#you know? I hate trying to explain myself without sounding like I’m dunking on a performer

[laniidae-passerine]

cannot decide if Nio or Throb is going to win. Nio feels like she can take anything and make it her own, fit it to her own specific brand, but that can come at the cost of actually fulfilling the brief, you know? Throb consistently provides something that may be less striking but it’s almost always perfect. You ask for Trash Can Kid, you get Trash Can Kid. You ask for Rockstar, you get Rockstar. You get Hotel Ghoul, you pretty much get Hotel Ghoul. I love them both for such different reasons but I just feel like Nio’s branding and insanely captivating looks might edge her over that winner’s line.

[aomine-ryo]

I just got my braces off about 4 days ago and idk if I like how I look yet cause of my confidence issues but could you do Aomine, Taiga, Murasakibara, Wakamatsu and maybe Haikzaki comforting their S/O I also use she/her pronouns! Thanks luv :) I hope you had a great Christmas if you celebrate if not a great 25th!

Oh god it’s been over a month since Christmas,, I’ve been so awful at posting I’m sorry!! For the record though, my Christmas was quite nice 😂 Anyways, I really wasn’t too sure while I was writing this but I hope you like it!!

Scenario: Kagami, Aomine, Murasakibara, Wakamatsu and Haizaki comforting their s/o

Didn’t find myself needing to use any pronouns here so I think anyone can read it!

Kagami

When it comes to being boyfriend— no, husband material, Kagami takes the cake. He’s so sweet and thoughtful towards you that you knew you could always go to him about anything. But sometimes there are things that afraid to talk to even him about because of your own insecurities.

Any kind of change tends to overwhelm you, especially if it had to do with your appearance— which is probably why you hated haircuts even if it was just a trim. However, this wasn’t just an issue of haircuts. You finally got your braces off.

Whilst you were a bit excited about it at first, once it was done you weren’t too sure about it anymore. Of course, you got a lot of comments about it when you went to school the next day, though most of the time it was just a statement rather than a proper compliment. “Oh Y/N, you got your braces off! Cool.” And that was about it.

You hated the attention, especially because you weren’t sure about the way it looked yourself. So you kept your talking to a minimum that day.

When school was over, you met Kagami outside the gate so that you could walk home together like you usually would. You quickly realised that it was inevitable that you had to talk to him.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” He beamed, patting your head as a way of greeting you as if you were a puppy.

“It was okay,” you mumbled.

Kagami furrowed his brows and looked at you again, trying to read your expressions to see if he missed anything that gave away any bad mood. “Doesn’t sound okay. Why are you talking like that?”

“It’s not—“

“Ooh you got your braces taken off! Lemme see,” Kagami said excitedly as you let out a groan.

“No, it looks weird,” you whined as you covered your mouth with your hand.

“I doubt it. Come on, you’re going to have to show me eventually,” Kagami pleaded as you kept walking and trying to act like it wasn’t bothering you.

You just shook your head no as you continued walking while Kagami trailed behind you.

“So are you just never gonna talk to me?” Kagami sighed.

You shrugged in response.

“Hm, I guess that means no more kisses,” Kagami said. You knew what he was trying to do, and you weren’t going to fall for it. So you just remained silent. “I think I won’t have you try any more of the food I make either then— you’d probably have to open your mouth to do that after all,” he provoked. Your stand wavered for a moment at the thought of that, but you knew he wasn’t serious so you continued to leave your lips sealed. “Wait, this means I could talk to you about anything! Let’s talk about basketball,” he said with a smirk— there was no way you were going to let this slide.

You loved Kagami with all your heart, and you loved listening to him talk about the things he was passionate about. However, when it came to basketball, the boy could talk for hours and still not run out of things to say. It also often ended with him forcing you to play a one-on-one with him because all the talking got him worked up.

You were still determined not to open your mouth though. You certainly weren’t all for the change so what if he ended up hating it too?

Kagami knew what he was doing. And you were painfully aware of that when the first thing he started talking about was a one-on-one he played with Aomine. He’d played so many games with him that every recount of events sounded the exact same to you. “...And I go for the dunk, and guess what he does?”

“He blocks it,” both of you said in unison as you started to chuckle.

A soft grin fell upon Kagami’s face as his heart warmed up at the sight of your smile. “How’d you know?” he said, his voice softening after going on his tangent.

“Because that’s what always happens,” you laughed.

Kagami dropped his jaw, pretending to be offended as his hand dramatically reached for his chest, “So you think Aomine is better than me now? I’m devastated,” he shook his head, though he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried.

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” you said, finally simmering down from your fit of giggles.

Kagami went silent for a moment. You looked up at him and found him just staring at you with the dorkiest smile ever.

“What?” You chuckled.

“See, I knew that your smile would look gorgeous no matter what,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second.

You hadn’t even realised until then that you’d forgotten about your worries of what you looked like. You really didn’t know how he did it; how he made you feel comfortable without even having to try. Just like that, the colour rose in your cheeks as you averted your gaze. “Stop it,” you blushed.

“What? I’m just stating a fact,” he shrugged, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to his warm body as you walked, making you stumble slightly. “You’ll always look stunning to me,” he said so softly that it was like it was only the two of you in this little world and no one else.

At this point, there was nowhere else you could look except into his eyes, and all you saw was love and sincerity. And suddenly, you didn’t mind beaming the brightest smile your face could muster, because in this little world of yours, the only person that mattered would do nothing but make you feel beautiful and loved.

Aomine

It wasn’t like you to skip school over absolutely nothing, but you felt like you would rather die than get any attention for having your braces taken off. It was inevitable that you had to go to school at some point, but you just decided to not go for at least a day to get yourself used to the change.

Of course, your boyfriend, Aomine wasn’t the most pleased when he went to school that day and found out that you were absent. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to be at your doorstep after school was over. In hindsight, you should’ve known that he would use visiting you as an excuse to not attend practice.

“Hey, is everything alright? You weren’t at school today,” Aomine questioned once you opened the door and let him in.

“Mhmm,” you hummed with a slight nod.

“You know, a text would’ve been nice. I spent all of recess looking for you and then Satsuki told me you weren’t at school,” he explained with a heavy sigh, “It was exhausting.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, causing him to look your way with a confused expression.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded in response, not wanting to open your mouth.

“Are you not going to ask me why I skipped practice?”

You shook your head no.

“Well, if you must know,” Aomine went on anyway, “I came here to check up on you. But seems to me like you don’t want to talk to me today.”

You didn’t respond, causing Aomine to get even more worried.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked softly.

You shook your head almost immediately.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” Aomine said, tilting his head to the side to meet your gaze, though you immediately looked away.

“It’s nothing, I just don’t look that good today,” you mumbled, making sure to turn your head away from him so he couldn’t see your face.

“Hm? Is that so?” Aomine said, looking you up and down with furrowed brows. “You look beautiful as always to me.”

You let out a heavy sigh. He was going to find out anyway. “I got my braces taken out yesterday,” you said.

Aomine’s eyes lit up immediately as he looked at you expectantly, as though you were supposed to flash him a smile and show off your teeth like it was nothing. And honestly, if you had the confidence you would’ve, but you didn’t. “Well, are you going to show me or not?” Aomine asked.

You shook your head yet again.

Aomine frowned as he got closer to you. “Why not?”

“Because it looks weird,” you muttered as your eyes stared at the floor.

Aomine’s fingers brushed through your hair before reaching to your face to caress your cheek lovingly, making you melt instantly at his touch. “I don’t think you’re even capable of such a thing. You’re always gorgeous,” he said softly.

“No I’m not,” you mumbled, trying not to be swayed by the tenderness of his calloused fingers.

“Of course you are,” he said as his hand made its way down to your chin to tilt it up so you were looking up into his eyes. “You know, whenever I look at you my immediate thought is ‘Woah how’d I get so lucky?’”

“You’re just saying that,” you blushed, trying to fight back the smile that was creeping across your face. He was so close to you and your heart was racing at 100 miles per hour.

“I’m serious,” he said, unable to stop smiling himself at they way you were just putty in his hands. “Your smile is so much brighter without the braces by the way. I love it,” he added smoothly, making you want to giggle like an idiot.

“Really?”

“Of course, you dummy. I can’t even believe you were worried about that in the first place. You’re beautiful no matter what,” Aomine said. “You know that I’ll never stop thinking of you that way right?”

For a moment you stopped worrying about what you looked like and let yourself relax into a smile. Something about the softness of his voice and the way he held you close made you feel at ease— almost as if you could finally be your true self as you nodded in response. “Yeah, I know,” you said as you finally looked at him in the eye before he finally leaned in and gave you the kiss you’d been anticipating for minutes. And when his lips finally brushed against yours you could feel nothing but gratitude for having someone like him to remind you that everything will be okay.

Murasakibara

Murasakibara liked to come over a lot. When you first started dating you expected it to happen since his house was just down the street, but it was to the point where he practically lived with you. You didn’t mind at all though, you liked having him around. Your parents seemed to enjoy it too— especially since he offers to cook meals when he gets hungry, which saves your mother the effort.

However, with him always being over, it was hard to keep things hidden from him. Of course, both of you knew when to give each other space, but any changes to your physical appearance would be near impossible to hide— unfortunately for you.

When you got back home from your dentist appointment, where you finally had your braces taken out, you barely had much time to settle in when you got a call from Murasakibara. “Hey, I’m bored. Are you back from the dentist yet?” he spoke.

“Yeah I am, but—“

“Great, I’ll be over in a few minutes,” he said before you could protest. The happiness you could hear in his voice certainly didn’t make you want to turn him down either.

Just like that, the phone call ended and you let out a heavy sigh as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You’d been standing there for a few minutes prior to the call, trying to figure out how you felt about your new look. Whilst the braces caused you enough issues on their own, you’d become so accustomed to them that it was strange looking at yourself now. If you thought it looked weird, you couldn’t help but wonder what other people would think, thus sending you down a spiral of insecure thoughts all over again as Murasakibara’s arrival made you more and more nervous.

You knew Murasakibara couldn’t care less about anyone’s appearance. In fact, he didn’t even notice that time where Kise showed up to a get together with purple hair from accidentally using his sister’s purple shampoo until Aomine made fun of him for it. So realistically, you shouldn’t have been worried about what Murasakibara would think— but you still were.

You often tend to get really quiet when you’re anxious and the fact that your insecurities had to do with your teeth this time, it was all the more reason to just keep your mouth shut.

“Hey Y/N-chin,” Murasakibara greeted with a soft smile when you opened the front door for him. “I was going to get you some snacks, but then I remembered that you just went to the dentist so I got you some of that fruit juice you like,” he said, digging through his bag of snacks before pulling out a can and handing it to you.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet,” you said softly, happily taking the juice.

“Don’t mention it,” he said coolly as he planted a kiss on the top of your head before walking to your room with you trailing behind him.

As usual, Murasakibara plopped down onto your bed as if it were his own, letting out a tired sigh as he did so. “You know, while you were gone, I tried doing the math homework for the weekend, and it was the worst experience ever. I couldn’t even get past the second question,” he said, making you let out a small chuckle.

He was so open with you that it made you feel at ease. “Well at least you did the first one,” you shrugged, forcing back your toothy grin when you noticed him direct his gaze at you.

“Yeah, but I probably got that one wrong too,” he sighed before sitting up with his back against your headboard. “Anyways, how was the dentist?”

“It was okay,” you mumbled.

“Then show me your teeth,” he said, not particularly expectant of anything though there was a trace of interest as he absentmindedly munched on his chips.

“I don’t know, it looks really weird...”

Murasakibara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Weird? They’re just teeth,” he said simply.

“Well yeah, but, I don’t know,” you said, trying to find a way to respond to his statement. You forced a smile to show him your teeth before frowning again, “See? Doesn’t it make my face look weird?”

“No, you still look pretty to me,” he shrugged.

As sweet as that was, you still weren’t convinced. You found yourself staring at yourself in the mirror once again, picking yourself apart as you tried to decide whether you liked it or not. The more time you spent in front of that mirror, the more frustrated you got. And Murasakibara seemed to notice it through the agitated and hopeless look on your face.

You noticed Murasakibara get up from the corner of your eye, though you didn’t pay too much attention to it. Next thing you knew, you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist from behind you. You watched Murasakibara in the mirror as he rested his chin on your head.

“Y/N-chin, you look perfect. There’s no need for you to criticise yourself in the mirror like this, you know,” Murasakibara mumbled, unable to keep his eyes off of the gorgeousness of your reflection.

“I’m just trying to get used to it, that’s all,” you said, in what was a half-lie.

“I don’t think people frown that much when they’re getting used to something,” Murasakibara said. He leaned down and tilted his head to smother your cheek and neck with kisses as he held you tight. “You’re beautiful— I mean it,” he said against your neck.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach. Murasakibara was always one to speak his mind, so any compliments from him you knew were 100% genuine. Of course, the kisses definitely helped you sway your opinion about yourself as you began to giggle at the feel of his breath against your neck. “Atsushi, that tickles,” you laughed as you tried to move your neck away, however you were held captive by tight grip around you.

Murasakibara smiled as he watched how the expression on your face changes. He was glad that he was able to take your mind off of things for a moment. “You have a cute smile,” he said softly, making your cheeks flush a bright red.

You immediately looked away in embarrassment as a dorky grin spread across your face. “Shut up.”

“Well, are you finally going to pay some attention to me rather than your mirror? I came all the way here you know, the least I could get is some cuddles,” Murasakibara went on.

“All the way here? Atsushi, you just crossed the street,” you laughed.

“I don’t see you point. So am I getting cuddles or not?”

“Of course.”

Wakamatsu

Wakamatsu is seriously one of the most caring boyfriends ever. You wouldn’t be able to find someone as sweet and loving as he was even if you tried your absolute hardest. You were nothing but grateful for having someone like him because you hardly ever found yourself worrying about trivial things that would constantly bug you previously.

But like any other person, you had moments where your insecurities would get the best of you, and it could be quite tolling sometimes because you’d never let yourself bring it up with the people you were close with. It was quite a silly way of thinking because Wakamatsu was always more than happy to listen, but you couldn’t help it. That’s just how your brain decided to deal with things.

So when you finally got your braces taken off, you were naturally unsure about how you appeared. Of course, you were aware that you just needed to get used to it, but a smaller, though much louder part of you was extremely anxious about having judging eyes on you thinking that you looked as strange as you perceived yourself to be. Therefore, to avoid any questions or weird looks at school the next day, you decided to wear a mask and pretend you had a cold so no one would see your mouth.

When Wakamatsu came over that morning so that you could walk to school together like you usually would, he immediately went into concerned-mode upon seeing your mask. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why do you have a mask on?” he asked.

“Oh um, I’m not feeling too well. It’s nothing serious though. Just don’t wanna get anyone else sick,” you lied.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should just stay home and get some rest. You can copy my notes,” he said, his concern so genuine that it was like he was mothering you at that point.

He was too sweet. You couldn’t just lie to him when he was just trying to be helpful. “No, no it’s fine,” you said, trying to muster up the courage to tell him the truth.

“No, I insist. You have to take care of yourself—“

“I’m not actually sick,” you finally admitted. “I got my braces taken off yesterday and I don’t like how I look,” you mumbled, staring at the floor out of embarrassment.

“Oh,” Wakamatsu simmered down from his insisting and processed what you’d just said. And honestly, if he were to take the time to fully understand why you said that, you’d be standing there all day because he couldn’t even fathom the idea of you looking anything but amazing to him.

“Yeah, so can we just head to school now?” you said to fill the silence, not wanting to be late.

“Um, I’m not going to ask you to show me or anything because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Wakamatsu started again as you two walked along the driveway, “but I think you’re probably overreacting.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “Either way, I don’t like how I look and I don’t want other people to see me until I’ve decided that I do.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he sighed. “I just hope you know that I think you’re always really pretty.”

“Really?” you asked softly as you looked up at him again, the sudden eye contact causing him to get more flustered.

“Of course. You’re absolutely gorgeous Y/N. And I bet if you took that mask off that fact would not change,” Wakamatsu confirmed as he smoothly took your hand in his and squeezed it tight as you walked along the pavement.

You began to soften up for a moment. It was almost as if the warmth of his hand had made its way throughout your entire body, making you feel all fuzzy. However, you still weren’t ready to display your new look to everyone at school, even after the boost of confidence Wakamatsu had given you. So you kept the mask on that day.

Your boyfriend was very patient with you. It was one of things you loved about him. Even after he reassured you that you would look good no matter what, you never felt even an ounce of pressure to show him until you were truly comfortable— and he certainly didn’t mind waiting. Luckily for him, his wait wasn’t too long because you did end up showing him during lunchtime.

The two of you sat at your usual place— a bench that was fairly secluded— as you unwrapped your purchases of snacks from the canteen. You really appreciated how he didn’t bring up your braces again after you chat that morning. He was so normal around you that being with him just made it feel as good as any other day, which is probably what led you to forget about it altogether when you took off your mask to take a bite out of your sandwich.

Wakamatsu looked at you with a smile on his face, which you didn’t question too much because he had a tendency to do that every now and then. However, they remained fixated on you for a while as you swallowed your food and began to chuckle, “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just happy because I’m always right,” Wakamatsu shrugged smugly.

“What?”

“I was right— you always look absolutely gorgeous,” he said nonchalantly as you were immediately reminded about your braces-free teeth, making your face heat up at the compliment.

You weren’t sure what it was about that moment where your eyes met and lips shared the same happy smiles, but you felt at ease. Wakamatsu really didn’t have to try to comfort you— all he had to do was be there and it was enough. But he didn’t ever think like that. He constantly went out of his way to make sure you were happy and comfortable at all times. And when you weren’t, it was pretty much guaranteed that he wouldn’t leave your side until you saw yourself with the same amount of admiration as he sees you.

And whilst by the end of the school day you had more or less regained some of your confidence, Wakamatsu still decided to spend more time with you at your house, where he smothered you with warm cuddles and soft kisses, all while reminding you how beautiful you were to him.

Haizaki

If you think that Haizaki isn’t exactly the best at comforting, well, you’d kind of be right. He’s not someone that takes things seriously most of the time so his solution to most problems tends to have the “it is what it is” mentality. You didn’t mind this too much though, in fact you liked how laid back he was, however that also made it a bit difficult for you to approach him about certain things that made you feel insecure.

He was a caring boyfriend, don’t get me wrong; he truly did love you. And sometimes you did agree with him about letting things be the way they are. But sometimes he just doesn’t understand why you feel a certain way because the situation seems so trivial to him. For example, when you finally got your braces taken off, you weren’t exactly feeling the most confident. Sure, it was nice to finally get that damn metal wire out of your mouth, but at the same time, the change was quite overwhelming.

Of course, Haizaki, who spends an awful lot of time texting you because he really has nothing else to do, knew about you getting them taken off before he saw you again at school the next day. However, you weren’t all that excited to show him, or anyone for that matter, because you really hadn’t gained the confidence back yet. Nevertheless, you went on with your day, doing your best to minimise your speaking so others wouldn’t notice the change.

Once it was time for lunch, Haizaki approached your desk, his eyes as tired as they always were during the school day. “God, I slept through that entire English class— what a bore,” he yawned.

“It wouldn’t hurt to pay attention once in a while, you know,” you said as you shoved your books into your backpack.

“Anyway,” Haizaki continued, knowing that he didn’t want to get into a conversation about his awful study habits. “You got your braces taken off right? Go on, give me a smile,” he said in a joking tone.

“No, I don’t like how it looks,” you said firmly.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “doesn’t matter. I want to see for myself.”

“No way, it looks weird,” you said softly as the classroom emptied.

“I can decide that for myself.”

You looked up at the eyes that were hovering above your desk. He wasn’t going to back down. You let out a sigh and flashed him an uncomfortable smile as you waited for him to say something. Each moment of silence convinced you more and more that he hated how you looked just as much as you do.

“I don’t see why you were complaining so much,” he said with a shrug and a small grin on his face.

“I feel like I look awful,” you muttered.

“Awful? You? Please,” Haizaki scoffed. “You’re hot as fuck.”

