Then how do you explain this one?” Gene asked, pointing his fork to a canvas covered in brown smudges with a hint of blue and green along the edges.

Eric chuckled. “Let me guess…it’s supposed to be a window into the troubled soul of a starving artist,” he overdramatically stated, prompting a deep chuckle out of Gene.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “This one is not finished yet. Paul has been working on this piece for days now.”

Eric blinked. “It took him days to just randomly slap some brown, blue and green onto a canvas!?”

Tommy sighed. He honestly had no idea why he bothered trying to explain Abstract Art to these two unappreciative buffoons.

“Tommy? Are you back here?” Paul asked from outside the door.

In a hurry, Tommy put down the red bottle in the middle of the floor and scrambled to the door just before Paul could set foot into the room.

“Hey Paul,” he asked breathlessly, trying his best to block Paul’s view from his surprise.

Paul cocked his head curiously. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I thought you left,” he said sadly, twirling a nervous finger around his necklace clasp.

“No! Never! I would never leave you…err… leave the party,” Tommy fumbled, shaking his head. Eric snickered behind him. Tommy resisted the urge to swat at him.

“What are you all doing in my art studio?” Paul asked, noticing Gene and Eric standing behind Tommy.

Before Tommy could speak, Eric blurted out, “Tommy has a surprise for you!”

“Oh!” Paul’s eyes lit up, and there was that joy that Tommy loved so much. “You got me a surprise! You didn’t have to…but I am glad you did,” his grin blossomed into a huge smile, melting Tommy’s heart on the spot.

Paul reached out and grabbed Tommy’s hand, pulling him out of the room. “We’re about to open presents in the living room. I didn’t want to start without you,” he said softly. Tommy blushed and followed Paul’s lead eagerly, ignoring Eric and Gene’s playful taunts the entire way back.

Once inside the living room, everyone gathered around Paul as he opened up his various exquisite gifts from Rolex watches to fine silk bed sheets.

“Alright, this is from Gene,” Paul said, picking up a random present from the table.

“Ha! Oh, this is going to be good,” Eric snorted, smacking his gum loudly. Gene gave Eric a stern look, which the Catman only gave a cheeky smirk in return.

Paul unwrapped the present, only to find a box. He opened the box and saw what looked like a wooden knife block with a knife in it. Paul pulled the knife out, dropping it in horror.

“Ah! What the hell, Gene?”

“What? It’s a Nesmuk! Didn’t you say you wanted one?” Gene crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow.

“Yes, I did, but why the hell is it stained red?” Paul asked in disgust.

Everyone eyed the suspicious red substance all over the knife blade and then looked up at Gene with weirded out expressions.

“What? It’s just strawberry jam. Eric didn’t wash the dishes so I had to use the knife to make a sandwich,” Gene explained casually.

“So, instead of just washing a butter knife yourself you just used the expensive fine German cutting knife?” Eric laughed in between loud gum smacks.

“Uh, yeah, it’s still a utensil!” Gene defended abrasively.

“Well, um, thanks Gene,” Paul said with an obvious forced smile. He then reached for another gift in the pile.

“This one is from Eric,” Paul said, reading the tag.

Eric grinned in excitement as Paul unwrapped his gift.

“It’s a Nick Fouquet hat! By why is it flat?” he pouted, examining the squished black hat with a few dented blue feathers on the side.

“Gene accidentally sat on it,” Eric replied with crossed arms.

Gene merely shrugged as he continued munching on his chocolate cake.

Paul put the hat aside. “We should all head up to my studio. Apparently, Tommy has a marvelous surprise for me that I’m just dying to see,” he grinned at Tommy.

“I wanted to save the best for last,” he whispered in Tommy’s ear, causing the younger man to blush as he led the group up to Paul’s art studio.

Everyone oooh’d and ahhh’d over the beautiful acrylic paint display, but no one was more intrigued than Paul, of course.

“Is this the entire Liquitex Professional Acrylic Paint collection?” Paul asked in awe, circling around the magnificent seventy-two canned pyramid like an excited child on Christmas morning. “You got all of this for me!?”

Tommy couldn’t stop the large grin from spreading across his face even if he wanted to. “Yeah, I sure did.”

Without warning Paul pulled Tommy into a tight loving hug. “Thank you so much, Tommy! I love it!” he cheered, kissing Tommy on the cheek. “He taught me how to paint!” the birthday boy bragged to everyone in the room. Tommy’s cheeks burned hot as he leaned closer into the warm embrace. He wished he could stay in this position with Paul forever.

Breaking away from the hug, Paul still kept his arms around Tommy. “I want to test the colors out on a blank canvas,” he smiled, turning to grab a clean canvas.

As Paul was carrying a large canvas over, Tommy noticed the lone red paint can he had left in the middle of the floor carelessly. Quickly, he rushed over to retrieve the can to prevent Paul from tripping over it, but, unfortunately, Tommy’s foot caught a nearby easel causing him to lose his balance. Everything happened so fast. Before Tommy could get his wits about him, his arms, hands, the floor, and the unfinished painting were covered in red paint.

Surprised gasps filled the room as everyone grew quiet, staring down the clumsy guitarist.

“Nice fall, Grace!” Eric bellowed out loud, breaking the awkward silence.

“Did you have a nice trip?” Gene chimed in, making the already embarrassing situation ten times worse!

Tommy’s face flushed red. “I’m s...so sorry!” He stood up wobbly, looking around for some paper towels. He felt delirious as if he was trapped in some sort of nightmare.

“My painting!” Paul cried out, dropping the new canvas to rush over to inspect the damage done on his precious art work.

That precious glimmer in his eyes had dulled. That beautiful radiant smile had become a frown. That look of disappointment plastered on his face would forever haunt Tommy in his dreams. Several nosy bystanders had snapped out of their trance, rushing over with paper towels to help clean up the mess.

“Paul, I’m sorry,” Tommy’s voice cracked, staring at the other man helplessly.

Paul didn’t even look at him. He just stood motionless, staring at the ruined painting in silence. Tommy couldn’t bear it anymore and rushed off to the nearby bathroom, turning on the water faucet and pumping lots of soap into his hands. With a sad sigh, he scrubbed his hands and arms in the soapy water with fury. He wanted nothing more than to erase the evidence of his great blunder. The bright red paint residue mixed with the white soap had turned into a hideous pinkish color stained onto his skin. Who was he kidding? It would take days for this accursed color to come out. Just another painful daily reminder of how he ruined Paul’s birthday.

Tommy held his head down in shame, feeling completely ashamed and angry at himself for what had happened. He knew Paul had worked hard on that painting. All those relentless hours down the drain and all because of one careless mistake.

Paul knocked on the bathroom door before entering. “Tommy? Are you alright?”

Tommy took a deep breath and faced Paul. “Paul, I’m so sorry I ruined your painting. I just feel awful for what I did.”

“Ruined it?” Paul blinked at him. “You just made it even better.”

Tommy looked over in confusion. He wasn’t expecting that kind of response out of Paul. “What do you mean?”

Paul grinned, putting a plaster tool in Tommy’s hand. “Come on, we both started this, let’s finish it together.”

Tommy followed Paul back into the studio and observed the painting. The red and brown had mixed into a gorgeous burgundy color with hints of blue and green on the edges. The guests were buzzing around the painting like bees to honey, commenting on what a superb color that was. Gene and Eric stood dumbfounded, unable to figure out what everyone was so excited about. Gently, Paul put his hand on Tommy’s hand, guiding the plaster tool onto the canvas. Everyone watched closely as the two men moved like one. In one swift motion they had melded the gorgeous deep reddish colored form into a heart shape.

“Beautiful,” Paul whispered, his eyes surveying the gorgeous masterpiece.

Tommy nodded in agreement. “Beautiful,” he agreed.

Paul looked up to see that Tommy wasn't looking at the painting but at him instead. The two leaned in closer, sharing a gentle kiss.

~There are no mistakes, only happy accidents~ Bob Ross

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 20: The Actress Drops Her Mask

[edited to add my cover because a couple people liked the last one]

“What a terrible composition.” Several minutes into the sonata, a man standing nearby begins to complain. “I don’t understand why the host likes him so much, that hornswoggler can’t even play well.”

I turn to the man, and raise an eyebrow upon seeing the rounded, short-nailed fingers gripping his glass close to his face. A jealous pianist, no doubt. And a very drunk one, too.

“Really? I’ve heard some people claim him to be Mozart reborn,” I say, nonchalant, and hold back a smile. If only he knew. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying attention to us.

“Then those people are imbeciles!” he declares angrily before downing what’s left in his glass. After he regains his composure, he gets uncomfortably close to me. “What is a belle mademoiselle like yourself doing all alone here?”

Shit, apparently some men will be gross regardless of the time’s customs.

“Actually, I came here with...”

Halfway through my sentence, I spot Shakespeare talking to another gentleman, not too far from us. I wave my hand in the air to catch his attention, and soon he is walking towards us.

“Guillaume!” I exclaim, and curl my arm around his. “You know I hate it when you leave me alone like that, my love.” Unfazed by my whining, he plays along without missing a beat and reaches up to stroke my cheek.

“My sweet rose, thou knowest I shall always come back to thee. For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.” I recognize the quote from one of his plays, but I fail to remember which one.

“Oh, Guillaume, you’re making me blush!” I pull him closer, effortlessly playing the role of the smitten lover, and lean up to whisper into his ear through a fake smile. “Get me out of here.”

“Let us go out into the balcony, my dearest Anaïs,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist. “We shall find more privacy there, where thou shall need not whisper these sweet nothings that make my heart flutter.”

The second we set foot outside, hidden from view, I let go and step away from him.

“Thanks,” I say before taking a much needed sip of champagne. “That man is green with envy, it was insufferable. By the way, I hate roses,” I chuckle, remembering the nickname he gave me.

“But thy beauty is that of the most lovely flower. Besides, it is always my pleasure to aid a damsel in distress,” he smiles, and I roll my eyes. A damsel in distress? Please, I practically dragged him here.

I look inside to make sure no one is watching, and proceed to set my glass on the stone railing and lift the hem of my dress, this time to grab the box of cigarillos tied to my left leg. Shakespeare observes me in silence, and shakes his head when I offer one. I light mine and lean on the balustrade, inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Thou art full of surprises, Anaïs,” he finally speaks. “I knew when I laid eyes upon thee that thou art not an ordinary woman.” I perk up and look at him.

“Did le Comte not tell you? I’m from the 21st century.”

“I was aware of thou being a guest of his, but he neglected to mention thou hadst traveled through time as well,” he says, his mismatched eyes shining with curiosity. They almost look like they’re glowing, like a cat’s. He gives me a tilted smile. “Thou art quite the actress, I must say.”

I playfully take a bow, stifling a laugh.

“You’re not too bad yourself. Although I should expect nothing less, from the great Bard of Avon himself,” I say, lifting the cigarillo to my lips. I thoughtfully look out from the balcony and breathe out the smoke before turning to face him again, my eyes narrowed. “Did you write ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ as a tragedy or a comedy?”

“A tragedy,” he answers immediately, and a satisfied smile grows on my face.

“Carlos owes me 50 pounds.” He tilts his head at my celebratory statement. “I just won a bet against a friend,” I explain. “There is a lot of debate in the future about how the play is supposed to be interpreted. The general consensus is that it’s a comedy. My friend Carlos studies literature, and he thinks the misogyny portrayed is just a product of its time, but I always thought you were making a point. Same for ‘Romeo and Juliet’. Isn’t that one a comedy?”

“Of course, what else could it be?” he laughs.

“See? They got everything backwards.” I sip my champagne. “Two literal children commit suicide after knowing each other for... what, like three days? Yet people still see it as the epitome of romance. I don’t get it.”

“Most people lacketh the insight to see what thou see, it appears. Which is why I only base my plays on those whom are extraordinary, for I have lost interest in the unremarkable dealings of lesser gents.” He pauses and glances at the ballroom. “It soundeth like Mozart hath ended his performance.”

He’s right, the music has stopped. I put out my cigarillo and return the box to its place under my dress.

“I better go before he starts looking for me. I enjoyed our talk, William.” I smile and excuse myself with a nod before heading back inside.

I discard my glass on a nearby table when spot him in the crowd, receiving the praises of a small group of people. Were it not for his striking white hair, I don’t think I would have recognized him. He’s acting like a completely different person.

“I do not deserve your kind words, monsieur,” he tells one of the men, the same one with the beard that went on the stage before. I assume he is the host of the ball. He puts his arm around my back when I enter the circle. “This is my companion, Anaïs Bertran,” he introduces me with a charming smile I did not think he was capable of.

“Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle Bertran,” he greets me, taking my hand when I hold it out. By now, I have learned the basics of social etiquette in this period. “When I heard you were a guest of my dear friend Saint Germain I could not wait to have you here,” he tells me. I guess ‘Guillaume’ filled him in on some details. “Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself! Pardon me, mademoiselle. Marcel Rossignol, at your disposal.”

“Thank you for inviting me, monsieur Rossignol,” I say with a polite smile. “Tonight has been lovely so far”

“I am glad to hear that. It is about to get even better. I trust you like waltz?”

Before I can answer, the small band that now takes up the stage begins playing, and ‘Wolfram Theophilus Perti’ extends his hand for me to take, to the delight of the group, who observe us in fascination.

“Will you dance with me, Anaïs?”

“It would be my pleasure, Wolf.” I take his hand and he guides me to the center of the ballroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear I just saw a young lady swoon, and I can’t help but quietly agree with the sentiment. With his insufferably haughty attitude kept in check, Mozart seems to be quite the charmer. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful he is.

He leads effortlessly, and I follow his impeccably coordinated steps with his hand on my waist and mine on his shoulder. The dance itself is easy, like skating without the wheels. Once he knows I can keep up, he twirls us into increasingly elaborate moves, carefully avoiding other couples that have joined us.

“I am surprised you haven’t tripped yet,” he says, suddenly reminding me who my dance partner is.

“God, you’re the worst.”

He sends me on a spin with incredible speed, which I interpret as retaliation for my remark. This is his passive aggressive way of challenging me.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I ask once we slow down.

“My father was always strict and obsessed with perfection. Socializing is part of being a musician, especially when the aristocracy is involved. I hate it with a passion, but I do what I have to. For the music.”

“Oh.” This is the most he’s ever talked to me, and I don’t really know how to respond. Before I can think of something to say, he ends our brief conversation by spinning me around once again.

By the time the song ends, I need to catch my breath. Mozart’s surprising agility is incredibly hard to keep up with, and I am exhausted from the effort it took to prove him wrong and avoid stepping on his feet. It was undeniably fun, however, and I enjoyed the challenge. The next song is slower, which provides a much needed break for my concentration and an excellent opportunity to keep talking. I am intrigued by this beautiful man, and his cold demeanor just makes me want to tear down his walls even more.

“I like how passionate you are about what you do,” I tell him. “I wish I was more like you in that sense.” I mean every word of it. Mozart is so devoted to his music that he has become one with it, to the point of using it as his language. During the week and a half that I have stayed at the mansion, I couldn’t help but notice how his emotions are so clearly displayed through the songs he plays. When I bring him hot chocolate, his melodies tend to become light and comforting. A few days ago, his music sheets flew out the window of his room. After I went to return them, the notes became fast and aggressive, because he was upset that the papers had become soiled from falling in the garden. What he feels is bare for all to hear, despite how emotionless he acts. One only needs to listen.

“Why?” he simply asks. It’s like he can’t understand what I am saying.

“What do you mean, why?” He just stares blankly at me as we keep dancing. At least he is no longer spinning until I get dizzy. “To have something to live for. To have a purpose,” I answer. To me, it’s obvious. “I’m just going through the motions, you know? Like waltz. I take the same steps every day, just to keep moving. I breathe, I eat, and I sleep. I water the flowers, I read... And all for what? I just feel like I keep waiting for something, but I have no idea what that is. I’ll be stuck in this pointless cycle until the day I die.”

I want to blame the champagne on an empty stomach, but to be fair, he’s the one who asked. After making me realize how tired I am of pretending, no less. Everything’s fine, I tell myself, ignoring every single thing that makes it not fine. In truth, I am merely surviving, keeping myself busy to forget how much I wish I could just... become a lump of moss, or something. That would be an easier existence. No consciousness, no problems.

“You sound like Jean.” I have no idea what that means, but I don’t bother to ask. “It’s not pointless... You make good chocolate.”

I chuckle at the compliment. This is the first positive thing Mozart has ever said to me. I look up at him as we dance, and am surprised to see him smile. It is so faint, but undoubtedly genuine this time, and the light tug at the corners of his mouth makes me feel better. I am starting to like him.

“That shall be my newfound purpose, then,” I joke, mirroring his smile. “Making you chocolate.”

The song comes to an end, and Mozart leads me away from the dance floor. He finds Rossignol and lets him know that we must leave, before thanking him for the evening. Though it is still early, I don’t complain. I think I want to get out of here too.

[cenobiavigantzky]

Wraith's Last Flight

EMISSION WARNING

The warning tone that accompanied those words echoed in the mindscape of the diminutive pilot. His shell smiled in the enclosed cockpit, a mental command diverting power from the main reactor to the supercapacitors in the cargo hold.

“Etel, they’re inside maximum range.” Rence exhaled nervously, finger hovering over the button that’d release the magnetic clamps holding his craft to the underside of his partner’s, his other hand firmly gripping the control yoke.

“I know.” The voice coming over the comms was synthesized- it could only be, after all. Still, the mischievous tone told his fellow mercenary all he needed to know.

He was going to pull that stunt. Again. 

“Could you go a single job without giving me a gorramn heart attack out of worry?” His Remora-class Interceptor’s sensors were cold, but the datalink with his partner’s Cetorhinus-class Transport told him all he needed to know. The red dots were getting concerningly close.

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I just want to make your job easier, after all.” Four chimes let the support pilot know that their trap was ready to be sprung. He chuckled darkly, watching the activation prompt overlap his sensor suite.

“Etel!” Before the taller pilot could argue further, the cargo bay doors atop the small transport starship flung open violently, barely preceding a thunderous discharge of directed radiation covering the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Four sensor signatures changed from red to gray.

Dozens of kilometers away, raider crews cursed and swore at the middling, seemingly innocuous escort craft that’d just fried every component in their ships. Even the main reactors entered their safety shutdown mode to avoid loss of plasma containment, a system present in every spacefaring vessel to save the lives of the crew in case of catastrophic system failure.

Sadly for the meticulously designed machine, its efforts would soon be made moot.

“See? Perfectly safe. Go get them, tiger.” The flirtatious voice was Rence’s clue to bring his Interceptor’s own modules hot and maneuver out from its hiding position. He felt the carefully calibrated resistance of the main trigger under his right index while the acceleration pushed him into the seat.

A thought from within a composite coffin opened up a new communications channel. “Logistar Three-Three-Seven-Four-Niner, this is Cormorant One. Bandits are no factor. You’re cleared for thruster relight, over.” 

On the other side of the small transport from the currently ongoing one-sided massacre, three circles of blue light came to life, each dwarfing either of the escort craft. From Etel’s point of view, the very horizon seemed to be shifting thanks to millions of tonnes of spacecraft laboriously changing relative velocity to himself. Slowly but inexorably, the worn but well kept engines pushed the lumbering metal giant onwards through its journey.

---------------------------------------------------

Unruly brown hair whipped in the wind against a young man’s face in the mild bustle of the Starport. Distant announcements echoed off the featureless gray walls, people and cargo moving about in the typical languid pace of a small, far-flung colony of a budding agrarian world. 

His task of hangaring the ships finished almost a quarter of an hour ago, there was nothing for Cormorant Two to do but wait.

Halfhearted daydreams of distant retirement were interrupted by a smaller arm touching his for a second, the holographic display of his personal wrist computer showing the infusion of funds to his account. If one were to look closely, they’d notice the synthetic nature of the body that barely came up to his chest- as it was, its owner smiled up at him.

“We got a nice bonus from the salvage crews. Next job is in four days.” Etel’s silver hair bobbed in front of him while the fellow pilot skipped ahead happily. Rence sighed, removing himself from leaning back against a support pillar with a groan of effort to catch up.

It would be nice if his body didn’t feel twenty years older than it actually was.

The fake leather of his worn aviator jacket rustled with each step- perhaps something that could be avoided were him to take his hands out of its pockets. Too bad, they were warm, and would stay warm.

A lithe arm from his longtime friend wrapped around one of his the moment they were side by side, falling in step with the practice of a dancing duo. Which he supposed they were, in a generously metaphorical way. “Just dealing with that took you so long?”

Gentle, androgynous features sharpened in mock offense when looking up at him. “Of course not, doofus. Networking, negotiating, mingling with the locals- you know this operation isn’t just blowing up helpless idiots. Your job is the latter because you have the social skills of a recluse porcupine.” 

A beatific- and notoriously fake- smile now coloured Etel’s face. “Little people person me’s job is to keep this whole thing running. Which is why you have to make do with my absence for an hour or two every once in a while.” A hand came to his forehead in mock despair. “I know, it’s a peerless tragedy, my love. But I’m afraid fate has cursed us so.”

Rence didn’t bother rolling his eyes, relying on the utterly flat tone of his response to convey the necessary sarcasm. “Yes, my pain is unimaginable every time.” 

Truth be told, he couldn’t help but worry when his partner was alone. But said partner already knew that, so admitting it would be pointless teasing fodder.

---------------------------------------------------

“I’ll get a large house’s special. Thanks.” The lights of the small colony clawed futilely at the dark abyss through the windows of the small family diner. Perhaps one day, they would be a match; but that day had not arrived quite yet.

“And you, kid?” The older woman behind the front bar turned to Etel, whomst happily sipped his sweetened drink- made with something local, he didn’t quite ask. -while still leaning against his partner in crime, even while both were sitting at stools.

“Oh, don’t mind me Ma’am, I’ll just steal some of his.” The apparent young teenager shook his head, smiling happily. Said happiness coming from the fact that Rence’s jacket was wrapped around him, taking the worse off the chill that still bit through the connection suit. 

He could have gotten his civvie clothes out of the Cetorhinus, but there was little reason to when the option of simply abusing his wingman’s kindness was available.

That, and the jacket with the names of every member of Cormorant cheaply printed on its back held a very special meaning for both of them- slowly falling apart or not. Perhaps the universe’s way of displaying metaphorical irony at its own tragedies.

Before long, the brown haired pilot leaned closer still, doing his best to appear inconspicuous- and failing horribly at it, but perhaps the intention is what counted.

“Another one giving me the side-eye.” At least his whispering skills were not so bad to have the entire establishment hear it.

“Well, to be fair, to the unattentive eye it does look like you’re planning on doing something exceedingly illegal with me.” Etel smirked, offering a sip of the pink coloured liquid in his cup to the other man, who warily took a small sample before grimacing.