“I’m really not...”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Haizaki questioned, determined to prove his point.

“No, but—“

“You’re really fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he interrupted. “If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, I won’t hesitate to throw hands— that’s how much I believe it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that last part. “Babe, you wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands with anyone.”

“Shut up. My point still stands. Now how do I get you to see how pretty you are?” he said, trying to think of something clever.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” you said, half-joking.

Next thing you knew, Haizaki had leaned in and pressed his lips against yours ever so passionately, taking you by surprise. It took you a moment to realise what was going on before you quickly pulled away— even though you quite enjoyed it.

“Babe, were in a classroom,” you scolded softly, though you couldn’t fight back the grin that was spreading across your face.

“So what? No one’s here,” he said, voice as deep as ever. “Besides, I’m trying to remind you how pretty you are— that’s more important.”

“How exactly is that going to remind me?” you chuckled.

“Well, I wouldn’t just kiss anyone like that, now would I?”

“I suppose,” you said with a smile.

“In all seriousness though, I really don’t know why you think you don’t look good, because in my eyes you’re the most beautiful thing ever,” he said, sincerity in his eyes.

You began to blush at the sound of his words. It might take a while for you to feel more confident about yourself but this was certainly helping. “When did my Haizaki get so tooth-rottingly sweet, huh?” you teased jokingly.

Haizaki rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed at you but the smile on his face really said otherwise. “Shut up.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 113

Sooo.... I completely did not realize my queue dumped itself again, or that this chapter didn’t post when it should have. So I’m sorry for the slightly-delayed update!

Thanks to @baelpenrose​ for their beta-reading, as always.  This chapter loops back to something that came up previously and I hate loose ends dangling around everywhere. Content warnings for anger issues, trauma, and poor coping mechanisms.

“Dude, I’m making soup,” I jokingly scolded Maverick as I took the bowl of pumpkin seeds away from him.  After the camping trip, I had made the brilliant decision to roast the seeds we had harvested. All of them. Ten pounds of them, it turned out.  How he wasn’t sick of eating them, I had no idea.

 With a pout, he made grabby-hands at the bowl. “What kind?”

 “Potato,” I informed him as I pivoted away and carried the bowl back to the kitchen and put the lid on it.

It didn’t take long for him to join me and start requesting potatoes from the food console.  Even though they were freshly-generated and already clean, he started washing them anyway.  I was pretty sure the action ranked up there with utensils being in exactly-the-right place, because he always washed the vegetables that he got from the console.  It didn’t hurt anything, though, so we generally just let him do it.

About an hour later, we were sitting at the table with two bowls of velvety, off-white soup - his topped with sour cream, bacon, and cheese, mine just topped with scallions - and dug in.  Conor was on Beta-shift at work currently, so we made sure to put the lid on the rest to keep it warm.  Even though the temperature on the Ark never changed beyond a ten-degree variance, the camping trip had triggered something in me that said “Autumn”, and soup was exactly what I needed right then.

I had just finished my first bowl, and Maverick was halfway through his second - with somehow even more bacon - when the door opened and Conor stalked in.  Everything in his body language screamed that he was angry about something, and I subconsciously held my breath.  Glancing at Maverick, I saw him arch an eyebrow at me before turning to our clearly-upset partner.

“Everything okay?” he ventured slowly.

“Work. Huynh,” he grunted, shoving a hand through his hair as he started pacing into the kitchen, past the table, into the living room, and back.  “Stupid pre-fab structures. We don’t… Stupid!” Grasping for words, he only seemed to get more and more frustrated.  On his next trip into the kitchen, he grabbed a bowl and  thought he was going to try to eat, but instead I saw him start to raise the bowl higher.

Maverick stood, rushed over, and snatched the bowl from him. “We talked about this. If you throw that, you’ll give Sophia the panic attack she is trying not to have right now. I told you before, if you give her a panic attack again, I would knock you out. Please don’t make me keep my word.” Rather than angry, he sounded distressed and sad. “What are you supposed to do when you get frustrated like this?”

“Run,” Conor grunted, rubbing his face briskly before gesturing at his sweat-stained coveralls. “And I did. For miles and miles. It didn’t help. And I’m supposed to try to talk about what I’m angry about, but that’s even more frustrating, because I… I can’t explain it fast enough.”

Nodding, Maverick ladled soup into the bowl before gently pushing Conor to the table and setting the now-full bowl in front of him.  Without even realizing what he was doing, Conor started tearing a roll in half and dipping it in the soup - he ate every soup like that, and it was the weirdest thing I had ever seen. But it meant he was calming down, apparently, because he couldn’t rant and eat at the same time, and the man had priorities.

“I’m frustrated, because Huynh wants us to start prototypes for the pre-fabs that we will be using on Von,” he confessed, angrily dunking another chunk of bread and shoving it in his mouth. “I still think it’s too early.  I talked to Noah, and the last information they have about the planet is a decade old.  We aren’t close enough to drop out of whatever FTL we are using and get fresh scans, and we can’t get communications while we’re travelling, apparently, because… FTL.”

I nodded tentatively, encouraging him to go on, and started putting butter on a roll to keep myself calm.  So far, he wasn’t nearly as angry as it usually took for him to start throwing things, and he hadn’t had an episode in a while, so…. So far, so good.

He saw my nod and kept going. “I just think he’s putting the cart before the horse. We shouldn’t be constructing things based on old data, and major climate change can happen over ten years.” We’d found that out the hard way, unfortunately.

“What does Charly think?” Maverick asked.

“She’s on Gamma shift this week, so I didn’t get a chance to ask her,” he confessed sullenly.  At this point, he was out of soup and still trying to stab a piece of bread through the bottom of his bowl, so Maverick gently took it away and refilled it. “Thanks, love. So, I couldn’t ask Charly her suggestion, Huynh won’t listen, and I just… I feel like I’m barking in the wind.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I tried to do everything I was supposed to do.”

“I don’t think it’s working.” Maverick’s statement wasn’t said unkindly, and Conor shrugged and nodded in response. “What else have you and your therapist discussed?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” he answered, rather than answering the question.

“Then you need to talk to them about another way to vent your frustration,” Maverick insisted. “And where these anger issues are coming from.”

Conor mumbled something, prompting us to lean forward to better hear him.  When I made a gesture to repeat himself, he sighed. “We’ve talked about that, and I think I know where it’s coming from, it’s just…. It’s embarrassing.”

“It can’t be any more embarrassing than anything you know about either of us,” Maverick tried to point out, prompting me to scowl at him. “Hey! I literally slept through the end of the world.”

That got a chuckle out of Conor, but he got serious again quickly. “The anger…” he started, clearly reluctant. “So, I was an orphan. Parents died when I was - four? Five?” We nodded - this wasn’t new information so far. They’d died in an accident, and neither had any family. He’d mentioned siblings, but they were his foster siblings throughout the years. “I got bounced around the foster system a bit as a kid, but I think I got lucky.  None of my foster families were bad, necessarily, but I think that made it worse when I got moved from home to home.  Every time I started to let myself get close and open up…. I would get taken and moved to another family for one reason or another.  This family moved, that couple got too old to keep fostering kids, one of my foster mom’s got cancer and her wife couldn’t take care of me and Mum at the same time.  No one’s fault but… I felt so betrayed. So I… I started getting angry and pushing people away, making sure that I wouldn’t get close to them just to lose them again.” That word, betrayed, tickled something in my mind.  It was too familiar. “I got moved from family to family even more after that, but it hurt less, right? Because I wasn’t getting attached, and I was being moved because of anger issues. Because of something I did.”

“So… you’re pushing us away?” I asked, not even trying to hide my hurt feelings.

“I’m getting there, swear.” His response was very firm before he picked up where he left off. “Eventually, I turned eighteen, I was on my own, and now I really felt like I had control over my life.  I started an engineering program, I saw a therapist, and a lot of that anger went away.”

“That’s where the You we normally see came out?” Maverick asked, direct as always.

“Yeah. I was happier, calmer… I wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. I felt more stable.”

“And then…?”

“And then the world went tits up,” Conor laughed sadly. “I didn’t have much control over which people were in my life and which weren’t, but it was the After, right? I did manage to find a group who were pretty peaceful, and I stuck it out there.  Then I woke up here, and I could be happy again. I tried to be the version of myself that I liked, instead of that angry little boy.”

That was when it clicked. Betrayed. “Then Arantxa…”

“Yeah, then Arantxa,” he confirmed quietly.  “And you almost died.”

Tyche’s words from the day she busted my lip came back to me. For three weeks, I had to watch you try to figure out if you were going to live or die! Conor had to watch you… “Three times,” I whispered without realizing it.

“Twice,” Conor corrected, not realizing I was talking about what Tyche had said. “Once after you were attacked, and once when we were trying to figure out what was going on with Else.” Huffing, he shoved his now-empty bowl toward Maverick. “Please take that, I’m getting angry again.”

“Thanks for recognizing that,” Maverick nodded. “But I don’t think you’re mad. I think you just feel out of control again thinking about it.”

“That’s what my therapist says,” he admitted. “But inside, it feels like anger. And after Arantxa, when I started feeling that kind of angry, I… I felt like that scared little boy again. I didn’t realize I was doing it, until I started talking to Josh, but they think I subconsciously started pushing you away more every time something would happen.” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “To… I don’t know, make you show me who you ‘really’ are, to make you leave me before you can decide to leave, or before you actually die one time.”

“So, this is about me,” I ventured slowly. “Not Maverick at all.”

“I don’t mean it’s your fault,” Conor objected quickly. “None of this is your fault, that I react the wrong way when I feel like I need more control over situations.”

It started dawning on me what he was talking about. “PTSD.  You’re talking about PTSD. Not just the kind we all have from the After, but… from moving around so much when you were growing up. From not having a secure situation.”  

My mind started racing, connecting the dots.  Before moving in with me, neither Maverick nor Conor had what would have been considered ‘proper’ quarters - both had essentially chosen personal quarters barely big enough for a bed.  Maverick had admitted early on when we were still only friends, that he had chosen his because he never really had anything and spent his entire life after his dad died wandering from place to place, never really belonging. So he had a habit of being ready to pick up and go at a moment’s notice, and tried to take up as little space as possible in the process.  It was no secret - he did it deliberately and had no shame regarding the situation.  

It had never occurred to me that Conor did the same thing without realizing it.

Maverick shook his head.  I thought he was negating what I had said, but then he sighed. “We’re a mess, you know that?” Leaning back, he stretched and put his hands behind his head. “I think we should have a therapy session or four, together, about all this.”

Both Conor and I turned slowly to stare at him, wide-eyed. “When did you start being the sensible one?”

He pointed a finger at me. “You run headfirst into every dangerous situation you can find.” The finger flicked to point at Conor. “And you are convinced you’re an idiot, which is the only idiotic thing I’ve actually heard you say.”  Smugly, he put his hands back behind his head and smiled. “I’ve always been the sensible one.”

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[sp-ud]

Forgot to post my bullet point list of liveblogs/thoughts while I was in post limit jail yesterday, so under the keep reading it is if anyone wonders

• Girl help, it's 2pm and I have till 11pm till post limit resets

• I'm not liking any art because I don't like without reblogging

• When did Phil switch to dsmp? I swear he was doing he?

• Also is he spawn proofing ranboks house? Pog!

• But back to tubbo for now

• Is this the earliest I've hit post limit? Makes sense cuz I didn't sleep.

• Wtf happened on Phil's stream? Oh wait did he find the vault? And then the prime room?

• Apparently he found Carl.

• Just saw someone in Phil's chat say "wdym not ur son"... what do you think???

• Ranboos gonna come online to see his house been snowed.

• DID HE FIND ANOTHER THING? LMAO RANBOO REALLY BECAME A MOLE. OTHER HALF CONFIRMED?

• Might be using Twitter more than notes because it's such a long time

• PRIME BELL

• Tubbo and rnaboo are still shooting stuff? Brub

• Uh oh "let's talk about the dream smp" sounds so onimous...

• It's not serious thank god

• Sdlgkekfnnsa he added that :) knowing what he doing

• The indirects? Uhoh

• I wonder if he's going to address the clashes of certain lore bits

• Hmm gonna lie down because sleepy

• Kinds sleeby but heart go Nyoom

• Hope someone posts fundys lore stuff because I watching jack

• Tired in beddddd

• "We haven't had a sympathetic villain yet" almost true! I'd say wilbur was semi-sympathetic

• Ajfjrkgjsndnv did bad show up just to tell him to join the egg

• I'm getting deja vu

• Also heheh melamine doofensmirtz

• Based on the liveblogs I'm seeing, fundy is trying to move into the arctic. Okay

• Fundys actually on the smp, sorry Jack but I follow one manifoldtwt person so I see all of jack stuff

• I open Phil's stream to see tubbo stream sniping. How cannon is tub o being here? Also when did rnabok and tubbo join phil

• "How is Michael doing"

• Ranboo and tubbo also being in the call while Phil is dunking on fundy for butcher army

• And tubbo killed him

• Tubbo just hit and run fundy

• I am out of bed I got interested in other stuff to quickly

• Go see Michael Phil please

• Ranboo is such an enabler

• Tubbo villain arc that's just his normal self let's go

• This is so cruel, Tubbo why

• 'Aa batteries?'

• Poor fundy flkvkthmdna

• Among us role play time again but now it's town of Salem

• Tubbo just said 'platonic marriage'

• "Your what?"

• Hes definitely adopted rigkrjgnenca

• "Cake time you little shit"

• "Theres not a thought behind those eyes"

• 'Unbiological'

• TUBBO?

• RJGJEKCNSN DOES FU DG JUST NOT GET THAT TECHBO HATES TUBBO

• Please don't free the child fundy

• RANBOO AND TUBBO JUST DESTROYED FUNDY

• AHAHAHA WILBUR DIDNT TURN OUT FINE

• Phil boutta snoop?

• Fundy just got murdered in michaels room

• Fundy don't threaten the helicopter parents

• Aite tubbo that was a joke too far

• PHIL PLEASE DONT

• PLEASE

• Phil has shclatt

• GHOST SQUEEKS. NO. NOT AGAIN.

• awww fundy being excited Phil said "runs in the family"

• wh. How bad was my delay on Phil's stream? Totally different point when I switch to fundy

• I just can't bring myself to do school work rn I can't explain it, probably because a lot of it is tests

• Chat o7-ing with no context for c!fundy

• Fundy always accidentally screening himself over damn

• I know foxes are considered sneaky but man calm down

• HUH? GLOWING WOOOL? FUDBY?

• Just woke up. Tanbkk live.

• Tubbo I think that is called fanfic. No tubbo it is. Tubbo you can't deny it that's still fanfic.

• Bless ranboo for trying to help stop the belief that fanfics are all nsfw

• "Is tubbo drunk" have yall never seen a tired/chaotic person

• Tubbo thought Thomas sanders created vine???

• Going thru that big dream merch post and just blocking so many of them, cuz I don't want those people ever looking at my stuff

• Also so many of them are just... saying straight up misinfo

• "*sigh* are we being overprotective?" "...protection 4"

• "Prot 4 parents"

• Techno just vibing on the server eyes emoji

• Golddigger tubbo returns

• Techno just staring out the window

• He left rkgkrkgjsja

• Yet? ... ramboo???

• Chat stop being weirdchamp :)

• I think I should just not read chat rn

• I saw a dono mention ramboo maybe having EDS, ehlers-danlos syndrome and like... I lowkey been wondering similar stuff?

• I had EDS btw

• My doctor said there's something similar to EDS but involves growing... a lot. *looks at ranboos 6'6 self*

• FUXK OFF HEATWAVSZ OS ON MY RADIO AGAIN. FUXK YOJ

• Why do I suddenly feel really sad about something? Uh oh

• "LORE?" Chat asks while puffy describes how her toilet broke

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 14

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 2,673

After breakfast and some passionate necking in the doorway, Arthur had left. As he’d disappeared into the elevator, he gave a playful but modest wave and smiled. Coincidentally, the next door neighbor had popped out to get her paper. When Y/N had greeted her, the woman had kept her eyes averted, muttered a quick, "Morning," then hurriedly went back inside.

At first Y/N had found it odd, but then it’d dawned on her. Maybe she needed to learn to keep her voice down.

Chuckling, she’d gone back into the apartment and the bedroom, considering changing the sheets. But, blushing happily, she’d left them alone. He would be over again that night; she’d been sure they'd wind up between them. Then she’d checked the sofa. She hated trying to launder upholstery and wasn't particularly good at it. Luckily, she hadn't seen anything that would have given away their activities - her robe had been in the way.

From the moment he was gone, she knew she was head over heels. Her eighty-seven percent certainty had increased to ninety-six over the course of their morning. He hadn't said much after they'd gotten up, but his actions touched her. After a little prompting, he'd poured coffee for them, then asked how she liked hers. He'd made it with one sugar and a shot of milk. (Seemingly nervous that he'd make it too white, he'd kept asking, "Is that enough?") Then he'd hovered next to her while she cooked. It'd already felt like he belonged there.

The speed with which the comfort of routine had developed between them was startling. In her past relationships, she'd taken things slowly. Jeff, her ex-husband, was someone she'd met as a sophomore in high school. He'd been a college freshman, studying pre-law. It had taken five months before they started dating. He was a good man - they exchanged Christmas cards every year, letting each other know they were  still alive. But they'd gotten married only a month after she'd graduated, before she’d had a chance to develop her own identity.

Y/N decided the biggest distinction between then and the present was that she'd grown-up. Taking care of her father had forced her to mature quickly. She hadn't had time for other people's bullshit and had to figure out how to clearly say yes and no, something she'd struggled with until her late-twenties. She'd had to learn what she did and did not want.

Arthur, even the Arthur who'd been trembling and biting his nails on the couch with his Gotham Department of Health notebook, was what she wanted. It was surprisingly easy to like and love him, not only because he was handsome, kind, and most of what she’d experienced of him had been great. But also because she now knew herself.

Picturing him, while sitting at her desk and trying to work, made the corners of her lips turn up. Nervous excitement and plain happiness caused her to laugh quietly. She felt foolish. She hadn’t giggled like that since she’d been a teenager, lip-syncing badly to the radio with her sister.

She truly was trying to act professionally that morning. But at their usual mid-week meeting with Matt, Patricia passed her a note with the words, “You can’t stop smiling!” written on it. Y/N gave it back, feeling like a girl trying not to get caught by the teacher, with a heart, followed by two questions marks and an exclamation point.

Once the meeting ended, Patricia arched a brow at her. Y/N put her palm to her face, groaning. The note had been terribly out of character. “I just wanted to know what it was like to be girly. Once.” Her embarrassment had quickly faded, though, and she said, “I promise I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

The rest of work went by uneventfully, with her back to preparing the firm's family cases. They were a gallery of dysfunction. There had been a rise in children being taken from their parents due to substance abuse disorder after budget cuts had stopped their treatment. And there was a stack of protection from abuse orders, including pictures of bruises and other injuries. The occasional petty divorce filings were a nice break. She would sometimes reread the best complaints when she needed a chuckle. Though the work wasn’t difficult, by early afternoon she was exhausted and trying not to nod off at her desk.

She left early, then, and made her way to the Gotham Bureau of Corporations to try to find more information on Renew Corp. It turned out it had been registered as a limited liability corporation. As a result, their annual reports and registered agents were openly available. The photocopies she made cost her $2.35 at five cents a page. Sitting on the floor at her coffee table, she reviewed the reports. Most of them were about profits and projects, which didn't interest her. She already knew the addresses they were after. The list of registered agents intrigued her, though. She'd have to go over her plan with Patricia.

But first she had to figure out how to explain what she thought was happening in a way that didn't make her sound crazy. Who would believe that Gotham's largest philanthropic organization was responsible for a third-party harassing poor people instead of helping them? She'd find it hard to believe herself if she hadn't taken a closer look. But she was at a loss as to what other conclusion could be drawn.

~~~~~

When Y/N told Patricia her general theory, she'd been skeptical. But once the shoe boxes of letters tenants were getting were pulled out, Patricia's eyes widened. "You coming over here with the file was a risk," Y/N told her, putting the folder on the table. "It means a lot. I don't want you to do anything else that could get you in trouble."

Patricia shook her head. "I've been there forever. Matt won't ask questions. The only reason you got caught was your big mouth and bad luck."

Taking out a plate for the scones she’d picked up, Y/N smirked in response.

Patricia grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite. "Before we start work, I need to know what on earth is going on with you and this guy you're dating." Despite the exasperation in her voice, she looked amused. "You're glowing."

After putting on the kettle, Y/N boosted herself up on the counter next to the stove. She crossed her ankles. "His name's Arthur Fleck. He's a performer - he's sometimes a clown at the children's hospital. He’s an aspiring stand-up. I think he's a little older than me. Early to mid-forties?"

"This is the-" Patricia made air quotes "'-good looking pie guy,' right?" she asked. "How did you meet?"

Grinning, Y/N went into how they'd kept meeting serendipitously. That he was gentle with her, something she hadn't experienced much in her life. (Given her assertive personality, most people appeared to think she never wanted or needed it.) She flushed at the memories. "I think he's the last gentleman in Gotham. He holds the door open for me. He helps me with my coat." She wished he was there, right now, with his arm slung about her waist, hearing all the compliments she was giving him.

"We talk on the phone every night," Y/N continued, "and I look forward to those few minutes the whole day. He tells me jokes. Even when they're terrible, I love them." Shaking her head, she said, "He sometimes misunderstands what I say and doesn't know how to respond.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed the rest. “He seems a little left footed with the world. But I’ve fallen in love with him, anyways."

It took a few seconds before Patricia spoke. "Already?"

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. "How long did it take before you knew you loved Robert?"

"I knew Robert and I were going to get married after our first date thirty years ago." Patricia stood and stretched her arms. "But sometimes I regret accepting his second invitation."

That prompted a snort from Y/N. "On our second date, I got wine-drunk and had a mini-breakdown on the sofa. Arthur didn't try to take advantage or leave. He just listened and tried to make me feel better."

The tea kettle started whistling, interrupting her train of thought. She hopped off the counter and started filling their cups. "I think the biggest thing we have in common is taking care of ailing parents - he cares for his mother." After sitting at the table, she dunked the teabag a few times. "It's rare to find someone who understands how hard that can be." A smile appeared on her face. "He gets it. He gets me. And I think I get him."

"Tell me three negative things about him," Patricia said.

Y/N cocked her head. "He smokes like a chimney - I don't know how he hasn't gotten cancer already. He's too unsure of himself." She scrunched up her face, remembering how he'd told her to leave after his mother had wounded him. "And he's too self-reliant. He thinks I don't notice, but I do."

Before asking her next question, Patricia took a long sip. "Have you slept with him?"

"Last night,” Y/N answered without hesitation. “This morning," She smirked. "I’m bone-tired, but hopefully tonight."

Patricia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Jesus, Y/N."

Y/N cracked-up at her reaction, playfully smacking her arm. "Hey, I'm turning forty in April. If I see something I want, I'm going to grab it." She pointed at Patricia to emphasize what she said next. "And I can tell you, in his own words, he did not mind."

"Does he know how you feel?"

Y/N put down her teacup. "It's hard for me to open myself up. I'd shut that off for so long.” A sigh left her as she leaned back against the chair. “I know it doesn't make sense, but going to bed with him is easier than saying anything."

"He sounds like a decent man," Patricia said. "There aren't many in Gotham."

"There aren't many anywhere." After some silence, Y/N furrowed her brow. "He’s wonderful. But I can tell he has difficulties. Or at least he has in the past."

Patricia's eyebrows knit together. "Legal trouble?"

"No, nothing like that." Y/N adjusted her legs. How much information could she share without crossing a line? Maybe disclosing his affliction would be all right - he did have laminated cards he handed out. "He has a neurological condition that makes him laugh. It doesn't happen often, but I've seen it when he's nervous. It's been hard for him." She studied her tea, thinking of his notebook and all his medication.

And she felt shame, remembering how she'd shut him down like a coward when it'd seemed he was going to tell her everything.

"Do you want me to do a background check on him?" Patricia spoke quietly, her concern obvious.

Y/N waved the idea away. "No. There’s no reason.” Then she blushed. “I don’t even know why I told you. But," she smiled, "I appreciate you caring enough to ask." Pointing at the nearby folder, she said, “Now let’s get this over with so I can call him.”

They started on the file, then, sorting through the motions, writing down the day each one was filed with the court. Opening all the letters was a pain in the ass - Y/N was relieved she only got a couple of paper cuts. The dates on those were analyzed, too, and put onto a parallel list next to those of the filings. When they were finished, an hour or so later, they were able to confirm the motions and letters had started during the same time period.

Patricia sipped her tea, shrugging. "It could be a coincidence."

"Of course it could. That's why I got the list of registered agents with Renew Corp." Y/N got up and grabbed the reports she'd copied from the counter next to the stove. "I'm supposed to have the Wayne Foundation tax returns on Friday. I'll see if Renew Corp. is listed anywhere on there."

"Actually, I have a better idea." Patricia crossed her legs and indicated the reports with her pen. "The tax filings will have all the Wayne Foundation employees listed on one of the schedules. You can see if any of the names match the agents on the Renew reports."

Y/N leaned back against the counter. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." Frowning, she mentally went over the dates they’d written. “Did I see that a new motion was filed on Monday? Do you have it?”

“Yeah, we got our copy today. Why?” Patricia dug through the file until finding it, then handed it to her.

“When I looked through the file, nothing indicated a new motion was needed.” She started to scan it. It was a motion to amend the original filing, which meant addresses could either be added or taken off. This one added a few in order to, according to the summary, allow the building of an additional medical clinic wing. She didn’t recognize most of them: a residential building on Cortelyou Road, an empty lot on Sutter Avenue, a commercial area on Rockaway Boulevard. An apartment complex at 225a Anderson Avenue.

Her breath halted. 225a Anderson Avenue.

It made sense. Despite the heaviness forming in her stomach, and her inability to take in any air, it was perfectly logical. Ms. McPhee’s building was on the same block as Arthur’s, on a perpendicular street. Y/N closed her eyes, reaching back to grasp the counter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Heat rose from Y/N’s shoulders, through her neck, to her face. “Arthur… Arthur’s address is included.” She held out the paper to Patricia. “How am I supposed to tell him?”

Standing, Patricia put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “This is going to take months and months. And you’re trying to stop it.”

“I know, but-” Y/N started.

“Does he know the details of what you’re working on?” After Y/N shook her head, Patricia continued. “It’s not going to do any good to say anything.”

“I just told you I love him. How can I-”

The blaring sound of the phone interrupted her. After another couple rings, she went to grab the beige receiver from the wall next to the kitchen entrance. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Arthur."

Y/N checked the clock - it was after seven. He'd probably expected her to call by now. Pointing at the receiver, she turned around and looked at Patricia. "Arthur, I'm sorry I haven't called yet. I was just talking about you." She took a breath, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the anger simmering inside her. "Why don't you come over now? You can meet Patricia before she-"

His voice was strained when he interrupted her. "No. I can't. Is there anyway you can come to the hospital?"

That was unexpected. She felt worry cross her face. "Are you all right?"

"It's my mother. We just got here. I don't know what's wrong. There was an ambulance when I got home from..." His tone lowered, sounding a little embarrassed. "Can you please come? I don't understand all the paperwork." A pause, then. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

"You’re never a bother. I'll be right there. Which hospital?" Y/N watched as Patricia rose from her chair and started packing up the file she'd brought.

"Gotham General. In the emergency room," he answered.

"I'm on my way." She grabbed her coat and purse as she hung up. "Arthur's mother's in the ER. I gotta grab a cab."

Patricia took her jacket. "I brought my car. I'll take you."

Y/N gave Patricia a good, long hug, something she rarely did. "I owe you. Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime. Arthur's not the only one who's too self-reliant."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Patricia and squeezed her arm as she lead them both into the hallway, then locked the door.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​

[polkahotness]

SHORTAKI WEEK DAY 2

 FFN // AO3                        

                              Flinch

I'd never seen anybody go so hard on Arnold. And that's coming from someone who has literally bullied him since the dawn of time.

It all started when we decided to take the bus out of town to visit this record store that Arnold was dying to visit. It was new and located a couple of towns over—'The Record Skip.' It was a dumb name in my opinion and considering the size of the town it was located in, I didn't exactly anticipate business to be booming enough that it would stay open for much longer.

Thus, initiated our fun little trip.

Arnold was determined to get this one particular jazz album that he'd been hunting for online and at every thrift shop, music store, anywhere that you could possibly imagine. Personally, I thought it seemed like a lot of unnecessary work for a giant disc that was way larger than it needed to be when there are CDs or, dare I say it, streaming services that could play you the same music without lugging around ten pounds worth of equipment to do so.

But to Arnold, the records were just his… thing. Rhonda would call it an 'aesthetic' but in reality, he was just a big jazz nerd who liked the way that a record, "made the sounds of each instrument pop." He claimed that when listening to an old record on his fancy phonograph or whatever you call it, was like "being in the room of a jazz concert. You can feel the energy even if it was recorded years, decades ago."

Naturally, I laughed in his face, but I respect his love for the way the music feels and sounds. I remember when we first started dating our sophomore year, we would spend hours in his room with the lights down low as he played various vinyls while explaining the greats to me and the reasons why jazz music was his happy place.

Sometimes I think it's because it helps him stay close to his grandparents who, unfortunately, aren't around any longer to influence his eclectic tastes. Both Stella and Miles seem to understand why this mission of finding some specific LP was important, but me, his 17-year-old girlfriend who much preferred the music app on her phone, well I just couldn't quite wrap my head around the significance.

"So, how did you find this shop anyway?" I asked him as we jostled on the bus down the road towards the town I'd never heard of. "This city is like… the smallest dot on a map I've ever heard of."

"It isn't that small of a town, Helga," Arnold insisted before offering a small shrug of his shoulders. "I stopped here once one the way back from visiting Arnie a few years ago," he explained, and I rolled my eyes at the mention of his zany cousin.

"Right. Arnie. Talk about someone living in po-dunk nowhere," I commented, though Arnold didn't seem to react.

His attention was focused outside the glass of the window as he watched our bus slowly travel its way into the town Arnold was eager to visit. Once the sign for the town passed us by, I could feel Arnold's grip of my hand tighten slightly and I couldn't help but smile at the involuntary action.

He was excited.

That made me excited.

Even if it was just for some dumb record.

When the bus lurched forward at its stop, both Arnold and I stood up as he began rushing off down the aisle. He could hardly contain his excitement for the possibility of finding whatever long-awaited album he'd been searching for.

Me?

I was just interested in seeing what this album was in the first place.

Up until now, he had refused to tell me—said it was stupid and that I would laugh at him. While he wasn't exactly wrong because the chances of me laughing were pretty high, it didn't mean that I didn't care. I wanted him to be happy even if it was because of something that I found weird and dumb. My opinion didn't matter. This was his thing and as the loving, perfect, gorgeous, and incredibly supportive girlfriend that I had had the honor of being for nearly two years now, I was prepared to follow that footballhead into the depths of hell if it meant he'd wear that dopey grin of his for even one minute.

'The Record Skip' wasn't too far down the road from where our bus had stopped, and Arnold practically skipped his way down the sidewalk towards the small building with a giant record hanging above the door that read the name of the shop. It didn't seem all that busy and my suspicions were correct when we entered the store to find a lone cashier who looked bored to tears and a single customer perusing the endless rows of albums.

As my eyes scanned the bins filled to the brim with records of all varieties and in no particular order, I watched Arnold begin to sort through them feverishly. Wanting to help, I stood beside him and looked over his shoulder while quietly saying, "You know Hair Boy, if you told me what you were looking for, I might be able to help you find it."

"No thanks," Arnold replied automatically as a frown grew on my face. "If it's here, I want to be the one to find it. If that makes any sense."

Pulling away from peeking over his shoulder, I chuckled to myself with a lone shake of my head. "It doesn't, you know," I told him with amusement. "Make any sense, that is. I mean, look around!" I exclaimed while gesturing at the small store we had found ourselves in. "There must be hundreds of records in here and without my help, we could be here until closing time. And from the looks of 'Moody McGee' over there—" I pointed to the cashier tapping away on her phone without a care in the world, "—I just don't think they'd be all that stoked at such a proposition."

My words gave Arnold food for thought as he paused in his sifting through the records to consider my observation. He knew that I had a point and after a moment of silent contemplation, Arnold breathed a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine," he said softly before twisting minimally to look over in my direction with a stern expression painted on his features. "But if I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

Once again rolling my eyes at his inane paranoia, I agreed to his terms and conditions. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, fine, Arnoldo. Now what is it that we're looking for, huh?"

Arnold took a heavy breath as if to prepare himself for some big dark secret he'd been harboring. The dramatics of his lead-up to the important and somehow embarrassing tidbit threw me off once it was finally off his chest. "It's this Dino Spumoni record. It's… It's really, really rare because it was a live recording from one of his shows when he was still singing with Martin and Lewis in the Lounge."

I stared at him with my mouth ajar as though in shock, which I quickly wiped off and swapped the expression for a skeptical glare instead. "That's it? That's the big mysterious record you've been hunting for? Dino Spumoni?" I soon rolled my eyes while letting out a scoff. "Cripes, Arnold! Didn't your grandparents own basically every single one of his stinkin' albums? I'll bet it's up in some closet somewhere in a box, all dusty and—"

"Well, it's not, Helga," he interrupted me, and my mouth instinctively zipped itself shut at the sudden ferocity in Arnold's tone. When his wave of agitation passed, he soon apologized and explained. "I'm sorry, it's just…" He opened his mouth to let words pass through his lips, though only air escaped. As he scrunched his brows inward, he seemingly tried to conjure just what it was he had hoped to already have said and been done with.

"It's just…what, Arnold?" I pushed gently and Arnold sighed before turning back towards the rows of records he began sifting through once again.

Quietly, he resumed speaking. "When Grandma died… Grandpa didn't take it too well." He glanced over his shoulder at me before returning his attention to the records he thumbed through, while muttering, "You remember that."

"Sure," I answered while walking away from him to walk around the end of the row and to the side directly opposite of Arnold. My hope was that from where I stood across the way, I could secretly peek over at him while pretending to look through records. "That was freshman year, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," Arnold confirmed while holding an album up and turning it around to scan over the song listings before replacing it back to the slot he'd found it in. "Grandpa died our sophomore year."

"I remember," which I had—very vividly, in fact. It had been a really tough beginning of high school for the poor kid, and as much as I hated to admit it, their deaths were a large part of what brought the two of us even closer together. I hadn't been able to help myself from checking in on him and stopping by randomly to see how he was doing. Soon I was staying for dinner and helping move belongings and sorting through boxes.

It wasn't long after that Arnold and I began officially dating.

I always imagined how his Grandpa would have teased us; his grandma continuing to call me 'Eleanor' and maybe giving Arnold a new title of his own as an upgrade of sorts. It never had felt the same since they'd passed, but so was the nature of life—and Phil and Gertie had lived a couple of pretty amazing ones.

"Right when we first started sorting through things," Arnold continued on; effectively dragging me out of my thoughts and back to the conversation we were currently having. "I found this old Dino Spumoni record—one that I hadn't seen or listened to before. It was shoved all the way in the corner of my grandparent's closet, and we were all baffled as to why it had been hiding back there."

"So, naturally, we pulled it out and I began looking over the cover—memorizing it to the smallest wrinkle and shallowest scratch," he laughed at this as though ashamed of openly telling another person about what he'd done. "And one day, as I was pulling out the record to play it, it sort of… got caught on something? I yanked at it to try and wiggle it out of the slot, but when it got free, it slipped from my fingers and—"

"It shattered, didn't it?" I answered for him as he nodded slowly.

"Smashed," Arnold uttered with a shake of his head and a humorless smirk. "Just like the name of his song."

"And that's why we're on this hunt? To replace the record that you accidently broke?" I shrugged my shoulders while moving to the next column of miscellaneous albums. "I mean, I get it. It was your grandparents, but by replacing it, you're just honoring some other random person's copy, you know?"

"That's true," he agreed, though his tone suggested otherwise. "It isn't all about the record itself, though. After it fell and broken and I had been angry for a significant amount of time, I picked up the slipcover of the album and looked over it like I had before—memorizing every indentation and faded color that made the cover art. But this time, I ventured to look inside the slot to where the record used to lie."

A long pause followed as Arnold probably waited for me to beg for more. I was happy to oblige because I really was curious now. "And?" I pressed him.

Arnold shifted over to his next column of records and flipped with ease while glancing at each album that he passed. "There was a note shoved in the back corner. That's what the record had gotten stuck on. And since it hadn't been touched in who knows how long…" his voice trailed off as though verbally giving me a blank to fill in for him.

"It's no wonder you hadn't found it before," I finalized as he went on to tell me more about the note without my prompting.

"The note was a letter. It was dated from the 50s and it was addressed to my Grandma… from Grandpa… after their very first date."

My mind tried to imagine Gertie as a young woman and Phil as some young man; the two of them no different than Arnold and myself, but for a few years. I shook off the vision I couldn't make and said, "Well, are you going to tell me what it said, or what?"

Ignoring my sarcasm, Arnold recalled the letter as though he had recited it countless times before. "Gertie—I had a swell time with you at the lounge, tonight. Here's a cut from that performance, courtesy of Dino himself. Maybe on our next date I'll take you to meet him, as long as you don't go running off with him. He'd better not touch my gal." The both of us laughed as he ended the letter and offered a shrug. "Then he just signed it, 'yours, Phil.'"

"Your grandparents really were something," I noted while sorting through my pile; Arnold moving from the row he was in to the next one over and started going through more albums. Just beside him, the only other customer in the entire store also carefully inspected record after record—also a man on a mission.

It was clear that finding this record wasn't because he missed the music or wanted it for some kind of collection he had. Arnold was looking for this record because it was made from the very night in which his grandparents had shared their very first date. Unlike some of the zany stories told by both Phil and Gertie respectively about such a date, that letter had given Arnold tangible proof of their love story.

Finding that record meant completing the album Arnold had probably stashed away beside his bed so he could look at it the way he used to look at that old picture of his parents. Not like I knew that or anything. I didn't watch him from the skylight sometimes when it was really dark out because there was a new moon and he was distracted which meant I could hide in the shadows of the rooftop above him.

But that was beside the point.

I had to find that album. I wanted to give that back to Arnold—return to my beloved that which was lost with two of the most important people in his life. My sweet, poor, footballheaded darling. How I longed to take away the pain clouding his heart. How I desired to wave a magic wand and turn back time so he could reunite with his grandparents once again. If only I could find that album. If only I could be the hero and bring to him the one thing that would set off the familiar glimmer I longed to see from beneath his emerald green eyes.