“Spirits, I’ll never know how you manage to find the most sickeningly sweet thing in every place we go to.” Rence gladly returned the glass to its rightful owner. 

“And yeah, the whole ‘funny misunderstanding’ angle kinda lost its luster to me after the fourth time someone called the police. We’ve had the credits for an adult-type shell for years now, you know.”

“I know.” The flight leader responded nonchalantly. “But it’s not my style. It just wouldn’t be me.” He winked at his partner. “Besides, you wouldn’t like it as much either; I know what makes you tick.” 

“I wouldn’t mind. It’d still be you.” The silver haired ‘kid’ looked at his companion, sighing wistfully. “I guess you just can’t help it when your heart is wrapped around my finger like that, can you?” 

Despite the teasing tone, his eyes held genuine fondness towards the taller man. Quite how he managed to make a shell express such complex, minute emotions; would forever be a mystery. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just do the usual.” 

Turning around, Etel made a show of stretching his body, one hand deliberately holding his shoulder length hair aside from the back of the neck. He smiled in success at hearing the small pause in cooking noises.

It meant the older woman had noticed the data ports that marked his body as, without a doubt, artificial. The surreptitious way he’d developed to disarm thoughts that Rence was some sort of abuser without bringing up the topic itself and making a scene had yet to fail them once.

Truth be told, convincing local constabularies to let the man go had indeed gotten somewhat old.

The first drops of rain touched the ground outside, refracting the meager lights of the colony on their way down. Distant points became blurs, joining the white noise of the mounting shower. Rence turned around on his stool, noticing his partner’s lost gaze into the distance. He knew why, of course.

It always rained in Pascia. An eternal downpour that hid the military spaceport where they’d met, both having been offered a better life in exchange for their efforts in the war. Them, and dozens more children, none older than twelve cycles. Innocents to be turned into pilots, to push the limits of what humans could achieve in the heavens-

-or so they’d been told. Sometimes the taller pilot wondered if the small, unmarked graves he and Etel had made in one of the hills overlooking the landing strips still stood. The members of Cormorant deserved better. They all did. Rence wrapped an arm around the shorter man, gently pulling him closer and rubbing his shoulder.

His flight leader might still blame himself for it. He’s just glad the graves stopped at six.

The sound of ceramic being placed on hardwood brought the pair’s attention back to the front bar. “Here you go. And I’m sorry for-” The older woman trailed off, embarrassed to admit her initial misconception by name. A wistful sigh preceded a warm smile framed by silver hair. “We understand, Ma’am. It’s not the first time.”

The other pilot nodded in agreement, taking the warm plate filled with a mix of vegetables and meat, local and not. “Thanks.” He didn’t even know what most of them were, but Etel had picked the place- that was reason enough to trust it.

The hours of the night passed inexorably, further diminishing the number of people inside the diner. Most had either left or moved upstairs for the night, but the pair couldn’t quite bring themselves to just yet. 

It possibly had something to do with the way Rence held him, arms wrapped around from behind, pulling his smaller body close in the comfortable booth. It was his place of peace, of being able to actually enjoy the soothing sound of rainfall with the one person he loved at his side.

The spell was only broken when the sound of ice clinking against glass interrupted the comfortable silence- one that came from his right arm starting to shake. A disappointed huff escaped his plump lips. He could feel a larger hand enveloping his, diminishing the unwanted movement.

But not stopping it.

“Getting bad?” It wasn’t the first, tenth, or hundredth time the issue had reared its annoying head, but the sweet, caring fool’s voice held just as much concern as the first happenstance of the event. 

At least by now he understood it, so Etel didn’t feel so guilty about making his partner worry pointlessly- though at this point he also knew that it could keep happening for a hundred years, and Rence would still worry to some degree. It was just one of the conditions of their relationship.

“Yeah. I should still be able to walk, but it’s better if we turn in now. I don’t want to have you snapping your spine carrying my shell upstairs.” A shaking elbow poked the taller man’s midsection, the usual cocky smile adorning the flight leader’s face once again. 

No matter how many times he told his wingman that the episodes didn’t trigger actual pain, they’d still probably never believe him.

Two taps on the table and a hand signal was all the brown haired pilot needed to inform the owner that she could close shop. Etel preempted her offer while Rence helped him walk towards the stairs to the side of the bar. 

“N-not real-lly. B-but thank-k you. I’ll be fi-ine.” The words were stuttered and clipped, but at least came out. He was thankful for her kindness, but there was really nothing she could do to help. It’d spread to most of his body by then, but at least his legs were still working. 

For now.

---------------------------------------------------

For small blessings- not that such beliefs were common anymore- the pair were able to make it to their assigned room for the night before the silver haired flight lead lost complete control of his body, cybernetic as it may be. The taller of the two held him close in bed while the shaking worsened to the point where it was easier for Etel to simply use his auxiliary speakers.

His teeth were clattering too hard to do otherwise.

“Thanks, Rence.” The voice was less natural than his normal one, but the other man didn’t mind. He just continued to hold his partner. 

“I just wish I could do more.” The wingman whispered.

“You’re already doing everything that you can. It really helps, and you know this doesn’t actually hurt; it’s just annoying.” 

Slowly, the shorter pilot managed to fight the shaking enough to wrap his arms around his lover. Even though his own body was thermally controlled to match a human’s- a perk of this specific type of shell- Rence’s warmth was still immensely soothing. 

A sudden, synthesized chuckle cut through the tense atmosphere of the room.

“Sometimes I wonder what the two of us back in flight training would react like if they could see us today.” 

Etel could feel the smile forming against his hair. “I’d be very confused. You’d probably just grin.”

---------------------------------------------------

Ten Years Earlier

The young pilot to be groaned at the display showing the results of the latest Electronic Warfare aptitude test. He hadn’t placed badly by any means- second place out of several dozen participants was more than respectable. 

The other kids around him chalked the reaction down to an overdeveloped sense of competitiveness- which he was known for almost as much as his inability to socialize in any way, shape or form.

The real reason being he’d placed just below his roommate, therefore losing the bet they’d made. Their egos had clashed from day one, helped in no small part thanks to opposing personalities. Time only made the issue worse by having the two leapfrog each other in every test, whether practical or theoretical.

They had finally been able to come to a ceasefire of sorts by using bets to disarm the tension, the latest being that the loser would need to obey a single order from the winner, no matter what. Rence had been the winner of the last one, using his wish to have Etel clean their room- childish, perhaps, but he could not come up with anything else.

The taller teenager steeled himself for the inevitable revenge, stepping into their shared dwelling. He was met by silver hair that framed an expression of a metaphorical cat that had caught the canary.

“I see someone checked the results.” The shorter trainee’s voice was overflowing with mirth- which only made the other more nervous.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with. Want me to get stuff done this time?” Rence closed the door, leaning back against it and crossing his arms in an unconscious effort to show resistance. Grey light illuminated the small room through the window, having fought valiantly through the eternal clouds that covered Pascia.

Quite why someone had picked a planet like this for a military aerospace base would forever befuddle him.

Long eyelashes blinked mischievously at him, the purple eyes behind them studying him from below from several angles while their owner hummed in thought. After a long moment, Etel spoke. 

“A kiss.” His smile broke into a full-on grin.

The brown haired roommate blinked for several seconds, running the absurdity of the request over in his mind. His response was peerlessly eloquent.

“I- what- why!?”

A head tilted in front of his chin- they’d been around the same height at the start, but his growth spurt was leaving the other teenager behind easily.

“Because it’s what I want. Or are you going to back off the very first time you lost?” The sheer self-satisfaction emanating from his rival was almost physical in its intensity.

“I just-” Rence sighed, looking away while blood slowly crept up to his cheeks at the thought. “If that’s all you want, you could literally ask any of the girls. Or half of the guys. They’d all jump at the chance.”

An index pressed against Etel’s cheek theatrically, looking up in fake thought. “I guess that’s true.” It was, and they both knew it. 

While most people steered clear of the antisocial prodigy, the other trainee who led the rankings in just as many exercises was a magnet for people, both thanks to his ability to easily talk with anyone about seemingly anything, and the way his appearance seamlessly mixed male and female characteristics- a recipe to being the object of affection or desire to many in the training program.

That fact only made his specific request all the more odd.

“But they’re them. You’re you.” Somehow, that explanation made complete sense for the shorter kid. How, Rence had no idea. 

“And why me?” His confusion had reached a peak. 

“I have no idea.”  Etel smiled innocently, closing his eyes in cheekiness. His rival groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead in frustration. It was always like that with him, which was no small part of the initial friction between the two.

At least he was getting used to it. Or so he thought.

Rence sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it, I guess.” From a completely neutral point of view, he had to admit that the silver haired teenager was attractive- but with his focus entirely on personal performance, what anyone looked like was simply not something the taller kid cared about; hormones be damned.

The way his heart rate skyrocketed when Etel physically placed Rence’s arms around his thinner waist, at the sensation of smaller hands wrapping themselves around his shoulders and an unfairly androgynous face tilting up to reach his own- 

-said neglected hormones were merciless in their revenge for being ignored for so long. Still, he tried his best to swallow away the desire to hold the smaller form in his arms tighter.

Brown eyes widened in puzzlement at the touch of a small tongue against dry lips, fruitlessly trying to find explanation in half-lidded purple orbs. Was that how kisses worked? It’s not like he had one before, but the few times he’d seen them in vids were decidedly not like this. 

That’s not to say it didn’t feel nice, rather the opposite. 

Softer lips started making contact with his, causing a sigh to escape his nose; the larger body slowly relaxing and adapting to the new situation- like it always did. 

While Etel achieved his performance through analysis and solving of problems, Rence’s forte was instinctively doing what ‘felt right’ instead of any explicable line of thought. Much to the frustration of many an instructor.

When a smaller tongue started caressing a larger one, neither cadets were paying attention to anything else but the sensations of their bodies together, their warmth flowing from one another, the combined scent. What both thought would not last 20 seconds had gone on for far longer- just how long, none could say.

Judging at how swollen both sets of lips were when they finally came apart, gasping for air; far too long and at the same time not nearly long enough. 

Etel smiled with a mix of mischievousness and satisfaction, carefully wiping errant saliva from the kiss away with his thumb. “Not bad. I’m looking forward to next time.” His voice left no questions that there would be a next time. 

By the time Rence’s mind had cleared, the shorter male was already laying in the lower bunk that he’d long since declared his possession, nonchalantly browsing the base’s intranet in his portable comm. The taller teenager cleared his throat and tried to busy himself with something, anything in his rucksack.

“What do you mean by that?” His voice cracking was bad enough, he didn’t need his rival seeing that his face was still as red as a tomato.

“Hmm, I wonder.” A lighthearted, musical tone was all the answer he got.

There was a next time, of course. If there was something Etel was better at than piloting, it was always getting what he wanted. Before long, the pretense of bets was dropped entirely, rivalry replaced by tentative connections which further evolved into genuine affection- and further exploration of said connections, of course. They were teenagers after all.

Teenagers about to be sent into war.

---------------------------------------------------

Six Years Earlier

“They’ve got a lock! I can’t-” Garbled noises interrupted Cormorant Six’s final transmission before her craft broke apart under sustained autocannon fire. Etel’s teeth nearly cracked from the tension they were under.

What was once a squadron of eighth fighters was now down to two units, and only because the jamming support and its wingman were to stay outside direct engagement range to safely act as force multipliers.

All around them, peerless works of engineering, from nimble interceptors to kilometers-long behemoths broke up under sustained assault by equally beautiful machines, masterworks of humanity set alight in the dark seas of space. Its masters and guides offered in sacrifice with their creations to the species’s never ending struggle with themselves.

A sight equally beautiful as it was tragic.

The worst part is that he’d warned command about this. Their jamming was getting less and less effective with every new battle, while the enemy’s was only improving. It was only a matter of time before their biggest advantage was nullified, no matter how much he fiddled with the frequencies and settings of his craft’s electronic warfare suite. 

The silver haired squad leader had simply been able to delay the inevitable.

“Wraith, what should we do?” Rence had dutifully covered his six during the entire flight, not that it had been necessary for once. With its main capability neutered, a single craft maneuvering just outside the furball wasn’t an especially important target.

Unfortunately, said furball, now firmly dominated by the enemy, was their only path out of the slaughter. The sheer amount of weapons fire and debris all around the remains of Cormorant Squadron made any other avenue of escape implausible at best, impossible at worst.

“Etel?” For the first time, he heard something in his- what were they, even? Partners? Boyfriends? Neither of them had bothered to find a word to describe their relationship. They simply never thought it necessary. 

But for the first time, Rence’s voice was tinged by fear.

A support fighter and a space superiority craft against eight dedicated interceptors. No matter how good they were, those odds would end with the complete destruction of Cormorant Squadron. He would die. 

But most importantly, Rence would die. Just like Peton, Clouise, Thilly, Mildra, Tera and Ryne had before him.

In the heart of a maelstrom of steel, polymers, fire and ceramic that stretched for hundreds of kilometers in every direction, Etel pulled out the onboard systems access keyboard of his craft. 

“Fang, stay outside of their weapons range. I’ll clear a path.” His wingman’s stomach turned to ice when he noticed the jamming module passing by above his cockpit- ejected from his flight leader’s craft.

Said leader hovered a finger over the button to activate a batch file he’d prepared one day. ‘Leaf on the wind.’ It was completely suicidal, but he never figured he’d need to actually use it. Perhaps the mere existence of it tempted fate. More likely, it was simply a consequence of the lives they’d chosen.

Either way, it tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Etel, what are you doing? You can’t take them on alone! Let me help!” Cormorant Two tried increasing engine power to get back in a position to protect the other craft, but his throttle refused to move. The message in one of his displays felt like a strike to the gut.

LEAD CRAFT OVERRIDE_

“I’m sorry, Rence. I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Etel felt his body be pressed painfully against the back of the seat while his targeting solution switched to manual. His systems were awash with warning messages, many of which were supposed to be a death sentence to both spacecraft and pilot. 

He’d just need to find out for sure.

FLIGHT ASSISTANCE OFF

G LIMITER OFF

ENGINE LIMITER OFF

OVERVOLTAGE PROTECTION OFF

REACTOR LIMITER OFF

THERMAL PROTECTION DISABLED_

‘Fang’ watched in mute horror while the craft he was supposed to protect sped towards the waiting enemies- glowing specks of thrust chamber lining trailing in its wake, mingling with the stars beyond even while the fighter they came from slowly but surely began to come apart from the inside out.

Machine and man flew together as one for the first, and last, time- a bittersweet song of violence and art, unbound by future or fear. Writing their hope of survival for their beloved with glowing tracers and leaking plasma against the cold of the abyss, creating maneuvers with no names for the sake of simply staying alive just one more moment, dodging one more round to open a path.

But for each opponent fallen, the price was paid with draining shields, glancing blows, failing systems and venting atmosphere. By the time Rence saw a second burst of metal and sparks cut their way across Cormorant One’s cockpit, the warnings about pilot heart rate and erratic inputs no longer reached his ears. 

He didn’t know when the datalink with Wraith finally failed, only that the override was lifted and the one remaining enemy who hadn’t disengaged was lining up for a firing solution on the one person he had left in the world- on the wounded spaceship with more parts missing than not, desperately trying to maneuver with one engine and failing systems. 

Trying to make sure the taller pilot would survive, at the cost of itself. The most selfless act of selfishness- for the living are those who need to carry the sorrow. Leading the nose of his fighter ahead of the Interceptor about to end Wraith’s tale, a man at the heart of a storm shouted ‘No’.

Weapon mounts shuddered while the machine compensated for the violent forces trying to steer its pilot’s aim off course. Autocannons, machineguns and missiles sang in fury- a payload intended for an entire mission, depleted in a couple of seconds. 

“Rence?” The voice on the radio was pained, much like the signal itself. So many warning chimes coloured the background of the audio transmission, the brown-haired man couldn’t even tell them apart. “I guess long and midrange comms went out.” 

Etel tried his best to focus on the screens lining the walls around his body, finding it more difficult than it should be. Whether because of the fact most were broken, his vision was slowly failing, or the mixture of black and red fluid covering them, he couldn’t quite tell. 

Probably a mix of all three.

“Oh. A lot of things are out.” A shaking finger flipped through options until its owner could finally hear something. 

“Cormorant One, do you copy? Wraith? Etel, answer me!” He could almost see the other man’s frantic face when Fang entered formation off his left wing- metaphorically, of course. There were several layers of ceramic and steel separating the two enclosed cockpits. 

That, and he didn’t have much of a left wing anymore.

“Hey big dummy. Are you alright?” An unbidden smile came to his features, silver hair matted in red clinging to the seat while his head turned weakly to the side.

“Am I-” Utter disbelief stopped the response temporarily. “Yes! What’s your status!?” The sheer desperation in his lover’s voice hurt to hear.

“I’m- I’ll be alright.” Rence was safe. Everything would be fine. “I’ll be slaving-” his voice shivered in addition to being barely above a whisper. “-Wraith to you. I’m cold. I think enviro is down.”

The wingman’s heart sank further at the reestablished datalink.

WRAITH -> FANG

AUTOMATIC FORMATION ENABLED

EMERGENCY MEDICAL ATTENTION REQUIRED

EMERGENCY MAINTENANCE REQUIRED

PILOT INPUT REQUIRED - NO DATA

The incessant chimes of the combined alarms that would haunt his soul for the rest of its days echoed through the silence, joined only by the distant sound of the largest, and last, battle of the war fading behind the two.

“Rence, get us-” Etel’s voice faded for a second. “-get us home, alright?”

“I will.” Cormorant Two wiped his eyes, leading the stricken craft as fast as he would dare without risking it to fall completely apart. The only response he got to any further comms attempt were the deafening alarms of Wraith’s systems.

The flight back to base was the longest he’d ever had. Too long, a voice inside him said. He shut it down by focusing further on the gentlest slope down into Pascia’s atmosphere that his hurry would allow, keeping a close eye on the other craft which struggled to maintain control, the onboard computer doing its best to fly with the mangled remains of control surfaces.

“Pascia Tower, Cormorant Two. I am declaring an emergency. I have Cormorant One’s craft with me, we need a clean runway and emergency vehicles for landing.” He never thought about one day remembering those procedures- they were Etel’s job after all. Yet they came to his mind as fresh as the day he’d learnt them.

“Fang, Pascia Tower. We were wondering what the other radar contact with you was- but all our strips are full. Go around, I repeat, go around and hold pattern.” Rence’s teeth clenched in anger.

“Pascia Tower, Cormorant One needs immediate medical attention. We will be landing on first approach. Clear a runway or I’ll pick one to crash into.”

“Damnit.” The ATC operator stood up from his chair, trying to see which one was the least full with damaged spacecraft in one form or another. The entire airbase resembled an emergency field hospital more than anything else.

Rence grimaced at the grisly sight after finally dipping under the everpresent cloud cover- damaged or destroyed crafts as far as the eye could see, including several in flames which seemed unperturbed by either the rain or the efforts from the fire crews. 

“Fang, Pascia Tower. 21 is the best we can do right now. Good luck.” 

Lining up for the landing attempt, he could see several other fighters being hurriedly moved into the barren dirt, either by engine power or just human desperation. 

It was still a shorter length than he’d like, but it’d have to do. 

A harsh flare-up of the nose and full reverse thrust got his spacecraft onto the ground just after the warning lights, the landing gear groaning in protest but holding. He looked back at Wraith doing its best to emulate the maneuver, tyres hitting the wet tarmac with more force than they were ever designed for.

And the entire frame of the machine finally failing.

A shower of sparks defied the film of water that perpetually covered every surface, following the main cockpit and reactor shell while they slid their way down the runway, debris bouncing off of Fang’s shields. Rence disengaged the brakes, letting his ship roll along with the remains of what was once a proud electronic warfare fighter- 

-Hoping against hope he could still find Etel inside.

His boots hit the dark surface before either machine had fully stopped moving, climbing atop the broken form of Wraith and yanking the external emergency canopy ejection handle. Before the smoke from the explosive bolts cleared, the taller pilot had leaned inside.

A part of him wished he hadn’t.

“Etel? Etel!?” His hoarse pleas fell on deaf ears against the bloodied, unmoving body inside the cockpit. A pair of fingers against the side of a slender neck confirmed his fears. Before he could start any attempt at CPR, a warbled electronic tone caught his attention.

Only two screens inside the cockpit still worked, presumably off the emergency power supply on the main shell. One had a simple but darkly appropriate message.

E.O.L._

But the other seemed to be desperately trying to catch his attention despite intermittent failures.

WRAITH -> Lt. Rence

CORE BREACH IMMINENT

EJECTION SYSTEM FAILURE

MANUAL PILOT EJECTION REQUIRED_

It took him a second to process what the dying machine was requesting, followed by frantically undoing the clasps of the harness holding Etel’s body to the seat and doing his best to carry the smaller body, slick with oil and blood.

He could see an ambulance heading towards him while he sprinted full speed away from the remains of the craft with his lover’s unconscious- just unconscious. Nothing else.- body in his arms. 

“CORE BREA-” A wave of heat and force stopped his shout, flinging both forms forward and into the air.

Before his vision went dark, he could feel the hard ground meeting his back with large prejudice, and a softer impact on his chest- his arms still wrapped around the other pilot.

Etel was safe. He had to be.

Good.

Goo- 

---------------------------------------------------

A gasping breath and frantic eyes mark Rence’s return to consciousness. Before he could whip his head around, a soothing whisper coming from his chest took his attention. 

“I’m here. I’m here, everything’s fine. I’m fine.” The smaller body laying beside him, still firmly wrapped around his arms, caressed his hair gently with a delicate hand. 

“You fell asleep after relaxing when I got better.”

A long sigh escaped the taller pilot’s lips, leaning his head down to nuzzle against soft silver hair, a rougher hand carefully caressing the covers of Etel’s connection ports in his nape. 

“Sorry. I should be the one helping you, not the other way around.”

The flight lead pinched the top of one of Rence’s ears in a swift movement. 

“None of that, mister. We’ve been in this together in one way or another from the very start. I worry about you just as much as you worry about me.”

A small but meaningful smile coloured the brown haired man’s expression. “Fair enough.”

Etel nuzzled back happily against his lover’s chest, taking in his warmth, touch and scent. While they made his heart melt like always, a slender finger poked the other man regardless.

“And as much as I love your smell, you do need a shower.”

A moment passed in which the shorter pilot could hear loud sniffing from above his head. “Yeah, that last job did go on for a while. Coming with me?”

Purple eyes met brown ones, the perfect definition of the word ‘smug’ being encased in the synthetic orbs alone. 

“Technically I don’t need to. But I suppose I can grace you with my presence, yes.” Rence rolled his eyes.

“Well excuse me, princess. Not every peasant has a self-cleaning body.” If only because they were the second most expensive variant of shells, only behind military-focused versions. Let alone a teenager type with that feature.

For perhaps understandable reasons, younger-looking synthetic bodies with the suit of options that led themselves to the more carnal type of activity were still illegal in many places, though public opinion was largely divided in more recent years. It still made the price for one of them eye-wateringly high thanks to low supply and high demand.

“We could get you one, you know. You don’t have to keep suffering for no reason.” Etel’s expression softened while Rence groaned in discomfort at the effort of getting up from the bed after enough limbs were untangled, further proving the point.

“Eh, not yet. We’re the same age, you know. I’m not some washed up old man.” He yawned, stretching his back while walking into the bathroom. The ‘boy’ followed. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, your body’s just worn.” Synthetic hands indistinguishable from natural ones caressed a somewhat lean but toned body pockmarked with scars from shrapnel.

“Oh thanks. That makes me feel so much better.” Rence helped undo the clasps of Etel’s connection suit, most of his own clothing having been removed the moment the pair had entered the cheap but homely suite. 

Body warmth and touch was one of the few things that helped deal with the silver haired pilot’s spikes of PTSD, rooted in the endless, penetrating feeling of cold he’d experienced before dying. The fact that his brain was able to be recovered at all after almost an hour without blood flow with only minor damage was almost miraculous, even with interstellar-age medical science. 

The radiation burns, overpressure damage and puncture wounds that Rence had suffered in the core breach event, at least, were mostly healable without lingering effects.

Mostly.

“You’re just scared of the operation.” Etel’s unfairly beautiful face pouted, poking the taller man in the chest.

“It’s not exactly getting your ears pierced, you know. It’d take me months to get back up to speed. It took you more than a year to get that shell adjusted just right. And still-” His voice trailed off, a mix of consternation and concern colouring masculine, but refined, features.

The expression of the shorter member of the duo softened, a look of regret and pity that could bring the most unemotional of creatures to a halt, caressing the side of Rence’s face softly.

“You know the problem isn’t with the shell, love.” 

His fellow pilot sighed, wrapping his arms around the smaller form. “I know. But wanting to help you more and not being able to makes me feel so-”

“Like I always say, you already help. If it makes you feel better, I can look for another doctor next time we’re in a major hub. Is that better?” 

That would make it the twelfth doctor ever since they left the military.

“I- Yeah. Sorry I keep bothering you about it.” Etel stopped his bout of guilt with a kiss, caressing Rence’s tongue with his gently while their lips were locked together. 

A flick of the foot sent their clothes back in the general direction of the bed, before turning on the shower and enjoying his lover’s jolt of surprise at the initial stream of cold water before the heating element did its job.

“No need to say sorry, you silly. You bother me because you worry, you worry because you care.”

The silver haired ‘teenager’ poked his partner in the chest, looking up at his face with a smile.

“And you care because you love me.”

Said partner couldn’t help but smile back, warm water cascading down his messy hair. “You make it pretty easy.”

“Oh, I know. I’m just that irresistible.” 

Rougher hands wrapped themselves around Etel’s body when he turned around to close the shower box, pulling him back gently against Rence while the taller man nuzzled into the side of his neck, his slim but soft mechanical body following the instincts of the biological brain controlling it to lean back further into the touch, long eyelids fluttering closed over purple eyes.

“I love you. Please never leave me.” The whisper held such few words, but carried so much meaning from the very depths of the wingman’s being - the shorter of the pair, still melting under the sensation of the embrace and caresses, knew that. 

The haunted look he could see in the deceptively warm brown orbs of the taller man every single time he felt him awake in a cold sweat proved just how deep their connection went.

“I love you too, Rence. I promise I’m never going away again.” Etel tilted his head up and to the side, their mouths connecting once more. The flight lead smiled faintly into the kiss while he felt his lover’s body slowly relax against his back, the arms around him showing no sign of letting go. 

To the disappointment of both, the notification that they’d used 20% of their allocated daily water chimed just after hands had begun roaming around sensitive places and desire had joined love in the mixture of the kiss.

Through great willpower, the silver haired pilot managed to disentangle himself from his lover’s advances, even though it hurt his soul to do so. “Lat- later, later.” He turned around, grabbing the sponge from the recession in the wall and smacking Rence in the face with it playfully. “Shower first, sex later you horndog. Even if I have to scrub you myself.”

A muffled sigh of disappointment could be heard behind the cleaning implement, followed by an equally muffled whine.

Despite their best efforts- or Etel’s, at least -further kisses, embraces and caresses did inevitably take place. Perhaps to be expected, as it had been the case with every shower they’d taken together as lovers to one degree or another. By the time the water allotment ran out, Rence was softly running his fingers along silver hair. 

Hair that was slowly moving back and forth given that its owner was currently kneeled in front of him, letting out rather indecent moans- muffled as they were thanks to the taller of the pair’s member filling the mouth they were coming from.

In all fairness, they had managed to finish a thorough shower first. Just.

Not that Etel was thinking about that at the moment. Rather, higher thought processes weren’t really present in general- not when he had Rence’s heat and taste filling his mouth, combined with the scent of the man he loved, clean and pure. 

Having his hair petted while doing so only served to send him further into the realm of base instincts, letting his feelings be translated through the pleasure he was giving.

Not that he didn’t enjoy it himself. 

Much the opposite, the firm heat sliding against his lips, tongue and throat; the knowledge that it was Rence’s length that was taking him in that way, the reassuring sensation of his lover’s hands on him, they all combined into gentle but constant waves of pleasure running down his body. 

The clipped moans he could hear from above whenever his lips wrapped themselves around the base of the shaft certainly didn’t hurt either. It was one of the several things his shell allowed him to do that his original body couldn’t quite handle despite repeated attempts.

The combination of no gag reflex and secondary air intakes made for a very useful party trick.

“Etel, if you keep going-” Rence’s attempt at gently nudging the shorter pilot’s shoulder back was interrupted by a synthetic hand grabbing his firmly and holding it, and a further increase in the intensity of the act.

“I know. Gimme.” Through auxiliary speakers or not, the pleading whisper from the one person he loved the most only served to hasten his peak, the heat that’d built up behind his length flowing forward in bursts and being happily swallowed, the shaking of his body and gasps of breath happening in time with them.

A flurry of kisses followed, the taller pilot once again embracing Etel tightly- and caressing his body, one hand specifically sliding down his back before massaging his plump rear and finding the self-lubrication almost dripping from the entrance. 

The silver haired ‘teenager’ held back a moan when a finger started teasing his entrance, caressing the sides slick with excitement.

A breathy whisper was able to escape their kiss, just. “I’m already pretty close, dummy. I want to keep going in bed after we towel off.”

Rence deliberately slid his finger inside, gently rubbing against the sensitive bundle of synthetic nerves he’d long since memorized the placement of for a moment, stopping his lover’s swear of pleasure with another kiss before pulling away and grabbing a towel, doing his best to feign innocence. “Fair enough.” 

His smile easily betrayed the lie.

Etel’s stare could burn a hole through reinforced carbon weave- metaphorically of course. That option was not allowed in civilian shells. 

However, the muscular weave necessary to give a one hundred and fifty centimeters, two hundred kilogram body normal mobility was more than enough to carefully tackle the taller man into the bed the minute they’d both towelled off most of the water- and maneuver them so said man was on top.

Rence was familiar with this song and dance by now, not needing to reorient himself before kissing his lover again, tongues caressing eachother in a feeble attempt to convey the intensity of the feelings between the two.

The pair could kiss for the rest of time, and it’d still be a pale demonstration of the undying flame their souls burned together with. A hypergolic bond refreshed every single day for near on a decade. 

One might ask why not be officially married at that point, and the answer was merely that neither felt the need to- after all, marriages are until death. 

They were long past such trivial difficulties.

Powerful legs ending into slender feet locked themselves around Rence’s hips, further enticing the man while a pale hand caressed the engorging length pressed between the two, gently stroking it into full attention. 

The wingman had once asked why Etel kept his own member, mostly because of the strong reluctance the other part of the pair felt about it being touched at all, let alone used in any way, shape or form. After all, to change it for a female type would be trivial with his new body.

“I’m not sure, honestly. It’s not like it even fully works anyway. Even if it did, it’s definitely not big enough to be of much use. I guess it’s just a part of me I don’t mind being there, and our preferred option isn’t even a hassle to prepare anymore.” A familiar grin coloured his features at the mention of the benefits a synthetic shell provided.

It was one of the many quirks of the smaller person that he’d simply accepted. They were more than worth it, after all.

That, and Rence was pretty sure the little minx just really, really liked their ‘preferred option’.

A notion that was further proved with the way the flight leader downright purred in anticipation the moment his entrance was touched by his lover’s length, the blunt tip spreading it open thanks to the plentiful lubrication counteracting just how tight the silver haired ‘teen’ always was.

Striking purple eyes gazed lovingly at Rence through halfway-closed eyelids, hints of perspiration- unnecessary as it was -covering flawless skin painstakingly customized to recreate the original body his beloved inhabited. 

The taller pilot, for the umpteeth time, thanked every possible god that might exist for just how lucky he got to not have his little demon ripped away from him.

‘Angel’ wasn’t quite the right word after all.

Willpower fought the instinct to close his eyes at the sensation of Etel’s tight folds slowly swallowing his shaft when he carefully pressed their bodies closed together, all for the chance to watch his lover’s reaction. 

The way those beautiful violet orbs rolled back, the way he gripped whatever was available- most of the time that being Rence’s hair, a feeling he simply adored -to try and handle the sensation while his back arched, even the way a breathless moan was often coupled with an expletive.

It was all quintessentially Etel, and there was no force in the universe that could stop Rence from showering his shorter partner with growling kisses in a desperate attempt to convey what he was already saying between them. 

“I love you. So fucking much.”

Said beloved smiled while the words sent shivers down his spine, mixing with the electric waves spreading from his insides thanks to the deliciously hot and thick member filling them. The moment when he could feel his lover all the way inside him just before either began moving was perhaps his favourite, for one main reason.

He could feel Rence’s warmth and heartbeat. Around him, inside him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Much the opposite. 

He had the love of his life happily giving him all the intimacy he possibly could, every time he possibly could. The life they’d led wasn’t easy, but this-

This made it worth it a thousand times over.

 “I love you to-” his response was interrupted by a mix of whimper and moan rising in pitch thanks to the combined waves of pleasure spreading around his body- coming from his insides due to his lover having started to move, deliberately angling their bodies to make the tip of his length rub against the most sensitive spot Etel had.

The other point of origin was his chest, thanks to Rence happily caressing one of his nipples with his tongue while sucking it, and using a free hand to play with the other.

“Come on, all my weak points at once-” His whining was met with a stronger thrust, paired with a stronger suction and harsher flicking of the tongue. More than enough to force another moan out of him. “Godsdamned cheater.”

He simply got another passionate kiss for it, with the taller pilot sneaking a hand behind one of his shoulders to hold him close while continuing to thrust inside. 

The smaller body instinctively wrapped around his lover, hanging onto the man with legs and arms both, needing to be with him as much as humanly possible. 

Etel melted under Rence further while the waves of pleasure got more and more intense, manmade muscle fibers twitching in the overload of the sensors. 

Sensors purposely set by their owner to near maximum gain to reflect the way his original body wasn’t yet experienced enough to have the whole ordeal be anything less than overwhelming the few times it had the chance to do it.

“Rence-” Etel’s gasping voice, coloured by the sensation of his body melting in pleasure, repeated the name without stop- a mantra to deal with just how strong the sensation was, of his body peaking while feeling his lover all around and inside him. 

As close and intimate as they could physically get, two souls seeking eachother, to become whole. 

Even under the onslaught of physical signals, the shorter pilot’s heart fluttered when Rence slowed down somewhat while holding him back just as tight. Sacrificing his own pleasure just so Etel could enjoy his own climax more, fall even deeper in love.

If that was even possible.

The flight lead had no idea how much time had passed filled with breathless, shaky moans accompanied by a shivering body until his lover kissed him deeply again, deeper tones joining his song before liquid heat coated his oversensitive insides. 

Every bit of instinct left in his mind ordered shaking limbs to further lock around Rence, to not let him go. To never, ever let him go.

To simply bask in the warm, messy wetness and sweaty ball of hormones that the remains of Cormorant Squadron were at the moment.

Not that he had much of an option, considering the taller man was clinging to him just as tightly. Etel wouldn’t have it any other way.

The continuous kiss was only broken by his wingman nuzzling into the crook of the neck where silver hair came to a stop, three words being repeated once more yet not losing any of their power.

“I love you.”

Shivers of pleasure instead of anguish still emanated from his core at random intervals, but not enough to stop Etel from caressing Rence’s hair gently, coddling the man with all the affection of a newlywed bride. 

Maybe the flight lead would decide to be one someday, who knew. But for now, the relaxed smile while the two settled into a position more conducive to long-term comfort was physically unable to waver during his answer.

“I love you too, Rence.”

---------------------------------------------------

Strange wildlife cried in greeting of the rising sun, shrill tones emanated from odd, small lizard-like creatures breaking the peaceful silence of early day. One weary eyelid cracked open, protesting the rays slowly but inexorably marching their path across the two forms tangled in bed.

“Morning, hon. Slept well?” Etel’s light, melodic voice came from the body the taller pilot currently held close to him, both laying on their sides. Rence couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t slept with his lover’s back glued to his form, the one fit they’d settled in early on simply because it just felt right.

A groan slowly morphed into actual words, vocal chords as worn as the rest of his body taking a while to kick into gear. “Mm- yeah. Did you?”

He knew that brains placed into full-body shells didn’t have- nor could even achieve -the same type of rest normal humans had, but they still underwent a sort of ‘preventative maintenance’ to fulfill many of the same tasks.

Deleting useless information, organizing useful data, resetting chemical balance. 

But androids did not, in fact, dream of electric sheep.

Still, Etel used the time to practice a sort of self-reflection and meditation. That and watching shows on the extranet- after all, there is only so much mental self-care one can do every day for several hours while being held tight against a snoring man.

Gods be praised for AI-powered noise removal of audio inputs.

“Yeah, my night was nice.” Carefully crafted synthetic fingers caressed the rougher hand wrapped around a slim midsection and chest. “Also, you got a message a few hours ago.”

Brown eyes slowly focused on the desk nearby, the blinking light of his wrist device giving merit to the claim. A sigh followed.

“Who the hells messaged me in the middle of the gorramn dawn?” Stiff muscles stretched themselves under electrical orders from a brain protesting having to reach wakefulness, before curling themselves around the shorter pilot again.

Bright orange dots of plasma hovered in the air in front of Etel, tridimensional pixels being created by the laser emitters in his wrist. Rence had long since given up on trying to stop his partner from invading his personal messaging system. 

Or any other system for that matter.

Etel chuckled airily at the small huff coming from behind his head, a mix of fondness and incredulity at the specific sender having kept in contact for so long.

FANG -> PILOT

REQUEST STATUS REPORT

REQUEST Flt.Lead Etel STATUS REPORT

TEMP. PILOT UNSATISFACTORY_

Rence couldn’t help but smile at the sheer stubbornness of the Combat Intelligence. This was its eight ‘temporary pilot’ after the couple had left the military already.

The previous seven had also been deemed unsatisfactory.

“We also need to refuel-” The silver haired lover brought up a list in the holographic projection. It looked far too long for Cormorant Two’s tastes, so he simply groaned and hid his face in said locks of silky synthetic strands.

“- rearm-” Etel continued. Rence groaned more.

“- run maintenance checks-” The taller member of the pair whined in protest. “Can’t we do that tomorrow? We have four days.”

Cormorant One turned his head around as much as he could while still tangled in his partner’s limbs. It wasn’t much, but it served to convey his stance on the matter. 

“And if we find any issues, we’ll need these extra days to deal with them. Never do tomorrow what you can do today.”

“I hate you.” The response lacked any of the venom or hurt such words would be expected to. Both knew why.

“No you don’t.” Etel grinned, teasing.

“No, but I can pretend I do.” Rence pouted in response.

“No you can’t.” Etel grinned wider.

“Gods, you’re insufferable.” Yet the wingman smiled.

“That I am. And you love me anyway.” 

An annoyed yet amused face confronted an impossibly smug one. Neither mattered once their lips touched, parted by tongues seeking contact for the millionth time, to be followed by a million more.

[cainov]

nonbinary — ever hear people say CAIN ROMANOV looks a lot like BILL SKARSGARD? I think HE/THEY is about 24, so it doesn’t really work. The ANTIQUE BOOKSHOP OWNER has lived in Livingstone for TWENTY-FOUR YEARS. They can be RIGHTEOUS, but they can also be EVASIVE. I think CAIN might be A SHEEP. ( snot goblin. 20. EST. she/they. ) 

hi hello ... decided 2 bring in my son ... my soft boy ... my light ... some of u may know him from watershed but ! here he is again ! forced upon u all. please love him as i’m very fragile. ** i’ve changed parts of his bio so !! if u think u knew all the deetz ,,, but please be warned that it’s PRETTY HEAVY STUFF !!

pleathe LIKE this to PLOT and i promise i will not abandon u all like the other times usfdg

TW: CULT LIFE, HEROIN USAGE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE / ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ( PTSD, ANXIETY ). if i forgot anything PLEASE tell me !!

a e s t h e t i c s

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one’s own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

general information !!

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): cock and ball torture, N/A

b.o.d. - feb 19th, fuckin pisces

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: 6′4″ jfc

hometown: livingstone, VT babey !!

sexuality: bi…? bi. yes. bi.

pinterest

stats

biography !!

the eldest to vermont senator vaughn romanov and philanthropist adelaide romanov - they were born into a life of privilege in a very prominent family. they’re the eldest of five. 

with this background in mind - cain was taught to be the perfect citizen, the golden child, the all american ( willfully ignoring the fact that his father came from russian immigrants ) son. they were obedient, always staying within line.

several expectations for them included joining clubs at school such as model UN, debate, DECA, etc., sports (soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse - all throughout the years), student government (class president for at least one year), and maintaining a GPA status valedictorian-worthy.

was made to volunteer on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks - to show the community how much of a gem he was, a darling - a perfect member of society.

his eagerness to impress pleased his parents and thus, he never had a problem with them. life was good for them. they attended church on sundays, sometimes wednesdays, did everything as a family. dinners and christmas photoshoots and new years eve parties, easter egg hunts and family reunions.

lived northside, not on the beach but close enough to it - a big fancy, seven bedroom, eight bath, two fireplaces and an expansive dining room - no pool, but a sturdy treehouse made by scratch.

his ~model citizen~ persona was just that - a persona, a charade. in the community and his family, cain was a hardworking citizen who upheld standards to follow. to classmates - from elementary school all the way to college - cain was the worst.

they were arrogant, harrowing, an outright bully who tore down others when he felt like it, often unprovoked - they were the senator’s son, and  a rich one at that - rules never applied to him because of his father and their family’s presence in the community. tattlers faced more consequences than cain ever did.

was the sort of person who’d genuinely look down at somebody if they had less than him. a narcissistic dickhead who cared about two or three people, tops, outside of his family. he was never physically violent, nor did he raise his voice - but that was what’s made it worse. cain spewed his classist bullshit with ease.

his best friends since childhood have been brooks hunter and michael green - a very troublesome trio based on their mutual love for power highs.

only redeeming quality back then was probably their protectiveness over his siblings - wasn’t the best person, but family was family.

went into political science + business to please their father, mainly - everything they’d been taught growing up was essentially to build them into a perfect little presidential candidate.

probably joined a frat though didn’t participate in parties too often - known for keeping his composition even when others resorted to violence, because he never liked to leave a bad press image. this attitude was the same when it came to parties and other ... taboo subjects,

sometime during college, two important things happened.

the first one was that he became a middleman / broker / whatever you’d like to call it. wasn’t producing product, but wasn’t dealing it. was the middleman, the connection between producers and dealers. it was for fun - never for profit. very hush-hush.

the second is that he met earl and may meyers. they were fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive, and the older couple were immediately drawn to cain  - and him to them, essentially. to this day he can’t tell you what about them had been so appealing. just, the air around them was something else entirely. some would probably call it unhinged, some would call it comforting. they were kind folks, very down to earth, very religious and warmhearted. they liked his name being cain a whole lot; told him that he reminded him of their late son.

it was the beginning of his senior year in college for cain - a few years after he’d gotten started in the drug business - the couple volunteered more and more at the same places that cain would, the same times, almost as if they were learning his schedule. in retrospect, it was odd, but cain had never thought to suspect the elderly of anything ... deceiving. kept talking to them and it became a genuine friendship.

a few months into it, the couple started talking about the sin of wealth - god choosing only a select few when he cleanses the earth - only the worthiest souls - eventually they’d gotten into the rhythm of claiming cain was special. they could see he would be selected - see it in his aura, in their dreams - god personally speaking to to them, etc. etc.

it was ... oddly appealing to cain - like, maybe i am being constrained by capitalism and disappointing god - even though it had felt nearly ridiculous - it seeped into his mind.

this was essentially the result of emotional manipulation over a period of time - cain unsuspecting, unwilling to believe that he could be manipulated - always so sure in himself.

earl and may told him that they were going to leave livingstone - that there were so many more who had the same ideals as them, that it was time to join them - that it was time to prepare. cain held off from it, at first - having just graduated.

he had so much in livingstone - loyal companions and a close-knit family, a blooming side-business and a long-term girlfriend and an engagement ring burning in his pocket. he was still the same boy - cruel without cause. but he’d found himself surrounded by others, anyway.

within a month of newfound freedom - cain had a change of heart. the third most important event in his life had happened.

it was an average day - june, hot enough that sweat stuck to your skin, but not hot enough that you weren’t glad for it. a family bbq the entire day - relatives from all around - cain had been cleaning up with his mother when, out of nowhere, she had broken down in sobs.

essentially - after a long ... discussion, cain learned that they were not his father’s son.

in a fit of petty anger towards the beginning of their marriage, adelaide had cheated on vaughn. the result was cain.

it was the sort of news that breaks a person. his entire life - he idolized his parents, done everything they’d ever expect of him - let them mold him into whatever they pleased. to find out that his mother - a woman who, he had previously believed, could never tell a lie in her life - was a liar, and that his father - the man he looked up to most as a child - didn’t share the same blood as him.

cain unraveled. that week. several altercations, both sober and drunk - landing in county jail overnight - only to disappear without notice on june 21st, 2018.

it was treated as a missing persons’ case, the first week or so - until it had been determined that cain left on his own accord, then it was dropped much to the dismay of his family.