If only… If only… If only …If—

"Hey! Give that back!"

Arnold's voice echoed through the shop, and I blinked myself back to reality to look over in the direction of where my familiar footballhead was glaring up at the other customer who was the size of a linebacker. In their hand was an album—one that I could see from where I stood had that of Dino Spumoni's face on it.

It was the album.

"No way, little dude," the stranger insisted while holding the album away from Arnold's desperate grasping. "Do you know how much this puppy is worth?"

"But I had it first," he expressed, his tone growing more distressed with each word and fling of his arm toward what the man held away from him. "You took it out of my hand."

"Yeah, so that I couldhave it," the man's voice was smug; arrogant. This dude thought he could just get away with taking something because he could.

As nice as Arnold was and as harsh as he could be when pushed, he didn't seem to phase the giant stranger who towered over him. "Please," Arnold began to plead, "You don't know what this album means to me…"

"And you don't know what it's gonna mean to my wallet," the man countered.

That was all that I needed to butt my way in to their dispute and place myself directly between this douche-nugget and Arnold. This imbecile thought that he was going to walk away with this album after swiping it out of Arnold's hands because he was some 'big, strong, tough guy?' He was clearly looking for a sweet, sweet kiss from my fists.

"Hey. Iron Giant," I addressed him while shooting a confident glare up in his direction. "How about you leave my friend alone here and I'll let you mosey on home without your eyes so swollen shut that you end up running into every single trash can, pole, and sign that you encounter?" My long-winded threat didn't strike fear in the man's eyes, though I could tell he was surprised at my sudden involvement.

With a somewhat awkward chuckle, the man shifted his gaze between Arnold and me. "Are you really threatening me? Over some stupid record?"

"Are you really so stupid that you think I won't punch your lights out faster than you can say 'I'm sorry for being a literal ass?'" I retorted as I tightened my fists at my side in preparation for my next move.

Arnold wasn't having it though.

"Helga, stop," He demanded in a harsher tone than I'd anticipated. The sudden change in his demeanor threw me off guard, and I stepped aside to look at him as he moved to the forefront to stare up at our selfish stranger.

"Listen," Arnold began firmly without so much as a stutter or waver in his voice. "I found that album first. Fair and square. It was in my hand and you will give it back to me."

This amused the man and he took a lone step in to further intimidate and loom over Arnold and me. In a low growl, he said, "Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it… kid?"

My eyes shot over to Arnold who didn't even flinch at the words the man spat in his face. With an intensity I hadn't seen in Arnold in a long time, he narrowed his eyes and matched the stranger's tone to say in return, "What will we do?" He repeated before turning to look at me and silently tell me the next step in his plan. Fully understanding what it was I had to do, Arnold faced the stranger again and simply stated, "We're going to take it back."

With that, as the stranger was distracted and utterly confused, I reached out to snatch the album from his grubby hands. "C'mon, Shortman!" I hollered as Arnold and I turned around to begin running away from the angry man we left behind.

"Hey! Get back here!" he demanded, but we didn't listen. The man may have been dumb, but he certainly wasn't dumb enough to follow after the two of us and cause a scene. Not only did this cashier not care, but we were just teenagers. Surely the dude didn't want to get into a huge fight with a couple of kids.

After we paid for the record and it was safely in a bag that Arnold carried with pride at his side, we slowly walked down the sidewalk in pursuit of the bus stop. Evening was approaching and the sun had just begun to slowly sink into the horizon; the sky morphing into bright hues of oranges and pinks that swirled together like paint on a canvas. Once we made it to the bus stop, we took a seat on the bench to wait while Arnold pulled out the album and gave it a look-over.

"I can't believe we found it," He mused while staring at the cover with a smile.

"Technically you found it," I corrected him before smirking and leaning back into the bench we sat on. "And what I can't believe is you, Hair Boy."

Arnold carefully placed the album back in the plastic bag before turning to look at me with a raised brow. "What can't you believe?"

"That guy was huge, Arnold," the words came out in shock as though the memory of him was even bigger than he had been in reality. "I'm surprised you had the guts to stand up to him like that. You didn't even flinch."

"You were the one threatening to start a fight, Helga, not him. Why would I flinch?" he soon countered, and I shrugged my shoulders.

"He seemed pretty antagonistic to me. He could have socked you right there, but you just…. Stood there." I said with a smirk. "But me? That's not really how I work, you know that. I was ready to pick a fight. And If he ended up giving me two black eyes, he would have at least gotten one and it would have been worth it, too. You were walking away with that album if it was the last thing I did, today."

"At least it didn't come to that," Arnold said while reaching out to lace his hand with mine and offered a light squeeze. "I think our plan worked just fine."

"You're telling me. For once you and your giant head were the brains of the operation," I offered, and Arnold shook his head in amusement.

"It can't always be you, you know," he soon replied with a twinkle in his eye; the hint of a tease with a half-smile that I could hardly resist. "I can be clever and witty too."

"You have your grandparents to thank for that," I told him earnestly; the glimmer in his gaze dulling as he soaked in what I was saying. "I think that Gertie and Phil would be proud of you for holding your ground and getting that album back. I'll bet it was something they would have done."

"Grandpa definitely would have," Arnold agreed with a nod and a smile at the thought. I could tell that he was thinking of either a memory or trying to imagine him doing such a thing. He was lost in the thought for a moment before letting out a chuckle and adding, "Grandma would have gone a much, much more dramatic route, though."

"You're probably right about that, footballhead."

Together we sat, hand in hand, on the bench as we waited for the bus to arrive. With each new conversation and laugh that we shared, I relished the future the two of us would surely have. If today had proven anything, it was that Arnold and I worked best in tandem with each other; just like another couple we knew.

And when we reached Sunset Arms again and headed up for Arnold's room, the first thing he did was put on that record; the music filling the air to transport us back to that legendary couple's very first date. Like them, Arnold and I would have many a story to tell our grandchildren one day, and maybe someday, they too would go on a mission to find some missing relic of our love and fight to get it.

My only hope was that, like Arnold, they too wouldn't flinch at the opportunity.

[banditthewriter]

Dirty Work - Billy Russo - 3

I’m sorry I didn’t get this posted yesterday, but here we are! This will answer some of those questions... and definitely create some new ones, I’m sure!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

"I'm calling about the hit I took out on Billy Russo."

You heard a noise on the other line that sounded like a scoff.

"Yeah, figured you'd call when you heard about the attempt."

You were seething. Whoever this person was, you could almost feel their derision as they spoke to you. Smug and patronizing at the same time. 

"I paid ten grand over the fee to have it cancelled. I am no longer contracting the hit, I called it off."

There was a deep chuckle on the other end of the line.

"That's not how it works sweetheart. You paid for a hit, we outsourced it to a merc in the area. We don't have a refund policy."

"I'm not asking for a refund, I'm asking for you to stop. I paid extra for that reason. I made a mistake, I don't want to go through with it."

There it was again, that chuckle. The sound made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Sorry sweetheart, no can do. The merc won't stop until he's done his job. You can tell Russo about the hit and maybe he can go off grid and be safe again. Otherwise…"

The dial tone cut into whatever you were going to say in response. You opened your mouth and felt like screaming, but the knowledge that Billy was asleep in the other room had you rethinking that. 

You had met Billy at the bar and two days later, in a fit of alcohol fueled anger and sadness, you had looked into a number your brother had given you a long time ago. It didn't feel like anything to put a hit on a man you didn't know. You even pushed the date out with the intention of making a spectacle of it. Have Billy die on your brother's birthday. It was going to be poetic.

Only you'd fallen for Billy pretty quickly. You thought the contract was canceled since you had paid what you had thought was a generous cancellation fee. 

Turns out you had been sorely mistaken.

You knew you should tell Billy that it wasn’t a coincidence, that he was still in danger, but you didn't want to lose him. You couldn't lose him. 

You meant it when you said that you would help him. And if you couldn't pay off the merc, you'd have to find a different way to figure it out.

------

"You're up early," Billy remarked when he came out of the bedroom.

"Couldn't sleep," you replied as you flipped through the files on your desk. "Hope I didn't wake you. Figured I'd work on some contracts this morning."

Mostly to keep your mind off of the fact that someone was trying to kill Billy and it was your fault. 

"I need to head to the police department."

That made you pause. Billy had bent down and picked up the vest he had been wearing last night. You watched as he fingered the bullet impressions. 

"Three bullets to the chest on your brother's birthday. I figured it was too much to be a coincidence," he explained as he looked over at you. "I'm sorry I blamed you."

You felt sick to your stomach. Without letting on, you gave him a smile. 

"I get it, really. But do you think it was random? Or are you a target?"

He shrugged a shoulder as he dropped the vest onto the coffee table. He moved around to where your desk was stationed and leaned in to kiss you. 

"Honestly? I always just assume I'm a target. I'm going to take some precautions for a while, see what I can find. But I want you to be careful too. This person might try to go after the people I care about to get to me."

You nodded and pulled him back in for another kiss, trying to pour all your love into the brief touch. 

"Of course. I'll work from home for a few days." It would give you a chance to figure out how to stop this. "Be careful out there Billy. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Probably something drastic. Definitely something dangerous.

"Not going anywhere," he promised with another kiss before he headed off towards the door.

You just hoped he was right. 

------

The cafe was pretty empty. You drummed your fingers on the vinyl tabletop as you waited for your friend to get there. You’d called him and told him you needed to meet him immediately. He didn’t like being in public, but you knew that he’d make an exception for you.

And you doubted he’d want to have this conversation in the house he shared with his family.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice called softly from beside you before David Lieberman lowered himself into the chair across from you, “you look like hell. They serve Irish coffee here?”

After he got some coffee, you crossed your arms onto the top of the table and leaned forward a bit. 

“You remember that thing I was thinking about doing last year? That thing you told me not to do?”

He’d told you that it wouldn’t bring your brother back, that it wouldn’t solve anything. He promised that you’d regret it. You didn’t think he knew just how far gone you’d end up over Billy, but he definitely knew you well enough to guess you couldn’t stomach the idea of being the cause of his death.

“Don’t tell me you did it,” he said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing as he looked at your guilty face. “Jesus Christ Y/N. You–”

“He didn’t die,” you said quickly, cutting your eyes to the waitress who was too absorbed in a magazine to be paying the two of you any attention. “He was wearing a vest, thank god, but that’s not why I called you. The problem is that I paid them to cancel the hit and yet it happened anyways.”

“It’s not like a couch delivery Y/N!” He hissed out his next words, low and venomous, “You ordered a hit like most people order a pizza, what did you expect? These guys are murderers, they don’t stop until they succeed.”

Your hands were shaking where they were clasped in your lap.

“I know that now. After the first try, I called the contact and he told me that the mercenary wasn’t going to give up. I didn’t know what else to do so I called you.”

David leaned back in his chair. He picked up his mug and drained about half of it in one gulp, obviously wishing there was something stronger in the cup. Once he put it down, he gave a shake of his head and met your eyes.

“What do you need from me?”

You sighed out in relief, something you hadn’t felt since the moment Billy had stormed into your condo. If anyone could help you figure this out, David could.

“I need some information on these guys. Something that I can use to get this turned around. If something happens to Billy and it’s my fault? I’d never forgive myself.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment immediately. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Why can’t you just tell Billy the truth? That you did this before you knew him and it’s gotten out of hand?”

Because you’d lose him. You knew that if you were honest with Billy, while he’d appreciate the honesty, you’d never have his trust again. He’d hate you for it. You would be an enemy, an obstacle. You’d lose him and you weren’t willing to chance it.

“Okay,” David offered softly, seeing the answer on your face and not requiring you to vocalize it, “okay, I’ll see what I can do. Do you have the number?”

You passed over a folded piece of paper, all of the information you had. It wasn’t much, but David was good at what he did. 

“Thank you David,” you said quietly, voice filled with sincerity. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he looked over the paper, committing it to memory before it dunked it into his coffee cup to get rid of the evidence. “This is going to take time. It’s up to you to keep Billy alive long enough for me to save his life.”

You nodded, steeling yourself for the job you had undertaken. It was going to be difficult, but you would do what you had to.

You couldn’t lose Billy.

X

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[move2rabldcur]

i really wish they didn’t downplay hux’s intelligence and had him killed , like he’s a canon 9.5/10 in smarts , he would’ve known that not leaving with finn and poe would be a DEATH sentence , god the absolute missed chance of having the space nazi as a strategic hostage like... am i the only one? he’s your muse, what do you think about it?

Don’t call him a nazi then go on about him getting on the Falcon in the same ask it makes me feel dirty, call fascists what they are but don’t be uwu space nazi, alright man?

I made this blog with no plans for a redemption arc like he blew the Hosnian system that’s a lot of people died and scattered across the Galaxy without a place to call home, Hosnian is nothing more than asteroid belt now. I don’t think that’ll ever be something that’s just forgiven easily so if he were to get on the Falcon with rest of our intrepid heroes that would be a start redemption arc I’m not 100% sure I want to see, he’s a good villain and him maybe slipping more into the role of chaotic neutral where it’s just “I don’t care about the villains, I don’t care for the heroes, I’m here for me.” so he’s not really on anybody’s side but his own I feel like it’s a good middle ground.

Yeah, he would have been great to give strategies or to improve qualities of ships and weaponry, he could have been the one to explain The Sith fleet since they’re now utilizing the technology he came up with for Starkiller base so he’d know it fairly well and give us actual explanations but that movie had no explanations what-so-ever due to it being a clutter mess, therefore he would be an anomaly, also wayyy too many characters someone they had to kill someone off to introduce another. I mean the lie he gave to Pryde wasn’t too bad but it could have been better, I just don’t think he’d get on the Falcon willingly he was born into the empire it’s his way of life, a dogshit way of life, but a way of life nonetheless, he’s fine with betraying Ren but to actually runaway from the Order that would be a little much for him, I mean there was a chance of him maintaining control and power and he took it and died for hubris.

I know I said Armitage would not be forgiven but guess what that’s not a necessarily an ingredient for redemption, it helps, sure but the definition of redemption is; the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. Guess what he’s living with his mistakes now babbyyyy 

For big war crimes, come big long roads to redemption and here how I would do it personally. 

A good redemption arc for Hux would be him learning better and doing better, again 9.5 intelligence, none of this “I fell in love so I’m chill now” (in general thing not dunking on Ren) or death =  redemption that movies love to do. Here are the questions I have asked myself, what would make this a good arc:

1 (Where should this arc start?

2 (What would he have to learn?

3 (How much he’d have to change?

1 (Where should this arc start?: I know I already said he’d not get on the Falcon willingly but getting on the Falcon is the best place to start, maybe Finn or Poe rolled higher than a 2 on their persuasion check, maybe they took him as a hostage to make sure they won’t be shot down (bad plan tbh everyone is treated as expendable in the first order) maybe Finn recalls something about how Hux grew up in the unknown regions so they take him for information purposes (I keep seeing people say they are gonna tortured for info but the Resistance is not the Empire and that’s a war crime they would never; Hux is the kind of guy you just have to annoy enough and he’ll cave like chill out.)  Either way, get him on that ship. Him being on the Falcon forces him into a spot where his survival relies on our heroes survival, so his reasoning to help is selfish which would be in character. 

I agree with what was said about him in the back of that one comic, he’s not justified in any way but he is a product of his environment and he needs to get away from there to have a chance at change.

I don’t think Hux would get along with Chewie, but seeing him playing a game of dejarik with him would be great. I think it’ll take some time for him and BB8 to get along with one another; I see BB8 rolling over his feet constantly. C3p0 and Hux would agree on a lot of things since Poe and Finn keep wanting to do bad ideas and both of them would be stressed the fuck out. D-O abused droid meets abused man, love it. 

2 (What would he have to learn?: For starters to embrace individuality. The First Order is so divided of individuality on purpose, they strip you of all singularity and make you earn it through rank, sure he didn’t have it as bad most of the troops because he was Brendol’s son and most the troops viewed him as spoiled (Archex) despite him being abused, maybe they didn’t know, maybe these kids were just used to violence that they don’t know better and that it is wrong to treat your child the way Brendol did, most of these troops were taken away when they were babies so they have no sense of family. Individuality is something Hux learned to fear and to learned to suppress, I don’t think there is an off-work Armitage I think there’s only General Hux which is why he’s an obsessive workaholic with sleep issues; The Order doesn’t need or want him to be a person they need him to lead and inspire their army. We can show his progress with interactions Finn, Hux just keeps calling him Fn-2187, Finn get rightfully upset with him and have that conflict there until around the end of the movie and Hux actually start using his name. If you want this to be a Gingerpliot ship fic you could have Poe help him explore elements of himself like things he likes, how to relax, or his sexuality. Hux being a 34/35 virgin, guess what, not much experimentation happening there, and Poe the space himbo is the right man for every man and woman, he’s bi in my mind.

Something else he has to learn is how to form non-professional relationships, you know how to have casual friends and how to interact with others in a non-military way and to learn to trust other people. He needs to learn how to be a person so bad I can’t stress this enough.

The last thing is learning the Empire is wrong about the Republic and the galaxy isn’t the way they say it is, he was raised on stories of great heroes Imperials and how the Empire saved the galaxy from the chaos of the Clone Wars which sounds like revised history and we should call them on it. He need to know that not everyone in the galaxy is as cruel as the Order and people will do things for others for nothing in return, the Resistance would be a good place for that, however, his mother died during the New Republic’s siege on his homeworld Arkanis (really sore topic for him), well mmh, that’s what the popular head canon is and I dig it cause us an explanation why he hates the Republic and by extension the Resistance so much to have him to learn to separate the two would do him some good. 

3 (How much he’d have to change?: He would have to change a lot and it will be for the better, of course, for him to join the Resistance he’d have to relinquish his rank as general and to give up on power, like he doesn’t need so much of it anymore, his life no longer depends on his usefulness and nobody is out waiting for him to fail as well, to have that change in foundation where he can start again and slowly gain trust would be where we see the most change, of course it wouldn’t happen until he learns to care for others, chill on the murder, and give up on his Imperial ideals. His new rank within the Resistance should be an intelligence officer and engineer that’d the perfect rule for Hux. 100% he should live with his actions and learn thats not okay and do better, he may never be forgiven for his actions against the Hosnian system, but it’s about trying, successes is a big bonus he may never have.

Im going to stop here cuz my hands really hurt but I hope you’re satisfied don’t be scared to ask questions.

[akatsukitobi]

New updated and LONGER sneak peek at the other story I'm writing. It's a Kakayama of course, but it doesn't start out very pleasant and I'm sorry for making the boys suffer like I do. It can't be helped.

This one's called Dehumanized, from the disturbed song of the same name. It's gonna be rated E, and will have more than one content warning on it probably. I'm about 20k into it, and may post the first couple chapters today.

________________________________________

It was 10:30 in the morning, and Kakashi had been summoned to hokage tower… an hour ago. He was late, of course. No doubt Tenzo was already there, waiting diligently while cursing his captain in his head. Did Kakashi get some sort of sick amusement out of making his kohai wait for him? Probably. 

The younger boy was only 16, but he was the best subordinate that Kakashi had ever had. Even if Kakashi was being an ass, Tenzo still followed orders. (Though not without giving his captain a well deserved lecture first.) Kakashi may have been older, but that didn't mean he was more mature. 

The third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, was waiting patiently in his office when the 19 year old finally arrived. Tenzo, however, had his arms crossed in a huff. "You're late." 