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

only earl and may knew where cain went - because they had left together, cain’s last minute decision. cain’s mistake. the fourth most important thing to happen to him.

only hours away from livingstone - on the border between new york and vermont and not nearly far away as cain would had liked - was the cult’s location. they wore white linens and cotton - never mixed, and technology had been abandoned. prayers and daily chores.

it felt ... natural, at first - for the first three months - it was grand, in the beginning, peaceful, mind-clearing. they treated him differently - as if he were something special, as if his birth was a gift - a sign from the heavens above. cain come to undo his past’s damage. a leader, perhaps. the longer he stayed - the more apparent it became that he wasn’t who they had long waited for.

once they began slipping up - the members became displeased with him and punishments occurred - sometimes once a week, sometimes multiple. the memories are suppressed, for the most part - but they can’t forget the hands. pulling, and tugging, and gripping, and begging - asking him to repent, please, repent - head held underwater, counting seconds until his vision goes out - pulled out gasping and sobbing. it repeats in their mind - each day blurring into one another.

once he started reacting violently - they found ways to subdue him.

heroin intake - little by little, everyday - enough to leave him in a high he wouldn’t remember - enough to burn a hole through his memory.

with memories becoming dimmer each day - cain managed to sneak paper and pencil into his ~living arrangement~ and he wrote everyday - wrote as much as he could remember about livingstone, about his family, about his life before. sometimes he couldn’t remember what he’d written previously.

when these were found - it had been the final straw. they had dragged him, kicking and screaming and mind-numbingly high into place - a twisted reenactment / retelling of the mark of cain and a brand of the mark burnt permanently into his skin right above his heart - forehead not an option due to difficulties fully subduing cain (he bit them).

left to die in the middle of woods afterwards, with nothing but his writing and the clothes on his back - cain shouldn’t had had the strength to go on - but they did. they didn’t know what day it was - really, what year it was - but cain got up and cain ran. and cain, obviously, survived.

it was pure luck that cain had run into a truck driver who wasn’t doubling as a murderer - one who took him to the hospital - who essentially, gave cain another chance to live. cain was found on june 21st, 2019.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY / ADDICTION BEYOND THIS POINT.

immediately reunited by his family - everything went very fast. he couldn’t recognize his youngest sibling, but couldn’t remember why he’d left in the first place. couldn’t remember the name of his girlfriend, but the color of her hair and the way she smelled.

put into therapy and recovery for their addiction - vaughn romanov makes his announcement that he’s running for the 2020 election the day after cain is found and brought home. they’re not expected to be alright within a few weeks of therapy - but cain feels restrained, in a way - confined to the role he’d always had to play. expected to up, and continue with life as if he hadn’t endured an extremely traumatizing year.

is essentially forced to stay in livingstone for the time being - but cain has taken a few things into his own hands. they’ll go to therapy, work on their recovery - but, having no further interest in what he’d gotten a degree in - has decidedly bought himself an antique bookshop off of the owner looking to retire, and has taken shelter in the apartment above it.

with their four cats, of course. his parents agreed - purely to give him the space to recover whilst keeping him close to them. if only he hadn’t found recovery to be most helpful in the form of pills - his old business now turned into a way for him to get what he believes will make him better.

personality !!

to clarify - cain is no longer the douchebag they once were. kind of .. learned to be a better person with his entire experience - mostly a lot of self-blaming that boils down to karma and deserving what happened to him.

he’d always been a pretty ... quiet, person - even with the massive ego - but now, cain’s ... quieter. kinder, if not a little sarcastic. distant and not much for parties - that never changed - but it’s more of a ... restrictive, distance, than one of comfort.

smokes weed but rarely drinks - as if it’d make a difference with the pills addiction he’s using to battle his heroin one. 

like mentioned - they’ve got four cats. that’s their personality. had two of ‘em before he’d disappeared, and just got the other two probably ... yesterday, tbh. they’re named frank (big chungus when yelled - white and gray), brock (orange. fluffy. stoic. devours food.), shoelace (black-furred and missing an eye), and crunchwrap supreme (crunch for short, calico with bent ears).

probably has photos of their cats in his wallet.

parents help pay for the cost of owning the bookshop - though cain’s expected to fully take on the financial responsibility when he’s ‘well again’.

their memory is fucked. forgets a lot of things - short term, long term, it’s a struggle. managed to keep the notes they used to take back at the cult - so it helps, but not always. forgets dates, faces, names, events. he wakes up sometimes and doesn’t know where they are. 

they don’t sleep a lot, regardless - night terrors came with his trauma, and in an attempt to avoid ‘em, they don’t really ... sleep. only a few hours each night because it gets so bad.

cain suffers from severe touch aversion. skin-to-skin contact of any sort is enough to send them into an intense panic attack. they wear leather gloves more often than not, in an attempt to combat it without hindering them too much. not the biggest fan of body contact in general, even with clothes - but it won’t send him into a panic like bare skin will. makes it obvious from the get-go that he doesn’t like physical contact if somebody gets too close.

also dealing with ptsd and attends therapy every week - therapist recommended he kept writing after looking at his notes - so he does, keeps an entire journal where they write and like ... sketch a little, because it helps them cope. means more to them than it would seem.

they’re pretty blunt. won’t go out of their way to announce that they joined a cult, hence the disappearance - but won’t lie about their disappearance if the topic comes to it. cain doesn’t like delusions, doesn’t like secrets - doesn’t like unnecessary attention, either. 

being said uh ... cain sort of hates the new division ? anything that resembles a cult, he instantly hates. hates the watershed app too.

being in town keeps cain anxious, because they’re aware they’ve wronged a good amount of people - but it’s hard to remember who, and what, and when, and why - and it’s just. an entire ordeal of figuring out how to ... redeem himself to multiple people.

screwed over a lot of people when they left ! from their plugs / customers to their ex-girlfriend who they are, undeniably, still in love with - you can’t forget that feeling - to his friends.

isn’t ... aware that michael is in prison. isn’t aware that kieran is dead. hasn’t been told yet.

is high often ! says it’s just weed but ... it’s not !

hates cars and swimming and crowds - hates feeling trapped and will avoid it when possible. doesn’t want to be seen as unsociable, but it’s difficult.

climbs trees when overwhelmed and needs a space to think - has a tall tree right outside of the window of his apartment, on the side opposite of the street if that makes sense ?? can be found there often. like - won’t leave a conversation to go climbin’ but. y’know.

feels the need to redeem themself to ... everybody, really. wants to avoid conflict and wants to be a better person - they’re trying really hard but not everybody believes them.

really .. wouldn’t be surprised if people from livingstone were suspicious of cain, for whatever reason - they don’t have the best track record anymore !

 they’ve got a stutter that developed as a result of the trauma - their voice is damaged from screaming a lot. working on being less self-conscious about it, thinks there’s more important things to worry about. in general cain looks ... gaunt, too thin, generally unhealthy.

they can still definitely hold a conversation, and like i said they’re pretty…lowkey. soft, sort of. generally a quiet person and while they’re not the most social, they won’t be a direct asshole or anything. likes people! just…has low energy.

goes by he/they, doesn’t really care which one as he alternates pretty frequently.

very happy with being the owner of a bookshop - especially antique. feels more genuine than political science or whatever.

got really into the investigation of the cult he was part of - they got uncovered and arrested due to cain’s escape but there’s still branches out there - you could call him obsessed. willing to stick his nose where he shouldn’t, even though he really ... really shouldn’t.

wanted connections !!

so first and foremost - people who he’s grown up with his entire life. people he’s just. wronged. people who idolized him - people who envied him, who despised him, etc. etc.

would love ! a good amount of antagonistic connections because it fits the bill.

exes he’s dumped, old hookups, ex-friends, people he got into an argument with / fought before he disappeared last year.

ex-gf would be gr8 ! thanks ! will be holding american-idol-esque auditions.

any prominent families in livingstone that his family would know. family friends - family rivals. his siblings.

people he’s trying to redeem himself to - trying to prove his worth, that he’s better now. y’know.

old clients that he left in the dust !

people from his frat - people he used to go to the occasional party with.

people angry at cain, still. just. so mad. pissed completely.

some good ol’ reconnecting / reconciliation plots ! i’m a slut for slowburn friendships. enemies to friends.

people he used 2 bully.

wholesome shit, angst shit. i said slowburns but i love them. friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies. anything.

no. hookups. please. only previous encounters. nothing in the present. for obvious reasons.

except MAYBE sexual tension but the kind that hurts. maybe a fun, casual sexting thing. they’ve got needs too.

people who just hate his dad b/c politicians suck !

i imagine a lot of conversations between him n other people start out ... aggressive, because they’re mad at him. :/

people who are soft for them ?? people who are hard on him ?? make his life difficult but also uwu him.

i’ll rly take anything !! just like this so i can slither in !!

[svtmatokis]

Musical Genius Lee Jihoon | 2

[Pairing]:Lee Jihoon/ Woozi x reader

[Word count]:2,464

[Summary]:You make friends with the musical prodigy and successor to Pledis ent. Lee Jihoon. What you don't know, is that he has an alter ego.

[Pt1] [Masterlist]

_________

By the time you got there, the sun was about to set. You knocked on the door, excited to see your friend. You knocked on the door, and Seungcheol welcomed you with open arms.

"Cheollie!"

You hugged him and were going to flop on the other bed that is usually empty, but saw that there were a few boxes scattered around, and there were bedsheets and covers bunched up on it.

"You got a roommate?' you inquired, going to go sit on Seungcheol's bed instead.

"Yeah."

You looked around the room, finding absolutely nothing.

"...Where is he?"

"Oh, he's around..." Seuncheol said, shifting an eye towards the bed on the other side of the room.

He sat down right beside you.

"So, tell me more about the creep in your class."

"I thought you'd be defending your friend." You said, cocking your head to the side.

"I wanna hear about what made him so creepy." He answered, his smile never leaving his face.

"Well, I mean.. he just stared at me...it was creepy as fuck. He looked so fierce and hot before but now he just makes me uncomfortable."

Seungcheol snickered.

"There's nothing funny about this!" you exclaimed. This just made your friend burst out into laughter.

"You know what, I don't even want to share the same bed with you." You said, going to sit on the opposite bed.

"Wait-!" Seungcheol said, but cut himself off.

"Wha- AH WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You felt a body underneath you, and you immediately shot up from the bed. Seungcheol was dying with laughter. You quickly pulled up the sheets to find- you guessed it- Lee muthafuckin-Jihoon. You pretty much pelted him with hits while yelling things like "Fucking creep!" and "Weirdo!" Seungcheol had to pull you off him, kicking and screaming. You didn’t ussually act like this, being more of the shy and quiet type when faced with new people, but he just pushed your buttons!

"Just let me explain, myself before you hit me some more?!" He yelled, obviously angry at this point.

"What." you sneered, Seungcheol gripping your shoulder to warn you about moving.

"The reason I stared at you was because I wanted to be friends. I hardly have friends here that share classes with me and I wanted a new one, but I didn't know how to tell you." This made your anger simmer down a bit. Of course he was that kind of rich kid, the one you feel bad for.

"I live here, and when Seungcheol told me that you were coming, I panicked and just hoped I'd be able to hide under the sheets untill you left, because I know that you hate me."

This made your anger blow to the wind. Fuck, you felt sorry for this dude.

"I don't hate you..." you said, walking closer to him. He flinched.

"You should have just told me. I would have understood instead of thinking that you were a major weirdo."

The two of you stood in awkwardness before you finally decided to leave.

"You don't have to go, you know." Seungcheol said, giving you your bag.

You looked over to Jihoon and his cut lip and slightly bruised figure.

"I think it's better if I go." you said, turning away and walking towards the door. You turned back at the last minute.

"And Jihoon?"

He looked towards you, probably expecting an insult or something.

"I want to be friends."

He gave you a small smile in response.

"Why'd you lie?" Seungcheol asked.

Jihoon didn't look at him. He sighed and went over to his friend, inspecting him.

"Damn she did a number on you." he said, spotting all of the quickly forming bruises on his face.

"Is it bad I still like her after this?"

Seungcheol didn't say anything, just tended to his wounds. Once he was done, he stood up with a sigh.

"I guess you can still like her." Seungcheol said, maneuvering to his side of the room, "She had a good reason to hit you, and you made up in the end so...why not?"

Seungcheol got into his bed, burrowing underneath the covers.

"Besides, I still like her."

Jihoon copied him, letting his sheets and blanket cover him, falling into a dreamless sleep.

-----------------------------------------------

Jesus, the sun is bright. You get up, do your morning routine, and head to class. When you get to the place, Jihoon is already there. He had bruises and his lip is cut. Guilt. Loads of guilt are being dumped on you right now. You walk up to where he's sitting, and decide to sit right by him this time.

"Hi Jihoon."

He jumps. Maybe he was lost in thought?

"H-Hi." He says with a smile.

Cute. Very cute. Class starts, and you write your notes pretty easily this time, the feeling of someone breathing down your neck not a problem anymore. You can hear the whispers get even louder now that you and Jihoon are sitting together, but you ignore it for the sake of sanity. Once the class is over, Jihoon gathers his bags and walks towards the door, not interested in staying in the classroom any longer, it seems.

"Do you maybe want to walk to class together?" you ask, catching up to him.

"Uh sure." he says, slowing down to accommodate to your not-so-long strides.

You walk to class together, making small talk and over all being cordial to each other. You didn't really feel like you were at the friend stage yet, but you'd hoped you'd get there soon. The same thing happened in the next two classes. You walked to class together and made small talk. It almost seemed like he was just tolerating you. He couldn’t have been, right?

Meanwhile, Jihoon was mentally unready for your sudden buddy-buddyness. He wondered if you were just trying to be friends because you felt bad for him. That sob story he made up was pretty believable...until you finally realized that he has literally like 12 other friends, all at this college. Honestly he was stressed.

Once the both of you got to your next class, you said your goodbyes and went on your way. You were glad that you made progress in your sort-of friendship.

The next Saturday, you were surprised by a certain giant.

"Mingyu, I think I love you." you say, throwing your arms around the boy's neck when he put the cupcake down, squeezing him hard.

"Is that...?" she says, about to freak the fuck out.

You look behind her to find Seungcheol and Jihoon, both holding one cupcake.

You send her a warning look and greet the two, giving Seungcheol a hug and Jihoon a nod of acknowledgement. You're not really sure if You can use skinship with him. You all sit down, either on the couch or one of the cushiony chairs in the dorm room. It was a perk of going to the top Arts school in the country. You and your roommate both take a cupcake, while the boys look at you with anticipation. You lick at the frosting, immediately noting that it's sweet. Its just on the brink of a little too sweet.

How curious. You bite into the actual cake portion, taken back immediately by the richness. It was almost too rich.

"Wow, do you guys have a sweet tooth or what?” you say, breaking the tension, “Mingyu why are they so sweet?”

“I told you!” the tall man said, groaning into his hands.

“I made the practice batch and they tasted fine, but then I got extra help from these two assholes and now they're too sweet!”

The boy was bordering on overdramatic, but you tried to help him anyway.

“Maybe you can offset the sweetness with something not so sweet? Like dark chocolate?”

Mingyu’s head shoots up from his hand. His hands find your shoulders.

“You're literally a genius. Guys let's go!” he says, running out of your door.

“But I wanna rest…” Seungcheol says, now being dramatic as all hell,

“He dragged us literally all around campus, having people taste these cupcakes.” Jihoon suddenly pipes in with a groan.

“You go, I'm gonna stay here and nap.” He says, already getting comfortable on your loveseat.

Yeri sends you a small smile and goes to her room to do…Yeri stuff. She’ s pretty much an enigma.

“Oh great,” you say sarcastically, “Two of the most popular dudes on campus chilling in my dorm, that's not gonna go bad at all.”

“Oh to hell to what other people think, I’m fucking tired.” Woozi says back, closing his eyes.

Seungcheol's hand goes up and out, probably a more comfortable position for it, when it hits your coffee table, almost making your cupcake fly off it. He opens his eyes in panic.

“Seungcheol?” you say.

“Yes?”

“Get the fuck out of my dorm.”

“Right. C’mon Jihoon.”

“Actually…” you say with a grin, “Jihoon can stay.”

Seungcheol groans.

“Why?”

“Cause he hasn’t almost destroyed a expensive ass carpet I can’t pay for.”

Seungcheol gives you his puppy face, which leaves you not so amused.

“Bye, Cheol.”

He leaves, but isn’t happy about it. You laugh a little as he makes his way out the door. You can hear the tinkling of laughter come from the smaller boy next to you.

“Can I really stay?” he asks, eyes wary

“Of course, cupcake.” You say with a grin.

He grimaces at the poor joke you just made.

“I’m leaving.” He says with a straight face, making his way towards the still open door.

“No wait, wait!” you say, laughing. You grab him and back hug him. A big leap in skinship, but you hope he doesn't mind.

“Stay, stay. I have something I want to show you anyway.”

He sighed but agrees, eager to have you off of him so you don’t see how his face burns. You excitedly take his hand and lead him to your room, plopping him down on the bed. Your laptop is already open to the track you've been working on in the past week.

“Since you're ‘Musical Genius Lee Jihoon',” you say, earning another blush from the blonde, “You can critique this track and tell me if its good or not.”

“…okay.” He replies, biting back a snide remark. You aren’t that close to him, so he doesn’t know how you’ll react to his humor.

You play the music. Throughout, you watch his expression, hoping for signs of distaste or approval, but he gives nothing away. He's stone faced.

In a technical sense, Jihoon thinks that it's pretty solid. It was a very nice composition, pleasing to his ears. If he's being true to himself, though, the track was excellent. It was almost perfect in his eyes, but maybe he was biased. If he wasn’t crushing on you before, then he definitely had feelings for you now. How could he not with all your talent?

“So…how was it?” you ask anxiously.

“It was really good.” He says. You can tell he’s being genuine.

“Is this for a class?”

You started to blush.

“Ah, no…” you said, looking away shyly, “It’s for this guy, he makes the most amazing music and I wanted to make something for him. You could say I have a little crush on him…”

Makes amazing music? Who could that be? Jihoon finds himself hoping that you’re confessing to him.

“Who is it?” Jihoon asks hopefully.

“Okay, don’t make fun of me but…”

Jihoon looks at you expectantly.

“…Woozi.”

He feels a tiny prick in his heart. Somehow his alter ego has caught your attention, but not him.

“I know it’s irrational, having a crush on someone who hadn't even shown their face to the public, but-“

“I don’t think it is…” Jihoon speaks softly, “His craft touched you so much that you fell in love, even if you don’t know what he's like. I get it.”

“Very poetic, don’t you think?” you say, looking over at him with a smile.

Jihoon knows how you feel. About a year back, he discovered your YouTube channel. You did many different covers of songs but you covered his the most. You even did some original songs. Those were the ones who made him fall. The more he heard you sing, the faster he fell. It was like you were putting your heart out for everyone to see with every line you sang. He loved hearing you sing and watching your face put out the raw emotion.

He didn't know that you were going to the same university at the time, but when he saw you that first day, he didn’t know what to do. His original plan was to adore you from afar, but he supposed it wasn’t supposed to be that way.

“Uh, anyway,” you said, breaking the silence, “Anything you wanna do?”

Jihoon shrugged, unable to come up with a good activity. He didn’t actually think you'd want him to stay for long, so he didn’t plan ahead.

“Ill go get a movie for us to watch, I guess.” You say, walking out of the room.

He took this chance to look around. Aside from the pristine white walls all the dorm rooms had, you were the owner of several instruments, including a piano. He walked over to the small keyboard pressing his fingers to the keys. The notes rang out in a way that sounded almost like a real grand piano. You must've done a whole lot of tweaking to get this sound.

He experimentally plays out a tune, one of the new song s he was planning to put on his music page. The notes ring put beautifully against the calm and quiet atmosphere.

You hear the music coming from your room immediately. You give up on finding a movie and instead go back to the room, where you see Jihoon playing. You can’t see his face, but you can tell by the way that his body moves with the music that he's expressing his whole soul. The feeling feels familiar, but you can't think of what it reminds you of. Your heart starts to beat quickly, the feelings you felt when he first walked in the lecture hall coming back.

When he stops, you cant help but stare in amazement.

Jihoon feels someone watching him, so he turns around.

“I-That was amazing.” You say.

He blushes immediately, looking away. You do the same. Before the silence could get any more awkward, Jihoon's phone rang. It was Seungcheol.

“One of your professors are looking for you, where are you?”

“Ah, I'm sorry. I'm on my way.”

He looked at you apologetically.

“It's fine.” You say quietly, “Go.”

He gives you a look of gratitude before rushing out the door.

[Pt1] [Masterlist]

[legendofzeldaalinktothepast]

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 14 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter 

Pearl rested her elbows against the windowsill as she gazed out at the bright blue sky. The view from this new house was lovely; that was one thing Whitney hadn't lied about. They had a fair amount of land -- Pearl had a feeling her mother was planning to start a garden -- and there was a thick patch of woods just within walking distance; the tree branches were bare and coated with ice, but Pearl knew they'd be even more beautiful in the spring. Despite all of the beauty laying just before her, Pearl's heart still ached. She couldn't bring herself to smile at the sunny blue sky, or the squirrel scurrying through the patches of snow in the yard, or the opportunity to explore those woods... She knew why she was here, and all the nature in the world could never compensate for what she'd left behind. 

* 

Taking a deep breath, Pearl laid back against her pillow. The composition notebook lay on the other side of her bed, but there mere sight of it only made her even more nauseous. She kicked it in a fit of frustration, and it slid down into the gap between her bed and the wall.

Knock knock. Pearl instinctively bolted upright as the door creaked open. To her relief, it was only Peony.

"Aren't you ever going to come out?" Peony whined. "I know you're sad, but I've been so bored lately... Besides, it's not good to stay cooped up in here all day."

Pearl huffed. "What is there to do?" she grumbled. "I don't even know anybody in this stupid town, and probably never will."

"Well, you have me..." Peony said, looking rather disappointed.

Pearl forced a smile. "I know, I know... Look, we can... go for a walk or something, if you really are that bored."

"Yes, I'd love to!" Peony immediately brightened up.

The two girls made their way downstairs, slipping into their winter coats and boots before heading towards the back door. "Be back in a while, mom!" Peony called. "We're just going for a walk."

"Alright, be safe, girls!" Whitney called back. The mere sound of her voice made Pearl cringe, and she hurried out the door without another word. Rolling her eyes, Peony followed close behind.

"I don't know how you can even look her in the eye anymore..." Pearl said, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked through the muddy grass, the ground squeaking beneath her boots.

"Because she's our mom." Peony stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides... While I do wish we could have stayed back in Beach City, you can't deny that there were a lot of... negative influences back there."

Pearl shot her a glare, which made Peony tense. "Look, all I'm saying is... Mom's doing what she thinks is best for us." Peony continued, turning her gaze up towards the sky. "I don't fully understand all of it... but that doesn't mean she's wrong."

"If you don't even understand it, then how do you know she's right?" Pearl huffed.

Peony lifted the bottom of her ankle-length skirt as she stepped over a pile of snow, not wanting to get it wet. "Well... I don't really know, I guess." Peony shrugged. "But... I do know that God has a plan for both of us. If we weren't meant to be where we are right now, we wouldn't be here. He would've stopped us from coming here somehow."

Pearl blinked away tears. "What if..." she began, her voice cracking. "What if mom is doing the wrong thing? What if she's outright disobeying God? What if she's just selfish and controlling and it has nothing to do with whatever God wants? Have you considered that, Peony?"

"I..." Peony clenched her fists. "I... I don't know, Pearl. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up."

"I just want to go home." Pearl choked, cupping her hands over her face. "I just want my friends back... I'm never going to see them again, Peony! I can't do this..." She finally broke down. Peony stood beside her in silence, struggling to think of something, anything she could say that would comfort her sister... But it seemed like everything she'd said these past few minutes only made things worse.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence (aside from Pearl's sobbing), Peony approached Pearl and gave her a gentle hug. "I know... I'm sorry.” 

* 

Pearl stretched her arms as she sat upright, drawing in a deep breath. Once she'd rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she glanced down towards Amethyst and smiled warmly. A tiny bit of hair had grown on her chin overnight; Pearl gave it a cautious stroke, not wanting to wake Amethyst, but still loving the feeling of her scruffy chin. 'So cute...' Once she'd finally pulled her gaze away from Amethyst, Pearl rose from the bed and tiptoed over to the basket of folded laundry, deciding to put together her outfit for the day.

Amethyst rolled over onto her side. "Hey." she greeted, smiling at Pearl with a sleepy expression in her eyes.

"Good morning." Pearl responded as she slipped out of her pajamas. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, was already starting to wake up." Amethyst said, smiling as she admired the view. Over the past few weeks, Pearl had grown more comfortable undressing in front of Amethyst, and while she knew she wasn't ready for any kind of intimacy beyond kissing and bed sharing, she still couldn't keep her eyes off of Pearl's beautiful figure.

"That's good." Pearl slipped into one of her knee-length skirts, smoothing it out with her hands.

"Hey... not to be nosy, but just wondering; do you own any pants?" Amethyst asked. "I've just noticed you only ever wear skirts. I've always been curious about that."

"Oh... I guess not." Pearl smiled awkwardly. "I was raised a conservative Pentecostal. Almost none of the women at our church wore pants, just long skirts and dresses. It's a way of being modest and feminine, I guess. It's something I never really thought too much about."

"Hmm, I get ya." Amethyst said as she sat upright. "Well... Are you still, uh, a conservative Pentecostal?"

Pearl shook her head. "Definitely not. I mean... I still believe in God, but... not the way I was raised to, at least." Pearl buttoned up her blouse and tucked it into her skirt, looking herself over in the mirror. "I guess I just... never really thought much of it. I kind of forgot what it's like to wear pants, in all honesty, so I've never had any desire to change my wardrobe. That's not strange, is it?"

"No, not really." Amethyst said. "I was just curious. But ya know... If you ever decide you wanna change things up, I'll be glad to help you. I've got plenty of experience with that."

Pearl smiled. "Oh, you do?"

"Yeah. And I've done it more times than I can count." Amethyst reached for her brush on the nightstand and began to smooth out the knots in her hair. "Like, when I first realized I was a girl, I thought I had to be super feminine for anyone to take me seriously. I wore skirts and dresses and pink stuff and all that shit, I even shaved my legs and wore a face full of makeup... And then I realized, hey, this sucks. I don't have to do all that shit to be a girl."

"I see..." Pearl said, reaching for the brush once Amethyst was finished and smoothing out her own hair.

"Yeah." Amethyst said. "So at one point, I realized that like... I don't have to be girly to be a girl. Sure, I like a little eyeliner and lipgloss now and then, I even paint my nails sometimes -- but I also like being hairy and wearing flannels and tank tops. And I became a lot more comfortable with being a girl once I realized that." Amethyst shrugged. "I dunno, you don't have to, but... You ever consider trying out a new style? Doesn't even have to be a manly one, could just be a different kind of feminine. Just to help you move past the way you were raised."

"Maybe..." Pearl shrugged, blushing as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "At the very least, I should get a haircut. It's getting a bit too long for my liking. And perhaps I could try out some new clothes at the mall... Maybe go wild and give pants a try, ha!"

"Oooh, I see where this is going!" Amethyst jumped to her feet. "Let's go out to the mall with the girls today! I need to re-dye my hair, anyway." she said, gesturing to the black roots on her scalp.

"Aw, well..." Pearl blushed. "I guess that could be fun... I haven't seen Garnet and Peridot in quite a while, have I?"

"You sure haven't!" Amethyst grinned. "I'll text Dot and Garnet! They'll be sooo excited to see you again!"

"You're sure they won't be annoyed with me?" Pearl said. "I still feel terrible for not showing up to our last mall date..."

"Nah, they'll totally understand! They know you had stuff going on, and they could tell you were shy, anyway." Amethyst said with a wink, fishing her phone out from underneath the blankets and sending out a text to Peridot and Garnet. "Besides, you're the mom friend of the group. Peridot needs you around if she finds another centipede in her shower."

Pearl burst into laughter. "I guess that's true, isn't it? I'm still so proud of that."

"Aaah, this is gonna be so fun!" Amethyst bounced with excitement. "How do you think you'll get your hair cut? You wanna go risky and get a buzzcut? Maybe even dye it a wild color like mine?"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far..." Pearl brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I think I'm fairly content with my natural strawberry blonde. I honestly just want a trim so it doesn't look like an awkward bob anymore."

"Aww, but you'd look soooo cute with some pink highlights..." Amethyst pouted. "I won't push, though. No matter what you get done, it's gonna be a great time, and you'll look hot!"

Pearl beamed. "Yeah! It'll be lots of fun." she said, grabbing her deodorant and toothbrush from her backpack. Even though she'd been living there for a few months, now, she still couldn't break the habit of keeping all of her belongings in her bag. "Well, guess I should finish getting myself cleaned up... Be right back!" she said, heading off to the bathroom. 

* 

The mall was filled with the sounds of chattering, music, and children running around and laughing in the play area. Pearl walked a few steps behind the other three girls -- at least until Amethyst reached back and nudged her forward. "Keep up, princess!" she teased. "Want me to hold your hand so you don't fall behind?"

"Ah, um, sure!" Pearl blushed; she noticed Peridot and Garnet grinning at the sight of this, but neither of them said anything, to Pearl's relief.

"Have you decided what you'll be doing with your hair?" Garnet asked.

"Not entirely sure... But I certainly want it shorter than this." Pearl said, blowing away a strand of hair that had started to fall onto her face. "It's in that awkward stage where it's constantly in the way, but too short to put in a ponytail."

"I was thinking of getting some pink and blue highlights." Garnet said, turning to Peridot and ruffling her hair. "And this little butch is probably going to sit and read a magazine, aren't you?"

"You bet your ass I am!" Peridot said. "I cut and dye my own hair."

"I don't blame you." Pearl reassured. "I've had so many horrible experiences with getting my hair done, too; I was lucky my mother let me cut it as short as she did, but she always told the stylist to make sure I didn't look like a boy or a lesbian."

"I'll tell the stylist to make you look extra lesbian if you want." Amethyst teased.

Pearl giggled. "No need for that. I just want a trim, that's all."

"Yeah, I know. Just saying, though, you'd look really cute if you got something super short." Amethyst said. "Not that you're not already cute as fuck."

"Maybe I will..." Pearl said, blushing a little bit. "Y-you're pretty cute yourself, too."

"You're cuter." Amethyst whispered, pressing a kiss to Pearl's knuckles. Before their playful flirting could continue any longer, they'd reached the hair salon. As they walked in and seated themselves in the waiting room, Pearl couldn't help but notice the heavy scent of hairspray and shampoo in the air. Reaching for one of the magazines in the basket, she flipped through the pages in search of some ideas. Amethyst's suggestion, however, didn't seem to be leaving her head anytime soon... 'Perhaps I could get the short and risky haircut my mother would definitely disapprove of.' she thought with a growing smile.

"Hmm, what do you think?" Amethyst asked, gesturing to a picture in the magazine she was holding. "I was thinking of just getting my purple re-done, but I think some silver streaks would look pretty cool, too!"

"Ohh, you're right!" Pearl beamed. "That would look lovely on you! I say you should go for it."

"I think I will." Amethyst grinned, setting the magazine aside but leaving it open on that particular page. "How about you? Any styles catch your eye?"

"None in particular, but..." Pearl flipped through the magazine and hummed with thought. "I think I might end up going with your idea after all. I want to go super short! Maybe an undercut of some kind."

"Hell yeah, that's the spirit!" Amethyst gave Pearl a playful nudge. "But only if you want to, alright? I might've been a little pushy about it..."

"Not at all. In fact, I think it's just the push I needed!" Pearl beamed, pressing a gentle kiss to Amethyst's forehead.

"Alright, good to hear." Amethyst returned the kiss. She reached for Pearl's hand and gently tangled their fingers together, letting out a sigh of content as she rested her head against her shoulder. 

* 

Once they left the salon, Pearl couldn't keep her fingers out of her hair; not only was it soft from being shampooed, but the feeling of the freshly buzzed hair on the side of her head felt so lovely on her fingers. In the end, she'd decided on a short undercut; trimmed just enough to keep her hair out of her face, but long enough so that she could still run her fingers through it.

As they passed the various stores throughout the mall, Pearl caught the occasional glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass windows. 'I look... boyish.' she thought, her heart racing. 'Especially when I'm holding hands with Amethyst...' But for some strange reason, that thought almost excited her.

As they entered one of the clothing stores, Amethyst immediately began bouncing with excitement. "Ohh, you'd look really cute in that!" Amethyst said, gesturing to one of the mannequins. It was wearing dark green overalls with a minty green striped blouse underneath.

"You think so?" Pearl blushed.

"Totally!" Amethyst said. "You wanna try it on?"

"Ah, sure! I don't see why not." Pearl said, searching through the clothing rack to make sure the outfit was in her size. Once she found it, she turned her gaze back to Amethyst. "But since I'm trying this on, I want to pick out an outfit for you as well!"

"Oh yeah?" Amethyst grinned.

"Yep!" Pearl said. "Ah, let's see..." She glanced around the store for some kind of inspiration; Garnet was looking through the array of hair clips and sunglasses, while Peridot stood nearby on her phone, probably playing that one Pokemon game she was always talking about. She then glanced towards the lingerie section, but immediately averted her eyes. 'No, no, not that!' she thought, blushing at the mere idea of telling Amethyst to try on lingerie for her -- and in public at that!

"You good?" Amethyst asked, noticing the blush on Pearl's face.

"Yes! Um..." Not wanting Amethyst to know about the thought she'd just had, Pearl turned and pointed at the first outfit she saw; it was a short, black sundress with a pink flower pattern. "That'd look lovely on you! Oh, wait..." Pearl blushed. "Sorry, I forgot you didn't like dresses."

"Hey, I'm not opposed to them." Amethyst said. "Just don't like wearing them all the time. But nothing wrong with putting on a dress for a little fashion show." she added with a wink.

"We're having a fashion show now?" Peridot raised an eyebrow.

"Ooh, that sounds fun! I want to pick out your outfit!" Garnet exclaimed, clasping her hands together with excitement.

"So that means I'll be picking out yours... I hope you're ready to look like a clown." Peridot snorted.

"Aw, hush, I'm sure you could put together something nice!" Garnet patted Peridot on the back.

"You two nerds go pick out each others outfits while me and Pearl try ours on." Amethyst said with a grin, grabbing Pearl's hand and leading her towards the women's dressing room. Beaming with excitement, Pearl closed the door behind herself and locked it. 'Never thought this bunch would be the type to have a fashion show at the mall...' Pearl thought as she undressed.

As she reached for the pair of overalls, she caught a glimpse of her body in the mirror. 'I'm so scrawny...' she thought, staring at her flat chest and the way her ribs protruded from her torso. While it certainly wasn't news to her, she still couldn't help feeling a little bit self conscious every now and then; a combination of a fast metabolism, a picky appetite, and genetics all contributed to her being so thin. But she remembered the way Amethyst held her whenever she slept in her bed, kissing her and telling her how lovely she looked, and she couldn't help but smile again.

Pearl slipped into the overalls; the way they hugged her legs felt... strange, somewhat foreign, but not necessarily in a bad way. She then buttoned up the pretty green blouse and tucked it in, fastening the suspenders over her shoulders. She slipped back into her shoes and looked at herself in the mirror once more, a slight blush on her cheeks. 'Goodness... I look more boyish than ever.' she thought. Pearl found herself staring at her reflection for a few moments, unable to hide the happy feeling bubbling up inside of her. The word Garnet had used to describe Peridot earlier that day -- butch -- ran through her mind, and a smile spread across her face. But she shook off the silly feeling, remembering it was just a little game of dressup, and that she'd have to change back into her more feminine clothes soon. Still, the joy in her chest lingered as she unlocked the dressing room door and stepped out into the store.

Garnet and Peridot were sitting in the chairs just outside the dressing room, and they applauded as Pearl walked out.

"Woohoo, you look cute as hell!" Peridot cheered.

"Very nice." Garnet added with a warm smile. "It suits you so well."

"Aww, thanks." Pearl blushed, shoving her hands into the big front pocket. "I sort of wish I had the money for it... Amethyst only had enough to pay for my haircut, unfortunately."

"I could buy it for you, if you'd like." Garnet said.

"Ah, I could never make you do that! I don't know when or if I'll be able to pay you back..." Pearl smiled sadly. "It's very kind of you to offer, though."

"Your birthday is in June, isn't it?" Garnet asked, tilting her head. "Consider it an early birthday gift."

"Ah... well, thank you." Pearl blushed. She honestly didn't remember telling Garnet her birthday -- maybe Amethyst had mentioned it at some point? "Only if you're sure it's alright."

"I am! You look lovely in it, you deserve to wear it more than once." Garnet reassured. "Amethyst, are you almost done?" she added, glancing over towards the other dressing room.

"Yeah, just a sec!" Amethyst called. "Just, uh -- Pearl, could you come in and help me with this zipper in the back?"

"Oh, sure thing!" Pearl said. She headed into the dressing room and locked the door behind herself once she was in. "Let me see."

"Thanks, P. Zippers are always a pain in the ass." Amethyst said, turning her back towards Pearl and moving her long hair over her shoulder. Pearl reached for the zipper and gave it a gentle tug, sliding it up with ease. "There we go!" Pearl clasped her hands together.

"Thanks." Amethyst said, grinning as she turned around to face Pearl. "And since you came in to my rescue, you get to be the first one to see me in this dress." she said, flipping her hair dramatically. "How's it look?"

"It's lovely..." Pearl said, admiring the way the dress framed her chubby figure.

"You think so, huh?" Amethyst whispered, standing up on her tippy toes. "Because I think you look just as good... Maybe even better. Look at you, stepping outta your comfort zone and letting yourself be a tomboy..." Amethyst licked her lips, slowly casting her gaze down towards Pearl's mouth.

Pearl stared into her eyes, taking a moment to process just what Amethyst was silently begging for. Once it clicked, Pearl immediately complied; she pressed a soft kiss to her plump lips, letting out a quiet groan as Amethyst gripped onto her shoulders and pinned her against the wall.

Her cheeks burning, Pearl ran her fingers through Amethyst's hair; normally it was soft, yet filled with a handful of tangles, but after their visit to the salon it was smoother than silk. Pearl found her hands slowly inching downwards, but stopped at Amethyst's hips once she remembered they were in a public dressing room. As their lips parted, Pearl panted softly and wiped a bit of saliva away from her mouth.

"Goodness gracious..." she breathed.

"Heh... I swear that wasn't the original plan." Amethyst whispered. "Really just wanted help with my zipper, but... You looked so dang hot, had to get a taste..."

"Mhm, sure it wasn't." Pearl winked. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her blouse and re-adjusted her suspenders.

"Well... Guess we should head out. We got a fashion show to attend." Amethyst winked back, stepping out into the store again before Pearl could even say anything else. After looking herself over in the mirror to make sure her face wasn't too red (it was), she soon followed.

"No dirty jokes, we just took a while because my zipper just got stuck, I swear." Amethyst said to Garnet and Peridot.

"We weren't going to make any." Peridot rolled her eyes.

"I was." Garnet snorted. "But anyway, the colors of the dress really compliment your hair."

"Yeah. Why don't you wear dresses more often?" Peridot said, resting her chin in her hands.

"I dunno. Just like pants more, I guess... But maybe I'll end up buying this one, it's pretty comfy. Nice and breezy for when it gets hot outside, too. What do you think, Pearl?" Amethyst turned to Pearl.

"Well, if you think you'll wear it, I say you should buy it!" Pearl said.

"Maybe I will." Amethyst said, strutting over towards Peridot and Garnet. "Now get your butts up and try on your outfits! Me and Pierogi wanna see a fashion show, too!"

"Alright, let's get this over with!" Peridot announced as she rose to her feet. "I hope my selection for you was decent..."

"I'm sure it is." Garnet said, making her way towards the dressing room.

As the two girls changed into their outfits, Pearl leaned back in the chair and relaxed, slowly reaching for Amethyst's hand and tangling their fingers together. Amethyst squeezed Pearl's hand tight, giving her knuckles a kiss and gazing into her eyes with a soft expression. "Hey..." she said, smiling softly.

"Hi there." Pearl whispered, pressing a kiss to Amethyst's knuckles as well. "While I am enjoying our little fashion show... I do wish we could have stayed in that dressing room just a moment longer."

"Aw, you liked that lil makeout session we had in there, didn't you?" Amethyst teased, booping Pearl's nose with her free hand. She tensed for a moment, glancing around the area to make sure nobody was standing nearby before leaning in and kissing Pearl on the lips once more. "There's plenty more where that came from."

The locks on the dressing rooms clicked, and Pearl immediately pulled her gaze away from Amethyst's face -- but she kept her grip tight on Amethyst's hand.

Peridot and Garnet both stepped out in their respective outfits; Peridot was dressed in a slightly-too-big button up shirt with some dress pants, and Garnet was in a white tank top with a pink sweater on top, and a black-and-white striped maxi skirt. The latter twirled around to show off her skirt, a huge grin on her face before she turned to Peridot. "Tuck your shirt in, it'll look nicer that way!"

Peridot blushed, tucking the baggy shirt into her jeans. "Hmf, if you insist." she mumbled. "Can I put my shorts back on now?"

"Aww, but you look so handsome in that!" Pearl cooed, clasping her hands together.

Peridot buried her face into her hands and grumbled incoherently. Pearl wasn't quite sure what to make of that response, but once she saw the slight smile from between Peridot's fingers, she relaxed and smiled as well.

"Maybe we should head out soon. As cute as she looks, we all know fashion shows aren't really Dot's thing." Amethyst said.

"That's true." Garnet gave Peridot a playful nudge. "Do you want go to the pet store and play with the dogs?"

"Hell yeah!" Peridot cheered, zooming right back into the dressing room to change back into her clothes before anyone could say anything else.

'Guess the fashion show is over... That went by quick.' Pearl thought. She made her way back towards the dressing rooms and retrieved her blouse and skirt, changing back into them. As much as she'd loved wearing the overalls, she still felt a strange sense of relief when she changed back into her more feminine, "ladylike" clothing. 

* 

As Pearl began settling in for bed that night, she changed into her nightgown and brushed her hair like she always did; she noticed the way her brush went through her short hair with ease. With a sigh of content, she laid down on the bed and adjusted herself beneath the blankets as she got comfortable.

"You're really liking that new haircut, aren't you?" Amethyst remarked, running her fingers across Pearl's scalp as she snuggled up to her.

"Mhm... It's so fun to play with." Pearl mumbled sleepily. She buried her face into the top of Amethyst's head and took in the lingering scent of her shampoo. Pearl let out another happy sigh as she played with her hair and twirled it around her fingers. "Thank you for taking me out to get it done... I guess I needed it more than I realized."

"Aw, well, I love spoiling you." Amethyst smiled warmly, kissing Pearl on the cheek. "By the way, uh... I guess there's something I wanted to talk about."

"Hm?" Pearl asked. Normally that kind of preface would send her anxiety up to the sky, but the tone in Amethyst's voice reassured her that it wasn't going to be anything bad.

"I was wondering... I know you said you weren't too sure about what we are right now..." Amethyst began. "But... I dunno. I think, if you're comfortable with it... We kinda already are girlfriends at this point, you know? I know you said you're more comfortable calling us friends that kiss each other, and if you wanna stick with that, we can, but... I think, in a way, that's kind of what girlfriends are." Feeling a little bit shy, Amethyst averted her gaze. "I dunno... What do you think?"

Pearl took a moment to ponder Amethyst's suggestion, running her fingers through Amethyst's silky hair. "Perhaps you're right... The world girlfriend has always felt so... heavy to me. Like I'm committing to something huge, and permanent, and that we'll either get married or... or have a painful breakup." Pearl shuddered. "But... perhaps it doesn't have to be like that. I think... the way you described girlfriend is so much more comfortable to me, so... I think, maybe... I am your girlfriend, Amethyst. No matter what we call it, I want to stay like this with you."

"I wanna stay like this, too." Amethyst whispered. She cupped Pearl's cheeks and brought their lips together in a long, soft kiss.

[nikkari-aoe]

Slivers of a Whole

[50 Shun/Dennis 1-3 sentence au microfics]

It hits him hard, and not without a fair amount of absurdity- that despite everything, he still cares.

Dennis puts on an irritatingly genuine showstopper’s smile as he walks down the red carpet, waving amicably to his fans beyond the paparazzi while Shun scowls, eyes sharp behind his shades, just daring some crazed fan to leap the rope and tackle Dennis to the ground. Forget his bodyguard job- that would make his insufferable day amusing, at the very least.

Ruri watches them and knows, understands in a way that she doesn’t but somehow does- there is a history hidden there that she is not privy to, a story that told itself while she was a princess trapped in her tower. They dance around each other and she wants to ask what happened- but she can take enough of a guess. It’s not that hard a story to predict.  

It hits him hard, and not without a fair amount of absurdity- that despite everything, he still cares.

Dennis puts on an irritatingly genuine showstopper’s smile as he walks down the red carpet, waving amicably to his fans beyond the paparazzi while Shun scowls, eyes sharp behind his shades, just daring some crazed fan to leap the rope and tackle Dennis to the ground. Forget his bodyguard job- that would make his insufferable day amusing, at the very least.

Ruri watches them and knows, understands in a way that she doesn’t but somehow does- there is a history hidden there that she is not privy to, a story that told itself while she was a princess trapped in her tower. They dance around each other and she wants to ask what happened- but she can take enough of a guess. It’s not that hard a story to predict.  

“You know he’s going to betray us,” Yuuto reminds him none-too-gently, and Shun knows- but he thinks of the boy who trawls through the murky depths of Mementos with them, who fights bold and elegant beneath the frenetic casino lights, who sits quiet at the end of the cafe bar nursing a cup of expensive coffee- and he can’t help but wish.