Kakashi started in with one of his excuses. "Maa, Tenzo, there was an old lady who needed an escort-"

"Save it." Tenzo said simply. The teenager was trying to glare a hole through Kakashi's face, though the silver haired ninja knew he had already been forgiven. 

"Kakashi, Tenzo, I have a mission for you." The older man suddenly cut in. "This is an A rank, but has the potential to be more difficult." 

Kakashi and Tenzo listened carefully as their newest mission was laid out for them. 

"There is a long road between the towns of Chikara and Hinawa in northern fire country. It seems there is a kidnapping ring working along its path, taking children and teenagers alike. So far, the 30 confirmed victims have been between the ages of 8 and 17. We don't know what they have been doing, but so far our preliminary reports lead us to believe that this is a civilian organization that is behind it. I need you to go undercover, walk the road until you gather their attention. What I'm asking may be a bit difficult." The hokage explained slowly. He sighed deeply before continuing. "You must let them capture you. We need them to take you to their hideout, and find out what their game is." 

"But sir… aren't I a bit old for this mission?" Kakashi asked curiously. 

"You are, but I happen to know that without that mask, you don't look 19. Also, in order for this to work, we will need to seal away your sharingan." 

Kakashi opened his mouth to protest, but Hiruzen held up a hand to stop him. "It won't be a complicated seal, you will only need to send chakra to your eye for it to be removed." 

Kakashi relaxed. He could work with that, though he wasn't too thrilled that he was going to have to do this mission maskless. 

"Once you are in, you need to gather information and bust out. You can detain enemies if you feel you are capable of doing so, but we can always raid the hideout once you return or send coordinates." Hiruzen continued. "Understood?"

Both boys nodded. 

~

That had been a week ago. Now, Kakashi Was walking along the most boring road in all of existence, wearing awful civilian clothes that he'd bought two days beforehand. Fortunately, Tenzo was good company. They got along fairly well, and conversation flowed easily between them. Every so often, between real topics, Kakashi would throw out something made up, prompting a random conversation that neither knew anything about. 

"So, are you going to take Jessica out on that date?" Kakashi asked with a grin. He had never known anyone by that name in his entire life, and he was pretty sure Tenzo hadn't either. It was interesting to hear all the improvising that Tenzo could do. 

"I don't know… she's kind of mean to me, don't you think?" Tenzo offered. 

"So she hit you with a cake pan… that doesn't make her mean. You probably deserved it." Kakashi said with a shrug.

"She dunked my head in the toilet!" Tenzo squawked defensively. "Three times!"

"Yes, but didn't you take the last slice of pizza?" Kakashi said with a smile. 

"Exactly. She probably hates me. Jessica is more likely to stab me than to go on a date with me. I'll save myself the trouble of a very painful rejection and just not ask." Tenzo answered. 

"Maa, if you insist." Kakashi answered, laughing lightly. He felt the presence suddenly behind them. At least three people that hadn't been there before. Looks like this is it. 

"Are you ready for the journey?" Kakashi asked vaguely, knowing Tenzo had probably felt the presence too. 

"It will probably suck, but yes. Sounds kind of like a long trip, though." Tenzo answered. This mission had been slotted for two weeks. At least a week of that being held captive by civilians. It didn't exactly sound fun. 

"Yeah, I feel the same way." Kakashi answered dryly, making extra effort not to flinch when the heavy object came at the back of his head. 

The older ninja was hit with what felt like a frying pan. At the same time, he felt a pressure on the back of his knees, forcing his legs to buckle and crash down to the dirt. He yelped a little at the pain, the sound only half fake because damn that hurt. He turned both of his eyes towards Tenzo (both of them matching gray with the sealing jutsu), seeing that he was hit a little harder and was bleeding behind his head a bit. 

Hands were on him, forcing him to the ground with a bit more strength than he was expecting. He resisted, trying to put up the facade of someone trying to escape capture as he yelled out at his attackers. Kakashi found that even if he had resisted at full strength, he might not have escaped. He didn't actually start to worry until a needle was jabbed into his neck. How sure was the third hokage that this was a kidnapping ring and not a group just murdering people?

He felt his chakra sapped away, and Kakashi started to really panic. He felt weak, like he had been sick with the flu for a week. The ninja turned his head towards his young kohai, watching as they snapped a metal ring around his neck. The thing was about an inch thick, and was black with silver markings on it. A seal? He didn't have much time to react as one was fastened around his neck as well. 

"You think we didn't know you were ninjas?" A man behind him growled out. "With this, your chakra won't return to you, and ironically, the seal can only be broken with chakra." 

Kakashi was ripped to his feet, and the damn things were barely able to hold his weight with how exhausted his body was. He locked eyes with Tenzo, and found the large brown orbs completely overtaken by panic and fear. Kakashi was trying to remain calm, but this mission had just escalated to an S rank, and he wasn't sure how they would escape without chakra. 

A man just a few years older than him moved into his vision. The man was dirty, wearing old clothes and missing a few teeth. "Oh! This one is so pretty! And he has a nice scar on his eye. You know, if we give him a red contact, we could probably pretend he's that ninja from the leaf village!" 

A woman came around and slapped him upside the head. "No one will fall for that, you buffoon!" She turned to look at Kakashi's panicked face. "He is awfully pretty though. I bet we get good money for him." 

Kakashi was definitely nervous now. This was a human trafficking ring? Were they going to sell him into slavery… or worse? Their focus on his face made him excessively uncomfortable for what was to come, and he didn't feel any better as the black bag was placed over his head and his hands were tied behind his back. 

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 52-55

Chapter 52

Valen interrogates Andi about his father’s decision to make her his rescuer, and instead of going “take that up with your dad because I don’t know his reasons for doing this,” Andi tries to be all apologetic about all the Kalee stuff and saying how she’s changed and Valen’s like nu-uh!

“It was a mistake,” Andi said again. “If I could take it back—”

Valen gritted his teeth. “Murder isn’t a mistake.”

Have I finally gone off the deep end or is this fucking funny?

“If I recall, you were the one who allowed your little sister and her friend to sneak out for a joyride on your father’s brand-new transport,” Andi replied. Her words were soft and casual, but her eyes were on fire.

“Spectre,” Valen said. “Spectre first, and always. You failed her as that.”

“Again,” Andi said, “it was a mistake. I’ve had to live with the cost of it.”

“Kalee didn’t!” Valen screamed. “She didn’t get to live, Androma!”

It’s honestly impressive that whenever I go into a chapter that’s relatively short and think it’s gonna be fine and I’ll just skim over it, Shinsay proves me wrong by including more bullshit that I just have to talk about. But hey, part of the reason I have this blog is so that people know what not to do and examining why certain things just don’t work, with the added bonus of having the context for it.

It’s also impressive how two women somehow keep making the wrong choice for the same one book, over and over and over. Every narrative choice in this book is wrong.

So, what’s wrong with this particular bit? Remember when Dex and Andi were having their stupid argument and Dex, right after trying to apologize for what he did and explain himself, turned around and started blaming Androma for it instead? Here it’s even more jarring, because Andi genuinely believes she was to blame for Kalee’s death and genuinely wants to atone (or she claims to want that, at least). So when she, out of nowhere, starts trying to defend herself and shift the blame onto Valen? That shit don’t make no sense, y’all.

I think this is a result of the book having too many pointless POVs. We’re in Valen’s right now, so obviously he needs emotional triggers to react to and start monologuing over. He needs to be provoked and damn logic and character consistency, he’s gonna get provoked! Andi’s words make no sense and will not be examined closer once we’re back in her POV, she just said this OOC shit for the sake of drama, yet given everyone’s awful characterization, even small things like these serve only to undermine the characters and their motivations even further.

Shinsay don’t understand that sometimes, no arguments is far more impactful than a dramatic verbal battle of cheap witticisms. Instead of this, Andi could’ve just sat there, quietly, letting Valen dunk on her because she feels she deserves it. Hell, this entire conversation could’ve been saved if only Andi’s blame-shifting line had been given to someone else! I didn’t even read it as her saying it at first and had to double-check and that’s when it fell apart to me.

God, I could go on like this forever. Feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate on dialogue and characterization, I guess? Let’s just move on.

The others try to figure out how Valen was taken and what happened when he was, asking him if he knows anything about Queen Nor, at which point Rage Unlocks Within Him, and he gets up and leaves.

I also want to mention that Valen talks about “things being tense after Kalee was gone,” but Kalee’s been dead for four years, while Valen was taken two years ago. Sooo uh ... huh? He makes it sound like it was two months after and not two years. He could’ve said things “changed” after her death and it would’ve sounded better. Idk just a preference I guess.

Also ... I just realized Valen’s been missing and tortured for two years. How he still talks normally is ... pretty bonkers, to say the least.

Chapter 53

Andi goes out to find Valen but finds Lon instead, his blue tiddies out.

Lon leads Andi to where Valen is, all while dropping hints that Lira has something to say to Andi and that Andi shouldn’t try to influence her decision. To her credit, Andi says she won’t, and that she loves Lira as her sister.

Andi and Valen sit around in nature for a bit and talk about Valen’s art. I don’t hate it?

“When I was locked up, I almost forgot what colors looked like,” [Valen] said, lazily brushing the stick back and forth against the mud. “Did you know that black is more than just a single shade?”

Anish Kapoor would like to know your location.

Valen says he can’t forgive Andi for what she did, but he can also not forgive himself for being part of those choices(????). Andi speculates that her accusation earlier must’ve struck him deep, but that’s all we get on that, no explanation as to why she accused him at all.

“In Lunamere, I had nothing to keep me company but my pain and my thoughts. I had lots of time to think about that night, and everything leading up to it. Time to realize that we were raised in a society where perfection is the only option. But that doesn’t mean it’s always possible. We all made bad choices that night, not just you. She got on that transport herself. And I chose to stay behind.”

Andi wanted to speak, but she feared it would shatter this strange, heart-wrenching moment they had somehow found themselves in.

Thanks for telling me it’s heart-wrenching, lest my idiot self got lost in all this emotion and forgot to realize what was happening.

Christ, even when Shinsay have a decent dramatic and emotional moment going, they just can’t keep their grubby little hands to themselves, huh? I know it’s your book but can you shut the fuck up for a moment and just let the prose stand on its own?

God, if only there had been an editor.

Both Andi and Valen admit they wish they’d died with Kalee and in any other more competent book this would’ve been quite touching.

“Without Kalee...” Andi began, finally voicing the realization she’d come to terms with these past few days. “Without Kalee, there wouldn’t have been a sentence for me to run from. And without that running, I never would have found Dex. And without him...”

“You wouldn’t be the Bloody Baroness,” Valen finished for her. “My father would not have hired you.”

It was a vicious cycle, one that Andi wished she could have undone before it had ever started. But it was her story. Her life.

Her life is a series of reactions to things outside of her control? Love that for a protagonist.

Listen, I know it’s supposed to be sad and stuff, but even Andi’s backstory reinforces her reactionary personality and the way the plot is driven by things completely outside of her control. It’s hard to feel invested in a character when they never make choices and instead only react to whatever happens to them.

Anyway, Valen and Andi seem to have gotten over their differences and go to the festival together. That was easy. I guess it’s to throw us off the scent and make it more surprising when he suddenly turns out to be evil? I’m honestly not sure. It’s pretty bad either way, but I don’t have to tell you that.

Chapter 54

We’re with Lira again and she’s staring off into the distance thinking about the festival. Lon appears again, tiddies still out, but now his muscles and “sculpted” chest feels kind of weird to comment on since we’re in Lira’s head? Whatever, maybe Adhirans are weird like that.

Lon says some cutesy shit about how technically Lira is this planet’s princess but she doesn’t reply or even think about how that would make him the prince? He just says he’s her brother and has to guard her. Maybe Adhirans also don’t let men have political power because that’s what Shinsay think feminism is.

Anyway, they join the other girls and head to the festival while Lira mopes about her decision and how she can’t have two families. Except you can. But whatever. Logic isn’t dramatic enough, I suppose.

“It’s time to let loose,” Breck said. “Lir, you look like you’ve just puked up a pound of Moon Chew.”

“Lira doesn’t puke,” Gilly said.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone pukes,” Breck added.

“I’ve never seen her do it. And I spy on her, like, all the time.” 

Lon chuckled beside Lira. “I see it,” he whispered. “What draws you to this crew.”

I don’t.

Also they’re in the same close space it seems, so I have no idea how they 1) don’t bother to ask Lira what’s going on and 2) don’t notice Lon being all whispery and shit. Convenient!

Gonna gloss over the spying bit as well, I see. Hey, they do have those eye implants that you don’t need consent to activate. Maybe Gilly’s been using it to perv on the rest of the crew.

Lira decides ... not to decide, and just fuckin party down for tonight. I guess in this universe it means she’s gonna get blackout wasted, because That’s What Adults Do. I should also mention that she decides not to decide and then never has to decide anyway because the plot intervenes and the choice is made for her. Love that for a character.

*sigh*

Chapter 55

We’re in Dex’s POV and we get some decent descriptions of how cool the festival is with more incidental aliens and traditions. Dex spots the crew and thinks about how they’re his crew now and realizes he’s bonded with them. I’m glad this is spelled out because I would not have noticed it myself, and frankly I both do and don’t mean it this time.

They’ve only been together for a couple of days, tops. I guess extreme situations make people bond faster but I really feel like we’re jumping the shark here. At the same time I can tell that Dex clearly fits into the crew pretty well, and this just feels forced and redundant. All in all, this comment is just unnecessary. Let the characters evolve and grow closer naturally, Shinsay. You don’t need to convince us they’re a crew, you can just show us and we’ll believe it!

Dex spots Valen and Andi and of course we get a horny description of how cool and sexy Andi is and how impressed Dex is that she and Valen are already friends. Then he decides to get drunk and eat some meat.

Frankly? Relatable. Chapter? Pointless.

[jpat82]

Secret World

Chapter 10

    "So, what's it like when you see things?" Peter asked as we sat at a table in the arcade, a basket of fries between us.

    "Well, it's hard describe. Sometimes it's just voices, people talking. Those ones can throw me for a loop because if I'm not looking at the person I don't realize that aren't actually speaking." I told him as I snagged a fry out of the basket and dunked it the chocolate shake he had bought me. "Other times I actually see snippets of their lives. Like, your friend Sam, he has a suit with metal wings. I've seen you in your spid... your suit as well. It's weird, cause I know I'm not in that moment, like the coloring is just slightly off and what I'm seeing most of the time I can still see through the vision."

     "You dunked your fry in your shake." He stated, still looking at the milkshake.

     "Did you hear anything I just said?" I asked chuckling as I did it again.

     "Yes, and that's really cool and I can see how that's disorienting but dude.. you dunked your fry in your shake." He reiterated, before looking up at me.

    "Have you ever tried it? It's awesome cause it's sweet because it's a chocolate shake and then it's salty because of the fry. It's amazing." I explained, grinning over at him. Peter raised an eyebrow at me giving me skeptical look. "You should try it some time."

     "So do you get any kind of feeling like before it happens?" He asked, dropping the subject and changing it.

     "No. And I don't always have them either. It's weird." I shrugged. "Cause I can go a while without one, and then bam, have them back to back. When they took me, I didn't have one for months at a time, and it started to piss them off. They did everything they could to force me to have one. Starve me, make the room bitterly cold, or insanely hot, deprived me of human contact, shot electrical pulses into my head. It was brutal. Trust me if I could turn it on or off I would of."

"I'm guessing they were the government you were telling me about." He asked softly, as he slid a fry through the ketchup.

"Livatech." I nodded taking a deep breath. "They hated the fact that I couldn't control it."

"Dude, that sucks." He replied, looking down at the fries.

"Meh, it's whatever. The nice thing here is, I don't have to worry about Livatech. They might not even exist, and if they did, I would most likely be a blip on the radar compared to you guys." I smiled, at least there was one good outcome of being here. The chance to sit back and breathe a little. "So what about your.. thing.. how does that work?"

"My.. my thing?" Peter asked, his eyes widen slightly and his voice raised a notch.

"Yeah, your spider powers or whatever." I responded, dipping the last fry in my shake.

"Oh, that."

"Yeah, that." I chuckled shaking my head.

"Well, the webs." He whispered as he slid his chair closer to me and sat down, he pulled back the sleeves on his hoodie to show me a mechanism that was attached to his wrist. "It's a compound I created, I push down and it shoots them out. But I also get this weird tingle when I feel something bad about to happen."

"A tingle?"

"Yeah, I don't know how to explain it. I just can feel when something bad is going to happen." He shrugged. "Wanna go some where else?"

"Sure, why not." I replied as he stood up.

He pulled his bag back over his shoulders as we left the arcade. Peter was quiet for a bit as we walked down the street, seemly lost in thought for a moment.

"What are the creatures?" He asked suddenly.

      "Uh.." I paused for moment trying to think of the best way to describe them. "They live in the shadows, anywhere the light doesn't touch. They kind of look like smoke, but not quite. Sometimes they don't fully form, just, slithering in the dark. Other times they look like a wraith.. it’s really hard to describe."

     "Have they ever caught you?" He asked, looking over at me.

      "Caught me, technically no. But they have cut me before.” I replied. “One of them reached out and it’s claw scratched me.”

“So, you can’t be caught outside at night or in the dark.” He nodded to himself.

“Preferably not, I really don’t want to see what would happen if I were.”

The conversation died as we continued to stroll down the street. Peter stopped at an alley and looked over at me, a smile spread across his face. Quickly he grabbed my wrist and pulled me with him, sprinting down the blacktop passed a large garage container. He pulled me behind it and grabbed at the bottom of his shirt.

“Peter what are you doing?” I asked, looking around as he dropped his bag and pulled the shirt over his head.

Beneath it was red and blue, and the symbol of a spider was dead center of it.

“I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath breath as he stuffed his shirt in his backpack. Next he pulled his pants off and even though he had his super suit on under it I still felt slightly odd. He threw them in the bag as well and then pulled his mask over his face.

“Ready?” He asked me.

“For what?”

Peter didn’t reply as he wrapped his arm around my waist and thrust his other hand upward. I watched in curiosity as he brought back the two middle fingers and web shot out like he had explained earlier. I had no idea where it went exactly and what it was tethered to, all I knew is suddenly we both were being lifted from the ground at a high rate of speed.

I held on tight to him, looking down at the ground as we ascended quickly.

“Holy cow.” I whispered to myself. “This is cool.”

I heard him chuckle as we reached the top of a roof high in the sky.

“Peter.” I whispered to myself as I walk across the roof, the wind gently blowing against me. I looked out over the edge of the city, towards skyscrapers, buildings of metal and glass in the distance. They weren’t too far away, but still far enough not to have to deal with the traffic and the bustle.

“I come to places like this when I think, or need to be alone.” He told me, I looked over my shoulder and saw he had pulled the mask off again. His hair was disheveled and messy, and he too was looking out toward the city. “You see the building over there, the tall one that’s shaped funny.”

I looked in the direction he pointed.

“What about it?” I asked looking back at him.

“Do you have one where you’re from?” He asked me, his eyes locking on mine. I shook my head in response to his question.

“Who’s was it?”

“That was Mr. Stark’s building.” He sighed. “I know you said you didn’t recognize anybodies names or anything but, I just kinda hoped.”

“Even he did, Peter, he wouldn’t be the person you know.” I felt horrible for him, obviously this Stark guy meant a lot. “What was he like?”

“Mr Stark was awesome. The suit I’m wearing he created, he was wicked smart.” Peter smiled to himself looking at the building. “Everybody knew him, world wide, and he came and found me, because of the things I did to help people. He was the one that made me apart of the Avengers.”

“Sounds like a pretty cool dude.” I smiled at him, he looked over at me and smiled.

“He was, and he was super funny. Happy worked for him, and I think he told Happy to keep an eye out for me.” Peter explained as I sat down on the roof, he sat down next to me.

“What about an old dude?” I asked thinking about earlier and the strange encounter while at the compound.

“An old dude?”

“Yeah, I got visions of red, white, and blue.”

“Oh, Cap.” He pipped up. “He comes around from time to time, making sure everybody is doing okay. Sam jokes around that even if he did go back in time and stay with his wife you couldn’t take him out of the fight or everybody’s business.”

“Tell me more.” I laid back on the roof and stared up at the sky, Peter laid down next to me and started to talk.

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[kusunogatari]