“My sister is waiting,” Shun says, pulling away, voice rising from its hushed whisper, and Dennis glances fast at the door to their room, waiting for Leader to throw it open and chide them- but nothing comes, and Shun continues, knowing Dennis won’t refuse- “She’s waiting at the bottom of the Abyss. So are you coming with me, or not?”

When the psychic arrives, Dennis can sense their power, taste the steel and ozone at its edges- and finally, he thinks, an air of arrogance about him, a challenge. What he doesn’t expect is to be drawn into their summoning circle and feel the ghostly spell he’d been preparing fall to pieces at the sight of a familiar face from a mortal lifetime centuries ago staring back at him.

Shun likes to think that he’d believe a lot of things, given the chance- but that this... this featherless kid that just fell of his roof is a god?  That’s not one of them.

Dennis grins, holds out a hand; Shun takes it and climbs into the cockpit behind him- as if it was ever a question that they’d end up here.

Trust your partner- it’s the rule of the Underground, the key to keeping your wits and keeping from getting erased. And trusting Yuzu, that girl who reminds him so of Ruri, that was easy enough- but Dennis, who can’t seem to give him a straight answer but for the grin plastered fake across his face... Dennis is a different story.

And this Dennis- this Dennis who’s withdrawn into the dark of his room, without a single kind word or outrageous plan to keep their group’s carefree everyday missions alive- Shun pounds his fist against his door, and thinks that he doesn’t know this Dennis at all.

“I’m glad,” he says at the end of it all, the very second before they lose it all to the black of the crawling chaos, “that I met you.”

Shun hears his voice for the first time on the radio, performing a story whose name he doesn’t know and whose conclusion he’s hardly interested in- but he listens all the way to the end, eyes closed and caught up in the sheer emotion of the storyteller’s performance until long after the story’s ended and the channel’s faded into the soft static of the next program.

My grandfather died for yours. It’s an odd sentence to be able to say- but as Shun looks the newcomer over, all false bravado and garish pride, he can’t resist the urge to add, if only in his mind- but I’m not dying for you any time soon.

Dennis has no intention of staying long in the streets of hell. He only came for a brief errand, really, he thinks, the pearls of the underworld wrapped around his wrists- so it’s rather unfortunate that the demon staring him down with eyes black as his wings seems to have no intention of letting him leave.

“Where are we going?” Dennis asks, and beside him, Shun just shrugs and starts the engine. Anywhere, then, he surmises. He can work with that.

Feelings are beautiful, fractured things, cracking along strange edges and fitted together a mosaic across hearts fickle and strange. Dennis watches one in particular, sees the anger and protective love that run across it flames of blue and red, and wonders what it would be like to fall.

When they were kids, they both dreamed of it- the elusive dream world beyond the cage’s gates. As children they planned and plotted and drew their dreams across diagrams spread across the dirty warehouse floor until the day that two became one and the children no longer so young. Watch me, Shun dares, and soars beyond the bars of that cage masquerading as a city, leaving Dennis staring in his wake.

He weaves the trap so elegantly- all wine glasses and card games and poison laced around the edges of it all. He doesn’t expect for Shun to fall into it too- but by the time he realizes it, the guilty party guests have already drunk their fill.

“Kiss me?” Dennis asks, and Shun hates to consider himself indulgent, but…

“Shun and Dennis?” the newcomers ask her, some mixture of surprised and affronted, “They hardly even get along.” Ruri just shakes her head at all of them, and tells them that they’ll see once the tournament begins.

Is he being conned? He’s pretty sure he’s being conned right now, but this conman is so earnestly charming Shun might have to suspend his disbelief in psychic powers- but just the length of an hour’s consultation.

“I can’t believe you two,” Ruri scolds while Yuuto looks on, chiding but amused, “Sneaking around the Overseers like like that is far too dangerous for a little bit of petty thievery like- oh.”

You haven’t seen Shun in years, he thinks in an echo of Yuuya’s voice, what could possibly go wrong? A lot of things, he thinks back aggressively, a whole lot of things.

Shun blinks down at the register, then back at the human approximation of the aftermath of a natural disaster standing on the other side of the counter. Did this kid seriously just order six shots of espresso in his latte? Sure, it’s finals week, but Shun would rather not be responsible for someone's death this particular morning.

Dennis responds to Shun’s slow, “Are you okay?” with a dramatic slump onto his pillows and an overly-enunciated, “I’m very clearly dying here, Kurosaki, so I hope you brought me consolation soup.”

The exact same book. Dennis absently turns a page without reading a word and sneaks another glance at the boy across the cafe- for the third time in as many weeks, they’re reading the same book.

Dennis resists the urge to snap his DS in half. He doesn’t know who ‘blackfalcon’ is or how they can effortlessly blow through all of Dennis’ increasingly more elaborate team compositions- but mark his words, next time he will be victorious.

Shun doesn’t pay too much attention to what Dennis had insisted on drawing on his cast- so when he looks down to see a surprisingly detailed cartoon eagle staring up at him next to Ruri’s tiny harpies, the smile that tugs at his lips is soft and genuine.

All he has left is a card. He turns it over between his fingers, watches Shun’s proud expression catch the light. Dennis frowns, and wonders if there’s supposed to be any satisfaction in this at all.

Dennis sighs; his fans can pick him out of a blurry crowd shot with his hair dyed, shades on, and hoodie pulled over far to shadow his face- and yet they’re collectively useless in trying to find the boy he’d danced with at the masquerade whose mask had barely covered his face.

Shun has never summoned a more useless weapon in his life. It’s not that the new sword is incompetent- no, his skills in battle earn him the position of first team leader within a month- rather, it’s that this new wakizashi is a show-off, a snark, and a shameless flirt. He turns the other way down the citadel halls- his citadel halls- when he sees Dennis approach, thinking all the while- absolutely useless.

“It’s beautiful,” Ruri says, and Dennis can only agree, no matter how much of a narcissist that makes him. He loves it, and wonders if the living painting given life through the last shards of his magic feels the same.

Dennis doesn’t deserve to be King, not after everything that he stole. Shun revs his D-wheel’s engine, watching the timer count down to zero before shooting into the tunnel, Security hot on his heels. He doesn’t let that stop him- he’s going to take everything back, and snatch the crown from atop that traitor’s head.

Dennis is the seventh. Shun is sure of it- sure that of all the gathered Braves, Dennis is the fake, the one colluding with the demons. Now, all he needs is incentive for the unmasking.

“I missed you,” Dennis breathes into his shoulder, his bags slumped forgotten on the floor at their feet. Shun hums his agreement into the top of Dennis’ head. For these feelings of reunion he doesn’t have the words.

“I’ll stay,” he says, hoping it won’t turn into a lie.

Collectively they insist on leaving the ferris wheel for last; they wait the extra fifteen minutes for one of the entirely clear-sided gondolas. He sits with Shun at his side, Yuuto and Ruri across, and they clamor and clamber over each other for the best shots of the city lights glinting below. Dennis sinks against Shun and thinks, a little dangerously, that he could get used to this.

Never in his life has Shun tasted chocolate quite this good. When Ruri and Sayaka had come home chattering one afternoon about the new bakery on the corner, he had scoffed at their high praises, but now he’s become the most regular of the regulars. The patissier who sneaks him extra pastries with a smile and a wink, Shun insists, isn’t a factor.

The patchwork chimera of a magical beast that slinks into his kitchen one day isn’t one that Shun would have ever deemed likely to survive its creation, let alone hang on to a human-like semblance of consciousness. And yet it clutches at its wounded shoulder with beastly claws and, smiling, calmly asks if Shun could spare a bowl of rice.

To the bottom of the ocean the calling card beckons him, to the place where starlight drowns and the magician who sealed his sister away sits waiting in the hazy luminescence of submerged cavern walls. Shun shifts his wings, dreading the spray of the salt against his feathers, then plunges in behind the messenger. Shun squints his eyes against the sting of the water and forces himself against instinct to swim down- down towards the depths, down towards his revenge.

There has to be meaning to it. The reason their world spins and spins the same twenty-four hours over again like a track stuck on loop, an endless melody of blood and fear and saving and sacrifice in turn. He wants to ask, do you remember?  every morning that they meet- but instead, today again he waves a quiet hello with a smile that doesn’t manage to reach his eyes, anymore.

Do you trust me, Dennis asks, and Shun wants to say that he doesn’t- but there’s no choice, no time. “Yes,” he hisses out, and Dennis lets go.

Shun races up the stairs as the sirens blare through the mansion, not sparing the breath to curse, not when the the billow of that cloak, that smirk beneath golden mask is right there, disappearing into the first door on the third-floor landing. Got you, Shun thinks victoriously, and throws the doors open wide only to see the phantom thief perched atop the balcony railing, silhouetted by the moon, ruby necklace in hand. Shun doesn’t have to be able to see him to see the mocking smile on his face as he tips his hat, then falls into the open air- another perfect crime.

The angel that falls into the garden is wounded and faint, clinging to consciousness through only the hatred that burns in his eyes. Don’t touch me, he snarls, don’t look, human. So Dennis does neither- simply sits with his back to the angel, biding out the other’s pride.

“Okay,” Dennis says, turning on him with a glint in his eye that Shun knows means nothing but trouble, “So if Ruri can’t be my fake date to the theatre gala, what about you?”

Shun seethes down at the color guard as they start their extra practice- or rather, down at Dennis as he spins beneath a flag toss. Ruri’s assured him a thousand times over that Dennis hadn’t meant to break her trumpet, and at one point Shun could believe it- but both of their trumpets? Shun wishes for a gust of wind to drop the pole straight down on Dennis’ head; unfortunately, he’s not quite so lucky and Dennis catches it with a flourish, just to spite him.

“This movie is awful,” Dennis says and shuffles on the couch to take an unseemly large handful of popcorn. Shun resists the urge to point out Dennis is the one who picked it in the first place.

When he comes home, there’s a letter waiting for him amongst the mail, envelope plain and indistinct. The paper inside is simple, left unsigned; all it says is simply, I’m sorry. He wonders if it doesn’t come too late.

Dennis clips mint green cat ears into Shun’s hair; Shun retaliates by shoving a bear-eared headband into his curls. Dennis just drags Shun to the register and attempts to pay while the ears are still on their heads. He grins- their date turned attempt at getting kicked out of Disney Sea is starting out swimmingly.

Shun looks the new pilot over a few times from afar- he’s seen the kid’s sim scores with the new model, and they’re good, but not impressive, and certainly nothing compared to his own. After a while the newcomer saunters over, winks as he passes. “Don’t worry,” he says, his first words a challenge, “I’ll be taking control of the new frame from you before long.”

[starlit-scifi]

Chapter 4

First•Previous•Next

Colab isn’t that bad anymore with Lori there to walk you through it. Your study group soon gains another pair: Chemical Engineering major Manda Yu and Astrophysics major Hayleen Danara. They’re the only other female duo in your year, were paired up last term, and are now preparing for their six-week training mission scheduled for the end of this term.

Manda and Lori have been roommates since their first year, and spend most of their time together making snarky comments at each other about whatever ridiculousness goes on with the mils. You and Hayleen quickly lose track of the conversation through all the slang and jargon, and end up trading small talk. She’s also a Tusie, a year older than you, and from the complete opposite end of the habitable zone, but there’s still enough to chat about while you study.

“You really like Lori, huh?” she asks as you doodle in the margin of your notes, lulled by the virtual lecturer's voice. Your hand jerks and the stylus pen draws a broad streak across Diplomatic Practices of the New Space Age, 6th ed., before you lose control of it altogether. You fumble under the desk until you manage to grab it, then sit up with calm and collected poise, you hope. Lorina and Manda have noticed the disturbance, and Lori, apparently amused, gives a totally ladylike snort before she turns back to gossiping with Manda. Hayleen raises her eyebrow at you.

"She's a good partner," you say simply, once you’ve paused the recording.

She smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

“How about Manda?” You ask quickly, because that’s just how normal conversations work, you think.

“She’s wonderful. Best friend I’ve made here so far, honestly.”

“I’m glad.”

She nods. “The whole Colab thing is a lot easier when you’re with someone you like. Granted, a pair isn’t truly tested until they’ve been on the mission, but I can at least be pretty sure Manda won’t murder me in cold blood.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, honey,” Manda teases. “We haven’t even gotten to the stressful part yet. Lori, remember our first year, when our third-years were prepping? Remember Sandro?”

Lori grimaces. “Oh boy, do I remember.”

Manda turns back at you, smiling grimly. “We’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say the way some people behave under pressure while in positions of authority isn’t exactly pleasant.” Lori nods along.

You raise your eyebrows at Hay and she rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard the story. It wasn’t really that bad. She’s just being dramatic, as usual,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

“You know you love it,” Manda teases.

“Oh, you know I do,” Hay returns. And it’s all just good-natured teasing, girls amongst girls. Something your introverted self never had as a kid, never grew into during school.

You fiddle with your stylus as the two of them joke around, suddenly aware that you’re not really part of this bubble of laughter and happiness. And you never have been.

Someone's foot taps you under the table and you look up. Lori smiles at you.

You smile back.

You're partners, after all.

You're not alone.

---

There's a couple of downsides to having Lori as a partner. For one, she holds a few leadership positions that take up quite a bit of her already limited time. This occasionally means she’s suddenly forced to back out on study sessions in order to deal with issues (she uses a few more curse words than you personally would to describe said issues, but you understand).

In addition to being heavily involved with mil stuff, she’s also been romantically involved with more than a few people on either side of Unity. Word gets around pretty quickly that you’re the newest subject of her affections-- which you’re not, of course, you’re project partners and you really wonder how the gossip mill has managed to disregard that glaringly important fact. Still, her admirers and/or exes make their displeasure with your continued existence known. This is mostly by giving you dirty looks, but occasionally they try to start things with you.

You find yourself getting a lot of practice with being diplomatic lately.

One afternoon you’ve decided to study in the library during your free time. You’ve just set down your things when someone sits across from you. She’s a second-year suppie, and you’re pretty sure she’s not in your dorm or any of your classes, so you wonder why she’s here.

“Excuse me,” she says curtly.

“Yes?”

“I just hope you know what you're getting into.” Dark eyes glitter against her olive skin and you feel the dread of yet another unpleasant social interaction settle in the pit of your stomach.

“...Excuse me?”

She sighs loudly. “Look. I know you’re getting all buddy-buddy with Lorina. If you take it any further, it’s not going to go well for you.”

“We're not--” you find yourself struggling for words suddenly, “We're just colab partners-- I don’t even know you.”

Another sigh, more disgusted than the last, and she stretches out a hand. “Tereza Unde, I’m a second-year comm major. We had a composition class together first term last year.”

“Oh. Okay.” You hesitate, but take her hand anyway. “Aurora Delenz, bio and relations double major. Nice to meet you,” you add. It sounds more like a question than it should, but you’re actually kind of unsure whether this interaction is even a good thing.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m just trying to watch out for you,” she adds, and somehow you don’t quite believe her.

“I can handle my personal matters myself,” you say firmly.

“Not with her, you can’t. Trust me. She’ll sweep you off your feet and leave you with nothing. She doesn’t actually care about you as much as you think, ever.” There’s painful resentment in her words. You don’t know anything about the situation, and you’re not sure you want to know-- mostly because you have an assignment due tonight and don't exactly have the time to listen to a complete stranger rant about her ex.

“As long as she cares about me enough to not fail the both of us, I’m happy. We’re just project partners, and that’s not going to change.”

She scoffs, sliding her chair back. “Yeah. Right. Don’t say I didn't warn you, Delenz.”

There’s a good half dozen things you want to say to her as she walks off, but you hold your tongue. No point in starting a fight.

No point in relying on her words alone, either.

---

-Do you have time to meet up right now?

-Yes, I was actually about to ask you.

-I’m in the library, usual spot

-Be there in a bit

A few minutes later she comes in, coffee in hand, glancing around the room. Her eyes light up when she spots you, and you smile.

“Have you started on the assignment yet?” she asks as she sits down.

You sigh. “Not really... I have a quiz tomorrow for another class, so I’m looking through those notes right now.” Or at least, I was trying to...

“That’s fine. I’m sort of putting it off too, this one looks like it’ll be rough.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls. It’s a cozy silence, filled with the murmur of your fellow students around you and the smell of hot coffee. You breathe it in for a moment.

“So… I met a friend of yours named Tereza earlier,” you mention casually as you flick through your notes.

Lori’s eyebrows go all the way up as she sips her coffee. She clears her throat before she says, “Oh. How is she?”

Your fingers go still. “...to be honest, she seemed… kind of bitter.”

She sighs quietly. “That would be her.” She stares into her cup. “I don’t want to really get into it, but… I did mess up. But I apologized, and I tried to fix it… She’d rather stay bitter.”

“I figured.”

She shrugs. “Dating scene’s rough here anyway.”

You can tell she’s trying to change the subject, and you decide you’d rather just play along. “How else would it be, with a bunch of older teens and twenty-somethings stuck on a ship for ages?”

She shakes her head with a humorless smile. “Half of the issues I deal with involve the fact that most of the people in my unit have slept with each other and it's stupid.” She rips into a packet of crackers. “At least date outside,” she says between bites, “It's not that hard.”

“I guess,” you say with a shrug. She turns the package toward you and you take one, trying to eat at least a little more gracefully.

She looks at you pensively as she chews, then swallows. “You… never have really dated around, have you?”

“No,” you admit. Why do you feel so shy about it? “I never had the time, especially during secondary.” You snap a cracker in half. “Besides, my parents…”

“Oh, I forgot about Tusies and their arranged marriages. Up here, most of them ignore those arrangements; after all, who needs to know, right? We’re all going back eventually anyway, or something.” She looks down at her coffee. “Is he… nice, at least?”

Thinking of him for honestly the first time in months because the boy can’t be bothered to even write you, you can’t help but make a face. “He’s boring. It’s not like he's mean, or even really scummy or anything, but he’s not doing anything with his life, so I’m pretty sure my parents are going to break it off for me next time I go home.”

She snorts. “How convenient.”

“I guess?” You shrug uncomfortably. “It’s not exactly convenient, there’s paperwork and awkward fancy dinners involved. Plus it’ll just be awkward after I graduate since I’ll inevitably run into him everywhere. Ugh.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how you can get a functioning society out of that mess,” she says, shaking her head.

You mimic a snooty old-fashioned voice as you say, “Genetic compatibility coupled with economic and political advancement…” Lori laughs again, and you shrug. “It was supposed to yield the ideal society back in the Separation Times, but now that the colonies are back in contact and population size has stabilized, it’s mostly done for political reasons.”

“And you…” she frowns. “Damn. I’m sorry your parents put you through that, like…”

“Making me a pawn? It’s not like that. It was more of a genetic match in my case. His family would actually get the better end of the deal, mine just wanted the lowest possible chance of recessive diseases. You know how it is.”

She makes a face. “Mm. Yeah, okay.”

You can tell she doesn’t really accept that, but it’s nothing you can change. She sips her coffee in silence, and you pick at a hangnail on your index finger, wincing at the pop of pain and blood when you pull too hard. You notice her watching as you put your finger in your mouth and you raise an eyebrow at her. She shakes her head at you with a small smile.

A question comes to mind by the time you've stopped bleeding. “Excuse me if it's a rude question, but don’t your people have a polyamorous family arrangement?”

Lori shrugs. “Eh… not… exactly? There’s two genetic parents, obviously, but a marriage is between three people,” she says as she draws a triangle in the air with her finger, lingering at the third vertex. “The third is a caretaker and mediator, and can be a parent outside the relationship, but is a part of both households, so usually extended families just live close together.” She retraces one imaginary line, drawing an adjoining triangle as she goes on. “My mimi-- our family’s third--took my dad as her third, so our immediate family is very small, but I was still never lonely growing up. Cousins, and all that.” She laughs. “So many cousins.”

“Sounds nice…” You look down at the painful mess you’ve made of your cuticles. “My parents were an arranged marriage. They were the children of politicians from formerly competing political factions, different bloodlines, a good match all around.” She nods slowly, but you can sense that it’ll take a while for her to warm up to the idea, if ever. “My mom’s side was mostly Workers, and my dad's was more part of the Old Earth elite, so my parents were sort of the face of this new, centralized vision for humanity. Basically, they traveled a lot trying to promote intercolonial policy, and still do. So…” Your mangled finger throbs, and you bite your lip. “I was almost always alone when I was growing up. Our house was programmed well, though, so I wasn’t raised too badly,” you add, purposely over-cheery.

She laughs and shakes her head. Even though you were trying to make light of it, that kind of hurts.

“What?” You ask, trying not to let it show.

“No, not too bad at all. You're okay.” She smiles fondly at you. “You don’t have to feel lonely anymore.”

“I don’t, not with you,” you say truthfully. Then you realize how that sounds and add hurriedly, “W-with you, and Hay and Manda. It’s nice.”

There’s something strange in her expression now, but you don’t understand it.

“It is,” she says simply.

But why does it all feel so complicated?

Her airscreen goes off and she checks the notification and groans. “I need to go work out. Wanna come?” She asks with a smirk, already knowing your answer.

“Nope,” you say emphatically. “Look, look, I’m injured.” You pout, showing her your finger. She takes your hand and you freeze up, but she’s warm and gentle, even though she’s only doing it to play along.

“That looks serious,” she says gravely, with barely contained mirth in her eyes. “Ice it and go lie down, but that’s no excuse to skip class tomorrow.”

You scoff and withdraw your hand, mock-offended. “Like I ever would.” And honestly, with her sitting beside you every day, you wouldn’t.

First•Previous•Next

[7fics]

Jackson plays crappy matchmaker for Youngjae and Jaebum, and Youngjae avoids his feelings long enough to hurt Yugyeom.

Warnings: swearing, and some sexual content (not too explicit though)

Word Count: 5.6k+

Author(s): Mia and Chewy

A/N: It’s been a really long time, but our promised fic for our lottery winner from celebrating 2k followers is finally done! Sorry it took so long, but hopefully we’ve done your prompt justice :) 

I tried my best to incorporate the things you wanted. There’s also some yugjae because I have no control over my writing and who pops up in it, as usual. I really hope you like it. 

Tall, polished windows set in gold-yellow sills spanning the length of at least two regular department stores call out to him, whispering in bittersweet chorus. They want him to empty his savings for the month on some stupid party where it will be too dark for anyone to see what he’s wearing anyway. Is he bitter? Yes. Does he have the right to be? Hell yes. His senior Junho told him to come dressed his best, that he should want to make a good impression since a bunch of alumni and other seniors are going to be there. Youngjae isn’t even completely convinced that he wants to be in Kappa Sigma anyway. It just seems like the college thing to do, and Junho may have twisted his arm about it.

Regardless, here he is, walking through the front door of Club Z, cringing at the ding that sounds out and prompts some shoppers to look in his direction curiously. Some couldn’t care either way and return to what they were doing. Others give him looks ranging from amusement to disgust to genuine confusion. It’s obvious his jeans and band t-shirt combo are to be looked down upon here.

Rich, snotty bastards.

Youngjae is very disappointed that there are as many men as women, thus his excuse of being apart of the stereotypically less fashion-savvy gender is useless. Now, walking around cluelessly touching this and that with absolutely no idea of what any of it is or what to pair anything with is just embarrassing.

Adding to his budding headache, just glimpses of the different clothing pieces tell him that he’ll have to be here for hours just to find a semi-decent outfit. He was born as round as a circle, and even though he lost some baby fat in childhood, traces of it harbor his cheeks, making the tiny shirt holes seem like future humiliation. He also has thick limbs and a flat but soft tummy. No abs. No definition. No chance of him looking good in any of the shear due to his slight but soft frame and not an inkling of hope in the crisper button downs because of the aforementioned reason. It was always easier to resign himself to the ranks of the fashion terrorists and call it a day. Not only is he overwhelmed, but he’s confused, and a bit terrified as well.

To make his situation worse, a handsome, well-dressed man is making his way over from across the floor where women were previously fawning over him, giggling and shoving to get their opportunity at stealing his attention. He pays no mind to the glares they cast at him for that.

His real concern is what he’s going to say to the man when he gets there. He can’t say that he doesn’t need any help because he obviously does. He has a shirt and these insufferable looking shorts in his hands that, even to his inexperienced eyes, don’t match at all. The man will see through that lie in a split second and then he’ll have to put his head in a dark hole and wait for lightning to strike him dead. If he says that he was just looking around he might be met with the same expression he has witnessed twice already today. That expression that clearly says ‘why come if you’re going to touch everything you can’t afford and then leave?’.  He doesn’t think he can handle that a third time.

He may just drop everything and bolt. But then he’ll be looking through his entire wardrobe last minute, getting frustrated that nothing is good enough, eventually just blow the event off and live the rest of his college career as a hermit who never goes anywhere or does anything because he has no friends and can't dress himself properly.

...Okay, so maybe that last part is mostly just exaggerated speculation. But some of it holds true. Youngjae has been wearing the same thing since he was a geeky freshman through senior year. A fresh look is long overdue. He has no idea where to start though, or where he wants to end up for that matter.

Youngjae is still caught up in his internal dialogue when the man finally arrives, having to announce himself twice before Youngjae looks up, conflicted and nervous. He feels like a small child, mismatched clothes in hand and confidence draining from his body. Up close, the man is even more striking. Although Youngjae has no idea what he’s wearing by name, he knows that it looks good. Broad muscles fill up the shirt that would be too tight in some places and too loose in others on Youngjae. Long, built legs compliment his black slacks and shiny, dark shoes top off his whole ‘I’m too hot to approach, but feel free to drool from afar’ ensemble.

“Can I help you?” the man asks with amusement in his voice. He surveys Youngjae’s “outfit” with a speculative expression and raises one eyebrow. “You have a rather particular taste. I’m not judging, but it’s kind of written in my job description to give customers advice.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae says. “And what’s your advice?”

“Lose the shorts and we’ll see what we can do with the shirt…”

“Youngjae.”

The man smiles easily. “Jaebum.”

After twenty minutes of trying on things Jaebum brings to him, Youngjae is over the whole process. He appreciates the man’s well-intentioned determination but he’s on the verge of calling everything off because  nothing is looking right despite Jaebum’s undying optimism.

“Here, last one.” Jaebum’s arm splits through the dressing room curtains with a pair of straight-legged black jeans and a soft blue cotton button-up. He’s skeptical, but puts them and steps out in front of the full-length ready to accept his fate, when he opens his eyes gingerly and is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate the ensemble.

The jeans make his legs look lean, which they aren’t, and the shirt doesn’t make him particularly podgy in any place.

“Good?” Jaebum asks with an expectant grin and a hesitant thumbs up.

“Good,” Youngjae replies.

“Awesome.” Jaebum waves him over to the register and they get on with it. Youngjae is more than glad to get the heck out of there after having sent way too much time already, even if he doesn’t mind being with Jaebum at all.

“So you go to Yeongnam U?” Jaebum asks as he’s ringing up the stuff.

“Uh, yeah. I’m majoring in Music Therapy.”

“Sweet.” Jaebum smiles and Youngjae’s heart does this thing where it feels like it’s going to explode. “So, you wanna, like, help people and stuff? Way cool. I’m only going for Composition so I can write songs and sell ‘em. But that’s noble, Youngjae.”

“Um, noble, okay. Thanks.” Youngjae scratches the back of his neck slightly as Jaebum bags the clothes and taps some numbers in the register. Youngjae pays what he owes and waves the man goodbye as he tries not to look like an animal fleeing its cage on his way out.

                                                 *     *     *    *     *

Parties have never been Youngjae’s forte.

He’s an awkward human being. It was built in him to be that way, he supposes. He’s terrible at small talk, hates being squashed by sweaty, drunk people in dark, loud places. He never knows what to say or do. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing an expensive outfit that doesn’t feel like him at all, doesn’t mold to his body like a good pair of jeans and a graphic tee. So, not only is he struggling to be anyone but himself, he’s also trying to live up to the bigshot persona clothes from Glitz warrant from someone. This was destined to be a horrible idea the second he walked in the front door. Jinyoung and Bambam ditched him, obviously preferring to hang out with their rich, cultured group of friends, leaving Youngjae to fend for himself.

Youngjae doesn’t have to think about what to do; it’s instinct by this point. He pushes his way through the writhing bodies until he gets to the back door.

Worse has come to worst.

As Youngjae is slipping outside into the warm night, a very familiar face clocks on his radar. He doesn’t have anything better to do, so he sulks on a barren swing as he watches through squinted eyes at the bodies suffocating each other on a bench near the back door. Jaebum finally comes up for air, and a girl Youngjae recognizes from his Psych class, Dasom, giggles and hiccups, begging him to come back. He shoos her away, coming to his feet and allowing her time to scramble up herself. She scurries after him like a puppy as he goes inside.

Seeing them together is almost as bitter as whatever is in his cup. He only has to take a sip to decide that the stuff is awful. He keeps drinking, though, because one, he has nothing better to do, and two, it takes some of the hurt away. He’s halfway through it when the air surrounding him becomes more crowded and the other swing’s creaking mixes in with his. As terrible as that sound is, it’s oddly comforting. It reminds him of when he would go to his friend’s house as a child to play. He had this rusty swing set that was probably the most dangerous thing they could find to play on, but it never collapsed on them and they enjoyed each other’s company while using it. He doesn’t question the welcome intrusion.

“The party’s in there,” the voice says. It has some bass, while still being very youthful. Attractive.

“I’m having my own party.” Youngjae shakes his head sadly, taking another sip out of his cup. “A party of one.”

“Make that a party of two.” The guy takes the cup right out of Youngjae’s hand and takes a whig himself. Youngjae isn’t too upset as he follows the thieving hand to a handsome face. Large yet angular brown eyes, a high, straight nose, and thick lips is what he can pick out in the semi-darkness. The stranger lets loose a long, loud sigh and returns the cup. Youngjae takes it apprehensively, sloshing what’s left boredly. He thinks he’s starting to feel it, whatever it is. This is not his first time drinking alcohol, but it’s definitely his first time getting past a few gulps without gagging and passing the wretched stuff to a more willing party-goer, or putting it back.

“I’m Yugyeom, by the way.” The stranger--Yugyeom, kicks off and begins to swing gently. The creaking gets louder.

“Youngjae.” He follows the other’s lead. The warmth growing inside of him as the liquor works its way through his system mixed with the cool breeze he unearths once he starts swinging is creating a strange synergy around him. The night becomes a little more bearable. Yugyeom is handsome, has a nice voice as well.

“So, Youngjae-hyung. You out here for a reason?” Yugyeom asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, coughing to clear his clogged throat. The alcohol causes it to burn a little, but it’s just comforting warmth after that. “I’m kinda bummed about something. And I don’t really like parties. This is my frat. I would just go to my room, but there’s probably someone having sex in it. So…” He twirls the cup some more, distractedly.

“Yeah, that could get awkward.” Yugyeom laughs quietly. Another nice sound. It’s sweet, something Youngjae feels rather than just hears. It bounces along the night breeze and takes over his muddled senses.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks.

“Same, I guess. Bummed. Not one for parties,” Yugyeom says. “My friend asked me to come because he wanted to find someone here and didn’t want to look like a loser waiting around by himself. Now I’m the loser by myself. That asshole.”

“Friends suck,” Youngjae muses. He raises his nearly empty cup. It sways lightly in his loosening grip. Whatever was in it and the little bit left is strong. “Toast to the decent people left on the earth.”

So they toast to each other and drink the night away, buried in what they can handle. Surprisingly, considering his sheer height, Yugyeom is a lightweight and Youngjae has to stop himself from overdoing it because the younger had reached that point a while ago, sleepily humming tunes to songs and occasionally pairing them with the wrong words as Youngjae piggybacks him to his dorm.

The air is sweetly warm, whispering across Youngjae’s bare chest as he rummages through his drawers for some less sweaty clothes, goading on the beads of sweat as they collect uncomfortably in the crevices of his body and force him to crack the window more and more.

After tugging Yugyeom’s uncooperative limbs into cooler, cleaner clothes, Youngjae slips in beside the tall freshman, slightly distressed to find that he fits perfectly as if it were in some predestined scheme for the younger to toss one of his long, heavy arms over Youngjae’s torso, anchoring him temporarily.

“He’s a little funny-looking,” Yugyeom whispers suddenly to him. Youngjae can safely say that he is both startled and extremely peeved because how long has this ingrate been awake and why couldn’t he walk his goliath ass back to his own dorm? He’s just about ready to give it to him when the soft murmur is broken by a snor, a snuffle, and nothingness, only to repeat again a minute later with different words. Something like ‘but, cute too’.

And Youngjae realizes Yugyeom is sleep talking.

And sleep insulting him, too. This bastard.

“Hyung,” he babbles, pulling Youngjae closer. “Toast.”

Youngjae would be more livid if Yugyeom weren’t so damn cute.

                                           *     *     *    *     *

The next time Yugyeom is drunk off his ass is at Youngjae’s induction to Kappa Sigma. His newly dubbed crush is sitting right in his lap, a hard drink of something swaying in his unreliable fingers, as they’re at the table trying to keep something down besides liquor.

It isn’t going too hot.

More than half surrounding the stupidly large table are drunk out of their minds, and the other half are swimming in varying states of less severe drunkenness, but not completely lucid all the same. Youngjae is one of the few who are still upright, and he’s not gung ho on the thought of having to carry Yugyeom across campus not a second, or third, but fourth time. He’s a sloppy drunk and bad drinker, barely able to hold his fluids after about three cups of something.

“Hyung, bathroom.” Yugyeom paws at Youngjae’s chest with a pout, wrinkling his dumb, new shirt purchased at (where else, honestly?) Club Z. “I have to peeeeeeee.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae grumbles miserably, helping Yugyeom to his feet, and pulling the boy over to the stairs. As they’re going up Youngjae thinks that his “wonderful induction night” can’t get suckier; then he and Yugyeom reach the first landing, padding mutely over the hardwood as they turn and commit to climbing the rest to get to the top, and Youngjae hears a gross noise upon reaching the second floor.

It’s dark, loopy, a little hot, and Youngjae can still outline Jaebum’s body pressed up against someone else’s at the beginning of the corridor, just before a long stretch of darkness absorbs anything remotely tangible into an indecipherable blob of mystery.

Youngjae aches that much more because it’s a guy he’s got his hands all over in the sticky shadows, meaning Jaebum is bi, swings both ways, and he probably would never even want to take a whack in Youngjae’s direction.

What makes it all worse is Yugyeom starts whining again, reminding Youngjae that has a new responsibility to deal with, cute sweet Yugyeom who Youngjae is almost sure likes him back. He helps the boy, finally, to the bathroom, switching the light on and pulling the toilet seat up so he can relieve himself.

Youngjae looks on with a mixture of fondness and guilt as he takes out his phone from his jeans pocket, looking away briefly to check the message from Jackson left hours ago.

i know ur butt hurt from the lecture, but jaebum’s gonna be at ur tea party later, sooooo ;););) use protection -wang jackass, 5:34pm

Youngjae sends a quick text back, a digital middle finger, before he’s focusing on Yugyeom again, watching glassily as he fumbles for soap to wash his hands and zoning out simultaneously, thinking back to the lecture in question from earlier.

Youngjae had come into his Music Theory hall with a little smile on his face from serial texting Yugyeom. It had been two weeks since the sleepover incident and they were really hitting it off. Yugyeom, Youngjae’s polisci angel, is also into reading for pleasure, so they were texting about a book they had both read just that summer, crying over the fact that the author isn’t going to release a sequel until the following Spring like a couple of nerds.

He had nearly tripped over someone from having his nose stuck in his screen. That someone turned out to be Jaebum sitting like an Adonis statue and outshining everything in Youngjae’s view. He cursed silently under his breath and scurried past the man, pretending not to hear his pleasant greeting in favor of crowding his body into a ditch and suffocating on his own damn inadequacy.

Instead he just fled a few rows down and drowned in his own awkward sorrow. It had been his own idiocy that forced him to retell all of this to Jackson, because what had Youngjae imagined him doing different from what he usually does? Which is insert new names and post anything remotely amusing that happens in his sorry little life to SNS.

Youngjae shouldn’t have been surprised to see the trials of Jaebin in his twitter feed later, along with a comment by Jaebum, ‘cute’, to which Jackson replied with ‘very’.

So Youngjae isn’t talking to Jackson right now. He couldn’t even if he wanted to because he’s too busy holding onto Yugyeom and ushering him back downstairs, past where Jaebum and some other dude were just sucking face among other things.

                                            *     *     *     *      *    

It’s at another party that shit finally hits the fan. Youngjae is on the couch with Yugyeom on his lap. He has a hard on and the younger’s weight on top of it feels good, really good. He’s doing this twisting thing that makes it feel even better. Summer air, the bass of the music, and his boyfriend’s sweet lips are all sensations that vibrate across his warm, damp skin. He would say it were a perfect night, if only Jaebum weren’t in his head kicking up a disgusting fuss.

He’s trying to give Yugyeom all of his attention, as the boy is licking into his mouth as eager as a puppy, hands playing with the little hairs on the back of Youngjae’s neck, gentle yet urgent. It shouldn’t be hard to do. Yugyeom has his long, supermodel legs swung over Youngjae’s lap, knees weighed into the couch on both sides of him, and his bum is skipping on top of Youngjae’s clothed erection, torsos brushing. It shouldn’t be hard at all to dwell solely on his sweet boyfriend’s playful hands, his busy hips, and intoxicating scent all spawned from some unfathomable source out to end his very existence.

Yugyeom is stunning, and he wants Youngjae, possibly even more than the older wants him if his breathy moans and insistent whines hold any bearing. So the fact that he’s sitting here, hot boyfriend grinding on his lap, thinking about Jaebum, has him reorganizing his priorities. Youngjae has no time to clear his mind though, because Yugyeom must sense it as his hips stop rolling and he stares down at Youngjae with a little frown that the older wishes he could just kiss away.

“It is about Jaebum?”

Youngjae blanches.

“Y-you know Jaebum?” From where? How?

“Not personally.” Yugyeom sighs. “But I hear Jackson-hyung talking about him and you get...weird. Like, your mind freezes and I could never figure out why. And, believe me, I’m not being conceited here. Just speculative. But I’m on your lap, damn near dry humping you, and nothing. Your little man downstairs has been limp for the past ten minutes. Is it because I’m not attractive enough or-”

“No, not at all.” Youngjae reaches up to cradle Yugyeom’s face and bring him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm and sweet, but even when he’s connected to him, his polisci angel, his mind is on Jaebum. Yugyeom pulls away with this sad look in his pretty eyes and Youngjae is on the brink of smashing something because those sad, pretty eyes are his fault.

“Do you like him...more than me?” Yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s choking up a bit.

Youngjae hates himself because he doesn’t even have the balls to say ‘yes’.  

“Look, hyung. I like you. A lot. But I can see you need to do some thinking right now. So I’m gonna go.” Yugyeom presses a kiss to Youngjae’s forehead just as empty as his lap when Yugyeom slinks away.

Everything hurts.

This party is stupid.

Jaebum is stupid.

The only thing Youngjae can think to do to clear his head is get so drunk he can’t remember his own name.

He gets very close. He only remembers that Jaebum is stupid and that his dorm is on the east side of campus. He’s stumbling through the dark, eyes only half-way open as the world flies by in clips of sensations. Loud noises. Questionable smells.

Somehow he ends up in a warm building. On an elevator. Tripping through the hall. Banging on a door.

“Youngjae?” It’s truly sick that Youngjae recognizes that voice even when he’s supposed to be blown off his ass tore down.

“Asshole.” Hiccup. “Y-you, you--fuck you.”

“Youngjae, you okay?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Hiccup. “Just...just, I like you dammit!”

“You what?”

That’s when he passes out.

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

Food doesn’t taste the way it should. Youngjae’s stomach is gurgling and his head is making very loud music without his permission, against his will really.

“Good job, dummy.” Jackson scoops more soup into his bowel and pats his head placatingly, shit-eating grin full force. “Jaebum knows you’re hard for him and he still wants to take you out. You know, you definitely come off as the prunish, incompetent type. But you’ve got skills after all.”

“I’m not hard for him.” Youngjae fusses uselessly as he spoons the soup into his mouth and tries to keep it down.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

                                         *     *     *     *      *  

Youngjae is sitting in class a few days later when his phone starts ringing against his pants. After a few moments of awkward fumbling and thanking the heavens that he remembered to change his ringtone back from whatever crap Jackson put on it, he manages to turn it off without looking at the screen.

By the time he gets out of class, he’s completely forgotten about the call. In fact, Youngjae also forgets to turn his phone back on. Which is why he’s sitting in a baggy t-shirt he’s had since middle school, paired with athletic shorts that he exclusively uses for lounging and his one-time-a-year trips to the gym. He flips through the channels, pausing on a predictable drama as the stereotypical rich-guy takes the stereotypical poor-girl to buy some tacky name brand clothes for the first time in her life. As if the girl didn’t already own an iPhone 7 Plus.

What is completely not predictable is the knock on the door that comes right as the girl trips and falls dramatically into the main lead’s arms.

Youngjae scratches his head. Did I order pizza?

When he opens the door, instead of the rich and savory smell of Italian pie, Youngjae is greeted with a crisp and cool cologne. When he looks up to look Jaebum in the eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Are you wearing a turtleneck under a dress shirt?”

Jaebum just laughs. “I said I’d pick you up at seven. I’m fifteen minutes late. Sorry.”

“That date thing is tonight?”

“Yes, the date thing is tonight. Forget?” Jaebum puts on a thinking face. “Weird. Just a few days ago someone was banging on my door like the sky was falling, confessing their undying love-”

“I said, and I quote, ‘I like you dammit’. Hardly anything undying about that.” Youngjae hopes the sass can distract Jaebum from his inner-chaos. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Jaebum stops him with a hand on his chest. Youngjae isn’t screaming. The tea’s done. “You wanna change into something less, sporty?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret.” Jaebum sing-songs. “Just get dolled up and meet me at my car, okay? I’m parked right out front.”

“Okay…?”

Youngjae slides in Jaebum’s car about twenty minutes later. He spent ten minutes having an existential crisis and the other ten minutes running around forsaking everything in his wardrobe before deciding on jeans so black they can almost pass for slacks and a white button down that he tucked in them.

Jaebums glances over for a second. He hesitates a moment, and then reaches over to grab Youngjae’s hand. “You look really handsome tonight.”

Youngjae frowns. While he appreciates the sweetness, he can’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed. Youngjae tries to sneakily untangle their fingers so he can wipe off the sweat that is slowly gathering in his palms. When he goes back to rap Jaebum’s hand once more, however, it’s already back on the steering wheel. Youngjae sits, staring at the hand for a moment before realizing Jaebum is talking again.

“—just opened but I heard it’s really popular. I thought you would like it. There’s a live band and everything. Your clothes are fine too.”

“Oh really?” Youngjae perks up again at hearing there’s a live band. He imagines a hipster club, the perfect opportunity to see Jaebum at his sexiest: when dancing. As his mood lightens, he gets chattier, going into a story about Jackson’s latest antics.

“We’re here.”

Shit.

Youngjae was expecting fancy, but he wasn’t expecting this. It looks like somewhere people who sneeze money frequent. The kind of place with little personal packs of fruity smelling soap in the bathroom that they’re not even afraid of people stealing because who would be caught pilfering little soaps when they have hand-made, hypoallergenic imports from Milan? Jaebum is smiling again when the maitre'd leads them to their booth and Youngjae’s breath is no longer with him. He just listens as Jaebum tells him the name of the restaurant, something European, and Youngjae can only nod and smile. Looking down at his menu, he sees that it’s all written in French, maybe, or Italian, except the prices. Youngjae actually gasps out loud when he takes in the digits, which fails to go unnoticed by Jaebum.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks sweetly. He smiles and reaches his hand across the table. When Youngjae just meekly nods, Jaebum asks, “Are you ready to order?” He then calls for the waiter in a voice that would have Youngjae drooling, if he wasn’t still trying to figure out what everything meant.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter asks. Youngjae can’t help but feel relieved that the waiter speaks Korean, at least.

“Yeah, um, I’ll just have… This,” he decides, pointing at one of the menu options. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.

Jaebum orders, the waiter goes, and they sit in silence. Youngjae’s not sure if Jaebum thinks it’s an awkward silence or if he’s enjoying the music, and the tapping of his fingers gives no hint to either. Youngjae perks up in excitement to see their waiter returning with their food. And then he realizes that this date is really and truly just meant to be a prolonged hell as he takes in the cucumbers lining a plate of greens.

As the dinner wraps up with both Jaebum and Youngjae claiming to be too full for desserts (although they both also still have piles of food left on their plates) Youngjae reaches into his pockets to be left with emptiness. Or really, nothingness, because he doesn’t actually have pockets. Or his wallet. Or his phone to pay with apple pay. Or anything at all. Youngjae panics and looks up to explain himself to Jaebum, only to find that Jaebum has already paid for their meal.

Walking back to the car, Youngjae speaks up, “That was a pretty nice first date, I guess.” He can’t help but cringe at how insincere that sounds.

“You know what. I have to confess something,” Jaebum declares, turning to him.

“What?” Youngjae can’t help but think, This is it, this is the moment. He’s going to say he never wants to see me again.

“I actually, really, really don’t like—“

Oh shit here it comes.