[ Portal Peril || Chapter Five ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Namikaze Minato, Hatake Kakashi, Nohara Rin, Uzumaki Kushina ] [ Verse: White Hands of Healing ] [ Previous || Next ]

Four days. Four days of waiting, agonizing, worrying. Though Rin, and even Kushina have been doing their best to keep the interdimensional traveler distracted from thinking about her circumstances, it’s rather hard to avoid. Any moment she’s left to idle in her thoughts, they always circle back. In all honesty, her biggest worry is Obito. Her Obito. Is he all right? Is he handling her absence without panicking? She can only imagine how he felt, going into Kamui and finding her missing...especially given how impossible that is. Is he trying to get her back?

She knows he’s intelligent enough to eventually puzzle out what happened, and if she knows anything about him...it’s that he hasn’t stopped trying since he figured it out. Just like this Obito and Kakashi have been working to reopen the window between their dimensions. They’ve both been running themselves ragged. In a way she feels guilty, but Minato remains convinced it’s a high priority: having someone from another timeline in their own risks opening up paradoxes and exposing them to events they should never realize transpired. She’s been extra careful to avoid broaching topics that might influence - in any small way - this timeline she was never meant to see.

“So...there was a fourth war…?” Kushina murmurs as they sit around and carefully exchange stories.

“Mhm...and it was by far the bloodiest of them all. Every major country was involved against a...common enemy.”

“Can you imagine?” Rin wonders aloud, leaning back in her chair with folded arms. “What kind of event could unite us after so much division?”

Ryū, of course, doesn’t explain. Even if it was excusable to do so...painting Obito in such a light when their own is so different could be cruel. “It was a fierce battle...but in the end, they overcame it. It’s been less than two years since then, so change is still slow...but so far, it’s been steady.”

“Did you participate?”

“...er...no. I was...recovering from grave injuries at the time. Believe me...I was disappointed. I wanted nothing more than to help, but I’d have been useless. I couldn’t even properly mold chakra.”

“Wow...must have been some wounds!”

“...yeah.” Subconsciously, Ryū rubs at a spot on her arm - now marless - that once bore one of the largest scars from her stint in Root’s torture chamber.

“But you obviously recovered…?”

“...you could say that. I had to use a rather...dangerous technique. But it paid off, in the end.”

“I still can’t believe you have sage training,” Rin offers in the subsequent silence, looking almost disappointed. “I’d love to do something like that…”

“Well...maybe before I leave, I can point you in the right direction,” Ryū replies with a small smile. “I just don’t want to risk you running into other me if you go. And...well, I’m not sure how shishō would react.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Rin seems to mull that over for a while. “There’s so much more I wish I could know...but even with what little I do, it sounds like your timeline’s a lot more…”

“Depressing,” Kushina offers dryly.

“Yeah. Makes me think I don’t really want to know.”

Ryū hesitates a moment. It’s hard to remember that, where she comes from, both of them are long dead. “...I think some things are better left unsaid.”

...she’s going to miss them when she goes home.

...if she goes home.

There’s still a lingering fear, the more time goes on, that she won’t ever make it home. Four days have already passed...and who knows how many more will be needed before she can return. As much as she tries not to think about it, Ryū can’t help but be haunted by it.

“Ryū-san.”

Looking up from her plate (Rin insisting they spend each evening with her teacher and his family), Ryū hums in question.

Minato thinks for a moment. “...your sage training involves gathering chakra, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was wondering if you are able to then transmit that chakra to others.”

She blinks. “Well, I’ve...done so in small doses in the past. Why?”

“Our biggest limiting factor, for the moment, has been chakra. Both Kakashi and Obito can only use Kamui for so long before exhausting themselves, especially given how draining a technique of that level is. I was wondering if I could convince you to go with them tomorrow and act as a sort of...battery. To help extend how long they’ll be able to keep working on the portals.”

That gets Ryū to brighten. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “I...of course! That’s a great idea.”

“Perfect. Then if you’d accompany Obito tomorrow in the morning, I believe his shift is first. Of course you’ll both still need breaks to rest, but I’m hoping it will greatly improve productivity.”

“It should, yes. I’ll do that.”

Ryū then helps tidy up afterward, chatting nonchalantly with Kushina as Minato and his team discuss the happenings back at the table.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, dear?”

She glances to the Uzumaki questioningly. “Huh?”

“Well, I don’t mean to pry, but it’s rather obvious you haven’t been sleeping too well,” Kushina offers. “Which of course I understand...you’re stressed, after all. But I’d hate for you to push yourself too hard and make things worse.”

That makes the healer go quiet, thoughtfully toweling off a clean dish. “...I am tired, yes...but I’m also desperate to get home. If wearing myself out will up our odds, then...I’ll gladly do so.”

That gets Kushina to sigh, dunking a dish a bit forcefully. “You medics’re all the same...Rin’s always working until she conks out like a cut light bulb whenever she gets really into something. It’s like y’get so caught up in helping everybody else, you forget to help yourself! You’ll get home, I’m sure of it. And I get wanting to help. I can’t stop you. But don’t forget there’s people who’ll worry if you hurt yourself trying, hm?”

“...I know. Um...thanks.”

The warning makes her realize...Obito doesn’t have that guiding hand right now. Nor does he have a Kakashi to split his time with. How badly is he faring…? If he can keep that up...then she can at least do this…!

They return to Rin’s apartment once everything’s done, Ryū lying awake and staring at the ceiling. If anything, she feels like tomorrow will do her some good. Being so idle has been driving her mad, no matter how busy Rin tries to keep her. Minato decided it wasn’t wise for her to get caught up working in the hospital, so being without her typical job or...really anything else to do has left her about to go stir crazy.

Her eagerness, however, is tempered by a body that finally outweighs her mind, falling into a decent sleep for the first time since she arrived here. She wakes groggily, a bit disoriented after resting so hard.

“Hey, sleepyhead! Ready to head out and meet Obito?”

Though she should be used to it by now, the name brings a small pang to her chest. “...yeah.”

They grab breakfast on the way, leaving Konoha behind and heading out toward the proper road. Rin chatters away mostly aimlessly, Ryū a bit lost in thought. She hasn’t been out here since she arrived. Please, just...let today be the day. I don’t know how much longer I can be patient…

When they arrive, they find themselves alone. Rin plants hands on her hips. “Eh, should have known...he’s always late.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. He’s always getting caught up in some errand or another, seems like.”

“...what about Kakashi?”

“He’s fairly prompt. Why?”

“...just curious.” Yet another thing that seems so...backwards.

Fifteen minutes later, they hear a voice up the road, Obito landing beside them with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I explained your habitual tardiness,” Rin assures him, arms crossing and giving him a knowing, exasperated smile. “So, want me to stick around?”

“Well...whatever you think. I guess there won’t be much for you to do, and I can keep an eye on Ryū-san.”

“Hm…” Rin mulls it over. “...maybe I’ll head back and see if sensei needs help with anything. Haven’t had a chance to do that in a while.”

Ryū can’t help but shrink a bit, looking guilty. “Sorry…”

“Nah, it’s fine. Job’s a job! Just might as well do something else if there’s not much to be done here, hm? Good luck, guys!” With that, the Nohara starts making her way back toward the village.

That leaves Ryū and Obito.

“...well, ready to give this a shot?” he asks, turning to her a bit awkwardly.

She nods. “Sure. Give me a few minutes to build up some energy. Um...I guess in the meantime, go ahead and get started?”

“Sounds good.” Facing the proper direction, Obito concentrates, his one dark eye shifting red. Tomoe then spin until the design of his Mangekyō forms. There’s a surge of chakra, and Ryū watches as a familiar glance into Kamui opens just before them.

...but no sign of the other dimension beyond.

Realizing she’s wasting time, Ryū then gives a small shake of her head. Evening her breath, her energies begin to balance...and then open to the energy around her. Nature chakra begins to pool with her own, swelling her reserves to their maximum capacity. Pupils then narrow to slits as the chakra influences her biology.

Letting his first attempt release, Obito glances to her and startles slightly. “...whoa! I guess that means, uh...you’re good to go?”

“Mhm. It’s easiest to transfer energy over a direct connection, so…” After a small pause, she rests a hand along his upper arm, letting some chakra travel between them. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah! It’s...warm,” he notes, giving her hand a glance.

“Don’t worry, it won’t get any warmer than that,” she assures him.

“Okay...got it.” Regathering his focus, Obito shifts his target slightly, and gives Kamui another try.

Over...and over...and over again.

After two straight hours, Ryū advises he take a break. Chakra between the two of them is holding up well, but his eye is starting to feel fatigued.

“Any blurriness in your vision?” she asks, looking at the eye carefully.

“Uh...maybe a little. But it always goes away. Just need to give it a breather, that’s all. Otherwise I feel great! Hardly tired at all. Which, uh...is quite the change, honestly.”

Ryū hums, thinking. “...I guess it might be the effects of my line’s chakra. It’s most suited for healing, so even beyond keeping you energized, it might help a bit with any other feelings beyond weariness.”

“Guess that makes sense.” Obito takes out a canteen, taking a few swallows before offering it over.

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

He studies her for a moment. “...you sure you’re okay?”

There’s a pause, and then Ryū heaves a sigh. “Just...worried. About getting home. Everyone seems so convinced that it’s going to happen, and soon...and yet the days just keep passing. And it’s not that I don’t have faith in you all. But like Minato-sama said...it’s going to be so hard to get to align properly...to get it just right...and without being able to coordinate both sides, those odds are just…” She fades into silence, elbows on her bent knees as she sits. Her brow buries into her palms.

Obito hesitates, clearly not sure how to handle this. “...I mean...yeah, mathematically, it’s...a bit daunting. But you said it yourself: the other Obito’s going to be working his ass off trying to get to you! And we’ve been going from sunup to sundown. That alone has to count for something, right…?”

She doesn’t answer.

“...and, I mean...has it really been so bad, being here?” he dares to hint, tone a bit hesitant. “I mean...you’ve been getting along really well with everyone! Sensei, his wife, our team...I know it’s only been a few days, but...you fit right in. I know Rin’s loved having you around. You two click like nobody’s business. Even Kakashi tolerates you, and that’s saying something.”

In spite of herself, Ryū looses a small snort, but doesn’t move.

“...we’re really gonna miss you when you go,” Obito then admits softly. “And I mean...I know you keep talking about the other Obito. And I get it. But...you haven’t really mentioned anything else. Maybe Kakashi once or twice, but...is there...anything else you want to get back to?”

Ryū’s eyes flicker over the patch of ground between her knees, not having an answer.

“I don’t mean to pry. But I mean...just seems a little odd that you’re really only gunning for this for one person, you know? Don’t you have any friends, or...family?”

“...no family,” she manages to reply quietly. “My mother died when I was small. And I...never knew my father. No siblings. No aunts, uncles, cousins. And I’ve...I’ve never really been good at making friends.”

“What, really? You? Look how well you’ve settled in here! Just in a few days you’ve won us all over!” Obito tries to catch her eyes, attempting a smile. “I mean...is it really so bad here?”

“...I…”

“And like you said...your village might still be here. Maybe you do have family left. There’s no way to know until you look, right?”

“But...but if I am there, then...then it would…”

“I know, I’m just...throwing out ideas.” Obito braces his forearms on his knees, hands clasped as he sighs. “...we’re just...really gonna miss you. And I mean…” He hesitates, looking torn as a tooth nibbles the scar on his lip. “You said it yourself: this timeline’s lost a lot less than yours. I dunno what exactly that means. And I get why you can’t tell us. But isn’t that, y’know...encouraging?”

Ryū stiffens a hair.

“...and, uh...there’s...y’know…” A hand spares to itch at his neck, clearly trying to sort out his words before he says them. “...there is an...an Obito here. So, I mean...maybe -”

Teeth gritting, Ryū heaves herself to her feet, walking swiftly several paces from their resting spot.

...well, crap.

Jolting a bit in surprise at her immediate reaction, Obito leans back a bit, blinking a wide eye. Well that...wasn’t what he expected, in all honesty. “H...hey! Wait, I...I didn’t mean that…! I mean, it’s not that I -?” After a pause, he wilts with an exhale. “...I…”

Coming to a stop a ways down the road, Ryū lets her arms tighten around her middle, jaw clenched and fighting back all sorts of unsavory emotions. Instead, she stares at the spring nearby the road...the one she and Obito had stopped at on their way back. When they were ambushed. Maybe if they’d just kept on their way...so many ifs, so many buts. And for now, nothing to show for them, either way.

All the while, Obito just sits, chewing his lip and debating how to fix this. It wasn’t that he meant he was some sort of...replacement. That just feels...odd. And yet...well…

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. How to explain it. After all, it’s only been four days. And he hasn’t even seen her that much. Maybe it’s just some stupid idea in the back of his mind, given that - apparently - they’ve meshed so well in another timeline. Just his imagination getting carried away with him. But...he really does enjoy her company. They only really get to speak when he’s off and Kakashi’s taking a turn at things, resting and getting ready for a new attempt to open the portal back up. But she really is a kind person. Soft-spoken, gentle, chiding...and yet obviously friendly. True, she’s been rather distracted for the entirety of her unintended visit, but even then, he’s been watching how she interacts with everyone else. And there’s just something about it...something about her.

And now he’s gone and completely ruined things.

“Is...everything okay?”

Glancing over, Obito flattens in expression as he spies Kakashi. “A little early, aren’t you?”

“Sensei wanted to check and see how the chakra exchange was working. But it doesn’t really look like you’re doing much of that at the moment,” Kakashi retorts, brows lifting a bit.

“No kidding.”

“What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Then what did you say that you shouldn’t have said?”

“I -! It just -! I didn’t -!”

The Hatake then waves a hand. “...I have a pretty good guess. Getting carried away as always, are you?”

Obito doesn’t reply, just crossing his arms with a sigh.

“...she can’t stay, Obito. She doesn’t even want to. I don’t think a handful of days is going to convince anyone to leave their lives behind. And you’ve seen how distraught she is over this. Did you really think you could just convince her to give that all up?”

“...that’s not what I meant...I just…” Obito throws up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “...I didn’t mean to choose to give it up, and just...pretend her other life never happened. I meant more in a, hey, if we can’t get you home, then...y’know…”

Kakashi sighs, clapping a hand atop his teammate’s shoulder. “...well, I know you meant well, but...I’m not sure she’s quite ready to hear that, yet. She’s still hanging on to a hope that she can make it back.”

“...do you really think we’ll get it?”

“...we have to keep trying. Four days is hardly a proper effort, all things considered. But, uh...maybe we should swap for a bit. Let her cool down. Just...go say you’re sorry, and that you’re an idiot, and that I’ll take over from here for a bit, hm?”

Obito’s expression sours a bit, but...he relents. “...you really suck at giving advice.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

Sighing, Obito glances to where Ryū is still standing off the road. “...all right. I’ll...come back later.”

“Sure.”

Heaving to his feet, Obito hesitates a moment before making his way over, a bit unsure how to repeat what he told Kakashi in a way that will hopefully make her less upset. Once he’s near enough, he offers, “Look, I...uh…”

“...I know what you meant.”

He pauses. “...you do?”

“...I know how hopeless this all seems.” Her tone warbles, and Obito’s brow wilts in sympathy as she clearly struggles to keep it together. “I just...I can’t give up...not until we’ve tried everything…” For a moment longer she stares at the water, and then turns to give him a glance with watery greys. “...I can’t tell you everything he’s been through. Everything we’ve been through. But the thought of giving up on that...it...I can’t. I just can’t…”

“...I didn’t mean to make light of that,” Obito murmurs, avoiding her eyes as both guilt at his insensitivity and embarrassment at seeing her cry makes him nervous. “I guess I just wanted you to know that...that you’re welcome here. You have a place here, if...if you need it. But it’s not what you want, and...I get that. I’m sorry.”

Watching him quietly, Ryū softens. “...and I don’t mean to make light of you,” she offers, tone somber. “You’re...you’re a very nice man. And I can already tell that you’re funny, and optimistic, and determined to do what’s right. It’s not that I...that I don’t…” She hesitates. “...I’ve already made a choice. And after everything...there’s no taking it back. I’m sorry.”

“No! No, don’t...don’t be sorry,” Obito insists, waving hands. “I...I’m just an idiot. And...I’ll just...give Kakashi a crack at things, okay? So you can, uh...y’know. I’ll just...give you a break.”

“Obito, you don’t need to -?”

“I just…” He hesitates, and then wilts. “...I guess now I understand why he’d come to love you so much.”

Taken aback, Ryū’s eyes widen slightly. But before she can offer a reply, there’s a holler from up the road.

“Uh...guys? I...think I found something.” Staring into his Kamui portal, Kakashi goes stock still as a rather...interesting sight looks back.

     I like to call this: the awkward chapter, bahaha~ Where we have the actual crossing of wires between other!Obito and Ryū. Poor guy...words are hard. He wasn't trying to offend you Ryū! He's just a lil tongue-tied...and maybe a little crushy, huehue~      But otherwise...we've got a CLIFFY! Which...won't be one for long, given I'm posting this all now, lol - buuut either way, thanks for reading!

[mushroomminded]

Vore Theory

(I’m very sorry about the title....)

  Matt sat at the edge of the dock, his knees pulled up to his chest and his untied shoelace just touching the surface of the water. His arms were wrapped around the post at the end and he stared deeply at the horizon. It was calm. There was no sound but the water lapping against the boards and bugs and birds chatting with one another, and the sky was colored in streaks like finger paint reflecting across the surface of the water. Matt sighed deeply, resting his head on the post. 

  Suddenly a pair of arms were tight around his chest and he was thrown backwards. Matt screamed.

  “Saved your life!” Jon laughed, tumbling back onto the dock, letting Matt fall safely away from the water.

  “Don’t! Do that!” Matt yelled, scrambling to his knees, away from the edge of the dock.

  “Don’t be so fussy, I could have dunked you!” Jon protested, his head resting on the dock and a grin across his features.

  “I could have DIED!” Matt yelled. He clutched at one of the posts at the dock, his fingers getting twisted in the ropes.

  “You couldn’t have died, the water’s like five feet deep,” Jon said, rolling over and giggling.

  “I’m like five feet deep!” Matt said, holding a hand to the top of his head to indicate his height. “My breathing instruments are down here!” He lowered the hand to his mouth.

  “Dude, dude, let me show you something,” Jon said, sitting up. He pulled off his button up and slipped off his T-shirt. He kicked off his shoes and balled up his socks inside them before setting his glasses neatly on his stack of clothing.  

  “Seeing you strip isn’t going to make me feel better,” Matt grumbled.

  “Seriously, watch,” Jon said, standing. “I’m shorter than you, yeah? I’m gonna jump in the water and not swim and not die.”

  Matt watched him, his face still sour but with just a twinge of interest. Jon stepped to the edge of the dock, holding out his arms, then he jumped backwards, splashing into the water quietly. A moment later he resurfaced, grabbing easily onto the edge of the dock.

  “How is that not swimming?” Matt said, crinkling up his nose.

  “I didn’t swim! I just touched the bottom and pushed off of it,” Jon explained. “Look, look.” Jon swam over the the side of the dock so he was right in front of Matt. He then took a big breath and dunked himself again, holding his hands straight in the air. He stayed underwater for a moment, about half of his forearms and his hands free of the water. Then he resurfaced.

  “See? Easy.”

  Matt looked out across the water at the colored sky.

  “Mmm, still don’t like that,” he said. Jon stuck out his lower lip.

  “C’mon, now I’ve gone and gotten all wet, you can’t leave me looking like an idiot by myself,” he said, swimming up to the dock and resting his arms on it.

  “I can and I do every day,” Matt said with a smirk.

  “Ohhh, you got me,” Jon said, slumping and letting his chin rest in his arms. He smiled. “C’mon, at least come in and hang off the edge. Worst comes to worse I promise to rescue you.”

  Matt sighed. It was pretty toasty in his hoodie. He slipped it off.

  “Ayy! Take it off!” Jon cheered, pushing away from the dock and treading water.

  “Don’t push it,” Matt said, sliding off his T-shirt and his shoes. He carefully turned and lowered himself off the dock, the lakewater never going past his chin.

  “See? You’re doing great!” Jon said, swimming up to him and putting an elbow on the dock.

  “Sure would be nice if I could do this without testing fate,” Matt grumbled, kicking his legs lazily in the water.

  “As if you aren’t testing fate all the time,” Jon laughed.

  “Okay but this is different,” Matt said.

  “How?” Jon pulled himself onto the dock and Matt noticed the zigzagging scars along his back. He tended to forget about those.

  “I dunno, maybe it’s the difference between swallowing something and being swallowed,” Matt said. “Don’t say it,” he said quickly, pointing a finger at Jon.

  “That’s vore, Matt,” Jon said, a smile spreading across his cheeks.

  “I hate you,” Matt grumbled. Jon laughed. There was a moment of silence as Jon watched the sky, squinting at the colors and Matt floated in the water, letting the waves lazily lick his sides.

  “So tell me where you think the scars on your back came from,” Matt said, turning his head slightly towards Jon. Jon shrugged.

  “I dunno, I just figured I had bad parents before I was adopted,” he said.

  “Bad how?”

  “Like, hitting and stuff.”

  “What, when you were a baby?”

  “I guess so.”

  Matt followed his gaze to the horizon.

  “That’s f*cked up,” he said.

  “I mean, I don’t know if that’s true or not,” Jon explained, bending down and resting his elbows on his knees. “It just makes the most sense to me. Getting put up for adoption and all, the way my dad looks when I ask about my parents and the uh ‘nature’ of the scars I guess?”

  “But that’s what you really think?”

  Jon shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Is that why you never wanted to find your ‘real parents’?” Matt said, putting air quotes around “real parents” while keeping his elbows firmly planted on the dock.

  “Kinda. I just assumed they were bad people and there’s really no point in finding out. I like my family and my house and I like being around you. I like the blissful ignorance I guess.”

  Matt laughed sharply, causing Jon to turn his head in surprise.

  “You? Live in blissful ignorance? Mr. Investigation?” Matt said with a chuckle.

  “Shut up,” Jon said, but he was smiling like it was a compliment.

  “I guess you just prefer to find out about other peoples’ dark histories as opposed to your own,” Matt observed, elbowing Jon’s leg.

  “The difference between swallowing something and being swallowed,” Jon said softly. “Vore theory,”

  “Shut up,” Matt said with a loud laugh.

  “Hey, let’s try something,” Jon said, slipping back into the water. He went under the surface and came back up.

  “Touch the bottom with me,” he said after wiping the water from his face.

  “No way,” Matt said with a chuckle.

  “No seriously, touch it. It’ll help.”

  “Jon you know I sink like a rock, I will literally die.”

  “Then hold my hand and I’ll hold the dock and if you don’t come up in three seconds I’ll pull you up,” Jon said, offering one hand while wrapping the other around a post.

  “I’m too heavy,” Matt said quietly, looking down at the water. The sky reflected back, obscuring the bottom of the lake.

  “Matt,” Jon said sternly, making Matt look at him. “I can literally lift and carry you on land, you weigh like, ten times less in water.”

  Matt bit his lip. He looked at the water a moment longer, then he took Jon’s hand.

  “Okay,” Jon said, holding Matt’s hand firmly. “Just bob up like this, and then exhale on the way down. You’ll feel the bottom in less than a second and all you have to do is push off.”

  Matt nodded, carefully releasing his grip from the dock and holding his nose closed as Jon held him above the water.

  “Ready?” Jon asked. Matt nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”

  Jon helped hoist Matt up as he took a breath and dunked him into the water, not loosening his grip on his hand. For a moment, Matt was completely submerged. He heard the water rush around him for a split second, then it was quiet. He felt the rocky sand beneath his feet in a moment, just like Jon had said. He pushed off with his toes, and his body was slowly propelled upwards, his face breaking the surface of the water.

  “You did it!” Jon cheered, pulling Matt up to the dock with his hand. Matt gasped and grabbed the edge of the dock, pulling his hair out of his face. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

  Matt shook his head. “Why’d I come up so slow?” He asked.

  “You gotta bed your knees at the bottom,” Jon said, crouching in the water. “You looked stiff as a board, but if you’re loose and bend way down, you can jump right out like a dolphin.”

  “Like a mako shark,” Matt suggested.

  “Yeah!”

  Matt thought for a moment, looking back at the shore as it was slowly eaten by the shadows.

  “We should probably get going, huh?” Jon said.

  “One more time,” Matt said, turning back and taking Jon’s hand.

  Jon smiled.

[fandammit]

We made these memories for ourselves (1/?)

[A/N: One Day at a Time, Alvareider. Another WIP? Yes, don’t hate me. I’m incapable of writing anything short for these two. But on the plus side, here is the start of the Snapchat AU.]

It starts out like this:

She’s at Schneider’s apartment trying to figure out what to get Dr. Berkowitz for his birthday when he mentions off-hand how awesome Alex’s costume was for his history project.

“I know, right? Mami really -- .”

She stops, then narrows her eyes at him.

“Wait, how did you see it? She finished it up at, like, midnight before it was due and he’d already taken it off by the time he got home.” She furrows her brows. “Do you...do you have cameras installed in our house?”

He scoffs.

“How could I possibly manage to get cameras installed in your house? Your mom is always at home and according to my electrician, the wiring alone would take at least a full day.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I saw it on Snapchat.”

“Snap what now?”

He groans.

“Snapchat.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and leans closer to her, clicks on a yellow icon with a ghost in the middle. “C’mon, Pen, you are not that old.”

“Uh, yeah Schneider, we are.”

It takes what some might consider an embarrassing amount of time to explain what Snapchat is to her.

(You know, Schneider says at one point, it finally makes sense why you only post boring quotes on Instagram. I mean, do you actually know how to take a picture on there?)

But after seeing snapchat stories from Alex and Elena, she decides she wants one, too.

“Are you gonna at least try and be more interesting on here than you are on Instagram? Otherwise what’s the point?”

She shoves him, then grabs her phone from her pocket and hands it to him.

“I’m never gonna actually use it, I just wanna see what Alex and Elena are up to.”

“Well, you also have 250 people other than your kids from your contacts list who have one. Do you wanna follow them all?”

“Seriously? 250 people? How popular is this thing?”

He sighs and shakes his head as she leans over his shoulder to scroll through the list.

“Yeah, no. I’m not really interested in seeing what cousin Orencio is up to on a daily basis.”

“Yeah, it’s mostly just him with his metal detector on the beach.” He tilts his head and grins. “Although, he did once step on a jellyfish that was still alive and ran around trying to get someone to pee on him.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that one.” She keeps scrolling. “Actually, I’m gonna pass on everyone except for Alex, Elena, Syd and Carmen.”

“Aaand me,” Schneider says, tapping on his own name before swiping over to the camera. “Here, let me show you how to do one thing so I can at least feel like I tried to help you be interesting on here.”

He taps a button and it switches to her front facing camera. He holds his finger down on the screen and a bunch of animations pop up at the bottom.

“What are those?”

“These,” he says as he scrolls through them quickly, “are filters.”

She watches as hearts and dancing fireballs pop up on the screen.

“Why would anyone -- .” She stops when two flower crowns suddenly pop up on top of her and Schneider’s heads. “Oooh, I look cute in that one.”

“Yeah we do,” Schneider says. “Smile!”  

She does just in time for him to tap the screen.

“So now, I’m going to save this in your memories,” he says, tapping a button on the bottom of the screen. “And we’re also going to make it part of your first story.” He clicks on a blue icon, then taps on something that says my story. “And there you go! Welcome to where everyone else was five years ago, Pen.”

“Wait, why do I want either of those things?”

“What things?”

“That picture in my memories or my stories or whatever.”

“Uh, you said it yourself -- because we look cute in it.” He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

That’s pretty much her first and last snapchat story.

She mostly uses it to watch what Alex and Elena are up to, sometimes Syd and Carmen.

Alex’s are mostly him at baseball practice, on the way to a baseball game, sometimes just a snap of someone playing a video game with him narrating in the background. She loves him, but wow are teenage boy’s lives boring.

Elena mostly snaps about her at different marches or protests, selfies with Syd using some filter, occasionally a Netflix show that she’s into. She watches enough clips of Black Mirror to feel like she’s seen the entire season without ever sitting down to watch a single episode.

Eventually, she does add a few other people -- Lori, who she sometimes is honestly surprised is still alive; her cousin Claudia, whose life seems like a real-life telenovela; Jill, who apparently spends half her time at the dealership imitating customers who come in.

Over time, she learns two surprising things.

The first is that watching random ten second clips of people’s lives is strangely addicting. She increasingly finds herself checking Snapchat on her breaks, while she’s walking back from dropping off a client, when she’s waiting in the checkout line.

The second, infinitely more surprising thing is that Schneider is by far her favorite person to follow.

See, the thing about Schneider’s Snapchat stories is that she’s never quite sure what to expect.

Which -- honestly? Is the exact opposite of what she thought she’d get when she started following him.

“You know, your Snapchat is different than what I thought it'd be,” she says to him one night when she takes a break from studying.

He looks up from the Spanish picture book he's reading on the couch.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just kind of thought it’d just be videos of you making different kinds of quinoa or working out.”

He smirks at her.

“Well, now you know that I am a lot more sophisticated than you thought I was.”

“Uh huh,” she says wryly, drawing out the sound. “So how’re la lagartija y el sol doing?” She points at the book in his hands.

“Pretty good! I think I’m getting it.” He squints at the page. “Although I’m not really sure why a lizard would be in an arena.”

She purses her lips.

“It probably wouldn’t -- but it might be in the sand?”

He looks at her, the book, then rifles through a set of flashcards next to him.

“Ooooooooh.”

Schneider does actually have more than a few snaps that involve him making different types of quinoa, and he does have a lot of him with his adult kickball league, his adult softball league, his adult dodgeball league.

“Seriously,” she says one night after work, “I didn’t even know they had dodgeball leagues. I thought that was just, like, in the movies.”

He sighs heavily.

“It’s a real stigma against the sport. We’re really trying to have people take us seriously.”

“Hm.” She points to his shirt. “And a t-shirt that says Who Let the Dodge Out? is your plan to do that?”

She never really answers his question about what makes his snapchat so surprising. Partly because he wanted to read La Lagartija y el Sol out loud to her so she could help him with his pronunciation, but also partly because she meant what she said at the time -- she didn’t really know what to expect.

Because yes, he does have what she’d describe as Schneider at his most Schneider: endless snaps of his seahorses, hikes at sunrise while he narrates, trips to overpriced restaurants, shopping excursions to buy another half dozen graphic tees that are probably absurdly expensive.

(He’s also really into snapping pictures of clouds that he thinks look like people. They almost never do.)  

But what she also finds out is this: Schneider spends a lot of time hanging out with other people in their building.

“Did you know that Schneider hangs out with a bunch of people in our building, not just us?” She asks one night at dinner when Schneider is out at a dodgeball tournament.

Elena nods.

“Yeah, he watches Wheel of Fortune with the Ryders in 407, does macrame with Mrs. Watson in 306, plays ping pong with Mr. Jackson in 204 -- and that’s just on Thursdays.”

“He does basketball drills every Wednesday afternoon with the Lewis twins from 104 until their mom comes home,” Alex says, his mouth half full of rice. “He used to play with them, but then he dislocated his arm one time trying to dunk, so now he just helps run drills.”

“Ah, si,” her mother adds, “and he makes lunch with that vieja in 503 every Sunday.”

“Mami, Mrs. Verver is only a year older than you.”

“But she looks twenty years older than me.” She pats her cheek on other side. “That is why it is better to be Cuban.”

“So apparently everyone but me knew that you hang out with a bunch of the tenants here,” she says one afternoon after lunch.

Her mami is taking a nap, Alex is with friends and Elena is skyping Carmen in her room, so it’s just her and Schneider polishing off a tray of pastelitos.

“What, did you think I just spent time all my time with your family?”

She takes a bite of a pastelito and shrugs.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, I can’t deprive the rest of the building of my charms, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I do a lot of work everyday, Penelope.”

She nods.

“You know, surprisingly I don’t even want to argue with you about that.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Although I wouldn’t call getting your ass kicked in chess by Mr. Roth every Tuesday and Thursday work.”

He huffs and shakes his head.

“That man is ruthless.”

“That man is seventy years old.”

He scoffs.

“If I’ve learned anything from father, it’s that seventy year olds are the most ruthless.” He picks up the empty dish from the table and walks over to the kitchen sink. “Anyway, I’ve always been more of a checkers guy myself.”

She follows him over to the kitchen, leans against the counter as he starts washing off the dish.

“I think it’s really cool, Schneider -- you spending time with people who are mostly alone.”

He adjusts his glasses, then glances over at her.

“Yeah, well, you know. I don’t want anyone to feel like I did growing up.”

She furrows her brows at him.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs.

“All alone even when you’re surrounded by a building full of people.” He clears his throat. “Plus, I read this article that said that loneliness can be deadly for old people, so basically every time I’m spending time with Mrs. Watson or Mrs. Verver or Mr. Roth, I’m pretty much saving their lives.”

She nods slowly.

“So basically every time Mr. Roth kicks your ass in chess, you’re actually doing him a favor by saving his life?

“Yeah, exactly!”

She looks at him and tilts her head.

“So, is that how you make yourself feel better every time he beats you?”

“Yes.

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes.”

[dramaplustautology]

Samesies

I love Aco and Solan!! I’m like the old person asking them “Hey, dude. What’s going on?” “Teenage Rebellion.” “Hell yeah, stick it to the old people.”

And I’m at a block for writing other things so I did another scenario to freshen up and also have my OC interact with Ryunn’s in a sort of non-canon/AU way? Anyways, Tariche is a doctor that works for the Thorn and the twins visit him.

I’ll have a bio later, probably. (note that ryunn doesn’t have a bio up so this is just my....omg my fanon of them? nice).

3K Words. Book 3

Examining the newly fastened cast on her broken arm, Aco took her attention back to the doctor and his trailing coat.

“What’s that?” She asked him.

“This?” He finished the scribble on the cast. “So many of you come in here broken and squished, I can’t keep track of who has to keep their casts on for how long. And I hate paper work,” The doctor wiggled in his chair, excited over his drawing. “Instead, you all get pictures that I can remember you by. Look, this is you, me, and Solan. All the little hearts around us mean that we’re in love.”

Aco grabbed the doctor’s marker and drew Xs over his doodle version’s eyes.

He gasped, pushing his rolling chair away from Aco with his hands covering his heart.

“Now it’s a doodle of you both thinking how dead cute my corpse looks!” The doctor tsked, wiggling his finger at her. “Naughty children!”

Grabbing his hand, Aco twisted it and pointed at the lapel of his oversized white coat.

“Tariche, I was asking about what this was.”

The Doctor looked down at the crooked name tag Aco was jangling with his own finger.

“Didn’t you know? Tariche is short for Gregor McScully,” Tariche ballooned a cheek and shrugged. “The trendy way of shortening it at least.”

“Is it still cool when all of your fingers are broken?” Aco’s lips twisted into a wicked smile, about to flatten Tariche’s fingers against the back of his hand.

The Doctor leaned forward, placing his chin on his trapped palm, neither pained nor annoyed.

“You tell me, bloodbag. You and your brother still want my poison?” Tariche mirrored Aco’s expression to an impossibly sharp degree. The only difference between them was black to blond and midnight purple to starry golden vista.

That was suspicious.

“Pfft,” Aco made a satisfied noise. She hated having to ask for things, even after all these years of only demands. "This why you always stand to Solan’s right?”

“Nah, he got wise a long time ago. I just do it to keep him on edge.” Tariche slid his chair away and yelped when Solan caught him from behind.

“Your roots are showing,” Solan smirked, spinning the Doctor’s chair and kicking it towards his twin as the ‘blond’ tousled his course hair. “That trendy too?”

If for only a moment, Solan took some gratification from catching their Doctor off guard. The shorty was a lot like his office; filled to the brim with tools and texts too complicated for plebs to understand, stinking with flowery perfume to mask the sterile bitter smell of disinfectant.

Good thing there were two of them, one to distract and the other to take a stab.

“Did you know Gregor?” Tariche asked, having already collected himself by the time his chair reached Aco. He pressed a small case, not unlike a container for spectacles, to Aco’s lap.

“We picked him up from the weenie factory,” Code for blackmailing him into leaving the Rose’s main base of operations to work for the Thorn. Solan went to his sister’s side and the two shared a high five over Tariche’s head. “He used to squeal when I flapped my eyepatch at him.”

Trying to do the same at Tariche got the Doctor to leap up and attempt to stick his finger into the slit. Slapping his eyepatch back on, Solan just about chomped Tariche’s finger off.

“You must be happy then, no more Gregor to bore you and all of Tariche to—“He took a small vial out of his coat, shaking the clear pills inside. “—Help you leave an impression,” The vial disappeared into his sleeve and he stretched out his arm. “For a fair exchange.”

The twins didn’t need to share a glance to sync up.

“How about you trade those for our threats?” Aco leaned her chair on the door leading outside, about to cross her arms behind her head. The cast cracked and she pretended not to notice, letting it rest and using her good arm as a pillow.

“Hey, Theano? Did you know your kids can’t flex on those poor innocent spindly elves without speed and strength boosters?” He pulled his gloves off with his teeth, spitting them into the trash can by Solan’s boots. “Magic boosters?”  

That trash can was sent flying over Tariche’s head, courtesy of Solan stopping himself short of tackling him to the floor.

“You told us they were regular pills.” Aco stood, getting up to circle Tariche’s chair like a lion closing in on a light meal. The Doctor could hear the leather of her gloves stretching from the strain of keeping her hands to herself.

And the Doctor knew why. Aco knew herself, of course. And Tariche always knew the hard facts others grappled with.

“Regular for Lore,” Tariche clarified, tilting his head to the side. “Magic isn’t dead yet. Not that you need magic to dunk my head into an incinerator.”

Suddenly, Solan was right up against Tariche, hauling him out of his spinny chair and smashing him into the wall.

“I could do that without arms.” Solan growled and it sounded like a promise.

“How long would that take? A few hours?” Tariche’s eyes sparkled with literal stars, about to make his pitch. “With a little boost, you could do that in a minute with five inches of dental floss. Wouldn’t that make your murder pageant dad proud?”

Solan thrust the Doctor at the wall, smacking his head for insulting their Commander. All it did was make the stars flash wild.

“You’re not human,” Aco leaned into the exchange, grasping Solan’s shoulder, advising caution with a mere touch. “Typical magic types. You can’t hide your flashy bits even under pain of death.”

“Me? Afraid of my partners in crime? But I trust you so much!”

Trusted them to want his handiwork; that much and more Tariche knew.

The twins glowered, stepping away to let Tariche slide down the wall and back on his feet.

“What’s this then?” Aco asked, raising the rectangular box Tariche had given her.

“How you’re going to pay me this time.” Tariche dusted himself off and made sure to squish between the twins to get by them. He appreciated how hard they made it for him, refusing to budge.

He made it to his desk and pulled open a drawer filled to the brim with glass flasks. The multicolored potions sloshed and he roughly fished through the fragile ware for a particularly bubbly blue one. Swishing the contents around once to get the concoction mostly homogenous, Tariche popped the cork and drowned the drink.

“There’s a syringe inside the box,” Tariche gestured at the container. “That’s the antidote.”

Blinking at him, the twins struggled to understand what the Doctor had done.

“Did you poison yourself?” Solan gaped at the emptied flask.

“This is a new invention of mine. I came up with it all by myself!” Tariche explained, starry eyed again. His audience was captive after all. “It’s strawberry flavored this time but you can slip it into enemy supplies without notice. That’s whole communities if you hit an important well,” He winked and the twins could hear the literal twinkling sound his eyelid made. “There’s some time between ingestion and visible effects that I haven’t figured out yet but it should keep the fair and magic folk alive long enough to find out we have the antidote.”

And that they had to turn themselves into the Rose if they wanted to stay alive.

“Not sure why you want me to give you the antidote but I’d be happy to stab you.” Aco tossed the box and fiddled with the cathartically long needle. Tapping the bubbles out of the barrel on the corner of the cabinet, she playfully aimed it at the most tender part of the good Doctor. It was a hard decision considering how the Doctor was tender everywhere but his heart.

“How nasty are the symptoms?” Solan asked, scratching his chin as he looked Tariche up and down uncomfortably close. He could see the Doctor’s black roots. It seemed that the twins and Tariche shared the same shade of hair. Gross.

“My orifices are going to burn and squirt blood. All that horror stuff to really scare us clean and pretty magic folks, as far as I know,” Tariche tugged on the corner of his eyes to check if it was leaking. His heart was racing from the rush of not knowing for sure. “Luckily, I’m a masochist. You have to be if you want to enjoy getting into medicine.”

Past that, Tariche had nothing to say.

He usually did whenever he had one or both of the twins strapped to a cot, at the mercy of his unending stream of difficult nonsense.

Oddly, neither of the twins were comfortable with the utter quiet. Maybe it was how the Doctor just stared straight ahead, staring at nothing like it was everything on the page of a novel. They could see his pupils vibrate under those weird fairy sparkles.

“And you’re fine with siding against your own people?” Solan asked, orbiting around him with curiosity. Was one of the symptoms making his teeth heavy?

Rolling his head back on the chair’s backrest, Tariche considered the question.

“I don’t know them. Who cares?” He sighed, lingering on the words left hanging in the air. “If you’re wondering if I’m angry at ‘magic’ in general. No, I’m like you.”

“No.” Aco said.

“Please, no.” Solan shook his head at the same time.

“I don’t need to know everything to see that I see the same face in the mirror that you see on each other,” Tariche steepled his fingers on his belly, tapping them as he began to become impatient for the physical pains. “I love not knowing. It makes new books amazing even when they turn out to be puerile garbage. The only thing I don’t know for sure is my mom and dad issues.”

“How did you—“

“Dang, was it the mom or the dad?”

Instantly, the twins clammed up, wondering if Tariche had spoken up to save them from giving up too much.

“Anyways, my mom was the magic one, which is the simplest way of putting it,” He chewed on his cheek, wondering if it was a nervous tick or a reaction. “I didn’t find out about it until we met for the first time after I hit my teens.”