“—Western food. And I don’t know if maybe you don’t like it either because you didn’t eat much of your food either, I noticed, but the restaurant had nice reviews, and I wanted to make this really special, and you didn’t respond to my texts so I wasn’t sure in the first place if you would like it or not but I thought it would be okay because Jackson recommended it, but then again Jackson trained in France for a year so he probably likes french food? But I just—“

Youngjae has to stop him there. “Wait. I just. I don’t like cucumbers, but I can’t read French.”

“Oh.”

“And I actually turned my phone off today so I didn’t get any of your texts, which is why I’m dressed like trash, as always, and you look so sleek and good and everybody thinks that you’re too good for me because you are literally in a turtleneck and dress shirt blazer leather pants suede shoes combo thingy and I’m not. Maybe I should have let you dress me again, ha ha.” Youngjae finishes with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.”

“I also don’t have pockets. Or anything. Except some lettuce stuck in my teeth that I can’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“So, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Youngjae isn’t sure how to proceed anymore. I mean, he thinks, I literally just told him I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. There’s an awkward pause, and then Youngjae says, “So do you want some bingsu?”

“Yes. A classic Korean dessert.”

Youngjae returns home that night with a smile on his face. He can’t help but blush as he thinks about Jaebum. About how cute Jaebum looked when he got a brain freeze from eating too fast. How cute he looked when he lost at the arcade Dance Dance Revolution game to a seven year old and pouted about it. How cute he looked when he had pepper paste smudged on his cheek when they got spicy rice cake for dinner, round two. And especially how cute he looked when he ran away after placing a peck on Youngjae’s cheek at his front door.

Jaebum’s really not chic and sexy at all, Youngjae decides. He’s just a ball of fluff.

As Youngjae lays on his side to get comfortable for bed, he fishes out his phone to send a message to Jackson.

you’re not a complete ding dong. the date was nice. -you, 11.03pm

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

“Jackson. When I said you could plan our date, I meant that you could pick a nice restaurant or movie for us to go to, heck, even an amusement park. Why is there a script?” Youngjae doesn’t know what to do with the packet of paper he holds in his hands. He looks over at the similar copy that Jaebum has (but with different highlights) and decides the only thing left to do is go out and plant some trees. Maybe they can plant two trees together in the name of love. The sound of Jackson slapping his Director’s Copy of the script onto the table whips him out of his daydreams.

“It’s not a script!” Jackson protests. “It’s just suggestions for the theme?”

Jaebum has already started flipping through the book, questioning, “Did you get this from the morning drama that Youngjae likes to watch? The lines are literally the same.”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Jackson protests, flapping his hands back and forth, as if that will help dispel any claims of plagiarism.

“This is literally a ‘the rich guy takes the poor girl shopping for better clothes scene,’” Youngjae deadpans. “This is so cliche. I can’t believe I’m the poor girl with bad taste in clothes.”

Jaebum pauses from where he’s flipping through the book. “But you do have bad taste in clothes.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation, “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

“NO!” Jackson gasps. “Not after all the hard work I put into getting you two together! If anything, at the very least go on this date, and then I made a reservation for this really nice restaurant where you can have a steak dinner, and then you guys can break up as Youngjae throws a cup of water in Jaebum’s face, and it’ll be perfect!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jackson,” Jaebum groans. “Let’s just get this over with.” He reaches out and grabs Youngjae’s hand, asking for a final time, “You ready?”

Youngjae laughs and follows along as Jaebum tugs him out the door.

Jackson trails behind them, oohing and ahhing at their cuteness. “And! If I’m cliche, then you cute little assholes are cliche, too! Don’t think I’m gonna forget how you two first met! I asked the manager for a copy of the CCTV tapes!”

“You know,” Jaebum whispers to Youngjae as he looks back at Jackson, trailing along behind them, “I know it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage, but it looks like we’ve already adopted a kid.”

Youngjae laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s because this second is the happiest moment of his life.

[pineapplesareunderrated]

Under pressure

Rhys finds an yellow talking robot with annoying voice. & Jack has an old nightmare.

Previous 

It was already dawn when Rhys found the robot. He was digging through some old corpses, mumbling something about skags’ buttholes and how the dead guy’s face reminded him of them.

The unit stopped with whatever he was doing when he saw Rhys approaching .

“Well hello there, stranger.” The machine greeted him with loud and annoying voice, making Rhys’s headache even more unbearable. “Judging by your inappropriate clothing, you sir, are very lost.” It rolled closer to Rhys studying him with a huge interest. “Forgive me for being rude or something, but are you by any chance one of the Vault Hunters?”

“Ehm. Yeah. I am…” Rhys tried to focus on the appearance of the talking robot through his blurred vision. It was small. Almost half of Rhys’ height. It’s colour was in Hyperion yellow and it was moving on only one wheel which, Rhys though, had to be extremely impractical, judging by the fact that they were in area covered by nothing but tons and tons of snow. “Are you a claptrap unit? “

“Oh, how inappropriate of me. I haven’t even introduced myself yet! Let me fix that. I am a CL4P-TP steward bot, but my friends call me…”

“Claptrap. Like all those others units. I know. So please, just…Just shut up. The sound of your voice is making my head hurt.”

“No problem. I am well known for my capability to be a completely silent companion, aside from my many others skills. Like making cupcakes, riding horses or singing. And most importantly, daaanciing.”

And then it started dancing. Rhys would’ve face-palm himself, if he wouldn´t have been so painfully exhausted. “Listen. Please I am very tired, cold and unbelievably hungry. So, if you could just show me a place to hide from the cold or something? That, that would be great.”

“Well of course mighty Vault Hunter. Follow me.” Claptrap turned around and went away without checking if Rhys was going after him.

With heavy sigh Rhys started walking in the same direction as the forever mumbling unit, who seemed to have hidden and lost its ability to stay quiet for more than two minutes somewhere under the deep snow. Rhys thought he’d heard him to say something about Sanctuary, but at that moment he couldn’t really care less.

Seriously. Only Rhys, one of the few people who actually welcomed the mass killing of claptrap product line after Jack got to power, could be the one who would manage to find one of the last functioning pieces in the frozen middle of nowhere.

Luckily for Rhys, who’s leg was beginning to feel like it was going to fall off, it didn’t take too long to get to Claptrap’s hide out. Claptrap managed to get the door open- obviously, that was one of the few things those bots were good at- and Rhys followed him in.

The temperature inside the cave was almost the same as outside, but at least now he was hidden from the freezing air.

“So, why do you have all those dead bodies around here? “Rhys pointed at dead psycho who they’ve just passed by.

“Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Handsome Jack has made his personal dump out of this place. Most of the things he kills ends up here. Bandits, Vault Hunters, Claptrap units…”

“You sound kinda pleased about this.”

“Oh, that’s because my programmers made this my default tone of voice. I am actually quite depressed!”

“Sorry to hear that.” Rhys was only half paying attention to what the unit was saying, keeping himself busy by looking around at what seemed to by Claptraps living room.

“Aw. How kind of you! Well, let’s see what we can do about your health state.” When the Vault Hunter turned around he saw Claptrap approaching him with a red filled syringe in its metallic hand. Without thinking, Rhys grabbed some gun which was lying nearby and pointed it at the unit. “What the hell do you think you are doing?! “

“Giving you the insta health?” When Rhys didn’t move, so the bot continued. “Surely an experienced Vault Hunter like you has already used one of those?” He hasn’t. But it would be a lie if he said that he’d never heard of them.

Expensive, almost magical medicine, used mainly by Vault Hunters, which guaranteed to its user an immediate relief from any wound, with only minor side effects. There were extremely rare. You’d have to pay tons of money to the right people just to get one of those. But it seemed that on Pandora they were much more common than in the rest of the galaxy. Rhys shouldn’t be so surprised. This was Pandora after all.

Still. There was no way he was going to get this thing near his skin. “I don’t do needles.”

“Are you sure about that? I mean, we are not going anywhere with the state your leg is in.” As in a respond to that, a sharp pain ran through Rhys’ leg, making his teeth clench.

He tried to consider his options. It was a staying here, in Claptraps hideout and waiting until the leg healed itself. Which could take from two days to weeks or b just taking the medicine and getting away from here as fast as possible.

“Ah, for a for a love of… Give it here.” Rhys grabbed the thing from Claptraps hand and took a deep breath. Trying not to think about it too much, he stabbed the needle into his leg.

He felt the effect immediately. A warm feeling coming from the spot where his skin met with the sharp iron quickly spread through his entire body washing all the pain away. Together with his tiredness and hunger. He felt amazing.

“Wow” Rhys breath out, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath.

“I am glad you made it here” A soft voice just spoken from behind him. Rhys jumped and turned to face a picture of a young girl who just appeared out of nowhere.

Reflexively, he tried to punch her but his fist just came right through her.

He tried once more, and again until he finally realized that this would lead him nowhere and turned to Claptrap. “What the hell was in that thing?!”

“Well, the essential composition is company’s secret, but I am pretty sure they add some hydrogen phosphate in those. Some say that’s what makes it turn purple when you try to pee on in.

“Would you please stop freaking out? You are making yourself look silly” The girl said in a soft voice.

“You! You drugged me. Made me seeing things. Why am I seeing hot brunets floating in thin air?”

“That’s what insta health does? Men, now I really wish I could use one of those.”

“You are not hallucinating Rhys.” She said trying to regain his attention. “I am an AI, using your cybernetics to communicate with you. “

“My name is Angel. And I am here to help you”

Jack had an awful night.

Communication with Maliwan led him nowhere. The CEO used all his tricks and energy on trying to talk some sense into those knotheads, but it all met with the same refusing reaction. With all his willpower Jack stopped himself from any further dialog with the competitive company, before he would start threatening them. He rolled himself away from the table and turned his chair to face the giant window behind him, resting his face into his palm.

This was bad. He’d left the guy in Maliwan for way too long. He knew that, but still. Jack was so sure that there were planning something. They always were. He just needed to find out what it was this time. Maybe if he had more time… No. There was no point in thinking about that now.

Maybe he should just send someone to kill the spy. He was useless anyway and knowing Maliwan, there were in the middle of getting all information the guy had stored in his incapable head. Jack was sure that Nisha would do it without a wink of her pretty brown eye. Or he would just send Wilhelm.

Talking about Wilhelm, there was something off with that guy.

After the last surgery, he looked and acted more like a robot than anything else. And even though Jack would’ve never admitted that out loud, it scared the living shit out of him.

People, Jack could handle. People were easy to read, easy to kill. But robots? They were something totally different. Jack was an engineer, he knew how to build a robot, he understood how they worked. And how easy it was for them to turn against you whenever something unpredictably switched in their weird mechanical minds. That was one of the reasons why he decided to turn off all claptrap units soon after he became the CEO. Claptraps were getting involved into everything. There were just all-over the fricking place, it was only a matter of time before one of them decided to go into bloodthirsty rage and shoot out half of a city. He was sure about that.

Jack didn't realize how tired he was, until his eyes started closing on their own will. God, when was the last time he’d slept for more than three hours? He couldn’t remember.

But really, who could blame him for avoiding sleep, when all his vivid dreams were filled with nightmares and horrors, no psycho would ever be ashamed of.

Jack sight. There was no point in fighting it. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, Handsome Jack was still a human being, and before the incompetent fist fucks who he hired to work in his labs made him some pills that would help him get rid of this annoying human habit, he will need sleep.

For a second, he considered going into his bedroom, but decided against it. The chair he was sitting in will do just fine. He paid unholy amount of money for this chair so he better be able to have a nice nap in it.

Jack pushed himself deeper into the soft black fabric and closed his eyes. The sleep came almost immediately, soon followed by an old nightmare.

The walls around him were hard, but sticky to touch. Air in the room was cold. So cold, a puff of steam would come out of his mouth every time he breathed out. It was just the right temperature, when your mind wouldn’t get numb, but it’s still cold enough to keep you awake during the whole time you’d spent in here. John couldn’t remember what it was he did to deserve to be in The Pit again.

The Pit, was a name his grandma gave to the this place. The room itself was hidden under their house. Its original purpose was to serve as a place for storing food, before they could save up enough money to buy a proper fridge.

Now there was no real purpose for it, so his grandma decided to use it as some kind of punishment room for John. Whenever she thought that her grandson was being a “bad boy” she would send him to The Pit and left him in there for a day or two.

Sometimes being a bad boy meant coming home late, leaving the door open, or just talking to her with an inappropriate tone. She would always find a reason to send him in there.

John hated The Pit and she knew it. Sometimes, he thought, he would prefer another beating with Mr. Buzzteeth. Buzzteeth was a buzz axe she made herself out of skags teeth, psychos nails and more nasty things she found outside her house. That woman had a weird habit in giving names to inanimate objects.

John had abnormal fear of being in enclosed or narrow places with no way to escape. It made him feel trapped, vulnerable.

The boy tried punching the walls again. He knew they weren’t moving, but unless he could feel the hard, steady structure under his fist he couldn’t tell just how far they really were from him.

He wanted to get out. He wanted to get out from this dark, smelly place and feel the breeze and see the trees and just run, run way.

His heart was beginning to pound erratically. His childish mind was searching for a way out, for something to help him to get away from here. He wanted to get out so badly.

The boy wants to scream. Call for help, but he knows that he can’t do that. If he does she would come here, with her buzzing axe and beat him to pulp. Then she would just leave him here in the cold, all covered in his own blood for another day.

John didn’t want that. He wanted to stay quiet, but he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop the screams coming from his mouth, he couldn’t stop the small fist from beating hard into the iron door, begging for her to let him out.

And then there she was. Standing above him, with Mr Buzzteeth in hand, crazy grin spread across her wrinkled old face. “Now, what do we have here” John wipes of tears from his face, not daring to look away from her. “Someone is being a bad boy again.” She swings the axe and hits John hard into his small skinny chest.

Jack wakes screaming and covered in cold sweat. There was a gun placed in his hand and his eyes were searching for any sign of movement, ready to shoot.

It took him a moment before his mind settled and he fully realised where he was. Safe and sound in his huge office, that was equipped with the most effective security system within the entire galaxy, free of any crazed grandmas and their disgusting axes.

Damn that woman. Making a hell out of his life even after all those years. No matter how much distance there was between the two of them, she would always find a way how to terrorize the hell out of him.

Jack tucked the gun back into his case and ran his hand through the brown hair, destroying the rest of its usually perfect shape. He will need to redo them before he starts letting people in.

He should just send someone to kill her. Maybe all those nightmares will stop once she is buried deep under the ground. He could just pay some bandits to do the job for him and make the garbage do something useful at least for once in their miserable lives.

Shaking his head, he let out a heavy sight. As if I haven’t tried that before.

Jack wasn’t sure if he could count the number of times when he decided to just off the lady. Or better. Just to pay someone to off her for him. Once, he even got that far that he actually started recording the quest on the ECHO net. But he never finished it. The awful feeling growing from somewhere deep-inside him wouldn’t let him. It would force him to question his decision, make him scared of the act and just pushing him into finding something else to busy himself with, getting his mind away from her.

Sighing again, he looked around his office. His working table was barely visible under the growing pile of papers, half of which needed his attention yesterday, another huge company was threatening him with an armed conflict and Hyperion had neither the time nor the personal to afford that, more and more of his eridium mines were getting taken over by the shit-eating bandits and on top of all it, his assassination attempt didn’t meet with full success and now there was one more Vault Hunter running around on Pandora.

There was only one thing for the CEO of Hyperion to do.

Get drunk and play some video games.

[happymetalgirl]

Zeal & Ardor - Stranger Fruit

Even though it had been in on their Bandcamp page since 2016, I was glad the more official release of Zeal & Ardor’s debut album, Devil Is Fine, last year gave me the opportunity to talk about it (since I started this blog in 2017).

Originally one of multiple solo music projects by creative eccentric Manuel Gagneux, inspired by a comical suggestion on 4Chan, Gagneux recruited ful-time members to form a complete performing band after the huge wave Devil Is Fine made, and I have been so pleased to see this project grow in its short time from the enthusiasm much of the metal community has shown for such an unorthodox artist.

Devil Is Fine was a short, but wildly diverse album (only 25 minutes) that blended the soulful blues of slave spirituals and other American folk with varyingly atmospheric black metal, a idea that could have gone terribly that fortunately went terrifically. While I loved Devil Is Fine and had it as one of my top top favorites of 2017 for a good portion of the year, it ended up a little bit lower by year’s end because its short length still made it feel more like a preliminary demonstration than a fully developed exhibition. I also felt like the production on the album hindered a lot of the more explosive black metal sections and even muddied some of the lighter folky sections on the “Sacrilegium” series. The album showed a lot of potential for the future, though, and it gave me high hopes for whatever was to come next, whenever.

After the brief demonstration of stylistic boldness Devil Is Fine was, the pressure was really on Manuel Gagneux to prove Zeal & Ardor’s worth beyond its mere novelty. Judging by the swiftness of this release, I imagine he felt it necessary to strike while the iron was hot, while the buzz around the band was still going strong, a confident move I was hoping he had the substance to back up.

My hopes for the album definitely included clearer production, at least of the explosive metallic parts, than what the debut album had. And I was of course hoping the new album would feel less like a tentative casting of a musical fishing hook into the waters and more like a complete, comprehensive statement from an objective-driven artist. And for the most part Stranger Fruit delivers.

At just under 48 minutes, Stranger Fruit is almost double its predecessor’s length and one that crystallizes the best aspects of the sound of which Devil Is Fine laid the foundation. As I had hoped, the production on the metal-driven sections is improved, and even though certain atmospheric parts still sound a little grainy, it leaves a nice rawness to the album so as to prevent it from sounding overly polished. The booming drums used so frequently throughout are mixed nicely to highlight the thunder they give to the project without drowning everything else out. The slight distortion over the aggressive vocals Gagneux delivers is applied in just the right dose as well. The album also manages to hone its focus onto the blend of black metal and blues that caught so many ears last year while still finding space for Gagneux’s forays into electronic ambient music. It feels more cohesive than Devil is Fine, and still keeps that eccentricity that turns so many heads. The songs are a tiny bit longer on average and they feel mostly pretty fleshed out, though I feel like some instances certain songs feel just a little undercooked, which adds to my suspicion that there was a lot of pressure to follow up Devil Is Fine in a short time. The album certainly doesn’t feel rushed, but it has its moments where I feel like it could have invested more time. Then again, it feels like a good length as well, so perhaps Gagneux was trying to keep its length in that sweet spot.

The album starts with the humming/post-metal-tinged intro track that leads into the ambient blues-y staccato piano-led lead single “Gravedigger’s Chant”, a song that showcases the band’s ability to build to a climax not only with tools usually left unused in the metal toolbox, but also in a short amount of time. The song “Servants” amps up the black metal tremolo picking as well as Gagneux’s vocal intensity, basing its strengths on the pounding drum beat and the synchronicity of the sung refrain with the guitar. The song “Don’t You Dare” is one that was out before Devil Is Fine and features the black metal screams that populated that album. I’m not sure why it didn’t make it onto that album, but it pleases me to hear it here because it’s a powerful song whose building aggression flatters both Gagneux’s more gritty (almost growling) vocal delivery and the style over which he does it. There is a video of a live studio performance that still gives the best picture of that song. “Fire of Motion” is another impressively intense black metal tune that works together screamed sections and haunting cleans. I like the harmonized vocals that ride over the bass-led sections, as well as the dissonant guitar chord that accents the double-bass-driven part. Its quicker pace is helpful in changing up the dynamic to help the album’s flow.

The album gets its first break with the instrumental interlude, “The Hermit”, which mostly consists of some ethereal, soothing choir vocals, but soon breaks down into a minimal and somber piano section that provides a new emotional depth to the album in this time of rest, definitely a good thing before the song to come. “Row Row” is a fast-paced, panic-inducing track that features Gagneux’ most theatrical vocal performance on the album as he mutters “row, row, row you fool” in increasingly labored fashion. My only unfulfilled wish with this song is for perhaps an instrumental switch-up near the end to boost the theatrics and keep it from dragging (which it does just a tiny bit). The song “Ship on Fire” that follows though finishes the theatrical set-up “Row Row” provides with some of the most bombastic blending of apocalyptic post-metal and black metal, passionate distorted singing, and syncopated chants and drum beats. It’s a truly spectacular song that wraps so much new into what has already made Zeal & Ardor so interesting.

The album’s second single, “Waste” is probably the album’s most purely and straightforwardly blackgaze track, integrating some blast beats with reverberated shoegaze guitar strumming that would make Deafheaven feel like they’re being flirted with. The song “You Ain’t Coming Back” that follows it finds Gagneux employing a kind of 2000′s alternative rock sort of falsetto technique over a more traditional song structure that integrates some bright and pretty ethereal guitars. It’s probably one of the album’s less dramatically impressive moments, but hardly a dealbreaker on such a loaded track list. The second instrumental breather track that follows, “The Fool”, finds Gagneux playing around with the modified keyboard sounds that showed up on “Sacrilegium II” and “Sacrilegium III”, and it does feel like kind of a playful moment on the album despite the gothic-sounding chord progression of the keys.

The first track after the break, “We Can’t Be Found”, is probably the most blackened track on the album, featuring crunchy palm-muted grooves, harmonics, black metal screams, and dissonant atmosphere. It’s a package deal that’s quite well-packaged. The title track leads with a deep, creepy, kind of percussive piano rhythm over thundering toms. The ominously angelic choir vocals that line the song’s build into its unsettling climax adds to the songs eeriness just right. It’s one of the more structurally/compositionally experimental pieces, even though there is plenty of that to be found beforehand.

The album’s last keyboard-y break, “Solve”, is an appropriately shorter track (only about 80 seconds) that serves as a soothing segue into the similarly short crunchy metallic chant of “Coagula”, which builds its group chant on top of perhaps the most thunderous drums on the album and its most down-tuned chug. For some reason it reminds me of something Ghost might use as an intro to a heavier song from Meliora. I half-expected Papa Emeritus III to come in with some catchy, epic vocal melody about the devil. It’s a weird moment on the album, but I like it, and it’s an album that’s more or less founded on weirdness.

The final track on the album is the brightly Deafheaven-y blackgaze “Built on Ashes”, and it ends the record magnificently in a rush of warming post-metal guitar reverb. It’s a fantastically soulful, cathartic, and strangely optimistic closer to the album, possibly its best song.

Stranger Fruit is definitely a magnificent and well-sculpted sophomore release that proves the magic on their debut to not just be a quirky idea or its solid songwriting to be a fluke. Just about every hope I had for Zeal & Ardor to improve upon Devil Is Fine was completely realized, and then some. I definitely love this album from front to back. It’s not just a hamfisted jumble of the kinds of eccentric ideas that the band grabbed metal listeners’ attention with. The unique array of musical elements here is woven into tactful, textured compositions that suggest Gagneux’s pure comfort working with the material, if not a surprising mastery. I obviously love this album; it’s one that I think can really make a significant mark for them, and they deserve it. And for me, I think this album is going to end up as a higher favorite of the year.