He looked like he was still in his teens, if not younger than Aco and Solan. Then again, both knew what it was like to grow old in the middle of childhood.

“She asked me if I had a lot of people, and I could have if I tried. Didn’t tell her that though,” He kept chewing on his cheek, close to drawing blood. “Mom said that it was good. If she stayed with me, I wouldn’t have anyone and my life would be lonely. Worse, she told me her life would have been better. Full.” Red began leaking from his mouth. “We didn’t know that for sure.”

Stock still, Solan glanced at Aco and watched her slowly stand with the syringe at ready.

Then, Tariche got up too. He had gone from waaaaaay out there to squared shoulders, standing at attention.

“Commander Theano, what brings you here?” Tariche asked.

The twins span around, finding the door still closed.

“I hate needles!” Tariche cried, taking advantage of their confusion to sprint past them and out of the quarantine office.

The Thorn were going to go from having one bad medic to having no medic.

“Crap!” Aco and Solan jumped into action, tearing through the door and past the rows of occupied beds. A gnome strapped to one of the cots struggled in their restrains and Solan pulled the blanket over the head to shut them up.

There were at least four rows of beds for Tariche to hide under until he croaked. He wasn’t going to crawl out easy if he was more afraid of needles than he was death.

Oh but the Doctor loved to blab.

“You weren’t finished,” Aco kept her voice steady, at conversation volume as she padded past the beds. There was enough light to see the Doctor’s prone silhouette. “What does joining us have anything to do with fixing your mommy issues?”

“I’ve read the history books. I know what kind of trouble she got up to. It took long for her to get it together but the effort was admirable. Her taste in lovers? Disagreeable.”

Aco heard his nonsense and pinpointed the cot he was hiding under, tugging off the blankets to find no one but a very upset elf.

“Quit crying!” Aco shushed the prisoner, catching sight of a few drops of blood across her way. She locked stares with Solan in the other aisle, nodding in the direction of the gory trail.

“Trust me,” Tariche couldn’t stop himself from speaking up. “I know what I’m doing. There’s nothing to be afraid of when it comes to your precious Commander either.”

“If he catches you, I’ll be happy to skin you myself,” Solan goaded him, closing in on the Doctor. “Blackmail or not, he knows who’s in his corner.”

“Theano doesn’t care about loyalty. In fact, the scariest part of this entire situation is how he wants—“Tariche was wracked by a violent cough. The twins weren’t sure if it was because of the poison or if the Doctor was faking because he had no idea. “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t me but I was caught before and now, I live again.”

‘The poison’s going to his brain,’ Solan mouthed to Aco. ‘Can’t we let him stay like this for a bit longer?’

The curtain hiding the bed directly beside Solan swung open.

“But this time, I know how to throat punch you.” Tariche got the jump on Solan but the boy’s gut instinct lead his eyes to the angle of the Doctor’s arm.

Seeing it coming from miles away, Solan raised his hands to shield his neck and allowed Tariche to imbed his fist on his rock hard stomach.

“Need a medic?” Solan grinned as Tariche cringed from the blunt force trauma he afflicted on himself.

“Right here!” Aco jumped behind the Doctor and stabbed the needle into his neck.

Wailing like a murdered ghost, Tariche was too shocked to move before Aco pushed the plunger down, injecting the antidote into, miraculously, the right spot for it to act quick.

If it weren’t for the twins catching his arms, Tariche would have broken his nose to top this entire humiliating spree off.

“Look!” The doctor flailed, still disoriented from the effects of that messily cooked poison. “I can fight now! I used to only know how but I can actually do it with my own hands!”

By all means, Aco and Solan were allowed to sneer at the disgusting display. But, if only for a moment, some form of impossible fondness.

“Same.” They whispered together.

All of a sudden, Tariche lifted his head.

“Your friendship means a lot to me.” He said before his head lolled to the side.

And the twins were about to drop the Doctor on his face when they heard the footfalls of boots they had come to memorize. The Commander wasn’t going to happy with the only Doctor on site, who was definitely not Gregor, going out of his mind on bad blue soda.

“I know who that is!” Tariche turned his chin up, almost as furious as the Commander was going to be. “I read the obituaries!”

Each of them slapping a hand over Tariche’s mouth, they thought fast and not hard.

Having heard the Doctor’s shriek, Theano entered his wing to see if a prisoner had escaped. Smartly, he left the trailing Thorn members outside the room to find Solan in the nearest bed with an extremely bloated stomach under his blanket.

“Aw man, I ate so much,” Solan complained, rubbing his writhing belly. “Why, good morning, Commander Theano. The eggs were bad today.”

His belly tried to yell, barely held back by Aco restraining him under the sheets.

“Remove that blanket,” Theano ordered, patience thinner than the starving mage strapped to the other bed. “Now.”

“It smells pretty bad, just saying.” Solan lied, sweating bullets as his Commander’s frown deepened.

“Remove. The Blanket.” Theano wouldn’t repeat himself.

“You know what’s also bad?” Tariche managed to yank Aco’s hand off of his mouth a little late to the right cue. “You at oral exams!”

In the space of a fraction of a second, Theano’s face when through all hues of shock, realization, rage, and steeled stoicism.

“I don’t understand what that means.” Solan admitted, more interested in his Commander’s actions than at Aco’s one armed wrestling match with Tariche happening right next to him.

Theano breathed in, then out.

“You have ten seconds to come back to reality.”

Solan stole a peek under the blanket, betting a face full of blood vomit.

“We need ten hours.”

The Commander had already slammed the door shut.          

[thisspiritsgarden]

Hair Like Mine

I have struggled with my hair since I was a young girl. I’m not exactly sure what grade of hair I have but I’m sure it is a 4-something. It is kinky, unmanageable, and frustrating. Learning to embrace such a grade of hair has been a lifelong struggle for me. I was in Elementary school when I realized my hair was different from the other students in my class. Their hair was straight and blonde. It blew in the wind and they could easily sling it back into ponytails without a brush or a comb, or grease. My hair was a polar opposite. As I got older I realized that my hair was different from my own sister’s hair. I realized that she had “good hair” and I did not. When I finally did learn to embrace my natural hair I realized how confused people can be about what it means to be a Black woman with hair like mine.

My hair was relaxed when I was younger, and was that way for as long as I can remember. I don’t remember when my first perm was or even what it felt like. I do remember that getting ready in the morning required at least thirty minutes of hair grooming. My mom used to sit me in a plastic white chair. She used to use those hair bows with the big balls on the end of them that make a “clanking” noise if you play with them (which I did often). My mom had a plastic bag filled with these hairbows. My favorite one had some sort of Pokemon painted on the balls. My mom used to create these weird ponytail hairstyles with them. Sometimes she would do “plaits” (or twists), carefully parting my hair and greasing my scalp as she would do them. Her parts were always perfect and I could always see the white of my scalp when she was done. I very rarely wore my hair straight down when I was young. My mom always added some sort of braid or ponytail that hung over my face. I did not know how to recreate my mom’s hair styles so I had to be sure not to touch my hair when I was in school.

The hot-comb was also a staple in my house. My mom had the plug in eye and everything. That comb burned my ear so many times, but I used to love hearing the grease on my relaxed hair fry when she would run the comb through it. I still remember the smell of frying hair and the sound and feel of her breathe blowing against the steaming comb to cool it down. I remember flinching when I could feel the heat of the comb nearing my ear or my scalp. I remember the very few, and very painful times my mom would accidently put the comb to close to my scalp. She would always apologize and try to rub it or put cold grease on it.

Despite the hard work that my mother would put into my hair every morning, growing up I was a “tomboy.” I used to run around the playground hitting boys, and pissing them off. It was my favorite thing to do. If my mom did any sort of ponytail with my hair, that pony tail was guaranteed to be a mess when I got home. Strands of hair were guaranteed to be sticking straight up from my scalp and that is only if the hairbow didn’t fall out of my hair.

As I got older, around eight or nine, I stopped caring about my hair looking nice. Picture day was always funny. The photographers would have their combs out, ready to comb some blonde hair out of the faces of pretty white girls. Then there was girls with hair like mine. The photographers didn’t know what to make of my hair, especially if my mother had done my hair in some weird ponytail style. There was no hope for me as far as picture day came if I had ruined my hair at any point during the day. We would also have wacky tacky day at least once a year, and I loved it because it meant that my mom did not have to do my hair that day. My hair could be a wild mess, it could be free. Or so I thought. A memory still lingers in my head. A male student told me “Your hair looks wacky tacky everyday.” At the time, I thought I didn’t care about that comment.

I can’t remember how old I was or why I started to hate my hair. Maybe it was the fact that I used to play with Bratz dolls, and every single doll had long straight hair? Maybe more people said hateful things to me about my hair? I just remember thinking to myself that if I had longer hair, more manageable hair, that I would be prettier, and that boys would like me more. I used to flip through yearbooks and imagine I was a pretty girl with long straight hair. Sometimes I would pick a random girl from my sister’s old yearbooks and pretend I was her in my daydreams. I would change my name and everything. Sometimes they were a different race from me but they always had long, straight hair.

When I got to middle school my mom still did my hair, albeit, she no longer did the pony tail styles. Instead she started using a curling iron and curling my hair into these unflattering old-school...shapes. My hair started breaking off in middle school too. It was long when I was in Elementary school but it started getting shorter and shorter the older I got, and probably the more relaxers I got.

At the start of seventh grade, I had cornrow extensions. The extensions were long and for the first time I actually felt pretty and boys were actually starting to like me. I used to sling my long, fake braids around one side of my shoulder because I thought that made me look prettier.  Then I met a group of girls who decided to make my life a living hell in seventh grade and what little bit of confidence that I was gaining in myself faded away. The extensions also had to go. I had left them in for too long which caused further damage to my hair, but my hair no longer mattered in seventh grade because I had much bigger worries.

When I started the eighth grade, I desired to reinvent myself. My mom would always get me one professional perm per year, usually before the start of the school year. All of the rest of my perms would come out of a box. I loved the way my hair looked after a fresh perm. It was still short, but atleast is flowed freely through the air, and didn’t stand up in the back if I leaned my head down. I looked pretty with my hair straight too. The perms usually only lasted a week or so and then I would be back to trying to straighten my hair to manage it.

It continued to break off throughout high school. The only time I ever truly liked my hair was when I would get a fresh perm. I remember my mom applying vaseline to the edge of my face in case the lye fell on my skin. I learned to keep the perm on my hair for as long as possible in order to achieve the best results. My scalp would be on fire before I would tell my mom to start dunking my head under the running sink faucet. I spent so much time under the faucet in my parents kitchen. That is what I remember the most about box perms. Salon perms didn’t require as much head dunking but hair stylists are not as gentle, (or caring) as a mother is. Once, one of the women who did my hair dropped some of the lye onto my bare forehead. She wiped it off with her finger and kept it moving. My forehead had a nasty, crusty red bruise on it for weeks.

Growing up, I never paid attention to the fact that my sister and I had two different hair textures. I didn’t realize this until I started wearing the cornrow extensions. My sister was rather condescending about me wearing those. I remember once she teased me for wearing “horse-hair weave” My sister never needed to wear a weave. She has some kind of three-something hair. Her curls are pretty and bouncy. When we were younger she wore it straight often. She endured the hot comb and perms too, but not nearly at the rate that I did. My mom didn’t spend hours trying to get my sisters hair to cooperate. My sister, even though she didn’t have hair like the blond white girls I went to Elementary school with, had manageable hair. I wouldn’t learn that my sisters hair was considered “good hair” until I was in my late teens.

When I was a senior in highschool, my sister called me to tell me that she was going “natural” with her hair. This was in 2010 and going natural wasn’t nearly as popular as it is now. I, like so many others, thought she was going to cease washing her hair. She explained to me what natural really meant, and I began to ponder if this was something I should do. I was getting ready to go to college in the fall of the next year and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do my hair. I never figured out how to properly straighten my relaxed hair. I didn’t know how to curl it and it was too short for a ponytail.

There was another girl at my highschool named Brianna who had went natural with her hair. Her hair was like mine, thick and kinky, but it looked nice. She used to do nice updos and blowouts and I started thinking that maybe I can get my hair to look like that. I told my mom I was thinking about going natural with my hair and her response was “So you going to walk around with an afro?”, as is if both her and my dad didn’t walk around with an afro when they were my age. My dad even has pieces of his afro taped to the back of one of his pictures in our family photo albums.

I had made up my mind. In February of 2011, my parents and I visited my sister in Raleigh and we went to a natural hair salon so that I could get the “big chop”. When I stepped in the salon and told the stylist what I was doing and she recoiled. She told me that I should just go to a barber shop because I would look like a little boy when she was through. My sister had noticed the woman pull me aside and she text me to tell me not to let that woman talk me out of getting my hair cut. Another stylist cut my hair for me and afterwards my family and I went to buy me an onslaught of natural hair care products.

My hair grew fairly quickly. By the time I attended undergraduate school it was a TWA. I used to buy flower accessories to put in my hair to make myself look less boyish at this stage. I liked that I no longer had to worry about strands of my hair sticking up or relaxers. My TWA was surprisingly simple to manage and I was not in a rush for it to grow long and full. Nevertheless it did, and by the time I graduated from undergraduate school it was long, big, and fluffy. It was still hard to manage, but I was beginning to accept my hair the way it is.

“Good hair” is a rather interesting concept. The Elementary school I attended was majority White. Both my sister and I are very light-skinned and we were never considered to be just Black. Indeed we are not, because I took an Ancestry DNA test this year and found that I do have a substantial amount of European ancestry despite the fact that both my parents are African-American as are their family members. We didn’t know this when we were younger and our parents (who most likely did not know either) always told us that we were just Black. As I grew up, I realized that the only thing people used to identify me as Black was not the color of my skin but the texture of my hair. Even in its relaxed form it was thick enough for people to know that I was Black. As for my sister, her hair is an anomaly. It is an indication that she is mixed, but I am not sure how many people assume my sister is actually Black. Both her and myself, have gotten Mexican, Puerto Rican, Dominican, and the occasional Islander. I get these assumptions, but everyone knows I have some kind of Black in me, especially now that I am natural. I am not sure how often people assume my sister has any Black in her at all. It is entirely possible for her to pass as White-Hispanic or some other mixed race woman. She doesn’t do this on purpose, but it is just a consequence of being an African-American woman with “good hair” because people on the outside looking in do not think it is possible for an African-American woman to have “good hair”.

There is no clear definition of what “good hair” actually is. It is a social construct most likely started by White people to divide African-Americans. Hair that isn’t blonde and straight is usually not considered good hair in White communities. If you are Black, however, and you’re hair is long and manageable like that of my sisters, a white person may consider that you have good hair for a Black person. It isn’t as good as theirs, but it’s better than Black people with hair like mine

It is clear that hair like mine never was and never will be considered “good hair” in the White community or the African American community. When my hair was relaxed it wasn’t considered “good hair” to White people because it was still nappy. It also wasn’t considered “good hair” to the African American community because it was chemically processed… and still nappy. My relaxed hair was never good hair to begin with because it was unhealthy and dry and was breaking off my scalp like a Nature Valley granola bar. Now that my hair is natural and long, it is still not considered good hair in either community. I know that wearing my hair natural curbs my dating potential. African-American men would much rather date a woman with hair like my sister’s or a white girl with flawless blonde hair. They want hair they can run their fingers through and hair they can play in. You can do both of those things with my hair on a good day, but they don’t know that or care to find out.

Older Black women also do not enjoy the natural look. It doesn’t fit in with many of their “respectability politics.” I straightened my hair for my graduation from graduate school because I highly doubt I will go back to school and I wanted to know what it was like to wear a graduation cap the “normal” way without the use of bobby pins to keep it on my head. I went into work with my hair straight for about a week and an older black woman who worked with me told me that I should keep my hair that way. Truthfully, many people told me that I should keep my hair straight, but it always cuts the deepest when a black woman tells you should wear your hair straight.

Another thing that happens when you have hair like mine and you wear it natural is that White people view you as defiant or believe that you are making a political statement. I live in a rural, majority white town for now, and I wear my hair out in a afro most times. People here stare at me as if am walking around butt naked. They look up at my hair as they talk to me and they think that I don’t notice it but I do. I will admit, sometimes I do wear my afro out on purpose, just to trigger them because it is not my fault that they view my hair as some sort of political statement. It is not a political statement but it is the way my hair naturally grows out of my scalp. It grows horizontally instead of vertically. Us Black folks didn’t make our hair into a political statement, White people did that. If they don’t like the way our hair grows out of our scalp then they need to take it up with God.

Finally, there are the every day trials and tribulations of having hair like mine. The hair straightener kiosks at the mall never bother to approach someone with hair like mine. They know their stragtheners won’t work on my nappy ass hair. There is the ever present worry of going on a job interview with my natural hair and fearing that the interviewer will deem me unprofessional for wearing my hair the way it naturally grows out of my scalp. Both my Dad and my sister recommended I keep my hair straight for interviews but I can’t afford one hundred dollars per interview. I worry how my hair texture will affect my dating life if I ever do decide to date. I know that many African-American men are not fond of hair like mine, and I am willing to date outside my race, but I don’t know how many non African-American men are fond of hair like mine. There is also the ridiculous personal anxiety of a bug falling into my hair and eating through my scalp. The other day I picked a bug deep out of afro and flung it into the street. Then there's the realization that there are some styles I will never be able to do without having to pay an arm and leg and a torso. Doing a simple bun takes time and patience. Living in a rural area also means that most stores do not sell the products that I use frequently. I am no longer a product junky but I still have to drive an hour into the city to find some of the products I use to deep condition because a rural white town is not willing to accomodate the few people here with hair like mine.

I am 24 years old now and I am still learning to love my hair. Sometimes it still frustrates me because I think of all the ways the texture of my hair has held me back in life. I think of how much prettier I would be with straight hair, whether or not boys would have liked me more if I had “good hair” in high school. I still like to imagine what my life would be like if I had gotten my sister’s grade of hair. How much easier it would be for me to love myself. I didn’t get to pick my hair texture. It’s one of the things God gave me to work with but unfortunately the world isn’t so accepting of a person's natural God-given attributes if they do not understand it.

Still, I am proud of my natural hair and I do appreciate it and like it most days. Some days I love it. It suits my face better than straight hair does. It is long and I love to wear it big and blown out whenever possible. It reminds me that I am a Black woman. It reminds me of who my ancestors might have been. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of where I might have came from. It reminds me of where my original home might be.

I don’t know when or why my mom started relaxing her hair, but I still remember the annoyance she displayed when I told her I was going to go natural. After I cut all my hair off she gave me one of her old, black, plastic afro picks. A few months later she started transitioning to go natural with her hair. She has been natural for several years now. I have been natural for seven years. Whenever I go home, I look on my moms vanity mirror in my parents room. She has a metal afro pick with a black power fist on the handle of it. I don’t know when she got it but I like to imagine that she got it back when she was my age and that she kept it all these years. I don’t care for metal afro picks, but sometimes I am tempted to steal it. I always decide against it because I’d like to think that this pick is special to her. I’d like to think that this pick reminds her of her home. I’d like to think that this pick reminds her of who she is and who she was created to be.